#but again their primary use is for climbing not fighting

[iobartach]

C l a w s ....

[jellyfishsthings]

The five times you left Spencer speechless (or how I like to call it, in quiet awe)

Warnings: reader wears glasses but no biggie, reader can fight and use a gun because why not, bau!reader, smitten Spence, nothing happens just feelz, Spence's drug addiction... I think that it

1. The first meeting

It had been a long week. People were crowding the small space of the bullpen. It had been the first case after Gideon's return, and Spencer had been buzzing with excitement to work with his mentor again. The case hadn't been particularly easy, and almost one agent named Elle Greenaway had been lightly injured, who would from now on work with them. His eyes were burning, and he gave into the temptation to wear his glasses as he looked into the nearly filled report in front of him, containing at least seventeen pages worth of information. Madame Strauss claimed that his reports were unnecessarily detailed, how that was a problem he couldn't tell. The hours seemed to blur together as he continued writing his report, losing many minutes trying to form his handwriting into something more presentable.

That was the moment. The time he first laid eyes on her. He had read many romance novels, which he wasn't going to admit, that the moment someone met the one, time seemed to slow to near non-existent and his reality at the moment seemed like something coming out of a book.

She was wearing a chunky white pullover with huge sleeves that strangely represented bells and a light brown plaited skirt that reached just at the middle of her thighs. Long legs that seemed to be going on for miles ended at a pair of black Mary Jane's. And sure, her appearance was incredible, but that was not what made him make a double take. He was sure he was hallucinating as he saw the most beautiful face he had seen in his life, looking as if it was something that came out of a Renaissance painting. Her hair was in a braid resting on her shoulder, and wire-framed glasses sat on her nose, making her eyes appear slightly bigger. A tattered pair of wired headphones framed her face, and for a second, Spencer forgot how to breathe, the most cognitive function, the one he had been able to do since he first entered this world. His ears were buzzing, and his brain was running in endless circles.

A hand was moving in front of him, and he stared at the angel that was standing in front of him. Her mouth was moving, probably talking to him, and he willed himself to pay attention.

“S-Sorry.”

“It's alright.” The angel answered him; maybe he had finally overdone it with the sugared coffee he was drinking as if it were his primary source of hydration. “ I am looking for Aaron Hotchner.”

“R-Right. Umm…”

“Good, you are here. Come with me.” Hotch's voice echoed in the empty room, and Spencer's cheeks flamed an angry red as the girl turned and kindly waved at him as she quickly climbed the stairs and entered the conference room. Spencer had half a mind not to turn his chair and stare at her. With an unnecessary loud cough, he turned back at his report and thanked his luck for Morgan's absence because if he had witnessed this, he was going to hear the end of this anytime

2. The lesson

A month had passed since he first saw her. And yet, he could recall her vividly, the deep-set eyes, the rosy lips. His birthday had been a blur as he celebrated them in the office and invited JJ in a lame attempt to ask her out which just resulted in a long evening where JJ and Penelope talked endlessly and he couldn't comprehend the sport he was supposedly watching.

He was waiting in Hotch's office as a stand-in. He was teaching a young agent to join the unit and he was thrilled when he heard that the student was just a few months shy of his own age. At the moment, he was trying to move a huge board to the office when someone lightly tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around way too fast and came face to face with the angel he saw, the one he thought he willed into existence.

“Do you need help with that?”

“No, no. I got it. Are you Hotch's student?” He asked and immediately regretted it. Of course, she was his student. Why did he have to lose half of his IQ around her? He gave one last hard shove to the board end and then aligned it with the desk. “So um… Hotch asked me to be your tutor for today if that is alright with you. Um… What material are you studying?”

“Mostly psychology. Which I am not very good at, by the way.” She retrieved a huge book from her bag and a small pencil case that was filled with just a pen and three markers, red, yellow, and green. Just as she opened the book, he could see that its majority was colored and that it had notes in the margins. His heart thudded louder in his chest.

“What do all those colors mean?” He asked curiously as he approached her.

“Well green means that I understand it; yellow means that I am working on it and red … I just have no clue. It's just mostly yellow at the moment, though the notes help.”

“What's red?” She looked at him in a strange way, and too late did he realize that she was studying him, his question had been earnest and probably too forward, and he rushed to explain himself. “ I just - I asked because I have a PhD in the subject.” He could see her eyebrows lifting before they settled in a scowl and whacked his brain to understand what he said wrong.

“You are Doctor Reid, right?” She asked quietly, and he stupidly nodded as an answer to her question. “Well there is … I don't understand some differences between some categories of killers; they have much in common, so why are they in a separate category?”

“The answer is actually way simpler I'd you think of it in a Venn diagram.” He rushed to the board, and drew a few circles, and he started writing on it as he explained its category separately. He talked for what seemed like hours, and he embarrassingly looked at his watch. He must have been talking for over an hour, and he turned to look at the girl only to find her writing on her book, still in the margins looking at him expectantly. The way she was staring at him almost had him stammering once again, and he felt his knees weaken for a strange reason. So he carried on.

When he was done, he turned to look at her; she was still writing something before she whispered. “You need to tuck your chest in when you are firing a gun.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Aaron said that he was having trouble with one of his agents' firearm training, and it must be you. You have a long torso, so your weight center is different from the diagrams in the training books you must have read. That's why you keep missing.” And just like that, she was gone again wishing him good night and a nice weekend.

His head was spinning as he walked towards the training room, and he wore his earmuffs and protective glasses. Tuck your chest in. And so he did before aiming and pressing the trigger three times. His shots were the best, but he hadn't missed. Pride swarmed his chest; he was going to do it.

The next day, he failed his exam. He had lost his gun.

3. The first case

Small-town cases were always the most thrilling in his humble opinion. And any time somehow a cult or demons were involved, he worked ten times harder to prove them wrong. Only this time, their team had a new member. Gideon did seem to take a liking to her, in contrast with Spencer, who was incredibly warm to her the moment she entered the room. Maybe it was because he had met her before, or maybe it was because whenever she was around him he felt like a firework ready to explode. Somehow, his conversation with Morgan had turned to the explanation of attraction in the neurotic sector.

“Chemicals, such as dopamine, may cause one to be giddy, euphoric, and even to experience suppressed hunger and sleep cues. You may recall a time when someone made your heart thud erratically in your chest, heat rise in your body making you blush, and the sensation of being tongue-tied or not able to form coherent thoughts. These are the characteristics of attraction.”

“Is that what you feel around her then? Because you don't act like yourself around her. I mean, come on, you are a germaphobe, and you were the first to shake her hand.”

He’s a germaphobe, he is, and that doesn’t just go away when you meet someone lovely, but he did shake her hand. She surprised him too quickly to think beyond taking her hand, letting it happen. Their formal meeting, the one where they acted as if they hadn't spent an evening together in this same room. Hotch gave him a funny look. Mostly impassive, but not quite, and he was definitely on to him. In the duration of the case, he tried to keep his distance, which didn't go that well when he found himself staring at the barrel of a gun that was aimed at him. Everything went by too quickly as she dove toward the UnSub, without a second thought tackling him to the ground and disarming him in a few short seconds. He wanted to be impressed, yet he had seen her in the training room with Morgan as they had hand-to-hand combat. She moved with agility, and her every move seemed calculated and strategic. He had felt his heart stutter in his chest as she helped him stand and checked him for injuries.

He was lovestruck as Penelope teased him. His silly crush on JJ had been entirely forgotten.

4. The Lila Archer incident

He was an idiot. It was the first time he would characterize himself in such a way. And hopefully the last.

When you guard a beautiful actress, Spencer, don't jump in the pool with her.

Love,

Spencer

He could identify the disappointment in his colleagues' faces from the very first second, yet the one that pierced him the most was hers. She barely spoke during the discussions about the possible type of the UnSub, no matter how much Elle or Hotch urged her on. She had been stuck with him for pretty much all of the cases and he had to admit that she was a brilliant young woman. The others interpreted her quietness as an inability to profile but her insights were what had helped him make some major breakthroughs on the last cases. When they congratulated him for that he simply smiled stating that he didn't work alone yet the others probably thought that he was just trying to cover his partner and not share mutual credit for their work. It unnerved him how she seemed incredibly distant and stoic always five paces away from the rest of the team.

Yet this time she seemed furious, it was the deathly kind of quiet, the one that sent a chill to his bones and left all the apologies that were spewing up in his brain die on his tongue.

Frustration was welling up on him and he tried to muster up the courage to talk to her, only to find her crying in Morgan's arms. He couldn't understand for the life of him what she was saying and a selfish, terrible part of him hoped that, maybe, she had been crying for him.

5. The drug addiction

Tobias Hankel was going to be a name that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Sometimes deep into the night he was still at that cabin fighting for his life, the one time his intelligence wasn't enough. What drew him to steal those few bottles of Dilaud from his pocket, why he used them, why he formed his addiction. He didn't want to be a drug addict but it was his new reality. He desperately tried to stop it, tried to hide it and always felt ashamed when he relapsed to that horrible habit. He would sit in his bathroom sweating, crying and begging a higher force, a higher being to end his torment, despite never being a religious man, only for his phone to ring demanding his presence because of a new case and for him to fall back to his old routine.

It was a tough journey and he wanted to talk with his friends about that, he needed their help, yet they ignored his problem as if it didn't exist, even though the signs were clear. He was always lashing out, having terrible mood swings and when they tried to confort him about it he lashed out. He had met an old friend of his and he had been the only one he had been brutally honest about his … condition. Gideon knew, his mentor knew, he had the confirmation, yet he turned a blind eye to the situation. Everyone did, except from her.

Everyday she would bring him his extra sweet coffee filled to the brim with stevia and not sugar, because sugar was just as addictive. When he craved, he played with his fingers, tried to distract himself but to no avail, a long strip of hard licorice sweets would appear in front of his face, after research be learned that the flavourful of licorice was extremely distinctive and strong and its hard texture led a person to chew endlessly at just one piece. It was the best food to consume to distract yourself. Every night after a case she would show up at his place with Greek takeout, which was apparently the best cousine, and demand longtime marathons of a show or series of movies, which wasn't something unusual for the two of them. She visited him because she knew that he would never use in her vicinity. He had never known true love until that moment and he recalled a quote by Jane Austin.

To be loved is to be known.

words: 3.007

[justaboot]

sorry took a nap

OKAY I've always lost my mind a bit at New Gods on the Block, but I could never put my finger exactly on what it was. Specifically this scene.

First off, visually it's BRILLIANTLY laid out and dynamic, and I think that's a huge part of it, because it physicalizes the entire episode thesis.

It's about power dynamics.

We've talked about this before, but the kids have put Scrooge up on this towering pedestal. Della, who's been in their shoes before, spends the whole episode trying to get them to kick that image, because it's stupid, not healthy, whatever. But the point is, I think what's so intriguing about the adults in this episode is that they're ADULTS. Scrooge and Della have kicked the parent-kid dynamic for this one, the dust has settled, and they're on equal footing.

The episode lays that out as soon as they get home from their failed adventure. The kids are having their life crisis, we're worms, etc, and they have Della come in and de-mystify the scenario immediately. It's low stakes. Don't worry about it, look, here's the formula, it's happened before, it'll happen again.

So suddenly, she's coming in confidently and easily on the same plane as Scrooge. This is what happens, whatever. They're partners, she's not subservient or looking up to him. She spends the whole episode treating him like a peer, the adults and the kids, and she's pissed at him like a peer, so that when THIS scene comes around, you've got a great setup for a visual struggle, too.

There's all this discussion about an effective team, who's worthy, whatever, and the kids fall behind, and Della and Scrooge jump in. After all this talk about teamwork, a huge visual point is made about Scrooge and Della having silent, effective communication and team work, and I think the most important part is that Della goes first.

This whole episode is a conversation about power dynamics, and Scrooge being this god-king, and Della pulls him up.

Now, you've got a fight scene happening in a fight scene, while their primary activity is climbing. Again, everything in this episode has been about team work, and this climb is old-hat enough for them together to weave in and out and still have it out, and the timing is EVERYTHING.

Scrooge is critical of what they're doing, where are those kids, why aren't they helping, etc, and he's been placed higher than Della. Suddenly, though, when she turns it around on him:

She climbs above him. They talked in the artbook about how she used to be in the kids' shoes and knows what it's like to hinge her worth on his opinion, and now, she's knocking HIM down a peg.

Suddenly SHE'S in the position of power, where she's put herself, (and he's let her, long way from don't raise your voice at me) because pre-series, they (and Donald) were a team. That's the point that he has to take a look outside of himself and see that the kids aren't on the same page. He's thought of them as a team, but didn't vocalize it, didn't treat them fairly, etc, and the kids heard and that had consequences. He literally doesn't hear them, he's not listening, and it takes a smackdown from someone who's decided she's on the same plane to get through to him.

It's one of the few times Della's one of the adults and not one of the kids, and it's really brilliantly executed. It adds a lot of dynamic, and the implied history and experience together adds a really dynamic layer. She used to be Thee adventure team, and that's still true. Idk the silent teamwork got me.

Anyway, this episode is my fav and a lot more thought was put into this than it looks, thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[iheartchv]

Sunny Day Jack x Reader:

I Never Forgot

What if you were one of the few people who remembered vividly about Sunny Day Jack... even after the whole show seemed to have been forgotten?

☀️Rating: Fluffy

🌈 Part 2 | 🌈 Part 3

❤💛💙❤💛💙❤💛💙❤💛💙❤💛💙❤

As a child growing up, you watched The SunnyTime Crew Show. You were 3 or 4 years old then, and you would watch every episode whenever they came out. Sure, there were plenty of interesting characters, but one that stood out to you was Sunny Day Jack. The blue haired clown was your favorite, the best friend you always wanted, and you wanted to meet him in person. At the time, money was tight, so that was one crushed childhood dream. The other was when there were no more episodes of The SunnyTime Crew Show being released. You had asked but no answers were given. You cried that one night (a few days after the incident); you felt like you had lost a best friend, and all the drawings and paintings you did hurt your little heart that you put them away in a box of memories. Jack was gone, but not forgotten...

❤💛💙❤💛💙❤💛💙❤💛💙❤💛💙

❤💛💙PRESENT DAY ❤💛💙

You're now at a threft shop, looking for clothes that wouldn't remind you of your ex, Ian. As you picked up some random stuff that fell over, you didn't notice a VCR tape that fell in your basket. As you were checking out, you were about to object to buying it, but decided that it wasn't worth 25 cents over. What could've been on the tape?On it was written '84- Incident'. Bells went off in your head seeing the year... A memory or something was trying to resurface... Borrowing a VCR player, you popped in the tape.

The static on the TV continued for a moment until you heard... a voice... saying,"Hello?" Bells went off in your head again as you stared at the static screen. That voice... it sounded familiar. Just then a shape formed through the jagged lines of the TV screen. It looked... human... And it was coming closer.

"Who... are you?" The voice said. Your heart started to beat faster. You felt like you were in a horror movie. You wanted to back up and run away, but you were frozen with fear. Your chest tightened as your flight or fight response kicked in. "You seem nice... Do you want to be my friend?"

The figure then... came through the screen as if it was climbing through a window. You wanted to scream but it was stuck in your throat. You choked on it. The figure then stood... they were tall. The scream then finally made its way out of your lungs as you bumped into the coffee table.

"Oh, gosh. Are you okay? I didn't mean to scare you, Sunspot." the figure said in a concerned tone.

Sunspot? You remembered... him always calling you Sunspot... As your eyes adjusted to the dimness of your living room, you could see that he (you assumed) had... blue hair? You also caught glimpses of his primary colored clothes... A memory was triggered. Everything was put together like a puzzle. No... this couldn't be?

"Jack... Sunny Day Jack?"

"You... know me?" He looked surprised.

"Yeah... I used to watch your show all the time as a kid. But... how... why...?" You had so many questions that you wanted answered. You were a ball of wound up emotions right now. You didn't know what to feel right now.

Jack cleared his throat, trying to change the subject to something simpler. "I'm sorry for bring rude, but I didn't get your name..." he said with a small chuckle and a smile.

"It's... y/n."

"Y/n. That's a nice name. Do you want to be my new best friend, Sunspot?"

He reached his hand out toward you for a handshake. At this moment, you strangely felt like a kid again. You were meeting Sunny Day Jack... in person (or the closest thing, at least). His cheery voice drew you in, like it did those many years ago. You took his hand in a firm handshake. "Sure." That was the last thing you remember before blacking out.

Been working on this idea for a couple of days, and I plan on writing a few more parts to this c: I also don't know if anything like this has already been written, but here it is nonetheless. I really hope you all in the SDJ fandom enjoys~☁️🌈☀️

[hookhausenschips]

Episode 7: Last Call

Main Menu

Summary: In the vibrant glow of the Singapore Grand Prix night, Y/N navigates the thrill of the race while grappling with the bittersweet reality of her fleeting time with the F1 drivers she’s grown close to. As the night culminates in victory for Carlos and Lando, Y/N's emotional farewell turns into a promise of connection, leaving her with lingering hopes for what might lie ahead beyond the track.

WC: 3.5k

Warnings: Emotional Intensity, Romantic Tension, Party Atmosphere, Anxiety, Implied Competition

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

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The light of the Marina Bay circuit flickered against the darkening sky, casting an ethereal glow across the track. The Singapore Grand Prix was always a spectacle, but there was something particularly magical about night races—the way the cars glistened under the artificial lights, the intensity of the crowd heightened by the darkness. It was race day, and my nerves were on edge, though not for the reasons they used to be.

I found myself in the McLaren garage once again, the hum of activity surrounding me as the crew buzzed with last-minute preparations. The energy was electric, but there was a noticeable absence in the form of the boys who had become so intertwined in my days here. Carlos, Lando, Charles, Max, and Oscar—each of them tied up with their own team duties, obligations keeping them from their usual playful appearances at the gates. 

I couldn’t help but miss their presence, the way they’d always show up to tease me or offer a smile before the chaos of the race unfolded. But I understood. Today wasn’t just any race; it was crucial for all of them. The championship was tightening, and every point mattered. They had bigger things to focus on, and I had to remind myself that, as much as I had become a part of their world, this was still their primary focus. 

I lingered in the garage as the minutes ticked down. Lando and Oscar were both starting from different ends of the grid, Lando with a strong shot at the podium, Oscar fighting his way up from the back. My thoughts drifted to the others—Carlos, Charles, and Max, each with their own battles to face tonight. 

The race itself felt like a blur, the sound of engines roaring, tires screeching, and the sheer speed at which everything happened making it almost hard to follow. But I kept my eyes locked on the screens, watching every turn, every pit stop, every overtake. 

Carlos was in his element, smoothly maneuvering his way to the front, and by the time the race hit the halfway mark, it was clear that he had victory in his sights. Lando was right behind him, pushing relentlessly for second, while Charles and Max were locked in their own battle for positions, fighting for every inch of track. Oscar, meanwhile, was making up ground, slowly but surely climbing his way through the field. 

As the checkered flag waved, signaling the end of the race, a rush of emotions surged through me. Carlos had won, and not only that, but Lando had secured second place, a massive achievement for McLaren. Charles finished in fourth, Max in fifth, and Oscar came through in seventh—a respectable finish, considering where he had started. 

The McLaren garage erupted in celebration, the crew rushing to the barrier to cheer on their drivers. I followed suit, finding myself swept up in the euphoria of the moment. Lando pulled up in his car, the grin on his face lighting up the night as the team congratulated him. Then Oscar appeared, clearly exhausted but beaming with pride.  

I made my way to Oscar first, pulling him into a tight hug. "You were amazing out there," I said, my voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. 

Oscar smiled, though his face flushed slightly from the praise. “Thanks, Y/N. I needed that push.” 

We stood by the barrier as the post-race interviews commenced, watching as Carlos and Lando made their way to the podium, joined by none other than Lewis Hamilton. I couldn’t help but feel proud as I watched Carlos climb onto the top step, the Spanish flag draped over his shoulders as he held the winner’s trophy high. Lando stood next to him, grinning like a madman, soaking in the moment.  

After the champagne was sprayed and the celebrations died down, I found myself lingering in the McLaren garage, waiting for the boys to return from their media obligations. The post-race rush was exhilarating, but it also gave me time to reflect on everything that had happened over the past few days. I had met these drivers by chance, stumbled into their world, and somehow, they had become more than just passing acquaintances. But now, with the race over and my time in Singapore coming to an end, I couldn’t shake the bittersweet feeling that was creeping in. 

I was still deep in thought when Zara appeared, her eyes sparkling as she approached me. 

“There you are,” she said, pulling me into a hug. “I’ve been looking for you. Congrats on surviving your first wild race weekend.” 

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Barely. It’s been a whirlwind.” 

Zara studied me for a moment, her expression softening. “What’s going on? You seem...off.” 

I hesitated, not wanting to admit what was really bothering me, but I couldn’t keep it in. “I don’t know. I guess...I’m just realizing that this is all going to end soon. The race is over, and once the weekend’s done, I go back to my world, and they go back to theirs. I’m not sure how any of this is supposed to play out.” 

Zara gave me a knowing look. “You’re worried they’re going to forget about you.” 

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah. I mean, they’re F1 drivers. They have a million things going on. I’m just some random girl from the street racing scene.” 

Zara shook her head. “Y/N, they’re not going to forget you. You’ve made an impression, trust me. They wouldn’t have spent so much time with you if they didn’t care.” 

I smiled, though the weight in my chest remained. “I hope you’re right.” 

As we stood there talking, the boys slowly began trickling back into the garage. Carlos was the first to return, his grin still plastered on his face as he sauntered over to us. 

“Well, if it isn’t my lucky charm,” he teased, pulling me into a quick hug. “Guess your kiss worked after all.” 

I laughed, trying to push away the lingering sadness. “I told you. Smooth operator, right?” 

Carlos winked. “Always.” 

Lando followed shortly after, still buzzing from his second-place finish. “Not bad for a number two driver, huh?” he said, nudging me playfully. 

“Not bad at all,” I replied with a grin. “But next time, I expect you to beat Carlos.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Lando laughed. 

As the boys continued their post-race duties, I stood back, watching them with a mix of pride and something deeper, something I couldn’t quite place. The night was winding down, but I wasn’t ready to leave just yet. 

That’s when I realized it wasn’t just the race that had kept me here. It was them—the bonds I had formed, the unexpected connections that had somehow become so important. But as much as I wanted to stay, I knew I couldn’t. 

The night sky was still thick with the energy of the race as I made my way through the paddock, slipping away from the celebratory buzz that lingered in the air. Carlos had just won the Singapore Grand Prix, and McLaren had put in an incredible showing, but my mind was elsewhere. I wanted to savor the last bits of this whirlwind weekend, but the weight of knowing it was all about to end made everything feel heavier. 

The glow of the lights reflecting off the track faded behind me as I headed towards the exit. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw a text from an unknown number. My heart skipped a beat. 

Unknown: 

Did you really leave without saying goodbye? 😏 

I stared at the screen for a moment, already knowing who it was. Charles. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I typed a reply. 

Me: 

I figured you'd be too busy celebrating. Thought I’d slip out quietly. 😇 

A minute passed before another buzz came through. 

Charles: 

Celebrating isn't the same without you. Come to the club? We’re going to celebrate properly, and I want you there. 🍾 

I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the screen. Part of me wanted to turn in for the night, avoid making the goodbye harder than it already was. But another part, the reckless, fun-loving side of me, couldn’t resist the thought of one last night out with the boys. 

Me: 

Alright. Send me the address. I’ll be there. 😘 

As soon as I hit send, I felt the familiar flutter of excitement. It didn’t take long for Charles to reply with the details of the club they’d be heading to. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket and headed toward my hotel, my mind buzzing with anticipation. 

Back in my room, I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. The weekend had been a blur of emotions, excitement, and unexpected connections, and now it was all coming to a close. Tomorrow, I’d be heading home, back to my life far removed from the glitz and glamour of the F1 world. 

And the boys? They’d go back to their own lives, back to the track, back to the high-speed world I didn’t belong in. 

I sighed, pulling open my suitcase and rummaging through it until I found the perfect outfit. Something daring, something that made a statement. If I was going to show up tonight, I was going to do it right. 

Slipping into a black, figure-hugging dress with a high slit and pairing it with strappy heels, I took one last look in the mirror. My hair fell in soft curls down my back, and the bold red lipstick I’d chosen gave me the boost of confidence I needed. Seductive. Confident. Ready for whatever came next. 

I grabbed my clutch and headed out the door. 

--- 

As I made my way through the club, the atmosphere pulsed with energy. The bass was thumping, the lights were flashing, and the crowd was packed tight with people swaying to the music. I spotted their VIP section tucked away from the main dance floor, roped off and just enough removed from the chaos to allow them some privacy. Charles, Carlos, Max, Lando, and Oscar were all there, celebrating their night with drinks in hand, laughing and dancing together. The moment I stepped up, I caught Lando’s eye first. 

His jaw dropped, eyes wide in disbelief. “Whoa, hold up,” he blurted out, elbowing Carlos beside him, who turned to see what had stunned Lando. “Look who decided to show up.” 

Carlos’s reaction was just as priceless. His eyes raked over me, lips curling into a slow grin. “Y/N… wow.” He stepped closer, taking me in. “Didn’t expect to see you like this.” 

“Didn’t expect to see me like what?” I teased, raising an eyebrow as I gave them a little twirl, the black dress clinging to my curves perfectly. 

“I mean, I’m used to seeing you ready to take on a racetrack, not… looking like that,” Carlos said, his eyes filled with admiration. “And it’s definitely a good surprise.” 

“Yeah, you clean up well,” Max added with a smirk from where he was lounging, giving me a nod of approval. 

Charles finally turned his head, and the moment his eyes landed on me, his expression softened into something more appreciative. He stood up, walking over with his usual cool confidence but with something extra in his eyes. “You’re full of surprises tonight, aren’t you, Y/N?” he said, leaning in just a bit closer, his voice dipping lower. “You look incredible.” 

“Thanks, Charles,” I replied, feeling a flutter in my chest at the way he was looking at me. 

Oscar, standing a little off to the side, gave me a sheepish grin. “Yeah, they’re not wrong. You look amazing,” he added, his blush betraying the calm demeanor he usually tried to keep around me. 

“Alright, alright, I get it,” I laughed, shaking my head. “Stop acting so surprised.” 

“We’re not surprised, we’re just… appreciating,” Lando said with a cheeky grin, giving me an exaggerated once-over. “C’mon, don’t be shy.” 

I rolled my eyes playfully as Charles stepped in and called over the waitress. “Shots for everyone,” he said, raising his glass as the bottles appeared. “To Y/N. For blessing us with her presence.” 

“To Y/N!” the others chimed in, and we clinked glasses before knocking back the shots. The burn was instant, but it made the tension and nervous energy between us all that much more exciting. 

After a few more rounds, I started feeling the buzz and let myself relax fully into the moment. The boys were clearly celebrating in full force, and the flirty banter was starting to come out stronger. Lando sidled up to me with a mischievous look in his eyes, tipping his head toward the dance floor. “Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “You owe me a dance.” 

“You’re so persistent,” I teased, but I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing his hand and letting him pull me through the crowd. 

The music was pulsing as we hit the dance floor, and before I knew it, Lando had spun me around and pulled me in close, his hands resting on my hips as we started to move together. His body pressed against mine, and I could feel the heat between us rising with every beat of the music. I let myself go, leaning into the rhythm, the space between us all but disappearing as we danced. 

“Not bad for a racer,” I teased, glancing up at him with a smirk. 

“Not bad yourself,” he shot back, his lips curving into that signature cheeky grin. 

We danced like that for a while, bodies close, the tension simmering just under the surface, before I felt another hand on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw Carlos, who gave Lando a playful nudge. “Alright, mate, don’t hog her all to yourself,” he said, shooting me a wink. 

Lando let out a dramatic groan but stepped aside, letting Carlos take his place. Dancing with Carlos was different—he was more confident, more intentional with every move, his hands resting comfortably on my waist as we swayed together. He leaned down, his lips close to my ear, and whispered, “You know you’re driving us all crazy tonight, right?” 

I laughed, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “Am I?” 

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes smoldering. “Definitely.” 

After Carlos, Max took over, his grip firm but playful as we moved together. He wasn’t much of a dancer, but he made up for it with his charm, smirking down at me as we moved. “You really know how to work a room, don’t you?” he teased. 

“Maybe,” I replied, flashing him a smile. 

Charles wasn’t far behind, and soon enough, I found myself dancing with him too, his touch light but steady as he guided me through the music. “You’re something else, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. 

“You keep saying that,” I replied, locking eyes with him. 

“Because it’s true,” he said, his gaze lingering on mine a little longer than usual. 

Before long, I was back in the VIP section with all of them, the drinks flowing, the music loud, and the energy electric. We laughed, danced, and flirted the night away, the tension between us palpable but fun. I was having an amazing time, letting myself get lost in the moment with them. For a few hours, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered except the music, the drinks, and the company. 

The club was packed. The bass reverberated through the floor, making it feel like the walls were pulsing with the music. Neon lights flickered and flashed across the dance floor, casting an electric glow over everything. The air was thick with heat, sweat, and the scent of alcohol as people moved in a mass of rhythm and energy, lost in the music and each other. I had just left the dance floor after spending most of the night moving between the boys, who were still in their VIP section—laughing, drinking, and toasting their wins and near wins from the race. 

The VIP area was roped off, elevated slightly, with plush leather couches surrounding low tables stacked with bottles of expensive champagne and liquor. The lighting was dim, but the flashes of neon and strobe lights occasionally caught on the glasses, creating a surreal atmosphere that felt like it was suspended in time. Each of the guys had fully let loose by now, their usual sharp and composed exteriors softening under the influence of the night. 

I had tried to make my exit quietly, feeling the buzz of the night still thrumming through me, but not wanting to linger too long. I needed air, needed to clear my head before tomorrow—the flight back home, leaving all of this behind.  

As I made my way out of the section, Charles spotted me first. 

“You’re not leaving already, are you?” he asked, stepping in front of me with that familiar teasing smile. His voice was a little rough from all the shouting over the music. 

I smiled back at him, even though part of me didn’t want to go. “Yeah, I should probably call it a night,” I replied. "It’s late, and I still need to pack." 

Charles stepped closer, his gaze locking on mine, his voice dropping lower so only I could hear. “I can’t let you go without saying goodbye properly.” 

I laughed softly. “This is me saying goodbye, Charles.” 

He looked disappointed but grinned anyway. “Fine, but I expect a better one next time.” 

I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, just a brush of my lips against his skin. “Goodbye, Charles.” 

His hand lingered on my arm, his eyes following me as I stepped back. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said, still smiling but with something more serious behind his eyes.  

I turned to leave, only to run into Max. 

“Whoa, where are you going?” Max’s smile was a little tipsy, his eyes wide with surprise as he blocked my path. 

“Heading out,” I said with a grin, trying to brush it off like it was no big deal, but his expression turned more serious. 

“You can’t leave without at least a hug,” he said, stepping closer. 

I rolled my eyes but smiled, indulging him. “Alright, fine.” I wrapped my arms around him briefly, feeling the warmth of his body before pulling back. “There. Happy?” 

“Not really, but I’ll let it slide this time,” Max joked, giving me a playful wink. “See you soon, Y/N.” 

I waved and finally slipped out of their section, my heart a little heavier than I expected as I made my way through the club. The music still pounded, and the dance floor was as wild as ever, but I felt a strange sense of separation from it now, like I was already halfway out the door in my mind. 

Once outside, the night air hit me like a wave, cool and refreshing. The neon lights of the city glowed around me, and I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head. The streets were quieter out here, but the sound of the club's music still throbbed in the distance, a reminder of the world I’d just left behind. 

As I started walking back to my hotel, my phone buzzed in my hand. I glanced down at the screen and saw a message from Oscar. 

Oscar: 

You really left without saying goodbye? 🤨 

I smiled to myself, shaking my head as I typed a response.  

Me: 

Tried to, but I only managed to say goodbye to Charles and Max. 😬 

His reply came almost immediately.  

Oscar: 

What about me? I thought I was your favorite Papaya boy? 😏 

I laughed quietly at the text, feeling the playful warmth of his words.  

Me: 

You’re all my favorite, Oscar. Don’t make me choose. 🤭 

Oscar: 

Well, I’ll take that as a win. 😎 

Me: 

What are you still doing up? 😴 

I typed, glancing at the time. It was late, nearly 4 a.m. now, and the exhaustion was starting to creep in. 

Oscar: 

Could ask you the same thing. 😜 You sure you don’t want to meet up before you leave? Maybe for breakfast? 🥞 

I paused, the thought of seeing him again before heading home tugging at something inside me. There was something sweet about Oscar—his quiet confidence and the way he had been watching me all night, like he wanted to say something but never quite did. 

Me: 

You’re persistent, Piastri. 🤨 

Oscar: 

Only when it matters. 😏 So? Breakfast? 

Me: 

Fine. 😒 But it better be good coffee. ☕ 

Oscar: 

Deal. 😁 

His reply came with a selfie, his boyish grin lighting up the screen. 

I shook my head, a soft smile playing on my lips as I pocketed my phone. The night felt a little lighter now, and despite the ache in my feet and the exhaustion tugging at my body, I wasn’t quite ready to call it quits just yet. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and with it, the goodbyes I wasn’t sure I was ready to face. But for now, I had one more goodbye left, and I wasn’t going to let it slip away. 

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[kobbers]

I continue to love Dwarf Fortress' ability to tell you a story, if you're paying attention.

My current fortress is my first time back in DF in a good 5+ years, and obviously first fort in the shiny new Steam version. I've been a little impulsively reckless because I tried out the tutorial, which autopicks your starting location and supplies. I breached the caverns, had some Fun sending squads after forgotten beasts a little above their level, and after an ettin dropped an adamantine slab on death, that winter's goblin raid spiked to ~100 strong. Most of my soldiers were wiped out stopping the wave of goblins who'd managed to climb over my half-roofed-pasture walls, but the fortress endured.

We've been bunkered in pretty safely ever since, while I try to rebuild my military. The exterior has been secured and meatier defenses have been installed, and the caverns have been walled off while grotesque procedurally-generated monsters roam around down there and tear up all the native serpent-people and troglodytes. I'm not exploiting any mechanics to train my soldiers more quickly (yet), so day-to-day fortress management has settled into a largely hands-off routine.

Except for one very unhappy dwarf, one of my tavern keepers, who began appearing in the logs having mental breakdowns (stumbling around obliviously). These finally escalated to a full tantrum, where he started fistfighting everyone in sight until he'd burned off enough anger to calm down. The disorderly conduct landed him in jail - he served his time, but lost his cool again soon after. This time, he fatally paralyzed a fellow citizen in the brawl.

Back to jail he went. Desperate to try and manage his mood before his mental health reached irreversible lows, I sent dwarves to smooth and engrave his prison cell (dwarves appreciate art!), and build him a bed (to avoid negative thoughts about sleeping on the floor). Unfortunately he threw another tantrum while this work was going on, and killed another dwarf who was just trying to draw pretty pictures on his wall. (Interestingly, this all still counts as "disorderly conduct" and not murder to the justice system, probably because his intent was only to punch people. It just so happened that he punched them in the spine, and injured the nerves that allowed their lungs to function.)

I looked at the unmet needs in his profile. What could I do to help resolve some of the things that were making him unhappy, to help pull him out of the emotional pit he was in? A too-long unfulfilled need to be with family caught my eye. Sometimes you can't do much about this, because the dwarf left their family behind to emigrate to the fortress, but when I checked his relationships I saw his two children were babies. Probably in the fortress, then! Where?

When I zoomed to the location of one of his children, it took my cursor to an empty tile in the caverns, and I had a full-on flashback, suddenly realizing who this man was.

Forgotten beast, four years ago. A giant three-eyed spider invaded the caverns. I sent our primary squad of nearly-legendary fighters to engage, but there was a problem. It was sheltering up in the mushroom trees, spitting from range, and most of our troops used melee weapons. The captain of the guard threw herself into battle regardless, climbing into the mushroom tree and braving the beast's globs of deadly spittle. During the fight, the creature ripped one of the newborn twins she was carrying away from her (dwarven mothers, istg), and threw it out of the tree to the cavern floor. Then it did the same with the other twin. It followed them down and easily stomped them to death, and the captain flew into a rage. Their duel was sadly brief, but unlike so many fights where the loser passes out from pain/exhaustion and gets coup de grâce'd, she stayed on her feet and fought to her last breath. Her squad was able to finish the kill after she perished.

This was why our troublemaker was having such a hard time. I'd built a fancy tomb for my badass captain and the babies who fell in battle back when it happened, and this tavern keeper was the husband left behind. As goblins seiged the fortress and his pining for family only intensified over time, he'd finally reached his limit and could no longer hold it together.

I went back to trying to fix him, with the understanding that it was probably a lost cause. Maybe making sure he could have booze in jail instead of water would help? I waited for his next tantrum, where he helplessly canceled tasks to fight people because he was chained firmly to the prison wall. Then once he calmed, I swooped in and made a stockpile for alcohol that he could reach. Now to wait for someone to bri-- wait, what are those combat logs? There's no new tantrum ongoing, what...?

Turned out he'd earned a beating in addition to his prison sentence this time, and a fortress guard had finally come by to deliver it. The guard was armed, but as this was just a disciplinary beating, she only used her fists. Unfortunately she was still too strong, and it was the tavern keeper's turn to get a badly bruised spinal cord. I deflated a bit as I watched him suffocate, but couldn't help but feel it was a little bittersweet. He was no longer left behind.

[wifey-ohara]

Hobie Brown & Younger Sibling!Reader

Thought of these while washing the dishes

Gen: some angst/fluff

A/n: idk if he he ran away or got kicked out, so i did both, and i made the spider bite hurtful asf (i did sreach for both but i didnt get clear answers)

💙You two have the same mother, just different father.

🩵you're 2-3 years younger than him.

💙calls you, kid/lil'one/trouble that sort of thing.

🩵both cried over math homework together, now he just burns them over the stove.

💙bad family, so you two both kinda teamed up to protect one another.

🩵School was a game for both of you, if you had one big school from elementry/primary to high school, he would definitely flunk off, come to your class, stand at the door and calls for you saying stuff like "this is useless, n' y'know it get ova'ere" till the teacher closes the door.

💙If each school level is separate, he'd also flunk off comes to your school under your class's window and either have boards in which he writes the most random thing as you try not to laugh, or he'll yell the same sentences from above.

🩵if he ran away, he would come to you and tell you his plan, how much he loves you, and he'll try to keep on touch with you and meet you from time to time.

💙you refused to let him go, he was your brother, your best friend, your everything, so you decided to go with him.

🩵he tried to get you to stay, but then again he didn't have room to argue about it seeing that he's running as well.

💙if he got kicked out, you'd cause hectic in the house and leave.

🩵when you find him, he's shocked, also tries to get to return back home, he's more persistent this time, but you tell him it's home without you in it, to which he tears up, try to hide it bc obviously, and give you a tight hug, which you return.

💙he has his guitar, you have your beautiful voice.

🩵you often feature in his concerts.

💙once you sang "brother" by to him in a concert, and he almost cried right then and there (i wanna write a fic/drabble about it).

🩵you droped out of high school and started doing jobs, same for him.

💙and then the spider bit him.

🩵you weren't there when it happened, but you arrived shortly after.

💙you just held him to your chest as he screamed, cried and kicked from the pain of the bite, arms tight around himself (brabble-able).

🩵you sang him to sleep that night and a few nights after.

💙he was so scared that he'd hurt you and tried to push you away and even go back home, so lots of comfort.

🩵And then when he started fighting crime, he used the custom you drew him.

💙you help sometimes, he'll let you climb his back as he swings around, beating up bitches left and right.

🩵He bought you a double blade backpack.

💙so now he has his axe and you have your blades.

🩵he cusses and swears alot, you don't, and you actually lecture and scold him about it.

💙when the spider society tried to get him to join them, he refused to go anywhere without you, and threatened and attacked many spider people whenever they mentioned leaving you behind.

🩵miguel deemed you useful as you two usually work together and accepted hobie's condition of bringing you along.

💙turned out you were tech-smart and you helped alot around miguel's lab.

🩵you made adjustments to make you more useful to hobie on missions, to for hobie too.

💙you're now the tech-hero.

🩵tech-hero and spider-punk? Un-beatable!

💙you two are very, very close.

🩵your rooms are a wall apart, and contacted by the bathroom.

💙in-home concerts are almost a daily thing now.

🩵you two communicate your feelings alot by music.

💙once he wrote a song for you and one of lines were "i swear I'd die for you, little one" and you ignored him the whole day.

🩵when asked what's up, you broke down crying saying that you wouldn't want him to die, especially for you.

💙it became "i swore I'd live for you and i will".

🩵that became your reassuring phase.

💙as in physical reassuring, an arm over the other's shoulder + two squeezes means "I'm here for you", putting your hand over his + a squeeze means "back at you".

🩵then miles showed up..

💙you of course were on your brother's side, using your tech to help miles.

🩵you learnt, healing amd medical stuff just in case your brother got hurt.

💙after all of that, and rejoining the spider society, your lives returned to a normal rhythm,, somewhat, as normal as to hero siblings could get it to normal.

🩵you and hobie became friends with the other teens.

💙you'd have sleepovers with them, where you and hobie sing for them.

🩵you two annoy miguel to no end by pulling pranks.

💙hobie scares anyone that tries flirting or get with you, it pisses you off.

💙but if it's unwanted, he will hurt them.

🩵if anyone touches you, he'd cut their arm off.

💙you tease him about his love life, but if you sense the tiniest bit of a red flag from them, you'd take him to the side and tell him.

🩵he'll leave that person the moment he returns.

💙If your hair is long enough braids/locs/dreads all the time.

🩵if not then he'll play with your hair till you sleep, in return you'd sing him to sleep.

💙show binge nights all the time.

🩵happy life all around now:)).

A/N2: this turned out longer than expected! But i love it<33,Imma start writing either miguel&teen!Reader Angst hcs or ben&child!Reader angst fluff hcs

[bubble-popping]

day 22! more cryptid dream au since some people seem to like it so much :>

When Technoblade set out to better his life and put his violent ways behind him, this was not what he had in mind.

Just a week into his new arrangement, the Farlander had gone from occasional night visits to living under his roof 24/7. When he woke up, the giant glorified cat was sprawled out, long limbs haphazardly this way and that, leaving Techno with maybe a quarter of the king-sized bed--and he just knew he did it on purpose. Every meal, Floof (Chat's idea for his name, their only good one ever) sat like a person at the table and used his claws to feed himself in the most disgusting ways Techno had ever seen--and again, he KNEW he did it on purpose. Finally, when night fell and Techno retired to bed, he'd find Floof already curled up on his side, pretending to be asleep, waiting for the second Techno laid down to smother him in warmth and fluff.

Okay, so while he didn't expect this, he also had to admit he didn't hate it.

Sometimes, and he'd never say it out loud lest the creature get an overblown ego to boot, Floof was actually enjoyable company. Especially on those freezing cold nights when no amount of layers and blankets was enough to fight the Arctic air, Floof somehow seemed warmer than usual, practically radiating heat as he wrapped his spindly arms and legs and tail around him.

Mundane tasks became little games because the Farlander required constant attention, otherwise Techno would never get anything done with how he whined and climbed over him like a needy cat. Collecting firewood turned into seeing how far and quick Floof could teleport when Techno threw a stick, maybe Techno's favorite game as a very biased dog person. His reading time was now 'trying fruitlessly to teach Floof to speak English' time, but to be fair Floof had made a little progress. (Every time he tried to warble out "Techno," the pinkette could feel his chest explode from an inability to handle the sheer overload of cuteness.) Cooking stayed relatively the same, although Floof did like to add in the chopped vegetables and stir the pot when making soup.

All the things Techno normally did alone, things that had once been nuisances to him, suddenly were fun and entertaining. The days stopped dragging on. No longer did he need to constantly occupy himself just so the cacophonous urging by the voices didn't overwhelm him. Don't get him wrong, he liked the solitude he had before, but Floof brought life everywhere he went. His unending curiosity with the world always got a chuckle out of him; how he'd try to capture butterflies and marvel at the tenacity of Arctic plant life.

Without Techno even realizing, Floof had carved a very special place in his heart. (Not to mention Chat absolutely adored him and became the most manageable they've been in years.) And it made him yearn to learn so much more.

He started traveling to the most distant villages in search of libraries that housed books on Farlanders, pestering Ranboo any time he was free for more information--which was the actual worst, because of course the guy with memory problems would be his only primary source, Techno wasn't even surprised by the irony at this point. This was also why he initially bothered to teach Floof English. Who else could possibly know more than the creature himself?

More than anything, Techno pondered on Floof's very strange sentience. He had more intelligence than even villagers--and certainly more than any enderman--a trait only seen in Players, which led to a somewhat scary line of thinking.

Could Floof actually be a Player? He could craft, he understood potion recipes, he even seemed to have an inventory. Unless, Farlanders were just built different like that? Ugh, this was why he needed to know more!

Apparently, Techno had gotten rather poor at hiding his frustration as without warning Floof nudged his chin with his nose and nuzzled into his neck, whining in that garbled endermen accent he had. Techno couldn't help but melt and chuckle, the voices singing with 'aww's.

"I'm alright, Floof. Just stuck on this one part of the book is all," he lied, gesturing to the open book in his lap. Floof sat up and leaned over him to get a better look, as if he could possibly understand it better, but the sentiment was there.

Floof appeared to think about something before he pointed to the page and then wiggled his fingers in front of his mouth. In the absence of words, Techno had taught him a few phrases in sign language for exactly things like this. A simple gesture of "read aloud" before he plopped back down, head in Techno's lap and long body sprawled over the rest of the couch.

And since he had nothing else to do what with his brain starting to hurt thinking about all the abnormalities surrounding the Farlander--and Chat breaking down over how endlessly endearing Floof was--Techno did. He read the paragraphs and passages with one hand rubbing the longer fluff on Floof's head, paying special attention to his sensitive ears and enjoying the quiet rumbling emanating from his chest.

[lioma-gaming]

Noctis: "What're you doing here? Didn't you say you had no interest climbing down 'this filthy hole'?" Ardyn: "Oh, I did and I still do. But then where would you be without my guidance? I suppose someone will have to drag your sorry remains back to the surface when things turn sour, and from what I've seen, you are entirely incapable of staying out of trouble." Gladio: *smirks* "Will you look at that. He cares." Ignis: "Hardly. I suspect it's rather his personal investment in our endeavour that he worries about." Ardyn: "Your Royal advisor's observation is as astute as always. But then again, does it truly matter why I've come to help you?" Noctis: "Yea. Yea it does." Gladio: "A lot."

So, I tried bringing Ardyn with me into the Crestholm Channels dungeon, which didn't work at first, I guess because he doesn't have an animation for climbing ladders. But, once I've walked far enough away from the entrance, he just shadowstepped teleported after Noctis & Co.

Learned a couple of things about this supposedly broken party member:

Ardyn can take damage, but won't enter Danger state or drop dead. HP and Max HP recover at a normal pace.

It's not possible to use items on him, as he doesn't pop up in the selection.

He uses different walking animations when exploring a dungeon, just like the Chocobros. Also wears a more tense look.

It's possible to equip swords in Ardyn's primary and secondary weapon slot, but he can't use them or attack in general. He does, however, rush at enemies from time to time so his battle AI might not be entirely broken. Would love to have given him the Mutant Rakshasa Blade, but since it's a great sword, it's not part of the "sword" selection.

He ended up getting stuck on the ledge when I dropped down to fight the Nagarani (which is a pity, because I have yet to find out if he can suffer status ailments) and I chose to teleport out of the dungeon because frankly, I've gotten lost way too many times in Crestholm Channels in my previous playthroughs.

Will try the Bavlouve Mines with him, though!

Also, love Prompto's dungeon commentary. <3

[robinsdearest]

Play Nice on the Ice

Jason Todd x Reader

Jason Todd had always been a fighter. Through and through, birth to death to rebirth- he never stopped fighting. It was in his blood, his very being, down to the bones that kept him upright. Or the bones that kept him squatting here.

Jason dropped his knee to the ice to catch the hockey puck from flying into the goal. The arena erupted into cheers and applause before quickly quieting down. The other players stopped the play and skated back to their positions. Jason stood, threw the puck to the referee, and finally let a breath loose. His annoyance climbed slowly. It started during the pre-game debrief, yet his bones seemed to weigh heavier with it as the periods carried on. He was restless for action, which made no sense considering ice hockey was considered to be one of the most physically demanding and extensive sports. He guessed he just did not like being the goalie.

It was your idea to get into ice hockey. You read one or two books about hockey romances and basically begged Jason to give it a try. He relented after reading a few chapters of the books himself. You made it easy for him and found a good place to start. This small recreational league created a competitive atmosphere for men of all ages to play: mostly former convicts and drug addicts, or just people from Gotham who needed an outlet or needed to spend community team doing something productive. Hitting other men against a plexiglass screen, skating on blades of steel on an ice rink was surely productive one way or the other. The team Jason joined was no different. At their first meeting, he explained he was simply working through anger issues, a sentiment easily shared amongst his new teammates. The big, bad, bat even agreed with the decision with a fervor Jason could have only described as giddy. An outlet for violence, a redirection of anger, maybe someone could knock some sense into him, good exercise, and a few other points that Bruce had listed while writing a check to cover the whole teams’ expenses under a Wayne Enterprise’s donation. The coach had cried for hours when he brought the check during the next practice. It was a sweet gesture.

Jason propped up his goalie mask and squirted some water into his mouth from the bottle on top of the net. The water was cold compared to the heat from the gear and his sweat, the ice barely cooling him down. He placed the bottle back on the net before surveying the ice rink once again. The audience cheered and screamed, many fans hitting the glass with their fists or palms. Most of his teammates skidded into position while one guy in particular stayed glued to someone from the opposing team. From Jason’s team, the man was tonight’s left defender, a primary enforcer. Jason’s frown deepened.

Due to the small nature of the league, players were encouraged to try all the positions: center, left and right wing, left and right defense, and goalie. Goalie was apparently the easiest to learn for newbies, but Jason’s favorite turned out to be either of the defensive positions. Body checking in hockey gear was the same, if not more fun than doing it to a Joker henchman in his tactical Red Hood gear. He could get away with most of his hits, as the referees gave a bit of wiggle room to play and didn’t penalize too often. And Jason argued that all of his hits were legal. You were always the first one to tell him otherwise. He had a few cheap shots. He liked to use his weight and size against some of the smaller men; it was easy to throw a few punches or check an opposing player with his massive body. The coach had basically salivated at the mere sight of Jason walking through the arena doors at the small recreational league orientation. You would be visibly angry, but Jason always liked to watch you squirm as you relayed the plays back to him. A glint in your eyes when talking about his strength. Some nights after a game got hot enough to melt away an entire rink of ice if Jason got you talking about it long enough. He’d have to find those romance authors and thank them for the additional ideas.

At the thought of you, he checked on your seat. You were standing up, soda can in one hand while the other beat against the glass. Tim was seated beside you, an indifferent look plastered on his smug little face. You always found a seat next to his team’s bench. The brainiac was your second favorite bird, so Jason tolerated him a little more often. He was a welcome companion for tonight’s game. You went to every single game. Your relationship with Jason budded years ago; the Red Hood collapsing on your fire escape kick-started the friendship that turned into something much more. Friendly punches and awkward conversations that blossomed into soft touching and lingering hands. Jason was grateful for you in many ways. You liked to watch him destress while playing. After the first few games, the two of you had discussed in depth how it truly was a good outlet of frustrations. All you asked from him during his hockey endeavors was that he try his best to keep all his teeth. You liked his smile, and the pearly whites were essential for his looks. Among other non-mentionables.

His previous fighting had landed him in this position tonight. A goalie wasn’t allowed to fight, and his team had been fined well enough to last a lifetime- no thanks to Jason and his cheap shots. Thank goodness Bruce had a few lifetimes worth of money.

Earlier at the debrief, the coach shoved the goalie gear into Jason’s hands. That’s where his annoyance started to bubble. “You get to play nice tonight. For once.” Coach had said.

Jason slammed his hockey stick against the ice impatiently. The left defender was still trash talking the opposing player. The defender was on parole for laundering money, a non-violent sort of guy.

Jason’s hockey career started a little over six months ago, and as it turned out, he was naturally built for this sport. His stature, his quick-thinking, and his training as Robin did wonders for a contact sport like this. Who would have thought that punching a few villains at night would equate to a premier international sport sensation. Jason’s Red Hood duties had been pushed to a minimum during that time, too. He spent more hours practicing on the ice than he did hunting down lowlifes from Gotham’s underbelly. Nightwing took over his jurisdiction, focusing heavily on the docks. Jason was able to provide Dick with a few pieces of information he had heard from his fellow teammates when he learned something worth mentioning.

There’s a commotion and a few whistles burst through the air. Roars erupted again from the audience. Across the rink, the left defender threw down his gloves to shove the opposing team member’s face into the ice. There were shouts and a few other fights broke out as the referees tried their hardest to break up the seven or eight men now at each other’s throats. With each swing, more and more fans stood from their seats to enjoy the chaos. Jason would have been content watching the mayhem from his corner of the world at the goal. Would have been. He would have been until his eyes caught an opposing jersey making its way to his team’s bench.

The guy was tall but lanky; a right wing from this Metropolis team that had no business going to Gotham’s bench. He looked to be older, but most of these guys were. Jason’s blood boiled at what the lanky kid did next. He slid next to the bench to you. At the angle from across the box, he had direct access to speak to you. Even from the distance, Jason could tell that the guy was attempting to flirt with you. You were too kind a soul- you were only nodding your head with a fake smile that the creep thought was genuine. Jason would have to teach Tim about scaring other men away from you in the future.

Jason slammed his hockey stick to the ground, banging it again and again demanding attention. The only one he grabbed was yours. In any other scenario, that would have been sufficient. Not now. Not when a stranger is taking advantage of the fighting chaos to flirt with a fan. A fan that was solely Jason’s. His person. His. Something greater than jealousy rumbled in his veins, propelling the man into action. He had been itching for a fight. It sucked that he was placed as a goalie instead of the left defense like he wanted.

Your eyes tracked Jason the entire time he skated across the ice. One of the referees attempted to grab Jason before another fight could break out, but he easily pushed the ref aside. The roar in his ears drowned out the echoes from the crowd around you.

“Hey!” He screamed. The guy ignored him. Creep had the audacity to reach for you to grab your attention. Jason was always a fighter. A lover too, but a fighter through and through. And now his time had come.

Jason skidded to a halt next to the lowlife, kicking up shaved ice into his face. The man spun on his skates to glare directly at him. Finally, Jason got his attention. He felt on fire: fueled and heated on his steel blades despite the frost beneath them. The man scowled at Jason, rolled his eyes, and held a hand up as if to placate the goalie. Jason didn’t give him time to explain. He threw a punch so quickly that even the Demon Brat would have been proud.  

Tim shot from his seat with whoops and hollers. “Kick his ass, Jason!” Tim screamed. You squawked in response. “No, no more ass kicking! Quit it! Goalies don’t fight, you idiot!” “This one does!” Tim yelled again, hitting the glass and punching the air with his fists.

Jason’s punches were met with some thrown by the other player. He could have played dirty, but Jason kept it clean and didn’t throw his entire weight behind each one. Until, that is, the player finally got a good hit right square on Jason’s chin that knocked his head back. His vision blurred for what felt like seconds too long. When his sight returned, so did a vengeance. Jason didn’t hold back his weight when he laid out the guy in two swift hooks. By this time, the entire arena was on their feet. The Gotham team was pulling Jason back by his jersey, now stained red with blood that belonged to multiple people. Jason’s screams matched and overlapped with players and fans. The Metropolis team pulled back their own player and retreated to their bench. The referees were speaking animatedly with both coaches. A team wide fight in a recreational league was unprecedented, and Jason was sure Bruce would be called about this. Perhaps another check would be written.  Consequences be damned. That was fun.

Jason was thrown unceremoniously on to the bench along with a water bottle and a towel. As he attempted to wash some of the blood out of his mouth, he caught you staring with that mischievous glint in your eyes. Despite how you felt about him fighting, your features were still lit with a smile as you watched him. Jason loved the feeling. Probably loved the feeling of your eyes on him more than he loved fighting. He definitely loved fighting for you. Jason mirrored your smile as he wiped the sweat, ice, and blood off his face. Your smile had dropped, a scowl slowly forming as the adoration transformed into something a little less happy. He frowned and went to lick his teeth in annoyance. His own smile dropped as his tongue ran along his teeth. Dammit. One of his front teeth was missing.

[irisintheafterglow]

assassin!sakusa au: the dagger games part 02 of 03. (part 1)

they did not, in fact, have a change of heart overnight.

as was tradition, the games began when both hands on the clock struck 12 midnight, and would last for eight hours or until one team was victorious. you stood beside daichi for the opening ceremony, all the crews gathered in a circle in the clocktower square lit by only the dim gas lamps. there were numerous familiar faces: your allies, the cats and the owls; the castles and barrel-shouldered ushijima; aone and the 'wall keepers' that dwelled in the perimeters of the city; boastful terushima who'd brought confetti poppers to the occasion. at midnight exactly, each crew threw down a smoke bomb and disappeared into the mist, whether to run and find high ground or nab easy points while everyone was disoriented.

"take the first-years and hide out at the top of the paper mill. we'll come get you once we've gathered a good amount of points," daichi instructed you the night prior, before kuroo arrived to give you information (or lack thereof) about sakusa's vial.

you assent wordlessly, carefully filling a thin cotton bag with a cup of thick black paint. the paint inside the bags would serve as a point per color. if your bag was sliced, the enemy's dagger would be stained that color. the number of colors on your blade at the end of the games would determine point values, and bonus points were awarded for the team who was the most elusive.

"what are kuroo and bokuto's plans?"

"no idea. we can't officially work with them, remember?"

"right. formal alliances are prohibited, but they'll never know we crossed each others' paths if we don't fight."

"exactly. just focus on getting the new guys out of the way, and then we'll take turns babysitting them." it was an unspoken tradition that the newbies of each crew were the first to be eliminated because they were the easiest points; they didn't have extensive knowledge of the city, and they were more likely to make mistakes in the excited atmosphere of the competition.

with kageyama, hinata, and yamaguchi following you out of the smoke, your instructions were to stash them somewhere safe before going out to hunt the veterans. the four of you silently climb the outside ladders of the abandoned paper mill and creep through an open window, locking it behind you with a loud CLICK!

"why are we up here, again?" hinata's whisper is barely hidden by the sound of the floorboards creaking beneath your boots.

"we need high ground," you reply patiently, ushering them into a moonlit corner with a window overlooking the streets below.

"but we don't have sniping weapons," the shortest newbie muses. "what's the point of being up so high?"

"from here, we're not looking to attack; we're looking to gather information. look there." you nod out the window toward the sidewalk just across the street, where you barely make out the shadows of two figures swiping at each other. "the dagger games are named for the assassin's primary weapon before firearms. they are the most primal way of killing, and we honor those before us by establishing hierarchy based on knife-fights alone." you watch the glint of the daggers in the lamplight, and briefly catch the paint color in the bags at their waists.

red and teal. a cat and a castle.

"do the foxes ever play the games?" yamaguchi's eyes stay on the fighters below, who keep swinging in a stalemate.

"they usually win," you inform him and his eyes widen. "kita and his right-hand twins have been the highest point earners for the past three games."

"aren't the games held bi-annually? a fall and a spring games?" kageyama asks and you nod in confirmation. "so they've won twice for each year?"

"yeah," you chuckle. "their whole crew are monsters." there's movement in the alleyway next to the two fighters, a figure slipping in the darkness to position behind the castle. during the brief pause for both to catch their breath, the intruder lunges with two quick stabs to the castle's paint bags. two shades of teal coat their dagger, double points for getting both bags. then, the figure disappears back into the alleyway.

"woah!"

"that was terrifyingly quick."

"at least that's one castle out of the games," kageyama smiles evilly. "oikawa and his stupid kingdom will fall."

"yeah, and you're not allowed to be part of it." a melodic, familiar voice echoes through the dusty space and the three boys jump, hinata yelping in surprise. you smile to yourself, knowing full and well that he'd been there for the past three minutes.

"any luck with early points?"

"a few of the party pack," sugawara replies as he steps into the moonlight. he holds up his dagger triumphantly, stained yellow and flecked with pieces of confetti. "they definitely weren't hard to find, by any means."

"did you take out all of them?"

"i tried, only got a few of the newbies." you pat his shoulder sympathetically and he shrugs.

"why would suga need to take out all of them?"

"points are based on the number of team colors, not necessarily number of members," you recall from memories of your first dagger games where you thought it was pointless to take out an entire team. "if you already got one member, it's best to finish off the others so no other team can get their dagger stained that color."

"but that's for your next games," sugawara reminds them. "for now, say bye and tell them 'happy hunting.'"

the boys nod in understanding, bid you 'happy hunting,' and you exchange roles with sugawara before leaping into the night to find your own marks.

part 03.

[arteriop]

Xehnos

/zeʔnɒs/

My Overwatch OC (who my main blog is dedicated to @nullsector-xehnos ) has gotten a redesign

Support Character a member of the Gwishin faction who was once a salvage bot but has upgraded themself to repair living omnics.

“Scrapping was all I had known, ripping apart my fallen friends. Those human meka squashed my family like bugs. Did they even try peace? Or did they strike our envoys first? Not like it matters now. When Null Sector began broadcasting, encouraging omnics to join the cause for liberation, I was changed. Enlightened with purpose. I have wasted too long salvaging corpses. I will repair my kin while they stand, and we will be free.“

Kit

150 hp 100 regenerating shields

Restorative Wave (Primary)

Fire out a horizontally oriented projectile that passes through and heals allies. No maximum range. is stopped by shields, walls, abilities that eat projectiles, walls/surfaces.

100 ammo, Fires once every 0.6 seconds, does 75 healing per hit, consumes 10 ammo per shot. 1.7 second reload. Shared ammo with secondary

Laser cutter (Secondary)

A 10 meter beam that deals 60 damage per second, after dealing 80 damage to an enemy, they are ignited for 1 second, taking 20 damage over time for that second.

100 ammo, consumes 10 ammo per second. 1.7 second reload. Shared ammo with primary

Passive: wallclimb

Xehnos can climb walls

Passive: Leap (2 second cooldown)

Jump while in the air to leap in the direction of movement

Ability 1: Reinforce (19 second cooldown)

Target an ally and give them immortality (with a minimum hp of 40% max hp) for 2 seconds

Ability 2: Latch (9 second cooldown)

While in contact with a surface, forcibly become stationary and invulnerable to cc of any kind for up to 8 seconds (press again to cancel) 

Ultimate: Revolt

All allies (and yourself) within 15 meters when the ultimate is used become fortified (immune to crowd control) and take 60% less damage for 10 seconds.

Gold Weapon Variant

Jade Weapon Variant

Interactions/Voicelines

Character Select (match start):

“Let us hope our losses are minimal”

Character Select (mid match):

“Someone needs to repair us”

Ultimate (self/enemy):

“Your struggle is futile!”

Ultimate (friendly):

“New Directive: Revolt!”

Damage Boosted:

 “Abandoning Protective Protocol”

Outnumbered:

“Our numbers dwindle!”

Respawn

“Again, into the slaughter” “My work isn’t done” “There are still repairs to be made”

Reinforce Voicelines

“Keep moving” “You aren’t dead yet” “I’m not abandoning you”

Generic Elimination Voicelines

“Threat neutralized” “You were a fool to fight me” “Stay out of my way” “Struggling is useless”

Revenge Elimination

“Always Improving” “Did you think I wouldn’t learn?”

Special Elimination Voicelines

Witness Friendly Ramattra, Zenyatta, Echo, Orisa, or Bastion be killed: 

“Your loss will not be in vain!”

Killing D.va:

“How did we lose to you?”

Killing Reinhardt:

“Precision Omnic Engineering”

Killing Brigitte:

“The crusaders legacy, pitiful”

Killing Ramattra:

“You have lost your way”

Killing Lucio while he's ulting:

“Silence”

Killing enemy Zenyatta, Echo, Bastion, or Orisa

“I’m sorry it had to be this way”

Witness Friendly Orisa, Echo, Bastion, Zenyatta, or Ramattra Kill a non-robot hero:

“One step closer”

Witness Friendly Reinhardt Kill a robot hero:

“Humans will never change”

Spawnroom interactions

D.va: “You keep looking at me. Are you a fan? I don’t do autographs while on missions” Xehnos: “I’m not a fan, you are just...familiar” D.va: “I don’t think we’ve met before, have we?” Xehnos: “If we had, one of us wouldn’t be here” D.va: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lucio: “I’ve been trying to ask everyone this, what’s your favorite animal?” Xehnos: “The Hornet” Lucio: “uh, yeah I can see it”

Xehnos: “Do you need any repairs?” Orisa: “Efi keeps me well maintained, thank you for offering”

Winston: “Does anyone want to hear my favorite joke about the periodic table?” Xehnos: “Focus, please”

Ramattra: “An engineer does not belong on the battlefield” Xehnos: “I must fight for our kin” Ramattra: “A better life” Xehnos: “For all omnics”

Zenyatta: “Are you satisfied working towards destruction?” Xehnos: “I repair our kin. you just provide false hope.” Zenyatta: “I don’t believe it false” Xehnos: “Lying to yourself is not something to be proud of”

JunkerQueen: “I’ve never seen one of you before” Xehnos: “Very few of my model were produced, most are probably dead by now.” Junker Queen: “Sounds Lonely. Do you have a weak spot or somethin?”

Xehnos: “You pick your kin up when they fall?.” Brigitte: “Whats wrong with helping?” Xehnos: “Nothing. I just prefer to keep my kin standing”

Lifeweaver: “Are you busy this weekend?” Xehnos: “Many omnics still need repairs” Lifeweaver: “Maybe I can help you with that” Xehnos, amused: “Maybe”

Xehnos: “A fellow engineer, it’s a shame you won’t aid us” Torbjorn, begrudgingly: “I’m learning to be kinder, but I won’t assist in genocide” Xehnos: “Is that what you told Overwatch during the omnic crisis?”

Venture: “The East China Sea Omnium is underwater right? Does that mean all the Gwishin are water-resistant?” Xehnos: “Why would I answer you?” Venture: “Omnic Culture is one of my favorite subjects, so I was just wondering”

If the team is all robots

“Time to find our place in the world”

When on Busan

“We aren’t far from where I was created”

Silhouette Icon

[lets-try-some-writing]

I don’t remember where I heard it but I remember there being a theory that Knockout used to be a seeker and something happened to him and then he became a car as result because they couldn’t save his wings. Part of his narcissistic tendencies are more a part of him in the earlier days convince himself that it’s fine he doesn’t have wings anymore. And that starscream alluded to them now having the means to get back his wings on the nemese when he asked why knockout was a car.

Idk.

I like the theory though.

I would like to hear your take on it when you have the chance.

I've heard this same theory. I personally don't subscribe to it, but I like it all the same. I will gladly expand upon this little idea, at least a bit.

Clipped Wings

Knockout was originally a helicopter unit, search and rescue to be exact. He enjoyed his function, had no issues with it, and loved flaunting his wings whenever possible. He took great pride in the fact that he was capable of flight, of course it also helped the fliers were held in high esteem, but even so.

Most of his youth was spent gallivanting about, only learning medicine because it was better than being drafted into the army. He had no desire to have a machine gun strapped to his frame, it would ruin his whole aesthetic. And so he took to learning cosmetology and frame reconstruction as his primary fields of interest. And while he didn't know it at the time, it would come in handy later.

Once the war began, Knockout needed to choose sides. And so not having a ton of hope or trust in the Autobots, he joined with the Decepticons. He was immediately drafted as a field medic, a task he didn't enjoy but knew to be necessary if he wanted to climb the ranks and land in a more cushy position. And so he worked hard, flying out into the battlefield and tending to the injured Decepticons he stumbled across as best as he could. However war was brutal and a stay Autobot missile shot Knockout down during a mission. Medics were able to save him, but his wings were completely decimated and his alt-mode made effectively useless. In one fell swoop the thing be prided himself in most was stripped away from him before he could even come to terms with it.

He was shunned after the loss of his wings, his personality being too intolerable and his previous snark coming back to bite him as the Decepticon troops never left him alone. Unable to fly he became an easy target, one that guards looking to pick a fight relentlessly abused. Knockout tolerated it, spending every waking moment not at work on the ground with the other medics studying to try and find a way to return himself to what he considered his 'perfect form'. It was a very dark time for him. He hated himself, his frame, and everyone around him with a passion. In the end he pioneered an alt mode change and altered his T-cog alignment to allow him to take on a ground alt just so that he wouldn't be shunned for being useless anymore.

Even after he adjusted his frame to make it so that he could be an effective Decepticon again, he never forgot the feeling of the wind and the skies. Many a dark cycle he would sit out watching the stars on some cliff or watchtower and shutter his optics just so that he could pretend the air was once again his domain. His scars ached more often than not, and transformation never felt comfortable, almost like he was walking in someone else's frame. He was born for the skies, not the earth. He hated that a foolish war had stripped him of his greatest gift and glory.

He felt like every optic was boring into him at every given moment, staring at the scars he had long seen fit to cover with armor and flamboyant paint. He always felt judged, berated, and useless. And so to compensate he threw himself into his least favorable personality trait to cover everything else up. It was all to protect himself, at least that is what he always muttered to himself in the dead of night. His pleasant traits were locked away where they couldn't be used against him and he played into his narcissism, using it to craft an indominable persona that none dared to tamper with.

It was his defense, his perfect wall to keep others from seeing just how deeply he had been hurt by the loss of his wings.

He hated to admit it, but part of the reason he even associated with Starscream was because the Seeker had what he did not. Starscream had his wings and he understood. Both of them hid their pains behind walls of terrible personality traits. In a way they were the same, and while never voiced, both acknowledged this.

[kiwikipedia]

Alright, let’s do this over again. My name is Satori Luong, and for the past six years, I’ve apparently been my Earth’s one and only Spider Hunter.

Look idk what anyone expected but a spider-sona / spider OC was bound to happen. Will a full sheet be put out eventually? maybe. God knows. I don't. more details and taglist below the cut

I think it's funny that no matter what it seems that nearly every Spider instantly jumps on the "lets go spandex suit and be a hero" and most are all some sort of genius in terms of science since they create their own web-launchers and suits for the most part (hell, Migs is out here creating safe interdimensional travel).

But what if there was a spider who just? didn't.

What if there was a Spider who didn't realize they were "Spider-Man" and who chose to simply adapt and adjust and not be a hero in the traditional sense— and partially because they didn't have the whole spider pack.

This is Satori Luong aka “Kumo” or “Spider Hunter” the Spider of Earth 1425639, an Earth that they state is “Half organized crime half unorganized crime” where they’re more of a vigilante rather than a hero. They’re half Japanese and half Vietnamese-American, and as of ATSV, they still attend a local college to finish out their degree while keeping the streets clear of troublemakers in their own way.

In comparison to the others, they often refer to themselves as the "Rather Average Intelligence Spiderperson” as opposed to the various “amazing” Spidermen. They state that it's not derogatory in their opinion, considering that, unlike all the other Spidermen, it seems as if they could not produce webbing organically or create any tech to enhance their powers. They consider themselves rather unremarkable in that case, as they cannot stick to walls either, leaving them with improved physicality. However, like Miguel O’Hera, their teeth seem to have retractable fangs, and their "Spider-Sense" seems to be very different. Instead of the almost precognition that many Spiders have, Satori is hyper-observant of their surroundings.

This matches well with their primary fighting style.

Where Satori lacks the mechanical and scientific genius that the other Spiders seem to possess and because of their Spider-Sense developing in a way that they are incredibly observant and aware of everything around them, it is safe to say that Satori is more or less a combinational protégé, able to mimic combat forms within a few hours to days of close observation.

This, in combination with their in-depth knowledge of spiders, makes them a formidable enemy and powerful ally, due to the fact that no matter how they fight, they will always fall back to actual combat and hunting techniques of actual spiders.

Satori carries around a number of weapons, primarily knives. While these knives change out regularly, they always keep the blade on their leg. Nicknamed “Kumokiba” this knife is their substitute solution for webbing. While they didn’t create it, instead it was given to them as a gift from an underground Arms Dealer who they accidentally saved, Kumokiba is a unique blade. The blade can be shot much like a grappling hook and imbed into a wall, though Satori doesn’t use it for climbing often, as they say they can scale most buildings on foot anyways.

Instead, they use Kumokiba as an extension of themselves. Much like spiders, Satori uses the wire that their blade has in order to sense the world around them along with setting traps and attacking. Later on, Satori was able to obtain wires of a similar make to the one that Kumokiba had and thus has been using wires and their blades in order to keep the streets of their city clear of trouble.

Aside from Kumokiba, their other knives are varied in size and purpose, though they state jokingly that they’re just like fangs.

Satori also apparently struggles with newer technology, not understanding the holographic and nano tech that is used often among the Spiders. This is often the leading cause for a number of frustrating moments between them and other Spiders in Miguel’s group. More often than not, when all the spiders are assembled, another has to go and get them due to them being unable to figure out how the gateways work. Similarly, when working with other Spiders, they rely on them for aid when it comes to traversing a location via web slinging or upwards mobility on sheer surfaces they are unable to free run on.

That said, Satori is extremely fast and nimble due to the fact that they have been only able to pursue enemies on foot most of the time and are extremely proficient in parkour as well, having been known as a local parkour runner before even getting bit at the beginning of their High School years.

They are the only spider without an actual "spider suit", though their jacket has a symbol emblazoned on the back.

...

I have some other sketches and line work but I'm working on the big sheet.

Taglist:

@jedifisto​ @spaceydragons​ @purgetrooperfox​@spacerocksarethebestrocks @insanelytomato @babygirljoelmiller @certified-anakinfucker @d3epfriedangels @gen-has-green-vibes @thecodyagenda @babygirl-leon-kennedy @txtalnyx @jawajawas

[blackjackkent]

Onward into High Hall!

I seem to recall being told that we'd have another chance to change up our party before the final fight, but I'm almost tempted not to. It feels like a nice bookend to have Lae'zel with Hector here at the end, just as she was at the beginning, especially given how their friendship has evolved over time.

There are a bunch of terrified civilians running everywhere. I particularly feel for this unfortunate one:

Who ran straight into the fire surface, set himself on fire, burned all the way through his six hit points, and died in front of us for no reason. :( Lots of dead Absolutists, mind flayers, and other civilians around here too.

Report from the climb up!

An absolutely bangin' and very dramatic soundtrack.

Some city watch folk who were pretty freaked out by Orpheus's presence but who Hector convinced to join them and help rather than fleeing.

A long-rest-in-a-box restoration chamber like we saw on the Nautiloid and in Moonrise.

Several dead ends which we have to get around by jumping around on pieces of shattered rampart.

More winged horrors. They're not very difficult to fight thankfully and everyone keeps one-hit-KO-ing them. The team is clearly so pumped full of adrenaline that they're even more of a battering ram than usual.

Fighting as Orpheus (he's attached to the party for now) is making me realize the benefits of going full worm; as a mind flayer he can use actions and bonus actions interchangeably, which is very cash money of him. His abilities, which are per turn with no other restrictions like spell slots that I can discern, are also insane:

Starting to think maybe the Emperor had a point. :P

Reaching the upper level courtyard of the Hall we start running into a lot more enemies.

Per @zenjestrr's advice, our current strategy is repeatedly summoning the more cannon-fodder-y Friendship Buff mobs to help clear the field; the main goal right now is to keep our primary party and our big heavy hitters (Aylin, Buddy, Yurgir, etc) in good shape for the final fight.

Once again the game manages to replicate a key D&D table experience - the feeling of knowing there's a big boss somewhere up ahead and trying to figure out how to ration your resources so you're not tapped out by the time you get there.

At least to begin with, the courtyard isn't too scary. As usual, Hector and Karlach are juggernauting away at the front line and Lae'zel is slotting in perfectly alongside them just like Minsc did. Team Single Target Damage is on the case.

Jaheira is holding down the backline and not looking as squishy as she used to which is also great. I'm wary of using her too much because most of her AOE and powerful stuff is all high level spells that I don't want to burn. I'm spending some of her actions on summoning our mobs of friends, which pleases me from an RP perspective because of the four of our team she is the hardened experienced fighter and I like the idea of her kind of directing the battle.

I'm probably playing a little TOO conservatively with my abilities here, actually, but I'd rather be too careful than not. I didn't use the long-rest-in-a-box before so there's also the possibility (I think) of running all the way back there and tapping it before we reach the brain, but I'm not sure.

It does amuse me that we keep getting gold and trash loot drops here because there is zero point to it anymore I think.

At first the courtyard seems like a bunch of small isolated fights, but as I have Hector start running towards an ogre near the center of the field, the WHOLE PLACE lights up in a battle with [counts rapidly] TWENTY-EIGHT ENEMIES, including the ogre, several mind flayers, and a spectator. FUCK.

Maybe time to start using those big spells after all, Jaheira.

This isn't quite as scary as it looks because we really are powerful as shit at this point. Hector continues to be completely terrifying, Karlach is too, Lae'zel has three attacks on a turn (or six with action surge), Jaheira can set out a Haste pool for everyone to run through, Orpheus's illithid skills are upsettingly good, and we have a LOT of friends who are (I hate to admit) expendable. But that bar full of enemies too big to fit on the screen is stressful.

Oh this is going to be very scary on Tactician though I bet.

One of Zevlor's Hellriders casts Flame Strike on a big crowd of goblins which I would be much more on board with if HECTOR WAS NOT DIRECTLY IN THE MIDDLE OF THEM. Flashbacks to the last time Hector being in the middle of a fireball was considered an acceptable cost; it wasn't much fun then either. He does manage the save though so this time he takes no damage because he is badass, and the Flame Strike kills five enemies, so...worth, I guess.

This battlefield is also ENORMOUS and difficult to maneuver on, lots of high ground and curbs that mess up pathfinding.

So exciting to see Zevlor back in his element again, having found his paladin conviction once more.

One of the Hellriders did get dominated by a mind flayer, which led to this upsetting exchange:

Eventually victory! Gods, what a long fight. But we actually did quite well; everyone except Hector still has some of the temporary hitpoints we got from Ravengard, and we didn't lose any of our guest combatants. :D (And the one that got dominated is back safe. <3 )

Onward!

[llamamamarisen92]

The Wolf and the Lion

Extra - Gortash’s Longing

Named Dark Urge

Pre-BG3 Dark Urge/Gortash Head Canon

Warning: violence, smut, 18+, m/m, a bit of handy work

Characters: Johim (Durge), Gortash, Ketheric 

Johim/Durge description: Long red thick hair, Half-Wood Elf appearance, golden/amber eyes, handsome leonine facial features, lean muscled and tanned with freckles.

This isn’t meant to really be part of my story as I want to keep to more prequel/pre-bg3 events. But thought I’d write a quick little mini bite of how I think Gortash processed learning Johim is still alive.

If you haven’t read the primary chapters here is a link to the first one:

https://www.tumblr.com/llamamamarisen92/760358991851290624/the-wolf-and-the-lion?source=share

Word Count: 600ish 

By: Jesh Llamas

Gortash processed the information Orin delivered. Johim was still alive. He hadn’t been able to go through the images provided by the scrying eyes yet. He shook his head smiling. Of course he was. Gortash took great measures to protect himself from Ketheric and Orin after hearing how they conspired to take out his former partner. Johim and he had a grand purpose in mind. The others were merely religious zealots licking the boots of their god-masters. The disappearance weighed heavier than he would ever admit to anyone. Sitting at his desk he searched through the images.

A scene flickered of him throwing open the doors in the midst of a trial Ketheric was conducting. It seemed he didn't lose his flair for the dramatic.  

"Here, here!" Johim clapped slowly as he strolled down the middle of the throne room. It seemed his fashion preferences hadn't changed. Shirtless with the same billowing pants and pink tassel wrap tied around his waist. A collection of pearl strings draped around his neck. The pearls were purchased as a gift from Gortash almost twenty years ago. Back in the days when they would sit in his loft working through their grand scheme.

"I hope you're here to serve faithfully true soul. Not to simply whimsically interrupt my proceedings." Ketheric's voice edged with frustration.

Johim just smiled, tilting his head completely unbothered. He may have lost his memory, but he was still brimming with confidence. Gortash closed his eyes. Remembering the feel of being in the presence of that innate power. Wrapped in those muscled arms late at night.

Their relationship bothered Ketheric deeply. Always clarifying that he was merely concerned with how it upset the balance of their dynamic. But Ketheric was jealous. Jealous of the ease at which Johim commanded a room. Barely lifting a finger to be noticed. Angry that he must defer to such a shamelessly effeminate man. A man so completely himself that it left no room for argument. A born leader that Ketheric could only dream of being. Ketheric and Gortash had to fight their way to the top. Constantly struggling to maintain power. But power came as naturally to Johim as breathing.

He continued to watch the scene unfold. Ketheric postured like a dog barking at a much more dangerous predator so they may not learn how easily he could be mauled.

"Let us ask our... surprising guest. You’ve seen these goblins at work. What do you think should be done with them?" Eyebrows lifted in challenge. 

"I'm bored of this trial already." Scanning his nails as if nothing about this situation was interesting. "I'll happily execute them though so we can stop wasting time."

Ketheric's eye twitched, but he smiled and nodded. "Then let's make use of your... particular talents. Meet with us upstairs for further instruction, true soul." Getting up, he made his way to the stairs. Gortash laughed outright as he noticed Ketheric's movements were a bit more hurried than he thought the general intended.

He stopped the recording and re-watched it a few times. He would trade both Ketheric and Orin in a heartbeat to be able to be in the company of his old friend again. They were useless children in comparison.

As night fell he climbed into bed. Images of the way he used to share his bed with Johim flashed through his mind. He reached beneath the covers, stroking himself as he pictured Johim's teeth scraping against the back of his neck. Hand firmly holding him in place as he savagely ravished Gortash. Roaring into the night as he would make sure they both came to completion together. Gortash came quickly in his own hand as a tear spilled down his cheek.

"Come back to me."

Side Note: Do you think Larian wanted us to be able to kiss Gortash but Jacob Isaac was like... nope been down this road before....