#but i reckon that god decided humans needed a challenge

[vaticinatrix]

y'all ever see an exam question and realize that you have no idea what you're doing, so better do it quick

[lovenona]

“SONGS FROM THE LYRE”

or – the odyssey, interlude ii

“what, you don’t believe me?” toji’s voice is syrup and honey against your eardrum. “you’ll believe whatever an old man with yellow teeth tells you about the fabled sukuna, but not me?” 

he bites your neck, playful, and you giggle against him, a light and airy sound. it sings like wind-chimes against summer rain, and you float with the noise, float with him as he nips at your skin. 

“i didn’t say that,” you say, but your voice is too unconvincing when fushiguro toji’s disheveled hair tickles your jawline. his hands play with your waist, thumbprints pressing against your hips: and how can you answer his questions in such a state? how are you supposed to maintain your calm? 

“i said,” you manage in between bouts of laughter, of soft and precious moans, “that i’ve never even heard that serpent speak, and i’m near it just as much as you are.” 

(even now, it swims circles in the corner of the room, oblivious to your antics. you have long since grown used to the idea that this serpent has seen enough of you to last a lifetime.) 

“he’s just scared of you,” toji argues, but his voice is too unconvincing when his tongue is licking stripes across your collarbone as if he’ll never devour anything as enticing as your body again. you tug mindlessly at his hair, running the coarse strands between your fingertips like sand and diamonds. today, toji smells like the sea, like danger, like wine. you know this because you shared it all with him. you know this because if you saw yourself in a looking-glass your mouth would be stained with drink, with toji, with thunder.

toji drags his lips from your collarbone back to your jaw as he plants his garden with a gentle kiss. “he doesn’t like to talk when others are around. but trust me, i know. i’ve always heard it. how do you think i found him in the first place?” 

you eyelids flutter shut beneath toji’s ministrations. you are warm, you think, and perfectly content, even if you know that toji’s bed against the open window will never be a real home to you. but here, mindlessly indulged, it is enough.

“mhmm,” you say, because you are more than willing to believe anything fushiguro toji tells you. “the serpent talks, i’m sure.” 

“he does. some things in this world exist differently than we do. if anyone should know that, it’s you.” 

you know there is some truth to his statement. but lost in the sensation of toji’s calloused hands playing games between your legs, you do not have it in you to argue about it further. you do not have the strength to challenge his words. 

so you say instead, breathless, eyes full of the moon: “tell me more.” and, eyes alight with mirth and pleasure and stardust, he does. 

––

not everyone is the same: not everyone lives powerless. there are those, you see, who hide in shallow coves and windless waters, who do not understand what it means to be alive. there are those who saw stars burn and those who will watch cliffsides crumble. they will not live, but they will not die, so they wallow in darkness. 

and of course, among them, lie creatures of night and hurt and seduction. you know them easily by sight and smell: sirens from the deep who emerge from the shallows to offer their scaled hands in marriage. they peer at you with large and intrusive eyes, searching for the soul they lost long ago. 

everyone knows they were once human. but, as they say, something precious has been stolen away that can never be returned. something has been taken from those lost corpses of the deep, something that has rendered them different and strange and unknowable, until they sing their long and sorrowful lamentations of a love that could have been, of a love that will never be, until they sing for the mortality they left behind.  

they do not know what it means to be alive. and they do not like you, breathing creature of the sand. if you chance upon one, perhaps you should hate them too: hatred for their pain, hatred for their fury. 

(but it is difficult, is it not? to remain heartless in the face of a gentle tragedy?)

once, long ago, a young siren, brittle and strange, lived on the rocks of a desolate coast. day by day he peered out into the open expanse of a midday sky like he could find his missing past waiting for him there. he could not speak: he could only listen. and when he tried to tell of his woes, to ask for food and love and assistance, he found himself cursed by the gods’ tongue. all he told to die would do it. all he told to starve for his sake would do it. all he told to stay with him would do it. but even those who stayed loyal to him could not feed on the salty air, so they too would leave, their bodies damp and cold and still. 

the young siren did not understand why he had changed. he could recall a face, cunning and cruel, that once peered down upon him as he slept. he could recall a cold hand on his throat, icy and frozen with the absence of a heart. but what he could not recall was the time, or the place, or the name. he knew he had changed and that he was no longer alive. so he sat upon his desolate rocks on the desolate coast and let himself stare into oblivion.  

he waited for his lostness to be returned to him. but all those he asked could never find it. and so he waits, still, with his eyes forever fixed on the horizon. 

there are others, too, who live bonded by the cold hand of fate. there are those who linger and should not speak: a ruffled panda on a humid coast who searches for his master, a young man with his heart standing both in and out time. there are those who must have committed an egregious error in a past life to end up so alone. there are those who have sinned from power and now sit in lonely coves as they wait for lovers to take them. there are those who are cursed to watch time pass but to never feel it themselves, to rot within the godliness they alone thought they had attained.

the curses of the sea were human, once. they all were. but water and anger and fate created entities that could not speak enough or could not speak at all. they are no longer us, but something else, immortal and bitter and wasted. those curses would like to be freed; they would like to go home. but, as they say, something has been stolen away from them that can never be returned. 

(do they wait forever for release? they must. they wait, ghosts of the ocean, sirens of the sea, until something will drag them back under.)

–– 

“wake up,” someone tells you, “it’s time.”

you do not know if you would like to listen to the voice. you are plagued with an impeccable sadness that turns your body to lead. you think there is something, a forgotten history perhaps, that has eluded you with the grace of a rabbit. there lies a rock in your throat, tears in your eyes. 

what were you dreaming? and why are you crying? 

(there was a fire, a burning heart. there was blood. there were faces you swore you would protect. there was a molten man with fire in his eyes who dressed your wounds and cured you. you decide to discard the feeling.) 

instead, now, a midday sun sits heavy on your eyelids. you open them, slowly, and you do not immediately recognize this rowboat as your own. you do not seek to recognize these arms which cradle you, this self you must have become while your mind was away. it must all be a story, isn’t it? these faces on your memory? 

the water is shallow, clear, impossibly blue. you must be far from the malevolent shrine, you reckon, although you cannot find the strength to turn back and look for it. it does not matter. something tells you this four-armed man will tell you where you need to go. something tells you that you can trust him.

(i will cure you, you remember he said, although you do not want to. and then i will make sure it never happens again. i will give you power.) 

he swiftly maneuvers the boat into a large and lonely cove. anticipation dances in the air, a warm and welcoming breeze that whispers among the lush trees which litter the mountain beyond the beach. the boat slows as you sail towards the sand, navigate through the smooth rocks and boulders dotting the water. 

but, to your horror, you realize you have been here before. and it had not been in an old dream, because the details are much too vivid to shy away from. you know that you have seen this idyllic place, this narcissus pool, once before. because you know, when you turn your head and find the lonesome figure waiting for you on a smooth and pensive boulder, that you would fall into the endless expanse of those bright blue eyes again. 

(so they wait, ghosts of the ocean, tragic sirens who wish for sand.) 

the four-armed man rows closer. and just beyond, sitting on the boulder, he waits. 

[sword-dad-fukuzawa]

inarticulate thoughts on archon quest pt iii

Major spoilers for archon quest pt iii ahead.

Okay. Okay. Holy shit. I'm still reeling. I really don't know how Genshin's writing and lore just continues to get better. I was honestly thinking that at some point, the writing quality would drop off--and I didn't think the writing was all that stellar to start with. But the writing for Inazuma is absolutely fucking immaculate.

Just to get this out of the way, I have a singular issue with Genshin's writing that is unavoidable: that it can get kind of trite sometimes. But I don't begrudge the game its cliches about friendship and loyalty and hope in the face of insurmountable odds because, even if the writing can get almost childish, it's spectacular for the vast majority of the game. And I don't mind that the game is inherently hopeful. The world is awful enough without needing to play games about just how awful other worlds are.

This is going to be disorganized. So I'm going to start with what made me go oh, clever, and that's the Raiden boss fight at the end.

Demanding a Rematch with Ei

I had an essay about how well Inazuma does game design and a section was on the boss fight in pt ii specifically, but I never got around to posting it. Here's what I wrote:

I want to talk specifically about the Baal boss fight in Archon Quest Part II Electric Boogaloo. If you haven't played it yet, it's a two-part boss fight. Until you've smacked Baal down to 75% HP, it's basically a normal domain battle--a 1v1 match between your team and Baal. But then at 75% HP, Baal decides you know what, no, you don't get to use your Vision, and every member of your team who isn't Traveler gets their E and Q locked for 1 minute.

Your job for that 1 minute?

Survive.

And Baal does not make it easy for you.

But if you make it for that 1 minute, does that mean you get your E and Q back? No, a cutscene plays instead where Baal uses the divine judgement smite and smacks Traveler in the face with it. Yes, you survive. Yes, you and Thoma get to run away to see another day. But there is no way for you to win that boss fight.

The Baal boss fight is the first time Mihoyo has used a "you can't win this fight" mechanic where you will lose and it does not matter what you do.

And it fits pretty damn well with the narrative and thematic components of Inazuma as a whole. You aren't a fairy tale hero who defeats all the bad guys. Hell, you aren't even a leader mounting a glorious resistance. You are not that guy, at least not for patch 2.0. You're just a scrappy traveler from out of town, out of their depth and needing to rely on people they can barely trust in order to survive.

This country is fucking hostile, and the Baal boss fight is one of the best ways that Genshin hammers that into players.

I stand by this. What makes the Baal boss fight even better in pt iii is that it mirrors that first and utterly disempowering fight. You cannot win that fight by yourself, and that remains consistent. She's simply too good at her job. What wins you the fight in part ii, however, is the fact that you are not by yourself.

And I'm not talking about Yae. You're backed by the hopes and dreams and ambitions of the people of Inazuma, crying out to their ruler in the hopes that she will hear them. It fits Inazuma's general theme--you're not the hero, Traveler. You're the messenger. Hell, you're the vessel. And I thought that was particularly powerful.

It's just good writing, that you still do not win that fight on your own.

The Kazuha Scene

I don't know how to convey the amount of sheer shock I had during The Kazuha Scene. Genshin does not pull its punches and this scene is no exception. Kazuha dual-wielding Visions to Electro swirl and clash blades with the Raiden Fucking Shogun was the single most badass thing I've ever seen in this game.

It's also left vague if Kazuha himself, bearing his friend's ambition, was the one who reactivated it--or if, reaching beyond the veil, it was his friend himself. But in that moment, Kazuha reawakened a dead Kami no Me and that, that says a lot. Visions are tied intrinsically to the person they belong to, and despite being from the gods, they're also somehow the most inherently human thing. Kazuha, carrying his friend's will, woke one back up. I can't articulate this in essay form--might have to save it for a fic--but this has me in my feelings in a way I simply am unable to describe.

As an addendum because this doesn't quite go anywhere else, I really do enjoy the way Sara was written and the way you can see the bodies of the guards she leaves in her wake--not dead, but clearly flattened. Very badass.

Yae Dropping Bombshells

Yae. Yae Miko. Yae Miko really went "Oh, Scaramouche is a protoype puppet built by Ei ages ago. The Fatui fiddled with him a bit, though," with a completely straight face.

Yae Miko please.

Listen, I don't think anyone expected that to be Scaramouche's backstory at all.

And Yae's explanation of the story of Ei and Makoto makes Baal's 2D cutscene make vastly more sense. I was like ?? Why is she holding herself?? Is this a metaphor?? The answer is yes, it's a metaphor, it's also just Ei holding her sister, and it's a dramatic parallel to Traveler, who also lost their sibling somewhat during the cataclysm.

Will forever also be in my feelings about Makoto being the gentler of the two, thanks.

MMMM SUMERU LOREEEE ABOUT THE ARCHON TOO AHHHH AND KNOWLEDGE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SUMERU WHEN??

Speaking of "[insert teased thing here] when?"...

Signora

Alright, Signora's death, in and of itself, didn't make me feel all that bad.

That's a lie, sorry. It did make me feel pretty bad. Just the card Signora...is slain got me. Because Signora is the first casualty, and Signora's death is an escalation, and Signora...god, Signora is dead and Traveler killed her. Sure, it was Baal who made the finishing blow, but the moral consequences of that action lie on the Traveler's shoulders.

What does this mean for the future? Either Childe will kill us or send us a thank you card, I suppose. And it also means that Genshin's storyline may take a turn for the darker. Traveler killed someone. Traveler challenged Signora for a duel before the throne knowing damn well what that meant. The part afterward, as you walk out of the throne room, tells you everything you need to know about how Genshin is going to treat death.

It's fucking horrifying.

Traveler is getting unexplained headaches. They don't speak. The word is fuzzy, glitching out in reds and blues. They walk slowly, like they're in shock, like they can't walk any faster. Paimon begs you to say something because Traveler, you've gone quiet.

And sure, chalk this up to the fact that Baal was piggybacking off of Traveler to try and smite them as they left, but you don't know that as you walk down the stairs. You can only walk, and press space bar when Traveler feels woozy, and there's this feeling of confusion and panic you have to reckon with because Genshin's not a horror game, is it? But damn if it doesn't feel like one for a brief, terrifying stretch of time.

You killed a woman. And Genshin treats that action with the weight it deserves.

At least we all know the answer to "Signora playable when?" now.

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Hogwarts Champion

George Weasley x Ravenclaw!Reader

Fandom: Harry Potter

Note: FUCK JK Rowling. Trans rights are human rights <3.

This can be read as a sequel to my fic, Bottoms Up. Reader has put her name in the Goblet of Fire.

Summary: When you put your name in the Goblet of Fire, mostly as a joke, you never imagined you’d get picked to represent all of Hogwarts. Thankfully, you have the ever-supportive George Weasley by your side through it all.

Warnings: None? Goblet of Fire spoilers!!

Word Count: 1.9k

It was after dinner that Dumbledore announced the champions that were fated to compete for eternal glory. And god, were you not expecting what came next.

“(Y/N)(L/N)!” He called, holding the piece of parchment you’d scribbled your name on in his hand. Your blood ran cold. Your eyes widened and across the Great Hall, you locked eyes with George, who looked just about as shocked as you felt.

“Oh fuck.” You murmured before standing up.

Fred and George were going nuts, cheering very loudly, as was all of Ravenclaw. You walked to the front of the great hall, shook Dumbledore’s hand, and then went back to wait with the other champions. A few minutes later, Harry came down, standing awkwardly before a pack of teachers followed him down. It was chaotic to say the very least, all of them questioning Harry while he stood there floundering.

You didn’t know Harry all that well, but the twins were fond of him. You knew he was a good kid, he just always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You had no doubt this mishap was another case of that.

You listened while they debated and inevitably decided that yes, Harry would be forced to compete, although it didn’t seem that he was down with that decision.

Dumbledore went on to explain that each of you would be allowed to use any natural gifts you possessed as well as your wands for all challenges. He looked at you when he said it and you nodded. That had been your question, too, but you didn’t intend to ask it. You were a little different from the other students at Hogwarts, but it was something you’d kept quiet throughout your time there. Now was the time to unearth it, you realized. Well, if you wanted to survive the tournament, that was.

You left the meeting feeling nervous, but also the tiniest bit relieved. At least you wouldn’t be going through it alone. Fleur already seemed really nice, and on your way up the stairs back out to the Great Hall, she introduced herself.

“It’s very nice to meet you. What house are you in?”

“I’m a Ravenclaw.” You told her, holding up your tie. “I really liked your dance earlier. It was beautiful.”

“Thank you. We’ve been practicing for weeks.” She smiled warmly. When you got back out to the Great Hall, Fred and George were waiting for you, and as soon as George spotted you, he picked you up and spun you around.

“There’s my little champion! Are you excited, love?”

“I’m nervous.” You laughed, your arms settling around his shoulders, your feet still dangling from the ground thanks to your notable height difference.

“You’ll do great.” He reassured, pressing a long kiss to your cheek. “I’m sure of it.”

Fred watched as his brother kissed you and gasped. “Since when?”

“Whatever do you mean, Fredward?” You asked innocently as George set you back down.

“Since when are you two kissing each other?”

“Since you had to go ‘polish your broom,’ you git.” George laughed, slipping his hand into yours and intertwining your fingers. “I am now the proud boyfriend of the Hogwarts champion.”

“One of the Hogwarts champions.” You were quick to correct. You sighed. “I feel bad for him. This stuff always seems to happen to him.”

“Tell me about it.” Harry said, coming up the stairs a little while later. “It’s always me. Why is it always me?”

“Who knows, mate.” Fred shrugged.

“Whatever happens, we’re here for you.” You added, giving Harry a playful nudge. “No one deserves to go through this alone.”

“Thanks.” Harry smiled. “I appreciate it.”

***

“(Y/N).” George peeked into the Ravenclaw common room. He spotted you on the couch, still up studying at the ungodly hour of three in the morning.

You jumped, staring at him for a second before ruling that he probably wasn’t a hallucination. “How the fuck did you even get in here?”

He grinned mischievously. “I have my ways.” He reached out with a large hand, making grabby fingers at you. “Come with me.”

You were more than used to George’s spontaneous antics at this point, so you closed your text book, set your quill in your inkwell, and got up from your seat, slipping your hand into his and letting him lead you through the quiet castle, out onto the grounds, and then down into the woods.

“My brother Charlie wrote me. He’s over there somewhere.” He whispered, crouching in the brush with you as you both watched a group of men handling dragons. “They’re for the first task.”

“Dragons…” You whispered, paling at the thought. Your stomach dropped. “Holy fuck.”

“Figured you could use a heads up.” He spoke softly, his thumb rubbing yours comfortingly. “Harry’s over there somewhere with Hagrid. Ron told him.”

“Thank you, George.” You sighed, your teeth chattering slightly in the cold.

“Of course.” He looked down at you, his expression softening. He should have given you some warning before dragging you into the woods in your pajamas. Almost as though he was acting on instinct, he shed his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders, kissing the top of your head. “You look good in my clothes, love,” he whispered.

“Maybe I should wear them more often, then.” You laughed softly, surrendering yourself to his warmth, his long arms wrapping around you.

He chuckled and you felt his chest vibrate against your cheek. “That can certainly be arranged.”

You decided in that moment that your favorite place in the whole wide world was right there in his arms.

***

You stood in the tent nervously, pacing back and forth a bit as you waited with the other champions. You had a game plan. You were confident it would work. However, this plan meant you’d have to spill your secret to the entire school and then some and you weren’t quite sure how to feel about it. No one knew. Not your friends. Not your roommates. Not even your boyfriend.

“Psst!”

You stopped cold in your tracks. You recognized that voice.

“George?”

“Hey, love.” He pushed the curtain open a little further and stuck his hand through. You took it quickly, and he squeezed your hand for reassurance. “How are you doing?”

“Not great.”

“You’ll be fine.” He spoke softly. “You’re the strongest witch I know. And besides, I have a good feeling about it. Put money on you and everything.”

“Wow, reassuring.” You laughed, rolling your eyes.

“I mean it. You’re going to be fine out there.”

You took a deep breath. “Think I could…get a kiss for luck?”

He tugged your hand, pulling you out of the tent and right into him. He kissed you softly, one hand rising to brush the hairs out of the front of your face. “You can have all the kisses, love.”

It was when you went in for the second kiss that the camera flashed. Rita Skeeter. Figured.

“Thanks for the exclusive, darling. You can look for that picture on the front page.” She stepped past you and George and into the tent, where the other champions still were.

“Always in everyone’s business, she is. Doesn’t know when to quit.” George scowled, shaking his head. “Sorry, love, I know you don’t like that sort of attention.”

“Well, no, but I’m proud to be your girlfriend, and I got myself into this tournament, so this was to be expected, honestly.” You giggled, but your smile quickly faded. “George…”

“What, love?” Concern found its way onto his face.

“When I’m out there…something is going to happen that…I didn’t tell you about. I need you to promise me that you won’t think any differently of me.”

“Nothing could ever change the way I feel about you.” He spoke softly, leaning in for another kiss. “When it’s over, I’ll still be your proud boyfriend no matter what. Now go show that dragon who’s boss.”

“Champions!” Dumbledore called.

“That’s my cue.” You exhaled shakily, leaning up on your toes to kiss him one last time. “See you out there.”

“Good luck. Not that you need it.” He winked before wandering off towards the stands to reunite with Fred.

***

George wasn’t quite sure what to expect when you told him you had a secret that was about to be unleashed on the entire school, but it definitely wasn’t what unfolded in front of his very eyes. Once you stepped into the ring, they unleashed the dragon on you, and as soon as that happened, two massive feathery wings sprouted from your back.

His jaw dropped. His heart pounded, and in time with Fred, he whispered, “Wicked…”

Fred looked at George and asked, rather loudly. “Did you know?”

“I did not.”

“D’you reckon it’s a spell or a potion or something?”

“Don’t think so…” George shook his head, unable to take his eyes off of you, his badass winged girlfriend as you gracefully dodged the dragon racing at you.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have bet on the dragon, then.” Fred chuckled, shaking his head. “You had the right idea.”

“Oh, I’ll always bet on my girl.” George grinned. He watched you take flight and swoop down, grabbing the golden egg in record time. He cheered loudly, pride swelling in his chest. That was his girl. You were his girl and you’d just outsmarted a dragon. He was absolutely blown away.

***

As soon as the event was over, he found you. Your wings were still stretched behind you, absently moving from time to time, as though they had minds of their own. He stared at you for a long moment, admiring you quietly before he scooped you up into his arms and spun you around.

You exhaled a long sigh. Everything was still normal. Nothing had changed between the two of you. He was still your George and you were still his (Y/N).

“That was unbelievable, love!” His expression was ecstatic, stars in his eyes when he finally pulled apart to look at you. “You were brilliant out there.”

“I did my best.” You shrugged, ever the modest one, even after pulling a feat like that.

“And you won me quite a few galleons I’ll be using to treat you at Honeydukes this weekend.” He reached forward and gently booped your nose with a long finger. “Anything you want, darling. It’s on me.”

“Aww, thank you, Georgie.” You hugged his side, one of your wings wrapping around him.

He was quiet for a moment before finally caving and asking the obvious question.

“So…how do you, um…?” He pointed to your wings. “That.”

“My parents are both Metamorphmagi. When they got together, which is pretty rare to begin with, they had me and their powers kind of fused and gave me, well, magical super powers in a sense.”

“So you can give yourself whatever you want, then?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” You shrugged and your wings shrank back into your body. “Horns, a tail, claws, fangs, you name it, I can do it.”

“That is wicked.” George slung a long arm around your shoulders. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any cooler.”

“What can I say, I’m quite a catch.” You winked.

He tugged you closer to his side and tilted your chin up, pressing a fierce lingering kiss to your lips. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his long hair hanging in your face. “Yes you are. And you’re all mine.”

[afraidofchange]

[ TENSION ]  one muse is patching up the other’s injuries which leads to intense eye contact,  lingering touches and them finally crashing their lips against each other’s.  ( for miri )

[ LINE ]  our muses are supposed to only be pretending to be together for a mission or fake dating,  but they keep going and neither one of them is stopping which leads to them hiding away to have sex.   ( for miri )

@reivontulet | for Miranda | meme.

   While less of a shithole than Omega, the Citadel certainly has its pockets of grime and criminality, but hidden by the overarching cleanliness of a Council station. In the Lower Wards, Miranda finds herself observant of every single individual coming through the doors of the Cora’s Den knock-off, despite needing to be less... obvious.

  Rory knows it too, leaning into Miranda’s side just a little more. It’d been the Commander’s idea, to be her eyes and ears while she tries to get a bead on Thane’s son. At least, it got them off the ship, though Miranda still wonders if Shepard was intentional about her choice in recon team, but that’s a question that will never be answered.

  “I know,” Miranda retorts, finally turning her gaze back to her ‘date’ for the evening, then to the cocktail she’s only half-interested in drinking. “I find it a bit ridiculous that we have to-”

 “Hey, hey, just play the part. It’ll help,” Rory encourages, and much to the point, sets her hand on Lawson’s leg beneath the bar counter. At first, she tenses at the skin to skin contact, the warmth of her hand on her bare thigh. It also wasn’t her idea to wear cocktail dresses, either, but here they are.

 “Of course, dear. Can I get you another drink?”

-- 

 Come an hour or so later, with a few drinks imbibed and the atmosphere full of other drunken humans and aliens alike, Miranda has done her part, sighting Kolyat on the move, giving Shepard an advantage to chase him down and stop him, with Thane and Garrus in hot pursuit otherwise. Still under any possible spying gaze, Miranda keeps them in cover - an arm intertwined with Rory’s, fingers linked together. With every passing gesture, it’s as if the younger woman wants it to be a challenge to do something more, and with all the liquid courage at their disposal, Miranda’s more than content to play along.

At least, until they decide now’s the time to leave the bar, and a few steps before them catch Rory off guard, stumbling forward onto hardened metal. It isn’t so much that she’s drunk but in heels that are just a bit too tall and arguably distracted by the woman on her arm and this little acting game they have going on.

On instinct, Miranda reaches for her with the flare of biotics trying to at least save face - and Rory’s dignity - but she’s a little delayed and it results in a couple scrapes and a bruised, bleeding lip. The crowd gathers around but Miranda helps her up, wrapping an arm around her waist - protective, almost possessive one could say, but this goes beyond their tete-a-tete. 

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” She instructs, though Rory’s blush is more than evident - she’ll be fine, of course with a few minor scrapes and bruises that those on the Normandy and their ilk get on a day to day basis - but returning to the ship like this wouldn’t be acceptable. 

 “God, I’m an idiot,” Rory shakes her head with a soft laugh, but undoubtedly, after recovering her stride, leans into Miranda’s side - and a cheeky hand slips from her hip to her ass, giving a playful squeeze. 

So it’s back on after all. 

 “Only if you let yourself be,” Miranda quips with poise, not once losing her composure as they walk toward the nearest restroom near the back of the bar.

-- 

“That looks a bit better, I reckon,” Miranda remarks as she dabs away at the bit of blood that had accumulated and clotted on Rory’s lower lip. It remains a bit swollen, but that’ll come down with a bit of ice and time. Rory grins despite the ache anyway, noticing just how much more of an accent Miranda’s voice has with more alcohol.

 “You ‘reckon’, huh?” 

  “Please, enough with the theatrics. You already ate shit once, as they say once,” Miranda quips but she can’t help her smile. Rory’s sat up on the sink counter to give the older woman a better look at her under the light. Still, it’s not over until it’s over, back on the Normandy with Shepard and the rest of the crew. 

 “Are you saying you’re giving up, Lawson? That’s not like you.”

 “I’m not. But I’m trying to save you from further embarrassment,” She retorts, tossing the tissue paper in the waste bin. The scrapes on her knees and elbow will have to be looked at by Dr. Chakwas later, but at least she was able to staunch Rory’s bloody lip.

 “Hey, the bar is already on the floor and can’t get any lower, so--” She stops mid sentence when an asari walks in to the bathroom and into one stall in a hurry. “Babe, how’s it look?” She raises her brows and it takes all of Miranda’s strength not to roll her eyes, but two can play this game, and a part of her wants to see where Rory draws the line -

                                                             …if at all. 

 “Let me kiss it better,” She says but gives the other woman little time to react before gently pressing her lips to the opposite side of her split lip, noses just brushing together. She lingers. The toilet in the stall flushes and the asari that comes out goes to the other sink to wash her hands, only giving them a brief look before hurriedly leaving them without a word. The music blares and quiets with the slide of the door, and soon they’re alone again. 

 “That feels... nice, Lawson,” Rory answers, still close as close can be. Eager hands find purchase along the slope of her hips, gripping at wine-red fabric. A distant ache resonates in the lowers of her stomach, and Miranda credits the cocktails finally simmering down in her system, leaving her with a gentle buzz that her biotic metabolism will conquer soon enough. But in the heat of it, she dips her head and kisses the delicate column of Rory’s neck, earning her that kind of sigh in her ear. This might just be it - until, of course, Rory’s hands splay across the small of her back and then, she pushes herself from the counter and pushes against her backward, toward the stalls.

  Rory kisses her properly, caring little for her own injury in favour of pushing the limits - Miranda doesn’t object.

[catncore]

!      /         @the-composer​ send me “!” for hanekoma to write a report on your muse.

There  are  few  reports  I  have  written  in  which  I  have  felt  the  need  to  stall  writing  them.  It  is  not  for  lack  of  not  having  information,  rather  it  is  the  fact  that  I  have  so  much  that  I  do  not  know  where  to  begin.  My  Composer,  Yoshiya  Kiryu,  is  at  the  center  of  this  subject,  which  adds  a  layer  of  complication.  I  will  record  my  feelings  at  the  moment.  I  pray  this  report  does  not  end  up  in  his  care  in  the  future.  

There  is  a  separation  between  the  Composer  as  an  entity  of  the  UnderGround,  and  as  Yoshiya  Kiryu.  While  it  is  important  to  see  them  as  one  being,  I  have  found  that  in  my  continuous  exposure  to  him,  that  there  are  multiple  sides  to  this.  It’s  less  a  coin  and  more  of  a  six  sided  dice.  Whatever  it  lands  on  is  the  dominant  ‘self’  for  a  set  amount  of  time  before  he  decides  to  roll  it  again.  What  it  lands  on  is  anyone's  guess.  

As  Composer,  he  is  single  handedly  the  most  proficient  and  exceptional  human  to  have  ever  been  raised  to  take  the  position.  It  is  rare  for  such  beings  to  be  human  raised  and  have  such  a  gasp  on  the  UG  in  the  sense  that  the  Composer  has.  Is  it  because  Shibuya  guides  his  hand  or  is  it  from  my  own  mentorship?  Plausibility  aside,  he  is  well  aware  of  the  fact  he  is  responsible  for  Shibuya’s  growth  (and  at  one  point  stagnation)  that  he  will  use  it  as  a  card  of  status.  When  challenged  or  threatened,  the  Composer  is  not  shy  to  display  his  power.  

His  connections  to  those  he  had  exposed  himself  to  is  very  different  as  Composer  than  it  is  when  he  strips  away  the  title  leaving  the  human  under  it-  though  it  is  arguable  if  you  could  call  him  a  human  anymore.  Human  beings  do  not  simply  go  back  to  being  ‘themselves’  from  being  Composer.  He  grew  and  adapted  to  a  world  that  most  will  never  see.  Because  of  this,  there  is  a  clear  God  Complex  that  has  grown  from  him  where  he  believes  his  word  is  final. 

I  find  this  to  be  all  bravado  and  peacocking,  even  if  the  threat  is  very  real.  In  most  circumstances,  he  will  not  act  unless  he  feels  threatened.  Not  many  things  usher  that  response,  aside  from  a  cheap  thrill  (  read: minamimoto  )    .

The  man  he  is  around  Neku  Sakuraba  is  different  from  the  man  he  is  when  alone  with  me.  Even  as  Composer,  while  he  feels  the  need  to  remind  his  Producers  that  he  is  the  end  all  be  all,  he  does  search  for  our  approval.  My  Co-Producer  and  other  self,  Eanas  has  no  problem  challenging  him  on  this  fact.  There  is  also  an  underlying  rivalry  between  them  that  while  softened  over  the  year  since  our  changed  circumstances,  is  still  there.  

It  is  completely  harmless  and  I  do  not  suspect  it  will  ever  truly  go  away.

It’s  when  he  has  stepped  out  of  the  Room  of  Reckoning  and  chooses  to  indulge  in  more  of  the  world  around  him  that  there  are  tell  signs  of  the  person  he  was  before  he  took  up  the  pillar  of  the  Reapers  Game.  As  much  as  he  wants  to  believe  that  he  has  changed  from  that  person,  paired  with  the  deep  need  to  be  revered;  he  also  craves  protection  and  acknowledgement  that  he  would  have  otherwise  gotten  in  his  life  spent  in  the  Real  Ground.  

My  relationship  with  this  ‘self’  is  complicated.  While  I  have  taken  steps  to  distance  myself  from  the  Higher  Plane,  I  do  have  rules  as  Producer  that  are  required  for  a  professional  relationship  and  yet  i  have  subsequently  failed  to  follow  through  on.  I  understand  fully  that  Producers  are  prohibited  from  forming  connections  and  bonds  with  their  Composers  seeing  as  the  role  they  uptake  is  fluid.  Composers  at  most  last  a  decade  if  they  are  skilled,  and  I  as  it’s  reigning  Producer  should  document  and  only  follow  orders,  yet  if  this  human  found  himself  in  harm's  way  in  a  way  that  I  could  not  control,  I  would  not  hesitate  to  step  in  and  protect  him.  

Needless  to  say,  I  have  failed  in  being  nonpartial. 

I  have  gone  into  note  of  this  in  the  past.  What  has  changed  is  that  the  lines  have  blurred  and  where  I  should  have  kept  it  at  mentorship  has  developed  into  something  akkined  to  strong  affection.  One  could  call  it  Love.  He  sought  my  companionship  in  ways  that  while  morally  responsible  to  the  Higher  Plane,  was  natural  to  humans  and  what  he  knows.  As  an  angel,  I  may  not  entirely  understand  it  but  I  do  desire  his  happiness.  His  happiness  in  himself  and  as  Composer,  for  if  he  is  happy  that  energy  will  also  be  put  out  into  the  city  and  yield  positive  results.  

I  will  stay  with  him.  Even  if  it  costs  me  status  and  authoritative  sway  in  the  Higher  Plane,  I  will  stay  with  him.  Be  it  though  his  position  as  Composer  or  into  whatever  status  he  raises  to  take,  I  will  stay  at  his  side.  He  is  my  human  and  his  happiness,  as  it  does  for  Shibuya  is  also  my  happiness.  

It  may  sound  odd,  and  I  am  surely  to  be  reprimanded  for  these  feelings,  but  that  will  not  change  the  fact  that  I  deep  down  we  would  have  reached  this  position  even  if  we  had  no  prior  exposure  to  each  other  before  he  took  up  his  role.  We  are  fixed  points  to  each  other.  If  he  wills  me  to  be  here,  who  am  I  to  deny  him  his  right.  

He  will  be  returning  soon,  so  I  will  close  this  report here  for  now.  I  will continue  once  he  has  gone  to  sleep.  I  need  to  start  dinner  so  he  will  not  wait  to  eat. 

[imaginesupply]

Sore backs and tented shorts, or  The one where Tom gets a massage

Tom Hiddleston x Reader one-shot 

It’s been ages since I’ve written anything and I’m feeling a bit rusty but inspiration just hit and my three remaining braincells - who’ve survived the current heatwave so far - came up with this smutty filth. 

I hope you’ll enjoy! Let me know what you think :) (It’s proofread but it seems by ability to spot typos and mistakes rises by 200% percent as soon as I hit post.)

Word count: About 2.6k

Warnings: Oral sex (male receiving), improper uses of the word ‘God’ and unrealistic descriptions of massages. 

---

Tom stretched, trying to pop the knots on his back, as he sat down to rest between scenes. Maybe he was getting old, too old for this, Tom pondered for a second before mentally slapping himself on the face. Who was he kidding? Loki was a role he'd never give up on, as in never ever. 

So if that meant performing the various stunts himself for authenticity's sake and suffering through it, he would do it, without complaining.

He stretched once more, giving the battered script one last read before getting ready to shoot the next scene of the series.

The camera crew adjusted the filming angles while the make up artist powdered his face, making sure there was no excessive shine to his skin. Loki would certainly not break a sweat running away from a building he himself set on fire and throwing himself on the ground with a grin just a second before it all exploded. 

Yes, Loki would undoubtedly be grinning in that situation, Tom reckoned. The human, however, tried not to flinch as he realised he'd have to run and throw himself on the mattress with all his strength, again and again. The mattress was certainly softer than the ground they'd CGI into the scene, but his body was also certainly more breakable than Loki's.

One hour later, Tom was spent. Letting himself collapse on the blue stunt mattress, he was relieved that everyone had finally agreed that the take had been perfect - the grin, the hair, the elegance. The only thing he wanted now was to hurry home and sleep. Maybe he could ever delay his shower to the next morning if he changed the sheets upon waking up, he negotiated with himself.

"Hey, you okay?" 

Tom opened an eye only to find Kate crouched over him, a frown obscuring her features. "Yeah, I'm just feeling a little worn down, that's all."

Kate nodded to herself. For a second she felt guilty she was asking too much of him, but then they'd both agreed that they wanted the series to be perfect, whatever it took. "You were great back there."

His eyes were already closing again and he only nodded noncommittally. "Anyway, I suggest you go take a shower. The message therapist I booked for you is already setting up."

Tom sat up in a flash, his back protesting the movement. "That's very kind but I'm alright, no need for-"

"Be ready in ten minutes unless you want to be late," Kate interrupted him, challenging his British punctuality. He opened his mouth again, but she waved him off, knowing what he was going to say. "Bobby has been fed and walked. He's lying outside right now with part of the crew, enjoying the last sun rays of the day." 

Tom cursed internally and got up, feeling outsmarted. This was not something he was looking forward to but he'd be damned if he showed up late.

"Also, this will be routine until we finish shooting." Kate added quietly before running off.

--- Water droplets ran down his back as he stepped out of the shower, a white towel wrapped low around his hips. Sighing, he cleaned some of the fog on the mirror with his hand and then proceeded to tumble dry his black hair before adding some nourishing product to it. 

It was only then that he remembered he had no change of clothes with him, more specifically underwear, since he always preferred showering at home. Contemplating his clothes on the back of the chair, he concluded that he didn't have many options unless he wanted to put on the boxers briefs he had worn all day or go nude. Tom chuckled to himself at the latter thought, already imagining a young male therapist telling him to take his English countryside back over the pond. Deciding not to make the person he'd have to see for the next month uncomfortable on the very first day, Tom pulled on the black running shorts he had worn to set that morning, going commando underneath.

--- 

One minute late, Tom knocked on the door to the infirmary. 

"Come on in." A voice replied. A feminine voice to be exact. Not what he had expected.

Obeying the lady, Tom opened the door and let himself in, his eyes landing on his new massage therapist for the very first time. Clearly not what he had expected. Tom swallowed, using his acting skills to appear nonchalant even as he subtly - or at least, as subtly as was possible in such small quarters - eyed the woman in front of him. 

Her hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, revealing the elegant curve of her neck. She was wearing a tight fitting white t-shirt with equally white yoga pants. A look of purity all in all though it had his mind immediately wandering to the realms of exquisitely impure thoughts.

"Hi! I'm (Y/N). Nice to meet you, Tom," she introduced herself, stretching out her hand for him to shake. "Oh! Do you mind me calling you Tom? I can also go for Mister Hiddleston if you prefer."

Tom suppressed a groan, there was always something about being called that that got his mind spinning. Chastising himself, he shook her hand, flexing his biceps more than was necessary. Her hand was soft and warm and small, exactly what he needed. "Nice to meet you, (Y/N). Please do call me Tom. We'll be seeing each other quite a lot after all."

She nodded, smiling kindly before telling him to lie down on the massage table. Tom noticed that it was in fact surprisingly wide, but didn't think much of it. Maybe Kate was right, he needed this. His body undeniably did and if he were honest, he had been craving the touch of another human, feeling rather lonely as of late. Most of his friends were back in London, and those that weren't, were still too far away. As for a different kind of touch, a woman's company to be more exact, he couldn't remember the last time he had being blessed with it either. Definitely before Atlanta, he concluded. 

He barely heard her move around, her naked feet making little to no noise on the floor. "We will do a combination of deep tissue and Thai massage today, so that I can determine your problem areas for the next time."

Tom was in fact aware of a very problematic area of his but decided to spare her the dirty joke. He just didn't realise quite yet how problematic that area was in fact going to become.

(Y/N) came to a stop in front him, he could feel her presence as she warmed the oil between her palms before finally gliding her hands over the skin of his back. Tom couldn't help the pleasurable hum that escaped his lips as she started working out the knots on his back, some of them loosening under her touch with an audible crack that had her chuckling. God, even her voice was perfect. Dozing off was becoming more and more tempting to Tom, his eyelids feeling heavier than ever when she bent forward over his body to reach farther down his back. He felt her breasts press against him as she did so, the back of his head suddenly encompassed between them. Yes, there was the bra and then that pesky t-shirt between her chest and his skin but his body didn't seem to care. Not even one bit.

Clenching his teeth, Tom felt blood rush down to his once again problematic area. The fact that his dick was squished under him only served to make the situation all the more uncomfortable. Tom groaned, wether from arousal or frustration, he wasn't sure.

"Are you okay, Tom? Did I hurt you?" (Y/N) asked with concern. 

Tom swallowed nervously. "No, don't worry. Your hands feel great."

She moved away from him, the weight of breasts gone and he breathed out in relief. That is, until he heard her climb onto the massage table with him.

What the-? It was then that he remembered what a Thai message entailed from a vague conversation he'd once had with Ben and Sophie.

Before he could come up with a way to get out of this... predicament, (Y/N) straddled his hips and all but sat down on his butt. His cock immediately reacted to change in pressure.

"You've got quite a knot here," she explained, softly rubbing her fingers near his spine, about halfway up his back. "I'm going to try and break up the knotted tissue. Tell me if it hurts too much."

It did hurt, the way the heel of her hand pressed against the sensitive area. But it definitely didn't hurt enough to kill his arousal. If anything, it made it worse with the way he felt her weight shift above him whenever she moved. Instead of relaxing, he was only growing more tense. 

As Tom felt precum bead on his glans as she climbed off of him, having him feel equally disappointed and relieved when she went to work on his legs.

Her hands felt heavenly, sometimes painfully heavenly, as they moved over his calves. Not that it is eased his arousal, but Tom was confident that the massage was almost done and he'd soon be able to climb into the shower again and use the opportunity to wank himself to an orgasm. 

He'd certainly think of her as he'd stroke his shaft later, imagining she was there with him. Water running down her body, rendering her obscene white t-shirt transparent, her nipples visibly pebbling even behind two layers of fabric. His cock seemed to enjoy his fantasy as well, now so hard that Tom seriously started considering rubbing himself on the towel draped over the table to find some relief.

His thoughts were interrupted when she moved over his knees, to his his thighs. Her delicate fingers folding back his shorts to reveal more of his legs. Tom jerked suddenly, trying to hide his erection from her hands and crushing it under his belly in the process. He winced. 

Undoubtedly sensing Tom was tensing up again, (Y/N) made quick work of his thighs. Maybe he was a bit shy and didn't like being touched there, she reckoned, shrugging to herself to hide her disappointment. She'd always enjoyed her job, finding satisfaction in other people's well-being. But massaging Tom Hiddleston? She would have done it for free (don't tell her boss!).

"Please turn around, Tom." She said softly after finishing up the back of his legs

He startled. "What?!" Came his terrified voice. 

(Y/N) frowned. "Can you please lie down on your back now? So that I can work on your chest and the front of your legs."

Tom stilled, silently panicking. "That won't be necessary. It's quite late and I'm feeling much better already."

"Nonsense. I won't leave you unfinished," she protested, his cock twisting her words. "Besides, my boss would kill me if she ever found out I left a client halfway through a massage."

His jaw clenched. He was torn between two equally bad options, but in the end, he inner gentleman couldn't stand to be the one to jeopardise her job.

Slowly, Tom turned around on the table, still hoping that his erection wouldn't be as noticeable as it felt but the tent in his shorts was impossible to hide, sticking straight up to the ceiling.

She stared at his face curiously, observing his reddening cheeks before lowering her gaze. "Oh," she gasped.

Somehow, part of him had hoped her reaction would have been less shocked and perhaps a bit more pleased. As it was, she just stood there like that and he threw his forearm over his eyes, hoping it would lessen the embarrassment. It didn't.Sighing, he made a move to get up, hesitating whether he should apologise before leaving or if that would only make things worse.

The weight shifted on the massage table as she climbed on top, joining him on the soft padding.

Instantly, Tom lifted his head off the pillow, holding himself up on his forearms, bewilderedly watching Y/N as she knelt between his legs. "What are you doing?" He asked, his voice croaky, his eyes glued to her décolleté which the neckline failed to hide in this position. 

She looked up at him slowly, coyly, though her grin was nothing if not provocative. "Hoping to release all tension in your body," she replied, her tongue peeking through as her hands went to his hips, thumbs drawing circles over his shorts. "If you'll let me, that is." 

Tom swallowed audibly, almost expecting her to throw her head back and start laughing. But she never did. Instead, she sat back on her haunches, waiting for him to consent. "God. Yes, please!" He breathed out, his British accent growing thicker.

(Y/N) licked her lips, fingers working behind her head to tighten her ponytail. "Now that's more like it, Mister Hiddleston."

Without missing a second, she bend forward, lowering her face to place a kiss on his stomach, just below his belly button. Tom's muscles tensed in response, already looking forward to what was to come.

He struggled between the desire to watch and the impulse to lean back and simply enjoy. She made the decision for him, her hand pressing down on his sternum before moving her attention back to his groin.

Tom hissed as he felt her lips kiss the head of his cock through the lightweight fabric. His body suddered, his cock throbbed and she chuckled. (Y/ N) repeated the process a few more times, enjoying the teasing. Then, she moved her fingers to the elastic waistband and pulled his shorts down, grazing his buttocks with her nails. 

His cock sprang free, hitting his lower stomach a couple of times and Tom already felt a drop of precum slide down from the glans to his belly button. (Y/N) surprised him, first neglecting his weeping cock in favour of his balls, sucking them into her mouth one after the other, teasing them with the tip of her tongue.

Tom groaned her name, squirming beneath her and thrusting up. With a smile, (Y/N) decided to give in. She traced the tip of her nose along his length until reaching the head and then wrapped her tongue around the glans, teasing the frenulum. Tom moaned loudly 

He felt her hand wrap around the base of his cock before she took him in her mouth, as much as would fit. Instantly, his hand settled on the back of her head, caressing instead of pushing. "Just like that, darling."

She took to humming around his length, intermittently sucking in her cheeks and Tom started feeling the telltale tightening in his groin faster than he should. His hand gripped her ponytail harder, alerting her but her movements didn't slow. Tom propped himself up on his elbows, groaning at the sinful sight of debauchery in front of him.

"I'm close," he managed to warn her through clenched teeth. (Y/N) looked up at him, never halting her movements and the mischievous look she addressed him revealed that she knew exactly what she was doing.

Tom dug his heels against the padding of the table, canting up his hips and thrusting up in her mouth as his orgasm washed over him. (Y/N)meticulously sucked him clean, swallowing down rope after rope of his cum whilst humming around him.

"God, (Y/N). That was..." For once he was left without words, still dizzy with pleasure in the aftermath of his orgasm.

She licked his cum off her lips, taking in the sight in front of her with a smile, acutely aware of her own arousal. Tom's chest was flushed, heaving as he fought to regain his breath, his eyes still closed.

It was only then that she realised what she had done. She had blown Tom Hiddleston - a client.

[dinua]

TAG2 really happened, huh?

it has been about less than a day since I beat it, and I'm still reeling from it. but now that I've got a good night's sleep and stuff like that, I'll have to say,

everything was fantastic except for the writing.

this is all my opinion of course.

spoilers under the cut, you have been warned.

where the fuck do I even begin? it felt like all of the plot points were thrown at you at breakneck speeds. I know we're in a pandemic and all and that id's on a deadline (the Year One Pass), but they really should've saved the Davoth fight for a full game. on the topic of the Dark Lord,

  - Davoth, Ruler of Everything

so apparently id thought it would be a good idea to shamelessly retcon The Father being God, by instead having Davoth being God with The Father being his creation. it just seems like a twist put in there just to seem surprising.

nevermind the fact that this contradicts everything back in the main campaign and TAG1. the fact that TAG2 handwaves the Book of the Seraphs as "lies" only puts salt in the wound.

and also, it mentions that absolutely everything was just a part of Davoth's plan to get revenge on the Maykrs, from Doomguy’s existence, to the deal with Khan Maykr, and Samur rebelling.

not only does this mean that none of the characters really have any agency of their own in the story (which sucks because I liked Doomguy being the human-turned-demigod wildcard that messes up everyone's plans), but this once again contradicts previous lore, for after you kill the Khan Maykr back in Urdak, the Dark Lord can be clearly seen shouting "No!" at her demise.

oh yeah, speaking of the maykrs,

   - where the fuck is Sam? (and other loose ends)

seriously, after The Father teleported him away after the fight with him in TAG1, he's never to be seen again. no closure, just nothing. despite the fact that, y'know, he has played a massive role in the story since 2016 and that he's still alive.

also, what even happened to the Fortress of Doom and the Demonic Crucible? are they just floating in Earth's orbit for eternity? and will no one even question it? (well considering no one's questioning the literal portal to Hell's capital, they probably won't.)

   - Valen and the Intern should've gotten more screen time

exactly what it says on the tin. I say that the Intern should've gotten more screentime because I'm heavily biased towards him (he's adorable, what can I say) but Valen should've also gotten screen time considering that he, along with the rest of the Loyalist Night Sentinels, are participating in the siege of Immora. even a cutscene of Valen hatching up a plan with the Sentinels to assist the Slayer would've been nice, considering that he's a commander for crying out loud!

and finally, we reach the ending.

   - Doomguy fucking dies

yes, before anyone asks, I am aware that Doomguy may not be dead and is instead sleeping like he was before 2016, but still.

what. why?

Doomguy deserves better, and being forced into a sarcophagus after finally killing off the dude who's been responsible for all of his suffering up to that point is just... unfair. and if the powers that be decide only to let him out when he is needed, that's basically them viewing him as a weapon, which greatly insults his character and what he's been through. my man deserves a happy ending.

 I have more grievances with Doom's new lore and stuff, expanding beyond TAG2, like how with each and every game + DLC starting from 2016, things keep on getting more wackier and insane, Samuel Hayden being Samur Maykr all along (even though it clashes with his 2016 characterization), and the unsolved mystery of the family photo, but that's for another time. that doesn't mean I hated it as a whole though.

   + Environments

dear god, the world looks absolutely amazing in the DLC. the high tech city of Immora, the Argenta countryside + the World Spear, and the abandoned yet stunning in Reclaimed Earth.. credits to the artists for crafting such landscapes.

   + Gameplay

it's almost as if TAG2 had struck a balance between the decently hard main campaign and the tough-as-platinum-nails difficulty of TAG1. combat flows well, and the game gives you a challenge while not reaching the levels of pain TAG1 gave you. though I've heard that they nerfed a lot of difficult things in Eternal as a whole, much to the chargin of speedrunners.

that hammer tho;;

it's like pure adrenaline condensed into a weapon. It lends itself well to the combat of the game, considering that late-DLC and the Davoth fight was built around it. I reckon that it would be overpowered to hell and back if you were able to use it outside TAG2 though.

 so yeah, that was my rant/review of The Ancient Gods Part 2. some may have liked the writing better than I did, who knows. but, lemme just say one more thing:

intern’s best boy, fight me

[azurevi]

on land where we can touch the moon (2/?)

PART 1 PART 3

A quick note- this is pretty messy. I'm planning as I write, so there'll be information scattered across the words, and it may be overwhelming...kinda. I have added a little note about what happened in this chapter in the end. This series is also up on ao3.

There is, naturally, a reason Azul was stuck with the name 'The Sea Merchant'.

It wasn't a bad name, and there was no hint of degradation in it. It just wasn't particularly suiting. Azul wasn't a merchant. He wasn't even a shopkeeper. He was just invested in a little magic, and this hobby of his got leaked out somehow. 

His magic was certainly something. It's A Deal allowed him to confiscate another person's valued quality in exchange for their wish. Anything could come to life as long as the deal was equal.

Only the drunk and people in desperate need of help ever went to him for help. After Azul had started mastering his magic, he reckoned that it hadn't been used to its full potential. If the person on the other side of the deal failed to meet the requirement, Azul could take even more from them without suffering any loss. 

And so he sugarcoated and exaggerated his words, put up the most professional smile he could manage. For a few weeks all was well. He'd gained himself a melodious voice, splendid flexibility and a ton of unique magics, but nothing great ever lasted. He was soon exposed as a scammer and his notoriety was whispered among the streets, passed on and on until every family warned their kids not to ever run into him. And Azul, with his fame and prosperity wilting under the gossip and points of fingers, was forced into giving up his success.

He had been in hiding ever since.

He could never understand how something as atrocious could happen to him. If it hadn't been for the sneers and isolation in the entirety of his childhood, he wouldn't have grown up hating everything and everyone around him that called him ugly, unwanted, repulsive. It should've justified his desire for revenge.

Instead, God decided that his suffering was not anywhere close to enough and kicked him down the cliff where he was crying for help.

That being said, Azul was grateful to have Jade and Leech sticking around after everything. The two of them were also unpopular among others, so they eventually got close as a tight-knitted trio.

"No you didn't," Jade said firmly. 

"I did, Jade. I did," Azul sighed, "They were dying, Jade, I couldn't just let them die,"

"Well, you should've."

"Don't be so uptight. Azul was doing the right thing, wasn't he?" Floyd winked. "So. Were they good-looking?"

"What?"

"The human. You must've saved them for a reason,"

Azul hated how Floyd's words implied that he would never do good unless there was something in it for him, but one could never lie in the face of truth. 

"I just didn't want to let them die. It was their birthday,"

"What does that have to do with everything?" Jade asked. "You went above the water. You saved a human. You were almost caught. You could've died up there, you know. How did you even manage to breathe?"

"I just… did." Azul said, twirling his tentacles in nervousness. Jade was entirely disapproving of his actions, while Floyd on the contrary seemed to be mildly intrigued. 

Everything still felt like a fever dream. All the fireworks and cheering and explosion were still vividly scorched into his mind as if they'd been put on repeat. The splendid colors, light giggles and- 

And those beautiful eyes of yours. The way your hair flowed in the night sky with ease, how you laughed like tomorrow was promised and your life had been planned out before you, a clear and untainted path to success. Azul couldn't decide on whether he was jealous or amazed.

"Well, you better hope they didn't really see you, or that they forgot about it. If the humans come down here to hunt us down-" Jade couldn't even bear to finish the imagination. He simply shook his head in dismay.

"I swear I saw someone! I couldn't have just been washed ashore!"

"Apparently, you were," Jack said, stroding with large steps that had you panting to keep up. "Near-death experiences do things to our mind, your majesty,"

"That may be the case for others, but I'm sure I was conscious," you retorted. "I woke up to a pair of pale, azure eyes, then in a blink they were behind the rock. If it hadn't been for you-"

"I apologize for worrying about you, your majesty."

You bit your tongue. Fighting with Jack always ended with him being passive-aggressive and you stepping back reluctantly. Plus he was as stern as a rock. Almost nothing could move his belief.

Shouting and grunting could be heard from inside the medical room where Ace, Deuce and Grim were being tended to.

Jack flung open the door, and the three stumbled to get into the blankets and put on a excruciated expression.

"I see you're all healed up," Jack said. Ace hummed lowly and slapped his forehead with the back of his hand. 

"I'm at death's door, commander. It pains me to say this, but I might need to take more days off,"

Jack was quiet for a while, and you could almost see a drop of sweat sliding down Ace's forehead.

"And you, Deuce?" Jack challenged.

"I'm traumatized," 

"And Grim?"

You arched your brow, at which he shivered in fear. "I- I'm feeling fine already,"

"So it's just Ace and Deuce, right?" Jack said. Ace and Deuce nodded their heads so hard they could fall off.

"Alright. Your health is of utmost importance to us, so I'll contact the Raven Healer…"

"The what?!" Deuce's voice croaked.

"The Raven Healer. Surely you've heard of him. He's best known for being able to treat any diseases, both mentally and physically,"

You were sure there were sweats rolling down Ace's cheeks now. "But- but doesn't he heal by using bizzare mediciness…?"

"Oh yes. His magic is what makes him such an infallible doctor. You two seem to be in a lot of pain. I'm sure he'll free you of your suffering."

You turned sharply towards the door and stifled a laughter. 

"That's… not very necessary…" Deuce's voice faltered word by word. He was fully aware that he'd already lost. "You know what, commander? I think I can dive back into work right this instant!"

Jack smirked smugly. "Splendid. And you, Ace?"

The two of them stared at each other so intensely there seemed to be sparkles between them. Finally, Ace gave in. "I'll start work tomorrow,"

They didn't even wait for Jack to walk completely out of the door to whine. They looked fully healthy, even more energized than you.

"Anyways, did you find your saviour?"

You sighed. Ace and Deuce were still skeptical about your 'story', which you'd corrected to 'experience', but at least they were open-minded. 

"No clues. I've had guards patrolling about every two hours. Nothing has yet to happen,"

They eyed each other uneasily, then back at you with a worried face. Before they could make assumptions, you defended yourself. "No, I'm not sick. My head's not concussed,"

"Well," Grim scurried to your lap. "Perhaps your saviour doesn't wish to be found?"

That'd be unwanted. You would wish for anything but to create troubles for your lifesaver. Nonetheless, you knew you wouldn't be able to sleep without sending your gratitude. 

Alright, there might be a selfish motif. You were admittedly curious about those light, pensive eyes and silvery, gleaming hair under sunlight. All these unknown were like a gravity pool, pulling you deeper and deeper into the mystery.

"Well, you ought not to lose hope," Ace patted your shoulder casually, like you weren't the princette of the kingdom he was serving for. "Maybe you'll actually run into him. Fate has a weird habit for setting unexpected traps."

It wasn't so much love as a tender curiosity, but the line segregating them was so flimsy that one's got to mix them up at some point.

Azul found himself in such a dilemma. He couldn't decide whether it was attraction or nosiness that he was feeling. Either way, it's got him hooked like a drug. Something beautiful had finally entered his life like light piercing through a thick fog of ink, and it was possessive. Azul had a feeling that it wouldn't go away until it had drained him of his mind.

The door to his room was thrown open and Azul had to hide the peeled petals and green stem in a jumble. He had been chanting 'they love me, they love me not' for the past hour. To his luck, Jade and Leech didn't seem to have noticed his haste expression. They were both panting when they swam inside.

"What's wrong?" Azul's first instinct was that something had gone south.

"There-" Floyd wheezed. "There's a sta-"

"There's a fallen statue in the Coral Maze," Jade finished the sentence. "People are fussing over it,"

"Okay," Azul eased back into his bed. He'd already lost interest at 'Coral Maze'. It was at the centre of where the majority of sea creatures inhabited. Nothing could make him go anywhere near civilization and its hubristic aesthetic again.

Or so he thought.

"No- you don't get it. It's a statue of a human that sank along with wreckages of a big ship, and it's made of gold,"

A statue made of gold.

He recalled it now. It was supposed to be your birthday present. The consternation of what followed the present revelation had been so intense that it'd washed the memory of the statue out.

"We just thought that it could be the statue you mentioned in your story, you know? It looked really grand…" Floyd sighed.

Azul wanted to get up and swim over right there, right then, but he knew he couldn't. What would others say to him the moment they saw the shadows of their tentacles crawling on their pure and oh-so royal ground? What accusations would they throw his way? How many children will be led away from him like he was some man-eating, brutal abomination?

Not to mention the unforgiving rage he'd evoked in trying to scam them in the past. Dishonesty was highly criticised in their high-class society. It was as if they were saints that had never done one thing wrong. Bet they'd never even stayed up past midnight.

"You ought to come take a look!" Floyd suggested. A casual, friendly proposal.

"No," Azul snapped. "No, no. I'm not going there,"

"They're planning to use the gold," Jade said. "You know how they are. They see one thing from the ground and start screeching in pain,"

They were going to use your statue. The statue that was perhaps the only thing that was related to you, the one way to never have to forget about you again in case that you never met again.

And to imagine the effect it'd add to his collections! A big gold statue in the centre of his grotto, accentuated by the sparkling of other jewelries. It'd be complete.

"I'll sit on it," Azul decided. He was not to act rashly, lest he walked one step wrong and brought upon himself misery and misfortune. If he really was to pay a visit, he would act in secret. Perhaps in the veil of the night. 

"Just don't act alone, okay?" Jade said. Azul nodded despite not paying any mind to him.

In the dead of the night Azul decided to sneak out. Alone. It was a mistake, really. Azul couldn't stop thinking about your statue, and by the time he realized how absurd it was, he'd already gone to the Coral Maze.

There was nary a shadow except his own. Still, it was much lighter than where he lived even at night. The distorted image of the moon waved from above as Azul made his way through the many identical corals. Then he finally found your majestic statue standing solemnly in the centre. The only beauty in the water.

It was a sight for sore eyes. White, pure light reflected off the gold and created streams of gleams onto the ground. That someone would ever find it to be disgraceful was incomprehensible to Azul. Something like this deserved to be put on display in the museum for all to see.

There was no radiance on your face and no splendid colors in your eyes. It was merely a fraction of what you were. Nonetheless, it was enough for Azul.

"Who's roaming there?" an alerted voice asked. When Azul turned, he saw a silhouette looming from outside the Coral Maze, holding two anglerfishes in hands and waving them in the water.

Panic was the only thing Azul felt as he hid behind the statue, struggling to keep his tentacles out of sight. The light stayed right in front of him for a while before skimming away.

Azul grabbed the statue and swam, pushing his tentacles through the water as hard as he could. 

"Wait there- oh goodness!" 

There were several voices now, mumbling and inquiring. Then light was casted upon his flitting figure and there were bemused gasps before someone yelled, "Seize him!"

Azul was out of breath. He wished he excelled in fitness but instead he was stuck with incongruous tentacles that would never cooperate at the most needed times.

A hand grasped the end of his tentacle but slipped off. He kept the statue tight in his arms, as if his life depended on it. He could tell that they were near now, and was trying very hard not to imagine the gruesome outcomes.

Someone grabbed his tentacles. He faltered and was pulled back despite protests.

"Keep him in place!" another person yelled as the crowd moved to keep Azul fenced in.

Azul couldn't see anything. Everything was a poor mixture of shadow and distaste and sneers. He was probably going to die right there.

"I can't believe you have the guts to come back, Ashengrotto. After all the things you've done!" someone spoke up.

"Yeah! How shameless of you!”

"And he's stealing our properties now! Imagine how desperate he is,"

"You guys don't even want it!" Azul said.

Some guy lurched forward. Azul cowered backwards.

"It's disgusting, yes, but it's still gold." he said as if it was a completely just thing to do. "It landed on our ground, so it belongs to us. On the contrary, you don't have the rights to lay your filthy hands on it. What more do you want to steal from us?"

"I'm taking this because none of you understand the beauty of it!"

This evoked a negative reaction from the crowd, but words could never be taken back. Azul could feel his heart pounding like a prisoner hellbent on escaping. He had to escape. No more of this degrading gazes. No more of the points of fingers.

"Beauty?" the guy scoffed, and for a moment his face scrunched up and he was ready to spit out rage, but then it softened into a smug smirk. "I guess only ugly understands ugly, huh?"

Azul's head throbbed.

"It doesn't justify your actions, ink-blasting thief. Hand that piece of trash over right- uff!"

He was flung deep into the water until he disappeared into nothing but a black dot. People around Azul immediately made way as they fled in screams and wails. His tentacle was still tingling with the impact, but he couldn't quite feel it. Even if he did, he couldn't care less as he skyrocketed to the surface of the water. He blinked and blinked, but his eyes were still blurred by what would be mixed into the seawater eventually. 

He'd had enough. Heard enough, seen enough. If he'd spent one more second down there he would have suffocated to death.

The familiar freshness of air welcomed him the moment he broke through the water's persistence. The land wasn't far ahead. He swam towards it as if it was his sanctuary. 

There was a man sitting on the rock, face hidden under the hood. Azul considered retreating. He had no idea what would happen to him if he was spotted, but nothing better would happen if he were to go back. So he continued swimming and crawled onto the cool soft sand, only letting his head be seen by the man as he hid behind yet another rock where he placed the much valued statue.

He seemed to be asleep, chest heaving up and down at a steady pace. Just as Azul started sliding out, the man raised his head and looked straight at Azul.

They were a pair of humming, white circles, seemingly void of any sentiments. The man had a mask on that shielded his face except for his tightly shut lips. Two crows were staring right at him with the same uncanny manner.

"You've finally arrived," the man said.

Probably the humans had been searching for him. Azul decided to keep his mouth shut.

"I've been hearing your calls…" he tilted his head. "You can come out. I know what you are,"

Azul still hesitated. But he was much closer to the ocean than to the guy, so he slowly let his tentacles into light.

The man remained calm, not a bit taken back by the revelation.

"Well, I've been hearing your calls…" he resumed.

"I never called out to any humans,"

"Not literally. But you have been calling out a lot," he smiled amiably. "You have to know that it's especially hard for me to hear from creatures undersea, so if your wishes managed to reach me, it means you're pretty desperate,"

"I think you have the wrong person," Azul said and started retreating.

The guy sprang up and his crows curled up together beside him. "Wait- I should introduce myself first. I'm the Raven Healer,"

Azul pondered for a while. "That doesn't explain anything except for the crows,"

"You lots haven't heard of me?" he frowned so deep that his brows and eyes were a cluster. "You guys are really secluded,"

That was when Azul finally realized that he knew about them. About all the lives and creatures that inhabited the deep sea.

"And I mean no harm to your realm. My only target is you," he smiled again, this time at an ominous angle.

"Well, I'm quite famous in this realm. I heal people for a living, whether it be physical or emotional needs. Anything you need, I can grant you,"

That's not very different from Azul's magic. 

"Sometimes, when someone is really desperate for a change, their thoughts can be heard by my crows. And you, Azul Ashengrotto…" his smile dropped a bit and his eyes drooped. "is particularly distressed,"

"Alright. It was nice meeting you," Azul nodded respectfully. The man didn't seem to be harmful. If he fled right now, he could probably throw him off.

The Raven Healer stilled, then burst into piles of blatant laughter. "No, no. I've been looking for you, don't you get it? I'm here to grant your wish!"

I'm here to grant your wish. Like how Azul'd promoted his business as the Sea Merchant.

"I understand that you've been suffering quite a lot, and that you want a change. But nothing ever comes without a cost… I'm sure you can understand,"

The healer stood up, the material of his greatcoat fluttering in the wind. He made his way freely to Azul, who could only freeze up as he inspected the statue with great interest.

"The heir to the throne! I see why you're desperate now. They're a real catch," the healer then looked down at the outstretched tentacles without a word. Azul prayed in his mind that he would turn away from them.

"Well, here are my terms. I will grant you a pair of legs in exchange for your magic,"

Wait, what?

Azul was pretty sure the Raven Healer was just imitating him now. A great figure appearing out of the blue to answer your hopes. The catch was that the figure would always take away your most important thing. It was never a fair deal, Azul was aware.

"I don't think you need my magic," Azul breathed.

"Why, I do!" he exclaimed. "Collecting magic is a splendid hobby of mine! It is because of all these magic that I am such a renowned magician,"

He was obviously lying. His smile couldn't reach his eyes, and the orbs where his eyes were supposed to be were humming like a hazard label.

"I think I'll be just fine," Azul hurriedly brought the statue to his chest and started sliding away.

"...How are you going to survive?"

"What?" Azul swiveled, exhausted.

"Up here. With your…" the healer wiggled his fingers.

"I'll find a way,"

"No you won't," the healer protested. Azul looked up to the sky, took a deep breath and decided to entertain him. 

"Why so?"

"You're gonna cause ruckus. Chaos. People are not especially used to seeing half-man half-octopuses roaming their land," he said honestly. 

Despite knowing all this, Azul still considered his word rude. There was a thin line between blunt and disrespectful, and he'd just crossed it. 

"There won't be anyone dealing with you, will there?"

"...I suppose not-"

"Exactly! I am your only hope!" he exclaimed once again, throwing his hands up in the air like a dramatist. "Unless you want to go back?"

Azul glanced at the serene water. He knew that down there, the mermaids and mermen must be panicking over what'd just happened.

"You can't hold onto that statue forever. If you really wish to stay here-"

"I just came, Mr. Healer. I'm not going to stay,"

"Yet. Come on now," he groaned, as if he was the one exasperated. "I know you want it. You need it. So what are you waiting for? You're never going to see all the beauties in this world in this state!"

He was right. Agonizingly right. He couldn't just walk around as an octopus. It would be like a stain on a quaint painting. Moreover, now that he was here, he couldn't just give up the chance to find you again. It's not like the ocean would welcome him anyways.

As if hearing his thoughts, the Raven Healer reached his hand out, "Deal? Your magic for a pair of legs. It's a fantastic trade if you think about it,"

One second. Two second. Azul didn't wait until the third to act on it. The moment their skin touched, Azul felt a stream of warmth coursing through him, rushing to his throat, where he choked up a luminous blue orb. It was within the healer's fingers within seconds.

"And your legs," he rummaged inside his pocket. There seemed to be numerous tiny objects inside as he dug around. Finally, he pulled up a thumb-size bottle and handed it to Azul.

He downed the slimy liquid inside under the healer's encouraging nods, and almost gagged at the sensation. "Guh! What the hell is-"

His tentacles started glowing a bright yellow, bright enough to attract people in this dead of the night. They started to shrink until they completely disappeared, and a pair of human legs replaced them.

He couldn't believe his eyes as he stretched around and surveyed the changes on his body. It took him quite some time to adjust to it, but he was surprisingly good at it. The fabric of the pants that came with the gift fluttered against his 'flesh' like a mother's caress. He felt normal, for once. Not some ugly monster that preyed on innocent kids. Not a marginalized criminal. Not even a wicked fraud. He was just a human wanting to explore the world.

"Three days," the Raven Healer said.

"What?" Azul was too joyous to pay real mind.

"If you can't find the most beautiful thing after three days, you will dissolve into sea bubbles,"

Azul stilled as he comprehended his words, then he started to chant no in his mind. He'd fallen for his trap.

"You didn't mention it at all!" Azul yelled. "Refund! You're scamming me!"

"The pot's calling the kettle black now. How comical," the healer giggled. Azul's heart dropped to the bottom.

"Consider this your own medicine. It's not like you're completely at loss over here!"

"Wait!" Azul reached out to grasp his fainting figure, which had become an opaque vision. 

"We shall reunite in three days. Until then, enjoy."

All that was left was the crashing of the waves and songs of the crickets. Bathed in the glow of the moon, Azul finally came to the conclusion that he'd fucked up.

Life never stopped to give him a break. There were haste footsteps nearing from behind. Azul instinctively retracted his tentacles, but forgot about their absence and tripped instead.

"Yikes! That was a nasty fall. Are you okay?" 

Looking up, two formally looking men were standing above him, one with crimson hair and another navy. There was a sword attached to each of their sides.

"Yeah. I-I'm fine," Azul cleared his throat and stood up.

"Are you homeless?" The redhead asked and was immediately hit by his companion.

"You can't go around asking people whether they are homeless!" he scolded, then turned to Azul brightly. "You must be in search of shelter! Please follow us!"

"That isn't any better," 

"Shut up," the blue-haired snapped with the same polite smile. "Come on, Mr…?"

"A-Azul. Azul Ashengrotto,"

"Yes, Mr. Ashengrotto. We can't have you catching a cold out here,"

Despite his friendly facade, Azul could see underlying motives lurking beneath. But clueless that he was, he didn't have a choice but to follow suit towards the castle-like building in the far distance.

"Your majesty will be pleased to see you," the redhead murmured, but Azul couldn't quite catch that.

"What was that?" he asked.

"It's nothing," was all that he received. "Just that you'll surely love the place."

Conclusion : Azul had once gone around scamming others with his unique magic but was busted and had been further criticised since. The Raven Healer is obviously Crowley, and his magic will be further explained in next chapter.

[mayuuunaise]

the really long a3! hogwarts au no one asked but i’m here to deliver | akigumi

click here for the general headcanon list LOL WHAT’S UPP I’M BACK adakshda god i just powered through a paper and i’m so fucking sorry to my groupmates i’m a WRE C K. anyway, here’s another group who’s just as bad as me aka akigumi let’s gooooOOooO

AKIGUMI

Banri // 5th year // Slytherin // Pureblood

the sorting hat didn’t even Need to be put on his head. it just hovered in the general vicinity and screamed “SLYTHERIN!!!” which was absolutely hilarious to banri

bc yeah sure, maybe when he was in first year or smth he could see it. all ambition and cunning and pride but then... everything was just... so boring. nothing challenged him. he thought magic would have been more interesting than this but it’s just,, not,,

but then

then he meets hyodo from hufflepuff who is comparatively bad at everything about magic. hyodo who can’t transfigure for shit. hyodo who burns all of his potions. hyodo who sucks at all thing EXCEPT 

except DADA. except he beats banri in a duel w/o breaking a sweat in third year. he beats banri settsu, pureblood prince practically wizarding royalty, who acts like he swallows a bottle of felix felicis for breakfast,, was beaten??? In a duel??? LMAO it’s all he needs to reignite that cunning and ambition. 

there’s unfortunately nothing he’s not good at, only things he chooses not to be. which is why he took over as slytherin starting seeker when he heard hyodo would (finally) be joining the quidditch team

Juza // 5th year // Hufflepuff // Halfblood

he’s so protective over the people he cares he’s willing to distance himself from them doN’T TOUCH ME

Delinquent face with a heart of gold. the hufflepuffs are also equally protective of him after they realize he’s not all that bad. which was bc he challenged banri settsu to a duel during third year when the slytherin was harassing a muggleborn hufflepuff (it’s sakuya.) 

(banri has since learned to take all that blood purity shite and shove it down the drain. he grows. very slowly. don’t worry)

So yeah it takes a couple of years, but his housemates make sure they give back tenfold by spoiling him rotten with sweets from the kitchens. 

after the banri incident, he finally gets enough courage to try out for the quidditch team with his little brother. he’s a FANTASTIC beater!! he finds immense satisfaction over whacking a bludger to settsu’s ugly face

very clumsy with spells, especially transfiguration (citron finds it SO ENDEARING and also very funny), but a natural at DADA! 

Taichi // 3rd year // Slytherin // Halfblood

kind of like kazu in the sense he’s not crazy about showing why he’s in slytherin (he’s heard rumours, knows this is “the bad house”) but,,, oh god but he’s so ambitious. tell me a mankai member more willing to do Literally Anything to get the things he wants.

unfortunately, ambition and insecurities are not a pretty combo LMAO

he’s the unfortunate former starting seeker that was kicked to the curb/becomes a chaser instead because slytherin prince banri suddenly decides he wants to try out quidditch.

i can’t wait for all the ugly insecurities popping out bc he’s friends w tenten AND banchan, arguably two of the most well known students in hogwarts. ahahaha alR I GHT

he’s very good with transfigurations and dyes his own hair with spells! that being said, he’s not doing too hot with arithmancy and ancient runes... no one told him it would be this hard... why did he even enlist in these classes...

Omi // Recent grad! Works in the Three Broomsticks at Hogsmeade // muggle born

Former quidditch captain, head boy, hufflepuff golden boy. Everyone thought he’d go pro, Tasuku even offered to hook him up with his old team if he wanted, buuuut

he’d much rather work as muscle and a chef for madam rosmerta. he likes it in hogsmeade, very quaint!

he was scratched by a werewolf in their human form!! Which means... lupine tendencies LOL anyway i just really like wolf-ish omi and u can thank OCAM for that

was good in DADA and had recommendations actually to go though the auror program. He’s still thinking bout it!! considers the year he’s working in the Three Broomsticks as sort of a gap year.

Sakyo // Arithmancy professor // muggle born

he’s a former cursebreaker! tsuzuru’s older brother has heard some really cool stuff about Cursebreaker Furuichi who had no qualms arguing with and demanding the goblins for proper compensation. a big reason why the cursebreakers earn more these days is because of him!

izumi once asked him why he didn’t teach DADA since he’s really proficient with it? he just shrugged. actually, he just really likes numbers and think that these are basic skills any kid should learn.

he and azuma but heads a lot after he claimed that arithmancy was superior to divination in its predictive ability. THEY’RE GOOD FRIENDS THO omi always sees them in the three broom sticks about once a month downing firewhiskey after firewhiskey

head of slytherin and wishes his paycheck were fatter... god between having both settsu AND rurikawa ( i just think banyuki is a force to be reckoned with ) in his house and izumi completely oblivious to all his efforts to ask her out on a hogsmeade date,, yes, he absolutely is not getting paid enough

Azami // 1st year // gryffindor // pureblood

HA he was so relieved that he wasn’t put in Sakyo’s house he actually laughed out loud when the sorting hat said gryffindor. 

he’s also a little sad bc he didn’t get to go to hufflepuff with sakoda :----( 

there are rumours that his dad is some big shot in the wizarding black market. azami will neither confirm nor deny, but a Lot of the treasures they have in the manor is due to sakyo’s cursebreaking gig. in fact, Azami was put under sakyo’s care for the longest time, even tho he was off doing curse-breaker work.

the gryffindor team is kind of scouting him already. they think he’d be a pretty good chaser... tasuku confirms this during their flying classes

i think he’d enjoy charms quite a lot!! his mother was also a charms expert and he feels closer to her that way

[salavarte]

Guess who's coming to dinner. One of the primary antagonists from Godslaughter, Jovix-Cailo, God Of Greed. I decided to dust him off for Artfight - MEET US IN THE PIT!

Since his page is locked unless you have an account (because of some of the maturity filters of the site), I’m just going to copy paste his bio under a cut for prosperity. It’s been awhile since folks have seen him so I’m sure a refresher is not missed, anyway. This is written in the tense before his eventual death. 

History: Jovix-Cailo is a furious being of unbridled hate and desire, a glutton for all pleasures who revels in carnage. But he was not always so - once, he was Ethem-Cailo, The Divine Squire, God of Aspiration and the loyal, jovial steward to several millennia’s worth of Threnghelleon champions, mortal and otherwise, as he walked among them in mortal guise. But no matter how many warriors, poets and kings Ethem-Cailo led to their prize, his own desires would always be cosmically denied him - for then what would the god of aspiration aspire for if he had everything he wanted? Though an uncanny and ageless being, Ethem-Cailo was effectively stuck in the body of a youthful squire, was never able to receive the respect of his divine brethren, and often found himself at the mercy of cruel mortals when he walked among them in the form of a boy. A once passionate, kind and righteous being had his resolve, his faith in humanity and confidence slowly eroded over the centuries, festering into resentment, jealousy and anger. All of Ethem-Cailo’s secret rage blossomed into violence when he was taken with his brothers and sisters on The Hunt, the old gods satisfied with their now space-faring planet’s expansion, and bored with the minutiae of commanding a wealthy, stable empire. Seeking excitement and glory, the gods of Threnghelleon set out to distant planes, to challenge other pantheons to grand duels and challenges for their own entertainment, and the entertainment of their people back home. Ethem-Cailo, at first unsure of himself in such a bloody sport, quickly rose to the task when confronted with life or death challenges, and became a force to be reckoned with, utilizing all his knowledge of the mastery of combat he had so long used to raise up Threnghelleon’s champions. His most notable achievement was the slaying of Thor Odinson, and for many hunts, Ethem-Cailo would wield the plundered Mjolnir to devastating effect. No longer seeing a need to hide his emotions, Ethem-Cailo became openly bitter and cruel himself, and cultivated an appetite for bloodshed. Feeling he now was of a standing to deserve a squire himself, Ethem-Cailo created a stone effigy of the tender creature he used to be and used it as both servant and punching bag, taking out all of his self-loathing onto the pitiable construct that shared his likeness. On the 10,000th hunt, Ethem-Cailo found himself in a match with an unassuming, frail-looking lightning sorcerer named Osymanthus Quince - who shocked the world by handily defeating Ethem-Cailo, and in doing so, became the new wielder of Mjolnir. Ethem-Cailo, furious and insulted, fled the scene before the match could be called, leaving their grim business unfinished. To add insult to injury, Osmanthus also liberated Ethem-Cailo’s effigy, and put into motion a series of events that would allow the Effigy to transform into an autonomous being liberated from Ethem-Cailo’s influence - Wybjorn Gol-Blynn. When a Threnghelleon god is able to break their fatal flaw, or if they become powerful enough, they ascend into a new being that joins others at the height of power in the pantheon - a Jovix. And so, when Ethem-Cailo was at last able to look deeply into his heart, he found a bottomless pit of greed and was glad for it, abandoning all notions of continuing a charade of heroism and accepting his uninhibited wants. What had been denied him for a millennia came to him at last when he embraced his nature- his body, contorting and stretching, permanently became that of an adult man, and he was at last granted the satisfaction of inspiring awe and fear in his divine siblings.   Now, he bides his time, stirring the pot in the Threnghelleon pantheon in hopes that he can eventually plot a coup to overthrow their patriarch, Jovix-Diocunigast. In the meantime, he pillages and conquers all he can, living for the day that he can crush Osmanthus Quince’s neck in his jaws and turn Wybjorn Gol-Blynn into the sand from whence he came. Personality: Jovix-Cailo is eternally driven by his dark appetites, be it riches, glory, food or carnal pleasure, but is seldom truly satisfied, leading him to have an almost perpetual foul mood. When he has the upper hand, he is extremely cruel and petty, full of himself, and is a sneering, cackling beast who delights in tormenting his quarry. When backed into a corner or challenged, his bravado quickly fades into blind rage, making him unpredictable, but easily goaded. He is notably clever, and prefers to get the advantage by planning ahead or outwitting his opponent before descending upon them with all his strength. He despises mortals, but does retain some modicum of a code of honor - while he does not hold back in a fight for the sake of preventing civilian casualties, he considers it beneath him to purposefully harm civilians without cause, and may go out of his way to prevent children from being harmed. A leftover vestige of his former charge. 

[imaginesfubu]

Obey Me Characters as Pokemon Trainers AU (Pt. 2):

Part 2 is finally here! Read Part 1 here! Again, the pokemon chosen were considered based on character personality, appeal to said character, Pokedex entries, and, in the demon brothers' cases, their respective sin they represent.

Asmodeus: This demon trainer of Lust is all about fashion and appearances, meaning he prefers Pokemon Contests over battling. If he does engage another trainer, his brothers, or the MC, he will surprisingly put forth an effort if he notices that his pokemon party actually want to battle and dirty up their precious costumes. Since Asmodeus rules the pokemon contest industry, both the personalities of Asmo and his pokemon charming the industry and their fan club without fail, I would think Asmo would be a Normal type. His team will wreak havoc ob his opponents when all of his pokemon know the move "Attract." Vietnam war flashbacks to Whitney and her Miltank

Asmo's team would consist of: Sylveon (originally an Eevee), Wigglytuff, Cinccino, Blissey, Staraptor (refer to its Platinum entry), and Lopunny.

Honorable mentions: Audino, Chatot, and Purugly (when caught as a Glameow; was horrified that it evolved into Purugly. Emphasis on ugly, but still loves it nonetheless)

Legendary: Meloetta

"You are such an ADORABLE trainer! You're so cute that my pokemon and I could just eat you up!~"

Beelzebub/Beel: Beel as a demon trainer would look VERY intimidating due to his height and body build, he is actually a softie and a major foodie; he likes traveling with his brothers to different regions and their respective cities and towns to try signature dishes. Unfortunately for all the chefs, they love Beel as their regular customer, but ultimately hate the fact that he's literally eating the restaurants out of house and home, and kick him out in order to restock on food and other supplies. Don't worry, once the restaurants are fully stocked, the chefs graciously allow him back in, serving him and his twin brother Belphie to a free meal, accompanied by a dessert of their choice, also on the house.

Considering Beel's insatiable appetite, his loving nature towards his family, and his physical strength and physique, I can see him as a dual trainer of Normal and Steel types, leaning more towards Steel pokemon due to their resistance of Poison and sheer endurance to most of the other elemental typings.

Beel's pokemon would be: Ursaring, Munchlax (later evolved into Snorlax, sweetly reminding him of Belphie when apart), Alolan Sandslash, Copperajah, Aggron, and Bastiodon.

Honorable mentions: Steelix, Solgaleo as "the beast that devours the Sun"

Legendary: Melmetal (see Shield pokedex entry) or Solgaleo.

"I'm hungry. After this battle, wanna go grab something to eat together?"

Belphegor/Belphie: Y'all know Caitlin from Unova's Elite Four? That's Belphie. All this pokemon demon trainer wants to do is sleep and spend time with his twin brother Beel. Out of all of his brothers, Belphie is by far the most ruthless of all when it comes to pokemon battling, but doesn't like to show it until after you can't run away from a trainer battle. You wish you could. Belphie would be a very powerful Ghost type user. If you wake him to battle, only for the battle to be time that "I could be using sleeping," you will pay dearly your life. The only two people who have the honor to wake him for a battle are Beel and MC, only after MC proves themselves as a competent trainer.

Belphie's pokemon team would consist of: Gengar, Bannette, Spiritomb, Jellicent, Golurk, and Mimikyu.

Honorable mentions: Decidueye, Palossand

Legendary: Lunala or Hoopa, alternating Hoopa's forms depending on the battle.

"*YAAAAAAAWWWNNN* ....You woke me up to battle? ...Fine, but if this turns out to be a waste of time I could be using to sleep, you're suffering will be slow and painful."

Diavolo + Soon-to-be Dateables

Diavolo: This Demon Lord trainer is of course, the Champion of the Devildom, succeeding his dad. Diavolo is a trainer with many great titles and even greater status, but that doesn't stop him from swinging by each school in the Devildom to have fun with the younger demons and learn all about the latest trends and memes. Diavolo himself is a big kid himself, never thinking twice about his child-like actions in front of nobles or any demon trainer with a high status. He's very charming and charismatic upfront, and is the kind of demon you could talk to or joke about anything without feeling nervous. Diavolo knows that the only reason he's so laid back and fun-loving is thanks to Lucifer, so he trusts and appreciates Lucifer a great deal.

Taking into account Diavolo's personality and status, I would deem him as an expert in Dragon type pokemon, embodying the many personalities Dragon type pokemon have. They enjoy having as much fun as Diavolo does, and both are forces to be reckoned with.

Diavolo would have the following team members: Duraludon, Salamence, Dragonite, Tyrantrum, Haxorus, and Dragapult. Diavolo loves seeing Dragapult yeet Dreepy to their opponents because he finds it funny every time.

Legendary: Giratina, gifted to him from his father after beating him in battle and becoming Champion

"Being both a Demon Lord and a Champion is such a draaaag! Nobody wants to challenge me because they're intimidated by me, I guess. How about you an I have a little fun with a pokemon battle? Don't hold anything back from me!"

Barbatos: His ability to see alternate timelines and universes and manipulate them to his will leads me to the obvious: Psychic. Between caring for the royal family and their grand palace, he can't find the time to battle with his pokemon as a stress reliever, unless Diavolo orders him to battle him and to "have fun" while battling him. Even though Barbatos apparently knows all and sees all, he nonetheless humors Diavolo already knowing the outcome.

Barbatos's team: Gallade, Gardevoir, Alakazam, Espeon, Xatu, and Gothitelle.

Honorable mentions: Orbeetle and Indeedee (one male, one female whom he asks them to help with his daily tasks in the Devildom's royal palace.)

Legendaries: Dialga and Palkia: They both assist Barbatos when he uses his abilities to maintain order amongst the alternate timelines and universes, and keep him from over-exerting himself in the process.

"Would you like to challenge me in a pokemon battle? Haha, no need to answer that, I already know that that's what you want."

Luke: Precious child of God. Very defensive and reluctant to associate with demons, but over time begins caring for them. He favors Beel the most out of all the brothers, but will never admit it outright to anyone no matter how obvious it is to everyone else. Enjoys baking more than battling, so his team isn't fully evolved. He won't battle unless Simeon is training him in battle or Luke challenges trainers in the Celestial Realm that are around the same age and level as he is. Because of his personality as of now, he would be a Grass type trainer.

Luke's team: Treeko, Turtwig, Bulbasaur, Chikorita, Snover, and Bounsweet.

Honorable mentions: Snivy and Milcery, with Milcery helping Luke bake in the kitchen, and Skiddo

Legendary: Celebi or Jirachi

"What? You want to battle m-m-me?! Why? I know I'm not that strong, but I think it won't hurt to try!"

Simeon: Literally Luke's guardian angel in the place of Michael the Archangel during their time in the Devildom. He's very patient with everyone, especially with Luke. His patience gives off an impression that Simeon is a grounded angel who thinks things through before speaking and acting. But if someone hurts Luke in any way, all logic and patience goes out the window, as he will savagely check the individual and pray to God asking for forgiveness. Ground types would be Simeon's cup of tea.

Simeon's team: Torterra, Gliscor, Mamoswine, Flygon, Rhyperior, and Mudsdale.

Legendary: Suicune or Ho-oh

"I think I may be missing something in Luke's lessons as his mentor in both battling and teaching about the ways of the three Realms. Think you could help me figure out what I'm missing with a friendly pokemon battle?"

Solomon: Very mysterious human trainer who doesn't talk much about himself. Is he a rival or friend? It's difficult to tell, but he hasn't done anything to raise any alarms, so the MC deems him as decent for now. But why does he act like he knows something that everyone else doesn't? Because of his seemingly shady impression he gives to others, whether he realizes it or not, makes him a Poison type trainer.

Solomon's team: Roserade, Venusaur, Naganadel, Salazzle, Crobat, and Drapion.

Legendary: Eternatus or Kyurem

"Oh? You're approaching me? Instead of running away you're coming right to me?"

MC: "I can't beat the shit out of you without getting closer."

"Then come as close as you like!"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Finally done! This AU is still a WIP, but thank you for reading such a long post! I decided to include Diavolo and the rest into one big post to keep from making so many parts to this AU

[fuwafuwamedb]

A Stolen Wife (Gilgamesh, Hakuno, Ishtar, Artoria)

“What a shame the great king of Uruk can’t even think about having someone close to him,” Ishtar teased, leaning near Artoria. “He was such a poor king when it came to women that I doubt any woman that he would become interested in would look back at him.”

Gilgamesh held his goblet, sensing his master’s discomfort nearby.

Her silence spoke more than any words she could dare to speak. After all, she was trying to bond with both Artoria and with Ishtar. Ever since she had summoned them both, he’d been tossed into the back of the Chaldean listings and been left to watch. He watched as Ishtar teased and laughed with Artoria, learning of his interest in the Saber. She’d rubbed against the woman, earning an affection that had simply sent Gilgamesh’s stomach into an unpleasant churn.

After all, who wanted the leftovers from Ishtar?

Still, the woman persisted. Her coos, her purrs; she combined them all to create something that he could only compare to a contraceptive. The very sight was enough to make him consider chastity, with Ishtar leaning in to murmur into Artoria’s ear.

The woman was laughing at the goddess, rolling her eyes a little. There was little consideration for what it meant for Ishtar to be a goddess, little interest in learning what kind heinous crimes against humanity the woman had committed.

No, she laughed away.

“You know,” Ishtar murmured as he got up, “Gudako tends to keep couples… I have little doubt she’ll keep you much longer.”

He’d been thinking about that.

Still, he lifted his nose at the woman, eyeing her like the useless waste that she was.

“Strange how you spend your time, Saber. I see destroying the very grail you hoped to use with your master and squandering the people that you claimed to be king over are not your only faults.”

Those green eyes were so luminous.

There was something truly beautiful about them, but then… They also reminded him of the scales of that foul beast that had stolen the herb of immortality from him. Lithe and beautiful, yet so intrinsically useless; their lives were nothing more than markers. They were signs of how not to proceed.

The goblet was tossed back into his gates as he left the room.

He ignored Gudako’s calling for him, opting for the silence and the peace of his room.

What he didn’t want right now was pity. He also knew that Gudako had been given the privilege of summoning couples in her summoning room. Dumuzi was here in a form, giving Ishtar, reluctantly, her spouse. Merlin was here, often chasing after his king. Ozymandias was almost never appearing anymore. He had Nefertari at his side. Cu Chulainn had some rider by the name of Laeg here.

There was another Cu Chulainn, but he seemed rather attached to Medb of Connacht.

Other servants had faced burnings. Their numbers had continued to rise, leaving the master with a great number of mana prisms and rare prisms. He and Gudako had worked together for a time, but…

Well, he was not fond of the flowery idolization of Saber’s method of ruling. That blind and senseless desire to put all other’s needs over one’s own was something that would lead them all into trouble. It was only natural that he would point this out.

The problem lay now in what Ishtar had pointed out: most servants had someone to temper them.

Gudako had not given him a great amount of experience embers. She had been restricting his time battling and had been leaving him only with Merlin. Now with Ishtar, she had another Archer available.

He had… few options.

He could, theoretically, appeal to Gudako. His strengths were far greater than Ishtar’s and his skills made him a force to be reckoned with. If she would take him up on improving them a bit further, they’d be something she’d rely on relentlessly.

Appealing to her would show humbleness. It would show his desire to remain a part of this team and to further their ventures into rescuing humanity from its own demise. There would be compromises to make. He would be forced to swallow more attention and more uselessness from those around him if he decided to go with this train of thought.

Ultimately, humiliation lay in that direction.

He could rebel when the time came for being burned. He could strike back at the fools that would come his way, seeing how long he could outlast them and threaten his master into obedience. There was a chance that she could be quelled or seduced…

Seducing his master, though?

Gudako was quaint, but she was nothing radiant. She had that cute charm that was overshadowed by the cutthroat and cold blooded ability to burn servants while looking them straight in the eyes. The number of times she had burned that Mephistopheles…

Gilgamesh shivered.

Some things were not humane, that being one of them.

Along with that, even if he were to fight, the woman had been raising Artoria with a vengeance. Soon the saber would be able to overpower him easily, leaving him in an uncomfortable state. The opportunity to burn him being provided on top of that would be more than Saber would be able to resist.

He’d wake up in the burn chamber.

He couldn’t appeal to the woman. He couldn’t fight. Gilgamesh glanced around his chamber, thinking carefully.

…There was… no one of import to quell him.

His friend was arguably a contender, but when he was in the mood for something, the being had been more of an enabler. Rather than calming him, the being would end up throwing logs on the fire, stoking it to a height that no one, not even Gudako at her worst, would be able to temper down.

There’d been a good amount of thought on this before. His summons meant that the other could be summoned, of that, he was sure.

This meant he didn’t have anyone though. There was no one to equal him or to calm his voice, as Gudako had with all her other servants. To allow such things would mean too much. He would not lessen himself or contain himself for the benefit of others.

The fighting was good though.

He enjoyed the fights, the spoils; anything and everything about being able to have a human body at times.

Perhaps…

Perhaps the best plan was to simply create his own.

There was no problem with doing such a thing, was there? The universe was full of realities. He could find something in his gates, part the tides of time, pluck someone of merit out, and claim them as something valuable to him. A wife or spouse or something.

Filtering through the Gates for his magecraft tablets took time, namely because he had hidden these tablets well since they were stolen from the gods of his time. Reading through them, another challenge as the gods had seen fit to blend his people’s tongue with that of the other kingdoms in a blasphemy crime against humanity, took time. He held up one about chaining a person to another, finding the text of interest.

A curse to create heartache and prolonged health issues due to the separation from another.

He had a feeling that had been used on him for his friend.

Clever, but he would use it for his created spouse. It would be something of a leash, keeping them near so that he could keep from further issues.

Another one simply showed what had to be prototype command spells.

Another contender in ways to housetrain his summons.

“Ah!” Gilgamesh grinned, finding what he was looking for.

The rift was the easy part.

His hands parted the air and the world like the fabrics of a curtain, allowing him to peer through time. He could see a man with a goatee, demanding him to use his Ea.

Loud.

Gilgamesh ferreted a bit of power to his self in that time, closing the rift back up and trying again.

An arrow was shot through his forehead.

Gilgamesh stared at himself being killed, his stomach churning.

Unsuitable.

He closed the rift and parted it again.

A young girl in what seemed to be a flowing white gown glanced his way, frowning deeply from where she stood. Her eyes drifted to where his body of that time and space was, but he shook his head and closed the rift once more.

Too young.

If he wanted a child, he would have prostrated himself to Ishtar or Saber for their attentions. While the latter would be unlikely, he had little doubt that the former would turn him away.

The thought was repugnant.

“I WON’T GIVE UP MY CONTRACT WITH GILGAMESH!”

What was this?

Gilgamesh looked in, finding the woman standing before his unconscious body upon a wall. Her arms were outstretched, blocking the woman nearby. Her brown hair reminded him of his people. The pale skin, flawless and smooth, reminded him of his friend.

It was the expression on her face though- that did him in.

He opened the gates just inside the rift, causing the woman who’d been defending him to fall. With that done, he sealed the rift once again, fixing his room a bit before he let the woman fall forth from his gates.

Now came the interesting part.

First things first, those curses. He used them both, finding the command spells forming in the form of extra red ink upon his chest. The other curse left no mark, just a strange feeling that nagged at the edge of his senses.

The woman’s attire was thrown, burning soon enough in the fireplace in his room. He swathed her properly in his people’s garments…

No, this didn’t work.

It did, but it didn’t work.

He looked at her unadorned body, watching the woman lay unconscious for a bit.

Cheetah print.

As soon as his mind thought of how she slept like a kitten, the image of cheetah print came to mind. In fact, snakeskin would look suitable too. Perhaps a few furs. He began to look through his gates once again, opting for something from that modern time.

He’d snatched a few things in his summons. While the memories of them came and left, the items were never forgotten.

He liked the white shirt and snakeskin. Adorning her with some gold did wonders.

Brown hair was rather dull, but…

The brown hair that the woman had gleamed quite nicely against his bedsheets. The faint glimmer of gold and garnet in that hair color drew his eyes in, intriguing him.

Tonight, since he was feeling amused, he would permit her to rest in his bed. She had entertained him. She was bound to him. Tomorrow he could look into what that would mean a bit further.

“Gil…”

The woman turned, pressing a hand to his chest.

Ah, one last thing.

The command spells on her hand- he forced them from her, releasing whatever servant she had been bound to. Without them, she was nothing more than a mere mage.

Gudako would not take the risk of removing him from Chaldea now.

After all, who would care for his poor wife?

[technobladetimestamps]

Oct 5 Stream Timestamps

Timestamps from Technoblade’s “preparing for war (dream SMP)”

Link to my youtube comment with all of the timestamps x

Timestamps with hyperlinks below

01:36  Tommy told him not to stream / would tell us to subscribe but we’re all notification gang 03:35  intro / Tommy woke him up to help with a fight / looking for a thumbnail / jester_u never lets me down 06:21  back to the Tommy story/ if he’d had more stuff he would have 1v5’d / hunt for mending villager / failing to craft a lectern 10:23  mining off camera / horse breeding off camera 12:57  fancy horse is named Andrew / fast but can’t jump / secret horse facility / in between horse numbers are dead 19:43  lots of villages / “equestrian expert” / breeding explanation / “got to kill like 9/10 of the babies because they’re worthless average babies” 22:00  calling Awesamdude a noob / percentile system doesn’t work like that 25:05  almost roasts us for watching him but decides not to complete that sentence 26:18  trying to do interesting streams but everyone is nice only when he's live 28:28  "oh no my water spilled...also I  have a second glass of water that i'll drink from" / floating snow trap 29:28  "offering" villagers jobs to get a mending villager 35:13  "Whichever one of you gets the mending book gets to live" 37:29  reading server rules / not breeding bc that wouldn't be pg / "these villagers don't deserve to pass on their jobless genes" 41:05  gets a mending villager / villager tries to die 45:08  trading with fletchers / "just cause I hit them in the face with an axe a whole 5 minutes ago" 46:59  "You've got to cut down the trees before the burn down in a giant fire" / criticizing the blaze rod achievement 48:24  hard to get special arrows without villager breeding / gonna destroy everyone once fully geared 55:28  how to become a human gps? 59:35  "I haven't killed a single baby on this stream" / "imagine putting off college to be Technoblade" 1:12:30  texts to dad during $100k duel 1:16:52 John Mulaney / "I read words I don't hear them, because people don't speak to me. I'm not sad you're sad" / blow up the sun / deleted for bad grammar / "Lesbian Rights" / "actually funny" 1:22:03  making fun of a scam text 1:23:01  "say ommf in a high voice" / "it's been over two years from my last compliment" (dono) 1:27:15  naming pickaxe / sword / trident / potions / water elevator 1:33:37  lying to Eret about having mending books / kelp / hbomb adver.tising his challenge 1:36:23  "opportunity to steal something from Sapnap" / totally didn't scam Tommy out of a god apple 1:38:51  liked the Sadist dual animation / lesbian's are still the only ones with rights / knows about turtle potions 1:42:59  stole the name Technoblade 1:45:26  too much of a hoarder to use god apples or regular golden apple 1:46:19  doing hbomb's slimeblock challenge / chat lying about Dream being under Techno's base / pufferfish 1:56:56  FIRST TRY BABY / call with Hbomb 2:06:48  chat tries to prank Techno and he immediately finds diamonds / "Everything's coming up Technoblade" 2:10:09  had a cough for a year / not covid / going to the nether 2:23:13  needs new glasses 2:25:24  has been eating 50% cheeseburgers lately / guy who's been up 20 hours / no bannerlord / fortresses are the bane of speedrunners now 2:30:30  likes on brand fanart slightly more (for thumbnails mostly) 2:39:50  Eret gives coords for a nether fortress / taco bell challenge ending / glad he quit / bargaining with Awesamdude 2:44:29  being risky for the suspense but completely incapable of dying 2:52:26  "cause I'm built different" / "you have been noticed" / heading to the Eret fortress 3:00:00  Techno is very confused by the bastion / "Pig King among the Pigmen" (Eret) 3:28:00  Tommy in chat / Techno being bitter about Tommy telling him not to stream / Techno leaving the nether to portal travel to the fortress / Philza can't call he's sleeping 3:32:00  cows jumping into water / teleporting cow 3:39:01  pink sheep / "Now that I have seen a statistically improbable sheep i'm going to find stacks of netherwart” 3:44:35  "That dolphin is vibing...I aspire to that level of vibe" 3:50:35  directions from Eret / "Just cause the chat has trust issues" 3:54:30  (loud) "NOT EVEN CLOSE BABY TECHNOBLADE NEVER DIES" / "Yeah I am very lucky I was born Technoblade" 3:59:48  getting 6 wither skulls 4:04:40  this was scarier than most tournaments 4:08:42  "This is main character energy" / would kill the turtles if they dropped anything / "I would never kill a defenseless animal, unless it had bad stats 4:10:26  "No amount of money is worth the puns" / typo in last stream title 4:14:32  "We're going to make good use of these wither skeleton skulls" / foreshadowing / "I'm not killing pigs that's not kosher" 4:16:37  not gonna ask people to make new accounts to subscribe 4:23:45  It'd be homophobic to only spawn a wither in the rainbow castle 4:26:11  "We're gonna use this wither at an opportune moment" / "We're gonna ruin the server for a day with withers...the day of reckoning" 4:27:13  "Only you can prevent forest fires" / learn how to put out fires with your fist in California 4:35:20  "Longest grocery trip since my dad" (dono) / "tsundere horse" 4:42:00  chat is very attached to the horse / chat is spoiled / Techno complimenting his own joke 4:47:00  gonna lose his voice / 13 hour stream / vc with Karl and Eret / taco bell gift card / deep voice gang 4:49:49  married people are responsible for each others' crimes 4:55:40  Karl instigating Techno Dream rivalry / Dream being mad at Techno 

[grailfinders]

Servant #4: Artoria Pendragon (Lily)

Rounding out our Artoria collection for the moment is Saber Lily. It feels a bit weird making a 20 level build for a character whose whole schtick is not being fully trained, but here we go anyway. Our goals are similar to the last two builds: a fancy laser sword and mana burst, with the caveat that Lily isn’t as physcially powerful and doesn’t have access to Warlock levels. The build’s spreadsheet is here, and we’ll be going into more detail about it below the cut.

Race and Background

As per usual, Artoria’s a Human Knight, granting her +1 to all ability scores, proficiencies in History and Persuasion, and giving her three Retainers.

For skills, we’re using the standard array: if you want to roll, keep that strength up for multiclassing. Our highest stat is Charisma. Saber Lily’s future occupation hasn’t crushed her spirit yet, so it’s a bit higher than Artoria’s.

Next up is Dexterity, she’s a bit faster than the other Artorias, but have you seen children? It fits.

Follow that up with Constitution; Saber Lily’s a growing girl, she needs her hit points.

Next is Strength, because this is the lowest we could make it and still fit multiclassing requirements.

Finally, slap the 10 and 8 into Intelligence and Wisdom, respectively, because this is still Artoria we’re talking about.

Class Levels

1. Paladin 1: We are once again starting our build as a paladin, giving you proficiency with All weapons and Armors as well as Wisdom and Charisma Saves and Religion and Medicine. You’re just a knight in training right now, you need to know how to patch your own injuries. Once again you receive Divine Sense at this level, letting you detect extraplanar entities nearby, and also Lay on Hands, letting you heal for 5hp per paladin level after each long rest.

2. Paladin 2: Second level paladins receive a fighting style: take Great Weapon Fighting so you can prepare for Excalibur and prevent any time paradoxes. You also receive Divine Smite, giving you the option to burn spell slots for more damage. Speaking of spell slots, you have those now! You can cast 1st level spells at this level. You can only prepare up to your charisma modifier + half your paladin level each day, but you have access to the whole paladin list to choose from. I suggest focusing on support oriented spells like Bless, Cure Wounds, Shield of Faith, and Heroism, but ultimately it’s up to you to decide how you want to spend your time before duty crushes your soul.

3. Paladin 3: Third level paladins receive Divine Health, making you immune to disease. You also join the Oath of the Crown, swearing to uphold the dignity of the crown i.e. you. This gives you the channel divinity options of Champion Challenge, forcing other creatures you choose nearby to make a wisdom save or be forced to stay within 30′ of you, as well as Turn the Tide, healing allies around you for 1d6+Charisma Mod if they are bloodied.

4. Paladin 4: Fourth level paladins receive an Ability Score Improvement, which we will put into Constitution for better health. Most of your spells are buffs right now, so you don’t need to worry about making magic checks too much at the moment.

5. Paladin 5: Fifth level paladins have an Extra Attack each turn, letting you deal much more damage. This is also the level you receive 2nd level spells, such as Find Steed to get that horse you always wanted, and Magic Weapon to help you keep up with your older selves.

6. Barbarian 1: Now that we have some extra damage, it’s time to switch over to Barbarian for a bit. First, you get Rage (a.k.a. Mana Burst), giving you advantage on strength checks, +2 to melee damage, and resistance to nonmagical slashing, piercing, and bludgeoning damage. In return, you can’t be wearing heavy armor, and you can’t cast or concentrate on spells while it’s active. Unfortunately, you don’t have a fairy godfather or magic cup helping you dress, so you’ll just have to wear medium armor if you want to use these skills. You also get Unarmored Defense, making your unarmored AC 10 + Con + Dex.

7. Barbarian 2: 2nd level barbarians get a Reckless Attack, giving you advantage on all attacks now in exchange for enemies having advantage later, and Danger Sense, giving you advantage on dex saves caused by things you can see. You don’t have to be tough to kill if you’re tough to hit.

8. Paladin 6: You gain an Aura of Protection, giving you and any friendly creatures within 10′ of you a bonus of your Charisma mod on all saving throws.

9. Paladin 7: As an Oath of the Crown paladin, you have a Divine Allegiance, letting you swap your health with a nearby ally’s when they take a hit. Your hit dice are going to be pretty generous with you, so make sure you spread the love to your squishier teammates. 

10. Paladin 8: You gain another Ability Score Improvement, which we’ll put into Charisma. With the one stat buffing every save you make, it’s not a bad idea to max that out.

11. Paladin 9: Ninth level paladins gain access to 3rd level spells like Spirit Guardians, Elemental Weapon, and Crusader’s Mantle. The sword of choosing is nice, but having angels swarm around you to protect you is a pretty sweet way of proving God’s cool with your coronation too.

12. Paladin 10: Tenth level paladins get an Aura of Courage, preventing you and friendly creatures within 10′ from being frightened. You don’t know what you’re doing yet, but you look like you do, and that’s what’s important.

13. Paladin 11: Eleventh level paladins have Improved Divine Smite, adding an extra 1d8 radiant damage to all of your attacks. A nice addition, but still not quite NP level yet.

14. Paladin 12: Twelfth level paladins get another Ability Score Improvement. Use this one to max out Charisma. You are now officially Too Pure for this Sinful World, and you have the certification to prove it.

15. Paladin 13: Thirteenth level paladins gain 4th level spells, Like Aura of Life and Death Ward. Dying is bad, make sure that doesn’t happen.

16. Paladin 14: You’re really racking up paladin points now, earning you the power of Cleansing Touch, letting you end a spell’s effect on you or a willing creature five times each long rest. Curses are for people who don’t have the power of God and Anime on their side.

17. Paladin 15: At this level, Oath of the Crown paladins gain the depressingly misnamed skill Unyielding Spirit, which gives you advantage on saving throws against being paralyzed or stunned. You try not to think about why neither of your adult selves have this.

18. Paladin 16: You gain your last Ability Score Improvement, which we’ll put into Dexterity and Wisdom, to bump up your saves just a bit more.

19. Paladin 17: Just one level away from the end, you finally gain access to 5th level spells, including your Noble Phantasm Holy Weapon. It’s not a laser, unfortunately, but it’s a concentration spell that lasts for up to an hour, and basically adds a smite (2d8 radiant) to every hit you make. As a bonus action you can dismiss the spell and go full Caliburn, forcing every creature you want to within 30′ to make a Constitution save or take 4d8 radiant damage and become blinded for one minute.

20. Paladin 18: For your final level, you receive Aura Improvements, bumping up the range of all your normal auras to 30′. This isn’t that big a deal, since you’re normally all standing together in a line anyway, but you never know when it’s come in handy.

The Positives: With your high health total and powerful spellcasting, you can be an effective support even on the front lines. Your high Charisma also means you have plenty of uses of your skills, letting you use them more liberally than your adult counterparts. You also give a pretty massive buff to every saving throw your party makes. While charisma saves aren’t as prevalent as wisdom saves, your +16 to them means you don’t have to worry about getting shunted to another plane any time soon.

The Negatives: You have a slightly lower AC than the other Artorias, and honestly may want to think about just foregoing armor altogether and using your Unarmored Defense. This, combined with your very low strength, means you probably won’t be a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield unless you use your NP, which you only get one of per long rest. That’s not to say you should avoid fighting, just don’t expect to stick around on the front lines.

[superhusbands-are-my-life]

godless, not faithless

(hello hello! welcome to the story where nat is a bro and there’s a lot of pining and in denial tony! i’m a lil rusty so forgive me if this doesn’t seem to flow or something doesn’t make sense. @starkrogerrs and i were feeling just a tad under the weather, so i decided to write a lil fluff to try and make things a little brighter! hope you enjoy!!!)

Yes, when it comes to self-destructive tendencies, no one is better at it than Anthony Edward Stark. Frankly, it might as well have been his middle name or another alias, like the Invincible Iron Man.

Yes, he thinks, his gaze trained on the backside of a certain blond man punching away at a reinforced sandbag. When it comes to self-destructive tendencies, he is absolutely the number one man to go to.

He watches. It’s all he ever does anymore.

He watches as the man subjected to his gaze remains oblivious to it, solid thumps resounding each time his taped hands make contact with the bag. He watches as he ducks his head low, azure eyes focused intently on one thing and one thing only, intense, unrelenting, and rapid. His hair gleams in the light, like spun gold, and Tony wonders quietly if it’s really fair for someone to be so… Perfect.

Strong brows furrow in concentration, his full lips as soft and as colored as pink rose petals that part as he breathes in and out, his broad shoulders hunched and chest heaving. He clenches his teeth, showing a chiseled jawline that would make Adonis weep. He moves faster, almost a blur, pushing, straining, and Tony knows that he won’t stop until he’s at the brink of breaking.

It’s moments like these that Tony is in awe. Steve Rogers is a force to be reckoned with, unstoppable and unending. He is, simply put, a force of nature.

When Steve finally stops, he’s breathing even harder, leaning forward with his eyes closed, hands on either side of the punching bag to support himself, sweat soaking his shirt and causing the thin fabric to stick to his body. Tony’s eyes flicker down from his nose to his chin, down the line of his throat, watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. His throat is probably dry after that rapid session. His eyes move on to sweep over Steve's collarbone over to the strong shoulders, tracing over the curve of his biceps and muscled forearms to large hands. Steve has an artist's hands. Steady and poised, his fingers are long and slender. It always catches Tony off guard.

His waist is a lot more trim than people think. For a brief moment, Tony wonders how Steve would feel—rolling muscle under pale skin—against his hands. He banishes the thought. Steve is a coiled spring, full of smooth power and sinuous grace. His hips are wider than one would suspect, with prominent hipbones peeking out just above the hem of low-slung sweats and Tony wants to dip his tongue along the creases of them. He isn’t sure he’s seen anyone with an ass as glorious as Steve’s, and he wonders again if it’s legal to be so perfect.

Steve has long legs. The first time he had noticed was when he watched him outrun Sam and Rhodey one day, laughter bright in his eyes and lips. His thighs are filled out, and it’s no wonder that every bit of his body is hard and muscled. The peak of human perfection, like Aphrodite herself has blessed him. There’s no other way to put it. He’s like… He’s like Apollo. Tony starts for a moment at his own mind but then smiles ruefully at how true that it.

The god of the sun and light. The god of medicine, and healing. The god of pestilence and plague. The god of prophecy and truth. Every time he smiles or laughs, it makes him feel warm like the sun has dappled itself over his skin. Sometimes, it’s more than he can take, especially when his smiles or laughs are directed towards Tony, and suddenly, things aren’t so dreary anymore. Those times, it makes something inside Tony swell so much he can’t breathe for a long moment or two, heat ravaging his body to the point where it was almost painful. The god of light and the sun.

There are times when they make contact. Perhaps a warm hand on his arm or his shoulder, fingertips brushing against each other, sometimes, palm against palm when they share a rare high-five. Other times, it’s when Tony’s trying to take measurements to tailor his suit to him perfectly. It makes Tony feel as if… As if he’s not as broken a man as he is. It makes him feel whole.

They haven’t touched much but for very brief instances in a while, not since… Not since that one day in the lab when his body had complained of his constant activity and lack of sleep that he’d been ignoring. He’d taken Steve’s hand and trailed his fingers down his forearm to his hand, trying to think nothing of it, inspecting his fingers for his gloves, murmuring numbers and calculations to himself in a low voice that Steve had mistaken for something Tony had wanted him to know and had bent down closer to listen because Tony had been hunched lower than usual. Tony had looked up at exactly the wrong (or right) moment and their lips had almost met, a mere inch apart, eyes meeting and holding. Steve’s hand had been suddenly very warm in his own, the mesmerizing blue of his eyes drawing Tony in deep. He’d never stood a chance.

Warmth had spread through his entire body, and suddenly, it had been like he was taking a breath after a long time underwater. Steve had breathed out softly, reaching his hand up to brush over Tony’s cheek. The contact had shot an electric current through Tony and he jumped, the spell broken, letting Steve’s arm go in an instant and drawing back, something akin to panic rising from deep within. Steve had jumped away as well, an emotion flickering over his face and eyes too fast for Tony to process after seeing the expression on Tony’s face. He’d schooled his expression to something placid and had smiled, saying that Tony should get more sleep, and then, he’d been gone. After he’d left, a mere ten minutes later, Tony had suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion unlike any other that he’d felt, and so, he’d slept, sprawled over the couch, though the last flitting thoughts in his mind had been of how close Steve had been and how warm and electrifying his touch had been. He’d awoken to his headache gone, reinvigorated and more inspired than he had been in a while. The god of medicine and healing.

More memories arise. He remembers when they had fought together in the Battle of New York and every other battle that they’d faced, fighting against challenge after challenge, and Steve? Steve had moved with a grace and ferocity that Tony had never seen before, sweeping through enemies without pause, his shield creating magnificent arcs that felled their opponent left and right, always returning. He fought seamlessly and without rest. In battle, it had been so easy to read Steve, and when he had approached him, Tony had known exactly what to do each time. No words had to be exchanged and they had moved on, their actions like a deadly dance that had been choreographed beforehand perfectly. The god of plague and pestilence.

Tony breaks away from his thoughts only when his leg is nudged, causing him to jump in surprise, his eyes tearing away from Steve before he comes face to face with a red-headed assassin. Natasha. He lets out a cough and the woman rolls her eyes, sitting down across from him. How long has he been staring at Steve? He’s lost track of time. Damn. He swallows and slumps down a bit into his chair as Natasha fixes her piercing gaze on him. He feels her slowly picking away at his very being as if she can see right through him and read his thoughts. He looks away from her wordlessly to rid himself of the feeling of his skin prickling, but looking away doesn’t do much for him. It still remains.

It’s silent. Steve is still oblivious, or so it seems from the brief glance Tony gave before looking away. He’s pounding away at the punching bag. Natasha’s sharp eyes catch it. There’s a long, heavy silence, and then she sighs. She speaks first.

“This isn’t healthy, Tony.”

Tony’s first instinct rises. He retorts back. “What is?”

She fixes him with her pointed gaze once more, but this time, Tony doesn’t back down, meeting her eyes defiantly. She seems to cut through his feint in less than a second, speaking slowly.

“You know what I mean, Tony.” She says carefully, then she taps the side of her mouth.

His hands immediately snap up, alarm ringing in his head, was he drooling-? When his hand touches nothing, he notices the small smile on her lips. He scowls hard enough to scare the fur off a cat, but Natasha only takes it in stride and brushes it aside. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says slowly, and after a moment, she raises a brow. It’s all Tony can do to keep from saying more to defend his honor, lips pressing into a thin line. They lock eyes again. Tony wavers. He looks away.

“It’s- It’s not like that.” He mumbles, and Natasha’s gaze softens. He can feel the prickling lessening, that’s the only way that he knows that it has. He takes a deep breath and looks up again, meeting her eyes. A silent conversation ensues.

It really isn’t like that. Yes, sure, Steve is… He’s beautiful, there isn’t any other word to describe him. Inside and out. He’s kind, generous, humorous, and caring. He has an edge that no one expects, and he’s a lot more sarcastic and deadpan than he lets on in public. He’s not- He’s not perfect, no one is, Tony knows this. He’s stubborn, stubborn enough to go toe to toe with Tony himself, he’s strong, so very strong, but sometimes- Sometimes during sleepless nights when Steve sits silently in the kitchen, staring with a scarily blank expression at the countertop, Tony slips down. He’s only going down for himself. He needs chamomile tea, even if he despises the taste of it. It’s only convenient that he knows Steve likes his chamomile tea with a bit of honey. It’s only a coincidence when he can’t sleep and JARVIS informs him that Steve has been in the kitchen for 30 minutes, still as stone.

No, it doesn’t make his heart ache with an indecipherable emotion when Tony one day meanders into the kitchen with no purpose after starting awake for the third time that night and paces a bit, where he finds Steve already there with a cup of chamomile tea and honey, another cup of black tea with a splash of milk and three cubes of sugar waiting for Tony across from him. Damn JARVIS. He must’ve told Steve when he’d asked why Tony had always grimaced sipping chamomile tea.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when Tony purposefully searches out things that he thinks will make Steve laugh or smile, finding him little snippets of the past after hearing him murmur a soft complaint that he wishes he had an older radio. It doesn’t mean anything like that when Tony finds an old radio and repurposes it to function as it would have back in the old days but much better, and it finds its way quietly settled next to the bedside table of Steve’s room. It doesn’t mean anything like that.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when he finds films that Steve’s missed and watches with him when they both have time. He’s just helping him catch up, and it doesn’t mean anything like that when his heart skips a beat when Steve laughs softly every time Tony shows him some new Disney film and he ends up singing the part of Dr. Facilier from The Princess and the Frog. It’s not anything like that when he makes random Disney references from the movies they’ve watched that Steve immediately gets at the breakfast table, making him grin or chuckle while the others look at them like they’re insane. That’s okay. He doesn’t mind being a little insane if it makes Steve smile.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when Tony comes to the surface from the lab and finds Steve spread over the couch, eyes shut and serene, unable to stop from smiling before he searches out a soft blanket and returns with it to cover Steve before going back to what his initial task is. It doesn’t mean anything like that when he sees Steve after an especially hard battle that pushes him further into a slump that Tony has come to recognize to be the overwhelming realization that things have changed so much and that the years have moved on without him, and it causes a tightness in Tony’s chest that he just can’t seem to relieve. It doesn’t mean anything like that when he goes up to the top floor where he just knows Steve is, drawing or just sitting, hidden away in a corner.

Tony usually has a couple of sandwiches and water, because he knows that Steve has come directly here without eating or cleaning, and after all that activity, he’s bound to be hungry and thirsty. It doesn’t mean anything like that when Steve looks up with his glassy blue eyes, Tony stays, sitting next to him without a word. Sometimes, they talk. They talk about anything and everything. Sometimes, Steve tells him what’s bothering him, other times, he doesn’t. Tony doesn’t push, but he nudges and coaxes when he feels he needs to, and after a while, Steve leans in to brush their shoulders together, and when he cracks a feeble joke about how this has become a usual occurrence, Tony knows that he’s going to be okay. Other times, Tony leaves the plate of food and water and leaves him be because Steve doesn’t look up when he comes in, and that means he just needs some peace before he bounces back.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when at charity galas or parties, Tony has to come and rescue him from whatever fox decides to attempt to seduce him. It’s a bit funny to watch, but something strange in him twinges every time he sees someone by Steve’s side, arm hooked with his. He does take strange relish in the way that Steve often frantically looks around, polite as he is, in an attempt to look for Tony so he has an excuse to politely decline whoever is vying for his attention. He attempts subtlety, but Tony knows he’s looking for him because the instant their eyes meet, Steve’s shoulders slump slightly in relief, and by then, Tony is chuckling and inserting himself smoothly into the conversation, defusing it and stealing Steve away with all kinds of excuses. The twinging in his chest dissipates only after a while when every time he turns or moves, Steve is always a foot or two behind him, moving when he moves, like magnets, for the last half of the event. It still doesn’t mean anything like that.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when Steve comes down to the lab with sketchbook in hand, and for some reason, joins Tony and sits on the couch sketching and drawing whatever comes to his mind. It’s a comfortable silence and Tony often just falls into that mechanics of whatever he’s working on, and sometimes, he switches playlists to songs that he knows that Steve enjoys. He doesn’t mind it, though it’s a bit annoying when the music becomes stuck in his head and repeats sometimes. It isn’t like that at all when Tony feels his heart give a pang when he looks up to see Steve dozing, and when he gets closer, he sees the subject of his drawing has been him. It doesn’t mean anything like that, so he just closes Steve’s sketchpad and adjusts him carefully into a more comfortable position before Tony returns to his work.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when Tony comes down to the gym with Steve when he looks more worn down than usual and ends up going a couple of rounds with him, which usually ends with him flat on his back, slick with sweat, and panting while Steve has forgotten all about what was bugging him, grinning as he pins him down. He leans in close and tells Tony to concede, and Tony only gasps out a no before going completely limp and causing Steve some alarm, his guard down and grip loosening- And then Tony strikes. He suddenly throws his weight upwards and derails Steve, and even though he ends up getting pinned again, he holds his own wrestling and grappling for purchase with Steve for around two minutes and he’s damn proud of it. He tells him as much and Steve laughs as Tony sighs and concedes Steve's victory. It doesn’t mean anything like that when Tony’s heart seems to be pounding even faster than before when they’d been giving it their all to dethrone each other.

He’s just being a good friend. What anyone would do. He cares for Steve. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything at all that his throat seems to convulse and something twists painfully in his chest as he claims silently to just be a good friend. His and Natasha's “conversation” has only lasted perhaps a minute or so at most, however, it feels like it’s been hours, and Tony has to swallow to get rid of the rubbery feeling in his throat. Natasha just looks at him. She’s frowning. He just stares back at her.

Why is she frowning? He suddenly feels like he’s on the brink of something, at the very edge, and with the slightest bit of a nudge, he’ll fall off and into a deep, deep abyss he knows that he’ll perhaps never drag himself out of. Something tightens in his chest even more as he continues to watch Natasha, whose gaze has gone from exasperated to amused. She knows something he doesn’t know. Tony tenses. He’s teetering. He suddenly isn’t sure if he wants to know. Natasha looks away from him for the first time since she’s taken a seat across from him.

“Tony…”

His name sounds delicate on her tongue, suddenly. It feels as if he is on a very, very thin sheet of ice, already cracking and breaking, and the weight of his name is only causing it to break faster and faster. His fingers tighten, curling into his pants, holding his breath. He only has a moment to think helplessly that there is no going back from this before Natasha nudges him.

“You already know.”

Things fall apart around him. In a moment or two, everything just collapses. He falls through the ice. He is pushed off the cliff. He knows exactly what she’s talking about. Who is he kidding? Everything just… Slides into place. Tony is centered. He knows, he knows, and he’s always known. Natasha knows exactly when everything clicks, a small smile appearing on her lips.

He swallows.

Tony groans, letting himself drop, his face burying into his arm. Natasha gives a soft laugh and he knows that she’s laughing at him. “It’s not funny.” He murmurs thickly, his heart squeezing painfully but fluttering simultaneously. He’d been in denial long enough. He’d hoped to remain in that state, but damn. Natasha never lets things go his way.

“It is. You should do something about it.”

The smirk in her voice is obvious. He huffs. He turns his head to look at Steve who’s oblivious to his careening and desperate demise. He’s just tilting his head back, towel around his neck, gulping water down, and every nerve in Tony’s body seems to tighten.

Apollo, the god of prophecy and truth.

The god of prophecy had told him that he’d fall in love since the moment that he’d seen Steve smile. The god of truth tells him now that he is in love every time his heart dances when he even sees a glimpse of him. He sighs. He’s too old for this.

Yes, Tony is as destructive as he gets, letting himself fall in love with Steve.

The tale of Icarus plays in his mind as he watches Steve. Icarus, the man who coveted what he could not have and vyed for the love of a god. The mortal who loved the sun and flew too close and fell to his doom. Just then, Steve turns his head to meet his eyes, smiling brightly and gives him a little wave, and suddenly, Tony can’t breathe. It’s only when Steve turns to nod to Natasha that he drags in a shaky breath.

Well, he thinks, I’ll happily be Icarus for this Apollo.

Tony is godless, but he is not faithless.

Of course, later, he finds out, he is not Icarus who plummets to earth with the words "just once" on his lips. Later, he finds out that they can craft their own tale of Apollo and Icarus when Steve asks him to go for dinner and kisses him sweetly when he answers with a breathy yes.

Tony is godless, but Steve is his faith.