#game completion hurrah

[colloquialcolors]

Well. Goddamn. Having finished In Other Waters. What a phenomenal game. No clue how to effectively recommend it to people in a way that both sells it accurately but also doesn't understate how. Thoughtfully and intentionally it's made. But I do want to capture my gut reaction, right off of finishing it. So. Hrm. Lets see.

- You experience the entire game through screens- minimal graphics, dots and radars and scans and texts. It is scientific and methodical and- not tedious, exactly, but. Exacting. You scan, and move, and monitor, and the whole world is lines and dots and bare bones information on a screen.

- But the world is also alive. It's so beautifully, wonderfully- at times, terrifyingly- miraculously alive.

- I don't know how to describe the way that the game builds this, but it feels like learning a language, or slowly seeing a pattern. Little things move in the water and you learn to recognize the movements. Wordy, beautiful descriptions for every spot you move to. Entries on the intricate and bizarre biology that grow in detail and understanding as you find more pieces and analyze more things.

- Its like. The entire mechanic of- you put together entries about each plant or creature or organism, piece together information in walls of text, and when you finally learn enough, you are rewarded- with a sketch, a visual representation of the thing you have been reading beautifully worded entries of, something you have been imagining and visualizing.

- You are reading, and scanning, and gathering, and imagining and theorizing. And then you, suddenly, can see it. You read about the shimmering veils of bioluminescence strung together in inky darkness, and then you see a rough sketch of an organism constructed out of blinking lights, metres long. You spent hours wading through waters reading about the way the light filters through water on the reef and the brilliantly colored plants sway in the waves and suddenly you see a sketch of one of the leaves. Fast moving dots described as winged, fast moving creatures, and you document their burrows and their paths and their food and then. A rough scientists sketch of one.

- The whole game. Feels like that progression- a slow sense of awe. Repetitive, intentional steps, unfolding into pictures.

- You are the only thing like you, in the whole game. An observer learning the world. You are alone, but not exactly. You are a guide, acting as the eyes and hands and leader for someone you only know through text. Ellery talks to you through text prompts, and not always- but she does talk to you.

- You are her hands and eyes- you scan and move and decide where to go and monitor the oxygen and power to keep her safe and fetch all the samples. She is your hands, and eyes- she describes each new point you move to with painstaking detail, describing the sand swirling in water or light glittering, or the way darkness closes in, or the way bioluminescence throws shadows. She notes down the information and processes the samples and is the one to write the entries and turns all the data into something real.

- You move Ellery around the whole game, act in service of her, but she feels very distinct from you- secrets of her own and backstory you have to earn from her even though you guys move as one unit.

- And you learn about Ellery, and Minae, and. man. man.

- The way the screen changes with different biomes- the colors and the music shifting. The way that the layout stays the same but you feel the differences. Deep darkness alleviated by points of light. Open, sunny sands with swaying vegetation. A choking, cloying algae bloom.

- The UX stays the same, for all of these. The color, and indicators of topography are all that changes. But you feel the differences.

- Look, the mechanics are- finicky. A little unintuitive. Occasionally frustrating. But it feels right- like operating a clunky control board to steadily map an unknown space. You learn it, clumsily, and you get the motions down until it feels right. Navigation is- at times slow, and tedious, and confusing. There aren't really shortcuts to navigate through the different sections. But that feels right too.

- The game itself is not always fun to play. But it is rewarding, and it feels worth it.

- There's a whole ocean of inexplicable, alien life! And you get to explore it in a way that feels so intentionally, lovingly crafted. I don't know what to say beyond that. What. A fucking treat.

... also the plot about corporations fucking up ecosystems because of the never ending desire for profit and the destructive impact of thoughtless corporate greed. so. you know.

[joelscruff]

truth or dare (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

notification blog | kofi | in honor of my bestie han @swiftispunk who recently celebrated her birthday (and in honor of spooky season starting 🎃) i thought i'd step outside the boundaries of what i usually write and try something new. i'd also like to give a huge shoutout to @toxicanonymity whose entire masterlist greatly influenced my desire to try something like this. please heed the warnings!!! and as i said this is my first time writing anything like this so pls be kind 🫠

summary: a harmless game of truth or dare ends with you tied up in a certain mysterious neighbor's garage. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: dubcon (reader is given a choice to leave, but not immediately), dark!joel, age gap (reader is college age, joel is in his fifties), unprotected p in v sex, use of restraints, ropes, spanking, degradation, sir kink, dirty talk (use of 'little girl' as a pet name), face fucking, rough sex, creampie, brief anal play, humiliation, inappropriate use of a household item (he puts a flashlight up her cooch), marking (with a sharpie), size kink (joel is much bigger than reader and can lift her), pls lemme know if i forgot anything word count: 8.3k

Your palms are sweaty, fingers sticking to your skin as you stand at the edge of the property with goosebumps already blooming along your flesh. The air is chilly, that end of summer evening air flooding your nostrils as a car drives past through streams of leftover rainwater, headlights blurring your vision for a moment. It passes quickly and you're alone again, standing on the street corner with a mixture of anticipation and dread filling your trembling body.

Everything had been fine about twenty minutes ago. A typical party with your hometown friends, one last hurrah before everyone splits off for the third year in a row to go back to their respective colleges, back to long lectures and underwhelming frat boys. It had gone the same way it always does when you get together - shots, secrets, schemes. No end of summer party could ever be complete without a game of truth or dare, not for your crowd anyway.

It had started simple. "Which one of us had the best glow-up this year?" "I dare you to text the last guy you slept with." "What's the kinkiest thing you've done with somebody?" "I dare you to show us the last nude someone sent you." Typical borderline adolescent challenges, things you all still followed through with despite being too old for the game - it's the principle of it, to indulge and pretend, if only for a little while, that life is as simple as it once was.

"Who's the last person you had a sex dream about?"

You'd twisted your hands awkwardly in your lap, felt heat rush to the apples of your cheeks. Usually a question like this wouldn't make you hesitate, but the subject of the answer had been a slightly embarrassing one. As soon as the name Joel Miller had fallen from your lips, you'd been met with screams and squeals and excited chatter from every direction.

"He's so fucking creepy though," one of your friends had said with wide eyes, palm over her mouth, "He gives off serial killer vibes."

"Oh please, he's not that bad," another had chimed in, "He's just a loner, kinda mysterious. I see the vision."

"Are we forgetting the part where he's old as hell? Dude must be in his fifties, at least."

"But that means experience."

"It could also mean limp dick."

"You guys are disgusting," you'd moaned, leaning back on your hands, "It was one dream, let's move on."

And they had. Briefly. Until it was once again your turn and they'd all rounded on you with cheshire cat grins and glinting stares. You should have known what was coming when you chose Dare.

"I dare you to go over to his house."

You'd resisted, of course. The dare itself didn't even make much sense; what were you meant to do? Go over and ding-dong-ditch his front door like a twelve year old boy? But it had only snowballed from there, all five girls tossing in their own thoughts and ideas, talking and giggling over each other. "She should ask him on a date." "She should just flirt a little bit, see how he reacts." "She could see how far she can get with him, maybe?" "Oh shit, that's good."

You could have always said no - there was no way any of them could force you to do it, even if it would have ended the party abruptly with grumbled complaints and a slammed door. But the more they talked the more you found yourself listening, letting the concept sink in, the images of the dream you'd had the other night flooding to the front of your mind. Mysterious and elusive Joel Miller, big hands covered in the motor oil he uses to tinker with his truck, trailing his messy fingers between the swells of your breasts...

They'd managed to convince you just by the reminder alone, though also due to the fact that they'd each tossed in a twenty dollar bill and stated that simply getting a kiss on the cheek would warrant a win. The prospect was intriguing; it would be a testament to your own desirability, your game. How far can you get with your quiet neighbor who probably hasn't touched a woman in years? Who'll probably fold the second he realizes someone as young and beautiful as you is interested in him?

"I'll do it," you'd said with a smirk, rising from the hardwood, "How hard can it be?"

Harder than you thought, apparently. Because now you stand a few feet from Joel Miller's house, loitering soundlessly at the edge of his front lawn, hesitating. The sun has gone down, turning the hedges along the side of his property into frighteningly tall shadows, dark and menacing. A light breeze flows past and you wrap yourself tighter in your well-worn maroon cardigan, shivering, staring at your boots and wondering if you can really bring yourself to do this.

It'll be so humiliating if he rejects your advances. On the other hand, will it somehow be less-so if he returns your flirtatiousness and you then have to reject him once you've gotten what you came for? How will that make you look? You're not even really sure why you care - probably because the man has done nothing to you whatsoever, nothing that would warrant such a foolish prank as this being played on him. It makes you feel bad, in a way. As much as you and your friends make fun of him, he really is just a man who keeps to himself - perhaps this is going too far.

You notice light flickering nearby, a reflection of fluorescents in the puddles of his driveway. You figured he'd be in his garage - it's where he spends most of his time, bent over the exposed hood of the truck he's seemingly been working on ever since he moved in at the beginning of the summer. You've never seen him drive it, never even seen him leave the property, but you've passed by the house on more than one occasion. You've seen the way he rolls up the sleeves of his flannel, forearms splattered black and grey, expression focused on the task at hand while sweat drips from his greying temples.

Having a sex dream about him really shouldn't have been that shocking, now that you think about it. The man is a mystery, sure, but he isn't ugly by any means.

You swallow down your qualms, picturing the faces of your friends more than likely smooshed against the living room window a few houses back, watching. As soon as you turn the corner, you'll disappear from view, obstructed by the hedges and the sudden darkness of night. You take one more deep breath, one last burst of chilly evening air into your lungs, and accept your fate.

--

He doesn't notice you walking up his driveway, taking slow and meager steps as you assess the open garage, the truck with its hood popped as usual, the flickering of the florescent lights hanging from the ceiling. He doesn't notice you, but you notice him. You spot a pair of steel toed boots and long denim clad legs sticking out from underneath the truck, hear the clink and clang of metal against metal while he tinkers with something down there, unseen. As you reach the garage it becomes apparent that you still have one last chance to end this before it begins, turn around and take the loss.

But you don't.

"Excuse me," you offer in a weak voice, teetering nervously at the edge of the garage door, neither inside nor out - neutral ground.

The clinking stops, replaced by the steady pounding of your heart in your chest, the heaviness of your breathing. You try to loosen your hands from their fisted forms and unclench your fingers, focusing on the stretch of flesh and bone while the legs beneath the car slowly begin to inch forward. He's not laying on any type of support, one of those wheeled contraptions you've seen other people use - no, he's simply got his back to the ground, a back and body that's slowly coming into view.

His black and green flannel rides up where he's been laying on it, as well as the grey t-shirt he wears beneath; as he slides out from under the car you spot a bare sliver of skin just above his waistband, a patch of hair that trails down into his jeans. A lump forms in your throat. When he finally peeks his head out, you swallow around it and try to remember to breathe.

Greying hair slicked back behind his ears, cheekbones smeared slightly with something black, scruff lining a strong yet soft jawline, a plump bottom lip, and those eyes... dark brown, almost black. It's the face that's practically been haunting you all summer, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.

His brow furrows as soon as he sees you, "Can I help you?"

It's not the first time you've heard him talk, but it's certainly the first time he's ever spoken directly to you. His accent is stronger than you remember, words slipping smoothly past his lips like butter as he eyes you from the floor of his garage, knees up, hands still hidden in the darkness. A few seconds pass before you realize he's asked you a question.

"Oh, um-" You haven't thought this through very far, that's for sure. What the fuck do you even say? You take a breath and remind yourself that you're good at this, have seduced your fair share of frat boys in the past two years with minimal effort and have never heard the word no. Sure, Joel Miller isn't a frat boy - far from it - but underneath his cold exterior he's still very much a man, and very much capable of falling under the spell of a beautiful woman. You hope, anyway.

"I was just taking a walk," you lie, "Saw your light on, thought I'd come say hi."

He stares at you blankly, like he's unsure exactly how he's supposed to respond - or perhaps he's already seeing through your façade. You take a step into his garage, poised at the edge as you lean casually against the opening.

"Honestly, um-" you push some hair behind your ear and attempt to look shy, though it's not a huge jump from how you're actually feeling, "I've been meaning to talk to you, before I go back to college."

At your words he raises an eyebrow and slowly brings his hands downwards, palms pressing flat against the dark concrete. You watch as he eases himself up and out from under the truck, and god he's tall - tall and broad and huge compared to you, a fact that sends a little flutter into your belly. He takes a step toward the work bench against the wall, eyes still on you as he reaches down and picks up a rag to wipe his hands, big and wide and streaked with oil. You remember your dream and feel a twinge in your underwear.

"Talk to me about what?" he asks, massaging the rag against his fingers.

You shrug as nonchalantly as you can, taking another step inside his garage, closer to where he stands at the work bench. You cross your legs in an attempt to show them off, stretching your ankle toward a spare tire on the floor and accentuating the sheerness of your black tights, the little run that splits the material at the inside of your knee, the hint of bare skin that peeks out beneath.

"Nothing in particular," you say, keeping your voice soft and steady but doing your best to keep that shy girlishness present, "Just... wanted to." You peer up at him from under your lashes and bite your lip, then reach out your hand for him to take. You say your name.

He assesses your hand but doesn't take it, brow still furrowed. "Joel," he replies, "And I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment. Don't really have time to talk." His voice is cold and gruff, absolutely no sign of interest or attraction - dammit.

"What're you doing?" you ask, tilting your head.

He continues to stare at you blankly, "What does it look like I'm doin'?"

Okaaaay, then.

You shrug again and take another step, turning to look at the wall next to you. Tools line the shelves, wrenches and screwdrivers and the like dangling rather precariously here and there, smeared in motor oil and dust. It's a mess but you'd be willing to bet that it's organized chaos, that he likes it this way.

"What's this?" you ask, pointing to a particularly large object, something that looks like a mixture between a pair of scissors and a wrench.

"Bolt cutters," he supplies you monotonously.

"Ohh," you say with a nod, leaning a bit into the confused pretty girl stereotype and hoping maybe he's a sucker for it, "And what's that?" You point toward a small cylindrical object, black and tactical, only a few inches long.

"You never seen a flashlight before?"

Oh. Right. "Woops," you giggle, "Sorry."

You turn your face to look at him sheepishly and he's still watching you, big arms now crossed against his broad chest - impatient. Well, this is clearly not working either. He's frowning, eyes so focused on your face that you feel almost naked beneath it, like he's staring into your soul. You clear your throat awkwardly and tug your bottom lip between your teeth, breaking your own gaze away from him and trying to find something else to comment on.

"So you've been working on your truck," you state, gesturing toward the vehicle as if only just noticing it was even there, "What's - uh - what's wrong with it?"

He's clearly not buying into whatever the fuck you're even trying to sell. He remains silent, eyes still on you, and suddenly it's like you've never even interacted with a man before - and to be honest, maybe you haven't. Frat boys are certainly not men by any means, and nowhere near in the same league as Joel Miller by a long shot, probably almost triple their age with a dark and mysterious aura that feels almost suffocating. He just stares at you, slightly unnerving, but also seductive in its own way, almost like he's challenging you.

"What do you want?" he asks blankly.

"I-I told you," your voice is already faltering, losing its flirtatious edge the more you realize how dumb of an idea this was, "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah, I got that," he says stiffly, "Why?"

You've already exhausted the avenues you thought might work, which means you've got one last chance before he sends you packing. With bated breath you take the final few steps toward him and - averting your gaze - you reach your hand out to touch his forearm with your fingertips. It's feather light, but you're suddenly very aware of the goosebumps that rise on his freckled flesh, the way the thick hair on his arms seems to stand on end the second your skin touches his. Okay, now we're getting somewhere.

"I think you're handsome," you murmur softly, feeling warmth rush to your cheeks when you realize that it's not a lie. And it really isn't. As your gaze gradually tilts up you catch a glimpse of the hair on his chest, peeking out from under his grey t-shirt. You spot his pecs beneath the fabric of his flannel, see the throbbing veins in his neck, the coarseness of his scruff, the sharp curve of his nose, and those fucking eyes - looking at you with a darkness, a lust, that wasn't there before.

He's not just handsome; he's fucking gorgeous.

"What're you doin'?" he asks you, that gruffness still present but being taken over by something else, something darker.

"Nothing," you breathe, still trailing your fingers along his forearm until they reach its apex and dip into the soft part behind his elbow, damp with sweat. You swallow, throat going dry as you stroke his skin with your thumb.

"Doesn't feel like nothin'," his voice is quieter, matching yours, and he tilts his head slightly as he continues to stare into your eyes, "Why're you really here, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart. The word sends a burst of warmth to your chest, a smile to your lips. You unlock your eyes from his bashfully, watching your own movements as you trail your fingers back down toward his hand and wrap them around one of his fingers, so thick compared to your own. You squeeze gently, biting your lip again as you peer back up at him. Here it is. Moment of truth. You tilt your head up slightly, eyelashes fluttering as you lean forward to connect your lips with his.

Except, they don't connect.

Instead he pulls his hands away from you, brings them upwards and wraps them around your upper arms, squeezing tightly. Your eyes widen, confusion flooding your features.

"Turn around and bend over."

"W-what?" Shock doesn't even begin to describe the ice cold feeling that now makes its way through your body, edged with something else - something you can't explain.

"Turn around," he repeats, his big hands squeezing your arms even tighter - relentless, firm - as he peers down at you with a dark hunger in his eyes, glinting black beneath the fluorescents, "And bend over."

He does not give you another chance to obey - you're too frozen in surprise and confusion to do anything yourself. Instead, he uses the force of his weight on your arms to spin you on the spot, shoving you against the work bench. You feel one of his hands move from your arm to your back, pushing hard until you fold, warm cheek coming to rest against the cold wood.

"Wh-what are you doing?" your voice is meager, weak, and you feel him wrap one of his hands around both your wrists like it's nothing, pinning them against your back like they're simply twigs in his wide palm.

"What you're clearly fuckin' beggin' for," he replies gruffly, and you feel his other hand at your skirt, feel the brush of his fingertips at the hem as he reaches upward to grip the band of your tights. Your eyes widen and instinctively you pull back, pull away - he just pushes you back down.

"I'm not-" you begin, shock quickly being replaced with fear when you realize how easily overpowered you are, how fluidly he's able to tug down your tights and expose your ass to him, clad in only a black thong already lost between your cheeks.

"Oh, you're not, huh?" his voice is cold and stoic, angry, "You think you can play games with me, little girl?" His hand comes to rest against the swell of your behind and you suddenly feel his breath above you, hot in your ear, "Tell me why you're really here."

You try to lift your head up to look at him better but he just shoves you back down again. Panic floods your body, mixed with the unmistakable burn of arousal. You feel yourself twitch in your underwear, feel a sudden gush of warmth spill inside the fabric as he begins to trail his finger up and down the thin line of black cotton.

"I-I'm..." You're at a complete loss for words, unable to articulate anything, unsure of what exactly is happening - or about to happen. Two minutes ago you'd been sure he was about to tell you to leave, practically kick you out of the garage himself, and now you're not sure leaving is even a possibility.

He pulls his hand back and you cry out when it comes down to slap against one of your cheeks, a sharp sting and burn you hadn't been anticipating.

"Tell me why you're here," he repeats - authoritarian, firm.

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out except a frightened squeak, something which clearly eggs him on even more. He spanks you again, harder this time, palm flat and wide against your pebbled flesh. The sound that slips past your lips is somehow akin to a moan of some sort, guttural and deep.

"I'll just make it harder and harder, sweetheart," he says then, and the pet name no longer contains the warmth it did mere moments ago; instead it's cold and detached, mocking. You're still reeling when his hand comes down to slap against you again, even harder this time, and your hands ball into fists behind your back as you let out another low moan. More slick gushes into your panties and it's impossible to deny that somehow, despite the fear twinging in your heart, you're so fucking turned on.

"M-my friends," you gasp out, and you feel him squeeze your abused ass cheek which you're sure is already dark with his handprint, "They- they dared me to see how far I c-could get with you."

He lets your words sink in for a moment, squeezing again - tighter, so tight that it hurts. You whimper against the wooden top of the work bench, legs shaking.

"So you came here to get fucked," he finally states.

"N-no, I swear, I-"

"Wasn't a question," he interrupts, and you feel his other hand tighten around your wrists, "You came here to get fucked so you're gonna get fucked, end of story."

"But I-"

Without any warning he suddenly pushes himself up against you from behind, the rough denim of his jeans pressing deliciously up against your exposed skin. You gasp, eyes going wide when you feel the long, thick shape of his dick between your cheeks, huge and hard. He holds it there, his free hand coming down to lay flat beside your head against the work bench.

"You feel that?" he asks, voice suddenly quieter but still full of that ice cold malice, "You feel that cock?"

Fuck. "Y-yes," you breathe, "I feel it."

"You have five seconds before i close this door and stuff you full, understand?" Suddenly all you can hear is the heavy sound of his breathing, the panting of your own, the thud of your heart where it presses painfully against the wood. He's giving you an out.

"I- I-" you swallow, brows furrowing when you feel his hand slacken around your wrists. You could pull away now, yank yourself out of his grasp and sprint down his driveway, return to your friends. Forget this ever even happened.

It's your last chance.

"Five," he begins, breath warm against your face.

Run. Just run.

"Four."

But why?

"Three."

Why don't you want to run?

"Two."

Why do you want to stay?

"One."

He pulls his hand up from the work bench and hits a button on the wall, eliciting a loud mechanical noise to your left as the garage door starts to close. You watch with wide eyes as your chance to leave slowly vanishes inch by inch until it's gone completely, and yet no part of you itches to run, to escape. There's nothing to escape from, you realize. You want to be here. You want him to fuck you.

As the reality of your situation starts to settle, his grip around your wrists tightens once again. You sense him reaching up somewhere above you, and you suddenly feel the harsh texture of what feels like thickly braided rope wrapping around your wrists. The realization that he's restraining you sends another pool of release into your panties, another faint squeak past your lips.

"You gonna stay still for me?" he asks, voice dark and clearer now in the silence of his garage, no sounds of rain or cars to disrupt you, "Huh? You gonna be a good girl?"

"Yes," you breathe, nodding against the wood.

"Say it."

"I'm gonna stay still," you promise, "I'm gonna be a good girl."

He finishes knotting the rope around your wrists, tight and uncomfortable against your skin. He pushes his groin up against your ass again, brings his now free hands downward to reach through your cardigan and squeeze your breasts. Your nipples are hard beneath the soft cotton of your shirt, no bra between the layer of material and your bare skin; he tweaks them in his fingers and you shudder.

"These are mine," he whispers in your ear, scruff nuzzling against the side of your face, "These tits, this ass," he drops his hands from your breasts to squeeze your cheeks again, "and this pussy." His hand drops to the puffy shape of your lips beneath your thong and you whimper. "Understand?"

"Y-yes."

"Yes, what?"

You're not sure what he's asking for, what he wants you to say. You take a guess. "Yes, sir," you whisper, and you feel him smile against your ear. Bingo.

He doesn't bother to pull your tights down the rest of the way; instead, he rips them, pulling them apart in his big hands and reaching inside to curl his index finger around the thin strip of your thong. He pulls it - hard - and it rips from you with a rough tearing sound and a painful sting, eliciting a loud gasp from you which he rewards with another spank.

You feel his finger slip between your lips for a moment, gathering some of your release before he pulls it away. "Juicy fuckin' pussy," he mutters, and you hear the sound of his zipper coming undone, vulgar in the quiet room. You have no time to ask about protection, no time to even really process how quickly this is already happening, before you feel the warm tip of his cock pushing against your twitching hole. You gasp again, hands furling under the ropes.

"Shh," he quiets you, stilling for a second, "Don't squirm."

"Sorry," you whisper, tears pricking in your eyes, "I'm sorry."

"What're you sorry for?" he murmurs, feeding his cock to you in small increments, reveling in the noises falling past your lips. It's so fucking big, bigger than you'd anticipated - it feels like he's spearing you, splitting you in half, especially without much preparation. It stretches and burns, but the warmth of it, the way it pulses as it invades your body, just makes you gush even more. "Hm?" he continues, "What're you sorry for? You sorry for squirmin' or sorry you pissed me off?"

Your eyes roll back as he bottoms out, his pubic hair pressing coarsely against your pussy lips, heavy balls firm to your ass. You try to speak but it's hard to get the words out when you're so full, the wide tip of him pushing into your cervix.

"You a virgin?" he asks you then, voice changing for a moment, like for the briefest of seconds he's wondering whether he should have gone slower.

You shake your head quickly, "N-no," you manage to gasp out.

"Feel like a fuckin' virgin," he grunts, pulling out and then immediately slamming back inside. Your head bumps against the work bench, a groan falling from your mouth as he makes a home inside you. "Christ," he mutters, "Tight little thing. You feel me in your stomach, baby?"

You're not sure he wants you to answer, but it becomes clear when his hand slaps down on your ass cheek again and you cry out.

"Yes," you moan, then quickly amend, "Yes, sir."

"S'what happens when you come in here, actin' like a little slut," he suddenly reaches for your cardigan and yanks it off - it catches on your restrained hands and he simply rips it and tosses it to the floor, "But then again, you're not actin', are you? Huh? What's a slut like you doin' wearin' all these fuckin' layers?"

"I'm s-sorry," you repeat, already mourning the loss of your favorite sweater, now ripped to shreds at your feet.

"Sorry's not good enough, little girl," he breathes, thrusting into you again so hard that you yelp, cheek still pressed into the splintered wood of the work bench, "That's it, fuckin' take it."

He fucks you without any reservations, any inhibitions. Your legs shake and you can hear the slap of his hairy thighs against yours as he pounds into you relentlessly. You have no choice but to take it, the stretch of his huge cock becoming less painful the more he gives it to you over and over, the room full of the wet squelch of your pussy gripping him. He grabs your hips, fingertips digging into your bare flesh as he takes and takes; you wish you could see his face, wish you could see how he looks when he's fucking you, getting his pleasure. The thought makes you whine, tears streaming down your face as your body moves back and forth against the work bench.

It feels fucking amazing. You've never had a cock as big as his before, never been fucked so deep and so hard, like he doesn't care if he breaks you, makes you cry. He hasn't touched your clit and yet you already feel you could come from just this, just the relentless push and pull of his dick inside you. Unfortunately, just as soon as you feel your orgasm starting to build, he pulls out. Your brow furrows.

"Stand up," he orders, "and turn around."

You obey, relief overtaking you as soon as you're no longer bent at such an awkward angle. The moment you turn to face him you barely get a look at his face before he's reaching down and tearing your shirt in half - easily, like it's nothing. You don't even have time to wonder how the hell you're gonna get home with all your clothes ripped to shreds when his mouth is suddenly wrapped around your left nipple, and you whine at the sensation. You peer down at him, biting your lip and watching his wet lips suckle around the hard bud, beard scratching deliciously against your skin. Your hand aches to cup the back of his head but it's still pinned behind your back, tied tight beneath the rope.

"Fuck," you whimper, and his dark gaze flashes up to meet yours as he sucks, the hint of a smirk on his lips when he pulls away.

"Feels good, does it?" he asks, and seeing the words come out of his mouth is somehow more sinful than when you could only hear them, "You like bein' used?"

You nod almost immediately despite never having experienced anything like this in your life - though admittedly you've undeniably wanted to experience this, ached to have somebody take control, tell you what to do, make you do things. It's like you've somehow known subconsciously all summer that Joel Miller could be that person for you, despite never having said two words to him. It was just a feeling, an instinct, and that dream...

"Yeah?" he continues, and suddenly his hand comes up to cup your pussy, thumb finally pressing against your clit. You cry out, tears still trickling down your cheeks. "Said you were in college, right? You take any college dick up here? Be honest now."

You nod again, "Y-yes."

"How many?"

"I... I don't know," you breathe. It's the truth, and you can tell as soon as the words leave your mouth that it does something to him. He presses his thumb harder against your clit, two fingers slipping up inside of you.

"'Course you don't know," he murmurs, pushing them as deep inside as he can, making you whimper, "You wouldn't know, would you?"

Your thighs tighten together - squeezing his hand - and he just smirks again, curving his fingers and making you moan. Your lower back digs into the work bench as he stands, pushes you up against it and peers down into your eyes again with a hunger that's only getting worse. You assess his expression, the pout of his lips as he fucks you with his fingers, the focused lines creased into his forehead. So fucking handsome.

"You're not a good girl," he breathes, nose brushing yours, "Knew it from the day I saw you. You're just made for takin' cock. Am I right?"

"Yes," you whisper, nodding shakily and bumping your lips up toward his - he pulls away again and you can't help but feel disappointed, aching to feel his lips against yours.

"Tonight you're made to take my cock, that clear?" he continues, and you watch as his other hand travels downward to wrap around it - just out of your periphery. He's too close to you, crowded so much in your space that you know he won't like it if you break eye contact. You can tell by his arm movements that he's pumping himself at the same speed he's fucking you with his fingers, inhaling deeply, "I'm gonna ruin you, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not."

"Y-yes sir," you whisper, voice squeaking when he speeds up his fingers and pumps them in and out with fervor, thumb rubbing furiously against your clit. Yet again he brings you almost to the edge and then removes his hand completely, stepping back with a low chuckle when you whimper pathetically.

Your disappointment only lasts a moment because now you can see him, see the girthy length of him that's already been inside of you hanging out of his zipper, glistening with your slick. He's huge, tip dark and intrusive, beads of his own arousal dripping from the slit; your mouth waters. His eyes cast down to where you're looking and he smiles, dark and mocking.

"Never gonna see another dick like this, darlin'," he breathes, "So you better start showin' your appreciation." His eyes glint. "Kneel."

You're practically already on your way to kneeling before he says it, in awe of the sheer girth and shape of him. The second your bare knees hit the cold floor he's crowding you again, hand coming around to hold the back of your head.

"Open wide, baby," he murmurs.

Your jaw drops and he plunges inside your mouth quickly and seamlessly, making you gasp around his length as your eyes widen. You can't breathe, looking up at him with more tears already fogging your vision as he immediately slips into the depths of your throat with no hesitation. You gag, eyes bulging as you attempt to swallow around the intrusion, find your breath, but it's impossible.

"Yeah," he breathes, both of his hands cradling your face and holding you still as he lets his cock sit unmoving in your throat, "Yeah, that's it. That's what you're made for."

He only holds it there for a few seconds but by the time he pulls it out you're gasping for air, coughing and spluttering as tears stream relentlessly down your cheeks. He keeps cradling your face, tuts to himself as you try to get your breath back. The head of his cock bumps softly against your bottom lip.

"Not off to a great start, are we?" he murmurs, "Let's try again."

He pushes his cock past your lips again and you try your hardest not to gag, a little more prepared this time. The pulsing head of his cock situates itself firmly in your throat, the pubic hair at the base tickling your nose while his balls bounce against your chin. You look up at him with pleading eyes, watch as he stares down at you with nothing but malice in his expression, contempt. You're just a hole to him, nothing more.

He pulls out and lets you gasp another breath before he's shoving himself back in, hands moving back to hold your head firmly as he fucks your face. You don't move - you don't need to; he does all the work as he drags your head back and forth along his cock, hitting the back of your throat over and over again until you're gagging and practically sobbing for air. Your knees ache against the concrete floor and you know you'll have bruises tomorrow, know that you probably won't be able to swallow properly for a few days either. Somehow, you don't really care.

When he's gotten his fill he yanks himself out and allows you to catch your breath for a few seconds, throat constricting around nothing while you choke and gasp.

"Stand up," he orders, and even though you're still gasping for air you manage to bring yourself back up, legs shaking. Saliva drips down your chin, drooling from your mouth in long strands, but with your hands tied you can't make any attempt to clean yourself up - he probably wouldn't want you to anyway.

His wide palms are suddenly on your hips, and he picks you up and places you on top of the work bench with minimal effort, arms bulging. You're completely naked now save for your ripped tights while he's still fully clothed, dripping cock still peeking out past his zipper, covered in your saliva. He steps between your legs and pushes your thighs open, then slips inside of you once again in one short push, making you yelp.

"Oh, please," he grumbles, gripping your hips tightly and pulling your bare body taut against him, head hitting his chest, "We both know you can take it."

It's not like you have any other choice at this point. He fucks you harder than he had before, now that he has easier access, can pull you so firmly against him that his entire length is continuously swallowed up entirely by your dripping pussy. His nails dig into your skin as his cock fucks up against your cervix over and over, so relentless it's almost painful. It's overwhelming how huge he is, not just his cock but his body in general, the way he towers over you and watches your expressions as he takes what's now his.

"Poor little thing," he mumbles, bringing one of his hands up to thumb the tears on your face, "Never been so full, huh? It's okay, shhh," his finger finds your lips and pushes against them almost mockingly, like he's chastising you, "Shhh, this is what you asked for, remember? S'what you wanted." You shake your head but he just nods, "Yeah, it is. You wanted that cock and now you're gettin' it."

Suddenly you're being lifted from the workbench, carried in his embrace with his cock still buried deep inside. You cry out, wrists straining against the ropes, itching to wrap your arms around his neck and hold yourself up with more stability. His arms come up to stretch along the expanse of your back, holding you still and pulling you even closer. As if on instinct your legs bend upwards to wrap around his waist, curling around his lower back while he pistons inside of you without restraint, without mercy.

"Fuck," you almost scream, feeling the rough denim of his jeans scratching against your ass, the heaviness of his balls slapping against you over and over again, "Fuckfuckfuck!"

"Yeah, there she is, there's that little slut," he says, a smile spreading across his face, voice somehow calm despite the fact that he's pounding into you over and over, "Nothin' like gettin' fucked stupid to sort ya out, huh? Needed to be punished, didn't you, sweetheart?"

You don't answer, can't answer, eyes rolling back as he fucks you with abandon. Of course it's not a surprise when he lands a hard spank against your ass, grips your cheek tightly in his palm and growls roughly in your ear, "Answer me, little girl."

"Yes," you force yourself to gasp out, head tilting back, "Yes sir, yes."

"S'right," he mutters, and you suddenly feel the pads of his fingers against your clit, rubbing at an aggressively fast pace that sends depraved noises spitting past your lips, "Come on that cock, tighten up that little pussy even more for me, baby, come on."

It only takes seconds for him to make you come, your eyes rolling back as your body shakes and writhes in his grasp. He doesn't slow his movements, keeps fucking you deep and hard as your legs loosen at his waist and you flop like a ragdoll in his arms.

"Chokin' that dick," he murmurs, "Had so many cocks in this little hole and you're still the tightest thing I've fucked," his brow furrows as he watches your face, watches as your eyes flutter open and your jaw slackens, "And what about your other hole, baby?" You feel one of his fingers prod against your asshole, circle the rim as he continues to bounce you up and down, "Ever had a cock in there?"

You tense up a little in his embrace, eyes widening. At your reaction he slows his movements, still holding you upright and allowing you to just sit on his cock for a moment while he continues to prod your asshole, "I'll take that as a no," he mutters, "Think my cock'll fit up there?"

"It won't," you whisper immediately, shaking your head.

He assesses your expression, eyes trailing up and down your face calculatingly, like he's weighing the pros and cons. Your heart stutters in your chest and you feel that fear from earlier slowly begin to creep back into your psyche, hands shaking under the rope.

"I won't," he states, and relief floods through your body; you relax in his embrace, becoming aware again of his cock still buried deep inside you. He very carefully prods the tip of his index finger inside your asshole and your eyes go wide again, mouth opening in protest. "Yet," he amends, smiling coldly at you, "I won't yet. Not today."

He pulls his finger out and walks with you to the work bench again, places you down gentler than before and peers at you with something in his gaze that you can't place, a curiosity that wasn't there before. It's gone in an instant though, and then he's fucking into you again without warning, gripping tight to your hips and slamming back and forth until you see stars.

"You thought this'd be so funny, didn't you?" he growls, looking at you again with that detached contempt, black eyes locked with yours. He brings his hand down and starts rubbing your clit again, not caring that you only just came a moment ago. "Thought you'd come here, have your fun, and leave again. But it's not so funny anymore, is it? Huh? Is it funny?"

"N-no," you gasp out, overstimulated to the point of even more tears as you squirm and writhe on the work bench, pussy aching from the insistent way he's pounding you and the relentless rubbing of his fingers against your clit.

"S'the last time you show up here tellin' lies," he mutters, "Understand me? Any time you come into my house from now on you're gettin' fucked, got it?"

"Y-yes," you cry, hands futilely attempting to ball into fists behind your back, and he shakes his head.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir!" you scream it, and just as the words pass your lips he stills inside of you, cock twitching as he starts to come. Your eyes go wide, mouth dropping open as his hand sends you into another climax just as he reaches his. Your head falls against his chest and you hear him groan above you, feel the way his cock pulsates and throbs and spits his cum in long and heavy spurts. Your thighs twitch and you feel his hand at your back, pulling you in close as he cups the back of your head.

You stay like that for a moment without speaking, your heavy breaths the only sound in the garage other than the rain now pelting heavily against the door. You swear you can hear his heartbeat.

"Good little girl, warmin' my cock," he murmurs in your ear, and you're still catching your breath, eyes closed, sobs wracking from your throat repeatedly. "Full o'me, huh? You feel all that, baby?"

You can only nod against his chest, wrists still straining against the rope as your toes curl somewhere below you and your body continues to shake. His cum settles warmly deep inside and your eyes roll back a bit when he pushes in further, like he's trying to keep it inside for as long as he can.

"Guess I found a new little cum dumpster, huh?" he whispers, carding his fingers through your hair, "I'll have to say thank you to your friends, or -" he pauses thoughtfully for a moment, "maybe I'll just have to send 'em a little message back with you."

You pull your face back from his chest, peering up at him with tired confusion. He reaches down and pulls out one of the drawers of the work bench, coming back up with a sharpie. You watch with fluttering lashes, unable to stop him - and not really wanting to - as he uncaps the marker and pushes your hair out of the way to write something across your chest, the cold tip making you jolt slightly.

"Shh," he murmurs, "It's okay, I'll untie ya in a sec."

It doesn't take him very long to finish writing whatever it is on your skin, and then he's slowly pulling his cock out of you. You whimper at the loss, thighs twitching as you peer down and watch his softening length slip past your hole, followed by a steady stream of his cum. He quickly reaches up and pushes what he can back inside, thumbing it back in carefully while the reality of what's just happened really begins to settle. You just let a man in his fifties tie you up, use you, come inside you, and write on your chest.

"Can't have all that slippin' out yet," he mutters, "Now, what can we use?" His eyes dart up to the shelves above you and he reaches up to grab something; when his hand comes back down you see the pocket flashlight from earlier, see the slightly flared base and know almost immediately what he's planning on using it for.

For some reason - whatever reason it is that you stayed here after he gave you an out, whatever reason you really came here in the first place - you don't protest.

He brings the flashlight downwards and quickly removes his hand from your pussy to replace it with the wide end, slipping it inside with only minimal resistance. You whimper and he hushes you, brushing his nose against yours as he assesses his handiwork.

"That should do it," he murmurs, then peers back up at you and pushes some stray hair out of your face "You keep that in there 'til you get home, okay?" His eyes have softened a bit, looking more similar to the way they did when you first showed up - is this the real him? You honestly have no idea.

You don't say anything, just nod slowly, feeling the anxiety from earlier begin to sink in yet again. How are you going to get home when you have no clothes? How are you going to explain to your friends what happened? How can you tell them - or show them - what you let him do to you?

These questions are clearly none of his concern. You watch as he backs up and gestures for you to stand with him; you do, with beyond shaky legs and the cold metal of the flashlight between your thighs.

"Turn around," he orders.

You feel him untie the rope from your wrists, essentially ending your time here - whatever it even was. It somehow doesn't feel real. You let them hang limply at your sides, feeling embarrassment flood your cheeks as you turn back around to look at him. He's watching you with a smirk, arms crossed - his dick is back in his jeans. He looks no different than he had when you arrived.

"Now get the fuck out," he says, dark eyes glinting once again under the flickering fluorescents, "before I change my mind."

--

The air is still chilly. The road is still wet. But thankfully, there are no cars.

You don't know how you manage to get home without anyone seeing you - hunched over, naked in the darkness, avoiding the streetlights, trying to ignore the ache between your legs and the icy intrusiveness of the flashlight still lodged inside of you - but you do. Your palms are sweaty again, heart pounding at the thought of your friends coming to greet you at the door, for the shock and confusion and screaming to begin - but that doesn't happen.

The moment you're back in the house you pull a jacket down from the coat rack and cover yourself, tiptoeing past the living room and waiting to be accosted by the friends who put you in this situation to begin with. Instead, they're nowhere to be seen. You hear the faint echo of laughter from the kitchen, hear the sounds of glass clattering and a fridge being shut. It's like they've already forgotten you even left, like the game meant nothing, and they've already found something new to entertain them, something better.

As if your futile attempt at getting a kiss on the cheek from Joel Miller is already something lost in the past.

And, you think, as you shakily climb the stairs and creep into the bathroom, tear the jacket from your shoulders and stare at your bare chest in the bathroom mirror, see the dark permanent lines that read TRUTH OR DARE...

Maybe that's how it should be.

[halcyonfawn]

the meaning behind "face the raven" theme in "wild blue yonder" and more

a continuation of this post. i need to talk about this otherwise i'll explode.

some people have also said that this theme is playing in "last christmas" and "hell bent" (thank you for pointing that out, i'm going to die) which makes it all even worse (better). therefore, this post is, more or less, destined to turn into capaldi's era brainrot. but not all of it, i promise.

you've been warned.

first of all, allow me to refresh your memory. let's look into the context of the scenes where we heard this music theme before.

"last christmas"

according to series 8 official soundtrack, this theme is a part of "every christmas is last christmas" and is heard quite clearly two times. they're both important scenes for the doctor and clara.

too late.

a moment full of regrets and nostalgia. the doctor thinking he's lost clara again, wishing he would have come back sooner. clara reminicing her life without the doctor in it.

"so no one matched up to danny, eh?" "there was one other man, but that would never have worked out." "why not?" "he was impossible."

it is (heavily) implied that "one other man" is the doctor. does the doctor himself realise that she's talking about him? open for interpretation. but what this small exchange truly does is showing a game of saying something without actually saying it.

"can you really see no difference in me?" "clara oswald, you will never look any different to me."

yet another way of dancing around words. there's something special and touching about this last line. it is sort of a confession of unconditional love. but the word itself - love - is never spoken out loud.

then again, twelfth might be face blind.

second chances.

now, this scene is a complete opposite of the one mentioned above. it's full of hope, anticipation, happiness. a beginning of a new arc. he is given a second chance and he takes it. the doctor asks clara to run away with him once again. and she says "yes" without hesitation, takes his hand, kisses him on the cheek.

conclusion? these two scenes are focused entirely on the doctor and clara's relationship. it is there to show their strong connection, how much they mean to one another. utter devastation at the thought of their time ending and the absolute joy of reuniting after being separated. a chance at a happy ending. which also makes the music that plays on the background their theme.

"face the raven"

"every christmas is last christmas" is now turned into "face the raven" and is asocciated with clara's death. it also makes the previous name even more heartwrenching since last christmas was literally clara and doctor's last hurrah. we can hear this piece of music appear in two scenes as well.

clara's monologue about facing the raven.

"if danny pink can do it so can i. die right. die like i mean it, face the raven. maybe this is what i wanted. maybe this is it. maybe this is why i kept running. maybe this is why i kept taking all those stupid risks, kept pushing it."

she's accepting her fate and aknowleges her recklesness all the way throught the season 9. it was meant to be. there wasn't enough space for two doctors in the tardis.

"i let you get reckless" "why? why shouldn't i be reckless? you're reckless all the bloody time! why can't i be like you?" "clara, there's nothing special about me. i'm nothing but less breakable than you. i should've taken care of you."

this scene is also about how a human life can be so very short compared to the time lord's and how easily it can end. it's fragile. and it's the doctor's curse: bearing the pain of losing his loved ones.

clara meeting her fate.

as she approaches the raven, ever so brave, the doctor watches her. he hears clara scream, then witness her collapsing onto the ground. it is extremely painful, but this is, i repeat, the doctor's curse: watching his companions leave. there's no use in running away from that pain, it haunts him every step of the way.

"hell bent"

next time, "face the raven" theme can be heard during the memory wipe sequence. there is no name given for the background music in this particular moment, but it's quite obvious it represents loss and... letting go?

the doctor is about to make clara forget their time together (does that ring a bell, anyone?).

it is worth pointing out that the music becomes the loudest at the exact moment the doctor says:

"look how far i went for fear of losing you. this has to stop. one of us has to go."

it is the culmination of their relationship. companions that push each other to extremes. together they might destroy the whole universe in order to keep each other safe. there's no other way but to separate. they've formed such a strong connection than one is ought to forget the other.

even though at first the doctor is determined to wipe clara's memories, he then admits she is right: it is unfair to take away all that wonderful time they had from her. so he gives her a choice. or, more like, an offer to play a russian roulette. it's either you or me. i'm not going to press that button. we will do this together.

to summarise: all of these moments featured a strong connection between clara and the doctor. it also tells us a story about how hard it is to lose someone you care about deeply, especially for the doctor.

how is it all connected to the doctor and donna?

memory wipe

the doctor has to make donna and clara forget about him in order to keep them safe. expect that he doesn't give donna a choice, wiping her memory almost instantly, without saying a proper goodbye to her. obviously, he didn't have enough time to think of a better way to solve the problem since donna wouldn't have lasted long. however, it is still a decision he regrets making.

from "the star beast":

"i'm so glad you're back, donna. it killed me, it killed me, it killed me."

if we take a look at clara's situation, it's a bit different. i've already mentioned it above: at first, the doctor wants to do the same thing to clara that he did to donna. make her forget. expect, this time he is confronted for doing so (even threatened, at some point).

"these have been the best years of my life and they're mine."

i think this line triggers something in the doctor. because this is when he realises that this is not the right thing to do. not exactly. he'd already done it once and he regretted it. so this time, he offers a slightly different solution. someone still has to forget, but they'll press that button together. it's a mutual choice.

now, i know it's not entirely related to the dialogue in "wild blue yonder", but i think it's worth mentioning that donna and clara's stories are somewhat similar. i'm sure it's been said before, but it's still important.

donna's story was incomplete because she wasn't given a choice. now, that she remembers, 14th doctor makes sure their time together is worth-while. a second chance just like in "last christams".

too alike

another similarity between these two stories is that clara and donna are not entirely humans. not anymore.

donna's half timelord. even though her head is still not big enough to fit all the doctor's memories, she still has a part of the doctor in her.

clara's frozen in time, that makes her practically immortal. she risks her life, she reverses the polarity of the neuroblock, she gets her own tardis, she's even reffered to as "clara who" at the end of "hell bent". she has become the doctor in a sense.

but there can only be one doctor. so where's the story heading to at this point, i wonder? but we'll come back to this question later.

"but what really happened?"

before i say anything, it is obvious that the doctor's silence before and after he says "a lot" is him reminicing all that'd happened to him during the 11th, 12th and 13th reincarnations. all of the loss and pain he went through.

but why "face the raven" theme of all things? it could be a general theme of grief/nostalgia/painful memories, nothing else implied.

but please let me be delusional for a bit longer!

just as that scene in "hell bent" brought the doctor back to the moment he made donna forget him, could it be that bringing back his best friend's memories in a whole universe that "he absolutely loves", also reminded him of another important person in his life with similar story? just like "hell bent" mirrored "the journey's end", "wild blue younder" gave us a reference to "hell bent".

this is where we get back to the question about the current story direction.

foreshadowing?

donna's story is not over. and there are a lot of possibilities how it can end.

say, there is a connection to clara's story here, i wonder if that's where the plot's heading. in one of the trailers, the doctor does say "i'm not sure if i can save you this time" to donna. and it worries me. then again, maybe they're just tricking us into thinking something bad will happen (oh the drama).

i'd say it's unlikely donna's going to die because that would be absolutely devastating after just bringing her back. at the very least, the ending wouldn't be completely "happily ever after". perhaps, sacrifices will be made in order to prevent something truly horrible from happening.

why did this face come back?

in "the girl who died" twelfth doctor finally realises why he got his face. it is a call-back to "the fires of pompei" (don't even get me started on its being the episode with 10th and donna).

the message the doctor was giving to himself turned out to be:

"i'm the doctor and i save people!"

but what is 14th trying to tell himself?

i think it's about donna and more.

he's fixing his mistake of erasing her memories and depriving her of the right to remember amazing things that'd happened to her.

it's a reminder to actually tell people how much they mean to him. as we can see, 14th's more open with his feelings and constantly shows signs of affection towards his loved ones, even breaking the "never say i love you" rule.

it's about being honest and open with people because they deserve to hear it from him and he deserves to hear it back. because "things happen and then it's too late".

again, take 12th doctor, for instance. he constantly represses his feelings. but in my humble opinion, the reason why he's changed by season 10 was clara. she pulled him out of the dark place. and even though her death almost threw him back to that state again, he is still a better man by season 10.

but there were things left unsaid. love and care were always there but it was never said out loud. kind of the same thing happened with 13th.

i strongly believe that donna is that person for 14th. they're best friends who love each other deeply. and after the doctor lost her and got a second chance to fix everything, he does, he's being affectione. he's finally open with his feelings.

conslusion: why did you make us read all fo this?

to answer the question in the title: it's all tied with how memories are important and priceless, fixing past mistakes, moving on and learning to treasure every moment with people you care about like it's your last.

it can also be a foreshadowing for something terrible, but i choose to hope for the better.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

aaaand that is the end of my doctor who rant. thank you for getting this far, if you did!

my feelings about all of this can be described with this one meme:

[loumandivorce]

iwtv fanfic friday, danlou

happy iwtv fanfic friday! last week i did loumand fic recs, this week is a bunch of really good danlou! he (daniel) is going to fuck that old man (louis).

See What Happens by shavir_light, e

So this is happening. This extremely stupid, thrilling professional and personal mistake that he’s making with the 100-year-old serial killer he’s supposed to be interviewing. Daniel steels himself – it’s happening, and he’s in it, and there’s no point in turning back now. He has to see where it goes. Daniel stumbles into a game he doesn't understand.

mindfuck by flowerplots, weathermood, e

Daniel’s fantasizing about Louis takes an unexpected turn.

sweet words and fevers by glasslilies, m

Daniel and Louis catch up after Dubai. “In the interest of complete transparency,” Louis said, “I’m not really sure what I’m getting myself into here.” “It’s just a tape, man,” Daniel said. “No tricks, I promise. I’ve even canned the middle guy—we’re doing it without all the complicated tech this time. Think of it as a last hurrah. The book’s gone to print. There’s no catch.”

culture bound, m

"So, yeah," Daniel had said, before when he presented the idea to Louis a few nights prior, "it's basically shotgunning. I drink from some poor human's carotid and then you drink from me while I'm still feeding from them. Easy enough?" He grins even then, for maximum impact. Newly turned Daniel convinces Louis to try human drugs again and then makes it better.

Or an angel by malicewithheld, e

He had woken, disorientated and ravenous, to Louis standing silently at the end of the bed. “Hello Danny,” he’d smiled, and Daniel’s heart had kicked like a fucking drum. Two good nights in Dubai.

when i arrive at my pre-ordained place by skvadern, e

"Oh, my poor boy." The voice comes from far above him, and Daniel can't even spit on him for a condescending bastard; the pain in those words is too clear. "My poor, poor boy." This time, Louis cleans up after Armand.

happy friday!

[stardew-otter]

I'm back bitches, who's ready for more chaos

•─────✧─────•

Shane: Yeah, I don’t like people.

Marnie: Oh, well, now that’s not fair, Shane. Have you met all of them?

Shane, taking a swig of beer: I’ve met enough of them. Bunch of assholes.

─────────────────────

Pierre: Damn, the power went out.

Abigail: Don’t worry, I got this.

Abigail: *stomps foot*

Pierre: What the hell are you doing???

Abigail: *Sketchers light up*

─────────────────────

Marnie, to Lewis: I'll be under the mistletoe when you start feeling desperate!

─────────────────────

Sam: Remember that time you dared me to lick a swingset?

Sebastian: No, I said, "Sam, don't lick that swingset," and you said, "Don't tell me what to do," and licked the swingset.

Sam: Good times!

Sebastian: You were hospitalized for a week!!!

─────────────────────

Penny: Oh shoot!

Penny: Excuse my vulgarity.

Pam: I’ll let it slide.

─────────────────────

Shane: So my therapist was talking to me, and she said that I really just need to break down my walls and let people in.

Shane: So I’ve decided to break the fourth wall.

Shane: *looks at player through the screen* Hi there. I use humor as a coping mechanism. You also need a better coping mechanism than this game. It's been 13 hours.

─────────────────────

Farmer: I don’t want to talk about it.

Shane: Good, I don’t wanna hear about it.

─────────────────────

Sebastian: It’s impossible to make a sentence without using the letter A.

Maru: Despite your thinking, it is quite possible, yet difficult, to form one without the specific letter. Here’s one more to further disprove your theory.

Sam: Fuck you.

─────────────────────

Harvey: What happened to your nose?

Alex: I used it to break some guy's fist.

─────────────────────

Sam: Did you bring Harvey?

Sebastian, gesturing to Maru: No, but I brought the next best thing. She's still qualified.

Sam: Maru? The next best thing would be Farmer.

Maru: I would be offended, but Farmer is freakishly strong and smart.

─────────────────────

Sebastian: Dracula had it right, sleep all day, live alone in a castle, and explode into bats to get out of all social situations.

─────────────────────

Farmer in Skull Caverns: All of a sudden, I got a random burst of energy, and I think it's my body's last hurrah before it completely shuts down.

─────────────────────

Sebastian: When I first met you, I did not like you.

Maru: I'm aware of that.

Sebastian: But then you and I had some time together.

Maru: Uh-huh?

Sebastian: It did not get better.

─────────────────────

Haley: What’s up with Emily? They’ve been lying on the floor for like….an hour now?

Gus: They're just a little overwhelmed.

Haley: Why?

Gus: The Farmer gave her a new gem.

─────────────────────

Harvey: Anyone else feel good when their brain releases a bunch of endorphins?

Shane: Can't relate.

Sam: Why would my brain release a bunch of dolphins?

─────────────────────

Gus: One time I went to hand the Farmer a bowl of soup. I wanted to say “Careful, it’s hot!”, and “Here’s your soup!”, so instead I blurted out “Careful it’s soup.”

─────────────────────

Sam: Be right back, gonna hit the toilet for a quick power sob.

•─────✧─────•

My brain is half dead

[triptychgrip]

Yuri!!! on Ice post-canon headcanons - Part 1

-Yuuri becomes the first skater to ratify the quad flip in-combination, with a triple toe-loop. When he lands the combo at the 2018 Winter Olympics, it predictably breaks the internet and becomes known as the Katsuki Combo. Phichit becomes the second person to cleanly land it

-Minako bartends at the Viktuuri wedding reception in Hasetsu, and is single-handedly responsible for getting everyone trashed on their 'Stammi Vicino' signature cocktail. Things get pretty risque towards the end of the night when the new grooms begin to make exceedingly over-the-top declarations of love for one another. Neither Hiroko nor Toshiya bat an eye at any of this

-The first 'Viktor and Friends' ice show -- even with the Chihoko drama -- was such an incredible success that the Katsuki-Nikiforovs make it an annual excuse for all of their friends to get together in the off-season. The Hasetsu City Council becomes so fearful over liability issues when they notice how many tourists try to scale Hasetsu Castle to get pics in 'Shining Chihoko' pose, that they permanently install guardrails on the top of the Castle

-Viktor begins learning how to pole-dance under Yuuri's instruction. It's a 50-50 in terms of whether their lessons are actually productive versus them just ending up having sex, lol. B/c they are the most extra ppl imaginable, they work with Christophe to come up with a routine to perform at the 2022 Beijing Games banquet. This is their "last hurrah" in terms of banquet shenanigans, as the 2022 Olympics marks Yuuri's last competition before retiring

-Mila and Sara begin dating during the 2019 off-season, and Sara eventually moves to St. Petersburg so they can live together. Mila has Viktor choreograph a gala skate proposal routine, and when she performs it for Sara, everyone thinks it's amazing/adorable that she caps it off with her new fiance's damnably difficult signature jump combo (the triple lutz-triple loop)

-After a few years in St. Petersburg, Viktor and Yuuri move permanently to Fukuoka, Japan, where they coach/train at the same rink as Kenjirou (who never quite gets over his Yuuri hero worship, but does learn to tone it down...somehow). The move to Japan allows the Katsuki-Nikiforovs to begin working with the Nishigoris on long-term plans to expand Ice Castle Hasetsu into a top-tier training center

-Once Yakov retires, Yurio "follows" Viktor/Yuuri to Fukuoka and becomes Viktor's second student. This "works" in some respects, and is a disaster in others. With his ample free time upon retirement, Yakov attempts to repair things with Lilia

If any of the above headcanons sound interesting to you, you might be interested in my 2018/2022 Olympic Games fic series, which is currently comprised of 7 different parts! When I first began posting part 1 (currently at 212K words and counting) last November, I didn't do a great job of promoting it. So, as it (and the overall series) gets closer to completion, I'm striving to do better around that!

I originally set out to write an in-depth, post-canon series for two main reasons:

1) I find the politics of competitive sport really interesting and, obviously, canon Yuri!!! on Ice doesn't really touch on this in just 12 episodes. But politics/bureaucracy truly do weave into just about every aspect of an athlete's career, and particularly with such a talented/prominent Japanese skater moving to St. Petersburg to live and train alongside the sport's "Living Legend", I found myself ideating around what the implications of that would mean in-universe, particularly for the Winter Olympics

and 2) I wanted to see more of the "give and take" that we know to be true of Viktor and Yuuri's relationship. Naturally, as Viktor grows into his role as Yuuri's coach in canon, the narrative is largely about how he supports Yuuri, and I wanted to be able to explore more of the opposite (Yuuri learning to support Viktor in a more overt way than is implied).

Part 1 of the series is centered around the 2022 Olympic Games, but jumps back and forth in time so that you are able to get glimpses of how their relationship has evolved from their earlier days, as well as to see the ripple effect of a big event that took place at the PyeongChang Games.

Last but not least, if you like reading post-canon Yuri!!! on Ice but don't have energy/interest in reading a very long WIP, I have lot of other stories up on ao3, which you can find here

[roaxes]

Hurrah I found Zelda completely on accident. I beat the video game!

[7grandmel]

Todays rips: 31/03/2024

Your Best Nightmario and Bowser's Finale

Season 5 Featured on: SiIvaGunner's Highest Quality Rips: Volume C

Ripped by Blookerstein

Season 5 Featured on: SiIvaGunner's Highest Quality Rips: Volume C

Ripped by Blookerstein, Sarvéproductions

Requested by themessengervevo! (@themessengervevo)

You KNEW this day was coming. Surely, right? Its March 31st, a landmark day in gaming history. The day that Super Mario died. The day we lost him to time forever. And the day that spawned perhaps the greatest April Fools event on all of SiIvaGunner. For me, its no contest - Your Best Nightmario and Bowser's Finale, and the entire event they were part of, were the absolute highlight of Season 5.

The April Fools events held prior on the channel since their very beginnings with Grand Dad Metropolis had all been presented as complete surprises. That is perhaps a given - it is in the nature of a prank to be surprising - but it's also where the Season 5 event differs most even today, in that its theme was all but known to us well beforehand. Announced on September 3rd of 2020 as part of a bizarre marketing tactic to drive up demand, Nintendo had let us known that their newfangled Mario celebration releases in Super Mario 3D All-Stars and Super Mario Bros. 35, would both be delisted from sale after March 31st. Super Mario Bros. 35 stung in its own right - it is effectively lost media now as a digital-only, online-only game, but Super Mario 3D All-Stars contained three of Nintendo's most celebrated games, games that had no reason to stop being sold just for a cheap trick. Everyone rightfully denoted how scummy of a tactic this was to drive up sales, but more than that: the imagery of Nintendo celebrating Mario's birthday by killing his games - and by proxy, killing Mario himself - was a joke that online spaces just ran absolutely rampant with. And can you blame them? That IS funny as shit, and reframes Nintendo's slimy marketing into something that makes them look far worse. Because of the joke's sheer prevalence, I had the same thought as many others in the early days of 2021 - there was *no way* that the SiIvaGunner team were blind to the potential this gag had, and how well it lined up with their previous explosive festivities just a day after. By March 29th, they even teased the event's start with three daily rips of The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask, a game all about impending doom affecting the world in just three days, with each rip featuring the melody of one of the three 3D Mario games in the collection.

And sure enough, the day came. With March 31st, we saw a whole day of nothing but Mario rips and Mario-related jokes in other rips - a last hurrah for his life - all ending with Super 3D All-Stars Music S64 Game Over. Just like that, he was gone - faded from the video, faded from view. Yet few of us could've predicted just how dire things would get.

In SiIvaGunner lore, the term "Figment" refers to the personification a meme or joke on the channel takes, its characterized state - think Mr. Rental in Mr. Rental [B Side] ~ Out of Options or Inspector Gadget in Become as Gadget and throughout his two takeovers. When a figment based on a real human dies, it can easily be reborn - the human itself lives on in the real world, after all, and can recreate the essence of its Figment in a variety of ways. But when a purely fictional Figment dies...its erased from all history. As if it had never existed to begin with, all traces of it are wiped from memory, wiped from the very state of having ever existed. And under Nintendo's very own Gulliotine, this was the fate Super Mario himself succumbed to. As a result every single Super Mario-series rip uploaded in the channel's five-year run, be they Kart, Sports, Paper or just outright Super, was set to private on the SiIvaGunner channel. And as April 1st of 2021 went on, it seemed to be harder and harder to remember the name of that mustachioed man. Had someone like that...ever existed?

I'm certain a lot of what I'm writing here is familiar ground to many of you reading, but I really want to convey just how incredibly well-done this atmosphere was. Throughout April 1st, fifty-five rips were uploaded, many of which featuring games that seemed just...the slighest bit off. The opening to the classic Philips CD-i game "Hotel", where a lone Luigi talks to himself; The underwater music featured in the SNES Launch title "Super World" with a bizarrely-lopsided logo, and most prominently - games like Super M̸̌̊a̴͛̿█̸͌̑i̵̛͊█̷̾̓ 64, Super M̸̌̊a̴͛̿█̸͌̑i̵̛͊█̷̾̓ Sunshine and Super █̴̧̀a̵̤̐r̷̙̋█̶̰̆o̶͚̚ Galaxy, three games that were bound by a strange malfunction in their presentation, as if they're collectively...held back by something. Or someone.

Your Best Nightmario stood out as the centerpiece of it all, with a title yet more bizarrely mangled than the rest - Super 👉█̸͌̑█̷̾̓😁̶̆͠☼̷̇̃👈̸̂͑█̷̾̓█̾̓ 64. Two fingers, pointing toward a desperate smile. It's-a-me. The rip serves as an incredible multi-stage arrangement of Your Worst Nightmare from Undertale, the boss music for Flowey the Flower. Its already incredibly befitting on the surface level - Undertale is at once one of SiIva's most prominently-ripped games, and a game very much about the state of living game characters have, the idea of how characters in games can affect you in a way that makes them worth remembering for all time. And though the rip is initially in line with the instrumentation of the original Ultimate Koopa theme, it uses the segmented style-shifting sections of Your Worst Nightmare to arrange music from other Nintendo platforming games - the ones primarily bound by featuring characters like Luigi, Peach and Bowser within them, but ones where I can't really place my finger on who their protagonist is. As a result of all these styles and the fervent, desperate, downright nightmarish pace of the music, paired with the full-on galactic-scale orchestral sections near the rips end, it truly feels like a hopeless struggle, a plea from an unknown hero to stay alive, to not be forgotten, to not be lost to the sands of time.

The sheer atmosphere conveyed throughout the entire event was primarily carried through these rips, of course, but it cannot be understated just how much of a part the comments section played in it all. There was no confusion - the buildup had been done so well, the gag established so clearly, that EVERYONE was on board with the day's theming in the comments, and "playing along" with the story's theme. Everyone reminisced and had fond memories of all these games - New Super Bros., Luigi: Superstar Saga, Super 64 DS, and more - yet we were all collectively wondering why things felt so different from before. It was the most fun collective gaslighting I've ever been part of.

As the day came to an end, Mario's fate seemed to be set - the entirety of April 2nd was silent, except for one rip that confirmed that even our beloved Gangsta Mario (see Caramariodansen) was lost. Yet on April 3rd, we were all finally met with Bowser's Finale, a direct followup to Your Best Nightmario by its very same ripper. Blookerstein, the legend behind The expanse of meme in past was split, A fiendish trap has now been set; Behind a tree the villains sit, Terror of sport, the Robbie's Net., this time aided by Sarvéproductions of Goodbye To Love fame, created the absolute perfect way to round out the event - a return to the desperate battle that had once seemed lost, now with the music of Finale instead of Your Worst Nightmare to indicate the turning of the tides - that this legend, nay, SUPER MARIO, was not going to give up. This figment did not deserve to leave us - and Bowser's Finale was his last stand. The excitement in the air, in the comments section, was palpable.

Finale is already an incredible theme, and one that some of us even have some emotional attachment to in the context of SiIva - remember Aphex all the way back in Season 1? Bowser's Finale leverages those feelings, and the theming set up throughout the event as a whole, to incredible effect, with the same structure of going through the styles of various Mario music to rising dramatic effect. Super Mario 64, Super Mario Sunshine, Super Mario Galaxy - the first two using songs like Slider and A Secret Course that are beloved by so many SiIvaGunner viewers, the third hitting a emotional gutpunch in its orchestral instrumentation, and all three bound together as the games that started this whole thing, the games part of the 3D All-Stars collection. It is with no exaggeration a pitch-perfect rendition of this idea, better than anything I could've ever anticipated before the event began - once again only elevated through the sheer sense of community the entire comments section held through it all, cheering Mario on, collectively remembering his existence - fighting to bring this lost figment back to reality.

Y'know, I've been critical of Season 5 in the past - it is likely still the Season of the channel I was "least" invested in taken on the whole. That is in large part due to its lack of ties to the channel's ongoing lore, as it was focused primarily on self-contained events just like this one. But GOD, those events. I still see people online today who are less in touch with what SiIvaGunner does, who cite this event - "The Disappearance of Super Mario", as some call it - as the absolute peak of SiIvaGunner's output past the Season 1 finale. I wouldn't necessarily agree - but the event was undoubtedly unforgettable, at once an incredible execution of a long-anticipated bit, surprisingly emotionally gripping, whilst also being subtly tied to the very canon and theming of the SiIvaGunner channel itself. I chose to highlight Your Best Nightmario and Bowser's Finale in particular today, but I emplore you to go watch the entire event yourself through the fanmade YouTube playlists - if nothing else to see just how committed to the bit everyone involved truly was.

But don't forget: There's more to this tale yet to be retold.

[their-destinys-writer]

Akuma Flashpoint - Chapter 2

Rated: M

Chapters: 2/?

Chapter Summary: Marinette gets a new reality check.

Info: Canon compliant up to Season 3, Episode 'Ladybug'. Miracle Queen never happened. Canon divergent from that point forward, but might borrow a few details from later seasons. Very loosely inspired by DC's Flashpoint Paradox (the animated movie). Updates on the last Monday of every month.

Ao3 | Wattpad

A/N: Shout out to @art-the-f-up for the amazing art in this chapter.

First | Next

The Vigilante

Marinette stared after Adrien’s disappearing figure, still dumbstruck with his attitude. It was so unlike him to be hostile, even with his own father, who was a supervillain. There wasn’t something wrong.

Everything was wrong.

She stared at her surroundings. It was like the world was completely unaware of how wrong it was. People were walking past her, going about their business like any other morning. Speaking and texting on their phones. Drinking hot beverages. Rushing past, bumping her shoulder, with a croissant in their mouth.

A teen rode by in a bicycle at the edge of the street, past a puddle, splashing Marinette with dirty drain water. The woman raised her knee fruitlessly, for the damage was done. Her baby blue pajama pants were soaked.

Was she in a nightmare?

Marinette took a deep breath, attempting to regain some semblance of control. Yes, Adrien walking away rattled her, but she had to figure out how to fix this. And in that moment, there was only one being who was willing to talk hiding in her own jacket.

In a blink of an eye, she was running across the sidewalk, looking for the nearest alley, while trying two more phone numbers. She found an alley, but there was a couple making out in it. She ran further, until finding a dirtier one, next to an abandoned building. She sat down next to the vandalized trashcan and finally opened her jacket. The kwami immediately fluttered out into the open.

“What is going on?!” Marinette whispered yelled.

“What is going on with you?” Tikki shot back. “You’re acting more deranged than usual.”

“Since when do you call me deranged? No, I got a better question: since when are you so huffy with me?”

“Did you drink something new when I wasn’t looking?”

“I feel like I’m stuck in some nightmare reality.” Marinette held her arms. “Nothing is right. Alya is not answering her phone. I can’t find Nino’s or Chloe’s phone numbers anywhere, Luka and Kagami won’t pick up either, and worse, Adrien and I are not together, apparently.”

Tikki stared at her again, much like she did back in the strange apartment.

“Nino?”

“Yeah, Nino. You know, Carapace.” Marinette shrugged. “I can’t get a hold of my team. And so many of their phone numbers are missing. And you said this phone is mine!” She grabbed the phone again. “But I tried to find Alix, and she’s also missing. I mean, this has to be some time travel thing, right?”

“Marinette,” Tikki said slowly, “did you get hit with a memory loss akuma or something?”

The woman thought for a moment. What was the last thing she remembered before this morning? She had been, in fact, fighting an akuma, right? But it wasn’t a time travelling one. Or memory one. In fact, they had just figured out their power, right? Her power. It had been a her. All they knew about her was that her name was The Genie. She claimed to make wishes come true.

Marinette’s eyes widened.

“I was fighting an akuma,” she said out loud. “The last thing I remember was that I was trying to distract her from Chat Noir. He was off his game because it was the day before Gabriel’s sentencing, and we didn’t expect for him to break out for a last hurrah. But,” her brows furrowed, “she suddenly went after me. Genie held me against a wall and told me I was predictable. I didn’t even say anything before she said that my wish was her command. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in a strange apartment, alone, with you not even talking to me.”

Tikki seemed even more bewildered.

“What did you wish for?” she asked.

“I can’t…” Marinette racked her brain. Why couldn’t she remember wishing something? Unless she didn’t exactly wish it on purpose. She gasped. “I didn’t directly wish it, but I was thinking it.”

“What?!”

“I-I…I was thinking that I didn’t want Adrien to fight his own father.”

Tikki squinted. “Why? Those two argued all the time. Probably still do.”

“No, not like that,” Marinette tried to clear up, even if she wasn’t sure what information this Tikki needed. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but for me, Adrien and I had to fight Gabriel as Ladybug and Chat Noir. Gabriel, who turned out to be Hawkmoth—”

“Wait, what?!” the kwami screeched.

Marinette slightly jumped. “What?”

“You think Gabriel Agreste is Hawkmoth?!”

“I don’t think; I know,” Marinette cleared up. “You don’t?”

Tikki gaped for a minute. She then took a deep breath and put her tiny paws together.

“Please finish your story.”

“Well,” Marinette continued, “I was just feeling sad for Adrien, seeing him having to fight his own father. It broke my heart.”

“So you wished that Chat Noir didn’t have to fight Hawkmoth?”

“I think I did.” A hand covered her mouth. “Not intentionally, or without even thinking that I wished it. But apparently that didn’t matter.”

“So, you said you fought alongside…Chat Noir?” Tikki asked slowly.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” Marinette said in an incredulous tone.

“Marinette,” the kwami said, her voice tuning anxious, “I think you changed reality!”

Art by @art-the-f-up (thank you again!)

“Th-That’s… That’s not possible!” the woman argued. “The only miraculouses capable of doing that are the ladybug and cat ones, and only if they’re together. There’s no way an akuma can be powerful enough to do that.”

“If they can be powerful enough to travel through time, why not change reality? You don’t know the butterfly effect it can have to change one little thing.”

“But how can me not wanting Adrien to fight his own father change reality? Shouldn’t it have made the akuma disappear, or make Genie unable to touch him, or something?”

“I think the akuma took a more sinister route,” Tikki lamented.

“What does that mean?” Marinette questioned, despite her fears about the answer.

Tikki hesitated. It took a deep breath for her to finally speak again.

“Adrien hasn’t been Chat Noir since you fought Stoneheart.”

Her heart beat loudly. That… didn’t sound right. It couldn’t be right. It made no sense. That would mean that…

“That’s not possible.” She shook her head. “No, I finished off Stoneheart because of Chat Noir. He was the only one who had faith in me. It’s how I’m still alive, in fact. If I hadn’t had Chat Noir as my partner, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Chat Noir never showed up again after the stadium. And hasn’t been seen ever since. He’s the partner who abandoned you.”

“No,” Marinette argued. “Adrien would never do that. He would never leave me on my own. Something must’ve happened.”

“And something did,” Tikki reminded. “The akuma. They changed the course of history. They must’ve taken his miraculous, which would also explain how Hawkmoth has been winning.”

“Hawkmoth is winning?!”

“Against the heroes, yes. Against Mayura, I’m not so sure.”

“Whatta you mean ‘against Mayura’?”

“They’re at war with each other. They’re not in your reality?”

“No! Mayura broke down. If it hadn’t been for her betraying Hawkmoth, we wouldn’t have finally caught him. We were the ones who won.”

There was a loud, booming noise somewhere heading south. Marinette and Tikki stared at each other.

“Akuma, right?”

“Or a sentimonster. Or both,” Tikki sighed. “It’s usually both.”

“Either way, we have to deal with…it…” Marinette trailed off, as she realized something important. “Tikki, if Chat Noir is not my partner, do I have anyone else on my team with a miraculous already?”

The kwami looked away. “Uuh…”

“Tikki,” Marinette pressed, “I do have a team, right?”

“Rena Rouge helps you, but you’re not a team.”

“What about all the others?!”

“We lost the miraculous box,” Tikki blurted at last. “You only have the bee miraculous, but you’ve been too scared to give it to anyone since—”

She stopped. Marinette leaned closer.

“Since what?”

“The point is that you don’t have a team,” the kwami said. “Just the vigilante, and the mysterious sidekick.”

“Who and who?”

“Rena Rouge, and some other person we don’t know about who occasionally helps.”

“Rena Rouge is a vigilante?”

“We don’t have time for this!”

“Dammit! Tikki, transform me!”

The familiar pink sparkles swirled around her body, as the suit replaced the clothes she had been wearing. Yet, despite the familiarity of transformation, the outfit didn’t feel right. She felt vulnerable, exposed. Ladybug looked down at herself, only to release a squeak. And immediately tripped on a pair of high heels under her feet.

What was supposed to be an armor that protected her against anything that dared hit her looked more like a nighttime club outfit. Or perhaps a stripper outfit would be more accurate to describe it.

Her shoulders, stomach and upper thighs were exposed. She wore a spotted top that went up to her neck, but that was about all the red she had. Her arms were covered by long, black gloves that ended on her elbows. As bottoms, she wore what looked like a black boy short.

Ladybug wobbled on the long, black boots that reached her thighs, wondering how she was supposed to fight in this… this… thing.

“Tikki, detransform!”

After another pink lightshow, the kwami questioned Marinette’s quick transformation.

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FIGHT WHEN I’M DRESSED AS HALLOWEEN SLUTTY LADYBUG?!”

“But that’s your costume!”

“I can’t fight in high heels. I can barely stand on them!”

“I don’t have time to change your costume. I don’t know enough about the new you to mold it.”

Marinette groaned. It was one thing to fight alone, but it was a whole other level to battle hindered by the patriarchy under her feet.

“Just give me my old costume.”

“Which one?”

“There’s more than one?!”

“It hasn’t been easy with my Marinette!” Tikki yelled. Something Marinette had never seen her own Tikki do in such context. “I can’t do what you’re asking! My powers are still not recognizing that you’re different.”

The kwami looked like she was about to cry. This reality had clearly not been kind to her, and it almost seemed like this universe’s Marinette had not made things easier.

“I’m sorry, Tikki,” she said. “I’m still very confused about things here, and I’m taking it out on you.”

To her horror, now the kwami was really crying. “That’s the first apology I’ve heard from you in years.”

“Am I really that awful?”

“I’ll see if I can at least flatten your shoes,” Tikki responded instead, wiping away her tears. “I’ll need some time to adjust your outfit to the new you.”

“Thank you. It’s enough to at least be coordinated.”

The kwami nodded. With the two of them ready, Marinette called upon her transformation again. She still felt practically naked, but at least she wasn’t tripping over her own feet. One thing was still familiar, though, and that was her ability with the yoyo. Soon enough, she was soaring through the air, feeling more breezy than usual.

In the distance, she could make out a large figure smashing buildings. Clearly a sentimonster, made up of cables and pieces of electronics like computers and televisions. With the shape much like a Japanese mecha. She got close enough to study the creature, but far enough that it couldn’t see her.

Okay, how do I deal with this without Chat Noir? She wondered. Before she got time to figure it out, she saw a blur of black and orange zip up the giant mecha, causing it to stumble and fall on its knees. After a better look, Ladybug could see a very different looking Rena Rouge standing on the shoulder of the sentimonster, holding her flute over her shoulder.

“Can’t stand up, can you?” she yelled, right before sticking the flute behind the creature’s neck. The sentimonster let out a head-splitting scream that made Ladybug cover her ears. When the noise stopped, she attempted to straighten up, but was immediately hit on the back of her head. Staggering away, she turned to see her attacker, to find them twirling a long ruler.

“Misbehaving children get punished,” she declared. “And you, Ladybug, have been one bad cookie.”

“Oh, a teacher akuma. How original,” Ladybug deadpanned. With a swift movement, she slid her leg across the ground, tripping the akuma. She was about to grab the ruler, but the enemy used it to knock away her yoyo. Ladybug had to dodge twice and roll away to get her weapon. Once she was finally upright again, the akuma was gone.

She cursed under her breath but decided to make her way to the sentimonster instead. If she could get the two of them close, she could use them against each other. Ladybug sprinted from rooftop to rooftop, her yoyo flying from chimney to railing at lighting speed. At last, it wrapped around one of the sentimonster’s arms.

“Need a hand?” she yelled at both the creature and Rena Rouge. But just before she landed a two-legged kick on the sentimonster, Rena Rouge hit it on the very spot she had been about to land. Ladybug had to swerve on the last minute, hitting her shoulder instead. “What the hell?!”

“Thanks for the offer, but no,” Rena Rouge responded, taking another swing with her flute. “Why don’t you focus on your monster, while I fight mine.”

Ladybug had landed on the ground after her kicking failure, her brows furrowing at the scolding. “What?” she said under her breath. She raised her head, with hands cupping her mouth as she yelled: “Whatta you mean my monster?! We can’t just beat them separately!”

There was another head-splitting scream from the sentimonster, as several televisions crashed merely inches away from Ladybug.

“Hey! Careful!”

“You’re gonna lead the other one here!” Rena Rouge yelled from the sentimonster’s shoulder.

“That’s the point!” And as if on cue, a figure jumped from the nearest building to where Rena Rouge was standing. “Gotcha.”

Ladybug threw her yoyo, grabbing the akuma’s leg and pulling. Unfortunately for the heroes, the moment the villain landed on the ground, her hand grabbed Rena Rouge’s ankle.

“Shit!” Ladybug started climbing the sentimonster, avoiding to accidentally pull both the akuma and Rena Rouge along. Just as she was reaching the creature’s chest, it let out another ear-splitting scream as it waved its hand, sending all three women flying and loosening the yoyo’s grip on the akuma, and the akuma’s grip on Rena Rouge.

A scream left Ladybug’s lips when she landed hard on a slanted rooftop. Nearby, Rena Rouge also landed, but started rolling down. When she was about to roll off, Ladybug threw her yoyo just in time to wrap it around the vigilante’s wrist, leaving Rena Rouge hanging off the edge. Ladybug quickly ran to her, making sure to not let her drop.

“Are you okay?” she asked as she pulled her up. But the second she reached out a hand, Rena Rouge slapped it away, climbing on her own instead.

“I don’t need your help,” she growled. “Now get out of my way.”

“Alya, can we please talk?”

“We don’t talk,” she snapped, before turning away. “And I’d like to keep it that way. I thought you knew that already.”

“This is important,” Ladybug insisted. “I figured we don’t talk, but you need to listen to me.”

“Find a wall. It’ll care more.”

Rena Rouge ran off and jumped to the next building, back in the direction of the sentimonster. Letting out a noise of frustration, Ladybug ran after her, until they were moving side by side.

“Rena, I’m sorry for every bad thing I’ve done to you. I wouldn’t be talking to you if it wasn’t important. And it is very important right now.”

“Not interested,” the vigilante responded in a sing-song tone.

“If you won’t talk to me, can you at least help me find Carapace?”

Rena Rouge skidded into a halt, and Ladybug followed, almost falling over. When she looked at her teammate—well, other timeline’s teammate, vigilante in this one—a look of pure hatred almost made her stumble back.

“Don’t ever, ever, talk to me again,” she said in a low growl. She then ran off again, not giving Ladybug a chance to retort.

“Rena, please!” she yelled after her, attempting to catch up again. “I just need to talk to someone that—”

But the rest of her sentence was replaced by a yelp when she had to suddenly dodge incoming mechanical debris. In the dodge, her skin scraped against the hot metal of the rooftop, burning her shoulder.

“Agh! How could I ever think this suit was a good idea?!” she complained. Ladybug made a mental note about fixing the suit once this was all over. In the meantime, she attempted to reach Rena Rouge again, who had stopped at the end of the block and was dodging several coffee makers.

“Rena, I get that maybe now is not the best time!” Ladybug yelled as she approached her friend. “But I need you to at least work with me on this! And if not, maybe talk to Carapace about—”

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” Rena Rouge screamed back, finally turning her attention to her. “DID YOU TAKE AN EXTRA DOSE OF CRAZY TODAY?! HOW DARE YOU INSULT NINO’S MEMORY LIKE THIS?!?!?!”

“Nino’s memory?” Ladybug breathed. There was only one reason anyone would say that phrase. “Nino is dead?”

Rena Rouge scoffed. “I knew you had gone crazy; but mocking my late fiancé?! That is a whole new low, Marinette!”

First | Next

[yakool-foolio]

Since you shared your favorite Vivia spirits, what's your favorite Yakou spirits?

Imma be real with ya for a sec, it took me half an hour to understand what ya meant by the word 'spirits.' I cycled through what it could mean, since the word has a shocking amount of varying definitions and I thought that maybe, just maybe, the 'spirits' you were referring to was there. Favorite spirits... did that mean ghosts? Personality? Liquor? And then I realized, the most recent of 'favorites' I talked about regarding Vivia was SPRITES and I felt like bonking my head against the desk. It's no fault of your misspelling/typo, it's me completely missing what that misspelling actually meant.

ANYWAY! Excusing my dumbassery, yeah, I'll happily provide my favorite Yakou sprites, along with some commentary!

'Course we have the award-winning smiles! From a wobbly, nervous smile to a LETS FUCKING GO GAMERS hurrah, he's got the happiness he deserves!

Gotta love the winks too, man takes his charisma off the shelf, dusts it off, and it sparkles like new!

For a more unconventional choice, I love his sassy sprites a lot as well! I feel like he really had to step up his comeback game after reuniting with his soon-to-be wife, so he gained some experience in sass thanks to her. Lord knows he needed it to help give him the higher ground in confrontations with the peacekeepers pre-game, but most of the time it most likely ended up in him just repeating what the officers say in a mocking tone. It always works. At least before he skids across the pavement from a hook.

And here it is, the sprite that haunts us all. Even though this expression went unused, the community snatched it and ran with it and we've scored a touchdown. I'm guessing this sprite was meant to be used as a part of his true mystery phantom form revealing itself after his disguise as Yomi decays. He gets to be a little unapologetically evil as a treat.

[colloquialcolors]

okay, having finished horizon forbidden west today (yayyy), a word vomit of post-completion i itial response/thoughts written in a tinely manner bc i Do need to commute to work in about. uh. 6 and a half hours.

- what do you MEAN. The zeniths brought a DIFFERENT EXISTENTIAL THREAT EVIL AI BACK WITH THE. WHAT DO YOU MEAN THESE MOTHERFUCKERS BROUGHT BACK A MANIFESTATION OF THEIR OWN HUBRIS AND FLAWS AND ITS GOING TO. FUCKING. KILL THE EARTH. AND NOW THEYRE DEAD AND I HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT.

- FOR FUCKS SAKE.

- I JUST. SAVED THE WORLD. CAN YOU ASSHOLES STOP DOOMING IT FOR LIKE. FIFTEEN MINUTES.

- I am very pleased that this time they reset to AFTER the final mission so I can actually feel like Aloy gets some kind of a break after saving the world. again. Like the world is still ending but i can let her take a lap on a sunwing or have her eat some food or something without IMMEDIATE WORLD EXTINCTION hanging over her head.

- It was a little sad to have the base be so emoty tho :( void of everyone except Beta (yay) and Sylens (auUuuughhhhHHHHH)

- OKAY. backtracking.

- Really, genuinely, truly, LOVE how they did Aloy's character arc and development for this game. It was a very intentional choice and I think they pulled it off REALLY admirably.

- It is a very specific, extremely well supported, completely reasonable character trait to have Aloy not know how to ask for help or operate with help, and be independent to a fault. It was very intentional to have her unlearning that as the core emotional arc for the game and it did it. So well.

- Starting the game with Aloy lying to her friends, leaving a celebration early, and going off to start saving the world again, solo, was SUCH beautiful and crisp characterization and sets the bar so wonderfully. Erend and Varl pissed at her for it but still helping, resigned to the behaviour and still steadily working at it. Augahguagahh. friendship. my bread and butter.

- And Aloy growing out of it was NOT a one and done over. It was a growth, over the course of the game- it was a matter of repeated lessons, of various scenarios and people proving themselves, and intentional efforts and missteps. And it means in the last mission, when Aloy is delegating tasks and checking in with people and thanking them for coming- but not trying to turn them away- the difference is so fucking felt. Its core deep, and about someone who understands, fundamentally, how important relying on others and having others is.

- And its just- im not super pleased about all the details of HOW they did it. But I underatand why they killed Varl, from a storytelling standpoint, and I just. The person who was so dogged about getting her to accept help, who Aloy was so clearly pushing away in part because she was worried about getting him hurt or killed. His connections to Zo and everyone else are what starts the base. He is why Aloy can grow that way. And he dies before he sees the full fruition of it. He falls to exactly what Aloy was so scared of- dead as a casualty of a mission she felt was hers.

- But it is because of what he'd done up until that point, that Aloy does not shatter from the loss. Its BECAUSE of what he'd done that his loss does not set her back in connecting and caring about people and accepting help. Letting them risk themselves!!! His work is what secures her ability to survive when he is lost to exactly what she was scared of!! fuck!!!!!

- Shes going around after his death and- shes asking other people how other people are doing, which is so funny to me. queen of emotions. but shes doing it! His absence is his presence and his presence defines the nature of his absence and. the outline love leaves when it goes or w/e. im . auaghgha. varl ilu.

- This isnt even getting into the Beta scenario which like- god. god. Aloy you're kind of awful and I love you. you are ill adjusted and well intentioned and deeply hard on yourself and then you meet. yourself. except not and THATS how you learn to be kinder to yourself. and others. delicious! fucked up! beautiful. Aloy is yelling at Beta about why arent you better and wow the layers. again. wonderfully done.

- So. given all that. you'd think they would have been able to write Zo's reaction to Varl better than that, huh.

- Like damn how did you guys fuck that up right next to the great main plot.

- ugahjhh.

- I really. loved. the way the base grew and changed over the course of the game. The steady creeping of the plants. Items moving in. The way things were added to Aloy's room even though she was never sleeping in it. (The image of people creeping in and adding stuff so that the scant moments when Aloy is there she could enjoy things..... aaaa).

- Kotallo!! What a lovely character. He definitely grew on me. I appreciated the way he had the arm at the end but didnt really opt to keeo it on permanently. In general- idk. I liked the dynamic he and Aloy had at the end. 👌

- Alva. Sweetheart. mixed feelings as a character but I think I understand her archetype so she was. fine. In general the quen really just had me >:|

- fucking. techbro asses. fucking tech bro c e o fucking hero worship fucking dumbasses ugHHhhhhh.

- LOVED the designs of the clans otherwise though- Plainsong? Fucking stunning. The different Tenakth areas incorporating the local terrain!

- The museum in the Tenakth area, and how it fed into the specifics of their founding beliefs and culture? Fucking. Loved it. Bits piecemeal that get focused on and turned into a world and founding belief... dont have words for it rn but really good.

- Talanah spending her whole sidequest being like. Oh God. My Man :( was kind of. eh. but listen shes a girlboss who fixed the Hunters Lounge so she can do whatever she wants. including being really concerned over her manz for her whole plot. u get ur guy. i support you.

- Petra im glad youre doing well im SO sorry i couldnt flirt with you more actively.

- Erend is lovely once its clear he is no longer trying to hit on Aloy. the two of them mourning varl makes me. im fine. its fine or w/e. goddammit.

- Three cheers for various Quality Of Life changes. I am So Glad i never had to inventory manage in this game!!! incredible!!!! pulse your focus!!! wow!!!!!

- LAS VEGAS AREA MY BELOVED. BRIGHT LIGHTS AND SPECTACLE THAT ARE ZERO SUBSTANCE. MONUMENT TO BOTH FLASHY SPECTACLE WITH NO VALUE AS WELL AS INHERENT HUMAN LOVE FOR SHOWMANSHIP AND ADVENTURE AND SHARING EXPERIENCES.

- God I just . Underwater las vegas area. The moment when the water drains and all the lights are on around you and its so meaningless but also like- hey humans did all that! all these stupid advertisments and meaningless announcements about deals long gone and its doesnt mean anything anymore. But it matters that people made it. And its still. Beautiful.

- also tideripper :)

- aaauhh. also. Hodgins from Bones as the inventor guy. 👌

- New machine designs in this game? fucked severely. Slaughterspines? big bat? solar panel ptearodactly? LOCH NESS MONSTER?

- That said the AOE and rolling/stagger in this game is a BITCH.

- Rich People Be Fucking Shit Up as a theme is so funny. and devastating. they do be doing that. haha. :|

- Watching the last hour and Tilda was into Elisabet and Alva had a GF in the Quen and *gestures ay Aloy* and its just so funny like. damn aloy you got so many gays here in your base huh. good on you.

- the. the end. where the new risk is there. and she doesnt tell them. and you go. ah fuck. but then. in the cutscene, immediately after- its clear she does. and she talks about hope. and relying on others and its like. AughhHHhHHHH. growth. she does not tell them when they are celebrating. but she DOES tell them. she takes the moment to breathe. and she tells them. and she works with them. and shes going to work with them. Love It When A Character Develops.

👌

- ah fuck i need to sleep.

- Fun mechanics. Beautiful extension of the game. High highs for writing as well as low lows.

- Someone let Aloy take a fucking NAP, jesus christ.

[wolvertooth]

(Wolverine 2013, issue #13)

GET HIS HYPOCRITICAL STUBBORN ASS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! theres another comic thats like an opposite parallel to this where creed is the one beat up and logan is calling him out on his weirdness (i’ll post it eventually. its the only one where vic is canonly gay. im not fucking kidding.) so its SO GOOD to see that shit reversed omg…ok so context -> logan lost his healing powers so creed set up this whole last hurrah thing to ‘breakup’ with him (since theyre not equals anymore) where he proves to logan the shit he constantly denies. logan kills someone begging for their life, and in a fit of rage chops a guys hand off(but it was mystique and she healed so its fine). creed proves to him that after all these years, logan still cant control himself.

but weirdly enough, even tho theyre not equals anymore, creed still implies he’ll stick around. just like he always has. which like….why. its not for superiority, he already feels that. logan wont change after all this. if anything, logan might even live a better life than the alcoholic depressed one he current lives. he literally retires at the end of this. why keep playing a game that no longer exists? but i guess it didnt really exist in the first place either. creeds feelings and efforts were always one sided, logan never putting the effort back in return. creed spent so much of his life fighting for something that logan just….didnt care for. maybe he wanted to, and maybe that chance that he was secretly wanting to accept that part of himself is what kept creed motivated to keep pushing. maybe he thinks that even when logan isnt wolverine anymore, something might still change. creed doesnt want logan to completely give in to his animal side, he just wants him to stop pushing it away(stop pushing HIM away) and acknowledge it. he cant ever control it if he keeps ignoring it. and creed, despite being the villain, has learned to control it. because he works with it, not against it. but logan never understood that. so he never changed.

also personally i think that creed is just putting on a speech, trying to show the other people in the room how ridiculous logan is and finally have witnesses to the struggle he goes through with him, but he doesnt really mean all of it. not really. sure this is a big dramatic breakup in the eyes of the audience he wants to present it to, but he’ll never stop trying. he cant get himself to. the part about killing him before logan forgets him? he means that. memory is what drives it all. note the phrasing ‘once again’ become his equal. he’s forgotten before. there was a time where creed didnt have to fight for him to understand, and its the chance of having that again that keeps him going. the chance that logan might remember how to exist as who he really is without fighting it.

it reminds me a bit of how in wolverine #90, creed finally(after literally begging) pushes logan far enough to kill him(not really, he healed) and fully lose himself to his animal side. and from then on he doesnt push it away anymore, actually likes it, learns to work alongside it…..still doesnt like creed tho. unless u count that one bit in #128. fuckin hypocrite.

[illarian-rambling]

Hello! I heard you like DnD!

What has been your favorite campaign so far? My current friend group is completing a 5e WotC one, but I have also seen some great homebrews done. Do you prefer WotC campaigns, or homebrews? What were some memorable moments? ✨

Oh god, you've got me started, now I'm never gonna shut up >:)

So, I've played in four games and ran one, all homebrew, over the course of my time. My first campaign I was a life cleric with a pet goat that I saved from being a sacrifice. I didn't really know what I was doing, as it was my first game, but I had fun. My second game, I was a rogue snakeoil (and crack) salesman, which started the trend of all my characters selling drugs. Game three, I played an evangelist artificer and fell in love with the class. I adore robots, what can I say? In my current game (which is an original story, but in the planescape setting), I play a barb/fighter hazily struck out of time. She's up to three mystery voices in her head now, one being the sword of Kas, sells drugs via cranium rats, and was in a pro-wrestling tournament.

Probably one of my most memorable moments was perma-killing my artificer, Gillaria. To start, Gillaria was a bit of dunce. She was smart, yeah, but had balls wisdom and even worse charisma. She tried to fly into a portal to hell once on a wooden broom so she could take an energy reading. She got kidnapped in like three separate alleyways and gave her full, legal name to a devil. This is all to preface with the fact that this character didn't make the smartest choices.

The other thing about Gillaria was that she was a priest of Relhan, the setting's god of innovation. She and her two robot buddies, Anatolius and Aenira, would preach the word of this dying god on street corners, since the main temple to him had been destroyed. Usually, given that the highest charisma score between them was an 8, this ended up with tomatoes being thrown.

Anyways, though the campaign was supposed to go a little while longer, our dm got a new job, so we had to end early. The party decided that our last hurrah would be to raid the Golden Trident, a rival faction we'd been eyeing for some time.

One Gillaria project she wanted to get done before the end of the campaign as well was the squirrel laser. The construction of such a laser is as follows:

The druid Awakens 6 squirrels with their magic staff. The squirrels are now sentient.

Our warlock signs these squirrels onto warlock pacts. The squirrels can now cast the cantrip Bonfire.

Gillaria has a Decanter of Endless Water and the spell Magic Mouth

Infinite steam power has been achieved

We did the math and we would've been able to power a railgun with this set-up, so our dm decided, fuck it, campaign's almost over, they can have a death laser. It was decided it would be a DC 16 dex save against being zapped into ash.

Anyways, cut to us raiding the Golden Trident. Our level 10 warlock is being chased by an anctient dragon, our barbarian fell off the airship (We had a dragon ghost powered airship. Long story, also Gillaria's fault) and we're being chased by the enemy's airship.

Gillaria tells Anatolius, her steel defender with an intellect headband that she treats like a son, to point the laser at the enemy skyship, ready to fire once it warms up in four rounds. Gillaria then flies over to the enemy ship, hoping to disable its engines. However, like any good artificer, she's immediately enamored by the engines themselves. At this point, I the player forget I have a four round count down.

Yeah, you can see where this is going... The dm has me pick high or low on a d100 to see what part of the ship my laser hits, and I invariably pick wrong. And that is how Gillaria got blasted to ash by her own automaton, wielding her own laser, atop her own airship. Her final consolation was finding out that her god was not, in fact, dead and being reincarnated into his steel and steam avatar.

This is one of sooo many dumbass stories for this character, she was a piece of work. Thanks for asking though, I love talking about dnd! Feel free to share a story of your own or ask any questions :)

[player-1]

Nexolord & co. shenanigans (Nexomon 1)

It's honestly been a long time coming, though mostly for the nostalgia and hype for Nexomon 3, but I figured I would look back in the story for any context clues to Nexolord/Metta's personality and abilities mentioned from his siblings, Overseers, or anyone unlucky enough to get on his bad side. Obviously it's going to be a massive list (with some spoilers for to Micromon and Extinction), but here goes!

First off, there's no real timeline on how long Metta's been Nexolord or when he started his Omnicron revival plan into action, but I'll put in a generous estimate of 2-3 years before the main story since he already put way too much fear into people's hearts to go against his authority until MC went ham on his master plan. Same goes for him commissioning MC's parents to build the resurrection machine and revive Omnicron for real.

For Overseers, I would assume that ex-Nexolord Remus originally had Hilda, Khan, and Jack until Metta took the title (and adding five more to spread out his influence). But it's also funny to assume that Metta indirectly assigned his siblings/Champions to a certain Overseer that either complement or conflict their personalities...You know, for shits and giggles. -Fenrir/Fona -> Ivan & Ira (Fiery spirit and moderately irrational) -Nadine/Ventra -> Remus (Unstoppable force vs. Immovable object) -Merida/Arqua -> Hendrick (90% charm and 10% backstabber) -Zetta/Luxa -> Spencer (Snotty rich kid with inflated ego) -Ulrich/Grunda -> Jack (Reliable leader but goes against authority to protect his people (Mostly connected to Netherworld Ulrich)) Nexolord/Metta -> Glacia (Cold-blooded tactician with an extreme ego trip) -Deena/Nara -> Khan ("Subtly" associating the family traitor as a wild savage who only cares about the world and harmony over complete authority...Harsh, even for a kids game)

Metta's childhood in the Frozen Tundra was already going to be shrouded in mystery from the get-go (and obviously exclude flashbacks in-game to avoid spoiling his identity), but he left a pretty deep impact on the three people he interacted with in the past (Glacia, Juliet, and Malk). -First, Juliet's a fangirl for him, so much so that she'll completely ignore his plan to destroy humanity if it meant getting a sliver of attention from him or one-up Glacia as Overseer. She also believes that he's a vampire (either when they were kids or into adulthood) and regularly reads cheesy YA vampire novels that she "accidentally" leaves on her kitchen table for someone to notice. -Glacia is 110% loyal to Metta and will gladly brag to anyone she meets on how she's the most "true and loyal Overseer" there is. Also, she's the only Overseer who's aware that the Champions are Omnicron's children (minus Remus figuring it out through context clues), so she somehow earned Metta's trust to learn that fact as well (though whether she knew Metta's true form too is up for debate). -Finally Malk "I taught [the Nexolord] everything I know" Micromon is either the best/worst person to be Metta's tutor (re: legit father-figure) to make him become the little tyrant he is now. Whether it's to fuel Metta's already-burning hatred for humans (being a sentient AI that destroyed Project Pixekai in revenge of the programmers who created him), teaching him useful skills to gain control over others as a leader (master manipulator, master technician, and more!), or giving Metta the emotional support he never had from his siblings or dad (headcanons galore!). Also love the little gimmick that Malk's name isn't shown to the MC since he doesn't properly introduce himself to them; only Metta calls him by name once when they're the only ones in a room or during Malk's last hurrah speech before MC fights Omnicron and disappearing for good. Also, Malk mentions meeting a younger Nexolord/Metta sometime after busting out of Pixekai and adjusting to human life, so he might've tried disguising himself long before they teamed up. Now I want to know if Metta first learned that Malk wasn't human or vice versa, but I would love to know what babey Nexolord looked like before he went anime villain mode. :)

Metta definitely was the one who gave his siblings their fake Champion names, mostly on the joke of Fona/Fenrir being Metta's guard-dog for a good chunk of the story (even accompanying him to Grunda's grave and keep a eye on Overseer Jack for the excavation). Besides that, it makes sense for Metta to have every opportunity to make a jab at his siblings and put them in their place in the current hierarchy. -Fenrir: Marsh/Fen-dweller, Norse mythos wolf that would bring disaster during Ragnarok and was bound by a chain shaped like a silk ribbon. [Similar motif to Nexomon Fenrir to have giant prison cuffs on his wrists and collar-like design on his shirt.] -Nadine: Hope (French), messenger/admonitory or showerer of blessings (Arabic), "the courage of a bear" (Russian) [Latter fits cause of her assigned Overseer being Remus and her tendency to put combat first over talking.] -Merida: Pearl (Mairead, Celtic), "one who achieved a high place of honor" (Latin), "a chaste girl" or "like a mother" (Persian) [Persian seems more ironic since Merida's nice when she gets attention but throws a major hissy fit if embarrassed or mocked.] -Zetta: Inquiry or quest (Greek ztsis), "a person that is intellectually curious and has a thirst for knowledge" [Mostly ironic since Zetta's dumb as a brick and has a love for shiny things.] -Ulrich: Noble or regal ruler, noble/rich heritage (Old German) [Grunda never had the chance to get a Champion name (until Netherworld), but it's interesting how his Nightmare makes him the ruler/guardian of Solus Desert and protects his people from the big bad Nexolord Remus...At least he got his priorities straight?] -Deena: Valley, church leader, spear ruler (Hebrew/Old English/Old German); "compromising, passive, and more likely to stay in the background rather than front and center" (myfirstname.rocks) [Even if she was a major part of Ulzar's fame, Deena keeps herself as inconspicuous as possible to ensure the MC's success too. Definitely didn't want to be caught up in the family drama again, you know? :)]

It is somewhat confirmed in the Netherworld end-story that Nexonium/Nexomite is more commonly found in the literal afterlife than in the normal world (and stupidly expensive too), and it also has the ability to incapacitate any Nexomon in its vicinity (when powered by a NexoCore) or keep a Nightmare running without a Warden to guard it. So who's to say that Metta used Nexonium to create the Nexocore, easily violating Ziegler's rule of keeping the dead dead and creating a power source that won't get traced back to him (you know, since he commissioned MC's parents to make it?). And it also shows that Metta had Nexonium stowed away in his old house, most likely studying its components in there or in the bunker.

And last but not least, it's not exactly confirmed if Metta actually sacrificed himself to revive Omnicron like the rest of Champions; he doesn't have a personal Nightmare like the other four (+Grunda/Ulrich), and you only get to find Metta's true form after the Netherworld story (ie. Killing Omnicron for real, dooming the current Nexomon species to extinction, and making a bridge between the Netherworld and real world to finish loose ends). Speaking of bridge, it's also confirmed in Extinction that just after MC destroyed Omnicron's soul, Venefelis was unleashed with the single goal to kill Hilda; unintentionally serving as the bridge for the Nexomon War and the future to come in Nexomon: Extinction. ...Also the MC (The Ghost of Nexomon Past) gets Metta's jacket and was buried in it pre-Extinction, so I'm betting the madlad did the blanket dog trick and it somehow worked against the MC and Nara. I mean, Metta's about the size of a bowling ball (five-pin/duckpin maybe?) so he might've had a chance to pull it off when MC was distracted by Omnicron and he just assumed the guy was gone for good.

Anywho, that's all I have for now, hope you enjoyed!

[bunbeeplays]

The Lemon Legacy: Generation 1, Chapter 67 - Late Night Venting

After another day of recovery, Ophelia is suddenly woken up by a call from Hilary. Xander had told her that Hilary and Hector were spending that day settling things for the divorce, so why would Hilary call to chat at 1 AM? If it were an emergency, wouldn't she call Xander?

Ophelia keeps her voice down, but Xander sleeps like a rock.

Ophelia: Hilary? Is-

Hilary: Ophelia, can you… can you please come to the restaurant? I need to talk and you're the only one who'd understand.

Hilary sounds on the verge of tears.

Ophelia: I'll be right there.

Ophelia throws on some sweats, leaves a note for Xander and teleports as fast as she can to the restaurant. She finds Hilary upstairs at the bar.

Ophelia: Hilary? It's me. Are you alright?

Hilary: I'm wearing a base game sweater. Clearly I am not alright.

Hilary downs her nectar like she thinks someone will snatch it from her.

Ophelia: I didn’t mean to start all this.

Hilary: You didn’t start anything, Hector did.

Ophelia: I could have left.

Hilary: Don't let that man place the blame at your feet.

Hilary finishes her drink.

Hilary tries to make another drink, but a cocktail is much more complicated than pouring a glass of nectar.

Hilary: Watcher damn it! Xander makes this look so easy!

Ophelia: Forget the drink. Let's sit down and talk.

Ophelia: I’m really sorry.

Hilary: You didn’t-

Ophelia: I know I didn’t do anything wrong. I do, deep down. You didn’t either, though. I’m just… I’m sorry this happened to both of us. It sucks.

Hilary: …I’m sorry this happened to both of us too.

Hilary: I do owe you an apology. I didn’t step in as soon as I heard what he was saying to you. I’ve always considered myself a feminist, and yet I just stood there and let that man treat you like trash. It's one of the most cowardly things I've ever done.

Ophelia: Xander told me you were in shock and, after the week you've had, I believe it. Your body was probably just focusing on keeping you from completely losing it. For what it’s worth, if you interrupting meant I didn’t get to slap that jerk, then I’m glad you didn’t.

Hilary genuinely smiles for the first time in days.

Hilary: You know, when we first met, I wasn’t sure what to make of you, Ophelia, but you’ve proven to me time and time again that you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and an even better heart. I’m so happy Xander has you.

Ophelia: That means a lot. Xander's told me lots about you. Like that time you told his bully you were an undercover cop that was going to arrest him cuz being a little jerk is illegal!

Hilary: I can’t believe he remembers that!

Ophelia: The kid peed himself! Pretty memorable!

Hilary certainly appreciates the distraction, but a question Ophelia asks catches her off-guard.

Ophelia: Any chance you’re hiring? I’m kind of out of a job right now.

It’s lighthearted in nature, but just reminds Hilary why she was trying to drink her woes away.

Hilary: You don’t need to worry about being blacklisted, dear. Any ounce of credibility Hector has is going out the window when the news spreads through the Grapevine Gossip interaction. People won't care about his opinion on the weather, let alone you.

Ophelia: Are you sure? I mean, it’s my word versus his and he’s a big deal around here. I know a divorce doesn’t look good for a man in the wedding business, but people get divorced all the time.

Hilary: Trust me, proof of his true nature will be made public soon enough.

Hilary: I’m sure Xander told you I spent today settling the divorce with Hector.

Ophelia nods.

Hilary: He finally confessed something to me. Do you want to know why he did what he did?

Ophelia: Uh, because he’s a slimeball?

Hilary: Yes, that too. But he told me that he had nothing left to lose, he considered it his ‘last hurrah’ before his life changed forever.

Ophelia: What the hell does that mean?

Hilary sits in silence. It looks like the thought of whatever she’s trying to say makes her physically ill. Ophelia allows her the time she needs to tell her.

Hilary: The day the kids and I left for the funeral… Tiff told Hector she’s pregnant.

He wouldn't… Would he?

Ophelia: I… She could be lying to get back at you for firing her. Maybe her garbage husband is the father!

Hilary: Ty is infertile. He can’t be the father… Even if she was lying, Hector admitted to sleeping with her. The pregnancy just worsens it.

Hilary: He's going to marry her, make 'an honest woman' of her. Maybe he's doing it because it looks better to the public than having a baby mama. Maybe he really does love her. That's what he told me, at least. That I basically pushed him into her arms.

Ophelia: What a douche. I'm so sorry. I can't imagine, but you know what? Those two deserve each other. This probably isn't what you want to hear right now, but you're so much better off without him. You didn't push him away, you threw out the trash.

Hilary: Deep down, I know this divorce is for the best, but… I’ve never been so scared in my life. I have to take over my parents’ restaurant, which just lost a good chunk of catering gigs from La Coppia Serena, and now I have to be a single mother? I don’t know how I’ll do it.

Ophelia doesn't know what to say but tries her best.

Ophelia: I know how. You’ll do it because you’re a strong, brave, amazing woman. Taste of Tartosa is already the best restaurant in town. Now that nothing's holding you back, you can focus on making it even better. If you need help, you know Xander and I will do what we can. We love spending time with the kids, so if you ever need anyone to keep an eye on them, call us. Whatever you need, we’re here for you.

Hilary can’t put her gratitude into words, so she doesn't try. She just lets Ophelia hug her. The two silently hold each other, trying their best to let the hug heal some of the pain they've gone through.

For the first time in a while, things feel like they're going to be okay.

By the time Ophelia gets home, the sun is out. Xander is waiting for her on the couch, having found her note. He wants to know what Hilary said, but she doesn't tell him much before falling asleep on his shoulder.

He pulls her closer and allows her to rest. She earned it.

[aj-artjunkyard]

I FINISHED MY STRAY GODS FIC!

SUMMARY

When Athena is informed of Apollo's continuous disloyalty, she decides she won't let that pining, overgrown puppy disrupt her plans for indefinite immortality. If the Furies could silence a firey Muse, they could surely dampen the last hurrah of her already-defeated leader.

An AU in which Athena won't leave any loose ends untied.

(featuring Charming!Grace)

8.3K words

Gen, F/M

Completed one-shot

Can’t be bothered writing out the tags so here