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ladamedusoif · 2 years ago

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Visiting - Chapter One: The Visitor

(moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter Summary: It's late August, and Lydia has arrived in the US from Europe to take up her position as visiting professor of art history at Barrow College. Enter Prof. Benjamin E. Morales, literature scholar and (as he puts it) 'your very own welcome wagon'.

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: Mature; will become Explicit in later chapters.

Content: Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (she is 41 and Ben 47 when the story begins); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; discussion of infidelity and emotional abuse; discussion of self-esteem issues and body insecurity; strong language.

A/N: Meet Lydia as she meets Ben. See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background. Pure, nerdy fluff as dork meets dork in a New England college town.

(One for the Big Night nerds, as it's referenced in the chapter: I literally only realised the name of the rival restaurant when I went to check that I'd got the descriptions right for this chapter... IYKYK.

A complete and utter coincidence, I promise.)

Taglist: @cutesyscreenname; @lunapascal; @fuckyeahdindjarin; @julesonrecord; @tieronecrush; @perennialdoll247; @vermillionwinter; @iamskyereads; @imaswellkid

The large, red-brick building is quiet, walls freshly painted and linoleum gleaming in the late August sunshine in anticipation of the impending start of the academic year at Barrow College. In the administration office for the Faculty of Arts, the faculty secretary - Susan, a woman in her late fifties, and the very image of seasoned efficiency - is preparing your new staff ID card, office key, and a plastic folder full of welcome documents and essential information.

While you wait, you survey the gallery of staff photographs on the wall, trying to quell the nerves in the pit of your stomach. The first day anywhere was never easy. First day as a visiting professor in a liberal arts college on the other side of the Atlantic? Ramp that difficulty level all the way up to eleven.

Susan emerges from behind the counter and hands you your ID card, ensconced in a dark green Barrow-branded lanyard, and the pack of documents. “Okay, Lydia. Normally this is the point where I’d bring you to see the head of the Literature Department,” she explains. “I know you’re an art historian, but Literature runs the visiting program. Always have, always will.” She shrugs and rolls her eyes. “This is the Barrow way.”

“So you’re not bringing me to see the head of the Literature Department?” you ask.

“Professor Arden is at a conference, unfortunately. But you’ll meet her next week,” Susan gestures towards the door, and you dutifully move into the main corridor. “In her absence, Professor Morales is going to run through the essentials with you. Don’t worry - Ben’s great, you’re in good hands. Can’t work a copier for love nor money, of course, but a real sweetheart.”

She points out some of the main teaching rooms in the building occupied by the various departments in the faculty, and you can’t help but be amused at how it all feels like a TV or movie set to your eyes. You’d grown up watching American high school and college shows and movies, and now, here you were: Green chalkboards! Those seats with the folding armrests! All that was missing were the standard-issue yellow pencils and those yellow legal pads everyone seemed to use.

Susan leads the way into a classroom, encouraging you to take a seat. Whereas the other rooms had been notable for their pristine uniformity, this seemed to be in use as a kind of temporary office. A laptop sits on the main desk unit, surrounded by piles of books and papers, covered in coloured tabs.

“This isn’t Professor Morales’ usual office, of course,” Susan explains, pointing to the ceiling. “Leak. His ceiling is being repaired so he’s working here for the moment. Usually he’s just round the corner in 315 - a couple of doors down from your office, in fact. Anyway: he’s running a little behind schedule, though that’s nothing unusual with Ben…I’ll go remind him you have an appointment!” Her voice fades with her footsteps as you take in your surroundings. You notice the chunky volume on the desk: War and Peace. You roll your eyes, thinking about all the times over the years that you’d seen Tolstoy’s masterpiece “casually” left in full view by academics keen to impress, not to mention the assholes you’d encountered as a graduate student, keen to get you into bed by convincing you of their intellectual ability. Whereas their copies were always a little too clean, though, this one was a bit dog-eared and worn at the corners. Maybe Ben Morales was that rare thing: someone who’d actually read it.

You never thought you were the kind of person who would even apply for a year-long visiting professorship at a New England liberal arts college thousands of miles from home, let alone actually take it up. A combination of impostor syndrome and pressure from your then-partner to stay put - “but baby, what about my career?” - had conspired to convince you such a thing would be impossible.

That was then. This was now. Things had changed, and so had you.

You couldn’t not be changed by the brutal end, a couple of years before, to a fifteen-year relationship: a sudden departure, revelations of infidelity, endless days and nights of tears and numbness, feelings of worthlessness compounding a lifelong lack of self-esteem. It was bad enough without the various accusatory “explanations” offered by your ex-partner for their actions, all designed to make you feel like this was your fault, the consequence of your having been “too much”, too dull, too unattractive now, too stressed-out (never mind that you carried the can for everything).

Time and many, many hours of therapy helped you to move on. You knew now that you now had a kind of freedom and joy that had never been fully present in your relationship. You were proud to embrace your authentic self. Your friends and family remarked on how happy you seemed, how bright, how confident. They praised your achievements and growing academic profile, even as you never felt quite good enough - professionally or personally.

What they couldn’t see were the metaphorical defences you had built up around yourself: treacherous ramparts surrounding a huge wall of emotional stone, protecting the broken heart and fragile soul within. Your friends and family were enough, as were occasional hook-ups and one night stands as and when the opportunity arose. Even as you left the past for dust, you refused to countenance anything more.

You believed that you didn’t need anything more - and in a lot of ways, that was true. You liked your life now. You could do as you pleased. Better to have freedom and self-preservation than exposing yourself to the risks that come with emotional connections. You were nearing forty-two. Who’d want a forty-something art historian with too much baggage - emotional and physical, bearing in mind the body you’d come to feel increasingly unhappy with, all scars and stretch marks and aching joints and general discomfort?

More than that, and to your grim fascination, you never really…felt anything for anyone anymore. At times, you wondered if that part of your brain had been switched off. Sex without attachment or meaning was one thing; real attraction and feelings another thing entirely. Hell, you never even crushed on musicians or actors any more. You’d kind of made peace with it. Maybe this was your destiny.

You were ‘living your best life’, as your best friend put it. You were hailed for your strength and your optimism. You knew you were better off in this not-so-brave new world, unexpectedly single as you stared down the barrel of middle age. You embraced new opportunities. “You’re still young,” your mother had counselled. “Take the chances life presents, Lyd. See the world! Share that big beautiful brain of yours.”

Now you actually had to do it. Visiting Professor of Art History in a small college with a great reputation. A whole year at Barrow in which to try new things, expand your horizons, and enjoy your freedom.

Bring it on.

Nervous energy had kept you awake prior to your long-haul flight, and the time difference was starting to kick your ass. You were just on the verge of going in search of a weapons-grade energy drink when he sauntered into the room, wrangling a messy pile of freshly-printed course handbooks.

You suppress a giggle at the sight of him: not because he looked funny, but because he could have walked straight from the pages of a cheesy teen magazine story about unrequited love for a favourite professor. He’s tall, broad, dark, dressed in a pale blue Oxford button-down worn untucked over slightly faded black jeans, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. A pair of well-loved but evidently well cared-for black Doc Marten shoes. You guessed he might be a couple of years older than you, but not very many. Wavy dark hair that looks like it would turn into curls if left to grow out, streaked through with silver. Moustache, and what you guess you might call a sort-of beard - more of a scruff, really, and greying in places. Glasses - but of course! - and behind them what looked (because you were never great with direct eye contact, especially when first meeting) to be dark brown eyes. You’d almost think an unseen costume director had added the pencil he was gripping with his teeth as a final touch, for maximum Hot Professor Cliché effect.

He plonks the pile of handbooks on the desk and does an exaggerated exhalation of breath as he turns to face you, removing the pencil from his mouth and offering a wide smile. He advances towards you, hand outstretched, and you stand up to shake his (rather large, you notice) hand.

“Welcome to the department! I’m Ben Morales, comparative literature prof and your very own welcome wagon.” He smiles brightly, eyes crinkling. “You must be Lydia.”

You return his smile, albeit shyly. “That’s me - though most people usually end up just calling me Lyd after a while. On rare occasions it becomes Lyddie, though that’s not much shorter than my actual name. My sister used to call me Lydularity but thankfully that didn’t stick.”

Shuuuuuut up, Lydia.

He grins. “Lydia, Lyd,” he turns your name over, as if becoming accustomed to saying it. “Your mom a Jane Austen fan?”

You huff a laugh and shake your head. “I wish it was that cultured, but sadly no. As my mother never fails to remind me: I’m named after a 1970s pop song. And not a very good one, at that. My view - not hers.”

“Well, at least it’s a nice name,” he laughs. “I’m guessing Susan has covered almost everything but I should make sure you have all the essential information you need before school starts - timetables, IT stuff, where the only drinkable coffee on campus is - actually, wait.” He picks up a blue coffee mug from the desk. “You want some coffee?”

You’d take anything at this stage to keep you even a little perkier. “Uh, sure. Yes please. With milk - I mean, creamer. Whatever it is. Half and half, is that what it’s called?”

He nods as he heads out of the classroom in search of coffee. “I normally take mine black, so I’m not up to speed on the creamer situation. It might just be some off-brand stuff. But hopefully you aren’t a connoisseur. Yet.”

You shake your head with a smile, watching him jog lightly out the door, mug in hand.

He has what your friends would describe as ‘chaotic energy’ - somehow both put-together and messy, with a million different thoughts presumably bouncing around in his head at any given moment. It was a relief. From what you’d read on the college website - there was no profile photo, you remembered - he had an exceptional track record as a scholar of European literature, recognised with any number of awards from peers and students alike. You’d even made a mental note to read some of his articles on magical realism and adaptation.

Because of his impressive profile, you were prepared for the possibility of him being in the mode of some of the more obnoxious men you’d worked with over your years in academia: intimidating, serious, keen to remind you that they were a ‘genius’, and rather vain. Ben, at least judging by your first impressions, seemed to be the complete opposite.

He swings back into the room with a mug in each hand: his own blue one and, to your surprise, a retro Sesame Street mug for you. You take the coffee from him at the desk, settling back into a front-row seat and smiling with bemusement at the beaming faces of characters you’d loved since childhood. As he sits down on the desk he notices your reaction and looks sheepish.

“Sorry, I hope you don’t mind the choice of mug-”

“My mom always says these guys taught me to read and count. Feels right to have my first real American college coffee in a Sesame Street mug”, you say quickly, raising the mug.

He grins. “Well, that’s a relief. That’s my favourite one.” He raises his own mug, reciprocating your gesture. “Uh… to the Children’s Television Workshop?”

You’ve sat through enough briefings and orientation sessions in your time to know how dull they could be. This, though, is less like a meeting and more like an overdue catch-up between old pals. The conversation takes various turns and digressions as Ben explains Barrow’s various quirks, traditions, and regulations. He’s expressive and demonstrative: a match for you in both talking with your hands and in unintentionally pulling silly faces. The longer you talk, the more relaxed you feel: here was one of your hosts, warm and funny, and already like a friend. Your residual anxiety about the visiting post fades.

It’s going to be a good year.

“And, in conclusion, that’s why you don’t buy filter coffee from the cafeteria after midday,” Ben says. “I think that’s everything? I’ll walk you to your new office. Oh, and - dinner at seven thirty?”

His invitation takes you by surprise, and it shows on your face. Ben looks a little confused. “I mean, if you want to have dinner with me. We normally take the new visiting professor out, just as a welcome gesture - you’re stuck with just me this evening, though.”

He shrugs apologetically. “Of course, maybe you’ve got plans with your family or partn-“

“Dinner would be great!” you interrupt, keen to avoid any discussion of partners and inevitable explanations. “Shall I just meet you here, or…?”

He begins to scoop up the course handbooks. “I can pick you up, if you want? The restaurant is in the next town over. Unless you’d rather I not pick you up. Because-“

You come up to the desk to help him gather the print-outs, shuffling them quickly into orderly piles. “No, that would be great. I mean, I still think it’s Tuesday of last week, I wouldn’t trust myself with following out-of-town directions just yet.”

He beams and leans over to pick up the rest of the handbooks, and you get a slight, sweet hint of his scent: clean soap, a cologne with top notes of bergamot, and an underlying warmth. Maybe even a touch of paper, of all things.

He smells good.

You step back and your eyes meet for a moment. Unthinkingly, you breathe in sharply as you look properly into his dark eyes for the first time.

Holy moly, those are quite something.

And that’s when it happens. A tiny flicker of electricity crackling across your brain. It’s so fleeting that you don’t even register it, not immediately. It’s only much later on, alone and thinking about the first time you met, that you find yourself conjuring up the memory of his scent and of those beautiful brown eyes.

“They just love the colouring books you left for them, Lyddie!” Your mother is talking to you via FaceTime, recounting the latest adventures of your little nieces in loving detail.

You aren’t really listening. It’s past 7.30 and you’re deeply conscious of not being late for your dinner invitation, keen to hide your usual chaotic inability to be ready on time for anything from your new colleagues for as long as possible.

You crane your head to look out the front window of your apartment, just in time to see a car pull up outside. Your mother is still narrating exactly what your older niece drew at preschool in the 48 hours since you’d left for the US.

“I gotta go, Mom! The dinner, remember? I love you -“

“Call me when you get in!”

“I won’t, because time zones? Okay I have to go byebyebye -“ and you end the FaceTime call as you close your front door and skip lightly down the stairs to the entrance hall of the building.

It was difficult to know what to wear to something like this. Academic welcome dinners and events were often relatively informal, and Ben had not struck you as the kind of man who’d be gravely offended if you turned up in jeans and a long-sleeved tee. But you didn’t know a lot about the restaurant, so you erred on the side of caution: a mid-length, indigo chambray button-down dress that you’d made yourself, fitted around the waist with a v-shaped neckline; rose gold vintage-style flat sandals in the late summer heat; and - just in case it got chilly - a red cropped cardigan that was another of your creations, hand knitted a couple of years before.

Ben is leaning against his car when you appear at the main door of the apartment building. He’s changed, too: a soft-looking white shirt has replaced the blue Oxford he was wearing earlier. His sleeves are rolled up, and this time the shirt is tucked into his dark jeans. He’s wearing light-coloured suede desert boots and sunglasses. He gives you a little wave as you walk down the path to meet him, moving to open the passenger door for you before settling in on the driver’s side.

“Hope the apartment is okay?” he asks as you adjust your seatbelt and tuck your purse at your feet. “I think they’ve been putting visiting profs there for years. God knows what secrets it holds by now,” he adds dramatically.

You put on your own pair of sunglasses to shield your eyes from the evening sun. “It’s pretty nice, honestly. I’m still waiting on a lot of stuff to arrive, but I’ve got the essentials and working wifi. What more could you want?”

He smiles as he pulls away from the kerb. “Good to hear. So you’re on your own, or is your-”

“Just me!!” you chirrup, slightly too enthusiastically. “Free and easy.”

Uh, cringe much, Lydia?

It’s quiet for a few moments and you start to wonder if you should start talking again before it gets even more awkward. You’re just about to open your mouth when he starts tapping the touchscreen on the dash.

“Do you mind if I put on some music? Not to halt conversation, don’t worry! I just usually have a soundtrack for most things: driving, writing, grading…”

You grin. “Music would be great - I’m a fellow playlist curator. My writing ones are fickle, though.”

At the next red light he taps and swipes before selecting a playlist. “Hope you are okay with middle-aged dad tracks for driving.”

Ah, he’s a dad. You hadn’t noticed a ring but that obviously didn’t mean anything.

“How old do you think I am? I’m middle-aged, I’ll have you know. And my musical tastes have been middle-aged since I was a teenager.” You feign being affronted and he huffs a laugh.

“In that case, I can subject you to the full rigours of the playlist.” He taps play, and a smile spreads across your face as you recognise the steady opening bass riff of ‘Fortunate Son’ and start to nod along.

“Oh, man - Creedence? Okay, I see what you mean about the dad tracks,” you admit, bobbing your head to the rhythm as John Fogerty’s voice rasps through the speakers. “In a good way, though!”

Ben taps the fingers of one hand on the steering wheel as he drives. “Plenty more where that came from. Unfortunately, this is only a twenty minute trip, and this playlist is at least five hours long, but I can email you over the link if you’d like?” You nod, watching the surroundings change as you travel out of town, trying to take it all in: the neat houses, the tall trees and woodland that line either side of the route, the road signs pointing out local tourist spots.

You’re heading for the next town over - a bit larger than Barrow and, as Ben explained on the drive, better appointed when it came to options for a nice dinner out.

“Perils of a college town,” he’d added, “we have a great diner, a couple of good cafés and takeout places, but the main clientele are students looking for a sort of Man Vs Food experience. And we usually don’t want to hit the visiting prof with that right away.”

You chuckle, watching as the green of the trees gives way to painted timber houses, brick, and stone as you enter the town. It’s not long before Ben is pulling up near a small restaurant whose hand-painted sign reads LINO - RISTORANTE.

“This place is always worth the drive over,” he explains as you step into the restaurant’s small porch and open the door. Lino’s is small but beautiful: dark, vintage-style wooden furniture and white linen tablecloths; wood panelling on the walls; a candle in those old-style chianti bottles with the little wicker baskets on each table. It’s almost full on that weeknight evening, the gentle hum of conversation and cutlery accompanied by a soft soundtrack of Italian classics.

It’s weirdly familiar, and it takes you a moment to realise why. Settled at your table, you look around with a grin. Ben raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“This place, it’s - it’s just like the restaurant in…”

“Big Night.” He chimes in with you and does a little air punch, unable to hide his delight at the reference. “Someone else gets it! Finally!!”

You laugh and take a sip of your water. “I’m pleased. But clearly more people need to be introduced to that movie, huh?” “Fuck yeah!” He looks a little embarrassed at how excited he is, pinking around the ears and dropping his head to look at the menu. “Sorry, I’m getting carried away. Just so thrilled that someone else had that reaction, too. You’re the first to get it!” He looks back up at you and offers a shy smile.

Here’s the thing about notionally professional academic dinners, especially with people you don’t know that well: they are almost always like an hours-long conference presentation, with the added complication of having to eat while discussing your current research. You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d ended up aimlessly stirring your coffee after several hours listening to other people drone on about their praxis and theoretical grounding late into the evening, sure that they’d written you off when you tried to swerve the conversation around to lowbrow topics like music or (heaven forfend) television. Because serious intellectuals don’t watch television, unless it’s important and worthy programming (in other words: dull).

Ben had left a good impression from earlier in the day, but you were still a little nervous in case dinner was where you were expected to ‘prove yourself’. As it turned out, you didn’t really talk about work at all. Instead, you’d spent the best part of two hours eating astonishingly good Italian food while letting your inner film and music nerd run riot, in the company of a man who had rapidly revealed himself to be just as much of a geek as you were. The topics of conversation shifted organically as you ate, changing as if scheduled to coincide with each course.

Antipasti: favourite movies. Top fives compared and debated across various categories. You’d established a shared love of international cinema, Close Encounters of the Third Kind (“You have to read Bob Balaban’s book about being on set with Truffaut!” you’d exclaimed, sending chunks of tomato flying off your bruschetta in your enthusiasm), and Indiana Jones (“I do feel increasingly icky about Temple of Doom”, he’d confided). And unanimously agreed that the Muppet Christmas Carol is, in fact, the best adaptation of Dickens’ story yet made.

Main courses: music. He talks about his collection of vinyl records, built around a core of albums that had belonged to his dad. You swap tales of favourite live music experiences, from stadiums to tiny basement venues. He is far too impressed when you let slip that you can play guitar and sing. (Of course he’s impressed now. After all, he hasn’t heard you yet.)

It’s been a while since you felt so at ease with someone you’d only just met, and the sense of safety reassures you that coming here was the right thing to do. As you finish your tiramisu and sip on espresso to round out the meal, you chat casually about yourselves and your careers.

“So what made you go for the visiting gig?”

You thoughtfully sucked the last bit of mascarpone cream off your spoon. “I’ve never lived in the US - I was here for a couple of conferences but only for a few days, and I always wanted to spend more time here. And I needed a change of scenery and a new challenge. I guess I’d needed it for a while, but then after everything that went down it felt much more urgent, you know?”

He looks a little puzzled. “Everything that went down?”

“What I mean is, it’s been a shitty couple of years,” you clarify. A deep breath. It’s still weird telling people about this. “Long story short: my partner basically walked out on me, they were having an affair, blah blah blah. Fifteen years together, I never saw it coming, left on my own. But that’s done now. In the past.” You wave your hand lightly through the air, as if swatting away a particularly irritating insect.

He looks genuinely sorry for you. You brace yourself for the inevitable expression of sympathy, the “plenty more fish” lines, or just the awkward silence that comes when you’ve shared too much, too soon.

“And how are you, now?” he asks. That’s all he says. Emphasis on the “you”.

“I’m… well, I’m a lot happier, I guess? I think I’m much more myself. I don’t want to ladle more of this on you but I’ve realised there were things there that weren’t right. And that I carried a lot of, well, stuff that I shouldn’t have. So I feel…free?”

You do not tell him about the ramparts and solid walls that you’ve built around your emotional core, the crumbled blocks and shards of your past all too ready to trip and pierce anyone who tries to get too close.

“And I’m free to do cool shit like come here for a year, and watch whatever the hell I want on TV and not be judged for it.” You grin and pull a silly face, hoping an injection of levity into proceedings will help move the conversation on.

He leans in conspiratorially, a cheeky smile dancing across his lips. “So we should be grateful to them for being a dick, because we got you here as a result?”

You arch an eyebrow and look at him in mock seriousness. “Let’s not give them any credit, shall we?”

He laughs and drains the last of his coffee. “On a nicer topic,” he proposes, “is there anything you really want to do while you’re here? And I don’t mean courses or sections you want to teach. Stuff you want to do while you’ve got your year on this side of the pond.”

“Once I’ve settled in a bit, I want to explore. See some places. Add to my tacky snowglobe collection from places I’ve been,” you grin. “There’s so much, though - New York, Boston, DC…” You suck on the inside of your cheek as you think. “What I really want, though, is to go west. Even just for a week.”

He nods, raising his eyebrows. “Some kind of manifest destiny thing, or…?”

You roll your eyes. “Thankfully, no. A combination of my own film nerdery and growing up on a regular diet of old-school Westerns on rotation in the house, thanks to my dad. It’s got this allure, you know? The West. Especially California. So yeah, that’s on my bucket list for next summer, before I go back.”

“I’ll give you some recommendations, if you’d like?” Ben looks a little shy. “That’s where I’m from - the Bay Area, specifically.”

“No way! Tell me everything. So how did a Bay Area boy end up in the dreaming spires of a New England college town?”

This is how you find out that Ben Morales is 47, came to work at Barrow over a decade ago after a couple of postdocs and short-term posts, and is the eldest of three siblings. His younger brother and sister both live in their hometown, close to their mother who has lived alone since his father died a few years ago. You get a sense that their proximity helps alleviate some of his eldest child guilt about being on the other side of the country. He dotes on his niblings, showing you photos of them from time spent out west during the summer and speaking about them with evident pride and amusement.

He is not, as it turns out, a dad.

He listens attentively as you talk about your family: your parents, your little nieces, your sister and her partner, and the relatively tight-knit little unit that exists between you. “It’s not like we see each other all the time, not since I had to move for my job,” you explain. “But I don’t know how I would have got through everything without them. And being so close helped me be independent, on some level.”

He nods. “I get that. I mean, when I went on my year abroad to Málaga I was the first person in the family to go anywhere outside the US or parts of Mexico, and this was huge.” He smiles at the memory. “I know that my mom was freaking out. The whole neighbourhood knew she was freaking out. Until I moved to the east coast the furthest she’d ever been was to visit her family in Texas or just over the border.” His expression shifts, more thoughtful. “But she and my dad never wanted to let me feel I couldn’t do it. You know?”

He’s so genuine and earnest. It makes perfect sense why he would be such a good professor, and why his students have been so keen to nominate him for award after award.

The server comes over to take the empty dessert plates and espresso cups, and Ben asks for the check.

You fire off a message to your mom as you’re heading to bed:

Just letting you know I’m home. Dinner was great. Made the right choice coming here - already met some lovely people and they’re so welcoming. Talk to you over the next couple of days. Love to Dad x

You plug your phone in to charge and lie back on the pillows, feeling content and excited for the year ahead. You’re on the cusp of sleep when your screen lights up again, and you reach for your phone. If it’s your mom, it’s a weird time to be replying.

It’s not your mom. It’s a message from Ben Morales.

You’d asked to swap numbers when he dropped you home earlier. After all, he was the only colleague you’d met, and if you had some sort of major emergency it couldn’t hurt to have someone to call.

BEN MORALES: Hi Lydia, it’s Ben. Just wanted to say it was really great to meet you and we’re so lucky to have you with us for the year. And thank you for the book recommendation! Just give me a yell if you need anything. See you tomorrow - get some sleep! B

There’s a picture attached - a screenshot of the order he’d just placed for a second-hand copy of Bob Balaban’s Spielberg, Truffaut and Me, his diary from the making of Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

You can’t help but smile.

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more)

#visiting fic #visiting masterlist #mr ben snl #professor ben x OFC #mr ben #pedro pascal character fanfic #mr ben x ofc #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal

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bamber344 · 7 months ago

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Whumpee intro: Jordyn's Training - 2

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Currently running low on mental energy and fixating on things that are gonna happen in this story ages and ages from now so I don't have much to say about this one

As always, let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list! chapter begins after the cut

CWs: minor medical whump, references to previous torture (whipping), manipulative and creepy old man performing odd powerplays on his vulnerable and confused 'charge,' references to forced haircuts, food control

Jordyn's Training, part 2: Questions

6 MONTHS AFTER WAKING

My eye twitched as the needle sunk into the skin of my cheek again, but I avoided wincing at it. The pain I was feeling wasn’t real, and I was strong enough by now to understand that. Thanks to what Father did to my back, I was forced to endure that irritating sensation for weeks and weeks on end, until eventually I learned to ignore it, just as he wanted. I pulled the suture through and out on the other side of the mostly-stitched slash wound across my face, separating it from the needle and tying it off. There, done.

I examined my face in the mirror, taking pride in my work. It was a lot shoddier than what the medics could do, but it was my first time suturing a wound, so that was to be expected. Father had banned me from the medbay so that I could learn to treat my own injuries as the difficulty of the obstacle course ramped up. This particular one was made by a knife launched from the wall that I had been too slow to block with my shadows. It was my mistake, and as such, it only made sense that I would be the one to fix it. After all, ‘what self-respecting 26 year old woman doesn’t know how to stitch their own wounds?’ or so Father said. Apparently, I was 26. That was good to know. I had been wondering how old I was recently.

The cut stretched all the way from my cheekbone to the bridge of my nose. If it had been even an inch higher, it probably would’ve taken out my right eye. As it was, though, it was just a flesh wound, and it would heal in time. Meanwhile, the constant itch would be a good reminder of what happened when I made a mistake in the obstacle course. I was getting good at blocking and deflecting the knives with my shadows, but evidently, I needed more practice

The door to my room opened and Father stepped in, walking over to me near the desk. He leaned down, peering at my stitched-up face. For a moment I thought he might have been about to reach out and touch me, and excitement flooded my chest, but instead he just stood there, hands behind his back as he examined my work. I tried not to let the disappointment show in my expression.

“Hm, a little messy,” he said. “But I suppose that’s to be expected for your first attempt. Good work, Jordyn.” He smiled, and my whole body lit up with giddiness.

“Thank you, Father.”

He checked his watch. “It’s just about time for lunch. Would you accompany me?”

I nodded and we left my room, heading through the winding hallways of the facility towards one of my favourite places: the mess hall. Nothing was more satisfying than a warm meal after a hard training session, and ever since I regained my dinner privileges, I’d been able to visit it that much more often. Not to mention, it was the place where I was most likely to run into the other people at the facility outside of Father and the medics. We would have conversations and I’d learn about all sorts of things that Father hadn’t deemed necessary to teach me. I didn’t resent him for it; I understood that he needed to prioritise my physical training, but it was fun learning new things. Speaking of which…

“Father, permission to ask a question?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Granted.”

“If you’re my father, why don’t we look the same? And, where’s my mother?”

He stopped walking, his brows furrowing into a frown. “Where did you hear about this?”

“Mr. Sadler, from R&D. He was telling me about his family and he mentioned a few things I didn’t understand, so I asked some questions. He told me what parents were. But, if I came from you, how come we look so different?”

I thought it was a reasonable question. My skin was tan, and my hair and eyes were dark, while Father was pasty and pale from top to bottom. His nose was thin where mine was wide, he was tall where I was short, and even when I looked at his face next to mine in the mirror, I couldn’t see a single similarity. Based on what Mr. Sadler said, that didn’t make sense to me.

Father hesitated. “Well… I suppose you take after your mother. In fact, you’re the spitting image of her. Unfortunately, she… passed away a few years ago.”

“Oh… How?”

Father began walking again, sudden enough that I had to jog to catch up to him. “No more questions, Jordyn. You just need to focus on your training. Don’t worry about anything else, alright?”

Oh well, I could just ask again some other time. I sucked in a breath and puffed out my chest. “Yes, Father.”

He smiled again, and my whole body tingled. “Good girl. Keep up the good work and you’ll be able to start combat training soon. Oh, and make sure you cut your hair before you go to bed tonight.”

I frowned, running a hand through my hair and taking a black lock between my fingers. When I first woke up after my accident, I had no hair. My head was completely smooth. It always upset me for some reason when I saw myself in the mirror. Ever since then, it’d been growing at a steady rate, and the longer it got, the happier I was with it. Nowadays, my fringe was long enough to reach my eyes if I didn’t brush it away. I liked it, and I liked the way it made me look. The thought of cutting it when it had finally reached a point I liked was like a punch in the gut.

“But… But I like my hair like this.”

Father raised an eyebrow. “Cut it, Jordyn. That’s an order.”

I wilted, trying to hold back the tears burning behind my eyes. “Y-yes, Father. How short?”

He peered at me, and it felt as though his gaze pierced through my body, layer by layer, through my skin and fat into the muscle beneath, and further still until it reached my soul. No matter how hard I tried to hide it, he knew exactly where to look to find the small glimmer of hope I was burying; the hope that he would only make me cut a little bit off. His head cocked to the side like a predator eyeing its helpless prey.

“On second thought, buzz it all off. If your helmet comes off in battle, your hair will be a liability. You don’t want any criminals to be able to grab it, do you?”

I couldn’t help it. I started crying, even while trying to nod and confirm the command. “Y-yes, F-Father.”

“Really, Jordyn? Waterworks again, over a little haircut? You’re a grown woman, you need to start acting like it. No one will take you seriously if you become hysterical whenever you don’t get your way.”

“S-sorry, Father,” I said, trying to hold in my hiccups as best I could. He was right, of course. He was always right. Father knew best. I shouldn’t get so upset over such a simple ask; cutting my hair was the least I could do after everything Father had done for me. So what if looking in the mirror upset me again? I just wouldn’t look. It was fine. I could do it.

We continued on in silence to the mess hall, where we both grabbed trays and filled them up from the bain-marie before finding a table to sit at. Since it was midday, most of the tables were already taken, but when Father and I approached one, everyone sitting there immediately got up and left, taking their food with them. Apparently, Father just had that sort of influence on the people here. They’d never done that to me while I was on my own before. It disappointed me, to be honest. I’d been looking forward to talking with them.

I could still feel the tears in the back of my throat threatening to spill out as I sat down across from Father, but with the promise of a nice meal of chilli and rice in the very near future, I could ignore them a little easier. I grabbed my fork and was about to dig in when Father stopped me.

“I didn’t give you permission to eat, Jordyn.”

I froze, staring at him. He cocked his head meaningfully and I put my fork down before I could upset him any more.

“Good.”

Father started eating. He didn’t speak to me once during his meal. All I could do was sit there and watch as he polished off his tray. My face began to itch around my stitches, and when I moved to scratch them he glanced at me pointedly. I dropped my hand and remained still.

Eventually, he finished, promptly standing up and leaving his tray on the table. We made eye contact, and finally, finally, he said;

“You can eat now.”

Father left the room, and I was left alone to finish my meal in silence, wondering what I’d done so wrong.

Taglist: @steelandblood@sapphicwhump @urnumber1star

Really wanted to highlight Father and Jordyn's power dynamic in this one, and the way that he will just do random, seemingly pointless things just to exert his power over her when he feels it slipping, even without directly hurting her. Also the way that Jordyn's conditioning training is going as time progresses. I really want to get her out of this sort of 'child-like' demeanour soon but it's hard as she literally knows so little and is so sheltered on top of that. Tho I suppose it'll resolve itself as Father leans more on the conditioning and she becomes more of a soldier (which is sad but hey it won't be bad forever i prommy)

there will be either 1 or 2 more chapters in the Jordyn's Training arc, one for 9 months and one for a year, but I might put them both in the same chapter depending on how long the last one ends up. TBH i'm looking forward to moving on so I can start introducing more characters!! I've been thinking a lot about them and wanna show them off to the world :)

Feel free to reblog and let me know what you think! Thanks for reading :)

#project genesis whump series #whumpblr #whump series #living weapon whump #living weapon whumpee #manipulative whumper #oc whump #whump writing #superhero whump

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darkx-the-dragon-kn1ght · 2 months ago

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Pokémon Reborn Screenshot Let's Play: Chapter 44

Time is still not on my side, but not for the same reasons as last time! Hello everyone, welcome back to my humble Let’s Play- were the holidays good for you all? I hope so, we’ve still got several to go and a few more weeks left in 2024, so the holiday vibes aren’t quite done yet.

Regardless of whatever you celebrate, I’m celebrating getting this chapter out! Yeah, the thing is, I was actually able to finish prep work for my Fire Emblem TTRPG adventure in a very timely manner- and then I had to cancel the session for Reasons. Both of these circumstances gave me a lot of time to do the play session for this chapter and start writing for it- and yet, it still took me more time than usual to get this chapter posted. I think it’s because I got an extended weekend from work because of Thanksgiving, and the following week was me just trying to get back into the groove of things, so that probably tanked my writing motivation and productivity.

Luckily, my motivation couldn’t hide from me forever, and so here we are. Now then, before we get into the main festivities, it’s that time for the recap! Although last chapter was very eventful, given how long it’s been since I posted it, a few reminders will probably do all of us some good.

Xera travels across the Reborn and Chrysolia Regions to catch some new Pokémon, namely: Charge the Blitzle, Neon the (Shiny) Tynamo, Carnation the Corsola, Nekko the Hoppip, Fuwa the Drifloon, Pan the Nuzleaf, Midnight the Murkrow, Guava the Tropius, Apollo the Helioptile, and Poly the Porygon.

Xera catches Pan after defeating a Shiftry, who was the leader of the Nuzleaf tribe causing mischief in Rhodochrine Jungle. She catches Fuwa while helping a little boy return to his home in Lapis Ward, saving him a second time from a Venipede swarm in the process.

While Laura and Charlotte are still gone, Xera and Noel decide to go ahead with their Gym battle. With Shelly as the referee and Anna’s encouragement, Xera faces off against the Normal-type prodigy.

After a very, very, VERY hard-fought battle, Xera is finally able to defeat Noel and earn the Standard Badge. Just as they finish, Laura returns, though Charlotte has gone off on her own for some alone time.

Laura explains that her and her sisters’ parents were killed years ago in a house fire caused when Charlotte snuck outside to play with her Vulpix- all the plants and grass around, it was all too easy for fire to spread. She goes on to explain how Saphira has looked after them ever since, and she grows tearful at the thought of anything happening to either of her sisters.

At Anna’s insistence, the group heads back inside to help Laura calm down. Noel takes Xera aside to tell her about his doubts regarding Saphira surviving that fall from Tanzan Mountain. He believes someone needs to go out and look for her, alive or dead- and since Anna won’t let him leave, it falls to Xera.

Suddenly, another tremor shakes the area. Noel and Xera return to the living room to hear the others discussing an explosion that just took place at the top of Tanzan Mountain, where the Meteor base was. Additionally, Charlotte has yet to return.

So yeah, a lot of stuff from last chapter, even if the actual summary is actually pretty short. Thanks to the weathermod password, I won’t be held back from catching event Pokémon anymore (I think), so that’ll be nice. Less nice is how much trouble the Noel fight gave me, by far the most difficult boss battle I’ve had to deal with in this game so far- does that bode well, considering it took me until the seventh Badge to get truly stuck like that? Or is it a terrible omen of the fact that the difficulty is going to continue ramping up in such a way?

I guess we’ll find out in this chapter, because arson is also real! Not sure what the deal with the Meteor base is, but that’s what we gotta go investigate I suppose, in addition to investigating what became of Saphira. Heck, maybe they’re related, maybe Saphira went back and finished the job! Or maybe that’s where Charlotte ran off to, she went to take out her tragic backstory turmoil on the Meteors- honestly, I can see it go either way.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

#pokemon reborn #pokemon reborn spoilers #pokemon fan game #pokemon reborn screenshot let's play

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syrupspinner · 8 months ago

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i just completed Hypnospace Outlaw

i sincerely love how much the sci-fi genre is just explaining how much sci-fi stuff would suck if it was real

the reason you play hypnospace outlaw is the aesthetic and presentation, just so were all on the same page. the reason this game got your attention is because its a passionate parody of web 1.0, and it does an excellent job of that. i can tell this game was made with a deep nostalgia for what made the past special without being blinded from its flaws (like the viruses and general difficulty to navigate).

the only problem is that im 24

well i shouldnt say thats a problem. just because i dont have nostalgia for what theyre throwing back to doesnt mean the game doesnt stand on its own. i didnt grow up with a ps1 or n64 but i still enjoy that specific form of lowpoly modeling, for example. its just unfortunate that i cant have the same hit of nostalgia that people slightly older than me can, yknow? i wish i could enjoy this game as much as them

again, the game was still very enjoyable. the puzzles start out very grounded, introducing you the the world and how it functions very effectively, before ramping it up with more abstract mechanics and compounding techniques needed to find more results. the only problem i found myself stuck on in an unfun way was figuring out how to decrypt sandwich files. its one of those puzzles that make you feel silly for not getting it earlier, but in my defence... who the hell would program something that esoteric

as an aside, i saw people discussing what genre games like this would be. by "games like this" i mean hypnospace outlaw, outer wilds, rain world, animal well, that kinda thing. i dont think applying one genre is effective, but instead its about how they combine the genres of exploration and puzzle. instead of having all the tools to solve a puzzle when youre presented with it, you have to leave and seek out the solution elsewhere. notably, if the game isnt build to accommodate/encourage this, itd be pretty unfun. these games and their open-ended design manage to skillfully mesh both genres together: the exploration is the puzzle

so yeah, i really enjoyed the game! there arent a lot of games where its just fun to explore the world as its presented, and HO does a fantastic job of that even without considering the puzzle design. i love just reading about the characters and their lives in hypnospace. this games greatest strength is just how charming it is, theres really nothing that matches it in that regard

i also found it really inspiring. i love how much personality all the characters fit into their webpages. maybe someday ill move this blog to neocities just so i can evoke something half as impact

oh no this was all a secret advertisement for neocities wasnt it! well, it worked, im not even mad (yes i know about the page builder)

anyway! the game is worth it for the vibes alone, and the puzzles are a really solid foundation that everything is built on. totally worth buying! the only thing is if youre going for completion, please use a guide to find all the pages, some are hidden way too well. totally worth it, though. if you know what the "thanked" achievement is named after, you know it makes it worth it. also, buzz was hilarious, i love pranks on the player

now im going to spoil the ending, stop reading this is you want to not be spoiled about the ending, because im about to spoil it now. after sasuke

oh my GOD dylan merchant is such a schmuck. maybe ive just lost too much sympathy for venture capitalist techbros, but i cannot spare any positive regard for this guy. like, okay, i get hes the bad guy, but outlaw 1.0 tries sooo hard to make you feel bad for him it wraps back around to being infuriating. the thing is that i have no idea if this is intentional? like, was a guy who let a teenager go to jail and think about how his prank killed 5 innocent people plus his crush apologizing decades later (*after* being caught) with an unfinished video game supposed to be a sincere tug of the heartstrings? "sorry i killed zane before he could stop being an annoying twerp" "sorry i killed rodney, his family smelled like walmart" "sorry i killed mavis, i think that was her name. i got nothing else to say about her" "anyway thanks for playing the 'final' version of the game that killed everyone. you have successfully absolved me of my sins and sent me to heaven. remember to subscribe and hit that bell icon" DUDE how emotionally shallow and self aggrandizing do you have to be you are a child murderer my guy

#hypnospace outlaw #defeated #completed

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lozchic3 · 8 days ago

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Temenos Chapter 3: Stormhail Route

Structurally an emotionally charged chapter like Castti's Chapter 3. In terms of the mystery involved with Temenos' story, this one actually zagged too quickly and made it feel highly suspect on the conclusion at the end. There's a ton of elements here where I hope by the final chapter things come together and really hold it as a stellar story.

In terms of the boss fight, can be difficult based on the mechanic going on. But definitely a lighter version of the kind of ramped up difficulty the game has slowly been introducing with both chapter and optional bosses. If anything it feels like an early forewarning that some of the final chapter bosses will get busy with both mechanics going forward.

Story wise.... I'm torn.

I think Crick's reveal as being from a corrupt aristocratic household and wanting to make a difference through the sacred guard works as a perfect foil to Temenos. It shows perfectly that the doubtful and stern inquisitor is just a cloak to hide the type of soft and vulnerable heart he has underneath the sarcasm.

Crick's death also serves as the final nail of whatever belief Temenos. Not for the church but I'd argue for any sort of belief in anyone at this point. The fact he's clinging to the idea of Kaldena being the true mastermind is just an off branch of this. He doesn't really seek the truth anymore as much as he tells himself. I think what he truly wants is justice and peace from losing so much along the way.

For that matter...

I don't think Kaldena is the true mastermind. It feels off versus the actual pieces in play since chapter 1. So let's review real quick

Chapter 1: The Pontiff had requested an investigation of Temenos but was interrupted by Mindt suddenly appearing. He told Temenos to meet with him by evening at his quarters. After which he met with the theologian Lucian before retiring to the cathedral. When Temenos left with Crick, a newly annointed sacred guard he discovered that the Pontiff was murdered. and hidden at the sight of the murder was a phrase from the Book of the Night.

Chapter 2: Temenos travels to Canalbrine because Lucian has become a key person of interest due to the Pontiff's murder. As Temenos goes to meet with him, he discovers that Lucian has been murdered in his home and with the same words from the Book of the Night the Pontiff had left as well. Ontop of that, Temenos deduces that the murderer is Vados the architecture who did know of the secret passageway into the Cathedral. He gets arrested by Captain Kaldena of the Sacred Guard and assigns Crick to escort Vados to their headquarters in Stormhail. Temenos with Crick's help is allowed an interrogation of Vados but decides to visit Crackridge first since the Fellsun Ruins was of interest to Lucian before he was murdered.

Chapter 3, Crackridge route: Temenos goes to Crackridge which most of the elders are actually hidden Moonshade Order members who want to kill him. They set one of their members after him, a woman named Reiza who pretends to be helpless and needs help. Temenos plays along and takes her down the abandoned path where she feigns desires until Temenos drops it. After a brief confrontation, Reiza willingly shows the location of the ruins. In the ruins Temenos learns that the Fellsun Ruins were actually the location of the Kal, a tribe meant to protect the sacred flame but were killed by the Moonshade Order. Their survivor, Vados vows to use the Moonshade Order to seek revenge and use the ritual of the night. After leaving the ruins, Reiza explains she knows what happens and wishes to die for such a sinful act. Temenos tells her to live and repent before departing for Stormhail now knowing there's the same line from the Book of the Night uttered within the ruins.

and right now.... Chapter 3, Stormhail Route: Temenos and Crick discover that Vados has been killed and there's no records of him being held in the headquarters. After Temenos retires for the night, Crick continues his investigation and is allegedly killed by the Captain of the order, Kaldena. Temenos discovers this in the morning and finds the same words of the Book of the Night crumbled in Crick's hand. He uses his unique ability to follow Crick's trail and discovers a hidden archieve of forbidden tomes where he's confronted by Deputy Cubaryi who claims Crick was personally killed by the captain for knowing too much. After fighting Cubaryi and attending Crick's funeral at a distance, he vows to go to the Nameless Village the location where the sacred flame was taken from the Kal and stop Kaldena.

...

So with that in mind, it's hard for me to see an MO for Captain Kaldena unless like Vados she was a hidden member of the Moonshade Order. And even if she was a hidden member, I still can't fathom what the MO could be.

What the information does show is that the church has been hiding the truth of the Kal for years and that someone doesn't just want to keep the truth hidden. So much as they're manipulating the events to hide the true motive. If this all goes back to Vide then I think Kaldena isn't the true mastermind but someone else in the Moonshade Order who is a keen manipulator pulling everyone to do their bidding.

and arguably, they might also be toying with Temenos personally to make him suffer for some odd reason. Which leads me back to this: when did Temenos send Mindt a letter and how did Mindt know to send a letter to him in Stormhail?

I don't trust her.

#Lozzy talks OT2 #This was a rollercoaster ride from start to finish #also s/o to tofukitten who got to see me live post my experience through DMs cause I needed to scream

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sugakookie78 · 1 year ago

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Kinktober - Day 21 - Public Indecency

Sorry this one is late, I had difficulty coming up with an idea

Pairing: Seb/Lewis

Warning: NSFW (Public Handjob)

“Finally,” Lewis says as they reach the peak of the mountain and place their bags, and themselves, down on a rock.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Seb responds, “It was only-”

He breaks off as Lewis pulls off his shirt. Seb opens and closes his mouth like a fish, losing his sentence.

“Seb?” Lewis questions, “Are you okay?”

Seb nods, still staring at Lewis, “Yeah. You look so good.”

Lewis pulls Seb onto his lap, hearing Seb whimper as he lands. Seb starts to trace over some of Lewis’s tattoos, slowly making his way across and down his chest. Lewis looks down at Seb’s hand and then further down to see his hard-on straining against his pants.

“Do you want to do it here?” Lewis asks, referencing the hard-on, “Or do you want to go back down to the car first?”

“Here,” Seb gasps out as Lewis places his hand on Seb.

“Even if we could get caught?” Lewis asks again.

They were a bit off the trail, but it wasn’t too far, so they didn’t know what could happen.

“Yeah,” Seb responds, “Makes it better.”

“Oh,” Lewis teases, “You want to get caught. You want people to see how needy you are and that I’m the only one that can help you.”

Seb moans at the words and Lewis’s hand dipping beneath his shorts. Lewis shimmies Seb’s pants enough to just barely pull out his cock. He wanted to make sure that Seb didn’t have to walk back down the hill in gross boxers.

He jerks Seb off, starting slowly before ramping it up. Seb moans loudly as he cums over Lewis’s hand, not trying to quiet the sounds he had been making at all. Lewis takes his shirt and cleans Seb, and his own hand, placing the shirt in his backpack and pulls Seb’s shorts back up.

“Come on, Seb,” Lewis coaxes as both of them stand up, “Let’s get back to the car and we can have some real fun.”

#f1 #f1 imagines #f1 fanfiction #f1 smut #sebastian vettel #lewis hamilton #sebastian vettel/lewis hamilton

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stardust-does-things · 22 days ago

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Ranting (Danganronpa) [prt. 4]

I always start liking a fandom or game and brush off any or all criticism because I get so obsessed over things. And that's exactly what happened to me with Danganronpa. I'm slowly fading out of the obsession, but if you ask, I will still info dump. I've been watching more analysis videos I guess you could say about Danganronpa and slowly started to realize it's not as perfect as I thought. Don't get me wrong, the games are beautiful with unique animation, story, gameplay, characters, and lore. But just because something has a lot of good qualities doesn't mean it's free from flaws.

A recurring thing I noticed people getting upset over was the 3rd case syndrome the 3 main games had (3rd case syndrome: Every 3rd case or class trial in Danganronpa was a double murder). It's understandable to be annoyed at the repetitiveness, but it does actually make some sense. Usually, when a new player starts playing the games, the first trial is there to sort of introduce the player into the mechanics and let them get a feel for the world. Then, the second trial ramps up the difficulty a bit, making the player more invested in the game/plot. But if you do another simple one victim murder for the third trial, the player could become bored. It's easy for the player to assume that the rest of the game will just be increasingly more difficult one-kill-trials. So the third trial is the perfect spot to put in this sudden double kill. You can argue that it'd be super interesting to have a double murder for the second case, but I think that making the second case that interesting will kind of make the rest of the games trials less interesting and compelling since the player might want more difficult double murder rather then the standard one. A lot of people were specially criticizing the actual plot of the 3rd cases and just how.. mediocre the gameplay was. I can say that the 3rd case in Danganronpa 2 is kinda bad, it really doesn't make sense and is just... weird. Mikan shouldn't have been able to pull that off. I can't say I enjoyed the other 3rd cases, I mean they were okay. Not the biggest most important thing.. just whatever.

The third game is definitely my favorite. Although I much more prefer the look, sound design, and characters of Danganronpa 2, the game is admittedly not too good story wise in my opinion. I like V3 because it switches up the story a bit and I enjoy it. I liked how you get to play as Kaede, she seems more fleshed out to me than the previous protagonists. And it was honestly so surprising to see Rantaro died and we the player get executed for it. I just wanna yap about Kaede's execution real quick cuz I love it :3. The song that she plays during the execution is "Der Flohwalzer" which is a simple song that is learned by beginners (Sorry if I get any info wrong, please correct me). It is mostly played just using the black keys, but during her execution, she is only seen using the white keys which could symbolize her innocence. A few people also said that since it is a common song for beginners, Kaede likely played this song throughout her childhood, so having to hear a familiar song being played wrong for hours as she slowly died of asphyxiation was likely upsetting to her. It's just an overall very nice execution to me.

I understand why a lot of people didn't typically like Mikan's execution. Because honestly, it was one of the worst parts of the 2nd game. The case that she was responsible for was also kinda bad, it didn't make much sense and bothered a lot of the community. Her execution bothered me a lot, it felt like (to me at least) that he trauma was being mocked or that it invalidated her. I understand that's reaching, but it felt disrespectful. Having to watch a character I felt connected to and had sympathy for do... whatever the hell that was, made everything feel wrong. It feels like the only thing her execution was supposed to represent was her trauma, and I think it could've been pulled off better if it didn't end the way it did. You start off the execution thinking it might be really violent or painful for her, but then it just cuts to something sexual and upsetting to watch, I understand its supposed to be deeper than that but I get shake the unease I felt. And then she gets launched off into space??? Huh????? It felt so confusing and weird, the whole thing should have been taken more seriously.

Of course when you have a game series, it is incredibly hard to make it perfect, I don't think a perfect game/game series is going to come out ever. Everything has beauty in it despite the flaws it may have. Danganronpa at its core is an incredibly thought out and complex game that is a wonder to play. The gameplay is nice, each game is unique visually, characters feel fleshed out and easy to relate/sympathize with, overall I would recommend if you find mystery stories interesting or if your just looking for something new. I doubt we'll get more content but I can only pray. Have a nice day, goodbye <3

#ranting #rant post #rant #danganronpa #danganronpa 2 #danganronpa v3 #danganronpa despair time #danganronpa trigger happy havoc #monokuma #danganronpa spoilers #kaede akamatsu #rantaro amami #mikan danganronpa #sorry if I got any info wrong #please tell me if I did #I would love to have a conversation with anyone who disagreees or has different opinions

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pigswithwings · 2 months ago

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tell me whatever but if need questions umm ummmmm. if robots still unusual as work force how come she works and how do others treat her

OH OK!!!! so with null value's story, the technological advancement of the world is advanced enough to have robots with complex personalities and great work efficiency, but the world itself is not radically different socially/culturally. throughout society there has recently been a social movement/attitude that emphasizes the limitless potential of humans, so seeing robots also develop sapience is unnvering. many people are misinformed about, unaware of, or choose to subvert the fact that robots often have names they'd like to be called, unique behaviors, etc. the general opinion towards robots is pretty negative, viewing them as objects. people simply don't like the fact that robots have sentience and don't know how to reconcile it, therefore many dislike the idea of working with/hiring robots. also robots are expensive as hell to purchase at this time (if you get a good model, they can last for years and years with minimal upkeep but it's difficult to get a good one unless you're rich)

however null's case at the funeral home is a special one, as she was donated to the funeral home, she is a very advanced model for her time, and this specific funeral home is incredibly understaffed. the first thing gets rid of any cost difficulties. the second thing ramps up the cost/benefit ratio because now she can perform a wider variety of tasks (she can lift coffins by herself, keep track of + manage financial records and client info, type on a keyboard, clean up the entire building by herself at night, etc) and she can perform them to a greater capacity/at a faster rate than a regular human employee would. the last thing makes it so that even if the funeral home did not Want to have her as an employee, they would still need her to keep the business running. doing autopsies, working in morgues, and being employed at funeral homes aren't exactly popular - null is very good at what she does and there is nobody who can possibly replace a third of what she does. but it's pretty thankless. the manager of the funeral home doesn't dislike null but doesn't exactly treat her the same as he would a human. he doesn't tell people otherwise if they call null "it" and he hasn't given null a real name beyond the title "Employee N". suffer my robot

#asks #THX FOR ASKING... i love her lots #null value

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jellycreamjammedart · 2 years ago

Text

Lost and Found (Super)Stars

PT. 5 (index/parts) (Tag: desktop/mobile)

read on AO3 (registered users only)

FNAF Security Breach Ruin, post-"betrayal" elevator ending

hurt/comfort, Found Family, something I like to call "Hopeful Horror"

Summary: Having had her kindness stomped on then spat back at her, betrayed by who she thought was her friend, and now stuck at the ruined remains of Freddy Fazbear's Mega PizzaPlex, Cassie tries to find the slightest bit of meaning and worth in all of this.

Fazerblast is quiet save for its distant music theme still playing in spite of all the destruction-- it hurts to hear, in a way; Cassie remembers how it used to be, a beloved childhood memory, like Roxy's place. She can see the shreds of semblance of them, buried under the horrors of change.

She quietly tiptoes over a broken, fallen Fazerblaster maze wall, a chill in her stomach as she remembers how this place's sentinel basically violently sent that same piece down off his way. Trying to keep herself from breathing too loudly or too panicky, she looks into the arguably small section of the attraction she was in, seeing the deactivated AR Inhibitor that had been used on her before, but no signal of the beast. He probably wandered off after he could no longer follow her into the vents. Hopefully somewhere she wouldn't need to cross.

Cassie frowns upon coming to a dead-end on the small section she was in; originally she could get into it while running from him, but getting out of it was another thing. "Helpi, can't you make one of those AR doors here?" She asks just barely above a whisper referring to the AR portals, afraid of alerting lingering presences.

"Unfortunately, no. The environment in the real world isn't favorable to craft them in the AR world. You'll have to figure out a way yourself, and rely on the already existing portals." The little bear broke the news for her. It seems he's limited to what's already in the AR world most of the time.

Cassie lets out a shuddering breath, not fancying being stuck in such a small area. She's not even actually claustrophobic! Still not fun, though. "What do I do..." She thinks out loud in a mutter, looking up at the makeshift pathway she had previously used to climb down into here, now too up high to reach from the other way around.

Wait-

She remembers something and goes the other way again; At some point to reach the Inhibitor, she had to climb two wooden crates with a piece of metal rail gate partly as a ramp-- likely originally meant to secure the catwalks above so that people didn't just fall off there, obviously. Maybe she can use it as a ramp to reach over the wall, too.

While not unfathomably heavy, it's still difficulty for a small (and injured,) child to simply carry it. Cassie manages to tug the rail gate off the two crates causing it to land fully on the floor with a loud metallic sound, causing Cassie to flinch while sucking in a breath, and being stock still for a bit, as if in fear of some immediate consequence for causing such noise. Fortunately, though, it appears nothing spurred up from that. Cautiously letting herself breathe again, she tries to lift the rail gate off the floor, but it's too heavy for her to carry it clean off, and she feels the dull pain in her shoulder verging into returning from her efforts, along herself drifting close to getting dizzy too. No, that won't do. With no other choice, she simply holds onto one end of the rail gate and begins to drag it over the floor with her stumbling backwards while looking over her shoulder to see where she was going, the metallic piece scraping over the floor; it's a bit noisy but not as badly as when it fell and hit the floor. She grits her teeth behind her lips hearing all the scraping, but knew that with her limitations that was the best way she could do this.

She drags the rail gate over to under the edge of the upper pathway, walks over to try lifting it from the other end and tries to topple it against the wall of rubble and attraction parts that piled up; if she does it right, it could work as an improvised ladder. It's easier than the locker from before, though the rail gate's length still puts it a bit under the upper edge, but Cassie probably could reach it from there with a bit of work.

Once she's gotten the rail gate in place, she begins to climb it up, the bars of it working much like ladder steps indeed. Once she climbs up to the top of the rail gate, it's a bit of an awkward place, but keeping her footing, she tries reaching out to the edge of the upper pathway with her hands, hoping to hoist herself up onto it.

Unfortunately, it's not a stable set-up; Cassie's weight causes the other end of the rail gate to slide back a little, eventually until it could no longer remain propped up on the wall, causing itself not only to land flat back down on the floor, but causing her to fall off onto it as well with a yelp before she could grip to the upper edge she was trying so hard to reach. She and the rail gate landing back on the floor below is loud and nasty, with Cassie taking a moment to even register that she was back at square one on the floor-- not to mention the landing hurt.

"Hey, are you alright?" She heard Helpi's worried voice, to which she could only nod breathlessly in response. A little stunned, she tries to slowly lift herself back up, getting first on her hands and knees. Okay, okay. It's okay, she still has the rail gate, she just has to try again, maybe use a S.T.A.F.F. Bot torso or something to keep it from slipping off this time. Or maybe she can try scaling up somewhere to get over to the other side.

But she doesn't even get to try getting up.

Before Cassie knows it, one of the former maze's walls around her gets slammed off like it was made of popsicle sticks, hitting the other far wall and crumbling to pieces basically inches away from hitting her causing her to gasp; She could feel the wind of it whisk past her as it cut through the air and the tiny particles and grains of concrete and whatnot bump into her from the impact against the other wall. To her misfortune, the wall crumbled and its pieces fell over half of the rail gate, essentially pinning it to the floor.

Cassie looks up in shock, feeling her stomach sink upon seeing who stomped in from the freshly-made pathway, that being no other than the headless Glamrock Freddy that had chased her relentlessly before. It seems all the noise she's caused finally caught up to her.

"No..." She whimpers to herself as the beheaded bear has his body turn her direction, the jagged lids of his stomach hatch open out into a thundering, mechanical roar of blind hostility. Even without M.X.E.S' distress signals, it seems he still has sensors to detect her. Cassie bites back a cry as she scrambles up to her feet and tries to run, promptly hearing the heavy stomps of the robot hot on her heels just like before.

Unfortunately, it's a very small closed off area they were in, with little to no room for maneuvering. Cassie finds herself quickly running into the same dead-end she'd been trying to overcome until now, pushing her back against the wall of attraction pieces and rubble that formed the upper pathway right up above, upon seeing the headless Freddy right there. Before she could try maneuvering to either side, he slammed both his sharp hands against the wall behind her by the sides of her head with terrifying force, digging his very sharp endoskeleton claws and fingers into the concrete, as if to trap her in place between himself and the wall. His inner mechanisms let out a vicious screech as his jagged stomach hatch lids opened and quivered aggressively, less than an inch away from touching her and forcing her to see very well into the metallic nightmare that was inside his cavity, a lot of sharp pieces of debris and metal rods pierced into it.

Cassie couldn't keep herself from letting out a cry and scamper to duck under one of his arms before his stomach hatch could potentially chomp down on her, slipping away and off past him, prompting him to rip his hands off the wall to resume chase, which causes to pile of rubble and props to shake a bit from the sheer viciousness of his movements.

At least she had somewhere to go now, running through the freshly-made pathway the bear himself had made, letting her into the larger portion of the ruined space-themed maze. That hardly meant less danger, however.

"The mask! Put on the mask!" Helpi's frightened voice reminds Cassie, as she had been too scared to immediately think of that. Right! The mask basically makes them invisible to each other! She quickly slips the mask down over her face hoping to fall off the beheaded animatronic's radar.

To her absolute horror, even in the AR world, she can still hear the heavy aggressive stomps behind her even if a little slower. She looks back over her shoulder in shock, seeing the nightmarish glamrock still giving chase, but at a bit of a slower pace, as if the mask was now only giving his sensors a delay. This change appears to also shock Helpi and even M.X.E.S, who now was visible, and could only gesture a shooing motion to Cassie with an alarmed expression, urging her to just keep running, before the headless bear's form obliviously phases through it, causing its cybernetic body to ripple into blue digital squares.

It seems they've underestimated the damaged bear.

"Oh no! It seems the M.X.E.S security system's integration into the V.A.N.N.I system has altered how the network functions in some aspects!" Helpi croaks out. Or maybe it could have been that thing down in the sinkhole pulling the strings to make sure Cassie wouldn't end up killed while it still needed her alive. "Just keep running!" Helpi urges. "If you reach the nearest existing AR portal, it should take you straight to the parent node!"

No need to tell her twice to keep running, with Cassie hearing her chaser still locked onto her even if a little slower-- it gives her a bit more breathing room, but she definitely should not stop, at the risk of getting caught.

She eventually runs into the area she had originally met him, over that pile of destroyed S.T.A.F.F Bots and under rubble. She has the slightly risky idea of weaving around the pile, trying to make him trip over it to give herself more distance. And yes, he can detect her and tries to beeline after her, tripping a little over the pile he was previously stuck in, but it's not as effective as she had envisioned it to be, the beheaded bear more so kicking and shoving the top parts of the rubble off the pile. However, a little ways down she can see the AR portal just ahead of her and she basically dives through it.

If Cassie had eaten recently, she would surely have puked, with being so under the weather now and these portals already being rather nauseous to cross over. But at least she was farther away from the once lovable Glamrock Freddy; she could hear it pacing around in the distance, but his stomps are farther away and at a more 'leisure' pace as he appears to have lost track of her once she went through the AR portal, now more so wandering in search.

Either way, the shortcut took her straight to the parent node, and a realization hits her as she sees the four pieces that formed the node scattered on the floor in the AR world. "How am I supposed to reactivate the node? It's split in pieces!" She asks out loud in distress.

Fortunately, M.X.E.S has come to her aid! The digital rabbit manifests itself next to her, its ears perked slightly as it looked down at the four pieces of the deactivated node, as if examining through each of them.

"Each parent node has a core!" Helpi explains. "When you deactivate a parent node, you're deactivating its core, and it remains within one of the node parts. However, it seems only the M.X.E.S security system can determine which part has the core." And as on cue, M.X.E.S reaches its hand down to touch one of the four node pieces, the contact causing white circuitry lines to appear on the piece much like the patterns on its body. "That one! Use your Faz-Wrench on it!" Helpi instructs. And of course, Cassie does as mentored, pulling out the Faz-tech tool and using it to trigger the node.

In her AR vision, the AR Network control panel pops up with the hologram-linking process, which she has done several times times now. The girl wastes no time trying to will the links among the corresponding holograms, knowing that if she takes too long, the beast currently stalking through Fazerblast could eventually find her again while she's stuck in the prompt.

Eventually she manages to complete the task, prompting the 'SECURITY NODE ACTIVATED SUCCESSFULLY!' message to pop up on the AR panel in her vision, followed by the second message of 'WARNING: SECURITY NODE VULNERABLE TO BREACHES! ACTIVATE THE CHILD NODES TO STABILIZE THE SECURITY NODE.' After that, the control panel ends with the PizzaPlex logo before disappearing.

The pieces of the parent node appear to then will back to life, rising off the floor and towards one another as if they were magnetic, forming the polygonal rabbit-shaped head once again. "Great job!" Helpi congratulates joyfully. "You've reactivated it! However it's still vulnerable with its child nodes deactivated. You need to find and reactivate them again." And indeed, the parent node was in that blue colors hinting its protections were down. She had to make it red again by reactivating the child nodes.

"Are the child nodes still the same ones?" Cassie asks a little short on breath, seeming hasty on her feet.

"Yes, they should be the same ones." Helpi answers, and M.X.E.S also nods its head in an affirmative response. "Just follow the cables over to them like you did before." The little bear explains.

Before Cassie can make a go for it, the sound of another wall being burst through echoes through Fazerblast; The headless Glamrock Freddy appears to be now breaking through walls and debris of the ruined attraction looking for her. "Hurry! Before that animatronic finds you again!" Helpi heeds her. "The sooner you reactivate the child nodes, then sooner you can leave Fazerblast behind!"

And Cassie does make a run for it through the destroyed maze, hastily searching for the child nodes with the cables guiding her in the AR world.

It's fortunate that the two child nodes aren't exactly far away, but with the disarray of the attraction, there were a lot of dead-ends that the cables wiggled through, forcing her to backtrack or or find different branches to stay on track. Soon she finds one child node, on what appears to be a menu display of sorts, probably belonging to the Faz-Pad (the AR world filter makes it hard to read it... not to mention she won't stop to read it with a beartrap animatronic plowing through for her.) Using her Faz-Wrench, Cassie manages to reactivate it, and as soon as she finishes it, she hears the headless bear burst another wall somewhere off, making her shudder. Okay, it's okay, just one child node left now...

It was very hard not to panic, though, as Cassie hurries through the ruined maze looking for the next node; Each second she took looking for it, the stomps of the patrolling robot felt ever closer and more assertive.

But soon she finds it, which it was hard to make out, either a prop or perhaps a busted screen, and like with the other, she reactivated it with her Faz-Wrench. "Great job! This area's parent node is up and running again!" Helpi congratulates once more. "Now hurry! A new AR portal should be open nearby the parent node that can take you to the exiting area of this attraction." And Cassie doesn't question it twice, scurrying through. Though on the way back she spots another freshly-made opening, meaning the beheaded glamrock was VERY near, but she tries to not let it distract her; the shortcut is her best bet.

Up ahead, Cassie can see the parent node now red, meaning its firewalls were up once more. As she neared the area, the AR portal would become visible. Yes! She's right there!

But before she knew it, something wrapped around her shin and pulled on it, causing her to lose her footing and fall down on her stomach, the mask falling off her face in the process. She barely gets to try getting back up when she felt herself being dragged back over the floor by her foot. She flips on her back only in time to see the horrifying stomach mouth looming over her. He had a grip on her foot which he let go after pulling her, but quickly went to grab down on her neck instead, earning a cry from her as he lifted her off the floor. Cassie squirms against his grip, but to her luck, before he could force her into his deformed stomach cavity, some props of the attraction piled up slip off the top and fall behind him, just grazing by his back; it distracts the headless Glamrock Freddy, causing him to accidentally loosen his grip on the girl as his upper body turns a bit likely wanting to look back. This gives Cassie the opportunity to break free from his grip, landing on her legs then scrambling up on her feet to try and run towards the AR portal.

Wait, she dropped her mask, she can't access the AR portal without the mask!

Fortunately it was just up ahead where she had been pulled off her footing, and she tries to reach for it again. But without it, it meant the animatronic's sensors were not delayed.

The headless Freddy manages to catch up to her once more (since she hadn't gotten very far to begin with,) grabbing at her neck again and lifting her off the ground with loud hissing coming off his inner gears, his jagged hatch growling mechanically and menancingly at her. "N-no!! No!!" Cassie begins to struggle rather desperately against his grasp, crying out with how close his chomping 'mouth' was, and with him pulling her even closer towards it despite her struggling, his twisted hatch opening wide. "No, please...!!"

Just as he was about to force her into his cavity, something dripped onto his exposed endoskeleton hand, and it caused him to hesitate, his twitchy frame quivering like a shudder.

He clearly had sensors separated from the head, with how hellbent he was at hunting her even without M.X.E.S ratting her location out to him. And besides detecting Cassie's presence, he was also detecting something that took a bit more priority in his system, however beat up it is.

He was detecting blood.

Cassie was bleeding on her head again, and she didn't get to wipe it in time, the blood trickling down the side of her forehead and face until it eventually dripped down on the sharply-clawed endoskeleton hand grasped around her neck.

That seemed to 'wake up' all sorts of alerts within the headless animatronic, despite his lack of higher thinking and thus being stuck in a much more feral state:

INJURED CHILD DETECTED.

However neither of the two get to process the hesitation, as creaking metal and shifting debris sound around them. And the top of a high pile of rubble, props and broken S.T.A.F.F Bots begins to collapse and fall around and onto them. It seems that the headless animatronic's viciousness through the attraction slamming his hands into the walls or breaking them down shook the stability off some of the piled junk through the ruined maze, especially those over the walls.

The robot drops Cassie upon feeling rubble falling onto him from above the walls, an horrible mechanical scream leaving him. The girl falls on her side, just shy from having things falling onto her too. The collapse raises a thick fog of dust and debris, hindering her vision and making her cough as breathing in such air is quite bad. She stumbles back up onto her feet and hurries away, picking up her mask on the way. Just as she was about to put it on to access the AR portal, she looks back over her shoulder.

She can see the robot pinned down under a newly formed pile of rubble as the dust cleared, only his upper body sticking out from underneath; his arms flail and hit around him, fighting to no avail to free himself. All that junk has to be clearly very heavy on him, and the mechanical scratched screeching that left his inner mechanisms very well suggesting he was in pain down there with the weight crushing onto him.

Cassie turned back around to try putting the mask on and leave, but the robotic beast's noises makes her hesitate. Even without very comprehensible communication, his sounds were clearly sounds of pain and anguish, maybe even fear. Well so what, right? He didn't care about her pain and fear, after. She turns ahead again, and despite that, she still couldn't bring herself to ignore his plight. She just couldn't.

She looks back at him again; with the mechanical noises he made and the way he moved erratically and thrashed, she could, even with him lacking his head, totally see the mental image of it with a look of suffering and misery if he still had it. That's not the kind of expression that should be on Glamrock Freddy's face. And she just...

Hasn't he suffered enough already? Hasn't she suffered enough?

Haven't them all suffered enough? Wasn't it enough? How was any of this fair?

Against what could be dubbed common sense, Cassie tucked her mask away into her backpack for the moment, moving over to the trapped headless bear while darting her eyes around, until they spot a long metal rod, likely part of the structure that used to keep Fazerblast up. She picks it up with both hands and approach the thrashing headless Freddy, holding the rod as if she was going to use it to put him out of his misery.

But instead she sticks it underneath the pile that pinned him, then tries elevating it by pushing the rod upwards in a tilt, trying to widen the gap that the animatronic was stuck in. Cassie visibly struggles with the weight she was fighting up against, which often barely seemed to budge, or her feet would skid backwards as a result of her getting pushed back instead of the pile getting moved. It was rough, it was high-effort, and it was dangerous;

With how she keeps trying to tilt the pile to loosen it off the flailing robot, the top of it above them both was starting to rock loosely with the movement. To make matters worse, all her struggle was catching up to her with her much more beat up state now, feeling her aches returning and her vision starting to double. Her throat felt dry and scratched up, her head starting to feel heavy and spin. And she realizes a bit too late that she was rocking the pile onto them both.

And to Cassie's utter disgrace, a severe dizzy spell hits her from all the physically taxing effort she had to put in, causing her to become dazed in midst of it. The sound of falling metal and rubble surround them as the top finally began to collapse over them; the sound however fading away in her ears as she blacked out way too quickly for her to evade or somehow try to protect herself.

To Be Continued...

#fnaf sb ruin spoilers #fnaf #fnaf sb #fnaf sb ruin #five nights at freddy's #five nights at freddys #five nights at freddy's security breach #five nights at freddys security breach #five nights at freddy's security breach ruin #five nights at freddys security breach ruin #cassie #roxanne wolf #glamrock freddy #prototype glamrock freddy #helpi #mxes #lost and found superstars #jellycream art

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snkts · 3 months ago

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Charles interlaced his fingers, leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed as he regarded the ongoing simulation in the Danger Room below. It's a deep focus, thoughts turning over each other, that furrows his brow. He glances, briefly, at Logan where he leans against the center console and stares through the glass of the window. Charles can see the tension in the other man's posture and the thin line of his mouth. He couldn't read Logan's thoughts but he could imagine them.

Misaka Mikoto was fifteen years old and the prodigal product of the MCP, a brutalistic program created by Academy City in Japan to train mutant children. Unlike any other program in the world, the MCP used a calculation based training. According to the studies that Charles had read about Mikoto, she was capable of producing electric charges as fine as miliamperes - with high precision. She knew how many columbs were in each of her shocks, could see and estimate the power of her fields, was actively solving high level equations in her head midst combat. Charles hadn't believed it. Hadn't believed a human mind, even with that level of training, would be capable of that level of precision. Until, he saw Mikoto for himself.

She had been at the Institute for three days, time enough for her to adjust from the time change and the jet lag, as well as acclimate to the new surroundings. Charles had hesitated, given her history, to run a full assessment of her but acquiesced when Scott pointed out that if she was going to be on the team - they would need to know what she was capable of. Every new student that hoped to start combat training underwent the entrance program: ten levels of increasing difficulty until failure. Mikoto had agreed and so, later in the afternoon, they ran the simulation.

She fought through a non-descript series of hallways, a maze populated by of drones and robots that worked as combatants. All of the 'enemies' were non-human, non-descript, winking out of existence as soon as they were defeated. A constant reminder that the fight wasn't real. It wasn't meant to be stressful or frightening, and to Charles increasing curiosity, Mikoto treated it as such. She ran through the levels, barely pausing to electrocute the hostiles before proceeding to the goal. She completed Levels 1-6 without breaking pace, or a sweat; so on they went, to more complex AIs, more durable and stronger enemies, and more difficult simulations. Charles wasn't sure what he was looking, or waiting, for. Yes, she had to slow down as the difficulty ramped-up, show strategic thinking instead of a blind charge but her reaction was functional and level headed. New students, even ones with combat experience, often panicked or became exhausted in their first Danger Room session. It was different, the constant escalation, the increasing demand on their powers and abilities, they reached breaking points quickly. Most did not pass Level 3 or 4. Mikoto however thrived and Charles knew why.

She was used to assessment.

What were they doing here? Waiting for her to reach some line of exertion and challenge, like every single student who had ever gone through this simulation had? Reaching Level 10 was supposed to be a graduation test. Except, Mikoto was not like their previous students, and this 'test' was feeling more like a formality the longer it went. Charles supposed they did need to know her upward limits, needed to know what would challenge her, to help her improve. Yet, this was far beyond what he'd expect of a student. He could see signs of exertion in Mikoto's form but she wasn't falling apart. She was working hard but not at her limit. Nowhere close.

"She's well trained," was Charles summation to Logan. Said with all the weight those words carried. She completed Level 9 and the Danger Room reconfigured for Level 10. "Dare I say, I think she's even having fun."

Level 10 was an intense simulation, a concentration of enemies using a variety of weaponry including rifles; using advanced and real tactics; and included aerial and ground drones. All of which were shock, impact, and heat resistant. She responded by ripping up sheets of metal to cleave them in half. Then, pulling coins from her shorts pockets to fire - streaks of gold and teeth shaking power - through the largest targets and clearing an entire hallway. She reached the end of the simulation and the planes of light faded into pale glimmers. Back in the plain space of the Danger Room, Mikoto gathered her hair off her sweat slicked neck, and rolled out her shoulders. Except for a couple scrapes, she looked as though she'd gone on a pleasant jog.

"Well, she's passed the student course with flying colors and in record time," Charles said to Logan. "I think you're going to have your hands full. Don't you agree?"

New students were always a challenge. Each one was something different. Some were homesick. Some were stubborn. Some wanted to make a splash day one.

Then there was her. Misaka Mikoto. The Railgun. She was different, and she knew it. Not just different in that she was better trained than any of her peers. Not just because she was an Omega level.

But because of what she'd been put through to get there.

Logan knew better than most. She didn't like conflating their experiences, but they'd both been experiments. Lab rats made to be poked and prodded, dissected and studied. Not people. Hardly even animals. Mostly just objects, just property. They didn't feel pain, they didn't get tired, they didn't get hungry, and if they did? Well, tough shit. That's just the price of scientific advancement.

It's worth it.

And this is what happened. If anyone ever made it out, they didn't know how to be a person. Sure, Mikoto wouldn't think that way. If you ask her, she's fine. She had a great life. Everything was absolutely perfect. Her school was great, the food was Michelin star, and she was perfectly happy. She was just fine.

Which is exactly why she was doing this to herself. Sure, she was good - hell, she was great - but that's the problem. A kid her age shouldn't be this good, especially not if she'd really grown up as cushy as she said. That was one of many hints that she was more like him than she was willing to admit.

Logan stood beside Charles, his arms crossed and his jaw working against nothing in particular. He wasn't allowed to smoke in the Danger Room - especially not the observation area. Fine. A rule he had to learn to grudgingly live with. But he could really use something to chew on right now. Helped him think - and he had a lot to think about.

"No kidding." He mutters. "That may just be the best time we've ever had from a recruit." He doesn't sound happy. He glances at Charles before looking back to the arena below. Kid barely broke a sweat. Her breathing had changed, but not nearly as much as was usually expected. Same with her heartrate. He'd been listening to both throughout her run, and her physical condition was far above what was expected. Logan took another breath and wrinkled his nose. The smell of burnt metal was getting too strong to tolerate. She'd totalled the place. Logan took a few steps closer to the window, until he was standing at the edge of the glass, staring down with that same troubled, thoughtful look on his face.

"What the hell did they do to her, Charles?"

#perditos #perditos ;; mikoto #perditos ;; charles #ic ;; trying to behave ;; asks #verse ;; leader of the pack ;; later xmen

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emonewtype · 9 months ago

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The (not very) Liveblogging of Neo Twewy continues

Got a little bit overzealous between posts and made it all the way from W1D6 to W3D5 with no updates, here are some thoughts:

1: As was expected, pi-face left at the start of week 2. Thankfully he gave his stuff back on the way out, I always get worried about temporary party members stealing gear.

2: I admit I was thoroughly fooled by the masked up "Neku" turning out to be Beat. Though If it was him I would have never stopped complaining about the hair color change. It was the phones that really sold the disguise.

3: On the topic of Beat, I'm not sure if its just him having more voiced dialogue here, not being bitcrushed by the DS, or what, but I don't particularly like his voice here. He doesn't sell being young or being hip very well.

4: Trend I started noticing with Nagi but became really apparent with Beat and later members. New party members coming in with lower stats than existing ones and due to the way food orders work, having no way of fully catching up. Annoying.

5: Love the concept of Homing Rockets as a psych, shame its a bit unwieldy in practice. On the other end of the spectrum, Psychic Shotgun is/was kinda nuts for how versatile it is

6: Motoi turning out to be a bastard was handled pretty well, not much telegraphing him to be actually malicious as opposed to just a fake-deep kind of person before the reveal, but a lot of the time that's how it goes down in real life too.

(playing this part while scrolling past coverage of James Somerton's ongoing meltdown hit a bit different)

7: I don't think I've ever had a boss crowdfund a power up before, real funny gimmick. Despite how long the fight took I didn't take a screenshot for some reason.

8: The whole Plague Noise plot and the way characters talk about it, even Rindo wearing a mask all the time, makes me wonder how much of this game was planned out prior to the pandemic, and how much was intentionally playing into current events.

(I'm no gorowase expert, but even I can tell that Neku's life is Shi-Bu-Ya)

Character starting stats seem to have something funny going on with them, makes me regret not getting a screenshot of any of the other members stats to see whats up there. (if anyone has any insight as to the other numbers or characters, drop it in the replies or reblogs if you want)

10: Mentally kicking myself for not getting any good screenshots of Leo Cantus with his armor on, had me thinking "every so often Square Enix invents Ifrit FinalFantasy again"

11: Between the higher tier noise getting more aggressive attack patterns and the entirely self imposed suffering that is running 4 jinxed point boost abilities, difficulty is really ramping up. I'm starting to fear even singular bear types now.

12: The way people are described being pulled into the UG while alive and what happens to them strikes me as a very Kingdom Hearts-y "memories are a two way street" adjacent thing, and that similarity has me wondering if this entire thing is some kind of "Data but not exactly a Simulation" thing like Re;Coded. Would explain Rindo's power and give an out for Shinjuku to be "recovered" like data on a hard drive being "erased" but not actually overwritten yet, if the story decided to go that route

#twewy #neo twewy liveblog attempt

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whumpsical · 2 years ago

Text

Febuwhump Day 10: Difficulty Breathing

@febuwhump

contents: noncon, asphyxiation, asthma attack, fear of death

ehehe Jian has been having a bad crossover time with @yet-another-heathen 's Garcia <33

(do i include the regular taglist?? idk but no one can stop me @much-ado-about-whumping @minerscanary )

🏋‍♂️🏋‍♂️🏋‍♂️🏋‍♂️🏋‍♂️

"Oh, fu-- FUCK! Please, I ca--" Jian's voice gave out into silent, half-strangled gasps as Garcia shifted his weight and found an even more constricting spot on Jian's back to keep him pinned to the floor beneath Garcia's arm. The air grew sluggish in Jian's lungs, and he could feel his body getting steadily weaker while his thoughts ramped up into an electric mess of miserable, defeated panic.

It wasn't until a few long moments after Jian's eyes had fluttered and rolled back that Garcia released the pressure on Jian's chest.

Jian's brain buzzed to life with his first breath of free air. Every racing thought was torturously loud and completely nonsensical, and for a second Jian could only think of tripping hard on a sticky barstool, leaning back against the bar and watching teams of bachelorettes grind on their gay friends for the fun of it, comprehending nothing of their conversations beneath the overwhelming barrage of the speakers and the hazy filter of the drugs.

Always so loud.

Jian gasped and coughed against the cold floor. But he could take much more than that, they both knew it.

"Please?"

It came out as a squeak, congested and exhausted, and was completely ignored as Garcia leaned down between Jian's shoulder blades again. The desperate breath that Jian had managed to suck in was pressed right back out before it could even reach his lungs, and that claustrophobic terror swept through his mind again, like a fire eating up fabric drapes.

All of Jian's muscles went frantically rigid. He tried with everything he had to get himself up off the floor, but he couldn't even move his arms enough to lay his palms flat. From just above him, Jian heard a quiet hitch in Garcia's breathing as his pathetic little instinctual struggle gave Garcia something tight to push through, but he still couldn’t stop himself from giving in to the panic and pointlessly trying to wrestle his life out of Garcia's hands.

It was too late. Jian was already slipping away again, his thoughts going dark and his hands going numb. Garcia relished in it, slowing his pace and deepening the roll of his hips as Jian's body went lax again and his head radiated heat from somewhere deep inside his skull, burning wobbling mirages into the air.

"Good boy," Garcia purred from somewhere near the back of Jian's head. "Like that."

There wasn't anything else he could do. As he finally passed out, Jian felt Garcia's hips rutting flush up against him with no resistance at all, as deep inside him as he could possibly go, and Jian knew the fucking perfectly trained puppy that had wormed its way into his subconscious had taken the praise with enthusiasm. A dry whimper managed to escape Jian's throat as he felt himself getting hard too, but he saw black again before the shame could hit him in full force.

He was underwater at first, then in the deep shade of a small tree, the smell of its leaves hanging thick in the muggy air. One trembling breath drew the sweet smell in, but when it came out as a heaving cough, Jian couldn't remember where he was.

Before he could find real flowing air again, Garcia's fucking scent refilled Jian's lungs, and he had never been anywhere except beneath this man.

Again.

Jian tried to stay calm through it, but he knew he would always hit that point where his head started screeching and his body stopped taking orders.

Again.

When he had air, it traveled in short huffs that did more to express his desperation than to feed his aching lungs, but it still wasn't good enough. Garcia only listened for a moment and pressed down again, satisfied with the conviction that Jian could survive another round.

Jian spent every conscious moment trapped in a splitting headache spawned by fear and exertion and dehydration. For every round of Garcia's fucking game, he felt more and more drawn to the unconscious instead. But he couldn't quite reach that peak and hold on to it.

This time, Jian could hardly take in his one allotted gasp through a crop of tears. He couldn't even consider faking the strained wheeze and the choked rattling sounds from deep in his chest that they were waiting for. The consequences of Garcia seeing through even one false performance could mean the end of his life right fucking there. All he could do was endure the horror of teasing death, over and over again, until his own lungs gave him an out.

But he'd had a lot of practice.

Again.

A rush of gratitude and relief welled through him when his breath didn't immediately return upon Garcia releasing pressure this time. Jian scrambled for purchase, gagging on an empty gasp, when Garcia took a handful of hair and tugged his head back, but the leverage he achieved with both of his hands finally solidly on the floor wasn't enough to clear his swelling airways. It was almost over, he told himself, but whether the end would come with a few puffs of his inhaler or a trip across the River fucking Styx he couldn’t tell yet. It was almost over, but of course Garcia was going to fucking come first.

The river grew closer, and Jian grew colder in its proximity. A large hand startled him from behind, and Garcia cupped Jian's throat in his palm, tipping his chin upward, gentle but uncompromising.

Jian had barely blinked his eyes open before he felt Garcia quicken his pace, thrusting into him with single-minded drive.

Just as he felt his mind start to sink away into some kind of dark, inescapable dream, Jian managed a choke. Then a cough, and finally a gasp, but it was like he was breathing through perforated plastic wrap.

Both of his knees knocked against the hard floor, every bone and joint echoing with radiant pain from every jolt. But he was breathing.

His breath rattled in his chest and he was barely getting enough to keep going, but he was breathing. Soon he found himself able to gasp in more quick shots of oxygen, and to whimper out wordless, terrified pleas when he wasn't coughing his fucking lungs out.

He couldn't take any more, they both knew it. But Garcia still pushed him just a bit harder, releasing Jian's throat to plant both hands on Jian's hips and force them to ram backwards into him, making Jian's head rattle around on the hard floor while he whimpered in a distant voice.

It was too close this time.

Garcia buried his teeth into Jian's left ear, tugged his head back and settled deep inside of him. Intentional or not, the pain and shock of it acted like a flimsy rip cord to Jian's spasming lungs, forcing one deep gasp through his inflamed airways.

It was still too close. Jian's vision was shadowed by a dark, gray-blue film, rotting at the edges. He didn't feel being pushed flat to the ground, or the inhaler that bounced off his shoulder, but he saw where it landed in front of him. He was almost too far gone to comprehend what was going on, much less to do anything about it. A rattling cough brought tears to his eyes, and the blurry darkness rapidly crawling inward from the edges of his vision sent a lightning bolt of fear into his heart.

He had to try. He had to fucking try or he was going to die.

One arm stretched over a slow, shaky path across the floor, but Jian's strength was too quickly waning, and he collapsed again into a dark sinkhole.

He stayed underground until something hard and plastic was forced into his mouth, and the slightly bitter taste of his rescue inhaler hit him like cool water on his face.

Jian’s thoughts swirled together like a funnel of water down a drain. It was still just as hard to breathe, but to administer the medication Garcia had dragged Jian's body up into a position that was becoming familiar: Jian sitting upright between Garcia's legs, his back pressed to Garcia's chest. In that half embrace, Jian suddenly didn't feel as frantic as he probably still should.

He felt drowsy, which he supposed might've been just as bad. But he had Garcia, who he supposed still wanted him alive, encouraging Jian's shallow, labored gasps for now.

Another puff of the rescue inhaler brought him closer to focus, just a reminder that he wasn't finished fighting this battle.

"Come on, Jian," Garcia was saying quietly. He raked a hand through Jian's hair, sweeping sweaty curtains from his forehead. It was all very gentle, but not quite tender. Garcia was just as invested in Jian's suffering as he was in his recovery. "Keep breathing, baby."

Sure, Garcia may have been following Jian's struggle to stay alive like he was watching one of his wrestling championships. He probably would've been taking bets if they weren't alone. But at least for the moment, Garcia was soft and still, and his palms spread their settling warmth across Jian's chest and forehead. Of course Jian was going to soak it up while he could.

Of course he was. He’d had more than enough experience to know that you never passed up those rare comforts offered by a sadistic captor.

He did miss the mountains.

He wasn't going to think about that.

It was hard not to. North Carolina had charred every corner of Jian's brain, and there was no escaping that fact, especially not while lost in the whirlpool of violently uprooted thoughts and all their chaotic branches swirling around him.

But he would beat those memories to the frozen fucking ground if he had to. Not now.

He felt his heartbeat pounding wildly beneath the hand Garcia had pressed reassuringly over his chest, one finger lightly passing back and forth between his collarbones. Jian let one of his trembling, numb hands drift to Garcia's thigh and hold on. It felt like surrender, and he hoped it would be received that way, but he never fucking knew with this guy.

Nestling deeper into Garcia's lap and taking another puff of the inhaler which Garcia was still holding for him, Jian finally felt his lungs start to fill up a touch more comfortably. He still had a long way to go, but his harsh gasps had quieted down to thin, choppy wheezes. Compared to the deep, satisfied breaths that played across Jian's left ear from Garcia's contented fucking sighs behind him, Jian sounded like he was on the brink of death, which he might as well have been.

Jian wouldn't survive another intentionally triggered asthma attack any time soon, no matter how quickly Garcia medicated him afterwards. They both knew that. Jian just hoped he could find other ways to keep Garcia happy in the meantime, and that the bastard wouldn't get too bored and decide to give it a whirl anyway.

#clover #whump #febuwhump #noncon whump #nsfwhump #choking #Jian #Garcia #clover write #god i don't remember my tags #hello im just here to deliver a package i love you all mwah #asthmatic whumpee #i just wanna know if that's a tag #febuwhumpday10 #febuwhump2023 #oc whump #super sin squad

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