#i'll probably never write this but i liked the idea

[starrbar]

I've been furiously wondering about this, like I would LOVE to see all the events that took "Vi died during the job in this version" to basically a perfect Zaun where everyone else is happy.

The only idea I've had so far is that like, Vander has been struggling to keep his people satisfied with the painful status quo he's got the Lanes in because of his refusal to ever fight again. Vander was overcorrecting here because he didn't want anyone else to get killed.

Well, he didn't fight Piltover and one of his daughters still got killed.

Maybe that kind of made him realize that this status quo isn't what will keep his people safe in the end, it can't be maintained forever, and it didn't even protect his family. I dunno if he would have gone back out to search for Silco after this or if Silco would have heard about it and maybe finally approached him instead?

I love the idea of Silco being like, "Well, look at that. You sure are doing a good job keeping everyone safe." Kinda twist the knife because he still never received that letter and he's still hurt over the betrayal, so fuck Vander's feelings, right?

But Vander is like... idk, probably awfully conflicted. Angry and upset ofc, but he doesn't get physical cause he can't possibly regret what he did before only to do something like that again (as in that's what he thinks, so no punching or choking allowed, even if deserved in that moment). Maybe he's even kinda defeated about it or wrapped up in the shock of seeing Silco again since he apparently just never came back?

And they have one of those REALLY juicy, harsh fights that does eventually lead to them making up because at least now they're talking about it. Blurting out years of pent up hurt and pain and dead hopes, in an environment where they're on equal terms instead of Vander needing to focus on begging Silco not to destroy everything.

I love this timeline and I wanna see every speck of it??

also if anyone writes this scene out before I maybe possibly start to consider writing it myself, if anyone posts this, DM it to me, I'll read it in a heartbeat and cry about it. x3

🚨Crack theory🚨 but at first I was confused how Vi's death led to an alternate universe where everything is a utopia. Even if Hextech was never invented it doesnt explain how all the class disparity was solved. And then I realized it was probably this:

Vander and Silco are the only ones who really had a plan for a unified and independent Zaun. My theory: after the accident, Vander went into grief over the death of his daughter and stumbled pathetically into the arms of his ex-twink, finally apologized for trying to kill him that one time, they get back together and solve all poverty with the power of old man yaoi. (Also Silco stops making drugs at some point)

[felassan]

David Gaider on Zevran, under a cut for length:

"I was going to skip over Zevran, honestly, as I felt like I didn't have a lot to tell in the way of stories about him... but I know he still has some (ardent) fans. Plus, on reflection, I thought maybe I DO have a few things to say. 😅 Sooo we'll see how this goes. Zevran came along much later in the DAO process, as we were trying to round out the cast of party members. Alistair and Morrigan were well underway (as "main" characters, they were concepted very early) and I'd just started to consider who our Rogue followers might be when... things changed, a bit. See, BioWare had released a game not long beforehand called Jade Empire. It had included some same-sex options in its romances - not obscured like the way Juhani's "romance" had been hinted at in KotOR, but explicit. To this day, I have no idea who on the Jade Empire team was behind it, or why. More to the point, the same-sex options had received a lot of attention and praise - almost universal praise, in fact. In 2005, everyone was just pleasantly surprised. And I don't recall if I went to James and asked about it or if he came to me to suggest DAO should include it. The latter, I think."

"You might ask "Aren't you gay, Dave? Weren't you already pushing for this?" And the answer to that is, emphatically, "no, not at all". It might seem odd looking through the lens of 2024, but there was no talk of 'representation' or 'diversity'. Not at any level where we were aware of it, anyhow. Today, fans argue about how MUCH representation to include and whether it's done well enough... the idea that, less than twenty years ago, it being included *at all* was very much in doubt feels so far away. But, back then, I'd always assumed my private life and my work in games would never meet. So I think it was James who brought it up, because I remember being startled. Pleasantly so, of course. Now I had to look at our two rogues and figure out how this would apply. I sketched out the female of the two (who was taken on by Sheryl Chee) and then looked at the male - he who became Zevran. I'd been reading about the CIA and one thing that stuck with me was how they'd (allegedly) recruit gay men as assassins because they rarely had familial ties. Zevran wasn't going to be gay (bisexuality wasn't a question of representation, but a cost-benefit compromise) but that was the inspiration."

"Then there was the question of how "flamboyantly" I was writing this character, whether that might be too stereotypical? I don't remember how it arose, but I had too many "flamboyant" friends to do anything other than double down. This character was gonna be Zorro the goddamn Gay Blade, that's what. So that's how Zevran happened. Fun, a bit nihilistic, maybe a bit too overtly flirty for today's audience but very confidently *sexual*. Everything I'm not, so I'll admit it was an interesting exploration to dig down and find that voice somewhere inside. He was the anti-Alistair, and I needed that. Casting him was difficult. Caroline always tried to go for authentic accents, when we could, but for some reason this was getting us nowhere. I think back, and I suspect it's because I hadn't yet learned the lesson to not use terms in casting descriptions I thought were universal... but were not. What do I mean by that? Well, there was one write-up that said "drow elf". Now, I know what a drow elf is. It wasn't even important to the description, but the director saw the word "elf", and you know what we got back? A Keebler elf. Like a leprachaun, high and sweet and cutsie. Can you imagine?"

"In this case, I think it was the use of the word "assassin". Combine that with the sorts of roles many Hispanic actors in LA probably are asked to play, and all the auditions we were getting were 150% dark, mean, and gritty. 🫠 So we widened the casting call a bit, and this led us to Jon Curry. I knew Jon wasn't Hispanic, but what I wasn't prepared for when I flew down to meet the DAO actors was that he's this extremely tall, extremely Nordic looking dude who just happened to do the most amazing Antonio Banderas impression. Watching THAT man channel Zevran was... more than a bit surreal. 😅 And he had fun with it. As soon as we gave him the go ahead to play the fun and flirtiness to the hilt, that's exactly what he did. Over the few days where we found Zevran's voice, it totally supplied me with something I could hold in my head when I went back to Edmonton and finished writing him. Zevran was funny enough that the fans liked him. The only part of the reception I thought odd was the occasional comment by a male player who felt "tricked" into having sex with Zevran. "You mean... that part where he invites you to his tent for a sensual massage?" "Yes! I was expecting a massage!" "He literally says the massage is sensual." "Well he wasn't clear enough!" This is where I first came to the conclusion that a certain number of our players just don't know how to people. And that maybe an adjustment to the way we approached the messaging (or massaging lol) of romance was in order. If I could go back, would I change anything? Maybe I'd remind the systems team Zevran should really be able to pick a lock. And maybe not allow him to die. We had no idea we'd need to import these choices into the future - we kinda thought DAO was "one and done". Not so much, as it turned out. 😁"

[source thread]

David Gaider: "there's something to be said about how Zevran flirted and even had sex with you because he thought that's all he had to offer... not just you, but anyone. And when he realized you wanted something deeper, suddenly he was on unsteady ground and it truly unsettled him. It was fun to explore." [source]

User: "So David - besides loving the fact that the third image you picked is a gay sex scene - what happened in DA2(DAE - come on) with Zevrans design?" David Gaider: "Check the ALT text. It wasn’t a custom sculpt, so that’s as close as they could get it. Which… was not close." [source]

User: "Just to make sure I fully understand: the director (was it the voice director?) saw the word "elf" and thought you were looking for someone high, sweet, and cutesie?" David Gaider: "Yeah, this was from back before we managed VO in-house. The voice director in this case just didn’t have an association with “elf” like some familiar with fantasy would." [source]

[occamstfs]

Talismen: Beginnings

Nicky emerges with an arcane artifact after a bewildering trip through an impossible shop. In wishing his boyfriend was more confident in himself Nicky performs irrevocable and accidental magic upon the world, building his new form and dulling his mind.

And I'm back! Here's the first story of my planned CYOA series, a little long but I love how it turned out! I'll be posting the poll for Part two on Sunday, the 1st of December, the planned options are at the end of the story and it'll only last a day so if you want to take part be on the lookout! At any rate, hope you enjoy and happy to write for you once more! -Occam

It was barbarian weekend at the renaissance festival. Nicky was dressed as a wizard and his boyfriend, Simon, had long planned to go on theme and dress as a barbarian. Though as the day neared and Simon anxiously stared at his decidedly standard figure in the mirror, he instead opted to just throw on a cloak and call it a day. Arriving at the fair the pair, as expected of the theme, find themselves surrounded by burly men clad in kilts with faux fur draped atop chests beyond impressive.

Gawking at hot men is of course par for the course of this kinda event but Nicky can’t help but read the shame and embarrassment creeping into Simon’s expression as he takes in the festivities. When they eventually step into a tavern for a breather Nicky checks in, “Heyyy babe? Everything good? Seem kinda down-” Simon shakes his head and forces a smile, “Don’t worry about me B, I’m aces!” He tosses a wink out for good measure before pointedly changing the topic, “So what was it you said you’re looking to grab this year?”

Nicky narrows his eyes for half a moment wondering if he should push or challenge his clearly sulking boyfriend before deciding to let the sleeping dog lie for now, “Mmmm, I don’t know actually? Probably just an accessory for the costume? Oh! Or maybe some dice?” Simon’s expression changes into a more genuine smile as he grabs at Nicky’s arm and massages it, “Well here’s an idea. We’re right by the dice shop yeah? Howsabout we split up. I’ll grab us some beers and you go check out the offerings. Meet back here?” 

Wordlessly agreeing, Nicky leans in for a kiss and relaxes at Simon seemingly perking up. Heading off with a nod, Nicky exits the tavern, preventing him from seeing his boyfriend’s facade fade once more as he contemplates getting a drink or two ahead of his partner before his return from the shops. 

Under the impression that Simon has cheered back up, Nick is off to the races. Dice shop just across the way he begins his short trek when suddenly there’s a buzzing in the back of his mind. The sounds of the crowd around him eerily fade as if his ears are waterlogged, he shakes his head from the sudden discomfort and takes a moment to see if anyone else seems to be affected. Before he’s able to inspect his fellow festival-goers he is shocked to see a strange shop he’s never seen before.

Nestled in between a printing press and some soap store Nicky furrows his brow and wonders how he’s possibly missed the shop before now. He’s been coming for years and knows the layout of the festival like the back of his hand. After waiting a few seconds to see if anyone else is entering he takes a cautious step forward and trips as his body tries to take another without his intent. Nicky blushes as he bumps into a brawny barbarian who laughs him off and ruffles his hair, “Watch where yer -urp goin dude huhuh!” Nicky nods an apology and reflexively takes another backwards step towards the apparently new shop. In a sudden need for an expedited retreat from embarrassment, Nicky quickly rushes towards the door and away from the man bumped who eyes him taking a large swig from a tankard. 

He hasn’t the chance to notice that each step towards the shop that should not be there is quicker than the one that came before. In no time at all he tears open the door and is inside the quaint cluttered shop. While his eyes adjust from the bright fall day behind him, he takes in the scene as well as he can. The small space is filled with some bitter herbal scent and the air seems to crackle with something similar to static. Nicky of course attributes the strange prickle on his skin to nerves and continues browsing the curious shop.

There’s no real discernible theme to the shop, really it seems to be more of an antique store than anything else. In any normal situation Nicky would have already dipped back out, but something in the back of his mind keeps pulling him in deeper. Walking past strange dolls and stranger bottled liquids, the almost ticklish sensation continues to assail him with unconscious step forward. His spacial awareness tells him he has wandered further than should be possible but it’s almost as if he has no option to continue forward. Coming up on a curtained doorway Nicky’s hands move as if possessed to part the blinds and his eyes finally lay upon what supernatural, impossible thing must be drawing him inward. 

It would be the perfect accessory for his costume. It would be the perfect accessory to put on and never take off again. It will be perfect. It will be his. He needs it more than anything. His eyes shine with the ruby tinges reflecting off the talisman as he inches towards the pedestal it lies upon. His hand reaches towards the object of his desires and burns as the prickling sensation comes to a head. He grimaces as it turns to an almost boiling heat before his fingers touch it and the impossibly intense sensation instantly disappears. Nicky jumps due to the sudden almost atmospheric change and before recovering he almost has a heart attack as who must be the shopkeep shouts from behind him, “HELLO HELLO YOUNG NICHOLAS!” 

Nicky scrambles to hide behind the pedestal and inspect the mystery man, his vision momentarily tinged scarlet. As the twinges of whatever static sensation filled him moments ago begin to fade totally, he finds himself suddenly able to realize how strange everything about this is. He gulps as he sees a man dressed as a campy wizard adjusting his glasses, “Well it seems you found what you were looking for eh old sport?” Nicky looks down at the still shimmering necklace in his hands, stuttering incoherently as his mind races to understand. 

In the half second his eyes were off the wizardly shopkeep, the man has crept up behind once more. Now throwing an arm around Nicky he helps him to his feet and begins leading away from the curtained room, “Hup hup- Now you must be very careful with your words now young Nicholas. Do tell Simon I said hello hm?” Nicky again looks at the necklace in hand and, hanging to the rational world by a thread, inquires, “P- Pay? Did I pay for this?”  The wizardly man laughs and pats him on the back, “Oh don’t you worry ah ha ha! Hah.” The wizardly man winks, though even doing so there is an after image of a red eye staring into and through Nicky. The younger man opens his mouth to question the clearly mystic magus of the artifact and his intentions though before he gets a chance the wizard shouts.

“Do have fun at the festival my boy!” with that he brusquely pushes Nicky forward and he finds himself outdoors by a printing press and soap shop. Fearful of turning around to see there is no store there Nicky looks down to find himself wearing the talisman. Grabbing at it he finds the same sensation that filled him minutes ago, though muted. Pleasant. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he is again bumped into, this time by someone whose vision is clearly obscured by a mask, “Sho- Shorry!” Nicky sighs and apologizes, though the physical sensation and awkwardness brings him back to reality. Shaking off anxiety and pushing down whatever it is just happened he heads off to meet his boyfriend at the tavern. 

Returning to find Simon housing his third ale, Nicky quickly downs his own to distract from the strange anxiety that remains persuasive in spite of their reunion. Wishing for distraction, it comes swiftly and in short order the pair are out and about enjoying all the festivities that the faire has to offer, various sloppy meats on a stick, bird shows and jesters, and a firework show to cap it all off. The day soars by in short order and Nicky, wanting to forget about his encounter in that place that wasn't, does just that with shocking, almost supernatural, ease. In fact anything Nicky seems to desire almost falls at his feet. With but an imperceptible red shine in his eyes Nicky finds himself wanting for nothing. The same could not be said for his boyfriend.

After sobering up, his dour jealousy for the superior male form returns and as much as Simon tries to hide it from Nicky, the long day has dulled his ability to disguise anything from his boyfriend. On the long walk back to the car Nicky initially avoids bringing it up, but after an eventful day of getting just about everything he desires, he can’t help but try and get to the root of Simon’s sour attitude. “Can you just tell me what’s up babe?” Groaning as he unlocks the car door the weary man answers, “It’s nothing Nick. I’m just- UGH! I wish I wasn’t so self-concious or had actually gone to the gym or-” turning to see Nicky’s puppy dog eyes for not realzing his discomfort Simon groans and apologies, “Don’t worry it’s fine, I um, I had fun!”

Mind flashing back to the barbarian costume that Simon ultimately decided not to wear, love for his boyfriend overwhelms him and he reaches out to hold his lover’s free hand. Hidden underneath his own cloak, Nicky’s talisman flashes red as the sticky staticky sensation returns stronger than it had been even in the shop. He doesn’t whisper or even coherently think the words as he immediately drifts off to sleep in the passenger seat, but the intention is more than enough for the die to be cast. I wish Nicky had more confidence. I wish he was less self-conscious. I wish he was proud of his body. 

Subconscious wish made Nicky’s ruby red eyes remain closed as he falls into an incredibly deep sleep, leaving Simon alone with his thoughts. He squirms slightly behind the wheel as he suddenly feels warm. Mind too muddled to wallow he feels every inch of his body suddenly buzzing with energy, as if an espresso was being dripped into his veins. Looking at his sleeping boyfriend his thoughts shift immediately from self-criticism and body dysmorphia to a lustful, almost primal hunger for his mate. Nicky’s hand still burning hot on his own despite the blaring aircon, he fights the urge to bring the sleeping man’s hand to his cock as it begins to stir. 

Before they’ve even left the parking lot Simon is overwhelmed with a lust for his partner stronger than anything he has felt in some time. Hitting the open road he chews his lip to distract from his cock doing its best to pop the seam in his pants, constantly he’s choking down horny grunts and groans to prevent the sleeping Nicky from waking up. Arriving at their shared home, he struggles to gracefully exit the car with his rod standing firmer than he assumed it could. Eventually making it out, he goes to pick up his still sleepy passenger. 

With a great deal of effort, Simon successfully stills his hips and quiets his lusts to pick up his sleeping suitor. Baring the urges of his body he realizes that the task is far easier than it should be, Nicky’s not heavy but- Any further inquisition is stilled as he reflexively takes a deep breath of his sleeping lover and is promptly overwhelmed. Nicky’s floral shampoo and deodorant mix with b.o. from an unseasonably warm day in the sun and Simon doesn’t have the strength to quiet the grunt that erupts from him as his cock throbs and prods Nicky in the back. 

Eyes blearily open as the sleeping wizard stirs and stretches in the arms of his lover. “Wha? Si?” The self-conscious Simon, embarrassed at waking up his boyfriend quickly puts him down. He blushes as Nicky steadies himself on his arms, still yawning he chastises his boyfriend for letting him fall asleep, “You didn’t *ahwn* didn haf to do tha babe, *awh*” Rubbing his ruby-tinged eyes he can’t quite make out the finer details of his boyfriend, but he would swear he’s looking further up than he usually does to make eye contact. Simon waves him off, “It’s fine, I’m not even tired really.” 

Leaning down to give him a hug, Simon angles his head into Nicky’s nape he takes another deep breath, this time not even trying to mute the groan that spills forth, “MMmhm, y’know now that you’re up the night’s still young…” Nicky tilts his head before understanding as Simon’s cock throbs once more into his abdomen, shaking off the sleep Nicky’s own package begins to stir as he leads his partner into their home, “Well now that you mention it~”

Nicky starts disrobing when Simon grabs his hand, some small amount of discomfort hiding in his expression as he asks, “Would you mind if I, um, topped? This time?” Nicky tilts his head before nodding cheerily, “feeling frisky huh?” Nicky performatively poses before seemingly doing some mental math and continuing, “it’s been a minute haha! Let me just hop in the shower real quick and then we’ll have some fun!”

Already feeling like he’s overstepping Simon doesn’t mention his desire for Nicky to not shower. Something feral need within him forces forward an urge to tackle and fuck then and there but he pushes such thoughts down and waits as patiently as he can. Preparing to bottom on such a short notice, Nicky quickly strips and his eyes land upon the talisman hanging from his neck once more. Pursing his lips he goes to take the necklace off, though as his fingers clasp the chain he shivers as it sends a sensitive pang searing through him. Why would he take it off. Feeling immediately more alert and needy, Nicky swiftly hops in the shower to prepare for some fun.

Outside the bathroom his boyfriend taps his foot anxiously, sending a deep, impatient echo through the room. Irritated at the sound he stands and quickly disrobes himself. After getting the cloak off, the room is filled with slight groans of effort as he struggles to get off his shirt. It’s almost stuck to his skin? Probably from sweat he thinks but each time he wrenches it up it only frees about an inch more room. His irritation prevents him from noticing how it decidedly hugs new weight on his chest or cuts into apparently thicker biceps.

The sound of the shirt straining fills the room and he grinds his teeth as the prospect of being stuck in the top any longer is unbearable. His hands stretch longer and strain shifts to tearing as he rips the tunic off with a grunt. Exposed to the open air is a sweaty body far more impressive than when the man struggled to get ready that morning. Looking at the torn shirt in his hand he blushes as his eyes trail up his forearms and stare at a bicep that’s begging to be flexed. 

Stepping out wearing only a towel and his talisman, Nicky smiles as he stares at Simon appreciating his arms, “Couldn’t have waited for me to put on the show huh?” Simon turns to see his boyfriend drop the towel and he loses control. Any sign of intelligence in his eyes vacates as he manhandles the man onto the bed. For his part Nicky assumes this to be roleplay, almost giggling from delight as the typically meek man ragdolls him onto the bed. Drool leaks from Simon's maw as he grunts and groans, struggling to free the throbbing package still trapped in his shorts.

Being straddled, Nick takes the chance to carefully observe his boyfriend’s body, appreciating the view that he seldom gets. For the life of him he doesn’t understand why Si got so worked up, with arms like that and a chest- or? When did he start working out actually? Nicky frees a hand to touch the man’s powerful torso and Simon shivers, reflexively rutting into him as his cock growing even harder sends the sound of fabric straining through the room. He’s decidedly firmer, heavier. Nicky sees hair begin to grow on the man’s chest and his mind for half a second hears the echoing laughter of a man he wished to forget. Though there’s no time to think as Simon goes for the tried and true method of just ripping his clothes off.

Eyes wide with wonder, Nicky watches as biceps bulge larger with each tug, shoulder span expanding as his hands yank and tear. His mouth falls open as he sees a cock clearly larger than the one that he knows Simon to have. Gulping as he realizes he’s agreed to take this dick that stretches up to his sternum, Nicky blushes and Simon smirks as he leans down to snarl or whisper something in his lover’s ear. 

Nicky feels pre dripping onto his chest as the larger man leans down, his arms land to either side of the man exposing pits dripping with sweat and just before he speaks or growls, the talisman flashes red. Eyes focused on each other neither man sees some shard of light go from the charm into Simon. His eyes roll back and close before he falls down onto Nicky. Immediately concerned for his love, Nicky struggles to shift the man off him and call for help before he hears Simon begin to snore. His body feels like a furnace atop Nicky’s, a cock still erect continues to throb into his stomach and gush pre in between the two of them. He feels patches of hairs thicker than Simon typically carries scratching him. Nicky tries to force the sleeping oaf off him before quickly tuckering himself out.

It was a long day after all. Nicky yawns as he sees the back of the man lying atop him. It’s not right, too wide, too heavy. His ass is not that large his- ughh. With another shove to wake or move Simon, Nicky feels weariness truly overtake him and his scarlet eyes flutter. The sleeping man moves his arms to hug Nicky tight and the seemingly smaller man has no recourse but to give way, his sides tickled by patches of pit hair dripping with sweat. Nick’s head tips forward a few times as he struggles to stay awake though the sound of his lover’s new snores lull him to sleep.

In the morning Nicky wakes to find himself free from Simon’s grasp, though the man’s sweat stains leave a clear outline around him on the bed and his torso remains sticky from pre. His head aches with a hangover though after the faintest wish that it end, so it does. Groaning he gets to his feet and heads off to shower once more, en route he finds a note from Si: “heyyy babe woke up w so much energy!!! gonna go for a run or to the gym idk :) c u soon thooooo<3”  Nicky  rubs sleep from his eyes and reads the short note a few times over, “hmmm. Weird.” Shrugging he goes about his day as usual, cleaning up, brewing coffee, doing the crossword. Something in the back of his mind says he usually does this with Simon, but that can’t be right? He’d never want to do that. His eye twitches as unbeknownst to him, with each step further away his love has truly begun to change from his unintentional intentions into a man who will never feel shame again.

Simon doesn’t know why he feels so compelled to get up and at ‘em. For years he has given himself ultimatums, scheduled gym sessions, dieted and done his best, but there has not been a moment in his life where he has felt more drive, more purpose than his flight from their shared bed. It’s like he’s a new man with nothing on his mind but getting some meat on his bones. He barely had the wherewithal to leave a note for his lover, as is clear by the lack of eloquence.

Nor is that the only aspect askew from Simon’s typical self. As his anxiety at being perceived shirtless may suggest, the man is always conscious of how he looks. Rarely does a day go by without Simon giving himself a painstaking once over in front of the mirror, be it applying makeup or designing an outfit. To simply throw on a tshirt and leave without even rinsing his face is anathema, and yet after doing just that and throwing on his boyfriend’s sneakers, finding his own far too tight, he’s out the door well before the sun begins to rise. 

His feet fall heavy on the sidewalk as his shabby outfit soon enough finds itself straining. Grimacing at the constriction it becomes clear that these clothes are far too tight and getting tighter with each step it seems. Nevertheless he presses onward until there is stinging pain from his feet struggling against their binds. While he’s been content to ignore or misinterpret the sounds of his own tshirt beginning to fray, as well as the pain that such constriction entails, he doesn’t want to ruin Nicky’s shoes. And so scrambling for somewhere to sit down he hops on a bench and begins to struggle with the laces.

Simon’s toes struggle against frontal fabric while the shoes’ tongues press into laces that simply must be cutting into the tops of his feet. Simon’s mind is clearly slowing down as he takes a few seconds too long to simply watch his feet expand beyond containment before, with a gasp, pain jogs him into action. At first he goes to untie them before he’s unable to recall precisely how to do that. Immediately switching to the task already begun by his growing feet he reaches in and simply tears each shoe in two.

His arms bulge with the effort involved in splitting them in twain, biceps that never were begin to appear and push his short sleeves to their limit as new muscle presses onto his chest. Looking down at his hands, decidedly more masc, the man can do nothing but observe his new form as it begins to extol an untenable price on his mind. With each new manly aspect so too will the cogs of his mind continue to slow.

Looking at his boyfriend's shredded shoes, Simon is immediately guilty though he releases a contented sigh as his feet flex free from their confines. His newly one track mind is then thrown off-course and his eyes narrow at the feet bare on cold concrete. They were not simply chafing or something reasonable of the sort, they are too big. They’re larger than his shoes and seem to still be growing larger. And wait- Why did he leave the house without wearing socks!? 

Simon shakes his head to try and focus on one question at a time, though before peace comes there is a searing pain from his legs as his changes continue upward. Calves burst from his bony legs while athletic shorts are clearly strained by thighs that any man would kill for. Thick, perhaps barbarous, curls begin to issue forth from any pore exposed as he clutches with his newly thicker hands into muscle still hardening, still pumping larger. 

Grunting loudly, Simon falls off the bench as ever spreading changes spread towards his glutes. His pert ass hardens and grows to a size that would attract attention no matter what he wears to try and hide it under. His whole lower body cramps with growth as his legs extend, wider feet scratching into dirt as calves and thighs lengthen while his pulse continues to race from the shock of this impossible transformation. Struggling with the new weight of self, his rougher hands pressed into the ground his duller mind is unable to reconcile what is happening to him with reality. The sound of blood rushing through his ears mutes the world around him and at the slightest lapse he simply forgets.

“Why am I on my hands?” Through bleary eyes he stares at hands too wide, fingers longer and thicker. He trails upward and almost scoffs as he sees forearms and biceps not nearly as defined as they should be, after another moment mouth agog he guffaws as he presumes to have put one and one together, “Oh ahuhuh- I must be workin’ out here?” Licking his lips as he is filled with an otherworldly surge of energy, Simon gets started following one of the most common impulses that is to evermore make itself at home in his mind. He starts doing some push ups.

Immediately do his biceps burn with effort as they put on weight at an impossible rate. Simon grunts with the effort of taking the wheel and commanding his body to be more powerful. His heart pounds in his chest as, just like every piece of fabric before, his shirt quickly gives way outright to the progress of growth. To the strengthening of self. With each dip towards the earth his pecs come closer to touching the cold soil before bouncing as his powerful arms rocket him back upwards with precision. 

Simon continues exercising until his arms burn as numb as his new, slower mind. Not only does muscle continue to pack on with every punch upwards, but his impressive form is just as quickly patterned with burgeoning body hair. Sweat drips down onto a chest rapidly peppered with curls and steams off a back which holds hair slowly rising from his lightly furred ass. Sweaty steam trails upwards from widening shoulders and bulky traps into the cold autumn air as heavy breath mists from behind gnashing teeth. Nowhere does the hair grow thicker than under his powerful arms as a jungle of hair grows outward from his pits and sends distinct trails of sweat down his trunk like biceps and across his hulking pecs.

Body hair and brawn are not the only decidedly improved aspects of the man either. Just as he continues to pack on muscle with each thrust upwards, so too is his crotch pulled closer to the ground with every descent. His briefs struggle against a package rapidly growing beyond any tenable containment. Balls bulge larger to supply his impressive form with the hormones required for the growth he demands of it, pubes cascading upward and outward as they strive to assert that Simon’s masculinity shall never be in question. 

So too does his cock throb and push against the confines of his underwear enough to be plainly visible. Not only from growing erect as his heart races, but from expanding to be the most impressive rod either he or his lover have ever seen. With the slightest glance down to see his new cock, he smirks and shivers as he imagines topping Nicky with that beast. 

This of course sends such a powerful surge of lust through him that the bulging cock immediately bursts free from the briefs outright, leaving him clad in nothing. His cock, now free, drips pre onto the earth as he continues working out a few moments longer in the buff, plain for anyone to see were the streets not thankfully empty. Guffawing to himself after thrusting his new cock into the ground a few times in the process of pushing up, Simon’s new bovine mind eventually realizes he’s fully nude and public and quickly stumbles to his feet. “Oh shit huhuh-” He stands and scratches the back of his head and tries to plan some form of escape, in the process he flexes his bicep and can’t help but smirk as he sees the veins bulging along its impressive length.

Feeling his still turgid cock bounce with every slight movement, he continues laughing before looking down to see shredded clothes scattered at his colossal feet. Seeing the pile of clothes outgrown, Simon does everything short of drooling as he for the first time takes in his new form. Massive hands trail across padded muscle as the urgency of covering his dick fades from his mind. 

When his sweaty pecs begin to glimmer from the rising sun he is immediately thrown back into awareness of his active criminal behavior. Checking the coast is clear once more, he pauses for a moment wondering what the big deal is about public nudity before being chastised by some internal Nicky. Simon turns back to the bench and laughs dumbly as he sees his gym bag lying discarded.

Pouncing like an animal, he quickly tears into and retrieves shorts that will surely leave nothing to the imagination. Nevertheless he throws them on and grimaces as they tightly hug his ass and package. Seeing shirts thrown to the side he scratches his face and his face quivers as he feels stubble grace it for the first time. He purses his lips just to feel a moustache scratch his nose and absolutely disregards the idea that he needs a shirt. Why would he cover up anything beyond what is necessary. Surely the world would be more than grateful at the chance to see his form he asserts, bouncing his pecs and chuckling as he does so.

Finding himself with nothing to do besides appreciate how built he truly is now, Simon uses his phone as a mirror to inspect every angle and uses whatever sparing space in his mind to keep track of the best ones. The massive man shivers as the sweaty steam rising from him briefly glimmers red, making it clear that Nicky’s will has been enacted on his lover and announcing the fulfillment of his will. Nevermore will he be self-conscious, quite the opposite in fact. As morning commuters begin their grind many offer a passing glance to the by all accounts himbo drooling at his own reflection, and never does one escape without receiving a wink or flex from the man.

When a pair of jocks eye him with jealousy on the way to class he holds back laughter, the idea that not twenty-four hours ago he was just like them, smaller even, is inconceivable to the new man. Though to be fair, much now lies beyond the realm of conceivability for the man. He thinks about offering some tips to the pair though refrains as something needles him far, far in the back of his simple mind. There was something he was supposed to do yeah?

Furrowing his brow in as deep a concentration as he can muster, Simon’s eyes close and his hands clench at his head as he tries to think. Laundry? Huhuh as if- Meal prep? Then why would he be out here? Simon starts groaning in frustration and tapping his larger, still bare, foot on the sidewalk. Ephemeral ideas he might have latched onto in a life before this one drift past before he gives up and sits down, crossing his arms. The bench creaks under his new weight as he almost petulantly reclines, head back and eyes blank.

Suddenly he jolts up and almost hits himself for not doing the obvious straight away. Obviously Nicky’ll know what to do! His clumsy hands struggle to get his phone from the pocket of his shorts and he smiles at the lock screen, a picture of Nicky being smothered by his massive arms. Simon then squints and bites his tongue in concentration as now even this requires some degree of effort. Quickly enough he dials up his beau and almost vibrates from the excitement of hearing his voice. 

Back at home Nicky is playing a game though squeezes the phone in his headset as he sees Simon calling, “Hey baby? What’s up, early start today huh?” Would that he had a tail to wag, Simon laughs and answers, “ha uhhh, yeah somethin’ like that- uhhhhh. Yo did you uh, know what I was plannin’ on doing this morning?” Nicky tilts his head, for a moment he swears something is off with his boyfriend’s voice. Then his eyes go blank and his vision flickers red before, no it’s always been like that? Nicky swears something about his long hours at the gym over the years made him drop a few octaves but that’s neither here nor there. 

Nicky shakes off this small stupor, “Yeah Si, you said you were going to the gym no?” an eye twitches, “y’know, like usual?” Excitement once more sets fire in Simon’s veins as he nods and laughs at himself for forgetting such a simple routine, “Ahhh what would I do without you babe huhuh!” He kisses his cellphone and winks at a woman walking her dog who was giving him a side-eye. “Well you have fun dude! Gonna go get a MASSIVE pump in!” Nicky wryly grins and rolls his eyes, “you too, you too b, see you later-” With that he gets back to the game, intentionally ignoring the crimson buzzing at the back of his mind as both men set off to tackle the obstacles of the day, totally unaware of the lives they are to unintentionally change evermore. 

Potentialities: (Poll on Sunday the First at 12 AM CST)

Gonna keep this one limited as a test run! If you have any suggestions or ideas for the next poll please shout! Happy to get real wacky with it if there’s an interest!

Nicky Routes:

Grow up you asshole: Getting flamed in game Nicky’s clapback  teaches a gamer to be a real man (Bear/Dilf TF) 

Man you always play him: Well intentioned words bring his gamer friend far closer in mind, body, and spirit to his favorite character- Fictional character TF (Would prompt another poll for sure, haven’t done one of these before but if there’s a demand we’ll see!)

Simon Routes: (More standard faire jock/himbo tfs)

Sorry for the backwash bro: Accidentally sharing a drink causes his himbofication to spread 

Let’s get pumped: Simon finds work as a personal trainer and is far more effective than he has any right to be 

[b-lossm]

•+*I'm high and I'm bi-- WAIT I mean I'm straight*+•

Sevika x highfem!reader

Synopsis: after smoking with her at a party you accidentally tell her you like her because she looks smoking hawt :P

warning: getting high, obviously, but neither of them r stoners, guys tbh idk how to write smoking I dont do it 😭

Also idk if its like clarified but Sevika still has a mech arm, don't ask me how because she's a broke college student

You where invited to this listening party for this music group by Sevika, while asking you for your address she said something about a WolfGang or a WeirdFuture?? idk you don't get it, you where too focused in on the fact that your biggest crush invited you to this party "So I'll pick you up at 6?" she gives you a sly smirk "Oh! um yeah.." you smile awkwardly, your makeup; thankfully, covers up your bright red face, but your ears betray you "you nervous or somethin'?" she moves a little closer, she can smell your vanilla perfume you put on just moments before when you saw her coming, see the tiny, tiny hearts you put at the end of your eyeliner "you smell nice" Sevika chuckles and backs up, starting to walk away "See ya later angel"

oh see her later you did...

When she picked you up you wouldn't have known it but she was giving herself a pep talk, telling herself that she had the responsibility of keeping you all safe and nice, if she didn't the idea of kissing you goodnight was out of the window.

As you put on your shoes and your perfume you hear a knock on the door "Coming!!" rushing over to the door you quickly check yourself in the mirror to make sure you look nice for her while grabbing your purse with the cute little keychains that you and Sevika match with, her's stays on the carabiner that lives on one of the left beltloop of her jeans-- anyways you then open the door to see her in a outfit that matched yours in a more masculine way "oh? so your copying me now Angel?" She teases, resting her arm against the doorframe to lean towards you "o--oh no, um, its okay! I could um change!" bullshit, you had no idea what the freak to wear other then that "Nahh keep it" she chuckles, looking you up and down, stopping at your plush lips "S' real cute.." Sevika stands up straight, leading you to her truck and opening the passengers seat for you, even buckling you in "Ya' ready Angel?" she looks to you for a second before starting her car "um.. yeah!" you smile nervously as you play with the edge of your cardigan "Hey, none of that Angel" Sevika reaches over and offers her hand to play with so you don't mess up your clothes

The drive to the Venue was quiet short, it was filled with you and Sevika talking about random stuff, but eventually it turned into Sevika warning you about what's probably gonna happen at the party "But don't worry Princess, I wont let anyone pressure you into doing stuff you wouldn't wanna" Sevika grabs your hand and squeezes it a few times to reassure you that your safe with her. You look away and giggle softly "Thank you Sevika.." you smile softly at her and squeeze her hand back. You two then pull up to the venue, a warehouse but not the abandoned type "We're here, you still wanna do this Angel?" Sevika checks in on you one last time "Let's go 'Vika" you smile back at her, nerves practically gone as she comes around to your door to unbuckle and help you out

--

Well you never thought you'd be doing this. Currently your cuddled up next to Sevika on this couch outside- away from the noise of this guy singing about Tamales while smoking a blunt one of her friends named Domo rolled "hehehehhe" you giggle at her she can tell-- you are gone "You okay Angel? Having a good trip babes?" she blows smoke from her nose, leaving stars in your eyes "S-Sevikakaaaaaa" you whine "y--your too hot! a--and you keep teasin' me!" she blushes and chuckles "fuck.." she mumbles "Not on purpose Angel" "bullshit" you giggle and cuddle deeper into her, causing her to hoist you up on her lap "agghhghhh you caught me" Sevika blows more smoke out of her nose while chuckling and passing the blunt to you "t-this is m' laaast one.." you giggle and take a puff, knowing that was a lie "H--Hey S'vika...y--ya knnow.....I--I realllly really like you.." you giggle into her neck and pass it back to her.

Sevika's world stops for a second, she had a hunch that you where into girls but always dismissed it, she chuckles and takes it "Oh really? This isn't the Green talking right..? you didn't take anything while I looked away hm?" Sevika starts to rub shapes into your side "n-nuh uh... i- i write about you in my journal like,, like,, everyday" your practically melting into her touch "hmm.. interesting,, I think we should take you home now right Angel?" you whine softly and she coos in your ear "Cant have this Angel not sleeping in her bed hm? I'll get the uber" as she pulls out her phone you tug at her arm "H--hey that guy just said some lyric that is so mee Sevika!" you giggle "M' high and i'm bi" you repeat the line in a sing-song voice "Is that so.." Sevika unfortunately pulls you off of her lap and then guides you to the front towards your uber "Lets go, we can get m' truck tommrow"

--

The next day you wake up with a start, a dry throat and a fuzzy head, and a certain 6 foot woman standing at your doorframe "boo" she chuckles as you jump a little bit "I- um.. I made breakfast" she looks away, "you should come eat before it gets all cold angel.." she walks off into your kitchen with you in tow, smiling as you see the breakfast sandwich she made you two "aww thanks Sevika" you sit next to her, not wanting the table to get in the way of you two "so um.. what happened last night?" 'please don't say we fucked and i don't remember-- please please don't say we fucked and i don't remember--' you repeat in your head as you try to nonchalantly eat your sandwich but you look like a blushing mess "you don't remember?" she smiles teasingly "we got high at this party and you told me you liked me" 'oh fuck that's worse' "O--Oh!" Sevika leans in to kiss your head "Don't worry it was cute.. afterwards we caught an uber and I took off your makeup, changed you then we slept okay? Nothing happened don't worry" chuckling she moves back to eat her sandwich, almost choking on it as she feels your soft lips press against the corner of hers "M' glad that's settled.. thank you for taking such good care of me.." while coughing she looks away "Its um-- noproblemi'lldoanythingforyou" she mumbles and quickly scarfs down her sandwich while you giggle, who knew the scariest senior on campus was such a softie all for you..

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I love OddFuture :P

upnext

sevika 1

hcs 1

sevika 2

hcs 2

change 3 and possibly 4

sevika 3

[amogus-real-not-clickbait]

here's some benreys for y'all!!! it's meal time little ones!!!! nobody starves today. i provide

also random gordo he's here too i guess-

[cheshiresense]

I’m loving all the parts of your Ichigo & Starrk time travel AU! This is a bit random and would take place some time down the road but I had a thought that Starrk probably still has the scars from when Shunsui almost killed him rigjt? So I was wondering if some combination of TBTP!Shunsui recognizing the kind of blades that would’ve left those scars (his zanpakutou is pretty unique after all) and maybe Katen Kyokotsu sensing her own “mark” on Starrk would result in Shunsui guessing a few things if he sees those scars. Or maybe it’s at a point in the timeline where Starrk and Ichigo have already revealed the time travel thing to a few people but not many details and Shunsui ends up putting more pieces together on his own.

Ooh yesss I do love a good scar reveal. For a scene like this, I'd prob go with the second scenario. I imagine Starrk's a pretty private person and also not one to be stripping down in front of just anyone lmao so there has to be a good enough reason. (I actually have a different ready-made one that would fit a time travel reveal scene that I've already hinted at previously but I think I'll write that another time, so we're going to use this one instead.)

This would take place maybe a year or two down the road, and because Shinigami elites are generally not idiots (most of the time), especially the ones Starrk and Ichigo have grown close to, I imagine Shunsui, Ukitake, Shinji, and Kaien (and prob Lisa) have pooled their observations and guessed that Starrk and Ichigo are from the future and have Experienced Some Shit, possibly under Aizen, possibly under some other major big bad that was bad enough to necessitate time travel. And time travel's hardly something just anybody can throw around so most likely there's some divine intervention involved. And once they've come to these conclusions, they decide enough is enough, leaving the fate of Soul Society and possibly the universe on two people who look like they're running themselves ragged trying to save them all is ridiculous. If nothing else, they're friends and family, and it's not right to just leave that burden to them.

I'm also going to throw Kisuke into this group because 1) Kisuke's observant as fuck and Ichigo's actually really bad at staying away from this one mad scientist who created him and weaponized him and pointed him at the enemy but also followed right after him because to Kisuke, Ichigo is everything from moral compass to magnum opus to greatest sin to the person he owes everything to, and he'd more or less handed over his entire soul into Ichigo's possession very early on. So even a hundred years in the past was never going to prevent Kisuke from gravitating to Ichigo who doesn't flinch from him or his reputation and looks at him like he's more than just a Rukon street rat turned assassin turned Shinigami in a captain trenchcoat who has no idea how to be a captain on a good day. (And everybody knows that once Ichigo is attached to you, it's all over, you're never going to be rid of him again, and more than anything, Kisuke has always just wanted someone to want him to stay.)

And 2), there's no better place for secret meetings than the Study Chamber under the Soukyoku Hill, Aizen doesn't know about it, and the Quincy might but with the place buried under enough seals to avoid all detection and probably withstand a siege, even they can't get in to spy. I want to say Kisuke and Yoruichi are a package deal so she should be around, but I also headcanon that they sort of drifted apart for a while after Yoruichi forced Kisuke out of the Second and onto the captaincy doorstep (which made the fact that she threw her whole life and career away when Kisuke was accused of treason that much more meaningful tbh). So for now she's not around, but she does still hang out with Kuukaku, and while it is very helpful that all these people are regular guests at the Shiba compound so nobody is going to get suspicious if this particular group is absent together from time to time because people would just assume they're holed up at the Shibas' for another party or something, Yoruichi is going to notice sooner or later that they're very much not at the compound when they're missing, so she goes looking for whatever fuckery Kisuke has gotten up to this time, and that'll be her way into this time travel adventure, so to speak.

But all of this is actually just to say, healing hot springs for the win, you gotta be naked in a Japanese onsen lmao and guess who's about to have a midnight rendezvous 😉 let's all thank Urahara Kisuke for reinventing such a convenient trope.

-0-

It's nearing two in the morning, and after the staggering revelations earlier, everyone is asleep.

It wasn't as if they hadn't already expected the time travel, but to have it confirmed, and to know now that the reason for it had been the near-total annihilation of all three realms at the hands of a race nursing a thousand-year-old grudge, one thought to be largely extinct but has actually been hiding in their walls - almost literally - and biding their time until their king's awakening--well, let's just Shunsui isn't going to be able to walk down a street without wondering how many hidden eyes are watching him from the shadows until the Wandenreich has at least been dug out of the woodwork for all to see.

(It's also perhaps a little more… off-putting for him than the others, though perhaps that's his pride speaking. Shadows are supposed to be his domain, and yet he's never sensed anything amiss in all the long years he's lived in the Seireitei.)

There had at least not been too much of a fuss about bringing them into the loop. Shunsui had admittedly thought they would have to at least argue back and forth about it a few more times, if only because no matter how much Ichigo likes to deny it, the family resemblance is uncanny, whether in appearance or personality, and a Shiba is nothing if not stubborn once they've set their mind on something. Ichigo is exactly the type to refuse outside aid in the name of better protecting the people he cares about, has yet to understand that ignorance does not always mean safe, or outgrow that inexplicably instinctual mindset of his where he seems to believe that he must take on all burdens by himself instead of allowing others to help shoulder those burdens with him.

But then they'd confronted the boy, and while Ichigo had scowled up a storm and tried to bluster his way out of it at first - kid really is a terrible liar - he'd also capitulated far sooner than any of them had expected. In the end, he'd crossed his arms and scowled some more before deciding with the finality of someone who wouldn't budge any further, "Fine, but we wait for Starrk-san."

He'd smirked at them then, still displeased considering the topic of conversation, but vaguely triumphant nonetheless as he'd eyed Urahara and Hirako and Kaien in particular. "It's why you cornered me when you know Starrk-san's out on a mission and isn't due back 'til late, right? Cuz you think you might be able to wear me down by nagging me to death, or worse comes to worst, you can figure it out by watching my reactions. But you won't get anything out of Starrk-san if he doesn't want to say, and he's hard to read even when he's actively emoting."

He'd snorted then, mockery softened by a reluctant sort of mirth. "Joke's on you, he's the reasonable one."

Which, to be fair, had been Shunsui's opinion. Starrk really is frustratingly, delightfully difficult to read, and this is coming from Shunsui, who's always found most people easy enough to figure out at a glance. Case in point, most of the things they'd pieced together for themselves had been clues Ichigo had inadvertently given away, not Starrk. And even then, if Starrk doesn't want them to know, no matter how many well-reasoned conjectures they lay at his feet, he probably wouldn't say a word.

But by that same token, it must mean that the hints he'd started dropping over the past few months could only be his way of encouraging them to ask without directly giving the game away, without giving them any hard evidence or firsthand testimony that would condemn himself or Ichigo, just in case the people they've chosen to trust fail their expectations and choose to hand them over to the government instead of trusting them in return.

To Shunsui, that had basically been an open invitation to sit down for a chat, and Ukitake had agreed with him, but they'd been outvoted - sometimes, he thinks with some amusement that the younger members of their little group don't seem to have eyes for anyone except Ichigo - so he'd let it go since he'd thought there wouldn't be any major issues with trying it this way first either. After all, he doubts Starrk would've shown his hand without Ichigo's agreement. It's just that they'd probably have to jump through a few more hoops if they went to Ichigo, what with the kid's knee-jerk reflex for keeping them at a distance no matter the cost to himself. And he'd been correct, more or less. It's just that they'd had fewer hoops to jump through than Shunsui had anticipated, but he's hardly about to complain.

"My plan was to force Aizen to out himself somehow and then take him down in front of everyone," Ichigo had continued, oblivious to the dawning look of horror on his cousin's face at the sheer lack of regard Ichigo clearly had for his own wellbeing, or possibly for the excessive margin of error implied in every sentence. "And then, you know, hopefully do the same for the Quincy, although I guess they'd be harder to draw out, so maybe we would've had to go to them? But anyway, Starrk-san's the one who's been saying practically from the beginning that we need more people."

He'd made a face then, reminiscent of children everywhere who'd been lectured by a parent for doing something potentially reckless and stupid, but there'd been a grumpy sort of acceptance there too that had lent maturity to his features.

"'Wars can't be won alone,'" Ichigo had audibly quoted with a rueful sort of twist to his mouth, as much to himself as to them. "'And this is their home. If they want to fight for it, let them fight. They're strong enough to make a difference. Besides, there's nothing worse than only being able to stand by helplessly while something you love disappears in front of you.'" He'd huffed and scrubbed a hand over his face, and then he'd just looked tired. "Well, he's not wrong."

He'd looked at them all again, gaze firm. "So if you really wanna do this, fine, but we wait for Starrk-san."

They'd waited. It wasn't as if anyone had actually wanted to exclude the man anyway, couldn't even if they did since he and Ichigo were clearly a package deal. And Shunsui's of the opinion that anybody who can consistently convince Ichigo to stop and look around and realize he isn't as alone as he often seems to believe is someone Shunsui definitely wants onside.

Ichigo had told them that Starrk had been expecting a confrontation sooner or later, and there were only so many places for it to happen if they didn't want anyone else finding out, so if Starrk got back and found their shared apartment empty, he would know to check here.

Sure enough, an hour after, a reiatsu signature - usually so carefully tucked away but one that Shunsui had pressed into his own memory from the very first time he'd had the chance to really feel it - had flared politely right outside the door before wisping away to nothing again, and a moment after Urahara had flashed away to let him in, Starrk had ghosted in, still in his Shihakushou with the wooden case containing his Zanpakutou slung over one shoulder and an exhausted air about him, but the silver-blue gaze he'd swept over them had momentarily felt like the fangs of a beast locked around their throats.

He'd looked to Ichigo, who'd grimaced but nodded, some wordless conversation passing between them, and only then had all those predatory edges been folded away again, leaving only the quiet unassuming man people still barely looked twice at despite the fact that he'd graduated with honours just as impressive as Ichigo's had been, and had even been promoted to lieutenant on Unohana's personal recommendation straight out of the Academy. But most Shinigami saw Fourth Division and looked no further, blind to the power concealed behind Starrk's reserved apathy.

(In contrast, restlessness stirred beneath Shunsui's skin at the sight. He'd wanted to feel that reiatsu again, to taste the corrosive bite of it against the endless abyss of his own, to revel in the reminder that neither of them could overwhelm the other. He'd wanted to see more of the wolf lurking behind Starrk's eyes too, wanted this man to know he had no need to hide any part of it, not from Shunsui, not when he had the same kind of monster residing in his own soul. But that was all still too much, too soon, and so he'd locked it all behind his teeth once more, waiting for the day he wouldn't have to anymore.)

Starrk had sighed and run a gloved hand over his mouth before wandering over to join them. "Alright, let's talk. What do you want to know?"

That had been five hours ago. The conversation had lasted until midnight before they'd all decided to retire for the night and continue in the morning.

(Ichigo had looked positively agonized at the prospect. Starrk hadn't looked much of anything, mainly because he'd been half-asleep - or doing an excellent job at pretending to be - for a good hour and a half by that point.)

They'd opted to stay in the Study Chamber. Urahara had had more than enough futons to go around, thick enough that they wouldn't feel the ground underneath, and there were bathroom facilities and even a kitchenette included in a sectioned off corner. He and Yoruichi had certainly outdone themselves.

Urahara in particular. He'd invited them to use his hot spring too if they wished - a derivative of Kirinji Tenjirou's very own hot springs, less effective and fast-acting than the originals, only able to speed up recovery, but also far less dangerous - perfect for soaking in after a tough spar or a hard day or anything that results in moderately serious injuries. A veritable work of art.

Still, Shunsui had been more preoccupied with the way Starrk's eyes had lingered on the hot spring even as they'd all headed off to eat something and wash up before going to bed. In that split-second moment, the normally inscrutable man had looked adorably like a cat with a patch of sunlight. It shouldn't have been so attractive, but Shunsui had found himself unspeakably charmed all the same.

Ten minutes after everyone else's reiryoku had levelled out with deep slumber, and Shunsui had likewise tamped down on his own and smoothed it out to mimic sleep, he'd heard the faint rustle of Starrk's futon being pulled back, and then the whisper of footsteps padding their way towards the hot spring.

A better man than Shunsui would probably not have followed. But if that had ever been an option, he'd thrown it out the window from the first time he'd almost drowned in the shattered devastation of Starrk's soul and still decided to go after him.

He'd known since they'd met that there was some kind of connection between himself and Starrk.

He'd known for nearly as long that something about himself made Starrk uncomfortable, at best, and hurt him on a soul-deep level at worst.

He'd known with every interaction they'd had after that - every moment Shunsui could spare to track him down without making it seem too obvious that he was doing it on purpose - that Starrk wanted him to stay away just as much as he wanted him to stay, and Shunsui had taken shameless advantage because he himself had also been unable to do anything less, because he'd looked at this man and the desolate void inside him and couldn't bear to leave him alone.

(Because every moment with Starrk had filled something in Shunsui's own heart that he hadn't even known had been missing until Starrk had slotted into his life so neatly, so easily, that it had felt like he was always meant to be there.)

And he'd known for months, ever since time travel had become the most likely explanation for Starrk and Ichigo's origins, that there was no way Starrk hadn't known him in another life, and known him well, because that was the only thing that explained it all with perfect, horrifying sense.

A better man than Shunsui would not have followed, would've given him space. But a better man wouldn't have reduced someone's heart to a grief-stricken ruin either, cut so deep that it had carved that anguish straight into their very soul, so Shunsui figures that since a future version of himself has already sunk about as low as he possibly can, he might as well keep going and see if there's anything at all that he can do to fix what another him - still him, in the end, with a mere hundred years and change between them - has so clearly, carelessly, cruelly broken.

One of the things that had been revealed earlier had been Ichigo's background, because they'd all noticed the flashes of Quincy and Hollow in his reiatsu. Kaien had broken three sake cups and almost Urahara's face, and even by the end, he'd still looked murderous enough that Shunsui had almost pitied Shiba Isshin's foreseeable future. But Ichigo's ancestry had led to Starrk's, whose reiatsu may be as inherently dangerous as Shunsui's but has never read as anything less than perfectly Shinigami. They'd all been curious for a while, because Starrk was the kind of old and powerful that very few people could get to, and none that could and still remain unknown for so long, but there'd also been no Coyote Starrk in the Gotei 13 until this version who'd time-travelled had arrived in the Seireitei.

Starrk hadn't beaten around the bush. He'd pulled open the front of his Shihakushou and bared the web of scars below his collarbones, slightly branched out but thick and concentrated over his sternum in a distinctly circular mass.

"I'm not a Shinigami," He'd said calmly, plainly.

"You kind of are," Ichigo had mused, even as he'd glowered death eyes at them all when Starrk wasn't looking.

Starrk had shaken his head. "There's no name for what I am. I just evolved enough to fix my own soul."

He'd placed a hand over the scarring, and his gaze became distant enough that Shunsui's hands had twitched with the urge to reach out, even while the others had gaped, visibly shocked because it's one thing to have a soul like Ichigo's, one ultimately man-made, cobbled together from hope and desperation and a scientist's gamble; it's another entirely to realize that Shinigami have perhaps been looking at Hollows the wrong way for as long as any of them have existed.

(Because all Hollows are ultimately the product of the Shinigami's failure to save them in time, though most don't view it that way anymore, if they ever have. Because the possibility of a Hollow saving themselves has never even been a thought exercise in anyone's mind.)

Shunsui hadn't cared. No, that wasn't entirely correct. He'd been just as stunned as the others at this revelation that overturned millennia's worth of ironclad beliefs. But he'd been far, far more perturbed by what he could see of a second scar on Starrk's chest that bisected the circular one, faded just enough to indicate that it wasn't a very recent injury, but still deep and ragged and vivid enough to show how lethal it had been, how fatal, and-

And Shunsui had seen enough- dealt enough damage with his Zanpakutou to know the kind of wounds his blades left in their wake. And as if that wasn't enough, Katen had murmured in his mind, terrible and possessive and ruthlessly final, "Yes, his is a life we claimed for ourselves."

Shunsui had been almost relieved when Starrk had blinked back into the present and pulled his Shihakushou back on properly before continuing in a sedate tone, "We concluded that this is the final step for a Hollow, that they're allowed a chance to become whole again. It's just that even the strongest Hollows usually only survive for a few hundred years before something kills them, or they just don't have the power levels to climb that high, especially in the time they have."

He'd smiled then, but there'd been no humour in his expression, only infinite emptiness. "I survived, and I'm strong. So I guess this was my prize."

Nobody had really known what to say about all that, though Urahara had done an admirable job of recovering, and then an even more admirable job of pretending he didn't immediately want to whip out one piece of equipment or another and start scanning Starrk for data. They'd moved the conversation back to more information on the Quincy instead, although there would definitely be more questions in the future. But it'd been a lot to take in, and everybody had needed time to digest.

Now, hours later, Shunsui waits a bit before getting up as well and quietly making his way to the hot spring. He isn't surprised when he finds Starrk already rising from the water and reaching for a towel, evidently prepared to leave.

"Don't go," Shunsui says before he can think better of it, and he doesn't mean it as a demand or order, but he doesn't take it back either when Starrk goes still, water sluicing off of him - all tanned wet skin and strong shoulders and lean muscle for miles and now is really not the time - half turned away, and it's only because of that that even with the steam, Shunsui notices the conspicuous scar left by a stab wound in Starrk's back, just left of the spine.

This time, he doesn't need Katen to say anything at all.

Perhaps he'd dropped his conscience in a ditch on his way here, because he repeats, can't stop himself from repeating, "Don't go. I don't mean to chase you away. It's more than big enough for the both of us, isn't it?"

He pauses, reaches for a hat he'd left behind on his futon, and settles for shrugging out of his clothes instead. "…I'll stay on this side."

He slides into the water and forces himself to wait. When Starrk slowly sinks back into the hot spring, Shunsui very carefully doesn't react to that either.

The silence that settles over them is less tense than one might expect. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Starrk slumps against the edge of the hot spring, eyelids drooping. He has his hair tied back in a bun to keep it out of the water, and it's rare enough that Shunsui can't help taking a few extra looks.

Then again, that's nothing new. Starrk has always drawn his eye. Ukitake likes laughing at him for it.

"Does it bother you?" Starrk speaks up abruptly, unexpected enough that Shunsui almost startles. "That I'm a Hollow."

Shunsui wants to say that this man is so far from everything he'd ever thought even the most advanced Hollows could be that a part of him simply can't reconcile the disconnect. The rest of him…

"You're the same person now as you were before you told us what you are," He points out. "I don't think anything else matters."

Blue-grey eyes slit open, not quite looking in Shunsui's direction, not quite not, expression utterly indecipherable.

"…Did my future self think differently?" Shunsui ventures, but that can't be right. He can't imagine any version of himself who would think that way, especially one who'd lived even longer than he has. Still, his mind flashes back to the scars on Starrk's body, hidden beneath the water now but seared into Shunsui's memory like a brand, and he can't help coming up with increasingly depressing scenarios.

But Starrk blinks, and his focus finally hones in on Shunsui, genuinely surprised, and Shunsui releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"No," Starrk says after a beat of studying him with that too-perceptive gaze. "You've apparently always been more open-minded than most." He cocks his head. "But you were staring, so I thought…"

I always stare at you, haven't you noticed? Shunsui wants to blurt out, but he swallows it down with only a little effort. Too much, too soon.

After tonight's revelations, after all the speculations he's pieced together bit by bit over the past few months about their past-future relationship, maybe it will always be too soon. But Shunsui's never been in the habit of admitting defeat without even trying, and this time is no different.

"Something is bothering you though," Starrk tacks on, still watching Shunsui through narrowed eyes, and Shunsui wonders if the man realizes how much he looks like he's stalking prey in moments like this.

It should be unsettling, being on the receiving end of such a gaze, and it is, a little, but Shunsui's grown used to it too, grown to appreciate it even, to the feeling of being seen, of being known, and still being wanted.

(Because that's the one thing that's never been in question. Because however much Starrk sometimes reacts like Shunsui's very existence pains him, or how much he sometimes makes Shunsui feel completely bare, every sin and secret laid out for judgement, he's also never looked at Shunsui with anything less than the sort of quiet devotion the tide holds for the moon, or the stars for the sky, or dawn for the horizon, steadfast and eternal. Is it any wonder Shunsui can't stay away?)

"Is it this then?" Starrk asks next, and the water sloshes a little as he straightens up, revealing his scarred chest to tap a finger against the near-horizontal scar cleaved across it, right through where his Hollow hole had presumably still been at the time of the injury. Seeing it in its full gruesome glory now, Shunsui can tell that this wound had to have nearly cut the other man in two.

He feels a little at a loss for words, then sighs and fesses up. "Maa, I suppose I'm just a bit curious." He tries to keep his tone light, but there's really no two ways to say it. "…I did that, didn't I?"

Starrk levels an arch look at him. "Well, you didn't." He slouches back into the water, and somehow, he actually looks a bit amused. "I'm long over it, Taichou-san. We'd just met, and we were enemies at the time. You did what you had to do. We both did. It was war. If it makes you feel better, I gave as good as I got."

Shunsui snorts. That does actually make him feel a bit better. At the very least, this is preferable to the progressively dramatic betrayal scenes he'd been thinking of. He doesn't like the idea of his future self almost killing Starrk, but at least it hadn't happened after they'd become friends.

It does mean he has to reshuffle a few things on his mental timeline though, and across the hot spring, Starrk glances at him again and seems to understand.

"I guess we didn't get around to talking much about Aizen," He muses, then reveals, "We mentioned that before the Quincy became a problem, it was Aizen you all fought. Aizen set up his base of operations in Hueco Mundo, sought out Hollows from all over, and created an army of artificial Arrancar out of them to serve him, using that Hougyoku Ichigo was talking about earlier. I was part of that army."

Shunsui blinks at that revelation, and it's on the tip of his tongue to ask what Aizen - in his quest for world domination - could've possibly offered a man who didn't even like fighting to secure his allegiance. Then again, Shunsui's willing to bet at least a little hypnosis had been involved to ease the way. Aizen doesn't seem the type to bank on genuine fealty without including insurance.

The question stalls in his throat though as Starrk lifts a hand out of the water--his left, the one with the vivid burn scar stretched over the back of it. That isn't something often seen either. Starrk almost always has gloves on. He stares at it for a moment before letting it fall back beneath the water.

"The ten most powerful Arrancar in his army were called the Espada," Starrk explains. "I was the Primera. The first."

"The strongest," Shunsui nods. That sounds right, especially if Starrk had been sent to fight Shunsui.

Starrk shrugs noncommittally and says nothing else, leaving Shunsui to mull over the new information for a minute.

"Ichigo-kun warned us earlier," Shunsui eventually says. "About being Hollowfied by Aizen's Hougyoku. That turning into Visored stunted any chance of growth, and that you weren't even halfway through the Blood War before Lisa-chan and the others' power levels had degraded to barely that of a seated officer's."

Hirako had been grim-faced at the news. Lisa had looked ready to march out and rip Aizen's head off right then and there. Honestly, Shunsui had shared the sentiment.

"Then wouldn't it have been the same for Aizen's Arrancar?" Shunsui continues, watching a puzzled frown furrow at Starrk's brow. "They were granted power by the Hougyoku. Shouldn't it have stunted them too?"

Starrk nods, still frowning. "Yeah, it did. Grimmjow was furious when he found out." He blinks, and then realization strikes. "Oh, you mean me."

Shunsui hums a confirmation. Why in the world would he mean anyone else?

Starrk shakes his head. "I was the exception. Aizen found me last, out of most of the Arrancar. Definitely last out of the Espada. But even then, I was already more powerful than all the others, so he gave me the Primera seat." A corner of his mouth quirks with a cynical sort of mirth. "I didn't want more power, and he certainly wasn't about to give me more. I suppose it was fortunate. I don't think even Aizen knew back then that the Hougyoku would cause stagnation."

Powerful enough to have risen to Arrancar on his own, Shunsui muses, and he has to marvel at that, has to admire it. That kind of strength - mental even more than physical in some ways - isn't something just anyone can possess. Evidently. The only natural Arrancar in the known worlds. The only one to repair his own soul. What an extraordinary accomplishment. Except-

"I'm sorry it took so long," Shunsui says softly, because he knows Starrk is around the same age as himself, and if he was still an Arrancar by Aizen's war, then he could only have spent all the centuries before in Hueco Mundo. Even if he'd had companions there, Starrk would've outlived them all. "It must've been lonely."

I'm sorry nobody could help, because no Shinigami would've known to help. Perhaps most wouldn't have been willing to even if they'd known. I'm sorry I couldn't help.

For a long moment, Starrk is still enough to resemble a statue. Then a scoff of something that could've been laughter if it didn't ache so much claws its way out of his throat. He doesn't lift his gaze from where it's fallen blankly on the shifting surface of the hot spring. "No need to be sorry. I'm used to it."

Used to it. Used to being alone. Used to being left behind.

Shunsui doesn't thinks he's only talking about those long years in Hueco Mundo anymore, not when he's avoiding eye-contact again, not when Shunsui can suddenly feel the bleak despair radiating from his soul again.

"There's nothing worse than only being able to stand by helplessly while something you love disappears in front of you."

Not for the first time, Shunsui feels an acute desire to have a nice long talk with his future self and ask exactly how much of the agony rippling through Starrk's reiatsu can be placed directly at his feet.

(It isn't as if Shunsui can't understand. Even disregarding all other circumstances, the fact that they'd been at war would've meant that there could be no guarantees.

But still.

Still.

Couldn't he have tried a little harder? Didn't he know better than anyone the pain of being the only one left behind, the way it lingers like a slow unending bleed you're forced to carry until the day death finally deigns to take you too?

Shunsui at least has Ukitake, has Yama-jii, has Retsu-senpai and Sasakibe-san too, has Lisa-chan and Hirako and Kaien-kun, even has Nanao-chan to watch over in his brother and sister-in-law's stead. And in the future, maybe he'd lost them all, but it also sounds like he'd still had one to staunch the bleed, still had Starrk, right to the very end.

Then, who did Starrk have after Shunsui had died?

Isn't the answer obvious? Isn't Starrk still bleeding right now?)

A heavy sigh jolts Shunsui out of his thoughts, and his hands sting from where his nails have dug into his palms, fortunately out of sight. On the other side, Starrk clambers to his feet, water sloughing off his frame as he turns to get out of the hot spring.

The steam obscures his face this time, but even if he could see it, Shunsui thinks it would be one of those times again where he wouldn't be able to read him at all.

"Don't think so hard, Taichou-san," Starrk says, voice as calm as a blanket of snow over a cemetery. "It's not your job to save me."

I can't be saved anymore. I don’t want to be saved.

Shunsui's out of the water and next to Starrk before either of them can blink.

Too much, too soon, a part of him warns, but this time, he throws caution to the wind, reaches out, and closes a hand around Starrk’s wrist.

Starrk freezes, the pulse under Shunsui’s fingers jumps, and for a moment, time seems to stop.

They must look ridiculous, dripping wet and naked, and yet Shunsui barely notices, and Starrk has probably noticed everything but.

"It's not my job, that's true," Shunsui says without letting go, staring at what he could see of the other's face. "And I don't know if what I'm doing is meant to save you. But if you think I'll just let you go to your grave after all this is over, Ichigo-kun is apparently not the one we should've been worrying most about after all."

They had made a mistake, Shunsui realizes. He had made a mistake. Because looking at Starrk and Ichigo--at Starrk who was so steady and composed all the time, and then at Ichigo who was so much more transparent in his misery, in his fury, in his determination to achieve his end goals no matter the cost to himself, that it was almost instinct for everyone to focus their concerns on him. Because for all that Ichigo was reluctant to involve them, and reticent on the best of the days, he was at least also loud about it, and therefore was that much easier to help--to know they need to help.

Compared to him, Starrk has always shown himself to be the rock in a storm that even Ichigo clearly clings to. He has never been anything less than an ocean of serenity, but perhaps they should've remembered that no ocean is calm beneath the surface.

…No, it's Shunsui who should've remembered. He has literal unparalleled insight into Starrk's soul, feels the ache of it regularly, even if not all the time, except he'd just… not forgotten, that's impossible, but he'd been trying to fix it in his own way, with tea and conversation and countless attempts at coaxing out even just one more smile, except he can never tell when he might be going too far, pushing too fast, wanting too much, always feeling a bit like he's standing helpless in front of a skittish cornered animal too hurt to accept any kind of affection, and so perhaps as a result, Shunsui's ended up failing to show Starrk just how far he's willing to go instead.

Case in point, he's still holding onto Starrk, touching him, skin warm against Shunsui's own. Shunsui would've thought he'd be shaken off by now, possibly tossed into a wall out of reflex if nothing else, but Starrk hasn't even attempted to pull away. His pulse is calming again, but Shunsui can feel the tension in his arm, and he's staring down at their limbs with a lost expression.

Shunsui tightens his grip and runs his thumb along the inside of the other's wrist. He feels more than sees the shiver that runs through Starrk's body, for all that Starrk still hasn't moved. But the lost expression on his face also retreats. It leaves exhaustion-bruised eyes and enough sorrow thrumming through his reiatsu to smother the breath from Shunsui's lungs in its wake, but at the very least, he also finally looks up to meet Shunsui's gaze.

"…I don't know what you want from me, Shunsui," Starrk says wearily.

It's the first time he's ever used Shunsui's name. Shunsui only wishes he wouldn't sound so unbearably sad when saying it, but he'd take what he could get.

"That's easy," Shunsui replies, catching that pale mercurial gaze and holding it. "I want the same thing you've asked of Ichigo-kun. I want you to live."

A long silence follows before a rough sound spills from Starrk's throat like shattered glass.

"'Easy'," Starrk echoes, shoulders shaking, with laughter, with tears. But his eyes are dry, and he's the farthest thing from amused, and his soul feels like it might swallow itself whole just to cease its own existence. So this time, Shunsui lets instinct guide his hands and doesn't let himself second-guess it--in one swift motion, he tugs the other man into his arms and wraps him in a hug like he's wanted to ever since Starrk's soul had grasped for his own like he was drowning and Shunsui was the only one who could pull him to shore. Who could convince him to come ashore.

Starrk collapses against him, shuddering like he might fall apart with even just one more word, one more breath, one more touch, but Shunsui only draws him closer, holds him harder, and refuses to let him go.

[severus-snaps]

Not to be overly pedantic on a Wednesday morning (or, it was morning when I started), but I had fun writing this and it got long, so I can only apologise for that.

But Snape being Neville's Boggart and the Trevor Incident are massively overblown by the fandom, along with the rest of Snape's actions as a professor, and I've had a lot of fun writing about why.

Firstly, Boggarts don't naturally assume the form of your greatest fear (emphasis mine):

“It’s a shape-shifter,” [Hermione] said. “It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” said Professor Lupin, and Hermione glowed.

There's room for the Boggart's own interpretation there. It's Lupin who says "when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears" - which feels more like dramatic effect than objective fact, especially when considering that Hermione almost certainly quoted the textbook and Lupin agreed with her definition - and certainly when we consider what comes next.

Because after that (probably because of the recent toad incident, which I'll come back to, and the even more recent encounter with Snape in the staffroom), Neville throws Snape's name into the ring, and...

Nearly everyone laughed. Even Neville grinned apologetically.

It's a silly, embarrassing fear, and even Neville knows it. What follows is a series of other mostly silly fears - it also includes an eyeball, a severed hand, a rat chasing its tail, a bandaged mummy, and a giant spider. Later, in their exam, Hermione's Boggart is McGonagall.

But both Ron and Hermione have faced worse already, what with Ginny being possessed by Voldemort and Hermione facing a Basilisk. There's a literal murderer on the loose, and it's headline news, but Sirius never becomes anyone's boggart in that class. Ron seems very cold-blooded to be more afraid of spiders than Voldemort posessing and nearly killing his sister - but really, the point of the chapter isn't to explore Ron's (or god forbid, Ginny's) feelings about this. The point of the chapter is that all of the other students have "silly", childish fears which aren't that serious, like monsters they'll likely never encounter, mostly harmless animals, and scary teachers (as someone who used to be deadly and daftly afraid of the idea of zombies and also scared of just about all of my teachers, I get it loool).

But only noble protagonist Harry gets to have "real" fears like fear/dementors/Voldemort, being the protagonist; the kind of fear a more mature character, with real life experience, might have. Unlike whoever conjured the disembodied hand or eye, the banshee and the mummy, he's faced Dementors; they're at the school right now, because a murderer is out to get him, loyal to Voldemort, who also would kill him. Harry's fear is framed as real, reasonable, and mature.

But Neville? Neville's fear of Snape is set at the same level as the eyeball and other monsters under the bed, outright mocked by the narrative, by Neville, and by the class. Yes, he might be afraid of Snape - but exactly like the monsters, Snape's not actually harmed him, and almost certainly never will (unless we want to discuss the likelihood that each of the students have encountered and been traumatised by presumably dark creatures like banshees and mummies, or... a particularly dangerous eyeball. They've not even met Moody yet :P)

It's not a fear like Molly has in the later books of her family dying, nor is it a fear like Voldemort or a Dementor - it's a simple, childish fear that is easy to turn around. Neville, who so often struggles in class, has no trouble at all with the spell here, because it's just so easy for him to imagine Snape in a dress and laugh at him. He's scared of Snape in person, but it's not that deep, especially because Neville is scared of a lot of things through the earlier books - including his grandmother (who also could've easily been the Boggart), the Basilisk (despite being pureblood), Trelawney's predictions in his 3rd year exam, sneaking out at night, Malfoy, and McGonagall.

Later that same book, after "trembling from head to fluffy-slippered toes" as he confessed (very bravely, I thought) to McGonagall that he'd lost the list of passwords, allowing Sirius to break into the common room:

Professor McGonagall was so furious with him she had banned him from all future Hogsmeade visits, given him a detention, and forbidden anyone to give him the password into the tower. Poor Neville was forced to wait outside the common room every night for somebody to let him in, while the security trolls leered unpleasantly at him.

We don't hear what McGonagall's detention is I don't think, but it could be anything from polishing the trophies in the common room to sending him into a dangerous, forbidden forest in search of a suspected dark creature or wizard that kills unicorns and ultimately turns out to be Voldemort himself - but that's on top of forcing him sit outside his own common room, banning everyone else from telling him the password, and banning him from Hogsmeade. Add to that that McGonagall believes that Harry "fed Draco Malfoy some cock-and- bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble" and "Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too" - it seems even more unfair that Neville and Draco receive the same punishment as Harry, who she believes was deliberately trying to get the others into trouble. That's all pretty harsh, but it's McGonagall, so she gets a pass. Harry feels sorry for Neville, but it's never considered a negative reflection of McGonagall or her fairness as a teacher.

And sure, Neville's a nervous wreck after Snape's detention disembowelling frogs/horned toads for a potions detention in GoF, but look at it from Snape's perspective. He gave Neville that particular detention after melting SIX cauldrons in like... the first week of term. How is Neville even doing that?

"Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn’t you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn’t I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"

That's why he's so mean to Neville; he's a menace in Potions, and Snape doesn't know how to deal with the fact that he can't follow basic instructions without relying on another student to do it for him. He punishes Neville by 'threatening' Trevor not for the sake of it, but because it was Snape's version of trying to make Neville concentrate, to care more about the outcome of his potion without having someone else do half the work for him, because that won't get him anywhere in the exams. And Neville can respond to higher stakes, fear, whatever it was, by performing better; he did as part of Dumbledore's Army:

The news of his parents’ attacker’s escape had wrought a strange and even slightly alarming change in him ... he barely spoke during D.A. meetings anymore, but worked relentlessly on every new jinx and countercurse Harry taught them, his plump face screwed up in concentration, apparently indifferent to injuries or accidents, working harder than anyone else in the room. He was improving so fast it was quite unnerving and when Harry taught them the Shield Charm, a means of deflecting minor jinxes so that they rebounded upon the attacker, only Hermione mastered the charm faster than Neville. In fact Harry would have given a great deal to be making as much progress at Occlumency as Neville was making during D.A. meetings. Harry’s sessions with Snape, which had started badly enough, were not improving; on the contrary, Harry felt he was getting worse with every lesson.

I've added the second paragraph only because it was interesting to me, because Harry didn't want the dreams to stop. Under Snape's tutelage, Harry isn't really practicing, he's not applying what he's learnt, he wants to go through the door in his dreams. Snape was sort of correct when he called Harry out for that. And both Harry and Neville are guilty of something I was very guilty of as a student as well: just getting through it, doing the bare minimum, instead of actually engaging with the material, concentrating, and getting the work done well. In theory, Neville could've been excelling all along, even with his secondhand wand and memory issues. He just lacked the proper motivation - or, as McGonagall thinks:

“You cannot pass an O.W.L.,” said Professor McGonagall grimly, “without serious application, practice, and study. I see no reason why everybody in this class should not achieve an O.W.L. in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work.” Neville made a sad little disbelieving noise. “Yes, you too, Longbottom,” said Professor McGonagall. “There’s nothing wrong with your work except lack of confidence.”

To an extent, it was Neville getting in his own way - there's no wandwork we're told about in Potions, so we can't blame his wand. Everyone is intimidated by Snape in potions, Snape has a reputation for being mean and grumpy, but nobody else is quaking in their boots at his approach except for Neville, who quakes in his boots a lot. When Snape was absent from the potions exam in OotP, Neville was described as "happier than Harry had ever seen him during a Potions class" - but noticeably absent is the description of Neville doing any better because of it.

And still, every year, even Neville passes potions (unlike Crabbe and Goyle in other subjects: "If your friends Crabbe and Goyle intend to pass their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. this time around..."). Umbridge describes Snape's classes as advanced, and Snape fills his Outstanding-grade-only NEWT classes every year - so Snape can't be that bad at teaching. Neville (and Harry) just don't pay enough attention in Potions, and that endlessly annoys Snape, the prickly perfectionist potions professor.

And Hogwarts isn't a modern Muggle school, either - it's a cross between generic fantasy schools, posh schools, and old-fashioned Victorian schools. That's just a feature of the worldbuilding. There's no hand-holding here. Teachers and staff are just sometimes harsh:

“I thought we’d be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he’d — ” “ — tell yer that’s how it is at Hogwarts,” Hagrid growled. “Copyin’ lines! What good’s that ter anyone? Yeh’ll do summat useful or yeh’ll get out. If yeh think yer father’d rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an’ pack. Go on!”

Tone was rather aggressive, but the message was... fine, I guess. If he'd said this to Harry, it probably would've been represented differently - and if Snape had said it, there'd be more accusations of him being unnecessarily mean. But it's Draco, so despite Draco not really having done anything besides being out after curfew, it's totally fair in Harry's eyes to send him to the forest.

Professor Flitwick had dried himself off with a wave of his wand and set Seamus lines: “I am a wizard, not a baboon brandishing a stick.”

Played for laughs, but pretty humiliating for a simple, easily corrected mistake. Frame it as Snape doing it instead, and that angle would've been played up.

“Longbottom, kindly do not reveal that you can’t even perform a simple Switching Spell in front of anyone from Durmstrang!” Professor McGonagall barked at the end of one particularly difficult lesson, during which Neville had accidentally transplanted his own ears onto a cactus.

Pretty mean. Again, imagine if Snape had said the same - but because it's McGonagall, it's fine, and never mentioned again.

Sure, Snape is often worse than the others in terms of being mean, or at least is described as being mean most often, but he's by no means alone in it - see again McGonagall's punishments of Neville in PoA and of Harry/Hermione/Neville/Draco in PS, which are far overblown and have potentially dangerous outcomes - compared to Snape's rather tame punishments, which include fewer points being taken than when McGonagall does it, physically safe (if gross) detentions, and the infamous Trevor incident and a detention designed to punish Harry for nearly killing a fellow student (oh, the irony of making Harry's first example being James and Sirius using an "illegal hex" in that context tickles me every time - and Harry already knows that James/Sirius were capable of worse, including probable SA and attempted murder via werewolf that wasn't even an accident, just plain malice).

Anyway, just to add further context to the old-fashioned culture at Hogwarts, the staff were still using physical punishment within fairly recent living memory:

“Your father and I had been for a nighttime stroll,” [Molly] said. “[Arthur] got caught by Apollyon Pringle — he was the caretaker in those days — your father’s still got the marks.”

They only stopped sometime before Harry arrived. Filch has worked at Hogwarts for "a quarter of a century" (per McGonagall) by Harry's final year, and Filch even said in Harry's first year:

Oh yes . . . hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me. … It’s just a pity they let the old punishments die out . . . hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I’ve got the chains still in my office, keep ’em well oiled in case they’re ever needed.

So they presumably had mostly faded out as punishments before or around the time Filch started in ~1973, because he still has the chains and misses using them. For reference, this is what Filch is hoping for the return of in OotP:

“I’ve been telling Dumbledore for years and years he’s too soft with you all,” said Filch, chuckling nastily. “You filthy little beasts would never have dropped Stinkpellets if you’d known I had it in my power to whip you raw, would you, now? Nobody would have thought of throwing Fanged Frisbees down the corridors if I could’ve strung you up by the ankles in my office, would they?

By comparison, preparing potions ingredients as a detention (in the form of disembowelling frogs, toads, or otherwise) doesn't feel like such a bad punishment in the school's eyes. And in a school where this sort of archaic schooling culture is the norm, it is also the norm for teachers to be mean to students who (as they see it) are not trying. So, in an ideal/Muggle/modern worldview, Neville would be identified as needing some additional support for his memory issues; Snape would be supportive and write out clearer instructions, and McGonagall would perhaps gift Neville an enchanted list of the passwords, so that only he could read it.

But that doesn't happen, because this is Hogwarts, and all of the teachers are trapped by genre convention and archaic methods of teaching and discipline that have just barely moved on from physical punishments.

Side note, you should see some of the school reports my mum found of her time in school in the 60s/70s - she was dyslexic, but the teachers didn't know that, and you'd think from their feedback that she was simply trying to annoy them. She and her friend also remember chalk and blackboard rubbers being thrown at disruptive students, canings, and dunce caps for 'stupid' students. For reference, I'm not saying any of this is good; both Hogwarts and real schools have a lot to answer for when considering student wellbeing. But it was considered... fairly normal? Unpleasant, but not surprising or unusual. Which is what Snape's behaviour was, in context - an expression of this era of teaching, wherein he's harsh to everyone, and given half a chance would probably have loved to have used a dunce cap like he possibly witnessed at his Muggle school, as a child himself:

“The general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week’s essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get D’s.”

Further to that, Lupin tells Harry that he has "inherited an old prejudice"; Hermione often comes to Snape's defence in the books; and there's no evidence that any of the teachers really mind what Snape's doing. It's just part of the 'charm' of outdated schooling.

There's also no evidence that Snape knew that Neville was the other boy potentially referred to in the Prophecy. Sure, he might've known - but probably not, since neither Voldemort nor Dumbledore are exactly known for being open and honest with their followers. I also think it would be a bit weird if both Bellatrix and Barty Jr knew, and never once mentioned or tried to attack Neville just for the hell of it, despite having the chance - Bellatrix when she tortured Neville's parents but not Neville, and Barty Jr as Moody. If Snape knew, I wonder whether there'd have been a part of the story wherein we find out that Snape tried to convince Voldemort that Neville was the "better choice" of baby to kill, in order to save Lily.

Anyway, Snape was just annoyed that Neville was an absent-minded boy who melted cauldrons, inattentively read recipes, relied on other students, and was a walking catastrophe. He could tell by sight that Neville's potion in the Trevor incident was fine (thanks to Hermione), probably had an antidote ready, and it's not unusual at Hogwarts to test potions and spells on students, pets, and other animals. Snape punished Neville for not doing as he'd asked (concentrating on the instructions) and for disobeying him (by getting Hermione's help). This method of teaching may not be considered particularly effective, nor is it overly kind or supportive, and it absolutely wouldn't fly by modern/Muggle standards - but this is Hogwarts. Boggarts don't represent your most tragic, heart-wrenching fear, just what they think will get you in the moment - and if Snape had really wanted Trevor dead, he'd have left him as a tadpole to dry up and die rather than giving him the antidote.

And none of this matters anyway, because bringing up how Snape behaved as an adult usually only happens to dismiss Snape's suffering as a child. It adds very little to the conversation actually being had, which is that as a child himself, Snape was bullied, assaulted, and almost murdered during his time in school - by a group of boys drunk on their own self-importance who bullied and hexed anyone just because they wanted to, regularly released a dark creature into Hogsmeade and the surrounding area which risked people's lives, illegally became Animagi, and used illegal hexes on fellow students (like Snape) unprovoked - and nobody seemed to do a single thing about it. Or perhaps they did - but in the wise words of McGonagall, perhaps they were pretty useless:

“Because detentions do not appear to have any effect on you whatsoever!” said Professor McGonagall tartly. “No, not another word of complaint, Potter!”

Ah, timeless.

Unrelated, but just in case anyone made it this far - I also enjoy the idea that something similar happened to the Draco/Harry/Sectumsempra duel during the Marauders era, and James used Sectumsempra on Snape.

Okay, Severus Snape getting bullied is forgotten because he "bullied" children.

But did you guys forget what the Marauders did to Bertram Aubrey?

They used an illegal hex on him which caused his head to grow twice its original size. (I think it was Engorgio Skullus though I don't think it was ever explicitly said.)

He was likely a Slytherin, or simply didn't come from a wealthy family. Perhaps he was plain in appearance, making him an easy target for cruel jokes. Maybe he had an interest in the dark arts, which earned him the disdain of the popular crowd. Or maybe the Marauders merely disliked him for just existing.

James and Sirius were tormentors and bullies. No great transgression was needed to earn their wrath, simply breathing the same air was often enough motive for them to unleash their cruel antics upon their chosen victim.

When they finally recognize this, they concoct excuses such as, "Oh, maybe he was a future death eater in the making." Do you guys not realise that this was still bullying? It's possible that he didn't do anything wrong, much like how they unjustly targeted Severus in the train.

[pruneunfair]

"But Rashta got greedy." Breaking down a common argument

I'm sure that no matter what character you like more you've probably heard the "Rashta could've had a good life but she got greedy" argument, it's a common one that even though I was reading and thinking "I don't see the greedy part?" I chalked that up to me just not noticing it well enough like others until I shared this idea with my mom

Ive been constantly sharing what I read with my mom, she's a writer so when I want advice on writing or an opinion on a certain book I'll either get my feelings on a topic validated or my eyes would be opened to a whole new perspective. When I explained the plot of TRE and how the mistress was an escaped slave that immediately got my mom interested when I said "She ends up getting too greedy and it became her downfall" to which she replied "so dreaming and wanting more when your life is at rock bottom is greedy now?" In fact up until I mentioned that Rashta was a slave, she was under the impression that the mistress was a noble woman.

Greed is mostly known as a never ending desire for more even when you already have everything, it's an obsession with what you don't currently have and you'll go to great lengths to achieve more then you really need especially if there is no real reason for your desire for it. Money is the most famous example but it can also be greed for social media attention or more objects to buy and consume.

Rashta never had everything or really ANYTHING as a child, there was no safety net to fall on, no real noble background, not even parents that would guaranteed to protect their daughter. So the greed factor is lowered significantly when it's apparent that Rashta doesn't have the "everything" to want even more.

when she was found by the literal emperor she took the most logical decision at the time and became his mistress even though she was technically still a slave, she was just treated better then she was at the Rimwell estate. When I reread some key Rashta chapters where she at her worst so see the greed of her character I still couldn't really see actual desires for more and more, mostly desperation, hurting others to save her skin, jumping to conclusions and holding grudges, terrible but if I had to really pick a sin to align this with, it'd be wrath with a hint of envy not greed.

In fact for most of season 1 Rashta isn't exactly clamoring for the empress seat until push LITERALLY came to shove, even if she really wanted the throne more then anything there was no way she could get it just by "stealing" Sovieshu because if I abdicate my title as empress has taught me anything, it's that being the sole lover of the emperor isn't guaranteed to make you empress. At the end of the day even if Rashta was a greedy person who wanted Naviers throne to satisfy her neverending greed it would've all been based on her luck.

when Sovieshu offers the position to her she even wonders if it's really a good idea since she has no experience and she'd just be dethroned in a year anyway but she chose to say yes because it was for her child's chance at a prosperous future, no desire for power, money or the desire social fame was minimum compared to her real goal of guaranteeing her daughter a chance at life. The closest I can say that is remotely related to greed is that Rashta wore a few over the top dresses (like her wedding dress and that one purple one with the bows)

Finally when she does become empress Rashta isn't exactly looking for more, she was ready to just live in luxury under the impression that her safety was guaranteed and that was it, she didn't want more jewels, money, power, maybe she wanted more social attention from others but even then the chapters dedicated to empress Rashta were, again, based on her wrath rather then her greed.

Honestly if any character symbolizes greed more it's Heinrey

The guy started off as a prince, then a king and then a damn EMPEROR, yet he still stole more magic from the mages, he wanted to go to war with the eastern empire for practically no reason and was willing to doom his damn country if he went through with it considering that the west is landlocked so going to war all willy nilly with potential allies when you have to rely on other territories just for water.. it took falling in love at first sight with Navier to get him to put it on hold and only stopped when she found out almost 170 chapters later and even then, his daughter ends up getting the eastern empire thanks to power of random plot holes. Before meeting Navier Heinrey really just wanted to keep expanding more and more for no reason because I looked and searched and could not on my life find a reason as to why Heinrey wanted to go to war other then one claim that he wanted revenge for the past which.. really? If that is the case we'll thanks for almost instigating something that didn't need to be instigated.

He really doesn't give a damn, one way or another Heinrey will get what he wants.

[bthump]

I see a lot of people acting like Guts was so good to Casca when he admitted he just wanted a side chick. Reading the manga it felt that she was unimportant to him, someone to fuck and throw to the side. Even when he was trying to be there for her it felt so...forced. Like he didn't want to be there at all, why do you think that is?

I think it's a combination of Miura deliberately writing it as a flawed attempt at a relationship in terrible circumstances between two fucked up people that was always kind of a mistake, and like, probably some bad writing as well lol.

Like I think it's supposed to at least come across as sweet and earnest and hopeful at the time. A genuine connection between Guts and Casca. Miura has said in an interview that he wrote their relationship to add more drama to the Eclipse, so presumably the audience is meant to root for them to an extent, so that the Eclipse rape can make the reader even more angry lol.

But I don't think it was ever intended to be true love or even necessarily a good idea on the parts of the characters. When Guts invites Casca along he directly says she might get in the way of what he wants to do (fight strong opponents) so his invitation is conditional. This actually foreshadows Guts abandoning her in a cave to go and fight monsters, because she does get in his way.

Casca also cries when Guts fights Wyald and afterwards tells him to die on his own if he's so insistant about it, so even if she hadn't gone insane she probably would've gotten in the way of his dream to throw himself into danger over and over anyway lol.

On the rescue mission they start getting jealous as they get closer to Griffith. They essentially break up right before the Eclipse starts, Casca telling Guts to leave to pursue his dream while she stays with Griffith.

Judeau puts a lot of energy into trying to get them to hook up and leave together, and it's strongly implied that it's because he doesn't feel like he deserves Casca himself and he wants what he thinks is best for her. But when he dies he regrets never telling Casca about his feelings, and Casca even has a little romantic moment with him after he saves her life, which echoes the way she falls for Griffith and then Guts when they save her life.

And it's kind of jarring when she's already hooked up with the protagonist of the story, and certainly suggests that her relationship with Guts is not exactly all-consuming for them. It's realistically unromantic.

Post-Eclipse, Casca is framed as Guts' responsibility that pulls him away from the more visceral temptation to go after Griffith. And this causes him to nearly kill Casca, and then nearly rape her.

When Casca gets her mind back but can't look at him, Guts swings his sword in frustration and restlessness and thinks about Griffith's intense gaze from across a field. After she gets kidnapped, Guts only seems to care that his sword couldn't hit Griffith.

I could go on lol, but basically there are so many deliberate details that point to Guts and Casca's relationship being intended not as super romantic, but rather a more realistic hookup that isn't necessarily a net positive for either of them. And I do think that's what Miura intended, to a greater or lesser degree. I'm sure it was meant to be somewhat genuine and sweet, but I think they're ultimately shown to be incompatible and like, a trainwreck overall.

And yeah, a lot of Guts' shitty treatment of Casca is definitely deliberate, since after the Eclipse he does abandon her, and later attacks and assaults her, and she's currently traumatized by not just Femto and monsters, but also him.

I've actually written a ton of posts about their relationship and its flaws, so I'll link some in case you're interested in more detailed takes:

This is probably one of the best posts I've written about them imo, about how Judeau and Guts' relationships to Casca are compared and contrasted to highlight some of Guts' flaws.

Guts and Casca's hook up being paralleled to Griffith and Charlotte's hook up in terms of both men trying to repress their feelings about the other.

How Judeau's manipulations reflect on Guts and Casca's relationship.

Visual parallels during the Guts + Casca sex scene that suggest they're both rebounding from Griffith.

My take on Guts wanting to earn Casca's affection in ch 33.

Guts and Casca's relationship as a mistake that contributes to the Eclipse happening.

Guts and Casca's hook up failing to have an impact.

A long list of moments that contradict Guts and Casca's relationship as particularly romantic.

Thanks for the ask!

[rampagingfanfictioner14]

relativity falls, but... (Part 2.5)

I realize that I've kinda been straying from the original relativity falls au with a random Bill, lol. I think my idea for him is really going into an AU, so I'll make it separate from this post. @canadianno-gravityfalls mentioned that some people swap gideon and bill as the main antagonist, but honestly I'm not sure I could give the idea justice! I've never been good at writing gideon. The concept definitely has some merit, though. For the sake of this post I've decided to just stick Bill as Bill, but that's subject to change.

Anywho, I've got a dozen brainworms squirming around inside my head and they want out. Continuing on from the last post:

In his sleep, Mason encounters a strange triangle-shaped creature. Bill Cipher, it introduces, with a voice that seems both eerie and cool at the same time. He does overreact a teensy bit at the thing's appearance, but once the screaming wears off, he settles somewhat. Initially, he actually wonders aloud if he was just dreaming this interaction up to make up for the failed summoning attempt.

Bill's quick to assure him that no, he's definitely real, and that Mason's in luck! Bill's here to tell him the secrets of Gravity Falls... and quite possibly the universe too, if he wants.

"So, whaddya say, kid? Wanna shake on it?"

A hand lights up with blue fire, thrust forward as an offering.

Mason frowns at it.

"It's a simple agreement," Bill entices, waving it closer. "A mutual understanding, if you will! Think of all the mysteries you could uncover! Wouldn't that be nice?"

Something about the almost unnoticeable urgency in the triangle's voice sets off alarm bells in Mason's mind. The scientist raises an eyebrow, not buying a word of what the demon says. "...Sure," he drags out, pointedly keeping his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. "I bet you say that to all the smart people you meet. What's your deal, man?"

Bill's eye narrows. He doesn't appreciate Mason's open scepticism. Still, he's not one to give up so easily. He sighs dramatically and proclaims that he's the one who's inspired every major human pioneer; talking about his status as a "muse" and the whole shtick; probably saying something like: "just take a look at your dollar bill if you don't believe me, smart guy! I've been rubbing elbows with presidents before you were even a twinkle in your father's eye!"

Realization strikes. Mason frowns and holds up his hands in the universal gesture of wait. "Woah, hey, hang on. Let me get this straight. You say you're a muse, and you pick one great mind a century to inspire, right?"

Bill points a finger at him and mimics shooting a gun. "Got it in one!" He praises, inwardly bemoaning the fact that by Axo, he'd picked a slow one. Didn't he just say that?

Mason smiles, as if the demon had just confirmed something for him. "So you must've met Einstein! People don't get much smarter than that guy." He slaps his hand to his forehead as if just realizing something. "Oh, and Pavlov! Did you meet him, too?"

Ah, Bill thinks gleefully, gotcha.

"Sure I did, kid! What's your point?"

"My point is that they're both from the same century," Mason deadpans, his smile falling off his face. He crosses his arms over his chest. "So either one of them is secretly a time traveller, or you're feeding me a bunch of malarkey. Time to own up, you tricky little isoceles. What do you want with me?"

It's probably at this point that Bill realizes that the whole "inspirational muse from higher plane" thing isn't going to work with the cynical lil shit that is Mason Pines.

So he switches gears.

"I thought you might catch on to that!" He cackles. He mimics swiping sweat off his brow in relief and circles Mason, glowing a bright yellow. "Sorry, sorry, I just had to check, y'know? Can't tolerate those gullible types."

Mason raises an eyebrow.

Bill continues, unbothered. He subtly shifts through a couple of Mason's memories, picking through his deepest insecurities, his fears, his losses. He wants to know what makes this smartass tick.

And aha! There he had it.

A twin sister. The fallen star to Mason's constellation.

At first he doesn't let his true knowledge show. He knows that Mason would instantly get suspicious and shut him out entirely if he suspects that Bill has an ulterior motive. Instead, he starts up a casual conversation about anomalies, showing the man a few of the things he'd seen over the course of his long life. He tries to keep the more mind-melty stuff off limits, because dang these humans were weak when it came to that sort of thing.

(Their silly concepts of morality and ethics were amusing to toy with, though).

Mason's still sceptical, but he's also a nerd. Especially about anomalies. He's initially hesitant to talk, but Bill has a way of coaxing people to do what he wants. And once Mason starts rambling, Bill sits back and enjoys the show.

Bingo.

Despite whatever Bill says, he does have an interest in what Mason's studying. Weirdness was his specialty, after all. And Gravity Falls was one of the weirdest places on Earth he'd seen.

They fall into a sort of routine. They see each other every time Mason falls asleep, they greet each other, and Bill bears witness to Mason's ramblings. It's somewhat amusing, listening to this brilliant foolish human go from talking about how the digestive system of a stomach-faced duck may function to something as mundane as his non-existent love life.

Bill listens to what the man has to say, and Mason realizes the demon's actually a pretty nice companion, who offers pretty sound advice, despite his concerning occasional homicidal tendencies.

Mason also realizes that dang, his social life must be absolute trash if his only friend was a literal geometric shape from some distant unknown dimension. Still, he's too much of an anxiety-ridden mess to keep contact with anybody from the town (except for very occasional calls with Soos and Candy), and even if he did, it's not like anyone would ever want to be near him.

How could they, when even his own twin sister had thrown him away?

So Mason does nothing to stop the blossoming friendship between man and triangle. After getting over his initial wariness with the guy, he enjoys it, even, having someone to banter with. Whenever he's with Bill, Mason feels calm. Happy, even. He feels that, just for a few precious, wonderful moments, he could forget about Mabel and ignore the crippling depression that dragged him down every day.

(It helps that Bill's just generally making himself as unthreatening as possible).

"After all, I'm just a triangle," Bill reasons. "What am I gonna do? I can't even leave your dreams."

He has a point, of course. Mason believes him.

The routine continues without a hitch. Mason thinks he might as well have known this guy for most of his life, with all the time they spent together. How long had it been since he read that spell? A few months? A year? It seemed like forever ago.

"Say," Bill says one day, "it's seems almost like destiny that a guy like you is studying this town."

Mason pauses from his most recent rant about the Hawktopus, a fickle creature that irritated him simply by existing. A bunch of gold-blue journals floated in the starry space that was his mindscape (as Bill had explained previously), the backdrop of the Big Dipper illuminating their surroundings. "...Huh?"

Bill floats closer, his hands locked behind his back. "I mean, you've got an anomaly of astronomical odds right there on your forehead, and you never once thought about what it means?"

The scientist rubs the back of his neck somewhat sheepishly. "No, I... It's just a birthmark," he tries to explain. "Nothing much to study. Just a big coincidence. A really, really big coincidence."

Bill bursts out laughing. "Haha! You don't really believe that, do you, Dipper?"

Mason stiffens at the nickname, just like he'd known he would. Bill thinks he needs to tread carefully from now on.

"...Dipper?" The scientist repeats, his voice going flat. "Why'd you call me that?" He's knows that the triangle's fond of random nicknames (to the point where he actually suspects he's forgotten his name), so doesn't instantly get suspicious, but his walls slowly start coming up anyway.

(Never let it be said that this man is not paranoid).

"Eh, it's not like it's a hard name to come up with," Bill dismisses. "You've got the Big Dipper practically seared into your skin, kid!" His eye widens comically. "What, don't you like it? I thought you humans were fond of that sort of thing."

He floats closer, almost pressing against the man. His eye scrutinizes the man with a gaze that feels entirely too sharp. "You look upset. What's the problem, Mason?" He pointedly doesn't use the nickname again, his eye blinking slowly, as if confused.

It makes something uncomfortable tighten in Mason's chest.

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts and answer the question.

"Uh, nothing."

It's just a stupid name, Mason grumbles to himself. Why was he being weird about it? Bill's right. He's just being petty. There's no way that someone else wouldn't be able to connect the dots (literally) and give him the same nickname as... y'know.

But Mabel had come up with it first. It didn't feel right.

Mason shrugs and avoids Bill's gaze, picking absently at his shirt. "I just didn't expect it, I suppose. I stopped going by that name a pretty long time ago."

If Bill had a mouth, it would be stretched wide into a self-satisfied grin. "Why?" He inquires innocently.

...And everything spirals from that moment onwards.

Bill takes advantage of Mason's emotional vulnerability whenever he talked about his lost twin sister. He uses the man's childhood nickname, Dipper, deliberately to make him subconsciously trust him more (i.e. like he did with Ford, calling him 'Sixer').

He knows that he needs to deal with this gently: one wrong move, and he could lose this potential pawn forever. He offers reassurances and calms the scientist's anxious mind down; a steadying presence in the wake of a crushing disaster.

And Mason laps it up.

Much like how the teens manipulated Mabel, Bill manipulates Mason. He's not above prying into the man's deepest fears and making them a "reality" in the form of nightmares, appearing only at the end as the only comforting presence, forcing Mason to rely on him for emotional support. He needs Bill to calm his mind down, to stop the spiralling thoughts in his head from getting any louder.

Bill finds that Mason's surprisingly easy to manipulate once his twin was brought into the equation. The shooting star seemed to influence her constellation's actions even after she'd burned away.

And Bill finds it pathetic. A scientist as smart as Mason, still longing after a bootleg, girl version of him who'd flounced out of his life a long time ago.

Yeesh. Talk about emotional issues.

Mason doesn't make the connection between his nightmares and Bill. He assumes the recent surge in terrors is due to him finally opening about Mabel after years of keeping it shut tightly in a box at the back of his mind. So he welcomes Bill's comfort when the terrors finally fade, and only falls deeper into the trap laid by the crafty lil triangle.

Unlike Ford and Bill, who had this whole "god-like" relationship between each other, Mason and Bill's is... well, far more personal, for lack of a better word. Bill's the closest thing that Mason has to a true friend. And to Bill, well... he's Bill. He's never not going to see Mason as a means to get what he wants, but perhaps there's some misplaced sense of affection in there as well. Something like what a human might feel when they look at a small, defenceless furry animal.

Cute, sure. Maybe even lovable. It helps that the guy's as weird as they come.

But not smarter. Not better.

Nothing but a pet.

There's no talk about "muses from a higher plane" or "a scientist who's going to change the world", though Bill does try to goad Mason into thinking that his birthmark is destiny calling him to Gravity Falls, for a higher purpose.

Mason's nonexistent sense of self esteem kinda goes against that, though. The guy's initially very hesitant to believe he's something special, brushing off Bill's offhanded comments at underhanded attempts at praise.

But... after a bit, he actually does fall for it. Not immediately, no: maybe after a year or so.

(Dipper as a character isn't incorrigible. If Bill gives him no reason to doubt his intentions, then why would he? He's not paranoid enough to listen to some random thousand-year-old warnings when the "demon" was being so nice to him. Not without the journals or the mantra of "trust no one" to influence his thoughts, which is where most of canon-Dipper's wariness stemmed from. Imagine having no-one to properly talk to for years, and this one guy shows up and listens to you. He doesn't judge, he doesn't complain. He's the only rock in your constantly changing world, the only thing left to rely on when you spiral, the only friend you have. Who wouldn't fall for his tricks?)

Remember, Mason's not as detached from his twin as Ford is. He misses Mabel, misses her so much that it physically hurts him to think about her for too long. If there's anything that could distract him from the gaping hole in his heart, of course he's going to chase after it.

Nobody likes feeling all terrible and depressed all the time. No one likes remembering their losses, especially with no closure to what had happened.

So, in the end, despite having a different relationship to Bill and Ford in canon, ultimately the results are the same.

Mason builds a portal for Bill. Why wouldn't he? The triangle's assured him that they could make it stable, and Mason's nothing but too curious for his own good. Plus, maybe he'll actually have a physical form of Bill to interact with for once. Soos and Candy were great, but Mason's never truly gotten along with either of them much.

Sure, Soos was a great guy. He was smart and funny and always looked out for Mason when it became clear he was burning out. And Candy... well, she was a genius. Great with engineering, great with children, but not so much other adults. At least they shared that one thing in common.

But Mason knows he can't call on them to help with the portal he was making. They'd drifted apart after all those years, to the point where he wasn't even aware of where they lived. Plus, it had become clear throughout their years of university that Soos was far too accident-prone for all his skills, and last he heard, Candy had a family to tend to --- not to mention that asking for her help would involve an actual conversation, and he's really unsure if he could talk normally without Bill to calm him down.

(...The guy's really gotten far too dependent on that triangle. Yeah, that's gonna end well, huh? >:))

So, the problem arises: how can Mason build a fully functioning interdimensional portal if he has neither the skill nor the muscles necessary?

Bill offers up a solution: "Wouldn't everything be so much easier if I talked to them instead?"

Mason waves a hand dismissively, still pacing in his mindscape, the light from the Big Dipper's stars casting a soft glow on his face. He doesn't even cast the triangle a glance as he ponders over his latest problem. "You know you can't, Bill. You're stuck in my mind, remember?"

Bill hums, his eye widening in amusement. "Sure, but I've got powers like nothing you've ever seen, slick! Howsabout we make a deal, eh, Dipper?" In an eerie parallel to when they'd first met, he thrusts forward a flaming blue hand, waggling his eyebrow enticingly. "I could take over your body for you, and we could be done with all those silly human talks before you could say 'Bill Cipher!' All you gotta do is shake my hand."

Mason hesitates, his hand reaching for the triangle's almost instinctively, before he draws it back. "You... You won't throw me off a cliff or something, right?" He asks apprehensively.

Bill laughs out loud, but it's in somewhat genuine tone that he replies, "Not even if I wanted to." He still needs a pawn, after all. It helps that Mason's rather adorable. Like a puppy.

Mason smiles in relief, and reaches forward, sealing his fate.

---

Not my au, not my characters, just my take on both! :)

Part 3

[galvanizedfriend]

KC Wip Wednesday

This is my humble contribution to WIP Wednesday! It's a scene from the rewriting of TVD S5 - Yokan's version. In it, The Originals never happens, most of the Mikaelsons remain in Mystic Falls and Klaus and Caroline are kind of a thing, but nobody knows (for sure). Remember that moment where Katherine locks herself up in a safe with Stefan to "cure" his PTSD? It's that, except it's Klaus, not Katherine. This alludes to a very Klefan past, btw. Be warned if you're not a fan.

Also, this is for @definedareasofuncertainty, who wanted me to write her Easter Klefan. 🤧 There you go, friend! And you know, not beta'ed and all that.

--

Klaus lies on his back, takes a calm breath as the heavy door is closed with a thud, engulfing them in absolute darkness. All in all, he'd say a metal box is hardly the most uncomfortable setting he's found himself in. He prefers the comfort of first-class accommodations, but he's traveled in worse. The grown man beating about beside him does make things rather unpleasant, though.

"Stop! Caroline! Get me out of here!" Stefan screams, smashing his fists against the iron safe's indestructible structure. The more desperate he gets, the more uncoordinated and weaker his movements become, thus making the effort completely useless, however accomplished in making the experience all the more miserable for him.

It's embarrassing how incapable Klaus is of saying no to Caroline whenever she asks for a favor. Locking himself up in a box with a traumatized Stefan has to be an all-time low. The things he won't do when she bats her eyelashes and says please.

"Oh, stop it," he remarks in a bored tone as he shoves Stefan aside. The old safe is rather spacious, but definitely not enough to comport two men, particularly if one of them won't stop bloody writhing like a worm in hot sand. "The more you scream, the more breathless you become." The more I want to tear your vocal cords to shreds.

"Get me out of here, Klaus, get me the fuck out of here!"

"Relax, Stefan. I'm here to help," he says. "I'm what you would call a greater agony to alleviate the smaller pain you feel being trapped inside the box. It's reverse psychology, or so Caroline read in a book. What do you think of a little werewolf venom high to speed up the process?"

"You're psychotic. You're fucking insane!" Stefan starts pounding on the box again. "Caroline! Caroline, open up! Open it now!"

"I'm sorry, Stefan!" comes her muffled apology. Even through the metal barrier she sounds thick with guilt. It was her idea, but already she's cracking. That bleeding heart of hers… "I'm sorry, I will -"

"Do not touch that box, Caroline," he commands with his full authority. "Leave it."

There's a long pause, the sound of Stefan's heart hammering away inside his chest in the box as they wait to see what she'll do. A beat goes by before she mumbles a final sorry and scurries away, likely to avoid the temptation of putting poor Stefan out of his misery.

Klaus' lips pull into a grin. "Good girl."

Stefan starts shaking beside him, his breath becoming even more labored. "I can't breathe," he gasps. "I can't - I can't -"

"You don't need to breathe, Stefan. It's all in your head," Klaus reminds him pointedly. "A vampire having a panic attack, honestly. When you think you've seen everything…"

"You're not fucking helping!"

"Pardon me. My bedside manners have gone a little rusty since the last time you've experienced them." Klaus casts Stefan a glance, sees the way his eyes widen in horror, his body growing stiff as a rod, and he can't contain the self-satisfied smile that draws across his lips. "We did once find comfort in each other's company, didn't we?" Stefan makes another panicked sound, smoothing his hands across the cold metal door above them, trying to find a way out. Klaus chuckles. "Don't worry, mate. Caroline can't hear us. Your sordid little secret is safe with me. It's just us here, alone under the cover of darkness. Nothing we haven't done a dozen times in the past. Ahh, the 20s…" he speaks around a dramatic sigh. "It was the roaring years, indeed."

"What are you doing?"

"Making conversation."

"I don't want to talk to you, I especially don't want to talk about that." Stefan nearly chokes on the last word, inching as far away from Klaus as the confined space will allow, as though the mere idea of touching him fills him with utter revulsion. Klaus knows better; it's the way he remembers exactly how it didn't what terrifies him.

Anybody who's met this watered down, colorless version of Stefan would never be able to tell how much of a free spirit he used to be. He was fun. A far cry from the shivering man beside him now. Tragic, really.

"I know you like to pretend it never happened. Frankly, you've become quite an embarrassment of your former self, so I wouldn't proudly advertise it either. This bunny-eating, crying in the dark skin you're wearing these days is someone is wouldn't be caught fraternizing with if you were the last human being on earth."

"Then leave me the fuck alone already."

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm not here for you," he snaps back. And then, putting a leash on his rising temper, he continues, "But since I have to be… I can recognize that there was something about that time we had together that suited us both, more than just for the obvious reasons."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure you do. I was a tool for you."

"A tool for self-destruction."

Klaus huffs out a disdainful breath. "I was a balm to your tortured soul, Stefan, even at a time when you embraced your true self. I indulged you because you amused me, but at the end of the day, when we were together, it was all rather transactional. It wasn't about sentimentality or a shared appreciation for extravagance. It was about the hollow inside us. The fact we were always desperately seeking to fill it with… Anything, really. Whatever we could find. Passions. Pleasure. Violence. Cravings. But it never lasted, did it? Those things lack a purpose. They're all flitting in their essence, an immense explosion of satisfaction followed by… Nothing. We were both hungry, and we kept trying to find the thing that would sate us. You had lost your mind; I had lost my home. Like drawn to like." Klaus turns his face to Stefan, finds him staring back, eyes glinting with an emotion he can't quite read in the gloom. He always did fancy Stefan's eyes, though. There is something raw about them, something honest for a change. A little opening to the truth in his soul he tries so hard to hide from the outside world. "That's what the darkness is, Stefan," he continues. "Loneliness. It's what restrains us. The monster we cannot outrun. When it all stops - the laughter, the liquor, the hunger - and everything goes quiet around us, that's when we feel it. The curse of eternity. The weight of our years, deep in our bones. And the inevitable loneliness that comes with it. You had your names on the wall, I had my letters, but when all was said and done… We were both stuck in infinite darkness. Except for a few glorious stolen moments, in that repulsive room of yours." The corner of his mouth pulls up into a lopsided smile. "I was the bigger monster you needed in order to humanize yourself. Whatever you were, I was worse, and so I assuaged your guilt. Much like me being here right now. But then of course you found religion!" He laughs, closing his eyes and facing forward once more. "Your spiritual path towards the light. Elena Gilbert." He enunciates the name like it's coated in something toxic. His general distaste for Elena goes further than the fact she has thwarted so many of his plans. It's the boring saint act he cannot get over.

"Yes," Stefan says, his voice rough. "And then I lost her."

"Right. Because she chose your brother." Klaus chuckles. Stefan shifts uncomfortably beside him, the urge to hit him palpable in the air. It only spurs Klaus on. "How so very tacky. No taste, that one. Personally, I think there's no amount of blue eyes or good sex that can make Damon tolerable. What a wanker. I just want to bash his face against a wall whenever he opens his mouth."

Stefan scoffs. "Get in line."

"It's ironic, isn't it? You were at your absolute best behavior, weeding out all of your instincts, everything that made you fun and interesting in order to fashion yourself into a fairy tale prince for her, and what does she do? She chooses the dullard bad boy. Typical." Klaus shakes his head. "Ungrateful little -"

"Shut up."

"Martyr," he finishes with a smirk. "She probably thinks she's going to fix him, doesn't she? I bet he encourages it. But that's the difference between you and Damon, isn't it? Even with all your valiant efforts, you know creatures like us cannot be fixed. We're beyond salvation."

He gets a sudden twinge in his chest, an image flashing in his mind. A smile as bright as the sun. Hair the color of wheat. He sees her shifting under his sheets, feels the warmth of her touch, the brush of her rosy lips against his skin. It ignites a sense of joy inside him unlike anything else, a sense of possession, of belonging, of having found something that is far more precious or rare than any of the hundreds of treasures he's collected over the course of his life. But along with it comes the ever-present fear. Of loss. How long before he ruins her, like he's ruined everything else he's ever cherished? How long before he hurts her, even if he doesn't mean to? Before his darkness tarnishes her and kills that smile? Before she decides he's not worth it?

"How do you make yourself worthy?" he asks, the question tumbling out of his as though of their own accord. "How do you earn the affections of someone so…"

"Good?" Stefan finishes for him, reading his thoughts. "With sunshine and rainbows shining out of their eyes? Someone like, say… Caroline?" Klaus goes quiet, all his humor bleeding out of him in a second. "You don't," Stefan answers his own question. "You'll never be good enough for her, Klaus. Just like I was never good enough for Elena. Not really. The truth is they deserve much better than the two of us." He sighs, deflating with resignation next to Klaus. "I guess we did make quite a pair, you and I."

"Then perhaps we should die together," he says with an edge of aggression, his mood taking a sudden downturn. He's suddenly irritated. With Stefan, with this ridiculous situation, with himself for agreeing to that. "You and I, in a box, at the bottom of a quarry. Over and over again, drowning in suffering for all our sins and the women we don't deserve. How about that?" Silence stretches out between them, absolute. There's no response from Stefan, but there's also no pounding pulse, no disgruntled breaths. "Oh, look," he says dispassionately. "Someone's not having a panic attack anymore. Congratulations. You've conquered your fears. All you had to do was remember there are worse things than dying."

Klaus gives one violent kick on the door, sending it flying off its hinges. He pushes himself up, stepping out of the safe.

Caroline comes whooshing in, eyes wide as she takes in the state of the safe, the way Stefan is still down, cowering from the sudden burst of luminosity.

"What did you do to him?" she demands.

Klaus' mouth inches upward into the barest hint of a grin, no mirth whatsoever. "I fixed him."

[tagarilaghost]

I SWEAR CELEBI'S THINGY IS COMING SOON BUT I REALLY WANTED TO POST THIS ALRIGHT

yeaah... future trio got me too...

and Darkrai is there too, because of course he is.

hey look i drew a cute Drifloon :D

...ignore the rest

whatever started at Darkrai doodles ended in brainrot of future trio + darkrai and I'm blaming @scribz-ag24 for this

[triglycercule]

mtt therapy moment except dust keeps taking breaks to talk to phantom papyrus and horror just wants this to hurry up so it can get to his turn because he couldn't give two shits about dust and killer's trauma and killer physically cannot discuss his issues and just starts zoning out while crying for some reason during it

and i'm the therapist listening to all of this writing down notes fervently because ITS CANON MATERIAL CANON I NEED TO GET THE CANON MATERIAL

[tea-cat-arts]

The donghua adding in that Lan Wangji was waiting for Wei Wuxian to come back from the dead low key makes him look like an insane person, but it's fun to combine with the book lore of "He spent 13 years grieving" and turn into some maladaptive coping mechanism like-

"Lwj flipped back and forth between full confidence that wwx would come back and crushing despair over wwx just being dead. He collected alcohol for wwx to gift on return, but the only thing stopping lwj from just consuming it himself and getting alcohol poisoning was that he had to stay together enough to raise their son. Lwj incorporated wwx's ideologies and inventions into the Lan students teachings and worked tirelessly to make the world a better place, but could never simply enjoy the results as he was still waiting for the one he wants to show it off too (even if he's kept up at night knowing wwx will probably never see any of it). His hope that wwx could come back only made their time apart hurt more and made it so he was unable to move on"

[kyouka-supremacy]

I fucked up

[mering]

even the dogs!