#it did a call of 3 but in a more rapid succession

[glutenfreehimbo]

The crows outside my house are having a conversation it would seem.

[vixstarria]

"Where my nice, simple plan fell apart"

This is my take on how Astarion’s romance might have progressed with a silly, chaotic energy bard Tav, who doesn’t really fall for his initial manipulation but rather humours it, throughout Act 1.  

There will be more – I want to flesh this out and write more ‘behind the scenes’ moments, and continue this into Acts 2 and 3 (I’m still only at the beginning of Act 2 as I write this!) 

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Bard Tav  

Comfort, fluff, budding love, cuddling, humour, no spoilers, non-explicit, light angst 

Approximately 2,000 words. 

AO3

~~~~~

“Let’s find our own little piece of nowhere. Somewhere we can lose ourselves and forget all this madness.” 

“Astarion, you insufferable trollop, what piece of cheap pulp did you fish that line from?!” you squeezed your eyes shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. “No, wait, let me guess... Madame Scarlett?” 

You watched his face turn from indignation to irritation, to finally settle in a resigned amusement, in a rapid succession.  

“My, a fellow connoisseur of the vulgar arts? The Madame’s been dead and out of print for over a century. But yes.” 

“A professional interest – a bard must be able to entertain all kinds of audiences, with all kinds of material” 

“And would you indulge me with your expertise tonight? But I do much prefer show to tell...”.  

This was the beginning. You did end up sleeping with him that night, despite his initial soppy attempt at seduction. And then it happened again another night. And then it kept happening... 

You tried to be discreet about it at first, but of course it wasn’t long before the other members of your party noticed your nightly disappearances, and there was no point trying to conceal it.  

You were vexed by their reactions – just about everyone found it necessary to at one point pull you aside and express their concerns about the vampire, asking you to be careful. This was, perhaps, justifiable – Astarion was admittedly quite stab-happy and had an inclination for bloodthirst (literally and figuratively). But he was on your side! And damned if you needed anyone’s approval for your choices in whom to bed! 

By that point you and Astarion had turned the cliched language of poorly written erotica novels into an inside joke. Casually addressing each other in increasingly mawkish and over-elaborate terms had turned into a game. Once the secret of your escapades was out, you weaponised this game, turning it to deliberately exasperate everyone around you with your antics. 

With your shared penchant for dramatic flair the two of you became utterly insufferable.  

You would shout corny names at each other across camp: 

“Oh precious, it’s your turn to set up the campfire! And no, I don’t care that you won’t be eating with us” you called out as the group stopped for the day to set up camp, but no answer followed. “My silver lynx..? Starry?? Snickerdoodle??” 

“Your snickerdoodle wandered off to slaughter another bear!” came an exasperated shout from Wyll. 

Strangers weren’t safe from your hijinks either:  

“My sun, my beating heart, flame of my loins, ache of my head. All my riches, at your feet”, he declaimed to you in front of a confused and embarrassed vendor, as he rummaged through and shook out his pockets and sleeves, spilling an assortment of semi-precious gems, silver cutlery and somehow even an entire silver tray, pilfered from an abandoned manor you came across earlier. 

Just to make the others uncomfortable, you would unceremoniously plop into Astarion’s lap at any given opportunity, including in your morning meetings to establish your itinerary for the day.  

One evening, as you all sat around the campfire to enjoy a shared meal, Astarion (who would ordinarily stay away during this time, or sit nearby with a book) sank down next to you, lifted your hand towards his mouth, and nonchalantly sank his fangs into your wrist and began to suck, slurping.  

“Oh, so I can’t enjoy a nice meal with everyone else, and have to be excluded? Bigots, the lot of you!” he chided, your blood dripping from his lips, to the sound of everyone’s shouts of shocked revulsion. Surprisingly, this was the closest you’d ever seen Lae’zel come to laughing.  

(You and Astarion had arranged this prior, of course. Ever the gentleman, he always asked before he bit.) 

Another night, as you were having a quiet chat with Shadowheart at her tent, while everyone else lounged at the fire, she asked: “So what is it like with him, really..? How is he?” 

Suddenly finding yourself abashed by this genuinely intimate question, you covered it up with pomp and bravado. Winking at Shadowheart, you stood up, threw your head back and began to orate, making sure your thundering voice would be heard by the fire, which you had been separated from by a distance and some bushes: 

“HIS MAGESTIC MANHOOD, WHEN UNSHEATHED, IS AN OBELISC OF MASCULINITY AND GLORY. IT IS A WONDER BIRDS DON’T CRASH INTO IT WHEN IT IS FULLY E- Ow! Who threw that?!” 

A projectile salami from your camp supplies came flying from behind the bushes, and slammed into the side of your face.  

All hell was breaking loose back at the campfire, as Wyll, Gale and a smug Astarion convulsed and shouted through poorly concealed laughter, blaming each other for the missile, as Karlach shook in hysterics and Lae’zel complimented the mystery thrower’s accuracy.  

Gale did look more sheepish than the rest once you started to develop a black eye from the impact, promptly healed by Shadowheart.  

What was it like with him? 

Despite the flowery epithets and exaggerated displays of affection you awarded each other in public, in private you had a mutual understanding that it was all frivolous, no strings play. You had a parasite that could turn you into a mind flayer at any given moment, twisting in your brain. Every day bore violent encounters. Since the nautiloid crash, you hadn’t gone a single day without something trying to murder you. You didn’t want to have to worry about anything other than survival, and you took life day by day. Distractions were welcome, but actual romantic attachment would be a burden, you told yourself. 

You thought of it as being friends with extended benefits.  

You let him feed (well, snack, really) on you, of course. It wasn’t sexual, not since the first night. He used your wrist, so as not to be overwhelmed by the blood flow. He ended the sessions by healing you himself, assisted by a magical trinket he’d picked up somewhere on your journey. You made sure not to let Gale get his hands on that one.  

In battles his arrows always picked off foes in your immediate vicinity, before they were directed to other targets. You’ve yelled at him for this, saying you were more than capable of holding your own, whilst you’d lost count of the revivify scrolls you’ve spent on Gale.  

“Yes, well, the way the man goes on about his ‘natural talents’ and ‘mastery of the weave’, you’d think he’d put that big wise brain of his to developing a strategy for not getting stabbed so often” - Astarion rolled his eyes. “I’m just encouraging him to improve, really. And besides”, his eyes narrowed, “only I’m allowed to spill your blood, darling”. You frowned at that last bit, as he flashed you a sweet and almost innocent smile, and stalked off.   

As for the other ‘benefits’ - the sex was intricate, if somewhat mechanic, almost too skillful on his behalf. Wanting more passion than efficiency, you eventually asked him to talk dirty to you. That made it nearly too intense for you to handle, and seemed to keep him more... personally engaged. During daytime you had to force yourself not to get caught up in flashbacks of his red eyes watching you writhe as he described what he was doing to you, what he was going to do to you, or how you looked while he worked your body. 

The night that you, wanting to reciprocate, asked him exactly how he wanted to be pleasured and what he liked was a fiasco. You didn’t understand why. First he said something about being able to please you being his greatest reward and satisfaction (which you immediately shut down). Then he grew flustered and irritated, becoming uncharacteristically at a loss for words. You tried to divert the conversation, but the mood was unsalvageably ruined.  

There was one takeaway from that debacle, however. After abandoning the idea of sex for the night, you laid next to each other, talking about nothing in particular: Baldur’s Gate, places you were both familiar with, comforts you were looking forward to having again. At one point he looked at his jacket, which you’d been lying on, and lamented that he couldn’t find any gold thread to fix the embroidery. You laughed and rolled over to give him a hug, and simply never let go. He wordlessly pulled you closer once it was clear you had no intention of leaving. That was the first time that you fell asleep and slept through the night in his arms. 

This became somewhat of a ritual, or another game with unspoken rules. Once you were done with each other, you’d pretend to quickly fall asleep with your face nested in the crook of his neck, or to otherwise be too exhausted to get up and make way to your own tent or bedroll. He pretended not to notice the regularity with which this was happening. You pretended not to notice the soft kisses he started leaving on your neck or forehead once he thought you were really asleep. It seemed... important, somehow, that you both pointedly refused to acknowledge any of it. You sensed that otherwise a certain line would be crossed. 

Last night, you were too exhausted to even think of anything but sleep by the time everyone started turning in for the night. Yet rest wasn’t even on the horizon for you – you remembered that you’d neglected to clean your weapons and carry out the well overdue maintenance on your equipment, which you did not allow anyone else to touch even when offered. You were planning to venture into the shadow-cursed lands the following day. You couldn’t afford to be sloppy. You begrudgingly set about your tasks. Astarion was as tired as everyone else, you figured it was needless to say you’d spend the night apart. And yet...  

“I guess I finally get my bedroll all to myself tonight, how delightful” you heard behind you. “No one to wrap themselves around me, no one nuzzling into my neck... Only free, undisturbed personal space” You heard a hint of dejection beneath the sarcasm, and something in your stomach flipped, giving you pause.  

“I’ll come back for a cuddle if you say please” you murmured over your shoulder. 

“Never!” he rasped in a perfect imitation of Lae’zel when you asked the same of her before freeing her from a tiefling cage, and disappeared into his tent. 

Over an hour later, as you collapsed into your own bedroll, you saw a pair of red eyes staring at you from across the camp, tent flap ajar. You held Astarion’s gaze.  

“Please”, he mouthed soundlessly, smiling as he lifted the edge of his blanket.  

Within moments, you slipped into his embrace, pressing your lips against his. But his kisses were gentle and feather light, lacking the usual persistent neediness.  

You pulled away from him, locking eyes as he softly ran his hand down your cheek, brushing your lower lip with his thumb. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful” he breathed. 

That night he fell asleep with his head against your chest, listening to the sound of your heartbeat.  

Your breath caught in a silent sob as you were overwhelmed by a bittersweet realization of how much you really stood to lose if you failed in the journey still ahead of you. You didn’t think you’d ever felt happier or more miserable before in your life, as you hugged him tighter. 

~~~~~

Next in series

AO3

[bcolfanfic]

for @magneticghouls for the @hbowardaily summer exchange <3 little rosie pov clegan post war thingy-do ☀️

“So, you know I have to ask, Buck.”

Rosie didn’t look at him when he spoke, picking at a splinter coming up from the wood on the arm of the rocker.

He supposed he didn’t have to ask either. But maybe it would help. Gale seemed like he was walking on eggshells from the moment he opened the door, slight stutter in his voice when he greeted him.

Now, Gale hummed under his breath, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before he spoke.

“How do I know you aren’t gonna turn us in?”

Rosie stopped his rocker abruptly, the chair squeaking as his back straightened.

“Why the hell would I do that?”

His eyebrows furrowed as the words left his mouth in rapid succession. And his confusion was honest. Sure he didn’t quite understand. But he wouldn’t- couldn’t do that. Not to anyone, he didn’t think.

Least of all to them.

He knew before he decided to swing by- had known since his last late night walk around Thorpe Abbotts after the war.

Since he startled hearing a noise from the patch of trees. And starled again when he did some light investigating, making out what he could surmise was the two of them doing something he knew in some sort of abstract that two men could do together.

Gale didn’t say anything for a long few minutes, tapping his foot against the paneling of the porch, rubbing his hand on his knee.

“Had a close call, a few months ago.” He said quietly- eventually, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Reconnected with a friend I knew growing up. Was nice, until he dropped by once in the morning unexpectedly, and it- it was obvious. We’d just woken up,” He continued. “John- thought it was someone else, answered the door not thinkin’, not wearing a shirt.”

He chuckled under his breath then, but not in a way that made Rosie feel like he should laugh too. His voice trembled, and saw Gale’s throat bob as he swallowed and took a breath before he kept going.

“He panicked- just, just, bolted . I’m standing there in the hallway, trying to think of something to say and this guy flips. Knocked a glass off the table, making all this racket. He said he was going to turn us in and I- I asked if there was anything, anything I could do that would change his mind.”

His grip tightened on the arm of his rocker, and Rosie felt the tension mirroring in his own hand against the wood.

“‘s why we haven’t fixed the downstairs bathroom yet. Had money put away for it, till then.” He continued, looking off.

“John still gets real freaked out about it, tells me I should reach back out to him-, offer him more money. But my theory is that it’s better I don’t go reminding him what happened.”

Gale looked at Rosie then, and he realized he was round about being asked for his opinion on the matter.

“I think,” He started, pausing for a moment, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip. “I agree with you. Best not to poke the bear, I’d say.”

Gale looked satisfied with that at least, letting out a small sigh- and Rosie’s chest hurt.

There was a lot he didn’t understand, questions he knew weren’t his business to ask for answers to.

But he felt as though he understood whatever this was better than he could wrap his head around how someone could ruin someone’s life over something so mundane.

“You had a question didn’t you?”

Gale pulled him out of his head, Rosie opening and closing his mouth twice before he found his voice.

“Think you answered it.” He said. “But another one then. You two are happy- as much as you can be?”

Gale opened his mouth to answer, but they were interrupted by a truck pulling up the driveway.

Tensing for a moment, he squinted- and his shoulders relaxed when he realized it was indeed Bucky. His cheeks lifted when he smiled, eyes softer than they had been during the previous conversation.

John climbed out when the vehicle pulled to a stop, leaving what he’d gone to the store for in the car in the interest of getting to Gale first. He didn’t seem to see Rosie until he was just about right in front of him, pausing on the last step up the porch, glancing between the two of them.

Rosie figured a smile and nod would answer the question he saw in his eyes. But Bucky just looked between the two men a second time, arms crossed, scratching his thumbnail against his shoulder.

He could see it in his face then, what Gale had said about how he hadn’t shaken off the incident. There was a cloud of wariness in his eyes, bottom lip sucked in between his teeth.

Gale beckoned him to come closer and he did, skittish still when he approached him. He reached forward to uncross his arms, gently grabbing his wrist and rubbing the underside of it with his thumb.

He looked at John in a way that seemed the communicate what he was going for when his features relaxed. Giving him a little nod, John let Gale move the hand on his wrist up his arm, allowing him to tug him a little closer.

Continuing to watch them made Rosie feel like ought to look away- like he was intruding on something just as much as he had that night on base.

But he found it hard, glancing at the field in front of them for only a moment before his eyes fell back to where Bucky had leaned down into Gale’s space, face pressed against the side of his head. Gale was whispering something just quiet enough that Rosie couldn’t make it out, but John laughed softly against his blonde hair, bringing a hand up to ruffle it as he pulled back.

He backtracked to get the shopping from the truck after a minute, and Gale’s eyes didn’t leave him.

When he seemed to notice he was being watched, his cheeks flushed, and Gale scratched the back of his neck with a shy smile at his lap.

Rosie supposed that answered his question.

[kpoptrashlord-007]

2|3 – The Moon;; KSY

Word Count;; 1.7k

Genre;; Fluff, Humour(ish), (B)F2Ls

Pairing;; Hoshi x Reader

Summary;;

It’s Rose Day, or Yellow Day, whichever, or neither. It doesn’t matter because you’re spending the day with your three best friends. Nothing more, nothing less - just another uneventful May 14th eating singles curry. Or at least that was your plan. It seems, however, that Hoshi has a plan of his own.

Warnings;;

None! it's pure fluff, babie! well, aside from the murder of an innocent cellular device.

Notes;;

Here is the third instalment of a collab I am doing with @writeformesinpie - Holidays With Seventeen. Every 14th day of the month is considered a holiday in South Korea so we’re basing the prompts off those! May 14th is Yellow Day, or Rose Day! ... dropped my phone while trying to replicate Reader's actions, call that method writing

Collab Masterlist

Main Masterlist || SVT Masterlist

    “Why is he so late?” you groan, flipping your phone in the air before catching it with one hand.

    “Don’t do that."

    With a roll of the eyes you lean back against the couch. Plush cushions engulf you but do little to dampen the harsh clack of approaching footsteps. Joshua's hand slides into your peripheral before jutting out past your shoulder. His pretty fingers wiggle in expectation. Beside you, Seokmin snickers.

    "I won't do it again."

    "I don't believe you."

    And he shouldn't. Itching to throw the device back into the air, your fingers clamp around the cool glass screen. You tilt your head side to side as you decide the best way out of the lecture when a text message comes through.

Horanghae: almost there!

    You can't stop yourself from smiling. Showing the phone to each of your friends, you shake it, indifferent to its fragile nature. Consisting of a loose two finger grip, your hold on the device is precarious at best.

    "If you break another ph–"

    It wobbles about like a bobblehead before flinging free. In a glorious arc, it flies high and fast. Your mouth falls open in a strangled shout. Over the coffee table and past the lounge chairs, the phone disappears into the unknown with a sharp crack.

    Silence follows.

    You blink thrice in rapid succession. Inch by inch you turn to your couchmate. Seokmin mirrors you. His mouth is hanging open and his eyes are wide. Disbelief ties his tongue and he merely gapes at you. Brows furrowing, you shake your head. He gestures toward the scene of the crime. With a huff you slump back into the couch.

    "Unbelievable," Joshua murmurs as he traverses beyond the visible realm and into the electronic graveyard where your phone now rests. He drops behind the lounge chairs right as the front door swings open. "It's shattered."

    "I'm here!"

    "No!" you cry, head falling into your hands.

    Seokmin rubs your back. "There, there."

    "What kind of greeting is that?" Soonyoung jokes, entering the living room with several bags in tow. They crinkle with each step before he tosses them on the table.

    Joshua pops back into view with a heavy sigh. "I'll take you to buy a new one."

    "A new one? But I'm one of a kind!"

    "Thanks, Josh. You're the best."

    "Don't mention it."

    "Are you guys seriously ignoring me when I come bearing gifts?"

    "Maybe if you arrived five minutes earlier we wouldn't have witnessed another phone's untimely end," Seokmin says, shaking his head in disapproval.

    "You're right," you fake-sniffle, pointing a finger at Soonyoung, "this is his fault."

    "My fault?"

    "Did you even buy us anything?" Joshua asks while looking through Soonyoung's haul. He pulls out two matching tiger-print jackets. Instead of a warm orange they're eye-stinging yellow. "There's only two sets."

    "Why would I buy you something?"

    "Not even a hat?" Seokmin's tone is incredulous as he jumps up to help the search.

    Joshua frowns. "Not even snacks.”

    Soonyoung nudges the pair aside. He's beaming as he shoves everything back inside the now tearing bags. Joshua and Seokmin glance at one another, communicating on a level you're not quite fluent in.

    "You know what I just realised?" Joshua begins, tapping his finger against his chin. "We need food. Not it."

    "Not it!"

    All three of you shout in unison. It's impossible to tell who was last, but it definitely wasn't you. You're never last! So the fact that Seokmin is sidling up to Joshua, leaving both you and Soonyoung on the wrong side of the table, is a tell-tale sign of fraud.

    "Then it's decided. You two will go."

    It was rigged!

    "Well, if we have to!" Soonyoung says without a hint of despondency.

    "But I don't want to! Can't we make our sad little singles curry here?"

    "Host's rules,” Joshua deadpans.

    Seokmin shrugs off your pleading stare. You understand him sacrificing you (you’d do the same to him, after all) but this isn’t a full grocery run – it’s a quick stop at a curry joint. It would make more sense if you all went. Then you could just eat there!

    Joshua disappears into the kitchen before you can suggest the obvious, putting an end to the discussion. Seokmin teeters by the edge of the living room table, fingers fiddling with the plastic bags, eyes darting between you and Soonyoung.

    With a small pout on your lips you turn to Soonyoung. Considering he only just arrived he doesn’t seem put out by the fact they’re sending him onto those mean streets to battle for a seat at the best curry place in town. It’s a warzone fuelled by the hunger of middle aged office workers – no one in their right mind would smile knowing the hardships you two soon face.

    “Let’s go,” you say, a distant echo in your voice.

    You’re a mere step closer to the door when Seokmin speaks up. "It's cold out there so you'll want to wear this!"

    “Cold? But it’s May…” you trail off, attention set wholly on the man in front of you.

    The bags crinkle as Seokmin rummages. Yanking out one of the jackets, he tosses it at you. With a quick shake you hold it up in all its glory. Dandelion yellow, bee fuzz yellow, pikachu yellow – it’s so yellow. You’re no longer in control of yourself as your eyes squint and your jaw drops. Seokmin isn’t finished unveiling Soonyoung’s treasures, however. Next comes a black cap. It hits you square in the face before falling onto your outstretched arms. On the front are small paw prints which are also… yellow. Just like the curry you're being sent out to the frontlines to buy for none other than–

    "It's Yellow day!" Flabbergasted, you gawk between your three friends; Joshua is rolling his eyes in the kitchen, Seokmin is laughing so loud the sound is reverberating off the walls, and…

    Soonyoung’s eyes are crescent moons as he grins at you, his nose scrunched and his mirth palpable.

    "You want to match… with me?"

    "Of course I do!” he says, pouncing closer. “Unless you don’t want to. Then I’ll just make DK wear it.”

    “Nope, not it, never in your life.” Seokmin shakes his head to and fro before tossing the other bag at Soonyoung. “Take your stuff and go, pal. We don’t have all night.”

    Despite the hurried waving of hands trying to usher you out the door, you take your time slipping into the jacket. The inside is cool and smooth, easy to slide on, yet it warms you the second you finish zipping it up nice and snug. While the design choice is questionable (you look like a holey slice of moon cheese), the jacket itself isn’t too bad.

    “You look cute,” Soonyoung practically shouts, throat bobbing as he looks away. “Let’s go!”

    He’s at the door and flinging it open with a little too much force before you can respond. The ‘Hey, you’re pretty cute yourself,’ and ’I really like you– in that jacket!’ and ’We’re just friends… unless?’ remain unspoken, but perhaps that’s for the best. Trotting behind him like a little show puppy, you strike a pose inside the doorway.

    “Tada!” you actually shout, and he jumps back in surprise. It doesn’t last long.

    “Tada!” he reciprocates, mimicking your pose.

    “Tada!” you both say in unison while springing 180 degrees to pose for Seokmin.

    He claps then joins in with a, “Tada!” of his own, and this time the pose is dynamic as you each shoot off a finger gun.

    “Ta–”

    “Just go!” Joshua yells from the kitchen.

    The apartment vibrates with laughter. Seokmin shoots his finger guns off toward Joshua, a brilliant grin plastered on his face which soon falls into a grimace. He flops onto the couch, yelling about how he’s hit and that you should save yourselves. You don’t need to be told twice. Entwining your arm with Soonyoung’s, you skip over the threshold and shut the door behind you.

    “That was close,” you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder and wiping away nonexistent sweat from your forehead.

    Soonyoung’s free hand slips into his jacket pocket. It reemerges with a delicate yellow rose. "This is for you. If you want it."

    The soothing scent of its petals kisses your senses long before you lean in to breathe it deep. You close your eyes and indulge the gentle floral paradise. When you ground yourself back in the wondrous now, Soonyoung is watching you with a curious expression that morphs into a playful smile. He’s still holding the rose but you’re quick to remedy that.

    "Of course I do, you cute little cheesy moon!" you swoon before pressing a chaste kiss on his cheek.

    The front door swings back open and Seokmin gasps. “They’re making out out here.”

    What a tattletale!

    Joshua’s response drifts through the open door. “Tell them not to come back.”

    “Turns out we have enough to make dinner for us two here but you two will have to eat at the restaurant, together, alone, without us,” Seokmin says with a forced, exaggerated frown. “Enjoy yourselves! But not too much. Not where everyone can see.”

    “Thank you,” you groan before tugging Soonyoung down the hall.

    “Be safe! We’ll miss you but not as much as you’ll miss us probably!”

    “I always miss you, bro!” Soonyoung shouts, looking wistfully back over his shoulder one last time before you turn the corner with him.

    “That guy,” you say, your tone uneven with laughter.

    “Are you ready to have the best Yellow Day ever?!”

    His sudden excitement shocks you and you’re nodding along to his enthusiasm even while your brain catches up. “Yeah!”

    “Are you ready to have the best curry ever?!”

    “Yeah!” You pause. “But won’t it taste the same as it always does?”

    “What? No way!” he says, booping you on the nose. “This is the first time we’re getting the curry together, as a pair. Like a–”

    “Couple!”

    “So it’ll taste even more–”

    “Lovely!”

    “Yeah!” he cheers, raising both hands for a double high-five.

    You complete the high-five with your own, ‘yeah!’.

    “Then what are we waiting for?” He beams at you and the whole world pauses as he repositions the cap on your head. “Onward to our date!”

   – If you enjoyed this, please consider liking, commenting, reblogging, and/or following! Thank you! ♡

[kme-2020]

3

I heard a strange, muffled noise come from the living room. “Ashley?” I called out. It was unusual for you not to reply so I peeked out of our home office after hearing a second muffled thump. “Ashley?” I called out again.

I could hear more commotion so I hurried down the hall. I rounded the corner into the living room and found you hunched over on the couch. You looked up and pointed frantically to your throat, unable to speak, clearly choking. “Ashley!” I yelled out as I ran to your side and grabbed your shoulder, crouching down to your eye level. Your face was red and your eyes glassy. “Cough! Try and cough!” Your eyes met mine and you shook your head, gesturing frantically at your throat, mouth opening and closing silently. The panic in your eyes told me this was serious and that I had to act fast.

Without hesitation I kneeled on the couch beside you and snaked my arm across your chest to support you as I began back blows with my free hand. You lurched forward, gripping the coffee table for support as your body rocked forward with the force.

“Breathe Ashley! Get it out!” I muttered as I slammed my hand in between your shoulder blades. Finding no success with back blows, I repositioned myself and forced myself behind you on the couch. I reached my arms around your waist and searched to find your belly button- you were bigger than me and I strained to make a fist and hold it in my other hand. I attempted to perform the Heimlich maneuver but it was weak. I tried a few more times to no avail, so moved my arms up to circle your chest and delivered a sharp thrust. Nothing happened. I pulled in forcefully again and again with no relief. Frantic, I hit your back between your shoulder blades. You knew it wasn’t working either as you banged your fist against your chest.

“Stand up!!” I instructed. We stumbled to our feet and I steadied you in my arms, repositioning my body behind your larger frame. I again wrapped my arms around your waist, and this time had an easier time getting my hands in the right position. I pulled in and up into your abdomen, able to produce more force than my previous attempts at the Heimlich. My fist slippped out of my grasp and my fingers dug into your soft abdomen. Panicked, I pressed myself against your back and strained my arms reach around your curvy body. I felt your hands clasp mine as I delivered two more abdominal thrusts before moving my arms up to wrap around your chest. I used all my strength as I pulled my fist backwards to perform more chest thrusts.

I could feel you growing heavy so I lowered you to the ground and rolled you into your back. I pushed your dark blond curls away from your face and opened your mouth to check your airway; I could see the blockage. I rolled you towards me and reached my right arm over you to deliver shape blows between your shoulder blades. Your body rocked with the force but nothing changed. “Ashley” I screamed in your face as I shook you “Ashley breath…Fuck!!”

Desperate, I rolled you onto your back and straddled your hips, placing my fist above your navel and thrusting into your soft abdomen. I did this several times with no change, so swiftly repositioned myself for chest compressions. My hands pushed deep between your breasts, and I saw your belly bulge with each compression. I counted to thirty in my head and returned my focus to your airway. I could see the blockage had shifted and I was able to sweep the half chewed peach slice away from your mouth. “Ashley!!” I called to you as I shook your shoulders, “Ashley open your eyes!! Ashley!!”

Finding no response I leaned my ear to your mouth, listening and feeling for your breath that wasn’t there. I glanced at your chest and saw no movement. I dug my fingers into your neck and felt for a pulse at your neck. I could feel a weak and rapid pulse. I repositioned your airway and pinched your nose shut, sealing my lips over yours to blow air into your lungs. I was encouraged to see your airway allowed the breath to fill your lungs. I provided four more breaths and again felt for your pulse- still weak. “Ashley…” I pleaded with you. Panicked, I returned to your chest for another round of compressions. Tiny gasps and grunts escaped your lips each time I compressed your chest.

When I felt your pulse again it was stronger. I returned to rescue breathing but paused to observe for more signs of life and was relieved to see a steady rise and fall of your abdomen. I shoved my fingers into your neck and felt your pulse was still strong. I watched as you slowly came around, confused and tired eyes scanning the room and finding my face. Relief flooded my entire body and I reached for your hand. “You were choking, Ashley. Look at me, just focus on breathing, in and out…”

[greatfunkystatic]

Shadow the Hedgehog (2005)

Holy shit. This game is fantastic. I have heard so much negativity about it, but honestly I enjoyed it the whole way through. I want to state first and foremost that I've been playing this game over the course of 3 months, and started it originally as a kind of joke because of the general "mid" reception I've heard about the game (but also partially watching Lythero playing the game on his streams and videos). What then commenced was me realizing certain mechanics and gameplay being absolutely fantastic, and asking myself "Holy shit is this game actually good?" I started to enjoy it more and more, and in the end, I finished all 10 endings with having played every single stage at least once, along with the Last Story. (I didn't install the improvements mod btw, this was all vanilla)

The writing was fun (a bit silly at times, but honestly I'd rather have them try to write something with some depth than just kinda tread over very simple and safe stories), and honestly dropped a lot of lore for Shadow. I don't care how cheesy people consider this game to be, I loved that on every ending Shadow took in what he learned about himself and claimed "THIS IS WHO I AM!" Along with that, honestly there were some cutscenes that were STRONG. In particular, I remember needing to take a moment on the cutscene where the GUN Commander confronted Shadow near the end of one of the routes because of just how raw the entire thing was. Them both went through so much and that honestly felt like such a moment of catharsis for both of them. This, along with the absolute existential crisis that Shadow goes through in the neutral endings (Which I will defend and honestly this story plot most makes sense for the neutral routes). I feel like it was actually handled really well, and the expressiveness of the animations throughout the entire game really added to the emotions from the voice acting and the storyt beats. Along with the story, the music was just banger after banger. Crush40 and Sonic Team almost never fail to drop absolute bangers, and they definitely didn't disappoint with this entry either. Great lil detail of different endings having different credits music is a great touch.

The gameplay was honestly pretty fun, and there were some things I wish they had brought over to other Sonic games that were just not there. Most notably, only losing 10 rings every time you get hit. Call me a filthy casual for it all you want, I'd at least want that as an option just for nice quality of life. Another that comes to my mind at the moment is the fact that certain rings you need to light speed dash through to explore the map will have invisible rings replace them when collected. This allows you to still light speed dash through them again, which is a very neat touch. I particularly just want this because of the collectables in the games that come after, like the medallions in Unleashed and the red rings for Colors and onward, which can be kind of a pain to collect. Speaking of red rings, I am not sure if it's like this for red rings as well, but I found the fact that you keep the keys even if you die, just as long as you reach the end of the stage without a game over. The homing attack as well felt really nice, with it being both fast while still feeling like there's some oomph to it. I don't particularly mind how the modern games handle the homing attack, with a bit of a jump up before you can press it again, but there's definitely something special about just bashing an enemy in multiple times in rapid succession.

The gunplay. Man, did this game get shit on for having gunplay. And to be genuinely honest, it really isn't that bad. It's a bit wonky when going really fast, sure, but I think the aim assist did very much help with it, and I did very much like the variety of weapons we had. Every stage, I noticed whatever kind of guns one would like - whether it be heavy hitting but slower attacks like rockets, or rapid-fire attacks like MGs - there were plenty to collect, without even having to farm. You can just run through the stage and if you kill the enemies you'd naturally keep up the gun you want. Or, if you don't want to, homing attacks work perfectly fine as well!

The mission aspect of the game was one that honestly, I find it alright. Some were definitely more fun than others (glaring at every "kill X aircraft as you go through the stage" mission), but for the most part I didn't mind them. I didn't play through every mission in the game (I did touch every stage at least once), but I feel that's a bit of a plus. I really did like how if there was a certain mission I really didn't want to play, I could go around it by doing some other order of missions. Now I know many people don't like the fact that you have to play through the first stage for *every* ending, but I personally didn't mind it. I can definitely see how if you were playing this game in a much shorter timespan, just how tiring it can be, but I personally didn't mind it. On the day that I played the most, I went through about 3 or 4 endings back to back in one session, and I didn't really find it dragging me down. I also have always been to believe that one of the greatest fun of Sonic games is not just in the first playthrough of the stages, but going back and playing them more and more to the point where you get more used to the layout and start to take some of the faster and more difficult routes. In many of the great sonic games, speed may be provided at some times yes, but *constant* speed is one that you have to earn through practice. It's rewarding in a very tangible way, and the replaying of the missions were a great way to feed into this aspect of Sonic games that many others don't really do. In most other games, sure you can go back, but like. Why would you. Unless you're like, collecting the emeralds or collectables like the red rings or medallions (which through most of the time is absolutely optional), there really isn't any reason to go back.

Now, I know I have been absolutely glazing this game this entire time, but I think it'd be unfair if I didn't mention some of my gripes, for which there were a couple. As I mentioned before, I really don't like the missions where you have to follow the aircraft. Along with that, my first playthrough of Mad Circuit was extremely disorienting, and even on the second runthrough of that stage feeling neutral at most. I also want to say that although I praised the quality of life for the keys, the keys themselves do very much feel like the most superfluous collectables for how hidden they are, with the doors hiding very useless stuff like extra weapons or vehicles. I was excited to find out what were behind the doors as I went through the stages, and was very disappointed when I finally had the opportunity to open a door and found Jack and Shit. Other than that, there's the one stage where you have to drive around an enclosed nonlinear space to either destroy 5 big bombs or 20 small ones, and that one sucked because it was both timed and also I got really lost. It was the one and only time I had to look up a guide to complete a mission, because my ass was so lost after like 3 tries. Oh yeah speaking of lost, one (not all, but just one of them) of the Lost Ark stages was also really fucking confusing to go through because of how samey every room looked. The ingame map didn't really help either. The last thing I can say is that the final boss fight was a bit mediocre, but honestly I could say that for Finalhazard as well x). Actually, unlike Finalhazard, I had an actual way to reliably collect rings so it's actually better than that.

Oh yeah also Black Doom fucking sucks as a navigator. "Go there." WHERE IS THERE, DAD? DAMN????

Despite the length of my complaints, I do want to stress that in the grand scheme of things they were pretty minor, and overall I had a great experience. I wish I had more to say, but honestly I do not have the brainpower to really dig into the intricacies or why the game was fun. It just kinda was. I found it more fun than Sonic Heroes (or at least, the little bit that I played. Maybe my opinion will change once I decide to fully play that but idk lol). Game was great, the experience was fun, and I can absolutely see myself going back and chipping away at getting every A rank in the game because I am a completionist fiend. If you're ever interested, then I compel that you give the game an honest and fair try. Try to at least go in with a more open of a mind than I did at the start. Don't let the general opinion sway your opinions, make your own decisions. If through all that, you still find the game to be mid, then that is understandable. But to me, this game is absolutely a Certified Mid Classic™.

[i-only-ever-asked-questions]

Bilton and Scaggs

Back when I was working in the map of Soho, I got to Bilton and Scaggs Hats and Caps. There is so much to say about this shop and its history, and it is so interesting that it warrants its own post, so here we are

Bilton and Scaggs Publishers was a London publishing firm in the 1600's, we don't really know when it was established though. They were not one of the eight great publishers of London, but they were doing well enough, after all, it was able to survive its three major publishing disasters (which occurred in rapid succession). Alas, it looks like Bilton and Scaggs, publishers went out of business somewhere in the 1890's and the milliner who set up shop there, kept the name. Nowadays, only Aziraphale knows the full story. What follows are details of their disasters. They are quite funny, unless you are Master Bilton or Master Scaggs of course :P

The first one was in 1651; when they accidentally printed the so called Buggre Alle This Bible. This very rare misprinted Bible had a few verses added to Genesis and a variation in Ezekiel. Of course our angel owns one copy. Genesis chapter 3 normally has 24 verses where the last one goes like this: "24. So he drove out the man; and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life." The three additional ones go like this:

25. And the Lord spake unto the Angel that guarded the eastern gate, saying Where is the flaming sword which was given unto thee? 26. And the Angel said, I had it here only a moment ago, I must have put it down some where, forget my own head next. 27. And the Lord did not ask him again.

"It appears that these verses were inserted during the proof stage. In those days it was common practice for printers to hang proof sheets to the wooden beams outside their shops, for the edification of the populace and some free proofreading, and since the whole print run was subsequently burned anyway, no one bothered to take up this matter with the nice Mr. A. Ziraphale, who ran the bookshop two doors along and was always so helpful with the translations, and whose handwriting was instantly recognizable." The other issue with this Bible was a little change in Ezekiel 48:5 and it is the change that gives the Bible its name:

2. And bye the border of Dan, fromme the east side to the west side, a portion for Afher. 3. And bye the border of Afher, fromme the east side even untoe the west side, a portion for Naphtali. 4. And bye the border of Naphtali, from the east side untoe the west side, a portion for Manaffeh. 5. Buggre Alle this for a Larke. I amme sick to mye Hart of typefettinge. Master Biltonn if no Gentelmann, and Master Scagges noe more than a tighte fisted Southwarke Knobbefticke. I telle you, onne a daye laike thif Ennywone with half an oz. of Sense shoulde bee oute in the Sunneshain, ane nott Stucke here alle the liuelong daie inn thif mowldey olde By-Our-Lady Workefhoppe. @ “Æ@;! 6. And bye the border of Ephraim, from the east fide even untoe the west fide, a portion for Reuben.

What we can conclude from here is that Aziraphale owned a bookshop in the 1650's that was in the same block as Bilton and Scaggs Publishers. From the deleted scenes in the script book we know he opened A. Z. Fell & Co. in 1800. But there is nothing saying he couldn't have owned a bookshop with a different name decades or centuries before. The bookshop tour special feature from the S1 DVD says he's had it for 350 years. Counting from 2020, that would put it at around 1670. But if we generalize to around 2000, that means the shop could have been there in the 1650's. This more or less matches this ask where it is explained that Aziraphale bought the land in 1630 and over the next 60 years (1690ish) he expanded and built the current bookshop.

Sorry for the tangent, back to Bilton and Scaggs.

The second publishing disaster occurred in 1653 when somehow they obtained one of the famed Shakespeare's "Lost Quartos" and subsequently lost it (the three Shakespeare plays never reissued in folio edition and now are totally lost to scholars and playgoers. Their names are "The Comedie of Robin Hoode, or, The Forest of Sherwoode", "The Trapping of the Mouse", and finally "Golde Diggers of 1589." In S2 Episode 6 we see all three folios inside the box Gabriel brought with him. I am sure if asked directly, Aziraphale will assure you that he has no idea how those pamphlets got into that box. It was completely empty only four days ago!

The third and final disaster happened in 1655 and involved a prophecy book that didn't sell a single copy and ended up being the first book remaindered in England: "The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, witch." Not even the sign "Locale Author" attached to the book helped sell it in the author's home town in Lancashire. At the end the publisher destroyed all the unsold copies. Aziraphale, however, seems to have found the 1655 catalog from Bilton and Scaggs that contained only the 1972 prophecy "Do not buy Betamax."

I do find interesting that although evidently Aziraphale had a close relationship with Master Bilton and Master Scaggs, he still failed to secure a copy of the prophecies. It was printed right there! Next to you! How did that happen? Where were you, Aziraphale??!!

[canonicallyobserving911]

Buck & Eddie: Maddie knows too

Eddie and Chris are Buck’s family and Eddie and Buck have been co-parenting Chris for 5 years.  Bobby’s known since season 2 (post linked here) and because they work with Buck and Eddie, Hen and Chimney also know (post linked here).  Based on the way Buck looked at Maddie while he hugged Chris in 6x11 “In Another Life”, it appears she knows too.

After Buck woke up from his coma, all of the 118 entered his hospital room and a lot of things happened in rapid succession. Chimney hugged Buck first followed by Buck making eye contact with Hen and they held hands as a way to let each other know they were glad he was alive, awake and healing.

Then Eddie said to Chris, “Give him a hug”.

While Buck was hugging Chris, he looked over at Maddie as if to say, “See he is my son.” and she looked at him like “I know!”

Did Buck recently tell Maddie about Eddie and Chris when they were sitting on his balcony in 5x18 “Starting Over” after he defined what love means to him before he broke up with TK?  Or did he tell her about it in season 3 after the Tsunami?  Reminder, Buck called Maddie after he made it to the VA hospital and he told her about him and Chris getting separated.  Also Buck told Maddie in 3x11 “Seize the Day”, “This is Eddie’s house I’m not really a guest.”  It seems like she’s known for a long time.

Reminder, Maddie and Eddie are the two most important people in Buck’s life therefore, Buck being struck by lightning should have prompted Maddie and Eddie to FINALLY have an on-screen conversation especially since Buck almost died but they didn’t. There have only been two times in CANON where Maddie and Eddie talked to each other (detailed post here) and those interactions were very brief.  They’ve been to each other’s homes and Eddie’s a firefighter just like Buck and Chimney so, the question has been and still is... Why are Maddie and Eddie being kept away from each other?

Eddie and Chimney have been friends for years but the fact that Eddie visits Maddie and Chimney on a regular basis wasn’t made CANON until 6x5 “Home Invasion” when Eddie took Hoover the dog to their apartment.  Another reminder is Maddie and Buck didn’t have an on-screen conversation about The Shooting even though Buck was completely distraught over Eddie being shot. Chimney told Maddie what happened during their phone conversation while he was at the hospital and that was it. There weren’t any more conversations between the four of them, i.e., Maddie, Buck, Eddie and Chimney regarding it.

In 6x11 it was finally CANONIZED that Bobby is in fact Buck’s dad so will it also be CANONIZED by the end of 6x18 “Pay it Forward”, that Buck is a second dad to Chris since he and Eddie have been co-parenting him for five years?   Only the showrunner(s), writers and producers know the answer to that question.

[baeddel]

thoughts i've had while reading the Foucault biography by David Macey:

(1) Foucault was a bourgeois and his entry into the elite higher educational institutions involved a number of processes that were designed very specifically to select for the children of bourgeois, in a way that reminds me a lot of the recent post by gothhabiba (click). one example which particular concerns philosophy is that entering the highly competiitve ENS would require knowledge of philosophy (Kant etc.), which was only taught to highschool students at the fee-charging lycees. further, philosophy was taught at lycees by ENS graduates, who may also be on the comittee that selects ENS applicants. this—along with a few direct interventions of actual nepotism—is how Foucault got there in the first place, because some (FAMOUS) men (like Jean Hyppolite!) met him as a child and decided he was 'very intelligent'. the same story repeats when Foucault gets his first few academic posts, with recognizable names balancing the scales for him. this does not seem to be something special but rather how all applications were judged and posts filled. there is a more subtle example for which analysis would be possible, but the book doesn't offer enough information, which is in the explicit discussion about how the topics for the oral agregation (necessary for graduation) should be selected. Macey concludes the section by saying that "[t]he 1951 agrégation [when Foucault graduated] had been a ‘Malthusian’ process of elimination: fourteen candidates were successful, and five of them were normaliens [ENS students]."

(2) throughout his youth into his late 20s (ie. the part i've read so far), Foucault seems to only ever—with the exception of patients and prisoners he met at the clinic when he worked there—interact with other members of the French elite. even in the communist party he attends a special ENS chapter and so forth. this may simply be because only famous men leave information to posterity, so we know less about Foucault's non-elite associations, or even that Macey just has nothing to say about those relationships, but it is quite striking. the same is not true of Deleuze per François Dosse's dual biography of Deleuze & Guattari (i mean anyway we talk about him in the same breath as Guattari who was not part of this system at all).

(3) he loved serialist music and had a live-in romantic relationship with a serialist composer named Jean Barraqué who was taught by Oliver Messaien. isn't that cool? they would go drinking between classes, just like we did when we studied serialism... haah...

(4) the biography skips around in time quite a bit; when Foucault first meets someone who will become important to his life we get a sort of summary of their whole relationship in rapid diegesis which will reoccur in a slower, although still diegetic, pace later in the book. this reminds me a lot of the way the Norse Sagas are written; in his excellent introduction to the Saga of Hrolf Kraki, Jesse Byock remarks that the author makes clear that he is compiling fragmentary sources by "telling the audience when one sub-tale ends and another begins: ‘Here ends the tale of Frodi and now begins the story of Hroar and Helgi, the sons of Halfdan.’" the biography of course also does this by explicitly mentioning, either in the text or in a footnote, which sources (books, interviews, letters, personal correspondences) the story is compiled from. when i thought about the Sagas i had thought of it as producing a very strange literary effect, almost like a Brechtian distancing effect, freely dispensing of suspense to remind the reader of the structural components of the narrative, and i have written some stories which try to perform this idea. however, now i realize that we still do this quite often, only in that peculiar form of literature called the biography, where it appears quite natural and doesn't surprise the reader. i think one explanation for the strangeness in the Sagas is that the Sagas are primarily in mimesis, and the sudden episodes of diegesis during which the story and the plot become momentarily disimbricated are surprising to a modern reader.

(5) Foucault suffers a bitter quarrel with another gay man named Jean-Paul Aron he was previously friends with which they would never rapproach. the reason for this quarrel is, according to Macey, because "one of Aron’s young lovers fled and took refuge with Foucault." Macey discusses this entirely in terms of "sexual jealousy" and "envy"—i suppose Macey is heterosexual because oh my god. doesn't that sound like such a familliar story to us... the guy had to run away from his partner and go and live with someone else over it... and it caused scene drama for the rest of their lives... what was going on there?

(6) in discussing the homophobia of the official French Communist Party to which Foucault belonged until 1953 (which was explicitly homophobic) the principal example which Macey chooses is a case where they expelled a highschool teacher for propositioning a pupil. for Macey this seems to only have the dimension of homosexuality, and neither the power dynamics of teacher and pupil nor the fact that the pupil was presumably a child are mentioned at all. this biography was written in 1993. it made me think immediately of a number of other instances of an adult man having or attempting a sexual interaction with an underaged boy, being penalized or imprisoned in some way, and the response of, essentially, the legitimate gay movement was to call it homophobic. i don't remember his name, but there was one composer, i think an American, in the 40s or 50s, who was imprisoned for sleeping with a 17 year old boy, and people came to his defense and considered the prosecution homophobic; similarly this highly sympathetic article (click) on the GLBT Encyclopedia Project about NAMBLA (who's periodical Delany used to read and recommend, something which he gets and still responds to emails about today), which opens with mention of "a successful effort on the part of gay activists to thwart a move by then-Boston District Attorney Garret Byrne to ferret out patrons of teenage male prostitutes via an anonymous telephone tip line", paints a picture where NAMBLA were relatively mainstream until the mid-80s. while i suspect this article of being at least a little apologetic it does also talk about gay organizing around changing age of consent laws & a line on how unequal enforcement of the age of consent was a tool to enforce homophobia, listing some impressive names who engaged in this kind of activism like Kate Millet and Gayle Rubin. and we also have, very infamously, Foucault's own advocacy on precisely the same thing, around the time of the petition, signed by Foucault and virtually every other French radical intellectual, to abolish the age of consent.

what do you think? from here doesn't it all look like a catastrophic blunder, something we're ashamed to remember and frightened to talk about? even when we're coming from an anti-carcereal, reparative, critical kind of perspective, something about the kind of narratives, defenses and advocacy from back then on such issues leaves us feeling alienated. i tend to think of it like this: that there was a historical situation where 1. all forms of homosexuality were illegal, 2. homosexuality was primarily understood in society, by both the right and left, as a kind of pedophilia, and 3. the concept of the age of consent was being redefined, socially and legally, at that time. this third point is specifically what Foucault was discussing in that interview, but i was interested to see the same point come up in a Defunctland video (click)(!), because—get this—one of the songs performed by Disney's in-house rock band Halyx was called 'Jailbait', and he asks the writer about it. on relistening to the song she immediately laughs in embarassment and says "please! what was i thinking back then!" and she has to basically do her own kind of historical-juridicial-philological analysis to attempt an explanation (timestamp), saying that they had "just done this thing saying that if you're over 18..." and so forth. her song by that title was performed by a female singer, and watching the performance i got the feeling that the intention was sort of twofold; in the first case, to exploit the imaginary erotic power of forbidden love ("i want you, baby / but you're jailbait"), and, in the context of a live performance, make the teenage boys in the audience feel wanted. i am not sure if the same effect is intended in Motorhead's song by that title ("i don't even dare to ask your age"). by the 90s you didn't get songs like this anymore; Boogie Down Productions' '13 and Good' is both condemnatory and paranoid and explicitly names it "statutory rape."

this isn't really a good thread of argument; i am not comparing like evidence. and i'd like to investigate contrary examples from that period—the documentary on NAMBLA Chickenhawk for example shows lesbian groups attacking NAMBLA members at demonstrations, and Andrea Dworkin was famously critical of NAMBLA—but i am anyway kind of interpreting Macey's framing as a 'pagan survival' of an older approach to these issues when they arose in a very different polemical context.

[ghostybourbon]

Something Else

Ch. 3 || Evaluation

Warnings: MDNI, Canon-typical violence(?), Swearing, Mention of a mental health condition (DID) .

A/N: Hey there! I hope you enjoy this chapter~ Unfortunately, no König interaction on this one, YET. Sorry it took a while <3

——————————————————————————————————

“All settled, Katastrof?”

“Please, call me Split, Cap.”

She answered with a smirk, setting the knives down on a small table before turning to face him. Price wore a faint, amused smile as he regarded her. "Very well, Split," he acknowledged. "We're here to assess your skills today, and I've got a few evaluations lined up."

The marksman evaluation was first on the agenda. Split's cocky persona emerged seamlessly, the one they call "Azrael" , a master of precision and confidence. She walked to the shooting range with swagger in her step, her fingers caressing the stock of her sniper rifle.

Price watched as Split lined up her shot, the scope fixed on a distant target. Her breathing was slow and controlled, her finger squeezing the trigger with unwavering confidence. The gunshot echoed through the range, and the target's bullseye shattered into fragments.

Price couldn't help but smile at her skill. "Excellent shot, Split. Now, let's see how fast you can use that pistol of yours."

Split holstered the sniper rifle and withdrew her sidearm, a compact semi-automatic. Her hands were a blur as she drew and fired, hitting multiple targets in rapid succession. Each shot was dead center, demonstrating her proficiency in close-quarters combat.

Next came the knife-throwing evaluation. Split's hands moved with deadly grace as she hurled her knives with pinpoint accuracy. One after another, they embedded themselves into the wooden target, forming a tight cluster around the bullseye.

Impressed by her marksmanship, Price nodded. "Now, it's time for the hand-to-hand combat evaluation."

Price had arranged for Split to spar with Ghost, and as she approached Ghost, her demeanor shifted instantly. Her icy persona took over, and her presence became intimidating, like a frigid winter storm.

Ghost squared off against Split, his guard up. They circled each other, the room's tension palpable. Split moved with calculated precision, her movements fluid and methodical. She blocked Ghost's strikes effortlessly, countering with swift and precise blows. It was a dance of combat, each movement purposeful and lethal. As Price observed the intense spar between Split and Ghost, he couldn't help but mutter quietly, "Thana." Soap and Gaz exchanged curious glances, both intrigued and puzzled by Price's muttered word. Soap was the first to speak up, his brow furrowing. "What was that, Cap?"

Price's gaze remained fixed on the spar, but he took a moment to explain. "Thana means 'death' in Greek. It's the name she's given to that persona she's in right now. It's like watching a living embodiment of cold, calculated lethality."

Gaz nodded in understanding, his eyes still locked on the intense battle taking place before them. "I see what you mean, Captain. She's a force to be reckoned with when she taps into that side of herself."

Price watched as Split's Thana persona continued to dominate the sparring session, her movements precise and relentless. He couldn't help but feel a mixture of admiration and wariness for the deadly alter ego within their team.

Price, Soap, and Gaz watched in awe as Split's persona transformed her into a formidable adversary. Ghost, a skilled fighter in his own right, struggled to keep up with her. Despite his best efforts, Split landed a devastating blow to his midsection, sending him crashing to the mat.

Price called an end to the sparring match, and Ghost slowly rose, acknowledging Split's victory with a nod of respect. Her cold demeanor melted away, and she offered him a hand to help him up, reverting to a more neutral persona.

Price, Soap, and Gaz exchanged glances, clearly noticing the change in Split's behavior throughout the evaluations. She was a chameleon, seamlessly shifting between personas, each one a master of their specialty. It was a testament to her unique and invaluable skills, making her an asset to their team. The training area was slowly emptying out after Split's evaluation. Soap and Gaz, already familiar with her personas, approached their Lieutenant as she stood by the sparring mat, adjusting her gear. They exchanged a glance and then addressed her with friendly smiles.

"Hey there, Lieutenant," Soap chimed in with his characteristic Scottish lilt. "Care to introduce us to another one of your personas today?"

Split, now assuming the persona of "Loki" the infiltration expert, turned to them. Her voice maintained its usual tone but took on, what Soap calls the smartass talk, "Of course. Today, you may refer to me as Loki."

Gaz, with a playful grin, joined in the interaction. "Loki, huh? Sounds intriguing. What does Loki bring to the table, Lieutenant?"

Loki, maintaining her sophisticated demeanor, replied, "Loki similar to the Norse god, known for his wit and cunning. He appreciates clever solutions to challenges and enjoys pushing the boundaries of conventional thinking. I'd say this Loki is much more mischievous."

Soap chuckled in response, his Scottish accent carrying warmth. "Well, Lieutenant, it's always a pleasure to have such an esteemed god on our side." Gaz nodded in agreement.

The trio continued to chat, with Soap's jolly and playful personality complementing the sophisticated and articulate tone of Loki. The banter flowed smoothly, with the unique dynamic between the personas adding an intriguing layer to their interactions.

As Soap, Gaz, and Split engaged in conversation, Price, moved closer to Ghost, who had taken a moment to catch his breath, his voice steady and authoritative. "Ghost, you held your ground quite well against our new recruit." Ghost, still masked and enigmatic, responded to Price with a low, grunt. Deep inside, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something strangely familiar about Split, something that tugged at the edges of his memory. As he pondered this, he resolved to keep a watchful eye on their new teammate, determined to uncover the mystery that had sparked his curiosity. "Had to test her mettle, Captain. She's a tough one."

Price nodded, acknowledging the unspoken understanding between the two. "Indeed, Ghost. We've got a unique team here. Keep an eye on her transitions, but I have faith she'll be an asset." Ghost gave a subtle nod of agreement. "Of course, Captain. I'll keep an eye on things." They took one last look at Split, in awe and with respect. Price gives Ghost a pat on his back before walking off, Ghost nods in return before his eyes landed back on Split. "She's something else."

——————————————————————————————————

A/N: Hi there! I hope you liked this <3 Any type of support is very much appreciated~

Stay frosty~

Bourbon, out.

[the-astral-idiot]

TROWEL - PHIGHTING OC

I made a Phighting OC. Life… is Roblox.

Trowel is a middle-aged builder with a long history that extends far beyond his construction work. All that’s known about his past is that he’s always been a hard, dedicated worker, for better and for worse. Now he spends his time and uses his skills building projects for every faction (no matter what deals or offers he may get from factions to only build for them), and joins Phights for extra Bux. Don’t try to talk to him about his past.

Abilities and more under the cut:

-

Trowel - Support Phighter

Passive - Reconstruction

After getting a kill, build a destructible wall at the position of the enemy you killed. You and your team can move and attack through your walls, and you can have 3 walls up at a time. Building any more walls destroys the oldest.

Primary - Structural Stab

Stab forward with your trowel. This attack deals extra damage to enemy Trowel walls.

Secondary - Rapid Construction

Build a destructible wall in front of you.

Q Ability - Demolition

Immediately destroy all of your walls. Walls destroyed this way explode.

E Ability - Brick Launch

Launch a brick that explodes on contact. Enemies hit by the explosion are stunned. Any Trowel walls hit by the explosion are destroyed.

Phinisher - Builder’s World

Create an indestructible box around you that blocks escape. You can have up to 5 walls up while the box is active, and your walls become indestructible by anyone besides yourself. While the box is active, your walls explode upon being destroyed.

-

Voice Lines -

Intro -

“Time to get to work.”

“The contract says to build here…”

“Where are my blueprints…”

“Ready to build some defenses.”

Crossroads -

“This place has some nice architecture.”

“I should restock on bricks and mortar.”

“My trowel’s getting rusty… I’ll polish it up later.”

Ally Ban Hammer -

“I didn’t call for a demolition crew?”

“Oh good, you’re on demolition.”

Ally Rocket -

“Please don’t blow up my walls today.”

“Careful around my walls, Rocket.”

Kill -

“Let me work.”

“Your outfit wasn’t regulation-compliant.”

“This thing is sharp, you know.”

“You weren’t built for this.”

“Amateur.”

“Try harder.”

“Weak work.”

Using Demolition -

“Demolished.”

“Torn down.”

“Stop messing around.”

Using Brick Launch -

“Watch for debris.”

“Careful.”

“Didn’t see that coming?”

During/Using Builder’s World -

“Out of the construction site.”

“This is not a play place.”

“Get out of here.”

“Put a hardhat on.”

Assist -

“You’re welcome.”

“Good work.”

“Successful teamwork.”

“Guess my walls helped out?”

Phinisher -

“This place is off-limits!”

Match End -

Victory -

“Good work, everyone.”

“Construction complete.”

“Alright, time to pack it up.”

“We built up a fortress.”

Defeat -

“Damn.”

“It seems the plans fell through…”

“Did I do this right?”

“Must’ve messed up somewhere…”

[neon-kazoo]

This is Love (3 hero/villain snippets)

(All based on the song “This is Love” by Air Traffic Controller)

1. Run

“Villain,” Hero acknowledged with a slight inclination of their head. “Back again so soon?”

“What can I say,” Villain grinned back, all teeth. “I just love to pick a fight.”

Hero readies themselves for the inevitable attack, planting their feet wider and placing a hand on one of several throwing knives strapped to their thigh.

“This time, I won’t let you win,” declared Villain.

Hero did not bother to indulge the jab, instead focusing on the move that they intended to distract from. Villain’s own knife sailed past them on the right as they dodged smoothly to the left.

Quick to respond, Hero sent two of their blades into the air in rapid succession. They both narrowly missed the target, one drawing just a single drop of blood from Villain’s ear.

Villain rolled, ducking behind a barrel before popping out the other side while simultaneously loosing their last long range dagger.

Hero tracked them easily, and they were ready to block the blow with a makeshift shield. The knife lodged itself in the wooden board and Hero chucked it back to the side where they had found it.

“Get your blood pumping yet?” Villain called from behind the corner of the brick building they had moved to.

“Not hardly,” Hero replied, palming two more daggers and stalking towards the alley in which they heard the villain’s voice.

“Don’t worry,” Hero turned the corner just in time to see the maniacal grin spread across Villain’s face. “I have just the thing.”

Hero raised their throwing arms just as Villain reached into their back waistband and pulled out a gun.

“Now, let’s see how fast you can run.”

2. Betrayal

(tw: mention of past abuse, mention of suicidal ideation, toxic relationship)

“I’m an idiot for thinking…all those late shifts, God, I just thought you were saving up for us! To think you were out there….doing, doing those…those things,” she spat, and she didn’t stop there. “And the laundry, GOD I praised you for helping out. I didn’t think…why would I ever think! The hydrogen peroxide…the cold cycles!” Her voice carried nothing but despair when she realized, “Everytime I thought you were spoiling me, you were really just destroying evidence! Oh my god, and the gifts-“

“I was going to tell you,” Villain replied evenly, holding his hands up placatingly.

“Don’t you even start with me. Where is this necklace from?” She questioned, looping a finger under the chain and shaking the charm violently, “Did you get it from that heist I heard about? The one two towns over, out that old highway-“ Lover paused to suck in a affronted breath before she renewed, “Where did you get my ring! I swear to god, if you got my engagement ring off some poor dead woman before you got down on one knee-“

“I bought that ring. How could you ever think I could do that to you-“ Villain responded with only the smallest hint of malice in his tone.

“You could kill me! And maybe you should!” Lover shouted, before sinking to their knees on the kitchen floor, body racked with sobs. “God, I’m stupid. I’m so, so STUPID.”

Villain stared at the form of his lover, fallen to the tiles, curled up against a wooden cabinet. His face didn’t change, remaining impassive as he kneeled beside the love of his life.

“I knew it would go like this,” he started with what seemed like calmness, but if you knew him well enough—like Lover did—you would know that this was his true anger. “You say that we are partners, we fall in love, we get married,” something like disdain crept in between his words, “but once you see the darkness, you get uncomfortable and you forget all about who I really am-“

Lover scoffed loudly, a sound Villain would have been pleased to hear from her if directed at anyone else.

“You must love playing the victim. Do you actually believe that? That I couldn’t handle this?”

“I was good once, you know? I could’ve been what you wanted, back then, before my father beat it out of me,” he spoke matter-of-factly, voice devoid of any emotion.

“You know, what you’re doing out there…,” Lover shook her head. “You’re just a part of a pattern. When you make others feel your pain, you’re just continuing the cycle. And you’ve done nothing to get out!” She explained. “God, Villain, what if we had kids?!”

Lover slowly pulled herself up off the ground, clutching the countertop for balance.

“Everyone who’s tried to fix me knows that I can’t change. This is just who I am. I could promise you that I’ll try. Then you’ll forgive me, and then we’ll move on and—like always—nothing will really change. You’ll play house and pretend everything isn’t the exact same-”

“I am not your past lovers, Villain. Do not make assumptions about my decisions,” her words burned with thinly-veiled fury. “I want this to work. I really do. I love you.” She added, some doubt creeping, “It’s pathetic, I know. Especially to someone like you-”

“It’s not pathetic to love me. This is love, and I’m not going to just let you leave like it was nothing. I’m a jealous fool who won’t let go. You know that. I don’t want to see you with someone else,” he admitted, and he spoke it like a true confession.

“Then work with me! Let’s make up for it. All of it. Let’s do good,” she clasped his hands and looked up at his face, trying to catch his eyes.

“What if I don’t want to do good? If I was sorry for my actions, I would have shame. I would never stoop as low as to have pride in what I do. You should be disgusted by me,” he stared past his fiancée towards the window above the sink and watched the evening light filter through.

“You really are a fool. Don’t you understand?” Lover grabbed him by the chin and forced him to meet her gaze. “I would've taken you. Skeletons and all. If you had just told me. You didn’t have to hide. We could've figured it out together. We’re supposed to do this together.” She held up her ring finger to punctuate her point.

“It’s too late now,” he tried to break away, but Lover held strong, “I've got nothing left to give you. Without you I have nothing. No laughs. No joy. No reason to live. This is over.”

“You cannot put that on me. That’s not fair. You’re sick. This kind of love will only make you mad,” Lover defended, but it didn’t seem to Villain like she really believed it. Her face fell, like she could hear the untruth in her words, too.

“I’m sorry, Lover.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

…

Lover had no regrets as she perched on the rooftop with Villain, hiding in the shadows and waiting for the target to pass by. A figure crossed the street below them, and they both smiled.

“Fuck it, this is love.”

3. Bank Robbery

Hero struggled fiercely against the two men at her sides, jerking her arms where they held her and cursing when they didn’t budge. These guys were ridiculously strong, and impassive to any of her attempts to free herself. Both their expressions were hidden behind black ski masks, which naturally made them hard to read. She was actively trying to jam one in the foot when another man approached.

“Ah ah,” tutted the third man, obviously the leader and the only one who had spoken thus far. “Do I really need to say it?” He asked as he rested the butt of the gun against Hero’s forehead.

Hero went still but continued to glare into the mask of the man in front of her. Unfortunately, this only seemed to amuse him.

Outside, the other heroes could be heard arriving. Deafening sirens and the cheer of the crowd gave them away easily. Hero couldn’t see the leader’s face, but she could somehow still swear he grinned and his eyes lit up with glee.

He placed his hands on both of her shoulders as he spoke, “Perfect, now you can actually be of some use.” At the same time, the two burly men released her.

Before Hero had time to start formulating any sort of a plan, the leader used his hands to shove her out in front of him, making her stumble towards the doors. Hero whipped back around to face him, not wanting any of these people to be out of her line of sight for long.

“I think you’d better tell your friends to go,” he suggested, then added casually, “And if you try to talk to someone, well then,” He gestured lazily with his weapon, pointing it towards the cowering mass of civilians across the room, “someone has to die.”

Hero could hear the quiet whimpering of some of the hostages as she walked towards the door. She was shadowed by one of the men that had held her earlier, no doubt so he could listen in on anything she did (or didn’t) say.

Great, so these criminals weren’t quite as dumb as they looked.

With no other reasonable course of action coming to mind, Hero crossed the lobby with a straight back and chin held high.

“I have it handled, guys,” she called out conversationally when she reached the glass entryway. “Seriously, go home.”

Hero threw back a glance to the group of robbers, and she once again found herself with the uncanny feeling of being able to tell the leader’s expression—this time, a sneer.

So definitely not what he was going for. Oh well, he should have been more specific. Hero certainly wasn’t going to go beg. That just wasn’t in the job description.

Confident in her attempt, Hero walked back towards the vault and shrugged her shoulders.

“I tried.”

She could hear the snarl in his voice when he spoke.

“You think that’s funny? I’ll show you what’s funny-“

Except, he never got the chance. You see, all Hero ever really had to do was rile them up. After that, criminals basically do the job for you.

He was too blinded by anger to see her grab for his gun, and his lackeys were too busy underestimating her to bother to point their own weapons in her direction.

When glass shattered and the rest of the heroes busted in, all the soon-to-be-prisoners were already on the ground.

“I told you guys, I had it handled.”

[lizhly-writes]

Woo, okay. So we are looking at The Villain's Contract family, the other winner of this poll right here. Quickest lil summary:

Anna finds herself in "I'll Become the Scheming Consort!", which, while definitely an otome isekai with lots of romance with a prince, is definitely a cutthroat political drama with life-or-death stakes. So she runs the fuck away. However: while living her dubiously peaceful life away from the plot, she runs into a deserting soldier. He begs her to pretend to be his sister. Why? Because he very much wants to stay away from the imperial palace and having a whole separate identity complete with a family gives him some plausible deniability about the fact that he is a deserting soldier. By the way, he's the bastard son of the emperor.

Some character notes:

Fen: the illegitimate daughter of a duke, who was taken in as a maid after her mother died. Sent to the imperial palace after her older half-sister married one of the very, very many princes in competition for the throne to serve said sister, and did so loyally. She ended up dying for it as cannon fodder.

Fenestra: the true OG FL of "I'll Become the Scheming Consort!", who found herself in Fen's body. In an attempt to not die like Fen, she ended up earning the favor and interest of another imperial prince, and due to some very rapid plot escalation, 1) became his consort, taking on the name 'Fenestra' since 'Fen' was considered too plebeian 2) learned magic (and was actually very good at it) 3) ended up scheming to make sure he ended up on the throne. The number of times she's almost died is too much to count.

Anna: Protagonist #1. The new transmigrator occupying Fen's body, who ran away right after her mother died and before any message could be sent to the duke, and is thus utterly disconnected to the plot. Anna was her actual name, she figured she might as well use it because she's running away from being Fen. Ended up in a little town/village in the middle of nowhere due to some political unrest, and is doing her best to live happily there. Would probably like to have a cherry farm some day, but her area is not the best for cherries. She's trying to learn some magic to make it work. Her success is dubious.

Mazeris: one of the villains in "I'll Become the Scheming Consort!". The feared oldest son of the Emperor, and one of his bastard children. Was sent away as a child to the borders of the realm to fight against beasts, invaders, etc, and became very good at it. Grew up to be a hollow puppet of a man who was more military resource than person, ordered around by his siblings. Often derogatorily called the the imperial attack dog, or 'that fucker in a mask' --- he has been consistently masked since he hit puberty, due to his incredibly strong resemblance to the emperor. There are rumors about his face, and thus, rumors about his parentage, but none are confirmed. It's questionable as to whether or not the Emperor knows about him -- he should, but has there been any clear indication? No. Fenestra has, at some point, schemed to control him. He has almost killed her like... a lot.

Jackdaw: Protagonist #2. The new transmigrator occupying Mazeris's body, who never actually figured out the original body's name and took the opportunity to use a cool bird name. Definitely actually did some fighting against invaders, beasts, etc, though not the full stint of the original, and, for his service, is getting called back to the capital for some kind of imperial recognition. This is the part of the plot where he has decided he would like to nope out, thank you. What would he like to do after that? Unclear! He'll figure it out later! By the way, it is super obvious he is a transmigrator because nobody else fucking talks like him. Boy does not bother to hide his modern vocabulary at all, and Anna figures it out within five minutes of meeting him.

[scimitar-and-longsword]

Lolo plays Call of Duty Modern Warfare (2019) for the first time, part 7! (Final part!!)

(this is an fps. Warnings for war, guns, violence and death. Dead dove etc etc.)

Mission 12: Old Comrades

What does this title mean???

I already said this in the previous post, but Price without a beard is so funny to me 😂

I love that like... Deep sniff??? That price does sometimes. Lol.

I had to restart because a door wouldn't open lol

I died.

Try 2: "I'm tracking you" "how?" "By gunshots of course" 😂 ok Nikolai, I didn't really know anything about you, but I'm feeling it.

I wrote almost nothing. That was so stressful!!

Yeah I opted out of that...

No way I was gonna watch them threaten a kid if I didn't have to.

You tell 'em Kyle. I mean, I get it Price... But also...

Mission 13: Going Dark

Price. You can't just send me in alone! I am a tiny baby! I don't know what the fuck I'm doing!!!and I died.

Try 2: fuck i died again...

Try 3: and again

Try 4: and again

I gotta say, I do love all the little canned responses Price has when he sees you kill someone or when he takes out a light.

Me: uses 10x more ammo than needed to take out a single guy.

Price: good shot.

Me: thanks I'm actually a pro.

Try 5: ok I got a lot further this time. But having to toggle the night vision goggles is really hard lol.. so I got blinded and died.

Try 6: they keep surrounding me!!!!

Try 7:ok I finally got to Hadir!

Why do people I'm playing keep falling off of burning wreckage????

And in Tunnels that are collapsing!!!!

Ok but we got Hadir out.

Mission 14: Into the Furnace

Look at Price's slutty little walk with his arms out lol

Price knew Alex would be with Farah... We all know. 😎

"If barkov there. He's mine." Girl me too!

NICEEEE I'm playing Alex again.

Ok I got very far before dying lol

Try 2: listen I already know how this ends.... So each time I die as Alex I'm just a little sad...

Try 3: holy shit this big dude is impossible to kill!!

Oh no no no 😭😭😭😭

Alex 😭😭😭😭

(do I know that in some way, he comes back in another game.... Yes... But do I know the particulars? No. And I really like Alex... I don't want to watch him die)

"you're a freedom fighter Alex"

"you're a born leader Farah. Say the word."

😭😭😭😭😭

Ok back to Gaz!!

I died twice in rapid succession. So uh...

Try 5: i-

Ok...

Try 6: lol

Oh gosh dang it!!

Try 7: this really is the last level, huh??? Lol

Oh my GOD!

Try 8: I can't even move a STEP.

Try 9:

Farah you clever clever girl!!!!!!

Ah, too quick lol

Try 10: dang it again???

Try 11: So crawling towards Barkov is no... Running toward him is no.... Maybe just wait???

Try 12: ok that didn't work lol

What do I DO???

Oh. I feel stupid now lol

Got em!!

Buh bye Barkov.

Did I... Did I just finish that game??

Oh Alex... He's got a stellar mustache, I'm sad to see it go...

Ohhhhh task force 141 being formed 💕💕💕

Gaz, Soap, and Ghost. There they are!!!

Final thoughts???

I had a lot of fun!

Thank you for indulging me lol

Now I know more about that characters... Still feel like I have to play the second game before I write any fanfic, but hey. I guess I could write some Alex/Farah??? Or Price/Gaz???

[ihaveatheoryonthat]

Whumptober* Day 3: Impaled

(*But the author is incapable of inflicting hurt without also inflicting comfort)

Admittedly, I stretched the definition of this a little bit, but it was something I’ve wanted to try for a hot minute, and this was a perfect excuse. And in all fairness, impalement is a factor. I tried to cover all the bases, but if something doesn’t quite click or you wanted to see the original post this is based on, it can be found here.

---

It took several seconds for Emmet to process what he’d just seen.

The issue wasn’t that it was too far from the realm of possibility to be believed, nor because it was lacking a precedent. He was hung up on the fact that he knew what it was, and what it meant for his brother.

Unaware of the silent crisis happening behind him, Ingo went about buttoning his work shirt, pausing to shrug on the waistcoat he’d insisted on adding to his uniform.

That much was beginning to make more sense, now.

Before he could get it settled, Emmet called his name, and he half-turned, one hand idling beneath his sternum as if to smooth the shirt down.

“Is something the matter?”

Taking the question as invitation, Emmet stepped into the room properly, eyes never quite tearing away from the spot he’d seen. There was nothing visibly amiss through the extra layer of fabric, but it had still been faintly noticeable through the white dress shirt.

“There is a mark on your back.” He said, the lack of inflection serving him well for a change.

The response he got was a blank, legitimately puzzled stare. With the hand that wasn’t idling over his heart, Ingo reached blindly back, trying to understand. Wordlessly, Emmet took him by the wrist and guided the hand to the offending area, but the look of mild bewilderment didn’t shift.

“There’s… something there?”

Instead of offering what, at this point, would have been a redundant confirmation, Emmet asked, “May I look?”

A brief hesitation held the place of an answer, followed by the soft rumpling of fabric, but after a moment, Ingo nodded and took his hand away from where it pinned the clothes in place. After another beat of inaction, it became clear he had no intention of removing the shirt, and Emmet simply pushed it and the loose vest up, so as to get a better look.

He very pointedly didn’t touch, but he didn’t have to. Up close, when he hadn’t half-noticed out of the corner of his eye, it was perfectly clear what the dark spot had been: a dark panel of glass, just barely dampening the glow from the silver flame that flickered behind it.

The mark had no business being there-- or, at least, it wouldn’t have prior to Hisui. Knowing what he did, Emmet couldn’t necessarily be surprised to find it on his twin’s person, but was still dismayed at the realization.

There was little doubt that it was a scar signifying the bond between a human and Pokemon-- what else could it be, when it so resembled Chandelure’s radiant globe?-- but its presence suggested something substantially more grim: such marks only manifested where a close tie had saved a person from death. Something had all but killed Ingo, and he was only standing here by virtue of his connection to Chandelure.

On some level, Emmet understood the silence, but on another…

“What happened?” He asked, a question that demanded answer.

When Ingo looked over his shoulder, though, there was a genuine lack of comprehension, “I’m afraid I don’t follow. What happened to what?”

That was something to puzzle out later.

“You were hurt. Fatally. How?”

In rapid succession, his twin’s eyes narrowed in bemusement, and then went wide. As before, he reached back, searching, but didn’t need Emmet’s guidance to find the smooth panel along his spine. Emmet left him to the realization, busy with the perfect line between the point he’d first noticed and where Ingo had yet to drop the hand bunched up in his shirt-- both offset just slightly to the left. The one on his back was lower, but not by much. There were certain conclusions to be drawn from that.

With the newfound softness that Emmet was growing to hate, Ingo murmured, “I… didn’t realize...” and turned in full, gauging Emmet’s expression.

Emmet sighed, trying to breathe his building ire out with it, and reached up to brush his fingertips against the clenched hand.

“Will you show me?”

For just a second, it tensed, clutching more fervently to the wrinkling fabric, and then-- looking like he’d much rather do anything else-- Ingo gave a single nod. When he let go, his hand left a horribly rumpled patch in its wake, but more importantly, there was that same, faint glow, just barely permeating the layers he’d already donned. If the room had been any brighter, it might not have registered as anomalous.

When he tentatively bared the skin beneath, it showed the same window-- larger than the one on his back and closer to the flame, clearly much harder to keep dimmed. It also boasted delicate iron ribbing, identical to the curve of Chandelure’s arms.

He’d been struck clear through, then, from front to back. Emmet spared a brief thought for his brother’s newly acquired affinity for mountain climbing, but discarded it almost immediately; a fall onto a stalagmite would have been far larger and messier. This, on the other hand, seemed very straightforward.

Under the scrutiny, one of Ingo’s hands twitched upward, as if to shield the little window from view, but he resisted the urge. The timidity of the gesture was at extreme odds with the gravity in Ingo’s voice as he asked, “You’re correct in that it developed after I sustained a rather grievous wound, but Emmet, I have to ask: why do you know that?”

Emmet glanced up, inadvertently locking eyes with the searching gaze leveled at him, and blinked dumbly.

“It’s general knowledge.” He offered after a long, confusing moment, “The phenomena itself is not common. But you would be hard pressed to find someone unaware of it.”

Even as the words passed his lips, he realized he’d overlooked one rather important fact. Not for the first time, he’d forgotten to factor his twin’s amnesia into the equation. Dragons, what a mess this was.

“No.” He said almost immediately, aiming for reassurance, but relatively sure he’d fallen short, “I have not experienced it, personally. That is not something you need to worry about.”

Ingo relaxed marginally and, when he moved to pull the thin fabric of his dress shirt closed again, Emmet didn’t stop him. “Perhaps the knowledge is commonplace here, but back then, nobody was entirely certain what it meant. Irida saw it as a sign of Sinnoh’s favor. I believe she was in the minority.” He drew a slow, steady breath, “I’ve gathered that it signifies a killing blow, but don’t understand why it occurred; I’m far from the only person to have been injured so gravely.”

“Chandelure. It was because of Chandelure.” But, for all the overt similarities to the ghost, it didn’t explain the dark tint to the glass when she herself was a frosted white, “And… perhaps Gliscor as well. You told me the Hisuian people were wary of Pokemon. That is the difference. The bonds between people and Pokemon are capable of changing the tracks away from that terminal.”

Three buttons into refastening his shirt, Ingo seemed to remember the wadded up mess it had become, and abandoned the attempt, instead staring down at the muffled light. He closed his eyes and sighed, absently raising a hand to eclipse it, “That’s… but my memory of her was...”

Emmet let him sit with the thought for a few seconds, rummaging around for a new shirt in the meantime. When it seemed his brother was conducting himself into an unproductive circuit, he tossed the article over his head, to immediate, indignant, sputtering.

“You told me yourself that you remembered her out of everything you’d forgotten.”

Ingo pulled the shirt off of his head and shot his brother a significant look. Emmet waved it off.

“A nice thought. I do not believe twins possess that capability, however.”

“How do you know?” Came the immediate retort, “My ignorance did nothing to prevent this, so perhaps there’s a station you’ve missed as well.”

Emmet scoffed and turned away; he’d gotten distracted for understandable reasons, but if they delayed any longer, they’d almost certainly be late. While he’d already realized that it would be impossible to focus today, he went through the motions of his morning routine with the specter of ‘what if’ hanging over him. What if the force that had carried Chandelure’s love backwards through time hadn’t? What if Gliscor had still been too wary of its trainer? What if Ingo hadn’t remembered in time?

He knew perfectly well that there was no use in asking questions he’d never see the answer to-- that he was catastrophizing something that couldn’t have been more thoroughly in the past-- but he couldn’t get past the realization that his brother had nearly died in Hisui… that, by technicality, his brother had died in Hisui.

If they weren’t late, maybe he could make a last minute adjustment to the schedule-- to rearrange it so they were running the Multi lines for the day. For now, he on his own would be a lackluster opponent, and their challengers deserved better than that. He also wanted to thank Chandelure and Gliscor properly. Really, coupling their cars for the day would be in everyone’s best interest.

He wasn’t entirely sure when it was that Ingo cut in, steering him back on course, but as they reached the door, his twin paused.

“As much as I’d like to leave this matter at home, there’s one fact I wanted to impress upon you.” He reached over and took one of his brother’s hands, resting it over the hidden patch of glass, “You can certainly see Chandelure’s influence, and I believe you’re correct about Gliscor. The flame beneath isn’t purple, however.”

He let their hands drop, but didn’t release Emmet’s as they crossed the threshold.

“I can’t help but wonder what that might mean.”

[monster-noises]

I think have have Magical Book Powers or something because I Just discovered something while on call with Juliet and this is Bonkers.. So; seeeeveral months ago, so several it may have even been last year, I stop in at my local used book store on a mission to pick up some vintage fantasy because I'm interested in exploring the Genre after years and years of floating around the edges of it. After scouring the shelves with Rigorous scrutiny (I've got a system) I purchase a Single book; The Last Wizard by Tanya Huff. The book sits on my shelf for Ages, untouched. In the interim I actually pick up two more vintage fantasy books from a Completely different store, in a different city, while I was on vacation. One of these books is A Granite Shield by Fiona Patton, this will become important. (the other is Mask of the Wizard by Cathrine cooke, and I recently discovered the copy I had is a first printing! which is pretty neat! but wholly unrelated!) At long last I get around to finishing the Redwall book I was kinda stuck on (I phase in and out of wanting to read, it happens) and I Finally crack open The Last Wizard just this past week. So far I am Delightfully Charmed, the book has all the sorta vintage fantasy stuff I was hoping for but it's also really tastefully, smartly written and I feel myself very quickly free from the fear that it's going to become Disastrously Straight or Really Gross about Women and Sex.. The characters are charming and endearing and comfortably human, the narrative pulls me right in, the relationships are warm and believable and well considered and the lore is a creative bent on the expected! Altogether I am finding myself quiet disappointed that it's only 200 some odd pages long! All of this information I relay to Juliet, leading to tonight where we google around to see if there are any more books in the series, seeing as The Last Wizard is actually a sequel to a book called Wizard of the Grove. (alas there are not!) Which leads us to discover a few Very interesting things in Rapid succession: 1) Tanya Huff is an author from the same corner of the world as me. (A few of her novels take place in my Hometown, which just Doesn't happen) 2) Tanya Huff is Gay and Married 3) Tanya Huff is Gay and Married.... To fucking Fiona. Patton. the fuckiNG AUTHOR OF THE GRANITE SHIELD THE BOOK I PICKED UP WHILE I WAS AWAY ON VACATION??? like hello!????? how the Fuck did I manage that one???? just plucked those books out of the blue. Off the crowded shelves at Two locally-owned, but completely unrelated, bookstores, after scouring all the titles for something with Good Vibes, how the FUCK did I come out with two books so weirdly deeply related to both each other and myself?????? It's Gotta be that I've got some kinda psychic Sixth Sense for finding Gay Books. That's the Only possible explanation.