#it’s the same problem the fallout show faces

[deputyrook]

okay I’m going to be critical of DAV for a second.

caveat: there’s obviously a lot I like about modern dragon age and Veilguard. I’m having a lot of fun in the fandom right now. I love the new characters, i think the different backgrounds and factions are great, I think the game is very enjoyable to actually play overall. etc.

But there is a lot to criticize when it comes to the writing in DAV, given 1) the way the game ignores (and frankly doesn’t seem to understand) so much of its own lore and 2) complexity and nuance are stripped from the game, making it feel shallow compared to it’s predecessors. Frankly the lack of depth and nuance is baffling to me.

Controversial opinion: I think BioWare should have canonized a worldstate if they couldn’t write a game that meaningfully incorporated the player’s previous choices. To completely leave out any mention of the results of these choices leaves huge, important aspects of the world of Thedas untouched in Veilguard. And you can feel the absence!

It’s incredibly bizarre for the game not to mention, for example, who is Divine, or who is ruling Ferelden. Rather than avoiding a problem (players won’t have their decisions catered to) they’ve created a totally different one (the divine/ruler of ferelden isn’t mentioned at all when they should be hugely important.) Wiping out Southern Thedas is a far worse solution IMO than just being like “Alistair’s king, Loghain’s dead, there’s an old god baby” etc.

The comics canonized a worldstate, and if they can’t write games that incorporate prior player choices meaningfully, the games should too. Because leaving out these aspects or “wiping the slate clean” is LESS satisfying by far.

[bberry005]

gonna throw some thoughts out there about this preview from noah wyle's appearance on the late show (preview starts at 15 seconds and ends at 1 minute for those who want to watch) because the LAYERS just in that 45 second clip they showed us...god. this is really long btw that's why it's all under the cut.

starting with langdon saying "i could lose my medical license" like that combined with that he told dana about losing his job in the ep preview at the end of episode 14 shows so many signs of him trying to scale down the problem to something he can control. there's so many other implications (what this means for his family being a big one), and the one he can reach without totally freaking out is "i could lose my job and the medical license i've spent the last 12 years of my life working for", which is huge but not as vague as "what will abby say and what does it mean for my kids that their dad is addicted to drugs and what will my parents think and how do i get help and what kind of help is it" and the thousand other questions swirling in his head. losing his medical license isn't a small consequence by any means, but it's the only tangible one, which means that's what he's latching onto to feel more in control.

the second chance robby offers is a really good one, and i've seen a lot of people wondering why langdon won't take it. and tbh that's just because asking for help when you're in a crisis (addiction, mental health crisis, instability in your living situation, etc) is difficult even if you know you need it. like let's remember that langdon is the exact kind of person that's socialized to absolutely never ask for help. he probably thinks he can handle it himself, but also admitting that he needs the help means admitting that he is actually in a crisis, and that's scary. no one wants to admit that they're struggling with something that big, especially when the fallout will hurt so many other people.

so naturally, langdon deflects. he throws robby's "you need help" right back in his face, and let's face it, robby does need help. like we all know it, everyone in the show knows it, and langdon especially knows it. like "i'm not the only one who's a little fucked up here. why don't you look in the mirror?" that's just so good. robby wants to mentor langdon the same way adamson mentored him. hell, he even wrote langdon's rec letter for an incredibly selective teaching fellowship. they are mirrors of each other. langdon is potentially what robby was like as a resident, and if langdon doesn't learn how to ask for help, he will become exactly like robby is now. which, as we can all see, is not good.

and robby knows this. he knows he needs help, he knows that there's a culture in their profession about not asking for help and "do as i say and not as i do", but he's more than happy to ignore it. so he and langdon start throwing arguments at each other that hurt on a personal level. and the real kicker? robby is the one that throws the most personal jabs as a way to shove all his guilt and blame and betrayal onto langdon so robby doesn't have to feel it himself. yeah langdon went low (and somewhat illogical) with the breakdown and "don't blame me for what happened to you" comments, but robby went even lower. like "you just cause them [breakdowns] in other people" and "you let me down. you let everybody down"...ouch.

another thing is, there's no way robby didn't start seeing warning signs in langdon earlier. a couple people have already said this, but robby's been working in the ER for a little over 20 years. he knows how addiction works, what dozens if not hundreds of people act like when they're either high or going through withdrawals and everything in between. he just refused to see it. he didn't want to see it. robby wanted to believe that langdon was the version of himself that never messed up, and because of that he missed every single sign. other people didn't notice because they either assume langdon is just "like that", they respect him too much, they haven't known him long enough, or he's staying away from anyone who might notice (remember, langdon and mckay don't know each other well, and this might be intentional on his end. he doesn't want to be around anyone who will notice). but robby? he probably had a feeling deep down, ignored it because he didn't want to accept that someone as skilled as langdon could be struggling with something so severe, and now blames himself for it getting as bad as it did even though it's not his fault. like it's on no one but langdon that he kept using and ended up stealing, but if robby did notice, there is something to say for him not intervening sooner (i'm not gonna get into this because something tells me this debate would be like trying to dismantle an active bomb that only has 3 seconds left). robby, either consiously or subconsiously, put langdon on a pedestal, and because of that pedestal, he couldn't see the obvious signs that langdon was struggling that were right in front of his face.

langdon needs help. robby needs help. the difference is that if langdon didn't acknowledge somewhere deep down that he needs help, he wouldn't have kept trying to call robby and plead his case. he wouldn't be near tears telling dana that robby thinks he's a drug addict. robby continues to ignore what's wrong with him and continues to assume that he knows best despite constant evidence that the opposite is true. robby thinks he's beyond help and decided that he can keep going as he is, but he can mentor langdon to be his "second chance" in some way. he wants langdon to get help, but robby refuses to handle his own bullshit and quite literally stomps away like a child when he's called out on it. once again, he's exhibiting "do as i say, not as i do" behavior, which is not something he should want to model for residents or students. robby doesn't think he can be the one to fix this toxicity around asking for help in crisis, so he shoves it on langdon (or dana or collins or abbot or even whitaker at this point) so he can avoid it. robby needs langdon to hurt so he doesn't have to, and that's the part of this argument that makes me sick because it shows that for all of robby's talk about how "we're failing our boys" and that people need to be listened to and helped, he won't do the work to fix those issues himself once they start to effect him.

ANYWAY that's my analysis. if you read it all the way to the end you are amazing. langdon as someone robby is trying to mold into a better version of himself because langdon seemingly has everything robby could never have is my FAVORITE interpretation of what the hell is going on there btw. and it shows SO WELL in this clip.

[class1akids]

Do you think the fight that Endeavor originally was supposed to die in is the closest he got to any consequences about how he treated his family? Cuz the other times no one outside of the family (besides a few of Todoroki’s friends) cared about the abuse and the whole family had to share the fallout with Endeavor even when the kids weren’t at fault?

A character death is not really a "consequence", the same way losing his arm is not a "consequence". It's something that happens in wars.

I think about his planned death more in terms of what it would have done to the story:

giving the spotlight fully to Shouto and Touya to carry the Todofam plotline in Act 3,

increase post-war chaos and give Izuku a real vigilante arc,

let Hawks develop in a different way,

give the AFO fight to a different character(s)

and then weight it against what him being kept alive gave us:

his stagnating atonement arc

Deku working with Top 3

him hogging the spotlight again in the final war

having to break up Shouto vs Touya so that Endeavor can be fitted in

keeping Touya in his need for his father to be able to give Endeavor atonement

keeping Hawks in a blind cheerleader position

So I think what we lost in terms of other characters' narrative - especially for Touya and Hawks, but also for Shouto and even Izuku - is much more exciting than the story we got out of Endeavor post-PLF war which was basically about:

crying in the hospital about himself

uselessly following around Izuku, ghosting Shouto, not doing anything about Touya

getting another flashy fight and yet another team-up with Hawks that he didn't need - and taking that fight from other characters who had no fights

derailing Touya vs Shouto so he could have his "face Touya" moment

pointlessly get a reward "team-up" with Shouto that could have gone to a character who deserved it more

and then lock Touya back into the buddhist altar so he could have his own atonement instead of letting Touya grow past his need for his abuser

taking up space for getting paraded around as "even in hell people care about me" instead of showing the victims hanging out with each other.

Now, I admit that these problems were not unavoidable and definitely due to Hori's execution of Endeavor staying alive. A more skilled writer may have pulled it off better, giving a better balance between the different characters' arcs. But Hori is very weird about Endeavor and keeps explaining himself - sucking oxygen away from the other characters.

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Follow Me

Request: Can you do something like Vault 4 in the show but with Coop and the reader and how they'd react to friendly faces (or what seem like friendly faces?) A/N: This prompt GOT ME GOOD. I started out with Vault 4, scrapped that, and somehow ended with hippie Ghouls singing Uncle Kracker songs that we're pretending are original because they definitely didn't exist in the pre-war Fallout universe a totally realistic Fallout story that involves hippies and the ocean Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language Summary: You can't help but be suspicious of everyone you meet in the Wasteland, but a group of friendly, musically-inclined Ghouls just might be the exception.

Word Count: 1.9k+

(Gif Credit to @オレは強い)

“You get the caps?” 

Cooper tosses a bag tied with twine your way in response. It’s heavy, the sound of bottle caps clinking in a soft reassurance that you can afford to rest your aching body for more than just a couple nights.

“There isn’t anything in these damn dunes but sand and rocks.” You kick at the ground, “Might as well start pedaling back east.”

There’s a moment of hesitation before Cooper answers. 

“Not this late. We’ll go west. Follow the coastline.”

You sigh in defeat, resigning yourself to the fate of slogging through thousands of tons of sand. 

“Problem, sweetcheeks?”

A scowl curls your lip at Cooper’s sarcastic jab. He’s already walking west into the orange halo of a setting sun. 

“Just don’t want to hike back through more miles of dunes if we don’t have to.” You mutter and follow behind him. 

If he was going to be a prick, you were at least going to use his already-irradiated body as a sun shield. 

After a substantial payout on your most recent bounty, Cooper and yourself were both ready for a break. It had been a long few months of job after job and patience was wearing thin. You’re both getting more snappy with each other as the days slip by; Cooper is more dependent on his Vials after exerting himself, and you’re plain exhausted. Sunburned, sweaty and dry all the same. It is a volatile mix of attitude and flaring tempers, both of which you and Cooper possess a staggering amount of.

The drop location for the bounty had been far west in the sand dunes, nearing the coastline. Cooper had made the drop while you sought out shelter for the night. Sought being the key word, as you’ve been hiking through sand for hours with nothing to show for it. You met back up with Cooper at the crest of a dune, where he’s huffing down a Vial and pacing like a caged animal. 

And now, you’re back on the move. 

You trail in his shadow even when the sun sinks below the sand and a full moon rises. You’re comforted by the absence of heat and creeping relief of dusk as it soothes away the day’s burns, but desperate for a reprieve from the elements. It takes you a few moments shuffling through your pack while walking to find the salve you’d mixed up months ago and slather what remains of it on your roasted cheeks. Trying to put the lid back on and not fall flat on your face is a chore, made more difficult by Cooper’s sudden stopping in front of you. 

“Damn, a little warning would be…” You trail off, looking ahead. “Nice.”

It had been years since you’d seen the ocean, and its grandeur isn’t lost on you. Waves lap at the thirsty shoreline, breaking up the moon’s silvery reflection. For miles and miles, as far as the eye can see, water dances and shifts until it mixes into a twilight sky on the horizon.

A childish bout of excitement washes over you as you observe. Only one more hill of sand separates you from the water. Cooper sighs as you weave around him and hustle towards it. 

“Don’t you get in that water, woman.” He barks, “I ain’t fishin’ you out.”

You ignore him and hike up the next dune. Forever seems to pass as you climb upwards and you curse the sand once more. You’re almost to the top, ready to make a mad dash to the water when a voice stops you. 

“Hello!” A surprisingly happy voice catches you off guard, coming from your left, “Welcome, friends!” 

Cooper is immediately on guard, pulling his pistol. The Ghoul persona steps up to bat, his face all hard edges and glaring eyes. Despite the arguing and bickering you’ve been putting each other through, his protective streak drops over you like a shield. Now at your side, he nudges a shoulder in front of you.

Ghouls can take bullets a lot easier than a human, after all.  

In the direction the voice came from, you take stock of not one but several figures in a circular camp. They’re grouped around an old cable spool that’s topped with bottles of various liquor and drinks, and they move to the twang of what you think is an old guitar. A small fire crackles next to the table. The guitar chords reach your ears in slow waves, an inviting tune that makes you want you go down and dance with them 

The figure who’d called out is closer, hands held up in a placating manner. You’re surprised to note the familiar lack of a nose and wrinkled skin that labels him a Ghoul. He’s apparently younger than Cooper - as most Ghouls are- with skin a little less warped and blonde hair that still seems to grow rather wall from his scarred scalp.

“Woah there, brother. Take it easy.” 

Cooper doesn’t relent. “We ain’t here to make friends. Just passin’ through.”

There’s something about this stranger that’s genuine. That’s not to say you haven’t met real, genuine people in the Wasteland, but kindness is something found few and far between these days. You've met a few Ghouls outside of Cooper, most of which are inherently more friendly due their outcasting from a lot of the major settlements. They’re usually chatty, comforted by the sight of a smooth-skin traveling and being in close quarters with another of their own kind.

Your Ghoul, though, is less willing to accept friendship on the fly. 

“It’s not about the destination, folks. It’s about the journey.” He pauses, “And the people you meet.”

You blink at him and turn to Cooper, who snorts. “Well ain’t that sweet.”

“Listen brother, I know life is rough out there but I swear- we’re just here to enjoy what we can.” He motions over to the camp, where another male Ghoul is picking the guitar and laughing with the others.There’s no weapons lying about, and a clear line of sight in every direction.

A smile pulls at your lips, and you place one hand on Cooper’s forearm. The music is washing away any sort of hesitation you had, reinforcing the desire for rest. 

“Sorry, my partner here is a little paranoid. We wouldn’t mind stopping.” 

It takes a few moments of convincing (half of them being threats of physical violence) for Cooper to stand down. You’re fairly certain he knows these Ghouls are harmless, but can’t escape the suffocating paranoia that comes along with two hundred years of Wastelanding.

Shortly thereafter, you're introduced to the ragtag group, sharing only your first names and settling your things against the side of an overturned car that only has half of the roof sticking up from the sand. Kevin, Phil, Desiree, Cody and Mallorie regale you with their stories, about leaving the major settlements for a life on the road and somehow being happy and relatively unscathed by Wasteland violence. 

Through it all, Cooper is predictably standoffish, amber eyes shooting daggers into anyone that gets too close.

Which, with this group, is everyone. 

They aren’t just friendly, but physical, rubbing your shoulders and patting you on the back. One of the female Ghouls braids your hair while Cooper sits stock still across the firepit. They attempt to make conversation with him, most of which ends with no response. You scowl at his rudeness each time, and nudge his shoulder to prompt one word responses once you’re returned to his side of the fire. 

“So, where are you folks headed?” The female Ghoul who’d braided your hair inquires. 

Cooper is quiet beside you, cigarette dangling from between his lips. 

“Not sure.” You answer, glancing to your side to look at the ocean. “We kind of just... Move. Wherever we can find work, we go.”

“A shame that we’re still slaves to money after being nuked.” Phil, who’s been strumming on the guitar since you joined, speaks up. “You’d think everyone could just be peaceful now.”

And that statement actually gets a reaction from Cooper. It’s a snort, but a reaction nonetheless.

“Ain’t nobody peaceful out here.” Cooper stubs his cigarette out on the rotted metal of the car, “Everybody wants somethin’. Money, drugs, power.”

“Guns.” You add, lighting your own cigarette. 

“Not us.” Desiree, the very same that braided your hair, looks around the group, “We left all of that. All we want is peace.”

While it was a nice thought, you’d seen too much to ever believe it was true. The Wasteland truly metamorphosizes people, and not always in a good way. There’s always someone clamoring to be the newest leader, the brightest glow of hope for the world. 

“True that, sister.” Phil lifts his drink and the group follows, toasting to her words. “And to our new friends, I hope you can find peace someday.”

You smile in spite of your own thoughts, raising the cigarette in your hand in a lazy nod to their previous toast. The group cheers once again and lifts their drinks towards the sky. You bump playfully into Cooper’s shoulder, and your Ghoul stares at you from under the brim of his dirty hat. His eyes are narrowed and you know deep down he’ll never be able to escape the grip the Wasteland has on his heart, but that doesn’t mean you won’t try your damndest to get a smile out of him. 

“I got something the cowboy will like.” Phil pats his guitar as if it’s a shiny new car, “I dabble in the country genre.”

Cooper tilts his head back and steals the cigarette from between your fingers. “This oughta be good. You gonna regale us with some Johnny Cash this evenin’?”

Kevin pipes up then, smoothing out his blonde locks. “No Johnny Cash here, man. Phil’s got some original stuff. We call it ‘new age’ country.”

“Well, I’ll be.” Cooper finishes your cigarette, and starts working on lighting a second to make up for it. “Let’s hear it.”

The sarcasm drips heavy from his voice, and you resist the ever-so-common urge to slap him for his rudeness. You’re plucking the newly-lit cigarette from scarred fingers when Phil starts strumming the guitar again, now in a slow beat that immediately makes you think of the ocean swirling behind you. It’s a melody far different than that of the Wasteland radio stations, something new and creative that sends an excited tingle up your spine. You nod your head with each note, nudging the Ghoul beside you. He takes a long swig of whiskey, watching your swaying out of the corner of his eye. 

“You don't know how you met me, you don't know why

You can't turn around and say goodbye.”

Happy to have something cheery  in the sprawling hellscape you’re forced to live in, your smile cracks wider. Cooper is watching Phil now too, one hand resting on his thigh and the other loosely gripping his whiskey. 

“Follow me, everything is alright. 

I’ll be the one to tuck you in at night. 

And if you want to leave, I can guarantee

You won't find nobody else like me.”

Warmth washes over you at the lyrics and you lean into Cooper’s side. He shifts around to make it comfortable for you, and the fingers of that arm find your hip. Phil keeps crooning into the night, lulling your eyes shut as your cigarette turns to ash. Your eyes flutter when Cooper takes another swig of liquor, sweeping over the group. Everyone’s swaying to the tune, singing along and dancing. It’s not until you move to settle back down that movement catches your eye and a shit-eating grin spreads across your face. 

Cooper’s boot just so happens to be tapping along with the beat.

thanks for reading, much love ❤

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

[gallavichsreddie1128]

You Belong With Me (Patrick Zweig)

Description: Y/N is in love with Patrick but is convinced he doesn’t feel the same

Word Count: 2,007

Author’s Note: Please send in requests! I have a few that I’m working on right now but I’m open to whatever

Y/N was in love with Patrick Zweig. She has been since they first met. She met him and Art at a Tennis game and they became close friends. They were a trio and everyone knew it. There was even rumors that they were all fucking each other but unfortunately that wasn’t true. Patrick loved sleeping around but the idea of fucking Y/N never seem to cross his mind. Art saw how Y/N looked at Patrick and he knew that she loved him. Y/N was super jealous anytime that Patrick got a girlfriend or bragged about hooking up with someone. Anytime she’d ask him why he was telling her any of this he just told her that “you’re one of the guys.” That hurt.

She had to hide back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes as she gave him a fake smile. He never saw her like that. It got so much worse when Tashi Duncan came into their lives. Both boys were swooning over her and it made Y/N jealous. Tashi was nice to Y/N though. She teased her about her friendship with both guys but never had any ill feelings towards her. Patrick and Art reassured Tashi that y/n was just a friend after the homewrecker comment. Y/N had to hide her jealousness and sadness hearing about the night the three of them had together. Patrick wouldn’t shut up about it but like a good friend Y/N just told him that was crazy and awesome for him.

“Yeah she said whoever won our tennis game could get her number.” Y/N hoped that he lost it. He didn’t and thus began Tashi and Patrick’s relationship. Y/N watched them be all lovey dovey while her and Art were seething. Art had it bad for Tashi and y/n wasn’t oblivious to it. Y/N and Art went to Tashi’s game together and waited for Patrick. “Where is he?” Y/N asked. Art decided to text him and got a response back moments later. “They are fighting so he’s not coming.” Y/N sorta felt happy that they were fighting but she knew that was wrong.

She could see on Art’s face that he felt the same way. Y/N gasped as Tashi broke her knee. Her and Art got up immediately and ran to her. Her cries and screams sounded awful and Y/N felt so bad. Her and Art sat with her when Patrick arrived. Tashi screamed at him to get out but he wouldn’t listen so Art did, “Get out Patrick.” Patrick looked at them and looked at Y/N. She opened her mouth but words didn’t come so he walked out. Y/N debated on going after him but knew it wasn’t right. She would have to talk to him later. “Why didn’t you say anything in the room?” He asked her as he showed up to her room.

She wanted to scream that she loved him and she was tired of being one of the guys but didn’t. “I don’t know. Everything just happened so fast.” She said softly. “He wants her, you know that right?” “What?” “Art wants her so he caused all of this.” Y/N looked at him confused. “What do you mean Art caused this?” “The whole reason we were fighting was because of Art and cuz I suck at Tennis?” Y/N was shocked that Art would be the cause. Did Tashi like Art? “You don’t suck at Tennis.” She tells him. He smiles but shakes his head. “According to her I do.” “Well she’s wrong.” Y/N thought that he was great at Tennis. Art and him kinda had a fallout after that but Y/N still kept in contact especially since they all went to the same college and even after that.

Patrick was a mess that Y/N had to clean up constantly. “Thanks for being here.” He says to her as they drive to a hotel. “No problem.” “Are you sure you don’t mind paying? I’ll pay you back as soon as I get the money.” She laughs and shakes her head. “All good.” They got to the hotel and y/n paid. Y/N had a big girl job and never went pro in Tennis but still made a lot of money. “Are you hungry?” She asked as they got to the hotel room. “Yeah, a lot.” “Let’s go get some food then.” She said. While they were getting food she got a text from Tashi that told her they would be at the challengers. Y/N jaw dropped and looked up at Patrick who was scarfing down the food they got.

“So I have some news and I don’t know if you’re going to like it.” She says. He looks at her with a mouth full of food. He motions for her to keep talking. “Art is going to be there. Playing against you.” Patrick almost chokes on his food. “What?” He asked, Y/N nodded. “Tashi just texted me.” Y/N was excited to see her old friends. Patrick wasn’t. “Girl it’s so good to see you.” Tashi said and hugged her old friend. Y/N hugged her back and said the same. “Hi Y/N.” Art said and hugged her. “I missed you both so much.” “Did Tashi tell you that I was here?” Art asked, not knowing that Patrick was here. “Yes.” Y/N gulped. Neither of them knew of Patrick’s presence. “Awesome! I’m glad you came. I have to go practice.” He said and walked away.

Tashi looked at Y/N suspecting something. She never was good at hiding anything. “What is it?” Tashi asked. Y/N looked at her and shrugged. “I just can’t believe you guys are here.” Tashi raised an eyebrow at her. “He’s here isn’t he?” Y/N nodded and Tashi rolled her eyes. “He was here before you guys were. I got your text at the hotel.” She told her. “Art’s gonna freak out and think that I planned it all.” “I don’t think Art’s gonna think that.” Y/N tried telling her. “We gotta keep them away from each other.” Y/N agreed. Patrick won all of the rounds leading up to the finales as did Art. For the most part they hadn’t seen each other but knew that they were there. As Y/N and Patrick were drinking and talking he kept looking away from her and staring at something else.

“What’s wrong?” She asked him and he snapped out of it. “Nothing.” He lied. Y/N looked behind her and saw Tashi. She looked back at him with a “really?” face. He sighed, “She’s married.” Y/N exclaimed. He nodded and understood but still got up to go talk to her. Y/N could tell that the conversation wasn’t a pleasant one. Tashi seemed annoyed and when Patrick came to sit back down he told her, “She wants me to stay away from Art.” “I do too.” He looked at his best friend, “What?” She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.

“Patrick it’s not good for you guys to be around each other and for you to be all over her still.” “I’m not all over her!” “Patrick, yes you are. You have to let her go.” She was right. “I asked her to be my coach.” Y/N’s jaw dropped. “You did not?” He nodded his head. “I did and I think she might do it.” Y/N sighed, “You’re a dumbass.” She breathes out. “It could be good for me,Y/N.” She knew that Patrick wanted her and it disgusted her. She sighed and shook her head, “I don’t know what’s good for you, Patrick.” Though that night he got exactly what he wanted.

With a price of course that he wasn’t even sure he was going to do. “I want you to lose.” Tashi said to him. He wanted to laugh in her face but he also wanted to fuck her so he was in between. “I’ll do it.” He ended up telling her but there was always a I’ll do it but you have to do…with Patrick. So when it was all said and done Tashi looked up at him. “She loves you, you know.” He looked down at the woman with confusion written all over his face. “Who?” She rolled her eyes. “Y/N.” Patrick didn’t believe that, not even for a second. “Yeah right.” He said and pushed Tashi off him the best that he could.

She sat up and huffed. “I know it’s ridiculous that she loves someone like you but it’s true.” “And you fucked me? Knowing this.” “I’m not her best friend, you are.” He sat up as well. “Okay let’s say that you’re right. Why haven’t I noticed?” She looked at him like he was stupid. “Cuz you’re stupid.” He took in her words as they sat in his car. Was his best friend really in love with him? “Why hasn’t she told me yet? It’s been 15 years.” “Cuz Patrick you’ve been with girl after girl. She doesn’t think you feel the same way.” 

He got back to the hotel around 2:30 am. Y/N sat on the bed waiting for him. He opened the door to be greeted by her. “Where were you?” She asked in a whisper. “Out.” She rolled her eyes, “clearly but what were you doing?” “Tashi wants me to throw the competition.” He ignores her question. She sighed. “Of course you were with her. Patrick she’s married she doesn’t need you to fuck things up for her.”

“You act like she didn’t call me to hook up.” Y/N stood up from the bed. “She what? You what?” He rolled his eyes. “We had sex okay? But only so I would lose tomorrow.” “Patrick, that's not okay at all. That’s really shitty.” “You know what else is shitty? Not telling your best friend that you’ve been in love with him for 15 years.” Her eyes widened at his words. “What?” She whispered. “You’re in love with me and you’ve been for 15 years!” She breathed out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding.

“I am. But I shouldn’t be. I mean you’re a bum, Patrick. And it seems like you use me and even though I know I shouldn’t. I do and I would die for you, Patrick. But you love her and you always have and you always will. I’m just one of the guys to you.” She had tears in her eyes as she said those things. Patrick looked at her, “you really feel that way about me?” He asked. “Yes but I still love you. I’ll always love you Patrick Zweig.” She said. He walked up to her and cupped her face. The tears that were falling from her face landing on his hand. “I’m such an idiot.” “What?” He kissed her, hard and full of passion.

She kissed him back like she waited 15 years for this kiss. Standing in the room, in the moonlight as they moved their lips together until they need air. “But Tashi. You love her.” He shook his head. “No I don’t.” He said and kissed her again. This time they fall onto the bed not breaking the kiss. She moved to straddle him, not breaking the kiss. His hands moved up her back and hers placed on his chest. She moved to cup his jaw and deepened the kiss.

This was a dream come true for her. No matter how shitty he was, she would always love him. She pulled away from the kiss and started kissing his neck. “Wait stop.” He said and she pulled away, confused. “What’s wrong?” She asked. “You don’t deserve this.” She stared at him with the same look. “I want to take you on a date before we have sex.” She was shocked by his words. Patrick was never known to be a date guy. “After I win tomorrow. I will take you out.” “So you aren't throwing it?” He shook his head. “Hell No.” He said, making her laugh. “And if you lose?” “I’ll still take you out.” “You’ll pay?” He nodded and kissed her again. “I’ll pay.”

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price takes Nikolai to a gig and gets more than he bargained for.

cw: sexual content towards the end.

Price stood on the outskirts in the standing area of Liverpool's Olympia stadium tracing back the decisions that had led him to this moment. He clutched half a pint of the worst lager he had ever tasted in one hand, his fingers bending the plastic inwards under a tense grip, while the other hand remained deep in the pocket of his jeans, turning his flat keys over and over.

Nik had thrown the flyer down on his desk about a month ago, and those big brown eyes had been turned onto their pleading setting immediately. Laswell likened them to the eyes of her barrel-shaped black Labrador; big, loyal, soft, irresistible. Price had asked her whether her wife knew there would soon be a third in their marriage and she'd thumped his arm hard enough to leave a mark. "Liverpool, this is where you live," Nik had said, stating rather than asking. "Can you help me book this?"

Nikolai could fix you a handgun in Liverpool no problem, replete with silencer and enough hollow point ammunition to create a very bad night for the Merseyside police force, but booking and attending a gig was apparently too much. Price had snagged up the flyer, squinted at the band name as if he had a chance in hell of recognising it, and then agreed.

Because why the fuck not? Brass were pressuring him to book some leave so they could tick the 'monitoring mental health and well being' box on his performance management, so it was as good excuse as any. You can kip on my sofa, he'd said, I can cook a better sarnie than the Premier Inn.

Nik's entire face had lit up. "Good! And you can come with me," a single beat of breath, "or I might get lost." There has been no time to argue the point because Garrick had knocked and entered, only to be scooped into a hug with a boomed, "Gaz, my brother, good to see you!" and the Russian-shaped whirlwind had disappeared.

So Price had done just that. He'd booked two tickets at the same time as his annual leave - three days should get them off his back - and put it out of his mind.

Not that there would have been much time to mull it over; they shipped out on a week long recon mission the following day, and the fallout that followed had taken up the rest of the time. Before he knew it, he was sitting on the train with Nik opposite, watching the British countryside sprint by in a blur of green and grey, drinking a beer and playing cards.

Being around Nik was easy. It wasn't just that he didn't take up energy to entertain, or require a certain mask from Price, it was more than that. Like he slotted into a part of Price's psyche built precisely for him, and Price felt happier when he was there. Laswell said it was like Nik removed the stick from Price's arse as part of his exfil service and Price had told Laswell to fuck off.

They had spent the afternoon mooching around Price's gaff. Not much to see really, but Nik had been fascinated by the dusty family photos on Price's wall and asked after every face; mother, father, sister, two nieces, a nephew, grandparents. He'd wanted to know about them all.

Then, with an hour and a half to go before Olympia's doors opened, they'd got changed for the evening. Price had thrown on the only shirt he owned that didn't come from the bargain bin of a Mountain Warehouse or the Army Surplus catalogue - a Ralph Lauren his sister has bought him one Christmas instead of the much preferred fishing-themed memorabilia - and stepped out to be confronted by Nik in a Slayer cut off tank that showed off the sides of his torso in a way that made Price feel hot under his designer collar.

"You look," Nik had said, studying Price carefully, head tilting to the side with a wry little smirk, "ill-prepared."

"And you look like Ozzy Osbourne took some steroids so I reckon it evens out." Nik had laughed at that and thumped Price's chest, and in the next moment they were sitting in the back of a taxi, Nik talking through the set list with the same excited gusto he did when pawing over a new bird in the hanger. Price was just glad he had remembered his Loop earplugs and couldn't help but smile along at Nik's excitement.

After drinking together through the support band and watching Nik grow gradually more and more restless, Price had sent him into the pit. He stood watching Nik from afar - "your shirt is too nice, captain, you stay here and finish your beer, I'll be back," - a man ten years his senior, orchestrate what the lead singer was calling a Wall of Death. More, more, further. Don't be a pussy! And then they sprinted at each other to the crescendo of a shredding guitar. Jesus fucking christ. Price lifted his lager to drink and then hesitated; he was pretty sure he'd felt something wet slosh over his face and shoulders, into his drink, and he couldn't be sure it wasn't piss, so he put his inordinately expensive and shit lager down on the nearby bar.

The last gig he had been to was at fifteen, a year before he joined the service. 3rd November 2000 at Wembley in London; the Smashing Pumpkins. He remembered it so clearly because of the hiding his father had given him for not only hitchhiking his way to London, but stumbling home off his head on cheap vodka the morning after. There hadn't been any Walls of Death at the time.

Nik stumbled out of the melee that had followed the wall's demise just as the song ended, and a line formed down the centre of Price's brow. A knot twisted in his belly, and a little further down, at the lumbering mess of a man that approached. His tank clung to the curves of his chest, darkened with sweat, his usually neat hair ruffled and erratic, the sheen on his arms and collar bones reflecting the strobe lights and drawing Price's eye. A shiver of something that felt far too fucking much like longing ran down his spine.

"You're bleeding," Price said dumbly, his throat tight. His gaze settled on the split in Nik's lip and the blossoming bruise on his cheekbone.

"Eh," Nik huffed, wiping a smear of blood on the back of his hand. "The other guy looks worse." There was that feral little grin. The same grin Nikolai wore in the field when shit had gone Pete Tong but they had still come up golden through sheer grit, dumb luck and the precise application of violent savagery. It set a fire in Price's chest, made something feral and untamed rouse from slumber, and suddenly there was an itch beneath his skin.

"Damn fuckin' right," Price replied, reflecting Nik's grin back at him. A breath passed between them, something unspoken and wild as their eyes met. And then there was a strong hand gripping his jaw, another on his hip, pushing him into the wall behind him. His back hit home, knocking the air from his lungs, and his fists bunched in the sweat-soaked material of Nik's shirt as Nik's lips pushed to his. The coppery taste of blood mixed with cheap beer and cigar smoke, and every sane thought fell out of Price's head, replaced instead by a maelstrom of chaos centered around the feel of Nik's tongue, the softness of his lips, the demand of his teeth and the rock hard bulge that ground into Price's hips.

Price was sure his moan would have been audible but for the thump and scream of the music. Nik kept that grip on his jaw as he damn near plundered Price's mouth for what he wanted, but the other hand left his hip to push against the wall, clenched in a fist near Price's head. When they pulled apart, Price sucked in a strangled gasp of air and Nik pushed his face into the scruff of Price's beard. "Ty prekrasen," Nik breathed, "ya tebya hochu."

Price had been practicing Russian. He still couldn't read it, but even if he hadn't understood the words or the low growl in Nik's voice, the hunger in Nik's kiss on his neck would have communicated his meaning just fine. "Bloody hell," Price arched against the hard line of Nik's body, fists shaking. "Yeah. Fuck. Wait..." He shoved Nik away, just a fraction, but held onto his shirt with the same desperation. Caught in the conflict between what he wanted and another part of him that had been wounded once before. "I'm not your three a.m. shag, Nik. We clear? I don't do that. If this is--if this is what this is, then no, look at me, you hear?"

Nik let out a burst of a chuckle, eyes soft as he met Price's gaze. "John, you are and always will be my everything." He was drunk enough to struggle around the 'J' in Price's name, defaulting the zsho- inflection, but his eyes were clear as he said it.

"Fuck," Price responded, eyes wide, and Nik kissed him again, slower this time. When he stopped, Price was shaking.

"And you?" Nik breathed into his lips.

"Not here, not... I can't hear myself fucking think."

"Then home." Nik pulled him from the wall and soon they were navigating the corridors crowded with drunks and staff into the night. The cool air bristled over Price's skin, but it did little to cool the heat in his body, barely able to keep his hands off of Nik when they fell into the back of the cab. Nik sat contentedly, the backs of his fingers stroking up and down Price's forearm as he watched the city speed by.

Price's hands shook as he shoved the key in the door of his flat, and he turned just in time to be crowded across the threshold by Nik's chest. The door slammed shut and they tumbled onto the beaten up old sofa padded out with a spare duvet and pillow. Nik tore into Price's clothes remorselessly, thirty-ish quids worth of buttons skittered under Price's coffee table as the shirt was k.i.a. It didn't matter, because the feeling of Nik devouring his chest, scrubbing his stubble into sweat, hair and cologne with a deep, guttural groan, was worth every shirt Price owned and then some.

They fumbled and wrestled out of their clothes in search of skin. Nik worked his way down Price's body, wrenching his jeans and boxers over his thighs to lick a long stripe up the hard line of his prick before swallowing it in one. A strangled noise broke from Price's chest as he buried a fist in Nik's hair; the responding moan that vibrated in Nik's throat sent pleasure licking up Price's spine like tongues of flame. Nik kept him teetering on the brink, pulling away with a soft pop to work his way back up Price's body and squirm out of the baggy cargo shorts far enough to free his own cock. He took them both in one big hand and rutted forward, grabbing at the arm of the sofa behind Price's head for purchase.

Slicked by their precum and Nik's saliva, Nik fucked them both into his palm with enough pace and force to make the old sofa creak. He leaned down to kiss the moans and whimpers from Price's mouth in between growled pants of want, slipping in and out of Russian, English and some of the other eight languages he knew, like his brain had short-circuited and was spinning out. Fuckin' hot, is what it was. One of Price's hands joined Nik's, if only to feel the silky iron of his prick against another part of him. He squeezed tighter as his pleasure crested, balls pulling tight, and spilled between them.

Nik practically fucking purred with delight, thrusting against Price's spent cock until he grunted in discomfort before pulling away. No fucking way Price was letting him keep the upper hand; he snagged Nik's shorts and used them to yank him up until Nik's cum-slick cock hung over his face. His palm gripping one plentiful arse cheek, he sucked Nik into the back of his mouth, encouraging him to thrust in with a firm squeeze and low growl.

If Price had thought Nik had been loud before, the act of fucking Price's face had unearthed a whole new vocal range. Nik moaned, growled and panted like an animal, fisting Price's hair as his balls settled against the bristles on Price's chin. Price's throat spasmed, his chest ached, his damn eyes watered, but fuck he wanted Nik buried in him forever. His fingernails bit into the flesh of his arse, his spent cock flicking with interest across his belly, as Nik staked his claim. It took only a handful of deep thrusts before Nik hit his peak, buried to the hilt and spilling down Price's throat with a euphoric shout.

His grip loosened in Price's hair and he withdrew slowly, cock still twitching as it drew over Price's tongue. He replaced his prick with his mouth, kissing the taste of himself on Price's swollen lips with a bone deep moan, before lapping at the tear tracks on Price's cheeks.

At some point, Nik must have moved them to the bed, because Price resurfaced from his haze with his face on a thick, furry chest and a strong arm around his shoulders, the bedsheets draped up to their waist. Nik traced vague circles on Price's bicep, half lidded eyes unfocused as they stared at the ceiling. "I meant it," Nik said, clearly sensing Price's return from his post-fuck delirium. "Everything I said."

Price swallowed hard. How did you respond to that? Nothing in his life so far had prepared him for Nik's devotion. "I know," he murmured. "I... Me too. For a long time."

Nik shifted, rolling Price onto his back so he could look down into his eyes. "Then we make it work."

"Nik... Our lives, we... Shit could go upside down real bloody quick."

A finger pressed over his lips. "I specialise in upside down, captain."

"You just put your prick in my throat and you're still going with captain."

Nik shrugged, lopsided grin slipping back into place. "It is hot. Maybe I will fuck you in your uniform next time, hm?"

"Presumptuous, Nik..."

"Maybe over your desk." Nik sank down to kiss Price's neck.

"Cleaning lady would have somethin' to say about that."

"She is not invited. I do not share." A nip against his throat, and Price arched into Nik's chest.

"Fuck, okay... Mate, you're rabid."

"Hm, only for you."

Fuck. Only for you. Price closed his eyes as Nik's hand slid beneath the blanket. Yeah, fine, they could make this work. They could have this. They deserved it, this one thing, and fuck did Price want it bad.

[danikamariewrites]

Take Them All Down (part 2)

Rhys x reader

A/n: First off, I am so sorry this is months later. I did not realize I wrote part 1 in freaking October until I reread it for a refresher. Like no wonder so many of you asked me about part 2! There will not be a part 3 (so sorry if you have your hopes up for that after reading this).

Warnings: blood, violence, and eventual fluff

The throne room filled quickly. You couldn’t pick out faces even if you wanted to. Looking down you see the unlucky prince you had grabbed in your rage was Eris. The only surprise you showed at his fear was a raise of your eyebrow.

Seeing ghosts scares people. Eris isn’t immune to that.

The crowd parts, letting Beron. When he sees you with a sword to his heirs bleeding throat he pales. “Everyone out!” Beron roars. The room empty’s in seconds. Leaving the three of you alone.

“You,” Beron says cooly, raising a shaking finger at you. “You, are supposed to be dead.”

——

Rhys hasn’t broken his stride or acknowledged his family since the cemetery. Ripping open his closet door and donning his leathers Cassian finally grabs him by the shoulders, pinning him to the wall. Everyone waits with bated breath at the threshold of the bedroom. Azreil stands between the family and his brothers to absorb any fallout.

“Rhysand! Stop! By the fucking Cauldron, what do you mean she is not dead?” Cassian’s booming voice causes even Azriel to take a step back. But Rhys stands strong. Mirth dancing in his eyes. “The bond never broke,” he said with that haunting laugh and even more troubling smile.

“I have felt nothing since Hybern. The bond it…it’s just been waiting for y/n to wake up.” Cassian let go, his face pale. Instead of being angry he wanted answers. He was beyond confused at how you could possibly be alive. They saw your body, watched as your coffin was buried!

“What’s the plan Rhys?” Azriel asked, a slight shake in his usually calm voice. Another haunting laugh leaves Rhys’ lips. “Eris has been screaming in my head for an hour. She went right to the Autumn Court. My vengeful wife, HA!” Azriel and Cassian look at each other. Then it clicked.

Beron had found your body.

He had been the one to alert everyone, even brought Rhys over to you.

As if he was reading their minds Rhys began to voice their train of thought, “Beron saw an opportunity at the end of the war and took it. The instability of everything. He needed to take me out of the equation first before taking out any of the other courts. ‘Killing’ y/n was the way to go. Smart. He wants Prythian. Wants to be High King and for that he needs all the courts to rely on him. He has been creating problems that only he and his court can solve.

“I’ve been in contact with Kallius and Helion over the last few weeks. After Amren’s last meeting with the governors I knew it was Beron. Without us and trying to keep their courts alive it’s been a mess.” “So you are aware the court is struggling?” Amren interjects. Anger rolling from her tiny body in waves. Rhys turns to look at her. His face sympathetic and guilty. “I know you’ve been doing everything I should be. And I am so sorry. I should have never shut down like that. But I couldn’t…”

Cassian claps a hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “We understand, brother.” Had it been any of them Rhys would be doing the same thing his family was doing.

“I’ve reached out to Kall and Helion. They are meeting us in Autumn soon. Get ready to go.” His brothers nod, leaving Rhys to prepare for what awaits him in Autumn.

——

Back in the throne room you stall Beron. You want him to continue his tirade, letting all his anger out so you can deflect it right back at him. When he paused you dug your blade deeper into Eris’ throat. He held back his wince. Knowing the punishment from his father would be worse than loosing his head.

Before you could open your mouth to retaliate the bond in your chest stirred. You felt everything all at once. Anger, relief, love, and grief.

Rhysand.

He knows. He came for you.

Surprise shines in your eyes. Looking down at Eris he meets your gaze, his own amber eyes screaming ‘I did this. I told him. Please let me go.’

Dropping the sword from his neck Eris breathed out a sigh of relief. “Go,” you growl at him. He scrambles off the dias, deciding that leaving you and his father alone would be best. He dashes for the large double doors. Your eyes never leaving his back until Eris disappears from view.

You need to stall longer. Although you can feel Rhys again he’s far. Probably just winnowing to the border of the court.

Making a show of bringing your sword up to your eyes to inspect Eris’s blood slowly dripping down the sharp edge. You wipe it off on the skirt of your dress. Looking down at the swishing black fabric you notice how dirty and tattered it is. You don’t know if it’s from being buried for so long or pulling yourself out of your grave. Maybe it’s both.

The memory of waking up in the pitch black and digging yourself out flash through your mind. You want to drop to your knees and cry until you have no tears left. A pulse of love comes down the bond full force. It gives a you a renewed strength as you stare down Beron. Soon, it promised. Soon you could do all of that in Rhys’ arms.

Lifting your sword you point it at Beron. “We have a score to settle, asshole.” He smirks at you. Reaching out he pulls his sword from thin air. Sweeping into a ready stance. Beron curls his fingers, beckoning you forward. “Let’s see if the dead can fight.”

You run toward him, letting a cry rip from deep in your chest. You are going to kill this motherfucker.

The two of you keep clashing. Metal against metal ringing throughout the throne room. Slash after slash you finally feel the adrenaline wearing off. You’re weak and can feel he’s gaining the upper hand. Beron backs you toward the dias.

With a mighty swing Beron has you down. Your back hits the wooden stairs. Wasting time trying to recover, Beron stomps over, kicking your sword from your hand. Beron pushes his heavy boot against your open hand. You scream at the feel of your fingers cracking between his weight and the wood. He lets out a cruel cackle. “This time, I’m going to kill you for real.”

Beron raises the menacing blade. Ready to strike right through your heart. Closing your eyes you brace yourself for impact. It never comes.

The doors explode. You take a risk and move your eyes off Beron to see who has barged in. Rhys, those gorgeous wings on display. He’s flanked by Azriel and Cassian. Kallius and Viv with Mor at her side. Helion and his general. Beron must’ve done something to really piss off three High Lords while you were buried.

Everything went by in a blur. All you could do was watch. Rhys could’ve easily fought Beron on his own but it seemed like they each wanted a piece of him. Near the end Eris comes racing in, his neck bandaged. It’s an easy fight in the end.

Eris brings his father to his knees. Broken and bruised, he surrenders. Eris takes control, ordering Beron to be sent to the dungeons and watched at all times. His execution would come soon. Eris didn’t want him escaping.

You feel arms around you. Jumping, you look to your side and see Rhys. You almost didn’t recognize him with the beard. There was hope twinkling in his eyes. Silver lining them as he stares at you in disbelief.

A loud cry escapes your lips as you put all your weight on your mate. Rhys says something that you don’t hear, your ears are still ringing from the explosion. Darkness consumes your vision as the throne room falls from you. You cower into Rhys’ chest hoping the light comes back.

When you feel a floor beneath you again you pull away from his chest. Looking around you find you’re back in the Town House. Home. You are finally home.

You see the family behind you, not wanting to scare you. Tears fall freely down your face. When you woke up in that box you never thought you would see them again. By some miracle the Mother decided you weren’t done living yet and gave you back.

“I knew you weren’t dead.” Rhys whispered, kissing your forehead. “I could never leave you.” You say softly, looking up at him. He smiles at you. Tears falling down his face into his beard. Bringing a hand up you run your fingers through his beard.

For someone who has been depressed it’s very well kept. “I like the beard.” Rhys laughs as he pulls you into a hug. After embracing on the floor for what feels like hours Rhys shifts so you are looking up at him again.

“I want Madja to look you over, then we can get you into a bath my love.” He rubs the pad of his thumb across your cheek. Wiping away dried mud and blood. You won’t argue with him. You can tell he just wants to take care of you. “Sounds perfect.”

[darkstarofchaos]

Hello! Another person who is incredibly frustrated with redeemed Megatron.

Me and my friends have all voiced the exact same problems and that main being that we don't ever get the before him like at all. Hints here and there but for the most part NO ONE outside of the bad guys has any bad blood towards him.

I understand not every kid show needs to be these deep emotional epics but at the same time it's still weird to me that the Autobots, who have lost countless family and friends thanks specifically to the actions of Megatron and his followers, show no sort of lingering resentment. After all, the amount of time between the war ended and the beginning of the show would be like a few hours for beings that live for millions of years.

Having the Terrans would be a great excuse to have the devil's advocate angle when other Autobots still don't feel comfortable around him. I said the same thing in my own Starscream post too about how sometimes people can't change because those around them refuse to let them.

Megatron should've felt alienated from both sides and by him not falling back into old habits and committing to staying good would've actually proved that his redemption was warranted.

I'm not asking for it to take over the show, but these little background moments. Hell, Bumblebee's attitude would've been a little bit more tolerable if you were it was coming from a place of feeling slighted pissed that the cybertronian who more or less ruined his "childhood" (I've accepted that headcanon that any given Bumblebee is basically a former child soldier) is just walking free side to side with his mentor.

The sad thing is that the first couple episodes kinda show some hints of that? Like when Optimus gives his "Roll out" bit and Megatron tells Dot he's never sure if he means him, or Bumblebee being kinda wary when he tries to call Optimus and gets Megatron (also, Megatron's matter-of-fact recounting of how he kept his soldiers in line). It wasn't enough on its own, but they could have continued the trend to show most bots are wary of him at best, or even implied that the reason some Autobots don't show up much is because they don't want to be around him. It wouldn't have taken many changes to show Megatron as fairly isolated, with maybe one or two relationships that kept him from backsliding into his old ways (his friendship with Dot works better for me because 15 years is a long time for a human, and we know he saved her life at least once).

Honestly, I was ambivalent about his "redemption" in season 1? After Jawbreaker asked him about his altmode and it turned out all he had to do to get Optimus' trust was scan an Earth alt, I pretty much gave up on getting any meaningful backstory for him, so I was resigned to him just being Generic Ex-Decepticon (and then What Dwells Within happened and he finally felt like a Megatron trying to do better to me. Not just in his interactions with Starscream, but when he interacted with Optimus and Croft too: angry, wanting to do things his way, trying to do better but slipping into old habits. If he'd been more like that throughout the show, paired with the Autobots responding appropriately to him, I would have enjoyed his character a lot more).

And then Season 2 happened. And we went the "Starscream is worse than his abuser, actually" route. And now I'm like... This is everything I do not want from a Megatron redemption. The only thing I want from a Megatron redemption is for him to face what he did to the people closest to him. Every single Megatron redemption sees him running off somewhere and leaving the Decepticons to deal with the fallout of his war, and he never has to face the people he personally hurt. And when it comes to Starscream, it's almost treated like a good thing that he hurt him, because when Megatron isn't there to "keep him in check", he's worse than Megatron ever was. And then people roll their eyes and say "Starscream is always power hungry and evil, what do you expect?" while Armada Starscream is right there, and EarthSpark Starscream in Season 1 was a hell of a lot closer to Armada than to Cyberverse.

On his own, EarthSpark Megatron was boring and a waste of potential, but not especially offensive. Paired with Starscream, and specifically Starscream as he appeared in the final episode of the latest batch, he is possibly my least favorite part of EarthSpark right now. Not as a character, but as a concept. I like Megatron, but I have no use for a redeemed Megatron who still has to believe that he's better than Starscream, and be supported in that belief by the narrative. The early scene in S2 when Megatron tells Starscream to let the war end could have been a really good character moment, because we would see that there are still things he doesn't regret, and that he truly sees himself as better than Starscream (who isn't even the one to blame for the war's continuation - I firmly believe that, since the Decepticons were the ones being hunted and locked up, it falls to Megatron and the Autobots to prove that things can be different now. And if the war is continuing, it's almost certainly because Megatron and/or the Autobots fucked up).

But instead we get, "Yeah, Megatron thinks he's a better person than Starscream. And you know what? He's right." I am so done with the abuse apologetics.

[kitana-coldfire]

Hello, Sno4wy.

Well. Ain't this a bitch of an unsatisfactory situation you've put me in.

Not Simprock, not Robyn, not Mackey– you, Snowy. No one else.

Now, before we go any further: You claimed in the now-'archived’ (read: deleted) harassment support thread in EO that you didn't send that document to anyone except Gerald, specifically because– and I quote: “the document isn’t okay for sharing publicly.as it is” [sic], but that “[you’ve] not granted permission to it to anyone but Gerald”.

Wow. Well, I had my suspicions before, but I was almost kinda glad to get the hard confirmation that you never really cared about me enough to consider me ‘anyone’.

But the fact of the matter is: you sent that document to me unprompted on January 30th, 2025 (ostensibly as the 'receipts' you've been promising for months now). Why did you send it to me? Hell if I know, cause I sure never asked to see it! You just... gave it to me. And now here we are.

Now, I don't expect you to actually read this (after all, you've got quite the track record of refusing to read anything you consider to be ‘DARVO’ing you), I’m just gonna go ahead and consider this an open letter and move on.

Though, if you are reading this: for the record? I didn't want to do this; drag myself out in the open, air your dirty laundry for all to see. Sure you blocked my DMs and timed me out on EO, but did I do anything about it? No, I rolled my eyes and got back to work on censoring the very dangerous document you had unceremoniously foisted upon me:

And here’s the kicker: I had every intention of keeping this private; or, well, mostly private.

I will admit, once I finished scrubbing the doc of the personal and private medical information that you failed to redact yourself before just handing it off to me (for some ungodly reason), my plan at that point was to simply open a ticket, go: "Hey, it seems Snowy blocked me and put me in timeout before I could get the censored version of this document back to him like I promised I would multiple times. Please ensure it gets into his hands", and then just leave the matter be.

After all, whatever fallout you faced behind the scenes after weaponizing your position and lying about not sending it to anyone else due to it being NOT OKAY TO SHARE PUBLICLY by your own admission wouldn’t be my problem, it'd be yours. I’d have followed the rules, cleared my conscience, and would’ve been able to wash my hands of you forever with my head held high.

Granted, you never actually asked me to censor the document either, but that's not entirely surprising now because, after looking back at our chat logs, I realized you never even attempted to get to know me past what you assumed to be true. If you had, you'd have learned that not only am I a “known lover of walls of text”, but that I also do not take kindly to hypocrisy and manipulative behavior. And upon further review, the record clearly shows that you displayed both of those in spades during our (blessedly) few interactions.

Funnily enough though, the record will also show that you never once contacted me unless you wanted something from me; namely, for me to get involved in your personal harassment drama in some way (which you actually acknowledged I wanted no part of!)

But at the same time: I was already exposed to the information you sent me, so I felt that personally ensuring the censorship of the private medical information you dropped in my lap apropos of nothing– on people who are complete strangers to me, no less!– was simply the ethical and moral thing to do to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands.

That said: I'll be the first to admit I made a mistake in that I did forget to inform you that I had begun work on censoring the document in your stead. That was completely on me, and I apologize once again for my failure to communicate that in a more timely manner:

But I’m sure you’ll be willing to cut me some slack; after all, I was distressed by your egregious lack of basic decency.

Also, don't even bother trying to turn the fact that I made a copy around on me; I outright told you I did (you never once commented on that fact, either).

...then again, you also admitted you didn't even look at the body of the document before just sending it off to a stranger on the internet– but we'll get to all that soon enough.

Unfortunately, however, it seems that being a self-centered asshole just wasn't enough for you, as just a few hours after being timed out for a week, I woke up to find myself kicked– actually, no, banned– from EO, despite me clarifying that this was NOT an EO matter; because it wasn't. By and large, this was an issue between you and me, and aside from me getting the document to you, no one else from EO needed to get involved out in the open.

I was trying to follow the rules. I was trying to settle this privately as requested; keep it outside of the server to the best of my ability considering the ethical dilemma this document posed.

Quick sidebar: To the mod I contacted regarding this matter (and you know who you are), please feel free to DM me again if your “ears” are actually as open as you claim they were a few days back, because I’ll be happy to discuss the matter of Snowy harassing me in DMs for months on end– which you didn’t even give me the chance to explain one-on-one before blocking me– in greater detail!

Though I would suggest you read what I’m linking at the bottom of this post first before doing so. Don’t worry, its only, like 70-ish pages long and mostly screenshots (which is also much shorter than the approximately 300 page document Snowy handed off to me last week!). Still, take your time! I'll be waiting.

Anyway, let's take a look at the reason I got ousted from EO, shall we? (With a small addendum that I didn’t contact anyone I knew only from the server, and I had ample reason to believe that contacting them would be okay. Still, I recognize I misspoke in this message you never saw, and I apologize):

Huh. Interesting. Now, I’d ask to see copies of the DMs I sent people I knew only from EO to warrant a ban of that nature, but I know neither Snowy nor any of the other mods will be able to produce them. Because they don’t exist.

In fact, I resolved not to contact the single individual I recognized only from EO whose username and screenshots were used in the document (just to ask them how they'd like to have their information handled, mind you); I was going to simply censor it as a courtesy and leave it at that.

I was truly trying to do everything I could to stay within the letter of the law given the circumstances I had been put in to AVOID a ban on these grounds, as per the moratorium the mods placed on the subject on February 5th, 2025:

Still, while it’s upsetting to get ousted from a server, it's actually not my first rodeo in that regard; back in October, I (and about 60 other people) were kicked out of Simprock in what's been colloquially dubbed 'The Kickening'/[vaguely gestures] and I'm not gonna lie: It hurt. It still hurts. But this isn't about that; or at least, not at this very second.

Again: this is about you, Snowy, and your actions alone. Because even after all that, I was still willing to do everything I could to prevent bringing this out into the open; after all, you said it yourself: I wanted to maintain a 'guise of neutrality'. I didn’t want to get involved.

...that was, riiiiight up until the moment I checked our DM history, and saw that you had deleted every. single. message, in what I could only assume to be a blatant attempt to shut me up and destroy all evidence of your wrongdoing.

And just like that? You pushed my 'bitch' button. Sucks for you.

Because like I said: this is not my first rodeo; I knew to have the entirety of our interaction screenshotted and archived before I sent my final post. Of course, I hoped I wouldn't need those records but... well. When dealing with a near stranger who is oddly belligerent to someone I consider a friend, I knew it was best to be prepared. And– to the detriment of my free time at large for the past few days– I've since gone through and annotated said screenshots in excruciating detail, to provide context for my side of the story. Don't worry though! I censored stuff like your friend's real name out, because I agree– there are ethical considerations to apply.

Oh, and don’t even bother crying about them being faked; I have a video of me scrolling through our messages from top to bottom; two, actually! One from before you scrubbed your messages and one from after. Sadly, I can’t post them publicly at the moment because I haven’t had the time to scrub the sensitive stuff out– like your friend's real first name. Nor can I post the link to the document that you sent me (that I didn’t fucking ask for), because you were so right in that regard: It is NOT safe for the public to see in the state you sent it to me in.

Now, for those curious about what the 'Gerald Document' is actually about: For the most part, it details an interpersonal fallout between Gerald's wife's IRL friend group– people I have never even met, mind you, aside from maybe a passing interaction here or there in one case– thus, I can’t really pass judgement on the situation that led to the document's creation past… I dunno? "Everyone involved in this matter kinda sucks, but Snowy sucks infinitely more for passing people's personal and private medical information off to me without their consent."

There, you can jot that down as my official take on the matter.

So, tl;dr:

On January 30th, 2025 between the hours of 12:40 and 2:14AM CST Snowy exposed personal and private medical information on two people to me without their knowledge or consent via the document he is claiming to be his ‘receipts’ in his Twitter post dated December 12th, 2024. Additionally, he exposed even more private medical information on a third person via the ‘conversation log’ he was also offering up in EO on February 3rd, 2025.

Now, please keep in mind: I'm about to prove I never asked to see that document, I only requested and agreed to look over the chat logs he offered me over private message between him and my friend in the hopes of mediating a misunderstanding. And that request was only made under the unspoken understanding that he'd learned his lesson from the doxxing incident a few months back. Spoiler alert: He didn’t (and actually acknowledged he violated that agreement. Again!)

All in all though, Snowy sent the following to me completely unprompted on January 30th, 2025:

"Brown" and Jules’ private medical information (as well as Robyn's via unredacted chat logs)

"Brown" and Jules’ real first names

"Brown" and Kellie’s discord handles

Jac and Goot’s real names again via the SAME doxxing screenshot he posted on X on December 12th, 2024

Now, aside from the doxxing screenshot (and, unfortunately, “Brown's” real name, I later recalled), I didn't know any of that information before I read that document. Additionally, seven? (I say ‘?’ because I’m not actually done censoring the damn thing yet, so there very well could be more by the time I get through!) people’s usernames/pfp’s– who weren’t even relevant/involved in the issue being discussed– were left unredacted as well. Keeping those names in wasn't necessary in the slightest, either; most of the time they just happened to be around the conversation at hand. 

And yeah, you read that right: I’m still gonna censor it myself. Because that’s the ethical thing to do. Now, what I do with it afterwards… well, you blocked me, so… I guess it’ll be mine to do with as I wish!

Great. A 300-ish page manifesto that wasn't even relevant to the situation at present, penned in Sno4wy's own hand. Just what I always wanted. (Like seriously, man, you couldn't even list the estimated page count right?)

A few final words:

To Jules, “Brown”, (and Robyn): I'm so sorry I learned all of this information because Snowy betrayed your trust and sent me this documentation unedited. If I had realized at the time, I swear I never would have blindly made a copy to annotate when he sent it over.

But in my defense: the document was NOT locked down in any way aside from requiring Snowy to grant access, and when I checked the history it had been last edited in July. I genuinely thought he had learned his lesson after December and sent me something that had already been scrubbed, but it’s clear enough now that he didn’t learn a goddamn thing.

What he did to you was morally reprehensible of him, and I promise to do everything that I possibly can to ensure your information is censored correctly. That said: Jules, “Brown”– if either one of you would like me to send you a copy after I’m done to ensure I didn’t miss anything, I’m sure we have mutual contacts who would be happy to make that happen.

To Snowy (even though I doubt you're actually reading this): I truly hope you're happy, because you finally got what you wished for– I got involved. Congrats, I guess! But now, aside from censoring the document and figuring out what the hell to do with it afterwards… yeah. I'm pretty much done. But let me make one thing VERY clear: this is not an escalation; this is not a ‘DARVO’; this is not an attack.

This is me simply doing what I’ve been pushed to do, in order to ensure my side of the story was heard after you wronged and harassed me for months on end, ultimately resulting in you turning multiple people into victims with just a click of a button.

A side of the story you tried to silence. Deliberately.

Additionally, if you or ANY of your so-called 'friends' try to harass/contact/include me, my family members, and/or my place of work in your ridiculous drama you dragged me into, I will be taking that as a threat and deliberate retaliation against me for speaking up after being wronged.

So on that note, before I link the document to my complete annotated chat history with Snowy spanning from May 19, 2024 - February 6th, 2025, I’d like to leave my final (censored) DMs here as well just as a summary of what’s to come because... well, what can I say? When my ‘bitch’ button gets pressed, I don’t fuck around. I make people find out.

Goodbye, Snowy. For what it’s worth, I genuinely hope you get the help you so desperately need, but I also hope you have the day you ultimately deserve.

Then again, why would you start caring about what I want now? I'm not 'anyone', after all.

[tachimichishrine]

i’ve found someone who writes for tachi?? omg?? you’re writing is so amazing i love it! can i req an x reader where she’s like chuuya’s subordinate in the pm so she’s higher ranking than tachihara but takes an interest in him bc, hello?? who wouldn’t? so she starts to play specific moves that draw them closer together (ngl im thinking mastermind by taylor swift if yk the song) and when they’re finally dating he confesses that he knew what she was doing the whole time? aka intelligent slightly manipulative reader thinking she’s being slick abt it. thank youu!

<welcome to the corner of tumblr where we worship tachi and have no shame about it !!!!!!!!!!! OH FUCK YEAH I love this ask I love the idea and I love you, i've never heard that song before but woah it got my brain juices flowing, sorry it took centuries but here you go luv ♡>

"mastermind"

⫭◦⨝◦⫬

tachihara michizou x fem! chuuya's subordinate! reader

warnings: mention of drugs/alcohol and drink spiking (dont try this at home kids) ; a little bit of gore/torture but it's one sentence ; for some reason there are some elements of kind of sort of yandere!reader that just manifested themselves grgrgr but barely i promiseee ; fluff + plot ; cursing n intended lowercase

it was the middle of the night, and your phone wouldn't stop ringing. you tried snoozing it, turning it on silent but it would keep vibrating on the night table aggressively. against your better judgement, you picked it up and took a look at the caller id.

"boss man 🤏🧍"

well, you couldn't ignore that.

"what the fuck do you want you short little shit, it's 2 in the fucking morning," you grumbled, then cleared your throat before actually pressing the green icon to pick up the line. "hello, boss. is there anything I can-"

"cut the bull, where the hell are you?"

"um, at home? sleeping?" you raised a brow that he couldn't see. "am I supposed to be somewhere?"

"you- forget about it. just get here, now."

now, he was really getting on your nerves. "get where? I can't read your mind, boss, what-"

he hung up.

you didn't have a problem with chuuya in general; he was a decent guy, sometimes. you got assigned to work under him in the fallout of his partner, the famed demon prodigy, disappearing. of course, he didn't want anything to do with you at first, and you would've felt the same if mori wasn't breathing down your neck to keep on it. so, you kept showing up on his missions a few minutes before he arrived, the information already extracted or people already beat to a pulp.

he still wouldn't budge, so you had enough of working so hard just to be his subordinate and exploded at him one day. he could barely get a word in as you yelled loudly and ranted about his inability to accept help. while he was speechless in the aftermath, you just sighed tiredly, handed him your phone number and said that you weren't going away anytime soon and you'd appreciate it if he would just let you work for him already. time passed and eventually you got his trust.

what you didn't get, however, was an explanation for why you were rushing to slide into clothing fit for the outside world and making your way to the port mafia headquarters. it was the only place he could mean, so you ran over there with guns strapped to your thighs and safety off. you had to plan for whatever the hell might've been going on, but all you saw was a nearly empty lobby.

you cursed under your breath, irritated that you busted your ass for no reason. from the corner of your eye, you found a familiar face and approached him.

"hirotsu," you walked over with a pissed expression, "do you know where chuuya is?"

"oh, chuuya isn't here. he told me he'd be sending someone to deal with it," he said following a polite nod of the head. "he needed the black lizard to perform a mission, but he's unavailable tonight. so, he said that he'd send you."

"he's unavailable?" your eyes nearly bulged straight out of your skull, but you caught the slight squint in his face. "oh. he's drunk out of his mind, isn't he?"

hirotsu nodded solemnly. "I'm afraid so. mori only gave him this assignment tonight, and he was already intoxicated when he got the call. I was with him when it happened, so I suggested he call you."

"oh, he so owes me one after tonight," you chuckled, less angry now that you realized he was probably just collapsed on his couch at home and will have the worst hangover the next morning, which you could easily mock him for. well, at least that brightened your mood a little, aside from seeing the black lizard in action. you'd heard of them, ordered massacres through hirotsu but never been there to witness it. that would definitely be fun. "sooo, what exactly do I need to do? just be there or something? yell out 'fire!' like some kind of medieval war commander? 'cause I've always wanted to do that."

the old man was slightly amused by all of your excitement regarding the concept. he said that he just needed someone to be there in case, and you were technically of a higher ranking than he was. you told him that he was such a stickler for hierarchy; he retorted that you sounded like some guy he worked with named tachihara. who that was, you hadn't a clue, but you were assured he'd be there alongside another leader of the battalion.

the rest was a lot less interesting than you thought it would be. you strolled into an abandoned warehouse where the enemy was based with a small army behind you, and you stood there while they lined themselves at your side and waited for your word. you went against your inner child and ordered them to fire in a normal voice rather than a stupidly dramatic one, then you just watched the bodies fall. you glanced at the side to see hirotsu, who was intently scanning his surroundings to make sure there were no tricks. by his side, you saw a masked person and another man who was half-asleep, leaning against the wall.

you fell hard to the sound of gunshots.

maybe it was the way his entire body leaned onto the worn concrete, the way his foot was flattened against the wall and his hips slumped lopsidedly, the way his v-neck plunged down his chest from under his coat, the way his jaw sat tight and clenched despite his slender neck bending backwards to rest the weight of his head behind him. you pulled your gaze off of him since you were afraid of staring, but everyone was already dead and hirotsu was commanding the nameless suits back to hq. the man opened one eye - fuck, they were a glossy amber, some of the prettiest you'd ever seen - and scoffed while he followed them out. he walked like a textbook delinquent, hands in his pockets with awful posture, and you just watched him.

shit, what just happened? you exchanged some brief words with hirotsu as he thanked you for showing up, but all went over your head. you blurted out the question before you could think twice.

"which one of them was tachihara? out of the two who came with us. since, y'know, you were mentioning him earlier..." since, y'know, you couldn't get the picture of your mystery man out of your head and you needed to know his name.

following the affirmation that it was indeed the man with the bandage on his face, you at least had a name as you flopped back into bed at 5 in the morning. you didn't sleep, and you sure as hell couldn't get your heart to stop beating so fast.

something had unhinged inside of you, and all you knew was that you were going to have him.

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"boss, what'd'ya want me to do to 'em?" you yawned, half-asleep as you sat next to the hungover mafioso who was holding some kind of mystery drink in his hand while the other shielded his eyes from the light of day. you came over to his apartment - something which you knew he hated but was in no position to protest right now - and were simultaneously nursing him back to health and being a pain in his ass. "if word gets out that we annihilated the organization but two of their executives are still alive, our rep would take a hit."

"can you shut the fuck up," he groaned, body slumping further onto his fancy kitchen counter while you continued to laugh internally at him and his slightly pathetic situation.

"look, boss, I'll tell you what," you leaned down to his crouched over height and placed a cautious hand on his shoulder, "I'll take care of it. the whole thing. I just need your permission to grab the black lizard if I need 'em for support, but I can make sure it all goes away. and you can just sit today out and spend all day in bed if that's what you want. how does that sound, boss?"

he grumbled and passed out again; you took that as a yes.

you smiled to yourself as you picked up the unconscious body bridal-style, walked over to his bedroom and set him down. he complained loudly in undefined slurring, but you just shushed him and tucked him in under the covers. he was still trying to argue with you when you removed his hat, placed it at his bedside and then gently kissed his forehead and wished him a good nap. it was a little ironic just how much your boss felt like an uncontrollable younger sibling, but you would never say it to his face as you enjoyed the use of your unfractured limbs.

you tiptoed your way out of the apartment and the building, despite being fairly certain that not even an earthquake could disturb his slumber, with parts and pieces of your plan coming together. what you said was true, you did need to take care of those surviving executives. but you didn't really need the black lizard.

you only needed him.

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tachihara heard a gentle cocking of the gun as you glanced in his direction, waiting confirmation that he was indeed ready to storm the facility. you had managed to track down the runaways and corner them in their hideout, and decided you'd call for "backup"; you asked hirotsu for someone who was good with guns and mid-range fighting, since you knew that if you didn't specify, you might end up with the other commander of the black lizard. you didn't like leaving things to chance.

you tilted your head to the side, giving the signal for him to go ahead and sneak down the next hallway. he was eerily good on his feet, light steps as if he were made to be a spy. you did a lot of infiltration work on chuuya's behalf (his face - rather, his short frame - were too easily recognizable on the streets), and every second got you thinking of ways to subtly suggest to him that he provide backup once more on any one of your numerous infiltration missions.

for his part, tachihara didn't seem to be noticing all the coincidences lately. he didn't appear particularly deft or clueless, just indifferent as if he truly couldn't care less. instead of a faint pang in the backrooms of your heart, you felt a sense of challenge, like it was your mission to get him to fall for you because the good things in life are worth fighting for. besides, where's the fun in it if he wasn't playing hard to get?

the mission went by in a blur. you mimicked his mannerisms, ensuring that your movements were perfectly synced with his so that your gunshots felt more like a dance, synchronized bullet ballet. when all was done and the bodies were dropped, you shot him a faint smile.

he raised a brow, perplexed at your joy among the sea of blood, but you began clutching at your chest like he'd shot you with his glare and he chuckled a little bit. you could've sworn you fell in love with him all over again.

"say, I was wondering..." you thought out loud as you crouched down to the body of the target, pulling out a knife from your calf, "are you new? in the port mafia, I mean. I've been here ages and I don't think I would've forgotten someone who shoots like you do."

leaning on the wall while he watched you carve out their skin, peeling off a specific section that had their organization's signature tattoo, tachihara scoffed. "what's it to you?"

"just makin' small talk, don't get your panties in a twist sweetheart," you snickered, albeit screaming a little internally; you didn't expect him to be so resistant. you bagged the proof you needed to show your boss that you got the job done, then rose back to your feet. "alright, we're done here. thanks for the backup."

"wasn't like it was my choice," he rolled his eyes, although you didn't sense any true irritation in his voice. good, this is good, you can work with that.

"wasn't your choice, huh?" you repeated to yourself out loud. "how 'bout this, then: I'm gonna go grab a drink, so it'd be your choice if ya wanted to tag along, no?"

he murmured something about being busy and you tried not to let him see you frown as you walked out.

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this was your fifth "coincidence".

coincidentally, tachihara ended up needing to hand-deliver a message to chuuya, but you coincidentally bumped into him and promised to pass it on. he looked at you a bit suspiciously, but didn't say anything.

coincidentally, you were out drinking with hirotsu on the same day he was going to join the old man. you wouldn't go so far as to say that you played a part in the veteran's sudden diarrhea that left you two alone, but then again it was quite odd that you slipped some sort of substance in his drink right before. not that anyone saw, of course.

coincidentally, weeks of coincidences paid off. every time you'd run into him, need the black lizard or the other way around, he was starting to loosen up. you had a number of inside jokes and he spoke a little more on missions.

this time, you had to go negotiate with a foreign organization from which you imported an important number of your firearms. chuuya was available to go, but you pleaded with him to let you do this on your own, making up some lie about how sending an underling instead of an executive would show them that they are not the ones in control. he seemed skeptical but let you go.

soon afterwards, you whipped out your phone to dial his number.

"it's so unfair!" you complained to tachihara, groaning loudly as you combed through your closet for the right outfit for the occasion. "like I get it, he's busy and all, but dumping a mission on me last minute? sheesh, that's a cheap move, especially from chuuya. I've got 2 hours to figure out what the fuck I'm going to say to these people."

you left the phone on speaker while you pressed dresses against your figure, glancing in the mirror to see if it was the right one. "and it's a big organization, too! I have no idea what I'm going to do if things go south except get my brains blown out."

lies. if things went south, you would easily be able to make your way out unscathed. you were the right hand woman to a port mafia executive, not a scared little girl, but he didn't need to know that right now.

"would'ya like me to tag along? if they see one person, it might look like you were sent as a sacrifice, but if we're two, they'll know we mean business," he offered, as planned. you pumped your fists in the air and contained a squeal.

"hm? oh, you don't need to do that, tachi," you said softly, sliding out of your clothes and into your form-fitting outfit, making sure to check out your ass and reaffirm that you looked stunning. "wait! I'm just kidding," you giggled playfully, "it would mean a lot if you did. thanks."

he chuckled the faintest amount, and you made plans for when and where to meet. you told him that it was a high-end restaurant, so he'd need to wear something fancy enough to blend in, but of course the high-end restaurant was your idea. you'd planned it all in advance, setting up a corner in the back of a place that the mafia had under their thumb and inviting the organization there.

a date, it was a date, and it didn't matter if he didn't know it.

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"you look stunning, dear." he grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it, looking up with soft eyes you'd never have expected. he pulled out a seat for you and called the waiter to get you a cold glass of water.

unfortunately, "he" was the executive from the other organization, not tachihara.

awkwardly, your plus one stood in the corner with the rest of the guards, shooting you occasional glares that basically screamed, "why did I volunteer to do this, again?" you just laughed internally and told yourself that you'd take him out again as a way to make up for it, which was your goal all along. you adored it when all the pieces fell into place.

the negotiations were flawless. the man across the table from you seemed to be very willing to cooperate, and you figured his slight cracks at flirting might've been a part of it. the other part was that he looked positively jet lagged and you might've put a little something in his wine to mellow him out. you were sure he would've reached the same conclusion if he was sober, this was just a harmless little nudge in the right direction.

"10% increase on the price for a 20% increase on the quantity of firearms imported, then," you reiterated, smiling sweetly at him while he agreed to double what someone in their right mind would ask for. "lovely doing business with you, sir. I'm glad this didn't have to escalate."

he smiled softly, offering you his hand to help you up then nodding his head towards the exit so his goons would follow him out. you looked at the piece of paper he'd slid into your palm, a phone number etched into it, then watched him looking back at you with a wink. for a moment, you could've sworn you'd almost forgotten about tachihara.

"that was boring as fuck," he strolled over to you, clicking his tongue as he complained about his feet hurting from standing there for so long, saying that he wouldn't have worn a goddamn suit and tagged along if he knew all he would be doing is watching you flirt with some guy."

"that," you stressed, pocketing the number but trying not to think about it, "was not flirting. if I was whoring myself out for the mafia, believe me I'd put myself down with my own hand."

"oh yeah? brave words for a woman with a dress that tight on her ass," he scoffed, crossing his arms before he realized what he'd just said.

"tachi, you lookin' at my ass?"

he seemed at a loss for words, huffing angrily as he walked out and you laughed to yourself. he was so cute when he got angry.

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tachihara michizou was not an idiot.

he, however, did not know what to make of your behaviour towards him.

all these run-ins, all your conveniently-timed missions where you were down one person, every text you seemed to send at the perfect time. he knew your gaze lingered on him and he knew that you wore that dress for him, but he couldn't be sure about it.

confirmation came when he was casually chatting with chuuya over drinks.

"my damn subordinate has been so fucking weird lately," the executive slurred, gesturing for another glass while he toyed with the empty one. "reminds me of that fucking dazai... always plotting some kind of shit..."

"she sounded kind of pissed with you 'cause of that last gig with the firearms dealers," he retorted before downing his shot and slamming his fist on the counter out of adrenaline. "since you dumped it on her."

"huh?! the fuck you mean, dump it on her? she was practically beggin' me for that job, said she didn't want any backup either. I'm telling you, tachi, that chick's gone mad."

so it was a lie, when you called him, complaining. he wondered what else was a lie, but then he wondered why you would lie about that.

as if on cue, a message popped up on his phone with your name on it.

"are you free tonight?"

so he wasn't imagining things. for some reason, it got his heart beating, thinking about the fact that someone would do that for him. but, before he could respond, another ping:

"I got shot sorry lol I have no idea why I made it sound like I was asking you out. could you bring a first aid kit or something? thanks a ton!!"

he concluded on the fact that you were confusing, and that he wouldn't say anything about it, especially since you probably think you're incredibly slick about it. instead, tachihara excused himself from a very drunk chuuya and said he had to go.

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"ow, ow, ow! fuck, why don't you just pour the whole damn bottle on there, while you're at i- fuck!"

the whining was hard. you had to do it manually, making sure you actually sounded like you were in pain when really, your "fever" was from all the heat of feeling tachihara's hands on you as he dabbed the wound.

ironically enough, this wasn't planned. you genuinely did fuck up, the man you never called seemed to want revenge because he sent a few people to kidnap you. you only got grazed while you took care of all the henchmen, but it still hurt like a little bitch.

he was the first place your mind went to, as always. you managed to get yourself home but you couldn't reach the spot on the bottom of your ribcage where it sliced open without feeling a lot of pain.

and so, you just turned it into an opportunity to get him in your house, sitting on your couch, his hands on your skin that was barely covered by your shirt. the alcohol he was pouring onto the wound hurt but you couldn't feel anything except pure ecstacy.

"say, you're not bad at this," you fake winced as he pinched the skin together and just put a bunch of superglue on it. "you got... gah, you got experience as a medic or somethin'?"

"how exactly did this happen?" he ignored your question and instead helped you up slightly so he could wrap the bandages around your torso.

"remember the guy from the other night? well, he gave me his number and I never called, so he got butthurt and sent some goons to fuckin' kidnap me. or kill me, I'm not sure. I didn't really pause to ask 'em."

he looked as if he almost didn't believe you, pulling down your shirt and gently tapping on the spot he bandaged. "there, you're all set."

"thanks again," you smiled at him, groaning a bit as you sat upright. "I know it's late and you were probably doing some other shit."

then a slight pause. "if you want to crash on my couch instead of walkin' home, I don't mind."

the walk wasn't long, and he didn't feel tired at all, but he didn't tell you that. he just helped you walk over to your bed then got himself comfortable on your sofa.

you'd never been happier to get shot. maybe the universe was finally on your side, in its own weird way.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

the wound was fully healed and tachihara was yours.

it was the perfect excuse to him check on you, to have him come over and stay over as "protection in case someone tries to kill you again". both of you knew your excuse was bullshit, your plotting to get him by your side so painfully obvious now that he was getting closer and closer to you. by the time he was making visits on his own and smiling at you in the hallways at the port mafia, you didn't need to do anything anymore.

it was a wordless confession; both of you walking in the streets at night, going nowhere and not saying much. it was cold and you could see both of your breaths swirling in the air. you blinked and suddenly your faces were close, too close, and your body was leaning in on its own. his lips tasted like something your mind could've never guessed.

nevertheless, you were still addicted.

something about the kiss felt effortless, too. like you didn't need to do anything, say anything to get him to wrap his hands around your hips and pull you in close. this was the way it should be, easy and effortless. like you could wait patiently and he'd fall in love with you all on his own.

"have you seen my holster?" he called out weeks later as you laid down on your couch, reading a book as he looked around for the item.

"it's over here!" you called out, the holster expertly hidden in between the cushions because you wanted him to come over to you and find it. as he walked over to you, watching you wave it while dangling on your finger, a teasing look on your features.

"you're a conniving little shit, you know that?" he sighed with a soft smile, glancing at your hands as you set down the book by your side then sitting by your side. "if you wanna talk to me, you can ask like a regular person, y'know?"

his wide smirk as he looked at you pout, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you fake-sobbed into his chest. "you're so mean, thinking I'm lying!"

he grabbed your chin, gaze directly settling onto you with a look that said not to bullshit him. "you think I don't notice? when you kept bumping into me, us getting paired up on missions, even that time you said chuuya 'dumped' that job on you? yeah, you're cute but you're not a great liar."

you furrowed your brows. "if you knew, why didn't you say anything?"

"'cause I wanted you to tell me yourself."

"asshole," you pouted, laughing as you leaned towards him and kissed the tip of his nose. "I just didn't think... never mind, it worked, didn't it?"

he rolled over, laying you down on the couch and settling himself on top of you, making sure you were trapped. "being all cryptic now, aren't we?"

"maybe," you muttered between kisses, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him deeper. "... maybe... maybe you were just... I dunno, so pretty, and I thought 'fuck, he'd never go for me' and... I don't know, it's not important..."

"aw, look at you, gettin' all soft 'n mushy," he chuckled into your neck, smiling at your words while his teeth graze the tip of your earlobe. "keep talking 'bout how out of your league that I am."

"oh, shut up," you whispered, grabbing a handful of his hair and bringing his lips back onto yours so he would stop talking. "I'm tryin to open up here, you smug dipshit."

he grinned as his hand went down in between your thighs, parting them and opening up your legs. "I like the sound of that."

you squealed playfully and rolled him over, but the couch wasn't wide enough and you both fell onto the floor with a dull thud and a frenzy of laughter.

"seriously, though," he brushed your hair out of your face and pulled your hips so you were snug on him while you caught your breath and lowered yourself to kiss him again, "you're talkin' nonsense, baby."

"mmn, if you say so," rolled right onto his tongue. you believed his words, or maybe you didn't, but it barely mattered. he was here now, in your arms and telling you everything you wanted to hear. he said that he knew of your antics, yet the truth was that he couldn't do a damn thing about it if he wanted to.

all because you're a mastermind.

[zedecksiew]

What Do Ability Scores Represent?

Recently, Into The Odd and the players in my home game helped me realise something fundamental:

Ability scores represent how good you are at acting under pressure.

STR isn't strength, it's toughness;

DEX really means reflexes;

WIS is more accurately calm or willpower;

etc.

+++

It is convention in roleplaying games that your ability scores / attributes / six stats determine who your character is.

High DEX means your character is spry, capable of acrobatic flourish; a good Willpower generally means you can browbeat others / themselves / reality (if you are spellcaster) into doing what they want; etc.

There is pleasure in looking at a sheet and seeing: Oh! These are the things my character is good at.

But you do run into problems. Does my 18 DEX rogue know they are fleeter than the 17 DEX bard? What if my wizard thinks she is stronger than her 10 STR? What if I have a brilliant scheme but my barbarian only has 9 INT?

How well, in other words, does the map represent the territory?

+++

(Art by Vesha, who is an illustrator! source)

I've got three players in my home game:

Vesha plays the teenaged trader Khabar (and his buffalo friend / parent-figure, Paal);

Amanda plays the monkey warrior Boots-Ra, now going white-furred;

Aish plays Captain Phung.

Phung does not yet own a proper sea-going vessel. Perhaps he lost his previous ship? Perhaps he never had one. (He does have a magic five-person sampan, though!)

He is impulsive. He tends to make dodgy deals with hapless village-folk, pick up dangerous-looking objects, and flirt with dangerous-looking men.

+++

Mechanics-wise, here's how my interactions with Aish / Phung tend to go:

Me: Okay, make a DEX save to duck before the hunter stabs you. Aish: Damn, my DEX is only 6, guess we'll see ... Amanda: Oh, no, Phung!

In a previous session:

Me: Okay, I think I'll call for a WIL save, because the ghost in the goat skull is trying to possess you. Aish: Well, my WIL is 5, hopefully this works out ... Vesha: Oh shit, Phung!

Some sessions back:

Me: The automaton shoves you. Make a STR save? Otherwise you'll be on the ground at its mercy. Aish: Guys I have 6 STR, I may be in trouble here. Me: Wait wait wait. What are your stats again?

So it turns out that Aish had terrible rolls at chargen. STR 6 DEX 6 WIL 5. Just going by ability scores, Phung is an idiot weakling.

+++

Thing is, Phung isn't an idiot weakling.

I've got crafty players; they are pretty good at cooking up multi-part schemes. (Their go-to tactic is bamboozling rival factions to show up at the same place, then benefit from the fallout.)

Phung is generally the face for whatever racket they've got going: he's the most obvious leader (the party is generally "Captain Phung and crew"), and Aish plays him as a capable, charismatic go-getter.

Looking at the character sheet, is Aish playing Phung wrong?

Fuck that. A player cannot play their own character wrong. I reject this notion outright.

What's going on?

+++

Different rulesets try to bridge the gaps between player action, character ability, and abstract math in different ways: eliminating mental attributes; going totally skill-based; etc.

The ruleset that comes closest to "solving" this, for me, is Into The Odd.

Saves are the only kind of test player-characters make, in ITO and its derivatives. This is key.

The ruleset assumes competency on the part of characters; you only go to the dice if you need to figure out stuff that is out of your control.

How badly a straight-up fight goes; whether you can jump aside in time if you've accidentally sprung a trap; whether you can improvise a lie on the fly.

+++

Implicitly, and in practice:

The STR stat in ITO is more accurately toughness---ie: how well you can withstand a physically demanding situation you didn't prepare for.

Ditto DEX, which is an abstraction for how quickly your reflexes trigger.

Same with WIL, which is how well you stay calm under duress.

I can be sharp when I've got time and it is a subject I have experience in. But suddenly ask me to make a speech and I'm toast (low INT).

Some folks have no martial arts training but can hold their own if a brawl breaks out in a bar (high STR).

Captain Phung is a pretty cool operator when he's in control, but tends to seize up when things go off the rails (low WIL).

There's my answer to the conundrum of Captain Phung: he's a genuinely capable guy. He's just not necessarily great under stress. His reach exceeds his grasp, sometimes.

+++

Your ability scores don't represent who your character is. Your ability scores represent who your character is, when under duress.

In other words:

Ability scores are who your character is when they are not in control. Ability scores are your character's reactions.

+++

I do feel slow on the uptake, for only grokking this now.

Chris McDowall probably has a post from the mid 2010s or something where he discusses this aspect design in detail, the clever genius bastard. It is probably internalised play-culture within the ITO-and-descendants community; Emms points out that the current edition of Mothership explicitly talks about stats in this way.

Still!

Am glad to have a regular TTRPG group again, and I have them to thank for my epiphany!

(They are kickass. I ran them through Whirling Mummy a while back and it was a RIOT)

[amaltheas-garden]

Do you think there is no chance of Jon genuinely falling for Dany?

eh... i wouldn't say no chance, just unlikely. It all depends on the timeline, which the show doesn't help with since they got rid of fAegon. Will Jon meet her before or after fAegon dies? Will Dany have a role in his death? Will Jon and fAegon have met? Will Jon know about his Targ parentage? If Dany kills fAegon and Jon knows that it was his half-brother, that's almost certainly going to put a dampener on any possible relationship. There's also the aunt-nephew incest problem (depending on if Jon knows his parentage before or after they meet). Seeing as Arya was Jon's og outline love interest, I feel like grrm would have at least made Jon-Dany cousins if he was entertaining that possibility while writing agot. If we assume Dany, either intentionally or by accident, kills fAegon and blows up KL, then Jon would have to 1) Not know his Targ parentage 2) Never meet fAegon 3) Meet Dany before KL blows up. There's a chance that order of events does happen in the books, but that's just the necessary set up for a Jon-Dany romance to even happen, and doesn't address the fallout of his parentage reveal. Regardless of if the feelings are genuine or not, the outcome stays the same. Discovering he's a secret Targaryen, Jon would have to face that he's in a relationship with his aunt, who killed his brother, and also unleashed dragon power onto a major city.

Additionally, Dany represents everything Jon could have if he chooses her; recognition as a legitimate Targ prince, becoming King consort of the 7K, a dragon!?!?! Power, prestige, honor, yada yada yada... what more could a bastard ever hope for? All he has to do is choose Dany, choose to be a dragon, and he'll have everything. But that's not what Jon truly wants. It's a classic question of father who raised you vs father by blood: Wolf or Dragon, Stark or Targaryen. And we all know who Jon will pick every. single. time.

In short, there's a lot of timeline pieces that have to fall very neatly into place for a genuine romance to be possible, but even if Jon's feelings are genuine, it won't change the outcome of their relationship. Of course, there's about a zillion other variables that could impact it, but I tried to narrow it down to the problems with the most impact; the incest reveal, the possible murder of his half-brother, and the destructive power of the dragons. All of these things that would negatively affect their relationship have to happen after they meet, or happen in such an order that certain events only become emotionally impactful afterwards (Jon parentage reveal -> realizing fAegon might've been his brother -> fallout of Dany (maybe) killing him). It's just a very difficult relationship to see working. I'll also mention Jon would have to be almost willfully blind to a lot of Dany's red flags, seeing as he's a very smart and cautious character who doesn't trust easily. Ignoring the problems posed by her conquest ambitions, massive army, and 3 flying flamethrowers kinda makes him look stupid, which was a main critique show viewers had of late seasons Jon. Their individual personalities aren't the problem of if they'll be into each other, it's the sheer logistical nightmare of what circumstances they'll be meeting under that throws a wrench into any possible romance.

[lwh-writing]

I've been rewatching the Hunger Games movies with some friends, and I have many, many thoughts. I seriously need to reread these books because it's been years and Suzanne Collins is a literary genius, but I digress.

Anyway, there's a quote in Catching Fire where President Snow says "If head game maker Seneca Crane had any brains at all, he would've blown you to bits then and there." This is in reference to Katniss and Peeta almost eating the poison berries and getting out of the arena as co-Victors rather than them turning on each other, thus giving the rebels hope that they can stick it to the Capitol. It is Snow's belief that killing one and/or both of them would have solved the problem before it BECAME a problem.

But the thing is.... it really wouldn't have. If anything, it would have made the rebel problem worse.

Let's say Crane killed both Peeta and Katniss. For the first time in decades, the Hunger Games would have had no Victor. There would be no victory tour, no new kid to pimp out to the Capitol's highest bidders, and no new distraction until the next games roll around. And on top of that, it would have shown the entire world how little the Capitol actually cares about them. The game makers changed the rules halfway through to allow for two Victors, and then they took that away at the last second because two Victors emerging from the arena would have destroyed the very foundation of the Hunger Games. If Crane had truly shot down Katniss and Peeta, the fallout of the 74th Hunger Games would have been a wake-up call to both the Districts and the Capitol that Haymitch was 100% correct in saying that there are no winners of the Hunger Games, only survivors. The bright-eyed Capitols would have been forced to face the reality that the games were fundamentally unfair, and the Districts would have been shown that if even the Victors, the people guaranteed wealth and luxury weren't safe, that if their small beacons of hope could still be killed off without those in power batting an eye... then why even bother playing to the Capitol's tune in the first place? And the Rebels? They've got two new martyrs for their cause, and a newly discontent populous ready to fight for them.

Now, alternatively, let's say Crane did nothing. Let's say he let Katniss and Peeta eat the berries and they both die in the arena by suicide. Well, that won't be as drastic as Crane shooting them down, but the results are still mostly the same. The 74th Hunger Games still has no Victor. There's no one left to play distraction and convince the people of Panem not to look behind the curtain and catch a whiff of its political rot. And it's still the two-Victor rule change and the immediate retraction of such that doomed their favorite star-crossed lovers. It's still a wake-up call to the Capitols and the Districts that the Hunger Games are unfair, and that those in charge are willing to change the rules at their discretion no matter how it affects the general public. The people are still pissed, and the rebels still have their two martyrs.

Well, okay, what if Crane only killed ONE of them. Let's say Crane sees what's happening and decides to shoot only Peeta or only Katniss, it doesn't matter which. The 74th Hunger Games has a clear Victor, but that doesn't help a thing. Once again, it's still the rule change and retraction that got one half of Panem's OTP killed. It's still a clear signal to the people that those pulling the strings don't care. There's still discontent in the Capitol and the Districts because the Capitols lament their failed romance, and the Districts just saw an almost-should-have-been Victor get shot down on live TV. Not to mention it shows that the games are rigged beyond belief when the game makers, quite literally, chose the Victor. The Rebellion still gets a martyr. And on top of that, they get a mouthpiece stirring up shit.

You cannot look me in the eye and tell me that if Peeta or Katniss walked out of that arena without the other, the one that survived would have taken that lying down, consequences be damned. You cannot tell me that Peeta "If it wasn't for the baby" Mellark wouldn't have been playing the press and the political scene like a fiddle and knocking down Snow's regime like a line of dominos. You cannot tell me that Katniss "Girl on Fire" Everdeen wouldn't have been itching to take a quiver of arrows and massacre all occupants of the Presidential Palace. A Peeta without Katniss or a Katniss without Peeta would have Snow's worst political nightmare, and if he killed them after the fact, then the riots in the streets would have only gotten worse.

Seneca Crane's fatal mistake wasn't letting Katniss and Peeta live; it was allowing the two Victor rule change to happen. The SECOND that happened, the foundation of the games-- the image of the sole Victor shining above the rest --was shattered. Nothing could have fixed that, not even the hasty second rule change later on. There was absolutely no situation where Snow and company walked away the winners. Absolutely none. And Crane choosing to let Katniss and Peeta live was honestly the best choice in a string of horrible choices that could have been made. And the fact that Snow doesn't see that highlights exactly how out of touch he is with the human element that drives people to do the things they do.

Note: edited to fix "Capital" into "Capitol"

[class1akids]

having a tough time reading fanfics that depict shoto as having all bad coping mechanisms when in canon he has some of the best out of all the characters after the sports festival

For me, it's a bit more complex than that. I feel like Shouto's coping mechanisms are not really depicted - we are just to assume that they exist.

After the SF, Shouto does a lot of reflection, goes to look at his dead as a hero - so he starts the compartmentalisation of his father into Endeavor, the competent hero and Enji, the shitty dad.

In Midterms / Forest /Kamino arcs, he's mostly treating Enji as non-existent. But then after Kamino (when Endeavor's change is kickstarted), the Licensing exam portrays Shouto distancing himself from his father and trying to bury his past as an obstacle for him to become a hero and he fails his exam over it.

We also see PTSD episodes mid-fights - so it's not precisely all good or healthy.

For me, the interesting part of Shouto's arc is how he keeps struggling and how his healing is non-linear. But as Endeavor's atonement arc progresses, Shouto's own coping mechanisms are depicted less and less in detail, especially the ugly or fragile parts. His pain or mental anguish gets less focus and is only shown in footnotes / or implied because Hori doesn't know how to write an honest redemption / atonement arc where the victims' pain doesn't get swept under the rug.

This is my main problem with how he writes both Endeavor and Bakugou - the more he buys into the hype of his own writing, the more insecure he becomes about it. So he started to spend more and more time on highlighting feelings of regret from the perpetrators' POV (also combining them with flashy fight moments - so it could be framed as e.g. Endeavor fought AFO FOR Touya, Bakugou died FOR Deku, etc), while the damage is simply not shown.

So people can say things like: why hold Endeavor accountable? - Shouto is clearly over it. But I could also bring up the example of Izuku, who had all this build-up to feelings of worthlessness that didn't get explored or properly resolved in the end, because than god forbid the impact of being bullied may need to be dragged up again rather than just showing the same hero card scene over and over.

So, I do appreciate fanfic that goes into these neglected areas. I want to see how Shouto goes from Ch 298 self -> Ch 327. I want to see how he copes with the fallout of the Dabi reveal. I want to see how he feels after the final war about Touya, how he grieves his brother's death, how he copes with his family falling apart, how he faces the public as a young pro hero, how things he buried may hit him later in life, how PTSD may come to the surface.

I think there is plenty that can be explored without undermining also the incredible emotional work Shouto has put into his own healing.

[wallofchynax]

PROVE THY LEGACY: CHAPTER FIVE

ORIGINALLY POSTED ON AO3

Synopsis: It's the Attitude Era and Kiran Smith has been training her whole life to be a star and prove that women aren't just pretty faces. Immediately, she faces push back and is forced to job. She finds an ally in Chyna who trains her, eventually inviting her into Degeneration X where Kiran finds her place. However, the excess of the Attitude Era begins to slowly poison everything Kiran has worked so hard for…

Ships: Shawn Michaels/OC, Stephanie McMahon/Triple H

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS: Stephanie McMahon enters the locker room and tries to get close to Kiran. Shawn and Kiran blur lines in their relationship.

The weeks after Survivor Series was a blur.  

Kiran did the only thing she could do and kept her head down. She did what she needed to do. She walked out with DX; she threw cotch chops and played the game. However, something inside of her shifted from that night. She watched everything more closely now, watching the way Shawn looked at her, watched the way the Boss walked past her with that grin that said he knows the game.  

She didn’t feel like she had changed. If she had, no one said anything. But the way she looked at everything certainly changed. That was the undeniable fact.  

The laughs backstage went back to normal and felt somewhat forced on her part. The parties after the shows dragged later into the night. The high of DX’s antics still hit hard when the cameras were on, but off-screen, it all rang hollow. Kiran found herself forcing herself to have fun, observing more. There was a distance growing between her and the version of herself who used to think this was all just part of the job. 

Shawn never brought it up again. Not the match. Not the kiss. Not what she told him in the hotel room that night in the hotel room.  

And Kiran didn’t know which unspoken thing was worse.  

She told herself that it was much better that way, easier to just keep moving and walking out to the ring with the boys and act like everything was the same. Maybe if she kept faking it long enough, things would just remain the same. She had survived the fallout. 

But she wasn’t sure if she had come out of it clean. 

The locker room wasn’t quiet, but it wasn’t loud either. Just the usual hum of post-show routines. The sound of zippers, hair dryers, low conversation. Kiran sat on the bench with one foot propped on her bag, unwrapping her wrist tape, her mind elsewhere. 

Kiran barely looked up when the door creaked open. She was half dressed in her ring gear, sitting with one leg bent on the bench, wrapping her wrist tape slowly. Her thoughts were a mess. She needed something to distract her. 

That was, until the door opened and someone unfamiliar stepped in. 

Someone very out of place. 

A girl. Tall, nervous, too polished to be one of the roster but too confident to be crew. Her designer jeans and fitted blazer were a dead giveaway, but it was her face that really clicked. She seen her face before. Once or twice at events, or in the background, with the boss.  

That couldn’t be...Stephanie McMahon. 

She looked young. Very young.  

Kiran furrowed her brows slightly, turning her head. 

“Can I help you?” 

Stephanie blinked, clearly startled at being addressed. She hesitated for a second, before offering a bright and overly polite smile, “Oh! Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just...looking around,” 

Kiran’s face read of scepticism.   

Stephanie sat across from her, her posture just a little too straight and trying not to seem as if she was trying too hard. Problem was, she was failing miserably at looking relaxed. Kiran went back to unwinding her wrist tape, but her eyes flicked up every now and then watching. 

Stephanie looked like she wanted to ask a hundred questions. Maybe she did. But she was holding them back, like someone trying to time the perfect moment to strike. 

“So,” Stephanie finally ventured, her voice a touch too upbeat, “what’s it like… being out there? In front of all those people?” 

Kiran looked up again. “Loud. Hot. Smells like beer and sweat. You get used to it.” 

Stephanie blinked, clearly not the answer she’d been expecting. “But you like it, right?” 

Kiran shrugged. “Some days. Other days I just try not to get my face kicked in.” 

Stephanie smiled awkwardly. “You’re funny.” 

“Not really,” Kiran muttered. 

They sat in that weird kind of quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable but wasn’t comfortable either. Stephanie was trying too hard, and Kiran couldn’t figure out why this girl was suddenly here, suddenly interested, suddenly… friendly. It wasn’t as if Kiran didn’t appreciate someone being nice to her. God knows most of the locker room wasn’t exactly nice to her and she was used to people ignoring her existance, treating her like a charity case or talking about her behind her back but this? This was new, and and little weird. 

Because this wasn’t Stephanie’s domain. 

“So,” Kiran started, watching Stephanie from the corner of her eye, “You’re just here to...what? Watch the chaos?” 

Stephanie perked up, maybe a little too much, “Sort of. I mean, I’m shadowing. My father wants me to understand the business. From the ground up,” 

Kiran raised a brow, “And that starts in the locker room?” 

Stephanie flinched, just a little, “I asked to come here,” 

“Uh huh.” 

There was another beat of silence. Stephanie shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable but determined to ride it out. 

“I’ve been watching your matches,” she added after a moment. “You’re good.” 

Kiran blinked, genuinely surprised. “Thanks.” 

“I mean it,” Stephanie continued quickly. “You’ve got this presence, you know? Like… you don’t need to say much to make people pay attention.” 

Kiran tilted her head slightly. That was oddly specific. 

“You memorizing lines from a management seminar or something?” 

Stephanie flushed again, looking away for a second. “No. Just… an observation.” 

Kiran let out a snort, shaking her head as she went back to the tape, “Well, keep those observations to yourself. People don’t take kindly to compliments that sound like strategy,” 

Finally, Stephanie relaxed. Although she was still nervous, her posture relaxed, “Noted,” 

There was something so...earnest about her that it almost made Kiran feel back for being suspicious. Almost. But her time in the business recently has taught her to not trust people who were too eager, too polite, too interested. Stephanie McMahon? She was ticking every single one of those boxes.  

But...Stephanie’s company wasn’t awful. It was quite...nice.  

Catering wasn’t especially busy that night, just the usual handful of crew and talent picking at trays of chicken and pasta under flickering fluorescent lights. Kiran sat at a round table near the back, lazily pushing a piece of lettuce around her plate with a fork. She wasn’t hungry. She just needed a place to sit. 

Across from her sat Stephanie McMahon, who was far more energetic. She was chatting rather animatedly about something, although Kiran wasn’t keeping track what she was talking about at this point. Stephanie didn’t belong in catering, not really, but here she was, making herself comfortable. And oddly enough, she’d made herself comfortable next to Kiran. 

“And then Dad said if I wanted to understand talent relations, I needed to spend more time with the talent, not just the executives,” Stephanie said, poking at her pasta salad. “Which makes sense, right?” 

Kiran raised a brow. “And that brought you to catering with me?” 

Stephanie flushed slightly but held her ground, smiling. “Well… I mean, I figured I’d start with someone who doesn’t scare the hell out of me.” 

Kiran let out a soft snort. “Charming.” 

There was a beat of silence before Stephanie leaned forward slightly. “Okay, maybe that’s not the only reason. I just… I think you’re interesting. People notice you, but you don’t seem to care if they do.” 

Kiran tilted her head. “You’re not here to study me for some McMahon master plan, are you?” 

Stephanie looked almost offended. “No! God, no. I just thought we could maybe be friends.” 

Kiran stared at her for a moment, trying to gauge her sincerity. Stephanie looked back, eager, nervous, completely unthreatening. 

Kiran smiled, looking down at her food, “We’ll see,” 

They fell into a more relaxed rhythm. Stephanie was now asking more questions that weren’t forced, and Kiran was choosing to respond less with sarcasm.  

But, at some point, she seen Stephanie’s posture change and Kiran didn’t need to look around to see who had just walked into catering. She felt it; an unmistakable shift in the room’s atmosphere. She could hear Shawn and Hunter before she turned around to look at him. Both men looked like they’d just come off a segment, hair damp, shirts sticking slightly to their skin. Hunter went for the drinks, nodding to Stephanie in passing, which caused her to instantly straighten her posture. 

Kiran noticed it. 

Ah. So that’s why she’s here. 

Stephanie’s eyes tracked Hunter like he was the main event. Kiran almost smiled. 

Shawn, meanwhile, had spotted Kiran immediately. He didn’t approach at first, just watched her across the room with a look that wasn’t quite a smile. Kiran met his gaze, then looked away just as quickly, pretending to focus on the mashed potatoes she wasn’t going to eat. 

He came over anyway. 

“Ladies,” he said smoothly, grabbing a chair and swinging it around to sit backwards next to Kiran, “Didn’t realise this was the cool kids table,” 

Stephanie gave him a polite smile. Kiran gave him nothing.  

But Shawn wasn’t phased. In fact, he turned to look more directly at Kiran with his voice a little softer, “Didn’t see you after the show,” 

Kiran didn’t answer right away. Since the kiss, there had been undeniable tension between them so thick that you could cut it with a knife. Words unspoken stretched between them like a wire that was threatening to snap at any moment. 

“Had places to be,” she finally said, without looking at him. 

“Mmm.” He nodded slowly. “Right.” 

Stephanie, clearly sensing the awkwardness, tried to inject some energy into the conversation, turning to Hunter when he came back with a question about training regimens. Kiran watched her for a second, realization dawning. 

She likes him. 

Everything made sense now, the sudden interest, the enthusiasm, the awkwardness. Kiran felt a little bad, honestly. Stephanie was sweet. Young. Way out of her depth. 

Shawn leaned in a little closer, his voice just low enough for Kiran to hear. “We good?” 

Kiran kept her eyes on Stephanie and Hunter, her voice flat. “You tell me.” 

The silence that followed said a lot more than either of them did. 

And yet, neither of them got up. Until Shawn and Hunter left. Kiran didn’t have time to think about Shawn when she turned to Stephanie with one brow slowly arching.  

Stephanie was now suddenly very interested in her fork. 

“So, that’s why you wanted to be friends? 

Stephanie blinked, looking up with the most unconvincing wide-eyed innocence Kiran had ever seen. 

“What?” She was already on the defence, “What? No! That’s not...” 

Kiran tilted her head. “Right. You just happened to want to get close to the locker room. And then you just happened to show up where Hunter is.” 

Stephanie flushed instantly, the red creeping up her neck like it was trying to escape. “That’s not the only reason.” 

“But it is a reason.” 

Stephanie opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. Finally, she gave a little shrug and muttered, “Maybe. A little.” 

Kiran smirked. “Mmhm.” 

Stephanie glared at her tray. “It’s not like I’m stalking him or something. I just... think he’s interesting.” 

“Sure,” Kiran said, popping a piece of fruit into her mouth. “You’ve been very subtle about it.” 

Stephanie narrowed her eyes but the moment passed, and then she looked over at Kiran, “What about you and Shawn?” 

Kiran nearly choked on her fruit. 

“I—what?” 

Stephanie blinked, all wide-eyed faux innocence. “You and Shawn,” she repeated like it wasn’t the equivalent of throwing a live grenade on the table. “There’s obviously something going on, right?” 

Kiran wiped her mouth with her napkin slowly, deliberately, buying herself half a second of composure. “Define ‘something.’” 

Stephanie tilted her head. “Tension. History. Vibes. Take your pick.” 

Kiran let out a short humourless laugh, “Are you always this nosy or is it a McMahon thing?” 

Stephanie had the decency to look sheepish, “Sorry. That was probably out of line.” 

Kiran didn’t answer right away. She stabbed her fork into her salad again, not really tasting anything, just moving food around while her brain worked overtime. 

Was there something going on with Shawn? Yes. No. Maybe. Once. Still? She didn’t know anymore. 

Finally, she exhaled. “It’s complicated.” 

Stephanie nodded slowly as if she was expecting that answer, “So there is something...” 

Kiran gave her a flat look, “I didn't’ say that” 

“But you also didn’t say it wasn’t that” 

“I said it’s complicated,” Kiran snapped, sharper than she meant to. “That doesn’t mean I want to dissect it over pasta salad.” 

Stephanie held up her hands. “Okay, okay. Message received.” 

They sat in silence for a few seconds. Kiran felt the weight of the question still hanging in the air, like the tail end of a storm that hadn’t quite passed. 

Then, surprisingly gently, Stephanie said, “I didn’t mean to pry. I just… I get it. The people you work with, the lines get blurry.” 

Kiran was caught off guard by her sincerity. 

Stephanie continued, “I mean, you spend your time with these larger-than-life people. You go through all this intense stuff together. It’s so easy to get...attached,” 

Kiran softened a little. Not much. Just enough to admit, “Yeah. Something like that.” 

Stephanie leaned back in her chair. “So, you and Shawn aren’t… like… together?” 

Kiran stared at her. “Are you writing a gossip column on the side?” 

Stephanie laughed, actually laughed, and to her credit, it didn’t sound fake. “Sorry. Force of habit. I’ve grown up around this business. You learn to read between the lines.” 

Kiran didn’t respond right away. She just sighed, pushing her tray away. 

“Whatever there was,” she said finally, voice quiet, “it’s in the past. Or it’s supposed to be.” 

Stephanie didn’t ask anything else. She just nodded, thoughtful now. 

And then, just when the silence settled again 

Kiran lay sprawled across the hotel bed, limbs heavy with exhaustion. The glow of the TV flickered against the wall, casting long shadows that danced and dissolved with each scene of some old crime drama she wasn’t watching. It was just noise—white static against the quiet pounding in her head. 

The room felt colder than it should’ve. Not physically—just… off. Like the air had thickened with everything left unsaid. 

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.  A sharp, sudden noise against the stillness. 

She blinked at the screen. 

Unknown Number. 

Her brows drew together. She hesitated for a moment, thumb hovering, then tapped to answer. 

"...hello?” 

There was a pause. A moment that waiting as she could feel her heart start pounding and then... 

A voice, a familar and rough around the edges voice. A little hoarse, like it had clawed its way through something to reach her. 

“Hey. It’s me.” 

Kiran sat up slowly, every nerve going taut. “Shawn?” 

“Yeah.” 

Her hand gripped the phone tighter. The noise from the TV seemed to fade, drowned out by the sudden thrum of adrenaline. 

There was a silence on the line, and for once, it wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Intimate. Like they were standing in the same room, staring at each other from opposite ends of a chasm neither had the nerve to cross. 

“I didn’t think you’d answer,”  

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted. 

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Figured.” 

Another beat of silence passed. 

She could hear him breathing on the other end. Could imagine him; sitting on the edge of his own hotel bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Maybe staring at the wall. Maybe staring at nothing. 

“I didn’t know who else to call,” he said, voice quieter now. “I mean, I did, but... you’re the only one I wanted to.” 

Kiran closed her eyes for a moment, swallowing the lump rising in her throat. “Are you okay?” 

A soft huff of a laugh. “Define okay.” 

She didn’t reply. Didn’t need to. 

“I’m not...high if that’s what you are wondering,” 

“That was what I was wondering...” She said, not unkindly. 

“I just...” he hesitated, “I can’t stop thinking about it...what you told me last night about being intersex,” there was a beat of silence where Kiran could particularly hear the wheels turning in his head as if he was trying to carefully pick his words, “It was just... I keep thinking about how you trusted me with that information,” 

Kiran stayed quiet, her grip tightening around the phone. Her heart felt too big for her chest. The TV kept flickering, but the sound had become a dull murmur, like it existed in another room entirely. 

“I didn’t know what to say at the time,” Shawn continued, his voice raw around the edges. “Still don’t, really. I’ve had a lot of... reactions to things in my life, but that wasn’t one I wanted to mess up.” 

Her eyes flicked toward the hotel window.  

“You won’t talk to me about Survivor Series,” she said finally, her voice low, but firm. “You won’t talk to me about the kiss. You won’t even look at me when we’re in the same room.” 

She paused, the ache crawling its way up her throat. 

“So how am I supposed to know you’re being serious now?” 

The silence on the line turned razor-sharp. 

“I mean,” she continued, quieter this time, “you disappear when it matters. You show up when it’s easy. And now you’re on the phone saying all these nice things—but when I’m right in front of you, you shut down. You make jokes. You run.” 

Shawn didn’t say anything. 

Kiran closed her eyes. “I’m not trying to make you the villain here. I’m just tired of feeling crazy. Of wondering if I imagined that night meant something to you.” 

His voice finally came, softer than before. “You didn’t imagine it.” 

“Then act like it,” she snapped, and immediately regretted the sharpness, but didn’t take it back. She meant it. 

A beat passed. Then two. 

“…I’m not saying this fixes anything,” Shawn added. “I just… wanted you to know.” 

Kiran stared at the TV, the screen a blur of flashing lights. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel. But she knew one thing. 

“Thanks for calling,” she said softly. 

There was another pause. Then Shawn’s voice dropped, almost hesitant. 

“…Do you want to come over?” 

Kiran blinked. “Right now?” 

“I just… don’t feel like being alone tonight,” he admitted. “Not like that. I just… I’d rather it be you.” 

Her stomach twisted. She hated how easily that pulled at her. How soft his voice got when he dropped the act. 

She was quiet for a long beat. 

“I’ll be there in ten.” 

Shawn didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. 

She ended the call, stared at the ceiling for just a moment longer, then got up and reached for her hoodie. 

The hallway was quiet when Kiran stepped off the elevator. Her hands were stuffed in her pockets as her heart thudded a little harder than she liked. She found the room number easily and knocked once. A moment later, the door opened. 

Shawn stood there in a t-shirt this time; hair still damp like he’d just showered again to wind down. His eyes swept over her, a flicker of relief in them before he stepped back, silently letting her in. 

She moved past him without a word, the tension already settling in the air. It wasn’t heavy, just tension that felt uncertain. The kind that buzzed beneath the surface. Something waiting to tip over.  

“I didn’t bring anything,” she said, breaking the silence. 

Shawn gave a soft snort as he closed the door behind her. “Didn’t ask you to.” 

She turned to face him, arms still folded over her chest. “So… why am I here?” 

He shrugged, then sank onto the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands. “I told you. Didn’t want to be alone.” 

Kiran remained standing, eyeing him. “And I’m the designated company?” 

“You’re the only one I want around tonight,” 

That did something to her. 

It made her stomach twist in a way that Shawn had been doing things like that recently. She crossed the room and sat down in the chair across from him, not on the bed. That felt like a line she didn’t know if she wanted to cross. Not yet. 

They sat there, not quite looking at each other, not quite not. 

“You’re hard to figure out,” she said eventually. 

“So are you,” he replied. “Makes it interesting.” 

She could feel that Shawn was watching her from the corner of his eye. She didn’t exactly look at him directly, not at first.  

“You ever think about quitting?”   

Kiran’s voice was quiet. Barely there. Barely louder than the hum of the air conditioning. 

Shawn tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Quitting wrestling?” 

“Quitting everything,” she replied. “Wrestling, the road, the bullshit politics. All of it.” 

He was quiet for a beat too long. Then he let out a slow breath. “More times than I can count.” 

Kiran glanced over at him; eyebrows raised. “And yet here you are.” 

“Yeah, well…” he shrugged, voice dipping into something rougher, more honest. “It’s like a bad relationship. You know it’s toxic, but it’s the only thing that makes you feel alive.” 

Kiran smiled, she understood what he meant. 

“And that’s totally not fucked up at all,” 

Shawn chuckled under his breath, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “What about you? You thinking of bailing?” 

She hesitated. “No. Not yet. But I’ve been thinking a lot about why I’m even still here.” 

He looked at her then, really looked. “Why are you still here?” 

Kiran swallowed. “Because… I want to prove something. That I belong here. That I’m not just some charity case, or a freak. That I can fight and win and stand on my own.” 

Shawn’s expression softened. “No one thinks that about you.” 

“You don’t know that” she said, voice a little brittle. 

“I know I don’t think that about you.” 

That caught her off guard.  

Kiran’s breath caught in her throat.  

She didn’t know what to say. 

Especially when Shawn got up, slow and careful, like approaching a deer he didn’t want to scare off. He came to stand in front of her, looking down, eyes searching her face.  

“I don’t think you’re a freak,” he said quietly, “I think you’re stronger than most of us,” 

“You ever think about quitting?” 

Kiran’s voice was barely above a whisper—quieter than the low hum of the hotel air conditioner, like it wasn’t meant to be heard so much as confessed. 

Shawn tilted his head, a subtle crease forming between his brows. “Quitting wrestling?” 

Her gaze stayed on the floor. “Quitting everything. Wrestling, the road, the mind games, the politics. All of it.” 

He didn’t answer right away. The pause that followed stretched long, too long, and when he finally did speak, it was on a slow, exhale. 

“More times than I can count.” 

That earned a glance from her, the corner of her mouth twitching. “And yet here you are.” 

Shawn gave a tired shrug, his voice dipping into something raw. “It’s like being in a bad relationship. You know it’s toxic, that it eats you alive... but for some reason, it’s the only thing that makes you feel anything.” 

Kiran let out a dry laugh. She understood that far too well. 

“Well, that’s not fucked up at all.” 

He huffed a quiet chuckle, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped. 

“What about you?” he asked. “You thinking of bailing?” 

She hesitated, teeth tugging at the inside of her cheek. 

“No. Not yet,” she said finally. “But I’ve been thinking a lot about why I’m still here.” 

That made him glance her way. Really look. 

“And?” he asked, gently. “Why are you still here?” 

She swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her hoodie. 

“Because I want to prove something,” she said. “That I belong here. That I’m not some sideshow act or a pity story. That I can fight, and win, and matter. That I can stand on my own two feet without needing anyone to explain me.” 

Shawn’s features softened, the sarcasm draining from his expression. 

“No one thinks that about you.” 

“You don’t know that,” she replied quickly, too quickly, her voice splintering at the edges. 

“I know I don’t think that about you,” he said. 

Kiran’s breath caught. Just for a second. Like something inside her stalled. 

The silence that followed was thick, humming with the weight of everything unspoken. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know if she could say anything. 

Shawn stood up slowly, like he was trying not to spook something fragile. He crossed the room in measured steps until he stood in front of her, not crowding her, just close enough to feel. 

“I don’t think you’re a freak,” he said softly, like he meant every syllable. “I think you’re stronger than most of us.” 

Kiran’s jaw clenched. Her arms remained folded, but she didn’t move away. 

“Don’t do that,” she said, voice quiet but sharp. “Don’t say something like that and expect me too just…” 

Their eyes locked, the space between them shrinking, folding in on itself like gravity had shifted. 

“I don’t expect anything,” Shawn said. “I just… meant it.” 

She could’ve stepped back. Shut it down. Built the wall higher. 

But she didn’t. 

And when he reached out, slow, deliberate, his fingers grazed her cheek with the kind of care that made her heart ache. His touch was tentative, offering her every chance to pull away. 

She didn’t. 

Their eyes stayed locked, and then... 

He kissed her. 

Soft, almost cautious, like a question asked without words. 

It wasn’t like the kiss at Survivor Series. That one had been heat and confusion, adrenaline and impulse. 

This one was different. Gentle. Unrushed. Intentional. 

And when she didn’t flinch or pull back, when she leaned into it instead, the kiss deepened—just a little. Just enough to make something sharp and electric crackle beneath her skin. It was soft, tentative, almost unsure of itself. But it carried weight. The kind of weight that made her knees feel unstable and her chest too tight. The kiss lingered between them like smoke, still in the air, still clinging to her skin, even after their lips parted. 

Shawn’s hand moved gently, resting on her waist, his fingers grazing the hem of her shirt. There was no pressure in his touch, no demand. It was slow, deliberate, the kind of careful that told her he was giving her space to stop him, to pull away, to say no. 

Kiran didn’t. 

Not at first. 

When his lips found hers again, there was more urgency. A hunger that hadn’t been there moments ago. Something inside her cracked open—something she had buried under years of armor. It wasn’t just want, or ache, or the need to feel close to someone. It was something worse. Or better. The terrifying pull of being wanted back. 

His hand slid beneath her shirt, just under the hem. Not rushing. Not aggressive. But it was enough. 

That was when she froze. 

Her body hitched. 

Every muscle in her locked tight. 

Shawn didn’t register it right away. His lips were still on hers, lost in the moment, until he felt her pull away with a sharpness that burned like a recoil from fire. Confusion flickered across his face as he blinked, breath catching, the daze of desire breaking just enough to see her expression. 

“Kiran…?” 

She didn’t answer. Didn’t look at him. Her body had already shifted like she meant to head for the door. 

“Whoa, hey, hey…” Shawn reached instinctively, fingers brushing her arm—only for her to jerk back like she’d been struck. Her eyes met his, wide and suddenly wounded. 

“I can’t do this, Shawn.” 

His brow furrowed, the warmth in his face turning to concern. “You can’t what?” 

She wrapped her arms around herself tightly, like she was trying to physically hold herself together. Her voice came out soft, brittle. “You’ll see me.” 

Shawn blinked. Confused. “I am looking at you.” 

“No,” she said, her voice cracking as she turned slightly away. “You’ll see me.” 

And just like that, the air changed. The weight of what she meant filled the silence between them. 

Years of shame. Years of secrets. Of tucking herself into shadows and silence. Of being told that her body made her something to hide. She had fought so hard to earn respect, to prove her worth in the ring, to silence the whispers. But this? This was different. This was intimacy. This was vulnerability. And she didn’t know how to let someone get that close. 

Shawn didn’t speak. He stepped forward, slow like he was approaching a wounded animal. His hands didn’t reach for her this time. He kept them at his sides. 

“I already do,” he said gently. “You don’t have to run from me.” 

Kiran stood frozen, chest rising and falling like she’d just gone ten rounds. Her eyes glistened but didn’t break. She searched his face like she was waiting for the catch—for the tell, the betrayal, the disgust she had always feared would follow. But it never came. 

He just looked at her. 

Waiting. 

Hoping. 

And she hated him for it. 

For hoping for her, when she knew she could never be what he wanted. When she knew, deep down, that she would disappoint him. That the illusion he had would crack once he saw the reality. That kind of hope made her sick. 

“I need to go,” she said finally, her voice hollow. 

Shawn didn’t argue. His expression didn’t twist into anger or guilt. He just nodded, slow, like he’d expected this. Like part of him knew it was coming. 

Kiran turned, her steps stiff as she crossed the room. Her arms were still wrapped tight around herself, like she was holding her ribs in place. She reached the door and paused, hand on the knob, fingers trembling slightly. 

“I don’t know what this is,” she said, not turning around. Her voice was thin, pulled taut like thread. “Or what we’re doing.” 

She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. 

It was quiet out there. Dim. The kind of stillness that makes everything inside ring louder. Her footsteps moved quickly, almost too quickly, but she didn’t look back. Not once. 

By the time she reached her room and fumbled with the key, her hands were shaking so hard she could barely get the card into the lock. She didn’t realize she was crying until she was alone again, back inside, her back against the closed door. 

She slid to the floor and buried her face in her hands, breath catching in her chest. 

She didn’t know if she was mourning the moment or mourning the hope she had let herself feel for just a second too long. 

The next day came with the kind of headache that came from thinking too much. 

Kiran dragged her boots down the corridor, each step heavier than the last, her body running on autopilot. Her thoughts were still stuck in the night before, replaying every moment, every word, every inch between her and Shawn. She was halfway to the locker room when she heard her name. 

"Kiran!" 

She turned, spotting one of the producers waving her over. Clipboard in hand, headset slightly askew, and the look of someone juggling twelve things at once. 

"Hey, you got a minute?" 

She nodded, already bracing herself. Nothing good ever started with those words. 

"Creatives just confirmed your next program. You’re being put in a feud." 

That got her attention. 

"With who?" 

He hesitated. Just for a second. But it was enough to make her stomach twist. 

"Sable." 

Kiran blinked. "Sable?" 

"Yep. Starts with a segment on RAW next week. You’ll interrupt her promo. There’s gonna be a bit of tension, some catty back and forth. Beauty and the beast kind of angle." 

The words dropped like lead in her gut. 

Beauty and the beast. 

Of course. 

Her jaw tensed, but she didn’t say anything. What could she say? The producer had already turned to leave, onto the next name on his checklist. 

She stood there in the hallway, letting the words sink in. It didn’t feel like an opportunity. It felt like a label. Like a box they’d shoved her into and locked from the outside. 

Not a competitor. Not a rising star. 

A beast. 

And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. 

Kiran went through the motions. She suited up, nodding along to whatever agents said in the hallway, smirking when someone threw her a DX-related joke but deep inside, her stomach felt twisted. Not just with what happened last night but with the words she kept hearing in her head. 

Beauty and the beast kind of angle.  

She barely even remembered walking back into the locker room. Everything felt like background noise. 

It wasn’t until Chyna dropped onto the bench beside her, tugging on her gloves, that the silence was broken. 

“So,” Chyna said, casually, but not unkind, “You and Sable, huh?” 

Kiran didn’t look up. She just nodded, unwrapping a roll of tape with a little too much tension in her fingers. 

“You okay with that?” Chyna asked after a moment. 

Kiran gave a small shrug. “Doesn’t really matter if I am.” 

Chyna looked at her, and this time, Kiran could feel it. The weight of her eyes. 

“Come on,” she said. “I’ve seen that look before.” 

Kiran’s jaw tightened as she looked away, “What look,” 

“The one where you pretend it’s all fine when you’re actually trying not to scream.” 

Kiran didn’t say anything. Her hands stilled. She sat there for a second before muttering, “They’re not doing it because they think I’m good.” 

“No,” Chyna said, “They’re doing it because they think it’ll get a rise out of people.” 

Kiran looked up. “Beauty and the beast. That’s what they said.” 

Chyna’s expression turned hard. She didn’t say anything right away. Then she let out a breath, slow and bitter. “Yeah. They tried that shit with me too.” 

Kiran finally let the tape drop from her hands. 

“What did you do?” she asked. 

Chyna looked at her. “I made it work for me. And then I made them eat it.” 

Kiran didn’t respond right away. Her throat was tight. She nodded once, eyes falling to the floor. That was when she felt it, Chyna’s hand resting lightly on her shoulder.  

Solid.  

Steady.  

Grounding.  

Kiran looked over and she let herself believe that she wasn’t alone. Just a little. 

“Thank you,” 

Chyna gave a nod, then stood, stretching her shoulders. “Now come on. If we’re stuck in the circus, we might as well steal the show.” 

Kiran cracked a small, real smile. 

“Yeah. Let’s make them regret putting me in this angle.” 

[hardworkandguts]

Mayonaka Punch

真夜中ぱんチ

(Anime)

Comedy by PA Works

Era: 2020s

Rating: A

Plot: At the same time Masaki, a vlogger with self control problems assaults one of her friends and collaborators live on air (twice) and is excluded from the group, Live, a vampire wakes up from a 20 year slumber with one thing on her mind - find the girl she saw in her dreams, who just happens to look suspiciously like Masaki. After meeting by chance in an abandoned hospital where Masaki was desperately trying to recapture her old streamer magic and Live was searching for blood packs Fallout style, she proposes letting Live feed on her if she and her vampire friends help her reach 1 million subscribers.

Length: 12 episodes

Thoughts: The single cour, 12 episode show trend is creating many problems in killing the potential of many shows, as any writer is in a "pick 2" position with character development, story development and preparing for the ending. While many shows suffer from that dillemma, Mayonaka Punch proved it is perfectly manageable. While it doesn't exactly stand out from the many "girls do stuff" shows other than the twist! most of them are vampires and the chaotic energy Live and Tokage bring to the table, it paces the story evenly in two halves, the first where we are introduced to and establishes the characters (Tokage is the last to join on episode 3, and she presents herself with her trademark subtlety), and the second part leading to finale, evenly split between the back 6 and front 6 episodes. The ending is absolute perfection on how it subverts the heightened stakes "they split up" trope in the most ridiculous way and unveils the cute reason Live obsesses over Masaki in just the final minutes.

Moving away from the "12 episode rant", this is a show that is driven mostly through Masaki's insecurities - it's implied she was a bit too controlling even before throwing a fist on air, she's even going as far as allowing a vampire to feed on her to beat her former partners, is easily overwhelmed by negative online comments (while being a hate magnet at this point, I guess that's not a fun combo), and almost ruining their videos by over-editing and hiding the chemistry the Banpai Manor inhabitants have together. Over time she does some self-reflection, particularly during her homecoming episode (one of the best, in part because Live goes feral in this one) when she has being a kinda shitty older sister thrown at her face at every opportunity. She's not a person you'd probably like to be friends with - the show makes it clear her friends had good reasons to kick her out - but little by little seems to be grasping her drive to create content slop is a detriment on her relationships. As for the vampires, we have the two gremlins, Live who is completely obsessed with Masaki, to the point of, worth repeating, going feral with the prospect of being in the house she grew up in (it isn't, but try telling her that) when she visits her at her mother's home after a couple of days apart and Tokage, the loud, degenerate gambler (I don't know how well these characters - I love - will age as we're entering the age of people losing their paycheck to a "can't lose" 3 way bet) of the group who for all that matters is the one who started to unlock the potential their potential as NewTubers so that she has more money for pachinko. Ichiko is more or less Live's personal assistant and who ends up doing most housekeeping (if not all, considering the others) and is heavily in debt for bad stock investments likely because nobody was there to say to someone who can't read kanji to not get into stocks, driving her interest on having a successful channel and Fu is the quiet one, and we get a really sweet story of forbidden love and dreams out of her past. Appearing frequently due to their antics is Yuki, who's the primary foil as she's in charge of keeping those four from revealing they're vampires.

While it has wrapped up pretty nearly, It has a way forward to a new season, with Masaki and Yuki joining the on-camera madness, so I'm curious if it's getting a second season down the line.

Recommended to: do you like cute gremlins doing stuff?

Plus:

Perfectly paced.

On-par gremlin behaviour by everyone involved, even more when garlic is involved.

Looks quite good, very solid on the character design.

Minus:

Nothing to speak of unless we're really done with just 12 episodes.