#its not a resolution i intend to keep but i would like to try and actively be fine with days where i just do nothing

[treeprince]

first day of a new year and i am not leaving this bed til 12 noon

[group-dynamic]

*SCREECHING*

I was watching this lovely, bittersweet edit highlighting the short, tragic friendship between Celebrimbor and Elrond as they're portrayed in the Rings of Power, and it got me reflecting (as many of us have) on the prophesy, "My father foresaw that one day Celebrimbor's life would be in my hands" and how it's too bad there wasn't anything that felt like a weighty resolution to that thread. Like, to have a prophesy directly from the foresight of Eärendil that's first mentioned in season one and invented for the show feels so significant to be used merely as a device to compound Elrond's failure, you know? The prophesy works well as foreshadowing and elevates the tragic impact of Elrond's role as commander and his inability to defend Eregion, but that feels so distant to the idiom "life in his hands." Especially since Elrond isn't even in sight of Celebrimbor's death, so how could his life really be so directly in his hands--

IT'S THE RING.

THE RINGS.

Elrond's only direct acts related to "saving" Celebrimbor on screen is trying to save his records and his city, aka the lore and legacy around him. And that fails. The records are burned, the city is reduced to rubble, the smith's greatest achievements are corrupted and certainly going to be twisted further to some evil purpose in Sauron's hands.

And Elrond's been so certain that those rings are corrupted, including the elven rings (which for a while are the only rings the Lindon elves know of in the show). But then suddenly those elven rings are all that's left of Celebrimbor's legacy and in the first and last episode of the season they're LITERALLY in Elrond's hands. When he jumps from the cliff trying to keep them from his friends, and when he finally picks one up and uses it for good--for its intended, healing purpose. I mean, Elrond future lore master has Celebrimbro's life story in his hands. He has Celebrimbor's life's work in his hands, and all the parts of himself and his craft he poured into those rings.

And one day Elrond will literally be one of the bearers and wielders of Celebrimbor's life work and legacy. Yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaahhh==

"His life in his hands" indeed.

[phan3145]

Title: Slippery Slope. Fandom: Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes. Rating: T. ( Implications, Possessive and aggressive behavior ) Pairing: Eventual Noa x Human!Reader.

***Notes: I will be going on a HIATUS for a few weeks. Work is switching over tech this week to new software I need to learn, and then next week is my one year anniversary with my husband. We are going to swim with dolphins at Discovery Cove in Florida! I’m excited, but I’ll be writing in my free time and banking chapters so everyone will have more regular Wednesday updates when I return. Until then, thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting up to this point. You all mean the world to me ❤️

Chapter 10: Bad Words, Bad Feelings

Noa

When she turned, the look in her eyes had him wanting to kneel on all fours in submission. Ridiculous. He was Master of Birds, he submitted to no one. Anaya did not have the same title as him, actively looking down and shuffling back a step. He would have teased him for it, for his submission to an Echo, if the next step she took did not have him questioning his own assurance. He fought his spine’s urge to bend, remaining upright by sheer will.

Her anger was somewhat confusing, but it became clearer as she demanded, “Is that what I am to you? A pest?”

Ah. That seemed to be the cause of her mood shift. He tried to explain the situation, hoping to calm her, “Humans are…considered pests…to my clan…they have never met…a good Echo…that could speak.”

Unfortunately, this did the opposite of what he had intended. She took another step towards him, hands balled into fists at her sides. He knew she was not foolish enough to try to fight him, let alone hit him, but the idea itself was amusing to think about. He recalled her nails digging into his shoulders a few days ago, that was probably the most pain she could inflict on him if she tried. Still, he had seen that look in her eyes once before. Only once, during a time in his life that seemed so long ago now. It was when Mae had killed Lightening, using her human weapon to save Soona. It was angry, it was resolute, and there was a trace of fear behind it all.

“If we’re such pests, and you had to convince your elders, then why even bring me?” She asked, shuffling in place as if she couldn’t decide if she wanted to take another step forward or go back.

“I had…no choice,” he admitted. “You…saved my life…you..spend time with…Master of Birds…but do not…show yourself…makes apes…uneasy.”

“No choice…” she muttered, looking away from him and back towards the village.

He could see many expressions dance across her face, her eyes distant as she seemed to be thinking on his words. Whether that was a good or bad thing, he could not say. He noticed the muscle along her jaw become more prominent, before her head snapped back to him like a cobra strike, eyes holding heat worse than fire. This time, he did flinch back. It was scary, how Echos could be calm and docile, then turn like a wild animal ready to defend its existence. He did not understand it.

Her voice raised, louder than he had heard it before, “No choice? There’s always a choice! There should always be a choice. What frustrates me the most about this, is you say you didn’t have one, but I know that’s not true! You’re the Master of Birds, no one…higher than me, remember? You expect me to believe you didn’t have a choice?”

He could not meet her eye, casting his gaze downwards. He had a choice. Of course he did…though it really did not feel like one. He had responsibilities now, he was no longer a youngling. He could not keep running off with his Sunset Brother and Sister to visit a strange Echo as if his life had no purpose. The clan demanded more of him, they needed a leader who was present. Anaya and Soona deserved better from their leader too, having to assist him on days they did not see you to make up for the days they did. They each would hunt and gather food equal to three apes, while he tended to eagles and prepared for Big Climbs of this season’s apes.

Though she also assisted with gathering, there was only so much an Echo and three horses could carry. It would be better if he could bring a larger party, but that meant not seeing his Echo, or worse, scaring her. That is what it came down to. He was choosing her comfort- choosing her, over his clan. If she could just meet them, maybe even be accepted as part of his clan, then he would not have to choose. There would be no choice.

The elders of course, were the cause of this. They learned of his meetings with an Echo, smelling her on him when he returned from their visit to the library. They ‘advised’ him to either chase her away, to avoid further distraction, or present her to them so that they may learn her scent and know her. She was not a threat of course, so that should be no problem. The real problem was, if her first exposure to apes of the clan after everything she had been through was the elders, then she would never come back. The elders were…elders. They would not treat her with the respect she deserved immediately, if at all. They still did not care for Humans. Mae certainly had not helped his cause either. He thought his mother, the younglings, and a few apes only a season or two younger than him might be enough to sway her opinion in a positive favor towards his clan.

She scoffed, his continued silence stretching too long for her liking. “I knew it. And when we first met you accused me of being a liar.”

“I did not…lie.” He growled, gaze jumping back to hers. He made sure his canines were not bared, anger creeping up on him now as he confessed, “The other option…was not a choice…I had to…think of my clan.”

“Of course! Oh, and since we’re on the subject of choice,” she was quick to add. “Were you going to give me a choice? You didn’t think it might be important to tell me that you were blindly leading me to your village of apes?”

Shame burned the pit of his stomach, knowing he was untrue when it came to this. She was right, and oh, how he hated it. Still, he could only argue, “Thought…it would be better…if I did not…if you could…only meet apes.”

“I have met apes, Noa.” She hissed, teeth bared now as she paced towards him, stopping with only a few inches separating them.

Any other time, he would enjoy being this close, her scent becoming this familiar yet ever changing thing that he had memorized countless versions of. It brought comfort to him, certain scents of hers calling forth memories he had shared with her in private. He did not understand how or why her scent was not constant, but he decided he did not dislike it. At present, her being this close, hissing and baring her teeth? Her scent was an unwelcome distraction, forcing him to fight the natural instinct to bare his own canines and force her to yield to him. He did not like this feeling of having to defend himself from her. It was not natural, as an ape or as her companion.

“You know I’ve met apes before. You also know what they took from me, and what that has done to me.” She continued, voice lowering. It was softer in volume, but harder in tone, like it was coming from the back of her throat. It sounded hurt. “You know this, because I told you. I told you because I trusted you. I have never trusted an ape like I trusted you. That’s because you were never like them, Noa. Never. Not once.”

He felt his own rising anger cool and mellow, hearing her praise him even while hurt by his actions. She wasn’t done though, “Today was different…you were different. Instead of setting yourself apart like you always do, instead of being the Noa I’ve come to know…you took the choice away from me. You decided for me because you believed that you knew better. This is why I live alone, no one gets to make decisions for me. Especially not an ape.”

“Trying to fix…” He began, but she cut him off.

“You don’t get to argue this!” She said, raising a finger to point at him, “Just because I trusted you, doesn’t mean you suddenly get to make decisions for me. You’re trying to fix something that’s not broken! The way I react, the way I am, it’s what keeps me alive! But why am I surprised? This is the way apes are. With enough power and time, you and your clan will become just like them.”

The words stung, and he gritted his teeth, lips pulled down as far as he could over them, “Not..true.”

“No?” She questioned, “How are you any different? You and your clan already see humans as pests, something lesser than you, to be chased away. Do you think that’s any different from how they saw me?”

A part of him recoiled on the inside, remembering similar words he had spoken to Raka regarding Echos. He did not know then, but he knew now, and that is not how he saw her. “You are not lesser…but you are…alone…you do not have to be…apes in clan would…welcome you.”

“You think so?” She challenged.

“Know…they would.” He replied, “Anaya…and Soona did.”

Her eyes cut then to Anaya, who was swaying on his feet, arms tucked into his chest, taking in everything happening around him. He looked as if he wanted to leave, but also would not tear himself away from their Echo while she was upset. He had become strangely loyal to her…though maybe he was not the only one. Her gaze returned to him, something underlying in her tone as she argued, “Not every ape is like Anaya and Soona.”

“Come and…see for yourself.” He tried, grasping for her. His palm connected with hers, and he had just started to curl his fingers around her wrist, when she swiftly ripped her hand away. She avoided his touch, a first for them, and took several steps back, completely out of his reach. He saw her overlap both arms across her chest, hiding her hands away from him within the crook of her elbows.

It was another sting, but he refused to chase after her. “You said…did not give you…a choice…I chose…because I know…you would have…chosen to run…like you always do.”

Her eyes went almost comically wide before narrowing, “Excuse me?”

“You are…afraid.” He continued, thinking he could potentially goad her into following him. “Ridiculous…dumb…Eagle Clan…would not harm you…yet Echo is…scared…so scared…always scared…of apes…jumbled.”

With every word her breathing increased, hands clenching and jaw tightening. Anaya, seeing the same thing he did, grunted, “Noa…stop.”

He raised his arms, keeping them wide as he challenged, “Prove…wrong.”

She stood there, unblinking as she stared him down. He thought she would march back up the hill, so strong willed and stubborn when she wanted to be. A few more silent moments passed before she finally decided to respond. He could not have predicted the next words out of her mouth.

“No.” She said, no anger or malice in her tone. It was flat, emotionless. That scared him.

His arms bent, lowering slowly as he parroted, confused, “No?”

Her steps were strong, purposeful, her shoulders back and head raised as she devoured the distance she had placed between them. Though her movements were not threatening by any means, he tried to keep some space between them, feeling his breath become heavy in his chest when a tree suddenly met his back. There was something about her now, this new stance, that made his own mind jumbled. He forced himself to focus as she spoke, “No. I do not have to prove anything to you, I owe you absolutely nothing. Not my time, not my attention, not my life, and certainly not my trust.”

His brows furrowed, “You…would rather run away…than trust my clan…trust that I…would not let anything…happen to you?”

Her words were scathing as she answered. “Let me explain this to you in a way your chimp brain can understand. I want nothing to do with your clan…or you, Master of Birds.”

“Echo does not…mean that.” Anaya interjected, finally stepping forward and somewhat in between the two of them. “Echo is…upset…Noa is wrong.”

He huffed at that, “Echo thinks…but it is true…she will always…be afraid…if she runs now.”

She pivoted around Anaya as he attempted to edge her away from him. “What are you trying to accomplish here? Do you think I’ll meet your clan and just forget what happened to me? Or are you naïve enough to think your clan will suddenly accept an Echo pest because you told them to? I’m not an ape!”

“As good as,” he countered.

She scoffed, “Is that meant to be a compliment or an insult?”

“Only human…would think being called ape…is an insult.” He snorted, realizing how this was the first time in a very long while he referred to her as a human and not an Echo. When he had actually begun to separate the two terms, he was not sure. “Having the mark…will be enough…for most to…accept you.”

Her hand rose to her crown, eyes narrowing in what he believed was confusion, “The mark is enough? Why? Because there is no other ape who currently has it?”

He puffed out air from his cheeks and rolled his eyes at that, “Echo is naïve…there has never been…anything other than ape…to wear the mark.”

“So, what?” She shrugged, “I’m the first Echo, that doesn’t change anything.”

“Changes everything!” He snarled, the fact she didn’t understand the importance of her situation frustrated him. “You are not only first Echo…but first outsider to wear it…only meant for apes…of the Eagle Clan...symbol of belonging...stronger than…my word as leader…cannot be undone…once honor has been granted…that is why…I did not want to give it…in the first place.”

There was silence, her body almost going slack, allowing Anaya to push her back a few steps with ease. She looked surprised, as if a tree limb had smacked her during a climb, one she did not see. He had seen that look many times before. Even Anaya, noticing her expression, simply let his hands rest on her arm. She was far enough away now not to be considered a challenge, his mind reeling before quickly righting itself. He knew better, with humans, they were more of a challenge when they were silent than when they spoke. He waited for another turn, for her to lash out when the shock wore off.

“That’s why Soona and Anaya…” she trailed off. “Why give it to me then? You didn’t want to, and it’s not as if I was aware of what it meant.”

Still, she did not understand! She was important to Anaya and Soona, and whether he liked it or not, she was important to him. She was not an ape and she was not part of his clan, but with her defense of them from the boar, she had earned it. There were witnesses, and Soona had called upon him as a worthy leader to bestow it. He had been unsure when both Soona and Anaya pushed for the honor to be bestowed. It was not as simple as it being against The Law, that would have made his argument easy, it had never been done before! He believed it impossible.

To make it possible, he had practically re-written The Law for her. His first true act as leader; not to present a new birth to the clan, or celebrate a completed bonding of ape and eagle, but to bestow the mark of Eagle Protector on an Echo! The elders passed must have felt great shame- it was completely against ape tradition. He was more ashamed that he was not more true when the time came. He tried, but when Anaya had asked him to vocalize the reason for his refusal, he could not. He was too afraid that to say she was not ape, would hurt her. Ridiculous. She was not, she said it herself just now.

It was his own jumbled spirit that lead to his decision to honor her. He had been terrified for her safety when she had taken his horse and engaged in battle with the boar. He felt helpless, Anaya and Soona too far away to coordinate with, and no trees for him to use to assist her if she needed it. He owed her his life already, but more than that, there was a fire inside of him that screamed out that she was his to protect, and he was hers. It had been a dull sound in the back of his mind since they met, which became louder the more time he spent with her. It had reached deafening heights when he saw her body hit the ground and then go still, blocking out everything else around him as he ran to her.

He had been so angry, and so relieved to see that she was mostly fine. He was more impressed by her display of capability, that he knew that to not honor her would be wrong. It had soothed that fire inside him, to see her wearing his mark, but that same screaming terror returned when he could not wake her later that night. The only thing he had been able to think about while she slept was what would have happened if she had been alone in the same situation. She was so smart, protecting and providing for herself, which was appealing, very admirable in an Echo alone. It was not suitable. She needed someone to take care of her, to provide for her, at least in times when she was sick or injured. She was more than worthy of a capable mate to live out her days with. Someone should take care of her.

“Noa!” She snapped, pulling him from his thoughts. He was no closer to understanding the right thing to say as she looked at him. Her eyes were full of hurt and betrayal, her body looking as if it was on the verge of collapse. “Answer me. Tell me why!”

“Sh-Shelter is not…home.” He began, carefully. He did not want to be at odds with her, and he did not want to hurt her. He needed her to understand, to know that what he did, he did with good intentions. “Echo would be…difficult to accept…apes do not trust…Echo for…good reason…but if Echo arrived…wearing mark of Eagle clan…mark of honor…then you would be welcomed as any other…clan member would.”

Her eyes narrowed, “You gave me the mark so they would know I’m trustworthy, that I’m not dangerous?”

“You are…dangerous.” He amended, “Mark…shows that…but to wear it…also shows that… you would…one day welcome…a place not only…amongst the three of us…but amongst the clan…a bond…belonging…a home.”

“I would never join your clan,” she spat quickly. She found her strength again, his careful wording seeming to cause that other turn he had been concerned about. She swatted Anaya’s hand away as he attempted to pull her back once more. “Stop touching me Anaya! What do you think I’m going to do to Noa?”

“Sorry,” Anaya grunted. “Not afraid…of what…you will do.”

Her brow raised at that turning from Anaya to him, “Really? Does that mean I should be afraid of what you will do, Noa?”

“Petty human,” he muttered, his instincts flaring once more at her obvious aggression.

“What was that?” She mocked, “I couldn’t hear you over your own pride!”

He was done holding back, she certainly was not. What good had it done him anyway? The more he tried to reason with her, the more she gnashed her teeth. Might as well be the brutish ape she was accusing him of being. He raised himself to his full height, pushing back from the tree and bridging the small distance Anaya had managed to put between them, baring his canines as he roared, “You are ungrateful…selfish…only care for yourself!”

She pushed her shoulders back, stepping forward to be toe to toe with him, not afraid to look him directly in the eye as she screamed back, “Ungrateful? Selfish? Are you sure that’s not you? I don’t care? You forget, I taught you how to read!”

She had him there, but something was wrong with his mind. He could not concede, he needed to win now. “Better off…thanks to apes…would not leave…your hole in the ground…without us!”

“Better off? Better off! I was just fine before you came into my life!” Her eyes were red, but there were no tears, not yet, and he had to wonder if Echo’s cried when they were angry too. “Can you say the same?”

“Yes!” He answered, without really thinking about it. “If Echo was not here…would make life…much easier!”

“If Echo was not here, you would be dead!” Her voice cracked as she screamed that final word.

There was silence for a few racing heartbeats. She seemed to be panting, and it was echoing in the forest around them. No, that was his own breaths. He was panting just as hard as she was, anger physically rolling off of them both. She would not bend, and he would not bend. He felt the fingers of his left hand twitch, something in him whispering that he should make her bend. His canines were pushed further into his gums then, he ground them in harshly, attempting to force that thought from his mind.

What she said was true, and that brought him pleasure as much as it brought him frustration. Those two emotions were mingling his thoughts together, and her scent-…it was different today. Past the bitter and sour smell of her anger, there was something else. It was the same smell as before. The one that made him want to get closer to her, made him lose the ability to speak, but this time it was…more. It was something he wanted to investigate, to understand. Where was it coming from? How much closer would he need to be to find it? She was practically on top of him now, and still he felt too…

Too close. He was too close.

He was breaking an unspoken promise right now, and if she were not so angry she would know that too. Angry…she was too angry. He was too jumbled to think clearly, and her scent was too enticing. He needed to get her away somehow. He would not touch her, fearing that would only make things worse between them. He could only speak a half truth now, hoping to push her away using his words like he had before.

“No longer…in danger,” he huffed. “Do not…need Echo…to be here…anymore.”

“Fine!” She growled, turning abruptly away from him, “Then I won’t be here! You don’t need anything from me, and I don’t need anything from you!”

“Noa…Echo please…stop.” Anaya pleaded, following alongside her, “Both are…untrue…bad words…from bad feelings…friends do not…mean it.”

She stopped, turning abruptly to Anaya, eyes searching for something in his features. Her brows furrowed and her face crumpled, “I wish I could believe that.”

Anaya visibly shrunk, releasing sorrowful hoots, looking helplessly between their Echo and him. He snorted through his nose, unwilling to back down. She was wrong. He was wrong too, but he believed he had more than earned her trust. She obviously did not trust either of them as much as she said she did. If she did, she would have agreed to go to the village. She turned then, eyeing him up and down before raising a shaking hand to her head.

Shaking? When did that start?

She removed his gift, hair sticking up in places as she gently pulled it away. She stared at it, thumb grazing over the eagle mark. He saw the sadness reflected in her gaze, before she tossed it at his feet. It landed in front of him with a dull thud, mocking him as a dirt cloud swirled up around it. He felt the anger and desire to win melt away from him, eyes seeking hers out as his jaw went slack. Something in his chest physically hurt now, feeling as if he was back in that burning tower, plummeting to the ground and unable to do anything to stop it.

“Echo…?” Anaya questioned, hesitating as he watched her. She turned to his Sunset brother, mournful smile obvious as she reached for his neck and brought her head forward to meet his. He heard her whisper something to Anaya, but could not tell what it was. As she pulled away, Anaya’s hand hovered over her arm, but he chose at the last second not to touch her. Anaya turned to him then, begging, “Noa…fix…please.”

He reached down to pick up the crown, straightening up and locking gazes with her once more. She was watching him, her anger seeming to have completely vanished. With his own mysteriously missing, all that was left now was regret and shame. He did not know what to say, how to stop this, or how to fix it. She visibly swallowed, tears clear in her eyes, “I don’t need it. I don’t belong to…your clan.”

He could not argue with her. Her words were true, but there was a strange ache in his chest that told him those were not the words she wished to say. Instead, he nodded. He thought he heard a high pitched noise, like a whimper from her, but it was so faint it could have been his imagination. He opened his mouth, but found words had deserted him again. They had fled to her, as she hummed, “It was nice while it lasted…goodbye, Noa.”

The words caused him to feel cold, an awful realization dawning on him. Did she mean forever? She turned and began to walk away. Was she leaving for good? He had to know! He called after her, first using the term Echo, but when she did not react, he called her name. Still, she did not stop.

He called her name again, “Stop…come back!”

He took several large steps to try to bridge the space between them, when she suddenly became a blur of movement. She had crouched to the ground, straightening up and spinning around at the same time, before he felt an intense pain in his jaw. His left hand came up to clutch his muzzle, hearing Anaya gasp and screech, jumping back a few paces.

He looked down, finding a stone at his feet. His movements were sluggish now, head turning up to see her arm raised, another matching stone resting in her palm. It was poised to be thrown. The surprise was so intense he could not find it within himself to react. She on the other hand, was still shaking, shifting from foot to foot, arm still raised. It shook too. Her breathing was shallow as she said, “I’m leaving. You can’t stop me, so don’t try to.”

He nodded again, huffing several times through his nose while backing away from her. Anaya shuffled over to stand next to him, looking just as shocked as he felt. Her shaking became less intense, but did not stop. She finally lowered her arm, eyes darting to the stone in her hand before shifting to the one on the ground. She looked distraught as she stared at it. Did she not know she had thrown it at him? Had she acted out of instinct?

One thing was for certain, she was leaving. She had dropped the rock in her hand and taken off in a full sprint before he could blink. She was soon out of their line of sight, and that seemed to finally shake Anaya out of his silence. He looked to Noa, confused and upset. He screeched, slamming his fists on the ground, before turning and racing back up the hill on all fours. He called out, much louder than he had heard him screech before, “Soona!…Soona!”

No matter how many seasons passed, he would be able to recognize that sound. By the way he was calling her name, by the tone of his voice, he knew that it would not lead to good things. He chased after Anaya, yelling, “Anaya…no…Anaya…stop!”

“Soona!” He screeched louder, creating even more distance between them as he ran. Anaya was still faster than him. He would never be able to catch him as he continued to call, “Soona…Soona…Echo gone!”

He was definitely in trouble.

…

Soona was screeching at him before he could even get a word in. Not for the first time, he cursed Anaya’s natural ability to run fast and speak faster when he wanted to.

“Why would you…say that…to her?” Soona asked, throwing an old piece of nesting at him.

He had brought them into the eagle tower, not wanting Anaya to panic half the village, or worse, alert the elders to her absence. Apes never needed privacy, but at the moment, he could not face any other after what he had done. He hung his head, whispering, “I do not…know…thought I could…convince her…she is usually…not like that.”

“Why was she?” Soona wondered, sitting down next to him, her own annoyance subdued. “I have…never seen her…angry…or upset.”

“Noa…knows.” Anaya accused, sitting away from him, crouched on the floor with his arms around his knees. The stance was a familiar one of mourning, and somehow this hit him harder than the Echo’s rock. Anaya refused to even look in his direction as he added, “Noa knows…about Echo…and apes…something not good.”

Soona turned her head, raising her brows, “Noa…?”

“Anaya…speaks true,” he said. Whether she returned or not, he decided that for the sake of understanding what went wrong, he would need to reveal her story. “We are not…the first apes…she has met.”

Soona was quiet next to him, but Anaya turned abruptly to face him. He still looked upset, but pushed himself to his feet, moving closer to Noa before asking, “Was…a pet?”

He was surprised by Anaya’s words, huffing, “How…do you know?”

“Guess,” Anaya said. “You are not…the only one…who speaks with her.”

He hesitated now, the statement catching him off guard. He knew that Anaya was close with her, but the moments he had shared with her, he wondered if she had shared similar moments with Anaya. When? When would they have had the opportunity? He recalled Anaya returning his arm band, not thinking anything of it when he mentioned finding their Echo by the water. He obviously did not know the whole story, but she must have trusted him with some of it, for Anaya to know the Echo’s meaning of that word.

Soona nudged him then, his original thoughts returning. “She told me…the night…after the boar attack…felt like a secret…so I did not speak of it after…she agreed that it was best…not to.”

“But you decided first,” Anaya grunted.

He felt his own brows furrow, “What…does that…matter?”

Anaya huffed, turning away, “Echo does not…like decisions being made…for her…yet you do…all the time.”

“I am…Master of Birds…need to decide things…sometimes.” He defended.

Soona shoved his shoulder, taking him off guard, “Still…dumb male…she is not…part of the clan…yet…you cannot…decide things for her…honor means…nothing.”

“Noa dumb,” Anaya agreed. “Echo…did not like…surprise…did not want to…be taken to village…Anaya said…so too.”

“I thought,” he defended. “If she did not…have time to…think about it…could see how…peaceful apes are…she would...be okay.”

“She met…apes before.” Soona asked, “That were not…peaceful…like…Proximus?”

He shuffled, arms folding around his own knees as he confessed, “I think…worse.”

[nataliaromanovasworld]

A Soul for a Soul

Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader oneshot

Summary: During the events of endgame, you traded your soul for the soul stone after losing everything, your girlfriend Wanda, in the blip. However, when the avengers won, not having you there destroyed Wanda. Until, Natasha decides to trade her soul.

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist

Vormir 2018

You stand at the edge of the cliff, the wind howling like a distant cry for help. Vormir is as desolate as the emptiness you've been living with for five years. Natasha stands beside you, her jaw tight, while Clint keeps his gaze locked on the horizon, as if looking away from you would somehow make what you're about to do hurt less.

The soul stone lies just beyond the precipice, its power hidden in that endless chasm, and the only thing standing between you and it is the cost. A soul for a soul.

You never thought this would be your fate. Then again, you never thought Thanos would win either. Or that you'd lose Wanda. After all, Wanda was your world, and when she disintegrated in the Snap, everything you cared about turned to dust with her. The drinking came easily after that, an old coping mechanism that, this time, no one - not even Natasha - could pull you out of.

Five years. Five years of surviving, but not living. A hollow existence that ended here, on Vormir. A fitting end, you thought. You hadn't done enough to save Wanda then, but you could now - by helping bring her, and half of the universe, back.

"Don't do this." Natasha's voice is tight, breaking slightly. She grips your arm with a fierceness that mirrors the bond you've shared since childhood.

"Let me go Nat," you say, quietly, trying to sound resolute, but your voice is weaker than you want it to be.

Clint glances at you, then to Natasha. "We can find another way," he insists. "There's always another way."

But you shake your head. "No," you reply, stepping closer to the edge. "I don't have anything left to lose."

Natasha's hand tightens around your arm. "That's not true."

"It is," you whisper, eyes dropping to the stone at your feet. "Wanda... She's gone, Nat. I lost her, and I couldn't... I couldn't protect her. I couldn't save her. I failed her. I failed all of you."

"You didn't fail anyone," Natasha hisses, her voice trembling. "You think this is what Wanda would've wanted? For you to-"

"She's not here to tell me what she wants!" You yell, harsher than intended. The words slip through your gritted teeth, the rage, the grief, the guilt that's been rotting you from the inside out finally spilling over. "But I am," you say, quieter now, stepping even closer to the edge. The abyss beckons, like it's been waiting for you all along. "And I'm choosing this."

Natasha's eyes glisten. "You don't have to."

You smile, a bittersweet thing. "Yes I do."

Before she can protest again, you gently pull yourself from her grasp, give Clint a nod, and leap.

The fall feels like freedom, like release. The last thing you hear before the world fades away is Natasha's anguished scream.

The Afterlife, 2024

Death is not what you expected.

In the afterlife, there's no grand reunion, no peace. There's just you - waiting in an endless expanse of white, devoid of time, suspended in a purgatory that doesn't feel much different from how you'd been living before.

You still feel everything. The sorrow, the regret, the memories of Wanda, of Natasha, of the war you couldn't win. It plays like an endless loop in your mind. You'd hoped for peace, for the pain to fade, but no... here, it's sharper than ever.

But then, one day - or whatever passes for days here - you hear her voice.

"Get up."

You blink, startled, your heart racing in disbelief. It can't be.

"Nat?" You whisper, pushing yourself to your feet. She stands before you, her red hair glowing against the white void. She looks the same as she always did - strong, determined - but there's a new weight to her gaze, something dark and sorrowful.

Your eyes narrow. "What did you do?"

Natasha sighs, running a hand through her hair. "The same thing you did."

A chill runs through you. "No."

"Yes."

You step forward, anger bubbling to the surface. "You traded your soul? Are you - are you out of your mind? Why the hell would you do that?"

"For her," Natasha says, her voice steady, but her eyes glisten with unshed tears. "For Wanda."

The mention of her name sends a jolt of pain through you. You turn away, fists clenched. "You shouldn't have done that. I'm the one who needed to-"

"You were dead," Natasha interrupts, stepping closer. "You weren't there to see what happened to her. She needed you, and I... I tried, but I couldn't save her. And now..." Her voice breaks. "Now she's lost, completely lost, and the only thing that can pull her back is you."

You freeze, your heart pounding. "What do you mean, lost?"

"She's... she's created a reality," Natasha explains, her voice low, shaky. "A place called Westview. It's all an illusion, a perfect world where you never died, where Pietro is still alive, and... and where she has everything she's lost. But it's tearing her apart. She's breaking, and I can't stop it. I couldn't reach her. Only you can."

Your chest tightens, emotions swirling inside you - fear, guilt, anger, love. "She's alive?"

Natasha nods. "But she's not herself, not anymore."

You stumble back, rubbing your hands over your face, trying to wrap your mind around it all. You died to bring everyone back, to give Wanda her life back - and now... this.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" you snap, guilt seeping through your words. You can't believe it - Wanda, alive but trapped in her own grief, and you were just... here. Waiting.

Natasha looks at you with a mixture of pity and resolve. "Because I wasn't going to let you give up again. You need to fight for her now."

You stare at her, your mind spinning. "I... I can't. She won't even recognise me."

"Yes she will," Natasha insists. "She's been waiting for you."

You shake your head. "I'm dead Nat."

"Not anymore."

The air around you seems to shift, the whiteness swirling into shades of grey. Natasha steps closer, her hands on your shoulders. "I'm not coming back from this. You are."

Tears prick your eyes. "I can't... I can't lose you too."

She smiles sadly. "You already did sestra." Her hands tighten on your shoulders, grounding you. "I love you Nugget. Always have. But Wanda... Wanda's your family now. She needs you, more than I ever could."

You want to argue, to tell her she's wrong, that she's your sister, that you still need her, but the words get stuck in your throat. The light around her is dimming, her presence slipping away.

"Take care of her," Natasha whispers.

Before you can speak again, everything fades to black.

Westview, 2024

When you wake, it's in the middle of a street lined with quaint suburban houses. Westview.

The air hums with energy, with something unnatural, and as you rise to your feet, the first thing you feel is her.

Wanda.

She's close - closer than she's been in years. Your heart aches, your pulse quickening at the familiar sensation of her presence. The bond you once shared hasn't diminished with death; if anything, it's stronger now.

You take a deep breath and follow the pull, your legs moving on instinct. The town around you feels strange, almost too perfect, like you're walking through a TV set. People wave at you, smiling, going about their day as if nothing is wrong, but you can sense the cracks in the facade. The tension, the undercurrent of fear.

And then, you see her.

Wanda stands at the end of the street, cradling two small children in her arms. Her dark hair spills over her shoulders, her face serene but... off, as though the smile she wears is too forced, too fragile.

Your breath catches in your throat as you step closer.

"Wanda?" you whisper.

Her head snaps up, and for a moment, she looks at you like she's seeing a ghost. Maybe she is. Her eyes widen, the children in her arms forgotten as they run off to play.

You take another step. "It's me."

Her lips part, trembling. "You..."

Tears fill her eyes, and she stumbles toward you, her hands reaching out like she needs to touch you to know you're real.

You catch her as she falls into you, her fingers gripping your jacket like a lifeline. "You're... you're dead. You died," she whispers, her voice trembling with disbelief and hope and fear all at once.

"I did," you murmur, wrapping your arms around her, holding her as tightly as you can. "But I'm here now."

Wanda pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, her hands cupping your face, trembling. "How?"

You exhale slowly. "Natasha."

Her breath catches in her throat, her eyes widening with realisation, and then they close, her face contorting in pain. "No..." she whispers. "She didn't..."

"She did." You take her hands in yours, squeezing them gently. "A soul for a soul."

Wanda's tears spill over, and she shakes her head. "I didn't want this," she sobs, her voice breaking. "I just wanted you back."

"I know," you say softly. "I know."

She pulls away, pacing back and forth as her grief morphs into something darker, something more volatile. "I couldn't... I couldn't lose you again. I couldn't lose him again," she cries, her voice rising with each word. "Everything I loved was taken from me."

"I know, Wanda," You repeat, stepping toward her. "But this... this isn't the way."

Her magic flares, the scarlet energy crackling at her fingertips. "What am I supposed to do?" she demands, her voice desperate, eyes wild. "I had nothing left. I needed this - I needed you."

You take her hands again, ignoring the magic pulsing through her, and pull her into your arms. "You don't need to live in this world. Not anymore. I'm here now. I'm real. And I'm not going anywhere."

She buries her face in your chest,

her shoulders shaking with sobs. You hold her, whispering soft reassurances, letting her grief and pain flow through you. It’s overwhelming, all-consuming, but you don’t let go.

After a while, her magic begins to fade, the energy in the air softening. The illusion around you—the perfect world she created—starts to flicker.

"I can’t keep doing this," she whispers, her voice hoarse.

"You don’t have to," you murmur into her hair. "We’ll figure it out together."

She looks up at you, her red-rimmed eyes filled with so much sorrow, so much love. "Promise?"

You smile softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I promise."

And for the first time in years, you feel like you’re home.

[jennamoran]

The Far Roofs

So today I want to talk a bit about what this game wants to be. In particular, I'm going to go over its key technical and artistic goals.

The Far Roofs focuses on immersive hidden world fantasy adventure. It's intended to offer the experience of a grounded, emotionally real base world attached to an idealized, fantastic "hidden world" setting.

One might say, the streets and buildings and houses of the game's world are basically our own. Above us, though, is a stranger, more idealized, and more fantastic place. It's hard to get to. It's dangerous. It's less grounded. It's full of wonder.

Those are the Far Roofs.

This divide exists to make the game feel as real as possible, if you want to go that way. That's part of what hidden world fantasy is about, after all---the idea that magic is here. That it's not in some distant alien land or mythic future or past.

It's here, if you want to reach for it.

(Now, the game is flexible enough that you can play "protagonist" types instead of realer people, and many traditional gaming groups will probably prefer that, but that'll mean getting less of that immersive effect.)

The mood the game is interested in is that feeling you get when you take a huge risk---move to a new place; try a new thing. The feeling you get in those times in your life when everything is alienated and wondrous and terrifying but there's also so much more *hope* than there was in the still times before.

It's a mood of being swept up and called forward.

This is, among other things, meant to be a game for people who've been beaten down or exhausted by the ... everything ... to feel that sensation of moving forward again.

To remember what it's like, why it's worth it, how to reach for it again.

It's meant---and I do understand that I am finite and flawed and this can only go so far---as a tonic and refreshment to the soul.

--

Rules

The Far Roofs uses a 5d6-based dice pool system for day-to-day task resolution. It's relatively traditional and optimized for fast, fun dice reading. There's a loose consensus I've seen in RPG design circles that dice are for when outcomes are uncertain and both options are interesting, and I don't disagree ... but there's also this thing where rolling dice to decide is intrinsically interesting and fun, where it's fuel for a certain part of the brain.

This game tries to get as much out of that side of dice as it can.

You'll also collect letter tiles and cards over the course of the game. This is for bigger-picture stuff:

To answer big questions and to complete big projects, you'll either assemble representative words out of those tiles, or, play a poker hand built out of those cards. Word and their nuances express ideas and shape how outcomes play out; poker hands, conversely, just give a qualitative measure of how much work you do or how well things will go.

In keeping with this, the campaign is represented principally in the form of questions or issues your words and hands can address. Player/GM-created campaigns would be the same.

--

Physical and Electronic Product

I wanted to put the print version within the range of as many people who might need that tonic as possible. That means that for this particular game, I wanted to cover the full territory that I'd normally cover in a two or three volume set (core rules, setting, and campaign) in a single 200-250-page volume.

In practice this means there's a guide and examples for constructing the setting, rather than a deep dive into a fully-detailed world; that there's a bit less in the way of whimsical digression and flourish than in the writing I'm known for; that there's minimal "flavor" text on abilities; and that the campaign presentation is pretty fast-paced.

Conversely, it means that the game should be easy to absorb and to share with other possible players, and, that the game and campaign in this one relatively small volume should provide enough content for five or six years of play.

The book will be 8.5"x11" with grayscale art, available in a limited hardcover print run and a print-on-demand softcover form.

--

On the Rats

You'll see a lot of talk from me and others about the talking rats in this game. They're one of the jewels of the experience, and I think they're probably a significant draw just for being talking rats that are core to the game.

... but I'm going to hold off for now, because, to be clear, this is not a game of playing talking rats. It's just a game where talking rats and probably one of the top three most important setting elements.

I couldn't get that feeling I wanted of ... the base world being grounded realism; of the hidden world pulling you up and out and into a world full of magic ... with your playing rats, with your playing something so distant from the typical player.

So this is not a game of playing them.

They're just ... I like rats, and so I made the rats in this game with love. They're great ... whatever the equivalent is to "psychopomps" is for a magical world instead of for death ... and a way of talking about how in the face of the world, we're all pretty small.

--

I'm really excited about this game; the playtest was lovely.

I hope you'll enjoy it as well!

[pinazee]

Daredevils!

Overall, not one of my favorite episodes but by far my favorite ending because oh boy what a gut punch of feelings!

First, look at how he set this up. There is no way shawn thought this would work so he 100% knows these kids are only there to see him crash into this kid. Also, im guessing the actor for gus was unavailable, but i like to think hes not there because he knew Shawn always intended to crash into him.

Lol what are you talking about henry? He’s got like 9 years of life here and a third of it was in diapers. Stfu

This is random, but is this the only time we’ve seen the pinball machine? I dont recall it being in later eps. I’ll have to keep an eye out now.

So far my favorite pineapple reveal. Should i start playing find the pineapple?

Shawn can read lips ✅

Probably the dumbest thing Shawns ever done. also, I’m guessing Vancouver roof tops were out of the question, cause that green screen be working real hard haha

The first time i watched this show i was in middle school, so all of the references, went completely ignored by me. Now im picking up on references ive never heard before. Like who Aldo nova is.

Gemcitabine and capecitabine are actually pancreatic cancer treatments and they even showed it correctly (the one being an IV the other a tablet) so major kudos to psych for the attention to detail.

As for the lassie sideplot. Eh. I can see what Vick was trying to say, but at the same time, if Lassie is getting complaints because he’s throwing little tantrums then Vick should have handled it instead of telling Juliet to. Plus, Lassie is the type to respect authority, so it would’ve meant more if it had come from her anyways. Though, i do find it funny that Vick told her to handle it, and Jules’ interpretation of that was “i gotta find him a date,” when she probably meant like, beat the sense into him haha i will say though, i liked the resolution of Lassie going from i don’t need your help, to please, i need your help. I think thats good growth for him, but i think it was a little sloppy in the execution. I think it could’ve been better if lassie actually did get in trouble with Vick and Lassie had to work on not letting his personal life affect work as much and make that the focus. OR, if you wanted to keep the relationship stuff, you could forgo Vick getting involved at all and keep it simple. Jules feels bad for lassie getting rejected again and tries to set him up the whole episode, then when they have that bit with the prostitute, thats when he accepts her help (because again he has terrible instincts. Like, how did he make it this far as a cop. Truly astounding.)

Wait i have the answer to this! Let me check my notes:

By this point in the series- 6

NOW ABOUT THAT ENDING! Ohmygod! First of all, one of the rare Psych ep’s that doesnt have an actual murderer or even victim. They just got swept up into a poor dying mans attempt at suicide. I love that Shawn doesn’t tell anyone and is honoring his right to die. I think thats a very bold message to make on a cable show. But i also love that hes actually really nervous because he does want to convince him not to go through with it. and then after he left, Its one of the few occasions where we can actually see him questioning if he made the right decision. You can see how much he hopes his words resonated with him enough that it saves his life. Plus it was so smart to keep the camera on Shawn to watch his reaction. It kept you in that tense moment with him so you can feel the relief shawn has when he landed the trick. Such a great scene and possibly one of my favorites in the series.

P.S this is my favorite bit lol Gus is so much funnier to me this watch. I think the first time i watched Psych i pitied him a lot, so that anytime he looked kind of foolish i just felt bad for him haha but damn, Dulé is so freaking funny

[neuroticbookworm]

FRIENDS. FRIENDS.

Cooking Crush is undoubtedly one of the best shows airing at the moment.

Today's episode gave me so much life that I don't even know where to begin, but I'm gonna try my best to pull two (2) coherent thoughts out of my melting brain.

1. The Three Must-Eat-eers Conflict and Resolution:

Last episode had set up such a perfect conflict that's rarely handled well in any media: the bruised feelings of the single friend when the rest of the gang gets into committed romantic relationships. Most of the time this scenario shows up in media, one party will be framed as selfish and/or jealous. None of that nonsense here; Cooking Crush has always taken the friendship of its characters very seriously, especially Prem, Dynamite and Samsee. Samsee’s feelings were hurt not just because of his own fears of being abandoned by his friends, he was also (rightfully) mad that he ended up as the only friend who was kept out of the loop of knowing that his best friends had boyfriends now. But Prem and Dynamite did not intend to do this, and they were also right to set their own pace in making their relationship public, but it’s just that the string of accidental reveals happened in an order that made Samsee feel like a third-wheeler in his own home, twice over.

Cooking Crush treats its characters with a lot of kindness and empathy and it shows. Prem and Dy wanting to keep their relationships under wraps for the time being is valid. Samsee feeling hurt and lost, and opting out of the competition is valid. This episode begins with the drama of the cooking competition and works its comedy (thank you for the chuckles, wildly gesticulating White Man) and romance (my poor heart swooned all over my rib cage when Ten helped Prem into his chef clothes). And when the time came for the big reconciliation, the show does not sweep away Samee’s very hurt feelings just because Prem and Dy struggled without Samsee for most of the first round of cooking. He apologizes for ditching them and Dy was having none of it.

(Dy, my perfect child, oh how I love you with my entire heart)

Perfect resolution. and a well-earned, most adorable group hug to bookend it. I truly could not be more in love with this show. Or can I?

2. Miscommunication? Nah.

Well, this episode also featured the Annoying Asshole Chef dude who’s determined to pursue Prem even though it is very clear that Prem is not interested and would reject his advances, if only he stuck around long enough to actually get rejected and not run away from him like a goddamn coward. I was furious when he positioned himself as an actual option for Prem to Ten in this episode, and thoroughly enjoyed every moment Ten chose to call him out on his bullshit.

But y’all. The very inappropriate hug. The well-deserved punch to his stupid face. The storm-off. All of it had me very concerned that this is all barrelling towards a classic miscommunication moment.

BUT NO.

THE SHOW SAID THERE WILL BE NO STUPID MISCOMMUNICATION.

NOT IN THIS HOUSE.

My problem with the miscommunication trope is that it ultimately positions the couple we are supposed to be rooting for as a weak team. Honest communication and vulnerability in a new-ish relationship is not easy, and it takes a lot of courage to take that step to be the one to spell out the facts, and trust that the other person likes them well enough to keep an open ear, and believe them when they say a meddling cowardly asshole is trying to get in the way of their relationship. Ten’s bravery was perfectly contrasted with the sliminess of the Annoying Cowardly Chef (I refuse to learn his name, he is not worth my braincells).

Oh but Ten wasn’t done yet!

I absolutely adore how he moves the conversation away from that pesky little pest of a human towards something that matters more: his desire to make things official with Prem. The Annoying Asshole Chef was not the focus of the conversation, Ten and Prem are. And it all culminates in an incredible kiss and a camera swoop that already has a permanent little shrine in my silly little head.

TAKE MY HEART, COOKING CRUSH. TREAT IT WELL.

[talenlee]

Game Pile: Not Disco Elysium

Tiredness.

The ache, the will, the want to just go to sleep, to go to bed early at a sensible time, to not struggle with a schedule, a schedule that no one’s set but yourself.

There is no need to do things this way.

There is no problem with breaking a habit a little bit at a time.

Perhaps you would do more significant things if you slept more.

Spoiler Warning, I don’t intend to present any spoilers for the plot of Disco Elysium. I haven’t finished it. Content Warning, Disco Elysium is a game full of drugs and despair and violence and pseudo-Europeans.

Disco Elysium is a video game. Disco Elysium is a CRPG set in an alternate history, semi-modern detective story, set in a disastrous ruin who is investigating a murder in a city that’s also a disastrous ruin. For those of you who have been looking for someone to explain it as simply as possible, Disco Elysium is a CRPG, a roleplaying game where you have a narrative and a character and stats, and the game uses a resolution system that checks those stats to determine outcomes.

It is one of the most poorly described video games I have ever experienced, and it frustrated me for well over a year before I actually started playing it. Then I waited a year more before I got back into playing it. A whole year of hearing people praise a thing without ever being able to concisely explain why a person should engage with that thing, beyond locking its identity behind barriers of ‘you shouldn’t know what it is without playing it first.’

Here then is a pitch: I would compare it to a text-heavy read-em-up RPG like Baldur’s Gate 2 and Planescape Torment, and I would make those comparisons, because I like it a lot and I like those a lot and the comparison makes me feel good. The characters and stories in those games stand out in my mind, and in Disco Elysium I feel some of the same promise, the same fluttering imagination that hey, at the end of this tunnel there might be something that good. I wouldn’t compare Disco Elysium to something like Fallout: New Vegas (which is good! and I like it!) or Fallout 3 (which I’ve not bothered to re-play for years), despite those being RPGs, where you engage with narrative and characters and stats and use a resolution system that checks those stats for outcomes. Nor would I compare it to Dark Souls 2 (the best Dark Souls), which does all the same things, except maybe it doesn’t really have characters in it (fight me). My other point of comparison, while pointing out games I like, is I Was A Teenage Exocolonist, which is a visual novel.

Skirted around ‘visual novel,’ didn’t you. Visual novel, a genre term for ‘you know, those hentai games that people made really cheaply’ and nobody wants to talk about except when they want to claim it’s been elevated or inverted or given a postmodern makeover. A thing they only talk about to betray their ignorance of the format.

At least you’re confidently ignorant about it. You played I Was A Teenage Exocolonist because it’s got a card game in it.

It’s an armour, right? You tell people what you can’t do and that way they can’t judge you for it. You can even call it ‘rigor.’ Not like you’re doing it because you really wanted to be talking about Libertalia, a game you really shouldn’t have ever bought, because when are you getting it to the table?

It’s a game for nevers.

Idiot.

So you’re talking about Disco Elysium.

But you haven’t finished it.

Much has been made of the value of Disco Elysium as an example of good writing in games and that sets my hairs on the back of my neck up a little bit. Now let me be clear before I go any further, this is not to malign Disco Elysium at all. I really like Disco Elysium. I know because I’ve been playing it now for about 10 hours, I’m on day 2 and I want to keep playing, despite having no idea how to proceed in a way I will find satisying. I’ve twice booted it up for half-hour long sessions of wandering back and forth and trying to work out if there’s anything ahead of me that I want to do, but I do still keep booting it up. It is enticing. It is engaging.

In playing it, I cannot escape the fact that I would want to talk about this game, and talking about this game would involve creating an article about Disco Elysium on Luigi’s own internet, where Disco Elysium is itself an extremely political subject. The game is still in an ongoing undead status thanks to a dispute over copyright and labour and all that stuff is the stuff you don’t solve by looking at the text until your forehead bleeds. It’s a situation that needs an actual reporter to go to a place and talk to people and look at court records. Someone else did that. It’s also entirely unrelated to the text of the game Disco Elysium.

Analysing Disco Elysium as a game, as a text, tends to involve taking this manifold crystal of a game, and turning it around a little at a time, into whatever form you want it to take. Much commentary about Disco Elysium speaks about the way the whole of the body of text builds towards a conclusion or two that can be part of a grand conversation. That is, the way people look at and talk about this game is standing at one end of it, and looking back, like a completed text, and that completion is informed by the speaker’s experience of playing the game, and bathing in the immense scope of it.

Writing about Disco Elysium at all, ever, strikes me as a waste of time. There is no conversation about it, there is merely some wet concrete into which a general community scrawled ‘good game, good writing‘ and now that concrete is set. This is a thing I noted when I wrote about Bloodborne, which is to say some things are so glowingly praised that to talk about them in any way that does not reinforce the glowing praise is seen as illegitimate criticism.

Disco Elysium‘s introduction is interesting. But it is an awful experience to play.

The game’s systems, under the hood, are fundamentally rudimentary, stat vs numbers and the actual complexity is about stacking buffs and debuffs which are from a comprehensive list of curated modifiers. Less ‘rules for how the world works’ but a million invitations to try something because, sure, why not. The game is very unforgiving, it’s very inconvenient, and it does require you to do tons of reading (or spend ages listening to voice acted lines, which is not my favourite way to engage with large amounts of text).

You don’t like that succeeding at checks doesn’t necessarily mean doing a good job or advancing the story.

You don’t like that you can make checks and get good results and all you get as a reward is a new problem where you fucked up.

You think success should mean something and you don’t like that the game doesn’t agree.

You’re mad that save-scumming the gate didn’t mean anything and it was just a waste of your time.

I am personally of the opinion that any work of significant size loses the ability to be described as well-written, not because the writing becomes bad, but because in any corpus large enough it’s not possible for all of it to be at the quality of its best moments. There are always going to be dry pages you leaf through. The loading screens of narrative, things that break up the best bits so you can appreciate them all marinating in your brain soup. Disco Elysium’s moments of shuffling up between rounds are spent scuffling around for bottles or looking for desperate hope that maybe this area you haven’t looked at lately has the significant piece of information you missed to advance the story. It does this to break up the writing, which is a catastrophic encyclopedia of words and concepts and a whole beautiful fractal of media effects where you learn about a world through its Proper Nouns and the way those Proper Nouns ape the proper nouns you know.

Disco Elysium filters its information systems through a broken, collapsed, splay of a man. That person is then asked to reconstruct reality as best they can in a way that lets you, the player, learn about the world. This is an interesting thing to do in a patient, slow, and steady experience, and can be wonderful for discovering a world as a series of things you care about and interest you immediately. In Disco Elysium this avalanche of verbs is like joining a tabletop game midway through (because you are), and that includes the mechanics. It has stats, but they’re not familiar or explained in familiar ways, and there’s a lot of them, and there’s no meaningful way to handle them. I think you’re kind of just meant to respond to the things you find cool and add skill points into them.

It has some problems when that greater nature is predictable, such as the implication that Disco Elysium has given me so far, that it has thought a great deal about all of the ideas it has, and everything about all of them and all the ways they can play out sucks. This is, not to say the game is Doomer, but rather, in my first ten hours of play, I have been left with the distinct impression that the game will be Doomer. The crushing, inevitable feeling of neverending relentless fucking up is interspersed with ways that fucking up can be funny.

In roleplaying games that I enjoy, there’s generally a meaningful set of choices, something interesting to approach the problem. Your class you start with, stat distribution, companions, it doesn’t matter necessarily what it is, but there’s stuff that encourages you to approach problems, then gives you ways to solve those problems, and when those options get cut off, it can feel frustrating. It can feel curtailed and less like you’re making choices as a character and more like you’re just picking off a list.

Early on there’s a lot of that kind of A-or-B. It wants to show you what a fuckup you were, too, which means that there’s this relentless loserdom, which at first I found a fascinating puzzle to solve and it got really boring, really quick. Where there’s no useful way to advance the story but running out a clock, or picking between two obviously bad choices, I find myself flailing around between picking up bottles and trying to find anything else to do. Go do side material, the game says, and I can’t find any of it to do.

It means that I keep coming back to the two obvious plot threads, and assumptions about what I should be doing or how I should be solving my problems, and realising that I can’t. This isn’t a game where you can wake up in the ruins of an old self, discover what a disaster you were, and try to make good. It’s literally not possible; the power structures of the world mean that the person you were yesterday is a person you can’t ever address in the way that I want to, because I’m not really in control of this character in this game.

It means that when the game presents me with the scenario and the characters in it, I am left unable to do the things I like to do in roleplaying games. Games are always throwing you down tunnels, but in this case, I had enough awareness to look at the tunnels and ask myself: Yeah but do I want to pursue either of these options?

It’s kinda a weird feeling of complete arrest.

Just be a disaster! Flail through the game and vomit on your shoes! Run out the timer and let it hold your hand, don’t worry about feeling like you have agency! You don’t, it’s a lie, and you’re beholden to a person you never were! You’re not here to play a game, you’re here to read about a thing that makes you sad because you can’t fix fucking capitalism with a fucking videogame or a videogame review and you’re only writing about it because this is the game you can’t stop yourself from playing in a month that’s meant to be about things you enjoy, and you can’t think of anything else to write about and so that’s why we’re fucking here with a disaster mad that there’s one fucking videogame where he doesn’t get the opportunity to pretend he’s not a fucking disaster!

I want to make it really clear, I’m talking about the first ten hours of this game. I am definitely compelled, I am interested. I love the way the game uses its dialogue choice interface and the genre of it to play with how characters treat you, like they can tell the options you considered because they can read you as a person.

I just don’t think anyone telling me about it was really giving me a good impression of how messy and miserable and unpleasant this interesting game is to play. There’s a comforting amnesia that comes from knowing a game really well, after all. Right now I’m at the stage of the game, looking at this game showing me a failed videogame studio as if to say, ‘wow, isn’t it interesting how hard and interesting it is to make a videogame?’ and trying to not make comparison to screenwriters and chefs.

Man, imagine if I get to the end of this game and I feel like it sucks.

I bet that’ll be a real horrible article to have to write.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[emilysidhe]

I just finished A Desolation Called Peace by Arkady Martine, the sequel to A Memory Called Empire, and I *loved* them both, but I’m still going to point out a few nit-picks I have with it, in order of petty to significant:

I do love and appreciate Mahit’s prioritizing her need to keep her sense of self as non-Teixcalaanli by refusing to live in the City until she’s certain that her love of its culture won’t consume her. Nevertheless, as a reader I continue to be more stressed out than the text wants me to be about how and when the Stationers’ visa applications are being processed when their sole-ambassador-who-has-no-staff is two months’ space travel away from her office on Teixcalaan. The one line about having her mail forwarded did not help!

A high-tech space empire typified by massive bureaucracy and high education standards that’s made first contact with aliens at least once before *must* have actual, qualified xeno-linguists somewhere in its government or academia. Three Seagrass assigning herself and Mahit to the task of deciphering an unknown alien language basically because she’s bored at her desk job and wants an excuse to see Mahit again is a way bigger deal than the characters or the text ever acknowledge. They are already having a border war with this species and the stakes of figuring out how to talk to them are so high, and Three Seagrass is like, “Well, as a poet, I’m really good at my own language and Mahit must be good at figuring out foreign languages and cultures since she understands ours so well, so that’s basically the same as being an actual linguist right?” No. I understand that taking someone with official qualifications along would have added another original character to an already expanded cast, and undercut Three Seagrass’s already flimsy excuses to drag Mahit into this, and created a third wheel to get in the way of developing Three Seagrass’ and Mahit’s relationship, but if the author wasn’t going to do it, there should have been either a stronger in-universe justification for Three Seagrass and Mahit to have at least no worse chance of success than a real language specialist like the Fleet requested, or a greater acknowledgement of how huge a dereliction of duty deciding to take an unqualified crack at this herself actually was.

Avoiding explicit spoilers, I didn’t like the resolution to the Darj Tarats subplot. Him being present in the final scene felt very contrived and also pointless. I kept wondering why, from a story perspective, he was even there - right up until his final line, which was like, “well, I guess I know why he had to be here for the story now, but I’m not sure this justifies him adding nothing to that whole previous scene.”

Also, why was he there from a character perspective? Like, he tells Dekakel Onchu that he’s going to do something, and then he doesn’t really seem to try to do that, he just - yells at Mahit in front of the Teixcalaanlitzlim like he thinks if he just berates her harshly enough she’ll make the battle go how he wants with - idk, magic I guess? - even though the general he wants her to manipulate is standing right there listening to all this. I get that he’s supposed to be a ruthless and power-abusing man who has spent so long obsessing over one idea for a master plan that he’s lost sight not only of the moral ramifications but also practical questions about whether it would even work the way he envisioned even if his agents obeyed him completely and has nothing left but to take it out on them when they don’t and it doesn’t, but I’m not sure that he’s intended to come off quite as foolish and shortsighted as he ultimately does.

Anyway, despite what it sounds like, I did genuinely love both of these books (somehow it’s easier to list problems than to genuinely enthuse about all the things I loved!), and I’m really looking forward to rereading them in the context of what I now know from having read them and to seeing what else the author writes in this universe.

[egittae]

bambi and the old stag - lambert & dimitri

Starter for @blaiddllodi (riding+1)

With one last double check on his equipment, Lambert nodded with satisfaction once he made sure all was set. Though this was a great opportunity to simply bond and get a breather with a nice and calm horse ride, as a teacher that was still an expedition and so he needed to be sure he was ready for anything that could possibly happen- both good and bad. 

Even more since he had been assigned a house leader on top of it all. Not that he’d be less prepared if it were a regular student, no- but house leaders did demand extra care. If anything happened to them it could be bad for everyone, particularly the Church’s image…and he didn’t even want to think about what damage it could do to the Abyss and its people.

The process itself was kind of odd, however- starting with the very student Lambert had been assigned to. As he was a professor of the Ashen Wolves Lambert naturally assumed that if he were to be assigned a house leader, then it would be Yuri since he was already a student of his, while the other house leaders would be each assigned to other professors from their respective affiliations for obvious reasons. The face he was met with, while a familiar one, wasn’t that of his keen-eyed house leader.

Dimitri, prince of Faerghus and leader of Blue Lions. That was the student that had been assigned to him for whatever reason…which was why he was double checking everything. Lambert already intended to be careful with whatever kid was allowed under his wing, but the prince of the very land he hailed from…it did add a little more pressure on his shoulders for this to go all right. It was one thing to give that boy a lesson or two within the Academy, and it was another to be the sole responsible for his safety outside of the campus grounds.

Not to mention, he hadn’t forgotten. Lambert knew better than to bring it up, but his heart remembered the cold ache from the realization that the boy’s voice and appearance- his eyes, felt almost like a claw trying to tear and shred through the fog in his mind, violently searching for something within it. The ominous realization of something he didn’t even begin to feel ready enough to think about let alone let it settle. It wasn’t fear nor disgust, much less displeasure. Lambert held no ill feelings towards that boy.

If anything, he was more afraid of what the truth behind that boy’s identity could do to him. Would it treat his heart like a pride of lions would a gazelle in the wilderness? Would it twist, crush and shred it apart violently- driven by survival and the need to make things right? Or would it cradle it gently, with love and the softness of resolution?

It felt wrong to sew his hopes onto someone else, but the phantom tugging his mind around while keeping him in the dark was restless.

He didn’t want to think about it. Not now- later, much later perhaps, but not now. Now he was just a teacher, preparing an expedition for a student and that was it.

A deep breath, eyes meeting the Goddess’ in the sky, and reality stood by his side. 

“Greetings, boy. Dimitri, was it? Are you ready to go or do you need more time to prepare your gear?” Arms crossed over his chest offered a comfort only he could understand. “We are scheduled to follow a trail into the forest and end up in a glade of sorts. This is no camping mission and I know there is Faerghan blood in your veins, but winter is coming. Do not underestimate the mountain’s winds.” He offered a gentle warning, taking the chance to also analyze what the student was bringing.

“Also, do not forget treats for your horse. They are hard workers and could use some extra appreciation too.” The man blinked before climbing up to the saddle, looking down at the prince.

[cringefailvox]

15, 17, 19 for the meme! Dealer’s choice! You can do the same fic for all three or you can do different ones, whichever is the most interesting. (Aka I can’t pick… you have so many tasty fics.)

15. talk about the characters' struggles & how you decided on those.

sometimes you scrape and sink so low

this fic let me dig my teeth into husk for the first (and hopefully not the last) time!! a missing scene post-ep5 because i've been thinking about the hallway scene ever since i watched it and feeling CRAZY. i earnestly believe that husk and alastor consider each other friends of a sort, even despite the soul ownership, and so this fic delves into husk struggling with the aftermath of alastor betraying him like that -- he thought he'd known the rules, known how to play the game, and here alastor goes overturning the board on him in a way he never had before. it was a profound breach in the status quo between them that leaves husk rattled and hurt. but alastor doesn't want that either; he wants husk to respect him, but he doesn't want husk to genuinely fear him, at least not in any personal sense -- being afraid of the radio demon mythos is one thing, but he truly doesn't want husk to take the hallway incident as their new normal.

i'm so endlessly fascinated by their dynamic mostly because of how ooc that scene feels. as in, neither of them are at their best: alastor is stressed and irritated out of his mind already from lucifer's presence + husk does what he does best and instantly zeroes in on someone's sorest spot to drive his point home = alastor violently lashing out at him in a way we've never seen him do before. it sucks! husk was just trying to look out for him! but we knew that conversation was never going to go well. this fic was definitely a lot of wish-fulfillment for me skjfghjkfd i really wish we'd gotten some kind of resolution with them in canon.

17. talk about the fic's ending. why did you end it where you did?

The Diving Bell

after a sweet and sappy closing scene, vaggie ends with a note of defeatism -- she'll tell charlie the truth about what she is someday, if charlie ever asks, but until then, she'll savor what she has until it's inevitably taken away from her. it's a bummer sentiment but it felt true to vaggie's character; she hates herself so deeply and so strongly that she's convinced charlie would hate her too if she knew the Truth -- the big, ugly truth at the core of her that makes her unworthy of anything but being useful to charlie. she knows it's inevitable that the truth will get out someday, but she isn't optimistic about how it'll go. so i wanted to end this fic on that feeling of mixed happiness/dread, where vaggie thinks she knows how this story will end, but intends to cherish what she has while she's allowed to keep it. girl let's get you so much therapy.

19. while editing, did you kill any darlings? what were they?

dragging its tail in the sea

i had to rewrite one section of this like three times to make it flow well and sadly had to cut this hilarious line:

it was just a touch too bitchy for the melancholy tone and i couldn't get it to connect to the rest of the scene, but man it still makes me giggle. and who knows, someday you all might get to see it given a new home in static shock since i gave bird custody

[winters8child]

It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 69

Steve returned with Dr. Cho and quietly positioned himself in the far corner of the room, his presence almost ghost-like as he watched her examine me. Dr. Cho’s touch was gentle but clinical as she assessed my condition. "Your super serum is working its magic," she said, her tone reassuring yet firm. "I want to keep you here for one more night, just to be sure, and then you'll be free to go." She offered a small, professional smile before slipping out of the room, the door closing softly behind her with a final click.

Steve remained where he was, his posture tense, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stared down at the floor, lost in his thoughts. A heavy weight settled in my chest as I watched him, guilt gnawing at me. I hadn't meant what I'd said earlier, not really. I didn’t regret my decision to stay, but frustration had gotten the better of me, and I lashed out, hitting right where I knew it would hurt. I was fully aware of his insecurities about Bucky, and my words had cut deep, much deeper than I'd intended. The silence between us grew thicker with every passing second, amplifying the remorse that coiled inside me.

I sighed, biting my lip as I wrestled with my emotions, desperately searching for the right words to bridge the chasm I’d created. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said," I whispered, my voice barely audible as I stared down at my lap, too ashamed to meet his gaze. The words felt heavy on my tongue, but I forced them out, hoping they would somehow bridge the gap between us.

Steve scoffed, a bitter sound that made me flinch. "But you still said it," he replied, his voice laced with hurt and frustration. "You said it even though you knew exactly how much it would hurt me."

I parted my lips to speak, to somehow take back the damage I’d done, but before I could find the words, he cut me off. "It’s not your fault that I feel this way," he said, his tone softening just a fraction, but the pain was still there, raw and real. "These are my insecurities, and I have to own that. But... I don’t think I can move forward with this relationship, with the idea of having a family with you, without working on my issues first."

His words hung between us, heavy and final, the future we had envisioned together suddenly seeming so fragile, so uncertain. My lip quivered as his words began to sink in, each one striking like a blow, but I couldn’t—no, I didn’t want to—believe it. "So, what are you saying?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady as my fingers fidgeted anxiously with the edge of the blanket, a weak attempt to keep myself from falling apart.

Steve moved slowly, deliberately, crossing the room with the weight of a man carrying an unbearable burden. He sat at the edge of my bed, his back turning to me as if facing me would make this all too real. The silence between us was deafening, filled with everything we weren’t saying.

"Maybe we should take a break," he said at last, the words heavy with resignation. "Figure out who we are on our own." His voice was measured, but I could hear the crack beneath the surface, the hint of pain he was trying so hard to conceal. Finally, he turned his head to look at me, his eyes meeting mine with sorrow and determination. "Figure out who you really want," he added, the finality in his voice echoing in the space between us.

He had already made up his mind.

I shook my head vigorously, disbelief washing over me like a cold wave. "I want YOU. I love YOU. You can't just break up with me." My voice wavered, a mixture of shock and desperation. The idea of losing him over a moment of frustration felt unbearable like the ground was crumbling beneath me.

Steve turned to face me fully, his expression pained but resolute. "It’s just a break," he insisted, his voice gentle but firm. "I love you—that will never change. But maybe this will be good for us, give us both the space to figure things out."

His words were meant to be comforting, but they only deepened the ache in my chest. The idea of being apart, even temporarily, felt like an unspoken goodbye, a step toward an uncertain future I wasn’t ready to face. "On Clint’s farm, we talked about having a family, about getting married, and now you want a break? Why, Steve? Why would you do this?" My voice rose, almost a yell, the emotions I’d been holding back now spilling over. The memories of those conversations, filled with hope and dreams for our future, made his sudden decision feel like a betrayal.

He met my gaze, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and frustration that caught me off guard. "Because I wasn’t the one whose name you called out when I thought you were dying."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of my anger. I froze my mouth agape as the realization set in. The name I had whispered in a moment of fear, of vulnerability, wasn’t his. All the fight drained out of me as I sat there, stunned into silence. The air between us grew thick and heavy, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down as the seconds dragged on, feeling like an eternity.

"You were in my arms, and I was begging you to hold on," Steve’s voice trembled, each word heavy with the pain he’d been carrying. "Your blood was everywhere, and I thought... I thought this was it. That I had lost you. But maybe... maybe you were never mine to begin with."

His voice cracked as he laid his heart bare, his vulnerability cutting through the distance between us. "Steve..." I tried to speak, to reach out to him, but he continued as if he hadn’t even heard me.

"You kept calling his name... over and over..." His gaze was distant, unfocused as if he was no longer in the room with me but back in that terrifying moment, reliving the horror all over again. He wasn’t even looking at me anymore, lost in the memory of that day. The anguish in his voice, and the rawness of his emotions, made it clear that this wasn’t just about what I had said—it was about what I had revealed in my most vulnerable state.

At that moment, I realized the depth of the wound I had unknowingly inflicted, a wound that might not be easily healed. I reached out, desperate to bridge the growing chasm between us, and intertwined our fingers, hoping to find some solace in the familiar warmth of his touch. But after a brief hesitation, Steve gently pulled his hand back, leaving mine empty and cold.

"But I love you, Steve... please don’t do this," I pleaded, my voice breaking as tears welled up in my eyes. The thought of losing him felt unbearable like a piece of my heart was being torn away.

His eyes, rimmed with unshed tears, met mine, and for a moment, I saw the depth of his pain reflected there. But even though the love we shared was evident in his gaze, he remained resolute. He didn’t budge, the distance between us growing more palpable, and I realized that this was a battle I might not be able to win.

Steve took a deep breath, the sound heavy in the quiet room, and looked away, his jaw clenched as if he was trying to keep himself together. I could see the conflict in his eyes—the love he still felt for me, the pain he was trying to bury, and the resolve he was struggling to maintain.

"I wish things were different," he finally said, his voice low and filled with sorrow. "I wish I could just forget what happened and move on like it didn’t matter. But it does, and I can’t pretend it doesn’t."

A sudden knock on the door startled both of us, the sound slicing through the thick tension in the room. We flinched, turning our heads in unison toward the door as a familiar voice called out, "It’s me, Nat. Can I come in?"

Panic shot through me. I quickly wiped away my tears with the back of my hand, trying to compose myself. Steve rose from the bed, his movements stiff, the weight of our conversation still hanging heavy between us.

"Come in," I called out, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. I glanced at Steve, his expression mirroring the distress that was still etched into every line of his face. His eyes, usually so calm and determined, were clouded with a mix of emotions that I could only begin to understand.

The door opened slowly, and Natasha stepped inside, her sharp eyes instantly assessing the situation. She paused for a moment, taking in the tension that still lingered in the air, the way Steve’s hands were clenched at his sides, and the way I tried to keep my face neutral, even though the tears weren’t completely gone.

"Am I interrupting something?" Natasha asked, her voice carefully neutral, though there was a flicker of concern in her eyes as she looked between the two of us.

Steve shook his head slightly, though he avoided looking directly at her. "No, Nat," he said, his voice low and strained. "We were just... finishing up."

She nodded, but her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, as if she could see the storm raging beneath his calm exterior. Then she turned to me, her expression softening just a bit. "I came to check on you. How are you holding up?"

I forced a small smile, though it felt like a fragile thing, ready to crumble at any moment. "I’m okay," I lied, hoping she wouldn’t press too hard. But Natasha was too perceptive for that, and I could tell she didn’t buy it for a second.

Still, she didn’t push. Instead, she offered me a small nod, acknowledging the unspoken pain between us. "Good. I’m here if you need anything." There was an unspoken promise in her words, a reassurance that she was ready to be there for me, no matter what.

Steve took a step toward the door, his movements deliberate but hesitant. "I should go," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. He paused, glancing at me one last time as if searching for something he wasn’t sure he would find.

"Steve..." I started, but the words died on my lips. What was there left to say?

He shook his head slightly, offering a small, sad smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’ll come by when they discharge you tomorrow," he said softly, his voice tinged with a sense of conclusion. With that, he slipped past Natasha and out the door, the latch clicking shut behind him with a gentle, definitive click.

I lost all my composure the moment Natasha sat down beside me and began to gently stroke my back. "What happened?" she asked quietly, her voice soothing and filled with concern.

I didn’t have the strength to hold back any longer. The dam I had carefully maintained through the pain gave way, and I broke down in her arms, tears streaming down my face as I clung to her for support.

Tags: @capswife

Next Chapter

[saderplate7]

LONG POST TIME: SONGWRITING WITH SADER

in honor of it officially being 2025, i would like to state that i SUCCESSFULLY followed my 2024 new year's resolution: to write a song per month so i'd have 12 by the end of the year. it is now 2025 and i am happy to announce:

I WROTE SIXTEEN SONGS IN 2024 AND NOW I'M GOING TO TALK ABOUT THEM!

JANUARY: -pass me a note. originally intended to be the theme music for someone else's podcast. then i changed my mind about that so i made it into a good omens song.

FEBRUARY: -twin-sized coffin. for sure my best production of the year, also some of my best lyrics. the only song of the year to have harmonies. it's about moral orel!

MARCH: -joy ride. (not kesha's, i swear.) my second and more successful attempt to write theme music for the aforementioned podcast. it was also my first ever song that i heard somebody else sing! (they did not use my voice for the podcast)

APRIL: -not today. my cop-out song. i had no motivation so i wrote about that. it's only about a minute and a half long.

MAY: -are you having fun yet? had an absolute nightmare of a time trying to record this one, and in fact i still do not have a good recording of it. it's my own fault though. it's about the stanley parable!

JUNE: -common threads. my best song of 2024. best combination of lyrics and music. i'm a little bit obsessed with the bridge of this one also.

JULY (songwriting summer!): -nice things. i tried to make it jonathan-larson-esque. i really like its chorus. i wrote it after the gaiman allegations and that's all i'll say about that -descendants song. i cannot shut up about this descendants song (i have a whole tag for it, check it out if you want). and soon it will be performed by real life people and i'm very very excited. -if you were into it. definitely does not count as a completed song but i would be remiss if i didn't include it. it was a fraction of a song, written for a very old wip that i probably won't return to for a While, if at all. but i had a lot of fun with it.

AUGUST: -along the way. i wrote this one on a very frustrated, upset, exhausted day. in fact i was so exhausted that it doesn't have an instrumental, it's just me hitting the table in lieu of percussion.

SEPTEMBER: -million-dollar smile. the frustration continues! i was very stressed out and not very happy when i wrote this one, but i am a fan of its chorus.

OCTOBER: -the way iamb. i really like this one- it makes me very happy. part of it is in iambic pentameter. it will possibly eventually be a part of a Larger Project. we shall see.

NOVEMBER: -unsure of myself. very very short piece, honestly barely even counts, but it was my only ukulele accompaniment and i thought it was cute. -want you to want me. i wrote THIS one about a play nobody has ever heard of! has some pretty decent melodies in it.

DECEMBER: -hashbrown hanukkah. i wrote this one when i was extraordinarily sad. -you need jesus. i was so sad after writing the previous one that i wrote this one in the SAME NIGHT. i had never written two songs in a day before. this one was not sad. it was a LOT of fun. for the same possible project as the october song.

IN CONCLUSION i'm going to try to keep this up!!! and if you actually read all of this, you must not have anything to do right now! and i hope you enjoyed!!!

[csidepooltide]

I haven't played Dream BBQ yet, I really really want to, but I've been seeing a modicum of Ena OCs here and there, and I find them quite charming

I do, however, also think that there's a lot of missed potential in the original facet of Ena that makes their design language so fun - that the two halves represent different expressions, and so they're stylistically different from eachother

Most people focus on the fact that each side is a different personality, and I find that very important, but the reason it works so well is because of that style, too

(I'll put this under a cut for those who want to not flood pages :D I may ramble on for longer than I intend lmao)

(I am pulling my knowledge from the original Ena animations and not from the game, so this will refer to that Ena specifically)

The happy side of Ena is represented in yellow. Bubbly, stylistically much more flat, but round and friendly. The sad side, however, has much more form and depth, but is angular and ridged. The body itself is also angular, not a perfect split down the middle.

When they become completely hopeless, their body switches to an extreme of their current state - the happy, bubbly side is now replaced with the same blocky appearance as the sad side. But when the happy side takes over, it only blots out the sad side's face, or corrupts the appearance entirely. It's not an even 50/50, but a coagulation of some sort of mix between the two, uneven as it is

You will never be 50% happy, 50% sad - you will never be an even split of anything, you will be a grey, uneven, confusing middle ground. And Ena specifically seems to have something almost like oil and water to that, where their sides are at odds

I think it would just be fun to have designs like.... let's say.... Watercolour on one side, and sketchy pens and pencils on the other. The watercolour keeps bleeding out the lineart on the one side, but the lineart keeps trying to contain the colour.

Or one side is animated in 60 fps, with higher resolution, while the other is animated on 12, with much lower pixel count. The lower resolution side lags behind the higher resolution side, but is much more consistent in its own framerate, while the 60 fps side may sometimes stutter.

(feel free to take these ideas, and tag me if you do! I'd love to see them :) )

I just think there's a lot to explore with the concept of unity within imbalance! I think it's fun to think about

EDIT: Let it be known RIGHT NOW that I LOVEEEE Ena ocs that also stick to the usual format. It's so charming how so so many unique ideas can come from one single concept! I'm just discussing ideas I've had, this is NOT a criticism

[waytooinvested]

Forgotten, Not Forgiven - Chapter 32

This and previous chapters are also on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day Lena got up and made breakfast, just as she did every morning. French toast drowning in maple syrup for Kara to celebrate getting her cast removed, a blueberry-oatmeal smoothie for herself, because she couldn’t face a full meal when she knew what the rest of the day would hold.

Things between them felt… not strained exactly, but as if they had rolled back time to the first days of their living together, when they had both been trying too hard and were yet to quite find the shared choreography of their cohabitation. It made Lena inexpressibly sad to feel the distance between them again after being so close, but she knew deep down that things were as they needed to be. If Kara had come over to slip her arms around Lena’s waist while she stood at the stove as had become her habit, she wasn’t sure she would be able to make herself follow through with her plan.

They talked about small things while they ate, and Kara made a gently teasing comment about the handful of kale Lena had added to her smoothie. Yesterday that would have been accompanied by an insistence on her accepting at least a couple of bites of French toast (“for balance”), but today she merely nodded when Lena declined her offer to share, and finished her own breakfast without pushing the point.

After that they played a few of games of scrabble, one of checkers, and then it was time for Kara to go to the DEO so Alex could remove her cast. Until last night Lena had taken it as read that she would tag along to this appointment, and maybe even take them both out somewhere to celebrate afterwards; but when the car arrived she excused her self with an ‘urgent work meeting’ and sent Kara off alone. She had intended to keep their farewell light – a brief ‘see you in a few hours’ embrace and a wave as the car pulled out, but in the end she couldn’t quite manage it. Lena pulled Kara into a tight hug, holding on long past the point of casual, for all she knew it risked seeming too much like goodbye. But she wanted goodbye. Just in case everything went wrong with Lex, and this was the last time she got to hold Kara.

She needed it.

She would have lived forever in that embrace if she could have, but eventually she had to let go, standing back to allow the car to pull slowly away from the sidewalk and out of her reach.

‘I love you Kara.’

She whispered the words into the space where Kara had been as she watched the SUV merging into the stream of traffic. Just so that she had said them out loud, at least once. Even if Kara couldn’t hear her. She held onto the moment until the car was out of sight, and then put it resolutely aside, her mind turning to focus solely on her mission.

As she had told Kara she went to L-Corp next, but not to attend her fabricated board meeting. After a brief stop by her office and a few quick words with Jess, Lena headed straight for the roof.

It probably wasn’t actually necessary to come up here – her signal would travel just as well if she sent it from the basement, and Lex always seemed to find a way to get to her when she used it no matter how impossible it seemed at the time.

Still, there was no point in taking chances.

Lena took a deep breath, and reached for the thing she had slipped casually into her pocket after her talk with Jess. Her fingers curled around the smooth contours of it, pulling out the innocuous object and staring at it for a long moment, weighing its insubstantial presence in her palm.

The white knight piece from her chessboard.

A particularly keen observer might have noticed that this one didn’t quite match its companion. It was close, certainly, but the shape of the nose was very slightly different, and it was perhaps a little more worn, its surface marked with light scratches and one ear tip the tiniest bit flattened, as if it had spent more time being bumped around in pockets and bags and small, clutching fists than it had residing peacefully on a board.

After a few seconds of silent contemplation Lena took hold of the apparently-immovable base and gave it a sharp, decisive twist, clockwise, then counter clockwise. A seam appeared in the previously-solid-seeming piece, and Lena kept twisting back and forth, following a rapid, complicated pattern so ingrained that she felt the echo of all the times she had done this before in her fingers, a muscle memory that she would never forget no matter how long she lived.

She was five years old, hiding under her bed with tears on her cheeks as she followed the pattern she had practised with her big brother, waiting for him to come and comfort her after her new mom had thrown away the teddy bear that had been her last remaining link to her old life.

She was nine, and she had taken on more than she should have with a new invention. It was overheating and going to blow, but her small hands weren’t strong enough to remove the cap to disable it in their unweildy oversized heat proof gloves, so she was twisting the base of the knight desperately to call Lex so she wouldn’t have to admit to her parents what she had done, or risk blowing up the garage.

She was eleven and had sprained her ankle on a skiing vacation. She had fallen too far behind the others for them to hear her calling and her phone had no signal, but she stayed calm and took out the chess piece. Sooner than should have been possible there he was, Lena’s white knight, skiing down the mountain towards her.

She was fully grown and long since disillusioned with Lex. She had just told Kara that no one had ever stood up for her the way she did, and after she had gone Lena had picked up the little horse figurine for the first time in years. She thought about how after Lex had let her down so badly she had never expected to have another white knight in her life, but that Kara Danvers might just be the hero she wished her brother could have been.

She finished the sequence with a final turn, and waited.

It was possible that this whole thing was a waste of time, and that after all these years of silence Lex wasn’t even listening anymore. The white knight was little more than a child’s plaything after all, and both of them had changed beyond recognition since the last time they had had cause to use it. Why would he even remember it, let alone still keep his half close enough to catch the signal?

It was absurd to think he would, and yet somehow, Lena wasn’t worried about it.

She remembered with searing clarity the day Lex had given her the chess piece. It had been after she had finally told him her version of what had happened to her real mother that day at the lake: in bits and pieces, and filtered through tears and her four year old understanding, but it had been enough to get the point across. Exactly one week later Lex had pressed the chess piece into her hands and promised her with a kind of serious, grown up sincerity that had awed her at the time, that if she was ever in really bad trouble like that again, she could use it. He had crooked his big knuckle-y pinkie around her little chubby one and sworn to her that no matter what (no matter what) as long as she kept it, she would never be alone like that again.

It had been the only promise they’d ever made to each other that had really, truly mattered, and it was the only one neither of them were ever supposed to break: Lena would only use it if she truly needed her brother, and if Lex got her signal, he would come. It didn’t matter if they were fighting, if they were in different cities, or even on different continents. The white knight was an amnesty: a promise of ceasefire in whatever argument they happened to be locked in at the time, whether that was over who had eaten the last brownie or the morality of mass murder and attempted world domination.

A wave of guilt to be misusing it this way rose in Lena, even now, after everything Lex had done. She understood Lex’s code of honour more fully than most of his closest associates ever would, and was well aware that what she was doing now was a betrayal in a way that merely attempting to murder him never had been. By carrying out her plan Lena was taking a torch to whatever twisted scraps of a sibling relationship she might still have had with her brother; but for Kara, she would make this final betrayal. She just hoped she was right to believe that the part of Lex that had been her first champion was still in there somewhere.

Nothing happened for almost a full minute, and then the piece twisted in her hand of its own volition – a quarter turn one way, then a half turn the other. Just the same as always.

‘I’m coming.’

She let out a shaky breath and looked around, expecting a portal to open up in front of her and Lex to step out onto the roof, but it didn’t. After several minutes Lena decided that he must not have access to his portal, or else had reason not to use it right now, and would instead arrive by more conventional (and therefore slower) means. She began scanning the sky, even though it was much too soon for a helicopter to appear unless Lex had been hovering just out of sight all this time, anticipating Lena’s call. And given that it had been more than a decade since the last one, that seemed unlikely.

At last she sank down into a comfortable lotus pose, and settled in to wait.

And wait.

Morning rolled ponderously into afternoon, and the adrenaline-fuelled thumping of Lena’s heart slowed as boredom set in. She really should have brought her laptop with her, but she had been so focused on the next part she hadn’t really considered how she would spend the time before Lex got to her.

Her legs were going to sleep, and the cold of the roof was beginning to soak into Lena’s bones. Her stomach rumbled faintly.

Somewhere around mid afternoon she gave up on maintaining her composed appearance and began to pace, both to get her circulation moving and also just for something to do other than stare up at the sky. She wondered whether Lex had been toying with her in his response. Perhaps he knew her signal had been in bad faith, and was responding in kind without any intention of actually showing up. She considered giving up and going back down to her office to come up with an alternative method of tracking her brother down, but she didn’t. Not even when the sun started its slow decent towards the horizon and dusk swept in to garland the roof top with shadows...

There was a movement in her peripheral vision, and Lena whipped round to face it.

The door to the stairwell had opened, and someone was coming out to join her. But it wasn’t Lex, it was-

‘Kara?’

‘Hey Lena!’

Lena glanced up quickly to scan the skies again for any signs of Lex’s approach, then turned back to face Kara, trying to keep the mounting panic from her expression. Kara was limping slightly as she closed the distance between them, but she was free of the cast at last and walking unaided for the first time in weeks.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I was worried when you didn’t come home after work, so I came here to find you. I figured you must be working late, and I thought I’d bring you dinner since you always seem to forget to eat when you’re caught up in a project – though I still have no idea how someone could just forget to eat. I don’t think I ever have.’

Kara grinned at her teasingly, holding up a bag of take out from Lena’s favourite sushi place in evidence of her mission. Lena’s stomach let out a traitorous growl at the thought of the spicy tuna hosomaki she knew it would contain, but this was not the time to be thinking about food.

‘Kara-’

‘I know, I know, you’re working. But you can take a break for a few minutes can’t you? So we can eat together? Though if I’d known you were out here in I’d have brought something hot instead of raw fish, and your jacket. I thought you’d be in your nice warm office rather than chilling your toes off on the roof.’

Lena should be hustling Kara back inside with all haste, but the comment distracted her.

‘How did you find me? How did you even get up here in the first place?’

‘Jess. She told me where you were and lent me the spare key.’

Damn it Jess. And after she had sent her such a nice muffin basket too.

Though of course it wasn’t really Jess’ fault. Lena was the one who had told her to give Kara open access to wherever she was, as long as she wasn’t in her lab (for safety reasons) or actively in a meeting at the time. Lena was the one who hadn’t thought to change that directive on this most crucial of days. And Lena was the one who was putting Kara in danger right now by letting her continue to be here when Lex might turn up at any second.

‘I’m very grateful for the sushi, but you can’t be up here Kara, I’m sorry.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s not safe. Please, go back downstairs.’

But Kara just frowned at her, making no move to leave.

‘Is the roof fragile? Because you shouldn’t be up here either in that case.’

‘No, it’s not that. I’m just… I’m meeting someone.’

‘Someone not safe? Alone, on the roof, in the dark? I don’t like the sound of that. What’s going on?’

‘I’m dealing with the thing we talked about last night. It’s going to be fine, but you have to go now.’

She tried to sound level and calm, as if the meeting was absolutely nothing to worry about. But something in her voice must have given her away, because Kara’s expression turned mulish.

‘Lena. I am not leaving you here alone if you’re in some kind of danger. Whatever it is, just come downstairs with me and we can work it out together.’

‘I’ll only be in danger if you’re here when he arrives!’

She shouldn’t have said that, but every minute that Kara was still here increased the chances of Lex showing up before she was safely away, and she could not let that happen.

‘When who arrives?’

Lena sighed. Kara was wearing her stubborn reporter look, and it was clear she wasn’t going to go if she didn’t give her at least part of the truth.

‘My brother’s coming, okay? I don’t think he’ll hurt me, but I need him to believe I’m on his side if I’m going to fix this. And if you’re with me – if he threatens you, I won’t be able to do that.’

‘Oh Lena. I was so hoping you weren’t going to let me down this time.’

Lena’s blood chilled in her veins and her hope for her carefully woven plan unravelled as she turned in the direction of the new voice.

Lex Luthor was a few yards away, standing squarely between them and the way back down into the building.

It was too late.

Lex was here, and he had heard everything.

[boxfullaturtles]

For the commentary meme! I ignored word counts so long ask is long

It was hard to pick for Adagio in Green but I went with the following bit. But everything about this section of the fic gets me, including the fight immediately afterward and then Casey trying to help Donnie with the security upgrades.

"“He got up yesterday,” Donnie grunted in a hoarse voice. He was laying on his plastron on the cot, his blanket pulled all the way over his head. The only part of him that was visible was his snout, peeking out from the edge of the blanket and sunk into his own pillow. He had despised the bath, grumbling and hissing the entire time, flinching when the sponge had dabbed at the raw wounds on his tender shell.

“What!? Leo got up!? When!?” Raph had been laying on his front too, but at Donnie’s words he pushed himself partially upright, bracing himself on his good arm. His tail thumped the mattress, making the communicator bounce.

“When I was sick,” Donnie mumbled, nose wrinkling in distaste at the memory, “Throwin’ up yesterday. Lee helped.”

Casey had been shrinking back in on himself, drawing his knees up to his chest, a look of wariness and hurt on his face. He was staring at the med bay floor, picking at the fibers of his borrowed jeans. Raph noticed the lack of enthusiasm and cocked his head,

“CJ? What’s wrong? Thought you’d be happy to hear that Leo woke up.”

“I…” Casey shuffled nervously, chewing on his lip and looking anywhere but at the turtles, “It wasn’t...Leo.” Donnie stilled underneath his blanket and Casey’s breath caught, “It was me. I...you were...I tried to tell you I wasn’t Leo, but I don’t think you heard me. You were really out of it...”

A chill settled over the med bay, something bitter and fragile that twisted the shadows and made the spaces between all of them feel cavernous. Raph’s shoulders slumped and he sagged back down onto the mattress, tucking his chin into his pillow and wrapping his arms around it. Donnie hadn’t moved since Casey’s revelation, as if he were still processing it.

“Donatello, I’m s—” Casey began.

Donnie disappeared completely underneath the blanket. Casey made a hurt noise in his throat and clenched his jaw, ducking his head so that his dark hair fell into his face."

---

We Were Made to Suffer and to Love kills me every time I think about it. This isn't quite the money shot of the boys getting retro/double-mutated but I love this section for all the Draxum dad feels (he calls them his sons!).

"Raph whimpered in his cage and tugged at the cuffs hopelessly. He caught Draxum’s eye and Draxum saw fear there. Raphael was so young. They were both so young. They were children, babies compared to his centuries of living.

“Don’t—don’t do it!” Donnie gasped, trying to wear a brave face despite the way he was shaking, “She could destroy everything!”

Halima scoffed, rolling her eyes, “Please, I don’t care about the humans. I’m quite happy right where I am, thank you. All I want is to secure my place among the houses of the Hidden City.” She crossed her arms, tilting her head as she stared Draxum down, “So, Draxum. What will it be?”

Draxum had always intended to give her what she wanted. They both knew it.

Like Splinter before him, Draxum would let the world burn if it meant keeping the boys safe.

“I will give you the formula,” He said in a low voice, a thundercloud of resignation and rage and resolution all at one, “And you will not harm my sons.”

“No one will lay a finger on them,” Halima pressed a hand to her chest, her expression solemn and serious.

“And you will free them.”

“They will be released once things are finished.”

A part of Draxum, the part that had dealt with centuries of yokai paperwork and contracts and promises, clawed at him to get it all in writing. To make Halima keep her word with ink and paper and blood. But they didn’t have time for that and the anxious desire to get Raph and Donnie away was a roaring river that washed everything else from its path.

“Very well,” Draxum drew himself up, back straight, posture proud despite the circumstance, “The mutagenic formula is yours.”"

---

And then how about this section of Worth it for the Laughter because I really like it (especially Leo calling Draxum "evil dad" and Donnie telling Draxum not to call Leo stupid)

"

“You!” Leo’s attention snapped to Draxum, his eyes wide as he fumbled to shove Donnie off of him and point dramatically. His entire arm swayed around in the air, his accusatory finger drawing squiggly figure eights, “D-Don! He—the guy—it’s him! Why’s he here!?” Leo slapped his blankets, making an agitated noise, “Donniiiiieeeee! Donnie you gotta get out of here! It’s Dad! Evil Dad! Evil Dad is in here!”

Silence.

April, Donatello, and Draxum all stared at Leo with wide eyes and open mouths. Leo was breathing heavily, staring hard at Draxum, but when no one responded to him, he glanced at his siblings, brow furrowing,

“Guys? Hey...heeeeyyy…”

“You…” Draxum’s expression was difficult to discern, a crease between his brows, something like confusion tangled up with concern and something softer, something warmer, “You...you called me…’Dad’?”

Leo stared.

Donnie stared.

April stared.

And then Leo started crying. Again.

“I called Barry my ddaaaaaaddddd,” He wailed, flopping backwards on the bed, sprawling there like he’d been tossed aside, tears running down his face all over again, “He’s my dad toooooo! Don’t tell Pops, guys, you can’t Pops I called Dad my daaaaddddyyy!”

Donnie slapped a hand to his own face with a groan of exasperation, “If it’s not one thing he finds to cry about, it’s another…”

“Aawww, Leo, do you think of Barry as part of the family?” April cooed over the crying turtle, smiling in good humor as she rubbed Leo’s shoulder and tried to get him to calm down, “That’s really sweet of you. You should tell Mikey, he’ll be over the moon!”

Leo sniffled, almost poking himself in the eye as he scrubbed at the tears on his face, “M-Mikey? Is on the moon?”

“No, that’s not what I...ya know what, nevermind. Lemme tell you about this school project I’m working on.” April nudged Leo over on the bed and climbed up next to him, sitting shoulder to shoulder with the slider as she pulled out her phone to show him pictures. Leo appeared to be listening, but it was hard to tell when his gaze slid out of focus and drifted to random parts of the room before snapping back to April again. His head was slowly starting to dip towards resting on April’s shoulder, his lids getting heavy as drowsiness began to set in. But April didn’t seem to mind being used as Leo’s impromptu pillow, looping an affectionate arm around Leo’s shoulders and tucking him close to her side.

“What happened to him?” Draxum asked in a low voice, moving to stand beside Donnie’s chair as he watched the usually animated Leo slouch further into April and the nest of pillows, eyes falling completely closed.

Donnie was digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, fighting off the urge to take another nap. He squinted up at Draxum with a huff, “I thought April told you; Nardo had to get his wisdom teeth removed. He’s just recovering from the surgery right now, high on the painkillers I gave him. It’s stronger and a little different from the usual stuff we use, but this was a major operation with a longer recovery time so I had to use them.”

Draxum gave Donnie a look of confused disgust with a light dusting of horror, “You removed a portion of his wisdom? His mind!? This one is already so stupid—OW!”

“Don’t call him stupid,” Donatello said coolly, as if he hadn’t just kicked Draxum in the shin hard enough to leave a smarting bruise,"

Donnie disappeared completely underneath the blanket. Casey made a hurt noise in his throat and clenched his jaw, ducking his head so that his dark hair fell into his face.

This is one of the scenes in Adagio I really wanted to work in to try and show just how much Donnie is struggling. He desperately wants things to go back to normal so he can compartmentalize and just forget about everything. He doesn’t like being stuck in bed, he doesn’t like feeling weak, and most of all he doesn’t like feeling useless. So Donnie found a little comfort in the idea that Leo woke up and was moving around.

Only for Casey to kind of turn around and yank it away from him. Casey’s too honest to let Donnie keep believing that Leo was awake. And Donnie’s mad about it! His frustrations and struggles have an outlet and it’s to attack poor Casey! So he wasn’t really mad at Casey and I wanted that to come across with this build up to that fight, and the apology and offer to work on the upgrades/fixes thereafter. Donnie’s not mad at Casey and he doesn’t really blame Casey for locking Leo in the prison dimension. He’s just having a struggle, his world’s all messed up and he doesn’t have access to his usual coping mechanisms. So Leo being awake was a form of stability to him.

“I…” Casey shuffled nervously, chewing on his lip and looking anywhere but at the turtles, “It wasn’t...Leo.” Donnie stilled underneath his blanket and Casey’s breath caught, “It was me. I...you were...I tried to tell you I wasn’t Leo, but I don’t think you heard me. You were really out of it...”

And this moment of Casey knowing what he’s about to do, knowing he’s going to hurt Donnie, is hard on both of them. Casey’s got his own struggle of “I know these turtles, but at the same time they’re complete strangers”. It makes things super awkward for him, poor kid. So he knows what he's saying is going to hurt Donnie, he's just not sure what the reaction will be. I think that's really hard and scary for him. He can see bits of his old family in these turtles, but they will never be the people he grew up knowing.

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

I hold Made to Suffer and to Love in my hands and get mad that the author didn’t write more of it. Even though I am the author and I have nothing more to write for it.

Raph whimpered in his cage and tugged at the cuffs hopelessly. He caught Draxum’s eye and Draxum saw fear there. Raphael was so young. They were both so young. They were children, babies compared to his centuries of living.

I like to put emphasis on the fact that the turtles are children. They are kids. And while Rise does a very good job of having them act like teenagers, during those big action scenes it’s sometimes so easy to forget that they are just kids. Those are babies, your honor.

And to Draxum, whom I headcanon has lived for a very, very, very long time, looking at the turtles and actually seeing them as children I think is a big deal. I don’t think we really get that in the show, so this moment where he looks at big, powerful, intimidating Raphael and sees a scared little boy is so important. It’s such a big deal for Draxum to look at the turtles and see kids instead of warriors.

Draxum had always intended to give her what she wanted. They both knew it.

Like Splinter before him, Draxum would let the world burn if it meant keeping the boys safe.

I have so many emotions about how Splinter chose his sons over the world. How he defied his ancestors and instead of abandoning his family, he stuck with them, and that’s what saved the world in the end.

So of course I had to give that moment to Draxum too.

I think at this point Draxum didn’t really care about his mutagen at all anymore. It wasn’t about not giving it to Halima, it was about making sure his family was safe. And I kept thinking of the scene in Bug Busters, where Draxum dropped Leo off the roof because he wanted his mutagen back. And I wanted this to kind of feel like a mirror to that.

But I also wanted it to be clear that Draxum isn’t really used to being on this side of the emotional conflict. Which is why his anxiety to get Raph and Donnie free is ultimately his undoing. If he’d had a clearer head, he might have taken the necessary steps to iron out the fine print, even if it meant leaving the boys in the cages a little bit longer.

To be perfectly honest, I feel like I could almost write an essay about the parallels between Draxum and Splinter’s characters….

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

Calling Draxum “Dad” was a moment I planned from the get-go with this fic!

Yeah, like, half of Leo’s dialogue was very much inspired/stolen from when Markiplier got his wisdom teeth removed. But I knew I had to have Leo call Draxum “Dad” and then be absolutely mortified by it! And then tucker himself out by crying and fall asleep on his big sister.

Donnie defending Leo, also a mirror to Leo defending Donnie in the Battle Nexus New York episode. No one can call Leo stupid except for Donnie. That is Donnie’’s privilege and Donnie’s privilege alone. Leo is stupid (affectionate), and he will not stand to have Baron Draxum calling Leo stupid (derogatory).

(Side note; I have a great love of making Donnie kick. Headcanon that if he’s not using his tech, Donnie’s kicks are absolutely capable of obliterating your kneecaps. Will pulverize them into dust. Raph’s got the punches, but Donnie will roundhouse your head clean off your shoulders.)