#nobody's had a high luck stat so far

[strunmah-mah]

Leander's going to have a 1 in Wisdom, but a 5 in luck, and he's going to think that's the same thing

[electrospherevaults]

Defiler - Chapter 26

[Click here to read the rest of the Defiler story]

Kingdom Of The Endless Sun

Mallik, you know you cannot win. Not like you will not try – I have known you all your life, past, present and future, and I know all too well how much of a stubborn child you are. You can lash out at me, bite me, slash me, scratch me, crash me. You can make me bleed, choke, cough, suffocate, wound me in all ways you think a god can be wounded. But all the wounds you inflict are meaningless. Because all the wounds in the world cannot cease my

Kingdom Of The Endless Sun

Sir! We got contact!

Pass him on to my comms, stat!

Please be alright…

Arckie, can you hear me?

Yes. Loud and clear.

You sound far, can you come closer to the mic? Can you move?

Let me try.

Ugh.

Are you hurt?

Leg’s busted. Our bridge got hit. It was a direct hit from the starchild, I think. … I can hear nobody but myself.

Seems your luck never runs out. Can’t say the same for those around you though. … I will send a rescue shuttle to your coordinates right now.

You are on the other end of the battlefield, it’ll never make it…

I can most certainly try! The child seems… “asleep” right now. We’re gathering the wounded and the dead and see what gives.

J’Ardin, why are you stopping?! My rescue is not worth your resources! Not when the enemy still stands! Refocus your efforts on the starchild, make it bleed out onto the stars! … Besides – it would give you an edge in your war, would it not, dear old friend?

Don’t be a fool, Arckie! I am not here to win the war! I am here to prevent annihilation! OUR annihilation. Now, stand by, we’re triangulating your coordinates.

Stubborn as always, I see.

I do appreciate your efforts however, J’Ardin

Are we winning, J’Ardin?

Do you want an honest response to that?

Heh. Figured we might be, given it’s “asleep”, like you said.

Nah, we keep firing and firing and firing, but… Nothing! We’ve wasted so much silver! A year’s worth of ammunitions – gone. All in just fifteen minutes of combat. Still… It’s stopped now, and I do not know why…

How can a single starchild be able to pull such serious firepower… It does not even rank amidst the biggest we had faced back in the war! It’s like it does not want to die. It’s mesmerizing, in a twisted sense of the word.

I’m guessing it was a mistake to listen to that maiden.

Hm, hard to tell. It didn’t seem like a bad plan at the time. We’ve never had someone inside a starchild before, and her soldiers were inside from before the battle even began. I say it was worth a shot. But we were too confident.

Say, how’s that beautiful ratlung of yours doing anyway? She still on the ship with you? And do you think she’d mind having wine with the King’s enemy?

…I can’t believe you’re thinking of companionship at times like these, J’Ardin.

You’re feeling jealous, my old friend? Do not worry, you will be in my private company too, I assure you.

Well, all you got will be just me, because she’s gone.

Dead?

I wouldn’t doubt it. I have not heard of her since the transports got destroyed. And even those that made it in, were cut off.

Yeah, I know. I sent good men to die in there as well, Arckie.

Curious then.

Hm?

Curious that you’d be willing to dine with the woman responsible for your men’s deaths.

Well, when you put it like that…

And we call you a military genius! Hahaha!

Heh, I’m glad your spirits are high at least, old man!

We’re the same age, you damned idiot!

Sir! Shuttle dispatched!

Good news, Ar-

Yeah, I heard. Thank you for your help, General J’Ardin.

Don’t mention it! It’ll be good to see you again in one piece, my friend. And I’m certain your sailors we have rescued will feel the same as well.

General J’Ardin – is this a secure and private channel we’re on?

*BZZT*

Now it is.

J’Ardin. Did you hear the starchild speak?

Not today, no. Pity – they are flowery with their prose. I don’t know if I had missed it, but it’s amusing nonetheless.

I think… I heard it earlier?

When?

I am not certain. You never can be with these things. What I do know is that it was confident, and assured.

And then it was not.

You think the maidens made it?

Maybe our own men too! Difficult to say.

Not difficult at all.

J’Ardin? Do you hear her?

Affirmative. I can see her too.

So can I. And I can see you too!

Indeed. Timespace shenanigans I take.

You would be correct.

General, King, allow me to introduce myself:

My name is Mallik. I come from Tabora, the planet you’re claiming to protect below.

If your goal is to frighten the men and women that serve us both, Mallik of Tabora, then I do not think you will succeed.

Just Mallik will suffice. And I do not hold an audience with your men, King Arcuturus of Solaria and General J’Ardin of Scythia.

My only audience is you two.

Us two… J’Ardin, the Astrids always showed us figments of our imaginations… To toy with us, to distract us. Is the ratlung yours?

Heh, what kind of mind do you think I field? One that employs whores?

Know what, maybe I should leave you both to die now.

By the rings… I apologize for my friend, but your species is not known to be tact with how it toys with those it seeks to use.

Again, your highness – I am Mallik. I am a Taboran, a ratlung, and someone that seeks to destroy the starchild you both have been fighting all your lives.

Pardon my friend, he is old and foolish, and his mind focused on war.

As if your mind is focused on anything less equally foolish, your highness.

In either case, there is little time, so listen to me carefully.

You both are to die. There is no escape from your fates.

Believe me, I have looked.

But, there is a silver lining here, one that shines bright for men such as you, for men of such importance. I believe you’ll find some solace in your deaths carrying meaning. Much like the martyr Wrethella, who gave her life for you in the last war a hundred years-

Seventy-eight. It was seventy-eight years and thirteen days ago.

Well, you know the math better than me. And you understand the importance her sacrifice played, King Arcuturus. All these ratlungs, who willingly sacrifice themselves in your name to this day; devoted, unrelenting killing machines, all because of her.

I do.

Then you understand what’s at stake here, and what I’m about to ask of you.

Yes. But listen, we-

Arckie, stop.

…

We knew this day would come eventually. We are but mortals after all. We cannot outrun time, nor fate. At the very least, let the astrid finish what she’s saying first.

Well, I’m an actual ratlung from Tabora, General J’Ardin, but I’m glad you’re letting a whore speak nonetheless, spaceboy.

Heh, touché. I may be a man of few manners, but the few I still got are important to me.

And those manners pertain to war and tactics.

And letting ratlungs talk.

Indeed.

My question is simple:

Are you ready to die, gentlemen?

How are we to build a future, if we ourselves are dead, ratlung?

Did you ever stop to consider the world will go on even after you are gone?

Or do you think yourself so important the world simply ceases once you close your eyes?

Of course I have! I am no fool, I know how the world works!

And yet, here we are, fighting the same fights over a hundred years later.

The menace that the starchilds posses cannot be understated. Were it not for us – for me and for my friend here – the galaxy would not have been as it is today.

And were it not for you still being here, the galaxy would not have been plunged into a meaningless war for the past decade either.

It is NOT my FAULT!

Oh it absolutely is.

Oh SHUT UP!

No, YOU shut up and listen, Arckie!

I am governed by petulant children it seems.

I had tried to talk to you about your goals. Your ambitions. You are stifling the galaxy, my friend – we are not the sole men that hold the answers.

How many more men do you know that know as much as we do, J’Ardin? How many more can we trust with the fate of the galaxy, a fate that hangs in the balance-

What fate? What balance? Arckie. Do you think we saved the galaxy? We only saved ourselves. The galaxy suffered our myths.

I’ve had enough of you.

Hey, wait a second! Wait a damn sec- J’Ardin, where the fuck is he going?

Leave him be – he needs to be high and mighty and dramatic-

You know I AM right.

-but he’ll be back. He always comes back. And he knows I’m right.

Holy Maker, this cannot be…

Yeah, that is Arckie alright.

You should have seen him back when he was a prince actually! Somehow worse tempered than he is now, haha!

I would really rather not, General.

Ah, please, call me J’Ardin.

I will not, General.

Well. Suit yourself.

How about you though? I seek freedom, Arcuturus seeks control. What do you seek, Mallik?

That’s easy an answer. I seek to save what you two refuse to save, obviously.

And is that your god? Your Maker?

Hah.

Don’t make me laugh.

I seek to kill Him.

Heh, so you seek two things, actually. I was like you once. Splitting myself across a million pieces, trying to save a galaxy. All I did was save my ass in the end. I cannot complain – it was an ass worth saving.

And why would that be?

Because it’s mine. The galaxy just happened to be the place where I was staying, and if that was gone, I would be gone along with it. Arcuturus and I had no choice, really. We had to save our homes. So…

We did.

I’m guessing you seek to save your own home too? Your planet below, the one we claim to protect.

…Yes.

A most noble goal of you indeed then.

There is nothing noble about survival, J’Ardin. I think you, of all people, should be aware of this. To you, Tabora was naught but a desert of little value, to me it was a home that now lies broken. Broken from promises made by those we believed in.

By the Maker, by the King, by you even.

Yeah, I can’t say I’ve not let you down. Up until today, I didn’t even know the name you had for your planet. I’ve had only known it as Eonov – an ancient name, from before my parents were born. Does this piss you off?

What do you think?

That you hold a lot of anger inside of you.

And you do not?

Oh I do! But, once you’ve reached an age such as the one I possess, you find anger loses its touch. Anger does not keep you going no more. You need something beyond it. A higher purpose, so to say.

And what is your purpose then, General J’Ardin, of the Jardinista Schism?

Heh, I like to think of it as a rebellion instead.

Your dogmas are not radically different enough.

They are not? Pft, you insult me.

What difference does it make? Living under the banner of a king or a general, the bootheel still tastes the same. Especially for a planet like Tabora, whose sole purpose is to be of entertainment for you lot. My world would not warrant your attention were it not for its prize.

And, without it? You will forget us altogether. We might wind up a curiosity that is dug up every once a blue moon – the curiosity of the planet whose sun always shines. Come, come and take the ride across the seas of endless sun!

Doesn’t that sound fun?

But we are more than just fun, we are more than just a curiosity – and I know, deep in my heart, from all the years I’ve been alive on this planet, trying desperately to escape to the stars for half of them, that you will not grant us that nuance.

Even if I leave, I will still be just a ratlung from that funky desert planet.

Then why do you continue?

Because the fight must be fought.

Because my mother did not deserve the fate He chose for her.

Because I will not go down without a fight.

Then you must understand why I keep my fight too. You are not the only one to have seen inside its heart. Your god was thought to be dead, and thus I neglected it. It was a mistake. And now it seeks to destroy us all. I cannot die just yet, not when such gods roam our worlds.

My King. You are already dead.

I have not been able to stop even my own mother’s demise, do you think I’d have gone and prevented yours if I had the chance? With the powers the Maker granted me?

I guess this means I am dead too. End of the line. Mortality’s end, where immortality begins.

The battle lasts exactly twenty-four minutes and thirty-seven seconds. J’Ardin, you said you had been spending your ammo for the last fifteen?

You will die in the next three. Arcuturus in the next two.

The shuttle will never reach Arcuturus. The Starlink will implode before then. And the sole survivor will be a woman clad in emerald robes, who will be on her way out, seeking to rebuild what you both took from her.

Huh. Go figure.

Cunning creature.

She is a ratlung after all.

Never underestimate the whores, dear General.

Heh. You’re never letting that one go, huh?

Nope.

Then, dear Mallik… If my fate is decided, what do you want from me? And from my friend?

The General commands respects, but you command admiration, King Arcuturus of the Grand Kingdom of Solaria.

Both are useful to the people.

And right now, they are dying by the hundreds.

But you can save thousands of lives with just a flick of your thumb.

The bridge has one last function still. The engines are still operational. I want you to shatter His heart.

And what about me?

The King’s demise will trigger a chain reaction. The Maker will not know what hit Him, but He will try to grab as much as He possibly can. Then, He will fall, just as I’ve devised with the help of one of your cosmonauts.

In-between His Fall and His Heart, I need you, General J’Ardin of Scythia, the pride of the Jardinista, to save as many as you can. Royalists and Jardinistas alike. Do that, and you will die; do not, and millions will.

And what about you?

I…

My friends are inside.

I cannot leave them behind.

So I will try to save them before He falls

dead on the surface of His prison.

[razieltwelve]

Hero From Another World (Final Rose AU Snippet)

Averia stared at the assortment of priests and nobles gathered around her. “So... let me get this straight. You’re stuck in a genocidal war against a bunch of demons, and the best idea you could come up with was to summon people from other worlds and hope they could save you?”

The high priest made a face. “When you put it that way... it sounds so... pathetic.”

“It’s because it is.” Averia massaged her temples. “You’re honestly telling me that nobody from this world has had any real success in fighting the demons in, what was it, the past five hundred years?”

“Er... no.”

“And nobody has come up with any magic or technology to beat them?”

“No.”

“And the people you grabbed from other worlds... on what basis were they selected?” Averia asked before pointing at the three other teenagers who’d been summoned. “Because none of them look as if they know how to fight.”

“Hey!” one of the others, a teenage girl with dark hair and brown eyes retorted. “That’s... I mean... yeah, but you don’t have to say it like that!”

“I can fight.” A brawny boy folded his arms across his chest. “I know judo.”

“I’m assuming that is a form of martial arts,” Averia pointed out. “That means you’d have to get close to a demon.” She gestured at at the armoured knights standing guard. “Since these people haven’t had much luck at all fighting the demons, do you really think you’d survive that?”

“...”

The last teenager, a tall, thin teenage boy raised one hand. “Is there any way you can send me back? I have a video game that I’m supposed to pick up today. Also, I’d rather not get killed by demons.”

The high priest spluttered and turned to the king. “Your Majesty!”

The king cleared his throat. He had the look of a beleaguered man whose hair had gone prematurely grey and was now in the middle of falling out entirely. “Thanks to the magic we used to summon each of you, great power has been bestowed upon you. In short, you will be able to swiftly level up and improve your skills and abilities at a rate far beyond any mortal people.” He paused. “Behold! I will show your status sheets, so you can understand what I’m talking about!”

Glowing windows of light appeared in front of the three other teenagers. They displayed a variety of statistics like attack, defence, agility, mana, luck, and so on. There were also a variety of skills, status, and class notices too. All three possessed [Destined Hero]. The girl had the ability [Magical Prodigy] whilst the brawny boy had [Relentless Warrior] and the the tall boy had [Holy Sanctuary]. They were also all Level 1. Moreover, their various stats were all in the E-D range.

“Wait...” The king’s brows furrowed. “Where is your status sheet?”

Averia sighed. Saviour had suppressed the status sheet, and her Semblance had also resisted the magic entirely before subverting it and claiming it for itself. After all, Saviour wasn’t about to throw away a potential useful weapon.

Averia scowled. “Fine.” She sighed. “And don’t make a fuss. It seems that the abilities, skills, and other things are influenced by our lives up until now. I’m assuming the three of you came from relatively peaceful worlds. I come from a world that has been locked in a genocidal war for longer than recorded history.”

She allowed her status sheet to appear and covered her face with one hand when many of the people in the room dropped to their knees and began praising her like she was some kind of god.

“Why are all her stats EX?” someone cried.

“What the hell is [Nigh-Invincible Tyranny]?”

“What does [Saviour] mean?”

“Why does she have [Supreme Plant-Killer]?”

“Why does she have so many monster-killing and combat-related skills and abilities?”

Averia took a deep breath and dismissed her status sheet. “Look. I would really like to go home sooner rather than later. Can you just tell me who I have to kill, so I can kill them and go home?” She scowled. “If you can’t tell me who needs to die, then just point me in the general direction of the enemy. I’ll just kill them all and keep killing them until I work out who needs to die, or they’re all dead.”

The other three summoned heroes looked at her as if she’d grown a second head.

“Uh...” The king swallowed thickly. “We do not know who leads the demons, but... the demonic portal they originate from is that way.” He pointed due east.

“Ah. Good. How far is it?”

“Approximately three thousand kilometres, almost three quarters of which is in demonic hands.”

“That’s fine.” Averia rolled her shoulders. “Now, just to clarify, is this one of those ‘kill bad guys to level up’ things?”

The king nodded.

“All right then. I might as well get started.”

X     X     X

For generations afterward, the demons would tell stories of the pink-haired fiend who had mercilessly slaughtered her way to the demonic portal in a single night and day of unbridled horror and bloodshed. Entire clans had been wiped out. The Demon Emperor had been brutally murdered with a potted plant. Even the full might of the demonic legions had proved useless. The fiend had even started using demons as clubs to club other demons to death. It was horrible.

In the end, they were forced back through the portal, and they were almost relieved when the portal itself was destroyed. At least that way, the pink-haired fiend could not pursue them.

Meanwhile, a certain tally boy would return to his world and come up with a video game starring a pink-haired woman with a tyrannical disposition. Since he’d never gotten her name, he opted for something cool.

He called her Lightning.

And Averia? She returned home the next evening, stopping just long enough to grab a particularly adorable hedgehog to bring home with her. If anyone thought Averia coming back with a hedgehog who had magical powers was weird, nobody said a thing. In fact, in her family, it wasn’t even the weirdest thing that had happened that week.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 292: You Say Jeans

Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi was all “well anyway here’s that Touya reveal I foreshadowed like a million years ago, viva la 2020.” Dabi was all “hello world, I’ve killed 30 people and today I’m going to explain to you all why” before he proceeded to explain ABSOLUTELY NOTHING but everyone was so distracted by his tale of child abuse and hero conspiracies that they didn’t much seem to notice. Can’t Ya See-Kun’s Shark Friend was all “IS THIS THE END OF HERO SOCIETY AS WE KNOW IT”, and Horikoshi was all “STAY TUNED”, and then Dabi set himself on fire and leaped off of Machia’s back like the chaotic evil, I-just-bleached-all-my-brain-cells weird little fire man he is, ready to burn everyone to crispy bits before they could even react properly to his whole big revenge speech. Fortunately he did not succeed on account of THE RETURN OF THE JING, THE JOAT, BEST FUCKING JEANIST, back from the dead by popular demand in what critics are calling “the best fucking comeback since Jesus himself.”

Today on BnHA: Best Jeanist snatches up Machia and the rest of the League with his fiber steel cables before you can say “more like BEAST JEANIST amirite.” Dabi gets all worked up and lights Hadou on fire which is a real JERK MOVE, and is all “THIS RIGHT HERE IS ALSO ENDEAVOR’S FAULT”, which, NOT SUPER CONVINCED ON THAT, BUT OKAY. Anyway so then he burns up all the cables holding him which is crazeballs btw, and then he and Shouto start fighting, and so basically the whole thing is a literal hot mess and we’ll see how that goes. Meanwhile Tomura wakes up and summons some Noumus, and poor Jeanist has to deal with those on top of the still-attempting-to-rampage Gigantomachia, and everyone else is all “we can’t help you on account of we’re all half dead”, and so it’s looking really bad. And then -- and I can’t stress enough how much I don’t even have the faintest idea how to segue into this next part -- the chapter ends with Mirio!?! just sort of POPPING UP OUT OF THE GROUND all, “SURPRISE, BITCH”, and it literally was so surprising that I am still just kind of speechless. WELL-PLAYED, I GUESS, lol wtf.

lol okay so the first page in the RHA scan is just the “three musketeers” movie promo image that we all already saw a few days ago. but it does confirm that (a) it is indeed a movie, and (b) that it’s set for a summer 2021 release! how exciting

okay so now back to our special Dabi edition of Making a Murderer

“ray of hope” oh hell yes. SAVE US MR. JEANIST

I guess he had a TV in his private hero jet or something?

gotta say, “dammit Dabi” does not even remotely sound like Authentic Best Jeanist Dialogue to me though. gonna need Caleb to see to this. well but what do you guys think? does Best Jeanist curse?? I personally feel like he’s one of those guys who NEVER EVER swears no matter what, except under the most hilariously trifling circumstances. like he’s eating an avocado one day and he accidentally stains the cuffs of his beloved jostume green and he’s all “FUCK”

btw how fucking rich is Best Jeanist though that he has his own fucking plane? the thought just suddenly occurred to me, you know? like even Endeavor, whose agency has its own on-site luxury apartment suites for all of his interns, still drives around in a dinky little car that Bakugou has declared to be too small. which, I guess we know why he felt that way now, seeing as the guy he previously interned with apparently gets around in Jeans Force One

anyway so back to the part where Jeanist shows up to save the day!! YEAH JEANIST WOOOOO

ILU JEANIST YOU REALLY ARE THE BEST!! HUGS AND KISSES!!!

lmao we just saw Gigantomachia take out like a hundred guys not ten chapters ago. and Best Jeanist shows up and takes him down in like two seconds. HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES LEAGUE OF VILLAINS. BET YOU’RE WISHING YOU’D TAKEN HIS QUIRK NOW, AFO. GET FUCKED YOU OLD SPUD

KACCHAN IS SO HAPPY TO SEE HIM AWW

SIDE NOTE, IIDA, YOU AND I ARE GONNA HAVE WORDS LATER ABOUT YOU ACTUALLY AGREEING TO PUT HIM BACK DOWN. YOU DO UNDERSTAND THAT THIS CHILD IS STILL DRIPPING BLOOD ALL OVER THE PLACE FROM HIS MULTIPLE STAB WOUNDS, RIGHT? WAY TO ASSERT YOUR AUTHORITY THERE. I THOUGHT YOU WERE THE CLASS PRESIDENT NOT THE CLASS CLOWN, COME ON NOW

LMAO DABI IS FRANTICALLY TRYING TO DO THE PLOT MATH

SHOULDA CHECKED MORE CLOSELY MY GOOD MARK. LOOKS LIKE YOU MISSED THE “MADE IN CHINA” STICKER ON THE BOTTOM. YOU HAVE BEEN BAMBOOZLED. OR ACTUALLY, I GUESS THE MORE ACCURATE WORD HERE IS JAMBOOZLED, AHAHAHAHA. JEANS

HOLY SHIT DABI

I legit almost thought that was Tomura for a second. you two look so alike now with the white hair and the crazy eyes

meanwhile, Shouto is still crying and it’s a lot to take, you guys. lotta feels

ffff come on Jeanist you better do something awesome again here, the mood of the chapter is starting to slip now

YES, GOOD, THAT’LL WORK

WELL YOU TELL ME, SPINNER. I GUESS THAT MEANS BEST JEANIST IS OFFICIALLY THE STRONGEST CHARACTER IN THE SERIES NOW. SORRY I DON’T MAKE THE RULES

ffff now Spinner is trying to wake Tomura back up. nah, how’s about we not do that

OH MY GOD HADOU YESSSS

MY GIRL OUT HERE WITH THE “NO THANK YOU” BOUT TO CURBSTOMP THE BIG BAD WITH HER QUIRK KSFHLKLK WHO HERE HAD “HADOU SAVES THE DAY” ON YOUR WAR ARC BINGO CARDS, YOU LOVE TO SEE IT!!

HEY!!!!

fucking son of a... fffkfkff... someone please reassure me that fire isn’t Hadou’s weakness. someone. anyone. also could someone please dial an ambulance and send them to Horikoshi’s house. but not just yet. first I’m gonna need you to wait about fifteen minutes or so while I take care of some things

well all right then, Dabi. so you wanna go on then and explain to us all how this, too, is somehow Endeavor’s fault?

oh I see, you’ve decided that since he’s responsible for “creating” you, everyone you hurt and kill is in truth really being hurt and killed by him! well now, that sure is convenient as fuck I guess

(ETA: that’s a nice effect with the panel sides getting all warped by Dabi’s quirk though, just noticed that.)

amazing how quickly you used up that sympathy card my guy. Shouto please kick his ass, I’m fucking done lol, you can all sort out the rest in therapy later

CAN SOMEONE PLEASE DIAL BACK DEKU’S EMPATHY STATS JUST A LITTLE BIT, HOLY --

“TODOROKI-KUN IS HURT THE MOST”, HE SAYS, WITH HIS ARM BONES SHATTERED INTO LITTLE TOOTHPICK-SIZED PIECES. I MEAN, HE’S PROBABLY TALKING MORE ABOUT MENTAL ANGUISH GIVEN THE CONTEXT HERE, BUT STILL. THAT’S ENOUGH HEROICS FROM YOU ALREADY FOR ONE DAY

NOOO JEANIST

LOTS OF SMOKE IN THE AIR RIGHT ABOUT NOW AND MY BOY’S STILL DOWN A LUNG. GOD DAMMIT

“if the number one suffers a total loss here, this country will fall to pieces” well okay, real talk though, I think the “country falling to pieces” part is pretty much unavoidable at this juncture. you all are just gonna have to try your best to pick up those pieces after the fact and see what you can do with them. if I were you I’d be less worried about the number one’s reputation and more concerned with the half-dozen child soldier interns who are still on the field and very much at risk of being burned to death should you suffer that “total loss.” please try to keep it together here for them

OH FOR FUCK’S

I really thought RockLockRock was gonna come into play here. USE YOUR QUIRK TO LOCK THE ROPES IN PLACE YOU DIP!! if he seriously just sits there and does nothing when his quirk could be the deciding factor I am cancelling his useless ass cute kid or no cute kid shfkjdls

(ETA: is he even there?? did he and Manual just hightail it out of there?? “well good luck, children.”)

also, we’ll put this aside for now to perhaps speculate about later, but what’s with Tomura remembering his dad’s house yet again in that far right panel?? and being itchy again?? I still have yet to fully work out the psychological mechanisms at work as far as his itchiness goes, so I’ll admit this is intriguing to me. it seemed like it was connected to his decay quirk, but then why is it acting up again now. what is this lol

yuh oh

forgot about these guys. looks like these heroes aren’t having such a fun time

oh fucksticks

excuse me ma’am but I don’t like this. you do know that my kids are all there, right. all burnt and impaled and broken-boned and the like. well except for Iida. he’s fine still. BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN I FEEL LIKE WATCHING HIM GET TORN APART BY FOUR HIGH ENDS, WTF

HORIKOSHI YOU MOTHERFUCKER I SWEAR TO GOD

god fucking... okay look. Horikoshi. you win, okay!? congratulations, you win, this is your show and we’re all just sitting here at your mercy. fine. go ahead and just kill off everyone ever, then!! what am I even gonna do about it. stop reading?? fuck

this whole thing really went from zero to fucked before I could even blink huh. I really thought this was gonna be a turning point chapter for the heroes. shows what I know I guess??

meanwhile this motherfucker is just SCREAMING

ngl, if I wasn’t currently terrified on account of things suddenly taking such a drastic turn for the worse, this would be the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Jeanist my man, I hype you up like it’s my job because you are the greatest fucking meme character in the history of time, but make no mistake, you are also highkey WORTH ALL THE HYPE AND THEN SOME

seriously, though. don’t fucking mind him you guys, he’s just standing here in the coolest pose of all time taking on Gigantomachia all alone with one fucking lung because the substance pumping through his veins is COLD-BLOODED LIQUID DENIM, and DENIM FEELS NO FEAR

Best Jeanist really needs to get his own theme song. -- oh my god I just finally thought of a title for this post. lmao and it’s the dumbest thing. omg

MEANWHILE THE TODOROKI BROS ARE OFF IN THEIR OWN DRAMATIC LITTLE FIRE WORLD

which one do you think is the Mario and which is the Luigi. well, but I mean, Dabi clearly thinks that he’s the Luigi though and that’s why he’s so mad. nobody wants to be Luigi. what a life

THAT’S IT, SHOUTO!! POINT OUT ALL OF HIS HYPOCRITICAL BULLSHIT, I WANT ANSWERS

JUST TO CLARIFY, IT’S THAT NATSU, NOT SOME OTHER NATSU!! SO WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF!!

OH, WELL IN THAT CASE

BUT OF COURSE. THAT WOULD MAKE IT ALL WORTHWHILE, holy shit. okay I’m just gonna go ahead and say it, Dabi is a piece of work. I really thought this arc would make him more sympathetic at long last, but it seems like it’s doing just the opposite?? this is like an anti-redemption arc. I don’t relish the thought of venturing into the fandom tags once I finish reading this lol

(ETA: well folks, I’ve done it. and actually it was pretty interesting because there are apparently like ten different things that people are mad about, and so it’s like. each post is a new adventure lmao.)

so Shouto is all “BRUH HAVE YOU COMPLETELY LOST IT” and Dabi is all “YES”, basically? like, he says he’s completely lost his feeling for anything. omg. but you were so sweet. how does that even happen

“finally I can kill you” okay for real what the heck is your damage bro?? can we not. I like Shouto just the way he is, un-killed

oh shit and now the Noumus are here

cue Bakugou diving in to save his mentor, STAB WOUNDS BE DAMNED!! actually it would make more sense for it to be Iida, but if Kacchan is really fixin’ to go full Shounen Dumbass here then he might as well go all out, y’know

-- unless of course, Deku decides to activate another quirk??

“last I checked, the main character of this series was still me” OH? WELL I SUPPOSE THAT IS TRUE, SO PRAY TELL, WHAT HAVE YOU GOT LEFT UP YOUR SLEEVE YOU SUICIDAL BRUSSELS SPROUT

fucking love how he’s all “HAHAHA WITH MY NEW QUIRKS I CAN STILL DO STUPID SHIT EVEN WITH MY ARMS AND LEGS GROUND TO A FINE POWDER” btw. what can I say. Deku gonna Deku

FMMFHDKUHK W H A T

HOLY SHIT. HOLY FUCKING SHIT. WHAT THE WHAT. QUE THE FUCK

(ETA: okay look, all the love in the world to the brave scanlators who take time out of their lives to translate the leaks every week just so we can read the chapter a couple of days early like the addicts we are. that said, translating Mirio’s signature “POWER!!” -- which was already written in English in the original scan -- to “POG-CHAMP” is just a whole new level of wtfuckery from them lmao. is the Lida person back at it again?? amazing.)

MIRIO!?!?! SHOWS UP TO SAVE THE DAY?!?! POGS HIMSELF UP OUT THE GROUND TO BEAT THE NOUMUS LIKE IT AIN’T NO THING. JUST LIKE WE ALL PREDICTED!? I’M SORRY, DID YOU NOT SEE THAT COMING?? YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOUR DAILY HOROSCOPE FROM ASTROLOGY DOT COM DIDN’T HAVE THAT ONE IN THE CARDS?? WAS IT NOT OBVIOUS?? TODOROKIS PLUS BEST JEANIST EQUALS MIRIO??

hot damn. Tintin really saw the writing on the wall with the impending Dabi Discourse and was all “NOT SO FAST” lmao. “HERE’S A BRAND NEW THING FOR YOU ALL TO DISCOURSE ABOUT” MIRIO YOU WILD CHILD. YOU GLORIOUS THUG

MEANWHILE LET’S NOT FORGET WHAT MIRIO HAVING HIS POWERS BACK ACTUALLY IMPLIES. HOLY SHIT. SUDDENLY WE CUT BACK TO ALL MIGHT’S OFFICE, ALL THE WAY BACK AT UA. ERI BRANDISHES HER TOKOYAMI-GIFTED BUSTER SWORD, A DETERMINED GLEAM IN HER EYE. “I HEARD YOU WERE TRYING TO HAVE A GIRL POWER ARC WITHOUT ME.” OH. MY. GOD

[futuristicallyspeedyparadise]

Waiting For You (Jack x Zhao Zi Story) Chapter 1

“Zhao Zi, if you stare any harder at the door, it will burst into flames.”

Zhao Zi lurched back into reality, ripping his eyes away from the kitchen door to look at Yi Qi’s brown eyes glittering in amusement.

“Why are you so insistent on knowing the new chef? Given our experience with the last few, I would’ve thought you would want to steer clear of that kind of demented folk.”

Perhaps it had just been bad luck, but the restaurant’s endless parade of chefs had resulted in slight trepidation amongst the waitstaff about who the newcomer would be. The chef before this one had the habit of throwing literal knives when someone or something pissed him off. The one before that had emotional breakdowns every once in a while and would lock themselves up in the walk-in freezer for half an hour. And not to mention the one who used the kitchen pantry as his own personal food supply. He would “shop” for items, often the expensive stuff like truffles and Wagyu beef, and take them home to host parties; when being ousted he remained adamant that he hadn’t been stealing.

Each of the previous chefs had cooked spectacularly, but their inability to handle the pressure--or their literal thievery--had made the restaurant owner Tang Yi fire them without hesitation.

Zhao Zi turned fully towards the table again and tucked into his French onion soup. The restaurant’s kitchen was massive, filled with different food stations and prep tables galore. In the corner away from the action, was an area where wait staff could grab food or take their scheduled break. One of the perks of working at the restaurant was that they would occasionally receive free meals. Zhao Zi, a self-identified foodie, could not have been any happier with that particular perk. Sometimes he was able to eat dishes that people had to pay hundreds to eat, for free.

“I’m just curious as to who the new chef is going to be. I mean, c’mon Yi Qi. You know we’ve had quite a string of bad luck.”

“Well...you don’t have to tell me that,” Yi Qi muttered, rubbing her wrist distractedly. Her wrist had been the unfortunate receiver of the last knife that had been thrown by the previous chef. She had not been the intended target, but some things could not be forgiven. When Tang Yi, the owner, heard the news, he had dismissed the chef on the spot and assured Yi Qi that any medical expenses would be paid. Yi Qi had worn a protective band on her wrist for a month and now had a shiny scar to show for it.

“I wonder what their specialty is? I don’t know how we stay afloat. Our menu changes every time a new chef parades through this door!”

“I think that has become the novelty of it. Everytime we fire a chef and the media gets a hold of it, they start conducting polls on what our next specialty food will be.”

“I mean you can’t fault Tang Yi. Whether they are crazy or not, he does find the top people in the culinary field,” Yi Qi agreed.

Tang Yi, their boss, was a no-nonsense restaurant owner. He came out of nowhere a few years before and opened this restaurant, somehow managing to curate the top talent in the field. People wondered how a nobody could convince top chefs, sous-chefs, maître d’s and sommeliers to abandon their posts and come join his restaurant; given Tang Yi’s dubious past—it was rumored he had been affiliated with the gang activity—many figured it had been blackmail.

Despite that, or perhaps because of all the mystery, Trapped surged to the top of every national restaurant list and garnered many recognitions and awards. It’s ever changing and experimental menu, mostly due to the revolving door of chefs, kept it fresh. Though the food changed, the quality certainly did not slip. Zhao Zi had to interview extensively to be a waiter at the restaurant. It was a position that many people in the service industry, from long-time waiters to culinary students, vied for because it included great pay and benefits as well as the chance to work for the culinary greats.

Zhao Zi sighed. He loved working here at the restaurant. Despite the occasional uppity customer who felt they were too rich to have decent manners, he enjoyed the clientele and enjoyed ensuring that they had a great experience. Plus the staff at the restaurant was like family, something that was nice to have given that he had no actual family.

He had lost his parents when he was very young and had grown up with his grandmother. His grandmother, a small but feisty woman, always made sure that he was well taken care of. She put him through school, and encouraged his love for food blogging and consumption. He missed his grandmother’s cooking the most. She made the most wonderful feasts, plates full of steaming, richly flavored food that warmed his stomach and soul.

Stricken with a bout of pneumonia, she passed away a couple of years ago in her sleep.

The door to the kitchen creaked open, and Zhao Zi’s head whipped around to see who had come in. He groaned when he realized it was just Jun Wei, another waiter.

The kitchen staff knew the identity of the new chef; they had had some closed-kitchen training with them to work out the new menu and how the kitchen would be run under their direction. However, it was a tradition for the kitchen staff to not reveal the identity of the new chef to the waitstaff, and legally mandatory for them not to leak information to the press. Tang Yi had made them sign non-disclosures even before the parade of chefs began. Though they had a legal obligation not to, the staff knew that helping drive the media into a speculation frenzy helped garner the restaurant free publicity and more clients which meant a prosperous business. They also just loved to take part in the fun.

“So, sorry to disappoint,” Jun Wei said sarcastically as he made his way over to Zhao Zi and Yi Qi. The waiters at Trapped all wore black button down shirts, black slacks and a black vest. Jun Wei was tall, with an athletic build and wore his uniform well. When he drew close, he reached out to ruffle Zhao Zi’s hair.

“Stop it!” Zhao Zi cried, fending him off. “You know the boss will kill me if he sees my hair like this,” He dropped his spoon, reaching up to pat down his hair. Jun Wei laughed and took up the seat next to Yi Qi. A line-cook came by and dropped off a bowl of soup in front of him; Jun Wei thanked them gratefully.

The cooks in the kitchen and the waitstaff had a mutual respect for each other. They understood that they needed to work cohesively in order to run the restaurant well. Their boss wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Has the dining room been set yet or do they need help?” Zhao Zi asked Jun Wei. He finished off his soup bringing over the bowl to the sink for cleaning.

“I think you might want to go out there and help out a bit. Hong Ye looks a bit...peeved.”

Hong Ye was the restaurant’s maître d. She was a formidable character, strong in personality and with very high standards. She was Tang Yi’s sister and together they ran the restaurant like a pair of benevolent dictators.

Zhao Zi nodded, already heading towards the door. As he was about to push out the doors, someone pushed them in and Zhao Zi jumped back to avoid being hit. The person who walked through the door was...different. He had red wine-colored hair, a black leather jacket and boots to match. He was tall and lithe. His face was nothing short of elegant, a beautifully carved Adonis with a smirk.

“I am so sorry, sir!” he squeaked.

The man’s smirk grew wider.  “No need to apologize.”

“How can I help you, sir?” Zhao Zi asked, with a slight bow. It was a habit to address all clientele as ‘sir’ and ‘madam’ or ‘miss.’ He figured that having gotten past Hong Ye, this person was surely some kind of business partner on his way to chat with Tang Yi. He wasn’t dressed like a businessman, but Tang Yi’s visitors were rarely corporate looking characters.  They were often older gangster looking types, or young ones who came with their chests puffed out looking for Tang Yi and referring to him as “boss.” This one however, with his green leather jacket, simple white t-shirt and motorcycle helmet in hand was definitely one of the more interesting ones.

“Do you call everyone, sir, or is that one particularly reserved for me, shorty?” The redhead asked, smirk still in place.

Zhao Zi blushed. Sure he was practically a head shorter than the man who was standing unbearably close, but it hadn’t been necessary to point it out.

“I...uh—”

“You can follow me,” came a deep voice from behind him.

Zhao Zi turned, hearing Tang Yi’s voice. Tang Yi wore a soft gray cashmere shirt and black slacks, a rich man’s simple daytime outfit. Tang Yi turned and walked back towards his office, clearly expecting the newcomer to follow him.

“Sure thing, boss.” The man said, moving around Zhao Zi to follow Tang Yi. They went into Tang Yi’s back office, which Zhao Zi had only been to once, during his interview. It was a beautiful room, decorated in splendorous dark woods and emerald accents. It was truly a gentlemen’s den. Zhao Zi let out a breath and pushed through the doors to the dining room to see how he could help.

---

Hong Ye wasn’t necessarily mean when she told someone off, but rather she was incisive. She chose her words carefully, ensuring that each word held its own weight and cut the person to their core.

She gazed about the dining room in disgust.

“So far we have fallen in our standards it would seem,” she said in an emotionless, measured tone. “Dust on the wine bottles, crumbs on the floor. Wine glasses on the wrong side of the table. Did you think I would not notice?”

She gazed at the staff. A beautiful woman standing at just over five feet, her stature did not stop her from seemingly towering over anyone. She wore a white billowy shirt, with draped arms and simple black pants.

“If you think for a second I would not fire all of you in a heartbeat then I’ve clearly haven’t made myself clear enough. Perhaps I have been too soft.”

The dining room was in a state of slight disarray. They had just changed the decor and some of the details were still being worked out. Zhao Zi liked the new look. Just like their food, the restaurant underwent certain changes to match the style of the new chef.

Looking around Zhao Zi was able to learn a little bit about the chef who would soon join them. Whereas before the restaurant had adopted the sophisticated golds and burnt oranges that matched their emphasis on Thai food, now the room was decorated in swathes of red with accents of greens, yellows and blues. The room took on a more intimate and private feel with dimmer lighting; it invited introspection and commiseration. Zhao Zi was reminded of the temples he and his grandmother would visit while growing up.

Perhaps the new chef had an affinity for traditional Taiwanese culture? Zhao Zi couldn’t help but feel a slight disappointment. It didn’t seem like they would be getting any exotic foods with this new chef.

Hong Ye disrupted his thoughts by barking out a list of orders and so they spent the rest of the day fixing up the dining room, rearranging again and again the furniture and decor in order to satisfy Hong Ye’s vision. The restaurant was closed to the public this week in order to prepare for the debut of the new chef, so they worked until Hong Ye was satisfied.

Sometime later in the evening, collapsing on to a chair, Jun Wei groaned, “I am so tired. Man, at least we get to eat.”

That was another perk of working at Trapped. All new chefs cooked a full meal for the wait staff thereby making them always the first to fully try the restaurant's new menu. Tang Yi might have been an emotionless, mysterious boss, but he was a good one.

Zhao Zi was nearly bouncing in his seat; he was always excited when it came to trying out the new menu. He often raced home afterwards to update his food blog. He wrote his thoughts and feelings about the food, tried to describe the flavors accurately and fairly and described how the decor tied in with the food and the mood it established. He was careful to not post his accounts until after the restaurant debuted its new chef to the public; he wrote anonymously and was careful to avoid any details that would identify him as one of the staff.

Zhao Zi had quite a following. He received a lot of correspondence from newspapers and magazines inviting him to join their staff or asking for an interview. It was tempting, but Zhao Zi truly loved his coworkers and the ability to have an inside look at the unique restaurant. He loved watching it come together, each piece necessary to its core: Tang Yi’s curation of staff, Hong Ye’s organization, the kitchen staff’s passion and the waitstaff’s excellence. Each review he wrote about the restaurant was like a letter of deep appreciation to his family, because at the end of the day, that’s what they were. The reviews, however, did not shy away from critiquing the food, and were honest about any faults that were found.

Hong Ye thanked them for their hard work and instructed them to sit down. It was time. From the kitchen doors came first Tang Yi who somehow still managed to look put together and unaffected after a long day of work. Behind him came the new chef.

It was the red-haired man.

Zhao Zi’s eyes widened as he took in the new chef’s apparel. He wore a black chef’s jacket with a red trim that seemed as if it had been tailored. It hugged his body like a glove, showing off his athletic form. The man walked casually behind Tang Yi, a casual smirk in place. They stood at the head of the dining room.

“Thank you all for your hard work today.” Tang Yi began his speech, his deep voice carried across the room. He truly had an impenetrable expression. The only time Zhao Zi had seen him crack a smile was with Hong Ye and even that had happened three years ago. “In order to thank you for bringing his vision to life and for the future work on which you will embark together, our new chef has created a menu for us to dine on tonight. You will find the new menu in the booklets in front of you. Please order as you wish.”

The first dinner with the staff was not only a thank you, but also a test to the new chef. It was their chance to command the kitchen fully. They hired extra wait staff for the occasion so that Trapped’s staff could enjoy their meal. As a reward for the night's hard-work, Tang Yi would in turn treat the kitchen staff to dinner at some of the leading restaurants in Taiwan. Cold he was, but benevolent.

“Before you start, our chef would like to say a few words.”

The redhead stepped up beside Tang Yi and greeted them all with a grin. “Hello,” he said, his voice smooth, low, and rich. Zhao Zi swore he heard some of the women and men swoon in response. Yi Qi’s cheeks immediately turned bright red. He himself even felt a slight swooping sensation in his stomach that he decidedly ignored.

“My name is Jack. You may refer to me as Chef Jack.”

Jack was an odd name. Zhao Zi wondered whether the chef had spent some time abroad. Plus, did he not have a last name?

“Today I have prepared a traditional Taiwanese menu, with my own personal touches. I hope you enjoy it.”

He nodded and led the way back to the kitchen to start the service.

“Taiwanese, huh,” Yi Qi said as they all turned back to the table. A low murmur was already filling the room. They opened the menu and were scandalized. “But...but this looks like the kind of food you would get at a corner shop! Why would anyone want to pay top dollar for this?”

Zhao Zi had to agree. The menu items weren’t particularly exciting, but perhaps the execution would be. He settled for a bowl of beef noodle soup. You could tell a lot about a chef by how they executed the simplest of dishes. Beef noodle soup was common, but every restaurant and food-stand had their own closely guarded recipe that made the dish their own. Zhao Zi was interested to see the chef’s take on it.

Orders taken, the team settled into their seats, wine in hand.

“I wonder what made Tang Yi go for this guy,” Yi Qi questioned. She lifted the glass of white wine to her lips. “Has anyone ever heard of him? At least we had heard about the others.” She looked at Zhao Zi in particular, seeing as he was the one who always displayed more knowledge about the industry.

“No,” he shrugged. “But Tang Yi has never failed us before..”

Jun Wei peered at him. “You are not as excited about this menu as I’ve seen you be at other times.”

Zhao Zi laughed. “Yeah, it’s a bit difficult to be excited about something I can get anywhere. Plus no one can beat my grandma’s beef noodle soup. Not even a top chef, or whatever this guy is.”

“You sure?” Jun Wei challenged, a growing grin taking over his face. He nodded towards the food that was now exiting the kitchen. “We will find out soon enough.”

When Zhao Zi’s beef noodle soup was set in front of him, he couldn’t help but feel a little impressed. Plating up an appealing looking soup was always a challenge and the chef’s arrangement of this one was stunning. The broth was dark and rich, contrasting greatly with the white noodles. The bok choy was a deep green and accented by the light green scallions sprinkled across the top. The beef was sliced thinly and served on top of the noodles. Zhao Zi saw hints of red flakes, indicating the soup would come with heat.

He stuck his chopstick in and pulled out a wad of noodles. They were well cooked with a slight firmness. Zhao Zi brought the noodles to his mouth.

A moan escaped him.

Jun Wei and Yi Qi stopped and looked at him with raised eyebrows. Zhao Zi flushed a deep red, quickly chewing up the noodles.

“That good, huh,” Jun Wei laughed.

Zhao Zi nodded, but had no words. He continued to dig into the soup, enjoying the tenderness of the beef contrasted by the structural fidelity of the noodles. The hint of licorice flavor in the soup was perfect and there was something else, something Zhao Zi couldn’t pinpoint quite just yet, that tied the whole thing together.

His grandmother had been an expert at making beef noodle soup. She had her own recipe and made it for him constantly. It was his comfort food. So he wondered what was the story behind this meal. Despite its clear appeal to the palette, a symphony of tasty perfection, he felt something was missing. Something that told a story and gave a hint as to who Jack was.

The team enjoyed their meal. Yi Qi praised her vermicelli oyster soup and Jun Wei had a second order of soup dumplings.

“Well I guess you were right. Tang Yi didn’t let us down. That was amazing,” Yi Qi said. “The public won’t know what hit them.”

After dinner, they always completed anonymous surveys that were given to the chef. While he knew most of the staff praised the food, he often tried to give good constructive criticism. For his beef noodle soup, he wrote: Amazing soup with a deep, rich flavor and delightful hint of licorice. A flavorful adventure. However, I can’t help but wonder, where’s the story? What are you trying to say?

Zhao Zi knew that previous chefs had never responded to their critiques. Oftentimes they thought themselves above the staff, an unfortunate result of early career success and zero-humility. He wondered if this chef would be the same.

When he got home that night, he stepped into his house and felt...alone. Putting his things away, Zhao Zi slipped into his pajamas, a big t-shirt and soft sweat pants before walking over to the little alter he kept for his grandmother and lighting a candle for her. “Nǎinai, I had some pretty amazing beef soup today. World class,” he whispered to her. “It still wasn’t as good as yours.” He bowed his head and stood up, making his way upstairs to bed.

--- Back in the kitchen, Jack looked over the survey responses that had been submitted by the waitstaff. A lot of them expressed the fact that they had been surprised at the simplicity of the menu, but were blown away by the food. Good. Jack liked surprising people with the unexpected.

He knew he didn’t necessarily carry himself like a professional chef, and that he was relatively unknown and would therefore be put under a lot of scrutiny, but Jack had no doubts that he would succeed in impressing the public. He would settle for nothing less.

“How did the staff take it?” Tang Yi asked, slipping into the seat next to him.

“I seem to have pleasantly surprised them.”

“I expect you to do the same to the critics.”

“I will, boss,” Jack affirmed. He pulled out one of the survey cards, “Do you know who this is?” Jack asked. Tang Yi took the card and read through it.

He smirked.

“What is your story then?”

Jack smiled back, coyly taking back the card and slipping it into his pocket. Tang Yi and him had met under unconventional circumstances. Tang Yi did not know much about Jack’s background, no one did, but in their time of interaction he grew to realize that Jack was amazing in the kitchen. Now he was using that to his advantage.

Jack stood and lazily saluted Tang Yi before slipping through the kitchen doors.

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

I will be posting updates to this story on AO3.

[duckyaltalt]

「herman tommeraas & cis male」⇾ mercer, ducky, the junior radcliffe student’s records show that he is a pisces and 21 years old. he is studying business, living in gorham and can be tenderhearted, nimble, compliant & taciturn. when i see him i am reminded of fear hidden behind a stoic stare, bleeding from your nose and from your gums, and the night sky with all its stars, with all its mystery and unknown . ⇽「james & 21 & est & they/them.」

hi :D this is the last of my OG characters ... the next two will b sexy n new bt they wont arrive fr a while bc i <3 need 2 hv a steady pace <3 anyways hes. rly sad so. good luck charlie <3 okay bye :D

TW CHILD ABUSE / DOMESTIC ABUSE / ABUSE, VIOLENCE, INJURY, TRAUMA, MENTAL ILLNESS, DRUGS / DRUG ABUSE / ADDICTION , GANGS.

aesthetic.

bruises; from beneath your eyes to the edge of your jaw, aligned against your stomach and the sides of your waist and the groves of your knuckles. bleeding noses and bleeding gums, spat out teeth, tattoos scarred from improper treatment, a facial scar; jagged and old, now, from above your eye to beneath your lip. worn hoodies and scuffed sneakers, sunglasses inside. the night sky, and it’s many stars, and how brightly they shone during the 2019 blackout, and wanting to be up there, with them. knowing constellations by heart. wishing to be the face on the moon. beer bottles and secret exchanges. dark alleys. fear, through the very core of your heart. fear, hidden behind a stoic stare.

basic info.

full name: donovan mercer

nickname(s): ducky but i’m 95% sure he hates the nickname it’s just. Stuck with him.

b.o.d. - march 15th, pisces :)

label(s): the allegiant, the despondent, the grifter, the malleable, the vacant, etc.

height: 5′11″

hometown: hell’s kitchen, new york

sexuality: bisexual bt make it closeted.

pinterest

stats

inspired by: lip gallagher (shameless), freddie mcclair (skins), frankenstein’s monster (frankenstein), fez (euphoria) … that’s it i don’t know any other characters KJNSGLDNVLSDJNFDS

biography.

born in hell’s kitchen to vinny mercer and a mother who ran out of the hospital as fast as she could, as soon as she was able. she’d gone so quick that she’d never given ducky a middle name - just donovan. the younger brother of mercy (shoutout 2 bri)

his father’s the right-hand man of a well known mob boss named lars amaretto, and so, you can imagine the kind of environment ducky (& mercy) grew up in. weapon & drug dealings, interrogations, violence around every corner. a brutal way of living, no place to raise two children.

you can correctly assume that they grew up in a heavily abusive environment, and can imagine the sort of things the two have gone through. ducky was, maybe, the least favorite of their father’s -

- for numerous reasons, and one being that ducky’d always been a sensitive kid. kinder than his brother, and far kinder than his father - kindness is weakness, and ducky was filled with it. too much so, with big brown eyes and a smile that should’ve been able to melt ice. should’ve - but didn’t. and never did, either.

he cried often, and was punished often for it until he learned to stop crying - at least in front of their father, and mercy too, at some point. only in the comfort of his room, with doors locked and blinds drawn closed.

he dreamed, too, dreamt often. he’d been obsessed with outer space since childhood, as long as he could remember. school had once shown man landing on the moon, and ducky wanted that. wanted to be that, wanted to be there, up with the stars, discovering the unthinkable.

but it was discouraged, heavily so - projects destroyed by an angry fist only to be reconstructed to the best of ducky’s ability, with mercy’s help, all throughout the night. he’d saved up for a telescope when he was thirteen, but it’d been destroyed almost immediately when discovered. not a day went by that their father didn’t tell ducky that he was, first and foremost, stupid - and would always be.

to the point where he stopped trying, simply. his grades fluctuated frequently, and it’s a surprise that he hadn’t dropped out of high school altogether.

anyways … at the age of fifteen, he’d have enough. he was sick of the abuse, the pain - the crying behind closed doors, the sneaking around, the constant feeling of needing to escape, impending doom, anxiety attacks in the shower and in school bathrooms and at the back of the bus where nobody sat besides him because he was - that boy, the son of that man, the brother of that brute. he’d been a teenager and he’d already been an outcast by all means - an outcast in his family, no matter how hard he tried to appease vinny, and an outsider everywhere else.

the plan took months of preparation, paper ripped out from the back of his school notebook and stuffed beneath his mattress, details of his escape from a checklist of essential items to makeshift maps of bus routes to different cities.

all for nothing, the moment vinny discovered it, the edge of a map sticking out after a rushed morning.

it’d been the same day he’d gotten the nickname - ducky - the way the wound wrapped below his mouth, and the way it’d begun to heal - puckered, at first, like a duck’s bill. a better name than eyepatch, at the very least. the scar’d run from the arch of his left brow, across his eye, down his cheek, and below his lip, the entire left side of his face a bloody mess afterwards. his eye sustained injury, and not allowed to see a doctor about it, it never healed properly. corneal scarring, impairing his left eye. astronaut dreams destroyed, but not in a matter of seconds. in the matter of an hour, maybe more - and that’d been much, much worse.

he stopped trying to run away after that. tried to be more like their father, more like mercy - more brutish, less feeling. spoke less, and less. spoke hardly at all, unless spoken to first.

still didn’t matter. still lived his days in fear, still knew it’d never change. nothing would ever change.

graduated high school and had been on-and-off attending community college since then. he’d miss days at a time, flunk an entire semester’s worth of classes - gpa dropped further and further. wanted to try, but life got in the way. always got in the way.

hadn’t intended on transferring to radcliffe, but their father’d been missing for a few months then, leaving ducky to handle the drugs side of their business in hell’s kitchen - and mercy’d disappeared, too, leaving their branch in lovell completely open. in a split decision - an opportunity, and opening - something he couldn’t miss, or he’d maybe never get the opportunity again, ducky bullshitted a scholarship essay (plagiarism, tsk) and transferred to pick up where mercy’d left.

this wasn’t very well thought out, because that meant there were no mercers in new york - and lars amaretto? not a very understanding man. more of a brute than their father was, by far. to keep a story short - ducky is missing a tooth (molar, luckily, this time) and is … more rough’d up than he’d like to be, for sure. but mercy’s back, now, and he’s still at lovell, at radcliffe.

and that’s enough.

UPDATE: heehaw. mercy is gone & ducky’s still here. feeling a bit lost - dealt with a lot of shit this summer, new wounds and old wounds and just. a lot. started an underground fight club on campus for some extra cash, reasons unknown. being blackmailed by someone named rocky - someone who knows ducky is skimming cash. god. i don’t know ... danger danger danger danger. nightmare-ville. wrapped up in more walls than ever.

personality.

he’s actually very? intimidating? when you first meet him. mercy’s younger brother, with a criminal’s record almost as long as his - a scarred face and a mean resting face. it takes at least five minutes of conversation beyond small talk before it starts to weigh on your mind that maybe, he’s not as bad as he seems.

and - well, he isn’t. but he’s guarded - so guarded. more-so than mercy, because mercy’s quicker to anger, quicker to react, and ducky tries so hard to drown out the noise. but he’s not a robot, and his facial expressions can give him away in a second.

he’s seen what happened when mercy had a glimpse of something good in his life (though, it wasn’t actually good at all - mercy had someone, at least. at the very least) - and how quickly it’d all fallen, and so ducky puts a barrier between him and others. distant, as much as he can be.

it hurts, because ducky isn’t by any means antisocial. he doesn’t hate people - he wants to be normal, wants to have friends and a girlfriend - or maybe even a boyfriend, god - but he’s so afraid. ducky is, by nature, a very scared person. terrified to his very core. he knows there is always eyes on him, and mercy too, and he knows that nothing is worth getting someone else hurt.

you know him as mercy’s little brother, and he’s quiet you know that - but his name is ducky, and you think - he’s not too bad. and he knows this, knows the doubts. knows that it’ll get back to mercy, eventually, that his brother is nothing more but a pussy. so he fights more than he’d like to, against the guilt that buries itself deep within his chest with every thrown fist. he throws up, afterwards, in the garbage can outside. too much to drink, he says, rare grin - because grins are convincing, and grins with bleeding gums are intimidating. he learned that from his brother.

violence makes him sick to his very stomach. he can’t watch horror films, or even action films, without feeling queasy. there’s been more times than he can count where he’d thrown up after a fight, or after an interrogation, usually in private but in the occasional presence of mercy.

they fight, a lot, sometimes - ducky’s too soft, too weak, and it’s bad and it’s terrible and ducky knows that mercy’s afraid. for him, of their father, and his wraith. ducky knows that if mercy isn’t hard on him now, their father will be harder - and his hits will be, too. still. there’s resentment, small but there, like the flame of a match. he doesn’t know what’ll happen when there’s nothing more to burn, but he doesn’t want to find out. he’s afraid to find out.

he’s still in love with the moon and the stars, and the planet’s - and their moons, too. its subdued, now, though. a silent passion - one that is often not watered, left for rot. he sneaks into engineering lectures, occasionally, or physics - or anything that isn’t business, because he hates his major, but he knows it’s the only chance he’s got to stay at radcliffe. and that’s to follow his brother, to follow his father. a business degree treats you well, teaches you skills you’ll need to know for this type of work.

commits small acts of kindness when nobody looks. doors held open, the meals of elderly folk eating alone suddenly paid. picks up litter besides trash bins, and always cooks extra than what he needs, only to leave it in the gorham community fridge with no name, something for somebody who may need it. it’s these small things that make him feel, just the slightest, better about himself.

because god - there are layers and layers of self-loathing, the result of years of abuse. it’s a labyrinth, and he’d never speak of it - but he can’t stand his own reflection. doesn’t keep photos of his family, only a few sparingly of mercy. his room is messy, but still oddly barren. nothing on the walls except for a poster or two, sheets a standard navy blue and a row of empty liquor bottles on his windowsill.

a liar, sad to say. has little experience with. ehem. intimacy, and the bodies of others, but lies often and says that he does. mostly to his brother, but word travels quick - and he’s not nearly as much as a fuckboy as is rumored, having only been with a handful of girls, if even that. it’s better this way - if people know that he throws others away like they’re nothing. sex is uncomfortable for him, he always feels gross afterwards. wrong, sometimes.

he ghosts often, too, if he does get to talking with anybody. the moment ducky feels a spark, something pulling at his poor heart, he ghosts. he develops feelings too easily, too often than he’d like. has left many friendships without explanation, because of this. you know the priest in fleabag season 2? the scene where he comes to fleabag’s house? yeah. tht’s ducky!

has maybe half the amount of clients that mercy does, but he’s working on it. it’s his first semester at radcliffe.

pretends he doesn’t care as much as he does. pretends a lot, like there’s nothing soft to him. but a trained eye can see clearly through this. even so - even if you can see that there’s more to ducky than violence and drug deals - you’d still have to break through a dozen walls.

in the rare occasion you get him talking - i mean, talking a lot - he’ll talk about space. ramble off a dozen useless facts about dwarf stars and black holes and all of jupiter’s moons. about a video game he likes, about nothing and everything at all. but as soon as he begins, he stops - embarrassed. apologizes, shuts his mouth, disappears to wherever. anywhere but there.

uuuhhh. god. okay so ducky’s got an addiction to xanax. it’s numbing and it’s better than feeling, and he’d rather this than that and it’s. a Thing. we won’t go further into it. besides that - he does smoke weed, does try out some of their products to make sure it’s not … fucked, for their clients, but otherwise fucking hates drugs. social drinker, but still doesn’t like it a lot. hates beer but drinks it often.

overall just … he’s a soft boy, with a big heart - bigger than anybody else in his family, that’s for sure, but his exterior is far different than that, and it’s hard to tell.

purposely loses fights so that he doesn’t have to severely hurt someone. because sometimes he just - he was raised in a violent environment, and sometimes he snaps. sometimes ducky just fucking snaps. and his vision goes red, and he can’t control himself - because need to survive kicks in, and violence is all he knows. if someone pushes ducky - pushes him enough, he breaks. he fights back. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows, and that’s not an excuse - and he knows this, and god, he’s so tired. he is so. tired.

wanted connections.

clients… first n foremost. he needs people to deal to. i don’t think he handles the Hard Shit like mercy does, but like coke and mdma? works for him.

f…riend..s?… like it’s so hard for ducky to be sincere with people but if you don’t mind like … an emotionally distant man who doesn’t even hit 6′ then maybe? he’s your guy? maybe you can break him down a little? chip away at his cold shoulder?

a close…r friend… maybe not like. the best of friends. but at least one normal friend whose world does not revolve around fucking drugs and violence would be nice for ducky. someone he can be a little soft with, as a treat.

hook-ups… not many, because ducky doesn’t really enjoy sex too much but y’know. that’s just how it is. he do be having needs, tho. KDSJGSHDKLFSE god.

fisticuffs!… someone he got into a fistfight with. multiple people he’s gotten into fights with. he’s probably lost them (on purpose) but - mayhaps, some of them, he did not?

gorham roommate… god… i don’t know what these two cld get up to but! maybe give him a sexuality panic but who knows.

unrequited feelings… there’s probably a few of these. whether people are drawn to his fucking ~mysterious~ demeanor (he just has fucking anxiety, man) or mayhaps. mayhaps he has the feelings.

flirtations… he’s never been in a relationship so i can’t really include exes, but he can flirt with people i’d like to think … when he’s drunk. :-)

ghostees… everybody he’s ever fucking ghosted because he’s stupid and is afraid of both friendship and relationships and romance and platonic? feelings of warmth? so sometimes he panics and ghosts people forever. :) spite!

new yorkians… who are familiar with his family or the business they have there

enemies… god. i’m sure he has a lot of these even without attempting to make them. just like, by association, you know? sometimes ducky hates people because mercy does. sometimes he hates people because mercy likes them. JKSDGDSJGFSNLKF

i won’t lie i’m very tired and am having a Troubled Time coming up with connections please. bare with me.

annoyances… i don’t know if ducky can get annoyed very easily but? thorns in his side? something lighthearted? alternately, something Not lighthearted and then ducky :/ goes rogue JKDNGDSNLFK

idk something soft… literally anything soft. please :) give me something soft and cute :) and peaceful and not stressful :)

something ANGSTY and AWFUL… literally. i don’t know. duality of man.

ok i have been awake fr too long i’m going to bed goodnight.

[assembledherethevolunteers]

Collisions and Confessions

A/N: Hi! This is my first reader fic and I hope you like it! 

Summary: You and Pat have been dating for some time, but haven’t told anybody outside of Maz.  Today, you’re playing each other in your baseball league.  

Warnings: Cursing

You yawned loudly and poured yourself a cup of coffee in your kitchen on a bright Saturday morning. You felt a pair of large hands grasp your waist.  You smiled as your boyfriend placed a kiss to your neck.  

“Morning,” he muttered against your skin, his voice still rough with sleep.  

“Good morning, love,” you placed a kiss to his ginger hair.  

He hummed and buried his face in the crook of your neck.  You giggled when he peppered your neck and collarbone with feather light kisses.

“You’re touchy-feely this morning.”  

“I just want you to remember this me instead of the one that you’re going to see this afternoon.”  

You smiled and rolled your eyes.  

You’d had this day circled on your calendar all season.  Today you were playing the D’Backs, AKA the team your boyfriend, Pat Murray, played on. Nobody on either team knew that you were dating, except Maz (since that’s how you two met).  Not even your older brother Derek, who was on the Raiders with you.  

“I’m sure you’re not THAT bad.  Plus, we all get upset when we lose,” you joked.  

Pat swatted at your butt and pulling away, got his own cup of coffee.  

“Seriously though, I get…” Pat paused, trying to find the right word.  “Loud.  And some, including me, would say obnoxious.”  

You set your coffee down and cup his face in your hands.  

“Pat, it’ll be fine,” you kissed his nose.  

He sighed.  

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The two of you made and ate breakfast before Pat left so he could get ready for the game.  

“I’ll see you there,” Pat pressed his lips to yours one, two, three more times before he left.  

You sighed against the door after he left your apartment.  You usually didn’t have him stay over the night before game days, but last night you two had been watching a movie and…well, things had ended in the bedroom.  At that point it was so late that it just made more sense for him to stay over.  

You heard your brother honk outside a couple hours later.  He was picking you up for your game.  You grabbed your bag and walked down to get in Derek’s car.  

“Hey, Y/N, ready?”  

“Oh yeah, can’t wait,” you replied as your brother started driving towards the park.  

“This team is actually pretty decent, so we’ll need to be on our A-game.”

“Oh yeah?” You smiled, a pride for your boyfriend’s team swelled in your chest.  That was a high compliment coming from your brother.  

“Yeah, they’ve got John Mazzello, he’s damn good.  And then there’s Ryan Palacco, and if he actually plays, we’ll really be in trouble. And then there’s Ty…”

Your brother kept talking about the players, not knowing that you already knew all these people. Well, of them at least.  You knew their stats almost as well as your own team’s. You and Pat had a tendency to come over to each other’s apartments and cuddle and talk about the games (“I couldn’t BUY a fucking hit!” “I’m sorry, babe”).

You pulled into the parking lot of the field and got out as your brother finished talking about his game plan.  He was the co-captain along with Nick, who was already in the dugout.  

“Hey, Y/N.”

“What’s up, Nick?”

“Ready for some baseball!”

“Hell yeah!”  The two of you high-fived.  Derek rolled his eyes.  

“We’re going to start you off in the one spot and you’ll be playing left,” Nick said with a slight grimace.

You groaned.  You much preferred being in centerfield, but if you were playing left, that meant…

“It’s time for Peaty to pitch again, huh?”  Derek sighed.

“Yup!”

You started to pull your cleats on when you heard a familiar voice.  

“Y/N!”

You looked up and smiled at Maz.  

“Hey, Maz.”

“Whoa! You two know each other?”

“Yeah, we both…”

“Teach at St. James,” you and your brother said at the same time.  

“How did I not put that together?”  Derek shook his head.  It was common knowledge that Maz had turned the baseball program at St. James High School around since he’d become the coach three years ago.  

You and Maz laughed.  

“I just wanted to come over and wish you luck,” Maz winked and then jogged back over to Pat, who was standing outside the dugout, stretching against the fence.  

You and Pat locked eyes and you turned away before you gave anything away.  

“Are you dating him?”

Your head snapped to look at your brother.  

“Who?”

“John Mazzello! You got super blushy and he winked at you!”

You rolled your eyes. Glad your brother was wrong.  

“No, Derek, we’re good friends.  We have the same free period, so we usually hang out in the teacher’s lounge a lot and talk baseball.”

“Sure,” was all your brother said as he glared over at the D’Backs’ dugout.  He was the number one reason that you and Pat hadn’t told people you were dating.  Derek was ridiculously protective of you, especially since you were the only woman in the league.  Most of the guys didn’t care, but some of them would make comments, or try to touch you in some way.  You could handle yourself, but older brothers were older brothers.  

The rest of your team started showing up and a few of you went out to the outfield to stretch.  You saw Pat and who you were pretty sure was Ryan Pollaco playing catch.  

You turned your back to them, spread your legs, and bent down towards the ground to stretch your inner thighs.  

“OW! FUCK!”  You heard a British voice yell.  

“KEEP YOUR EYE ON THE FUCKING BALL, POLLACO!” Pat shouted.

“I got distracted, you lunatic!”  

“Quit checking her out!”

You looked over and saw Pollaco rubbing his chest.  Pat still had his back to you, but you could tell he was fuming.  

“Don’t tell me what to do!” The blonde flipped off Pat and walked into their dugout.  

The rest of the warmups went on without incident, but your brother at Pat wore matching murderous glares, even if they didn’t know it.  

The umpires called for captains and Nick and Derek jogged to the batting boxes.  You saw a tall, bigger guy that you were pretty sure was their power-hitter, Ty Delamonica.  There was another man standing next to him that you weren’t sure who he was.  Maybe Dells, the pitcher?  Lastly, there was a shorter guy that you knew was Garvey, the catcher.  

You watched as they all talked and shook hands.  The umpire clapped his hands together and they all broke apart.  Nick and Derek came back to the dugout.

“Y/N!” Nick yelled. “Get your helmet on!” Nick ran through the lineup quickly as you put on your helmet and batting gloves.  You walked out and timed your practice swings with Dells’ pitches.  

“Ready, Y/N/N?”  Derek asked as he slowly swung his bat.  

“Always,” you gave him a smile and then walked over to the batter’s box.  You looked over at Nick in the coach’s box at third base.  He gave you the sign for bunt.  

You smiled, looking at the infielders playing far back.  Maz must’ve given them a scouting report.  You settled into the box with your routine.  You looked at Dells and smirked. They had no idea what was coming. You watched the ball get released and then squared to bunt.

“FUCK!” you heard from Ty.

You laid it down the first baseline and took off running.  You hit the base and then the ball hit the glove.  Yes!

“WHO BUNTS IN A SUMMER LEAUGE?!” You heard from the DBacks’ dugout.  

“Somebody who listens to their coach, Barone!”  Ty snapped as he ran back to his position.  

“You’re not the coach, Ty!” Barone called back.  

“Nice job,” the first basemen gave you a smile.  He was older than pretty much everybody else on the field.  He must be Fotch.  

“Thanks,” you smiled back. From what Pat had told you, you liked Fotch.  

“Come on, Pads!” You yelled to the next batter.  

He hit a deep fly ball to centerfield.  You lead off the base as much as you dared, hoping both that Pat would drop it and catch it.  He caught it and you went back to first, muttering under your breath.  

“Let’s go, D!” You yelled at your brother.  

Derek took the first two pitches, one ball and one strike.  He connected with the third pitch and, when you saw it was on the ground, you took off running.  You saw Ty bobble the ball for a moment, then decided to throw it to first.  You were safe, but Derek was out.  

You snuck a glance back at Pat in centerfield and saw him give you a small smile.  You smirked and spread your legs, almost straddling the base and stuck your ass out a little bit more.  You knew how great you looked in your baseball pants.  Anybody else looking would think that you were just trying to get a good leadoff, but you knew Pat was looking.  

“STRIKE THREE!” The umpire yelled.  

“Shit,” you said as the DBacks started to run in.  Pat ran past you and quickly pinched your butt where nobody could see.  

You yelped and stared at him for a moment before running back to your dugout.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, handing you your glove.  

“Yeah! Sorry, I thought there was a spider on my cleat,” you said, the first thing that came to your mind.

Derek didn’t look like he believed it, but you all ran out to your positions.  Peaty took the mound and you sighed.  Peaty was a great guy and to be honest, a decent pitcher, but he didn’t have a lot of speed.  Which is why you were in left field.  You were one of the fastest people on the team and most of the balls that were hit, were hit to the left side of the field.  

The first two batters, Maz and Barone, got on.  Ty was up now and you took a couple steps back, not wanting the ball to get in front of you.  

The ball cracked against the bat and you saw it soar towards you.  You caught it and quickly threw it in, knowing Maz would try to tag up and get to third.  Maz knew you had an arm though and didn’t even try it.  

“Nice catch, Y/N!” Peaty yelled.  

Nobody scored.  

Pat came up in the second inning and struck out, watching the third strike go by.  You thought he seemed calm enough until he screamed and threw his bat against the dugout fence.  You flinched, more for the bat than anything.

As you ran by the DBacks’ dugout, you could’ve sworn you heard Pollaco and Barone arguing about ‘getting her number’.  Last you knew, Barone had a girlfriend.  

“Will you all shut the fuck up?!” Pat yelled.  

“Well somebody isn’t going to win the bench bet,” somebody responded.  

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, DAVID!”

You chuckled to yourself.

“Seems you’re making an impression on them,” Derek’s eyes narrowed as he put his helmet on.  

“Oh stop,” you rolled your eyes.  “You’re not going to do anything.”  

“If any of them lay a hand on you…”

“Alright, Derek.”

The game started moving faster.  You’d never seen Pat play before, but damn, did he yell.  A lot.  It was actually kind of funny because you’d never seen that side of him.  

“Catch the damn ball, Vinnie!” “TY! Cover the FUCKING BASE!”

You couldn’t help but watch him as the game went on (and maybe it had something to do with the way he looked in his uniform).  

You walked your second time up and got to second on a pass ball.  

“So Y/N,” Zapata, the second baseman, said to you as Garvey and Dells were talking on the mound. “Doing anything later?”  

“Actually yeah, I got plans,” you gave him a smile and could practically feel Pat’s eyes boring into both of you.  

“Psh, blow ‘em off. We’re…”

“ZAPATA! PAY ATTENTION TO THE FUCKING GAME!”

Zapata frowned back at Pat but didn’t say anything before looking back at you.  

“Sorry, HE CAN BE SO RUDE!” Zapata called over his shoulder towards center.  

“I’ll show you fucking rude!” Pat started to make his way in, but Maz interfered.  

“Murray! Get your ass back in position! We’re ready to go!” He nodded at Garvey jogging back to home plate.

“This isn’t over, Zapata!” Pat stomped back to place.  

You met Maz’s eyes and you two smirked.

The next pitch was hit to right field, but over Vinnie’s head and you started running.  

“GO GO GO!” Nick waved you home.  

“Up easy, up easy,” The umpire told you as you crossed home plate.  

You turned and watched as Vinnie threw the ball and Pads got thrown out at second.  

“FUCK!” You yelled as the DBacks started running in.  

Garvey chuckled.

“You’d get along with our centerfielder,” he muttered.  

You bit your bottom lip to keep a smile from your face.  

At least you scored.  

The next half inning, the DBacks didn’t score.  

Soon, it was the final inning and your team was winning.  

You watched as your teammates hit one to Zapata (out) and one to Maz (line-drive, caught).  The last person up hit a pop up between right and center field.  You heard both Vinnie and Pat call each other off.  You knew what was going to happen before it did.  

Vinnie caught the ball, but they collided, and Pat bounced to the ground.  

��PATRICK!” You ran out to centerfield.  You heard people yelling at you, but you didn’t care.  You kneeled next to him.  His eyes were open, but he seemed dazed and his eyes weren’t focused. “Pat, baby?  Are you okay?”  You placed your hands on his cheeks, trying to get him to look at you.  

He blinked his hazel eyes a couple times and then focused on you.  He smiled and took a deep breath.  

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay, just got the wind knocked out of me.”

“Oh, thank God,” You leaned down and kissed him, just happy that he was okay.  

You heard people yell again, including your brother.  You still didn’t care.  

“I’m okay too, by the way!” Vinnie called at both of you.  

“Um…whenever you two are done, we’ve got a game to finish,” Maz’s voice was above the two of you and made you break apart.  You didn’t move your eyes from Pat.  

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked.  

Pat nodded and gave you a small smile.  

“Does this mean Murray won the bench bet!?”

“I think, David, this means that Murray won the bench bet before there even was a bench bet.”  

“Babe, I…I need to go in. I’m up first.”  

“Right!” You stood up and helped him up too.  

The DBacks started to run in, but then you saw Derek start stomping over.  

“Shit,” you muttered. You chased after your brother.  

“What the fuck?!” Derek yelled at Pat.  

“Whoa whoa,” Maz got between your brother and Pat.  “Hey, man, calm down.”

“CALM DOWN?! This guy is making out with my sister in center field and you’re telling me to calm down?!”

“Jesus, Derek, stop it!” You stood next to Maz.  “He’s my boyfriend, not just some guy!”  

Derek’s eyes met yours and they softened for a moment.  

“You have a boyfriend and you didn’t tell me?!”

“No! Because you’d act like an idiot!”  

Derek opened his mouth to try and argue, but you cut him off.  

“I’m serious, Derek. You do this every time I try to date somebody.  I’m in my twenties, I can handle myself,” you reached out and took one of your brother’s hands.  

“Um…I hate to interrupt whatever is going on here, but we’ve got another half inning to play,” the umpire came over to see what was going on.  

Derek pointed at Pat with his free hand.  

“This isn’t over, and we will talk after the game.”

You heard Pat’s teeth snap together.  

“Great, can we finish this now?”  The umpire’s tone was annoyed.  

You turned back to Pat and placed a kiss on his cheek.  

“Any advice?” He asked, eyeing Derek as he walked back to the dugout.  

You and Maz replied at the same time.  

“Get a hit.”  

“Thanks.”

You laughed and then jogged over to Derek who was holding your glove.  

“I’m serious,” he started. “You, me, and him are going to have a talk after this game.”  

“Fine, Derek.  Can we finish the game now?”  

“Are we ready?!” The umpire yelled as everybody got into position.  He made a circle with his finger.  “PLAY BALL!”  

Pat came up to the plate, and you still were pretty sure that he was a bit dazed.  His teammates were yelling for him.  You wanted to yell too, but your competitive side was a little too aggressive for that.  

Pat connected with the ball and it actually made it through the gap between first and second base. You had to bite your lip to keep from cheering for him.  

“YES!” You heard Pat yell from first base.  

“Way to go , Murray!”

“NICE JOB, PAT!”

You were beaming.  As much as you wanted to win, you knew how much getting a hit meant to Pat.  

Vinnie struck out, watching the third strike go by, much to Pat’s loud chagrin.

“SHITTY CALL, BLUE!”  

The umpire took his mask off and pointed at Pat.  

“Watch it, son!”  

“Murray! Shut up for once!”  Ty yelled from the coach’s box on third.  

Pat was still grumbling and kicked some dirt when he went back to the base.

Garvey was up next.  He hit a ground ball to Nick at shortstop.  Nick threw the ball the second, getting Pat out, and then Pads at second, threw it to Derek at first, getting Garvey out.  A double play.  The game was over.  

Pat threw his helmet on the ground.  

“FUCK!”  

Your team ran in and as you did, you picked up Pat’s helmet that was still in the base path.  When his eyes met yours, his softened and he sighed.  

“Thank you,” he took his helmet from you.  He looked upset, even though he got a hit.  

You leaned up and kissed his cheek.  It was slightly dirty and sweaty, but it didn’t bother you.  

“Please don’t make out here on the field again,” Maz said behind you.  You turned to look at him.  

“Can I help you, Johnathan?”  

“Oooh, full naming me, huh?  I just wanted to ask you if you and anybody from your team wanted to join us for a drink? We’re going to Sledge’s.”  

Your eyebrows shot up and you looked around him to look at the DBacks’ dugout.  

“Really?  You guys want me to come?”

“Oh, hell yeah!”  Dells smiled. “We all want to hear how in the world you put up…”  

“Y/N!”  Derek’s voice carried across the field.  “Bring your boyfriend over here!”  

You rolled your eyes then looked at Maz.  

“I’ll get you an answer in a minute,” You took Pat’s hand and pulled him towards your dugout.  

“No, Y/N,” Pat muttered.  “Your brother is going to kill me!”  

“He’s not going to kill you,” you paused and thought about it.  “Well, he won’t kill you a lot.”  

Pat gave you a small laugh.  

“How does somebody kill somebody a little?”  

“You’ll see,” was all you said back before you stopped in front of Derek. You gave him a huge smile. “Hello, brother mine.”  

Derek wasn’t looking at you.  He had his eyes locked on Pat.  

“Oh!” You feigned forgetfulness. “This is Pat,” you moved so that Pat could step in front of you.  “My boyfriend.  Pat, this is my brother Derek.”  

Pat hesitantly stepped forward and extended his hand.

“Hi, Y/N has told me a lot about you.”  

Derek took his hand and shook it for a moment before letting it go and crossing his arms.  

“Wish I could say the same,” Derek frowned.  “How long have you been dating my sister?”  

“Um…f…four months.”

Derek’s glare turned to you.  

“Four months?  You’ve been dating this guy for four months and haven’t said anything?”  

“No, because you tend to scare my boyfriends away and I figured that if you knew I was dating somebody on another team it would be even worse.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Yes, after baseball season.  You also get so worked up…”

Derek scoffed as his eyes flickered to Pat and then back to you.  

“…so I told Pat it would be better if we waited.  He wanted to tell everybody right away.”  

Derek’s eyes softened, then he looked at Pat.  

“You did?”

“Well, yeah.  I mean…who wouldn’t want to shout from the rooftops that they’re dating somebody like Y/N?”  

You felt a rush of affection for Pat.  “You’re in love with him” a voice in your head shouted, and you knew it was true.  

You stepped closer and wrapped your arms around Pat’s waist.  He wrapped one arm around your shoulders, not breaking eye contact with Derek.  

“D, please be happy for me.”  

Derek looked at you and sighed.  

“Of course, I’m happy for you! I just wish you would’ve told me.  Maybe we can go for a drink…”

“Oh!” You looked to your teammates who were watching the whole interaction (not even pretending they weren’t.  In their defense, neither were the DBacks).  “Do you guys want to go to Sledge’s with the DBacks?”  

Some of your teammates said they would go so you yelled over to Maz that some would be going.  

“Great! We’ll see you there!”  You heard one of the DBacks yell back at you.  

“Do you want to ride with us?”  Derek had his arms at his sides now.  His face had lost all of the hardness he’d been wearing since you had run out to centerfield.  

Pat’s nervous look faded from his face and he slowly smiled.  

“Yeah, I um…I’ll just go tell Maz really quick.”  Pat placed a kiss to your forehead, almost subconsciously, before turning and jogging back to his friend.  The two of them started talking in low tones.  

“You know I’m going to tell him the story about you jumping on the bed after lights out and then you fell out of your bed and broke your arm, right?”

You groaned.  Maybe introducing Pat and Derek wasn’t a good idea after all.  

[nonsensical-rants]

So, I 100%ed the Kingdom Hearts Franchise.

Alright. This might be a long take, just saying that now. But I know exactly where to start. This franchise. Is not as confusing as the entirety of the internet would like you to believe. It's mostly due to bad writing decisions here and there. I mean, yeah if you wanna have every single detail and definition ingrained into your brain. Then of course it can get complicated, but what franchise lasting as long as Kingdom Hearts isn't annoyingly convoluted? I can't think of one.

So my thoughts about  the series is that they're pretty good! Both as a story and as games, with some very big exceptions. I wanna say that you should definitely not try to 100% all of these games in chronological order in rapid succession. It will drain you. I can confirm this beyond a shadow of a doubt. After I beat KH2 it really start to hit me. Chain of Memories was fine, if not a bit tedious to get all the cards and Riku to level 100. But other than that I more than enjoyed my time with the game.

Heartless are born from the darkness in peoples hearts. Nobodies are created from the husk of a body left behind in the creation of a Heartless. While Unversed are born from supreme negative emotions that live inside us all. The stronger these feelings are/the person is, the stronger the heartless/unversed and nobody. Especially strong people can keep their identity when transformed into Nobodies. Thus explaining Organization 13. Only the keyblade can truly defeat these creatures. What's so hard about describing that to someone? It isn't that far fetched in terms of the fantasy genre.

Though personally. I have an enormous hatred from Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance. Despite trying to keep an open mind about any and all forms of media I come across, I cannot ever get behind this title in the series because it is just too much and strays too far from what i consider to be "Kingdom Hearts". The gameplay was not fun for me personally, the story was iffy at best in comparison to the others and it really felt like the biggest amount of padding. If you have to do that to become a Keyblade Master, I think i'd rather stay as a rouge agent like Sora did for 99% of the series.

The dream eater system was probably the biggest factor here as for 100% completion you have to get every single dream eater, and every single skill that they can give you which means leveling a lot of them up to the point where they have points to buy said skills. Which takes forever. And then there's the Dream Eater tournaments, which I would have never gotten past without cheap strategies I found online. Usually I get everybody to max potential in these games and give the best items and accessories all around. But as soon as I got the platinum I ejected the disk and took a break. I felt like I needed it.

Alright, putting that behind us. The difference in fighting styles from game to game can get a bit jarring but in the PS4 re-releases it can usually be adjusted too in about half an hour to an hour's worth of gameplay. Chain of Memories was fun, but tedious like I mentioned. And Birth By Sleep was actually a fresh of breath air (until you get to the secret boss fights that is...) If it wasn't for my need to see that 100% bar next to the game title I would classify these games as something everybody should try out and enjoy. They are fantastic experiences. So lets go in order for a bit.

KH1 is a classic story, going through Disney worlds with a fine mix of Final Fantasy. Meeting the princesses and seeing they are "Princesses of Heart" that have strength beyond muscles. Able to use the power of Light and what not. There's a few hiccups here and there (like Cloud and Sephiroth not acting like how they are in FF7 but everyone's already mentioned that.) But aside from that and the bad platforming, its a genuinely fun game to 100% and I'd highly recommend it. Maybe even try to get cosmic arts for everyone so you can have 16-19 MP bars. It gets silly.

Chain of Memories i've already mentioned a lot so far. So I don't think I need to go that in depth. Fun to go through but wouldn't recommend 100%ing it because it takes far to long. The story is actually pretty decent and isn't that complicated. Sora and the gang lose their memories of KH1 because of the magic witch Namine, while we get our first look at Organization 13.

KH2. The golden child. Still played by many to this day and its obvious to see why. The game play is crisp and fantastic as I remember it from my youth. Traveling to Disney worlds again (and not card versions of them that have no people except for cut scenes, like CoM) and having a constant looming threat over your head while you try to have fun on your journey. Its great. I have yet to do a level 1 critical mode (as that's not required thankfully) but I did thoroughly enjoy my regular Critical play though. Story still isn't that bad yet. Organization 13 comes in full force, trying to get a new version of "Kingdom Hearts" so they can restore their humanity. I'd highly recommend 100%ing this one as well. Would also recommend maxing out your stats and putting on multiple Full Bloom+'s and Shadow Archieve+'s for the fun of it.

Birth By Sleep. Still not that bad honestly. It comes at a weird time though, and the story telling kind of requires you to have some outsider knowledge so that you're not thrown for a loop the entire time. So it feels weird to go back in the past, but also necessary for the story as a whole. Fun game to play minus the hundreds of mini games you need to do for all three main characters. If it wasn't for that I would recommend playing this game to completion. It's hard to reach higher levels though and as everyone's who played the game knows. Terra sucks at End Game compared to Aqua and Ven. I beat the Secret bosses by sheer luck and I would not go back for them. You do get to learn the origins of what makes most of the future events play out though and you even get to see younger versions of Organization 13. Back when they weren't evil!

Nothing eventful happens in Re:Coded.

Dream Drop Distance... Already talked about it. Let's move on before i'm forced to remember dream eaters and their annoyingly high pitched theme song.

Birth By Sleep 0.2: A Fragmentary Passage. Really good demo for KH3 in all honestly. I had a fun time with it and seeing Aqua's pain and journey through the realm of darkness for a whole 10 years was interesting.

And now we're at Kh3. The big game we waited so long for. And its... Alright. Nothing really spectacular. The graphics are certainly splendid and gameplay feels great! If not a bit too floaty. Thats a problem for some people, especially those who were avid fans of KH2. But I had no problem with it. I have yet to play it on critical but i've heard it makes things far more entertaining. As for story, its also alright. Not the grand ending I was expecting but it was really fun all things considered. Just another ride through more modern Disney worlds. But no Final Fantasy! I get that they feel KH can stand on its own legs now but you can't take out half the formula that people fell in love with originally. Then there's no battle arena or replayable boss fights. Doesn't have to be the Real Orginization 13. Just any replayable fights with end game gear would be enough.

As for my real problem with the games. Is the treatement of the third member of the original trio. Kairi. Oh, how this character has divided a good portion of the fan base just by existing. It feels like all the time that she is just a damsel for Sora/Riku to save and rescue. In the first game, thats fine. Whatever. She was unconcious the whole time and had her heart within Sora. Chain of Memories was a game about Sora losing his memories and Riku overcoming his darkness. Thats also fine. But in KH2. Really? She gets a keyblade and can't even handle a group of shadows? The lowest level of heartless? It's embarrassing. She's supposed to be a Princess of Heart. What's that even mean anymore? It doesn't even seem relevant.

KH2 should've been her moment to become a party member just like Riku did. I dont care that it means you could possibly not have Donald or Goofy. KH2 felt the most like the penultimate ending to the series than Kh3 did in my opinon. Having the choice between your KH1 buddies (Sora, Donald and Goofy) or the Island Trio (Sora, Riku and Kairi) would have added excellent variety and much needed development for Kairi as a person rather than leaving her as a one dimensional damsel in distress who has a Nobody with more internal conflict and character motivation. Moving past that... BBS is a prequel so nothing for the original trio except for meeting Aqua/Ven/Terra. And we come back to the dreaded DDD again.

If my vision for Kairi in KH2 couldn't have become a reality. Then why wasn't DDD Kairi's game? The set up was perfect. The heroes of light need to train to overcome almost double the amount of darkness agents. Kairi (and Axel) are practically beginners at wielding a Keyblade. It should've been their time to shine and get some love while occasionally helping Sora and Riku in their Mark of Mastery exam. Why did it have to be something you do alone? Well actually you're not alone you have the stupid Dream Eaters. Regardless it could have been the newbies learning how to get to Kh2 Sora's level while Sora goes beyond his limits.

As for KH3, it's just awful. Kairi's treatment is awful and everyone knows it. She said she was gonna help but hit one whole heartless in the finale. Better than KH2 i suppose. And as for the argument of her being "too weak" to try anything agaisnt Xemans. Really? She couldn't even like. Step on his foot? Pull agaisnt his grip or switch which hand the blade is in? Since the keyblade can teleport to your hands when you need it. I don't expect her to randomly become a Keyblade Master, but. I think we all would've prefer if she just did ANYTHING over what actually happened. It's sad. I hope KH4 will give Kairi the proper treatment and character development she deserves. But for all we know it might be another Sora/Riku dual protagonist game like CoM or DDD. What do you think?

[jamestkirkish]

Fanfiction Stats

I was tagged by the lovely and talented @ariaadagio

Author Name: amandaithink on AO3, schntgaispocked on FFN (not that I’ve been on there in forever so let me quick update that profile because I’m not 25 anymore...o.o)

Fandoms You Write For:

Active - Lucifer

Not so active - Star Trek, MCU, Doctor Who, Supernatural

Where You Post:

Current - AO3

Former-ish (I’m not planning yet on moving the fics because it seems like a lot of effort but I might) - FFN, Livejournal (I can’t remember my account info)

VERY FORMER - Message boards back when I was in middle school and high school. 

Most Popular One-Shot:  By Kudos/Favs AND Comment Threads/Reviews - Hardly the Best Choice (Lucifer) [I count this as a one shot because I wrote it as on and posted it all at once. The ‘chapters’ were just a formatting choice]. 

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: By Kudos/Favs - Take This To Your Grave (The Avengers) God I miss writing this story. I broken record about losing all of my fic notes, I feel like. Like I complain about it too much. I think about it every day, though, and rarely voice the thoughts. But it bothers me. At some point I’m going to have to give up ever finding them and sit down and reread everything I’ve written and reoutline and plot all of them.

By Comment Threads/Reviews: Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen (Doctor Who) That is super flattering, actually. This is the most self indulgent thing I’ve ever done and it’s super hard to write. I didn’t lose the notes for this. I’m actually still working on it. I haven’t posted in forever because it is SUPER HARD TO WRITE. If you’re in the DW fandom you probably are well aware of how popular season rewrites are, and chances are if you read any OC fics we’ve read the same ones because people don’t jump into OC rewrites lightly and if they do, it’s done in a certain way. I decided to go a whole different and difficult way for this fic.  Not going to lie I have so many random Holly Ashby docs on my computer because I write little random stories set further ahead than what I’ve got written in the actual fic just so that I can KEEP FIGURING OUT MY OC. And because I like what I’m doing even if I’m stuck for the main story. It’s so much fun.

Favorite Story You Wrote:  Of Broken Worlds and Changing Times (Star Trek) I found most of my notes for this, but not the main notes. If I have to give up ever finding my notes, I think this one will be able to stay most true to my original intentions, but I’m still missing so much. Writing this story (as much as I have of it) helped me learn so much. I had never done action shots before. I had never done that much research before (I read a lot of zombie and survival lit, and I’ll probably have to reread a lot of that stuff before I can get back into it). 

I also really loved writing Did We All Fall Down (Supernatural).  It takes place around Season 8 of Supernatural and is a spin off full of OCs. I did it for NaNoWriMo awhile back (I won for wordcount but didn’t finish the story - lost notes, man [playing it cool like it doesn’t break my heart, look at me go]). It’s only on tumblr, because I felt like there wasn’t really a desire for that kind of thing on the fic sites. It was so much fun, though. Which was the point. As always.

Story You Were Nervous to Post:  All of them. Every single one. I’m still nervous about their existence sometimes. Especially the really old ones, because writing is something I continue to get better at the more I do it, and when I look back at some of them I’m just like ‘oh no why’. I so badly want to do rewrites for my incomplete fics when I eventually complete them. Because they could be improved. Really. And I may do that if I move my FFN ones to AO3 once I get going on them again. Like that would be part of my ‘hey guys, if you could read over here post’. Like: “I’m moving this story to AO3 and also I’ve rewritten what is on here because I wrote that X years ago and honestly I can convey ideas better now I’ve been practicing, trust me”. Something like that. Maybe. Who knows. I also feel like I’m supposed to let them be. You know, so that I can watch myself improve. Would be very disjointed for the reader, though ... who knows. 

How Do You Choose Your Titles:  Depends.

For Lucifer fics, I’ve been grabbing lines I like from the fic and using it as the title because that’s how the episode titles work and I think it’s fun. HOWEVER I didn’t do that for Devil Undone because I wrote that in an hour with Hallucinogenics on repeat and then slapped a title on it super quick because I didn’t care what the title was. I want to change it, but I’m worried about breaking the matrix. ALSO I did do that for Before There Was Light and I wish I could change that one too because I feel like Once Before Time is a better title and the current title is too similar to another fic (and that wasn’t intentional, but could easily have been subconscious I have no idea, because my brain is an ADHD trainwreck). Still worried about breaking the matrix.

A lot of my fics are named after album titles, song titles, lyrics, etc. Take This To Your Grave is very directly Fall Out Boy. If you listen to the corresponding chapter’s song as you read it you will see what I was doing there. Also you will experience how i wrote it (writing with one song on repeat is something I actually do kind of often bahaha). 

Sometimes I just think something sounds cool (ex. Of Broken Worlds and Changing Times). 

Do You Outline: Most of the time, yes. Heavy outlines, too.

For one shots? Not at all.

For Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen, not at all, but now I technically have an outline if only because I wrote so many personal ficlets and one shots with the characters that I know what has happened in the future.

For Mischief Managed (Avengers), not at all. As part of an experiment. I actually think I have a few chapters of that handwritten that haven’t been posted yet. I like actually handwriting things more than typing, I’m more likely to finish that way but it also takes forever. 

How many of your stories are…

Complete: 5 (on those sites, as we’re not looking at any of my childhood work)

In-Progress: 7

Coming Soon: Based on my WIP folder? 13. Including NKTTIS extras? 17. What I can actually feel decent about committing to? 2 things. Because my WIP folder is insane and ridiculous and the epitome of ‘writing fanfiction because it’s fun’. 

EDIT: I remembered google docs. There’s like ... 4 partial things on there ...

It’s safe to assume at all times that even if you’re not seeing anything posted by me, I am writing something. Perhaps I should post random snippets on my writing tumblr. 

Do You Accept Prompts: Yes (though if you send them to this blog I will probably still post them on writingithink because that’s what that blog exists for, as my writing tumblr). 

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: The Shift (Lucifer) - that’s a working title. It’s so much fun so far, the only problem is it will probably take me forever to write and by the time it’s ready the @luciferbingo prompts will have expired bahahaha. I’m not going to start posting this one until it’s finished, though. Because having all of those incomplete stories out there frustrates me. I wasn’t planning on any of them taking this long. 

Tag Five Fanfic Authors to Answer These Questions As Well: My god, who writes fics or has written fics. Erm ... I TAG @oh-mylordy, @swishandflickwit, @lucks-eterna, @thesupercousin and @aziraphalesrarebooks and anyone I have forgotten in this current moment of panic.

[imaginedontstarve]

Imagine being seconds away from certain death and having a certain Magician strike you a deal...

(Does it count if I write one myself? I thought this would also explain how the heck this hypothetical reader would've been brought to the universe of DS in the first place. Welp, time to mess this up! XD )

"Oh my god! Somebody, call an ambulance!"

"The car drove off! We need to call the cops!"

"Is there a doctor anywhere?! We need a doctor!"

The frantic yelling of bystanders echoed in Y/N's head, as well as the sound of their own heartbeat. The last thing they remembered was the sound of a car horn as they walked down the crosswalk. A strong metallic tasting fluid filled their mouth, dripping red on the asphalt. A thought suddenly occurred to them. Their phone? Where was their phone?! Y/N saw from the corner of their eye the small, cracked screen of their smartphone, which was running their favorite game on mobile version. The day counter in the right hand corner ticked onto day 100, and the character on the screen started kicking the dirt idly, still perfectly alive.

Thank goodness...

Y/N let out a sigh of relief.

Despite the injuries, they tried to stand up to reach for their device, feeling an unbearable pain in their left leg, as if the bones had been totally shattered. Retorting to an army crawl, they used their arms to inch closer, feeling blood soak their clothing. As they got closer to their 100 day record save file, things began to change on screen. Out of nowhere, despite the high stats and no enemies to be seen the small character began to fall to the ground, before fading to black.

The sound of an out of tune trumpet played from the speakers, almost mockingly, as two words appeared on the screen.

"YOU DIED"

Wasn't that just their luck? A game ending glitch?! Now of all times?! Y/N managed to poke a bloody finger on the touchscreen, trying to exit the game and call 911. The screen froze, showing only the text sprawled across it, accompanied by an eerie silence.

"YOU DIED"

Stupid thing, it was crashing! This mobile version was so horrible sometimes! For some reason the screaming of people faded from their senses as they tried to get their phone to work. Finally, Y/N retorted to the power button, pressing it down, and feeling oddly short of breath. The screen flickered, and went black, before showing different text, that practically filled the screen.

"SAY PAL"

What the heck?!

The screen flickered again, showing more text,

"LOOKS LIKE YOU'RE A GONER."

Wait, wait, that wasn't the line! Y/N could've sworn it was "Say pal, you don't look so good!". Why was this in the game?! They were starting to get a bit uneasy now. This couldn't be a glitch or easter egg... More importantly,

Why is nobody coming to help me?

Suddenly, the sound of organ music, usually associated with Maxwell's voice, blasted out of the cellphone,

"I JUST TOLD YOU, YOU DIED!"

"W-what...?" Y/N managed to choke out, "What the hell is happening?!"

SNAP!

A black dress shoe stomped down on the phone, crushing it effortlessly under a lit cigar. A man's voice, with a slight British accent spoke as Y/N struggled to look up to see his face.

"My, my, this world is... interesting." He spoke curiously, "Just how far in the future am I, now? Ah, well. No matter." The figure kneeled down, "Travelling through that blasted thing was far more complicated than the scientist's radio."

Y/N couldn't believe their eyes. His face, his features, even down to the suit! No doubt that was who they thought it was! "Y-You!"

"Odd predicament, hm?" He smirked, "It seems we already know of one another. I definitely know you. I've been watching you use my world for your entertainment... You think you are an expert at my game? Heh, how naive."

"Wh-what do you want?!" Y/N felt their vision get darker, and pain returning to their body.

"I think you know what I want." He bared his teeth in a grin, "Let's make a deal, Y/N... It seems you're at the cusp of your very own 'game over'. I can change that, let you live on in the world you spent far more time in than this one. All I need is a yes from you..."

"W-why would I.... make such a s-stupid-" Y/N coughed up blood.

"Tick tock..." He pointed to his wrist, "Better make your decision, before I decide to leave you to your slow painful demise..."

The sound of sirens and frantic medics began to return to her ears. Time moved fast, as they found themselves in a hospital bed. Y/N could faintly make out the tense conversation. Their heart was barely making the monitor beep and the doctors had assessed that no pain was being felt.

"The patient may just be in a vegetative state! Keep them alive at all costs!"

Maxwell stood beside the bed, giving them a smug look, until he finally heard what he had wished to hear.

"I-I'll do it..."

"Wise choice."

The sounds of the monitor stopped.

"The patient is flat-lining! We're losing them!"

Everything faded to black...

[z3r0thez3r0]

Gabranth [Fallout 76]

Age:

At the time of exiting his vault: 34

Current moment in time: 35

Vault of Origin: Vault 76

Vault 76 was one of 17 control Vaults, part of the overarching Vault experiment. Construction began in February 2065 and ended in October 2069. The maximum capacity was stated to be 500 occupants, and construction blueprints record a capacity of 88. The Vault was slated to open to the outside world 20 years after nuclear war so that the individuals within could emerge to recolonize Appalachia. This day would be known as Reclamation Day.

Vault 76 successfully opened on October 23, 2102, exactly 25 years after the Great War and five years after the intended date, in a much-celebrated event known as Reclamation Day.[18] The Vault opened and the inhabitants emerged into an unknown world, transformed by nuclear war and a quarter-century of the ensuing chaos and decay that followed. Nobody knew what to expect, as the bombs knocked out all of Vault 76's external sensors except for the Geiger counters. Additionally, the overseer had left before everyone else, leaving behind an announcement vaguely claiming she had her own mission to perform in Appalachia; in reality, she was instructed by Vault-Tec to secure three missile silos in the region.

Still, some on the security team were more concerned with internal threats than external ones, as rumors were flying high of who would team up with who after leaving the Vault. The competitive inhabitants were already making alliances and pacts before exiting, and anything could happen without some sort of guiding force. The team feared that the Ressies could go off the rails, breaking the respectable record of 25 years without casualties. Although some argued for arming everyone before they leave the Vault, using the surplus stocks, the overseer denied the request. They received the standard survival packages and were told to run fast and far away from Vault 76 and complete their mission.

S.P.E.C.I.A.L stats:

S [Strength]- 10

P [Perception]- 11

E [Endurance]- 12

C [Charisma]- 9

I [Intelligence]- 10

A [Agility]- 10

L [Luck]- 10

Traits:

Guns [Agility]

Medicine [Intelligence]

Melee Weapons [Strength]

Repair [Intelligence]

Survival [Endurance]

Unarmed [Endurance]

[moczothe1st]

Let’s Play Fire Emblem IV: Genealogy of the Holy War, Part 16: The World’s Last Hope, Maybe, Sorta

Part 15

Welcome back to Fire Emblem IV, as we begin the second generation in earnest. Unlike in real life, this new generation may actually succeed in making the world a better place, though in fairness that’s partially because the last one left it in such a state there’s nowhere to go but up.

When we signed off, we had just met a pair of idiots and I allowed you to choose between them, because I’m a great guy like that.  You picked Johan, unanimously, for reasons varying from his superior speed growths, to his greater range of movement, to just hating Johalvier’s stupid face. All valid reasons!  So I’ll be picking him up ASAP, to prevent him from accidentally getting his dumb ass killed.  But first, as our turn begins, we have a new arrival to the battlefield…

And she’s blue, so I like her already. 

(A green-haired pegasus knight whose mount is named after Erin’s sister. I wonder who her mom is.)

(Arthur is a little less obvious since weird white hair is pretty common in this game, as Julia reminded us last week, but he’s Taillte and Lewyn’s son.)

Arthur: Er, right. Sorry about that. Say, Fee, I don’t have too far to go. If you want, I can just walk from here.

Fee: Where are you off to, anyway?

Arthur: Oh, just Alster.

Fee: A-Alster?! Geez, you’re dumber than I thought! Alster’s waaaay south of here. There’s an entire sea in the way, for crying out loud! I dunno what you’re thinking, but you haven’t a hope in heck of walking the rest of the way there!

Arthur: Eh, it’s fine. I’m hardly in a hurry.  

Fee: So, er, why do you need to go to Alster?

Arthur: Oh, see, I’ve got a sister I haven’t seen in years who might be there.

(… And yet, not in a hurry.)

Arthur: She and my mom were taken away when I was just a kid. I was sort of left alone in some far corner of Silesse or another.  I just heard a rumor, but at this point even a rumor’s enough if it means I might find her.  

Fee: Huh, really? You know, I know just what that’s like. My big brother’s been missing for ages.

Arthur:  Did you get separated from him as well?

Fee: Oh, no, nothing that bad. We’ve always lived together in Silesse, but awhile back he ran off to try and find our dad.  

Arthur: Your father, huh?

Fee: Yeah, he’s been missing for years. Mom spent the rest of her life waiting for him to come back, but he never did…

Arthur: What happened to her?

(Was the use of ‘the rest of her life’ too subtle for you, Captain Tact?)

Fee: She… she’s dead. Illness…

Arthur: Oh… sorry about that. I shouldn’t have brought it up…

Fee: It’s okay! I mean, you’ve already brought up lots of things that you shouldn’t have.

(I think Fee and I will get along just fine.)

Fee: … Heh, kidding. You’re actually not that bad.

Arthur: Heh heh, thanks. And thanks for giving me a chance and letting me come along with you.

Fee: No problem! So was the sister thing real? Is that actually why you’re travelling?

Arthur: Yeah, it’s real. But what about you? What’s your deal?

Fee: Actually, I kinda want to join that Isaachian rebel army.  

(And I want more flying units, so we’re both in a good place. Welcome to the team, Fee!  Don’t stand too close to Larcei if you don’t want to get coated in the blood of her victims.)  

Fee: When I was little, mom told me stories about the paladin Sigurd and his brave allies, and those have always meant a lot to me. Lately I’ve been hearing about how Sigurd’s son is somewhere in Isaach, raising a revolution. And it all just sort of clicked, y’know? I knew that’s where I need to be, s oI just ran right out of home to try and find him.

Arthur: Wow… that’s pretty great of you. Y’know, I think I’ll help you out here for a while. It’s the least I can do for you putting up with me.

Fee: Okay! Partners it is, then. Good luck out there… partner!

Arthur: Heh! Upbeat as ever, aren’t you?

And with that, we round out our team for the second generation’s first chapter, except for Johan, who isn’t recruited yet and also doesn’t count.  Let’s take a look at what we got.  

First, Julia, the mysterious priestess whose identity could be anyone. She might be a random person from anywhere in the entire world. There’s no way to tell who she is.  It’s a total, unabashed, impossible mystery to sol-

Oh, she has Major Naga and Minor Vala Holy Blood, so she’s Deirdre and Arvis’s kid.  Yeah, honestly, it’s kind of like the developers forgot you can just look at the stat screens to find out a general idea of these character’s parents.  They really try to play up Julia’s identity as a mystery, but there’s literally only one person she could be.  Notice, however, that she doesn’t have Loptyr blood. Now there’s a mystery for ya…

In terms of her utility as a character, meanwhile, Julia is excellent. Blows her mom out of the water, thanks to inheriting Adept and Pursuit from her shitty father and having a generally better base stats and superior growths; in particular, thanks to her two Holy Bloods adding to her already naturally huge Magic growth from Deirdre, she actually comes to a magic growth of 100%.  She will always get a magic point when leveling up, so by the end of the game she will be a goddamn magic cannon. Her weak points will be her Defense and Speed, the former of which is partially offset by the fact she actually has a remarkably high HP growth as well.  

However, none of this matters right now because she starts off without any weapons.  Don’t worry, that will change soon enough.  Oh, and while we’re here…  

Lana: You know, Lord Seliph’s actually really been worrying about you.  

(PLATONICALLY!  He has been PLATONICALLY worrying about his HALF-SISTER.)

Lana: If there’s anything I can do to help you, just let me know and I’ll get right on it.  

Julia: Mm. Thank you…

Lana: Oh, and I’ve got a little something for you.

Julia: This is… a Mend staff?

Lana: You can use these, right?

Julia: For me? Thank you, Lana. With this… I know I can help everyone.

Lana: You’re welcome, Julia. Let’s give this our all, together!

D’aaaaaaaaaw. Shame this game was released like twenty years before it was socially acceptable to admit lesbians existed, because I ship Lana/Julia now.  And not just because I want to make absolutely sure the latter cannot ever accidentally marry her brother.

Next up, Fee.  

Like her mom before her, Fee is just generally solid.  Her base stats mark her as a speedster, but her defense, resistance, and strength are all set at 8 when she’s only level 2, so she isn’t fragile or weak by any means; if she follows in Erin’s footsteps and gets lucky on the Defense growths, only archers will ever really be a threat to her. My hope is that by giving her Azel as a dad means she’ll also get a solid Magic growth (+30% from his Minor Vala Blood!) and will become sort of a flying artillery piece wielding all our magic swords to rain death on the enemy from above.  This is kind of experimental, I admit. But on the plus side, even if that doesn’t work out, just ‘a second Erin’ is still plenty fine by me. Erin was cool beans.

And finally, Arthur.  

Hehehehehe…

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…                                      

HAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…

*deep breath*

Arthur is invincible. He has Forseti and he’s invincible.  I mean his growths and all that shit are great too, he’s essentially Lewyn 2.0 with all the latest upgrade software, but really, that’s the summary. He’s got Forseti, and for the purposes of this map he is invincible. It’s going to be two more chapters before we fight anything that can lay a finger on him while he’s wielding that monster.

This isn’t the only reason I married Lewyn and Taillte. But it certainly is a big one.

Now then. Like a moron, I accidentally moved Lana and Julia too far forward to have them chat with each other. They’re in the range of Johan’s army. So I have the rest of the team form a perimeter while Larcei and Seliph run their butts off to join in.  Arthur starts moving toward the castle to remove the current owner, and Fee moves to the village nearest her starting point to take a swing at the bandit there…

Did you just get hit on a 21% chance? And I was just talking up how good you are! *sigh* End turn. Johan’s army takes their swing at us…

…. That was pathetic!  Only Ulster dodged any of that, and not nearly enough for my tastes considering he almost died anyway.  What happened, kids?! You were rocking last week! Sigh. Okay. Okay. Let’s try and salvage this…

…. Yes, that’s a good start.

FEE! WHAT THE SHIT, LADY?!

Oh, that doesn’t count, Arthur. You’re holding a universal cheat code.

Now, I have the remaining characters form a line that will force Johan’s axe men to take a long, weird path to get to anyone who can’t fight back. With luck this means nobody will get attacked more than once.  Honestly, at this point, I’m mostly afraid Johan will hit someone who can really fight back and get his dumb ass killed; that would be embarrassing to get a reset over someone who technically isn’t even my ally. Larcei is in his range, though… hopefully he will talk to her, rather than try to axe her. End turn…

Oh, and Johalvier’s douches have been moving toward us too, because I can’t have nice things .

Oifey can’t actually one-shot these guys normally. He procced Critical on this one because he’s a killstealing old bastard.

…. Why have you people decided to stop dodging…?

This may… go badly.

… And of course we’re in a situation where I need Oifey to both dodge (it’s only a 30% chance to hit but he hasn’t been performing lately) and not hit back too hard. Fucking grand.

OIFEY YOU MAGNIFICENT BASTARD, I LOVE YOU.

Now. NOW.  First, Julia heals Oifey and I send him a space up to let Larcei run in.

(No, he’s just an idiot.)

Johan: Larcei… oh Larcei! Your words are as the sweetest birdsong! Your eyes are as the most brilliant stars! Oh, without you at my side, what purpose is there in life? What joy could possibly be?

Larcei: Stop it! How revolting! This is a battlefield! Are you out of your mind?!

Johan: I can deny my heart no longer, Larcei. Believe me when I say I’ve tried! Alas, love is a maddening beast at times…. What else can I do but be at your side? Men, we are joining the liberation army! From this day on, we are men of honor! Fight on in the name of justice, love, and Larcei!

Well. At least he’s enthusiastic.

At this, Johan joins the army and his units all become neutral, friendly to us and hostile to Johalvier’s army.  They’re also all heavily wounded, so they’re mostly just going to die, but at least they’ll take some fire off us for one turn.  

(… Did he, though?)

Johalvier: Bet he’s gone and sided with her army ,too. That weak-willed fool…

(Okay, that he definitely did.)

Johalvier: Hmph… fine by me! Men, attack! Johan’s unit is now the enemy!

And seeing this declaration of war by his brother and rival, Johan runs away to Lana for healing so he doesn’t get totally destroyed.  

End turn!

(I’m actually going for the other one, thanks.)

*sniff* Oh, milord Seliph, you are truly on the path to surpass your father. Seriously. I don’t think he got a level that good in his entire half of the game, and it’s like your third so far in just your first map.  I’ve never seen Seliph get off to a start this strong, and if he keeps it up he’ll be a walking nuclear war when he promotes.  

I’m a little nervous now. What if he’s building me up so he can let me down later?  I’ve been hurt before.

Dannan: Schmidt! Get out there! Take back my castles, now!

Schmidt: Yes, sir! You can depend on me!

(“No way I’m just a one-chapter flunky boss! No way, not ol’ Schmidty!  Schmidt, that’s the name of a Big Bad right there! I bet I’m really Super-Loptyr in disguise!”)

Anyhow, when Johan joined his castle became neutral to us, and Schmidt is gonna go take it.  That’s actually a very good thing, so I’m going to let him do that while we finish off Johalvier’s goons.  

… Or they finish us off. 4% chance to hit and he popped ya one right in the jaw, Larcei? Seriously? You’re lucky I have two healers now.

And of course, what’s life without a little bit of killing your brother?

That’s the end of the interesting; Arthur is still walking toward a village, and Fee takes a distance shot at a bandit with her Bolt Sword but doesn’t kill him.  End turn.

I should be happy that Johan dodged on an 87% chance to be hit, but frankly I’m just more angry at the others now.  

Awesome. With that, there’s only one member of the Sophara army left. First, I have Fee and Arthur clear out the villages they’re near;

And Fee liberates hers.

Neat. Now it’s just a matter of wiping out the last of Johalvier’s soldiers:

And the army begins to move south. There’s one more village to clear out, and we have to be ready to take back Isaach after Schmidt takes it.  

Again: We want this to happen. There are two castles, and we want Isaach.  You want Isaach to fall so you can take it back, or you want to recruit Johalvier so it’s hostile from the start. You do not want to take Sophara. DO NOT.  

I’m not joking.

This is super important.

Pick it up, you losers.  

The team just spends another turn moving south, while Arthur liberates a village.

Isn’t This the Same Guy From the Last Village: Well, those imperial sods won’t stand a chance at all! Every last one of them will be run right out of our great land!

Sure thing. End turn!

*sigh* They all have hand axes, so this is actually going to take them awhile. It’s okay, that gives us time to set up a defensive line. Lester, meanwhile, clears and liberates a village.

Best Girl: I bet we’d all have a much better time with him on the throne if that were true, huh? Here, take this here skill ring. Go on, do your best! We’re all behind you!

Sweet. Bows are one of the more inaccurate weapons in the game, so more skill for Lester is quite welcome. Plus, Fee gets close enough to chat with Seliph finally.

Fee: Call me Fee! I’m from Silesse.

Seliph: Silesse, you say? Are you a pegasus knight, then?

(She’s literally riding a pegasus and holding a sword, man.)

Fee: Er, not just yet. I’m kinda still in training. My mom was one, though! Actually, in the big war years ago, she helped Lord Sigurd out in his army.

Seliph: Is that so? She has my utmost gratitude on my father’s behalf. Now, what brings you here, Fee?

Fee: See, what happened was I was looking for my brother, who ran away ages ago. But then I heard about you, sir, and how you’re taking on the Empire! And I just knew I had to be here too. Can I join your army, sir? Please?

Seliph: Certainly! Thank you. What of your brother, though?

Fee: It’s silly, sir, but I have this feeling we’ll run into him somewhere down the line.

(“Foreshadowing, sir.”)

Not much to show other than that. Arthur starts slooooowly moving toward the rest of the team, and Julia gains her first level from healing.

…. Remember when I said Deirdre wasn’t very good and then she got a bunch of great levels to spite me? I’m kind of scared Julia’s decided to do the opposite as some teenage rebellion against her mom’s legacy.

To the south, the Schmidtmeister finally takes Isaach, and his army starts moving north toward us, which suits me just fine.  I ain’t in no rush, yo. In fact, I’ll just wait a few turns in my fine defensive formation while Arthur runs toward us. Come at us when you’re ready, losers.  

Four turns later, the first of them arrives, alone, and misses.

Fear the wrath of the Schmidtritter.

Now, these guys totally suck with one exception. Schmidt himself is fairly badass, and there’s a reason for that:

BITCH HAS LEX’S BRAVE AXE! Remember when I said the items from people who didn’t pass them on to kids will show up later? Well, it’s later.  I think we can all agree this cannot stand, out of honor to Lex and also I want that axe back.  But, of course, that means killing him with an axe dude. And we only have one of those. So for Johan to not disappoint us, I think we need to soften him up first.  Lester?

(Well, looks like somebody thinks he’s hot Schmidt.)

Hm. Okay performance, and an average level. At least it was better than his first level.  But seriously, man, your dad was beating you out by this point. That’s sad. And I’m not entirely sure Schmidt will die to a single hit from Johan, so I send in another helper to soften him up further.

Not bad! Defense is definitely great for her, and her Luck is pretty abysmal too, so combined I’m not displeased with this showing.  Johan?

…. Oh hey, Johan missed on an 80% chance to hit, and died to the counterattack.

If I hadn’t promised to do a no-death run I would leave his corpse rotting in the sunny plains of Isaach.  Reset.

Luckily this was the start of our turn, so I can screw around the RNG a little by moving people in different orders.  This even has the benefit of changing the levels we gain:

And hey, not terrible. Fee’s is actually unambiguously better, and Lester’s is  about equal.  And I also, because I’m not a total moron, remember to park Dermott near the front lines where his Charisma skill can amp up Johan’s accuracy.  Okay, big guy, care to give it another go?

Much better. The Brave Axe alone turns him from the worst unit in the army to the like, second or third worst. And now, with the enemy exposed and bereft of their leader, His Lordship takes the front lines.

… Okay, I mean, not very dramatic, woulda been cooler if you’d slain your enemy, but you didn’t get hit. I’ll take it. End turn!

Fortunately, Hand Axes are not super accurate.  And in this chokepoint, most of them can’t even reach us. A few errant swings later, we are up to bat again.

You know, it’s kind of telling that they’re all getting levels I would have been perfectly happy to see in their parents, and yet I’m still somehow disappointed. We’ve barely started this generation and I’m already spoiled.

End turn. I suppose. The enemy… erm…

Well, they all go after Oifey, and they cannot hit him.  Note their chance to hit. It’s zero.  So… I’m not sure what’s up there. Let’s… let’s just finish this up.

See? You can do it if you try, Lester! Now, the map is basically over. I basically just hang out awhile, letting Arthur finally catch up for his own talk with Seliph.  

Arthur: The name’s Arthur. I came here from Silesse.

Seliph: Wait, so you are that Arthur fellow? I’ve heard of how you have been aiding us so far. Thank you so much!

(“I heard you defeated two enemies and then spent the rest of the map slowly walking. My deepest gratitude!”)

Arthur: Eh, it was no big deal.

Seliph: You are capable of wielding magic, yes? That’s truly impressive. I’m almost envious!

Arthur: My mother was a talented war-mage…but I’ve still got a lot to learn, myself.  

Seliph: We all do, do we not? So long as we all fight together, though, perhaps we still truly can change our world. After all, that’s what brought us here today.

Arthur: Yeah… you’re right. My power’s at your disposal, sir. I’ll give my all to aid the cause. I’m glad we could finally meet, Lord Seliph.  

And then have Seliph finally run up and re-take Isaach.  

Info Master: Indeed, and ecstatic to see you to boot! Thanks to you, Lord Seliphk we know that at long last, Isaach shall have its freedom!

Seliph: Thank you, sir, but the effort isn’t mine along. I could never have come so far without the support of the common man.  

(If you call them ‘the common man’, you may be a bit of a classist. Maybe try to work on that, Selly.)

Seliph: You’ve all supported me from the beginning. I likely wouldn’t be here if not for you!

Info Master: Fate is a funny thing, isn’t it, sir? Just twenty years ago, our late king had the utmost trust in your grandfather’s wisdom. Then your father came to protect Prince Shanan, and now the prince has guided you to adulthood. Perhaps fate has bound Isaach and Chalphy as one…

Seliph: Isaach is the only home I’ve ever known, and Prince Shanan is like a brother to me.  I pray our friendship lasts the rest of our lives.

Info Master: Lord Seliph, you are the rightful heir to House Belhalla and the throne of Grannvale.  Not a soul alive in Isaach, nor in the rest of the world, can doubt this. We beg of you! Raise the banner of justice high, march on Belhalla, and reclaim your true throne!

(“Well, sort of. I don’t think you actually have the right magic blood. But it’s not like you’re going to run into any waifs who should be doing the job instead!”)

Now. You may be wondering why I was so adamant we take Isaach when there was another castle off to the west we could have been going after.  And the answer is: Julia can now have a conversation with Seliph. Let’s see that.

Seliph: Actually, I have something for you. I found this in Isaach castle.

Julia: What is…?

Seliph: It’s a light magic tome called Nosferatu.  You can wield these, yes?

Julia: Yes… I’m able to use light magic.

Seliph: Excellent! Hopefully you’ll now have an easier time protecting yourself in combat.

Julia: Thank you, Lord Seliph… thank you so much…

And with that, Julia gets a weapon! The only one she will ever need, even! See (and of course the game doesn’t tell you this), which castle you take alters what weapon she gets. If you take Johalvier’s castle, Sophara, you get her Deirdre’s old Aura tome. You might remember Aura as being very powerful, but also very heavy and largely useless.  As for Nosferatu, it isn’t as strong, but it’s considerably lighter and with Julia’s excellent magic and (unlike Deirdre) access to Pursuit for double attacking, she’ll still be doing enough damage to take out most anything she fights.

Oh, and any damage it does to an enemy, she absorbs to heal herself. 

That’s right: the mysterious waif just became a tank.  

Now, all that’s left to do is kill Dannan. And he, like Chagall before him, forgot to bring a ranged weapon to the party. So I take a little time, liberate a village, and wait to feed him to the suddenly unstoppable Julia. Village?

Grim Gritty Girl: Thanks to you lot, Isaach’s free from the Empire at last, but the rest of the world’s still in a very dark place… all across Jugdral, they’re waiting for you to rise up and defeat the Empire! Please, I’m begging you… you’ve gotta make it to Grannvale soon!

Neat. Lana gains a level, too!

Well, not up to her mom’s exacting standards, but she’s already gotten more magic than Ethlyn ever did. I’ll allow it. And now, time for Julia’s first murder and the end of the map.

(Bitch, she’s your princess. The game hasn’t said it yet, but we know she is. Show some respect.)

And in one round of combat, she almost completely destroys him (she did proc Adept, so she hit him three times instead of two), and gains a big-person level. So far, so good. One more turn should do it!

Welcome to the team, Julia. You’re not really one of us until you’ve killed a sentient being.  (I know that Lana hasn’t killed anyone on screen, but we all know what she gets up to at night.) Seliph drops in on Rivough Castle, and we’re all set.

(You can go home, Lewyn. We have your book, and that’s all we need from you.)

Lewyn: Yeah… I only just got back now. Look, Seliph, are you aware that right now, the world’s at a critical turning point?

Seliph: Hm? No… I’m afraid not.  

(Teenagers don’t follow the news, Lewyn.)

Lewyn: It’s been fifteen years since Arvis conquered Jugdral and united it as the Grannvale Empire. Honestly, for awhile at first it wasn’t all that bad. In the empire’s dawn, Emperor Arvis sought to bind his nation using only the strictures of law. It was strict and constraining, but we got a few good years of peace out of it. But obviously he changed his mind. A few years back, as if by magic, the Empire turned into that oppressive force we all know and love today. Even worse… the ancient heretics of the Loptyr Order have arisen from the shadows once more and raised influence across the land. Their murderous rituals have returned with them, and all across Jugdral they abduct children to sacrifice in droves to resurrect their fell god. All attempts to resist are crushed and met with brutal executions or enslavement. It couldn’t be more plain that they seek to return Jugdral to the days of that ancient abomination, the Loptyr Empire.

Seliph: This cannot be happening! I’ve heard rumors saying the same, but… never did I think they could be more than mere rumor…

Lewyn: By the look of it, Isaach hasn’t had it quite as bad as most. Dannan’s two sons, at least, refused to follow through on the child hunts. And of course there’s been people trying to rebel against the Empire left, right, and center, but they were all scattered and disorganized.  Before you, none have ever posed a proper threat. They were all swiftly crushed before they could so much as blink. Jugdral needs a savior. It needs a man to unite behind. And I’m sure that man is you, Seliph. You’re the only one who stands a chance.

Seliph: Hold on a moment! Are you sure of this? A savior would require power that I sorely lack…

Lewyn: Chalk it up to duty, Seliph. You’re the eldest child of Empress Deirdre. That makes you the elder brother to Crown Prince Julius.

(“And the fact that the prince is named Julius should not suggest in any way that Julia is connected to the royal family. Er, you haven’t checked her stat screens, right?”)

Lewyn: You’re the one true heir to Saint Heim. Your destiny is to unite the power of the Crusaders of this era and free the world from evil’s grip.

Seliph: But I...

Lewyn: Trust me, you really do have what it takes. Your true power and potential sleeps within you. That is, the sacred blood of the Crusader Baldur. Once you get your holy blade, Tyrfing, not even the heavens will be able to stand in your way!

Seliph: But I-

Lewyn: Sorry, Seliph, but that’s how the gods will it.

(I hate to take Lewyn’s side on this, Seliph, but if you really didn’t want to free the world, you shouldn’t have let him talk over you so much.)

Lewyn: You’re Sigurd’s son. The son of a man who fate led to a brutal end. The fulfillment of his dying wishes and his final quest falls to you.

(Pretty sure his final wish was to just not be burned to death.)

Lewyn: You can’t afford to doubt yourself now. You understand, Seliph?

Seliph: Y-yes… yes. I do. If this is fate and the will of the gods, then so be it. I will do my duty.

Lewyn: There actually isn’t a single absolute fate, nor is there just one person it all hinges upon.

(THEN WHY’D YOU GO ON ABOUT IT FOR TWENTY MINUTES JUST NOW?!)

Lewyn: As obtuse as that sounds, trust me, one day it’ll make sense.

(LIAR.)

Lewyn: Sigurd left behind so much to help you on your quest.

(“Though not the really good sword.”)

Lewyn: Most importantly, the many friendships he forged in his life. Me, for instance.

(GO AWAY.)

Lewyn: Brave youths from all over are already lining up to join your cause, all guided by Sigurd’s kindness.

Seliph: My father won the love and trust of so many people, from all walks of life. I can only pray that in time I’ll prove worthy of his legacy.

Lewyn: You’ll be fine. Anyway, to business. Our immediate goal is to reach Leonster. The son of Quan, your father’s closest friend, raised his own rebellion only to suffer severe losses. He’s in pretty urgent need of backup. I know you’ve had no time to rest, but we need to get going as soon as possible.

(Wait, weren’t you just there? You… you didn’t help? You ran down, explicitly didn’t help, and then ran back here to make me do it for you? Dick.)

Lewyn: For now, at least, we can leave Isaach in the care of its citizens. Odds are we’ll run into Prince Shanan on our way.

(Wait, I thought Shanan was off in the middle of the Yied Desert…… fuck it’s going to be a sand map, isn’t it. We’re going to a sand map.)

Seliph: Understood!

And that’s that. First map done, and now we’re off to Leonster to meet Quan’s son Leif (you may recall him being mentioned by name a few times back when he was an infant. He’s beefed up somewhat since then, thankfully) for what is definitely going to feel like an eternity.

See you next week in… *sigh* in the Yied Desert. Again. 

Resets: Up to an even 20. Johan’s intro to our army has not been the best.

Part 17

[gary-robbins]

"Help Is Not Coming" - The 2018 Barkley Marathons

 It was 1:30am on Wednesday, March 21st and we were in Knoxville, TN. The temps were just below freezing, with a stiff wind gusting over people. Snow was accumulating on the ground and my family, collectively my parents, wife and son, were walking between the hotels in the immediate vicinity asking if they had any available beds for the night. We had of course booked our own hotel that evening, and we were all in fact sleeping soundly just minutes before, but currently there were a few hundred people braving the winter conditions in their pajamas as firefighters streamed into the building.

When the hotel alarms were triggered my mother thought it was her alarm clock, and she called front desk complaining that she couldn’t turn it off. She was informed that this was the fire alarm and she was to evacuate immediately. My own room, with my wife and son, was half a hallway away from my parents, but my mother and I somehow opened our doors into the main hallway in unison and I waved at her with that look that says “damn fire alarm, I guess we should evacuate just to be on the safe side.”

I walked down the hall with Linda and Reed, towards my parents, whose room was directly across from the second floor stairwell. As I was getting them all set someone barreled through the door onto the second floor, with their full rolling luggage bag in tow. He looked like he was being chased by a bear and he simply yelled, “FIRE!!” then promptly dove back into the stairwell and outta site.

Okay, shit, this is actually happening right now!

I direct my family down the stairs and then walk back the length of the second floor saying in a calm but loud voice, “There is a fire in the building, please evacuate immediately. There is a fire in the building, please evacuate immediately.”

It was amazing to me in that moment how many people were still attempting to wait this out in their rooms. The alarm noise leaves no doubt and certainly no desire to attempt to ignore it. My head hurts now just recreating this and thinking about it. I ducked back into my own room to grab my wallet and keys to our rental SUV, as I was now envisioning that we’d be spending a few hours out in the cold. I had thousands of dollars in electronics with me, between my computer, battery packs, watches, etc, etc, but I stayed calm and rational, all of that was replaceable and I wanted to be in and out of my room in a matter of seconds, so I didn't even attempt to take more than my wallet and keys.

I did one final check of the entire second floor and no one remained, so I headed down the stairwell and out into the frigid night to locate my family.

 When Linda and I had checked in exactly 24 hours earlier we were placed in a “non-smoking room” on a smoking floor. I had no idea smoking was even allowed in hotels any longer, but here we were. I retreated to the front desk and asked if in fact there was a non-smoking room available on a “non-smoking floor”, what a concept. The front desk attendant was helpful enough and we were moved one floor lower. I mentioned my folks were checking in the following day and requested the same for them. Linda and I were initially placed in hotel room #313 and I’d later discover that the person in room #312 (the one we would have been sharing a wall with) had fallen asleep while smoking in bed.

 My wife, son and I had arrived in Tennessee 26 hours earlier, and it had already been an eventful first day up to this point, what with an ER visit for our two-and-a-half-year-old son’s first ear infection, and our rental car agency messing up our reservation and not having a child seat available for us upon arrival. I had a full Jerry Seinfeld moment;

“You see, you know how to *take* the reservation, you just don't know how to *hold* the reservation. And that's really the most important *part* of the reservation: the holding. Anybody can just take them.”

Hands up in the air and all.

By all accounts our first day had not gone so smoothly, but that’s why we decided to fly in a day earlier this year, to get all of the rental car issues, hospital visits and hotel’s burning down out of the way early.

I eventually located two available rooms at an adjacent hotel, and at 3am we all attempted some fitful shuteye.

I don’t believe in omens. I don’t subscribe to luck, but it was undeniable by this point, I’d been sensing for quite a time that nothing was going to unfold the way I’d hoped it would at this year’s Barkley. Every time I had this fleeting thought of impending doom, which had been ongoing for weeks, I’d repeat a Macklemore lyric in my head (mock me if you will, I really don’t care. That’s not the lyric, that’s me talking to you) “they ain’t givin’ it, I’m takin’ it” and it was just a reminder that I had to get my headspace right and to not allow any expectations, distractions, or excuses to creep in. Nothing about the Barkley is supposed to be easy, you want an excuse, I’ll give you 100 of em in under a minute, “they ain’t givin’ it I’m takin’ it”… “nobody’s gonna make this happen but you Gary, control what you can control and forget about the rest.” The hotel fire would make for a great story and It was but one night of lost sleep. I didn’t even talk about it again until after the race, because as we drove out of Knoxville and towards Wartburg, it was already literally and figuratively, behind us.

Frozen Head

We arrived at Frozen Head late on Wednesday and were greeted by a familiar site in an unfamiliar location, snow, and lots of it. I managed to get out for a sundown run up England Mountain and the snow drifts along the top were shocking, some being knee deep. “This could get interesting” I thought, but the forecast for the following days was promising enough and most people expected the course to be free of snow come race day.

 One of the rules of the Barkley, and Frozen Head State Park, is that you’re not allowed to depart the ‘candyass’ maintained trails at any point outside of the race. If you are caught going off-trail outside of the 60 hours of the race you are removed from the race by Laz immediately and escorted out of camp, likely to never be drawn back into the event again. I was hoping for a bit more daylight so I could scout my end of lap five error from 2017 a bit further, but within minutes of cresting the high point I had all the information I needed. Twenty feet. Six meters. That is the actual margin of error that lead to my coming in from the wrong direction one year ago. Twenty feet at the end of 60 hours of effort. I never did write a race report about it. I sat in an internet café for seven hours on a rainy day in April last year and I had managed to recreate all but one paragraph of my experience. I just didn’t have the desire to relieve it blow for blow. A common misconception that’s taken hold is that I hit the trail and simply turned the wrong way, going right instead of left. I knew I was to go left and was expecting to T-junction with the trail. If I had, I would have turned left and run down into camp to close out the race with a few minutes to spare. I would have become the 16th finisher of the Barkley Marathons, and I wouldn’t have been standing there now, staring down thoughts of why and how, and attempting to put a positive spin on things.

 In the end I learned that in 2017 I was about twenty feet too far west, and the trail curls away at that point. When I finally found the trail I was parallel to it, while knowing I was supposed to T-junction with it, then I trended into it, more of a merge really, and somehow as the trail was on my left at this point my 60-hour sleep deprived brain went “left side, left turn, all the same, you’re on the trail now run it in!”

Anyways, they say American football is a game of inches, and the Barkley is no different. Small mistakes rapidly become big mistakes, and that was one of my mantras this year, along with "go slower, to go faster.”

 Friday arrived in no time and before we knew it the map was out and things were getting real. There were three changes to the course for 2018, two of which favoured the runners in terms of appearing to be slightly faster than the previous book locations, whereas one book location was most certainly much longer than the year prior. In the end I guessed this 2018 course to maybe be in the range of 7-12 minutes longer per loop, or 30-60 minutes harder overall.

The total climbing stats for 2018 would come in at 13,484ft per loop, or a whopping 67,420ft for the full pull. If Laz adds one more 500ft climb to the mix in the coming years, the Barkley will be a 70,000ft race! Read that again and let that sink in.

The Conch Is Blown

Save for our fire alarm evac on Tuesday, I’d slept great all week, and thankfully Friday night proved no different. I passed our just after midnight, after already being in bed for three hours, and likely ended up with about six hours of reasonable sleep. When I awoke just after 7am I eased into the morning and the conch was eventually blown at 8:33am for a 9:33am start. Jamil Courey and I were the first two runners to greet Laz as we awaited our official “Barkley watch”, the $10 Timex piece that is the only watch you are allowed to carry for the race. This watch is set to “race time” or “zero time” so when the 24hr watch goes to zeroes you start running. When the watch hits 12:00 on your third day, time has officially expired (60 hours).

My strategy was simple going into the first loop, go slower to be faster, get through it mistake free, refresh my memory as to the nuances of the course and go from there.

Just prior to the start I’d somehow managed to bump my watch and it reset the seconds back to zero. The seconds must’ve been counting up in the 50’s, about to turn over to a new minute, because my watch showed the race starting about a minute early, and I was scrambling just a bit to get through the pack at the back and up near the front as we all streamed past the yellow gate. We were about ten minutes into the first climb when I questioned someone else as to the start time and then realized my watch was out by over a minute. Runners know that the watches will be out vs the “master watch” that Laz wears but only by a few seconds over the duration of the 60 hours, and by coincidence when I initially compared my watch with Laz’s we realized my total time variance for the 60 hours would be seven seconds, meaning my watch, set to race time, could not go above 11:59:53 on day three. Not that any of this ended up mattering in the end, but it is just another example of the attributes that make the Barkley so unique.

As we worked our way up the first climb, on a few miles of candyass trail, this was the slowest I’d ever started The Barkley, following my race plan perfectly. In the previous two editions a lead pack pushes off the front and crests the first climb in about twenty-five minutes. We were closer to thirty minutes and there were at least 8-10 runners in front of or around me. We snagged our first page and proceeded to drop off the mountain towards book two. The race always seems to splinter here, as runners scramble for position after the first backlog of pages being pulled, and this year was no different. By the time we intersected the river below I’d found myself at the front of the race, earlier than anticipated, and already down to a group of about six.

The more eyes the better, was also something I’d been telling myself. No need to shrink the field until we’ve at least collectively located the new books together. I had mentioned to Guillaume Calmettes a day earlier that I intended to up the pace a bit after book seven, which in the clockwise direction would be the third and final “new book location”, but until then I saw no reason thin out the field.

Our now lead group nailed book two, thanks in no small part to Nova Scotia’s Jodi Isenor (a previous fun run finisher) and as the book gets handed around to pull pages I glance at the cover. The book is titled “Six Seconds” and I temporarily lose my mind. “F@#K YOU LAZ!!” He is an expert at mental warfare. As we started up “hillpocolypse” which in the clockwise direction is the first off trail ascent of the race, our group consisted of myself, Jodi, Guillaume, Jamil, a Scottish bloke named Ally Beaven and another overseas runner whose name was James. Before we topped out on this climb we’d be down to four runners and I’d be down to one trekking pole, somehow managing to snap one of my poles within minutes of pulling them out.

Jamil Courey certainly knows the course well and he was a huge asset as we proceeded along without issue. When we arrived at book five, the biggest change of the year, he zoned in on it like a hawk. It was really impressive and I knew my decision to not forge on was paying dividends.

What was really surprising to me was how well Guillaume know the course. He’d done his homework, having travelled out just a month or so earlier to run all of the trails you’re allowed to scout outside of race weekend, and Guillaume took the lead on some sections as he was in fact the person in our group who’d been over some of the terrain the most recently. All in all, we were moving right along and accomplishing exactly what I’d set out to do, which was to put in an error free first loop.

At book seven, the third and final alteration to the 2018 course, I went right to a set of trees that matched the description, had a poke around, saw nothing, and began moving away from there, then Jamil comes in just behind us, goes to the exact set of trees and pulls out the book. This is one of the things that people fail to recognize about this race, you can literally be standing on top of the book at times and you still won’t see it unless you dig for it. Books are buried in tree stumps, under rocks or just anywhere that makes it as hard to locate as possible. Jamil informs us that “this was the location of this book in 2014.” Cool, good to know. Okay, all new books have now been established and it’s mostly smooth sailing in regards to my own course knowledge.

For the first time in my three attempts, the course goes up the infamous “Testicle Spectacle”. Over the past two years the book near Testicle has been off to one side of it, in 2016 it was in the left hip, if you will, and 2017 was in the right hip, so I’ve never done this route in its entirety, and I’m excited as it feels like a right of passage.  

It had rained overnight from Friday into Saturday and we were warned of an incoming “weather event” from late day Saturday into Sunday. As we started up Testicle the hill just continues to slop away from under us. It was a complete pile of mud and not a single inch was gained without slipping backwards to some degree. I was no longer enjoying my right of passage. The thrill of the new climb had lasted all of, well, six seconds really.

We crested the climb, now down to three, myself, Guillaume and Ally, and proceeded towards book eight. My line was off a bit and sure enough captain consistent Jamil catches back up to us. I lead us all up Danger Dave’s Climbing Wall and the onwards towards Rat Jaw.

Rat Jaw is a bitch. There is not a single picture ever taken of Rat Jaw that can accurately display its gradient and inherent challenges. Every year pics are posted from Rat Jaw and inevitably people following along online think “oh that doesn’t look so bad” “oh hill x-y-z that we have here locally is at least that steep.”

We were in for a special treat on Rat Jaw this year as the recent rains, not just overnight but over the last few weeks, had turned its clay like dirt into a vertical skating rink. No matter how fast you are moving up until that point, or how strong you might feel, Rat Jaw is am absolute soul destroying grind from bottom to top. There is an old cable that lays on the ground along some sections, and this cable becomes a life line. You drag yourself up this slope, one agonizing step at a time, and then you hang on for dear life on the downslope, using the cable as you would a climbing rope that’s been strung over a rocky slope to allow for safe passage.

By the time we’d topped out it was but myself, Guillaume and Ally. We might have been a few minutes slower going up than I’ve been in previous years on the first lap, but we’d exerted so much more energy in doing so. It was a fight for every step and for the first time in my three years at the race I actually had the thought, on the first lap, of “I can’t even imagine the effort that’ll be needed to get up this thing on laps three, four and five.”

Bottles filled, page pulled and careening down the mountain. I slam hard at one point but immediately bounce back up and keep running. My tricep is screaming at me and I think it’ll dissipate, but it never does. I attempted to arrest the fall by leaning into a pole and ended up straining my arm. Even as I type this almost a week later the tricep still has a ways to go to get back to 100%. Only at the Barkley are you as likely to experience an upper body injury as you are a lower body injury. The amount of upper body strength needed for the Barkley is often underestimated, and it’s a whole-body workout for two and a half straight days.

We went through the prison, up and over the final two climbs and down into camp after what could readily be described as a perfect first lap.

With about a mile to go, Guillaume says to me, “so how long do you think you’ll spend in camp?”

I’ve had a year to digest last year’s failure. I’ve watched Ethan Newberry’s documentary about it 17 times on the big screen (WhereDreamsGoToDie.com). I do not see six seconds as being the difference, I see the better part of 45 minutes that could have been improved upon. Goal #1 for 2018 was to be more dialed in camp, to be better organized from the start, and to “leave no doubt”. Leave nothing for chance. Be better, from lap one through lap five.

Laz changed the rules around camp for 2018 and each runner was allowed but two crew members. This meant Linda +1. This meant no Ethan, no Kim and no Shaun Martin. In the end my crew ended up being Linda + John Kelly, and we shared John Kelly with another runner, the aforementioned Jodi Isenor. John would have his hands full, crewing for two people, but there was no better person for the job. I was honoured that he’d dedicate his weekend towards my own hopeful success. My parents were staying at a hotel in Oak Ridge and would come to camp for Interloopal, taking Reed off of Linda’s hands so Linda and John could focus on the task at hand. Every – second – counts.

Me to Guillaume, “five minutes best case, seven minutes worst case.”

Guillaume, with a pause…”okay”.

We hit camp in 8h38m.

In 8h45m, after a full gear change from head to toe, socks, shoes, shirts, lube, everything,  I was sprinting back out of camp. It was, easily, the best I’ve ever felt after a lap at the Barkley. Things were going perfectly.

I spotted Guillaume and Ally scrambling to get to the gate to claim their second lap bib, as I was exiting the campground. I did not have a desire to move on without them, I had a desire to finish the race. Every – second – counts.

There was about ninety minutes of daylight remaining when I departed camp on lap two. For 2018 the direction of the loops was set as;

1. clockwise

2. counter

3. counter

4. clockwise

5. choice

The Second Lap - Counterclockwise

I put in a good push to get up and over the first climb, claiming book #13 (or the first book going ccw). As I dropped down the first off trail section of lap two I thought it about the right time to pull out my headlamp. The weather, as had been predicted, was setting in and it was foggy, cold and starting to rain. They were calling for up to 30mm of rain. The “weather event” had begun.

I clicked on my headlamp but nothing happened. I tried again…nothing. Tried one final time, but still zero. I always carry two primary headlamps of 350 lumens, the Princeton Tec Apex rechargeable, and a third emergency light of just 100 lumens, the PT Remix.

I attempted to fire up my second Apex light but it too was dead. This had never happened before. I pulled out my backup, backup light and turned it on. There was no way in hell that this emergency light was sufficient for navigating in the dark, and I didn’t even have spare batteries for it. I was far too far out of camp to head back and fix this. The sun was all but gone, the fog had rolled in, and my race, was about, to end…

“GUILLAUME! ALLY! GUILLAUME!! ALLY!!”

I knew they’d be close, but if I was unable to locate them I’d be hooped as there were no other runners close to us at this point.

Thankfully Guillaume started whistling back to me and we worked towards each other through the dense laurel brush.

“Oh my god, thank you! My headlamps are both dead, do either of you have a backup main light?”

Neither did but both offered what they did have. Nothing added up to a working solution though (extra batteries specific to each lamp) and I was forced to continue with my “AAA” powered Remix. I need to explicitly state at this point that my headlamps were not malfunctioning. It was not a product issue but a user mistake. We as a crew made an error and learned a valuable lesson in real time. The lamps were both dead, but through no fault of the manufacturer.

Myself, Guillaume and Ally were a team again, whether they liked it or not 😊

I lead us to our second book and as we made our move towards the third book a pack of runners headed our way at the end of their first lap. I asked everyone if they had any light source or “AAA” batteries to spare and a TN runner was kind enough to spot me his emergency light which was also “AAA”. This would at least get me closer to being able to cover the 12hrs of darkness we were now confronted with. (if you are reading this please message me so I can get your light back to you)

As we navigated towards our next book the epicenter of the storm started to unleash on us. We had curtains of rain rolling over us and visibility was down to about a foot or two at most. Neither Guillaume nor Ally had ever been on the Barkley course at night before, this was their first counterclockwise loop, we were in a rainstorm, on a pile of mud, in the Tennessee wilderness, with temperatures in the single digits, and their fearless leader had 100 lumens of light to work with.

The death by a thousand briar cuts had begun.

We blew this book in significant fashion and by the time we did locate it we were all soaked through to the bone and on the cusp of hypothermia.

“Guys, put on every layer you have, this is not going to get any better and we won’t regret it if we somehow end up being a smidge too warm on the next climb up Rat Jaw.”

I was now wearing a long sleeve merino wool base, a short sleeve tech shirt, and hooded wind jacket, a waterproof jacket, a buff, a toque, I had a second thicker pair of gloves that I switched into, I had on a short pair of tights under a full pair of tights, and now pulled on my waterproof pants. On the bright side, my pack was now much, much lighter.

Guillaume Calmettes is certainly one of the most positive people you’ll ever meet, and he exclaimed with a smile, in his thick French accent, but with perfect English “ADVENTURE!”

Ally Beaven possessed a great sense of humour, the ability to tell a good story, and most importantly he understood the golden rule of not complaining out loud.

I would have classified us squarely in the middle of being a “Dream Team” and “The Three Stooges”.

We dropped down towards the prison in the most deranged conditions I’d ever witnessed on this slope. It was like the ground was no longer solid but had somehow decayed into a foreign, much more malleable surface. If I could not visually process that I was moving across a supposedly solid slope I would have guessed it to be ice and snow underfoot. Each time we slipped, and we slipped plenty, we’d go for a ride downslope of about five to six feet before coming to a halt, often against a rock or tree, and then we’d be forced to pick ourselves up and attempt a few more feet of actual forward progress. It reminded me all too much of this:

I mostly nailed this descent, placing us just a tiny bit south of our intended target. We claimed our book and proceeded to the prison tunnel.

I have done the prison tunnel and Rat Jaw ten times in my first two years, this was now my 12th pass of the tunnel. Down the center of the tunnel is a cement strip that’s about five inches wide and six inches high. If you are not wearing a headlamp you loose site completely for about 25% of the tunnel in a complete blackout. Jared called this one of his Barkley games, to see if you could navigate this while essentially blind and I’ve adapted this game. On lap one I’d make it through the tunnel without falling off and getting wet, now on lap two, by headlamp, I was presented with something new to me. The tunnel no longer offered a slab of concrete down the middle as an option. There was one steady stream of water flowing through the tunnel, seven plus inches deep throughout. We still tried to stay on the concrete as the water was only an inch above this, but unbeknownst to me there are “inflow” pipes up above and at one point a rather vicious waterfall from above forced us to hug a sidewall. We were essentially fording a river, through a tunnel, at night, under a prison. It was right about then that I started questioning where I’d gone wrong with my life? Up until that point I'd mostly believed that I'd made reasonably good decisions with my life, but in retrospect, my epiphany was that I’d just managed a positive spin on a series of really bad decisions. I do really stupid things, and I do them with stunning regularity.

Anyways, not like I'm making any big life changes at 41 year's old, might as well forge ahead as is...at the exit of the tunnel there was genuine concern for not getting washed over the edge, into a five plus foot drop.

“ADVENTURE!”

We cleared the tunnel and heaved ourselves up Rat Jaw, crawling through the mud and briars every step of the way.

John freaking Kelly was waiting up top yelling encouragement at us through the fog. There’s a fire tower up top and I couldn’t help but picture the captain in the Forest Gump film, sitting on the topsail yelling out into the storm,

“IS THAT ALL YOU’VE GOT!?”

John informed us that we had at least another six hours in this weather, but that it should start to ease through the night and, as forecast, it would blow through and the next 48 hours were in fact promising. He also admitted to me later that he got lost in the fog, on maintained and sign-posted trails, while heading up to the fire tower to cheer us on. I was uncertain in that moment who was more miserable, us, while plodding through this thing, or John, wearing every layer he owned and standing out in this mess awaiting our arrival.

We were effective through the next few books, skiing down a mountain of mud on both Rat Jaw and then Testicle, and fording the New River to start up what’s known as Stallion Mountain and the back-half of the course going CCW. I couldn’t help but think of Blake Wood, a true legend of the sport and Barkley finisher who during one particularly rough year found the New River impassable on lap five due to heavy rains, and he subsequently was unable to finish that year through no other reason than he didn’t have a boat with him. Laz instituted a workaround for any future years should this happen again, with a prescribed reroute, so we couldn’t even claim that this was the worst year on record, though we were later informed that it did rank right up there.

We made good time all the way to the top, snagged our book page and then turned to descend towards our next book, dropping through a feature known as Cougar Rock.

Guillaume was on lead, he was near perfect through this section in daylight on lap one, but this was a different beast entirely at night. In hindsight, I became a passenger, and it cost us dearly. When you’re dealing with conditions like we were it hinders your judgement, there’s no time to stop and reset because stopping for even a moment leads to a deep shiver that originates in your core. To move is to stay warm, to stop is to freeze. If you start shivering you might not be able to recover from it, so you push on. It is not until we are fully cliffed out that the severity of our situation overwhelms us. We’re in a bad spot, we’re lost, we’re bleeding time, and a misstep by any of us could lead to a serious incident. We retreat, we reset, we work together to figure things out, but the damage is done. We right the ship, find Cougar Rock, nail our next two books through what’s known as The Garden Spot, and find ourselves correcting for a small error on the third to last book.

We’re now down to the final two books and our best case scenario for this lap is 13hrs – high.

The lead is back to me and with limited light I struggle. I’ve already gone through two sets of batteries for my own headlamp and am now borrowing Guillaume’s backup light. A major marker I’m searching for is a sign off the side of the trail, it is less than two feet from the trail, I know this, I am looking for it, I completely proceed right past it and start down an unfamiliar trail and am confronted by a sign I’ve never seen before that reads “legacy tree”.

“F#@K.”

I scream back up slope to Guillaume who is third in our line,

“Did I miss the sign!? Can you see it?”

“Yes, it’s here!”

We retreat, reset, and then struggle with this descent. For the second straight lap, I snap my pole in pretty much the exact same location. We are anything but smooth and the clock is ticking. We eventually locate the second to last book and start up the second to last climb of the lap.

In the fog mistakes are made, I miss by a few degrees and we’re once again scrambling. I have a deep pit in my stomach. This feels fatal.

We locate the trail right at daybreak and I ask the guys if they’re okay with me pushing onward, saying every second is vital right now. They’re totally cool and off I went, somehow feeling like I was up against the clock on lap two, instead of lap five.

I got chased off the trail a short time later by four wild hogs but no harm was done. I get up and over “Checkmate Hill” snag my page and absolutely careen down into camp. Lap time was something like 14h30m. My entire body is numb, not from pain, but from fear and frustration.

The weather has passed and the forecast for the day is nice. I did a full gear change and bathroom stop, but there was a lot to address after that loop.

To add insult to injury I was up against the absolute worst chafing I’ve ever experienced in my life. My Squirrel’s Nut Butter had more than done the trick on loop one, but something went wrong on the second lap. I was continually reapplying but things were getting worse. It was not until I stripped down that I could spot the cause. I was caked in mud from head to toe, and we were so cold overnight that removing gloves just wasn’t an option. Every time I relieved myself I was inadvertently introducing mud into my tights and I’d created a sandpaper grit effect. I was officially no longer having any fun, though at least I knew it’d help keep me awake from here on out.

Linda learned to make sushi in the months leading into the race. If you want an idea of how all encompassing this race has become for our family, Linda spent months this year helping me with my food options for race weekend, and Reed has a tattoo across his shoulders that says “My Dad has made it further in the Barkley than your Dad.” Of course this means we can’t hang out with John Kelly, or Jared Campbell, or Blake Wood, or David Horton, but that’s besides the point, this thing never really leaves us alone for too long at a time. Linda stuffed a sushi burrito into my hand and walked me to the gate for my third lap.

I got out of camp before Guillaume and Ally arrived, and it was once again daylight. There was 12h15m left on the clock for the 36hr cutoff to begin my fourth lap. I knew I could manage an 11h30m lap if I pushed hard, and if I was calculated and focused. This wasn’t over yet. I also finally established my favourite direction of travel, clockwise, which would be the direction of the final two laps should I make it that far. In the CCW direction the “handrails” into books are a bit subtler than in the CW direction, and I am therefore faster and far less prone to errors going CW. I just had to lay down an 11h30m lap and to leave 12h45m on the clock for lap four. I believed in my heart that going clockwise was faster and that this was still within reach.

“I can do this, and I will do this.”

 Lap 3 - Counterclockwise

I ran out of camp and focused on going fast when things were certain and slowing right down when they were not. I tripled checked everything, and though this lead to a few more minutes being eaten up, it subscribed to the “go slower to go faster” race plan.

I arrived a Rat Jaw a full 40 minutes quicker than lap two and there were a ton of people there to cheer me on. I was getting into some eating issues now, as I approached 27 hours of continual movement. I’d find myself dry heaving a bit here and there, but was thankfully still keeping things under control. It is a fight to keep the calories coming, and if you’re not dedicated to the fight than you’re all but done. At one point I opened an Endurance Tap maple syrup gel, sucked it into my mouth, but realized I was going to dry-heave again, so I promptly spit it right back out, but I spit it back into the resealable pouch, got over my dry-heaving, and then sucked down the vital 100 calories on my second attempt. I actually patted myself on the back for that one. “Nicely done” I thought, “that’s a first”.

I dropped off Rat Jaw and had legs. I was moving well and the rains were behind us. I just had to keep pushing and stay focused.

I made great time through Armes Gap, across the New River, and back up Stallion. A small bump once again near where we messed up one lap earlier, but I was triple checking things so my small mistake stayed as just that, a small mistake.

The next few books were uneventful and I have ten pages in my pocket. I was doing some math and figured I was on pace for 11h45m at worst. I would have 7-10 mins camp time and be out on lap four with maybe 12h20m or so to work with. I was thinking about a lot of things, about if it were possible, about how this had gone wrong, about what it would mean to finish under these circumstances, about how fortunate I am to have such a wonderful family, my parents, my wife, our beautiful son. I was thinking about how much I wanted this, how much me and my wife have invested into this already, how much a finish would mean to us, forget everything else, that’s all white noise, this is for us. I’ve dreamt of becoming a Barkley finisher for ten years now. I was thinking about how good I felt overall, now having eclipsed 32 hours. This is probably the best I’ve ever felt at this point, though I was already on loop four by this point in my two previous attempts.

I was thinking about so much and getting into a nice running rhythm, I was thinking about absolutely everything BUT the one thing I should have been thinking about, book three.

There are varying levels of difficulty between books and some are considered “a gimme” compared to others. Book three is a gimme so you can often treat it as such…

“Whoa, did I miss Bald Knob!?”

I continued around the corner, seemingly confirming in that moment that I had gone too far, then I backtracked and headed up to claim my page.

I was about ten minutes up the slope when things started not adding up so much…

“Did I f@#K this up!?”

I pulled out my map, confirmed direction, moved up slope about another minute, and there it was, the Emory Gap Campground site…

“F@#K! F@#K! F@#K!”

Jared and I ended up here two years ago, at least I knew where I was. I shot a bearing and went to work on correcting my mistake. Maybe ten minutes later I pulled my page from the third book. This error, in and of itself was shitty and detrimental, but not fatal, it’s what happened next that buried me. I somehow dropped down off of Bald Knob too far North, thinking I was West. I thought I’d missed a prominent trail intersection and that I was South of where I needed to be. It’s at this point that I should point out that I’ve never gone more than 31 hours at the Barkley without sleep. I didn’t feel like I was necessarily sleep deprived, but this entire thought process is rather inexplicable to me post-race. I ditched another fifteen minutes piecing this back together, then really wanted to puke when I did a time check.

“GO, for f@#k sakes Gary, GO!”

I ran to my next handrail and then did something I’ve always struggled to do, I got the CCW descent into book two absolutely perfectly. I was still in this thing! About a quarter of the way down I spooked a dozen hogs of varying sizes though, and they continued down the exact line that I was. The last thing I needed was a standoff or a charge from one of them so I made as much noise as possible and after what felt like an eternity they finally dropped off of my line and to the west.

I ripped my page from book two and leaned into the second to last climb in the CCW direction. The sun was setting and my headlamp, which we’d figured out, was back on my head and shining brightly, all 350 lumens of it.

I made good time up Checkmate Hill and ripped my final page. I know my best case time from here to the campground and it didn’t look good. I had to get up and over England in record time and then lean into the descent to camp like my life depended on it.

I got over England, found the trail, hooked a left, and flipped my watch…I double checked the math, then triple checked it…checkmate.

Even if I found another plain to exist on for the next few miles I’d still come in about 90 – 120 seconds over time. I took my time dropping down into camp, not wanting Linda to worry about me once time expired, but also not wanting to rush the inevitable. I wasn’t ready to step aside, I hadn’t even gotten to the hallucination phase of the race yet. I trained for a 60-hour effort, not a 36-hour effort. “I’m not even going to lose all my toenails” I thought. Is there a greater indicator of failure at the Barkley than NOT losing all of your toenails? Probably not.

   The Barkley Marathons is a personal goal that I am dedicated to. To finish, is akin to breaking a course record at a lot of other events, things have to go right, and some years it can feel like the odds are stacked against you. I want to go on record right now as saying the race was doable this year, I have no doubt of that. If you look back through the history of the event there is a higher likelihood of a finish when two knowledgeable veterans are able to work together through four full laps. Just one year ago John and I formed a great team in which we were continually correcting each other’s errors to prevent any small mistakes from becoming big ones. Having said that, the course has been completed numerous times by an individual, Jared being just one of them, and I believed that I had the skills to do that myself as well. I have the physical capabilities to outwork many of my mistakes, but until I eliminate those “zone outs” and “passenger periods” for 60 full hours, a finish will elude me, for as John Kelly so eloquently stated,

“The Barkley will find your weaknesses, and it will exploit them.”

I had described the experience going into this year like I was a prize fighter. One year ago, after being decisively ahead on the cards going into the 12th and final round, the Barkley got me with a lucky punch and left me TKO’d. It was the hardest defeat of my life and I’ve had to wait a full year for my rematch. This loss is more shocking, but somehow slightly less devastating, since I never even made it to the championship rounds.

As I sit here typing this I have but one “Barkley toe”, not ten (a completely numb toe). I will likely loose but three toenails, not the full set. I am tired, but not obliterated. I am sore from head to toe, cut up by briars, and flush with the usual unique recovery issues post-Barkley, but I will probably head out for a short run sometime this weekend. I did a 36-hour race, not the 60 hour event I’d set out to, and I am unsettled and rife with emotion.  

A Barkley finish likely means more to me than it should at this point and there’s been a crescendo through three years now that would have made for a perfect storybook ending this year, but that’s not how life works sometimes. I simply cannot express my true gratitude to everyone who has followed along and sent well wishes and words of encouragement along the way. This is my purge, please understand that this is my way of telling my story, and it is my preference to not have my life and every single interaction become about the Barkley Marathons. This has evolved into so much more than it should have. There was one goal, it was not accomplished, I’m proud of what I did do, but finishing a Fun Run is not even close to finishing the actual race. I don’t want to be “picked up from this”, that’s the reality and that’s where motivations are forged from. If I was okay with this already I would question how much I really wanted it to begin with. I will stand tall again when I am ready to, but right now I am processing my shortcomings and this is as valuable as any BCMC mountain lap repeat I’d perform in training. This is a period for introspection.

I will return for a fourth go, but honestly we don’t know when that will be. This is not like a year ago where we knew we were going again the following year but we didn’t want to talk about it, we really don’t know when we’ll go back and a decision won’t be made until well into the fall. I’ve missed my skis quite a bit this winter. I’ve missed having more days to teach my son to ski. I’ve missed having more adventures with my wife on a day to day and week to week basis. There are a lot of variables here.

In the grand scheme of things, this is just a race and these are trivial matters. My wife and I have our health, we have our happiness, and we have each other, and in the end, that’s all that I’ve ever wanted or needed. I will say that in three years the Barkley has brought us closer together and for that I’m forever thankful. Linda and I have always been a team, but we’re a tighter more cohesive unit than ever before, and our son Reed will reap those benefits throughout his life. Linda said this to Laz before we departed the park;

“In the end this is just a stupid race, put on by a funny man.”

True dat babe, true dat.

You can’t put yourself out there without expecting to fall flat on your face from time to time, sometimes literally. Life is not easy and pursuing the limitations of who you are will certainly be wrought with unforeseen challenges, but as long as you keep your head up and keep pushing onward towards your truth, towards your belief in who you can be, you will learn to enjoy and cherish the journey, to find positives where others only see negatives…even if you end up reaching your ultimate goal a little later than you may have expected to. Even if you find yourself at that destination a few years further along than your planned arrival time. 

GR

To the Kelly family, John, Jessi, kids and John’s parents and cousin: Thank you for extending your home to us and for taking such great care of my wife, son and parents while I was on course. You’ve taken a race that’s already special to us and brought it to another level.

To the Barkley family, Laz, Sandra, Rawdog, Kathy, Dave, Ed, Gail, Keith, Rich, Mike and on and on, and all of the runners from around the globe. You are what make this so special. You are why we keep coming back. You are why we as a family will return again, at some point, because believe it or not, we really like you guys 😊

To my sponsors, thank you for believing in and investing in me. Salomon, Suunto, Princeton Tec, Drymax Socks, Trail Butter, Endurance Tap,

To my parents, I love you so much and I'm so happy you were there and that you got to establish such a wonderful bond with Reed throughout the week. (this is but the second time my father has seen me race and the first time my mother has been to one of my races, given that we live over 7000km apart and I didn't start running till I was long free of the nest.)

To my son. You'll regret that tattoo when you're older.

To my wife. I'm sorry you learned to make sushi for nothing, maybe we should have relied more on the ketchup this year. #backtoketchup20??

The following eight images are thanks to Howie Stern Photography

These final eight images are some of my own from the week

[junker-town]

The richest athlete of all time did nothing with his wealth and vanished into history

Over the course of his chariot racing career, Gaius Appuleius Diocles won almost 60,000 lbs of gold. What did he do with it? Who knows

It might have gone a little like ... this:

Gaius Appuleius Diocles knew his job. He didn’t need to win; he just had to survive. Seven laps. Twelve competitors. That was it. Whatever happened next could determine whether he would race another day, or lose his life.

The Circus Maximus was dizzying like that.

Gaius Appuleius Diocles entered the arena from an underground holding area. He’d made this walk dozens of times before, but it never got easier. It was easy to get lost in the spectacle of it all. Thousands of screaming fans, dust whipping around the sun-bleached earth, horses grunting in disapproval while assistants tightened ropes and readied equipment. Gaius spotted a young racer to his right, someone he’d never seen before. This kid was lost in the moment, staring in awe at the crowds.

Gaius knew better than to be distracted by the pageantry. A veteran charioteer, he had learned that paying attention to anything but the race itself would mean injury or death. Instead, he placed his faith in his skills, and prayed to Mercury, the god of luck, confident he would watch over him just as he had for hundreds of races before.

Thunderous applause enveloped Diocles as his name was announced and his feet left the ground, climbing onto the unstable platform of his chariot, but the crowd noise barely registered with him. Instead he went through an exhaustive mental checklist. Were his legs pressed against the wooden side rails of the chariot to keep his balance in the turns? Had he set his feet? Were the reins taut? Did the horses look relaxed? Everything felt comfortable, except for a bothersome dull aching in his right arm. That was to be expected after racing five times earlier that day, but it bothered him nonetheless.

The charioteer pushed the worry aside. Unnecessary thoughts had no place here, and before he could concern himself with anything else, the flag dropped in an instant. A plume of dust filled the air as horses gained their traction.

Chariots rushed past him into the first corner, precisely as expected. Quick starts were for the foolish, or those with a death wish, and Gaius was neither. Instead, he hung behind the pack for as long as possible, waiting for the shipwrecks to emerge, mangled amalgams of flesh and wood as chariots lost their balance and crashed into the ground. He leaned hard into the corner, willing his horses to move left with him in the hopes they would avoid a fallen chariot. The force caused the leather reins to dig into the flesh of his hands, enough to make anyone wince in agony — but Diocles knew that any distraction could result in a crash, and did his best to retain his composure.

A distant dust cloud on the straight signified another competitor had fallen. The chariots in front of him swerved, an attempt to get as far away from the wreck as possible. Diocles knew this was a risky move. Attempting a quick change in direction might work, but it would likely spook his horses. If they bucked, or failed to obey his command, he was done for.

Instead he would go right through the dusk.

He closed his eyes for a moment that felt like eternity, saying a quick prayer. Everything went dark. Gaius couldn’t help but wonder if he had perished, and this was his path into Elysium. Before he could fully process what happened, the light of the stadium jarred him back to reality. Gaius realized that he was not only alive, but still racing. Glancing back he saw the young charioteer from the beginning of the race, laying motionless in the dust. Tragic, but expected. Emerging from the dust, he realized there was nobody behind him, and just three chariots to beat. The rest had lost control or retired. It was time to make his move.

Diocles banked inside, passing third with relative ease. First and second jockeyed for position, splinters of wooden wheels whirring past his head. “These two are so absorbed in each other that they don’t even realize we’re on the final straight,” he thought.

Whipping the reins as hard as he could, Gaius willed his horses ahead for one last surge on the inside. The other two didn’t even see him gaining. Gaius steeled his nerves, his muscles aching from the tension he was putting on them. One last push, a few final seconds. He willed his body down the final straight, so focused on the moment he didn’t even register that he’d edged ahead. Gaius teeth clenched until it felt like a blood vessel would erupt, then – release. The charioteer glanced left, then right, realizing he’d crossed the finish line first.

The crowd erupted, chanting Diocles’ name. He was a hero, but all he felt was relief. Another race down; another one survived. It was time to head underground once more. The next race waited for him in a few hours.

In a sport where the average racer would be lucky to win a race or two each season, Gaius Appuleius Diocles racked up 1,462 wins and placed in an additional 1,438 races over the course of his 24-year career.

He also became mind-bogglingly rich. The richest athlete of all time.

At the end of his chariot racing career, Diocles had earned 35,863,120 sesterces, enough money to pay the salaries of 29,885 Roman legionaries for a year. He could have had his own army, if he’d wanted.

Historical accounts state that Diocles earned 26,000 kilograms of raw gold by the time he retired, worth $12.7 billion in today’s money. That’s seven times more than Michael Jordan has earned — and yet, Diocles has largely disappeared from record. How did the richest, most accomplished athlete of all time fail to cement himself in history?

What we know.

Born in 104 A.D., in a region which is now Portugal, Diocles was firmly in the middle class, relatively well off by the standards of your average Roman citizen. It would have been expected for young Gaius to follow his father into the family shipping business, but he instead started racing chariots, competing in his first race at the age of 18. We know that his style of racing was exciting, and this led to rapid provincial success. It wasn’t long before word spread of the captivating young charioteer. in 122 A.D., Diocles was invited to Rome to begin racing at the Circus Maximus, the summit of of charioteering in the empire.

We know that Diocles didn’t experience immediate success upon arriving in Rome. In fact, it would take him two years before he earned his first win in the Roman leagues. The aggressive style that caused him to win in Portugal didn’t lead to success against more accomplished racers. However, at the age of 20, things changed. Diocles altered his style entirely, and with it came wins, a lot of them.

The vast majority of charioteers were slaves, forced into competition much like gladiators. Naturally, this gave Diocles an edge. His social standing allowed him to be well fed, well rested, and better prepared than the majority of his competition — but this wasn’t enough to make it a difference on its own.

There was a definite abundance of talent that he had over most riders. The risks were ever present, though, with most charioteers being injured or killed in a matter of months after their first race. This makes Diocles’ long career even more remarkable. The reason for this high mortality rate among charioteers was innate to chariot racing, but also due to the twist that Romans put on it.

Wearing just simple leather helmets, shin guards and basic chest protectors, it wasn’t uncommon for charioteers to lose their lives during a race when turning a corner or swerving to avoid a competitor. Rather than hold the reins in their hands like the Greeks did when racing, the Romans would tie them around the charioteer’s waists.

This allowed the driver to have free hands to better steer their horses, but also meant that in the event of a crash they would be dragged around the course until they were dead, or the horses became tired. Sometimes both. As a result, drivers carried a curved knife exclusively for the purposes of cutting their reins in the event of a crash, but even then it was routinely known that should a chariot crash, the driver would likely be seriously injured or killed.

The story we know doesn’t answer the big questions

Whether through providence, skill or blind luck, Diocles managed to survive. Little is known of his post-racing career. A statue was erected in his honor at the Circus Maximus, and Diocles settled in the small town of Palestrina, in what is now the Lazio region of Italy, where he raised a family and retired. It’s said he remained extremely popular and wealthy until his death, but little else is known.

It’s remarkable how little information there is on Gaius Appuleius Diocles’ life. This isn’t simply a case where we can wave off the lack of details to the passage of time. We are intimately aware of the private lives of dozens of famous Romans, and yet a stunningly wealthy athlete who captivated an entire empire, making more money in the process than any athlete in history, had almost nothing written about his life away from racing.

We can, however, piece some things together and posit some theories about why Diocles has largely vanished to history.

Maybe Diocles wasn’t as good as the stats show?

There is evidence to support the idea that Diocles wasn’t so much good as he was a survivor.

We know that Diocles won a lot, and historians have told us that his style captivated the empire — but the charioteer might have stumbled upon a way to break the sport in his favor. Accounts of Diocles on the track note that he routinely trailed in races, sometimes lagging in last place, only to surge ahead on the final straight, routinely snatching victory from defeat and ruining everyone else’s day in the process.

This made for incredible drama, which caused crowds to fall in love with him — but Diocles’ racing style also meant he was largely able to avoid the fray in front of him. When everyone else had to deal with wrecked chariots, he had more time to react. What if Diocles wasn’t the most dominant racer every time he took the track, but rather the veteran who simply managed to survive? Fuscus, a famous charioteer, managed to win 53 races by the age of 24, when he died (presumably on the track). It’s believed that Fuscus began racing the same year as his death, and the history books record him as the only charioteer to win his first career race. If we extrapolate out Fuscus’ career to a span of 24 years he would have won 1,272 races — almost on par with Diocles.

We also need to take into account how often Diocles raced.

Chariot racing in the ancient world is most akin to modern Formula 1, but these were exceptionally short races compared to modern sport. Races involved seven one-mile laps around the Circus Maximus, with 12 chariots in each race. Careers and lives hinged on the 10-15 minutes spent on the track. There wasn’t room for error: one mistake and a race would be over for a charioteer.

It was routine for charioteers to race multiple times per week, sometimes in a single day during holidays. Diocles averaged between three and four races a week for the length of his career. Porphyrius the Charioteer, arguably the most decorated charioteer in Roman history, had 374 wins attributed to him. While that’s a far cry from Diocles, he did something Diocles didn’t: Win the diversium. This entailed winning for one team, then changing teams mid-day and winning again, this time racing for the team in last place. It was considered the highest honor in the charioteering world, and Porphyrius was hailed for doing it twice in a single day.

So while Diocles was the most prolific charioteer in history, at least in Rome, he wasn’t regarded as the greatest. Diocles was a volume charioteer, which was difficult in its own right — but didn’t earn the same level of “greatness” ascribed to others.

What happened to all that money?

We have very clear ideas on what someone could spend billions on now: Buying companies, real estate, material goods, vacations — but in the Roman Empire the prospect of spending as much money as Diocles earned was far more difficult. There was the concept of land ownership for sure, but wealth was more of a social status indicator than something to be spent. In order to become a member of the Roman senate during the Imperial era, a prospective senator would, barring intervention from the Emperor, need to be of senatorial class (i.e. be the son of a senator), and have one million sesterces on hand.

Generally speaking, this was the pinnacle of aspirations for a Roman citizen, but unless Diocles somehow managed to find favor with the Emperor, it was out of his grasp despite his wealth. Instead, he largely escaped the public eye after retiring from racing, and retreated into seclusion on his land in Latium.

Why did he disappear from history?

Born into a wealthy family, with no record of siblings, it would have been expected for Diocles to take over his father’s shipping business. This would have been an extremely comfortable life compared to that of the average Roman citizen. Instead, he left for the capital to compete in one of the empire’s most dangerous sporting events.

This isn’t the story of an athlete using sport to improve their station in life. Rather, it reads like someone actively looking to throw their life away for the possibility of glory. Imagine for a moment that Diocles was the family’s black sheep, and it explains many of his motives.

This was a life defined by doing the opposite of societal norms, from competing as a charioteer in the first place, to quietly retiring in the Italian countryside to raise a family, in fairly meager surroundings — leaving very little on the historical record, outside the knowledge that he was the winningest charioteer of all time, and a small memorial at the Circus Maximus, a painting with a small inscription and nothing more.

He apparently didn’t desire a world of high society. He could have funded an army if he wanted to. He could have bought huge tracts of land or been a patron for the arts. He could have commissioned epic poems to be written in his honor. He could have ordered lavish sculptures and statues to cement his place in history and ensure his legacy resonated through the centuries. But he didn’t.

The real story of Gaius Appuleius Diocles is lost to history. Perhaps that was the plan all along.

[crystalelemental]

I said it earlier, and now the explanation: wow the Ultra Beast typings are disappointing.

Let’s start with the worst by a mile: Assembly.  You know how Guzzlord is like...the only completely unviable competitive Ultra Beast?  Imagine being arguably worse than that.  That’s assembly in competitive.  It will have absolutely nothing going for it.  Rock/Steel is terrible.  Like, truly just a damned defensive typing.  How the hell are you supposed to wall anything when you’re 4x weak to Earthquake and every Fighting move in the game?  You can’t.  Which leaves us with a few options, all of which are bad:

It is what it looks like, and tries to have high defenses and HP.  Congrats, Earthquake still obliterates your ass, and every Fighting type in existence now shits all over you.  High defenses won’t mean shit when you take 4x damage to two of the most common coverage types in the game.  Not to mention, it’s Rock/Steel.  Almost no chance of recovery.  Maybe Z-Stockpile.  Maybe.  If it’s really lucky.  But even then, look how well that went for Guzzlord.  It’s not an ideal thing to use your Z-move on.

They try to surprise us with bulky offense.  Great, now it’s the above situation, only defenses are even worse.  It can potentially hit harder, so maybe it can really mess with a Poison type having to switch out, but that’s about it.  At the absolute best, it could be good in Trick Room if it’s strong enough and slow enough.  But Rock/Steel is far from a great offensive typing either, so good luck really getting both STABs and the coverage needed to clear out threats, especially as an Ultra Beast whose thing is being unable to check certain types.

They really go for surprise and it’s quick.  Now, they never go that crazy, so this is the ideal situation under one circumstance: it gets Autotomize, Rock Polish, or Agility.  Celesteela 2.0, only it clearly works better with the offensive option as opposed to the defensive one.  This is unlikely, though.  Most likely we’ll get #1, and it’ll be proof again that nobody tests these things in competitive, and that they don’t actually know which types do well defensively.

It really just stands no chance, and has no significant niche.  Pure defense?  Probopass already did it, and did it terribly.  I love it, but it’s not good at all.  Bulky offense, and even doubling speed, is something Aggron does.  It could be surprisingly faster than Aggron, but it’s unlikely to match its raw damage.  At best, special offense, decent bulk, and just enough speed to be workable at +2.  But I’m willing to bet it’s pure defense.

Then there’s Burst.  Burst...is going to do great.  Which sucks, because the typing, for me, is boring.  Ghost/Fire.  I know UBs have had reused typings before, but come on.  We literally just got another one of these.  So either it’s a fast physical offensive option and has its own niche, or it’s going to be faster Chandelure and therefore probably better.  It’s sure not gonna be defensive.  If nothing else, Burst gives me hope, though.  Mind Blown, while not ideal, is still a unique move based on its alien physiology, and they really need that for all UBs.

Then there’s the new kid: Adhesive.  Poison is great.  I want more Poison legends, and Ultra Beasts count in my mind.  I am, however, confused as to why it didn’t get Poison/Psychic.  It looks like it should, right?  That would be a novel typing, and would probably even help it with the Tapu.  Then again, Lele hits like a tank, so maybe it wouldn’t do as much as I would hope.  Still, stats are really going to determine its effectiveness.  It could be an excellent new OU addition that puts the pressure on the Tapu-focused meta, or it could be something with mis-aligned stats that doesn’t break UU.  I do think it will hit UU at a minimum, though.  Pure poison, with 570 BST, is going to be more than enough to answer a lot of Fairy threats.  It’d probably be too good in RU, and do acceptably in UU.  OU would depend entirely on how nice they are to it.

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 8 - LAK - Stats Class

How much would you give for the Sabres to win a Stanley Cup? The list goes pretty far for me stopping only once you get to some basic human needs and fundamental decency. I’d trade the Buffalo Bills for four of them. I think that’s a fair price for giving up an NFL team, that league sucks ass mightily. The Kings sold it all away for their two Stanley Cups. It’s hard to imagine the City of Los Angeles being a snake-bitten hockey market but before 2012 they were one of those first wave expansion teams who had come close again and again to never actually do the thing. It changed quickly and for most of the early years of this decade they were right up there with Chicago as the class of this league. That whole arrangement is no more. The players that won those Cups are eroding off the roster save for an unmovable few. If you win the Cup, even once, you did it. You’re allowed to be terrible for what… ten years afterward? They sank a lot of assets into those runs and it paid off. And though the dynasty team maybe eroding away that “killer instinct”, that never-say-die attitude, still echoes off the ice. It did last night against the Buffalo Sabres. We might look back on this game as just a record 47-save shutout for Carter Hutton or a record back-to-back plus forty save shutout for him; but this game was not what the score shows. LA never fighting in this game and the Sabres got some luck from the posts. Maybe this team learned something last night. In a tired win against a rested squad perhaps they learned you have to keep coming back, you got to cash in your opportunities or even games you should win will not go your way. The Sabres were not punished for their mistakes last night and they take two points from this one, but they have to be thinking about how the massive Kings counterattack nearly ruined it on multiple occasions. The frequency of occasions this game could’ve gotten away from them was a relative stats class on how to not protect a lead. Nonetheless they did. This was a silly shutout but those count all the same. We’ll talk about some advanced stats that show our Sabres lost their hold on it but at the end of the day the only stat that matters is the score and Buffalo won in that category 3-0.

Casey Mittelstadt was snake-bitten, at least in the goal scoring department. The eternal child looked absolutely elated to get the no goals monkey off his back. Jimmy Greasy Vesey similarly finally got on the scoresheet with an assist on the first goal of this game. The two were streaming into the zone… I don’t know… medium speed (?) and Vesey got the puck to Mittelstadt who sniped it home through a defender and Kings goalie Jake Campbell. You could see the relief both of them had with the outcome of that play. That goal came 2:36 into the game while a little over two minutes late at 5:20 into the first the visitors got their second goal of the game. This time Conor Sheary is getting Casey Mittelstadt into the zone at a faster rate of speed and receives the puck from the boy wonder to quick-fire a puck past Campbell. Campbell must have thought Mittelstadt was going to take the shot. 2-0 Sabres and we’re not even ten minutes into this game yet. As awesome as that was I may regret staying up for this game. The Kings are like if Jurassic Park was real. Yes, they have the killer instinct and the never-say-die attitude still that I mentioned earlier, but like a lot of dinosaurs they’re kind of slow and unwieldy. I’m not kidding when I say that 1-0 goal looked like it was in slow motion. Such a speed-of-smell team is then the perfect foil for a very hot Buffalo Sabres powerplay. After we were already up 2-0 the PP opportunity just absolutely grinded to a halt. There was not a shot on the Kings goal during the full two minutes. That first period powerplay was something microcosm of this game: the Sabres getting only non-dangerous token chances but the Kings just not being able to convert when they got the chance. In this whole first period the Sabres managed only 7 shots scoring on two of them while the Kings shot 11 times.

If you were watching this game as a fan of neither team for some reason the second period was probably the most interesting. As the period goes on the Buffalo Sabres are just caved in in terms of corsi by the LA Kings. I am not smart guy either, so I have been training myself in the ways of this sensei called Corsi for a couple years now. Corsi is an attempt to make a stat about shot differential that makes sense. The guy who invented it, Tim Barnes, was actually inspired to do so after listening to former Buffalo Sabres General Manager Darcy Regier talk so much about shots. Barnes wanted to name it the Regier number or the Ruff number for then-Sabres Coach Lindy Ruff, but both didn’t sound right to him. If he hadn’t been going by a fake name himself he should’ve called the stat Cellino because what combination of names would pay better homage to Western New York than Cellino and Barnes? *Ba dum tis* See what I did there? Anyway, Corsi includes shots on goal, missed shots on goal and blocked shot attempts. In effect it’s how much your team is actually getting puck to the opposition net to put it another way. That also why it breaks down to several sub-categories like 5 on 5 corsi or corsi for and against but I’m already starting to confuse myself here. Feel free to correct me on that description, Chad. By the time the second period is nearing an end the Kings’ corsi is +25 to Buffalo’s -25. The statistical lopsidedness of this game only grew as the game went on. And here’s the thing: the Kings were getting chances galore. Marco Scandella is having a bounce back season so far, but he delivered a goal on a silver platter Ilya Kovalchuk in the second when he squirts the puck (#SabresAfterDark) out from a puck battle behind the Buffalo net to nobody on his team. Kovalchuk was right there, got the puck one-on-one with Carter Hutton at just about point blank with no Sabres defender nearby and fired it wide. They call Alex Ovechkin the Russian machine that never breaks, Ilya Kovalchuk is the Russian machine that broke before the last lockout. Anze Kopitar got a chance earlier where he out-maneuvered Hutton in front but the Sabres’ goaltender’s skate stopped the goal. It’s more or less miraculous the Kings didn’t score through the middle period. You know who did? Yea, Casey Mittelstadt again. LOL.

Our favorite broken Russian machine cross-checked Rasmus Ristolainen and sent the visitors off to a powerplay. Ristolainen then collected a rebound and shot it in Casey’s direction where he was parked in front of the net. Campbell once again failed to track the puck and it ended up in the net behind him. At first it wasn’t clear if Mittelstadt touched the puck at all or if it went in off Kings defender Alec Martinez, but it was credited to Casey. Y’all have two Cups this decade, you don’t get to be upset. And so Mittelstadt was on the Hat trick hunt but because of the aforementioned growing statistical lopsidedness of this game that third Casey goal never came. The third period was wild. I’m told it was at least because admittedly I was in and out of consciousness. I’m no party boy and am no good after midnight. There was only one powerplay and no goals or other big game events in the final frame other than Buffalo holding on for dear life so let’s talk about another advanced stat. This one is a bit easier to wrap your head around then corsi: Expected Goals (xG). Think of expected goals as a combination of various danger-levels of shots on net plus goalie stats mixed in for some flavor. The name is almost self-explanatory, but this stat is literally how many goals should be scored if there was no luck and randomness in the game. Imagine only robots played hockey. If they were flawless robots who didn’t get malfunctions of any kind they would always meet the expected goals statistic. This game is played by humans though, so this stat often shows just how much a team overcomes to get a result. This stat is also often the base stat for all those fun heat maps the nerdiest of stats nerds feel the need to post without any explanation what we’re looking at. The software Chad DeDominicis uses plots it out rather well if you ask me. He tweeted a map of the expected goals and scoring chances for the third period and let me just say Wow. There are a lot of big, scary Kings circles representing high-danger chances right in front of the Sabres net while not so many large circles for Buffalo in front of the Kings net. Though the Sabres won this game 3-0 they were outshot… wait for it… 47 to 24. That’s a record-breaking shutout for Carter Hutton and an opposition outshooting us more than 2 to 1. But hey, we won.

Jimmy Vesey had a pretty decent game for once. I heard his voice for the first time in that interview with Rob Ray in the first intermission. Speaking of people who had a good game, Rob Ray was 100% Rob Ray for this game. He had funny walk up skit in the pregame and fumbled through the aforementioned interview like a champ. We should all have a conversation about Rob Ray at some point about whether we’ve turned him into a self-referential joke about hockey culture but that’s for another day. I brought this postgame to Stats Class, the class I hated the most in undergrad mind you, because this game is pulled straight from the Sabres win streak of last season. They were jobbed statistically and apart from coming back from behind late in the game they exhibited every quality of our fun but ill-fated Fall folly last year. I don’t want to think this is what undergirds the Sabres torrid start and statistically speaking the other wins so far this season show progress and sustainability. I’m all for my club getting shutouts but not like this. I don’t think I can do New Look Sabres reply guy tweet of the game today. By the time Sabres twitter was engaged in this game it was a little too late for quippy tweets, maybe Sunday night when I postgame the Sharks game. For now like, share and comment on this blog to help out. I’ll admit I was totally wrong that they would powerbomb the Kings from lower-earth orbit. I’ll be honest I just like saying that phrase. Here’s a question you could answer in your comment on this blog: What do we think of our first back-to-back of the season? Did it actually effect either game or was it not notable in any meaningful way? Now it’s Evander Kane and the San Jose Sharks on Saturday night to wrap up #SabresInCali. I suspect I’ll be #AndrewInBed before the final horn sounds on that one.

Thanks for Reading.

P.S. I’m fully out of steam on the #SabresAfterDark front. I think I peaked with challenge the goal, daddy.