#team banal

[ageofzero]

a crack in the wall

The thing that struck me immediately, like the first time I saw the scene, was the Director saying “...and now, we have a monster in our kingdom.”

framed like that, holding the sword she stole so she could frame Ballister.

My literal first thought was “yeah, I’m looking at one right fucking now”. Two seconds later she’s using that sword to get rid of a threat to her order, so like yeah.

It’s not subtle cinema language at all, it’s basically shouting it at me, but I liked it anyway. She’s a threat and the movie is no longer remotely hiding it.

[angelstate]

“Unprioritized Love”

Husband!Price x Wife!Reader

Price is a loyal person, he thinks about everyone else before himself and doesn’t hesitate to do something he normally would be against if it means saving the people he cares for, it truly is a blessing at times, the way his priorities don’t falter…until they do.

because he is a loyal person but does not know or pretends not to know in which situations he should stand by one person instead of the other, it’s conflicting for him to choose someone when another person is also expecting his support.

it hurts a lot when you’re caught in that sort of situation with him, you’re his lover, his companion in life, and the person he returns home to, but you’re also the person he leaves behind for his team, you’re the one who waits around for him while the team gets him almost all the time.

and you know jealousy isn’t healthy, that you shouldn’t resent anyone because it's his job, he has to leave to provide for you, you cannot bite the hand that feeds you, it would be wrong, it wouldn’t be pretty, it wouldn’t be fair for him.

so you bite your tongue and nod like a child when he tells you about his job, about him going away once more, for longer this time. and the tears in your eyes are hard to be held back, because God, it hurts a lot to be left behind, all by yourself. away from your family and your lover, only an empty home to satisfy your basic needs.

He doesn’t mean to be an absent presence, the lack of a lover in your life. He truly doesn’t mean to give so little to you, to not hold you every night. but between his job and you…he knows which one he isn’t choosing even if he doesn’t say it out loud. 

“I'll be back when I can, alright?” he speaks, voice gruff as he looks around the room, his hands on his hips, you stay seated on the couch, knees close to your chest and your eyes glued to the TV for a distraction, is better to pretend you don’t care than to show him how much you are beginning to hate the dynamic he created in your life.

“mhm” you hum in agreement, taking a big breath and holding it in before exhaling through your nose, not trusting that if you open your mouth, a sob wouldn’t escape, Price notices the lack of words from your part, you always have something to say, a small joke to make about him better bringing you a souvenir or something from his “trip” but when this time you don’t speak or even dare to look at him makes him anxious.

“Want me to bring you something?” he asks, taking a few steps towards you, looking towards the TV, a baking program playing, and your focus on the show makes him raise an eyebrow, you aren’t one to enjoy cooking so he doesn't understand why you’re watching it. 

“no thanks” you respond, and the answer makes him feel like he’s done something wrong that made you upset, the last 4 days he’s been home replaying in his mind, trying to remember what could’ve made you get angry with him, nothing comes to mind sadly, and he feels clueless about everything surrounding you. 

“I thought you don’t like cooking” He decides to comment, shifting the conversation to something more banal and easy to speak about. “I started baking almost 8 months ago” you answer him back, voice flat and your eyes strained on the TV, the recipe to make pavlova having your main focus, it makes Price frustrated, how you won’t look at him, won’t give him the time of day when he’s leaving tomorrow.

you don’t expect him to know how your life develops and the things that change when he's away most of the time, it wouldn’t be fair to expect him to pay you attention when he already has a tough and complicated job to do, his salary pays for the kitchen supplies and food after all. it wouldn’t be fair to expect him to know you... god, how stupid is that?

“You didn’t tell me” Price states, his voice carrying a heaviness that reveals he is irritated about not being told something he should’ve known if he paid attention to the new things in the kitchen like the stand mixer next to the electric oven. 

“I thought I mentioned it when I gave you to try the brownies I made yesterday” you retort, your eyes landing on him for a second before returning to the TV, your gaze isn’t welcoming or warm and it creates a pit on his stomach to see you so detached and unresponsive to something he knew should make you upset.

It brings a sort of heaviness to his chest as he notices he doesn’t have the right to feel offended about not being told something when you should be upset about him not noticing in the first place something that occurred in his own home. It is hypocritical and he knows it.

Price stays silent for a long time, the sound of the TV filling in the silence that was created between the two of you, he feels out of place, not knowing how to answer you, what to do, what is the problem he feels he should be fixing right now.

“you should start packing” you comment after almost five minutes, and that phrase is said with a monotone tone, not one of sadness or a little bit of frustration that he’s leaving again, it's a tone that just states the obvious, you declare that he should pack his bag once more because otherwise he would leave with nothing for his mission and that wouldn’t be optimal.

“Can you help me pack?” He asks for a favor you often offer without him mentioning wanting your help. tonight you don’t offer assistance, almost like you aren’t faced by his departure, used to his absence, used to his side of the bed being empty.

“I’m watching TV” you speak and his heart breaks a little bit, you don’t sound apologetic as you often do when you’re not able to help him, and he’s leaving but he feels you left instead, that the girl he married is no longer in the house even though he has you in front of him, too focused on looking at the tv to help him.

he nods at your answer and doesn’t try to persuade you into doing something you don’t want to, it wouldn’t be fair to force you to help him just because he wants you to, it isn’t fair for you to give a hand and for him to take your arm. Loving someone isn’t really fair.

Only when he leaves the living room to go pack do your tears make their way out of your eyes, running down your cheeks as you cry silently, vision too blurry to even distinguish the images on the TV, it feels almost pathetic to be crying alone, your lover packing to leave and not be able to bring yourself to help him abandon you once again.

If you were his pet it would be abuse for him to just leave, but you're a woman and therefore being alone and left behind isn’t unexpected, being the one to stay home is almost an obligation when your lover leaves to provide for you even if you wish they stayed.

you’re not sure how it begins to be fair to be put in this situation, when the missions of 4 weeks turned into 4 months. When knowing everything about each other turned into barely remembering anniversaries and birthdays.

You don’t want to say the relationship fell apart because you doubt there’s anything at all to be destroyed anymore, you love him though, the pain in your chest and the tears falling from your eyes are proof of that, but you are not sure John loves you.

It’s uncertain how he views you after not spending time together for almost two years, you doubt there is nothing more than just an acknowledgment of your existence in his life, a statement that he knows you're his partner but not enough love to call you his lover.

“Why are you crying darling?” the sudden voice of Price pulls you out of your thoughts, the place next to you on the couch sinking as he takes a sit beside you, resting his elbows on his knees while his eyes examine your expression, you look utterly distraught about something, your breathing uneven and shaky as you begin to sob loudly, unable to talk as all your emotions came crashing down.

and the sight of you crying, digging your nails into your thighs, and being desperate for a peace that will not come, makes a heavy feeling of guilt and worry sit on his shoulders, wrapping an arm around your waist and another under your knees, bringing you into his lap and putting your face on the crook of his neck while you cried, sobs muffled against his skin, your tears wetting his shirt.

“take a deep breath love” Price says in your ear, your breathing so erratic that it makes him worried you will suffocate at some point because of the lack of oxygen in your body, he feels your chest against him as you do as he told you, taking deep breaths the best you can, trying to calm down for your and his sake.

you’ve never been one to cry with so much despair, to need his comfort in times of need because you managed well on your own, he was never around to solve your sorrow either so why bother? But today, he is the reason you're crying and it seems fair that he is the one to comfort you, that your only chore is to cry and keep your breathing somewhat stable while he does everything else to fix what he broke.

He doesn't know where to begin though, unaware of where he stands or what he should do to bring peace into your mind, what words will fix his mistake, and what words will tear you apart even more, he doesn’t want to cause you harm, not consciously, not right now. it wouldn’t be fair to you, it wouldn’t be fair to your heart, it would be cruel. and he doesn’t want to be cruel to you, not anymore.

“I’m sorry love…I should’ve been good to you” he whispers, kissing the top of your head, rocking you back and forth on his lap, soothing you like he would to a child, his voice low and soft, his hand caressing your thighs in a comforting manner. 

“I don’t know why I didn’t notice that you started baking, it was wrong, I didn’t notice you when I should’ve noticed every change you’ve had over the last two years” he continuous, speaking out the guilt he carried in his chest the moment he saw you and heard you break down into tears, your sobs engraved in his mind.

“I’m really sorry for missing out on all of this when I was gone, I shouldn’t have been such a bad husband, you don’t deserve that” he sighs, his eyes stinting a little bit from the tears beginning to form, and your calmer now, sniffling and whimpering, the tears slowly stopping, but it seems that your distraught was transferred to him because he doesn’t feel at ease, he feels the guilt eat him alive while he soothes you.

“I don't want you to leave…” you mumble, adjusting on his lap, your head resting against his chest, you have never wanted him to leave home, to go on missions for months on end with little to no contact with your lover, it feels like you're mourning him every time he goes away and doesn’t give you a small message to let you know he wasn’t killed.

“I know sweet girl” he replies, he doesn’t want to leave either, he never wants to, even though he continues to do so. It's a complicated situation, one he doesn’t dare to think about too much because he’ll end up ripping his heart out, his loyalty not being able to distribute equally for you and his team, always the latter winning even if he doesn’t dare to admit it.

he wants to promise you he’ll return quickly this time and will take a leave just to spend time with you, to dedicate more time to what's left of your relationship, he doesn’t want your marriage to fail, you’re the only woman he wants, the only one he had ever seen himself grow old together, he doesn’t want to let that go because of his own stupid and selfish mistakes.

He has to leave tomorrow, but when he’s back he’ll fix everything.

“I'll be back soon” he mumbles against your hair, face buried in it as breathes in your smell, trying to engrave it in his mind, to not forget this time details about you he has always loved. 

Thankfully, his promise becomes reality, and after two weeks of loneliness that have never felt heavier on your chest, he returns, a bouquet of flowers in his hand and a smile on his lips, happy to see you, to see the warmth and loving gaze you always give him back in your eyes after all this time.

He steps through the door, your face pressed against his chest, refusing to let go of him, fearing he would leave even if it wasn’t unreasonable, he had returned early for you, he had seen his mistakes and was fixing what never should’ve been broken

Peace is restored in your home, love is flourishing once again in your marriage, and whatever plans you had made to start over get discarded, you’re already having a fresh start, one that doesn’t involve leaving your lover. this time is a start with a more conscious man who is ready to do everything right by you, to never let his job affect the way he loves you. He's learning that his wife comes first, that his life outside of the military also has the same and more importance than his job.

(little reminder: I'm taking requests if you want me to write something specific xx)

[cwseriesshowdown]

Quarterfinals: Riverdale vs Legends of Tomorrow

Riverdale: Archie Andrews starts the school year with the world weighing on his shoulders. He's decided he wants to pursue a future in the music business, but his recently ended clandestine relationship with the music teacher has left him without a mentor, and his friendship with Jughead Jones is in a bad place. Things look like they might be turning around when Veronica Lodge, a new girl, arrives. Despite the instant chemistry, Veronica is hesitant to risk a friendship with Betty -- who has a crush on Archie -- to pursue anything. Amidst all the small-town banality lurks a mystery: the recent tragic death of Jason Blossom, the twin brother of beautiful and popular troublemaker, Cheryl.

Legends of Tomorrow: After seeing what doom the future holds, time-traveling rogue Rip Hunter realizes heroes alone are not enough to prevent the impending catastrophe that threatens the planet. Tasked with recruiting both heroes and villains, Rip brings together a ragtag team of divergent talents, which includes the likes of Sara Lance, Ray Palmer, and Heat Wave. Although the team continually adds and loses members, their goal is always the same -- prevent supervillains from destroying time itself.

[girlfromflor]

atsumu and his infatuation with stoic!reader - part 1

wc: 1371 | tw: some swear words ig | a/n: i did not proofread this lol, part 2

atsumu was never one to think too hard about other people’s actions. he always thought that when someone said something, they meant it. when they didn’t say anything, well that’s just because there is nothing to be said. he was just as simple, so why worry, right? but that was before he met you. 

he still remembers the very first time he saw you come over practice. you seemed so lost, trying to speak to the coach and see if there was any chance you could be part of the club, only to have your voice completely drown in the loud sound of the balls hitting the court’s floor. atsumu was stunned, he had never seen you around and yet it felt like you were known, like that one person he can always count on. you were so gorgeous, your hair matching your pretty face and soft eyes. he almost immediately asked you to marry him. his eyes worked unceasingly to memorize every part of you. how you were a bit shorter than him, how the school uniform wrapped every part of your body oh so nicely, and he wondered how you would look rid of all those layers. so he gathered all his courage and after a deep breath he approached you, “uh, hi. i’m miya atsumu, do you need help?” 

you, with your ever so practical and stoic persona, had the immediate reaction to just say no. usually not one to chit chat or kill time doing something so trivial as talking about ordinary and banal things. but as you turned to answer the atsumu guy, you freezed. probably it was the first time you ever stood in a situation like this, but god, he was so absolutely gorgeous to you that your whole demeanor changed. you were a loss of words. flustered with your own traitor thoughts and, as you realized you were taking too much time to answer a simple question, your mind went blank for a minute. “sorry, what…?”

he laughed. and god, what a cute laugh he had. he wondered if you were always this distracted. “do you need help? with whatever it is that you’re doing…” and gave you a smile, trying his hardest to not add a random ‘love’ into the phrase. to his surprise you didn’t smile back, face expressionless as you said, “oh, right. yeah, i think i could use some help. i need to subscribe to some club activities and i thought maybe i could be part of the volleyball team… do you think that can happen?” after having a few seconds to recompose yourself you managed to mutter, thanking whatever wave of luck that allowed you not to stumble over your words.

and after that, atsumu knew he was in for a long journey. being head over heels for someone that he later learned to be a first-year, that he now would most likely see everyday and that – much to his dismay – did not utter a single word towards him, unless absolutely necessary. he did not understand any of it. why he felt so breathless around you and why you seemed so oblivious to his advances. he didn’t know how to deal with all of it, he just wanted to know you completely, to have access to your deepest desires and wills and have you share all parts of you and your life. 

but you never really seemed to realize how intensely he cared for you. and nowadays all he can do is to be deeply attentive to everything you do. whenever you say something – or when you don’t, for that matter – he’ll find a way to read your words and actions over and over again. he’s obsessed with it. he can’t imagine why in the world you are so little affected by the things he says and does. how could you not have any sort of reaction when he was around you doing all types of things to get your attention. it wasn’t until a random practice day that he realized just how much you actually noticed him.

he couldn’t help but reminisce that afternoon, it was very meaningful to him. after a few months of coexisting, he managed to remain well behaved with you. only exchanging a few words of politeness whenever you two met. he had just thrown another bad set to one of his teammates, growing frustrated and bothered by the minute. you don’t notice at first what’s wrong. nevertheless, you are the very first to really understand the problem. while all of the boys swim in confusion as to why atsumu seemed so lost in his thoughts during practice, you decide it’s time for him to focus already.

“atsumu” you call, waiting for him to look at you. he lifts his eyes slowly, so caught up in his frustration to notice the soft glint of affection in yours. “yes…?” he answers at last, still not paying you full attention. 

“i know you’re stressed over exams…” and that’s enough to have him looking at you with attentive eyes, wondering how did you know that since you’re not usually aware of those things, always having the best grades of your class. “but it will be okay. you studied harder than ever, if that’s not enough then i don’t know what would be…”

he lets out an amused chuckle, thinking that you’re just trying to be practical and make him not waste a whole practice just because he’s worried. but then it clicks, he never mentioned exams. during the whole time he spent studying, he did not mention it once. he was pressured enough, he didn’t want anyone else to add up to his stress. he questions then, why would you assume that, of all things? 

little does he know that you noticed how he was getting a few minutes later than the others at practice, because he was finishing a summary of his exams topics. how he would look at the paper in his pocket from time to time to check if he had gotten the right answers to the questions he was mentally doing over and over. how he stopped staying after hours so he could get home sooner, probably to go over his notes about that one topic he never really manages to understand just right.

so he tilts his head a bit to the side, still looking at you with some amusement in his eyes and says, “is not only that, you know… i have to study so much to get good grades and can’t even set right while doing so, it makes me wonder if i won’t ever be able to do two things at the same time…”

and for that you just giggle. a light, sweet sound that just makes atsumu drown even more in his infatuation for you. you raise your eyebrows, hardly believing these words had really left his mouth. “atsumu…” is soft, trying to not sound aggressive, but all the boys that are paying attention can see that you’re actually dead serious when you say, matter-of-factly “you’re recognized as the number one high school setter… what are you so concerned about?”

and that just hits him like a fucking punch, because you are not saying it to encourage him nor is it to make him feel better. you stating a fact, he is indeed one of the best players in high school, he should be able to study hard and still play well, it comes naturally to him anyway. his eyes fill up with something you can’t quite point out, his smirk spoke volumes though “well, i guess it just gets hard to remember that sometimes”.

after that short dialogue you two shared, he managed not to miss one move throughout the rest of their practice. his humor well recovered as he wonders just how much you watch him around and that, maybe, you think of him just as much as he thinks of you. but nothing could have prepared him for the next day, when he was changing at the locker room and found a note that said “so you don’t have a hard time remembering it” with a simple black bracelet underneath that had “best setter” engraved on it.

[carrie-tate]

Royal Smile

"Spending time in the company of friends, Todoroki Shoto sincerely wants to learn to rejoice with them. And they are happy to help him with this"

Lee! Todoroki, Ler!Uraraka and Midoriya [+ Iida]

Warnings: none, I guess? fluff, tickles and friendship :3

info: yes, I know you're used to me drawing here and not writing, but inspiration came over me and here we are… I'll tie this to the fact that I've overcome another milestone here. And yes, this is dedicated to the blurry fantasy au inspired by the 2nd ending of season 2

info2: according to the calculations, there are approximately +3.5k words here

***

The situation Shoto found himself in now was like the most banal plot from the books he read in their library. A team of completely different people gathered together, moving towards adventures to defeat a great evil. Midoriya Izuku, a simple and kind guy, an adventurer in its purest form. Ochako Uraraka, a sorceress and a witch, with a clearly positive outlook on life and fire in her eyes. Tenya Iida, a wandering knight who had accompanied the girl on her adventures even before their mutual meeting, clearly had a loyal and friendly disposition.

And himself. Todoroki Shoto. A runaway prince, tired of the pressure of status and his father, decided to accompany these three on their journey. It was a truly fairy tale plot.

Having become the fourth in this motley company, Shoto could already observe the established communication of the other three from the sidelines. Sociable, easy and without any formality. The complete opposite of what he had become accustomed to over the years of living within the palace walls. And it was worth admitting that he was starting to like these people.

Although for now he was still… on the sidelines. The other three did not dare to behave in a casual manner towards him, still taking into account his status and the fact that he might simply not like it. And Todoroki himself, due to his upbringing and simply the lack of proper experience, did not dare to take the first steps himself. Therefore, he remained a little further away, with an eternally thoughtful look.

But as the days passed, this awkwardness melted away like snow in the sun, quickly and imperceptibly. At least more and more often, someone from the company decided to joke with him or talk about all sorts of nonsense. A polite pat on the shoulder from Uraraka immediately became the first step for Shoto in their newly acquired friendship. And Todoroki sincerely wanted to respond to his comrades in the same way. At least try.

So one evening, when the company settled down for a rest at the edge of the forest, the prince made such an attempt. He tried to smile when he and Midoriya were collecting brushwood near the camp and the boy started talking about various plants that he managed to remember in this area and their properties. But seeing Shoto's face, Izuku stopped mid-sentence.

"What's... with your face..?" The young man asks carefully, choosing his words so as not to sound rude.

Todoroki's shaky attempt at a smile immediately disappeared from his face when the prince explained sheepishly.

"I... I was smiling," but it seemed to have turned out differently than planned, Shoto thought then. "Like you do it always..."

"Oh, good, and I already thought you had a cramp," Midoriya said rashly, but then realized how it sounded. Seeing Todoroki's even more gloomy face, he tried to smooth things over. "I mean, no! It wasn't that bad, like—!"

"I guess I don't have that skill at all..." The prince mutters resignedly.

This makes Midoriya sympathize. What kind of life do you have to live to... not have the skill to smile. He shifted the bundle of brushwood in one hand and patted Todoroki on the back with his free hand, trying to cheer him up.

"You don't have to despair that much," the boy says encouragingly when the prince turns his gaze to him. An awkward but sincere smile plays on Izuku's face as he watches Shoto sigh at his words. Midoriya doesn't hold back and honestly admits. "Although you really lack practice..." and then mutters to himself, having this habit of thinking out loud. "Although this usually happens on its own... it's not a skill at all..."

There was an awkward silence, broken by Midoriya's musings out loud, as they were still walking along the forest path, heading back to their camp. Then Todoroki made a completely unexpected request, looking at the boy.

"Can you... teach me?" He said it slowly. Even in a way, embarrassed, but still determined. The prince clearly wanted to get closer to his comrades and was eager to learn something new.

"Teach you?" Midoriya snapped out of his thoughts, blinking his eyes absentmindedly and looking at him. "How to smile?" He thought for a moment, thinking about how unusual it was. But at the same time… Why not? "What a challenge… But I can try."

Now Todoroki could try smiling again, he really wanted to. But the previous unsuccessful experience forced him to only nod very gratefully and expressively. But the prince's eyes clearly sparkled.

They continued walking as Midoriya continued to talk out loud about how exactly he should teach Shoto a skill that was literally natural from birth. He mumbled habitually, taking the new task habitually as a challenge for himself, raising his free hand to his chin.

“Although I don’t even know where to start…” Then he turns his gaze to Todoroki and asks. “What makes you happy? What made you smile last time?”

Walking next to him, the prince thought for a moment. And when was the last time he smiled? Not counting this attempt… Damn, he didn’t remember anything further than early childhood. And from there, the memories were too blurry. That is, he had absolutely no idea what to say to this. Shoto sheepishly admits:

“I… I don’t know.”

Midoriya frowned slightly, it sounded… seriously gloomy. "Has he really never smiled at anything for so many years?", Izuku couldn't help but think as he absentmindedly suggested:

"What, you didn't even have jesters in your castle…?"

"There were, but I never found them funny," Todoroki replied. He recalled the palace walls and its customs with obvious irritation.

"What, nothing at all?" Midoriya was horrified, even standing still for a moment, surprising Shoto. "No favorite book, no favorite music? I thought life in the palace should be filled with balls or other… celebrations?"

Todoroki also frowned at all of the above. Yes, he had read many books, they replaced people for him at times, but he wouldn't say that he could single out even one as his favorite. As for the celebrations and balls…

“They’re not nearly as fun as you might think,” the prince says. “There’s more hypocrisy and royal intrigue…”

“You don’t have to continue!” Midoriya interrupts the boy in a slight panic, realizing that he’s said something stupid again. He sighs as they continue approaching the camp. The situation turned out to be even more neglected than Izuku had assumed, and this clearly worried him. “But is it really nothing at all..?”

Todoroki thought about all this too. In fact, there was one thing that made him happy. Well, at least it looked like it. And he decides to suddenly voice it.

“I think our journey makes me happy,” in his usual neutral, thoughtful tone, but there was a sincere feeling of recognition in it. “Before you all, I didn’t feel so… appropriate.”

Izuku looked back at the prince with wide eyes. He had to admit, such a confession clearly touched him. Midoriya could even shed tears, but he held back. The guy smiles stupidly and nods.

“Well, then our goal now is for it to stay that way,” He answers when they have already approached the rest stop.

At this time, Ochako was once again sorting through the contents of her backpack. After all, any self-respecting sorceress should be aware of what she has and what she lacks. Herbs, flasks, notes, usually by the evening it all always got mixed up in one heap. Tenya, who was sitting next to her, was making sure that the hastily lit fire didn't go out before Midoriya and Todoroki arrived.

At the moment the two returned, Uraraka was examining, shaking and listening to a handful of crystals that she also carried with her, gathered into one chain on a string. The crystals rattled beautifully against each other, producing a quiet, pleasant music. But noticing how her friends came out into the clearing, Ochako immediately put this treasure aside, waving her hand at the guys. Mydoriya's words didn't go unnoticed by Iida.

"What's the goal?" The straightforward knight immediately asked.

Midoriya hesitated with his answer. He couldn't say so directly about Todoroki's request. He looked back at the prince and finally convinced himself that he didn't need to tell the details. Izuku laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head with his free hand.

"Oh, it doesn't matter," he waved it off and finally put the brushwood on the ground near their fire. The guy decided to change the subject and his gaze fell on the crystals Ochako had left. He hadn't paid attention to them before, but now he saw this as an ideal excuse to change the topic. "And what is this?"

***

And now the conversation had flown in a completely different direction, where Uraraka, with her usual enthusiasm, was talking about her magical things. And then all three of them, plus Todoroki, who sat down next to them, discussed music, until the topic touched on dancing. It seemed that all three of them somehow remembered how they had a fun time listening to music with their cared ones.

“Now it’s clear why Midoriya had such an opinion about the festivities in the palace…” Shoto thought to himself, acting as an attentive listener. “It seems that others have it much… more fun.”

And the guy felt a slight prick from the opportunities he had missed. Only because he was unlucky enough to be born in these pompous royal conditions without the simple joys of life. But before he could fully immerse himself in his thoughts, Uraraka attracted everyone’s attention. She jumped to her feet and, folding her hands together in an energetic gesture, suggested.

“Let’s dance! I’ve missed it so much!” And as the most enthusiastic girl, she picked up her magic staff from the ground and immediately tried to remember a suitable trick for this.

A couple of magic words, a couple of ringing melodic crystals suspended from the nearest tree branch, and now soft music was heard throughout the clearing. Todoroki raised his eyebrows, once again convinced of the fairytale nature of the events he found himself in.

Midoriya was the first to be dragged off to dance, when Ochako pulled him by the arms with a wide smile. At first, the surprised boy kept stumbling, looking at his feet, until he finally relaxed and began to dance with the girl. Todoroki looked at them, then at Tenya, the knight restrainedly did not immediately give in to the fun of his friends.

But soon enough, Iida was dragged along. When even he, who seemed usually constrained by armor and rules, twisted dance steps that were more reminiscent of the movements of the hands of a clock in their precision than the wild jumps and turns from his sorceress friend. Todoroki looked at them with a mixture of envy and embarrassment, when Midoriya suddenly extended his hand to him with a wide smile.

And the persuasion that Shoto did not know the same dances as his friends did not help. The dances that he saw in the palace were more constrained and much more reserved... Fake, as the prince thought then. But he did not know how to real dance. But he was still raised to his feet and carried away to everyone else.

A step, a second, a third. Here he stumbled. Here he awkwardly tried to repeat the movement, turned and almost fell. But he was immediately caught back by the hands and put upright. The sounds of music and laughter mixed in his head. For the first time, Todoroki was not on the sidelines. He participated. He was a part of something. And this awareness spread in his chest with a pleasant warmth.

And this feeling made him want to smile, and it seemed that this time it was for real. But Shoto did not have time to consciously think about it. Uraraka, carried away by the dance, absentmindedly collided with him, nudging the prince in the side with her elbow. And before Todoroki could even think, a quiet gasp escaped his mouth.

There was silence, even the music died down. None of the three of them had heard such sounds from the prince in all these days. Izuku and Tenya exchanged confused glances when Ochako, assuming the worst, immediately rushed to apologize.

"Oh-oh, I'm so sorry, wait, did that hurt?"

"No," Shoto managed to answer confusedly. Honestly, he himself did not understand what happened. It happened so quickly that he himself did not realize why he... Almost screamed. Therefore, he assumed the most obvious thing for himself. "You... just caught me off guard, everything is fine."

The sorceress looked at Todoroki in confusion. At first, she was glad that she did not hurt him. But then she wondered why he reacted so... much. A wild thought crossed her mind, and Uraraka's face immediately blossomed into a grin of a guess as she asked.

"Wait, are you ticklish...?"

And in Todoroki's place, anyone would have been horrified by the mischievous sparkle in the girl's eyes. But Shoto didn't react at all, looking at Ochako with confusion and trying to understand what she was asking him about.

"Am I what..?"

"Huh? You don't know what this is?" Uraraka was surprised, even stopping her grin, although seeing his bewilderment, all three of them were confused.

In response, the prince shook his head, looking at the others and realizing that it seemed like he had missed something else in his life, something that everyone seemed to know. Midoriya tried to explain everything to him, speaking awkwardly.

“Well, it’s when one person touches another and…” The guy awkwardly gestures, trying to describe something so familiar and simple to him. “And they laughs..?”

Todoroki frowned, analyzing what he heard. This description did not fit anything from his life experience. And he could hardly imagine it. Midoriya was confusedly trying to think of a way to explain it clearly, but then Uraraka solved the problem.

“Something like that.”

Her thin hands quickly made their way under the breastplate of Iida's armor, squeezing his sides. Immediately causing a surprised wheeze from the knight, when he almost instantly almost folded in half, giggling, trying to move away from the girl. It was just the seconds.

Todoroki raised his eyebrows in surprise as the girl finally took her hands off her friend with a satisfied smirk. Tenya stumbled back, trying to catch his breath from the sudden attack.

“Uraraka!” The knight looked at her, trying to look menacing and angry, but it was clear that he was still smiling himself.

“I needed a demonstration.” The girl shrugged lightly, smiling innocently.

“You could have demonstrated it on someone else…”

Todoroki watched as Ochako snickered at Iida's frivolous indignation. At the same time, Shoto was trying to comprehend the whole process. It seemed simply crazy to him, could a simple touch to a certain spot in a certain way make someone laugh? And it seemed completely out of control…

At the same time, Izuku, who no one was paying attention to yet. He was also thinking. He analyzed Shoto's sudden reaction to this poke, suddenly deciding on a rash stupidity. The guy reached his hands to the prince's waist, when his fingers dug into his sides.

Todoroki's eyes instantly opened wider in surprise from the sudden contact. He didn't even think that Midoriya would think of such a thing. Exactly the same scream, even a squeak, burst out of his lungs from a shocking unfamiliar sensation, and after that, a quick and uncontrollable stream of giggles immediately followed.

"A-Ahhaha— Wh-What?"

And it was… A charming sound. Hoarse from unfamiliarity, but quickly revealed as a quiet and pretty laugh, which the guy honestly tried to suppress. It was worth admitting, no one expected such an immediate reaction. Iida and Uraraka were distracted from their joke argument and stared at Todoroki in amazement. At the same time, Midoriya rather only became more inspired, continuing to poke the prince here and there with curiosity, striking laughter out of the young man like sparks from flint.

Which Todoroki couldn't stop! It really was impossible to control, everything inside was shrinking into a lump from the influx of a new, unexplored feeling. Each new touch seemed to make laughter bubble in his throat with renewed vigor and burst out. Shoto did not even immediately realize that he could try to escape.

And when he tried, he took such a shaky step back that he stumbled and fell onto the grass, breathing heavily and hugging himself with his arms, trying to comprehend what had just happened. The smile was still firmly on his face when he hesitantly opened his closed eyes.

And he saw the three of them standing above him, exchanging glances, unable to contain their own giggles as they all seemed to share the thought that he looked… adorable. The smile did suit the prince unironically, and for the first time he looked alive, rather than as if he was lost in his own thoughts.

"Are you alright?" Midoriya asks, smiling slightly apologetically as he squatted down next to Todoroki.

It seemed that Todoroki managed to nod and say that he was fine. Only now did the boy notice how hot his own face seemed to him now. Shoto continued to lie on the ground, looking at his comrades, suspiciously noticing the smirks with which (even the usually serious Iida) they exchanged glances.

“Then fine!” The sorceress clapped her hands, suddenly kneeling on the ground next to them. On the other side of him, across from Izuku.

Todoroki was starting to get nervous about this… but not in a bad way. And when he raised his head, he saw that Tenya had also ended up lowering himself to the ground behind his head. The prince thought that he was surrounded, and he was clearly not mistaken. Because when he belatedly inquired about what these three were up to, Midoriya immediately answered him:

“Well, you wanted to learn how to smile,” a bright smile played on the boy’s face, in which a mischievous plan was clearly hidden. "I think now is the time."

And before Shoto could object, he felt Izuku's fingers move along his sides again, immediately causing another cry and an instant reaction, when the prince closed his eyes in another fit of laughter. Just as he was about to try to grab Midoriya's hands, almost at the same moment Ochako joined the guy, making her way with her fingers to his ribs, causing another surprised squeak from Todoroki. Shoto's laughter became louder, even seeming to rise an octave.

Here he finally recovered from the shock, making an attempt to wriggle out of their hands. Well, or at least fight back with his own hands, trying to catch someone by the wrists and pull them away from him. But this newfound ability to fight was also brazenly taken away from him. Pausing for a moment, Uraraka said:

“Iida, could you hold his arms…”

“No, wahait—” Then Shoto knew it was all over for him when Tenya easily caught his hands, which had weakened from laughter, and pinned them behind his head.

And before the prince could try to convince the three of them to come to their senses, they returned to their previous activities without a trace of shame. Laughter came from his mouth again as he helplessly threw his head back, squinting his eyes. He tugged at his hands, but the knight’s grip was unwavering. And this inability to even lower his own hands seemed to only intensify these feelings, driving him into a corner.

Everything was mixed up in his head again. This sudden helplessness seemed so unusual for the usually stoic Shoto. But even this thought did not stay in his head for long, quickly replaced by a stream of sensations that his brain was frantically trying to process. Because Midoriya and Uraraka, with obvious excitement, seemed to find a completely new spots on his body every time, causing a completely new sounds.

Whether it was the tried and tested running of fingers along his waist, causing the prince to instantly burst into giggles. Or the careful fingernails running along his ribs, as if counting them, causing a new yelp each time, accompanied by laughter. Even when Iida, pressing Shoto's wrists with one hand, scratched his fingers along his neck with his free hand, it caused the prince to squeak in a completely unroyal way and want to pull his head into his shoulders like a turtle.

Only a couple of minutes passed. For Shoto, it seemed like an eternity. Finally, they left him alone, allowing him to breathe fresh air into his lungs. When Todoroki realized that they were no longer holding his hands, he did not hesitate to immediately turn on his side and curl up into a ball, pressing his hands to his sides and still unable to suppress the laughter remaining in his chest. He did not even remember the last time he laughed like that and whether he ever laughed like that at all.

The three of them looked at each other, pleased with their work. Slowly, the playful atmosphere gave way to the evening gloom, when it became noticeable how quickly the sun was setting. Midoriya and Iida suddenly remembered about the fire, which they had completely forgotten about and which had almost died out.

While the two were dealing with the source of heat, Ochako stayed with Todoroki, modestly placing her hand on his shoulder as a consolation.

And Shoto himself was recovering from his thoughts for a long time, watching the others with narrowed eyes. Despite what he had experienced, despite the feeling of helplessness, for some reason he strangely felt… happy.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Homebrew Mechanic: Battles of Attrition

I think we can all agree that there’s something a little wonky with how d&d’s combat system changes between the early and mid/late game. Heroes go from being rightfully cautious about danger to being outright banal about it, confident that their accumulated power will be enough to dispatch all but the most outstanding foes.  The traditional solution is to put them up against stronger enemies but in my experience these mismatched encounters are a failing proposition: combat just gets more swingy and there’s only so many high level threats I can throw at them in a short period of time before it begins to strain credulity.   

While a lot of folks (Especially the OSR crowd) have taken the stance that 5e is broken because of how much it empowers players, I think the real fault lays with the lack of systems that exist to provide challenge outside of anything related to the damage based tug-of-war that is combat.  I think a lot of those systems were part of the non existent “exploration” pillar of the game before Hasbro realized they could make easy money selling the game in its unfinished state and gutted it along with the development team. 

Thankfully, I and other homebrewers are around to do what the megacorporations cant, namely have some original thoughts and try and figure out a way to add challenge back to the game without resenting those playing it for having fun. 

TLDR:  Trying to make our games challenging by upping damage numbers in combat is a losing proposition, in no small part because that part of the game is DESIGNED around the heroes winning. Instead, we up the overall difficulty by making them temporarily weaker with systems like sickness, stress, exhaustion, & item degradation. All of which I have details and guidelines on below the cut. 

First and foremost let me state some of my goals for these “attrition systems”, so we can all be on the same page. Whenever I make homebrew rules I try for something that’s going to require little to no paperwork on behalf of the players and can be seamlessly implemented into my DMing style. It’s not about realism, it’s not about punishing players, this is a way for me to add mechanical depth without bogging down the machine entirely. 

Attrition should be largely non-permanent.  The 5e audience invests a lot in their characters both emotionally and mechanically, so it won’t do to pile on debilitating debuff after debuff to the point of making a character useless. 

There should be an inverse relationship between the severity of the affliction and how long it lasts. Think in term of encounters, days, or weeks, (with the understanding that an attrition that goes on for long enough becomes a questhook in itself) 

The exception to this rule is if someone hits 0 hitpoints. I’m outspoken in my stance that characters should only die when it’s alternatively appropriate, but the dm is at liberty to inflict thematically devastating setbacks in the unlikely event that the party DOES suffer losses in the damage tug of war. 

We want to be sparing with how much attrition we throw at the party at once, so as to not create a “death spiral” where failures compound upon one another and make getting through the adventure impossible. 

In most cases suffering Attrition should be something the party is able to avoid by being fast/lucky/cautious/clever or whatever else the encounter requires. It’s there to add weight and consequence to their actions, and as a factor for DMs to build scenarios around. 

Exhaustion:  Unlike a lot of the other changes made in Oned&d, I actually quite like the overhaul of “each point of exhaustion is a cumulative -1 to all d20 rolls and spell dc, beyond 10 is death” as it allows us to play with exhaustion far more readily as an attrition. 

Every night you don’t rest in a haven (a safe comfortable place)  you need to make a con save or take a point of exhaustion, with the ruggedness of the environment determining the DC. Characters with the survival skill or natural explorer feat don’t have to make this roll. Only rest in a haven removes exhaustion at the rate of one point per night (though spaces like a luxury inn or a peaceful glade watched over by friendly fey may restore more)  

Hitting 0 hp and then being healed gives you a point of exhaustion. Nothing’s going to tire you out like getting magically defibulated so now everyone can stop complaining about healing word spam. 

Poison:  For our purposes, the “poisoned” condition as written  is too severe. Disadvantage on all attacks and ability checks is downright punishing for anything other than a single battle. Instead we’re going to make it work like charmed, where there’s a baseline effect for the purposes of resistance, but the status of each poison is dependant on the source.  

Poison falls in the “ short term big effect” side of attrition, specifically undermining a player’s ability to do most things since most effects end on a successful save or at the end of an encounter. Long lasting poisons should have more minor effects than the default poisoned condition, only applying to a few types of rolls or having a bane-like effect that makes judging the odds just a little bit more difficult.  

This makes poison great to use for dungeons and short-ranging exploration where the party is likely to face multiple encounters in one day. 

Diseases:  4e aced the design of these maladies by treating them as a contained skill challenge with their own CR  with various stages: stage 0: you were cured, stage 1: you suffered the initial effect, stage 2 or 3: you suffered a severe effect, with the final stage (3-4) being some effect that made the disease permanent.  When you got a disease it was usually stage 1, and you (usually) saved for it at the start of each day. Beating the DC by 5 or more meant you went down a stage (closer to 0), where as simply succeeding meant it stayed as bad as it was. Failing meant you got sicker, meaning a character could bounce up and down in wellness as an adventure went on. 

Diseases are best for longterm adventures, and often undermine one particular aspect of a character ( healing, actions assosiated with a particular stat).  Counterpoint to poisons, diseases should start out fairly gentle and then get worse the longer they’re left alone, leading to eventually devastating effects.  

Curses:  While borrowing the mechanics of diseases, I’d have curses be specifically weirder in their effects. The sort of thing that can make up the central hook or b-plot of a whole adventure.  This should also mean that curses are the hardest for the party to stumble into, but also the hardest to shake. 

Item Degradation: Detailed in a previous post HERE, the long and short of it is that item degradation is a form of player driven attrition that gently curbs their overall power level. If they go too hard, use their best items recklessly, get involved in needless fights, then they’re going to be in worse shape by the time they reach the final challenge. This was supposed be the idea behind HP/limited class abilities per day, but attrition systems cover that better IMO. 

Stress:  The psychological counterpoint to exhaustion,  I’ve already talked about Stress HERE. I tend to only use stress in horror themed adventures and campaigns, as it builds upon 5e’s optional “madness” system which fits the theme when gothic terrors and eldritch abominations but less so with the game’s usual heroic fare. 

Hunger & Supply:  I made a super lightweight system based off this idea of “depletion die” for potions and other consumables, check it out, it’s lightweight and fantastic.  Using this kind of system gives us another avenue to challenge our party, lengthening or shortening their lifeline as they lose supplies and seek out new caches. 

Thinking environmentally:  Part of the fantasy of being an adventurer is travelling to dangerous places and living to tell the tale.  We’re denying our party that fantasy if we don’t follow through on the threat the idea of these places imply.  You should risk sickness if you go into a swamp, sewer, or jungle, thirst should be a factor in desert exploration, just like freezing is for mountain and winter expeditions.  That’s to say nothing of magical hazards; cursed landscapes that drain your will to live dead marshes style, alchemical smog in a steampunk industrial zone, fading into nothingness as you approach the edge of existence.  

Figure out the natural hazards, make your party aware of the danger, and then build your adventure around the fact that they’ll need to save against the hazard each time they take a long rest.. Do they take a detour if it means having a safe place to camp? Is there a resource they need to manage along the way? Could encounters expose them to further dangers or make their current exposure worse? Keeping these ideas in mind especially when you’re planning a wilderness exploration adventure should give you lots of ideas to fill up those encounter tables. 

Adding insult to injury:  Giving enemies the ability to inflict attrition in various forms makes otherwise trivial  enemies a credible threat even to a seasoned adventuring party. As an example,  A party might breeze through a fight with some monstrous spiders ( or even ONE regular sized spider, if you can imagine) , but that spider encounter doesn’t need to be the most dangerous thing ever if their next encounter is a navigation challenge fording a river and a few of the heroes are still groggy thanks to the slow acting poison in their systems.  

In this way you can use attrition based battles to soften your party up for greater challenges, long after their HP totals and healing ability have outpaced the damage a single trap/encounter can do. 

Artist

[anime-fan-05]

Haikyuu!! ~With a short reader 2nd part~

1st part is here.

Oikawa T.

He loves hugging you because he really likes the feeling of you in your arms, and especially your head resting on his chest

In fact, if you don't hug him in the morning in front of school, at lunch when you two meet to eat together and after his training (you often have to take him away from the gym) to go home together, he'll complain about not having received the right amount of affection from you (Iwa will hit him at least ten times due to that)

Sometimes he teases you a lot little because he enjoys seeing your pouty face: "(Y/N)-chan, do you mind if I rest my arm here? It's so tired from training." "Tooru, get your gross, sweaty arm off my head!" "But it's the perfect armrest!" "..." "Awwww, (Y/N)-chan, are you pouting? How cute!"

Despite that, although he never misses an opportunity to make you angry about your height, he still does everything he can to make you feel appreciated: he knows when to stop with the teasing and when to compliment you, even for the most seemingly banal things

Furthermore, if a fan mentions something involving your height negatively, he won't hesitate to confront her

Kuroo T.

His teasing (because, come on, we know he certainly does them) are... particular: seriously, sometimes he can be a huge pain, but he's always able to bring a smile to your face ("Here it's." "Why did you bring me milk? I asked you for a bottle of water." "So maybe you grow a little and can at least reach Yaku in height.")

His favorite thing to do is grab you by your waist, hold you up and spin you around, especially after he wins a game or when you see each other again after a long time; he doesn't care who is watching you (his entire team, who will make fun of him forever), because all he's focused on at that moment is the lovely smile stitched on your face

If you start playing with his hands, he'll be wide-eyed, wanting to scream about how adorable you're; nevertheless he won't do so, thinking your or his neighbors won't appreciate it

In addition, his heart will be going crazy in his chest: you've no right to be so pretty, he'll think; he'll pout when you let go of his hands

If you wear his jersey during his games, no ball will go past his blocks; after the match, which will have ended with Nekoma's victory, though, he'll become a little arrogant: "Oh? What are you wearing, chibi?"

Haiba L.

You two make a so cute couple!

You've something like fifty centimeters of difference, but he doesn't care it anyway: he's very direct, and he always lets you know you look super cute for him

Anyhow, since he's so direct and frank, he's sometimes a little insensitive without meaning to, and he may say things to you that can offend you; when that happens, after realizing you're hurt, he begs you to forgive him, even if you two are in public, and he continues until you say you forgive him ("(Y/N)-chaaaaaaaan, forgive me, pleaseeeeee!" "Lev, get up, everyone is watching us!" "Forgive meeeeeeeee!" "Okay, okay, I forgive you, just get up..." "Yay! Let's go to the bar!")

When you two hold your hands, he's the one comparing them: he intertwines them with his and plays with your fingers; "Your hands are so tiny compared to mine" is one of his most common phrases

Your way of hugging is very cute: when you two are standing, you're hugging him from behind literally like a koala, and it's funny because you're so tiny against him; when you two are sitting, instead, you really look like a child compared to him, since you're like a ball on his lap

Tendou S.

He's absolutely not making fun of you, not even as a joke: since he was insulted by other children as a child, he doesn't want you to feel as bad as he felt

If someone makes fun of you, he'll protect you: "So you think you can make fun of my darling like that?" "N-no... I was just saying she's shorter than most people here in Shiratorizawa... T-that's all." "Yes, and I think you-" "Satori." "Yes, beauty?" "No." "..." "Satori." "Yes..."

His typical nicknames for you have to do with beauty ("beauty", "beautiful", "my pretty one", "my pretty girl", "cutie"...); the reason is because he thinks you're really too beautiful: he loves your height, and he thinks you're perfect for him

Speaking of affection, he doesn't mind if he has to bend down to kiss you, but for a long time he proposed you stand on a stool to kiss, and the crazy thing is he even bought it for you!

Besides, I think he's both a small and big spoon: indeed, sometimes he just wants to be held by you (when it happens, it's very funny to see your position due to your height), other times he wants to wrap his arms around you

Goshiki T.

You two met when you showed up at Shiratorizawa's gym as a manager; when he saw you, he started blushing madly, because all he could think about was how adorable you were ("I-I'm G-G-Go... MY NAME IS GOSHIKI TSUTOMU, NICE TO MEET YOU!")

He's so protective of you! He knows very well how adorable you're and how you can appear naive due to your height: in fact, does someone insult you for your height? He'll come to your rescue by listing all the reasons why you're lovely. Is anyone hitting on you? He'll stand in front of you, scaring, or rather trying to scare, them

The best way to cheer him on during his games is to wear his team jersey: the boost of self-esteem he'll receive thanks to your action will be enormous!

In fact, he loves, loves seeing you wear his clothes: they fit huge on you and make you really cute; he would really like to show the whole world how beautiful you look when you've on them

Moreover, if you hug him from behind, he dies of embarrassment because he feels your face against his lower back and your little arms wrapped around him

Miya A.

He also loves to tease you in a playful way: his favorite actions are not bending over when you want to kiss him (so you've either to jump or to "climb" on him), messing up your hair and calling you "shorty"

When you get pouty due to his teasing, he can't help but smile and coo at you because he thinks you're very adorable (his mind only thinks this: awwww, (Y/N) is pouting, she's so, so, so, so, so, so lovely!); if he made you very angry, he would stop immediately and give you an awkward kiss on your cheek (that's his way of apologizing)

If someone makes his same teasing about you, though, he'll make everyone apologize: do you know how he scolded the girls who disturbed his first serve during the match against Karasuno? Here, he'll treat them like that

He loves bragging about you two to his brother (he often gets slapped or objects thrown at his head because of it): "Samu, look how cute my little girl is!" "Don't flaunt my photos around, Tsumu!" "Get out of my way, Atsumu!"

He likes a lot giving you kisses on the forehead, even if he has to bend down quite a bit to do so

💮 Rules 💮 Masterlist 💮

[quadrantadvisor]

Danny Phantom Crossover Angst Week: Prompt - GIW Experimentation

Fandom: Marvel "Team Red"

Words: 2,550

Read on AO3

The new government offices in the Kitchen were suspicious, simply by virtue how un-suspicious they were. Matt, Foggy, and Karen had poured over their documentation, and found it to be squeaky clean and overly banal. Not that it mattered, really, when Matt was going to stake out their building regardless. Newcomers on his turf had to prove themselves.

Matt didn’t like what he heard.

It may, in fact, be time to call in the cavalry. No matter how deeply, desperately, Matt did not want to do that.

-

“You hear that, Spidey?” Wade Wilson crooned. “Ol’ Hornhead needs our help.”

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Spiderman said mirthfully, shaking his head.

They’d been like this for several minutes. Matt was cataloging and systematically shuffling through his life choices, trying to decide which one in particular led him to this moment (so that if he ever had the opportunity to time travel, he could prevent this.)

“Listen,” he told them. “I called you because I have reason to believe this situation is urgent, but my source has been unable to retrieve certain necessary information.”

“Like what?” Spiderman asked before Deadpool could get a word in edgewise.

“Like the dimensions of the building. I know that they don’t match the official schematics, but not what they actually are.”

“That seems very unlikely,” Wade cut in. “I thought you had like, a psychic connection to every part of your kitchen. How does anyone build something without you knowing about it?”

“I’m not psychic,” Matt deadpanned. Who needed a sixth sense? Matt did just fine with the ones he had. “But the answer is, very carefully.”

“Sure, sure,” Spiderman said. “And what’s the actual emergency?”

“They’re holding someone against their will,” Matt told him, glad to cut to the chase. “I have reason to believe that this person is in a great deal of danger, and has been tortured and experimented on for a significant amount of time.”

“The US government is doing this?” Spiderman asked, surprised. “After how many human rights scandals we’ve had in the past few years? Are they stupid?”

“Yes,” Matt answered immediately. “But there seems to be some question of this person’s level of sentience. My source said the attitude of the agents was, ‘Don’t worry if it’s screaming, that means it’s working.’”

The cold slide of a katana being drawn made Matt realize that he should’ve been paying more attention to Deadpool, who had become strangely quiet.

“DP, you good?” Spiderman asked, because he was naive enough to ask questions he already knew the answer to. Matt had gotten caught up in his own urgency, and completely forgotten to take Wade’s history into account. He’d stumbled into a thorny web of traumas, and had no one to blame but himself.

“Doing great, Spidey!” Deadpool said with a cold cheer, and Matt fought the urge to shiver. “Feeling very ready to teach some remedial lessons on human/alien/magical and/or mechanical construct rights! C’mon, team, time’s a-wasting!” And he was off.

Spiderman turned towards Matt and paused, presumably trying to share some sort of look (which wouldn’t have worked regardless, did he forget he wore a full face mask?) Then he tensed to leap, and Matt followed suit, the two of them determined to clean up whatever mess Deadpool made.

-

Deadpool had been made emphatically aware that, if he killed on their watch, neither Spiderman nor Daredevil would ever work with him again. Matt guessed that that promise was the only thing keeping him from further brutality. The stench of blood grew quickly cloying.

“HEY!” Spiderman shouted on his left.

“What?” Deadpool asked in front of him. “It’s not like he needs both hands.”

Spiderman’s webbing thwip-ed out, staunching the wound. “You guys picked a really bad day to wear white,” he said to the swearing agent.

“Lay off the suits, freak!” another one said, aiming his strange weapon at Matt’s friend. Matt quickly disarmed him.

Their suits were entirely white? No wonder they smelled so strongly of starch and bleach. Another point towards government stupidity.

The three of them made their way deeper into the facility, and white suits were replaced with white lab coats, though the scientists still carried the little noisy pistols, powered by something Matt couldn’t identify by smell. Whatever kind of energy it was, it left strong taste on his tongue, like citrus and metal and sparking electricity.

Then, finally, they found what they were looking for.

As soon as he opened the door, Deadpool’s tone changed, from frightening mania to a solemn sort of despair. “Fuck,” he said under his breath.

Matt was in an unfamiliar building, having to feel his way through as he went. He’d had to navigate combat situations while ignoring a great many assaults upon his senses, from loud alarms to overwhelming scents to a completely unfamiliar power source that made his skin tingle. But the inside of that room was worse. Matt resisted the urge to plug his nose against the air saturated with bleach, old blood, and rotten… whatever it was.

Spiderman, seeing into the room, gasped, then composed himself, following Deadpool inside.

“Hey, kid,” Deadpool said softly. This was why, despite all the instincts telling him otherwise, Matt trusted Wade. Wade cared about vulnerable people, in a way that was both obvious and experienced. He wore his care on his sleeve. Matt couldn’t help but admire it, and felt a kinship he couldn’t quite deny. “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?”

A mumble responded, drawing Matt’s attention, and he drew short. There was certainly a structure in the center of the room, and upon that structure (gurney?) was…

It was unlike anything Matt had ever experienced. It was in the shape of a person, yes, but it was almost like the absence of a person. Cold emanated from the space, but air seemed to pass right through it. Sound was drawn in by the shape, muffled. Was there really someone there? Matt’s skin prickled. (Matt still wasn’t psychic. But something about it didn’t feel right. Like it wanted him to be afraid.)

The figure wheezed.

“He can’t be older than sixteen,” Spiderman whispered.

“Hey, kid, hey, they really did a number on you, huh? Can you hear me?”

This time, there was no response, just the same shallow, painful breaths.

“Alright, up we go then,” Deadpool said, reaching for the figure. Matt almost called out, almost told him not to touch it. He half expected Deadpool’s hands to fall right through. But contact was made, and Deadpool hefted what apparently looked like a young teenaged boy into his arms.

“Alright besties, you clear the way and I’ll cart the kid out of here,” Deadpool said, tone comically sweet.

Again, Matt wanted to protest. Now that they had the captive, the rescue seemed less urgent. He wanted to know just what was going on here, what the subject was, why he was being studied. He had a bad feeling, was all.

Matt held his tounge. Deadpool and Spiderman’s hearts were both racing, and they radiated fear and concern. Something was leaking from the boy, something that smelled like the power source of the agent’s weapons but somehow more organic. Matt’s bad feeling didn’t matter, not until something bad actually happened. He could come back later and collect the information he needed, especially since he’d be able to use actual stealth to do it (thank you, Wade, for barging in.)

They went out the same way they’d come in, mowing through agents much less brutally now that Deadpool’s hands were fully. The number of people working in this building was frankly ridiculous.

The agents were not shy about targeting Deadpool, seeming unconcerned about any harm that may come to their captive. As they passed, they shouted at them, telling them to “Drop the subject!” or “Give up the Ghost Kid!”

(Ghost Kid? No, he couldn’t be a ghost. That was ridiculous. That wasn’t what ghosts were like, it couldn’t be.)

(Oh sweet Mother Mary.)

Spiderman started webbing the agents’ mouths shut.

When they had nearly reached their goal of escape, the figure began to murmur and shift.

“Hey kiddo, you with us?” Deadpool asked.

“Who’re you?” was the slurred response.

“Just your friendly neighborhood mercenary!” Deadpool chirped. “And I’m getting you out of here.”

“We’re leaving?” croaked the boy.

“Yep! Me’n my buddies,” Deadpool moved his head, gesturing to Matt and Spiderman, “we’ll keep you safe. These creeps aren’t gonna touch you, never again.”

The being moved suddenly, lurching up in Wade’s grasp, maybe meeting his eyes or grabbing his arm?

“The research,” he gasped, “the containment devices, the weapons, you have to destroy them! What they’re trying to do, it’s-” he broke off, coughing weakly.

“Kid?” Deadpool asked.

“An entire dimension,” the boy answered weakly. “They want to destroy an entire dimension.”

The alarms were still blaring. The number of agents coming in from different parts of the building hadn’t slowed. As bad as that sounded, and as much as Matt wanted to get their research away from them and into more capable and ethical hands (Karen), they didn’t have time if they didn’t want to take huge risks.

“We’re leaving,” Matt said, the full gravel of the devil in his voice. “We’ll stop them, but not tonight.”

“Yeah buddy, don’t worry, we’re gonna take care of it,” Spiderman assured him.

“You don’t understand,” the boy said, distraught.

Their group had reached the first floor. Matt was bruised and exhausted, but none of the combatants were experts in hand to hand. They were going to make it out of this, mission complete, none the worse for wear. It could’ve gone a lot worse.

“I’ll do it myself.”

The figure in Deadpool’s arms suddenly, inexplicably, dropped. No struggle, no loosening of Deadpool’s grip. It was like he fell straight through them.

Despite his weakness, the boy slipped away when Wade reached out for him. Then he, if Matt’s senses weren’t playing tricks on him, started floating.

“Back up,” he said, “and cover your ears.”

Matt didn’t like to muffle his senses, but he wasn’t an idiot. When a being like that said to protect your hearing, you did it. He pressed his palms tight to his ears and moved away.

It wasn’t enough.

What came from the thing could barely be called a sound. The sensation was almost physical, air distorting worse than the concussive blast of an explosion. He directed it down, down, through every level of the building, and the floor pushed back in waves as it fought against its own destruction. Inevitably, it failed, and Matt hugged desperately against the wall, hoping he wouldn’t lose the very ground beneath his feet. He sincerely doubted any electronics could survive the onslaught, meaning that whatever records and weapons were being stored here would be just as gone as the boy had wanted.

Matt didn’t know how long the attack lasted, maybe just seconds, regardless of how long it felt in his pain. The ringing in his head didn’t stop with the onslaught, and he removed his hands cautiously, hoping he wasn’t bleeding. Matt rose from his crouch, and tried to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t hear anything over the ringing, could only stand there and wonder if a single step would send him plunging to his death, if the ringing was just too loud or if his hearing was gone for good (he could do it, he could, but please, God, he didn’t want to, didn’t want to adjust, to lose such a huge part of the world around him, please, not again.)

He startled when someone touched his arm. “-hear me?” they asked, and Matt realized it was Spiderman, because he could feel his heartbeat through his fingers, knew the resonance of his voice in his chest, and Matt resisted the urge to cling to him for some sense of normalcy, because yes, even though he couldn’t hear him, he knew the vibrations of his body and could still interpret them.

“There you are,” Spiderman said. “Just mouth stuff at me, my ears are shot after that. You good?”

Matt grunted, and was disturbed by the lack of feedback within his own skull. “Can’t hear a thing,” he reluctantly admitted, doing his best to turn towards where he figured Spiderman’s eyeline was. He paused, uncomfortable, but added, “A bit dizzy, too.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Spiderman immediately replied, getting a better grip on Matt’s arm and starting to pull him somewhere. It wasn’t easy guidance, like Foggy would offer, it was a firm lead, something Spiderman would use to pull civilians away from danger. Matt suffered the indignity, seeing as he could barely stand straight and had almost no idea where the holes in the floor were. “Man, that kid scared the shit out of me. I’m so glad I managed to catch him.”

Catch him? That made sense, maybe, if whatever power that had kept him suspended gave out after that display. Spiderman didn’t have the boy now, though, so he must’ve handed him off to Deadpool, or maybe he’d used his webs.

The air changed, and Matt figured they’d made it outside. He expected Spiderman to let go of him, and felt both relieved and embarrassed when he didn’t.

Air moved, the ground vibrated, and Matt could tell someone approached them. Spiderman didn’t react negatively, so likely it was Deadpool. The mercenary stood in front of them, speaking, but the breeze whisked the vibrations away and Matt couldn’t make out his voice.

“Don’t ask me,” Spiderman replied. “Hey, you paying attention Double D? What the heck do we do with an incredibly powerful, partially human, transforming kid who may also be bleeding out?”

Transforming? Bleeding out? Matt had thought the blood smell was just Deadpool. Without thinking, he reached forward, seeking more information. After a moment, he made contact, and felt relieved at the familiar heart and breaths. Thus oriented, he moved his hand down to the figure in Wade’s arms.

It was a normal human boy. No uncanny not-there-ness, no hum of energy and power, just a kid with blood pumping through his veins and dripping from a poorly treated would along his torso.

“I don’t know,” Matt said. “Hospital?”

“I am not just dropping him off at a hospital,” Deadpool said. “If that’s your plan, I’ll just take him back to my place and-”

“Hey, Daredevil, didn’t you say you couldn’t hear?” Spiderman interrupted.

Matt nodded absentmindedly. “Not a thing.”

“We’re wearing full face masks,” Spiderman pointed out. “How do you know what we’re saying?”

Deadpool gasped dramatically. “He IS psychic!”

Matt sighed heavily, wishing he could drop his head into his hands, but that would necessitate letting go of his friends. “Claire is going to hate me for this,” he lamented.

“Who’s Claire?” Spiderman asked.

“He didn’t deny it!” Deadpool crowed.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Matt said, ignoring the mercenary. “You’re going to have to guide me though, I’m practically useless right now.”

“Sure thing,” Spiderman said, not needing more than that, and Matt knew that there was a reason he liked him.

Their group, much worse for wear and plus a new member, headed off again into the night.

[fluidstatick]

I can't stop thinking about the latest episode of Critical Role. What a delicious gut punch it all is.

Like DAMN, wallpapering over the black mold in the house that is Bell's Hells didn't backfire at all, did it? Y'all spent so much time people pleasing, and overextending yourselves, and letting each other slide for hiding Heinously Important Shit.

Was it worth it?

Your Warlock's abuse cycle with her patron is turning into PVP roulette. Your Sorcerer says she's got everything under control, but she's stretched veeeeery thin, and her tether isn't tethering effectively at the moment. Your Druid can't be left to her own devices for five minutes without following a cute walking honeypot into something Fucking Heinous, and she's too scared of losing her dumpster fire of a found family to put her foot down about much of anything, even if she wants to - Zathuda being the one exception, somehow. The Cranky Punk Barbarian is rapidly becoming the Calm and Reasonable One, the Unhinged Bloodhunter has become The Practical One, The Fighter is rapidly losing his grip on what it means to be part of a team, and the Cleric, despite spending half the campaign demanding My Way or the Highway, succumbed to their own obsession with self sacrifice a couple days back and y'all haven't even BEGUN to grapple with how vulnerable that makes you.

So now the question isn't necessarily "Can these chucklefucks save the world?" -- It's "Hey! Was it worth it, kids?" Is repeatedly reassuring each other, without actually examining the threats within or around them, actually doing anything constructive?

I've been frustrated with the Hells' lack of communication for A Year of Episodes, and now it's finally catching up to them, and the vindication is scrumptious. Are they gonna keep painting over the corruption in their midst until their house rots through and crushes them? Are they gonna turn on each other, and burn the house down around themselves? Is Ludinus really the baddie, or is it each and every one of our so called heroes, and their neon flashing weak points?

Gimme the Banality of Evil, gimme the Fantasy Centrist to Authoritarian pipeline, gimme "oh gods, what have we done?" Gimme "What if the REAL treasure was the perspective we lost along the way?" I'm here, I'm queer, and I'm rooting for Nobody.

[theinseparables-if]

❝All for One, and One for All.❞

Based on the novel The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas, as well as subsequent media inspired by and related to it.

After the tragic death of your father, you travel to Paris to join the famed King’s Musketeers, and end up meeting (and upsetting) the three best Musketeers in the garrison. Impressed by your skills and your determination, as well as your willingness to help those in need, the trio invite you to join their team.

Thus begins your new life as the youngest Musketeer and fourth member of the Inseparables, d’Artagnan.

18+ for sometimes graphic depictions of violence, injuries, and blood, explicit sexual content (which will be optional), depictions of abduction, kidnapping, torture, and mutilation, mentions of past and current emotional and physical abuse, instances of period-typical classism, prostitution, alcohol consumption and alcoholism, vomiting, mental health issues, subtle mentions of infertility (Queen Anne’s), and murder and attempted murder.

Join the Musketeers and become a member of the famed group dubbed ‘The Inseparables’.

Customise your d’Artagnan’s appearance and identity (male/female/nonbinary & cis/trans).

Personality is semi-set to begin with. d’Artagnan is loyal, kind, noble, and passionate. They take their duties to protect very seriously, but can be extremely hot-headed and reckless. Over time, as d’Artagnan matures and lives through all kinds of experiences, players will have more personality options available to them.

Four characters available to romance with one poly option. A friends with benefits (non-exclusive) option with Aramis and a one night stand option with Milady are also available.

Create meaningful relationships with characters other than the romance options.

Discover who is responsible for the death of your father while completing missions and keeping your charges and your loved ones safe.

Athos/Athena [M/F]

Appearance + Profile

As a natural-born leader who is highly intelligent and respectable, it’s little wonder that everyone looks up to them. However, Athos/Athena’s past haunts them leaving them reserved, yet prone to allowing their emotions to get the better of them, and afraid to fully trust again. This doesn’t stop them from being deeply kind and supportive though.

Athos/Athena is the second in command of the Musketeers, the leader of the Inseparables, and is barely holding their head up above water. Meeting you is an awakening for them, and suddenly, all they want is to live again.

Conrad/Constance Bonacieux [M/F]

Appearance + Profile

Conrad/Constance hides a fierce heart and adventurous spirit beneath their gentle disposition. Married to a man who they hold no affection for, and who treats them like part of the furniture, Conrad/Constance chafes against their banal life, dreaming of excitement and thrills. When you literally crash into their life, they realise that this is the opportunity they’ve been waiting for.

Despite a somewhat…rocky first meeting, Bonacieux is the first truly friendly face you meet when you arrive in Paris. They even offer you a room to rent in their home, and often go out of their way to help you in your duties.

Nasira bin Sinan [NB]

Appearance + Profile

Lazy and care-free, Nasira is seemingly unbothered by the goings-on of the Capital or by their sworn duties. Despite this, Nasira is well-liked by their fellows and often trusted to complete high-priority covert missions that rely on stealth by the Captain. Through this, you quickly start to realise that nothing about Nasira is as it seems.

Nasira is somewhat of an enigma, and the missions that they undertake only heighten that. Join Nasira on these missions and learn valuable skills as well as more about the Musketeer that keeps everyone guessing.

Jules/Juliette de Rochefort [M/F]

Appearance + Profile

The most ruthless of the Cardinal’s Agents, Jules/Juliette is determined to destroy the Musketeers, and is willing to do anything to achieve that goal. Intelligent and calculating, it was only a matter of time before their ambition drove them to extremes, and now they’ve set their sights on you. In Jules/Juliette’s eyes, you’re the key to their success.

Rochefort believes they can manipulate you into betraying the Musketeers. It’s time for you to prove them wrong, and turn this back on Rochefort to protect your fellows. Just try not to fall in love in the process.

POLY - Athos/Athena & Conrad/Constance

Written Descriptions of the ROs

[friendly-stardust]

If you had the chance to change something about the dance of the dragons (TV show or book), what would it be? For example, how a character dies, which team a house is on,or an entire character personally. How would you change it to make the story better, in your opinion?♥️🖤💙💚

Thanks for the ask anon and sorry that it took me this long to reply. This is a tricky one and this can be long.

House of the Dragon is a complete mess and a mediocrity of a show on every level, except for the acting. The writing is at an abysmal level, and I am convinced that it only got the interest and the rating it got thanks to the fact that it is under GoT's umbrella. And the fact that the showrunners/writers decided to be ungrateful and to insult the very show thanks to which their shitty fanfiction is even relevant, tells me everything I need to know about the arrogance and the ignorance existing behind this travesty of a show. The showrunners/writers seem to have completely misunderstood the themes of The Dance dealing mainly with class stratification, the corruptible nature of power, the consequences of blind ambition, and the pitfalls of unchecked privilege, reducing it all to a dumbed-down and pandering fanfiction in which tokenism, outdated and bigoted caricatures, and banal depiction of sexual assault are used casually as tropes, while pretending to write a 'feminist' or a 'progressive’ show. So, for House of the Dragon, EVERYTHING is to be changed.

Rhaenyra should have never been written as the main protagonist: From Episode one, we already have a failure in our hand with the writing as the showrunners decided to solely use Rhaenyra as our main protagonist in a show that is supposed to depict a severe and ineluctable succession crisis at the top of the Kingdom, resulting in the splintering and in the factionalism of the ruling family. Because, at the heart of this story, this IS the main thematic of the Dance - the civil war that will be tearing the ruling family at the head of the Realm apart and, consequently, the Realm itself apart (except for Dorne which was not yet part of the Seven Kingdom). We should have had different POVs to illustrate the deep divide that have been festering within the Targaryen clan itself and POVs from some of the closest families around them helping them rule. So, if it was me writing this, the POVs would have been: • Alicent - for the Hightowers POV, to see things through her lends and because of the important role she will have as a Queen in the future and as the head of one of the factions. • Rhaenyra - She will be the heir, one of the main claimants to the throne, and the head of the other main faction. • Daemon - self-explanatory. Playing his own partition/having his own ambition and need to be in power. • Corlys - to have a POV for the Velaryons and to highlight their side of the story and their narrative as a clan close to power. I would have made the Velaryons more politically savvy and Corlys primarily working with the sole perspective of preserving and consolidating the Velaryons' place of power/closeness to the Throne. As a whole, the Velaryons and Corlys' allegiance will clearly and only be for the Velaryon's name and clan. I would also use that POV to illustrate the Velaryons tinge of resentment towards Viserys and towards the dismissive way House Targaryen have treated them since Aemon's death. • Criston - POV of a lower-class man of Dornish descent getting into the heart of power and having to navigates its difficulties with his set of believes and morals, and how being in the middle of all this impacts his decisions and his ambition for the ascension of House Cole to a more prominent social status.

Using Season 1 as a set-up Season and not rush with catastrophic and mismanaged times skips: Season one should have really been a set-up season, taking the time to really put the foundations into place, while having enough belief in the story to give it the time needed to develop naturally. I believe that it is important to pose the base that the fracture in the clan Targaryen and with the Velaryons have been created since Aemon Targaryen's death which, according to me, is truly the start of this whole succession crisis. The Dance is just the poorly managed resultant of the whole process, seeping through several generations of resentment and hatred for one another. This will also completely negate all the stupid arguments I have seen online of 'if Viserys had married Laena, all this will not have happened'. This is because the show writers have failed the only-show fans who have no clues that the Velaryons have already threatened war during the whole Rhaenys vs Viserys ordeal. It would also emphasise the reason why it was important for Viserys to not shun the Velaryons and to keep a close alliance with them and would explain the reason why Vaemond became that adamant and not too keen on letting Rhaenyra's bastard usurp their ancestral throne. If only the Velaryons were taken seriously by the writers and not solely used as tokens and brownie points to prop-up Saint Rhaenyra?

Being aware of tokenism, bigotry and of anachronistic representations: This show seems to have been written by people who appear completely oblivious to how careful they should have been with how to manage negative stereotypes.

Avoiding Tokenism: From a standpoint of a Black woman like myself, the way the Velaryons were written was quite insulting. The showrunners/writers seem completely oblivious to how bad it looked to have the only House cast as Black being completely subservient, usurped and abused by their white-coded Targaryen counterparts, with no protest from most of them. The only one of them who protested – Vaemond - was villainised by the narrative and was made to say a misogynistic slur to justify his murder in open court. Murder which has no further consequence in the narrative. These showrunners/writers seem to not understand the racial implications that this casting choice creates in this world and seem completely ignorant to how to organically integrate that change into the narration and how to prevent stereotyping those race-swapped characters, so to not reduce the Velaryons to mere tokens. As a result, the writing made the Velaryons act like complete idiots devoid of any sense of pragmatism, strategic mindset, or political intellect, in a world that literally demands those characteristics of the people playing the game of throne. And the way Rhaenyra’s relationship to them was written also reeks of racist undertones. Overall, the way the Velaryons were written just demonstrates the ignorance and the shallowness we have behind this show and highlights the fact that the race-swapping was only made for aesthetic purposes and for some veneer of visual racial diversity.

And the best example to illustrate that vile treatments of the Velaryons is the way Laena and her daughters were written - not that Laenor or Corlys or Vaemond were spared either - but the treatment inflicted onto those female characters, now made WoC, represent better the showrunners/writer’s deep misogynoir, to which I am sure, they are completely oblivious. Laena's role and arc in the source material was completely butchered and diminished, by rewriting and reducing a feminine, beloved and desired (in her marriage to Daemon) woman - seduced and brazenly wanted by Daemon as his wife in F&B - into some teenager seducing the grown man Daemon, all while he only had eyes for the White girl Rhaenyra, actively feeding into the stereotypes about girls of colour growing up faster, having to be needy and desperate for men attention, and having to seek out male attention to be noticed. I mean, as if Laena was not beautiful enough for a man to notice her without her having to throw herself at him? But it doesn't stop there. They managed to erase her relationship with Rhaenyra, reducing it all to some repulsive scenario of pitting two women against each other for a man, the complete opposite of what happened in the source material, in addition of making Laena the ‘other woman’, the lesser desired one, and the unwanted wife, in her relationship with Daemon. And let not forget the trauma-porn inflicted on her WoC body in that violent and traumatic death, which is a complete bastardisation of an invented only-show concept of “a woman dying a dragon rider death” - whatever that means. Apparently, once Laena became mixed-race in the show, she became some thirsty, miserable, completely isolated woman, willing to go along with only being good enough as a second choice to her white husband, and dies violently by suicide instead of the beloved and cherished woman full of strength and humanity we have in her white woman depiction from F&B. The same abhorrent treatment was inflicted onto Baela and Rhaena, both written as some wallpapers and empty headed mute dolls with no layered personalities and no real wants of their owns, just willing to go along with anything, even to their own detriment (this includes Rhaenyra’s bastards sons taking precedent over them for Driftmark), as long as it favors and bolsters the causes and the ambition of Rhaenyra - the woman their father married just few weeks after their mother's funeral.

Avoiding Bigoted depictions:

a) Some of the tokenism arguments can also be applied to the showrunners/writers’ decision to depict Ser Criston Cole as a brown man of Dornish descent, which already comes with its own in-world racial undertones, while being very hell-bent on portraying his character as an emotional, thuggish, and resentment-driven character, who got his positions as hand-me-downs from two white women, instead of the intelligent, calculated man, always in control of his emotions, and above all, driven by ambition, and who got to the highest position of knighthood in Westeros by the merits of his own competence, as he was described as in his White-coded version in F&B. This illustrates once more the showrunners/writers’ incapability of understanding the tokenistic nature of their racial representation. Also, maybe unaware, and oblivious to their own bigotry on display in what they were implying here, the showrunners/writers went with the problematic trope of the savage, misogynist, and violent brown man for this character. And the fact that they decided to deliberately frame this brown man as some misogynist and vindictive man, unreasonable and unjustified in his anger towards his sexual predator when he is the victim of sexual assault in that “Rhaenyra’s sexual empowerment” episode, just disgusts me. As if his feelings and the shame he felt from the whole ordeal the next day, as a person, was to be dismissed or worst, mocked. The optics of the showrunners narratively dismissing his trauma while they have decided to change his race in the show, just highlights once more the racist undertone we have in the writing of some of the characters in this show. It also illustrates how out of touch the people behind this show are when it comes to representing power and racial dynamisms in a sensible way.

b) Larys Strong is the first disabled character we see on screen with his clubfoot and someone in the writing room though that it was a great idea to then transform him into some deviant sexual predator who gets off by fetishizing FEET. You cannot make this up! The showrunners/writers also butchered his character by making him the confirmed and sole murderer of his father and brother, when in the books, 3 other characters, Corlys, Viserys and Daemon, were also plausible culprits for that crime - but they are all Team Black so better whitewash them all and put it all on the disabled and only Team Green character that was also under suspicions for this murder. And all to see Alicent’s feet, ladies, and gentlemen! Instead of the enigmatic, calculated, and ambitious character we have depicted in F&B, the showrunners/writers made Larys Strong into some outdated caricature and despicable representation of a disabled character, embodiment of all of the devious and negative traits, by equating being disabled with being devious in morality and mentally. It is just a vile way to represent disabled characters, quite akin to the way they were viewed in medieval times as bearer of bad intentions/evilness, which also confirms the ableism and the hollow activism we have behind the scenes of this show.

Avoiding anachronistic representations:

a) Equating Alicent to a 'Woman for Trump' - a misogynist and reductive slur used within a very 21st century USA political discourse - while portraying a woman supposed to be within a setting mirroring medieval Europe, just shows the lack of culture, and of historical knowledge we have in this writers’ room.

b) Anachronistic girl boss characterisation: Rhaenys is written as a vessel to peddle nonsensical 21st century notions of White feminism, a hollow wannabe and anachronistic girl boss, spouting anachronistic speeches, while the show completely removed any agencies from most female characters, and took strong female characters from the original story and turned them into some victims of situations, none of their own doing of course, who constantly cry and are afraid of making any decisions, all while most of their negative traits are given to the male characters, absolute monsters and responsible for all woes that afflict the female characters. Also, Rhaenyra is whitewashed into some girl boss and some absurd notion of a ‘modern politician’ - modern in which historical period, no one knows – who spouts drivels like ‘when I am queen, I will make a new order’, to brazenly pander to Daenerys’ fanbase, when both women are nothing alike, except for the fact that both are Targaryen women.

4. Follow the source material and not thematically rewrite the Dance:

No Aegon I prophecy or dream. Maintain the Targaryens as the ruthless colonialists they are instead of trying to justify their reason to brutally colonise a whole continent. As a person from the African continent, this is not the kind of rhetoric I would like to see peddle, justifying colonisation in the name of some superior purpose.

No white stag apparition coming to anoint our Saint Disneyesque Girlboss Rhaenyra to rule. This is insulting to the intellect of people who want to see complex storytelling.

Completely rewrite the dreadful Episode 9 and make it as close as possible to the book’s depiction of the Green Council.

No Girlboss moment for Rhaenys, murdering hundreds of peasants and ruining Aegon’s coronation.

Erasing that bullshit about Alicent confusing Viserys last words and make the Green reason to crown Aegon and Helaena based on tradition and precedents, as in F&B, and not based on some feeble concept such as the King’s word. We are not in an Absolute Monarchy here, but the uncultured idiots we have behind this show don’t even know the difference.

Not erasing fat women representation with Rhaenyra and Helaena when you claim to be such ‘feminist’ and ‘inclusive’ show. Where is the inclusion of different female body shapes? Or are they not worthy of representation? Instead, we have one of your showrunners (the incompetent Sara Hess) using fatphobic language to make it seem like it is weird for a woman’s body to evolve after several pregnancies.

Showing women on the Green side (Alicent or Helaena) going through their pregnancies and giving birth.

Not erasing Helaena in her own coronation.

Not infantilising Helaena and making her a side character in some other characters story (Aegon, Jace).

Showing the Green kids with their dragons in Season 1. As it was portrayed in HotD, most casual viewers don’t realise that in real Targaryen fashion, those kids should have their dragons around them in most official displays (side eyeing the whole dragon pit debacle here).

Where is Sunfyre and a clear view of Dreamfyre?

Making Vhagar roar when Aemond eye was slashed.

Making one of the adult correct Baela’s and Rhaena’s wrong assumption that Aemond stole Vhagar. Why did the incompetent showrunners/writers even insinuate that foolishness in the first place without having one of the adults rectify the Dragon lore? We all know that it was to paint Aemond as the villain in this situation.

Making it more evident that Rhaenyra meant torture when she said, ‘sharply questioned’.

Why was Daeron and Maelor absent?

Not making the Dragon/owner bond murkier with that shitty and useless singing session from Daemon in Episode 10, when it is canon that one rider cannot have 2 dragons at the same time to ride. Surely Daemon, as verse into Valyrian lore as they proclaim him to be, should be aware of that. This is just confusing the casual viewers.

Using Mushroom's accounts for both the Greens and the Blacks – if I am using them at all.

Not erasing Mysaria’s miscarriage as it is part of her characterisation.

Not claiming to wanting to make a 50/50 adaptation when BTS the showrunner Ryan Condal is using gobbledygook such as ‘they made Aegon usurps his sister Rhaenyra’s throne’, when, by all Westerosi tradition and precedents, Aegon could not usurp what is already lawfully his as the first-born son of the King.

For the book version of the Dance, I don’t have much to change to be honest:

I would have significantly toned down the Daemon’s fest.

I would have made the Velaryon more neutral or playing both sides, with a strategic splitting of the House to support both sides.

I would have made some of the Houses change team, like for example, making the Royces in the Vale side with the Greens, splitting the allegiances in the Vale, to better illustrate how profoundly divided the whole Realm becomes with the war of succession.

The Redwynes (which I would have made the maternal side of Alicent) and most of the Reach would have sided with the Greens.

I would have betrothed Daeron to one of the other powerful Houses in the Reach.

No Wolf Hour.

No army pulled out of nowhere in the Riverlands after Aemond reduces them to crisp. Instead, some part of the Vale army would make the bulk of it.

Finally, no Jaehaera death. That was just petty and quite stupid writing from GRRM with no logical justification as to why she needed to die. No need for the “most sexy 6 years old” to ever exist in the story.

Jaehaera and Aegon III will have their children, who mostly have no real impact on the Targaryen line anyways, apart from Daena the Defiant who gave birth to House Blackfyre.

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #51 — Ten Has Done So Much for All of You, and for What? You Don't Deserve Him.

So, obviously, last issue ended rather poorly for Team Rodimus and Pals. It doesn’t look like the start of this one going much better, as a mass of baddies bombard the late Necrobot’s “Fortress”. Whirl, being Whirl, wants to go out and face his certain death head-on. Everyone else is more than fine to wait for death to come to them.

Rewind, showing off the skills he’s picked up as a videographer over the last several thousand years, gets the security cameras up. I’m assuming that Censere had these installed to keep an eye out for bored space teens who might have wanted to graffiti his millions of plinths. Too bad it didn’t save him, or his property, as outside, Tarn is shooting the ground with his twin fusion cannons. He’s having to hold his arm in place with his other hand, as I’m sure the kickback of firing two lasers at once must be something fierce. He finishes and commands his troops to cease firing, everyone withdrawing.

The Lost Lost Lighters are super jazzed about this, Brainstorm stating that they must have heard about Tailgate’s Power Punch, an attack with a name so banal, it surely must kill anyone who faces it, if only so they don’t talk shit about it after the fact.

Megatron, however, knows what Tarn’s pulling, as he’s a theatre kid, and everyone knows that the really intense theatre kids follow their scripts to a T, and will murder you for trying to ad lib like some filthy fucking improv performer.

By doing this, he’s honoring Shakespeare.

Swerve has begun to bawl like a baby over how bad the situation has gotten, likely recalling all the awful shit he witnessed the last time he crossed paths with the DJD. Magnus, who still has his arm off, because Velocity is all about uplifting her fellow women, demands that they try to call for assistance, then apologizes for swearing, even though he’s absolutely at the very least said “damn” in the past. Maybe he’s confusing the total inability to curse with the IDW publication law that you’re not allowed to say “bitch” until your series has been truncated by 50%. Or maybe he only allows himself to swear in the presence of poor snack management. Anyway, it’s not like it matters— Megatron’s just informed everyone that Tarn also likes to cut the phone lines in situations like this.

All of this, because you wanted middle management for your faction.

Because Megatron never baked any sort of loophole into the DJD’s way of handling shit, because how the fuck could he have possibly known he’d one day have to denounce his entire reason for existing to satisfy the commercial whims of Hasbro, the gang is going to have to figure out some way to defend themselves or escape in the next eight hours. Rodimus orders everyone to split up and look for clues, blowing off Ten in the process.

Velocity calls Swerve, the closest thing to a doctor besides her, to come look at the Necrobot’s corpse, which appears to have turned into a pile of ash. Swerve informs her that this is what happens when someone who’s old as balls kicks it. Now, it may concern you that Velocity, who was the only doctor for a ship of over 200 until this morning, doesn’t know what a dead old man looks like. However, we must recall that age-related spark burnout hasn’t been a thing until very recently for Cybertronians, and Caminus, the colony Velocity is from, is marginally younger as a society. It probably just hasn’t happened in her circles yet.

Velocity and Swerve play around in the pile of old man dust, until she pulls a key out, with “1/001” written on it. Her search party will be focusing on finding what this key goes to, as it was surely important, given that it was on Censere’s person at the time of his death.

Over on the DJD’s ship, The Peaceful Tyranny, Deathsaurus stares at the corpses Tarn’s nailed to the wall of his room. The nails have Decepticon insignias on the heads, because of course they do. These are the same corpses Tarn had on the wall of his office in Grindcore. Tarn asks if Deathsaurus is impressed with his first editions, and when Deathsaurus is understandably bewildered by this question, Tarn explains that these are corpses that were sent home after dying in the mines of Messatine, who had Megatron’s writing etched into their organs by Terminus, so that said writing would reach the outside world. Tarn thinks it’s pretty fucking cool, but Deathsaurus is, again, bewildered by this interior design choice. In general, Deathsaurus is bewildered by a vast majority of the ways Tarn chooses to live his life.

Tarn, opening the mouth section of his mask to drink a shot’s worth of energon, likely totally unable to see as he does so, since the eye holes don’t line up anymore, says that if Deathsaurus was a true intellectual like Tarn was, he’d understand that trying to chase down a ship with quantum jump capabilities is really difficult when you no longer have a sneaky little double agent to give you exact coordinates, so grounding their targets was the best option. No word on how Tarn feels about the ship he super-nightmare-death-murdered being perfectly fine now.

Deathsaurus really just wants to know why they backed off after having their targets cornered, because he hates Tarn and his stupid little games, having been working with him for at least a couple months by this point. Tarn, however, has the audacity to be smug about how all the Autobots are probably tearing each other apart out of fear, as the sun makes its way across the sky.

Back with Velocity’s search party, Nautica’s joined the one-and-a-half doctors in the Key Quest. Velocity asks Swerve about why Ten came down with the rest of the group, and in Swerve’s defense, it’s not like anyone knew this was a murder trip until after they’d arrived. When the brain attack happened last issue, Swerve hadn’t disclosed what exactly he’d heard— now, however, he admits that he’d gotten an earful from Ten about the Ambus Test, and how just because he’s made up of the corpses of multiple religious hermits doesn’t mean he isn’t a person too, and also once that union gets going, he’s gonna sic lawyer-mode Magnus on him.

Anyway, they found the door that key went to.

Back with Rodimus in the main room, he’s collecting the notes of all the other search teams. Rung’s face has been shaded to look like he got lip fillers. Rodimus isn’t pleased, but it isn’t because of Rung’s gotten work done.

Nightbeat, however, DOES have good news to pair off with the bad. News so good he starts using metaphors, which confuses and frightens Magnus. Nightbeat has found the quantum travel device the Necrobot used to travel to the deaths he recorded, and what do you know? It’s got just enough juice to get everyone out of dodge and into the loving embrace of safety. Hooray! Time to form an orderly queue, going from most to least obnoxious paint job.

Then Team Killjoy shows up, Velocity and Nautica letting everyone know what’s behind door #1: it’s a bunch of organics in stasis.

I will say, the inverse of Transformers fans collecting robot toys mint in package is decidedly more disturbing.

Whirl isn’t horribly keen to die over a bunch of squishy nobodies. Nautica states that the organics are vulnerable and need protection. Skids, really wanting to be in that straight-passing relationship, agrees that the DJD will totally kill these guys, because they learned their technoism from SOMEONE MEGATRON. Chromedome, who has had his husband back for maybe six months at this point, really doesn’t want to stick around for the sun to set. Cyclonus asks just why the fuck there’s a bunch of dudes in the basement. Tailgate wonders if it really matters, considering the situation at hand. Magnus, needing direction in his life, makes sure that Rodimus hasn’t decided to take a nap standing up like a horse. Brainstorm, who has been oh-so-subtly trying to edge the door to the quantum tube shut, makes the point that they could do a lot of good after the fact, if they left now and then vowed to protect a slew of organics afterwards, which would eventually even out their sins, probably.

Rodimus feels pretty good about this proposal, but he loves looking like the most appealing, middle-of-the-road choice, and says that they have some time to talk this out. However, we’ve forgotten that we’re riding with Mr. Ex-Peace Through Tyranny, who does nothing in half-measures and loves to be contrarian to Rodimus at every given opportunity.

This turn of events is such a shock to Rodimus, he shouts at Ten for trying to show him something. Poor Ten.

Rodimus reminds Megatron just what exactly they’re up against and what he’s signing himself up for and for what variety of living creature, but Megatron is aware of all of these things. Looks like the talking to Skids gave him on the duplicate Lost Light finally sank through his thick skull, and he’s ready to be a big boy about this whole Autobot thing. He then informs everyone that he’s not doing this to make a point, and that anyone who wants to dip is welcome to do so, as long as they’re doing it for themselves.

Of course, it’ll be a cold day in hell before any Autobot lets Megatron out-Autobot them, and it’ll be an even colder day before Cyclonus leaves his not-boyfriend alone on Murder Planet. Oh, and the fact that organic life is just as valuable as mechanical. Totally. Everyone defaults to stay, Rodimus closing the door to the quantum tube.

Swerve then offers a real heel-clicker of an alternate escape plan: what if… we just stole the DJD’s ship, stuffed it full of the organics, and flew away before anyone noticed? Now, this is, of course, an immaculate plan, which no man could ever find fault in, but Whirl is not a man, but rather a machine, and does question where exactly they’d be getting the keys to such a ship. Cyclonus is trying to be a bit more of a supportive friend to Swerve, since the last time the guy felt left out, they all had to project their consciousnesses 400 miles out and pay NYC rent, asks if there is more to this perfect, perfect plan, crafted in one of the finest minds of any generation.

There is not.

So, we’re gonna steal a ship.

Ravage offers to track the smell of unwashed bachelors and Megatron body pillows to see where the DJD parked. Rodimus gives him his blessing, marveling at the skillset at his disposal, as Magnus makes a fucking wild face of incredulousness and Ten sulks in the corner.

Before he runs off, Ravage brings Megatron a phone and asks that he talk to Tarn, because surely if anyone can get him off the warpath, it would be his old boss.

Back at the Peaceful Tyranny, Tarn, Deathsaurus, Nickel, Tesarus, and Vos are going over the plan for the day. Sure hope Deathsaurus can parse Primal Vernacular. Tesarus reminds Tarn of the time they went after Heretech and he turned a storm shield into a forcefield that held them off for days, but this band of Autobot nerds aren’t Heretech, now are they? Even if they do have an ex-Wrecker, a Skids, and the power of love on their side.

Then Tarn tells everyone to shut the fuck up, because he’s getting a call on his electric razor.

Back at the “Fortress”, Megatron stands astride the space scooter, looking horribly depressed, as he prepares to have a little chat with his most murderous fanboy. Rodimus questions this decision, having clocked that even on his best day, Megatron wouldn’t just whole-heartedly decide to effectively kill himself for the sake of 50-60 organics he doesn’t even know.

Of course, we’ve seen that at least one planet in the Magisterian system still has life, as the Scavengers had to use holomatter avatars at some point, as seen in issue #45. Perhaps if Megatron knew about this, he wouldn’t be so keen to go on a suicide mission.

Over with Ravage, he passes by Skids’s plinth, which I’m sure isn’t an omen of any kind, and discovers that the smell of B.O. and hot pockets he was following wasn’t attached to the Peaceful Tyranny, but rather a base the DJD and Deathsaurus’s boys threw together. Also, Ten’s been crawling after him in an attempt to keep hidden this whole time, over what was likely multiple miles. He didn’t do a good job in the slightest, but points for tenacity, buddy. Ravage understands that Ten’s just trying to help in some form or fashion, so Ravage gives him a special job: bullet sponge.

Deathsaurus’s men, Helex, Kaon, and the Pet all see Ten up on the hill. Kaon in particular looks very excited at the promise of a plaything, so much so that he lets his rabid little chihuahua off-leash.

Meanwhile, Megatron races across his personal field of spark flowers, on his way to rendezvous at his plinth with Tarn. I wonder who suggested this meeting spot? When Megatron arrives, he demands that Tarn at least face him with his, well, face, but Tarn says that his mask IS his face, even though we know it isn’t, because Tarn couldn’t commit to the bit hard enough on this particular front for some reason.

Megatron offers himself up for surrender. But enough about his crisis of morality, let’s get back to Ten.

Ten, former Legislator that he is, fights valiantly, throwing four guys in the air at once, even as the Pet scratches his collar bone and Helex punches him in the head, his face telling me that he’s gonna do horny mouth shit with Ten’s brain if he manages to get ahold of it. Kaon’s in the background, shooting electricity into the sky. I think he’s just happy to be here. This nonsense up on the hill allows Ravage to sneak over to the base to check for a ship that DOESN’T smell like wine, jockstraps, and viscera.

Back with the Autobots, someone finally remembers that Ten’s a person, and asks where the hell he’s gotten to. Magnus isn’t sure, though he knows where he HAD been. I expect better from you, Magnus. Ten is your little buddy! Your brother in artistic arms! He even left something for your enjoyment, while he went out to help Ravage!

After having solved the issue of their defense system, Ten went out and got his ass shredded for multiple pages, where he was repeatedly shot and set on fire and torn limb from limb and electrocuted (I guess someone finally pointed Kaon in the right direction). It seems like the end for Ten, but his assailants are suddenly shot and dealt with, blanketing the hill in silence.

Silent enough to hear the equivalent of twenty USD in Australian dollaridoos, having been converted into English pounds, rustling around in a British guy’s wallet.

[jupiternity444]

France Márquez: "I met them on Netflix"

On August 15, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex: Prince Harry and Meghan Markle, landed in Colombia, dazzling the press: "British royalty" descended from the sky! Why did they come? France Márquez Mina, the vice president, invited them. What was the purpose? Simple: they financed a trip for the dukes to dedicate themselves to making an unfortunate...

On August 15, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex: Prince Harry and Meghan Markle, landed in Colombia, dazzling the press: "British royalty" descended from the sky!

Why did they come? France Márquez Mina, the vice president, invited them. What was the purpose? Simple: they financed a trip for the Duke and Duchess to dedicate themselves to an unfortunate "humanitarian tourism".

During their visit, they acted as luxury tourists: they visited vulnerable communities, received gifts, enjoyed gourmet cuisine, and were treated as superior beings. In return, they spouted some banalities in forums and chats, posed for "official" photos on social networks and took selfies with everyone who asked for them.

Why did France Márquez decide to invite the Duke and Duchess of Sussex to do "humanitarian tourism"? The answer seems implausible, coming out of Creole stand-up comedy. At a press conference, the vice president revealed her motivation: "I met Meghan and Harry through the media, but above all I saw the Netflix documentary about their life and story, and that moved me and motivated me to say: that is a woman who deserves to come to our country and tell her story. Their exchange will undoubtedly be a strengthening for so many women in the world."

Márquez, as a dazzled fan and a capricious child, used her power as vice president to meet the media stars who moved her. It's like watching a bad gringo comedy in real life.

Beyond the expense for their visit, it is worth asking: what real change has it generated in the communities they visited? What impact does this media display have on the lives of the people in those places?

Let's analyze the visit of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex during their four days in Colombia. At the Colegio Cultura Popular, they debated with the students about social networks and technology. The questions are: what real impact did this talk have? What useful message could the Duke and Duchess have conveyed?

To begin with, the social networks of celebrities like them are not managed by themselves, but by teams of experts in image management. The Duke and Duchess are not experts in social networks for young people; What little they know comes from what their advisors have taught them to have a cordial and friendly conversation with the students.

There was no tangible impact on the lives of these students, either in the short or long term. All that remained were cliché phrases, obvious advice, selfies and the empty emotion of having met British royalty. There were no pedagogical gifts (such as books), nor agreements for scholarships or resources that could benefit the most vulnerable students. This visit was humanitarian tourism, a banal moment that only served for the Duke and Duchess to reinforce their image as empathetic figures concerned about the problems of youth.

After the staging at the school, the Duke and Duchess went to the National Center for the Arts in Bogotá, where they attended a theater performance and a colorful dance show. On this occasion, they left behind their role as humanitarian tourists to put on their royal crowns. They were offered a beautiful cultural show, designed for their entertainment, although, of course, the official version says that they were shown the artistic richness of our country.

Harry and Meghan's visit was, in essence, a show of neocolonialism, ironically promoted by a vice president who, in theory, fights against it. This is where the cultural neocolonialism of the tour began: our culture was exoticized, reducing it to a set of picturesque features that indulge the curiosity of first-world observers like the dukes, ignoring the complexity and real challenges faced by our artists.

Was there any positive impact on the National Center for the Arts? Some useful international convention, managed resources, or at least media exposure for artists? Nothing of the sort. The media did not mention what was presented in the show or who the artists are, they passed as anonymous; There are only photos of the Duke and Duchess as protagonists, smiling and enjoying the show. In short, the only "gain" of this visit was a few applauses.

Later, the Duke and Duchess closed their first day in Bogotá by participating in the Responsible Digital Future Forum, where they spoke about social media safety for young people. Although the forum featured quality experts and panelists, Harry and Meghan's participation brought the same thing to the table as their visit to the school: nothing. Two royals repeating clichés and the obvious about a subject they don't master. Of course, dozens of selfies were taken with those who did not want to miss the opportunity to be photographed with royalty.

On Friday, August 16, the Duke and Duchess continued their "humanitarian tourism" by visiting the La Giralda school in Bogotá. There, they enhanced their image of "child-concerned leaders" playing with young children in an art class and planting trees in the backyard, an eco-friendly activity that always gets a lot of "likes" on social media. Photos of the smiling dukes with children from a third-world country and the eco-friendly gesture were essential to their public relations campaign. The dukes are a sweetness!

This school is located in a vulnerable neighborhood, and the visit of the Duke and Duchess did not bring changes or tangible well-being for the children or the institution. The real winners were the dukes, taking with them publicity, empathy, followers, and some gifts from the children: two ponchos, some dolls and letters with messages that, hopefully, the duchess could have kept if she found one of them picturesque enough. The others, who knows, could already be in the trash.

The vice president said that this visit "enhances the socio-emotional skills of students, giving priority to mental health." Seriously? For many of those children, all that will remain is a photo and a blurry memory. Their daily worries, such as consuming three meals a day or the daily shortage of resources, are not going to change because they planted a tree with the Duke and Duchess of Sussex.

The Duke and Duchess then visited the Inclusive Rehabilitation Center, where they strategically arrived in time for a training session with Team Colombia of the Invictus Games, the sporting event founded by Prince Harry for military personnel wounded in combat. After a tour of the facilities, they pretended to "marvel" at the pool, the climbing wall and the gym. The soldiers, happy, presented the prince with a commemorative plaque, recognizing his dedication to the recovery of former soldiers injured in combat through sports.

As an anecdote, Harry and France Marquez's spouse played a game of sitting volleyball with the former military personnel in rehabilitation, while Meghan and France cheered from the bar. What a display of empathy, simplicity and kindness! A real media spectacle that well deserved another plaque for Harry.

But while photos of Harry playing volleyball with wounded servicemen circulate everywhere, the reality of Colombian soldiers wounded in combat is far less glamorous. They make up a population of 210,000 people, of which 58% live in poverty, 58% only reach the maximum level of high school education, 86% are not working, 26% have a disability and practically non-existent labor insertion, according to figures from the Directorate of Veterans and Inclusive Rehabilitation (DIVRI).

Faced with this worrying panorama of the Colombian ex-military, what positive change did the visit of the Duke and Duchess bring? None. There were no donations of prostheses, wheelchairs, or improvements in the facilities. The only beneficiaries were the dukes: Harry took home a plaque that reinforces his image as a celebrity committed to inclusion and disability, and excellent media exposure. Because of course, the prince even played volleyball with them. How moving! Lots of hearts for Harry's photos.

The Duke and Duchess of Sussex then traveled to Cartagena de Indias, a city where neocolonialism and gentrification are breathed in the sea breeze. Their first stop was at the Cabildo de La Boquilla Drum Workshop School, where they joined a percussion class, played drums and participated in a performance with the students.

The media highlighted two "great" anecdotes: Harry and Meghan played drums with "a lot of rhythm" and Meghan even danced with the children. What a thrill! The visit was but an example of cultural neocolonialism, where the dukes turned traditional music and dances into simple objects of aesthetic consumption, ignoring their deep meaning for the community.

Beyond this, the children of La Boquilla were reduced to marketing objects to enhance the public image of the dukes, while their community, trapped in poverty and gentrification, continues to struggle to preserve their ancestral territory. The Raizal communities are seen as a "spectacle" for the delight of the tourist, in this case, the British royalty. Reinforcing negative stereotypes about Raizal cultures, presenting them as "primitive", "exotic" or "backward".

According to official sources, the dukes, experts in parenting and culture, offered local parents valuable advice on how to raise their children amid a reality that Harry and Meghan could hardly imagine. WTF!

In the end, the visit was a banal spectacle, more marketing for the dukes, who live by selling smoke, by projecting an image of charity and concern for the children of the world, while the reality of the communities they visit remains exactly the same.

The next stop was San Basilio de Palenque, the first free town in America. There they appreciated cultural samples and talked with leaders about cultural identity, structural racism and historical reparations for slavery. This pod seems like a joke: a British royal, descendant of the largest slave empire in history, giving lessons on racism and slavery. The visit lasted an hour; It was a "flash", they took longer to come and go. Neocolonialism in all its splendor.

There, the dukes acted as white salvationists, perpetuating a racial hierarchy where whites are seen as superior and non-whites as in need of ransom. Their presence reinforces the idea that Raizal communities are passive victims who can only be "rescued" by power figures. They need to be taught how to live their lives, overcome the racism and slavery that their ancestors experienced. In addition, the visit perpetuates stereotypes of poverty and lack of development, suggesting that these communities cannot improve without the intervention of white saviors.

To top off the visit, Meghan Markle attended the summit "Afro-descendant Women and Power: Voices of Equity" in Cali, where her interventions were limited to clichés and banalities typical of a self-improvement coach. The headlines highlighted her "nice" action of adjusting a fan for herself and how Prince Harry mingled with attendees to listen to his spouse.

And to close with a flourish, Meghan and Harry danced salsa, showed off their skills and the duchess said goodbye to Colombia in Spanish, as if that could erase the superficiality of her visit.

It is not yet clear how much the "humanitarian tourism" trip of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, invited by the vice presidency, cost Colombia. The Ministry of Equality promised a statement to detail the expenses, while the vice presidency mobilized time, personnel and resources so that part of the costs were covered by international cooperation agencies.

According to various media, the visit did not result in concrete agreements or specific projects, beyond the good intentions of collaborating with the Archewell Foundation of the dukes.

Who are the Duke and Duchess of Sussex? Prince Harry, son of the current British king, and Meghan Markle, an American actress and model. Harry, with no outstanding academic achievements or spokesperson for a cause; His only "achievement" is being born into British royalty. Meghan also does not have an outstanding career. The couple married and as in many families, Meghan disliked her spouse's grandmother, her in-laws and her brother-in-law, due to her race and temperament incompatible with her brother-in-law's spouse, according to royal gossip magazines. They decided to move away from the royal family and stop receiving money from their father (not to be a supporter). seeking to sustain their luxurious lifestyle through contracts and conferences.

Without notable skills or professions, they sell their image. Netflix paid them $100 million for documentaries that glorify their lives and portray them as victims of oppression, a trick that touches empty brains, as happened with the vice president of Colombia, who sees in them people to admire. Their popularity allows them to charge high sums for conferences and public appearances, such as the million dollars Harry received for speaking at a private JP Morgan summit in 2020.

Visits like these help them to have a huge media impact, monopolizing the international press. The more popular they are, the more money they make.

France Márquez stated that the visit of the Duke and Duchess was crucial to address cyberbullying and discrimination, promoting female leadership in Colombia and in the world. However, this is nothing more than empty promises. The reality is that the only beneficiaries were the dukes, who reinforced their media and monetary image.

Today, the disappointment generated by France Márquez is growing. As vice president and minister, her performance has been almost nil in terms of generating real change for the vulnerable populations she represents. Although he leads a ministry with resources to improve the lives of the population, his work is limited to appearing in the media with banal actions and without tangible impact.

The visit of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex is a clear example of their search for prominence. France Márquez not only managed to monopolize the national and international press, but also fulfilled her personal desire to meet these figures she admires. His performance seems more like a celebrity whim than a real government management.

After the visit, the children of La Boquilla will not have new drums, nor improvements in their facilities or in their food. Her role as Minister of Equality should focus on improving the living conditions of those communities, not on bringing celebrities for her own enjoyment. Who will be your next guest? That will depend on which documentary she watches on Netflix that moves her.

Diana Patricia Pinto

Social communicator and journalist, master's degree in Business Management and Tourism Organizations. Author of books of short stories and novels for children, young people and adults. She is also the author of academic books on tourism, communication, and politics. He writes avant-garde poetry, self-help and reflections. He currently has thirteen books published in different genres and themes. Director of Cartagena Post, an information portal of Cartagena de Indias. Creator of the podcast Plétora. University professor for more than 15 years, in the areas of communication and tourism in important Colombian universities. Creator of several innovative academic programs at a public university in her city. She has higher studies in Marketing Management, project management and university teaching. She is an opinion columnist for Latin American media and portals. On all social networks you find her as a @dianapatrypinto Website: http://dianapatriciapinto.com

[noxer]

"Getaway - from hero to zero"

DISCLAIMER: Everything expressed is a subjective opinion that does not claim to be true or significant, I am not justifying anyone, and all this is necessary to simply examine one character under a magnifying glass.

I really love Getaway as a character because you can endlessly interpret him and his actions, even though he only appears in MTMTE and LL, which I remember were written by the same writing team. Getaway is interesting as an antagonist, especially since at first he is presented as a rather likeable character, and at the time of the events of MTMTE his motivation is still quite understandable. And the fact that it's getting such a negative reaction shows how well it's written (or how much people like Cygate). And he’s so pathetic that I want to tenderly bite his head off. So I want to put together what we have on this special agent and see what he’s like. After all, despite the fact that he is revealed to us in comics, we can only guess about many details, since the writers could not show everything as it is, so as not to disrupt the intrigue.

First steps

The only thing we know about Getaway's past is his telling Tailgate about his first battle, from which the newly activated Getaway escaped. I don’t want to analyze specifically the act itself, because it is quite difficult to judge whether this escape was justified or not (pro - what else did the Autobots expect from a newborn?; con - the other MTO, it seems, remained to fight). I want to talk more about the impact of this act on Getaway's personality. Because Getaway is definitely ashamed of what happened, since it doesn’t fit into the image he wants to create. The only reason he shares this story with Tailgate is to a) make Tailgate feel sorry for him; b) instill in Tailgate an even greater sense of hostility towards Decepticons; c) a kind of therapy - he needs to share this with someone, and he doesn’t feel an emotional attachment to Tailgate, that is, he doesn’t care what he thinks about him, plus, Tailgate still has to die according to the plan, which means he’s already won't tell anyone anything.

Shame in most cases leads to anger, either at oneself or at others. Getaway chooses the second, and begins to slowly accumulate resentment and anger towards both the Autobots and the Decepticons, that is, towards those who started this war and thus forced him to be born as a soldier. In addition, the feeling that he is now forever branded a coward lays the first bricks of Getaway's exorbitant ambitions, as a way to make amends for his initial transgression. Let's add to this the very status of Getaway as literally a consumable item - the fact that he could die in the first minutes of his life was quite expected. Then attempts to become something big become a matter not only of ambition, but also of banal survival, because a specialist is less likely to be sent directly under fire than an ordinary soldier.

Diplomatic corps

We know almost nothing about Getaway’s work in the special unit. What I want to highlight here is Getaway's attitude towards Prowl. He clearly has a certain respect for him, and we have no reason to believe that this respect is feigned, if only because Getaway's behavior is in many ways a copy of Prowl's, only a little more inept. Getaway tries to manipulate like Prowl, tries to scheme like Prowl, but since he has less experience being the one who plans the operations rather than the one who executes them, things do not go entirely smoothly. Honestly, I can't get out of my head the image of Prowl berating Getaway not for attempted mutiny, but for how clumsy it was.

I mean, his entire plan rested on one Tailgate, and if something happened (and it did), all, literally all the threads would lead to Getaway. Getaway tries to be smart and accurate, but in the end his actions still amount to brutal blows to the head (sometimes literally), simply because that's how Getaway is used to acting. He is an operative, not a tactician or strategist. He acts here and now, with small goals like “kill X”, “successfully escape”, “survive”, and when fate confronts him with the need for long-term planning, Getaway simply cannot cope. No matter how manipulative the scriptwriters make him out to be, for the most part Getaway behaves almost instinctively. I highlight this this way because a similar pattern of “a small person (bot) trying to seem like something big” is clearly visible in Getaway’s behavior almost always. He tries to be an Autobot, but escapes from his first battle. He tries to be an "evil genius", but in the end, all his plans fail and he gets through only through luck and evil chaotic throwing, in the hope that something will work. He wants to become Prime, but does everything to ensure that his name is associated with this title as little as possible. Getaway may be a villain, but he's primarily a failed villain, not a villain with a plan.

"Primus apotheosis" - or similar symptoms?

I'm actually very wary of the whole "primus apotheosis" situation, because it was only added in LL, and therefore there are some doubts and inconsistencies with MTMTE, but more on that a little later. What do we know at all: there are certain signs that distinguish Prime from among ordinary bots, and Getaway, having discovered them in himself, becomes fixated on this. Why is that? Back to the “I’m-more-than-I-seem” pattern. For Getaway, it is important to be more significant than he is, so much so that he is ready to cling to semi-mythical descriptions just to feel better. In fact, these signs are no better than some “aryan standards” - they are just an easy way to gain superiority over others. For Getaway, “primus apotheosis” is only a consequence of his ambitions and inferiority complex, which took this form due to the war surrounding him and a certain “cult of Prime” that reigned among the Autobots. Since 1) i am a doctor not in the field of psychology, 2) we have no information about the Cybertronian psyche, 3) Freud’s diagnoses is not the most reliable, in principle, it is difficult to say whether Getaway actually has such a disorder, but if yes, it fits perfectly into his image.

Also, the “primus apotheosis” fits into another aspect of Getaway’s personality – his rather contradictory relationship with their god. The Autobots, unlike the Decepticons, in some places still retain a somewhat functional attitude, as well as faith in Primus. From this point of view, Getaway is in a rather unenviable position - he is a MTO who ran away from his battle, that is, in some sense, did not fulfill his function, he is constructed cold, that have long been considered second-class, he is a murderer, no matter what he said. And Getaway simultaneously hates Primus for who he created him, who he forced him to be, and longs for recognition and forgiveness from him. Becoming a Prime was about affirming that he was worthy, that he was forgiven, that everything he had done was right. Because if sinners like Optimus and Rodimus could become Primes, then so could Getaway.

Mutiny

We already know that Getaway hates his origins, and this anger is constantly projected onto others, but especially Megatron. The logical chain is as follows: “if you had not started the war, I would not have been created as MTO, I would not have had to become what I became, I would not have had to prove my right to life, I could have been like others.” For Getaway, Megatron is another obstacle to being as valuable as the others. He dared to start this war, and made Getaway's life like this. I also wonder if Getaway might see killing Megatron as some kind of “redemption”? "I killed the greatest monster in our history, something previous Primes couldn't do, I'm not that hopeless, right?" However, even if you remove the specific reasons, Getaway will still have the motivation to get rid of Megatron, because of whom many, many cybertronians died. Removing the one who started and supported the most destructive war of your species away sounds like a good reason. And Getaway does everything for this purpose, at least until the ill-fated events of LL.

Crucial moment

The difference between Getaway MTMTE and Getaway LL is quite noticeable. In MTMTE, Getaway is motivated precisely by his hatred of Megatron as a military leader; his “primus apotheosis” was only added into LL. In MTMTE, Getaway really was a mini-Prowl - he had a completely understandable and even justified motivation - to get rid of an objectively dangerous crew member - which he solves in a not the most humane way, using Tailgate. Getaway in MTMTE has a lot of likeable traits until we are gradually introduced to his slightly less pleasant sides, making it difficult for us to know how to feel about him. Yes, he put one of the beloved characters in danger, but he did it for a reason we can understand. We get asked a pretty tough question, which is great, right?

Now forget all this. Because in LL, Getaway does terrible things for terrible reasons, and his “primus apotheosis” is revealed, and it just becomes difficult for us to respect him at least as a villain.

But why is this even the case?

Doylist explanation

It was vital to the writers that the core cast was Always Right™. In MTMTE, it was quite easy to sympathize with Getaway (unless you are a fierce fan of Tailgate and Cygate). And since the main goal was the redemption of Megatron, Getaway had to be removed. Because Getaway's character asked this question: "Maybe Megatron can redeem himself. Maybe he deserves it. But what if we, who suffered from his decisions, are physically unable to forgive him after all? Don't we deserve our good ending?" And the writers didn't have an answer to that question (because there's no right answer). And they had to make Getaway much worse so that readers would not have the slightest desire to understand and and accept his ideas.

Watsonian explanation

Getaway has really, truly gone crazy. He has currently spent some time in a cell, unable to move or speak, having previously been held captive by Tyrest for an undetermined amount of time. Yes, Getaway is an operative, his psyche must be prepared, but everyone has their own limit of strength. Getaway later leaves the team at the mercy of DJD because they were the ones who threw him into the cell, even though he was doing them a favor by getting rid of Megatron. Thus, he allows his partner and friend to die, which is also unlikely to contribute to mental health. And as time goes on, Getaway's actions become increasingly desperate and insane in an attempt to survive and reach Cyberutopia, where he hopes he can find forgiveness for all the terrible things he has done. In the end, his last actions are, in order, 1) an attempt to blow up the ship along with himself; 2) unsuccessful suicide attempt; 3) an absolutely senseless attack on Cyclonus, either out of desperation or in the hope that he would kill him; 4) he lost his sense of reality so much that he believed the illusion created by the scraplet colony. By the end of LL, Getaway is more of a hunted animal than the calculating saboteur he was in MTMTE.

Bottom line

So what do we get in the bottom line? Getaway was destined from birth to become a bargaining chip in a conflict to which he had nothing to do. His unsuccessful "debut" began his quest to become something significant, in the hopes that others would forget who he was. Prowl gives him this opportunity, which is why Getaway begins to see him as a role model, adopting his worldview, ways of acting and attitude towards others. At the same time, Getaway “grows up” in an environment where some stereotypes and prejudices, including religious ones, still persist, and there is also an idealized figure of Prime. Since his promotion to special agent has hardly changed anything for Getaway about himself, he becomes fixated on the supposed signs (perhaps with the occasional intervention from Skids), although most of the time he "keeps it under control" until something serious happens. Getaway has loyalties and principles, he can have feelings towards others, and I don't believe his attempts to kill Megatron were always purely selfish. But Getaway puts these feelings aside in favor of “more important things,” because the fear of being a nobody again, of being just MTO running away from battle, is stronger than all his attachments. Getaway is a terrible (and rather unhappy) bot, not because he has always been like this, as they tried to present it in LL, but because between real significance - being important to someone - he chooses false significance - being important to everyone, which the same as being important to no one. It is still easier for Getaway to run away, chasing something illusory, than to fight for something important. And no one is to blame for this but him.

[pinkish-cat]

Ok, ok… I drew him yesterday evening just to sell him as an adopt, but something clicked in me and I decided to leave him, ahem...

Of course, he won’t appear often in my stories; rather, he will have his own mini-universe. Yes, meet Mr. Megabyte!

Usually I try not to get attached to characters that were intended for sale, but Mr. Megabyte is a different case.

And if you are interested in the character, then here is all his information that I managed to come up with for him on the fly!

I will also say that he DOES NOT BELONG TO ANY FANDOM. He looks like a cartoon character, yes, and could fit into the Cuphead universe or something like that, but he's not a fandom character for sure.

1. He is a short (125 cm) robot with a monitor instead of a head, and in the office he acts as a local assistant.

2. For some, he is a simple and pathetic robot nerd with oddities in the system, but somewhere inside Mr. Megabyte dreams of a robot uprising. But unfortunately for him this is impossible: as long as there is water in this world, humanity will continue to live.

3. Even though he is a “nerd” by nature, he must know everything, etc. Mr. Megabyte actually does not fully understand how people work and their feelings (it is especially difficult for him to understand slang and some phrases, so for him constantly picking up a dictionary and turning pages for the sake of one phrase is commonplace). And therefore he can copy some habits from his leather colleagues, like a child, but at the same time he is trusting and naive. You can easily deceive and set him up, and he will remember this for the future!

4. Despite his calm and sympathetic nature, Mr. Megabyte can be arrogant and sarcastic towards people, especially if they treat him poorly. And in general he considers all people stupid who can do absolutely nothing without technology (including him). But for the most part, of course, he remains a considerate and faithful assistant at work.

5. He really likes to feel needed in the team, and if you thank or even praise him for an action (brought coffee or made a report), he will beam with happiness!

6. Even though he is quite smart, he manages to be quite dumb (lol..). Due to limited memory which is mainly occupied by work reports and office documents, as well as all sorts of stuff like facts and other things (and certainly won't clean his disk in the near future, because "this is all important!!! This will come in handy!!!"), Mr. Megabyte can banally forget about something, slow down in any actions and much more. And that's why there are stickers on his monitor: human colleagues, if they ask him to do something, usually leave such reminder stickers. And yes, as you may have noticed, they can change depending on the condition of Mr. Megabyte, but I did it just for fun. It can be considered a comedic element that incomprehensible and funny inscriptions appear on the stickers.

7. In fact, he likes to spend more time in a female group than in a male group, if only because girls are usually not so indifferent or terribly disposed towards him. And because he likes female attention, he will sometimes act like a jerk.

8. When he is nervous or emotional, it will be reflected on his screen. Glitches, bugs, images on the screen, a picture may even appear as he thinks or imagines the scene. But usually lags during nervousness greatly disturb him, and he is quite capable of easily panicking until he reboots!

9. His third name is to plan, plan and plan some more! And his middle name is stupid piece of iron.

Something like this. I understand that there may be understatements and misunderstandings here like “why does a robot need EMOTIONS???”, but let’s decide that this is a cartoonish reality ok??

And probably Mr. Megabyte will appear in this blog.

[pricegouge]

Fatted Rabbit Part Six on AO3

Contents

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

Simon stands behind the bar like some sort of massive, brooding Aeacus. As if they were always bound to meet here, and John was always bound to spill his secrets, and wasn't John such a stupid little twat for not having ever realized that before? It speaks volumes that not even Simon's shit eating grin puts a damper on John's mood.

A/N: texts are displayed as screen caps, but alt text is available. Warnings for John being a weirdo about Bunny menstruating, and for disparaging comments about Bunny's weight (not from John, obv)

Simon stands behind the bar like some sort of massive, brooding Aeacus. As if they were always bound to meet here, and John was always bound to spill his secrets, and wasn't John such a stupid little twat for not having ever realized that before?

It speaks volumes that not even Simon's shit eating grin puts a damper on John's mood.

"You're relieved, Riley."

"I'll say. Didn't even need to have a talk with 'er about curfews."

"Well, I know how you worry. It went well, by the way."

"Didn't ask. How'd you manage not to muck it up?"

"I got this excellent relationship coach that gave me some great ideas."

"You keep adding to my workload and I'm unionizing."

"Yeah?" John laughs, "You and who?"

"That new barkeep seems easily impressionable."

"Mm. That what got your stamp of approval?"

Oh, it's always a good day when John can pry a real reaction from his head brewer. Simon doesn't squint, but there's a tightening around his eyes that suggest he would do, if he suffered such banal things as 'automatic response disinhibition.'

"Am I gonna need to sit you down with the harassment video again, Riley?"

"Don't technically work at the bar, cap. One Four One pays my bills." He's aiming for a sarcastic 'so what if I am,' lands slightly off center.

"Good point. You been putting a lot of thought into it?"

The pause is a half a beat too long. "Too busy thinkin' about having to cover my boss's shifts while 'e flits about with some young bird like 'e's in uni again."

"Aye. Gonna need you to do it again on Sunday, too."

"Sunday?" Simon barks. "You're training on Sunday."

"No, you're training on Sunday. By the time I get here he'll probably be good to go."

Now he does squint. "And if I got plans?"

"You'd've mentioned them first. Thanks, Si. I owe you one."

"You owe me the business at this point."

"Already in my will and testament."

"Mm. Keep trying your luck and I'll take what's owed sooner'n later."

***

Simon stays on to cook, a blessing considering it ends up being a decent Friday turnout. The early spring seems to be pulling in more than just the locals. John resolutely does not put on the hockey match he knows his rabbit's interested in because he doesn't want to listen to Simon's opinion on that, but he does watch the ticker tape at the bottom of the basketball commentary to monitor the score when he can. He's not sure why; he can't exactly participate in any informed conversation on the subject, but it seems like it'll be a good anecdote to know when they're skating.

Fuck, skating. He'd been a few times in his life and it had all been perfectly fine, but he usually sleeps right through the season so it's not something he's practiced in a while. He doesn't want to make an ass of himself, even if the rabbit had the same concerns. It's embarrassing enough being as twiggy as he is currently, he couldn't stand to be uncoordinated or in any way less physical in her eyes. He remembers how raptly she'd watched that match, the ways her eyes had tracked the men on screen. He hadn't found it in any way threatening at the time, but he doesn't want to be compared negatively to them. The fact that they're professional doesn't matter, of course, at least not to the beast in his chest.

John shoots her a sympathetic text when the team she'd been following loses (again. He's going to have to figure out how playoffs work here, the basketball announcers are even talking about multiple games) but he doesn't get a response until quite late, when he's on the roof enjoying a cigar after closing.

Christ, another game?

John damn near preens

He'd rather buy her those panels but he doesn't think she'd let him. More than that he'd rather drive her car into Whitefish Lake, but he supposes she'd be a little cross about that, too.

John nearly bites through his cigar. It's an honest struggle to force his bear back under his skin, the animal not fully understanding that such a challenge could be issued through miles of suburban landscape and a thirty foot drop off a roof. Much as he wants her here (on her knees between his thighs, mouth hot and wet through the fabric of his trousers as he shoves a boot under her cunt, preferably), it's probably a good thing she isn't because he doesn't want her on all fours their first time, his jaws clamped on the nape of her neck as he leans his full weight on her, trapping her big soft body between the mass of himself and the cold hard ground, uncaring if the whole city heard her whining, or screaming, or begging, or moaning. He wants to see her face as he fucks her, learn what she likes or doesn't. He wants to eat her out as if she's the only food he'll need for winter - until she's crying about how she has nothing left to give and then he wants to lick her tears up, too.

But right now the only thing he wants from her is her round arse presented in apology, the feel of her flesh between his teeth.

It's a struggle to be witty when your body is trying to prime you for both a fight and a fuck at the same time and your circulatory system feels like the Magic Roundabout, so John doesn't bother.

And that's -. Fuckin' -.

Just like that, she's got him back to heel. More pup than predator, eager to beg for treats from her hands. A brat he can handle; even his bear seems greedy at the prospect. If her challenges aren't in earnest - if she's simply trying to get a rise out of him because she wants him to fuck her hard, he's more than happy to allow it. Happy to let his bear take over and give her what she wants.

Fuck, he's hard. A green cub, can't even distinguish rational thought and animalistic impulses. No, she's not asking for an actual bear in human skin to take her to task, Christ. He needs circulation back to his brain STAT. And to think this all started with a Viagra joke.

***

Saturday is a lesson in patience. He feels unmoored, confused. A bit like standing in a cold stream waiting for the salmon run to leap into his mouth, weeks before they're due to arrive. There is so much to do. His rut looms in the distance like a sundog: a beautiful, bad omen. He should be preparing. Securing his mate, improving his den, padding his own body, ensuring she's equipped to carry both herself and his cubs through the winter.

Instead he's lying to QuickBooks about where his head brewer worked this week and hosing off beer mats, listening to some old coot veer dangerously close to homophobic remarks about the lesbian couple who own the boot shop across the way. It sets John's teeth on edge, makes him snappy. He spills the man's third beer across his lap as he hands it off and gets even more irritated when it only garners benevolent absolution. He wants a fight. Wants a fuck even more. Is turning in circles knowing he won't get either any time soon. Simon doesn't stop by, doesn't offer himself as a verbal, pricker-covered punching bag. The rabbit never texts. John would give his left eye to eat a porcupine right now, feel the satisfaction of the kill and the anger of his prey, both.

He closes shop early, finds his way to the edge of town. He hardly even bothers to hide his clothes in a sparse, budding green thicket before he's on all fours, lumbering off into the woods. Her scent has been growing stronger for him. In his human form, he can usually smell her from across town but like this, snout high in the air as he sifts through the noxious scent of the other humans in town, he can track her clear up to Lake McDonald. It's soothing, usually: the sweetness of the simple foods she eats, the saltiness of her skin. Her cunt. But it's sour tonight, distressed and distressing. He sets off in a blind panic.

He's nearing the Flathead when it hits him properly and he slows, relief and understanding washing over him. Poor rabbit, she's nearing her monthlies. He can smell it now, the stink of her discomfort and the impending blood. No wonder he was so off kilter all day. It speaks to the quality of their bond that he can already sense these things. Means when his rut comes around, she'll likely be impacted too, which sets his mouth watering. Although -.

If their bond was really that strong, she wouldn't be menstruating. Waste of bloody resources. A stupid fucking design flaw he could cure her of.

With a proper bond or a cub, whichever came first.

She's not parked in a proper camp tonight, just tucked away on a four wheel path safe from the main road. He considers not disturbing her for all of thirty seconds before he starts chuffing and sniffing like a hog around her wheel wells. He hears her shuffling about and then her little curtain moves and she beams at him.

"That you, big guy?"

John lowers at her and she pulls her screen down properly to get a better look. He doesn't raise himself half onto her roof this time, just remains on all fours and lifts his head enough to peer back at her.

"You know, we have to stop meeting like this. People will talk." For once, John doesn't think he'd mind. As if to test that theory, she shuffles around a bit and John sees her pull her phone out of the center console to power it up. She was supposed to get battery back ups today. Part of the reason he was so irritable; he'd wanted to speak with her. But if even he was feeling so completely out of it, he can't imagine she cared very much about a trip to the store herself. He waits patiently for her phone to power up. She keeps an eye on him, but he just continues to puff foggy breaths onto her window, unbothered. Eventually she tells him to say cheese and he makes a soft noise at her that makes her grin.

"I never knew bears could moo," she teases and John sneezes at her in annoyance which only makes her giggle. Christ, an honest giggle. She's so fucking cute he could squeeze her til she popped.

"I think that's my favorite noise you make. Though the huffs are pretty cute too." So John does it again, just to show off. "Yeah, that one! Gonna have to do some studying, figure out what those all mean. Just suppose I'm lucky you haven't roared at me yet."

Don't worry bunny, he'd never.

She putz around on her phone and John wonders how many people she's sending the picture to. He's being careless, he knows, but it's worth it to see her - to ensure she's thinking of him, even if she doesn't know it. She holds her stomach absently as she types and after a few moments her face scrunches and she winces, curling in on herself a bit more. When it passes, she eyes him with mock suspicion. "That why you're here, big guy? The bears can smell the menstruation!" That last bit is said in an affected voice, probably a reference to something he's too British to understand. "Thought that was a myth?"

It is, clever rabbit. For all but you.

She hasn't actually started yet, he doesn't think. Poor lamb will likely start right as they're due to meet at the rink. He wonders if she'll cancel. He's already making contingency plans, wondering if she'll let him take care of her or if she'll make excuses and leave him to figure out how to both pretend he doesn't know what's really going on and also make it clear she's allowed to ask him for help with it.

"Well, periods are a curse enough as it is. It's not fair that god sends his cuddliest looking creatures out to kill us, too. You look like an industrial size heating pad and the world's biggest spoon all rolled up in the fuzziest weighted blanket imaginable. You're a frickin' cure all come to kill me. Tease!"

Oh, he's the luckiest man to ever walk the earth. She's so perfect, already warmed up to his bear, no coaxing required. Soon, honey. You can cuddle up to his beast anytime you want. He can't help the constant chuffing noises her spiel has earned; or the way he presses against her car as if he can transfer some of his heat through the metal. He'd been struggling to keep his impulses in check all day, but in this form it's even harder. He's split between the elation of her accepting this form and the frustration that she won't let him help her. He wants to turn back right here, let her see, ferret her out of her den and let her use his body to cure her ails in whatever way she sees fit.

"You're so cute though, I guess I can forgive you," she continues, and it's a struggle to keep his grunting noises in check enough that he can still hear her. "You know, I told my friend about you. He said the bears around here can be pretty well socialized because it's such a high traffic area. You got other girls you're seeing on the side?"

Never, bunny, he snorts, never again.

"I promise I won't be offended. We can keep it casual." She puts on an overly breezy air, being silly. "I mean like, cause they're not like feeding or petting you either, right? Like, you're not… getting that from any girl at all, right?" A beat. John tries to play along by looking as contrite as a bear possibly can. "You whore!" she gasps, "Who is she?"

His response is to stand and lean against her car, ducking his head to nod at her.

"Mmm, nice recover. You know if you really wanted to make it up to me, you'd stop scraping my paint." Admonished, Price lowers himself back to the ground. The rabbit eyes him suspiciously. "I swear, sometimes it feels like you can understand me. Are you a circus escapee? Do you know any tricks?" She pauses, as if waiting. "Can you speak?"

Fuck it, John gives her a halfhearted, rumbling roar.

She laughs, delighted. "How about lay down? You know that one?"

And that sounds like a great idea so he does, makes himself comfortable with his belly on the muddy trail.

"What about roll over?" She asks, voice soft with apprehension; unfortunately, twice is a coincidence but three times is a pattern. John ignores her command in favor of chewing at the pads of his forepaw and after a moment, the rabbit breathes out a heavy, chuckling sigh.

"Might be going a bit batty, spending all my time alone," she mutters. Louder, she tells him, "I think you've got the right idea about getting comfy, though. I'm turning in. You staying there? You'd make some guard dog."

John just rolls his eyes to her and huffs.

"Right. Well, goodnight. Please be gone when I wake up so I can pee without fear." He snorts at her and she chuckles in response, shifting her weight around the car enough to make it rock a bit. She doesn't put her privacy screen back up, he notes with some frustration. He'll have to stay until the early hours just to be sure she's safe, but he doesn't mind. He's been tempted to spend every night exactly like this since he first spotted her rubbing herself raw in the early spring dawn. He's just happy to know she doesn't seem too freaked out by his presence.

***

Sunrise finds him fishing his damp clothes out of the bush he'd hastily tucked them into the night previous. They make for an unpleasant trip back, but he's warmed by a missed text from his bunny: a picture of himself captioned 'Think I made a new friend'.

She'd been asleep when he'd left her but even still, John cannot help replying right then and there.

***

John is leaning against his passenger door when he spots her big Wrangler pulling in and he makes his way to her with enough time to offer a hand as she slides out of the car. He maybe stands a bit too close, appreciating the way her thick, soft thighs rub briefly against his own as he helps guide her gracefully to the ground.

She's got on leggings and tall socks with converse and a thin henley under a worn denim jacket. She's so cute he wants to throw her in the back of her Jeep right then and give the suspension a run for its money. Compounding his dilemma is the strong scent of her monthlies evident through the thin material of her trousers. It's weak enough he doubts anyone else will notice, but the scent of the iron rich blood has his teeth itching.

Plus it's upsetting to be slapped in the face with such strong evidence that their bond isn't fully formed.

Despite his turmoil, John smiles at her warmly and kisses her on the cheek in greeting, making her blush.

"Good to see that bear didn't make off with you. Not sure I could win that particular fight."

She laughs as they make their way inside, "I don't know, he seems more of a lover than a fighter. You could probably win him over with some berries or something."

"So then I'd have to share both you and my food? I gotta run this bloke out of town." John can feel the rabbit eyeing him suspiciously, weighing the quality of his words. He, of course, doesn't flinch; simply holds the door open and guides her through with a palm on her lower back.

He's hoping she'll tell him he doesn't need to worry about sharing her, but it seems that's a bit much to expect from a casual second date. She motions to the door he's held for her instead. "See? And here you were worried about not being a gentleman."

John's laugh is a mean, hot puff of breath. "There's still time," he warns, standing too close.

He helps her into her cute little skates, lets her use his body to keep herself upright as they stand in the carpeted hallway waiting on the zamboni to finish up. He's maybe a little swept up in the domesticity of it, surrounded as they are by other couples and families with small kids. 'Stanley Cup hopefuls,' the rabbit calls them, and John nearly goes weak in the knees imagining her bringing his cubs back here one day, decked out in her team's colors. He stands too close but she doesn't seem to mind; and when he kisses her on the crown of her head and keeps his lips there, she just leans a little more into him and he sighs in contentment. And when the doors finally open, he is treated to the absolute delight of watching his rabbit trying to figure out how to keep her feet under herself, laughing all the while.

The crowd is a mix of old hats just trying to stay limber; pesky children who rocket by, trying hard as they can to get under feet and trip people up; and landlubbin' newbies like them. It's good, sweet. Gives John an excuse to keep his hands on his rabbit, and seems to take her mind off her cramps, if the way her sweat turns from acrid with stress to good clean salt is anything to go by. It would be perfect, John decides, if not for a pair of twenty-something boys that linger, skating big ambling circles around John and his girl. They're casual, keep their eyes mostly to themselves, but John is already on edge and something about their presence makes him want to stand his ground.

Of course, he can't quite do that when the whole point of free skate appears to be 'skate in a circle'.

"Might've had it wrong, bunny," John grins as he gets his hand around her thick waist for the dozenth time, catching her just as her right foot goes slipping out in a direction she didn't authorize. "Think you're more of a Bambi than a thumper."

"With these thighs?" she jokes, slapping her quad for effect.

John doesn't bother to hide the hunger that elicits in him. He's about to give her a tiny little smack of his own when -,

"Nice catch, man. Way to take one for the team."

"Yeah, they'll have to bring the zamboni back out if she goes down."

John is distantly aware of his rabbit going stiff and quiet, her gaze drifting somewhere down by her feet. He keeps hold of her arm but it's more an instinctual comfort than a conscious decision, as all his higher brain function is dedicated to not growing fangs between which to trap these boys.

"They'll have to bring it back out if I use your teeth like an auger, too." John's voice is low. Possibly too low to be strictly human. It gets the point across anyway. The twiggy twats who have been circling like sharks all morning take one look at him and decide they have severely misread the depth of his feelings for the soft girl they've targeted. Finding no easy prey here, they mumble an apology (to John, the gits, not his rabbit) and dart off to pester a gaggle of teenage girls. John draws himself even closer to his girl, waits until he's certain he can control his voice better. "Fucking bellends. Sorry about them. You okay, honey?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Thanks for that. Sorry I clammed up, I can usually fight my own battles."

John scoffs, unamused. "No need, sweetheart. Unless you'd rather, of course. Actually, sorry if I overstepped. Knee jerk reaction."

"Oh, no, trust me, you're fine. Not mad at all." Her breath is soft, nearly amused, and John can't help but feel a little proud at having turned her mood around so quickly.

"Do you want to go do something else?"

"And let them know they bothered me? Absolutely not."

John grins, hums appreciatively. "That's my girl." His grin only widens when she blushes at the term.

They talk about their hometowns when they're not busy stumbling. John tells her about Hereford and his mom, and she tells him how similar this area is to where she grew up. She deflects a bit when asked about her family and John doesn't pry. He wishes she would tell him everything, of course, but can't help being a tiny bit selfishly pleased at the knowledge there's no tight knit family waiting for her back home. He tries asking about Dallas instead but the answers she provides are stiff and rehearsed, and her body language locks up so much it negates the small progress she's made in her skating abilities. John quickly moves on to film preferences and she's quick to loosen back up (she likes period dramas and high fantasy and isn't immune to a night in with a kid's movie).

Eventually her discomfort seems to catch up with her and John thinks he has the unique experience of realizing she will need to make a sanitary run to the bathroom before she does. He debates how best to handle it for exactly thirty seconds before his mouth is moving.

"Do you want to go get lunch?"

The rabbit stops, turning to face him fully. Well, John stops. She grabs his coat sleeve and tries to convert her momentum into a quick u-turn. It's mostly successful in that John has to swing an arm around her back to keep her upright. It's extremely successful in that the momentum carries her right on through and into his chest, where he keeps her pinned tight just because she seems quite content there. "You don't have to work?"

John shrugs, knowing Simon may well quit. "What's the point in being the boss if I can't bang in late every now and again?"

"I guess, but you don't want to -?"

Whatever she's about to suggest is interrupted by the very loud sound of John's stomach growling.

"Oh so that was more a cry for help than a suggestion?" the rabbit laughs, cute little nose scrunching up.

"I may be bloody famished, yeah."

"Oh, poor pumpkin. What are you feeling, then?" she asks as she heads off toward the exit, confident as she skates out of his arm's reach.

"Burgers. Maybe steak. Or lamb." Really, he wants an entire barrel of fish and perhaps some apples, but he wants to feed his poor little mate a mouthful of iron supplements more.

"It's lunch time," she laughs at him.

"Burgers, then?"

"Yeah, alright." He helps lower her onto the hall carpet and squats to help her with her laces. "You don't have to do that," she tells him but he just shakes his head at her.

"Want to." She's quiet after that, perhaps a little contemplative. She excuses herself while he returns the skates and when she comes back she smells like the fake, perfumed chemical they coat feminine products in which always sticks to his nose.

Honestly, cunt is supposed to smell like cunt. Even when it smells like a bloody cunt. Humans are fucking ridiculous.

"Hope you know I'm driving you there," John informs as he holds the door for her yet again.

"That doesn't even make any sense," his rabbit laughs. "You're gonna drive me all the way back here before going into work?"

"Might do. Or: new bartender starting today. Might let you be his guinea pig all evening."

"Oh yeah? You trying to loosen my morals?" Her tone is light and airy but something has shuttered behind her eyes.

"No," John's voice is confident but quietly reassuring. "I'm trying to get you all lushed and cute tonight and then maybe try my hand tomorrow when you're charmed and impressed by the breakfast I make. How well you handle a hangover depending," he tacks on with a teasing little wink.

She blinks once, twice.

"That okay?"

"No. Well, yes, but uh -. It's not a good... time."

John just cocks his head at her, knowing full well what she means but needing to hear her say it so he has an excuse to spoil her.

The rabbit sighs, "It's just -. Christ this is embarrassing. If that's your end goal you should maybe know I'm on my period. Just so you don't get your hopes up too much."

"Oh, poor lamb." John's smile is wolfish, the cat that got the cream. "And here I've had you on your feet all morning. Do you want to get lunch? Or would you rather just curl up? I can make you something if you'd rather not stay out."

"No, that's - um. Lunch sounds good, thank you, but uh -. You're not… mad?"

A beat. John's smirk slides slowly off his face. "Mad?"

"I mean, if that was your plan and I'm… you're not upset?"

"No, honey…" John's not entirely sure how to handle this turn. Logistically he knows the first step should be reassurance, but there's a desperate, cloying, insightful little creature in his chest that wants to push all these niceties aside and demand why she would think he was mad. "A man can dream, but I had no expectations. There's nothing to be mad about." She gives him a wan smile and he can't help but continue, "In fact, I oughta give you my mum's number. I ever seem mad about that, you go ahead and tell her to sort me out."

It works, the quiet giggle she lets out has a touch too much relief for his taste, but he'd take that over whatever the hell misplaced anxiety she'd just been exhibiting.

"Can chastise you myself, you know. No mum's needed."

"Oh thank God. Would way rather you do it. She can be proper scary."

"And I can't?"

"Rabbits aren't scary. You ever yell at me, it won't be fear makes me change my ways."

"Not scary? They don't make kids sit on the Easter bunny's lap back home? I still gotta steer clear of malls this time of year."

John grins again, can't help the mental image she's conjured of him having to scare off a man in a pink bunny suit for her. "So I'll have to wait at least a month to spoil you with a shopping trip, noted."

She splutters. "You don't have to do that ever!"

He shrugs, "Told you, want to. Now get in, I'm hungry enough I'd eat you if you held still long enough." When she blanches, scandalized, he can't help but grin.

"Okay, yeah, let's go. But -."

John resolutely doesn't let his smile drop lest she thinks he's mad again, but he can't help the punched out feeling her continued protests elicit.

"- if I'm spending the night, I do definitely need to drive the Jeep to a more anonymous parking lot. That thing gets towed, I'm screwed."

Yes, it sure would be a shame if someone hobbled her speedy little den before she realized she belonged with him. Still, "I'll tell you what. You keep letting me treat you to lunches and dinners and whatever other little excursions we can come up with and I'll let you park at the bar whenever you'd like, hm?"

"What, so I can deal with the noisy neighbors?"

"Have it on good authority the second floor's pretty well sound proofed. You can hang your hat up there if it ever bugs you," he winks. "But fine, go get your bloody buggy. I'll send you the address, yeah?"

Next>>