#this really turned into a loopy late-night ramble huh

[lunalikestowriteanddraw]

Icebound episode 15 spoilers under the cut

You know, idk if it’s a good or bad thing that I had the previous context of Baldur’s Gate 3, where the entire plot of the game involves Mindflayers and their whole mindfuckery, before starting the Ogreton arc in Icebound, because the MOMENT someone eluded to some kind of mindfuckery, my mind IMMEDIATELY went to Illithids or something of that nature. And I’m kinda glad I was right but I also hate the way I found out that I was right

It’s kinda like the wendigo thing ya know? Because I had the previous context of Until Dawn (a horror game involving the lore of the wendigo), as well as my subsequent hyperfixation of researching the wendigo when I was like 13, I had an inkling that wendigo was going to be involved in some way in Icebound. And, again, I was correct, but I also hate the way I found out I was correct

Also, side note, but I love the fact that Derek mashed up a bunch of different mythologies and folklore and practices for Icebound. Like the wendigo from Native American folklore, the Aztec death whistle that Derek used for the wendigo followed by the Dragonborn Druid camp and their practices being similar to the Aztecs, as well as Ogreton having a lot of ancient Greek and ancient Roman influences (also maybe being partially inspired by the tale of the lotus eaters from the Odyssey?)

Like how has it taken me THIS long to watch Icebound. Genuinely, how. Literally EVERYTHING about it is so up my alley because I have at one point or another have hyperfixated on just about everything that very clearly has some kind of influence on this campaign. Obviously i know the Icebound and OUAW campaigns didn’t exist when I was 13/14, but man if they did I absolutely would’ve eaten this shit up. Probably would’ve even gotten into D&D sooner tbh.

[ato-matsuri]

On Agartha

Been a while since I’ve written a long text post, most of all one about Fate. It honestly inspires a lot of rambling in me, after all. But I don’t think, this time, it’s due to its good writing, the emotions it makes me feel, or anything good. This, my friend, is about Agartha. I should probably prelude that this contains a metric shit ton of Agartha spoilers. If you haven’t seen Agartha, and you’re actually wanting to see the story -- scroll past. But, having played through Agartha completely and rested on the story for a bit, I think I want to repeat what everyone else has for ages lol.

Agartha, on paper, is incredible. A subterranean world built off fantastical story off fantastical story, made by a woman known for her ability to weave story after story, within stories, on the fly, and from a database of every possible Arabian Nights tale. Where the fear Scheherazade has due to Shahryar's endless abuse and fearmongering has stretched even to men as a whole due to literal years of having to survive Shahryar. Where the only leaders were queens, where the only rebellion force was a man so horrifically corrupt that he'd easily fall for the tricks she played. Her intent -- to reveal magecraft forever, removing any power magecraft has, saving her from ever having to fight and face kings -- and die -- ever again. That... sounds pretty good when I describe it that way, huh? Now if only it were executed with any modicum of sense.

From the beginning, Agartha's writing struck me as remarkably odd. It was like I was watching someone desperately try to emulate Nasu's writing style -- but had absolutely no idea what made Nasu's writing so good. Its exposition dumps, rather than being interesting, ended up being thoroughly boring -- as they focused on the mundane, like the fact that moss glows to light up the landscape -- instead of the magical implications of a world like Agartha even existing to begin with. Albeit, with the mystery of Agartha at that time, we can safely assume that there wasn't much to focus on, but then why spend so damned long talking about this stuff?

The worldbuilding, while passable, feels fairly flawed in execution. The idea of a world made the way Agartha was could've made for some interesting commentary about the way men treated (and still do treat) women in modern society, but Agartha not only misses the point, but tumbles head-over-ass into the uncanny valley and makes the whole thing sound like a continent-wide BDSM session. There's barely any actual subtle or well-done symbolism to showcase misogyny in this way -- and while hyperbole can serve a good point at times, the hyperbole combined with the strangely sexual writing of these segments makes it feel less like commentary and more like a badly-done doujin.

For example -- El Dorado was as simple as it gets. Men are slaves/breeding machines/whatever. The whole 'breeding machine' thing is played off extensively, even with Penth -- a minor at this stage, mind you -- comments on using the protagonists as such breeding machines. I'll come back to this later, because this serves as another point.

Ys was a fucking cool concept -- a world ruled entirely by rampant consumerism and chaos. Men, in this world, are still second-class citizens, pretty much the playthings of the women around them. I say that Ys is the best kingdom comparatively, as it was at least more bearable than its other kingdoms, but it still felt weirdly sexual in its writing tone. Of course, following tone, Dahut (who I'll get back to later) smashes men constantly, and is very keen on fucking Guda as well, following a trend. It's played for comedy, mostly, but it's still uncomfortable as all hell. Even so, I note it's more bearable because it's a very slightly more subtle take on the whole 'misogyny' allegory -- these people are using men for basically whatever they want, and tossing them away after. I'd compare it to a few true crime cases of people who murdered, or assaulted women for no good reason at all, purely out of a want that was either denied (for good reason), or that the want itself was to inflict harm. While the allegory still does feel unintentional here, it's at least slightly less unintentional. It was probably mostly just by accident due to Agartha's generally uncomfortable writing style, but the allegory here feels a little more potent when it's not so blatantly a BDSM fic.

I hate the Nightless City, despite it again being a cool concept. A 'utopia' where speaking out at all means death -- where men are in concept free citizens, but in practice fall victim to the law if they look at someone funny. Again, in concept, great allegory. The law does not treat men and women the same -- and while it differs depending on the case which is preferred, the vast majority of the time, women are pretty much shafted by the legal system (see Brock Turner), especially in very conservative areas. Cases can be made for both genders being shafted, of course -- but for the purpose of this allegory, picking out the prejudices of the legal system against gender is a fair critique. But, like everything else Agartha does, these neat ideas fall flat in practice.

They barely touch at all on the allegory, and nobody seems to even realize it in the cast, making me further believe the allegories aren't intentional at all. In due fact, it's as if the writer didn't even realize that this could be read as an allegory. The men's plights make some sense, as they were yoinked out of nowhere into a world that hates them. But the Servants and Guda don't think about it at all past the 'wow men are slaves that sucks' -- barely even considering that this could be an allegory the world's creator made due to their own horrific circumstances. They do point this out, but to my knowledge, it's very late -- when Scheherazade's called on her bluff, only then is it ever mentioned, and only in passing at that. If anything, the fact they point this out so close to the ending makes the ending itself that much more insulting. But before I get to the ending, I think there's something else about Agartha that sets the scene for just how awful it is -- and that's the way the characters are written, and the dialogue that comes of it. For this, I'll split it up into the characters who portray this the most. I'll even describe their personalities in Agartha's context.

Guda: Crouching pervert, hidden Mash stan. A few non-sequiturs of Guda complimenting Mash despite the mood being completely broken by it. Guda's incapable of taking a situation seriously in Agartha, even when the world's basically due to be changed forever. They keep cracking jokes, creeping on Astolfo/d'Eon, and other such things even when people are literally dying all around him. For that matter, I clearly recall the scene where -- for no real reason -- Guda just changes gears with Mash in tow, and starts trying to decipher d'Eon's gender. There's absolutely no real context to this, nor any reason for Guda to do this. Further noted is the fact Guda has worked with d'Eon before, and should've probably realized d'Eon's situation by this point. The Nasuverse has always been a bit, er, behind on gender norms and such, but it's so prevalent in any scene with d'Eon it hurts -- especially in that particular scene.

Astolfo: Oddly enough, the most tolerable person here (sans one other person). Agartha's refusal to take itself seriously works remarkably well for Astolfo. And while Astolfo isn't exactly written well here either, the fact that Astolfo's always been a bit loopy makes them seem, well, more in character. They're responsible for some of the funnier moments in Agartha, with their input composing approximately 3/4 of the, like, seven or eight funny moments in Agartha proper. Even so, Astolfo's appearance sometimes hurts Agartha as much as they help it, probably since Astolfo is a bit of the reason Agartha won't take itself seriously.

d'Eon: Deserved fucking better. The previously mentioned scene was the worst offender by far in my eyes, with it coming out of fucking nowhere. d'Eon's paired with Astolfo as a buddy and fighting partner, which itself could've made for good material -- instead, d'Eon is constantly dragged into Astolfo's fanservice-y gimmicks, and d'Eon themselves are pretty often creeped on by Guda. I'd go out on a limb to say that d'Eon's implied dislike of gendered clothing (see the maid outfit) made their scenes wearing such outfits far more uncomfortable, especially with how distinctly sexual the Agartha humour is. I just hated it.

Columbus: I can't fucking believe I'm saying this, but Columbus was the funniest character in Agartha. And I don't even think that was intentional. Something about how unabashedly horrible he was caught me completely off guard -- I thought he'd end up sort of like Napoleon at a glance, someone whose Spirit Origin was completely changed due to Europe's collective worship of the dude -- but holy FUCK was I wrong. Something about the hilariously cursed faces Columbus pulls, combined with his loud-and-proud irredeemable evilness, made him a blast to watch -- and an even bigger blast to beat the shit out of. His, uh, toothy grin still cracks me up even a few weeks after playing it.

Penthesilea: One of a very large amount of people who really deserved better. She barely ever shows up -- and when she does, she voices her desire to turn Guda and co. into a breeding machine/slave (recall she's like. 16?), and pretty much throws the whole 'reasonable-ish zerk' thing out the window instantly, because Agartha decided to forego decent writing in favour of 'funny berserker hates achilles haha brrrrrr,' therefore losing pretty much all the characterization they could've given her. The lack of 'alternate views' that show her in greater detail make this far worse, which I'll go into later.

Dahut: God, wasted potential out the asshole! A woman who made an entire world that fucked around and needlessly consumed stuff, she's the epitome of such a belief. But that's all she is. I'd be able to forgive this awful writing if Scheherazade, who 'implanted' Drake onto Dahut, was a bad writer -- but she's fucking Scheherazade! Dahut's a completely flat character, who constantly tries to bed (and kill) Guda, and generally likes the idea of needless consumption. That's literally it. Again, could be explained if Dahut had difficulty keeping control of Drake's body and conscience -- but this isn't explored either! She's just a walking, talking missed opportunity.

Wu: God, look at her design. Do I even need to say more?! She falls under the same problem that the other rulers do -- shallow characterization, no opportunities to flesh them out, etc.

Scheherazade: She could've been so fucking amazing. Scheherazade's story is one ripe with interpretations the Fate series so loves to utilize -- and on paper, her character is amazing. It'd only be natural for someone like Schez to be this deeply traumatized after so many days on death's door -- not many could really get through that okay. The incredible storyteller who fears death, kings, and unconsciously, men as a whole -- creating Agartha as a subtle way of ensuring none of them harm her while she prepares her ultimate plan of revealing magecraft to the entire world. However, as with the other Agartha characters, she becomes cripplingly one-note. Bringing her fear of death above all else, she comes off as an unreasonable asshole, constantly freaking out about death and preserving exclusively herself to a fault. While one could argue it's partially due to a Pillar's influence, Phenex doesn't seem to have a hold on her at all -- it's a basic alliance, and nothing more, as the ending shows us. It just leaves her as a one-note death avoider, with no other character traits at all. I'd go into further detail, but I'm saving that for later.

Fergus: God fucking damnit, man. A literal child version of Fergus, who the entire cast constantly expects to sexually harass every woman in sight. He's a one-note flanderization of Fergus, just without the one character trait Agartha gave Fergus. It just makes him... boring, a character whose only character trait is his refusal to hit a woman. Like... Come on. The fact the entire team is so sure this literal child will start trying to hit on women is just uncomfortable to witness, and the fact he slowly starts gaining these traits feels less like him 'meeting his fate' as Fergus, and more like Agartha wants an excuse to sexually harass more of the cast.

The Fucking Ending I'm giving this its own category, because of just how much of a punch to the face it was. In short -- the plan to reveal magecraft is revealed, more jokes are made, bla bla bla. Agartha can't keep a serious mood at all. ...But the final few scenes take it to a whole other extreme.

Wu Zetian comes out of nowhere despite being squashed by Megalos earlier, stuffing Phenex into a pit of her weird water shit, placing Phenex in a state of 'life and death.' Child Fergus then sac's his own Spirit Origin to summon Fergus inside himself(???), thus gaining the power of Caladbolg to weaken Phenex enough for the player to destroy. ...However, Child Fergus just summoned Fergus inside his own body. So, what happens when you put Agartha!Fergus, a one-note sexual harasser, into the body of a child? You get the final scene of Agartha. For some reason, I guess you need more help from others to take out Phenex. To this end, Fergus decides to convince Schez to join their side. I'd like you to recall that FGO!Scheherazade is implied to have the trauma of Shahryar's abuse, sexual and physical, burned into her memory -- not just the whole death thing. In every form of the story, Shahryar abuses her in such a fashion almost nightly. It's to the point where Schez' first line of defence, and much of her skills, are as much oriented around storytelling as they are charm and seduction (moreso the former than the latter, albeit), because her defence mechanism was that as much as it was storytelling, to keep her abuser happy. This is a part of why Agartha is the way it is -- to keep such men away from her. Hell, there's not a single King in sight, save technically Fergus, and Chaldea's d'Eon and Astolfo. Fergus knows this. Hell, he heard this being called out. He's well aware how terrified she is. So, what does he do?

SEXUALLY HARASS HER. He claims she has to live to have kids. That men and women have to live to have kids. He claims that she should live, because he'd smash her. ...Now, that's insulting enough -- moreso, that it's played dead serious. Nobody even as much as calls him on such a shitty persuasion tactic, and nobody even mentions how awful it is to sexually harass a woman who'd been sexually assaulted at best for the better part of almost three straight years. AND IT. FUCKING. WORKS.

SCHEHERAZADE. IS IMPLIED. TO BE INTO IT.

And because of this, she's swayed to join the heroes and seal Phenex away for good -- giggling about how Fergus' worldview was partially correct even as she fades away. The epilogue features Fergus, sexually harassing Scheherazade ON SIGHT -- calling out 'tits on my 12:00' or whatever, as Scheherazade darts off. However, Schez isn't avoiding him due to trauma. She's avoiding it because, while she's into it, she doesn't want to 'die' so fast. This fucking ending highlights among the biggest issues with this damned Singularity. Even Blavatsky coming out of fucking nowhere to Deus Ex Machina a grail and help into Guda's hands -- despite seemingly being slaughtered by Columbus in a (admittedly a bit funny) way to get the base of the Resistance -- means nothing to me compared to the blatant slaughter of two characters at once. Fergus is a total horndog even outside of Agartha's reach, but he even notes he respects his partners' consent, and doesn't overstep his bounds if he makes them uncomfortable. Scheherazade isn't exactly trusting in the slightest, least of all in Agartha - she barely even begins trusting Guda due to Guda treating her with actual respect. Even then, she isn't actively prostrating herself for Guda in that sense, very likely due to the fact that's more of a defence mechanism to her rather than something she'd enjoy, due to extreme trauma. Albeit, Fate writing does leave the possibility in the air for Guda specifically, but that's very likely just due to Guda being Guda and being careful to treat her properly and help her than anything else (and also the whole 'self insert harem' thing, I guess, but that's a hell of a lot easier to ignore esp in contrast to Agartha) And yet, we see that epilogue, that butchers both of them in one fell swoop so badly that I almost ended up hating both of them. Agartha's biggest problem is that it tried to be deep and intriguing, while having the writing quality of the goddamned Valentine's events. It picked all the right characters to have an incredibly intriguing storyline, and fell flat because the author decided that playing sexual harassment, d'Eon's everything, and even the most serious scenes for comedy was more important than telling a story even half as meaningful as the chapters before it. Lo and behold -- to my knowledge, Minase wrote it. Of course he did. He chose the best, the most interesting characters he could find, and made them so fucking one-note that the story lost all its charm in moments. He chose to emulate Nasu without understanding what made Nasu's writing so good. He chose to make Agartha a laugh fest despite simultaneously trying to make it 'deep.' He chose to fall head-over-ass over a possibly interesting allegory into misogyny and fall right into sexualizing it to the point of feeling like a femdom BDSM fic. And go figure the only character he did decently was Christopher fucking Columbus. I have a hatred for Agartha I can't reasonably place anywhere else. Prillya was just as shitty, but I ignored it, because Prillya itself wasn't great, so of course the crossover sucks too. Valentine's events written by him weren't great, but whatever, it's a Valentine's event. Septem, written by someone else, was similarly not great. But it wasn't insulting. It simply wasn't great, and had a lot of wasted potential. But its ending wasn't out of character to the point of being insulting. Its story didn't make incredible mythological and historical figures too infuriating to like anymore. It didn't almost ruin entire Fate characters for me. Not the way Agartha did. I should probably contextualize that Scheherazade is among my favourite mythological figures. I introduced myself to her through Magi (lmao) due to further research into the base stories -- as well as a favourite Magic: The Gathering card, Shahrazad, which forced you to play a game within your game, like how Arabian Nights featured stories within stories.

Even in Fate outside of Agartha, I liked her. Her design didn't make much sense to me considering her character, but whatever, I didn't need to think too hard of it. It's just a design, and despite my hatred of Penth's design, I still love Penth as a character, so I can handle Schez. But Agartha painted her in such a way that all the subtlety and interesting parts of Schez went completely out the window. No longer was there any hidden references to the aftereffects of her life beyond 'i dun wan die,' and there was hardly an ounce of sympathy or kindness in her bones at all. While her being an anti-hero made some sense, especially as she was only a normal person with far above-average storytelling prowess, there was a point when she stopped being a 'good, but terrified person' and started being a complete asshole. And Agartha was that time. If it weren't for her Interlude, which redeemed her considerably, and Ooku, which did wonders for her character despite being written by Minase (as I believe Nasu was overseeing him at that point), I very likely would've never gone for her at all, despite my love of the myth. In Conclusion This rant is just to say that Agartha is bad. Horrific. Insulting, even. At every step where it could've been good, it tumbled head-over-ass into the most insulting, uncomfortable shit you could imagine. It failed to take itself seriously, and paced itself like a comedy event, but simultaneously acted as if it expected its audience to take it seriously. Like a clown brigade deciding to take on Les Mis, it loses all of its punch when every few lines is interrupted by a jab at Fergus, sexual harassment, or something that comes close to being cool before suddenly turning into a badly-timed joke, or suddenly becoming laden with dialogue so sexual it feels straight out of a porno. It's aggravating, awful, and with only brief reprieves of bareable comedy in between long, long lengths of hellish text and awful characterization. The only good part was the gameplay -- which, laden with interesting mechanics not seen elsewhere, was legitimately fun. My take? Avoid all Agartha cutscenes and plot, and just play the gameplay. The gameplay's fun, and if enjoyed on its own, would probably make for a far better experience than observing the story surrounding it. But good gameplay doesn't make up for a horrible story, especially in a game where plot is as important as it is in F/GO. Agartha's a pile of shit in my eyes, but that's ultimately only my opinion, and nothing more. If others have an opinion counter to mine, that's completely fine -- and don't let this analysis ruin your fun with Agartha if you enjoyed its plot. To be frank, I'd be happy if you enjoyed it where I could not. And if you think my takes are misinformed, or if I missed a spot (or overreacted to a spot), that's what the reblogs and comments are for! I'm definitely not the kind of dude who has the final say in matters like this -- this is only what I picked up. Thank you for reading!

[shih-coulda-had-it]

20/29 platonic nanahiko

20/29. [Platonic] Carrying while half-asleep and crawling into bed | Nana & Sorahiko | WC: 1,203

//

Sky High Agency’s spare cot had been outfitted for a single individual of average height.

If a person surpassing two hundred centimeters needed a nap, then they crammed themselves against the wall and hoped for sleep to take them before the crick in their neck did. Whoever did choose to doze off in the back room inevitably woke up within the hour, skin chilled (thin blanket) and bones creaky (hard mattress). The lack of comfort in this set-up originated from a youthful, well-intentioned mind fighting a lazy, cynical one.

If you couldn’t sleep on the bed, then you wouldn’t sleep on the bed!

A lose-lose situation all around for the towering pro-heroes of Sky High.

This was the first issue that came to Gran Torino’s mind when thinking about the agency.

Well, no. The real first issue was Shimura’s recent habit of working herself into an early grave. Her productivity had skyrocketed since the death of her husband, but all that busy work had a drawback. Instead of Sorahiko snoozing at his desk, it was Nana, head bent and pen held lax in her gloved fingers.

He didn’t have the heart to tease.

As quietly as he could, he left his desk and their secluded office space to check that all their civilian staffers had clocked out. Toshinori had been promptly bullied out by nine o’clock, so Sorahiko was confident that no bright-eyed, solemn-voiced teenager would be present to lecture his mentors’ approach to self-care. Still, sometimes the more soft-hearted civilians relayed their concerns to the agency’s single intern, forgetting that Toshinori was only sixteen and ill-equipped to save his mentors.

Sorahiko returned to Shimura’s side, bent a little, and jostled her elbow. He said, “Work is over.”

She mumbled something like, “I work for life.”

He restrained himself from snorting, but endeavored to at least get her sitting upright. Shimura was heavy, from her muscles to her hair to her head, and she groaned in protest over the movement. She butted her forehead into his ribs. Idly, Sorahiko plucked the pen from her grasp and set it on the table. Next week’s forms were next week’s problems.

“I don’t want to go home,” Shimura complained.

“I’m not hauling you to mine.”

“Pft. Stingy.” Shimura stood and leaned against Sorahiko, who expected the weight and received none, because Shimura used Float to hang off his cape.

“Hey,” he warned, watching her feet lift off the floor. Shimura tugged, inched higher, swung herself sideways and lifted her legs.

Noting her sly smile, Sorahiko immediately clued into her idea of a bridal carry.

He shifted her into a fireman’s lift just as her weight returned. Canceling Float so abruptly caused Sorahiko to stagger; Shimura yelped and kneed Sorahiko’s chest, one fist flying down to thump against the small of his back.

“Drag me back in public like this and I’ll beat you up!”

“Oh no,” Sorahiko deadpanned, turning for the door. He heard her furious yawn. “You and what burst of adrenaline?”

“Jet-head—!” The crack of another yawn. A sullen silence followed, no witty retort answering his question. Sorahiko managed to exit into the hallway when Shimura admitted, “The house is so empty, Sorahiko.”

He stilled.

“I had to clean up Kotarou’s crayons. He didn’t believe me about packing up what he loved because he wouldn’t be able to come back and get it,” she rambled. “And then I had to cook dinner, and as bad as I was a cook for my family, it really is worse cooking for myself. Kinda sucks having to rate my own cooking a six out of ten.”

He exhaled, sharp. The glass doors of the entrance reflected two underpaid, overworked pro-heroes, one in need of a serious recharge. Sorahiko decided to open the spare room and brought them both into the cramped area with its single shitty cot and multiple filing cabinets.

“Sorahiko?” Shimura questioned.

Sorahiko set her on her feet. Brusquely, he said, “Catch a few hours here. I’ll wait.”

“Huh?” She cast a wary look at the cot, no doubt regretting her brash decision to deprive her best friend of all that was good in the world.

Then she shrugged, and unclipped her cape. That, her boots and her gloves, were all discarded, deposited on top of those dusty filing cabinets. Shimura yanked her hair tie out, shook out those long tresses, and stared back at Sorahiko.

She lifted an eyebrow, as if to say, ‘Well?’

“I’ll finish up a few papers,” said Sorahiko. He pointed at the cot. “Try and get an hour.”

“Ha,” she said, because she knew even fifteen uninterrupted minutes on the cot was a miracle. But she obliged; Shimura perched on the edge of the mattress, still a giant in her diminished state. “See you in an hour.”

Sorahiko inclined his head and crossed back over the hallway, determined to tidy up something. A paper for his teaching credential program, a permit for next month’s investigation outside the prefecture, or even the permission slips Toshinori kept ferrying to their office. He assumed they were permission slips. Maybe the brat was getting them to sign away the agency to his inheritance.

In the span of one hour, Sorahiko went loopy.

He didn’t like being sleep-deprived. That was why he tried to overcorrect with too much sleeping, despite Recovery Girl’s emphatic advice to not do that.

Characters began to blur, and his handwriting grew sloppy, more chicken-scratch than typeset. When Sorahiko caught his pen trailing into the ‘Leave Unfilled/Marked for Administration’ box, he deemed the night over and levered himself out of his chair.

“Hell,” he muttered, blinking at the spinning room. How late was it? Hopefully Shimura already slipped out of the office, but the likelihood of her doing that without alerting him would be… well, it would be high. Sorahiko tended to get tunnel vision once he got in the groove.

He stumbled into the hallway. A short nap. That was all he needed.

Peeking inside the spare room revealed Shimura’s continued occupation of the cot, but at this point, Sorahiko was going to settle for sitting on the floor and using the mattress as neck support. He circled around, shedding his gloves and his mask, stashing them with Shimura’s.

“What time is it?” Shimura sleepily asked.

“Late.”

“Mm. Get in here,” she mumbled. Her hand grasped the edge of his cape. Sorahiko, dazed and too tired to argue for his right to the cot, agreeably crawled on top of her. His limbs went for whatever space was available, which wasn’t much. His head nestled face-down; he crammed it between her shoulder and head. Shimura yelped.

“Hush,” said Sorahiko into the mattress. Oh, he always forgot the lack of pillow. This cot sucked.

“You’re squishing me.”

“Ugh.” Grumpily, he slid sideways and wedged himself between her and the wall, shoving at her until she also went on her side. Before she could yell about betrayal and falling off the edge, Sorahiko hooked his arm over her stomach and held Shimura close. “Better?”

“Boots.”

“Deal with it.”

“Gross,” Shimura sighed, and obligingly reached back and pulled Sorahiko’s cape over their chests, kicking the thin blanket down to cover their lower halves.

[ellay-gee]

The Important Things

Ayy check it out, I’m figuring Tumblr out.  What a way to spend a sick day.  It was weirdly ominous that i got very ill the night I posted a sickfic. o.O

also, apologies to mobile readers, as the ‘keep reading’ thing apparently does not transfer over, and I just don’t have the energy to mess with it at this time.  damn fever.

Prompto should probably not be left on his own ever, but especially not when he's running a fever and can barely form coherent speech.

Ignis sighed in frustration as he pinched the bridge of his nose, nudging his glasses up a little as he did.  “Prompto, ginger ale is not medication.”

The voice on the other end of the line was closer to gravel than sunshine, and Ignis winced in sympathy for how painful it must’ve been for the blond to speak.  “Sure id is, Ig.  S’tha cure-all fer what ails you.”

Ignis tapped his foot on the marble floor as he checked his watch. It was difficult to tell if Prompto was just laying it on thick, or if he’d actually somehow gotten worse in the two hours since Ignis left that morning.  “I’ll be home in about six hours.  Do you think you’ll be alright till then?  I can probably send Gladio or Iris over—“

A harsh cough interrupted him before his boyfriend’s voice came back, weaker and a little wheezier.  “Dodo, s’ok.  I probbiss. I got…gidger ale. Add oj with the pulp, so, y’dow…healthy.  And that coddedsed soup; also healthy. I’m juss gonda sleep, Ig.  Just.  I’ll be ok, kay?”

“Condensed soup.” Ignis scoffed, but couldn’t keep the soft smile from his voice. “How you ever made it to nineteen is a mystery.”

“I’b tellig you, s’tha gidger ale. Goddds, Iggy. Feels like I’b swallowig glass.  This is not gonda be good for our sex life.”

Ignis clucked his tongue affectionately. “As if I’d touch you in your current state.”

Prompto let out something between a hack and a laugh.  “Y’dow you cad’t resist me. Lubb you, hab a good daaaay.”

Ignis returned the sentiment and hung up.  He had a feeling that he’d have his work cut out for him when he got home.

Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

When Ignis next found himself with an extra moment, it was two hours and eleven texts later.

Prompto →  hey wheres canpoter?

Prompto →  canopner*

Prompto →  the thing that opens cans

Prompto →  im hungry and everything is working abaingst me.

Prompto →  nm its a poptop

Prompto →  stove hates me. Everything hates me. All but you ig. U r bust.

Prompto →  best*

Prompto →  fuck it going back to bed.

Prompto →  shit ur at ur meetings. Sorry.  Gods hope ur shit is on slient.

Prompto →  forvige me?

Prompto →  fuuuck. FORGIVE* me???

Me  → Always

Me  → Please do get some rest.  I will be home as soon as I am able

Me  → And the can opener is in the drawer to the left of the sink

Me  → Where it always is

Noctis groaned next to him, rolling his eyes as he read the messages over his adviser’s shoulder.  “Prom’s sick, huh? He’s the living worst when he’s sick.”

Ignis frowned down his charge. “Yes, he can be a bit much.”

Noctis laughed at that, “Yeah, that’s how you know he’s really ok.  It’s when he starts lying and getting quiet that you have to be worried.

“One time he got the flu and refused to admit he was feeling bad. Kept himself going with energy drinks and cough syrup.  He was loopy as hell and fucking bit it on the track during gym; completely blacked out while running pretty fast and basically ended up with road-rash and a concussion.”

Ignis winced in sympathy. “Hmm, yes. I thought I was successfully keeping him under wraps, but yesterday he slipped out before I woke and went to training.  Cor had to call me to come collect him from the men’s room floor.  Apparently he didn’t make formation and the marshal found him ‘vomiting up everything he’d ever eaten’.  He’s been mewling in bed ever since.”

Noctis gave Ignis a sympathetic expression.  “Poor dude.  Just make sure you don’t get it and give it to me.”

“Of course, Highness.  I wouldn’t dream of getting you ill.  You’re a thousand times worse than Prompto.”

The adviser chuckled as the prince seemed to consider this, finally nodding in agreement. “You’re right. I’m definitely worse.”

The second time Ignis was able to pull away from the meeting long enough to glance at his phone, another hour had gone by. In that time, Prompto had managed to send him seven links to songs he’d apparently listened to and wished to share, a rambling text about how much he ‘lurvd’ the adviser, and an article about how ginger ale could, in fact, settle one’s stomach.

Rolling his eyes, Ignis sent off a sweet text, wishing his boyfriend well and promising he’d be home as soon as possible. With real medicine.

By the time Ignis was finally able to go home, it was three hours and zero texts later.  This was a little disconcerting, so he placed a call to Prompto’s phone as he headed for the garage.  Receiving no answer, he waited for the cheery greeting to end and left a message.

“Darling, I am on my way home.  I need to stop by the pharmacy to collect your medications.  I’ll be there soon, though.  Love you.”

He slipped his phone back in his pocket and hurried his step. He didn’t like being away from Prompto for this long when the freckled youth was sick or otherwise incapacitated.  Ignis learned early on in their relationship that Prompto never wanted to ‘be a bother’, and would instead try to soldier on as if nothing were wrong. He could have a high fever and a sprained ankle, and he’d still insist on going on his morning run and completing his chores around their small house.

Ignis loved him endlessly, but there were times in which he would like to throttle the boy. Prompto’s self-deprecating/self-destructive streak could be rather irksome at times.

He stopped at the usual pharmacy and picked up cold medicine and a few other necessities, doing his best not to tap his foot impatiently as he stood in line. It would still be at least thirty minutes before he’d actually get home.

Though he’d been the one to insist that they get a place near the outskirts of the city, he did find himself regretting it from time to time, if only in instances such as this. But, he’d wanted to give Prompto something beautiful. The boy had been raised in the city, and though they could not move outside the Wall due to Ignis’ duties, the adviser could give him new scenery to explore. So, he’d found a small rental property situated on its own acre of land, nestled in among the rolling hills near the wall. Sure, it was a longer commute, but they spent it together most days which made it bearable.

He enjoyed their late afternoons in their little home; Prompto would wander the hills and the thicket of woods at the back of the property, taking photos while Ignis prepared dinner. They were even considering getting a dog, though Ignis himself would prefer a cat.

He was not going for Prompto’s ‘compromise’ of getting both.

As he turned onto the three mile stretch of gravel road that led to their little home, Ignis pressed the button on his dash to connect the Bluetooth, hoping Prompto would pick up this time. He had several bags and was hoping the other man could unlock the door for him.

He breathed a quiet relieved sigh when the phone was answered.  Prompto sounded awful, not even able to make intelligible sounds on his end.

“I’m almost home, darling.” He said when Prompto gave up talking in favor of hacking up a lung.  “I know you’re not feeling well, but could you—“

Prompto gasped into the phone, his voice ragged. “Iggy.  Ig. S’hot.  I dunno—“

Ignis swallowed hard. It sounded like Prompto had only gotten worse in their hours apart. “I know, darling, I know. It’s probably just because of your fever—“’

Prompto hissed through the line, whining little when he couldn’t stop another string of coughs.  “Nooo Iggyyy.  S’hot. I…the sto..the soup…” he trailed off as he wheezed desperately. “S..ss..smoke.”

With that last sibilant word, Ignis pressed his foot firmly on the gas pedal, his tires spinning in the gravel before gaining purchase, spitting rocks as he sped down the road. “Are you saying there’s a fire, Prompto?  Prom? Can you get out of the house?”

But there’s only coughing and a small thump quickly followed by a larger one from the other end, and Ignis’ stomach tightens considerably.  He brakes only slightly when their driveway comes into sight, the end of his town car fishtailing as he swerved into it. He shut the engine off and snatched the keys from the ignition before stumbling from the car and bounding up the porch stairs.

Smoke was indeed beginning to rise from the small building, and his hands shook as he shoved his key into the door, unlocking it and rushing inside.

Luckily for him, the living room was mostly clear of smoke, though it was heavy in the hall leading to the kitchen. Ignis called Prompto’s name before covering his mouth with his shirt and plunging into the haze.

He tried calling Prompto’s name, but quickly gave up as the smoke penetrated his lungs. His first stop was the kitchen, where he could barely make out the fire was licking up the cabinets above the stove and across the counter for all the smoke. Luckily he was able to spot a flash of Prompto’s bright blue pajama pants on the floor behind the dining table before he moved on in his search.  

Of course he would be as close to the fire as he could possibly get. He would not be Prompto, otherwise.

Ignis shoved this thought aside as he lept into action, kicking a flaming chair out of his way as he rushed towards Prompto. He crouched down, gripped Prompto under his arms and dragged him from the room.

Once far enough from the flames, Ignis scooped the boy up in his trembling arms and strode back out into the early evening air.  He laid Prompto in the grass and crouched down again, this time checking his breathing and pulse.

Thankfully, both were there and at near-normal levels, all things considered. He quickly checked the blond over for more injuries, finding some small burns on his arms and hands and a growing lump on his head where it had presumably struck the floor when he fell. The adviser fished his phone from his pocket and quickly dialed for emergency services before planting himself down on the ground next to his lover, pulling the other’s small frame into his lap.

His throat tightened as he gazed up at their perfect little house while it spat flames into the darkening sky. Ignis swallowed down his panic as he pressed gentle kisses to Prompto’s slack brow, running his free hand in circles on the smaller man’s chest as he rocked them both.

“Just stay out of the kitchen, Prompto.” Ignis said from the doorway as the freckled youth headed inside.  It had been three days since the fire, and they were just now being allowed to come back in and collect anything that may be salvageable.

“I know, I know.” Prompto’s voice was still rough; not only from the cold, but also from the smoke inhalation. He stepped lightly through the living room, heading for the hall.

Ignis followed, taking the same path; both men giving the kitchen a wide berth. Prompto was heading towards their bedroom, finding it mostly intact; just light soot stains covering everything. The adviser pulled out a notebook and began making a list of everything they would need to have packed up and delivered to their storage unit while Prompto began gathering the things they needed right then.

It was a short trip; they collected a few bags of clothing and some of Ignis’ important files. Most of the trunk was filled with Prompto’s camera equipment and various other electronics. While the blond carried the last of their things out to the car, Ignis found himself wandering towards the kitchen, though he was careful to remain outside the room.

He couldn’t help the sadness that swept over him. They’d spent so many mornings in this room, talking softly over breakfast. This was actually the first room they’d made love in when they had moved in. Now, the room was riddled with half-burnt debris and there was a clear spot outlined in soot where Prompto had been laying while fire raged all around him.

What remained of the interior was mostly black, but great chunks of the outside wall were missing and daylight shone through in cheerful juxtaposition to the destruction it illuminated. The fire had began due to a faulty light on the stove; it had not come on to indicate that it was heating when Prompto had put the soup on, and in his sickly stupor, he simply gave up--leaving it on as he went back to bed, believing the stove to be broken. After a few hours, the soup had cooked down and began to burn; the inspector reasoned that the curtains above the stove had probably been the first thing to actually catch fire and it had quickly spread from there.

He supposed he’d been lost in his melancholy longer than necessary, for he was startled out of his thoughts by a hesitant arm encircling his waist.

He wrapped his own arm around Prompto’s shoulders, pulling him closer, smiling a little at the warmth that rose in his chest when the smaller man leaned bodily into him.  

“I’m so sorry, Iggy.” Prompto ground out, rubbing his face into Ignis’ side. “Looks like all your stuff is ruined. Kinda unfair that my stuff’s ok, but you couldn’t save anything of yours.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Ignis squeezed Prompto’s shoulder and dropped a kiss into his hair.  “I saved you, didn’t I? You’re all the ‘stuff’ I need.”

Prompto chuckled, poking Ignis in the side playfully. “The only kind of ‘stuff’ I am is hot stuff.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at the adviser, who groaned and rolled his eyes in response.

“I love you dearly, but please save the puns for me.” He laughed a little louder, a little more freely, as Prompto pulled him towards the door.

“Nuh-uh, you don’t own puns, Igs.” Prompto quelled any further argument by pulling Ignis down into a passionate kiss.

It was a cheap way to win the impending playful exchange, but Ignis couldn’t bring himself to mind.