#gladiator boost

[chronically-ghosted]

Okay, everybody who had a weird year, raise their hands? Oh, that's everyone? Damn, it's worse than I thought . . .

Looking back on this year both in fandom and in my personal life, there have been some truly fantastic memories made, but there are some unfortunate dark spots. I don't know what's coming next year - good or bad - but I do know we're only going to get through life if we stick together, share some love, and celebrate this special online community.

So let's start today! ❄️ From now until January 1st, please send asks with any of the following ❄️

☃️ your favorite line of fic that you wrote this year - what fic is it from? why is it your favorite? (please share the link to the fic as well!)

🌨️ your favorite memory from fandom this year - did you meet someone new and instantly clicked? did you finally finish your 300K slowburn that has been plaguing you for months? did you see a new pedro movie that you've decided to make your whole new personality?

🌲 your favorite piece of media you made for fandom this year - is it fanart? is it a playlist? Is it a moodboard? Why is it special to you? (please share the link to the artpiece as well!)

🥶 nominate a person who made the year extra special - did you bond over the brainrot with someone special? was this person an outstanding member of the fandom? did someone become a prolific fic writer out of the blue and you wanna show them some love?

🦌 anything else that made you happy over the year - did you get a comment that made your heart really happy? did you order a new pedro pascal item and now it's hanging in a place of prominence in your house? tell me about it!

Then on the first week of January, I'll make a big giant masterpost with everyone's messages! You are more than welcome to submit any of these as anon, so please join in even if you're shy!

To borrow from one of Pedro's early roles, the night is dark and full of terrors. That much is obvious, but rarely the other half of the quote is remembered the same way: "the day bright and beautiful and full of hope." So let's be bright and beautiful and remember to hope.

Happy Holidays everyone!

[heartlessvirgo]

Thread of Gold

Summary:

In fair Rome, where we lay our scene, Two hearts untouched by fate, are bound unseen. One, of power and glory, stands apart, The other, bound to labor, keeps her heart. You, a maid of humble hands and toil, Your days are filled with work, with sweat, with soil. You know not how his eyes follow your stride, Nor how his heart, in silence, does confide. For though you do not know him, cannot see, His heart beats only for the one you’ll be. The great man stands, and in his world of pride, He aches for you, though worlds apart you bide.

In fair Rome, where we lay our scene, Two hearts, unseen, will cross where none have been.

Paring: Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Warnings: Slight Angst, Swearing, don't touch her, Kissing, heavy petting, MDNI, very brief interaction of assault but it never happens

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: idk if you could tell, but this is DEFINITELY inspired by Romeo & Juliet. So yes, this is my first post ever, so I hope you like it! I'm more into writing smut so yes there will be a part two. Also my inbox is open if you want to suggest any prompts or just wanna chat! -mel

In the heart of Rome, where the gods’ shadows fall long and the streets pulse with the rhythm of ambition, two lives move along parallel paths. One so high he commands the gaze of the city; the other so low she slips beneath it unnoticed.

In this city, glory is currency, and men like Marcus Acacius are rich beyond reckoning. You have seen him once, only once, though his presence lingers everywhere. In the square where his name is whispered in awe. In the cloths you wash, edged with the gilded trim that marks his station. He is a figure carved of legend, towering and untouchable, his every step commanding the gaze of all who dare to look.

You, by contrast, are invisible. A shadow among shadows. A woman bound to this corner of the world, where the gods’ blessings feel like distant stars—present, perhaps, but far beyond your reach. The life you lead is unremarkable, confined to the walls of his domus, where you work tirelessly, ensuring every garment, every linen, is immaculate. And yet, there is a restless pull within you, one that stirs whenever the thought of him takes hold. Women, of all ranks, all ages, wanted a second look from Marcus.

The city is alive with firelight and fervor, its heartbeat a relentless drum of steel and blood. Through the small, arched window of the laundry quarters, you watch as the arena’s shadow spills over the streets like a looming promise. The roar of the crowd seeps through the cracks in the walls, mingling with the damp scent of lye and the ache in your hands from scrubbing linen all day.

You press a damp tunic between your fingers and glance out again. Tonight, Rome hums with anticipation, and the stars themselves seem to lean closer, their light sharp and cold. Somewhere out there, General Acacius moves with the confidence of a man who belongs to this world, his every action a chapter in the history of Rome. You tell yourself it is foolish, the way your pulse quickens at the mere thought of him. But the truth? The truth is that just like every other woman, he has already become a part of you, as inevitable and inescapable as the dusk. 

As the night deepens, the domus quiets, the servants retiring to their quarters, leaving the halls hushed and dimly lit. You linger, folding the last of the linens, the familiar task grounding you amidst the whirlwind of thoughts. The distant clatter of hooves and the muffled murmur of voices signal his return from the arena.

The domus is a labyrinth of polished marble and flickering lamplight, a place where servants like you slip through the shadows, unseen but indispensable. You step into the courtyard, the bundle of linen cradled in your arms, the warm air brushing against your skin. The flicker of torchlight plays along the stone paths, and there, by the fountain, stands Marcus Acacius. His armor, dulled with the dust of the arena, glints faintly, a testament to his earlier triumph.

He turns slightly, his gaze meeting yours across the space. You freeze, heart thudding, caught in the weight of his attention. For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the night folding in around this fragile, unexpected connection.

A gust of wind stirs, and a linen sheet slips from your grasp, drifting toward him. Without hesitation, he steps forward, catching it mid-air with a practiced ease. His movements are smooth, deliberate, as he approaches and offers the fabric back to you.

“Are these yours?” he asks, his voice low, almost a whisper, yet carrying the weight of authority—a sound you would never expect from a man who commands legions and stands before emperors. The gentleness in his words is at odds with the strength of the man in front of you, like the softest caress against the iron of his character.

“Technically,” you respond, your voice quiet but steady, “they belong to you, General.” You reach out, your fingers slow, unsure, yet compelled. The moment they brush against his, the contact is electric—fleeting, but it leaves a spark that lingers in the air. The linen is still warm from his hand, and the heat seems to seep into your skin, your pulse quickening with the knowledge that you are standing in the very presence of a man who could make cities fall with a single word.

"Thank you, My Lord" you murmur, the words slipping from your lips like a secret confession carried on the night air, barely more than a whisper, yet loud enough to echo in the space between you.

His gaze lingers, a silent question in his eyes, as if he’s searching for something beneath the surface, something beyond the simple garb and the labor-worn hands. For a fleeting moment, it feels as though the world narrows to just this—the soft glow of torchlight between you, the quiet breath of the night holding its secrets. His attention is not the indifferent glance of a master, but something deeper, as though he glimpses a hidden truth, a spark that even you have not yet named.

But before the moment can unfurl its full meaning, you drop your gaze, the weight of his scrutiny too much, too intimate. You step back into the familiar cloak of duty, retreating into the rhythmic solace of your tasks, a shield against the unfamiliar vulnerability he stirs within you.

As you slip away, the warmth of his presence clings to the air, a tender ache that lingers against the cool night breeze. The silent imprint of him, like a shadow stitched into the fabric of your thoughts, remains even as you cross the threshold back into the quiet confines of the domus. You remind yourself of your place, a maid woven into the tapestry of his grand world, a mere thread among the opulent patterns.

And yet, for the first time, a whisper of possibility stirs within you. In the vast sprawl of Rome, beneath the gods’ indifferent gaze, you begin to wonder—if only in the quietest corners of your heart—whether there is a hidden path where your worlds might converge, where the stars might align not for destiny or glory, but for something as simple, as profound, as two souls meeting in the shadows.

_

You don’t think of him often—not since the night when your paths crossed briefly. You’re too busy to dwell on whether or not he was simply being kind or if you really should let it get to your head. It’s not like you were dressed of high status, but the swish of your dress, the way the fabric moved around your legs, was finer than most servants. The pale blues and soft greens of your gown caught the light in a way that made you feel as if you were not entirely beneath notice, as if, for a fleeting moment, you too could belong to the grandeur of Rome.

The fabric, though not rich enough to be woven of silk, flowed with a subtle elegance, catching the breeze like a whisper of the sea. The hem swept across the floor as you walked, the soft rustle of it almost like music. Your dress was simple in cut, with a bodice that clung to your form, but the delicate, intricate embroidery along the edges of the sleeves—an ornate pattern of pale threads—was a touch that spoke of care, of something more than the rough linens most of the other servants wore. It was a piece worn with purpose, like a quiet rebellion against the life you were bound to. The colors, a delicate play of light and shadow, somehow made your skin glow, almost made it seem as thought you were wearing gold. Adding a touch of grace you didn’t quite feel but carried as if by fate.

The flickering torchlight cast long shadows down the hallway as you made your way to Marcus’ private quarters, the linen bundles heavy in your arms. You didn’t always deliver his fresh linens, but tonight, you were tasked with changing his bedclothes. It wasn’t an unfamiliar duty, but it always seemed more... personal when it was his chambers. The scent of battle and blood always lingered in the air around him, a stark contrast to the soft linens you worked with. With your hip, you push the door open, humming a tune they sing on the streets after his many triumphs. Walking in, the spacious room is still, a soft glow flickering against the stone walls.

You set the basket of clean linens on the ground and straighten your back, stretching the ache from your shoulders. The air smells faintly of earth, leather, and a hint of sweat—a trace of the arena’s unforgiving world. You make your way to the large bed, and it is only as you begin to strip the old linens off the mattress that you hear the soft scrape of a chair shifting behind you.

For a moment, you don’t register the noise, too absorbed in your task. But then, you freeze, your pulse quickening when you realize that someone is in the room with you. Slowly, you turn, and to your shock, Marcus is standing near the basin, looking directly at you.

You hadn’t heard him come in, hadn’t expected him to be home so soon. It’s too late to pretend you didn’t notice, too late to retreat gracefully. Your eyes widen, and the bundle of linens slips slightly from your grasp.

"My lord," you stammer, pushing yourself off the bed, straightening your posture immediately as you avert your gaze to the floor. The flush of embarrassment warms your cheeks, and you twist your fingers nervously. "I... I was not aware you had returned."

He looks at you with a quiet curiosity, his expression unreadable. The flickering light casts shadows across his face, emphasizing the sharp angles of his jaw and the dusting of stubble along his chin. His presence is commanding, even here, in the quiet of his private quarters.

“I’ve soiled my hands,” he says casually, his voice deeper than it was outside the arena, quieter now that he’s removed from the noise of the crowd and the cheers of victory. You watch as he outstretches his hand, palm splaying as if to prove his point. His tone is matter-of-fact, yet there's a hint of something—something unspoken—in his words. "I shall require assistance before I retire for the evening." 

You blink, still adjusting to the idea of him here, so close you could smell him. With a deep breath, you approach him, your voice measured and respectful. “Of course, my lord. I will see to it immediately.” You round him as he takes a seat, his knees widely spread as he waits.

You reach for a cloth to dip in the basin of cool water, but before you can wet it, his eyes lock with yours. There’s an intensity in his gaze, a deliberate search for something in you. It’s not an unfamiliar gaze, but it feels heavier now, more focused.

“I fought with men today, trained until bloody.” he says, his voice low, almost surprising in its softness given the violence of his day. "And yet, it is the touch of a servant’s hand I now seek to cleanse mine."

You dip the cloth into the water and step closer, careful not to brush against him too much. The closeness of his body, the heat of it, makes your breath catch in your throat. Still, you manage to keep your hands steady, wiping away the dried blood from his fingers, watching the red turn to a soft pink as the water turns clear again.

“You’ve done much more than fight today,” you remark, your tone neutral, though a flicker of amusement twitches at the corners of your lips. "Perhaps you would do well to rest, and not burden your servants further with tasks such as these.”

Marcus chuckles softly, a dark sound that fills the space between you two. There’s an edge to it, but it’s not unkind. 

“Is it not my right to make use of those who serve me?” He raises a brow, his smile faint but teasing. “A servant such as yourself should be honored. Not every hand is worthy enough to touch mine.” 

You keep your gaze fixed downward, your hands moving with practiced rhythm as you gently wipe the remaining dried blood. The quiet clink of water and cloth the only sounds in the space. Yet, the teasing quality of his voice, low and laced with something you can’t quite name, makes the task feel strangely light. Each word he speaks seems to linger in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning, drawing your attention despite your best efforts to remain focused.

"I suppose I should consider myself fortunate then," you murmur, the words slipping past your lips more easily than you expect. “Thank you my lord,” They come out with a playful lightness, a fleeting defiance that surprises even you.

Daring a quick glance upward, you meet his dark eyes—and immediately regret it. There’s something in the depths of his gaze that catches you off guard. Soft, warm brown eyes that hold you in place, like the calm before a storm. A hint of approval, perhaps, or something else—an unreadable softness that contrasts with the steel of his presence. Your pulse quickens, and for the briefest moment, the world narrows to just him, to that knowing look.

"Or maybe I…" His voice trails off, leaving the air charged, thick with the weight of possibility. He holds your gaze, his eyes unwavering, while the silence stretches long and taut between you, each second stretching to infinity.

The task you’re performing—simple, mundane—feels worlds away from your reality now, the proximity to him like a pull you can’t escape. His hands, calloused from battle, rough from a life carved in the crucible of the arena, seem so foreign against the delicate fabric of your world. Yet, as you finish cleaning them, your fingers brush against his skin, lingering a fraction longer than necessary. The contact is fleeting, but it sends a ripple through the air, a subtle shift that you can feel deep in your chest.

You pull away, but the warmth of his touch, the hardness of his hands beneath yours, stays with you long after you set the cloth aside. The space between you feels electric now, charged with something unspoken, a current that hums quietly in the silence. And even as you return to your task, you know it will be hard to forget that moment—impossible, almost—to erase the sensation of him from your thoughts.

_

The room pulses with decadence, a feverish spectacle of excess. The grand hall is alive with the sounds of revelry—laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets. Torches line the walls, casting their flickering light over the guests as they indulge in a feast fit for the gods. The air is thick with the scent of roast meats, rich perfumes, and the sharp tang of wine—too much wine. In every corner, men sit, their faces flushed, eyes glazed with drunkenness. The emperors, Geta and Caracalla, are seated at the head of the table, their arrogance and power radiating like a cruel aura. They watch the festivities unfold with bored amusement, their presence elevating the indulgence around them.

But it’s the women who catch your attention most. Naked bodies drape over the tables, lounging languidly as if they were mere ornaments to be admired or used. Their flesh glistens with oil, and their eyes, half-lidded, seem to reflect nothing but the sheer emptiness of it all. They move slowly, seductively, their every gesture designed to provoke. Some are feeding the men, their hands brushing against chins and lips as they serve wine. Others are entwined in the arms of their drunken patrons, their bodies exposed in the light of the torches. Their laughter is high-pitched and shrill, blending with the deeper rumble of the men’s voices.

You weave through the crowd, your heart in your throat, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. You’ve been serving wine for hours now, your hands trembling each time you fill a goblet, praying you won’t spill a drop. The fear of messing up gnaws at your insides, the thought of being dismissed from this gilded cage and cast into the streets where you would have nothing—nothing but your own shame. You’ve heard the rumors, the stories of women like you who make one mistake and are forgotten, discarded into the shadows.

There are whispers of women being sold off, sent to the brothels to satisfy the whims of men with too much power and not enough restraint. You can't bear the thought of that fate. Every moment feels like a test, and your very existence in this palace depends on getting it right, at least just for tonight. 

As you approach one of the tables to refill a cup, your hands are unsteady. You can feel their eyes on you before you see them, but when you do, it’s too late to turn away. One man reaches out, his hand heavy and demanding as he pulls your arm toward him. His touch is rough, fingers curling around your wrist as though you are nothing more than an object for his amusement. “Bring me more wine,” he growls, his breath sour. The men at the table laugh, their voices growing louder, and you feel the weight of their gaze like a hundred burning coals.

Embarrassment flares in your cheeks, curling like a wave as your pulse quickens, a wave of panic rising in your chest. You’ve seen how things like this can escalate. One wrong move, and you could be caught up in something far beyond your control. You glance toward the emperors, towards anyone, hoping for any sign of mercy, but everyone is too absorbed in their own conversation, their attention elsewhere.

The man’s hands, rough and brutal, clamp down on your hips, pulling you into his lap with a violent tug. You try to squirm, but his grip is unforgiving, forcing your body flush against his. The noise of the banquet fades into the background as his scent overpowers you—wine, sweat, and the sharpness of his lewd intentions. He grins, his fingers curling into the fabric of your gown, pushing it upward with slow, insidious intent.

You freeze, your stomach sinking as the sickening realization of what’s about to happen sinks in. His laughter is thick with malice, and the men at the table cheer him on, urging him to take his pleasure. You try to move, try to push him off, but the more you struggle, the tighter his grip becomes. The fear creeps in deeper, threatening to drown you—this is how it ends. You can feel the tightness in your chest, the suffocating fear that claws at your throat. One wrong move, and you might never escape.

"Don't be coy, little cunt," he slurs, his words thick with wine and malice. "You know what I want."

And then—without warning—the world shifts. He doesn’t speak, not at first. There’s no grand gesture, no booming voice to call attention to the scene. He doesn’t have to. His presence alone is enough. 

His hand wraps around the man’s wrist with a precision that is almost surgical, twisting it with enough force that the man is forced to release you, his drunken eyes widening in shock. Marcus does not raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. The mere presence of him in this space is enough to still the crowd. No one dares to challenge him. His grip on the man’s wrist tightens, but his eyes, his focus, never leave you. There’s no hesitation in his gaze—only the quiet promise of safety.

“Unhand her,” Marcus says, his voice so low that only you and the man can hear it. It’s a command, but it’s delivered with such calm authority that the man stumbles backward in his seat, like a child caught stealing. He’s humiliated, his bravado cracking in an instant. Without a word, he retreats, almost tumbling over his own feet to get away.

Standing to your feet, the blood rushes to your ears, a deafening woosh that drowns out everything else. Your vision spins as you stumble, the shock of the moment still rippling through your body. Marcus is there, his grip tight around your arm, almost too tight, like he's afraid you'll slip away from him. His touch is rough, more forceful than you expected, and it sends a shiver of something unfamiliar down your spine.

"Easy," he mutters under his breath, though there’s no softness in his voice. He drags you through the crowd, his hand never loosening on your arm. His steps are swift, urgent, and he doesn’t look back to see if anyone follows. You can feel the weight of his presence pressing against you, a silent warning that no one should dare cross him.

The music fades as he leads you out of the feast hall and into a quieter corridor. The air is cooler here, but it still carries the weight of what could have been. As you pass through the halls, the sounds of the party grow faint, leaving only the heavy thud of Marcus’s steps and your shallow breath as you try to match his long strides.

The halls opens up to a balcony, one that overlooks the courtyard and in the distance all of Rome. But instead of the calm respite you might have expected, you find a different kind of chaos unfolding. You are alone, save for a man who sits, his legs spread wide, with a woman kneeling before him—her naked body is outlined against the torchlight, her hands working between his legs as the man grunts in pleasure. The scene is raw and obscene, an undeniable reminder of the brutal, dehumanizing nature of the world they live in.

For a moment, Marcus tenses, his jaw clenched tight, the fury in his chest palpable. His hand tightens around your wrist, pulling you sharply away, as if the sight itself might stain you. His breath is heavy, laced with the sharp scent of wine and something darker—something possessive. His gaze flickers over the scene for a moment longer, but then he drags you away, pulling you further down the hall, deeper into the shadows. 

"Look at me, not them," he commands, his voice harder now, something dangerous simmering beneath the surface. You don’t question him. There’s a rawness in his tone that cuts through the haze of the evening, and you understand. You know. This isn’t about the woman, or the man. This is about you.

Once you're in the relative safety of the hall, where only the dim light of the torches casts long shadows across the stone floors, Marcus stops. His grip on your arm loosens slightly, but his eyes are dark, hard. 

“You cannot remain here,” Marcus says finally, his voice low but filled with an intensity that makes your stomach churn. His gaze flickers over your face, as though he’s searching for something, though you aren’t sure what. “Not with them. Not with any of them. How did you get in here?” 

His words are blunt, and they hit you like a stone sinking into your chest. The emperor’s men, the drunk revelers, the lecherous eyes—they all see you as an object to be used, to be taken. Marcus is the only one who doesn’t look at you like that. But the thought of him dragging you further into this world, this suffocating, corrupt world, leaves you cold.

“The emperors servants requested help for tonight, I had no other choice-” You meet his gaze, and for the first time, you see the storm in his eyes. The quiet kind that he uses for battle, for the arena. 

“You are not safe here,” Marcus continues, looking around, and for a moment he looks frightened, though it’s unclear whether he’s speaking to you or himself. “I’ll have someone escort you back to-,” he adds.

“I cannot,” you interrupt, your voice trembling more than you want to admit. You pull your hand into your chest, cradling it as if it were something precious, something vulnerable. Your body feels stiff, like a fragile thing that could shatter at the slightest movement. 

“They will notice... and they will have my hand.” The words taste like ash in your mouth, but they’re the truth. You’ve seen how easily women like you disappear in these circles, how quickly favor can turn to disdain and then to something worse.

Marcus’s jaw tightens, his gaze flicking back toward where the music continues. But he knows what lies behind the flashing smiles and empty laughter—the cold, calculating eyes of the emperors, always watching, always waiting for someone to slip, to make a mistake.

His hands clench into fists and in the dim light, you notice the tinge of wine on his lips. Was he with a prostitute tonight? Was that why it took so long to notice you in there? Perhaps, but what right did you have to feel a twinge of jealousy?

His voice is low, urgent, when he speaks again, pulling you from your thoughts. “They will notice, yes. And that is why you must leave, now.” His tone is sharp, a command wrapped in concern. “They will take interest in you, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I will not let them use you. Do you understand?”

You nod, your throat tight with the weight of his words. The truth stings—the helplessness that lurks behind his voice, the admission that even Marcus, with all his strength and authority, can do nothing against the emperor’s whims. For the first time, you feel something cold seep into your bones—an understanding of just how far out of control this world is. You feel small under his gaze, his protective grip, but at the same time, there’s something else. A flicker of warmth.

_

You are escorted home, though the word feels far too generous. Home is not here—this room, these walls, are not for you. You shouldn’t even be in his quarters, but somehow, here you are. 

Your fingers twist together nervously, the motion a quiet echo of your restless mind. The room is too quiet, the weight of it heavy on your shoulders. You should be in the servant's quarters, cleaning or organizing, doing anything but this. But instead, you’re here, alone in his space. It’s an unspoken rule, a boundary you should never have crossed. And yet, you can't bring yourself to care as much as you know you should.

You should leave. You know you should. But you can’t.

The double doors open to reveal General Acacius, his frame a silhouette in the dim light. His head is low, as if weighed down by thoughts, his broad shoulders tight with something unreadable. His hand runs through the thick, dark tendrils of his hair, the motion heavy, like he's trying to rid himself of the night’s thoughts.

He lifts his head slowly, his gaze first distant, then sharpening, focusing on you. You stand there in the half-light, your figure framed by the silver streams of moonlight spilling through the window. For a heartbeat, it feels like the entire world holds its breath.

His eyes meet yours. Soft, warm, brown eyes. The kind of eyes that have seen so much, but in that moment, they hold a depth only for you. And for a fleeting second, you could almost believe there’s a softness in him—a tenderness buried beneath the soldier’s armor, beneath the hardened exterior. But you look away before it lingers too long.

He clears his throat, the sound rough and unsteady, a sign of something at war inside him. “You shouldn’t be in here,” he says, his voice low, almost a murmur, as if the words are meant to be heard by no one but himself. Yet, they hang between you both, thick and raspy. 

“I’m sorry,” you shift, trying to find the courage to meet his gaze again, but all that fills your mind is the memory of the night—the emperor’s party, the assault, his strong hand pulling you away from the danger with an ease that belied his own inner turmoil.

“Do not apologize when you do not mean it,” Marcus doesn’t move, though you feel his presence grow heavier in the space. It’s like he’s standing on the edge of something, caught between two choices—between the man who would offer you safety and the man who has this position of power. You can almost see the conflict in his posture, in the way his muscles tense and relax with each breath, the way his gaze drops to the floor before he meets yours once more.

“Did they hurt you?” His voice is rough, a question steeped in something more than concern—a longing, perhaps, that neither of you can admit. Finally, he steps forward, the doors slowly shutting behind him, sealing your fate. 

His hands flex by his sides, a movement so small but so telling. You know the weight of his power—the way people listen when he speaks, how the air shifts around him when he steps into a room. But here, now, standing in front of you, there is something else beneath that hard exterior. The way he watches you, how he holds himself back as if one wrong move could shatter the fragile moment between you both.

“No, nothing you can see.” His breath catches, just enough to betray him. And for a moment, you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing you are—how different things would be if he didn’t have to be the general, if you didn’t have to be the servant. If he could reach out and say the things he kept locked inside.

But he doesn’t. His gaze drifts, tracing the outline of your face, his lips barely parted as if he’s struggling to find the right words. And you know he won’t speak them, because what good would it do? You’re not his to want. Not like this. Not when his world was filled with danger, not when he’d drag you down to the depths of hell. 

Marcus’s voice cuts through the dim light, low and edged with frustration. “You foolish girl, do you have a death wish?” His words are sharp, but beneath them, there’s a tremor of something more—concern, perhaps, though buried deep.

You stiffen, surprised but not silenced. “Foolish? I am bound by duty, as you are. What would be truly foolish is to expect a servant to wield choice where none exists.” Your words strike the air between you, defiant, but his stance remains unwavering. It is almost as though he anticipated your defiance, relished it.

“You are under my charge,” Marcus replies, his gaze steady. “Why was I not informed of this before it transpired? Surely I should be privy to the whereabouts and well-being of my household.” His chin lifts, the authority in his tone unyielding.

“What transpires, and what you are told, is not for me to dictate,” you retort, meeting his gaze without flinching.

“Indeed.” He nods, as though your response has confirmed his point. His calm exterior is maddening, the tension building beneath his collected demeanor.

The fire in your chest blazes, and before you can stop yourself, the words escape. “Did you not notice me before? Or were you preoccupied with some other... entertainment?” The accusation hangs in the air, brazen and dangerous.

“Entertainment?” Marcus echoes, his brow lifting. His eyes trace the curve of your neck, the heat of his gaze searing more than your words. The insult seems to have glanced off him, leaving his focus elsewhere—on you.

You tilt your head, your heart pounding, desperate for a reaction, an answer that might betray his thoughts. “Perhaps you are not the lauded general they claim, if such distractions elude your notice.”

Despite your cutting words, a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. In the muted glow of the room, it’s unmistakable—a flicker of amusement, or something darker, something that hints at a desire he cannot fully suppress.

But still, that longing flickers in the depths of his eyes, the unspoken desire that clings to the air between you, unnoticed by you but so obvious to him. It’s a yearning he can never voice, a passion that burns quietly beneath the weight of his armor.

For a second, you almost believe that if you were to step closer, you could see it all—the man who wishes to be more, the man who needs to be something else. But you don’t. Because in the end, you know your place here.

You stand frozen, feeling the pull between the heat of his gaze and the heavy, uncertain air that hangs between you. 

His presence is overwhelming—his broad silhouette, his dark hair falling in soft waves, and the glint of gold on his chest catching the dim light, each piece a reminder of his power, his status. The rich, earthy scent of his skin, the leather of his armor, the faint trace of something warm and intoxicating—like the spice of sandalwood—fills the space, making your head spin.

You can see the beautiful curve of his nose now, and the gentle parting of his lips—so close you could feel the heat radiating from them. You’ve never been this close to a man before, let alone one as dangerous as him.

“Fierce as you may be, you are too gentle for a world such as this,” he murmurs, his voice rough like the grind of stone beneath a soldier’s sandal. The words don’t feel like an insult, not in the way you might have expected, but more like a declaration. His gaze softens, though, as he watches you, his eyes flickering with something you can’t name.

“Too gentle?” you echo, a soft defiance lacing your tone. “Blame the gods, the endless wars, and the emperors with their insatiable greed and selfish ambition. It is they who have hardened the world, do not mistake gentle for naivety.” You should step back. You should flee. This isn’t your place. But the words flow freely from your throat. A hot realization erupts in your cheeks, how close you stand, the distance between your warm bodies. You’ve never been kissed before, never felt this kind of pull, and so it makes it impossible to move.

Marcus’s gaze softens, the weight of your words settling heavily on him. He steps closer, the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. “Perhaps,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost reverent. “But it is the world we live in. And in it, gentleness can be a dangerous thing.”

His hand reaches out, hovering near your cheek but never quite touching. “You’ve known too little of the world’s cruelties, and I fear what it might do to you.” His brow furrows, his voice dropping further. “I would keep you from it if I could.”

Marcus doesn’t give you the space to retreat, though. He closes the gap between you both until there’s barely an inch separating you, his breath mingling with yours as he gazes down at you. The weight of his presence presses down on you—his chest rising and falling with each breath, the swoosh of his robe brushing against his body as he moves, the weight of his armor glinting in the light, and the softness of his gaze pinning you in place.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a soft reverence. “You fight me, yet, I envy you. Too soft for this place. This world... it’s made for men who know how to fight. But you—" He leans in, close enough that you can smell the remnants of wine on his lips as he whispers, “—you don’t belong here. Not in a world that takes what it wants without mercy.”

His hand comes up, fingertips grazing the side of your arm, tracing your exposed neck and to the side of your jaw. The touch is tentative, as if he, too, is afraid of what might happen next. His thumb brushes the line of your jaw, tracing the curve of it with an intimacy that leaves you breathless.

“Do you know what it feels like?” he asks softly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “To be wanted, to be taken... like this?” You shake your head, suddenly too nervous, too overwhelmed to respond. 

Marcus pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression a blend of uncertainty and something darker—something you’ve never seen in him. "Unspoiled, unclaimed, like a bloom untouched by the winds of desire." he says, almost as a statement of fact, as though he’s seen it in you all along.

“I—I…” You can’t find the words. The heat of the moment, the closeness of his body, the dangerous allure of him… it’s all too much. Too many emotions, too many sensations flooding your senses at once.

His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no distance between you. “Stop me now,” he warns, his voice a rough whisper against your lips, “or I may not hold my temptation much longer.”

He draws nearer, his presence a shadow that looms over you, his breath warm and steady against the delicate curve of your lips.

“Never been kissed,” he says softly, almost to himself, his voice thick with something like understanding. The need to taste his lips has never been more overwhelming, a hunger that rises within you like a fire. Your chest tightens, and you feel the sting of tears threatening to break free, though you fight them back, for what would it mean to weep in the presence of such a man?

You nod, the words lodged in your throat, but he doesn’t wait for more. His hand lifts, fingers curling at the back of your neck, and a shock of surprise courses through you. You barely have time to breathe before his lips descend upon yours—no gentleness, no hesitation, only raw, fervent hunger. It is not calculated, not gentle—it is the kind of kiss that betrays restraint and spills over with urgency. Your teeth knock together awkwardly, and you gasp, struggling to adjust to his force. Your hands, trembling, hover unsurely for a moment, before they find purchase on his chest, gripping the fabric of his tunic as if it is the only thing anchoring you to this moment, to him.

“So sweet,” He moves against you, his lips pressing and pulling with a fierce rhythm, slow at first, as though searching for the proper cadence. Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, trying to mirror his movements, but the pace quickens. Just when it seems you might falter, just when you think you’ve lost control, he deepens the kiss, and warmth spreads from his mouth to yours, igniting something within you. Your senses whirl, and for the briefest moment, you forget the world outside the space between you both.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. "You deserve more than this," he murmurs, his voice rough, a mix of reverence and regret. "More than a man bound by duty and chains."

Marcus pulls back just slightly, and your eyes open, meeting the soft brown of his. The tenderness in his gaze nearly undoes you. His hand moves to your jaw, his touch reverent, almost as if he is afraid you will break. His lips find yours once more, but this time, it is different—more deliberate, more certain. His kiss is no longer tentative but deep and urgent, as though he is claiming a piece of you that only he can touch.

You lose yourself in it—the heat, the pressure, the pulse of his mouth. His teeth catch your lip, and it stings, but you barely notice. A whimper, whether yours or his, fills the space, but the sound is lost in the rush of breath, in the mingling of lips and skin. You feel the roughness of his stubble against your chin, the faint taste of wine lingering on his tongue, and still, there is no hesitation in him, no caution. Only the need that pulses between you both, growing louder with every second.

The kiss is imperfect, nothing graceful or refined about it. Your noses bump, lips miss their mark, but none of it matters. All that matters is him—the way his hands are on you, pulling you closer as if the world would unravel if he let go. His fingers tangle in your hair, his grip tight, as though afraid you might slip away. The fire of his touch, the pulse of his heart that you can feel through the chest of his tunic, it is all you can focus on. His teeth graze your lip again, a gentle pain, but you do not mind.

All the awkwardness, all the hesitation that held you back before, it crumbles. His warmth wraps around you, and you, helpless in his arms, yield to it entirely. The only thing that remains is the kiss, the consuming kiss, and the undeniable need that surges between you both—untamed, undeniable.

His mouth is now fierce, a wet warmth, his tongue gently coaxing yours to move with his. The kiss is greedy, passionate, as though he’s starved for this moment, for you. He presses you back until the back of your knees press into the frame of his bed, his hands sliding to your waist. He pulls you flush against him, the hard outline of his body unmistakable beneath the softness of his robe.

Every inch of him seems to burn, the strength of his body almost suffocating, and yet you can’t bring yourself to be the first to pull away. His lips are insistent, coaxing yours open, and you melt into the kiss—his dominance over you impossible to ignore. His hand slides to the small of your back, pulling you tighter against him, the heat of his skin searing through the thin fabric between you both.

You gasp into the kiss, a soft moan escaping your lips, and Marcus groans, the sound low and guttural, reverberating through his chest and underneath your fingertips. He’s still guiding your hands, placing them where they reach, urging you to feel the solid strength of him. His lips move down to your neck, and you tilt your head back instinctively, exposing the soft curve of your throat, offering yourself to him in a way you never thought you would. In a way you’ve never given yourself to anyone. In this moment, you wonder if any other man could ever possess you as he does. None could live up to the gravity of his presence.

The kiss grows deeper, wetter, as his tongue traces the line of your jaw, the taste of him heady and overwhelming. His lips are insistent, pulling at you with a hunger that feels both terrifying and exhilarating, and you can feel your body responding to him, to the roughness of his touch and the heat that pulses between your delicate thighs. 

"Yet here I stand, unable to turn away." His gaze meets yours, the weight of his longing evident in his eyes, before he kisses you again, slower, savoring every moment like it's the last. "I want to consume you," he breathes against your skin, his voice raw with desire, and it’s a statement that leaves no room for doubt. 

With a swift, commanding motion, he softly pushes you back onto the bed. Mouths still connected, his quiet growl of restraint echos between your lips.  His body follows, a heavy, searing weight settling between your thighs, pushing you into the soft sheets. The heat of him radiates, suffocating, intoxicating—his raw masculinity demanding your attention.

His breath comes quicker now against your mouth, and you feel the undeniable hardness of him against your core, the pulse of his need unmistakable. His hands roam, one still on your neck, the other sliding to the flesh of your ass, feeling the curve of your body as if he cannot get close enough. And yet, even as he takes, he’s gentle—as gentle as a man who has killed men with his bare hands can be. 

You shift beneath him, grinding upwards into him, desperate for the contact against you clit, for the something that you don’t fully understand. Your breath hitches, and before you can stop it, the words spill out in a trembling whisper. "Please, Marcus..."

His breath stutters, and his hands tighten on you, the muscles in his jaw clenching, as if battling the very thing he wants most.

The kiss fades, but the heat of it clings to your skin, lingering like the aftertaste of wine long past its prime. Your body still trembles, caught in the aftermath of something you cannot name. But Marcus—he pulls away, his face hardening, as though the very touch of you has scorched him.

His eyes, once soft and filled with unspoken promises, harden into something cold, distant. He stands before you now as if the very air between you both has become too heavy to bear. The warmth of the moment slips away, replaced by an unfamiliar chill that settles in your chest.

“This cannot continue,” Marcus declares, his voice low yet unmistakable, carrying the authority of a man accustomed to giving commands. From the foot of the bed, his robe sweeps behind him like a dark stormcloud, the fabric rustling as he takes a step back.

His gaze lingers on you, but it is not the soft, searching look you had felt moments before. Now, his eyes are cold, hard, as though he’s seeing a stranger rather than the woman he held in his arms. You instinctively press your knees together, hands trembling as you smooth your gown down, desperate to regain some semblance of composure under his gaze.

“My lord, I... I beg your pardon,” you say, stumbling over your own words, the breath stolen from your lungs. “Forgive my presumption. I did not mean to overstep my place.” You bow your head, as though the mere act of addressing him with familiarity has caused this fracture. You stand hurriedly, your dress falling to brush against the floor.

"I expect you to remain in the shadows, where you belong. There is no place for you in the light, not with me, not with who I am." His mouth punctuates your pain, lips swollen from your very own mouth. 

You feel his words as though they strike you in the chest, a sharp, sudden ache that forces the breath from your lungs. Your hands, trembling, clutch at the edges of your tunic, as though you might collapse into yourself if you do not. His gaze shifts to the floor, as though ashamed to meet your eyes—yet there is nothing to soften the edge of his tone, nothing to soften the cruel command that falls from his lips.

"I will ensure you never again suffer the indignity of those gatherings," he continues, his words laced with the formal coldness of a man who has seen too much and is too bound by duty to feel what he does. "Those places are not for you. I will see to it that you are kept from them, from their dangers."

The promise rings hollow in your ears, for you know—this is not about the danger of those parties. This is about something else entirely. You, standing before him now, no longer hold the place you once did. You are no longer the woman he held in his arms, no longer someone he could desire, someone he could protect. The emotional whiplash rattles your brain, causing you to wrap your arms around yourself.

"I do not understand," you whisper, the words feeling foreign on your tongue, weak and insubstantial. 

You take a step toward him, but he raises his hand, palm outstretched in a gesture of command, halting you where you stand. You are no soldier, no warrior of Rome. You are a woman—a servant, and one should know her station. The silence between you thickens, a reminder that you are beneath him, beneath his station, his power.

“There is little you need to know of Rome's affairs,” he says, his voice taking on the sharpness of a man accustomed to command. “I am a general, bound to duty, not to frivolity or indulgence.” He crosses his arms over his chest, as though presenting himself before the emperors themselves. His posture is rigid, his expression one of resolve. “I have no time for the distractions of the heart, nor the weakness they bring.”

You lower your gaze, a moment of silence passing as you weigh his words. But within you, something stirs—a quiet defiance, a refusal to be entirely subjugated. You raise your chin, your voice steady, yet laced with the hint of something that feels almost like a challenge.

“I may be but a servant, Dominus,” you say, the title heavy on your tongue but not without a certain firmness. “And I may not know the ways of Rome, nor fully grasp the weight of your command. Yet, there is one truth I understand: love, my lord, is not a weakness. It is the mightiest battle of all. And it is not to be abandoned.”

You hold his gaze for but a brief moment, the fire in your heart clashing with the cold detachment in his eyes. For a single breath, time stills between you, as though the weight of your words presses down upon both of you, thick and suffocating. His silence is a weight more burdensome than any words could ever be.

With a deep breath, you break the stare, turning away without a word, your movements slow, measured, as if to make your departure a solemn act. Each step feels as if it carries you farther from him, the space between you growing with each echoing footfall. The air around you becomes heavier, like the very gods themselves bear witness to this unspoken rift between master and servant. The distance you now place between you both feels infinite, yet it is his silence that follows you, louder than any shout, more final than any command.

[kenobiwanx]

I just want to share this amazing piece that @tightjeansjavi commissioned, she always writes such amazing fanfics that make you fall in love with the characters, and this one IM OBSESSED 😭

I highly recommend you to read it 💜

[justsheerfilth1]

Some mugs for the true lovers out there. Whether it’s pedro, a Joe, or the love of my life, garlic bread. These mugs come in 9 different colour options, and every purchase on my Etsy leads me closer to leaving a very toxic workplace in 2025 🥹

Check it out here and grab a mug for your hot chocolate ☕️ : https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/CertifiedClown

And reblog to let fellow stans see their faves on a mug!

[tboyquackity]

it like kills me that marvel rivals revealed the avengers are a team of three tank three dps extremely jumbled meat heads with no healer and the guardians are so balanced and equipped for anything it's actually stupid

[krisb5431]

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and share my family's story?🙏🏻

Can you Reblog my pinned post from my blog or donate 10$?

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Sharing to spread the word 💞

[uraniathegypsy]

To be Hero X Agencies

So I've been thinking alot after Ep. 4 (for....reasons 🥲) but opened up and brought attention of somethings.

One of them being that we get to see more of other Hero Agencies, glimpses of how they operate, and what each of their "brand" is for the Hero Commission.I'd like to dedicated this post on the info that we know and my on personal theories on them.

TREEMAN

First off, we have the Treeman Group whose CEO is Mr. Shand. For their employed Hero/Villain rooster so far has featured:

Nice

Moon

Wreck

Firm Man

Blankster

Lin Ling ( new recruit )

Translated desc.- "a hero agency that makes good use of marketing to shape the hero's personality" (@tbhx_officialCN)

From what we've seen, the mangers and staff take in precaution on how their heroes are depicted on stage, their meet-ups with fans, as well as crafting a boosting narrative for their heroes trust values to grow in the eyes of the fans. They are not above bribery, coercion, and stunt casting in order to push their quota ( as seen by the actions of Miss.J )

Also from what I've seen and gathered, it seems that Treeman possibly owns much of the real estate and city development in this world cause much of their promo features a lot of residential areas and shopping districts with their brand on them.

So maybe them hiring people to play the part of villains is because they are the ones who are able to rebuild plus reshape how fans live and consume.

FOMO

Up next is FOMO, which literally stands for "Fear of Missing Out". Their CEO seems to be this young guy named Zac. Their rooster so far consists of:

Loli

Ahu

Translated desc.- "provides ordinary people with opportunities to speak out and become famous" (@tbhx_officialCN)

So from their general description they seem like the mostly are in tune with what regular people are doing, and finding out what's new and fresh.

From the look of their office space, FOMO it's the most colorful and lively of the 4 agencies. It gives off what a lot of start-up tech, social media, and web HQs like Google and Youtube.

It's possible that most, if not all, of their heroes started out as Influencers or people that became heroes through viral moments on the web. Maybe their dark side is that their heroes have to keep coming up with more new, and exciting acts or content to please their fans to keep raking in Trust Value.

It could be more possible that FOMO has the same guide lines like YouTube, Twitter, and Twitch. ( Which would be pretty bleak ^^')

MIGHTY GLORY

Third, we have Mighty Glory whose CEO is the mystery guy right here. Their rooster, as far as we know, consist of:

E-Soul

Ghostblade

Dragon Boy

Translated desc.- "The ace hero organization Mighty Glory has successfully cultivated many high-ranking heroes" (@tbhx_officialCN)

Just looking at the main heroes they have, this agency mainly focuses on acquiring heroes that have a wide-ranged of fighting and physical skills.

They also seem to have morally gray code and ethics. Some not against pummeling or killing those that they deemed "deserve it".

My theories on the CEO is that he is collects and sees their heroes how a Roman Emperor does with Gladiators. They are valued solely on their combatant attributes and merciless displays, but are kept in line behind the scenes like wild animals or slaves.

DOS

And lastly, we have DOS. I have yet to find what it the abbreviation means, but this is their CEO, Mickey. Their hero rooster, so far in the show, consists of:

Queen

Lucky Cyan

The Johnnies

Translated desc. - "DOS pursues high efficiency by acquiring a large number of small hero companies to grow stronger." (@tbhx_officialCN)

So it seems like they are the largest AND most powerful agency out of the collective 4. It has a very...Disney way of acquiring more heroes to cultivate it's company.

They have means to tap into different markets of branding for their heroes.

On one brand, you can appeal to animal lovers and sell marketable mascot plushies, and on the other, you can appeal to pop star and music fans who want to see their favorite idol to succeed.

Not to mention they hold one of the strongest powerhouses to take the title of X.

O_O!!

Disney Evil! This company is willing to obtain and cultivate their heroes so it can become the most controlling Hero IP out in the world (This CEO is Steve Jobs and Bob Iger rolled into one).

So if their was ever a chance or motive for these agencies claim to dominance. it's DOS.

So I hope you enjoyed my on-the spot, collective analysis and ramblings on the agencies so far. I'm still holding on to some other theories and little details I spot that I want to post soon (hopefully a shorter one ^^')

[revelboo]

RAAAAA TRANSFORMERS ONE BLOKEES STARSCREAM IS MINEEEE 😤 i thought i was dreaming when i seen he was restocked 😭 my beautiful babygirl

Nice! He’s very lovely

Everything Is Alright Pt 137

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x reader

• Wings tucking close to his frame, that sickening familiarity shivers through him. Because how many times has a similar scenario played out? Knows how it ends. Except, Megatron can’t beat him nearly to the point of offlining him. Can’t really hurt him ever again. Safe because of you. Wings flicking fitfully before flaring aggressively to knock Megatron’s hand away, Starscream steps away. Sees the surprise on the warlord’s face and feels braver for it. “Well, I was going to use it to overthrow you, but I suppose that’s out of the question now,” he snarls, aware of Soundwave retreating a safe distance away and that you’re safe tucked away in his cassette compartment.

• Stiffening, Megatron’s servos curl into fists. Painfully aware of the tiny, fragile spark tangled in his own and that tearing one of Starscream’s arms off and beating him with it is going to hurt badly enough for it to harm you and by extension him and the sparkling. Venting raggedly, he seizes the Seeker by a wing and bends him backwards until that smug expression is replaced by fear. “Do tell,” he growls, voice low and furious.

• “Soundwave?” Frustrated and trapped, all you can do is pace inside his cassette compartment. Know he stuck you in here for your own safety in case Megatron decides to kick Star’s ass over whatever Ore-13 is, but you hate being put into timeout. Can hear their muffled voices, but you have no idea what’s being said. So much for involving you in stuff more. How are you supposed to talk down your rabid husbands if they can’t even hear you in here?

• Can feel you moving around, the sensation of having you safe inside him oddly satisfying. Likes you there where he’s aware of your every move, protected even if he feels guilty picking up on your annoyance at being trapped. “Ow, ow, let go, you brute,” Starscream snarls, but he’s not getting loose from Megatron’s grip until the warlord decides he feels like letting go, big servos beginning to bend the Seeker’s wing. And it’s best you don’t have to see this since it would only upset you. “Alright! It’s highly unstable, but preliminary data suggests it can greatly enhance a Cybertronian’s strength! Now let go!”

• Staggering when Megatron releases him, he jerks his wings tight to his frame, hissing through his turbines in fury. That brute bent his fragging wing, but what does he really expect from the former gladiator? Violence the only language he really understands. “But it could also be used to decimate the Autobots,” he adds, flicking his wing with a grimace. “Imagine an army boosted with Ore-13 overrunning the Ark. Ending this once and for all.” Backing up when Megatron begins pacing with a frown, he immediately tucks his wings again. “Of course, that would mean being smart enough to actually listen to your strategist.” Can’t help himself and hears Soundwave tiredly vent as Megatron rounds on him, denta bared. “You can’t touch me,” he manages, words quick right before Megatron rears back and punches him in the face.

Previous

Next

[blueiscoool]

Gladiator Tomb and Mausoleum Found in Italy

A marble tomb believed to belong to a Roman gladiator has been uncovered in a newly discovered cemetery in the ancient town of Liternum, now part of Giugliano in Campania, Italy.

The find is part of a larger excavation revealing new details about daily life, burial customs, and the history of this once-thriving Roman settlement

Burials reveal generations of Roman traditions

Led by archaeologist Dr. Simona Formola, the team has uncovered more than 20 graves dating from the late 1st century BCE to the 3rd century CE. The site, which is about the size of a small classroom, includes various types of burial grounds.

Some bodies were placed in stone tombs, while others were buried in clay jars or covered with simple roof-shaped tiles. Many of the graves line the edges of the cemetery.

One of the most striking finds is a square-shaped tomb, measuring about three meters on each side, located in the center of a burial area.

The tomb was built using volcanic rock bricks arranged in a diamond pattern. Inside, small wall spaces held urns containing ashes, suggesting the site was used across several generations.

High-status graves point to wealth and care

Archaeologists also uncovered two high-status burial enclosures believed to belong to elite families. These spaces still show large sections of their original white plaster walls.

Later, red details were added, showing a shift in design over time. The careful decoration hints at the importance of those buried there.

Among the most notable discoveries is a marble grave marker bearing the name of a gladiator. The inscription suggests that Liternum may have served as a resting place for fighters who once entertained crowds in Roman arenas.

Other grave goods found include coins, oil lamps, and small containers. These everyday items help archaeologists understand the customs, beliefs, and social life of the people who lived in the area during Roman times.

A city shaped by roads and trade

Founded in the late 2nd century BCE, Liternum reached its peak between the 1st and 2nd centuries CE. A major turning point came in 95 CE when Emperor Domitian built the Via Domitiana, a road that boosted trade and brought prosperity to the colony.

The location of the cemetery has led researchers to reconsider the path of that ancient road. In Roman tradition, cemeteries were often built along main roads. Experts now believe the Via Domitiana may have passed closer to the site than previously thought.

“The territory of Giugliano is experiencing an extraordinary period of discoveries, first with the Tomb of Cerberus and now with this necropolis,” said heritage official Mariano Nuzzo in a statement to National Geographic Historia.

The findings offer a rare and detailed look at how a Roman community lived, worked, and honored its dead nearly 2,000 years ago.

By Nisha Zahid.

[medkitting]

how to stop being miserable while studying (from a guy in five ap’s who is suffering at the moment)

- MAKE EVERYTHING YOU DO INTO A CHECKLIST. EVERYTHING. i cannot stress how much less overwhelming it makes projects and assignments. divide each assignment into its own steps and make a checklist of each of them. extra dopamine every time you cross out a little box!! yaaay

- have something else to do while you study. i always found pomodoro timers insanely boring, so instead i’ve been logging onto roblox grow a garden and checking it every 20 minutes. more fun. just have something else running in the background, especially if you’re someone who works better with split attention.

- if you’re taking soul-sucking notes, PLEASE try color coding them after your favorite character. i’ve started using a teal pen on all my assignments and it genuinely helps my motivation and enjoyment.

- if you’re having an extra bad focus day, reward yourself for small stuff. every time you get a task done, eat a piece of candy. if it’s an extra, EXTRA bad focus day, try a smaller piece of candy or a chip for every question you get done. this works for me 90% of the time

- BRAG ABOUT IT. if you have socials you’re active on, BRAG ABOUT WHAT YOU’RE DOING. it definitely gave me an ego boost that helped me study more.

- offer to give people your notes/study tools. it feels good to help people!!! yay!! we are all friends here!!

- feel some sort of strong emotion towards it. i’ve heard a lot of people romanticizing studying, but i personally like to frame it as an act of spite and hatred. i am a warrior who will defeat this class. i am a GLADIATOR.

- can’t bring yourself to study, like you PHYSICALLY can’t because your motivation is so low you might as well be a rock? listen to videos or podcasts about your topic on repeat while you do something you enjoy. i know people on here hate stuff like that, active recall is everything blah blah, but if you can’t get out of bed you can at least do this. you might at least pick up one or two things.

- don’t do it the night before. get it done early if possible so that you can stop worrying about it!!

- pretend you are a mad scientist. or play pretend about it in some way. give yourself a little story to add some flavor.

- lastly: good luck!!! yaaaaay

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Erodaemon

CR 11

Neutral Evil Medium Outsider

Bestiary 6, pg. 70

At some point, every single branch and breed of Outsider realizes that more or less every form of mortal life has something in common: lust. Be it viewed as a means to joyousously and passionately display emotions and form of bonds among the celestials, or as a method of corruption via reckless and harmful pursuit of pleasure above all else common among fiends, pretty much every Outsider species (with very few exceptions) regardless of personal alignments or philosophies tends to have some specific species dedicated to swaying mortal opinions via the (second) most basic desire of all life. Even the daemons get in on the action, though their reasons are actually quite unique; rather than being directly created to exploit lust, Erodaemons arise from souls who perished because of love.

Personifying death through heartbreak specifically, Erodaemons are the hate-filled souls of anyone who perished as love was torn from them. Perhaps they lost their partner to another lover, to death, or to boredom, or perhaps they were injured or slain by their partner; whatever the case may be, a nascent Erodaemon lost someone they once loved and they began to use the jagged shards of their shattered heart as a weapon, either before or after they died (or even both!). After congealing in Abaddon for a few decades, the resulting fiend lives to destroy relationships and string along those desperate for affection and warmth.

Where a Succubus lives to have fun and spread corruption for its own sake, an Erodaemon makes cruelty the #1 objective in its doings. All daemons exist to spread their own misery and death to others, so these fiends eschew shapeshifting into any old Jane Doe and instead become Objects of Desire, their shapeshifting powers tied directly to their at-will Detect Thoughts (which should, in my opinion, be Detect Desires). When they read a victim's mind, they can then instantly become whatever Humanoid being their target desires the most, their disguise so flawless they get a +20 to Bluff and Disguise checks to imitate that person... which carries their Bluff and Disguise skills from an already-imposing +33 and +24 to an unbeatable +53 and +44, assuring their disguise is essentially unbreakable, even if the victim knows their target intimately (which would normally confer a +10 bonus).

While this incredible stat boost SHOULD make them undetectable and unstoppable, it carries with it some pretty pronounced weaknesses. They lack Change Shape and any form of disguising magic, relying wholly on Object of Desire's full-round shift to become the dream girl/boy to one specific person, and they have to make their act work from there if they want to get results! Erodaemons cannot go walking around outdoors in disguise like a Succubus can, and if their disguise is broken they cannot instantly shift into another in an emergency. This is more of a hazard than it seems, because not only can their disguise be dispelled, it breaks the instant they attack any other creature for any reason and through any means, which forces them to be peaceful, demure, and harmless in every situation lest their disguise shatter the instant they so much as throw a punch, or try and fight off someone attacking them! This limits them even further, forcing them to always choose victims whose ideal lovers aren't combative or aggressive and likely forcing them out of any city where gladiator games are common.

They still have things they can do without breaking their disguise, though, such as the ability to cast Unnatural Lust at-will to immediately set up some pretty disturbing domino reactions, usually creating enough of a kerfuffle to let them quickly teleport away or slink into the shadows with their +22 to Stealth. Unnatural Lust is bad enough in the hands of a daemon, and worse still in the hands of one so devoted to ruining established relationships and shattering bonds between friends and lovers alike, but it doesn't stop there: the Erodaemons can also use Quickened Suggestion 3/day to give out sadistic orders or set up a tragic scene (or simply avert unwanted attention), or curse a single target 1/day with Utter Contempt to turn even the most kind-hearted and loving human on the planet into a complete bastard for 14 straight minutes. Utter Contempt is especially dangerous in an urban setting, because it turns 'indifference'--the most common attitude for a normal person to feel towards another in an urban setting!--into hostility, serving as yet another potential distraction or another method for the daemon to force an otherwise normal person into a potentially reputation- or life-destroying situation.

Their most dangerous ability in or out of combat is their Wilting Kiss, a mind-warping curse they can unleash as a free action against a willing, helpless, or grappled target. Anyone who fails a DC 23 Will save becomes supernaturally obsessed with the daemon and does everything in their power to stay near them, suffering 1 Charisma damage each and every round they spend further than 30ft from the fiend that cursed them... which can potentially be lethal if it teleports away! Another DC 23 Will save can save someone from this damage, and succeeding the save twice in a row breaks the curse, but most commoners simply can't succeed a save that high, and many low-Will PCs will find themselves longing for the fiend's poisonous presence so much it may literally kill them. This ability CAN be a double-edged sword, as the daemon has no control of HOW this obsession actually manifests, but it's got ways to keep its victims under control, and most creatures it's going to be using this ability on are no real threat to it anyway, even if it kisses an entire crowd of people one at a time to make them fight over it.

Capping their emotional manipulation off is a 3/day Crushing Despair to blast an entire crowd with sudden, sickening sadness, and at the very top of the pyramid lays a 1/day Modify Memory, a spell dangerous enough in a normal caster's hands, let alone a daemon with a modus operandi as sadistic as an Erodaemon! Whether it's erasing the daemon's terrifying initial appearance before it slipped into its Object of Desire disguise or making some unfortunate sucker believe they committed the murder they've just discovered, there's a thousand uses for Modify Memory... especially when the daemon starts combining its spells, filling a target with artificial sadness and hate via Despair and Contempt before implanting a memory justifying both feelings.

And we've spent six entire paragraphs talking about what happens before an Erodaemon enters combat! Though they prefer to stay out of a fight until they're primed to pounce on a heartbroken victim and devour their soul, Erodaemons are far from the helpless handmaidens they're forced to pretend to be. Their primary threat lays not in their two claws (1d6+5), but the serpentine tail which makes their bite attack, dealing 1d8+5 damage... and 1d4 Charisma drain. Succeeding on the DC 22 Fortitude save against this drain doesn't negate it, but simply lowers it to 1d2 damage. Still, this means the average party frontliner can take two, maybe three good hits from this bite before they're simply rendered insensate, though this is only if they don't cut the daemon down first.

Defensively, Erodaemons have DR 10 that's bypassed by a Good or silver weapon, and a party hovering around this level should have access to one or both for everyone planning to bash, slash, or stab. Indeed, hurting one with magic is a lot harder, as they have SR 22, 10 Resistance to Cold, Electricity, and Fire, as well as outright immunity to Acid damage. Like all daemons, they're also immune to death effects, disease, and poison, though this is unlikely to truly come up... unless their partner is trying to kill them subtly, in which case they might think it's cute. Even WITH these defenses they're more resilient than they appear to be, as they can use Enervation 3/day to shave a chunk of stats off anyone trying to hit them, their Quickened Suggestion to keep anyone capable of hurting them off their backs, and Unnatural Lust to force someone to skip their turn by making another party member extremely uncomfortable... or forcing someone to run up and accept a Wilting Kiss and fall head-over-heels in love with the thing trying to kill them, putting a haplessly smitten shield between the daemon and the party desperately trying to blast it.

You can read more about them here.

[skellymom]

SIGNAL BOOST!❤️

PLEASE LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG TO SUPPORT CREATORS!✨

Coffee's Fic Café, Redux!

Vilkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome…

So, cool people.

Once upon a time, I had originally thought that sticking a short blurb at the beginning of my fanfiction list would be enough of an introduction to get to know me, as well as assuming (at the time) that people would focus more on my stories and less upon my general history...these days, however, that may no longer be the case.

This is kinda why I hope to start over almost entirely from scratch, as well as go into a bit more detail about what it is I write about and why I write it in the first place, so...here goes nothing.

ABOUT ME:

Since my first memory of Star Wars involved the Ewoks in "Return Of The Jedi", I guess I officially count as an Elder Fan, and therefore have been in the SW fandom ever since childhood. Since then, as you all will see below, I've done a bunch of work in several facets of the Galaxy Far, Far Away; as well as dabbling in other fandoms in order to broaden my horizons somewhat. I've also started to do a little fanart recently, so once I've got this pinned post up and running, I will eventually add my pieces to the proper fandom sections.

ABOUT MY WRITING STYLE/PREFERENCES:

Sooooo...when I mention in a fic that the romance will be 'slow burn', chances are the main plotline will probably brought about the exact same way. This means that, if we're going by recent examples, the Female Reader will start witnessing some hints of future conflicts from her extended family by Chapter 9 (TBB: Kiss Me, Captain), or else finally getting a moment alone with a certain space pirate by Chapter 9 (SC: Anomaly). This also kinda means that I need my audience to be ultra-patient with me sometimes, as I'm just not that kind of writer who jumps straight into the "woo-hoo" without a literal ton of preparation beforehand.

WHAT I NEED FROM YOU:

So, what does this mean for any and all interested readers?

Simple--I need likes (❤️); I need reblogs (🔁); and if you're feeling really excited, horrified, etc. about a recent chapter, comments (🗨️). It's as simple as that, because it's feedback that makes the world go 'round, and because this site is NOT Tiktok, i.e. views alone WON'T let me know if anybody enjoys my hard work. Therefore, hit the proper icons when my updates come, and I won't ever end up throwing my efforts away in frustration because people weren't bothered to interact.

Anyways! Now that I've gotten through all my explanations, here is a current record of all my fanworks:

STAR WARS: THE BAD BATCH

(De)Stressing (Captain Howzer x Reader)

Kiss Me, Captain (Captain Howzer x Female Reader)

The Surprise Guest (Crosshair x Reader)

Caf, Chocolates, and Comfort (Tech x Reader)

The New Aftermath Series (S1 Rewrite)

Burn // Standoff // Heart Of Stone

Overwatch (You Are Omega)

Rogue Punned (A Space Parody)

STAR WARS: SKELETON CREW

Anomaly (Jod Na Nawood x Female Reader)

OTHER STAR WARS TALES

The Special Guest (Codywan)

Comm Chatter (Anomaly Tie-In)

CALL OF DUTY

Sachertorte (König x Reader)

GLADIATOR II

Everyone's Got Secrets (House Husband AU)

FARGO

Promises (Ole Munch x Reader)

STARLIGHT EXPRESS

On Another Track: Part 1

[the-lavender-clown]

Because of the latest gladiator pit he was thrown in before finally tracking Sonic's location, I bet Knuckles isn't the biggest fan of casinos, which is something I wish was addressed in the show when he and the Whipples went to Reno (Tails is the only one he trusts with gambling because there's a racing game where he says he's banned from a casino-esque location for counting cards)

I agree with that! I can see him displaying a tough and maybe even nonchalant attitude (he cannot show weakness) but at the same time his is constantly vigilant, looking for anyone who could possibly be an enemy, a potential trap, any sneakily hidden doorways leading to anything more nefarious attractions besides these tables and machines of slots

I always think that Tails would be the only one to put together his unease and where it stems from since he’s the only one with an actual idea/vague knowledge of Knuckles’ backstory after his tribe’s death and do what he could to get his mind off of it and get to a “safe place” like a sitting room or lounge where they can just eat and wait. Or even convince everyone to go home. That would boost the trust he has in Tails when it comes to casino like environments

[tcfactory]

Shameless Self Promotion Saturday Sunday Monday!

We make a post and show off what cool stuff we created over the past week. Art, Screenshots, writing (anything from a questionnaire about your OC to the 100K epos...) anything we do is worth to be seen and to be promoted. And by tagging people, commenting, and reblogging, we share the love and boost ourselves and other's confidence.

tagged by @flushwithdarlings

tagging: @mysteryteacup and anyone who might want to do this

I'm cheating a little bit, because I have finished Sky Ballet last week, but it's a pretty heavy two-shot that's technically a companion fic to a (currently) much lighter fic I have been working on, so I'll pretend that it counts.

minor shoutout to @decepticonsensual, because I found the beginnings of this story in a dream last year when I was in writing burnout and, not having any Transformers friends, I sent a kinda random ask to the coolest TF person I know of with the cliffnotes of the basic premise and they were really nice about it, so. Here's to you, for having been an Inspiration with your stories and meta posts and analyses ever since I found this fandom. Keep being awesome!

It's my personal continuity soup where Orion Pax (who is a Good Person and a Decent Cop) gets a gruesome look at the systemic Horrors that plague his world, but due to his position in said system he can't see how deep it all goes and doesn't have the tools to make things better even when he tries.

Or: Cybertron's society is built on pain and suffering from the lowest bloodsport to the pinnacle of performing arts. It takes Optimus too long to realize that this is by design.

(Warning for canon typical violence, background character death, slavery, implied nonconsensual body modification... if you've read anything from the IDW run this is the standard issue Horrors)

----------

Sky Ballet

Pax considers himself a good mech and a decent cop. An honest worker (he never shuns responsibility, even when it means drudging through boring patrols on an overcast day), someone looking out for the vulnerable (even when that means looking the other way while a hungry mech swipes a cube) and doing his best for the less fortunate (he can’t reject the shanix the crooked senators slip into his hands, not if he wants to still be a cop tomorrow or the day after, but money likes moving and it’s easy enough to let it slip into a donation box here and a grasping hand there). He can’t show support to Megatron’s revolutionaries, not openly, but when another demand comes by to investigate them he can do things by the book, which might as well be the same thing. He’s not sure that they are utilizing only peaceful means to protest as Megatron claims, but if there is violence happening then they are doing a very good job of making it happen somewhere Orion can’t see, hear, or connect it back to them through wild conjuncture, which is good enough.

After the three-ring circus that was Zeta Prime’s sentencing (long, drawn out and completely pointless, considering the mech was already dead), he thinks that the oppressed underclass deserves to be a little angry and break a building or three.

Still, being friendly with the Iacon elite allows Orion to occasionally overhear a few rumors that don’t make it out of the highest circles of society and one of those rumors is very relevant to Megatron and his mechs. Relevant enough that for the first time ever, Orion braves visiting the gladiator in the heart of his realm, the infamous Pits of Kaon.

The arena is situated in the best part of Kaon, the high rise where the air is cleanest, the noxious fumes drifting from the lower city dispersed by the heavy turbines that keep the skybound city of Vos hovering just a little to the east. What could illustrate better the benefits of the place than the fact that Vos’ sacred national performing venue, the venerated Vosian Sky Ballet was situated right above the bloodied sands of the arena? Indeed it’s not uncommon for the wealthiest patrons of the Pits to take to the sky in gilded private transports and rise right up to the lavishly decorated venue of the ballet after the gladiatorial matches are concluded for the day, to feed their intellect after slaking their thirst for blood.

Orion Pax has, naturally, known this already. He's good at his job when he wants to be, so he even had the privilege of watching the Sky Ballet once or twice, although he only ever arrived strictly from the direction of Vos. It’s considered improper to make upstanding Iaconi folk approach from the direction of Kaon, even if the upper city isn't that much worse than the part of Iacon Orion lives in.

He still isn’t prepared to see the glittering dots of gem-colored jets dance high up in the sky as he walks down the aisles towards the arena floor. Afternoon is the time for practice, both above and below, and he finds Megatron going through a series of stretches near the front of the fighting floor. This time slot is clearly reserved for the champions, as the only other mechs occupying the chalky sands are Soundwave and his minicons, but unlike Megatron, the lanky gladiator doesn’t seem to take training too seriously. He moves his data cables as if they were slithering snakes, wiggling and snapping at Rumble and Frenzy, tickling them until they dissolve into staticky laughter when he catches them.

Orion watches them play for a while until Megatron finishes his warmups, notices him loitering in the stands and waves him down to their own level.

“Officer Pax. What do we owe the pleasure of your presence?” Megatron is cordial as ever when they are out in public, never cold enough to be inhospitable and never warm enough that an ambitious snoop could misconstrue their interaction as friendly. It takes Orion by surprise to be treated so distantly, but before he can start feeling upset over it he realizes that Megatron has no way to know that he comes as a friend today and not as a cop haranguing them.

“I come as just Orion today.” Megatron inclines his head slightly, accepting this claim for now. “I didn't mean to intrude on your time, but I have heard something that might be important.”

The jets on high do a maneuver so close to the ground that Orion can see their glittering cockpits, their engines drowning out all sound. When they pass Megatron gestures for him to continue.

“Go on. I don't have all day.”

“Is it true that you made it impossible for Senator Ratbat to buy a ticket to the arena?” It’s becoming something of a circus, if it is indeed true. Apparently Senator Ratbat has been fruitlessly trying to get a ticket to the showmatches for vorns now, but no matter how much shanix he offers, what channels he goes through or which swindler he threatens, the ticket refuses to materialize. If someone tries to gift him one, it gets deleted during transfer. If he shows up in person, every ticket is already sold out for that event, even for the standing spots where you can’t really see anything anyway, and no mech is willing to give up their spot no matter how he threatens or bribes them. Just last orn he tried to sneak into a match in disguise, only to be mistaken for a criminal and taken away in handcuffs right from the entrance. It has become so ridiculous that the crowds are starting to think it’s just part of the kayfabe, some staged event to drive up interest.

Orion, in the privacy of his processor, thinks that it must be one of Soundwave’s more obscure hobbies to bully the Senator. Some of the incidents - like the one where Ratbat paid an exorbitant amount of money to buy out every seat in the arena for a whole week, only for the purchase to turn into one ticket to the cheapest seat in a grindcore concert - are too much like his sense of humor to be coincidental.

Megatron answers something, but his voice is drowned out by the shriek of jet engines. What tips Orion off that this isn’t just the usual aerial stunt is when the minicons run to seek shelter under Soundwave’s broad wing-arms, just a moment before a seeker comes crashing into the sands in a jumbled heap of limbs, their vents belching smoke.

Orion jumps and twitches towards the mech, his crisis protocols urging him to help, but he runs straight into Megatron’s upheld arm. “Don’t bother, it’s already dead.”

“How can you know that?! We need to check! There might still be a way to-” He falls silent when a claw is held up in front of his face in the common gesture asking him to wait a moment.

“Is it Starscream?” Megatron doesn’t even look back, his voice bored as he calls out to the minicons.

“Nah, this one’s green.” Rumble transforms one arm into a piledriver and with an ingenious move knocks a whole bunch of sand over the seeker to stop its engines from burning. “Do you want it?”

“Frag no. Get rid of it like usual. I don’t want any trash in my arena tonight.” Megatron waits for their cheerful confirmation before he turns his attention back to Orion. “As I was saying…”

Orion can hear Megatron’s words, but they don’t compute. His eyes are still glued to the dead seeker, now held up in Soundwave’s cables as he examines it - her - for parts that are not too burnt to be repurposed. As he watches in horror, the gladiator very deliberately rips off the head and hands it to Frenzy. After a moment, he does the same with the left arm and hands it off to Ravage, who comes slinking out of the shadows. After longer consideration, he cuts open the partially melted abdominal glass and pulls out the slightly scorched t-cog and a mostly intact fuel pump and carefully places them in Rumble’s arms. Following a silent command, the minicons go running off to take their bounty to Hook and whatever other hacksaw is on medic duty this cycle and Soundwave starts dragging the greying cadaver towards the incinerator they use to dispose of dead gladiators that are too damaged to be worth salvaging. It’s an old thing, possibly as old as the Pits themselves, and it whines and gurgles like a dying turbofox when it’s in operation.

Orion realizes with a start that Megatron is clicking his claws at him again when the ringing of the incinerator clears from his audials. “Get yourself together, Pax. One would think this is the first time you see a dead mech.”

“Does this happen often?” Orion asks weakly. Megatron, coming to the conclusion that he won’t be useful to him until he rallies himself a bit, starts dragging him off to the edge of the stands.

“All the damn time. It’s a quiet orn where we only get a dozen of the stupid things dropping on our heads.” Megatron presses Orion to sit on a low bench, produces a badly dented cup from somewhere and pours him a generous helping of industrial grade from his internal refinery, which is possibly the only source of energon in the entire complex that’s guaranteed not to be contaminated.

Orion, still feeling numb, drinks up when the cup is shoved into his hand. It tastes vaguely like chalk. “Your internal filters need to be changed,” he notes absently.

“A lot of my components need to be changed. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Ratbat plans to sneak into the audience tonight as Chief Justice Subparhelion’s plus one,” Orion says, because there’s no way Megatron knew that. He came here specifically to tell him about it. He figured that whatever the reason why Soundwave goes to such lengths to keep Ratbat out, it must be at least a little important.

“Wonderful. Heard that, Soundwave?” Megatron calls over his shoulder. Soundwave keeps standing at the incinerator where he disposed of the dead seeker, showing no outward sign that he heard, but that’s just how the mech is. Megatron turns back to Orion, so whatever Soundwave told him was satisfying as an answer. “So much for not having any trash in my arena tonight. We will need to redo the entire schedu-”

His words are drowned out by the loud whine of the incinerator and Orion looks up just in time to see Soundwave pull one of his arms - melted and flattened, its servos and circuitry completely fused together - from the machine. “Megatron, Soundwave has- !”

Megatron, clearly done with his wandering attention, grabs Orion’s face and turns it back towards himself, just as calm as he was a klik before.

“Well, what else was he supposed to do? He can’t be seen up here or Ratbat will repossess him and the only way he can sit out the circus tonight is if he’s too damaged to fight or perform.”

Orion Pax watches in horror as Soundwave stiffly walks towards the barracks, flashing his visor at them in acknowledgment as he passes by. “Ratbat is the representative Senator of Iacon; the citystate doesn’t allow for slaves. He can’t take Soundwave.”

Megatron huffs, coincidentally displacing a fine cloud of chalk dust from his vents.“Soundwave isn’t a slave. You need to be considered a sentient mech by Iaconi standards to be considered a slave, which he is not. He’s ‘specialized equipment’.”

Orion stares at him, uncomprehending. The only three things required to be considered a sentient mech in Iacon are a spark (which he knows Soundwave has), a t-cog (he has seen Soundwave transform before) and- “Megatron. Are you telling me that Soundwave doesn’t have a brain module?!”

Megatron winces at the sudden audial-splitting volume and catches the cup as it falls from Orion’s numb fingers. “Not so loud… the law stipulates that sentience requires at least 68% of one intact brain module capable of emotional processing. Soundwave has seventeen partial brain modules split along his nervous core, all of them butchered the exact amount to maximize processing power without fulfilling the criteria for sentience and none of which are independently capable of processing emotions. When he’s not being lazy and piggybacking off somebody else’s hardware, he simulates a virtual copy of the standard emotional processing framework and filters his emotional experiences through that.” Megatron shrugs, like this entire thing isn’t complete madness. Like it’s a normal thing that his Amica’s self is made up of seventeen mangled brain modules stapled together. “He falls so far outside of the measurement criteria that even Swindle couldn’t get him an exemption. If he was a slave, at least he could be the official property of the Pits and I wouldn’t have to worry about Ratbat snatching him away.”

Orion thinks he makes a sound of distress as his processors struggle to comprehend that Soundwave is in such a precarious position that he would be safer as a slave. Megatron misunderstands his distress and pats him over the shoulder.

“We are grateful for this information, Pax. We owe you one.”

Orion doesn’t want their gratitude. He doesn’t want them to owe him. He wants the world to go back to the way it was the day before, when it still made sense.

He’s still so hung up on Soundwave by the time he leaves that he forgets to ask about the dead seekers falling from the sky.

----------

Senator Ratbat makes headlines the next day because the overworked transport he shares with the Chief Justice falls asleep on the highway and crashes into the river at full speed just outside Velocitron. Orion listens to his colleagues gossip about the Senator being cursed as he files away the new revolutionary pamphlets demanding the right to unionize to prevent more accidents like this, and thinks about how many contingencies one must need to protect someone who’s not recognized as a person. It’s a shame, he can’t help but think, that only the Senator survived. He liked Chief Justice Subparhelion.

---------

The next time Orion visits the arena Megatron is absent, but he finds Soundwave basking in the sun, his solar panels spread out all around him. His arm is brand new, the paint a shade off from the rest of his plating. Perhaps a little grateful for that tip about Senator Ratbat, Soundwave tolerantly throws him around for a bit under the guise of sparring (as opposed to intolerantly ripping his limbs off or hacking his brain) before he opens up a quadruple-encrypted comm channel and sends over one lonely ‘?’.

This, at least, is something Orion is already familiar with and doesn’t hesitate to ask. “Can you tell me what that was about last time? The thing with the seeker.” He knows better than to ask about Soundwave himself. He feels much too attached to his limbs to risk it.

Soundwave tilts his head to the side, as if considering the question, then proceeds to throw Orion around for another 20 kliks just for fun before he sends over an encrypted file.

This is how he really learns about the Vosian Sky Ballet.

----------

Imagine a highly specialized frame, streamlined to the smallest component. Balanced down to the most insignificant bolt, manufactured only from the purest alloys. Now mass produce seventeen thousand of them each vorn to maintain undisputed aerial supremacy over Praxus, forcing the latter to halt its production of flight frames altogether, because they could simply not keep up with the competition.

These are the seekers, the elite guard patrolling Cybertron’s skies. Vos’ pride and joy.

And they are not allowed to be anything but perfect.

Those that fail to live up to perfection are disposable.

And disposable seekers have only one place to go: the Sky Ballet.

----------

[If you enjoyed this far, you can read the rest of it HERE on AO3.]

[thoumpingground]

The Dragon Quest IX/Northanger Abbey crossover nobody asked for.

Dragon Quest IX is a fantasy adventure JRPG. The very short of it is, you play as a guardian angel that got bombed off heaven and must make their way back up to save the world with a rag tag team of up to three mail-order companions. It’s campy, it's punny, it's fun. It's one of my favourite comfort games, and last weekend I found my brother's copy, which means I can start from zero without losing the DLC content, so I've been thinking of building a team with the NA characters in mind. @wurzelbertzwerg urged me to share and I've put too much thought into it (and learnt too much in the process) not to, so here goes:

First, some context, mechanics and gameplay preferences behind my thought process:

The MC starts out as a Minstrel, a.k.a. a mediocre jack-of-all-trades, and you create your companions as Warriors, Mages, Priests, Martial Artists or Thieves (or Minstrels, but it’s not a class you want two of). As you play you unlock the ability to become a different class, change between them at will, and six advanced classes: Armamentalists, Rangers, Paladins, Gladiators, Sages and Luminaries. Each class has associated strengths and weaknesses I will go over with the relevant characters.

Characters earn skill points as they battle, through which they level up and earn skill points they use to become proficient in several different skill trees. Each class is able to become proficient in three out of 12 total weapons: Swords, Fans, Whips, Spears, Staffs, Wands, Claws, Knives, Axes, Hammers, Bows, and Boomerangs. Some classes are able to equip and become proficient in Shield, and the rest are able to become proficient in Fisticuffs, a.k.a. punching. Finally, each class has a specific Trait skill tree through which they earn abilities and attribute boosters they maintain even if they change classes.

The game is very flexible in terms of team building. The companions are built in a kiln, you can summon and dissmis them at will and make up their backstories as long as they involve meeting at the Quester's Rest through Patty. You are not required to become any one thing outside of what you have to learn in order to unlock the advanced classes, and even that is optional. I like to play with teams of four, where each character specialices in three classes in such a way I have all 12 among the four, and master one weapon in such a way they can use all 12 among them four. It's not the smartest way to play but I don't mind because I like completing the side quests as I go and my favourite game mechanic is alchemy, so I spend a lot of much time grinding and by the time I get to the bosses my level makes up for the strategy limitations. Also, I always always always have a Thief from the start, so I'm able to steal alchemy ingredients. These self-imposed limitations mean justifying some of my choices invoved mental gymnastics. This is especially true of the weapons because many of them were only available to two characters, so it came down to best of two bad choices. If you see something that doesnt' fit consider that a) someone had to have it, so b) it fit the other character who could have it even worse. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out overall, though.

So, with that out of the way, here's a detailed diatribe on the roles, the classes, the weapons, the whos and the whys:

Frederick: Martial Artist (Claws) -> Warrior (Spear) -> Gladiator (Axe)

Frederick was the easiest to build class wise because he's the obvious heavy hitter. No fuss, no frills, no magic, just hitting stuff really hard. Starting with Martial Artist instead of Warrior is going somewhat out of my comfort zone, though. It's usually one I combine with Thief because I thought agility contributed the steal succes (it doesn't). But since Henry's Thief and Martial Artist neither fits him nor boosts his role, Frederick it is.

Martial Artists are the thrid strongest class by a decent margin (Warrior and Gladiator are second and first, so at least the progression it makes sense), but they are flimsier than I'm comfortable with for my heavy hitter, especially in the early game. They aren't frail, but they can't use Shields. Character wise I'm fine with it, I'm not mad he's able to punch stuff, but also, they can't use shields, nor heavy armour, so it's very hard to boost their defence. I'm fine with Frederick going into battle comparatively naked, but gameplay wise it scares me. James is gonna be a busy bee. The tradeoff is, he's very agile, which means he'll usually attack first, and I like him in the frontlines. That'll probably even out as the game progresses, Warriors and Gladiators aren't particularly agile, but I do like him being the first one to jump into battle at the start.

Martial Artist is also usually one I save for after unlocking Alltrades Abbey, but I want to make the mastery books a priority, and you get to the Martial Artist missions way sooner than the Warrior's, so it made sense to get it out of the way first. I've come to love that choice from a story perspective though, because the starting attributes are similar to Henry's Thief, and I like them starting out with similar strengths that they then develop in very different ways, and because the other two weapons he can use as Martial Artist are Fan and Staff, which are Catherine and James' starting weapons. I'm not gonna put any skill points there in gameplay, but story-wise I'm gonna assume he's familiar with them so there's bonding opportunities there.

Claws I have a personal hangup with. If I were more flexible, I might not have given anyone. He'd be the most likely to use them off the four, and they are the best weapon available to Martial Artists, but they are still... massacry. I am not a gore person and the game is quite silly in tone and Claws are the one weapon I struggle imagining being made out of foam, and they're all going for kills anyway, so it's not like they are worse... Still, this is my post and I imagine Catherine would be quite shocked to see Frederick clawing at what's essentially a ram. I've decided that neither Frederick nor Henry would have that perspective because the monsters in the area I've decided they're from tend to be: a) sharp clawed or talloned, b) metal, c) magic, or d) made out of goop, which, in my head, either warrants clawing in retaliation or doesn't have the same gore factor as clawing at the more benign-looking monsters you start with.

Warriors get good resilience boosters through their Trait tree, which is good, because I don't imagine Frederick as a guy who is easy to take down. Gladiators aren't flimsy either and at least they can wear armour but they're also allergic to shields. If Fisticuffs wasn't such a useless skill I would take the loss as a tradeoff, but as it is it's just annoying. You can unlock the Warrior and Gladiator mastery missions at about the same time so I'll have to see which I prioritize. I usually unlock Gladiator as soon as possible, but I've usually had Warrior from the beggining, so that's gonna be new. Warriors are pretty reliable, it's not a bad idea to stretch out that stage and get all the Trait tree boosters before moving to Gladiator, but Gladiators are so good. No frills, no magic, they just hit stuff, but they hit stuff really fucking well. He's definitely gonna be a Warrior until James becomes a Paladin though, because Warriors learn to defend other characters through the Trait tree and I need someone who can throw themselves in front of Catherine while she's a Mage and take the hit. Catherine's Mage era is gonna be interesting. It's not something he's gonna do much once James becomes a Paladin because I want him dealing damage, not jumping in front of shit, but I do like that he's gonna be able to do it. He cares, when it counts.

I always give my Warriors Swords, but giving Frederick the Sword made assigning the rest of the weapons complicated, so I gave him the Spear instead. Catherine gets the Sword, which is... scary for all involved, and it does mean getting it later than I would like, but @wurzelbertzwerg made me feel better about this choice with dirty joke potential, and it will force me to actually use it. It's supposed to be pretty powerful and I almost always give it to Paladins, who spend a good chunck of battles healing, so it gets a bit wasted. As a Gladiator he gets the Axe, which was one of the few happy cases of he has to have it so the other weapons work out. They're powerful, they look really cool, you can make a bunch of them through alchemy, so that's fun for me, and he'll make the most out of it.

I've decided him and Henry are from Bloomingdale, and I have some half-baked ideas about how that would play into that story beat, but nothing as tragic or poignant as the fact that there is no way I can unlock the crossdressing medal before I get there, so everyone's gonna miss out on Frederick wearing the female warrior chainmail bikini.

It's got pretty decent stats too, it's such a damn shame. Will have to come back to Warrior eventually, if only for that.

James: Priest (Staff), Paladin (Hammer), Sage (Boomerang)

James as the Priest was an obvious choice as a parallel to NA but also as a story element. Obviously him and Catherine can't be siblings in this setting, so I wanted something that would allow them to build a sibling-like relationship quickly. I think Catherine would find a lot of comfort and a sense of familiarity in James believing and being familiar with her world, even if from afar, and James would become intuitively protective of her and feel tenderness and slight awe towards Catherine. He would also assume he knows better than her and be patronizing and a little smug, as older siblings are. In turn, Catherine would come to quickly value his opinion but also find him frustrating and do covert, petty things to get her way when she disagrees with him, as younger siblings do. It's unclear when the companions find out the MC is a guardian angel, but I imagine it would be a big moment of understanding that ultimately doesn't change a whole lot about their dynamic. She might be an angel, but she's still in his turf and she's quite silly and inexperienced and has massive gaps in knowledge and needs help. It would reign in the smugness a bit, but not completely, and I like that. I can imagine a lot of moments where he would feel compelled to step in and help her out, or lecture her, but also be impressed and proud of her, even after she finds out about her origins.

Priest -> Paladin -> Sage is a go-to combo for me. Progression wise, Sage is a rather natural evolution of Priest and Paladins are like devout knights. Gameplay wise, Priests, though they are weak and weedy, are very useful as healers from the start and remain so through the late game. Paladins, on the other hand, are hardy as hell. They're my favourite class in the game. Their Trait tree resilience and HP boosters are a godsend when you want to go back to Priest or progress to Sage, because if there's one person you absolutely do not want to die in battle, it's the one who can ressucitate others. They have a short but useful list of healing and deffensive spells, can donate HP and MP, and throw themselves in front of weaker characters. They are also high-mid strong and have access to decent weapons, so they are able to deal damage when nobody needs healing or rescuing. Sages go back to being weak and weedy, but once you add the Paladin boosters, they make up for it with a massive MP pool and prowerful attack and healing spells. The Priest combo means they'll be better at healing, which I frankly find more useful than attack magic, and they learn to boost their and other players' magic through their Trait Tree. They can also learn to perform vocation changes, which can be very useful for changing strategies in the middle of a grotto, so overall, very solid class. Their mastery missions are spread quite far apart, you're not able to become a Sage until very late game, so he'll spend a decent time as each. Very good combo, very comfortable for me, I like.

Character wise, I like them for James for several reasons. Firstly, they are all about care, which I do think James shows in a rather misguided way, for Thorpe, for Isabella, and for Catherine. Secondly, their spell lists are a dramatic in a rather self-destructive way. Priests can cast death spells (yes, the point is to kill the monster, but that's quite a bit harsher than a fireball. Or maybe it's Claws again, but this is my post, goddamit). They also have a high fair rate, so it's biting more than you can chew. Paladins can cast Kamikaze spell, where they sacrifice themselves to either kill all enemies or heal all teamates, and Sages can cast nukes that drain their entire MP pool. Those two, particularly when combining these three classes in one character, are missguided. I understand them as a last ditch attempt to save a battle but, if it comes to that, especially in regular combat, your team is underpowered. They force you to either return to town or use hard to come by resources to get a key character back in fighting shape. Everytime I see them I think "pace youself", which one can gleam James could do with hearing more often. Third, Paladins get a pixi and even though in this case he's gonna be in good company the man needs a friend that's just his. Fourth, in this house we stan James/Frederick and apparently healing magic is gay, so there's that.

Weapon wise James kind of gets the shaft, but I don't terribly mind because it doesn't make sense to give good weapons to a character with very little attack power. Staffs are useless and the only other person who can use them is Frederick, so it was a no brainer. Boomerangs are even uselesser, so James gets them because if he ever gets the chance to attack as a Sage he can do so with magic. His best weapon is definetly Hammer, which as a Paladin he might even get a chance to use, and I like that it's rather inelegant. I can see James as a decisive but rather fumbling warrior. I also really like the idea of prioritizing mastering the Hammer so he can use it as Sage and become the Hammer Pope.

Picture this but with a giant spiky mallot. The high level Hammers tend to look hellish too, so fun contrast. Lastly, since we are talking about crossdressing, I have a massive gripe with the female Paladin outfit that rather works in James' favour.

This is the male Paladin outfit. Easily my favourite male class outfit in the game. Love the chainmail, love the long tunic, love the cape, love the color scheme, good good good. Very happy James gets to wear it. Below is the female Paladin outfit.

Immediately not as majestic, which is to be expected, unfortunately, but that's not even my problem. The oficial art for it is misleading because, though it is obviously a chainmail minidress and thigh high socks, with everything else going on it doesn't look too revealing. The game however makes it its business to put the breasts in breast plate and the thighs in thigh highs. It feels even sluttier than the Warrior chainmail bikini because it shows just enough to tease the imagination but looks like it shouldn't show anything. When I play with my own characters that is not my thing, but for James, I'm on board. There is also no way I will have the crosdressing medal by the time I unlock the Paladin outfits but he gets to wear something cool and majestic during the game and then in the post game I can come back and slut it up. Frederick might be sex on a stick but James boxy pixelated chest hair is gonna put him to shame, goddamit.

Henry: Thief (Knife), Ranger (Bow), Luminary (Whip)

Henry was hard to pin down. My first instinct was to make him a Mage because they're charming, flashy, attack from afar and fold like wet tissue paper, followed by Armamentalist and Luminary, because they're magic-y and glamourous and I think that's how he'd like to be seen. I also considered making him the MC (which would have been interesting, because the game assumes you're gonna play as a man and there's one plot point where I could like to see how that plays out) and do Minstrel -> Mage -> Luminary, but that was wrong too. Gameplay wise it leaves you with a pretty fragile character, and story wise, the overarching conflict revolves around wether humanity is worth protecting, and while his journey from no to yes would probably make for a more intersting story, the MC is kinda supposed to be on the side of yes from the start. Like, it's not explicit, but it's telegraphed, and it'd be kind of hard to believe that he would get promoted to guardian angel, the people in charge of collecting cristalized human goodwill, at all, let alone sooner than usual, if he where too cynical to believe in humanity.

Plus, the class related character dynamics suffered. Making him MC would have meant making Eleanor healer, and while some of the stuff I talked re. James and Catherine's relationship would have transfered, it wouldn't have worked as well. He'd have no relation to Frederick, which is also not right. His and Catherine's dynamic would be the easiest to replicate but it's not as poigniant if he's an angel. He's supposed to be just some dude and that's why it's so cute that Catherine Likes him so much. Besides, as far as believing in humanity goes, obviously Catherine is worth protecting, and she opens him up to the idea that there are genuine people out there, but to say that through her he could learn to see the best in people in general, is a STRETCH. I don't believe she could get him that far, and considering he's supposed to end as the sole mortal protector of humanity, he kind of needs to get there and I wouldn't know how to make him.

Plus, plus, one glaring problem with both those combos was, it left Catherine as the Thief and just the thought me ugly giggle. Like, my poor girl, no. Of the four, Thief fits Henry the best and Catherine probably the worst. Rangers have the best Deftness stat and a lot of Trait tree boosters, so I was determined to give it to whoever got Thief. Henry as Minstrel -> Thief -> Ranger would have made for maximum agragate Deftness and been decently in character, but on top of all the problems associated with Henry being MC, it would have left Catherine as Luminary, which wouldn't have been as bad as Thief but still wrong. Catherine's whole appeal is how unconciously genuine she is, so assigning her a class all about performance felt off. Henry, on the other hand, loves a joke, loves a bit, loves a little bit of a show off. He would enjoy it. So it had to be him.

So all in all, Henry was best as a companion with Thief -> Ranger -> Luminay. This class combo leaves him quite... mid. He fulfills a very important role for me, alchemy my beloved, but in combat Thiefs are mid, Rangers are mid and Luminaries are... pretty. Ranger and Luminary are the classes I like the least. Luminary is a post game class and widely seen as a novelty rather than a tool, so I don't mind super mind that it's weak, but in this combo it's annoying because it's the only class able to use a Shield, which leaves Henry quite vulnerable for the duration of the story. Thieves are quite decent in the early game but fall short as you unlock the advanced classes, and most of their Trait skill have to do with thieving or data collecting, so nothing super useful for combat. Rangers are... lacking. It's the second advanced class you are able to unlock, so when you're coming in new that's exciting. They get a massive Deftness booster, which on top of thievery ups the chances of evading an attack and of landing a critical hit, which is nice and fits his character. They have some decent healing spells, which enables them as a second string healer, and can unlock a small resilience booster through their Trait tree, which is always good to have. The problem is, none of this makes up for the fact that they're not very strong. Most of their support spells have to do with breath attacks and beastly nonsense, which aren't common enough or harsh enough to warrant defending against usually, and the evading spells are nice to have when you transition to a new area with stronger monsters (or on the boat), but they have a high failure rate and also, you earn no experience for the battles you don't finish, so it's not smart to escape very often. Most battles they just combat and they're just not very powerful at that. Not incompetent either, just... mid. Henry's gonna be spending a lot of time as a Ranger, so that's not ideal.

Someone reading this might get the impression that I'm giving Henry shitty classes because I don't like him, and that's not true. I love him. I love ragging on him as well, but they're not mutually excusive. He fulfills a very important role for ME, I cannot overstate how much time I spend chasing goddamned monsters around for ingredients, and the Thief and Ranger Trait abilites are very useful to get around the grottoes in the later game, which I also really like doing. It's just that I usually combine them with a stronger class I can use for combat, and in this case I can't. He won't be incompetent, he'll just be the least useful in combat, and story wise, I've come to really like that, because here's the thing: he, canonically, doesn't need to actually be great, because Catherine believes he's great regardless.

You create new characters at the Quester's Rest Inn through Patty, which in story gives us a setting, but I don't think Catherine would go up to her asking for a Thief, nor would Henry be down in the census as one. I think Patty would introduce them in an unnoficial capacity, that Henry would flirt with her, do some pick-pocketing as a party trick to impress her, and Catherine would be starry-eyed, as she is. Then, when the zombie knight quest compells her to look for a team, she would ask Patty to introduce her to a hitter and a healer, but would invite Henry to join in herself because she likes him and enjoys spending time with him. Not in so many words of course, he can't know that she likes him, that'd be so embarrasing. But, like, Henry obviously knows, and he likes being where he is liked. In my head, he went to Stornway to study alchemy or some non-combat nonsense and got roped into becoming a Thief because he let Catherine believe he's better at it than he actually is. What is he gonna do, tell her thieving from monsters is not quite the same? Unthinkable! And she'll be so impressed if he pulls it off! So it doesn't really matter that from a party balance perspective he's the least useful. He's competent and he's good at looking impressive and Catherine wants him there anyway, and I think that'd make a neat NA parallel.

This little plot contraption made me a lot more comfortable with Henry being a Ranger from an aesthetics point of view. Rangers look rather... outdoorsy in an "I hunted and foraged my outfit" kind of way, and that's not really Henry's vibe. Though I must say:

That Sword? Fashion statement. Rangers have Axes, Bows and Boomerangs. Can't let something petty like weapon restriction keep a man from turning a look.

Regardless, him falling into the Thief role for/because of Catherine, even from a story perspective, would make him most useful when looking for ingredients to upgrade their weapons and stuff, so I think would choose to become a Ranger despite the lack of glamour because it would allow him to do what he's become best at more effectively, so that would play into his pride, but also, Catherine thinks the sun shines out of his ass anyway, so he's comfortable not having the bells and whistles of something like Armamentalist. Also, with Catherine being so fish out of water, I think he would have a lot of fun pointing out the monsters to her and making up shit and being all know-it-all in documentary presenter voices. Lots of opportunities for cute dorky shit. And then, when the world is safe and all is well he can become a Luminary and be Jack the Whipper by day and got grotto exploring with Catherine at night. The one glaring problem with that plan is:

That fucking hat. I love the Luminary male outfit, but that hat almost rivals the NA 2007 wet dream priest pamela (Catherine has questionable taste). I can only assume he's hiding shit he stole under there, so appropriate, but still, hideous. So since this post has kinda become about crossdressing anyway, I propose to you, Jack the Whipper:

Henry would rock that bow. It all works out in the end.

Weapong wise, a lot had to fall into place to Henry could have the Bow. This is the reason Catherine has a Sword. The Knife and the Whip he got kinda by default and that was okey with me. The Knife is low-mid but in the early game that's not too bad and he has to learn a Knife skill to become a Ranger, so that made sense. The Whip was down to him or... Catherine, which, absolutely not. It's kind of an useless weapon too so it makes sense to give it to a weaker class like Luminary and think of it as a gymnastics ribbon. For Ranger, however, I wanted to give him a decent weapon, because even if he's not the strongest he's gonna do more hitting than anything else, and it is one thing that he's mid, but I wasn't gonna make him incompetent. Like I said, the options were Axe, Bow, or Boomerang, so the Boomerang was immediatly out, and the Axe, while it is more powerful, I couldn't picture him with, so Bow it was, which I'm happy with. It's high-mid, long range, a little flashy, (for a while, the best one you can get is shaped like angel wings, and that's very cute re. Catherine) and at one point Catherine has to use one for a story beat, so provides some "here, let me show you" flirting opportunities. Happy happy happy.

Catherine: Minstrel (Fan), Mage (Wand), Armamentalist (Sword)

I went into why Catherine has to be the MC while explaining why Henry can't, and if you have to pick someone to be on the side of humanity, who wouldn't even question it, who probably should a little bit, it'd be Catherine. She gets to be our bumbling heroine and experience the big adventure and explore the big wide world. Also, as a fish out of water story, she fits the best. Very trusting, very out of her depth, she's gonna have a lot of fun.

Minstrel is a given for the MC, and at first glance it doesn't fit Catherine for the same reasons as Luminary, but it's one I don't mind because the game itself assigns it to you. Story wise she's a Minstrel because the townsfolk at Angel Falls, the town she guardians and where she crashlanded, believe she is, and are none too happy about it. Mechanically though, it fits. Minstrels are mediocre at pretty much everything, but are always learning. Every other class has a few attributes they improve as they level up while the rest remain stagnant but Minstrels get stronger, more agile, resilient, defter, etc... every level, so that's neat for Catherine, who certainly learns a lot and is so very open to it. They have no standout attributes, though, and again, that fits. They get small Trait boosters to pretty much everything and are easy to transition out of, you can go for combat, or magic, or foraging, and Catherine is gonna do Magic. Weapon wise, she gets the Fan, which is mid, and that's fine. Helps with the performer façade, which she will fail to keep up as the adventure advances, but oh well XD.

One thing to keep in mind is that the MC's progression actually important for grotto generation later in the game. Essentially, if you want to unlock the best ones, you MC has to be topped out in one class, and revocate another over and over, which involves levelling up to the max and starting from zero. Apparently Minstrel takes longer to top out than the rest, so it's not an ideal candidate for either. So, the MC can't really leave behind the weaker classes after milking them for buffs, they must grind them out, which makes the fact that she's gonna be a Mage... yeah XD.

Catherine Mage era is gonna be, in case you hadn't heard, interesting. Playing with Mages is a bit of a pain. They're effective at combat but they need a lot of support. They are damned flimsy, for one thing, flimsiest in the game by a non-negligable margin. Attack magic's obvious downside compared to attack plain a simple is that attack magic takes MP, and spells are expensive, so you're constantly running out. With the right buffs, they're very powerful, but when they run out of MP they are entirely useless. Not like, mediocre, USELESS. They have shit weapons and no attack power. In fact, anyone familiar with the game might wonder why I didn't give James the Wand when he's able to use it in every class, but someone *really* familiar with the game knows Mages need all the MP boosters they can get (this really would have been perfect for Henry, goddamit), so not only is Catherine getting the Wand, mastering the Wand is a priority. James will be fine. Mage is worth pairing with Minstrel, especially after completing the mastery missions, because Minstrels get a couple cheap attack and support abilities through their Trait tree, so it enables Mages to transition to a support role when the MP starts running low. You also gotta keep track of the monster's weaknesses to make the most of the spells, at least for the bosses, though I do like that story wise it means she'll be asking Henry a lot of monster questions for spell purposes and no other reason, what do you mean.

Her Mage era also potentially comes right after they rest of the gang find out she's a guardian angel, so story wise it's kinda funny they find out she's a supernatural being right before she starts keeling over at every little punch. James and Frederick are gonna be a *very* busy bees. Henry, on the other hand, won't be able to do much for her, and he's gonna hate that. Their Trait tree is good, though, and the boosters will come in handy as an Armamentalist, which is the only really good one to pair Mage with (outside of a Priest -> Mage -> Sage combo for the ultimate magic user) so it's a necessary step. I'm gonna keep the stage brief through the story and it is definetly the one I will leave alone after topping out, though, which is a bit of a pain. Ideally you wanna top out the class you wanna leave alone first and then grind the one you wanna revocate, Mage is not one you wanna start from zero, you want them at their best. Eh, can't be helped, and it does mean getting the crossdressing medal earlier, so little concessions one has to make.

Armamentalists are, essentially, magic mousqueteers. They've got arguably the best class outfit in the game:

Look at this. It's magestic. The hat, the feather, the collar, the cape, the slashed, puffy sleeves. And it's blue! Perfect for Catherine.

Armamentalist are on the high end of mid combat classes. They've got one of the highest HP pools and are fourth strongest once you add the boosts. In a different context I might not be comfortable with Catherine being the fourth most battle ready, but considering Frederick embodies one, two, and three, which will put him very far above her once you add all the boosters, and James and Henry are in specialized roles, I don't mind. They move away from attack magic towards weakening magic, which I don't love for her, but I rarely use those spells because they have a high failure rate, so she's gonna be mostly charging forward into battle, which I like. Our girl is confrontational. Easily distracted, but confrontational. The Armamentalist Trait skill tree is all about this one support skill I love, though: Armamentalist can increase their and teammate attacks with the power of the elements. It's finnicky in the same way attack spells are, you gotta know what monsters are weak to what, but with her class progression that makes sense and they are hands down my Armamentalist most used feature and I prefer Catherine as a character that boosts teammates up rather than knock enemies down. So with her overall Trait tree combo, Catherine is gonna end up a character that half attacks half boosts teammates attack, which I think fits her really well.

As an Armamentalist she's gonna use the Sword, a.k.a. the most powerful weapon in the game, which... everyone cower in fear. Story wise this is good because the game assumes you're gonna make it your main weapon and makes you use it for a couple story beats. I rarely give my MC's swords so at least this time the cutscenes will be appropirate. I loathe to get the Sword so late in the game though. It's got the easiest metal slime fighting feature to achieve. Metal slimes are these skittish teardrop things that give you a shitton of experience points, but they're very hard to kill and run away on you, so to maximize kills you gotta tackle them with specific weapons, and the distribution doesn't work great here. Fans have a metal slime useful skill, but it takes a while to unlock. Claws, Spears and I think Axes have them too, but Frederick has them all, which means there's only one to two people able to fight them effectively at any given time. But eh, concessions and all. Everyone would rather Catherine get the long sharp pointy stick later rather than sooner, at least we can expect her to be a little more competent, and I do like that her and Frederick are gonna tag team for the metal slimes. Very unlikely duo XD.

No crossdressing for Catherine. Predictably, the female outfits are almost always prettier or sluttier than the males, so no point in making her crossdress for kicks or looks. I am gonna add the female Minstrel outfit here though, because by the time she unlocks it she will (hopefully) be a Mage already and it's such a shame because the Minstrel is so much prettier.

It's not super Catherine, I grant you, but it's one of my favourites and it looks nice in game and I'm a little sad I won't get her to wear it. I'm gonna miss out on a lot of the pretty dresses, this team is such a sausage fest, but on the other hand, I've never had the impulse to make anyone crossdress before either, so eventually I will get to see the pretty dresses.

So this is it!

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. I might reblog this with a bonus about which of the NPC's fit the rest of the characters best, cause I've put some thought into that too, but this post is long enough as it is XD. If this happens to come across another fan of the game and I've said something wrong or overlooked some helpful mechanic, first keep in mind this is a character exercise more than anything and then correct me, I wanna learn. The game is old enough to drive a moped and the DLC content is a pain in the ass to get but if I peaked anyone's interest I sincerely recommend it. Bye!

[wildsaltair]

yeah I’m sorry in advance for all the Maximus sorrow today. I was feeling it and unfortunately so will all of you