#light source IS loop actually

[archivistartist]

This one is for the fellow ISAT fans in the back!

[wheelercore]

Theory with no coherent proof on my part: brenner only visibly ages rapidly when a portal is open.

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: sea urchins

As I continue the slow grind of covering every living group of echinoderms for this series, it was inevitable that I would eventually encounter the only echinoderm I've actually studied. Sea urchins are among the most iconic of marine invertebrates, but many people just think of them as part of the scenery. I'm here to show you that there's more to these creatures than just being spiny lumps on a rock.

(Image: a purple sea urchin (Strongylocentrotus purpuratus) being held in someone's hand. It is a round, globular animal with a dark purple color. Light purple spines emerge from it all over its body, with the longest being around the middle. End ID)

(image: a long-spined sea urchin (Diadema savignyi). It is a black sea urchin with spines longer than its diameter. End ID)

Urchin is an old-fashioned word for hedgehog, and sea hedgehog is a fitting name for these round, spiny animals. Sea urchins tend to be fairly small, with a diameter of 3 - 10 cm (1 - 4 in), though some species have very long spines that make them seem larger. The main body of an urchin is round and enclosed in a (usually) hard shell called a test made of calcium carbonate. The test is covered with a slayer of skin and muscle that controls the spines and small, pincer-like structures called pedicellaria. Within the test are the internal organs. As with other echinoderms, sea urchins are radially symmetrical as adults, with five segments arranged around the center like pizza slices. The two main body holes are found on the top and bottom of the animals where the segments converge. At the bottom is the mouth and at the top is the anus. Each segment also has a hole near the anus used to release gametes and one will have a larger pore called the madreporite, which is used to control the amount of water within the urchin's body. The mouth is a unique structure known as Aristotle's lantern, consisting of five tooth-like structures (one for each body segment) that interlock together and sharpen themselves. Behind the teeth is a rasping tongue.

(image: a close-up of an urchin's mouth, showing the Aristotle's lantern. It is a hole surrounded by a fleshy lip. Five spade-shaped teeth are emerging from the edge of the hole. End ID)

Internally, most of the body is taken up by the digestive tract and water vascular system. The digestive system lacks a stomach, with the esophagus attaching directly to the small intestine. The digestive tract forms a loop as it passes through the body. The water vascular system uses seawater to form hydrostatic pressure that moves the tube feet. All starfish, urchins, and sea cucumbers have tube feet, small, transparent, tentacle-like structures they use for movement. Tube feet are hollow and retracted into pores on the skin normally. To be used, they have to be inflated with water, which makes them stick out of the body, where they can be controlled with muscles. Tube feet end in suction cups that can be used to grab into structures around them. Seawater drawn in through the madreporite serves as the source of pressure needed for the tube feet to function. In urchins, tube feet cover the body and are used for locomotion, moving food to the mouth, and moving objects on or off the body. The main body cavity is filled with circulatory fluid that uses special cells to move oxygen and nutrients around the body. The nervous system is simple, consisting of a central nerve ring around the esophagus that branches into nerves that connect to the rest of the body. Urchins have no eyes (except for the family Diadematidae, which have eyespots), but are sensitive to light. The gonads are usually small, but during mating season they can swell to fill much of the body cavity.

(Image: a drawn diagram showing a cross-section of a sea urchin, with the different organs and body parts labeled. End ID. Source)

Sea urchins are found in oceans worldwide, from intertidal zones to the deep sea and the tropics to the poles. They are bottom-dwellers who feed primarily on algae, which they scrape up with their teeth. However, they will also take a variety of food, including carrion, aquatic plants, and other slow-moving or sessile animals like sponges, polyps, bivalves, worms, and sea cucumbers. Urchins can play a key role in regulating algae populations through their ecosystems, but they also rely on predators to keep from overeating necessary algae. Famously, California's kelp forests were almost destroyed by urchins eating the kelp after their primary predator, sea otters, were driven to near extinction. Urchin's primary defense against predators is their hard tests and spines. As most of the edible portion of the urchin is within the test, predators have to get through both layers of defense first. The spines are hollow and each can be moved independently of each other, allowing them to be positioned toward a threat. Many species contain venom within their spines as an added layer of defense. This venom is rarely dangerous to humans, but can cause swelling and painful reactions. Another layer of defense is the pedicellaria, which are good at removing small animals and parasites from the skin. The flower urchin, Toxopneustes pileolus, has modified its pedicellaria into flower-like structures that extend beyond the spines and can deliver a sting that can be fatal to humans.

(Image: a flower urchin. It is a pinkish urchin covered with flower-like structures that extend to the length of the spines. It has placed some bits of shells on top of it. End ID)

Sea urchins possess distinct males and females, though the differences are internal, making it impossible to tell which is which based on visual examination. During mating seasons, the gonads swell as they generate gametes. Urchins tend to reproduce in groups at synchronized times (possibly correlated with the phases of the moon in shallow-water species) to maximize the possibility of fertilization. When ready to mate, the gametes are squeezed to empty their contents through the genital pores and into the water column. Sperm must find egg in the water to fertilize it. Most sea urchins provide no parental care, but in some species, the female will retain the eggs in her spines to protect them. The eggs hatch into bilaterally symmetrical larvae called plutei that drift with the plankton. As they develop, a section of the larvae will develop into a radially symmetrical adult rudiment. This piece will eventually break off and become the juvenile urchin while the rest of the larva dies. Because echinoderms start out as bilaterally symmetrical larvae, we can infer that they developed from bilaterally symmetrical ancestors and the radial symmetry of adults is a more recent development.

(image: a series of photos showing the embryological development of a sea urchin from a single cell to a cluster of cells, to a bell-like structure, to growing several arms, to the eventual adult developing and breaking off. End ID. Source)

Fossils show that the oldest sea urchins had large, club-like spines that they walked on, with the modern spines being a later development. Most of those urchins died out with the dinosaurs, leaving the pencil urchins of order Cicaroida as the only living members. All other living urchins are Part of the clade Euechinoidea. Amongst them, there are still some oddballs, known as the irregular urchins of clade Irregularia. These urchins have moved away from radial symmetry, with less symmetrical segments and the anus and mouth moving from being on the top and bottom to being on the sides in the heart urchins. Heart urchins have gone from bilateral symmetry to radial symmetry and are now going back to bilateral symmetry. Heart urchin mouths don't have an Aristotle's lantern. Instead, they use strands of mucus to capture food and cilia to pull the strands back inside. Sand dollars, also known as sea cookies or sea biscuits, are also in this clade. These are flattened urchins with short and very fin spines that resemble velvet. They are burrowers who spend much of their time buried under sand and as such are rarely seen alive. The name sand dollar comes from their tests, which are similar to old dollar coins and can often be found washed up on beaches. While still radially symmetrical, sand dollars also have a secondary form of bilateral symmetry, with a distinct front and back end that often look different. Irregular sea urchins also tend to have fewer gonads and associated pores than regular sea urchins.

(image: a red pencil urchin (Heterocentrotus mamillatus) nestled among coral. Instead of spines, it has a series of long, thick, red clubs. End ID)

(image: a purple heart urchin (Spatangus purpureus). It is an urchin elongated on one direction and with a few rows of long spines amongst short ones. On the surface facing the camera is a large hole that could be the mouth or the anus. End ID)

(image: a group of irregular sand dollars (Dendraster excentricus) partially buried in the sand. They are round, flat animals with a velvety covering of tiny spines. The are sticking out of the sand. End ID)

Sea urchins have been known to humans for as long as people have lived near the ocean. Stings can occur when people step on them and can cause pain and irritation, but are rarely medically significant. That being said, some people can have allergies to the venom, which could be a big problem. Spines left in the wound should be removed, as they can continue injecting venom. Urchins are a food source for people around the world, specifically the gonads, which are the only meaty part of the animal. The gonads are often marketed as roe or corals and can be eaten raw or cooked. Urchins are also used as a model organism in embryology due to the interesting and well-studied nature of their larval development. Urchins are vulnerable to pollution, habitat loss, and over-predation. Ocean acidification due to climate change poses a major threat to them, as it reduces the quality of their tests.

(image: tow sea urchins served as food. They are upside-down with the bottoms removed. The gonads are visible within as five orange, spongy structures that take up most of the body cavity. End ID)

[lamaery]

Looking for a stormy or colorful summer beach read? @priscellie and Ihad way too much fun creating some romance novel versions of Rhythm of War and Warbreaker. I made the illustrations and Priscillie made them look like actual books – beautifully ridiculous, curly typography, mock-up and all. I hope that there will be more :D

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

Image description: (by Priscillie) Photomanipulation of two battered paperback pulp romance novels that look straight out of a thrift store bargain bin in the 1980s. The books are RHYTHM OF WAR and WARBREAKER by Sandra Branderson. RHYTHM OF WAR features an illustration of Navani and Raboniel experimenting with light, Raboniel looming behind Navani and leaning in, their faces almost touching. Raboniel streams voidlight from her image-left hand, which travels like lightning through Navani's tuning fork and into the sphere in Navani's gloved safehand. It's the primary source of light in the scene, and the background is nothing but murky darkness. Raboniel focuses intently, her red eyes alien and unknowable, as she focuses on her work. One of Navani's unkempt locks of hair just brushes the corner of Raboniel's mouth, and I'm not normal about it. Navani looks like she's gone three days without changing clothes and that she's slept in her hairstyle a similar number of nights. The collar of her havah is open, revealing her collarbones. Her expression is a mix of amazement, fear, and exhaustion, her mouth slightly open and her head tilted back slightly. Her face is lit from below by their experiment. The title and author's name are angled at a sharp diagonal, with strong capital letters and the occasional flourish. At the top is the tagline "In the Heart of War... Passion and Honor are Fused!" In one corner is some publication information, with a little logo of a seal and the words "A 'Sealed With a Kiss' Paperback," the fake ISBN 17S-631-1123-1210 (the last two sets of numbers being our birthdays), and prices in America and Canada. The other book is Warbreaker, also by Sandra Branderson. The illustration depicts Susebron and Siri in a ridiculously overblown, windswept Fabio-style cover, with a shirtless Susebron holding Siri so she's half sitting on his chest, one knee up with her thigh along his chest, her legs off to one side, and with her body twisted so she's facing him with her upper body, leaning down to him, a breath away from kissing him. She's wearing a teal dress with a Mesoamerican vibe that reveals her midriff and leaves her shoulders bare, but with a long train that blows off to the side. Her arms are painted in looping gold shapes. Her hair is blonde for most of its length, but it's beginning to change to a vivid red at the scalp. It's wrapped in teal ribbon to match her dress. Susebron has long, sleek black hair caught by the wind, chunky gold earrings and a slim gold cuff at his upper arm, and is wrapped in long white strips of awakened cloth that snake through the image in an energetic explosion of fabric. He gazes at her in handsome adoration and abandon, and she gazes back in love tempered by concern. The title has the same diagonal and italicized design with the same typeface and flourishes, but the title is jazzed up with shimmery, iridescent type. At the top is the tagling "She was forced to marry a god... Then she took his breath away!"

[tryingtofindava]

── 𝐌𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥

: ̗̀➛ Back to Source

{[PROXIES X FEM! READER]}

Same routine. Same tired breath.

The buzzing of my alarm clock dragged me back into another day I didn’t particularly want to live. The shrill beeping gnawed at my ears until I slammed my hand down on it, silencing it for the moment. For a second, I just laid there, staring blankly at the stained ceiling, feeling the weight of monotony suffocate me.

Wake up.

Eat.

Get ready for work.

Work for six soul draining hours while trying to fend off Jackson, the human embodiment of a mistake.

Go home.

Eat.

Sleep.

Repeat.

It was a cycle so endless, so crushing, I started to wonder if this was hell after all. Maybe I’d done something wrong in a past life, or hell, maybe even this one, and now I was being punished by being forced to exist in this grey loop forever.

But that’s just life isn’t it?

I shuffled to the bathroom, brushed my teeth mechanically, tossed on my uniform, black jeans, the red Pop’s Diner T-shirt, a name tag that screamed ‘Y/N’ to any creep who bothered to look, and dragged myself out the door.

The diner wasn’t far. It sat on the edge of town, where cracked sidewalks met endless woods. Pop’s had been around forever, the sort of place where the coffee was always hot, the floors always sticky, and the same six regulars clung to the cracked booths like flies to a corpse.

Jackson was already there when I arrived, lounging at the counter like he owned the place. His smirk crawled up my skin like spiders, and I fought the urge to spin on my heel and leave.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he purred, voice thick with sleaze. Just the sound of it was like nails on a chalkboard, not even a full minute in and I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.

I ignored him, brushing past to clock in. Maybe if I pretended hard enough he didn’t exist, he’d actually disappear.

Six hours. Just six miserable hours.

I tied my apron, plastered on my best dead eyed smile, and started my shift.

It was during my third trip delivering a plate of bacon and eggs that the doorbell chimed and the change began.

They strolled in like they owned the place, four of them, bickering loud enough that even the fry cook poked his head out from the kitchen to see what the fuss was.

I couldn’t help myself from sneaking a peak at them, they had only been in for a few seconds and half of the other customers were turning heads at the noise they were making.

The first guy through the door was tall, the tallest in the group and looked like he could either fix your car or knock you flat without breaking a sweat. He had a slight mustache that didn’t quite make him look older, and he wore a black coat over a mustard yellow hoodie. His light brown hair was buzzed short, and when he smiled, and he did, charmingly, like he had no idea how disarming it was. I caught sight of the gap between his two front teeth. His navy blue jeans looked worn in and comfortable, the kind that had seen too many years but still clung to life.

Behind him came a guy who looked like he’d fought a war just to get out of bed this morning. Third tallest, with a grumpy scowl permanently carved into his face. He wore a red flannel shirt, the top two buttons undone, and dark blue jeans to match. His hair was dark brown, nearly black, and messy like he hadn’t bothered with a comb. A scruffy beard shaded his jawline, and he had the kind of heavy lidded, exhausted eyes that screamed of nights lost to bad dreams.

Next to him, practically glued to his side and pestering him nonstop, was another younger boy. Second tallest, though only by a little. He had a wide, awkwardly placed bandage slapped across his cheek, and I couldn’t help but notice how he twitched and stuttered when he spoke, like his body and mouth weren’t always in agreement. His clothes were plain, an old, boring brown hoodie and, of course, blue jeans. Seriously, what was it with these guys and blue jeans? His raggedy gloves looked ready to fall apart at the seams, practically cartoonish in how desperate they were to stay together.

The last of the group was a girl, the only girl, and she looked about two seconds away from dying of boredom. She had a white zip-up hoodie, hands jammed deep in the pockets, and a red shirt peeking out underneath. Black jeans clung to her legs, her black hair a tangled, charming mess like she’d rolled out of bed and dared the world to say something about it. Her dark eyes scanned the room lazily, clearly unbothered by the bickering boys beside her.

I didn’t realize I was staring until the customer who had ordered the bacon and eggs coughed to get my attention, I looked down mumbling an apology and I set the food in front of them.

They became regulars after that, not only just becoming familiar faces in Pop’s, but in town too. Almost every shift I worked, they were there, corner booth, same bickering, same reckless energy. And… subtle flirting. Not from all of them, but enough to notice. Or maybe I’m just delusional in desperate need of attention…

They were here so often that I knew all four of them by name. There was Brian, Tim, Kate, and Toby. A dynamic group that I couldn’t help myself but be drawn towards.

Brian would catch my eye sometimes, offering a small smirk like we were sharing an inside joke. Tobias loved calling me over just to tease, tossing out stupid pick up lines through his stutters that made me roll my eyes so hard they almost got stuck, he did it just for my reactions I bet.

Even Tim, gruff, grumpy Tim, had his moments. He’d grumble out a “Thanks” or a “Looks good” about the plain black coffee or Cherry pie, and it would sound like the most sincere compliment I’d ever heard.

Kate was more reserved, but there was something about the way she would subtly smile at me, a quiet approval that felt… nice. Like I was included in their weird little club.

They were… strange, though. Little things started to stick out.

Brian flinched when a tray clattered to the ground behind him. Tim’s hands would tremble sometimes, so subtly it was easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention. Tobias was constantly watching the door like he expected something, or someone to barge in at any moment. Kate seemed the most composed, but she was always quietly scanning the room, muscles taut under her hoodie.

It wasn’t normal behavior. It was… survival instincts, made you wonder if they were ex military soldiers. But weirdly enough, it didn’t scare me. It intrigued me.

Maybe because my life was so boring, so achingly dull, that even the scent of danger felt intoxicating.

Of course, not everything was sunshine and rainbows, Jackson hadn’t taken the hint yet. If anything, he was getting worse.

He’d linger at the counter even longer, his beady eyes tracking me across the floor like a predator. His ‘compliments’ had gotten grosser, slimier. Sometimes he’d even lean over the counter just to breathe down my neck when I passed by.

I made it a point to keep distance between us. Pretended to be busy. Took fake phone calls in the backroom. Anything to avoid him.

He was getting bold, though. Too bold.

Last night, when I was cleaning up after close, I caught him waiting outside by the dumpsters, cigarette glowing between his fingers, grinning that horrible grin. I pretended not to see him. Darted around the other side of the building and practically ran to my car.

My hands had been shaking when I finally locked the doors and drove off. ‘If I just ignore him, he’ll eventually lose interest and leave me alone.’ I kept telling myself, though it was all just a silly wish that he’d finally disappear.

Today, though, my focus was elsewhere.

The diner was buzzing with the afterschool crowd, teens jammed into booths laughing over milkshakes and greasy fries. Pop’s was never really clean, but it was alive tonight, and that helped. I needed the distraction.

The four were already in their booth when I came on shift, arguing as usual.

“Y-Y/N!” Tobias called, waving dramatically like I couldn’t see him from across the room. “Cuh-come save m-m-me from -chirp!- these idiots.”

I snorted and sauntered over, pad and pen in hand. “I can’t save you. You’re too far gone.”

Brian chuckled under his breath. Tim just shook his head like he was embarrassed to be associated with any of them, especially Toby.

Kate nudged Toby, a silent warning of ‘cut it out.’ “We’ll have the usual,” she said, cutting off Tobias’s protests.

“Coming right up,” I said, scribbling it down.

As I turned away, I heard Brian mutter something about “Cute when she smiles,” and Tim elbowed him in the ribs. I pretended not to hear, but my cheeks burned.

The shift passed in a weird, almost pleasant blur. At one point, Kate spoke up when I refilled their coffees. “You should be careful with him,” she said, nodding subtly toward Jackson, who was perched at the counter leering at me. “Guys like that don’t know how to take no.”

I stiffened. “Yeah. I know.”

Her expression softened slightly. “You ever need anything… let us know.” I blinked, caught off guard by the quiet fierceness in her voice.

“Thanks,” I said, and meant it.

The night wound down. The teens left. The kitchen lights dimmed. I wiped the last table, exhausted but lighter somehow.

As I hung up my apron, I caught a glimpse out the window.

The four were standing by an old, beat-up RV, arguing over directions probably. Tim gesturing wildly, Tobias laughing like a maniac, Brian shaking his head with a fond sort of exasperation, Kate rolling her eyes like she’d seen it all before.

I smiled.

Maybe life wasn’t so normal anymore. Maybe it was about to get very, very strange.

But for the first time in a long time…

I wasn’t completely dreading tomorrow.

IKKK THIS IS SHORT PUT IM REALLY JUST TRYING TO SET A STORYLINE IN PLACE!!!

I’ve got the next few chapters plot lines mapped out and I’m so excited to finally be posting abt this au!! :3

[diejager]

Kinktober day 14: Monsterfucking w/ The Unknown

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, size kink, belly bulge, slime, tentacle, oviposition, egg laying, tell me if I missed any.

-> kinktober masterlist -> navigation

Lost in the maze-like building, corridors looping into another, halls leading to a dead end and unending paths that seemed to go on and on and on. They lived in a haunting atmosphere: rotting wood and chipped wallpaper lit up by the dying and blinking lights of the theater, the eerie feeling that accompanied a once populated area, once bright and lively with people young and old coming here for the cinema or the arcade to enjoy their afternoons or weekend. And now, it was left forgotten, to rust and to die, the epitome of fun thrown behind for something more personal and advanced.

You didn’t know how anyone could leave a place like this standing —or better yet, how could a place get this bad? riddled with rats and insects, termite-infested pillars and caved in floors, even the metal plumbing of the building wasn’t left untouched by age and dilapidation. For a one room-cinema, this place was as big as it was confusing. You got lost many, many times, stumbling back into the same corridor over and over again despite your best effort to keep track of your path.

It didn’t help that you could hear something crawling around the building, the tell-tale sound of many footsteps echoing throughout the building and making the floor creak, wood denting under the weight of whoever it was and mumbling in broke English. You could only panic in abject horror at the unknown source of it, running aimlessly for an escape, but even then, the streets - if it could be called one with the area fenced in - had the same ghostly abandonment of the building. It wasn’t as bright or rusted, but the lamp posts were dying, light flickering and eventually dying.

It left you wandering aimlessly until you stumbled into the thing you were hiding from —or rather it, whatever it was. A broken, humanoid creature chased after you, limbs bent in horrible ways, stomach bulging and face horrifying to see, deformed and bloody, much like the axe he was holding. It - he? - truly gave you a reason to fear, a reason to run for your life as he chased you, following loosely on your tail without actually catching you. You wondered if he was playing with you, working you up until he was satisfied enough to kill you —would he eat you? He certainly looked monstrous enough to want to eat someone.

He gave you a reason to believe you were doomed, and now, especially hen he had you in his reach, pushed against the wall. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place, in every possible sense with the axe plunged into the plaster beside your face. Oh, how you wished you were wrong about him eating you, cursing yourself for ending up here, stuck under his mouth, drool rolling down his wrinkled chin as he tore into you.

You fought until you couldn’t, screamed until your voice died and cried until you ran out of it, all under the broken words he groaned, ripping into your clothes and salivating. You couldn’t do much as he held your arms and legs, his lanky arms deceiving his actual strength. Arched awkwardly against the walls, your shuddered in disgust at the writhing arms that reach out of his back, pink and slimy tentacles prodding at you.

You retched at the feel of them, sliding between your folds and smearing his slime all over you. You were happy that you wouldn’t be killed, but this wasn’t what you meant by being eaten, and certainly not by a monster like him, but there wasn’t anything you could do but take it. Spread open and fucked dumb by a monster twice your size, his wet limbs sinking into your cunt, drive wet and sensitive by the odd warmth of his slime.

“Tight… ” he groaned out, his voice a mix of many voices, like a broken radio, “Sweet pet.”

You felt beyond stuffed, your stomach bulging out with different bumps, writhing within you as he pumped you full. Despite your utter disgust, he somehow made you come, the many arms thrusting into you at an erratic pace, never leaving you empty for more than a fraction of a second. They were smooth and bumpy, made slick by your cum and his slime, and all but one was pointy-tipped and thick at the base, the big one had a flared tip, a rounded head that looked like a flower bulb. It stood out among the rest for some reason.

Unfortunately, you weren’t left wondering about it for long, feeling all the tentacles slipping out of you with wet pops, but not before tickling your bruised cervix. You watched through clouded eyes at the flared cock, popping it’s head into you and driving in until it bumped the mouth of your womb, the knotted base inches away from you. It was numbed and relaxed by whatever substance his tentacles secreted, and - shockingly - opened up for him after a sharp ram, forcing it’s way into your untouched womb.

“What?!“ you yelped, not in pain, but from jaw-dropping stupefaction at what just happened.

It felt like a pinch, small and painless, even as it sunk deeper, the peals of his head opening up inside and his knot pushing past your vulva. His slime acted as a numbing aphrodisiac. Plugged and restrained, you mewled at the bumps pushing into you, round objects popping out of his cock and plopping into your womb, sticking to the walls without too much effort. You babbled endlessly, body trembling under him, cunt fluttering around his length as he filled you up with eggs, the amount lost to your drunk mind. All you knew was that you weren’t leaving any time soon —or move, at this point.

“Mine,” was the last thing you heard before passing out, the comforting embrace of darkness draping you in sleep.

[tritoch]

why doesn't venat tell the convocation?

one thing you'll see come up from time to time: why does venat, the largest ancient, not simply eat the other sorry wrong notes. Why does Venat, who has access to time-loop knowledge, not simply tell the Convocation what she knows and try to fight the Final Days in her time?

it's an understandable question: why wouldn't you want to change the future, if you know what comes to pass? Answering this question does a lot to flesh out our understanding of the Ancients, as well as Venat herself, in fun ways. It also highlights the heightened tonal register FFXIV operates in where the Ancients are involved. Most crucially, it confirms that your ultimate victory in Endwalker is not due to time loop predestination, but because of the collective efforts of everyone along the way.

all quotes, as ever, sourced from xiv.quest (except for some stuff from the very end of myths of the realm which i pulled from gamerescape). spoilers through endwalker follow.

(post-completion edit: this got insanely out of hand and way too long and it's honestly not even very insightful. you were warned.)

The way I see it, there are two broad versions of this question: First, why doesn't Venat warn the Ancients about the Final Days? And second, why doesn't she reach out to the Convocation and try to nip it in the bud?

To start with, let's get the answer straight from the source:

Venat cannot tell the Ancients generally because she cannot trust that they will not panic. No judgment should be taken as unquestionable, obviously, but Venat is a nigh-immortal scholar and researcher who also did a long stint as traveling counselor and savior and friendly neighborhood video game protagonist, who repeatedly and fervently declaims her love of the people of the world and her belief in their ability to surmount any obstacle if they simply find the strength within themselves. She has also, in-fiction, seen the wider world unsundered. Our exposure to the Ancients, on the other hand, is: her; the ruling council of their people, turned evil dimension-hopping wizards; a slice of particularly detached academics in a mad science lab (comedy version); a slice of particularly detached academics in a mad science lab (horror version). That's it! And of course, the revelation of the Final Days ultimately does result in panic and a series of increasingly drastic measures. While we only have her reasoning to go off of on this one, I don't know that there's any evidence that goes firmly against her reading of the situation.

As to the Convocation, she's right: the first time Hermes got the full picture of the Final Days, he immediately turned against you and tried to wipe your memories to prevent you from using your knowledge to stop them before they start. And that's really bad, because Hermes isn't just pretty important to stopping the Final Days: without the benefit of time-loop knowledge, he's the guy who draws the conclusion that connects the Final Days to the celestial currents of aether!

"Having shed light upon the phenomenon, he dedicated to himself to devising a countermeasure. Were it not for [Hermes's] knowledge of the celestial, we would never have made the connection—and thence forestalled the Final Days." Elidibus strongly implies here that Hermes is the guy who conceived of the Zodiark plan in the first place, or at least came up with the the mechanism by which Zodiark could actually use aether to protect Etheirys.

Hermes is a guy you absolutely have to have on your team if you're going to respond to the Final Days, because he is not just the guy who knows about dynamis. He is also, as far as we know, the only Ancient with a meaningful knowledge of outer space and celestial currents. Meteion herself is pretty explicitly parallel to a prototype space probe, a first-of-her-kind interstellar traveler. Given that the Ancients use magical concepts for seemingly nearly all their technology (there sure is a lot of stuff going on with crystals, I'll grant...but crystals are just aether, sometimes with concepts inscribed in them!), he is the closest thing they have to an aerospace engineer.

Space in FFXIV is obviously weird (no one's wearing a helmet on the moon, Midgardsormr flies through it, etc.), but nonetheless we know that space travel is difficult, and Hermes highlights in his explanation that Etheirys is unusually rich in aether while aether is much rarer in space generally. And we can surmise no one before him devised a way for the extremely aether-dense Ancients to travel and survive in space, or presumably that would have informed his own designs and he wouldn't have had to turn to under-researched dynamis. And we know no one worked with him on Meteion or understands anything about all the dynamis and, celestial currents stuff; Hythlodaeus and Emet-Selch tell us as much.

Hermes might not be the literal only Ancient with knowledge of these things, but he is certainly the most knowledgeable, seemingly by a long shot. There is plenty of reason to believe the Ancients, while they have godlike power on Etheirys, don't have a huge body of working physics information. For example, the discovery and use of magnetism in creations was the signature achievement of Hermes' immediate predecessor as Fandaniel, per a Ktisis readable.

So you need Hermes, and cannot afford the possibility of losing him. Even with the benefit of the Warrior of Light's future knowledge, not having Hermes would fatally undermine any efforts by the Ancients to combat the Final Days—not only in terms of identifying which areas were likely to be affected, but also in terms of creating and implementing Zodiark, and with respect to any hypothetical "Ancients go to the edge of the universe to fight Meteion" plan.

That kind of full-spectrum involvement makes him only more dangerous. Sure, maybe you can approach the Convocation and convince them (and I'm not so sure of that: one of their members is there when you explain all this, after all, and he vehemently rejects the possibility right up until the moment the time-loop starts!), but how can you ever be safe with Hermes on board? Worse, what if this time he doesn't announce his betrayal? What's to stop him from building a flaw into Zodiark, or any one of the other plans along the way?

Well, but set the problem of Hermes aside for a second: why not approach other Convocation members? Aside from the information security concerns with Hermes, there's the fact that she already has some advance intel on that options. First, Emet-Selch already heard and experienced all these revelations, and he vehemently denied and rejected them. The only reason he ended up cooperative through the events of Ktisis is because "get to Hermes and stop Meteion" fulfills both your goals. You're literally out the door on your way to start the time loop post-Kairos and he's like "I still don't believe your future visions by the way! But if it's true then don't fuck it up!"

Second, if what you told her is true, Venat already has reason to believe Azem might not be willing to side with her. After all, one of the only pieces of knowledge you were able to pull directly from the records of the past is that even with 75% of the Ancient population sacrificed and preparations for the third sacrifice underway, Azem would not reply to the Anamnesis Anyder faction.

So she has good reason to believe her successor might not be willing to side with her, and she knows that successor's bestie will definitely counsel against trusting these future visions.

But what if she just shows them her memories and past events via the Echo? After all, reconstructing past events is a key part of your adventures in Elpis in the first place!

Venat can probably share her memories via Echo vision, but there's no reason to think that would work: after all, Emet-Selch was already there for most of these events and was still skeptical the whole way through. Plus, at that point you're really still just relying on Venat's testimony. Additional memory evidence certainly has some corroborating effect, it's not unimpeachable, particularly given the problem of Kairos. Hermes, Emet-Selch, and Hythlodaeus will all have memories that contradict Venat's because Kairos doesn't just erase memories, it straight up alters them.

But why not do the CSI crime scene reconstruction thing? Well, as Venat notes, those memories are prone to fading, and are etched on the aether of the world the same way memories are on the soul. So assuming, you were perfectly lucky and none of the aether got too altered by other events, you could reconstruct what happened from the moment Meteion connects to the hive mind . . . right up until everyone enters Ktisis Hyperboreia. Kairos functions by overwriting the memories etched into aether with yet more aether, and given that it targeted not just the group in the final room but the entirety of Ktisis Hyperboreia, it has presumably substantially altered whatever aetherial ripples remained of the day's events. Consider that if it's blotting out multiple days worth of memory over a large area (Ktisis Hyperboreia is a full-on spatial anomaly, after all), our only comparable event in lore is the Seventh Umbral Calamity. That's a lot of aether! Kairos moots any attempt to employ memory reconstruction as evidence.

So you can't tell everyone because they'll panic; you can't tell the Convocation because Hermes is untrustworthy; you can't tell the Convocation without Hermes because there's no point in recruiting the Convocation without Hermes because his expertise is what you actually need; even if you did want the Convocation without Hermes, there's reasons to believe that would go poorly; and you can't use the Echo to help you win them over because the well on memory-as-evidence is already poisoned thanks to Hermes inventing Kairos.

A brief interlude on the possibility of the Ancients getting to and fighting Meteion. Links to sources only because this post is already stupid long. Okay, pretend we perfectly secure Hermes on-side and rally all the Ancients. After making Zodiark early thanks to Venat's warning, the remaining 50% of the population sets to work on the problem of space travel to Ultima Thule. It'll be a lengthy process, since devising the propulsion systems of the moon took the Loporrits six thousand years, but sure, it's not like lifespan is a big issue for the Ancients. Then there's the matter of having enough energy to get there; Hydaelyn accumulates the aether of the Mothercrystal for over twelve thousand years to make that happen. But maybe we shortcut that with human sacrifice again. Okay, we've flown a spaceship full of Ancients to Ultima Thule. They can't do anything here because the dynamis is too thick for aether to do anything. Your allies can only reshape the reality of Ultima Thule to allow aether-based life to exist via dynamis in the first place. The Ancients themselves seem largely unable to interact with dynamis. Any familiars or entelechies they could try to use against Meteion would probably be overwhelmed by the transformative power of her own critical mass of dynamis. Probably your best bet is to send in wave after wave of Ancients to die in a delaying action while Hermes in the way way back with a megaphone tries to persuade Meteion to chill out? Part of the whole Endwalker thing is that the Warrior of Light's victory is an incredible piece of luck enabled by a whole host of actions both intentional and accidental. The thing about miraculous victories is they're miraculous because they were otherwise exceedingly unlikely!

"Well," one might ask, "shouldn't there still be something she can do? Couldn't she reach out to trusted friends to share this information and work to stop the Final Days and persuade the Convocation without accidentally reconnecting Hermes to the knowledge that caused this problem in the first place?" And the answer is: Yes, that's what she does! It just doesn't go great and results in the creation of Hydaelyn!

As you are departing, Venat confirms to you that she will try to find a different way to resist the Final Days. She also tells you that she will not take for granted that the future you have told her will come to pass, and will simply do her best to try to fight the Final Days.

We have a good sense of the results of her efforts because her closest and most trusted allies are left behind as the Twelve and the Watcher. Rhalgr and Oschon were literally just fellow travelers she met during his journeys. Nald'thal was a merchant. Nophica was a landscape architect. Probably the most outwardly accomplished members of their number were Halone (candidate for the seat of Pashtarot), Thaliak (brilliant university president), and Menphina (brilliant university student). They were, sometimes literally, just some guys she found by the side of the road.

The truth is that Venat's message and efforts were simply not that popular in the unsundered world. We see her efforts to reach the people, conveyed allegorically, in the Thou Must Live, Die, and Know cutscene: her appeal to the better natures of her countrymen fails. They cannot be deterred from their path of sacrificing the lives of others for their own comfort.

The result of Venat's best work to rally the world against the Final Days, outside the auspices of the Convocation, is the Anyder faction. And the Anyder faction, though it makes its case to the Convocation and to others, ultimately cannot win enough people over to shake the Convocation from its intentions.

The Ancient world in FFXIV often operates in a heightened register. From the name references that invoke Greek mythology and Utopia to aesthetic elements like their theatrical masks and genre-breaking art deco architecture, the game takes pains to emphasize how otherworldly the Ancients are. This helps make their stories work emotionally. Emet-Selch and Elidibus and Lahabrea are personally responsible for six worldwide genocides, plus countless other associated sins. Even in the already heightened fantasy world of FFXIV, trying to take their stories semi-seriously would break them down. Instead, the game uses a number of cues (Emet-Selch's dramatic nature and taste for literary allusion help considerably here, as does the English localization consciously adopting slightly archaic language) to indicate to the player that the Ancients' story is being told in an epic register, that they are a fairy tale, that their story is a creation myth.

Being a fairy tale or myth means that things can be narratively true about the Ancients which would otherwise not work in FFXIV, a story which tends to shoot for some degree of psychological verisimilitude. A person can survive untold millennia as the only remaining sane member of their people, retain their sanity, and never waver in their mission or crack under the pressure. Three-quarters of the world rising up to spontaneously sacrifice themselves out of love and kindness and a belief in the value of the natural world. In Hermes' case, we are literally directly shown and told, by both magical empathic bird-girl and magical mood ring flower, that he is literally not just the Saddest Man in Elpis, but the Only Sad Man in Elpis. People often poke at this point reflexively ("Why doesn't Hermes go to therapy?"), but his despair is not just all-encompassing and overwhelming. It is literally inexplicable and unfamiliar to the Ancients around him.

Similarly, Venat, actual wandering superhero and benevolent demiurge possessed of an inexhaustible love for humanity and surpassing skill in every field, scours the earth and comes up with just thirteen people (or like, them plus a few) who are willing to stand against the Convocation. Venat does use her time-loop knowledge to spur on a parallel effort to fight off the Final Days. It doesn't work because the Convocation's plans not only have the weight of formal authority behind them, but because the Ancients overwhelmingly did not want to accept their losses, form a plan of action, and fight back. They wanted to undo their pain and suffering now, as fast as possible, and damn the consequences or whatever other lives it cost. If this feels unrealistically emotionally extreme, that's par for the course for the tone of the narrative around the Ancients.

The truth is Venat was just doing the best she could with the knowledge she had and the understanding she had of the arena she was in. She doesn't end up forming the Twelve and sundering the world because she heard about it from the Warrior of Light—the Warrior of Light comes from a world in which she formed the Twelve and sundered the world because that is what she always already would have done in this situation.

We can surmise as much from how the time loop works across the rest of the game: even though there is always at least one person in the timeline who knows about the time loop, events always play out in a way that requires other people to exercise their free will, and those choices end up aligning with the time loop even absent the knowledge of the future. Either the Warrior of Light or Venat (also Fandaniel, now that I think about it, but I don't know of any meaningful insights to glean from that) is aware of the possibility of the time loop at all times: she knows about it from Elpis onward, then shows up in the boat at the start of Endwalker to say "hey fyi you're entering the Time Loop Zone," then you end up in the past with future knowledge of stuff up until you hit the time loop reset point and the whole thing starts again. But in the game through Endwalker, that knowledge never controls events; you and Hydaelyn are only ever individuals on a board with many players, and much of making the time loop work ultimately relies on the Ascians, a group we can definitely say both lacks time loop knowledge (except, again, Fandaniel) and is actively working to frustrate Hydaelyn's ends. On a broader thematic note, consider Zenos: he's ultimately crucial to your victory, and he's a complete wild card whose most important actions you could not possibly have told Venat about because they only happen after your return from Elpis. You don't win because you are predestined to win. You win because many people collectively take small actions which happen to, luckily, line up with ultimate victory.

The Elpis time loop only functions because of countless and almost entirely unknowing large and small actions by more or less every character in the game, and results from and is defined by those actions, rather than structuring and defining those actions. It's not that Venat, armed with knowledge of the future, chooses the time loop instead of averting the Final Days. It's that the time loop results from and incorporates a future-influenced Venat doing everything she can to avert the Final Days.

[urhoneycombwitch]

frozen like an angel

Eddie Munson x shy!Reader holiday edition.

foreword: ohhhh I’ve missed them!!! and you all!!!! happy holidays to those who celebrate, and for those who don’t, have a cozy winter fic <3 here is the masterlist for shy!reader, some references may be made to previous fics in the series but no beforehand reading required here. 

cw: Christmas activities, bittersweet fluff, Elizabeth Munson memories, mentions of Reader’s familial backstory (intentionally a bit vague, hoping to expand in future fics!)

wc: 2.8k

___

You’re not even trying to snoop- the paper flutters to the carpet all on its own, freed from the stack of Eddie’s notebooks you’d lifted to dust under. 

Expecting it to be something D&D related, you scoop it from the carpet with the intent to slip it back between the leaves of a random book- when the title catches your eye. In neat, looping black ink across the top: Christmas Apple Cake. 

There’s a pencil-drawn sketch of an apple in the top corner, faded and yellowed with time like the paper it’s on; your thumb runs over it as you scan the ingredients. 

This’ll be perfect, actually- Wayne is coming over tonight for holiday drinks with you and Eddie, a Munson family tradition that’s included you the last six or so years, and you haven’t sorted dessert yet.

The recipe is simple- a hearty, apple-filled spiced cake base, brown sugar glaze to pool on top. After hunting through the kitchen cupboards (sometimes it’s glaringly apparent you live in a former bachelor pad- the baking soda sourced from under the sink and a layer of dust), you get to work baking.

A pound of apples is peeled and diced, meticulously, to the tune of a Bing Crosby record- Eddie bemoans the cheesier aspects of holiday music, so you get your fill while he’s at work (though you’ve caught him humming along to White Christmas on more than one occasion). 

Not that either of you need the money after the generous nest-egg from various government agency pay-offs, but the part-time mechanic schedule has been good for Eddie. Wayne’s pretty much set to take over when the garage owner retires next year, and Eddie is happy to help- keeps his mind and hands busy, sorely needed after so much recovery downtime. 

And you’ve been busy, too- the apples are set to soak in cold water while you prep the batter, thinking of post-winter break classes already. You passed your first end-of-term exams with flying colors, like Eddie knew you would- never mind that they were all 101s, and that your college plans seem a little directionless- at least you’re moving. Able to do something other than waiting to get better.

Eddie’s proud of you, deeply so. That’s really all that matters for now. 

With the batter mixed, you lift handfuls of apple chunks from the water to dry on the rows of flat kitchen towels. There’s a burst of static from the living room speakers; you flick water from your hands and cross swiftly to flip the record to its B-side.

Let It Snow! rings out cheerily while you stir the apples bit by bit into the batter, Deck the Halls by the time you’re pouring the mixture into a greased baking tin. After twisting the counter timer to tick down for an hour, you clean the kitchen in good spirits.

Eddie will be home, soon- Wayne’s closing up shop, which gives his nephew plenty of time to beat him home and cook you all dinner. There’s a tender strip of beef marinating in the fridge with something Eddie referred to yesterday, ominously, as “Grinch Juice”. (The pale green of the sauce is likely due to the rosemary. You think.)

Eddie’s got the meal covered, regardless. (Plus there are always frozen pizzas to fall back on.)

The air swells with warmth from the oven, taking on a sugared, nutmeg and applesauce smell; the little window over the sink fogs over with sweet steam, making the white-snow world outside look even dreamier. Lights twinkle from the front banister, winking at the strip of sister lights across the path at the Mayfield’s door.

Plucking behind your back to loose your apron strings, you realize- for the first time in years, it feels like Christmas. Last year, you were all still learning how to be human, still nursing wounds (both external and in), stepping cautiously onto the thin ice of what it means to survive and be alive.

This year, though? You’re out in the middle of the frozen pond of life making snow angels. Ice skating over the bumps. Twirling around hand-in-hand with Eddie as you both figure it out, together.

Later, the front door creaks open then slams shut, a rhythmic thump of boots shedding snow onto the hall mat. From your vantage point on the couch- sock feet tucked underneath your body to keep warm, dog-eared Tolkien in your lap- you see Eddie before he sees you.

His back is turned as he toes off his work boots, hunched against the cold still in a hand-me-down winter coat of Wayne’s. Stray curls escape the half-up bun of his dark hair, twisting around his face, which lights up with a smile when he sees you.

“Well, well, well,” Eddie says, adopting a faux-serious, low tone as he hangs up his coat and shakes the snow from his hair. “Looks like we got an escapee from Santa’s Workshop.”

You snort, setting the book aside to roll your eyes fondly- if a red flannel shirt and jeans spells elf, you’re willing to play the part. 

Eddie approaches with menacing intent, grin so wide the corner of his lip meets the line of scarring at his cheek. 

He’s still in his work coveralls, pinstriped and oil-stained; Eddie leans his weight into his hands on either side of your head, close enough to bump noses, couch emitting a squeak of protest. 

You flick at the embroidered patch over Eddie’s heart, the one that currently reads JERRY. “Someone’s been naughty today.”

Eddie clicks his tongue, dark brows pulling together in his best approximation of someone who is very sorry. “Yeah. Guess so. You gonna tell the Big Boss on me?”

”Wouldn’t dream of it,” you sigh, tired of playing, ready to loop your arms around Eddie’s neck and kiss him silly (an action he’s more than willing to give in to).

He tastes like sharp mint, and faintly of the cigarette he probably had on break; Eddie mumbles something between kisses and you pull back just enough to hear him say, “You taste sweet.”

“Mmhm. Had to make sure the batter wasn’t poisoned,” you reply, more concerned with dotting kisses along the line of scar that disappears behind his jaw. 

Against your temple, Eddie’s lashes flutter in surprise- “You baked something?”

Pulling away fully now (with one last parting kiss to his forehead), you narrow your eyes as you shift to hold his shoulders at arm’s length- “Does me baking come as a shock to you?”

“No!” Eddie says, quickly, brows lowering from where they’d shot up just a second ago. “No, of course not. You just don’t usually… I mean, I like being the one in the kitchen.”

”I know you do.” Your hands trail to cup his elbows, briefly, before you disentangle yourself to check on the oven. The timer is just about to shriek its warning chorus- with a twist of your hand, it dings pleasantly instead. “I wanted to make something special for our Christmas dessert tonight. Hopefully it’s not actually poisoned.” 

Based on the delicious smell that wafts from the oven, you’ve got nothing to fear- the tines of your testing fork come out from the middle of the cake clean, a pair of mitts snagged to pull it out and set on the stove.

Clouds of steam rise from the fresh pastry, spiced and golden under the overhead lights- it smells like Christmas in a pan. Eddie approaches to watch over your shoulder, his hand steady on your low back as you explain the glaze that needs to be made next- he takes a lungful of fragrant air, and then his hand stills.

Eddie isn’t in the habit of interrupting you, so it’s strange when he does, voice sounding strained as he stumbles through the start of a few different sentences. “How did you- this is- that’s apple cake. My mom’s apple cake. What…”

It must be the smell, transporting him back, and for a moment, your heart sinks. Eddie hasn’t had a flashback in so long; the last one was months ago over the summer when a car backfired and sent his mind spiraling for hours after. 

You turn in his arms, speaking carefully, ready to soothe- “Shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, honestly, the recipe just fell out when I was moving your things, and I-”

Eddie’s eyes are brimming with tears when he interrupts you again- this time, to kiss you; there’s a slip of his tear that tracks down your own cheek as you kiss him back. 

He’s holding you, now, mirroring you from earlier, thumbs squeezing at the inside of your elbows, forehead resting in a slow roll against yours as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Don’t apologize. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I didn’t know… I didn’t think any recipes of hers survived the move from Tennessee.”

“It was in one of your old journals,” you murmur, reaching to wipe the wet track of tears from his face even as he moves to do the same for you. “Did your mom used to make this for you?”

“Yeah.” Eddie laughs, wetly, kisses the palm of your hand where it rests against his face. “Every Christmas until I was five or so. Got the recipe from her mom, some Appalachian tradition. Wayne would know better than me.”

Eddie’s looking at the cake again, a familiar hazed-over stare that makes your heart hurt in sympathy, memories flooding back in at an overwhelming degree. You’re quiet for a few moments, pressing your face into the side of Eddie’s coveralls, letting him find his footing before asking, quietly- “Wanna help me make the topping?”

In another life, you and Eddie would run a mean kitchen together- years of learning the distinct ways in which the other moves comes in handy when you need to share cooking duties. 

He ducks under your arm effortlessly to grab vanilla while you whisk the sugars and butter, adds splashes and dashes of things to your bowl periodically until the mulled glaze is formed. 

The top of his (Jerry’s) coveralls were shoved down earlier, your help enlisted to tie the long sleeves around his waist in a makeshift apron; good thing your boy runs hot- means he’s comfortable enough to cook in a white cutoff undershirt that’s thin as a napkin. Underneath, Eddie’s all alabaster, lean muscle, black ink tattoos dancing with the corded ripples of scar tissue as he flits around the kitchen.

Between getting the steak ready to sear, and tasking you with prepping the hill of potatoes, Eddie talks about his mother- holidays of years past floating to the forefront on a wave of recollected smell. 

Along with Tennessee apple cake, Elizabeth Munson would wrap chestnuts in tin foil to roast low and slow in the embers of a Christmas fire. One year, she penny-pinched enough to buy part of the neighbor’s turkey for her and then-five-year-old Eddie.

You soak up all these memories, asking questions periodically, immersed in Eddie’s storytelling. It’s rare to hear Elizabeth’s name, and you wonder, suddenly, if that could be changed.

“You know, I really like hearing about her,” you tell Eddie gently, after a gleeful retelling of the time she crashed his sled into the big stump of maple at the edge of their woods. You give the chopped potatoes on your cutting board a push, and they tumble into Eddie’s proffered bowl. “If there’s something I can do, to help… I dunno, make it easier to bring her up- you’d let me know. Right?” 

Eddie considers this as he gathers jars from the narrow spice cupboard, lining them up in a neat row. “Yeah. Thanks, sweetheart. And it’s not… you’re easy to talk to. It’s just hard, sometimes, to learn how to remember her.”

You nod, thoughtful, watching him layer spices and olive oil into the bowl; he uses a wooden spoon to make sure all the potato sides are coated before saying, “And sometimes, it feels downright braggy. I got six whole years with her- most all of ‘em good ones- it’s not something I take for granted. And your mother-”

Eddie cuts himself off, abruptly, knuckles glistening with oil as they tighten into fists. Something inside you wilts, stretches desperately for its light source; you budge up under Eddie’s arm, place a hand to the middle of his chest where his breaths meet you with a shuddery kickstart.

“I know. But you were a kid too, Eddie. Six is just a kid.”

He does his best to hug you back with one arm as your nose seeks the notch behind his ear, a perfect fit, enveloping your senses as you breathe in the spot that smells most like him. “You can share however much or however little you want, of her, with me. Just ‘cuz my parents sucked doesn’t mean I don’t wanna hear about your one good one. Let me live vicariously, okay?”

You give Eddie a teasing little shake, a flash of teeth against his neck that has him chuckling, shaking off the anger before either of you can be derailed. The potatoes are moved to a baking sheet while Eddie preps the meat, and you send a river of brown sugar glaze over top the cake so it has time to cool.

If Wayne notes the missing piece from the corner of the dessert, later, he doesn’t mention it- the whiskey he’d brought over pairs perfectly with the rich, spiced cake. 

One bite in and Wayne’s head turns, slow, to his nephew sat beside him. Without looking up from his spoonful of melting ice cream, Eddie nods. “Yup. Mom’s cake. Don’t look at me, though.”

Wayne blinks down at the bowl in front of him, then to you, like someone’s woken him from the middle of a dream. “Tastes just like how she used to make it.”

Were it possible to bottle and live off someone’s praise, you’d like to find a way; instead, you tuck the compliment away for a rainy day and give him a warm smile. “I’m glad. I’ll make it next year, too, if you want.”

After dinner (totally delicious despite Eddie’s best attempt to scare you both off with increasingly weird holiday-themed adjectives), Eddie pulls out his acoustic guitar to try his new capo, a gift from Uncle Wayne that’s immediately put to good use.

This autumn, on the same week you went to college for the first time, Eddie taught himself how to play guitar again. A year on from the attacks, his left hand was still stiff, a deep scar across the bridge of his abductor that made more dexterous movement near-impossible.

But your boy, smart and strong and determined, found a way. Eddie surprised you over Thanksgiving break with a cover of Fleetwood Mac’s Hypnotized, though with multiple false starts since both of you cried most of the way through it.

Less tears, this time around, but no less emotional- you steal glances under the pretense of wiping down the table as Eddie sits wide on the couch, black guitar propped on his knees while he adjusts the capo. 

In a nearby armchair, Wayne takes a sip from his whiskey glass- at the first few notes of Edelweiss, his eyes slip closed, lost in memory.

“This was one of her favorites,” Eddie says to you, grinning while his fingers pluck the pattern smoothly.

You lean a hip against the table, wiping abandoned, taking in the gentle movement of Eddie’s hair, his arms, while he plays. He gets so lost in the music, sometimes- a soft look that usually only shows when he’s sleeping peacefully. 

You wonder if Elizabeth looked the same, all those years ago- bent over her special Christmas cake, sneaking tastes on the back of a spoon to the set of dimpled hands that reached for her apron. 

In your back pocket, the recipe card in her handwriting is tucked safely away. While Eddie plays, your fingers brush the outline of the pencil-etched apple, sending a prayer or a wish of some sort to the snow angel in your head.

He’s doing great. He’s so loved and cared for, with me. I hope you know I’m taking care of him. Merry Christmas. Thanks for the cake. 

___

for more shy!Reader content: masterlist

[specsthesecond]

Witch Troubles #3

It's a fairly common practice among witches to form pacts with demons.

The witch gains a stronger connection to magic and in exchange the demon gains easier access to the mortal realm.

You've debated this decision for awhile and you finally think you're ready to forge your own pact. Worst case scenario is the demon refuses your offer, which would be embarrassing but not the end of the world.

You shut the door of your room, close the black out curtains and light a few candles. Squinting at the diagram of the summoning circle in your grimoir you try to replicate it perfectly on the old wooden floorboards in white chalk. When it's done you dust off your hands and place the candles in the right places around the circle along with a good amount of enchanted salt around the circumference for your protection. You stand up and take a breath before reciting the ancient words in your book while channeling all your energy into the circle.

The flames burn higher, so hot you have to shrink back a little. It takes all your effort and concentration to keep the chant going without misspeaking or burning the house down. A giant fire now billows in the centre of the circle, something large rises from the middle. You finish the spell and the flames gradually flicker away to reveal exactly the entity you were trying to summon. The little candles around the circle are the only source of light now, barely illuminating your guest. Smoke smoulders off its skin as it rises to full height and stares right at you with it's flaming eyes.

The demon, male it seems, stands in the middle of the summoning circle as tall as your book shelf and just about as wide. True to the drawings and diagrams in your texts he stands on two thick furry goat-like legs. The soft looking tuft at the end of his long thin tail swishes against the old floorboards as they creak under his weight. The rest of his body is charcoal black but otherwise fairly human save for the large goat-like skull that is his head. Beautiful horns, much too majestic for a demon, sprout from the white bone and curl into a thick loop on either side of his skull.

In short; he's the definition of tall, dark and handsome.

Two flaming pits behind the eye holes in the skull serve as eyes, they burn red and hot like the flames of hell as he glares down at you. You assume it's a glare, it's hard to tell.

You clap your grimoir shut, unable to look away from the demon yet. He seems the same, quietly observing you.

"Good evening, I'm sure you know why I've summoned you."

You say as calmly as possible. The demon looks you up and down and hums lowly, sceptical.

He grunts and crosses his arms over his chest. You have to use all your self control not to look down at the incredibly distracting package he's carrying between his legs as it bobs with the movement. Obviously you were prepared for him to be naked, demons don't wear clothes but actually having to practice that self-control is another thing entirely.

You're snapped out of your thoughts when the demon speaks, low and gravely like you expected.

"Witches used to dance for us around fires, bathe in the blood of sacrifices, throw orgies. This is all I get for my pact proposal?"

That's not what you expected. You were expecting some doubt sure but he sounds... offended? He's complaining?

"I don't need to do any of that to show you my worth. You can already sense my magic capabilities, I can show you- ."

He growls again. When he speaks his jaw bone doesn't move, the voice sounds like it reverberates around the skull on its way out.

"Its about devotion, witch. You show me your devotion and I'll give mine in return. No one cares for presentation anymore."

Who needs presentation? Sure, devotion is important in a pact but he's being ridiculous. You look around the room for a moment before saying flatly,

"My apologies but I will not be sacrificing anything or throwing any orgies and I cannot dance."

The demon scoffs and adjusts his crossed arms, thick biceps flexing as he does.

"All witches dance. Your ancestors where very good at it."

You scoff, telling him about your magic capabilities definitely isn't going to work. Why'd you have to get a difficult demon? Why couldn't you get a normal power-hungry one?

"Are you truly that compelled by naked dancing women?"

You attempt to needle him in hopes of avoiding what you know is inevitable. He doesn't respond, just stands there expectantly.

Some demons may agree to pacts based only on the power of the witch but others don't care for power and value the devotion of the act much more. You were very much hoping for the former but you're going to have to deal with what you got.

After a few moments of staring at eachother you finally crack and bend down to make quick work of your shoes and socks. You dropped your skirt around your ankles, take a deep breath and slide your panties down your legs. You see the demon shift his weight in your peripheral but you don't look at him as you unbutton your blouse and unclip your bra. You leave your black pointy hat on your head, assuming that's part of the appeal.

You only look back at him when you're completely naked, standing Infront of him and crossing your arms over your tits, mirroring his own stance.

He seems amused at that, You can see the little flames in his skull move up and down in a way that indicates he's soaking in your nude body.

"Unfortunately, dancing naked around a fire was not passed down to me like the magic was."

"A pity."

You scowl and the demon huffs smoke through the holes in his skull, chuckling.

"You're a witch, magic exists in your very veins. Use it. Caress your body. Sway your hips. Feel the power in your body and worship it as you would a god."

He says it like it's incredibly obvious and you actually feel inclined to listen to him. You close your eyes and try to "feel the power" whatever that means. You uncross your arms and place them on your thighs, slowly moving them up your waist and back down again.

Your skin feels especially sensitive being completely bare in front of such a powerful being, who is also naked. Just the light touch of your hand makes your skin prickle as you move your fingers slowly across yourself.

You start to arch and sway, hands moving up your thighs, across your stomach, along your neck. You free yourself, offering your body to this demon. The demon growls lowly and says in a deeper tone than before,

"The point of the pact is the connection. You summoned me, This is your pact to forge so show me your devotion."

His fiery eyes follow your every move, every sway of your hips and bounce of your tits.

You carefully run your hands from your waist up to your tits, briefly feeling the soft fat before moving up your shoulders. You stretch your arms high, now putting your tits on full display for your demon guest, the attention and cool air makes your nipples harden.

You turn around, your back facing the demon and he huffs irritably at being denied the sight of your perfect tits. His grievances are smothered when you bend down and run your hands up the back of your legs all the way to your ass, gripping the fat just enough to make it jiggle for him.

You can feel the room getting hotter, you can see his cock getting harder and you can feel the wetness In-between your legs as you dance.

You give one last tantalising hip sway before slowly dropping to your knees in front of him, on the edge of the salt circle. You look up at him while sliding your hands up your thighs, from here you have a perfect view of his half hard cock, looking so thick and heavy the sight has you nearly panting like a dog.

You rest your hands behind you, now presenting your entire body to him, tits perked and pussy drooling, devilishly tempting.

"Does that satisfy."

You say gazing up at him sultry gaze flicking down to his cock, you swear you saw it twitch.

"You know exactly what would satisfy me."

His voice is deeper than before, more gutteral and it makes you squirm. You might have been embarrassed about being so open about his effect on you if it wasn't for his obvious arousal for you. You're honestly just glad this is going well so far.

You lean forward, shuffle closer to the salt barrier and stick your tongue out, mouth open and waiting, silently begging for him.

The demon's hand goes to hold his cock immediately and he steps towards the barrier holding his cock out, but before he can place the tip on your hot tongue, you pull back slightly with a sick grin on your face.

The demon tries to grab your face but you retreat further, past the salt circle and therefore out of reach. You look up at his collosal frame with a smug smirk as he growls in irritation and the candle flames flicker violently.

"Don't forget, this is a mutual pact, demon. You don't call the shots... I want to be on top."

"What makes you thin-“

"I'm on top or you can go back home."

He grumbles something unintelligible, shaking his head in disbelief. One hand goes back to his cock idly stroking the thick member as he nods his head, accepting the terms.

You stand and steel yourself before wiping away a portion of the salt line with your foot, breaking the circle. You reach out for his hand and he accepts it with the hand not stroking his dick, stepping out of the circle and into your bedroom. His hands are immediately on your skin, thick fingers running along your waist and down to your hip. His skin is so warm, like the blood running through his veins is boiling hot giving the surface skin a pleasant warmth.

He stares down at you in suspense waiting for your go ahead.

You bring your hands up his chest and around his broad shoulders, and pull him down to your height only to push him down your body until his skull face is right Infront of your pussy. You let him get a good sniff of your smell before pushing him down to the ground with your foot, standing above him looking very tryumphant.

He doesn't have much time to marvel at your figure above him because before he knows it you're sitting on his dick, pussy pressing right against his cock, he bucks on instinct, the wet warmth of your pussy against the heat of his cock makes him let out a gutteral moan.

You slowly rock your hips back and forth the length of his cock, an impressive length but one you could manage. Neither of you can stand the foreplay any longer, his hands grip your waist at the same time you finally slide his cock into your waiting cunt.

You both groan at the feeling as you pop the mushroom head into your cunt and you slide your pussy down to the hilt, feeling every vein of his hot cock against your walls. You're so slick and needy the fat cock slides in with surprisingly little resistance. That makes him chuckle, which you cut off with a deliberate thrust of your hips.

You plant your feet on either side of his waist, moving all the way up back to the tip and then plunging back down again taking him as deep as he'll go. You bounce and hump on this demons fat cock, tits bouncing in tandem, pretty face in the throws of pleasure. It's a sight to see and he loves every minute of it, clutching your hips but letting you control the pace.

The fur covering his legs is soft and warm against your ass as you ride your new pact mate. Your hands rest on his strong chest as you lose yourself even more in the intense pleasure. Panting and groaning, as you approach your high, your thrusts get more frantic as if you're trying to get him even deeper into your cunt. Your eyes are locked onto the way his pretty cock disappears Into to your cunt, the fur at the hilt becoming wet with your slick.

"Ah~ cum inside, cum inside, cum inside me!"

Your frantic pleas are heard when he wraps one arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest, his other hand firmly on your ass pushing into you as deep as possible. You finally cum around the throbbing cock clenching your walls deliciously, pressed into his chest. He cums seconds after you, shooting abnormally hot cum deep inside you. Your body stills as you cum down, his strong arms move you body against him in shallow thrusts as he bucks up into you, riding out his high.

You limply lie on his massive chest catching your breath as you come down, ignoring the drool you left on his pec. You realise he's eerily quiet and look up only to find he's staring at your face in a manner you think is expecant? Only then do you actually realise that his dick hasn't gone down at all. You can't help but laugh, pussy involuntarily clenching making the demon clutch your hips tighter.

"Is this all for me or is it just a demon thing?"

He huffs out camp fire smelling smoke from his skull and leans up into a seated position. The change in position makes his cock adjust and you moan softly at the feeling while grasping his large biceps.

"You've got jokes."

He looks down at you, you try to read his expression but it's really hard when his hands are massaging your hips so nicely and his cock is touching new spots inside you making your head all fuzzy. He smoothly lifts your thighs and flips you both over so that you're laying on your back and he's hovering above you.

It's such a glorious sight. This massive sexy otherworldly creature staring down at you with such lust. You can't stop yourself from pulling him in closer by the back of his neck and mumbling,

"Do demons kiss?"

The demon huffs again and opens his jaw showing his razor sharp teeth, from the darkness behind the skull comes three appendages, long and wet. Those are his tongues, and you moan a little when you realise that. He leans closer and the prehensile tongues worm their way to your mouth where you greet them, mouth ready and open. All three appendages slip into your mouth to explore and rub against your tongue, it's so messy and gross it makes you clench around his cock.

He grunts and thrusts into you, thrusting his tongues deeper into your mouth making you gag. You stick your head in his open maw, pulling him in closer by his thick horns. You take the tongues with vigor and suck on them like you would a cock. He seems to like this quite a bit as he grabs both your legs and pulls your knees up to your ears, bending you in half and presenting your dripping pussy to him. He starts thrusting his cock much deeper in your pussy than before while thrusting his tongues down your throat simultaneously.

The pleasure is so intense as he gradually speeds up, working up to a brutal pace. He fucks you into the floor, so deep, so good. It's so animalistic it makes you go feral. He tongue fucks your throat with fever, his dangerous maw wide open. Knowing that he could tear your flesh easily if he just closed his jaws around your head turns you on an unthinkable amount as you take his tongues deeper down your already full throat.

You want him deeper in your throat even as you choke and gag. You want him deeper in your pussy even as he pounds you raw and hard, reaching so deep he kisses your cervix. Your brain is mush and your thighs burn, you scratch and claw his back for some kind of grounding as you quickly reach your peak again.

Your screams are muffled and gargled but the sound of your wet pussy slapping and squelching around his cock as you cum echos throughout the room. He growls and snarls into your mouth when he gets close, tilting his head back in absolute bliss.

He wraps his arms under your thighs and around your back to lift you up and squeeze you against his hot body. He pounds you even harder now with gravity on his side, forcing you down on his cock as he thrusts up in time.

His tongues leaves your mouth suddenly as he cums hard, groaning loudly as he fucks his seed deeper into your already soaked cunt. With your mouth free you groan like an snimal, tongue out, tears streaking down your face, spit running down your neck. You soak up the feeling of being folded in half and filled to the fucking brim by this demonic beast.

Your moans mix in the hot air between you. His cum is so thick and hot inside you, filling you up once again. You're so full you can't contain it all as it pours out of you and onto the floor. He gives a few slow, deep thrusts, milking his cock with your tight pussy as you lay limply in his hold.

You sit on the floor for a few minutes holding each other close and catching your breath. He nuzzles his head into your sweaty neck and moves your body into a more relaxed position so that he's hugging around your waist and your legs rest around his torso. You feel each other for a moment, his cock still plugging up your messy cunt. Hes quiet, like he's thinking about something. You're not sure you can even speak but if you could you don't really know what you would say.

He leans back to look at your face, you realise you probably look an absolute mess, tear streaked face with spit all over your mouth and chin. He looks into your eyes like he's looking for something specific and you look back into his two small flames. He slightly nods and then holds you close to his chest once more, enveloping you with his body.

Suddenly your body gets hot, he gets hot. His hold is like a hot vice and you struggle against it on instinct but he just holds you tighter. You almost scream when you feel a red hot flash in every artery and vein in your body. The heat is gone just as quickly as it came and you sigh in relief before looking up at him in shock when you suddenly realise what he just did.

He accepted the pact proposal.

You let out a breathless laugh and lean up to place wet kisses all over his skull head.

He growls low and irritable like a cat.

"That's not necessary."

He grumbles like he's annoyed but doesn't move away from you as you give a few more kisses along his jaw. His tail swishes idly behind him.

"Well neither was fucking me. Twice."

You tease him while reaching for your discarded hat and plopping it back on your head. You shakily stand up on wobbly legs, he holds his hands out to your hips to stabilise you. Cum drips out of your cunt and his gaze is drawn to where it oozes down your thighs.

"Not that I'm complaining."

You balance yourself with your hands on his shoulders and clear your throat, trying to seem a little put together as he stares up at you. You very casually lift your leg to rest it on his shoulder, presenting your puffy, dripping cunt to him.

"Are you the fuck and leave type or do you stay for the cleanup? "

The demon chuckles and opens his maw again, wet tongues slipping out and reaching for you, licking up your cum covered thighs and up to the source of the mess.

You're both going to make very good use of this pact.

[miiyas]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MIYA !!

little birthday moments with him.

wc: 482, 401, post-ts, fluff, gn reader, may be ooc, slight proof read

ATSUMU MIYA loves his birthday. he’s very vocal about it, bragging to everyone about how he gets to have osamus homemade vanilla-yuzu cake and how he was going to get absolutely wasted with him today. and as much as he loves all the attention and gifts, he also loves you.

everywhere he goes, there always would be a reference to you. your favorite drink, the restaurant you so desperately want to go to, favorite shopping brand, the bundle of smiski blind boxes atsumu always finds himself buying for you— everything reminds him of you.

now, despite his actions towards you, atsumu isn’t one for cheesy sentimentals. he thinks he’d rather suffer through sakusas earful lecture of cleaning his room and which sanitizing products are best for his shared home with you then admit that he’s soft for sweet affection and care. so when you give him his small birthday present after his actual party, he’s a caught a little off guard.

“savin’ best fer last, huh ? what’didya get me ?” he hums, leaning against the bed frame. he watches you crawl back atop of his waist, big hands coming to rest on your hips as you hold the small wrapped gift. it’s dark in your shared bedroom with the only source of light being from a lamp by your bedside.

atsumu almost reluctantly slips his hands off your sides and gently takes ahold of the present. it was no bigger than his palms, maybe a bit smaller, and it lacked weight. with sleep on his mind, the blonde carefully peels off the wrapping with blunt nails, tired eyes widening as he sees a small golden locket drop onto his stomach.

“it’s a keychain.” you whisper to him, picking it up and handing it back in his bigger hands.

“i wanted to get you a necklace so we can match, but i figured because of volleyball, you wouldn’t be able to wear it around as much.”

as you explain, you could see your boyfriends eyes prick up with tears ever so slightly which only engulfed panic in your system. the blonde brushes it of, telling you that he ‘ain’t cryin’ !’ and thumbs the tears away, opening the locket with a hand with a soft click.

“.. there’s nothin’ inside..” he mumbles, a little disappointed to not see your pretty face already displayed. that’s when you tug out your matching necklace already looped around your neck, opening it up to show its similar emptiness.

“i wanted to print stuff out with you tomorrow. y’know, i have your face on mine and—”

“i have yers on … mine.” atsumu finishes the sentence for you, his words a little drifted off as his thumb grazes along the intricate lines on the metal.

atsumu knows for a fact that he fell first and harder, and he can’t help but feel it happen all over again.

OSAMU MIYA doesn’t wish for a lot of things on his birthday.

the only few things he wishes for are for the prices of onigiri ingredients to go down, find a bigger mattress for the two of you, and maybe get sponsored by a good kitchen utensil company and get some free goods. other than that, he likes to think that he’s content with the things already given in life.

he also wishes for people to stop teasing him for taking the second slice of his own cake.

there’s been a small birthday ritual the twins had been doing since they were younger— to give the first and second slice they cut to the people they care about the most.

first slice would always and forever belong to their ma, no matter what. that much would never change. second slice normally was given to one another, but osamu had soon gone irritated with the fact that his brother would always purposely make him take the best slice, only to hand it off later. so overtime, osamu had began to claim the better slice for himself, saving it and giving the third slice to his twin.

he doesn’t think he’s being greedy, just reasonable and fair.

but after starting to date you, he subconsciously sees himself handing you the first bite to all his meals, sharing a bento box when normally he would glare at those who want a bite, and letting you enter the kitchen whenever he’s at work in it which is a surprise in itself.

so when greedy-glutton osamu hands you the second slice to his cake, you’re a little taken aback.

“.. want me to hold onto it for you ?”

you sit right beside him by the table and osamu shakes his head, sliding the plate closer in front of you. there’s a soft look behind his pretty hooded eyes that makes your ears burn red, the atmosphere around you growing quiet until it was just your boyfriend voice you could hear.

“i wan’cha ta have it.”

you blink, eyes wide as you watch your boyfriend continue to slice through the cake with his twin before handing the slice to one another. your lashes flutter as you look down at the plate, you realize how generous of an amount you had received.

osamu likes to say ‘i love you,’ but he loves to show it more.

[buckyalpine]

LMAOO OKAY IMAGINE 40s!BUCKY (like tfa stark expo version) MAGICALLY TELEPORTING TO MODERN DAY, and Sharon’s bitch ass is hanging all over him, flirting hardcore, and is absolutely thrilled bc he’s actually giving her some attention. BUT THEN HE SEES THE READER AND IS LIKE “oh wow who is THAT” and leaves her alone to go woo the gorgeous dame. I can picture her face getting all red and embarrassed and upset. And Sam and Nat and Tony are in the background giggling.

GOD I LOOOVEEE THISSSS 40's heart has my heart cause this blushing soldier would be such a perfect mix of devilishly handsome and adorably shy.

-

"Shit" Tony huffed watching his time portal experiment start up and fail for the fourth time in a row while Bruce continued to medal with the dials, resetting the machine once more. "Why does it keep doing that"

"Give it a secondary power source, there's not enough juice with the first one"

Tony nodded, rummaging through a pile of knick knacks on his desk, grabbing a vial and adding it to the generator.

"Alright, set the timer to 19:00 hours and 40 in the past. Let's see if we can just travel to yesterday first before messing with going back years" He snorted, as Bruce punched in the time before hitting the start up button. The machine started to rumble before growing hot, the dials and buttons spinning and clicking on its own, parts starting to pop off.

"Oh shit!" Tony ducked under the table, shielding himself from getting knocked out as the portal grew more powerful, a force filed growing, knocking down things around the lab.

"What the hell did you use as a power source?!" Bruce yelled over the high pitched whizz the machine started to make, blinding light filling the room before disappearing, leaving a cloud of smoke in its place.

"I don't know, I just grabbed something that look like it'd fit" Toy shrugged between coughs as the smoke dissipated, squinting when he realized the platform wasn't empty.

Someone was standing there.

"What the hell..."

Blinking with bright blue eyes was a young soldier, dressed in a fresh, clean and pressed uniform, looking like a lost puppy while Tony and Bruce blinked in both confusion and amusement.

"Banner what the hell did you do with the timer?!"

"You're vial set everything into over drive, it must've recalibrated to 1940 instead of a couple of hours ago!" Bruce threw his hands up while the younger version of Bucky stared at the lab with child like wonder, his eyes twinkling as if it were Christmas day.

"Holy shit..." He breathed out seeing the vast technology, his mind still reeling over what was happening. One minute, he was on his way to see Steve and take some girls dancing and next thing he knew, he was sucked through a loop.

"Dear God-alright, uh-Barnes?" Tony waved the soldier over, mentally debating on what to tell him.

"Mr. Stark? It's-it's an honor, sir" Bucky shook Tony's hand before standing tall before him with his back straight, ever the bright eyed Sargent. Tony scratched his head before letting him take a seat, figuring honesty was the best police.

"Sargent. This may take a while"

-

Bucky understood bits and pieces of what Tony explained to him while getting a tour of the compound, the common room being the last place for him to check out. The team alternated between greeting and secretly cooing over the adorable young Bucky while also simultaneously laughing at Tony. At the very least, the billionaire was lucky the actual Bucky was away on a mission with you and Steve; there was only so much he could handle in a day. The soldier decided to hang back in the living room with the others, happily chatting away with Sam and Nat.

Then there was Sharon

"Hey Soldier" She winked, giving him a smirk causing the young Bucky to blush, throwing her a flirty smile right back.

"Nice to meet ya' doll" Bucky drawled out making her giggle, his lip catching between his teeth when she flipped her hair back.

"Aren't you sweet" She whispered, her heart beating a little faster when he moved towards her, his sweet baby blues gazing down at her intently. She'd tried a million times to get Bucky's attention before and he didn't look at her twice. She wasn't about to lose her chance with the new one.

"Look whose talking" Bucky chuckled back, his naturally flirty nature taking over with ease, after all it would be rude for him to ignore her.

"Someone's gotta protect him from this randy she goat" Sam whispered while Nat snorted, watching the two of them continuing to flirt, Sharon's hands toying with the buttons on Bucky's uniform, making her way up to brush his collar.

There was no way she was going to just let the gorgeous soldier go.

The machine wasn't fixed any time soon so Bucky was given a room to stay in. He loved the feeling of modern day sweats, looking cute as ever in some comfy joggers and a cotton tshirt, his fluffy cropped hair always neatly brushed and face shaven.

He was a Sargent after all. He always looked his best, even in lounge clothing.

There hadn't been a day where Sharon left Bucky alone. She clung onto his side, practically crawling up his leg day in and day out while the others side eyed the situation, keeping an eye out for the innocent Bucky.

"So, what's a soldier like you doin' without a girl, hm?" Sharon teased, pressing her hand to his chest, loving the way Bucky flirted back with her while the both of them sat in the common room with a movie playing in the background. Tony, Nat and Sam glanced at each other, quietly watching from their place in the kitchen while the blonde continued to giggle and blush, running her finger's through his hair.

"How do you keep your hair so soft, Sargent"

"Well, I- woah"

Sharon frowned when the soldier stopped talking half way after something- or someone- caught his attention. His eyes grew wide, a classic boyish smile appearing on his face when he saw the prettiest dame he'd ever laid his eyes on walk by the living room, making his heart flutter.

"who was THAT" Bucky stared in awe, seeing her stretch her arms up, still in some type of modern tactical suit, rubbing sleep from her eyes and yet she was still one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen.

"Uh-excuse me" Sharon's face twisted watching Bucky stare are you like a love struck puppy, nearly jumping over the sofa so he could run and talk to you. He didn't take his eyes off you, practically swooning when he saw you pack away the gun from you holster.

"Huh-yeah, sorry-" Bucky mumbled, still focused on you, unbothered by the way Sharon's face was now red with embarrassment, seething at what he was doing.

"Look at this guy, he's not even hiding the fact that he's staring at y/n" Sam snorted while Tony and Nat snickered, watching the young Bucky watch you with heart eyes, "Aw man, he's got it bad"

"Hey y/n, looks like someone's got a little crush on you" Nat whispered, discreetly nodding to the living room. You nearly squeaked in surprise, seeing a very very young version of your boyfriend sitting on the couch, taking peeks over at you whilst ignoring the blonde who was still fighting for his attention.

"Tony, you did this, didn't you" You sighed while Tony smiled proudly, now fully invested in how all this was going to play out.

"I'll explain later. Go wash and change and you can talk to him"

As soon as you were out of the kitchen, Bucky scrambled to the group, cheeks tinted pink, bashful as ever, looking at the three smirking faces, wiggling their eyebrows at him.

"See something you like, soldier?" Nat prodded while Bucky nearly giggled, nodding.

"Who was that" He asked in earnest, truly curious to at least get your name.

"That would be y/n. I'll introduce you once she's back down. You might be her type, y'know" Sam winked knowing damn well he was your type. After all you were technically already dating. Bucky bounced on his heels, waiting patiently while Sharon huffed, refusing to move from her spot on the couch. You made your way back down after a shower to see an exited Sam and a shy Bucky along with a smug Tony and Nat.

"Y/n, meet young Buck" Sam smiled while you held your hand out, swooning at the way he shook it gently, throwing you smile few got to see, one he had when he got butterflies in his belly.

"Nice to meet you Sarge"

"Pleasures all mine, angel" Bucky whispered, leading you off to the living room to talk to you more, offering you a seat, wondering if you wanted anything to snack on or drink, forgetting Sharon's existence entirely. Sharon nearly opened her mouth to say something, immediately shutting it with a satisfied smirk seeing the other Bucky walk in followed by Steve. Hopefully he'd see his girlfriend was a cheating whore, flirting with someone else even if it was him from the past. Her brain wracked itself in hopes that this would all crash and burn while Bucky frowned the closer he got.

"What the fuck Stark" Bucky scrunched his face walking in on some punk flirting with his girl, only to realize said punk was a younger version of him.

"Relax, I'll fuse you two together" Tony shrugged while Bucky's face twisted again, grumbling when his younger self kissed you hand again, pulling you up for a dance while fumbling with a phone he'd just managed to figure out.

"They're cute" Steve grinned, nudging Bucky playfully while Bucky rolled his eyes, smiling to himself a little while later when you caught his eyes, throwing him a wink. You laid your head against the young soldiers chest while he swayed with you, unaware that he was being watched by everyone else, in his own world with just you in it.

"You better fuse us together" Bucky hissed, narrowing his eyes when you giggled at something that was whispered in you ear; Tony snorted with a shit eating grin on his face.

"Why Barnes, scared of a little competition?"

Before Bucky could retort, Sharon was up and walking with purpose, stalking right towards Bucky.

"Y'know they're both flirting hard, right? Aren't you two dating?"

Bucky wordlessly stared at her while the others looked at her with confusion, the desperation becoming embarrassing.

"Sharon, shut up" Sam deadpanned while her mouth gaped open and shut before storming off.

"Back to what I was saying. Scared, Barnes?"

"You should be the scared one" Bucky sassed back, knowing exactly what his younger self was capable of; he knew that innocent boyish charm did wonders when it needed to. That being said, even his past self recognized real love, gravitating towards his one true soul mate after just seeing her once.

He watched the two of you continue to dance and whisper, the young soldier tipping your chin up, eyes flicking to your lips, his soft pouty pink lips so close to yours, leaning down so he could press a kiss so sweet-

"Alright that's it, punk get your hands off her!"

[chongoblog]

[Blocked] for Your Sanity Analysis

In light of Deltarune today, I thought I'd look back on a mashup I made when Chapter 2 dropped, that being [Blocked] For Your Sanity.

So if we don't count the backing track of BIG SHOT, this song uses 12 different audio sources. Thats roughly 1 new sample every 12 seconds (a pretty good pace. Side note: I'm gonna have to look into the mashup rates of some of my other mashups, just because I love Numbers)

Of these 12 samples, I can cite specific reasons for adding almost every single one of them! The only one I can't think of is "Mambo No. 5", which I think ended up being added because the melodic rhythm lined up well (similar to HHGregg in Mad Rat Purgatory).

So first, we can clear a lot of these in one, because this mashup is actually a direct sequel! If you didn't know, I mad a mashup with "NOWS YOUR CHANCE TO BE A" called "[Blocked] For Your Safety". And every song that was used in Safety is reused here. Those songs being "I Want You", "Mo' Money, Mo' Problems", "Wannabe", and "Macarena". All of those were chosen because all four of them were on the Billboard Year-End Top 100 List for [[1997]].

So that's 4 songs out of the way! We can eliminate a few more by looking back at previous mashups, mostly at Behindtale. "You Spin Me Right Round" and HHGregg were included as a reference to THE JAM REVOLVING (with HHGregg getting special attention due to this coming out a few months after Mad Rat Monday). Some people in the comments speculated that it was some kind of reference to Spamton's character and how it's not too dissimilar to Mad Rat's in a way, and while that wasn't the intent, it's a fascinating perspective. THIS is the kind of shit that makes me love what I do. I plant the seed that you can analyze mashups for a deeper meaning. Then you have people who see that deeper meaning, even where you didn't intend to, giving them a deeper and sometimes even more personal connection to the music. FUCK I love creating. Anyway, "The Hero!!" and "Anthropology" were added as references to Pony! and Power of a Punch from Behindtale, since the motifs from Undertale re-emerge in this theme.

And on this note I want to take a moment to say that I'm frothing at the mouth to one day make a Deltarune album. Because Toby's use of motifs gels REALLY well with my style of mashups. I'm not sure when I would do it or how I would arrange it all, but I wanna make it happen (along with all the other stuff I wanna do aaaaaaaaa)

So that leaves 3 more songs, which are meant to reflect Spamton specifically, and his feeling of being trapped. "I've Got No Strings" is the clearest puppet allegory I could find in a song (I know Master of Puppets exists, but a Master Spamton is not). "This is Gospel" is a song that functionally works really well in mashups because its chorus is mostly one long held word, so you don't have to worry about it making the lead vocals confusing. But for this one it works doubly well, since the lyrics heard are "LET ME GO". And finally, "Locked Out Of Heaven" is almost punishingly fitting for Spamton.

That's the reasoning out of the way. In terms of production notes, you can start to see a more remix-inspired style start to really rise up with this mashup. A lot of the audio tracks are cut down and have small bits repeated (most notably, Wannabe, Macarena, and I Want You). Someone in the comments pointed out that at 1:55 there are 4 songs playing over each other and it still works! The repetition is part of what makes this work so well! I start by looping "I need you, I want you", which is a very simple loop. Once you have that going for a couple loops, the listener gets it, and since the loop is like half a second, you're SPEEDRUNNING that familiarity. Then I do the same thing with "Mambo No. 5", which I put on top of the melody playing. This acts to sort of place Mambo No. 5 as part of the backing track.

You see, my theory with mashups is that when people generally listen to a song, they subconsciously divide it into its musicality and its lyrics. The musicality side of the brain is abstract and can absorb a good bit, especially if you build on it over time (with overlaying melodies and such). The lyrical side of your brain is less talented, because if you try to tell it two new sets of words at the same time, its a bit too much. The tradeoff is that it makes a of of this kind of analysis, so I guess it levels out. So how do you make it so that you can play a bunch of songs at once without the lyric side going into a fit? That's where the repetition comes in! If you can get a phrase to repeat enough, then the lyric side of your brain sorta goes "okay, yeah I got that. There's not much by new information to worry about" and it sort of moves it over to the musicality half of the brain to process. At that point it doesn't process what it's saying, but it doesn't need to. You already know. And the best part is that musicality half LOVES it when you can seamlessly put familiar stuff with other familiar stuff (it's why mashups are so fun in the first place). That way you can add lyrics bit by bit, and suddenly you have three people singing at once, but you can still make sense of it!

I'll probably share some finer technical tips for how to do that stuff in a future post, but this one's gone on for quite a bit already

[eobe]

Dangerous Mikkians sighted at the GAR Goth Night in the 79s clone bar in Coruscant ✨🖤

🩵 Jedi Padawan Eo looks tiny and cute, intendedly chose a pretty Victorian Goth style with a skirt of black lace layers, combined with some shimmering purple brocade corset, satin bands and gloves underlining her natural creamy turquoise skin color, that is fluorescent under the ultraviolet light, but also has a natural bioluminescence in the dark in general – the more turquoise glow on the skin of both Mikkians ✨

Close up on Eo (amused about a daring clone trooper, wo gawks at her tall sister):

Eo managed to lure out her (literally) big sister, who is unamazed, but joined the very moment she saw what kind of dress her little sister is going to wear at a event full of testosterone – ignoring completely that Eo is a trained user of the Force and not impressed by the info that her whole Owl Squad 🦉 (<– artwork with 5 gothed clone troopers incoming, I lost my mind) AND the Chaos Squad vode 💥 and friends 🫶 are already there or on their way.

💙 Specialist Ayuna is a Mandalorian armorer and seems to be the direct opposite of her little sister with her dark indigo blue skin, but sharing the same turquoise skin glow, especially at the tendril tips. There is very much lore to tell, how they got separated, how Ayuna got adopted by Mandalorians and how they found each other again under craziest circumstances.

Plot is slowly forming, the writing is like a giant towering behind me, everything around The Source Code – maybe one day it'll blurt out of me 😅

Close up on Ayuna (eyeing the daring clone trooper, thinking the guy hits on her pretty sister, not getting it):

I looped the very deep and melodic gothic metal song "Never Dawn" from Lacuna Coil 🎶 as I drew Ayuna's casual grungy Steampunk Goth style, because that is very much her vibe (and parts of it very much fitting to her and the others stories) 🖤

With enough Spotchka she would sing the female part together with ARC trooper Source (<- one of the incoming clones), who is kind of the actual Cyber goth in Eo's Owl Squad and would shock everybody with the ability to do metal growl singing – OMG somebody lock me up, I can see the scene, I want to draw them, I have too much WIP, I can't go on like this aaaAAAAAHH 🤪✨

🙏 Appreciation shout-out at Lacuna Coil for this song, that nourishes and inspires me ever and ever again. All design credits of that shirt print to the official merch of Lacuna Coil 🤩✨ (Disclaimer: I don't get anything with this, the link shows the design ref and this is just fanart 🎶)

Chaos vode 💥 and GAR Goth Night friends 🖤 @ghostymarni @eclec-tech @lonewolflupe @wings-and-beskargam @foxwithadarkside @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf @fiveminutetrash @skellymom @vimse @ladylucksrogue

Thank you all so much for ever ongoing support, inspiration, hyping and being crazy with me, sharing art, thoughts and incredible wholesome vibes – sending warm Mikkian hugs 🥰✨

Taglist, more goth art (nobody complained yet): @bixlasagna @returnofthepineapple @sunshinesdaydream @covert1ntrovert @general-ida-raven @vrycurious @dystopicjumpsuit @chaicilatte @groguandthebadbatch @spaceyjessa @morerandombullshit @freesia-writes

[dazais-guardian-angel]

Dazai Osamu and the Dark Era: the visual novel (a fan project)

On a whim, I've decided to finally just publicly release this project that I've had laying around for two years at this point, for Dazai's birthday today. It was originally made for my very dear friend @letmereachforthestars , when I first introduced her to the series and wanted her to be able to read my favorite BSD light novel in an easier-to-read format. You need a computer to be able to play. The details and links are under the cut:

If you've never played a visual novel before, it's basically a novel in the form of a video game. Text will appear line by line, one a time on the screen, and it will be accompanied by relevant background visuals, music, and sound effects, to make the reading experience more immersive, and more stimulating than just reading from a book. Some visual novels have actual gameplay elements to them, and some are just books and nothing else (oftentimes dating sims/choose-your-own-adventure novels), the latter of which this is. If you've played the mobile game Bungou Tales/Mayoi, the story sections of that game are basically mini visual novels.

This game was made with screenshots and music from the anime, sound effects from the anime and Bungou Tales and free sound effect online sources, as well as graphics and fonts and other assets from Bungou Tales and other official BSD art (particularly the official anime soundtrack cd covers). The script is taken entirely from the official Yen Press translation of Dark Era, with the exception of about two or three iconic lines that I used different translations of because I felt like they had more impact. Additionally, at the very, very end, I added on the original ending scene from the Dark Era stage play and wrote a few fanfic lines of my own to accompany it you can tell because they are very cringe and don't match Asagiri's writing style.

Before playing the game, there are a few very important things to keep in mind; PLEASE read all this:

I am not a professional in the slightest. I took some coding classes in high school, and have some photoshop skills (when it comes to the design elements of the menus), but for the most part the former wasn't much help here; this was my very first time ever using the Renpy engine, and I made this entirely from scratch. I used my knowledge of playing other visual novels to emulate the kinds of effects and timing that is typical for these games, and I think it turned out pretty well all things considered, but it's still very amateur. This is most evident in the sound effects. The sound effects have no volume consistency between them, and some of them, particularly the gun/battle sfx, can come on very suddenly and be loud. I highly, HIGHLY encourage going into the settings and turning down the sound effects volume (the music should be fine), so that you're not startled by certain sounds when they happen, and for a lengthy time. I wouldn't blame you if you decide to turn the sfx off entirely if's too distracting, honestly 🫠 I am no expert in sound files equalizing and making sound files loop seamlessly, so this was by far the most tedious and frustrating part of the process of making this for me. Hopefully it doesn't ruin the game or break immersion too much if you decide to leave them on (I hope you do, for the rain and clock sounds at least, but again I wouldn't blame you if you can't).

Dark Era is the most faithful light novel adaptation in the anime, but there are still a handful of scenes, mostly fight scenes, that got shaved down significantly. Because of this, there are numerous occasions where I had to simply linger on a black screen or the same screenshot for a long period of time, while tons and tons of narration happens, because there's simply nothing I can show to accompany said narration. This is not ideal, but unfortunately I didn't have much else of a choice in those instances, so I hope it's not too distracting. There are also a few instances of straight-up inconsistencies between the novel and the anime (ex. the fight between Oda and Akutagawa happens in the woods in the novel, but in the anime it's still right outside the art museum), so sometimes what you're reading won't quite match the screenshots I use. Fortunately it's never anything major, but it does happen.

There will sometimes be long, unchanging black screens. Don't worry, the game isn't broken; just wait long enough and it will continue.

Sometimes, a character will get cut off when speaking, and when that happens the dialogue will auto-force to the next line. If you didn't get a chance to see what was said before, check the text backlog/history (in the menu or the H key).

Last but not least, this game was made with the default text speed in mind. Meaning, that when it comes to certain specific scenes, the mood/tone of them, made up of the timing of music, transitions, sound effects, etc, all of it was arranged around the speed at which things progress when using the default text speed. I completely understand if you can't, but if at all possible, please try not to change the text to go too much faster or slower, especially faster, because certain scenes will lose a lot of impact otherwise. If you already know Dark Era, you probably have an idea of some of the scenes I'm referring to. At the very least, during the more high-stakes/intense scenes, please try to play through those all at once without stopping, for the greatest impact based on how I designed the game, and only pause/quit during the slower scenes. There are specific moments that I'm really proud of how they came out, and I'd like for them to have the maximum impact that I intended :') (also note that if you make the text appear instantly, the cut-off dialogue mentioned above simply will not appear at all, and you won't even know to look back for them, so please refrain from making the text instant at the very least)

Ignore the cringe sappy final message

...I think that's everything. With all that out of the way, here are the links for both PC and Mac:

Download the PC version

Download the Mac version

This was a passion project for me for a good many months back in 2022. It started out just as a gift for my friend, but in the end I was really satisfied with how it turned out, despite how tedious and frustrating it was to work on. I've been hesitant to share it with the fandom for all this time because I kinda doubt anyone would really be interested in something like this especially since it's not stormbringer or beast, but someone on discord who tried it told me that I should share it, so here it is. I'm sharing it not just because I'm proud of my work, but because Dark Era is a truly amazing light novel — underrated, in my opinion (yes, I said what I said) — and far better than the anime adaptation, as good as that is, and I want more people to read it. If reading the books is hard for you and you've never read Dark Era before, if I can help just one more person to read it with this, I'll be happy, and consider my job done. 💖

I so desperately want to make more of these visual novels for the other light novels, but sadly, some of them simply aren't possible thanks to how many scenes are missing from the anime, like with Entrance Exam in particular. I've also been waiting with vain, thin hope that Bungou Tales will eventually reach seasons 3 and 4, so I can use their Fifteen and Untold Origins title screens like I did here, if those ever exist. However, I'm also held back thinking about certain scenes that would require some redrawing/drawing additional details to match what's written in the novels. If anyone has any ideas on things I could do to possibly get around these issues, or just thoughts in general about how the other light novels might be tackled, or if you're an artist who can recreate the anime's style and takes commissions/knows someone who does, I'd absolutely love to hear from you! As well as any advice/help on how I can smooth out/improve this project here!

Anyway, sorry for the long wall of text. Thank you for reading all this, if you did, and if you do try the game, please let me know your thoughts; I crave any and all feedback. 💙✨

[court-jobi]

Tuning Out, Tuning In

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's characters or this art))

Pairing: Bakugou x reader (biker!pro hero, some afab pronouns used)

Words: 5.1K

Rating: T+ (language, bc obviously)

Warnings: Pro-Hero Bakugo/Pro-Hero Reader, cursing as a love language, insecurities, arguing, use of hearing aids (not an expert!), light hurt/comfort, she falls first-he falls harder

Summary:

So he's got context clues down. Smart, but not convincing enough. He's still not hearing you- because he can't.  You check on your Katsuki after an unannounced leave of absence, only to discover the true reason why is the source of a mighty insecurity of his that he's expertly kept you out of the loop of till now. He's defensive and mean- uncharacteristically so, towards you when you find out. It's heart-wrenching when he realizes he's snapped at you, and gutting when you love him through it.

A/N: *Can be read as a follow-up in the 'Backpack Privileges' universe, but not necessarily a series. Just how I envision these babies evolving~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on AO3

News from the girls at the scheduling counter is  that Dynamight was actually putting in PTO for the first time this calendar year.

Sure he’s worked hard, but when doesn’t he? It wasn't like he expended so much energy from his last rescue call that he was too tired or anything when you’d last seen him… so the time off request surprised you. Katsuki Bakugou never took time off, even when he’s congested to the point of sounding like a wounded seagull and hacking up a lung.

You called to check on him the first day he was out, but it went unanswered; he texted back instead that he was in the middle of eating and asked what you needed. You told him to rest up, and he proceeded to spam you with the same angry animal memes as always. 

At the office, things were at a surprising lull by the end of the week, with Kirishima on your right on the sofa scrolling through some mods Hatsume had for him to review. Meanwhile, you took the rather unprofessional route and scrolled on your phone. Your retort to Kiri’s tutting over the bad habit was that you knew the higher ups were off with Jeanist at some press junket, and you could risk it. Called you a naughty thing, how Bakugou was rubbing off on you. You’re sure even at your hangriest you’re not that prickly. 

An instinct, you try calling Bakugou again, this time on speakerphone. It’s been a whole workweek, after all. It rings twice, then straight to voicemail. You end the call before recording anything, and fuss at the phone in your hand. 

“Ok, Kiri? This is weird.”

“Hm? What is?”

“He’s never answering,” you lock the phone habitually, “-and I mean never. No ‘hi’, no ‘whaddya want’; did he lose his voice or something?”

Kirishima finally breaks focus to look at you, questioning, “Bakubro?”

“Yeah, he hasn’t– not that I’m trying every day or anything, but it’s been almost a week of nothing and-” 

-your phone dings: one new preview of a message from ‘Backpack’ lights your lockscreen, and your frustration ramps up to 60.

“-Then he freakin’ texts– like two seconds later!! What the actual hell is going on with him?!”

Kirishima just snorts.

“Maybe he’s taking a dump~”

“He would not text me on the toilet.”

“All men do it.”

“KIRI.” you swat his foot off the couch that’s laid out towards you, crossing yours while he cackles behind his ipad’s screen.

“Oh cmon, he’s fine! He’s just taking a breather~” Kirishima presses you with an assuring look you’re inclined to buy, because his delivery is just that sweet, “Doesn’t really take time off much anymore, so if he did, he probably needs it. Been doing a lot of those muscle contracts, which pays well! But it’s no joke how much it takes out of you– Kamui wants him, Rocklock wants him-”

You do worry about the workload Bakugou is  under given all the names Kirishima rattles off, but your boy’s assured you it’s all part of his drive. That, and he says Bakugou’s saving up for something important for work, but doesn’t disclose more than that.

You don’t press when Bakugou puts up a wall– knowing full well he tells you things when he’s ready.  Till now, he’s not given an indication that he doesn't distrust you with anything- not even his life. You have each other’s backs, and that’s an honor that you value and reciprocate. Perhaps it’s by that faith in one another that you should grant him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe one of these days under another starry sky from the back of your bike, he may share his whats and hows and whys to that sweet spot behind your ear, disguising his secrets with yet another kiss he saves for when you’re alone.

But this silence is really throwing you a curveball. Katsuki’s voice is just one of the many things you’ve come to adore about him. When you confessed that little thought to him, he turned a soft answer -a promise- that he’d answer when you called, day or night. It’s a gruff, punchy sound when you hear it over coms, or even through your shared helmets; but it’s also rumbling, constant, soothing when you hear it fitted against your ear. 

You never thought you’d even miss Dynamight’s passive aggressive screaming so much– until you don’t have any echo of him in your head at all.

“-or yknow if it’s not his schedule, it’s his body that’s about to quit on him. He’s probably giving his ears a break, if I had to guess!”

“...His ears.”

Kirishima looks up at you again, like his point was obvious, “Yeah. He can’t wear ‘em all the time– they’ve gotta charge, and if he’s sweat them out of their normal place, they pinch-”

Realization forces you to sit up straight, “Katsuki wears hearing aids?”

“Well he has to, with his quirk!” Kirishima tickled himself explaining so, “Kats probably blew out his inner ear in middle school, and it’s only gotten worse the harder he’s trained. He got fitted for new ones sometime last winter which he says are more comfortable than the last ones, but I dunno-” Kirishima cracked his neck in a roll, “I think he keeps' em in too long; and they drive him batty after a while.”

You didn’t like the sound of that. 

Down at your phone, you read the text message fully:

Backpack: Knee deep in dishes. What’s up pretty girl.

You decide to answer,

//Waiting on a call for a pickup, just keeping the couch warm~  Up for a call real quick?

‘Backpack’ takes a minute this time. You reason maybe he’s using speech to text given the perfect grammar.

Backpack: Can’t right now.

// Podcast instead? ((eyes emoji))

Backpack: Pass.

//Kiri misses you… ((sad eyes))

Backpack: No he fucking doesn’t. 

Backpack: Throw him a bone or try some fetch, he’ll be fine.

You don’t even laugh at the image with how much he’s deflecting talking to you. Laying back, your concern must be palpable because Kiri nudges you with his foot, and you stare at its buckles; anything from looking at his face.

“He never turns down food.”

“What d’you mean.”

“I mean, he’ll need to eat~” Kirishima’s never ending support coats his words. “-and I’d be shocked if he’d  turn his Darling DoorDasher down.”

You snorted, “Hush, you.”

Kirishima knew full well about you two- he’s not blind. He knows about dates one, two, well- every date, whether from Bakubro's lips or your own. But while it doesn’t feel new and raw… it feels tender and personal, what you share with your hero off the field– and you don’t want the bubble to burst between you and Katsuki. Not just yet.

-which is why, despite your firm concern deep in your gut reminding you of your plans throughout your shift,  you are nervous for your first time going to his apartment, unannounced. 

You knock four times, then back away to the near side of the door so it doesn’t hit you when it opens. A lull of ‘nothing’ hung in the air.. 

You reconsidered,  suspicion making you  bite your cheek: what if he can’t hear you?

You knock four more times, a bit louder. You’re cringing as you come back to your lean. Shuffling, you do indeed look like a food delivery service- an insistent-looking one, to the couple passing by on the ground floor who look up at you and likely wonder why you don’t just call this a ‘contactless delivery’ and jog on.. 

“Cmon, Kats…” you bemoan before steeling your nerves. You try just three more times, channeling your inner ‘Dynamight’ yourself and banging at a level that would take it off its hinges before cringing away to your waiting spot. 

Bakugou’s neighbor pops his head out of the door opposite you this time– nailing you with a reproachful look. Apologies mouthed, you smile demurely as the sound of a very aware Bakugou approaches now.

“I’M COMING, DAMMIT!”

The neighbor -perhaps wisely- shuts his door as he hears the door about to be unlocked. The way his eyebrows fly up, you infer that he does little to ever cross his hotheaded neighbor.

“ALRIGHT ALREADY- WHAT?!”

He's gorgeous, still. Pissy and caught off his guard, and donned headphones around his neck. But Bakugou double-takes to you with a frozen mouth, watching you push off the siding seemingly unaffected by his outburst and smiling casually.

“Hiya~”

His jaw flexes, but he forces his snarl away. Clearly conflicted at your presence, he pinched his brow.

"Said you were workin’ today. What’re you doing."

"I was in the neighborhood. Brought you a bowl~" you bribed the man's heart with the top way you knew how: a white and red ‘thank you’-covered baggie with the jackpot inside..

He likes kamameshi so he doesn’t hafta chew a ton. If his ear n’ jaw are tired, the softer the better. You can't go wrong with a nice bowl o’comfort…  Not like it’d last long with that guy’s appetite on a good day, anyways! Hah!

Hardly one to refuse you (just as Kirishima lovingly predicted), Bakugou stepped aside to let you in, granting you a gentle stroke on your back as you passed him..

Inside, you trade giving him the bag with his offering of your choice in houseshoes. On the far side of the room, the TV is on, including a scroll of subtitles. You look about and the place is spotless- he wasn’t lying about the rage cleaning.

"In the neighborhood, huh?" Bakugou called to you, dishing out the box of takeout while watching you get settled in.

You already said so, but made sure to face him as you speak- eyes all on you. You think that making a sweet delivery is reason enough for your presence here,

"Yeah~ the office drew a short straw on the menu this week, so I’ve been eating out more~ still don’t know how you can mess up potatoes, but sure enough, Feefee’s found a way~" you smile, coming up to his side with a little lilt in your step.

-but Bakugou just drones back,

"Overdue on our lunches, aren’t we sweets. We'll go do something this weekend."

Oh boy. You’re really bad off. A diss at the agency kitchen staff would never go unnoticed by the resident lunch snob, you think to yourself. You may not have lightning fast quips like Kaminari, but c'mon, that was a little funny…

Any other time that Bakugou would willingly suggest a date would thrill you. Maybe he’s even aware that he’s been avoiding you, and is trying to make up for it by suggesting a couple places offhand. But knowing the real reason behind the aversion, it doesn’t warm you the way it always does. 

His answer was typical and wasn't really related to what you asked at all, so you watch him take some bites and try again.

You trailed over to his dining kitchenette, taking a seat before him, tone lovely and appropriate for the distance between you. 

“You should have seen Kiri’s attempt to make my coffee order. Almost put a pump of salmon oil in instead of simple syrup! But hey, that just means job security for you, yeah? You’re so much better at it.”

You make eyes at the tv behind you as you speak- a test. 

He catches your intentional look, but he twists in his seat to glance. Then, focuses back on you and not making a mess of his dish, “Yeah, you can change it if you want.”

So he's got context clues down. Smart, but not convincing enough. Still not hearing. 

You try once more, sass tinting your voice as if you were teasing him privately.

"We adopted a purple hippo as an office pet~"

"Mhm," Bakugou picked up on the attitude, pausing and coming to your side with a bit of a swagger he hopes looks natural, "Sure been a crazy week. Missed a lot. We’ll get back to normal soon, yeah? Cmon, let's go watch somethin’."

Your hands fall to your thighs in a resigned slap. Sighing, you look to him desperately, urging him with more enunciation. 

"This is bad, Katsuki."

"What's so bad." Bakugou reads your lips and deflects.

You tap your ear with a sympathetic look.

– his demeanor changes. Horribly.

Bakugou steps away in almost disbelief, edgy and firm: a rolling boil starts to simmer behind his eyes. Turning aside, he huffs. Guilty. 

He turns tail to the kitchen, cursing under his breath to ‘give him a second.’ Bakugou pushes his stacks of cleaned dishes aside, making a clash of noise even you flinch at. It’s evident the sound doesn’t phase him. 

"No, you don't have to put them-"

"I can't fucking HEAR YOU, woman; give me a DAMN SECOND!!"

Coming around the island after him, you see he’s trying to get at the charging dock on the backside of his butcher block.

Watching him fiddle with just his right ear, he turns back and faces you prickly as ever, with arms crossed and barely attempting to rein in his anger.

You are sure now you've struck a nerve if he's acting like this around you. You tread carefully,

"I'm not here to just yap your head off, or commandeer your days off. I… was just concerned."

"About what? I'm fine."

"It's been five days,” you stress gently, “you didn't think I would think it’s weird if you didn’t answer once?"

"I answered you back every time," Bakugou raised his voice a tick, "Every text– never left you on read, cuz I know that feels shitty!"

"I know you did," you give him credit, "But it's– different when we talk, and you know that difference. It's just that you always call back. It just hasn’t felt normal -for you- is all. And I didn’t know there was going to be a reason like this that’s why."

"Well it's not like I could hear the phone ring anyway, so fuck me for that. How the hell’d you find out anyway."

"...I didn't know until Kirishima said something. I was telling him I-"

"Of course it fucking was,” Bakugou huffed again, “Well, it's none of his business, it’s not his problem, and he should kept his DAMN mouth shut."

To trash Kirishima like this -hotheaded and bitter- definitely feels more like an attack than he'd ever mean on a good day. Kiri is his best friend, and clearly close enough to have been there at the first fitting and have a picture perfect memory of it because it mattered so much to his buddy to be there for him. To not let it define him.

You can't pretend to know how sensitive of a subject this is, based on how confident Bakugou is with everything in life: even the litany of scars he wears outlining his hero work aren't off limits to discussion. But his answers come armed with cached ammo and heat.

You certainly don't think yourself entitled to everything about him, but you see now that he clearly hadn’t planned to tell you about his wearing hearing aids, or at least hadn’t intended for you find out this way… so someone had to take the brunt of his ire. You think to be grateful he doesn’t appear ready to snap at you, but you feel so much on the outside, it hurts to watch him sizzle. 

You try to take the pressure off the leak of the news, "Where's this coming from, hon?"

Bakugou grunts, looking back to you with a raised brow. 

You gestured between you just to talk with your hands a little, "Where  is  this  coming-"

"HELL IF I KNOW!” Bakugou shouts back, “It just IS. I just wanted- it-- Look, just fuckin’ drop it, ok? I will. be back. tomorrow. And everything’ll be like it was before you knew a damn thing, ALRIGHT??"

He's defensive and mean now; the pitch he never aimed at you before now entered the ring.

This was a line you were damned sure not to let any man cross.

"Ok, we're gonna try that again,” you spoke plain as day.

"Try WHAT again??"

"Discussing, not fighting." You stood firm at his counter. You will not be taking up a screaming match under any circumstances, and have to make that clear. "Coming up with an answer -together- because that's what we do when our backs are up against the wall... Not bite the hand that's trying to help. ‘Hit the problem, not the player’."

The words resonate with Bakugou, having been the one who shot that reminder to you not a week ago from his own mouth, and everything in that face full of fire wants to rear back– 

"-and before you say ANYTHING else... You will. not. talk to me like that."

You hear the hero’s palms sizzle, and see by the look of hatred he glares at them with that he clearly hates the feel. 

Bakugou lets out a growl then goes silent, obeying. He takes a little pace around, finally settling at the tall, bar-height stool, rubs his palms compulsively at his thighs as a reset, and pulls at his head until it lays dejected in those explosive hands propped up on his knees.

Your invitation to stand by him opens when he lifts his head and scowls behind tented fingers. Kindly, you make sure to stand closer to his right to give him the best chance of catching your words.

"Y'know I'm the last one who's ever gonna give you a hard time for this, don’t you?"

Bakugou doesn't answer, but you know he's listening.

"It's hard for me to take time off work too, I don't do it as much as I should. I know it's hard to leave work at work, and you did that on your own, in order to take care of yourself. You know your limits and that’s keeping you alive. That was really wise."

You see a little bob of the head by the slight jostle of his hair.

What bothers you here and now isn’t just selfish thoughts of ‘why didn’t he tell me’, but ‘why didn’t he tell anyone’? It’s clear by what you’ve learned that next to no one knows of his condition. That small aspect of this gives you a little comfort, but opens up a bigger dose of worry. Hearing impairment might be perceived by a bystander as a defect or weakness, but for the old friends and medical experts who surely surround him, you’d feel confident in Bakugou’s care to know he’d surely not think of himself that way. 

Surely not… surely not?

“But the thing is, if it's coming down to you hurting and needing help- or just, getting time away if that's what you really want, I can totally get that. But  between you and I? We've gotta figure out how you really feel about this, because it’s eating at you. Affects everything you do at some point, right? Can't have you working yourself to the bone here, overworking your senses out there, feeling like you can’t speak for days on end, setting things off, either. Even accidentally."

You swipe along his shoulder and arm sweetly, just for a little connection.

“I… I really do care about you, Katsuki. I don't want you to feel you have to manage it all on your own.  I want to be someone you can have in your back pocket for help- even with something like this.”

A ‘ride or die’ offer if there ever was one.

Bakugou looks in the direction of your hand. The smooth, unscarred hand you sport is so different from his own. Proof of the softness he lost a long time ago, his sunken eyes tell you. He blinks, and it’s a pensive, sad sight. 

 "M'sorry." 

The hoarseness in that proud voice fell hollow.

To anyone else, it may sound apathetic and half-assed, but Bakugou held so much ‘punch’ in his daily speech that you realized this apology featured the even breath of emotion. Restraint. His control. His gentleness.

“You can't help how your body works, Kats. You don't have to apologize for what's happening naturally. This is... just a side effect, unfortunately.”

“T’snot that,” he said limply.

A second attempt to finish for him, you try again studying the takeout boxes left open. “I.. get you not telling me, too. It’s not my business either.”

Bakugou shakes his head, with a dismissive jerk of the head altogether. Instead he lifts up, miserably.

"I don't talk to you that way."

Through a brief silent showdown, you accept his apology. As rough as he is even with his own mother, Bakugou has framed a different ring for you two to dance in, and harshness doesn’t belong in it.

"You don’t,” the agreement is established, “that's how I knew something's out of whack. Plus, I mean.. if you can’t pick up background noise, it must be hard trying to match volume in a space, right?"

Bakugou’s hoarseness fails him, falling to which air, "That's a shit poor excuse. You were right. I know the difference." 

Meekly reaching for hip, the man sniffles: pulling you the rest of the way between his bent legs. 

You step in and he crumbles into your core, strong hands encircling your hips. 

"I'm sorry," he swears.

"It's ok..."

Bakugou squeezes you in, "It's not. Ok. You should have slapped me for that shit.”

“I’m not doing that, either,” you get weary hearing how the guys rough each other up. You’re certainly not applying the same tactics to him of all people.

“Well, it’s inexcusable. I respect you more than to do that. Know better.”

"I forgive you, then."

"You shouldn't, so easily.”

Chin jutted on his still-bowed head, your answer comes simply but openly:

"...That's commonly called love, Katsuki. I love you. That’s what I do."

He's silent and frozen. The only sign of life is that he is -in fact- breathing still.

You said these, the magic words, in record time for anyone you've held affection for... and you didn't care. You loved Katsuki. Loved all of him. Even the prickly bits that threatened to square up at you like  a bull. 

Friendship was an surprisingly easy test for you two.

Partnership, battle-proven in the public sphere. 

But this is the final straw that you’ve been keeping safe and special. Telling Katsuki you loved him would push things to a deeper level than you felt the term ‘boyfriend’ afforded you both at thirty years old. In loving him, and no one else, you just wanted to call him ‘yours’ already and be done with searching for the One.

Since he doesn’t speak, you busy yourself elsewhere. He may not answer nearly as quickly as you given how on-the-spot he mulls in currently… but he hasn’t let go of you, which is a good sign. Good enough for you.

Your mind veers a bit in the quiet. You think to yourself about what feels nicest when you've had your helmet on too long; athletes deal with it, racers deal with it.. Anyone who wears a support item with internal padding giving cushion around the head is bound to force unnatural pressure on every angle for the sake of protection. 

On you, this tension lies just behind the ears. 

To soothe it, you’d usually draw a sun: a half circle design, zigzagging up and down with your fingertips, creating lines of relief along the tender sides of your head. It's to help the blood flow, and the scratches crackle nicely to the ear canal. Acts as white noise to the senses which is often a welcome change to the low thrum of a headache or grating road noise.

So with careful fingers, a mind set on comfort and a heartful of soft love for this man, you draw twin suns deep within Katsuki's hair.

…within seconds, he wept.

Bakugou softly cries and he holds you close. He turns in his seat, pulling you to fit even tighter between his knees with no gap of room between you.

When he can regulate his breaths down to calm blows from his lips, he shares more what's on his mind, down the space between you.

"...that feels really good."

"I hoped so~. So your head bothers you too, after a while. Having them in all the time?"

He turns his head finally to rest on one side, the functionally deaf side leaning into your chest... listening out for a heartbeat it seems.

“N’it’s all inside, so it’s hard to touch it unless I pump myself full of horsepills… makes m’stomach hurt."

From head to toe, he’s being honest about what this means for him. "The thing that’s meant to help, hurts? I’m sorry, hon."

He's still swallowing back his emotions, so you don't press for what he wants to say when it's clear he's focused on getting good rhythm back.

"My arm gets numb sometimes, too."

You're surprised at this, as more pieces fit together you didn’t know were necessarily missing, "-Yeah?"

"It's somethin' in the tendons. Can fight fine, but small moves are weird. I can't pick up a fucking piece of paper right. N'holding my phone hurts some days."

With a kiss to his hair, you see the teed-up ‘in’ to make him laugh,

"Well, who're you gonna be texting anyway, now that I won't be blowing up your phone?"

He tuffs. Joking aside, you hugged you close. “Gotta to back to that dumbass doctor, don't I."

"They can check your nerve endings with a scan. See if there's a reason for it."

Bakugou accepts this and continues his baring of his heart. He mentions old pains, some new ones, even some random details about which oscillating fans he likes on or off because of how warm he runs. Some of it relates to his work, some not, but you take it all in. Each little snippet he offers up reminds you of penguin pebbling. 

Satisfaction rang through you with the news that caused the biggest physical response in him: he confessed after all that he hadn’t wanted to ignore you at all, and it shows.

His hands massage at you– never getting enough.

“V’missed your voice too,” Bakugou’s voice finally seeps back in- that low, growly rumble of the chest you wanted to play on loop, “But I know I needed that break. I wanted 'em out, just for a little while. Even if I didn’t want to miss the good that comes from keepin’ em in.”

“That’s fine to want. Anytime you need.”

Bakugou turns exploratory with his hand. With the one not locked around your waist keeping you to him, he gives long scritches across your back, up front to hold your side- rooting him. 

“N’for the record, not everyone knows. It’s probably in a record somewhere, so it’s not really been taboo or anything. No one’s ever banned me from fighting; not yet at least. It’s not a secret. But… s’been so long, I’ve… never had to explain them to anyone. Sure as shit don't tell the public.”

Tender fingers seek out the soft inner side of your wrist, just a small touch.

“But you…I didn’t know how to open that up. Seems like a random ass thing to drop on you.”

You understand, and think it sweet that he at least had contemplated telling you at some point– but now, you could only look to his future and knew this would only help you moving forward.

"Nothing’s random if it’s important to you. So head scratches are a yes. Fast food is a yes, keeps you out of the stores. Anything else I should keep in mind to help?"

Bakugou thinks, but just holds onto you with a little nuzzle, "Not now. Yer doin’ it."

Happy and soft, you smile, "Okey~"

After a minute, he's matched your breathing, and you only move when he lifts his head to chin up at you from his spot. You smile expectantly seeing him less harsh around the edges and looking at you on the softer side of pitiful. Like he's looking to you for the solution-- neck bared and showing a rare vulnerability.

"You're my hero, Kats," you dote on him. Hands through his hair, scritching at the base, "y'know that right?"

"Damn right."

"And you aren't anywhere near throwing in the towel over this."

His smirk returned, "Damn right."

Bakugou’s neck received more soothing treatment again– making his eyes flutter, 

"Because my Lord Explosion has way too many baddies left to murder before he allows anyone get to his getaway driver, right?"

Finally showing signs of his spark back, Bakugou growls his pleasure. 

"Y'talking about murder does things to a man, baby."

"Thought it might... I mean every word though. You take such good care of me, Kats. Let me do the same for you sometimes, ok?"

"... Yeah alright," he finally caves easily with tepid palms smoothing over the back of your thighs. Still keeping you close, forehead falling to rest against you, you feel finally content that your presence has helped him. 

All your one-sided concerns now settled, you feel glad that your update to Kirishima later will share that Bakugou’s okay– and will likely add in a fair heads-up that he might still be pissy with him come Monday.

After some cursory scratches across his shoulders, you remember to hold out a hand by his eye level. Bakugou hums when he notices it, and raises his hand to hold yours-- only for you to dodge it, and keep it open.

Let me have it, silly.

After checking ‘what on earth you were getting at’, he tilts to see your fingers open again. The blond head of hair at your chest sighs, decides, then takes the lone hearing aid out and returns it into your open palm. With careful depositing, you set it on the counter behind you with the note-to-self to put it back with its mate– and return your hands to yours.

Bakugou centered himself by breathing you in. Once he had you snug in his arms again, he pressed a firm kiss through your shirt, hoping you felt everything he couldn’t say behind a tight throat. 

You thought it silly, but with him resting fairly tame right on your chest, you thought you'd try a little enrichment for him:

That stupid song from the pop-up takeaway truck was still stuck in your head, so you started humming it to him. 

With how high you stood above him doling out scritches to his temple, you missed how his eyes opened for a flash in recognition of today’s current brainrot love ballad; but you didn't miss how he pressed in closer to you and really listened.

[thecreaturecodex]

Ryujishin-Mushi

"Beetle Dragon" © Pauliina Linjama, accessed at her deviantArt here

[The earthquake beetle, or jishin-mushi, is a Japanese artistic entity that has undergone significant derangement in English sources. For one thing, the name; most English adaptations call it the jinshin-mushi, which means "humanity beetle", not "earthquake beetle". They can be enormous or small, have dragon-like heads or not, and are in general a wide breed, as befits a monster that existed originally more as a bit of iconography than any established narrative. There's even two of them in 90s D&D! This one was called the earthquake beetle in the basic D&D Creature Catalogue, and is colossal and dragon-headed, and the Kara-Tur Monstrous Compendium had a medium-sized, more beetle like jishin-mushi as well. The name I gave this, meaning "dragon earthquake beetle", is a neologism intended to cover if I ever loop around to covering the Kara-Tur version.]

Ryujishin-mushi CR 18 N Magical Beast This titanic monster has the carapace of a beetle, reddish orange above ten black furry legs ending in scything claws. Its neck is long, and ends in a head like that of a horned dragon.

The ryujishin-mushi, or earth dragon beetles, are enormous creatures with features of arthropods and dragons. They are of animal intelligence and are primarily motivated by their appetites. The bulk of their nutritional needs are supported by consuming metal ore and gemstones, but they occasionally come to the surface to gorge themselves on meat before returning to dig in the depths. Only the strongest armies and boldest adventurers have the ability to fight back against these raids—for everyone else, evacuation and rebuilding are their only hope.

A ryujishin-mushi’s body is so dense that its very movement causes the ground to shake. The tremors that come with its burrowing are often the only warning surface dwellers have before the creature is in their midst. Earth dragon beetles focus their attention on the largest and tastiest looking morsels at first, but will fight back if creatures are capable of actually wounding them. They can punch holes in armor and snap weapons in half with their adamant teeth and claws, and often do so. Ryujishin-mushi possess a powerful acidic breath weapon, but they rarely use it unless reduced to below half hit points; melted flesh and oxidized slag is much less appetizing to them.

The reason for the great size and draconic aspect of the ryujishin-mushi is debated by scholars, and none of the proposed explanations are much comfort. One school of thought holds that ryujishin-mushi are dragon-like as a form of Mullerian mimicry; appearing to be a more magically adept creature to intimidate other monstrous hunters of the Darklands. The other hypothesis is that these creatures are descendants of Festering Ulunat, the first of the Spawn of Rovagug. How ryujishin-mushi reproduce is a mystery, and whether they have sex and lay eggs in the deep like normal beasts, or have stranger and more esoteric ways of replication, may shed light on this mystery.

Ryujishin-mushi CR 18 XP 153,600 N Colossal magical beast Init +7; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +30, tremorsense 120 ft. Aura frightful presence (120 ft., Will DC 23)

Defense AC 29, touch 6, flat-footed 25 (-8 size, +3 Dex, +1 dodge, +23 natural) hp 310 (20d10+200); fast healing 10 Fort +22, Ref +15, Will +16 DR 15/magic; Immune acid, fear; SR 29

Offense Speed 60 ft., burrow 40 ft. Melee bite +24 (4d6+12), 4 claws +24 (1d10+12/19-20) Space 30 ft.; Reach 30 ft. Special Attacks adamantine claws, breath weapon (3/day, 120 foot cone, 20d8 acid damage, Ref DC 30), trample (4d10+18, Ref DC 32), tremor step

Statistics Str 34, Dex 17, Con 31, Int 2, Wis 26, Cha 16 Base Atk +20; CMB +40 (+44 sunder); CMD 54 (56 vs. sunder, 70 vs. trip) Feats Combat Reflexes, Critical Focus, Dodge, Greater Sunder, Improved Critical (claw), Improved Initiative, Improved Sunder, Power Attack, Staggering Critical, Stand Still Skills Climb +16, Perception +30

Ecology Environment any land and underground Organization solitary Treasure standard

Special Abilities Adamantine Claws (Ex) The natural weapons of a ryujishin-mushi are treated as adamantine for the purposes of overcoming damage reduction and hardness. Breath Weapon (Su) A ryujishin-mushi can use its breath weapon three times per day, but must wait 1d4 rounds between uses. Tremor Step (Ex) Whenever a ryujin-mushi moves at least half its speed in a turn, all creatures touching the ground in a 100 foot radius treat the area as difficult terrain and must succeed a DC 32 Reflex save or fall prone. The save DC is Strength based.