#such a design trope is because it's like. How that sort of body plan would work lol

[taraxippos]

Sorry I have to be a little hater but I keep seeing this post with spec evo design tips and like. The 'sausage' body plan shown here is the only one that makes sense as having a functional gait as far as I can tell? Neither of the 'corrected' examples could walk without the limbs being at risk of constantly bumping into each other (MAYBE the paired legs could move in tandem but that doesn't make much sense as a body plan that would develop to begin with, and would drastically limit their available gait patterns).

Most insects DO have limbs that are grouped closely together but that's just at the origin point, they mostly have widely sprawled limbs whose range minimally overlaps rather than these erect(ish?) limbs. And like the only comparable >4 legged animal I can think of without an arthopod body plan (tardigrade) has a limb pattern almost Exactly like the Say No To Sausage.

[portraitsofguilt]

thinking heavy about the blackmailing trope with stalker! abby :(

cw; 18+ mdni, dark/nsfw content, STALKING, female-bodied reader, masturbation, blackmailing, manipulation, controlling themes, ooc abby (?)

originally abby didn’t plan on picking up this class, but well… things didn’t go well with her other subjects and she needed more credit before the semester ended so she could pass. thinking it through she didn’t mind it, in this world you can make big bucks off of it and she was kinda into the idea of everything that revolved around tech and computers, even tho she didn’t have her own until high school ended.

that’s the class she first saw you in, that computer science class. she had never seen you before, and later found out that you were accompanying one of your friends while you had a free period.

when her fascination with you doesn't go away, she is the sort to put hidden cameras in your dorms or even learn how to hack into your phone, laptop, and whatever else you own so she can monitor you and what you do. she is merely watching you take a shower or put on clothes, and she has no rational reasons for what she is doing.

but she gets sick of staring at your image on her displays since you are so monotonous and do so little in such a long time. however, there is no way you would attempt anything unless you knew she was watching you. that is until you storm into your room with heated skin and labored breathing; at that point, she refocuses her attention on you and becomes even more engrossed in what you are attempting to do when you reach beneath your bed.

her skin tingles with anticipation as you take out a box with a firm grip, toss away the lid, and remove your prized possession from it. a glass dildo with a few larger, knot-like sections that curve like a real cock and a sweet, pink heart-shaped handle. without much patience for foreplay and in a rush to get everything ready, you don't hesitate to force it down your own throat and saturate it in your saliva.

abby can see how your form twitches and your fingers dip to circle your clit since the cameras are at such an angle that they are only a few inches away from you and are peering down at you. normally, she would like to spend time by herself observing you, but because everything you did at that time seemed hurried and urgent, she was afraid she would miss something if she turned her gaze away.

because she can already hear you gagging on the dildo between your lips and slamming your hips into the air as you drool, she thought it was dumb of her to forget to get a recording of your noises. the toy is covered in enough saliva to have a slight sheen when you finally pull it out, after what seems like hours and hours. she catches her breath as you glide it down your body and groans as you shove it within your pussy, your juices pooling around the object and dripping onto your white bedding.

she has little to no patience, desperate to feel your skin against hers, that when you wake up the next day a dvd sits on your nightstand with a note on top of its cover and a little red bow tied around it. the note goes on and on, calling you "an ugly slut" and a "flighty degenerate she should just throw away" but she has an offer. after a few nights, she is more than willing to get rid of the video, of which she has the only copy.

and what can you do if not comply, meeting her at the designated spot and date, at the exact hour of the day just as she wants it. you wouldn’t want those little details about your life behind a closed door to get out, now would you? for everyone to see what a depraved whore you are to be used as nothing but a fuck toy. but she can help you, the two of you can help each other out, and that video you just saw? there will never be a sign of it anymore, nobody will see it. of course, she doesn’t tell you that she is gonna keep it on a separate hard drive for herself to sometimes take a look at but if she is in the mood for it, might just fuck you while making you watch it.

but a few nights will never be enough for her and she will keep making excuses to have you with her, keep you paranoid and have you look over your shoulder to make sure she isn’t plotting something really bad to cause you your downfall.

[erinwantstowrite]

i feel like if you released a 24 hour + video of you talking about your plans for your original book i would sit and watch all of that with no breaks. so: would you be willing to share at least the bare bones of the plot you have now? or even some tropes that would be in it? or maybe random questions like how many main characters? how many povs? if it's sci-fi or fantasy? just stuff like that!

ahhhh!! i'd love to talk about them because they're constantly rotating in my brain!! i hope this doesn't get too long but we all know me, i can never stop yapping 😭

(okay this is present erin editing before posting and yeah this got long guess who called it. anyways there's art and stuff under the cut as well)

(Marked this as mature with violence only because there is an image below where I drew injuries/cuts on a character)

This book has been a thousand different books in all kinds of settings, plots, lessons, etc, and that's because I've had these characters since I was in middle school. At first I was so obsessed with them that I'd write and draw them all the time, to the point that my teachers were concerned I wasn't paying attention. I was seriously into magic and fantasy at the time because Harry Potter books were still the epitome of writing to my middle school brain. Ruby was a wizard with a bird theme that lived in the countryside and one day found out that her town was "alive" in a sense... But after I lost that sketchbook with all of the details (devastated to this day), and started venturing into other books series and shows, etc, I sort of forgot about the og story or what it was like. What remained was a love for the characters I had made over anything else about them, so I'd end up writing stories with a different theme each time, but the ocs being the same, just with their backgrounds shifted. (Around the time I was obsessed with VLD, Ruby was in a sci-fi plot set on a planet in another solar system.)

One of the most recent iterations was Ruby and the other characters essentially struggling to understand death, life, and everything in between. The story is called "Behind the Blue Glass" and I still really like that title lol. All of them had died on the same day, at the same time, just in various different ways, and then all of them came back to life in the same manner. They all developed different powers from the experience: Liam could float/manipulate gravity), August's body was essentially a phantom that could go through objects and disappear, Vin could possess people, Jean had an empathy link with the dead and could talk to and see them clearly, and Maya could figure out someone's cause of death/also tell when people were about to die. As for Ruby, she's the only one who can move freely between the land of the living and the land of the dead. It's different from Jean seeing the dead, as she's still in the land of the living.

The plot of that story was Ruby having dreams/visions of these other people she had never met before and knowing she needed to find them and set "something" right, but she didn't know what. She sets out to find them anyways, and they each join her on her quest to find everyone simply because they never got an answer to how they came back from the dead and find it weird that they all died on the same day and time. They solve deaths of ghosts they come across, meet people who are still grieving lost ones, have to lay some of the ghosts down to rest- all while figuring out why these shady people have started following them and trying to stop them from figuring out what happened to them. I even made some first draft titles (definitely, 10000% inspired by PJO because I was reading it at the time):

to top it all off, it's set in the 2010's I believe? Around that time. Just because I think more books should write about the time era

I have some (recentish) art of the characters:

first image: (Liam on the right, August on the left)

this is what Ruby looked like when I was first designing them for the story:

They're meant to look dead-ish but this art was SO long ago when I wasn't confident in my art so Ruby just looks like a wet rat or smth idk what is going on here

And here's Vin!! I don't hate this drawing of him that much, surprisingly, but this was also drawn a while ago

and this was some art i was planning at the time:

i think that's all of the art that i have for this story (at least on this computer. My old laptop might have more but it's been laid to rest)

to be honest, i'm still thinking about writing this story, but Ruby's name would be changed because at this point, this iteration of her character is VERY different from present day. She's two different characters at this point 💀 that's how you know I've had her for SO long because she looks so different from her original drawings.

The latest version of Ruby ended up in a story with completely different characters in the cast and a completely different setting (even if some of the characters were inspired by their og versions). It's called "The Clocktower's Chime"

It's very much inspired by those reincarnation manhwas. I like those stories but they all have the same plot over and over, and while I was more interested in the versions where the character is sent back in time to live their life again but with all the knowledge they had in the future, I always struggled with the aspect that the characters' mental age is far older than they are. It makes the dynamics a little weird, but they can be excused unless it's a romantic dynamic, I would think? I dunno, it was hard to get into the plots mostly because of that.

So I used Ruby as a placeholder OC and came up with a story where upon their death in the future, someone casts a spell or a god sends them back, and instead of having a mental older age, they get a journal with all of the details of their future. Ruby woke up one day and found a journal written by herself that detailed everything about her future up to the point of her death. It was more like a book, however, rather than a journal. It just looked like a journal because it was in her handwriting.

So Ruby gets this book, doesn't believe it at all, until she notices that there are way too many "coincidences" lining up with the events of the book. She starts believing it could be true, and then decides it must be when she finds out that a prominent family in the country she lives in is going to visit her hometown. In the book, they were there because they learned that Ruby was their daughter that had been kidnapped as a baby and believed dead. However, in the book, Ruby had spent her entire life living as a weapon instead of a daughter, and she died by their hands when she refused to kill a woman that is prophesized to end a war that would devastate both countries.

Ruby is, like, 12 at that point. So her kid brain is like "obviously I run away and go to school in a different country and tell everyone I have a different name and there's no way this could go wrong." Except before she can even do that, she runs into Julias Parlia, a Duke's son from the country that is supposed to be her enemy in the future. Ruby is like "shit this is THE worst adult to run into and I haven't even gotten to the running away part of my plan" and Julias ends up being the reason she doesn't even get to the train station. He's fucking hilarious by the way. He's got a well adjusted family with two loving parents and a bunch of little siblings and he basically picks Ruby up by the scruff of her neck and is like "I want this one she's insane."

This is Julias (kneeling on the ground to talk to Ruby) and Emelie (Julias' knight and childhood friend, she's so silly)

and this is the part where I share art from many months ago... when I posted my most recent art and said Ruby keeps getting buffer every time I draw her, I meant it 💀

Ruby and her love interest, Cecelia

This is Vekenti, a character that was also supposed to be a "villain" in the original timeline. Ruby goes looking for him to prevent his death as well, and Julias obviously is like "Omg another weird kid, how delightful!" Everyone thinks Vikenti and Ruby are related, but they are not. They're just raised as siblings in both timelines and have a lot of the same mannerisms

Julias' love interest (unnamed? I can't find her name anywhere) and him

REALLLY old drawings of what they looked like in the OG timeline (I desperately need to redesign these because I could do better now)

Julias and Ruby again

and that's all the art I have for this one (besides the other post of Ruby I posted today, this is the story that that version of Ruby belongs in. She's looks very different now!).

All of this has been in the back of my mind for a while, and I've been trying to figure out which story I would want to write first. Middle school Erin would love for me to finally write Behind the Blue Glass, but sometimes I find myself wanting to write a fantasy story like Clocktower's Chime a lot more

[wyverewings]

Knucker (Lindworm felpalus)

Habitat: swamps, lakes

Size: 10 feet long

Coloration: dull green, brown

Diet: rabbits, waterfowl, fish, carrion

Magical Abilities: toxic breath, acceleration of plant growth, toxin removal

So Smaugust is here, and I do not have the energy to draw for the entire month. I still want to participate in it, and I thought of the perfect plan for it!

So I haven’t really discussed it much here, but I’ve been planning out a fantasy setting and story in my head. I’m calling the planned story “Misadventures In Monstrology”.

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been deeply enamored with zoology, so I feel the fantasy story I am going to tell should have zoology as its heart, like how language is the heart of Middle Earth. It’s somewhat disheartening how uncommon fantasy biology is as a trope. So someone has to step in, and I’m gonna be that someone!

Some major inspirations for this setting are the Dragonology and Monstrology books, the Flight of Dragons movie, @tyrantisterror’s Midgaheim Bestiary, and @draconesmundi. (I think you’d both like to see this!)

So in this universe, monsters such as dragons exist due to magic. While magic doesn’t allow for too much craziness (there won’t be much fairytale logic), it does allow monsters to gain mutations that would be strange or impossible otherwise, and also allows them to locally control the elements.

Dragons are squamates (having evolved from monitor lizards), but that doesn’t mean there won’t be any hybrids. Chimeras also exist in this universe, basically through a fantasy version of horizontal gene transfer, which is a real thing with some rotifers! I am planning to make them kinda rare, because I mainly want to do it with creatures that make the most sense (and are more interesting to me) as chimeras, like griffins, pegasi, and some dragons I’ll end up drawing eventually…

Also, I felt I should talk about this dragon. A knucker in English folklore is a sort of water dragon, but unlike sea serpents, they dwell in freshwater “knuckerholes” rather than the ocean. They’ve got a lot in common with wyrms like the Lambton Worm and Hydra in folklore, with how they’re aquatic serpents. So they’re more like lindworms in appearance, rather than the more common modern portrayal of them having four legs.

Design wise, they’re very much based on crocodilians with their heads and back spikes, since they are swamp dwelling reptiles. They’ve also got some amphisbaenian in them, which is kinda inevitable considering their body plan. Also, they’ve got barbels like a fish to kinda add to the swamp creature aesthetic. Poison breath seemed like a given, the magic over plants is due to them probably living in more lush areas, and I like the idea of their body kinda absorbing the toxins they breathe out, keeping their environment healthy.

If you wanna keep up with these posts, click my #field guide to dragons tag which will update throughout the month! Or follow me, if you'd like.

Next ->

[zel-shadedreviews]

Every time I return to this movie, the more I begin to see its superior aspects compared to its genre and just how lovable it really is. Dismally, upon release, this didn’t receive the same acclaim due to its existence being overshadowed by another villain-redemption flick, Despicable Me. While it had a video game and a solid little short on its own that could have been extended into a feature-length sequel, the movie went under the radar by DreamWorks Animation for quite the eternity.

Until the unfadable occurred.

Coming from a lost planet, the alien dubbed Megamind sees how his turn of events made him into a supervillain, fighting the pampered hero, Metro Man, day after day. However, the unthinkable happened where one day, Megamind actually officially wins by destroying the hero, granting him access to take over Metro City and finally engaging power. However, even achieving domination, does his goal end there? No, because the villain laments on how boring his new life can be, so he decides to return to his original route by creating a superhero, only to see things turn out for the worse.

This film bares both a personality and an astounding amount of substance to be found, where it’s from mainly the twists towards its main characters and the storyline’s outcome. While you have the villain finally winning his battle, it all comes to a screeching halt upon finding out how meaningless life can be without a purpose; you’ve got to ask yourself “what now?” and then think of the path afterwards. Megamind thrives on being the bad guy all over again, but lacks the individual to enjoy the dynamic. With a great little arc for the villain, he suddenly sparks a new plan that begins to spiral out of complete control, before discovering his own path to take.

The film liked to reference classic tropes from the Superman franchise and reinvent them, showing the chosen villain realising his own destiny by everyone around him, the superhero going through a different development while the next-in-line decides to become the villain. I liked seeing all of these different story decisions as they’re fuelled by character development.

As with many superhero movies, there’s a whole climax involving the battle between good vs. evil, utilising the mediocre abilities yet hidden talents of the first villain opposing the unlimited monster he created. As with its genre, it also ends on a dance number, capping off with Michael Jackson’s Bad, as clearly that’s the law for family films; in the context of the reformed villain-turned hero, I’d accept it their intention of a satisfying celebration.

This movie can be hilarious at times, calling back to its dated tropes with the villain’s laid, but what the comedy work was it’s hilarious execution with the line delivery. There’s one too many excellent jokes with a prime example being a whole back-and-forth argument between the hero and villain all about warranties. Most of the humorous situations happens from the main attempting to be taken seriously, only for his scatterbrained nature to get in the way.

This sort of animation they used for the human designs was something I would have desperately wanted for Monsters vs. Aliens, a flick that made them look more monstrosities. Here, they’re rather expressive, but only when the film wanted them to be, especially with both perceived heroes containing that energy. Their own body styles captured their demeanours from Megamind’s enlarged head and scrawny body to match his creative ideas and weak nature and how the heroes bare that nacho-chested body.

While the city mainly was that basic area with skyscrapers all around, it’s what mattered in the foreground that overshadowed what’s behind. With a superhero movie came some comedic action sequences, focusing on the movements of each clashing character butting faces with each-other. The fight between Megamind and his own creation managed to deliver some laughs thanks to its robotic design that can easily tiptoe without making a sound; it’s when the fight began to excel into pure chaos, fuelled by what Megamind made in the first place, increasing the stakes and alternating the mood from comedic to serious.

Megamind himself is a good definition of how someone is raised to be evil, but isn’t particularly a die-hard villain. He’s raised by prisoners and taught how to be a criminal, before his destiny is found by the bullies outcasting him as such. It’s several years later on during the middle act where the chosen villain attempts to be nice, taking the guise of a human, in order to pursue a relationship. While this increases the chances of him seeking some redemption, it brings him to the point of despair; this subplot would spark the classic twist of the liar being revealed, only in Megamind’s perspective, the truth brought back him back to his old days, as he couldn’t change the fact that he’s the “bad guy”. I’ve heard from sources listing that he’s autism-coded, spiralling from his inability to pronounce English words, raising his voice at any given moment and refusing physical contact; those I do see where they’re coming from.

That, and you have Will Ferrell doing an impressive job at being a campy villainous alien, especially by how large his overacting could be during performances.

The other characters I also liked, such as Megamind’s only companion and partner-in-crime, Minion, becoming another foil to his foil of the plans, yet acting as a supportive voice of reason. Their connection became an important aspect of Megamind’s storyline, as its always been the two of them during their delivered life of crime. Eventually, while we do receive a third-act breakup, it’s never taken to the point where it’s delivered so seriously thanks to their immature sibling bickering. With David Cross matching the character’s performance, it’s hard to not get some laughs out of his line delivery.

There’s Roxanne the reporter who gladly rushes to the villainous scenario at any given moment, before deciding to take matters into her own hands by deciphering Megamind’s plans. Her role predictably absorbed the role as a damsel-in-distress, but at the end of the day, it’s just another day at the office for her basically knowing every trick the villain chucked at her. With Roxanne’s interactions with the villain’s disguise introduced an honestly-solid connection, bringing more out of their personalities. What became a tad downfall on the other hand was how much they decreased her into the damsel all over again during the climax, but there’s at least a few times she wasn’t completely useless such as helping Megamind find an outcome to the new villain’s rampage. Who voiced her was Tina Fey, capturing that sassy and heartfelt tone from her character.

Who you’d expect to be the villain all this time would easily be Metro Man, joyfully voiced by Brad Pitt, the established superhero of Metro City, wowing the civilians with everything he does and everywhere he soars. We first see how much he soaks up the glamour, representing his egotistical side, before he proudly goes down another round with his nemesis. Later on comes a funny yet insightful twist with how he originally caused the events, spending his performed defeat contemplating on how the pressures of becoming a superhero was really what he wanted. This echoed the beginning segment where he was brought towards an upper-class family and practically raised with a silver spoon in his mouth, immediately chosen to be the idol that everyone wanted to blindly look up to. Mirroring his nemesis, Metro Man never chose the life of the hero as it was pretty much forced into his face; would someone really want to do the exact same job day in and day out if it wasn’t what they wanted to do at first?

At first, you could give him the label that he what he did was really stupid, as he practically allowed everything to happen; however, judging by his speech towards his old enemy, it gave the intention that he may have planned him to change his ways. Another amazing subversion towards his role was how after his own choice of retirement into Music Man, he never changes his mind and chooses to remain anonymous, slapping those tired cliches where character return to the battle last minute after deciding their alternative choice. Metro Man grew from a childhood bully into a man suffering from an existential crisis, yet was going easy on his nemesis for all those years.

In order to find a new superhero to win back his former status, Megamind uses some of the powers of Metro Man to infect Roxanne’s cameraman, Hal. With this stand-in was another interesting character, where I don’t think I’ve seen such a progression. From the start, Hal isn’t the dorky admirer of Roxanne, but one who creepily crushes on her, making attempts to spend time with her. Even the movie acknowledged that his numerous approaches are pathetic and cringe-worthy. What further expresses his lack of true care was how he felt entitled to Roxanne, believing that he deserved her and nobody else. The film never sugarcoated his role and presence, as we have to face the fact that he’s a massive r/niceguy incel, turning out to be the real villain all from idolising his coworker that he doesn’t even respect.

With Megamind’s intrusion, he made the biggest mistake by transforming Hal into a superhero, vastly increasing the stakes of the outcome. With his status as the new replacement for Metro Man, Hal, dubbing himself as Titan, fully declares himself as a worthy boyfriend for Roxanne, only to outright frighten her. Even when offered to help Roxanne find out the plan behind Megamind, Hal deeply refuses, only focusing on how much he thinks he deserves to have her as his girlfriend. From there, Hal straight up devotes his life to villainy, shocking Megamind. This was when we see the true colours of the real mindset behind Hal, where despite how much Roxanne attempts to reason with him, he’s gone too far to the point of no return. Megamind’s own tricks never made an impact on Roxanne, but Hal’s chaotic display of powers could, presenting on how dangerous his abilities could really be. What made an uncaring slacker whose voice was eaten up by Jonah Hill became an anger and greed-fuelled monster hell-bent on murder instead of heroic duties.

To be frank, I feel that this movie was a hidden gem at the time, but I’m glad that people are really giving this the attention it deserves, even making memes out of the door lens image and Metro Man’s lines. For me, it’s a personal favourite, my appreciation for its existence growing stronger with every watch.

Final Rating: B+

9/10

[psychronia]

Eh. Hakoda's kids are both actual prodigies, so maybe that part isn't as strange for him.

It's really quite wild how much the kids in The Last Airbender utterly dwarf the powers of anyone short of seasoned masters. Let's do a roll call.

Aang: The Avatar. Simple and easy protagonist stuff. He kicks butt for a lot of reasons, like being an Airbender in a world that has forgotten how to fight them (and even then probably weren't great at it because Air Nomads didn't really fight). But he's also a real prodigy among Avatars for how quickly he picked up bending in the span of a single year.

Katara: The last waterbender of the Southern Tribe who happens to be so obscenely talented that she spontaneously learns healing, outclassed students with a formal master in a matter of days and pulled off an old-fashioned martial art trope of "steal a technique by watching it" when she didn't even want to. She lost to who is by all accounts the strongest waterbender in the world and has only grown in power by leaps and bounds with the bare minimum of tutelage. The only thing ever holding her back was a lack of teachers.

Sokka: Starts out as a goofball who takes himself too seriously, but as he becomes a sort of martial Avatar who learns combat philosophies from every nation, he quickly becomes a masterful tactician with the most unpredictable thinking in the show. He even wins wars with fun. They don't interact too much, but during the Day of Black Sun, he was able to read Azula's manipulations immediately and she had to target him specifically to keep the plan going.

Azula: Speaking of, there's obviously Azula being a firebending prodigy, graceful martial fighter, and master manipulator. But there was another post I saw that breaks down how Azula was low-key the only source of success during Ozai's short and pathetic 6-year reign. She captured Omashu, Ba Sing Se, and stole some Earthbender secret forces for personal use. She also directly contributed to the plans for both the Day of Black Sun and Sozin's Comet 2. If I were part of the war preparations, I would have honestly prioritized capturing Azula during the Black Sun because she is their single most valuable war asset.

Mai: She's rather passive throughout the story by design, but under all those repressed emotions and grumpy attitude, we have a...surprisingly peaceful person. Like, we could say that she's a badass for taking down trained soldiers and Kyoshi Warriors of course, but far more impressive is how she managed to do all that nonlethally while using what are inherently rather lethal weapons. She's like one of those circus knife throwers, except she does it as close to the body without piercing it as possible and in the heat of combat while her target is trying to beat her up. Call it kids show discretion if you want, but she still did it.

Ty Lee: This is rather simple. I don't think we know where she learned chi-blocking, but whether it's a formally taught class, a private mentor-student art, or a family secret technique, the fact remains that Ty Lee was a menace throughout the series. The only ones I'd want to be in closer quarters with even less than with her are folks like sword master Piandao and Aang when he was in an uncontrolled Avatar State.

Suki: She doesn't get quite as much shine, but she was at the Boiling Rock too, and she gets pretty much all the credit for taking the Warden hostage-by extension, she's basically instrumental for the first and perhaps only jailbreak in the history of the prison. Honestly, she could have broken out entirely on her own as long as Azula didn't conveniently show up there.

Toph: Toph

I don't think I've seen anybody talk about how absolutely insane The Boiling Rock is from Hakoda's perspective.

Imagine getting captured, and your son tells you that you won't be apart for too long. That's sweet, but obviously your son has no resources to spare for organizing a breakout. You hope that the Avatar can defeat the Fire Lord soon - that's the earliest time you could hope to be rescued.

You get put into a temporary holding facility until the guards can sort out who is who. After a while, they put you on a prisoner transport to the Boiling Rock. Your captors try to intimidate you by telling you that it's the highest security prison in the Fire Nation, probably the whole world. It's far away from the capital.

You arrive at the Boiling Rock. It really is in the middle of a boiling lake. There's only one way in or out, and it's a gondola that takes you above the boiling lake. You meet the warden. They take you to your cell. You settle down to wait for the end of the war.

And 15 minutes later Sokka comes in like "hey dad I'm here I got the prince of the Fire Nation and an Earth Kingdom ninja leader gf ok let's go I'm busting you out"

[separatist-apologist]

I second the opinion to post the bonus erina/elucien pollen fic because it indeed would be a waste to not see the Vanserra boys go at it. I agree with you on that statement.

This is LYR bonus content- spiked wine edition. While the sex pollen trope is considered dubious, there is clear, enthusiastic consenting happening beneath the cut. + filth obviously, and a look at what my plot once was, at the earlier stages

“There you are,” Eris crooned, looping his arm through Elains as she all but jogged through the hall. “Are you headed towards the festivities?” She tried to yank away but Eris held firm. “Not with you.” “Nonsense. We are family, after all.”

There was no use arguing, not when Eris’s hand was holding her in place or when, technically, he was her brother in some form or fashion. Besides, Eris’s sharp eyes kept all the other males from looking at her too closely and after weeks of being nonstop ogled, Elain could admit it was nice to use Eris as a shield. 

“Do you plan to participate today?” Eris asked conversationally. “I’ve heard it’s quite the spectacle.”

“Participate?”

“How poorly they inform you,” he chuckled, as if her ignorance was funny to him. “All the males compete to be crowned champion as part of their little games.” “Games for what?” 

“Independence,” Eris said dismissively. “This land was once controlled by a different sort of Faerie. Crueler, more powerful…Gunnar’s ancestors threw off the yolk of oppression and they remember every year with their little revels. This morning they’ll fight and this evening they’ll dance and at some point the whole thing devolves into fucking…or so I’m told.” “Yeah, I’ll bet your were,” she grumbled as Eris grinned widely.

“I’m sure I won’t be the only one. You know, I thought the frenzy would last longer than a few days—” “Maybe that’s your problem, Eris,” Elain interrupted sweetly. “You think about things you have no business wondering about. Imagine what you could accomplish if you spent less time thinking about what Lucien and I do in the privacy of our own bedroom.”

Eris chuckled. “I like you.”

The two entered the great hall, reassembled to look like a huge obstacle course—one designed, primarily, for battle. Males, the majority shirtless and coated in whorls of blue paint, stretched and sparred with each other, holding massive silver swords half as tall as her. Eris hesitated, eyes sweeping the room.

“What do you make of this place?” he asked after a moment. Elain was only half paying attention, her eyes on the lovely Hilda, already sitting on her iridescent throne practically dripping in glittering diamonds. 

“She looks so miserable,” Elain murmured, noting the vacancy in her blue and green eyes.

Eris released Elain’s arm to ghost his hand over the middle of her back. “Her father sold her for pennies.”

Elain looked up at him, surprised Eris would offer her any information about this place. His own expression was muted—unreadable. 

“That would make me miserable, too,” Elain murmured, wondering if Eris wasn’t speaking from some experience. She’d heard the story of Morrigan, of the evil, ugly Eris Vanserra who left her to die with a nailed note in her body. Elain thought, her hand reaching for the crook of his elbow all the same, that Eris wasn’t talking about himself as he watched. “This place reeks of rot,” he finally said. 

“How can you tell?” “I’m the Lord of rot and ruin,” Eris murmured, eyes cutting towards her. “What do you think is lurking beneath the jeweled leaves of Autumn’s famed forests?”

“What are you truly doing here, Eris?”

A smile ghosted over his lips. “I’ve never fucked a female from the continent–” “You’re so gross,” she complained, trying to pull away. Eris caught her, keeping her at his side as they watched, half hidden at the far end of the room.

“Oh, come on. Lighten up. Surely you didn’t think you’d bat your pretty little eyes and I’d spill my guts?”

Elain poked him hard in the ribs. “You’ll tell me everything before you go home and I won’t even have to ask.” “Oh, I’m certain of it,” Eris agreed. “But not today. Today I just want to observe.” “And tomorrow?” Eris grinned. “I hope to be too sore to even get out of bed.” She poked him again. 

“Speaking of spending my day in bed…what do you know about Helion’s scholar?” Eris asked, catching sight of a golden dipped Arina swanning across the room. Every head turned as she walked, not that Arina noticed. Or cared. Eris was no better, watching with that same hungry stare.

“She doesn’t like you.” “I’m serious. Helion doesn’t get involved…he likes to let Rhysand do his dirty work. Thesan, too. The solar courts are more united, fight less often. Tell me what you know.” “Why would I help you?”

“I’ll owe you a favor?”

“I don’t need a favor,” Elain retorted. “And I don’t want Lucien’s father—” “My father, too,” Eris reminded her without any of his usual amusement. “I wonder if any of us know what game we’re truly playing.”

“What does that mean?” she asked. Eris only shook his head. “You’ll come to trust me, Elain. And when you do, I’ll still owe you that favor.” Eris shooed Elain towards the ladies, sauntering off to torment some different lord, leaving Elain to join Arina on the outskirts of the revel. “What did he want?” Arina asked, watching a very shirtless Gunnar stride into the room. The whole chamber grew quiet at the sight of his honed, muscular body covered in that same whorling blue. Only Hilda remained unmoved, as if she’d seen it all before and it hardly impressed her. Both Elain and Arina watched, a soft haze filtering over the ugliness of the upcoming competition. 

This place reeks of rot. 

Elain looked across the room to Eris, arms crossed over his black coat jacket. He was staring, too, his eyes hardly gloating. She knew what he was trying to say.

You sense it too.

Eris thought it rot but Elain considered it the pretty film of magic. Gunnar lifted a sword as he strode into that ring. The iridescent light that coated his skin, the air, her very eyes, shielding them all from the vicious display. Lucien often complained that everyone let Gunnar win when they played cards, that he was a poor loser. A spoiled king, was the all but stated words. 

Not here, though. If there is magic to be had, it’s in the way Gunnar wields his blade, moving like silk in the air. Every inch of him seems to be born to do nothing else—he is forged of the very blood he draws, made of the dripping iron and howling cold. 

Male after male came forward to challenge him, sword gripped in hand. Gunnar needed no crown to prove his mettle, required no proof he was lord of the land to take down his foes. Elain watched, after each defeat, how he looked to Hilda with the same hopeful eyes she’d seen too often on Lucien. 

Do you see what I would do for you?

Hilda offered no praise—not in her body, or gaze, or lips. She might have been carved from the same stone that once hewed the mountains for all she seemed to care. Elain almost felt bad for Gunnar as the day wore on. He pushed through punishing task after task, always turning to his wife and always rebuffed. Perhaps he had humiliated her too many times for her approval now. Maybe once she’d been like the other gathered females, watching with heated interest, her body pulled in fascination. Even Elain couldn’t help the admiration she felt. He was beautiful. You’d have to be blind not to notice. Arina, too, had shifted, her gaze softened. What had once seemed predatory and menacing seemed approachable.

Safe.

Elain glanced over the room throughout the day, always finding Eris’s eyes. Always with that leveled stare, his lips flat with accusation. You’re falling for a trick, his body seemed to warn. Something in her mind, too. Something that continuously pulled her away from fully walking into the glimmer, the same feeling when her dreams were just a little too lifelike.

Lucien.

Lucien, off on his own, chatting casually with courtiers and lords like he had no care in the world. Lucien, in a coat so purple it was nearly black, the color offsetting the copper hues in his hair vibrantly. Every time Elain looked at him she saw something new, some little trick of the light bouncing off his cheekbones or his muscles shifting beneath the black of his pants that reminded her he was real. The room would clear, the walls spread back to their original place and sometimes Lucien would see her, offering a whisper of a smile. 

Arina tugged at Elain when it was time to change. “They say this dance devolves into an orgy,” Arian told her as they walked from the hall, both of them shaking off a day of milling about watching men fight and climb and swim. “After midnight, when the children are asleep. “I’ll be asleep too,” Elain replied, reaching for the staircase. Arina grinned.

“Well, I’ll be up.” And Elain wondered if she hadn’t decided on the king after all. 

~*~

It took Lucien a moment, blinking as he was, to realize the music hadn’t abruptly cut. There were still revelers, dancing and twirling and smiling. People still milled about tables piled high with food and wine, still sat on settees and reclined against iridescent walls. They were still talking, voices a low hum beneath the strings of the music thudding in his veins, the chandelier still pouring soft fae light into the massive, arched space.

Only—maybe it had all vanished and he was standing among the heavens because Elain had stepped in draped in plunging, clinging gold and robbed him of air. Tumbling curls fell over bare shoulders, dark eyes framed by even darker, longer lashes and Lucien was certain she was not real. He’d merely imagined her and any moment she would shimmer into nothing. 

He needed her to dance with Gunnar. He’d had it planned all day, had kept his distance specifically so the king might sidle up, might think her more willing than she was. Now, standing across the room, Lucien only felt hotly burning jealousy. Gunnar wasn’t anywhere here, was talking to his absurdly beautiful wife who was, somehow, not even the most beautiful female in the room. Elain outshone everyone and if Hilda wanted to compete, she had to settle for bronze. Arina, shimmying in beside Elain in that vibrant Day Court white, made one of the violinist's bow slip loudly. How was it, he wondered, to be so outshone by these foreign females in a place you out to have held dominion? Lucien turned, gulping down his cup of wine before setting to the table so he could pour twin glasses for Elain and Arina. It gave him a reason to go talk to them, to sweep Elain up at least once before he unleashed her on Gunnar.

She was a prize and every male in the room knew it. Stunning, sweet, and mated. Elain radiated pure, hazy sunlight—softer than the warmth pooling at Arina’s feet and draped about her skin like a cloak. If Arina was the midday sun then Elain was radiating dawn. Lucien all but sauntered to them, pushing the cup into Elain’s hand.

“You look nice,” he lied. Nice was all wrong—Elain was ethereal, his every fantasy come to life. She beamed before pressing red lips to the glass. Lucien’s whole body tightened at the sight, earning an irritated look from Arina who gratefully did not comment on the scent he knew must be rolling off him. Elain might trust the Day Court princess but Lucien didn’t—not yet, at any rate. Not when his brother was watching her so hawkishly, caught up in the rivalry that had always existed between their courts. Lucien didn’t trust Arina to keep Elain safe if it came between Helion and Lucien’s mate.

“I was hoping you’d let Gunnar dance with you,” he murmured, hand trailing down her back. Little pearl buttons lined against her spine, creating the most delicious friction against his palm. He needed to get himself together. Lucien took another long, slow drink to try and steady himself.

“Why?” “Because he wants you,” Lucien replied. “And I’m getting nowhere with him. I want to see the border but he’s suspicious of me. Maybe you could work a little of your magic?” Elain’s eyes sparkled as she looked up at him, her fingers brushing over the back of his hands. “And what magic is that?” Lucien licked his lips. How did he even begin to explain? “You’re doing it right now.”

She pressed just a little closer, hand pressed against his chest. “I’m just looking at you.” He almost called the whole thing off. Lucien almost pulled her into his own arms so he could dance her silly and stupid, could let everyone else watch her twirl in his grasp. Jealous. And in his mind, he didn’t gloat though his eyes told everyone watching what they all knew—she’s mine. 

It was hard to pretend, even as Elain offered him one last dazzling smile before slipping away, finishing her drink and leaving the cup with a serving fae. He could only watch, eyes trained on the slight sway of her hips. Gunnar had noticed too, giving up on seducing his own frigid, angry wife. She was in a mood and Lucien could guess why. Rumors abound that he’d been caught with the Vallahan emissary the night before who just so happened to be some sort of relation, though that might have been just a vicious court rumor. He’d embarrassed her and now she would shun him, for all it deterred anyone. She didn't want to leash her ladies and as a result, none of them respected her.

Elain was caught in Gunnar’s easy grasp with a friendly smile. Game on. 

“You’re letting him touch her?” Eris asked when Lucien went back to the table, his body warm from all the liquor. Eris held his own glass between two fingers, his expression one of supreme boredom. “Say the word and I’ll cut off his hands.” “Since when do you care who touches Elain?”

Eris glanced over at Lucien before swirling his cup absently. He threw it back like a shot, shuddering at whatever it was he tasted. “She doesn’t belong here with the monsters, Lucien.” “Sure she does,” he replied with just an edge in his voice. What did Eris know about Elain or where she belonged? She wanted to be here, dancing with the King of Rask. She could have been his consort for how fluidly she moved, how utterly regal she seemed. Elain, whether she thought so or not, had been born to be High Fae. Maybe even a King’s wife, had she not been paired up with him. Lucien could see it all so clearly, how powerful men would fall to their knees just for a kind word from her lips. 

Mine. 

“She doesn’t,” Eris grumbled, looking into his empty cup. “If we were smart, we’d leave tomorrow.” “Then go.” Lucien’s words were a dismissal. He didn’t want to have this conversation with his brother, not when he was watching Elain laugh, head tossed back so the tips of her hair brushed against the soft swell of her ass. Lucien had always been attracted to Elain but tonight felt different. He was needy, achy. The mere sight of her hands sliding up Gunnar’s shoulder, as if he were the most fascinating male in the world, was doing something strange to him. It wasn’t jealousy—not exactly, anyway. It was desire. Watching her was enough to ignite a flame in his stomach, raw, rabid lust shooting into his cock. Eris was watching with the same lurid fascination, as if he’d never seen two people dance before. 

Gunnar dropped his face, blonde curls spilling over his forehead and Elain arched into the touch, letting his lips brush over her cheek. Lucien imagined what it would be like to touch her like that, to drag his tongue over her skin and taste the sweet, musky salt of her body—

“Oh fuck,” Eris snarled, slamming his cup to the table behind them. Lucien’s attention snapped to his brother, catching the rough smell of arousal…not just from Eris, but everywhere. He’d been so busy staring at Elain that he hadn’t noticed a pair grinding against each other a mere ten feet away from him and Eris, pulling at each other’s clothes with talons and teeth. 

“They spiked the fucking wine,” Eris swore. 

It should have alarmed him, given Gunnar had Elain flush against him, his hand sliding down her back. Her eyes were heavy lidded, body pliant beneath the Kings touch. Lucien thought to join them, perhaps. Or maybe he’d—

Eris strolled across the room, all but dragging Elain out of Gunnar’s embrace. She was laughing, nearly tipping to the ground. Only Eris, his hand firm against her arm, kept her on her feet. Lucien trotted just behind, unsure what to say. “Eris,” she was giggling, shoving futilely against Eris’s grasp. “I was having fun.”“You were about five steps from falling to your knees,” he grumbled. 

“I would never,” she protested, twisting in Eris’s grasp to look at Lucien. “Tell him. We have never—” “Yes, Elain, why don’t you scream it a little louder,” Eris interrupted. “I am well aware of what’s happening between you two.” Eris all but shoved Elain into Lucien’s grasp at the foot of the stairs. “Take her to your room and bolt the fucking door. No orgies.”Lucien frowned before hauling Elain up over his shoulder. “Wait! Eris, wait–!”

He paused, the tension in his body practically rippling beneath his skin. “Find Arina. Don’t let them…she’ll be so upset in the morning.” Eris’s eyes darkened. “Done.” Eris vanished before Lucien could remind his brother that her regret would extend to him, unable to do much more than suppress the groan building in his chest. Elain’s breasts were squashed against his shoulders, the scent of her arousal practically in his nose. It was effort, dumping her on their shared bed before turning back for the door to bolt it. He did the sliding door, too while Elain giggled on the bed, kicking off her shoes.

“How long is this going to last?” she asked him breathlessly and fuck if Lucien remembered. The last time he’d had wine like this he’d been practically a boy running amok in the Forest House. It had been one of his older brothers to lace their drink during Autumn Equinox and their mother had been irate, silent tears streaming down her face the next morning. At the time, Lucien had assumed she was embarrassed by how they’d defiled the forest but now…he knew she’d hated how the wine made her want her husband, how she’d all but crawled in Beron’s lap that night. 

“Hours,” he panted, back pressed against the closet door. “Until the wine is out of our system.”

Elain’s eyes were blown out, so dark he could practically see his reflection. It wasn’t like her nightmares—there was bright light just behind, making her seem particularly mischievous. 

“If you lock the closet—” “Why would I do that?” she murmured, kicking off her shoes. “I like you where you are.” He exhaled hard. “You’re not thinking clearly–” “Or maybe I’m thinking clearly for the first time since we met,” she replied, rising from the bed like his every fantasy come to life. Lusty bedroom eyes beckoned him before she turned, sweeping her hair with one fluid motion to the side. “Will you at least help me out of this dress?”

“And into what?” he whispered, his fingers already undoing her buttons. Inch by inch, Lucien began barring her tanned skin, his fingers trailing over her smooth body.

“You could help me into bed?” she suggested when he’d finished. She held the front of the dress against her breasts, pulling her arms from the sleeves before she let it pool entirely at her feet. Elain was all but naked beneath, her body hidden in a matching pair of pink, lacy underthings she presumably wore because she liked them and not because she imagined he might see. Lucien’s knees shook at the sight. 

She slid into bed with all the grace of a practiced seductress. “Elain, I—” Her eyes silenced him. His mate. 

“You’ll regret it in the morning,” he managed, his fingers reaching for the silver buttons on his jacket.

“I don’t think so,” she murmured appreciatively when he pushed the offending cloth from his shoulders, letting it join her dress on the floor. “Shirt, Lucien.”

“You want to see me with my clothes off?” It was meant to sound suggestive–flirty. It came out sound awed, breathless.

“Yes,” she agreed. And so off when his shirt, and then his boots, until all that was left were his pants and his aching, raging cock just behind. His blood pulsed in time with his heart, thick and heavy, urging him to do something about his aching need. 

He crawled up the bed, both terrified and desperate, so certain he’d screw this whole thing up. And Elain, pliant and warm and wonderful Elain, let him guide her back to the mattress. “I’ve only done this once before,” she told him, eyes dark and wide. 

“I’m not fucking you,” he breathed, running his nose over the hollow of her neck. “Not yet, anyway. If I only have this one night…” If he only had one night and the magic of the wine laced with aphrodisiac, Lucien intended to make the best of it. He wanted everything, wanted her to remember his hands and mouth just as surely as she’d remember his cock. 

“If you only…oh…” she whispered as his mouth replaced his nose, kissing softly against her neck. It was supposed to be this way…but it wasn’t. Elain’s hips flew off the bed, grinding against him and Lucien’s last little thread of control shredded to dust. Maybe, if she ever let him touch her again, he’d give a slow, sweet seduction. The sort that would take hours to finish, the kind where she’d tremble from just a featherlight touch. The wine urged them to take, to do something about the burning desire they both were writhing beneath. Lucien pushed his cock against her, groaning at the heat he felt radiating between the cloth separating them. Lucien needed to taste her, needed to put her pussy on his face. He reached, her mouth sliding against his own and Lucien was utterly lost, awash in the taste of the wine still bright against her tongue, the heady honeyed smell of her mingled with the musky sweetness of her arousal. 

Fingers threaded through his hair, tugging at his careful braid until the strands cascaded around them. Elain moaned, unsatisfied with his scalp. He pushed against her, desperate for relief when those same nails dragged over the skin of his back, sliding into the band of his pants to grasp at his ass and push him harder, to all but forced them together, over and over until they’d created a bruising pace, grinding their half naked, sweat slicked bodies against the other. Nothing had ever felt better in his entire life than kissing her with all the pent up passion he’d been forced to swallow those last five years, her body rolling rhythmically beneath him. She was going to come—Lucien could feel how she trembled, how she was seeking more friction, was gasping into his mouth, her eyes rolling backwards. He might have pulled away had the sight not been so intoxicating. Let her, he decided just a moment before she came apart, grinding so hard against his pants he could feel the wet soaking against his cock. 

Only then did Lucien find some semblance of strength, peeling himself off her. Elain watched, breasts jiggling with each new breath, practically spilling from that lace ensemble. “Did I buy you that?”

“Yes,” she whispered, running her hands over the skimpy fabric. Lucien let himself admire her for one more moment, dressed in the underthings he’d purchased for her. 

“Take it off,” he ordered, rubbing his own erection through the wet stain of his pants. Elain arched her back, reaching for the clasp in the back, sending his eyes rolling back into his head. Elain tossed them to the side, eyes daring him to tell her to keep going.

“Touch,” he managed, his voice hoarse. She did, her hands reaching for the soft swells, fingers tugging at the rosy tipped peaks. 

“And the rest.” “What about you?” she demanded softly, breath hitching in her throat. Lucien stepped forward, gesturing at his pants.

“Come look at what a mess you made.” Elain rose to her knees with a curved, wicked smile. “You know,” she began as she rested the most perfect ass Lucien had ever seen on the heels of her feet. “The ladies of court have discussed quite loudly what they’d do if they were to ever get their hands on the laces of your pants.”

He was only half listening, drunk on her gentle tugs, a mere moment from freeing him into her hands. “They talk of all sorts of terribly wicked things.” “Like?”

Elain reached, squeezing her soft hand around his shaft. It was with nothing but pure, masculine pride to see her fingers unable to touch, at the stripe of untouched skin where she couldn’t quite grasp him. 

“I wasn’t aware you could use your mouth,” she said, lowering her face so her lips touched the crown of his cock, her breath fanning over the sensitive skin. Elain looked up through thick lashes with her fuck me eyes and Lucien realized she knew exactly what she was doing.

“You’ll tell me if I do something wrong?”

He threaded his fingers in her hair, nodding desperately as her petal soft mouth linked the length of him, tongue swirling against the head. Hollowed cheeks swallowed a third of his shaft into her throat with relative ease for someone who claimed to be unpracticed. Lucien groaned, using his hand to guide her head.

“That’s it,” he praised. “My pretty girl.”

Elain hummed her approval, squirming with pleasure. He needed to eat her. “Elain,” he tried but she was rubbing her tongue in time with the movements just beneath the tip of his head and oh, Gods, he’d come if she did that. “Get on your back.” She released him with a wet pop of her mouth, the sound so obscene he could have died. “Is something wrong?” “I haven’t eaten tonight,” Lucien all but growled when she did as he asked though she was all wrong. Her legs hung over the bed and Lucien very much was not done feeling her silky tongue caress him. “I’m starving, Elain.” He turned her, spilling her lovely hair against the edge of the bed as he came towards her. He could feel the strands brush against the hair of his leg. He reveled in it, cock in hand as he rubbed it over her swollen lips. “Take your clothes off.” Elain scrambled from her underwear, balling it into a wad and throwing it to the end of bed. The noise that escaped him was hardly elegant–the desperate keen made her smile. She wiggled a little before her knees fell open, draped over the bed like the most tempting offering he’d ever seen. 

Carefully, Lucien slid his cock back into her mouth, all but bruising the back of her throat. Elain pressed at his thighs, telling him when she’d had enough. “Good, that’s good,” he praised, spreading his legs wide so he could control the angle of his thrusts even as he hovered over her. “I’m going to fuck your mouth with my cock while I fuck your cunt with my tongue. Would you like that?” She whimpered, swallowing him down when he moved his hips and fuck Lucien was already too close, too desperate. It was all he could do but grab her by the legs and bury his face between her thighs, taking that first needy taste of her. It was meant to be a teasing lick, his tongue slow as he worked up the length of her. Elain practically sobbed with pleasure, the rumbling vibration of her moan settling in his sac. Lucien was trying to control his hips, to resist the urge to slam into her throat and make her take all of him whether she wanted to or not. Instead, he distracted himself from the wet slide of her mouth and her perfect little tongue by spreading her wide open with his thumb. 

He’d never get over the slight of her gleaming, trembling pink cunt, still swollen from when she’d come against his clothed erection. Elain ground against him, inadvertently taking more of his cock with the new angle of her body. They moaned in time, Lucien taking every inch he could get before he gave up, once again, trying to draw her out. 

“Make a mess of my face,” he ordered, speaking the words against her clit before he did as promised. She whined, choking softly when a little more of his length pushed against the back of her throat. He could feel her working to breathe even as she kept her lips wrapped tight, sucking in air before he slid back in, over and over. 

Lucien was let wild need take over, feasting on her pussy like it was the finest meal he’d ever had. It was easy enough to figure what she liked, to slide his tongue as far into her tight heat as he could before dragging it up her middle and swirling over her clit for a hot, wet kiss. Elain bucked and writhed, covering him in her slick arousal. If he was close, so was she. She could feel her shaking legs clenched tight around his face.

She hit at his thighs, not to tell him to stop but in warning. Elain screamed when his lips closed once again around that swollen nub of flesh, dragging him into climax with her. Lucien poured himself down her throat, grunting with each thrust of his hips. 

Lucien pulled his still aching cock from her mouth if only to crawl over her, to pull her back to the bed. “You want more.”

It wasn’t a question. He knew she did because he did, too. Elain, panting and flushed, her lips bright red from swallowing his cock, watched him with those dark, lust stained eyes. “Say it,” he ordered, if only to give himself something to fantasize about when she inevitably decided they’d made a terrible mistake. “I want more,” she said, her voice clear—strong.

“You want my cock,” he continued, pushing apart her legs, taking himself in hand. “You want me to fill you up?” “Yes,” she whimpered, licking her lips as Lucien dragged the head of his aching arousal up her slick cunt, teasing her clit until he, too, was practically panting. Lucien all but fell over her, his hand closing around her neck. “There will be no one else,” he whispered against her jaw. “Regardless of what happens in the morning. There will only be me, only be you.” She looked up at him, fingers grazing his stubbled jaw. “Mate.” He hadn’t meant to thrust into her the way he did. It was as if she’d pulled a string and Lucien had merely obeyed the command. Elain gasped, her whole body tensing and too late, Lucien remembered what she’d said at the beginning. Only once before. When she’d been human, about to be married. Lucien slanted his mouth over hers in apology, holding himself utterly still despite the wild flame demanding he claim her. Lucien kissed, tongue stroking her own, until she relaxed against him, her rigid body warming, her fingers sliding up over his back. 

“You’re doing so well,” he praised, kissing her cheek, her neck, behind her ear. “You take my cock so well.” Elain arched, letting him suck one of her nipples into his mouth and lavish it with the same sweet praise. Sweet, pretty mate, he through, trading one breast for the other until she began to whine, lifting and wiggling with need. Lucien was coming apart, the seams that held him together slowly unraveling. Elain, with her tight, perfect pussy and her soft, warm body that conformed to his every contour. Lucien couldn’t be slow, couldn’t be nice, couldn’t give her the slow seduction he’d once dreamt of when they were newly mated and he’d been sure she’d come around if he only gave her time.

Driving need pushed Lucien to thrust back into her, withdrawing to the tip only to push back. Elain met him savagely, lifting her hips to grind against him. He wasn’t the only one who was working out whatever was happening, whatever had been happening. “Five fucking years,” Lucien growled against her neck, sucking the skin until she yelped. He soothed the little hurt with his tongue. “You’ve denied me this sweet pussy for five fucking years.” She kissed him, sinking her teeth into his bottom lip. “You’ll fuck me when I say you can,” she whispered when blood flooded into his mouth. Lucien had never been harder in his life. He put his hand back around her throat. “You’re a fucking brat.” Elain’s eyes found him. “Your fucking brat.” His balls tightened painfully, forcing him to squeeze his ass to keep from pouring himself into her. She was so fucking sexy, so utterly stunning. He was losing his mind. “Come on my cock, Elain. I want to fuck you again.” She moaned, grinding against his body until she’d found that sweet spot. Elain broke with a scream he all but sucked from her throat, strangling it with the press of his fingers to her windpipe. Climax couldn’t have come a moment too soon. Lucien all but burrowed himself in her cunt, spilling every last drop of come into her body. 

“Oh, my Gods,” Elain whispered, throwing her head back against the pillow. Lucien knew why. He kissed her mouth.

“Again?”

She nodded. “Please.

3.5 [Eris bonus pollen]

Find Arina. Eris stalked through the palace, trying to ignore the scent of arousal burning in his nose. When he’d hoped for a devolving orgy, he’d hoped for consent, if nothing else. Everyone was mindless with need, hardly caring who touched who or if they even liked each other. For some pairs, like his idiot brother and giggling Elain, Eris thought it was likely to work out.

For him, though?

Eris stopped in the throne room. There she was in that clingy white dress, her back bared save for a thin line of chains draped against her skin. Arina wasn’t Autumn Court–she was pure Day and Eris knew the reputation of Helions court. She clearly had no compunction with reaching for the first person she saw—some pretty little strawberry blonde, tits already bared. Eris halted, ignoring the way his control was fraying. 

Arina wasn’t just Elain’s friend or Helions scholar or emissary or lover or whatever she fucking was. Arina was his mate. The snap had been brutal, near violent in its intensity and since he’d felt it, Eris had been merely ignoring her. He didn’t know if she’d felt it too, though he’d seen her eyes on him often enough.

Unlike Elain and Lucien, who were fun to taunt, Eris avoided Arina entirely. No conversation, no traded barbs. Nothing that might make someone look at her twice, that might cause them to think she was a tool that could be used against him. Until that moment, Eris had made peace with sending her back to Helion, to maybe seeing her again in two or three centuries when Beron was dead and he’d brought Autumn to heel. 

That was before he watched his mate drag her tongue over the other female’s neck. She wasn’t looking at whoever she touched—Arina was looking at him. Eris’s lips parted and some small part of him wanted to be difficult. He wanted to turn entirely and leave her there. Let her see how little he cared.

But fuck she was so gorgeous. He had an excuse, he told himself. If he fucked the Day Court scholar under the influence of an aphrodisiac, Beron would hardly care. No one would think twice about it. She was there, he was there…this other fucking female he ever much wanted to get rid of was there. 

“Are you going to just watch?” she taunted as he approached. Eris cracked his neck as if he wasn’t being ridden hard with lust.

“Maybe. I see this shit every day.” Arina shrugged, reaching for the broached clasps on her shoulders. With one easy tug, she removed every stitch of clothing. Eris nearly knelt before her. She was glorious, all soft bronze skin and lush curves. “Every day?” she challenged, turning her backside to him to go back to her quivering female. Eris grabbed her around her middle, keeping her from sinking to the floor and burying her face into cunt.

“I don’t think so,” he whispered, grinding his hips against her ass. She gasped at what she felt, his painful, aching erection sliding over her bare skin, leashed only by the laces of his pants. 

“Jealous?” she taunted breathlessly. 

“Desperately,” he agreed, hauling her into his arms, limbs flailing, to take her out of that throne room. He’d be damned if anyone looked at her perfect body but him. 

“Is this the kind of male you are?” she asked when he tossed her on his bed. She looked good there, spayed out among his immaculate sheets. “Possessive?” “To a fault,” he agreed, reaching for the buttons on his jacket. She all but crawled to the edge of the bed, blonde hair falling around her perfect face. “I don’t want your lips on anyone but me.” Her arousal was sweet in the air, driving him insane as he peeled himself from his clothes. Arina merely watched and he wondered how often she called the shots. Maybe Day Court males liked being bossed around. 

Eris fucking didn’t. Not when he had so little control anywhere else in his life. Not when he knew his mate would yield, would trust him. No one trusted him. Eris walked to the bed, erection bobbing between his legs. Forest green eyes looked at nothing else, head cocked as she drank him in. He let her for one anxious moment. It was a terrifying thing. 

Do you like me?Arina’s eyes found us, a smile curved over her mouth. “Who knew the sons of High Lords were so well equipped?” His hand shot forward, wrapping itself in her long, silken hair. “Get on your knees, Arina.”

Defiance flared in her eyes. “Or what?”

“I’ll make you,” he replied coolly. “We both know what you want.” She let him tug her from the bed. “And what’s that?” Using her hair as a leash, Eris dragged her flush against him until he was nestled in the cradle of her thighs. Their eyes met, breath mingled in the inch of air between them. “You want to please your mate.”She sucked in a breath. “You feel it?” For one stupid moment, Eris nearly pulled her into his grasp and held her against him. Maybe if he’d only been overcome with his usual lust he could have slowed himself down, could have reassured her of his terrible–yet honorable–intentions. “I feel it,” was all Eris could manage as he pushed her to her knees. “Open your mouth.” There was no hesitation when she looked up at him. No fear. Even the females in his own court couldn’t quite manage that. Oh, they tried. They wiggled and teased and did everything he asked but he saw the flicker of uncertainty if he was just a little too rough, a little too bossy. 

Beron. 

Arina blazing defiance, her unguarded trust made his legs shake even as he pushed his cock against her firmly closed lips. “Open your mouth,” he ordered again, praying to the Mother above she wouldn’t. 

Let me show you what we could have. 

“Make–” she didn’t get to finish that bratty fucking sentence. Eris pushed past her teeth, hissing at the scrape before he had himself in her throat. She gagged, a tear slipping over her cheek. He thumbed it away, tilting her head, stuffed to the gills with his cock, and smiled. “You’re so fucking sexy like this.” He had practically no control, dragging himself a mere inch out before plunging back in. She gagged loudly, eyes flooded. Eris exhaled a breath. “I wish you could see how well you swallow me.”

He had no intention of finishing this way—at least, not the first time. Eris wanted to watch his come drip out of her pussy, wanted to see it stain the sheets beneath them. He was merely jealous she was going to put her perfect mouth on one of Gunnar’s worthless courtiers. It was an absurd thing to expect her to be like Elain—chaste to a fucking fault, likely upstairs crying all over Lucien’s chest while he politely divested her of her virginity. Eris liked Arina’s experience, liked the sheer faerieness of her. 

And he was jealous, all the same. Jealous of everyone she’d ever opened her mouth for, jealous of every cock that had ever spread her legs. 

Eris withdrew himself when her face was a mess of mascara and lipstick. “Fuck,” he breathed, hauling her to her feet for a bruising kiss. She tasted like him—like his salt, his musk, mingled against her own citrusy sweet scent. Eris swallowed it down, tongue chasing that taste as he walked her back to the bed. “How do you like to be fucked?” he moaned, hand sliding between her legs. She was dripping, her thighs practically coated in her slick arousal. Eris brought his fingers to his mouth to taste.

Arina crawled on the bed, burying her face into the mass of silken pillows and Eris thought he might be in love. Her round, curved ass wiggled in the air, cunt presented in all its gleaming, wet glory. Eris came up behind her, sliding his hand over her cheek before slapping hard. “Is this what you like?”

She whimpered, turning her head to look. Eris slapped again and again, until her skin was ruddy and imprinted with his hand. He liked the look of it. Maybe, he thought as he lowered his chest to the bed, he’d cover that pretty body of hers in come, too. 

“What are you—” “I’m hungry, Arina,” he interrupted, pushing her legs further apart. “Let me eat in peace.” She whined, the sound music to his cock. Pretty, pretty mate, he thought with delight, sliding his tongue up the center of her. His fingers hadn’t done her justice, had barely scratched the surface of the heady arousal now branded in his mouth. Eris knew he’d never get that taste from the back of his throat. It was worth it, though he knew it would be torture to go back to pretending she was nothing, to have this one little moment with her. To know what was waiting if he was patient enough, careful enough. 

Arina was responsive, grinding her cunt against his face to get what she needed. He wasn’t going to give it to her—she’d come on his cock and only his cock. At least this time, at least. Perhaps if there was another stolen moment where he could risk being drenched in her cunt and he wasn’t under the influence of laced wine. He’d lay her out and have her properly, would make love to her and tell her he thought her beautiful—and whatever else he felt, assuming he felt anything at all. He only knew what he could see, was too afraid to learn anything else about her. Anything that could be pulled from his mind and used against him. It wasn’t just Beron constantly trying to hurt him. Rhysand was always digging in his brain for secrets. He’d seen what they done with Elain to keep Lucien docile. What was stopping Night from asking to borrow Arina for a century or two? 

“Eris,” she whispered, bringing him back to the task at hand. He was offering her slow, languid licks. Working her up without letting her crest any further. Teasing was good, he reasoned, dipping his tongue as deeply as he could before withdrawing. Arina all but sobbed for relief but Eris didn’t offer her an ounce of mercy. He wanted to hear her beg, was rewarded when his lips closed around her clit, sucking softly.

“Eris, please!” she pleaded near- incoherently. He removed his mouth entirely, slamming himself to the hilt into her soaking cunt. His rolls backed into his head at the tight stretch of her body, of the way she immediately came, the walls of her pussy convulsing around him, sucking him in. He hadn’t been prepared for that. His fingers curled against her hips, bruising her flawless skin. Eris felt like a unseasoned male all over again, fucking his very first female. He could have come from her climax alone, was already bruisingly on edge.

He slapped her ass, enjoying her breathless yelp. “You come when I say you can.”

She pushed against him, ass flush against his abdomen. “Come for me, mate,” she whispered instead, squeezing around him until Eris had his head thrown back in ecstasy. He needed more, had to wrap his hand back in her thick, golden hair and pull her back so he could kiss her. 

“It’s not the fucking wine,” he growled against her throat. “This is us. Say it.” “This is us,” she whined before he captured her mouth in a bruising kiss. Eris came, pouring more than just come into his mate. He pressed his forehead against her sweaty back, kissing and licking as his hips bucked. He couldn’t stop, even after he’d poured out, using his own emission as lubrication.

“I’m going to come for you,” she whispered when he got her on her back. She reached for his face, caressing his cheek. Eris leaned down and kissed her, wondering if the tightness in his chest wasn’t arousal at all. Wondered if he wasn’t, impossibly, in love with this female. “I hope you do.”

[achillieus]

we’re fools. (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: for all bucky barnes knows, he hates clichés. and this thing between you two, happens to be the biggest one.

(enemies to lovers trope or i watched the society on netflix recently and based this entirely on harry bingham and cassandra pressman)

pairing: college au!bucky x reader

warnings: alcohol, angst, too much tension, bucky and reader are stupid and in  denial, sexual tension all around the place

tagging: @tonystankschild​

(other parts)  (masterlist)

part 2/3:

And then it’s the last week of February and you have an assignment together, you and Bucky, the boy with black hair and a mind that you’re certain is not as clever as he insists it is. You know this cannot possibly end well. You feel it when he sits beside you and his knee brushes past your leg. You feel it when you take a breath and smell his aftershave. Sandalwood and vanilla. It makes you want to lick your lips. Please, get a grip. You try to get away, even propose to write the whole thing alone so you wouldn’t have to spend any time around him. In your mind, you call it self defense. But Bucky’s boastful and you can see him pumping the muscles in his neck, trying to intimidate you.

“My dorm, tomorrow at 7,” he says “Don’t be late.”

-

(your late night instagram search history)

(00:38 AM) #literaturememes

(01:15 AM) @buckybrns

(01:30 AM) #newgirl

(01:50 AM) @buckybrns

(02:10 AM) @buckybrns

You find it annoying; how he’s present even when he’s not around.

-

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that everyone, boys and girls, adore him alike. He’s charming, he’s crafty, he’s brilliant. He’s everything they want him to be and even more. It nearly condones his megalomania.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he’s aware he has an audience. Always plans his moves, knows how to play his character perfectly. He wears dark designer jeans and plain Henley shirts, buttons open, fabric tight around his biceps. Sometimes even a black leather jacket and a tag necklace. Girls are intrigued by the bad-boy, straight A student contrast, while the boys are envious enough keep him close and invite him to all of their parties. Bucky gives them whatever they need.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he’s utterly lonely. He has never said so, but it’s the truest thing about him. He has Sam. But for how long? Bucky’s used to people going away. It has been imprinted on him. His best friend, Steve, left with his girlfriend in an exchange program last month and Natasha, the one girl he ever came close to loving, just started dating Clint Barton. Clint fucking Barton. What a downgrade.

And then there’s you, sitting at the end of his bed, playing with the ring in your finger, reading some neatly written lecture notes. Usually, Bucky would think about 129 cheeky comments he could make to a girl in his room. But not to you. Are you sure, Bucky? He has grown accustomed to disliking you. It’s the one constant he has left and he’s not planning on losing it.

He leans down and takes the place next to you, a bottle of beer dangling loosely in his hand.

He offers and you decline.

“We need to concentrate on the project.”  

“You’re the biggest killjoy.” Bucky says with a hint of a smirk.

“I’m studying, Bucky.” He can see your left hand holding that dark green pen in a tight grip and your eyes trying to focus everywhere but on his face. He can see your hair glistening in the warm afternoon light that comes from his window. He can see the soft red blush on your cheeks and the beauty mark on your neck. What a tricky thing it is to see. And to feel. And to want.

Is that what dislike tastes like, Bucky?

-

He talks a lot, that’s the first thing you notice. He says all sorts of things, most of them having nothing to do with your project. You’re certain it’s because he’s feeling as uncomfortable and agitated as you. But still, it’s annoying as hell.

“Listen,” you say and turn to his side “I’m not going to fail this class just because you have the attention span of a two year old.”

A laugh escapes his lips and you watch, completely in awe, the way little wrinkles form around his eyes and his nose scrunches. Right now, he looks tender and warm. No, he doesn’t.

“I think we’re both pretty smart,” Bucky says nonchalant and wets his lower lip with his tongue, before he adds, “We’ve got this, so relax doll.”

There are rules, things that are solid, de facto.

Example 1: Bucky never praises you. At least not out loud.

Example 1: Not valid anymore.

Example 2: Bucky uses the word “doll” approximately ten times a day. To other girls. The girls he likes. Not to you.

That’s actually wrong, he called you doll the first time you met. That doesn’t count. He didn’t know you then.

Example 2: Not valid anymore.

It feels foreign. Pleasant and beguiling, but foreign.

“You always call girls “doll”. What is this?” You ask and he looks up. “Is it like your thing, your flirt move?”

Bucky meets your gaze, his forehead creased, and holds it for some seconds before he laughs again. Is this amusing him?

“No, I’m serious.” You bite your lip. “You even did it to me when we first met.”

“I did?”

Of course he doesn’t remember, what did you expect?

“Yeah, when you helped me find the admission office.”

“And you remember that, an entire year later?” He raises his eyebrows, looking entertained and partly interested.

Your mind empties and for some time you feel out of place, embarrassed. But you’re quick to recollect yourself. You can’t let him get you.

“It was my first day as a college student, I remember all of it.”

Liar. You don’t even remember who you sat next to.

Bucky smirks a little too long for your liking and then he leans in, his body bending in a way that makes you forget to breath. He’s so close and you only see blue, a rare kind of blue between the depths of the ocean and the brightest shade of the sky at noon. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t that handsome. Handsome and indomitable. What an awful combination.

“Interesting.” He whispers and lies back, touching the wall.

You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and clear your throat.

“I should go, it’s obvious we’re not making any progress.” You pick your books and stand up. “Sometimes I wonder how you get all those perfect grades, you clearly-” You merely finish your sentence before he grabs your arm and swiftly, he has you pressed against his wooden bookcase. You don’t have time to blink.

What’s happening? He was sitting down a second ago.

“That day,” he says while his thumb draws circles on your wrist. “You were wearing a denim dress and some Saturn shaped earrings. And you were holding a cherry juice box.”

It’s utterly terrifying how your emotions toss and turn the moment you realize what he’s talking about and the fragile muscles of your heart ache because Bucky cares. Bucky remembers.

“It wasn’t my first day of college, but I remember.”

You want to throw up. Or kiss him. You’re not sure. You know you hate Bucky. Do you? You’ve taught yourself to. And it was never supposed to change. It shouldn’t have to.  

You part your lips to say something, anything, but he shakes his head and steps back.

“You should go.”

And you do. And you’ll never tell him, but you’ll always regret not kissing him then. You’re sure now.

-

your inbox, the next morning

(10:25 AM) from buckybrns@gmail.com

              I’m sending you our assignment. You only need to add a few things and it’s done. If anything else comes up, it’s better we work on our own.

-

For Bucky, it all came crashing down the moment he first saw you. It was all over the moment his eyes met yours. A gourmand perfume lingered in the air around you that day and it stained his pores. And it’s been with him since then. Clinging onto his flesh.

It’s partly obsessive and partly romantic and Bucky tries to keep it locked inside. He thinks he can make it go away easily, the way he flicks a crumb off his expensive cashmere scarf. He thinks if he doesn’t talk about it, it’ll be less true. That’s not how things work, Bucky.

Yeah, he’s starting to notice.

And he’s trying so hard to hate you. The problem is, he doesn’t think he can.

(his late night instagram search history)

(00:45 AM) #tomfordperfumes

(01:30 AM) @y/n

(01:50 AM) #funnycats

(02:15 AM) @y/n

(03:45 AM) @y/n

-

You make it your mission to avoid him and it’s going well until the fifth of March. You spot him at Sam Wilson’s party. You should have known he’d be here, they’re friends. There’s a thick cloud of cigarette smoke all around, but still, you can perfectly see him. He’s standing alone, his skin changing colors under the neon lights, a plastic cup in his hand, eyes crystal blue and swollen and fixated on you.

The room is small and everything feels known but unfamiliar at the same time; the atmosphere, his gaze, the lump on your throat.

They’re suffocating you, the looks you give each other.

-

“Buck, what do you want?” Sam asks, holding both vodka and gin and he observes the way Bucky merely turns his head to look at him.

What do you want Bucky?

Not to play a role anymore. For Steve to be back. Maybe, Natasha. No, he hasn’t thought about her in a month. Perhaps a Pulitzer Prize. Definitely a new pair of sunglasses. But there is one more answer he has behind his teeth.

Y/N, he almost says. Always.

“Vodka.”

-

He leaves before midnight and you can’t remember where the urge came from, yet you’re following him. You know he has noticed. But he just keeps walking until he reaches the door of his dorm and presses his back against it. He sees you and you see him and his eyes cut your heart open.

“Your place is on the other side of the building.”

“I know,” you mumble, “I just never got to say good job on the assignment and I wanted to.” You are unable to meet his eyes. You sound pitiful and you want to hit a wall; with your head.

Why the hell did you follow him here?

Because sometimes you do stupid things.

Bucky mockingly opens his mouth, as if shocked. It almost makes you groan.

“Did Miss high and mighty just comment something nice about me?”

“Why do you have to contradict everything I say?”

He shakes his head and you can feel your heart beat loud and irregular and it’s not because you’re mad. It’s because he’s coming closer, almost chest to chest now. And it’s because you can swear, he just glanced at your lips.

“Someone has to, you can’t act like you know everything all the time.”  

“I don’t do that, you don’t know a thing about me Bucky.”

“Oh, but I do. You’re Y/N, you like plaid skirts and Homer and dark green pens. You expect everyone to be perfect. You expect yourself to be perfect. And you always want to do the right thing.”

His pupils are dilated. Yours must be too. Bucky Barnes is dangerous and fatal. He makes your blood coil and your mouth dry. And there’s a tension, almost pain, almost agony, deep in your lungs and it burns. And you don’t know who leaned in first, probably you because Bucky isn’t that brave yet, but suddenly your hands are everywhere. Your fingers blending in his hair, his digging in the skin on the back of your neck. He’s bringing you closer and it’s a mess and all you can hear is the beating of your heart; a rapid vibration between your ears. It’s pure and raw and it doesn’t hurt anymore.

He tastes like ambrosia and a year-old despair and you think you can go on forever. You eventually break apart because you both need to breath and for a second you worry because he looks like he’s ready to cry, but instead he smiles, softly touching your cheek.

“Did I do the right thing?” You whisper.

...

feedback is so appreciated and motivates me tons, thank you :)

[pastelpaperplanes]

You mostly draw Megatron with Crusade in his Cybertronian look but in your canons it was said that while carrying the spark Megs wore his Marauder look. Did Megatron changed bodies or is the Canon changed?

yes! haha so hmm let’s see. So far up until A Little Too Familiar I have tossed Crusade into my Crackship AU—because with the Cybertron’s future AU with a whole lot of my other sparklings, ones that have considered backstories, they wouldn’t exist because of Shamus and Envoy!—and yes in the Crack AU, Megan does sport his Marauder Upgrade.

I’m still 1000% open to keeping Crusade as like,,a cameo for the Crack AU but I will say I’m getting far too attached to their character to better NOT explore them more in a more intricate backstory kind of sense! Many of the asks I’ve answered previously about Crusade’s personality and future are still canon—with the exemption that Crusade has a far more present/loving relationship with their Carrier, who as a literal helicopter parent is near suffocating in his protectiveness and efforts to keep his sparkling away from the hands and influence of the Autobots, even if that means locking them away on the Nemesis far too much to be healthy, and lying straight to their face, and others, about their origins.

Since the TFN 2021 S4 kickoff script reading I’ve been leaning towards guess what—a whole other AU that continues RIGHT after that point, much like where the CF AU would—only certain rescission within the timeline have been changed leading to, in some relationships, a vastly different setting for a next generation! (No, I don’t think I’d create a whole ton of other sparklings in place, for example a planned Strika/Lugnut kiddo wouldn’t happen for obvious reasons, nor would Shmaus or Envoy exist!! Who would remain, THAT I will figure out later down the line.) So Megatron is not in his Marauder form, Optimus is named Magnus, Jazz is with team Prime/Ninja Corps, Sentinel is still a dick figures, Prowl is still dead and so forth.

What I have planned is sort of like where the Deceptions sport a retreat after their bust on Earth when attempting to take over the central line of techno organic energon. The Cons faced losses, high command was scrambled and still very much injured from their cruel, and unusual keeping within Trypticon, heavy sacrifices turned out to NOT reap greater rewards, and the troops are still starving—and starving, scared mecha are far more dangerous than angry ones.

Optimus is still coming to terms that he is due to lead Cybertron, under the title of Optimus Magnus as soon as he’s back, whether he likes it or not as the front lines are still very much on edge with the evermore increasingly violent rouge Con raids.

I made some commentary on the reading as a whole which was PHENOMENAL and I’m still riding the high that is the fanTASTIC work that was put into is, like god. There was a brief but hilarious moment from Rattletrap where he attempted to sell off a crudely photoshopped Megop photograph as dirt—a part of me thought it would be even MORE hilarious if said photo was actually, used and Op was left sputtering after a double take going like how did they find that. HOW.

My poor, poor fanfic loving heart got going on of course the What if the Enemies Were Fraternizing Throughout the Whole of The Show, Morals be Damned in Those Stolen Moments Because I Like YOU For Some Reason trope. Wow is me, be still my beating HEART. It did not stop—so I made another AU :D yayyyyy

Basically the creation of Crusade follows along in this timeline in that sense. They were a product of one too many lonely nights in some far off abandoned cave that never could quite seem to end with a civil conversation, let alone spark apprehension from the other when it came to going toe to toe of the battlefield for the sake of their Causes. A Comfort without Strings relationship, even if they did come to grow fond of each other, not that they’d ever admit it—a confession, in a sense, would only hurt both parties knowing that the two would never give up their motivations in the ‘impossible ‘case that said feelings were mutual.

From the looks of it, the Autobots did not once tend to the Deceptions during their stay at Trypticon. Megs still sported bare struts and tattered armor up to his escape—it would be believable that medics never once ran scans, let alone were ordered to get anywhere near the high command. With already being in such poor shape, battered, humiliated, starved, violated (those minicons?? homage to Trepan??? yikessssss) and sedated—it would be believable that Megatron wouldn’t pay notice to a small flutter in his spark amongst all the pain and anxiety, at least until he finally could gather his bearings under the lockdown of his temporary fortress stuck on Earth.

Megatron, knowing he was alone, now extremely vulnerable, heavily outnumbered and out favored by his remaining struggling troops, called upon his definitely not most favorite sub team to cower behind—the DJD, to meet his blaring distress beacon.

Tarn and his crew, with the help of the rest of high command’s signal dampeners, are able to as covertly as possible—minus the world sweeper size of the Peaceful Tyranny and the paralyzing droning on of the Empyrean Suite that Tarn just loves so dearly—made it off planet save for a few bumps and bruises from the small force of Team Prime. The High & Mighty Megatron was no where to be seen in the action. Probably off in a hurry to lick his wounds in retreat after getting his ass handed to him, many assumed, but Nickel knew better. Tarn knew better. Something was terribly wrong in order to resort to a ‘cowardly’ extraction and evasion mission.

You can see where I’m going w this—so anyways YES that is the general gist of where this AU kicks off!!! Megs and Op, particularly Megs, got unlucky on their last night together—eventually all leading to the introduction of the previously secretive back up weapon that was the DJD. Coming to the rescue of their Fearless, All Powerful, and Resilient Leader?? A strange, but instantly understandable measure to resort to once Megatron reveals himself as a carrying mech, the beholder of a true heir and a testament to the resilience that is the Deceptions though the terrible reign the Autobots have held against them through the eons.

I’ll go into why he keeps Crusade on a tight leash and Op out of the loop entirely for as long as he possibly could—and how the rest of Megaton’s troops behaved around this clearly, half blooded Con sparkling their leader doted on— later!

Needless to say, Crusade’s reputation from the moment they were born was tottering on a fine line between that of pitiable condolences for their leader, and that of true Decepticon pride knowing that the one to lead them to glory some day is none other than one of the Autobots’ very own descendants.

Hope that kinda better explains things! I like Meg’s Cybertronian design, it’s sleek, it’s sexy, it’s easier to draw, and since S4 gave us a fresher design to admire of Optimus, why not have the same for his other half!

YEAHH. so new AU :D AYOOOO I’ll tag this timeline/future mentionings of Crusade and their journey as Cybertron’s Legacy AU

extremely stupid doodle under the cut! I can’t get over the duality of Old Written vs New Written Crusade ahhh 💀💀

I found a horrifically perfect tik tok audio for these two oml

Swapping Megatron stories!

[love-takes-work]

Notes on SU Commentary Tracks

I watched the commentary tracks on the Complete Steven Universe DVD Set and I took some nerd notes.

The episodes with commentary tracks are “Reunited,” “Change Your Mind,” and “The Future.”

I’ll bold stuff that was maybe bigger news or more surprising for easier reading. And yes, some of this was already known from podcasts, other Q&As, or interviews, but I listed it if they said it again here.

Read on after the jump to read these and other highlights:

Steven’s original wedding speech

Older ideas on dialogue for Lapis when she came back to the beach

Scrapped concepts for the scene that ultimately included Steven communicating with the others in a mindscape

Discussions of earlier concepts for White Diamond having a power to “freeze” Gems into statues to make them perfect and having a gallery of them on Homeworld

Pink Pearl’s original fate

The translation of the writing on Obsidian’s sword

The origin of Pink Steven’s design

What Rebecca did to pitch the “SHE’S GONE” scene

Earlier plans to include Shep in “Change Your Mind”

An unused concept of how Steven feels about Biggs

The inspiration for the Heaven and Earth Beetles’ healed design

How Volleyball/Pink Pearl was almost a mini-villain

Discussion of how they did not get to share the origin of the Diamonds

Jasper’s scrapped participation in the movie

“Reunited” - 

Commentary with Rebecca Sugar, Ben Levin, Matt Burnett, Hilary Florido, Joe Johnston, Ian Jones-Quartey, and Kat Morris.

In 2015, an episode idea called “If You Love Yourself So Much” was discussed but rejected. It included some early ideas that ended up getting incorporated into “Reunited,” most notably Garnet marrying herself and putting rings on both hands.

The idea of the Cluster arm wrestling was planned for a long time. A scrapped idea of Steven banging his fist on a vending machine to get some Chaaaaps was supposed to visually parallel some of that scene, but it was axed.

When they got pushback on the wedding idea, they kept adding more and more “high entertainment value” items like a big musical number so the episode would be absolutely unmissable and appealing to everyone.

The song at the beginning of the episode was meant to check in with the entire cast and sort of remind you they exist and what their state of mind is going into the wedding.

Ian made a comment joking about “All 15 people in Beach City” being in the audience.

Just about everyone on the Crew touched this episode, despite that there are four main storyboarders credited for “Reunited.”

In 2016 Ian Jones-Quartey proposed marriage to Rebecca Sugar. They felt like the characters based on them (Sapphire and Ruby) HAD to get married in the show now because otherwise it wouldn’t be honest. But then their characters got married before they did.

They really love the idea of having characters get married who have known each other for a really long time, versus the fairy tale trope of movies ending with weddings between people who have met very recently.

Steven’s speech as officiator at the wedding used to be longer in its first draft--it was described as being weird and full of jokes, and there would have been a scene with Pearl getting weepy and pulling tissues out of her pearl.

Ian mentions loving a joke Jeff came up with having Greg play one chord to make Steven fall asleep--it’s sort of a “dream” chord you hear in cartoons a lot before a dream sequence.

The Crew discussed what it might be like if someone had never seen the show before and started with this episode.

Ian really wanted Steven’s psychic powers to figure into the episode.

Blue using a sadness wave to attack the Gems was a very old idea they’d planned for a long time. So was Lapis’s arrival.

There was a discussion of having Lisa Hannigan performing her lines as Blue VERY early in the morning.

Ian was happy the sword got broken because it was so momentous but it was just a sword. And later appeared on a shelf in the house as an artifact.

Miki had drawn a torn dress for Garnet at one point so she could be shown fighting and moving around more accurately, and this led to a long discussion of whether Gem clothing can even actually get torn the way human clothes can. They concluded that no, it shouldn’t be torn, so they backed up and gave Garnet an open-front dress from the beginning so the fighting version would make more sense.

Lapis originally might have had a longer speech upon arriving back on the beach. They eventually decided to just have her say “Hey.”

The barn falling on Blue Diamond was an intentional Wizard of Oz reference.

They point out that Steven even once said “drop the barn on the beach” (in a previous episode, “Can’t Go Back,” which was also a Miki episode).

Destroying the house was a big deal, and they always thought they’d end up doing it but backed away from it until “Reunited.” They almost even did it back in “Coach Steven”! But it just ended up with a little damage to the porch.

The Crew thinks Miki is really good at drawing ensemble shots.

Rebecca was always overwhelmed whenever she got to have Patti LuPone record for Yellow.

Originally the giant figures of everyone’s statue bodies in the mindscape were too dark and had to be revamped so they could be seen.

An earlier idea of Steven’s “psychic-ghost-situation” had him as a ghost actually trying to interact with the other characters during fighting action, but it was pulled back to this mindscape so there wouldn’t be as much confusing action to keep track of and more focus on what Steven was doing to encourage his teammates and contact the Diamonds.

Hilary was glad not to have to block out a fight.

Ian mentions loving having Bismuth back in the group.

They originally wanted the “Diamonds sensing Pink’s energy” plot to happen when Steven was in the palace somehow, but everything got moved to this scene--which the Crew all agrees turned out incredible, like how cool it was to have Steven essentially reminding each character why they fight and summing up their whole arc in a sentence.

“Change Your Mind”

Commentary with Rebecca Sugar, Ben Levin, Matt Burnett, Hilary Florido, Joe Johnston, Ian Jones-Quartey, and Kat Morris.

They like to refer to this episode as “The movie before the movie.”

They loved incorporating “princess tropes” into Steven’s time on Homeworld, which is why there were so many references to “mice” (well, Pebbles) making clothes, being locked in a tower, being reminded of his manners, loving animals and freeing imprisoned pets, etc. 

Deedee did the voice of the rainbow worm pet. She apparently didn’t find it memorable and was surprised when she was reminded she did the voice.

Rebecca was super excited for the confrontation with Blue.

There was some discussion of how Steven would have died of starvation if he didn’t have someone practical like Connie to remember to bring food.

They love working with the huge scale the Diamonds present.

The Crew always wanted to put someone in Blue’s hair loop. Originally they wanted Blue to tuck Greg in there when she kidnapped him, but they didn’t end up being able to do any hair-loop-carrying until this episode.

The Crew bantered back and forth about what the heck those Pebbles’ names were and how hard it was to track them.

They agreed that Paul draws the best Yellow Diamond, which makes sense since he also drew the first episode with Yellow (and her stink face). 

The scene where Yellow asks Blue to stop using her powers on her and then realizing she’s crying on her own was one of Rebecca’s favorite scenes to get to finally.

Steven Sugar thought Gems would spend a lot of time in their own chambers/rooms just not really doing much of anything unless they had to fulfill their purpose.

Some of the Homeworld ideas were based on a Soviet artist’s concepts, Boris Artzybasheff, and also many ideas were inspired by Busby Berkeley regarding how people were objects and furniture.

The mech was an old idea. Once they had the hand ship from “Jailbreak,” they knew there had to be bodies somewhere.

They focused a lot about what could be the coolest and funniest way for something to happen. The concept of the yellow and blue spaceship arms appearing out of the sky to smack the White Diamond mech around was one of those.

Rebecca really wanted things to look more and more cartoony and bizarre as you get deeper into Homeworld.

They spent a very long time trying to decide on characters’ new outfits.

The trash can lid is said to be a reference to “a flying bear cartoon” and they dance around speaking a direct reference because they’re not sure they’re allowed to say its name.

In discussing the powers of the Diamonds, there were debates on what White’s power would be; with Yellow being physicality-based and Blue being emotion-based, they thought White as identity-based made the most sense.

Different ways to express this were played with before settling on the idea that she thinks she’s perfect and others’ colors make them less like her and less perfect. But then she becomes a hostage to her own beliefs about herself because if she does anything that reflects on everyone else, so it’s best to do nothing.

They had some cool earlier ideas of White’s powers making statues out of other Gems and having a gallery full of frozen Gems, frozen by White to make them perfect.

They also weren’t sure what fate befell the original Pink Pearl and discussed whether she might have been destroyed. 

Rebecca discussed how creepy it was to have White Pearl speaking in Christine’s voice and not Deedee’s--that we should find it fundamentally disturbing at this point.

Tom Herpich came up with the crack on White Pearl’s face.

In real life, pink diamonds aren’t understood as well as yellows and blues. It’s more known what makes a diamond yellow or blue, and some of those facts Rebecca researched were originally woven into the speech White gave about their “impurities.” But it turned out to be too dry and most of it got cut.

Rebecca loves having Lapis with pants and sandals for easier cosplay.

Ian had to draw the scene where Steven is falling and fusing with inert characters--he wasn’t able to properly explain it to Rebecca so she had him draw it.

They really wanted Rainbow Quartz 2.0 to have a scarf, but they couldn’t figure out how to get that into Pearl’s design. They miss the scarf.

It was really important to have these Fusions display call-forwards of the Gems’ new outfits which we hadn’t yet seen.

Rebecca points out that Sunstone’s design breaks a design rule and she feels like Sunstone should have Garnet’s pant leg colors on their legs, but at the same time she understands the rule of cool and likes it like this.

It’s discussed how none of Steven’s fusion weapons are exclusively offensive weapons either.

Rebecca still really wants a suction cup Sunstone toy.

Sunstone’s ability to transcend reality and break the fourth wall was a joke that exploded in the discussion room among the Crew. As soon as the idea was pitched everyone kept coming up with ideas. Sardonyx’s fourth-wall-breaking is more snarky, but Sunstone’s is helpful.

Rebecca was disappointed that the rule about Steven’s clothes wasn’t always followed with having his clothes appear on Obsidian’s hand, but she was delighted that you could see them in one scene.

They spent a lot of discussion time on making sure Steven-Obsidian was different somehow from Rose-Obsidian. The hair is different.

Old versions of Obsidian were drawn with wrapped-together Twizzlers legs, which sort of is reflected in the present design.

The sword had been planned forever--and it first appeared in “Bubble Buddies.”

Miki worked on the Ninja Turtles show so Rebecca was really excited to see her depictions of Bismuth and Sunstone.

An early plan to have Obsidian draw the sword from their mouth was complicated because fusion weapons should be combinations, so they finally reached the solution of having them combine to make the hilt, then get the blade out of Obsidian’s mouth.

The blade of the sword is thought to say “We’ll always save the day,” but you’d have to ask Steven Sugar.

Another really old idea was climbing into the White Diamond mech eye.

Rebecca was disappointed that some of the merch made of White Diamond did not feature her cape sparkles.

There were many debates early on about where Rose might “actually” be. There were tons of references to this fundamental question throughout the show--introducing Lapis as a Gem trapped in an object, having Pearl ponder pulling Steven’s Gem out as a baby, straight-up wondering what would happen to him in “Bubbled” when Eyeball was trying to take his Gem, etc. They all decided Rose was definitely gone but that the idea of her possibly being inside him should be on his mind a lot, leading to disturbing images like dreaming about coughing up her hair.

Yellow Diamond and Blue Diamond both challenged Steven about things he was very confident about, but White’s question of his identity got to him because he in fact is not confident about that.

The black and white eeriness of the fuzzy background and the other characters having their colors washed out helped make the scene in White Diamond’s head so disturbing and creepy.

The split screen showing Steven’s two perspectives was exciting to Rebecca, and was a pretty old idea. And she points out it sort of “breaks the show.”

The Gem Steven, Pink Steven, was represented by a slightly modified version of his model sheet. Everyone laughed when they saw what was getting used.

They decided that an earlier idea of Pink Steven looking angry should be replaced by an emotionless version of him. All the emotion should be with Organic Steven.

In the pitch meeting for this episode, Rebecca herself screamed “SHE’S GONE!!” and shocked the hell out of everyone. She pointed out how no one expected this of her because she’s pretty quiet, but she just wanted to shock everyone the way Steven would in the show.

They point out this is the first appearance of the geometric shield that got so much use in Future.

The fact that Steven is Steven is the ultimate reveal of the show. Usually in fantasy shows there’s some other kind of revelation, but Steven just being amazingly human and amazingly Gem and amazingly himself is wonderful here.

They like having the pilot reference with “What’s your excuse?”

If Rose had somehow still been alive in him, all of this would have been cheapened.

Ian loves that you can faintly hear Sadie’s concert from way out in space as the camera approaches Earth.

They got a lot more use out of the Beach-A-Palooza stage than they thought they would when it had to be designed for “Steven and the Stevens.” There was a joke about how at one of the conventions a real Beach-A-Palooza stage was constructed and they had a thought about how oh good, it’s getting reused.

Sadie having green hair in the finale was a late change but they liked showing her progression. 

They had originally kicked around the idea of Sadie already having her new partner Shep at this point, but decided to develop that in Future instead.

They compare White Diamond’s stepping gingerly into the fountain to skeptically getting into a public pool.

Some silliness they didn’t get to use was that Biggs would be “beloved by everyone” except Steven. They never got to cover it, but originally Steven was just going to not really understand why everyone loves her so much and doesn’t personally much care for her.

The Heaven and Earth Beetles are based on the Mothra Ladies.

The healed Gems’ horns are supposed to be side effects of the corruption that they continue to bear in the present.

Larimar and Orange Spodumene ended up different in the ending scene than they became in Future. Many of the designs were retroactively pulled into this scene after being designed for the movie.

Rebecca wrote “Change Your Mind” as a personal song to express her feelings surrounding her fight for the wedding.

“The Future”

Commentary with Rebecca Sugar, Kat Morris, Alonso Ramirez Ramos, Hilary Florido, Joe Johnston, and Ian Jones-Quartey.

The animatic for this episode ran SO long--they’re supposed to be just over 11 minutes but this one was 17 minutes.

Steven’s calisthenics routine, a callback to “Future Vision,” was on the chopping block to make the episode shorter but Rebecca wouldn’t allow it to be cut because she wanted to show that Steven’s been taking care of himself.

They were very excited to get a chance to cover some of the things in Future that they couldn’t squeeze into the original show, like the unbubbled Rose Quartzes, Volleyball, etc.

The new writers on the show also helped bring forward the idea of Steven finally making some of his OWN mistakes to fix.

This also helped construct the idea of Steven essentially being the “final boss” of his own battle.

Usually stories that involve someone being in a fight and winning don’t explore the effect just being in a fight has on a person, regardless of whether you won. 

Rebecca really wanted to play Ocarina of Time after beating it so she could go back to all the places and see how people were doing. She wanted this epilogue series to explore that a little too.

Little Homeschool is sort of a Tiny Toons reference--older cartoons teach younger cartoons how to be cartoons, and this is Gems teaching other Gems how to be Gems on Earth. 

Lamar came up with the silly joke about receiving that art set with all the different media types in it--the one artists are always getting from a well-meaning relative at holiday time.

A scrapped plot idea involved Volleyball/Pink Pearl as a sort of “mini-villain,” with a focus on her activating the un-activated Pearls.

There’s discussion of how victimization turns people into villains sometimes. But since showing that happening with Volleyball wouldn’t have served the interests of Steven’s arc, they couldn’t fit it in.

There was also a “very specific” Gem origin and Diamond origin story that’s quasi-religious in nature--it’s very cool and complicated. But they do not tell us what it is.

Ian and Joe both really wanted to have Jasper living alone in the woods and stacking rocks. They’re glad they got this series to do that with her.

There was originally an idea for a B-plot involving Jasper in the movie. They don’t discuss the specifics.

There were many ideas they didn’t get to work on because they would have started new arcs and Future was not about kicking new plots into gear.

“Mr. Universe” was the last episode they wrote/finished.

Miki really wanted to include a kiss between Connie and Steven to show their relationship was okay. Among the Crew everyone knew their relationship was basically eternal but Miki wanted to make sure WE knew that.

Steven driving conveyed momentum for Future; in the original show, we always came back to the laundry hand, back to home, but in Future that’s changed and home isn’t what it was. 

They were really excited that a gourd family made it to the crowd scene in Future.

Thanks for reading!

Note: The movie had some commentary tracks too, but the one on this DVD set is the same as the one released on the original standalone movie DVD, so I did not outline it here. Here is my post about the DVD commentary from the movie.

[gunterfan1992]

Episode Review: ‘Wizard City’ (Distant Lands, Ep. 4)

Airdate: September 2, 2021

Story by: Adam Muto, Jack Pendarvis, Kate Tsang, Hanna K. Nyström, & Charley Feldman

Storyboarded by: Maya Petersen, Hanna K. Nyström, Anna Syvertsson, & Aleks Sennwald, & Haewon Lee

Directed by: Miki Brewster & Jeff Liu (supervising), Sandra Lee (art)

An episode focusing on Peppermint Butler’s dark side is something that the fandom has craved ever since the little guy demanded Finn and Jake’s flesh in season two’s “Death in Bloom.” While installments like season five’s “The Suitor” and season six’s “Nemesis” did much to scratch that itch, the story of the Dark One remained mostly unknown…

And after “Wizard City,” it still remains largely unknown. But that’s OK, because instead of focusing on the character’s history, this special focuses on Peps’ quest to relearn magic at a magic school. Put most simply, this special is largely a fun excuse for the show to riff on Harry Potter and The Owl House-style “magic school hijinks,” and it mostly all works.

The special follows Peps quest to go to WizArts (a definite play on CalArts, the school that Pen Ward and Adam Muto, among many others, went to) so that he can relearn magic and once again become one of the greatest dark wizards of his time. Initially, Peps tries to make friends with cool kid Spader and his posse, but once they learn that Peps is not as talented at magic as they had initially thought, they kick him to the curb. It is at this point that Cadebra, Abracadaniel’s adorkable niece who is fascinated with stage magic, enters the picture. Cadebra tries everything in her power to befriend Peps, but Peps pushes back, since she’s not “cool.” It does not matter, though, because both Peps and Cadebra are sorted into the same “house”—the “Skink House—and are forced to work together.

While Peps and his cohort begin learning more and more complex magic, a secret cult of school professors, led by the otherwise caring Dr. Caledonius, are scheming to resurrect Coconteppi, a powerful dark wizard whose putrid heart has been discovered underneath the school excreting a very powerful ichor. The school cult kidnaps Spader and gives him some of the ichor to drink; they hope that because of his talent, he will be able to house the spirit of Coconteppi. This does not go as planned, and Spader is graphically killed (albeit off screen). (In a more humorous moment, Bufo, the scam wizard from season one’s “Wizard,” also ingests some of the ichor, believing himself powerful enough to handle it, but it kills him.)

Eventually Peps and Cadebra learn what is going on. Dr. Caledonius welcomes Peps, believing that he is strong enough to handle the ichor. When Cadebra’s life is put in danger, Peps reluctantly gives the putrid fluid a swig, which infuses him with the power of Coconteppi. Coconteppi-Peps then kills all the cult members before Cadebra manages to remove the ichor from Peps body. For uncovering a heinous plot, Peps is promoted to the highest house, “Salamander,” but he decides to remain a Skink and learn magic “the hard way” with Cadebra as his friend.

As I mentioned near the start of this review, “Wizard City” spends most of its time riffing on the “magic boarding school” trope, with much of the episode feeling like a light-hearted parody of Harry Potter: The characters, after all, are “sorted” into “houses,” they learn various types of magic from skilled “professors,” and they bunk in different parts of a large castle-like campus. Of course, Harry Potter didn’t invent the idea of a boarding school, but when setting your story in a school for magic, it is very hard not to lean at least somewhat into the Hogwarts relation. And this really is a double-edged sword, for while Harry Potter references can be fun here and there, they can also make the overall story feel like a fanfic parody. This special does a good job focusing more so on the characters rather than the setting, but I won’t lie, at times it did feel as if they show was really trying to make you realize it was making a Harry Potter joke.

Of all the characters introduced in the special, the breakout star is easily Cadebra, voiced by Chloe Coleman. Radiating a sort of Mabel Pines energy, Cadebra is the beam of optimism who shines brightly in an otherwise macabre special. There is something about her plucky personality and sense of wacky individualism that charms the viewer. I appreciate how the show compared and contrasted her with her uncle, the one and only Abracadaniel: like her uncle, Cadebra is a good person who wants to help others, but unlike Abracadaniel, she has a sense of courage and fortitude that results in her taking on a Coconteppi-possessed Peps at the episode’s climax. (Say what you will, Abracadaniel stans, but our favorite custodian would never have done that!) Thanks to her bravery and dedication to Peps, Cadebra is easily the heart of the special.

The episode throws an interesting little curveball into the mix by having the ‘ghost’ of Past Peppermint Butler constantly haunt Peps in the here-and-now. Past Peppermint, it seems, was so determined to become a great wizard, he cursed himself, so that if anything were to go awry, his Past self could materialize and set him straight. It’s confusing, but I do think that mixing the “overbearing parent” trope with a curse is a clever idea; it gives the whole special some dramatic heft. The whole setup is made even funnier by the special’s conclusion: After Future Peppermint Butler is ‘defeated’ and the day is saved, Peps reveals to Cadebra that he still wants to be a great and powerful dark wizard… but he wants to earn that power through hard work and determination. (Peppermint Butler might commune with demons, but he would never sell his soul to one for power; Glob helps those who help themselves, ya know?)

One of the special’s strongest points is its background art. Adventure Time always had some beautiful set pieces, and this special goes above and beyond to give WizArts an ancient sense of grandeur and mystery. Ghostshrimp, a freelance artist who was the show’s lead background designer during seasons 1-4, return for this special as a “visual developer”—basically, he mocked up a bunch of rough designs for the locales, and then the episode’s background artists worked up the final pieces in his style. On his podcast, Ghostshrimp mentioned how hectic he found Adventure Time to be, because he was used to taking his time on pieces. As such, the decision to bring him on for just development was smart, as it allowed him to still come up with iconic background designs while also playing fast and loose with everything. Hopefully the show will continue this approach with the Fionna and Cake miniseries that is coming up. After all, Ghosthsrimp’s style is the look of Adventure Time.

Another strong point for the episode is its voice acting. For one thing, you have your regulars like Tom Kenny and Dana Snyder, and Duncan Trussell, who all give a solid performance. But to voice many of the special’s new characters, the show brought on a bevy of fun actors: Saturday Night Live’s Bill Hader, for instance, is now voicing Bufo, and he does a solid job hamming up his role as the old fogey. And then there’s Toks Olagundoye, whose British accent gives Dr. Caledonius a sense of knowledge and expertise. To my delight and surprise, SungWon Cho, an internet personality and voice actor perhaps better known as ProZD, was tapped to voice Brain Wizard, and he does an excellent job. And finally, Anthony Stewart Head, a very talented actor who I know best as Giles from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, voices Con Wizard, and is even given a fun little ditty to sing. I can safely say that the voice acting in this special is likely the best of the bunch, and it’s obvious that the actors were all having a great time playing their parts.

What drags the whole thing down, in my opinion is the excessive murder. (I joked on Twitter that during the climax of “Wizard City,” it felt like I was watching an Adventure Time-ified version of Invincible!) Infused with the power of Coconteppi, Peps goes on a brutal killing spree, boiling Potable Wizard into steam, zapping Dimension Wizard into another plane of existence, smashing Berdzerd, and—perhaps most graphically—excerebrates (had to look that word up!) Brain Wiz. On Twitter, @sometipsygnostalgic​ argued that while, yes, the scene is startling, it does wonders to transmute “a poor Summer Camp Island knockoff [into] Adventure Time chaos.” The more I think about it, the more I think that’s a fair point; after all, this is hardly the first dark thing that has happened in Adventure Time. But the part that I cannot really stomach is the fact that Spader was murdered for no real reason, and the special ends without anyone really expressing their horror at the situation. Sure, Spader was a schoolyard bully, but he was also a child. And killing a child—either for the drama or the lulz—feels decidedly out of place in an Adventure Time episode. It’s hard to express, but it just felt unnecessarily nihilistic and mean-spirited.

All things considered, I think this was a fun episode, but it was somewhat underwhelming for a ‘finale.’ Much of this is because it had to air after the perfection that was the back-to-back “Obsidian”/”Together Again” wombo combo. But I can’t help but feel like this special just felt a little... off. A little too meanspirited, and it leaned a bit too much on standard tropes. Still, it was a fun spin, and I know that I’ll rewatch it.

Mushroom War Evidence: As Peps rides the bus to school, he passes a bunch of abandoned houses, some of which are buried in the ground. There is an unexploded bomb above the fossilized elephant in the school. Cadebra has a dream that takes place in the ruins of a city.

Final Grade: B+

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens one-shot - “When God Closes a Door, She Opens a Window, But It's Up to You to Find It” (Rated T)

Summary: Crowley goes through unconventional lengths to escape a bad blind date...

... and ends up finding an angel in an unexpected place. (2770 words)

Notes: This is a re-write of an older story, but I think I like this version better. Human au. Fluffy as heck. CW: If you get squicked out by being covered in food trash, proceed with caution.

Read on AO3.

"Bollocks... bollocks... bollocks... bollocks... " Crowley mutters as she paces back and forth, simmering behind her eyeballs with so much anxiety she's about to tear her hair out by the roots. The only plan she can come up with to solve her current dilemma grows hotly in her mind, but she's searching for something - ANYTHING! - to take its place. 

Maybe something along the lines of acting like an adult, womaning up, and admitting this isn’t going to work? Be upfront about it and say it to the man’s face, for Heaven's sake! 'Go on, Crowley!' she thinks. 'Go ahead! One foot in front of the other. Steady on! You can do this!'

But she’s become so tired of the grind – going to bars, faithfully tending her online dating profile, endless blind dates set up by well-meaning friends, the rejecting and the rejections. She can’t face one more. It physically hurts, knots her stomach muscles until the pain turns her world monochromatic.

Crowley had had high hopes for this one, too. Her date Steven is the new doctor of the boy she nannies. He and Crowley have plenty in common – a love of theater and fine dining, and an appreciation for fashion. Crowley thought dating a pediatrician would be fascinating. After summarizing the pertinent details of her own life, perhaps her date would talk about getting through medical school, toss in a few whimsical stories about the joys (quote/unquote) of working with children - baby’s first shots where the parents cried more than the infant, or the tale of a precocious little girl who demanded he put a Band-Aid on her teddy before he helped her (the way Crowley's young charge had with his first doctor when he was around three). They could swap war stories, bond in that way.

But Steven’s favorite part of his profession is pediatric surgery, and, unfortunately, he loves to talk shop. Every morsel of conversation has been inappropriate for dinner and graphic in nature - appendectomy this and tonsillectomy that, abscesses and pus and untreated sores - until Crowley’s face turned as green as her salad and she couldn’t look at her steak anymore.

Neither could their neighbors, who flagged down a passing waiter and requested a new table. They've been sat near the kitchen, which most diners would loathe, but they look heaps happier.

Crowley excused herself as delicately as she could and raced to the loo, needing to escape any more gruesome talk. 

That was over fifteen minutes ago. 

She’s trapped with no way out.

She pictures the layout of the restaurant in her head. There has to be a back way in and out of this place. All restaurants have an exit through the kitchen, right? But the toilet, the kitchen, and the front door are all in full view of their table. Steven is sure to spot her sneaking out no matter how stealthy she is.

Crowley turns on the cold water and splashes her face, scolding herself to think, think, think! She’s an intelligent woman. She can come up with a way out of this. Could she phone someone to come down to the restaurant and make an excuse for her? Not likely, not on short notice. Her friends Anathema and Newt wouldn't be able to find a sitter - ironic, seeing as Crowley is a nanny, and if the tables were turned, she'd be more than willing to lend a hand.

Could she phone her employers, ask Mrs. Dowling to claim an emergency at home? No. She doesn't want to get them tangled up in her personal woes, especially when they concern a man they think of so highly.

She could look up one of those services that make fake calls to your cell phone to get you out of sticky situations, but that would mean going back out there to make the ruse believable. And from the way her hands lock around the lip of the basin every time she thinks about taking a step outside the door, she knows that isn’t happening.

Crowley looks at herself in the mirror, looks into her eyes, and reminds herself to calm down. Slow her breathing. She’ll find a solution. 

And suddenly, there it is. 

In the reflection of the mirror, she sees what might be her only way out.

A window. 

The only window in there, propped open enough that she’d be able to fit through. 

It’s kind of high, sort of narrow, and definitely a last resort. But what other choice does she have?

Loads, in reality. It just doesn't feel like it.

But does she really have to resort to jumping out a window? She’s already been in there for (she checks her watch and her eyes open wide) twenty-five minutes! And her date hasn’t come to check on her once. Maybe the man got the hint and left (hopefully after paying what should be close to a hundred-pound check). 

Crowley tests her luck, opening the door a sliver, praying silently don’t be there, don’t be there, don’t be there...

But there is no God - not one on her side, anyway - because there sits Dr. Steven Malory, talking to the waiter, telling him about another fascinating surgical procedure. He makes an exaggerated cutting motion across his stomach with a butter knife. The poor waiter, weighed down by a tray of soup bowls, nods politely, but looks like he may vomit in the tureen.

She winces. That poor waiter. Who knows how many times he's been called upon to lend an ear since her absence, or how many more times he'll be forced to endure another gory tale before Dr. Malory realizes she's gone. She peeks over her shoulder at the window, then back to the table, where Steven has his phone out, Googling something to the waiter's dismay. She slowly closes the door and backs away.

Window it is.

Crowley shelves the nagging feeling that she's perpetuating the most pathetic trope in the dating world and starts constructing a platform. There’s not much available – a small stepstool underneath the sink; a short, square, plastic rubbish bin that looks less than steady; another taller rubbish bin, dented along one side, looking like someone else already used it to make a break for freedom; and the toilet and basin, both miles away and completely unmovable.

Crowley does some quick engineering in her head and figures that if she turns the small bin over onto the stepstool, she might gain the height she needs to grab the lip of the window and hoist herself up, which would eliminate using the dented bin. She doesn’t like the odds that she won’t slip, fall, and crack her head open. She’s not so much worried about doing any permanent damage, but of having to explain to her date why she’s lying on the floor, covered in trash, and bleeding profusely.

With her luck, he'll giddily insist on stitching up any gashes, drawing a crowd of bystanders around to watch.

Crowley pushes the stool up against the wall with her foot. She dumps the trash from the small bin into its larger counterpart and sets it on the stool, centering it as best she can to keep it from sliding. With a hand on the wall for support, she puts a foot on the bin and attempts to pull herself up. It wobbles back and forth, then gives one backward lurch that nearly sends Crowley flying. 

She determines quickly that this isn’t going to work the way she had planned and makes a desperate leap for the window, using all her upper body strength to get her halfway through.

Crowley shudders when the cold air hits her skin, shocked by the drop in temperature, but mostly from fear of death. She looks down. 

A huge mistake on her part.

A horribly placed streetlamp keeps her from seeing into the alley, but she’s pretty sure she remembers a dumpster underneath this window. She had parked her Bentley in the lot across the way and saw it on the walk in. She looks out into the rows of cars and spots her vehicle. She sighs with relief. 

Now she’s a little more sure, but still not 100%.

Worst case scenario, she lands in food muck, probably not rotten since it’s still actively dinner, and ruins an expensive designer outfit.

Of course, that’s not actually the worst-case scenario, is it? Worst case scenario, she misses the dumpster altogether, hits the pavement, and breaks her leg, but she’s determined to remain optimistic. At this moment, when her anxiety-ridden brain has her convinced that the only logical route out is through this flippin' window, that’s a chance she’s willing to take.

She swings her right leg over, grateful that she chose slacks over a skirt tonight, till she’s straddling the narrow sill, bent in half by the metal lip of the window frame. She balances there, the dull edge digging into her sternum, her belly, and her crotch, but she can’t make herself jump. 

She’ll need to trick herself into it. 

She forces herself to relax, teeter-tottering back and forth, not dwelling on the possible outcome, just trying to work her way to the right far enough that she knocks herself off-kilter.

Fate lends a hand in the form of a drunken passerby yelling, “Oi! Oi, lookie there! There’s a big bird... human... thing hanging out that window!” 

Crowley panics, afraid she's about to be mistaken for someone breaking into a busy restaurant and not out. She fumbles, flails, starts falling head first, scrambles to get a hold. She hears a distant, “No! No, wait!” as her fingers slip. There are three seconds of cold wind and a sinking feeling in her stomach before she lands on her bum, thankfully in the dumpster, surrounded by the smell of not-too-rank food, the squish of something under her body that she thinks might be mashed cauliflower... 

... and a scream.

“Ouch!”

“Oh my God! I’m sorry!” 

Crowley yelps when her body lifts, something extraordinarily strong underneath pushing her up. She reaches around the slippery mess and wet plastic bags, struggling to pull herself off whoever is in the rubbish under her while trying to ignore the gravy seeping into her slacks, or the rice pilaf embedding itself beneath her freshly glossed fingernails. She knows she's broken two at minimum. 

How much worse could this evening get?

“I’m sorry!” Crowley scrambles to her knees, crawls away a few feet. “I’m so, so sorry!” 

“It’s alright, my dear.” A voice underneath her chuckles, its owner emerging from a layer of poached fish and au gratin potatoes.

Crowley turns in time to catch a glimpse as they move into the light. A woman wearing a vintage-inspired emerald gown covered in Hollandaise sauce and ranch dressing smiles sheepishly at her. The white light overhead gives a halo effect to her silvery-blonde hair, and her blue eyes almost glow.

She's quite breathtaking. 

“I thought I had reserved a private dumpster,” she jokes. “I’ll need to have a word with the maître de."

Crowley stares at her, stunned. “I… I don’t understand. What are you doing in here?”

“I suspect I might be here for the same reason as you,” she says, wiping mayonnaise off her hand before offering it to Crowley. “I’m Aziraphale.”

“Crowley. I’m sorry I landed on you.” She takes Aziraphale’s hand, forgetting to wipe hers off before and smushing creamed spinach between them. Crowley groans in embarrassment, but Aziraphale laughs.

“No worries.” Aziraphale doesn't let go immediately the way Crowley thought she would, her smile becoming brighter the longer she holds on. “It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened all evening.”

“So... I take it you’re running away from a bad date, too, huh?” Crowley asks, regretting when Aziraphale finally lets go.

“I'm afraid so.” Aziraphale glances down with a long sigh. “A friend set me up, but I swear, the only men she knows are unemployed, torpid, and skeevy.”

“Wow. That’s some A-plus word usage right there.”

“Yes, well, the written word is my passion."

“Does that mean you're the one who wrecked the silver rubbish bin?"

“Did I?” Aziraphale looks up at the window and grimaces. “I should probably offer to replace that then, shouldn't I? What about you?” Aziraphale turns her soft blue eyes back Crowley's way. “How bad was your date going?”

“I can now perform an appendectomy with my eyes shut.”

“Yikes. I take it that’s not a turn-on for you?”

“Not in the slightest. I appreciate medicine as much as the next gal, but I’d rather not know the gritty details." Crowley stares at Aziraphale until Aziraphale notices, then the two look away, blushing like giggly teenagers flirting in a coffee shop instead of two adults stuck in the trash. Crowley can't help herself. Regardless of the stench of curdled butter and cheese that will probably be with her for life, Aziraphale is a calming presence. And she looks like an angel. An honest-to-God angel! 

And Crowley found her in the trash. 

What are the odds?

“You know, we might want to get out of here before anyone else drops in,” Aziraphale suggests, rising to her feet and lending Crowley a hand.

“Yeah,” Crowley agrees. "Guess that's my night over. Though... " She looks down at her blouse and trousers, positively caked with sweet potatoes, chicken grease, tomato sauce, and chutney "... I’m not looking forward to driving home like this.”

"How far do you have to go?"

"I'm in Mayfair."

"Oh!" Aziraphale gasps. "Isn't that a lovely part of town?"

"I enjoy it," Crowley replies, never having felt quite so proud to live in Mayfair as she does in this moment. "And you?"

"I have a shop in SoHo."

"Lucky. You're just a hop, skip, and a jump, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am... " Aziraphale chews the inside of her cheek as her words hang, balanced in the air between stopping a thought or continuing it. “I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward, but if you come back to my shop, I have a shower. We could clean up there... " Aziraphale sputters when Crowley's eyebrow arcs sharply upward. "S-separately, of course! A-and order in some pie. I know a great spot nearby. I dare say they have the best pie in the world! And they deliver.”

“I don’t have a change of clothes,” Crowley says, wary of taking Aziraphale up on her invitation. Garbage notwithstanding, meeting her has definitely been an improvement to the way things were going. 

"I might have something that would work for you." Aziraphale sizes Crowley up, but not in a creepy way. In a surprisingly nurturing way. "It would be nice to salvage the evening, don't you think?"

"It would." But one disastrous date is plenty for the night. Should Crowley jump straight to another with a woman she met in a dumpster? Then again, it would be wrong for her to assume that spending time with Aziraphale would be disastrous. Plus the story of how they met is way too fantastic to waste on self-doubt.

Crowley took a chance on jumping out a window with only hope to guide her. She’d be stupid not to take a chance on this.

“Sure,” Crowley says, confident with her decision. “Your car or mine?” The words slip out before she considers the fact that she's talking about her baby. A vintage car that she, due to an extreme case of sheer luck, has been the sole owner of. She won't even wear muddy shoes in her car. Or rayon! On top of her own ruined outfit, which will need to be dry cleaned twice and then set on fire, if she lets Aziraphale in her car, she'll have two sloppy, food-stained seats that she’ll need to have scoured. 

Maybe Aziraphale will laugh her off and offer to take her own car. Why would she want to leave it behind, anyway?

“Oh, I didn't drive,” Aziraphale says, looking down sadly at her own destroyed dress. “I took the bus.”

Crowley's heart clenches. There's that decision made. There's no way she's going to suggest Aziraphale take the bus while Crowley drives her car. She just prays that, with time, her baby will forgive her.

“My car it is then.” Crowley loops her arm covered in soup through Aziraphale’s arm covered in whipped cream and leads the way. Aziraphale smiles, holds Crowley's arm a wee bit tighter, and Crowley becomes certain this new development will be worth the money she'll spend detailing her car in the morning.

[sabraeal]

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find, Ch 8

[Read on AO3]

Written for @eveluboi​ for winning the Obiyuki Trope Madness 2021 betting kitty! I meant for this to be out way back in June, but it quickly slipped from a 4-5K projected fic to 7K 😂

Cold porcelain presses up against her palms, slick from where her fingers wrap around the sink’s edge. Shirayuki bows her head down, watching the water spiral down the drain, and breathes. In and out; in and out. If she hadn’t left her phone out on the table, she could look at one of those gifs she bookmarked; the one where the triangle becomes a decagon maybe, or where the star burst becomes a mandala. But she did, so instead she has to visualize it, counting out the shapes behind her eyelids.

It doesn’t work, but at least it’s something.

There’s something distinctly high school dance about hiding the the bathroom-- though in here, it’s impossible to just sit on the toilet and brace her legs against the door. Not that she needs to; unlike a bathroom stall, this door actually locks. A feature she’s sure has nothing to do with whatever the Wisterias plan to get up to in that Jacuzzi tub.

Shirayuki frankly refuses to speculate on what that might be. She still has to look Izana in the eye tonight, and the last thing she needs is to be thinking about him doing-- things in here, with people. Maybe he just has a compressed spine at the ripe old age of twenty-five, the kind that can’t be alleviated by anything less than eight massage jets.

In any case, this whole strategy of retreat isn’t really her style. Or at least, it hadn’t been, until...before. Which was a blip on an otherwise spotless record of confronting her problems head-on, with the sort of determined attitude Jaja fondly refers to as foolhardy, and Busha calls bull-headedness.

Her fingers grip the bowl firmly, levering herself up to stare into the mirror. She can do this. She can go right out there, sit down, and have Lynet reject this proposal. Because a normal person wouldn’t hide in the bathroom to avoid a fictional conflict.

Right. Shiaryuki drops her hands, giving her reflection a steely nod. It’s not like this is her first time turning down a boy; even if Shuuka throws her in a dungeon, he’ll still have taken her rejection better than the last one did, and that was a real live person. Not that Raj is much of a measuring stick for any kind of model behavior, but-- still. The point stands.

The door gives beneath the pressure of her hand, opening with a silence that’s confusing rather than comforting. Zen’s house might not be as old as hers, but it’s still not new; the apartment went up in the last five years, and its doors still hang crooked, screaming every time they move more than an inch. She can’t imagine Izana going around oiling hinges.

“Hey.” A hand catches her, strong fingers banding around her wrist. Pale ones, slender and well-trimmed; she traces them right up a crisp flannel to find Kiki frowning down at her. “I would give it a minute.”

Shirayuki blinks, and suddenly the world refocuses. It’s oddly silent in the basement, only the thin tumble of dice from the floor above. Obi’s either up to something or Beaumains is in trouble; she can’t even beging to guess which one would be worse.

And Kiki’s leaning here, right against the neutral paint, waiting for her. She shifts, casting a worried look toward the game room. “Is something--?”

Mitsuhide clears his throat; it echoes down the empty hall, a sound that fills the space like thunder overhead. Shirayuki bites back the impulse to count until next lightning strike; even though she knows it should be the other way around, that light travels faster than sound, but this--

“Is something wrong?” Zen drawls, sounding nothing like the boy who sits next to her in homeroom. No, sounding like this, he’s every inch Izana’s brother.

-- this is different. Bedwyr uses his words before he dares draw his blade, and it comes too naturally to be anything besides pure Mitsuhide, just like Beaumains’ quick tongue is the same one that wags in Obi’s mouth. He rumbles before the strike, and this one is destined to hit too close to home.

“Zen.” There’s something about how Mitsuhide wields a name; Shirayuki hardly knows him-- not as much as Zen and Kiki, anyway-- but when he says hers, it’s like having those giant arms cradling her tight against his chest, in a way that is less romantic and more like a tiny kitten living in a jacket pocket. When he says Obi’s, it’s a buzz, a burr, the sound before a siren wails, a warning that will never become a threat.

And when he says Zen’s right now, it’s a weight, a boulder to bear like Atlas shoulders the earth. It’s the moment before the punishment comes in the last act; the last temptation to turn the antagonist back onto the path of the righteous. “You should rethink your behavior tonight.”

“My behavior?” Zen squawks, chair clattering beneath him. “I haven’t even done anything.”

Mitsuhide’s silence speaks volumes.

“I haven’t,” Zen insists, though it’s weaker this time. “You’re the ones who are just letting Obi act like the rules don’t apply to him.”

“We are?”

“Well...” The pout sits sullenly on this tongue. “Izana is. And you guys aren’t doing anything about it either!”

Mitsuhide heaves a sigh that would make trees sway. Kiki’s fingers flex in sympathy against her shoulder. “I think you’re being a little unfair.”

“Unfair?” The word squeaks at the end of Zen’s range. “What’s unfair is that Izana invited that guy for the specific purpose of scaring Shirayuki off, and no one seems to care.”

Shirayuki only realizes she’s moved when Kiki’s grip holds her back, one foot still hovering over the floor, poised to make a very determined stomp. Words are welling up in her like ground water during a storm; a whole monologue that threatens to flood the basement of her common sense. The whole night comes back to her in inches; every slight, every complaint is magnified tenfold now that she knows it comes to this, and she--

“Give them a minute,” Kiki murmurs. “Sometimes Zen just needs a swift application of a boot to his ass.”

She blinks up at her, body vibrating with a need to do something. “And Mitsuhide will do that?”

A picture might be a thousand words, but somehow Kiki’s eyebrows could compose a novel. She lifts them a bare, dubious inch, and Shirayuki knows that chapter one starts with, and you think you’d do any better? “You’ll see. He’ll come around. Have a little faith.”

Bitter words lick up her throat, a carefully composed diatribe furiously scribed by her irritation. A list of all Zen’s petty squabbles, of all the times he’d tried to sideline her or sequester Obi ready to spill out, but--

But she swallows it down. Tonight’s tried her patience for sure, but it’d been Zen who leaned across the aisle in homeroom her first day. The one who’d stuck out a hand and said, you must be new. The one who had made sure she’d had somewhere to sit at lunch-- sure, Kihal had found her by then, adopting her like a baby bird fallen from a nest, but he’d swung by even though his wasn’t until next period.

That’s what’s so frustrating, to be honest-- she knows how good he can be. So the fact he’s choosing to act this way instead...

Her shoulders sag under the weight of Kiki’s hand. “I’m trying to.”

When Mitsuhide speaks again, it’s even, patient; she’d be tempted to say it was like a parent to a child, but there’s no condescension, no sense of speaking down but rather across. “That’s possible. But you’re still the only one acting hostile at this table.”

Zen’s huffs, indignant. “So you want me to just sit here and let them ruin Shirayuki’s experience?”

Kiki pushes past her with a parting pat, sauntering into the room. “How could they when you’re doing such a good job of it yourself?”

Shirayuki can’t see either of the boys, but she can see Kiki when she spins a chair around, dropping down to straddle it. “You may not have noticed, but it doesn’t look like Shirayuki minds Obi being here. At least, not as much as you do.”

“Kiki,” Mitsuhide sighs, a warning. “That’s enough.”

Kiki must not agree, since she leans in, smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Maybe you need to lighten up, brother dearest.”

Zen sucks in a hard breath, like he’s been hit. “Don’t--”

The door rattles at the top of the stairs, a muffled voice turning to a dry laugh as it opens. Her stomach lurches like that moment at the top of a coaster, looking down at the track below. It’s Obi.

Kiki is a flurry of motion; her chair flips beneath her, and she sits back down hard, feet kicking up onto the table. When Izana and Obi emerge from the stairway, it looks like she‘s been idling at a casual tilt for hours, not seconds, but still, still--

Izana lifts one elegantly arched eyebrow. No matter how cleverly they all compose themselves, he almost certainly knows every word that’s been said.

“You’re back?” Zen coughs, his words hobbling awkwardly, dragged down by guilt. Izana’s other eyebrow joins the first. “What happened?”

Obi drops into his seat, cradling chin in hand. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would,” Zen snaps, irritation already rising. “That’s why I asked.”

“Oh, don’t worry--” Obi tosses him a wink designed to send him through the roof-- “you’ll find out.”

“I--”

“If there’s any other business, tell me now,” Izana says, taking his place at the head of the table. “Otherwise, you’ve slept through the night.”

Obi flutters his eyes, grin taking on a feral edge. “Well, you know I’m all taken care of, Majesty.”

“Anyone else?” Izana sighs, long suffering. His eyes flick out over the table, settling into a frown. “Does anyone know where Shirayuki is?”

“Bathroom,” Kiki offers too quick, gaze cutting over to where she hides in the hall, before darting back. The corner of Izana’s mouth pulls deeper, and his eyes lift--

“Ah, I’m here!” Shirayuki hurries out, slipping into her seat. When she looks up Zen’s watching her with wide eyes, gears clunking along behind them as he looks from her to the hall and back, doing the exact equations she was hoping he couldn’t. “Sorry.”

“It’s not a problem,” Izana assures her, keeping his eyes fixed to the screen in front of him. “Did you have anything you needed to do before the night is over?”

“Ah, um.” Her fingers stretch wide over Lynet’s sheet, tips gripping at the table. “Yes. One last thing.”

The stars are bright tonight, shining in the firmament like jewels in velvet. Ancient poets would invoke Diana at the sight, at the thousand heroes and maidens consigned to shine above for defying their fates. Older ones still would call upon Arianrhod, the silver wheel, mother of wind and skies alone, praising the complexity of her beauty.

But when you raise your eyes to heaven’s glorious vault, you see only kingly gift laid at your feet, unasked. And when you lower them, another waits for you in Shuuka’s smile, devastating and earnest.

“A fine night, is it not?” His breath mists in the air between you; a lucky thing, since it obscures your grimace. “In all Our Lord’s creation, a man could not find one finer than this.”

“It is a wonder,” you murmur, stirring the fur at your cloak’s collar. “But I have seen so little of this world that I hesitate to say that in a thousands nights there would not be one that could surpass it.”

His mouth spreads wider still, the pearl of his teeth glimmering in the moon’s light. You’ve pleased him, somehow. “You can only say that, my lady, since you are graced with your own presence every moment, and I have only these. For now.”

Your feet stutter beneath you; the leaves crunching makes him turn, brow raised in concern. “Shuuka...”

“Ah, yes. You wished to speak with me, did you not?” His boot heels clack against the cobbles, coming to perch on the raised bed beside you. He is not close, even still, but having his eyes level with yours makes this moment too intimate for you to keep him fixed in your vision. Instead you turn, leaving him looming at the corner of your eye. “I am your servant in all things, my lady. Speak.”

“My lord,” you begin, for politeness seems the only kindness you can extend to him, “I believe there has been some misunderstanding.”

His head tilts. “A misunderstanding?”

His voice is lower, a manly rumble instead of its usual reedy melody; a child playing at a man. A man he only wishes to become because it might make you happy.

You sigh, your gut tangling as easy as your fingers do above it. Were you any other woman but yourself, you would be pleased to have made a match as fine as this. Perhaps even mere months ago, you would have been comforted by the thought of marrying a man you had met before, even if he had been a silly, sobbing boy at the time. But now, as you are, you cannot care for this-- this life your father wished for you, with no thought to your own.

“About the state of the agreement between our fathers.” Your breath catches in your chest before you manage, “They are both gone.”

Shuuka peers at you with shining eyes, and oh, if only you could choose your words as gently as he deserved. But you know better; a man who wears a hard helm often keeps a harder head beneath it, and women’s words only penetrate such a barrier if they are drawn to a point.

“That I know,” he says, so soft. “And I am sorry for it. But we may yet do what they willed for our future.”

“That is not all,” you continue, each word stinging with guilt. “This understanding was dissolved long before either of them was brought back into the great shepherd’s fold. When my family fell upon misfortune...”

You had hoped it would be easier to speak of it, but the words stick to your teeth, refusing to leave the safety of your mouth. Shuuka reaches out, clasping his hand in yours with far too much understanding for what you wish to say.

“I am not proud of what my father did,” he tells you, sincerity ringing from his words, clear as a church bell. “Though I am certain he thought it would be for the best, at the time. He never pledged my troth to any other, and above any other woman he had entertained to be the Lady of Laxdo, it was of you he spoke most highly.”

“That is--” hard to believe. Not when you spent most of your betrothal dance trodding on his son’s toes-- “Kind of you to say. I know that you value the words of your father above all others--”

“My father’s esteem is exceeded only by that of the Lord in Heaven, may he ever sit at his right hand.” Pain hollows his eyes, so raw that even in health he gleams gaunt beneath the moon’s light. You have both lost your fathers, but this wound is fresh, bleeding still, and yours--

Well, yours sewed up just fine with a little needle and thread. How quickly a wound heals when you must see to it yourself.

“Would that I could talk to him,” Shuuka rasps, fingers clenching around stone. “But I trust that if he could see you now, he would see a daughter still.”

His grief burns brightly, a halo that surrounds him-- no, a shroud, the sort that might bury him beside his fathers bones if he did not take care. It is that which makes all this worse, which turns what you must do from a discomfort to a cruelty. But it is better yet than what it could be if you indulged him, if you let pity and kindness stand where only love should.

“Yes, I understand,” you murmur, gathering every last draught of courage. “But I must admit, my lord, that I do not hold my own father in such esteem. You are a kind man, Lord Shuuka, the sort any woman would count her blessings should she find you as her husband, but I...”

You flounder, the night pressing in thickly around you. What you wouldn’t give for crickets, if only to break the silence.

“Ah.” There is a wealth of hurt hidden in that breath. “But you mean to say that it shall not be you, Lady Lynet.”

“What?” Zen’s eyes blink wide, so bright, so blue across from her. “You’re turning him down?”

Shirayuki stares. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a lord, isn’t he?” It’s a strange thing to ask, especially when they just spent the last week and change-- well, four hours really-- at his castle, but here was Zen, looking toward Izana like he needed clarification. “Wouldn’t Lynet, you know...?”

“Um.” Even with a sweep of Zen’s wrist and the emphatic lift of his eyebrows, Shirayuki still can’t see how that sentence might finish itself. “No, I don’t.”

It’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop, so when Obi lets out a hiccup, isn’t not exactly inconspicuous. She glances over at him, and from the way his mouth twitches at the corners, she’s hardly the first. “Is something...?”

Wrong, she means to say, but Obi gives a single solid shiver and collapses onto the table, head buried in his arms.

There’s a breath where her fingers go numb on the table, where her heart beat practically deafens her as it pound in her ears. She’s not here in the room, she’s out in the yard, a wrinkled arm reaching out to her, and all she can think about is where her phone is, whether she can reach it from here--

“My, my.” Izana’s drawl rattles her back to the table, gaze skittering over Zen’s forbidding glare, the clasped hand over Kiki’s mouth, Mitsuhide’s wide-eyes-- “Isn’t that an interesting question. Now just what does make Lord Shuuka such an attractive partner?”

Obi lifts his head, still trembling, but it’s not some medical event. Oh no, he’s just-- just laughing. Shirayuki catches her breath, holds it, and thinks of a triangle becoming a decagon.

Nothing is wrong. Everyone is safe. Healthy.

“W-well.” Zen’s voice creaks from the reach she suspects he’s about to make. “He has ah, hmm...”

“Large tracts of land?” Obi offers, so helpful.

Zen hands stiffen where he holds them out in front of him. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

His brows give a wiggle. “Looks like it.”

“I--”

“Castle Perilous already has land,” Shirayuki interjects, hoping the tremble hasn’t reached her voice. “Plenty of it.”

Obi leans back in his chair with a grin. “Castle Perilous has everything! Large tracts of lands, at least two level or dungeons, an ominous name...”

She flicks him a flat look. “My point is, Lynet doesn’t need a manor to maintain-- she already left that to save her sister. She has a quest, she doesn’t need--” she waves her hands, steady now-- “romance.”

Obi’s brow ticks up, just the tiniest bit.

“I mean, not with a man she’s only known a week,” she blurts out, feeling heat simmering beneath her collar, licking at her ears. “Why would I be playing D&D if I just wanted to-- to marry Lynet off to the first guy she saw?”

Zen’s mouth fall slack, eyes glued to his character sheet. “Huh.”

“Gee,” Kiki drawls, “all that production for nothing.”

“Shut--”

“If we’re all quite done?” Izana suggests pointedly. “I believe Lady Lynet is not quite done breaking her beau’s heart. Also--” those pale eyes cut toward her, eyebrow quirked pedantically-- “it’s Pathfinder, by the way.”

Kiki lets out a huff. “It’s the same thing.”

With exaggerated care, Izana nudges her character on the map. “It’s really not.”

You take Shuuka’s hands in your own; they’re soft, callused on the mounts like Arturius’. A swordsman’s hands, though not a warrior’s. He flushes beneath your touch, and you wonder if he is bothered by the rough touch of your own, marred by scrapes and scars, so unlike a lady’s that you might as well be a different country. That is what your father had called you once: a different country, the fondness thick in his voice.

That had been before. He had been a different man. You had been a different Lynet. A time you would long for, if you thought it might make any difference at all.

“I have my own path I must tread, my lord,” you murmur, “one that cannot be turned aside for my own comfort.”

He nods, head heavy. “I see. You too have your own quest of honor, like His Grace. A glory that only you can seek.”

“If only it were for glory--” your fingers stiffen in his hold, teeth gritting down on the troubles that long to pass through them-- “instead of to right the wrongs that have been done.”

His brows lift, and you do not imagine the offer in his eyes, the one that says you would only need to breathe the word, and he would raise his own blade in your honor. “To you?”

Your tongue would tie itself in knots if it could. “Among many.”

“I understand.” His hand squeezes yours so gently, as if you were a thing that could break, a glass woman cradled in his palms. That is a thing these lords do not understand; glass may be delicate once blown thread-thin, but it is first forged in fire, born at a temperature that would char flesh. “Perhaps, though, when you are done...”

It feels cruel to reject him, a man that loves the lady you could have been, but it is crueler still to give him hope where there is little to spare.

“Perhaps,” you say, stilted. It is too mild an answer for the passion in his eyes, but you learned long ago that fate’s whims could not be foreseen by any mortal heart. “But please, my lord. Do not wait for me.”

“It will be hard not to, my lady, for a woman like you is not easily found. However--” he lets out a raw chuckle-- “I do know what love sounds like when I hear it, and it...does not warm your voice when we speak.”

“I...”

Shuuka holds up one hand, chagrined, the other still wrapped in yours. “You owe me no explanation. I only mean to wish you well.”

He lifts your hand to his lips, laying a soft kiss to its back. “May God go with you, my lady. I pray you will not forget your loyal servant in your trials.”

“I...will not,” you breathe, wishing you might be the girl that could love this man. You cannot, you cannot, but oh, how much easier your road would be if you did. “Thank you.”

“Well,” Mitsuhide hums, smile hung awkwardly. “He seems nice!”

Zen nods, pink looming just under the apples of his cheeks. “A good, ah, potential ally.”

Shirayuki stares.

“You two,” Kiki starts, every syllable so overflowing with derision they practically leak, “are ridiculous.”

Obi looks fit to bursting as well-- at least, if the state of his twitching mouth is anything to go by-- but before he can get one word in edgewise, Izana clears his throat.

“Now that this little interlude is complete,” he drawls, casting a wary glance over the table. “I expect that we can move on?”

“No, wait, I’m sorry!” Shirayuki bursts out breathlessly. “Just--” she glances at Obi, squirming under the question in his eyes-- “just one more thing. I promise.”

Izana settles back in his chair, brows raised. “Oh no, by all means. Color me...” His mouth curves into a smirk that would cause a cleverer woman to reconsider. “...Intrigued.”

Your neck aches; beneath your veil, your hair lies heavy on your scalp, pinned and tied to within an inch of its life. There is no more of it than usual, you are sure, but it weighs on you now, a fetter meant to hobble your steps. A shackle meant to drag you down, to halt your progress forward. Perhaps that is always what it was meant to be.

A proper lady would not remove her covering until she was safely ensconced in her chambers; such manners had been pressed upon you since your first courses, first by your nurse and then again by your father. Modesty was a woman’s shield, and you clung to it then as if it could protect you, afraid of what might happen to you without it. No, afraid of who you might be.

But you are no fine lady, not by anything but birth. Such trappings were ripped from your hands, and now--

Now you are Lynet, alchemist and arcanist, and you keep nothing that will not serve you. Your fingers wedge beneath the fine linen, pins falling to your feet as you work them free. Everything about Laxdo may squeeze you, trying to fit you back in the mold your father made, but you will not, not ever again.

It may have been years since you last stepped in Laxdo’s halls, but this past week has made it something like a home, your feet carrying you with ease through the twisting corridors. A different answer but a moment ago and these would have been yours, your home in truth, but to stay here, to forget the power that you tamed with your own two hands and become nothing more than Shuuka’s wife--

It’s unthinkable. A life not meant for you. Though your sister would like it fine enough.

Your feet stutter beneath you, breath caught tight in your chest. Who are you to say what she would want, when you--

You shake yourself. This guilt won’t serve either, not if you let it hold you in place. Your gaze lifts, and finally you see where your industrious feet have brought you: Beaumains’ door.

It was inevitable that they would; your own chamber is on the same hall, mere steps away. But you had not meant to come here, to linger, save that-- that you had, for he has been on your mind since he delivered you to the dais, since Arturius had him sent from it to the revelry below. His voice has thrummed beneath your veins since you looked across the hall and saw him missing from the tables below, your mind turning over every word he spoke this night to see if his disappearance is merely a missing piece to a puzzle you have already solved. But no solutions have appeared before you, and now--

Now you stand here, head bare at his threshold, wondering whether you will be welcome.

You hand raises, hesitating above the grain. You could leave now, and no one would ever know. But if you did, if you simply left with no word, and found him gone on the morrow...

You knock twice. Then thrice. There is not a whisper from the other side of the door. You know better than to assume that means there is no man, not such a one as Beaumains.

“Beaumains,” you murmur, palm pressed flat against the wood. “Beaumains, if you are there...”

Your lips press to a thin line. You had not planned this, planned any of it, and your words will not come. You do not even know which ones you speak if they would.

Your forehead rests against the door, the ridges of its grain digging into your skin. “If you are there, I am here.”

There is no answer but silence.

“Goodnight,” you say finally. “I will...” You hesitate, breath catching in your chest. “I will see you on the morrow.”

Izana, at least, is happy to move on.

“If you have spells to prepare,” he offers graciously, “you may do so now, before we start the morning.”

Kiki raises an imperious brow. “I take it we’ll be doing combat, then?”

With a beatific smile, Izana informs her, “You may prepare for any eventuality you see fit.”

“Yeah.” Zen sighs, flipping to his spell list. “Combat.”

Shirayuki shuffles through her index cards, chewing on her cheek. Next to her Obi has affected a casual slouch, arm thrown haphazardly over his chair back and legs stretching well onto Zen’s side of the table. He doesn’t seem stressed, not like how she feels sitting in the splash zone of of their high stakes game of I’m Not Touching You during this fantasy field trip.

Her phone slides into her hand easier than it ever has, thumb sliding surreptitiously across the keyboard. Are you okay?

Her teeth grit down as soon as it’s sent, regret bitter on her tongue. It’s a stupid thing to ask; a feeling that grows when she watches him work his phone out of his pocket, eyebrows lifting as he reads.

His mouth curls into a satisfied smirk. peachy keen

Are you sure? Shirayuki peeks up from her cards, casting a subtle glance toward the end of the table. Izana’s bowed behind the screen, pen gracefully curving over page-- notes. He’s taking notes. I wanted to make sure Zen isn’t scaring you off.

lol impossible

A breath hisses out her nose, fingers tightening around the case. Leave it to Obi to make this into a joke. He’s really not a bad guy, I promise. I don’t know why he’s choosing to act like one.

A smothered noise hiccups out beside her, too loud in the room’s silence. Four heads bob up, three blond and one brown, and Obi smooths the noise out into a cough, a gentle clearing of his throat.

“Dorito,” he says with a tight wheeze, mouth twitching. “Musta gone down the wrong pipe.”

“Ah,” Izana hums, his eyes narrowing. “Of course.”

Zen, however, frowns. “We have Doritos?”

Obi’s mouth stretches into a smile. “You did.”

“How--?”

“Are we done with preparations, then?” Izana asks smoothly, settling back in his chair. “Should we continue...?”

“Ah, no!” Zen grimaces, ducking his head. “Just-- another minute.”

i got a good idea, Obi texts once. heads are down. but don worry im not going newere His teeth flash as he sends, jus had 2 take care f s/t

She glances up, and his grin is there to greet her, only growing wider when he reads the question in her eyes.

“Don’t worry, my lady,” he murmurs, shifting close enough for the words to ghost over her cheek. “Trust me.”

You wake to hue and cry, to chaos in the halls. A lord’s daughter might lay abed still, waiting for her maids to fetch her, but you were the Lady of Castle Perilous; when Morgaine comes to fetch you, you are already dressed, tucking the last tresses of red beneath your coif. She blinks, those midnight-dark eyes going wide before her expression settles into something far more grim, something more resigned than surprise.

“Beaumains isn’t in his chamber,” she tells you, no cushion in her words, only the bruising impact of the truth. “We suspect he never made it back to it.”

Your breath catches in your chest, struggling against its cage. “That can’t be true. Last night I...”

Spoke to his door, with not a single sign of him within.

“When the maid came to tend his hearth this morning, his cot was undisturbed and the fire burnt down to embers.” Morgaine fixes you with a steady gaze, braced as a man about to take a blow. “We mean to look for him.”

You snatch your cloak from where it hangs, winding it about your shoulders. “Then let us go. If he has been taken, then--”

“I suspect he has been taken by naught by stupidity, the same as any man,” the princess grouses, falling into step beside you as you hurry down the steps to the yard. “My brother wounded his pride, and he sought to restore it. Or at least commit some feat to let it scab cleanly.”

It rankles how much each word rings true. You had no brothers at Castle Perilous, but men you had in spades, and every one fool enough to put himself in mortal peril to salve his pride. “Let us hope you are wrong?”

Morgaine lets out a rasping laugh. “You prefer him to be in the hands of the enemy, then?”

“Rather than his own stupidity?” you ask, breathless, waiting for the yard’s door to open. “Always.”

When they do, your heart stops, stuttering right up into your throat.

“Alas.” The word hisses through Morgaine’s smile. “You are destined to be disappointed.”

Beaumains sits in the yard, perched merrily atop a cart drawn into the middle of it. You cannot, from this angle, divine what it is filled with, only that it is solid enough to hold him and his ego. Temper climbs up your neck, as choking as any ivy; to think, you worried about his heart enough to trouble your own, and now he sits here as if naught but a moment has passed from the night into the evening, as if this were but yet another day he spent in your company.

Oh, how you could climb that cart yourself to give him a piece of your mind. You do not-- would not, before all these men of Laxdo-- but the temptation lashes yours soles as thoroughly as any devil.

“Beaumains.” Arturius marches forth from the crowd, wrath crackling in the air as he walks. “What is the meaning of this? We awake to you missing, and now--?”

“So I heard.” His smile shines in the morning sun, just as brightly as his horns. “I was here, of course. Waiting.”

The Prince of the Angles flushes crimson, the whole of his frame shaking. “Then why would you not--?”

“For a lark.” His teeth flash; fitting since he wields his words like a blade. “Though I did leave last night. You see, something bothered me, and not just your manners.”

“Demon--”

“Devil,” Beaumains corrects, as fastidious as any tutor. “And you see, all this celebrating, it didn’t make sense. Not when we hadn’t solved who cursed our friend here.”

He holds one dark, clawed hand out to where Shuuka stands, gaping. “Me? But I thought--?”

“You know as well as any that we have been searching tirelessly,” Arturius snaps, temper well and truly frayed. “And now you come to mock us for it? Is it a fight you ask for? Is that what you desire? For I am happy to give it to you, if you do not--”

“I want no fight,” Beaumains scoffs. “I want results. And so...”

With a desultory kick, the back of the cart falls open, and out of it--

Ah, and out of it pours forth a mound of bodies.

“And so,” he continues with relish, “I got some.”

“You can’t do that,” Zen murmurs, but it’s not in anger. No, that’s shock that slackens his jaw, and with the number of tokens Obi just dropped on the map, it’s working on Shirayuki too. “That’s not-- he can’t do that, can he?”

“He just did,” Izana replies, somehow both weary and amused at the same time.

“But...” Zen stares at them, more than a dozen tokens sprawled over the grid. “How.”

Obi grins. “Skill.”

Izana casts him a dark, yet exhausted, glance. “He rolled very, very well.”

Shuuka skirts nearer, his face pale with shock. “Those are the men who sold us firewood. The very same you pulled from our hearths.”

“That they are.” Beaumains sits back on the cart; now that you can see inside it you see his seat is not a crate, as you had assumed, but two bodies stacked atop each other, the blood drying around their mouths and necks. “Or at least that’s what I was hoping, Master, since otherwise I’d have made a mortifying mistake indeed.”

Arturius has not moved, instead staring down at the hand that laid at his feet, at the twisted grimace the deceased’s face has twisted into. “You did this alone? With no other man to help you?”

“I surely did,” the devil sing-songs, his grin honing to a point. “Could you find me such a one, daring enough to help on a night so dark as the last?”

The prince’s jaw sets hard as granite, but his eyes belie his sternness, shining with heady mix of admiration and something that savors strongly of jealousy. “Well,” he grits out, shoulders jerking towards his ears. “I cannot fault you your skill, devil, but now there is no chance of us learning how or why this deed came to be done.”

Beaumains scoffs, enjoying every moment he sits above the Prince of all the Angles. “Have a little faith, O Master Mine. Before they met the fates they bought with their cursed coin, I asked them what man or beast compelled them to act. And they told me--” his eyes flash with triumph-- “a man in red.”

There is no chance for you to stifle your gasp, not when you see that armor shining before you, crimson in candlelight. Not when even now, that spiked gauntlet reaches toward you--

“Lynet?” Morgaine’s grasp brings you back to yourself, to the moment you inhabit. “Are you well?”

“Fine, fine,” you assure her. “It is only--”

That you may know who this enemy of Laxdo is. That you yourself have come to see him vanquished, but yet--

You cannot speak of it. Not even if you wished.

“You may thank me at your leisure, sirrah,” Beaumain crows, getting to his feet. Even now your stomach roils as you look, the blood nothing more than a black sheen on his boots. “I am ever at your--” he leaps, landing on the ground before Arturius’s gaze. “At your service.”

And with a singular, extravagant bow, Beaumains tips face first into the cobbles.

“Wait.” Shirayuki blinks down at the toppled figure, resting on a spray of tokens, right next to a white-painted 1. “What just happened?”

“Beaumains--” Izana’s mouth twitches at a corner-- “had but a single hit point left.”

Long fingers pluck the die from its resting place among the bodies, as if quick reflexes could keep them all from seeing the rock Obi just dropped. He glowers down at it-- all black and golden and glimmering, just like him-- and shoves it back into his bag. “And glass ankles, apparently.”

A low, heady laugh rolls across the table, Kiki kicking up her feet with a smirk. “This is why we invest in CON.”

Obi scoffs. “Please, I made it out with HP to spare.”

“Yeah,” she says, “one.”

“Well,” he grumbles, “it was enough, wasn’t it?”

You stoop to where Beaumains sits, propped up by the stable’s post and Bedwyr’s shoulder, hand raised to heal--

“Please.” Bedwyr’s impressive hand gently guides yours away, his smile tight and concerned. “You must save your strength, my lady.”

“I just awoke, sir,” you remind him, mouth pulled into an irritated line. “I am as fresh as I shall ever be.”

The knight cants his head, though you know him too well to believe he might fully acquiesce to you. “I know that well enough. But it is your talent we will need, should any challenges arise before day’s end. And this is entirely within my--”

“No, no.” Beaumains stirs at his side, eyes sliding open to relieve the unrelenting shadow of his face. “Let the pretty lady lay her hands on me, paladin. Her touch is far softer than yours.”

Ah, it would have been best for him not to say such things before the whole of Castle Laxdo. Or at least, not in front of its lord. The weight of his gaze already presses heavy on your back, growing only more weighty as Beaumains sears a bleary line up you with his gaze.

He’s far to gone to keep it steady; already it wanders, tracing Bedwyr’s lines as well, and--

“Wait, no, never mind,” he slurs, squinting up at that giant of a man. “You’ll do too, sir, if you’re so eager to put your hand--”

Bedwyr presses a palm to the center of Beaumain’s forehead, and with an authority you know can only come from the Lord in Heaven, he intones, “SLEEP.”

“You know, big guy,” Obi drawls, grin already stretching from ear to ear. “I’m pretty sure paladins don’t get those spells. And fighters definitely don’t.”

Mitsuhide glances up from his sheet, straight at Izana.

He smirks. “I’ll allow it.”

Beaumains sleeps the slumber of the ensorcelled. That is, complete and utterly quiet.

Bedwyr peered down, and with a nod of his head, declares, “That’s much better.”

[anileahvictoria]

Guess whaaaat... Another OC! 

This is Moko Va. Her description is kinda OP and confusing/complicated if you don’t know her background story, but this post will just focus on her physical design. Also this post is crazy long, so buckle up. 

First off, I only focused on her lekku, face and montrals markings, and eyes for this drawing, so I didn't draw details like clothes and proper autonomy. Now on to the character description! Species: Togruta, Twi'lek, Mirialan, Zabrak, and Kage hybrid (I'll explain later ((but probably not in this post)). Like I said, It's complicated). Autonomy: Her montrals and body, including the montrals and lekku markings, come from togruta DNA. Golden eyes come from Kage DNA. Face and body markings (excluding the lekku and montrals) are Zabrak. The lekku autonomy is a bit complicated. They're shaped and marked like togruta head tails but function like Twi'lek lekku. You'll need to understand the difference between lekku and head tails, so check out the second picture up top. Because the lekku are built like and function like a twi'lek's, they're not stiff and inflexible like a togruta's head tails. They are made of strong muscle just like a twi'lek and are almost always suspended out and around her to feel what's around her. Her blindness: My original train of thought that led to this character design was the random thought of "What would happen if you kept your eyes open during carbon freezing?" If you notice, everyone we've ever seen frozen in carbon has their eyes shut tight, probably as a natural reflex. But what would happen if you kept your eyes open? We know carbon sickness leaves you temporarily blind, but getting your eyeballs frozen would surely leave some pretty severe permanent damage. Well, Moko put it to the test (not on purpose of course). Coming out of hibernation, she was completely blind, but after the carbon sickness wore off, her sight did not return. She can see differences in light and shadow, so she can tell when the lights have been turned on or off, but that's pretty much it. But, all hope is not lost! And before you say, "I bet she's force sensitive or has Force sight like Kanan and Chirrut," no. No, she is not Force sensitive. That whole super-powered blind person trope is overdone, no matter how much I enjoy it. Montrals use: "...Montrals were hollow, cone-like horns that sprouted from the top of the Togruta's skulls. They formed an extrasensory organ capable of sensing the movement of physical objects around them within a scope of up to 25 meters (82 feet)." "Togruta had the ability to sense the proximity and movement of physical objects around them by means of their hollow montrals, which detected space ultrasonically." Lekku use: Lekku are very sensitive to touch, so I was thinking she would keep them suspended around her, feeling for obstacles and such while her hands were free to do whatever, so they kinda looked like these cool tentacles floating around her, ya know. And yeah, she could use a cane, but where is the fun in that (no offense to anyone who uses a cane, ya'll are still cool)? We don't see this very often, if at all, but lekku are prehensile, which means "(chiefly of an animal's limb or tail) capable of grasping." So I plan to use that to its full extent with this character. Extra details: We know montrals can pick up movement, but can they pick up stationary objects? If so, that's fine, but if not, I think she would make some sort of clicking sound, probably with her tongue, to make sounds bounce off objects, echolocation style. And because her montrals are specifically for echolocation, I think she's got a pretty dang good view of things using this method. Point is, nature has well equipped her to deal with being blind. Communication with Osha: Spoilers, Moko and Osha meet! But we run into some problems. Moko can't see what Osha is signing, and Osha can't hear what Moko is saying. Osha can write stuff down on her speech pad, and Moko can understand her that way, but Moko can't write a response, so communication is pretty one-sided. And before ya'll say lip-reading: #1 Lip reading is only about 45% accurate and hella exhausting for the person doing the reading. #2 Osha was raised learning Ryl, not basic. Ryle has some lekku movement and hand sign elements and Osha can lip-read some Ryle, and even speak some since she grew up with it, but she can't speak or lip-read basic or really anything else. But Bhay, being the beautiful bay that he is, does his best to translate for Osha. Yay! You read this far! Wow, you must be bored if you made it all the way down here. Well, I hope you are intrigued by this character and want to know more about Moko and her backstory, but if not, I hope at least you learned something new! Thanks!

[papabirdurskeks]

I ask this both for Baron Dark, Ariandel and SkekSo !

Give me a character and I will answer: @ben-the-hyena

Oh boy a triple feature! :D Here we go, folks!

Under a read more cause its going to get long but each listed character will be split apart evenly!

First up is Baron Dark!

Why I like them: He is just bombastic in personality! He lives loud in his actions and words, participating in most of the action himself while also showing he is a threat and menacing altogether! I also like that he is one of the few villains that shows he cares for his crew as a “family” (at least for most part of the series before being overtaken with obsession to have power more on his own). Given the dynamic we are given from the show, its obvious he cares and treats them all on a level of respect as well, something so rare to see nowadays! And I also enjoyed that his reasons to take over and do the shit he did in the series, “Because I can!” is just as refreshing and fun to see in a villain too!  And again, his design is a top tier design I love overall! Its menacing, powerful, and outright amazing! Definitely adds to the character and how well he works in effect to keeping my attention! Like just look at that design! And his VA did a wonderful job of adding to that charm that is just delightful to see in his personality! Overall, he is totally a villain I would love to see more of in the future!

Why I don’t: I say my dislikes often fall on the usual tropes of a kid’s show of the 90s. He talks too much when he could be doing things himself and falls victim to the typical “I am too powerful” but doesn’t think of the obvious steps ahead that will be his downfall. But honestly, its so small I don’t find it jarring or that bad to be in the way! It was the 90s and aimed at kids at the time, so we can’t expect TOO much out of that xD

Favorite episode (scene if movie): Oh man, that’s a tough one cause every scene/episode Baron is in he totally slays it! Its either a tie from the first episode to the very last one cause the stakes of start and finish are so well done, I love it all! 

Favorite season/movie: Obviously, the TV series is the best version of him! The comics sucked and turned him too OOC from what was initially given! Like how does one go from point A to be Z so freaking fast? xD

Favorite line: “Because I can.” Yeah, not gonna lie this was indeed my favorite line of his xD

Favorite outfit: Honestly, the outfit he gains near the end of the series is by far my favorite! Its like a mix of the Bejeweled Catacomb Saints and Mictlantechutli put in one and its befitting of the Baron given his gain in power! 

OTP: Baron and Cyborn are my OTP and are married, fight me. 

Brotp: Definitely Brotps with the rest of his henchmen though I see them more being like his adoptive children! 

Head Canon: Baron is of indigenous background! I also like to headcanon that the white tuft/strands in his hair are truly his and have been there since birth!  (I have so many more HCs for him but I will keep it short cause it can go all day x’) )

Unpopular opinion: Don’t think I have one, at the moment at least. 

A wish: To have gotten more information/lore on him and the entire cast, honestly! I would have loved to see more of his character explored and what more he could have had to offer as a series main villain! Hell, the whole damn series had so much to offer! And just the relationships he has with the others and what more he could have done post season and before! So much potential there to be explored! I honestly would not be objecting to a reboot/revival or continuation of the series! 

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: Though with that said, if a reboot does come around, don’t turn it into the mess of current cartoons we have. Not that they are all bad but most of them have been very disappointing in keeping my attention and liking. Keep the same type of messages it had before! It worked beautifully as it did then and still does work now! I’d love to see the same formulas used while also updating it to be more gritty and mature like they did for Castlevania! Just... Don’t turn it into a cringe worthy mess that will ruin Baron and all the characters in the series! Don’t do what the comics did! 

5 words to best describe them: Charmingly evil, badass, fun, conniving bastard, and menacing. 

My nickname for them: Mega dork (affectionately speaking)

Next is Ariandel!

Why I like them: Oh boy, there is a lot to say in terms of why I like him but I will try to keep it short and simple for time purposes!  His design is top tier for me! Like a rotting skull like face? Check! A monstrous body much like a bird’s? Check! And to add he is a giant Corvian, which are one of my favorite enemies in Dark Souls III!  His personality also differs from the usual loud, bombastic, and proud characters I tend to gravitate for. Instead, he’s withdrawn and rather sad to look at and hear. You know he’s going through a lot but don’t know exactly what it is. In game, one can sort of get hints as to what has gone on behind the scenes but at the same time, its still vague and hard to really pinpoint what really did happen. So he has that air of mystery to him that I honestly adore in many characters as it leaves room to explore deeper into their lore! But I also find his personality relatable as well as sympathetic.  But that’s just me, I can gush about him all day but I will cut it short here x’)

Why I don’t: To be honest I don't have any reason not to like Ariandel other then the small fact that he followed Friede and let the Painted World rot in such a terrible state. But that is so minor of an issue to me to really make a difference, lol. I adore this giant bird man!

Favorite episode (scene if movie): I have to say the scene where he ultimately snaps and breaks out of binds after seeing Friede's lifeless body before him is my favorite scene of his. The amount of pain and anguish heard in his scream and the way he moves prior and after; I can very much relate to that feeling. Sometimes, actions truly convey the emotions better in the most powerful means necessary. And this scene alone truly nailed it.

Favorite season/movie: He's only ever seen in the Dark Souls III DLC, so obvious answer points to the DLC!

Favorite line: "When the Ashes are two, a flame alighteth. Thou'rt Ash, and fire befits thee, of course..."

Favorite outfit: Uhh, he doesn't really wear any clothes save for his cape? So I guess the cape does him well as he is, though I always draw him without it xD

OTP: To be honest, I don't ship him with any canon characters within Dark Souls. Friede does not deserve him..

Brotp: Ariandel being best friends with the Ashen One is my ultimate Brotp! Just think of how much of a valuable ally he could have been!

Head Canon: I know his origins are debatable, as either theory I have for him can be plausible but I often lean more towards the idea of him being half Giant and half Corvian! IDK why but I just like it a lot more x’)

Unpopular opinion: While Ariandel is partly responsible for what happened to the Painted World, I still feel he was manipulated overall and probably at one point did have a change of heart before being forced into complete isolation. He plays more the role of the willing/unwilling accomplice then the actual perpetrator of the crime.  

A wish: He could have had a happier ending without having to die for Friede. I know, its Dark Souls. Such a thing is expected to happen in the Soulsborne series but its a wish, right? 

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: That anything beyond the infatuation he had for Friede took place. Just.. No. He loved her but never could ever have her in that sense and never did. Just no, she is horrible to him. 

5 words to best describe them: Sad, lonely, birdman, withdrawn, and tragic

My nickname for them: Papa bird

And lastly for skekSo!

Why I like them: I think its as obvious as the case for Baron Dark. I like evil, smug bastards that shine through their wickedness and don't usually hold back. In the case of skekSo, I actually didn't care for him at first but then after my second viewing of the show, I started to like him more and enjoy his villainy! He's selfish, arrogant, vain, and conniving and I love it! Added that his design is really appealing to the eye and how he carries himself out, I gotta say he's one of the few villain characters from a show that makes the turn around for me to like them instead of hate them more. Also, his voice. Can NOT go wrong with that voice cause DAMN, its good and shows just how powerful a villain can be with a voice like his. And those eyes. Oh man, those eyes!

Why I don’t: Despite his villainy being the main point that caught my attention, its also a part of his downfall too. His constant greed and arrogance pushed him too far into doing what he did and ultimately cost him everything in the end; including loyal allies that end up dying for him in the long run. I hate how easily and quickly he changes his mind when actual logic is put into perspective of his plans and how quick he is to dismiss someone else when they don't please him anymore or things don't go his way for the smallest things. And yes, that is part of his character, I know that. That is what makes him as scummy as he is and why I love how trashy he is. But I also can't ignore just how easily he pushed skekVar away and believed skekSil despite knowing just what a lying bastard he is. IDK, it just feels too obvious but at the same time, it is what it is and I am not upset about it in the least x)

Favorite episode (scene if movie): Honestly, I enjoyed all the scenes with him in the show but mostly in particular with his interactions with skekVar, especially towards the end of the series. It showed a peak part of his vulnerability in his character that honestly I doubt he ever shows to anyone else. He spends most of his time pushing others around and making them fear him but with skekVar there is a sort of mutual respect going that really speaks out in a different way. Maybe I am just reading too much into it, but I always did enjoy how they interacted with one another!

Favorite season/movie: Well, skekSo didn't get much screen time in the movie other then him dying and turning to dust so.... Definitely enjoyed him more in the show then the film xD

Favorite line: "NOOOOO!" (Yes, this scene is still very infamous to me for personal reasons but the way he carried out his "no's" cracked me up each time xD)

Favorite outfit: Honestly, the main outfit he wore throughout the show. It's just so regal and goth, I love it! And as a goth and fashion enthusiast myself, I am all up for the style he has! The battle armor he wore near the end made it a tad more laughable to be honest.

OTP: I started shipping him with skekVar but ended up with an OT3 of skekVar and skekZok. So now all three of them live in a happy relationship with each other in my noodle~

Brotp: I see him being on neutral terms with skekMal! 

Head Canon: I feel that even in the show it wasn’t seen or given, but he did feel a lot of remorse and regret after the loss of skekVar. He seemed very close with him and spoke with skekVar with more trust then he did the others. Perhaps in secret he did mourn the General’s loss. 

Unpopular opinion: Does this count as an unpopular opinion? I know most people see him with just a few strands of hair but I tend to see him with a head full of long flowing white locks he keeps hidden beneath his clothes. It adds to the extra layer of vanity for a proud Emperor such as he! He looses it over time the darkening consumes him and withers down his health. 

A wish: To see what he was like as an urSkek prior to being split up into a Skeksis and urRu. Yeah, I know people don't care or like the urSkeks all that much but honestly, I would LOVE to see more urSkek lore and see what it was that made SoSu so special among his peers. It was said, after all, he had a voice that could move the stars but was conflicted and consumed with darkness. Honestly, I want to know why and who he was prior to all of this mess! SkekSo even says in the show he still has nightmares of the life before so I wonder, what they were and how it was! So much potential here, man!

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: I don’t think I have any of these to be honest? At least with skekSo. Not that I can think of on top of my head now. 

5 words to best describe them: Proud, absolute piece of shit, pretty, conniving, and menacing. 

My nickname for them: Stupid idiot

[legionofpotatoes]

we decided to watch all story cutscenes from the new resident evil village videogame on a whim, since it’s not really our cup of tea gameplay-wise but seems to be this massive zeitgeist moment that made us morbidly curious. And I know how much everyone cares about my thoughts on things I know very little about, so. let’s get into it huh gamers. and yeah spoilers?

for context, I’ve only played resident evil 4 and a small portion of 5. I also read the wikipedia entry for 7’s plot recently. all this to say I was only vaguely aware of how tonally wacky the series was going in

I also completely gave up following the plot of the mutagens’ soap opera, so that paid off in spades here as you might imagine

anyway so that baby in the intro. that baby’s head is just massive. humongous toddlerdome. when ethan finds the baby’s head in a jar later on. there is no way that head would fit into that jar. bad game design. no not even game design. basic stuff. one hundred years in prison for jar modeler

if I see a single functional hetero marriage in video games I will cry tears of joy. I understand their misery is kind of The Point irt them badly working through the hillbilly romp trauma but like. sheesh. at least set that up as an emotional story goal the plot will help resolve. but nope they start off miserable and it goes nowhere

I know I know the mia thing has a huge wrinkle in it but like. not really in terms of dramatic function?? set up a happy end to the re7 nightmare (miranda can keep up appearances for all she cares) and then take that all away from angry griffin mcelroy for manpain. it will still absolutely work to set up the dramatic forward momentum. why throw in this cliche Hollywood Tension in their marriage if you’re not going to address it oh maybe because it’s normalized as automatically interesting because nuclear families are a self-propagating pit of a very narrow chance at emotional happiness relying on social stigma to preserve their empty function oops my baggage slipped in yikes abort mission

I called him griffin mcelroy because I saw his face on twitter and. yeah. I will continue to do this occasionally. my house my rules

... fuck the reason I’m hung up on this is specifically because the rest of the game is so tonally dexterous (which is a shining point to me! more on that later!), and yet they felt weirdly compelled to create the aesthetic trapping of a family-at-odds trope without following it through too well. a sign of both the good and the bad stuff to come

but listen the real reason why I wanted to talk about any of this is to nitpick the fascinating backwards-engineered nucleus of the entire thing; in that this game essentially creates a melting pot of just SO many disparate horror tropes and then makes a no-holds-barred unhinged effort at weaving thick lore to piece them all together. it is truly a sight to behold. like straight up you got your backwoods fright night situation, your gothic castle vampires, your rural-industrial werewolves, and don’t forget your bloated swamp monsters over there, with then a hard left turn into robotic body horror, and the entire ass subgenre of Creepy Doll writ large, and the bloodborne tentacle monsters, and a hellboy angel bossfight, which rides on the coattails of a mech-on-mech pacific rim bonanza, and just jesus henry christ slow down

almost all of these are textural hijack jobs that don’t really get into the metaphor plain of any of those settings but the game sort-of makes an argument that the texture IS the point and revels in it. It is kind of admirable almost. The same reason why the intro felt boxed in and unmotivated is also why the rest of the game just blasts off of its hinges to the point of complete and self-indulgent tonal abandon. I kinda loved that about it. lady dimitrescu made sure to hold her hat down as she bent forward in mahogany doorways and then suddenly she’s a giant gore dragon and you settle in your temp role as dark souls man with Gun to take her ass down. Excellent??

this rhino rampage impulse to gobble up every horror aesthetic known to man comes to head when the game wrestles with its FPS trappings in what is the most hilarious solution in creating visceral player damage moments. Since most cinematics and the entire game is in first person, that leaves precious little real estate for the devs to work with if they really want to sell griffin’s physical crucible. To wit. This dude’s forearms. Specifically just the forearms. They are MASSACRED throughout the story. The poor man lives out the silent hill dimension of a hand model. by the end cutscene he looks like a neatly dressed desk clerk who had decided to stick both his grabbers into garbage disposal grinders just a few hours prior. like in addition to everything else it manages to rope in that tinge of slapstick violence into its general grievous genre collection except this time it IS for a lack of trying! truly incredible

but wait his miracle clawbacks from everything his poor paws go through are retroactively explained away, yes, but far too vaguely and far too late to console me as I sat and watched everyone’s favorite baby brother reattach an entirely severed hand to his wrist stump by just. placing it on there. and giving it a lil twist ‘n pop terminator-style. and then willing his fingers back into motion right in front of my bulging eyes. this game just does not care. it does not give a shit. and boy howdy will it work to make that into one of its strongest suits

cause generally speaking resident evil was THE premiere vanilla zombie content destinaysh for like a decade, right? and as the rest of the world and mainstream media started encroaching and bloodying its blue ocean it went and just exploded in every single conceivable horror trope direction like a smilodon on catnip. truly, genuinely fascinating franchise moves

yeah the big vampire milf is hot. other news; grass... green. although I do love the implication that her closet is just identical white dresses on a rack. cartoon network-level queen shit

apropos of nothing I’ve said there’s also this hobo dante-devimaycry-magneto man, and I can’t believe this sentence makes sense. anyway he made that “boulder-punching asshole” joke referring to chris redfield and it was probably the only easter egg that really landed for me and boy did it land hard. I have not seen him punch the boulder in re5, mind. I had only heard about how funny it is from friends. and here this dude was, probably in the same exact mindset as me, trying to grapple with that insane mental image. with you on that ian mckellen, loud and clear

I advocate vehemently against the shallow pursuit of hyper photorealism in art direction but I gotta admit it works really in favor of immersive horror like this. the european village shacks especially gave me super unchill flashbacks to my rural countryside retreat in western georgia. I could smell the linoleum dude. not cool

faces are weird in this game. can’t place it. nice textures, good animation, but the modeling template is... uuh strange? and the hair. it has that clustered-flat-clumpy look that harkens to something very specific and unpleasant but I just don’t know what. sue me

griffin’s mental aptitude to take all this shit in stride and end every seemingly traumatizing bossfight involving some fucking eldritch being yet unseen through mortal eyes by essentially throwing out an MCU quip is just. What the fuck dude? I mean that was funny how you casually yelled the f-word at a god damn werewolf that you considered a fairy tale an hour ago but are you like, all right?? it was swinging a sledgehammer the size of a bus at you, ethan

oh oh the vampires are afraid of cold and your last name is winters. I get it haha

Pro Gamer Nitpick: boss fights seemed a bit unnecessarily long?? idk why the youtuber we picked decided the ENTIRE propeller man fight counted towards the vital story scenes he was stitching together, but man mr big daddy lite there really had some get up and go huh??

why are they saying dimitrescu.. like that. is it really how you say that word or is the english language relapsing into its fetish for ending every single word with a consonant at all costs

I’m not saying it’s a dramatic miss of a twist in context of all that’s going on, but the “you died in the last game actually and have been DC’s clayface ever since” revelation is low-key. it’s. it’s just funny to me, I dont know what to say. century-old god-witch fails her evil plan after she mistakenly removes heart from what was definitely NOT just some white guy with eight fingers after all

chris realizing he’s about to become the player character and immediately swapping out his tsundere trenchcoat for the muscletight sex haver sweater

the little bluetooth speaker-sized pipe bomb he taped to his knife was nuclear?? really??? I must have missed something because that is just too good. I buy it though I totally buy it. chris just got them fun-sized nukes in his car trunk for, you guessed it, Situations

anyway this is all for now just wanted to briefly touch on how unexpectedly funny and tonally irreverent this seemingly serious game turned out to be. did not articulate any cathartic story beats whatsoever but my god it had fun connecting those plot points. he just fucking put his severed hand back on his stump and it Just Worked todd howard get in here