#also it took me the least amount of time to render this piece which was a relief cause when I do the rendering it takes me forever to finis

[xyl4-4444]

It's currently REAL ISOPOD HOURS

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨 happy mermay for those who partake in for a whole month :D

BONUS!!!

Mermaid design I made for this illustration

I've posted this here before, but I'll post it again >:))

[boxbug]

A Canary’s Final Flight

My piece for @trafficzine 4th edition! Get it for free here! 200 pages of excellent art and fics, incredible work from all participants and from the mods especially!! huge shoutout to the mods for real

Process notes under the cut! (I struggled a lot so it's a bit of a novel)

So the entire process was a Ride. I knew when I picked this prompt that I was going to have a hard time, because Jimmy’s final death had been illustrated a billion times over by extremely talented artists. But I had a Vision of the snapshot of the second before the impact, when everything is still but you know what’s about happen. It was very much inspired by the clip of Fog by Jabberwocky, bu the thing is, they have the advantage of all the build up of the fall, and that’s when the trouble started.

This was my first version, and obviously it wasn't working. And I was trying so hard, with so many iterations! Small wings, big wings, no wings, different poses, less backgrounds elements. I'd done compositions were everything seemed peaceful but something is Wrong, but it wasn't working this time.

So instead I focused on what rendering I'd like to do - I tried a painterly approach, for that visceral feeling, but it wasn't working either (but hey, I did keep the red sky, so, progress)

At this point I'd been doing back and forths for weeks and I was just as lost as at the start. Now that's my tip for people who make art of any kind, in situations like that, stop thinking about how you can make the best piece possible, and think about you can have fun with it (because when you aren't it's visible). And for that was, 1 - going back to using ink and pen nibs and doing way too detailed inking, and 2- looking at Dave McKean's covers for Sandman (which, funnily enough, was also a reference for my previous trafficzine piece)

And from there I was actually going somewhere! Between the jagged rocks, the red sky, and the increased verticality with the borders, I had hit the vibes I wanted.

I did some experimentation with the border, and even though I really liked the bad boys I drew they were taking too much away from the lonely desolation, so I actually used Red (Unecessary Redstone)'s idea of all of Jimmy's worldy's possessions scattered on the ground post impact, with the idea to make it looks like the central image is his grave being dug.

(and yes for a short amount of time the were supposed to be clock markings on the sun, but there was already enough going with the wings so I scrapped that) (also fun fact the reason why the wings aren't fully material but more ghostly is because my toddler cousin was watching me draw the very first draft and asked why he didn't just use his wings and i went :( so the wings are a metaphor now)

So from there I found a bunch of picture and took some myself, cut and assembled everything together, added shadows in all the appropriate places, and repainted some elements so that everything would look better intergrated (some of the wheats are basically 100% handpainted, the cardboard as well). This took a suprisingly long amount of time, but I was done!

Well I wasn't expecting to have that much to say, but I hope if you're still reading, it was at least interesting!

[lilacsareinbloomagain]

Yandere wind headcannon or Yandere legend please

How about some yandere legend headcannons please

Alright, alright! You got it, buddy! Thank you for requesting :]

Notes: Platonic!Wind and romantic!Legend separate.

"&" means platonic relationship. Yes, AO3 is influencing me.

I'll probably bring more Headcannons in the future but that's all I have for now.

I'm against using the dots but these are headcannons.

TWs: Yanderism, mentions of needles (sewing needles), mentions of swimming and bodies of water.

LU!Wind & Reader || LU!Legend x Reader

Yandere Legend Headcannons

It's not a surprise to say that Legend didn't like nor trust you when you first met. It took a while, and I mean a while for him to start being less mean to you, like, at least a few months.

After that he was still mean, but more so in a teasingly way, like how he is with the others but worse.

Because of the sheer amount of time it took for him to trust you, it may have been a bit upsetting for you to see how he treated you differently to the others.

You see, Legend doesn't like to be open about who he likes, he is a prideful man and also very cautious. He felt like you were a weak spot to him, and if that information went into the wrong hands you would be in danger just as much as his sanity currently was.

Either way, Legend isn't good at acknowledging the strength of his words, so of course, you naturally wanted to distance yourself from him.

However, something kept you from distancing yourself. While Legend may be sharp and hurtful when it came to his words, his actions were quite the opposite. Legend acted like an absolute simp when it came to you.

The other would tease him a lot regarding that, it was really funny watching these situations, it almost made all the hurt from his words worth it.

Legend would be angrily yelling at a laughing Four who just called him out on his bullshit all the while not stopping his fingers from knitting gloves for you after he heard you complain about feeling cold at night.

Ah yes there's also that, I feel like Legend likes knitting, sewing too, but knitting mostly since you really seem to like the pieces he knit.

Legend has anxiety after everything he went through, he's paranoid even when the team is somewhere safe. It gets almost impossible to fall asleep when he can't stop shaking his leg or scratching his arm, his mind also refuses to shut up, sleepless nights rendered him useless both physically and mentally since he just didn't get any rest, spending the whole night twisting and turning in his bed roll.

He needed something to relieve his anxiety and calm his nerves while also being a way he wasn't wasting time. Sewing was useful for repairing his and the other's clothes, now knitting? He had never heard of knitting before.

That was, before the day he decided to buy a needle and a ball of green wool thread out of curiosity.

You two were inside a small shop of arts and crafts together, he was looking to just buy the sewing stuff he needed and leave. When he turned around to call for you though, you were looking around in awe at things you were interested in on the shelves of the shop, you mentioned something about finding knit pieces cute, that was all it needed to make him buy these things with the purpose of mastering doing it.

Of course, before leaving he also made sure to buy all the things you said you liked in the shop.

He ended up really liking knitting, making errors was stressful and it took a long time for him to learn the skill, but, at least the needles weren't sharp like the sewing ones, which meant he didn't hurt himself. His hand did end up sore, but they were already calloused so it didn't hurt as much, and he preferred that pain a lot more than staying up all night every night. The gratitude on your face when he gifted you his first perfected piece, the green socks, made it all worth it.

Legend likes to keep you around his line of sight 24/7, not seeing you makes him 20 times more paranoid, the others bent to his will easily after noticing how bad he could get, keeping you in the same space he was just tuned out easier for everyone.

Since Legend won't allow himself to be vocal about how much he loves you, when you guys spend time together which is basically always and he doesn't feel the need to act mean he will just be silent. It's not rare for him to sit close to you and lean on you during those moments, he tries to not initiate touches but it is hard for him to keep himself from at least doing this.

He adores when you initiate physical touch though, and you did so a lot after discovering that it is easy to use that.

Anything could be happening, your mere touch, a brush of your skin, anything you do can make him just freeze. After getting a hold of you it is hard for him to let you go, he will hesitate before remembering why he needed to keep his liking towards you a secret in the first place.

So yeah, he can melt just from physical touch, don't hug or cuddle with him close to other people, those actions can make him almost cry so it would be quite embarrassing.

Links may seem different but they are still reincarnation of the same person.

That's why kisses can make him flustered like Sky.

Really, when all of this is done and his enemies are gone, if you choose to just live the rest of your lives together, he'll definitely become just as gentle as Sky.

He wouldn't give up his friendly teasing though, that's his charm.

He is soft inside but he isn't known as the veteran for nothing, the world has turned him into what he is now and the dangers that made him into the person he is today are still around.

His protectiveness comes from that, his main objective became making sure you'll stay safe, he doesn't want you to be hurt like he was, he doesn't want you to change. He'll gladly take the pain of the both of you for your sake.

Also, Legend has a lot of trinkets and jewelry.

You're in luck if you like those things, he'll give them to you no matter whether you accept them or not.

He'll feel very proud of himself if he saw you using his jewelry as well.

You may be shocked seeing him just part with his prized possessions like that, but in his mind it is simple.

After all of this is done, you will end up with him, whether you like it or not so if you'll marry in the future you're basically already married. If you're married, his things are yours just as yours are his, so you using his things is just like him using them himself.

Also, you don't have many possessions, so the least you can give to him is yourself, isn't that right?

Platonic Yandere Wind Headcannons

Whether you like children or not didn't matter, it didn't take long for you to become attached to him.

Wind is a typical teenager, even if he acts more like a child sometimes.

He likes teasing but he isn't as mean as Legend, mostly just the normal playful teasing everyone in the chain is used to, including you.

I see wind as a distracted teen whenever he isn't in combat. Like the person who makes stupid questions and annoying remarks that most of the time aren't supposed to actually be annoying or stupid, most of the time he just doesn't pay attention and needs to just make sure he actually heard what you guys said.

Wind is used to being the older brother, so when you decided to be his older sibling he was unaccustomed.

He more than welcomed the attention and affection though, it's been a while since he got it. All in all he is probably the Link who most needs it anyway.

When you're not the one actively making the effort to spend time with him he is the one doing it.

You know how to swim? Great, he will bring you swimming with him.

You don't know how to swim? Congratulations you have just got yourself a very invested teacher.

You're afraid of swimming or of the place where he swims? He will insist you come just to sit close to the body of water he's in. By the end of the day he has a pile of things he found while he was swimming (trinkets, rocks and seashells), prepare your pockets because you're the one leaving with them.

He's a chatterbox, and will talk your ear off about his adventures, the sea and his life before that, like the island he's from, his small family… Anything and everything really.

Like I mentioned a while ago, before he left the island, washing the dishes used to be his chore. Now when you wash the dishes to help Wild there's a big chance of him being there to help you. Helping may also mean chatting with you while doing nothing though, there are always two possibilities and the outcome depends only on how interested in washing dishes he is that day.

I feel like Wind is more inclined to sabotaging any type of relationship you may have with other people, he probably doesn't mind The Chain wanting you romantically or anything as long as he deems said Link as deserving of you, differently to other people the team are always together so he can easily get to you anytime he wants. He just doesn't want his time with you to be interrupted.

He's loud, when he's talking about something he likes he starts talking even louder without noticing.

Please call him to work on something together, things like making necklaces with the seashells he finds will channel his attention which will result in him being silent for longer.

Despite being a normal teenager pretty much, Wind has a longer attention span. At least, with things he likes to do, and with that I mean hands-on activities. He will ignore any attempts of reading, may even throw a tantrum.

He is not against the idea of fully throwing himself against you anytime he wants your attention and you won't give it to him.

Wind is a growing teenager, and he spends a lot of time with you. Don't be surprised when he starts picking up little bits of your personality, likes, mannerisms, habits and even your way of speaking. Most of these will happen without him or you noticing, it is funny when The Chain just sees you making some sort of pose and him just doing the exact same pose for no reason.

Wind would be a son of Poseidon, do tell him that, he'll love hearing you talk about it. He loves the mythology from our world, no matter which mythology you tell him about.

Expect him to do things for you as well, he may make it seem like he doesn't want to do it, but even if you ask him to bring you the heart of Gannon or something he'll eventually bring it to you.

Wind may act reckless sometimes too many times, but then again he is a child. He'll act like he doesn't like it, but he loves when you treat him his age. Wind had to take way too many responsibilities in a much too young age and the fact you still treat him the way he is supposed to be treated despite his hero title will make him cling to you like his life depends on it.

Different from Legend Wind doesn't mind you being away from him as long as you're there the moment he wants your attention. In fact, he'll be the first to tell everyone to leave you in the camp when they're fighting monsters.

You know how siblings are fighting all the time and make fun of each other but still get mad whenever someone else does it? That's Wind, he will get funny annoyed expressions when other Links try to tease you, he's constantly at war with Legend.

As much as he doesn't mind if you have a relationship with the rest of The Chain he'll playfully tease you guys.

If he sees you're uncomfortable (and trust me, he can tell) he'll immediately do a 180° and become very protective, he'll defend you with tooth and nail from anyone, even the golden goddesses herselves.

And he's a gremlin, too, so if physically he can't do harm he'll turn said person's life into hell.

And once again, everything he asks of you in return to what he does is your attention, 200% of it.

[rainbowchewynuggets]

Okay, change of plans.

Despite my best laid plans, my intentions to produce that Hellboy comic through October are turning out to be more unrealistic than they were before I moved. Unforeseen circumstances are going to reduce the amount of free time I have in the near future (thanks, Ian), and I straight up overestimated how quickly I’d be able to draw each page. Which happens a lot.

See, there’s kind of a bigger problem here. I routinely find myself getting excited about making a comic project, writing it all out, and then burning out repeatedly as I draw it. For the longest time, I thought that was just what it took to draw that many cool pictures on one page. It wasn’t until I started living with a friend from college that I realized there was a problem. Or, he realized it first. He’s astonishingly good at clocking me through my stubborn bullshit lol. He said that maybe I constantly burn out because I’m using 100% of my artistic capacity 100% of the time. Which sounds ideal on paper. I’m making the very best art that I can. But it’s completely unsustainable because, uh… I’m a human with limits, as I constantly forget. And comics take a lot of stamina.

Because I don’t understand comics. I read comics all the time growing up, but I didn’t draw like them. I learned to draw from making fine art pieces in school. I drew with realism and life drawing as the core of my practice because that’s what my dad had been taught back when he aspired to be an animator at Disney, and that’s what he taught me. The only thing that ever impressed art teachers and classmates was how accurately I could draw a face or a vase or a landscape. So I did that as well as I could.

Now, I should be clear here. Realism absolutely has a place in comics. Some of the most beautiful and intelligent pieces of work I’ve ever read had clear roots in realism. Life drawing is a sensible basis for any kind of representational art, in my opinion. Sequential art that’s just a series of fully-rendered paintings astound and enchant me.

It’s just that I think that level of detail and accuracy just isn’t right for me. Partly because my writing style is also super extra. I have big spiraling ideas that take a lot of time and pages to execute. My writing is actually just now reaching a point where I can whittle it down to reasonable finished scripts that I can draw with (which might be why I never realized this art problem before). And sooner or later, my brain wanders off onto something else. So being stuck with these big projects that are so exhausting to execute leads to a kaleidoscopic labyrinth of “break” projects that are supposed to be easier. They never are. Because my brain doesn’t know how to do “easier”. Like anything, I think “easier” will take practice. Study.

My plan, therefore, is to study an easier style to keep in my toolbox. Something fun and shape-based that lets me lean on the forms of abstraction and simplification that I already use in my current dominant style. Mostly, I’m looking at Scott Campbell (lead art director of Psychonauts 1) right now. And I’m gonna try working with some brushes that won’t leave me agonizing over line weight. If this works, it might give me more time to think about color dynamics, lighting, staging, and expression (since you guys seem to love that so much in TMA Encore; I love it too).

What does this mean for Hellboy and Encore, then? I think the best thing to do for Hellboy is post the pages I finished before I moved and release the remaining script in text form through October. It’s not as good as having the whole thing drawn, but I think having initial pages will at least help readers visualize the rest. (And I’d really like people to be able to experience the whole thing because I feel like it’s some of the best writing I’ve ever done.) Then, starting in November, I want to get Encore wrapped up. This will take the form of a kind of… hybrid media presentation. Encore has no complete script, but I can write a dramatic summary of what happens chapter by chapter, accompanied by drawn panels and sequences of important moments. Like a picture book. That kinda fits the dark academia vibe.

Following that, I’m going to use that Psychonauts fanfic I mentioned months ago as a study tool. I have a whole side blog for that (link), but I might crosspost them here when the time comes. And from there, hopefully, I’ll have a sustainable work ethic and can start on my own original projects. With videos. And patreon!

It’s a big weird shift all of a sudden, I know. This may just be another art blog on tumblr, but it’s important for me to try to be consistent and accountable when I make projects. And if I can’t do that, I at least want to be transparent. (Who knows–talking about this might help someone else who’s struggling, too.) I have kind of a rare opportunity in my life to sit and focus on art right now, and I don’t know when another will come again, if ever. So I want to use the limited time I have to improve and position myself for success (and wellness) going forward.

I hope you understand. But I have a feeling you will. You guys are real nice. :)

Thanks for reading.

[magellanicclouds]

I know this is like heretical in the ME fandom but Andromeda was my fav

Kai, I am actually beyond honoured that you'd share this with me, because you are so right - it IS a very volatile opinion in the ME world. You're absolutely valid though, and while I don't share your feelings (I think I say probably ME2 is for my favourite), I am genuinely always interested to hear what it was about Andromeda that really struck you! I have another friend who feels this same as you, and their take is that they actually really liked that more of the characters felt messy personality wise; that that had made them feel much more relatable to them. I'd love to know what it was for you! For me, my partner and I had both pre-ordered it long before release and were so excited for it. When we got it, we took time away from work, set both our televisions side by side in the livingroom, and ordered dinner in. Things started okay, but no more than 20 minutes in, both of our games were borderline unplayable. The huge amount of bugs and glitches spoiled our excitement, and left such a lasting mark. We did both try to pick it up again couple months later, after Bioware had put in many patches to fix playability issues, but I must admit the damage was done. Unhelpfully, though I was finally able to at least reach Nexus that time around, every partially or non-moving NPC face, bodies clipping through walls or failing to render at all, eliminated any little immersion for me. I was also still running into bugs of not being able to have conversation with several different NPCs at all, to include crewmates, and had issues with loading the Research Room on the Tempest - it would just crash my whole game and return me to the title screen. I was honestly heartbroken, Kai. I wanted to like it so badly, but the persistent poor experiences left such an ugliness for me that continuing to try just felt like punishment. I was just forcing myself. I will say that I do think it's not right for many in the fandom to be so deliberately cruel to people who enjoy ME:A, and I am beyond happy that you were able to get such fulfillment out of it, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts on it! ' U ' (As a side note: when Bioware shut down their old webstore, I was able to get a Pathfinder pullover hoodie that I still wear constantly, and one of the ME:A vinyl soundtracks, which was cool too, but better than both of those: I got one of the 1:18 scale die cast replicas of the Nomad, and it is honestly one of the most beautiful pieces of gaming memorabilia that I own. What I wouldn't give for a similarly produced replica of the Mako. ; O ; )

[heavymetalrobot]

007: Everything or Nothing (GBA)

Graphics - 3/5

Controls - 2/5

Story/Premise - 4/5

Fun Factor - 4/5

Overall Rating - 4/5

Keeping? - Definitely!

————

Review:

As the name suggests, this game is a James Bond 007 franchise piece that seems to stand alone apart from the films — at least there was no directly corresponding film to relate to this game that I could find (didn’t look too hard). Pierce Brosnan lends a certain amount of nostalgia to the title that had me reminiscing about many hours spent playing Goldeneye for N64 as a youth, and I had fun seeing how many of the low-res actors I could recognize in the plot (Willem Defoe, is that you?)

That being said, 007 has a very different vibe with its GBA pseudo-realistic pixel art and isometric map style. The character renders, while recognizable, were a mixed bag of impressive and creepy in that uncanny valley kind of way. The level details were nice and plentiful, and the UI decently intuitive, though it took a bit of trial and error for me to remember the visual difference between a land mine and a “Holobond” (a holographic James Bond that draws bullet fire for a short time) when swapping between items.

Basic combat is simple enough — you have your gun and ammo which depletes and refills with enemy drops and loot crates, and you’ve got your unarmed melee for kicking and punching when no bullets are available. Where the game really seems to shine, in my opinion, is the pseudo Assassin’s Creed-style stealth mechanics. The game offers a mini map that shows the location of enemies, as well as the direction they are facing, so that you can plan your strategy accordingly before ever even seeing them come on screen. In addition to this, there is a visibility meter that can also be employed to see whether or not you are being spotted by an enemy, and fills to varying degrees based on just HOW visible you are, which lets you modify your plan before being shot at. The game awards “style points” based on stealth kills, an optional objective added to each level that affords you some nice points payout (to be spent on upgrades between missions).

I’ve always been piss-poor at stealthy finesse games, preferring to go in with guns and knives blazing, but thankfully this game is pretty forgiving with fumbles; the number of times I snuck up behind an enemy just to swing wildly and not connect was… a non-zero number, but I still managed to eke out the style point bonuses regardless.

The story is definitely undeniably Bond-Flavored with its cartels and big bads, as well as its high-speed car chases — the first of which I struggled with laughably before I realized that I was handicapping myself by using the joystick instead of the d-pad. It still tickled me to see the Aston Martin DB8 make an appearance with its campy spy shenanigans like oil slicks and rocket launchers.

Over all I very much enjoyed the hour I spent playing this game — even the 10 or so minutes I spent clipped out of bounds, hilariously mountain-goating my way along cliff faces trying to reach the exit of the level so I wouldn’t have to restart (a success, thankfully).

[gloriesunsung]

Arcane Detail Dive: Shape in the Stone

I will do another long-ass episode analysis post, I promise, but in the meantime, here are some little details from the opening credits that I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time dwelling on.

Spoilers for season 1 of Arcane: League of Legends. Warning for Flashing GIFs below the cut

Edited to fix my stupid typos and added ALT text.

Bless the internet for allowing us to see the various cool alternative concepts for the Arcane opening credits. I will readily admit it took me a minute to love the one that we ended up with instead. A number of different ideas were put forward, but the essential focus in all of them remains the same: meeting our characters up close. Inside about a minute, we need to get a sense of who these people are.

For an animated show with such flash and fluidity of motion, the intro is surprisingly static. We are given these momentary snapshots of our characters in near-stillness, the “camera” doing the motion instead. It’s not totally clear what material these models are made of. At first it looks like it might be stone. But when the light shifts, we can see crosshatching and scrape marks as if someone has lovingly moulded them from clay. No one is immovable, unchangeable; and like any narrative worth its salt, everyone ends the season somewhere different than where they started.

The thing that struck me most — and I didn’t really connect the dots as to why until the end of season 1 — is how differently Powder and Viktor are represented compared to everyone else.

Powder stands back to back with her sister. She is this nebulous stone shape until the camera pans over Vi’s shoulder. Only when the light shifts from pink to blue and Vi’s face is cast in total shadow is Powder’s face rendered clearly, fading slowly into view. Though they are back to back, Powder’s gaze is aimed at Vi. Looking for guidance that never comes. We first meet Powder when she is still in the stages of becoming herself and it is only in the absence of Vi that her personality is formed and solidified, for better or worse. Powder becomes Jinx. Even though the sisters are physically joined, like they are carved from the same piece of whatever, already they are being set apart.

I also really love the little overlay flashes we see, a motif that repeats throughout the series when Jinx is dealing with her inner turmoil. Her relationship with Vi and its breakdown is the thing that most shapes her. One of the textures you can see (for like a whole 2 frames) is a film negative — and how fucking great a visual metaphor is that for Jinx’s maladaptive memory? The more you play a negative (or revisit a memory while in the throes of mental illness), the more distorted it becomes, and eventually it will degrade and become unwatchable. Or at the very least, nothing like it was before. Once the damage is done, it’s done, even if the underlying intent was positive.

Following the quiet stillness of Jayce studying the hex crystal, we next meet Viktor in more rapid fashion.

Like Powder, Viktor begins indistinct. In short, staggered bursts he is chiselled into detail; perhaps one for each arc of the season, each definitive change that shapes him. Discovering hextech, his death sentence and the resulting desperation, his glorious and awful transmutation. I think it’s interesting though that his feet remain part of the stone. The shape of him isn’t fully clear. Viktor undergoes vast changes in season 1, physically and mentally… but of course, he isn’t done yet.

Look at the way the light shifts and passes over him so quickly too. In seconds, we see him in so many different lights in a way no other character is portrayed here. I think it’s a brilliant representation of the speed at which his mind works, of the way he can at turns be both impulsive and considered.

We will come to know Viktor and Jayce as partners, but from the get-go they are painted in opposition. The stillness and blue hues of Jayce’s introduction are abruptly contrasted with the warmer coloured light and speed of Viktor’s. There are so many opposites in these brief glimpses alone. We’re so close up on Jayce we can’t even see his whole face, just his unwavering gaze on the crystal, whereas with Viktor we’re zoomed out and can see the whole picture. And what an indicator that is of the differing perspectives they have. Jayce deals with the thing that’s right in front of him at any given moment and probably dwells too long on the wrong thing; Viktor is a ruminator who thinks big-picture. And what he’s studying in this intro is Jayce’s notebook. Wherever their narratives end up, we know for sure that they will be in some way intertwined.

Unlike all the others in this sequence, Powder and Viktor begin formless. They are the characters who undergo the most significant changes, who have (I would argue) the most harrowing personal journeys to contend with in season 1. They don't arrive with the certainty of, say, Heimerdinger or Mel who both appear solid and sure.

Honourable shout-out to this shot of Caitlyn also. Shifting from the shadows of her privileged ignorance and literally being enlightened by the redness that is often coded with Vi. You love to see it. As with this fresco there is far more depth to Cait than first appears.

I'll be interested to see if and how the intro might change for season 2...

Other editions in this cursed post series: Story of Opposites

[eishelin]

Review of "Teachers: With Love and Passion" by Honey Bunny

I'm on a little quest to at least attempt to play all of Otome Jam 2022 full-length entries and the first I chose was Teachers: With Love and Passion by Honey Bunny. They were one of the first to launch their game and it has been very well received.

TL:DR

It's an amazing game for a jam project. Even outside of the jam scope, it's a very, very good game. I will definitely replay a certain route in the future.

Story/Writing

Tale as old as time. Hanna (name changeable) has just finished her teacher studies and is starting out at a new school, which is filled with suspiciously hot and single teachers. She pursues her new career and has a choice to also pursue a love life.

Up for grabs for the latter are four very different bachelors, each with their own personality quirks and each harboring a dark secret... (it's not as bad as it sounds).

Hanna's emotions are very relatable, not only for teachers, but for every young professional starting out in their career - the impostor syndrome, the anxiety, the overachieving in the first weeks. We've all been there, and this game definitely makes the player feel validated in those feelings.

The game is a very solid, medium-length. It took me around 10 hours to play through it, while live-tweeting my reactions and chatting with friends on the side. There is a long common-route (~60% of a single play-through with some differences based on which character you're going for) and a relatively short character based route.

It's often said that if a piece of writing makes you hate their villain with a passion - it's good quality. This was extremely true for Teachers. Around 1/4 of my live tweets were about hating the villain character in this game.

The writing style is consistently engaging. I never found myself bored or skipping descriptions, which is an achievement.

I usually take screenshots of lines and scenes that I like and/or find very fun or funny and I took more than 300.

There are some small typos, but they're not jarring and I feel that I only noticed them, because I've been going through another game with a fine-tooth comb for more than a month.

Personally, I would have loved to hear more about Hanna and her story before this game. We know that she's 30 and this is her first teaching gig out of school, but it's never explained why - did she switch careers, did she travel the world before going to Uni for her degree, is she just from a country where it's customary to become a teacher after longer studies?

Art

The amount of custom-drawn things is mind-boggling. There are 12 distinct backgrounds, with multiple variations each, 12 full-size CGs (with variations) + some chibi ending CGs and 10 sprites with multiple expressions and outfits. I had a bit of an adjustment period to the artist's style (it is quite distinct), but when I got over it, I started noticing all the small details and was completely blown away. The rendering is amazing and on-par with big-budget titles.

The only nitpick I have with the art of the game is that all of the character sprites are close to the same height, even though their descriptions mention some characters being 15+ centimeters apart in height.

Music and Game Design

The game has a solid soundtrack, sourced from CC resources, and it fits the scenes quite well. The sound and music levels are perfectly balanced, everything is about the same apparent volume. At some parts of the game I noticed that the music isn't looping - I'd move to chat with friends on Discord and the song would end and I would play the next several scenes in silence. It's no big deal though, if you're playing the game in one-go.

There are some great accessibility options in there, the most prominent being the ability to enable audio cues for SFX's, which was quite useful for me after I turned off the music/sound when wanting to play a route with my own soundtrack. There's also plenty of alt-texts for players using self-voicing and it is very detailed.

The game also mentions how to bring up the default accessibility menu, which allows you to change text scales and fonts. For most part it works very well.

The phone/messaging system design is gorgeous. However, I encountered some usability issues during the scenes with the phone. First of all - there's no quick menu available there with all the options. Second - I often found myself not noticing the menu or understanding how to continue.

I was able to get most of the endings (except for Edgar's bad end with the CG) without a guide, so that's also a plus.

Playthrough notes - here be slight spoilers

I completely disregarded the recommended play order and just started my playthrough with Edgar - the math teacher, because his care-free attitude called to me.

As usual in otome, this was, at least partially, a red herring and there was angst to be had in his route. I generally liked the pacing here - it started out with heart-warming wholesomeness, there was a gradual build-up to the conflict of the route and it actually felt like something a man his age would be reluctant to disclose to his potential partners. His ending CG is pretty iconic, props to the game developers for letting their men cry and not be the typical manly-man-men.

Marcus, the PE teacher, was up next. From his introduction in the common route, I had expected to dislike him, because the sporty and grumpy isn't usually my jam. I was pleasantly surprised. His grumpiness truly was just a "it's just my face" facade. The ending of the route felt a bit rushed though.

I was expecting to like Leo a lot, but I found his route a bit lacking. It might be related to pacing, because I found the game to be switching between comedic and somber quite a lot in his route. I actually found Hanna's speech in the normal end more to my liking than the good end.

I finished with Lawrence. Oh, Lawrence, my beloved. My future comfort character. If it's weird, I don't want to be normal.

Any character who uses the phrase of the likes of "Talking to you feels like finding a book I have never read before." automatically goes in the list of my favorite characters. His banter with Hanna is refreshing and the resolution of the whole Eric situation is very straight to the point. His route is the one where both characters actually feel their age.

So, in order of enjoyment:

Lawrence >> Edgar > Marcus > Leo.

[yourmidnightlover]

rock

Summary - spencer wants to figure out what's wrong with you, only to be reminded what day it is and he remembers why you've been so distant.

TW: talk abt: rape, recovery, therapy, case stuff; mention of: drug addiction, rape, miscarriage, being shot, death lol

WC - 4,283

!DISCLAIMER! - i am in no way trying to romanticize recovery from a traumatic event or being upset/depressed/anxious. this is kinda my way of getting through my own issues, so please don't think that's what i'm trying to do in any way. i also don’t know how i feel abt this ending since i wrote it so long ago but oh well!

i just realized there are a few spoilers so i'll put *asterisks* around them. those parts are just explaining how the reader's always there for the team.

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

you had always been the rock in spencer's life.

mentally, at least.

when he had nobody there for him when he was going through his addiction with dilaudid, there you were. you helped him through it when everybody else on the team acted as if they never noticed.

you were the one that encouraged him to get help, and pushed him to follow through. you made sure he ate and talked to someone when he had his urges again, even if it wasn't you.

you let him come over and cry about what had happened, and how unfair his life was. you consoled him and would tell him how nothing was his fault. how he didn't deserve anything bad in his life.

*and when emily 'died', he went to your house every day. you held him as he felt himself falling apart from losing her. you didn't even worry about yourself needing to be consoled, because spencer needed you to be there for him.

*when she came back you were the one to convince him to forgive her. you talked sense into him. you reminded him how much he pleaded to have her back, and then he did. so he managed to forgive her... because of you and your logic.

*and you weren't just there for spencer. while, yes, you made a special effort to be there for him, you were there for everyone on the team.

*when derek was arrested back in chicago and the team found out about his past, you were the one he leaned on for comfort. you and penelope. you let him cry on your shoulder and yell at you about how twisted a man would have to be to do something so cruel to a child.

*when jj was kidnapped and beaten to a miscarriage, you were the first she told. you didn't say anything. you knew there was nothing you could say that would relinquish the pain of losing a child. so you let her cry. you let her hug you for what felt like hours. you let her grief her unborn baby for as long as she needed.

*when penelope was shot, nobody cared to check up on her after the fact except you. you went to her apartment for weeks just to make sure she was okay. eventually, she was able to let loose all of her frustrations on you, and you took it like a champ. she ranted about how she just wanted to be loved by someone attractive and how unfair and cruel the world is, in spite of how much good she tries to bring into it.

*when hotch lost hailey, you took care of his files. you offered to watch henry and let hotch cry to you about losing her a few times once you broke past his tough exterior. you even cried with him and jack. you made them dinner whenever you could, and helped him look for good nannies to help care for jack.

*when rossi lost carolyn, you went to her grave with him on many occasions. you brought him his favorite scotch, which was very pricey, and his favorite cigars, also very pricey, and tried your best to recreate 'the rossi special' upon his directions. it helped him feel in control of something when he needed it.

*and when emily came back from the dead, you helped walk her through her own grief. she lost herself, and buried her emotions. you helped her dig up her old self, and grow into an even better woman. you even took care of her cat when penelope couldn't manage. you helped emily grieve her own death when she wanted to deny it ever happened, and she was forever grateful for you.*

you had become like the team's built-in therapist when something bad happened, and you loved it that way. you loved being the one the team went to when they needed it. it made you feel as though you had a purpose, which was something you desperately needed.

but when you went through your own trauma almost a year ago, you refused help from anyone. you knew you should've asked someone for help, or at least someone to cry or talk to when you needed to.

the team had been working on a case for longer than expected, 8 days now, and everyone was really frustrated. you had released the profile 7 days ago, and there was still no new information. it was as if the unsub had gone dormant, and you all couldn't bear that thought.

when the team released earlier than normal from the precinct and you all went to the hotel you had been staying at, you decided to get a drink from the bar quickly. you went alone, wanting to review a few of the case files during the process and not needing a distraction.

you ordered a jack and coke, and opened the case files to begin rereading them, seeing if you had missed anything.

victims were kept for 24 hours, filmed, raped, restrained, cut in pieces, and thrown in the trash like garbage. it was absolutely disgusting, and the worst you had seen in a while. the victims were low-risk and most of them had a place of authority.

the unsub had been profiled to be someone who was bossed around by a woman, narcissistic and egotistical, wanted to feel more power and authority.

the problem is, that profile was most people living in the area. even penelope couldn't dwindle down the suspects.

and alas, you had missed nothing. nothing new appeared or caught your eye. you gulped down the rest of your drink and paid for it before packing up your things to head upstairs. you tossed the file back into your bag and began the trek to the elevator.

you were interrupted by something hitting the top of your head, rendering you unconscious.

the team had woken up, and after waiting around for half an hour, spencer realized something was wrong. he had morgan bust into your room, only to find the bed unslept in. you were missing. and the worst part... you fit the unsubs type.

spencer felt his heart drop at the realization he had taken you. and it seemed as though there was no trail as to where you had gone. penelope checked the cameras, only to find that they were hacked right after you left the bar, and then they resumed after you were taken.

at least they had a time frame.

later that day, after everyone hasting to figure something, anything out, spencer had gotten an email. he opened it and expected it to be relentless spam, only to realize it was a live feed video. a video of you. he instantly called penelope in hopes that she could trace it.

she said she could, but it would take some time because the amount of routers it had been going through.

while they were waiting, you noticed you were alone. you knew who the unsub was too, thanks to his baffling stupidity and narcissism that lead him to believe he wouldn't get caught.

"officer johnson! it's officer johnson!" you looked around the camera for a second, noticing something moving. "he-he here," you cried out. "i love you," you said to the camera to nobody in particular, but someone in mind.

you were terrified. spencer could see it in your eyes. he could see the tears you tried not to shed. you didn't want to please him, but you couldn't help but feel the absolute horror and fear coursing through your body at a relentless pace.

"hi there, missus fbi," he teased, finally walking into the frame with a ski mask over his face, clearly not aware that we knew his identity.

spencer told garcia who he was, and she began her digging. officer johnson's great grandparents had owned a farm that was since then refurbished. it was an hour away.

officer johnson had known that you two had chemistry. that's why he sent the email to spencer. he saw the longing glares, the 'innocent' touches, the smiles you would give each other, the longing looks you shared. he wanted to torment him.

so when he began undressing you and you turned your face away from the camera in hopes of sparing some of your own dignity, spencer felt his heart breaking for you. it broke even more when he heard the yelps, and screams, and please, and "no!'s" you elicited during the act.

they caught him before he cut you, but not before he finished the first part of his plan. your skirt was ripped, and your shirt was practically in two pieces. spencer had given you his jacket to cover yourself as much as you could.

you stayed silent the ride back. you didn't even let spencer hold you like you normally would after a tough case. you were ashamed. embarrassed. you felt worthless. you felt pathetic. you felt stupid. you felt helpless. you felt like you were drowning. you felt like you were without a life raft.

you knew you could talk to the team about it, but you felt so disgusted by the thought of what happened to you that you only talked about it in your therapy sessions.

hotch had given you two months off. he wanted you to grieve, and go to therapy, and try to cope with everything that had happened.

and you did try to do that. you tried your hardest to get over it and move past it, but nothing helped. not the journaling. not the talking. not the crying. nothing was working.

spencer gave you a little space at first, but he then decided to try to help you as you had helped him. he went over to your house almost every day, and sat outside your door after you wouldn't let him in.

you knew he was there... you sat on the other side.

"i-i know that you probably don't want to see anyone right now. and i'm uh, i'm sure you feel alone right now, or like you can't talk to anyone," spencer sniffled. "but pl-please just uhm, just know that i'm here when you want to talk about it. i'm here to listen to you when you need me to. i-i don't want you to be alone during this time, y/n. please, just let me in," he begged.

that was normally what he would say almost every night he went to your house. he would sit outside for hours after he would ask you to let him in without fail. until one day you let him in.

spencer felt so much relief when you opened the door, only for it to be smashed when he noticed your eyes looked red and puffy, your cheeks were stained with the tears you had been crying for so long. your cheeks were sunken in, and there were dark circles underneath your eyes that were once full of life and happiness. your eyes no longer had that gorgeous sparkle in them.

spencer vowed he would get them back.

as much as spencer wanted to wrap his arms around you in that moment, to comfort you and tell you that he was there, he wanted you to make the first move. he wanted to tell you how strong you were and how proud of you he was for getting through that. he wanted to tell you how much he loved you.

he wanted you to make the first touch, because he didn't want to further upset you. he didn't want to trigger a repressed memory, or bring back the feelings of what had happened.

but spencer's touch was nothing like the officer's. spencer's touch was soft and gentle. spencer's touch was feather-light and endearing. spencer's touch was love and home. the officer's was brittle, and rough, and repulsive.

"hug me?" you sniffled as your eyes welled with tears again as they had been for the past three weeks.

"of course," spencer slowly wrapped his arms around your shoulders as yours found his torso.

he walked inside with you still in his arms and slowly shut the door. without breaking from the hug, you both walked to the couch and sat down.

you didn't say anything. you just needed spencer to keep hugging you, so he did. he did whatever you wanted, needed, from him. eventually, you fell asleep in his embrace on the couch.

when spencer looked down at you, now sleeping against his chest, he couldn't bring his heart to remove himself from you. so like any whipped man would do, he carefully picked you up bridal styled and carried you to your room. he took his shoes off as well as his sweater vest before cuddling back up next to you.

as if it was a reflex, you cuddled up into his chest when he neared you again and got underneath the covers. spencer slept the best he did in months with you. and you slept without officer johnson in your dreams for the first time since that day.

ever since then, spencer had been making sure you were eating and drinking. he took you to your therapy sessions and stayed over most nights you had asked and he was able to.

they had a few cases during the two months, so every moment he could, spencer was with you. he coaxed you back to your normal-ish self. he watched as that glimmer in your eye began to slowly grow brighter everyday. he watched as your smile came back, and your tears didn't come so frequently.

the first time he had heard you laugh again, spencer had thought he was dreaming. he wished he had recorded that moment. he was more grateful than he's ever been in his life that he had an eidetic memory, because that sound would forever be engraved in his brain.

when you returned to work, you clung to spencer. he had become your tether to reality, and hope. he had become your rock during the recovery.

over the months, everyone slowly began to forget what had even happened. things went on as usual, and the team forgot the traumatic experience you had gone through. even spencer might've let the experience get lost in his brain.

so when it became 11 months and 3 weeks since the abduction, you began to distance yourself once again.

you politely declined going out with the team a couple days before the anniversary, something you never did. you insisted that you were just especially worn out from the case you had just been on.

spencer had to finish files given to him by derek anyway, so he didn't get to witness the encounter.

once the day of the anniversary came upon you, you found yourself feeling sick to your stomach. you couldn't help the tears that would fall from your face every so often. you knew why you felt this way, but you wanted to push past it.

you had gone into the office wearing a pantsuit and blazer, wanting to avoid the normal office skirt you happened to be wearing the day it happened. you stayed at your desk and quietly did your case files. you didn't even greet spencer as you would every day. you gave him a kind smile, but you would normally give him a hug, or at the very least an eager wave upon his arrival.

spencer just assumed it was one of those days where you just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. it wasn't spencer's fault he thought this. he didn't even look at his calendar to check what day it was. he just knew they had paperwork.

but he did have this day marked in his calendar. he had it marked so he would remember to be extra kind to you, and do your files for you, and come to your place with your favorite wine and takeout. he wanted to help you through the one year anniversary, but he forgot to check his stupid calendar.

you thought he didn't care. you thought the man who you loved, and the man who helped you through everything that had happened had had enough of your complaining and grievances. so, you didn't tell him about it. you didn't bother him with the terrible thoughts clouding your mind because you thought it'd burden him.

so when you finished all of your case files early, you asked hotch if you could leave early, at 2:00, because you had things to tend to. he allowed you to do so, but this rose a flag for spencer.

he saw you exit without saying goodbye to him, something you hadn't done the entirety of knowing him. you had always told everyone to have a nice night and to be safe before leaving, but not today.

finally, he looked at his phone for the first time all day, only to feel like the worst person in the world to realize what day it was. spencer felt absolutely horrible at this revelation and ran into hotch's office as quick as he could after packing his things.

"hotch!" he exclaimed upon opening his office door.

"go. she was practically in tears," hotch informed him. "and reid," spencer stopped in his tracks to turn and look at the stern man, "please make sure she's okay." spencer gave him a soft grin and a nod before turning around and bolting out of the office.

you had gotten home and immediately burst into tears. you shut the door with your back, and slid down it. you had never understood why people had done that in movies until now. you just couldn't wait to break any longer, so you settled for your front door.

you held back no wail, or scream as you cried in front of your door, your knees pulled up to your chest as you held them tightly.

you wondered why you had to go through that. you wanted to know what kind of karma there was for someone who had always tried to do the right thing to be hurt... and for nobody to even care. nobody wanted to console you, or to make sure you were alright.

you had checked up on everyone on every anniversary of their struggles. whether it be a death, abduction, anything, you had been there for every single anniversary or reminder. and nobody was there for you.

nobody was there for you to hug, or to lean on, or to cry to, or to scream at, or to rant to. nobody was there. nobody loved you enough to care about that.

but then you had to remind yourself that they all had lives.

but the person who is your life didn't even care.

spencer didn't care.

and that's why you truly lost it.

he acted like it was just another day. he acted like it wasn't the anniversary of the day you thought you were going to die. the day you wanted to die. the day you felt your most low, and humiliated. the day you lost all hope. and he didn't remember.

if the man with an eidetic memory didn't remember, it must be extremely insignificant. so therefore, you must be extremely insignificant.

spencer raced to your house. he wanted to be there for you today, and he failed. he felt like a failure as a friend. he hated himself for not being there for you when he knew you would need him. he knew how you clung to him in your time of need. you thought he was worthy enough to hold onto when you needed someone, and spencer felt elated at that.

but now he wasn't there for you. and you needed him.

he had quickly stopped by the store and your favorite takeout place to get the things you'd want. he got your wine, chocolate, food, flowers, and a teddy bear that had a sweater vest on him - you've always loved his sweater vests.

when he got to the steps of your house, he felt his heart drop. as he walked closer he heard the wails of your crying right by the door. he could sense the heartache from the edge of your porch, and felt himself feel even worse, which he didn't think was possible.

he instantly ran to the door and knocked profusely. you sniffled one last time, feeling embarrassed that someone had heard you crying your heart out. you had figured one of your neighbors heard you and wanted to tell you to keep it down, so you wiped your tears and the stray mascara from underneath your eyes and opened the door, keeping your eyes lowered in embarrassment.

"y/n," spencer announced sadly, a tear falling down his face. you looked up in confusion from hearing his voice. you noticed his tear and reached up to wipe it away on instinct.

"why're you crying? are you okay?" you asked, forgetting all of your own problems at the sight of spencer crying. spencer let out a small chuckle at your concern.

"i'm alright, aside from the fact that i'm a terrible friend," he admitted as his smile quickly faded upon seeing your stained cheeks. "i brought your favorites," he offered, holding the bag of goodies in one hand and the takeout in another.

"y-you... why?" you asked, wanting to make sure you weren't misreading the situation for him trying to comfort you.

"why?" he asked in disbelief. "because it's the anniversary. i can't tell you how sorry i am, y/n. i swear i marked it on my calendar and planned for us to take off so i could take care of you. i-i just woke up late and never bothered to even check my phone. i kn-know it's no excuse... but i am so, so, so sorry," he rambled out, already tearing up.

you grabbed his arm gently and pulled him inside before you started crying in front of your neighbors. you took the bags from his hands and placed them on your coffee table.

"i thought you just didn't care," you shrugged as you took a seat on the couch, prompting him to sit beside you.

"y/n..." he sighed as he realized how terrible he screwed up. "i will always care about this. i will always care about you. don't ever think differently. i'm just incredibly... dumb sometimes. i can't believe i made you think that," he trailed on. "i will never not care about you, y/n. i swear it. i will always, always care about you. i will always love you," he froze as he realized what he just revealed. your eyes widened, and squinted, and roamed his face, trying to figure out if he meant the words he had just sped out. "i truly do, y/n. i i’m in love with you and i'm so sorry i made it seem otherwise."

it took you a second to absorb everything that he had said.

"you too," you solemnly admitted. "i’m in love with you too. and i could forgive you... for almost forgetting," you gave him a small smile.

"i'm glad you could forgive me. i don't know what i'd do if you didn't," he relished. "you actually love me?" you nodded with a small smile.

"i have for a while," you turned your head to the bags on the table.

"oh! right!" he said, reaching for the gifts. "i got your favorite takeout, your favorite wine, your favorite chocolates, flowers, and..." he trailed on as he revealed each item. "i saw this teddy, and i couldn't resist," he smiled.

you took the bear, taking in its appearance. it had a light blue, navy, and white diamond pattern sweater vest and brown shoes on. it looked like spencer, just teddy bear form. you smiled widely at the sentiment.

"it's you," you grinned as you took it in your arms, hugging it tightly as you saw spencer nodded with a smile mirroring that of your own. "i love it," you chuckled.

"i would understand, the fur is really soft," he relished in the thought.

"i don't think he'd be as good of a cuddler as the real thing, though," you grimaced. "but he'll do for when i don't have you here i guess," you shrugged with a smile.

"i plan on being here as long as you'll let me," he said softly.

"always," you grinned, setting down the teddy bear and trading him for the real spencer reid.

"always," he repeated, taking you in his arms and squeezing you tightly as if you'd float away at any moment. "now let's dig into this food while you talk about your feelings, if you want that is," he said after releasing you from the hug.

"i think i want to," you nodded. "and spence?" he turned from getting the food out of the bag to look at you for a second. "thank you for being my rock through all of this."

"i'll always be your rock, y/n."

@averyhotchner  @greenprisca  @muffin-cup

[fullmetalscullyy]

For the sharing a bed ask bc I can't remember for the life of me if I've sent one to you yet 🙈 'they took turns sharing it while the other was on watch' or however exactly that one was worded ❤️❤️

aaa tysm for the prompt! i loved it and i hope you enjoy! continuing with the no plot just vibes agenda~

send me a prompt

rated: g | words: 3679 | tags: royai, there was only one bed, shelter from the storm, snowstorm, tending to wounds, comfort, fluff

read on ao3

Exhaustion followed both occupants of the crumbling bothy like a shadow. It clung to them, slowing their movements, as if it was physically attached to their ankles like two weights. Booted feet were dragged across the polished, undulating stones underfoot, worn down after years of use, and finally came to stop in the centre of the main room.

Years of use didn’t warrant years of upkeep apparently, Riza thought, as she did a sweep of the building. It was not in the best condition however it was still standing, and it was shelter from the storm outside. That was all Riza was currently concerned with.

There were only two rooms, plus a bathroom with a functioning sink and toilet – surprisingly enough. The pipes grunted and groaned, screaming in protest at being used, but it worked and was clean. A worn plaque above the sink indicated the water was drinkable as well, which was the best news she’d heard all day. A small blessing in this wretched situation they’d found themselves in.

To counteract that thought, at that exact moment, a howling gust of wind rattled the door thoroughly and whistled through the cracked class of the windows to its left and right. The Colonel whipped around to stare, partly in fright and partly because he was on edge. They both were. The sudden scream that sounded as the wind tried to force its way inside through the glass made Riza jump as well.

They shared a look and the Colonel’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“So much for the famed northern hospitality,” he muttered. His words held a bite to them, however Riza was unsure whether it was directed at the situation itself or at anyone in particular.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault they’d found themselves in this situation, however it was not ideal, nor was it pleasant. The first point on their ‘bad things that have happened today’ list (at this point, they were up to around number six) was a snowstorm had rendered their transport from the station in North City to the town they were supposed to be visiting useless. The truck owner boasted it was an all-terrain, all-weather vehicle, that he was handpicked by the military for transport because of his “beauty’s” prowess. He quickly stopped bragging though and started muttering angrily at his prized possession, kicking the tyre in fury as it sat pitifully in a snowy ditch, unable to escape the confines of it. It was safe to say his “beauty” fell short of the mark for the two soldiers. No amount of pushing from the three of them would shift it. However, they had deadlines to meet, so were forced to say their goodbyes and go ahead on foot.

There was no way they’d make it in time but at least they could honestly say they had tried when questioned.

It was by a stroke of luck they’d stumbled upon a walker’s bothy. Night was creeping in quickly, especially with the ongoing snowstorm. The world was turning greyer by the second and when Riza spotted it, she made a beeline straight for the shelter. The wind was too loud to talk over, but the Colonel saw her beckoning gesture and nodded, following behind her without question, already trusting her judgement and thought process.

The main room housed a single wooden bedframe with no mattress. There was another spot where another bed frame should be, but only half it remained. It had been broken in half. Whether that had been from an accident, an act of vandalism, or due to the passage of time, Riza wasn’t sure. Not that it would be of any use to them split in half, but simple curiosity had the Colonel searching the rest of the small building for the other half. There was a large stone fireplace that was bereft of any wood, they noticed with dismay, however after venturing through to the second room on the left, there was a massive pile of it within. It was a supply for the winter months for anyone who needed it, so the piece of paper tacked to an old corkboard on the wall said. There were two chairs placed around the fire and some cast iron cooking utensils stacked in a neat pile upon the hearth, lifting their spirits slightly. They had rations from the truck driver that would not require their use, but the sight of them was still a positive.

“I think we’ll be safe enough to sleep here tonight,” she announced, ignoring the Colonel’s petulant comment.

“Lieutenant,” he called quietly to her, catching her attention. When she turned her head, he gestured to one of the chairs. “You should rest.” He glanced down at her feet, and Riza knew exactly what he was thinking.

She’d stumbled and twisted her ankle while they walked. The pain had eased completely the more she’d walked, so Riza assumed it would be fine. Now they’d stopped, it was throbbing in time with her pulse. It appeared to be worse than she’d thought.

Just what they needed.

She sighed and mentally added that as number seven to their list.

Sitting on one of the chairs, Riza sighed quietly in relief as it lessened the pressure on her injured joint. The Colonel followed suit and he too sounded extremely relieved to finally sit down.

“What a day,” he muttered, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

Riza hummed in agreement, causing him to reopen his eyes and glance tiredly over at her. She shifted in place, feeling a shiver travel down her spine.

Without a word, the Colonel stood and ventured into the other room. He came back with arms full of firewood and started the process of arranging them within the fireplace. After a single snap the fire roared to life, filling the room with a soft orange glow and warmth. A few minutes later the invading bite of the winter chill was beginning to alleviate and Riza could feel her muscles relaxing.

“Do you think there will be anything outside waiting for us?”

His question was so sudden as he stared into the fire that it took Riza a moment to process it.

“Pardon?”

The Colonel blinked and tore his eyes away from the dancing flames. He repeated his question as he turned to look at her, expression serious.

“Like what?”

“What about bears?” He looked genuinely concerned.

Riza blinked at him. “Probably. I think so, yes.” She faintly recalled hearing stories about the size and might of the bears in the north but elected not to bring it up. She didn’t think that would have been beneficial or productive in that moment, especially not after recognising a faint glint of fear that was discernible in the Colonel’s eyes.

“Do you think we should be concerned?”

Riza glanced over her shoulder at the door as it rattled on its hinges. “I don’t think so. We’ll be safe in here.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Do you know any bears that can open doors?” Both her brows lifted as she regarded him.

“I know a bear could open that door,” he scoffed, jerking his head towards it. “It’s hardly a strong line of defence.”

That was true. One more gust of wind might snap it off one of the hinges. The top one rattled playfully to emphasise his point.

“I think we’ll be okay, sir,” Riza replied smoothly, trying to keep her amusement out of her tone.

The Colonel scowled at her anyway. Apparently she hadn’t been entirely successful.

Riza chuckled upon seeing his expression. “City boy,” she muttered to herself, her tone light and playful.

“I would say it was a legitimate concern,” he replied haughtily.

“You also thought there were bears in the woods outside my father’s house.”

“I think my point still stands.”

“Bears do not exist in every wooded area and forest, Roy.” She rolled her eyes at him in amused exasperation, momentarily forgetting herself.

It was so easy talking to him like this. The two of them were alone together and stuck in a predicament that neither could have ever predicted or conjured up, yet here they were. It was surreal, but it was nice. Despite everything that had happened today she was still relatively happy. She was grateful to be with him. Ideally, she’d have neither of them stranded in a snowstorm, however she was glad he was here. If there was anyone she’d want to be stranded with, it would be him.

After she’d realised her minor slip up, Riza paused and glanced over at him, noting his soft expression and smile. It was so genuine and happy that she didn’t cringe or apologise. She didn’t feel the need to.

“We sound like we did when we were children,” he replied.

Riza felt her own nostalgic smile spread across her face. “We do.”

“I’ll take first watch,” he offered.

Riza opened her mouth to protest but he’d already shoved a threadbare blanket he’d found towards her. Riza didn’t particularly want to use it – she had no way of knowing how clean it was – however the building was not heated in the slightest, aside from the fire. It was built for hikers who were well prepared with sleeping bags, which they were not. For survival, Riza had to accept any kind of warmth she could get.

“You need to rest that ankle,” he added.

She nodded and took the blanket from him. Riza settled herself on the hard, wooden bedframe so she was facing into the room. It was warmer than facing the cold stone of the wall beside the bed.

“Colonel?”

He glanced over at her expectantly.

“Watch out for those bears.”

* * * * * * * *

The wind had died down throughout the night at least. Roy had been partly joking when he brought up the bears that may be lurking outside for them, however now that he’d put the idea inside his own head, he couldn’t help but take an extra glance every now and then out the window.

Just in case.

It was worth bringing it up to hear the Lieutenant’s laugh. To hear her accidentally call him by his first name. It had been so worth it.

To whittle away the time his mind tried its best to summon a plan of attack against any bear that did appear, going over how he would react and how he would fend one off, but Roy had come to only one conclusion after about half an hour of plotting. It was folly. There was absolutely no way he’d be able to take on a bear. His eyes narrowed at the rickety old door and took solace in the fact the doorway looked too small for a bear to fit through. They were safe from them so long as they stayed inside, and that was good enough for him.

Now the bear appearance dilemma, likely or not, had been put to bed, Roy’s thoughts turned towards the Lieutenant. He glanced down at her ankle as she lay sound asleep, remembering how she’d stumbled and fallen in a snowdrift. Insisting she was fine, they’d pressed on. They didn’t have much choice in the matter anyway, but he was still concerned. He had a strong inkling she was suffering for it as they travelled. A sprained ankle under normal conditions would ease with rest, but that was not a luxury they’d been afforded as they traversed the snowy landscape to safety. Snowdrifts up to their knees were common and Roy had felt dead on his feet when they finally came to a stop inside this shelter.

That was one blessing of the day, at least. He’d simply laughed at their luck, shaking his head, now they were safe beneath shelter, dry, and out of the storm.

But if he’d felt tired down to his bones, then he couldn’t imagine how the Lieutenant must have felt upon their arrival.

Steadying his resolve, Roy determined there was no imminent danger. No bears coming through the night to get them. Now the storm had eased, looking through the shards of the window, Roy could see the gorgeous landscape splayed before him, illuminated by the moonlight, and enhanced by the heavy snow. It looked a lot more inviting than it had a few hours ago.

He wouldn’t, but he was tempted to wake up the Lieutenant to show her how beautiful it looked.

Roy smiled to himself, the thought dredging up an old memory from their past. He faintly recalled doing something similar when he’d experienced his first winter at the Hawkeye house. He’d ran to her room without a thought, excited and eager to show her how the dark forest outside had transformed into a silvery white and green wonderland.

It had been something he’d been desperate to share with her.

“Colonel?”

A tired voice called to him, and Roy immediately lost his interest in the world outside. He turned, seeing the Lieutenant blink tiredly at him.

“Lieutenant,” he greeted, an air of concern about him. He hadn’t expected her to wake so soon, and if she did, he knew she’d want to take over watch duties.

She shot him a small smile, placating his nerves somewhat. Pushing herself up into a seated position, the Lieutenant stretched her arms over her head.

“How’s the ankle?”

She grimaced, but only slightly. “Better now that I’ve taken my weight off it.”

That didn’t answer his question entirely. “Is there any pain?”

She was silent as she looked down at her legs. “It does throb every now and again. That’s what woke me up.”

Roy nodded, dismayed to hear she was in pain. If he could take it away, he would, but they didn’t have painkillers in their first aid kits. The only thing that would help was a support, which the Lieutenant had already put on after gently easing her boot off. She didn’t react to the angry red hue of her skin, but Roy felt his stomach tense. It hadn’t looked good. The compression support had been slipped on slowly, but Roy saw the way her eye twitched twice and how her jaw clenched while obviously trying to conceal any kind of pain.

“Why don’t you try and get a few hours sleep,” the Lieutenant offered. “I think I’ll be up for a while now.” She swung her legs around and to the floor, visibly wincing when her sore ankle contacted the floor. Another appeared when she tried to stand, but Roy quickly scrambled towards her.

“Please, stay seated,” he insisted. “You shouldn’t be walking on that ankle.”

The Lieutenant shot him a strained smile. “That doesn’t bode well for us for tomorrow,” she quipped.

Roy opened his mouth to reply, but she was right. Still, hewas right. She shouldn’t be walking on that ankle.

“Regardless,” he admonished, placing his hands on her shoulders as a gentle restraint to keep her in place. “All the more reason to remain seated and keep resting it then, right?” Triumph flashed through him, and he smirked when the Lieutenant’s lips pursed, because she knew he was right.

“You can’t sleep on the floor, though,” she warned.

His shoulders fell in defeat, glancing down at the bed. His mind rejoiced with the idea that sprung into it, however it was so far out the realm of what was appropriate that it was completely out of the question.

Roy retracted his hands as the Lieutenant placed both hands by her sides and effortlessly slid herself backwards, so her back came to rest upon the stone wall behind her. She made herself comfortable and looked at him expectantly, patting the space beside her to indicate he should join her and sit.

Even if it wasn’t appropriate to share a bed with his Lieutenant, Roy only needed to take one look around them both and remember where they were. This day was already bizarre enough. What was one more occurrence to add to that list?

He wouldn’t particularly class it as sharing a bed with her either. They would both be sitting upright, looking out at the room, with considerable distance in place between them.

“We can take turns with the blanket,” she smirked as she handed it over.

Roy snorted lightly and gratefully received her offering. The room was warm enough with the fire but the stone behind his back still stubbornly clung to the icy temperatures from outside, refusing to accept the warmth they’d provided the room. Wrapping it around his shoulders, Roy settled back in place and made himself comfortable.

He woke with a start a few hours later. His head jerked upright and swung left and right, unseeing as he still tried to shake the vision from his dreams.

“Colonel? Colonel!”

He paused for a second, recognising the voice. It was from someone he thought he’d lost in his dream.

“Roy,” the Lieutenant called to him.

It was enough to surprise him, that it brought him back to the present. Glancing to his right, he saw his Lieutenant still seated next to him, eyes wide and concerned.

“Are you okay?” Her eyes were searching his, moving back and forth frantically as she scanned his face with worry.

“Yes,” he breathed, trying to get a hold of his racing heart to slow it down. He was all right. She was all right. They were safe. He gulped down air, trying to get enough into his lungs and take away the fear that had both restricted them and wrapped tightly around his heart. “Just… A bad dream.”

The Lieutenant nodded in understanding and patted his forearm. That was when Roy realised she didn’t remove it, and that it had been there the entire time.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Roy shook his head. “It’s okay,” he breathed. “Thank you, though,” he quickly added. “It was just… the usual,” he offered. The usual nowadays was him losing someone dear to him. The Promised Day had not been kind on his mind. To this day he still suffered, and he didn’t particularly want to relive it after it was so fresh. His reply was code enough that the Lieutenant knew exactly what he was referring to. They’d already been open about what their ‘usual’ nightmares consisted of nowadays.

As suspected, realisation dawned upon her features, and she nodded in sympathy.

“I… I need some time before I can sleep again,” he admitted. There was no shame in his voice though, not with her. Never with her. They were both very well acquainted with the reasons the other struggled to sleep. “You should try for a while.”

“Okay,” she acquiesced. She gave his forearm a squeeze and again, she didn’t remove it. “Wake me if you need anything, all right?” She waited for him to verbally agree with her. Only once he did, did the Lieutenant’s eyes close.

Watching her do so caused Roy’s brow to furrow slightly in confusion.

She must have moved closer to him as he slept, because where there had been about two feet of distance between them before, there was now mere centimetres. Just enough distance for the Lieutenant’s head to loll and fall against his shoulder comfortably as she slept.

He’d been startled awake, so Roy hadn’t realised he’d initiated it. In sleep, his head had bowed and rolled to the side, seeking out her presence. After shifting closer, the Lieutenant had eased him from his uncomfortable position and lifted his head to lie upon her shoulder.

Now recovered from the turmoil of his dream, Roy smiled down at her and relished in the comfort her presence brought him. The weight of her head against him eased his mind and slowed his racing pulse. He could breathe easier with her lying against him. A peace washed over his body, relaxing his taught muscles, and soothing his very soul.

Despite their predicament, he was glad she was here with him.

The grip she had on his forearm loosened, so Roy snaked his hand over to it, hooking their fingers together and holding on tightly. The Lieutenant stirred next to him, disturbed from sleep.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “it’s okay. It’s just me.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze.

There was a brief pause with no reply, then the Lieutenant’s grip on him tightened and remained.

“Okay,” she exhaled peacefully. She moved next to him, shuffling closer, which Roy was more than happy to indulge in.

As she was lulled back to sleep, her grip on his hand slackened but Roy never let her go. He anchored himself to her.

They’d get through this and get home. Not that she’d allow it of course, but Roy would carry her through the snow with that ankle if need be to ensure their safety. It had been the day from hell professionally, however ending it with the two of them curled together on that uncomfortable bed, gripping onto one another, was not bad in the slightest. Roy thought that was the closest to heaven he was ever going to get.

* * * * * * * *

Their luck must have finally been turning for the better, as that morning a group of hikers entered the bothy loudly, laughing and joking with one another, while Roy helped the Lieutenant strap up her ankle. They were offered food and directions to the nearest town, which was only two miles away. The group set off with them, insistent on offering their help and support, and even assisted the Lieutenant with some painkillers as well.

After the day of travel they’d had before, it brightened up both soldier’s moods somewhat as they set off again through the snowy northern landscape with their new company.

Thankfully, they didn’t come across any bears.

They made it to the town in one peace and called North City Headquarters for assistance. And also requested back up for that assistance.

Just in case.

[boop-le-snoot]

If life gives you melons...

Ship: Loki x F!alt! reader

Rating: Explicit / word count 5,5k

Summary: You've heard about meet-cute, how about meet-ugly? Reader has tattoos and a tongue split. There's this joke that "bisexual alt girls go looking for a girlfriend and end up with sad, tall and skinny white bois" and boy did that hit home. Inspired by this cringy video of Hiddles [youtube link].

During a panel at a comic con, Loki notices reader and they go on a date, reader gets railed: top!Loki, choking, rough sex, unprotected sex, all the good stuff. Open ending, with a bonus of reader and Loki pranking Clint.

x. I usually fancy they/them pronouns for Loki but seeing as it's a smut-shot, I decided to go along with he/him for the sake of simplicity. Loki's at least 6'4 tall and you can fight me on that. Also, I write like a Tony stan - I feel the need to apologize to Loki stans for that. I love you guys! 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

The long line of people appeared to be neverending. Loki was an enhanced, as the government recently had adopted a politically correct term for Earth's non-human inhabitants, but even his enhanced endurance had begun waning due to sheer amount of people wanting a piece of memorabilia signed by The God of Mischief. Loki had gained a considerable amount of fans after doing his part in killing the mad titan Thanos and by extension, saving the world. It turned out, humankind was a sucker for a good redemption arc.

Loki's hands ached where they wrapped around the pen that he'd been using for nearly 4 hours to neatly place his name, written in neat runescript, on various pieces of merchandise that his fans (and wasn't that a strange thing!) presented to him. He used to think that he would have actually succeeded conquering the earth if he had a grasp on how to use social media and his charm; now, he just wanted the torture to end. An involuntary sigh left his mouth when he saw another print of himself in full battle gear being placed in front of him by a reasonably attractive young woman.

"Um, thank you," She stammered, giggling softly, and Loki spared her a painstaking smile, scribbling his name once again. The woman briefly caught his eyes. "Um, you're the reason- the inspiration for me. I became a stripper."

Loki blanked, feeling his eyes widen and blink on their own accord a few times. He wasn't sure if he heard the woman correctly, as the unusual statement made his brain freeze.

Loud snickering from behind the blushing woman interrupted the system error that he was experiencing in his head. It wasn't often that somebody managed to render him speechless. It looked like whoever was in line behind the stripper woman had taken advantage of that. Loki's eyes snapped to the short-haired person, who looked torn between cringing and breaking into embarrassed laughter.

The stripper left without a word, and as Loki picked up the cursed writing instrument once again, the short-haired person smiled at him kindly. "That was a little weird," They snorted, "And thanks, have a nice day Mr. Loki."

"When life gives you melons, you might be dyslexic," Another woman, that appeared to be the short haired person's friend, deadpanned and gave a cynical side-eye to the departing stripper. Loki heard snickering coming from the short-haired person and quietly joined himself. The woman noticed it, winking at him as she collected the newly signed t-shirt. "Bye," She smiled kindly.

It was a split second decision, really. Something about the cheeky way she addressed the situation sparked Loki's interest. "Wait, you forgot something, darling," His baritone called out to the departing woman. She turned around, confused, and hastily grabbed the standard issue photo that he was holding out to her. With a final grateful nod, she smiled and left.

If Loki's smile had returned for the time being, none of his teammates made any remarks on it. Only his brother, Thor, gave a couple of knowing looks to the Asgardian sorcerer.

The woman in question didn't think twice about the photo that she stashed in her backpack along with the signed t-shirt. The Comic-Con had been full of people and the lines were unfairly long. The sheer exhaustion after attending a 3-day long convention had set in and she was eager to simply come home back to her apartment and crash on the nearest soft flat surface. Upon arrival, she did exactly that, flopping down gracelessly on the couch, her backpack landing next to her with a careless thud.

Unloading her trophies was a short time affair: a single white tee with a dozen signatures on it, written in what she hoped was waterproof Sharpie; one mug, shaped like an Iron Man helmet; one poster, showing Spider-Man on a picturesque NYC horizon and a signed photo of one Loki. Strangely enough, she did not remember requesting it - not that she was complaining. Free merch was free merch.

The front side wasn't signed whatsoever. Overcome by curiousity, she turned it around. A phone number was written on the back of it, the handwriting neat and the letters obviously being inked out by a thinner, more sophisticated pen than the one Loki had used for scribbling on the tee. The woman gaped silently, not believing her eyes. Did Loki himself had given her his phone number?

One margarita and a hefty helping of Chinese takeout later, the numbers persisted staring back at her mutely, the neat cursive being almost mocking in its quiet. The woman's smartphone had found a comfortable place right next to the photo, equally mum regarding the unusual situation.

An additional margarita was needed to gather the courage required to actually type out the number in the receiver box. Fruity alcoholic concoction in one hand and phone clutched in the other, the woman's eyes squeezed shut tightly as soon as the dreaded "Hey, got your number today! :)" read delivered. She'd typed and erased the message several times, groaning in embarrassment. How the hell does one approach an alien god?

"Hello! May I ask your name?" The response came after a brief moment - a moment the woman had suffered through by taking too haste sips of her drink, her common since screaming her to not overdo it and wait at least a full minute before replying. Everything felt awkward and misplaced.

In no time, she was sending the screenshots of the conversation to her girl-advice group chat that consisted of her closest friends. Chatting with Loki turned out to be surprisingly easy and he was great at upholding conversation, something that couldn't be said about all those Tinder matches she had had back in the day.

Even if using proper grammar during a text message conversation was something she had to reacquaint herself with, she was glad he wasn't just another boring, shalllow, condescending-ass white boy. Despite the cultural differences and his lack of knowledge of things like pop culture and music - something he said he was working on since New Asgard became a sovereign state on Earth - they bonded over music and tattoos and generally being rebellious against society's standarts.

The invitation to dinner didn't come as a surprise for the woman. She agreed happily, looking forward to continue their conversation outside of the internet - if Loki's part of the chat was anything to go by, not only was he charming, but also quite intelligent. And easy on the the eyes, too. They had traded selfies at some point and the Asgardian didn't look any worse in a hoodie and sweatpants than he did in his battle leathers. Loki had appeared to truly have had integrated into Earth's society.

The night of the date, the continuous text exchange did very little to calm her nerves. Loki texted as much as an overeager teenage boy: every now and then he would double-text and grossly overreact to her sending a simple meme. In fact, he smugly conveyed the fact he'd single-handedly started a meme war between the Avengers and even Steve was forced to participate; something that was, allegedly, out of character for the blonde man.

She didn't mind. Not like she had many friends to have so much fun with. Even if it took her twice the time to do her favourite eyeliner style, it was worth it. She hoped Loki would appreciate the bold, but classy make-up and the dress and shoes combo that accentuated her assets. Her date expressed curiousity about her tattoos and the difference between her preferred style and the humans he spent most time with. She guessed secret agents were not particularly fond of anything that made them memorable so she held out quite the hope for... Showing off some of her tattoos in a more private setting.

In other, simpler words, the woman came in prepared for both a friendly, leisurely stroll and a quality night. Either way, it would be a time well spent.

Loki's shiny, raven hair was impossible to miss as he towered over the rest of the people waiting by the restaurant's entrance. He wore tailored black trousers and a simple cashmere sweater, perfect for the evening's damp, cool air. Tall and lithe, Loki was mouthwateringly handsome.

"Come here often?" She wormed her way through the crowd, causing the man to smirk down at her. Her cheeks flared from the tiny gesture alone.

"Just waiting for a friend," Loki uttered lowly, extending an arm towards the woman, which she gracefully accepted as they made way towards the entrance. "Reservation for Loki," The Asgardian stated to the hostess, who, after a rapid doube-take, led them to a private, secluded area in the back of the restaurant.

Loki shouldered the slightly awkward interaction with grace, paying no mind to the girl. His focus was solely on his date and he was nothing but gallant as he took the woman's purse and held out the chair for her to comfortably sit down. As a prince, he was taught well, she mused.

"Usually I would ask 'what brings you to our little ball of water and dirt?' but I think we can skip that part," The woman stated with a sheepish grin, idly flicking through the menu and curiously eyeing the items that were unfamiliar. The desire to try something new fought with the possibility of accidentally ordering something too far out - like snails or other things that rich people fancied, for some reason.

Loki's greens briefly appeared over the top of his menu, grateful and sparkling. "I think it's best if we do just that," For a second, he looked away, before returning to the menu. "I can think of better things to discuss. I recall you didn't finish telling me about that college friend of yours, who was an anarchist... I'm dying to know..."

The waiter came and went, barely noticed by the pair, as they both poked at something that sounded the most familiar for both of them. Stoically, Loki admitted that Tony Stark did the booking for him and the woman reluctantly acquitted she wasn't very familiar with upscale establishments, being of middle-class background and working a middle-class job.

Interrupting the story she began telling hours ago, the woman took the time to point out the things she was familiar with on the menu and advised Loki to stay away from - like the aforementioned snails, and other things, slimy and salty things that she considered to be 'disgusting but rich people liked it for some reason'. The conversation slowly progressed into Loki telling her the mischief he got up to at the feasts Odin threw. The Asgardian shared the woman's disregard for influential people doing gross things to show off.

The food was good - it was really hard to miss with a traditional Italian lasagna - and seeing Loki shovel an obscene amount of food was an experience, but she didn't comment on it, tactful enough to consider his alien biology might have different dietary requirements that her human one. It was great, really, that she could order dessert and not feel guilty about it.

The gelato melted in her mouth like sweet ecstasy and she moaned with her next bite, only partly aware of how obscene really was the noise.

Loki's hand stuttered on it's way to his mouth. Wide-eyed, he stared at her lips, at her mouth, where her tongue lapped up the small drops of dessert from the spoon. "Why the split tongue?" The Asgardian finally gathered his wits, having had a good look of what he was sure was a trick of the eye at first.

She grinned, acutely aware of the effect that particular body modification had on men. "I like being different. I embrace the weird." She giggled, not at all ashamed, sticking out her tongue and wiggling both parts of it teasingly.

Loki's Adam's apple bobbed; "Weird?" He raised his eyebrow, fighting to maintain his previous cool composure.

She nodded. "Weird," She retorted coyly. "I usually don't divulge the details at least until the third date. Wouldn't want to scare my potential suitors off," The playful wink was the proverbial cherry on top. He was hooked, his eyes darkened, following the plump arch of her lips as she took another spoonful of the treat and savoured it, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

It was pornographic.

"Obviously, Midgardians don't know what's good for them," Loki scoffed in his usual bored monotone, fully aware of how fitful his attempt to conceal his excitement was. He sounded needy even to his own ears.

"And you do?" She pushed away the empty plate, chastely patting her mouth with a napkin. The raised eyebrow and the little smirk spoke volumes.

The grin he wore was hardly anything but feral; he asked for the waiter's assistance by flicking his wrist in an impatient fashion. Once the bill was paid and the woman's cardigan found its rightful place on her shoulders, Loki once again took hold of her arm, this time holding her smaller body against his larger one, taking care to slow down and keep his strides shorter.

She found the coolness of his presence refreshing in the moist, heavy air of the New York city.

"Where to, milady?" Loki asked her, looking down at the woman fondly.

"My place is a block away. Walk me, good sir?" She gave a delightfully easy smile in return.

He nodded, letting her lead the way, allowing himself to get a little bit lost in their shared presence, a little bubble of them in the middle of a busy city. It was as if someone had quickly turned down the volume of the honking cars and noisy pedestrians around them, leaving the soft breeze and the sun slowly descending below the skyscrapers. It felt far too short, partaking in the comfortable silence together, skin tingling under the thin layers of cloth where they were touching.

The sun was trapped in the strands of her hair as she smiled at him from her doorway, worrying her lip between her teeth. It was a bittersweet moment.

"A kiss good night for the good sir?" She asked hopefully, eyes darting between his face and his mouth.

Loki obliged, resting his palm flat on the door frame, towering over the woman as he gently slotted his thin, cool lips against her warm ones. The woman stood on her tippy toes, eager, placing a hand on his chest. The pair melted into the kiss - it had no business being this mind-blowing, brain-freezing for two people that have not met until that very day. The woman didn't refuse when Loki probed with his tongue, requesting entrance to her mouth; she licked into his own with fervor, fisting her hands in the soft fabric of his sweater.

With the hand that was free, Loki pulled the woman flush with himself, feeling the heat of her start a fire of its own inside of him. Her breathing rapid, the gesture only served to tighten her hold on his sweater, until a soft, barely audible moan slipped into his mouth, causing his brain to quickly reassess the situation.

Regretfully, Loki pulled away, clearing his throat. "Perhaps we should take this elsewhere," He meaningfully looked at the array of doors around them.

"I thought you'd never ask," She retorted with a fond eyeroll, tightening the grip on his sweater once more, to pull him inside her apartment and shut the door behind her. The awkward moments were few and in between; neither knew who reached for the other first, mashing their mouths with less grace than before, clutching at the other's arms and hips with hunger.

This time, Loki didn't hold back his own muted groans of satisfaction, shivering when the woman's hands snuck under his sweater and the simple tank top he wore underneath. Blunt nails scraped along his abs.

Step by step, she pushed him further inside her apartment, determined in her small quick strides. There was no mistake of their destination; no mistake in her desire: she was as hungry and as impatient as him. The crease between his eyebrows deepened, long arms extending to unzip the top of her dress to reveal a simple but tasteful black lacy bra covering her breasts. The woman barely noticed the action, stepping out of her dress as soon as it hit the floor.

He admired her. Inches of soft skin covered by intricate ink, some patterns bizarre and complicated, some beautiful in their simplicity. Loki couldn't wait to find out about the meaning behind every one of them, to trace the lines with his tongue and sink his teeth into the heated flesh.

The hands that were holding onto him for dear life tugged on his sweater and he chose to simply vanish it, too preoccupied with looking at the view in front of him. She gasped and her eyes met his: uncanny, magnetic emeralds shone with magic and power and desire.

"Fuck," She more mouthed than said, walking backwards in a trance until her shins hit the bed.

Loki grinned, advancing on the panting woman with the grace of a predator. "Darling?" His tone was innocent; his expression was anything but. His large hand encompassesed the side of her face, thumb running over her bottom lip in a possessive gesture that had her squirming in her place. He loved the way she just melted into his touch.

Their lips met again, slower this time. The kiss was once again graceful and unrushed, allowing them to explore the softness of each other's skin, mapping the arches and valleys with gentle strokes of their palms. The broad expanse of Loki's back was uneven, riddled with scars and blemishes, and she mapped every single one, blunt nails raking down it as she pressed into him, arching into his hands where he held her.

The soft flesh of her ass, barely covered by a scrap of black lace, was shamelessly grabbed - the woman didn't doubt there would be marks left - letting her feel his arousal pressed against her belly, hard and twitching. She didn't resist her desire to ge handsy and palmed it, taking note of the gasp and the twitch coming from the man occupied with the clasp of her bra. In no time, it flew away, forgotten somwhere the very moment Loki's palms took over her breasts, running a careful thumb over each nipple.

"Fuck," She parroted her previous statement, equally breathy and considerably more aroused.

"That's the plan," Loki's chuckle was hoarse.

She huffed, biting her bottom lip before reaching out to swiftly pop the button of his trousers, smirking at the hiss the friction of her palm produced against his cock. It shouldn't have surprised her that Loki was a commando kind of guy, but still, she gasped, partially from the ministrations of his clever fingers, partially from the mouthwatering sight in front of her. The thick, flushed length made saliva gather in the corners of her mouth.

He must've heard the audible swallow. "Not so haste, darling," He tutted, giving her relaxed body a gentle push, causing her to land on her back, heated skin against the soft duvet of her bed. "Let me taste you," A thud; Loki had dropped to his knees, using his large palms to spread her legs, opening her up to his eyes.

If his previous work hadn't made her so pliant, so aroused, she'd have been rendered speechless; instead, the woman arched her back, presenting herself and the desire that had pooled down below. The Asgardian chuckled, fingertips soft against the scratchy lace.

"Tease," The woman moaned, outstretching her arm to guide him but quite unable to reach him. She had to settle for squirming in her place, receiving a fraction of the desired traction against her swollen lips.

"Am I, love?" Loki asked her sweetly, caving enough to dip a single finger to run along the outside of her slit. It glided easily thanks to all the moisture gathered there, lips parting easily before his touch. The panties were vanished away promptly, another finger joining in immediately to rub slow, precise circles around her clit.

She keened low and long, fisting the fabric in her hand until her knuckles turned white. Loki knew what he was doing. It didn't take him very long to slide his long digits to the welcoming heat of her opening, dipping them inside until she began to make the noises he so craved. His mouth followed after that, long agile tongue drawing senseless shapes on the inside of her labia and dipping deeper, where her clit stood out engorged and slick.

He could smell the bittersweet of her arousal, mouthwatering and hot.

"Loki, fuck," She moaned, only half-coherent and partially aware of her own hips following his every stroke, every flick. He only advanced, hitting that sweet spot inside her with every stroke; the sparks traveling up her spine quickened with each time she changed his name like a prayer. "Loki, Loki, Loki..."

He growled, attaching his mouth firmly to her clit, and she arched for the final time, coming undone, squeezing around his fingers and gushing in his mouth, the obscene sounds covered by her own scream of delight and his impatient growling. The growling that sent shivers of aftershocks throughout her body.

"Darling, you taste so sweet," Loki groaned, still panting.

She took the time to open her eyes: Loki looked comically out of place in her bedroom, he dwarfed her bed and made her feel small, but it didn't matter at all at that very moment. His erection stood out hard and proud; despite the leg-shaking orgasm just moments ago, she wanted more, she wanted to taste him, she wanted to feel him inside-

With unsurprising agility, one swift motion was all it took for her to rest comfortably against the pillows, his throbbing member resting against the juncture of her thigh. She tasted her own release on his lips, however brief, whispering a weak, "Please," aching to feel the emptiness.

"As my lady wishes," Loki's cool breath ghosted over her cheek. She waited with baited breath until the tip of his manhood breached her, exhaling a moan into his neck and immediately wrapping her lips around a patch of skin as he stretched her so sweet.

Loki's arms shook slightly as he waited for her to adjust. He kissed her, soft and sweet; there was something vulnerable in him, something as sweet as the ache he'd taken away. Once he began to move, slow and fluid, all there was left was an all-consuming need to feel. As graceful as dancer and with a deadly precision, Loki pounded gasps, moans and screams out of the woman's slack mouth, kisses turning hungrier and sloppier by the second.

"So sweet," He cooed, relishing in the snug grip of her cunt around him.

She only keened in approval, too far gone and unused to the intensity of the feelings from a man with centuries of practice and the power of a god.

His thrusts slowed gradually until he was rutting into her, grinding his pelvic bone into her clit. The gasps and screams turned into drawn-out, longing moans; her hips followed his, meeting in a slow, sensual motion.

Loki was not a patient man. He withdrew - she gasped in protest - flipping the woman over on her fours with ease, taking but a split second to admire the curve of her body presented on display for him. Just for him.

With that thought burning in his mind, Loki sheathed his cock deeply inside her spasming cunt. It was nearly unbearably stimulating and only his own desire to prolong the bliss held back his own impending orgasm. That, and his own ego; he was naught if not a generous lover.

She slurred something, quiet and incorrigible, fucking back onto his cock as eagerly as he was plunging into her heat. The hand he'd placed on her shoulder promptly wrapped around her throat in hopes of lifting her close enough for him to hear the words but instead, it sent a full-bodied shiver throughout her. Loki grinned, tugging her that much closer.

The arch in her back looked quite uncomfortable yet she didn't mind; it was the exact opposite, in fact, her cunt tightened around him, drenching his shaft down to his balls. Her fingernails dug into the flesh of his thigh, the sting of pain going straight to his cock-

"Loki, I'm gonna, I'm gonna-" She slurred, gasping for air.

He weakened his hold on her throat enough to let her gulp the so-needed oxygen. It was her undoing: was it the rapid pace of oxygenated blood traveling to her brain or was it his cock, mercilessly pounding against her g-spot - she was violently spasming around his cock, much like she did around his fingers not too long ago.

It felt like ages, her crescendo coming in waves with no signs of stopping any time soon. Loki's continuous thrusts, his hips slamming into hers, her skin feeling like molten lava.

"Gonna fill your sweet cunt with my seed," Loki moaned lowly, holding her up by the throat, the other hand leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the outside of her hips. "Mark you from the inside out," His voice had gone into primal territory, growling filling up the room.

"Please..." The woman rasped, oversensitive.

And he pleased, with a series of sharp thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt in her, the force of his release making her shudder and moan once against, going limp in his arms. Loki kept her in her place until every drop was inside of her cunt. Nothing was sweeter than that.

The Asgardian didn't bother with getting under the covers to hold her, conjuring a soft, comfortable throw in modest green, to cover their nudity. He didn't need the extra warmth but his companion was by far more fragile and sensitive to these things- Loki's fingertips traced the array of bruises he'd left in the wake of their passion, expression surprised as he found the woman smiling.

"Feels nice," She supplied meekly, eyes half-lidded, face trusting and open towards him.

He gave a small grin in return, placing a chaste kiss atop her head. "Yes, it does, darling."

Time after time, she didn't expect much out if their date. The sex was nice, nice enough for both of them to want seconds and thirds after their rushed first time - but it wasn't like she expected him to hand around. It was a pleasant change from the usual mutual ghosting she'd done with her previous partners, but Loki had texted again and they had resumed their conversation via text like nothing had happened.

No, that would be incorrect. Now, she had a wonderful friend who was a great conversationalist and an even better lover. There was no pressure to put a label on their relationship so the woman didn't bother with it; it didn't seem like Loki cared about the label, either, so she left the topic alone and enjoyed things the way they were. It wasn't like she had a line of suitors anyway.

She couldn't help the smile that creeped onto her face when she unlocked her phone and saw a video call request from other than Loki himself. She still had thirty minutes worth of lunch break to waste and this was a wonderful time to chat with a friend.

"Stark, hand it back or I swear to Norns-" Loki's voice sounded agitated and far away, accompanied by sounds of a struggle; the bearded, smug face on the screen was not who she expected at all. Only years of customer service and low bullshit tolerance combined stopped her from freaking out seeing none other than Tony Stark smirking at her from the screen of her phone.

"Yes?" She arched an eyebrow, taking note of the anger of Loki's tone.

"Hi, I don't think I need to introduce myself," Stark babbled, eyeing her - disheveled and with a wall full of sticky notes and miscellaneous items acting as the background to her video. "Reindeer games refused to show you to us so we decided to persuade him," Tony's grin grew wider, muted whispers being rapidly exchanged in the background all the while Loki screeched "BROTHER!" and various expletives at the top of his lungs.

"You could've, I dunno," She paused, unimpressed. "Asked me to dinner, like a normal person. Instead of stealing, you know, like a thief," The eyeroll that she performed had the team worried her eyes would fall out of their sockets.

"I merely borrowed his phone, don't be dramatic," Stark huffed, and for a moment, she could see various other people trying to look at the screen and by extension, at her. "So, what is it that you do? Because Smurf over there wouldn't..."

"Oops, bad signal. Sorry, can't hear you properly," Her side of the call suddenly shook and in a moment, she ended the call, not at all willing to deal with people that lacked boundaries. Sure, it might have been Iron Man, but if he was planning on being a snooping asshole, she wasn't gonna go down with that easily.

Exactly five minutes after she had clocked out, an incoming call from Loki had her equal parts excited and mortified. What if..? But he was apologetic. And very angry, swearing in his native language - something that he'd promised to teach her at some point.

"So, Clint did it?" She sipped her beverage, strolling home with the phone pressed snugly against her ear.

"Most of it was his fault, yes," Loki grouched on the other end of the call.

"I vote we get back at him. Invite me over, if he's so inclined to see me, and watch him get humiliated in front of everybody," It wasn't a secret she had her own mischievous tendencies.

"As much as I appreciate your vigour, darling, I doubt the Widow will appreciate you verbally castrating the Hawk in public," He replied sourly, his voice still betraying the faint notes of interest.

"I have a backup plan!" She stated without a hitch. "He'll embarrass himself and I'll be your alibi."

"I'm listening," Loki perked up immediately.

They decided to not to stall and schedule the 'family dinner', as Thor himself dubbed it, for the next available weekend. Loki had made sure Tony's AI had been made aware the trickster would be gone all day, and it took him very little magic and effort to pop in and out of the tower for the five minutes that were needed to execute their prank.

His friend barely managed to keep the snickering at bay as they ascended the elevator to the common floor where the dinner was being held. Not only that, but the woman spouted an area of dark purple love marks, barely obscured by the low turtleneck of her blouse.

She made her introductions and they made theirs. "This affair could use some background noise," She remarked off-handedly, casting a meaningful glance at the TV.

Tony Stark was known for being a great host so he entertained her wishes, flicking on the huge flat screen with a flick of his wrist.

The team froze.

"I... -" The woman stared at the screen, mouth hanging wide open at the scenes that played out. "... am not going to kinkshame, but please turn it off," She stated in a small voice, seemingly unable to tear her eyes away from the mass of tentacles commencing erotic assault on a woman's body.

Wordlessly, the TV shut down, immersing the room in stunned silence. Loki face-palmed, the slap of his palm against his face echoing in the eerily quiet room.

"Loki!" Captain America, red as a tomato, instantly accused the most obvious person.

Except, he had forgotten one thing. "Loki was with me all day," The woman replied, unkindly. "Do you need more proof?" She tugged on the hem of her turtleneck, exposing an inch of skin marked blue.

The good Captain's face changed the shade once again, venturing very well into beetroot territory. "Who was the last one to use the TV?" Rogers asked, now with a hint of anger, as he stared at a guffawing Bucky.

"I believe it was Mr. Barton," The AI piped up, mechanical voice sounding almost insinuating. Or, perhaps, it just appeared that way.

[journalxxx]

By Hook or by Crook (1)

"Is it possible to become a hero like you even without using any quirks?" Toshinori thought that it was a strange question. Strangely worded, and with too obvious an answer to be worth asking. Still, he stopped. The memory of a similarly naive middle-schooler from way too long ago made him pause. He shouldn't have paused. Another impossibly shrill scream erupted from the boy when Toshinori tried to reassure him of his identity, and turned up with a mouthful of blood instead. What a charming day this was proving to be. Almost an entire night spent awake due to his old wound deciding to make a fuss and disregard any sort of painkillers he threw at it, a frustrating morning followed by an equally frustrating afternoon he had struggled to navigate through with the alertness of a drunken sloth, which had caused him to get lost in the sewers while chasing a dangerous criminal, as well as fail to notice a whole human being sticking to his leg as he took off at the speed of several hundreds kilometres per hour, and now this.

Toshinori took a proper gander at the brand new crack in his privacy. He was a freckled, scrawny thing, with unruly green hair and enough jitters to be picked up by the nearest seismographs, probably.

"How... How? Is it- are you- are..." The boy stuttered, pale and physically shivering from the shock. "Is... was that your quirk? A transformation quirk?" He brought a hand to his mouth, subconsciously mimicking Toshinori as he wiped the blood from his lips. "That hurts you when you use it?" "...Something of the sort." It was an explanation as good as any. They stared at each other for a few moments, before the kid dropped his gaze and started muttering to himself. Toshinori could barely make out the words, but it seemed to be something about internet forums and theories about All Might's quirk. Toshinori sighed and sat down on the concrete, leaning his back against the railing to catch some much needed breath. There was no point in running off now, was there? He supposed the most sensible thing to do at this point was to have a little chat with the boy, if only to ascertain whether he was capable or willing to keep such a momentous secret. He waited for the boy to finish his quiet soliloquy... for two or three minutes, during which the onslaught of words didn't show any sign of dwindling. He politely cleared his throat, and the young man's attention was immediately back on him. "What's your name, boy?" "Uh... Izuku. Izuku Midoriya." "Midoriya." Toshinori acknowledged with a nod. "And you're quirkless, I take it." "Oh... Uh... Uhm..." Midoriya snappily clasped his hands behind his back and his eyes darted around as if caught stealing jam. It was an understandable reaction, if a tad overblown, Toshinori thought. Quirklessness was rare these days, and never something one could be proud of. His own powerlessness had frustrated him in his youth, and it positively tore at him in the present, now that his physical condition rendered him functionally quirkless for more than twenty hours a day. "Regarding your first question..." Toshinori paused, running a hand through his hair tiredly. Was there any way of putting this kindly? "Surely you realize the huge dangers and requirements that come with a hero's profession. Pros risk their lives every day, and in order to even make a livelihood out of it, they need to achieve a certain amount of success and visibility. Frankly, I'd advise anyone with a less than exceptional quirk, either in terms of combat ability or versatility, to think very carefully about undertaking this career path. To think of someone without a quirk attempting it..." Midoriya's head dropped again. "I... I see... But what if...?" The boy bit his lip and trailed off with a conflicted look. He shook his head, apparently reaching some private conclusion, and continued. "It's just... I've always admired you so much! Saving people with a fearless smile is just about the most inspiring and incredible thing one can do! If only everyone followed your example-" "I should hope they wouldn't have to!" Toshinori interjected decisively. "You know, the world I dream of is one where only few of the very strongest have to bear the hero's burden, so that all the more people can be free to enjoy their lives without fear or extreme sacrifices. We aren't there yet, not by a long shot, but..." He allowed himself a little smile. "I'm sure happy to know I'm inspiring courageous and driven citizens such as yourself." Midoriya's face immediately acquired a marked tomato hue. A small barrage of stuttered thanks followed. Toshinori raised a hand to stop him. "Look, kid. Your heart is in the right place and there's nothing worthier in life than pursuing your dreams, but... I cannot in good conscience encourage you to follow a path that would ultimately destroy you. You have no hope of becoming a hero - no hope to survive as a hero without a quirk, and a damn good one at that. As you can see..." Toshinori gestured towards himself, unable to keep his smile from turning sour. "Not even I can be a hero like me without using my quirk." Midoriya took it better than Toshinori was expecting, all things considered. Those anxious eyes roved around his gaunt form for a few moments, sympathetic and a tad disturbed. But the boy's features soon composed themselves into a look of calm thoughtfulness. "I understand." He nodded, straightening up his back, only to curl slightly upon himself all over when doubt reared its head again. "I guess... I'll just have to find a different solution..." "Indeed. If helping people is your goal, there are plenty of professions that regularly achieve that. Healthcare professionals, lawyers, policemen, firefighters, social workers-" "I know, I know..." Midoriya's expression became distant. No doubt it wasn't the first time he received such a speech. Children these days received their first career advice as early as primary school, during the mandatory quirk counselling sessions, to help them better understand how their abilities could be nurtured and directed into constructive endeavors for the benefit of the whole community. Now that Toshinori thought of it... did quirkless children like Midoriya even receive any such counselling? The program didn't exist when Toshinori himself was a kid, so he realized he didn't quite know. A lack of career counselling would explain the boy's irrealistic hopes. "If you are dead set on working in the heroics field, there are options there as well." Toshinori added, determined to do at least one thing right that day and offer the poor kid a grain of useful advice. "Have you considered working as a support item engineer or as a quirk analyst, for example? You certainly seem to have the qualities for jobs like these." "Uh? How can you say that?" "I took the liberty of flipping through your notebook before signing it." Toshinori tapped his temple as the boy's cheek tinged with pink again. He really wore his heart on his sleeve, didn't he? "You seem to have quite a well-organized mind, and keen observation skills. If I were you, I wouldn't underestimate how far those two talents could bring you in the right field." "Ah... Thank you! I- it's just a hobby, nothing more! But thank you! I really appreciate you taking the time to answer my question! And give me advice! And listen to-" It devolved into another short stream of gratefulness and humility. Toshinori deemed his impromptu orientation session a job decently done and he finally stood up. His left side gave a sharp twinge. He couldn't wait to be back home, stun it with a generous helping of ibuprofen and hopefully catch up on a few hours of sl- ah crap, he'd left his grocery bag near the manhole he had emerged from, hadn't he? Maybe it would be quicker to just do the whole shopping again at the closest convenience store... "Now, about what you just saw..." Toshinori approached the boy, lowered his voice and scanned his surroundings automatically, as if there was anyone who could overhear them on the small rooftop they were standing on. "I don't think I need to point out that it would be really, really bad if voices of a secretly emaciated Symbol of Peace were to start circulating, on the web or by other venues-" Midoriya raised his head from the deep bow he had maintained for the last good minute, eyes wide. "O-oh! Of course-" "But I'm going to do it anyway. It would be really bad. Catastrophic. Not only for me, because I would know exactly who put the rumors forth and I would have some choice words for said source, smash being one of them." He had meant it in jest, but the terrified expression on Midoriya's face warned him not to put too much faith on the boy's sense of humour. He showed the palms of his hands in the universal gesture for I'm not going to smash anything. "...I'm joking! Obviously. But I do need to know if I can count on your utmost discretion." "O-Of course! Your secret is safe! I swear it on my life, All Might! No one will know!" There was no doubting the fervor radiating from Midoriya's every pore. Toshinori nodded and squeezed the boy's shoulder while also not-so-subtly pushing him towards the door to the stairs. "Good to know, good to know. Now, let us both be off." Toshinori moved towards the exit as well, patting the pocket of his cargo pants. "I have to hand this guy over to the nearest precinct before-" His hand patted rough cloth and the wiry muscle of his thigh, and nothing inbetween. Toshinori stopped in his tracks and checked his right pocket. Then his left one. Both empty. He gazed around the rooftop in confusion, noticing a clear lack of plastic containers on the barren expanse of concrete. "Hey, have you seen..." He started, glancing at Midoriya. Who was staring at his empty pockets in obvious distress, both hands covering his mouth as if to keep himself silent. Something cold gripped Toshinori's scrambled insides. "...the bottles... where..." Toshinori's sleep-deprived brain pieced it all together with frustrating slowness. Loose trousers pockets. Clingy boy. Hundreds of kilometres per hour. Gravity. RIght on cue, a loud explosion made them turn their heads in unison, and a black cloud of smoke erupted among a cluster of buildings a little to the south of the one they were standing on. "...Shit." A small part of Toshinori's mind added 'cursing in front of a child' to the impressive streak of fuck-ups he was accumulating in a single day, but most of his evidently dwindling faculties were busy trying to come up with a way to unravel the current predicament. He marched to the door without wasting another moment. "Go home. Take a detour if you have to, just stay well away from there." "It's my fault." Once again, despite Toshinori's better judgement, the boy's words compelled him stop. Even muffled by Midoriya's hands, his whispers sounded positively agonized. "I made you drop them. It's my fault. Oh God, what do I...?" "What? Don't be absurd! You didn't do anything, I should have-" It came out more harshly than he thought, and the kid's horrified eyes snapped back to him. God, he hated seeing him blame himself for what was clearly Toshinori's blunder - a blunder unworthy of the greenest of rookies, let alone of the celebrated number one hero - but there was really no time to waste self-recriminating. "Look, just go home. I'll-" "I can't! None of this would have happened if I'd just-" Midoriya burst out, halting his own words just as abruptly and wringing his hands guiltily. "I have to help! I can help! Let me-" "All right then." Toshinori said, and his ready agreement shocked the boy into silence just as he had expected. Telling him to wait around and do nothing wasn't going to work with that hero-obsessed mentality of his, so he chose a different approach. "Here's what you'll do. You'll stay here until you've calmed down enough to keep your wits about you. Then you'll go to the nearest police station - there's one just over there - and tell the officers what just happened. Minus the part where you've seen me like this, obviously-" "How's that going to help?! They can see the smoke, by the time I get there they'll already know-" "We don't know if that explosion is the villain's doing. It might be unrelated, and in that case the villain would be still at large." Toshinori explained with his most commanding tone, despite the urge to dash off. "Even if it is connected to the villain, I scooped him up into two bottles. We don't know if each half is capable of causing damage on its own. You have to alert the police so that they can start searching for both as quickly as possible. I'll take care of whatever that accident is." Despite the panic, Midoriya seemed to process his words. He gulped, and gave him a worried once-over. "But... can you fight again? Even like that?" "Tsk! I'd expect more trust from a fan." One more for the road, Toshinori coached himself. He reached into his quirk and flexed, his muscle form puffing up dutifully and his trademark smile slotting back in place. He gave the boy a confident thumbs up. "I'll have this solved before you can blink!" Toshinori flung himself down the stairway before Midoriya could come up with more objections. He managed five flights of stairs before his quirk failed him again and one hundred and eighty kilos of muscles went up in steam. He stumbled as he coughed up more blood, his scar hurting like it was trying to murder him, but he didn't stop. Hopefully the boy would follow his orders and make himself marginally useful, and more importantly he would keep himself out of trouble and away from the danger zone. Meanwhile, Toshinori... well, he'd have to clean up his own mess in some way or another.

Izuku stood stock-still for a good minute before his body reconnected to his brain. A lot had happened in the last half an hour, there was... there was a lot to unpack there. First things first, his duty. The admittedly sensible instructions given to him by All Might himself. Point number one was regaining a semblance of lucidity. His legs felt like jelly, so he simply let himself slump to the ground and breathe deeply. Never in a million years, not even in the darkest and most conspiratorial corners of the net, Izuku would have ever imagined to discover what he had discovered about All Might. All Might had a quirk... that debilitated him? Some sort of temporary performance-enhancing boost that wore his body down whenever he used it? Because what Izuku had just seen wasn't the body of a healthy person, not even remotely. Pale, hunched, with barely any flesh hanging from his still oversized bones, with sunken eyes and non-existent cheeks. Totally unperturbed by the gush of blood spurting from his mouth, as if that was a perfectly ordinary occurrence. Was it the result of decades of continued usage? Was Japan's Symbol of Peace constantly and deliberately harming himself in order to do his job? Izuku had experienced firsthand that powerful quirks came with unforeseen drawbacks, but this... this was... This was none of his business, Izuku chided himself. All Might was... All Might. Number one hero. An unprecedent and yet unsurpassed phenomenon. He knew what he was doing, for sure. It was presumptuous of Izuku to even doubt that he did. He had said he would take care of things, and he was certainly going to. Izuku scratched his head furiously, as if to rid himself of those intrusive thoughts. He felt better, more grounded. Time to move onto step two. He made his way down the stairs and out of the building, slowly, mindful of the lingering dizziness, careful not to trip and cause himself and others further troubles. The street was full of curious onlookers glancing at the rising column of smoke, filming it with their phones and chattering about it among themselves. Luckily, Izuku spotted a policeman almost immediately, as he was busy trying to disperse the small crowds and redirect the traffic. He recounted his tale, purged from gossip-inducing details, to the zealous officer, who promptly reported it to his superiors via his radio. There, he'd accomplished his task. Quick and effortless. The last item on his to-do last was heading home. Izuku stood on the sidewalk, contemplating the enlarging black cloud. Smaller explosions could still be heard popping in the air now and then. It had been at least ten minutes since All Might's departure and, judging by the heated talking coming from the officer nearby, the crisis hadn't been solved yet. Izuku thought back of how All Might had left the building using the stairs, instead of one of his much quicker, much more efficient leaps. A gnarling unease gripped his stomach, and his feet started moving on their own. He just couldn't get it out of his head. His idol's shrunken body, the immense tiredness that seeped through his every movement when in that form, his stern request for discretion. Your very life and safety may depend on your discretion, Izuku. Izuku shivered. Accidents aside, he had acted for the best, hadn't he? Despite everything... Civilians were not allowed to use quirks freely on public grounds, even though exceptions could be made in case of blatant self-defense. But even if he had used his quirk to stop the sludge villain by himself, what would he have done afterwards? He doubted he could use his newly acquired quirk effectively, and in a quirkless fight against an adult, he would have gotten the short end of the stick anyway. Not to mention the aftermath. Questions. His quirk revealed. Suspicion and distrust. Izuku's legs brought him to the site of the accident in a rushed daze, as his thoughts wandered in circles. He peered beyond the crowd of onlookers, and the scene he witnessed froze the blood in his veins. It was a disaster. The sludge villain was indeed responsible for it, and he had a hostage as well, tightly wrapped in layers and layers of goo. Numerous fires surrounded the captor and his victim, the heat and destruction giving them an almost hellish appearance. Almost half a dozen of heroes were already involved, but none of them seemed capable of creating an opening or coming up with a plan to face the situation. A veritable tragedy was unfolding before everyone's eyes, and no one was moving an inch to stop it. Izuku gazed around in a frenzy, searching for the one man who could and would solve it all. He spotted him quickly enough, his wild blond mane making him easy to pinpoint even with his gaunt frame huddled against a wall. All Might, the number one hero, looked like he was barely managing to stand on his feet. Hunched over, jaw clenched, one hand holding onto the nearest lamppost, the other clutching his side tightly, bright blue eyes dimmed in frustration and trained on the grim spectacle unfolding in the fiery lane. The sight dispelled any remaining doubt in Izuku's mind. All Might couldn't intervene. He couldn't use his quirk freely, either because of some pre-existing hard limit, or in fear of the repercussions it would have on his body. He had had to waste some of his limited stamina to save Izuku earlier that day - save him from a danger that Izuku could have, should have at least tried to handle himself - and now he was too drained to help. And the current hostage was paying for that - Izuku's heart nearly stopped as said hostage suddenly thrashed about enough to free a small portion of his face, enough for Izuku to recognize him, as more explosions boomed and set ablaze more of the surrounding buildings. Kacchan. Izuku moved without thinking, his mind blank. In that moment, he couldn't think about anything - not his father's recommendation, not his fear of exposure, not his weakness or inexperience, not the Symbol of Peace, not even his crushing guilt - except one thing. He couldn't let Kacchan die for his mistakes. A lot happened, very quickly, too quickly for him to process. The crowd and the heroes screamed. The villain saw him and readied a blow. Izuku barely dodged it by bodily throwing himself to the side, blindly. He landed hard on something that felt like overheated metal, but it didn't hurt too much. A slimy arm impacted solidly against the asphalt, missing him by mere centimetres. Goo from the monstruous limb splattered all around, staining his clothes. Without thinking, he reached for the green mass with both hands, let his palms sink into it, closed his eyed to focus and just did it. There was a strong gust of wind, as if a very fast car had suddenly raced past him and barely missed him, at the same time as he heard the asphalt crack a little to his left. Suddenly, all went perfectly still and silent. Izuku gulped, and forced his eyes open. The first thing he saw was All Might's massive back. Roaring muscles filling his oversized clothes amidst thin strands of steam, the hero was standing in full bulk right between him and the villain, his right arm raised and poised as if charging a punch, but completely motionless. There was no more sludge around Izuku's hands, nor anywhere in the street. Peeking between All Might's legs, Izuku saw Kacchan twitching weakly on the ground, and another person standing beside him. A thin, flabby-looking guy, with an ashen complexion and not a single hair on his head, face or bare chest. A blood-curling scream erupted from the man's - the villain's - mouth. As he stared in stark horror at himself - probably seeing his human limbs for the first time in his life, Izuku realized - the weird silence and stillness instantly receded. The heroes rushed forward to help Kacchan and apprehend the panicking criminal, the crowd cheered, and All Might turned to look at Izuku. There was no smile on his face. Izuku had never seen the Symbol of Peace without his usual cheery attitude. He realized the hero looked a lot less reassuring without it, and a lot more... purely, bleakly intimidating. The sheer magnitude of what Izuku had just done suddenly hit him like a train. He scrambled to his feet, heart beating wildly in his chest, and sprinted towards the closest alley. He heard All Might's voice calling to him, but he ignored it and ran, ran until his lungs burned with the effort and the tears made it impossible to see where he was going.

An undefined number of streets and turns and forks later, Izuku stopped. He collapsed against the closest wall, gasping for air and clutching at his jacket in a desperate effort not to succumb to hysteria. He'd done it. He'd used his quirk in front of a whole crowd of civilians and heroes. There was no hope of avoiding the consequences of that. Kacchan would dispel any doubt the police may have about what had transpired. Even though his childhood friend had kept quiet about it for years, out of... Fear? Respect? Leverage? Izuku honestly had no idea - there was no reason for him to shield him from the official investigations. It was out of Izuku's hands now. But maybe... maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. He had saved his friend from a gruesome fate, first of all, which was undoubtedly good. And maybe his father was plainly wrong, maybe their quirk could be tolerated, even accepted by society at large. Maybe even trained for the purpose of- "Midoriya!" Izuku's stomach did another somersault. All Might's skinny silhouette had just emerged from a nearby road and was approaching him quickly, one long arm raised to catch his attention. Oh God, Izuku had hoped he'd be too busy to chase him right off the bat. He'd hoped he could at least make it back home and talk with his father, with his mother before... "There you are! Why did you run off like- Hey, are you hurt?" All Might asked, immediately grabbing his arm to support him when Izuku wobbled dangerously. The man eyed his side worriedly, and Izuku finally remembered to check it himself. His jacket was torn and singed where he had fallen on the burning debris, but the layers of clothing underneath were surprisingly intact, and so was Izuku. "No no, I'm fine, thank you. I just... I guess I was scared of being told off for rushing in." Izuku offered with a poor attempt at a smile. "More afraid of being reproached than of facing a villain head on? You're an odd one, all right." All Might chuckled, visibly amused. "Law enforcers can be sticklers for non-professional quirk usage rules, but I don't think you would have gotten into too much trouble, all things considered." "I-I see... well... I guess I'll have to deal with it anyway, sooner or later..." "Ah... Not necessarily. I don't think anyone other than me realized what you did. In fact..." All Might rubbed the back of his neck with an oddly embarassed grimace. "I think I may have... sort of accidentally taken the merit of what happened back there. People saw me and just assumed I smashed the sludge off the villain faster than the eye can see. Journalists were already showing up and I was running quite low on stamina, so I scampered off before, you know... " He gestured at himself eloquently. "I can release an official statement later to rectify the matter, if you want. I'd hate to steal the spotlight of an aspiring hero." Izuku blinked. No one else knew? Kacchan hadn't talked? Or had All Might fled before he could hear his account? Probably the latter. And... "Aspiring hero?" "Indeed. It seems I have made some wrong assumptions about you." All Might positively beamed, ruffling his own hair and regarding Izuku with a sort of challenging grin that made Izuku squirm on the spot. "You aren't quirkless at all, are you?" "I never said I was..." Izuku tried to deflect lamely, hoping not to sound too cheeky. All Might merely laughed in response. "Very true! A variant of Erasure, isn't it? I've never seen any Erasure quirk work on mutant types, but I guess it is true that the new generations are naturally more endowed." "Uh... Y... Yeah..." Izuku heard himself say. He... He didn't want to lie. There wasn't even any point in lying considering that Kacchan was going to expose the truth anyway. But Izuku's mouth had been basically running on autopilot since his idol had materialized into his life, and his brain seemed to have lost the computational power to rein it in when said hero was in the vicinity. "That's good! Very good! Why would you be concerned about not using your quirk?" All Might scratched his chin thoughtfully. He seemed strangely unbothered by the fact that Izuku hadn't corrected him earlier, prompting him to waste valuable time of his day to bestow misplaced advice. "I guess Erasers tend to be somewhat at a disadvantage with rescue operations and solo missions... But I can assure you that, when it comes to apprehending villains, any combat specialist would beg to be teamed up with an Eraser. They're the absolute best support in case of quirk misfires and misuse... As you've just proven yourself." All Might seemed hell bent on encouraging Izuku's dream, now that he saw a real chance of success for him. Izuku was... moved, honestly, and sincerely grateful. But the hero was, once again, wasting his words. That wasn't Izuku's quirk, Izuku's quirk was far more sinister in its mechanics, far less likely to be requested or even endorsed by the hero community. Far more powerful, frighteningly so. Would All Might even be standing so close to the boy, within an arm's length, if he knew what would befall him if a hint of greed or envy pushed Izuku to- "Don't look down on yourself, kid." A bony yet amicable hand squeezed Izuku's shoulder, ripping him out of his meandering thoughts. All Might was smiling openly, his voice tinged with a softness that was entirely at odds with his haggard looks. "Your quirk might be less flashy than others, but I've seen enough today to know that you're definitely hero material, both in skills and heart." The really important thing is recognizing your own flesh and blood. Recognizing yourself. Izuku had been thinking a lot about that old interview of All Might's lately. The closer the UA admission test got, the more he found himself doubting his father's pessimistic take on the villainous nature of their quirk, and the more he wondered if he shouldn't trust himself, recognize himself, with enough conviction that everyone else would simply have to trust and recognize him too, eventually. It was easier said than done, of course. Spending the first twelve years of his life as quirkless hadn't exactly geared him towards building oodles of self-confidence. But he had to start somewhere. And if there was anyone in the world who was likely to see and trust and recognize Izuku for who he was, villanous quirk or not... it had to be him. The man who was the living embodiment of hope, reliability, rectitude and positivity. The man who apparently had a quirk with such a detrimental side effect that he ought to avoid resorting to it like the plague, and yet who kept using anyway, for the sake of the people. The man who was standing right in front of Izuku, giving it his all to obliterate his insecurities with sensible and kind words, with something awfully akin to pride for him shining in his clear eyes. If there was anyone that could change Izuku's world, it was All Might. "I, ah... actually, I... that isn't my quirk." "Oh?" All Might would have raised an eyebrow, if he had any. "Then what is it?" "I..." Izuku gulped. "I can take quirks. From other people. Permanently. And use them as my own." Silence. Not a muscle had moved on All Might's face, but suddenly his smile seemed a lot less alive, and a lot more set in stone. Izuku willed himself to keep speaking. "That's what I did to the villain. I stole- I took his quirk. It was the fastest way to stop him. The only way I could think of. It... worked quite well, uh?" Izuku offered a tentative smile, at the same time as All Might's started to fade. That... didn't bode well. But of course not even All Might could react to such a piece of information with immediate enthusiasm, it was a lot to take in, Izuku understood that. No doubt any moment now he'd slip back into his pep talk, reassure him of his chances to become a hero, wipe away his insecurities with a blinding smile and a boisterous laugh- "Do you still have it? The villain's quirk?" All Might asked in a whisper. "I do." Izuku knew, without really needing to try it out. He knew it with the same certainty as he knew that he was thirsty, or that his side did in fact hurt a little bit, or that most of skin was constantly brushing against his clothes. It was an almost visceral sensation, both conscious and subconscious, that he couldn't quite put into words. "I could try to use it too, if I wanted. Although I d-don't, really. I don't think I'll want to see any more slime for the next ten years or so, especially not on myself. Or as myself..." Izuku chuckled nervously, his heart growing heavier as All Might's expression reverted to one of studied, rigid neutrality. For once in his life, words failed him completely. He wrung his hands in discomfort, hoping that All Might would be the one to break that increasingly worrying silence. But his fidgeting caught the hero's attention. Very slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, All Might's hand left Izuku's shoulder and took the boy's hand in his own, turning it over. He straightened the curled fingers with his thumb, fully exposing his palm and the small, circular hole right in the center of it. And then all of Izuku's hopes crumbled to dust. Very scary, very disturbing things had happened to him that day. He had almost died, he had almost accidentally killed a friend, he had inadvertedly learned a potentially peace-endangering secret, he had been forced to reveal a personally-endangering secret. He could have lived with all of that, probably. But nothing could have prepared him for the subtle shaking of All Might's hand as he observed the stigmata of Izuku's quirk. Nothing could have humiliated more than the sharp inhale of his idol, than the way his breath caught in his throat in obvious shock. Nothing could have confirmed his father's warnings more than the one thing he would have never, never, never expected to see - let alone cause - in the eyes of the Symbol of Peace. Fear.

[beebubbly]

Almost Is Never Enough

Ethan x Casey Valentine.

AN ~ AU about Ethan and Casey in the future.

Thank you to @jamespotterthefirst for reading this before I posted.

Warning: mature themes.

In the five hours Ethan had been in bed, he must have woken up at least six times. The bright red glow from the digital alarm clock on his bedside table glared mockingly at him reminding him that he needed to be awake in a few short hours. Ethan rolled onto his back and stared up at his ceiling fan which was currently off due to the room being cool enough already. The rain slashed against the window, which took up a large portion of the wall.

3.45 am.

The large bed felt cold, empty as the area next to him was usually filled by a small figure who would wrap herself around him. No longer did her soft snores fill the silence of the room, stopping his mind from spiralling.

And it was all his fault.

Casey Valentine no longer occupied the bed, they had an argument about Leland Bloom and how Ethan thought he was going to try and turn them against one another. Casey had fought for them, told him that no matter what the older man tried to throw at them- they were stronger than that. But Ethan was tired, he didn't want to fight the inevitable anymore.

So Casey walked out of his apartment and then out of his life. Ethan had tried to reach out to her but she refused to talk to him, rightfully so. He had pushed away the one person he cared deeply about, almost loved But almost wasn't enough, she was gone and left a dark aching hole in his chest.

That was nearly seven years ago. Seven years since Casey had left not only him but the hospital. Seven years since he had any contact with her and even when he tried to talk to her friends who remained at the hospital, they weren't able to give him anything about Casey or her new life.

Ethan had tried to move on, looking for a new relationship and when that didn't work, threw himself into his work but nothing helped. The emptiness she had left behind couldn't be filled with anything, but drinking heavily helped easy the pain.

Most nights he would drink until he felt numb and then once the pain went he would sleep the drink off, a dark, dreamless sleep that would allow him a moment of piece until he woke again.

Ethan had been so lost in his thoughts that he nearly missed the soft knock at the his apartment door.  He frowned deeply sitting up in his bed, he strained to listen. Nobody could come up to the door without being buzzed in, so it must have been someone in his building making a noise.

The knock came again, louder this time. cautiously, Ethan climbed out of the bed and threw a dark navy robe over his bare chest and padded bare foot across the empty apartment and opened the door, just enough to see who was on the other side.

"Ethan"

His breath left his lungs. He wasn't sure if he was awake or if he was dreaming as he took in the sight before him. Casey stood in front of him, her long hair soaking wet and sticking to her soft round face. His eyes trailed downwards, and he was surprised to find her in a simple white wedding dress.

"W-what?" he found himself mutter as his eyes trailed back up her exposed chest, it was enough to be decent but also entirely too tempting. Her eyes were their familiar mix of green, gold and brown. She looked familiar and completely different at the same time.

"Can I come in?" she asked softly.

Ethan thunderstruck, opened the door wider allowing the younger woman to step inside his apartment. The last place he ever imagined her to be after not seeing her for so long. They were silent as Ethan shut, and locked the door behind her. Casey stood a few feet away from him, looking around the apartment with her arms wrapped around her small body.

"So, are we expecting four wet bridesmaids as well or?" he asked breaking the silence that threatened to suffocate him as he leaned back against his door.

"Just me" Casey said softly as she turned to face the attending.

Ethan was surprised to find that he couldn't read the expression on her face. There was nothing in her expression that gave away why she was here in a wedding dress of all things.

She was obviously getting married, Ethan scolded himself knowing that much was obvious, but the whole what she was doing standing in his apartment in the early hours of the morning was a different question.

"Casey? What's going on?" he asked.

Casey trailed her eyes over the taller man, he looked the same. Still infuriatingly handsome and the same piercing blue eyes that would deconstruct her with a single glance. He was familiar, a comfort that had been missing for the last seven years of her life.

"I-I couldn't do it" she breathed out shaking her head slightly pulling her plush bottom lip between her teeth. "I couldn't"

Ethan's mind was racing but nothing seemed to make sense, he ran a hand through his dark brown hair as he looked at Casey. He took in the fact that she was still dripping wet, her long dress had started to leave a small puddle on his apartment floor.

"O-okay, first things first you should get into something dry" he said finally. Pushing off the door, he strolled into his bedroom quickly and opened his draws and pulled out a blue shirt.

The soft material in hand Ethan returned to the living-room to find Casey in the same spot he had left her, her attention now on the window and the familiar view of the bay stretched out before them.

"I missed that view" she said softly, keeping her eyes on the window rather than turning to look at the sight of Ethan, shirtless and in grey bottoms that was quite the view itself.

Ethan wordlessly offered her the shirt which she took. To his surprise Casey simply started to take off the straps of her dress, clearly intending to strip off in the middle of the living-room. Ethan was reminded of the time she had done a similar thing in her second year. He coughed lightly at the memory pushing that from his mind.

"Can you help me with the zipper?" Casey asked peering over her shoulder at him.

Ethan nodded and took tentative steps toward her as she turned back around. His long fingers reached out for the zip, he slowly began to drag the zip downwards his finger lightly brushing the soft skin of her back. A fire lit inside him at the light touch of her skin against his.

Once he had unzipped her dress, Casey allowed the material to pool at her feet. Ethan swallowed thickly as he realised she now stood in front of him in nothing but a thin lacy thong and high heels. He couldn't see her face clearly in the reflection but he could make out her mostly exposed chest which was only concealed by her long hair.

Rooted to the spot, Ethan watched helplessly as Casey pulled on his shirt, the material coming down to reach just the top of her thighs. Casey buttoned up the shirt a little but kept enough open to allow Ethan the sight of her chest which she skilfully covered to look innocent enough.

She still had this magnetic effect on him, enough render him nearly senseless. He wanted nothing more than to turn her around and kiss those plush lips enough to bruise them.

Clearing his throat, Ethan with much effort, took a step backwards in attempt to put space between them. He still had no idea what Casey was doing here, and what she wanted from him.

Casey turned around to peer up at Ethan through thick lashes, a small grateful smile graced her face.

"Thanks" she said softly.

Ethan nodded, not trusting his voice. Giving himself a small shake he turned and made his way to the kitchen where he pulled out two glass tumblers and a bottle of whiskey. He poured a generous amount into each glass before he turned around to find Casey had followed him and now stood leaning back against the counter, a few feet away.

"Drink?" he managed to get out in an even tone. Casey nodded and silently took the glass he offered her. She downed a large gulp of the drink, appreciating the burning sensation that trickled down her throat.

"God I needed that" she sighed softly before she took another drink finishing the glass.

"Are you going to explain what the hell is going on?" Ethan finally asked as he took a drink from his own glass, blue eyes still trailed on her face.

Casey scrunched up her nose slightly at the question, Ethan was a little relived at the tell-tale sign that she didn't like the question. Casey put the empty glass down onto the counter next to her. She refused to look at Ethan, instead she opted to look at the counter opposite her.

"I was supposed to get married, and it was an hour before the wedding when I realised I couldn't do it. I couldn't marry him. So I left a note and climbed out of the bathroom and made my way here" she said softly.

Ethan straightened at her words.

"Why? Why come here?"

At this Casey turned her head to look at him, her eyes met his and she straightened up as she gave him a look that almost read that she thought he was stupid.

"Because, I couldn't marry him because I still love you"

Tags: @jamespotterthefirst , @jooous, @choicesaddict5

[astralibrary]

happy silan day! i draw my oc silan with flowers every year on may 16th because i love him dearly & it’s a date i’ve always associated with him 🌼♥️

thoughts & feelings under the cut!

i tend to struggle with actually finishing them though (like last year’s, which i never ended up posting,) so This Year i made the executive decision to treat the 16th as a deadline rather than a starting point And Wouldn’t You Know It it worked!!

idk how much of that can be chalked up to the deadline switch or if it was a combination of other factors (drawing a lot more finished pieces lately, building a comfortable routine/process, the significant drop in the amount of flowers i have to painstakingly render one by one) but the fact is i got this whole thing done in a little under a week and that is a Big Win

so, a lot of things have changed!! first in 2020 the series took a hard turn from simple portraits into full illustration! the piece has a lot of energy and freedom to it imo; when i started this series i had made up all these Rules i had to adhere to, like has to be a digital painting, has to be a portrait, has to have his eyes closed, has to have him wearing a flower crown, and Has to be started and finished all in one day, on the 16th

they created a lot of unnecessary pressure that i think really contributed to my struggle to finish them. as the years have gone on i’ve steadily been chipping away at these “rules,” taking off the flower crown, opening his eyes, giving myself more time to work on it- and finally, doing away with the portrait rule altogether. 2020′s energy feels like that final push to break free of that nonsense and just have fun with the project and i’m loving it tbh. i may not have finished it in the end, but it was definitely a step in the right direction!

and then we have this year’s, 2021! definitely a more moody piece... the reason for which being all the changes i’ve been making to silan & his story lately hoho !! he is Older now, he’s 24!! before, i was jumping around with his age a lot trying to settle on anything between 14 and like 18, but as i work out the details of his whole deal more things start coming into focus, and right now 24 feels right! so i gave him a little facial hair both to make him look older and also bc i think it makes him look like a dweeb and that’s CUTE,

this year’s illustration definitely reflects the kind of work i’ve been doing lately, with all the lil adjustments n effects i like to add to my pieces- which also shows how much more comfortable i’ve gotten with my process. the 2020 one was done around the time i was still getting used to procreate, whereas now i’m Pretty Dang Comfortable

so we’re leaning a lot more heavily into the illustration aspect, and then Also this is the first year i haven’t used ANY of the three flowers i usually associate with silan (pansies, daffodils, and forget-me-nots), which!! felt really weird!! but i did take the purple flowers from last year (lavender maybe?) and incorporate them into this year’s so at least there’s Some continuity there, right?

overall to me the piece says contemplation, a bit of nostalgia, thinking about the past. there are definitely story elements related to this that i can’t really get into atm but i think these may be flowers silan remembers from his childhood? still figuring things out but that’s what i like to think

anyway yeah! i’m really happy i was able to finish this year’s portrait i mean illustration! hoping to keep this improvement train rolling so that next year maybe i can take this series even further off the rails- looking forward to it!! 💖

[littleeyesofpallas]

BLEACH - Name Games(?)

I was asked about zanpakutou stuff.  I don’t know that many have names and kanji choices that super jump out at me at a glance, but the ones that do come to mind all seem to have references to Buddhist icons that I’m sure don’t come across in English very well.  I tangentially touched on that when talking about Mayuri while doing my rambling series of posts about shinigami names, so I figure that'd be my entry point.

I don’t know that this will amount to a lot of posts, but if I had to pick one to start with the obvious choice would have to be Urahara Kisuke’s zanpakutou, Benihime.  It has a lot of wordplay involved that doesn’t come across in English all too obviously, plus a little religious reference tacked onto the very end.  I remember this being kind of a well circulated bit of trivia back in the 2000s but I don’t know that it’s persisted after all this time, so hopefully this isn’t too obvious to people.

The name itself, Benihime[紅姫] is written pretty straight forwardly as 紅: ”Crimson”/”Deep Red” and 姫:”Princess.“  The release call okiro[起きろ] generally gets translated as “Awaken” which is accurate, but “Get up” works as well, but technically it can also mean “Stay awake,” but that’s really more a semantic issue for English, in Japanese the phrase is used identically in either situation.  In the context of Benihime being only the second shikai we ever see (after Zabimaru) it seems like a concealed sword being told to “Wake up” makes the most sense, but there’s a bit of a case for “Stay awake” that I’ll get to a bit later...  (Also worth noting real quick is that this kind of “rousing” verb is specifically about being awake -vs- asleep, and doesn’t extend to the English colloquialisms relating to “[sexual] arousal.”)

Also, it’s never directly referenced, but both in cane form and in shikai form, Benihime has a unique blade shape that suggests that the sword blade has been broken; It lacks the distinctive Kissaki[切っ先]:”Point-area” of a katana blade, and the blade’s Hamon[刃文]:”Wave-pattern” doesn’t follow the edge of the blade properly at the terminus.  This plays into the themes well go on to address, so keep that in mind...

But the fun comes with the various techniques Urahara uses with Benihime over the course of the series.

The one we get almost immediately is Nake[啼け] which the English translations erroneously called “Scream.”  But the Japanese use of the word, as far as I can see, refers to “call (out)” or “bark” or “chirp” generally in reference to an animal noise or to make noise like an animal.  It can also mean “sing” as an extension of the same use but in reference to bird song.  But as a bit of colorful language it’s commonly used in the context of smut and romance to describe little gasps, whimpers, and yelps.

The “Scream” translation seems to have been taken from the Chinese use of the word, which is similar to the Japanese, but includes the additional animal sound “Howl” and by comparison can refer to “crying (loudly)”, “wailing”, and “weeping.”

A curious detail is that when Urahara first uses this to defend from Ichigo’s newly discovered Getsuga Tenshou technique, Benihime produces a red shield, and it’s actually hard to notice at a glance, but the blade of Benihime is dripping with blood as a result, even though neither Urahara nor Ichigo actually got cut by it.  However, when Urahara uses this a second time when defending Ichigo from Yammy, there is no bleeding blade effect.

This shield is also later given the name Chikasumi no Tate[血霞の盾] written as “Shield of Blood Mist.” This all works to reinforce the association with the “Crimson” aspect of the name specifically with blood.

With the same “Cry!” command Urahara can also use his own zangeki projectile, like Getsuga Tenshou.

Kamisori[剃刀] is just the word for “Razor,” it appears to produce the same effect as when “Cry” is used offensively rather than defensively.  It’s possible Kubo chose to retcon “Cry” into being defensive only and renamed the attacking move as “Razor.”  It was never made especially clear...

And Tsuppane[突ッ撥] which is a weird construction of “Stab”/”Pierce”/”Prick” and “Reject“/”Exclude” but it’s a homonym with Tsuppane[突っ撥ねる] meaning “Reject“/”Spurn“/”Turn down.“  These two can be tabled for now as well, but they’ll fall into place by the end...

Finally, Shibari[縛り] means “Bind“/”Restrain”/”Tie up” but it’s specifically the shorthand name for the Japanese method of rope bondage sex play.  And in conjunction with this Urahara uses Hiasobi, Benihime, Juzutsunagi[火遊 紅姫 数珠繋] which breaks down as 火遊: “Fire Play,” "Crimson Princess” again, 数珠繋: “Prayerbead Chain.”

So, if it wasn’t clear where we were headed with all of these, Blood, Crying, Razors, Spurning, Rope Play, Fire Play, and s Chain of Beads might seem all over the place if you take them at face value, but the central theme being evoked here is BDSM.  Which lend an extremely curious tone to Urahara’s character.  More over, there is the broken blade imagery I mentioned before.  Back in the day I had sort of wondered if maybe breaking his sword had been part of Urahara’s exile*, but the state of the blade never got properly addressed, and even the exile would just sit on the backburner for years...

*At the time, I associated it with Kuukaku and Ganju’s similarly severed blades, but they also weren’t ever addressed.  The impression I’d gotten from the overall designs had been that when the Shiba family were stripped of their shinigami nobility status their zanpakutou were all broken as a means of rendering them incapable of ever effectively fighting back against Soul Society.  I also just kind of assumed there would be a similar explanation for Yoruichi’s conspicuously absent zanpakutou.

But there’s an extra detail in this...  We know how zanpakutou work: a Shinigami imprints their own soul onto a blank sword, their sword spirit develops in their inner world, and through meditation they can commune, negotiate, and make peace with their sword.  At the highest levels of that mutual understanding they can summon their swords out into the world, first as shikai and then as bankai, increasing in power and finesse the better they understand their sword spirits and thus themselves.

We see distinctly, in the case of Yumichika, that an inability to make peace with their swords can result in sub-optimal powers: Yumichika has his intentional misnaming of his sword and partial release; Zaraki has his entire inability (at first) to call on his sword at all; and Ikkaku and Shuuhei both have disagreements with the attitude of their swords --Ikkaku calling Houzoukimaru lazy, and Shuuhei being uncomfortable with Kazeshini’s bloodlust.

But we know that Ichigo took a short cut to forging this deep lifelong friendship with his sword, and the fact that the two aren’t in sync and don’t communicate with one another well is a repeated hurdle for Ichigo.  Thanks to Urahara’s special doll Ichigo just summoned Zangetsu directly into the outside world, requiring zero meditation or self reflection on his part.  And Urahara used this same method, to achieve bankai in just 3 days.

So, Urahara rushed his bankai training, his blade is broken, and its techniques all point to a BDSM theme.  The way I always saw this was that it sounded like Urahara forcibly subdued Benihime instead of ever negotiating with her.  His sword is broken because he broke it himself as part of asserting dominance over it. (not unlike how Mayuri broke his own shikai as a form of punishment after the Szayel fight)  And it lined up with a lot of the ongoing ominous tones surrounding Urahara all throughout...  At least until he just kind of vanished during the long drag of the Arrancar Arc, before being hurriedly shoved into the Arc finale.

So when we did finally get his bankai reveal in the Blood War Arc, some things fell into place rather neatly, but others felt a little out of sync with everything else...

Viz translated Kannonbiraki Benihime Aratame[観音開紅姫改メ] as “Opened Red Princess Neo” which isn’t strictly speaking wrong, but it communicates nothing of importance.   観音開: doesn’t really have a clean English equivalent, but it refers to what I can only think to define as “opening outward in two pieces from the center.”  Specifically this tends to reference double doors, or similar but not explicitly door structures like windows or shutters, etc...  It also refers to filleting a fish or dissecting a body in an accordant manner: with a central incision with two flaps peeled back from it. It’s the term used for a “Butterfly cut” in cooking.  Benihime is just “Crimson Princess” again, no alternate kanji or homonym play like some other bankai, plus 改メ: which is a suffix indicating “revised”/”modified.”

There’s also what I assume was intentional wordplay here where the  観音 in 観音開: “double-door” is the name of the Japanese Buddhist god(dess) Kannon.  Kannon (based on the Chinese Guanyin, who is a highly modified interpretation of what was the Hindu Avalokitesvara.) is worshiped as a goddess of infinite mercy.  So  観音+開: might imply something like “Opened Kannon”/“Kannon Unlocked”/”Empty Kannon” evoking imagery of the Goddess herself opened up on an operating table, tying back to the specific physical feature of being opened up from a center line, like double doors.

So the actual vibe of the full name is something like...

“Dissected Goddess-of-Mercy: Modified-Bloodred Princess”

Which has some wild and sinister implications, not dissimilar to Mayuri’s Ashisouji-jizo.  They share tones of corrupting or defiling the divine, and specifically gods of mercy and protection, distorted and mutilated.

[whythinktoomuch]

Supergirl Mean Girls AU

Not only has Lena Luthor been home-schooled for most of her life, she’s also spent the last 15 years or so in Japan, where her tech extraordinaire parents had been tinkering away on various prestigious projects. But when a joint teaching position opens up at National City University—very competitive salary, tenure fast track, near unlimited funds for research, free education for any & all children—it’s too good of an offer to refuse. 

But Lena doesn’t quite fit in. Partially because she’s unfamiliar with American social norms, mostly because she tried to bond with another student in Japanese, only to find that Jess Chin was not in fact Japanese at all. 

It isn’t until her second week at school that Lena actually makes friends. Sam Arias is sharp, slightly abrasive and Jack Spheer is admittedly almost too gay to function, but they’re funny and most of their jokes seem to be directed at people who aren’t Lena, which is a blessing in and of itself. 

Then Lena meets the Plastics. 

It happens because she gets lost on her way to the frat house—even Google Maps was no match for her unrelenting unfamiliarity with the area—and apparently, women who arrive to a party late and unaccompanied were at constant risk of unwanted frat boy attention. After her tenth consecutive refusal to come on and just take the shot, Lena is about ready to just leave the place, her latest attempt at enculturation be damned. 

But just in the nick of time comes an unexpected wave of vitriol—scathing remarks, far nastier than anything even Sam would have said—all neatly packaged in the most casual of tones, and Lena watches in awe as the boys all quickly disperse, with their heads drooped and tails tucked between their legs. 

Her knight in shining plastic armor introduces herself as Andrea Rojas. 

“Are you here alone?” Andrea asks. 

Lena looks past Andrea’s shoulder, sees her friends in far corner, waving enthusiastically at her. “Uh.” 

“Well, you should sit with us then,” Andrea says, all matter-of-fact as she makes a Lena-sized space for her on the couch. 

And for some reason, Lena does. 

//

The Plastics are the worst. 

Or at least that’s what Sam insists on saying whenever they’re brought up, and she’s downright appalled when Lena admits that she actually enjoys hanging out with them. 

“Are you going to make me choose?” Lena asks. “Them or you and Jack?” 

Sam snorts. “No? What is this, high school? You can hang out with whoever you want, I don’t care.” She then raises an eyebrow meaningfully. Slyly. “But if you were to infiltrate the Plastics so as to help me destroy them from the inside out, I wouldn’t be opposed.” 

“But why would I ever agree to something like that?” 

“Pfft, lame,” Sam says, rolling her eyes. “Come on, let’s go buy me a coffee.” 

// 

There’s a girl in Lena’s advanced calculus class. A soccer player with blonde hair, big hands, and a smile bright enough to light up her entire well-proportioned face. Lena sits behind her, close enough to count each and every pink freckle dusting the back of her neck, an activity that Lena engages in at least three times every class. 

Her name is Kara. 

//

"Oh, you can’t like her.” 

Lena is so miffed that she actually stops eating. Because not only did Eve ask her to divulge her crush, which took a healthy amount of cajoling, but now she’s trying to tell Lena whom she can and cannot like. 

“If it’s ‘cause we’re both girls,” Lena starts, already bristling. 

“What? No, no one cares about that.” Siobhan gives an eyeroll so heavy that it could rival that of Sam’s. “She’s Andrea’s ex.” 

Lena’s stomach churns something terrible and strange as she takes in this new piece of information. “Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh.” Eve shakes her head with a slight giggle. “You’re so lucky that Andrea’s out sick today because this would have been so awkward!” 

“Yeah,” Lena says. “Really awkward.” 

“But don’t worry. We’re not going to tell anyone. Right, Siobhan?” 

Siobhan just gives a noncommittal hum and shrug, and Lena goes back to poking at her salad. 

// 

“Regret falling in with the Plastics yet?” Sam asks, when Lena apprises her of her latest dilemma. Jack tosses popcorn in Sam’s face and tells her to stop being so mean. 

//

“So... Siobhan told me about your little crush,” Andrea says, practically cornering Lena in the dining hall. 

Lena has to clench her jaw to keep it from dropping. “I wasn’t gonna, like, you know, I literally had no plans or any—”

“It’s fine,” Andrea sighs dramatically. “I don’t even care. We broke up like months ago and it’s not like she’s my property, right? If you like her and she likes you, you guys have my blessing, or whatever.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, rea—oof!” 

It takes five whole minutes for Andrea to extricate herself from Lena’s sudden yet formidable embrace. 

//

Lena’s body is buzzing all over when she steps into the soccer house—her skin from the excitement, her head from the two hasty shots of tequila she took with Sam before leaving the dorms. 

Andrea had texted her not too long ago to invite her to the party, with promises of ample face time with one Kara Danvers, and Lena came all but running. 

"Is Kara here yet?” Lena asks eagerly, as soon as she finds the Plastics. 

“Oh, is she ever,” Siobhan muses, but doesn’t elaborate any further when Lena shoots her a confused frown. 

“Okay, so where is she?” 

“Around,” Andrea says with a casual shrug. “Oh, by the way, have you met my girlfriend?” 

And with that, she waves Kara over from the across the room before promptly tugging her down into a liplock that is as drawn out as it is inappropriate. Lena looks away after about two minutes. 

“They got back together a couple days ago,” Eve hastily explains to Lena under her breath. “Andrea wanted me to apologize to you for her... Sorry!” 

Lena just nods, eyes drifting father and farther away from the happy couple. Until Siobhan digs an elbow in her ribs. “Ow. What?” 

“I said,” Andrea starts, drawing Lena’s attention back to her, lips swollen but thankfully unattached to Kara’s, “don’t you agree with me, Lena?”

“About what?” 

Andrea rolls her eyes playfully. “Sorry, she can be such a space cadet sometimes,” she confides to Kara in a stage whisper. 

“What? No...” Kara says. “Lena’s in my calc class. She’s so super smart! Did you know tha—”

“Shh.” 

Andrea briefly touches her fingers to Kara’s lips, rendering her speechless, eyes fluttering slightly dazed and dopey. Lena feels her stomach protest, but doesn’t look away. 

“As I was saying...” Andrea says, turning back to Lena with a knowing triumphant grin. “So, my girlfriend was thinking about getting bangs, but I told her that it was a dumb idea. She looks better like this, with her hair pushed back.” She brushes Kara’s hair back with her hand as if to demonstrate. “Lena, please tell Kara that her hair looks sexy pushed back.” 

Lena watches as Andrea’s fingers continue their journey, running carelessly down the length of Kara’s long blonde hair, tugging possessively at the very end. 

“Your hair looks sexy pushed back,” Lena says flatly. 

“Oh.” For some reason, Kara blushes down to her neck. “Uh... Thanks!” 

“Yes. Thank you,” Andrea adds, eyebrow raised. 

Lena flashes a small smile. “Yup.” 

She looks away when Andrea and Kara start making out again. 

She finds a flimsy reason to leave soon after. 

// 

Lena spends the following day holed up in her dorm room, wallowing in her hangover and misery. 

At first, she doesn’t call Sam because she doesn’t need someone telling her something stupid like I told you so. But then, she does call Sam because maybe there was indeed a thing or two she might need from someone who’d say something mean like I told you so. 

“Yeah?” Sam barks into the phone in lieu of a proper greeting. 

“You know that thing you said about sabotaging the Plastics, destroying from the inside out?”

“Yeah?” 

“I’m in.”