#debating whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing hah

[lead0]

hello. can you please draw soldier eating a burger thank you.

yes

[bartistic]

Bruce Goes To The Market!

knife tw, food cw, incredibly dumb self-indulgent concept cw, outsider (oc) pov

It is universally acknowledged that a cashier possessing free time, will be in want of an extra task to fill that free time. At least, that’s what James’ managers seemed to think. Privately, he agreed, as he found restocking the shelves to be a most agreeable pastime, one that could in fact suck up hours of his eight hour closing shift.

He was in the soda aisle, debating whether sparkling water belonged with seltzer or with the rest of the store brand items, when he noticed a broad-shouldered man in sunglasses and a Gotham University sweatshirt, inspecting the selection of diet tonic water and looking utterly flummoxed. Customer in need of assistance!

“Hi, how are you doing tonight? You need help finding anything?” Mentally, James winced at the preppy-ness of his ‘customer service robot voice’ as his favorite coworker Stephie liked to call it. Luckily, he’d thrown his voice out enough screaming to Queen karaoke the night before that his voice stayed in the normal octaves rather than shooting into the stratosphere. The man straightened up and looked down towards James, who suddenly felt very short in all of his 5’9” glory. (Well, 5’8 3/4” but who’s counting.)

“Yes, actually. I’m new to the store, could you direct me to where the soap is?” Oh god. Of all the things it had to be the one item James swore was never in the same aisle twice.

“Of course!” He lied through his teeth. “Here, right this way.” Turning, he set off towards the general direction of where the soap tended to lie, with a variation of four different aisles. Luckily, the first aisle was correct, and he watched, intrigued, as the customer gave a thorough inspection to at least 14 different bars of soap. “Anything else I can help you with?” He added, as the man finally selected a bar and placed it in his basket. The man looked sheepish.

“This is actually the first time I’ve been in a grocery store. I’m not usually the one doing the shopping. My—the person I live with gave me a list, but I honestly don’t know where or even what half of these things are.” He held out a grocery list, scrawled in an elegant cursive. It was double-sided. James checked the front of the store, where the other cashier was engrossed in his phone while trying not to appear engrossed in his phone. It was an hour and a half until they closed, and he was pretty sure there was only one other customer in the store at most.

“Sure! Alright, so our first step should probably be to hit the deli, seeing as they have the longest wait times.” After walking the man through ordering Roast Beef, Prosciutto, Pastrami, Swiss, Havarti, Gouda, and Picante Provolone (what) they moved on to the canned goods. “We should probably grab a cart, I don’t think that basket’s going to be able to hold all of this.” Turning into the canned goods aisle, James sighed.

“Caution: Hazard Detected! Precaución, ¡Peligro Detectado!” The store’s resident useless robot assistant was stuck in place, screaming at a small bit of an onion peel that had fallen to the floor.

“Batsy, I swear to god.” James went over and kicked the peel under one of the shelves, pressing the button on the robot to reboot it.

“...Batsy?” The customer sounded somewhere between bemused and amused. Perhaps just ‘mused.

“Yeah, it’s our obtuse robot that only sees what’s right in front of it and makes a big fuss over literally nothing. It can’t even clean anything up, and the few moments there actually is a spill it just skids through it and makes it worse. Technically corporate calls it Patsy, short for Patrick, because we’re Patrick’s, you know? But since this is Gotham, we call it Batsy. Short for... Batrick. I’m not the one who came up with the name, that honor goes to my coworker Stephie. She’s, uh, not working tonight.” James internally began banging his head against the shelves. Why. Was. He. Like. This. “So, do you know what brand of chickpeas your... roommate wanted?”

/ / /

Finally, after another 45 minutes of shopping, they were ready to check out. James noticed the shift had changed while he was away. “Alright, so I can actually take you at this register over here, ‘cuz I’m still logged in and all.” He gulped as the customer began to load up onto the belt. This was... a lot of food. He’d scanned around a quarter when he officially ran out of room, turning to bagging instead. “Let’s get you another cart, actually, so we can load into that without squishing what you haven’t unpacked yet.” He moved to go grab one, but the customer was faster, jogging back with another cart before he could even finish bagging all the protein shakes. There were, admittedly, a lot of protein shakes.

Scanning the meat-substitutes, James scanned his own mind for an avenue of conversation. “So, you mentioned that it’s your son who’s the vegetarian. How old is he?”

“He’s 13. It’s not religious or health-wise or anything, he just really loves animals. Our house is practically a zoo on a good day, and that’s not even counting all his siblings.”

“Oh, how many kids do you have?” It had to be a fair amount for it to be ‘all’ his siblings. The customer opened his mouth as if to answer, then shut it again. He seemed to be thinking. Did he... not know how many kids he had??

“Legally I have... fffffour? Five? Yeah... that sounds right.” James tried to hide the bewildered expression in his own face, but he must not have been doing it well. “That makes me sound like such a bad father. No, I promise, I love them all, I just have quite a few of their friends living with us as well, and I’ve known those kids long enough to feel like they’re my kids too. Not to mention the whole difference between the ones I’ve adopted, the one who was my ward who I then retroactively adopted, the one I’m fostering, and the one who is legally an emancipated minor. And... the one who. Is no longer with us.” James blinked. That was indeed complicated.

“You must have a lot of love in your heart,” he settled on, finally.

“I just h— Oh, #%*$.” The blueberry container had burst open, all over the floor. James internally groaned.

“Oh no! Sorry about that, that’s the third one tonight. The packaging is just... not great. Do you want me to go get you another one?”

“No, I can get it. Thanks though.” The customer gingerly stepped through the minefield as James power walked to go get the clean up supplies. Six feet away, Batsy was screaming at a blueberry.

“Eat your heart out, Mister Miyagi,” he aimed a light roundhouse kick at the button to reboot the robot. Batsy got two feet before it encountered another world-ending-threat, danger level blueberry. James sighed and went to go clear that area first.

/ / /

Finally, almost everything was scanned. James was scanning the bread and rolls as the customer fit all the bags into the two carts, like an expert game of tetris. There were a few hiccups where James had had to explain that you probably shouldn’t bag Raid with milk, or that it was a good idea to double bag heavy items, or that you should wait until the end to put the eggs in (and there were a lot of eggs. Gaston-levels of eggs. Probably to be expected with that many kids in the house. Hah. eggs-pected.) But by the end they were working like a well-oiled machine. James bagged the last item, hit the button to total it, and watched as the customer realized he forgot his deli items.

“I’m just gonna— gonna run and go get those real quick. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Can you fill out the charity question real quick though? Th...thanks.” The customer was gone before James could question him on the fact that he’d used the custom amount option to apparently donate $1k to Gotham General’s children’s ward. It was... probably a mistake, but he’d wait around to check. He turned as he heard the beginnings of a commotion behind him, from the one other customer in the store. This guy’s whole aesthetic just screamed gross, from the white-boy dreads to the Blue Lives Matter gaiter mask. It looked as if he was having trouble at self-checkout. James was about to head over to help when his coworker passed him. He turned back to keep an eye on the clock. 10 minutes until closing. Please come back with the deli items soon. He heard an aggressive murmuring that sent chills up his spine, a distinct feeling of Not Right Bad. He turned back to where his coworker was engaged with helping the other customer. His coworker who was... very pale. Frightened. The customer whose hand glinted silver with... oh #%*$, that’s a knife. Not Good Very Bad... oh hell no, you are not hurting my coworker on my watch.

“HEY #%$&FACE, EAT BEANS!” As the aggressive customer turned to meet the container of garbanzo beans that was currently hurtling towards his face at the maximum speed a theatre-kid-who-never-did-sports could throw, the world seemed to throw down. Faintly, James could hear rational thoughts pounding at the door to his mind, begging to be let in. Thoughts like ‘They’re definitely going to fire you for attacking a customer’ and ‘They’re definitely going to fire you for cursing in front of a customer’ and ‘They’re definitely going to fire you for damaging the merchandise’ and ‘You can’t even throw a ball to save your life, there’s no way that’s going to hit him.’ Praying to Freddie Mercury, Elton John, and all other things holy, James watched as the beans sailed through the air and struck their target true— albeit a little lower than planned.”

Grossface automatically brought his hands down to protect his nethers, apparently forgetting that their was a knife in his hands. He let out a second agonized howl as he stabbed himself in the balls. Blindly, James groped around for more ammunition. Holding out a zucchini as threateningly as he could, he watched as the would-be aggressor ran out of the store as fast as he could with both hands clasping his junk. “Are you okay?” He asked his coworker, feeling his voice echo through the suddenly very-quiet-sounding store. She nodded mutely. He nodded back, then turned back to his register and oH shit there’s His Customer, holding the deli items.

“Nice shot.” Okay, this time he definitely sounded amused.

“I... am so sorry about the beans, I can get you a refund on those or I can go get you some more or—”

“No need, they definitely went to a good cause.” The customer grinned and held out the deli items. Faintly, James began to wrestle with the bag to get to the barcodes. Finally, everything was scanned, for good.

“Alright, will that be everything?” The clock read two minutes until closing.

“Yes, that should be everything. Again, thank you for all your help.” James watched as even with the membership points taken off, the total soared to over $750.

“Alright, your total is... $754.33, here’s some coupons and a survey slip. If you fill that out you get entered for a drawing to win a $500 gift card. Which... I don’t know that you’d need, but. Why not.” The customer reached into his wallet and counted out 5 $100 bills. Then he pulled out a black card. He paid off the total with the card, then handed the bills to James.

“Here you go, I wasn’t sure how much you tip cashiers.” James opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a fish.

“People don’t normally... tip cashiers...” and especially not HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS.

“Oh. Well, you were a good cashier. You deserve it. And here—” at this he pulled a crisp business card out of his wallet. “At Wayne Enterprises we could use quick-thinkers like you.” Pulling down his sunglasses, he gave a quick wink. James waved absentmindedly as BRUCE #%*$ING WAYNE walked out of the store. He looked down at the business card. Written upon it were the words: “Call here for an interview, mention Malone and they’ll know I sent you. Best of luck with the current job— BW”

James sat down. The clock was 10 minutes past closing before he remembered to look at it. There were a million thoughts running through his head. Oh my god I joked around to a billionaire. I cursed in front of a billionaire. I chucked a can of beans into a man’s nutsack in front of a billionaire.

But oddly enough, the only question that remained at the top of his mind was this:

This is because I have black hair and blue eyes, isn’t it.

[wandaownsthisass]

If You Need Me (pt.2)

So this is the second part from the requested anon! I honestly had no idea where to go with this, but a happy ending is confirmed (my heart can't handle angst with WandaVision going on). Anyways, hope you enjoy, sorry it's a lil short.

Warnings: None!

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x F!Reader

Summary: Set after Y/N's birthday party, catching up with friends and your ex.

“Y/N you here?”

Groaning to the voice echoing through your apartment, you finally open your eyes to Steve standing at the entrance of your bedroom.

“Mmm hi Steve, how can I help you?” You say, rolling away so your back is to him, trying to drown out the bright light shining through the doorway.

“Well, no one’s heard from you since last night, you disappeared on us. We were all worried” He says, making his way towards the bed and you feel the weight of his body near your feet.

Rolling back so that your head is against the frame, you stare at Steve confused for a moment before answering, “What do you mean? I couldn’t find any of you. Plus, I dropped my phone in the toilet. Actually, Wanda was the one that helped me get home”

“You talked with Wanda?”

“She didn’t really let me have a choice; you know how persistent she is”

He laughs, “Yes I do. So…how was that?”, he pushes carefully knowing the sensitive topic wasn’t something you desired talking about.

“She apologized actually. For everything. Not that it means anything to me though”

“I’m sure it doesn’t”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You defend, getting increasingly annoyed at Steve.

“Despite how convincing you think you are; I don’t think you’ve ever hated Wanda; I don’t think you could. In fact, I think you still love her”

“Oh? I didn’t know you could read minds.” You reply sarcastically, “Did you also come here to drill me on my feelings?”

“No, I just find it entertaining is all. Come on, let’s go get some breakfast”

Later in the day you found yourself in the company of Steve, Bucky, and Natasha back at the compound.

“You’re lying, there’s no way you can hear us from your room” Bucky cringes, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“Now why would I lie about that?” Natasha is smirking.

“What’s new with you Y/N? We never see you here anymore” Bucky jumps in, trying desperately to switch the conversation.

“Not a whole lot, and yeah, I just decided to separate work and my personal life”

They know that you and Wanda’s separation pushed you out of the compound, not that it was a bad thing, being separate from the rest of the team was beneficial. But you’d be lying if you said Wanda wasn’t a large factor in that decision.

“She’s busy ignoring her feelings for Wanda…” Steve mutters under his breath, you immediately shoot a glare his direction.

He just shrugs, eyeing the liquor on the table as an excuse for his confession.

“Thanks for that Steve, to be frank I am completely over it” You lie, and you’re not sure if you are trying to convince yourself or the others at this point.

Luckily, you’re spared from having to share more, when you hear laughing coming from down the hall. It’s an all too familiar laugh, one that always makes you feel a sharp pang in your chest. The other three send you a look when Wanda, Clint, and Sam enter the living room.

Her laughing stops once she notices your presence, visibly collecting herself before sending you a smile.

“Hey Y/N, long time no see! I’m sorry I couldn’t make it last night, duty calls.” Clint says, giving you a hug as he reaches you.

“It’s fine! Guess you’ll just have to make it up to me somehow” You shrug, he sends you a glare in return until you both smile and sit down.

You can’t help but notice that Wanda is still lingering, debating whether or not to sit down, seeing as the only spot left is right beside you.

“Wanda, are you going to sit down or stand there awkwardly?” Clint chimes, clearly oblivious to the situation.

“Oh! Um, yeah”

You scoot over giving her some room and everyone seems to pick up on the painfully uncomfortable silence between all of you.

“Wanda, I heard you helped the birthday girl get home last night, how chivalrous of you” Steve says, sipping nonchalantly on his drink.

He once again gets another glare from you, “Well she wouldn’t have had to but seeing as you ditched me, I’m glad she was there. I could have been kidnapped or killed”

“Hah, Y/N have you forgotten that you are an Avenger?” Clint laughs

Wanda’s eyes are on you now as you realize your admittance.

“Y/N can handle herself, I just happened to be nearby”

A small blush rises to your cheeks as you make eye contact, her eyes searching your face briefly before returning to the conversation.

“Well, I should probably get going, it was nice seeing all of you, but my quiet apartment awaits me” You say, standing up abruptly.

Saying your goodbyes, you make your way to your car before realizing your keys are not on you.

“Looking for these?” Wanda says behind you, turniing on your heel the red head is standing close, causing your breath to hitch. Wanda notices of course, eyeing your lips for a moment before handing you your keys. “Oh, um yeah. Thank you. Also, thanks again for last night, I’m sorry for being a bitch” She stands there for a moment contemplating and you take the silence as the opportunity to turn back towards your car, but before you can fully turn around a hand wraps around your left wrist. “Wait-I- “ “You what?” “I love you” She chokes out, her hand is still wrapped around your wrist as her eyes search your face desperately for any emotion. Inhaling sharply the words wash over you, you’re not sure how long you two are standing there before she releases her grasp on you. Your mind is reeling, and you hope that Wanda can’t hear the mess going on inside your head. Since the break-up, you had come to the realization that you’d never hear Wanda say these words, not to you at least. It’d been hard for her to open up since she lost Pietro and the Sokovia Accords. You understood of course but waiting for her to possibly come around was heartbreaking. Before you could come to the conclusion together, she broke up with you, leaving with no explanation but you knew why, and you were forced to accept it. “I’m sorry it took me so long and I’m sorry I left. It was wrong of me, I just couldn’t imagine someone loving me but then you came along and showed me what it was like, and I got scared” “Wanda you don’t need to apologize, I’m over it. I don’t hate you”

"Are you over me?" Wanda speaks, it so quiet you almost don’t hear her. A tear falls down her cheek as she watches you. It breaks your heart to see her like this, it was rare to see her so emotional.

“No” You admit, “I don’t think I ever was, even though I wanted to be. I wanted to be over you so badly”

It’s clear Wanda is trying to hide her relief, “I showed up last night to tell you but now in hindsight I realize that was kind of stupid of me”

You’re not sure what to say at this point, but you do notice her lips, suddenly that’s all you can think of. Part of you wants to walk away, be done with her for good and move on. The other part though wants to kiss her and forget everything that’s happened.

Wanda catches on of course, licking her lips teasingly doing her best to elicit a reaction out of you. It works almost immediately, your eyes dragging back up to hers. Her pupils flashing red momentarily before you pull her in.

The redhead doesn’t hesitate, slamming you against your car door, a moan escaping your mouth giving her the access she wanted. Wanda’s tongue sweeps into your mouth as her warm hands reach the hem of your shirt, her thumbs rubbing your bare skin.

Wanda’s moaning against your mouth, her fingers reaching higher now digging into your skin. Your leg finds its way in between her thighs, pushing up against her core and just as Wanda’s fingers reached the edge of your bra, a blaring sound breaks you two apart.

“What the fuck?!” You jump away, crashing into Wanda’s body.

The redhead’s eyes are glowing, “I’m sorry I think that was my fault”, she confesses sheepishly.

You both laugh before you cut her off, “I should probably get going anyways, it’s getting late”

“I’ll call you tomorrow?” You add.

“I can’t wait, drive safe Y/N”

“Goodnight Wan”

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-12-25

I’m not going to spend time BLOGGING an upd8 on Christmas morning!

...yes I am who the fuck am I kidding.  (Bonus stuff and Hiveswap are still well on hold though.)

So are we gonna follow up on the main ship?  Probably not, right, with that perfect Karkat point to cut away, right?  We’re just going to leave Roxy’s question hanging, as well as makeouts etiquette, and leave while having seen a COUPLE FRAMES of non-possessed canon Jade with only whatever fun fanart was inspired across the internet by the moment to tide us over????

Yeah, probably.

Ugh, more Dirk.  I guess it’s overdue.  :(

> CHAPTER 16. Welcome to my Secret Lair

Oh huh, I guess not?  So... Jane’s, or Rose and Kanaya’s?

Karkat stays for longer than John thought he would. They talk a bit, but mostly they are quiet. Eventually, Karkat gets called away on yet more important war business, leaving John with one final touch on the shoulder. John leans into it in response, though he’s a bit ashamed of chasing down a sliver of physical affection so soon after obliterating Karkat’s evening like he had.

Pretty much, yeah.  Can’t blame either of them.

When Karkat is finally gone, John still doesn’t move. It isn’t as though he has nowhere else to go, since there are quite a few places he might attempt to make himself useful, for better or for worse.

You’re still abandoning the task that was explicitly yours to protect your literal kid and his friends, but, oh well.  Low-point.  Dave dead, house dead, broke news, I get it.

He just doesn’t feel ready for that yet. The remnants of his house are still smoldering, and he can’t stop staring at them. It would make sense, he thinks, to want to root around through the rubble for anything that’s still intact; some half-charred keepsake to claim as the last thing left that’s still his. But he doesn’t want to do it, and he doesn’t want to think about it. And he still can’t move.

Can’t move.  No Breath huh?  What’s going to get him to, then?

> (==>)

Oh boy, that might help.  XD  She’s pretty good at that.

> (==>)

Still with the waistline gap.  And was his phone always yellow like his God-Tier shoes?

ROXY: hey john can u do me a quick solid ROXY: actly idk how quick itll be but its definitely solid ROXY: harry anderson says i just missed u being here but could u skip back on over?

Nice, huh!  No judgment, just a hey-any-chance-you-could-swing-back.  He sort of needs to be needed right now, in a simple, almost everyday non-judgmental way I guess.  (That’s what he NEEDED anyway-- whether he deserved it though is up for debate.)

ROXY: i need help w/smth and yr darling boy is holed up in his room working on some fuckin craft project or other and cant be bothered

YES SEW JOHN A BETTER FITTING FUCKING OUTFIT

ROXY: and now that me and u are freshly on speakin terms again i might as well take advantage of that olive branch and put u to work ROXY: assumin you havent died in an air raid, that is ROXY: which id also be interested in knowin about so if u wld be so kind as to reply instead of leavin me hangin

Heheheh.  Gosh Roxy is always the best.

JOHN: yea yea sorry im here. JOHN: i just had a hard time getting my phone out of these fucking tiny pants.

Hah.

JOHN: and also my house is bombed out so i'm kinda grappling with that. JOHN: but i honestly am not sure how much longer i need to sit around staring at it. trying to align my memories of my youth with whatever is happening right now so JOHN: short version is no i’m not dead, and yeah i can come back over there and help you out. ROXY: oh sweet yr alive and down to do manual labor its a win/win JOHN: see you soon.

Yep!  Pulled away from all the metaphorical, ultra-meaningful bullshit, back to some brass tacks with some easy humor.  Definitely something Roxy can do well.~

> (==>)

EXCUSE ME.  What is that outfit and pose.  Did you--

ROXY: sup ROXY: follow me ROXY: well were just going to my room so i guess technically u know the way JOHN: haha ok.

Did you invite him over for the manual labor of banging you while your son is sewing in the other room

Or maybe the labor is making him a new sibling.  JFC

Is this plan part of why we got the sudden content warning that was mocked or was that mainly for Hiveswap 

John follows, trying to shake the ominous feeling he got from what she’d just said. He’d been in and out of this house a lot in the past few days. Why should this be any different?

I DUNNO JOHN DOES THIS SEEM DIFFERENT TO YOU

> (==>)

Yea this seems like a fucc room.

JOHN: it’s not like i could forget! ROXY: ya i guess u only really saw the living room when you were here the other day but i have changed some stuff up ROXY: done a lil redecoratin here n there

So it’s MORE of a fucc room than previously >__>”

ROXY: may have to do a smidge more if my old bff decides im next on the list for bombing out ROXY: but so far so good

Ah geez.

ROXY: just a coupla exploded cars in the yard from some shenanigans our dear son and his friends were in but u kno it is what it is!!!

Well, that’ll buff out easy.

ROXY: can i get u anything? ROXY: just made some coffee JOHN: no, uh, i’m good.

Of course she has a fancy handled winecoffeeglass  (and the handle does look ridiculous but it’d be too hot to hold otherwise)

Roxy shrugs and swirls her own coffee around in her novelty mug. John looks around. A lot about the room is the same. The family photos, the rug. There’s a lot more cat stuff in there now, though. The bed is new. John feels like he’s about to take a test he hasn’t studied for. He makes himself focus on what she’s saying.

That would be the feeling.

> (==>)

MY GOD.  Roxy is so fucking good at this holy shit

She KNOWS she’s making him squirm and she loves it

JOHN: so uh anyway. JOHN: what was this favor? ROXY: yo why dont u just come rest yr tush for a bit ROXY: take a lil relax next 2 me here JOHN: haha uh. JOHN: roxy i uh. JOHN: im flattered, but i don’t know if that’s really the right step right now. JOHN: don’t get me wrong, everything seems so fucked up right now that when i try to think about what might actually BE the right step, it feels like a huge cartoon question mark might physically manifest over my head. JOHN: but I’m not sure if um rekindling our physical relationship is really the best--

So is Roxy trolling him, about to reveal she wasn’t thinking of sex and was just making things seem sultry?  Or just had “lol jk” as an option-select, maybe.

> (==>)

ROXY: r u kiddin me rn egbert JOHN: i’m not? unless you were, in which case yeah lets say i was also kidding. JOHN: oh my god, i’m sorry, i don’t know why this making me freak out.

OH NOOO NOT THE DISDAAAAIN - CRITICAL HIT D:

ROXY: i remember our past boot knockin with fondness but that is a situation im not interested in revisiting

boot knockin XD

ROXY: look john ROXY: i was trying to be polite about it ROXY: offering u sustenance n rest n all ROXY: but you look like shit ROXY: i just wanted to catch up on the whole heinous war situation were in and maybe check in on e/o before leaping strait to the real n actual nonsexual manual labor favor i have in mind for u JOHN: oh.

Hey, she can’t help looking sexy she’s too good at it.

Is the manual labor moving the crashed cars?  Can’t Roxy pull that off on her own, or... banish the cars to the void or something?  (Oh, but WOULD she want to do it on her own when she can rope in John and bring him down to earth by giving him a useful task?  And admittedly his strength and wallet would make things easier.)

John feels his shoulders unbunch. Of course. Yeah. He’s almost embarrassed by how relieved he feels. So what if his ex wife wanted to hook up? Shouldn’t that be a situation he could navigate? Don’t people like to find solace in human physical connection during dire times? Why did the idea of it make his mind white out in panic more than, say, any number of the traumas he just experienced?

Probably some gender stuff mixed up in there too, June.

He doesn’t know, but he believes Roxy that he must look pretty haggard. He probably feels haggard? Maybe sitting down will feel better.

Just put your feet up yeah

> (==>)

WHAT A CUTE IMAGE

JOHN: sorry. like i said, my "how to react to stuff" meter is completely fucked right now. ROXY: thats fair bud

she’s used to being patient with you don’t worry otherwise you never would’ve gotten this far

ROXY: real fast i do need to do a quick takeback of all that shit i said last time we talked about janey not being literally the most evil person we knew or whatever ROXY: i guess i was hopped up on arguin or somethin since that was before we hit our conversational vibe bc of course u were right and i shoulda listened

Ouch.  Yeah, we saw just lately just how far off the deep end she was.  (Where was that funny upd8 reaction art summarizing the bit where Kanaya was holding Tavros hostage and Jane was transparently debating “hmm do I let my son die?” and Kanaya and Tavros were just looking at each-other flat-mouthed nervous?  I REALLY wanted to share that but I don’t usually want to reblog or put most stuff HS^2 not under a read-more, for spoiler purposes, usually.)

ROXY: im just glad ur ok ROXY: or like alive JOHN: yeah, jury's still out on "ok" but, you know. ROXY: ya ROXY: u said ur house is gone?? JOHN: yep. JOHN: completely. ROXY: jeez ROXY: i would ask how ur feelin but like the answer 2 that has got 2b "prtty bad"

Talk it ouuuut~~  get those feels out there and articulated john

JOHN: yeah. JOHN: i mean. JOHN: no? JOHN: it’s weird. JOHN: it feels like it should be a bigger deal, I guess? JOHN: like it’s my HOUSE. JOHN: but mostly it always felt like my dad’s house? JOHN: and when i started living there after i moved out of here, it was like i crammed myself back into whatever was left of my kid self? JOHN: and it didn’t feel good, but it at least was familiar, you know? JOHN: like living there let me feel closer to my dad, trying to be like the way i remember him, or like how i remember him wanting me to be, or something? JOHN: and i didn’t realize how much i hated doing that until i saw it all go up in flames. JOHN: so i guess i could have used my powers to stop the fire and save whatever was left of the place, but i couldn’t bring myself to do it. JOHN: like some fucked up part of me was glad i got there too late? JOHN: so i just sat there, watching, trying to figure out why watching my house burn down felt like i was being released from prison. JOHN: and even now i keep trying to explain it away, as though it’s because of how fucked up everything else is that it made me feel good. JOHN: but that’s just bullshit. JOHN: it DID feel good. JOHN: i DO feel free. JOHN: sorry.

I was kind of saying some Breath/Blood stuff at the time of him losing his last tie to his stubborn sticking-to-his-kid-self bit?  Except now we’re mixing it in with June Egbert and his gender-identity questions too.

ROXY: no need 2 apologize ROXY: we just delved in2 my whole gender thing last time so it seems fine for u to have a turn JOHN: i didn’t say it was a gender thing.

Oh shit

ROXY: well no i just meant like i did some sharing ROXY: like referrin 2 the topic i brought up when we chatted last ROXY: but like now that u mention it ROXY: *meaningful pause* JOHN: … JOHN: i JOHN: ROXY: lol well we can move on 2 the favor part if youd rather ROXY: stick a lil pin in that topic n come back 2 it when u have had sleep

Are you just INCREDIBLY incisive Roxy or have you and John talked about this before?

ROXY: like i said the other day its not like this shits figureoutable in 1 sitting anyways JOHN: yeah... ROXY: sooooooo ROXY: movin on

It’s just fine for Roxy to slow-roll this yeah, if she’s going to pry open that door a little

ROXY: dont be mad but theres a part of the house u didnt know abt the whole time u lived here JOHN: what? ROXY: yea ROXY: i got a secret lair ROXY: for my sciences

OH FUCK YES SCIENCE LAB, of COURSE Roxy would want a cool science lab basement because she always wants a cool science lab basement

ROXY: and i get to it via a transportalizer underneath our bed ROXY: which is 2 heavy 2 move by my lonesome so i just needed to borrow some o your aforementioned powers of wind

Okay no.  Wait.  What the fuck?

First of all, as funny and MSPaintAdventures-y as furniture being in the way of things is, why would you block it with a bed too heavy to move, but,

Second of all, more importantly, how is a GOD-TIER ROXY not strong enough to lift a heavy bed?!?!?!?  Either she’s lying to get John involved in things or this is a gendered cop-out because these characters are superheroes at the TOP of their echeladders, given obnoxiously powerful video-game strength and athletics only to then have ascended into DEITIES.  God-Tier Roxy could probably have lifted a bed like that when she was SEVENTEEN!  And now she’s an ADULT, out-of-shape or otherwise!  If this were a whole CAR I might be willing to handwave it, but just a heavy BED?!?  And none of the GUYS are going to have this much trouble lifting a bed like this, are they??  This just feels like following classic cartoony gender tropes in the complete absence of these characters’ super powers, what the fuck, and also Roxy if you didn’t make it Transportalizer-only access you could have given it an entrance you could phase through with your fancy powers to get to.  FUCK.

This feels stupid.

ROXY: so if u dont mind woosh away JOHN: uh ok, well... JOHN: a secret science lair, sure, i can deal with that. JOHN: why not! JOHN: it doesn’t work out great when i do the windy thing indoors, though. ROXY: aight then no wind bending just use your mangrit

Roxy flexes, the corner of her mouth pulled up into a familiar grin. John feels his guts, so recently calmed, twist up into knots again. Her eyebrows shoot up and the smile loosens. He must have shown something on his face.

You’re already THIS sensitive about gendertalk?

ROXY: ok or just like push when i push ROXY: we both got sick muscles ROXY: no other adjectives necessary JOHN: yeah ok. ROXY: on 3?

Please, please reinforce the idea that they both have sick strength, because they fucking do and the idea that Roxy actually a hundred percent NEEDED John to do this is BS.

> (==>)

JOHN: holy shit? ROXY: sorry to lop yet another huge scoop onto ur lil brains ice cream revelation sundae JOHN: so wait, if this thing's always been under the bed, how’d you get down here before without me? ROXY: well thats neither here nor there john JOHN: i mean it is kinda. Here. ROXY: fine ok checkmate ROXY: i dont ACTUALLY need ur nerdgrit for this escapade ROXY: like im sorry but i said it ROXY: i mostly just wanted to see you and show u wats down here

THANK FUCKING CHRIST.

If that wasn’t actually just a lie to get him involved I was going to stay SO mad.  Of COURSE Roxy can move a fucking BED no matter how heavy it is.  OF COURSE.

ROXY: and also uve been ~sent for~ JOHN: ok but like ROXY: john i am inviting u 2 my inner sanctum ROXY: i am literally bringing out the word "sanctum" in case u werent already clued in 2 how cool this is ROXY: so do u wanna go into my secret lair or wat JOHN: yeah!? JOHN: yes? i guess? ROXY: aight good

Yes John of course you want to stop fighting it

ROXY: then as they told me in the hospital before lil h a was born ROXY: just push

eyeroll, but yeah, of course

> (==>)

Oh cool, sprite form version of her loungewear.

> (==>)

Sorry for my compulsion to post every full-frame image of Roxy in this awesome outfi-WERE YOU KEEPING CALLIOPE UNDER YOUR BED THIS WHOLE TIME?!?????

That’s like... almost a fucking metaphor isn’t it????  For the relationship you preferred in the other timeline and possibly THIS one TOO or

ROXY: hey callieee i got him ROXY: o damn john sorry i shoulda also told u callies here weve been hangin out again ROXY: 1 more freak for ur bean

Oh huh, so this isn’t an always thing.  And these two can get close in more than one timeline where it would’ve worked out nicely.  :)

JOHN: oh it's ok, my bean feels pretty well adjusted to freakage at this point so keep them coming if you like! ROXY: k cool i will JOHN: do i get to know what that big thing under the sheet is? ROXY: hmmmmmm no JOHN: oh ok. JOHN: are you sure? i mean, it seems like a pretty prominent feature of the room. JOHN: space. JOHN: wherever we are. ROXY: and a totally mysterious n COMPLETELY inconspicuous feature it will have to remain for now ROXY: we r kinda in a hurry here fyi ROXY: and by that i mean ROXY: we are in precisely the amount of hurry that means im excused from having to a that specific q rn JOHN: right, sorry. JOHN: i will pay no attention to the object behind the curtain. ROXY: u catch on fast egbert ROXY: anyway theres more cool info coming so just follow me

I don’t have any big theories.  Is it just the Hiveswap device or something?  If Calliope helped with it it’d help explain the Cherubic theme.

> (==>)

JOHN: so... this is all downstairs? JOHN: it seems like you had a lot of work done. ROXY: well no not x actly ROXY: were in the old meteor JOHN: under the house??? ROXY: ok so ROXY: in hindsight it may have been a bit misleading 2 say like ROXY: "downstairs" ROXY: in reference to a place which is hells of buried underground and may not actually be literally under the house ROXY: but there is no time to explain all that rn john so instead im going to refer u to my adorable little green friend here CALLIOPE: #U_U# ROXY: (hehe) CALLIOPE: *AHEM* CALLIOPE: hi john! CALLIOPE: long time no see. ^u^

Cherubs just really like dark cavelike places full of weird tech don’t they.

> (==>)

THEY’RE SO CUTE

JOHN: oh, uh. hey callie! JOHN: it sure has been a while huh. JOHN: now that i think about it, the last time the three of us hung out like this... CALLIOPE: was when i was aggressively third wheeling yoUr prenUptial coUrtship? CALLIOPE: if yoU dont mind, john, i'd rather not rehash that period of oUr lives. CALLIOPE: it was more than a little painfUl for me. JOHN: oh. JOHN: god, jeez, i'm sorry. i didn't mean to-- CALLIOPE: hee hee john i am only pUlling yoUr leg, don't worry. CALLIOPE: if anything i was personally a little thrilled with how things shook oUt in that respect. CALLIOPE: imagine, if yoU will, a yoUng cherUb raised in solitUde, whose only solace was the convolUted and tUmUltUoUs romantic schemata she projected onto her only friends from another Universe. CALLIOPE: and then fUrther imagine that this yoUng cherUb, throUgh varioUs even *more* convolUted contrivances, ended Up in the company of those selfsafe friends as an eqUal participant in their sphere of social discoUrse! CALLIOPE: it is a joy the like of which yoU possibly cannot fathom. u_u

Reinforcing that things turning out this way was in fact the FANTASY that Calliope was writing over in the Canon timeline.  Just, heavily, HEAVILY implied that the Candy timeline is -- or at least originated as -- Calliope’s fanfiction as a Muse of Space, and its competition for audience interest with canon is the essential conflict between alt!Calliope and Dirk (or Dirk and Andrew Hussie).

CALLIOPE: so to pUt it simply, getting to experience sUch emotional drama myself was an impossibly enriching experience. CALLIOPE: possibly a first for my species! CALLIOPE: it's actUally qUite interesting, if yoU ROXY: *nudge* CALLIOPE: oh, right. yes. i'm getting a little carried away, haha. CALLIOPE: argh, i'm sorry, this is not how i planned to begin this vital conversation.

Vital conversation?  What sorta truth-bombs are coming?

CALLIOPE: but to sUmmarise, what i was trying to say is: CALLIOPE: don't beat yourself Up aboUt it john. CALLIOPE: besides, hUman divorces are even more fascinating than i had ever imagined, and being able to witness yoUrs in motion was an honoUr. CALLIOPE: so i consider Us aboUt even at this point. JOHN: hahaha!!! JOHN: okay, well that's good to know! CALLIOPE: ^u^

Holy SHIT that was savage!  And we’ll NEVER know whether or not she really intended it so savagely, either.~

JOHN: so um... JOHN: i hear that there's this big secret thing you wanna tell me about? CALLIOPE: oh right, yes of course! CALLIOPE: let me jUst say first of all how thrilled i am that yoU're on board. CALLIOPE: i wasn't sUre if yoUr natUral inclinations woUld have preclUded yoUr coming to such a place as this, and yet here yoU are. CALLIOPE: this whole endeavoUr will be *so* mUch easier with yoUr help.

Uh oh.

Hopefully babies aren’t involved.

JOHN: oh! well, shucks. JOHN: not really sure what that means but i'm just glad to be of use somewhere, haha. JOHN: which, speaking of somewhere, CALLIOPE: ah right, right. yoU're probably a little cUrioUs as to where the dickens we are. CALLIOPE: how much do yoU know aboUt black holes? JOHN: um... like, the big space things? CALLIOPE: they aren't always big actUally, and in fact their relative smallness is practically their defining qUality. JOHN: oh. CALLIOPE: bUt okay i think we are on the same page. CALLIOPE: so, what if i told yoU that we are inside of a black hole right now.

Oh dear, we’re getting into the canon/noncanon divide?

JOHN: um... JOHN: like, HERE? JOHN: we just transportalized into a black hole? CALLIOPE: no, i mean, what if oUr whole WORLD was inside a black hole. JOHN: ok.

Yeah, that’s gonna be John’s reaction.  “ok.”  Pretty much inevitable.

CALLIOPE: earth c, or at least oUr version of it, has, from the moment we crossed the victory threshold, been inside a black hole. JOHN: ok. CALLIOPE: and not just any black hole, bUt the very black hole in which the green sUn Ultimately met its demise, allowing oUr victory in the first instance! JOHN: huh! ROXY: ("huh!") ROXY: (rofl my fucking ao egbert) JOHN: (shhhh!)

And Roxy enjoys his non-reaction reactions as much as we do, hehe.

CALLIOPE: bUt, paradoxically, the critical moment which determined its capture within the black hole happened *after* that point. CALLIOPE: i refer of coUrse to yoUr decision not to retUrn to the mediUm and fight my brother. JOHN: wait, wait. JOHN: you mean, the meat and candy thing? JOHN: oh my god. JOHN: you mean i actually DID make a mistake that day. CALLIOPE: well, that's not exactly what that-- JOHN: ugh, i fucking KNEW it! JOHN: i'm so sorry. JOHN: i'm so sorry that i put the earth inside a black hole everyone. ): ROXY: john ROXY: listen ROXY: u have got to get out of this mindset i am begging you JOHN: ):

Yeah shake him out of this shit.

ROXY: your choice literally didnt matter ROXY: the whole thing was symbolic in the first place ROXY: literally symbolic in the case of the picnic i mean come on ROXY: it was just some steak and a plate of candy suckers JOHN: oh. CALLIOPE: i mean, i wouldn't go so far as to say that the meal we shared was unimportant, given the sacred significance of the two options i presented. CALLIOPE: but yes, yoUr choice of snack was infinitely less important than the choice which it presaged. CALLIOPE: and even then, calling it a choice woUld be sorely misleading. CALLIOPE: think of it like a coin flip. CALLIOPE: the series of events that led to Us being trapped beyond the event horizon of an Ubermassive black hole could be considered "tails", while the events which would have occUrred otherwise could be considered "heads". CALLIOPE: since both were possible, and paradox space is the way it is, they actUally both happened. and we jUst "happened" (hee hee) to get tails instead of heads. JOHN: you mean we ended up with the bad possibility. CALLIOPE: not at all! since both possibilities depend on one another's existence, it really doesn't make sense to call them "right" or "wrong". they both just "are". JOHN: o...kay... CALLIOPE: u_u

Yeah, it’s going to take a bit more than that to convince him he didn’t make the “wrong decision”.

CALLIOPE: i realise that this may be a lot to process. CALLIOPE: it's easy to forget that this wasn't obvioUs to everyone from the beginning. CALLIOPE: anyway, the reason i went on this tangent in the first place was to explain that the space we are standing in right now has a special significance, in that it is the location which corresponds to the black hole's singUlarity. JOHN: oh, wow. JOHN: um. JOHN: ok so, sorry if this is a dumb question to ask suddenly, but what does being inside of a black hole actually... mean for us? JOHN: is that bad? JOHN: is it like in movie, um, JOHN: shoot. JOHN: roxy what was that matthew mcconaughey movie from your earth that we watched? ROXY: u mean interstellar JOHN: RIGHT. JOHN: the one with the organ. JOHN: man. i cried at that movie so much. ROXY: lol u can say that again ROXY: iirc at least part of y u got so weepy was the fact that u couldnt believe a version of earth existed where ppl got 2 watch more mcconaughey films than you JOHN: listen. JOHN: i simply don't think you all appreciated the gift you were given. CALLIOPE: i don't believe i'm familiar with this particular film ^u^;; ROXY: oh dont worry cal you didnt miss much JOHN: (gasp)

This is all gold

ROXY: but the important point is that no its not really an interstellar type situation here egbert ROXY: ur not gonna enter a weird time vortex and change the trajectory of a little girls life with the power of love JOHN: aw.

Dammit, now we have to be on the lookout for that possibility.  Or it did sort of already happen more than once to John.  ...Whatever.

CALLIOPE: to go back to your original question, john. CALLIOPE: it's not strictly speaking "bad" for Us to be inside of a black hole, mUch thoUgh that contradicts most of what anyone knows about them. CALLIOPE: of coUrse, if we had fallen into it, that woUld be a whole other kettle of fish. CALLIOPE: the tidal forces woUld have stretched Us all into spaghetti and then ripped us apart! CALLIOPE: bUt the natUre of oUr arrival was more akin to simply "being" here, sUddenly. one moment we were not, and the next moment we were, and somehow always had been. CALLIOPE: in everyday, practical terms, being inside of a black hole has very little bearing on Us. CALLIOPE: i mean, the natUre of space and time is a little finicky in here, bUt for the most part it doesn't seem to be anything too oUt of the ordinary. CALLIOPE: bUt beyond that, it means that we are sealed away from the rest of existence. CALLIOPE: oUr sphere of inflUence is limited to the sphere of the black hole's bounding horizon. CALLIOPE: as far as everyone else is concerned, we might as well not even exist! JOHN: is there no way we could let anyone know that we're in here...? CALLIOPE: almost certainly not!

No?  So this doesn’t have to do with the divide?

CALLIOPE: there are very few ways for anything to escape the kind of predicament that we are in right now. one of them is to be an all-powerfUl being with control over the very fabric of space, with the energy of two Universes at yoUr disposal. CALLIOPE: in which case, escape woUld become rather trivial, if a little Unscientific. JOHN: ok. i am going to assume that we can't just do that. CALLIOPE: yoU've hit the nail on the head, UnfortUnately. U_U CALLIOPE: the method i described was the one employed by my alternate self, who yoU may recall crashed through the event horizon in the body that once belonged to jade harley. CALLIOPE: she departed through a pUnctUre she created in the black hole's surface shortly after consUming my brother, a deed which provided her with the necessary "oomph", and which was frankly rather breathtaking to watch. =u= CALLIOPE: bUt Upon her departUre, the rift closed for good. as far as i can see, there's simply no way for Us to commUnicate with the world oUtside the black hole.

What the heck?  Calliope SAW all this?  Is this her Muse powers at work, letting her observe these things, or was she there?  And John certainly did NOT see ANY of what Calliope just said happen.

CALLIOPE: i woUld certainly be very sUrprised to find oUt that anyone had managed sUch a thing!

So we’re going to find that out if we haven’t already.  Maybe something to do with the way Vrissy just conks out narcoleptically?

JOHN: ...right. JOHN: so... let me just get this straight. JOHN: knowing that we're inside of a black hole... does that actually change anything? JOHN: like, can't we just go on living like normal? CALLIOPE: oh absolUtely not. CALLIOPE: i don't know if yoU've noticed john bUt this world is on the brink of a total cataclysm. JOHN: oh.

Um, what?

CALLIOPE: oUr exclUsion from the overarching coUrse of events which governs all reality means that oUr existence here is liable to dramatic and violent Upheaval. CALLIOPE: to pUt it another way, becaUse nothing in here "matters", we are likely to be sUbjected to things which are a bit bats in the belfry, for no reason other than it's totally insignificant to the wider canon of reality. CALLIOPE: and mUch thoUgh i am personally titillated by some of the conseqUences of this predicament, it is a degrading way for Us to live. u_u JOHN: that's... certainly one way to put it, yeah...

No plot-armor for your entire timeline, I guess, yep.  Outside of canon, we can imagine and write about ANYTHING happening to the characters, or just drop their existence entirely, much like a doomed offshoot timeline.  It’s a plot stability that depended heavily on the threat of Lord English and being trapped in a story, and without it things are bound to see a BIT chaotic (or “degrading” if you view it as subjected to the whims of fanfic writers, certainly).

CALLIOPE: at first, i believed that this was simply necessary. Us playing tails to oUr coUnterparts' heads, the black to their white, and so forth. CALLIOPE: bUt over the years i have come to the conclUsion that this is simply not kosher. ROXY: its total bs is what it is CALLIOPE: right, yes. CALLIOPE: a steaming pile of bUllshite. CALLIOPE: and so we have decided that something needs to be done aboUt it.

Ah fuck.  You’re going to regulate non-canon?  “Canonize” it?  Is the fact that you eventually succeed at whatever it is you’re trying to do part of why we have the story presented to us in this bifurcated structure?

ROXY: this is finally where u come in jegbert ROXY: we gots quests for yous CALLIOPE: hee hee, yes. CALLIOPE: or *a* quest, to be specific. JOHN: oh boy! ROXY: (this fkin nerd i s2g)

Roxy and Calliope setting him on this quest as a Rogue of Void and a Muse of Space feels fitting.

JOHN: i'm not sure how i can go about freeing us from a hellish space prison, but i'm up for giving it a try i guess? JOHN: i have... literally nothing better to be doing at this point. except for maybe hanging out with harry anderson. ROXY: nice save lol

YEAH WE’RE STILL GLOSSING OVER HOW YOU LEFT HIM UNPROTECTED, JERK

ROXY: but u dont need to worry abt busting us outta space jail tbh ROXY: thats not ur problem to fix JOHN: oh. JOHN: i'm... not sure i follow, then. ROXY: i mean yeah ur gonna obvs facilitate it in a sense ROXY: but only by going and busting the person who can actually help us outta normal earth jail CALLIOPE: we need yoU to free vriska from the clUtches of oUr misgUided friend jane, and bring her here, to the singUlarity. ROXY: weve been calling it the plot point CALLIOPE: yes, the plot point is a key part of oUr plan. CALLIOPE: as far as we have been able to sUrmise, the only remaining method for escaping oUr grim confinement depends on leveraging the UniqUe properties of this location to create an event of sUch catalcysmic proportions that it simply cannot be contained within the black hole any more. CALLIOPE: something SO dramatic, so hyper-relevant, that it becomes ontologically impossible for anyone to ignore it. CALLIOPE: for that, we need an individUal of sUfficient narrative cloUt, so to speak. CALLIOPE: and to liberate her, who better than the embodiment of the aspect of freedom itself? CALLIOPE: ... CALLIOPE: phew. okay, i'm finished. CALLIOPE: CALLIOPE: sorry, that took longer than i expected to go throUgh.

..............................

OOooooh, kay.

Whatever this is, it’s going to be really weird and PROBABLY infuriating and/or shippy, and I’m probably not going to like it.  Plus it seems like it’s some sort of inverse belated canonization of some other black-hole-rescue theories I went on about at some point.  Although, related to that link, “aspect of freedom” if anyone wasn’t paying attention!  That’s a (sorta-)canon mention of the purpose of it!

They’re going to attention-wh-- attention-hog themselves out of the black hole so that they’re “considered canon” too, or close enough.  Huh.

ROXY: what r u talking about cals that was great ROXY: i could listen 2 u plotsplain for years CALLIOPE: oh you >u< ROXY: fyi this was why i wanted u to get a move on eggbread ROXY: so callie could have more time 2 infodump ROXY: thats love bitchhhhhh JOHN: hahaha. JOHN: ok, well, i think i understood all that?

Love with who? Callie, John, both?

In reality, John isn’t sure what most of this means. But on balance, it feels okay? He’s gone back and forth about a hundred times in the last week about where his place in everything is, so he might as well ride this out. Plus, the last time a Lalonde kind of told him to do something, he thinks that he chose not to, and look where that got him. And it’s not like he has other plans. He may as well do this! It’s at least going to get him involved in things again, if nothing else. He turns to go, and then hears a sound. It’s the sound of feet and knocking on doors, echoed through stone and digital static.

Oh shit.  Is Andrew trapped behind some fourth walls behind the curtains.

> (==>)

Oh RIGHT also that DEVICE is where they want to bring Vriska.  Are they going to overturn part of canon itself with a super-retcon thus making this timeline unbelievably relevant or--?  Maybe make all the PESTERQUESTS canon or something?!  I don’t know.  Maybe they’re INTENTIONALLY starting the game like Vriska wanted to??????

Guh, this is something so big that I don’t WANT to theorize about it, do I.

JOHN: did you hear that? ROXY: wha ROXY: oh yeah uh ROXY: i may have messaged rose and kan and jade to check on them too ROXY: so its prob onea them showin up ROXY: they don’t need to know bout all this tho ROXY: we got time to chat with them b4 u go get vriska

No, even if it’s a knock at the somehow-top-level-house-even-under-buried-- oh, right, maybe it’s covering in part a monitoring system that looks up there.  But still, part of that sound was DOUBTLESS these two hiding something, all standing in front of the curtain like that.

JOHN: i’ll go stall em. ROXY: thx babe ROXY: oh is it 2 soon for that joke or JOHN: no, weirdly enough, that one’s fine. ROXY: oh good ok see u up there soon!

How is calling your significant other “babe” not cool REGARDLESS of gender?!  Like wasn’t that always cool? --Oh wait is it because they’re not together or... but... guh, I don’t know.

Anyway, see y’all after the holidays at least.

[the-pigeon]

wishing well

summary: After the events of Selfishness vs Selflessness Redux, Roman finds himself back at a wishing well he and his brother made when they were younger. He has a few things to wish for

warnings: talk of blood, murder, death etc all from remus, roman and remus are sympathetic but whether everyone else is is up to interpretation i guess, crying, i have two betas and yet this has absolutely no beta

ao3

(this was just meant to be 500 words and now its 3804 how did this happen)

Before everything went wrong, Roman remembered he used to go to the wishing well.

 There were lots of wishing wells in the Imagination. There were lots of towns, lots of people. It made sense. But this wishing well sat far away from any fake people, surrounded by trees and vibrant wildflowers that were constantly in bloom and mushroom circles that Roman swore weren’t there before, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if his brother had come here just to set up some fae circles.

 The wishing well was smaller than he remembered. That or he’d grown taller. It was also much more damaged, in disrepair. Chipped stone, overgrown moss, the remnants of what looked like blood stained some of the grass near the base, confirming his suspicion that Remus had been here before him.

 He stood in front of it. The water at the bottom smelt just plain bad. With a flick of his hand, the well filled up, this time with much more fresh, clear water. For good measure, he fixed the crumbling stones it was made of. When he tried to clean the blood up, it didn’t leave. He decided to ignore it.

 Now with the clear water, he was forced to face his reflection. His hair was sticking up left, right and centre, and even though he wanted to say it was the wind’s fault, he had nothing to blame for it other than his nervous hands, no matter how much he wanted to blame the trek here. His eyes were slightly red. He hadn’t cried yet. That, he was proud of. He wouldn’t cry. He shouldn’t cry.

 Slowly, he dipped the tips of his fingers into the water. It rippled out softly, destroying the perfect image of his reflection. Hah, perfect. As if anything about him was perfect. No, no, he had messed everything up, and it was all his fault. If only he wasn’t so stupid, and impulsive, then he wouldn’t be in this mess.

 It was a low blow, making fun of his name, but he just couldn’t help it because he was stupid and mean, and nothing like what Morality said he was supposed to be.

 Sighing, he fished one of the coins out of his pocket. When he and Remus were kids and made this wishing well, they made certain coins that could be used, and only those coins. Roman only had three left. A part of him told him that the wishing well wasn’t real; it wouldn't actually make any of his wishes come true more than him simply summoning something in the Imagination would make it real, but there was something about the ritual of tossing the coin and watching it sink that was different. Whether it was different in a good way or a bad way was still up for debate in his mind. Did the difference between the two even matter?

 He held the coin above the water. What would he even wish for? Nothing material, that was for sure. He could just summon it. No, he had to wish for something more important. Something he couldn’t easily get.

 He hated that ‘a hug’ was the first thing coming to his mind.

 Maybe he could wish to be a better person. It was pretty open ended, but it was more or less the exact solution to his current problem. He was bad. And he wasn’t meant to be. He was meant to be the good one. So why was he so… bad? He was just bad.

 He let the coin drop into the water. It barely splashed. And then it started to sink.

 “I wish I was good,” Roman said. The words felt almost out of place as they echoed softly around him. A nearby bird squawked at him before taking flight towards his brother’s side of the Imagination. No doubt going to tell him all about Roman’s disgusting display of weakness.

 He should probably head back to his room before he has to face Remus again. But Patton was probably outside his room, trying to get in. Trying to ‘comfort’ him, as Patton would try for everyone, because Patton is amazing and wonderful like that. Or maybe he’d just leave Roman, going to instead comfort Janus. It wasn’t like either of them deserved Patton’s kind words, but at least Janus was more important. Everyone else was more important. Except maybe his brother.

 Wow, there he goes again, being just horrid and impudent. Maybe his brother was better than him. Maybe Janus had a point. Maybe Roman really was the evil twin.

 Something splashed in the water in front of him. He opened his eyes. Ah, his eyes. He was crying.

 He quickly scrubbed the tears away. He refused to cry. He had a standard to live up to. To be perfect. Perfect people don’t cry.

 Perfect people don’t have such horrible thoughts.

 He sighed, wiping away the last of the tears.

 Something croaked behind him. He turned to face a small frog perched on one of the nearby rocks. Of course. Just another way for the Imagination to punish him. He should’ve been nicer to Patton, to avoid everything that happened. He tried to be nice to Patton; it’s what he deserved. After all, Patton was the one that gave him—him—the job of being the good one. He had to live up to that.

 He looked back at the water, staring at his reflection and watching as it started to look less and less like himself.

 “What’d you wish for?”

 Roman startled, nearly jumping forwards into the water. He spun around to face none other than his brother, giving him a surprisingly blank look with his morning star resting by his legs.

 “Pardon?” he said, trying his best to regain his composure.

 “I said what did you wish for?” Remus repeated, gesturing to the well behind him. “I doubt you’re here just to look at old stone or whatever. So you must’ve wished for something. What’d you wish for?”

 “It’s not important,” he snapped, turning back to the water. Of course his brother had come here. It was probably that stupid bird. “Go away.”

 “No, I don’t think I will.” He came up behind him, giving a quick kick to the back of his knees and chuckling when he stumbled forwards a bit.

 “What do you want, Remus?” he said.

 “To bother you. It’s fun. Hey, do you think we could’ve bought a bomb into the wedding? Dee didn’t let me throw the cake, but we could’ve at least blown it up.”

 “That cake was delicious, how dare you.”

 Remus shrugged, dipping his whole hand in the well water and watching as it slowly turned a dark shade of gray around it. “Could’ve still eaten the explosion cake. If you’re not a coward.”

 “I’m not a coward,” he scoffed.

 “Then why’d you run away from Morality, of all people?”

 He didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he fished out his second coin, fiddling with it in his hands. Remus stared at it for a few seconds before going back to swirling the water around, now with two hands.

 “Do you want my advice?” he said, flicking some water at Roman.

 “Not really, no.”

 “Too bad. If Patton ever starts to annoy you, just hit him over the head until his brain falls out and splats against the floor. And then for good measure you should remember to remove his heart, because most of his thought processes come from there instead.” He took a moment to laugh at that. “And then you get to stab his dead body all you want.”

 He shook his head. It was his brother’s job to think of… those thoughts. He had no obligation to do that. Patton doesn’t deserve to be thought of like that. Especially not by Roman.

 “I’ve always dreamed of doing that,” Remus continued. “Of just splitting his skull open. Oh, or standing on his spine. Or pulling his eyes out. Or-”

 “Please shut up,” Roman mumbled into his hands, covering his face.

 “Tell me why you’re here of all places and I will,” he shot back. Roman could swear that he sounded almost… angry. “You haven’t been here for years. Why now?”

 “It’s not important,” he said.

 “Oh? Well, anyway, Patton’s boring. What if I set Virgil’s hair on fire? He’d get all jittery. Maybe he’d set the house on fire in the process. And the fire would smoke Logan out, and I could stab him too, and Patton would be there too and I could stab him again. Heh. That’d be fun. I could stab you too. And then I could rip everyone’s hearts-”

 “Do you know his name?” Roman said. A part of him wanted to be comforted, even if by his brother, but mostly he just wanted to shut him up. Those were Patton-deemed Bad Thoughts, and he wasn’t bad. So therefore, he couldn’t think about those Thoughts… Right? Yeah, that made sense.

 “Deceit’s?” Remus asked.

 He nodded.

 “No. Believe it or not, he’s super secretive. Always told me he’d only share his name if he had no other choice, which I think is stupid.”

 Oh. No other choice? Was that really how he felt? Oh, God, what did Roman do this time? No wonder Janus was so mad at him.

 “I mean, it’s a name,” he continued, completely unaware of his brother’s breath speeding up. “It’s not like it’s gonna kill you or anything. Actually, if you yelled it loud enough it could explode your brains. Or some cake. Exploded wedding cake.”

 But Janus wasn’t trustworthy! That was the thing, wasn’t it? That was what he was always told. He was good, everyone else, all of the ones that were forced to hide in the dark, that lurked behind closed doors, they were bad. Janus was bad. He lied. And lying was bad.

 “I wonder if you yelled at the cake loud enough, would it explode? And then it could explode into Deceit’s ears. And if you put a bomb in the cake, then put the cake in his ears, it would explode his ears!”

 But by that logic, then Remus was good. He never lied. If lying was wrong, then that would mean honesty was good. And Remus was honest. So he would be the good one. And where would that leave Roman?

 “He’d definitely go deaf. And he’d probably die too. He doesn’t like it when I kill him, so I probably shouldn’t do it again. But it’s always so much fun licking his blood off the floor! Tasty. And covered in dirt. The best mix.”

 Roman was an actor. He was constantly on a stage, constantly performing, constantly lying. Lying and lying about everything. About how he’s feeling, about how much motivation he has to write, about how much he trusts himself. And if Remus was his metaphorical narrative foil, then wouldn’t he, by default, be bad if Remus was good?

 “Dirt and blood, dirt and blood, dirt and blood. Put it in a mixing bowl and put in some eggs. Beat it together and what do you get? Salmonella. Sally, sally, salmonella-”

 “Deceit told us his name,” Roman said. Truthfully. He had to be the good one, and honesty was good, so he had to be honest. No other choice. “And Thomas hates me. And Patton is trusting Deceit now. More than he trusts me, I think.”

 “Oh,” Remus said. “Sucks to be you.”

 Ugh, why did the truth hurt? Why was it blurring his vision? Why did the well water in front of him suddenly look like the best place to put his head for at least ten minutes?

 “Have you tried hitting them over the head?”

 “Can’t say I have,” he sighed.

 “You should.”

 Roman wanted to say something else, but the truth hurt, and he couldn’t say anymore.

 “Well!” Remus said, pulling his hands out of the well and shaking them off like an excited dog. “I’ll keep my end of the deal and leave you alone now.”

 He turned around, jumping on the wildflowers to kill them as he walked away. Away. Away, and leaving Roman alone again. Wasn’t that what he wanted?

 Be truthful, Roman, he told himself.

 “Please don’t leave me alone,” he whispered.

 God, what was he doing?

 Remus paused mid-air, turning around and staring at Roman. He quickly lowered his eyes. Looking at his brother was unbelievably difficult. 

 He made a noise reminiscent of a laugh. “Fine, okay then,” he said, dropping to his feet and sitting on the other side of the wishing well to stare at the outskirts of the trees around them.

 Roman sat down opposite, leaning on the well and closing his eyes. He decided not to speak. Remus made no such decision.

 He was talking. About something Roman didn’t want to listen to. And yet he listened. He told himself it was because he had nothing else to listen to, but he knew he would be lying again. In a sick, twisted way it was calming to listen to him ramble and rant. Which he hated to think about, but it was either that or admit that he really was that desperate for company. It was either that or actually pay full attention to what he was saying. It was something about rat poison and giving Virgil an ‘I’m sorry’ cake.

 It was disgusting. Remus was disgusting. That was decided years ago, before high school. Remus was disgusting, and Roman wasn’t. Morality decided that—Patton decided that. And today Patton was wrong. If Patton could be wrong about Janus, then what if he was wrong about…

 “Do you think Patton was wrong?” Roman said, cutting Remus off before he could finish his description of how he would make Virgil eat his apology cake.

 He scoffed. “About what?”

 “About saying you were bad and I was good?”

 For the first time in what felt like forever, Remus didn’t speak. A whole minute passed. He had left, hadn’t he? Of course he did. He left, and Roman was alone again, as he so deserved. Even Remus couldn’t stand him.

 Soon enough, he was crying. He didn’t want to. He wanted to be perfect. He tried to stop himself, but he was so tired and now he was alone so what did it matter? Only he could see his failures now, and he already hated himself. What did it matter? What mattered? He was alone.

 “I don’t know what Patton said to make you think that, but I can assure you he’s wrong.”

 Oh God, oh no, Goddammit. Now his brother, of all people, was seeing him cry. Of course he wouldn’t leave now. He was probably ecstatic to see Roman cry. 

 “I mean, you’re amazing!” Remus continued. Roman could feel his presence above him, could feel the shadow cast over him by his brother. It was strangely comforting. “And I’m disgusting. I’m purposefully disgusting, and yet people still put up with me. And it would seem to me that you being so perfect is just an accident, so I’d say you’re the good twin.”

 He wanted to speak, wanted to argue that Remus was wrong, wanted to convince him that he was terrible, that he didn’t deserve to be spoken of like this, but hearing Remus say that? He couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

 “Hey, stop crying,” Remus demanded. “Stop crying so you can agree with me.”

 “But you’re wrong,” he choked out through a sob.

 “Then fight me.”

 That managed to get a small, not-happy but not-sad laugh out of him. “I’m not- I’m not going to fight y-you.”

 “Why not? I’m always down to hit you over the head. It’s the one thing I’m good at.”

 Another laugh, this time much sadder.

 “Tell me I’m wrong! Stop crying, stand up, and fight me! Or keep crying, I don’t know.”

 Well, if keep crying was an option.

 Roman pushed the tears out of his eyes, not bothering to stop crying, and forced himself to his feet. Through his blurry vision, he could see Remus standing ominously close, with a Look on his face that Roman couldn’t begin to explain.

 He still had that coin in his hand.

 “Fight me,” Remus said again, putting his hands on his hips.

 He dropped the second coin in the water, watching it sink to the bottom before turning back to face Remus. Waiting. Expectant.

 “I wish some- someone would give me a- a hug,” Roman said, feeling his shame cloying and tugging in his stomach, telling him to stop, telling him to take it back, telling him to run before Remus could do anything. But he was stupid, and God, did he want a hug.

 He wiped more of his tears away, forcing his eyes down. He couldn’t look him in the eyes. He just couldn’t.

 “That’s not fighting,” Remus said. Why did he sound so… whiny?

 “I’m sorry…”

 “Hey, apologising is Patton’s job, shut up.”

 And then Roman suddenly felt a whole lot warmer. A lot more solid. A lot more real.

 Remus was taller than him. He noticed that now, as he placed his head on top of Roman’s. It was a surprise he hadn’t noticed it sooner. It wasn’t that much of a difference, but it felt so much better than the few hugs he’d gotten from Patton.

 His hands were warm. When had Roman taken his overshirt off? Who knows. What he does know, is that the feeling of his brother’s hands against his back was the nicest thing he had ever felt in his entire life. It's grounded. It's warm. It’s… strangely soft. Strangely delicate. As if someone actually cares about Roman.

 He lets out another sob, shaking slightly as he returns the hug, desperately clinging to Remus’s shirt and crying into his shoulder. For a moment, he worried he would be mad for getting his shirt wet, but it only took a few seconds for him to realise that Remus probably wouldn’t care at all. So he lets himself cry. Lets the sobs rack through his body, lets the tears soak into Remus’s shirt, lets it out. It’s cathartic.

 A lot more solid. A lot more real. A lot more loved.

 “I’m gonna kill whoever hurt you,” Remus muttered.

 Roman laughed, burying his head in his green sash. “You shouldn’t.”

 “Telling me I shouldn’t do something just makes me want to do it more, you know that right?”

 "I know."

 They stood wordlessly for a little longer, the only sound between them being Roman's occasional sniffle, almost always accompanied by Remus saying something under his breath that Roman was sure he wouldn't want to hear. Despite that, it really was so much more comforting than absolute silence.

 "Remus, can I… ask you something?" he said, doing his best to keep up his voice steady.

 "Sure."

 "Do you think I should, uh, duck out?"

 "No," he said quickly, almost immediately. "No, absolutely not."

 Despite what his mind was screaming about, Roman pushed Remus away. God, was he always this cold? A part of him wanted to pull his brother back into the hug, but he knew he shouldn't. He just shouldn't.

 "Roman, look me in the eyes, you coward."

 Coward. It was strange that that didn't hurt. It should've hurt more. And yet it didn't. He wished he was smart enough to understand why that was, but like always, he was just stupid.

 "You're not stupid," Remus said.

 He spoke out loud, didn't he? He laughed again, sadly, before finally looking him in the eyes. He knew his face was red, knew his eyes would be puffy and wet, yet he didn't have the motivation to care.

 "I'm not?" he said. "I beg to differ."

 "Then beg, because you're definitely smarter than me."

 "What, like it's difficult?"

 Remus laughed—no, cackled, playfully pushing Roman's shoulder just a little bit too forcibly. He stumbled back a bit.

 Other than Remus’s soft laughing, they fell back into silence.

 Roman sighed. “It’s just… I’m not necessary, am I?”

 That made Remus stop laughing. “Why’d you say that?”

 “Because you exist! Just by you being here means that even if I duck out, Thomas would still have his creativity!”

 “You do realise that that is the dumbest thing you’ve ever said?”

 Roman began to speak, but Remus cut him off. “As much as I’d love full creative control, you’re still incredibly important! I mean, I’m gross! It’s probably help if Thomas liked his creativity, lol.”

 “Did you just say ‘lol’ out loud?”

 “I did, yes.”

 “You disgust me.”

 “That’s kind of my job.”

 “At least you’re good at yours.”

 Remus nodded, as if he was thinking, which Roman doubted. Eventually, he shrugged. “Sucks to be you, I guess.”

 Would it be worth it to spend his last coin on another hug?

 “Either way,” Remus continued. “You shouldn’t duck out. Because people like you, and they’d be sad.”

 “Either way? What either way?”

 “Whether you’re good at your job or not. People still like you.”

 “I find that hard to believe,” Roman muttered under his breath.

 “I don’t.”

 It was worthless, wasn’t it? Remus was incredibly stubborn, not as much as Roman, but still very stubborn. He couldn’t change his mind.

 And change his mind to what? To thinking he was terrible? That he was bad? Here was someone saying he was wrong in thinking those things about himself, and he was trying to argue with them? Isn’t this what he wanted?

 “RoRo? You good?”

 But did he deserve it? Did he? Did he deserve anything?

 “Oh no, you’re crying again.”

 This was Remus, his brother, the person who should hate him the most, and he was saying he was wrong. He didn’t lie. He said what he meant and he meant what he said. Did Roman want to be admired by Remus?

 “Come here, you big baby.”

 If he was honest (and he tried to be, he did, but it was difficult), he didn’t want to be admired by Remus. Not when he had spent so long trying to separate himself from his brother, trying to show that they weren’t the same anymore, but he didn’t care about that right now, because right now he was being hugged again, and god, it felt so good.

 “You really need to work on talking about your feelings,” Remus said, running his hand through Roman’s hair. It wasn’t gentle, and it was barely comfortable, but it was definitely comforting.

 Roman said nothing in response.

 Remus lowered them to the ground. “We’ll talk about this later. When you’re not crying. But you can cry right now. I’ll stay right here.”

 True to his words, he did stay there.

 It was the nicest hug Roman had ever received.

[thiswasinevitableid]

I’m so excited to read these prompt fills! Can I suggest 13 with sternclay? Rating is up to you!

I’m so glad you’re excited, I hope you’re enjoying them!

13: “we make contact before trying to steal the last seat on the subway/bus/train and I end up in your lap and fuck you, I’m going to stay here because I’ve had a really long day and this seat was mine” I went with SFW.

This was not the Halloween (or, more accurately weekend before Halloween) celebration Stern had in mind. The posters made it look like it would be a fun mashup of cheesy horror and fall food. But no, instead it’s just another excuse for his peers to get plastered downtown and eat overpriced brauts. 

He even has tomorrow off and everything, he was all set to actually have fun for once and even drank a double-espresso an hour ago so he could stay awake for it. 

Boarding the bus, he’s caught up in his thoughts of how he’s going to wile away the hours until he’s tired enough to sleep that he barely spots the last empty bus seat. He’s not the only one.

“Uh, sorry, but I was here first.” The man who’s just sat in his seat gives him an apologetic smile. 

“No, I think I was, so move, please.”

“Uh, yeah, no.” 

The bus pulls out from the curb, Stern well aware that they’re not even to the most crowded stops downtown, and he is not about to spend the next twenty minutes on his feet crammed in like a sardine. 

“Dude, what the hell?” The man pulls his arms away as Stern sits down in his lap, trying to avoid touching him as much as possible. 

“I told you it was my seat. So I’m sitting in it.”

Brown eyes lock onto him and for a moment he readies himself for a date with the floor; Stern isn’t a small man, but this guy is like a werewolf in a human suit, broad and tall and obviously strong. 

But instead of pushing him, the man just crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head, “whatever man, just don’t puke on my shoes or some shit.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Uh huh, sure.”  The man turns to look out the nearest window and, after debating whether he wants to keep arguing, Stern does the same to the opposite window.

After four more stops, the bus is so full that he’s getting pressed up against that plaid-clad torso whether he wants to be or not.

The men look at each other sheepishly, the intimacy of their positions demanding something other than annoyed disinterest. 

“I, uh, like your shirt.”

Stern looks down at his button-up, patterned to look like the rug in a famous location in Twin Peaks “Thanks. I wanted to wear something Halloween adjacent. You’re the first person to recognize it.”

“Used to hide behind the couch and watch it when my dad had the reruns on. Formative terror tends to hang around.”

“You know, it never scared me. Things like the X-Files never did either. I always saw myself as Agent Cooper or Agent Mulder, and they always seemed like they were going to through things.”

“That explains the hair.” The tone suggests the other man likes what he sees. 

“Hah, yeah, I suppose it does.” He touches his hair, still mostly gelled back, a bit self-consciously. 

“None of those scenes ever scared you?” 

“Not that I remember. What did scare me, oddly enough, was Lost Tapes.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It was on Animal Planet. It wasn’t very good. I have to say, I’m surprised anything scared you, Mr. Big And Strong.”  

Wait, was that flirtatious? Did he mean it to be? Does he want it to be?”

A deep chuckle, much friendlier this time, “I’m all bulk and no bite, babe.”

“I’m ‘babe’ now?”

“If you wanna be.”

Stern gears up to say that yes, yes he’d like that very much, when the bus screeches to halt at his stop. He hops up without another word and manages to get through the crush of bodies in one piece. Well, that was a novel, borderline awkward way to end his evening. 

“Y’know, you didn’t answer my question.”

The man is standing behind him on the sidewalk, jacket zipped up against the chilly fall air. 

Stern’s surprise must register as alarm, because the man quickly adds, “I live a few blocks up on Jenny street.”

“Right, of course. Um. The answer to your question is yes but, well, why on earth would you want to flirt with me?”

“Not every day a cute guy falls into my lap.”

“I sat in your lap because I was being a stubborn prick.”

“Not saying I wasn’t annoyed, but I admired the determination.” A smile, small but candy-sweet, “and I was kinda enjoying talking to you. Lot of people just talk over me. Plus, you’re clearly a nerd, which I dig.”

“You have no idea. I work at the Cryptonomica part-time.”

“Holy shit, you know Ned Chicane? Dude nearly got me arrested once because he asked me to help him fake some Bigfoot footage and didn’t tell me we were shooting on private property until the cops came.”

“That sounds like Mr. Chicane alright. Wait, then that makes you Barclay, right?”

“Got it in one.” 

“I’m, um, Joseph.”

“Care to keep talking shit about Ned Chicane all the way back to my place, Joseph?” Barclay offers his arm and Stern takes it, feeling perfectly at home as leaves crunch beneath his feet and a chill nips at his neck. Barclay lives on the ground floor of a shared house, his room containing more cookbooks than furniture. He asks if Stern would like to watch a movie, leaves him in charge of selection while he goes to reheat some cider. 

“I found somewhere streaming all the Universal Monsters movies--ooh, this is delicious.”

“Thanks” Barclay blushes, “I came up with the spice blend myself. And I’m down for some old fashion monster movies. If-” he smirks, “you’re willing to show me just what kind of show can scare you.”

Stern loves a challenge, particularly when it’s offered by someone who’s been eyeing his lips ever since they sat down. So he pulls up an episode of Lost Tapes and settles in net to Barclay. 

“I warn you, it’s very bad.”

They crack jokes over the poor script and shoddy research, Barclay doing an excellent parody of the narrators voice. The jump scare gets him all the same. 

“Shit!” He scrambles to the side, laughing even as he comes down from the menacing figure darting across the frame. A strong arm drapes over his shoulders and he sighs, amused, “I see your endgame now, big guy. Get me scared by a shitty CGI sea monster so I’ll snuggle up for protection.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, babe, you just can’t resist being in my lap.” That burnt-caramel baritone purrs in his ear.

“Behave” Stern elbows him playfully, “or I’ll give up my new favorite spot for the couch.”

“No you won’t. Couch can’t do this, can it?” Barclay kisses his cheek, waits for Stern to turn his head before teasing their lips together, rumbling out a sigh when Stern leans into the gesture.

“No, I don’t think it can. If it does, we should call an exorcist or something.” 

“So you’ll stay put through the movies?” Barclay nips his ear. 

“Of course; I have the best seat in the house.”

[copias-thrall]

When Mary Met Sally … err, Suey

Timestamp How do two walking disasters meet? Well, one of them walks into a bar …

(Start at the beginning)

*public sex*

It’s not the worst dive bar you’ve ever been to, but any place that can double as a venue usually makes a bit more effort. Maybe there are some coding regulations or whatever. Your friend swears by it for cheap drinks and chaotic atmosphere, which is why you made the effort to put on a dress—a short, black thing with diaphanous tails that forgives your belly rolls—and did your doll eyes.

But the bitch isn’t even here yet. You’re on your second beer—and a band growling into mics and shredding is playing on the paltry performance area that the bar boasts—when you get another text. The first one—that you had received upon arrival yourself—had said she was on her way. This one says she’s leaving work now.

You sigh and tap your foot along to the bass. The majority of the patrons in the place are crowded into the venue room, bopping and screaming along. There are a handful, like you, who are loitering by the bar—an old drunk; two finance types with loose ties; a gaggle of scene girls waiting for their drink order; and a group of college kids at a bar top with a half-full pitcher surrounded by empty shot glasses.

The bartender—a crusty-looking dude with long, greying hair and the kind of tattoos you’d expect were done in the kitchen of a friend’s house by a biker—leans on the bar into your space and sets down a shot.

“Boyfriend stand you up, doll?”

You give the shot a little toast to him and shoot it, only coughing a little and the whiskey’s afterburn.

“Something like that” you say.

“He’s a fool to leave a face as pretty as yours up for grabs.” He pushes away from the bar to service the next customer as you stammer, “Um, thanks.”

One-third through your third beer is when you get the text that she just got home and is exhausted and can’t possibly change to come back out and meet you now. You roll your eyes, even if this was exactly what you were expecting. You’re annoyed since she picked this bar because it was near her work and therefore a quick jaunt for her on her way home—whereas you took the bus for 27min and then walked 3 blocks. But, ok.

You definitely have to pee, and—after debating  whether you can wait until you finish this beer—ultimately decide that peeing is actually an imperative. Since your friend’s not here, you’ll have to take your beer with you. It seems the band must have just finished because it looks like every women in the bar is now waiting to use the two-stall women’s room. Your eyes flick over to the men’s room where there’s—you guessed it—no one.

“Fuck it,” you say out loud. “I’m crossing enemy lines.”

Occasionally you can get a flock to come with you, but tonight it seems like the other women are content with their lot, and not one follows in your wake. You kick open the door and yell, Female coming aboard! as you stomp into the bathroom. You’re prepared to cover your eyes, because men get real shy, but there actually doesn’t seem to be anyone even in here. You don’t question your luck, just make a beeline for the small stall.

Once in the stall, you debate the logistics of what to do with your beer glass—you don’t usually mind putting it on the floor, but for some reason this time you get a bad feeling, which is when you remember that you have tits. Using your cleavage, bra panel, and neckline, the glass fits quite snuggly—and you only have to be somewhat careful as you perform the intricate process of doing your business without spilling the liquid or getting your dress in the toilet.

When you wander out there’s a dude in the stall next to yours and a tall, skinny, punk guy at the bathroom sinks. He’s leaning into the cracked mirror and either putting on makeup or touching it up. Actually, upon closer inspection he’s in white face paint with black, corpse-like accents and … blood?

Whatever.

His eyes meet yours in the mirror as you sway over to the sink next to his.

“What?” he says with a sneer.

You turn to face him, leaning your hip on the sink; you point to your own mug saying, “You got something on your face,” and do a few sweeping circles with your hand. “Hereabouts.”

He looks at you and furrows his brow as you turn to wash your hands, remembering at the last minute to not lean over. In the mirror you watch as his eyes glance down to your beer cleavage. 

Beerage. 

Hah.

“Pfft. You wish, dude.”

He doesn’t say anything further, but you feel his eyes heavy on you as you finish up and saunter out. You make your way back to the bar, sighing in relief when you can safely deposit your pint glass back on the counter. The stage area is now dimmed and you notice the crowd has thinned somewhat while the bar has gained new pods of people.

You fiddle a bit with your phone—checking social media, playing a round on your game app, and texting out memes—until a fresh glass of beer is set down in front of you. One you didn’t order. When you follow the perspiring glass up you meet the black-rimmed eyes of the guy from the men’s room. He’s resting on his crossed arms and smirking you.

“I do wish, actually,” he says.

“What?”

He gives you an exaggerated once over.

You squint at him. “Weren’t you in that band?”

“Wow. ‘That band.’ Yeah, I am.”

“So why’re you behind the bar?”

He leans back, licking his lips and looking down at you with hooded eyes.

“I’m multitalented,” he says, and then makes a vulgar motion with his tongue.

You’re about to respond with something very clever, you’re sure, when the older bartender barks, “Mary!—a little help?”

He makes a shrugging motion at you as you before he turns to help with a gaggle of girls who all giggle and bat their eyelashes at him. You hadn’t intended to stay past your third beer, but after you assess the lines of “Mary’s” body and the swell of his ass in his ripped jeans, you slide the proffered beer closer to you. Maybe the night won’t be a bust after all.

You’ve just started on the gift beer when “Mary” saunters back over. He pours a shot and shoots it himself before leaning on the edge with his hip and considering you.

“Is your name really ‘Mary’?”

He lifts his chin at you in challenge. “What of it?”

You giggle. “It’s just—”

“A girl’s name? Yes, I’m qu—”

“It’s my name,” you say as you slap your hands on the bar.

He squints at you. “It’s not.”

You fish a credit card out of your phone wallet and offer it to him. He takes it, looks at it, looks at you, looks at it again, lets out a Huh , then hands it back to you.

“Well, I’m not calling you Mary. I’m calling dibs on it.”

You rest your tits on the bar as you lean toward him conspiratorially.

“You’ll have to scream something later.”

He raises his eyebrows at you.

“That’s presumptuous,” he says as he straightens and crosses his arms.

Well, ok. It’s possible you misread him. Maybe he was just angling for a good tip. You think of the other girls straining for his attention.

You shrug. “You caught me in a mood to grant wishes. But whatever.”

He gives you an unreadable look before he’s being called away again, and then he’s pouring drinks across the bar—and your face burns.

You’re suddenly irritated. It just feels like it’s been a day of teases—first your friend inviting you out then blowing you off, and now this guy who implied he’d like to fuck you only to back off once you called him on it. You could be home watching Netflix, not alone at a bar with only your phone for company. You dig into the bustle at your hip that’s really a bag and fish out a $20 and a $5—which may be a little over, but worth it in terms of expediency.

You slip off the bar stool and remove your coat from it, intending to shrug it on. It’s going to be a bitch to get home—the bus only coming every 90min at this point, so you may be in for a long walk if you don’t want to wait or splurge on a cab.

“Christ, you’re impatient,” comes a voice from behind you, and you startle.

When you turn, the Mary guy is behind you. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Dude, I’m not playing your games.” You jab your finger into his chest. “If you’re pulling some PUA shit on me, I’m not into it.”

He takes your elbow and guides back onto the stool.

“Since when is a free brooze a game? Just hang and enjoy the fucking beer I bought you, k?”

“I wouldn’t want to be presumptuous ,” you snipe, but allow him to help you back on the stool.

“And here I thought women liked a little flirtation.”

“Is that what you thought you were doing?”

He slaps his hand to his chest and makes a pained face.

“Mary get your dick back in here!” yells the other guy.

“Coming, Mickey!” he yells, his eyes still on you. He licks his lips and gives you another once over. “I have a break coming up,” he says as he backs away. “Stay.”

“MARY!”

You watch as he scrambles back behind the bar to close tabs and sling more beers. When he catches you looking at him, he winks. You just scowl at him. Some of the girls at the bar look at you with a mixture of curiosity, interest, and envy.

Whatever. Can’t shut this down.

You sip at the beer, growing increasingly more amused as Mary’s attention keeps drifting back to you. You raise your now half-full beer at him, eyebrow raised. The older dude—Mickey—wanders over to you.

“Well now, darlin’—I’m not surprised you caught our Mary’s eye, pretty thing like you. Be careful of that one though.”

You grin at him, showing teeth.

“He should be careful of me.”

Mickey blinks at you for a second, then bursts out laughing and throws his hands up. Mary is looking over at the two of you worriedly.

Time ticks on, and the beer that you’re purposely nursing goes down. Mary swings by every now and then, but never for more than a quip or two before he’s back doing Bar Things. It’s been hours , and honestly you’re pretty bored with just sitting at the bar waiting . And you’re definitely going to need a cab home because in these heels? No. 

You decide, fuck it . It’s not like this guy was going to be amazing. You drain the rest of the beer, and decide to hit the head before heading out. It’s nearly midnight, so there’s no line or issue with the women’s room, and you’re basically in and out. When you leave the restroom, you’re startled again by Mary—who’s leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” he says. “Leaving so soon?”

You level a look at him. “I’ve been here for 6 hours.”

He scrunches his brow at you.

“Really?”

“So unless you’re going to fuck me soon …”

He pulls at you. “How ‘bout you take me home when I get cut, and I’ll fuck you into the mattress?”

You press your tits into him. “And will that be soon?” you ask sweetly.

“I’m here until 2, but—”

“Yeah, no,” you say, extracting yourself.

He bites his lip. “Well … I’m on my break,” he looks down the hall towards the bar, “but there’s probably only 10min left.”

You cross your arms at him. “So you’ll have 7min to spare.”

Mary straightens. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

You lick your lips exaggeratedly and smirk. “I know.”

He grabs you by your wrist, and yanks you into his body, leering into your face. “Well, if you want me to pound you into tomorrow right now, I have no problem with that.” 

He drags you into the men’s room, not even stopping to assess for casualties. There’s a guy at a urinal, but he doesn’t even look up as Mary ushers you into the stall. He runs a hand into your hair and grips you by the roots. You go with it, allowing him to tilt your head back.

He leans into your space to growl, “You better be fucking quiet.”

“I doubt it’ll be an issue,” you taunt, biting at him.

Mary pushes you back and shoves his fingers into your mouth.

“I told you to be fucking quiet.”

He crams his fingers further down your throat. When you don’t gag, his interest piques, and he spends about 30 seconds thrusting his fingers in and out of your mouth.

“Shame we can’t explore that,” he says as he extracts his fingers and wipes them on his jeans. Your eyes are drawn to the decent bulge at his crotch. When he tracks your gaze, he gives his dick a vulgar squeeze. “Is this what you’re here for?”

“It sure ain’t the conversation.”

“I’m tempted to shut you up with it.”

“ Promises ,” you purr.

You press into him, then reach under your dress to yank down your panties. You use the solid presence of his body for balance as you slide them down and then off one leg, wobbling a little as the loop catches on your heel. His arm reaches up to steady your elbow as you shake your boot free. He watches you, and you wink at him exaggeratedly as you stuff the excess fabric into the other boot.

“Been a while since I fucked a smart girl,” he quips.

You hook your hand around the back of his neck. 

“What about me? Am I about to fuck a smart boy?” You grab his hand to lead to your pussy. “Make me wet for you.”

He’s quick to get with the program, and he cups you with his whole hand before his fingers explore between your folds. You pull his head down to engage him in a sloppy kiss, sucking at his tongue and biting at his lips. A finger presses shallowly into your hole, then smears your slick up to your clit. You moan into Mary’s mouth as the pad of his finger circles you a few times.

He repeats the process until you’re sloppy, spreading your wetness out and over your lips. He breaks the suction of your mouth to whisper into your ear. “If we had all night, I’d play your pussy like my guitar and make you scream until you were horse—and that would be before I fucked the shit out of you.”

Then Mary retracts his hand—wiping his fingers on his jeans again—so he can work at his studded belt and zipper.

“But I’m really looking forward to burying my cock in you before my break is over.”

He advances on you, but you stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Condom?”

He pauses to pat at his jeans before pulling out his wallet from his back pocket and extracting a condom packet. He hands the foil to you so he can shove his jeans and boxers down. His hard cock juts out from his pelvis, and you lick your lips. You open the packet, make sure the condom is correct side up, and then roll it down his cock as he grips at your arms. Then you turn around so you can brace your hands against the back wall and perch your foot on the toilet.

“Not your first rodeo, I take it?”

You glare at him over your shoulder.

“If you slut shame me I will punch you in the nuts and walk out of here.”

He shuffles closer. “No, it’s hot. You fuck a lot of dick in bathrooms?” 

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

His hands run up your sides and then start to fiddle with the tails of your dress.

“So you should have no problem answering me.”

“You’re awfully glib for a guy who wants to get his dick wet.”

He’s still fiddling with your dress.

“I’m not the one who needed to fuck right now —christ what are these?”

“Just tie it in a bow!”

You feel the tails tug and tighten, then Mary crowds into your space. He rubs his cockhead through your slit a few times, and every time he hits your clit, you let out an Mmm . Then he presses at your hole and begins to slowly push in as you push back. You moan and he grunts as he sinks into you, a steadying hand at your hip.

He presses closer, his one hand bracing next to yours on the wall.

“This ok?”

“Oh god,” you moan as you clench around him.

“ Shit . I’m going to fuck you now.”

He gives a few experimental thrusts until he finds a good angle and rhythm—and then you’re in trouble. He curls an arm around your waist and begins to pound into you as much as the position and angle allows—which is more than enough to have you moaning out.

“Fuck, you’re tight. You feel so good around my cock.” He bites into your shoulder. “Fucking tell me you like my cock.”

“Fills me up so good!”

His cock does feel good—enough that you’re still wet—but definitely not enough for you to come. You try to take a hand off the wall so you can finger yourself, but a well-placed jolt from Mary has you sliding dangerously before you catch yourself. You try your other hand with similar results.

“What are you doing?” Mary pants.

“Need … my clit …” you whine.

The arm around your waist loosens, and Mary’s hand wanders down your stomach and begins to search around for access. He’s just about to dip down, when your trembling leg gives out and shoots across the toilet. You’re sure it’s about to go into the bowl, but then Mary’s hand is there, gripping your thigh hard to steady you.

“Fuck, careful.”

It becomes clear that Mary’s supporting arm around your waist is all that’s keeping your boot from sliding away, so he doesn’t attempt to finger you again. He’s panting into your ear with the effort of fucking into you and holding you up, and you feel him start to flag. He slows his pace to long thrusts, and you can hear the squelch every time he bottoms out.

“Are you at all close?” he wheezes.

“Not really.” All you can think about is the strain in your arms and the tremor in your leg.

He blows out a breath.

“I don’t know how much longer I can—”

“Just cum,” you say.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s fine.”

He grips you tighter as he speeds up, forehead pressing into your shoulder blades, and then he’s giving a hard thrust into you gasping, “Oh god, oh fuck.” He gives another couple of jolting thrusts into you, grunting, before the tension bleeds out of him and he leans into you. It’s too much strain on your arms, and you squirm with an annoyed Ok . He back ups, and his softening cock slips out of you. You shakily bring down your leg and push off the wall. When you turn around, you see that Mary has already tied off the condom and is pulling up his pants. You grab some toilet paper to swipe at yourself as Mary just stands there.

Frankly he looks a little embarrassed.

“I am actually better at doing that.”

You nod at him. “I’m sure.”

“I could—”

“I’m going to pee now,” you say, and make a shooing motion.

He blinks at you a few times, then back ups and slips out of the stall. You have to get your whole situation in order, so when you leave the stall, Mary’s no longer in the restroom. A drunk guy does a double take.

“Emeye the right place?” he slurs as he turns and misses the urinal.

You give him jazz hands. “ This is all a dream .”

When you get back to the bar, there are only the truly drunk left still standing—metaphorically speaking. Mary’s at the other end fussing with the cash register as the Mickey dude gestures at him. You grab your coat back up to put on—you already left the cash for the drinks and tip so there’s nothing left for you to settle up.

As you push open the door to the outside, you hear an exasperated Mary behind you, so you’re not surprised when—3 steps out of the bar—Mary grabs your arm.

“Wait!” he says.

You sigh, but stop. “I have to get up for work tomorrow and I’ve already spent my entire night waiting. It’s, like. Super late. What ?”

“Well I—don’t you think you deserve the full Mary experience?” He makes a sweeping motion up and down his body.

“Not tonight I don’t. Tonight I deserve a hot shower and my warm bed.”

“I will literally come by whenever and eat you out for hours. I owe you at least one phenomenal orgasm, but I’ll call the other nine interest.”

You consider him.

“C’mon,” he says swaying closer. “Give me your number, and I’ll show you what I can really do. Don’t you want this warm, wiggly tongue making you sing the high notes?” He goes to run his fingers through your hair, but you dodge and he drops his hand, his face falling.

He looks like a little boy who just got his favorite ball taken away. 

You sigh.

“Tell you what: Uber me a ride home, and you can give me your number.”

“What?” he says, squinting at you.

“Consider it asshole tax.”

He stares at you, then he takes out his wallet and rifles through it. “I don’t have Uber—you know they’re anti-union, right? But here—” He pulls out $40 and extends the bills to you. “This is all I have. For a cab.”

You stare at the bills for a moment, then pluck a twenty from him.

“This is fine.”

You take out your phone and poke at it until you’re in your contacts.

“Here.”

He takes the device into his long fingers. He does the hunt and peck until his number is in your phone. When he gives it back to you, you see his number is under “Best Sex You’ll Ever Have”.

You snort. “Subtle.”

He sneers. “Can’t have you confusing me with your other conquests.”

You waggle your phone at home. “I’ll call you. And you better rock my fucking world.”

Once you get home, you basically collapse, and the next morning is hell in getting yourself up and alert—but once the day wears on, you find yourself opening and closing Mary’s number. It actually takes you two more days before you decide: Why not have fun with a booty call?

Me [4:37pm]: My pussy’s not going to eat itself.

⬅️Previous | Next ➡️

[faecaptainofdreams]

For context, see here: www.deviantart.com/foxdragonlo… ---------------------------------------------------------- Peter's bare footsteps were nearly undetectable in the late hour. The facility slept for the most part, but the youngest Avenger was restless, and somehow sensed he wasn't the only one. Peeking around the corner, he spied the master of the mystic arts cape-less, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room. His eyes were closed, his fingers in a peculiar position. Peter gazed at him for some time, still silent, caught in the crossfire of his mind's demands. Disturb Dr. Strange, or leave him be? He hated to burden others, but he had questions that needed answered. Also, was it unwise to sneak up on someone so powerful? What if-- "Peter Parker," he ushered calmly, eyes still closed. Peter leaped up and away from Stephen, his whole body wracking violently in his startling.        "UH! Oh -- GEEZE, whoa, okay...!" Stephen finally looked at Peter, watching him catch his breath and try to calm his nerves. His expression remained unchanging, and his demeanor as calm and somewhat dry as ever.       "Sorry, sorry I -- I didn't mean to disturb you..." "If you hadn't meant to disturb me, you wouldn't have been staring at me for so long."        "Well -- I mean, I guess I wasn't sure if I wanted to disturb you yet, is...what I'm trying to say..." He only got more shy, appearing to shrink with guilt. "Hm. It's fine. I was wrapping up was it was." As Stephen rose to his feet, Peter stammered in place.        "O-oh, do -- do you want me to go? I can leave you alone, I was just--" "No, it's okay." The older man crossed past Peter casually. Even with his attempt to reassure him, the boy was still riddled with guilt. He looked around, uncertain what to do with himself, absentminded to Stephen gingerly taking a pre-made cup of tea from one of the further-off tables and walking back to the softer sitting area with it. He lowered himself onto the couch, taking a quiet sip from the cup. Peter merely watched him. "To be honest, that was a session not much-needed. My tea was too hot; I was passing the time." Warm brown eyes simply looked the spiritual master over in a long, contemplative silence. Stephen was patient, but still a tad dry. "...At the risk of sounding callous, I'm starting to wonder if I should have meditated someplace else." Peter snapped out of it and shook his head, raising a hand towards him in defeat.       "NO no, no! I'm -- I -- I'm still...trying to make up my mind, I'm sorry..." Stephen pretended to ignore him and took another sip from his little cup, partly in an effort to give him time. "Mm... Camomile. Basic, but aligning." Icy blue eyes drifted up to meet Peter's uneven gaze. "I understand spiders are nocturnal. Trouble sleeping?"        "Oh, a-actually, jumping spiders are diurnal, and I'm mostly influenced by jumping spider DNA. But there's some wolf in there too, and those are nocturnal, which is why I can see in the dark, but it doesn't make sleeping hard. Well, sometimes I don't sleep well, but not because of the wolf spider. It's...uh..." "..." Peter swallowed, and then hissed to himself under his breath as he looked away submissively.       "Shut up, Peter..." While the younger man rubbed his face tiredly, Stephen finished his tea and set the cup down gently on the coffee table. "You came all this way, and have wasted time debating whether or not to do something. I feel I made the choice easy for you by allowing your presence to disturb me, and yet here you stand, still unable to make a decision."        "..." "... Come sit down," he ordered lowly, annunciating each word to show his patience beginning to peel away.        "OH! Right, okay..." Peter nervously stepped over and sat beside Stephen on the couch, legs tight together and arms rigid to the sides of his torso. His discomfort was understandable, but on an unspoken level, Stephen was caught between amusement and slight concern. Peter may have been more sensitive to the spiritual than he realized, but that was a topic for another day, Strange felt. "Why did you consider disturbing me?" Peter rubbed his hands over his thighs for a few moments, then finally surrendered. Sighing, he appeared to relax, though his nerves still held a small grudge.        "Okay, look... I was just wondering -- if it's not too much trouble, if you could...tell me something about death." At this, Stephen's brow fell a little heavier, but he wasn't upset.       "I-I know, kind of a...silly, and...complicated topic, but..." "I will be happy to answer any questions you have any way I can." Peter nodded stiffly.        "Thanks. Um... The thing is, is I don't...entirely know how to ask this question. Maybe you'll know what I mean when I say it; I have this bad habit of thinking things make sense in my head, but then when I say it out loud it sounds really stupid or people look at me funny, and...uh..." "You also have a bad habit of rambling."        "YES, I do! I'm sorry!" "And a bad habit of apologizing."        "...Yeah..." Stephen watched Peter carefully for some time. He admired this young man, and was no stranger to people being uneasy around him. Regardless, he hoped he could satiate him by simply being patient. "Your question?"        "Uh yeah, okay, here it goes. So...what is it? Death, I mean," he asked softly while looking up at his company. At this, Stephen tilted his head just a tad. His brow didn't furrow, but there was something unreadable in his studious stare.        "I know what it is, physically. I know that...your heart stops beating, and...your body shuts down, and it decays, but... That's just the science stuff. That's just...the physical thing." "I find it interesting that you died and returned from the dead, as so many people across the universe did just a few years ago, but are just now asking this question." Peter nodded, slouching.        "Yeah. Weird, I know. But..." "But now, you're mourning." This statement struck a nerve, and Peter recoiled in an effort to stifle the despair that crept in him. Stephen softened. "Marcus's passing is indeed, very sad. I know this isn't the first time you've experienced death of loved ones, and for the record, it's not unusual to not have questions until the "final straw," if you will." Peter's voice broke as he held back his emotions. He was visibly weaker now.        "That's the th-ing, is I barely knew him at a-ll... I spent one day with him, and...I'm...SO torn up about it." He swallowed something dry.       "It's been two days, and I still j-ust can't get this question out of my head." Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself.       "I guess the whole 'what is death' thing is really just...a broad spectrum. You're right, this was the final straw," Peter said hoarsely. "I want to understand why death exists, I want to understand why we have to go, where we go, and all that insane crap with Thanos. I mean -- how we died, how I died, and I can't remember anything between before then and when I woke up again. If I couldn't remember anything, does that mean when we die we are literally gone? Is that it? I mean is there really nothing else after all of this...?" Stephen took in a deep breath through his mouth, and exhaled it through his nose as he sat forward, clasping his scarred hands together thoughtfully. "Well," he uttered softly, "I see there were multiple reasons I was meant to be here at this time." He looked at Peter from the side. "I sense you are prepared to sit here for a long time to get your answers." Peter nodded, now appearing a little stronger.        "I am. I can't... I can't keep wondering, and...I figure...you were the best person to ask..." "Perhaps. Either way, I will do my best. And, if I am successful, you won't have to endure for long." Peter sat stern and patient while Stephen adjusted himself in place once more, turning to face Peter as much as possible. "To understand death, you must first understand life." There was a long silence between them. Peter's eyebrows raised, but he said nothing. "...I'm waiting for a smart remark or a bracing sigh."        "Oh, I -- I don't...have either of those, hah..." Stephen smiled briefly. "Good. So, Peter, what do you know about life?"        "..." "Why do you think we're here? What's man's purpose on Earth...?" Peter's eyes became more alert, voice raising in register.        "Oh, um... Well the thing I hear the most is that we're here to do good, that we're here to be good people, and... Okay, actually I guess that's about it, heh. Other than that, everyone always, just...says "I don't know," so..." "Ah, the old 'to do good' answer. A favorite among Western society in particular, though universally you can see it in every culture and major religion. One of the most famous and simple examples is the Hindu concept that bad actions in one life will result in reincarnation of a lower animal. In modern Christian teachings, it's taught that not following a path of Christ will leave one in eternal damnation. There's always an afterlife price to pay for not "being good," you see." Peter nodded, eyes wide and somewhat uneasy. Strange observed him, slowly allowing one of the corners of his mouth to curl into a small, clever smile. "But you don't believe in those teachings, do you." Peter shook his head in a tiny motion. He looked very tired.        "Not...really... They just...don't make sense to me." "That's because they don't make sense at all," he retorted in an overly-factual manner. He had Peter's full attention. "All religion is flawed, because one living person cannot possibly understand all of the spiritual universe. More to the point, the books were written by people who wanted control over others, but I digress. My order knows about as much as there is possible to learn, and even then, most of everything around us remains mysterious by design. Now then, to recap, your answer to why we're here on Earth is "to do good," correct?" Peter nodded. "It's an inspiring and popular sentiment, but for the most part... It's crap." Peter hunched forward, air flushing through his nostrils suddenly in an effort to laugh without opening his mouth. His shoulders shook a couple of times; he truly didn't see that one coming.       "O-oh, hah hah...!" "Yes, we should try to be good people, and do good things, but to say that's all we're here for is a gross undermining of physical creation. For one thing, people have varying opinions of what "doing good" is or what it looks like. Those opinions vary too much, and you have war, not unlike the one we faced three years ago." Peter's smile dissipated, and he became more focused yet again. "I'll bet you live under the impression that life is complicated. In practice, yes, but in theory? No. The real reason we are alive and on Earth -- and listen closely..." Peter leaned in a little, holding his arms tensely. "... Is to experience." They sat in a bit of silence. Stephen observed Peter's quiet contemplation. Surprisingly, he didn't look overly confused, but it was clear the gears were turning in his head.       "...Okay..." "There is existence beyond the physical, Peter, you know this deep down. You watch me utilize it. In order to live, you must have a soul and its functioning systems in your body. When that soul leaves, the body cannot animate, and we die. When your heart stops beating, your heart chakra cannot pump through it. When you're organs shut down, your other gates cannot flow through them, and piece by piece your spirit cleaves from your body until it is cold, and you are returned to the universe you can't see in this flesh."        "Okay, this got really twisted..." Stephen couldn't help but to chuckle, unsurprised by the reaction. "Here's the thing. There is a god, a BIG god, but they're not some bearded white man in the sky punishing people they created and casting them into some pit of eternal despair -- which doesn't exist, by the way. Actual God conforms to no gender, or sex, or race or creed or recognizable being. They are nothing more than an amalgamation of light and guidance, and they do, yes, command the universe and are all-knowing." Peter began to calm, visibly interested in this little revelation. Stephen gave him a moment to absorb it, and then promptly continued. "Don't believe in God or anything spiritual?" He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. You worship lesser deities? Fine. You claim to follow God, but through Christianity or Islam or other religion? Well...that's a nice try, but you're doing it wrong. And ultimately, it still doesn't matter. For disassociation purposes, spiritualists like myself prefer to call God "All" or "Spirit," or just "Creator." I am partial to "Spirit."" Peter nodded again, still taking in the information.       "Okay..." "You with me so far?"        "I think so. But...what does this have to do with my questions?" "I'm...a little alarmed that you haven't put that together yet, but we're getting there." Peter had no comment. "The Spirit creates life, physical bodies, and while it's very real and mystifying to us, what most people don't realize is this is just about the absolute lowest vibrational plane of existence. The highest is indeed, Heaven, but Heaven isn't some pearly building with a bouncer at the front gate, deciding whether or not you get in. When you die, you either choose to go in or you don't, and if you want to leave, you can leave." Peter continued to listen, wordless and a little unreadable. "Heaven is all around us, just like the other limitless planes of existence. When we die, we are free to explore any and every plane. So that answers your one question."        "..." "Is there life after death."        "Oh! Right, yeah. Yeah, that -- that is an answer, yeah..." "You don't seem terribly convinced -- which isn't of concern to me, by the way, but I am interested in what you're thinking."        "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be disrespectful, it's just...a lot." "It is."        "But it just...kinda leads me to part of that question; why don't I remember anything from the time I died?" "Ahh, yes, that was...a special case for everyone. I mentioned that life is propelled by the soul and unseen spiritual forces. We are all originally just souls, and we choose what form to come into life as. When we die, we return to the spiritual realms, and then if we wish, we can come back. So Hindus are right in that yes, you can reincarnate, but it's not based around your actions in life. You live, you die, the Spirit reviews your life with you, and the choice over what to do next is yours. You may come back a cockroach, or an ant, or a person, or tree or fish or whatever floats your boat, all in an effort to achieve a certain sect of goals." Peter raised a finger meekly.       "Dr. Strange?" "Hm?"        "I'm -- you're kinda losing me." Stephen raised a hand. "Be patient. I'm watering down a lot of information for you, here."        "How do you remember all this stuff?" "The same way you remember vast amounts of details regarding your own work and interests."        "... Oh... Yeah, that makes sense. It's just so weird...!" "It is, because hardly anyone really understands it. Let's slow down, and recap. So far, in short, I have told you that there is life after death, that Biblical God is a man-made construct, that hell doesn't exist, and that reincarnation is real, but doesn't adhere to Hindu standards. Are you back on track now?" Peter nodded big.        "Yes, I think so. So you're saying that this could be, like...my third or fourth life or something?" "Or your fiftieth, or your seven-hundred and thirty-second, or your two-thousand, eight-hundred and ninety-ninth life."        "...That's...awfully specific," he responded quietly. Stephen had no comment.        "So why can't I remember them? Why can't I remember being dead, or being other people? Or animals?" "Because being mortal means giving up infinite knowledge. I said we are here to experience, and one cannot have nor appreciate raw experience without a raw form. Being alive is about learning, changing, and again, experiencing. We like to believe that people who do terrible things face a terrible afterlife, but this simply isn't so. Everyone pays for their actions in living, and their memory to the flesh is tainted forever by their actions. But their soul moves on, and they start over again."        "Huh... That is a little disappointing, not gonna lie." "I felt the same way at first, trust me. We learn how to judge, and differ right from wrong, and how to learn at all. And it's not just like this here on Earth, it's every planet with life."        "So... Huh, okay, so is it possible that I could've like, been a Titan once? Or some other alien?" "The truth? ...I have no idea." Peter looked surprised, tilting his head back with a very understandable expression. "Yes, I know, hard to believe, but I also said earlier that I don't know everything; no one does. However, I don't see any real reason why that wouldn't be possible."        "Yeah, 'cos you said we can go anywhere when we die, so--" Stephen nodded more enthusiastically, smiling with a hint of pride to know that Peter was really listening and learning. "Receiving knowledge, trial and error, injury, healing, never having the promise of tomorrow, and coping with the unknown is the real legitimate reason we're here. The physical plane is a place for souls to go when they want to experience this level of hardship. To put frankly, this is the hardest thing you will ever endure; living, and much of the time, it is hard because of those around you, and because of your own actions. There is no Satanic entity to blame for your misgivings; you must own up to everything you do wrong, and hold those around you accountable."        "That makes sense to me. ... So... When we die after having lived some lives before, is all the stuff in the universe new to us again, or...?" "When we die, all of our universal knowledge, and the memory of all our past lives are returned to us. And once we come back into the living plane, that information is removed again, and so on and so forth, forever." Peter turned away, leaning his elbows on his knees, rubbing his face and eyes somewhat tiredly.        "That's...way too much to process, okay..." "Like I said, this is just the watered-down version."        "So like..." Peter looked up again, but kept his eyes squinted.        "...So dying..." "Mhm?"        "... OKAY so what is death? Ahh hah hah," Peter wheezed slightly in sheepish laughter. "This is what I've been leading up to. What you choose to do with everything I've told you is up to you, as is whether or not you feel it's important. Death is nothing more than a passageway into the afterlife. It's a line you cross at the end of your life. Now, when we refer to people who have died, we say they're "dead." Being dead is a lasting state only to the physical, decaying body, and to the Earthly presence. Or, the presence of life on other planets, of course. When our spirit returns to the universe, it's not dead in that state; we're simply spirits."        "Okay... So what about, like...ghosts...?" "Do you mean, the ghosts that haunt places?"        "Yeah, are those real?" "Most stories about them aren't, but yes, there are ghosts of the dead that do become trapped and linger around the physical plane. When they're close by, you know because it may feel cold, or you may feel ill or frightened for no apparent reason. This is because those spirits are trapped by the circumstances of their death, or there is something they feel they need to complete. This can be undone by praying and encouraging them into the light, freeing them from death all together, as it should be."        "Oh, okay so some of the stereotypes I've heard about are true. Cool." Stephen nodded. "Death is only scary for the living, Peter. Anything is only scary for the living."        "And...that's the point...?" "Yes. What have you to fear after death, when all of creation lies before you? The various planes of existence are harsh and terrifying in their own right, but souls are equipped to deal with them. And if they're not? They return to the light, too. There is no permanent destruction of the soul." As Peter looked off in deep thought, it was clear a sort of peace had overtaken him. He needed a minute to process it, and eventually, a sad smile traversed its way across his cheeks.       "That's nice... I don't know if I totally understand all of this, but I literally have no reason not to trust you, so... I will... Actually, you know what? I have one more question." Stephen motioned for him to continue.        "What about...people -- and animals, I guess -- that don't get to really experience life? What about...miscarriages, abortions, or babies?" "... And Marcus?" Peter looked down some, hurting. Stephen was sympathetic, and softer spoken as he had been earlier on. "Those lives, however short, aren't always about themselves. If I recall, you said you only knew Marcus for one day, but here you are, days later, torn up over his death, and grieving him. That's why he lived."        "...I don't...understand," he replied softly. "Babies, and small creatures with small life spans exist, yes, for their own sake, but like the rest of us, they also exist to influence the rest of life around them. Death is not particular about who or what it takes, or when, and a large point of it in regards to living is that death affects the living far greater, for far longer, than it affects those whom it takes over the threshold and back to the other planes. You can't live if you can't die, and you can't die if you don't live. That's what flesh is for. The fickle thing about death is it can inspire us, touch us, and wound us in unexpected ways. Marcus had a family, friends, and he touched quite a few lives in just four years. And now you, one of those people he touched, are sitting here trying to unravel the most frequently asked yet ironically easy to answer questions about life and death. He was a grand part of the experience for other people, including you. Do you understand this?" It required somber deliberation, but Peter finally came to the conclusion that he did."        "I think I do... It's still really sad..." "It is. And you're still "really sad," but knowledge truly is power. My advice is to take the information I've given you, and apply it. Don't be sad for Marcus; he's free, and he will most likely be back in another form. Mourn him how you need to, and don't stifle it. Just because you only knew him for a day doesn't make any of your grief less important. In our line of work, especially yours, learning to cope with death and be open to it is critical."        "I know... Thank you," he replied with a bittersweet smile. "Before you ask, no, he didn't deserve to suffer, or to die young. We don't die because we deserve to; we die because we're designed to." Peter nodded.       "I like that, heh..." "I hope this was helpful."    "It was, really. I appreciate it, thank you, Mr. -- Dr. -- Strange. Geeze, I just--" Slapping a hand to his face tiredly, Peter chuckled to himself, feeling the weight of his exhaustion now. And again, Stephen couldn't resist a smile. "'Stephen' works just fine, Peter. Just like before."        "Ahhhh!" he sighed out in exasperation, but looked again at his company and smiled more.       "Okay, Stephen." The older of them offered his hand to shake, and Peter accepted humbly.       "Hey, would it be like, blasphemous if I went and took notes about all this? Like, actually wrote it on paper?" "Blasphemy is for religion, and I don't have one of those. Take all the notes you want."        "Hah hah! Gotcha," he stated with a single thumb-up. At last, he released Stephen's hand. The sorcerer chose not to say anything about Peter's absentminded, extended handshake while they had that brief back and forth. Still, he noted to himself that Peter sure had one hell of a grip when he wanted.       "...So is Karma a thing?" "Yes, it is a 'thing,'" he responded rather flatly.       "Huh." "For every action, there is a reaction."        "Like science!" "It's as I told Tony; the supernatural is scientific and applies to science, but you must surrender yourself to it in order to practice and understand it."        "Yeah, I don't think I have the...the...I don't know, whatever it is you need to be able to do that." Stephen smiled, looking back on his life before the accident, which he had long understood was no accident at all. "You'd be surprised."        "Hm. Well, I should probably go now, you're probably tired." Stephen shrugged while Peter sat up, stretching his arms above his head. The former eyed his empty tea glass, contemplating making another cup, but ultimately deciding it was best not to. Peter rose to his feet and began to step off, waving behind himself nicely to what had been his temporary mentor.        "Night, Stephen." "Goodnight, Peter." Once Peter was out of sight, Stephen remained firmly planted in his position on the couch, as if waiting for something. Sure enough, not too much later, Peter came back into the room and up to the mystic master, an inquisitive but happy look about him.        "...You like butterflies... Why?" "Well that's a rather odd question," he answered cheekily. "We've not spent extensive amounts of time together, I know and have used many spells, and many animals appeal to me." Peter pulled back in submission, feeling silly.        "Oh -- pfft, you're right, I don't...really know where that came from." Stephen allowed him to stammer, and then smiled softly. "I like their metaphor."        "...Oh," he replied shortly, thinking.       "...Um... Which metaphor would that be...?" "Can you think of none?"        "I can think of a couple, probably, but..." "Then you're probably right." Before Peter's very eyes, Stephen cupped his hands, and a soft, bright light filled his palms. They trembled slightly, but steadied as a tiny golden sphere glittered in the midst of the glow. Enamored by the display, Peter sat beside Stephen again without thinking, leaning in close to look at the beautiful magic. The tiny sphere became a small caterpillar, which grew and fattened, and then became a chrysalis. The arachnid-named superhero felt his heart fill with warmth as the light brightened, illuminating the room, and from the chrysalis sprouted a gorgeous golden butterfly. It fluttered around in the sorcerer's hands, enticing Peter to reach out and gently touch it with his finger. No sooner than he did did the whimsical energy-based creation finally wither. Its body disappeared, and its wings fell weightless into Stephen's palms. The golden light, the wings, and the sensation of warmth faded all together, and again Peter found himself touched by a hint of sorrow. Stephen observed him. "There are many metaphors the butterfly speaks to. In this case, you can guess which ones are most appropriate." Peter nodded stiffly, sad but accepting before allowing himself to smile.        "Yeah... That was really cool, by the way." "Hm. Don't despair." Again, Stephen raised his hands, and a new orb appeared. Peter watched with tears in his eyes as again the orb became the caterpillar, and then the chrysalis, and then the butterfly. This time, when the butterfly withered, he noticed a tiny sparkle zip away into the air, a little further from the display, before evaporating. Wiping his eyes, Peter no longer felt so terrible after having watched the little sparkle fizzle away. Rather, he felt peaceful, and knew everything would be okay. Stephen smiled to him. "You're more perceptive than you give yourself credit for, Peter. You have great instincts. Use them." The urge to hug Stephen was overwhelming, but he decided it was best not to. Again, he nodded, and wiped the last of the tears from his eyes.       "I'll try..." "It's all we can do."        "Okay, I'm gonna go to bed now, ahah." This time when Peter stood and parted ways with him, Stephen sensed that he was no longer needed, and he too, left the living room, bedding in his temporary quarters. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[onepdumpsterfire]

Summary: Usopp moves to the city after a year since his mom died in a way to feel closer to her. There he looks for a roommate and finds none other than Zoro himself. what fate has in store for them is left for a later date lol

Roommates

Usopp . Zoro

It’s been almost a year since my mom died. She’s been sick for a long time, so I knew this was coming for some time now.

Even so, knowing didn’t stop it from hurting just as much.

Since her funeral, all I’ve done is coop myself up in our house. I’d probably turn into a hermit if it weren’t for my neighbor, Kaya. She came around whenever she had the chance.

That was nice of her considering what she has been going through…

But the more she worried about me, the guiltier I felt.

I know that she can't help but take care of people. Hell, It's why she’s been studying pharmaceutics, but I also know she can do so much more with her life. She could be some big-city doctor or researching to cure cancer!

Wouldn’t that be so much cooler than being stuck in a no-name city, too small to even afford more than the one clinic it has?

In any event, that’s only one of the reasons why I’ve decided to move away for a while. I think some time out of this house would do me some good.

The city that I’m moving to isn’t all that big and a bit further than I’d like it to be, but that’s the point of moving, right?

One way or another, I chose this city because my mom fell in love with it. She used to tell me about how, when she was young, she used to travel all over! She’d seen it all. Every tourist attraction and big-name city, but there was something about this city that just took her breath away. She told me that this place managed to calm her need to be constantly moving. This is also where she got pregnant with me then later she moved back to where she was raised and had me.

As much as she loved it there, she wanted me to go out on my own and find a place that would ‘sate my most wild urges and fuel my deepest desires,’ as cheese-ly as she put it.

At first, I thought she was joking.

I thought that she only liked that place because it’s where she met dad… It’s also why I hated this city.

My father was a coward that ran away as soon as my mom got sick. Though, she never blamed him for it. I never got to as her why, though. Years later, I did ask her if I was right. That she only romanticized this place because she fell in love there. However, she told me that he was only part of the reason why she loved this city so much, and that if I didn’t believe her then I should go find the depth of this city for myself.

I debated with myself for the longest time. Whether this was the right choice, or if I was ready to set foot in the place I used to loath so much. But being here now, I feel so much smaller than I thought I was. I’m nowhere near the heart of the city, but the sheer enormity for this place makes it feel like it’s trying to swallow me whole.

Sure, back home we had a lot of open fields and the horizon was always noticeable, but here the buildings towered over everything. It felt like a tsunami that threatened impact but never collided. The horizon was replaced by millions of stars that fell from the sky and sat just out of reach so that if you got too close thy’d turn into someone else’s day. Someone’s life.

There are so many people here that It almost made it feel lonely. Being surrounded by so many lives yet being so far from them. A mirage in a desert, one could call it. It promises life, but the closer you get the more you realize you could never get close enough.

I guess I was too much of a coward to be as alone as I felt when I first stepped foot here, though, I’ll keep telling myself it’s because the apartments here are too pricey and I only managed to land a job as a gas station attendant. Nevertheless now I’m sitting on the first floor of a fully furnished two-bedroom apartment checking a roommate wanted ad I posted earlier this week.

So far there have been only two people who wanted to move around this area, but one ghosted me after a few messages and the other ended up creeping me out so much that I had to report his account! I just hope the last person that answered my ad isn’t as much of a weirdo as the previous two.

They seem to be a bit curt, but I shouldn’t get too picky. Rent for next month is gonna be due soon, and there is barely anyone who wants to live near this area as is!

I’m sure that they’re nicer in person! I shouldn’t worry. It’s just two days.

Two days.

-2 days later. Thursday 2:30 pm -

When I arrive at the coffee shop, I walk straight to the back of the line. It isn’t that long and I’ve got here thirty minutes early, so I should have time for a drink before they get here.

Should I get something for them too? No, that’d be weird, and it would probably get cold by the time they get here.

The person in front of the line leaves and we all step forward.

Shit.

Someone arrives and lines up behind me.

I didn’t ask for their name! I don’t even know if they’re a boy or a girl!

The next person leaves and we take another step forward.

Is it too late to ask? Would it be weird if I did?

Another step forward

What if they’re a girl? Would they feel uncomfortable living with a guy?

“-ir?”

I did put on the ad I was a dude though…

“-cuse me, sir?”

“Huh?” The barista’s voice brings me back to earth. “Oh, sorry!”

“It’s okay!” her chipper voice rung out, “could you repeat your order? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“O-oh, sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to talk out loud. I was lost in thought, I guess... haha ...” I looked up to their hanging menu, more so to look away from her than to figure out what I wanted.

After putting in my order I take a seat at the very back.

Ten minutes later my drink was ready and my anxiety was rising again.

What if they don’t come?

Five minutes later and I sent them a message to let them know I’m here.

Maybe I could’ve phrased it better?

That sounded weird…?

God, is that a typo?

five minutes later

They haven’t answered, but that’s okay! It’s only been five minutes. Can’t expect them to be by their phone 24/7 right?

I’ll play some games on my phone to distract myself. Yeah, that’ll be fine. It’s fine.

I take a big gulp from my drink

I downloaded that new game. My hopes aren’t high for it, though. I found it via a random Facebook ad. Hopefully, it’s not one of those scams that say 90% of people can’t pass level five, but it’s only ‘cus no one lasts long enough to get to level five.

Hmmm… it seems plays well. A bit of a lag but the graphics are awesome! The old-style, pixelated art and bright, neon, solid colors give it a very retro vibe. The ads between levels kind of ruin the experience, though.

Guess they gotta make money somehow, right?

I wonder if they’ll go away if I turn off my data and Wi-Fi.

I shouldn’t just in case the person I’m meeting tries to reach me.

Could be fine for a round or two, though, I’d anxiously suffer through all of it.

I shouldn’t just in-

A sudden scraping sound from the chair opposite of me jolts me from my hypnotic state. “Hey,” a green-haired man in front of me mutteres before taking the seat he pulled out.

Taking in his form as he makes himself comfortable, my mind begins to race. Green dyed hair with roots of black hair showing. Fitted, sleeveless Nike shirt and black basketball shorts paired with a white pair of sneakers.

Oh, god. What’s with the green hair? He looks super buffed. Am I about to be mugged? No, that’s stupid. He wouldn’t have sat- in a cafe, really?

I quickly glance down at my phone for the time.

Exactly 3. Is he super punctual? More than likely a fluke, but impressive nonetheless. What if he’s a perfectionist?

My thoughts continue to swarm around my head, buzzing in an insatiable mob until a humming silence washes over me. Like one of those box televisions from back in the day. Not broadcasting anything in particular, stuck on a blue screen, droning on in silence.

The sudden stillness in my thoughts came so abruptly that it almost gave me whiplash. That aside, I need to focus now and answer him.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t ask for your name-” I left my statement open so that he could fill in the blank“-Zoro”

“R-right, Zoro. My name’s Usopp,” I waved my hands like the gesticulation would somehow help my words form into a coherent sentence, “but you probably already knew that from my ad... Hah..” I gave a quick huff before pushing through my awkward inexperience with ‘interviews’. “I was thinking we could talk and get to know each other before I take you to see the apartment.”

“That’s fine by me,” Zoro relaxed further in his seat. “What do you wanna know?”

Right at home, ain’t he.

~Do you smoke? “No”

~Are you a messy person? “I don't have a lot of things other than clothes.”

Doesn't quite answer the question but ill take it.

~Do you have friends over often? “No”

~What do you do for a living? “I’m a bouncer at a bar near here.”

Explains the muscle.

~Can you pay rent on time? “Yes, actually I brought the first month’s with me. Your ad said that split cost between the both of us plus the utilities would be $487 right?” Zoro dug around his pocket before pulling out a folded wad of cash and handing it to me.

“U-uh yeah,” tentatively I reach over to take the money. “Yeah...” I doubt I can find someone else by the end of the month. Zoro’s my safest bet at getting a roommate before next rent's due. He doesn’t seem so bad, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.

...I guess this means there’s only one more question to ask.

“Do you wanna see the apartment?”

[kaibacxrps]

Born in conflict

Discord thread with @kaibacorpbros​

This war has been going for years... There is no sign of it coming to an end, anytime soon. He doesn’t have any recollections of peaceful times, or even what this village used to look like before it all began. Meanwhile, his younger brother was born amidst this chaos, in his brief- short life he has exclusively experienced that and destruction. There really isn’t much, if any hope at all for these boys. All that they have left is the other, but even then- deep down within the older brother’s mind he is almost certain it will be just a matter of time, until this war claims the infant’s life as well. What could possibly be done to get them out of here? To give a chance at an actual life to his brother? Would that even be possible?

‘We’re almost arriving at our destination, sir.’ The jeep’s driver informed to his patron, who was comfortably sitting in the backseat. The man in question is one of the leaders, of a very prominent and influential mafia. They have ties to many countries governments, and run several businesses- schemes in the black market. They had been reached out by one of the factions from this conflict, in order to bring in - traffick more weapons. It was uncommon for Set to take these sorts of jobs, this was usually handled by either Karim or Shada, however he felt like this would be a perfect opportunity to teach more about their business to his son. Set’s gaze shifted from the deserted- destroyed scenery, and slowly shifted to his son who was about 11 years old. The place they are heading, was the last place any parent would willingly bring their child to- anyone but him, of course. “Your birthday is approaching, have you decided on what you want for it?” The father asked to his child, as he shifted slightly on his seat. So far, their trip had been awfully quiet, it was obvious to Set how his own child wasn’t too thrilled at all by the propsect of this trip. Maybe they just had a different meaning for the expression ‘bonding time between father and child’. 

The boy's eyes were mainly focused on the environment that passed them. He didn't have much interest in his father after suddenly deciding it was time to actually interact with him now and then. This place was ugly, ravaged, and not to mention it stunk as well. To say he was not happy would be an understatement. The question from his father did surprise him, but nothing more was shown but a small tilt of his head. "No sir," he said before pondering over the question more. What would he even ask for? For the most part he had the things he wanted. Maybe he could ask to go back home early for his gift? Nah, his father wouldn't even laugh at that. "I've not really thought about it. Maybe a game of some kind. I'll let you know if I think of anything." The boy trails off, before eventually coming back to the problem at hand. "Did I really have to come for this trip?" 

He lost the count of how many times his boy had asked the same exact question. It began when he was first approached back at Japan, then it only got worse as time went on. “What did I tell you the last time you asked this?” Set responded without missing a beat, his eyebrows raised for a moment and his facial expression made it abudantly clear he wouldn’t repeat himself one more time. A sigh soon left him, while he crossed his legs in order to get more comfortable on his seat. “Alright, alright while you think on that... Let’s run down the rules one more time. Don’t leave my line of sight, don’t stare down at anyone, no running there could be mines planted...” The father’s ramble went on for awhile, and until he was done it was the only thing that could be heard inside of the vehicle. “Are we clear, Seto?” By the time he was done, the car had stopped the driver alongside the bodyguard stepped out of it in order to open the doors for their patrons. “I know it won’t be the prettiest sight, but... What can you do?” Set proceeded to put on himself his sunglasses, and looked over at his son one last time before exiting. “I’ll make up for this, you know that boy.” There were already several men waiting for them outside, they all stood at a safe distance from the vehicle as they waited for their dealer to come out and start the discussions and arrangements. The driver held out a suitcase for Set to take. ‘Good morning, gentlemen.’ The mobster started, in a bold and confident tone as he walked towards them. This arrangement would last hours, the Sun was harshly shining bright - it only served to paint a more clear picture of the ruins that surrounded them. Set was clearly way too wrapped in the discussions, and the employees attentions were on the mobster- and not quite so much on his son. 

Seto largely zoned out for most of what Set said, but managed to at least appear like he was paying attention. "Yes, yes," he said when the car stopped, wasting no time in getting out. He didn't have an interest at all in the side of the business, so why couldn't he just be left out of it? But Seto concealed a sigh. The sooner things got started, the sooner it could be over. But quickly the boy's patience grew thin. It was hot. He had nothing to keep himself entertained but the boring negotiations between his father and the other adults. His father wouldn't notice if he just... carefully meandered out of sight. At least to find some shade. Although that proved to be a more difficult task in itself. But at least this way he wasn't stuck standing around like a statue. He started kicking a small rock as he traveled down the path out of boredom, until his hit sent it into one of the ruin walls. There were no other good sized ones around, so Seto went after it. He was about to flick the stone back onto the path. But he wasn't expecting to run into someone else. A kid, quite a bit younger than him by the looks of it, but... "Who are you?" 

’I’m going to look out for more supplies, they mentioned a truck with water is heading towards downtown. You stay here, and don’t leave here alright? Unless things get too dangerous... I’ll be back in a moment.’ Those were the last words, Mokuba exchanged with his brother before he headed out. Those were the ruins of a common house, even though by now it looked like anything but that. It was hot, way too hot in there and he had already long since run out of water (he could already hear his brother’s voice, telling him about better managing the very little they had.). At least it wasn’t night time, that was when the mice- rodents came out from their holes. There was nowhere to go, or even do other than wait for his brother’s returns. The little boy tried to take a nap, even though he knew very well how dangerous that was. Case in point, he woke up startled by the sound of a pebble hitting the wall and footsteps coming his way. By the time he heard the voice, the boy was already in the process of abandoning everything (at least- whatever they had left) behind. There was a hole on the wall by his side, large enough for him to run through it. He stood there for long enough to exchange looks with each other, before running through the hole without answering the stranger’s words or call. How odd, for a moment Mokuba was certain he had seen his brother there. 

"Hey, wait! I'm not gonna--" But his protests fall on... thin air as the small boy is already gone. Of course it made sense to Seto, given where they were, but he didn't look that scary right? He grumbles to himself for half a second while he debates on what to do before making up his mind. The meeting his father was in was bound to still take a while, he shouldn't be missed. He'd find out what was up with this kid, or at least make sure he wasn't the kid of someone important that would send someone with guns after him. Seto dashes through the hole right after the small boy. "I'm not gonna hurt you, swear! I was just bored okay!?" 

The sounds of footsteps resonated throughout the demised land, the ruins of buildings echoed the sounds of their chase. The surroundings were completely devoided of life, besides both children. Mokuba would often check over his shoulder- back, in order to see whether or not he was still being followed by the stranger. Much to his dismay, he was and his fatigue was starting to catch up to him by now. He hasn’t eaten for quite sometime, and hasn’t had any chance to sleep properly since forever. He was running out of breath to keep up like this, the boy needed a place to hide- it was his last ditched effort to try and save himself. As they ran through yet another tight alleyway, Mokuba spotted another hole in the wall that he could get through. And so, just like he quickly hopped into it. This led him into the remainders of a warehouse there still were a few crates, which he quickly hid behind them. Truth be said, the boy was quite frankly terrified of the stranger. There were so many awful things that could happen to him, despite being so young- he is well aware of what tends to happen to young children like him in these bands. The boy is desperately trying to recover his breath, his heart pounded inside of his chest. ‘Brother... Where are you?’ Mokuba thought to himself, as he tried to hold back his urge to cry for him. Although, a few tears had already sprouted from his eyes. The boy was tired, hungry, and terrified-- he wanted his brother here so bad! However, the nightmare was far from over when he heard footsteps inside of the building. There is no way he’ll get away from this. A sharp and loud cry escaped him while accompanied by sobs, once he is found. 

This kid was fast! But of course it made sense in a place like this, a vital skill, even. But eventually, likely do to the smaller boy's exhaustion as well as Seto's longer strides he managed to catch up. At the very least he wanted to explain himself in case it caused issues for his father down the line... "I'm not--hah... going to hurt you." Seto, while panting for breath was doubled over in exhaustion. He held up his hands, to show they were empty. Hopefully that would mean something to the boy. He jerked a thumb at himself. "Seto. I'm Seto," he said slowly. Right, he hadn't even thought about them not speaking the same language. "I'm not gonna hurt you," he repeated, never daring to move his hands in case the boy thought he was reaching for a weapon. "Are you lost? Do you have parents? A mom or a dad? Brothers or sisters? Maybe I can help you." Maybe if he could just push this kid in the right direction he could then get back to father before he noticed he'd wandered off. 

The boy froze in place and in fear, as the older boy caught up to him. His poor heart was racing, it was nearly impossible to hear him over the loud - pounding beats in his chest. However, even though he saw how the stranger had no weapons- guns with him, it still did very little to calm him down. There was a language barrier between them, Mokuba didn’t understand a word that came from Seto. But he managed to pick up on a few things. He clearly wasn’t from here, and he also wasn’t behaving like most of the others that have tried to harm him and his brother over the years. Regardless of it, he could tell how he wouldn’t be leaving here without him- and considering their context, being alone in his age was extremely dangerous. Mokuba blinked at him in silence at first, then nodded with his head- signalling he couldn’t understand what he had just said. If only there was a way for them to communicate... Sure, Seto’s intentions might be good. But he knows best, to not approach- get too close to any stranger. He wouldn’t want that to happen once more. “Uhm... Mokuba.” The boy responded while placing a hand over his chest, as he tried to think of a way to try and communicate with the older boy. He noticed an empty ammo shell, not too far from him- then he noticed the soil they currently stood on- sand. He quickly reached out for it, and scribbled on it two sticky figures- one taller than the other. “I’ve got a brother...” He spoke in his language, while patting the taller figure’s drawing with the bullet shell and tapping at his chest. This might be the start of something, he hopes the other might have an easier time at understanding him. 

Okay, progress. This was progress! At least the kid wasn't running from him and trying to communicate. Unfortunately that communication was with a language that Seto really didn't know. Seto can at least gather that it seemed the boy's name was Mokuba. Or maybe that was his last name. Or his group of people or hometown or--this wasn't that time for that. It was Probably the kid's name. The image that the boy scratched into the ground could either be a parent--or maybe just an adult or somebody older that the boy knew. That didn't narrow things down too much, but at least this kid did have someone he was looking for. Seto nods. "You're trying to find them?" He points to the bigger stick figure. "Okay--I haven't seen anyone else around though." But after scaring the boy off, he should probably at least help the boy back and see if they could find the person Mokuba was seeking. "You and me," Seto pointed towards Mokuba, and then himself. "We can look for," he put his hands over his eyes like binoculars. "Your friend," and lastly he pointed at the drawing. "Will you come with me?" Seto pointed to the boy, and then at himself, and made a walking gesture with his fingers in the air. 

The gestures, now that was something the child could understand clearly- despite the language barrier. A part of him was relieved, but the child was still very much wary of the stranger. The boy nodded his head up and down in agreement, as he gathered up the remainder of his energies in order to stand straight up and slowly lead the way around the ruined city- structures. But this time, at a much slower pace. How long have they been running? They have made quite far from the place, Mokuba and his brother made into their little hideout. The boy seemed to warm up to the foreigner, as they walked down the tight alleyway. Nothing bad happened to him so far, and there was no sight of the conflict - maybe both sides were taking a break... The black haired kid, couldn’t help but wonder if his brother had finally returned. Mokuba’s walking pace picked up speed, as they approached the hole that would lead them back into the hideout. However, nothing could have prepared them for what awaited for them inside of it. The younger boy stepped in without any major qualms, there was even a cheerful- exasperated gasp that left him after taking his very first step in. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for Seto, as he would be greeted by the sight of another boy- someone around the same age as him pointing a gun directly at him. “Freeze!” The other brunette boy shouted in his language, as he stood in front of his little brother. This had to be the other person, he mentioned earlier to Seto. 

Seto let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding when the boy finally nodded. Of course he knew there was probably little change of finding this kid's parent or whatever, but he'd at least follow this kid back to where he found him and if too much time passed he'd get back to his father. It was almost relaxed. No gunshots or yelling, just quiet as he followed this boy.  Like a stroll. Seto didn't have a watch on, but he figured he could probably wait around with the boy in his hideout for a few minutes at least before he had to go back home-- Or maybe not, going by the happy sound that left Mokuba, it seemed the person he was looking for had found him first. Seto's body reacted before his mind caught up, thanks to Set's training. He was already moving to grab the weapon by it's muzzle and push it to the side to throw off the boy's aim. In the same breath Seto drew his knife in his free hand attempting to hold the other boy up like he had just done. 

Now, where could his child possibly have gone to? How long has he been out? Seto had learned way too well, how to sneak away from these meetings. That boy kept proving himself, to be his biggest challenge in life yet. Now wasn’t the time to complain, they had to find Seto as quickly as possible. Before danger returned to this devastated land. Set alongside with some of his henchmen wandered around the empty streets, and parted ways so they could have a better coverage in their search. A distant and faint cry of a child, accompanied by the noise of gunfires was soon picked up by the mobster’s ears and he quickly began marching towards it’s direction.

The whole thing was chaotic, and it all happened so quickly as well. Mokuba screamed and cried out of being scared at the whole thing (even though he has witnessed far worse things, he still is merely a scared child), while his older sibling fought with his acquaintance. The older brother missed his gunshots, and quickly took notice of the knife being drawn out- they wrestled and struggled some more against each other. He didn’t come out of it unscathed, the foreigner kid managed to slash him a few times with the dagger but in the end he managed to once again assert control of the situation and hold him at very close range of his gun. The bleeding- sick looking boy, yelled at Seto a few words in his mother language- something akin to his final ones before he pulled the trigger. ‘Were you trying to take him away?! You’ll pay for laying a single finger on Mokuba, you sick bastard! Don’t try to deny it, I know what people like you do to them!-’ The boy spoke as loudly as he could, however he couldn’t finish the sentence. He was interrupted by a punch to his face, which sent him tumbling away- and caused him to lose grip of his gun. He had just taken the full blow, of an adult’s fist- and it was none other than Set himself. The father found his son, alongside with the rascal that dared to threaten him. “Seto, what did I tell you?” The man called in a deep and serious tone, it was enough to silence the crying Mokuba while his older sibling was trying to recover from the attack. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be granted such time- chance for it as he was quickly grabbed and lifted up by the mobster’s firm hold of his thin neck. Even though his sight was blurry, he was capable of recognizing the figure that was now directing his words to him (they were awful, and detailed to him exactly what was going to happen to him)... His name was infamous around these grounds... He should have known better. 

Seto had been so focused on his brawl with the other child it was like his father and his men had appeared out of nowhere. While he was pround of faring so well against someone with a superior weapon, there was also a bit of shame at the bruises no doubtedly forming on his face. First the foreign kids were yelling at him, now so was his father too. Dammit, he shouldn't have wandered off. The little one was crying and the older one squirming in the hands of Set--how had this all gone so wrong so quickly!? "Pops, I was just--!" Seto managed to scramble back to his feet and throw a gesture at Mokuba. "I stumbled across the little one who got lost from whoever he was traveling with; I'm guessing they're brothers," he explained hurridly. As sore as he was for the eldest attacking him, the whole point of this all was to help Mokuba before his father was the wiser--but one part of that was clearly out of the question. "I told him I'd help him, so just let that one go and we can leave." 

“No, no, no. You’ve wandered off despite all of my warnings, and now you want to try and argue with me? You aren’t in a position to make any demands.” Set responded to his son, with a cold glare on his face as his hold onto the other boy’s neck tightened up. Which scored a raspy and hitched gasp out of him, as he still tried to break free from the adult’s hold. “How noble,  were you trying to spare his life? Even though he had you at gunpoint... Look at your face, and clothes Seto... You’re looking so filthy.” The man scolded his child, looking down upon him the entire time with a stern look.

“Do you even have any idea, how worried I was with you?”

He could just barely breath, his surroundings felt like they were spinning. What were they even saying? Regardless of it, the boy was certain how this would be his ending. He wouldn’t make it past this very moment, yet he really wasn’t worried about himself. Rather, all he could think of was his brother- that was the only thing he had in his mind. “Mo-Mokuba... Agh...” The boy whimpered, as he tried to breath in as much oxygen as he was allowed in that situation. This garnered the attentions from both the man and the crying child, who by now had covered up his face with both hands. “Mokuba... Please, sir... Please... Take.... Take my brother out of this place... I-I’m sorry for attacking your son... Hah.” While the boy tried to speak in a painstakingly slow pace, Set took a good look at the kid in his hand.How odd... This complete stranger, in the middle of a no man’s land... Somehow, had a handful of similarities to his son’s looks. Both seemed to be around the same age, even the eyes colors were oddly similar.

An idea began forming in the back of Set’s mind, while he maintained his hold onto the boy- even after he was done talking. Meanwhile the younger boy’s tears just wouldn’t stop running down his cheeks, but this time- he visibly seemed to be confused by what he had just heard. “You can kill me... Sir... I... But please, take my brother... Out of here... I’m the only one he has, please.” Set was staring at him, deadset into those eyes the entire time. Eventually, something clicked in his mind which led him to slowly lower the boy down and set him on the floor. Finally, he could somewhat breath. But the first thing that greeted him once his sight focused- became clear, was a pistol’s barrel being pointed right at mere inches away from his face. The boy didn’t even flinch or blink, at the sight of it. At least, it would be impossible to recognize- tell who he once was. Should his corpse ever be found, by anyone. “What’s your name?” Set asked, coldly. “Does it really matter?” That was the response he got out of the unnamed kid, which prompted him to look over at Seto and direct his word to him. “Take the other kid out of here, wait outside for me and don’t leave. I’ll join you in a moment.” 

Seto had known he wouldn't have been able to get a word in edgewise, and his expectations hadn't been disappointed. Why'd he even bother to talk around here anyway? He had opened his mouth to argue that it was the little one he was trying to help, and that the eldest just happened to think him an intruder, but he got cut off again. It would probably be better to remain silent in this situation. Yet it was still clear on his face that the boy was not happy with all of this. He didn't dare move as the elder one appared to be trying to bargin with his father. But Set didn't choke the life out of the kid. What was going on? What was Seto missing from the language gap? "M...Mokuba, come on." Wheather his father decided to cleanly kill the kid with a bullet or not, at the very least it had to be better for the little one to be out of there. Mokuba was a mess, and rightfully so, but for once Seto did as he was told hearded the boy along, out of sight. This time, he wouldn’t dare risk wandering off again. What on Earth was his father thinking?

The little boy wouldn’t stop crying, he shouted and called for his sibling while being herded away by Seto. Despite his current state, it wasn’t difficult at all to drag him out of that place (mostly due to his current weak state, but also due to how lightweight he really was). In fact, he didn’t even have the energy to struggle- resist the older boy. With those two out of that place, Set’s attention was now fully on the kid that stood right in front of him. The man kneeled down so he could look right into those eyes, meanwhile the gun remained in the same exact position- still being pointed at the young boy.

’Don’t waste your time burrying a hole to me, or even covering my corpse. I know how this goes... I’ve already seen it...’ ‘No... No, your life might actually be worth something...’

They exchanged a few words, their talk was relatively a brief one. But it sure didn’t feel like that, from the outside. The silence was eating up Mokuba, who was still silently sulking while he sat on the floor. He had collapsed as soon as they stepped out of that building, the boy was too weak- he no longer could bring himself to stand up. His chest ached, due to his heart beating loudly and at a very fast pace. All that he could do in that situation was to look at Seto in search of some form of comfort, but even that didn’t last much. His gaze shifted between him, and the building- he anxiously waited for them- rather... Just the man to come out of there. He was waiting to hear the cold sound of a gunshot... But instead the sound of footsteps caught Mokuba’s attention, and an exasperated gasp left the crying child as soon as he spotted both walk out of the building. The younger boy still couldn’t stand up, but that didn’t stop him from shouting at his brother- who quickly ran towards him. Both boys were sulking- in tears, and crying together as they held each other tightly and exchanged comforting words in their language. Meanwhile, Set approached his son while he tucked away his pistol. “You okay there, boy? It was fast, wasn’t it?” He asked with a brief pause, as his gaze shifted from Seto and landed onto the weeping siblings. “I’ve got some news for you. They’re coming with us.” 

Seto had been expecting a gunshot as well. A quicker and cleaner way of getting rid of the eldest of the brothers. Or perhaps death by blunt force trauma. Neither came. The little one instantly abandoned his side at the sight of the eldest still breathing. But Seto wasn't out of the woods yet. "I'm fine, I handled myself," he answered. Just because he was nice to the younger one didn't mean he had no pride. At Set's following statement the boy was sure he misheard. "They're what Pops? Why? You were just about to kill one of them, I don't understand--are they important somehow?" Perhaps related to someone with a lot of power or money, Seto hypothesized. 

He can already envision and hear the others’ reaction to this plan. They’ll doubt him, as well as most likely call him crazy... And yet... It doesn’t put him away, from approaching his comrades about the prospect of it. Set maintained his silence for a moment, all while he shifted his gaze between the kids and his son. The man didn’t answer the boy’s question, and when he was about to do that- they were interrupted by one of his henchmen. ‘Sir, we must leave.’ The bodyguard said, while bowing forward slightly- by the looks of it the man seemed to be ushering them to leave. Their visit has come to an end. The mobster simply nodded to his words, as he proceeded to look back at the three children. Set simply gestured for the two siblings to follow him, only then he broke his silence. “We have a long trip back to home, we’ve got a lot of time to talk about that.” “Let’s go, Seto. And ah, be nice to them along the way. Will you?”

[soundwavereporting]

What about the concept of that affection post you reblogged but like with prowl for the prompt thing???? I'm v bad at coming up with stuff so forgive me

i present:

false starts and casual physical contact, starring prowl, cosmos, and a couple of random, very unimaginatively named OCs. technically it’s future!prowlcoswave, but is currently coswave, ft. three emotionally stunted characters. it takes place a couple months after the end of ‘redux’, (which i still haven’t finished.)

unbeta’d save for spellcheck and a repetitive word detector. ao3 link in the source. feedback is always appreciated!

Of all the things Prowl had ever imagined he might end up doing if and when the war ended, reuniting Decepticons with their conjuxes had never been one of them.

“I mean, we’re not technically conjuxes,” Outburst was saying. “After the siege at the Perseus Veil, Sparknote and I were separated before we could complete the fourth step. So we’re technically not conjuxes. Yet.”

Outburst was very obviously an MTO—likely one of the last batches. He had that overeager, slightly desperate look of a mech who didn’t know what to do with himself off the battlefield, and he was gawking at Prowl as though Prowl was a sparkeater who had decided to sit himself behind a desk and devote half a day to locating a long-lost-almost-conjux.

“Uh-huh.”

“We never even discussed the fourth step,” Outburst said. “And even if we had—I still don’t know what I should do! It’s been half a million years since we saw each other. Sparknote’s been traveling the galaxy and I’ve been spinning my wheels patrolling warworlds. All the stuff he’s seen—how can I even compare?”

Prowl looked over the edge of his screen and peered at Outburst.

“It seems Sparknote has been looking for you as well,” Prowl said. “Changing your designation resulted in the queries being erroneously rerouted.”

“I told—I told him I was thinking about changing it,” Outburst said. “Are you sure that’s the right person? Maybe he doesn’t want to see me. Maybe—”

Wordlessly, Prowl pushed the datapad over to Outburst, who took one look at the image of the Deception named Sparknote (third lieutenant, last assigned to the Alpha Exploratory Corps) and let out a sharp, static-laden exhale. His tactical HUD flashed, and Prowl had a microsecond of warning before Outburst leapt over the desk to tackle Prowl in a strut-crushing embrace.

“It’s him,” Outburst said, as Prowl tried to decide whether to shove the Deception away or return the gesture. He wondered if Outburst could hear his processor spinning. “It’s him, it’s him, it’s him.”

Decision made, Prowl stiffened his shoulders and Outburst jumped back as though he’d been shocked. His leg banged the desk and a datapad clattered to the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” Outburst said. “I just—”

Prowl held up a placating hand as his vision slowly returned to normal. “It’s fine. Good luck with your act of devotion, Outburst.”

Outburst beamed.

Within the hour, Prowl’s shift was finished, and sooner rather than later, Prowl set down his datapads and locked the door to his office. The halls were no more crowded than they usually were—most mechs completed their shifts at the same time Prowl had finished his. Prowl made a mental note to adjust his schedule tomorrow in order to accommodate mechs who needed to see him after hours. Carefully, Prowl navigated the throngs of Decepticons as he made his way back to habsuite.

Since accepting the position of deputy security chief two months ago, the rate of glares and side eyes had dropped significantly. His first week on the station, he had received 39 such looks, up to a high of 988 the week he began his job, to a low of 19 this week.

Prowl opened the habsuite door and stepped in.

His plating was warm where Outburst had embraced him. Not overly so, not nearly enough to be irritating. Just warm.

“Hey.” Cosmos said. The Autobot’s frame was relaxed—he had hardly bothered to turn and see if it was actually Prowl entering the habsuite.

Cosmos usually worked the overnight shift at the comms, since it was quieter, and, Prowl knew, gave him ample time to flirt with Soundwave via comlink.

Prowl grabbed a cube from the dispenser and sat beside Cosmos. He tried to peer over the Autobot’s shoulder to see what he was reading, but Cosmos was simply too tall. After a moment, Cosmos tilted the datapad up so Prowl could see.

“Translating again?”

“Yeah.” Cosmos tapped the datapad. “I’m on the classics—but I’ve got circuits older than the ‘classics’.”

“It’s a relative term,” Prowl said neutrally. “Anything interesting?”

“Unless you’re into uncomfortably saccharine, human, descriptions of forbidden love, not really.” Cosmos paused. “D’you think Soundwave’d get it if I sent him some of these?”

Cosmos held up the datapad.

“You’re not experiencing forbidden love.”

“Hah.” Cosmos gave the datapad one last, irritated look and switched it off. “Feels like it, sometimes.”

“If it helps,” Prowl said, entirely unsure whether or not his next words would actually help. “Soundwave feels the same—about the whole ‘forbidden love’, thing, at least.”

“Oh.” Cosmos gesticulated with the datapad, waving it mere inches from Prowl’s face. “I knew it! You two do talk about me.”

“No more than we talk about anyone else,” Prowl lied, and Cosmos scoffed. “He has shown me a few of the exchanges you two engaged in.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Cosmos mumbled and tossed the datapad onto the table. “I’m really gonna kill him.”

“I was the one who asked,” Prowl offered. “I wanted to know why he was so distracted.”

“He could’ve lied!”

“I would have known.”

Prowl picked up the datapad Cosmos had been translating and studied it for a moment. Saccharine indeed.

Prowl set it down.

“He needed help,” Prowl said, finally. “Sometimes, he doesn’t exactly know how to reply.”

“Primus.” Cosmos said. “Is that why he sometimes takes two hours to respond?”

Prowl nodded, unsure if the level of embarrassment he was feeling was proportionate to the current situation.

“I was the one who suggested comparing you to the green circuit nebula,” Prowl admitted.

“So instead of overworking yourselves in your off duty hours,” Cosmos began. “You overwork yourselves trying to come up with ways to flirt with me.”

“That is only a small fraction of what we do,” Prowl said.

“Figures.”

And that seemed to be that.

Prowl finished his cube and debated getting up for another, then decided against it. Cosmos’s frame was pleasantly warm against his side, and the mech would be leaving for his shift in a few minutes anyway.

“I liked it,” Cosmos said, finally. “What you wrote. Or he wrote. Your collaboration, I guess.”

 “He meant it,” Prowl said, and judging by the tilt of the Autobot’s head, imagined Cosmos was smiling under his battlemask.

“Some forbidden love, “ Cosmos said. “When I’ve got someone helping the guy I’m trying to court. Hey—if I can’t figure out what to tell Soundwave, does that mean I can ask you?”

As if on cue, Cosmos’s comlink chimed.

Cosmos looked at Prowl, then sheepishly looked at his chat log, then equally sheepishly showed Prowl the message.

“Send him a song,” Prowl suggested. “Some of that earth music he likes.”

“Hm.” Cosmos typed his response, and together, they waited.

A moment later, the comlink chimed again.

“He said…” Cosmos trailed off. “To tell you the gesture was appreciated?”

Prowl looked up, half-expecting to see Soundwave emerging from the ceiling.

“Telepath,” Prowl realized. “I told him not to listen to me.”

“You want me to tell him that?”

Prowl shrugged.

“He’s—oh.” This time, Cosmos was the one to look up at the ceiling. “Not listening to you. I’m thinking loudly enough for the both of us, I guess.”

“…ah.” Prowl dared to sneak a glance at Cosmos, who looked like he had just been caught in an uncomfortable, interpersonal crossfire. “You are sitting next to me, Cosmos,” Prowl said. “It’s only natural you would be thinking about me.”

“I know!” Cosmos keyed in his reply and sent it, then turned to face Prowl fully. “It’s just…thinking, y’know?”

“Thinking?”

“Yeah.” Cosmos gestured at the datapad, then at himself. “The way he wrote it, it got me thinking.”

“About?”

Cosmos sighed.

“I think I’m in a little over my head,” Cosmos admitted. “Flirting’s nice and all, but I’ve never been in a serious relationship before. Not one I was really invested in, anyway. It’s never gotten to the point where we actually do anything, and he listens to me, which is fine, so I know he knows I’m thinking about it, but it’s like…I want to, but the concept of it is just so uncomfortable. Does that make sense?”

Prowl thought back to Outburst.

“Yes.”  

“I kinda hoped you wouldn’t,” Cosmos said. “Just so I could ask you what I should do. You know, being an impartial, flirting-assistant and all.”

Prowl remembered how Outburst had so effortlessly cast aside thousands of years of war and hate and trauma in a moment of pure, unfiltered reliefs and joy. Would it be possible to learn to do that? Did he even want to want that?

Prowl wasn’t sure.

But Cosmos did.

“I suppose the first step is to get comfortable with casual physical contact,” Prowl said. “And to define casual physical contact.”

“Makes sense,” Cosmos said. “But, I can’t really go up to a random Deception and go ‘hey I’d like to work up to kissing Soundwave, can I practice by giving you a hug?’” Cosmos looked away, then back at Prowl, and Prowl tensed, instinctively dreading the next question, simply because he didn’t have an answer. “I mean, unless you’re willing to, uh, help? Is that the right way to put it?”

“I don’t mind,” Prowl guessed. “I think. I’d…I’d tell you if I did—or when I do, at least.”

That seemed to be the safest answer—better than I don’t know, at any rate.

Cosmos let out a slow exhale. “Okay. Here goes: Prowl. Can I give you a hug?”

He hadn’t expected Cosmos to ask, but he supposed that was the proper way to do it.

“Yeah,” Prowl said. “I mean, yes.”

“Okay.” Cosmos coughed awkwardly. Prowl hadn’t yet decided if that habit was endearing or annoying. “Okay?”

Moving just quickly enough to make it slightly less awkward than Prowl feared it would be, Cosmos moved forward, arms outstretched, and pulled him into an embrace.

A moment later, Prowl realized that he should probably return the gesture, and he awkwardly lifted his arms up to rest on Cosmos’s back.

“Oh.” Cosmos tensed, and for a microsecond his angles and trajectories shifted, indicating Cosmos was uncomfortable, but they settled back just as quickly, and Cosmos relaxed against Prowl’s frame.

“I guess a good hug is supposed to be two-way, huh?”

“It would seem so.” Prowl said dryly. His plating itched, but not unbearably so. He could stay like this for a while, Prowl thought, and realized with some relief that Cosmos seemed to be indicating he felt the same.

“My shift starts in a few minutes,” Cosmos said. “I should really get going.”

But he made no move to pull away, and Prowl didn’t encourage him.

[godlyborn]

lavender, honey, & garlic.

date: sometime late october characters: cyrus rooke & victoria brant summary: crooke and toria debate on whether or not it’s a good idea to even bring hecate back into their lives.

Victoria didn't really speak much as they drove toward Indiana. She sighed slightly, picking at her nails nervously. "Is this a bad idea? It feels like a bad idea. I mean, this God started a war. What if she hurts you? What if it breaks the deal and she hurts people at camp? How do I summon them knowing that it can go bad?"

"I highly doubt she's gonna hurt me," Crooke responded back, glancing over at his best friend, as he was now the one who found himself behind the wheel of the car. "I don't think she even wants to start another war... Or else she would've done it by now, y'know?" He blazed their way down a highway with the help of the GPS. "We've come this far, how are we supposed to back down now?"

"I guess you're right. I just," she sighed. "It kind of just got normal with being a kid of Hecate, I don't want it to go back to when people hated magic. Especially when it's a big part of who I am." She flipped through the pages of her book again, trying to find her mother's spell to summon her. "Hah, I found it!" she said. "We need to stop somewhere to get lavender, honey, and garlic too."

Cyrus could see the risk they were taking, but also felt the need to see this through. "Hey, hey, Vic, it's just like what you said," He attempted to try and assure her. "We aren't going to tell anyone," He nodded and shifted from looking at the road and back to his best friend. "....We'll be okay," He said. "And, we can stop at a store before we get to the actual crossroads?" He suggested.

Victoria nodded in agreement, taking a deep breath. The girl sighed. "I just don't trust her, I've never trusted my mother. She's always ready and there to stab you in the back if given the chance."

"Then we won't give her the chance. We'll make it quick, so she doesn't have time to get all manipulative or whatever, you know?" Cyrus assured her once again. "I don't trust my father, but he helped us in his own weird fuckin' way, and nothing got too out of hand. I know our parents are different but if we stay vigilant we can finesse this too."

Victoria nodded along with Cyrus and his statements. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I mean, I am her daughter, so I’ve got to have some sort of something like her.” Victoria leaned her head back. “I’m sorry that this is already kind of a mess, I didn’t think she was going to be roaming about.”

"I think we inherit more from our parents than we realize. We're connected to them whether we like it or not," He commented back and then, despite it all, gave her a reassuring sort of smile. "Don't be sorry, Vic. We didn't know, hell, nobody knew..." His eyes flickered from the road and Toria as he spoke. "I have your back. Ride or die, remember?"

Vic smiled at him in the end. “Ride or die, always,” she replied. “Should I text Jordan about it though, or do you think that’s dumb?”

"I don't know..." Crooke started speaking again. "Do you think he'll keep it to himself? I feel like I could handle this information getting out but I don't want it to fuck with you in any way, y'know?" He expressed. Then, on their way, they passed a sign that said a town was coming up. He gestured with a nod of his head. "—We can stop there for the stuff we need."

“Jordan’s not a snitch, he is dumb sometimes, and a major pain in my arse, but he knows how to keep a secret,” Vic replied. “Yeah, I get you, but it also fucks with my siblings too, y’know? Having magic already screws things up.” Vic nodded. “Maybe they have a metaphysical store in this town too, I know they have legit stuff, rather than just walmart or something.”

"If you trust him, then I can't argue. You should tell him," He stated after putting himself in her position. "If you want to look up to see if there's any stores like that, might make things easier?" He wondered and shifted the car over into the far right lane as he was preparing to exit soonish.

Vic flipped through the pages of the books. "There's not much on it besides what I already found. Some stories about those who have to summon Hecate, but none give too much information. Though some of them they just didn't answer them."

"Well, if she doesn't answer, we’ll just keep trying. Or, at least, until you get sick of all of this shit I put you through. I know it hasn't been... the smoothest so far," He responded. "But I'm sorry for that. We are so close though," He pulled the car over in the far right lane so that he could exit. "I can't give up," Once they were driving in town, he chose a spot on one of the streets to park the car. "I'll owe you for the rest of my life."

"Oh sweetie, you already owe me," Victoria teased with a small smirk, getting out of the car. She leant on the top, watching Cyrus get out. "Now let's get that stuff so that I can kill my Mum." Toria watched as some random guy passed them, making a shocked face. She smiled sweetly. "I'm kidding."

Cyrus twirled his finger horizontally in the air next to his ear as if so say 'she's crazy' to the stranger as he gave them a weird look. He laughed and shook his head. He then locked the car. "C'mon," He started heading for the door of the shop; ushering his friend onwards as well. "Let's try and make this quick." He told her.

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Winging It - James 4:11

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T  

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: This chapter is longer than usual because I added a full page of fluff between Crowley and Aziraphale that has little to nothing to do with the rest. But I left it where it is ‘cause Christmas, I guess, and you really cannot count on Ineffable Bureaucracy for fluff. 

***

The angel Gabriel from heaven came His wings as drifted snow His eyes as flame...

“Of all songs, did they have to pick this one?”

“Hah! Don’t like Sting?”

Something did sting all right and, as a matter of fact, he did not like that, but Gabriel knew better than to explain why those words - a song about his most well-known task and the mention of his wings, which had been white as drifted snow except for the faint purplish tint of the primary feathers  - made him wish he could shut himself in a dark, quiet place for a century or two or twenty. 

“You could say that,” Gabriel finally muttered, mildly thankful of the fact the background noise in the pub made it easy enough to shut out the lyrics if he didn’t focus on it too much. 

Daniel shrugged. “I don’t mind it. But maybe we’ve just had it up to here with Christmas songs by now. I swear that every year they start playing them earlier and earlier. We were just through Halloween and bam, Christmas. I swear I’ve been hearing jingles ever since.”

Ah, yes. Halloween. Gabriel made a face, trying not to think of the laughs everyone at the warehouse got at his expenses from time to time over his less than measured reaction when several workers had come in dressed up as demons. Namely, screaming and trying to climb up the closest scaffold. Even Daniel had been unable to keep himself from laughing to tears - but really, how was he supposed to know it was just pretend and not, well, actual demons?

Of course, that wasn’t something he could say aloud, so he had to resign himself to the fact that everyone working in the warehouse thought he was, to put it mildly, a scaredy cat. Not that it had done much damage, aside from the occasions ‘boo!’ shouted behind him to try getting him to repeat the performance; somehow, it seemed to have actually helped. 

“I found you a little stuck up at first, but you know what, you’re good fun,” someone had said, and that seemed to be the general consensus. Plus, the fact he was able to speak to every single worker in their native language - English, Polish, Romanian, Urdu, German, Italian, you name it; he hadn’t lost that sort of knowledge - had gained him a lot of respect despite what they probably perceived as oddities from his part. 

That was… not the kind of workplace he was used to, but chances were that no one would hold him down to tear out a pair of limbs because a CEO told them to, and Gabriel found he liked that in co-workers. Besides--

“Gabriel? Did you hear a word of what I said?”

“Huh?” Gabriel looked up from his glass, and his confused expression was probably enough of an answer. Daniel rolled his eyes a little, and took a swig from his glass before he spoke again. 

“I asked what plans you’ve got for Christmas.”

“Plans?”

“... I take it you have none?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Not really,” he murmured. Christmas was celebrated in Heaven as well, of course, though not the way mortals did. It was one impressive birthday party, although the birthday boy himself rarely showed up in the high spheres to see them. Now he certainly wasn’t in the mood to celebrate it either way. 

“Ah. Don’t you have any family? Sorry if that’s personal, it’s just that you never mentioned--”

“I had-- siblings,” Gabriel cut him off, blurting out what he felt was probably the closest term a human would understand, and emptied the glass. When he spoke again, his voice was beyond bitter. “We’re not on speaking terms.”

I understand you have no wish to see us, and we will not impose.  

Daniel nodded, his expression grave. “... I understand.”

“I don’t think you do,” Gabriel muttered, more harshly than he meant to. 

Daniel didn’t seem fazed. “Did they do something, or--”

“They cast me out,” Gabriel snapped, slamming the empty glass down. “They just-- they were told to cast me out, and they did. I...” he paused, and swallowed. He hadn’t heard from Crowley or Aziraphale in the past couple of months, but now the demon’s voice rang in the back of his mind, loud and clear as though he was standing right there before him. 

Had it been you receiving the order and Michael the one on the ground, would you have refused to do what God asked of you?  

All we knew was that we owed obedience, the letter read.

“... They cast me out,” he repeated, and leaned back against his seat. It still hurt to think of it; the scars over his shoulder blades ached at the memory. “And then they went and said I could call for them whenever, but I can’t. I won’t.”

“Maybe they want to make amends,” Daniel said slowly. He put down his glass, still half full; he spoke slowly, carefully. “Maybe they-- regret throwing you out.”

We never wished for any harm to come to you. I hope you know that.

“Maybe,” he finally said, gesturing for the waitress to bring him another drink by lifting up the empty glass. He was getting used to alcohol, sort of, but three drinks seemed to be his limit and he had no intention to surpass it, so that would be his last for the evening. “I doesn’t really matter. We’re through.”

“I’m sure that if you did take their offer and tried to call--”

“What, are you their advocate now?” Gabriel snapped again, and immediately regretted it. He groaned, rubbing his face. “... My apologies. It is a sore subject.”

“No, no, I get it,” Daniel immediately backpedalled. “I’m sorry. I pressed on without even knowing what happened. I just-- you know, sort of know how it is, wanting to make contact after… something stupid and cruel you wish you could take back, but can’t.”

Daniel’s wistful tone, more than his words, got Gabriel’s full attention. He stared at him across the table as another gin and tonic was put in front of him; he thought back at Aziraphale, how dignified he was while stepping into Hellfire, how hard facing him was when, even after all that, he went out of his way to help him.

“Do you regret what you did, or do you only regret where it landed you?” 

“I regret it. I do. I’m sorry.”

“Yes,” Gabriel finally said. “Guess I know what it’s like, too. Actually, everything happened because I did something stupid and cruel I did and can’t take back.”

“Mmh. Want to talk about it?”

Gabriel lowered his gaze back on the glass. “Not really.”

“I see,” Daniel said, and thankfully didn’t pry: he just took a long swig of his pint before putting down the glasses. “... Maybe there is still time to fix it. It’s what I tell myself all the time.”

Gabriel glanced up. “Fix what?”

“Whatever you did wrong.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Gabriel muttered, then, “what is it you want to fix?”

For a few moments, Daniel said nothing. He stayed silent, seemingly debating with himself whether or not he wanted to answer, then he sighed. “Ah, you see - there is someone I-- well. I had a sister. I still do, I think, she can’t be that old but you never know. I’ll know for sure once I find her.”

“Oh?” Gabriel took a sip, frowning a little. Daniel had only ever talked about his wife, and not very much: he was tight-lipped when it came to his life before he found himself in the streets. All Gabriel had gathered was that his wife had died of cancer, and he had no other family. No mention had been made of an estranged sister before. 

Daniel nodded, frowning down at his own glass. “Yeah. I don’t like talking about it, but-- she was my older sister. Her name was - is - Alison. She was way older than me, by almost fifteen years. She must be about seventy now, but I can’t picture that very well. She was twenty-five last I saw her. I was eleven. And Christ, I was a catastrophic dick.”

“I can’t picture an eleven year old boy being such a catastrophic dick,” Gabriel muttered. “Unless it’s the Antichrist, then I guess I can.”

Entirely unaware of the fact that statement was not a joke at all, Daniel chuckled. “Heh. I guess I was just following my parents’ lead. They were the ones who told her to fuck off, and I repeated every single shitty thing they said.” Another long swig. “I wouldn’t now. Those were different times, and I was a kid. But that’s the convenient excuse, isn’t it? Different times and all that.”

“What did she do?”

“She was into women.”

Gabriel blinked. “... Weren’t you as well?”

“What-- well, I was a kid, but-- well, yes, but I am-- a guy. You know? Adam and Eve and all that.”

Oh, right. That was a thing with humans, getting hung up on such insignificant things. “I’d wager their example is not one anyone should strive to follow. Adam and Eve’s, I mean. When you get kicked out of Eden, you know you’ve done something wrong.” He made a face. “Believe me.”

A chuckle, half-hearted. “Heh. Not a bad point, that. But that’s not the way people thought at the time. Our parents sure didn’t. And I thought whatever they told me to think. When you’re that age you still think your parents can do no wrong, you know? Like they’re God or something.”

There was a painful twinge in Gabriel’s chest that he did his best to ignore. “I understand.”

“So she-- stood there, and took the insults, and if not for the fact that her girlfriend was there I think our father would have tried to beat it out of her. But that woman looked like she could break him over her knee, so he didn’t. He just screamed. My mother screamed and cried. And Alison looked at me.” Daniel threw back his head, finishing the pint in one gulp. 

Gabriel suspected he knew what he was going to say next, but he kept quiet and waited for him to speak again. When he did, his voice was tight. “I told her she was disgusting, and that I never wanted to see her again. It was stupid, and it was cruel, and… I didn’t even fully understand what was going on, I think. But I knew it was something that made our father furious, and it made our mother cry, and I hated her for it. I told her I never wanted to see her again,” he repeated, like he could scarcely believe it. 

“... And you did not.”

“I did not. She was told to leave, and she left - they both did. Skipped town.” A pause. “... I got a letter from her a couple of years later. It was addressed to me only. I always picked up the mail, she must have known I would get it before our parents did.”

“What did it say?”

Daniel grimaced, giving him a look that was pained and ashamed in equal measure. “I don’t know. I recognized her handwriting and just threw the envelope in the fire. We moved home a few months later and I never got anything from her again.”

“And that was--”

“Forty years ago. I began looking for her about ten years ago. I figured it would be easier with all the technology - Facebook and Instagram and whatnot, if you listen to folks everybody is on it. But not her, apparently. I can’t find her anywhere. Maybe she’s too old for that crap. I tried with electoral registers, but… nothing. I guess she might have opted not to be on the public list, or changed her name, or…” he paused, the next words he’d clearly been about to utter - or she’s dead - never getting past his lips. In the end, he sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. I’m starting to think it would take a miracle.”

As Daniel turned to gesture for the waiter to get him another pint, Gabriel looked back down at his unfinished drink, his brows knitting together in thought. 

“Yes,” he said slowly, more to himself than to Daniel. “I suppose it would.”

“But maybe it’s for the best that I don’t find her,” Daniel said, turning back to him. He looked saddened. “Maybe she doesn’t want to see me ever again, either. I was awful to her. I didn’t know any better, never occurred to me to defy our parents, but-- yeah, I can’t take back what I did. I only wish I could let her know I’m sorry.”

We cannot begin to understand God’s reasons to order such a thing of us, and to punish you alone, the letter on his desk had said. All we knew was that we owed obedience. We never wished for any harm to come to you. 

“You know,” Gabriel said slowly, “you shouldn’t despair just yet. Miracles do happen, after all.”

Should you ever need us, all you need to do is call out our names, and we’ll be there. Always.

*** 

“Ba’al.”

“Ah, Gabriel. I was wondering where--”

“Where have you been?”

“... I don’t like your tone.”

“You were with Astaroth again, weren’t you? And Lucifer, and--”

“Maybe. So what?”

“You know what! It’s… the wrong sort.”

“The wrong sort for what?”

“To be around. The things they say - it’s not an amusing joke anymore. Everyone is on edge. Patience is running thin. They have stopped short of declaring themselves above God so far, but it seems a matter of time before something happens, and when it does--”

“Maybe we are above God. Them, me, you.”

“What-- Ba’al!”

“We do all the work, no? God has done nothing but give orders in eons. Why shouldn’t we take-”

“Don’t you dare say such a thing! None of us is above--”

“Be quiet, Archangel! Remember it’s a Virtue you’re talking to!”

“I-- you--” Hesitation, because never before did Ba’al bring up their superior rank, but only for a moment. “You’re a Virtue because God willed so! You exist because God willed so! You can’t seriously think--”

“What I think is none of your business.”

An attempt at walking past Gabriel. Gabriel refusing to budge. “Please. I don’t understand what’s gotten into you.”

A pause. “... If you really want to understand, come with me one of these days.” A step forward, a hand held out in invitation. “Maybe you’ll change your mind once you listen--”

“I won’t! Are you out of your mind?”

No answer, for a few moments; only a long, icy silence. “... Perhaps you should be on your way, then, Archangel Gabriel. You wouldn’t want to be caught hanging with one of the wrong sort, would you?”

“What? No, I didn’t mean you, you’re not--”

“And how would you know?”

More silence; not icy, but stunned. “I-- I know you.”

“... No. You do not.”

 ***

I knew him, before the Fall.

Of course, was nothing new: Beelzebub had known that annoying little piece of trivia for well over three months now, during which he had avoided that insufferable idiot like the pla-- no, wait. Not like the plague, they had quite enjoyed that despite part of history despite-- I was a healer once wasn’t I -- the sudden increase in the influx of souls in Hell. That had resulted in some serious pressure on the chronically understaffed New Arrivals department - the understaffing was intentional, of course, or else it wouldn’t be Hell - as well as a few headaches.

And speaking of headaches, there was one threatening to split their skull right now. Served them right, Beelzebub through, for trying to remember. Why do that? It was painful, and whatever they dredged up couldn’t possibly be worth it. Gabriel wasn’t worth the hassle of trying to change his mind. He wanted to live as a mortal? Fine then, let him live as a mortal. 

He’d die eventually and when it happened, Beelzebub could bet a six hundred and sixty-six souls that he’d find himself in Hell - because God was no better than the worst of them, except when it came to PR - and oh, how they’d laugh, then. They’d laugh in his stupid face and throw him in some pit to be tortured for all eternity, because he could forget getting a nice, important role after rejecting the offer so many times. And then they’d never glance in his direction again. 

They’d never have to remember. Just cast him down, like he’d cast them down, and… and…

But he did not. It was Michael.

“I had a spear, and your sword was broken…”

“Gabriel, what are you waiting for? Strike them down!”

But he had not. Neither of them had moved, which was… stupid. Why had they not moved? Why had he not struck them down?

“No, I didn’t mean you, you’re not--

Enough. Beelzebub shook their head to chase away the memory, expecting another spike of pain in their head, but nothing happened. Well, now that was… interesting. Memories were painful to pull up from the depths of their mind, but once they managed to do that thinking of them caused no more pain. Nothing to keep them from revisiting them. 

“Lord Beelzebub? Is something the matter?”

Dagon’s voice seemed to come from a mile away. Sprawled on their throne, Beelzebub looked up.

“Nothing’s the matter,” they buzzed. Whether Dagon believed it or not, she knew better than to argue. “What is it?”

“We have received a report from the demon you assigned to watch the Archangel Gabriel.”

“Be quiet, Archangel! Remember it’s a Virtue you’re talking to!”

“That idiot is no angel,” Beelzebub snapped, straightening themselves. “He’s a mortal. He’s nothing but a waste of time and resources. Give the demon another assignment and forget about him.”

Dagon blinked a few moments, taken aback, but she was quick to recover. “Yes, my Lord,” she said, and turned to leave.

“Wait,” Beelzebub called out, and held out their hand. “... The report.”

May as well read it, and then forget all about that fool.

*** 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the letter he’d found himself unable to throw away, Gabriel felt increasingly foolish as minutes passed and he did nothing, said nothing, called out for no one. He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t do it.

Calling out names - or just one name, you don’t need several archangels for one miracle - was all that it would take, and they could make Daniel’s wish come true by finding out where his sister was, if she was even still alive. 

Such a huge change to his life, with minimal effort… and no risk. He knew none of them would harm him again. He knew none of them had wanted to do it in the first place, but still he  couldn’t will himself to do it. The mere thought brought him back to when he had last called out their names, cried out their names as he begged for the pain to stop, for them to stop hurting him.

“Michael, please! Uriel-- Sandalphon-- no, no, no, please please--”

Gabriel swallowed, trying to ignore the burning sensation over his shoulder blades, and forced himself to relax his grip on the letter before he damaged it. He threw it back in the drawer and slammed it shut, then reached to take his phone, and dialled the number to Aziraphale’s shop.

The thought of turning to him for help again left a sour taste in his mouth - after what I did, after all he’s already done - but it felt less unbearable than the alternative. He’d explain he needed to help a human and he’d help, or his demon would, and that would be it. Easy. Convenient.

Except that no answer came; the phone rang and rang, but no one picked up and Gabriel realized, belatedly, that Aziraphale had mentioned leaving London around Christmas time for a few days.

“Leave a message and I’ll get back to you,” he’d said. There were few things Gabriel was better at than delivering messages, but this time he just ended the call without leaving any. He would just call back; there was no rush, after all. He could take care of that in the New Year. 

He failed to take into consideration, even after living as one for months, how frail humans truly are - and how easily their lives are snuffed out, without warning.

***

“You did what!”

“Gave the wrong directions to the Wise Men.”

“Crowley, for the love of-- you did not!”

“Why do you think they only got there in January? They lost the star and asked for directions.”

“How do you lose a star?”

“Well, it was cloudy.”

“I see. And you absolutely had nothing to do with it, did you?”

Crowley grinned. Aziraphale made a sound halfway between a snort and a rather undignified giggle. 

“I can’t believe you.”

“Oh, you do. How long have we known each other?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“All right, that we can recall, we have known each other for some six-thousand years, give or take a few months. So yes, you can absolutely believe that I gave wrong directions to the Wise Men. It’s got my name all over it. In my defense, they did the worst part on their own.”

“The worst part?”

“Picking the gifts. Newborn shivering in the cold, and they bring incense and gold and whatnot. Not very wise of them. Why not a blanket?”

“Gold can buy many blankets.”

“Not in the middle of the night in Bethlehem, it can’t.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t have arrived at night if someone hadn’t thrown them off course.”

“Nice try, angel, but they were travelling at night, following a comet that just so happened to be heading the right direction. They wouldn’t have arrived during the day anyway.”

A sigh. “All right, fair,” Aziraphale conceded, and went back to looking up. The night sky was perfectly clear, the stars so very close. The valley below them was almost completely dark. 

“Maybe we could visit Alpha Centauri,” Crowley said. “A vacation. But I like it here, for now.”

“A demon, enjoying a visit to the Devil’s Dyke? Who would have thought.”

“Did I just experience a microaggression here? The betrayal,” Crowley sighed in mock hurt, leaning back on the blanket they had lain on the grass. They both could keep their body temperature in check easily, but neither had wanted to really bother, so they were wearing thick coats and, in Aziraphale’s case, a woolen hat. “You know how this place came to be, right?” Crowley asked.

“Ah, I heard the myth. The devil was digging a trench to let the sea flood churches, but the noise disturbed an old lady who lit a candle. The devil thought daybreak had come and fled, leaving it unfinish-- wait. Oooh, wait. Don’t tell me…?”

“... In my defense, I was drunk.”

Aziraphale laughed, a gloved hand to his mouth. “That would have been amusing to watch.”

“You were busy running around with the Knight of the Round Table,” Crowley muttered, and looked up again, the glasses off his face. Aziraphale followed his gaze up to the stars. 

“You know what would be nice? Snow would be nice.”

“Snow, on Christmas Eve? Groundbreaking,” Crowley sneered, but he was already lifting a hand to snap his fingers, and clouds began closing in above them. Aziraphale smiled and said nothing as the first snowflakes began dancing through the air, illuminated by the headlights of the Bentley.

***

“Are you sure you don’t want to come dine with us?”

“Yes. I’m tired.”

“It will be fun. Lukács is going to make carbonara, but he’s putting cream in it and we’re all going to watch Fabrizio have a full-blown meltdown.”

“Didn’t Fabrizio say his grandmother would kill him if he didn’t make it home for Christmas?’

“Couldn’t afford the tickets right on the day. He’ll go before New Year’s, if he survives the shock of eating carbonara with cream. So, did I convince you?”

Gabriel - who couldn’t begin to imagine what could be so bad about adding cream to carbonara, a position that would have severely disappointed Aziraphale and caused roughly sixty million Italians to froth at the mouth - smiled a little. “Do get his reaction on video for me,” he said, causing Daniel’s smile to fade.

“Are you really sure? It doesn’t seem right, being alone on Christmas Eve.”

“I’ll live,” Gabriel said, his voice somewhat hollow. He tried not to think of the celebration they would hold in Heaven for the birthday of God’s son, tried not to wonder if it would be held that year too with him gone. He made an effort to smile. “If it gets bad, I’ll show up uninvited.”

“You’re already invited, idiot,” Daniel muttered with a laugh and one more worried look, but he did not insist further. When they parted ways it was already dark, and Gabriel just began walking, not really minding where he was going, barely even looking up. When he did look up, he found himself staring at the pier. 

Well, good job I did look up, Gabriel thought, sitting on a bench. It was cold, but at least it hadn’t rained. Or I’d have walked right in the water and I am not entirely sure I would be able to swi--

“You know, this is where the Titanic set off. A good place.”

“Gah!”

“Oh, please. I wasn’t even trying to startle you.”

Gabriel turned to look up, so suddenly it almost made him dizzy, to see Beelzebub perched on the backrest of the bench he was sitting on. They tilted their head on one side, looking at him. 

“You look aged.”

Gabriel clenched his jaw. It was the first he saw of the Prince of Hell since he’d stormed out of that café three months earlier, although he was fairly sure they did, at the very least, have him under surveillance. 

“What do you want?” he asked, full expecting them to answer ‘your soul’. 

Beelzebub didn’t reply: they just slipped down to sit next to him. They weren’t bothering to wear a coat proper coat, but then again it was probably for the best. Gabriel didn’t quite want to imagine what atrocity Beelzebub would consider a proper coat.

“They got some idiot to deal with the appeals,” they informed him, causing Gabriel to frown a little. He’d put the appeals system in place himself, for souls to make their case that Hell had claimed them unfairly - far more civilized than having a skirmish each time over a soul. Beelzebub hadn’t been especially keen on it at the start, but in the end they had agreed to it.

Needless to say, nearly everybody who found themselves in Hell filed an appeal, but there were very few cases, relatively speaking, that were truly considered and reached Gabriel’s desk. 

Of course, Hell would fight tooth and nail to keep each soul, but he and the Lord of the Flies had always managed to keep those discussions in the ream of civility, meeting on neutral ground on Earth. Sometimes Hell kept the souls, some other times Heaven was able to snatch them, even more rarely it was Hell to put forward a motion to get someone’s soul out of Heaven and into Hell, claiming that significant sins had been overlooked. All in all, it was a challenge, and one that Gabriel had enjoyed, red tape and small writing as his weapons. There was a certain work ethic to Beelzebub, too, and he could respect that. 

“They did?”

“Yes, some nondescript angel who tries to argue too many cases at once. Or so I’m told.”

Gabriel blinked. “You haven’t met them?”

Beelzebub scoffed as though insulted. “Don’t make me laugh, I am the Prince of Hell. No time to waste arguing with someone so below me. They sent a nondescript angel, and they got a nondescript demon to deal with it.”

“Ah. I see.” Gabriel fell quiet, and looked out towards the sea, a cold wind ruffling his hair. It had grown, and he’d needed to have it cut for the very first time; needless to say, having someone stand behind him with a sharp object had been… unpleasant, even with the backrest shielding his back from it. Luckily, the barber’s chatter had served well enough to distract him. Overall it had been less disastrous than his first attempt at shaving. “Did you come to tell me that?”

Beelzebub frowned and leaned back against the bench, arms crossed and glaring at the nearby street light. “I have a question. And I demand an answer. Why didn’t you strike me down?”

That was… not what Gabriel had expected to hear. He blinked, turning back to them. “What?”

A glare. “Are you deaf now?”

“I can’t strike you down, I have no powers--”

“Not now, idiot. During the Battle. Why didn’t you?”

Ah. That. “I-- I don’t know.”

You didn’t try to strike me, either. 

A displeased buzzing sound. “That is not an answer. You can remember without your skull splitting in two, no?”

“Well, yes, but--”

“Then do better and remember.”

“Last we met, you didn’t want me to--”

“Don’t pretend you know me!” Beelzebub snapped, causing Gabriel to recoil. “I hate nothing more than a question unanswered, so you will give me an answer or else!”

“All right, all right,” Gabriel said quickly, still reeling a little. He… wasn’t precisely sure he wanted to remember himself - that past was dead and buried for a reason - but then again, you don’t say no to Beelzebub, Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, without repercussions he’d rather avoid. If they wanted answers, they would have them… but he should get something in return, too. With Aziraphale unavailable and not really wanting to see his former colleagues, at least he could get one question answered. 

“There might be something I’d like to ask you,” Gabriel finally spoke slowly, fully aware of the fact that trading favors with Beelzebub was… an awful idea. Beelzebub raised an eyebrow, looking mildly surprised, and Gabriel continued. “It’s about a departed soul,” he said. He hoped, truly hoped that Daniel’s sister was not dead yet, but he didn’t want to explain too much to the Prince of Hell. They had already threatened a mortal to force him into a deal. “Alison Brown from Plymouth, born… sometime between 1948 and 1950, if my estimate is correct. I don’t know the date of death. I only want to know if she’s in Hell.”

“And why would you want to know if that particular soul is downstairs?”

Gabriel pressed his lips together, saying nothing. “Why do you want to dwell in the past?”

Beelzebub narrowed their eyes. “It’s on a need-to-know basis, and you do not need to know.”

“Likewise,” he retorted. He got himself an annoyed glance, but in the end they nodded. 

“Fine. Deal. I’ll have the records searched to find out if this ‘Alison Brown from Plymouth’ is in Hell, but when I return with the information I demand answers before I give it to you. And if she is one of ours,” they added, sneering, “I might be willing to trade her soul for yours.”

Ah, Gabriel thought. Of course. Not too long ago, he would have been outraged at the suggestion that his soul was worth that of a mortal and no more. Now he just smiled a little. Despite everything, it was almost a smirk. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d given up on trying to claim me.”

“No. You have well and truly pissed me off too many times not to want you in my trophy room.”

“You have a trophy room?”

“You’ll be the starting point.”

“That’s oddly flattering.”

“Shut up.”

Gabriel smiled faintly and said nothing, waiting for Beelzebub to leave in a cloud of sulphur and smoke, leaving him alone on the pier. But they did not, nor did they say anything themselves. They both just sat there in silence, staring out at the pier beneath a starless sky - and while it was no Christmas party, it was still better than being alone.

*** 

“Do you think Yeshua is going to show up?”

“Doubtful. He never does.”

“Why do we bother celebrating his birthday, anyway? That’s the sort of thing mortals do. And he spends every single one of them on Earth.”

“Tradition, I suppose.”

“Who started it?”

A pause, and they all lifted their eyes up from their papers to glance at each other, a grim sort of realization dawning in. They couldn’t remember, and were not supposed to ever forget things unless it was somehow related to the Fallen. As the Son of God had been born as a human long after the Fall… well, only one angel had been cast out of their ranks ever since.

Was it Gabriel who’d suggested they should celebrate the anniversary of the birth he’d announced himself as his best-known task? Did he enjoy celebrating it? How did he convince them? Michael couldn’t remember. It was nowhere in the notes she had written down. 

Notes are not enough. They can never be enough. Anecdotes about a stranger we know we ought to care about, but cannot remember why. 

“Maybe we could check on him,” Sandalphon spoke slowly. “Just to, er, check.”

“He didn’t call for us,” Uriel pointed out. “It would upset him.”

“He won’t know,” Sandalphon replied, and glanced over at Michael. She hesitated. 

“Aziraphale is keeping his promise to keep us updated,” she said slowly. It was true, of course, but it didn’t help much now that another realization hit her - she was forgetting what his voice sounded like. How do you write down the sound of someone’s voice?

“But he hasn’t met him since he left London. He only relies on what Gabriel tells him on the phone, and-- we can find him. We can see how he’s doing, and... he won’t know it’s us.”

Michael stared a few moments and finally, slowly, she nodded. Uriel sighed, and nodded back. 

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Just to check.”

***

“For if either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion. But woe to the one who falls when there is not another to lift him up.” -- James 4:11

***

[Back]

[Next]

[crackimagines]

Axe To Grind (FE: Three Houses Short Fic)

Byleth orders Annette to change classes from a Magic user to a Warrior. 

Not wanting to back down from the challenge, Annette works hard to show that it can be done.

The results...are terrifying.

author’s note: I DIDN’T KNOW ANNETTE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A MAGE AND NOT A BRIGAND, I REGRET EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE

------

“Um...Professor?” Annette asked holding a paper, visibly confused.

“How can I help you, Annette?” 

“Well...it’s what you wrote down. I’ve been trying to understand the reasoning, but I’m afraid I can’t.”

Byleth had written down to change her goal to focus on her axe skills instead of her magic. This confused her to no end because she had studied at the school of sorcery to become a magic user, not a barbarian.

“Ah, I see. Well, I’ve been carefully looking at your skills. At the moment, our class has far too many magic users. Mercedes, Dorothea, Marianne, Linhardt, the list goes on really. I saw beforehand that you were training in axes as a means of self defense, but why not have you learn it as your main offense as well?”

“B-But, I’m not exactly the strongest girl around! I’m not like Ingrid!”

Byleth shook his head.

“No need to compare yourself to others Annette, you don’t give yourself enough credit. Trust me, with enough training you’ll be swinging around axes like they’re paper!”

Annette nodded, although she didn’t look too convinced.

“I-I’ll try my best, Professor.”

“That’s all I ask, Annette. Tell you what, we have a freeday right? I’ll personally help you with your training, does that sound good?”

“That sounds great, professor! Thanks!”

He smiled, and got out of his chair, following her out of the class.

“Good. Bring some papers for some practice questions for the exam, and a training ax around noon tomorrow.”

They both said goodbye, and Annette walked over to Mercedes who was waiting by a bench.

“Annette, how did it go?”

She sighed sitting down next to her.

“Professor Byleth is insistent that I use axes!. I have no idea either, do I look that physically strong to you, Mercie?!”

“Well, he has an eye for hidden talent. I didn’t know that I could learn other magic besides healing, yet here I am!”

That was true. Originally Mercedes was skeptical as soon as Byleth told her to max out her reasoning skill. Then just recently, Mercedes had destroyed an entire bandit camp with just a single spell that looked like a meteor had dropped onto them.

...And that wasn’t even her using the actual spell where she DID summon Meteors.

“I don’t know...As true as that is, I’m still not sure if I’ll be able to hold an axe properly. I can barely hold some boxes as it is!”

“Well, I say don’t worry about that! That will come second nature soon enough like magic. What I’m most concerned is your written portion...”

“For a warrior class? Hah, that can’t be any more complicated than magic! What, is one of the questions is ‘How to make the bad man stop moving’?”

Mercedes frowned and cleared her throat reciting one of the questions.

(joke is from this post)

“...Oh no.”

A week later...

After training and studying to become a warrior, Annette had finally succeeded in passing her exam. She was still unsure about it despite being able to wield an axe like a pro, so Byleth decided there was only one way to test her new skills.

On the battlefield.

“LET THE LESSON BEGIN!”

Byleth hit one of the bandits with the sword of the creator, sending him flying and instantly killing him.

They were sent on a job to defend a town from incoming bandits, and there was no better way to test out everyone’s skills. Of course, he’d make sure that everyone would be safe as well.

Mercedes had insisted that she test out one of her spells to warp an ally to her, and Byleth decided that’s when Annette would make her debut.

“Ingrid, Felix!” Byleth shouted.

“With me, we’re taking out the ones coming from the side!”

“Got it!” “Let’s go!”

Mercedes rushed forward with Dimitri and Sylvain, taking out the ones coming head on.

Once they cleared out everyone, they saw the leader walking forward with a massive lance, cackling.

“They sent a bunch of brats to us?! Here I thought I’d have a challenge!”

Dimitri and Felix backed off while Mercedes calmly walked forward.

“Surrender now without resistance, and your end will come painlessly!”

“Big talk for a girl like yourself! What exactly are YOU gonna do?!”

“So be it...Now, what was it that Byleth told me to say...?”

As several bandits began to rush her, she finally remembered.

“Ah yes! Ahem...

AWAKEN, MY QUIVERING ABS!”

All the bandits stopped where they were upon hearing that sentence, and Mercedes raised her hands into the air, casting rescue.

In the next second, what the Bandit leader saw stunned him in complete shock.

What stood before him, was the most jacked little girl he’d ever seen in his life.

(Annette) “Thanks, Mercie!~”

(Bandit) “WHAT THE F-”

Before he finished, Annette cleaved him in two with one swing from her killer axe, making the rest take a step back.

“What kind of twisted joke is this!?” One of them shouted. He shook his head and charged.

Annette turned towards him while taking out another axe, and chucking it forward at him. When the axe connected to him, he went flying several feet back from the sheer force of the impact.

The rest of the bandits dropped their weapons and ran away while Annette and Mercedes slowly walked up towards the Leader.

“Cowards! ALL OF YOU! RUNNING FROM A LITTLE GIRL?! I’LL SHOW YOU HOW IT’S DONE!”

He ran forward with his lance, impaling Annette through the stomach while she didn’t even bother to move.

“HAH GOTCHA-”

NO DAMAGE! 

Popped up over her head, which made his smile quickly disappear. When he looked towards Annette, she was certainly bleeding from the spear coming through the other end of her stomach.

Whether or not she was feeling anything from it was up for debate. 

The only thing it really seemed to do was piss her off.

Annette walked closer, as the spear went deeper and deeper, to the point where it was ready to fall off the other side with how close she was standing to him now.

Even though he was several feet taller than her, he felt ready to wet himself as soon as she made eye contact. She grabbed his face with her palm covering his head.

He felt the hand tighten, and then his skull began to follow. He tried hitting her several times, but nothing even made her flinch as blood started spurting from his head.

There was a loud crush as all his limbs stopped, and like a marionette who’s strings had been cut, fell to the floor in a jumbled mess.

The rest of the bandits had watched in horror, and soon as she turned around, they took that opportunity to run.

The bandits around Fodland had a new name for her...

The Tiny Destroyer.

----

Classroom...

“YEEEES!”

Annette held the paper up into the air cheering loudly once she saw an ‘A+’ written on top of the paper.

It was her certification test for becoming a brigand, and she had passed with flying colors.

“Thank you so much for your guidance, Professor!”

“It’s what I’m here for. I’m sure Mercedes will be thrilled to hear it, so go have fun!”

“Will do!”

She ran out the classroom joyfully while Byleth smiled.

“Look at my little children, off to destroy people.”

[commentaryvorg]

Danganronpa V3 Commentary: Part 6.10

Be aware that this is not a blind playthrough! This will contain spoilers for the entire game, regardless of the part of the game I’m commenting on. A major focus of this commentary is to talk about all of the hints and foreshadowing of events that are going to happen and facts that are going to be revealed in the future of the story. It is emphatically not intended for someone experiencing the game for their first time.

Last time in trial 6, everything became terrible in a hopefully-mostly-deliberate way as Keebo took over as protagonist. Tsumugi pandered to the audience by trying to twist the story to be all about them and not this story’s actual goddamn cast, then completely forgot about that moments later as she forced an arbitrarily cruel final vote on the students that has nothing to do with actual hope and despair, apparently Kaito’s efforts in trial 5 suddenly mean nothing because it turns out the audience is totally okay with unfair executions after the mastermind broke the rules, and Keebo kept spouting a familiar meaningless buzzwordy hope that didn’t address any of his friends’ actual reasons for being in despair, which the audience lapped up because they’re morons while Keebo utterly failed to consider that maybe what they want from him isn’t actually a good thing.

Keebo’s already chosen to become the first arbitrary pointless sacrifice of the vote, and the Mass Panic Debate we just finished was supposedly him trying to inspire one of the others to do the same, even though he wasn’t even shooting his hope at them.

“Nekomaru”:  “Even if you won’t give up, as long as you don’t sacrifice someone el—”

Not giving up is the definition of hope! Doing anything other than that should not be necessary for hope to “win”, you arbitrary fucking murderer!

But one way or another, whether due to Keebo’s nonsensical Hope Bullet efforts or not (I’d very much like to think not), Maki chooses to sacrifice herself.

Maki:  “If Keebo and I sacrifice ourselves… then Shuichi and Himiko live, right? Then they can… survive this absurd killing game…”

Of course it would be her. Her backstory meant that she’d never cared all that much about her own survival or her own suffering, so if she can die to let at least Shuichi and Himiko live, then that’s no real loss, right? Kaito only helped so much with her sense of self-worth… and maybe his influence has been dampened right now because of all the bullshit Tsumugi has been spouting.

Shuichi:  “Maki…?”

There’s a very subtle wavering to Shuichi’s voice here beneath his surprise. He can’t bear the thought of losing her too, and it’s this pain that’s going to lead to him figuring everything out and fighting back.

Maki:  “I don’t want this killing game to end with despair. That would just… piss me off.”

Tsumugi:  “Even if you only feel that way cuz I wrote you like that? Just like with Kaito…”

Tsumugi’s still bullshitting about the Kaito part, but otherwise what she’s saying is not entirely wrong. Despair being bad is self-evident and you don’t need to be written a specific way to think that. But the feeling of needing to “defeat” despair is something that’s still a part of Maki being manipulated, not by the way she was originally written, but by that Flashback Light in chapter 5. Maki still can’t quite see that to its fullest extent, despite having long since realised that the main point of that Flashback Light was to manipulate her into killing Kokichi.

Maki:  “Even then… I’ll choose that ending if it means I can kill you. Even if I have to sacrifice my life, I will kill you!”

Now that’s something that’s how Maki’s always been written. Deal with problems that have no easy solution by killing them, and definitely kill the big evil mastermind no matter what you have to sacrifice to do so. Maki Roll, can’t you see that this is exactly like what you were trying to do for the first half of Kaito’s trial?

This would at least be Tsumugi’s writing backfiring on her, if this “punishment” she was going to receive was actually death. But since it’s not, she’s quite happy with Maki choosing this, and guh.

“Makiiii”

“my darling assassin T_T”

“That’s my Maki.”

“Assassiiiiin”

Maki has fans. Her fans seem somewhat possessive of her (although at least she doesn’t have the total sicko that Shuichi has). It also seems that some of them are hung up on the idea that she’s an assassin and don’t see her as so much more than that, as if the only reason they like her is a shallow “hurr durr schoolgirl assassin hot”, rather than any of the many things that have been compelling and interesting about her character and her arc. She deserves so much better than this.

“ALL OF THESE TEARS”

“;_; i’m gonna cry…”

At least a few of them are actually having meaningful, human reactions to this – a character they love is going to sacrifice herself for her friends! This is sad! …or, well, it would be if the sacrifice was at all meaningful and not completely arbitrary, but, you know.

“Another hope loop?”

This might finally be a vague allusion to other seasons we haven’t seen. I can kind of imagine a “hope loop” becoming the fandom term for one particular way in which the meaningless arbitrary hope ending was once resolved, but it doesn’t sound like it’s referring to DR1 or 2 specifically.

“Shuichi looks yummy <3”

I’m going to keep giving you updates on this one person just so you can keep seeing how much of an absolute creep they are.

Tsumugi:  “I told you over and over there’s nothing for you out there.”

Keebo:  “No, once the audience sees this ending, I’m sure they’ll help us.”

Oh, poor naïve Keebo, thinking that the audience is a force for good and actually gives a fuck about any of his friends when they’ve been watching them die. When they’ve been doing this for fifty-three seasons and keep wanting more. This ending right now is not meaningfully different from any of the previous ones and is not going to change anything about the audience’s behaviour at all, Keebo.

Shuichi:  “It’s because of hope that this whole thing is happening!”

But Shuichi gets it! He’s figured it out! I also love the emotion in his voice here. All of Shuichi’s (English) voice acting in this last part of the trial we’re entering is just fantastic.

The music used for Shuichi’s Rebuttal Showdown here is Clair de Lune again, which is lovely. It’s like that’s become less Kaede’s song and more just a song for Shuichi’s sadness over losing his friends.

It’s a neat twist that the last Rebuttal Showdown is against the game’s actual protagonist. This is possibly the easiest one in the whole game, with Shuichi’s words coming in completely horizontal, unmoving lines. He’s just explaining the plain truth of the matter. He’s not wrong and he’s not trying to get in anyone’s way; he’s about to fix this whole ridiculous mess.

Keebo:  (Shuichi… why? Is this the power of despair? Or…)

Yes, Keebo, despair is clearly so powerful and so evil that it dares to make Shuichi not talk like hope is the best thing ever. It couldn’t possibly be that Shuichi’s actually making complete sense and isn’t in despair any more and you should listen to him.

Buuut, Keebo’s only bullet (or, well, blade) is still just “hope”, so he still thinks that’s the only possible solution to this situation.

Keebo:  “Despair takes everything from people! Even their strength to press onward! That’s why it’s not possible for despair to be better!”

Keebo, you absolute moron, this isn’t about which one is better! Obviously Shuichi knows that hope is a better feeling to have than despair, because he’s not an idiot! But no matter what Tsumugi’s trying to make it sound like, this isn’t about proving any kind of point like it was in DR1; this is about what happens next. This is about whether the outcome of the vote, regardless of which meaningless label is slapped on it, is something we’re actually okay with, including the fact that the killing game will keep happening if we do this.

“Shuichi is the cycle of despair?”

“What are you saying, hat boy?”

“What if Shuichi is the mastermind?”

“You’re slipping up, detective.”

“Fire, Keebo! I’ll allow it!”

Aaaaaand the audience has suddenly completely stopped caring about Shuichi as a character because he dared to say a bad word about hope. This is again not remotely what an actual reasonable, human audience that’s been enjoying this story up until now would ever do, and this time it can’t just be the cherry-picked minority of despair lovers, because this is the people who are rooting for “hope”. A reaction something like “well, he’s kind of got a point, but I still want more killing games…” would be reasonable, but not just immediately denouncing him the moment he questions them. Did they not even care about Shuichi at all during the five chapters they’ve seen of him and the arc he’s had?

Shuichi:  “The people watching probably feel the same way… They want hope, too.”

Oh, Shuichi, you are giving them far too much credit. You’re assuming that the “hope” they’re obsessed with is actual hope that will inspire them in their daily lives. It sure would be realistic and understandable and relatable if that was the actual way the narrative was portraying this, but it really isn’t.

Shuichi:  “Even if it’s fiction, everyone wants to feel hope… It gives them… courage.”

That should be how this works. And I love that Shuichi clearly understands this on a personal level. Now would be a very relevant time to remind everyone that Shuichi’s Likes in the report card are listed as “Novels”. Which means that, most likely, he always used fiction to give himself courage, especially when he had so little courage on his own in the first place! Shuichi understands better than any of these one-dimensional morons in the audience exactly what gaining real hope from fiction really feels like!

Shuichi:  “While they ignore all the tragedies that we had to suffer to get there!”

Keebo:  “Shuichi, that’s—”

Monokuma:  “Then let’s start the Voting Time!”

Hah, Monokuma sure does jump in quick. He’s afraid of Shuichi pointing out what’s really going on here and how real all their suffering is and making the audience realise that maybe they shouldn’t actually want this after all, isn’t he.

Shuichi halts them to ask what the “punishment” for this vote will be, because he’s already figured out what it is. If we’d been playing as him, we’d have seen plenty of inner monologue of him slowly realising this and piecing it together as Tsumugi rambled on and on. But since we’re not seeing inside his head right now, all Keebo has seen is Shuichi being almost completely quiet and then suddenly jumping in with a fully-formed theory explaining exactly what’s going on and why this vote is bad. Shuichi really does look like a hero from the outside.

Shuichi:  “That’s what Rantaro was talking about.”

…

Rantaro:  “You wanted this killing game, so you have to win no matter what. …No matter what.”

…

Shuichi:  “Something similar must have happened in the last killing game, and he was given a choice. He sacrificed himself… and was forced to participate again.”

See, Rantaro wasn’t the only survivor of his killing game. There were two actual survivors who got to escape into the outside world just like Shuichi and Himiko hypothetically would here. Rantaro just sacrificed himself to allow for that. (In my headcanon, those two survivors were both girls and kind of reminded Rantaro of his sisters and that’s why he chose to do that.) It’s still a stretch to think that Rantaro would ever have thought of that as “wanting” this killing game like his message said, though, so I still think that line was mostly there just to make chapter 4’s opening stinger mysterious.

But man, spare a thought for Rantaro’s two friends who survived and escaped, dreading to watch Rantaro go through this again while having forgotten about them, but watching anyway because they have to know what happens to him… and then seeing him be the very first one to die. That has to have been awful. I hope that when Shuichi, Maki and Himiko do escape, they find those two and every other pair of survivors from each past killing game and start some kind of big therapy group to deal with their trauma together and share stories of their lost friends and reassure themselves that they’re all still real.

Shuichi:  “Tsumugi will still be the mastermind, Keebo will still represent the viewers… and Maki will be the new Ultimate Survivor. The killing game will begin again.”

Even if Maki wouldn’t necessarily die in this outcome, the fact that she’d lose her memories of everything in this killing game and forget about Kaito and Shuichi and be reset back to the guarded, lonely, self-loathing assassin she was at the beginning would still be awful and unacceptable. Especially since Kaito was one-in-a-million and the next game probably wouldn’t have anyone willing to help her out of it again.

It’s a little odd to think that Tsumugi would still be the mastermind? I always assumed Tsumugi wasn’t the mastermind of Rantaro’s game, simply because if she then also masterminded this game as well, it’d ruin the mystery for the audience. Unless she usually cosplays as some made-up character and this is the first time she’s ever played as herself (or at least someone who looks like herself and superficially shares her nerdiness but is less terrible and murdery).

“Izuru”:  “Then it’s despair? You’re going to choose despair to end the killing game? …How boring.”

“Celeste”:  “But this is fine. Our audience loves despair, so this will please them too.”

Will it? I mean, maybe it would if it were actual despair, since there’s emotional investment you can get from that even if it’s nothing but painful emotions. But what’s actually going to happen with the “despair” outcome of this vote is simply Shuichi, Maki and Himiko (and apparently Tsumugi) continuing to live isolated, boring lives in the academy without any more killings. That’s not a despair ending, that’s a boredom ending. Precisely the kind of thing the audience shouldn’t want.

Keebo:  “Then… hope has to win this game, too. If we continue to win for hope, then this killing game will surely end someday!”

Keebo, dude. You’re going to continue doing the thing that Shuichi has just explained is exactly what causes more killing games to happen… and then you’re just going to hope that eventually they’ll stop happening anyway? You are not being very smart right now. If you’re going to hope for something to happen, you should also at least act in a way that might help make it come true, otherwise your hope is useless.

Shuichi:  “When Maki said she was going to sacrifice herself just now, I thought… Why? So many of our friends have sacrificed their lives. Why Maki? Why now? Why do we have to go through it again…? The sorrow of losing Kaede… and Kaito… Why do we have to feel that sadness over and over and over again…? Why do we have to bear that burden…?”

I love Shuichi here so much. I love that he’s realised what this means and that it’s cruel and unfair and wrong.

Shuichi:  “Well, I don’t care how much the audience wants it, I’m not gonna feel that way anymore! I don’t want anyone to feel that way anymore!”

I love that he’s realised that the audience wants this from him and how fucked-up that is! I love that he’s thinking that not just for himself, but for every hypothetical character in future seasons who’d ever have to go through this same pain if they don’t end this right here!

I just… really wish that that actually seemed like what the in-universe audience wanted at all. Some people were sad when Maki offered to sacrifice herself, but not a single person was thinking “oh man Shuichi’s going to be devastated to lose another best friend” and empathising with the pain Shuichi’s feeling here and enjoying doing so in that immersed, in-story way. Instead, they just immediately stopped seeing him as a person the moment he spoke out against them and their precious “hope”.

The thing is, I’m still enjoying Shuichi’s emotional pain here! Of course I am! Because I care about him and I’m empathising with him, and all of this is making me want him to succeed and get what he wants and never have to feel like this any more, even as I’m enjoying that he’s feeling this way right now.

And, see, while the in-universe audience are obviously inherently more twisted than an out-universe audience because the people they’re watching aren’t really fictional and they know this, that doesn’t have to automatically make them this kind of one-dimensional asshole who can’t even empathise with the characters or engage with this like it’s a meaningful story at all. Things could still have been made to work while having them basically respond to Shuichi and his story like those of us on the other side of the real fourth wall.

Enjoying actual genuine fiction requires suspension of disbelief, compartmentalising away and ignoring the knowledge that it’s all made-up, so that you can get invested and care about what happens. So in a similar way, it might be just about believable if we could be shown that this in-universe audience has instead been suspending their knowledge that it’s real, compartmentalising away and trying to ignore the fact that real people are suffering, so that they can still enjoy this and keep watching despite knowing that people – uhhh, characters, definitely not real people – are going to die. Then they could have been reacting to this approximately like a real person watching genuine fiction would (you know, with actual investment in and empathy for the characters), until Shuichi blows the lid off their wilful ignorance right here and forces them to confront their awfulness.

Shuichi:  “Even if this is fiction, even if we’re all fictional… The pain in my heart is real! The sadness I feel when I lose the people I love is real!”

I am so, so glad that he’s realised this! This is one of my favourite moments in this trial and completely restored all the faith first-time-me had lost during all the ridiculousness of last post. This is exactly what we need to be talking about and really should never have stopped talking about – the fact that of course they’re still real people regardless of how fake their memories were. They still really felt all that pain, and they still really meant everything they did for their friends, and they still really died, regardless of the “writers” that were sometimes pulling strings behind the scenes.

And I adore the way Shuichi calls them “the people I love”. He’s not talking about specifically romantic love here, because he doesn’t have to be. Of course he loved them anyway regardless of what kind of love it was; they were his friends and they gave him all of his strength and meant everything to him. If anyone tries to use this line as proof that Shuichi must have had romantic feelings for Kaito as well, they’re completely missing the point. Using the word “love” in a platonic sense will always melt my heart and it’s especially so in this context here.

Although, while Shuichi is using this pain of his to prove to himself that he’s still meaningfully real, I do wish there was a little bit of time spent on the realisation that, since they all must have felt the same way as him, his friends must have been real, too. Being deceived into thinking they were just lies was what caused Shuichi to fall into despair, and there’s no way he’d have been able to climb out of that despair and talk so passionately about losing his friends if he didn’t truly believe once again that their lives were worth exactly as much as a “real” person’s. He has definitely figured this out by now, but it’s kind of a shame he never directly mentions it.

Shuichi:  “I won’t forgive this game that treats us like toys. And if this is what the world wants… then I reject that world! I’ll fight the world that inflicts suffering for entertainment!”

Shuichi is being such a hero and Kaede and Kaito would be so proud to see him like this!

And it’s still inconceivable that seeing him like this isn’t what the audience wants. This is a far more inspiring and meaningful story than any of the nonsense Keebo has been spouting. They should be cheering Shuichi on, not Keebo – even if that means cheering Shuichi on against themselves.

“What are you saying, detective?”

“Forget about Shuichi.”

But nope. The audience doesn’t care about him. Now that he’s speaking out against them, they’d rather just drop him entirely.

“You’re in despair, right?”

“It’s okay to feel despair sometimes…”

Yes, clearly the only reason Shuichi is saying this is because he’s being controlled by that super-evil force known as “despair”, not because he’s right.

“C’mon, Keebo! Attack!”

“hurry up and refute it!”

“Force hope through!”

And of course, they just want Keebo to yell more words about hope at Shuichi, because doing that will totally change his mind and make him think inflicting suffering for entertainment is okay. Yelling emptily about hope can achieve anything, right?

“The big reveal, at last.”

Uhh, no? What does this person even think the “reveal” is supposed to be – the fact that these characters aren’t actually fictional and that watching them suffer for entertainment is fucked up? That’s not a reveal, that’s something that should have been apparent from the start but everyone has been wilfully ignoring. (And it’s something that everyone should now be forced to confront whether they like it or not, but apparently almost nobody is.)

“mmm… shuichi’s eyes ^q^”

This “fan” of Shuichi’s is still here. And they still don’t actually give a fuck about him and haven’t been paying attention to anything he’s been saying or feeling at all.

“Why have we been doing this…?”

You! You, right there, are the one sensible actual human being in this whole stupid audience! This is what everyone should be thinking right now – realising that Shuichi has a goddamn point and that this whole practice is vile and that if they actually care about any of these characters at all then they should want what Shuichi wants, which is to end all this and never have another killing game again!

“something’s different, right?”

“Are they blaming us?”

These ones are more ambiguous, but it is possible that these two people are also vaguely starting to realise that what they’re doing is not okay. Maybe.

Tsumugi:  “It doesn’t matter what you do. No matter what a fictional character does or says, it’s just fiction to the outside world.”

See… based on the audience’s current comments, it’s really seeming like this is actually true, in this world. Those three just now are the only comments during this part that give any sense of people actually listening to Shuichi’s words. The overwhelming majority are like the ones I quoted at the beginning, complaining about Shuichi’s outlook and wanting Keebo to “fix” things for them.

Shuichi:  “I… refuse to vote.”

Tsumugi:  “Refuse to vote…?”

Keebo:  “Monokuma said that if we don’t vote, we’ll be killed for breaking the rules!”

Shuichi:  “Yes, I know. That’s why I’m doing it.”

And here’s this rule which has been vaguely a thing in the background of all the Danganronpas but was pointedly highlighted at the beginning of almost every trial in this one, making it kind of obvious it’d somehow be important later on. It’s also quite relevant that Monokuma’s declarations of this rule always explicitly said that not voting would result in death, not just “punishment”, because it means Tsumugi can’t suddenly pull a loophole and pretend this still just means they get forced into another killing game.

(Although that’s only assuming that the audience still cares about her following the rules, which, ha fucking ha.)

Shuichi:  “If this ends without a single vote being cast for hope or despair… The audience would hate it. They’d never accept an ending like that… So I abstain! I refuse to give the outside world the ending it wants!”

I appreciate Shuichi’s determination and willingness to give his life to end this killing game for good and give a huge fuck-you to the audience… but honestly, it’s kind of flimsy that this would actually achieve that. It’s hard to believe that, over fifty-three seasons, there haven’t been a few kind-of-disappointing endings here and there (even accepting that this audience laps up meaningless buzzwordy hope-versus-despair nonsense like this). But surely the occasional boring ending would only make people shrug and hope the next season is better, and it’d take several in a row for them to finally think things will never get better and the show might as well just end.

Which, to be fair, might have been happening already if this season took longer than usual to come out and some people weren’t sure it ever would. But that apparent fact was buried in some obscure audience comments and wasn’t something Shuichi seemed to notice, so he shouldn’t be nearly so sure that this would work.

Plus, it shouldn’t only be about the ending – the rest of the story is a part of the story too. The other trials in this game have mostly been fantastic and there should be no way the audience wouldn’t want more of that kind of thing, no matter how disappointingly it ends!

…This should also still not actually be a disappointing ending at all, because look at what an amazing hero Shuichi’s managing to be! He’s willing to give his life to stop the real villain behind all this – not some meaningless concept of “despair”, but the people who actually wanted him and his friends to suffer! This is still something that it should be possible for the audience to accept makes a good story, despite the fact that they themselves are the villains in it.

Keebo:  (Hope… won’t end the killing game? If that’s true, then this feeling that I must win for hope is…)

Geez, Keebo, glad you’ve finally caught up with us. It really should not have taken you this long.

It’s pretty neat that the “lying” mechanic as used here with Keebo isn’t actually lying – hope is just a concept, it’s not even a fact that you can lie about. Instead, it’s representing Keebo finally choosing to ignore and go against what his inner voice is telling him to do. The only weapon he has is hope, but that doesn’t mean this is the only choice he has.

“What are you doing, Keebo?”

“Hurry up and side with hope.”

“COME BACK HOOOPE”

“it’s hope again, right?”

And of course, the majority of the audience is not happy about this. Really, though, Shuichi has already ruined their hope ending by pointing out that this “hope” is arbitrary and cruel, and no amount of empty yelling about hope from Keebo could change that now even if he did keep listening to them.

“show us maki roll!”

This single comment here is the closest anyone in the audience ever gets to even vaguely acknowledging Kaito’s existence, since they’re using the nickname he gave her. And the utter lack any other mention of Kaito from the audience is quite clearly another thing that is completely Unrealistic and Wrong. Kaito was the best, and a significant amount of the audience should have been invested enough in his story and his influence on Shuichi and Maki to still be occasionally mentioning him here.

“i wanna break Shuichi’s fingers <3”

I sincerely hope that when Shuichi gets out of here, he ends up absolutely nowhere near this person and they never figure out where he’s living. Geez. Go and re-examine your life, you sick creep.

Keebo:  “I may be a robot, but the thought of my friends dying still fills me with sadness. I don’t want anyone else to feel this way!”

You know, if they’d actually done anything at all with Keebo’s issues about being a robot, it could have worked pretty well in this trial. He’s always been struggling to fully understand the feelings of “real” humans, and so he should have also struggled to justify to himself that his own feelings matter even though they’re just being “simulated” by computer software. But he still feels it, so it still matters, robot or not. That’s exactly the kind of argument Shuichi had to make to himself to justify that he’s still real. Keebo could have been the perfect person (among those still with us) to help Shuichi and friends come to terms with the existential issues that this trial has given them! If only Keebo had had an actual proper character arc about accepting himself as just as much of a person despite being a robot, and also if only he’d ever been trying to give his friends actual hope during this whole deal. His character has so much wasted potential.

His protagonist status wears off here, which is an appropriate moment for it to do so. All he was ever meant to do as the audience’s protagonist was to keep the cycle going and keep more killing games happening, and now that he realises that, he doesn’t want to be their protagonist any more.

“gonna dismantle you, Keebo.”

Oh boy, here’s some foreshadowing to what they actually end up doing, because apparently none of them ever really cared about Keebo as a character or a person.

“WTF? You already killed each other?”

As if the fact that the murderers were all participants of the game makes everyone in the game a bad person and therefore it doesn’t matter if they suffer and die? As if most of the actual murderers were even bad people and not good people desperately trying to save everyone and/or being manipulated into it? Yeah, no, sure, this was all just a meaningless slaughterfest and so it’s totally okay for them to all continue to die.

“the questionnaires were pointless?”

I mean, it’s not like you guys ever affected Keebo’s actions in any meaningful way up until now anyway; I don’t know why you’re so disappointed.

“Shuichi has a point.”

Hello, sensible person! I don’t know if this is the same person as that one from before, but it’s nice to see at least a tiny, tiny fraction of the audience getting it. It really is such a tiny fraction, though – the vast majority of people are still just complaining about not getting what they wanted. And I’d like to just put this down to the fact that the people who are realising this are also nice enough to then stop watching and stay out of the comments section – but, no. The comments section is exactly where these people who’ve realised this should be, because they should be trying to persuade everyone else to agree with them and realise that this is fucked up and no longer want this!

Shuichi:  “New characters are created just to show the outside world a fictional hope. They get written into these killing games, forced to betray one another…”

I appreciate how Shuichi is describing them as being “created”, because it proves that he now understands that this is exactly what happens. This has nothing to do with the pregame assholes who auditioned and wanted this; they just donated their bodies. The characters who are actually in this killing game never wanted any of this, yet they were literally created to suffer. That is not fucking okay and Shuichi will not let it continue. No-one else will ever be created for that purpose. He and his friends are the last.

Shuichi:  “To end this killing game, and end it forever… We will reject Danganronpa!”

This whole speech here accompanies Shuichi’s protagonist status switching back on, and it has pretty nice dramatic effect. He’s being a hero!

Shuichi:  “Tsumugi… you were right. I’m weak. I’m weaker than anyone else… If I didn’t have my friends, I’d be useless. That’s true even now!”

It’s lovely that Shuichi is okay with this. He realises that this is the character Tsumugi wrote him to be… but that doesn’t mean that it’s not still who he is, and it doesn’t mean he’s not real.

But he’s still not giving himself enough credit at all. Yes, he’s only able to be strong when he has friends to rely on and inspire him, but all that potential strength is still right there inside him, ready to be brought out by the right people! All he needs is a little nudge in the right direction, from the right kind of heroes.

Shuichi:  “If Keebo and Maki didn’t stand up… I would have ended it all right then.”

It’s really sad to think what Shuichi probably means when he says “end it all”. Kind of like the way he once said that Kaito “saved his life”, without ever properly elaborating on what he meant by that.

But still, Shuichi – Keebo and Maki may have chosen to sacrifice themselves, but you’re the one who used the pain of that to realise that you’re still real and figure out what everything meant. They weren’t trying to encourage you to do that, or even to be strong at all, when they made their choice. That all came from you, and from your own strength that you’ve built up through Kaede and Kaito’s belief in you. You’re not as weak as you were at the beginning, not by a long shot!

Shuichi:  “But it’s because I’m weak and because I lost my way… that I finally realized. I finally realised how cruel this “hope” really is.”

It’s cruel because the best way to write a good story is to have characters that are weak and suffer like Shuichi has been. The most inspiring type of heroes who give people the most hope aren’t the ones who are perfect and invincible, but the ones who struggle and suffer and yet still manage to win in the end. Shuichi has realised, because of his own suffering and the fact that he’s managed to claw his way through it anyway, that this is the kind of thing the audience should want to see, because it gives them the hope that they can overcome their weaknesses and struggles in the same way. A storyline like Shuichi’s should be exactly what the audience wants and exactly why this has happened so many times to so many real people who didn’t deserve to suffer for this.

I say “should be”, because this isn’t even remotely what the in-universe audience actually wants to see at all. It’s honestly bizarre how obvious the divide is between what Shuichi is describing as a genuinely inspiring engaging fiction that should be the reason the audience keeps wanting this, and the one-dimensional idiocy that this nonsensical audience apparently wants instead. If the out-universe writers are able to write Shuichi talking about the audience wanting this kind of story, they should also be perfectly capable of writing the audience actually wanting it! This shouldn’t be difficult.

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[Next post]

[troofless]

Just finished watching a walkthrough of Tales of Zestiria, and I must say it is as HYPE as its opening.

My favourite parts:

Sorey and Mikleo bickering — actually, every sormik scene

I swear 99.9% of Mikleo revolves around Sorey, the other 0.1% is him getting teased by everyone (this could be his biggest writing strength and flaw depending on who you ask)

The opening song. A BANGERRRRRR

The different branching routes you can take in Ladylake. Sell the knife? The pipe? Don’t sell both? Sell the pipe later on to get a cool hat as well? How do you enter the Sacred Blade ceremony? YOU CAN CHOOSE

Mikleo leaving Sorey, in the game: Oh don’t worry, Mikleo will be fine, I trust Mikleo to take care of himself :) :)

In the anime: dkjasfnlD MIKLEO DID WHAT??! LAILAH WE MUST GO AFTER MIKLEO RIGHT AWAY

Tbh the argument ‘arc’ he has with Sorey? One of the best parts of the game.

'Does a frog think of getting rid of snakes?’ ‘OH SO AM I A FROG NOW?’ ‘Your LIABILITY will be waiting in the inn’

When in the manga this slow burn (JUST GET CONTRACTED WITH MIKLEO ALREADY) gets extended to after Sorey contracts with Edna

When Mikleo calls Sorey out on his blindness in a skit THEY NOTICE EVERYTHING ABOUT EACH OTHER OKAY

Yeah also, just thinking about how Sorey’s known Mikleo’s true name for a long time now HNNNRNNHSDGGGGGHHHH

Mikleo using his rod not as a conduit for magic but as a whacking tool. He has a mystic arte Crystal Rod where he throws his rod at the enemy saying NOPE (best...) and a mystic arte Final Player where he uses it like a hammer saying “I’ll crush you! Again! Again and again!!” smacking the enemy into the ground LOLLLL

That One Mystic Arte where Edna rides on her umbrella like it’s a flying broomstick and shoots out earth rocks with a finger gun

Zaveid coming out of nowhere at random times, busting out his persona shooting himself in the head and demanding that they fight him

Rose shaking her hands with Sorey at supersonic speed when Sorey gets her to hear the seraphim and she thinks she’s hearing ghosts

The whole ‘we’re married’ scene when they get to Rolance, and the whole joke of Sergei continuing to think Rose and Sorey are married

Dezel laughing at Lailah’s lame animal jokes in the background

Dezel not being able to see, but that’s okay… because he can read the wind!

Dezel being the walking encyclopaedia for all animals and plants bc he’s been everywhere

Rose wants to catch a butterfly and sell it for money, but Dezel interjects and tells her it’s a ‘shae monyurose’ moth, so Rose gives up on catching it, saying people don’t pay a lot for moths

Another skit where Sorey and Rose want to catch these rabbits to eat, (they’re cute... AND delicious.) Dezel is horrified and chases them away by shouting really loudly (HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT??!!)

Everyone who plays Zestiria complaining about how Alisha isn’t a permanent team member, then having mixed debates about whether the anime saved or broke the story with Alisha-Armatization

ZAVEID RUNNING DOWN A WALL

“My way is to put the hellions back in hell” Zaveid says while doing the Dio pose

WRYYYYYYY

I love how he just appears out of nowhere and gets him to fight you, multiple times, in both Zestiria AND Berseria

Dezel suggesting they could just fly all the way to the top but Sorey and Mikleo go “But we WANT to see the ruins...!”

In the bad ending Heldalf is just like ‘nothin doing… just standing here…’ when the team goes in and slays him

Heldalf: You want to defeat me, right? But if you do, you can’t get the TRUE ending… bitch

Sorey:

I love how Rose and Alisha are uncommon heroines, using lances and twin blades instead of magic (Mikleo takes that one, hah). 

It’s like the writers of Zestiria were like Hmm. How do we explore the dark elements in this game by showing how people in Age of Chaos possess immense malevolence in their hearts and align it to the main story, and then went, Got it. Assassins. (Story of how Shepherd Sorey went gallivanting around with a princess *cough cough redactedbecauseshedoesn’texistinthegame* and an assassin~~)

Mikleo: Zaveid, there is literally NO REASON for us to fight. At all.

Zaveid: You gotta beat this ass first

And I think that is very sexy of him

Apparently if you take Dezel out of your team during the third fight with Zaveid, he will yell at you

Zaveid, T-posing on the ground: oh don’t mind me, just setting death flags for the only other wind seraph in this game so I can fill the XXX-shaped hole in your team later on in the game. Also here, take my glock

Dezel 🤝Eizen

    being the same person

GIVE ME THE HIDDEN DEZEL AND ZAVEID LORE (but Dezel doesn’t appear in Berseria…)

Rose “I just noticed, whenever Mikleo gets angry, it always has something to do with Sorey” after merchants look at Sorey and think he’s a con artist Shepherd, then in a later skit comments that No, that’s not true Mikleo does get angry even when it doesn’t involve Sorey, then Sorey says, Nah, he’s not angry, just overreacting.

When the plot says Sorey and Mikleo were destined to be the Shepherd and Sub Lord all along :o :v :O

THEY ARE FRIGGIN MARRIED OKAY

BOTH OF THEM. FROM THE SAME VILLAGE. BABIES. RED STRING OF FATE AAAAAA

Sorey and Mikleo in a skit talking about how they’re not really affected by their past bc their real family now is Elysia. It’s a really quiet and sweet moment.

Zaveid in a skit doing flower fortune readings bc he’s worried that the group hates him bc he was all FIGHT ME! before, but Lailah cheers him up with her own flower fortune telling (‘Uh, your origami flower only has... one petal Lailah’) saying Zaveid is their friend AWWWW

GIVE ME THE HIDDEN LAILAH AND ZAVEID LOREEEEEE

gdi I know we see more Pacifist!Zaveid in Berseria but I want a sequel nowwwwww

Sorey and Mikleo having a final conversation under the stars

SOREY FILLS IN MIKLEO ON HIS PLAN breaking the trope of not telling his team that he’s going to save the world by disappearing

One of the main messages Zestiria delivers is how one person shouldn’t take all the burden on themselves and how Sorey learns to rely on other people

Like Lailah staying silent bc of her oath and how that pains her

Like Mikleo... forming a pact with Sorey.....

God I love Zestiria for breaking tropes everywhere

Did I mention how Alisha and Rose have such good platonic relationships with Sorey? Yeah and you can take out the romantic hinting and it is still a good relationship? Without any shoehorning of ‘forced het couple’?

Sorey calling back to the time he had to close his senses to get Alisha to hear Lailah, tying it back into the main plot!!!! :o GALAXY BRAIN

SOREY PUTTING DEZEL’S HAT ON IN THE STARRY SKY CUTSCENE AND ROSE AND ZAVEID TRYING TO TAKE IT BACK

How the hell is Muse alive and not, like, a hag

Love how the final part is Sorey going “I’ll defeat you with the power of friendship!! And this gun I found”

*flashback to AFOvsAll Might* Sorey: You thought it was over with that punch? I have TWO HANDS!!!!

Ok no lie the final fight was epic

THIS... IS MY EVERYTHING!!!!!!

fsdljfnsdkflsfs;fsf look all the seraphim went into the battle not expecting to live and Sorey went in fully expecting to kill his seraphim friends and prepared to KILL

Compared to the start when Sorey was full-out 'don’t kill hellions Zaveid how could you!!!!’, you can see how the darker themes shine here

What I wouldn’t give for a corrupted!Sorey though, I was expecting it bc of clips I saw on Youtube BUT IT NEVER HAPPENED!!! Lowkey sad tho. Would love an arc where Sorey gets overcome by malevolence and becomes, like a jerk, but as like a morally grey character not fully blown evil (like Jerk Rose ig)

The epilogue with everyone!!! The Lord of the Lands (yeah Uno is very pretty)!!! Lucas!!!! Sergei and Alisha!!! The little drawings in the credits detailing Sorey’s journey!!!! Awwww

Overall a happy ending for Sorey and friends which is GREAT

SMOL SOREY AND MIKLEO EXPLORING RUIN TRAPS AT THE END

oh god I swear they are lowkey married they just don’t mention it to anyone look if you go back and play the whole thing with that in mind NOTHING ABOUT THE PLOT CHANGES

Mikleo my friend you have too many cape thingys on your back PLEASE

The callback to Sorey catching Mikleo though is so cute. In the anime we get the callback to “So this is the world!” htgdgmfgmmmmgfg idk the anime is one hole I don’t want to explore rn

sfaljdfsdlf but yeah though the epilogue was nice and clean and up to reader’s imagination, I wished they expanded more on the epilogue (LET US SEE SOREY..... *fighting back tears*), at least THANKS TO THE ANIME we get to see post-Heldalf Alisha and Rose tho hnggggrrgh

*chanting* D-L-C, didn’t know they had a D-L-C

DLC

ROSALI VIBES jkahdfjksdfs give it all to meeeee

Rose and Alisha catfighting sjdnflsjdfadfhgnfghth THIS IS THE ICONIC ROSALI VIBE I SWEAR

Because of this, this DLC is now elevated to god standards

Edna and Lailah casually talking while Rose and Alisha roll in the background LMAOOOO

Rose must be the most unconventional Shepherd ever and that is GREAT

Bruh is Alisha wearing an abbreviated costume of Mikleo’s

Anyway she’s so cute in her DLC outfit!!!

Alisha ditching keigo is so. Very. Cute.

Alisha and Sorey: :) :D :)))

Alisha and Rose: Bitch. }:(  >:V

Love the girl’s party vibe, and how we get cameos of Zaveid and Mikleo (LET US SEE MORE DEVASTATED MIKLEO PLEASE....) along the way

Sadly no more DLC episodes :( wonder why that got axed, bc fans didn’t like it?

Overall I must say the Zestiria cast is awesome, I really like all the characters and how they are fleshed out very neatly with their own quirks and goals. Edna being god tier with her monotone sarcasm (she is QUEEN....), Zaveid being that dumbass that looks like a stripper (HIM.... baby...), Mikleo being ultimate waifu and how his comedic moments shine with Edna and everyone else when he’s being teased, Sorey being so pure and cute when he geeks out with Mikleo and how his character arc is just such a refreshing take on the hero archetype, Dezel with his stoicness Imma Get Revenge but also his cast knowledge and love for animals, Rose for exploring the side of reality in the malevolence in people’s hearts and her :3 smile and her determination to get things done and how she’s so different from Sorey which only brings out her charm, Lailah with her awful puns and eccentricity and quiet compassion. And uh, Alisha for being the bait-and-switch heroine but a decent character with her own personal goals that are separate from the main character. Sergei and Lucas are also very lovable.

As for the setting, Rolance and Hyland as two kingdoms seem a little small scale compared to lets say if they added one more kingdom, but seeing as this is a 2015 game I think the exploration map is pretty good (then I compare to Xenoblade Chronicles which came out in 2010 and just change the subject). Love the outside game mechanics Giant’s Fist, Wind Stepping and Water Shield (when Mikleo protects Sorey with that!!! And Sorey calls him out by saying he’s been practicing it for a long time... And you recall every time Mikleo asks Dezel and the other older seraphim to teach him stuff so he can get stronger to help Sorey and how 99.9% of his character revolves around Sorey). ‘That spinny mist thing sure gets the job done’ haha. 

Anyway, great game and plot, please go check out if you have time, esp rn since animes and other games coming out will be stalled it is a great time to check out older games aaaaaaa