#i used to be able to brute force myself to function and i still can to some degree but it's getting so much harder so quickly

[teethrotter]

panic

[aspd-culture]

What does the ego/arrogance look like in ASPD?

So, for me and many pwASPD I know, it doesn’t look like what you’d expect. I don’t necessarily think I’m more attractive than other people or other “classic” types of arrogance. That’s (afaik) more associated with NPD. Whilst I do tend to think I’m smarter/more clever than a lot of people, the main way my ego shows is through insignificant and usually somewhat weird or niche things. I keep all my boxes in Pokémon organized and I bet my system is better than yours. I don’t go to the bathroom the second my body tells me it has to, because that’s “weak” and I’m too cool for that. I’m in control of what my body does and when, while everyone else lives their life as a slave to their vessel. I can type pretty damn fast despite not using the “correct” way to type. Stuff like that.

Also, more importantly than *what* your arrogant about is *how* you’re arrogant about it. pwASPD don’t generally hold onto that ego for long. I can very quickly and easily be forced out of it for literally no reason. The thought may just occur to me how stupid it is that I think that makes me better than everyone, or I’ll realize how many people in the world probably do the same thing, or I realize that Pokémon box sorting is pretty subjective and there’s really no way to be better at it than anyone else besides people who literally don’t do it - in which case, doesn’t that make them cooler than me for being able to function with a completely unsorted box system? Doesn’t that make *me* the weak one? And what’s the *real* likelihood that I’m actually smarter than most people while still being an unknown rando. If I was that smart, than why aren’t I smart enough to brute force my executive function? If I was so much better than everyone, why can’t I do *insert random thing that literally has no basis in your value as a human*.

This isn’t the same as a crash for pwNPD. It doesn’t shake my worldview or come as extremely distressing to me, it’s just a passing thought and then I can move on. My identity is not bothered at all by either the arrogant feeling or the realization, and the ego in general in ASPD is just… very fickle and overall unreliable, so I never really get used to liking, loving, disliking, or hating myself. It’s like genderfluidity for my ego.

At least, that’s how it works for me.

[positivelybeastly]

Good morning beast! Gotta another question for you. In terms of edurance, what are your limits? Especially after your most recent mutation. How durable are you against some of your x-men teammates? (You can chose three if you want)!

"Ah, a question I can answer without any soul-searching! Stupendous."

Hank hops out of his lab chair with a sprightly bound, seemingly delighted at the chance to show off a little.

"Well, to start off with, my soft tissues are considerably sturdier than the average human's - while I may not be able to shrug off a point blank gunshot like our esteemed Wolverine, a glancing shot would barely phase me, and most knives, unless specially prepared and sharpened, struggle to do damage to me.

Helpful when I'm cutting vegetables, to say the least."

"Harder tissues, specifically bone, are even sturdier still - I can drop multiple stories and, even without the use of my prodigious agility to cancel out some of the momentum, walk away without a break, sometimes without even a wobble. My cartilage is equivalent in strength to the most resilient shock absorbers on Earth . . . which is handy, because the idea of having normal human rotator cuffs or knees fills me with dread.

I'd likely be dealing with early on-set arthritis as a best case scenario by now, otherwise. Perish the thought."

Next, a flex of his . . . biceps. Really, Hank?

"I would, of course, be remiss not to mention my enhanced strength - while not on the level of Colossus or Rogue, our resident powerhouses, my maximum limit is the ability to lift approximately ten tons, though I rarely have a chance to exhibit such strength. I'm more often called upon to use it tactically, rather than for simple brute force application."

"I also possess a rather potent healing factor - again, nothing compared to Logan's, but broken bones heal within a matter of days, cuts and gashes within hours, and I conservatively estimate a lifespan of approximately 150-200 years, provided I take decent care of myself.

And, ah.

Take it easy on the Twinkies, of course."

He pats at the little paunch of his stomach with a somewhat sheepish grin.

"This also leads into my superhuman stamina and metabolism - I can exert myself at peak capacity for several hours before the buildup of fatigue toxins in my blood begin to impair me!

I also require considerably less sleep than I used to, a holdover from my feline mutation; where I would previously need your average 4-8 hours of sleep a night to function at peak performance, now I only need 1-2 hours a day, or, more commonly, 8-12 hours a week. Going days without sleep is now something of a common occurrence for me, to say nothing of what coffee can help me achieve."

"Finally, to round out these answers to your questions - I would be quick to stipulate that while I was perhaps the original big guy of our team, I'm not even close to being the biggest anymore, considering we have titans like Colossus, Strong Guy, or Rogue on side.

I'm of course considerably stronger, more durable, and able to endure more than most, but there are weight classes, and then there are weight classes, you understand.

I hope that satisfies your curiosity, friend. If you require further demonstrations, I'll be happy to oblige."

[of-canes-and-manes]

002: Lessons Learned at the Lake

I spent the last full week of August on the edge of a lake in Maine, and it was my first true vacation in two years.

I’m not usually one to enjoy leaving the house for multiple days at a time, much less a full week; my chronic fatigue makes it next to impossible to predict how well I’ll function after more than a few hours. This week in Maine wasn’t even a solo trip; most of my immediate family was crammed into this little cabin, and I simply do not do well with just how loud they can be.

But this vacation was a wonderful experience regardless, even if it wasn’t restful in the least. I spent several days playing board games with my family. I spent several hours learning practical skills with my old DSLR camera, learning how to shoot in aperture mode. I spent several days knitting, where I finished the first sock in a pair using the most difficult pattern I’ve attempted to date.

And on top of all of this, I learned four lessons out there on the lake, lessons that I’ve seemed to learn and relearn intermittently over these last seven years of being disabled, and yet I can never retain them for more than a few weeks at a time. It is my hope that by writing them out here they can serve as both a reminder to myself and others who need to hear them.

Lesson one: be flexible about changing plans.

I’ve never been good at life deviating from routine. I have the first two and a half hours of every morning scheduled down to the minute. But with my chronic fatigue, I can’t always get started at the same time every single day; there’s days where I need to sleep in, or days where I wake up early unintentionally.

During my week in Maine, I rediscovered the joy of adapting my morning routine to what I needed to set up the day. If I woke up with only twenty minutes until sunrise, I skipped everything but breakfast so that I could grab my camera and get situated for taking my morning photos. Then, once the sun had risen, I came back and did the non-negotiable parts of my routine, making it a point to take my time with my daily spiritual practices and to really ground myself in every action.

This carried over through the rest of the day, and if I ended up not having the energy to do what I had planned, I allowed myself to do something else rather than trying to brute force my way through it. With this flexible approach, I was able to save myself more energy than I can adequately calculate.

Lesson two: spend as much time as possible outdoors.

This is one that I’m always vaguely aware of needing, and yet it always creeps up on me despite my best efforts. During the fall and spring, especially during school days, it’s easy to be outside on the porch with my radio and my knitting; in the summer and winter, with the more extreme temperatures and my family home from school, it’s a lot more difficult to do.

A week out on the porch in Maine, looking out over the lake and the mountains rising in the distance, did more for my mental health than I can even begin to say. Especially during the mornings before my family woke, when my only companions were the radio and the birds. This proximity to the natural world allowed me a sort of peace of mind, serving both as a reminder and a promise that I am not alone out here in this life.

It’s something that’s a lot harder to do at home, between the weather and my family’s schedules, but it’s one thing I need to get more of on a regular basis.

Lesson three: make the time and energy for my passions.

I was late diagnosed as autistic, and am still learning the importance of special interest time. My special interest is knowledge of all sorts, and combined with my ADHD I have a wide variety of hobbies that all revolve around working with my hands in the offline world. As such, I often feel guilty when I can’t spend time on some interests and hobbies because I’m fixating on others.

While in Maine I only had a limited number of activities that I could work on, as I only had enough space in my travel bag for a few items. Having such a limited selection of what I could work on at any given time greatly reduced my executive dysfunction around deciding what to do with my day, as well as giving me some insight into what I really value in a hobby and special interest. By allowing myself the time and energy to fixate as much as I want, I was able to conserve energy while fulfilling both my autistic and ADHD needs at the same time.

I seem to relearn this on a nearly monthly basis, and yet I never seem to keep it in mind in the day to day.

Lesson four: invest in nothing days.

There’s a certain amount of peace that comes from having nothing planned for the day besides listening to the local NPR station, knitting, and watching the rain roll over the lake. My fatigue is cognitive just as much as it is physical, sometimes even more so, and I often find myself reaching a point where I can’t read more than a paragraph without my brain glossing over the words. At those times, nothing days are a delectable treat, and a reset that allows my brain time to rest.

Of course it would be most beneficial to reduce my taskload so that I didn’t have time of cognitive fatigue; in today’s world, when one needs to spend all day every day fielding phone calls from various offices just to keep ahead of his health, it can be impossible to get that rest. I seem to consistently forget that nothing days are an option, but when I get the rare opportunity to do them, I cherish every moment.

None of these lesson are new to me, and yet I never seem to be able to keep them consistently in mind.  Such is the life with the short attention span permitted me by my ADHD combined with the memory issues of my autism, I suppose. What lessons have you learned and relearned over the years, and what measures do you take to keep them in mind?

May your day be full of peace and kindness.

[wilt1ng]

The Collector: Asa Emory [MORE] Head-Canons.

It has been literal months with no cure for my Asa brain rot. Enjoy.

The Collector's voice.

Initially in my first set of headcanons, I brushed upon what his voice could potentially sound like. Now at the time it had slipped my mind that The Collector's voice was revealed at the end of the sequel "The Collection". Upon relearning this information, I took it upon myself to rewatch the film and analyze his voice the best to my ability.

In a previous post I wrote, "I imagine Asa's voice as being very husky and low from lack of use. It's a very demanding voice; he's able to provoke fear just by speaking, although he prefers not to around victims especially."

I now disagree with this older information. Don't get me wrong it's not totally off, my thoughts on the subject have just expanded.

His voice is not as deep or gruff as I once thought. In fact, his voice was a pleasant surprise as I felt it didn't match his horrifying exterior. However I find this even more fitting as his voice is something you just wouldn't expect from a man like him.

Although it isn't deep, that doesn't mean it's not a low sounding voice.

His tone was surprisingly calm with hints of genuine curiosity as he asks Arkin, "Are you here to kill me?"

PERSONALLY unless he masked his voice to be more husky/gravely/mysterious, I would find it quite comforting in a way. Like I said, his real voice isn't exactly intimidating. It's almost soft and gentle, especially for being caught by Arkin. You'd think there would be a hint of anger, hate, or gruffness, but there isn't. He isn't the type to waste breath, expressing frustrations vocally. Instead, after he asked Arkin if he was going to kill him; he listened to what he had to say. Clearly not liking what Arkin was insinuating, he leapt to attack him (but failed).

I could see Asa using his voice to comfort his victims. It's literally that nice. Long story short? He could manipulate me any day with a voice like that.

Predator vs Prey. (Primal)

This man 100% has a predator/prey kink. In case you're unfamiliar, urban dictionary explains it well. "A type of sexual kink or deviancy which involves becoming animalistic during sex. Can include scratching, biting, general brute force, and animal-type noises like howling, snarling, growling, etc. The dominants in this kink community are sometimes referred to as primal hunters and the subs are primal prey."

I mean are you kidding..? This man literally growls. Although it's primarily expressed in the first movie, I'd like to think it still carries into the second. I've heard people compare him to an arachnid, a black panther, or a wolf stalking it's prey.

Personally, he reminds me of the wolf spider.

BONUS: His preference for restraints are collars used for around the neck. In fact, he measures the circumference of his victim's neck just to get the size right. How sweet of him.

Every killer needs an alibi.

You know how at the end of the movie we see The Collector's true home? It basically let's us know that Asa has a normal, functioning life outside of butchering people. That being said, he doesn't seem the type who would just start a family in order to seem the normal "family man". He is independent, Asa doesn't need no man or woman. However, I could 100% see him making room for a potential lover. I suppose it also heavily depends on the circumstances. Perhaps he develops a liking for someone, and doesn't quite want them to figure out who he truly is. Therefore he masks this side of him, only showing his s/o what he wants them to see.

BONUS: If his s/o discovers who he truly is, they become his next victim. Asa will keep them around longer than he knows he should. He would finally reveal his sadistic side, while maintaining his "sweet" one every so often to emotionally manipulate them.

"Don't cry." Asa purred. His touch was that of cold-wet leather. As tears fell he'd gently swipe his thumb over your damp cheeks, enjoying every second as you squirmed underneath his blade.

"Sh-sh-shh..." He comforted you the best he could, impressed you've held on this long. The Collector had rules, and you made him break every single one. He had straddled you; with your wrists bound in barbedwire, there wasn't much you could do.

"Almost done." He spoke, his voice gentle and soft, despite carving his name into your abdomen.

"PROPERTY OF THE COLLECTOR"

[askthejourneysgang]

To the Journeys Trio,

I love you like a brother, Ash... But there are times you make me want to hit you over the head with Iron Tail! The number of times you jumped in between two Pokemon attacks still gives me occasional nightmares. I don’t care if you can handle the attacks/heal from them, you are human and thus much squishier than me. Might not have been able to survive falling off Prism Tower—but I could have used Iron Tail to catch myself falling near that cliff. Not to mention I’m the brains of our team in my timeline. Wish my Ash would listen more.

Our first encounter was embarrassing since I was known as the literate Pikachu, Goh. I spent the week before I was given to your joyfriend learning how to read and write. Professor Oak already knew how smart I was from his time as Sammy. You ask so many questions when you are interested in something. We are still in the early days of Ash and your research fellowship so I don’t know if you’ll become a couple here. There is a bunch of fossil Pokemon in Grandpa Canyon, bring your Aerodactyl if you want to be able to gain entry from the canyon’s guard one.

My timeline/dimensions version of you seems interested in daycare breeding, Chloe. Riolu was what sparked her interest as well as it being different from typical training... I have tried to explain to her the Pokemon side of having a Trainer. Surprisingly, we are both pretty decent friends when your initial neutrality to Pokemon started to break down. Me being more of a battler than brute forcing things as well as staying a Pikachu seemed to resonate.

Though... I guess I should explain why I wanted to learn how to read and write. When I left Mama Kangaskhan’s herd, I was still getting used to being a Pikachu. My body needed much more food to function plus I wasn’t as small as I once was. I ended up getting underweight for my already light species. Delirious I wandered into Professor Oak’s ranch in the middle of a thunderstorm to munch on his wires. Ended up attracting lightning that knocked me out from overloading on electricity. During my time in the ball, I regained some odd memories about being human. It threw off my sense of balance as well as depth perception from the different heights. Professor Oak noticed this and started helping me adjust. I learned the basics about writing through my frustration at not being able to communicate. The last seven to eight years I spent by Ash’s side being his ace mon as well as strategist.

Sincerely, Chidori the Pikachu.

P.S—Being a girl in a male chus body sucks.

Ash: Well, it's true that I am pretty squishy... but if your Ash is anything like me, there's no need to worry! We can come back from anything 😌

Chloe: Stealing catchphrases from your friends, I see

Between Yamper, Eevee and this alternate version of me's interest in Riolu, I'm wondering if maybe I have a weakness for dog pokémon?

Goh: Well, I do hope your Ash and your Goh get along as famously as the two of us here! Most Gohs need good friends like Ash... except for those off-colored ones we met once. It seemed like it was the other way around for them.

Wow, I just used my name in a plural form. My life has gotten really weird lately!

[wereallylostnowbois]

Sorry ive been dormant lately, haven't had the spare energy to write theories in the midst of writing literary analysis essays (essentially the same as theory but with additional formatting nonsense) but lately in my off time ive been playing Pokemon Silver on the virtual console and having a lot of fun with it. Decided to do a few things weird in this run cause i didn't feel like team building, basically the rules are:

Only use gift Pokemon

Completely blind run, no using walkthroughs or looking for what trainers have what Pokemon

This has led to some fun shenanigans so far because i picked Chikorita. Classically what stater you pick is more personal preference ans less gameplay benefit, and though in some games some are better than others i have never played a Pokemon where theres an obvious "correct choice". The correct choice was Cyndaquil, most everything early or late game could be blown through no issue with a fire type Pokemon. I suppose Vulpix could also be aquired early game but I made my dumb rules and i decided to stick to em. I manage to brute force my way through most gyms, picking up a Togepi, Eevee, and Spearow along the way. By the fourth gym my Chikorita has fully evolved into Meganium. All is well and good, i make my way over to Olivine city and the gym leader send me on a drug store run over to Cianwood city to help this sick pokemon. I think "yeah sure that's doable" and then stand at the edge of the water for a while, baffled, because i have somehow managed to not have a singular pokemon that can learn surf. I contemplate my options for a while, and make a minor addendum to rule one.

Only use gift Pokemon *in battle*

I then bike all the way over to route 32 and gently scoop a wooper up out of the grass. He is level 6. I attempt to name him Jonathan because i have been thinking about Bram Stoker's Dracula lately, however it is late and a misclick causes me to hit end before i mean to. The wooper is named Jonat.

I rarely feel any strong attachment to Pokemon in earlier games, because they feel 2 dimensional when compared with those in later instalments, but i become very attached to Jonat, perhaps because of his dumb little name or perhaps because of his dumb little face, who's to say. Jonat serves one purpose, he knows surf, and that is it. He is perhaps the most beloved hm slave i have ever had.

With the acquisition of Jonat i am able to make my way to Cianwood, where i beat the gym, aquire the medicine, and obtain a shuckle named Shuckie, i then return to Olivine.

Now the first red flag with Olivine's gym is that there's no other trainers, only Jasmine the gym leader. The second red flag is that she is a steel type trainer. I foolishly think "oh this will be easy" because i am used to having at least one fire type. It is not easy.

Her Magnemite goes down fine, but then she sends out Steelix who, for lack of a better phrasing, sweeps my team.

I find myself saying, not for the first time, "should've picked Cyndaquil". I find myself texting my friends in distress saying "Jonat is in danger". I consider simply reloading the save.

I send out Jonat and select Surf, it is his move, his singular function. I know he will not have the speed to use it, but in this despairing moment it feels correct.

I text my friends "I feel like a monster for letting this happen."

Jonat did not deserve this. He was my special little guy, a Pokemon never meant to be used in battle, and I have led him here. The Steelix uses Iron Tail and Jonat goes down, I feel absolutely horrible for what I've done. This moment is the most intense emotion i have ever felt from something that happened in a Pokemon game. I am still thinking about how to make it up to Jonat, how to tell him I'm sorry. I feel so bad for letting this happen.

[decalinethespacecat]

The Games that We Play-Ch.1

A simple exploration.

That's all this mission was supposed to entail.

Well, in a sense, perhaps they had accomplished such. Stranded on a new, foreign world, brimming with energy, and teeming with organic life. And with that, it was the very life that they had been forced to alter themselves to, the very lifeblood that dwelt on this strange sphere in too great an excess, and thus, should they not adhere to the laws set by this new world, it could mean the loss of their functionality, or even more, their own sparks. Of course, ironically enough, it hadn't just been themselves that had to follow this code: the very ones that had caused their stranding here had also been subject to it. And even more, one amongst their former pursuers had, albeit forcibly at first, integrated amongst their numbers. Now, as the two parties faced each other atop this mountain, five against five, the playing field had been leveled.

The two heads of the opposing sides made direct eye contact with each other, the differences between them evident in far more than just their conflicting ideals and ambitions. On one side stood the stalwart, strong form of a darkly furred primate, leaning on his knuckles as the species he had scanned were inclined to do. His eyes were dark, yet soulful, and in the minds of some of his fellow explorers, dare they say, they appeared almost akin to the small creatures that had aided and catered to their ancestors. On the other was, for all intents and purposes, a complete antithesis of everything the primate was. He bore the outer flesh of a large theropod coated in a sheen of violet with a series of green ridges trailing along his back, ending at the base of his tail. Rows of sharpened, ivory teeth lined the inside of his powerful jaws, small, yet menacing red eyes full of intent glowering back at the primate opposite of him.

"Across the galaxy," the ancient reptile spoke, voice low and smooth. "It has come to this, Optimus Primal." The primate stood his ground, along with the other four organically based Cybertronians with him. "Face to face," a smile crept onto the theropod's features. "Tooth to claw...yesss." Oh yes indeed, he had been clamoring for this very moment! "Have you anything to say?"

The primate's face grew stern. True, he had not set out on this expedition with the intent to seek combat. Yet ultimately, Primus, it seemed, held other plans for them. "I'd say, that's prime." he simply stated before bearing his elongated canines. "Let's do it!"

...

"YEAHHHH!" a chorus of young voices cried out, five to be exact, as they charged in unison at a collection of five pieces of notebook paper held up by a used popsicle stick glued onto the back, each of them stuck into the ground so they would stay in place. The owners of the voices came forward and did 'battle' with the pieces of cut-out paper, lightly striking and flicking the fragile, crudely drawn depictions of their current 'adversaries'.

This was the third time they needed to be redrawn, and frankly, no one was wanting to have to do all five Predacons all over again. Especially if one of them was a young adolescent with questionable drawing skills. If anything, at least they LOOKED like how they were supposed to this time. Sort of.

One amongst the five, a boy with tannish skin and a darkly colored buzz cut, grabbed the cutout of Megatron (at least, it was supposed to be Megatron) and purposefully fell to the ground, bringing the piece of colored paper on a stick close to his face, raising one hand to keep it back, as if it weighed a good deal of weight.

...

The jaws were close. So insultingly close. Just a few centimeters more, and that slagging ape's head would be firmly in his jaws! "Admit defeat, Maximal!" Megatron bellowed, Primal not wavering, yet it was evident that he was struggling against the Tyrannosaurus' massive head. "The Energon shall be ours!"

The silverback needed to act fast. He held no intention of obeying the violet Predacon's demand, yet he needed some leeway. He needed to at least get the larger beast off of him! "Not if I can help it!"

...

"Yah!" the tan boy hollered, behaving as if he had just flung a two-ton boulder off of him, yet the paper cutout landed in the grass with little more than a soft crinkle. "Surrender, Megatron!" he proclaimed, his voice far from the authoritative, triumphant Maximal he was imitating. "You're scrapped!"

'Megatron didn't retort back, the boy realizing then what kind of corner he had just put himself in.

"Uh, guys?" he called out, the other four children ceasing their 'battle' against their respective Predacons and turning towards him. "Who's not fighting at this part?"

One boy amongst them, African and with a top of short, black curls, turned to him. "They all are!" he answered back.

"Yeah, but who's being shown fighting?"

"Uh…" the other boy paused, thinking for a moment. "I think it's just Optimus and Megatron."

"Ok." the tan boy went over to pick up the Megatron cutout, his dark eyes taking notice of a nearby tree. "You mind? I can't really chase myself."

...

The impact was immediate, and even if it had been mere seconds, the shock that came with the splintering rock formation behind them both clearly affected Primal more than his adversary.

A fact that they wasted no time in taking advantage of.

With one swift, precise bite, Megatron put the jaws of the mighty beast he had donned as his alternate form to proper use, the premaxillary teeth that once belonged to the likes of the extinct predator tore through the alpha primate's thigh, right above the joint. Primal released an involuntary wail of agony, the sharpened instruments having torn through his alt mode's synthetic flesh and down to the fragile circuitry and wiring underneath. Not feeling satisfied with just one sample of the Maximal's mech fluid lightly bathing his tongue, Megatron bit yet again, only this time, Primal seemed to have better prepared for it. He was still in a great deal of pain, yes, yet now he could better channel it, using the horrid sensations and transferring it into an unquenchable need to fight back, beginning with delivering a hardened chop with both hands to the top of Megatron's scaly dome.

This blow had put the behemoth reptile in the same position Optimus had been mere seconds prior. And due to the blow he had delivered, it took the Tyrannosaurus a moment to realize that, surprisingly enough, the foolish ape had somehow found it in him to up and began swinging him around by the tail! As soon as the world had begun spinning for him, it stopped, only to then realize he was flying right into the ceiling of the mountainous structure, crashing down with a resounding thud that shook the entire landscape.

"Gah!" Optimus cried out, hissing as he analyzed the injury done to his leg. True, he had managed to stand to deliver that rather 'creative' maneuver against his aggressor, yet it now dawned on him that there was no way he could walk with a tear like this. And internalized repairs wouldn't be able to undo damage such as this. As if to add insult to injury (literally in a sense), the reptile had somehow managed to get up. "It…" Optimus stammered, forcing himself to rise. "It's over, Megatron!"

"It is NEVER over! Nooo!" He could scarcely believe it at first, yet given how the brute's forces traveled all this way to engage them, perhaps anything was possible. After all, what other Cybertronian before them had been forced to adopt a secondary skin of organic flesh? Despite the painful surges the multiple Energon crystals sent through his true form, Megatron did not waver, aiming and sending a missile right in the direction of the wounded Primal. "For if I must die...I shall take you with me!"

There was no way he could avoid this. Its proximity was too close. The urge to flee was great, yet Primal stood firm. He would stand tall and accept this. He had begun to shut his eyes, awaiting the inevitable. 'Till all are one…'

Yet one, he was not yet to be.

The missile had never come to meet him.

...

"Wait, you want me to do what?" one amongst the group questioned with a quirked brow, this time the child, despite the role, a young girl with skin slightly darker than the boy roleplaying as Primal, her thick, black hair tied back in a low ponytail. In her hands was a wooden sword, one that she had made sure to bring each and every time she met with the others. Yet now, the African boy was asking her to do something a little...odd with it.

"Well, in the episode, Dinobot blocks it with his tail."

"So, what? You want me to put this on my butt?"

"Uh...well, it'd be accurate."

It sounded absurd, not to mention difficult to pull off. Sure, she didn't really know how to properly use the sword, yet at least she could make use of it as something of an improv baseball bat. But nooooo, when she batted the "missile" away like that, they had to stop so that they could do it 'the right way'.

"Fine." she moaned, rolling her eyes and tossing the crumpled piece of paper (Waspinator got stepped on, AGAIN) in the African boy's direction. "Throw it again."

...

The one that had once been under Megatron's command, the one that had blocked their way and saw fit to end his life on the stone bridge, allowing the Predacons to catch up with them, had just been the one to strike the incoming projectile with his striped, reptilian tail, sending it off course and away from them both.

The former Predacon and his would-be usurper had just miraculously saved him from certain death.

This revelation was given no time to truly be dwelt on at the present, for the missile had found itself a new target, the explosion sending a chain reaction that soon caused the entire mountain to shake.

"It's going to blow!" a brown rhinoceros bellowed, the once battling Predacons quickly realizing the danger they were all in and making a hasty retreat, leaving their downed leader behind.

"Time to fade, heroes!" one amongst the Maximals shouted, a green-eyed cheetah, he making himself scarce along with Primal and the rhino, a large, grey rat also atop of the horned creature's back, a velociraptor racing alongside with them off of the mountain. None dare to look back, lest they waste precious seconds before the entire formation exploded.

Thankfully, they thought as they now found themselves a good distance away, all of them had managed to make it out of that close call in one piece. All four...no, all five of them.

Optimus turned his gaze towards the newest member of their group, his pale eyes gazing back into the silverback's own. "Thanks." he simply stated, the ancient reptile somewhat taken aback by this gesture.

"My actions did not imply loyalty, Optimus." the striped theropod clarified, momentarily averting his gaze, his voice low and raspy, yet strangely enough, sincere. "I owe you my life." He admitted the act, even if he dare not openly say it, was rather humbling. "Now we are merely...even."

The silverback took no offense to this. In fact, to the raptor's befuddlement, he simply presented him with a satisfied grin. "I'll accept that."

"Yeah, well, uh.." The rat, having long gotten off the rhino's back, wasn't exactly ready to allow this saurian into their ranks, no matter what Optimus declared. Orders or not, he'd make his opinion on "Chopperface", or rather, "Choppahface", known for a long while. Still, there was a burning question on his mind. "At least Megatron's gone, and so is the Energon!" he declared, voice rising in hope. "Can we go home now?"

It was too good to be true. The shaking of his leader's head cemented this fact. "No, Rattrap." the gorilla solemnly stated. "For now, we're stranded here with the Predacons on this unknown planet." the situation sunk in for all of them now, truly. "Megatron may be back, and there is still more Energon. If they ever get enough, they could conquer the galaxy." he could see the trepidation etched into their features. Indeed, he would be a liar if he said he did not share in their collective concern. Still...there was no other way. Their opposition had to be stopped. And whether it be here, Earth, or even Cybertron, his conviction would have remained the same. "So for now," he began, looking towards the endless, blue horizon above. "Let the battle be here, on this strange, primitive world. And let it be called," he shouted, extending his fist towards the skies. "The Beast Wars!"

...

"YEAH!" The five shouted in chorus, full of nothing short of absolute triumph and exhilaration, the sight of the untamed, unconquered canyon and mountainous landscape the Maximals stood upon at the forefront of their mind's eye.

Of course, after a few moments of this, said landscape steadily began to fade, the mowed, fertile, green lawn of the African boy's yard coming to consume the place stationed in their imaginations.

"Uh, ok." a voice amongst them spoke, said voice belonging to another girl in the group, though contrary to the other young lady with them, she bore lighter skin and a head of long, red locks. "So...do we go over the toy fund now or later?"

"I think we've got a more immediate problem than that." the African boy said, picking up the crumpled-up piece of paper. "Somebody's got to redraw Waspinator. Again."

The skies had darkened, the sun just beginning to set. Yet in the small, packed enclosure of the cubical-shaped treehouse, none of the five children paid any mind, a serious and passionate debate taking place amongst them.

"No way! I did it last week! It's Tim's turn!" a blonde boy with scruffy hair protested, crossing his arms.

"Last time I checked," the African boy clarified, gesturing an accusing finger back at the blonde. "You only did it last week because you skipped out on the last time it was your turn."

"Hey, I was sick that week!" he protested.

"Yeah, that was boring." The black-haired girl admitted. "I was tired of acting out that episode where Cheetor got kidnapped by Tarantulas."

"You got tired?" another girl questioned, she of lighter skin and a head of fiery red hair, even if her voice was meek and smooth. "I had to make sure the cutout we made didn't get too messed up."

"At least Rattrap got to do stuff in that episode!' the other girl retorted, looking to her wooden sword. "Dinobot was barely in that one!"

"And we can only do so many with just five of us!" the blonde added in. "Soon, it's going to get to where we're going to have to start making up our own episodes!"

"Ok, look!" the tan boy interjected, the other four quieting down. "We're getting off track. The point is that Waspinator got messed up, again, and somebody's got to make another cutout-"

"Again." the other children finished for him, he somewhat startled by how quickly they picked up on what he was about to say.

"Right, so one of us is going to have to do it. But we've got to find out who's turn it is to make a new one-"

"Timothy Leblanc!" each and every one of the five adolescents jumped at the voice piercing through their private space up in the crudely constructed, yet still standing treehouse. And whilst the feminine, rather irritable voice called out for just one of them, each didn't need to ask what this also meant for them. "It's thirty minutes past five now, and you're STILL up there?! Your father's going to get here in less than five, and your dinner's had to be heated up twice already!"

The African boy winced, looking at his friends with a rather sheepish expression. "I've got to probably get going too." the red-haired girl confessed.

"Me too." the blonde added. "Mom's going to kill me if I don't do the dishwasher before the day's done."

"And my mom wants me to help her with the...the…" the black-haired girl paused. "I think she called it a…bistek tagalog?"

"A what?" Tim questioned.

"Your mom always makes the weirdest stuff." the blonde added.

"Whatever it is, she wants me to help mix the sauce and put the onions in."

"So, who's going to redraw…" the tan boy began, only to find that all eyes were on him.

A few hours later

"Thanks a lot!"

"Yeah, totally!"

"You're always so thoughtful!"

"Yeah, the best!"

Even now, he was STILL seething mad at all of them.

True, there really wasn't a rush, and he could probably get it done during study hall tomorrow, but still, once again, he had been sacked with the task of redrawing Predacons (correction: one particular Predacon) AGAIN, when the rest of them knew well and good that it was someone else's turn! Still, in a way, he sort of knew why he got this particular task the most, mainly because he was the only one that could actually make them LOOK sort of accurate. As accurate as a fourth grader that had a decent enough grade in Art could get.

'Yeah, well, let's see them when we act out 'Starscream's Ghost'!' the boy thought, scribbling a green crayon in the thick pencil lines that made up Waspinator's outline. 'I'll be Waspinator on that one! And...oh wait, no.' he just remembered. 'We don't have anyone that can be Tigetron or Airazor.' let alone did they have anyone that could've filled in the role of Blackarachnia or Inferno.

'And we can only do so many with just five of us!' the blonde boy's words echoed in his mind.. 'Soon, it's going to get where we're going to have to start making up our own episodes!'

"Inuksuk!" a man's voice said from the other side of the door, the young boy ceasing his doodling. "Don't tell me you're still up!" the child inwardly groaned at hearing his full name. Culture and heritage aside, he still hated it. "Have you even brushed your teeth yet, young man?"

Brushed...oh shoot!

The older, far taller adult standing outside of the boy's room was knocked back by the door, quite literally, slamming in his face, a small figure rushing out and into the bathroom. "Well, at least you know to stand out of the way next time." a woman shouted at the bottom of the stairs.

"Y-Yeah...guess so…"

Bathroom

Not so much brushing as he was grinding the bristles in and around his teeth, yet from what he could see in the mirror, his mouth was foamy enough for it to count! Speaking of which, he took a moment to eject said foam from his mouth and into the sink, washing it down and getting out the dental floss, tearing off just enough (just as mom showed him) and tying the ends around his fingers (just as mom showed him, though he struggled more with that particular step). Inuksuk looked good and hard in the mirror at his still growing teeth, a couple of empty spaces from recently pulled ones serving as areas he needed to keep extra clean, this particular tip from his father (of whom he just realized he might've just slammed in the face with a door).

He'd have to apologize when he got out. Assuming he hit him hard.

Still, as the young boy garbed in a simple, grey t-shirt and worn down, dark grey sweatpants navigated the floss through his available teeth, he found one thought running through his mind on repeat as he went on with his (very belated) nightly routine.

"Soon, it's going to get where we're going to have to start making up our own episodes!"

...

"...making up our own episodes!"

Making up their own episodes...hmm.

Perhaps the better term for it would've been 'making up our own stories, as really, how were a bunch of kids going to get ahold of anything better than a handheld camera, let alone, by some miracle, contact Mainframe with a stack of papers detailing these new exploits and adventures of the Maximals?

Still, Tim thought, as he spit out the strong tasting, even stronger stinging Listerine, it could work.

Yeah, they'd have to go through the process of deciding on a plot, a script, who'd be the 'star', all things that, frankly, he would've been more than content to leave for the fine folks who were in charge of the show to decide. But, seeing as it was evident that they'd probably be playing out these reenactments with just five, Timothy couldn't help but entertain the potential Mathis' proposal brought with it. What if, just if, they did go through with it...what could they do? Or perhaps the better question was, what COULDN'T they do?

Oh man, oh geez, oh gosh, oh man! He had just meant it as a way so that they wouldn't have to act out the same stuff over and over again! But thinking about it now...oh geez, he was near slapping himself for not suggesting it earlier!

...

"Mathis, bed!"

"Ok, mom! Just a minute!"

The blonde boy heard the door to his room open, a hand setting itself on his shoulder.

"It's been ten." a low, feminine voice told him. "And unless you want to go through the ritual of me setting the radio on at max volume for you in the morning...and also, did you even brush, let alone take your pills yet-"

"Ok, fine." Mathis groaned, getting up from the dining room table and to the foot of the stairs.

"Clean up first."

He turned back to face his mother, she bearing his blonde locks, yet not his chocolate brown eyes. "But didn't you just say-"

"It's going to take you five minutes to get all these crayons and pencils up." she answered, a small, curt grin coming to her lips. Once again, she foiled him. As the young boy went back over to the table and began putting the art supplies back in their proper boxes, correctly, as she was watching him, the woman couldn't help but notice what her child had been drawing. "Who's that?" she asked, picking up the piece of lined paper. "One of the characters from that show you and your friends watch? Um…" she tapped her finger on her chin, trying to recall whom exactly her son fawned over. "Cheetara or something?"

"That's Thundercats, mom." Mathis moaned. "It's Cheetor from Beast Wars." well, technically, that wasn't what it was called over here, yet he and his friends were in mutual agreement that 'Beasties' sounded ridiculous, not to mention stupid. Besides, Optimus outright even said that the fight they were in was called the flipping 'Beast Wars'!

"Ah, right. He's the...leopard, right?" This earned the woman another groan. "Kidding, kidding." She scanned the crude markings meant to resemble the computer-generated robot cat (at least she thought that was what he was, she only saw the show in brief intervals), and found a strange, new figure beside him. "Who's this?" she questioned her child, gesturing to the right of (what was supposed to be) Cheetor.

"Oh, that's…" Mathis began to answer, stopping before he could finish. "Well...I don't really know what his name is, but he's somebody I made up."

"Ah, like it's supposed to be you in the show?"

"No, it's not me. It's someone I made up." the boy affirmed. "He's a Saber-toothed Tiger."

(AN-I know it's more accurate to call it a Saber-toothed cat or Smilodon, but being a kid in the 90s, and in general, a kid, everyone I knew, both other kids and adults around me, just called it a Saber-toothed Tiger.)

"Oh, ok. That explains the teeth." his mother nodded.

"Yeah," Mathis confirmed. "There's only five of us, so we only have so many episodes we can act out as the Maximals. So I got to thinking we could maybe make up our own episodes."

"And in turn, make up your own characters?"

"...yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

"Yeah, well," the woman ruffled the younger boy's hair. "You have all the time in the world to do that tomorrow and on the weekend. Right now, everyone, even Saber-toothed Tigers, need to get up into bed. And they definitely need to keep their teeth clean"

"Before they have pills in some ice cream?"

She smiled, going over to the freezer. "I guess that can be arranged. Though, I'm not sure how you could eat anything with chompers like that."

...

'Making up our own episodes…' she wondered, as she climbed on into bed, her long, red locks contrasting greatly with the ivory fabric of her pillow and pale pink of her sheets, as well as a majority of her room, of which followed in a similar color scheme. 'How are we going to do that when we can't even save up enough to get some actual toys?'

Indeed, before the whole discussion involving who was going to be tasked with re-drawing Waspinator, she had collected what everyone had to offer that week to the 'toy-fund'. Inu (of which she and the rest had called Inuksuk, seeing as his name was somewhat difficult to pronounce) was the only one to have actually brought a full dollar along with herself. Everyone else ranged from fifty to no more than five cents.

'Five cents?!' she remembered losing her cool at that. 'Really, Mathis?!'

'Hey, it was hot out!' he in turn retorted to her. 'And Dr. Pepper was RIGHT there in the machine!'

She was still more than a little peeved about it, but ultimately, there was little that could be done now. 'We've gotten up to twenty-five, but if each toy costs around ten dollars, each separate toy, then…' her hand traveled to her forehead, realizing in horror what this meant. 'We're going to have to get around fifty dollars total! And that's not even with tax!' she flopped onto her bed, her red hair fanning out underneath her. 'We're going to be stuck using paper cutouts for the Predacons forever!'

This pessimistic musing, however, was cut off by the cracking of her door, her blue eyes watching as a large, furred, quadrupedal creature squeezed through the opening it had created and made its way to her bedside, sitting on the small, white floor mat stationed beside it.

"Hey, Zoe." The young girl greeted the massive Main Coon, this vocal utterance being all the greyish-brown feline needed to act, hopping on her bed and planting herself at the footboard, curling up and tucking her head under her tail. She folded her hands underneath her head, still more than a little perturbed that it'd be even longer before she and her friends would reach the desired goal of however many dollars before all the Predacons could be purchased. Assuming they would even be able to find any at a Wal-Mart or Toys R' Us. "If anything," she spoke aloud to herself, Mathis' words coming back to her. "Making up our own episodes would probably mean that we'd have to do even MORE work. Because then, we're going to start making up our own Maximals and Predacons!"

...

'Which would be so cool!' The Filipino, black-haired adolescent mentally declared, having been warned already to not be too loud, and that she had school to look forward to in the morning. 'Looking forward to school...yeah, dad, that was a REAL good one.'

'It'll be even better if you get in those eight hours. Now haul yourself up to bed.'

Frankly, she wasn't sure she'd be getting any sleep tonight. Not with this running through her head.

'Like...like there are already characters that are toys that aren't in the show yet! Like Claw Jaw, or Armordillo, Wolfang, and…' as she continued on, listing each and every Maximal and Predacon she had seen on the shelves (Dinobot WOULD be hers! Eventually.), her brown eyes surveyed her environment before she got out of bed and locked the door to her room, then went back to her bed and cut on the lamp stationed on her dresser. She then opened the single drawer on the small, wooden dresser, an even smaller, black notebook, and a single, number-two pencil residing in the compact space, the label 'Lulu' stuck on the cover via a small piece of paper and tape.

'Ok,' she mused to herself, grabbing the two objects and flipping open to a page with just enough room. Then, she began writing. 'Now...there was Claw Jaw, Armordillo, Wolfang…'

...

'...some guy that's a German Shepard...don't know how that happened.' indeed, he didn't, but lo and behold, it WAS indeed a toy. Inu rolled around on his left side. 'Maybe we could start with something a little more simple. Like...like after they left the mountain, they got the ship up and running better.' Despite his eyes being closed, scenarios and 'what ifs' began playing out in his mind. Yeah, that could work. Lulu could maybe play out how Dinobot settled in...and Mikaela could come up with some stuff to throw at her as Rattrap does in the show. Granted, that in itself might've been a little difficult. The Filipino girl could play out her role well enough without much assistance, yet the redhead kind of needed some 'coaching' on how to be snarky. Bizarrely enough, she could channel the rodent-based Maximal quite well whenever the subject of the 'toy fund' was brought up.

Inu continued to ponder and think, drowsiness steadily beginning to creep in, the faces and forms of his small circle of friends steadily transforming into the characters they portrayed in their reenactments.

'Hey.'

Yet...as he drifted off, the smallest bit of his mind that was still conscious noticed that despite the boy himself playing the role, the transformed silverback in his mind seemed to be paying attention to something or someone ahead of him. Something or someone that clearly wasn't present there before, yet he behaved as if they had been there all along.

'Thanks for the help back there.' Inu took a moment. This had to be a dream, yet...he certainly wasn't complaining. 'If it wasn't for you clearing out that path for us, we probably wouldn't have gotten off that mountain at all.'

"Oh, uh, no problem, sir." the young child answered, standing to attention like a soldier, salute and everything. He was far from a Maximal in this developing vision, let alone anything that could've ever had the potential to supposedly clear out a path, yet such details were trivial and minute to him. This was getting good, and he wasn't about to risk spoiling it.

"Despite your size, I'd be more than willing to allow you into our, heh," Primal chuckled, looking at the variety of fauna around him that were his comrades. "Ranks. Besides," he continued, extending one large, darkly colored hand. "I've always been curious about humanity and their culture."

...

Normally he'd totally be against this.

"Ah, here are some nice ones."

Here he was, some kid, in a time where people didn't exist yet, riding upon a talking rhinoceros as if it were the most mundane, normal thing in the world!

"Tim, you mind getting a few samples of these also?"

And even more...he didn't have a single problem with it.

"Sure thing. Just a second.'' The boy addressed both his transportation and 'favorite', hopping down from the Maximal's back and to the fertile, grassy plain below, said plain coincidently teeming with flowering specimens of all kinds. Some of these he had never seen before in his life, let alone in the pages of any book he could potentially check out from the school's library. Thus, he wanted to get the best one. The most fascinating and intriguing, not to mention definitely alien specimen…"Aha!" he cried out, wasting no time in plucking the desired flora from its place and bringing it to the brown rhinoceros. "Here.'' He presented his 'present', a strange, budding thing with fanned-out petals of primary colors.

"Now THAT'S one I might have to keep for myself," Rhinox admitted, the human boy in turn put the flower in a glass compartment he (somehow) had on his person. Dream logic, but he wasn't willing to spoil this. "Truly though, Timothy, sometimes I feel like you, aside from Optimus, are the only ones that can understand and appreciate the majesty of this place."

It was then that the child swore his heart had stopped. True, it probably hadn't, as he certainly didn't feel like he was dying in his sleep, yet to hear those words from the disguised robot, his 'favorite'...well, he was quite ready to go and pick every single thing that was growing in this imaginary field, should the rhino wish it.

...

His two legs carried him forward, the grassy plain and clear, summer sky nothing short of a picturesque perfect day. The slim spotted big cat with vibrant, green eyes that ran beside him was far from allowing the blonde boy to catch up. Far from it.

"Awesome!"

Impossible as it was, Mathis was actually catching up with HIM.

"You're almost as fast as I am!"

"Wait, almost?!"

"Yeah, almost!" With that, Cheetor gave himself a little bit of a boost, propelling forward and leaving the blonde a short distance behind.

Oh, it was on now.

The boy wasn't even getting tired. His legs were burning, his entire body drunk on adrenaline and whatever other chemical that flowed through his body (he'd have to remember to copy the notes off of Tim for Science class again), but by God, he was in absolute nirvana.

"Whoa, you actually caught up?!" the younger Maximal exclaimed to the human child, more than a little surprised at this.

"Y-Yeah!" Mathis shouted back. "Yeah, guess I did!" who cared about being a Sabertooth Tiger or whatever other animal, he was killing it just being an ordinary, boring….well, kid!

...

"..."

"..."

"...ok, look kid, you gonna stare all day?"

The red-haired girl giggled at the grey rat's annoyance. Even if she was the current source of such, she found she didn't particularly mind it. "I guess I just never realized how…"

Rattrap quirked a brow, taking another bite of the rotted blue apple (another indication this was no more than a dream. Not the giant, talking rat, oh no). "How what? You said it now, you can't leave me hanging."

Her teal eyes shifted. "I don't think you'll like it."

"I reiterate my prior statement."

"Fine," she said. In truth, she was somewhat anxious about how he'd react, yet all the same, a part of her hoped it'd be something he'd react to. "I never realized how fuzzy you are."

Any contents that once rested inside his mouth were promptly spat out. "Wh-WHAT?!" he exclaimed, scarcely believing what he had just heard. "What'd ya just say?!"

"I said you were fuzzy!" she repeated, a part of her somewhat fearful she offended him, yet another just as excited. "Right now! Your fur's getting all ruffled up!"

"It-it is not!" it clearly was. Robotic at spark he might've been, his outer skin was still a slave to its species' "quirks".

"Yes it is!" she chortled, fear finally gone and replaced with total amusement.

"It is not, kid!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes, it is!"

"No, it ain't!"

The vocal back and forth continued on and on, his growing frustration and embarrassment seemingly only channeling more and more humor for the human child, she then actually having the gall to come over and stroke him. Actually stroke him, as if he were some pet she had owned! Even worse, as he came to see as she continued to do it over and over, her hand traveling through his grey fur, Rattrap didn't entirely seem to mind. Daresay, it actually felt kind of...nice.

"Still don't know which of yous is worse. You or Choppahface."

"...you're still fuzzy."

"...it's you."

...

Block.

Thrust.

Block.

Swing.

Block.

Upward swing.

How she had managed to conjure up this particular kata in such a small amount of time, mattered not to her.

"Come now!" all that mattered was whom she was doing it for. "You're surely more capable than that!" Twisting herself around, the Filipino girl lifted her wooden sword and brought it down on the winding blade of Cybertronian origin, the wood miraculously not splintering upon impact. The azure features of her idol transformed into something of a curt grin of amusement. "You really believe you have a chance against me?"

"M-Maybe?" she answered. How she was doing this, she didn't know, yet frankly, she didn't care. And now she just up and made herself look like an idiot in front of him. Great.

Their weapons continue to strike and hit against each other, Dinobot outranking her in strength and size, yet she found that her smaller frame led to her gaining some clear advantages. Ducking under his legs, she aimed to stab upwards, he, in turn, whirling around and leaping forward, away from her strike. She got up, ready to go at it again, yet on the transformed Maximal's azure features, she beheld something that, had she not been so determined to keep her composure in front of him, she could've died happy right then and there in her sleep.

A smile.

A smile that echoed nothing short of absolute pride. Pride for her, of her, of one that had called him her favorite.

"You're far from ready to be partaking in any battle." the transformed velociraptor told her. "Yet...I will say this: there is a degree of potential in you."

...

Despite the distance between each of them, some greater than others, the same consensus was shared among all of them that night. And for many more nights to come. If their fantasies could either become their reality or better yet, have the ones they fantasized of step into the one they were unfortunately stuck in, then their young barely lived lives would be nothing short of absolutely perfect.

Primal's best soldier.

Rhinox's number one assistant.

Cheetor's best friend.

Rattrap's favorite (though he'd never say it).

Dinobot's best student.

The ideal scenario, should it ever be granted to them.

Though even in their young minds, they all knew such things, and their idols were regulated to the television and their own minds. True, it far from curbed or starved the desire to wish and hope for it, yet ultimately, it would be for naught.

For now, they had to make do with what they had at their disposal, regulated and limited to the simple, partially fulfilling games that they played.

[mimssides]

07734: Chapter 5

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___

“Oh hun... What’s your function?”

POV Patton

I had caught him off-guard. With my steady tone, my unwavering look and the certainty in my steps towards him.

Consus was smiling at me and let his hand drop from beyond Logan’s chin. I was not certain if I could get Logan out of Consus’s influence or Janus or Virgil for that matter, as it was now. I didn’t even see his powers in this very moment, which was concerning enough and probably the reason why we all had missed him growing “stronger” as he put it.

Softly I stopped in front of him, making sure to have all of the others in my field of vision as well but concentrated on the so mockingly aloof looking side in front of me. But my words had poked a tiny whole in his defence. His smile didn’t reach up as high as it had before, there was something like void glimmering in his eyes and I remembered all the times he stood with me in the kitchen and listen to me talk about anything and everything.

He had always loved to listen. Loved to just be there with us and exist. Due to his silence, it had been so easy to forget him. To overlook the fact that he was the one responsible for our bond to be as strong as it was. As it used to be, if I was honest and I really tried to be honest.

“What do you mean, dearest Patton? What am I doing?” Consus said and I smiled sadly.

He had listened to me and said he was happy to so but I watched his hands tremble to hold a knife as if it was too heavy and drop a potato more than once just because he lacked the focus to keep holding it any longer. And yesterday night it had been too much. He had not even been able to feint any energy anymore. He wanted to be taken care of but refused to let it happen.

I thought about putting my hands on his shoulders but dropped the idea in favour of a soft look and said to him: “You are influencing them, Consus. I don’t see your colour on them but you’re making them lethargic and hopeless. And I think you want to do that with me too but that won’t be possible, I believe.”

“Oh, is it not?” Consus said and came a little closer to me and lifted his hand, reaching towards my shoulder.

I didn’t budge and let him touch me. I breathed in and felt it for a second as I see orange dripping out of Consus, nebulous bonds between him and the others. It was dripping out of Janus’s ears, running out of Virgil’s mouth and bleeding through Logan’s shirt where his heart would be.

I focused again on Consus and his eyes were hard and the smile was gone.

“I said it wouldn’t work,” I repeat bitterly and put my hand on his on my shoulder. “I felt like you do now. I know what’s happening, Consus; You’ve changed too. We didn’t watch you like you watched us and missed it, but you changed and you’re no longer Tactfulness anymore, are you?”

He gaped. It had to be worse than I initially thought, as I saw the orange suddenly crowed around Consus and came off the others. Logan was the first to regain his senses fully and I watched him come towards us from the corner of my eye, but stopped him with a hand wave. He was wrong. We were not in danger. It was Consus who was a danger to himself.

“You mediated between us,” I said to Consus as he still was not talking and took his hand from my shoulder to hold it fondly. “You made sure all of us were cared for when we were kids. You always said that just being there for us was all you needed and I think that was the truth but – We left you with no one to care for, didn’t we? Logan, Roman and I left and Virgil left too. Janus and Remus didn’t let you do your job anymore and we were working ourselves to the ground. I feel the weird void that’s enveloping us. I feel the sadness and apathy too. And sometimes I don’t know how to deal with them, so I go to Roman, who tells me a story, or go to Logan, who will recount the last documentary he watched. And sometimes I go to Virgil and we sit on the bed and -”

I stopped as tears rolled over his cheeks. I lifted my left to his face to push away the tears. I didn’t tell him to stop though. He obviously needed this. No, he needed far more.

“Oh hun... What’s your function? Can you tell me?”

He opened his mouth as the tears stopped. I didn’t move my hands from his cheek or from his hand. I squeezed his hand and bowed my head a little in effort to make him understand that I meant no harm.

“Depression... I’ve become Depression.”

Janus and Logan inhaled sharply and I wished I would have been as surprised as they were. But I was not. I had felt parts of it. Nowhere nearly as extreme as Consus must have but I did and those snippets alone were overwhelming in their own right.

I nodded to myself and then told him: “It was very brave of you to tell us that. I am sure it must have been very scary and I am very proud of you that you did.”

His eyes didn’t meet mine and he looked to the floor. I let him pull away from me and folded my hands in front of my stomach as I watched Consus slowly making peace with what he had just told us. I didn’t want to overwhelm him all at once, not since I still needed to figure out what had happened to the twins, which certainly was his doing as well.

Yet before I could think any further something crashed into the living room through the door from the hallway. A flash of green shot past me towards Consus and at once hell had broken loose.

___

POV Janus

Remus. Remus was here.

Dressed in a neon green shirt and boxershorts with an alien pattern on it he had stormed inside and was now holding Consus by the neck and pressing him up against a wall. He looked agitated, veins sticking out on his forehead as clammy sweat shone on his skin and his breath raced as if he had trouble to keep himself up right.

I was so surprised by the sudden appearance; I first didn’t even register that Consus was merely fighting back until Remus screamed: “WhAt HaVe YoU dOnE tO mY bRoThEr AnD wHeRe Is He?!”

Consus gasped for air and finally I got moving. Quick I walked up Remus and shook him by the shoulder so he would finally let go of Consus. Sadly, brute force was not one of my strengths and I didn’t manage to do much.

“REmus!” I cried out and tried to pull harder on his shoulder. “Let him go! He can’t answer you, if you’re suffocating him!”

And then suddenly another side was pressed against me, pulled at Remus’s shoulder as well and in a flash, Remus got yanked back. Remus growled lowly, as Consus dropped coughing on the floor. Fledging his teeth Remus turned to the side next to me and got a hiss in return. Ignoring my will to live I stepped in between them and held my gloved hands in front of their faces.

“We are absolutely in shape to have you two fight as it is now! So, be my guest to rip each other apart,” I told them tensely and watched Virgil back down as Remus fledged his teeth once more.

Rashly, Remus stepped towards me, I sensed his intention to harm me, as he suddenly stumbled and I managed to catch him just in time before he dropped to the floor.

“What the heck?” Virgil asked while Logan stepped to my side and helped me hold Remus upright.

“He fucked me up with his powers!” Remus slurred and pointed towards Consus.

I looked to him kneeling on the floor, Patton was sitting beside him and stroking his back as he looked up to me as if he expected me to know what to do now. Because he thought that I always had an answer ready. But I didn’t. Not right away at least.

I focused back again on Remus and tried to catch his look, which I managed after he realized that Consus wasn’t going to defend himself. Now seeing him properly, Remus looked like terrible. He was paler than ever, his eyes bloodshot and dried drool was sticking on the edges of his mouth. He also blinked far more frequently than he should have and I motioned Logan to help me straighten him up a bit more.

“Were you- Has he put you to sleep?” I asked confused.

Remus huffed and I saw him trying to focus more on what he wanted to tell me. But something didn’t seem to work out and he only muttered viciously: “I’ve tried to come down. I’ve tried to kill him! He fucked with Roman and I’ll kill him!”

“I offered him rest when he was exhausted. He jumped at the opportunity,” Consus suddenly said with raspy voice and weakly looked up to the creative side.

Remus didn’t take that well. He began to screech and fight against Logan and Janus, so that Virgil had to come to their side to help them restrain him.

“Did he know what you were doing to him?! Did he know what you meant with rest?!” Remus spat angrily towards Consus and I thought about simply letting him go and have his fun with Consus.

“Oh, I’m afraid he did not care at that point, Remus.”

“YOU ARE LYING!”

“I wish I was bu-”

“You took advantage of his feeble state! You gave him what he wanted despite knowing what he needed! You used him to get some petty revenge against Janus and Virgil and re-establish your stupid role in Thomas’s life! You are no better than them! You manipulated him no matter how much he agreed to this! He wanted to stop suffering and you gave him a non-committal version of suicide and he AGREED! That doesn’t mean you helped him getting better but helped him feeling dead instead! Do you get that? Do you get what...”

Remus drifted off. Consus was shaking and running his cramped fingers through his hair. I lifted an eyebrow and watched Remus frown before he tilted his head and tapped against his own temple. He opened his mouth and I waited curiously for him to speak, as suddenly whimpering caught my attention.

Consus was now crumpled over himself, hands pulling at his hair and a green sheen was laying over his head.

“Remus please refrain from giving Consus intrusive thoughts. Like this we cannot solve this conflict,” Logan told Remus obviously having noticed the green sheen as well.

Yet as I looked to Remus, his face was blank, which was highly unusual. Virgil caught on as well and quickly walked towards Consus and crouched down observing him closely. And suddenly Virgil completely stilled. The room turned colder and I watched as Virgil reached for Consus face and gently lifted it. He run his thumb over his wet cheek and-

And a dark purple bruise came to light.

Pale concealer was sticking to Virgil’s fingers and we all looked up to Remus who was simply shaking his head with a blank look in his eyes before he began to giggle. Maniacally giggle.

We watched him in concern and Consus’s whimpering got louder. I felt Virgil’s panic slowly tugging on my thoughts and my mind was racing, searching for something to pull ourselves out of this mess, when Remus’s voice boomed through the room and made my stomach drop.

“He took on my intrusive thoughts and Roman’s bruised ego so we kept sleeping but still had our effects on Thomas! This self-deprecating idiot!”

___

@varthandi

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@alexisrealgay

@softie-sushi

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

@winter-jay-official

@a-ghostlight-for-roman

@mychemically-imbalanced-romance

@whattheremus

@sarenicide  

[tsaomengde]

Some Musings:

As I play again through Ghost of Tsushima, one of the most engaging open-world games of the past ten years (up there with Witcher 3 and Horizon: Zero Dawn), with one of the best stories in quite a while, I find myself drawn back to the whole now-mostly-settled controversy about "can games be art?"  We have, by and large, agreed "yes."  So I find myself reminiscing about the first game that inspired a real emotional response in me beyond "whee I have a lightsaber" or "hurr hurr things fall over."

The year was 2001.  Dad had just passed.  I don't remember how I came into possession of it - I think it was included as a freebie with a video card Mom bought - but I got this game that had come out last year, called "Deus Ex."  You play a nanotech-augmented man named JC Denton, working in the post-apocalyptic cyberpunk future for UNATCO, a paramilitary police force arm of the United Nations.  The world is being ravaged by a disease called the Grey Death, and there's only one cure, and it's only being given to the rich due to limited supply.  Your job is to get back a shipment of the cure from the NSF, a domestic terrorist organization that's stolen a bunch of the stuff.

That's the first, like, four to ten hours of the game, depending on how long you spend sneaking around and reading everyone's mail.  It culminates in you tracking down the NSF leader, a man named Juan Lebedev, only to find your brother Paul waiting for you in Lebedev's hangar!  Paul is with the NSF!  But why?  He insists you go talk to Lebedev.

Now, up until this point, you've had a pretty straightforward path.  Granted, you've been able to tackle the challenges in front of you in a number of ways - stealthily, with brute force, by talking and bribing your way through stuff - but you've mostly been going from point A to point B.  But now, you get onto Lebedev's plane.  You confront him.  He surrenders.  You tell him you're taking him in.  And then your partner, Anna Navarre, an older-generation cyborg, tells you to assassinate the guy.  Kill an unarmed prisoner.

And then the game just sat there.

I didn't know what to do.  For the first time in a video game, I'd been presented with an actual moral dilemma.  Jedi Knight had this thing where if you indiscriminately murdered civilians, you would get Dark Side points, and not doing that would give you Light Side points, but that's not a moral dilemma, that's "which set of Force powers and game ending do you want."

He's the guy you've been chasing, he's somehow turned your brother, but he's surrendered and unarmed.  Your partner is telling you to kill him.  But he says he knows why Paul betrayed your agency.

You can walk away, and Anna will kill him once you leave.  You can kill him yourself, and Anna will praise you.  Or you can kill Anna, and learn a *lot* more about the real shit going down behind the scenes in the game.

I'm prepared to argue that, 20 years later, all of the games that are obsessed with player choice and agency still owe Deus Ex, and specifically this scene, *everything.*  Here's two different versions of the conversation with Lebedev, one where JC only kills Anna most of the way through (warning, she explodes into some low-polygon meaty chunks), and another, where the player knows she's going to spawn in after the first part of the conversation, so they set a mine on the wall outside (starts at 3:20) and kill her that way.  She never gets a word in.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mdc41byknCc

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZO8DET8-vBk

I still remember this part of the game, 19 years after playing it for the first time, in perfect detail.  I tried to kill Anna, she whooped my ass, so I loaded a quick-save after she told me to kill Lebedev, planted a mine on the wall outside, shot her once to get her to chase me, and she ran into the mine and died.

Much, much later in the game, you're brought to the HQ of the Illuminati, who are a real thing in this world.  You can walk in, talk to the leader, Morgan Everett, and walk back out to advance the plot.  But if you steal a key out of his laboratory, and find the hidden door behind the mirror in his bedroom, that in no way are you expected or required to find, you stumble across a chamber where he's keeping the previous leader in cryo-suspension to preserve his health.  You also find a prototype AI, named Morpheus, and have one of the most compelling conversations in the history of video games.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1b-bijO3uEw

Included are such gems as:

"The unplanned organism is a question asked by Nature and answered by death.  You are another kind of question with another kind of answer."

"The need to be observed and understood was once satisfied by God.  Now we can implement the same functionality with data-mining algorithms."

And one of my all-time favorites, "God was a dream of good government."

To repeat this point: this thing is hidden behind a locked hidden door concealed past a mirror.  It's not *hard* to find, and by this point you're used to exploring every nook and cranny looking for stuff, but the developers were *totally okay* with the possibility of you just la-dee-dah-ing your way through this building and never experiencing this.  That makes the whole experience that much more amazing.  Just like with Lebedev, I still remember finding Morpheus and talking to him almost perfectly, 19 years later.

Thanks for joining me in my musings.  I don't have much of a point, here.  I just like sharing random thoughts after midnight.

[writeyouin]

I don't know if someone requested this already--- But I would like to see something about TFP Starscream and a fem!human s/o~ please! Like, they're first meeting? Or something different if you want! Also, I really love your writing! And sorry for my English, isn't my first language

Starscream X Reader – Undeserving Part 1 of 3

A/N – Hey, your English is incredible, you’re doing great sweet-pea.

Warnings – Angst.

Rating – T

Starscream gritted his dentae, hissing as he forced his arm to bend, breaking free of the icy build-up within his joints. The cold was locking up his mechanics every few clicks, but that was the cost of setting up his base in the Antarctic. His current problems of freezing up could be easily rectified if he went inside, but he couldn’t bring himself to… not yet anyway.

Until now, he thought the day had went well. He’d taken a risk, attacking the Autobots for some much energon in one of the dilapidated mines, long since picked dry by Megatron. Instead of finding energon, Starscream managed to capture you from that bumbling oaf Bulkhead. After that, he’d taken you back to his base where he’d formed the perfect plan to trade you for a functioning T-Cog; it was simple and elegant. Starscream didn’t care where the Autobots got the T-Cog from, they could tear one out of themselves for all he cared, so long as he got one; hell, they probably would do that to save one of their pet humans, but what did it matter? They weren’t flyers anyway, inferior Autobots.

By all accounts, Starscream should have been happy, but as he felt the ice locking up his knee joints, he still didn’t want to go inside. Although he’d never met you before, he remembered all previous encounters with the other Autobot pets. They were rude and full of insults which he pretended to ignore until the time to recharge came, when the ugly words scarred his mind, almost making him believe them. Despite always claiming to be perfect, after millennia of being harassed and tortured for any minor inconvenience, it was becoming increasingly difficult for Starscream to view himself as anything but worthless.

With a heavy sigh, Starscream fought away the darkness in his processor that threatened to be his downfall. He left the icy tundra in favour of the base which could protect him from the cold but left him vulnerable to the much shaper attack of your words.

Putting up his usual façade of confidence and superiority like a knight donning armour, Starscream passed you, frowning when you said nothing. He turned to check you were still there, despite knowing escape was impossible. Sure enough, you were huddled in the corner, rubbing your arms to keep warm; Starscream didn’t recognise the action and he didn’t care enough to ask what you were doing.

Under Starscream’s scrutinous glare, you began feeling awkward; maybe that was why you gave a small wave. Starscream stepped back, shocked by the action.

“Sorry,” You said bashfully, retracting your hand. “I don’t really know what the social convention is for being uh… kidnapped.”

“…Yes, well… It’s not that,” Starscream answered almost dutifully.

You nodded slowly, “Right, yep, noted. I um- Sorry, could you tell me what you’re planning to do with me? I mean, I don’t really know what the protocol is for this, usually you take Miko or Raf, y’know.”

Starscream eyed you curiously.

You felt more pressure to end the silence, “I um- I think I’ve made things weird and not the good weird, it’s more like the weird you get when you call a teacher dad or something. Should we start again? I feel like we should. You should go out and come back in and I’ll be quiet and then you can say something, and I’ll follow your lead.”

Starscream had no intention of repeating the unusual interaction, but he did find your assessment correct; the situation had indeed become ‘weird.’ Despite the unusual situation, he was glad he didn’t have to deal with the usual insults, escape attempts, and general bad behaviour; it was about time he got a reasonable captive.

“To be honest,” You babbled, “I’m just glad you came back. You pretty much left straight after putting me in here and without you, I’d starve. You shouldn’t just leave like that okay? What if something bad happened to you? I can’t call for help in here, what would happen to you then?”

“I won’t kill you, human,” Starscream said in an attempt to regain control of the derailed conversation.

“I gathered that much, but it still begs the question, what are you going to do with me?”

He grinned, eager to monologue his brilliant plan to a civilised hostage for once. “Well, if you must know human-”

“(Y/N).”

“What?”

“My name,” You told him. “It’s (Y/N). Sorry, no more interruptions, carry on. I was just setting the record straight… Take it away.”

Starscream bit back a lopsided grin, turning it into his trademark scowl. How was it possible for you to be so awkwardly uncharismatic? More importantly, why did he find your social ineptitude so endearing? Concluding that he was simply starved of intelligent conversation, Starscream continued, “Whatever hu- Ah, (Y/N). To put it simply for your tiny organic brain, I’m going to trade you back to the Autobots for a T-Cog.”

“What’s a T-Cog?”

Starscream rolled his eyes, wondering how he was going to get anything done with your constant interruptions.

“You don’t need to know what it is, only that I plan to trade you for one.”

“Does it have something to do with your alt-mode?” You persisted.

“How did you-”

“When we were in the mines… You didn’t use your alt mode. To be honest, I’m impressed you managed it, I mean, your missiles must be very effective to trump Bulkhead’s brute strength. Oh, and how did you get the ground-bridge to work without a console? Did you rig it up to a remote or something?”

Starscream was astonished that you’d figured all that out from an educated guess. If he was honest, the ground-bridge remote didn’t work according to plan; after he’d taken you, and barely escaped through it, the remote lost all power and without the proper tools, he knew he wouldn’t be able to repair it. “Ugh, why do you ask so many incessant questions?” He huffed. “Never mind, I have much work to do-”

“Do you have more plans?”

“Excuse me?”

“Unless you have more plans that I don’t know about, you don’t really have that much work to do. All you have to do is call the Autobots with your demands, right?”

“Uh, well I-”

You patted the floor, indicating for Starscream to sit outside your cell.

“You expect me to lower myself and sit on the floor?” He said disgustedly.

You shrugged, “Sit, don’t sit. Either way, I think you have time to talk with me, come tell me about yourself.”

Starscream stared at you somewhere between hope and suspicion, “Why?”

You smiled, “Would you relax? I can’t do anything from in here, I just wanted to understand you better. You seem like a smart guy, I think it’ll be nice having you to talk to while I’m here, and from the looks of things, I’d wager you’d like a bit of decent conversation as well, right? So, tell me about yourself.”

Starscream raised an eyebrow plate before relenting, “Very well, I suppose I could spare a few clicks.”

Starscream didn’t know what he was doing, hanging around with you like you were his equal. He’d even considered letting you out of your cell more than once, which was insane; if you were free, you would run, and he refused to lose you like that. He hadn’t even called the Autobots yet, and they were bound to be searching for you and him by now; it had been exactly three weeks since your capture, so they had to be closing in on his location.

Starscream desperately needed a T-Cog, he didn’t feel whole without one, yet if he gave you back would he be left with the same kind of emptiness? Were you now a part of him like his T-Cog had once been? No, it would be far worse to lose you because unlike a T-Cog, you had the capability to care for him, evidently valuing him for some reason he didn’t understand.

Starscream growled, careful to keep the sound low as he sat in the dark, watching you sleep, ever peaceful in your cell. What he needed was another plan, one that would guarantee him both you and a new T-Cog. He considered the conundrum for a long time, attempting to come up with anything that would help. If he was aboard the Nemesis with all his previous resources such a plan would be easy, but now he had nothing and thinking of the past wasn’t helping.

You shivered in your sleep, an action Starscream now understood. He sighed, knowing the only way he could keep you truly warm would be to hold you against his spark. What was he thinking? He was thinking of you like a spark-mate, not a prisoner or even a friend. How much longer could he lie to himself? Eventually, his walls would crumble, and he feared what would happen when they did.

He got up silently, leaving you to your world of dreams. He would return to you in the morning, hopefully with a plan that would allow him to keep you.

Starscream put up a front on confidence to greet you the next morning. “Are you awake yet (Y/N)? I want to talk more about-”

He stopped, gasping anxiously at the sight that met him. You were stood in the corner, holding the wall for support, purging your tank of the little contents it had left. The food Starscream had brought for you was supposed to last a few days, but it had been weeks and you’d carefully rationed everything you had, until finally, your weakened body could no longer handle the strain.

“(Y/N)…” Starscream whispered. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?! Is this one of those awful human processes that’s normal? If so, you will be cleaning it up.”

You shuddered, groaning when you were apparently done, “Don’ feel so good.”

Starscream panicked at your lack of a comeback, you were supposed to laugh it off and tell him you were glad he was concerned; you always saw through him, why didn’t you say anything about his façade now? “What’s happening? Is it the cold?”

You took one wobbly step from the corner before losing your balance and stumbling to the floor.

Starscream lowered the cell’s barrier, dropping to his knees and picking you up. He cradled you close to his spark, which radiated warmth even behind the thick metal plating that protected it. “See,” he said, “I can keep you warm… I can fix this.”

Your head rolled back as you lost consciousness. Starscream knew this was more than a simple matter of cold; he also knew he wasn’t equipped to heal a sick human. Carrying you over to the computer console, he found Prime’s contact details, hesitating to make the call, all too aware that if he did, he’d lose you.

“I- I don’t want to let you go. You won’t come back… Nobody ever comes back.”

Coolant leaked from his optics. He quivered, unable to remember the last time he’d cried. How were you able to elicit such powerful emotions in him after only three weeks? Mixed in with the sadness was a feeling he’d only ever hear of, yet he recognised it instantly. Guilt. He felt guilty that he’d somehow caused you to be ill.

“I’m sorry,” He said, pressing his helm into your clammy skin. “How could I ever think that you could be with a monster like me… Dreams are a waste of time.”

He pulled himself together long enough to place you gently on the computer console, which he then used to call Optimus Prime. “Filthy Autobot, I’m sending coordinates to your disgusting human pet. After all this time it didn’t know anything; torturing it was useless after all.”

With that lie, Starscream hung up, leaving the base without so much as a look back. He wondered if you would ever come to know the reason he lied, should you live. He hoped you knew it was so the Autobots would take every precaution to keep you away from him; clearly, he couldn’t be trusted to protect you himself.

After staying out in the cold as long as he could do so without shutting down, Starscream risked going back into the base. As suspected, the Autobots had clearly used a ground-bridge to collect you; they’d probably left immediately afterwards, seeing the state you were in.

Dejectedly, Starscream went to your cell, unable to tear his optics from the stale vomit in the corner. This was for the best, you deserved the world, and he had to suffer the inevitably long life of a Cybertronian alone. He punched the wall, buckling against it afterwards and crying for the second time that day; once again he had failed, but for the first time in his life, it mattered.

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[vemodalarna]

The sun will be guiding you

Characters: PIXAL, Zane Julien (mentioned: Nya, Cole) Ships: PIXAL/Nya (Samuraishipping), Zane/Cole (Glaciershipping) (mentioned) Word count: 2001 Description: PIXAL asks Zane about love.

i wrote this back in september to y’know. break my basically year long record of not completing fics. i wrote this in one sitting, in the middle of the night, on my phone - which, frankly, i think is becoming a trend. Ninjago came out of nowhere and has me hooked so cheers!!

-----

PIXAL was idly watching the numbers and code flash by on the screen when Zane knocked on the door. She quietly shut down the diagnostics program, disappointed in her findings; nothing was out of the ordinary. All of her systems were optimized and functioning. No mentions of a hiccup or virus anywhere. The code was flawless, like it always seemed to be.

"Come in," she called out, while swiftly but carefully pulling out the clunky cable from the left side panel on her chest, ejecting it with a soft pop . Zane sheepishly poked his head out from behind the opening of the cave, giving PIXAL a little smile.

"There you are," he sighed, an artificial sound created by his voicebank. PIXAL found it odd, but Zane had previously stated that it made him feel 'more like he belonged' - that it made it less obvious that he wasn’t organic like his family all were. "Nya's been looking for you. She said you malfunctioned and refused to let her help?"

PIXAL clenched her jaw and looked away from Zane. Shame flooded her system as she recounted the days events- a totally normal sparring fight between Nya and herself. Losing wasn’t the shameful part; it was how her body reacted to...

Shaking her head, PIXAL stood up from her chair- too fast if Zane's expression was anything to go by. Weaving around the mechanisms and machines, she quickly picked up a sweater that was lying around in the Samurai X hide-out. She didn't need to wear clothes, but she knew that it led to discomfort or flushed looks her way whenever she didn't.

"I am fine, Zane," PIXAL hummed, while pulling the sweater over her head. "You do not need to worry."

Zane frowned slightly, closing the door behind him and crossing his arms. "Forgive me for being blunt, but your powers shutting off because of a simple throw over the shoulder is not 'fine'."

"I ran a diagnostics test," she replied, her eyes drifting to the now turned off screen. "Nothing is out of the ordinary. My systems are optimized and running and I cannot detect any physical injuries that would cause me to turn off." PIXAL sat back down on the chair in front of the control panels, watching as Zane furrowed his brow and grabbing the spare chair that Nya used and placing it next to her.

"Then why did you?" Zane sat down with a soft clunk , his fans whirring softly. His blue eyes flashed, and he sat back with a concerned look on his face. "My sensors cannot indicate anything wrong. Something, however, is clearly distracting you. Your movements were less sharp than usual today."

PIXAL's fans kicked in, and she forcefully archived the wave of embarrassment she felt in her systems. Her cooling liquid rushed through her body, hurrying to lower the temperature of her core and limbs before anything fried or shut off. "Yes, Zane, I noted."

Zane didn't respond, so PIXAL took the time to sort through and analyze the memories from the sparring. Nothing was vastly different from her usual trainings. Everything was running smoothly, until she changed sparring partners to... Hm.

"Zane, how did you..." PIXAL started slowly, breaking the silence. "How did you figure out your feelings for Cole? How did you manage to define love ?"

The titanium nindroid sat up even straighter, somehow, at her question. "Ah, that is a complicated question."

PIXAL looked at Zane as his eyes flashed a darker blue and nervously scratched a hand behind his head. "Well, when did you realize you had acquired more than platonic love for him?"

"I will be fully honest with you, PIXAL," Zane chuckled, "I would have kept analyzing for decades why my systems reacted differently to him if it were not for him confessing to me first."

"What do you mean?"

"Love is very hard to define, and thus to understand. For the longest time I assumed that I would never feel romantic love," He explained, looking thoughtfully at the Samurai X suit stationed in the room. "And yet, after Yang and Stix, I found that my feelings for Cole were different compared to the others. It was not necessarily stronger or more confusing than the feelings I felt for the other in our chosen family, but. It was not the same."

Humming, PIXAL looked down at her hands. That was indeed similar to how she is currently feeling about Nya. Not worse or better, but different to how she reacts to Zane and the rest of the ninja. Stroking her hands across the soft blue fabric of the sweater (of Nya’s sweater, she realised with a start- she must’ve left it here when she last visited), her sensors tingled as the static of her fans mingled with her thoughts.

Ever since her reveal as Samurai X, Sensei Wu had recruited her for proper training. PIXAL didn't need it, as she was a nindroid - she could simply download data and put it to use without training, but Sensei Wu insisted. In usual Sensei Wu fashion, he said a probably inspirational quote, but PIXAL had a hard time picking it apart and understanding it.

PIXAL won nearly every time someone sparred against her. Analysing and predicting her opponents’ movements was something that took no energy at all; Kai was too hectic, and not planned out. Jay flails too often and can't control his strength. Cole tends to rely too much on brute force when he loses his concentration, and while Zane is the most balanced out of the bunch, he can get too caught up in the numbers to fight freely. Nya, however... Nya was the hardest to predict and beat.

Nya banters while she fights, her words smooth and knowing, yet sharp and biting. She's light on her feet despite being a sturdier and shorter build. While she mostly stays in one fighting style, she's versatile and can quickly change to defensive from offensive, and vice versa. Despite being serious in actual brawls and scenarios, Nya laughs and jokes as she spars and trains. It distracts PIXAL too much to predict her blows.

That is just what happened that day. PIXAL got distracted while analyzing a jab Nya had thrown at her, giving Nya the perfect opportunity to strike. She had grabbed PIXAL by the arm and flipped her. Nya had just laughed that loud and spontaneous laugh at her, and extended her hand to help PIXAL up.  

From PIXAL's view Nya looked like nothing PIXAL had ever seen before. Around her hair was a soft and warm glow from the sun, a halo illuminating her face and changing the black tint of the loose curly strands sticking out from her ponytail. Her deep brown eyes had sparkles in them and her soft, round flushed cheeks pushed up against them. Between her eyes, her nose was scrunched up, the way it did when Nya smiled genuinely. PIXAL found that she longed to see her this way more often, to make Nya happy and to hear her laugh. How she wished she could stay in that position and admire the woman in front of her more often.

It... It was too much information for PIXAL to handle. Warning notifications clouded her vision, her fans going haywild inside her chest and her motherload heating up. A strange feeling arose in her chest, and the last thing she saw was Nya's expression turning concerned as her systems shut down.

"In what ways was it different?" PIXAL asked curiously. “How did your attraction to Cole change… Well, your behavior?” Zane smiled at her, warm and flustered.

"I was, ah, distracted, mostly. I found myself thinking about him more. I would feel elevated yet terribly anxious whenever I was around him- which was not good for our team, by the way," Both nindroids chuckle, the unnoticed tenseness in PIXAL's shoulders melting away. "My system would generate daydreams and thoughts about him, possible what-if's that were so much more... Involved than it had ever done with the others. My fans would work in overdrive to keep my circuits from frying around him. I put so much of my energy into unwillingly noticing small details, from the cracks in his hands or the texture of his hair. Wondering and wishing about him."

PIXAL softly clenched her fist, remember how pretty Nya was under the sun, and how she had an undeniable need to remember everything about that moment.

"So when he admitted to having... Romantic feelings- you understood what it was that you felt?"

"No, not exactly," Zane grinned at PIXAL's confused face. "I understood that I, too, felt a romantic need to be with him, but I never could, nor have defined love. I still get warnings and emotions that I cannot compute properly or solve. The important difference, however, is that I know the source, and it makes the whole experience easier to pick apart and understand."

Nodding, PIXAL subconsciously opened up her memories. How many are there of her not understanding the signals her systems and body are giving her? How many feature Nya, with her smiles and laughter and wild hjinks and theories that leave PIXAL speechless and bewildered every time? How many memories has she purposefully archived, because they were not memories at all; rather figments of her imagination, puzzling together fantasies of the two together, or of obscure details featuring Nya? PIXAL simply didn't know.

“I do not know if I am capable of loving someone,” PIXAL admitted, her voicebank rumbling quietly. “I do not believe that is in my programming. In the very least not romantic love.”

“And I doubt it is in mine,” Zane chuckled. “Yet, I found that I had fallen for Cole. You are the only one who can find out whether or not you are able to love, PIXAL. And if you aren’t capable of romantic love, you are clearly capable of platonic love.”

"If I were to hypothetically catch these feelings- romantic feelings - for someone," she unsurely spoke, feeling her eyes flash pink and her cooling liquid circulating. Warnings popped up in the corner of her eye how her sensors were overloading slightly. "What would be the best course of action?"

"That depends from person to person," Zane nodded, clasping his fingers together with a click. "What would hypothetically work best for you and your counterpart? What is your raw, unfiltered instinct? Consider before you do anything, but do not overanalyze. You will only get stuck in the numbers and analytics of it all- and those are not to be trusted when it comes to things such as love. They are usually unreliable, since love is an unpredictable phenomenon."

Frowning slightly, PIXAL made a mental note to save this for future use.

"I must go," Zane stated, sheepishly standing up and moving his chair out of the way. "The chicken I am roasting will soon be done. If you wish, I will let you know once dinner is ready."

"I do not eat."

"No, but good company truly never hurts." His footsteps echoed along with his words as he wandered towards the cave entrance.

"Thank you, Zane," PIXAL called out, successfully stopping Zane in his tracks and making him look over his shoulder. "For everything."

"It is no problem," he smiled and resumed his walking. "Good luck with Nya!" he called out right before stepping outside the cave and closing the door, ignoring PIXAL’s offended yelp and giving a clear chuckle in the distance.

Embarrassed but satisfied, PIXAL busied herself with cleaning up the cables she used for her diagnostics check. Nya’s shirt hung around her shoulders, it’s shape too short for her chest but yet too big to sit snuggly. PIXAL found that she didn’t wish for it to fit any other way. The soft blue contrasted well with the purple electric veins that adorned her arms, the color family intermingling aesthetically. Smiling, she decided that was more than enough talk for one day.

[viewfromthevault]

Fallout OC Interview

Thanks to the lovely @tarberrymentats for the tag 💜

Rules

Choose an oc

Answer the questions as that oc

Tag 5 people to do the same

I’ll tag @nonbinaryrobot @rogue-lavellan @drneverland @commonwealthcommoner and whoever else wants to do it because I never know if I’m bugging people by tagging them or not 🤣

Gonna do this with Lesley

Okay so I got waaayy carried away and thought maybe I should throw this under a read more for the sake of your dashboards.

1. What is you’re name?

“Lesley Elvira Mathews. Not a real fan of Elvira so don’t call me that unless you wanna get whacked.”

2. How old are you?

“Shit, I dunno. I was nineteen when I got the boot. How many years ago was that now?”

(Lesley’s timeline is a bit funky at the moment. I wanna say this takes place after main story stuff and before fo4, so she’ll be in her early twenties)

3. What do you look like?

“A fucking legend.”

4. Where are you from? Where do you live now?

“See, I thought I was born in Vault 101, but actually I was born somewhere in the wasteland then grew up in the vault. Not a fun environment to grow up in, to tell you the truth. A lotta assholes livin’ there, except Amata.

“I’m happy to say that now I live in my very own house in Megaton. It’s not a super private place, though. Gotta few couch surfers.”

5. What was your childhood like?

“Could’ve been better, actually. Like I said before, there were a lot of assholes in 101. Had a real hard time making friends. People liked to call me the problem kid because I got in a lot of fights, but I didn’t start all of them and those fuckers had it coming. Grown-ups complained about me all the time and the Overseer hated my guts, but that’s ok because I hated his about the same.

“I guess it wasn’t all bad, though. My dads were pretty great, even when James was too busy being James. Granny Palmer used to look after me when they were both busy, she was really nice. And then there’s my best friend, Amata. If it weren’t for her I probably would have went nuts in there.”

6. What groups are you friendly with? Are you allied with any factions?

“I currently do work with Reilly’s Rangers and the Regulators. I get to run around the wastes and kill bad guys for money?? They had me at ‘caps.’

“I used to be part of the Brotherhood of Steel, though I don’t remember actually signing up or anything. They dropped my sorry ass as soon as they thought I wasn’t useful anymore. Bastards.

“This one lady also said I could be part of this Railroad group if I didn’t tell this fancy suit where this android person went. Still waiting for them to call me back.”

7. Tell me about your best friend.

“It used to be Amata, but we went our separate ways. Good terms, though. The fella that fills that role now is the bee’s fuckin’ knees. Tall, knows his way around a gun, kinda cranky, but he has a secret softy side.”

8. Do you have a family? Tell me about them!

“Well, the family I told you about earlier kinda fell in on itself when James fucked off. Jonas was murdered and I got stuck with the blame, James zapped himself with enough radiation to ghoulify a super mutant. Last I checked, Granny Palmer was ok, as okay as you can be when your only grandson is killed. I don’t know if she’s still around. I also had a mom once, she died about five minutes after I was born.

“The family I got now? Pretty bomb. There’s aunt Cross, though I don’t get to see her much anymore, Butch who surprisingly is like a brother to me, Fawkes the coolest meta human around, Dogmeat the goodest boy, that little urchin from Lamplight that shows up now and then to drink all my Nuka-Cola, and Charon of course. I’d say Wadsworth, too, but he’d take offense to that.”

9. What about partner or partners?

“Oh man he’s fuckin’ great. Lots of people are scared of him, but he’s real sweet when you take the time to know him. A complete badass that I would absolutely die for. A lot smarter and funnier than people give him credit for. He’s one of the few people who actually listens to me and doesn’t get mad when I get to yakking too much. Is willing to stick his neck out for me, not that I want him to do that, mind you, but it’s real nice to know he’d never throw me to the wolves like others would. Nice ass... what were we talking about?”

10. Have you ever heard of the Brotherhood of Steel? What do you think about them?

“Uh, yeah? I just told you I was with them once. To be honest, though, they’re far from perfect. Sarah and the old man are pretty great, and Cross of course. But there’s a lot of shit that goes down without the old man knowing about it. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear the guy died under ‘mysterious circumstances’ and they put up some wet mop in his place.”

11. Who are your enemies, and why?

“Jeeze who isn’t? I don’t know who’s paying them, but the Talon Company is dead set on killing my ass. Their client could be slavers since they hate me with a passion. Arefu doesn’t like me for some reason (ooc: thanks for the gitch, game). I don’t have enough fingers to count this shit out.

12. What about the Enclave?

“Those motherfuckers are lucky I wasn’t at Adams Airforce Base. I’d teach them the meaning of the word slaughter.”

13. How do you feel about super mutants?

“They’re real fun to fight with, but it’d be nice if they didn’t always try to shoot you on sight you know? Why can’t they be more chill like Fawkes?”

14. Have you ever fought a deathclaw?

*points at stump* “The fuck do you think?”

15. What’s the craziest fight you’ve ever been in?

“Me and a bunch of folks took over a spaceship once.”

16. Do you like fighting?

“Does a yao guai shit in a landfill?”

17. What’s your weapon of choice?

“I’m a real fan of stabbing shit, so I mostly work with swords. I have this neat ass one I made myself from schematics I got from vampires, don’t ask, I like to call Shishkebab. That baby has a funky little function where the blade catches fire, which is pretty damn cool if you ask me. I also got a neat sword with an electrified blade from a weird pre-war bunker thing.”

18. How do you survive? Your wits, your charm, your skills, brute force, some combination? (a.k.a. what’s your S.P.E.C.I.A.L.?)

“I’m fast, strong and I talk real good.”

[S-7 P-5 E-7 C-7 I-5 A-6 L-5]

19. Have you ever been in a vault? What do you think of them?

“Yes, I grew up in one. Keep up! As for the others I’ve seen, I guess I should consider myself lucky that I was stuck with the one I was. Vault-Tec is fucked, man.”

20. How do you beat all the radiation around here? Has it effected you?

“Rad-X and Radaway are pretty expensive, so for the most part I just try to stay away from it. I did intentionally get super sick from radiation once, but as far as I know it didn’t have any lasting effects.”

21. What’s your favourite wasteland critter?

“Dogmeat. He hasn’t tried to eat me yet.”

22. What’s your least favourite wastelad critter?

“Fucking mirelurks. With their big meaty claws and their gross shells, swimming arounf waiting to get you by the ankle. I hear they have more legs in other parts of the country.”

23. How do you feel about robots?

“I guess they’re ok. I wouldn’t put a whole lot of trust in them, but if they don’t bother me then I won’t bother them.”

24. How many caps do you have on you right now?

“Not enough for you to wanna mug me for after this wraps up if that’s what you’re asking.” (she’s fucking broke)

25. Nuka-Cola or Sunset Sasparilla?

“Sunset Saspawhat?”

26. Do you do chems?

“Only when I need to, they’re too expensive otherwise.”

27. Do you ever think about the pre-war world?

“What is there to think about? They fucked up the world and now we have to deal with the consequences.”

28. What’s your deepest regret? What would you do differently?

“Maybe if I got to Dad sooner he wouldn’t have died. Maybe neither of them would have died. I don’t know.”

29. What’s your biggest achievement? Or what do you hope to achieve?

“I guess my biggest achievement would be getting to where I am now, finding a place and people who like me because I’m me. Learning that I can be loved. Mushy shit.”

30. What do you want for the future? For yourself? Your friends? The world?

“To be able to live freely and happily no matter how you look or act. To always have an adventure waiting around the corner. I just want us all to have a good time, you know?”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Eyestealer 7 - ao3 link

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Senju Hashirama & Senju Tobirama (mostly gen, hints of other relationships)

Summary: Hashirama really doesn’t approve of the thoughtful way his father looks at his younger brother’s bright red eyes. He’s sure it doesn’t mean anything good for anyone.

He’s right.

——————————————————————————————

Hashirama actually spends the entirety of the afternoon where everything changes unconscious, which means he doesn’t know that everything has changed until significantly later.

Though he still finds out before just about anybody else.

“You’re such an idiot,” Tobirama tells him, afterwards, furious and elbow-deep in Hashirama’s stomach to rearrange the organs before Hashirama’s ridiculously accelerated healing fixes them into all the wrong places. “You should have dodged that.”

“I meant to,” Hashirama moans. Tobirama’s a great healer, even if he doubts his own abilities – just because Hashirama has the spare chakra that lets him skip the details in favor of brute-forcing the body’s own healing doesn’t actually make him better at fixing things. Tobirama’s the detail expert, the one who studied anatomy (mostly on corpses, which, ick!); if there’s something wrong on the inside, he’s the one to go to. Which is why Hashirama almost invariably does. “I just – if I’d dodged, they would’ve gotten the kids.”

“The kids are fully grown shinobi.”

“Sixteen’s too young to die.”

“You started with six being too young to die,” Tobirama grumbles. “Then it was ten. Now it’s sixteen...you do realize that if we never let any shinobi fight, ever, we’re going to run out of money pretty fast?”

He doesn’t object any further, though, which says everything Hashirama needs to know.

After Hashirama's gotten all fixed up – his stomach doesn’t even have a scar on it, of course, his healing never leaves him scars in a way that would be frankly a little embarrassing for a shinobi of his age if he didn’t have the healing to explain it away, but hilariously enough even Tobirama, who knows his healing factor better than anyone else, will sometimes, when he's very drunk, start petting Hashirama’s skin and marveling at how soft and unbroken it is – he grins at Tobirama and stretches ostentatiously. “See, all fine. No harm done, right?”

“Other than the years the stress has taken off my life, you mean?”

“Awww, Tobirama…”

“There – is something else,” Tobirama says, and Hashirama knew he’d been more angry and stressed than normal. Sure, it'd been a bad injury - most shinobi did not survive being disemboweled, which is what made this particular clan's signature move particularly notorious - and, yes, even Hashirama with his ridiculous advantages just barely squeaked through without dying, a risk he'd known he was taking when he'd leapt forward to take the blow, but even so, Tobirama was unusually upset.

Something was definitely up.

"Oh?" he asks, thinking in terms of strategy and tactics. Had he missed something? "What?"

“I had to use the Sharingan to end the fight quickly.”

Hashirama blinks, taken aback. He hadn’t realized the fight had gone that badly.

“Your guts were everywhere,” Tobirama says, averting his eyes to the floor. “How was I to know it wasn’t as bad as it looked?”

It probably was as bad as it looked, but, well, they’re not the two best healers in Fire Country for nothing.

(Sometimes Hashirama wonders if that medic knew what he was starting when he taught Hashirama that first jutsu, but no – back then no one even knew about the Mokuton, much less about Hashirama’s tendency to get hyperfixated on certain subjects that he then masters to an unnecessarily thorough degree.)

“Okay,” Hashirama says. "...so?"

Tobirama glares at him.

Hashirama holds up his hands. "Seriously!" he says, shrugging. He can't quite figure out why Tobirama is so stressed about it. Sure, he hates breaking his promise not to actively use his eyes, but he’d always left the door open for emergency situations, which this seems to have been. “The kids were unconscious at the time, so they didn’t see, and you killed all the attackers. So what’s the problem? If nobody sees it happen, it's the same as if it hasn't happened.”

Hashirama is a great believer in trees falling in a forest being functionally noiseless as long as no one is there to hear it. Tobirama, on the other hand, seems to think that things matter just for the principle, which is obviously ridiculous.

Tobirama makes a face at him, knowing exactly where Hashirama's thoughts are going. “Yes, well, even by your standards it was a problem: I think someone was watching.”

“Someone? Unspecified? The finest sensor in all the land can’t tell me who?”

“I was busy! They were hiding their chakra – fairly effectively, in fact –”

Pretty high praise from Tobirama.

“While I still knew they were there, of course, I didn’t think they were important enough to check out since they didn’t seem to have any intention of participating. You know I was already running on three days of no sleep before we were even ambushed! And once I was forced to use the Sharingan to counter those chakra-mangling techniques of theirs - whoever first decided to invent a method of using chakra to disembowel people should be lit on fire and not put out - I barely had enough chakra to drag you back here and heal you.”

“…Tobirama.”

“What?”

“Are you saying you left the kids behind? Unconscious?”

“I sent some people go pick them up once I got back; they’re fine. I wouldn’t have if there’d been any risk.”

Hashirama rolls his eyes.

Tobirama scowls at him. “Can you focus on the more important question here?”

“I don’t think it is more important,” Hashirama says, shrugging again. Tobirama was always more of a worrier than Hashirama has ever been. “Even if this mysterious watcher did see you, which you don’t know for sure, what’s he or she or they going to say about it? And to who? Oh, yes, I'm just going to walk into a nearby tavern and announce to all and sundry that the White Demon of the Senju has a Sharingan; that's a sound plan. Let him! No one’ll believe him, not in a million years."

"But -"

"Tobirama. There was only one watcher, right?”

“Yes, just one.”

“See? It’s fine. No external verification, no problem. Even if they somehow convince themselves that’s really what they saw happening rather than it being, I don't know, a trick of the light, they’ll probably assume they got caught in a particularly strange genjutsu.”

It takes some more convincing, but eventually Tobirama calms down.

So, really, it's no big deal.

Hashirama would have happily forgotten all about it - the kids certainly seem inclined to, since no one really enjoys thinking about disembowelment - except that Tobirama promptly leaps on the whole entire fiasco ans an excuse to insist that Hashirama practice being subtle more.

Hashirama protests.

Tobirama refuses to yield, justifying his stubbornness on the basis it was Hashirama's fault the rescue mission turned into such a disaster.

Hashirama would probably be on stronger ground if that wasn't, well, true.

Not that stops him from trying to get out of it.

Still, after the first five excuses Hashirama tries don’t work, he agrees.

That’s probably why he’s lazily practicing his ‘pretending to be a tree’ skill by the riverbank a week later when Madara and Izuna come out of nowhere.

Not good.

Madara he could get away with, sure, but with Izuna around? No thanks.

He doesn't like those odds - he'll make it out alive, more than likely, but Madara fights like he's possessed by a demon when his brother is around, and Izuna's distaste for the Senju (and for Hashirama personally, which Hashirama has never really understood but which Tobirama, sighing, explains to him is probably misplaced jealousy) is strong enough that he would probably pick a fight just for the principle of it.

And Hashirama did promise Tobirama that he'd at least try to avoid getting disemboweled again until everyone has gotten over the trauma of last time.

Hashirama very hastily makes himself a better pretend tree.

Amazingly enough, it actually seems to work, but probably only because Madara is so clearly distracted.

(Hashirama has never been able to hide from Madara when he's paying attention, and the reverse is true. He's not sure why that is - they're both above-average in sensing henges and clones and negative intent, yes, but people far less skilled than Madara have gotten by Hashirama before and he knows that the same is true for Madara. But each other? They always know if it's the real one.)

Still, Madara's entire focus is on the river and his brother, and he walks right by Hashirama who, in retrospect, should probably have stuck to the Senju side of the river for his practice session.

He does note that Madara’s biting his nails again, which he only does when he’s nervous.

“Put your gloves back on and stop that,” Izuna tells him, using a voice that sounded remarkably like Tobirama's own long-suffering tone. “Listen, okay, I dragged you all the way out here for a reason. I want answers.”

Madara pauses in the middle of putting on his gloves. “Answers?” he squeaks, then, with a force of will, swallows and says in a more normal voice, “To what?”

Izuna rolls his eyes. “Right. And that wasn’t suspicious at all, aniki. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Madara grumbles and sits down by the riverbank. Hashirama is only three trees back from them.

If he just stays quiet and carefully avoids listening to their conversation, they might not notice him. He furiously thinks tree-like thoughts to avoid being sensed and then shortly thereafter dealing with attempted murder, which would undoubtedly spoil a very pleasant afternoon.

Water, soil, sunlight. Water, soil, sunlight. Water, soil, sunlight –

“I find myself facing something of a minor dilemma,” Madara says.

Screw sunlight, he wants to hear this.

(Tobirama says that Hashirama is a gossip. Hashirama says that shinobi are trained in information collection and that he's simply exercising his skills. Tobirama, at that point, rolls his eyes and says that if that were true, Hashirama would be more inclined to collect information that was actually useful rather than obtaining an encyclopedic understanding of who is sleeping with who at any given moment. Hashirama then claims that that information could one day prove useful, and in reply Tobirama tells him to prove it. They've had this exact discussion at least thirteen times and they don't seem to have tired of it yet.)

“You? A dilemma? You don’t say; I would never have guessed,” Izuna sniffs, then grins when Madara glares at him. “Yeah, yeah, you've been acting weird; I figured it was something like that. But what is it?”

Madara fidgets for a moment. “I saw something,” he says. “It was – a surprise.”

Izuna arches his eyebrows.

Hashirama mentally urges Madara to get on with it already.

“…I think someone in our clan might have raped somebody.”

Whoa.

“What?” Izuna says, sitting straight up. “Who?! When?”

“No, I mean, I don’t have proof! And I don’t know who. I just think it’s possible it might have happened, if you know what I mean.”

Izuna clearly does from the scowl on his face, although Hashirama doesn’t get it. That seems like a fairly yes-or-no answer in his mind - how in the world could someone walk in on a scene that makes them think rape was involved and not know? Hashirama would think that it'd be fairly obvious given what the scene in question must have been.

 “Shit," Izuna says.

"No kidding."

"What makes you think it wasn’t consensual?” Izuna asks, which seems like a bullshit question to ask, in Hashirama’s opinion. Madara's impulsive, but he wouldn't leap to conclusions like that, surely.

Madara grimaces. “Possible, but the circumstances make it seem - unlikely. Besides, if it was, it wouldn’t be a problem, would it? We’d already know.”

Huh?

“Great," Izuna says. "Just – great. That's fucking great. Could it be…?”

“I really don’t think so, and anyway we haven’t had any, uh, instances recently. Not untraced ones.”

“Hn, fine, point taken. Is this something we could solve by…?”

“No.”

“We have to do something. If someone else figures it out –”

“There’s no immediate issue,” Madara says, holding up his hands when Izuna glares at him. “The situation is contained for now. But it’s…more complicated than you might think.”

“It doesn’t matter if it's complicated,” Izuna says firmly. “We're the clan heads, Madara. We have responsibilities. You need to deal with this. One way – or the other.”

“I know, I know, and I will,” Madara says, but he looks even more distressed than before. “Just – I don’t know. Whatever. I’ll find a way to deal with it. Pick another subject.”

A long, somewhat judgmental pause.

Hashirama wiggles an overly inquisitive squirrel off one of his branches.

“I’ve found a really great new sword technique,” Izuna finally offers. “Next time I meet Tobirama in battle, I’ll be able to skewer –”

“No!” Madara yelps.

Izuna stares at him.

Madara winces. “Let’s not discuss that here, okay? Too close to Senju lands. Someone could be listening.”

Don’t be ridiculous. No one’s listening. Hashirama’s just a tree. A nice, innocent beech of a tree.

Heh.

“Did you hear that?” Izuna asks, frowning and looking around. “It sounded like giggling.”

Oops.

...maybe Tobirama has a point about Hashirama not being good at subtlety.

Madara’s frowning now, too, and, yep, he’s going to start sensing any minute so clearly the only thing to do is to make the trees on the other side of the river start swaying pointedly until they catch Madara's attention.

"What is happening," Izuna says flatly.

“Just Hashirama. In a good mood, apparently, if his emotions are reaching the riverbank,” Madara says, seeing the trees wiggle in a happy dance. Hashirama can get a whole set to do it in time now but Madara doesn't seem that impressed, rolling his eyes, though his lips also quirk up a bit, making him look fond. “Don't pay him any mind, he just does things like that."

"I can't believe you actually like that man. He's an idiot!"

"I'm not disagreeing," Madara says dryly. "And yet the fact remains that I do like him. And be sure to remember that that 'idiot' could probably wipe out an entire unwary clan by himself if he wanted to. We should go.”

Hashirama’s sad to see them go, but it’s better than being found out eavesdropping on them.

…huh. If he really focused on this whole tree disguise thing, he might really be able to drop eaves on them. That would be hilarious.

Also, Madara would get incredibly paranoid, which would be even more hilarious.

He does wonder a little what they were talking about, that they felt the need to speak so obliquely even when they thought they were alone.

Uchiha clan business, undoubtedly. Nothing that concerns him.

[surprise-did-you-miss-me]

He Understands, He Just Doesn’t Care

This is my first MorMor fic (as well as my first fanfic ever how exciting) and I’d love it if any of you had time to check it out!

Read it here or on Archive of Our Own (I am spinningwheel on ao3)  “https://archiveofourown.org/works/17307629/″ 

Summary: Sebastian Moran doesn't know what to do with himself when he's not spending all day as Jim Moriarty's shadow - shooting bad guys (and good guys) and making sure his boss's criminal web remains as impeccable as ever. 

But, after Moriarty is a no-show for days, Sebastian decides to indulge in some self care. That is, until an intruder interrupts his peaceful shower.

Sebastian doesn’t hear anything from him for seven days. Not that that’s particularly unusual, but it still sets him on edge, in more ways than one.

He feels sort of like a dog forgotten by its owner in the house for a few days. Expected to sit around and be good until the owner decides to grace them with their presence again. God forbid the dog acts out. It kind of makes sense to him now why dogs shit on the couch or something – anything for the attention.

Sebastian fiddles with his phone absently, tossing it from side to side like he wouldn’t even care if it fell and broke. He already gave up yelling at the phone. Turns out inanimate objects can’t make things happen.

All that there’s left to do is get on with his life unless he actually wants to spend eternity on the couch, head turning every time there’s a slight sound by the door or something that kind of sounds like his ringtone playing from his phone.

Since when did he become so pathetic?

Muttering obscenities to himself, Sebastian tosses the phone onto the bed carelessly. He rips his jacket and shirt off with much more vigor than necessary. The clothes didn’t do him any wrong.

There is more than enough time to shower. Fuck it if the second he gets in, he gets the call.

Sebastian pads into the bathroom, bare feet on cold tile, as he undoes his belt, meeting his expression in the mirror. He looks like shit. Unsurprising. His stubble has grown considerably, giving him a rough look worsened by the dark bags accenting his eyes.

He hates the rugged vagrant look. Prefers Sebastian clean-shaven in one of his hand-picked tailored suits, with eyes bright and alert enough to detect the slightest motion toward a possible concealed weapon.

Tough luck, the bossman can’t have what he wants if he isn’t here right?

The water is cold, the spout screaming in protest as it attempts to dredge up hot water. Boss had offered Sebastian a nicer place, with utilities that actually function properly, but Sebastian declined because he’s not a whore and he’s not his sugar daddy – he is his boss, and Sebastian is his right-hand, an extension of himself, his own personal hired gun attuned to his looks and mannerisms to know from just a slight curve of his lips whether or not to pull the trigger on some poor bastard.

There are just some lines that shouldn’t be crossed.

No way would Sebastian accept some million-pound apartment in Knightsbridge with a million strings attached. He left that life long ago, preferring a comfortable old bed in a shoddy flat, windows open to the sounds of real people, nestled next to a good shag to life in some doll-house where the people always wear masks and have no idea what the word genuine means, probably thinking it to be the name of some perfume brand.

The cold water, gradually warming up, provides relief against Sebastian’s throbbing spine. His body is still sore from last week’s mission where that brute had slammed him up against the wall a few times, pummeling his body like Sebastian was one of those inflatable punching bags that keep on popping back up after each hit. Purple welts line his skin looking sort of like the grape juice stains he embedded into the carpet of the sitting room all those years ago before he left for school, much to his father’s chagrin.

Sebastian’s hair is gross; it’s a tangled rat’s nest up there. It’s longer than it’s ever been, he’s hardly able to find the time to leave the flat for a quick haircut. It has been jobs all day, day after day, ever since he ended up working for the bossman. And this week, the sudden lull, the busyness of his days coming to a screeching halt, the last thing on his mind was keeping up appearances.

The shampoo feels good though. Alleviates some of the tension in his scalp, at the base of his neck. He sighs.

As the soap rains down his back, some of the white shampoo looks tainted with red, leaving pink mush to rush down the drain. Perhaps Sebastian is more beaten up than he thought. Side effects of the job. He doesn’t really mind much as long as his injuries are kept to a minimum so that any potential bed partners aren’t discouraged.

He allows himself a derisive laugh in honor of the absolutely ludicrous turn his life has taken, and then he freezes. Because it almost sounds like movement outside the bathroom door.

Swallowing hard, Sebastian reflexively backs up against the wall, reaching for something –  anything, really – that he can use to bludgeon the intruder. It may have been several months since he actually served in the army, but his new position as right-hand surely hasn’t let his senses dull. In fact, it’s probably enhanced them. There’s certainly someone here, and they’re going to get a bristled brush to the face. Repeatedly.

Sebastian hardly notices that he’s holding in a breath, thoroughly aware of how fucked he is if the intruder has a gun, but nevertheless is ready to pounce. Stark naked and ready to kick ass. He hopes.

He doesn’t hear any more footsteps, but the door to the bathroom opens up with a brief whine, careless and abrupt.

Leaving Sebastian face to face with him.

Sebastian releases the breath he is holding in with a frustrated growl and curses his stupid heart for beating so fast. As if he should even be surprised.

Jim Moriarty walks into the bathroom for all the world like he owns it which, in a way, he does, as all of London is packaged neatly for him to take out and play with as he pleases.

Moriarty’s face doesn’t falter for a second even though he’s looking right at Sebastian. All of Sebastian. He just stands there, several-hundred-pound shoes on the lightly wet tile, in a suit probably worth more than Sebastian’s rent. He has that carefree, crooked grin on his face and that glint in his eyes that never really fails to make Sebastian uneasy even after months of building a resistance to it. His fingers are curled around a cream manila file.

Moriarty looks amused, eyes falling on the brush. “What were you going to do? Scrub the intruder to death? I’m shaking.” He asks in that playful Irish lilt of his, tinged with mocking.

Annoyed, but broken from his reverie, Sebastian drops the brush with a clang and grabs part of the shower curtain to cover the lower half of himself, leveling Moriarty with his best glare that utterly deflates under the scrutiny of his gaze.

He’s laughing at Sebastian with his eyes.

Then, he chuckles audibly, clear and bright. “No need to bother with preserving your modesty. I’ve already seen everything.” He waves his hand dismissively before flipping open the file, not even giving Sebastian the chance to begin to wonder what he could possibly mean by that.

“I’m sending you to Manchester,” Moriarty continues without missing a beat, effectively ignoring him by flipping through the contents of the file, rattling off some details that Sebastian is sure are important but can’t be bothered to listen to, senses overwhelmed. He’s not quite able to move past the fact that Moriarty is not only in his flat, but that he is naked and less than an arm’s length from him.

It’s like the start to a really bad porno. Sebastian chastises himself for even thinking that way and instead focuses on the water still running, mere annoying white noise that clashes with the sound of his boss’s voice.

“Jesus Christ” Sebastian moans, cutting him off, as he brushes the hair out of his eyes. “Why are you in my flat? How the fuck did you even get in here?” He asks stupidly because he honestly can’t think of anything else to say.  

“Are those really questions you can’t answer yourself?” Moriarty blinks innocently.

Sebastian can’t figure out exactly what’s going to happen here, but he’s pretty sure Moriarty won’t react well to a punch in the face. If anyone deserves to be punched, it’s probably Sebastian for asking obvious questions.

Moriarty goes wherever he wants when he wants, he’s obviously scoped this place out before if Sebastian is his “employee.” Moriarty runs a tight ship and much prefers the role of puppeteer, making sure he is the only one pulling the strings. God forbid there are any loose ones.

“You give me nothing for a week? Thought I fucked up, was waiting for my brains to be blown out at a supermarket or something.” Sebastian continues to ramble in an effort to distract himself from thinking about Moriarty in his flat. Maybe he should look for cameras. There have got to be cameras in his place. Either that or Moriarty came to the flat himself to check it out and –

“Our relationship, dear Sebastian, goes where you report to me, and not the other way around.” Moriarty’s voice loses some of its joking tone, so Sebastian grits his teeth and forces himself not growl a retort even though it goes against his very nature.

“I’d kill you myself though if it ever came to that!” Moriarty adds cheerfully, his whole face lighting up as if he was delivering good news. “I also wouldn’t be so boring as to use a gun,” he clicks his tongue, “And here I thought you were getting to know me, Sebastian.”

“Gee, thanks, you’re so kind,” Sebastian grumbles, still holding onto the shower curtain. If Moriarty finds blowing people’s heads off to be a boring way to go, Sebastian isn’t sure he wants to know what the criminal finds interesting.

Sebastian sighs, avoiding his gaze. “Give me five minutes to finish up in here and then I’ll hear about your damn job.”

“Sebastian!” Moriarty admonishes, almost singing his name like a song. “Did a week away from me make you forget your place?”

Moriarty’s tone shifts to that playful crooning that always comes when he knows he has the upper hand and is going to make whatever poor sod he’s torturing pay. Sebastian knows he should back off, because he probably has a revolver tucked away somewhere – if he’s smart, which he is, because there’s no way he could physically outmatch Sebastian – or at least that knife he always likes to show off by flipping around, but he just can’t help pouring more gas on the fire.

Sebastian tells himself he hates the constant invasions of his privacy, the fact that Moriarty can literally break into any part of his life with just a snap of his fingers, but if he’s honest with himself, there’s just something intriguing about it. Intriguing about him. No one’s ever cared enough about Sebastian to look so deeply and learn so much about him. Sebastian isn’t stupid, he realizes how fucked up it is, but it doesn’t change the fact that Sebastian’s base brain is just screaming about how hot this all is.

How this shit that’s happening right now is ripped straight from one of Sebastian’s dreams.

Instead of letting his mind wander to the dark places it enjoys frequenting late at night, when he allows himself a modicum of pleasure, envisioning Moriarty on top of him, he continues, “I’m in the shower. You broke into my flat. And barged into my damn bathroom.”

Somehow, ridiculously, Sebastian even finds it in him to laugh at him. “You just don’t understand boundaries, do you?” Sebastian is surprised by the venom in his voice and his reckless audacity to talk to a man he’s literally seen shoot a subordinate for looking at him like Sebastian has some kind of authority here.

Moriarty cocks his head to the side, studying Sebastian as a predator does their prey, only difference being that he aims to make Sebastian scared before he goes in for the kill. Moriarty revels in the fear he can inspire in others with just a look, with just his mere presence.

Sebastian has seen sods taken in for interrogation acting like tough shit, like they won’t break under him or for anything reduced to small quivering messes at the sight of a slight man in a fine Westwood suit, dress shoes tapping elegantly against the cement floor of a warehouse.

Sebastian won’t move, he tells himself, even though he doesn’t exactly enjoy watching Moriarty tear him apart with his eyes – or maybe some part of Sebastian does like it. Why else does he still have this job? He ought to be crazy, putting up with this all the time.

Moriarty grins, lips pulled back in a lopsided smile that could be endearing in a different scenario.

Abruptly, he rips the shower curtain out of Sebastian’s hand, along with his last shred of dignity, and aggressively swings it to the side. He steps over the side of the tub with purpose, firmly planting two leather shoes on the sleek tub floor as if the sound of soles smacking against the water is supposed to make its own point.

The water wastes no time seeping into his suit and flattening his hair. The water dripping down his face does nothing to douse the fire in his dark eyes.

“Boundaries?” Moriarty asks with an exaggerated surprised tone, brows furrowing. “I don’t understand boundaries? No, darling, I just don’t care about them.”

Sebastian finds it difficult to look at him, the pet-name darling reverberating in his mind, every bone in his body practically screaming at him to run before Sebastian either pushes him away or, worse, pulls him close. The bastard has the audacity to lick his lips, never breaking eye contact.

Whatever this is, whatever intent is in his eyes this time, Sebastian will just have to ride it out.

“Because, you see, you gave yourself to me that day when you were drooling at my feet, begging me for a job,” Moriarty speaks almost wistfully, as unabashed and bold as ever, the power dynamic between the two never expressed in so ambiguous a fashion. Sure, they’ve been in close proximity before, but Sebastian is sure there’s something else here besides threat.

Even though Sebastian is about a head taller, Moriarty is able to make him feel like no more than an insect on the daily, always at risk of being crushed. Sebastian always literally looks down at him, but no one ever really looks down on Jim Moriarty, do they?

Soft beads of water form on his dark hair and dot his eyelashes. Moriarty hardly blinks as he reaches out and cups Sebastian’s jaw, hand pulling his face down. Moriarty continues with the voice of an exhausted professor, resigned to having to repeat the same lesson over-and-over. “So,” He sighs, “I own you, Sebastian. You’re mine.”

Moriarty’s words are matter-of-fact, and Sebastian will be damned if he argues with him. His grip isn’t harsh, but it isn’t gentle either. Sebastian is hyper-aware of the feeling of his fingers on his cheek.

Again, Sebastian futilely tries to pay attention to the now freezing water that is pouring down on them instead of acknowledging that Moriarty is dragging his thumb lightly across his lips, in the way that Sebastian has pictured countless times, right before their mouths meet.

If he moves any closer or does anything else, Sebastian will probably lose it.

The pressure on his cheek changes to an uncomfortable grip like he intends to leave a mark. “What are you?” He asks harshly, inky eyes scanning his face like there are some words on it to read.

Sebastian swallows hard, trying to kill his fantasies before they escape, and Moriarty really does kill him for them. It would be so easy to overpower the man; all Sebastian would have to do is remove his hand from his cheek, push him back against the shower wall, holding him steady in place and finally figure out what Jim Moriarty tastes like.

But Sebastian rather fancies his tongue and would prefer to keep it in his mouth as it should be.

And, in any case, Sebastian has seen this before. It’s what Moriarty does. What he likes to do. Mix pleasure with pain. Make people think he’s not a real threat because oh, a breeze could topple that cute little Irish sod, he couldn’t possibly be the Moriarty. He plays nice. Shakes people’s hands. Compliments them. Flirts with them. Sometimes even gives them a gift to build the trust, sustain the illusion that he is nothing but a lackey before ending their lives simply like he did no more than turn off the television.

Moriarty clears his throat, eyebrows raising with expectation of an answer. He grips Sebastian’s face harder. To the point of being painful. Sebastian hopes he won’t have his handprint permanently etched on his face.

He asked a question. Right.

“Y-ours.” It comes off more broken and rugged than Sebastian had hoped, so he quickly covers it up with a cough.

The flash of mischief in his eyes tells Sebastian that he doesn’t fool him for a second.

But, in a rare act of mercy, Moriarty removes his hand and shuts off the water. He eyes the shower head with the sort of contempt Sebastian thought was reserved exclusively for old ladies of the aristocracy who frown upon, well, everything.

“Your shower is atrocious.” He points out disdainfully, nose wrinkled with disgust.

“My shower apologizes for offending you,” Sebastian mumbles in response, waiting for him to make the first move since it seems unlikely that the encounter is over. Moriarty does not tend to let people talk back to him without exacting some sort of punishment.

Sebastian looks at him expectantly, hoping he will get out of the shower first. Not because Sebastian’s modest, not even close, he was in the army for Gods’ sakes, more guys have seen Sebastian in his birthday suit than he can count. He’s just not exactly eager for his boss to see his ass and give him any more ammunition than he already has.

Although Moriarty implied that he has already seen everything. Sebastian makes a note to ask about that another time when Moriarty is in a good mood, when he might get an actual answer.

He turns his head, giving Sebastian a laugh, eyes sparkling. Evidently back to good spirits, then. Maybe he said the right thing.

To Sebastian’s relief, Moriarty steps out of the bathtub onto the floor mat, sopping wet suit effectively drowning both the mat and the floor. Perhaps sensing Sebastian’s apprehension, he hands him a towel, not without a cheeky smirk, which Sebastian quickly wraps around his waist.

Sebastian brushes past Moriarty, because of course the little fucker can’t take a step back to give him space, and goes to the closet in the hallway where he keeps a couple spare towels. He grabs one and scrambles to find some dry clothes from his room for Moriarty to wear – naturally his boss would expect a change of clothes instead of sloshing around his place in a drenched suit.

Moriarty cracks a wicked grin when Sebastian comes back. In response, Sebastian pointedly throws the towels at his face, grumbling at him to get out of the damned suit.

“Yes, sir,” Moriarty drawls sarcastically, complete with a mock salute but, amazingly, does as he is told.

As Sebastian’s boss changes in the bathroom, he hustles to clean up the bedroom. Sebastian was too busy being bored, lounging on his couch like he was a part of it, watching Law & Order reruns while collecting different take-out containers to do any real upkeep around his place.

Sebastian is in the process of throwing old clothes into his already cluttered closet when the door to the bathroom opens, and Moriarty strides into his room, in his oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, barefoot, and drying his hair with a towel. A perfect picture of domesticity. It looks wrong. Feels even weirder.

Sebastian opens his mouth to suggest going into the living room when Moriarty falls back onto his bed as if he’s about to make a god damned snow angel. He closes his eyes and sighs in relief. “Your flat may be horrifying, but your bed isn’t.” He cozies into the covers like a child. “In fact, it’s rather comfortable.”

There are about 25 things that come to mind about what’s wrong with everything that’s happening, but Sebastian has no idea where to begin and doubts Moriarty would even care about any of his concerns. So, Sebastian sits down on the edge of the bed like he’s the one who doesn’t belong.

“Thanks.” He says dryly.

“Offer still stands to find you a place in my neighborhood” His voice takes on a sing-songy, teasing quality like he knows Sebastian won’t accept but enjoys bugging him anyway. “I certainly pay you enough for you to buy a place that is halfway presentable.”

“Response still stands that I work for you professionally, you’re my boss,” Sebastian says, looking away at the ugly cream walls with paint chipping that he should really get fixed instead of looking at him and the way he looks in his sweatpants, the way his white t-shirt clings to his still-wet skin.

“Yeah, you work for me” Moriarty adds a certain inflection to his sentence that causes a rush of blood to shoot straight down to Sebastian’s groin, painting his cheeks a light pink. Sebastian hopes (probably uselessly) that Moriarty doesn’t see in the lighting.

“The job, boss.” Sebastian swallows hard, willing the flush of red from his cheeks and attempting to muster the perfect look of seriousness and sincerity.

“Yes, the job, boring, Sebastian.” He sighs, turning to lay on his side facing Sebastian.

“What the fuck else would we talk about?” Sebastian snaps at him; his annoyance fueled by his embarrassment at being turned on by one fucking look. It’s hard to remember how dangerous Moriarty can be when he’s curled up on a bed like a cat. An incredibly feral cat.

“I can think of a few things” He teases, no, he blatantly flirts with Sebastian because the man really doesn’t care about boundaries.  

“So, it’s in Manchester,” Sebastian repeats the one detail he can actually remember. He keeps his gaze hard, mouth a straight line, trying to mimic the cold bastard look his father had perfected over the years.

“Vernon Yates. Young heir to Yates enterprises. Weapons. Billion-dollar company. Why are they so successful?” Jim Moriarty changes moods like flipping a light switch. From flirtatious prick to some kind of mafia boss, callously reciting meticulous details for a hit. Sometimes Sebastian can hardly keep up.

Sebastian’s mind rifles through the endless names and files and emails and everything he’s read that deals with Moriarty’s vast number of exploits. He eventually remembers that Moriarty worked with Vernon’s father, Arnold Yates, to put a monopoly on weapons manufacturing. With the help of the consulting criminal, the senior Yates took down one company after another until Yates Enterprises was the only place to go for any and all weaponry.

Moriarty never mentioned exactly what Yates did for him in return.

Sebastian vaguely wonders if Moriarty didn’t mention any sort of repayment because there wasn’t any. Maybe that’s why he’s asking Sebastian to talk to Vernon and not Arnold...

“I thought Arnold Yates was the head of Yates Enterprises...” Even as Sebastian is saying it, he feels stupid because Moriarty is giving him that exasperated expression that he does when he doesn’t “catch up” fast enough.

“Unfortunate accident.” Moriarty shrugs, and judging by his tone, the man could not care less about the fate of the elder Yates. “Vernon Yates is more than capable of running the company. He’s a spoiled brat. He makes you look like a genius. Insufferable personality but he will do just fine.”

Sebastian knows Moriarty enough to decode his speech into what he was really saying: Arnold Yates did not follow my rules and made me quite unhappy. I was completely responsible for his death. Oops. Vernon Yates is a pitifully stupid pawn that I can more easily move around my chess board. So, he can stay alive. For now.

It’s scary sometimes, the Jim Moriarty that lives inside Sebastian’s head.

“What do I need to do?” Even though he can guess what sort of thing needs to be done, Sebastian learned the hard way that he needs Moriarty to be 100% specific and detailed about the job. There’s some room for improvisation, Moriarty enjoys seeing what Sebastian comes up with, but he tends not to stray too far from the path.

“Remind him to whom he should be thankful. A lesson in gratitude, if you will.” Moriarty rolls over, snatching one of the pillows to rest his chin on, laying on his stomach now and looking up at Sebastian with puppy-dog eyes. “Arnold had forgotten.” He sticks his lower lip out in a mock- pout. “Sad.”

“Yeah?” Sebastian can’t help but smirk. He loves every chance he gets to put rich, entitled bigots in their place. “How should I remind him then? Body part on his doorstep? Kidnap a lover? Push his stupid face into a brick wall, let his broken face be a reminder?”

“We are not savages, Sebastian!” Moriarty pretends to be affronted, eyes going wide like it’s ridiculous for Sebastian to suggest any of the things he just said (and has done in the past). “No, dear, no, this is a social call! You two are going to have a little chat. Over dinner.”

“A chat? About what? The weather? Stocks? Politics?” Sebastian mocks.

“Oh, well, those are all very fine topics, but I was thinking of letting him know what happens to people who step out of line. His daddy didn’t really understand.”

Moriarty’s eyes go dark, taking on that black quality that makes it seem like not even the sun could light them up. The way they look when he is not playing a persona, or, when he is playing his most important persona of all: James Moriarty.

Moriarty clasps his hands together, bringing his index fingers and thumbs together lightly as if to form a gun. Elbows on the bed, his fingers positioned just under his chin.

“Explain to him that Mr. Moriarty is not to be trifled with. Or else…” He trails off playfully, bringing his index fingers to his mouth, blowing lightly.

“Or else what?” Sebastian looks at him, transfixed by his utterly lethal expression and his lips, lightly pressed against his fingers.

“Or else you can ask him what his favorite shoes are made of! Leather? Foam? Synthetics? Rubber? I’m nothing if not accommodating with a dead man’s last wishes.” Moriarty grins, snickering softly, and radiating that always contradictory mix of happiness with thinly veiled menace and threat.

Sebastian realizes then that that’s why his life is so damn boring without Moriarty. He’s literally never met anyone so volatile, so dangerous, so exciting. It’s hypnotic to watch him. To learn just a little more day by day how his beautiful mind works.

Maybe there’s something wrong with Sebastian. Because his boss just threatened to make a young heir of a thriving company into shoes and all Sebastian can do is laugh right along with him.

[rarestereocats]

recap of last session of the crusades campaign!

With Etna now slain from a combination of brute force and secondhand embarrassment,  we collect her goodies as well as Nephraxii's phylactery.  Might be unnecessary considering she's still and always will be a book,  but it's better to be safe than sorry.  Her phylactery is an adamantine sword that according to the book of her memories,  can only be destroyed by throwing it into an active volcano so we get to pay Sicily a visit again.  We teleport outside of the death temple where Lucky muses on how they were here once and upon seeing the riddle that nearly tore this family apart long ago,  Industria corrosive touches it out of existence;  so sorry in advance to future adventurers who will no longer be able to figure out how to get inside.

The volcano is a couple of hours away and on our way,  we encounter a little bit of attitude from Industria as well as pirates who probably shouldn't have quit their day jobs because they literally announced to us that they were ambushing us.  Elathera uses good ol' hold person on them all and we make sure to pose them all embarrassingly before we leave.  Once to the volcano,  the task is simple enough so I fly on up with the phylactery and toss it in that bitch when we suddenly remember we wanted to interrogate Etna.  So it's back to her place we go to raise her corpse to talk with it and surprise!  She still doesn't like us and every answer she gives is as cryptic as apologies from your weed dealer when he's trying to let you know he got roped into an undercover sting operation.

Elathera's fears of Milan being the king of the liches is quelled as that question garners another name from Etna,  but instead of helping her relax,  now Elathera is stuck on the fact that there's an even more powerful lich in control of this entire undead pyramid scheme.  I find a brass dragon statue that belonged to him so we can scry on Milan later without him realizing it's a group of strangers and instead,  think it's Etna.  Once back on Elathera's plane,  we get Greg the Jellyfish settled in his new home because we refuse to leave him in the middle of nowhere away from his new family (shame on you,  Rikius,  for suggesting such a thing).  Industria checks on her garden as the tree is a lil' sprout now and I go and have a chat with my buddy Iolond again.  This chat confirms that it doesn't seem to trust my Sabella-aligned friends entirely,  possibly because Sabella has an issue with it.  But at the very least,  I think I can count on it to have my back.

The next day is scrying time and we decide to park ourselves in a random field in the middle of nowhere so Milan can't scry back and see anywhere we frequent.  Industria manages to convince him that Etna needs to meet with him for important business and now we have a week to plan out just how we're going to take this guy out.  Unfortunately,  planning,  much like doors and riddles;  is another weakness of ours,  so we end up going in circles with ridiculous plans that have a 5% chance of actually working.  I suggest that when Milan leaves to see Etna,  we should find his hideout and sneak in to find his phylactery and hold it hostage for information.  It seemed like a sound plan until we realized we'd have to split our party so some of us could reanimate and impersonate Etna to keep Milan distracted.

So Industria suggests that Lucky go undercover with a few of us and infiltrate the lich cult.  Again,  a bad idea considering Virhea's probably told Milan and the others all about us.  So I flip through my lich journal and find out about a meeting place they all have in the desert,  somewhere by a small town called Luca.  With the best coordinates I can manage,  we teleport to this spot and see the griffin statue that was described in the journal.  The password to get in is the name of your leader and each name changes the rooms available.  Nariah's is a proper meeting room aside from the ritualistic circle he presumably used to make more liches.  Milan's name gets us into his room,  where I snag yet another lich journal that goes over how many people are getting roped into his little game and being manipulated to think that they're more than they are.  It all harkens back to Nariah's original idea of;  "Power belongs to those who take it.".  Everybody in this cult seems to think they have some power,  so maybe this truly is a lich MLM where everybody gets to be their own boss.

Even Virhea is on the list of poor saps who got manipulated in this scheme,  but with no time to pour over the journal some more,  we go through a few more rooms before Elathera finds the a secret staircase leading to an office.  Somebody's familiar is on guard,  but she kills the owl instantly before stepping into the mirror that functions as a doorway.  The rest of us regroup and teleport to her side and are greeted with a library.  While Elathera and Industria search for any books of use,  I manage to find the book to unlock a door I found and with a new path open,  me and Elathera decide it's time for Team Disaster to roll out once more.  Except surprise,  bitches,  Team Disaster is now Team Successful cuz we manage to dodge,  disarm,  and dispel traps down here like nobody's business.  And even when we both separate at the fork in our paths,  we still manage to keep ourselves from flying right into the disaster zone.

Elathera finds waterfall deeper in the tunnel system,  where there's a bunch of sparkly,  broken possessions underneath the water.  Everything from jewelry to bottles and the such.  Meanwhile,  I find myself at a door and have no way of knowing what it is cuz necril.  I try to tell Elathera the shapes of the letters of the mindlink so she can figure it out and eventually we figure out this is the corpse storage room.  And when the others realize we're not alone in this house and that somebody's come or gone out of the magic mirror,  we're all called back to the library and Industria tasks me with heading into the mirror first to assassinate what we presume will be Milan.  As soon as I step through,  he's there and waiting,  leaving us all to awkwardly file into his office afterwards.