#rat is aware of his dash

[rhaeverie]

No Pain, No Gain — ljn

pairing. gym-rat!jeno x aider!reader genre. fluff, (kinda)friends-to-lovers, a dash of hurt/comfort, slice-of-life wc. 4.3k summary. Jeno’s well aware that he looks like an idiot in front of you, but what else could he do when just the sight of you makes him feel like a kid with a schoolboy crush?; or in which, Jeno’s been coming to your office with the tiniest of scratches just so he has an excuse to see you warnings. mentions of minor injuries (fake & real) and some bleeding (nothing super detailed but it’s still there), I sorta wrote this as if it were like a sitcom, cliche scenario an. clearing my wips! yet another fic set in the most random place u can possibly think of and it’s bc I (unhealthily) romanticize everything (×-×)—I started writing this during my gym rat (mouse?) era in 2023 but never finished it til now oops dk if its any good,,, enjoy!!

“I can’t move my thumb.”

You use your finger to smooth down the sports tape over its first layer, gently grabbing the younger boy’s wrist to inspect your work, “That’s the point, Chenle.” 

“How am I supposed to play basketball with this,” Chenle pouts, bringing his taped thumb and wrist to show you as if you weren’t the one who just did it. His posture grows worse at the realization of his small injury and now he’s slumped on the bed. 

You sigh and repeat yourself, “That’s the point. You need to rest it or else you can get an injury worse than this. I recommend maybe a week? But I’m not a doctor.” 

You start cleaning your station up, fully expecting Chenle to understand and leave. But instead, he remains seated on the medical table, pouting. You know he’s trying to get you to change your mind, but seeing that he reported his wrist feeling tight and stiff, you know that it’s sprained and playing with it could make things worse.

“Chenle, I’m being serious,” you groan, “You need to rest it or you can’t play basketball for the rest of your life.” You were obviously exaggerating, raising your brows for even more emphasis. If he won’t listen to you by simply telling him, you might as well scare him into listening to you.

“Rest of my life?” He frowns, looking down at wrist, “I… I guess a week doesn’t seem too long… Thanks Y/N.” 

You smile, relieved that he’s choosing to listen to your advice, “I’ll see you next week then?” 

He nods and gathers his duffel bag and his sweater, dragging himself out the door of the first aid room. 

You turn away from the door, ready to busy yourself with some housekeeping items when you hear a knock at the door. It’s quiet, and you almost think that you were imagining the sound, but when you turn to face the door, you’re met with the vibrant gaze of Lee Jeno, accompanied by a sheepish smile. 

Ah… Lee  Jeno—of course.

“Almost thought you weren’t going to show up today,” you joke, “What happened now?” 

To anyone unfamiliar with the two of you, it might come across as if you weren't exactly doing your job well, seemingly rushing through treatments even when faced with potentially serious injuries. However, the guy standing in the doorway right now has been delivering the most poorest excuses for injuries you've ever heard.

Sure, perhaps a couple of questionable 'injuries' wouldn't bother you much, because maybe the person was just overly cautious about their well-being. But when Jeno strolled into your office recently with the tiniest scratch on his left calf, you couldn't help but suspect that something was definitely up. 

“I need ice,” Jeno side-steps into your office and pulls the corners of his lips higher on his cheeks, “Please?” 

“Next time, just jog over to the nearby McDonald’s and get ice there,” you say jokingly. This was his nth time in the past month asking for ice. You wonder if he’s just been using it to put into his water or if this dude just has some kink involving ice. 

You only question Jeno’s recent tendency to visit your office because, ever since you started working at the gym, he's been a regular. Hell, his physique alone is proof to his long-standing commitment to the gym. It just doesn't add up that Jeno, with his apparent gym ‘seniority’, would be falling victim to injuries so frequently.

“Here you go,” you hand him a small, transparent bag that was partially filled with ice, “Anything else?” 

Jeno’s irises fall to the right corners of his eyes in brief thought, “More… ice?”

You groan to conceal your amusement and move closer to Jeno, “Goodbye, Jeno. See you again another day!” You gently place your hands to his elbows, spinning him around and out your door.  

“No, wait I—“

“See you!” You wave, leaving Jeno no choice but to actually take his leave. 

Your coworker Jaemin sees the interaction from the front counter, and seeing that there weren’t any gym goers coming into the facility, he waves you over. 

"Everything alright?" he asks, his gaze flicking briefly from the computer screen to you.

You glance at his screen and notice a game of minesweeper unfolding. Suppressing a snicker, you retort, "Yeah, same reason as last week." Swiftly, you click on an empty tile on his minesweeper grid, revealing the mine locations.

“I’m trying to help you and you do this,” Jaemin clicks his tongue against his teeth and diverts back to the situation, “It’s not in a creepy way, is it?” 

You give yourself a moment to think everything through, “I’m not sensing anything weird or creepy with it, if I’m being honest. He’s going about it… in a cute way?” 

Jaemin lets out a hysteric laugh and it echoes throughout the gym, “A cute way?” 

"There's no other way to put it," you casually shrug. Leaning against the desk, you absentmindedly flip through the management binders laid out before you.

Jaemin's brows knit, his curiosity piqued. "Cute, how?"

“I don’t know.” You’re lying. You know damn well what you meant. 

Every time Jeno decides to pull one of his ‘stunts’, he’s at your door, eyes all glossy and resembling a hopeful puppy. And when you choose to pretend not to notice him, he doesn't hesitate to clear his throat (rather obnoxiously) or hum out a soft, "anyone home?" even though you're clearly rummaging in your cupboards for more supplies.

Jaemin reads right through your feigned innocence, eyes narrowing, “Sure you don’t.”

“Well, it’s not something I can explain,” you groan, “Just take my word for it.”

“Okay… cute… does that mean you’re enjoying all this?” Jaemin’s eyes wiggle your way and you’re glad that no one’s around to see or hear this. 

You scoff, “Enjoying what?” 

"Come on, Y/N. Let's not play naive," Jaemin smirks, "Jeno is practically inventing reasons to see you.” Jaemin pats your head like you would a child, which you dodge almost immediately, “Which is honestly disappointing. A guy like Jeno could probably think of something way better but he resorted to something so basic.” 

You glare at Jaemin, your annoyance evident, “I hate that you’re probably right.” Because what else could the reason be? Jeno couldn’t be that concerned for his well-being. And you distinctly recall questioning your other coworker, Xiaojun, about whether Jeno tends to show up frequently on your days off. His response? A shocking no.

“I always am,” Jaemin brushes non-existent dust off of his shoulder, “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” At times like these, you have the memory of a goldfish.

“If you were enjoying it,” Jaemin clarifies, "You did call it cute, and cute usually equals enjoyment."

There were a couple ways you could go about Jaemin’s question. Was he asking if you were reciprocating this attraction Jeno seemingly had for you? Or maybe he wanted to know if you found amusement in the ongoing situation?

Regardless, your cheeks betray you by warming at the question and the thought of your answer sliding off the tip of your tongue.

“I’d be lying if I said no.”

��

It’s no surprise when Jeno shows up to your office two days later with the same smile plastered on his face. 

He’s standing right outside of your office, waiting for you to welcome him in. When you do, he enters the room slowly, greeting you as he moves toward the medical bed situated at the far corner and away from the entrance. 

Jeno watches as you rake through a pile of disorganized supplies, “How are you?” You weren’t in search of anything specific, but you were trying to busy yourself now that Jeno was in the room with no clear purpose. 

“I'm all right," you reply casually, your voice calm. "You?” You quickly glance up at him and almost crumble to your knees. Today, Jeno is sporting a black muscle tee and grey sweatshorts, and though you've never really taken notice of his outfits before, you secretly (and shamefully) remind yourself to start doing so. 

“I’m okay,” Jeno hums, “I was wondering if I could get a heat pack?” 

You take a good look at him and narrow your eyes, “It doesn’t look like you need one.” But regardless, you make your way toward the heat packs sitting in a cupboard by the fridge. You simply wanted to hear what his reason was this time. 

“My quads are really stiff today,” Jeno replies, subtly gesturing to his legs, “I could barely get through leg day with them.” 

“Well, this should work,” you say. You pop the pack and wrap a towel around it, “There you go. See you!” 

“Can I stay here for a bit?” You don’t see the way Jeno pouts. You’re too busy making your way to your box full of miscellaneous things. He presses the pack against the upper side of his thigh, remaining seated on the bed, “I’ll leave when the heat pack is finished.” 

Jaemin’s voice echoes in your head, "Jeno is practically inventing reasons to see you.” And you can now see that it was painfully obvious. 

“Of course,” you say, “Take as long as you need.” 

You move on to organizing the supplies, trying your best not to mind the pair of eyes that were burning holes into the side of your head. 

“So…” Jeno starts, “How was your weekend?” 

“You don’t need to make small talk you know,” you say, pulling out three pairs of medical scissors, “You could take a nap or something.” With your back turned to him, you go to put the tools away, “I don’t mind.”

Jeno swings his legs in the air and slumps, “Yeah, but I—uh—do want to make small talk.” He’s half-assedly holding the heat pack to the side of his thigh, growing annoyed that it wasn’t staying in a specific place. He resorts to pinning it under his thigh. 

“Which I also don’t mind,” you say, biting back a smile, “My weekend was okay… stayed home and relaxed. Nothing super special. You?” 

You stop and turn to look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the man who was now leaning back against the wall. The position looks uncomfortable, yet Jeno appears to be content. 

“Similar to yours,” he replies, “Except Hyuck forced me to play a few games online with him. It was fun, actually! But don’t tell him that.” 

You let out a snort. You’re familiar with Donghyuck, recalling how he and Jeno had made a deal that if Jeno managed to bring him to the gym for a few workouts, then he had to play some of his PC games in return. 

“How’s he doing anyways?” You question, “I haven’t seen him in a while.” 

Jeno’s brows furrow for a sliver of a second before they sit back to where they had originally been, “Last leg day killed him, so he’s given up until he recovers.” 

“Ah,” you giggle, “Can’t keep up with you, I’m guessing?” 

Jeno shakes his head, bangs creating a blanket over his eyes. He sweeps them aside, “Not really. I don’t really go hard on leg days. I’m more of a back and biceps type of person.” 

Your eyes defy you as they scan Jeno’s arms. You blame him. His statement was practically an invitation to look at his upper limbs as if you needed some kind of evidence, “I believe you.” It comes out a lot more flirty than you intended and you want to sprint out of the room before you make one more wrong move. 

“O-oh,” Jeno stammers. It was a sight seeing Jeno grow shy, using his hands to hide arms. And although he was hoping to conceal them, the man forgets that doing so only means he had to flex his arms, “Thanks?” 

You’re not sure how to reply, resorting to rummaging through the same box. You find some empty rolls of tape and you toss them in the trash. How do you even go about this conversation? Say ‘you’re welcome’? Weird. Ask him about his routine? No, it wasn’t like you were looking into building your arms. Ask if you could feel his arms? 

Shut up, brain, be fucking for real right now.

“Y/N?” 

“Hm?” You look up and Jeno’s looking back at you expectedly.

“Sorry, I zoned out a little there,” you sheepishly confess, playing with one of the box’s flaps, “Did you say something?” 

“I… uh, nevermind, it doesn’t matter,” Jeno clears his throat, “It was just about—um—something. But it can wait another day.” He smiles and it just about reaches his eyes. 

“Wait, no, tell me,” you frown. 

“It’s…” Jeno’s eyes flicker back and forth, contemplating if he really should go through with his question. He wants to—he really does—but his words fail him, teeth biting at his bottom lip. 

“It’s really nothing, ha-ha!” You watch as his gaze drops to the heat pack suffocating underneath his thigh. He uses the back of his hand to feel it. It’s still very warm, but regardless, he uses it as an excuse. “I’ll just take my leave… Um, I guess I’ll see you around?” Jeno slips off the bed, tossing the pack into the trash before he moves past you. 

“Wait, Jeno…” You make another attempt to stop him, guilt slowly creeping up on you, curiosity accompanying it because you should’ve been listening. 

For once, you wished he stayed just a bit longer. 

—

It’s been almost a week and a half since Jeno last visited your office. 

But who’s counting?

You check once, twice, thrice over your shoulder for Jaemin’s presence, nodding to yourself when you’re sure that your coworker wasn’t there to see the down-bad bullshit you were about to pull. 

Pulling up the gym’s database, you quickly type Jeno’s name into the search bar. While it loads, which feels so so painfully long, your fingers tap against the edge of the desk. You can’t believe you’re doing this.

“Hm.” 

Once Jeno’s profile finally appears on the screen, you follow his row to the Date Last Active column, seeing that he was at the gym this morning, two hours before your shift. 

A low whistle knocks you out of your trance and you jump, almost knocking the keyboard off the desktop. 

“Fucking hell, Jaemin!” You swing at his shoulder at a strength you knew damn well he wouldn’t even feel, “You think you’re funny sneaking up on me like that?” 

“Yes,” Jaemin shrugs, “Misusing the database I see…” His eyes narrow at you, brow raising. Then, he smirks and pokes at your rib, “Stalking your boyfriend.”

“Shut up,” you quickly exit the application and pull up Jaemin’s minesweeper game, “He’s not my boyfriend… Acting like you don’t do the same shit with other gym goers…” 

“I don’t see why you can’t just walk up to him and talk to him,” Jaemin sighs, “He’s still here, you know.” 

“He is?” 

“Awww your eyes lit up!” Jaemin teases, diabolically sticking a finger in your face. 

You threaten him again, which Jaemin completely disregards out of spite.

“But tell me why he’s been coming to the gym more often when you’re not here,” Jaemin, like you, was quite familiar with Jeno’s routines, “Did you do something that would force the poor guy to change his routine all of a sudden? Sometimes he wakes up at ass o’clock to get his workout done.”

Your mind reels back to your last interaction. Playing back each and every second and overanalyzing each and every word that left your mouth that afternoon. Yeah, you probably did but you don’t want to think that you’ve scared Jeno away. 

“I don’t think so?” 

“‘I don’t think so?’” Jaemin mocks, “Writing ‘liar’ on your forehead would be more subtle than whatever the hell that was.” He pauses his game and decides to fix all his attention onto you, “Now spill.”

“I really don’t know, okay?” you groan, “Last time I spoke to him, I zoned out and I missed what he was saying and then he left and he didn’t even choose to repeat it or anything.” 

Jaemin narrows his eyes at you, almost as if he’s lost all hope in his very good friend and coworker, “Y/N, did you not just graduate with a master’s?” 

Your brows meet, “Huh? What do you mean?”

He mutters a dumbass under his breath, which completely flies past your head. “Nothing.” Jaemin smirks subtly, turning away to leave in hopes that you don’t ask any further questions.

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

Jaemin gets flashbacks to his mom, “Uhhhhhhh, there?” The man points to nowhere in particular before taking off. 

“Na Jaemin!” You call out. Your voice echoes through the gym and you groan, slumping against the desk before accepting defeat—because what did Jaemin mean? Was he calling you stupid or something?

Not even five minutes pass when you hear Jaemin’s voice boom over the speakers, “Y/N, you’re needed in your office. Y/N, you’re needed in your office.” 

You look over to Jaemin’s office and shoot him a look that could kill. And again, Jaemin ignores your threat, grinning menacingly before he waves cause he knows he’s pissing you off. You’ve never grown used to this man’s attitude, but it doesn’t mean you don’t adore it. 

Logging off the computer, you let out a huff and pad your way past the exercise machines and into your office. And from all that you were expecting, you sure as hell weren’t expecting to find a very worn out Jeno, the hem of his tank sprinkled in faint drops of blood. 

“Jeno?” You don’t even try to mask your worry, fast-walking straight to him before you guide (practically tugging) him to the medical bed, “What happened? Are you okay?” 

An annoying and almost spiteful grin shyly appears on Jeno’s lips before he turns his palms up for you to see. His hands were covered in blisters, some popped and others brand new. They looked extremely painful to even look at.

“Fuck,” you mutter, “Didn’t I say not to overwork yourself that one time?” You turn your back to Jeno and begin gathering all the supplies you need to treat his blisters. You’re rambling under your breath, words unrecognizable from where you’ve sat Jeno down. 

Your heart’s beating out of your chest, mostly because this is the first time you’ve seen Jeno in a while. But to add his injuries on top of that? You’re certainly not sure how you’re keeping composure. 

Meanwhile, Jeno really can’t do much but watch you move from one corner of the room to the other. He wants to get up and help, but by the way an eleven forms in between your brows, he’s reluctant to even say anything. 

It’s funny because despite how aggressive you’re handling all the supplies, the second you make contact with his wrist, your demeanor changes, suddenly shifting to be more gentler. You hold his hands as if you were holding a newborn, delicately rotating them to understand what had to be treated.

“If it hurts, tell me,” you say quietly, “Actually don’t. I’m mad at you right now.” 

Jeno’s head tilts to the side like a confused puppy. Then he finally says, “Mad at me?” 

“Yes,” you grab a sheet of gauze and begin wiping away at Jeno’s palm, dabbing carefully when it comes to the blisters, “I’m mad at you.”

“Why?” 

“This is why you need a break.” You ignore his question, grab new gauze and continue wiping away the new and old blood that’s accumulated in his palms. “Jeno, I know you like it here, but your body needs rest, too.” 

A response sits at the tip of Jeno’s tongue and he’s not sure whether or not he should tell you. The last time he decided to take a step out of his comfort zone, you didn’t even hear him. 

Does he want to try that again? 

You spray his palms with disinfectant before applying some ointment to help them heal faster. At this point, you hadn’t done as much as looked up to make eye contact with the man. 

“But..” Big step. “But this is the only place that I get to see you.”

What the fuck? 

You hope Jeno doesn’t notice the way you freeze for a burning second before you try to play it off by grabbing long bandages. It’s a good thing he can’t see the way your heart is beating erratically—and you’re hoping he doesn’t hear it, too. 

“You can literally see me wherever you want if you just asked,” you say nonchalantly, voice quiet, “But instead you resort to…” You stop yourself from speaking any further, unsure if you would even want Jeno knowing that you had suspicions of him pulling fake injuries out of his ass to make excuses to see you. 

“I’m not even sure if you’d even agree to it,” Jeno confesses, “I like… I really like talking to you but—“ 

“But what?” You slowly begin wrapping the bandage around his wrist, making your way up to his palm. 

Jeno can’t help but whisper, “You don’t seem to like me as much as I wished.” 

You hold back a giggle. Jeno’s always so accidentally cute and he doesn’t even know it. It’s literally pissing you off that a man you’re fake-mad at is doing absolutely nothing to earn your affection, yet here he was, doing just that. “You don’t know that.”

“I do know that,” Jeno counters. 

“No, you don’t,” you ping-pong back. The bandage crosses between his fingers and you manage to finish wrapping the bandage around his palm. 

“I do.”

“Did you ask me?” You gulp, because at this point you’re afraid where this conversation was going. 

“Well, do you like me?” 

You move onto his other hand, grabbing another roll of the long bandage. You could feel the atmosphere in the room begin to shift and now you’re beginning to sweat in your light sweater. 

“I do.” 

Jeno clears his throat, “In the way I like you?” You groan. Of course he’d say that. It was a valid follow up question, simply because your answer could very much cover that broad spectrum of like. 

You ask, “How do you like me?” 

Jeno takes a moment to think about his answer, watching as you start replicating your work from his other hand, “I honestly… think it’s obvious how I like you.” “Mmm,” you hum. At this point you’re teasing him on purpose, “How so?” 

“I make myself look like a fool when it comes to you,” Jeno huffs, “Ice? Heat packs? Who am I kidding…” Jeno scoots back in his seat and you follow, practically falling between his knees from the way he’s sitting. “Every time I come here looking for you, that’s when I gain the confidence to finally ask you out… well not always out but maybe for your number or just simply talk to you or something. I wanted to be friends and then more if it went well…” 

Your movements slow, attention failing to even do a decent job at bandaging. 

“But, when I finally reach this room and see you? It’s like I lose all that confidence and it’s stuffed in the bag with the ice you give me,” Jeno explains. “I’m even lucky enough that I can finish my sentences around you…”

You blink at his injured palm and the realization dawns on you. So this was what Jaemin was hinting at, “And that last time… you asked me out and—”

“And you didn’t hear me,” Jeno finishes, “And I couldn’t for the life of me repeat what I asked because my confidence plummeted and then the fear of rejection kicked in.” 

Your hands have since halted, cradling Jeno’s hand as you try to calculate your next move. It’s now clear as day that Jeno has feelings for you, and you’ve slowly been coming to terms with yourself that you care a little too much about Jeno than a normal person should. 

“Ask me now.”

“What?” Jeno practically jumps, startled and confused. 

You drop the bandage roll and lightly tighten your grip around his hand. Looking up, you find that Jeno’s gaze has already been sitting and waiting for your own to meet his. You clarify, “Ask me what you asked then, now. This time, I’m listening.”

The reassurance from you lifts some weight off of Jeno’s shoulders, ones he didn’t know even existed. Then, he fixes his composure, moistens his lips and finally says, “Would you–um–like to go out for dinner with me?”

“My answer then and now are the same,” you smile down at your feet, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, “I would really love to.”

Eyebrows reaching for his hairline, Jeno’s eyes widened, “Wait, really?” 

“Really,” You nod. And although you try to look anywhere else in the room, Jeno’s eyes capture your eyes once again, holding them there for a few skips of your heartbeat. 

You clear your throat and let out a breathy laugh, “Haha so um… let me just—“ You hastily pick up the bandage roll and return to your work. 

It doesn’t take much longer before you finish, concealing and protecting his injuries under the bandages. “Now that you’ve got me, promise me you won’t overwork yourself like this?” 

“I’ve… got you?” Jeno’s cheeks heat up at your choice of words, the shift between the both of you being so evident now that he’s experiencing a weird case of whiplash. 

“Shut up,” you mumble, “Just promise me. I don’t wanna have to keep worrying about you getting hurt.” 

Jeno laughs, completely enamoured at your own flustered state. 

“Yeah, yeah… I promise.” 

[pizzatowerconfessions]

(hi mod rat! i'm the same anon who left the other very long post about the tribe cheese in your inbox but i would rather this revised one be posted instead because i think i overall expanded upon and structured this one better. thank you. if both get posted then...oops!)

this might be a warm take? i don't see a lot of takes that are more in the middle on this topic. anyway i have mixed feelings on the tribe cheese, as in a mix of okay and not okay things (im part native american btw)

so starting with the base design, i don't mind the leaf or tomahawk. the leaf resembling the stereotypical feather headband is no more stereotypical to me than say the mexican sombrero which seems to be generally more well received such as on the bandito chicken or el diego, and the tomahawk is no more stereotypical to me than say a japanese ninja with a katana. nothing inherently negative about those two things.

the one thing i do think is bad is the rain totem, because it reflects a still widespread misconception; many people still aren't aware that totem poles aren't ritually danced around or worshipped (let alone that only pacific northwest coast tribes and not southwest desert tribes use them anyway) and i'm concerned that keeping them in the game will continue to accidentally spread this misconception even more! so i think that this should absolutely be replaced with something else. i get that cartoons don't always have to be realistic, but it's not about realism for me; everybody knows that native americans obviously aren't blobs of cheese, but many people are still not aware that totem poles are not worshipped, so i think it should be replaced to avoid accidentally continuing to spread this mistaken notion.

the only other problem i have is that, while the leaf and tomahawk are okay to me, with just those the tribe cheese is kind of boring and stale compared to peppino. and why is that? well it's not because tribe cheese is native american and peppino is italian - it's a little more complicated than that. i do agree with the sentiment that to allow jokes about the one and not the other would be an unfair double standard, BUT the tribe cheese is still missing something that peppino does have and it's the addition of non-stereotypical traits to balance out his stereotypical traits.

you see, peppino is more than just a pizza chef; he is also an anxiety-riddled struggling small business owner who can also breakdance for some reason - among other things. but what does the tribe cheese have besides head leaf and tomahawk? nada. (ignoring problematic rain totem) i just wish tribe cheese had more to him than just his stereotypes is all, it would make him more interesting and also make the representation more on par with peppino.

now, i do perceive that peppino has the benefit of being a main playable character and not just a standard enemy that only shows up in a couple levels, giving him more room to flesh him out more. but i do think that the tribe cheese's role has just enough room to add a more varied trait or two, especially since i explained why the totem pole should be replaced, which means it can be replaced with something better.

here's my ideas:

the simplest change is to make the tribe cheese a native american cowboy who is going camping and brought his tomahawk and guitar with him. tomahawk as a multipurpose camping tool such as for chopping firewood and defending himself from supersonic chefs and rabid tv stars, and guitar for entertainment. he can wear a cowboy hat with a colorful tribal headband and leaf as well as leaf earrings instead of face pepperonis.

when he is around a campfire, he takes out his guitar and starts playing it while dancing around the campfire; this makes smoke clouds rise from the campfire and dance with him while rhythmically scattering firey ashes that damage the player character. the achievement for mach dashing to bring back the dancing clouds could be renamed to a reference to the spongebob campfire song lol

i think a native american cowboy is the most straightforward counter to the outdated "cowboys vs indians" trope.

i also have a somewhat weirder idea where instead of a regular tomahawk he takes out a freeze ray that fires a tomahawk-shaped ice shard in an arc. it's a reference to bravestarr, an 80s space western cartoon about a native american space cowboy defending the frontier planet of new texas (yes it's a real cartoon); bravestarr also sometimes uses a freeze ray. i doubt it's too weird compared to the bandito chicken or treasure chest guy. but if we go with the freezeray thing then his hat HAS to be white with a red and blue band to hint further at the reference.

i think a (native american) space cowboy would serve as better foreshadowing for the UFO and olive aliens but also still fit the western theme of the level and floor too.

and that's all i got! i hope my ideas could improve the native american representation in a way that is still humorous without solely relying on generic stereotypes or misrepresenting certain commonly-misunderstood cultural practices. anyone can draw my ideas if they would like :)

‎

[levi-venn]

Pirate Droids of the Onyx Cinder

Chapter 1: The Cremated World

Characters: K-2SO and SM-33

Summary: SM-33 is the newest Captain of the Onyx Cinder, but he has two problems: He is broke and he has no crew. He tries to solve the former problem by scavenging the charred, radiated planet of Scarif, only to find an unexpected solution to the latter.

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 (Coming soon)

Available on AO3

Scarif - Even the name sounded like the promise of treasure.

Scarrrrriffffff, easy on the tongue it is, though SM-33 be lacking one of those.

Stories tell that this planet was once a hub for all the Imp data in the galaxy, now reduced to rubble thanks to that Planet killer that only managed to turn one planet into stardust before it was blown up.

Pathetic. Empire. Republic. All pathetic. They make their delusions of grandeur everybody’s problem. SM-33 didn’t care for any of it.

He wanted what any respectable pirate wanted. A ship, credits, and freedom.

He had two of those. The Onyx Cinder was given back to him after dropping the little captains off at At-Attin, but the lifetime supply of credits wasn’t part of the deal. Captain Fern promoted him Captain of the Onyx Cinder, however, and he was not gonna let the lil’un down. 

He’ll find his own way. Make something of himself. 

But…without Meatbags, it was provin’ to be difficult. Annoying, emotional noise-makers that they were, they were also SM-33’s mechanics and programmers. If he had no Makers or Masters, it also meant he had no help if something went pear-shaped.

So here he was, on a deserted, half-dead planet called Scarif, looking for something, anything to get his Pirate Empire up n' runnin'.

The Onyx Cinder settled in the center of the charred landscape, black n' abyssal, a cremated world without so much as a single cell-organism left alive.

The readings on the dash flared all sorts of warnings. Warnings that didn’t apply to a Droid Pirate Captain.

No wonder meatbags never scavenged this planet. Lotta radiation on the land. Lotta poison in the air. They’d be growin’ ears out their arses if they stayed here too long.

Stepping off the ramp, SM-33’s peg leg sank into the blackened soil with an audible crunch. This whole side of the planet was a kriffin' graveyard. 

Don’t look like nothin’ survived. SM-33 kicked a humanoid shaped that crumbled into ash. Don’t mean there ain’t nothin’ here though. Cap’n Rennod always said the worse the tale, the better the treasure. Maybe this is it.

Of course Rennod always told the best “worse tales” to keep other pirate crews from venturing into his territory. He was clever like that.

Not clever enough to keep himself alive, leavin' me all on my lonesome, but ah well. We keep sailin' to the horizon, aye?

He walked through the remains of what used to be an Imperial base, carefully trudging along, knowing that if he got stuck, there’d be no one to help him out. 

It wasn’t in SM-33’s nature (or programming) to feel lonely, but he was acutely aware of how alone he was. No crew to keep in line, no captain to lead him on, no bilge rat eatin' at his brain. He needed a proper crew if he was gonna survive. Ain’t no proper captain without a crew, aye?

He had ten hours to search the area for treasure before he had to get back to the ship before dark. He spent six of them finding a whole lot of scrap. Nothin' to elevate him to Pirate King, but enough to make some credits. It was a start. He had four more hours before the terrain became a potential graveyard for his old mech parts. 

The records said there used to be a tall spire that housed most of the Imp data there, but anything digital was bound to be dust like the rest of the planet. The Death Star’s laser had taken out the satellite and the rest crumbled and burned beneath it. Sticking out of one side of the tower was the carcass of an Imp Walker, maybe something survived in there worth salvaging. It was worth a look.

SM-33 walked past flash-fried humanoid shapes hiding behind what used to be an administrative desk. 

“Helluva way to go,” SM-33 said and kicked the shapes, watching them collapse effortlessly with a faint shssshhh. 

SM-33 carefully hoisted himself onto the second level of the building which was only intact by sheer accident, held up by the AT-ACT's enormous head wedged beneath it. SM-33 climbed atop the Imp Walker’s head and found some parts that might be worth selling at in Junkrat Alley after a good scrub. A few credits, but it was more credits than he had when he landed on this Makerforsaken place.

Grabbing onto the ledge to the third level was a mistake.

SM-33 slipped.

The ghost of Tak Rennod must've been lookin' out for this old bucket of bolts, because chunks of ferroconcrete fell all around him like starsdamn meteor chunks kicking up clouds of black dust coating his sensor and joints. Yet, nothing hit him. Nothing except a single metal ball falling right in his lap with a dull clank.

He was momentarily blind and he mimicked a cough - expelling a puff of air - to shake loose the soot from his circuits.

When the dust settled, a pair of eyes were staring up at him. 

“'Allo! What do we have here?” SM-33 lifted the droid head. The light in the eyes were off. From the look of the lenses, those vertical grates like bars on a brig, this was an Imp Security Droid. An old one at that. 

The dome was m ore or less intact. The rest of the body lay beside SM-33, filled with blaster holes and fried cords. Useless and inoperable…

…but maybe not dead. Perhaps this dead man’s got some tales after all.

SM-33 tucked the head under his arm and headed back to the ship, lugging the rest of his bounty behind him.

The sun’s dying light cast shadows as black as the heart of a ship-hungry Summa-verminoth, but SM-33 and his loot made it back to the Onyx Cinder in one piece.

SM-33 unloaded the scavenged parts in the cargo hold, then took the droid head to the workshop. He balanced precariously on the rickety stool and set the droid head on the grimy workbench.

The dome seemed to be air tight.

“Guess it’s your lucky day, eh?” SM-33 said, aloud. He rubbed a thumb over the square mandible, wiping away soot until he found the small spring-loaded switch that opened the faceplate. 

“Wow…” SM-33 marveled as colorful wires shone under the gloomy yellow fixtures. “Look at all them dainty bits. You were a fancy one, eh? Not like this old salty sailor.” He picked through the bucket of wires on the bench labeled “Bucket o’ wires”. “I got thick knotted cords from all over Hell's creation keepin’ me runnin’. Don’t you worry though, we got some skinny wires for you. Ain’t pretty to look at, but they’ll do the trick. No one’s gotta know, aye? Our lil secret.”

A positively charged output in SM-33’s servo suddenly generated. A low whirr of activity deep in his chassis that he thought busted ages ago. It was the closest thing to "excitement" that he could feel. Something must've shaken loose since the adventure to find At Attin. Fixing a droid head shouldn't give him these levels of activity.

“I think we’re ‘bout done,” SM-33 said, closing the face plate and holding it up, his single lens scrutinizing his work. “Let’s see what we can see, eh?” He cycled through a variety of scomps built into his pinky finger until he found one small enough to activate the droid's head. There was a satisfying "click" and the droid's eyes flashed brightly.

Glowing white rings flickered on, rotating at a rapid rate, up and down, left and center and right and up and… “Climb…Climbbbbbb….tow-tow-tow….werrrrrrrrrr….Cass….Good…bbbbbbuhhhhh….”

“Hang on there," SM-33 soothed setting the droid back down on the workbench. "Slow down, yeah? It’s alright now. You’re alright.”

“I…I…” the eyes flickered again, then the rings suddenly stabilized and latched onto SM-33 with an intense beam of sentience. “I am not alright. Who are you? Where am I? Where is Cassian?”

“Ain’t no Cassian around here,” SM-33 said. “Yer on Scariff. Had yerself a bit of a tumble.”

“A bit of a tumble?” the droid said. “That’s the understatement of the millennium. Where is the rest of me? Put me back together, now. I need to find Cassian. Captain Cassian Andor.”

"Your captain? You're...missing your captain?"

SM-33 no longer had a bilge rat making a nest outta his memory circuits. He remembered what it was like waking up to an existence far different than the pirate’s life he knew.

He knew what this droid was going through. His captain long gone...

SM-33 is suddenly awake. The alarms are going off! The Captain will know what to do. He always knows what to do. 

“Captain! Intruders in the cockpit. What should I do with these gremlins? Snap their necks? Throw ‘em out the airlock? Captain?” 

“Don’t hurt us!” says the little long-trunked gremlin.

“Captain?!”

Where is the Captain? Captain should be shouting back, that grizzly, baritone voice from a lifetime of spotchka, death sticks, and shoutin’ at the crew. He should’ve called back, givin’ orders, givin’ brilliant orders. A legend he was. A real legend.

“Yer captain’s dead,” SM-33 said, to the droid.

“Oh.” The droid stared at SM-33, lights dimming briefly. “I see.”

“Your captain’s dead.” said the human child who would become one of his favorite captains.

Dead…Rennod dead…he was larger than legend, the best there ever was. SM-33 was lost without his Captain. Wandering the halls…

“Captain…C-captain…Captain…”

“There was a big blast from that planet killer, took out half the planet. Assumin’ yer captain was here, he’s dust now.”

The droid was silent, his glowing white eyes dropping from SM-33’s. “I would like to see for myself.”

“Ain’t much to see, mate,” SM-33 said.

“Even so. Show me.”

“As ya wish,” SM-33 said, tucking the droid under his arm.

SM-33 lowered the ramp and held the droid up to see the remains of Scarif.

“Oh…” the droid said again. 

He tried to think of somethin' to say. How did the crew comfort each other? Weren't no droid-equivalent to spotchka. It weren't in his programming to apologize neither. A pirate's never sorry. Something hurts them, they hurt 'em right back.

Loss though...it was a tough one.

“I'm thinkin’ it was quick,” SM-33 said. “Blink of an eye n’ painless. Good way to go for any humanoid.”

The droid was quiet for a while and SM-33 waited, holding the droid still and waiting for a direction. 

“Do you know if their mission was successful? Did the Death Star plans get in the right hands?" the droid asked.

“Well I heard the Death Star was blown to smithereens. Both of 'em were, actually.”

“There were two of them?!” the droid said. “But...Cassian did succeed. That's good. Not that I cared for the mission. But Cassian cared. That's what mattered.”

“So...you alright, then?” SM-33 asked, turning the droid's head back around to him.

“No, of course I’m not alright. I am a disembodied head, my human is dead, and I’m in the clutches of a savage droid with a near-indecipherable accent. I am very much not alright.”

“Savage!” SM-33. “You ain’t no summer gentleman yerself, yer high n’ mightiness.”

“Don’t call me that. I am K-2SO, a KX-series security droid.”

“Well I’m SM-33.” He hit the ramp's control panel and headed back to the cockpit. “Captain SM-33 of the Onyx Cinder, at yer service.”

“Lucky me.” K-2SO said.

“Ya best cut that attitude with me, or maybe I won’t recruit ya to be the first member of my new pirate crew.” He sat himself in the pilot’s chair and set K-2SO in the co-pilot’s seat beside him. 

“A pirate?” K-2SO’s voice went staticky as if replicating a disgusted noise. “I have no intention of becoming a pirate, thank you very much.”

“No need to thank me, just join up!”

“No.”

“What’re you gonna do instead?” SM-33 said, lightin’ up the Cinder and taking her into atmo. “Ain’t no Empire to go back to you.”

“I was not an Imperial. Well, I was an Imperial, but I was rescued by…” K-2SO stopped. SM-33 looked down at the droid in time to see his eye rings flicker…was K-2SO upset? Had to be tough, bein' fixed with emotions like that. SM-33 hadn't any emotions as far as he knew. Just anger...and annoyance...and humor...and excitement...and happiness...and curiosity...other than that, no emotions at all.

“I was freed,” K-2SO rephrased. “and I joined the Rebellion. It is what I am: A Rebel.”

“Rebel says you, another name for a pirate says I.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible.”

“Nay, mate, I’m the most possible option ya got. Empire’s gone some nine years now. Republic’s a real shitshow. If you wanna be a Rebel, ain’t no better way than pilot yer own pirate ship with no master to hold ya back.”

“No master but you.” K-2SO said, dryly.

“I’m yer Cap’n. There’s a difference. I’ll lead ya to credits n’ glory.”

“Credits and glory. I suppose I have no other options. Or a body, for that matter. I assume pirating requires a body.”

“Don’t you worry, K-2SO. Next stop is Port Borgo where we sell our booty n’ get some perks. A proper body for you, an oil bath for us n’ before long we’ll be the most feared droid pirates in all seven corners of the galaxy.”

“There are no corners in the galaxy, it's a spiral," K-2SO said "…but I am interested in being feared. That sounds…rather fun.”

“That’s the spirit, matey! Now buckle up…er…let me buckle you up. There we are!”

SM-33 hit the primary accelerator, checked the thrusters, shields and double-checked the flaps and then punched the big ol’ shiny silver button to catapult them into hyperspace.

“You n’ me are gonna have a grand adventure,” SM-33 said, and again that positively charged output in SM-33’s servo buzzed excitedly.

“Can hardly wait,” K-2SO mumbled. 

SM-33 weren’t no stranger to sarcasm, but he knew once K-2SO got a taste of the pirate life, he’d never look back at that Cremated World again.

[aoioozora]

I just listened to Eres Mía by Romeo Santos and I can't help but imagine Alejandro crashing your forced wedding with this boring ass man you don't even love because he's the heir of some conglomerate that would save your family from financial ruin

Priest goes as he looks at the wedding guests, "Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace."

And Alejandro just dramatically bursts through the closed doors of the chapel, shouting, "I object!"

His voice echoes in the church and your head snaps towards the door of the church, your eyes wide. Gasps are heard from the wedding guests and the entire room is whispering and looking sideways at each other. Your groom's parents are confused by the interruption while your parents are enraged that your piss poor (middle-class, really) boyfriend who they made you break up with beforehand was interrupting this very important ceremony

But Alejandro doesn't give a rats ass about them or anyone else because his eyes are on you. Your eyes are on him too, filling with tears, almost begging him to save you from this traumatizing ordeal

"I love her and she loves me!" he announced, "If any of you even care, she was forced to marry him!"

More gasps from the guests. Marriage was a union supposed to be mutual! Your groom and his family weren't aware of you being forced and they look at your parents, who are red-faced in anger at this declaration.

You throw down your bouquet and lift the skirts of your wedding dress as you run down from the altar and down the aisle to the real love of your life. He catches you and puts his arms around your waist and lifts you up while you wrap yours around his neck, pulling him into a slow, passionate kiss. Oh, it is utterly soul-satisfying to you and your dear Alejandro; how many months of pain, sorrow, and tears had followed the breakup and how relieving it was to finally kiss him again, feel his arms around your waist, and your hands in his hair, your bodies meshed together like you were soulmates.

Your groom feels a twinge as he sees the two of you kiss, for he actually really did like you. But he knew you didn't reciprocate and was hoping to win you, but all his hopes were dashed right in front of his eyes. You could care less, because your eternal happiness was at stake.

All is pin drop silent as Alejandro pulls away from the magnetic, intoxicating kiss. He raises his head and announces to the entire gathering as his arm remains tight around you, "She is mine!"

He then lifts you in his arms bridal style and runs out of the chapel, saving you from a lifetime of misery and carrying you to eternal joy.

I want to scream!!!!!!

[myhauntedsalem]

Christmas Tree Ghost Ship

From 1898 to 1912 Herman Schuenemann was the Captain of the wooden schooner Rouse Simmons.

Captain Schuenemann was considered as much a part of Chicago’s Christmas as Santa Claus because his ship was better known as the “Christmas Tree Ship.”

Every November he would set sail on Lake Michigan from Thompson with a full cargo of spruces, pines and balsams piled high.

As Schuenemann reached his destination– he would steer the Rouse Simmons down the Chicago River and up to the Clark Street Bridge were thousands of waving Chicagoans would wait in anticipation.

Once the ship had docked, people swarmed onboard to choose a Christmas tree. They cost 50 cents to a dollar.

“Chicago’s Yuletide season began when the Christmas Tree Ship arrived with evergreens lashed to her masts and rigging… Her skipper would welcome throngs of Chicagoans aboard as soon as the ship’s moorings were secure. Whole families would hurry to the dock to get the pick of the crop. Many wandered on deck to watch the Captain’s daughter, Elsie, weave pine branches into wreaths, which were also for sale.”

–Reminiscences of Phil Sanders when he was a boy.

Herman Scheuenemann and his brother August before him– from 1876-to 1898– always made sure no one left without a tree. Both brothers gave away hundreds of trees to needy families, churches and orphanages.

August was carrying a load of trees to Chicago when his ship went down in 1898 in one of Lake Michigan’s fierce November gales. His brother, Herman made another trip just two weeks later determined Chicago would have its Christmas trees that year.

Unfortunately, fourteen years later Herman would suffer the same fate.

Lake sailors as well as ocean sailors are a superstitious lot–they have to be. Generations of “old salts” pass down what a sailor needs to be aware of–this includes everything that happens on and around their ships.

Captain Schuenemann was a competent and cautious sailor but for some reason he ignored a significant number of ominous warnings in November of 1912.

He was planning to sail from Thompson, Michigan on a Friday with a large cargo of trees despite severe storm warnings. His crew was nervous for there was an obvious storm brewing and the captain wanted to start their journey on a Friday.

Sailors considered it extremely unlucky to begin a voyage on a Friday. In the 1800s the British Navy was so annoyed by this superstition they purposefully launched a new ship called HMS Friday on a Friday.

Needless to say this ship and its crew were never seen again.

Captain Charles Nelson, Herman’s partner who had been a lake captain for 50 years tried to persuade Herman to delay but he could not convince him. Herman didn’t want to take the risk of being iced into the harbor and having his ship dashed against the docks by gale-force winds.

Schuenemann then ignored several more bad omens. Just before the schooner left the harbor several sailors watched in horror as droves of rats fled the ship. This is believed to be a sign a ship is in imminent danger.

Three crew members afraid now left the Rouse Simmons forfeiting their pay. This left just 13 crewmembers on the ship. Sailing with thirteen crewmembers was considered to be as dangerous as starting a voyage on a Friday.

Ships at the time nailed a horseshoe to the side of their vessels for good luck. Just as on land it is considered bad luck if these horseshoes are hung upside down–all the luck will run out.

As the Rouse Simmons set sail, the horseshoe that was hung on its side was loosened by strong winds. It was now hanging upside down on a single nail.

Captain Schuenemann left the harbor on November 22nd and sailed right into the now infamous Big Storm of 1912.

The temperature immediately dropped from 40 degrees to below freezing. Rain turned to snow and ice, which coated the ships’ rigging, sails and spars–and the Christmas trees that were on deck.

The next day witnesses in Kewaunee, Wisconsin saw the Rouse Simmons pass by flying her distress signals. They wondered why the ship with its tattered sails did not just stop but instead sailed into a blinding snowstorm.

“The Two Rivers Life Saving Crew was informed of the ships’ distress signals and set out in search of the schooner but it was never found.”

–From an article in the Chronicle of Two Rivers

This mystery was not solved until 1971 when the wreck of the Rouse Simmons was found at the bottom of Lake Michigan.

Its wheel was missing so the experts concluded that the ships enormous cargo of Christmas trees had basically turned into ice blocks on deck, which then slid into the wheel leaving the captain unable to control the ships’ course.

One popular sailor superstition is that when a ship’s bells are heard ringing of their own accord, as in a storm, this foretells death.

In the days after the Rouse Simmons was lost several people near Two Rivers, Wisconsin reported hearing phantom bells and phantom cries in the wind.

A ghost ship has also been seen through the years. It is often spotted on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day gliding in the waters near Two Rivers. People have watched as it just vanishes into a mist.

[hepbaestus]

Happy birthday Fitpacs!!

🥳🥳🥳 Happy birthday @fitpacs 🥳🥳🥳

I wrote you a lil (I say little but it's like 2k words 🤷) something for your birthday and here that is! There's also a little note from me at the end as well!

┏━━━━ ★ ━━━━┓

Fic starts here

(under the read more)

┗━━━━ ★ ━━━━┛

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Ramón and Richarlyson sat on the cobblestone floor of the Shit Shack surrounded by the little beings that followed and whispered in their dad’s ears. It had been weird at first, to see their dads be followed by little rats and eggs with legs, but they’d gotten used to it as they spent more time with their dads. Over time they’d learned their mannerisms; how certain chitters the ratinhos made meant certain things and how, when the huevitos clasped their hands to their faces, it meant that they were giggling at something or had done something that Fit had not been made aware of yet. They had not yet mastered the art of fluent communication but they could roughly estimate what the animated creatures meant. They’d both dedicated several hours to learning the language of the beings that were essentially their siblings and if that was predominantly so that they could coordinate a prank on their dads, no one would tell.

The little beings liked to climb the children where they sat, with huevitos swinging from the tail ends of Ramón’s meathead hat, having the time of their life and the ratinhos liked to climb and snake their way up Richarlyson’s sleeve and rest on his shoulders, taking a nap before getting shoved off by a fellow ratinho. The two kids had run themselves ragged, causing mayhem together as they enjoyed their childhoods, unlike their dads had.

They had spent time with their Tio Mike, whilst their dads had gone on a date, and had managed to perfect the hissing sound that their Tio made when focusing on a project. They had been somewhat sternly told not to make it when around their dad Fit, for they did not want to be the cause of a flashback to his time in the Wastelands, by their Tio but then were granted permission to do it freely at the ranch.

A huevito with a silver Elven circlet poked Ramón’s cheek, wanting his attention, before holding her dominant hand out with her middle finger extended towards her shell as she touched what would be her chin and then chest with that finger before pointing to another huevito, as if to say something to Ramón. The child tilted his head in confusion, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he was unsure of what the huevito was trying to say. Another huevito joined the first, this huevito had a sticky note with a drawn on emoticon for a face, mimicking drawing something to Richarlyson who nodded in understanding before using his warp totem and vanishing in a flurry of purple particles.

He’d returned a few minutes later as Ramón was still trying to figure out what the first huevito had signed, with art supplies under his arms and small bags of pens and other miscellaneous art things, before laying them all out on the deck, using the brown teddy bear that rested on the ‘Emergency Cookie Fund’ chest as a paperweight. When the wind picks up a little and a piece of paper flies away into the world, not likely to be seen again, Richarlyson lays face first on the ground, as if he was falling into pieces, making the ratinhos chitter in amusement before dashing off quickly to find another makeshift paperweight.

It’d taken time and effort but they’d decorated the Shit Shack with different coloured banners, streamers and art that the ratinhos and huevitos had put up with the help of their larger egg counterparts. A huevito that had a penguin beak on a string as their identifiable accessory was driving a truck, a gift to Ramón from their Tio Phil after an offhand question on whether his dad would be a submarine or a truck, delivering different pens, paper and other such stationery to their friends across the deck, having the time of his life speeding around. Ramón and Richarlyson took to decorating the outside wall of the house with multicoloured fairy lights, using some dragon magic to get them high enough so that Fit and Pac wouldn’t hit their heads on it as they entered the door. It was an organised chaos to them, knowing what to do and where different decorative items were to go.

A couple of the ratinhos had been tasked with distracting the huevito who looked like a miniature version of what Pac had described himself as an egg, but wearing a purple hoodie with a black labrador resting in the hood, for it was their birthday and they wanted to celebrate it just like they had with the other huevitos and ratinhos. As a family. They’d been sequestered to the inside of the house, with access to both floors through small gaps in the ceiling.

The night before Ramón had stayed up later than his norm to make an obstacle course out of books on shelves, plant pots, stuffed toys and anything else that he could find, in hopes that it would distract the huevito long enough for the others to set up decorations and find some food that they could eat. It extended to the upper floor through a small gap in the ceiling that Ramón had fashioned a tiny ladder from wood chips to fit through so that the assault course could continue upstairs. There were numerous pathways and blockages that meant that the small ones were forced to take their time in finding the exit. Fit hadn’t taken notice of it as he’d received a message from Pac asking if they could go on a date exploring together, too giddy with nerves and excitement to pay attention to his surroundings outside of himself and Ramón.

It’d taken a bit of dragon magic to get the banner with large penmanship reading ‘happy b1thday!’ in various colours and mediums, all surrounded by paw and handprints from everyone who’d helped as their signatures up on the wall. Ramón and Richarlyson had also signed it, and had messaged their Tio Mike to make a quick interference with their dad’s date to get their signatures on the banner before quickly returning it and pinning it to the cobblestone exterior.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

The pair returned to the Shit Shack when the moon was high in the sky and stars shined bright, having lost count of time when in the other's presence. They’d missed their sons. Climbing the ladder, Pac noticed the decorations that had been left up.

“Fitchie! Who’s birthday- whose birthday is it today? It’s- it’s not Ramón’s or Richinhas. It’s not yours, is it Fit? Do you have two birthdays?” Pac crouched close to Fit, trying to pry out an answer from his beloved.

Fit chuckled, “no. No, I’m not the Queen. You know when my birthday is Pac,” as he looked around the platform from where his head poked up from the ladder. Pac stood tall as Fit spoke, dropping the detective voice he was using.

“Then whose birthday is it? Why here?” Pac asks openly, not looking closely at the decorations. His hands swung by his side as he walked around the deck, glossing over everything that had changed since that morning when he’d come to pick Fit up for their date.

Standing up from his spot on the top rung of the ladder, Fit’s eyes are drawn to the banner strung across the doorway of his house. It was crudely done, Fit noted, with spelling errors and misshapen lettering. But it looked like it was made with love and attention, he hoped whomever did have their birthday party at his felt that affection.

He opens the door, looks to his side of the room before looking at Ramón’s. Nothing had changed on his side so he couldn’t help but let his face soften in awe. It was the cutest sight he’d ever seen. Lifting his hand from the doorknob he quietly walks to Pac, tapping his shoulder and holding a singular finger to his lips before walking the few steps to the front door. They both walk back and into the lower room and gaze upon the sight in front of them.

There, on Ramón’s bed, was both of their sons and their miniature companions that they’d missed the nattering of as they went on their date. The ratinhos, especially, liked to mess with their blue counterpart by timing romantic songs as soon as Pac caught sight of Fit. He’d been told this not long after they’d gotten together, finally understanding Pac’s stumbling over his words when they’d been decorating the Favela’s central waystone before Christmas. It had made him laugh, for his own counterpart had not yet gained the privilege of doing that, after having too frequently demanded that he do certain things.

Their kids, the miniature counterparts included, were sleeping in a puppy pile, with huevitos strewn across their ratinho partners and vice versa. Some had climbed their kids' sleeping bodies and rested on their chests, seeking the soothing sound of their heartbeats. A couple of ratinhos and huevitos had scaled Ramón’s sniffer plushie and had rested on the green fabric of its back, basking in its fluffiness. They’d cooed at the sight, hearts warmed with love. It was a rare thing, serenity, on the island. So the sight that lay in front of them greatly moved them emotionally as they took photos. The sounds of little snores and breaths from their children could be faintly heard despite the sound of their camera shutter of their comm devices.

They stepped closer, wanting to enjoy the moment before heading to sleep themselves, when they noticed that the cuddle pile was centred around one huevito specifically. A huevito who’d clearly been wearing a paper hat with a crown drawn on it, that hat had been slightly crumpled under their body, as Pac could see. They sniffled slightly before awakening to see Fit and Pac staring at them. In shock, their head turned to both sides to see no other companion awake so they sat and stared back at the two larger beings.

“Oiii,” Pac whispers to them, not wanting to scare them out of their shell, “boa noite pequenina. Was it your birthday?” He crouches so that his height seems less intimidating, gesturing for Fit to do the same as the huevito nods once still in shock.

“Well then. I guess a happy birthday is in order. Isn’t that right, Pac?” Fit speaks, voice rumbling moderately as he crouches, knees making a clicking sound as he does. He shakes his head at the sound, sighing once before looking at his boyfriend.

“I think so. I think that would be right Fitch,” Pac answers, softly looking at his partner before turning his head back towards the huevito who was having trouble keeping their eyes open, “do you want us to sing you happy birthday?”

The huevito nods excitedly, still trying to stay upright as sleep truly begins to overtake them. The two chuckle at the sight, amused and content. It was not often that they could properly interact with their pocket-sized companions, for the hustle and bustle of the island took a large part of their focus, as did raising their children.

They start to sing, Fit’s voice in a lower register than Pac’s cheerful tone. As the song continues the huevito falls asleep, tiny hands resting underneath them as they wiggle in their spot to get into the perfect sleeping position. Halfway through the song, when the huevito is deep into the throes of sleep, Fit takes off the green, partially worn out bandana from around his neck, folds it into the size of a pocket square and gently lays it on the sleeping huevito. With a singular finger he smoothes it flat before standing back up, knees once again making a sound that shouldn’t happen at the age of 34.

Pac stands up, stretching his arms above his head as he yawns, Fit yawning shortly after, before nodding his head towards Fit’s own bed. The two sleepily stumble into bed, cuddling close on Fit’s too small mattress for them both before they follow in their companion and children’s footsteps and fall asleep.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

┏━━━━ ★ ━━━━┓

Fic ends here

┗━━━━ ★ ━━━━┛

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Hiya!

I hope your day has gone well and that you felt as appreciated on your birthday as much as we all appreciate you.

I wanted to write you something for your birthday as a way to thank you for what you've done on qsmpblr, for (as I've said many times that it may be getting repetitive) being an absolute sunshine when things weren't so great and for just being yourself. We've all appreciated it so much and I thought that I would return the favour, so here that is. I hope this piece of writing conveys that feeling of appreciation and love.

This is just a little something that I've been cooking up for you since you mentioned that your birthday was coming up (we're kinda birthday buddies, mine's next week on the 20th).

Happy birthday, once again.

From,

Hep <3

p.s. I can send you the anonymous viewing link to the google doc in our dms so that you have it there as well

[green-eyed-prophet]

muse-based dash game: do not reblog. copy & paste!

objective: show your followers you see them by tagging 10 (or more) people your muse(s) personally want to get to know better. this can be taken as an invitation to approach a mun for plot development.

filled out for: Bruno

favorite color(s): Green, brown, and other muted earthy tones. He likes colors that are easy on the eyes and don't make him stand out too much when he wears them.

what’re they wearing right now?: His signature ruana/button-up shirt and pants combo, along with his usual sandals. He tends to not really deviate much from this look, as it's what he finds most comfortable to wear and easiest to throw on in the morning.

where are they at currently?: Hanging out in his room with his rat buddies, absentmindedly doodling and jotting down some ideas for the storyline of his next telenovela script on a sheet of paper. It's kind of late, but the door is unlocked just in case one of his family members wants to pop in and visit him.

song stuck in their head: A lullaby his mother used to sing to him and his sisters when they were very young; one about... caterpillars? He doesn't exactly know why it's there, but he doesn't really mind it. He's humming the tune softly to himself as he works.

last song they listened to: Something Agustín was playing on the piano a couple of hours ago. He doesn't know the name, but it sounded nice.

3 favorite foods:

Ajiaco (Colombian chicken and potato soup). He enjoys lots of traditional soups and stews, but ajiaco is his favorite, especially when his sister Julieta cooks it.

Hormigas Culonas (Fried/roasted ants; Colombian delicacy). His favorite snack! He loves the crunchy texture.

Arepas. The entire Madrigal family loves Julieta's arepas, and Bruno is certainly no exception. Even if they didn't have healing powers, he's sure he'd still love them.

dream trip: He's not sure! He can't really imagine ever leaving the Encanto, but he does often wonder what the outside world is like. He's read about some pretty interesting places, but isn't sure if he'd actually want to try and visit them or not, given the many dangers of the outside world that he's also very much aware of.

anything your muse wants right now: Maybe a quick snack before it's time to settle into bed. ...What could it hurt? Everyone's always telling him he needs to eat more, anyway.

favorite personal headcanon: Bruno loves playing charades. It gives him a good opportunity to show off his acting skills with the added bonus of having to be completely silent, something that he's already very good at.

favorite quote of the hour: "...I feel like I missed something important."

tagged by: @houseflyy (thank you!)

tagging: Anyone who sees this and wants to do it!

[hariru]

Haywood – desire, future, hide, secret

Feffin – desire, hate, pain

Berkut – alone, failure, guilty, nightmare

Ceix – bound, hide, skin

ill put these under the cut so i dont explode the dash

haywood:

desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?: if asked outright hed say revenge. the right persons blood on his hands. more than that he just wants to feel connections again, but since theyll never feel exactly like what he once had, he wont let anyone try

future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?: he gets killed by a beast hunter for lashing out again. hes confident he wont run into one that Will, so no hes not really trying to avoid that outcome.. or really thinking about it to begin with

hide: What does your OC hide? Why do they hide it?: basically everything lol. he only lets others see him as malicious and threatening anymore.

secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?: how much of a wuss he really can be. hes really just a reactionary coward

feffin:

desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?: she does not know. she genuinely has no idea. shes hoping that will just make itself clear the more she trudges through life

hate: What does your OC hate? Why? How do they act towards the object of their hatred?: somewhat silly answer would be rodents. less silly answer is fire. theyre both linked to the conditions she was raised in as a child. her "home" was infested w rats and she was often threatened with burns for misbehaving

pain: What's the worst pain your OC has ever felt? Do they have a high pain tolerance?: assuming were talking about physical pain then as above itd be the burns inflicted on her. shes had the scars from the worst of them treated by a nen healer so she wouldnt have to remember them. her pain tolerance is still relatively high

berkut:

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?: he really doesnt let himself be alone for too long. after a period of grief where he remained by himself while mourning, he keeps someone close by or Finds someone to keep him company. if he has to be alone u better believe hes getting lost in his more unfortunate thought webs

failure: What's your OC's greatest failure? Have they been able to move past it? Does anyone else know about it?: his irrational belief that he could have saved his friend. he has confided in a few friends about it, but even their reassurances will not change his mind

guilt: What is your OC guilty about? How do they handle their guilt? Do they try to avoid guilt, or do they accept it?: kinda the same as above. its irrational but he will not let it go. he doesnt avoid or accept it, he just lets it weigh on him

nightmare: What does your OC have nightmares about? How do they deal with their nightmares? Do they tell people, or keep it to themself?: his failed hunter exam attempt and his lost friend. he doesnt tell anyone about them despite being rather open about most anything. he finds it to be a silly topic to discuss even if they do tend to affect him pretty greatly

ceix:

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?: not that he remembers. he has no sense of time and cant tell how old his memories are but for all he knows he has protected seig for his whole life

hide: What does your OC hide? Why do they hide it?: nothing! at least not purposefully. or not that he knows of lol. again his memory sucks so if he "hides" anything its really because he just forgot

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?: ceix is proud of his abilities to protect seig and doesnt desire anything else. as far as hes concerned thats all he really needs. when he fails, even if its slightly, he will be hard on himself and acknowledge his shortcomings... even if he doesnt Really have any

thank uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu meefy

[absolutely-not-my-main-blog]

Random Risk E. Rat Notes before I go scrolling my dash at last

-The gang all singing together in the opening, I am kissing them on the lips

-The timing of that opening felt off though, the pacing/timing of the whole episode felt a little off.

-Dennis vaguely mentioning the noises in there, no I am not gonna blow this out of proportion and daydream overstimulation scenarios, I'm not, I'm not (that's a lie).

-Kinda dog-coded Frank again with the water, can't wait to read the essays on that.

-I find it really interesting they decided to team up Dee and Frank once again this season, though I'm too tired to formulate thoughts on why, I just... it's interesting. There's something there... something.

-Charden kicking the wall together, they're so stupid (affectionate) <3

-You can do whatever you want, the parents not around, I wonder if Mac's parents would just like dump him there so they wouldn't have to deal with him for the day and he'd end up in that timeout room a lot because he was angry, he needed a way to let out his anger... the fake gun he wanted to get with the tickets, oh guns again this season, I've got thoughts now for another post, don't mind me, very unrelated.

-I find it interesting the different levels of awareness, how they're all still stuck in the past because it's what they always knew, but on some level can understand why things had to change, especially when confronted with something they recognize as bad that say Frank still doesn't, yet they still cling to it because that's how it's been done, tradition, legacy, they don't actually want what what was there, the punishment? the guilt? even the rat boobs, but they want to cling on to it because they fear change, because if it changed, that means it was wrong, like how it changed from Frank's day, and then they have to face that their childhood memories of this one safe haven were not all roses, so they try to force the past back into the present to prove it was better then... and things go horribly wrong, because some things are better left in the past... seen through rose coloured glasses, but what happens when they do come to the surface, when they see it in new context, just like the whole show lately slowly becoming more tragic in hindsight with each passing detail. This episode reminds me of Big Mo in a way.

-Partly on that above note, for real, Charlie and Dennis sound so unenthusiastic/uninterested in those rat boobs, like an ace and a gay man looking at them just because they think they should, they think that's how it's supposed to be.

-Mac in the feelings room saying he's angry, and he feels misunderstood, unheard, just in this instance or in general, throughout? (Unheard, as he's not supposed to speak.) Misunderstood as our perception of him and his actions this season may not be as it seems. I also find it interesting he's separated from the gang again... And he still feels the need to be punished and feel shameful... maybe he thinks he doesn't deserve that relationship with Donald or Dennis, or... idk, just... much to think about. That theme of denial... needing to deny and look back to cope. To believe his parents still loved him, feeling guilty and being punished is what kids are supposed to go through and he’s not allergic to nuts and Dennis isn’t Johnny. (Also, off topic, Mac with his lil juice box, adorable.)

-Sending Dennis to the Feelings Centre immediately btw

-"I don't 100% understand what satire means." Dee, voice of Reddit today.

-In my mind, Dennis took the ear plugs :) noise sensitive dennis real to me

[mediacrushin]

I've heard Coraline theories before, and I've been seeing videos pop up on my Youtube dash again so I'm in the mind for it.

I've seen the "the well is just another portal to the Other World and the Beldam actually won in the end cause they threw the key down" theory talked about a lot, but never someone trying to refute it, so I'm gonna touch on this super topical theory and say I disagree.

People like to make these theories to put a twist on the end of the movie and say Coraline lost actually and the Beldam won, and evil just wins. They point to several clues so let's touch on them real quick:

The Well [we'll get to this one last]

The hands covering the moon

The shape of the garden

The cat disappearing before the credits

All decent theories, not saying they're not, but I never got that vibe from the movie. Let's touch on 2-4 and I'll circle back to the well.

First, the hands covering the moon. It's pointed out that this happens after the key is tossed but Coraline should be in the real world, so it seems like either the Beldam's control reached over or it's meant to signify that she's won in some way [aka getting the key]. But the cloud hands are pulling away from the moon, which to me would signify that her control has weakened. The veil has lifted. That she's lost control and cannot reach over anymore to lure kids away. The doll was destroyed, her hand slipped through but it was crushed, even the rats aren't much of a threat really between the cat and mouse traps. This never seemed to me like "oh her reach still gets into the real world" and more that Coraline is aware now and fought back and cut her off. Second, the shape of the garden. People claim the garden goes from being shaped like Coraline's face in the other world to being shaped like the Beldam's in the real world as everyone is working to plant the flowers... but it's clearly still Coraline's face. It has more to do with what's planted in the garden to bring out the face. To me the garden at the end more symbolized Coraline putting in the work to bring out the potential of the garden and herself. The Beldam used magic and ulterior motives to make the garden into something beautiful but ultimately not genuine. Meanwhile Coraline now seeks to make the garden--as well as her life--beautiful with work and connection with the other people around her. It still looks like her, she's just slowly bringing that appearance out rather than it magically unraveling in seconds like what the Beldam did. Third will be pretty quick, the cat disappearing just before the credits. The cat is the lingering connection to prove Coraline's adventure and ultimate triumph actually happened. He has his own magic, and cutting off the Beldam and other world won't take that away. He said himself he goes where he pleases, ergo he disappears to wherever he wants whenever he wants, other world or otherwise.

Finally, the well. This well is a point of contention for a lot of people. It's got its own mythology as Wybie describes it ominously as being so deep if you fall in you can look up from the bottom and see stars even in the daytime. It's the place Coraline thinks best to ditch the key at the end to hide it from the Beldam. With this strangeness attached people seem to think it's actually another portal to the other world... but I don't think so. For one, the portal to the other world is special, it's older than the Beldam and she is in fact afraid of it. Explaining most likely why she's never tried to come over to the real world herself and instead sends minions through or lures kids to her. Having just another portal out in the woods seems to cheapen the lore of the portal behind the door to me. The main thing making me skeptical of it though, is that when the Bledam's hand arrives and grabs the key it starts dragging Coraline back towards the house. If it wanted to just get the key and Coraline back to the other world, why not just drag her into the well? It's closer and already open right there. I don't think the well is a portal, I think Coraline did actually win. I think the movie was doing the thing most harrowing stories made for children do, and confirming what children already know: that monsters are real, but also shows that they can be defeated.

[fordphilipsfictionlibrary]

Ronin, Book 01, Chapter 41

Oba had sensed something evil on the wind the morning after the storm had saved their rag-tag group of fighters. They had spent the night shoring up their defenses, and done a good job of it, but this air of danger told him that today would be a bloody one. Bears, some of them anyway, could tell something like that. Feel it in a way. Oba considered himself such a beast.

His suspicions were confirmed just as day broke and the bulk of the Hokkaido army began getting into formation. His height made him a big target, Oba was well aware of this, but it also offered him a better view of their approaching enemy. “Samurai making up the front! Hokkaido with them this time!” he called out in a booming voice. “Rats on the flanks, marten and bats in the rear! Archer lines and siege lines both under the protection of Old Guard if my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me!”

“They won’t be firing on their own today!” Zeru shouted.

As if his call had summoned them, a hail of arrows, bolts and heavy stones filled the sky, soaring over the approaching army and peppering the defenders and the gate beyond them. Oba took refuge behind a low lying building in the middle of the camp, though that wouldn’t be much help against one of those stones. The badgers were already down in the trench, bark shields absorbing arrow fire, waiting for the approaching samurai. They were vastly outnumbered and even the host of samurai and ninja lying in wait would not be able to help them turn the tide this time. Their endeavor was fast on its way to becoming a slaughter. Oba could not allow that.

Stepping back from his hiding spot, he roared up at the beasts on the wall. “We won’t be able to hold them long! You’ll have to cover our retreat!”

“We’ll do what we can!” the nearest Akita commander called down before shouting orders down the wall in both directions.

Returning back to his hiding spot, Oba waited for his moment to strike. If Hokkaido were in the main body of troops today, he truly doubted they would come under arrow fire like the day before, and since the siege weapons seemed focused on the gate, this left Oba a window. His size and strength made him a fearsome opponent in any situation, but a little shock and awe never hurt either. 

Just as the line of enemy samurai broke into a run and the badgers let out their war cries, Oba charged. Dashing around the side of the structure he had been hiding behind, he let out a roar of his own, hefting his studded club into both paws and watching the enemy before him turn white with fear even as his allies cheered him forward. The badgers made a neat hole in their line for him to pass through and Oba did not disappoint. His first two handed swing sent samurai flying and caused the beasts behind those he had just decimated to skid to a halt as they tried to avoid his follow-up. A futile effort.

Soon the badgers had rushed up to join him and for a moment, things looked good. The badgers were far stronger than most beasts, even wolves, and these badgers were as wild as any Oba had ever come across in his many travels. Their hardened bark shields and armor deflected enemy blades while their stone axes and clubs ignored samurai plate and crushed the bones beneath with ease. The ninja were behind them, given a slight height advantage by being outside the trench, and pelting the oncoming wolves with arrows, stones and darts, many dipped in poison. Oba did not like to think about the consequences of one of those beasts hitting an ally, but with so many enemies pressing forward to reach them, that would be a hard task. 

Their allied samurai, the cats and dogs somehow elected to join the rabble down here, had taken the flanks and that was where the trouble was. Rats and Hokkaido were already moving to ensure that there would be no escape from the camp. This diversion of troops was likely the only reason their enemy’s frontal assault had yet to overwhelm the defenders. Clearing some space for himself with a vicious two handed swing of his club, Oba roared, “They’re cutting off escape! We must not become trapped here! Archers!” he bellowed last, knowing his voice would carry to the wall.

“Fall back! Nice and steady!” That was Zeru’s voice, though Oba had no time to find him. The enemy could hear their plans as well as everyone else and they pressed forward like beasts who knew they had every advantage. Not taking his eyes off the wolves and dogs trying to press in around him. Oba took slow steps back, using his club and the threat of his bared teeth to keep the attackers at bay. They could rush him, they’d have to if they wanted to bring him down, but that would come at a cost no one of them would want to pay.

Knowing he needed to move more quickly, Oba waited for help from the wall. It was their only chance.

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

“Cover them!” commanders were yelling all around, but Odon could not focus on anything but reloading his sling. The enemy was everywhere, pressing in around their friends in the camp like a swarm of insects moving in on a chunk of soft bread. He could see that they were trying to retreat, but the rats were heading them off. Soon they would be pressed with their backs against the wall and, to make matters worse, the Hokkaido siege engines were up and running again and they were battering the gate relentlessly. Odon would never have thought these walls, the ones he and hundreds of other beasts had been living on for days, could fall, but each time one of the catapult-launched stones scored a direct hit on the gate or wall, he second guessed that certainty. Enemy arrows had not yet flown up to meet them, but once the camp was secured, they would start in earnest. The thought made Odon’s knees weak. Why had he volunteered for this? 

The only thing that made it any better was that Ayame and Tengo were with him. They and the ninja were on the section of wall to the left of the gate while Commander Tenachi was leading the Irotomi archers and slingers on the section to the right. The sight of the grizzled old cat, even at a distance, gave Odon some comfort. If one eyed Tenachi could stand resolute while the world fell apart, so could Odon.

“Focus on the flanks! Carve them a path out of there!” 

Odon heard the call and adjusted his tactics. The enemy was in the camp now and their allies had been split into two groups; one trying to flee to the east and one trying to flee to the west. Both were vastly outnumbered and both seemed to be losing beasts at a damning rate. Odon could see Zeru leading the westward group, his fur a deep red that made him stand out amongst the rest of his blood soaked kin, while Oba and some of the samurai commanders led the group trying to press east. The bear was holding off the camp invaders at the group’s rear single-handedly, though the allies he was defending seemed incapable of escaping the enemy before them.

The volley of arrows and stones from the wall began to change that.

The rats were poorly armored to the beast and highly susceptible to missile fire; volleys of arrows slew droves of mercenaries in the mass of beasts trying to block in their allies while well placed stones picked off more formidable fighters. Soon the beleaguered defenders were pressing forward into the voids left by allied projectiles and towards the tree line beyond. For some reason, the main body of Hokkaido did not seem intent on pursuing them. Instead, they rushed into the heart of the camp, ladders and grappling hooks in paw. With their friends still in considerable danger, the archers and slingers chose to ignore this as they guided the retreating defenders out of the melee and towards the opposing tree lines on either side of the battlefield. By the time they were safe, the enemy was already halfway up the walls in a couple dozen places.

“Get those ladders down!”

“Cut the lines!”

“If they won’t dislodge, wait until you see their eyes and send them back down!”

Odon tried to take all of this advice in as he stowed his sling in his belt and took up his naganita. The first ladder that clattered into view became his instant target. Running forward he grabbed it and tried to shove it over to the side, though he found it wouldn’t budge. “They’re holding it up from the bottom!” Tengo yelled over the din as he helped Odon push.

They managed to topple it with their combined effort, but as they did a rock struck the gate and the tremor it sent through the wall caused them both to stumble. “It’s going to come down!” Odon yelled.

“Grab onto me!” Tengo yelled back, but something else hit the wall and suddenly Odon couldn’t find his feet. Then he was sliding down a stone ramp that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Then he was falling. Falling in a newfound silence as the world disintegrated around him.

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

Ayame watched in horror as the section of wall surrounding the gate caved inward. Odon, Tengo and a host of others had all fallen with it and she could not know if they were alright or crushed beneath the heavy rubble of the gate. Hands shaking as she struggled with what to do, she felt someone grab her roughly, then slap her.

“Wake up girl!” Her father’s voice jarred her back to her senses. “They’ve taken the wall!”

Looking past her father’s yelling face, she could see wolves and rats leaping over the walls and taking the fight to the shocked and confused defenders. They just kept coming, one after the other, and they would keep coming, she realized, if no one stopped them. “I’m with you,” she said, shoving her father off of her and drawing two of her short blades. She had managed to fit twelve on her person for this, a personal best, and as the wolves and rats saw her coming, she realized she would need every one.

What she lacked in strength and reach, she made up for in agility and speed. Getting a running start, she moved quickly into the nearest group of wolves, seeking any bit of flesh she could with her blades as she danced among them, never stopping, going totally on instinct. She was not alone long and soon the ninja were introducing their brand of hand to hand combat to the wolves. On the open field of battle they might be at a severe disadvantage, but here on this narrow strip of wall, they were in their element. Soon the four wolves she had first engaged lay dead and her party, around ten strong now, moved on to the next. She was not using her poison blades, not yet, but the others were. Maybe when those climbing up saw the price of their foolishness, they would think twice about continuing. She doubted it, but she could hope.

“We’ve got them on the back paw!” her father cried from behind her.

Turning to tell him to keep his focus, she managed only to see him die. Three arrows, three among a host that had flown silently up from the camp while they tried to hold the wall, struck Otorubo in the neck and side, driving him sideways a step or two before he fell, a look of pain and confusion on his face. He was not the only one who had fallen, in fact most of her troop had, but she only had eyes for the brash squirrel that had raised her long after her mother had died. 

Rushing to his side, she fell to her knees and cradled the old squirrel in her arms. She felt hot tears running down her face and the beginnings of despair welling up in her heart. Her father had lived for the days after this, the days when they would no longer have to live like thieves in the night. Now he would never see them. He would never even know if they’d won. She could see the newest batch of wolves and rats leaping over the now sparsely defended battlements, but she did not care. What was she fighting for if not this poor old beast lying dead in her arms?

Kneeling there with her face buried in his neck, she ignored the approaching samurai and accepted that this was where her line ended. She only looked up when she felt something fly over her head. What she saw made her heart leap and sink in equal measure.

“Back away wolf-beasts!” Goro screamed as he landed heavily on the wall, becoming an instant target for the archers below. Rising up to his full height he marched forward, buffeting enemies from the walls with each beat of his wings. “Goro is king of the sea! Goro is the death-bringer! Flee fur-beasts! Flee!” Ayame watched in a mixture of awe and horror as one of the rats charged forward, spear in hand to skewer the bird. Goro put his beak straight through the rat's chest, ignoring the spear as it cut deeply into his cheek. The raptor was crazed now. He could not survive this, but he would never retreat.

“Damn you Goro!” she shouted, leaving her father to chase after the bird. Arrows were searching for her now too, but she did not care. Leaping up onto his back, the saddle was gone of course, she grabbed pawfuls of his thick feathers. Screaming into the side of his head where she assumed his ear must be, she said, “Get me out of here you crazy bastard! I don’t care if you want to die! I do not! And our friends will need us yet!”

Goro seemed torn as he slowed his march, still unperturbed by the arrows flying at him from the camp. Plenty had struck true, but Goro was a huge beast and most of these archers were rats. Still, it would only be a matter of time before a Hokkaido longbow ended things for good. “I will be back for you fur-beasts!” Goro shrieked in a fury as he wheeled away from the retreating enemy and leapt from the walls, this time into the Akita stronghold.

Ayame held tight to the bird as he dove low and then began his climb higher and higher, past the Akita stronghold and into the sky beyond. “Are you hurt!?” she shouted.

“Goro is well!” Goro yelled back over the wind. “Goro will leave you on mountain and return to killing! Many weaklings down there to dispatch! Goro will show all who is king and who is coward!”

“No!’ Ayame yelled. She had lost enough friends and family today and she would not lose the bird too. “We need to keep an eye on things! Like I said, our friends will need us again! From up here we can know exactly where!”

“I do not like to wait once my beak has been wet!” Goro yelled and he seemed angry. He had certainly not stopped climbing. If he did decide to abandon her and return to the fight, she would hardly be able to stop him. “But I will listen! We will avenge our friends! We will bide our time! Kings can be clever too! Brave, yes, but clever too!”

Relaxing as much as one could in her current predicament, she gathered her thoughts and then told the bird her plan.

(Chapter 42)

[1111um]

tftb insane moments copypasted from my notes app no filters no editing but under a readmore bcs i care abt your dash experience

​handsome jack rhys parallels. and what hit the hardest for me wasn't a bunch of hyperion employees dying (come on! they're hyperion employees! jack killing them isn't even really an issue for me like he was wrong for a lot of things like the daughter torment nexus and destroying pandora but killing hyperion employees is literally okay) but rather that both jack and rhys set out to build a bond with the other fully aware they were going to betray that bond at the most advantageous opportunity

​Sasha "anything would look beautiful from this far" "i wish i could choose where to go" "pandora doesn't feel like home" but also "pandora seems so much safer compared to hyperion"

​rhys choosing to keep the implant with handsome jack's ai. it's so good. i played a rhys who was less concerned with the human suffering jack had caused and more that he had failed. he'd adored jack while he was alive and successful, but his death proved him unworthy of hyperion and eventually hyperion's slavish devotion to jack proved that it was obsolete. but in the last moments he had with jack he couldn't not feel sorry for him, wish jack had stayed alive…

​jack kneeling and spilling his heart (in order to create an opportunity to attack rhys) (which is so rhys core. the rhysification of handsome jack)

​scooter dying for a fiona whose relationship to him is stringing him along but he fell in love with the parts of her con that were her real self

​rhys just. genuinely being physically inept. so much so his role in the final battle is motivational speaker.

​fiona felix parallels? much like scooter fell in love with the true parts of herself fiona incorporated into her con, sasha but especially fiona loved felix for his sincere love for them, but conning people requires a reflexive ruthlessness&/desperation that's also the real them - the characters it enables them to play aren't, but the mentality is. and also i'm fairly certain it's said verbatim that fiona was felix' favorite because she was very much like him. like i don't think fiona would have anywhere near as complex a relationship with august even were she the one to fake-date him, and i think the fact that she wasn't is significant. though i kinda trundled that entire plotline by telling august to fuck off any chance i got, so the fact that he still chose to help in the end was a big surprise

​rhys and yvette's thing. rhys betrays vasquez. yvette betrays rhys. but rhys' betrayal gains him valuable allies, atlas and ultimately a vault. meanwhile yvette's betrayal gets her killed… after rhys betrays handsome jack and by proxy everyone on hyperion (killing someone is a pretty big betrayal I'd say). so why does rhys get to profit endlessly from being a backstabbing rat, and not yvette? she chose the wrong people to betray. yvette should be recruitable for the final showdown & be able to take Vaughn's place if you choose not to forgive him for his betrayal.

rhys' calm when he removed his eye and limb. firstly just for the eroguro factor of it all (it's not eroticized in the game i am just a sicko 🖤). secondly, while appearing out of character on the surface, since previous scenes establish rhys as a bit of a pissbaby about pain, it ties into how hyperion's corporate culture has shaped rhys as a character. the fingerguns scene demonstrates what i mean the best: it's stupid and silly enough that you don't feel the need to take it seriously, but if you fail too many qtes the "dorks" pull out real guns and execute you firing squad style. so the sillier and more loser-like aspects to rhys' character is in fact a response to living in a culture where the threat of getting murdered is background noise and being able to maintain the image that you aren't phased by it while not losing your vigilance is crucial.

[danadiadea]

Muggle born or raised students who have no previous expierience with potions are doing okay, pretty stupid Crabbe and Goyle are doing okay, but Neville had managed to melt the cauldron, hurt himself and ruin his classmates' shoes. All in all, I don't think it's ever mentioned that anyone else but Neville melted the cauldron or blew something up in Potions (except for Goyle's Swelling Solution, which was an artificial blow up. And Goyle's potion was done correctly – it made body parts swell indeed. I don't think that correctly made potion to cure boils was supposed to burn through shoes.... What if Neville blows up something that can burn through bones?).

I headcanon that it was the second time Snape got an accident in his first lesson with that simple potion – the previous one was in his very first year of teaching, at 21, and it must've been very panic inducing. With James Potter's doppelganger in class – of course Severus freaked out. And he insults Neville (not unseen in Hogwarts generally, Hagrid calls Draco an idiot too and no-one cares), but he doesn't punish him and sends him to the hospital wing with his classmate – clearly he wasn't initially prejudiced to Neville the way he was to Harry.

Neville is generally very forgetful and messy everywhere, not only in Potions, I am pretty sure he has some kind of neurodivergency; and Severus is emotionally volatile and we know he reacts irrationally to physical danger sometimes (like when he literally leaves Harry with his most private memories alone, even though he doesn't have a high opinion on Harry's morals, because they've found a missing student who probably needs medical help). This is not a good mix. And then with time it just escalated – Neville became afraid of Severus and was doing even worse because of that (but we know he wasn't really doing good in other subjects except Herbology of course, so his failures weren't just because of Snape's presence; also on the first lesson he still messes up even though Snape did nothing to him), and Severus was growing more frustrated with every melted cauldron, probably thinking that Neville just doesn't want to put any effort in and doesn't listen on purpose ("Didn’t you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn’t I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice?" – so it seems Neville's issue was just putting incorrect amount of ingredients/missing steps/etc. From the point of someone who probably isn't aware of neurodivergencies existing, that does look like pure lack of effort!)

And remember, Severus had no pedagogical education and was unaware of all the concepts necessary to become a muggle teacher. Snape had known Neville exelled in Herbology – how a clearly intelligent and capable in a related subject student might be unable to just follow the recepie, when literally everyone else can? Why would someone sorted into Gryffindor, a House known for it's bravery, the son of two Aurors, be afraid of him? Maybe Longbottom just needs more pressure to succed – Severus himself academically succeeded under pressure, why would he think it's a bad method? Maybe he just needs to take the subject seriously and stop being so distracted – because it's not universal knowlege that being distracted is not always a choice, especially in Hogwarts I bet. The methods Snape uses would probably work on someone with a different personality type – more "typically" Gryffindor, even like Harry: "Determined not to give Snape an excuse to fail him this lesson, Harry read and reread every line of the instructions on the blackboard at least three times before acting on them". Snape previously scolding Harry harshly for his failed Draught of Peace actually made him concentrate! And Neville didn't have breakdowns after potions or any other traumatic reactions – he just grew nervous next to Snape, this is not an outrageous thing to feel in a presence of a demanding teacher.

I feel bad for both of them, to be honest. And to have James Potter's son in class together with that exceptionally untalented in Potions boy? Damn.

So ehm, I was looking for something in PS and

Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus’s cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people’s shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs. “Idiot boy!” snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?” Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose. “Take him up to the hospital wing,” Snape spat at Seamus.

..... first lesson. First ever lesson and Neville seems to be the most dangerous student ever? Like I can't imagine Snape making them brew the most complicated potion ever for their first try?

Of course there's some 'funny' element to it, but if we see this from Snape's perspective, that's a horrible first impression. Like legendary-bad-student material. Cursed even. The kind that will manage to make anything explode or boil over or destroy the equipment and injure himself and others.

MAYBE it was just bad luck and then it became a self-fulfilling prophecy, like, Neville expects to fail, Snape expects him to fail and then he does. But Neville seems to genuinely lack skills in potion-making and I can't blame Snape for getting nervous/impatient/annoyed with him. Sorry. That's a huge stress to teach someone like that, even just safety-wise.

[viciouslyfilthy]

Joy and Prosperity.

((What started off as a small dash comm. ic as Sün turned into a whole ass mini OC interaction djdjd enjoy some new year angst (?) Writing with everyone's favourite old man group !! Happy New Year 🐀🐀))

•

•

"It's my... hmm.. what a human would call birthday~ and I've been away far too long from my beloved, loyal guardians and defenders of my flock~" the Summer spirit cheerfully declared as he stomped into view.

The gang's all here! The other six sins sat by a long table, within what seemed to be a cave-like structure; it's 'walls' were littered with human skulls and overall remains, barely lit by torches some of Sün's cult members had set up.

Claude shifted nervously in his seat: they were deep within the Catacombs of Paris. He hated this place. It reeked of death and dread.

"Bring me a glass of water! Immédiatement! (Immediately!)" The aristocrat demanded as he looked over from his seat to where some members of the flock were located, hooded figures hidden within a tunnel entrance, watching from afar curiously.

"With all due respect, My Lord, if we want to get specific- this date of the year would be according to the Gregorian Calendar." Freddy spoke up, his emerald green eyes watching as a sheepish, hooded follower brought Claude his requested drink- which he pompously snatched away from the person's gentle grasp, causing them to flinch and quickly retreating back to where they belonged. Far from the table.

The personification of Wrath continued, "There are many, many different calendars depending on time periods, cultures- old and recent... that mark different dates of when the 'world' would have 'started', in a way. You understand." He said, before Eden quickly chipped in:

"Y-yes! He's right!"

"And even with our oldest recorded calendar... the mesolithic arrangement, dating all the way to back 8 thousand years Before Christ, as you'll know-" Freddy paused again, expecting Eden to continue- to which he wasted no time:

"The exact timing, date of the very 'beginning' of our life, more importantly- yours... fro-..from the moment you begun to breathe o-on this planet... to when you actually became self-aware and concious as an entity... remains to be unclear and unknown, eh.." the priest trailed off, resting both of his bony old hands over his belly, shyly smiling. Happy to share information alongside his best friend.

"Yes?" Sün simply asked, leaning over the table as two of his claws tapped on it's wooden surface.

The rat-priest awkwardly had a staring match with the deity, growing uncertain if he was meant to reply...

"Are you both quite done with your history lesson?" Sün asked once he was met with silence, his tone condescending. The air tensed up a little with this response.

"I've said this before, and I'll say it again: I do not care for date accuracies. What matters is the planet having successfully spun around, completing the three-hundred-sixty-five solar days. Another year... not in celebration of my birth, you fools. My aging is not as limited as a human or an animal, to be celebrated; another year in celebratrion of the very planet WE LIVE ON!" Sün suddenly screamed, his tone abruptly going from calm and collected- to absolute fury as he slammed a clenched, clawed fist down on the table and causing it to shake.

This caught off guard many of the sins- Claude choked on his drink, causing it to spill over his chest a little; Rotgut and Eden flinched back in their seat; Jeremiah simply lifted his head up from his palm and his gaze finally focusing on the angered God, and Willy practically fell out of his chair with a yelp and cowered in fear, pathetically hiding behind Eden's chair, shakingly clutching at his clothing.

Freddy was the only one that remained perfectly still and unphased by Sün's reaction, although he begun to sweat as he nervously looked down at his hands, worrying for his friend's safety.

Silence. Some cult members could be heard whispering amongst themselves.

"I keep this beauty alive. My heart makes it thrive with life. I want what my essence keeps alive to be cared for and praised. And I myself want to be given the respect and acknowledgement I deserve." He rambled as his heavy footsteps echoed, he circled around the table, observing each and every one of the sins.

Willy scrambled underneath the table, fearfully hugging Eden's legs as Sün's walking pace slowed as he approached the rat-priest, until he fully stopped right behind him. Eden didn't dare turn around, he was shaking with dread and fear. His rats within him squirmed and anxiously gnawed on his bones.

"And what do I get instead?" Sün asked condescendingly as a clawed, dark hand gently wrapped around the old priest's neck, "Disappointment. With useless information I have lived through." His warm grip quickly intensifying in heat and tightening around him. The poor man could feel his rats, his precious babies, squeak in fear and worming around his insides in an attempt to get away from the heat.

They would burst out of him. They didn't want to, but they would dig their way out in an instinctive attempt to escape the rising heat, just like that one old torture method...

Freddy's hands clutched together with anxiety, though he kept an emotionless face; Rotgut seemed to want to say something, but he felt... cowardice, he felt his words would hold no value even if he tried, Sün would just brush him aside, no...?

Finally, as if by miracle, liquid getting splashed on the cruel deity's hand caught his (and Eden's) attention; the heat quickly vanished and his grip softened.

Claude held his empty glass before the both of them, it dripped some droplets of water still; he was standing up from his chair.

"Suffit. (Enough.) " He mused, his tone flat and slightly bothered- as if he was watching some high school drama and was annoyed by it.

"Indeed. I think that would be enough for all of us." Freddy chimed in, suddenly grabbing the God's wretched hand and tearing it from his friend's neck with force as he, too, stood up from his chair. Now he did have an expression on his face: frustration, anger.

Eden gulped heavily, his rats still tense but slightly more relaxed; he stumbled his way up, avoiding Sün like the plague as he speed-walked to the other side of the table with Willy in tow, the wild fox-man absolutely terrified still- he couldn't even choke up one word, only heavy breathing.

"Unless you wish to start your new year by starting petty fights in front of your flock, when we're all supposed to bask in your glory, hm?" The scientist added, now using that same condescending tone.

"Wouldn't that be hypocritcal and embarassing, My Lord?" He practically hissed that title between gritted teeth as he stared daggers into Sün's glowing pupils, the ponytail holder beginning to make a sizzling sound before breaking and freeing the man's milky-white locks; his mane growing warm as the tips of his hair became almost flame-like.

"Drama de ano novo... de novo. Exatamente o que eu desejava. (new year drama... again. Just what I wished for.)" Jeremiah mumbled to himself quietly in a sarcastic tone as he rubbed his eyes with two fingers, tired of this already.

"... very well." Sün replied, his collected tone 'miraculously' returning- although he tore his hand away from Freddy's grip.

They both continued to silently stare at eachother for a moment, as if they were intensely fighting only with eachother's gaze. And just like that they parted ways, Freddy going over to be by his friend's side.

"I suppose it would be more of a waste of my valuable time..." the deity continued,

"Such a little thing such as a rat wouldn't be worth the punishment during such an important but short event... even if the year date of our universe never changes...ah, the 'canon', as the modern term puts it." Sün chuckled lightly at pronouncing that 'modern' word.

[primedspecimen]

“What if y’always just break the rules?”

[astaroth1357]

The MC Meeting the Brothers' (+Dia & Barbs) Cults

So like. Imagine the Brother's Fanclubs + Witchy Requests. That's this.

Contents: Satanic themes, demon stuff, witchy inspirations

~♡♡♡~

Lucifer

Lucifer's cults take this shit SERIOUSLY. They're not just fooling around with the occult, they live and breathe it.

I'm talking dark robes, goats heads, bonfires, animal blood, ritual dances- You know. The works.

Definitely the sort of occultists who gatekeep other occultists. They want the world to think of THEM, the followers of the mighty Lucifer, as THE quintessential demonic cult to model all others after. He (and by that they mean they) deserves no less.

Oh yes, they are a very prideful and obnoxious bunch... Completely void of self-awareness too. Try to point out how arrogant they're being and they'll call you crazy.

Lucifer openly despises most of them and possesses a quiet distain for the rest. He doesn't think they're nearly as competent and useful as they claim to be and would rather they simply butt out of his affairs.

He doesn't visit them much nor allow them to summon him unless it is a world-ending emergency (so never). A former past leader thought he was beyond those rules and paid for his hubris with his spine...

Lucifer will do all in his power to convince MC that his cult isn't even worth visiting. They'll annoy them to death... And even if they do go, the self-absorbed members won't exactly roll out the red carpet.

Just take down any names of the most irritating ones and Lucifer will take care of it. The dungeon rats could use some company.

Mammon

Mammon's cult kind of feels like a mix between a tech startup and Gambler's Anonymous at times. Money is the goal, babes. Everybody there is some kind of slave to the grind and they hustle like the goddamn NFL.

Funny enough, it usually isn't the already rich and successful who find themselves in Mammon's orbit, but those who are close to, if not in, poverty and looking to turn things around.... in less than stellar ways.

What I'm saying is, most are either casino regulars, scam artists, or buy into crypto.

That said, unlike most of his brothers, Mammon actually has a pretty deep soft spot for his followers. He puts on the "callous demon" act when he's brought out, but generally, he never cruel to them. He may even throw in an extra bit of help for free if he sees someone is struggling.

When they first met the MC, they really went out of their way to be sure MC was safe, pampered, and satisfied. This was Mammon's favorite human, after all! He talks about them constantly...

It's pretty humorous because most of them already know what kind of food MC likes, what their sense of style is, their favorite colors, and the like from just listening to Mammon's rambles. Or because he'll send one of them to fetch him some kind of present when he's visiting.

Admittedly, they're all kinda scummy and insufferable at times. But endearing in the same way Mammon can be so hanging out with them can still be a good time. MC just have to keep an eye on their wallet.

Leviathan

Levi's cult feels like a bunch of teens who read a creepypasta once, tested it out as a joke but found out it was all real. Thankfully, instead of being horrified, they were actually psyched!

They kind of take to devil worship with a DnD-like enthusiasm. They all have code names like, "Grimshadow" or "Evergloom," each owns a black cloak that they MUST wear to all meetings, and they all have incredibly embellished and extensive backstories for their "darkside" personas. Levi is very proud of their commitment to it all.

That being said, they do take to their found family, counterculture thing with a good dash of humor. They once all attended their local aquarium in full robes and linked hands around the jellyfish tank for shits and giggles.

Levi's followers rarely summon him, but he stays in regular contact with the group through chatrooms and messengers. They love to report on the fun "campaigns" they're building on or when they pull some kind of silly stunt to scare the normies.

When MC visits them, they've long since built up this prince/ss persona for them and treat them like the defacto second-in-command. (Partially because they know Levi would flip out if they upset MC in any way).

If MC enjoys a bit of LARPing, they're the most dedicated group they'll ever find! If they're not willing to play act royalty for a few hours...? Steer clear.

Satan

Satan has a ton of cults so they come in all shapes, sizes, and flavors. MC will certainly find one for them!

... The catch is that very few of them actually have a good idea of who Satan really is. It's pretty common to mistake him for Lucifer still, to the point that some cults use their names interchangeably, and THOSE cults better not try contact him personally.

If MC manages to uncover more updated following of Satan's, they'll feel like they walked into a "National Treasure"-style bookclub. These guys are looking for the secrets of the universe, never mind anything else.

Meeting with Satan's inner circle usually feature the search, collection, curation of old esoteric tomes or lost artifacts from the distant realms. The majority of the participants are scholars, academics, and the odd cooky conspiracy theorist who just happened to be right.

Also. Cats. Soooo many cats... The cultists are VERY aware of Satan's volatile temper, so they take pains to keep as many cats present as they can whenever they summon him. Their meeting house is just full of them...

Satan's cult gives MC the real VIP treatment because NO ONE wants to the one to tell the Avatar of Wrath that they disrespected his loved one... If MC were walking barefoot, they'd be laying pillows beneath their every step. The only things treated better are the clubhouse cats.

Asmodeus

Asmo's cult is basically one big family. Very enmeshed and a lot of history, but also soooo fascinating to be around.

If MC wanted to keep track of every person in Asmo's following, they would have to make a chart that could expand the length of an entire wall and, in some cases, go back generations if not centuries.

Followers of Asmo have historically ranged everywhere from sex workers to concubines and even members of the aristocracy looking increase their social capital. Being under his cult provided protection and refuge for the most derided of society, no matter orientation or background. A good portion of his modern following are actually members who've been grandfatherd in from parents or siblings who have joined.

And, of course, Asmo maintains a very close and personal relationship with almost all of them. He's always invited to attend baby showers, weddings, graduations, birthdays, what have you and he makes it to a good deal of them, even if only for a few minutes.

Because of its sheer size and unorthodox structure, Asmo's following almost seems like a "cult" in the loosest sense. They have rituals, spells, and meetings but it all looks SO much different than the others. Get-togthers among the adults are practically just parties and maybe you summon some succubi with goat's blood and glitter glue.

Asmo's cult can be kinda catty, but generally very supportive and they LOVE having MC around. Big gossips with a lot of questions. If they love a party, then they can't go wrong!

Beelzebub

Beel's cult takes self-indulgence to a whole new level. These guys LOVE their vices and find a little demonic touch is the best way to keep the indulgence going.

Belphegor

It's amazing that for such a sweet demon, his cult is some of the scummiest people on the planet. We're talking riding yachts on your mega-yacht levels of excess. "Too much of a good thing" taken to the extreme.

The thing is, as long as you have the money to feed Beel then he's really agreeable and kind. So wealthy assholes take advantage of his generosity all the time...

That said, don't feel too bad for Beel just yet because they ARE scumbags, but Beel is in charge and he has his limits.

One old billionaire kept summoning him during his fangol matches. The guy's maids found his nightrobe ripped to shreds and bite marks in the furniture.

Another one made a passing insult about Mammon and Beel came home to give his brother the lady's jewelry... after he washed them off, of course.

He discourages MC from meeting them even harder than Lucifer, and if they insist, he'll go with them and loom over their shoulder like a round-the-clock bodyguard. He doesn't need to tell his followers to treat MC nicely... he'll make them.

Absolutely those edgy kids who dress in all black and SAY that yeah, they've totally met Belphegor. But they really haven't, and it shows.

Remember, Belphie is on the blacklist so most witches who say they've met him are fucking liars. However, that doesn't stop novice covens searching for a little respect from claiming they're in good with the guy.

Since the group doesn't really know what Belphegor is about, they most just use their little club as an excuse to grief others and claim undue superiority. They pull a lot of pranks though, so they at least have some parts right.

Belphie has a vague awareness of their existence, but couldn't be bothered to contact them or set the record straight. What's it matter to him if a bunch of humans want to make a fool of themselves? He doesn't care that much about his reputation.

If MC were actually summon Belphegor themselves in front of them, the entire group would shit their pants immediately then cry and beg for forgiveness. Again, Belphie doesn't care, but he likes toying with fools so he'd play the part of the "Angry Master" long enough to make them run for their lives.

Needless to say, if MC wants there to be no Belphie-cult, no more Belphie cult there will be.

Diavolo

Actually a very small group since it's not super widespread that the Demon King is out of commission. But those who are there are a real who's-who of the witching world.

Dia doesn't actually interact with his cult very much, despite their combined influence, because he finds them very off-putting. Most of them are just "yes men" or social climbers wanting to get in good with royal bloodline, so he doesn't put much stock in what they do or say.

If he does contact them, it's for his "Bring Harmony" plans and they do come in handy as envoys in the human realm. He keeps the interactions brief though.

Several of his number have attempted to get into contact with MC before, but Solomon usually wards them off for much the same reason Dia does. They all just want something from them, so why let them bother his sweet little apprentice?

Those who slip through the cracks get shut down immediately by an impromptu visit from the friendly neighborhood sorcerer who seems to have some of charm in place for just such occasion. It's pretty confusing for MC to watch Solomon drag some big politican out of the house by the scruff of the neck, but it's probably better that they just don't ask and move on.

Barbatos

An even smaller group than Dia's and even more secretive. You basically have to be invited in by Barb's himself so a new member gets added every half century or so...

Nobody is quite sure what spurs Barbs to select someone into his cult... Maybe they make a good first impression when summoning him or he sees that they're important for the future? Sometimes, he'll even induct complete normal humans who weren't even witches to start with so it's anybody's guess.

Due to its small size and, frankly, years of even centuries worth of distance between members there's a lot less meetings and more just doing what Barbs says.

For instance, he may instruct a member to bury a particular message on a hill to then tell a different member to go find 60 years later... Or he'll have another member set into motion a chain of events that won't actually be felt for decades to come.

The cult members don't know about MC unless Barbs NEEDS them to know about MC. He keeps a lot in the dark. If they do, he takes pains to stress that he admires MC quite a bit and to not upset them...

When Barbatos tells you not to do something, you don't fucking do it, so they are VERY kind to MC. Just in that "I feel like there's a gun to my head"- kind of way...