#what kind of weave is plot armor

[theetherealbloom]

TAKE ME DOWN TO LIFT ME HIGH

Summary: In the grand city of Rome, you, a senator's daughter, are entangled in a world far removed from your aristocratic upbringing. Your chance encounter with General Marcus Acacius, a renowned gladiator and war hero, changes your life forever.

Paring: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, AU, PWP, Some Plot and more smut, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, Fingering, PIV, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, Canon Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism (it’s ancient rome, babe), Sneaking Around, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, Boobs,

Word Count: 6k

A/N: The amount of research I had to do for this was insane. I was more obsessed with Greek Mythology than Roman so I needed a refresher. Hehe, there’s not a lotttt of drama, but it leans more into the smut side and just cheesy over all plot lol and a little fun ceremony in the end. Everyone say thank you to @wheresarizona for listening to me go feral over Marcus. Go send her some love cause she deserves it :>

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

Song: Selene by NIKI

| Main Masterlist |

The return of General Marcus Acacius was an event of grand opulence. The streets of Rome were alive with screams and celebrations as he rode his golden chariot, smiling and waving at the throngs of admirers. It was as if the bloodshed and death that marked his victory were distant echoes, easily forgotten by the jubilant crowd.

"Long live General Marcus!" someone shouted.

"A true hero of Rome!" another voice rang out.

You weren't supposed to be in the crowd. Your place was at home, learning household chores such as cooking, cleaning, and weaving—the essential skills expected of a Roman matron. Yet, here you were, hidden beneath a hood, blending with the common folk as you watched the celebrated general parade down the street.

As the parade came to an end, you discreetly followed behind the procession, your eyes fixed on General Marcus Acacius. He was dressed in white and glittering gold, a stark contrast to his usual attire of blood-stained armor and weapons. Even though he was smiling and waving at the crowds, you could see the disdain in his eyes for such a grandiose display.

You had heard stories about him, rumors whispered amongst the noble families of Rome. They spoke of his ruthless acts on the battlefield, of his unwavering loyalty to Rome, and of his preferences. Yet here he was, parading through the streets in all his glory, hailed as a hero by everyone.

You couldn't help but feel drawn to him despite everything you had heard. There was something about him that intrigued you, something that made your heart race and your cheeks flush.

Your mind was filled with thoughts of General Marcus Acacius, wondering what kind of man he truly was beyond his reputation as a war hero.

As you stood there, trying to remain inconspicuous, your eyes met his. The connection was electric, almost as if the gods themselves had intervened. Marcus’s gaze was so intense that it seemed to pierce through the crowd and find you alone. He noted every feature of your face, his expression betraying a hint of fascination.

You felt your cheeks flush with heat and quickly looked away, breaking the eye contact. Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned and began to scurry home, the thrill of the encounter leaving you breathless.

Your pulse raced as you made your way through the bustling streets of Rome, trying to push aside the image of General Marcus Acacius's piercing gaze. You couldn't understand why you were so affected by a man you barely knew, but there was something about him that drew you in.

You managed to sneak back into your room, just barely slipping past the household guards. Being the daughter of a senator afforded you certain privileges, including an education that many girls your age could only dream of. Your studies typically included reading, writing, and arithmetic, equipping you with the skills necessary to manage a household and participate in society. You were also taught music, dancing, and literature, for understanding and appreciating poetry was considered a virtue for a Roman woman.

As you settled in your room, the memory of Marcus’s gaze lingered in your mind. The image of his rugged face, scarred from countless battles, and his piercing eyes was etched into your thoughts. There was something about him that was both terrifying and captivating.

A soft knock on your door interrupted your reverie. It was your handmaid, Lydia, her expression curious.

"Where have you been?" she asked, her voice low but firm.

You hesitated, then sighed. "I went to see the procession."

Lydia’s eyes widened. "The general’s return? You could have been caught!"

"I know," you admitted, "but I had to see him."

"Why? What could be so important?"

You bit your lip, unsure how to explain the inexplicable pull you felt towards the gladiator general. "I don't know, Lydia. It's just... when our eyes met, it felt like something changed."

Lydia shook her head, her expression a mix of worry and understanding. "You must be careful. The world outside is not as forgiving as the walls of this villa."

The days following the procession were filled with a whirlwind of emotions. You couldn't shake the image of Marcus from your mind. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his intense gaze, felt the inexplicable connection that had sparked between you.

The grand villa of your father was abuzz with preparations for the evening’s banquet. Slaves hurried to and fro, setting tables with fine silverware and arranging elaborate floral displays. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the delicate fragrance of flowers.

Tonight, your father, a respected senator, was hosting a dinner in honor of General Marcus Acacius. The entire house was a flurry of activity, with guests arriving in their finest attire, their laughter and chatter filling the atrium. You stood near the entrance, feeling the weight of your responsibilities as the senator’s daughter.

Your mother approached, adjusting the drape of your stola with a critical eye. “Remember, you must be on your best behavior tonight. This banquet is crucial for your father’s alliances.”

You nodded, though your mind was elsewhere. Ever since you had seen Marcus in the parade, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The memory of his piercing gaze had haunted you, and now he was here, in your home.

"Come," your father said, his hand on your back guiding you through the crowd. "I want you to meet someone."

You followed, your heart pounding in anticipation. As you approached, you saw him standing there, taller and more imposing than anyone else in the room. Marcus Acacius, the hero of Rome, the man who had invaded your thoughts and dreams.

"General Acacius," your father began, his voice carrying the weight of his status, "allow me to introduce my daughter."

Marcus turned, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. He bowed slightly, a gesture of respect, but his gaze remained unwavering. "My lady," he said, his voice like velvet, "it is an honor."

General Marcus was the most strikingly handsome man you had ever seen. His chiseled features were framed by dark brown eyes beneath thick, black eyebrows. His long, aquiline nose and firm mouth, accentuated by a sensuously full lower lip, completed the picture of rugged masculinity. He stood tall, towering over most men, with a lean, muscular body and broad, powerful shoulders.

His hair, a captivating mix of salt and pepper, was cut short and fell in loose curls around his head, with distinguished grey patches in his beard that added to his allure.

"The honor is mine, General," you replied, your voice trembling despite your efforts to stay composed.

"Please, call me Marcus," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "We are, after all, in more intimate surroundings."

Your father chuckled, clearly pleased with Marcus's easy charm. "I will leave you two to get acquainted," he said, patting Marcus on the shoulder before moving away to mingle with other guests.

The moment your father left, the air between you and Marcus seemed to crackle with electricity. He took a step closer, the heat of his body radiating towards you. "I must confess," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, "I have been looking forward to this moment."

You swallowed hard, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. "As have I," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Marcus's eyes darkened with desire, and he reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against your arm. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your knees weaken. "You are even more captivating up close," he said, his voice husky. "I find myself drawn to you, like a moth to a flame."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his hand slid up your arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you feel it too?" he whispered.

You nodded, unable to form a coherent response. The intensity of his presence was overwhelming, his scent, his warmth, the sheer power of his focus on you.

As Marcus's hand continued to caress your arm, you felt your heart race with a mixture of excitement and nerves. You had never been this close to him before, and the realization that he was interested in you sent a wave of exhilaration through your body.

His lips brushed against your earlobe, making you shiver. "I want to know everything about you," he murmured, his voice sending sparks down your spine. "Your hopes, your dreams, what makes you laugh and what makes you cry out for mercy."

You turned towards him, meeting his intense gaze. "I want to know about you too," you said, feeling bold in his presence.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned closer. "There is not much to tell," he said modestly, though the way his eyes roamed over your face suggested otherwise. "Just a soldier who has dedicated his life to serving Rome."

But there was something more behind those words, something hidden beneath the mask of duty and honor. You could sense it in the way he held himself, in the intensity of his gaze.

"I don't believe that," you said firmly. "There is so much more to a person than their profession."

Marcus's smile widened into a grin as he took another step closer to you. "You are wise beyond your years," he said appreciatively.

The room around you seemed to fade away as you became lost in each other's gaze. It was as if there was no one else in the world but the two of you.

Suddenly, a loud noise broke through the moment – someone had knocked over a vase nearby. The sound jolted both of you back to reality and Marcus stepped back slightly.

"I should go check on that," he said regretfully.

Marcus's lips lingered on your skin for a moment longer before pulling away to look into your eyes. "I promise, we will continue this conversation another time," he said softly.

You nodded, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. You couldn't wait to spend more time with him and get to know him better.

As Marcus turned to leave, you couldn't help but watch him walk away, his confident stride and broad shoulders filling you with a sense of admiration. You sighed dreamily and turned back to the feast, only to be greeted by your handmaids with teasing grins.

"What was that all about?" one of them asked, wiggling their eyebrows suggestively.

You feel your cheeks heat up, trying to hide your excitement. "Nothing," you said coyly. "Just a conversation."

As the guests were seated in the triclinium, the air was filled with the sounds of conversation and the clinking of goblets. You found yourself seated across from Marcus, who looked imposing in his formal attire. His presence commanded the room, yet his eyes frequently strayed to you, a subtle intensity in his gaze.

The evening progressed with toasts to Marcus’s victories and speeches praising his valor. You tried to focus on the conversations around you, but your mind kept drifting to the man across the table. Finally, you could bear it no longer. Under the pretense of needing fresh air, you excused yourself and slipped out into the garden.

The cool night air was a welcome relief as you wandered through the manicured paths, the soft glow of lanterns illuminating your way. The garden was a haven of tranquility compared to the lively banquet inside. You found a secluded bench and sat down, letting out a sigh of relief. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant hum of voices from the villa created a serene backdrop as you tried to gather your thoughts.

As you sat there, the faint sound of a conversation caught your attention. You turned your head slightly, realizing that a group of senators had gathered nearby, their voices low but urgent. You recognized the voices of some of the most influential men in Rome, including your father.

"I hear that Emperor Caracalla is eager to stage a grand spectacle," one senator said, his tone conspiratorial. "He wants to solidify his power and win the favor of the masses."

"Indeed," another replied. "I heard he plans to pit some of the finest gladiators against each other. And there are whispers that General Marcus Acacius himself might be forced to take part in the games."

You felt a pang of concern at the mention of Marcus's name. The thought of him in the Colosseum, fighting for his life, was almost too much to bear.

"Emperor Geta is not pleased with this idea," a third senator interjected. "He sees it as a waste of a valuable military asset. But Caracalla is determined. He believes a victory in the arena will elevate Marcus to legendary status, securing loyalty from the soldiers and the people alike."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you processed their words. The political machinations of Rome were ruthless, and it seemed that Marcus was caught in the middle of it all.

As the senators continued their discussion elsewhere, their voices drifting away back into the villa, you felt a presence behind you. You turned to see Marcus emerging from the shadows, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. He moved silently, his powerful form cutting through the darkness like a predator stalking its prey.

"My lady," he said softly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "It seems we both seek refuge in the quiet of the garden."

"Marcus," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. "I overheard the senators. They plan to have you fight in the Colosseum."

His expression darkened, and he closed the distance between you in a few swift strides. "I know," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "The emperors play their games, and I am but a pawn. But tonight, I do not wish to think of such things."

He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek, the warmth of his touch igniting a fire within you. "Tonight, I only want to think of you."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with a tantalizing softness. The kiss deepened, his hands roaming over your body, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His touch was both possessive and gentle, his need for you evident in every caress.

"Marcus," you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair. "This is madness. If we are caught..."

"Let them find us," he murmured against your lips. "I would rather face the lions in the arena than be without you."

His words sent a thrill through you, and you responded with a fervor that matched his own. Your bodies pressed together, the heat of your passion driving away the cool night air. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other.

"Promise me," you whispered, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. "Promise me you will come back to me, no matter what happens."

"I swear it," he said, his voice filled with determination. "No matter what the emperors or the gods throw at me, I will return to you."

With those words, he captured your lips again, sealing his promise with a kiss that left you breathless. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as he reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. He leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

His voice, a velvety whisper, sent a wave of desire flooding through you as he murmured, "I want you. Here. Now."

The moon was high in the sky, casting a soft glow over the garden, as Marcus pressed you against the wall. His hands roamed over your body, igniting fires with each touch. You could feel his desire for you, and it only fueled your own.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you up and pressed you against the garden walls. His body hovering over yours as he trailed kisses down your neck and along your collarbone. Every nerve in your body was on fire, and you couldn't contain the moan that escaped from your lips.

With a growl of need, Marcus captured your lips once again while his hands began to explore under your dress. The feeling of his warm skin against yours sent shivers down your spine as he traced patterns along your thighs.

"Marcus," you gasped between kisses. "We shouldn't-"

"Shhh," he whispered, gently sliding your white cotton robe off your shoulders. "I can't resist you any longer.”

Marcus unexpectedly reached out his large, rough hands and cupped each one of your breasts, weighing them in his palms. Your body jolted at the sudden touch, your skin tingling under his warm heat. You could feel the calluses on his fingers, hardened from years of wielding swords and other battle weapons, leaving tiny marks on your delicate skin like a trail of fire.

As he squeezed and rotated your breasts gently, desire surged through you, igniting a deep longing within. You wanted to surrender yourself completely to him, to offer up not just your body but your very being to his every whim. The sensation was so overwhelming that you yearned to throw your head back in abandonment and give in to the all-consuming pleasure he evoked.

The protests that had escaped your lips now transformed into guttural moans of pleasure as his skilled fingers worked their magic on your most sensitive spot. Every touch sent electric shocks through your body, making you shiver and writhe against the wall. As Marcus trailed his fingertips over every inch of your slick flesh, you felt yourself becoming more and more lost in the overwhelming waves of pleasure coursing through you. With each stroke, your body arched further off the wall, desperate for more of his touch. It was like a symphony of sensations, building and crescendoing until you were completely consumed by the intensity of it all.

He slid a finger between your legs and pushed it deep inside you. Pleasure shot through your body, causing you to arch and writhe as he expertly stroked your tight passage.

"My lady, you have an incredibly tight cunt," he grunted out, his voice strained and revealing his own growing arousal. His features twisted in pleasure and his eyes glinted with a primal lust.

He firmly grasped your aroused nub and slid another finger into your tight, welcoming entrance. "We have to be quiet or we'll risk getting caught," he whispered in your ear.

You nodded eagerly, pleading, "Yes, anything. Please."

As his skilled fingers gently rotated over your sensitive clit and his other digit pumped inside your wet, pulsing core, you couldn't help but surrender to the pleasure he was bestowing upon you. From the moment his eyes locked on yours, you knew you were his to be used however he pleased, your body a vessel for his insatiable desires. With each expert movement of his fingers, you felt yourself spiraling into a dizzying state of pure ecstasy, completely at his mercy. Your flesh responded eagerly to his touch, begging for more as he claimed you as his own.

The General's gentle touch on your skin was electrifying, bringing a growing pleasure to your body that felt almost overwhelming. You could feel yourself getting too hot, too tense, and you were afraid of releasing the intense climax that was building inside you with just a single touch. 

"Oh Goddess," you gasped, tilting your head back against his shoulder and shutting your eyes as your desire became sharper and more urgent.

A sharp cry escaped your lips as his long finger penetrated you, rotating and rubbing inside your core while his other fingers worked relentlessly on your sensitive clitoris. Your body squirmed against the intense pleasure, your hands grasping at his muscular arms to anchor yourself amidst the overwhelming sensations. He chuckled softly as you began to move your hips in a circular motion, still continuing to bring you pleasure with his skilled touch for several minutes. Just as you were about to reach the edge of climax, he eased off slightly, keeping his movements quick and light.

But eventually, your body tensed up and convulsed, your movements erratic and desperate, your breaths coming in short gasps. As the tension in your loins grew tighter and tighter, you let out a high-pitched wail and reached the peak of ecstasy. Your walls pulsated around his probing finger, which was now coated in even more of your warm juices.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Marcus gently turned you to face him again. His white robe and short toga were cast aside, leaving him naked in front of you. He stood tall and proud, his lean and muscular frame on full display. But it was his erect penis that took your breath away. It was massive, thick and much longer than average, standing rigid and red above a nest of dark pubic hair.

His impressive and exposed physique took your breath away as you gazed upon it. "Oh, my Goddess!" you exclaimed, feeling overwhelmed by his sheer size.

Without hesitation, Marcus reached out and grasped your thighs, pulling you closer to him. He leaned over your body, closed his fist around his member, and guided the tip towards your still-dripping entrance.

He managed to get the thick bulbous tip of his penis through your opening. You immediately felt stretched and full. You gave him a pouting look, your hips wriggling in an effort to accommodate him. “You big brute, you’re tearing me apart.”

He clenched his teeth, sweat starting to matt his silver and grey hair at his forehead. The pleasure of being inside such a tight flesh was almost dizzying, and he had to pull in all of his control to prevent himself from plunging completely inside of you. 

That would come later, he promised, once you had been well oiled by him. He pushed again and managed another inch, and slowly continued to advance his penis inside your channel. 

“You’re so tight,” his voice was harsh and strained, as if in pain. It wasn't too far from the truth; she felt tight around him, almost like a vice grip. But despite the discomfort, she was so warm and smooth inside.

With a groan, he slid the thick bulbous tip of his penis into your opening. A sharp pang of fullness shot through you as your body stretched to accommodate him. You gave him a pouting look, your hips wriggling and contorting in an effort to ease the pressure. "You big oaf," you playfully scolded, though there was a hint of pleasure in your voice.

He clenched his teeth, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead as he fought for control. The sensation of being inside such tight, warm flesh was almost overwhelming, and he had to take deep breaths to calm himself. He promised himself that he would give in completely once you were well-oiled by him.

He pushed with all his strength, feeling the resistance of your body as he slid deeper and deeper inside. The walls of your channel were smooth and slick, clenching around him like a vice. He couldn't hold back the grunt that escaped his clenched teeth, a mix of intense sensation coursing through his body. It was a pleasurable pain, like being held in a fierce embrace by someone who loved you too much - an exquisite torture that he never wanted to end. But with each slow and deliberate thrust, he knew that the pleasure would only intensify, building to a climax that would leave them both breathless.

Slowly but surely, Marcus eased his penis deeper into your body. With each inch of progress, you both felt the intensity of your connection grow stronger. Your entire body trembled with each thrust he made. When he was halfway inside you, Marcus used his fingers to stimulate your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your core throbbed with ecstasy as Marcus took advantage of your relaxed muscles and thrust deeply inside you until he was fully engulfed.

You and Marcus both groan at the same time. He quickly covers your mouth with his hand, gently hushing you. "Shh, my Carissima... I know it feels good, but we must be quiet. We can't risk your father catching us in this compromising position." The General continues to stimulate your sensitive spot, using his fingers to tease and moisten it further.

Your hips continued to rock and push against his manhood, your desire growing with each movement. You leaned back and moaned as General Marcus Acacius took full control of your body. He held onto your hips tightly as he thrust deep inside you, the pleasure intensifying for both of you. It was clear that neither of you was far from reaching the peak of ecstasy.

You let out moans and contorted your body as the large, broad, man moved back and forth between your legs. As your face twisted in pleasure and your head thrashed about, you experienced this unfamiliar sensation called sexual pleasure. Your climax came quickly and intensely, feeling like it lasted for several minutes. You threw your head back and let out a scream as the intense pleasure broke through between your thighs. A hot wave of pleasure spread throughout your body, causing your hips to writhe against Marcus'.

As your body trembled and released into an intense orgasm, you felt Marcus' muscles tighten beneath you. A deep, primal roar escaped his lips as he too reached the peak of his climax. The sound echoed through the gardens blending with the rhythmic pounding of your heart and breath. It was a moment of pure, raw passion that left you both gasping for air and tangled in each other's embrace.

As the intense pleasure slowly subsided, you became aware of the small droplets of blood trickling down your thighs and onto the grass. It was a sign that your virginity had been taken, marking the end of an era and the beginning of a new one.

General Marcus Acacius carefully pulled out of you and helped you to sit up. You could see his concern in his eyes as he looked at the blood staining his robe on the ground and your thighs.

"Are you hurt, Carissima? I didn't mean to be so rough..." he asked, his voice filled with worry.

You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. "No… I'm fine," you managed to say.

He let out a sigh of relief and gently wiped away the blood with a nearby cloth. You winced slightly at the slight soreness between your legs but it was nothing compared to the intense pleasure you had just experienced.

Marcus held you close, his strong arms wrapped around you protectively. "You were amazing, my love," he whispered in your ear.

A flood of emotions washed over you as you realized what had just happened between the two of you. You had shared an intimate moment with General Marcus Acacius, someone who was forbidden to you because of your status as a daughter of such nobility. And yet, in that moment, none of that mattered. All that mattered was the overwhelming feeling of love and desire that consumed both of you.

Your mind was spinning, knowing all too well what would happen if anyone found out about your relationship with the General. Your father would surely punish both of you severely and possibly even sell one or both of you off.

Even with the knowledge of what had just happened, and what could, it was difficult for you to feel remorse or embarrassment. Instead, you felt a sense of contentment and fulfillment that you had never experienced before.

Marcus chuckled warmly and gave you a soft kiss on your lips. "You are truly something special, Carissima," he said with adoration in his eyes.

You blushed at his words, feeling a surge of happiness wash over you. Despite the risks and consequences, being with Marcus felt like the most natural thing in the world.

But as the reality of your situation sank in, a sense of worry crept into your mind. How would you continue this relationship without anyone finding out? How could you possibly be with Marcus when your father would never allow it? Or worse, your father having you marry someone else?

Marcus brushed his fingers against your cheek, and it felt like he could read your mind. "We will find a solution, my love. I promise I will marry you and make you my wife," he whispered to soothe your fears.

The weight of Marcus' words settled heavily in your heart. The thought of being married to the man you loved filled you with joy and hope, yet the reality of it all seemed impossible.

"How could we possibly make that happen?" you asked, your voice laced with worry.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of doubt. How could someone as powerful and respected as General Marcus Acacius be able to marry someone like you? You were just a daughter of a nobleman, while he was one of the most influential men in the kingdom.

Marcus spoke with unwavering assurance, his gaze locked onto yours. As you looked back into his eyes, all your doubts and fears dissipated. You were certain that he would do anything to keep you safe and by his side. "We will find a way, my love. I will do whatever it takes to make you my wife."

"I believe in you," you said softly, placing a hand on his chest.

Marcus smiled and leaned in to kiss you again, his lips gentle and loving against yours. In that moment, everything else seemed to fade away except for the two of you.

"But we must be careful," Marcus reminded you, his tone serious once again. "We cannot let anyone find out about us until the time is right."

You nodded in agreement, understanding the risks that came with your relationship.

"We must also gain your father's approval," Marcus continued. "It won't be easy, but I am determined to prove myself worthy of you and your family."

You couldn't help but admire Marcus' determination and love for you. Despite the challenges ahead, he was willing to do anything to be with you.

As the sun began to rise, you woke up in your room with a smile on your face. Today was the day that Marcus would finally meet with your father and ask for your hand in marriage. You could hardly believe the moment had arrived, the day you had dreamt of for so long.

Ever since he had first confessed his love for you, the two of you had been meeting in secret, stealing moments together whenever possible. The clandestine nature of your meetings had made your bond even stronger. The thought of being with Marcus made every challenge worth it.

You dressed carefully, choosing your finest gown, and adorned yourself with simple yet elegant jewelry. Your heart raced with anticipation as you made your way to the garden where the betrothal ceremony would take place. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers, and the gentle rustle of leaves created a serene atmosphere.

In the garden, your father stood with Marcus, deep in conversation. The sight of them together filled you with a sense of pride and hope. Marcus, in his formal attire, looked every bit the honorable and powerful man that he was—a general respected by all of Rome.

Your father turned to you, his expression warm. "My dear daughter," he began, "today is a momentous day as the gods have blessed us. General Marcus Acacius has proven himself to be a man of honor and valor. It would be a great honor for our family to be united with his."

Marcus stepped forward, his eyes never leaving yours. "It is my greatest wish to make you my wife," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I promise to honor and protect you for all the days of my life."

The betrothal ceremony commenced, a formal ritual between your two families. Your father and Marcus exchanged respectful bows, symbolizing the joining of your households. Gifts were presented, and the dowry was discussed and agreed upon. A scribe stood by, ready to document the agreement in a written contract.

Marcus then produced a small, ornate box and opened it to reveal a beautiful finger ring. "This ring," he said, "is a symbol of my commitment to you, a tradition that stretches back through the ages."

He took your hand gently and slid the ring onto your finger, his touch sending a thrill through you. The ring was exquisite, a delicate band adorned with intricate engravings that spoke of ancient craftsmanship. 

"You honor me with this gift, Marcus," you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion.

Marcus smiled, his eyes full of warmth. "The honor is mine, my love."

With the ring in place, you turned to the scribe, who handed you both the written agreement. You signed your name carefully, your hand steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within you. Marcus signed next, his signature bold and confident.

Finally, the moment came to seal the betrothal with a kiss. Marcus stepped closer, his gaze locked onto yours. He cupped your face in his hands and leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, sweet kiss. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in that perfect moment.

As you pulled away, you saw the approval in your father's eyes and felt a rush of joy and relief. You were now betrothed to Marcus, the man you loved, and your future together was set.

"Let this day be the beginning of a lifetime of happiness," your father declared, his voice filled with emotion.

Marcus took your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Together, we will face whatever the future holds," he promised.

And with that, your hearts intertwined, you knew that your love would endure, growing stronger with each passing day. The journey ahead was full of promise, and with Marcus by your side, you felt ready to embrace it all.

[revrover]

The Stranger - Pt. 2

Part One: The Stranger

Part Three

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Word Count: 8k (lol whoops)

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Language, PLOT

Summary: Namor isn’t the only one who has been searching for his general. Thanks to you, Namora’s life was saved -- but when your connection to the two strangers brings you face to face with a hostile group of government agents, you find yourself in the crossfire of a much bigger conflict.

A/N: OMG first and foremost thank you for being here, thank your for coming back, and thank you for reading. This has taken me a bit longer to post because I’ve been pouring over it every day for a month, trying to get it just right. Comments, feedback and reblogs mean THE WORLD to me, so feel free to show some love and as always please be kind!

***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!

There is a growing unrest inside you.

Days have passed since your encounter with Namor after saving the life of his general, Namora. Two mysterious strangers who have left your mind reeling with questions, unrelenting and unquenchable as a flame that dares to spread like wildfire, consuming your thoughts entirely.

You repeatedly play the memory over in your head with no rational way to explain what you witnessed; her blue skin, his superhuman strength; the curious metal that outfitted both of their armor; how they disappeared into the vast open ocean.

"Something on your mind?" A fruit vendor asks, snapping you back to reality. You stand in the middle of the bustling village marketplace, doing your best to orient yourself quickly.

“Your head is — how you say…? — in the clouds, yes?” The vendor asks in her best English, smiling politely at you as she stands next to her cart, eager for you to buy something.

"Is it that obvious?" You joke with a tired laugh. "Two, please."

You scoop up a pair of fresh mangos and hand the woman some change from your pocket. She kindly accepts it with a nod of appreciation. Carefully sliding the fruit into your bag, you return a nod of your own.

You continue to walk through the market, the damp air carrying an aroma of local cuisine and sweat fills your lungs. Weaving your way in and out of aisles created by vendor carts, you feel a sense of calm as you watch the locals interacting with one another. There's beauty to be found in their sense of community.

Typically, you would gather your needed food and supplies and then be on your way back home, but today as your mind wanders, so do your feet.

Meandering down another aisle, your thoughts drift back to Namor, specifically the morning you found him on your front porch. You can practically feel the warmth of that sunrise as you imagine its light illuminating his dark eyes. You picture the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth when you asked him if he would come back, a moment you hold onto tightly. The memory gives you optimism that you will see him again someday and hopefully have the opportunity to ask him more questions.

Lost in thought, you hardly notice a small crate sticking out a few inches further than other accompanying carts in the aisle. Tripping your foot as you walk by, it nearly tumbles you to the ground. You manage to catch your balance and your breath before face-planting into the dirt. Immediately turning to apologize, you find an elderly man seated behind the crate, his back leaning against the wagon behind him and his eyes shut.

The man is slender and his head bald, save for a few wisps of hair above his ears. Most of his body is covered by a knitted green poncho, well-worn and fraying along the hem. To both your relief and surprise, he seems completely undisturbed by your clumsy collision with his crate of goods. Unsure if he’s even awake, you reach down to help reset any items on the crate you may have displaced.

Your jaw drops slightly as you see the contents on display. Spread out on a velvet brown tablecloth sits a small assortment of beautiful books, scrolls, and other documents. Admiring them, you reach out and push back one of the scrolls, revealing a gorgeous hand-sketched portrait of the island.

“Did you draw this?” You ask, impressed by the skill of it.

“Mmm,” He hums, shaking his head, "But I made very good trade with the man who did.”

You find his answer odd, though slightly amusing, considering he never opened his eyes to see which piece you were referring to. As you browse the rest of the items, a particular book stands out to you. It’s different from the rest of the collection — small and bound in leather, although the leather itself is worn and brittle-looking. You pick it up and inspect it closer. The binding is loose, the pages aged and tattered.

“Careful with that one. Very old.” The elderly man says, his eyes remaining shut. “Nearly 400 years. Got it in a trade with a visiting merchant from our southeastern sister islands."

How does he even do that? You wonder as you start delicately flipping through the pages of the book. You make it about midway through when you open to a particular page that makes you freeze, your heart nearly jumping out of your throat. Your eyes widen as you bring the page closer to your face.

It’s a crude drawing — basic, two-dimensional, and very old like the man said, but the likeness is undeniable. Depicted is the figure of a man. He dawns a grand snake-like headpiece and is grasping a spear. His body is adorned with jade and other metals. Sharp ears. Winged ankles.

"Excuse me!” you ask the elderly man with an exasperated breath, practically jumping over the crate as you lean forward and shout, “These!" You flip the book around to show him the open page, pointing excessively at the picture and the glyphs below it. "What do these say?!"

Your voice is eager and desperate, emotions you hardly try to hide.

The man's left eye slowly squints open.

“Only few are still legible.” He says, shrugging.

“Okay, yes, but the ones you can read, what do they say?!” You plead.

He sighs, opening his other eye and leaning forward slightly to get a better look. After a moment, he leans back against the wagon and closes his eyes again.

"King. Serpent. God. Monster."

You hang on to each word he tells you. Turning the book back around, you bring it back up to your face for another closer inspection.

"How much?" You ask, ready to make a deal.

The elderly man cracks one eye open to look at you for a moment as he considers his price, then wordlessly points to your arm with a feeble finger. You follow his gaze down to the small beaded bracelet around your wrist — the last reminder of your life before coming to the island. You hold your arm up to him, making sure you understand correctly. He nods politely, and without hesitation, you untie the bracelet and toss it to him.

"Nice doing business!" He says with a wide grin as he holds up the bracelet. You are already nose-deep in the book as you turn on your heels, quickening your pace as you head home where you can study more carefully.

Maneuvering your way out of the market to the outskirts of the village, you hardly need your eyes to guide your feet home. You take advantage of the remaining daylight to examine the pages as you walk, turning page after page and scanning for any information about Namor and his people. There’s little there, the book seeming to be a very old, mingled account of island history and lore. Seeing as you are not a historian and certainly not a linguist, it’s difficult to decipher. Still, you do your best to piece together what you can from the pictures.

King. Serpent. God. Monster.

The sky begins to dim. You can hear the faint roar of waves as you near the coastline. It’s too dark to see much detail on the pages now, so you carefully tuck the book into your bag as you step over the trunks of palm trees. The path beneath your feet gradually turns from brush to sand, and soon you find yourself walking along the familiar stretch of beach that leads you home. You stare out into the darkness, listening to the rhythmic pattern of ocean waves and breathing in the salty evening air. The moon hovers above the water, burning brightly as countless stars paint the sky behind it.

You continue walking in the darkness, but there’s an uneasiness building in your gut the further you go. You should be nearing home by now, but no lanterns have come into view. You always light lanterns before heading into town. They burn for hours in your absence so, by the time you return, you have light to guide you. All you see now are shadows and silhouettes that dance against the tree line, and every sound and indiscernible movement has you on edge.

It’s not until you are nearly a stone's throw away that the bungalow materializes in the night. Your stomach twists as the wind blows by you, rustling your hair and causing the snuffed-out lanterns hanging from your porch to creak as they swing back and forth. You hear shuffling, and small beams of light sporadically shine through the cracks of lumber that make up the walls of your home.

There is someone inside.

An alarm goes off in your head, screaming at you to get out. As quietly as possible, you begin backing away. Eyes fixed on the bungalow, you take one step back. Then another. Then another. Then — thud.

Your stomach flips and your throat tightens. While you pray you’ve miscalculated and miraculously made it to the tree line in three short steps instead of thirty, you feel the unmistakable presence of a body directly behind you.

“Going somewhere?” A deep voice growls menacingly. It belongs to a man, his tone gruff, although you can’t quite make out his accent. You do, however, feel the blood drain from your face as you slowly turn your head, finding what is quite possibly the largest human being you have ever seen. Dressed in black military-grade tactical gear and armed with enough ammo and firepower to take on a small army, you know there is no fucking way you are getting away from this guy.

The man grabs your arm and forcefully drags you toward the bungalow. Once up the stairs, he pushes you inside and releases his grasp. You rub your arm and look up to find another man standing in your kitchen, his back turned away from you as he stands hunched over your table. He’s dressed in similar tactical gear and has a walkie-talkie hooked to his belt. A lantern burns next to him as he seems to be pouring over some sort of map.

“Sir,” the man behind you bellows.

The man at the table straightens his posture and turns around to face you both. His hair is buzzed and his face is stubbly, with a thick prominent mustache that stretches across his upper lip. He seems a bit older, and by the ‘sir’ formality, you are fairly confident he is in charge.

“Ah, we were wondering when you would be back.” He says in a sly tone, his accent American.

“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?” You respond in anger to the unwelcome visitor.

The man takes a sweeping look around the place, then his eyes come back to you.

“I think we can agree that “house” is a bit of a loose term.” He responds with sarcasm, a knowing look on his face. You continue to stare him down, unresponsive to his quip. The man loosens his shoulders and smiles at you. “Where are my manners? Agent Barrett.” He reaches his hand out, offering to shake yours.

You don’t move a muscle.

There is an awkward moment of silence, then Agent Barrett’s hand retreats. He turns, beginning to pace around your tiny kitchen. The room is in rougher shape than usual, clearly ransacked by whatever search was conducted before your arrival. The agent picks up a small roll of gauze from off the counter and holds it up.

“Tell me,” he says, inspecting the bandage material closely, “have you had any visitors recently?” His gaze quickly flicks over to you, an eyebrow raised.

Your pulse quickens as your blood turns to ice. Your mind immediately flashes to Namora floating wounded in the water; to Namor breaking down your door; to the two of them disappearing into the night. You put on your best poker face and shake your head.

“There’s no one around here for miles,” you explain, trying to be as convincing as possible. “You should try more inland towards the village. Most tourists, if any, stick closer to town or retreat to the far side of the island where—“

“Oh, she’s no tourist.” Agent Barrett chuckles, cutting you off. It feels insulting as if your suggestion were so preposterous it was borderline humorous.

She. He is looking for Namora.

Setting the gauze down next to the sink, Agent Barrett turns and walks over to you.

“You’re certain you haven’t seen anybody unusual around here in the past few days?”

He’s standing much closer now. Something about him makes your skin crawl. You eye the gun strapped to his hip and doubt it is for self-defense. Again, you shake your head.

Barrett sighs and gives you a disappointed smile.

“Okay.” He says softly while nodding his head. He backs away from you as the room lingers in silence. You allow yourself to take a breath, but the relief is short-lived. “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”

On Barrett’s cue, the large man behind you grabs your shoulder and kicks the back of your legs, dropping you hard to your knees. With his free hand, he yanks the bag off your other shoulder and tosses it to another man who emerges from the doorway to your bedroom. He catches the bag and immediately starts rummaging through it.

“Hey—HEY!” You shout, “What the hell are you—“

“A woman!” Barrett yells. “Pale blue skin. Very skilled swimmer. Four days ago, she single-handedly took down three UN-sanctioned vessels in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic! Three! Now where I’m from,” he crouches down to your level, aggressively getting in your face as he drops his voice lower, “that’s what we call an act of terrorism.”

Adrenaline overtakes your body as you feel your heart beat so intensely it threatens to break right out of your chest. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Barrett’s henchman searches your bag. He pulls out the mangos and tosses them on the floor. Then, he grabs the old leather-bound book. Turning it over in his hand, he looks at it for a moment and tucks it into his belt.

“She was wounded,” Barrett continues, calling your attention back to him, “and our intelligence indicates she washed up somewhere along this shoreline. That's where her trail goes cold. And as you said, there's no one around here for miles. No one, except you."

His implication is obvious.

“This woman, where is she?” He makes a last-ditch effort to convey a friendly tone, but you can hear his patience dwindling. "And please don't make me ask again."

You stare at him coldly, lips sealed together. You’re not telling this man a damn thing.

"Mmmm," is all he grunts, his eyes dropping to the ground. He heaves a heavy sigh as he pushes against his knees to stand up. Once on his feet, Agent Barrett stares at you for another moment before nodding his head to the agent behind you. The next thing you know, you are suddenly being pulled up by your hair, the man’s grip tight against the back of your neck as he turns and pushes you out the door.

Your hands clamor to his as you struggle against him to relieve the painful tension pulling on your scalp, attempting to release his grip on you. But the man is too strong and drags you down the stairs of your porch with ease. You make it a few meters down the shore when he shoves you down to your knees. Your legs make divots in the sand as your hands catch the rest of your body’s momentum. Hunched over, your knees and palms sting from the sand's friction.  

You immediately tense up as you feel a gun press against your head, the cool metal barrel hungry to fire. Hearing footsteps approaching behind, you quickly swallow your fear to maintain composure. Agent Barrett walks past, turning to position himself directly in front of you again — only this time, he doesn’t crouch down to your level.

“Look at me.” He demands as he towers over you. His body language makes it clear who is in control. In the only act of defiance you have left in your arsenal, you keep your gaze laser-focused on the water straight ahead of you, refusing to give in to his instruction. Growing impatient, Barrett roughly grabs your chin. He clasps it tightly as he yanks your jaw upward, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“You’re going to tell me about your friend, and you’re going to tell me where she is, right now," he growls.

You stare at him, disdain in your eyes. You momentarily scan your surroundings and count nearly twenty other men on the beach now. It’s enough to make your gaze and your heart sink straight to the ground.

Even if you wanted to tell him, you don't have the answers Barrett is looking for. His face hardens as your lack of cooperation and unwillingness to talk becomes clearer and clearer. Loosening his grip and dropping your chin, Agent Barrett looks at the agent next to you.

“Do it,” he orders, leaving you without another word as he walks back up the beach toward the bungalow.

The gun presses even harder against your temple and you hear the irrefutable sound of it being cocked as a bullet rolls into the chamber. Your heart is heavy as your eyes begin to well with tears. You stare out at the ocean, the night swallowing the horizon save it for the piercing glow of the moon that cuts its way through the sky down to Earth. It’s a better view than most get in their final moments, you suppose. For that, you consider yourself lucky.

Time seems suspended as you feel the ocean breeze blow past you, pouring over your skin and filling your lungs as you deeply inhale these final moments. You savor the way the salty air envelops you like the comforting embrace of an old friend. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try fighting back the tears. Despite your best efforts, one single drop escapes, racing down your cheek as you accept your fate.

Zzzzziiinnng!

Where you expect to hear the split-second ring of a gun firing before getting your brain blasted out the side of your skull, you instead hear a high-pitched whistling through the air and the unmistakable slice of a blade penetrating flesh. The weight of the gun barrel against your head slides limply away, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground next to you.

Your eyes shoot open. You turn to see your executioner now lying dead on his back with a spear pelted through his chest. Your eyes widen in fear, then settle on the spear itself. A spear you recognize — because it’s the same one that was held to your throat only a few days earlier.

Namor.

He's here. Desperately your eyes search the ocean line, scouring the darkness for him.

"We're under attack!" Someone yells frantically from behind you. It is one of Barrett’s men.

"Open Fire! Open fire!" Another one shouts.

You immediately abandon your search for Namor, hitting the deck and covering your head as dueling bullets and spears fly over you. Hearing anguished cries from both sides, you peek out from over your arm and watch in horror as an agent a few meters away looks down at their dart-ridden chest. They drop to their knees, then fall forward onto their face.

Your head whirls around at the sound of another spear making contact with a body and dropping it to the ground. This agent is about ten meters away from you, and while your first instinct is to get the hell out of there — run as far as you can as fast as you can — you notice your little leather-bound book tucked into the belt of the lifeless body.

You tell yourself to leave it. You plead with yourself to leave it.

“Damn it,” you mutter in frustration to yourself. You are getting that book.

Before you can give it another thought, you are already army-crawling through the sand. The sound of gunfire rings in your ears as more weapons return their fire. You scramble to the body, staying low to the ground on your chest and abdomen. Once there, you reach out and grab the book, wrangling it free from the deceased man's belt. You shove it into your waistband when something behind you explodes, causing you to duck your head and shield yourself with your arms.

The battle is deafening and disorienting. The mix of adrenaline and shock threatens to override your entire system as you try to maintain your focus.

Keep moving, you tell yourself.

You lift your head, ready to run, but your breath catches and you freeze. Mere inches from your face, you find yourself staring at someone’s feet and feel the presence of their body hovering over you. You brush the stinging sand out of your eyes, pleading in your mind that this is not the end. Not now. As your vision sharpens, you feel a surge of hope. There in front of you are two winged ankles.

Your eyes shoot up. Standing above you, illuminated by the light of the moon and the rapid sparks of machine guns firing, is Namor.

He looks down at you, his stare intense as his nostrils flare and his chest rises and falls with each breath. Gripping the hilt of the spear, he effortlessly removes it from the body next to you with one pull, his eyes never leaving yours. The ongoing battle on the beach doesn’t deter his attention from you in the slightest. From behind him, a handful of armed warriors with pale blue skin come storming out of the ocean.

“Namora!” He calls, and one warrior immediately splits off from the group. While the others continue to push the team of agents to the far side of the beach, the general comes to Namor’s side and your eyes widen as you take her in. Almost unrecognizable from when you first met her, Namora is a sight to behold. Instead of weak and wounded, she now stands strong and commanding, fully outfitted in her armor of woven jade and metal. Dazzling lionfish spines adorn her head and neck, and she wears the same mesh apparatus over her nose and mouth as before. You are astounded when you squint and barely see a seam remaining where you had stitched her up.

“K'uk'ulkan.” She answers, standing at attention.

Namor’s eyes are still fixed on you. He hands the retrieved spear to Namora and then nods in your direction.

You become nervous, suddenly uncertain if the pair of them have come to you as friend or foe, watching as Namora tightens her grip around the weapon.

“Go.” Namor urges, and a wave of relief washes over you. Friend.

“Where are my goddamn reinforcements?!!” You hear someone shout into a walkie-talkie. You recognize the voice as Agent Barrett's.

“Go NOW,” Namor commands, his eyes flicking up in Barrett’s direction. The expression on his face becomes menacing as he strides past you, his muscles rigid and his pace purposeful. He pulls his own spear out of the larger agent who nearly executed you as he walks past the body, arming himself.

Without hesitation, Namora strides forward and links her arm under your shoulder, pulling you up to your feet and yanking you quickly toward the trees. Before you can reach them, however, more men dressed in black combat gear come pouring out of the thick foliage, ready to attack.

Three surround you as the others rush to provide relief further down the beach. Instead of guns, these agents come armed with batons and other blunt weapons. Namora whips you back behind her, placing herself between you and the approaching enemy. She walks toward the agents, rotating her spear in her hand. You’re surprised by how relaxed her posture is as she waits for the men, each one at least twice her size, to make the first move.

The agent to her right makes the first advance, lunging forward at Namora. She meets him with speed and ferocity, quickly sidestepping him only to grab hold of his shoulders. She uses them as an anchor to whirl herself around him, gracefully landing and her feet and then lodging her spear into his back. The man cries out in pain, but Namora quickly delivers the final blow as she twists the spear in deeper and shoves it upward toward his lungs.

No sooner does his body hit the ground when the two other men charge at her. Like a beautifully choreographed dance, Namora drops to her knees, sliding across the sand between them to duck under their attacks. As she does so, she nimbly summersaults back onto her feet and turns one hundred and eighty degrees. Back on the attack, she runs hard at them. You watch as Namora delivers a combination of charged punches to one agent, then springs back to avoid the swing of the baton from the other. To counter the move, she kicks the man above the kneecap with so much power it sends his whole leg backward and brings him to his knees. She grabs the sides of his head with both of her hands, thrusting it down hard against her knee. You feel the grisly sound of blunt broken bone deep in your core as his skull makes contact.

As the man’s head reels backward, blood pouring from his face, Namora seamlessly transitions between her two opponents, avoiding another attack from the third agent she had previously deflected with punches. Her attention back on him, she trades blows as they fight in more hand-to-hand combat. Between kicks, punches, and counter-punches, Namora strategically inches herself backward until she’s practically standing on top of the first body she dropped. Baiting her current opponent forward, she taunts him with the tilt of her head, exaggerated by her headpiece. It works like a charm. He charges at her, and swooping under him, she wraps around his chest and pulls him over the top of her, flipping him onto his back. In one calculated motion, she pulls her spear from the body of the first agent which is now easily within reaching distance, and drives it into the second.

It all plays out in front of you so quickly when the third agent with the broken nose — well, broken face, really — groans as he gets himself up, ready to have another go at Namora. She engages, but as she moves towards him you see a fourth man emerge from the trees, raising a gun to shoot.

“LOOK OUT!” You yell to warn her, but pure instinct has your feet sprinting forward to stop him.

You don’t process any thought or consider any tactic, you just hurl yourself at him. The two of you collide, crashing to the ground with all the power and momentum you can muster. You scramble for his gun and manage to knock it away, but he barrels you over him and slams your back against the ground. The impact forces the air out of your lungs, temporarily paralyzing you as you struggle for breath. The agent straddles your body, putting more pressure on your chest as he pulls a knife from his hip. With all your strength, you fight to hold his arm back. He breaks through your grasp and takes a swipe at you, but reflexively you deflect it away with your hand. The knife slices open your palm and you cry out as you try to continue pushing his arms back.

When he raises his blade again, a blur of orange lionfish spines come streaking across as Namora flies over the back of the agent and yanks him off of you. They tumble across the sand, but she quickly gains the upper hand by entangling him in a headlock. Clutching your injured hand and still struggling for oxygen, you look on as she tightens her grip around the man’s neck and then abruptly cracks it to the side.  

The sound makes you sick to your stomach, but you also feel a sense of relief. And gratitude. Your chest heaves as you finally start to catch your breath, your entire body buzzing. You turn to see the dead agents Namora has so quickly disposed of, their bodies dispersed across the sand. She unwraps herself from her most recent kill and makes her way to you with haste.

As she reaches you, you hear the chaos and fighting continue further down the beach. Then, the faint sound of a helicopter approaching. Barrett’s reinforcements.

“There are too many of them,” you say in distress as you witness more agents pour out onto the sand to fight Namor’s warriors. Even if each one had Namora’s four-to-one kill ratio, they are still outnumbered. As the chopper blades get louder, Namora looks at you intensely, reaching out her hand.

“Come,” she insists.

She’s gotten you this far. You grasp her hand without hesitation and she pulls you to your feet. You edge closer to the tree line where you hope safety and concealment await you, but as you reach the lush landscape something pricks your ears. It’s not gunfire. It’s not the chopper.

Namora tugs your arm as she tries to usher you into the trees, but your focus is elsewhere. A faint, melodic breeze moves past you like a ghost, causing your mind to become hazy. As the sound grows louder, an indescribable melody rings in your ears that is both euphoric and dreadful. You don’t even notice the tension of Namora’s grip on your hand increase as your feet redirect you toward the water, compelled by its call.

“No!” Namora yells at you as she yanks your arm. The force of it snaps your attention back for a moment, and you watch as the agents who line the beach suddenly cease fighting and instead walk undeterred paths straight into the water. Terror fills you as they wade further and further out, the water coming up to their knees, then their hips, then their chests, until they are completely submerged underneath.

You shoot a glance to Namora, petrified and confused. Whatever is happening, she seems unaffected. Your thoughts and vision begin to cloud again, and you feel like someone else is controlling your body as the ocean summons you along with the others. Every part of you feels entranced by the chorus of voices in the air as their notes overwhelm your senses and leave you disoriented. Namora grabs you, practically throwing you over her shoulder as she runs into the trees. You become hard to carry, so she pulls you both into the cove of a sheltered root system at the edge of the foliage. Huddling next to you, Namora tightly wraps her arms around your head to cover your ears with her hands.

Pupils dilated, you desperately try to hold onto any shred of active consciousness before giving in entirely to the song. Your mind becomes infiltrated by it and begins to process what you see in pieces; men in the water, drowning themselves; gunfire raining down from the night sky; Namor, spear in hand, leaping into the air, taking impossible strides toward a chopper; the chopper spinning out of control.

You feel the heat against your face as the chopper crashes to the ground, exploding on impact. The last thing you remember seeing is Namor in the distance, standing on the sand. Illuminated by the raging inferno that burns behind him from the destroyed chopper, he is fierce, incredible, and terrifying.

A god. A monster.

The haunting chorus melody continues to consume your mind. Even with Namora’s help, you feel your body shift as it involuntarily attempts to get up. Namora squeezes her palms over your ears with even more strength and restrains your movements.

"No." She whispers fiercely.

You squeeze your eyes shut, covering your hands over Namora's as tightly as possible. Blood pours from your hand down hers, trickling onto your shoulder. The noise is too much, and as you feel yourself begin to scream, everything goes black.

——

Your feet drag through the cool sand.

That’s the first thing you see when you finally become conscious again. Your head hangs low in front of you, pounding as it bobs up and down. It’s still dark out, but you find your home lit up by more lanterns as you approach the pathway to your porch.

You glance to your right and left,  discovering you are being assisted by two people on either side of you — Namora on your right and a much taller blue-skinned man on your left. His shoulders are wide and his head is outfitted with an armored hammerhead skull. Arms slung around both of their necks, your body is in a state of pure exhaustion as they get you up the stairs to the door.

As you start to step with your own feet, they are alerted by your recovered consciousness. Quickly, the man unhooks your arm from around him, steadying you against Namora. He retreats as you find yourself gaining feeling back in your body. Namora patiently waits for you to get your bearings, and when you do she opens the front door for you, ushering you to go inside. You follow her instruction, and there waiting for you in the bungalow is Namor.

Namor stands against your kitchen counter, the same place you stood when he first came crashing into your home. His arms are folded across his broad chest. Although his head is down, his eyes are flicked upward toward you, watching your every move. The flame of a lantern on the table glints off his irises, illuminating the dark stare that hovers just below his furrowed brow.

“Please, sit.” He says with a stern voice, his open palm gesturing toward a chair at the table.

As you sit down, you hear the front door close behind you.

Silence.

"Those men," he finally says, pushing himself away from the counter as he stands up straighter, “they were seeking information?"

You only nod, afraid to say too much.

“It’s safe to speak here. I’ve made sure of it.” He promises, sensing your reluctance to engage in conversation.

“They wanted to know about Namora." You answer cautiously.

Namor's expression grows even more serious. He subtly shifts his weight from side to side before settling back into the center of his powerful stance.

"And even with your life on the line, you said nothing."

You are unsure if he is making a statement or a question.

"Why?" He asks through a clenched jaw.

"Why?" You repeat back to him, caught off guard by the question. "Does it matter why?"

"Yes,” Namor says directly, raising his eyebrows. “Because I need to know if I put my spear through the right person.”

The seriousness of his statement hits you like a brick. Your mind flashes back to the beach, you on your knees with a gun to your head as Namor’s spear plows its way through the man next to you. How easily, you wonder, could he have changed his aim by just a few degrees if you had decided to open your mouth and spill what little information you did know to those men?

As you think about it, you also begin to ask yourself why. Why did you keep your mouth shut? Why did you help Namor and his people?

You take a deep breath as you consider your reasons, then lift your gaze to him.

“You barged into my home, broke down my door, and threatened my life. But even then, the motives behind your actions were clear — the love and concern for your people. These men,” your eyes trail away as you feel a wave of anger build up inside, "these men were driven by self-interest and self-preservation. It wasn’t hard to choose a side.”

His face is stoic as he listens to your answer.

“Plus,” you add, “I promised you I wouldn’t say anything. Twice.”

Namor looks at you the same way he did the night you met him. The look that tells you he is debating whether or not you are telling the truth. You are a witness testifying on the stand, and Namor is your judge and jury.

“Well, that is twice now you have saved my people. Again you have my gratitude." He says with a sigh, his expression softening.

You give a small smile, but it disappears when an unrelenting ache pounds inside your head, pulling you out of the moment. You reach up to rub your temple and suddenly feel a surge of pain coming from your hand, instantly reminding you of the injury you sustained from your face off against one of the agents on the beach.

“Shit,” You exclaim, pulling your cut, bloodied palm away from your face and looking at it.

"Here," Namor says, grabbing the roll of gauze off your kitchen counter as he moves in your direction. Pulling up a chair, he sits down directly in front of you so your knees are practically touching. He gestures for your hand. “May I?"

You consider his offer as you stare at the thick veins protruding from his forearm, binding themselves to his defined muscles like vines around a tree. Eyes darting back up to his, you cautiously nod your head to accept his help while simultaneously extending your arm to him.

Namor takes your injured hand gently in his own, cradling it as if it could shatter into a million pieces. Amazed by how his hand dwarfs yours, you feel a surge of energy in your chest when his thumb begins to rub along your wrist. He takes the roll of gauze and begins carefully wrapping it around your palm.

Calmly maneuvering each layer of the bandage, Namor's brow furrows ever so slightly as he slips deeper into a state of concentration. His grasp is firm but gentle, rotating your hand in tandem with the bandage and you take comfort in his touch.

Studying his face, you admire each feature and detail closely. You see the traces of salt against the rich tones of his skin, and soon your willpower gives way to a desire slowly being coaxed inside you as you allow your eyes to trail from his face to his broad shoulders, down his muscular biceps, and finally to his strong hands as they work to take care of you.

Namor begins humming softly as he continues wrapping your hand. There's a warm timbre in his voice that resonates in your ears, drawing your gaze back up to his face.

"That song..." your voice trails off as you grow more entranced by it, unable to find the words to describe its intoxicating melody. But a surge of fear runs through you as you recall another tune, the one from the beach, its haunting cadence prickling the back of your mind.

"My people have many songs," Namor says in a tone equally rich to his humming, calming you instantly. "Each one with a meaning and purpose."

"What is the purpose of that one?" You ask quietly.

Namor’s hands stop as his eyes wander up to yours.

"It's a lullaby, meant to bring the soul peace." His eyes flutter back down as he resumes wrapping the bandage around your hand. "My mother would sing it to me when I was a child."

"It's beautiful." You say reverently.

A smile spreads across Namor's face, but there's a hint of sadness in it. He leans down to your hand and you can feel your heart beat faster as his mouth hovers mere inches above your skin. The warmth of his breath rushes against your wrist, sending shivers through you. With great care, he tears the gauze with his teeth before tucking the loose end into a fold of the bandage.

"It is," he agrees, staring down at your hand which he now holds carefully between his own. "Especially in a world where peace is scarcely found."

His voice is gentle, but there is a bitterness brewing beneath the statement.

"I have spent my life ensuring peace for my people. Protecting it. Preserving it."

Namor looks back up at you, letting go of your hand as he sits up straighter in his chair. The room is quiet as his words sink in and you drop your gaze to think. As you do so, your good free hand migrates to the leather book still tucked in your waistband, your fingers fiddling with the binding.

“What is it?” Namor asks, snapping your eyes back up to his. You swallow nervously, unsure if you should share what is on your mind. Then again, you may not get another opportunity.

Slowly, you pull the book out from against your side, opening it to its marked page before pushing it across the table to him.

“You say you’ve spent your entire life protecting your people.” You preface, hesitating a moment before asking your question. “Is that... you?"

Namor stares at the book in front of him, tracing the outline of his likeness delicately on the open page with his fingertips.

"A version of me." He answers.

"How...." you rub your temple as you do the unnecessary math in your head, already knowing the hundreds of years difference between the book and the man in front of you doesn't add up. "How is that even possible? That book is centuries old, I mean," you are at a loss trying to wrap your head around it all, coming up short with any logical explanation, “who are you?"

Namor looks up at you, then his gaze descends back onto the open book. He gives a sad smirk.

“You are one of very few to ever ask who I am instead of what I am." He strokes his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. "The answer to neither of which will be found in your book." He says, shutting it and sliding it back toward you. You reach for it, only he doesn’t take his hand off the leather cover right away.

"You must always be weary of your authors.” He warns. “The preservation of one's opinion over time does not make it fact, no matter how long ago it was written."

He relinquishes his hold, you finish sliding the book back to your side of the table. Namor searches your face as his eyebrows pull closer together, a rare look of vulnerability in his eyes.

"I wear the mantle of king and am the protector of my people.” He begins. “They are my responsibility by birthright, a charge I’ve dedicated my entire life to upholding.”

Namor proceeds to tell you the story of his people — how they were driven from their home by Spanish conquistadors, and how their gods provided a remedy for a foreign disease that led them to seek sanctuary in the ocean itself. He explains that his mother was among them, pregnant with Namor at the time, and how the remedy herb altered his very being in the womb. Mutant is the word he uses, the reason for his strength and abilities, as well as his slow aging. He then describes the horrors he had seen upon returning his mother’s body to the surface world after her death, and the vow he took to keep outsiders away from his people and his beloved city he calls Talokan.

"So you see," he says leaning forward as he places his forearms on his knees, his face even closer to yours now, "I am no god. Nor am I a man. What I am is a leader who loves his people. If that makes me a monster, so be it. I will see the world burn before I subject my people to its sins and savagery.”

It’s a lot to take in. You study Namor’s expression as his stare now lingers away from you, his mind somewhere in the past. You can’t even begin to comprehend all that he has seen or experienced, but you do feel a clearer understanding of why he is the way he is. Filled with compassion for him, you cautiously reach up and cradle his face with your non-bandaged hand.

"You're not a monster." You reassure him gently.

This brings Namor’s attention back to you immediately, his dark eyes searching your face earnestly as he takes a deep breath through his nose. The bristles of his scruff are rough against your palm, creating a warm friction when he leans into your touch. Namor closes his eyes and lets out a sigh so deep it's as if he's releasing a weight from his shoulders, one that he has been carrying for far too long. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing it deeper against his cheek.

“K’uk’ulkan,” a voice calls from behind you. You drop your hand back down to your lap as Namor glances over your shoulder. The man with the metal hammerhead skull stands at attention in the front doorway, his body so large it consumes the space entirely. Namor nods at him, then looks back at you.

"It's time," he says, pushing himself up to his feet. “More men will be coming. Namora is outside — collect what you need quickly, she will take you to a safe place.”

The realization sets in, and your heart sinks. Your home is no longer safe and you can’t stay here.

Namor offers you his hand, helping you out of your chair and onto your feet. In doing so, he pulls you into him and tucks his hand delicately under your chin. He’s impossibly close as he tilts your face upward toward his own.

"I am sorry." He whispers, a soft and apologetic tone in his voice. He gives you a remorseful look, but all you can think about is how little space currently exists between his lips and yours. Namor’s gaze flutters down from your eyes to your mouth, but the moment is fleeting as he drops his hand from your chin and takes a step back.

“Go.” He says, encouraging you to get your things. It’s his last word before walking past you and exiting out the front door.

Left alone in the empty bungalow, you make your way over to your bag still on the floor from earlier that evening. You take it and march into your room, grabbing some clothes, your toothbrush, and other small essentials. You don't have much in terms of possessions in the first place, so it doesn’t take long for you to collect what you need.

As you exit your bedroom, you get ready to leave when you look over at the small book on your table. Namor insisted it held no answers for you, but you go to retrieve it anyway, stuffing it in your bag along with the rest of your belongings.

You take one last look around your home, once an unfamiliar broken place that over time became your haven and sanctuary. It breaks your heart to leave, but you know you must.

“Thank you,” you quietly whisper to the room, hoping in some way its energy or spirit or anything can hear you. You make your final exit, walking out to the front porch just as the dawn is starting to break over the horizon. Warm hues cast shadows of orange and red across the island, and you breathe in the early morning air. As you look out across the beach, you are surprised by what little evidence remains of the night’s events. No bodies. No fires. Just large divots in the sand and some smoke along the tree line from a few singed palms.

Namora is standing at the edge of the pathway leading to your porch, waiting for you. Descending the stairs, nerves prompt you to tighten your grip on the shoulder strap of your bag as you brace yourself for the unknown.

“I’m ready,” you say when you reach her.

Namora looks at you seriously, then nods her head. Reaching up to her face, she carefully removes the apparatus from over her nose and mouth. It is the first time you have seen her whole face, unobstructed by the peculiar covering. She’s just as striking without it, and you notice a beautiful jade ring pierced through her septum, echoing Namor’s. She turns the mask in her hand and guides it onto your face, sealing it against your skin.

“Come,” she tells you, turning toward the ocean.

You take one last look back at your home, then fall into stride behind Namora as the two of you walk into the water.

-- -- -- 

Tag List (I think this is how you do it? Sorry if not, still figuring this whole Tumblr-thing out): @looneylikesbooks @omgsuperstarg @chixkencxrry @vainillasmil157 @demoiseller @sodonuthideout @shoutaaizawas @stany0url0calwh0res111 @hjjks @duckwithsunglasses

[only-by-the-stars]

Fic Promo: Song of a Champion

Now that @spacelemon has put up that amazing promo vid of the Mipha's Grace mod, it feels like a good time to do a little self-promo of my own, for something that I promise is related (otherwise I wouldn't be mentioning the vid; I am doing so in hopes of helping to get more eyeballs on it): a fic I've been writing since 2022, that is both inspired by and based on the mod. I've been lucky enough to have been allowed to play early versions of it, and was inspired to write a fic that retells BOTW with Mipha as the lead, taking cues from many plot points and armor redesigns present in the mod. If that's not enough to entice you, then please read on for my list of things that you might enjoy about this fic!

It's about Mipha Judging by the results of my poll, a lot of you like reading about Mipha! I've written a LOT about her over the past few years, but this is my most in-depth exploration of her yet. It's entirely centered on her, delving deep into her thoughts and feelings and exploring the myriad aspects of her personality as we follow her journey. Instead of Link waking up on the Great Plateau without his memories and being handed the responsibility of saving Hyrule, it's Mipha who must walk this path; unlike in the base game, she's not a fridged love interest for Link to be sad about, she's an active heroine in her own right with a monumental task ahead of her from the moment she wakes up, not to mention a lot of questions. How did she get there? Can she do this? What--and who--has she forgotten in her century-long slumber? How will she find her way in this strange new world she awakens to? What kind of bonds will she forge with the people she meets along her way? All these and more are tackled in great depth as she goes on her adventure, setting out with, initially, little more than her own courage, determination, and compassion. I've been told by many people that I write their favorite Mipha, and though this isn't my first time giving her a starring role, I fully believe this is my best character work for her so far. I've given her so much to do and act on and react to, exploring her rich inner life and personality and character FAR beyond just shipping stuff, and developed a lot of really fun friendships for her and gone heavy on her familial relationships as well. There is miphlink, but it's only one aspect, and Mipha herself is the shining star at the heart of everything.

2. It takes inspiration from Wind Waker Mainly, the concept of a character who is not the chosen one stepping up and proving themselves worthy and going on to save Hyrule. If you, like me, enjoyed that aspect of Wind Waker, then you'll like this story!

3. It plays with the lore in fun ways Do you like the older bits of lore from pre-Skyward Sword games? Like the Golden Goddesses and other deities? Then you'll like the bits of it I've weaved in!

4. It treats the NPCs with care, love, and nuance One of the things I'm proudest of about this story, that I've gotten praise from others for, is how the various NPCs are written. I've treated them all like people in their own right, who all have their own rich inner lives, schedules, interests, priorities, and feelings that don't revolve around the protagonist. Mipha befriends most of them, yes, but that's because she treats them with compassion and kindness too. Nobody is shallow here, I've gone to great pains to illustrate a world filled with people all living their own lives that intersect with Mipha's journey in various ways, and allowed people to just be human and make mistakes and have doubts but ultimately just be people. There's a lot of emphasis on Mipha's relationships with her family, and I've certainly won praise for my depiction of these dynamics, but also a ton of friendships being formed and explored, and people have told me that I made certain characters interesting and likable to them where the game failed to do so.

5. It has awesome fight scenes BOTW is a game with a lot of combat, so anyone novelizing it better be good at writing that kind of scene. Fortunately, I am! This is an action-packed story, not just for its own sake, but to show the dangerous world Mipha is traveling through and the challenges she has to face as she ventures into each Divine Beast and cleanses them of their respective Blights. I write really fast-paced action that also shows the characters' mindsets while fighting, and strikes a balance between showing off their strengths and that they're up to the challenge, while also respecting their opponents and demonstrating why the Champions of a hundred years ago fell to these things, why NPCs fear certain monsters. And speaking of respecting opponents, I've taken stuff from Age of Calamity as well as some of my own inventions, to beef up the boss fights, a certain area, and make every Divine Beast threatening (we all know how scary Medoh wasn't in-game).

6. It has beautiful prose/descriptions But you don't have to just take my word for it! Here's a sample from the rough draft of chapter 42!

Shards of light drifted across her floor, leaves caught in the current of clouds flowing over the moon. Mipha took a moment to watch them before closing the door behind herself. The water in her sleeping pool murmured a melody of rest and relaxation after a long day, calling her to it, but she ignored it for now. She’d done all her preparations for tomorrow, downed a warm elixir crafted from a few hearty lizards, and now only one thing remained to do before going to bed. It wasn’t a need, as the other tasks had been, but a want. Nothing wrong with that. She crossed the room to the old chest that lay tucked beneath her window, opening the lid with a whining creak from the aged hinges. A folded length of fabric the color of spilt starlight lay atop the item she sought; Mipha moved it aside. Her breath catching, she withdrew the armor beneath and held it up to the softly swaying illumination of the moon outside and the luminous stone lamps within.

All in all, I think this fic is some of my best work, and shouldn't be missed if you're a Mipha fan like I am (she is my favorite Zora, so if it's okay I'd like to use this as a belated submission for that Zora May prompt). She truly is the star of the show, with so much to offer as a lead character, moving through a world treated with depth and care. If you're in the market for a BOTW retelling that does something different, something no other retelling has done, and does it really well, then give it a chance! You can read it here on AO3. :3

[c6jpg]

dainsleif quest

the lore drops. fucking impeccable. but also i feel edged the fuck on. like we learned a liiiiiiiitle but also get 10 thousand unanswered questions as well

that's pretty standard for dainsleif quests though ig

the quest itself. can we even call that a quest it was so anticlimatic ajkdfladjsf like just content-wise i think that genuinely might have been our worst dainsleif quest the lore was CARRYING this shit and all we got was more questions and it felt SO short

as an aside its also criminal how long apart these quests are bc i honestly already kinda forgot what happened in the previous one (caribert) and i had to like. really use my brain to remember the lore we got then

DAINSLEIF BROTHER????????????

just in general like. my mind was exploding when we were talking about the five sinners of khaenri'ah. i want to learn more about them so bad

"i'll tell you all you want to know" YOU'RE NOT TELLING US ENOUGH DAINSLEIF ELABORATE

WE DESERVED A PROPER DAINSLEIF VS ABYSS TWIN ANIMATED FIGHT CUTSCENE. HOW DARE YOU JUST FADE TO BLACK ARE YOU KIDDINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

ngl when we first saw caribert i actually thought this might be dainsleif's brother and i was like NOOOOOOOOOO THEY CAN'T NPC DAIN'S BRO

i just KNOWWW his brother is gonna be so sexy whenever they reveal him. sorry i had to say it. anyways.

caribert man... his whole deal honestly felt like a sidequest within the quest but that was sad :(

not to be a #scarastan but i was just thinking so hard about the parallels between caribert and scara, implanting vs removing oneself from the memories of the world. both doing it to bring comfort to others, even if futile. i'm not smart enough to expand on this but i'm sure yall know what i mean

anyways okay. so the loom of fate can weave ley lines, that name makes sense now. now can literally anybody please explain what the fuck yall want to do with it

honestly the twin reunion scene felt kinda. idk. flat? like i was more hyped about the abyss twin vs dainsleif part kadjlsflds (speaking of which the way dain clenched his fist lmaooooooo i was just thinking of that one arthur meme)

i do love the detail that the twins call each other by their canon names though

was kind of 🙄 when we got hit with the "yeah btw you won't remember any of this once we're out of here." okay plot convenience

actually is it even plot convenience? like literally what harm would there have been of the traveler remembering???? what are they gonna do???? the only actionable thing of substance we learned was that the loom of fate was completed which dainsleif should have figured out anyways since he got the eye taken from him????????

actually i think it was great that dainsleif got bamboozled though. dude has been carried by plot armor for too long

sea of flowers mention interesting (i have no thoughts on this just interesting esp since i'm pretty sure that's the place shown in the teyvat trailer)

so basically confirmed the heavenly principles are asleep/inactive for some reason. idr if it was explicitly mentioned before. i actually DID wonder why we didn't get some celestia nail action smiting after all the shit that happened in fontaine, a lot of people thought that was gonna happen too with the whole celestia is floating right over fontaine

and then we wake up and the quest just ends??? LET ME TALK TO DAIN HELLO

also like. why did dain want to confront the abyss twin again??? maybe it was mentioned in an earlier quest and if so i forgot but either way i don't understand wtf dain was up to by luring the abyss twin out

no literally that felt like half a quest

objectively i think that quest kinda sucked but i will forgive it solely because of the lore drops no matter how tiny they were and bc i did really like caribert's story

[the-celluloid-correspondent]

Fallout Season One: Starts Off With an Explosive Bang.

In a future, post-apocalyptic Los Angeles brought about by nuclear decimation, citizens must live in underground bunkers to protect themselves from radiation, mutants, and bandits.

“Flash, bam, alakazam. Out of an orange colored sky” are the opening words to Nat King Cole's song “Orange Colored Sky”, which describes his feeling of falling in love. But Prime Video’s adaptation of the beloved game franchise, Fallout, it takes a much more sinister and literal meaning as that Orange Colored Sky marks the beginning of the thermonuclear apocalypse and the ends of the world.

I have not played the Fallout games, but I am familiar with the franchise as I have watched some gameplay and lore videos regarding Fallout. The games don’t really have a story structure as they are an open-world RPG, where the player can do whatever they want in a nuclear wasteland. It is filled with unique worldbuilding as the aesthetics are a mix of what the 1950s thought the future would be and a thermonuclear apocalypse. Furthermore, the series' iconic dark humor and brutal violence add to the fun nature of the games. So adapting this franchise into a television series was going to be very interesting as Amazon’s history with adaptations have either been massive hits like The Boys and Invincible, or massive clusterfucks like The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power and The Wheel of Time. Thankfully, Fallout is a masterful adaptation of the video game franchise that sticks true to the games while also being accessible and fun to those unfamiliar with the franchise. 

Fallout flawlessly captures the essence and look of the franchise right down to the last bottlecap. The costume and production design swiftly transports viewers into a world of stark contrasts. From the pristine, utopian 1950s aesthetics of the vaults to the radioactive Wild West of the surface is meticulously rendered. Furthermore, it nails the game's twisted and dark humor as well as the horrors of thermonuclear warfare. Now some lore changes will make some purists unhappy, but Fallout is a faithful adaptation of the game. 

The series' narrative simplicity proves to be both its strength and its weakness. Centered around three characters vying for a MacGuffin, with two intertwining subplots—one set in the vaults and the other as a prelude to the nuclear devastation—the storyline is straightforward yet interconnected. Each subplot offers vital insights into the others, weaving a compelling narrative without resorting to misleading twists. However, despite its apparent simplicity, the storyline occasionally feels contrived and lacks consistent internal logic. It's unexpected for such a straightforward plot to stumble over basic storytelling elements. However, this flaw can be readily forgiven given the impeccably crafted characters. 

Our trio of main characters is exquisitely portrayed, with performances worthy of acclaim, possibly even Emmy-worthy. Ella Purnell's portrayal of Lucy is particularly remarkable; she brings depth to a character archetype that might have easily fallen flat in less capable hands. As the moral compass of the show, Lucy is portrayed with a blend of bubbly naivety and genuine kindness that never veers into caricature thanks to Purnell's natural charisma. Witnessing her gradual transformation into a hardened survivor as he learns from her mistakes and takes advice from others without compromising her core values is both riveting and emotionally resonant.

Aaron Clifton Moten, a veteran of the industry for nearly two decades, delivers a breakthrough performance in Fallout as he embodies every gamer's fantasy by donning the Armor of The Brotherhood of Steel. His portrayal of a sheltered man-child who is trying to do the right thing when he realizes the religious military cult he grew up in views him as expendable. To see him try to break away from the cult while also battling his inner designer for power is a fascinating character development. As he navigates his character's journey alongside Lucy, offering guidance on the harsh realities of the wasteland, Moten's performance is both poignant and subtly humorous, showcasing his impeccable comedic timing.

However, the biggest standout performance of the series is Walton Goggins as Copper Howard and The Ghoul. These two characters are on opposite sides of the moral spectrum. When he is Cooper in the past, he is a morally righteous character who slowly realizes that he might have sold his soul to the devil by promoting Vault-tec. To watch his slow realization of the evils of not only the company he has associated with, but the woman he has married is a powerful moral reckoning. Then his transformation into the hardened, badass, Ghoul with no moral code has a tragic undertone. To see a man become the very thing he hates is tragic. Yet watching him slowly regain his moral code while interacting with Lucy is powerful. This is a layered performance from Goggins that is centered entirely on moral conflict. If he does not receive an Emmy, I am going to riot. 

To watch these three characters learn and grow from one another is a testament to the power of writing excellent characters with fully realized arcs. I can’t wait to see where these characters go into their future seasons. Will they keep to their ways or will they realize they have a common enemy? 

In conclusion, Fallout emerges as a compelling adaptation of the successful game franchise. It understands and respects not only the source material but also the fanbase as the series is clearly made for them. I can’t wait to see what lies in the next season, but I know that I am excited to see New Vegas. 

My Rating: B+

[crossroadsdimension]

Reply from @metalmewtwo-kxb on this post Sincere question because I've never played FF games before, but is the gameplay that fun to do? Is it more item grindy, or is it like... more quests and story? Solely grinding for continued gameplay is what turned me off of recent pokemon games, so I'm actually sorta looking for other things that might be better 😅

Good questions! And I'd say that FF14 is very fun, since I've been playing it for the last two and a half years or so.

I'm going to preface the rest of this by saying Final Fantasy 14 specifically is an MMORPG, which means that occasional grinding is a given with this game. NOT for the main story (or "MSQ" for short), since that gives you enough experience to carry you through from start to finish. Some additional content requires grinding (the areas Eureka and Bozja, mainly, as well as grinding levels for additional jobs), but that additional content is not required.

FF14 as a whole is quest heavy, story heavy, and dialogue heavy, but there is a fair amount of combat. There are dungeons and boss fights you have to run for the sake of the story, but generally you only have to run them once for the sake of the plot. They can be run repeatedly for additional bonuses, like gear upgrades, music to be used in certain places, and later, little minion pets (they don't do anything, just look cute) and mounts. But again, that's all optional.

Now, the gameplay itself....I'm gonna have to put the rest of this under the cut because this is getting long.

FF14 has you start with one chosen job at the beginning of the game. You build up your number of skills over the course of leveling up, giving you the time needed to get used to each of your new skills. Like other MMOs, you have a choice between tank jobs, healer jobs, and damage-dealing jobs. The neat thing is that you can pick up all the jobs available on one character. The game is designed with this in mind, so if you don't like the job you start with, you can pick something different later.

For example, I went with Thaumaturge, which advances into Black Mage, and I've stuck with that because exploding things with fireballs is just far too much fun. Playing a job that wants to stay still while casting spells is a little difficult when boss fights require you to move frequently, but I've made it work! Maybe not to the level of efficiency as other players, but I don't really care about that too much.

The combat works this way: there are skills that are "on global cooldown" (meaning you have to wait 2.5 seconds before you can use it again,) and "off-global cooldown" (that have longer wait times). When you start the game, you don't have a lot of skills, so it feels slow when you fight, but the more you level up and the more skills you get, the more complicated fighting can become. I and other players have learned how to "weave" these two kinds of skills together in order to keep damage and/or healing moving, depending on the job type. It took me a bit to get used to, since I'm used to turn-based styles, but I think I've got a good handle on it!

Combat isn't the only type of job available, either -- there are crafting and gathering jobs as well, to make gear and other items that players might want. Like, say, housing items. Or more of those cute minions. Or glamour items to make your armor look stylish. And there's a mini-game attached to these which is also pretty fun!

The "grinding" aspect of FF14 comes about when you want to level multiple jobs. And there are multiple options for that, since the MSQ only has enough XP for one job. The FATE system that I was talking about grinding, for example, is optional side content that is constantly available. Easy XP when you're waiting for queue to pop for dungeon roulette runs...or the PvP system, which has its own set of combat skills separate from the rest of the game.

There's a repeatable quest system too, called "leves," but those are mostly used for crafting/gathering nowadays instead of the combat jobs.

If you want to give the game a try, I can promise that the game's story and music is all fantastic, and there's a free trial that's available on PS4/5, PC, and most recently Xbox. Play up to Level 70 out of 100, get access to the base game and two following expansions (A Realm Reborn, Heavensward, and Stormblood). If you don't want to play it, there's plenty of people who have recorded playthroughs online. Playframe is an easy one to find on YouTube, for example!

I'll be honest, I'm keeping any storyline stuff to a minimum because as much as I want to get more people into the game, if I gush too long I'll give spoilers and there are some surprises that just. Need to be experienced. But needless to say, the story is fantastic and intricate and can make you think some very deep thoughts the further into the game you go. The plot starts very simple -- almost deceptively so -- with your character becoming the Warrior of Light through deeds done and big boss battles fought. And everything progresses from there....

If you don't want to play an MMO, but do want to play an FF game and don't want to worry too much about level-grinding, I've been playing through the Pixel Remasters of FF1-6. The settings for these turn-based RPGs allows you to boost your XP and gold (or gil) gain, completely cutting out any need to grind. I've played FF1-4 so far, and I've started FF5, and I've enjoyed the experience! Especially since FF14, the game that I started with, has references from every single other FF game in the series. So I'm getting the references in reverse!

If you want something more recent that has a Devil May Cry-esque play style, FF16 could be right up your alley. The game also has difficulty settings to make it easier if you're not prepared to handle that kind of play style. The experience given in that game is enough to get you to where you need to for the sake of the plot, too, so I wouldn't have to worry about grinding in FF16.

As for the other games...well, I don't have much experience in the Final Fantasy anthology as a whole, sad to say. I'd love to get more experience, but that's going to take a while.

[jayjaymorgan]

The Senator of the Forsaken - Part I

Author’s Note : This is a rewritten and, I hope, a better version of the fic previously known as The Senator and His Bodyguard. The plot has changed a lot, but I hope that you all enjoy it. @farkmagic thanks for the help with the story! Please remember that English isn't my native language, so there might be some mistakes and stuff. I hope you all like it, have a great day/night!

TW : mention of racism towards clones

Rex was nervous.

It wasn’t the first time he was here, in the Senate, but this time was different. Very different. The new armor felt tight and incredibly uncomfortable, especially the helmet, which he was holding under his arm. It would take some time to break the said armor in, so for now he had to endure it. “Grand Convocation Chamber – level 8.” said the metallic voice, informing the turbolift’s passengers that they have reached their destination. The door opened with a quiet hum and the man stepped out, looking around anxiously. The Grand Concourse, which was the large, canyon-like hallway that ringed the Grand Convocation chamber and ascended up and around the Senate Chamber, was packed with senators and diplomats, who were also accompanied by their counselors and bodyguards. Their voices bounced off of the stone walls, creating a deafening cacophony of sounds as they shouted to one another, arguing about something, some ready to throw hands. Rex walked along the wall, careful not to bump into anyone, until a voice called out among the noise, catching his attention. “Hey, new guy! Over here!” The clone looked around, spotting a dark skinned man dressed in blue armor, waving at him. He quickly realized that the man was the captain of the Senate Guard, the white symbol on his shoulder pad only confirming it. He approached the man, weaving through the crowded hallway with ease before stopping next to him and saluting. “CT-7567, at your service.” “At ease.” the captain said, turning around and motioning at the clone to follow him. “The meeting will start any moment now, we need to hurry.” Rex followed him,  countless questions racing in his head as they walked, slowly making their way to the Senate Arena through the crowded hallway. He didn’t know what was going on or what he was doing here, dressed in the blue armor of a Senate Guard, away from his brothers... “You okay?” “W-what?” the clone looked up at the man, caught off guard. “You look troubled.” he said, sending Rex a reassuring smile. “Are the nerves getting to you?” “Kind of... sir.” he admitted, looking away. “No shame in that, soldier.” the man said. “Tell me : do you have a name? Other than your identification code.” “Rex. My brothers called me Rex.” “I’m Doran. I’m the Senate Guard’s captain and your new boss. I expect that you have questions?” “I do. Quite a lot actually.” Rex said, getting a nod in response. “I’ll try to answer as many as I can.” “What am I doing here?” the moment he opened his mouth, all the questions came pouring out. “What are my duties? Am I being reassigned from the 501st? And why...?” “Whoa! Hold your horses!” Doran said, placing a hand on the clone’s shoulder. “One question at the time. Long story short, you are being temporarily reassigned from the 501st battalion to work as a personal bodyguard for one of the senators. You will be briefed later, once we clean up this mess.” He said, gesturing at the crowded hallway. “But basically, you will accompany the senator everywhere : public meetings, delegations, travels, everything, unless told otherwise.” he explained before handing Rex a datapad. “Here’s everything you need to know about the job : the list of your duties, reports, schedule and the do’s and don’t’s...” He suddenly stopped, catching the clone by surprise. He looked up and saw an elegant woman standing before them, dressed in a tasteful, blue-gray patterned dress, with a gold panel and a dark shawl draped loosely around her shoulders. She wore only a few pieces of jewelry, which consisted of a pair of silver earrings and three broaches of the same color, that decorated the mentioned shawl. A crescent-shaped hair accessory held her long, brown hair in place and she turned to them and bowed her head, smiling warmly. She didn’t have to introduce herself, one look at her and Rex immediately knew who she was. “Senator Amidala.” the captain said, returning the gesture. “I didn’t see you there.” “Hello, Doran.” she responded, before her eyes landed at the clone. “You must be the new guard Doran mentioned, am I right?” “Yes, sir, ma’am, I mean...” Rex looked down, embarrassed. “’Senator’ is just fine.” she said, then looked back at Doran. “I can take it from here, captain.” “Are you sure, senator?” “Yes. I know that you’ve been really bust and I don’t want you working overtime, again.” “If you insist, senator. Rex, please accompany senator Amidala to the chamber.” the man said, turning to the clone. “Stop by my office in the evening, when the night guards take over.” “Yes, sir.” They watched as Doran walked away, into the crowd, before turning back to face one another. “Shall we?” Amidala asked, motioning with her hand. “Of course.” he offered her his arm, which she gladly took, and started leading the way, slowly making their way to the repulsorpods. “It’s an honor to met you, senator.” “Likewise, Rex.” she said. “I’ve heard great things about you, about your service at the front.” “Well, I was just doing my job.” “Don’t be so modest.” she lightly tugged at his arm, so he didn’t bump into a wall. “Watch out.” “Forgive me for my curiosity, but do you know who I will be protecting?” he asked, once he got his bearings. “Also, from what I heard, when a senator’s life is threatened, a Jedi is assigned as their bodyguard, not a clone.” “What you’ve heard is true, but this is an exception. I won’t go into the details, but he refused to have a Jedi assigned to him for... various reasons.” Padmé explained. “And to answer your first question, we’re on our way to see him.” Rex nodded, which was followed by of few moments of uncomfortable silence. He couldn’t help but notice how some of the gathered looked at him as they made their way through the crowded hallway. They looked at him with surprised looks, which quickly turned into ones of anger, judgment, even disgust. To them, clones were lesser beings, tools that just happened to breathe and have consciousness. Seeing one, here, in the Senate, one of the most protected places on the whole planet, was like seeing a dirty, disease carrying vermin. He was used to this kind of treatment, but he still couldn’t help looking down, to avoid looking at the people surrounding him. He felt ashamed and so out of place, at this point the battlefield filled with droids seemed more welcoming that this place. “Ignore them.” The clone looked up, caught off guard. The woman walking next to him slightly tightened her grip on his elbow, her head held high. He haven’t even realized that he tried to pull away from her until then. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly, glancing around. “I don’t want to ruin your reputation...” “I don’t care what they’ll think of me. You’re a good human being, with absolute no reasons for shame : you saved countless lives, set an example for others, you were chosen for a reason, Rex.” she said, her voice cold and stern. He couldn’t help but shiver at the sudden change in her behavior, even though it wasn’t directed at him. “You’re the first clone to be assigned a job here, inside the Senate, but not the last. Others will, hopefully, follow, once they see yours and your siblings’ potential. It’s a small step for you, but a leap for others. You should be proud.” Rex opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t come up with anything. Instead, he shook his head slightly, a smile forming on his face. Her words made him feel better, even so slightly. “I think he did it on purpose.” “Who did?” he asked. “Ani.” she responded, her gaze fixed on something ahead of them. “I think he requested for a clone to be assigned as his bodyguars to show everyone that he doesn’t, excuse my language, gives a kriff about what they think about him. And to give you a chance to show what you’re made of.” The blond man blinked, surprised at her words. “We’re here.” she said, stopping all of the sudden. They were now standing next to an entrance, which lead inside the Grand Convocation Chamber and the repulsorpods. “He should be inside, come on.” She let go off his elbow, leading the way, greeting a few fellow senators along the way before disappearing inside. Rex took a deep breath and followed after her, not quite ready yet determined to face what was waiting for him at the other side.

[kiwibirdlafayette]

Aitheaca: About Flash’s clothes, are they reflective? Is it made to look like gold (with gold embellishments) or is his jacket like actually gold (assuming it’s something similar to gold leaf but for fabric and lightweight)?

If his clothes are reflective, I think combat with him could be really fun, because he just causes blindness on the battlefield on sunny days. It’d also be fun with someone on the crew didn’t realize who they were talking to upon first meeting him because looking directly at him is hard. So, they don’t know the danger they’re in until it’s too late.

Also! What’s crew dynamic looking like? I saw you mentioned Spark was on the crew a while back, but just to confirm, who’s officially on the crew?

Out of all the Aitheaca designs, who’s your favorite?

Thank you so much for the questions!! I appreciate it a ton, it means an absolute lot that you're interested in my sillies :D

With Flash's jacket, hell yeah! I wasn't specifically going for a reflective surface, but I did want his jacket to appear as if it was weaved out of fibered gold (that Im assumin would be like gold leaf in texture), that is yes lightweight man's gotta be able to move fast... like a flash of light haHA-

When light reflects off it in certain ways it could absolutely be used like a flashbang to blind enemies during battle, I'm imagining AND YESSS the crew would have zero idea, like in the plot I have in my head so far, Tom, Sonja and Spark are the first ones to encounter Flash, they just see a shape of a man in the sunbeam ahead, too bright to tell who exactly it was. Initially they think it could be Jordan, but its actually Flash, who was tipped off to their location based on Tom's Mecha-Dianite quintessence (that still puts off a pretty strong signature despite the cloaking sigils Wag had given him). Like you mentioned, he's really hard to look at, because while he's standing in the sun he's not creating a shadow, he's reflecting it. And its in this time they don't notice him pull out his weapons and BANG

Mer and co. end up having to come in to come in to help them out-because they don't exactly have experience fighting someone who is wearing basically a mirror for a jacket in direct sunlight- wearing wearing some kine specialized obsidian sunglasses because yknow this is isn't their first rodeo with this yellow dipshit (Merina's not as affected as Will and Cass but she's gonna wear em anyway for the bit)

I think of the designs, probably either Merina, Cass and Ianite are my favorite! Ia because I just had a lot of fun designing her armor and coming up with a darker color palette costume design that wasn't just dark purple, and working with different armor styles to get the specific celestial warlord look I wanted her to have :D Cass was just a fun design to do overall because his aesthetics have been something I dont get to work with much, a very patchwork vintage kind of thing, which is supposed to be a callback to Inter Amorem et Timorem , a short screenplay I wrote for school where- aside from it being a Tom reference- he was named Cassell because his emotions were spoken through cassette tapes C: But Merina's design might just be my favorite, I am a sucker for nautical designs and trying to figure out what a coraldragon hybrid might look like compared to a typical merling was a ton of fun :D Also trying to work in the color palettes of the Watchers was how I landed on the blueish purple scheme, because initially she was going to be teal and orange to call back a little to Sonja across the multiverse

(I promise I also love William equally but too much of his design was me making jokes about Joel/Pix/Bdubs)

And the crew! Currently as I have it, the peeps that end up in Aitheaca are Jordan, Tom, Capsize, Sonja, Martha, Spark (Tucker I was thinking about including, but I'm not sure how to work him back in, but basically they would find him in a different SMP prior to this; where the reconciliation between him and Sonja starts) Its very interesting to have 3 different Sparklez variants in the same timeline, surely nothing could go wrong /hj, but the dynamic can best be defined as "a group of people who desperately just need to figure their shit out because damn they have not really had a proper chance to rest and feel safe doing so"

While Tom and Jordan had their reconciliation arc during Isles (source: just trust me m8), Capsize, while having gotten a hang on being undead is carrying a lot of resentment and unresolved issues she's not sure about because she can't clearly remember the entirety of (specifically towards Jordan) and Sonja kind of holding a little resentment towards Tom, but more importantly her decision to choose to stay Mianite's champion despite her post-S2 not being sure and owning that choice. no longer even after Tucker he drifts away (and then how that comes into play when Tucker rejoins them, basically the stuff I allude to in the mini animatic) its essentially Embersduo and Zombiecaptains but they have trouble getting along, not because they're sick of each other, but more like damn We all Went Through a Ton of Shit and we're not good at talking about it or working through it together,but goddammit we're still gonna try to get along. That being said I do think they have moments where they can be their silly shenanigan selves :D

Martha's her own ballgame, in the sense that she's very endgoal oriented in trying to problem solve, and her reaction to Aitheaca!Ianite is very drastic as well, it just must be really weird to see a basically evil version of your mother. She and Sonj aren't great friends, but her and Capsize have caught on pretty well, and she doesn't mind Jordan (Tom's iffy, but at least they can connect over being new gods in a way) Spark's just along for the ride, he was supposed to get back home to help out Dia, Mot and the Wizards but the portal fucked up lowkey :] He's not exactly overjoyed to be parading about the multiverse but he's fine with Martha, Sonj and Capsize so he mostly hangs around them. It'll be interesting that's for sure, but this is the main chunk of the post-series stuff I want to do so yeeeee

[purityandbeans]

okay,, but.

1) lore/worldbuilding:

this is The reason i watch the mandalorian. I've seen most of the star wars movies, i watched a Small amount of the clone wars, but the Meat of the General Star Wars lore i'm consuming Is in fact from the mandalorian. And what can i say? it's there. It delivers. There sure fuckin are these pterodactyl-lookin dragon-things on this random unnamed desert planet. (is it named? fuck if i know). but more importantly, this sure is the way this group of people Interacts. There are habits and patterns they weave through in their day to day that are foreign to me, there are traditions they hold to and yeah, they may be impractical. They may even highlight Roadblocks that prevent their society from Functioning like the one i live in. If i could not cook someone a meal and see them enjoy it, i Would in fact scream. So much. There's a lot of worldbuilding and lore dumping in the mandalorian. Shallow, matter-of-fact things such as "hey yeah, there's at least one mythosaur on mandalore" to more inference-based things, such as "hey yeah when you're petitioning the covert, it is your turn to speak when you hold the armorer's hammer". Long story short, it's there. It delivers. It is the main attraction for me, and by God does it deliver.

2) cinematography

now i'm gonna be frank - i know Nothing about filming shit. Nothing. What i do know about is making shit up based on Vibes so you sound like you have a point. The camerawork in the mandalorian Definitely exists. It is There and it gets the story across and i have Some issues with it - but it's more pacing and probably belongs in category 3) writing, except i already know that that shit's gonna be long and i Don't want to exacerbate it more than i have to. There is too much combat per episode in season 3 than there strictly Needs to be. I get that mandalorians fight, i get that like. So much of their culture is built around that and that so long ago in the sith wars or whatever they invaded the rest of the galaxy and there were crusades and it was a Whole Thing. But (and i know it wasn't) it *feels* like either half of each episode is eaten by "oh we gots to fight, here is how we go fight, here is the fight" with various "surprise, fight time!"s sprinkled in. It just gets to be gratuitous and unnecessary and yeah, it may be the only relevant to the story thing happening in the lives of the mandalorian(s) at the time - but there are ways *around* that. My personal favorite is, if your character isn't by themselves telling a compelling story, you can shift the pov to a new character and show how the otherwise predictable plot affects them - and shift back later. They kind of do a similar thing by interspersing a second, loosely related plot with the first - but they're too loosely related and it feels jarring to swap back and forth. They're two completely different worlds, two completely different stories, they exist independently from one another and it leaves us with a kind of mystery getting chopped up by all the mandalorian action and stuff that would be Otherwise dropped to tell a concise narrative - were the show not originally about it. so we'll use that to segue into...

3) writing

the writing in the third season of the Mandalorian isn't about anything. Yet. Ok, it's about Din Djarin going to mandalore and finding a new home for his covert and in the case of bo katan it's about finding purpose - but that arc has pretty much sailed and we're back to square one with "what is the moral". In season one, the large takeaway i got was "no matter your lot in life, you can still function with a moral compass". In season two, it was about finding purpose in family. Season three is about... mandalorians. There is no consistent moral or theme to tie things together. There is no emotional pull or weight, there is nothing to invest us emotionally beyond "hey look, grogu does cute flip and Paz is a dad." and "damn i sure hope these mandalorians don't die in their next fight."

Because of this dearth of a theme, and to have some emotional investment in the story, the story has a second main plot. I don't want to call it a side plot, because it takes a Significant amount of runtime and only Loosely relates to the main plot involving the mandalorian covert. But it has this second main plot in which a Friend of moff gideon's is slowly fucking with shit and doing spy things in the new republic's requisitions office, and it's a compelling story. I very much enjoy how the main character of it is someone we see through many side characters' eyes - it paints them as distant and cold and calculating and is the Perfect setup for some behind the scenes villain shit and i am Here for it. We got to see her get close to someone she Knew could easily become a threat and then essentially kill him to protect her own back. Was both good writing and good characterization.

And especially with the end of the latest episode being "hey, mandalorians abducted moff gideon" - I can see how the two plots fit together down the road. But it's a Real fuckin stretch right now, and as i mentioned before - it's Very jarring.

What else is jarring is dialogue choices. Every episode has one or two lines that have stood out to me as "inorganic" and by god this last was no exception. In the aforementioned scene the episode ends on, the last line (or pretty close to) is something along the lines of "Do you mean that mandalorians took moff gideon?" in response to "hey there's beskar embedded in the fucking wall of this dead in the water prisoner shuttle". Now, there are two problems with this. First, yes. It's beskar. The episode gives no reason to doubt that that's the material. Mandalorians - to my limited knowlesge - are the only group of peoples that Use beskar. If a serious question is to be asked here, it shouldn't be "is it mandalorians?" because, yes. Beskar means mandalorians. That's a stupid question. If you need a question in the script, you could ask "are you sure it's beskar", because beskar is very rare and finding a shard of beskar in some random space shuttle would be Very Odd Indeed and Maybe cause to double check your readings. And if you need to spell it out to your audience that "hey, this means mandalorians took moff gideon", don't frame it as a question, it is demeaning. Have the person say "ah, must be mandalorians then" or something - treating it as a Logical Conclusion rather than a theory to field. Second, if over the equivalent of a phone call there is reason enough to doubt that mandalorians left beskar in the wall, don't ask if it's mandalorians. It's not a logical conclusion. It's juet bad.

4) conclusion

when season 3 picks up, i will be very excited. If it picks up. Which it might not. If it doesn't i will cry. But i don't know where i'm going with this, i think ibjust wanted to gut it a bit because it could be better.

[has-the-high-ground]

How does it feel to have plot armor?

I am wearing standard republic issue armor along with my jedi robes, I am unfamiliar with this model of armor.

[convenientalias]

Finally started watching Word of Honor after watching it wander across my dash for like a year. Now it's been three days and I'm eleven episodes in and here are my thoughts:

Initially I wasn't sure I would be able to fully enjoy a show that's so callous about murder. It's not that I don't enjoy a good murderer or that I can't get into some villainous MCs, but Word of Honor takes death so lightly it's hard to see any narrative weight in it. I mean, Zhang Chengling's whole sect dies and the only real narrative weight this is given is "Oh, now Zhou Zishu's picked up a kid and ppl think Chengling has a Glazed Armor shard" instead of "Oh no, this kid's whole family is dead!" Even the kid himself is more focused on What to Do next and on getting Zhou Zishu to take him as a disciple than on Recent Traumatic Events. It's striking to me in comparison to other historical or wuxia cdramas I've watched--Handsome Siblings, the Flame's Daughter, Weaving a Tale of Love, and Ancient Detective all have similar adventure-y but lighthearted vibes, but when a main character's friends or family die, they take the matter very seriously. So I was wondering if I would be able to get invested in the plot or in characters who are so chill with murder (I was also like... did Wen Kexing slaughter that sect himself? still not fully clear on how involved in that he was).

I still feel kind of the same about Word of Honor's approach to death in general (though it does seem to take SOME deaths seriously, such as the Four Sages), but I have decided to just ignore that bc it does have a couple key strengths:

1. I enjoy Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing's relationship. It's not a very complex relationship, given. It's sort of a "I met you on the street and decided to follow you around and that we're soulmates" kind of relationship. But the two actors have good chemistry, and the characters seem to just enjoy being around each other. They're fun characters separately too--I love seeing Wen Kexing play Ghost Master, and Zhou Zishu's whole inner turmoil over his sins of the past. But it's just very fun to watch them hang out. You're like, "Yeah, I'd walk through the marketplace with you. I'd watch people fight to the death from a rooftop with you. Good times."

2. The whump is there! Zhou Zishu is coughing up blood on the regular! Zhang Chengling is pitifully waiting for his shifu to rescue him, also on the regular. Wen Kexing has not been whumped yet but if it were to happen, I'm sure it would be great!

3. The fight scenes are in general quite fun and there are a lot of them.

In short, so far it's a style over substance, vibes over plot kind of watch for me. Very bingeable.

[lalainajanes]

For klarosummerbingo, my “mango lassi” square! Did I order Indian food for dinner? Yes, yes I did.

Masks Off

When she notices the goon tailing her – shaved head, seasonally inappropriate leather jacket, neck tattoos – Caroline’s pissed off.

And exhausted.

She’d spent all day cooped up in the boardroom at Forbes Industries, listening to men twice her age complain about dividends and try to suggest that workers didn’t really need a raise subtly.

It had been a tedious and pointless exercise, one she suffers quarterly. Caroline holds 51% of the company’s shares and can easily wrangle another block of shareholders into voting with her. Her parent’s wills, read out fourteen years ago, had bequeathed a stake in FI to several loyal employees. People they’d loved, who’d stepped in to help raise Caroline after they’d passed.

The board knows she has the final say, and it kills them. They think she’s an idiot, that she’d bought her degrees and can’t comprehend the financial statements. They try to ply her with compliments and flattery, attempt unsubtle fibs – Caroline plays dumb and tolerates the bullshit because she knows she can control them. Another board might not be so easy to manipulate.

She’d had a headache by the time the meeting had wrapped, had been so grateful to see Enzo waiting at the curb. She’d practically dived into the backseat of the town car, had rolled the partition down, and enjoyed a satisfying debrief and bitch session on the drive back to her apartment. Enzo had offered to grab her dinner before he went off the clock, but Caroline knew he had a date night planned. She’d shoed him away, told him she’d order in.

Once safely tucked away in her place Caroline had gotten restless.

She’d changed out of her boring suit, pulled out the pins in her hair, and loosely braided it back. After changing into a pale blue cotton dress and pair of oversized sunglasses, then selecting a few Forbes Industries prototypes, Caroline had headed out for sustenance.

She hadn’t bothered to let her security detail know. She’s adept at sneaking away under their noses. The detail is mostly for show, to make sure no one connects Caroline Forbes, wild child heiress, to the vigilante who’s working on tidying up the city streets.

She’ll slip into the leather ensemble she’d commissioned once night falls and load up with weapons. Then she’ll head to the garage where she keeps her armored vehicles and larger toys.

There’s a new villain who’s been popping up more and more frequently on her patrols. She hasn’t caught him doing anything untoward just yet, and he’s yet to make the papers and have a ridiculous name bestowed upon him. She’s scoured papers from England, then the rest of Europe, checking to see if there was a reputation that preceded him. So far, she’s found nothing, but  Caroline knows he must be working on something big.

Why else would he be so determined to attract her attention? He must have some kind of plan cooking up, wants her looking in another direction when he enacts it.

The walk to the restaurant had been uneventful. Caroline had to wait a few minutes for her order to be ready, but passing the time on a bench outside, unnoticed, her people-watching undisturbed, had been a nice change from how she’d spent the rest of the day.

It promised to be a hot evening, even though the sun would be setting shortly. Sweat had begun gathering near her hairline, forcing curls out of her braid. Caroline had added a mango lassi to her order and collected her dinner, inhaled appreciatively at the warm, spicy scent emanating from the paper bag.

She’d begun her walk home, sipping her drink contentedly, weaving through the growing number of pedestrians who were venturing out for the evening.

She’d noted the guy shadowing her about three blocks from her building, had heaved a dramatic sigh that had the guy waiting for the walk light with her edging away.

She’d just wanted to stuff herself with naan, biryani, and saag paneer and become one with her couch for a few hours before she went out to take out her frustrations on some bad guys. Was that too much to ask?

Caroline takes a turn, heading east to where there should be fewer people, reaching into her bag to slide her fingers into the modified brass knuckles (not actually brass but a proprietary FI compound) and grasping the extendable baton.

She takes another turn to check that she’s not paranoid, but the goon mirrors it.

As does another person.

Caroline pretends to adjust the strap of her dress, twisting her head to get a better look at her second pursuer. It’s an impressively muscular woman, her considerable height only enhanced by her spiked hair, dressed in skin-tight shorts and a mesh crop top.

She doesn’t seem to mind that Caroline’s spotted her, wiggling her fingers and offering a challenging smile.

There are two possibilities. Either the people following her are cocky and stupid – really the ideal scenario – or they’re cocky because they’ve got a solid plan and some big guns.

When a hand grabs her upper arm and yanks her into an alley, spilling the mango lassi and staining her dress, Caroline suspects it might be the latter. She’s thrown against a wall, just managing to get her hands up to save her face from being smashed into the brick.

She hears footsteps pounding against concrete, and the two pursuers she’s noticed join the man who’d yanked her into the alley. Regretfully, Caroline drops her takeout and her bag and backs away, hiding her weapons in the folds out of the skirt. She forces a quaver into her voice, “What do you want?”

It’s unlikely that three people who seem to have stepped right out of the goon for hire catalog have just decided to rob her. Caroline doesn’t want to assume there’s a larger plot. She’s hoping this won’t turn into a big thing, and she’s out of luck if people are planning to kidnap Caroline Forbes for ransom.

But it’ll be even messier if a bad guy’s clocked her extracurricular activities.

The spiky-haired woman takes the lead, stalking towards Caroline. She’s got a knife in her hand now, “What do I want? Twenty million dollars, to start with.”

Oh good. It’s just a kidnapping.

Honestly, kind of an insulting one. She won’t even have to liquate any assets to come up with the twenty million. Caroline stops moving, straightens her spine. “Done!” she chirps brightly. “Wire transfer, or cheque? I can do cash too, but that’s like ten briefcases. What are you going to do with them after?”

She’s been hoping to catch her attempted kidnapper off guard, but the woman doesn’t falter. She snorts, “You’re funny. I didn’t expect that.”

“Thanks, I get that a lot. I’m chock full of surprises.”

Spike lunges forward, and Caroline dodges, stepping past her and whipping her arm out, until her weapon lengthens fully. She crouches, extending her leg and spinning while slashing with her baton. Caroline lands a brutal strike on Spike’s kidneys. Spikes grunts, stumbles forward, arm banding over her stomach protectively. Caroline completes her spin and rises, catching Spike with a punch before she pauses, poised on the balls of her feet, back to a wall.

Her would-be kidnappers no longer look as confident. Spikes spits blood, expression enraged. The other two watch Caroline with calculative gazes.

“Girls gotta keep in shape, right? The tabloids are brutal. It turns out the elliptical is super boring, so I had to find something a little more fun.” Caroline leaps forward, tucking into a roll, snagging a brick from the ground and using her momentum to throw it into Leather Jacket’s face.

The brick makes contact with a gross crunch of blood, bone, tissue, and teeth. Leather Jacket howls, his hand coming up to cover his head. She jumps again, thighs locking around his neck, spinning to bring him to the ground. She digs her knee into his spine, gripping his head and slamming it into the ground for good measure until he goes limp underneath her.

Caroline stands, wiping her hand on her already ruined dress. “One down,” she says.

Only to instantly regret the proclamation. Bonnie says she needs to lay off on the monologuing, and maybe she’s got a point.

She senses movement behind her, near the mouth of the alley. Caroline turns warily, head swiveling between her two attackers and the men who are now freaking rappelling from the rooftops. Six of them. In black tactical gear, strapped with weapons and wearing black ski masks.

Well, crap.

If she’d been on patrol, with her protective suit and gadgets, she might have been able to take them. Now, in flats and a sundress, with two flimsy weapons and no backup, she doesn’t like her odds.

Caroline tosses the baton aside, pastes on the smile she uses when she has to ignore paparazzi shouting rude questions about her sex life at her. She lifts her hands slowly, palms open. “So, I’m guessing you don’t only want cash, huh?”

“Funny and smart,” Spikes says spitefully, coming up behind Caroline and yanking her hair. “What a rosy life you must lead.”

She feels a sharp sting in the side of her neck, then a flood of wooziness. Brief pain when she collapses.

She’s vaguely aware of being heaved up and over someone’s shoulder, of being alarmed by how her limbs won’t cooperate when she tries to fight back. She’s tossed in a trunk, encased in blackness.

Caroline fights it, the tiredness, her thoughts growing meandering and disorganized. When the engine rumbles to life underneath her, Caroline loses consciousness.

* * * * *

Caroline realizes she’s tied to a chair as soon as awareness returns.

She can hear voices murmuring, too soft for her to make out any words even when she strains. Caroline’s slumped over, pulling against the ropes. She’s definitely going to have some fun bruises tomorrow. Her head’s resting limply against her chest, and she stays as still as she can, barely opening her eyes while trying to get a good look at her surroundings.

Unfortunately, she seems to be in a pretty generic warehouse—grimy, smelly, cavernous, decorated with random overlapping graffiti.

She spots a tray of shiny, sharp medical instruments to her right.

Which is not ideal.

Caroline tests her bonds slowly, checking for any give or weakness. Any kind of opportunity. One of her captors has eagle eyes and notices her movements. She flinches when his voice booms out, “Sleeping beauty awakes!”

Damn it.

Caroline lifts her head, rolling her neck to work out the cramp that’s developed. “I prefer the modern Disney princesses, thank you.” She’s not the type to wait around for a handsome prince to come to her rescue.

She studies the guy who’d spoken. He’s got steel-grey hair and tanned skin, thick biceps. His face doesn’t show even a hint of emotion, and he doesn’t acknowledge she’d spoken. She’d guess he’s a pro, probably some variety of ex-military, likely expensive. Caroline hears the clomp of heavy boots and twists her head to see some familiar faces joining the party.

Moderately damaged familiar faces, but she’s not sorry about that.

“So about that ransom,” Caroline begins hopefully. “Twenty-five million, was it?”

The guy who’d taken a brick to the face grunts, “Thirty now. For our trouble.”

Caroline can admit that’s fair.

“I get it. Plastic surgery’s not cheap. Not that I’ve had any work done, despite what the tabloids might claim. I’m only twenty-seven. Of course my boobs look fantastic in a bikini.”

No one even cracks a smile.

“Okay, so you’re not interested in jokes. We could discuss the fact that it’s super gross that people follow me around the world and stalk me with long-lens cameras. Am I not entitled to take a vacation?”

No response.

Caroline sighs, shifting in her chair in an attempt to get more comfortable. “Tough crowd.”

Spike drags a second chair over, sitting down and resting a booted foot on her opposite knee. “Thirty million dollars. I have a list of six prisoners that I need to be released from the Super Max. And I want something from the Forbes Industries Vault. The subterranean one that most of your employees don’t know about.”

Caroline tips her head back, considering. Thirty million dollars, no big deal. The prisoners might be hard to arrange, but she’s got connections. She knows exactly who she’d need to bribe. She can always scoop them up later, wrap ‘em in a pretty little bow and leave them on the steps of city hall.

The Vault though? That’s not happening. She’s going to have to figure out how they even know about it, who else might have bought the info, but that’s a problem for later.

“How about fifty million dollars and a couple of extra prisoners? Maybe someone from the asylum?”

Spike leans over, her hand drifting over the tray of instruments. She plucks up one with a serrated edge, twirling it through her fingers. “I know you’re used to snapping your fingers and getting everything your little heart desires, but this isn’t a negotiation.”

She leans forward, resting the blade against the dip between Caroline’s collarbones. She taps it against Caroline’s skin with each carefully enunciated word, “Money. Prisoners. Vault.” She pulls back, gives the instrument another spin. “That’s my only offer. You can say yes, and we’ll give you a phone, so you’re servants can start arranging things. Or, we can do this the hard way.”

She doesn’t insult Caroline’s intelligence by spelling out what the hard way would entail.

Caroline swallows, straightens her spine. “No one gets in my vault.”

Spike sighs in faux disappointment, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. “The hard way it is, then.”

Caroline closes her eyes, holds her breath, waits for the first cut to come.

It doesn’t come from where she’d expected.

Glass shatters from high above, showering down, leaving dozens of tiny nicks across her bare shoulders. She feels a rush of air before a body landing in front of her, knees bent.

A familiar man, one who’s been taking up way too much of Caroline’s free time, smirks at her, “Hello, love.”

Caroline gapes at him, and he pivots, backing up until her bent knees brush the back of his calves. She sees few bright flashes, but his back obscures her view of what’s happening. Whatever he’s doing, it’s painfully loud. Popping sounds interrupt shouts and screams of pain, and heavy thuds ring out. Caroline cringes, tucking her ear against her shoulder in an attempt to muffle the cacophony.

Silence, when it comes, scant moments after the chaos began, is jarring. Caroline leans as far to the side as she can, eyes widening when she spots the pile of bodies. She watches as the man, who she doesn’t know if she can call her rescuer since at this point he might also be planning on ransoming her, yanks a handful of zip cuffs from his pocket.

He moves swiftly and with grace, seemingly very at home his body and aware of its capabilities. Caroline’s eyes narrow, mind whirling as he secures her attackers, and she tries to assimilate this new information. He pulls off his leather gloves when he’s done, returning to her side. His expression grows regretful, and his fingertips brush her shoulders, skimming over the cuts and scrapes there. “Sorry about these. The skylight was the best entry point. Make sure you clean them up, hmm?”

He steps passed her, and Caroline feels him make quick work of her handcuffs. She hears the snick of a knife unsheathing and stiffens, but he only uses it on the ropes that bind her legs and torso. Caroline shakes them off, stands hesitantly.

“Okay,” she says, crossing her arms and turning until they’re once more face to face, separated by the metal chair. “What exactly is happening here? Who are you?”

“I’m afraid I’m not yet ready for you to know my identity. In due time, I promise.”

Caroline sucks in a sharp breath, her teeth grinding together. “Um, how about no?”

He blinks, and Caroline steps a little closer. They’ve always met in the dark, and he’d purposely stuck to the shadows as he’d teased and tossed questions at her. She’s never been this close to him. His eyes are blue, his lashes annoyingly long in a way men never appropriately appreciate. He wears a black mask, covering from the top of his forehead to his upper lip. His hair is slicked back, but she thinks it might be on the lighter side, given the shade of his stubble.

He clears his throat and shifts his weight, but he doesn’t step back or shy away. “I… I beg your pardon?”

“I have had a garbage day. It was long, it was boring, I had to argue over things I know I’m right about, with people who think I’m a bimbo and spend way too much time trying to look down my tops. My dinner got tossed aside when goons r us scooped me up. I love this dress, and it’s ruined. I’m bleeding. I don’t know where my shoes are. I’m hungry, I’m tired, and I want to go home!” she’s shouting when she’s done ranting, out of breath.

“Right.” Her rescuer, she’s decided on the term now, shoves the chair aside. He steps forward until his feet bracket hers, wraps his arm around her waist. Caroline grips his biceps, too shocked to admonish this rude invasion of her space. “Hold on. Step up onto my feet.”

She throws her hands up in frustration, “Hello? Did anything I just said sink in?”

His lips, which she’s now noticing are very nice, full and soft looking, compress. She’s pretty sure he’s trying to swallow a laugh. “I heard every word. I’m trying to assist in getting you home. In service of that, if you could please step up onto my feet and hold on.”

His right arm rises, and Caroline recognizes the device in his hand. She’s about to ask him if he’s seriously rescuing her with a device he’d stolen from her but thinks better of it.

He’d stolen the grappling hook from a vigilante who rocks a rose pink leather catsuit, not from Caroline Forbes. It would have been a monster slip, a true testament to how rattled she is from the day’s events that she’d almost blurted out her secret identity to a guy with questionable motives and an unknown name.

Instead, she smiles tightly, loops her arms around his neck, and gingerly steps onto his heavy boots. “For future reference,” she says sweetly, “I generally only like following orders in the bedroom.”

The strangled choking noise he makes as they hurtle upward is immensely satisfying.

* * * * *

Two days later, Caroline’s on her couch watching news footage of a gala she’d been supposed to attend. She’d had a great dress, red and scandalous, all ready to go, but trying to cover her scabby shoulders with makeup had made her look like she’d contracted some kind of infectious skin issue.

She’d sent her regrets and a fat check, resigned herself to a solo evening in her comfy sweats. On her TV, a society reporter’s chattering away about the guest she’d just finished talking to, a lech who’s at least smart enough to hire a publicist good enough to hide his dealings with loan sharks. She trails off in the middle of a sentence, fingertips coming up to press at her earpiece.

The reporter looks right at the camera, excitement on her face. “I’ve just been given some breaking news! A surprise guest has arrived, all the way from the UK. Klaus Mikaelson has shied away from public life since his messy exit from his father’s corporation five years ago. He’s built his own tech firm from the ground up. Buzz had been building since they announced their intention to go public. Let’s see if we can get a few words.”

Bored with the fawning, Caroline’s just about to switch channels. She knows all about Klaus’ Mikaelson’s company. Blurbs about it have been showing up in the intelligence reports she has complied since he’d lured a pair of promising engineers from FI’s Paris offices.

She’s planning on investing in his IPO because he might have scummy HR policies, but his business is sound.

There haven’t been many pictures of him available; apparently, he’d hardly been a social butterfly even when he’d been welcome in the family fold. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or so in the ones Caroline’s seen, in which he’d been gangly and angular and sporting a terrible haircut.

The image changes, swinging to the red carpet before Caroline can grab the remote. She pauses, impressed because Klaus Mikaelson has grown up nicely. She might be distracted by the flawless fit of his tux, which Caroline knows can cover a world of sins, so she leans closer as the camera pans up to his face.

And promptly drops her wine class.

The blue eyes. That smile, the dimple it carves into his stubbled cheek. She’d brushed her lips over that cheek barely more than forty-eight hours ago when she’d thanked him for what he’d done for her.

Klaus Mikaelson had accompanied her home the other night, had neatly deflected her probing questions, his amusement never turning to exasperation at Caroline’s dogged persistence.

She’d seriously considered inviting him into her home. She’d told herself it was only in search of more information, but a tiny part of her, the one that was unfailingly honest and sometimes gets her in trouble, had admitted her rescuer intrigued her, even without a name.

Well. Now she has one. A plan forms rapidly, and Caroline scrambles for her phone, digging it out of her couch cushions. She taps the screen, connecting a call to Bonnie. “Bon? Sorry to bug you when you’re off the clock. But I need you to find someone for me.”

She stands, walking into her bedroom as she explains what she needs.

Bonnie’s a genius, well worth the exorbitant salary Caroline pays her. She gets the address within an hour.

* * * * *

Caroline drops a rope onto the terrace of Klaus’ apartment, slips down with barely a whisper of sound, landing lightly. She hugs the side of the building, inching over to the open French doors. She’s fully suited up, hair tightly controlled, and mask on. She eases her foot over the threshold, eyes darting around.

Ugh, of course, he has excellent taste.

Caroline likes light and airy, fun patterns and textures. But she can appreciate the sumptuousness of Klaus’ living room. It’s done up in burgundies and neutrals, hints of gold. There’s a buttery leather sofa facing a fireplace, thick carpets that muffle the sounds of her boots as she walks further in. She can imagine a pleasant night in front of a crackling fire, curled up on the couch when the weather turns cold.

But she’s getting ahead of herself.

Her nose twitches, picking up the smell of curry, cardamom, and turmeric.

She hears a door click shut, whirls to find Klaus, barefoot and still dressed up from The Gala, though he’s ditched the jacket and tie. He leans against the now-closed doors to the terrace. He smiles at her warmly, “Hello, Caroline.”

Which answers one of her most pressing questions.

Caroline yanks her mask off, tossing it aside. “I realize this is going to give you déjà vu, but what exactly is happening here?”

Klaus pushes off from the door, ambles towards her, studying her reaction carefully. Caroline doesn’t flinch away or retreat. “I have a proposition for you. And I have dinner. Takeaway from that place you visited the other day when your evening plans were… interrupted. I even got the mango lassi.”

Caroline narrows her eyes, “I have weapons, you know. Way more than you’d think, given how tight this outfit is.”

He laughs, a low husky sound that Caroline knows would be easy to get addicted to. “I’m sure you do. I’m not worried about you using them on me. I only want you to hear out my proposal. You can leave anytime you wish.”

She wonders if it’s stupid to believe him, but she does. He’d had the upper hand two days ago, had no trouble dispatching the group that had taken her. If he had nefarious intentions, he could have picked up right where they left off with the torture.

Caroline’s learned to trust her instincts. They’re telling her she’s safe.

She tugs her hair out of its elastic, loosens her collar slightly, pulling the zipper down a few inches. “Mind lending me something to wear? This totally isn’t designed for sitting for long periods.”

Klaus directs her to a guestroom, gathers a few things of his for her to wear. When she gets to the dining room, she finds he’s arranged the food on gleaming platters and lit candles. Her mango lassi, in its plastic cup, looks wildly out of place.

Caroline refuses to find it endearing.

At least until she’s confirmed that her instincts are correct.

[pikapikabishes]

Light of My Life

DESCRIPTION: CHARACTERS ARE NOT MINE, THEY BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTFUL OWNERS. ONLY THING THAT IS MINE IS THE PLOT

Summary: Kirishima and Y/n realize their love for each other after years of yearning

Warnings: slight nudity, some cursing, tooth-rotting fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two years.

Kirishima has been in love with you… for two whole years. Ever since he met you on the first day they had started as first years in UA. When you stood up for your new friends against the angry blonde pomeranian that is Kasuki Bakugo, then for some reason apologized for it. You were just the epitome of beauty, both inside and out, and benevolence, a fiery spark in your eye that indicates the strong will and fight that you have.

And the way you handle yourself in combat during that first training exercise with All Might? Kirishima swears that the existence of Cupid must be real because he was pretty sure it must’ve been incredibly abnormal with how fast he had fallen for you. You fought like some kind of battle goddess. And with your quirk, you might as well be.

You called your quirk “Celestial Light,” meaning you manipulate sun-, moon-, and starlight to your will. He’s seen you use the sunlight as powerful beams, to which you secretly admitted to him later that you got that move from Pokemon, forge weapons out of either light, and can now weave yourself a dazzling pair of wings along with armor as your ultimate move.

And while all these features, plus with just how stunningly beautiful you are; with your soft, shiny (h/c) hair, your (e/c) eyes that seem to make the stars in the sky lose their sparkle, those plump, soft-looking lips that stretch out into that dazzling smile that proudly shows off your pearly whites. What really reeled in his attention was all the little quirks you have.

The way you twirl a lock of your hair when you’re deep in thought; the way you chew on that kissable, plump lower lip of yours and your nose scrunches in the cutest way he’s ever seen, when you’re stuck on a difficult problem or when you don’t understand said problem; the way you always pluck out the tomatoes from your salad; how you always save your dessert for last so that, according to you, the delicious taste lingers on your tongue long after you’ve eaten it, or how you’re quick to offer some of your said dessert when a friend seems upset or sad about something; or the way you lightly sway your hips while you’re cooking to a song that’s either sounding from your phone or ringing in your head, at times humming to the tune playing, and how you tend to hum to what seems to be a pleasant daydream, if the soft smile on your face is anything to go by; as well as how you always, always make hot chocolate late at night when you have problems sleeping and how utterly adorable you look as you fight to stay awake as he fondly watches from around the corner during the times he himself has gown downstairs for something to drink as you sigh so contently when you take that first sip before clumsily making your way back up to your room. Especially when you still continue to argue with Kasuki to this day on how he treats Midoriya even though he’s mellowed a bit, Kirishima can’t help but find you so utterly adorable when your 5’7” is all up in Kasuki’s 6’5” personal space. It’s like watching a cute golden retriever puppy going up against a big bad (pomeranian) wolf.

Man, he could just go on and on. And he can go on and on and on about how hopelessly in love with you he is. Which he was subconsciously doing right now with his group of friends as he watched you happily interact with your best friend Mina and the other girls, as they undoubtedly plan their “girl’s night” tonight. Kirishima gave out another sigh, which earned him a hard smack on the back of his head within the next second.

“Ow!” Kirishima’s hand shot to the spot the angry pomeranian he calls his best friend had smacked him. He turned a questioning look over at the seething blonde next to him, looking at the bulging vein that looks ready to pop on his forehead. “What the hell was that for, Bakubro?!”

“That is the fucking twelveth time you’ve fucking sighed like that in the last 20 minutes, and I swear to fuck if I have to hear another fucking comment on how ‘beautiful’ Lamp is, Imma blow your ass all the way to Timbuktu,” Bakugou angrily spat out.

Of course, the threat of getting his ass handed to him rolled off him like water on a swan’s back. In the back of his mind, Kirishima laughed at how his friend was just all bark as he knew Bakugou wouldn’t actually beat him up that bad… probably.

Kirishima blinked, “Wait, what?”

“Yeah, bro,” Denki butted in, looking slightly annoyed as well. “You’ve been going on about ‘(L/n)’s hair looks great today’, ‘(L/n) looks so cute with her nose scrunched up when she chews her food’, ‘(L/n) looks so good in her uniform today.’ Like bro, you say she looks great in her uniform everyday, which I won’t argue, she do be looking mighty fine in a school uniform,” Denki trailed off as he leaned back in his seat as he stared at the girl in question, looking suspiciously like he’s trying to get a better view of her ass.

At that realization, Kirishima glared at the pervy, knockoff pikachu and kicked his shin hard.

Denki yelped, high-pitched and whiny as he brought up his leg, tendly rubbing the spot that was kicked. “Oooww, dude! What the hell?”

“Don’t look at her like that,” Kirishima growled, eyes glaring daggers.

Denki puts his arms up in surrender, cowarding before his suddenly intimidating friend. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry, I won’t stare at your girl again!”

Blood quickly rushed to the red-head’s cheeks, painting them a rosy color. “Wha- She’s not my girl!”

“You wouldn’t be able to tell with the way you look at her with that lovey-dovey expression on your face and how you follow her around like a lost puppy,” Sero intervened, casually leaned back in his seat with his hands behind his head, the straw from his drink dangling from his lips.

“Yeah what he said,” Denki agreed, still tenderly rubbing his injured leg.

“That’s not-” Kirishima tripped over his words. “We’re just hanging out! I do the same thing with you guys!”

“Yeah. but if ya compare how much time you spend with us vs. (L/n), you’re practically non-existent in our group hangouts,” Sero laughed at his friend’s red face that is one shade off from blending into his hair.

“Guys, com’on. I- I just-” Kirishima was waving his hands, trying to think of something to say.

“Quite making fucking stupid-ass excuses,” Bakugou butted in. “Do you like Lamp or not?” Kirishima nodded hesitantly before glancing back over to your table as if nervous that you would hear this conversation even when you were like 4 tables away in this noisy cafeteria. “Then be a fucking man, or some shit, and fucking tell her already before I pop a goddamn blood vessel from all your fucking lovey dovey shit and whinning!”

Kirishima blinked thinking about his best friend’s words. After a moment, Kirishima gave the pomeranian his usual bright grin that could blind anyone who witness, hence why Denki and Sero simutaniously brought out sunglasses and place them high on their noses, and Bakugou’s squinting. Standing up suddenly, he declared, “You’re absolutely right! I have to man up and tell her how I feel!”

The commotion of Kirishima’s declaration turned around all the heads in the cafeteria, causing the red head’s cheeks to heat up again as he became fully aware of all the pairs of eyes on his 6’4” self. After giving a hasty apology, Kirishima plops back down, leaning on the table and covering his eyes with his big hands. Unknown to him, a pair of disheartened (e/c) orbs glanced at the embarrassed red-head with a sadden longing lingering in them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re staring at him again,” Mina, your number one best friend, noted in a singsong voice, popping another french fry in her mouth.

“What? Staring at who?” You questioned, immediately picking at your side salad, suddenly having lost interest in eating.

“Oh com’on. I saw you looking at Kirishima again.” Mina nudged you with her elbow. “Why don’t you just tell him already?”

You looked at her in confusion. “Tell him what?”

“That you’re completely and hopelessly in love with him,” she gave off a teasing lovey-dovey sigh.

Heat rushed into your cheeks. “I-...” You stuttered, going back to jabbing at your salad. “I don’t know what your talking about.”

“Oh, please gurl,” Mina scoffed. “It’s so obvious, it’s kinda painful watching. Why don’t you go talk to him?”

“What do you mean? We talk everyday, we’re best friends just like you and me,” You defended. “Besides,” You absentmindedly twirl a lock of your hair around your finger. “I doubt he’d be into someone like me. I mean, I’m not all that special.”

“Are you kidding? You’re freaking gorgeous, how could he not love you?” Mina asked.

“I just feel like, I don’t know, maybe I’m too plain for him?”

Mina rolled her dark eyes before grabbing your shoulders, and turned you around towards the other girls sitting with them.

“Gals,” she called, turning all five heads. She slung an arm over your shoulder and pointed at you. “Smash or pass?”

They all simultaneously replied, “Smash.”

“See? You are not just a plain, ol’ girl. You’re beautiful, and you’re kind, and fun. Why wouldn’t he like you?” Mina glanced at the Kirishima, watching as Kaminari and Sero poking fun at the gentle giant. She may or may not know Kirishima’s feelings about you, having picked them up a while ago.

Your blushed increased. “I don’t know. He’s just so sweet, and determined, and I just… Sometimes I feel like he’s way out of my league,” you sighed solemnly.

Mina hummed, thinking. “Well that’s too bad then. I think you guys would make such a cute couple.”

“That’s nice of you to say,” you thanked, a bittersweet smile resting on your lips. “But you heard him just now. He already has someone he likes.” You sighed, “Looks like I’m too late.”

Mina decided then and there, she was going to be both of your wingman, determined to get her two friends together by this weekend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking down into the common room later after school, with a nice blouse and a pair of skinny jeans with a purse hanging from your shoulder, you come to see the BakuSquad hanging on the couches.

“Alright Mina, I’m ready. Let’s go,” You happily say, waiting for her on the side of the sofa she and Kirishima were lounging on.

Kirishima looked up from his phone, seeing you all dressed up causing a faint blush to rise. “You look good! Where are you going?”

His compliment on your outfit causing heat to rise in your cheeks as well. “Um, Mina and I were going to head to the mall for snacks and clothes.”

“Oooh yeah about that,” Mina started, smiling sheepishly. “I can’t go with you.”

Your face fell a bit. “What? Why?”

“Some personal business came up, But hey! Why doesn’t Kirishima here go with you?” Mina nudged the giant next to her with her elbow.

Kirishima bounced onto his feet in excitement at the thought of you two alone together. “Yeah, let’s go!”

“You don’t have to Kiri, I can go by myself-”

“Nonsense!” Mina interjected. “Kirishima was just telling me he wasn’t doing anything today. Plus you’re going to be needing both an extra pair of hands and eyes if your going to be shopping for clothes.”

You looked ay her in confusion. “I mean, I suppose. But if he doesn’t want-”

“I do!” he shouted, interrupting you into a shocked silence. Clearing his throat, he continued, “Ahem, I mean… I do. I don’t mind tagging along.”

“Alright,” You smiled, your cheeks still feeling warm and butterflies swarming your stomach at being alone with your crush. “If you’re ready, we can go now.”

“Uh,” Kirishima patted his pockets. “Give me a minute to go get my keys and wallet,” he said, before full on sprinting up the staircase towards his room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Here we are,” Kirishima announced, turning off the engine to his beat-up, red pickup truck.

“Thanks for coming along with me Kiri,” you smiled at him.

“It’s no problem, really. I like spending time with you.” His smile was tender and genuine.

“That’s sweet of you. I like spending time with you too,” you said, reaching for the handle of the door.

“Nuh-uh, what do you think you’re doing?” He gently grabbed your forearm, effectively stopping you from opening the door.

You quirked an eyebrow in confusion. “Opening the door to get out??”

“Nope, not while I’m around. A lady shouldn’t have to open a door when a man is with her. I’ve told you this before,” He shakes his head in mock disappointment, not effectively hiding the upturn of the corner of his mouth. “What’s wrong with you?”

He steps out of the truck, quickly rounding the truck and reaching your door to open it. “Seriously Kiri, it’s not that big of a deal,” you said, stepping out of the truck and onto the asphalt, watching as Kirishima locked the truck before walking side by side to the giant building.

“What kind of man would I be if I didn’t open the door for you,” Kirishima asked rhetorically.

You giggled at his catchphrase, or rather catchword. As you two entered the mall, you mindlessly glanced at the stores around you. “So you’re going to buy new clothes?

“Yeah, and some snacks, too, for Girl’s Night tonight.”

“Any reason for buying more clothes?”

“Um…” You started blushing again. “It’s kinda embarrassing.”

“Oh, I get it. You don’t have to share if you don’t have to,” Kirishima reassured, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

“Thanks,” you smiled gratefully.

You two continue on your way towards the clothing stores, when a shout suddenly sounded throughout the mall and people screamed. You both looked at each other before rushing over. There was a commotion, a young man had a kid hostage in front of the store.

“Give me my son back! Please!” A woman screamed, sounding terrified.

“Mommy!” the boy cried.

“A-Alright, listen up!” the young man stuttered, his whole body trembling as he held up his fingers to the boy’s temple in a gun position. “N-nobody try anything or else this boy is gonna get it!” Everyone stayed still as they nervously listened to his commands. “Everyone here h-hand over whatever money y-you have on you, including you register boy, or else the boy’s not going to be breathing anymore!”

“Robbery, one hostage,” you whispered to Kirishima next to you.

“And his quirk still unknown. We should be cautious about this, otherwise the kid’s gonna get hurt,” Kirishima added.

“Okay so what should we do?”

“How about I sneak up behind him while you get the kid away from him,” Kirishima suggests

“Fine with me,” you agree, going over to a potted plant as to hide your purse. “Let’s go.”

Gathering a small bit of sunlight in your palm, you directed the beam to the robber’s face, not powerful to cause permanent damage to him, but enough to temporarily blind him long enough for you to get the frightened boi away from him.

As soon as the robber yelped in surprise and closing his eyes, you sprinted forward and shoved the blinded robber away from the boy to which he fell against Kirishima who held him in a restraining hold while you jumped back with the little boy in your arms to put a bit more distance just in case. As the robber struggled again Kirishima, who didn’t even budge with all the squirming, you checked over the crying boy for any signs of injury.

Just as you were about to let the boy run over to his mother, the criminal being held by the hulking tank that is Kirishima, pressed his finger gun to Kirishima’s face and a loud bang sounded as he apparently shot at the redhead, a bullet of fire hitting him in the cheek. On instinct, Kirishima activated his quirk to protect himself, but since it was so sudden, he let of of the robber out of surprise. Once he was free, the robber aimed at the boy in front of you and fired.

Without hesitation, you threw yourself over the boy to protect him. Since you handle sunlight, you can take a bit of heat, unfortunately though… your clothes couldn’t. Next thing you knew, your blouse was catching on fire. You tried patting the fire out but obviously it wasn’t working so without thinking, you ripped off your shirt and threw it on the ground, leaving you in just your red, lacy bralette.

A thud sounded from behind you, making you turn around battle-readied, only to see Kirishima with his harden fist hanging in the air and the robber out cold on the ground. “Oh,” you said, “guess you handled that.”

Kirishima gave out a nervous chuckle, a red hue on his cheeks as he looked away. “Uh, yeah…”

A sudden shiver ran down your spine, reminding you of your current state. You let out a shriek, your cheeks now on equal footing with your crush’s red hair. You tried your best to cover yourself, your cheeks getting hotter by the second. Your embarrassment growing as well, as the stupid teenage boys your age started cat whisling at you.

Kirishima couldn’t help his red cheeks when he saw you in your bra, turning his head as to respect your privacy, but as soon as he heard the cat calls, he snapped his head towards the source; a group is rowdy guys his age looking over your general direction.

Wait… were they whistling at you?!

Glancing at you he catches how you were squirming and red in the cheeks, uncomfortable.

Nope. Not happening.

Without much thought, he took off his t-shirt he was wearing, leaving him bare, and went over to hand it to you. “Here, you can use this to cover up,” he said, the heat not entirely have left his cheeks as he trained his eyes solely on your sparkling, (e/c) eyes.

“What about you?” You asked, timidly reaching the shirt.

“No worries. Let’s just cover you up first,” he smiled reassuringly.

Smiling back gratefully, you took the offered clothing and went about putting it on. Meanwhile the group of teens were practically drooling over your figure. That is until Kirishima stepped into their view, arms across his chest with a glare starring daggers and a warning directing at them, his huge hulking frame completely blocking you from their hungry eyes. Being shirtless allowed Kirishima’s hardcore muscles to be displayed in all of their glory. It seems the red head’s goal was working, considering the group all froze up at the sight of his 6’4” muscular build, with not an ounce of fat visible. It took a moment for one of them to unfreeze and quietly urge his companions to move along before the frightening stranger decided to beat them to a pulp.

Satisfied with their scampering away with their tails between their legs, Kirishima turns back around only to be met with your figure practically drowning in his t-shirt. The heat made a complete comeback to his cheeks.You looked so adorable standing there in his clothes.

Before long, the mall’s security made their way over where they took their statements and the unconscious robber and bid the two young heroes their grattitudes before moving along to wait for the police to come and take the criminal away. Once they left, the boy and his mother walked up to you two to give their thanks as well, with the boy excitedly asking for Red Riot’s and (h/n)’s autograph which you both happily gave him, along with a picture being taken. Once the boy was satisfied and proclaiming to never washing his shirt, he and his mother left.

Kirishima turned to you. “You sure you’re okay? You’re not hurt or anything?”

You gave him a reassuring smile as you walked over to the planter in which you had hid your purse. “I’m fine. The fire didn’t burn me or anything, but I might have a bruise from where it hit me. Nothing that I can’t handle.”

“Good, good,” Kirishima nervously rubbed the back of his head.

When you secured your purse over your shoulder, you grabbed his free hand and walked in the direction of the clothing store you usually shopped at. “C’mon. The sooner we get my clothes shopping started, the sooner you can have your shirt back.” Though you didn;t really want to part with his shirt. It was completely engulfing you in his scent, something musky and manly that made you swoon.

“Aw, you don’t like seeing me shirtless?” Kirishima teased.

Hell yes, you thought to yourself. You’d have to be blind or gay to not drool over his washboard abs and bulging biceps, which you were desperately trying not to do. You didn’t want to come off as a pervert but it was hard to ignore the butterflies furiously partying around in your stomach and the intense heat coming off your cheeks.

“Yes,” you whispered, hoping to God that he didn’t hear you. He did, of course, which gave both his ego and the heat in his cheeks a nice boost. Before he could comment on it, you started, “Here we are. This is where I like to buy my clothes.”

Looking up, Kirishima saw the both of you walking towards (insert favorite clothing store).

~~~~~

Mina, having been standing far enough away from you two so as not to be noticed, grinned and squealed and she happily clapped her hands and did a little happy dance. She had followed you two as to figure out how to get you and Kirishima close, but lo and behold a robber with a fire type quirk came along, albeit she hadn’t really planned for this part to happen at all, but when your shirt was set ablaze and you tore it off in a panic, she had the perfect plan.

She had walked up to the group of teens earlier all flirty and bribed them to go over and give you plently of unwanted attention for some extra cash. Though judging by their snarky appearance, she had bet it wouldn’t be too much trouble for them to start drooling all over you.

Mina did feel a bit bad, exposing you like that and making you uncomfortable, but for the sake of the personal, covert mission she assigned herself to get her two friends together, she knew it would be well worth it. Plus you had the gentle, red-headed giant with you to comfort you in your time of distress so she didn’t let it hold her back too much.

Having the group return a bit shaken from the encounter with Kirishima, one of them shakily asked the pinkette, “W-Was that good enough?”

Giving them her signature grin, Mina handed over a few yen bills as agreed upon. “Yup! Thanks for your help guys!”

Muttering a ‘no problem’, the males continued along their way, counting the money they’ve earned, undoubtedly planning on spending it on drinks or food. Mina glanced back at you two as you lead Kirishima to your favorite store, the giant red-head’s posture now screaming protectiveness over your dignity. She was well assured that her plan to give you guys he right nudge was a success, knowing that Kirishima was planning on confessing his love to you today from her little conversation with the other guys of the Bakusquad.

Satisfied with her work, the cheerful pinkette skipped her way to her favorite store as to buy the required snacks for their girl’s night that evening, confident that you wouldn’t be returning until much later that night after your date.

~~~~~

Right away, as soon as you two entered the store, you stop by a rack of clothes, excitedly sifting through the hanging clothes.

“Sooo…” Kirishima started. “Is there a specific reason why you’re getting new clothes? Or are you just getting them for the hell of it?” He asked, mindlessly lifting up a blouse, examining it and then putting it back, and that’s when he looked up. Immediately, he felt a sweat drop sliding down the side of his face at all the hungry, drooling ladies in the store shamelessly staring at his bare torso.

“Um, I guess you can say a bit of both,” you responded, checking out a blouse that seems to have caught your attention. “I accidentally burned some of my blouses when using my quirk.”

“How’d you managed that?” Kirishima found what appears to be a pink sleeping shirt that said ‘Donut Worry Be Happy’ with sprinkles all over and a donut in the middle. “Hey this is cute,” Kirishima said, showing you the shirt. He was silently begging you to get it, he knew you’d be adorable in it and he was desperate to see it in person.

You looked over to see the shirt your best friend was holding up. “Oh my god!” You squealed excitedly, taking the shirt from him. “I love this! I’m so getting this. Great find, Kiri!”

Once you turned around, Kirishima silently fist pumped in victory. “Well, anyway. You know how a magnifying glass can concentrate the sunlight and you can start fires with it? Well my quirk is kinda like that. And because of that, there has been more than one occasion where I accidentally burnt my clothes, as much I hate to admit it.”

“Oh, okay I get it,” Kirishima said.

After finding a couple more outfits, you dragged your very shirtless, very hot best friend to the dressing rooms to get his opinion on the outfits you chose. As you showed off the outfits you chose, to which Kirishima said that each one looked great on you.

You guys were started getting goofier, as time went on, you two acted as if you were in a fashion show, with you strutting around in a new outfit each time striking a new pose every minute, even going as far as fixing your hair in messy styles for each one, be it a quick, braid, bun, or ponytail.

As Kirishima patiently waited for you to step out with the next shirt, you called out. “Oh my god, I think this one is my favorite so far! I think this would great with heels though. Hey Kiri?”

“Yeah?”

“You see those heels I was eyeying earlier before we came to here?”

Looking to his left where the wall was covered with shelves and shelves of shoe boxes plus the ones on display, he sees the pair you were talking about. “The white heels, right?” He asked, already walking over to them.

“Yeah, can you see if they have (insert shoe size)?”

Mumbling the shoe size you gave him as he scanned the boxes, he spots the only size that you requested. “You are in luck, milady. There is only one left.”

“Thank you very much, my good sir,” you giggled reaching your hand out for the shoes without revealing the shirt you were wearing. “I’ll be but a moment,” you impersonated a proper tone hand and shoes disappearing behind the closed curtain again.

While Kirishima waiting idly (and trying his best to ignore the hungry stares still directed at him), he decided to ask for some dating intel in the form of small talk. “So hey, random question. Have you ever thought about dating?” Yeah, so not obvious. Way to go, Kirishima.

You paused your struggle with the second heel strap. “What kind of question is that? Of course I have.”

“Oh,” Kirishima simply said. “So, you have a crush on anyone?”

Staying in your position in front of the full-length mirror, you thought about it. Obviously, you had a big fat crush on the male just on the other side of the curtain, but was this his way of finding out if you liked anyone for himself or just out of curiosity? “Yeah… there is someone I really like, but I doubt he’s noticed me at all.”

“Oh? What’s he like?” Kirishima asked, nervous as all hell that you liked someone else.

“Well, he has spiky hair.. Gorgeous red eyes that shine like rubies… he looks intimidating as hell when you first see him, but actually nice once you get to know him… and he’s really handsome, too,” you blushed, lightly hugging yourself as you pictured Kirishima in your head.

Said male had gone quiet, his heart dropping all the way down into his stomach, the weight feeling like a bowling ball. Wait… Do… Do you have a crush on Bakugou?! “Oh… um… he-he sounds like a lucky guy,” Kirishima responded, trying to keep the tremor and disappointment out of his voice.

Dammit, am I too late? Kirishima cursed his reluctance at approaching you with his feelings.

“W-...What about you? Do you like someone?” You asked, heart hammering in your chest in anticipation to his answer.

“Yes,” he said, causing your heart to stop.

“What’s she like? She’s gotta be amazing for you to like her,” you tried to keep your voice cheery, happy that your best friend had found someone, but a whimper threatened to spill past your lips as tears gathered against your lower lashes, your bottom lip wobbly.

“She’s so amazing. She’s strong, and kind, and sweet, and she’s probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing,” Kirishima gushed, a dreamy look on his face. “She does (insert hobby 1), and (insert hobby 2), and she’s so good at it. And she can make some really delicious food, though she swears up and down the road that she’s not that great of a cook, but I can’t help but love every single bite of it.”

“That’s… that’s great,” you said, unable to keep out the tear-filled tone out of your voice.

“Wait, are you crying?!” Kirishima panicked.

You sniffled, hugging yourself tighter, “No.”

Kirishima stayed quiet for a moment. And deciding to be a man and take that leap of faith, he continued, “Though, I admit, she is a little dense.”

That caught you off guard. “Huh?”

“I mean, you would think she’d at least notice a little bit how much time I spend with her,” He said, laughing out loud, partly out of nerves. “Or how no matter the hour during the night, if she came to my dorm crying, I would drop everything to make her feel better, and will do the stupidest shit just to see her smile and laugh. Or how she is literally the sunshine of my life, and with her quirk, its just makes it even more true.”

Your eyes widened. Was he talking about someone with a quirk similar to yours? No, it couldn’t be, there was no possible way he was talking about you, it must be some huge coincidence.

“Or how whenever we go stargazing with each other at night, I have never looked up at the sky, not even once, before. No star, or constellations that she makes up could ever compare to the stars in her (e/c) eyes. (Y/N)... you’re just so perfect, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be good enough for you.”

You whipped around so fast, you actually tripped over the clothes that were scattered at your feet, causing you to curse as you fell, hitting you head against the wall of the dressing room with a rather loud thud as you fell right on your bottom.

Hearing the loud, resonating thud, Kirishima panicked and went into hero mode, rushing to pull back the curtain to see if you were harmed or not. Quickly finding you on the floor, tenderly rubbing the back of your head, your expression pinched with slight pain.

“Hey, are you okay?!” Kirishima worried, kneeling down to your level with his arms outstretched as if to catch you should you fall over all of a sudden.

“Yeah, just banged my ass and head is all,” you groaned, still tenderly rubbing the sore spot, sitting up more.

“Here, let me check your head.” Before you could protest that you were perfectly fine, Kirishima gently cradled your head and tenderly pushed your head forward so he could check out the damage that had been done. You instantly shut your mouth, your cheeks blooming into a rosy color at the close proximity, smelling his natural scent coming from his bare skin. “Well, you have a slight bump but that’s about it,” he concluded, letting your head go. “But I don’t know if you’ll end up with a concussion or not.”

You shoke your head, saying in a soft voice, “I doubt it. I’ve hit my head harder on missions.”

Once he was sure enough that you would be alright, it was then that he noticed what you were wearing and he couldn’t help but blush. It was a one sleeved crop top that showed a moderate amount of clevage, the end of it reaching above your cute belly button, and it was such a nice shade of red, almost reminding him of his hair color.

“That’s uh… That’s a really nice blouse,” he complimented, suddenly flustered at how beautiful you looked along with the blouse you were currently wearing looking up at him through your hair which was hanging down, eyes big and doe like.

Completely blanking on the compliment thrown your way, you continued to stare at him in awe as you processed what he had said earlier. “…Did you mean what you said?”

“Oh, uh,” his hand shot up to rub his neck nerviously, chuckling. “Well yeah, of course. It would be pretty unmanly if I lied. And… it would be pretty unmanly for me to not tell you how I feel about you.”

“H-How you feel…?” Kirishima prayed that that sparkle in your (e/c) eyes was hope as you subconsciously leaned closer to him in anticipation.

“I’m just- I’m gonna just come out and say it,” Kirishima said, more to himself though as to encourage himself. Taking a deep breath, reached out and ever so gently held your cheek as though you were fragile and can break at any moment, and looked into those sparkling (e/c) eyes he loved so much. “I really, really like you (Y/n). For a long time now.”

Tears gathered in your eyes as a brilliantly bright smile spread across your beautiful face, rivaling the sun. “Really?”

“Yes really,” Kirishima confirmed, your bright smile bringing forth a bright grin of his own.

“Am I dreaming?” You giggled nervously, hoping to god that he wasn’t pranking you or anything. It all seemed so surreal and like a dream. “You actually like me?”

Kirishima laughed. “I’ll even go as far as say I love you.”

You leaned forward until your forehead bumped with his hard chest, clenching your fists against him. “This isn’t a dream…” you whispered happily. “You actually like me.”

“And I would be just as happy if you will have me as your man,” Kirishima muttered into your hair, bringing his arms around you in a hug.

“Yes!” You didn’t hesitate in accepting his proposal. You squealed in delight as Kirishima squeezed you tight in his arms, rocking the both of you back and forth.

Pulling away, you were blinded by his bright grin. “Let’s go to the movies!”

“What, right now?” You giggled, wiping at your tears.

“Yes! We can do a movie and dinner date! I know the food court isn’t probably the most appealing, but I want to take you on a date right now, especially in that amazing outfit you have on now,” Kirishima rambled, his excitement reminding you of a hyper puppy dog.

“Okay, let’s do it!” You couldn’t help but share his excitement, completely forgetting the fact that you had girl’s night later that evening and the reason you came to the mall was to grab snacks for it.

Right away, Kirishima helped you pick up the clothes that you were going to buy, in the process, finding and putting on his own shirt, insisting that you keep the shirt and wedge heels on for you last minute date. The both of you were practically jumping at the seams with excitement as you went up to the register. Being the gentleman that he is, Kirishima tried insisting that he pay for the clothes and heels for you, but you argued that you were perfectly capable on paying for them on your own, the two of you continued going back and forth as the cashier looked between you two as you argued who was paying as she tried her best not to laugh.

Ultimately you allowed to pay for the shirt you were currently wearing, the sleep shirt he found and the heels, but no more. As you paid the cashier for all the other clothes, you laughed at Kirishima’s grumbling, reaching up to kiss away his pout. After paying, you two had decided to stop by the theaters in the mall to choose and pay for a movie, and this time you let Kirishima pay. As you awaited for the time of the movie, you walked around sharing a pretzel as a snack as you continue doing a bit more shopping, with Kirishima also buying you a stuffed animal because what kind of man would he be if he didn’t buy you a plushie as a memento of your first date?

On your way towards the food court, you could hear Kirishima humming My Only Sunshine with a satisfied expression on his face. “Are you really humming that?” You laughed.

Kirishima grinned down at you, lacing his fingers with yours and swinging your arms. “I can’t help it if you’re the light of my life.”

[hyporheicflow]

YOU KNOW HOW TO WEAVE THATS SO COOL!!!!! I just took a textiles/weaving class not to long ago while I was in fashion school its something I've been really fascinated with for YEARS! With your art out of curiosity, do you think alot about what fabrics/leathers/furs you would use if you were to make your art into real life? I unconsciously do that when I'm sketching fashion outfits and I wonder if that influences any of the armor/formal wear. Thank you!! (If you have answered this before please disregard)

hahaha i love this question!! yes i absolutely do and sometimes to my own detriment (it's star wars, surely some textiles will adhere to nebulous star war logic) i'm gonna throw this under a cut bc i'm sure it will get long:

for formalwear drawings, i tend to use canon costuming as reference mixed with things i think could be relevant material culture-wise (ie using akul teeth and fur in togruta designs, the red fringe material for pantorans, etc) and from there make inferences about what kinds of fibers and textiles would be indigenous to the planets (and who would rely on imports lol)

@/seainthestars also sent me this great resource for references to textiles in canon and legends! however a lot of textiles in this are expensive exports that are used as plot devices in comics so it’s not the most helpful lmfao. and (i have a "gffa fiber tag" where i hash out hcs for stuff like that (vat dye on ryloth, black melon dye as a tusken equivalent for indigo, etc))

i usually think about woven textiles and dyestuff colors with the most specificity! regardless of what is commercially available on the planets, the visual culture of formal/traditional dress should reflect each world's history imo. also just for ease of palette-building and motifs lol. i lift textures from various weave structures that i work with irl to spice up the drawings, so i’ll decide like, ____ group probably mainly uses 4-harness structures & pick up drafts to overlay as textures, or i’ll modify jacquard textile patterns to use my own colorways on for more detailed textiles!

in terms of construction, i sew but i'm not like, a tailor or anything lol. i know enough about how garments are constructed that it’s important for me to have a general idea about how i would pattern something. i like knowing where seams are for drawing lol, and also i love drawing topstitching & piping so i do that a lot. that said i still exaggerate silhouettes bc it’s star wars and i should be allowed to make all the shapes i want lol!!

[giantpredatorymollusk]

Skyrim Diaries, Entry #2

It was when I was offered the chance to buy my fourth house that I finally realized I was spiraling.

The first home I purchased was in the charming community of Whiterun; after providing several invaluable services to the Jarl there, he offered me the title of thane, and graciously let me buy some property into the bargain. The evocatively named Breezehome was a place to rest, to brew potions, to chat with my government-assigned housecarl, and to store the various odds and ends I'd come across on my adventures - mostly weapons, armor, and ores of useful and confusing compositions (steel ore??? not a thing.) The first thing I'd do after I and some guards killed a dragon was gather the bones and scales, drink a potion of strength to be able to carry them, and fast travel back to Whiterun, where Breezehome was conveniently located within crawling distance of the entrance. I didn't know what I'd do with all the incredibly heavy dragon bones and scales I was gathering, but I had a newcomer's eye for beauty. Every item I picked up had infinite potential - maybe I could turn it into jewelry, or cook it into a snack. My journeys across Skyrim expanded and expanded - sometimes on purpose, sometimes because I got into a drinking contest, blacked out, and awoke on the other side of the map - and Breezehome was my base of operations during all of it.

The house in Markarth was where things started to go downhill. After initially waking up, confused and hung over, in a smashed-up temple in the center of the city, I found it to be a den of corruption and intrigue - the owner of the treasury house was using forced communiques from an imprisoned king to control half the city while the other half lived in fear of the sudden violent appearances of his misled spies and soldiers. More pragmatically, there were houses at about a dozen elevations and no matter where you looked, it seemed impossible to find the right staircase leading up. Even after I helped their "king in rags" to escape, the rebel factions in the area never seemed to take much of a liking to my habit of breathing regularly, so I helped the useless governor clear a few of them out of some strategic locations; I had the money and already owned more of anything than I could carry, so when offered the chance to buy a house that was only mildly impossible to find or get to from anywhere else, I jumped at the chance. It was spacious, elegant, and even had a few plants inside. Things got even worse from there.

The next Jarl offered me a plot of land and advised me to build on it myself. This involved wrangling iron and corundum ingots, nails, iron fittings, locks, quarried stone, clay, hinges, sawn logs, glass, goat horns, straw, a personal steward, a cow, a few chickens, a horse, a personal bard, a grain mill, and deciding what kinds of rooms I wanted to add as the three extra wings. I couldn't use this house, since carting all of the goods I'd stored in Breezehome in Whiterun over would take more time than I wanted to spare, but I could damn well dedicate my whole life to scrounging for goat horns to make it perfect.

When I was offered the chance to buy a house in the thriving superstar port city of Solitude for 25,000 gold (five times as much as any of the other properties) when I only had 8,000 in my pocket, I immediately started scheming. "I'll invent the mortgage in this universe," I thought. "Or wait, I'll try to sell those dragon bones. I'll empty out my inventory, grab them all from my house, and-" And what? 75 hours in, I had transacted virtually all of the gold in all of the continent's pockets into my own and spent it all on skill upgrades so I could get better at smithing and basket-weaving. I couldn't sell the dragon bones unless I wanted to make a really cruel deal with the various dragons' dead relatives. I was already the richest merchant in Skyrim a dozen times over, merely through collecting bounties, delivering notes, and looting the long-buried tombs and treasure-halls of a handful of lost civilizations; and yet I was prepared to try to squeeze more blood out of the gravestone of Skyrim's economy for the sake of owning a fourth house. What, I asked myself, do I really want to do in this game?

Not a hard question to answer, as it turns out. I wanted to help the research on ancient evil artifacts being done at the mage's college, see if the Stormcloaks would accept my help defeating the homogenizing empire and plunging the continent into chaos, and see if the thieves' guild could overcome the setbacks that had been plaguing them and become a force to be reckoned with among those that survived. A fourth house was not an essential component for any of these plans. To be honest, a second or third house didn't contribute to them a whole lot either. When all you have is a house to build, everything looks like a nail; the same principle applies after you spend several in-game weeks fretting over a carpenter's workbench planning out the look of your combination bathroom and gazebo and start assuming that homeownership, due to being difficult to achieve, must be a good thing. I salute Skyrim's immersive qualities with one hand and tremble in fear of them with the other; I'm spending time in it chasing housing and forgetting all of my actual life goals just as if I was going to live in it forever. Maybe one day I'll have a brain that sorts goals by what I would miss if I didn't achieve them rather than by how quickly I'll be able to move on to the next one once I'm done.

[change-the-rules]

Wanna do director sanvers for the ask game since I just saw that you posted a fic (that I'm excited to read when I get the chance!)?

1. What made you ship it?

it just kind of happened?

I started as a general danvers shipper then director danvers [well before lucy became director mind, luclex anyone *snorts*] as well when lucy showed up way back in the s1 cbs days when queer alex was pure hc fodder and we all assumed winn would be the one to get a big gay reveal if something like that were to happen

then maggie sawyer turned up and alex turned into a completely gay mess without even realizing it and i was c a p t i v a t e d, and in those early moments of holy fuck she's got it bad and doesn't even realize it before the rise of sanvers and way before the fall i got attacked by a plot bunny ft. dragons i expected it to be a sanvers fic but lucy/alex took the reigns and by the time it was done the first ever director sanvers fic was born

I hadn't ever really considered ot3's before? polyam wasn't much on my radar and i had a history of otp's that usually kept me from even multishipping but alex/maggie/lucy opened up a whole new world for me, i shipped alex/maggie and i shipped alex/lucy and then suddenly the potential for all of them separately and together weaved itself into something that just Felt Right and they became and ima about to get real cheesy here everything i ever thought or hoped or dreamed love could be

other people picked up on that potential and ran with it and with every new story written by strangers then and some of the dearest people in my life these days i only fell harder and harder for 'director sanvers'

the stewards of this ship came with a deep love and understanding of each character individually which made this ship shine something fierce when all three were put together and i've never looked back

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

the friendships i made along the way? *snorts*

the way they are in any incarnation so unapologetically queer, the characters themselves, that have such strong and unique individual personalities and the way those just mesh So well together no matter which way you spin it: alex/lucy, alex/maggie, maggie/lucy, alex/maggie/lucy, the way they're all used to living in their respective armors all their lives and finally feel like they can take that armor off and put it down around each other ,that they choose to do so, the banter and the snark and the heart

honestly there's too much to even begin to list it all

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

Not that I'm aware of? there's also a small part of me that will lowkey always think of this ship as my literal baby so i might just be immune to concept of any of my opinions being unpopular lmao even thoough the ship has grown and expanded well beyond me and my wildest dreams which is fuckin awesome tbh