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moondirti · 11 months

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animalic (5)

← chapter four // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 3.4k summary: an unwelcome confrontation warnings: enemies to lovers, violence, blood and injury, mentioned death, fighting, angst, morally questionable characters, miguel o'hara is not nice notes: this chapter caused several headaches and i don't even like the end result, but i can't pick at it forever sooo. enjoy!

While you’ve never been renowned for making the most accurate of assumptions, there are certain patterns you’ve come to expect in order to have survived this long. To never have a glass of orange juice after brushing your teeth, or maintain eye contact while being threatened. That a kilogram of antimatter produces ten billion times the energy of chemical combustion upon annihilation, and that any quantity larger than that should not be contained.

Of such paradigms, you’ve noted only one to be entirely reliable. That a spider-hero would always fight crime, whatever the greater good.

“Absolutely not.”

You might’ve been mistaken.

“Those people are in danger, O’Hara.” You strain, trembling against the cough battering your chest. Your diaphragm spasms with every stride he takes, crushed against the curve of his broad shoulder, desperate to make up for lost breath.

He lets the plea hang, countenance obscured from your view. With the way he carries you now, all that meets your eye is navy – navy, and the bright red geometry stretched over the brawn of his back. The nanotech suit warps to fit every muscle, glinting as they push forward to meet the sun. And it dips, right between his shoulder blades, lining a clear contour of the anatomy he fails to hide. A dosser of intercostal sinew. Tapered laterals, cinched to curve at–

Your core broils uncomfortably, and his grip tightens around your knees, levelling up to the degree of his treatment thus far. After slinging off that rooftop, he’s made sure to keep you particularly close, like the effort could prevent your powers from manifesting. Like you could make it happen.

(Though, he doesn’t know that you can’t.)

But he’s smarter than that. If nothing else, it serves as a cautionary gesture. A reminder. You’re disarmed – quite literally – the only force between your nose and the sidewalk being the behemoth of a man whose body you’re strewn across. And, if you could control it – transcend the material at any given whim – it would be the extent and end of your efforts. Not with the neon webs binding you, nor your clear lack of skill.

The wind quivers with the distant sounds of calamity. You’re drawn back to the very real situation at hand.

“You make for a lousy excuse of a spiderman if your first instinct isn’t to save them!” You raise your voice, hoping to be heard over the sirens that blare towards the destruction. By counting them as they pass – two, four, six – you’re able to assign a severity to it. But it isn’t, won’t be, enough. You’d heard the screeches; primordial, clawing out from beyond the capabilities of an ordinary threat. You’d felt them – seeping into your bones, grating the spongy marrow – until Miguel had gathered enough obduration to reel you in the complete opposite direction.

Speaking of–

You tilt your head upwards, surveying the street down which he runs. It’s deserted, yet the presence of its civilians is slower to leave, a molasses that slinks towards locked doors. It’s thick with an apathetic acceptance, bordering on resignation – bitter and not unlike your own resting inclinations. You’ve never known an evacuation to happen this fast, especially this far out from the scene; people are stubborn like that, refusing to face what isn’t in front of them. That is to say, they might be used to it.

“You’re not even going the right way, dickhead!”

Of all things, that makes him stop.

(Of course it does.)

Your form flops uselessly as he turns to make sense of his surroundings. There’s the sign – 30 St and 7th – which should give any New Yorker an idea, but he doesn’t linger on it. Instead, he shoots a web to wrap around the railway of a fire escape, propelling the both of you onto an accompanying balcony. Swallowing the bile that swells along your throat at the sudden jump, you shoot him an incredulous look, which he chooses to ignore as he drops you to the floor.

His mask retreats, hair bouncing upon escape from its smothering embrace. For all that he tries to hide his pinched lips, you sense the scepticism emanating off him in waves.

You take a moment to stew over it, examining him while he calculates the path of your previous chase. From the convenience, to the corner, and into a nearby store lot. Perhaps he hadn’t been paying notice – which you sincerely doubt, considering the efficiency with which he treats everything else. Could he really be unfamiliar with the layout of a city his job is to protect? Or–

It occurs to you steadily, washing up on the fringes of your arrogance; a realisation in pieces.

Nueva York. 2099.

A metropolis. Likely one with no grid system.

Your cackle beckons his attention, severe stare snapping to your grin.

“We’re on Seventh.” You specify.

He cocks his head, nostrils flaring. Warning or question – you have a hard time deciphering the difference.

“The convenience was on Sixth and Third. You know, third avenue, East of Fifth?” You push it, spurred by your awareness that he, in fact, does not know.

“¡Ándale pues! What exactly is your point?”

“We continued down east until you bit me, judging by the way the sun hit the lot upon rising. But now, we’re on Seventh, on the other side of Fifth.”

His jaw clicks, pulsing in irritation. You toe the line of what you can get away with, how long you can drag this out before he decides you’re not worth the trouble.

“West. You’re heading West, and–” Wriggling, you adjust your posture into one more reflective of your current pride. “If you have any hope of finding that day pass, then you’re gonna need to go back.”

The bid translates, weighty, bubbling like the arid smoke off nuclear strife. He processes it, understands – you watch as it unfolds in that intimidatingly intelligent glare – yet the circumstance takes a while to establish itself. Even when it does, he doesn’t grant you the satisfaction of a full blown breakdown. No. His hands just find his hips, chin sloping to the sky.

“No puedo más, no puedo más, no–”

You probably shouldn’t rub it in any further.

“Since it’s on our way–”

"No." He snaps, voice laced with a prickling irritation that sears through his supposed indifference. The heat of it greets you, wiping the simper that had begun stretching your cheeks. “You must think this is some game, and while that might explain the shit you’ve pulled in the past, I have a responsibility. I can’t interfere with their canon.”

“So, what? You’re just gonna let them die?”

His expression lifts, brows rising expectantly, like he’s imploring you to shut up without his verbal confirmation.

Right.

It starts like a taut bowstring, straining as it verges on release.

On one end, there’s Apollo; drawing his arrow, a god amongst men. The direction with which he aims his weapon can be seen as prophetic – plague was always meant to befall the crowd at his mercy, their fates little more than a thread of mass design. Some call it righteous – epithets dedicated to his name – agreed upon by the same men who claim that rational means right. Some craft sculptures in his visage, this muse of the kouros, likening stone to flesh and deluding the observer that the two can be synonymous. Nietzsche, Bernini. You, yourself, had managed to believe that the muscle rippling below you could be anything but an Athenian tragedy.

You linger on how startlingly poetic it all is, and the string pulls tighter. You’ve never claimed to be a hero, but you have the instinct, just the same. He, on the other hand, seems entirely dismissive of the urge you assumed would wreck him too.

(Partially your fault. You know better than to expect the obvious from him – that’s his pattern.)

As the two of you veer closer to the havoc, the arrow discharges, striking the tension that’s kept you still thus far. When it snaps, it shatters, congealing to form a beset of sounds, sights, fear. Heaving sobs from a limping group of friends – the middle one rapidly losing blood from what you can tell. The pungent clog of burning debris, fed by the ash that lays suspended, mid-air. The painful creak of metal collapsing in on itself, peppered amongst the constant buzz of radio static. Miguel curbs to a stop, hidden in the notch of an alleyway, and uses the cover to reposition you in his carry. You go from slung over his shoulder to laid across his arms – not quite bridal style, but a placement similar enough that he retains a solid hold of you.

His mask comes back up, concealing the cynicism that had begun to creep up onto you both. You scoff at the unambiguity of the action, the parallel it poses to the reality at hand. He blocks himself to the obvious, the avoidable.

Glowering, you trace his line of vision to the encompassing wreckage. The street appears hauntingly familiar, thrumming with the hurried echoes of a recent memory. It lacks the colourful components – the vivid signage, the star speckled windows – yet, you recognize it all the same. The very avenue you frantically traversed only hours ago. Your companion, too, begins to grasp the truth, and you find yourself biting your cheek, a twinge of unease settling in as the revelation hits you: that perhaps you had divulged too much, far surpassing the realm of personal gain.

Yeah, the day pass is here. And you can only hope that he won’t find it.

For now, though, it appears to be the least of your worries.

A crimson creature prowls along the fringes of the decimated ruins – deliberate, relaxed, like a predator with its teeth already halfway dug in its meal – circling a man clad in a lab coat. Its size is menacing enough; standing at seven feet, with limbs as thick as pipes. Yet, what truly strikes you are the protruding bulges flanking either side of its jaw, and the white, emblematic eyes gazing out from upon its face.

“Spider-person?” You whisper, not so much looking for clarification as you were putting the possibility out there. Miguel is unwavering, dead-set on waiting the interaction out.

“Something like that.” He affirms.

“Y’know, I remember you, doc!” The creature jibes, its inflection nearing maniacal. “You sat on my jury! Yes, yes. Hard to forget a shiner like that.” Laughing, it points to the balding patch atop its victims head. He trembles, bowing in a silent cry.

“O’Hara–”

“Wraith.” He warns.

“Sixty seven years! Not even you look that old, ‘course you don’t understand how damning that sentence was! But you see, I got lucky. Some higher being must’ve taken pity on me, enough to grant me this miracle of a symbiote. Mhm, yeah–” He skips closer to his prey, considering him in the new light. “‘Cause now I can do things like…” A sharp blow echoes. The glassy spear, red as the flesh it extends from, skewers through the doctor’s chest, a spout of blood following through on the other end. “This!”

Miguel’s palm slaps over your mouth, knee supporting the portion of your body he releases whilst angling you away from the scene. You’re thankful for it, despite the overwhelming anger you bear against him. You’ve no trust in the horror that wracks you suddenly, all at once. It launches you back to that convenience, the robbery. How powerless you had been to stop the clerk from dying out, your hoodie fruitlessly wedged to her neck. You’d been spared the grief so far – the blur of the last day tamping to little more than an aching numbness. Yet you should have appreciated that it couldn’t last; guilt is far too familiar a prospect for you to have expected it to let off so soon.

(Your mistake.)

“Oops. Did that go through your heart? My bad, doc.” It howls, stuck in its own stand-up routine. “You’d been doing your… erm– civil duty, sure.” The loud squelch of gore triggers the imagery for you, regardless of your averted gaze. The limb-turned-spear being pried out from between his ribs, caked in bits of tissue.

Dead. You could’ve prevented it.

He could have.

From behind the veil of unshed tears, you watch as he ponders the risk of retracting his hand. You betray nothing, blinking back the hot dismay from your eyes, and instead meet his regard in cold defiance. Slowly, as though your apparent sensibility means anything, he removes the muzzle.

You contemplate screaming, to coax the creature from the group of people it has surrounded and make it Miguel's problem to handle.

Then, you remember your rather unsavoury predicament. How prone you are to harm with your limbs locked; you aren’t the best in combat, but you still could’ve stood a chance at survival if it wasn’t for your restraints.

Your captor reaffirms his grip, tucking you to his figure as he creeps up to a corner. His back remains glued to the brick wall, obscured in shadow. The stance is primed – far from the hesitant sidle he’d adopted before. It isn’t hard to figure out why; you see it too, buried under a pile of trash bags, on the other side of the road. Purple, luminescent.

The day pass.

As if on cue – choreographed by a sadistic deity with no favour for anyone involved – you glitch.

It doesn’t last long, but it’s enough for you to fall to the ground, erupting in a pained groan. The creature twists to lay its terror on your curled frame, shaded by a man who – despite his vast height – is dwarfed in comparison to its colossal self.

“Better start learning not to ignore my spidey sense! I’d felt you tiptoein’ over there,” It growls, neck stretching in preparation for attack.

“We’re not here for you.” Miguel urges.

“No? That hurts my feelings, and here I was thinking you wanted to be friends.” At the feral rip of its taunt, it lunges, tearing through the space separating you. The spider-man, in turn, dodges the barrelling assault, swinging in a blur of motion to a wreck not far off. You thank God for his flashy suit; the creature seems to forget you completely, pivoting to charge at him again.

You force yourself to look away, sickened at the unhinged savagery with which it thrashes. There are people still around, crippled by quickly debilitating injuries, the paramedics meant to aid them now amongst the lost. This is what you wanted – the opportunity to help – and of course you’re still hindered by the asshole who’d refused you in the first place. Desperation weighs heavy on your chest as your eyes scan the spoilage, seeking anything you could use to cut yourself free. And there, you catch it – the sharp end of a broken gutter, its jagged edge catching the afternoon sun.

Using your heels as anchors, you push yourself across the coarse pavement. It isn’t a long way, thankfully, but sweat already starts to dampen your shirt by the time you reach the potential lifeline. Angling yourself, you press the webs to the serrated metal, ready to start shoving. That is, until you remember Miguel; how he sat on your legs, his talons performing much the same feat. He made sure to hold your wrists apart, so you didn’t suffer damages he didn’t intend.

You remedy your approach, arms straining to separate, then thrust downwards. The telltale signs of your success come as pops, like elastic bands splintering. Then, it’s the easing pressure on your skin, irritated and surely marked in places where the binds come undone.

The makeshift blade catches your elbow once you’re halfway down, burying deep enough to touch bone. The world narrows to the searing intensity that blazes up your nerves, eclipsing all else. You almost forget your goal, your brain stirring signals to pull away, but the fight that rages in your peripheral is only growing more barbaric. Alarmingly, Miguel is losing.

If he dies, you’re next, and it’d all be in vain.

Biting your tongue, you stifle the pain and continue pressing. The gutter inches sideway, ripping through flesh and web like butter, the sleeves of your top mangling at its lip. Miraculously, you stay awake for the time it takes to finally get your arms loose. It’s harder to preserve that triumph when you sit up, though, dizziness distorting the plan of action you’d set for yourself.

(Get… get the people to safety. Then, your legs. No–

Free your legs, get the people to safety. And… what?

The day pass. Yeah.

But Mig–)

Your body moves with an unsettling disconnect from your own command. Unable to fully grasp the dissonance, you blanch in bewilderment as you navigate the clearest cut path through it all. A dance in a mechanical rhythm; pulling the webs off your calves, running over to the nearest civilian, and helping them up on their feet. And again. And again.

There’s a boy, young enough that you worry he doesn’t understand you’re harmless. His cherubic face is coated in a grey layer of dust, disturbed only by the tear marks that run from big eyes. His foot has been crushed, stormy blue blotching his knee. You dismiss the agony of your numerous wounds and crouch to pick him up, hugging him to your chest.

New squadrons of emergency services trickle in, careful to leave their sirens off as they round the corner. It’s an odd enough choice that it distracts you from the child’s fingers, which dig into your abrasion for purchase. An ensemble of prospects occur to you.

When you hand him off to an awaiting EMT, it clicks.

What’d the creature call itself? A symbiote?

(You haven’t always been science-oriented.

Freshman year of college, you’d joined as an undeclared major within the school of arts and architecture. ‘Course, you only had your general education requirements to fulfil at the time; useless classes that fit your self-imposed four day weekend, meant to do fuck all as your tuition went to waste. Needless to say, your ambition had been directed at more carnal pursuits.

Then, there was astronomy. It’d awakened your curiosity for the cosmos.

Astro 8, to be exact. Life in the Universe. Your post-midterm lesson had been on a recently discovered, space-faring civilization. Symbiotes – they were called – based on the initial assumption that they thrived in mutual beneficial relationships with other lifeforms. But the projection that flickered for its class of drowsy students entailed another truth entirely. Darkened bullet points in big, bold letters. Known weakness.

Fire, and sound.)

You sprint towards a nearby cop car, its door wide open and the driver's seat vacant. It’s instinctual, devoid of consideration. A singular objective dominates you, beyond the day pass – to kill that thing. Not for Miguel, who’s choked in its gnarled hand. Not for yourself, or your deep-rooted desire for heroism. No. Just for them – the boy and that group of friends, the doctor who still lays dead on the scene. For the sake of this world, and to reconcile the life you took just last night, as if such a trade-off could absolve you of the weight of your sins.

Stepping on the gas, you accelerate abruptly, gaining speed with every pothole you drive over. It looms ahead, crouched in front of a hollowed-out apartment complex, suffocating the futurist spider-man and vibrating with glee. If you can align it – aim and time it just right…

You activate the wail siren. Your hypothesis is validated when it screeches in response to the racket, throwing Miguel off to the side.

Good. He won’t be collateral.

You grab a gun from the cupholder on the dash, throwing it on the pedal to keep it down, then jump to the backseat.

The impact is seismic; a violent convergence of metal and brick and brawn that sends shockwaves rippling throughout your being. You become captive to the merciless momentum, forcefully propelled against the leather cushions. Chronic whiplash shreds upon the vulnerable muscles holding the weight of your concussed head; its talons raking through the fibres, pulling apart the once sturdy tissue. A relentless ring envelops the cacophony of noise, and silences it into one, tender hum.

You’re hauled out the window, detained in the embrace of some unspecified form, which settles above you for cover as the building comes crumbling down.

Or – not unspecified.

That mix of patchouli and musk.

Your consciousness turns to black as you're buried beneath the rubble.

chapter six →

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gatorbites-imagines · 4 months

Note

Hi!! Hope everything is going well!

Could I Please ask for some bottom buggy (mayhaps with some watersports since I saw you had a interest) or some ftm crocodile being fucked into submission!

Have a nice day.

Ftm Sir Crocodile x male reader

Ficlet

I love Sir Crocodile so much 🗣️ 🗣️

Reader is part of Buggy’s crew, cuz I thought that would be hilarious. Reader doesn’t have a devil fruit, but is still super kickass. Hes kind of the information gatherer, smuggler, etc, for the Buggy crew. Reader is also normal human height.

Mixed terminology for Crocs bits. Also, breeding/pregnancy? kink warning ig. but its just mentioned for the fantasy.

The Cross Guild appeared great for any outsider or lesser in the know members, which was most of them. They all saw your captain as someone great and almost godly, thinking he was so much more than he was, but you had been with him for many years, even before the Buggy pirates had even been created. Shortly after the execution of Rogers, Buggy had stumbled into your path and had accidentally saved your life, and from then on you had been by his side.

Most people thought of you as something akin to an accountant or treasurer, wearing an outfit that looked very much like that of a ringmaster, long red tailcoat and top hat and all. You were always one of the first to run away, giving you a reputation of a coward who couldn’t fight.

The only one who truly knew how much of a threat you could be, would be your captain and his inner circle, which you were also part of. You might not have been the strongest physically compared to someone like Mihawk, but no one could gather information like you could, smuggle like you could, or have someone “disappear” like you could. Your network was so extensive that even the one they called Joker, who you knew was none other than Donquixote Doflamingo, was jealous.

That was why you knew everything about Sir Crocodile and Mihawk before the day was over when the Cross Guild was formed. You cowered off to the side, keeping up your weak act as you flinched at their raised voices or the light reflecting off Crocodiles golden claw.

They believed you a weak fool who’s only worth was your quick mind and ability to calculate numbers quicker than most computers, which resulted in them mostly dismissing you. It was a role you basked in and felt comfortable, using it to keep your true identity under wraps. That was until they pushed your captain too far, as Crocodile especially seemed to take great pleasure in antagonizing and hurting your captain.

You were protective, most pirates were, if they felt any sense of loyalty to their captain. It was because of that, that you dug up a trusted contact, a celestial dragon with greater access to seastone than anyone else you knew. Using measurements from the moment’s clothes had to be made, a pair of cuffs in just the perfect size soon arrived to you with the post.

It was easy to press Crocodiles buttons, to get him worked up by acting stupid and pathetic, just the way you knew made his blood boil. It was even easier to enrage him so far that he chased after you, so blinded by his anger that he didn’t even notice how you kept avoiding his sand, or how you were leading him further and further away from the rest of the guild.

When he finally caught up, Crocodile caged you against the wall, hook digging into the drywall as he almost snarled down at you, cigar crunched between his teeth as his purple eyes blazed. But mild confusion crossed his face as your fearful expression dropped, his body straightening as your eyes met his head on. Before Crocodile could order an explanation, a feeling of weakness crashed through his body, making his knees buckle enough that you had to catch him, supporting his towering weight and bulk.

His vision swam as you started dragging him along, his feet dragging along the floor because of his height compared to your own. Crocodile felt dizzy and mildly nauseous, his eyes finally catching the heavy bands around his wrist, the one he still had left. “ssseastone?” he slurred out, voice lighter than the growl you were used too, cigar long forgotten somewhere along the journey.

In the beginning, you had planned on torturing him, the blades strapped to your person burning at the thought, but as you threw him down almost carelessly on a barely clad bed, a different through passed through your mind.

A slight thrill ran down your spine as his purple eyes burnt into you, his usual anger still present, but mixed with something else, something deeper and hungrier. Soft pants left Crocodiles lips, sounding faintly struggled as the seastone drained the power from his body, leaving him limp and pliant.

You could see the heat rising to Crocodiles cheekbones as you started stripping off your usual getup, tailcoat slid off your shoulders and neatly folded, top hat placed down with care. “What the hell are you doing…” Crocodile rasped from the bed, his pupils blown as an unfamiliar need unfolded inside him, the familiar thrum of pleasure running through body.

Maybe it was his weakened state, but he swore his cunt was pulsing with need, especially as you unbuttoned the stark white shirt you always wore, revealing a tightly muscled and heavily scarred body underneath, leather straps adorned with vials and weapons stretched across your torso.

Crocodile tried to shuffle his legs, maybe to squeeze his thighs together, or to spread them further apart, he wasn’t sure, but all he could do was a minimal twitch and jolt. “I planned on cutting you up, making you beg for mercy. But from the looks of it… you wouldn’t mind some other kind of discipline” you murmur, almost stalking towards him where Crocodile was splayed out on top of the white sheets.

You could see all his muscles tense as you let your hands climb up his legs, up his thighs and stomach, traveling all the way up his arms towards his hook. A choked off noise leaves Crocodile as you remove his hook with ease, like you had done it a thousand times before, placing it off to the side with care.

“Behave yourself” you tell him, squeezing the sides of his jaw to make his lips part. Crocodile tried to growl or snap a threat, to snap his teeth at you or somehow fight back, but his body was mostly unresponsive, his tongue feeling thick and useless in his mouth.

A shiver of anticipation ran through Crocodile as you moved again, settling between his thick spread thighs. Your eyes met as you reach for his belt, your brow lifting as if asking if he wanted you to stop. You may be a pirate, but you had class and manners, at least when it came to stuff like this.

But when all Crocodile responded with was a sour expression and glare, you make easy work of his belt and slacks, tugging them down his hips and legs, throwing them off to the side with little care. Your disregard for his clothes made Crocodile grumble, but the noise was quickly silenced as you pressed your entire hand against his slick underwear, fingers teasing his hard t-cock and soaked folds.

“Tsk tsk, look at you, bet you just need someone to put you in your place, is that it?” you mumble in an almost mocking tone, looking up at him with an almost feral hunger in your eyes. Crocodile chokes on the words that want to form in his throat, some kind of rebuttal perhaps, that he would never want someone as low as you to do anything to him, but as you pinch his cock between your fingers, it morphs into a shaky moan.

Crocodile’s boxers as easily pulled off, thrown to the floor with a damp plap, making his face redden further as you only find amusement in the obvious sign of his arousal. Kicking off your pants and boxers, you crawl up the bed and sit between his thick thighs, pushing them further apart to expose where he only grows slicker, hole clenching around nothing as if begging you to fill it.

“What would they say, seeing the great Sir Crocodile, spread out like this, ready to take the cock of a feeble weak treasurer” you taunt, pressing your hips closer to his, so that you could drag the tip of your cock up and down through his folds. The act has Crocodile arching as good as he can with the cuff on, his eyes squeezing shut as he clenches his jaw, a breathy noise leaving him, folds only growing slicker around you.

Maybe it was your size difference, with you being average human size, compared to Crocodiles almost 9 feet, or maybe it was his gut deep arousal, but his hole didn’t need much prep for you to be able to fit inside.

That didn’t mean you were just gonna give it to him, since this was supposed to be a lesson. A stuttery moan spills almost silently from Crocodiles lips as your fingers rub through his folds, barely pressing against where he wants you the most. He had never imagined himself in a situation like this, splayed out and dripping for you, someone he had always just seen as a nuisance, but here he was.

“Come on Crocodile… ask nicely” your tone is almost cruel as you push only two fingers inside him, barely felt because of his size, but just enough to rub against his wet gummy insides and leave him aching for more. Crocodiles jaw clenches, barring his teeth as his head weakly rolls to the side, as if to hide his face into the sheets.

“Or… I could just leave you here, thighs spread open, cunt glistening with want. Im sure someone will pass by, and who wouldn’t want a chance to fill this” as if to exaggerate your point, you push two more fingers into his slick hole, burying them as deep as possible into Crocodiles wet insides, punching a gasp out of him.

Crocodile seems to debate it, if he wants to put his pride aside for someone like you, but his thoughtprocess is knocked off course as you pinch his cock with your free hand, twisting it cruelly. Had he not been wearing the seastone cuff, his thighs would have clamped shut and a shout would have left him, but now all his body could do was tense up as a wet keen tumbled out of him.

“P…please” Crocodile finally mumbles, voice small and almost shy, but it can barely be heard over the wet slick sounds of your fingers thrusting in and out of him, his wetness running down your palm and wrist in the process.

“Hm?” you hum, the questioning tone in it clear, as if you didn’t hear him at all, giving his cock another twist just because you could. “fuck me… please…” is gasped out, Crocodiles insides clenching around your slick fingers as they rub and prod around inside him.

Your fingers movements slow to a stop, silence filling the room long enough for Crocodile to peek an eye open and look down at you. Your eyes are intense as they bore into his, the predatory flare in them making Crocodiles insides quiver. “Normally id demand better than that, but I’m starting to pity you” you scoff out, withdrawing your fingers from his hold with a slick noise.

Instead of wiping them off on the sheets, you use the large amount of slick that had gathered in your palm to slick up your shaft, releasing a huffed exhale as Crocodiles eyes widen at the sight. “I’ve thought about making you ride me, so you’ll have to make yourself take it, but we can’t do that right now, can we” you eye the cuff around his one wrist, making Crocodile growl and spit out a weak warbled “fuck you”

His insult carries no heat, clearly only for show, his glare quickly wiped off his face as you finally push inside him. Crocodile needs little time to adjust, resulting in you almost immediately setting a bruising rough pace, drawing in and out of him with loud wet slick noises, his hole gripping onto you as he gasps and moans.

Reaching down, you push his shirt up just enough to splay a hand across his lower stomach, a foxlike grin spreading across your lips as you watch his hips weakly roll into your own. “If you weren’t such an asshole, I could fuck you whenever. Imagine that Crocodile, walking around, cunt leaking my cum, as you try to play tough.” You chuckle darkly, tone thick and hungry in the way only a predatory animal could possess.

As your cock rams into that sensitive spot inside him, Crocodile is finally starting to realize you are truly more than you seem, his cunt drooling a wet puddle under him on the sheets as you take him with a new hunger, a glint appearing in your eyes as your hand presses down harder on his stomach.

“I could knock you up you know, right here.” Is hissed out as you bottom out inside Crocodile, the words making him tighten up and shiver in want. “No one would find you so scary then, would they Crocodile. Waddling around, fat with my kid” you purr, letting both your hands splay across his stomach. It was all fantasy, but by God did it make Crocodile wet and wanting. Something about the fantasy of you, some lesser subordinate knocking him, Sir Crocodile, up, had him seeing double.

The seastone didn’t help with his woozy state, all attempts at forming words only becoming half formed and slurred, Crocodiles eyes going wet and glassy as that familiar feeling spread through his body. “in… inside me…” Crocodile slurs as you curse to yourself, clearly close to the finish line as well. Had it not been for the cuffs, he would have thrown his legs around you, squeezing you against his body to keep you inside him, but all he could do now was beg.

Crocodiles pride crumbled as your fingers squeezed his cock one last time, a pure orgasmic expression crossing his face as he gasped and moaned, his entire body twitching weakly as he came, wetting your cock and the sheets even further as the feeling thrummed through his entire body.

With a deep groan you bottom out inside Crocodile for a last time, letting your eyes squeeze shut as you spill inside him, coating his insides in a thick coat of white. Crocodile whimpers weakly at the feeling, trying to squeeze around you as if to milk your length for more.

He slumps against the sheets further than he already is, eyes falling shut in a relaxed exhausted expression. Crocodile barely notices as you pull out, white leaking out from between his folds to join his own mess on the sheets. He barely even notices you cleaning him up, only twitching and gasping softly when you clean up between his legs.

Its only when the seastone cuff leaves his wrist that Crocodile returns to himself somewhat, as the familiar feeling of his devilfruit washes through his body again. Squinting his eyes open, he catches sight of you getting dressed again, tucking on your shirt, then your coat, and lastly placing your hat on top of your head.

Even with his devilfruit returned to him, Crocodile still feels weak and exhausted, but the good type of exhausted one only gets after a good fuck. Part of him wants to ask you to stay, to hold him and pet his hair, to maybe mumble more dirty fantasies about knocking him up, and how you’d make him live as your pretty little housewife. But instead, Crocodile just grunts to get your attention, his attempt to demand to know where you are going.

“I have to get back to the others, since ill be taking over your duties for the rest of the day and tomorrow” you say, voice resolute and not allowing any denial or struggle. And normally Crocodile would have growled and rejected anyone taking over his duties, but for some reason, the idea of you taking care of him made him relax deeper into the bed, muscles lax and thoughts empty and calm for once.

Approaching him, you press a soft kiss to his forehead before telling him “this room is hidden away from everyone else, so take all the time you need. Ill check up on you later” as you pat his cheek. After telling him where the bathroom is, where he could find towels and replacement sheets and blankets, you were on your way, leaving Crocodile on his lonesome.

It took a while, but he finally pushed himself into a seated position before getting to his feet. The feeling of your cum trickling down the insides of his thighs as the familiar heat of arousal burning inside him once more, making Crocodile shuffle towards the bathroom you had pointed him towards. Even though you had just left, he could still get himself off a few more times from just the memory alone.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be disciplined by you, he wondered how you’d react if he caused issues with your smuggling routes. The idea sent a line of heat up his spine as he stepped into the shower, hand quickly traveling between his thighs, fingers burying themselves into his still sensitive hole, fantasies of hungry glare and cruel fingers filling his mind.

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memories-of-ancients · 19 days

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Just curious, why do you think Rome fell?

OMG do you really have to ask such a big question right before I was going to bed anon? Well, here are the primary reasons IMO as a Roman history buff.

Lots of Civil Wars --- The Romans going way back to the days of the Republic were constantly fighting over who was going to be boss. Sulla fought a civil war and took over Rome and declared himself dictator, ditto Julius Caesar, and of course Octavian did the same and became the first emperor. During the empire there were many civil wars over who would be emperor as the Imperial system often lacked rules for succession resulting in dynastic struggles and civil wars. Not that it would have mattered if they did, as they probably would have just ignored the rules. In the 3rd century the empire underwent a 50 year period of near constant civil war known as the Crises of the Third Century. Constantine became emperor after killing all his opponents in a civil war. The later half of the 4th century had more civil wars. Even in the 5th century factions were fighting each for control of an empire that was collapsing all around them. No side wins a civil war because they are bloody, destructive, there are no spoils of war. There is only self destruction, they are about as helpful to a country as would a person shooting himself in the foot. All the money and resources that went into fighting civil wars and rebuilding after the war was money and resources not being used to maintain infrastructure, maintain public works, regulate the economy, defend from outside threats, and maintain the government.

2. Political Instability --- Most emperors did not die of natural causes, most emperors were murdered, or committed suicide, or died in battle, or died in a prison cell. Roman government was chalk full of power hungry psychopaths who were willing to murder their way to the top. Sometimes emperors could come and go quickly, with reigns lasting 2-3 years or less in the 3rd century.

youtube

Roman political history was rife with intrigue, assassinations, and coups occurring all the time. It was like Game of Thrones except instead of lasting 8 seasons it lasted 500 years.

3. The Army Became a Powerful Interest Group --- If you were a Roman emperor the army was a double edged sword. They were good in that they maintained peace and order in the empire and protected it from invaders. They were bad for you in that they could revolt and murder you, replacing you with someone they liked more. Even your own guard, the Praetorian Guards, couldn't be trusted as they could easily slit your throat in your sleep and declare someone else as emperor. To make sure the army was happy, you gave them big pay bonuses called donatives. Basically official bribes paid to keep the soldiers of the army loyal and happy. With each successive emperor the annual donative became bigger and bigger and thus a greater strain on the Imperial Treasury. If an emperor didn't pay up, he could be murdered by his own soldiers. Thus a lot of public money was paid just to keep the army happy so they didn't end up starting another civil war.

4. A Fucked up Economy --- Maintaining a large standing army to defend a large empire is expensive. Fighting civil wars is expensive. Rebuilding after civil wars is expensive. Constant regime change is expensive. Political intrigue is expensive. Eventually it got to the point where there just wasn't enough money to pay for all that. So emperors just minted more money, decreasing the silver content and minting more copper coins until eventually Roman money became worthless.

Today Roman money is still worthless. Go on ebay and find the cheapest Roman coins you can buy. Except for rarer collectibles Roman coins are still very plentiful and thus very cheap to collect. Worthless money made trade and commerce difficult, and thus the economy suffered. Not to mention constant bloody and destructive civil wars were damaging the economy. Political instability also damaged the economy.

5. Growing Disparity in Wealth --- Over time with civil wars and political instability the rich got richer and the poor got poorer. Eventually wealth became so concentrated in the upper class that the middle class disappeared entirely by the late 4th - 5th century. By then the average Roman was in a bad way. They had no opportunities and most Romans were forced to live as tenant farmers, essentially sharecroppers.

6. A Corrupt Tax System --- Meanwhile the wealthy became so powerful that they were able to wield that power so that they did not have to pay taxes. They could exploit loopholes, manipulate laws in their favor, or bribe their way out of paying. To try to make up the revenue, tax collectors attempted to squeeze the lower classes, which of course, didn't have any money. Thus by the late 4th - 5th century the empire was severely underfunded. This resulted in the degradation of infrastructure, public works, the army, the weakening of the government, and less investment in the economy and commerce.

7. Patronage --- By the 5th century the average Roman was out of opportunities and the middle class was gone entirely. More and more the lower class Roman was being squeezed for tax money, money which they didn't have. So in order to survive, Roman lower classes sold their services to a wealthy patron. The patron would house you and protect you and take care of your tax problems. If you were lucky and had special skills like a craftsman or artist you could make a good living under a patron. If not, you probably ended up a tenant farmer tied to the land of the patron, essentially a sharecropper, a serf, or a peasant. Due to this change in the socio economic system power was drawn away from the Imperial government and was redirected to the wealthy patrons. Thus the empire was becoming decentralized.

This would become the basis for medieval feudalism.

8. No One Wanted to Join the Army --- Why would you? You're dirt poor and have no opportunities. If you joined the army you may not even get the opportunity to defend the empire, as you're gonna get killed in a stupid civil war fighting a fellow Roman who is also dirt poor and has no opportunities. Your government is corrupt, your emperor is a snobbish entitled incompetent dipshit who was out of touch with reality, the tax man is trying to squeeze you for money you don't have, you have no rights, you've been forced to become a peasant to a proto-feudal lord, and it is clear the empire is dying. By the mid 5th century most Romans were like, "let it fucking die". As a result, the army suffered severe manpower shortages. Right at the time when Goths and Franks and Vandals and Huns are going to start swarming into the empire.

These to me are the primary reasons for the fall. Anyone have anything else to add in addition to this?

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endcant · 15 days

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save a bastion for queer culture in a famously hateful city

i’ll try to write a shorter and sweeter post about this later, but for now i will just beg at length.

there is a town near me called Murfreesboro where at various points they have banned or attempted to ban public homosexuality, drag, and pride flags. for a time their county’s youth incarceration rate was 48% (contrasted with the rest of the state at 5%) due to corruption in their local courts system. every juvenile case that made it to the wrong judge resulted in the child being sent to jail, because the county commissioner thought it’d be “cool” if the jail was a “profit center” (yes these are his actual words). these are just a few examples but suffice it to say, this is a very difficult place to grow up, especially for LGBT kids.

despite all of this difficulty, the area has a remarkable alternative music scene with a few small venues where queer people and young people who don’t fit in elsewhere can genuinely have fun and feel safe for the night. despite the city’s reputation, queer people in the broader area flock to the town for raves and DIY shows. in this area, music culture is intertwined with queer culture and leftist efforts to a much greater degree than i’m used to as somebody from the middle of california.

i really admire the venues and event organizers that cultivate a safe spaces like this in a place where it is decidedly unsafe for queer people, and where the youth are constantly in danger of having their lives ruined for totally arbitrary reasons.

this is why it breaks my heart that murfreesboro is trying to shut down a venue called The Graveyard Gallery. the graveyard gallery is a place where a ton of events are constantly held for lgbt, furry, and alternative communities. it is one of very few alternative places in the broader nashville area where i have felt really, truly safe and welcome as a person of color.

most recently, The Graveyard Gallery has come under attack for attempting to hold a Trans Day of Visibility punk show, with the apt title “Trans Day of Vengeance”. Conservative media, both local and national, directed the attention of their audiences towards this event, calling it “tone deaf” to have it on easter, and to have it sort-of-kind-of-close-to-but-not-quite-on the anniversary of the shooting in nashville. All of this, of course, ignoring that the date for TDoV was set in 2009, and that this was a small DIY punk show that really bore no threat to anybody. the show had to be canceled because of credible death threats, so it didn’t even happen, but that hasn’t appeased anybody.

in the wake of this, murfreesboro’s fire marshal has suddenly decided that the building is not acceptable for occupancy and it has to close immediately and for the forseeable future. people can claim it’s unrelated, but i’ve known people to have their businesses suddenly declined by fire marshals due to sheer bigotry before, and shitty towns will just use their fire marshal to bankrupt small business owners that they don’t like. i do not speak for the owners of the gallery on this front, but i personally believe that these things are related.

all this is to say, the graveyard gallery needs to raise money for their legal fees over this matter. this venue is very important to a lot of people, and may be even more important now that the city’s music scene is in the crosshairs of massive conservative media companies.

if you can donate please do, and if you can share this, please do that as well.

thank you for taking the time to read my post. i know there’s a lot going on in the world, but music venues are where people here gather, and music venues are often also a place where people organize to make meaningful change and promote causes that i know most of you would approve of. music is at the heart of this community, and the venues are where the music lives.

#mine

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cosmicjoke · 1 month

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For People, Not for a Dream

Everyone always wonders about this panel, and why Levi didn't include himself when talking about what all his comrades fought and died for.

The thing is, Levi was never fighting for that ideal world, or to create an ideal world.

For him, it was never about a concept or an ideology, because he never believed in the possibility of an ideal world to begin with.

Even when he gives his monologue to the 104th, during the Uprising arc, and speaks about freedom and the chance to have a world without the threat of titans, he still says that both world's are hell, just that he chooses the hell of people killing each other over the hell of being eaten by titans.

So I think to understand Levi, it's important to understand that he never cared about or was motivated by any system of belief or philosophy. He never did what he did with the goal of creating some Utopian world or society. His actions were never driven by any sort of fanaticism.

He was only ever fighting for people. To help people. Even in their ugliness and with all their faults and failings. He accepted that about people and the world; he accepted their imperfection. He never tried to change anybody, he never labored under any sort of belief that he could weed out the bad elements of society and, as a result, force a better world into existence, or a more civilized society. He wasn't blinded to the ugliness of his own actions by a sense of moral righteousness or belief in the "greater good". He never believed any set of beliefs or principles or ideology was or could be made inherently superior to any other. He never believed people could be made better than what they were. And yet he still found their lives worth protecting, along with their right to choose what to do with those lives, whether it be good or ill.

I think that's a big part of why Levi never loses sight of his own humanity, why he never becomes cruel. Because he never loses sight of what he's actually fighting for. Not an idea or a set of beliefs or a dogma. But just people, even when they're not good people.

And we see that reflected in Levi's lack of any sort of dream for himself, and in his support of other people's dreams. He's not fighting for their dreams because he believes in them or their possibility, he's fighting for their dreams because he believes in the worth of the people who dream them. It's the people who have worth to Levi, not the dream or the ideology behind the dream. And he hoped to prove that worth by ensuring they didn't throw their lives away for nothing. That's why he lent his strength to those dreams. It was always for the dreamers sake, not the sake of the dream itself. To show their lives mattered by helping to realize whatever it was they gave those lives for. It's why he's so determined to kill Zeke, because those soldiers in Shinganshina gave their lives for that goal. It wasn't Zeke's death that mattered, but the lives of the soldiers that died for it.

It's why he says in the above panels that if it was going to be worth the price "you all paid", it would have to be an "exhaustingly idealistic world". Nothing less than that would be worth people's lives. I think it's also why Levi's expression is one of such sadness all through the final chapters, because he knows, and always knew deep down, that that idealistic world was an impossibility. That even without titans, the world would still be a hellish place, something we see proven by the final pages of the story, with the destruction of Paradis and the continuation of war. In the end, I don't think Levi believed the outcome was worth the price his comrades paid. It wasn't worth their lives. To Levi, the concept of a "greater good" isn't worth more than any, single life.

But it's also important to remember that Levi was never the type of person to tell anyone else what to do, or what to think, or how to live, and that in itself is testament to how much he values people. The worth he sees in their lives and existence is reflected in the respect he holds for their right to choose what to do with those lives, even if that choice is to give their lives for an impossible dream.

And so that's what he fights for. Not for any sort of dream, or for the realization of an ideal world, but to help people. To help them in whatever way he can, whether that's saving their lives, protecting their right to choose how to live those lives, or supporting the dreams they believe are worth giving their lives for.

It was never for the dream itself. It was for the people who dreamed it.

#Levi Ackerman #attack on titan #shingkei no kyojin #meta #commentary #analysis

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zvaigzdelasas · 7 months

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There’s little doubt that the American government has decided to slow China’s economic rise, most notably in the fields of technological development. To be sure, the Biden administration denies that these are its goals. Janet Yellen said on April 20, “China’s economic growth need not be incompatible with U.S. economic leadership. The United States remains the most dynamic and prosperous economy in the world. We have no reason to fear healthy economic competition with any country.” And Jake Sullivan said on April 27, “Our export controls will remain narrowly focused on technology that could tilt the military balance. We are simply ensuring that U.S. and allied technology is not used against us.”

Yet, in its deeds, the Biden administration has shown that its vision extends beyond those modest goals. It has not reversed the trade tariffs Donald Trump imposed in 2018 on China, even though presidential candidate Joe Biden criticized them in July 2019, saying: “President Trump may think he’s being tough on China. All that he’s delivered as a consequence of that is American farmers, manufacturers and consumers losing and paying more.” Instead, the Biden administration has tried to increase the pressure on China by banning the export of chips, semiconductor equipment, and selected software.

It has also persuaded its allies, like the Netherlands and Japan, to follow suit. More recently, on Aug. 9, the Biden administration issued an executive order prohibiting American investments in China involving “sensitive technologies and products in the semiconductors and microelectronics, quantum information technologies, and artificial intelligence sectors” which “pose a particularly acute national security threat because of their potential to significantly advance the military, intelligence, surveillance, or cyber-enabled capabilities” of China.

All these actions confirm that the American government is trying to stop China’s growth. Yet, the big question is whether America can succeed in this campaign—and the answer is probably not. Fortunately, it is not too late for the United States to reorient its China policy toward an approach that would better serve Americans—and the rest of the world.[...]

Since the creation of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, several efforts have been made to limit China’s access to or stop its development in various critical technologies, including nuclear weapons, space, satellite communication, GPS, semiconductors, supercomputers, and artificial intelligence. The United States has also tried to curb China’s market dominance in 5G, commercial drones, and electric vehicles (EVs). Throughout history, unilateral or extraterritorial enforcement efforts to curtail China’s technological rise have failed and, in the current context, are creating irreparable damage to long-standing U.S. geopolitical partnerships. In 1993 the Clinton administration tried to restrict China’s access to satellite technology. Today, China has some 540 satellites in space and is launching a competitor to Starlink.

When America restricted China’s access to its geospatial data system in 1999, China simply built its own parallel BeiDou Global Navigation Satellite System (GNSS) system in one of the first waves of major technological decoupling. In some measures, BeiDou is today better than GPS. It is the largest GNSS in the world, with 45 satellites to GPS’s 31, and is thus able to provide more signals in most global capitals. It is supported by 120 ground stations, resulting in greater accuracy, and has more advanced signal features, such as two-way messaging[...]

American measures to deprive China access to the most advanced chips could even damage America’s large chip-making companies more than it hurts China. China is the largest consumer of semiconductors in the world. Over the past ten years, China has been importing massive amounts of chips from American companies. According to the US Chamber of Commerce, China-based firms imported $70.5 billion worth of semiconductors from American firms in 2019, representing approximately 37 percent of these companies’ global sales. Some American companies, like Qorvo, Texas Instruments, and Broadcom, derive about half of their revenues from China. 60 percent of Qualcomm’s revenues, a quarter of Intel’s revenues, and a fifth of Nvidia’s sales are from the Chinese market. It’s no wonder that the CEOs of these three companies recently went to Washington to warn that U.S. industry leadership could be harmed by the export controls. American firms will also be hurt by retaliatory actions from China, such as China’s May ban on chips from US-based Micron Technology. China accounts for over 25 percent of Micron’s sales.[...]

The U.S. Semiconductor Industry Association released a statement on July 17, saying that Washington’s repeated steps “to impose overly broad, ambiguous, and at times unilateral restrictions risk diminishing the U.S. semiconductor industry’s competitiveness, disrupting supply chains, causing significant market uncertainty, and prompting continued escalatory retaliation by China,” and called on the Biden administration not to implement further restrictions without more extensive engagement with semiconductor industry representatives and experts.

The Chips Act cannot subsidize the American semiconductor industry indefinitely, and there is no other global demand base to replace China. Other chip producing nations will inevitably break ranks and sell to China (as they have historically) and the American actions will be for naught. And, in banning the export of chips and other core inputs to China, America handed China its war plan years ahead of the battle. China is being goaded into building self-sufficiency far earlier than they would have otherwise. Prior to the ZTE and Huawei components bans, China was content to continue purchasing American chips and focusing on the front-end hardware. Peter Wennink, the CEO of ASML, stated that China is already leading in key applications and demand for semiconductors. Wennink wrote, “The roll-out of the telecommunication infrastructure, battery technology, that’s the sweet spot of mid-critical and mature semiconductors, and that’s where China without any exception is leading.”[...]

Former State Department official Susan Thornton, who oversaw the study as director of the Forum on Asia-Pacific Security at NCAFP, said: “This audit of U.S.-China diplomacy shows that we can make progress through negotiations and that China follows through on its commitments. The notion that engagement with China did not benefit the U.S. is just not accurate.”[...]

One fundamental problem is that domestic politics in America are forcing American policymakers to take strident stands against China instead of pragmatic positions. For instance, sanctions preventing the Chinese Defense Minister, Li Shangfu, from traveling to the United States are standing in the way of U.S.-China defense dialogues to prevent military accidents.

19 Sep 23

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jacquelinemerritt · 11 months

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Dragon Ball Z: Abridged Episode 60 Review

What does it mean for an abridged series to go even further beyond?

Part I

I started this review series in 2015 because I loved Dragon Ball Z: Abridged, and I needed there to be writing out there that explained why I loved it so much.

It’s a funny thing, re-reading all of my old writing about it. Part of the nature of a weekly review series is that you tend to zoom in on the particulars, as that’s where the meatiest criticism lies. Going over the specifics of the story’s structure, how details in the show add to a greater whole, it’s all part of the process of finding out why something in a show works, or sometimes, doesn’t work.

It’s in those details though, that you come to a greater whole. By recounting the specific ways in which a story is threaded together, week after week, episode after episode, you start to bring forward recurring ideas, and piece together aspects that continually make a show work, and contribute to the greater whole. And when you’re critiquing a masterpiece, a show so lovingly crafted that every single detail lines up perfectly for its conclusion, you eventually are able to tie those thoughts together into what is hopefully a masterful conclusion of your own.

Dragon Ball Z: Abridged is the best possible version of Dragon Ball Z.

This might be the most contentious statement I’ve ever made about this show. It’s a statement I know for a fact the creators disagree with. But it’s a statement I believe wholeheartedly, and I even would go so far as to say that Dragon Ball Z: Abridged is closer to the spirit of the original Dragon Ball than Toriyama managed to pull off himself.

The original Dragon Ball manga is a masterpiece of its own. Akira Toriyama did a phenomenal job weaving together hilarious gags with thrilling martial arts action and compelling character growth, all while centering one of the most lovable, fun, and pure-hearted protagonists to ever be written. There’s a reason that it spawned an entire genre of imitators, and that’s because its blend of action, comedy, and growth were all executed masterfully.

I don’t think that Dragon Ball Z ever manages to capture that magic the way the original does. That’s not to say that Dragon Ball Z is a bad show, but by the time Raditz enters the story, the manga and show both change into something much more akin to a melodramatic soap opera. There’s so much waxing from the characters about how powerful these foes they’re facing are, and there’s very little levity sprinkled throughout these long, drawn-out fights, as the circumstances feel too dire for the characters to make jokes and be silly.

Silly humor was core to Dragon Ball’s charm though. The very first fight in the first World Tournament Arc is a gag about how Krillin is able to beat a martial artist who has never bathed and uses stench as a weapon, because he doesn’t have a nose to smell him with. The best side character in this series goes from being an angry, murderous criminal to being a cheerful, innocent sprite every time she sneezes, and she always sneezes at the worst possible moments for everyone. Hell, the entire Red Ribbon Army Arc is a joke about how Goku completely obliterates a major threat to the world on a whim, because none of them are martial artists, and not a real challenge as a result!

The very magic of Dragon Ball Z: Abridged is that it takes this melodramatic source material and finds the space within it to make jokes again. The Saiyans are a world-dooming threat, but Nappa is hilarious, and I will forever quote everything he said. Freeza is a genocidal tyrant who has taken the galaxy by force, but even when the world around him is unable to laugh, his spoiled, petulant attitude is funny as hell, and full of delightful dark humor. Even the darkest timeline of Trunks’ future is filled with jokes, whether that be the genuinely despicable ramblings of TJ and the Wombat, or a 50-year-old Bulma making a pass at Gohan, perfectly fitting her original boy-crazy characterization.

And phenomenally, Dragon Ball Z: Abridged manages to do everything I just mentioned without sacrificing an ounce of drama. Goku’s battle against Freeza is desperate, and his Spirit Bomb failing rips the ground out from under you. Future Trunks’ battle against the Cyborgs is tense, and his first transformation into a Super Saiyan is gut-wrenching. Even in the first season, before they fully found their feet, Team Four Star managed to make the battle between Goku and Vegeta every bit as tense as it needed to be, while still incorporating a constant stream of jokes.

So where does that leave us with Episode 60?

Part II

What, exactly, is the purpose of an abridged series?

I think it’s fair to say that an abridged series is, at its core, an adaptation of a work of art from one medium to another. This is a statement I’ve made before in these reviews, but I don’t think I’ve ever elaborated on it. It feels rather obvious to me that an abridged series be treated as any other adaptation might, because at the end of the day, that’s what artists like Team Four Star, LittleKuriboh, and Something Witty Entertainment are doing. They are adapting a work from the medium of televised anime to the medium of a comedy YouTube short, and making the same kinds of adaptational decisions in creating these series as a production team turning a book into a movie.

You can see this question of adaptation present itself as far back as some of the earliest abridged series, like Avatar: The Abridged Series. Most of that show intentionally leans into the weakest aspects of Katara’s character, emphasizing her feminity, thirst for cute boys, and quick temper far more than the original show ever did. Yet, in its last episode, Katara undergoes a significant transformation in the face of Paku’s sexism, and is completely reimagined with a new voice actress as she goes on a rant about the sexist ways she’s been written, and her refusals to stand for it anymore. The last episode of this abridged series ever made goes out of its way to critique both itself and its source material in its last episode, and it begs the question of how far an abridged series adaptation can go.

Sword Art Online: Abridged famously goes even further in its critique of its source material. Almost every character is completely rewritten to serve as both a more accurate representation of online culture, and a deconstruction of their original persona, with Kirito in particular standing out as a fantastic depiction of the kind of loneliness and self-isolation that comes with being a try-hard edgelord. It takes an entire season of the show for Kirito to learn to truly connect with other people, and that growth is made all the more satisfying by showing genuinely difficult it is for him to maintain anything resembling a positive friendship with anyone because of those edgelord tendencies.

These shows both have very different purposes, in large part due to the evolving understanding of what an abridged series is capable of between their creations, but they both raise a fairly similar question: what happens when you give everyone with a video editor and internet connection the ability to re-tell someone else’s story?1

The answer here is something I think is quite beautiful. The abridged series thrives outside of the realm of copyright locked down by rent-seeking ideas landlords, and allows individuals, groups, and communities to reimagine their favorite stories. Sometimes, what they imagine is as simple as few extra jokes, or a simple rant about the sexist way a character is written, and sometimes, what they imagine is a completely new version of the story that actually raises interesting questions and showcases compelling characters.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the abridged series found its roots in the copyright-less utopia of early YouTube, when anyone had the freedom to take something they loved or hated, and transform it into something completely different. The rise of Content ID has long since taken away this pure, unadulterated freedom from us, and I truly feel that the internet is worse off for it.

When it comes to Dragon Ball Z: Abridged, the show we are watching is the result of a bunch of people who love Dragon Ball and Dragon Ball Z more than anything else, asking what they can do to make the show funnier, smarter, and more meaningful. Team Four Star found their footing as writers when they began to focus on the comedy that came from character interaction, as we watched these huge personalities clash, and for every funny joke they were able to draw out of that foundation, they managed to draw even more pathos and catharsis for these characters.

Which is to say, Team Four Star took the idea of an abridged series, and went even further beyond.

Part III

Episode 60 of Dragon Ball Z: Abridged is a massive episode that provides a satisfying resolution to the whole series, and nearly every storyline running within it. It also highlights the relationship between its characters fantastically, placing most of the story’s emotional weight on the fractured dynamic between Gohan and his chronically absent father, Goku.

The entire first part of the episode is focused on the tension between who Gohan fundamentally is, and the man his father expects him to be. Goku has, in a stroke of fighting genius (the only genius he is capable of), perfectly planned out this encounter between Perfect Cell and Gohan. He’s manipulated Cell into hosting a tournament for the fate of the world, and placed his son in the perfect position to take down Cell and ascend to power greater than anyone has ever seen. And it’s all ruined because, as Piccolo perfectly points out, Gohan hates fighting.

The subtext of emotional strain between Goku and Gohan has been running throughout the entire series, but it’s finally brought to the forefront of the text in this moment. We see Gohan wrack himself emotionally and Cell wrack him physically, as he and Cell both try to force himself to fill the role his father has placed him in. Even as Cell violently births his own progeny to wreck Goku and his companions, in a last ditch effort to stir a fire within Gohan, Goku’s son cannot bring himself to be the warrior his father believes him to be.

Android 16’s speech and subsequent death changes all of that for Gohan. In a moment set to a breathtaking cover of Unmei no Hi, Gohan internalizes the lesson passed onto him by Android 16, who thoroughly eviscerated the liberal pacifism Gohan has been trying to embody. And Gohan gets angry. So angry that his power skyrockets, and he becomes a Super Duper Saiyan.

Super Duper Saiyan Gohan is fucking terrifying.

Throughout Dragon Ball Z: Abridged, we’ve come to know Gohan as an incredibly intelligent, exuberant, compassionate bookworm. Even though he doesn’t want his entire life to revolve around education and books, he still revels in knowledge and the opportunity to learn, and some of his cutest moments are when he is allowed to be truly childlike, like when he eagerly investigated Cell’s time travel pod for clues.

Every single ounce of compassion and love for life Gohan had before transforming into a Super Duper Saiyan is replaced with rage. Rage at Cell for destroying Android 16, a beautiful soul who did nothing wrong. Rage at Goku for thrusting him into this fight unprepared, and taking away the only hope he felt by throwing Cell a Senzu. And rage, most of all, at the world, for being so fucked up that he was forced into this situation to begin with.

Gohan’s rage is cold though. There is no righteous fury like Goku, no petulant tantrum like Vegeta, no sorrowful torment like Trunks. This Gohan slowly defines the word “filicide” for Cell as he effortlessly commits it, wiping out all of Cell’s children so quickly even Freeza, the most murderous being we’ve met in this universe, would be impressed.

That very rage drives all of Gohan’s decisions, as he lords his power over Cell and takes every opportunity to torment him. He blows away all of Cell’s limbs with a Kamehameha, and then guts him with his fist so hard that he throws up Android 18, and loses his Perfect form. It’s this blindness by rage that leads to Gohan’s greatest mistake, of not finishing off Cell, who tries to blow himself and the planet up in order to gain some kind of victory.

What’s perfect about this moment though is that while Gohan feels entirely responsible for his mistake, Goku knows better. He recognizes the responsibility he bears for Gohan’s bloodlust, and knows that the only way to make it right is to remove Cell from the equation altogether, teleporting the two of them to King Kai’s planet in bold move to save the earth.

Goku’s decision to sacrifice himself also recalibrates Gohan’s perspective, guiding him away from the rage that filled him before, so that when Cell returns, and murders Vegeta’s baby boy, Gohan doesn’t hesitate to put himself in harms way to protect Vegeta from a deadly blow. It costs him an arm, but his commitment to protecting others, even when it’s stupid, and even when it gets himself hurt, is true to the Gohan we’ve come to know and love. All that’s left for Gohan to do is face off against Cell, one Kamehameha against another, and draw on the strength and fighting spirit of his father to deliver the final blow.

Goku and Gohan aren’t the only two characters whose relationship is deepened in this episode. Vegeta’s enraged cry of “MY BABY BOY!” when Cell kills Trunks shows just how much Vegeta has come to love his own son, despite the airs he puts on to the contrary. Piccolo’s love for Gohan is also expressed incredibly here as he lectures Goku for not paying attention to the needs and wants of his son, who just wanted to receive love and affection from his father.

In fact, the love that these characters have for each other, and the ways they express it, is a theme that runs deep in this episode. Trunks love for all these folks around him is shown as he dutifully delivers them all Senzu Beans, quietly making silly puns to each of them. Krillin’s love for Android 18 is displayed wonderfully, whether through him gaining the strength to stand up to Vegeta because she’s resting in his arms, or through him wishing her and her brother free of the bombs implanted in them. Even Yamcha and Tenshinhan are given a moment of brotherly love, as they express for the first time in words how much they both mean to each other.

That very love is also what drives Goku to refuse to be resurrected at the end of the episode, despite Cell having been defeated. He genuinely loves Gohan, Goten, Chi Chi, and all of his friends, and knows that the best way to show his love, for once, is actually to be away from them, and spend time in heaven with King Kai. He’s not afraid of the great change this will be, both for him, and the people he loves, and is willing to embrace the afterlife if it means safety for his loved ones.

Goku’s speech about embracing change and not being a part of his loved ones’ life anymore is also very easy to read as a coda to Dragon Ball Z: Abridged itself. He, and all the rest of these characters, are saying good-bye to us, the audience that has followed them on their journey for years, and they are all embracing the truth that it is beautiful to let this show end on its own happy terms. It’s ironic that, at the time, Team Four Star announced that they would be trying to continue this series, but it’s clear they grew to see the wisdom in Goku’s words too.

A similar message can be found in Cell’s final moments, as he gives us a beautiful rendition of Frank Sinatra’s My Way. Team Four Star, just like this villain, has spent nearly a decade re-telling the three sagas of Dragon Ball Z they loved the most, and at every turn, they chose to do it their way. Sometimes, in the early days, that meant reference-based humor that aged like milk, but more often than not, it meant leaning into their strengths as comedic writers, taking creative liberties with the source material, and working to elevate the text of Dragon Ball Z to something even better than the original show.

I don’t know what to call that other than Perfect.

Epilogue

The journey that I’ve been on with Dragon Ball Z: Abridged, both as a viewer and critic, has been an incredible one. It has meant more to me than just about any other show I’ve ever watched, and stands up there with some of the most impactful art that I’ve experienced. It’s a show I’ve watched when I was suicidally depressed to find some sort of levity, a show I found enough depth in to meticulously critique every episode, and a show I’ve gotten even my shounen-indifferent partner to get extremely hype about, as I showed them the entire show in the lead-up to its fantastic finale.

What Team Four Star managed to create in Dragon Ball Z: Abridged is something genuinely special. It’s a show that makes me laugh harder than just about anything. It’s a show that’s made me cry more times than I can count too, as I was tearing up multiple times while re-watching the finale for this review. It’s even a show that I get to cringe at sometimes, when I think of the early seasons, but that cringing makes it all the more impressive how much Team Four Star improved as storytellers, and elevated their craft to tell their version of Dragon Ball Z better than anyone else could.

I love Dragon Ball Z: Abridged. I will always love Dragon Ball Z: Abridged. And even though it’s over, I know it will always be there for me, waiting for me to tag along with Goku, Krillin, Vegeta, and Gohan, as they power up and save the world.

Rating: 5/5

If you like my writing, consider supporting my continued film criticism addiction on Patreon.

Stray Observations

1This question, you might notice, is exactly the same question raised by the existence of fan-fiction, and this is because abridged series are, at their core, no different from any other form of fan-fiction. An abridged series does, by its nature, require more work and expertise than a piece of prose on Archive of Our Own, but all it achieves, in the end, is a greater level of accessibility, like the difference between a written article and a video essay.

I genuinely adore that in this episode, when Piccolo goes to yell at Gohan to dodge, he’s already dodging Cell perfectly. What a great ending to a running gag.

Yamcha’s every line in this episode is great too. He just wants to be included, whether that’s in Team Three Star, or Cell’s plans for tournament entertainment, and I love him for that.

Super Duper Saiyan is also, just, fucking brilliant. Like, what a great way to use Goku’s silliness to get around the awkwardness of these forms being called Super Saiyan 2 and Super Saiyan 3. Vegeta calling the next form Super-Dee-Duper Saiyan just sells the joke even further. If the show had continued for another season, I genuinely would have loved the comedy of these characters shouting about being “Super-Duper Saiyan” or “Super-Dee-Duper Saiyan,” and would love to see a mock-up of Goku’s “even further beyond” speech with these terms in Team Four Star’s style.

Krillin Owned Count: 0. And as a huge fan of Krillin, yeah, this makes me real fuckin’ happy J

Also holy shit, did Krillin cum 39 times??? That’s super impressive for a cis dude, mad props.

#dragon ball z abridged #dragon ball z #team four star #tfs #dbz #dbza #dbza ep60

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judgemark45 · 1 month

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The Japanese battleship Haruna conducting trials following her major reconstruction in 1934.

During her reconstruction, Haruna took on enough additional weaponry, armor, and other equipment that it required adding blisters to her hull (improving her stability while also increasing her protection against underwater threats). This led to an increase in her displacement by roughly 5,000 long tons. Her standard displacement grew from 27,500 long tons to 32,200 long tons. Her new full load displacement grew to roughly 36,600 long tons.

Despite the increase in tonnage and the widening of the beam from 92' (28m) to a new maximum of 101' 8" (31m), the speed of Haruna actually increased. This was due to a new powerplant, her sixteen coal-fired boilers (the result of a 1920s modernization that replaced her original thirty-six boilers) being replaced by eleven brand-new oil-fired models. This doubled her power from 64,000shp (her original output) to a new maximum of 136,000shp. The increase in power was also helped by grafting a new stern section to the hull, increasing her length by 26' (7.8m) and helping maintain her length-to-beam ratio even with the new blisters. This was enough to permit a new maximum speed of just over 30 knots.

Now, a lot of people would say this was all for naught, considering the armor was still relatively light by battleship standards. This certainly showed itself to be a problem when Kirishima was destroyed by American battleships. On the other hand, the Kongo class were far more likely to meet enemy destroyers or cruisers in combat. In this regard, the armor was sufficient.

I would go so far to say that the Kongo class were the most useful battleships in the Japanese Navy during World War 2. Their speed made them far more flexible and able to undertake a greater variety of roles.

The only major weakness of the rebuilt Kongo class was their lack of a truly modern anti-aircraft weapon system. Of course, this was a problem that affected Japan as a whole. Had the Kongo class had access to some improved anti-aircraft weapons, perhaps the 100mm heavy anti-aircraft weapons, they would have proved to be even better escorts in fleet actions.

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jrueships · 2 months

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can you please walk us through the relationship between wemby and jabari the people need to know

i think the most notable thing about vic and Jabari's relationship is that they don't have one, when it would be so beneficial if they did. they're like two soldiers fighting for the opposite sides of a war, too loyal to the cause to stop and think about what could have been if they just lowered their respective weapons aimed by cold hands larger than their own. foils by fate, friends by freedom.

' remember, you will Always be Different. '

' remember, you will Always be Replaceable. '

'Replaceable'

Jabari's dad made it in the NBA, then didn't. He was a big that could shoot, but wasn't a post-up man. Back then, post-up was the desired style. Ironically, now, it's all about shooting. But his dad didn't live in the now, and his career in the US was short-lived, to keep it cordial. Jabari's older brother played basketball throughout his whole life, but stopped after college. Jabari's cousin, Kwame Brown, was drafted 1st overall in the lottery, and became a notorious bust for the Washington wizards.

Basketball is a business. Basketball is fleeting.

It doesn't matter that a big with sharpshooter skills is valued as something so 'prized' in today's nba, not back then, not when it would have mattered for Jabari's dad. Making it is one ballpark in its own, but Staying in it? Can perhaps be an even more painful ordeal when the hoops to accomplish it aren't circus hoops, but a plain hill some just don't have the strength, mentality, or the materials to help climb without distraction or pitfall.

Jabari's dad made sure Jabari had this threat forever ingrained in his mind. When he yells at Jabari for misplaced eye contact, for typing the wrong words in a public social media reply, for reacting in a way a camera might misinterpret, it's out of love. Jabari's dad was known for being a hassle to coach back then, maybe because he knew his potential and no one else did because it was too new to the mold. So he makes sure Jabari doesn't follow his same habits. Jabari is polite to authority, simply replies with a 'Yes Sir' or a 'No Ma'am', he holds eye contact, he wakes up hours before he needs to just to jump rope, just to uphold the standards that his family could not. He is Everything his father is and isn't, plus more. When his team wins, he's still talking about his missed freethrows even 8 hours later. Because someone else could have won the game And hit those free throws too . someone from a family that gained success and stayed in that success. Someone who wasn't Just Another Son of a basketball player trying to do what his father couldn't, someone who was Different .

Everyone knew wemby was different. When his literature class was asked to write an essay about your future dreams in life, he wrote a fictional romance about a couple where the woman got in a car accident and was comatosed as a result, but got better in the end. He didn't write about being a great basketball player one day, because his parents don't pressure him to hunker himself into the norm, even though his mother once was and now coaches. If Wemby one day realized this wasn't for him, they would encourage him to leave and follow whatever greater passions propelling him. He's so agile for his size because his dad was an Olympic talent in track and field. He is someone who has hobbies and talents that are considered common alone, but strange combined, because he loves what he has and what he does. He reads every night for one hour before bed not to appear as some pseudointellectual, but because he Genuinely loves it, and when he loves something, he excels at it. He does try to be different, but not out of ego. He just loves to be. He either accomplishes at 200% or zero. It may be 200% in an unexpected direction, but it's His direction and that's what matters. If he somehow does wind up a bust, a possibility he considers without fear but acceptance as potential fate, then he won't go down as yet another failed first pick. He'll fall as he flew, Victor Wembanyama.

' Different '

' Replaceable'

Jabari winces each time he's subbed out, even for a second, even on an injured ankle, he's silently Stubborn, his posture shrunken and his gaze at the ground yet his eyes, big, wobbling, staring up always at the speaker, he's silently scared.

Jabari doesn't Want to be different. He just wants to be what his family couldn't be when it came to fame: irreplaceable . His parents split when he was younger, he tries his hardest to appease them both as to not cause any more issues. The relationship relies on his shoulders more than ever, and he can't fumble it again. He has to be what his dad couldn't so his dad can stay, commenting on commonality or surprises. He wants to support his still working mother, especially after the split. He doesn't Want to be unique, he just wants Security.

Because this can crumble any moment now, it doesn't matter how high your pick was or how bright the future Could Have been or how the game would later shift to your style if you had just somehow Stayed. Why bet on low chances if you know you can't handle the risk. He shakes any college coaches' hands that showed up to his practices, personally thanks them for coming even though he's one of the best in the country so their presence should be a given to him, it's not. When he picks a college, he picks one that guaranteed their faith in him from day One, and didn't require any further prodding to finally say '.. Maybe we'll offer you a position' like Kentucky did, as big and famous as it is, it wasn't Secured . They saw him as a risk at one point, and that's everything he's been trying to avoid when it came to attention, negatively standing out.

Jabari wants to be known as the strong shoulder to the world. He WANTS to be known as That One Guy who can just carry everything, nameless but Good. He just wants to be Good. Please tell him he's good. Please tell him what he's doing is Good. That basing his entire personality around yet another soldier who ultimately fell in battle but fought nonetheless being nameless is Good. Please feel free to give him all your burdens to bear like he's just some mule, an animal, a Tool .. because that means he's Useful, at least. That means he's Good. And if he isn't good, then he's nothing. Because you can always just buy another one anyways. A better one.

'Different'

Although his parents try not to treat Wemby by simplifying his differences into a strictly labeled, simple FUTURE BASKETBALL PRODIGY box at birth, that doesn't mean that can always stop others from doing it. Wemby signed his first autograph at ten years old.

It didn't matter if he was a kid who was so much more than just his basketball future, basketball fans wanted one thing from him and one thing only: Success. People didn't care about his literary skills or his drawing hobbies. The eyes on his alien needed to be smaller 'so your shoe can sell better, trust us, it's still Your drawing.. your weird little .. not money-making hobby, do believe me, Vic, We know what We're doing. You just stick to whatever you do.'

His differences, in the end, are minimalized just to that. He's just Different. That's what everyone says who wouldn't really care to say anything at all if he never hooped as well as they wanted in the first place. The youtube videos of 40 year old men criticizing his 15 year old games didn't Really care if he was just a kid, they just cared in the 'imagine when he reaches peak physicality? imagine the points (money) he'd make for the nba.' His beautiful differences, artistic, soft, unique but oh-so wonderfully common and passionate.. are all dissolved into 'Different', the Base definition.

he's an alien. Someone you can just dump all your poverty franchise worries onto because don't worry, he's Different. Trust me, he'll save your team. 'He's Different. ..am i talking about how he'd effortlessly answer questions in class while also trying to hide the fact that he's playing on his phone by tucking his bony legs awkwardly in his chair and crouching his spine over that it looked almost scary? HELL NO? what does THAT have to do with BASKETBALL?? no, he's just freakishly long, but like. Gifted. Though. ... I don't know, man, he's just DIFFERENT, okay? you can trust me, i'm a sports podcaster, okay? everything i say is gold.'

A celebrity approaches him because he was different than most famous basketball athletes. He was Different. And yet, when he didn't recognize or notice her presence due to Different cultures ( due to Being Genuinely, Detailedly Different ), he was scorned and ushered out of public eye so another possible pr bomb couldn't injure his reputation as a Difference That They Really Would Rather Not Want.

that's what his reading falls into, his old friends, his family, his art, his personality. If it's beyond ball, if it's beyond Business. The world only cares if it's marketable. Sure, some reporters will ask a question outside of sport, but only because it'll be a Different.. funny little nugget of knowledge for fans to laugh at then soon disregard for what Really made him famous. But, Wemby is what he always wanted to be. He's Different. So What if it's not exactly the kind of Different he actually wants, he actually functions on? No one has the time to perform 200% anymore. Slap the label you wanted and call it quits, stop being so High-Maintenanced. That's not marketable.

You're just different. And to some people, that's all you'll ever be. No need to explore it any further. Who knows, your Consumers might find something they won't like. And we can't risk that happening to our greatest circus freak.

i mean. Generational basketball talent .

If there's a press conference going on that somehow includes the two, then Wemby just wants to be sure everyone can hear what he really wants to say, in his own words, not echoing anyone else's, and Jabari just wants to Be in the Room.

His brother stopped playing basketball because his family said he didn't try hard enough. Jabari Can't have that. His whole life revolves Around basketball, around sport. He doesn't WANT to be DIFFERENT if that isn't the soundest option, he just wants to be GREAT. Because GREAT is SUCCESS. Jabari Smith is not success. It's just a retry at it . His father shares the same name.

Wemby's life did not always revolve around basketball, to people, at one point. At one point, Wemby's life was just his life. Now, it seems like only his family think that, and they're from a whole other country. When he comments on videos critiquing his playstyle, he doesn't do so out of anger or questioning, he does so because he genuinely Wants to improve. He Does want to be great. But, he wants to be great in Everything that he finds interesting. He always did. When he likes an author, he reads All their books, not just their most notorious novel. He wants to be transported into other people's worlds so he can learn, so he can change, so he can be Different. Even if he somehow were to lose all of this fame, this Greatness, this job, this opportunity, he will never really lose. Because he's someone who's always taken opportunities to the fullest, so even if they pan out a little differently, that's Fine, really, because he's different. Not in the minimizing, dictionary definition then leave the meaning at that different, but in the butterfly effect. What he once was ten days ago is not exactly the same of what he is now, and it hurts, sometimes, when people fail to see that, or simply don't want to because textbook different is easier to digest than worldly different.

IN SHORT.. theyre foils. i can't Exactly walk u thru their relationship bcs .. there Isn't one.. & that's what's so Interesting about them. That's what makes their relationship, to me. Because if they WERE to be friends, if they somehow in some alternate world WERE to get paired up on the same team... they would be friends. I really think they would be. Not only because their signs are so compatible, or their differences are so stark, but because their similarities would triumph everything beautifully. Maybe. We don't know because they Weren't paired together, we can only speculate. But i think it would be big and beautiful, whatever they would have, it would be Something.

unfortunately, we don't live in an alternate world where they're teammates though ! Double unfortunately, Jabari and Wemby's biggest similarity is their loyalty to the game (a double-edged sword in both their lives from Jabari's silent unhealthy desire to be limited and Wemby's silent desperation not to be) Wemby, in Jabari's eyes, is Indeed a powerful...

Problem.

He's not really a person to him . In all fairness, no one really is when they're involved in the basketball world, not to Jabari, not from the way he's been taught. Everyone's supposed to be Replaceable, a faceless tool in the pocket of good business.

.. except for This freakazoid. Apparently.

APPARENTLY, he's some supposed 'saint'. someone to be feared for being more. APPARENTLY, the reporters just LOVE yapping about him SO much, that Jabari HAS to take the time out of his training just to talk about some guy who doesn't even GO here, yet when they ask him about his opinion on future prospects. WELL, that's ALL wemby IS to Jabari, just another future prospect. Just another problem.

A problem he'll be sure to check off his list.

... okay, so Maybe he's a bit more than a problem.. maybe.. he's just a really persistent problem? yeah, that's it, nothing more. Jabari will work through this. He Always does. That's what he does well, Work.

Wemby wonders if that's all he ever does .

But he doesn't have long before Jabari's marching down the tunnel to beat himself up over all his mistakes other people would never make, and Wemby's being escorted to an interview that other people would never make solely to show how Much he just Stands Out as a soul... in basketball .

I hope they find each other in basketball, and out of it as well. I just feel like

Something would Happen

#THANK YOU for this ask #i was so scared making it tho like... im srry it's so long but im afraid i cant short answer in life 😭#if im scared it's gonna miss something 😭#i MAY be an overthinker hooper 🗣‼️‼️💯🔥#in reality thank u for asking fr <333 it's been a while since ive done one of my (in)famous ted talks LMAO #i hope this helped 😊!! <- i say as the whole point of it was that it couldnt actually help #LiSTEN- iN THE END.. IT'S FOR THE DELULUS IM AFRAID #the OHHHH but the POTENTIALL #mfs who have mental illness (multi shipping)#theyre like pg and dame Thats a Bad Shot to be #like they both have insane 200% or nothing work ethics... but driven into such POLAR opposite means to an end #theyre like two people who wrote an antithesus to the other but would actually rule the world together if given the chance #2 veey powerful heroes belonging to two different alliances or worlds.. holding similar but different ideals #corny one liner quip bcs i have to for the kids marvel wemby and trying to be edgier bcs fck them kids dc jabari #idk theyre insane to me #pls say u understand #bcs i dont think i rlly do myself and thats why i love them so much #theyre a puzzle and i wanna know if the final product is exactly what ive been imagining from the pieces given to me #or if it's completely opposite #either way it's so fun for me to figure out but again. i may be insane #if i am .. feel free to tell me 😭😭 really. at least have the courtesy to tell the polar bear his world is melting before taking a picture #ted asks #ted longer #jaba #webby #IF I MISSPELL WEMBYS NAME PLS BE NICE 2 ME. I DID LORE RESEARCH HIM i SWEAR. I RESEARCH ALL MY POSSIBLE SHIPS PEOPLES CUS IM SCARED OF #MISINTERPRETATION. SO IF U SEE ME MISSPELL WEMBY.. IT'S BCS I AM STUPID YES. BUT LIKE. NOT WITH RESEARCH. IT'S JUST MY STUPID BRIAN #*BRAIN**** <-SEE?? i Dont think i have to explain any further how his name is a Nightmare for people like me who #think 8s are 6s on a math test and fails bcs of it EVEN THO the problem wouldve been right if it WERE to be a 6.. it is simply not

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thedeafprophet · 4 months

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The Boisterous Author plans to take their final leave of the palace. Things, of course, can never go that easy.

(Do read the tags on this one before reading)

Also On Ao3

Word count: 2.8K

Relationship: The Captivating Princess/Original FL Character

Rating: Mature

Tags: Consent issues, Forcefully Shoving Fingers Into Someones Mouth, The Princess Being The Princess, Minor References To The Gift, No Smut (feel the need to point that out with the rating lol)

Jamie had turned the office half upside down as they scrambled around the room, looking for the few items they couldn't bear to leave behind. The whole palace could damn itself to an even deeper hole in the ground, but Jamie would not be leaving without their favourite pen.

They had reached their limit, one thing after another, and had come to a final decision to take their leave of the palace. No title or renown was worth…whatever the hell all that was. Best not to think too hard on the details. They learned more than they ever wished to know about the royal family. They'd seen things they'd never wished to see.

On the few nights Jamie slept in their room in the palace, so gratefully lent to them, they were up half the night, knowing about what lurks below. The greater threat, however, came from their worry about the goals of one particular member, and how much Jamie had done to make an enemy. They shiver at the thought of the countless horrors they have witnessed all at the results of her schemes.

No, the more they stayed at the palace, the greater their risk was. They needed to get away. As far away as possible, actually. Perhaps more trips away from the city proper were in order. They had become particularly fond of trains.

By the time they find their pen, their mind has already started drafting a new novel idea of an outlawed monster hunter on the run, papers and books all mixed around. Somehow, they'd left it by the back of the bookshelf, cap left undone. Why on earth they put it there, they don't know, but they grab their beloved writing tool at last. Its well worn nib and incidental bite marks they’ve left behind a familiar and comforting sight. Jamie happily stuffed it back into their jacket pocket where it belonged. Now, at last, they could take their leave.

They tried to sort the room back into a somewhat organized manner, finding more things they sought to bring back to their real office. A few pages of once discarded notes, a book of their favourite poems, and a manner of ink all were put into their case. There was no way they could take their secondary typewriter without making the length of their departure obvious, so they begrudgingly set it aside.

They took one final scan around the room before they made their departure. They can’t say that they’d overly miss the location, but they had spent many nights working away at their writing here. That was, in a way, at least some form of connection. They give the room a final salute before they head to the door.

Of course it wouldn't be that easy. Why would they have ever assumed it would be.

A set of startlingly blue eyes meet theirs as soon as they open the door, and Jamie half jumps back in shock. Had she been waiting for them, listening in on their actions? No, surely it was just a coincidental matter of timing. They had not, however, heard any sort of knocking.

“Oh do tell me you aren’t going to just stand there staring. Though I of course can understand the urge.” The Captivating Princess stood in the doorway to Jamie’s office, raising an eye at their apparent staring. Jamie’s heart immediately starts beating faster, anxiety pulsing in their chest.

Deciding they were taking too long to respond, she brushes past them to enter the room fully. Her eyes scan around, taking a moment to look over the contents on their desk.

“Is everywhere you go subject to this kind of mess? I had thought the repellent state of your lodgings had been an outlier in the matter, but clearly I was mistaken.”

Jamie pushes themself out of their shock, closing the door behind them and doing their best to force their mind to clear. It was dangerous, entering the dance of conversation without any time to prepare.

“Ah, my apologies, your highness, I had not been expecting your presence.” Their hands fidget slightly as they speak, nervous energy running through them. “Why exactly are you here, if I might ask?”

The Princess looks at them as if they just said something particularly stupid. “You do remember you're in the palace, don’t you my dear? I can go wherever I please.”

“Of course, of course. But this is my office, where I work. Not a prime locale for socializing, and I do prefer my privacy in manners of creation.”

The Princess just laughs at them. “Oh how adorable. This space is only yours because it is permitted. Every room, every object, every worker here belongs to the palace.” She smiles. “By all accounts, you do too.”

Jamie bristles at the comment, truly tiring of all these entities in power who seem to think there was any right to lay claim on them.

“Well then, is there any reason you've come to this particular office of the palace, or may I get on with my afternoon plans?” They mentally remind themself over and over that they need to be polite, of the amount of danger they could be in if they toe out of line. It is a task they are always so dreadful at keeping to.

“I’m sure whatever dull ongoings you had planned can wait. I am having a direly dull day and am in desperate need of some sort of distraction.” She edges closer towards them. Jamie instinctually takes a step back. “Is that not what you're here for, to entertain?”

Irritation grows inside Jamie alongside their fear. They are an artist, the best of the best, and here this woman was, acting as if they were nothing but a toy to be tossed around. Before, Jamie would have respected her as someone worthy, due to her position and title. Now? Now they know better. What good is the opinion of a monster?

“My job,” Jamie emphasises their point with a gesture at themself,” is to compose for events and special occasions. If there is a particular function you have need of my talents for, do feel free to make an appointment. However, if you're still in need of a playmate at your age, I cannot assist you in that matter.” Really, half the time Jamie couldn't believe she was nearly 13 years older than them.

That clearly wasn't the right thing to say. In an instant The Princess' eyes narrow in anger, and Jamie does their best to avoid her direct gaze. They know how people get around her, they know how weak their mind can become.

Her voice has a dangerous edge when she speaks. “You should rethink your words. I came here for a solution to my boredom, do not make yourself useless to me.”

Jamie doesn't look at her as they speak, hands moving to point at the objects in the room. “Oh I see! And shall I use the lamp to set the stage lighting? The window curtains to create the scene? But of course, the desk could be a stage! It is a pathetic facsimile of a set piece, but naturally it would serve for such a repugnant audience, who has such little care for the actual depths of artistry.”

They shouldn't say that. Why did they say that? Yes, Jamie is well aware of their habits with snappy remarks, but they normally were able to hold back around her. Instead they found the words stumbling out, fear ignored in the long built up rage. Regret cuts deep through them the moment after their words spill out.

Jamie knows as their eyes meet hers that this was a fatal mistake. Certainly, it was a mistake to stand against her from the start. Why would they ever stand against someone so graceful and elegant; how could they speak such falsehoods against such beauty.

Jamie's thoughts are slippery and poisonous as they grapple with them, trying to stand their ground.

The Princess has an outraged sneer from their words, her voice vicious and dangerous as she speaks.

“Sit down.”

Jamie grits their teeth. “No, I-”

“I said. Sit.” They're moving before they can fully process the command, falling back into one of their own office chairs. The spot seems far less comfortable than it was on the nights they had accidentally fallen asleep here.

The Princess follows their movement, looming over where they sit with a frightening expression. Jamie swallows an ever growing lump in their throat as their pulse rushes in their ears. Their hands grip the edge of the chair to try and keep from shaking.

The Princess is seething as she grips their chin, Jamie almost feeling the scratch of sharp nails through her gloved hand.

“How dare you speak to me that way. You are nothing but an ignorant little pest who should cower beneath my feet, thanking me for even gracing you with my presence.” If Jamie wasn't so caught up in their fear and rage, they would notice the glint of intent behind the anger in her eyes. “You need to hold your tongue.”

Jamie lets out a small humorless laugh. It wasn't the first time they've heard such a sentiment, and it wouldn't be the last. “By the very nature of the job, my profession dictates my use of words, your highness, or have you already forgotten that? Maybe if you-”

What remains of that sentence will never be spoken, as Jamie's eyes widen at their words suddenly being cut off.

The Princess had moved her other hand to jab her fingers into their open mouth, pressing down forcefully on their tongue to keep them from finishing. Jamie's hands instinctively reach to scramble at her arm to pull away the intrusion, but all that does is make her push harder. Saliva pools at the edges of Jamie's mouth as they choke around the insistent pressure.

The Princess sighs at their reaction, looking the image of transcendent boredom, despite her actions and the glittering intent in her eyes saying otherwise. Her rage, it seemed, had died down, replaced with burgeoning entertainment as Jamie swallows heavily around the intruding fingers.

“Of course, you have such pretty words, and yet I'm met with nothing but slander.” Her lips form a mockery of a pout. “What a waste. No, I know you can do better than that for me.”

Jamie mumbles what would be intended as an argument or a defense, but nothing can come out with their mouth otherwise occupied. Their disjointed noises seem to only further serve The Princess’ amusement.

“Oh, has the little songbird lost their words?” The statement is met with a pinch against their tongue. Jamie whimpers at the pain. “What a shame.”

Gloved fingers move to stroke delicately over their teeth, tracing over each as if examining them, hand mapping every inch of their mouth. The soft fabric brushes against Jamies tongue as they move, not altogether an unpleasant feeling. The urge to bite is strong, but even they are not foolish enough to attempt such a move. Jamie is in enough trouble already, fully at her mercy.

They know how strong those hands could be.

Jamie's thankful they don't have too much of a gag reflex as the back molars are touched, hand stretching further into their mouth. Jamie can only fathom at the image they must make, as tears threaten to edge at their eyes from the pressure, face quickly becoming very flushed.

It's easier, they decide, to just sit and let her take whatever strange entertainment this seems to be for her.

Her other hand comes up to stroke their hair, and Jamie shudders at the memory of the first time she did so, freed only by the mercy her sister seemed to possess. Jamie didn't even have the option to talk their way out now, their only line of defense taken.

Despite the tension, the fear, and the adrenaline, Jamie can't help but relax at the soothing movement, their head leaning into her hand. The actual format of the situation couldn't change the fact that they craved attention, that it felt good, to have such focus on them and them alone. And what focus it was! Truly, they did not deserve her attention.

The hand in their hair tightens with a sudden sharp tug as Jamie is made to look up at her, half choked with the angle. They can't tell if their struggled breath is from the position or their racing heart.

The Princess coos at them, her voice a patronizing tone as her hand twists russet locks further, tears pricking at the edges of Jamie's eyes. Still, they meet her gaze, and follow the direction she pulls them.

“How delightful. I knew you could be good, if you only bothered to try.” Her grip relaxes again, and Jamie sinks in relief. “Little songbirds shouldn't say such nasty things - you should be so grateful you have me to help.”

Of course she's right, how could they have spoken so harshly. How kind of her, of such beauty and grace, to take them in hand. How generous to show them the wrong of their ways.

They don't know how long they stay like that, their hands still loosely griped on The Princess’ wrist as she pokes and prods, seemingly fascinated by the responses she can receive. They're not sure the passage of time even matters anymore.

At last, The Princess seems to feel that she has made her point, or at least has finally gotten bored. Jamie barely breathes out a sigh of relief as her fingers leave their mouth, not daring to make a sound and have her change her mind about releasing them.

Jamie looks up at her through half lidded eyes, mouth still open where a trail of saliva connects to her fingers. Their jaw aches.

She makes a half disgusted face at her glove, moving to wipe her hand off on Jamies suit jacket, before cupping their chin once more. The Princess’ eyes sweep over them with a pointed interest, a sharp jolt of fear washing through Jamie despite the flush of their face.

Her smile is still so radiant.

“Have you learned your lesson now little bird?” Her voice is delicate, like a chime, and all of Jamie's senses scream predator. There's nothing they can do but gently nod their head.

“Is that so? See, I don't think you have. I think that once I leave, you'll go right back to your insufferable little habits, and we'll be back to square one, now won't we?” Her hand lands back to twist in their hair.

It's an audacious concept, really. Jamie hasn't been changed by anything yet, of course they haven't now, no matter how highly The Princess holds herself.

Jamie is expecting her to tug again, but to their surprise, her hand moves to push their hair out of their face, back behind their ear. She follows down to cup their cheek, thumb stroking slightly. “Unfortunately for you, I have more important things to do today then spend it all on you.” Her hands begin to draw away. “We will deal with this behaviour another time.”

Jamie is barely processing the implication of that before she's fully stepping back, and Jamie has to startle to hold themself back up on the chair. They barely manage to look up as The Princess finally stalks out of the room, as if she hadn't just shoved her hand halfway to Jamies throat, as if she'd just come in for some casual conversation.

The second she's out of the room, whatever spell that had fallen over Jamie immediately drops. Exhaustion sinks into their bones, their jaw and tongue ache, and most of all their mind runs over what the fuck just happened.

They spend a few minutes leaning back in their chair, trying to keep their breathing calm, trying not to think too hard on what level of danger they've gotten themself in. Their clothes have become exceedingly uncomfortable, and they were in desperate need of a drink. They shift in their seat and grimace, moving to wipe their mouth. A bath was in order too.

Soon, they'll manage to push themself up from where they're sitting, and scramble together what remains of their exit plan. They'll take their final leave of the palace, with intent to never return to their writing work here, as much as that could be managed. They'll do their best not to think about the encounter, though it will continue to replay in their mind for many days.

Most of all they'll try to ignore the imprinted image of red eyes that will surely come to haunt their nightmares, both dreading and wondering what ‘later’ would entail.

#hands in mouth friday wednesday #uh. welcome to my twisted mind #heh #dubcon cw #like. really edging past the dub on this one #the captivating princess #oc: jamie #my writing

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primus-why · 1 year

Text

AU: An Alternate Original Primes Narrative

Here's a very star-crossed lovers kind of AU mythos for the original Primes, with a MegOp/reincarnation endgame 👀

To summarize, Prima was the first Prime. They were forged by Primus to help Cybertronians topple their Quintesson oppressors.

From there, as other threats or problems arose, Primus forged a Prime to address the issue. One by one, twelve Primes in total were made, each serving a purpose that led Cybertron into it's first golden age. (For example, Solus could forge great weapons to keep the planet safe, Amalgamous could unlock secrets of transformation, etc.) Together they could face any challenge, and by the time the Quintessons attempted to recolonize Cybertron, the Quints were squashed easily.

Eventually, Alpha Trion began to forsee an even greater enemy on the horizon. After bringing this news to Primus, the twelve Primes learned that they would soon face Unicron-- a being as powerful as Primus themself. Armed with that information, each Prime went about preparing for the impending confrontation in their own way.

Prima-- the first Prime, and leader of the twelve-- met with Primus regularly, meditating and seeking guidance. Megatronus-- a warrior as strong as Prima, though significantly more cunning and ruthless-- decided to enlist the help of Alpha Trion's foresight to prepare for the battles ahead. He reasoned that the more he could predict the fight, the better he could ensure a winning outcome.

But one day, Alpha Trion had a shocking revelation: soon they would meet one more Prime! Initially, Megatronus was only interested in what the new Prime would be able to contribute in battle. He went with Alpha Trion to visit Primus and inquired just that, as well as when they might be forged.

But Primus explained that this new Prime already walked among them! In due time, they would become enlightened and answer their higher calling to fulfill their role as the next Prime. However, until then, they lived as any other ordinary Cybertronian citizen. This thirteenth Prime's experience, Primus reasoned, would provide invaluable insight into how the Primes may better serve their subjects.

Peeved that the ever-cryptic Primus did not directly explain when this new Prime might arrive, Megatronus went back to his battle inquiries with Alpha Trion. (He even tried to needle some info out of Prima, who told him just as cryptically "Be patient, Primus has a plan". So forget it.) What use would an average citizen serve in such a grand conflict, anyway?

However, over time, Alpha Trion had less and less to say on the battles, and Megatronus began to suspect the other Prime had exhausted his scope on the conflict. Fair enough-- it would be impossible to know everything, as 'Trion had explained to him when his inquiries first began. Just in case, he would still ask about the future (though not nearly as frequently), and usually he got the same or similar results.

That is, until one day, Alpha Trion mentioned something very unexpected: that the new Prime would bear a spark that resonated with Megatronus' own.

Now, Megatronus had nearly forgotten about the up-and-coming mystery Prime, but he knew what resonance meant. It was synonymous with finding a soulmate, someone meant to be a companion with whom you'd form a close bond. It was... intriguing, to say the least.

Megatronus-- who possessed the same strengths as Prima, but without the direct connection to Primus-- often felt as though he had to prove himself. Each of the other Primes served a unique purpose, meanwhile he felt like an outcast for merely possessing the same abilities as their leader. This made him more ambitious than the rest of the Primes, fighting to prove his worthiness and to find a place by their sides.

But now... according to Alpha Trion's prophecy, this new Prime was to be someone who would stand by his side for a change. Someone who would find him worthy, regardless of his abilities.

Suddenly Megatronus became obsessed with Alpha Trion's foresight again, only this time he wanted to know more about the new Prime. What would they be like? What are their interests? Where are they now? When will they finally meet?

But that last question was troubling to Alpha Trion. See, he had told Megatronus only a portion of the prophecy-- that the new Prime would rise up during the arrival of Unicron-- but he hadn't shared the rest of it...

... Megatronus would not be there to meet this new Prime.

Alpha Trion interpreted this to mean that Megatronus' death would kick off the conflict. Despite knowing he cannot change the futures he predicts, he set about trying to find loopholes. Perhaps it simply meant Megatronus would be off-world, or even in stasis? Perhaps it meant he should try to delay the enlightenment of the new Prime, so that Unicron may never come...

Meanwhile, Megatronus continued to ask questions about the future. He could tell Alpha Trion was getting more and more exhausted, but he was growing impatient. He wanted everything to be perfect for when the new Prime made themselves known; he wanted to know how to navigate conflicts with them, how to cheer them up when it was warranted, how to be the perfect partner to them-- because shouldn't someone who so wonderfully accepted him as he was deserve the perfect partner? It got to the point that he was practically looking forward to the arrival of Unicron, which disturbed the other Primes.

Prima and Solus eventually confronted him, citing Alpha Trion's perpetual exhaustion from using his gift so frequently (though none of them knew Alpha Trion had also been researching ways to prevent Megatronus' demise.) Megatronus contended that they couldn't possibly understand being in his position, and argued that they ought to be thankful for his idea to collaborate with 'Trion so that they might know what to expect in the upcoming battles.

But Prima and Solus clarified that they took issue with Alpha Trion's gift being used for personal gain, for they knew Megatronus had also been looking into the new Prime, and why. That enraged Megatronus, who doubled down on pointing out their privileges-- Prima and Solus had been a blissfully bonded pair for many vorns now, how dare they try to shame him away from his own happiness?!?

Alpha Trion arrived on the scene after learning of the argument taking place at the Citadel. He tried to intervene just as things were heating up, and admitted to also using his power selfishly to try to find a way to preserve Megatronus' life.

A cold rage filled Megatronus once he learned the truth. After all that preparation, he wouldn't be the one charging into battle with a grand plan. He would never write his own legend, or make his own distinct mark among the Primes, aside from dying before their most important fight. He would never meet his match in life, never have his own conjux.

Alpha Trion's voice, babbling about loopholes and waiting, was drowned out. Quick as a klik, Megatronus took aim with his Requiem Blaster and fired without another thought.

His aim was true, hitting Solus Prime squarely in the chest plates. He barely registered the others' horrified reactions, focusing mainly on Prima. His oh-so-perfect counterpart. The leader who had everything-- high status, strength, deep and meaningful relationships, respect-- all from the moment he was forged...

... so why not even the playing field, for once?

From there, Prima launched a vicious attack upon him, while Alpha Trion and others tried to either stop them or provide first aid to Solus. Despite Prima no doubt feeling the pain of their conjux's spark fading, they put up a hell of a fight. Though, if he's being honest, Megatronus wasn't fighting for his life at that point-- he knew now that he was destined to die soon anyway-- rather, he was taking out years of his own pent-up frustrations, grief, and jealousy on his fellow Prime. However this made him callous and uncoordinated, and Prima eventually got the upper hand. Swift as they could, Prima snuffed out Megatronus' spark, and rushed back to Solus' side just in time to witness her last vents.

A funeral was held in the memory of Solus; all of Cybertron mourned her loss, and cursed the name of Megatronus. Megatronus' body was not laid to rest, instead it was launched into space by Prima themself, because they did not want to pay any sort of tribute to the one who had betrayed them so personally.

Eventually Unicron came across the body, resurrecting Megatronus' powerful frame with a fractured mind-- only retaining the hatred, sorrow, and frustration he had felt in his final moments. The shell of Megatronus was instrumental in leading Unicron's legions, wreaking havoc on the universe until they were on a direct course for Cybertron at last.

Not long after Unicron was spotted heading their way, the final Prime ascended to his rightful place-- he was called Optimus Prime. The Primes, now only eleven strong, scrambled to make use of all their preparations, while Optimus tried to find his own footing in all this. He ended up meeting with Alpha Trion often, as he was the studious type, and found a great deal of insight within the notes the other Prime had been taking with Megatronus all those years ago. Wistfully, Alpha Trion remarked that Megatronus would have appreciated being acknowledged for their efforts, as it had been his idea. Optimus asked to have all the notes, and Alpha Trion let him. ("I'm not of much use otherwise," he said, "Unlike most of the others I'm not a warrior, and my gift refuses to see beyond a certain point. It would seem all of our futures hinge on the outcome of this conflict. Good luck, Optimus Prime. 'Till all are one.")

Optimus pored through the notes, coming to understand Megatronus' battle tactics along the way. He also uncovered the tragic prophecy, which foretold their sparks would have resonated. It made his own spark ache-- torn between the facts of Megatronus' brutal betrayal towards his fellow Primes, yet Optimus longed to have known his spark, to see who he was for himself and to have known what that connection might have felt like.

Even armed with their knowledge and skills, the Primes were still fewer in numbers than they had initially hoped when they had first learned of Unicron. Prima realized they would not be able to defeat Unicron permanently-- in fact, they understood most of them would not survive this conflict-- and resolved to subdue Unicron instead. In one final stand, the warrior Primes banded together, channeling all their sparks' energy into Prima and their Matrix of Leadership-- save for the faintest flicker, which would return to the Allspark-- putting an end to Unicron's rampage and freeing Megatronus' bound spark.

In light of their sacrifices, Primus greeted each of the Primes' sparks warmly once they reached the Allspark, apologizing that things did not go as planned, and offered to grant them each a wish for whenever they are able to reincarnated. Some like Prima and Nexus wished that they would be able to someday know the others as friends in another life, to be able to laugh together, while some like Onyx or Amalgamous wished to retain elements of their gifts as they couldn't imagine a life without them.

Optimus' spark wondered where Megatronus' spark was... was he not welcome? And Primus revealed that they would have welcomed him despite his betrayal, however his spark was tainted when it was called back by Unicron, and thus would be doomed to wander, never allowed to rejoin the Allspark. Optimus' spark resolved that his wish would be to bring Megatronus back into the fold, to allow his spark to be purified and be given the chance to be reborn in a new life.

And Primus asked him, "Would you still wish this, even if it meant your sparks may never encounter each other? Even if I couldn't guarantee he would be happy in the next life?"

"Yes." Optimus' spark replied, full of conviction, "I believe he should be given the chance to find that happiness for himself."

And Primus obliged.

============================

Fast forward many years. Alchemist Prime and Alpha Trion are the only ones who survive the fight with Unicron, but the legends say they perished alongside their fellow Primes that day. They've since gone into hiding, adopting civilian personas, and watching over society with the rise and fall of Prime-pretenders who aren't even close to being shadows of the Thirteen. None can harness the Matrix the way a true Prime could.

Myths about the original Primes arise-- ones that stretch the truth about their respective roles and personalities, tall tales that blend fiction and reality... but mostly fiction. Some claim Prima was Primus themselves, walking among them for a time. Some say Onyx Prime is living on one of the moons exclusively in his beast form. Most will claim Megatronus was evil and in cahoots with Unicron all along, or was once good but seduced into wickedness. One tale even saw Megatronus being possessed by Unicron to kill Prima, but said Solus stepped in to take the blow instead. Alpha Trion is particularly saddened to see Megatronus remembered as The Fallen Prime, a complicated individual eroded into a simplistic abstraction to scare sparklings as they're being tucked into berth. It's what inspires him to work in the Iacon Archives, as he would much rather preserve true histories than to predict what will come to pass (besides, he's still wracked by guilt for what he perceives as his part in Megatronus' downfall). Alchemist opens up Maccadam's, offering a safe place for folks to let loose and be themselves-- because after they faced Unicron, he's come to especially appreciate these precious fleeting moments in the present.

Obviously they don't know about Optimus' wish, so they are independently put-off by the eerie similarities they spot in a certain gladiator rising to fame... because there's no way Megatronus' spark was able to re-enter the Allspark after being wielded by Unicron, right? It would have been corrupted... but what a peculiar coincidence... especially the name he's going by... hmmmm...

Alpha Trion even notices one of his archivists taking a particular interest in the gladiator's speeches... and as you know, the rest is history. 👀

#megop #fuzz writes #damn this got long lmao #prima said fuck megatronus im gonna yeet him into space #anyways thanks for listening to me ramble :)#i just have a lot of feelings about ships passing in the night and missed opportunities #like og Optimus literally pleaded with his whole spark for Megatronus to get a 2nd chance at life #only to end up fighting him on the other side of a war #Also if we're going tfp route Megatronus' spark ends up in the clutches of Unicron AGAIN :')#mmmmm i love the pain.#especially wanted to show Megatronus like... being a bit obsessive/crazy early on but also WHY he was like That

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chihirolovebot · 3 months

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i made. a PHYSMAKI!! pinterest board!!! i hope it is in character :’) but i wanted to share it with you anyways

https://pin.it/1WXZeDHsN

i made a few about phys & other characters too. and OFCOURSEEE physouma aswell!!

fyi its always me sending asks about physmaki,,, i love them so much actually toxic yuri FTW!!!!

IM LITERALLY SO ILLL OHHGHG MY GOD ARE U KIDDING ??? putting some faves under the cut

FIRST OF ALL just want to go crazy bonkers stupid over the amount of dog / rabid dog imagery and pins in this board since i went so hard on the coding for harukawa and dogs in sleep awake . shes so rescued fighting dog to me and it makes me sick. the nightmarish black and red ones are so perfect for just what i imagine the inside of her head to be like the 'do not forget what i am' with the bared teeth oghhhhgh harukawa u think ur so cruel and unlovable u think u are but a weapon but phys sees u as a person</3 what the hell .

this one first i hc that harukawa is very incapable of hiding her emotions like ANY emotions even though she tries . because i figure she never would actually have much practise hiding them as an assassin bc it was not strictly necessary + we see in the game that shes actually pretty expressive , even when it comes to stuff like being flustered by her friends or being angry ( mostly at ouma and momota lol ) . so yeah anyone this one is real harukawa's soft side for phys comes through a lot ( i hope ) .

this is so hangar coded . oughghhhggh oh harukawa u thought u were doing the right thing at any cost and now look . look how its all fallen apart around you. 'i did it for you' and the worst part is she did !!! she truly believed she was recusing phys from someone who had kidnapped and tortured them !!!!!!! she thought she was doing the right thing + who's to say someone in her shoes wouldn't do exactly the same . i can literally imagine her saying this . of course there is a flipside which is that harukawa only thinks she's doing stuff for phys because she doesn't believe they have agency of their own ( to an extent ) and they are blinded/brainwashed by ouma so it's a pretty awful double-sided coin . 'i did it for you' but only because i didn't believe you could do it for yourself .

well this one was just frankly evil and i think it's cool to read this from both perspectives actually . from phys's perspective this is fairly clear-cut; lover ( if we're going romantic physmaki ), hunter ( when they used to be afraid of her in the earlier chapters ) friend ( middle chapters ) and enemy ( right at the start and during a lot of chapter five ). YOU WILL ALWAYS BE EVERY ONE OF THESE because their dynamic changing and shifting doesn't discredit their journey from one sort of relationship to another . i think the nature of phys and harukawa's relationship is that it's always in danger of losing its equilibrium and sliding back into something slightly toxic or unhealthy or doomed . they probably have the most inconsistent relationship in the fic ( physouma is debatable ) and i think it's because they're never totally sure what to make of each other or where the other stands , as a threat or a friend .

slightly repeating myself on the hangar point but this just epitomises what harukawa was trying to do in ch5 . she doesnt really know how to love and have faith in other people which is a part of why she thought phys needed saving . if she had realised like chabashira , kiibo and saihara did that phys had more agency than they were letting on , it probably wouldn't have escalated resulting in their fallout and phys' fury towards her in the investigation + trial chapters . deep sigh . in conclusion harukawa fighting dog who had to use her teeth despite not wanting to . in conclusion ouma and harukawa both thinking they had no choice other than to do the worst thing possible that they truly did not want to do because they both believed it was in everyones greater interest . only to find out that if they just paid closer attention , believed a little more , there was a choice all along .

anyways im going to go vomit . genuinely amazing board , i checked out your other ones as well and OH the physouma one was genuinely fantastic . so sososo thankful u sent me this as u can see i went bananas over it + i hope ur having a wonderful day :3

sidenote i have a bunch of pinterest boards that u may or may not have seen . if u would like i can post the link to my own physouma board :o

#dear venus.#🏚.sleep awake

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yanderegrizzsworld · 2 years

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( I hope you don’t mind me dropping a request) may i request a romantic shadow,rouge and Amy with a( fem) s/o Who as adhd and just has random mood swings

-🎩 anon

Imagine: Romantic Yandere Shadow the Hedgehog, Rouge the Bat & Amy Rose with a reader with ADHD

TW/CW: Mentions of bruises/violence/blood & implied blackmail/murder

Shadow the Hedgehog:

Before joining Sonic & the others to aid & protect Earth/Mobius from Eggman's assaults, Shadow displayed little to no tolerance to those whom he believes can't focus or act accordingly & presumes that they'll meet an early end because of it. While he's learned more tolerance since meeting up more with Sonic & the resistance, a part of him from the past still sticks with him & shows itself when his patience is tested.

While he's patience stills runs quick when strained, his tolerance towards you seems close to unbreakable, to the point where you could even joke of how you're teaching him to be more patient & he'd jokingly agree with you. Where he generally sees hyperactive, impulsive or inattentive behavior as a vexation, he regards yours as endearing though you would give him heart attacks when on missions with your same attitude.

Any comment of your demeanor is met with the ultimate life form throwing threat after threat & left with a dark eye &/or broken nose at best. Just because he promised his Maria to defend Earth doesn't mean he necessarily like those living on the planet & throwing incivility at you is a quick way to end up missing.

Rouge the Bat:

Rouge's history with treasure hunting & working for the government proves anything but dilettante & constantly utilizes them for her own benefit. Her attention to details & silver tongue are nothing but terrifying as she's fooled & played many enemies to do her work without them realizing it until it's too late.

While initially finding your struggle with focus or careless mistakes as an oddity, she presumes & takes it upon herself to aid you, without you having to pay her back in any way besides your devotion back. Saying your little habits are cute to observe is something you'll hear from her whenever you meet up, she overlooks any complaint you bring up & treats it more like a child throwing a temper tantrum.

Anyone who crosses the jewel thief's path never lives merry for long, either falling into impetuous & seemingly irreversible debt or having their social life &/or status completely demolished, alongside the stolen fortunes. Rouge regards many as a tool for her own benefit & is no stranger to keeping someone quiet without resulting to blood on her boots or gloves, just say a name & description & she's off on a personal "errand" with the promise of pampering you in snatched gifts & her undivided attention.

Amy Rose:

The pink hedgehog strives to be as considerate as she possibly can trusting that it's the core of any hero who vows to help those around her. Every & any impulsive act remind her of her younger days which then evokes her admiration for Sonic & her desire to lend other a hand while fighting for good alongside her friends.

While Amy certainly regards your habits as charming & comical, to some extent, she worries that you might struggle with boundaries & her frets escalates when such is true. Amy will persist on helping you with your problem without hearing a complaint from you, while she understands where your irritation comes from, she nonetheless claims that she yearns to assist you from those she knows don't have the greater tolerance nor patience.

The pink hedgehog is quick to jump at your defense if a remark is made that she deems as unnecessary at best & foul at worst which leads to a visit with her hammer. She expects others to treat each other with basic respect & dignity & when she witnesses that respect not being met with you, she's brisk with her scolding for such behavior & reckons them to apologize, else they wish to something worse from her.

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