#some of these words are just so???#''still believes in the system even after getting fucked with no lube by it'' is 100% a metal as hell line#tfa#maccadam#also your tags???#tfa megop is so hilarious when done right#And Optimus manages to beat his aft Several times even if he's just ''maintenance prime''#that's more times than fucking Sentinel has won against a Decepticon#Tfp au Optimus is honestly based a bit on tfa Optimus because i say so#and another fucked up bit is how fast things went downhill after Sentinel became magnus#that boy went full 100 with his paranoia

@transingthoseformers making another post bc i'm about to rant

first of all i'm gald you find my phrasing humorous XDDD life's too short not to enjoy it and since i wouldn't make it in prison unique phrasing will have to do lmao

and TFA megop!!!!! i think it has some of the most written for it but most of it is Not for me ya know? no shade, but Optimus is almost always made into some uwu baby when he's a GREMLIN and would sell Megatron's soul for one corn chip. (also Primus and Unicron apparently don't exist in TFA which has me 👀👀👀 bc that has some interesting connotations)

Optimus manages to make peace with an alien race, keep the Allspark out of Decepticon hands, regularly kicks their asses, while also basically raising an alien child that he got surprise custody of. and that's just season 1. Sentinel had his paranoia fanned and abused by Ultra Magnus, given power he wasn't ready for, and possibly also mind fucked to make him more compliant, bc it was Sentinel's idea to go down on Arachna 9.

both Optimus and Sentinel questioned things, and once Optimus was cut at the knees and thought to be neutered they turned their sights on Sentinel and made him into exactly what they wanted.

then he got a position that he never should have in the first place. bc his paranoia is so severe, imo, he shouldn't be in a position of power like that. he would be GREAT in an advisory setting tho.

and things shouldn't have gone to shit so fast when Sentinel became Magnus unless it was already that bad and his incompetence just brought the curtain down.

Conversely, if you and Alexander talked only once, what do you think he’d ask you? I guess he wouldn’t be surprised to find out there are professors studying his life and reign more than two thousand years after his death - but what do you think he would ask you about the history of, well, himself?

Interesting question. I think it would be difficult for him to know what TO ask. While it’s possible to forecast a little way into the future (science-fiction authors do it all the time), the further into the future we look, the further off-base we get. Unsurprisingly. Things come out of left field that even the most foresighted can’t anticipate.

For Alexander, I do think he realized that he died too soon, and his empire wasn’t established enough yet. Ergo, one of his first questions would likely be, “So, how fast did it all fall apart and who came out on top?”

He might even be weirdly happy to hear the answer. (Not long.) Why? It proved they couldn’t hold it together without him—which underscores his own uniqueness. I realize that’s self-centered on his part, but don’t all of us, deep down, kinda wanna know we’re irreplaceable? How much more for somebody raised in a society where kleos (glory) and timē (public recognition) were so important? An older king might have been more concerned with his “legacy” after ruling for decades. But Alexander was still young. He didn’t have much of a legacy yet to protect, other than his remarkable success. That nobody else could match it would, I think, have pleased him.

Would he have asked about his family? Probably. But I think it’d be part of the larger question of what happened next and who came out on top.

He’d LOVE that Rome named him “the Great.” In his own day, he was known as “the invincible” anikētos; “the Great” is Roman.

Yet I don’t think he’d have seen Rome coming. I expect he’d predict Carthage as the dominant Western power. Remember that, in his day, Rome wasn’t especially notable. This was still the Early Republic. Plebians were relatively new into the Senate, Rome was nowhere near in control of all the peninsula and just starting the shift from a Greek- and Etruscan-style phalanx to what would become the legion.

Reputedly, Alexander of Epiros (before his death in 331) resented Alexander of Macedon’s early successes, claiming he (Alexander of Epiros) was fighting real men in Italy while his nephew “waged a war against women” (e.g, barbarians). That’s a typical Western-centric view.* At the time, however, Persia had the most powerful army in the world. Whatever Livy claimed, had Alexander brought the Macedonian military machine west instead of east, he’d have mowed through Italy, just like in Greece, Thrace, and Illyria. It took another hundred-plus years of Roman military development to result in the wins at Magnesia or Cenoscephalae. Italy/Rome at that point was just no match for Macedon, much less Macedon under Alexander’s command.

But hoo-boy, he’d want to know about the legion, even if he wouldn’t know enough to ask directly. He might ask about future military innovations.

Also…he’d be PISSED that more people in the West today recognize the name of Julius Caesar than Alexander of Macedon. 😉 “Why didn’t Shakespeare write a play about ME???” But he’d be tickled there are more stories about him in more varied world cultures than there are about Caesar (true fact). IOW, Caesar may be more famous in the West, but Alexander is more famous in the larger world (thanks to the Alexander Romance).

Last, he might ask me about my world. If we assume he knew I was 2300+ years in his future, I think he’d naturally want to know what life is like in my time. I mean, wouldn’t we ask what life would be like 2300 years in our future? He’d probably be fascinated by the changes, although perhaps not the ones we’d anticipate.

Long ago, on a drive from Kentucky back to Nebraska, my son and I had a fun conversation about a fictional interview between Alexander and Stephen Colbert (Ian’s favorite talking-head person at the time). Stephen Colbert would ask Alexander what were the three most surprising things he’d found about the future? Would it be medical breakthroughs? Computers? The rise of democratic states? Flying through the air (and into space)? Etc.

Nope. The three things I think would surprise him the most are:

1. Near-instantaneous speed of communication 2. Easy availability of information (even if it may be wrong) 3. Changes in the importance of religion (at least in some places)

It was such an interesting conversation, I turned it into what’s now the opening Power-point in my World History I class! Ha.

————

* This supposed claim of Alexander of Epiros may not even be real. It’s recorded by Roman Cheerleader Livy, where of course the West is more powerful than the weak, decadent Oriental East.

Random Thoughts (mostly CC!NextGen)

1) When I suggested Nitaru have the Stockpile Quirk: Original Flavour, I was mostly thinking of it as the ultimate irony. Cause like, the OG Stockpile Quirk didn’t really seem to DO anything, until it got mixed with the Transfer Quirk. Like, Stockpile seemed to be … kind of nothing? I imagine that, in the long term, with whoever had it originally, it MIGHT have ended up some kind of general enhancer, but I sort of got the feeling that, without the transfer ability, it wouldn’t have done much. I thought it sounded funny that, the ONE Quirk AfO wanted more than anything, the one he attached all this importance to, the one he tracked down and killed HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE TO GET, THAT’S the one Nitaru ends up with … and it does basically nothing, because it doesn’t have all the other bits stuck into it. It’s just kind of … there. Nitaru is, effectively, Quirkless. (Which, you know, the difference is semantics, but the irony made me laugh).

2) k, Mimi asked me to expand on Doctor Frankenstein (real name pending/If you think of one, go for it). And like, while I have NO idea who he is EXACTLY, I did think up a general backstory, so.

Like. Doc would have been working at the HPSC for a while. I have this half-baked idea he did work on performance enhancers or something, but his big passion project is “creating” the “ultimate hero” through gene-manipulation. And while he got some side-projects green lit, his big project of “creating” his own heroes kept getting shut down.

i think I mentioned this before, but I imagine in a world where people can shoot lasers, or teleport, or make poison gas, gene manipulation and cloning and shit would be seen as even more taboo than we generally see it as. Like, you are playing god WITH GODS. You are basically making weapons. So DocFrankenstein keeps getting shut down, and getting more and more frustrated. He knows this project could be big, a game changer (especially with HIS genius at the helm) but all of these PLEBIANS can’t see his vision!

This isn’t to say the guy doesn’t have influence. While the President Lady Nagant served under shut the whole thing down hard, the one after, she does the whole thing with Hawks in part because of the Doc’s suggestions. Like, oh no, we are NOT making test tube babies, but she sees the merit in raising a kid for the role. Doc is made Hawks’ main doctor, and while he’s given a bit more leeway, it’s still not what he wants.

Then the Noumu show up. And oh boy.

Doc is both in awe … and disgusted. Cause on the one hand, he’s seeing this as evidence supporting his theories! Genetically made superbeings! On the other, using corpses? Pumping them full of chemicals? He understands that AfO is probably on a time crunch, but REALLY. These Noumu are barely more than ANIMALS. No thought, just following orders. If HE were the one calling the shots … (Basically, the only reason I see DocF not going to work for AfO? Their egos would have throttled each other.)

So, the War happens. And most of the upper members of the HPSC are killed. During the War, Doc F doesn’t really have time for his projects. He’s still working on them, he hasn’t given up, but like. There’s other shit to do, he’s trying to make sure AfO gets taken down. (And gets increasingly envious, because oh, the THINGS he could do with All For One …)

But once it ends? That’s when he sees his chance.

The Hero Public Safety Commission is in shambles. Lots of their dirty laundry got aired, and of those left who weren’t killed? Even more get arrested. They’re replaced by New Blood, people who are determined to do this RIGHT. No more behind the scenes machinations. No more manipulation. Transparency and honesty is the new HPSC motto. Those of the Old Guard left behind are scrambling to try and consolidate their power, to try and figure out how to put the HPSC back where it SHOULD be. The perfect peacekeepers who can do no wrong, who never misstepped in the first place. They are desperate for anything that can make things how they used to be.

Enter Akamei Kazanawa (Kazan=volcano).

Akamei was a junior handler before everything went to shit. She SHOULD have been working with Hawks, but. Well, this was around the time Hawks started infiltrating the League of Villains, so that didn’t really last long. So, rather than the first step in her career, Akamei got shafted and often blamed for Hawks growing independence. Which, of course, made her angry and bitter. She spent a lot of time with DocF, and the man was fairly sympathetic, in his own way (he gets what it’s like to have your vision stamped on by those who don’t understand your genius). Meanwhile, Akamei was intrigued by his genetics project, and saw plenty of potential in it. So she thinks. And she plans …

When the war ends, Akamei is one of many junior agents who get promoted because they need butts in seats, bodies in positions. She’s also one of the few that was involved with the Hawks program who DOESN’T end up arrested. She plays on the fact Hawks and her barely interacted, that she didn’t really “do her job”, to keep out of jail. DocF also stays out of jail, partly because Akamei manages to spin his involvement as unwilling (which, technically it was, but not for the reasons everyone thinks). Then, when the Old Guard are panicking, trying to figure out how to make all this awfulness go away, and put themselves back on top?

That’s when Akamei proposes the “Future Heroes” Program. A program of “home grown” heroes, entirely under the HPSC. She even volunteers to be the first “Handler”. And at this point?

the Old Guard is so desperate, it gets the green light.

-

So my thing with Nitaru is that 1.) I am kinda. Consolidating the Stockpile/Transfer Quirks into the whole thing just being how Yoichi’s Quirk operated in the first place. (because really there’s no reason for both to be separate and idk how the stockpile Quirk worked on its’ own without the transfer). and 2.) Nitaru is made from AfO’s stitched-together DNA. So his options for what his Quirk could be are either directly AfO’s Quirk (what they hoped for) or the Quirk from whatever they stitched in to make him whole (think Jurassic Park how they used frog DNA to complete the Dino DNA and it gave the Dinos the frog ability to change gender), or no Quirk whatsoever because he’s made of string and duct tape and it just didn’t stick.

The doctor stuff and Akamei stuff is great though! The Akamei stuff actually kinda really works with uh. I have plans for one of the main handlers for Nagant and Hawks to..... mysteriously disappear. So yeah she was learning to take over the job and then her boss fuckin vanishes which technically puts her in the spot, but this is right when Hawks is starting to break free of control and she’s tasked with getting him to comply but whoops all hold they have over him mysteriously disappears (in a good way)!

Meet-(Not)-Cute (a Ross Gaines x Joseph Lisgoe fanfic)

I've realised that I've written a few fics where Lisgoe is the one battling with his feelings, but never really explored things from Ross' POV. Since I also haven't explored how these two actually met, I figured this was the perfect time to look into it! I also feel like my recent fics have been a bit heavy so I hope this one lightens the mood

And yes, I know these two are played by the same person and therefore would be the same height, but I know in my heart that Lisgoe's that little bit taller

Usually, Ross didn't get into debt. He kept a small book on his desk and it was enough to keep him in check. But he was human, despite his robotic tendancies, and that means he makes mistakes - not that he's ever want to admit such a fact. Long story short, things got busy at work and it caused him to fall a little behind. He was visited by two idiots, one short and fat, the other tall and twiggy, but they didn't stay long. After the fat one left crying, the twig followed suite and that was the end of it

Well, that was until he got another knock on the door which, since he was occupied with work he'd brought home, he ignored

"I know you're in there!" A voice shouted, accompanied by furious banging at the door "Open up, you bastard!"

Well, Ross thought that was rude

Soon, the thumping at the door proved to be relentless and Ross had no choice but to open it. Even if it was just for his own sanity

As soon as it was opened, Ross was greeted by the sight of a man that seemed to loom over him despite the height difference only being a few inches. He was a strange combination of rough and smart; he wore a black, fitted suit jacket (no collared shirt, like a plebian, just plain black), but in a way that suggested he cared little about looking tidy - buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was slicked right back, which just made his features look more angular

The first thought that crossed Ross' mind was he looks like the leader of a gang

Well, that was the first thought he let settle in his head. His actual first thought was quickly pushed out like a splash of water: at least this one isn't disgusting to look at

"Can I help you?"

"Are you Ross Gaines?"

Oh, you weren't putting that on, your voice really is that nasal

"You can fuck right off with those snarky comments and all!"

"I apologise, I didn't realise I'd said that out loud. What's this about?"

"This is about you not paying your debts on time." The man rested his hands on his hips, his teeth gritting together "And then you decided to get mouthy at the knobheads I work with."

"If this is about the way I treated your co-workers, then may I suggest you you find more competant people?"

That was clearly the wrong thing to say, because the man had taken two steps towards him. Suddenly, Ross caught a waft of his scent. There was a hint of cheap cologne and a lot of cigarette smoke, he clearly... hang on, is that... of course he has a tattoo. Yes, on the side of his neck was a black bird. As if I needed another reason to not want this man anywhere near me

"Nothing says vulgarity like a tattoo."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, dickhead!"

As soon as he said that, something clicked and Ross knew who this man was. He'd known him only by name and reputation, but this was the first time he'd seen him face-to-face

"Joseph Nigel Lisgoe."

"So you've heard of me," an arrogant smirk graced his face "that's good."

"I thought you'd be taller."

With great amusement, Ross watched as his smugness turned to annoyance. However, this was short-lived when he felt himself getting grabbed by his shirt and pulled towards Lisgoe

"If I wanted shite crack like that," he sneered "I'd lick a dog's asshole. I don't care about my subordinates, what I care about is the fact I needed to drag myself out of the house on what should be my day off. So where's my money?"

There was a moment of silence, which Lisgoe clearly wanted filled. He was showing no signs of relenting, Ross watched as his eyes dragged up and down his own frame with a stare that could only be described as steel. Cold, hard steel

For some reason, he could feel his stomach swirling, probably something I ate was his immediate thought

Suddenly, Ross felt his shirt being let go of, which resulted in him stumbling backwards slightly

"I have your money," came the calm reply "and I would've given it to you without all these dramatics. After all, this isn't a regular occurance, is it? I'm good with my debts and-"

"Well," Lisgoe interrupted with a sharp tone dripping with mockery "aren't you a good boy."

Ross wasn't proud of his immediate thought and buried it deep inside him. He just focused on the growing feeling in his stomach, but he just made a mental note to visit the nearest pharmacy as soon as this delinquent was out of his sight

"Are you expecting an invite inside?" He managed to maintain a level tone "Because I was in the middle of working."

"And I was in the middle of watching Dexter, but I'm stuck here talking to a rat in a wig!"

Once again, rude- hold on, did he say Dexter?

"I didn't strike you as a fan of Dexter."

"Funny, I knew a wannabe sociopath like you would enjoy it."

After a moment of consideration, Ross decided to take a chance

"If you're really irritated about missing your programme, you can catch up here. Since you're already here, as you eloquently put it, 'stuck here'."

"If you're trying to sweet-talk your way out of-"

"I'm doing no such thing. You'll get your money, but it's your day off. What's the rush?"

Lisgoe was clearly considering the pros and cons of taking up this offer. His gaze was directly on Ross, lazer-focused. Tense jaw. A slight bite on the corner of his lower lip

Before Ross could say anything, he was being barged past. Lisgoe had made his way through the door and into the living room, throwing off his jacket and throwing it onto the arm of the sofa before letting himself fall back next to it

"You could at least hang up your jacket." Ross followed, clearly unimpressed by his slovenliness "This isn't your house."

He watched as Lisgoe rolled his eyes and raised two fingers at him before leaning back, his arms on the backrest. Thanks to his short sleeves, his intricate tattoos were on display

"I hope they're not too vulgar." He said in that mocking tone when he noticed Ross looking "I'd hate to piss you off further."

Ross didn't even register the attitude, he was looking at the drawings that marked Lisgoe's arms. Tattoos really were ugly things, but the black-and-white that adorned his arms weren't the worst that Ross had seen

I need to get my stomach checked, it's spreading to my chest. Probably a virus. Speaking of viruses, if the one on my sofa doesn't stop slouching-

"Are you just planning on fucking standing there?"

That effectively snapped Ross out of his thoughts and he sat down beside Lisgoe, turning on the TV and turning on Dexter

Ross was thankful for the silence that followed, it gave him an opportunity to focus on something else and ignore the brash, cocky man beside him. Which was nice, because the constant swearing and general pissy attitude was too much. Not only was it testing Ross' patience, but it was making things complicated. Like the fact that the stench of cigarette smoke and abundance of tattoos, traits he usually despised, didn't seem so bad anymore. Or the fact that he let the most feared man in Royston Vasey into his house to watch Dexter. And the fact that said man was digging into his trouser pocket and- he's pulling out a cigarette box. Is he joking?

"Go outside."

"I was going to, Hindenberg!"

"You're going to get ash on my sofa, I paid good money for-"

"Jesus christ, I'm going!" Lisgoe got up and headed for the back door

"Outside."

"Oh yeah, let me just phase through the door! Fucking open it for me!"

Ross got up and let Lisgoe out, standing at the door as he went out and lit his cigarette

Dirty habit... he thought to himself as he watched him raise the cigarette to his mouth. For some reason, his eyes happened to hone in on the way Lisgoe's lips wrapped around the end of it. It was obvious he'd done it before, because he inhaled a lot of smoke without choking, he sucked on the cigarette before tilting his head back and blowing smoke into the air before looking at the cigarette with a satisfied look

Suddenly, Ross was very aware of the virus he seemed to have caught. His symptoms seemed to be everywhere; there was a fizzing in his stomach, his chest felt tight, and there was an odd, tingling feeling in his pelvis... wait...

No. Not happening

"Do you want my money or not?" He snapped, growing impatient

"I'm waiting for you to give it to me."

"It's inside."

"Then bring it outside, you stupid little man."

"I'm not that much shorter." Ross muttered as he went back inside to retrieve what he owed

The transaction was quick and, before he knew it, Lisgoe had one foot out the door

"I hope I never have to do this again."

"What? Collect my debt, slob on my sofa or get your cigarette ash everywhere?"

This was met with a glare as Lisgoe, once again, moved his hands to his hips

"Does acting like a smarmy jackass turn you on or something?"

"I don't know, does being an inconsiderate pest turn you on?"

"What turns me on is none of your fucking business."

"It's a good job I don't want to know."

Lisgoe's eyes darted down and up. Then his eyebrows raised slightly as a smug smirk graced his lips

"Right."

"You can leave now, Lisgoe."

"Might stay and piss you off more, bring some colour to your cheeks."

"Go on, shoo. Enjoy your day off." Ross did a dismissive motion with his hand "I want you as far away from me as possible."

Once again, Lisgoe's face was one of disbelief and he looked Ross up and down again

"What if I just stayed here?"

"I'm closing the door now."

As Ross started to shut the door, he was stopped by the slamming of a hand against the edge of it. Lisgoe had stopped the door and was now staring right at him. That's all, just staring. And he was moving closer, as if he was going to-

"Move, I need my jacket."

Wordlessly, Ross let him pass. Then he leaned against the doorframe and let out a frustrated sound. First he gets interrupted while he was working, then not an ounce of courtesy is shown to his living room, and then, to make matters worse, he was insulted every 5 minutes

His immediate thought was does this man have no shame?

Then his thoughts turned to the feelings in his stomach, but that was quickly discarded

"Don't say a word."

Ross turned and saw Lisgoe next to him, there was a buzzing in his pocket and an impatient look in his eyes

"Is that your-"

"I said shut up!"

"If this is a test, then-"

Lisgoe let out an annoyed huff and answered his phone

"Yes Hammonds... I can't, I'm on duty... yes, but those cun- um, Barry and Glenn needed me to deal with a tricky target... no, I haven't. We argued for a bit and now he's shut the door again." As if to add conviction, he slammed his fist against the door a few times and paused before talking again "See? This might take a while... of course I'm trying hard enough... fine, I will."

He hung up and turned to a very confused Ross

"My boss." He explained "He's an absolute wanker, worse than me and that's an achievement. I knew he'd want to see me and I'd rather walk on hot coals than deal with his shite. So I'm staying."

"You mean here? Or are you going home?"

Lisgoe's face crunched slightly, as if he was rendering whether or not he'd heard the question right. His right eye twitched slightly with confusion

"Home. Obviously. Why would I stay here?"

"We, well, you stopped watching halfway through an episode."

"So?"

"So I'm telling you that I hate leaving things unfinished."

"Finish it yourself." Lisgoe shrugged "That's not my problem."

Gaining a surge of confidence, Ross took a step to the side, as if inviting Lisgoe back inside

"It was just getting good, and I'd hate for you to miss it."

"Fucking hell, your head's wedged up your arse, isn't it?" Lisgoe's teeth gritted again "Fine. One episode."

One episode would turn into one season, and Ross would start falling behind on his debts a little more often - resulting in Lisgoe visiting more

And soon, Lisgoe would start coming round on his days off for reasons that had nothing to do with work. They'd move from Dexter, to the Final Destination films, then to Saw, until they no longer felt the need for such distractions

Months later, they'd no longer see the point in living seperately. Which means, eventually, they would know each other better than anyone else. They'd see each other at their lowest, their highest, worst and best, things nobody else was allowed to see

And then, suddenly, they'd eventually realise that they'd found someone that made all of Royston Vasey's bullshit worth living through

But right now, neither of them knew that, so Ross simply said:

"One episode it is."

well if you really want to know how people perceive you ill be overly detailed and annoying. im 17 so idk if that impacts anything lol. i found your blog in the beginnings of covid in 2020 and ur like one of the 4 blogs i regularly check as im not really a tumblrina. at first i followed you for your analyses of percy jackson as well as commentary as this was the time when rick riordan published those whack ass blog posts. youve greatly influenced my critical thinking process since, not to give you all the credit, but i used to be so robotic and basic in analyzing things whether it be media or situations. you know how most high school english classes suck because people will tie everything back to muh society but fail to dive into specifics in a tailored and nuanced way? yeah. i appreciate how you tie in the whole of things when discussing, for example, a book or movie, rather than just going with the common interpretation. you also just think differently, i dont know how to describe it without sounding like beyonce lmao but i think its really evident especially in your college essays that youve posted on here that youre just on a different plane than the rest of us plebians lmao. in a good way. i think that you really do embrace kindness, and instead of falsely saying you have only love in your heart, you acknowledge that theres more than a black and white love and hate within people, and that it requires active work to be kind to others. i think thats pretty rare within the vast majority of optimists. or maybe im just a pessimist. besides all of that, youre genuinely gorgeous and hilarious to the point of it being contagious, and your sense of humor is infectious. finally i have to say your poetry completely shattered me and rebuilt me. and im saying this as someone whos decently well read and subscribes to the poem in your inbox a day thing lmao. i remember your poems so clearly. about being a horror, your grandfather, homes and chests, a rose by any other name, your mother, etc etc. you have a fucking gift to the point where it confuses me that i just happened to find you off of scrolling through the pjo tag. anyways sorry for the painfully long ask, but i genuinely love reading your thoughts every few days on here. you need to flaunt the yale trap card more often btw

I AM SO OBSESSED WITH THIS YOURE TRULY EVERYTHING TO ME. THANK YOU FOR WITNESSING ME

ok but napollya (late) roman AU living through the collapse of the republic

This is the one that was kind of a stumper, I gotta tell you. Mostly because of the note about living through the collapse of the Roman Republic, which is, I'm pretty sure, not something I've ever seen in a fanfic lol. I have read a decent number gladiator AUs set during the height of the Roman Empire, usually with one character as the slave/gladiator and the other as some nobility or member of the imperial family, and they somehow meet and fall in love. Collapse of the Republic implies a political storyline, to me at least, which is definitely interesting and very unique.

I have not really thought about this stuff since Latin class, which I actually took quite a lot of in high school, but that is now a frightening number of years ago. So, I did a bit of research and came up with: Illya is a member of a dying, dishonored patrician household. He was born into that class (kind of equivalent to nobility, if people are unfamiliar... I'm assuming you know, anon, since you sent the ask, lol) but his family is basically destitute after his father got into trouble, and now all they have is the name and the fact that they are still patrician. Napoleon, on the other hand, is a plebian who was born with nothing but through his wits and ambition he has gained quite a bit of wealth, maybe even getting elected to the senate. The differences between patricians and plebians became less and less toward the end of the Republic, but there still would have been class conflict. (Marriage was also forbidden between the classes, but then again two men couldn't get married anyway, so that's a moot point!)

I think this is a potentially really interesting setup, but I will admit I have NO idea what kind of plot to build on it. Some kind of rivarly, leading to a secret, forbidden love, and then somehow they find a way to be together (always a tricky feat to pull off for a gay couple in a Roman AU, but you know me, I don't do unhappy endings). Maybe they're actually both senators, and at first it seems their politics are incompatible but it turns out they can meet in the middle. To overthrow a dictator (Caesar), perhaps, lolol. I think I'd have to read a book or watch a movie set in this time to really get a handle on what kind of story would work well.

Anyway, thanks for this unusual AU request, I did have a lot of fun thinking about it and trying to come up with something that fit our boys' stories and personalities.

FEStival Fiasco

Part 3 So Long, Space Cowboy

Alcor was an elite by name alone. Throughout the semester, he has failed to score higher than any of his classmates in all exams and assignments. Rumors flew about the academy of the first elite to flunk entirely, but Centaurus paid them, and Alcor, little mind. While Alcor’s haughty and elitist attitude certainly annoyed Centaurus, he did not face any physical or verbal threats from Alcor.

At most, Centaurus overheard Alcor say, "Bested by a female and worm of all things!" to himself when he believes no one could hear. If he did not go spend at least a few minutes every session of class saying, “I remember my father graduated with top honors at this academy,” and, “I believe I covered this subject with my private tutors,” he would’ve certainly faced the same scrutiny and violence that Zathina inflicted on Centaurus.

Because of that, Centaurus paid him no mind and Alcor did the same. Oddly, Centaurus got along best with Alcor, as there was never a day either of them ever fought or competed against each other.

Too good to speak to a worm? Centaurus idly thought as he strolled through the festival grounds. Stalls full of brightly-colored games such as ring toss and whack-a-mole gathered crowds while the scent of fatty, sweet, and salty snacks gathered their money. Centaurus smiled as he walked by and took in the sights of the people making memories with each other. Couldn’t hurt to indulge every once in a while, right?

He walked to a booth with just another player on the opposite side and paid to play a game. “So just gotta pop three balloons with these here darts?” he asked the booth’s owner, who nodded. “Gotcha, I’ll—“

“Unbelievable, this game is clearly rigged!” A haughty voice cut him off. The other player sneered at the booth’s owner—who now sported an exhausted look—and held his hand out. “Either you give me more darts to attempt this ridiculous game or you give me my money back, peasant.”

His vernacular was certainly similar to Alcor’s, but Centaurus remained silent to allow more slips of the tongue.

"Sir, this is your second warning," the booth owner replied with a monotone voice. "Another outburst like that and I’ll have to call security on you. You lost fair and square, and, frankly, I have no clue how to rig this game against you.” She glanced back and forth between the darts in Centaurus’ hand and the balloon on the opposite wall with a dumbfounded expression. “Seriously, none. The problem is your aim.”

“How dare you?” the haughty man said, teeth gritted at the poor girl. “My position is certainly above yours, peasant.” The booth owner narrowed her eyes, and Centaurus could tell she was ready to start beating the sucker to the ground.

“Now now, no need to have that kinda attitude," Centaurus cut in, hands raised in a peaceful gesture. It wasn't as if he had wanted to perform an altruistic task for the poor booth owner, but he did want to satiate his curiosity. “Hold on there, partner. Let’s try ‘n’ take it one step at a time. Now, the name’s Austin. Yours?”

“Hmph! Well, it’s rude to decline another’s request for your name after they offer their own. Fine, then. You may call me Milo. Milo Palmer. And you?” Milo cocked an eyebrow as he looked me up and down. “You… you dress very peculiarly.”

How often did a person, regardless of how sheltered they were, not recognize a cowboy? Not just that, but the attitude was familiar to Centaurus. All of it screamed ‘Mizar.’ However, Centaurus decided to play along. “I’m a cowboy, partner.”

“I’m not your partner.”

“And I wanna propose a li’l wager for ya.”

Centaurus internally grinned as he saw the glint in Milo’s eyes at the word. Mizar or not, it was clear that the one in front of him highly valued competition. “What sort of wager are you walking about, cowboy?”

“Austin. And we play a few rounds over here. If I win, we leave the booth peacefully. You win, then you can say that you’re certainly much better than these ‘plebians,’ as I’m assuming yer ‘bout to start callin’ them.”

Milo shook his head. “No no, I demand a much better reward than that.” With a smug, high-born smirk, Milo said, “Become my slave for the rest of the festival, and then I’ll agree to your terms, cowman.”

“Cowboy,” Centaurus said, rolling his eyes. “Well, don’t mind ‘em terms. I ain’t afraid of losin’.” Passing the booth owner, who now had gratitude in her eyes, some dollars, Centaurus asked for two sets of darts.

“Let’s rock.”

“Let us duel.”

To Centaurus’ relief, Austin was particularly talented in darts. Years of playing drunk and just barely avoiding poking someone’s eye out helped out quite a bit in this bet. In just a few minutes, all of his balloons were nothing but scraps of plastic on the ground while Milo failed to hit a single one. “Well, that prove it t’ya?”

At first, Milo didn’t say anything. He simply stared down at the ground, hands trembling. While the booth owner threw out an excuse to temporarily leave, Centaurus lightly tapped Milo’s shoulder. “D-Don’t touch me, cowman!” he shouted as he jumped back. “Don’t think you’ve beaten me simply because this game is fixed.”

With a bemused click of his tongue, Centaurus smirked and said, “So y’ain’t bad, the game is?”

“Well… the way I said it is certainly much more eloquent, but the general idea is certainly there." Thankfully, Milo chuckled at that. "But! I cannot allow this stain on my honor to continue. Please, let us continue with more duels at this festival. Surely I will be able to best you at all the others."

Again, Centaurus laughed. “If ya wanna keep playin’, just say so, Milo-man. I don’t mind.” By now, he didn’t doubt that it was indeed Alcor before him. The attitude and lack of social cues that only an elite with a silver spoon up his ass certainly fit. However, while being someone else, this was the first time Centaurus had ever had a decent conversation with him. “C’mon, let’s see what else we can play.” Once they were done fooling around, he was certain he could pull off the same trick as Mizar and eliminate him from the competition.

However, several games in, Centaurus found himself lost in the joy of the festival. “Watch this shit!” he cried out as he raised the mallet and slammed it onto the target. The bell rang, signaling his strength. “Hell yeah!” Making sure that Alcor was watching, he flexed both of his biceps. Alcor sneered.

Later on, during a large jigsaw event, Centaurus gritted his teeth as he tried to form the picture in his head. For whatever reason, Austin was just particularly challenged in putting the oversized puzzle pieces together. The colors and shapes just didn’t seem to match. That was one of the pitfalls of the way Centaurus took over hosts. Strengths and weaknesses all carried over to him. However, once he finally put it all together, he rose from his seat proclaiming, “Done!”

“Finally,” Alcor said, clutching two different prizes with a self-satisfied smirk. “I have my own areas of expertise, I’ll have you know,” said Alcor. For the first time since Centaurus had met the guy, Alcor truly did deserve that arrogant air. By the time they had finished most of the booths in the area, they were tied in wins.

“Goddamn. Yer a tough nut to crack,” said Centaurus while the two rested at a bench. For all their running around and eagerness to show off, the men now sat down, panting heavily as the summer heat bore down on them.

“And—ha—you—haaa—are certainly no mere cowman either,” said Alcor in between his heavy pants as well. “I have to admit, I sincerely thought that his whole festival was full of nonsense and clowns earlier, but now...”

“Now…?”

Chuckling, Alcor finished with, “Now I know it also has handsome yet foolish cowmen as well.” While Centaurus pouted, he added, “I had fun. Thanks, Austin.”

“Can’t deny it. I had a fun time too.”

They stared ahead in a comfortable silence—just gazing at the people passing by. The day was far from over, but Centaurus felt more tired than he ever had on this planet. However, it was a satisfying exhaustion. Like he had accomplished far more than his goal. “Hey—“

“Do you mind if we go to that booth next?” Alcor cut in, pointing ahead. Centaurus followed his finger and saw a cartoonist drawing exaggerated portraits of people. “I would like to see his rendition of you.”

Shrugging, Centaurus said, “Sure.”

After about 20 minutes, Alcor glared down at the drawing. The inking and proportions were certainly ridiculous, but Centaurus truly knew nothing about art. Austin knew even less. However, from Alcor’s reaction, Centaurus was honestly starting to believe that something was off about the illustration. “Hmm...” Alcor hummed, his brow furrowed in thought.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“Yes, there is,” snapped Alcor. “Follow me.” The whole walk Centaurus continued to prod and pester to understand what the hell Alcor’s problem was, but no dice. Only once they arrived at a nice, flat table did Alcor finally explain. “The drawing is inadequate.”

“Whu-?”

"Sit. Let me draw you." Producing a pencil from who-knows-where, Alcor began to doodle. Centaurus, not having a reason to deny the request, obliged. The two shared a few words, but Centaurus mainly focused on keeping still. He wasn't sure what he would gain from indulging in Alcor like this, but he did wish to satiate his curiosity. What exactly was he planning…? Unlike Centaurus, Alcor and the rest of his classmates rarely opened up to their host's mind as he did. They shouldn't have access to many skills or talents, and certainly nothing as delicate as art. Was Alcor simply like this?

After a while, Alcor finally announced, “Finished. Here you go, cowman. Tell me what you think.”

There was no arrogance in Alcor’s voice, and no lack of talent in his drawing, either. Centaurus stared at the man—at Austin—in silent awe. A lump of guilt built up in his throat and his eyes grew moist. Austin’s kind yet cocky smile, his warm eyes, and his powerful physique all translated well into the sheet he held in his hands. “Yer… somethin’ else… This is amazin’.”

“I appreciate it, Austin,” said Alcor. “I’ve wanted to be an artist since… since I can remember.” His voice was far away, as if he was caught in a dream. “The aesthetic, the beauty of the world… I’ve always loved it all. I worked hard, in secret. But that dream will remain unfulfilled.”

“Why? Ya got the talent, the skill. Ya got the drive, dontcha?”

“That’s not what I meant, cowman.” Alcor rolled his eyes. “It is not as simple as becoming an artist simply because I wish to. I have… responsibilities. I am an elite, remember?”

“With how often you repeated it, how could I forget?”

Coughing to hide the embarrassment, Alcor continued. “Because of my status, my family expects great things from me. Extremely great things, but I do not.” He furrowed his brow before frowning in thought. “No, my apologies. Allow me to rephrase that. My family expects me to obtain a certain position after graduating from my academy with flying colors, but if I’m being honest, such a thing disgusts me," he said, wrinkling his nose. "In the end, as the firstborn male, I am nothing more than a puppet for the position, just as my friend had become."

“Yer friend?”

Alcor sighed, smiling almost nostalgically as he spoke about his past. “She was a delicate flower. Gentle, kind, intelligent. We often played together when we were young. But, that never lasted. We became separated after a while. Recently, at the academy, I met her again, but she was completely different.” Lips curled up in a tight frown, stared up at the sky with a frustrated groan. “She barely even acknowledges my presence. It’s as though she became a completely different person. When I tried to ask her about that...” Fear appeared in his eyes, “she threatened me with physical violence. And there was clear power behind it as well. Nothing at all like the gentle flower I once knew.

Centaurus let out a grunt to indicate he was listening. The girl from Alcor’s past seemed like the exact opposite of Zathina, but there was no doubt that they were the same person. More surprising was how little shock Centaurus actually experienced. It made sense for a female elite to begin her life with little knowledge of violence or the drive to be a soldier, but then what changed? What caused Zathina to become like this?

“If I continue the path I am on, then my freedom will be stripped away from me,” continued Alcor. “Of course,” he added with a chuckle, “that’s ignoring the fact that I’m absolutely not fit for the position my family wants from me in the first place.” Centaurus did not join in. Instead, he gripped Alcor’s hand and squeezed it to both of their surprises.

“A-Ah...” Voice cracking for just the tiniest moment, Alcor said, “I appreciate you not laughing, and for listening. To be honest, this is the first time I’ve said any of this out loud.”

“Yer lookin’ a li’l bit more relaxed. Shoulders less stiff. Stick must’ve fallen outta yer ass when ya started talkin’.”

“Ha ha,” Alcor rolled his eyes and playfully slapped Centaurus’ arm with his free hand. “Shut up, cowman. Let me be as melodramatic as I wish to be.”

“So yer gonna run away? How?”

“I am not sure yet, but I am determined to try. Even if I am taken away and executed, I still want to try.” Alcor said those words, but he didn’t hide the way his hands trembled. “I want to find a way to draw the universe’s beauty. If I can’t draw and paint, then I might as well not even be alive.”

Centaurus looked back at the drawing Alcor made of them. There was an undeniable amount of skill demonstrated in such short time. A familiar emotion welled up inside of him. Envy. Once more, Centaurus was drowning in envy. Not just for Alcor's skill, but also the path he wanted to choose for himself.

However, as much as Centaurus wished to scream and shout, he found himself unable to. It should have been easy, to crush Alcor's dream by seducing him in such a way as to gain an advantage, but Centaurus wasn’t able to do anything. Thousands of scenarios played in his head, and all of them ended in his favor.

However, Centaurus instead said, “I’ll help you.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll help ya escape this hellhole of a future yer in,” Centaurus proclaimed. He extended his hand out for Alcor to shake. “To be honest, it'd be a shame if a skill like yours remains unfulfilled. And also, it’s the least he could do fer a dear friend.”

“Dear friend?” Alcor asked, raising an eyebrow. “You hardly know me.”

Centaurus shrugged. “What can I say? Kindred spirits, I guess,” he said, grinning at his very first friend. Though Alcor truly had no idea, Centaurus knew, and that was all that mattered. "Listen, lemme tell ya the plan." He leaned over and whispered a hazardous mess hastily cobbled together, but it was all Centaurus could do on such short notice and a person he needed to protect. Overall, it wasn't very complicated, but so much hinged on everything going exactly right.

It was a gamble, but Centaurus figured that, as long as he was in Austin’s body, he didn’t mind becoming the cowboy that rode off into the sunset with his ally just like in the films. Now all he had to do was avoiding perishing before his plan began.

“Yer a cutie,” Centaurus whispered to the man, licking off the last remains of cum. The man shivered in pleasure. “C’mon, let me give ya a taste of yer own milk.” Eager for more, the man swiftly dove into a kiss only to get a mouthful of alien. While Austin’s body remained crouched on the bathroom floor, the other man fell back. He struck the stall’s wall as his body convulsed and soon lost control of his body.

Centaurus shook the exhaustion away. "All right, one more," he said to his former body. His heart ached as he looked down at Austin again. The memories of his kindness nearly caused him to choke, but Centaurus swallowed down the guilt. There were more important things in front of him. “I’m sorry,” he said to Austin.

The two left the stall just in time to see another man exit the stall next door. Time was limited, so Centaurus and the mind-controlled Austin quickly jumped the man, covering his mouth to prevent him from screaming.

Austin and three bodies. That was the minimum that Centaurus would have to work before the chaos began. Not needing to fully dive and dissect the memories of the two men, Centaurus slithered back into Austin and began to put his plan into action.

While he worked to grab Austin’s motorcycle and park it on the outskirts of the festival, his two victims would set off the pieces. The three of them left at different times to not arouse suspicion. All of this just to fool their professor and their classmates.

At the very epicenter of both the festival and the crowd, Centaurus kept an eye out. It had only been a few minutes, so the venom’s effect should hold. Once a voice shouted, “What the fuck, man?!” he grinned and turned to walk away. Another rang out, saying, "I'll teach you to disobey me, worm!" with a tone that sounded just like Zathina. Might as well throw some bait in her general direction.

A few yells went out as a brawl began. With any luck, a small riot should snowball from the two bodies engaging in a fistfight. Through his peripheral vision, Centaurus saw numerous folk turn their heads to stare at the spectacle that unfolded before them.

Perfect, he thought. All Alcor needed was a spectacle to last for a few minutes. Of course, another body would make the situation ideal if Centaurus’ instincts were right.

There was a man on his own near the outskirts of the festival grounds. He stood on his toes as he tried to get a closer look at whatever the attendants were crowding around. Suspecting nothing, he approached Centaurus and asked, “Hey man, what’s going on over there?”

“Hmm? Oh, well… lemme show ya real quick," Centaurus grinned at the man. "C'mere. Don't wanna say it too loudly." Brow furrowed, the man hesitated before leaning in slightly. That was all Centaurus needed. Already, venom spread throughout Austin's system, mixing into the spinal fluid. He opened Austin's mouth and shot into the other's man's mouth as Austin held him close.

“HMPH! MMMPH!” Centaurus’ body strangled any of the man’s startled cries. He quickly slithered through the man and bit down on his brain. The man convulsed as he struggled to vomit the bug out but remained in place as Austin put him into a tight embrace.

“Calm down, li’l fella,” Austin whispered as the Centaurus took control. “I gotcha.”

Once the man’s limbs and core warmed under Centaurus’ influence, he nearly fell over. “F-Fuck, the fuck...” he gasped. A cold and hollow sensation spread washed over his new body. He could still feel the man’s body under his control, but alongside it was something completely foreign.

“Y’okay?”

“N-No, but that doesn’t matter right now,” Centaurus replied. “Can barely walk… y’know where to leave me.” Austin nodded and half-carried half-dragged Centaurus alongside him.

As Centaurus allowed himself to be carried, the sounds of police sirens echoed in the air. Security got involved and now the police were here to arrest those caught up in his little distraction. Despite the nausea that threatened to make him vomit, Centaurus couldn’t help but grin at how successful his plan was. The sirens would help mask the sound of Austin’s motorcycle run down the street.

“Tell me something, Austin,” said Centaurus. Was he feverish or just plainly ill? He couldn’t tell anymore. A numbing feeling spread throughout his borrowed body. He could no longer feel his fingertips. “I’m doing something good, aren’t I?”

“I think so.”

“Do you really?”

“Dunno. You tell me. I’m fully under yer control.”

“When’d you get so sassy?”

Austin shrugged. “Hard to say, maybe the venom’s startin’ to run its course. Still, what yer doin’… it ain’t wrong, but yer not doin’ it just cause you felt sorry for this friend o’ yours.”

Centaurus glared at the ground but didn’t respond.

“Not gonna go with him?” Austin asked. “Ya really wanna, dontcha? Leave everythin’ behind and run. Like the cowboys ‘n ‘em westerns ya love.”

Every bit of Centaurus wanted to shout, “Of course I will!” However, he remained silent. No matter how much his heart wished to cry out for the world to hear, he silenced himself and simply thought his plans over. After Alcor and Mizar, he would need to take down Arcturus, Merak, and Zathina will be last. Then, Centaurus could finally win. Victory was just a few hours away.

Centaurus vomited as Austin set him down. Centaurus now rested against a building housing more bathrooms for the festival-goers. Around the corner was the parking lot where Austin's motorcycle was already in place. Centaurus didn't doubt that Alcor had already arrived. “G-Get in position,” he said, gagging at the taste. “Y’know he’s waiting for you. Get.”

Austin hesitated for only a moment before nodding. The little venom Centaurus could afford to inject into him was no doubt at its limit. However, it only needed to last for another few seconds; but it would only be worth it if his gamble paid off. As Austin disappeared from view, Centaurus leaned back and shut his eyes. The numbness was deeply uncomfortable but soothing at the same time. Perhaps if he gave it his best shot, he could simply pretend as though he was merely floating through space on a ship.

“Such a dumbass,” Centaurus whispered to himself. “Wasting so much venom… 4 hosts in just ten minutes? Stupid dumbass...”

Austin’s cries were loud enough that Centaurus could hear them from so far away. However, he smiled. Alcor was so unsubtle and so unfit to be a Dreadfighter. It only furthered Centaurus’ resolve that what he was doing was right.

Then why the hell do I feel so shitty?

The roar of a motorcycle soon echoed down the road. Centaurus couldn’t see it. Even as he opened his eyes, he found his vision impaired. The world was nothing but blotches and mystifying shapes that all blended together. As expected, the sirens helped mask it. To the festival-goers who stood by the violence and police, it might as well have been a kitten’s purr.

“There you go, Alcor,” said Centaurus to nobody but himself. “Follow that dream of yours. Don’t look back at this worm...”

Austin—or was it Centaurus himself?—completely read him. The desire to run, to ride off into the sunset with his friend in tow, was tempting beyond belief. However, Centaurus knew that he could never do anything like that.

“All this worm can do is look upwards, Alcor,” he continued to chide himself. “I don’t… I don’t have anything inside of myself. No talent, no skill… I don’t have anything but this dream.” Without the idea of becoming a Dreadfighter, without that hunger for a better life, there would be nothing to define Centaurus. A dream or an obsession? Centaurus wasn’t sure at this point, but it was all he had left. No family, no money, and no other future. “Guess she was always right. Well, I knew she was right, I always knew… but just...”

Just once Centaurus wanted to forget that he was a worm. Just once Centaurus wanted that person to pretend alongside him that he could achieve something.

“Why can’t I have something?”

“My my, you’re in a real rough spot.”

A shadow washed over the mess of light and color that made up Centaurus' vision. Just by the sound of the voice, Centaurus felt a pang of annoyance.

“Come on, Centaurus! Lemme fix you up! Maybe even let me take a look inside of you. Hehe…! Don’t worry, I promise I’ll stitch you up. It’ll just hurt a liiiiitle bit. By the way, anesthesia's out of the question. Ahaha!”

With the last of his strength, Centaurus said one thing:

"So long, Space Cowboy," he said, wishing only the best for his one and only friend.

Reading 1: Saturday, May 14

The first read-through of Coriolanus!

(Most of you are double or triple cast, so double check which lines you have to read.) You can look up the lines of the characters here. The names listed below all go with the Folger Edition. If you’re in any doubt, or would like to be an understudy for this reading, please ask.

Times and time zones: 

EDT (US): 4:00 PM CDT (US): 3:00 PM MDT (US): 2:00 PM PDT (US): 1:00 PM BST (UK): 9:00 PM AEST (AU): 6:00 AM (Sunday, May 15)

Leader: @actorinfluence

Cast:

Coriolanus: @lilliburlero Menenius: @purplemuskrat Volumnia, Plebian Rabble, 6th Citizen: @cobbled-vibrance Sicinius, Noble: @gelasius Firsts, Young Martius: @paperchamomiles Cominius, Volsce (Adrian), 4th Citizen, All People: @metalqueersolidiv Aufidius, Aedile(s), 5th Citizen, Herald: @dramafreelab Brutus, Roman (Nicanor), 7th Citizen, Gentlewoman: @amysterywrappedinanenigma Seconds, Valeria, Lieutenant: @actorinfluence Lartius, Virgilia, Thirds: @huffleclawytherdoor Understudy: @laropasucia

Please send an ask to confirm - liking/reblogging this post does not count!

Read the Guidelines. To avoid the differences between editions that make for confusion and missed cues, please use the Folger edition of Coriolanus during the read-through.

Be on time, be prepared, and make sure you know which lines to read. Good luck!

my take on the literary masterpiece, the chic diet

Firstly, I am no one. It’s part of my charm. My fifteen minutes of fame was years ago, when I had an instagram niche meme page. I didn’t even take any brand deals! And my posts averaged six thousand likes! Anyhow. I am hardly literate and well hydrated and carry a small sephora-CVS-hybrid worth in my mini tote bag. Here is my guide on how to live like me, the intermediate kitsch-rat, aspiring influencer. But like, in an apathetic, somewhat dissonant, ironic way. I like saying I live by dogmatic principles. But a lot of it, um, is just eating disorder rituals. But that’s not really important. You’re as hot as you say you are, and as much an authority on what you write so long as you say it with, you know, conviction. It’s kind of venerable how fucking delusional I am, actually. Giving any sort of advice like I’m anywhere close to the ritzy ideal of the amphetamine-areyouami label-american. New York, ideally. West Village, preferably. But I guess the kind of guide I can write is better suited to someone living in a suburb, in a house with the twelve-paned windows. I always thought those were so chic. SO quaint, in a somewhat luxe way. Like, Connecticut vibes. My parents used to drive me up there as a child to buy books and ice cream. Nowadays I’d opt for a matcha latte with novelty ice cubes, but I guess at the time it was pretty sweet. 

Because I popped a Vyvanse at like, 10pm, this next little bit could go one of two ways. I will write the most articulate, brilliant piece of literature of my life. Magnum opus, if there was a skinnier word for it. Or, I will get wrapped up doing something like folding all my last-season knits (which is part of my look, okay! I don’t have a job!) and fixating on a paragraph on how a girl’s collarbones are almost as identifying as a fingerprint, or a signature. I’m not a graphologist, but if you write your A’s with the little tail on top (like on a computer), you’re probably a snake. Nothing personal, just an observation. Also, I do have a biology final to study for. Not that I’m super anal, or even particularly committed to academia, but even in my precariously manicured (read that as separate terms; I did a good job on my nail polish, okay? But I happen to also be teetering on the brink of an epiphany or a collapse. Hence the use of the word precarious.) state, I know it’s important enough I can let one of my countless side-quests sit idle for a couple more days. 

The first section seems only natural to be about hydration. And the whole idea of drinking things, really. There was a section in The Chic Diet about Adderall dry-mouth, which deeply resonated with me. Once I bit off a chunk of a Nivea Strawberry Shine (my favorite lip balm, more on that later) and swished it around my mouth. Didn’t help. Really, really didn’t. Anyway, I suppose that even if it served no purpose for combatting my prevacatingly ingenious cottonmouth solution, I was able to milk a sentence or two out of the experience. “Do it for the Vine”, all grown up! And wearing bananapapaya resin hoops too. Side note, that Etsy shop is a parasocial enemy of mine. It stems from jealousy, which sucks, but hating from inside a club I’m adjacent to is much healthier than being a hateful individual towards people I would, you know, interact with. Daily. Or something. I stopped going to therapy because I felt stupid about going and I don’t live in the right kind of town to warrant vacuous $300 hours. Bitching about my well-adjusted parents and how desperately I wished my anxiety would just “go away” was plainly gross, and a waste. Like, pretty sure almost every problem I have could be solved by a couple painful conversations taking place during a hurricane. Such a shame it doesn’t rain much here. Anyhow, I digress. 

Staying hydrated. It is essential to my character, my persona, if you will; to never be without either an elegant metal bottle (I’m loyal to the smooth enamelled S’well ones, printed to look like marble or a semi holographic solid) or a little 16oz tumbler with a metal straw. Hydroflasks were some of the worst things to happen to society. I want to preface this claim with the fact that I wanted one in the same way a teenage girl wants a new iPhone so she can keep up appearances with her dermatologist-dad friends who still have the XR, by the way. But I ended up spending the money on like, a minidress at Brandy Melville before it fled my city. Or maybe a Fresh Sugar tinted lipbalm. For the better, even though the dress has a busted zipper now and the lipbalm tube has inevitably gotten dinged and dented by the other contents of my mini-totebag. Unlike a car, though, a couple scuffs on your laptop or your luxury lipbalm tube looks kind of cool. Like, you’re not someone who values the pristine, unused quality of an item that was ambiguously intended to be used versus displayed on Instagram.  Now, I’m wondering why this paragraph about hydration is so fucking impossible to stay on track for. I literally drink several litres of water a day, and more tea on top of that. And sometimes an almond milk latte if I can budget it in. Not that I’m so anorexic I can’t afford a 45cal latte. They’re just not that important to me. Anyhow. Drinking lukewarm (on the cool side) water is better than ice-cold. Partially because I just get it out of the tap of my ensuite and I can’t be bothered to wait for it to run cold enough every time, and it just seems wasteful. Plus, there is something so.. skinny about drinking water at an “obscure” temperature. Trust me, I want to know why my thought process is like this too. My favorite tea is blueberry tea foraged in a side aisle at my local supermarket. I love a good commercial, high-end steep or fruit infusion as much as the next girl. Maybe more. My pantry is filled with tins labelled with things like “emerald jade organic” and “magic potion”, which is really just currants and butterfly pea flowers. But there is a necessary glamor about drinking dirt-cheap tea on the daily. Seriously, a box of 25 sachets is like, $3. At a higher point with my, um, Adderall problem, I spent like several times that on pills. I didn’t really need to include that, and could have linked the price point to the cost of a drugstore lipbalm, but I wrote it in. And I’m married to it, stubbornly, as all amateur writers should be when they wittle in a somewhat indecorous little joke. This tea is sooo good because it has a strong fruit-reminiscent taste (not as sweet as a fresh blueberry, but who wants that anyway?), it’s zero-calorie, it’s the most GORGEOUS color ever. The latte, the third drink in my little trifecta, is nothing special. But necessary. The trick is to use a milk frother to whip up sugar free syrup with instant coffee and a little bit of hot water in a glass. It’ll make the most luscious foam.. Top it off with almond milk. My dad is a coffee purist, owning both an upstairs keurig AND a downstairs one (among other more analogue methods, but I can’t name-drop, so what’s the point?), so he hates this drink. Now, calling oneself a plebian is so unglamorous and teetering on self-deprecating territory, dangerously close to insecurity. But I can use it here because I am at least posh enough to have a different pair of earrings for every outfit I could possibly come up with, and I only wear Patagonia if I am in a situation where I just have to wear fleece. Like I was saying. It’s such a simple drink, certainly not a delicacy, and… I had a joke about the word plebian but I keep getting up to refill my water and I fear I have forgotten about it. 

Next section; the importance of a good tinted balm

In the intro I alluded to how a girl’s collarbones function essentially as an identifier, the way a signature or fingerprint does. This is a lie, or at least an exaggeration. But one’s ultimate tinted lipbalm is  actually extremely indicative about who you are, as a person, as a member of society, even… 

If you are loyal to Dior Lipglow, I have a couple questions. One; did you shoplift one tube, once, and refill it with cheaper stuff afterwards? I did that. I consider it one of my better-kept secrets, but now you know. Might as well explain the catalyst for my parent’s first separation now, and the horrifying experience that was meeting my dad’s Manhattan sugar baby (?) at the age of thirteen, wearing an overalls dress from, like, Topshop or something else equally embarrassing. .. Kidding. I digress. It’s such a fancy lipbalm, and good too! It smells like thin mints! But I could just never justify cell phone monthly installation payment money on something I will inevitably talk off. I do own three, but two I stole (before I lost the nerve, somewhat unfortunately) and one, a boy(not)friend bought for me. This is not something I feel any remorse about, because his house was easily four thousand square feet and his sisters had a dedicated all-glass room for their shared peloton. Oil money. Ugh!

My personal favorite lip balm, and I have tried a frightening amount, has got to be the Nivea Fruit Shine collection. The frosted one is shit-ugly. Hideous. But the strawberry one is the love of my life. It’s such a pleasant red, looking healthy and rejuvenated and really completes any look. Only downside is it will always, hopefully not always, remind me of Charles. Kissing Charles, specifically. And him asking me what lipbalm it was, because he knew I was somewhat frivolous and definitive and would have a very long answer. But for whatever reason, I simply stated it was from “out of town”. Not really sure why I said that, but it plagues me (minorly) to this day. Of all the things to make up.. .. The peach one is a perfectly demure spring classic shade. Cherry exists too, but the only tube I have ever had the fortune of owning was purchased in Costa Rica and lost somewhere on the way home. Honestly tragic, it was the juiciest shade. Blackberry is perfect too, but I have to layer it with either peach or untinted lipbalm to avoid what I imagine TooPoor would choose if she believed in tinted lipbalm. I don’t mean this hatefully, I think she’s a queen, but super dark, smudgy makeup suits the eyes better in my opinion. Or something. Or something.

Afraid to bore the reader, I have to move on now. Maybe at a later date I will release an addendum on my ultimate lipbalm buying guide. But also, that is so deeply personal (and everyone needs the excuse of “hunting for the perfect staple shade!!”), so it is really not my place to have any authority on something so intimate and subjective. Etcetera. 

Moving on; Decorating your room

Here is a section I lifted out of my memoir document. It fits, because as enigmatic as I hope I am, I am also quite unchanging.

 I just pushed three hangers and two tiny strappy tops with the tags still on, off my bed. Most nights, all, these days, actually; I spend in my large but cluttered bedroom. I have a little ensuite with a jetted tub I’ve never used because I just never get around to it. There’s a plush grey rug, spanning the expanse of the room (covering an ugly cherry wood that doesn’t match the rest of the house; no clue why. I never asked, and the previous owners were eager to sell so they could finally ditch this town and retire in Montreal for the bagels, or Hawaii for the monk seals. Point is, I’ll never know) with loose beads and loose pills and little shards of glass from plier-crushed beads. I vacuum every day. The whole room tells you exactly the kind of person I am; the clutter I possess, the encapsulation of the projects I start, start, start and the hours I don’t sleep for and the clothes I tried on (these to sell, these to cut up with kitchen scissors; thrifted lululemon and aritzia and heaps of knits and plaid fabric..) I would not say the room is a mess. Lived in, maybe. Chopsticks and mugs and gum wrappers. Single dangle earrings. I just finished the last of my Creme Brulee eos lipbalm; disguised as a relic of 2015, I was gifted it Christmas of ‘20. I think my next waxy conquest will be a tinted Burt’s one I palmed a while back, before I lost the nerve. Peering around the room you will see shopping bags strewn about the mouth of my walk-in closet. Every surface has something shiny or colorful stacked up on it. Cluttered, busy, but intentional. Except for the walls, which are bare. Bare and gray and miles-tall when I lie flat on my back, high out of my mind, willing things to change but knowing I’m responsible for a first step I will always be too scared for. Bare, pristine, no gumtack. Empty, Like they’re waiting. I wait around a lot. It makes sense. That was an awful lot of words about my stupid blank walls when truly it does not bother me that much; I really just don’t get around to it. I have other things on the ground to tend to, like post-email nausea, addressing envelopes, marrying wire and bead.  Writing a document I care about because I am determined and I am alive, alive, alive, goddammit. 

Excerpt over. The memoir is coming out when I get famous, or something earth shattering happens. Like I become the world’s least remarkable entrepreneur, and I get retweeted by Colorpop. I don’t want to be the next Elizabeth Wurtzel. I read two of her memoirs one restless night, absorbing it to make up for the nutrients I didn’t that day (you can laugh. I think that is pretty clever), heart breaking a little bit. She writes about her struggles so intrinsically, you either get it, or you don’t. Anyway. She had the books and the fame from it, and she wrote more memoirs than I think a single person should. That is admirable. Aspirational, even. But I do not want to be like her. Where was I? Oh. Yes. Decorating/adorning/filling your room. Your room should serve as the kind of place to watch a movie (if you believe in film. I don’t) and put on ridiculous glittery eye makeup, or smoke an ~artistic cigarette~ or stay up all night on the phone, which is different from staying up all night simply on your phone. Chatting with someone you are tepidly in love with is much more exciting. Not chic as the whole affair is so juvenile, but fun regardless. It’s somewhere to keep your worldly possessions, too. I know I have a lot! Also, it is kind of thrilling to hide things in your room in little crevices only you know about. Now, unfortunately, everyone reading this will know too. But, like, I trust you not to really.. do anything about it. I keep my extra juul pods in the sliding box my apple pencil came in. That box is almost more useful than the pencil itself. I’m somewhat morally opposed to the iPad. Whole culture is so embarrassing! I have a tea tin with an ounce of golden teacher shrums in it. This is tossed in my closet among tins filled with other things, like lace trim and buttons. Which makes it actually a pretty terrible hiding spot, I see now… Anyhow. Keeping benign little secrets like that is so fun. You can tell I don’t have siblings. I sort of wish I did, but it is easier to believe there is something aristocratic about being an only child. Not sure if older-sister me would be egalitarian enough to share things. But that’s prophesying, which is kind of a waste of time. I live in the now, in a room positively cluttered with meaningless things that mean the world to me, chewing on my lip because my mouth is just so dry and 5gum is just not an after-8 indulgence. To live truly kitschly, you have to have somewhat hideous decor. Now, do not confuse dissonant, or incoherent, with what I mean by “hideous decor”. The kitsch room has as many surfaces to look at as possible, while also shying away from too many shelving units. Then you risk your room looking like a storage unit or something. When my mom renovated (re: paid someone to do it) our New York house so we could sell it, all our stuff was stacked up in a Cubesmart self storage. It was sort of horrifying, seeing my childhood home reduced to plastic storage tubs piled what felt like thirty feet high. Anyway. It’s just not an  inviting way to store things; I imagine it makes your room look like your stuff is all trapped in gelatin. The more fussy, tiny things you have out in the open, the better. Nail polish. Earring trees. Bowls full of rings and lighters and water color pans perched on your windowsill. A rack with the tackiest assortment of knits and bucket hats and baguette bags. And so forth.. Quickly surveying someone’s room is so telling. Bonus points if all your books are spine-in, except for your favorite ones, because you don’t want people to get the wrong idea. (that you read). 

Mahito = True Human

A while back I sent an anon to @kaibutsushidousha​ asking if there was any deeper meaning to the Kanji in Mahito’s name. It turns out that his name has a lot of significance to his character and also his role in the story. I’ll be going over the symbolic meaning of his name below.  [Original post by [x], coloring by [x].]

To quote. 

Mahito’s name means “true human”. Even without getting to significance of this expression to Japanese and Chinese cultures, that’s already a bold and interesting name choice, seeing that, [...] he’s implied to be not a person, but some sort of incarnated curse, working together with curse spirits interested in becoming the new form of humanity. 

There’s a certain irony in Mahito’s name being read as  真人 “True Human” considering what we know of him he has an extremely low opinion of humans, and a high opinion of curses. In the latest fight against Yuji in the Shibuya arc, Mahito seems to be seeking to shed his more humanlike form like shedding his skin so he can become even more of what he considers to be a “true curse.” 

Mahito’s name means true human, and he is the most humanlike of all of the intelligent curses before him and yet he seems to want nothing to do with humanity, preferring to see himself as a curse instead. He even quite literally, as I mentioned above, sheds off his own skin in order to try and take what he assumes is his true form. 

Mahito’s name means true human and yet he doesn’t want to become humans. He always encourages the curses around him to act more like curses, acting illogical and on impulse. 

Mahito wants to become a “true curse” the most curselike of the curses. Rather than becoming human literally, they wanted to replace the humans entirely. Mahito is a human curse, created by the hatred spewed between humans and yet not only wants to destroy humans but is also the one most eager to destroy his reflection Itadori Yuji even though he claimed they were “the same person.” There’s a certain irony in naming Mahito “True Human” when he’s constantly trying to prove that he’s anything but human. 

But anyways, let’s get to what Asian traditions define as “true human”.

Starting off with Japanese history/Shintoism. In the year 684, Emperor Tenmu defined that the largest families in Japan needed to have rank attached to their family names as a way of easily expressing their social status. The eight social ranks defined by Emperor Tenmu, from the noblest to the most plebian were:

1 - Mahito (True humans) 2 - Ason (Courtiers) 3 - Sukune (Lords) 4 - Imiki (People from overseas, especially from China and Korea, who settled in early Japan and introduced Continental culture to the Japanese) 5 - Michinoshi (Artist and priest families) 6 - Omi (Retainers) 7 - Muraji (Families big and influential enough to earn a rank but not falling into any other category) 8 - Inagi (Families of regional officials responsible for rice storage)

The title of Mahito was granted only to families descended from Emperors themselves or imperial princes. Basically, only those of royal blood could be called “true humans”.

The connection to Asian traditions is clear in Mahito’s naming. Mahito is the closest thing possible to curse royalty among the curse family. He was the one set up to take leadership of the rest of the curses even after Jogo, Hanami and Dagon passed. 

Mahito is also, a curse that’s been paralleled to Sukuna the so called “king of curses” several times. Mahito even presumes that they’re something like rivals. It’s probably no coincidence that lords were known as “Sukune”.

The irony of naming Mahito true human also repeats again. Mahito wants to prove he’s the most “Pureblooded” of the curses by constantly exaggerating his own curse nature, hating, and spiting others for no reason. However, he’s the most humanlike instead. Mahito is said to serve out the purpose as a mirror to humanity. “Death is a mirror for humans”, he said that in the sense that people become more self-reflective when facing death, and also the idea of mortality for humans tends to make people more eager to define who they are.

 We see are lives in sharp relief and are constantly trying to define ourselves, because we have to face death. Mahito is much like that. He’s made up of human fears. Human insecurities. Human hate. The fear of other people. However, that makes him a mirror because he shows humans their own flaws. In other words Mahito regards himself as a pure blooded curse and nothing more, but Mahito more than any of the curses reflects humanity. It’s even what he does to Yuji. When Mahito and Yuji fight he tries to force the others into self reflection. 

All of Mahito’s negative qualities, those are human qualities too. Mahito hates humans, but humans also despise each other. Mahito acts like a coward, but there are plenty of people who are cowards. Mahito is reflecting the worst traits of humanity and bringing them face to face, and thus acting like a mirror. We even see Mahito acting like a mirror. When he kills Nanami, in the few moments before Nanami dies, he doesn’t see Mahito standing right in front of him. 

He sees Haibara. When looking at Mahito, he saw his old dead friend. Mahito was serving as a mirror for what Nanami’s thoughts at the time. No matter what Mahito strives to become as a true curse, he’ll always be a reflection of humanity because he was created by human feelings, and human projections. 

Which is probably why Mahito strives to transform himself and find his true form in the first place, because he is as of right now, just a monster stitched together of other human beings with no true form, and no true purpose. 

Next up, let’s talk about Taoism. The main gist of Taoism is that some people are randomly born with sacral bones in their skeletons. Sacral bones can sometimes run in the family, but can also occur in random people with no taoist heritage, regardless of class. Peole with sacral bones can seclude themselves taoist communities in isolated mountains or islands, becoming Taoists, the students of Xian arts. Xian is a title granted to a Taoist who completed their studies, turning immortal in the process.

In Taoism, Yuanshi Tianzun is the greatest being in all universe, with the Xians who serve Yuanshi Tianzun being considered good, and the Xians who oppose him being considered evil. Zhenren (”true human” in Chinese) is the name granted to the greatest Xian wizards serving under Yuanshi Tianzun. The Xians chosen as Zhenrens are people who transcended the everyday world, and reached the peak of the Tao arts.

One Taoist named Zhuang Zi made immense contribution to making the Taoist knowledge widespread by writing a book also named Zhuang Zi. In his self-title book, Zhuang Zi defines a “true human” as person who mastered the Tao’s ideals, or more specifically, “a person who meekly obeys the heaven’s decree, accepts everything as natural, lets go of all prejudice and confrontationism, and lives under the taoist mindset that all things are of equal value”.

The process of Sacral bones resembles Jujutsu Sorcerery technique heritage a lot, but besides that there’s a lot of resemblance between Tao’s ideals and Mahito’s own ideals. Specifically about the equality of life. 

Mahito seeslife as something without necessary meaning or value. Life simply circles. The life of a butterfly or an ant is just as important as the life of a human being. In a world where everything is just trying to survive and live to the next today, it might just be human folly to assume we’re somehow outside of the food chain of the planet we share with all other life.  You could take “All life is equal” to mean two things, all life is equally precious, or all life is equally worthless. Guess which one Mahito takes. 

A taoist accepts everything as natural, and Mahito seems to submit himself to natural law. He calls the three curse spirits which are basically just nature spirits to be his closest friends. Jogo, Hanami, Dagon, they’re all just representative of the naural world around them. 

Mahito also describes life as just one more facet of nature. 

All life is equal. All life is the same. All life is equally worthless. A wolf killing a rabbit isn’t cruel. If the wolf doesn’t kill the rabbit they’ll starve. If the rabbit escapes they’ll live to the next day. If it doesn’t the wolf does. Everything in this world is just trying to live - which is why Mahito doesn’t see the battle between curses and humans as a battle between good and evil.  Curses are trying to replace humans, so they can live freely in the world the same way humans do.

It’s a battle for survival. There’s no good or evil between the wolf and the rabbit, both of them are just fighting each other in order to survive. However, if Mahito really wants to follow natural laws that means he’s also a part of the same nature. 

There’s a flaw in Mahito’s thinking. He decries humans for being self important, and reasoning that they’re somehow more worthy of life than other animals or even curses. Mahito believes that if he’s stronger than Yuji, he should have the right to kill him in order so that he can live. However, Mahito doesn’t handle it very well when he’s on the other side. Might makes right, is a logic that means whenever you’re stronger, what you think is the right thing. However, what most don’t consider is that if you’re weak it also means you have to submit to somebody else. 

Mahito never even considered the idea that he might be the prey. His logic is all might makes right, the stronger person has to live, but he also assumed he’d be the stronger one. When it turns out he’s weaker, and he’s the one whose about to die, he ends up running for his life. Despite basically justifying himself and doing whatever he wanted when he was on top, he can’t handle being at the bottom of the food chain, he can’t submit to being weak. Which is why we see his sudden panic when he realizes he’s the prey this time. This is also, something that contradicts what Jogo says. 

Curses do not fear death. However, Mahito does. Which means in this moment as he’s running away, Mahito is acting more like a human than a curse. He assumed his life was more important in the grand scheme of things, just like humans have a tendency to do, and doesn’t want to be eaten like a rabbit so Yuji can survive to the next day. 

Last but not least, Buddhism defines “true human” as a person who opened their eyes to the Truth and perfected their personhood. Both Buddhas and Arhats qualify as “true humans” by that definition. Gojou is another character with heavy Buddhist motifs on his name...

This could be a connection with two ideas in Mahito’s character. Number one, he’s always trying to perfect himself and lift himself up to the highest level possible. His Domain is even called “Self Embodiment of Perfection.” You get the sense that in tinkering with others, distorting the shape and form of others he’s trying to find the true perfect shape of himself. 

The second is his connection to Gojo. This is also just a theory as we don’t know exactly what the six-eyes do, but it’s heavily suggested that both Mahito and Gojo are able to see both the “soul” something that is impossible for all other curses and jujutsu sorcerers to do. 

Mahito’s able to see the soul most likely just because of what he is, a reflection of humans, and how his cursed technique resolves around warping the shape of the soul in order to change the body. Gojo is at least able to see Geto’s cursed energy with his six eyes, when he’s replaced by Getwo. The two of them have special insight to the soul that no other characters have thus they are “true seeing” in a budhist sense. They are also both characters trying to perfect their personhood, Gojo is the ideal jujutsu sorcerer and Mahito longs to be the ideal curse. 

So, there’s a lot of connections to asian traditions present in naming Mahito “True Human”, but there’s also a lot of ironies too. Mahito as always is a walking contradiction, and that quality of his is what makes him all the more human. 

Fate and Phantasms #177

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re making Nitocris (Assassin), the return of best girl! All we gotta do for this build is make a build where you can defend yourself with a super powerful sheet, drown your enemies, and summon Medjed for combat. Super easy.

Oh yeah, we also have to make a super-adaptable vehicle that can defend us from any kind of harm because SOMEBODY went ham on the safety features and left us with having to stick them in the build. I’m not saying names though, and Scheherazade should be grateful.

Anyways, this build’s mostly a Shepherd Druid because druids are busted like that, but we’re still dipping into Grave Cleric for a bit of flavor and Monk for her defenses and a better time in melee combat.

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: Team Killer Demon King of the Xth Heaven!

Race and Background

Surprisingly, putting on a swimsuit doesn’t change your life story that much. Nitocris is still a Fallen Aasimar Noble, giving her +1 Wisdom, +2 Constitution, Darkvision, Celestial Resistance to radiant and necrotic damage, Healing Hands to heal people as an action, the Light cantrip, and proficiency with History and Persuasion. You are a pharaoh, and you are Nitocris. That’s all you need to understand history and to persuade people.

Ability Scores

Actually surprisingly, putting on a swimsuit does change your physical abilities a little bit. Your Wisdom is still the highest stat, you’ll want that for ruling and for summoning god magic. However your second highest stat is Constitution. That sheet can really take a beating. Dexterity comes next so you don’t die while wearing a swimsuit. Your Charisma isn’t bad, I wish it could be higher, but we don’t need it mechanically. Your Intelligence is a little low, but it’s summer, everyone’s relaxed. Finally, dump Strength. You still aren’t a powerhouse, except in our heart.

Class Levels

1. Druid 1: Starting off as a druid gets you proficiency with Intelligence and Wisdom saves, as well as two druid skills. I’d grab Religion and Animal Handling. You’re really good and handling those medjed, and mechanically most of them will be beasts in this build.

You can also write Druidic (it’s a language!) and cast and prepare Spells using your Wisdom. You can pick from any spells on the druid spell list, but you’re limited each long rest to a number equal to your wisdom modifier plus your druid level.

You also get a couple cantrips that you’ll always have; I suggest Guidance so you’re always a bit better than those plebians, as well as Shape Water as a taste of what you’ll be able to do later.

In order to shape water, you’ll first have to make it, with Create or Destroy Water. A lot of your drowning spells require standing water to work, so you’ll be well acquainted with this one moving forward. You also get Absorb Elements and Protection from Evil and Good to serve as your early defensive buffs from your cloak.

2. Monk 1: For further defense, we’re bouncing over to monk real quick to get Unarmored Defense, giving you an AC of 10 plus your dexterity modifier plus your wisdom modifier. You also get Martial Arts, letting you make physical attacks using your Dexterity instead of strength, dealing a minimum of 1d4 damage. Also, you can attack as a bonus action after attacking as an action. The medjed are great, but sometimes you have to stand up for yourself.

3. Cleric 1: One last multiclass, I swear. As a Grave cleric, you learn and prepare some more Spells using your Wisdom, and you also have a Circle of Mortality so your healing spells automatically do as much healing as possible on creatures that are at 0 HP. You also get a buffed version of Spare the Dying that you can cast at range as a bonus action. On top of that, your Eyes of the Grave can use your action Wisdom modifier times per long rest to sense undead nearby.

You also get even more cantrips! Grab Resistance for more defense, Thaumaturgy to truly capture the godly aspect of being a pharaoh, and Toll the Dead for just a bit of ghosts. As a treat.

You also get first level spells, including Bane and False Life for free! Being covered in medjeds makes it hard to do stuff, and again, that’s one cool cloak. You can also swap protection from evil & good and create & destroy water over here to free up some druid space, but for new spells check out Command for a pharaoh’s intimidating presence and Shield of Faith to either increase your own AC or throw your towel on another ally.

Since this is your third level overall, you also get your Necrotic Shroud, spending an action to create a true beach panic in a 10′ radius around you. When you transform, you force a charisma save (8 + proficiency + chr mod) on all creatures in range, and if they fail they’re frightened for a round. For a minute afterwards you can add necrotic damage to your attacks once per turn. Afterwards, you can’t do this again until you take a long rest.

4. Druid 2: Now that our multiclassing is done, we can go back to our main class and become a Shepherd druid. As a second level druid, you can either use Wild Shape to transform into an animal yourself (not really canon, but you know how egyptian gods are) or you can use those charges to summon a Wild Companion with a free Find Familiar spell. If you turn into a beast, it has to be cr 1/4 or lower, and can’t have a swimming or flying speed. Your physical stats get replaced with the new stat block, but you keep your proficiencies and your Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma scores. The beast’s HP effectively becomes extra HP for you, and once that’s depleted you turn back into a human. er, aasimar. You keep all the cool stuff from your race & classes, but you can’t cast spells while an animal.

Whether you use your wild shapes to turn into an animal or find familiars, they both last Half your Druid Level hours, and you get two uses per short rest.

As a shepherd druid, you can use your Speech of the Woods to speak Sylvan or to animals, and you also get a Spirit Totem that can protect your party for up to a minute that you can summon as a bonus action once per short rest. Later we can call these safety features in your car, but for now they’re just kind of here.

If you summon a bear spirit, creatures you choose in the aura get temporary HP, and advantage on strength checks & saves. If you summon a Hawk Spirit, you can use your reaction to give advantage on an attack in the aura, and all allies have advantage on perception checks. If you summon a unicorn spirit, you get advantage on all checks to detect creatures (kind of horning in on the hawk’s territory, but w/e) and you can heal each creature inside the aura at the same time you use any healing spell. Perfect if your best friend is terrified of death!

5. Druid 3: Third level druids get second level spells, like Summon Beast for your very first medjed! It’s not spectacular, but you can create land, sea, or air medjeds to give those mini nobbus a run for their money. You could also use Animal Messenger for utility medjeds. If you need to make a quick escape, pull down your hood to Pass without Trace. I won’t bring it up each level, but feel free to grab healing spells too. It’s what Scheherazade would have wanted. Also, feel free to ask the gods for advice with Augury.

6. Druid 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to become Resilient against dexterity saves. This rounds up your dexterity for stronger punches and a better AC, and you also become proficient in dexterity saves so that fireball won’t be quite as dangerous.

Your Wild Shape improves a bit, letting you transform into swimming creatures of CR 1/2 or less.

You also learn the Mending cantrip, because that cloak of yours has seen a lot of action by this point, and it probably needs some loving.

7. Druid 5: Fifth level druids get third level spells, like Conjure Animals. You can summon eight beasts of CR 1/4 or lower, four of CR 1/2, two of CR 1, or 1 of CR 2. They’re friendly, and listen to your commands. I’d recommend some smaller creatures for a medjed swarm, or one big creature for your car. Aurochs are good for flat land, Cave Bears for water, a young bulette if you expect to run people over... this is a pretty versatile solution.

You can also use Protection from Energy for more... protection, and Tidal Wave for your first true drowning option against your foes. Creatures in a 30′ by 10′ by 10′ area must make a dexterity save, and if they fail they take bludgeoning damage and get knocked prone. On a success they take half damage and stay standing. Afterwards, the water spreads out an extinguishes fires, but sadly it doesn’t stick around, so you’ll still have to use Create & Destroy Water for the bigger spells coming up.

8. Druid 6: Sixth level shepherds become Mighty Summoners, giving their creations two more HP per hit die and letting them slip through nonmagical damage resistances. The medjed are gods in their own right, getting stopped by a devil would just be weird.

9. Druid 7: Seventh level druids get fourth level spells like Control Water, which lets you control freestanding water within a 100′ cube. You can create floods which create waves in larger bodies of water, you can part water to move through them (...Ozymandius will not be happy to see that little trick pop back up in his life), redirect the flow of water in impossible ways, or create a Whirlpool in larger bodies of water that traps creatures who fail an athletics check.

If you want your medjed to be a little more godlike, try Conjure Woodland Beings to summon fey creatures instead of beasts. At least they’ll have magic?

10. Druid 8: Eighth level druids get another Wild Shape improvement, so now you can fly as a creature of CR 1 or lower. (Also it’s weird that Wild Companion didn’t get any buffs as you level up.) Either way, use your new ASI to bump up your Wisdom for stronger spells and a better AC.

11. Druid 9: Ninth level druids get fifth level spells, like Antilife Shell, the ultimate in anti-personnel protection! For up to an hour, living creatures outside your barrier can’t enter or make attacks against you unless they have ranged or reach weapons. The downside is that if you get surrounded and can’t move the other creatures away, you’re stuck unless you pop that bubble. You could also Awaken a huge or smaller creature or plant to act as your car on a more permanent basis. Awakened trees aren’t the fastest rides, but they’re pretty sturdy. The awakened thing is charmed for up to 30 days or until your party does something stupid, afterwards it’s up to the target to decide how it feels about you. Don’t mistreat your car.

12. Druid 10: Tenth level druids get another cantrip, and Druidcraft is just really versatile. It’s good. Your spirit totem also become a Guardian Spirit, healing your summoned creatures at the end of their turn by half your druid level.

13. Druid 11: With sixth level spells, you can summon a great medjed to lead your troops with Conjure Fey, creating a fey or beast of CR 6 or lower. It’s friendly while you maintain concentration, but if that drops it becomes hostile and might attack. A lot of your spells work best with good charisma checks, thankfully you’re Nitocris. You can also create Primordial Wards, giving you resistance to acid, cold, fire, lightning, and thunder damage for up to a minute. During that time, you can react upon taking damage of those types to gain immunity to that type until the end of your next turn, at which point the spell ends.

14. Druid 12: Use this ASI to max out your Wisdom for all those reasons that are still there since last ASI.

15. Druid 13: Most of your new seventh level spells aren’t super in character, but you can use Symbol to set traps for unsuspecting enemies and leave them scattered about your car. Technically you can’t move an object symbol after you set it, but a surface symbol as no such issue, so it’s time for a paint job. There’s a lot of different symbols, but most of them are very unpleasant for your foes.

16. Druid 14: Your final Shepherd goody turns your car into a Faithful Summons. When you’re reduced to 0 HP or incapacitated, you can instantly use Conjure Animals as a ninth level spell, creating 4 beasts of CR 2 or lower. That’s right, your car really does protect you now. The beasts will automatically defend you and fight against your foes, and the spell doesn’t require concentration. You can do this once per long rest.

17. Druid 15: Seventh level didn’t have much for you, but eighth level spells are a bit better. Antipathy/Sympathy helps your car defend you by repelling creatures from it. You can cast the spell on a huge or smaller object/creature and pick one kind of intelligent creature. Antipathy then forces any named creature within sight or 60′ of the target to make a wisdom save or be frightened while it remains near the car. While frightened, it has to move away from the target until it can’t see it, and it will automatically become frightened again if it moves back into range. If an affected creature ends its turn out of range, it can make another save, if it succeeds, the spell no longer affected and knows about the spell. Creatures that make their save are immune for a minute.

That’s a mouthful, but it’s not the only spell we want here! Tsunami creates a tsunami, creating a wall of water 300′ by 300′ by 50′. Each creature within the wall has to make a strength save, and if they fail they take bludgeoning damage. At the start of your turn after casting the spell, it moves 50′ away, along with creatures inside it. Then all the creatures it ran into/had already make another strength save or take more damage. At the end of each turn the wall moves, it loses 50′ in height and it deals less damage. When the wall is 0 feet tall, the spell ends.

Creatures can try to escape the wall by making an athletics check, but if they fail they can’t move at all.

18. Druid 16: Use your last ASI for a higher Dexterity to get more AC and stronger punches. They pale in comparison to a tsunami, but you can only do that once per day.

19. Druid 17: Congrats, you finally get ninth level spells! Shapechange will let you transform yourself into a true Medjed (assuming you’ve seen one by now). It works similar to your wildshape, but it isn’t limited to beasts and the CR limit is your level. (That being said, you could also turn into a leviathan next level if you’ve seen one, but that’s not in character)

20. Druid 18: Your final level of the build gives you a Timeless Body, reducing your aging by a factor of 10 so you can rule the beaches for centuries to come. You also get Beast Spells so you can cast spells without material components while you’re a beast.

Pros:

You make big waves, and big waves have big areas of effect. You’re very good at pushing around huge groups of people, both thanks to those waves and thanks to your summons.

Another benefit of being a big summoner druid is that you’re tough to get at. If your enemies can get through your medjed swarm you’ve still got an AC of 17/19 and plenty of healing to chew through before they can take you down. And taking you down just makes your medjed army bigger.

While your Awakened Tree car isn’t going to win you any first place medals, you aren’t limited to the one. Think about it- get enough money together and you can pretty much set up a living mobile base, so long as you stay on good terms with the trees propping it up.

Cons:

You are, however, limited to one spell at a time. A lot of your defensive spells and almost all your summons all need your concentration to function, and not only do they blink out of existence if you fail a constitution save, but they also  might attack you!

Those big floody spells you have? They’ll also hit your army. Unlike FGO, your medjed don’t pop back to a pocket dimension when their turn’s over- you’ll have to deal with them getting caught in the waves. That’ll also hurt your standing with the trees, probably.

Until you hit level 17, your best water-based spell is Control Water, which requires water to already exist in the area. You also are probably the only racer who has to make sure their car actually likes them. What I’m trying to say is you have to put up with a lot of fiddly setup to make your powers work as well as they can.

Gold Flowers From Golden Kings (Kid Gil, Hakuno Lily)

“Do you want them?”

Kid Gil looked up from the blooms in the pot, noting the blue haired man in his apron. It was raining lightly outside, herding him to the overhangs. He’d meandered the streets beneath their extended safety, finding himself drawn to the flower shop.

The golden blooms in the pot had suckered him in to admiration. His hands had been taking in the quality and color of the plants in this glazed brown pot.

Now though, he was cornered a bit by the salesman.

“You’re working here too,” Gil asked, smirking a bit. “Did the café fire you for teasing girls too much?”

Cu Chulainn rolled his eyes. “I have my shift over in the café tomorrow, kid. Unlike some, I like to work for my living. There’s something satisfying about being able to lend a hand to my community. Not that a troublesome brat living rent free at the church would know anything about that, would ya?”

“It’s so cute to hear you justify your work.”

“Uh huh. You buyin’ somethin’ or not?”

What had happened to the genuine smile and good nature he’d had just a second ago? Gil clicked his tongue, glancing at the blooms again.

Filthy mongrel or not, the man could grow gold from the most lifeless of shit. Or, it seemed that way. The gardens at the church looked to be in as fine of quality as the plants here.

“I will take this small pot,” Gil replied, picking it up and giving a nonchalant shrug. “I am always one to show some humility when the mood strikes me. Seeing my good pet working himself to death in a variety of places has me feeling like at least giving you a smidge of pay from which to get a wage from.”

The man raised a brow at him.

“What?”

“You sure you want that one? There’s some gold pots inside the building a little further.” He motioned towards the interior of the store. “You could probably find something more suitable for a king like yourself.”

“Are you telling me that I cannot buy this because you find it to be of such poor quality?”

“Nah, just making sure you want that one instead of others.”

“Well, I do. How much?”

“1000 yen.”

“I’ll give you 800 yen.”

The man gave him a bored look.

“Now now,” Gil smirked a little. “Weren’t you the one just trying to get me to buy another pot because this one was too plebian for me? Why should I pay the normal price that everyone else would pay when I am a king?”

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” the man sighed. “800.”

His card was whipped out quickly enough, handed to the man before he glanced at the flowers again.

These would do.

The rain was still coming down a little as he headed away from the flower shop. He could see people running around with their umbrellas, others were moving their outdoor furniture into their shops to avoid getting them soaked.

It wasn’t a good sign.

His eyes fell to the flowers again, debating on what to do if things didn’t work out. He’d only seen her a few times in the park. If she wasn’t there-

But the thoughts died the moment he saw the café overhang out and the small figure sitting at one of the artist easels. Her feet swung back and forth lightly as a brush went back and forth in front of her. Her bright brown eyes were drifting over to the man nearby, listening to him talk and glancing between her work and the man’s own.

A painting of the city scenery, he observed as he moved closer. There were little windows and colorful walls making up the canvas at the moment, with bits of the gloomy skyline still lacking.

“Fancy meeting you around here, Brownie,” Kid Gil purred, slinking a little closer.

“It’s you again,” the girl grinned proudly. “I’m painting today. It’s supposed to help keep one’s memory in good shape.”

Right.

Gilgamesh smiled, moving the pot of golden blooms in front of himself.

“I have something even better. A gift.”

“Gold lilies! My favorite!”

Were they? “Of course! I have great taste in all things-“

“They’re so pretty,” his girl replied, cooing away as she set her paintbrush down and accepted the pot from him. “They remind me of your pretty hair color. Thank you so much, Gil!”

Her smile was so wide. Her bright brown eyes were alight, focused solely on him. He could feel the strangest pitter pattering in his chest, leaving him to cough a little.

This girl made him feel the strangest things.

“I-It’s nothing.”

“It’s definitely something. It’s really nice of you. I love them.”

Before he could move, she was bouncing forward, her lips pressing softly to his cheek. The heat in his face and the area was going up. His eyes widened, hand going to his cheek before he could stop himself. Even as his mouth hung open and his mind drew a blank, this girl didn’t seem to even notice.

No, she held her blooms and smiled as though he’d named her queen of Uruk.

“These are so pretty. I’m going to put them on my windowsill and water them every day,” she promised. “And then I will always remember my Gold King who gave me beautiful flowers and held my hand to help me home the other day.”

“D-Do you need help walking home today?”

The girl smiled sheepishly. “Ah… I mean-“

“It’s fine, Hakuno. I have time.”

“I have to finish my painting first.”

He moved to sit, settling in and nodding.

When she was done with her painting, he’d hold it for her and hold her hand, just to make sure she made it home safe today as well. She could hug her flowers close and tell him how he was a golden treasure.

She was, for some strange reason, fascinating to him.

Who knew plain girls could be this cute.

Here it is. A Piece Of Borrower Content Written Entirely In Stream Of Consciousness:

AN: so this is incomplete and very…needs revisions to the timeline to incorporate some things I added later! It’s the original universe that Mira’s from! I edited it like Slightly to just change Ross’s name to Ross (if u see Max anywhere that’s his old one I just felt like changing it so that’s just him but different. Anyway) Everything's under the readmore tab, cheers!

The Library Fairy:

-

Basic Plot (Chrono, comic starts from human perspective abt the ‘legend of the library fairy’ ig maybe. Nothing here is permanent cept the characterization)

Part A

1- Mira is borrower currently chillin in a college library

2- She lives off of the cafe on the second floor nd reads lots and lots of stuff about everything when the upper floors close (lower floor open 24/7 but upper floors r vacant p much after 12:00 AM)

3- she starts getting increasingly curious about human stuff cos she’s literate nd books r pry neat

4- it starts one night when she spots an unattended notebook and a half eaten blueberry muffin, nd it’s 12:30 so nobody’s coming back in atm (it’s the 80s so no laptops for the plebians quite yet)

5- so she goes ‘welp’ nd takes part of the muffin, then sees the work on the page and goes ‘hmmmm this is incorrect’ so she helps our and leaves notes here n there to point the kid in the right direction and puts down some book refs for further study bcos at this point she’s been there for 2 years and she knows where most things are

6- she stays behind to see if the human comes back for it, hidden in a hidey hole near the desk

7- human comes in, sees notebook, practically melts w relief nd stuffs it in his bag

8- next day human comes back nd leaves nother notebook and a cookie, along w a hidden camera

9- Mira goes ‘o boy, this a trap, innit’

10- Mira then decides ‘eh whatever I haven’t had contact w anyone in years now so I might as well’

11- she steals the camera film nd leaves a lil scrap of paper saying ‘nice try ;)’ on it

12- student comes back, sees paper, goes ‘dammit’, then leaves note addressed to the ‘library fairy’ and another cookie, as well as more of their work for her to help with

13- bout a decade goes by and now the “Library Fairy” is an urban myth, it’s currently 2003 so she’s also wound up on the school’s unofficial Wikipedia page under ‘local cryptids’

14- most library employees know of her but they don’t go looking out of fear stemming from superstitions bout her, somehow the legend grew from ‘can’t be photographed’ to ‘a student once saw her and died that day’

15- there’s now a small shrine devoted to her where ppl bring offerings hoping to get good grades in return, sometimes they will leave papers for her to proofread nd stuff

16- new prof (named Alexei) finds online article thinks he Knows What’s Up bcos he had a borrower friend as a kid, but they left when borrower’s fam found out about them knowing each other

17- he leaves note wedged in one of her secret entrances behind outlet, asking if she can meet w him at some point

18- Mira, already In it, goes ‘Okay. Alright. This has gone on for long enough. Time to go and never return’ but ofc she’s curious as all hell and like she decides she will at least honor the guy’s request for a convo b4 she goes, but on her terms and w/o speaking face 2 face

19- they Talk in the library after hours, bcos he paid off the janitor to let him stay after hours nd most of the student employees recognize him as a prof nd leave him alone

20- they talk again for every subsequent night

21- she uhhhh finally decides to reveal herself nd prays that her hunch was right nd he won’t try to grab her or anything

22- he doesn’t but she’s nervous so she winds up gettin caught in her own climbing rope like idiot, is now dangling from ceiling in tangled mess

23- he stifles chuckle nd she says smthn sarcastic

24- he moves closer and offers to untangle her

25- she’s like ‘please’

26- so he do, but her grip on the rope slips nd he has to catch her

26- so now she’s in his hand and he just sets her down and now he’s a bumbling embarrassed mess bcos he said he wasn’t going to hold her and he just did and o dear pls forgib him

28- nd she’s like ‘dude u just saved my life it’s fine ur fine chill’

29- internally she’s going HOLY FUCK AAAAAAA but externally, her human’s already worked up enough as it is so she’s gotta b the level headed one

29.5- after a while they both kinda get used to each other more, he gets tenure, they celebrate, some more stuff happens, Aleksei got married (not to Mira, Mira hasn’t actually rly thought about being in a relationship w anyone cos she’s laser focused on gaining as much knowledge as possible)

30- eventually Alexei’s like ‘hey so I’m dean of faculty for the biotech branch now uhhhh would u like actual job teaching students? Cos, uh, you can do it remotely thru online lectures n stuff, no in person interaction, and I uh was just kinda wondering—‘

31- she’s like ‘yes. Yes!!! LET ME HELP PEOPLE OFFICIALLY KINDA’

32- so now she’s a professor, and has revealed her Secret a few times here n there to a number of the faculty, nd she has recorded her own findings in a personal journal

33- ‘humans will treat u like a human if they think ur human first. The kids call it ‘catfishing’’

34- enter Ross, an mall goth who accidentally tripped headfirst into a premed program

35- Mira’s favorite field of study is bio so naturally she’s his prof for a majority of his classes

36- being the good boy that he is, he now knows Mira’s secret. There is an Entire Chapter on him finding out and legit just continuing their conversation as if everything was normal bcos he thought that was how he was supposed to handle the situation

37- then she says ‘u can ask questions, u know’ he’s like OH THANK FUCK CAUSE I HAVE SEVEN HUNDRED OF THOSE

38- and now he kinda knows what to look for in terms of ‘do borrowers live here check yes or no’

39-in his apartment, the answer is yes and he mistakenly kinda stumbles upon the mom one night when he wakes up in the middle of the night for Snack and opts to pretend like its not happening. Unfortunately the thing she was trying 2 borrow (piece of crumb cake for Son Boy’s birthday) is the thing he wants 2 eat so he’s like “uh. ‘Scuse me, ma’am.” and he peels back the saran wrap on the other side of the plate, takes piece, nd then leaves some there for her

40-so now the woman is like ‘welp guess it time 2 Leave’

.1- she and husband Talk

.2-they decide it best 2 go

.3-theyre Packing

.4-lil bab Ellie confused

.5-hawk attacke

.6-cut to Ross

41- Ross also happens to work at a bar and he goes outside for a break

43- he finds smal child—smol smal—on the sidewalk and said child is missing an arm, nd has lost a lot of blood, so he’s uhhhhh Losing It highkey

43.5-parents r nowhere 2 b seen, but the hawk is nearby and circling. Ross gets an idea of what just happened

44- he up and leaves work, thankfully his apartment is above the shop so he jumps up the fire escape w the child and

45- he make tourniquet

46- he calls Mira nd asks her 2 come over to ASAP. he’s A Mess at this point

47- it is Very touch and go, kid needs blood, Mira is the only viable donor so she’s just gotta pray that the blood type is fine and won’t kill him

48- and then eventually they manage 2 stave infection thru antibiotics properly dosed to his size, Mira does Math and Prays basically

49- ‘bout a month in, kid wakes up

50- kid doesn’t rember much since he’s only 3

51- hes v scared of Ross at first but over time he gets used 2 the human

52- kid (elliot) starts 2 call Ross ‘dad’ after a while

53- Ross: *internal screaming but in a good way*

54- the end kinda for now

Part 2

A- New Borrowers In The Building

—three of em. paranoid dad, mom, nd daughter that’s Elliot’s age so he’s pumped

B- Elliot offers them a place 2 stay briefly

C- he knows by now bout like, how borrowers don’t typically interact w humans and Auntie Mira’s a bit of a weird case so he just doesn’t tell em bout his dad being the human

D- the kid finds out first nd doesn’t tell the parents, but they figure it out later kinda and think that it’s a ‘o god he’s being kept as a pet’ sitch so they’re >:| abt it

E- they move out and try to take Elliot w them (by force bcos they think he’s brainwashed) but he escapes and makes it to Ross, who’s like “uhhhhhh”

F- and the mom come out the hole near the counter n starts yelling at Ross, who is…kinda used to it since Mira brings in ppl who need help from time 2 time and they typically don’t react well when they’re lucid enough to understand what’s going on. He’s just not used to being questioned about his own kid

G- so they’re like “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING WITH HIM”

H- and he’s like “r…raising him???”

I- and Ellie steps up and he’s like “this is my dad. I decided he was my dad when I was three. He’s being a good parent”

J- and Ross is like “yeah what he said. I’m a good parent.”

K- Ross is riding that high til the end of fucking time but like back to the story at hand

L- this is when the husband comes out nd is like “lissen. wifey. ily but that is a very big human and he hasn’t grabbed us yet so let’s count our blessings and gtfo”

M- but she’s like “uh no we stay until I’m sure Elliot is Safe and fucking Sound”

N- so they stay for dinner nd stick around a little longer.

O- Val (the kid) gets closer 2 Elliot and also Ross a bit

P- Mira shows once or twice, first time she shows up they’re like “oh god it’s the crazy doctor lady this all makes sense now” (bcos Mira does check up on as many borrower families as possible in her free time so word has got around by now Of her, and the number by which to contact her in case her services r needed)

Q- After a month or so, then they decide to leave bcos they’re like “look we get that ur son is ur son and he only has one arm and in our profession that is kind of a death sentence but we can’t have our kid getting used to dealing w humans who know about our existence” so they go and leave on a kind of sour note bcos Ellie can do anything he wants to do just as well as any other borrower Thank You Very Much and Ross is ready to fite anyone who thinks otherwise

R- Elliot starts trying 2 b more independent, basically from now on he’s like ‘I can do everything my Damn Self Thanks’

S- but uh he does it to a point where he’s going out of the way to endanger himself

T- so they get into a fite about it and ross Yells and Elliot is like ‘kthxbye’

U- and the boi just. Fuckin bolts. Runs Away. Ross is a Mess, he starts smoking again (he quit cold turkey the day he took Elliot in) to curb the depression, he’s jus. Not doin good, worried that his son is dead and the last time they talked it’d ended badly

V- FREEDOM!!!1! Except Ellie doesn’t kno how to take care of himself so it’s a rough month or so and then he runs into some other borrowers livin in their own town in the wild ig, chillin, being hella independent, and he’s like “uh yes ofc I will join u, I was w my dad for a while but.........” he neither confirms nor denies that his dad’s dead but everyone kinda just assumes.

Part 3

W-anyway a year goes by and then the borrower group gets hit hard w some kind of sickness ig. Elliot gets it too he’s basically incapacitated n drifting in and out of lucidity. So. They contact the weird crazy doctor lady who hangs around humans, a.k.a. Mira, and she’s like “oh. fuck. I know this kid.” bcos she does, u kno, and she jus treats em all for their ailment and shows them how to make antibiotic poultice thing in case smthn like it happens again. Mold. Penicillin is basically what it is

X-she and Elliot hav a Chat (Mira basically yells at him a lot) once he’s fixed up and he decides he’s gonna visit his dad but he makes it very clear that he is a Grown Up (he’s not, he’s literally sixteen), and he is living on his own now

Y- he agrees to stay for a week tho since he misses his home a lot tbh and Ross is just. Over the fucking moon to know he’s ALIVE, he’s not gonna fuck up their relationship by insisting that he stay. Or like, by keeping him ofc he would never

Z- unfortunately the borrower community put two and two together and figured out his dad’s human so they have his stuff packed up when he gets back w mira, who’s ready to go the fuck off on them

End 1:

-Ellie is living at Ross’s place atm and hopeful about the future basically. He eventually will go off on his own but he’ll keep in contact w his dad and stuff

Part C.5

55- few yrs later

56- elliot is Adult now he does adult borrower stuff

57- he moves out

58- finds nice borrower gf (her name’s Tess)

59- doesn’t tell her about his dad being human but talks about his dad a LOT

60- so when she asks to meet said father he’s just like “uh. Maybe we don’t do that actually”

61- and she’s like “y tho”

62- and he’s like “bcos”

63- anyway she decides to look into it cos she knows he goes to see his dad nd keep in touch but his dad is allegedly “a recluse who lives in the big scary human’s walls to avoid other ppl”

64- which is. Not true in the slightest tbqh he’s def not an introvert he’s just a workaholic and he Is the big scary human

65- anywho they run into Val and her wife and she’s like “how’s Ross been?” And Elliot is acting Very Suspish so she, being Smart, calls it immediately and is like “oh shit u haven’t told her yet have u”

66- Tess: “told me what”

67- Val: “El’s dad is a human, bro.”

68- Tess: “I’m sorry?”

69- this results in a Big Fight and they separate for like, a month. Elliot blames Val bcos he’s being irrational and doesn’t wanna admit to the fact that lying to his girlfriend for over a year was Real Bad Actually, but over time he’s like ‘yeah it’s my fault sry for snapping at u’ cos he works thru his emotions n stuff

70- Eventually gf comes back cos she’s like “ok so. I understand why you lied to me about your dad. It was a dick move but I do get it and I still care about you a lot. I would like. To meet him.”

80- this is a lie she does not want to meet him she is doing this bcos she does not want to lose Elliot and that outweighs the fear of his dad

81- so they go to meet him but she’s just kinda. Behind the wall at first like “that’s a crazy big human this is crazy ur crazy it’s time to gO”

82- Val is also there bcos she hasn’t seen Ross in a while

83- they eventually coax her out of hiding

84- and by that I mean Val picks her up and drags her out into the open by force bcos she basically freezes up the second she catches sight of Ross and Val’s like “u didn’t come all this way for nothing, bich”

85- they have a Painfully Awkward First Meeting, Tess is trying her best but oh god he’s just too fucking. Larg. Ellie ur dad too big

86- tbh tho the ice kinda breaks after Ellie and Ross get into a fight over smthn stupid (im thinking Elliot grumbles bout Ross’s hair being unruly and he’s worried that mira’s using it like a personal storage system again and Ross is like “I’ve been keeping better track of that actually” and then like a little line of paper clips and a few hand-bound notebooks tied together w some string fall out of his fucking mane and he’s like “I can explain”

87- “dad you can’t keep letting her use your hair like a fucking NEST”

88- Tess is laughing now cos god damn this was not what she was expecting

89- that’s it the end it ends w Tess laughing at them being idiots good times r had by all

Uhhhh that’s it so far. I have More but it’s kinda jumbled rn and I need to fit stuff in places. Anyway.

Holding Secrets Like a Crystal

Read on AO3|FFN

Monica Elshett wasn’t always a telepath.

That happened later, when she fell out of a tree and started hearing people’s minds.

No. Before the tree, she was an ordinary child that was just extra perceptive and sensitive to people around her. A broken branch and gravity seemed to open her mind to other things that everyone else couldn’t hear.

She handled it as well as little girl usually did to strange and impossible things.

She bawled her lungs out.

.

.

It was very lucky that Monica was a very smart child.

The next few years after The Incident, as she’d taken to calling it, had solidified the need for cleverness. Initially, she’d tried telling her parents. But after three visits to the doctor in quick succession, Monica learned to keep her mouth shut.

Her parents, being bureaucrats, had very little time to spare for her. This gave Monica the time to experiment and realize several things as fact.

One, that people’s minds weren’t in any way comparable to books. No, people’s minds were like radios. They broadcasted things so loudly.

Two, that the volume of a person’s radio depended on how intensely private they were as a person. A loud and extroverted woman might have a mind quieter than a mouse or vice versa.

Three, people didn’t really think about their crimes so much as picture them.

Monica came across her first crime at fifteen years old, a young man gloatingly thinking about his dead girlfriend’s body as he hacked her to pieces. The images floated to her mind, broadcasted by the murderer and Monica, walking down the street with a minor headache, staggered with nausea.

“Bahamut’s fucking balls,” Monica swore loudly, to the censure of a young mother and the delight of her child.

Monica had heard about people’s secrets, their thoughts and their sins, but it had been the first time she’d seen it.

With another curse, she did a sharp turn of her heel and marched to the Crownsguard precinct.

.

.

The problem, of course, was that she had no proof based on actual, physical evidence.

Nothing, except her knowledge, and the location of the pieces of a woman.

Still, Monica wasn’t going to be deterred by something as plebian as other people’s limitations. They were their limitations, not hers. She just needed to convince someone that those didn’t apply to her.

“I need an officer to come with me,” she repeated for the sixth time. “It’s urgent.”

The processing officer’s eyes had glazed over and his thoughts had turned to other things. He was so fucking useless.

But.

There was someone in the vicinity curious. About her.

Monica turned her head slowly, looking for the person and almost jumped out of her skin.

A man, in his mid-twenties, stared at her with intense, ice blue eyes.

“Well,” she said, staring right back at the man. “I need help.”

The man nodded slowly. “Alright. Then I will help you.”

While Monica could feel his curiosity like a living thing against her skin, she almost couldn’t hear his thoughts, they were so quiet.

Still, if she concentrated, she heard it. He looked at her scruffy shoes, her messy hair and her fidgety hands and seemed fond. Like she reminded him of someone.

It was the first time she’d actually had to concentrate to hear someone’s thoughts and Monica decided, then and there, that she liked him.

“Here,” she took him to the burial. It only took a few spadefuls of earth from a hastily borrowed spade, and there she was. The poor woman. “This is her. Her boyfriend murdered her.”

He was frowning at the grave, grim and scowling. “And you know this how?”

Monica hated questions like these. It reminded her, quite terribly, of her doctors.

“I heard it,” she said sharply. “And he gloated about it. I don’t know his name, or hers. But he gloated about it.”

“You only knew where,” he said, the light of understanding in his eyes. “I see. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

Monica hadn’t done this to be thanked, by Bahamut’s wrinkly old balls. She did this because she didn’t want to live in a city where an asshole like that boyfriend could make another victim. She couldn’t live with the knowledge that she could have helped.

Monica scowled at him darkly. “You don’t thank me, not about this. I did the right thing so I could sleep at night.”

She needed him to stop thanking her. Goddamit.

He nodded. “I will take care of it,” in that kind of voice you know would finish things.

He started calling people and people started arriving in droves. They taped up the area, they took samples of the earth and the spade and the tree. It was insane.

Monica stared at all of it with wide eyes and read so much of their determination to do the right thing that she didn’t even mind the cacophony of their thoughts. All of them were, to a person, thinking of helping the poor murdered woman.

It was amazing.

The man took her to the side to keep her out of the way but still managed to somehow make her see everything happening. His thoughts had faded back into obscurity now that she was no longer concentrating on him.

Then.

He knelt, so she was taller than him.

“Monica, I’m not thanking you for being a good person,” he said softly. “I’m thanking you for saving his other, potential victims.”

Monica curled her shoulders but nodded.

“My name is Cor Leonis,” he said, like he wasn’t famous. “And if you ever hear anything like this again, don’t bother going to the precinct. Call me immediately. Here’s my number.”

She held on to his card with a kind of desperation that she hoped wasn’t too obvious. Monica heard a lot of things. She had hoped, at least, that she could save someone. Or make a difference somewhere.

That she did. That an adult confirmed that she did…!

Monica started to cry.

.

.

Monica called Cor Leonis a grand total of three times after that.

The first, when she was eighteen, was because she had heard several fraternity boys in her college plan terrible things for the girls attending the party. She called him, and he answered, despite it being two in the morning.

An entire unit of officers show up in the frat party and saved several girls. Cor sent her a gift basket that made her laugh.

The next, a couple of months after that, was because she heard her professor’s thoughts and realized that he was a fucking predator with an actual shrine to the girls he molested, complete with videos.

Monica had actually barricaded the door and shivered in her bathtub until Cor himself knocked on the door and told her that Professor Morstan had been arrested just a few minutes ago.

She ran to him for a hug and he was so surprised. But he didn’t push her away.

The third time, Monica called him for the requirements for entrance into the Crownsguard. He answered by knocking on her door thirty minutes later with all the paperwork and a proud smile on his face.

“I’ll be working for you now,” she told him seriously as she filled out the forms.

He smiled, which transformed his face. “Honestly, Monica, everyone has been asking me what I’ve been paying my informant. If that’s the case, I probably owe you several years of back pay.”

Monica laughed.

.

.

The Crownsguard had insane requirements, both mental and physical, and if Monica hadn’t been thinking and planning for it for years, she might have been blindsided.

Cor helped her plan, telling her certain study tactics that would have been useful in university. He also left her with an entire packet of exercises to do for an entire three months, so she would be ready for the exams.

Which he would be hosting. Fucking Bahamut.

“I’m not going to hold back on you, just because I like you,” he told her sternly.

His mind was light, broadcasting a very light music that she was starting to think that Cor associated with her.

“I didn’t think you knew the meaning of the word,” she said blandly, rubbing her bruised wrist.

His lips quirked into a smile and his mind freaking laughed.

Cor’s mind had been getting louder around her, something that made Monica realize that that meant he trusted her. It blew her mind, honestly.

“Don’t stress out on this, kid. You’ll do great,” he said. She’s gonna blow all their socks out of the water, his mind thought.

It had her fighting a blush.

“Thanks, Cor,” she said quietly.

.

.

Monica had a mantra in her head.

WWCD. What would Cor Do?

It came in incredibly handy when faced with sexist trainees and misogynistic trainers at the boot camp. Monica was one of two women, and the other one was a very tall woman with visible muscles called Daisy.

She’d confided to Monica that her muscles came from helping her dad out as a blacksmith.

With Daisy looking like she could bench press several behemoths, Monica was the target of hazing. Bullying, she thought, looking at their calm faces and hearing their leering thoughts.

WWCD, she mused. Cor would let them eat their tongues in jealousy.

With a vicious smile, she looked at the exercises with renewed determination.

At the wall climbing, she made sure to climb the fastest. At the weapons assembly and maintenance, she made sure to ace that too, memorizing the smallest component.

Everything else, she aced. Their thoughts leered less and veered more to respect. Some, of course, went to jealousy.

But that, she knew how to counter. If they thought they were vicious, they had nothing on jealous teenage girls.

Monica did physicals, and aced the written tests. All the while dodging increasingly terrible sabotage attempts. She dodged laxatives in her food, snakes in her uniform and itching powder in her pants. When they went to acid in her shampoo, she smiled toothily and had to hold back a cackle.

Evidence. They had to leave her with evidence, the idiots.

She went to the trainer with the common sense and watched everything fall like dominoes.

.

.

“Congratulations, Ace,” Cor teased her as he handed over her diploma. “Your scores are the highest for the past decade.”

Monica ducked her head. “Who was the highest before me?” she had to ask. It was her damned curiosity.

“Mine,” he said. “Good job, Crownsguard.”

“Sir,” she saluted.

So fucking proud of the kid, his mind went. Regis, you owe me so much money.

Monica froze for a second.

He had bet on her results! And he didn’t have the decency to split the pay.

She huffed. Well, that was her own damned fault for attuning her listening so much to Cor that she could hear his thoughts through a crowd.

Rome pt.2

>>>Read on AO3<<< 

Rating: M

Setting: Historical Rome

Second part of the Rome AU =) Stay cool.

The sun was hot, but Eren was used to that. Under the protection of the villa’s roof, the heat was not even that bad, other things irritated him way more. If he were to name one that pissed him off the most at this very moment, it was sitting right next to him. His father, Grisha, half-drunk as usual, yammering on.

“As I was saying,”, he continued whatever train of thought went on in his head, “If they increase the taxes again, I’d have to sell some of my farms.”

Money, yes. That was the one thing that concerned him. At least Eren was not the target of his father’s speech this time, it was old man Reiss, sitting across the table and somehow paying attention.

“We should put some pressure on the senate,”, Reiss said, “They can’t keep pushing at us forever.”

His father nodded at that.

“Power to the people! That’s right! We should…”

Turning off his brain, Eren filtered out his father’s voice, a skill he was proficient in, eyes searching for the last occupant of the table. The blonde girl, Reiss’s daughter and heir, Historia. One of his closest friends, and by the will of both their fathers, his future wife. No, he did not have a say in this, and neither did she.

Kicking her lightly under the table, he made her look up, doing a grimace afterwards to express just how boring the money-talk was. She hid her smile under her palm and kicked him back, much stronger. Eren couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Historia was great, really fun and everything, but there was a little problem neither his nor her father knew that would complicate their upcoming marriage. Eren himself discovered it by accident and had sworn not to tell anyone. As they still had time before being seriously pressed into tying the knot, they decided to just wait it out for now. There was time for everything.

His father finished another long monologue, draining his wine cup afterwards and reaching out. A slave immediately jumped in and refilled it, which made Eren’s stomach churn. He hated slaves. No, that came out wrong. He didn’t hate the people themselves, he hated the system of slavery altogether. Their family, as a rich patrician one, understandably had plenty of slaves, and it was a topic of many arguments between Eren and his parents. Even as a child Eren never understood why it is okay for a human being to be owned by another one, just because one was born wrong, conquered, or in debt. His father originally dismissed all that talk as a child’s words, but as Eren grew, so did his hatred for slavery. The idea of not being free just because someone decided it is that way upset him to no end. But he was not the head of the house, that was his father, so technically he could not do anything. He was not even the heir to their villa, that was his half-brother Zeke, currently a Tribuni in the Roman legions, winning fame for himself on the frontlines.

A sudden burst of laughter got his attention, as both Grisha and Reiss laughed out loud, with Historia having a tight-lipped courteous smile herself. She was very good at pretending that she is interested in whatever bullshit the two of them were talking about.

“I do understand that,” Reiss was just saying, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, “When Historia was a child, she brought home a homeless orphan and wouldn’t stop crying until I gave her a place in my household. Now, what is her name….”

“Ymir, father.”, his daughter quickly offered, “She is my best friend.”

“I do not believe in associating with the lower classes myself.”, Grisha said, “Eren also had a small episode when he tried befriending some slave girl, but I quickly got him out of that.”

Oh yes, that was a great memory. Even now, years later, Eren remembered coming home and telling his mother all excitedly about this nice girl with strange eyes that he met, and that he gave her his candy. He remembered being all giddy when he asked if he could go and see her again tomorrow, perhaps bring her some more candy, so that she would tell him her name. And most of all, he remembered the pained expression that his mother had during that talk because unlike Eren in his childlike ignorance, she knew very well what Grisha’s reaction will be once he finds out.

“It was not easy,”, his father was just saying, “But a highborn must know who to make friends with, and it is not slaves.”

He turned towards his son.

“Tell us Eren, how did I stop you from seeing that slave girl again?”

As if he could ever forget.

“You threatened that if I ever went to visit her, you would buy her yourself and then have our house guards drown her in the Tiber.”, meeting his father’s eyes, it took everything Eren had to keep his voice calm, “And I would have to watch it all.”

“Exactly. And even with all the crying and locking yourself in your room, you obeyed in the end.”, looking back at Reiss, his father continued, “Principles must be taught to the youngsters, otherwise they would just get out of control.”

Sometimes, at nights especially, Eren wondered how that girl was doing, if she was even alive. Being a slave in Rome, mortality rates were high. Back then, she was working in a brothel, so was she a prostitute now? Did he maybe see her sometime when he was out drinking with his friends? Would he recognize her? Would she recognize him? No, he had to stop himself. This train of thought always made him angry, because it only reminded Eren of what his father robbed him. Maybe he could have had a best friend in that girl, just like Historia had in Ymir. Instead, he would never see her again.

Standing up abruptly, the eyes of everyone present swung at him.

“May I be excused, father?”, seeing the hint of irritation in Grisha’s eyes, he scrambled for an excuse, “I would like to take a walk with my lovely fiancé.”

That worked, so after being officially allowed to leave, he and Historia disappeared behind a corner where they shared a long exhale.

“God that was boring.”, Eren said, rubbing his forehead.

“You tell me. I almost fell asleep.”, she sighed, “I wanna do something fun.”

Now that was a language Eren spoke well.

“I’m in. Let’s grab some friends and live it up! Where did you leave Ymir?”

“I think she’s in a pub here somewhere, not far.”, Historia grinned, “Not like Ymir will be hard to find.”

Eren mirrored her smile, remembering just how loud the tall girl could be.

“You’re right. Let’s go then.”

Two of the taverns they checked lacked the Ymir factor, but the third one looked promising. Right from outside, they could hear loud voices, and when they entered their suspicion was proven right.

“I’m just saying,”, Ymir shouted over the ruckus, “You would look great at the chariot races!”

“I don’t think I’m good enough driver to…”

“Wait, who said anything about the driver? You would be pulling the chariot!”

The table erupted into laughter, while Jean, the butt of this joke, mumbled something and hid his reddened face into a cup of wine.

“That joke is so old…”, he sighed, but no one listened.

Ymir was the first one who spotted them, bolting from her seat and sweeping Historia in a hug.

“You’re finally here! We all missed you so much!”

When there was not any response from the table, Ymir turned towards it with a dangerous gleam in her eye.

“I said, we all missed you. Right?”

This time there were affirmative sounds from everyone. Nobody wanted to get on Ymir’s bad side.

Scooting over to make room for the newcomers, they ordered another round and the conversation flowed. Ymir wanted to know what their fathers were talking about, but Historia simply waved her hand and claimed that it was the usual boring stuff. While she was talking, Eren looked around, taking in this group of friends. He and Historia were the only highborn here, the rest of them were plebians. His father would never allow him to hang out with slaves, but he gritted his teeth and stayed silent while Eren surrounded himself with the lower class. It was a small victory, but Eren also genuinely found them much more interesting than any of the patricians. Now that he had the time to take everyone in, he noticed that one person was missing, so turning to Jean, he asked.

“Hey, where’s Armin?”

“Working tonight.”, his friend replied, trying to take another sip of the wine but realizing that his cup was empty. The discovery made him frown.

Armin was an interesting fellow. Part-philosopher, part-medic, he made his living by treating the filth of Rome. Slaves, lowborn, all these that would get rejected by any respected doctor flocked to Armin and he helped them all, whenever they had the money to pay for their treatment or not. In all honesty, Eren thought that Armin was probably the best person he knew, far nobler than him. The art his friend practiced, medicine, also highly interested him, but as with most things in life, Eren didn’t get a choice in his future career path. His brother was a soldier, so he was going to be a politician, Grisha decided. Easy as that. Which meant that Eren’s medicine studied were limited to the times when he visited Armin, trying to learn as much as he could form his friend.

“Do you know where he is?”, Eren pressed on, getting Jean’s attention, that was still focused on his somehow magically empty cup, back.

“It’s Uuuhh…. Hmmm….”

Eren had to suppress a sigh here.

“Come on Jean…”

“Oh right! He’s down in the pits tonight, treating the gladiators that get gutted there.”

The pits were a chain of tiny arenas where slaves, madmen and animals were pitched to fight each other to the death for the entertainment of the unwashed masses. It was like the Colosseum, only a hundred times smaller. Armin often worked there, as even the victors of these matches hardly ever escaped unscratched. The losers usually didn’t need medical attention anymore.

“You’re right, the pits could be fun!”, Jean went on, standing up and swaying only lightly, “Gang, let’s see some blood!”

As nobody wanted to be called a wuss for chickening out, they left the tavern in a sound of chairs dragged over the ground and the clink of coins, heading through the streets towards the pits. Jean led the way, as even drunk he could navigate the gutters the best out of them all. Eren fell in next to Ymir and Krista, the two of them inseparable as usual.

“I do hope that you are taking good care of my fiancé.”, he said to Ymir.

She turned to him with a wink, dropping her hand low and possessively squeezing the blonde’s butt, making her jump with a squeal and quickly retaliate with a well-aimed punch at the taller girl’s shoulder. This was the small secret that he and Historia had from their parents, who were so sure about their future marriage. Historia was, unluckily for her father, mostly interested in women, a fact that was rare but not unheard of. The problem was that while her family might not have that big of a problem with her orientation as it was, they would require her to have an heir. She was, after all, the only living offspring Reiss had. But that was a hurdle she and Eren would cross once they got there, and it was not here. Yet.

While they were consumed by this petty bickering, back and forth, Jean reliably led them through the labyrinth of Rome, finding his way with ease. Left here, right there, turn that corner and they were approaching their target, easily heard from the excited shouts that were up in the air.

With an excited shout, Ymir broke through the group, dragging helpless Historia with her, disappearing between the spectators. The rest followed soon after, their own excitement in various degrees. Eren himself had mixed feelings. He did not mind the duels, per se, but it was another business that was partly made up of slaves being forced to participate. The thing was in full swing, meaning that seeking out Armin right now was most likely impossible. He would be running between here and there, hands full of dead and injured, and hardly needed Eren to make his job even harder. With nothing better to do, he elbowed his way towards the edge of the ring, joining Jean at the railing.

“Hey.”, an unknown voice to his left, “You wanna bet?”

Turning, Eren saw a scrawny man with parchment and several purses hanging from his belt. A bookmaker. Before he could tell him that no, he does not want to place money on the lives of people, Jean butted in.

“Sure!”, he pushed past Eren, smelling of wine and sweat, “Who’s fighting?”

“The next bout is…” the bookie blinked at the parchment a few times, “Siren versus Cyclops.”

“Siren?”, Jean snorted, “Who the fuck takes such a name?”

It wasn’t unusual for the gladiators to have a nickname, some ancient beast or hero. But Siren was not a monster known for its martial prowess, so Eren had to agree with Jean here. It was rather strange.

“Oh, she didn’t choose this one, it was given to her.”, the bookie quickly supplied.

“So you… Wait a second.”, even with his wine-addled brain, Jean caught up on the unusuality, “She? Her? This fighter is a…”

“Woman.”, the bookie nodded, “But she is not to be underestimated.”

Laughing, Jean pulled out a few coins and handed them over to the bookmaker.

“Sorry, but I’m tight on the money now, so I’ll be taking the sure way. My coins are on the Cyclops.”, turning towards Eren, he nudged him, “What about you? Don’t want to make some easy denars?”

Maybe it was the old habit of disagreeing with Jean on almost everything, maybe it was something else, but Eren reached into his own purse, pulling out a generous number and putting them into the bookie’s eager hands.

“My money is on the Siren.”, he announced, making Jean’s grin widen.

“Dude, woman gladiators are a joke, don’t you realize that?”

Seeing that Eren was not changing his mind, Jean shrugged.

“Guess you don’t mind losing those then.”

“We’ll see how it goes.”, Eren answered, turning back towards the arena. Just in time too, as the combatants were being ushered in.

First in was the Cyclops, large and imposing scarred man, armed with a net and a trident. Raising those weapons, he was greeted by booming shouts coming from all sides, probably a fan favorite. Then the challenger appeared. The woman was lightly armored, most likely relying on speed over brute strength. She was armed with a short sword and a dagger, holding these with an experienced grip. The full helmet on her face prevented Eren from seeing her face, but her body was lithe and crossed with several prominent scars, marked just as her opponent was. She didn’t generate nearly as much hype as he, and there were several laughs heard from the audience. Eren and Ymir were probably the loudest supporters, cheering her on. Cheers or laughter, Siren didn’t seem to care either way, completely ignoring the crowd and keeping her gaze on the opponent.

Once the signal was given, Cyclops was the first to move, poking at his enemy with the trident, abusing the reach he had over her closer ranged blades. But Siren was too fast, easily dodging and batting aside the strikes, moving between them, fluid like water. A few minutes into this dance, the crowd was getting bored, and demands for more action were thrown into the ring. If there was no blood, there was no fun. While Siren ignored those, just as before, Cyclops obeyed, abandoning this safe approach. He stopped using the net as a shield and utilized it as a weapon instead, swiping at his opponent. It was easy to get tangled in it, and once Siren would be caught, a single trident stab would end her. The problem was, she did not get caught. Turning on the aggressive mode, she weaved in between his attempts, slashing at him. Not drawn too close, Siren’s attacks were shallow, more like scratches, but they still hurt and the blood that colored the sands was a proof of it. Cyclops was getting desperate, None of his attacks connected, it looked like he was striking a ghost. The metallic teeth of his trident were always late, the net too slow and clumsy to capture someone as elusive as her. Overwhelmed, Cyclops screamed in defiance before betting it all on a single last thrust, putting all of his might behind it. And for the first time, he aimed true. The spikes of his trident hit Siren in the hip, leaving behind three identical red paths, dripping blood. Unluckily, this also put him directly in her face with nothing to block. Cyclops had about two seconds to celebrate his luck when a short sword was slammed right into his throat, toppling the large man over. Stunned silence followed.

First one to wake was Ymir, shouting her support even louder. She laughed, hugging Historia while her eyes quickly found the bookie, gesturing for him to come closer. Jean on the other hand let out a tired “Fuck me.”, before dropping his head to his hands. Siren herself took a step back, cleaning her blades on the dead man’s body. Hooking a hand under her helmet, she pulled it off, shaking her hair free and revealing her exotic visage. The way the sun glistened on those midnight strands prompted another comment from Jean, who stirred from his defeated slump.

“Damn, would you look at that.”, he said, half-turning towards Eren, “Now it’s easy to see why they call her Siren.”

The girl was indeed alluring, just like the mythical creature, even with her face twisted into a dark grin. Making a very rude gesture towards the crowd that doubted her, she reserved a single wave for Ymir, her loudest supporter, before turning away and ducking into the old door that led into the bowels of the pits. Free from her spell, now that she was gone, Jean moved his attention to Eren, now fully.

“Well, there goes my savings. Say, my good friend, now that you won, would you lend me some coins? It’s not like need them anyway, right? Eren? Eren!?”

But the lucky bet winner did not hear any of that. He was staring at the door where Siren disappeared, completely obvious to his surroundings. Why? Because he knew that face. He knew those almond-shaped grey eyes, albeit now they were much wilder than before. He knew that dark hair, now chopped short, not nearly as long as it was before.

He knew who Siren was.

Restorative Justice - Chapter 1 Community Circle

Summary: Chloé has never been a fan of Ms. Bustier’s community building activities. In fact, she detests them. She doesn’t want to learn about the drab boring lives of her peers. And she absolutely can’t stand it when their confessions make her feel things. Feelings that she doesn’t even have names for. But when Adrien unknowingly shares his struggles with his double life, Chloé vows she will do anything to get Ladybug set things right. Even if it means pissing off the heroine. Chloé was already mad at her anyway. Chapter 1 - Community Circle

The morning could not have gone better for Chloé Bourgeois. She had a new outfit that flaunted her form and matched her bee themed jewelry perfectly. The house staff had been incredibly complimentary of her assemble, the chef had made her favorite breakfast, and Sabrina had greeted her with her favorite coffee upon her arrival, which she had enough time to savor because her driver had hit all the green lights on the way to school. Then she walked into the classroom and every muscle in her body went rigid. The normal rows of desks had been disassembled and reorganized into a circle of chairs around a decorative centerpiece cluttered in silly and cute knick knacks laid in an artistic spiral on a colorful throw blanket. Chloé almost turned around and bolted immediately. “Good morning, Chloé! Sabrina!” Ms. Bustier greeted, her voice warm and welcoming. “Feel free to take a seat anywhere in the circle.” The blonde sighed. It was too late. She had already been spotted. Her shoulders fell and she stomped over to a seat. “Isn’t it great, Chloé?” Sabrina gushed enthusiastically as she took the seat to Chloé’s right. “We don’t have to do work today!” “Fantastic,” Chloé grumbled bitterly, inspecting her own nails in an attempt to distract herself. Sabrina was technically correct. They didn’t have to do any academic work whenever Ms. Bustier organized a community circle, but Chloé hated community circles. She would have preferred the academic work, honestly. Not that she could really articulate why she hated them. She just did.

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“Oooh!” Mylene squealed from the doorway. “A community circle! These are my favorite days!” Chloé glanced at the clock already counting down the minutes until the end of the period even though it hadn’t started yet. The whole class filed in gradually. Marinette chose a seat on the exact opposite side of the circle, and Alya, Nino, and finally Adrien filled in the seats around her when they arrived. Marinette handed out croissants to her friends, which the other three accepted with delighted grins. Chloé’s eyes remained on Adrien, wondering for the millionth time how he had made friends so easily. She had always assumed he would struggle when he came to public school, and that meant he would have to hang out with her. Chloé had been beyond excited, but things hadn’t gone the way she predicted. And now, he felt further away than ever. Adrien didn’t need Chloé anymore. And sometimes, with the way he stiffened when she grabbed his arm or frowned when she was critiquing someone’s fashion choices, she wondered if he even liked her anymore. Had he ever liked her at all? When the bell rang, Ms. Bustier held up the usual set of six norms and guidelines for appropriate behavior during a community circle. Chloé didn’t bother to read them. “Please remind the people on either side of you what each of these norms means,” her teacher directed. Sabrina turned towards her, but Chloé turned stubbornly to the right, towards Max who was conveniently turned towards Nathaniel who sat on his other side, so Chloé wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Sabrina was quick to take the hint, and joined Rose’s and Juleka’s conversation instead. Chloé glanced at the numbered list. Speak your truth. It was the third item of Ms. Bustier’s Guidelines and Norms. Chloé scoffed and turned back to her nails with disdain. As if any of these plebians could understand her truth! “Are there any questions about what any of these mean?” Ms. Bustier asked, and glanced around the circle. No one said anything. Chloé rolled her eyes. This was the fifth time the class had gone through one of these. They all knew how they worked. “Does anyone feel something needs to be added in order for you to feel safe sharing?” And again, Ms. Bustier waited, but no one responded. “Alright. Then I would ask everyone to give a thumbs up if you agree to uphold these norms.” There was a slight rustling as everyone moved at the same time to give the hand signal. “Ivan, do you agree to these norms?” The teacher prompted. Ivan lifted his thumb up higher in response. “Chloé?” Chloé sighed before she gave a half-hearted thumbs up. She had learned the hard way that if she didn’t agree, she would just get locked into a conversation about what she felt she needed to be safe within the group. And it’s not like she could say she didn’t like it when other people shared personal things. She didn’t know why she didn’t like it. She just knew hearing the details of their drab boring lives made her… uncomfortable. No, uncomfortable was too mild a word. Chloé literally felt like she couldn’t breathe at times. And in those moments, she wanted nothing more than to clamp her hands over her ears, and flee. At least Ms. Bustier never forced Chloé to share if she didn’t want to. That was the only reason she hadn’t thrown a fit with administration about these community circles. Having gathered consensus from everyone, her teacher had started the circle by reading a poem. Ms. Bustier referred to these as mood pieces. Today’s poem was something about looking past the surface or something. Honestly, Chloé didn’t really know. She wasn’t listening. “We’ll start with a check in question. What has been a rose and thorn of your month? Is there anyone who would like to go first?” Alix raised her hand.

Ms. Bustier smiled warmly and gestured an open hand toward the centerpiece. “Please select a talking piece.” Alix darted from her seat and considered the arrangement of knick knacks at the center of the room, and chose a little stuffed bear before returning to her seat. “My rose would be that I’ve won three out of four bets against Kim,” she announced with a smirk, drawing an amused chuckle from the class, before passing the bear to Mylene on her right. Mylene spoke so quietly that Chloé couldn’t hear what she was saying, not that she was actually trying to listen. In fact, it would be better for everyone if she didn’t hear any of it. When the soft brown stuffed bear came to her, Chloé passed it to Sabrina without a word. Chloé always passed. “My thorn would be that I lost three out of four bets with Alix,” Kim drawled out, earning another laugh from the class. Chloé sighed and glanced up at the clock again. Forty-two minutes remained. “My rose would be that I got to go on a date with Ondine. She’s divine,” Kim continued. “Hardly,” Chloé mumbled under her breath. “Chloé, would you take a step outside for a moment?” Ms. Bustier asked calmly. Chloé stomped outside the classroom, but honestly, when the door closed after her exit, her body loosened in relief to have escaped the awkward circle. It was far better to sit outside with her legs dangling over the edge of the balcony and the paved courtyard below. Out here, it was quiet. She didn’t have to listen to anyone else babble on about their mundane achievements and struggles. Unfortunately, her teacher joined her not three minutes later and the teenager scrambled to her feet. “Chloé, do you know why I asked you to step outside?” Chloé nodded, her fingers fiddling with her belt. “The comment I made after Kim shared his rose.” Ms. Bustier nodded. “And do you think your comment upheld the norm of speaking with respect?” Chloé gritted her teeth. “No,” she admitted, her gaze lost over the railing. “What about listening with respect?” Chloé glanced up at her disapproving teacher, and looked back down into her hands. Bustier was the one teacher she wanted to think well of her. Ms. Bustier was the only teacher that seemed to care about her at all. “No…” “You agreed to uphold these norms, did you not?” Chloé bristled. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice. “I did,” she bit out. “Chloé,” her teacher said more softly. “I know these activities are not your favorite days.” Startled blue eyes flew up into the gentle face of her teacher. “You do?!” Ms Bustier coughed, with a closed fist covering her mouth. Her green eyes sparkled with amusement, and Chloé suspected her teacher was trying not to laugh. “You make it very clear. But I want you to know I think you could get a lot out of them if you actually let yourself engage in them. You might learn something about yourself.” Chloé turned away again. She didn’t want to learn more about herself. What if she didn’t like what she found? “I cannot force you of course. You don’t have to share if you don’t want to, but I do need you to uphold these norms during the activity. Do you understand?” Chloé nodded. “I understand.” The red-headed teacher poked her head back into the classroom. “Kim, can you join us for a moment?” A few seconds later, the broad shouldered jock with his stupid haircut came through the door and stood just a pace away. "Kim, Chloé’s comment was directed at you. What do you need in order to feel okay with her coming back in?" He turned his gaze towards her, and he grinned. There was nothing friendly about the expression. He was planning something. Don't you dare! She mouthed at him. If he said he wanted an apology she was going to get sent to the principal's office and threaten to call her father. Damocles was way easier to intimidate than Bustier. And Chloé would not apologize. “It's fine, Ms. Bustier,” Kim said easily, his smile never fading. “We are all used to Chloé at this point. She can come back in.” At first Chloé was surprised, but then she realized the dumb jock knew exactly what he was doing. He was making her come back to the fucking circle. Bastard! Their teacher indicated they should head back inside the room with an open arm. Chloé went first, her hands clenched into fists, Kim followed behind, with Bustier in the rear. Chloé slid into her seat quickly and continued to try and ignore everyone around her. Ms. Bustier cleared her throat loudly to gain everyone’s attention. “Alright class, for our activity today you will need a piece of paper and a marker. There are several colors for both paper and pens for you to choose from at the center of the circle. After you have your materials, you are going to trace your hand onto the paper.” Chloé scoffed. Trace their hand? What was this? Kindergarten? “Outside of your hand, write the things people see or assume about you. On the fingers, write down what you wish they saw instead. On the palm, write down what you hide from the world. Directions are on the board if you need a reminder. Go ahead and begin.” Chloé didn’t move when the class scurried into action towards the centerpiece, which stored the materials for the activity, but Sabrina brought her back a piece of yellow paper, and a black marker. Chloé smirked. At least Sabrina brought her the right colors. Chloé took an inordinate amount of time tracing her hand. Sabrina and Max had already filled in the outside of their papers, and had started working on filling in the fingers when Chloé finished tracing her hand. On the outside of her drawn hand, she wrote ‘Queen’, ‘Stylish’, and ‘Powerful’. It was only three words. A glance to her left and right showed that Sabrina and Max had written half a dozen more adjectives or features on the outer section of their papers. Chloé didn’t care. She didn’t need more words to define her. And she definitely didn’t bother filling in the fingers. She didn’t care how people saw her. And even if she did, she wasn’t going to admit that to anyone, let alone write it down on a piece of paper for all her peers to see. So instead, she tapped her marker on her table without any pattern or rhythm glancing at the clock every few seconds. Twenty nine minutes to go. She suppressed a groan. Could time go any slower? “Alright!” Ms Bustier called. “Raise your hand if you need more time.” Chloé flipped over her page to hide that it was incomplete. When no one raised their hand, Ms. Bustier continued. “We’re going to count off in order to randomize our discussion groups. After we’ve done that, please find the other two people in the room that have the same number as you.” Chloé was assigned a three, which put her in the same group as Mylene and Alix. But as luck would have it, Sabrina ended up with Ivan and Adrien. It took all of five seconds to convince Ivan that he could be with Mylene if he just swapped numbers with her. No one said anything about her manipulation of the random assignments, and Ms. Bustier was circling around on the other side of the room, so Chloé doubted that the teacher would notice before they were all deep in discussion. Sabrina jumped right in, holding up her purple piece of paper with her hand traced neatly in green with a dozen words written out on various parts of the page. Her friend pointed to the outside of the traced hand first. “People often say that I’m bubbly, helpful, a good listener, and people often remark on my red hair. I’ve also been told that I’m useless and I’m a fashion disaster,” Sabrina explained excitedly. Chloé did not react outwardly to Sabrina’s words even as her gut twisted uneasily. The blonde girl glanced down at her nails. It had really been too long since the Chloé had bought Sabrina a gift. Her friend might like a new handbag or an organizer for all her headbands. Sabrina definitely deserved to be spoiled on occasion. “But really,” Sabrina continued her eyebrows rising into her forehead with excitement. “I wish people would see that I’m intelligent and that I work hard.”

“You’re also very loyal,” Adrien interjected with a soft patient smile. “You give unconditional support to your friends. That’s something I really admire about you, Sabrina.” Chloé’s eyes jumped to his face. How could he just say all that so easily? Really, it wasn’t fair. Sabrina’s cheeks turned pink, and her hands clutched either side of her face in embarrassment. “Why thank you for saying so, Adrien!” Chloé sighed. Really, she shouldn’t have been surprised when Adrien made friends so easily. He was naive and socially awkward, definitely. But… well, he was also always so… earnest. Even with her. “Chloé?” Sabrina called softly. Chloé’s gaze jumped up to both of her partners staring at her expectantly. “What?” she demanded impatiently. Neither Sabrina nor Adrien flinched at her tone. She loved them for that. “Did you want to go next?” Adrien clarified, pointing at the folded paper in her left hand. Chloé glanced down at the folded paper. “Ah, no. That’s okay!” she exclaimed, giving Adrien a bright smile. “Why don’t you go first, Adri-kins?” He nodded. “Sure Chloé. Whatever you want.” He opened his green paper to his hand traced in black. Chloé rolled her eyes at the Chat Noir color scheme. He had even drawn a little cat emoji on one of the fingers. Not very subtle, Adri-kins. Sure, Chloé dressed up in Queen Bee colors all the time, but Chloé had never bothered trying to keep her identity a secret. Adrien was so obvious sometimes though. She didn’t understand how no one had figured him out yet. “People say that I’m attractive, rich, and incredibly fortunate. Apparently, I’m quite the catch.” His tone was light, but Chloé knew better. He hated that people saw him that way. Hated that he was objectified and pursued by those that had never met him. “I wish people realized that I’m just a regular kid.” See, that, Chloé did not understand at all. She had no desire to be normal. She was far above normal. And so was Adrien. “And I wish people knew that I was funny,” he continued. Chloé burst out laughing. “What?” he demanded, his voice sullen and petulant. She just shook her head. “You might try to be funny, Adri-kins. You don’t often succeed.” He pouted. It was adorable. “I just made you laugh, didn’t I?” “Keep telling yourself that,” she commented dryly. But she smiled at him just the same. He smiled back. “As for hiding from the world?” he continued, an arm behind his neck. “I would have to say loneliness.” Chloé’s smile evaporated. “I feel like even when I make a connection with someone, I have to hide half of who I am. No one seems to even want to see all of it,” he confided. Chloé’s gut twisted painfully. She had always assumed that he had abandoned her when he had come to school and made new friends. But she never really let him be himself either. She had mocked his corny jokes and self conscious habits. And she had done nothing but scorn Chat Noir before she realized who he was. Her arms crossed over her stomach, squeezing her own form tightly. God, Chloé hated community circles! Why couldn’t they be writing an essay right now or something? She didn’t want to feel this way! Or feel anything at all, if she got to choose! “Chloé?” Sabrina’s concerned voice cut into her thoughts. “Are you okay?” Chloé made herself smile. “Of course! Why wouldn’t I be anything other than stellar?” she bit out. Adrien arched a golden eyebrow at her tone, but didn’t comment. “It’s your turn,” he told her instead, once again gesturing to her yellow paper. She bit her lip. She really didn’t want to share it. There wasn’t anything to share. “Raise your hand if your group needs more time,” Bustier’s voice rang out throughout the room. Sabrina and Adrien both started to move, but she shook her head emphatically at them, and their hands dropped back to their sides. “Alright then, if you would please return to your seats for the closing.” The class burst into movement again. “It was nice chatting with you both,” Adrien said with his usual patient smile. Chloé nodded in acknowledgement. “You too, Adrien!” Sabrina gushed. Chloé turned to go back to her seat only to bump shoulders with Marinette. Chloé sneered at the other girl, feeling even more animosity towards her long time school rival than usual. Adrien said that he had never been able to share all of himself with anyone. That included Ladybug. Marinette’s blue eyes narrowed into an icy glare of her own. “Don’t think I don’t know that you cheated to be in Adrien’s group!” she hissed. It was more to be with Sabrina. Adrien was just a bonus, but there was no way she was going to explain that to Marinette. “You’re only upset because you didn’t think of it first,” Chloé bit back. “Alix, Kim, Marinette, Juleka, Chloé! Would you please rejoin us in the circle?” Chloé turned on her heels without a glance at the others, and settled back into her seat, her arms folded across her chest. There was only nine minutes left of class! One more question, and Chloé would be free. It couldn’t come soon enough. Ms Bustier smiled warmly at the whole class from her own seat within the circle. “I want to thank you all for participating today and for being brave enough to be vulnerable with each other today. I have one final closing question for you all before you depart. What is something you’ve been struggling with this month? Take twenty seconds to think about it,” she directed and allowed the room to fall into silence. Chloé slid her yellow flats against the leg of her chair absently. She didn’t bother thinking of a response to the question as she wasn’t going to share. It was a terrible question anyway. “Is there anyone who would like to go first?” Ms. Bustier’s resonant voice called out. Chloé cursed under her breath when Max, still at her right, raised his hand to go first. At the teacher’s direction, he moved to the center of the room, and selected an item - a replica of Ladybug’s yoyo, before returning to his seat. “I’ve been struggling with a bug in Markov’s code. I can’t sleep because I can’t stop thinking of potential solutions, but so far nothing has worked.” He handed the talking piece to her. Chloé practically threw the cheap plastic toy at Sabrina as if it was a piece of hot coal that would burn her. Chloé was not about to share her struggles. She would not give anyone in this room the satisfaction or a weapon to use against her. “Our geometry homework has been really long and complicated,” Sabrina shared. Several of their classmates nodded in agreement. Chloé’s shoulders relaxed, releasing tension she hadn’t realized was there. If they were all just going to whine about hard math problems, Chloé could handle it. “I’ve been struggling to identify my sexual identity.” Chloé’s gaze jerked up at the vulnerable pronouncement. Alix didn’t even blush as she passed the yoyo to Kim. The jock fiddled with the toy for a second, not speaking. Just flipping it over and over again in his hands. “I…” he swallowed and started again. “My mother is sick,” he confessed. “And I’m not sure she’s going to get better.” And it was all too much. Chloé’s skin crawled like a colony of ants had taken up residence. She rubbed frantically at her arms, losing the battle to sit still. This was why Chloé hated circles. She tried not to listen as the spotted talking piece was passed around the room. It went through Rose, Juleka, Ivan, Mylene, and Nathaniel. Chloé was able to tune it all out. “I’ve been feeling… overwhelmed,” Marinette admitted even as she spun the yoyo in her hands. “I have so many responsibilities, and I’m terrified that I won’t be able to live up to them all on my own. And I’m scared it will be someone else that pays the price.” The silence roared in Chloé’s ears. How she wanted to dismiss Marinette’s fears as being an over dramatic teenager. But she couldn’t. Chloé knew exactly what Marinette was talking about. On god damn it all, Chloé actually felt bad for her. For the weight on her shoulders. She didn’t want to feel this way! Certainly, not about Marinette Dupain-Cheng. And definitely not about Ladybug. Chloé was still angry with Ladybug. Marinette passed the red and black yoyo to Adrien who took it with a smile before turning back to the circle. He also stared at the talking piece for a second before sharing. “So many people in my life claim to care about me. But then,” he trailed off and glanced up to the ceiling then back down to the centerpiece in the center of the floor. “But I don’t think they actually respect or trust me. They just expect blind obedience. And I… I don’t know if I can do that forever.” And Chloé had no trouble hearing him. None at all even though he was clear across the room, even though he spoke barely louder than a whisper. It was like a prayer. One that not even Ladybug could recognize. So it was up to Chloé. She would have to fix this herself. Somehow.