#like the avatars themselves being the disguise rather than the disguised??
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I love the idea that avatars of the spider are super unassuming and innocent in the way that they’re perceived. Like….something about the juxtaposition of spiders creating an immediate feeling of danger in most people compared to the people that represent them being perfectly adept at hiding that aspect of themselves.
#tma#the magnus archives#I do think it would have been super sick if Martin had been a spider avatar#if only for the way that it would have put Jon’s initial treatment of/ feelings toward him in a completely different light#like….everybody else is completely taken under by Martin#but Jon has experience with the spider and is more aware of it than others?? hmmm???#ok I’m just writing an au now so moving on#but specifically with Annabelle and Raymond (?)#until it’s known what they actually are#they just come off as normal if not almost lovely right?#idk that’s just SOOO COOL to me#I love thinking about the little whatevers of tma you feel me?#wish I still had the ability to put these thoughts into words that aren’t just like….uh huh….you know? lol right?#but oh well#also the way that the spider uses those unassuming ppl to hide itself#like the avatars themselves being the disguise rather than the disguised??#does that make sense?#crazy
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Uprooted an Adjusted: Part One
Neteyam x Metkayina!Reader
This story is/will be a more long term story because I can't write short stories but I will try to post quickly
Summary: Colonel Quaritch is impatient, rather than continuing to uselessly interrogate the Island Na’vi who are starting to fight back, he decides to take one aboard his ship to guide him to Jake Sully.
Part 2
It was a peaceful day when the sky demons attacked. We had been warned of their attacks, of their brutal destruction. They were searching for a man named Jake Sully. Formerly known as Toruk Makto. He was currently seeking safety with the Awa’Atlu Clan. We were asked not to say where he was located as he only wanted peace. Part of me boiled that while he seeked peace others were being brought war because of this Jake Sully.
The killer sky people came and they took. They questioned looking for the man ‘Jake Sully’. We couldn’t understand many of their words, but many of us recognized the former warrior Toruk Makto. I knew I did. My father died fighting with him. Last I heard we had banished these Sky Demons but, of course, they came back like the demonic plague that they were. This time they disguised themselves like us. Well, not like us from the islands, but like Na’vi. Their leader looked similar to the forest Na’vi, tall, skinny, and a darker brighter shade of blue. He was likely one of those demons who inhabit an avatar body while they sleep.
There was a young human boy who seemed to speak our language and translate as they tried questioning our people. We weren’t the first tribe they invaded, and from what we were hearing each attack was worse than the next. Our homes were blazing behind us as each of us had weapons pointed in our direction. A gun was pointed at both our Olo’eyktan and Tsahik as they were yelled at by The Sky Demon Leader.
After a lot of yelling back and forth and translating from the Na’vi speaking boy, the Demons were getting impatient from our lack of knowledge. Suddenly, the tall leader spoke some unknown words and our Tsahik was shoved face into the ground with one of the deadly weapons shoved into the back of her head. The young boy began screaming and crying and with a loud bang our beautiful Tsahik’s body went limp.
Chaos broke loose as our Clan tried to escape and protect themselves and their families.
I let out a war cry as I turned to my captor who was distracted by the others who were trying to break loose. His grip on my Queue came loose enough for me to turn and bite him with all my might. Once he released me, I took off towards this leader of these Sky Demons. Luckily, I was not far away as I pulled my blade from its sheath at my side and leaped at the demon.
I did not get far as a fiery jolt was sent through my entire body. It burned and every nerve seemed to go stiff as I cried at the pain. My body hit the sand and just when I thought it was over I was stung again by the powerful, painful jolts.
My vision blurred and I could not make out any sound but muffled cries from my people, my family. My eyelids felt heavy and although I fought the exhaustion that took over my body, I could not stop its effects as my consciousness left me.
I awoke in an all metal room. The floor was hard and so was the seat I was in. I stood to free myself when I found resistance from my own hands. I found they were bound to the table I had been laid against and began pulling at my restraints.
I stopped when the noise came from behind me and I looked up to see a reflection of the human boy. I hissed and jumped onto the table, turning to the demon boy.
The demon held his hand up in surrender, but I refused to back down.
“I do not want to bring you harm,” he tried to defend himself. His Na’vi was skilled, not awful like the other men who looked more like Na’vi. I did not believe his deceitful words for a second, though, and hissed once again, bearing my sharp teeth at him. He bared his teeth back at me and I couldn’t help but feel impressed by his stance. Almost like he was raised by Na’vi himself.
I examined him further and noticed the faded blue stripes painted on him, he seemed so much like us, but a completely different species.
“These men want to know where Jake Sully is. He is a friend of mine, but their enemy. They think you can guide them to him,” The boy explained to me, “I do not want to help them, but in order to stay alive we must give them what they want.”
“I will give these Demons nothing. I will not betray my people,” I seethed at the boy, “If you are truly friend of Jake Sully you would not help either.”
“I’m only a translator. I am trying to convince them not to hurt more people, but I can only do so much. Please, if you just tell me a direction I can convince them to let you live.” He begged and I scowled at the boy. He had a good reason but not enough for me to help.
“What did they do to my clan?” I asked the boy, my heart filling with dread at the endless possibilities.
The boy was silent. His nonexistent answer, telling me all that I needed to know. “If my family dies for this Jake Sully, let me die with them,” I seethed, sitting on the cool metal table, my arms placed between my legs.
The boy bowed his head and stepped out of the room and as soon as the door closed behind him I began chewing at my bindings, trying to get them loose.
After a bit of my chewing and pulling at my restraints, the door opened again. I looked up to see more of the Demon-Blooded Na’vi in their ugly clothing. My wrists were freed and before I could act they were bound again by the demons.
I hissed as I was pulled off of the table and all but dragged out of the room. A cool metal was pressed to my temple as we walked. Well, they walked, I was pulled.
When we arrived at our destination, I felt as if my heart was ripped from my chest. I saw a beautiful Tulkun, killed by these sky demons. She was being pushed off of the ship to be left back into the water. I felt my legs go weak at the sight. One of our mighty sisters murdered.
“How many must die,” I whispered, a soft sob escaping me as I looked into the lifeless eyes of the beautiful Tulkun floating in the water. I sobbed harder when I saw a young calf swim up beside her and nudge her, looking for his mother to move, make a sound, anything. I stupidly wished she would make any noise as well.
The familiar cool metal was pushed into my temple once again which only made more of my tears fall. The large Demon Na’vi who seemed in charge approached. “Tell us where Jake Sully is or more die,” I was able to barely understand the monster.
“You talk like a baby. A demon baby,” I seethed out as I choked back my sobs. The weapon was pressed harder into my skull as I felt my sensitive Queue get pulled.
“Please just tell them,” I looked over at the familiar voice through my blurry vision. The Demon boy looked so sad, almost like he understood my pain, or tried to.
My lip quivered at the thought of more Tulkun dying. My head fell in defeat. “He is hidden in the Awa’Atlu Clan. East.” I spoke softly.
I listened as the human boy translated my words and the metal was removed from my temple. My body wracked with more sobs as I knew this would just lead to just a much death, but hopefully this death would have an end.
Hopefully the mighty Toruk Makto would defeat these monsters.
#awow x reader#avatar#neteyam#neteyam x reader#jake sully#lo'ak#neteyam sully#reader#avatar the way of water#na'vi#reader x na'vi#neteyam fanfiction#avatar 2#avatar twow#neteyam x y/n#y/n#fanfiction#part1#reader x sully
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Phew, okay - so pending shadows and highlights, and colors are likely to be tweaked at least a little (except for the baby in the middle; heckin' PERFECT!), but this is the first new ground broken in a while for my Fakemon project (with redesigns of old concepts being the art-production focus up until now). @v@;
Part of the excitement of revamping an old project is embracing new possibilities... and with that creative liberty, things have entirely spiraled out of control and now the region is based on a mashup of concepts (including but not limited to Post-Apocalyptic Cottagecore) rather than any real-world location.
In addition, the player is the only human in the setting — and to avoid drawing unwanted attention — can disguise themselves as a 'mon! These are your 3 options, which each align with a given "deity" (read: Mythical/Lesser-Legendary) you choose.
Rambles under the cut if you're as interested in the concept/process as I am!
Aside from signature accent colors and modified/added features of your chosen savior and one personal apparel-item, these are based on mutated variants of canon single-stage Pokémon. While these are super-derivative, I had fun with the concepts!
Each base is changed in type which the new designs reflect. Kecleon took on a Bug-Psychic typing; Indeedee became an Ice-Fairy type; and Heracross became an Electric-Ghost type.
Heracross changed the most of the 3, shrinking considerably and "hollowing out" to an extent, with the flakier texture of its altered carapace allowing for friction/contact-electrification to help generate current. Heracross was also the most-thought-out in terms of a Pokemon mutating to survive in a post-fallout setting; the others were just designed around reinforcing the themes/motifs of the deities I associated them with. ^^;
That said, the deities each have a theme that is reflected in the 'mon-avatar you can adopt through them. Let's go over each, respective to their avatar above, from left to right:
~ Celebi is coded as "The Illuminator", which is why a Psychic type is attributed to you as a mutant-Kecleon, and is the ideal choice if your priority in the "game" is exploration, discovery and mystery/problem-solving.
~ Suicune is coded as "The Protector/Rescuer", and I chose Fairy because out of the supernatural-leaning types, it felt most thematically appropriate. Despite mutant-Indeedee's primary ice-typing, the path associated with Suicune is about the gentle, cozy vibes, warmth and compassion, rewarding those who want to find comfort in rebuilding.
~ Victini is coded as "The Champion", and Ghost-typing was assigned via process of elimination, as I knew I wanted a "mystical" secondary typing for each (though that did make the conceptualization extra fun - deciding that mutant-Heracross attained this 'ghastly' subtype out of sheer tenacity, refusing to 'properly' die. XD). Even though the Heracross species is a tiny shell of its former self, it has lived to fight another day with newfound power, so it follows that this is the primary option if you prefer combat in gameplay!
I'm kind of invested in the hypothetical story now... as even though you assume a Pokémon form (at least while you're awake), you can still befriend a "starter" Pokémon out of 3 options (this is decided when you pick where in the "region" you want to start the game, with your options being the Cottage Zone, the Meadow Zone and the Twilight Zone); this First Friend will likely eventually find out that you're NOT a Pokémon, and that's when things will get interesting — because there's a reason you're hiding the fact that you're human, and there's a reason there are no other humans around...
#fakemon#mutated variant#hypothetical region that is absolutely never happening in an official published capacity
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the emperor and the high priestess?
04. the emperor : how much respect does your muse have for authority ? why is this ?
Morganaux:
Morganaux tends to be distrustful toward authority until proven otherwise, and while he might seem outwardly sweet toward people who have any kind of power over him, he can be quite petty toward them if he feels slighted by them in any way. He's subtle about it, though. ...Mostly. He is an absolute terror when it comes to causing problems for the Count de Dzemael.
He used to view figures of authority, especially Halonic church officials, with the highest regard as a child, but that ended up burning him pretty badly. So, he's critical of them, wanting them to prove that they're decent people who will do good in the world before he gives them any respect. Even then, he's going to be wary, since he knows that monsters are perfectly capable of disguising themselves as saints.
Phoebus was answered here!
Apollo:
Apollo doesn't have anything against authority, but simply enjoys doing his own thing. So, he'll respect authority figures as individuals and trusts that they have good intentions, but he's not going to let anyone stop him from doing what he wants to do if he sees nothing wrong with it.
A professor at Akadaemia Anyder was wrong about something? He's going to raise his hand and correct them because no one's perfect. The rest of the Convocation explicitly forbade him from doing something and didn't give him a "good enough" reason for it? He's gonna do it anyway and he'll deal with the consequences later.
02. the high priestess : how does your muse make decisions ? do they trust their instinct or would they rather trust their heart / their logic ?
Morganaux:
In matters of decision-making, Morganaux trusts his heart and logic instead of following his instinct. Mostly his heart, though. This tiny pink Elezen man can fit so much love inside of him and it drives nearly every decision he makes, for better or worse.
He also has a tendency to set aside his self-preservation instincts by purposefully getting himself into dangerous situations if he feels there’s something to be gained by doing so. Usually, it’s in pursuit of knowledge or out of a desire to help others. (...And sometimes, it’s because of his incredibly questionable taste in men. He can’t help that he leans heavily toward morally questionable mages.) He’s aware it’s a problem, but also has no intentions of changing his ways anytime soon.
Phoebus:
Having heightened senses as a result of the bond he shares with his voidsent avatar, Phoebus is a lot more comfortable trusting his own instincts than his reincarnation is. Sometimes, he gets a feeling that the vibes are off about something while not understanding why, and he knows it must have something to do with his blessings, which is a good enough explanation in his eyes. He’s usually right trusting his gut feeling though, so he’s not too concerned with it, but maybe that’ll change someday.
That being said, he likes to think of himself as a rational pragmatist, which is ironic considering how nearly all of his actions and decisions are shaped by love for his family and his people. (...And the Emperor, of course.) Just don’t try to convince him otherwise because he’s not gonna be swayed.
Apollo:
Apollo trusts instinct, heart, and logic all at once and doesn’t really think any of them are better for decision-making than the rest. He has a much more balanced way of thinking than both of his reincarnations and doesn’t try to discount his instincts or feelings, while also not obsessively following them to the point of being too reckless. (A bit of good and harmless recklessness can be fun though, he insists!)
And, while logic is obviously important to him as someone who loves a good debate, he thinks it’s boring at best and cold-hearted at worst to fixate on logic too much to the exclusion of everything else. Some might see him as childish for his way of thinking, but he doesn’t let that get to him. He’s here to live his best life, all while trying to help others live their best lives too, and that’s what matters to him.
#morganaux.txt#morganaux answers#morgy lore#phoebus lore#apollo lore#lilytear#((thank you for the ask! :D))
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Long Distance Longing with the Brothers
Want a little angst and sweetness? I love how this turned out and I think it’s a new favorite for me. I honestly should wait to post it... But I have no patience, I love it too much. Weirdly enough, thank Taylor Swift’s new album for giving me this idea. Go figure. 🤷♀️
Warnings: Angst, implied starvation
Intro:
The brothers knew it was going to happen eventually. The year can't last forever, and at some point they were going to have to say goodbye to their human for the break… But that didn't make the situation any easier. Nobody likes being so far from the one they love. It was only a matter of time before our boys are reaching a breaking point...
Lucifer
Lucifer has never really had a reason to not to work before… Like, yeah there are those days where things get stressful and he takes a step back, but actually taking an extended period of time to just... not work? A "vacation" if you will? He’s never had the desire. What would he even do with himself?
Well, for the first time in literal God knows how many centuries, he had an answer for that question. He was going to be with MC.
And that's exactly what he told Diavolo when he finally accepted that missing the MC was negatively affecting his work.
He wanted a… "vacation."
Diavolo had never once thought Lucifer would ever ask, and to be fair the man never thought he would either, but he's more than happy to give his friend a few days off to visit his dear human.
Whatever brief hit that his pride took by having to admit that he needed a break was more than made up for by finally seeing the MC again. He knew he missed them, painfully aware of that fact, but just the sight of them waiting to meet him outside the portal was enough to nearly take his breath away…
His first vacation was sure to be paradise.
Mammon
Oh, the distance was killing this poor boy. Any day where he can’t have the MC on his arm feels worse than when he's on a losing streak…
Speaking of a losing streak, he's been stuck in one for a whole month without his beloved partner in crime with him. Did he lose his lucky charm or was he just too down in the dumps to gamble well? Anyone's guess.
Well he got fucking sick of it. He wanted to see the MC, ASAP. But how would he get to the human world…?
It takes a week but he gets an idea. It took another for it to actually trigger.
Like clockwork one of the witches he's regularly in debt to, one that just happens to be a bad gambler herself, summoned him out to give her a little extra luck. Usually, he'd just kick whatever slot machine she’s parked herself at and be done with it but this time he's got to ask… How long does that summon spell last, eh?
He made a new sort of bargain. She gets to take Goldie out for a spin if she gave him some time in exchange… 24 hours to be exact.
He didn't waste a second after striking the deal because he had a lot of flying to do.
The MC probably didn't expect to hear frantic knocking on their door at the break of dawn, nor to find a beat tired and disheveled Mammon leaning outside it….
But he embraced them for all it's worth anyway. If it meant feeling them in his arms again, he'd trade away the whole world if he had to...
Leviathan
He… didn’t do so well with the distance. Like at all. He'd mope around the house, constantly bemoaning how unfair things were. Not even his favorite games can give him any joy because those were the games he used to play with MC…
Sneaking in the occasional video call was pretty much the only thing that could make him smile anymore. Just seeing their face felt like getting a cold drink in the middle of a scorching desert… But he wanted more.
Thankfully, the MC themselves gave him a really, really good idea…
For two weeks straight, Levi seemed to get out of whatever funk he was in to help out around the House… Like, really help out. Suck-up levels of help out. It creeped everybody out...
After a time he finally approached Lucifer and made a simple request. There was an anime convention going on in the human world soon and he'd like to attend…
The ulterior motive for this little visit is practically written on the wall, but he'd been acting so damn unnerving for the past two weeks Lucifer just gave him permission to make him stop.
When the MC agreed to meet him on the opening day, they said they'd be dressed up as someone he'd recognize. Frankly, he was expecting Henry or maybe Ruri-chan but he was completely floored to see them waiting for him dressed in a familiar black hoodie with coral-like horns on their head and a carefully crafted serpent's tail behind them.
To this day he still can't decide what made him happier: seeing the love of his life so adoringly dressed as him or finally feeling their body collide with his after they came running to each other outside the convention hall...
In the end it probably doesn't matter because for that whole day alone, he finally felt like he had everything he could of ever wanted right there with him.
Satan
Satan's not one for idle moping so when he felt that yearning in his chest finally hit a tipping point, he didn't whine. He didn't complain. He got up and did something about it.
Teleportation magic is tricky to master and dangerous to perform even with sufficient skill. One wrong move and you could end up smearing yourself across three different continents…
But like that would stop him.
He pulled out every book he could find on the subject, researched for days, then practiced for weeks. First on books and apples, then on some of Lucifer’s belongings.
He had to keep making new excuses to throw Lucifer off the scent (especially after he started sending some of his shirts away to different parts of the house) but after some time, it finally paid off.
Satan was probably the last person the MC would have expected to see show up in their room randomly one night, sitting casually by a lamp and reading a book like he didn't just master time and space just to come say hi.
But who was going to be all that picky when they could finally shower their nerdy cat-lover in all the love and kisses they've both been missing for months now?
Asmodeus
If you took Asmo at his word, then the sheer depths of longing and despair he was experiencing while the MC was away could far outweigh that of anyone else to ever have existed in the history of all time.
He was the Avatar of Lust, desire was in his nature. Couple that with a burning need to have his lover as close to him as he possibly could and it was safe to say he was losing his mind!
This might have been the reason Solomon finally gave in after his 16th-ish time trying to beg the sorcerer to help him. He really was quite pitiful in this state...
When Solomon told Asmo that he could smuggle him out of the teleportation gate between the Devildom and human world ONLY if he could magically disguised his appearance, he was kind of expecting Asmo to refuse. This was Asmo he was talking about. He honestly thought that he'd rather die than deprive the world of his beauty so selfishly…
The world is full of surprises, ain't it?
No matter where they were, no matter what they were doing, the MC was suddenly mowed over by a "stranger" running at them at top speed like an Olympic sprinter. It’d probably have been pretty scary before Solomon lifted the enchantment shortly after to reveal their demon’s gorgeously familiar face.
Solomon wasn't going to let him stay too long, lest he incur the wrath of Lucifer, but Asmo couldn't care less. Be it a thousand hours or a few short seconds, he could always find a way to make his time with the MC last a lifetime...
Beelzebub
Fun fact, Hell freezes over a little every time Beel says "I'm not hungry…" No. Seriously. A freezing wind blasts across the entire Devildom like the realm itself gets a sudden chill...
So imagine the levels of panic that went through pretty much everyone there when his appetite started to fail him.
It's not like the poor baby could help it, food just tasted so much better when the MC was there that eating without them was like trying to digest actual disappointment… He got tired of trying after a while.
A few days of this behavior were worrying, but when he started to get a little thinner the family went into an uproar, starting with Belphie but soon spreading to the rest of the House as well.
Lucifer's soft spot for the twins may have influenced his decision. I mean, it was awfully generous of him to get Diavolo to approve of an fully sanctioned, planned meeting between Beel and the MC. He probably wouldn’t have offered that to anyone else...
Not that Beel cared about all that background favoritism anyway. Hell, on the day that he was finally allowed to see them, he couldn't be bothered by anything other than holding the MC close and hoping they'd never let him go again.
His appetite did return to him eventually, of course, but as long as he had his human with him even the cheapest street taco tasted like a fine five star-meal.
Belphegor
Frankly, Belphegor was sick and tired of missing people.
Ever since the Celestial War he missed Lilith. When he was stuck in the attic, he missed Beel. And now that the MC was away he was supposed to just sit patiently and miss them too? No way. Not happening. Something about that had to change.
It wasn’t the first time he'd gone to Lucifer in an angry huff, but admittedly he had more ammo than usual...
There was a… discussion between the two. It went on for a couple hours… There may have been some words to the effect of, "Don't you think you owe me?" exchanged…
Honestly, it was kind of amazing Belphie didn't end up in another attic "timeout" by the end of it. But he got what he wanted, so what's to complain about?
With a little persuasion on his part, Lucifer managed to get Diavolo to approve of a weekly visit for the two, SO LONG as Belphie stayed on his best behavior in the human world.
There wasn’t really much worry about him acting up, though, since he'd have his nap buddy back. It would be pretty hard to be a threat to humanity when he was too busy staying snuggled up to his favorite person until well past noon...
#obey me#obey me shall we date#shall-we-date-obey-me#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor#obey me headcanons#obey me scenarios
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Hello! if its ok how would the demon brothers react to a low self esteem/ self hating MC who excepts any insults with a sad smile?
Content Warnings: Self deprecation (naturally, given the nature of the prompt), verbal harassment/insults, spoilers for later chapters in Belphegor’s section
Just so you know it’s basically gonna be seven different versions of this:
Under a cut to prevent carpal tunnel!
Obey Me: The Brothers With an MC Who Has Low Self Esteem and Accepts Insults with a Smile
Lucifer
Lucifer kind of just... stops for a few seconds. Like, he freezes completely. Doesn’t move, doesn’t blink - MC’s not sure if he’s even breathing. They’re at one of Diavolo’s parties together, and a pretty important demon is coming for MC hard, albeit in a slimy, passive-aggressive kind of way. And they’re just... smiling and nodding along?
Lucifer’s single currently operating brain cell is dedicated to not just murdering this pathetic excuse for a demon. If he wasn’t already in his demon form, he would absolutely transform. With a deep breath, he stalks over in full Avatar of Pride mode: shoulders back, staring slightly down at everyone else, wings puffed up just so.
Anything the demon was saying to MC, he throws back at them tenfold, with just as much passive-aggression, though it starts slipping more and more as he continues on. Eventually it starts turning into one of those lectures of his about The Importance of The Exchange Program and Lord Diavolo’s Reputation and- MC is gonna have to catch his attention to stop him from going full Dad-mode on this bastard.
Once they succeed in doing this, he pulls them aside and, still bristling with indignant rage, asks why MC was letting that wretch talk to them like that.
“Well, it wasn’t like they were saying anything that wasn’t true...”
Wrong. Answer. Lucifer is the Avatar of Pride, even though he has self-worth issues running deeper than the Marianas Trench he would never let anyone talk to him like that, and he wishes more than anything he could lend MC that ability. He’ll tilt their head to look him directly in the eyes and assure them that they absolutely do have value, both in the Devildom and in his family. He won’t tolerate anyone, including MC themself, put down a member of his family. Is that clear?
In the coming weeks, the younger brothers notice that Lucifer’s soft spot for MC is even more pronounced than usual. In fact, he frequently praises them for their accomplishments, flustering them to no end. None of them dare to bring it to his attention, because they’ve all noticed in one way or another that MC is carrying themself with more confidence now.
Whatever is going on between the two of them seems to be working quite well.
Mammon
Mammon... runs his mouth a lot. He says stupid things he doesn’t mean because admitting his actual feelings would be too difficult. Unfortunately, one of the feelings he’s vehemently avoiding addressing is his feelings for MC. This manifests as loud and insistent denial that The GREAT Mammon would never be interested in some stupid, weak human, how dare you suggest that?!
The brothers expect one of many responses from MC: outrage and offence, teasing at Mammon’s clear tsundere attitude, a roll of the eyes, anything other than their sad little smile whenever he insults them. One day, Mammon finally notices their staring and he actually stops and takes a minute to process the acceptance on MC’s face.
He just called them a burden and a waste of time and they’re SMILING?!
Like a horrid puzzle piece, everything clicks together in Mammon’s mind. He’s never heard MC protest any of the awful things he’s said about them. They don’t even tease him about it like his brothers do.
They think he’s being serious and they agree with him.
He changes his tune so fast it’s dizzying. He slips up sometimes, but now when he sees MC’s small smile that doesn’t reach their eyes, he adds, “H-Hey! Why’re you just letting me say all that, huh? Ya gotta stand up for yourself, MC! You better not go around letting lesser demons talk to you like this! If anyone ever gives you trouble, you come to the GREAT Mammon and I’ll shut ‘em up real quick!
“‘Cause... It’s not true, all of that about you being stupid or annoying. You’re my human and I know you really well and you’re- You’re not any of that, MC! So don’t go smiling at jerks dragging your name through the mud okay?”
Leviathan
MC and Leviathan are playing an online multiplayer game together, and MC still hasn’t quite gotten used to Devildom controls yet. They’re not exactly a great asset to their team... Not that Levi minds. He’s happy they’re showing interest in him his games at all.
Some of the demons they’re playing with, on the other hand...
Ugh, stay on the objective you stupid bitch!
Is [MC’s username] afk?
If you feed them any more kills I fucking swear-
Why is a noob even playing this game lmao just go die already
Levi scoffs. Their team wasn’t even losing, these scumbags just needed to find someone to pick on. Still, it wasn’t fair for MC to listen to their insults, he’ll just disconnect and find a better team - hey, why has MC been so quiet?
The Avatar of Envy turns to face MC only to see them staring down at their controller with a shaky smile. He calls their name and they look up, startled.
“I’m gonna find another team for us to play on,” Levi explains as the game warns him that he’s about to lose some in-game reputation points for abandoning his team. “Uh, unless you’d rather play something else?”
“No it’s fine, you pick,” MC says, still avoiding making direct eye contact. “I probably won’t do any better no matter what we play...”
Hey, insecurity is his thing!
“MC, you better not be thinking about what those losers said in the chat!”
“But-”
“NUH UH! You might be a normie, but you’re also my best friend!” MC feels an anime-inspired speech coming on. “Who cares about winning or losing one match? I’d rather lose every match I ever play from now on if it means I get to have you as my player 2!” Leviathan pauses as he realizes exactly what he just said and immediately turns beet red. “...you know... if you... wanted to, I guess...”
Satan
MC is in Devildom History with Satan, and as an exchange student, is having a rough time of it. They just don’t have the same background as the rest of the students, and can’t pick up on things as fast as they do.The teacher hands back the latest test and they cringe as they see their grade. Satan, sitting next to them, glances at the mark and gives them one of his small smiles.
“You know, if you need extra help, don’t be shy. I’d be happy to help you,” he says quietly.
Apparently not quietly enough, because a particularly rowdy pair of demons overhear him and choose that moment to make a nuisance of themselves. One of them snatches MC’s paper out of their hands, and upon seeing their grade starts laughing.
“How did you put the Abyssal Peace Treaty before the Abyssal War?! Everyone knows when that happened!” they continue chuckling at more silly mistakes MC made while very stressed during that test, while Satan’s blood starts boiling.
Much to his surprise, MC just smiles and joins in the demons’ laughter. “Yeah, that was pretty stupid...” they say with a falsely cheerful tone. Satan quickly catches on - they’re just fucking with these demons! He keeps his anger at bay with the anticipation of seeing MC really tear these lowlives a new-
“Wow, not even gonna defend yourself? Why do we even have human exchange students, they’re so boring.” The demon pair scoff and toss MC’s test back, before stalking off, annoyed that they didn’t get the reaction they wanted.
Hm. Frustrate them by not responding to their futile taunts. An interesting choice, but effective nonetheless. Satan expresses his appreciation of MC’s choice, much to their confusion. When they explain that they really were agreeing with what the demons had said, Satan doesn’t take it very well.
If MC doesn’t stop him, he’ll go over to the pair of demons that insulted them and drag their names through the dirt in front of the entire classroom, adding in some colourful suggestions about what would happen to them if they continued this behaviour. Either way, he’s furious enough that his demon form might start peeking out, tail thrashing behind him or horns growing out from his messy hair.
When class is over, Satan asks MC to stay behind.
“I want you to tell me why you feel this way about yourself,” he says. “Because I promise you, there isn’t a single explanation you can give that I won’t argue against. And I’m rarely wrong.”
Asmodeus
Asmo lives in a delightful bubble of flirtation, partying, and being the very best and prettiest being in all three realms. He works very hard to maintain this state, terrified of what he’d find on the other side of the haze.
But all it takes is one look at MC for it to come crashing down.
They’re at The Fall together, sipping on fruity drinks disguising unholy amounts of alcohol for a brief break before returning to the dance floor. Asmo knows MC struggles with confidence, and figured that if he could get them to have a good time, they would forget their insecurities for at least a little while.
And maybe he’s laying it on a bit thick with the flirting while they’re here. He can’t help it! He loves MC in a way he’s never really loved anyone else before. If he’s completely honest, the feeling scares him: he wants to put them before himself, and he’s not sure if he can, because he never has put someone else first before.
A demon notices Asmo’s lovesick staring at MC, and comments as they pass, “Oh my, has the Avatar of Lust sunken so low that he’s making eyes at some plain-jane human?” A long, scaled tail snakes around MC’s face, turning their head in the demon’s direction. “Or are you just a charity-fuck? You certainly won’t be able to hold his interest for long, darling.~”
The demon saunters off, and Asmodeus has half a mind to storm over to them and cause a scene, but the look on MC’s face stops him in his tracks.
They’re looking at him and they’re smiling.
“You don’t have to pretend to be upset about it,” they say, poking at their drink with their straw. “I know I’m not all that interesting. You just want me right now because I’m an ordinary human, right? And once the novelty wears off, well... I’m not powerful like a demon, or a wise magic user like Solomon, and I’m not exactly good-looking, so why keep me around? It’s been nice of you to pretend with me, though-”
He cuts them off with a passionate kiss, threading his fingers in their hair and pressing their bodies as close as possible. The gesture catches MC off guard and their drink spills on the two of them, but Asmo doesn’t even flinch. He only pulls away when MC starts panting from lack of oxygen.
“Please don’t say those awful things about yourself, MC,” Asmodeus says, eyes brimming with tears. “You’re...” One of the only people I don’t have to pretend around. “...You are so special to me. And you always will be.” Suddenly aware that they’ve both been soaked in a cocktail, Asmo smirks. “Oh dear, it seems our clothes are all dirty... I guess we’ll have to go back home and change, won’t we?”
Please let me prove to you how much I love you, he thinks as you tearfully smile and punch his arm before agreeing.
Beelzebub
Beel deals with survivor’s guilt, and if he’s not careful, it can lead to some pretty dark places. He’s also Belphie’s twin and is very familiar with what low self-esteem looks like. So whenever a demon tries to insult MC while he’s around, he doesn’t give them the chance to agree, calmly, but firmly jumping to their defence.
It doesn’t matter who it is or where they are, Beel always has MC’s back. Whenever they’re feeling especially down and that sad little smile is on their face, MC tends to find some of their favourite snacks tucked away into their bag or even their uniform pockets. The Avatar of Gluttony is also always ready to deploy some Emergency Cuddles, and is generally a steady, grounding presence in MC’s life. He starts to stick around them almost as much as Mammon does.
Unfortunately, this attracts the attention of some less than savoury people.
“Hey Beel! Coach wants you to know we’ve got an extra practice tomorrow! It’s semi-finals soon, and he wants to go over some new strategies,” a large, intimidating demon calls out, dressed in the RAD athletic uniform.
MC and Beel turn towards the demon’s voice, and Beel’s teammate makes a face upon seeing them. “You’re still hanging around them?” the demon asks. “Or are they clinging onto ya like a barnacle?” He laughs and MC lets go of Beel’s hand, blushing.
They have been around him an awful lot lately... Is he only doing it out of pity? Should they stop? Oh no, what if he thinks they’re annoying--
“I like MC,” Beel says plainly. “And I like spending time with them. So, tomorrow after classes is the next practice? I’ll be there.” He leaves no room for further debate. The demon stumbles over his words before confirming and abruptly running off.
MC doesn’t take Beel’s hand again.
“Hey,” Beelzebub takes MC’s much smaller hands into his own. “I mean it. I like you. Don’t listen to my teammate, he’s dumber than Mammon. Want to go have lunch together? I think they’re serving fried bats in the cafeteria...”
Belphegor
Sometimes, Belphegor peeks in on MC’s dreams. He never directly interacts with them, nor has he ever told them that he does this at all. Ever since he... ever since that happened, he’s made a conscious effort to avoid creeping them out even further, and he worries that this kind of behaviour would be frowned upon by a human.
But he can’t help it. Especially tonight.
After being woken up by a squirming MC, he decides to look into their dreams and see what is upsetting them so much. Much to his surprise, he finds himself inside one of RAD’s classrooms. MC is working on an assignment with a group of demons whose features keep shifting around. The writing on the books in front of them is illegible, and Belphegor only knows it’s writing at all because of his familiarity with dream physics.
“There they are,” whispers one of the demons. “What do they think they’re doing?”
MC asks a question about something in one of the books, pointing to a scribble that only looks like words when not focused on.
“Why do you care? It’s not like you can do anything useful for us anyway,” the demon snaps. “I’m not even sure why you’re here.” Belphegor frowns. Is this a memory?
MC meekly mentions the exchange program. “I don’t care!” The demon’s voice changes, and Belphegor suddenly feels the pitter-patter of raindrops on his skin, despite still being indoors. MC’s clothes are drenched in the invisible rain. “Fuck, can you not take a hint, MC? No one actually wants you here! You’re just a tag-along!”
“Why don’t you just pack up and leave then? Oh right, you have nowhere else to go!”
The figures of the demons become shadowy and elongated, hands sharpening into talons. MC jumps to their feet and backs away from the advancing figures, whose whispers become louder and interrupt each other.
“Just don’t mess it up again-”
“-never have trusted you! You ruin EVERYTHING-”
“Another disappointment, I see.”
“Don’t LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT-”
“Fucking whore!”
The voices continue, growing louder and louder until the figures melt into one familiar silhouette with violet eyes.
“You’re so stupid that I can’t help but laugh.” Belphegor’s blood runs cold. “You humans really are foolish, idiotic, weak creatures, aren’t you?”
The Avatar of Sloth watches helplessly as his dream-double wraps its hands around MC’s throat, cooing hideous insults at them all the while. Nonononono, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t know, I was just so- Ugh! That’s not an excuse, you idiot!
The dream-Belphegor pauses, grip slackening.
“Get off of them,” Belphegor hisses. “Now.”
The figure dissolves into the classroom, turning the surroundings completely black. Now Belphie finds himself standing in the creature’s place, in front of a confused MC.
“Are you okay?” he asks lamely.
“Why did you stop?” MC asks in return.
“I wasn’t... It was hurting you, and saying- I couldn’t keep letting it-”
MC smiles. “It’s just the truth. You said so yourself.”
MC and Belphegor wake up together, sweating, trapped in the other’s vice-like grip. MC’s pulse flutters under Belphie’s hands, way faster than it should be. It almost feels like when-
He twists out of their grasp, falling out of the bed in the process. He scrambles as far back as his room allows, nearly tripping over his own tail. MC stares at him through the darkness, torn between chasing after him and putting more distance between the two of them.
“...You saw that.” He doesn’t reply. “...Come here, Belphie.”
And slowly, he does.
For the next few weeks, Belphegor never leaves MC’s side unless absolutely necessary, even if he falls asleep next to them. He refuses to acknowledge this unusual behaviour, reacting with increasing hostility to anyone who mentions it. He also accompanies them to bed more often than not, much to Mammon’s chagrin.
“So long as I’m with you, no one else is going to talk to you like that ever again. I’m not going to let them, and I’m not going to let you just take it.”
#obey me: swd#obey me#obey me headcanons#obey me: one master to rule them all#obey me: shall we date#lucifer#mammon#leviathan#satan#asmodeus#beelzebub#belphegor#headcanon#mine#long post#my writing
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Color in RWBY’s Designs
I’ve been trying to reblog this post for a good 10 minutes, and Tumblr just refuses to let me, and I don’t think I’m blocked, so @strqyr , have a reply
...
Okay, ignoring the out-of-left-field (hah) pivot to politics that cropped up in the comments -
I’m not an artist, but I do follow a few that discuss character design and have attempted some recolors myself, and when it comes to the various designs and colors of the RWBY girls, it’s not so much about the in-universe importance of color, it’s about the more meta principles of character design. Once again, I’m not the most qualified person to talk about this, so excuse me if I get something wrong or ramble.
In visual mediums, a character’s design, more specifically their silhouette and their colors, is what makes them stand out and memorable to an audience; in a lot of cartoons and anime, you’ll likely be able to recognize characters by their designs long before you remember their names, and even if you don’t know their names, seeing the silhouette or even color palette of that character can bring their image to your mind. For example, I haven’t seen an episode of Sailor Moon in my life, but show me Usagi’s silhouette, and I can tell you exactly who that is. I can show you this, and I would bet that 99% of you can tell me what character this is meant to represent despite it literally just being 5 rectangles.
(On a slight tangent, in action shows, colors and the smart placement there-of are doubly important, as they help with keeping track of a character as they move through a cluttered environment and interact with other characters, and keep track of how they move their bodies in that space. To use a specific example from RWBY itself, check out the Nevermore fight from Volume 1 - despite all the debris flying around the screen and the amount of wide shots, it’s easy to keep track of how the characters move around the screen. Yang’s gauntlets help direct your eyes to her punches, and the splash of red in Weiss’s collar makes sure she doesn’t turn into a white blob moving around the screen.)
RWBY specifically is a show that quite literally advertised itself and its character on the premise of color. The show is named not just after the main characters, but the main characters’ colors. The first trailers were the Red, White, Black, and Yellow trailers. Their original designs, while of course using other colors in the palettes, give an overall impression of red, white, black, and yellow, making the characters pop against the stark black, red, and white backgrounds of the trailers, as well as stand out against the background characters that were literally empty black voids of silhouettes. Their initial character designs are tied completely to them representing a specific color, and this color gimmick also makes the girls stand out as characters. Ruby’s red cloak and ruffles, Weiss’s white side ponytail and dress, Blake’s black bow and tuxedo vest, and Yang’s fiery yellow hair and gauntlets are instantly recognizable from a glance, and that’s a sign of good design that makes them distinct.
So, when you get to the later volumes and suddenly the characters are wearing less and less of their original, iconic colors on top of getting new silhouettes, it makes them start looking less and less recognizable as the characters they were originally designed to be, and more like completely different characters. Lets look at Blake and Weiss as an example. If you’d never seen RWBY, could you tell me if these were the same characters?
Alright, let’s fill in the details.
They look like two completely different pairs of characters. It’s not even the clothes themselves, but the colors and shapes of their clothes combined with the radically different hairstyles make the V7 designs look very much unlike the original designs. The girls got alternate outfits in V2, but they all fit the general silhouettes and color schemes of their typical outfits, and were still very much recognizable as the main team, just with new clothes. Such a drastic shift in what types of clothes and the colors they wear in V7, on the other hand, makes them look like different character designs. If you’re going to change what a character is wearing to something very different, keeping the colors consistent helps with keeping them recognizable as the character they are.
Now, changing the design of your character beyond the specific clothes they wear isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Characters change as they progress through a story, and in visual media, changes to character design can be used to signify how they’re changing or how they’re reacting to their environment and new situations. For example, in the S2 premire of Avatar, Zuko cuts off his distinguishing topknot to represent his fall from a Fire Nation prince to an outlaw on the run, and in season 3, the GAang don red Fire Nation clothes as a disguise, ditching their usual blue, orange, and green clothing. In the Owl House, Amity dyes her hair purple to represent her making her own choices rather than letting her family control her life (and I picked this up from gif sets, without having even seen the show). Design changes, even to hair and color, can be used to represent change - and RWBY has managed to do this fairly well in the past! For example, Weiss’s V4 design is very different from her original design - her sleeves and collar are tight rather than poofy, her colors are muted and overrun with greys and blues, her whites are mostly hidden and her red is nowhere to be seen. This works, though, because it represents Weiss’s current situation - she’s being controlled by her father, her individuality represented by her whites and reds being driven out, and her dress is mostly tight against her wrists and neck, like shackles and being chocked. It’s a good way of showing a character’s changed situation, while keeping her recognizable from her side ponytail and poofy skirt remaining the same.
The latest redesigns of Team RWBY, however, don’t do this. They change radically, in color, hair, and clothing shape, and there’s no clear reason why. Why do they change how they look so drastically? What prompted them to style their hair so differently, to cut it so short? Why have they decided to choose different colors to wear? To circle back to the initial post, what part of their character development has changed them from the color they were representing to the color they’re now representing?
For more specific question/examples - what prompted Blake to cover herself in a heavy white coat in V4, when she was heading to a tropical island to recover? Why does she wear a bright white coat for official Huntress business when she’s meant to be a ninja? Why does she cut her hair so short? Why does Weiss cover herself in blues and greys in V7 when blues and greys were used to show her unhappiness and imprisonment by Jacques, rather than returning to lots of whites? Why does she go from a sleek ponytail to a thick heavy braid? Why does Ruby replace her cape and start styling her hair differently? Why does she go from a poofy skirt with ruffles to a very sleek, low volume skirt? Why does Yang not wear any yellow anymore? Why do none of them seem to wear anything suited for the cold? None of these questions have real answers. We can speculate all day, but at the end, that would still just be speculation.
Why does Lillie in Pokemon change her hair and clothes? To prove that she’s not just something for her mother to control and dress up to her ideal of beauty; that Lillie can make her own choices and is ready to stand on her own two feet and do what needs to be done, rather than relying on Repels and the player character.
Why does Blake cut her hair and start wearing so much white? ....
Why does Persona 5′s Akechi’s palette switch from bright white, reds, and golds to dark blacks and purples? To show the tearing down of the Detective Prince façade to the true darkness underneath.
Why does Weiss start wearing so many dark blues and greys? ....
I could go on, but I think I’ve made my point. Things just change on RWBY, key aspects of their designs like their hair and colors, and for the most part, there just seems to be no reason given to change. I’m not saying things like colors can never change, clearly they can, but for character design, especially in a show so heavily focused on colors and how characters are represented by their colors, it’s not a thing that should be taken lightly; if a character has grown so dramatically that the manner in which they express themselves as a character has changed, like the original poster is implying it can, it should be clear to see why this character has changed in this manner.
Without a good reason for it to change, it feels unnatural, like the character isn’t the same character - so when RWBY’s colors seem to be changing without good reason, creating designs that don’t look right for the character they’re meant to be in the situations they’re meant to be in, it causes people to want to revert back to the original palettes. Not because they’re denying individuality of the characters, but because the characters are no longer designed like the individuals they once were, and artists want to bring that individuality and striking design back through the use of the colors these characters use to define themselves.
#rwby#art#long post#please my more artistic mutuals#please correct me if i'm wrong#i'm not an artist
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A Sleepover of the Ages (Simeon x Reader x Asmodeus)
When Diavolo's retreat gets extended, you want to relive your favorite human tradition: a sleepover! But you quickly learn that there's a difference between a human sleepover and one with an angel and a demon. Still, that won't stop you from enjoying the night with these two precious boys.
~Oneshot
MASTERLIST
Three days and two nights.
That's how long this retreat was supposed to be.
And you've (miraculously) managed to survive three days and two nights. So why is it that you're still in Diavolo's castle?!
"I can't believe the retreat got extended," Asmodeus murmurs, groaning. "I would have brought even more luggage if I'd known this would happen!"
"Don't worry too much," Simeon responds with a light smile as he opens the door to your room. He pulls it open and sighs at the bareness of it. Each of you have already packed up and prepared to leave, but it seems that you'll all be needing to unload your things once more. "At least, Lucifer will be making sure that there won't be any other pillow fights."
You let out a light laugh at that, remembering the Avatar of Pride's hour-long assault from the night before. It had resulted in everyone collapsing on the floor somewhere or the other, knocked out by one of his many pillow throws of death. Even Solomon's protective spells ended up useless, the white-haired mage just another body on the floor after Lucifer's anger was unleashed. (Though you suspect that the elder demon was also doing it to have fun.)
But this retreat hasn't been all that bad.
You've managed to secure another pact altogether, with Asmodeus—but now that you'll be spending an entire night in the same room as him, you can't help but think that it might end up being a curse in disguise.
"Hey, MC~" He coos, using his demonlike strength to pull you into his bed. "Now that Mammon isn't here to disturb us, how would you like to sleep with me?" You feel your face heat up at the words. The demon made it sound innocent enough, as if all you'd be doing was sharing a bed, but you can already tell that his intentions are far from pure.
"Asmodeus, don't disturb MC." Simeon's disapproving gaze flits over the demon as he pulls you from his grasp, and you're forced to remember that while demons are of unimaginable strength, angels seem to also share in those superhuman qualities. You have to avert your eyes from Simeon's toned muscles when he unclasps the white cloak around his shoulders.
"Oh my~" Asmodeus teases, at Simeon's side in an instant. "Is this what you've been hiding from us these past three days?"
Asmodeus wraps Simeon in a strange embrace from behind, not hugging the angel as much as he's feeling up his muscles. "Don't worry, I could treat you instead."
"Asmo, stop flirting with him," You murmur, flopping onto your bed. You toss a glance toward your luggage which Barbatos had magicked back up here before turning your gaze away. Nope. You're not going through the hassle of unpacking all over again.
"Thank you, MC," Simeon murmurs with a sigh, his usual smile back on his face. He flashes you a look-what-we-have-to-deal-with look, and you can't help but wonder how he manages to stay in such good nature all the time, especially when he's constantly in the presence of his natural enemies. "Anyway, I was planning on sleeping now. This whole retreat has been rather exhausting, wouldn't you agree?"
"Wait!" You murmur, startling the two men. You let an eager smile spread across your face, silently praying that your human charms will be able to convince them of what you're about to suggest. "Why don't we all stay up?"
"Oh~?" Asmodeus coos, clapping his hands together. "A three-way! I didn't know you were confident enough to take us both at once, but if you're up to it then—"
"I don't think that's what MC was trying to imply." Simeon shakes his head and you can't help but think that he's like a chaperone for Asmodeus. He turns to you. "We should stay up doing what?"
"Just stay up! We do it all the time in the human world!" You let your smile widen, memories of your time with friends in the human world flashing through your mind. "It's called a sleepover! If you have a few friends gathered together and you're all supposed to be sleeping in the same room, you just stay up the whole night and watch movies or talk and have fun and stuff. They're awesome!"
Simeon brings a gloved hand up to his face, considering the idea. "I suppose Diavolo's objective with this retreat was to bring the three realms closer together. Trying this human tradition may not be such a bad idea."
Next to him, though, Asmodeus pouts. "Ehh? But if I don't sleep my face will be all puffy in the morning!" He brings two hands to his cheeks, feeling his soft skin. "And my skin is already suffering from Lucifer's pillow attack last night..."
"Nope!" You jump off the bed, suddenly refreshed. When you proposed the idea of a sleepover, you were really only trying to get Simeon to agree. With his consent, you have no hesitations about forcing Asmodeus to play along irrespective of how the demon feels about it. "You're staying up! It's decided! We're having a sleepover!"
You clap your hands eagerly, and the two men in front of you seem to let go of their final doubts after seeing how happy it makes you.
"So how does this 'sleepover' begin? A traditional ritual? A prayer for a fulfilling night? A sacred chant?" Simeon's gaze is serious, and you have to stifle your laughter.
"Um, most of the sleepovers I've been to have started off as a pool party. But that doesn't matter!" You pinch the fabric of the bed you've spent the past two nights sleeping on. It's a bit on the thicker side, but it should work. "Let's start by building a fort!"
You started off eager, beyond optimistic about the idea of having a sleepover when you haven't had one since leaving the human world...but you quickly find that there are some differences between your normal human friends, and the demon and angel sitting in front of you.
"A fort? You want us to cast a fortification?" Simeon asks with concerned eyes, uncertainty creeping in. He glances around the bedroom, wondering how you plan to turn it into a protected stronghold.
It takes all your power not to facepalm then and there.
At Asmodeus's next words, you can only stare in disbelief. "No! MC means a military fort! It'll be tough, but we should be able to transform these walls with some high-level sorcery."
After you manage to explain that what you meant was a blanket fort, though, both Simeon and Asmodeus end up being shockingly helpful. Apparently, living for thousands of years gives you a pretty deep understanding of how to manipulate fabrics, and within minutes the two of them have suspended your bed-sheet in the air, somehow managing to tie the four corners to the three bedposts that are closest to the center of the room.
From there on, you all work together to double up two quilts on the ground as a makeshift carpet, and after the skeleton of the blanket fort is completed, everything becomes about the aesthetic.
You and Simeon creep around on your knees inside the fort, straightening out corners and tightening knots that need to be tightened. Outside, Asmodeus dances around, tossing additional blankets on top of the fort to create velvety walls to the structure. He spends nearly five whole minutes fiddling with the two blankets closest to the door, attempting to get them to match the shape of an opening curtain before you finally pull him inside.
"This is perfect!" You exclaim as you gaze around the fort. The bedposts that support the blanketed ceiling are fairly high up, so you're able to lean your back against the bedframe and sit upright with no problems. Simeon, on the other hand, is struggling.
"It's...low," He murmurs, craning his neck down. He keeps a hand on top of his head, earnestly trying his best not to disturb the ceiling of this fort, but you can tell that it's a struggle.
"No problem!" Asmodeus exclaims, extending a hand outward. He's more energetic than usual, which is surprising, given how mopey he originally was about the idea of staying up the whole night. He closes his hand into a fist and instantly, the entire fort begins to glow a faint purple, a mirror of the magenta hue radiating off Asmodeus's body.
You glance at Simeon, wondering whether the angel is as concerned over Asmodeus's actions as you are, but he seems nonchalant as the demon continues casting his magic.
And after the spell is complete, you understand why.
"Woah!" You exclaim, glancing around wildly. "I had no clue you could do that! Why didn't you tell me? This blanket fort looks amazing now!"
You glance upward, unable to even close your mouth in awe of how brilliant the fort looks. In truth, the fact that the three of you had managed to erect a ceiling for the fort already put it above all the blanket forts you'd built with your human friends, but this? Asmodeus's spell completely reworked all the blankets in the fortress: the fabrics move on their own, straightening and reknotting themselves until the structure has completely shifted. For starters, the ceiling is now a dome, the topmost part of the blanket knotted around the chandelier in your quarters. And the way the rest of the quilts draped down from the top truly makes your fort look like a princess's room, the most brilliant fort you've ever seen.
"A job well done, Asmodeus," Simeon compliments, now able to sit upright.
"Call me Asmo," The demon says with a wink. Asmodeus—or Asmo, rather—then turns his gaze to you, where you still have your mouth dropped open in awe of how beautiful this whole setup is. "Oh my, MC~ You certainly seem impressed. If you want, I have something even more remarkable in my pants that I could show you. I'm sure you'd love it~"
Yep.
Moment ruined.
Congrats, Asmo.
You flash the demon a dirty look, but even you can't hold up the facade for long before your frown turns into a laugh. You flop down on the soft floor, spreading your limbs out like a starfish while Simeon stretches next to you. "This is the best fort I've ever seen."
"I'm glad. This was...surprisingly fun, given that all we did was rearrange blankets." Simeon ruffles your hair, his smile bright as he gazes down at you. "What's next on the sleepover agenda?"
"Ehhhh?" You let your mouth drop in mock disbelief, ignoring how much your whine sounds like Asmo's. "You don't want to savor how awesome this is? Lie down on your back! It feels so good to appreciate all our hard work!" You pat the empty spaces next to you, inviting both Simeon and Asmo to lean back with you.
You know that they're only doing it to humor you, but they finally lean back by your side. "Oh," Simeon murmurs softly when his back presses into the ground. Asmo makes a similar sound, and you can't help but smile.
It's something you've done in every sleepover.
People always live such rushed lives. Even in their relaxation, it's hard to fully lie back and just chill, which is why you always make your friends do this. It doesn't even matter if the blanket fort attempted was successful or not—there's something about just leaning back and looking up, letting every muscle in your body loose and simply bathing in repose, that nothing else can replicate.
And while your human friends didn't always appreciate it, the sounds of contentment coming from Asmo and Simeon are more than enough to tell you that they understand you.
They get it.
"I could stay like this for the rest of the night," Asmo murmurs with a content sigh.
"Do that and you'll fall asleep," You respond. "And that breaks rule number three of all sleepovers!"
"Rule number three?" Simeon asks. "There are rules to sleepovers?"
"Of course," You stretch your hand up above your hand, shifting it with one eye closed until your palm is centered in the blanket fort's dome. You extend one finger up. "Rule number one: What happens in a sleepover stays in a sleepover."
Next to you, you hear Asmo smirk at that rule. You can already hear the flirtatious comment on his tongue before you raise a second finger and continue, not even giving the demon a chance. "Rule number two: No secrets! Whether you're playing truth-or-dare or FMK, you have to be completely honest! And you don't need to worry about any secrets getting out, because rule number one prevents that!"
"What's truth-or-dare?"
"And what's FMK?"
"Um...on second thought, it's best not to play either of those games when Asmo is here." You chuckle lightly, holding back a shudder at all the lewd innuendos that he would throw your way if you were to introduce either game to him. "And the third rule, the last rule, is to stay up as late as possible! That means no sleep!"
"Eh?" Asmo whines. "But it's called a sleep-over!"
You let your hand drop to the blanket you're on top of.
"Hm," Simeon says, thinking out loud. "So how do we bind ourselves to these rules? Do you swear on your lives? Or perform rituals? Or is it just that you're subject to God's wrath if you fail to properly adhere to them?"
You twist your head to the left, staring straight into Simeon's emerald eyes at his question. He's not serious, is he?
And as usual, Asmo somehow manages to top his comment, suggesting something even more outrageous.
"Oh, you angels are so uncreative. Humans obviously make blood pacts."
You sigh helplessly, unable to do anything but shake your head at the ridiculous propositions tossed forth by Simeon and Asmo as they continue to debate how humans ensure that these rules are followed through with, each idea worse and more unrealistic than the last.
"It's an honor system," You finally say, when their debate comes to a standstill. "A sleepover is all about trust. Trusting the people you're spending the night with, and letting them see a new side to you, no matter how vulnerable. You just have to trust that everyone will stay true to the rules."
"I had no clue you trusted us so much~" Asmo teases, rolling over so that he's on his side and staring straight at you. He tilts your chin up toward him and leans in dangerously close. "Is it truly wise to trust a demon?"
You stiffen.
Asmodeus's eyes are bright with the fire of his namesake. Lust, his eyes spell out as he looks at you, gaze unwavering with that devilish smirk on his face.
You're frozen. And as Asmo's lips draw closer, you feel a smidgen of fear seep in.
Simeon is the one to snap you both out of it, placing a tender hand on your shoulder and a more admonishing squeeze on Asmo's. It's subtle, but the protective gesture means more than words can say.
Next to you, Asmo laughs, sitting up to face Simeon. "You two are no fun~" He teases, the normal flirtatious grin back on his face.
Simeon sighs for the umpteenth time. It suddenly dawns on you that it was no coincidence that Diavolo placed you in the same room as a demon and an angel. There's no doubt that Solomon can hold his own against his roommates, but Simeon's purpose here isn't just to rest in the same room. He's here to protect you, the only other human in the entire Devildom. So that his angelic qualities can negate whatever demonic attributes Asmodeus may have brought with him into the room.
But still, your words from barely thirty seconds ago flash through your mind.
A sleepover is all about trust. Trusting the people you're spending the night with.
You drag your hand forward, hesitating for a moment before you place it on top of Asmo's. His hand is larger than yours, but you give it a squeeze. "I do trust you, Asmo." You flash him a smile and turn toward Simeon, lacing your fingers with his when his palm is under yours. "And I trust you, too."
Your smile is dazzling as you grin at them, all fears of angel and demon alike vanishing. That alone is enough to melt all the tension in the room, and within seconds both of the men and your sides are relaxed once more.
"What's next, hm?" Simeon asks. He'd started out hesitant about this whole idea, but he now seems eager to see what plans you have in store for them.
"We should tell scary stories to each other and cuddle up when one of us gets scared~" Asmo exclaims with a chuckle. He says it as a joke, but his guess is spot-on.
"Actually, Asmo's right."
"Whoa! Does that mean you'll reward me, MC~"
"No, Asmo." You smack Asmo's arm before he can protest, giving it a gentle whack to tell him to tone it down. Given that he's one of the strongest demons in the entire Devildom, you probably had no reason to hold back on him, but your more docile instincts from being surrounded by non-indestructible humans always prevail. "But you can start us off!"
You flash the demon an expectant grin, pulling yourself into a seated position. In truth, you have high hopes for this story. Back in your days in the human world, the scary stories used to be your favorite part of every sleepover—but none of the tales ever really measured up. (Except for that one time your best friend read off a horror story about clowns and your other friend then barged into the room in full horror-clown makeup, laughing like a maniac. Yeah, that was terrifying. Short-lived, but utterly terrifying.)
"Get ready to be scared," Asmo warns as he lets his body glow purple again while he casts another spell, and when the purple light has faded it's so dark that you can't even see Simeon's face. You wrap your hand around his, the eagerness you were feeling one second ago now turned into a queer mix of both dread and excitement.
A horror story from a real demon. That's the dream, isn't it?
And so Asmo begins.
And so Asmo also fails.
By the time he's complete, you're left more confused than anything else.
"Asmo...what was the scary part?" Simeon asks, voicing your every thought. You think back to the plot of the story Asmo just shared, from the beginning where there was only the princess in the castle guarded by the dragon to the end, where she and the prince who saved her lived happily ever after, and the middle which was mostly about her falling in love.
"Yeah," You agree with Simeon after another moment's deliberation. "Was the fight scene between the dragon and the prince supposed to be the 'horror' part?"
"Eh?" Asmo exclaims, using his magic to turn all the lights back on. He turns to you with his mouth wide open. "The entire story was terrifying! The dragon was the most handsome in the entire kingdom of dragons—he was protecting the princess! But then the prince came and saved her, and he wasn't even super attractive. And the princess chose the average prince over the beautiful dragon just because she was raised to believe that the dragon was a monster! How terrifying is that?"
You stare at Asmo in disbelief. A part of you should have expected this from the demon; it might have been scarier if he'd actually come out with a true horror story.
"Oh, Asmo. Did you find this story scary because you're afraid that you'll be the dragon and that some prince will steal the princess MC away?" Simeon murmurs with a twinkle in his eye, a slight smirk on his face. "Oh my, does that make me the prince?"
For the first time, you see Simeon teasing and Asmo sulking as the latter pouts and crosses his arms. "Dragons are cooler! Right, MC? Aren't demons better than angels?"
You smile, pressing a quick kiss to the cheeks of both Asmo and Simeon. You had hesitated before doing it, but the look of surprise and wild blush on their faces makes it worth it.
"They're equally cool. Now, Simeon! Your turn!"
You and Asmo give the angel a moment to collect his thoughts before he takes his turn to regale you with a brilliant story. To his credit, he really tries to include horror. You can tell by his use of the "evil clown" and "omniscient witch" that he's trying his best. Unfortunately, his angelic spin on the entire plot makes the story sound like a kid's movie.
Impressive, but not quite what you're looking for.
"That...wasn't scary, was it?" Simeon drops his head when he's done. You pat him on the shoulder, comforting him by saying 'at least it wasn't like Asmo's' and then it's your turn.
And if there's one thing you're good at, it's telling horror stories.
It takes you a moment to pick one, but you finally settle on the tale of Bloody Mary.
By the time you finish, ending with an ominous warning about mirrors (more directed to Asmo then anything else) you're satisfied, and you can feel how stiff Simeon is. The uncomfortable look on his face lets you know that you did a good job with your telling, but you can't help but feel a pang in your heart when he quietly asks why you had to make it so scary.
But if your horror story was bad, Asmo makes it even worse.
"Hey, guys..." He trails off, and for the first time, you hear what must be Asmo's completely serious voice. You and Simeon look at each other worriedly, probably wondering the same thing. Did we break Asmo? But the demon's next words are truly chilling. "The human tale of Bloody Mary is true. She's a demon. I met her four thousand years ago. And...I think we should summon her."
Asmo pulls out a mirror—you momentarily wonder how he managed to pull one out so quickly before realizing that this is the narcissistic Asmo himself—and he begins to recite a demonic chant.
In seconds, you and Simeon are wrapped in each other's arms in a meek sort of protection, screaming together and at Asmo to stop and not summon the terrifying woman you just spent the past half hour depicting as the scariest entity in the world, before Asmo finally drops the mirror.
The pin-drop silence that follows is deafening, and you cling to Simeon tighter, quietly thinking that if Bloody Mary really does appear, then you'll sacrifice both men in the room and make a run for Lucifer's quarters before anything can happen to you.
But Asmo is the one to break the silence.
"Just kidding~"
Cue the next round of screaming.
You and Simeon team up to throw every pillow in sight at the demon, snatching them back as soon as they hit him to leave him with nothing to defend himself. "Ah!" Asmo exclaims, covering his face. "Not my face!" You suddenly wish for Lucifer, furious at Asmo for being such a little devil. You were actually scared for a moment there.
"Enough, enough!" Asmo groans out after what feels like an eternity of whacking him with feather-stuffed pillows. He breathlessly crawls next to Simeon and leans his back on one of the only spots in the entire blanket fort with a bed. "If I'd known you two were such scaredy-cats, I would have been a little less convincing," He murmurs with a wink, snuggling up against Simeon. "But this angel here looks so cute when he's scared~"
Simeon makes no motion to shake Asmo off, only leaning back on the bedpost.
"What time is it?" He asks with a yawn, and you can tell that the sudden exercise of assaulting Asmo via pillows tired him out.
You check your D.D.D. and are surprised to find that it's already well past four in the morning, telling him as much.
"But we can sleep now if you like," You murmur when a wave of drowsiness hits you. Like it's contagious, you can tell that even Asmo seems tired.
"B-but rule three!" Simeon exclaims, surprised.
"Rules are meant to be broken," You smirk, stretching yourself out across Asmo and Simeon. All the pillows in the room have been tossed to the corners of the room courtesy of Asmo, so these two boys' laps would have to suffice for your slumber. "That's why we don't have any stupid blood oaths to bind ourselves to them. Humans need sleep, hm?" Your words tumble out in more of a mumble than anything else, and you can feel the smile on Simeon's and Asmo's faces as they watch you drift off in their laps.
Vaguely, you hear them continue to talk. For how long? You can't be sure. But by the end of the hour, the room is dark and silent once more, the three of you separated only by the thin veil of dreams.
***
"I'm sorry, Diavolo," Lucifer mumbles in a huff, crossing his arms. The demon is worked up, Diavolo can tell, but he's unsure of how to comfort his friend so he simply lets Lucifer continue to rant. "All three of them were down on time these past three days, so I just assumed that they'd wake up on their own today as well."
"Do not fret, Lucifer!" Diavolo exclaims with a pleasant grin. His walk is brisk as he makes his way to the room where he knows you, Asmo, and Simeon are to be staying in, and he's almost excited to hear what excuse the three of you will throw his way.
In fact, that's the one thing he loves about the members of the House of Lamentations.
The seven brothers are each exotic in their own way, only Lucifer being responsible enough to give him full honesty and transparency. The other six are reliable, no doubt, but their methods are always entertaining.
Diavolo opens the door with a master key, entering the room with Lucifer hot on his heels. But the sight that greets him is beyond strange.
"What did they do?" Lucifer asks. Diavolo can sense his anger, and a small part of it finds it amusing. Truly. Lucifer's anger exists for my lack thereof.
He glances around the room, wondering how much time it took to do all this tampering. Every single blanket in the room has been stripped off the bed, likely stuffed inside the large dome-like structure (which, in turn, is also made of blankets) in the center of the room.
"Why, they've created their own castle in my castle," Diavolo jokes, pulling back the makeshift curtain that forms the entrance. He's about to enter when his eyes catch sight of the three people he's been looking for.
Next to him, Lucifer's breath catches in his throat.
For the first time in four hundred years, both men are stunned into silence.
All three of you are sleeping on top of one another, the first union Diavolo has ever seen of the human world, Celestial Realm, and Devildom.
"What are they..." Lucifer mumbles, but Diavolo places a quick finger to his lips. He doesn't want to disturb this.
His eyes skit over the three of you, taking in the image so that he can perhaps describe it to a demon painter. It's...truly inspiring.
For the first time, demon and angel are slumbering together in peace, with both Simeon and Asmodeus sleeping in upright seating positions. Their backs are pressed against the bed, and while Simeon rests his head against the pillar in what seems like a somewhat uncomfortable position, Asmo has made himself cozy, resting his head delicately on Simeon's shoulder with a hand wrapped around the angel's muscular arm.
You, on the other hand, must have been reluctant to sleep sitting up. You lie on the floor, lower body stretched out with Simeon's white cloak draped across your legs, upper body thrown across Asmo's lap. Your head rests on Simeon's upper thigh, arms wrapped around his waist while you bury your head in his stomach in what looks like an awfully human, childlike pose.
And the two men both have their arms resting on your body, one of Simeon's gloved hands nestled in your (h/c) locks with Asmo's free arm tossed over your body in a quiet pull to get you closer to him.
It's a sleepover of the ages: the first of its kind in thousands of years.
All of you rest with smiles on your faces, and the way Diavolo's face brightens up at the sight of you is enough for anyone to know that this is what he's been seeking in his journey to unite the three realms.
The future ruler of the Devildom pulls Lucifer out of the room, giving the younger demon no chance to disturb the three of you in what Diavolo hopes is the first of many more nights of happiness and union.
I'll extend the retreat even longer! He thinks joyously, a grin spreading across his features as he recalls the sight of the three of you once more.
It's the first time that a demon, an angel, and a human have all been so content with one another. The first time that a demon, an angel, and a human have been comfortable with each other enough to sleep without any protections. The first time that a demon, an angel, and a human have placed enough trust in each other to slumber so vulnerably.
Diavolo grins.
His plan to unite the three great realms of the world has finally begun to piece together.
The content, trusting smiles on your faces as you, Simeon, and Asmodeus slumber are Diavolo's testimony to that fact.
MASTERLIST
Word count: 5.1k
Notes: If you guys are interested, I might consider adding a second chapter that's a bit more adult, but for now ill leave this as just some wholesome fluff~ aghhh Simeon is too precious x3 ALSO YEY IVE FINALLY ENTERED THE OBEY ME FANDOM
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I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.
#Word count: 5.1k#obey me#obey me shall we date#shall we date#oneshot#completed#wholesome#fluff#angels and demons#short#asmodeus x reader#simeon x reader#asmodeus x reader x simeon#simeon x reader x asmodeus#reader is mc#asmodeus x mc#simeon x mc#asmodeus x mc x simeon#simeon x mc x asmodeus#sleepover#cute#sondepoch
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Angel, Bene Ishim
Image © Green Ronin Press, by Britt Martin. Accessed at the Green Ronin Art Gallery here
[Commissioned by @thetygre. Yes, this is an angel, not a devil, demon, tiefling, etc. Although the flavor text in The Avatar’s Handbook stresses their role in acting as spies behind fiendish ranks, both the commissioner and I pinged to the idea that these are a great way to explain the folkloric devil, where the Devil Himself shows up to get wrecked by some country bumpkin, child or Santa Claus. Of course that’s an angel doing PR work! To quote Thomas More, “the proud spirit cannot endure to be mocked”.
The name (but not the concept) appears to be derived from a genuine angel in Jewish traditions, but evidence online is spotty. The Wikipedia entry for ishim doesn’t cite a lot of sources, and the sources cited include the reliably unreliable Rosemary Ellen Guiley. An angel by that name did appear on Supernatural, though, for what it’s worth. I don’t think he had little horns or a high collar.
Edit: I seem to have misplaced the statistics. I was editing this in-frame a while, so maybe tumblr ate them, or maybe I just screwed up.]
Angel, Bene Ishim
CR 7 NG Outsider (extraplanar)
This figure looks to be the very spitting image of a fiend, with red skin, slick black hair, small horns and a goatee. He smirks evilly and winks, drawing his cape with a flourish.
Although they are sometimes called “fallen angels”, bene ishim are nothing of the sort. Instead, they are angels that assume the guise of fiends in order to either infiltrate their holdings or teach mortals about fiendish weaknesses. Many folkloric tales of devils losing fiddle contests, giving information when having their three golden hairs plucked, or being generally outwitted by children are in fact the work of bene ishim. They tirelessly work in the mortal realm to spread propaganda that evil creatures are untrustworthy, foolish and beatable by common folk. Some even enter regular relationships with a given town or country, appearing at festivals or holidays in order to be “defeated” to raise morale and teach valuable lessons. They delight in appearing to people leaning towards evil deeds, either enticing them to channel their temptation in more productive ways or if that fails, ensuring that their actions are both futile in causing harm and notable enough to result in rehabilitation.
In the lower planes, bene ishim have a second, related mission; to defuse the plans of evil through sabotage and theft. Bene ishim locate powerful evil items to steal, research and destroy, turn members of a fiendish army against each other, and generally attempt to focus the attention of evil on itself rather than on good or the mortal world. Even if they are caught out, their magical powers can force devils or demons to fight their allies instead of the bene ishim. Between this and their ability to blend into shadows, few bene ishim remain in combat long, preferring to slip away while enemies are distracted with each other.
A bene ishim is a shapechanger, able to disguise itself as either a mortal or a fiend as its mission requires. They usually take fiendish forms that fit its overall humanoid size and build, such as bearded devils, hydrodaemons or succubi. Their natural form resembles a tiefling or cambion to sufficient degree that they usually try to pass themselves off as one of these creatures if they know fiends with true seeing (such as erinyes) lie between them and their goal.
Bene Ishim CR 7
XP 3,200
NG Medium outsider (angel, extraplanar, good, shapechanger)
Init +8; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, Perception +12
Defense
AC 21, touch 14, flat-footed 17 (+4 Dex, +7 natural); +4 deflection vs. evil
hp 68 (8d10+24)
Fort +5, Ref +10, Ref +11; +4 vs. poison, +4 resistance vs. evil
DR 5/evil; Immune acid, cold, petrifaction; Resist electricity 10, fire 10; SR 18
Defensive Abilities alter alignment, personal protective aura, shadow blend
Offense
Speed 30 ft.
Melee masterwork trident +12/+7 (1d8+4) or 2 claws +11 (1d4+3)
Special Attacks redirect blows, sneak attack +1d6
Spell-like Abilities CL 8th, concentration +11
At will—align weapon, detect evil, detect magic, invisibility (self only)
3/day—greater teleport (self plus 50 lbs. objects only), locate object, obscure object, sending
1/day—confusion (DC 17), crushing despair (DC 17), good hope, plane shift (self only)
Statistics
Str 17, Dex 19, Con 16, Int 17, Wis 16, Cha 16
Base Atk +8; CMB +11; CMD 25
Feats Alertness, Combat Reflexes, Improved Initiative, Iron Will
Skills Bluff +18, Diplomacy +9, Disguise +18, Escape Artist +13, Knowledge (arcana) +9, Knowledge (planes) +12, Perception +12, Sense Motive +18, Sleight of Hand +13, Spellcraft +9, Stealth +13, Use Magic Device +18; Racial Modifiers +6 Bluff, +6 Disguise, +6 Sense Motive, +6 Use Magic Device
Languages Abyssal, Celestial, Common, Draconic, Infernal
SQ change shape (humanoid or evil outsider, polymorph), fiendish guise
Ecology
Environment any land or underground (Nirvana or evil plane)
Organization solitary, pair or cell (3-6)
Treasure double standard (masterwork trident, other treasure)
Special Abilities
Alter Alignment (Su) A bene ishim can choose the strength and alignment of its aura as a standard action. Any creature trying to detect its aura must succeed a DC 17 Will save or read it as the angel’s chosen aura instead. The save DC is Charisma based.
Fiendish Guise (Su) A bene ishim can use its change shape ability to take the form of Tiny, Small, Medium or Large evil outsiders. It does not gain any of their abilities unless those abilities can be assumed by the spell polymorph.
Personal Protective Aura (Su) A bene ishim gains a +4 deflection bonus to Armor Class and a +4 resistance bonus to saving throws against attacks and effects made by evil creatures. Treat this as a double strength protection from evil effect.
Redirect Blows (Su) As an immediate action, a bene ishim can force a creature attempting to attack it to succeed a DC 17 Will save or instead attack the nearest evil outsider. If no evil outsider is in reach of the enemy’s attack, it instead injures itself, dealing 1d8 points of damage plus its Strength modifier. This is a mind-influencing compulsion effect.
Shadow Blend (Su) In any condition of illumination other than full daylight, a bene ishim disappears into the shadows, giving it concealment (50% miss chance). Artificial illumination, even a light or continual flame spell, does not negate this ability; a daylight spell, however, does. A bene ishim can suspend or resume this ability as a free action.
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I’d say the thing about some characters lending themselves better to some stories than others actually can apply to the Batfam as well, and is a sign of how well-developed they actually are. I know I’ve ranted in the past about the tendency to try and fit the Batkids into niches like the smart one and the angry one and all of that, but in terms of story TYPES, I think they do have certain niche-like feels that mean some of them are better suited to certain GENRES of story than others.
For instance....I didn’t love Grayson, but that was more due to the overshadowing circumstances and the fact that I just think King and his writing suck. A lot. But the basic premise was not at all out of Dick’s wheelhouse. He IS well predisposed to kinda globe-trotting, spy versus spy, switching disguises like they’re outfits, making the most out of his ability to make friends everywhere he goes and turn enemies into allies.....those types of stories. Not saying these should be his only stories, by any means, or that he can’t center in all kinds of other types of stories, but I’m just saying, these kinds of stories do have more of a Dick Grayson feel than they do various other Batkids.
Similarly, Jason is better suited to gothic horror types of stories than the others, just in general. His history with the Lazarus Pit, his general disposition, his THEMES, like....they speak to the same kind of aims and tones that gothic horror both births from and embodies.
This might just be me, but to me, Tim is best suited to kinda oddball, off the wall sorta stories, and that’s part of why I’m so meh on him just being shelved into the uber-genius, mini-Bruce, heir to the best detective mantle kinda thing. I’ve spoken before about how much I miss 90s Tim, but to me, Tim was always at his best, and at his best-defined, most feeling like uniquely HIM, when he was playing the underdog. When he was just this well-intentioned kid who plunged into this world that was so much larger than viewing it through his camera lens had prepared him for, but he had spunk and determination and he wasn’t about to back down or let anyone think he was in over his head so he was gonna make it through whatever the superhero life threw at him even if flying by the seat of his pants the whole way. So to that end, I mean, I think Tim is at his best when just dealing with totally WTF kinds of stories. The cross-dimensional capers, the time travel mishaps, the ‘great, I was abducted by aliens on my lunch break and now apparently I have to save planet FUBAR with nothing but my pocket knife and scathing dry wit.’
I would fucking kill for Cass at the center of noir type stories where its like, idk, the Maltese Falcon and she’s the jaded but still optimistic-at-her-core PI when trouble walks into her derelict office wrapped up in an eggplant shawl and the name Stephanie. Maybe its just that I don’t think there’s enough focus on the fact that Cass is SMART and she’s as much a detective as any of the family, does plenty of investigative work and if she’s heir to the cowl she’d be just as good at the mystery side of things as Bruce is, but just......noir stories just FEEL like dappled shadows and eerie shades of blue and black with hints of moonlight spilling through slatted blinds and all of that just screams Cass to me, faint notes of jazz in the background, a wry smile on her lips as she plays her informant like a fiddle when chasing down clues.
Duke is another globe-trotter in feel to me, like his backstory and his family and his stories with the Outsiders, like, I really want to see Duke on more superhero teams than just the Outsiders now that that’s over, because he’s better suited to stories not confined just to Gotham, I think? Like, Duke fits the conspiracy theory chasing niche to me, like, his character really comes to life when pursuing leads all across the world, digging into his past, his family’s past, seeing how it all connects to various mysteries of the DC Earth that are generations old but still affect the present....like I don’t know how many people have read Planetary, but that to me is a PERFECT fit for Duke, and I would love to see him with his own Planetary style team or even just part of one.
Damian is best suited to coming of age stories, which sounds vague, but the thing is, it really is its own genre. So much of Damian’s character, the best parts I think, are about Damian FINDING himself, DEFINING himself......he more than any of the others, debuted so clearly defined by his origins, his parents, who he was CREATED to be.....and so he more than anyone else is perfectly poised to star in stories that are all about him breaking away from that mold, from parental expectations or preplanned destinies, or even just searching for things to define him on his own terms rather than through the eyes of others. Stories that are about choosing your own path, making a self-realization or having an epiphany about who you truly are or what you want to do with your life....that to me, is Damian’s best niche. Again, doesn’t mean that other characters can’t be great in these kinds of stories as well, just that if I’m pairing one character to one genre they lean into best, this is what’s that for Damian, IMO.
Steph is a bit of an oddball for me, and I don’t quite know how to describe this, but she’s best suited IMO to those kinds of stories that like......there’s not really a specific NAME for this type, but you know them when you see them. The best comparison I can think to make is like.....the kinds of stories Harley Quinn stars in? To be clear, I’m not drawing parallels between Steph or Harley or saying they’re the same kind of character at ALL, I’m just saying like.....Harley is another character who overall is very hard to pin down in specific concrete terms, but nevertheless is centered in various stories and adaptations that are nevertheless very clearly HER.....and that’s the kind of thing I picture for Steph. She fits that niche that isn’t really a niche for anyone BUT her, because nobody else can summon that type of feel for it......the kind of story that you can’t switch anybody else in for her because the story only works with her specific kinda....energy. Bleh. I really wish I could describe it better, like its very clear in my brain, but its a story that’s more of a kind of FEEL than it is a specific description? If that makes sense like at all? LOLOL. Whatevs.
And Babs, like, I would love love love to see her centered in a proper cyberthriller. I mean, they’ve done stories kinda like that with her as Oracle, but not to the extent I’m thinking. I mean just full on cyberpunk dialed up to 11. Give me Babs enlisted by the JLA because Brainiac is loose in the internet and she has to go into cyberspace utilizing different avatars of herself and calling in allies as needed as she relentlessly hunts a villain through landscapes of data she maps and molds and turns into traps. Babs hyper-fixating on her task, her hunt, to the degree that she has to be reminded to pull herself out at times and take care of her physical needs, has people grounding her so she doesn’t get lost in cyberspace and the lure of it all, this place that’s her domain and where she shines the brightest. And so it balances that razor edge that makes for the best cyberthrillers IMO. The ones where all the possibilities of the future as embodied in technology and cyberspace are balanced with the necessity of remaining human, of being human and with roots and history embedded outside of it, in the real world. And with there being a clear juxtaposition between the two even as the protagonist goes back and forth between the two extremes of their existence, the physical and the ephemeral.
Anyway. Like I said, you can mix and match and its not like Dick can’t star in gothic horror and Jason can’t do off-the-wall dimensional hijinks or noir detective stories and Tim and Cass can’t do coming of age, etc.....its just in terms of what I was talking about, how some characters lend themselves MORE easily to certain kinds of stories than others.....this is how I perceive the various Batkids.
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Adversity - 13-B
Labelling this as ‘chapter 13-B’ in tumblr .
Edit: Ended up as part of chapter 13 in A03.
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Adversity details
Multi-chapter, work in progress, AU, pre-LoK,
Latest status: up to Chapter 12 uploaded in A03
Blurb: Lin and Tenzin are both at the height of their respective careers – she with the Metalbending Police and he with the Air Nation. Questions about their future begin to arise and things come to a head when Lin responded to an emergency call. Would her job take them from each other forever? Eventual happy ending. Alternatively: The one where Lin and Tenzin had to go through adversity like Lin’s dangerous job, a near-death experience, temporary separation and memory loss, unplanned pregnancy and Tenzin’s responsibilities before they end up with a family.
Tumblr chapters 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | go to AO3 for chapters in between | 13
Ao3 link | Ff.net link
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Adversity – 13-B
There were muffled voices outside of the room and before they could even react, the door was shoved open.
"Chief!"
"Aunt!"
Tenzin usually felt that Toph Beifong was larger than life; never mind her blindness or stature. Today was no exception.
“I received this note at the Jasmine Dragon and I thought - this I have to ‘see’ for myself.” The earthbender entered the room unceremoniously, fingers forming air-quotations to explain her presence. "And lo and behold, you're in bed with Airhead Junior already, so I guess you're doing just fine."
“I’m not in bed – she’s – we’re not -!” Tenzin sputtered, leaning back hurriedly to disguise the fact that half of his body was actually on the bed.
Lin rolled her eyes. “I don’t care that you’re the chief but don’t you ever knock?”
“Were the chief. That’s the past.” Toph perched herself at the end of Lin’s bed. “I’m here as your mother.” She tilted her head. “Surely that’s gotta hold some weight to you?”
“Not a lot, but sure.” Lin tossed, unaffected.
Well-versed in how Beifongs conduct themselves, the airbender knew that both were affected by this meeting under the veneer of snark and nonchalance.
Tenzin sought to make himself scarce. “I -uh – I can leave the two of you alone for now. I think I’ll check if the others have returned from their tour.” He gently extricated his hand from Lin’s grip, squeezing it once and receiving a squeeze back.
He pretended not to see the tears fall from their eyes as the two Beifong women hugged each other when he closed the door behind him.
“Hey Badge.”
“Mom.”
This was private for them.
He breathed.
She’ll be okay.
---
It was a trigger, they confirmed.
Katara explained from Lin’s medical files that Lin was likely submerged in water for quite some time before she was rescued. The sudden sea spray and saltwater must have triggered the memory.
While Lin’s blood pressure was recommended to be monitored closely, the vitals of both mother and child are strong, to everyone’s relief (especially Tenzin’s).
Upon arriving from their tour, Katara immediately went straight to Lin’s room upon hearing of the panic attack. After the routine check-up, the waterbender left the Beifongs alone. There remained to be a strain between Toph and the rest. The last time they had all been together was during Lin’s memorial months back – after she had accused everyone of not trying their best in locating Lin.
***
Toph has been with her daughter for hours now. Su had joined them at some point as well (even if it was with a lot of hesitation).
Everyone was pleased with this development. It was evident in the lightness that was not there before; a lightness that will be there at least until the three Beifongs would rejoin them.
Lin, Su and Toph talking for hours hints of a reconciliation among them. Su had confided in Kya a few nights ago that she had been worrying about her tentative reconnection with her sister. It may seem well and good now but what if Lin regains her memories and decides to retain to original stance regarding Su?
If Tenzin were to be honest with himself, he had been toying with the same fear as well. The spirits know that they definitely had not parted well before The Accident. He had been about to try to salvage their relationship but as far as Lin knew, he was a selfish jerk who was about to discard her for an air acolyte.
“You besotted sap, what are you frowning about now?”
Tenzin turned to his side, where Bumi seated himself on the steps, a teasing smile on his face. He had been absent-mindedly playing with Junior and Huan as they build things in the sand. He was instructed by the boys to throw around the occasional airball to test the strength of their structures or to flatten the sand so they can play more.
At the moment, the boys were attempting to replicate what Zaofu looked like on the sand and so were ignoring him until he needed to do some clean up.
Tenzin’s own brother then nudged his shoulder. “Anything I can do for ya?”
He shook his head no, still lost in thought.
The airbender is happy for Lin, truly. He could not imagine how she might have been feeling the past months – alone, injured, pregnant and with lost memories to boot. He should not and cannot even find it in himself to even be remotely selfish.
And yet…
He wanted Lin.
The laughter of the two Beifong boys drew his attention.
Rather, a family with Lin, he amended to himself. Tenzin sighed.
---
“That was one deep breath.” Bumi continued to observe, patient and knowing his brother well enough that he will speak when ready.
After a few more minutes, Huan managed to use earthbending to create a crevice in the middle of sand Zaofu. Both of them cheered the kids on.
“Uncle, where is Mommy?” Junior spoke up, green eyes darting around. “Can you call her? I think she would like to see what Huan was able to do.” The boy was proud of his brother despite not being able to bend himself.
Bumi grinned, the kid kind of reminded himself of well…himself. Back when Tenzin managed to make his first air wheel.
“Well, kid, I’m sure your mommy would be proud of both of you.” He pointed to the fairly complicated and detailed sand city on the ground. “But I think Su is busy right now.”
“She’s with your Aunt Lin and Grandma.” Tenzin added.
“Grandma’s here?!”
Both kids quickly rushed towards Tenzin and Bumi, grasping Tenzin’s robes in their hands, asking to be led inside to greet their grandmother.
“Is this a good idea?” Bumi whispered to Tenzin, leaning to his side so as to not to be overheard by the excited children, who were running ahead to the rest house.
The airbender simply shrugged. There was obviously something bothering him.
“They’ve been in the room for how long now?” Bumi tried to make light of the situation. “Are you sure they aren’t throwing hands or something?”
“We’ll probably feel the earth rumble if that were the case.”
That was true. Their childhood has been literally punctuated by mini earthquakes whenever the Beifong sisters squabbled.
Bumi played with his beard. “What if the new baby Beifong turns out to be another earthbender? Imagine the chaos.”
Huan and Baatar Junior were shifting their weight from one leg to the other, practically bouncing with excitement as they arrived at Lin’s door ahead of the adults.
Bumi snorted. Figures that Suyin’s spawn were behaved enough to not burst into rooms but could be quite tactless with their words.
Tenzin stiffened as they reach the door to Lin’s room.
Bumi nodded. “Arn’t you going to go in?” At the airbender’s head shake, he took the initiative to open the door. “Knock-knock! Good afternoon, Beifongs!” He was surprised to see Su and Toph flanking Lin from both sides of the bed.
Before he could even remark or tease Lin about it, twin squeals shattered his eardrums and in went Junior and Huan.
“Boys! Don’t jump on your aunt!”
Cute. With the surfeit of Beifongs in the room, Bumi waved at them and exited quietly. He will catch up with Toph later instead.
Still grinning, Bumi turned to Tenzin and noticed he was still awkwardly standing at the corridor. His smile softened, placing an arm around Tenzin’s shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it now?”
---
Before long Tenzin’s worries, fears, and insecurities tumbled out and into his older brother’s ear.
It was quite cathartic, to be truthful.
It was different opening up to his father (the Avatar) or even his mother (who was bound to be as protective as she was judgmental – less so compared to her younger years but still).
Bumi heard him and was not bound to judge him.
Neither did he invalidate his feelings nor did he downplay the airbender’s perceived consequences of the situation.
It certainly also helped that Bumi had been away from Republic City and was able to listen with fresh perspective.
---
“Don’t cancel your dinner. You’ve prepared a lot for it.”
“No…” His voice trailed off. “I’d rather not intrude in their family time.”
“Aren’t you her family, Ten?”
---
“Ah there you are Junior!”
…
“What on earth are you doing in the kitchen? Last I heard this was Lin’s domain.”
“Uh – tonight’s dinner for Lin – I was -.”
“Don’t you dare say you’re postponing it?” It really was discomfiting when Toph Beifong is able to stare at you in the eye. “She had been talking about it, and was particularly excited too.”
“Oh.”
“Oh – indeed.” A beat. “Don’t disappoint her, Junior.” She passed by him to exit the room. And in a lowered voice muttered. “I’m still rooting for you, despite everything.”
----
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Note: We are getting there~ thanks for the patience and for still reading this.
Been through some tough times the past few days (ironically, after I had thought I could probably write a little bit more). Not quite good yet but better than the past days. Hopefully. Anyhow - let me know what you think :)
#linzin#linzin fanfic#toccatina's fanfics#toccatina wip#toccatina adversity#lin beifong#tenzin#legend of korra fanfic
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To Chip Away
Read on AO3
Summary: Suki's spent a lot of time excelling at acting like she's fine. She's a leader; it comes with the territory, and pretending to be fine after escaping the Boiling Rock is just the next logical step. They've all got bigger problems, anyway. Still, it turns out she's not fooling Sokka quite as well as she'd hoped.
It takes Sokka a while to notice Suki’s gone, which he’d prefer to attribute to her stealth skills rather than his own failings. He’s let his guard down a little at the Air Temple, has stopped mentally doing headcounts every couple minutes, although he maybe should resume those with the way people keep disappearing on them (if he and Zuko had been the last ones missing, surely they could be forgiven, since they’d come back with more people than they’d left with).
Either way, he’s halfway through talking to his dad when he looks around at some point and realizes she’s not with the group. “Did you see Suki leave?”
Hakoda takes a second to catch up with the sudden about-face in the conversation, but then he says, “Don’t think so. She can’t have gone far, though, the flying bison’s still here.”
“He has a name, Dad. Did you forget Appa’s name?”
“There have been quite a few new names to keep track of, and aren’t you trying to find your girlfriend?”
Sokka nods. “I’ll be back, I still wanna hear about Kallik spitting on Fire Nation troops.”
“That’s pretty much the whole story,” Hakoda says, but Sokka’s already up and heading off to find Suki.
His dad had been right, there weren’t a lot of places she could’ve gone without some serious climbing, and only a few were out of view from the space where they’d set up camp. There’s a ledge, though, high enough up the cliffside trail that someone could remain unseen, and that seems like as good a guess as any. He follows the path up, sticking close to the cliff wall and, spirits, he’s not particularly afraid of heights, but he still wishes the Air Nomads had built these paths a little wider. Not that they’d needed them, of course, but it would’ve been nice.
He crests the hill, only a little winded, and finds her there with her back to him, staring off into the distance. She doesn’t seem to hear him at first, so he kicks a pebble against the rock face because startling someone on a mountain ledge doesn’t seem like the world’s best idea.
She turns at the noise, already on high alert, and then she relaxes. “Sokka.”
“Hey.” Sokka comes to sit next to her, swinging his legs over the side of the ledge and ignoring just how nervous that makes him. Like with the paths, there’s fear of heights, and there’s a much more reasonable fear of falling miles to your death, and he’s not really ashamed to say he has a healthy dose of the latter. “Just came to check on you. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Of course I am.”
“You don’t have to be.”
“I’m fine,” she says, the words a little razor-edged.
But if Sokka doesn’t press, no one else is going to, and it seems like someone needs to. “You were in prison.”
“And now I’m not in prison. So I’m fine.” She’s trying hard enough to be convincing that Sokka almost gives up and believes her, except that he remembers holding her, kneeling on the floor of that cell, her breath catching in her throat and her tears soaking the shoulder of his stolen guard uniform. That, and the fact that she’s out here alone in the first place.
“Alright, fine. I won’t keep bothering you about it, I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep it to yourself, you know?”
“I don’t,” she says, but there’s something in it that tells him to let the quiet stretch out between them, and then she shakes her head a little. “Maybe I do. I don’t want to start breaking down now if I’m not sure I can put myself back together fast enough.”
“You’re not doing it alone.”
“I’m not used to that. Or- I don’t know. It’s different.”
Sokka tips his head and asks, “What do you mean?” and he thinks maybe he knows the particular kind of loneliness she’s talking about, but he can’t be sure.
“I was never alone when I had the rest of the Kyoshi Warriors, but I was their leader, you know? I didn’t want to seem like I wasn’t sure of myself because I wanted them to be able to trust me. And I guess they shouldn’t have, but…”
“They absolutely should trust you, are you kidding me? They couldn’t have a better leader.”
Suki looks away, pulling her knee up to her chest and rubbing at a barely visible smudge of dirt on her shoe. “I couldn’t protect them. Not that they can’t protect themselves, I know they can, but I should’ve- I don’t know, I should’ve fought harder. There had to have been something.”
“I know you, okay? I know you would’ve done everything you could, and they know that too, probably even better than I do.”
“I guess,” she says, but she might as well not have said it at all with how little conviction there is behind it.
“I’m serious, it’s not your fault. Losing to Azula and her friends is pretty much a rite of passage around here. They’re scary.”
“I love the way they fight, actually. It was nice to have it not directed at us for once when we were trying to escape.”
“Yeah, I’d kind of like to learn how to throw knives now, but that’s a whole other thing.”
She’s quiet for a minute, looking at something or nothing off in the distance, and then she says, “Do you know me?”
It’s an unexpected step back in the conversation, one Sokka hadn’t been ready for, and he can’t say it doesn’t sting a little. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t mean that in a bad way, I promise. It’s just that sometimes it feels like I’ve known you forever, but then I total up the days we’ve actually spent together and it’s not very many.”
“Well, yeah, but sometimes you can just… get people.”
“I know.” She shakes her head. “Maybe I’m overthinking it. It was just a weird thing to realize.”
“Well, short time or not, it was enough that you knew I’d find you,” Sokka says, but a half-second later he’s seized by doubt. “Unless… that wasn’t true.”
“I meant that. I wasn’t about to lie to you when you were in the middle of trying to rescue me. It’s just a little more complicated than that.”
He reaches out for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “So tell me.”
Suki’s expression goes unreadable for a second, back to staring at the horizon, but then she says, “I believed you’d come for me. I really did. But there were bad days when I thought… I don’t know. I guess I wondered if I’d ever make it outside again, because even if you did try to rescue me, so much could’ve gone wrong. Sometimes I almost hoped you didn’t come because I couldn’t watch you die.”
“I was always gonna find you. No matter how long it took.”
“I know. But some days I hoped you didn’t, because then I could keep believing in something. If you got killed trying to rescue me… that would have been it.”
“That’s…”
“Yeah, it’s dark, I know.”
“No, I mean- well, yeah, it is dark, but I get it.” And he thinks he does. He thinks he’d feel the same way, honestly, if it was Suki or Katara or his dad or anyone else risking their lives to save him. It’s something he’d never voice to the rest of the group, too much to put on the people he tries to protect, but it feels safe in the space between the two of them. “I can’t imagine not having anything to do but sit there and think about that.”
“Can’t say I recommend it,” Suki says, and she’s clearly trying to keep her tone light, but it’s not working all that well. There’s too much strain in her voice for that.
“If you wanna tell somebody about that, I know a guy.”
“Oh yeah?”
“His name is Wang Fire. He’s the personal therapist to the Avatar.”
“I don’t know the backstory there, but I’m gonna guess it’s you in disguise,” Suki says, with just the faintest hint of a smile.
“You… would be absolutely correct. But in my defense, I rock a good fake beard.”
Suki makes a show of studying him. “I think I like you okay without it.”
“Okay, well, I’m a little hurt. But the point is, I’ve got two functioning ears and nowhere else to be.”
Suki turns her eyes to the horizon again instead, swinging her legs so her heels kick back against the stone. “I don’t know what there is to say, honestly. I sat in a cell and I tried not to lose my mind. I tried to keep some structure at first, and I’d do some training or try to plan an escape or whatever, but it wears you down after a while. I’d have entire days of just staring at the ceiling trying to remember how to even feel like myself.”
And yes, okay, logically Sokka knows that he hadn’t known where she was, but that doesn’t mean the guilt of not breaking her out sooner doesn’t make it feel hard to breathe. He wants her to keep talking, though, because hopefully getting it all out will do some good, so he just squeezes her hand and waits for her to continue.
“The other prisoners didn’t mess with me or anything- one of them did tell me they thought it was cool that I was an enemy of the state as a teenager, so that was kind of funny- but we weren’t exactly friends, either. It was just… really lonely. I’ve never spent that much time away from the other Warriors, let alone completely on my own.”
“I really can’t imagine. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not like it’s your fault.”
“If I ever figure out something better to say in a situation like this, I’ll let you know. Probably become world famous for it, honestly. I think there’s a real market.”
“Don’t forget me when you’re a celebrity.”
“I could never.” Sokka hesitates for a second, unwilling to shatter the little bit of lightness in the conversation, but he needs to ask the thing he’s been too afraid of. “Azula said- she said something about you being her favorite prisoner. She made it sound like she’d- I don’t know, hurt you, or at least was out there being horrible to you. Was that true, or was that just to throw me off?” Suki hasn’t mentioned it, sure, but maybe it was the type of thing that was too awful to talk about. That’s what it had been in his nightmares, at the very least.
Suki shakes her head. “She was messing with you. She wasn’t pleasant when I got captured or anything, but I didn’t have information she wanted. Once she figured that out, I wasn’t worth her time, and she definitely wasn’t going all the way out to the Boiling Rock for my sake.”
Suddenly, Sokka can breathe a little easier. “I really hoped, just- it’s Azula. Even Toph doesn’t know when she’s lying.”
Suki frowns. “Is Toph… supposed to know when she’s lying?”
“Oh, right. You weren’t there for that, but yeah. Turns out she can tell when someone’s lying because their heartrate picks up.”
“Didn’t know that was possible, but that’s kind of just an everyday thing at this point.”
Sokka sighs. “Tell me about it.”
They sit in silence for a little while longer, but this time there’s less tension to it, not nearly as much hanging in the balance and waiting to be spoken. Maybe Sokka does feel less like he knows the girl next to him than he used to, but maybe that’s not a bad thing, because if he’s lucky he’ll get to know her. He has to believe they’ll have time, after the war. He has to believe they'll make it until after the war.
“Thanks for coming to find me,” Suki says after a while.
“Feel any better?”
“A little.”
“For what it’s worth, I still think you’re the coolest, bravest, toughest person I know.”
She tips her head onto his shoulder. “You’re sweet.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Oh yeah? When?”
“Uh. By you, right now.”
“You’re also ridiculous.”
Sokka turns and kisses the top of her head. “I can live with that.”
#suki#sokka#sukka#atla fic#atla#it's ME back with another fic no one wanted but that I am going to give you anyway#suki was a teenager in prison and I will address that or die trying#also I already did sukka comfort in one direction so now we're uno reverse carding it
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Like... COULD roosterteeth fix the Faunus subplot? Is the hole too deep? I’m trying to think of ways of patching this mess without significant retcons and I can’t really think of any good options
They could tbh, if they actually like, did some research on racial issues and tried to tell actual stories instead of their “all violence is bad” philosophy.
Step 1) show more of the racism. Show how bad it actually is. Stop having characters like Blake and Ilia and Marrow and Sun discuss how bad the racism is and actually fucking show it. Show us the cages full of people, show us the starving Faunus begging for food who can’t find a job and won’t be let into a restaurant. Show us the victims of lynchings Adam didn’t get to save. Show us perfectly capable Hunters being forced away from villages who would rather face Grimm alone than be helped by someone with claws. Show us the violent racists shouting slurs and hateful words at Blake- not just one drunk asshole or one snooty guardswoman, but the “nice” people too! RT built this entire subplot about violent, chronic racism but only ever give us the occasional glimpse of it. I can count on my fingers just how many racist things have happened in this show in 7 seasons.
2) either remove Blake as the vehicle for this subplot or give her a foil in another character. Blake is probably the most privileged Faunus we’ve met in the entirety of this show, and her whole “pacifism to the point of impotence” philosophy coupled with her “I’m willing to fight my own brothers in TWF to force my family’s brand of pacifism” is so fucking disgusting. Of course she’s oh so reluctant to take any meaningful stance against the violence aimed at her- she’s never actually experienced it! She knows she can hide her ears whenever she wants, her parents are practically royalty and never had to work in a Dust mine on the verge of collapse, the “crowded” continent she lives on parts crowds like the Red Sea for her mega-mansion. No one separated her from her family or hunted her for sport or used her for cheap labor. And the one time we actually see her react to racism aimed at her she fucking cowers and begs some drunk asshole to leave her alone instead of defending herself. Blake is a bad vehicle for this plot. The frustrating thing is that we had good vehicles for it. We had Sienna and Ilia and Adam (pre 3.11). We had people who were willing to do the dirty work and fight for their rights. But one was murdered, the other converted, and the last used as a vehicle for a completely different plot. We need a Faunus- or group of Faunus- willing to take up the mantle Sienna left behind. I’d personally prefer to see Sun become radicalized. He was so willing to demean TWF in season 1 back when he’d lived in Vacuo (the one place where racism apparently hardly exists) his whole life after living in Haven for less than a year. I would LOVE to see Sun actually experience some bad racism for a while and decide that someone needed to stand up for the Faunus who couldn’t stand up for themselves. It’d also provide absolutely amazing conflict between Sun and Blake and further their relationship, and possibly even their romance if RT decide to go down the Sunny-B route.
3) Make an actual villain in this racism subplot. Yes, in real life, there’s no one Head Racist that we could fight and defeat which would end racism. But that’s where fiction is made to entertain. The X-Men gave us Senator Kelly, Avatar gave us Firelord Ozai, Transformers gave us Megatron. We need an actual antagonist in this racism subplot. We need someone who’s leading the racist armies, converting moderate humans into angry racists, etc. Otherwise we won’t know who the enemy is or when we’re making progress. It looked like the main enemy would be Jacques Schnee up to season 4 when he just kinda laughed off the idea of racism and disguised it as classism and then got himself arrested this season. We need a target and a goal. Otherwise TWF just looks like a bunch of angry people attacking anything and anyone in sight.
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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17]
Also on AO3
Chapter 18: Tim
They’ve only just managed to calm down when someone knocks on the door. Tim is at first a touch nervous—he’s usually at work by now, so it shouldn’t be anyone actively looking for him unless a neighbor has seen the car in the driveway and surmised he has a guest—but he relaxes and grins when he opens it and sees who’s actually there. “You know, it’s unlocked. You can just come in.”
“We didn’t want to scare anyone,” Jon says softly.
“Failed step one. I couldn’t think who’d be knocking on my door at ten in the morning.” Tim steps back to let them in. “Then again, do monsters usually knock on doors instead of just barging in?”
“Yes, actually,” Jon Prime says. “Or at least some of them do.”
Tim snorts and shuts the door behind them. He can smell just the faintest hint of cigarette smoke off of one of them, but doesn’t say anything, not even when Jon sheds his cardigan and hangs it on one of the hooks, looking a tad guilty. Instead, he turns back to the living room. “Come on in. Martin and I made tea. If you two have been having anything like the conversations we have, you probably need it.”
He leads them back to the living room and announces as he steps in, “It’s just Jon Squared. Seriously, the lot of you, you don’t have to knock unless it’s locked. Mi casa es vuestra casa.”
Jon Prime goes straight to Martin Prime’s side and touches his shoulder gently; Martin Prime looks up in his direction with a slight half-smile. “Hey. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Jon Prime assures him, his voice low and intimate. Tim’s heart turns over. “You?”
“We’re fine.” Martin Prime shifts slightly to the side, even though there’s no need. Jon Prime settles in next to him.
Jon hesitates before perching on the arm of the sofa rather than ask Martin to move over a little more, which Martin is clearly about to do. Tim decides not to mention it. Instead, he picks up the two mugs on the coffee table, identical save that one is blue-grey and the other is forest green, and hands one to Jon and the other to Jon Prime. “Here. They should be the same—they are the same, right, Martin?” he adds, glancing at Martin.
“Yeah. Erm, I—I didn’t know if you—I assume you still drink it the same way, I just—” Martin gestures helplessly in Jon Prime’s direction. “I would have asked, but he was in here and—”
“It’s fine, Martin,” Jon Prime says, his eyes crinkling upwards at the corners. “How I like my tea hasn’t changed.”
Jon stares into the depths of the mug in his hands like it holds the secrets of the universe, or possibly like he’s wondering if there’s enough in it to drown himself in. Tim settles back onto the sofa and picks up his own mug. “Great. So now that we have something to build on…where do we go to next?”
Sasha drums her fingers on the arm of the sofa for a minute, and Tim just knows she’s about to ask one of the deepest, darkest questions she can come up with. Thankfully, Martin seems to get that vibe too and jumps in before she can say anything. “Okay, so—so you were talking about being marked by the entities. W-what does that actually…mean in the long term? I mean, is it—what does it do?”
“For the most part,” Jon Prime says slowly, “nothing, really. It—being marked by an entity simply means that anyone who worships or follows or—or is a part of that entity will be drawn to you. It makes you a bigger target to them.”
“You’ve already got that baseline of fear, you see,” Martin Prime adds. “And you felt it down to your bones, so it’s not a case of ‘I looked my fear in the eye and I’m no longer afraid of it’, usually, it’s more of ‘I looked my fear in the eye and now I know what there is to be scared of’, which makes it worse. So those…entities, if you run into them, will be more likely to try something on you.”
“Brilliant,” Tim mutters, eyeing the bandages on Martin’s hands and face. Jon reaches out, like he wants to put a protective hand on Martin’s arm, but stops himself.
Jon Prime sighs and looks up at Jon. “But unfortunately, as in so many other things, it does mean something worse for you.”
“Me?” Jon stiffens. “What would being marked do to me?”
Jon Prime presses his lips together for a moment. Martin Prime touches Jon Prime’s hand lightly. “Do you…want me to tell them?”
“No. No, it ought to come from me.” Jon Prime turns his hand over and squeezes Martin Prime’s gently. “Each of the…entities has a ritual. Something designed to…bring them fully into the world, allow them to take it over. End the world as we know it and create a new world entirely devoted to fear, fear that feeds directly into that entity. Jonah Magnus has dedicated two hundred years to perfecting that ritual and bringing it to fruition.”
“B-but—wait, wait.” Martin takes a deep breath. “If—if these things are like Smirke said—balance and all that, you can’t—how can you be afraid of something if you don’t know what the world’s like without it? If the—if the Buried takes over, how can you be afraid if you don’t know the sky’s still out there? How can you be afraid of the dark if light doesn’t exist? You can’t just create a world where nothing exists but one fear, because then you—it’s just normal. Right?”
“Exactly. Which is why most of the entities’ rituals will…collapse on their own. Something Gertrude Robinson didn’t figure out until the end of her life—nor, for that matter, did Jonah Magnus—and something I’m afraid I—”
“We,” Martin Prime interrupts emphatically.
“—learned too late,” Jon Prime continues. “However, there is…Jonah has a ritual that he thought would work, that would bring all the entities into the world, with one at their head. And the keystone to that ritual is the Archivist.”
“No,” Martin and Tim say in almost the exact same tone. No, they won’t let that happen, they can’t.
“What is the ritual, though?” Sasha asks. “What does it do?”
“It’s called the Watcher’s Crown. Broadly, it involves allowing the Archivist to collect marks from all the entities, in effect becoming an Archive in and of themselves, and then…and then reciting an invocation to bring the fears forth into the world.” Jon Prime looks like he’s about to be sick. “In our timeline, when Jane Prentiss attacked, it was the middle of the day. Elias was watching from the moment he knew she’d attacked, his hand on the override switch for the CO2 system because there was no actual fire. He wanted to see how I acquitted myself, what happened. If I could survive it, because if I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be any use to him. I did—barely—and mostly because of Martin and Tim. From that point on, Elias—Jonah—deliberately put me in the way of as many powers as he could, so I would get the marks. And because I didn’t know what he was doing until far too late, I couldn’t avoid it. I had very little choice except to trust what he said. Then, once I had all fourteen…”
“He tricked you into saying the invocation,” Jon says softly. He doesn’t seem overly surprised.
“He disguised it as a statement.” Martin Prime’s voice sounds the way it did when he imitated Elias in the Archives—can it have only been yesterday? Tim feels like he’s aged a year since then. “Pretended it was something else, then taunted him about it. Explained his entire plan before ending with the words to invoke the ritual.”
“And I couldn’t stop, once begun,” Jon Prime adds. “Not without being interrupted. I—I always preferred to do the statements alone, so Martin had gone out for a walk. He didn’t get back until…after it was done. I had to speak the entire statement aloud.”
“He made you monologue for him? The bastard,” Tim says. He really is genuinely horrified by the idea, but he can’t resist the urge to make at least a somewhat lighthearted quip.
Martin Prime snorts, but some of the tightness leaves his face. “Now that you mention it, I can’t actually vouch for his parentage.”
Jon Prime actually gives a soft but genuine chuckle. “At any rate, that’s what we’re hoping to prevent.”
“But you already have, right?” Tim says. “Jon didn’t get attacked by the worms, so he hasn’t been marked by the—the Corruption. That means the plan hasn’t worked, right?”
“Yet,” Martin points out. “I mean, there’s—there’s no saying Jane Prentiss is the only avatar of the Corruption, right?”
Martin Prime nods. “She was the main one. The other one we kept encountering in statements is—” He turns to Jon Prime. “He is dead, right?”
“Yes, he’s been taken care of. But Martin is right, there are others,” Jon Prime tells them. “And there’s honestly no saying the Corruption had to be the first mark. Jonah is simply waiting to see how you acquit yourself when you do encounter one of the entities. Attacks were fairly common when Gertrude was the Archivist.”
“And they were fairly common for us, too,” Martin Prime adds.
“So we’ve got to keep Jon from getting hurt by anything at all,” Tim says.
“Sure. That won’t be hard,” Sasha mumbles. Tim kicks her in the ankle and she glares at him.
“No, she’s right. We—we’re going to do our best, but honestly, I don’t think there’s any stopping you getting at least one more before we can take Jonah down.” Jon Prime cocks his head at Jon. “And I don’t think it’s in your best interest that you not, actually.”
Martin sputters, but Jon nods slowly. “You mean that if I don’t…he’ll get suspicious. Especially if—” He shakes his head. “I’m not putting you in that kind of danger. God. Never mind the danger from the other entities—what would Elias do if he realized you three knew enough to potentially thwart his plans?” He looks up anxiously at Jon Prime. “Could he—never mind, I know the answer to that. Would he, though? Would he think he could get away with it?”
Jon Prime hesitates. “Probably. A-after all, most of us…don’t really have that many connections outside the Institute, I—” He breaks off and looks at Sasha in some little confusion.
Sasha, surprisingly, looks a little uncomfortable with the scrutiny. Tim raises an eyebrow and looks back and forth between her and Jon Prime, but she manages not to say anything and he doesn’t seem inclined to ask.
After a moment of silence, Martin Prime makes a soft ah noise. “The Not-Sasha told us she—you—had a boyfriend named Tom.”
“Oh!” Is it Tim’s imagination, or does Sasha sound relieved? “No. No, I’m single.”
“I thought as much. I—I was always fairly certain that was just its cover for why it was going to Madame Tussauds every day.” Jon Prime studies Sasha a moment longer, then returns to the group at large. “Under most circumstances, I-I’d say it was unlikely he’d actually do it himself. He’s not fond of getting his hands dirty. More likely to manipulate someone else into doing it, but if he was desperate enough…”
It’s at that point that Tim realizes Jon—and Jon Prime—are implying that Elias might actually kill them if he thinks they’re standing between him and world domination. He resists the urge to gather Martin and Sasha close to him; Sasha wouldn’t appreciate it and Martin will just hurt. “Okay, but is there a way we can keep Jon from getting hurt and keep Elias from being suspicious?”
“Not really.” To Tim’s surprise, it’s Jon who answers, not one of the Primes. “I—if he really can watch us whenever he wants to, he’s going to be watching me for a while, I think. I couldn’t figure out why he seemed so…disappointed in me when he was talking to me last night. Maybe he really did think I ran out of the Archives to save my own skin and left all of you down there, but from what you all have said so far, I-I think he’s more disappointed he didn’t get to see how I handled myself. I’d imagine he’s going to be even more interested in my next potential encounter with an entity.”
Jon Prime smiles sadly. “You catch on quickly, Archivist.”
Martin Prime frowns briefly, but says nothing. Tim decides not to ask. “What is the next one, anyway?”
“For me, it—well, the next one I encountered would have been the Not-Sasha, which is the Stranger, but a-apparently it didn’t mark me,” Jon Prime says. “The next one for me was the Spiral. But there’s no guarantee they’ll go in the same order.”
“Well, it’s something, at least. What do we need to prepare for?” Tim studies Jon Prime. “If I’m remembering right, the…description of the painting didn’t have a symbol, so that means you’ve got a physical scar from it, right?”
Jon Prime rests a hand on his side, seemingly without conscious thought. “Yes. It—Michael came into my office. He, he was stalking a woman…she’d come to give a statement. I-I found out later Jonah directed her there with the idea of leading the Distortion, the Spiral, to me. He…took her when she tried to leave.”
“The painting title,” Martin murmurs. “There Has Never Been a Door There. That means something, right?”
“It’s…all of those titles, at least in the ones of me, were things said during those encounters. My guess is that those were the points when it was irreversible, where I had gone too far and there was no chance of me leaving the encounter without a mark. The Distortion…it throws up those doors, leading to its realm, but it can’t actually pull you in. You have to open the door yourself. O-or knock, or whatever. Michael caused a door to appear in the wall of my office, and—”
“His victim took that door instead of the actual door,” Tim guesses.
Jon Prime nods. “I didn’t realize it myself until he pointed it out. And when I tried to argue with him, he stabbed me.”
“And because he was so paranoid at the time,” Martin Prime puts in, “Jon told us he’d accidentally stabbed himself.”
“And you believed him?” Tim says incredulously.
“No. He’s usually a good liar, but the fact that taking statements used to drain him combined with the fact that he was bleeding heavily made it harder for him to be convincing. He was also really paranoid at the time, though—I was only just starting to realize how paranoid—and I decided not to push him on it. Mistake, maybe, but it felt like the right decision at the time.” Martin Prime raises an eyebrow in Jon Prime’s direction, albeit with a slight half-smile. “Which isn’t to say that I didn’t make it clear I was only humoring him.”
“He hovered,” Jon Prime tells them. There’s an undercurrent of affection in his voice. “At the time, I tried to convince myself there was something sinister behind his constant attention, but even at my most paranoid I couldn’t quite manage it. I don’t know that I ever really believed you were a suspect.”
Martin Prime shakes his head. “Oh, I’m pretty sure you did. I know I wasn’t high on your list, but you did actually suspect me.”
Sasha looks back and forth between the two of them. “Sorry, have I missed part of this conversation?”
Jon holds up a hand. “While we’re discussing things that may have been missed—you keep talking about a Not-Sasha. You mentioned that in your statement, too, but—what is that? Everyone but me seems to understand.”
Martin Prime looks slightly sheepish. So does Jon Prime. Tim studies both of them, then ventures, “Maybe you two could just…tell us everything you’ve been through? Or as much as you feel like we ought to know. You don’t have to give us all the details, but at least, like, the Cliff Notes version?”
The Primes look at each other, or at least in each other’s direction; Tim sees several emotions play out across Jon Prime’s face. Finally, he squeezes Martin Prime’s hand briefly and turns back to the others, nodding. “I think we can manage that.”
They begin to talk, starting with the attack on the Institute and the immediate fallout from that. Tim listens in growing alarm and horror as they lay out the bare bones of what they’ve gone through in the last two years. He can feel Martin trembling at his side, while on the other, Sasha actually pulls away from him, leaning forward slightly with an intent expression, like she’s drinking in all the information. When Jon Prime describes his desperate flight into the tunnels to escape the thing pretending to wear Sasha’s face, Jon lets out a soft, high-pitched noise of fear and pain.
Tim doesn’t think; he just reacts. He reaches over and grabs Jon, dragging him over Martin’s lap and only belatedly remembering the mug of tea, which Jon fortunately no longer appears to be holding. There’s not really time for either of them to be startled before Tim has Jon slotted into the spot between Tim and Martin. Before they had Martin between them because, Tim suspects, they both felt the need to protect him; now it’s Jon who needs that protection. Tim puts his arm around Jon’s shoulders and touches Martin’s on the other side. Martin, almost hesitantly, does the same. Jon stiffens for just a second, then seems to melt back against their crossed arms.
A look flits across Jon Prime’s face for a second, warmth mingled with pure, unadulterated pain, and it makes Tim unconsciously shift a little closer to Jon. Jon Prime doesn’t comment, though, merely takes a deep breath and continues talking.
True to Tim’s suggestion, they don’t give all the details, but the little they do tell is enough. Jon reaches over and grabs Tim’s hand while Martin squeezes his shoulder when Martin Prime’s voice cracks telling them about the phone call from the one person to walk away from the Unknowing alive and unhurt; the three of them bunch closer together when Jon Prime grits out the basics of his interview with Jared Hopworth; Jon takes Martin’s free hand as gently as possible when they lay out the bare bones of the confrontation with Peter Lukas. Sasha occasionally shoots sympathetic glances in their direction, at least at first, but she seems more focused on the tale than on her colleagues’ reactions.
“…And then the world ended,” Jon Prime concludes, sounding tired.
Martin exhales hard. “Christ.”
Sasha cocks her head to one side, studying the Primes. “And then what?”
“And then we decided to try and fix it.”
“No, I mean, what was it like? The end of the world. What happened? What did it look like?”
Jon Prime stares at Sasha. He looks both genuinely confused and not a little alarmed. His eyes slide over to the knot of humanity that is Tim, Jon, and Martin, then back to Sasha. Tim would give a year’s salary to know his thoughts.
“It did exactly what Jonah wanted it to do,” Martin Prime says, his voice sharpened to the same point as when he answered Sasha’s probing questions about her fate. “And it looked like hell on Earth.”
Sasha jerks backwards, then blinks hard and presses her fingertips to her mouth. “I did it again, didn’t I?”
“‘It’?” Jon Prime repeats.
“I asked him why I didn’t have more marks in your timeline,” Sasha says through her fingers. “Even though I knew I was—that the me in your time had died. I knew that from the picture. But I pushed him, I made him say it out loud. I swear I’m not usually like this. I-I mean, I’m curious, don’t get me wrong. I want to know things. But I usually know to stop before…I don’t ask questions I can guess the answer to just to watch people hurt.”
Jon Prime studies her for a moment. Quietly, he says, “You’ll forgive me if we keep a close eye on you, Sasha.”
“Please do. I—I don’t want to lose myself.”
Tim almost reaches over to take her hand, but all of his hands are currently occupied and she probably wouldn’t appreciate it anyway. He settles for nudging her ankle with his foot. She nudges back and manages a smile, lacing her fingers together. Tim returns his gaze to the Primes and tries to regain his equilibrium, to summon up a way to break the heavy mood that’s settled over them, or at least ease it back. At the same time, he has a question that’s been persisting in the back of his mind, and he knows he needs to ask it before he lets it fester.
“While we’re asking questions,” he says. “You said I wouldn’t like the way to make the dreams stop. I’m assuming it’s not the same ‘only when they die’ thing as you told Jon when he asked.”
“No. Those are…two very different things.” Jon Prime rubs his thumb over Martin Prime’s knuckles. It looks like it might be hard enough to hurt.
“What did you mean by that?” Jon asks, sounding almost afraid of the answer.
“You’ve only got two right now, right?” Jon Prime frowns, like he’s trying to remember. “The woman in the cemetery and the…incident in the Cambridge Military Hospital.”
“Yes.” Jon’s voice is barely above a whisper. “God, you’re not telling me there will be more?”
“I’m afraid so. The dreams are a side effect of the statements, or…perhaps an extension of them. Strictly speaking, they aren’t your dreams. They’re the dreams of those who experienced them at first—those who handed over their terror to you in the first place. You’re simply…watching them.”
Jon’s eyes widen. “Oh, God.”
“W-wait, you can just—you can just see people’s dreams?” Martin demands.
“Not quite. It’s more…when is terror at its most pure? When it’s being experienced firsthand…and when you relive it in the dead of night.”
Tim flinches, because Jon Prime is right. He doesn’t remember being scared in the theater the first time, although he knows he must have been, but when he dreams about it, it’s always so much worse, because he knows and he’s powerless to stop it. Martin’s fingers squeeze against his shoulder again, even though he can’t know what Tim is thinking of, which in retrospect is totally unfair because Martin’s trusted Tim with so much about himself and Tim has trusted him so little in return.
Jon is shaking his head. “No, but—i-if it’s the real statements, I—why don’t I dream about the others, then? God, I’d have thought Carlos Vittery’s statement would give me nightmares, but—”
“Your fear isn’t interesting to the Ceaseless Watcher,” Jon Prime says. “Not when it can see it whenever it wants to. It’s the same for your assistants, which is why you weren’t all sharing nightmares about the infestation last night. And the ones you’ve recorded, the—the stale ones, that’s why they’re not as satisfying to…well, me, I suppose. It’s all secondhand. You’re not drawing the terror right out of them. The live statements, though…you sat with them, you drew out their fears, you heard and felt their emotional connection. You’ve also created a connection from them to the Watcher itself. Now when they dream about it, there’s the added terror of not only what they’re going through, but also the knowledge that someone, something, is standing right there watching them and doing nothing to stop it.”
Jon flinches hard. Even Tim feels a stab of pain lance through him at the thought. “Wait, they can see him? You? I mean, you said you didn’t dream last night…”
“Because, in this timeline, I haven’t heard any of the statements, I suppose,” Jon Prime says. “We didn’t really need to sleep after the world ended, and on the rare occasions I did…the Eye probably considered those pre-apocalyptic fears petty and pedestrian, compared to the horrors available after. Assuming…” He trails off. “Anyway, the only one who’s actually given a statement to you so far that I might still be able to see is Naomi Hearn. I stopped seeing Melanie in my dreams after she joined the Institute, which is why Daisy joined in the first place. To make the dreams stop. Otherwise, the only way they tend to stop dreaming about it is if they die.”
And suddenly, Tim gets it. “So that’s how to stop my dreams. To make a statement about them.”
“Essentially, yes. A-at least I think that’s how it works. Our Tim didn’t make a statement directly to me, I—I was in America at the time. Martin was the one who did the recording.”
“They stopped,” Martin Prime says quietly. “He thanked me later. Grudgingly. Said maybe not talking about it had kept him obsessing over it in his sleep. I didn’t put the pieces together until…after, and I still don’t know if they stopped before you listened to the tape or not.”
Martin cocks his head, studying his counterpart. “And you won’t have dreams? After…” He gestures at the recorder, then seems to remember Martin Prime can’t see him. “After giving your statement?”
“No. I’m cut off from the Eye completely.” Martin Prime taps the corner of his eye for emphasis. “It can’t See me, and therefore can’t use me. Melanie was the same.”
Tim’s still trying to wrap his brain around the angry former B-list Internet celebrity being part of their team, but he can at least see her gouging her own eyes out to get away from it. “Okay. So we’ve established the swirling vortex of terror that is your lives. How do we stop that from happening to us?”
“In the first place,” Jon Prime says, “don’t let Jonah know how much you know.”
“Can he read minds?” Martin asks nervously.
“In a limited fashion. It really depends on how hard he’s concentrating and how much you’re thinking about…whatever it is.” Jon Prime appears to think for a moment. “I think it may be stronger if it’s directed at him. He certainly always seemed to know when Melanie was about to make her latest attempt on his life.”
“To be fair, that was most of the time,” Martin Prime points out.
“Yes, well, point. But still. He never…all right, truth be told, he never exactly outright said what he knew, unless it was to his advantage. Like when he…” Jon Prime trails off.
“Like when he went after me,” Martin Prime supplies quietly. “Or Melanie. But for what it’s worth, I think you’re right. I think it’s…harder for him to sift through people’s brains if they’re not in the room with him, or if they’re not aiming in his direction. And he outright told me he’d never considered me worth paying that much attention to until I started burning those statements.”
“He knew—” Jon Prime begins and then snaps off the sentence. Tim almost misses the quick, slightly guilty glance he shoots in Martin’s direction.
“Jon, I’m almost completely certain that the only person at the Institute who didn’t know that was you.”
Jon Prime ducks his head sheepishly, but his lips quirk upwards in a smile nevertheless, and his eyes are warm as he regards Martin Prime. Seeing them like this feels right, and Tim tries to ignore the sudden flash of melancholy in his chest.
“Anyway,” Jon Prime says, returning his gaze to the four on the sofa and obviously fighting to get his face under control, “as we said earlier, if Jonah guesses you know anything, he may…do something drastic. So the first step is going to be to keep him from knowing you’re not as ignorant as he wants you to be. You especially, Archivist.”
“Don’t think I don’t know why you’re doing that, Jon,” Martin Prime says warningly.
Tim has no idea what he’s talking about, but it’s evident Jon Prime does. He looks like he’s gearing up to argue, then evidently changes his mind and sighs. “Right. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Turning back to Jon, he continues, “It’s why he murdered Jurgen Leitner in the first place—to keep me as ignorant as possible.”
“So if he knows that any of us have figured it out, he’ll kill us before we can tell Jon,” Sasha says. “What would he do if he knew Jon knew? If it’s okay to ask that,” she adds quickly.
Jon Prime gives her a quick half-smile. “That’s fine. And don’t worry, Martin, I’m not trying anything,” he adds, squeezing Martin Prime’s hand. “That’s a hypothetical, so I can’t Know that for sure, but my guess is that he’d kill him and go looking for a new Archivist. Again.”
Tim flinches at the bland statement. “Right, and we obviously want to prevent that. I mean, apart from the obvious ‘let’s not end the world’ thing, we definitely want Jon to stay alive. So apart from continuing to play stupid, what’s the plan?”
Jon Prime hesitates and looks at Martin Prime, who grimaces. “That’s…we probably can’t tell you our plan in detail. Let’s just say it’s best if you are actually ignorant of that until it happens. For your part, just…watch out for one another. Don’t let Elias push you apart. He’s…very good at sowing seeds of discontent under the guise of ‘promoting a healthy workplace environment’. And for God’s sake, keep an eye out for anything odd. Be careful when you’re out investigating statements.” His eyes flick up to Tim’s for a moment, and Tim swallows down a bit of not wholly unwarranted guilt at the worry in them. “If it’s something you’re truly worried about, get word to us and we’ll see what we can do to help. Either by giving you the information you need without you having to chase it down or by, well, chasing it down for you.”
“You can do that?” Martin sounds genuinely surprised.
“Why not? For the most part, we do know the answers, but if it’s something Elias is going to want proof for, we can easily get it for you.”
Tim notes, if only to himself, that Jon Prime refers to their evil overlord as Elias when he’s talking about day-to-day Institute business and Jonah the rest of the time. It’s probably a useful distinction. “What do we do about the table? If it comes?”
“I—I assume it’s when, not if. Breekon and Hope will have to deliver it at some point. And, honestly, I don’t know.” Jon Prime sighs. “Elias suggested we destroy it. I’m still not sure if it’s because he wanted me to destroy it so the thing trapped by it would get loose and come after me or if it was because he thought suggesting it be destroyed was the best way to make me not destroy it, so the thing could catch someone unaware.”
“Honestly, I don’t think he knew for sure what it was,” Martin Prime says slowly. “Not until it…well, you know. Not until after the attack. I think he really did want it destroyed. Maybe he saw it as a legitimate threat. But we still don’t really know what to do with it. Sasha, you worked in Artifact Storage—would they leave it alone if you sent up a copy of Amy Patel’s statement, maybe warned them what might be in it?”
“No. That’d be the fastest way to make them investigate it, actually. Addison—Dr. Bradley—can get a bit…obsessive about things that might actually have some paranormal significance.” Sasha purses up her lips thoughtfully. “On the other hand—why suggest destroying it to you? I mean, technically if it’s in the purview of Artifact Storage…”
“I think it’s because it was technically delivered to me. Rosie signed for it and had them take it up to Artifact Storage because, well, it was an artifact, but it was addressed to me. I-I suppose it was, strictly speaking, mine to dispose of as I saw fit.”
“Then I think all Jon has to say is ‘don’t touch it’. Lock it in its own room. That ought to do it.” Sasha seems uncertain. “Maybe.”
Jon swallows hard. “Right. As long as they bring it to me at the Institute and not…personally.”
Jon Prime offers him what he probably hopes is a reassuring smile. “I actually do have some small idea, but I’d need to…unfortunately, take a look at the table before I can be sure. And I’m not sure I can risk that.”
“Yeah, there are actually cameras up in Artifact Storage,” Sasha says. “But, I mean, would they be good enough to pick out the differences in the two of you?”
“I don’t know that my ability to shield myself from Jonah’s…attentions will extend to CCTV, so I’d rather not try,” Jon Prime answers. “Not until we’re a little more secure. A bit more settled.”
Jon takes a deep breath. “Well, you’ve got a few days to decide. Elias was a bit grudging when I asked him to give us a day or two to breathe, but either he finally realized none of us would get much work done with the Archives knee-deep in worm corpses or it occurred to him the police are going to want to look into some things—”
“Or he recognized that you were about six seconds from either a complete mental breakdown or a homicidal rampage,” Tim interjects.
“Tim!” Martin says reproachfully.
“I’m serious. You were in quarantine, you didn’t see the way he was trying to chew through anyone remotely official.”
“Nobody would tell me anything,” Jon mumbles.
Jon Prime smiles. “Whatever the reasoning, Elias did at least agree to give you some time off?”
Jon nods and looks up. “Until Monday. A-and of course Martin’s going to be out for a while. You’re—you’re not in any shape to come back right now. You need to rest.”
“Yeah.” Martin exhales heavily and frees his hand from Jon’s to rub it over his face. “Another however many weeks holed up in my flat, I guess. At least this time I’ll have power. Maybe.”
Martin Prime winces. “Ah—about that? You didn’t think to get in touch with Mrs. Mattson, did you?”
“N—oh, Christ, the lease was up for renewal on the twelfth.” Martin pales. “It’s only been a couple weeks—m-maybe it’ll still be okay?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re staying here,” Tim tells him.
“Tim—”
“No, don’t you ‘Tim’ me. You don’t need to stay on your own when I’ve got plenty of space right here. And it’ll make me feel better if you’re somewhere I can keep an eye on you, just in case things get bad.” Tim makes an effort to soften his voice. “You’ve been alone enough. Why do it again if you don’t have to?”
Martin blinks at him in evident surprise. Jon eases his hand away from Tim’s and touches Martin’s knee lightly. “I know I’d feel better if there was someone looking out for you. I—I shouldn’t have left you alone in the Archives, and I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s—it’s not your fault.” Martin doesn’t seem to know what to do with all of this, but he does at least seem to realize that he’s only being given one option. “All right. If—if you’re sure.”
Tim nods, then adds to Jon, “You’re staying, too, you know.”
“What?” Jon looks startled.
“I’m serious. Look, call me paranoid if you want, but…after what we just went through? After what we’ve just heard? I don’t want to let any of you out of my sight, and if that makes me sound crazy, I’ll live with that. The point is that I will live with it, and so will you. Just…please. At least until we’ve got a better handle on everything.” Tim looks from Jon to Sasha and back. “I can even clean out the study and turn it back into a spare room.”
“Tim, that’s not necessary,” Jon says softly. “I—of course. I-if it means that much to you, I’ll stay for a while.”
Sasha manages a smile. “Yeah, all right, why not? God knows you need a keeper, too.”
“Shut up,” Tim grumbles without any real heat. He looks over at the Primes, who are both regarding him a little sadly. “It’s a given that you two are staying, of course. Don’t suppose you have anywhere else to go.”
Martin Prime’s cheeks color slightly, and Tim realizes how that probably came out. Before he can apologize, Jon Prime says, “As much as I’d rather not, all things considered, we’re planning on staying in the tunnels. Keeps us close to the Institute, keeps us a bit more hidden, and puts us in a position to handle things as they come up.”
Tim nods. “Right, fine, but you may have forgotten the small detail that they’re probably a crime scene right now. I mean, we found the shot-up body of a woman who’s been missing for the better part of a year down there, and you know the police are going to be all through there, failing to find evidence of who shot her. If we’re not able to get in to work, you’re not going to be able to get down there to hide out. You should at least stay here until it’s clear.” And then I’ll figure out an excuse to keep you here a bit longer, he adds mentally. He knows it’s not his fault that his counterpart in their timeline was an asshole, and he knows he can’t exactly make up for that, but he’s going to try anyway.
He’s not sure why the sudden, intense need to protect everyone. Maybe it’s knowing that the—the thing that took Danny from him is still out there (he’s not stupid; even though they didn’t say as much, he knows that the Unknowing and Danny’s death are connected) and that it’s not the only one of its kind. Maybe it’s that he’s more shaken than he wants to admit at the close call they had with losing Martin. Maybe it’s just hearing everything the Primes went through and knowing he’s powerless to fix it, but desperate to do anything he can to prevent it for his Martin and Jon. And, well, if he can give the Primes a bit of comfort in the meantime, that’s no small feat.
Jon Prime looks startled. “We—Tim, it’s not safe. Even if Jonah can’t see us, there’s no guarantee anything else…God knows I attract enough attention under ordinary circumstances. It’s a miracle I got this far without incident. W-we can’t put you all in danger like that.”
“Not like we’ll be any safer if it’s just us,” Tim points out. “At least if you’re here, we can all keep an eye on each other.”
“You said that us both being in the same room would…muddle things, make it more difficult for Elias,” Jon says. “At least until I can…get a handle on all this. I—anything you can teach me to keep them safe.”
“I think we’re outnumbered, Jon,” Martin Prime says with a soft smile.
Jon Prime looks at him, then sighs, nods, and turns back to Tim. “All right. But only until it’s safe for us to move into the tunnels.”
Tim grins, relieved for reasons he chooses not to examine. “Great. Now then. Who’s up for lunch?”
#ollie writes fanfic#leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma#the magnus archives#jonmartin#Tim is incredibly protective of his family
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the tiger shark and the sun
New chapter posted for my Star Wars/Avatar the Last Airbender RebelCaptain fusion AU! In which Cassian starts a revolution, maybe???
Read on AO3 | Read from start
Pairings: Jyn/Cassian, minor Han/Leia and Baze/Chirrut, random minor background pairings
Rating: T
Summary: Star Wars/Avatar the Last Airbender fusion AU. When exiled firebender Jyn Erso lands on his doorstep the day Cassian, last southern waterbender, meets the Avatar, she seems just another obstacle in ending the War against the Fire Nation. An obstacle he would willingly remove. But as their paths keep crossing, and the twins discover that destiny and balance are more than they expect, Jyn and Cassian find that they are more alike than they ever thought possible.
Snippet under the cut!
Han and Chewie docked the Falcon in a secluded cave on one of the Fire Nation’s outer islands. The Fire Nation compromised a chain of volcanic islands, some larger than others, made by dragon tears, the locals claimed. On the journey, Cassian had been helping Leia and Luke master their waterbending with their disabled hands. The twins were showing great progress, modifying the style to use more limb and leg movement to compensate for the lack of finger precision. There had also been time to fill Han in on…Vader.
After much sputtering (“you brought them back from the dead?”), Han had asked the burning question. “So, are you going to kill him on the Day of Black Sun?”
Neither Luke nor Leia had been able to answer.
Cassian could feel the tension radiating off them. A simmering unease had rippled across the whole group since the day Mon Cala fell. Since the day Jyn had betrayed him. Since the day Cassian had brought two people back from the dead.
He looked at his hands. Felt alien in his own skin. If the Avatar had died…it was all worthless, wasn’t it? Everything he had ever done, it would all be worthless. Everything he had done for his people, for the cause.
Moon Healer. Resurrector. Lies that swirled through the newly named Rebel Alliance.
They disembarked, taking in their surroundings. None of them had ever been to the Fire Nation before. A part of Cassian had imagined endless gloom, fire, dragons and spikes everywhere. Instead, they found moss-covered lava fields, rolling black hills and mountains, sandy beaches. Impossibly bright sunlight and sticky heat. It nearly rankled him to admit how soothing it was to feel the thickness of water in the humid air. Ready to crack open with another tropical storm, as the Rebels were, waiting with the patience of the glaciers to deliver the killing blow. The houses here were made from the rich volcanic soil, grown over with moss and lichen to create beautiful little green homes, sprouting up from the earth. The island's name was Gatalenta.
“It’s beautiful,” Luke said. Chirrut dragged his hands through the earth, nodding in admiration, as Enfys unclipped her helmet, feeling the swift breeze off the sea.
Leia didn’t say anything, but her eyes widened. “I had a friend from here,” Leia said, as they walked towards some caves, “Her father worked in Coruscant, building ships, so my parents knew their family.”
“What happened to her?” Enfys asked, as they stepped into the dank darkness of the caves.
“The Fire Nation’s Outer Islands were always more connected to the Southern Isles. They crushed their governor eventually, for rumoured rebel activity. No more ships went out to Alderaan. I never saw her again.” Leia’s eyes dropped. “She was a good person, for being Fire Nation.”
Nobody voiced the very loud, glaring truth, of the twin's own heritage.
Clearing his throat to ease the tension, Han groused, “Is our plan really to stay in caves for months until the eclipse? Scavenging for food?”
Baze thunked the wall. Several white insects dropped down. "By food, do you mean cave hoppers?"
“Threepio, spit that out!” Leia cried.
The parrot looked guilty, halfway through munching on the cave hoppers. Artoo and Kay sniffed the insects and made faces. “Looks like you’ve been out-voted,” Han said smugly, as Leia picked up her sulking parrot.
“Let’s find some new clothes, then.”
The group crouched, looking over at some kind of washing house. Clothes fluttered on laundry lines. They looked at one another. “Do you think this is…” Luke began.
“I call the red silk dress!” Leia said, running towards the nearest line.
Luke grinned. The group took off, Chirrut yelling, “Baze, you better pick something nice out for me!”
“Don’t count on it!”
It took about ten minutes for the group to assemble, now disguised as Fire Nation. Cassian had found a rather unimpressive black set that seemed like the uniform of a petty bureaucrat. He’d also found the matching cap that went with it, further hiding his face. It seemed to be made at least of cotton, given the weather. Luke’s had found a black tunic, and trousers, which, together with his beard, gave him a start. Vader. He shook the thought from his head quickly.
"The beard helps," Cassian said.
"It's itchy, I don't know how you handle it."
Han and Baze had found themselves basic red shirts, and dark trousers, with Baze very reluctantly hiding away his many explosive belts on the docked Falcon. “They’re going to think you’re wealthy if you’re wearing that,” Leia joked, as Chirrut wrapped himself in a wine-red robe.
“Is the idea less pants, more money?” Han said.
“And longer robe, more money,” Leia said, as she helped an annoyed Enfys pin on her own white dress. Or tried as best she could, with only one working hand. Luke quickly pitched in. Both women’s dresses fell to below their knees, with pins at the shoulders and under their breasts. The outfits were complete with leather sandals and veils pinned to their hair. With her hair loose, and a veil over it, Leia could reasonably pass as a different person from the Avatar. Enfys didn’t look particularly happy about her get-up, especially since she could not carry her staff with her. Cassian didn’t entirely blame her. Of all of them, she stood out the most at first glance due to her skin colour and hair. He saw Luke put a protective arm around her shoulders, as they walked into town.
In addition to supplies, Cassian purchased two sets of black leather gloves. Luke and Leia slid them on, concealing their burnt hands. "I'd rather just wear one," Luke said, flexing his good hand in the glove.
"One glove tells a story. We don't want to have stories."
"Look at us," Enfys muttered, "We practically invite stories."
They kept their time in the marketplace short. Some Fire Nation viewed them with distaste at their cover of being from the colonies, but others, particularly older people, seemed indifferent. Still, Cassian did not feel safe as they walked through town. He was lucky, very lucky, to be light-skinned, in this context, but there were plenty who paused and knew, no, you're not one of us...
How detached these peasant people seemed from the War. More concerned with their own poverty than with two decades of genocide and expansion. Cassian had been hungry three times in his life: once when Fest fell, and the villagers of Alderaan, taking in the refugees, did not have enough to last everyone through the winter, again as a teenager as their population dwindled.
And once as a refugee again, trying to get Mon Cala.
Cassian studied the narrow face handing him a small sack of lentils, before he dismissed the thought.
continue reading on AO3
#rebelcaptain#rogue one#star wars#dailyrebelcaptain#jyn x cassian#zutara#jyn erso#cassian andor#my fic#star wars fic#sw fic#au: atla
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More Than Meets the Eye #13- Swerve Doesn’t Have Any Friends
Okay, let’s go ahead and get this out of the way.
It’s a FUCKING SPORTS BRA AND RUNNING SHORTS ALEX.
And don’t think I don’t see that friggin’ cleavage alien back there. You ain’t slick.
I’m going to make it a law that all comic book artists learn how to draw clothes that don’t vacuum-seal themselves to women’s bodies. Milne gets six months for this infraction alone, and Roche gets a year for the initial bra crime he committed back in Last Stand. Learn how women’s underwear works, you ninnies.
Our issue opens up with Swerve stretching his radio personality muscles.
Oh, Guido Guidi, whisk me away to flights of fancy!
Our artist for this issue is none other than Guido Guidi, ascended from fanwork to deliver us from evil with his near-superhuman ability to emulate other artists’ styles and just make things look really pretty. He was responsible for the mythos pages in the 2012 Annual, AKA the best part. He also filled in on some of the art for Last Stand of the Wreckers, not that I really noticed because he’s just that good.
Swerve lets Blurr know that while it might have looked like the Lost Light had exploded, thus killing everyone onboard back in issue #1, that isn’t actually what happened. I’m glad someone filled in the Cybertronian populace on that.
I was never great at math, but those speech bubbles might be phoning it in a bit.
Swerve says that he’s having a great time on the quest, despite all the hiccups, and we get an explanation for why this long-range communications system hasn’t been seen prior to this point. It’s been broken for a while- most likely due to the quantum jump that started the series off with a bang- but Blaster managed to get it running again. Good job, Blaster. With this little setup for our framing device out of the way, we get into the meat of the story.
Swerve is being nosey about things that weren’t any of his business, happening in a closed off room, when Drift drags him down the hall and hid him away for safety. Swerve doesn’t much appreciate being manhandled, but there’s a method to the madness here.
Drift’s nose has vacated the premises once again, so we’re just going to have to deal with that. And how shapely does one have to be to be known as “the guy with the legs”? I mean, Drift is RIGHT THERE.
Drift uses his own powerful legs to kick down the door to Cyclonus and Tailgate’s room. It turns out that the horrific screaming wasn’t the sound of a murder or sexual relations taking place, but rather that of Cyclonus singing in Old Cybertronian.
My god, he’s completely enamored with this unrepentant murder machine.
We are just all up in Cyclonus’ grill for this panel. Nothing but lips. Was this specified in the script? Because it feels like it might have been specified in the script.
Old Cybertronian, or the Primal Vernacular as some might call it, was last seen in general when Rodimus channeled the will of the trapped Titan all across Tailgate’s chest. It was last seen spoken when we met Vos, the terrible murder gremlin who turns into a gun and uses his face to cause puncture trauma.
Comic books are wild, y’all.
Now that we’ve established that no one’s being killed, Drift goes back to what he was doing earlier, with Swerve deciding to tag along because he’s horrifically lonely. He invites Drift to come room up with him, because I guess if you’re going to sell off your comatose roommate’s bed out from under him, you might as well go for the guy who’s third in command, is probably one of the hottest guys on the ship, and slices people into chunky salsa if they try anything funny.
Drift politely declines, and awkwardly removes himself from the conversation when Swerve doesn’t take the hint, returning to his sword lesson with Rodimus.
Oh thank god, the obnoxiously pink room is back.
Ultra Magnus bursts into the room, appalled by the actions of his fellow crew members. Some of his concerns are well-placed. Others, well…
Is- is that another friggin’ retainer on those lower teeth? Why does this design choice keep showing up?
So Magnus has imprisoned roughly a third of the ship at this point, and Rodimus suggests he take a chill pill. Magnus doesn’t even know what a chill pill even is, so we’re forced to make use of our most dangerous weapon- the threat of a good time, courtesy of Swerve.
The fact that Ultra Magnus hasn’t reduced Swerve to an oil stain on the floor is genuinely astounding. The guy has zero respect for bureaucracy or proper business management. It has been MONTHS, you dinky little man, get your act together as a business owner.
Swerve takes the bribe, and soon everyone’s shipping off to Hedonia, where the drinks are plentiful and the women… well, most of the Lost Lighters don’t even know what a woman is, so that aspect doesn’t really come into play. Thanks, Furman.
Also, Rung’s back to normal. Don’t worry about it, not a big deal.
Swerve isn’t having much luck on his Roommate Quest, as Tailgate spurns his advances, stating that he’s good kicking it with Cyclonus, mainly because they’re both old as shit.
I see we haven’t quite hit the threshold on the “Cyclonus is allowed to have friends now” meter. Give it a few more issues, I’m sure we’ll get there.
Man, zero for two for Swerve on trying to get a hot roommate. Maybe third time’s a charm?
Rodimus pops into the back of the shuttle to remind everyone that their entire race is more or less despised by the entire galaxy, and to play it safe by using their holomatter avatars.
The revamp by Brainstorm and Rung is truly a blessing, because the avatars in IDW were awful to look at up to this point.
Y’all, that is HOT ROD. Jesus wept.
Getting back to Tailgate’s questionable taste in companionship, Tailgate asks if Swerve and Blurr connected right away. Swerve gives him an affirmative, then starts listing off the guy’s racing stats until Ultra Magnus plops down between the two of them, drawn in by the melodious sound of statistics.
Magnus is having a hard time relaxing, but he’s giving it his best, and I think that’s very commendable of him. It’s hard trying new things.
On the surface of Hedonia, it would appear the B-Movies are having a Pride event in the entertainment district.
Okay, moment of truth- show us those avatars!
Oh thank god, they aren’t totally hideous. Though, isn’t Rewind old as shit? I guess youth is a state of mind. Still, I can’t believe we missed out on silver fox Rewind.
Rung’s line is in response to folks at the time claiming that Rung was a self-insert character, which is interesting, because we’ve already seen what a self-insert looks like when it’s Roberts doing the inserting, and we’ve also seen his Mary Sues.
Rung, while an original character who had appeared in Roberts’ pre-professional works (a single line of text in Eugenesis, where he was a psychiatry play-on-words), he isn’t what I’d consider a Mary Sue. Mary Sues are usually stunningly beautiful, beloved by their peers, insanely talented in ways that no other character is, and typically have some sort of connection to another character that more or less forces them into the story despite not needing to exist.
Mary Sues don’t get their friggin’ heads exploded, or exist in a constantly-forgettable state. Sure, he’s the only therapist we’ve ever seen in the Transformers franchise, but there was kind of a massive need for that sort of character to be created, seeing as all of these sons of guns have PTSD and clinical depression. And, as we’ve seen in previous issues and will continue to see later on, he’s really not even that great at it.
That isn’t to say that he doesn’t have certain traits befitting such a characterization, merely that they don’t add up to equal that sort of whole by issue #13. Transformers (2009)-era Drift is way closer to a true Mary Sue than Rung is.
Anyway, where the hell did Tailgate get to?
They really just let Frodo Baggins in this bar all babybjörned up, huh? Does Tailgate even know what a baby even is at this point? Does he just think he’s a very small person? How much human media has he consumed? We haven’t gotten into the reproductive process for the continuity yet, but fresh Cybertronians aren’t exactly a one-to-one to human infants. Damn it, Roberts, what the fuck am I supposed to make of Babygate?
Whirl’s off in the corner, disguised as a 12-year old girl who’s fucking STRAPPED. Magnus has disappeared, but Rewind locates him pretty easily as Rung makes a comment about Magnus needing to make an appointment with him.
Oh hey, Verity. Been a minute. Careful, ol’ six-eyes over there is leering at you.
The fellas come back to the bar as they truly are, and sit down for a round of drinks. Whirl gets Ultra Magnus a drink that sounds disturbingly like a Cybertronian equivalent to Milk Coke, and we get a little anatomy lesson. Transformers have something called a Fuel Intake Moderation chip, something that keeps them from getting drunk on pretty much the only thing they can consume. Swerve suggests Magnus turn his off so he can have a good time- which I don’t personally agree with, but this is Captain Stick-in-the-Mud we’re talking about here. Magnus gives it a shot.
And that’s a series wrap on Ultra Magnus!
No, the man’s just got no tolerance and has been knocked the hell out by his drink. Things begin devolving. Tailgate is crying. Skids has found out that Whirl didn’t give Magnus Milk Coke at all, but instead the equivalent of liquid cocaine. Swerve is convinced he’s going to prison. Rewind is filming the whole thing.
Nobody actually checks to see if Magnus is actually dead, until Rung gets around to it. Swerve, you’re a doctor by original trade, what the hell are you doing?
The boys sit Magnus at the table to wait out his nap. Hours later, nothing’s changed, except that they’ve started up the nemesis game, and Whirl’s decided he’s going to be rude about monoformers being monoformers. Rung gives a non-answer, because that’s just who he is as a person. Skids names Misfire as his worst enemy, only because he’s still missing a good chunk of memory and can’t remember if he had a worst enemy, but still wants to contribute to the conversation.
Rung, don’t be a dick, he did his best. You were right on top of Fort Max, it was a tricky shot.
Ultra Magnus finally starts waking up, and that’s the point where everyone decides to foot Swerve with the bill for the emotional labor he’s going to have to perform by explaining just what the friggity-frack happened.
Magnus starts laughing, then crying, then offloads his troubles onto Swerve. Magnus feels like he just doesn’t fit in on the Lost Light. He’s just trying to do his job and everyone makes fun of him, or disrespects his authority. He’s trying, he really is, but he’s just not built for post-war life. He’s actually tried to leave his position on the Lost Light, but they just keep pulling him back in.
Probably doesn’t help that Rodimus seems more interested in Drift’s opinion on matters than his own SIC half the time.
Oh no, he’s making digs at the things Swerve’s sensitive about. Where is Rung?
Magnus just wants to be understood, y’know? He’s a fully realized creation. He’s got interests. Like music! And the fact that Swerve is missing his Autobot badge!
This was the point where MTMTE was still bouncing back and forth on whether it wanted to commit to the crotch badge. It was a tumultuous time for everyone, very dark days.
WHERE THE FUCK IS RUNG
Magnus, having had enough of sharing his feelings, takes another sip of his cocaine and slips back into unconsciousness. Swerve admits to his limp body that people don’t actually like him, but rather only stick around because of what he can offer- namely, a good time.
The rest of the Swerve posse comes back, with Cyclones having joined the party. Rung shows off his new model ship, which gets Rewind started on his movie collection. He pulls up the opening ceremony for the Ark 1. Y’know, the Ark 1, that ship that Cyclonus was on that disappeared into the Dead Universe for six million years. The Ark 1 that Tailgate was supposed to be on.
Before we can get started however, someone throws the model at Rewind’s head.
That someone is none other than Cyclonus, who proceeds to fly into a rage, throwing tables and shoving the still-unconscious Ultra Magnus to the floor. My word, what a reaction! What could possibly be setting him off so much? Does he not like being reminded of his fated trip to the stars? Is this a manifestation of trauma from that event?
Who knows? No time for questions, Skids is too busy punching him in the face.
Tailgate intervenes, explaining that because Cyclonus and himself are so goddamn old, the engex Cyclonus consumed is wreaking havoc on his body. He tells the rest of them to go on while he tries to calm Cyclonus down. Interesting that Rewind doesn’t have any sort of input on this, given that he is also super fucking old, but there’s no time for questions! We’ve got to get Ultra Magnus back on the shuttle in the next 20 minutes, or else they’ll be stuck on Hedonia FOREVER.
They start throwing Magnus on the floor repeatedly, trying to get his t-cog to spin up. No dice, however.
It’s 4AM. Do you know where your Domey is? Because Rewind sure as hell doesn’t.
Okay, time for Plan B.
I’m guessing not, Rung. I’m guessing not.
Using Magnus as a trampoline does the trick, and the boys are rewarded with the sight of Magnus’ alt-mode… resting on its roof, upside down. They get him sorted, pile in the cab- Rewind is driving, which leads me to believe he at least has some experience handling a vehicle. Chromedome does turn into a car…
I don’t even know what that sort of activity implies for a Transformer. We won’t go any further down this line of thought.
The boys manage to get Ultra Magnus to the shuttle in time, and all’s well that ends well!
This is about the time that Blaster knocks on the glass at Swerve to wrap things up, seeing as he’s been at this for over nine hours now. There’s one last little aside before we’re done with our story, however, and it involves just what happened in the bar after everyone else left.
Cyclonus calmed down almost immediately after the rest of the guys left, paying for what he broke and inviting Tailgate to have a seat.
Well, I say invite, but it’s really more of an order.
If you’d already figured out at this point that this jumpy little marshmallow was lying about being the biggest badass who ever lived, a gold star for you! It turns out, dear Tailgate has been crafting a fabrication, spinning a yarn, telling a tall tale since Day One on the Lost Light. The story has been feeding us a steady diet of fish the whole time!
Red herring!
Red herring!
Red herring of Tailgate’s own design! Autopedia’s mods are a friggin’ joke.
Tailgate was supposed to be a the Ark 1 launch, but it was because he was on the cleanup crew. Boy’s a sluicer, and his arm SHOULD say "waste disposal”. Through a cunning use of his wits and cold reading, Tailgate faked his way through the dismantling of the bomb on Temptoria. A smart boy, he is, if not a bit self-centered.
Which brings us to why exactly Cyclonus freaked out in the bar: he wasn’t having an episode, but rather faking a reaction to prevent Tailgate’s lie from being exposed. He still thinks that Tailgate should come clean about this whole thing, before things get really messy, but it wouldn’t be an issue of MTMTE without some raw-ass emotions getting thrown about.
Cyclonus, who hasn’t allowed himself to feel anything other than simmering rage or national pride for over six million years, is beginning to feel something for Tailgate.
That feeling is sympathy, and maybe a little pity.
He offers to teach Tailgate a song to help him feel better, because that’s what he does when he has feelings.
And given that Cyclonus seems to sing often enough that Tailgate’s gotten used to the horrific sound, it might be that Cyclonus has feelings a hell of a lot more often than he lets on.
Roberts, how many times are you going to make Tailgate cry? How much pain are you going to subject him to before you’re satisfied?
The scene closes out on the two of them getting their karaoke on in the empty bar, in the god-awful language that is Old Cybertronian. I can only imagine that they get kicked out of the bar pretty quickly after this.
Getting back to the present, Swerve has finally, finally finished his story, closing out with an invitation for Blurr to come visit Swerve’s.
Blaster gets ready to shoot one hell of a voice message at Blurr, but there’s a problem; the number Swerve has isn’t long enough to be a personal hailing frequency.
Yeah, turns out that Tailgate isn’t the only liar on board the Lost Light.
Four million years ago, Swerve met Blurr at a publicity event, got way too friendly with a celebrity, pestered the guy until he gave him a fake number, and has convinced himself that he made a life-long friend to this very day.
Big oof.
Later, back at Swerve’s, Swerve is busy cleaning the glassware when Ultra Magnus comes in, sober and having just gotten out of surgery to fix his fuel tanks. Guess that second sip of Nucleon really wasn’t a good idea.
Swerve tries to tell a lie about what happened the night before, only to have the dawning horror that Magnus remembered the entire night, as he’s presented with a new badge. Swerve, bolstered by the fact that, while Magnus didn’t enjoy the previous evening, he appreciated having company, begins to ask Magnus if he’d want to room with him.
Wow, zero for three! That’s rough, buddy.
Kind of a bummer end to this whole issue, but it was still decently light, tone-wise, for MTMTE. A great deal of fun was had, in between all the mortifying reveals of our characters inner demons.
...Well, shit.
#transformers#jro#mtmte#issue 13#maccadam#Hannzreads#text post#long post#overthinking about robots#incoming analysis#comic script writing
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