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sobredunia · 9 months

Note

tell me about Fez, please, im looking through your blog and like, i am intrigued

please click read more for an unskippable cutscene

ALRIGHT SO.

FEZ is an indie game created by a (now hated on the internet) guy called Phil Fish. If you wanna find out why he's hated do your own research this isn't about him it's about his videogame

It came out on april 13th of 2012 (yes. homestuck day. i know), and it sold over a million copies by the end of 2013. I've tried finding how many copies have been sold up to this day in total but didn't find anything, but the general gist is that it was pretty much an instant hit, and people absolutely loved it, working together to solve its intricate puzzles even to this day. Yes, there are mysteries hidden in here that an entire community of dedicated fans still hasn't found the solution to 11 years later

(tiny warning here, do not play this game if you have motion sickness or are severely affected by rapidly changing images, there are whole areas that are a doozy to play through. Please stay safe!)

Gameplay

Fez has a singular core mechanic that remains unchanging throughout the entire course of the game, and that is the ability to change perspectives

this is what the game looks like, a 2d pixelated landscape with tons of beautiful colors

but.

this is what the game also looks like

that's right, baby, this shit's actually in 3d

you use this change of perspective nonstop throughout your adventure, to cross gaps like demonstrated in the gif, or to simply access places you couldn't in that current perspective. There are other tiny mechanics that get added, like invisible platforms, crates and buttons, bombs, timed platforms that disappear... they add a bit of flavor, but the main mechanic is always there

There's also a really big emphasis on puzzles towards the latter half of the game, but I'll get more into it later

Story motivations

Your name is Gomez, you are a tiny little guy living in a cozy 2d village that you have never ever left. One day, an old man named Geezer sends you a letter asking you to climb to the top of the village. There, a giant fucking cube appears outta nowhere, teleports you to a satanic ritual, then to the vaccum of space, speaks to you in a strange language you cannot understand, and gives you a free hat. Oh and also he explodes or something

After you're given the hat, the fez, you discover that the world is actually in 3d, and you can now change perspectives. You unlock the core mechanic

After that, you wake up in your room with the fez still on your head, and a being in 4d called Dot is sent from who knows where to tell you that the cube that gave you the hat is called Hexahedron, is actually technically kinda god, and you fucking killed him. Now, your mission is to pick up its 64 pieces and reconstruct him

You see all those tiny golden cubes? You have to collect 8 of them to make a bigger cube, and you need to collect 32 of those

Now hold on, I hear you ask, didn't you just say that you need to collect 64 pieces? Why are you changing your mind and saying 32?

Because, my dear friend, there is another type of cube that you have to also collect

These are called anticubes. Y'know, "a negative for every positive" type of stuff. You have to also collect 32 of those

The main difference between an anticube and a normal cube is that they aren't broken into 8 pieces, when you find one it'll be whole. You can also sometimes encounter full golden cubes btw, but they're rarer than its normal tiny pieces that you collect. Another main difference is that these cubes are much, much harder to find, and I'll go into detail in the next section

There's also this one hub area, with four doors that will only open once you have enough cubes (anticubes also count)

Once you open the door with 16 cubes, you'll enter this one town filled with people that aren't quite like you. In there there's yet another door that will open when you get 32 cubes, so get to gathering motherfucker, you got a long way ahead of you

Puzzles (anticube edition)

When you collect that first anti cube, there is no going back. The floodgates have opened and you are now too deep in. You know too much. You must see this to the very end, for better and especially for the worse

The puzzles in fez are actually surprisingly varied when it comes to difficulty and accessibility. Most likely, the first anticube you'll find will be in this one room. You'll scan the qr code and do the instructions it says, and then the horror of your new life will begin

But this is just the tip of the iceberg, because BOY OH BOY are anticubes convoluted to find in some cases

Sometimes you'll get them by solving relatively easy puzzles, like this one

others will require a bit more thinking, like this one

and then we have the hardest ones where you'll have to learn how to read words, numbers, and commands in the FEZ language

and these arent even the hardest bullshit puzzles the game will pull at you. it gets worse. it gets so much worse

Game ending

Surprisingly enough, you can get a game ending with just 32 cubes. In fact, it is literally impossible to get the 64 cube ending without the 32 cube one unless you have outside help, you know the answer to all puzzles, or you somehow get extremely lucky in a very specific number of rooms

Behind the 32 cube door there's a giant gate that, and I shit you not, teleports you into fucking space

Aliens are canon in the fez lore and they look like squids

Once you reach the top of the alien temple fucking thing, you enter an eye(?) and there you meet the shell of god, the Hexahedron. Since you haven't gathered all 64 cubes, it fails to reconstruct, and it breaks down. This part is pretty dangerous for people with epilepsy, by the way, as there's rapidly changing black and white colors. The 64 cube ending is a bit easier in the eyes, but yeah, just a heads up

In the 32 cube ending, you get sent back home, and you see how the town gets more and more pixelated. Then you see a weird sequence that's like those videos of people really zooming in into things and you see the particles and microscopic stuff?? idk. and then you see Gomez playing the drums :D

After that, you wake up in your room, still with your Fez, and the same sequence at the start of the game plays out. You go to the top of the village, Geezer summons a giant fucking cube, you meet god, but instead of getting another fez, you get cool glasses, that allow you to finally solve a batch of puzzles you couldn't see before and you can finally gather the last anticubes

In the 64 cube ending, the Hexahedron reforms correctly, and instead of zooming in, it zooms out. You see that your world is a tiny cube next to many tiny cubes, and then those tiny cubes form a 4d entity that looks just like Dot, and then those many Dots next to eachother zoom out until they're nothing but static, and then it looks like a tv is turned off, and then the credits roll

They're both very strange endings, and definitely not what a lot of players expected or wanted, but what can you do

Puzzles (hell edition)

NOW.

You thought that was the end?

You thought you could simply walk away scot free?

You thought that this game had no more last "fuck you"s up in its arse?

You thought fucking wrong

Because you know that something's not right

Because you're in too deep

You've played this far. You've scrolled this far.

You have to see how this ends

You have to tie up the last loose ends

You see this? This is the game's map. It actually has a really clever design! Not only are the icons for the areas cubes, but you can also change perspectives like how you do in-game! Pretty cool, right? There are also some small indicators you can see on the bottom left. They mark if you've left any cubes, bits, treasures, or locked doors. They also mark any secrets you might have left! And they turn golden once you've found everything there is in that room, including secrets

If you were normal (let's imagine that for a bit, okay?) and you got the 64 cube ending, that's it, right? You've gathered every cube, you've gathered every map (you need them to get all cubes), you've gotten every key and opened every locked door, that should be it, right? You have everything the game asked you to have, so the whole map should be golden, right?

...right?

No! :D you fucking fool, you poor summer child

In fact, there are three rooms left. Three rooms left with a secret symbol next to them, and one other special room

First, we'll talk about the special room

Once you gather 64 cubes, you'll be able to open a door hidden on an unsuspecting island and access this one special room

kinda weird, right? It has a tileset that appears nowhere else in the game, same with its background. There's also a strange transparent heart over it? Strange

Now, the three ungolden rooms

First, the observatory, the room with the easiest puzzle, at least in comparison with the other two

Second, you have whatever the fuck this is. In order to solve this one, you HAVE to know the Fez language, no ifs or buts. Not only that, but there's a high chance that you were reading the language the wrong way, so in order to have the remote chance to solve this mf you'll have to git gud and realise the error of your ways

And last, but definitely not least

The most infamous room in the entire game aside from maybe the heart room previously shown

This cunt

These three are the hardest challenges the game has to offer, no exaggeration. And also, the first two rooms can be solved at any point of your adventure, but for the third one you HAVE to have completed the 32 cube ending, no workarounds

Now, how to solve them?

If you go to the observatory at night, you'll notice two red blinking stars in the corner. They're speaking in binary code, with one being 1 and the other being 0. Then, that binary has to be translated into a buncha diff languages to be decoded, and once you're done you'll be left with a set of commands that you'll enter in the observatory to get a special red cube that not even Dot, the motherfucker in 4 dimensions that knows things beyond our comprehension, knows what it is

For the second room in fez language, you'll need to answer a question with the cubes provided to you. It's a weird thing where you have to mix this word with the name of the company who made the game, I don't know man. Once you've answered you'll get the second red cube

And now, the third room

Commonly denominated the black monolith room

Why is there no black monolith?

Because you have to make it appear

First, you have to get this burnt map

Behind it, there's a string of code that translates into commands

You need to get into the room, and use the special ability given to you in the 32 cube ending: first perspective mode

You'll have to stand in the tiny square inside this infinity symbol thing that doesn't have a line in it (basically, not the one the screenshot is looking at lol), and then you'll have to do the commands

Once you do it, the black monolith will appear

Okay, you did it

You put the code correctly

Now what?

This isn't a collectable. This isn't a red cube. This doesn't do anything. What is this? How do I solve this puzzle

You wanna know the answer?

Who fucking knows

No one knows the answer to this. No one knows how to solve this. The community solved this a week after launch by bruteforcing it. I shit you not they made a bot that spewed random fez inputs and people just tried them until they got the correct solution

No one knows how it's meant to be solved. To this day, people still go on the r/fez subreddit to give their theories on what the intended solution was meant to be

They have tried everything

The position of the candles, the boiler room, some other random ass rooms that look remotely similar to the black monolith room, a random shower room, it somehow being on a book in the game that's just filled with haikus??, some bullshittery mobius strip mental gymnastics, the other half of the code being in an abandoned airport in Arizona...

...whatever the fuck this is...

by far the most known theory was the release date theory

but that got disproven by one of the devs a few years ago

but anyways, we've already gone through insanity for long enough, it's time to be normal now

Once you've gathered all of the red pieces, they will appear in the heart room

that's it

we're done

...

....almost

there's a secret code

one that was actually intended to be datamined for once lmao

If you look at certain artifacts in the menu and you rotate them a certain way in a certain order, the heart will vanish and the screen will turn white

you'll be sent back to the menu, and if you load that save file and go back into the temple...

there will be nothing waiting for you there

that, my friend, is the true end of Fez

You wanted to know too much, you wanted to learn everything, to the point of wanting to tear open a creation that took blood, sweat, tears, and five years to complete. And now there is nothing. You ignored the game's boundaries of only wanting to let you know this much, and now the game is empty, the love is gone, and there is nothing left for you here

You can leave now, I hope you're satisfied

#ask #ace #long post #fez #fez videogame #fez game #i went very overboard lol #i love this game so much man #fez video game #heho i hope you enjoyed this lighthearted ramble #i promise you it could be worse #nathan's notes

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allmightluver · 4 years

Text

All Might’s Mental Health is Declining

Toshinori Yagi wanted to be a hero, wanted to help people ever since he was a boy

and with Nana’s help, the quirkless kid got his wish.

But being a hero isn’t for the weak of heart. You’re going to fail. People are going to be hurt. And ultimately, you’ll be alone. Toshinori had to learn this quickly in his life as Nana, his mother figure, died for him at an early age.

The other person in his life, Gran Torino, trained him to the best of his abilities, but was a no nonsense, brutal teacher.

His methods were effective, but scarring, as Toshinori has been terrified of him ever sense.

He was sent to America on his own to develop his quirk, where he eventually learned to become a hero. But again, that meant work was his life, and he had no social life. Sure he was popular with the media, but as far as developing a lot of personal relationships, he wouldn’t have time for them. Plus, as typical of a hero, in order to keep everyone safe, All Might couldn’t be seen with people he was close to. He most likely kept himself busy the majority of the time to keep from being lost in his own thoughts. People need companions, it’s part of our make up. Toshinori’s surely had to have been a very lonely life.

And then All for One happened. And defeating him almost killed Toshinori, in fact, there’s no good reason he’s still alive, other than to pass on One For All, he should be dead. *Warning graphic details following*

All for One said himself (English Translation), “A wounded hero is a most frightening animal. Do you know that even now, I sometimes dream of you charging at me with your entrails strewn across the ground.” His entrails. His internal organs. All Might was gravely wounded, yet he still forced himself to fight All For One, even while the hole in his side freely leaked his own body’s contents. In the picture above, All Might kneels above All For One’s lifeless body in a pool of blood, a mixture of both their blood. AFO’s head crushed.

I cannot stress enough the mental impact of this singular event. All Might stood for absolutely NO killing. He would resolve conflict while being careful NOT to kill or even critically hurt anyone. But in this instance, Toshinori killed a man. And the way he did, crushing a man’s head with his bare hands until the skull gave way and his brains were scattered on the pavement below. For someone who believes in no killing, this was a brutal execution. One that, unfortunately, had to happen for the safety of the world, and only All Might was capable of doing it.

This alone must have severely messed with his head. While he lay in hospital, only capable of healing, AFO haunted his dreams and thoughts. He took another life, blood permanently staining his hands. And now he has to mentally pretend this never happened and act as if everything is fine to the public who hadn’t heard of this fight.

Despite the mental trauma from this, the physical trauma was worse. While he could fake the emotional lasting effects, he couldn’t hide the physical.

This injury took a lot more of him than just his mental stability. It took his stomach, a lung, most likely his spleen, and perhaps more internal organs. Living like this now means lots of medications. Supplements to make up for the lack of stomach, drugs to protect against infection, and pain medication to list a few. Something that big has to hurt like crazy. And all that scar tissue pulling while you try to fight? Torture. He’s most likely had countless corrective surgeries from the scar tissue alone, which only reopens the wound and leaves less and less skin to work with. You can see how caved in the scar is, indicating just how much of his body is missing. His destroyed respiratory system forces blood to fill the remaining lung he has left when he overexerts himself, which is all the time. He probably has to have blood tranfusions regularly to make up for the loss, as well as other injections to assist his body in running properly. There’s probably an oxygen tank by his bedside to help when he’s choking on his own blood in the middle of the night. His body wasting away until his very skin stretches like plastic wrap over nothing but bones. Muscles being eaten away in replacement of food.

But what sucks the most? The time he can be All Might is decreasing more every day. The one thing he’s wanted his whole life, to help people, is starting to become difficult to do. He has to hide his true form from the public, he doesn’t want them to fear for their lives if he can’t help anymore. Now he spends more and more time in his own mind because he can’t distract himself anymore. And what’s worse than the mental pain is the physical accompanying it.

Now BESIDES all this happening, we also have Nighteye’s betrayal. Sir, the man who was his sidekick for years, the guy he’s probably been able to grow the closest to, betrays All Might’s trust and looks into his future. And what does he see?

In six to seven years, Toshinori will meet a villain, and meet a gruesome demise. The betrayal makes him and Nighteye go separate ways, losing a friend.

Now with his declining health and the death sentence hanging over his head, Toshinori has to think about what he hoped he wouldn’t for years yet. He needs a successor. Someone to give this power to before it’s too late.

Insert Izuku.

A young, quirkless boy who just wants to help people. Sounds familiar. Izuku is an obvious choice despite everyone telling Toshinori he’s not the right fit. (Like Nighteye whom Toshinori tried to tell, but was only shot down.) So once he hands over One for All to Izuku, the problem, despite the boy destroying himself as he tries to use it and Toshinori being unsure how to help him, is that his power is decreasing even faster now. Which, of course, is to be expected, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to deal with. His time limit is drawn shorter and shorter until All for One starts to make a reappearance.

So not only did Toshinori not kill him, all the trauma he went through was for nothing, but now the world is in danger, again. And he doesn’t know if he can help them. Which means he has to involve his young ward in this mess that killed his mentor, almost killed him, and could potentially kill the boy as well.

So he tells Izuku of the origin of One for All and All for One. But he doesn’t tell the boy that by the time Izuku fights this guy, Toshinori won’t be around anymore.

He doesn’t let on how much the power is draining out of his body, and doesn’t enlighten the boy on his own upcoming death. Which unfortunately means he has to lie and give Izuku a false sense of security.

And then, All for One shows up.

And this time, All Might’s true form is exposed to the public. His weakness. Now the world knows that All Might isn’t invincible. Despite this, he’s still able to force his broken and exhausted body to beat All for One again, while using up the last of One for All, and leaving it up to Izuku.

Now he’s that quirkless boy who wants to help people again, only this time, he can’t.

Now he can’t be a hero, the one thing that’s kept him going all these years. And people on the street who don’t recognize him right away, criticize how he looks, which again, is out of his control. So he continues to hide himself in shame.

Gran Torino has told him he’s not being a proper mentor to Izuku, but the boy is already surpassing him with his schooling from other teachers. So, without heroing and mentoring, all Toshinori has left is being a teacher.

And unfortunately, Eraserhead has told him he’s also mediocre at that as well.

Then Izuku meets Sir Nighteye, and questions Toshinori about their relationship, while also questioning his own successor-ship.

Which leads to a very emotional scene of Toshinori telling Izuku exactly what happened all those years ago, as well as his death sentence that, oh by the way, is coming either this year or the next.

Toshinori is fairly emotionless while explaining this to the boy, I imagine he’s fairly disconnected with his own emotions by this point.

But seeing how upset Izuku was is enough to make him try and console the other that he won’t simply roll over and die, that he’ll go down fighting.

And THEN, he gets word that Sir Nighteye is in grave condition and most likely won’t make it through the night. Even after their falling out, Toshinori goes to his friend’s side, and the resemblance is scary.

Now he can see why Nighteye looked into his future, to see if Toshi had any chance on living. Being put in this position, he can understand. You can even hear Toshinori’s voice break (Japanese version) when he tells Sir that he needs to stay alive to allow Toshi to repent for his sins. But Nighteye can’t stay. And when facing the man who’s always been known for his smile, who can’t do it anymore, Sir says to him: “Smile. Live on, Toshinori.”

But for what?

The most recent episodes have a relatively emotionless Toshinori.

Like in today’s episode, the best he can give Izuku is a small smile, barely anything. He doesn’t even emote when he catches Hatsume’s stray baby.

He clearly still has the reflexes of a hero, but he can’t physically be one anymore. His health is too fragile. *Manga spoilers ahead*

Then there’s this scene with Aizawa.

He had long since accepted his own death, maybe even longed for it. But Izuku made him decide to try and live, even though he’s not sure how to anymore.

This poor man has been through Hell. And now he feels useless and helpless. Thank God he finally said something to Aizawa, but he needs more than just this, he needs to have a purpose again. I hope Aizawa and the others can help him find it again.

#toshinori yagi #all might #my hero academia #mha #manga spoilers #gore #depression #toshinori yagi has depression #mental illness #boku no hero academia #bnha #Yagi Toshinori #meta

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anna-pixie · 3 years

Text

padawan -> obi-wan kenobi {part one}

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

me: has a witcher series to finish which is taking a lot of time

also me: starts a new series about a character i’ve never written for before!

{also trying out a new layout? unsure of what i think of it}

summary: you’re hopelessly in love with anakin skywalker, but he only has eyes for padmé amidala. your heartbreak is starting to effect your performance in the jedi temple, and your position as padawan to obi-wan kenobi is in jeopardy.

pairings: obi-wan kenobi x reader {eventually}

warnings: none

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Your face is blank as you watch Anakin from across the room, something you’ve learnt to do from many, many months of suppressing your emotions. Though your face no longer betrays you, the way your heart swells at the sight of his smiling face reminds you of your ever present love for the fiery Jedi.

Your warmth stutters, however, when a hand is placed on his shoulder, and Senator Amidala appears from behind him with a smile full of sunshine and grace. You can’t help but slightly purse your lips as Anakin’s whole body reacts to her touch, as though she is a magnet and he is made out of pure iron.

Anakin, whilst being a great Jedi and an exceptional pilot, is not as skilled at masking his emotions. Despite it technically still being a secret, you’re sure that everyone knows of his love for and marriage to the gleeful senator. It was like a punch in the gut when you had found out about their nuptials. You and Anakin had been close friends for years, your friendship was one of those will-they, won’t-they friendships, full of flirty banter and sexual tension. You had liked it that way, you were content that way. Until the day he arrived with the joyful news that he had settled down with Padmé. That was the day that your friendship changed forever, he withdrew from you, became more distant and treated you the way a Master would treat a Padawan - holding you at arms length as though you had never been close in the first place.

It suffices to say that you’re heartbroken, and you wake up every day just as heartbroken as the last. It’s a horrible cycle that has had devastating effects on your training. You’re unfocused, unwilling to put in any extra effort, unwilling to socialise the way you used to because everywhere you go, the two of them are there, as in love as the day they wed.

“Credit for your thoughts?” The melodious voice of Obi-Wan Kenobi floods your ears as he settles himself beside you on the black lounger.

“I’d like to think my thoughts are worth more than a singular credit, Master.” You joke, leaping to your usual defence mechanism of humor to deflect from the obvious sadness radiating from you. You’ve never met anyone as perceptive to the force as Obi-Wan, both a blessing due to his vast knowledge, but also a curse, due to the fact you can never quite hide your emotions from the Jedi Master.

You had trained under Obi-Wan at the same time as Anakin, however your recent slip ups had meant that while Anakin was promoted to the rank of Jedi Knight, you still remained a Padawan under the guidance of Obi-Wan.

“Of course, my Padawan, I apologize,” Humor laces his tone, before he turns to face you completely, his expression more serious as he holds eye contact with you, “I do require a serious conversation with you, Y/N, about your recent performance as my Padawan. Please join me in my quarters for a drink of tea. Be there around 7. Enjoy the rest of your day, young one.”

You watch with a fond smile as the older Jedi makes his leave from the bustling room, his robes swishing behind him as he goes. Truth be told, you had harboured a crush on your Master when you first began to train under him. The first few times you met him were spent with longing gazes and a lot of lip biting on your end, but eventually your attention was captured by the flirty, playful nature of Anakin. You wonder how things would’ve turned out if your focus had stayed on the older Jedi master, you know he is very set in his ways, but you wonder if maybe something would have bloomed between the two of you. You can imagine Obi-Wan to be a very gentle lover, in all aspects, the complete antithesis to the damned Skywalker boy you had fallen for.

With a shake of your head, you banish all thoughts of romance from your mind. You’re training to become a full fledged Jedi, attachments are not allowed. That doesn’t mean other things aren’t allowed, that stupid voice in your head reminds you. No, you won’t let yourself think about such things.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Your head is hanging low as you stroll slowly through the hallway of the Jedi temple, on your way back to your residence after a long day of not really listening to the things the council had been droning on about. You can tell that people are starting to notice your wavering commitment to the cause, however you honestly cannot bring yourself to care.

A shriek escapes your mouth as a hard body barrels into your own, almost sending you to the ground had it not been for your quick reflexes summoning the force to keep your body upright. A smile forms on your lips as you hear the tell tale chuckles of Anakin, who seems to have quickly ran out from behind one of the pillars without first checking for passers-by.

“Y/N.” He breaths, an apologetic smile on his face as he gathers himself, brushing his chin length hair back into place, “Sorry about that.” His voice is sheepish and he scratches the back of his head.

“Don’t worry about it, Ani, walk with me?” You throw out, averting your eyes as you nervously await his response. You don’t know why you even asked, you haven’t been alone with him for a while, he’ll definitely say n-

“Sure. You going back to the residences?” You nod at his question, too shocked by his agreement to form words at the moment. He sends you another smile as you start your trek back to your quarters, your legs moving of their own accord whilst your mind takes a moment to catch up with the current situation. You curse your heart for the way it swells instantly with happiness at the presence of Anakin, simply walking beside him, barely feeling the warmth of him under his robes, makes all the feelings you try so hard to suppress return to the surface.

A noise from behind grabs your attention, and the two of you turn your heads, only to be met with the sight of a giggling Padmé trying to sneak out from behind the same pillar Anakin came from. The familiar sadness hits you like a tidal wave as you face forwards once more, just catching the fond smile on Anakin’s face as he looks back at his wife. The fleeting happiness you get when you’re around him is not worth the floods of sadness that always follow, you think, as the two of you walk silently towards your residences.

“I haven’t seen much of you lately, Y/N. No one has, actually. I know Obi-Wan has been worried about you.” He speaks casually, his tone so breezy that it sounds as if your welfare never even crossed his mind. Obi-Wan is worried about you, fine. But is Anakin? He’s the source of all your pain to begin with.

“That’s nice of him.” You muse, not even glancing in his direction as you continue walking, hoping that your upbeat tone is enough to quell any curiosity he may have. However, it is not, and you’re stopped when he tugs at your elbow, gripping onto it with a slightly lax grip as he narrows his eyes at you.

“Seriously, Y/N, what on Tatooine is going on with you?.” His tone is firmer now, and your skin is heating at the feeling of his hand on the bare skin of your arm. You try to find your words as you gaze into his eyes and you quickly realise that you need to get yourself together, lest you want him to feel your true emotions through the force.

“Absolutely nothing.” A tight smile pulls across your lips and you wrench your elbow out of his grip, leaving him standing outside the temple with his suspicious gaze trained on your retreating figure.

By the time you return to your room, you only have an hour or so before you’re due to meet Obi-Wan for tea. You decide that you must do some meditation before you face your Master, knowing that his concern for your wellbeing will make him more perceptive when he analyses you.

You find brief tranquility, thinking of the lush skies and soft greenery of your home planet Alderaan. It’s not long before your mind is bombarded with the images of what Anakin and Padmé must’ve been getting upto behind the pillar of the temple, stealing secret kisses and laughs because they love each other so much that they can’t possibly wait until they are in private to be together.

Jealousy rolls off you in waves, thinking about how you wish it was you that he was so desperate to kiss, so desperate to hold and be in your presence even though it is forbidden. Accepting the fact that Obi-Wan will be able to sense your negative emotions from a mile away, you begin to get ready to join him.

You’ve never been in a Master’s quarters before, so you’re unsure of whether your usual outfit is appropriate attire for the occasion. A simple tank top, usually a light colour, and matching tight pants, with a sheer sarong wrapped around your waist. Deciding that you doubt Obi-Wan will care what you’re wearing, you decide to forgo any changes. You fix your hair and look in the mirror with a frown as your thoughts take over once more.

What does Padmé have that you don’t? Is it her position in the senate? Her maturity? Her outgoing personality? You had tried to be more like her, more vocal and social in your day to day life, but by nature you are cripplingly shy, so that failed miserably.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Come in, Padawan.” Your Master’s voice sounds from behind the large white door, and you wait patiently as it slides open for you at his command. He is still wearing his robes from the day, you note, as he pours two small cups of herbal tea at the small table next to his kitchenette.

All the Jedi Masters have larger, more equipped residences than the Padawans, and usually make food and eat in their own quarters rather than in the mess hall like the rest of you.

You take a moment to look around Obi-Wan’s room whilst he is momentarily distracted making your drinks. It’s very...him. He seems to have chosen to forgo the harsh, overhead lighting that adorns the rest of the residences, instead having a few dim lamps dotted around that spread a low, moody hue around the room. It is relatively clean, his bed is made, scattered with many comfy looking blankets, yet every free surface seems to be covered by piles and piles of books. You can tell that most of them are old Jedi texts, and a smile tugs at your lips at the dedication of your Master.

It’s strange to be in here, you feel like you’re completely surrounded by every aspect of him. You can see a spare change of robes hanging on the doors of his closet, probably ready to be worn tomorrow, and the door of his fresher is slightly ajar, allowing you to peek inside if you wish to. There is a dirty plate next to his sink, he must have just finished eating before you arrived, not having time to clean the dish properly. Seeing his room like this, he seems so human to you all of a sudden. He seems so… familiar to you.

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” His voice is amused, and you turn to face him with a blush. He is sitting down now, in one of the chairs that surrounds the tiny table, opposite another one for you to sit on. You mumble an apology and make your way to the seat, awkwardly perching yourself on the edge of it.

“I like your room, Master Kenobi, it’s very… homely.” He smiles at your admission and gestures to your tea before taking a sip of his own.

“Thank you, Y/N. I like to have a place I enjoy spending time, I appreciate it when I return from long missions.” You hum at his response, letting out a pleased noise as you taste the tea he prepared. It is some sort of woodsy concoction, not what you’d usually go for, but it tastes like heaven on your tongue.

“So…” You clear your throat, the anticipation of this impending conversation almost killing you, “You wanted to talk to me, Master?”

“Ah yes, straight to it then?” He looks puzzled at first, as though he is unsure of how to approach the topic, before heaving a resigned sigh and placing his tea back onto the table with nary a drop spilt, “Y/N, you had so much potential. I chose you and Anakin to train under me because I saw something in the both of you. Anakin? He was hot headed, fueled by passion and rage and I thought it a good challenge to help him control it. You, on the other hand? You were quiet, reserved, overwhelmed by your shyness but absolutely simmering with potential. And we unlocked so much of it, did we not? You were excelling, even more so than Anakin. What happened, Y/N? You can’t expect me to believe that my best Padawan forgot everything she’d learnt overnight. No…” He leans forward now, not allowing your wide-eyed gaze to waver from his as he continues with his serious spiel, “You stopped trying, you gave up. I would like to know why, and you’re not leaving my quarters until you tell me. I’ve tried to be gentle with you, kind, but the council are threatening termination of your place in the Jedi temple.”

Silence descends on the tense room as your brain struggles to comprehend everything Obi-Wan just threw your way. Of course you knew the council weren’t happy with you, you’d seen the disapproving gazes from Mace Windu and Ki Adi-Mundi, but you never even considered it had reached the point that they were considering ending your training as a Jedi, and relieving you of your place in the temple.

The only sound that breaks the silence is your breathing getting quicker and quicker, until Obi-Wan realises he needs to try and calm you down. Your anxiety is so strong he feels as though it is hitting him, and he notices the way your eyes begin to well up, and you realise with a start that months and months of pent up emotions are making themselves known right now. Right here, in your Master’s quarters.

Luckily, General Kenobi is a master at diffusing situations, and is quick to kneel in front of you, taking both of your hands in his and gazing up at you with those kind eyes of his.

“If nothing else, Y/N, a Padawan should be able to trust their Master. Can you trust me? Whatever the problem is, it will not leave this room. I give you my word.”

You know you shouldn’t tell him, for Jedi’s should not love, but you crumble the second his thumb brushes over the skin of your hand. At this moment, you want to be comforted, and not just by anyone, by Obi-Wan specifically.

“I love him, Obi-Wan. I love Anakin so much it hurts, but he doesn’t love me, he loves her.” You sob, tears spilling freely from your eyes as you avert them from his own. When you hesitantly look back towards him, you expect him to look shocked, angry, in disbelief. Rather, he just gives you a sad smile that conveys the fact that your admission was exactly what he had expected you to say to him.

Has Obi-Wan known about your feelings for Anakin this whole time?

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

#obi wan x you #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan x reader #obi wan fluff #obi wan x oc #obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x ofc #obi wan kenobi x reader #star wars imagine #obi wan x y/n #obi wan kenobi x y/n

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coolgirlontheweb · 3 years

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eren jaeger (Attack On Titan) - ISFP

eren is a true IFSP - his dominant Fi seeks feelings of action, and honours his own beliefs and values. anytime eren says “i’ll kill the titans” or anything he says about his goals are driven by Fi. rarely do we ever see eren try to see the other side’s reasoning or why the titans eat humans pre time-skip, unlike armin, who indeed is an Ni dom and asks “what does it, no, they want?” the second he is confronted by the female titan. in season 2 episode 8 after he is confronted with the truth about bertholdt and reiner’s titan identities, he instantly shouts, deems them psychotic mass murderers and announces that he was going to “make you die the most excruciating deaths possible”. ISFPs who display the negative aspects of Fi suffer from a lack of objectivity, are unable to relate to things outside of their personal experience and treat their feelings as fact, unaware of their own biases. pre-time skip eren is all of this and never considers exactly why reiner and bertholdt are titans. only once does he actually weigh his options and make sense of what is happening, rather than immediately having an emotional reaction to it, and that is when ymir, a Ti dom, reminds him of his situation. signs of a Te grip are prevalent here - he was inclined to blame and reproach before he employed any rational thought to his circumstance. small hints of his Ni developing appear here when he begins to rationalise on how to escape, and what being captured may mean for the future and the scouts, but this is all shrouded in how overbearing his Fi is, i really don’t see how it can be overlooked.

throughout all of the manga, eren’s dominant Fi is at its optimal expression when he cries to ramzi in Chapter 131, “i’m sorry, i’m sorry…” optimal Fi expression helps dominant Fi users feel deep empathy when seeing people suffer, and works to ensure that every person has the freedom to authentically be themselves. even though eren knows he is going to kill ramzi, he cannot hold back from saving him, and crying to him is a heartbreaking portrayal of Fi in a doomed character. In the case that he was an Ni dom, eren would find it worthless to approach ramzi in spite of the future - which he actually initially thinks before saving him from being beaten, a sign of his Ni developing but his Fi overpowering it.

additionally, an unhealthy dominant Fi can foster feelings of instability, self-righteousness and self-pitiness. whenever eren is confronted with the damning reality of the titans’ existence he reverts from a strong willed and passionate Fi dom to one who is all of the aforementioned and above all, self-blaming. the greatest example of this that i can currently think of is in season 3 episode 9 during rod reiss’ abnormal titan attack on orvud district - eren’s Fi was so unhealthy that after rumination on being the cause of so many deaths and his overall role as “humanity’s saviour” (which is a self-righteous assumption, albeit true-ish), he begins to blame and pity himself so much that he started to physically beat himself up until he bled.

extraverted thinking (Te), being his inferior function, is naturally the least accessible to him, and therefore historically the least used. pre time-skip eren shows symptoms of Te grip. Te is an assertive function and tackles challenges head on and above all, its defining feature is that it applies logical, objective reasoning to the outside world. pre time-skip eren’s Te grip meant that he was ready to pick a fight about anything disagreeable, and had an overpowering urge to correct everything that is ‘wrong’. Te grip causes inferior Te users to recognise and dislike problems wherever they see them, yet offer no solutions to them. seldom did eren ever solve problems, he relied on erwin’s dominant Te for that and followed suit, or found guidance through armin. come the time-skip, and we are confronted by a strategic and assertive eren; his Te has noticeably developed. although, he has an extremely destructive expression of Te, i.e: abuse of power and position (as the founding titan) to get what he wants and believes the weak (his enemies, marleyans, the warriors and briefly the scouts) get what they deserve. he breaks out of jail, uses extremist ideology and manpower (the yeagerists) and ignores the chain of command, and his friends’ pleas to complete his goal. unhealthy Te users tend to be blind to nuance/context and see everything from a black and white, "i'm right and you're wrong" stance. they also have an extremely inflexible approach - rarely being convinced to change their ideas and plans. eren shows ALL of this: his Te is so influential that he is blind to any other approach to the Rumbling offered by the scouts or even zeke, since we know he doesn't activate a "small-scale" rumbling, but the whole thing.

alongside his developed Ni, eren’s character seems to do a complete 180 but it’s only a development of his Ni-Te. in my opinion, the reason why his shift in personality is because alongside an actual Ni-Te development, his facade makes it so that the strategy and stoicism he has adopted becomes pronounced. an INTJ wouldn't have trouble with healthy expressions of Ni-Te since it comes naturally to them - think of yelena: whilst all of this is happening, she remains the most pacific and rational person on paradis island. eren seems calm on the surface, but the emotional stress of having to rely on Ni-Te is definitely there. you can see it in his table talk with armin and mikasa. he attempts to stay calm in the beginning but all of the emotional stress comes bubbling to the surface in an outburst of unhealthy Fi rage. something else i think it's worth mentioning is that functions operate in oppositional pairs that push and pull against each other, creating internal conflict. eren’s singular worldview and morals in seasons 1-3 meant there wasn’t any room for internal conflict, but after seeing the other side of the wall, his Fi and Te are constantly in conflict. eren’s newfound Te, wants efficiency and order, but how does he fare with losing his humanity and treating the world as a machine as his Fi is challenged for the first time?

an early signal of eren’s Ni development is the thwarting of his previously healthy Se expression in season 3 episode 22. with Ni's future orientated intuition, causing him to be uninspired by sensory experiences, his Se gets shut down as he loses his happiness to the future. eren cannot bring himself to have fun at the beach, nor experience what he and armin dreamed about from a young age, instead, he points toward the horizon, towards the future and is utterly defeated by its prospects. this is honestly so sad, it’s as though he withers away as a person after the vision of the future.

developing Ni needs a lot of introspectivity, maturing and objectivity for a dominant Fi user. eren attains these traits in 2 ways; first, he actually peers into the future through the paths. this is sort of a cheat code into developing Ni, but it nonetheless dictates how he acts post paths vision. Ni is a future orientated function, and it experiences the world through what will happen. since eren already knows the future, his Ni expression is almost forced to mature. however, the second way that Ni is developed by eren naturally is when he runs away to marley and lives among eldians in the liberio internment camp.

contrary to suffering from a lack of objectivity due to negative Fi expression, eren is confronted with the other side of the wall. as he learns about the rest of his world, he slowly becomes more objective and understanding - his worldview has broadened, and he indulges in the part of Ni that approaches the world with a unified vision. albeit a weak Ni expression, which gives him difficulty in making wise decisions in season 4 because of a lack of clarity and no positive vision of the future, eren’s Ni develops nonetheless.

this becomes evident when we contrast his talk with reiner in season 2 episode 8 to his talk with reiner in Season 4 Episode 5. in the latter eren employs a mix of Ni-Te, almost showcasing his newfound functions to us, the reader, and reiner. eren is more calculating, authoritative, objective, and aware of his long term goal and its consequences.

#mbti!#isfp #eren jaeger

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magaprima · 3 years

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Screencap supported scene breakdown analysis (requested by an anon)

Okay, let’s start with the opening shot

We see the whole of the throne here, and the fact Lucifer is clearly sat upon it, which tells us that despite Sabrina ‘claiming her crown’ after winning the Unholy Regalia, Lucifer is still very much in charge. He’s on the throne here and he’s comfortable, but look at how much Lilith is also leaning on it. She’s all over it. Lilith definitely is showing her claim too, not just by her own right, but by the child she carries inside her. They alll dismissed her because she wasn’t a Morningstar, but now she is one by proxy. Also I think this whole positioning is probably how Lilith was often stood by the throne in the pre-CAOS days when she was sitll in adoration and in love with the Dark Lord. She is playing a part here, after all, in order to survive, but what’s interesting is she’s not the one leaning in; he is. Showing that her ‘performance’ is working, that he is slowly, but surely starting to let down his guard, and believing Lilith is ‘back on side’.

I have to admit I’m surprised at how approving you are of your only daughter getting married

Lilith’s whole language is pushing the domesticity here. She’s talking to him as a Mother(Stepmother might talk to a Father, rather than as a servant to a Lord, making more of that connection.

And look at the body language here, the performance she’s making:

Head down, eyes down as she talks about how he should be more selective, managing to not only make herself look suitably servile, but she looks non-threatening and demure. Fucking demure. Something Lilith definitely isn’t, but she’s playing the role of ‘expectant Mother’ and ‘caring Stepmother’ and ‘concerned partner’. Lilith is doing absolutely everything to appear non-threatening, most likely with the intent of having Lucifer forget himself long enough for her to gain the advantage. I also feel the whole vibe here is, despite Lilith saying that they were definitely ‘not together’, Lucifer has started behaving as if they are. After all she was ‘Satan’s Concubine’, and he’s not going to give up those privileges if he doesn’t want to. And I suspect if that was the case, Lilith has been ‘submitting’ for the sake of survival and the long-con, but it also adds another layer to her downcast eyes and appearing non-threatening. It’s both a reaction and a defence.

She only meets his gaze to make her final point. And what’s important is she doesn’t shy away from that gaze.

She meets it and doesn’t waver, she is making her point and she’s not trembling or hesitating. Lilith may be trapped in a situation here, but she’s not without power and she’s aware of that, and she is actively using it. And it’s an interesting/funny side-note that the point she’s making is ‘Caliban is bad for Sabina’. Stepmother!Lilith activate! Which fits in nicely with the Just-doesn’t-like-Caliban!Lilith. And when she meets his gaze, challenging his decision to give his approve, does Lucifer get mad or angry? Does he tell her to remember her place? Does he punish her? Nope. He leans for gossip sharing opinions time:

He leans in to Lilith, talking with her in a very private and intimate way, and starts sharing all his opinions and reasons why he thinks Caliban is a good match. This is someone who he says betrayed him, who he said he plans to kill, and yet, Lilith has managed to make him forget himself and take her as is confidante again. I have no doubt that had the pregnancy not been sped up, Lilith would have spent more months encouraging this trust and faith in her, playing to his ego and presumptions.

But throughout this whole conversation we see Lilith consciously making an effort to look close, whilst always looking a little on edge, while Lucifer in his element, totally comfortable and absolutely happy to share his thoughts with Lilith. More than likely these moments are brief and we see Lucifer remembering her ‘betrayal’ and treating her as such (just as we saw his possessive anger when he noticed she was absent from the council meeting), but these are flashes of moments where Lilith is making him drop his guard and I would like to think over time they would have become more frequent and Lilith would have used them to her advantage.

However it’s interesting to note that when Lucifer makes this intense close eye contact, Lilith breaks her gaze away

In fact, she’s shown to be unable to bear looking at him (either out of fear or disgust or a mixture of the two) so much that as he talks, she actually physically turns away

Which when you go through the scene more slowly and with more focus Lucifer does seem to notice, if only subtly. But you can see above that Lilith literally cannot bear to look at him or listen to him. We have confirmation here that her whole leaning in, talking softly, standing close, is an all an act for her own survival and it’s one she physically hates. I would say it has comparisons to Zelda when she has to pretend to be still under the Caligari spell. Knowing it’s required, but hating every minute of it, and feeling trapped in a different way to how you were trapped before, but still trapped.

While he’s talking we see her eye roll secretly before offering tight and polite smiles, nodding in a display of agreement, pandering to all of Lucifer’s logic and ideas and opinions. Just as Zelda had to be seen to agree with everything Faustus said. We even see Lilith actively sigh with boredom and exhaustion at Lucifer going on and on with himself. And you hear the sigh too. I think this is interesting, not only because it confirms Lilith has not fallen back into old habits with him, she hasn’t become enamoured of him again and that she finds him tiresome...but that, at this point, Lilith feels confident enough in her own position and her own to be able to bored and tired rather than just afraid. And when you see how much she turns to just fear the moment she has Adam, tells me that she definitely did have a pregnancy-long plan to victory in place which was destroyed by the intervention of Caliban and the Plague Kings.

The thing that drags Lilith’s full attention back is when Lucifer declares the most important reason to agree to the marriage is because Caliban looks great shirtless

Lilith looks quietly and suitably horrified and confused. You can’t see it as much in a singular screencap but she does look at Lucifer like ‘what the fuck?’, because you’re not meant to be getting the hots for the shirtless wonder of your daughter’s future husband. Also, because in a political arena how good someone looks topless should not be the most important reason to have them around. And also, though Lilith admits Caliban is handsome, you get the vibe she means that in the same way you can stay a statue is pretty...you’re not actually sexually attracted to it. So now with both Lucifer and Sabrina liking Clay Boy, Lilith is clearly thinking she’s the only sane one left.

But the horror is nowhere near as much as it is when he mentions Grandchildren

Aside from the fact Lilith has no intentions of being a Step-Grandmother to any Caliban babies (literal personal hell), there’s also the added fact Sabrina is just sixteen and not even married yet and Lucifer is already mentioning her popping out kids. Considering how Lilith was treated in the beginning by the False God and Adam as expected to fulfil certain roles as a woman (wife, mother, someone who loves children and is nurturing and gentle and blah blah) it’s probably a wee bit triggering to hear the same things being expected of Sabrina. We’ve all (Michelle included, for that matter) already said that Lilith probably sees a lot of herself in Sabrina, a younger version of herself, so extra trigger point. But then the obviously main concern is ‘what the fuck was the point of me getting pregnant with your son to save my fucking life if you’re off already planning fucking grandchildren??’. Which is a fair and concerning point. Like as I said above, Lilith definitely had a pregnancy-long plan for her own continued survival and likely Lucifer’s defeat, and this talk of grandchildren is now throwing a big ole spanner in the works, And you see the flash of fear about this:

Microexpression of fear right there. And you see her quickly recalculating, trying to figure everything out, trying to ensure her own survival, and that of her child for that matter, isn’t going to be too effected by this...but in the end she’s forced to ask him outright. “And what does that mean for our child?” And she does deliberately use ‘our’, reminding him ‘you do have a fucking son to come remember??’

But she doesn’t manage to completely hide her fear and concern as she asks. You can see that in all likelihood her heart is pounding stressfully in her chest right now. Because right now all her plans are threatening to go right down the drain, and she’s thinking that carrying his child is going to do nothing except make her a prisoner all over again...and possibly dead eventually.

Lucifer, however, just grins and says ‘Competition, I imagine’

Competition. And what does competition mean in these sorts of circles? It’s the same sort of competition that the Princes in Stardust had, they all killed each other in an effort to win the throne. This is going to be the upbring of Lilith’s child; constantly fighting his nieces and nephews for his right to the throne, constantly having threats on his life, constant fights in general...all in the name of ‘competition’, which Lucifer apparently thinks is a good, healthy thing for a fucking child to have.

And you don’t have to be good at reading microexpressions to know what Lilith thinks about all this

High key horrified. And you also see elements of disgust. Lilith is genuinely horrified at the idea of her son just constantly at risk in the name of ‘competition’ and that Lucifer thinks this is perfectly okay. I think we genuinely see here the first flash of Lilith as Adam’s Mother. She was low key concerned before, but the moment Lucifer says this, her emotions get upped straight to horrified. I mean we saw in later episodes that she was perfectly okay with the idea of her son challenging Lucifer when he was grown, but that’s waiting till he was an adult and challenging one person for the sake of something important. Entirely different from ‘constantly fighting for your life, being attacked, never resting, in order to have some healthy competition’. A word which also implies, Lucifer would just have an attitude of ‘the strongest survive’, regardless of who suffers or who dies. I mean odds are Adam would be more powerful than the hypothetical grandkids considering his parentage, so the fact Lilith is horrified, enough so that she goes to SABRINA’S AUNTS in a effort to stop the wedding, seems to be much more linked to concern for her unborn child than any genuine claims to power. And I think foreshadows the rest of her part 4 narrative and just how far she’ll go for Baby Adam.

And look, you can genuinely see her recalculating her plans and what she needs to do next.

Like yep yep competition cool cool cool cool totes agree that’s great....must get to the Aunts.

#observations #long post

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uwuwriting · 4 years

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Mirio w/soulmate au Dreamscape

Request: Hiya~! I was wondering if you could bless me with a 🍀 prompt staring my boy Mirio? 👉👈 - @drapetomaniac

I’m so so sorry or the delay but my computer decided to combust and leave me alone on this cold world. Thankfully it was fixed quickly and we back on track. Coming string with my boy Mirio here and I’m excited to say the least. I’ll be posting twice today or at least that’s the plan, hope it goes smoothly. Thank you all so so so much for 400 followers I cannot believe you guys like what I write and actually follow me so thank you again. Love yaaa. 💖💖💖

warnings: some angst if you squint, minor spoilers

Soulmates are a funny thing. Not just the idea of a singular individual being your other destined half but also the process until you find them. The signs are interesting to say the least. There are a dozen ways to ‘see’ your soulmate and you were one of the lucky few that had an easier sign.

Dreams a re a funny thing. A reality that your mind creates to keep you entertained while you sleep building whole worlds and tearing your own reality apart all the while keeping you immersed. Dreams were always an interesting concept to you and when he started appearing in them things become all the more exciting.

In truth you couldn’t truly see his face, just some physical characteristics. His height that towered over you, his broad shoulders that seemed to become a wall protecting you from your own imagination, his hair that were a literal sunflower and his light. The light he was always accompanied with in your dreams. His was the definition of a star and you were almost certain that he could outshine the sun himself. He was beyond endearing.

Your dreams of him began in middle school. You didn’t know who he was and you didn’t have any idea how you could find out. So you left his identity in the hands of your dreams, of your destiny knowing that when the right time came you would know. It had happened before. Soulmates that could see each other in their dreams finally meeting and feeling one another. They didn’t have to know who the other was. They simply knew. And that’s were your hopes lay.

Life went on smoothly for the next five years, nothing special happening and no unique feeling while meeting new people. In all honesty you were fine with that, your positive nature unwavering. You were in your last year of high school now, getting ready to enter adulthood and close this chapter of your life. University was your next stop and you couldn’t be happier. Becoming a doctor was your longtime dream after realizing that hero work was not in your genes. Everything was so bright, so positive and then they were not.

He was different. The light that surrounded him had dimmed leaving him in the shadow of his former self. His posture had changed, shoulders caving into himself and head hang low not looking your way anymore. You tried reaching him but you knew better. You couldn’t get any closer, your mind wouldn’t let you. A low beeping noise could be barely heard and you immediately knew what it was. Heart monitor. Life support. You felt the shudder as he crumpled to his knees, loud sobs erupting from his chest. Was he hurt? Was he dying? Why, why couldn’t get any closer? And then the beeping stopped. The breath caught in your throat and you were steadying yourself for the emptiness that would follow his departure. But it never came. He continued to sob, caving into himself. You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out. Consciousness made her way into your mind and you could feel yourself waking up. No no no no you couldn’t leave him. He needed you. He was falling apart. You have to be here next to him. With a final attempted you screamed as loud as you could and surprisingly he looked up. He looked at you and-

You woke up with a start, chest heaving and breath frantic. Something happened. Something happened to him and he was in danger. But what danger? Was he alright now? Was he still fighting for his life? Did he really hear you? So many question and yet so little answers. Alas you could only hope to meet him soon. However, you couldn’t shake the feeling of shame on your part. You had left him. You had left him alone to suffer and you would go back to your ordinary life. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair

The U.A festival was by far the most anticipated event for the U.A students. Having your best friend in the support class and you declining attending for the previous two years, you decided to attend this time around. It would be her last year at the school after all and you wanted her to be happy. That’s how you found yourself in the changing room for the beauty pageant helping a certain Nejire Hado do her make up. The girl was a handful. From her happy-go-lucky character to her constant shift of attention she was kind of a challenge to deal with. But you liked her. She was basically an angel.

Nejire was ready at last and she was hugging you as thanks bashing over how cute you are and what a shame it was that you couldn’t participate in the pageant yourself, when a little girl walked in. Her light grey-blue hair cascaded like a waterfall down her back and her big red eyes scanned the room finally falling on you and Nejire.

“Nejire, the strap of my dress is loose and Mirio can’t do it right.” she pouted looking down at the strap of the dress falling from her shoulder. As if on queue the speakers announced that the pageant was beginning.

“I’m sorry Eri but i have to go. Oh, how about Y/N fixed it she was a huge help to me!!” and with that she was off and you were left alone with the little girl, Eri. Walking to her you dropped to you knees and gently grabbed the strap tying it with a small knot. Eri was looking at your face, scanning your features and grabbing a strand of stray hairs, tucking them behind your ear.

“So you can see.” she whispered and you gave her a small smile, patting her shoulder signaling that she was ready but staying at her level looking her in the eye.

“I’m Y/N and it’s nice to meet you Eri.” she smiled at you before looking back at the door she came through. “Who was with you? We can go find them and you can enjoy the festival.”

“I’m with Mirio, he was talking with Izuku when my strap got loose and I heard Nejire talking.” she looked down at her hands. “But I don’t know where he is now.”

“What does he look like? I can help you find him.” you smiled at her and she kinda shied away from you but started her description nonetheless.

“He’s really tall and he has big arms and he gives the best hugs and his hair are yellow.” she almost beamed at you as she talked but she didn’t grace you with a smile. “You can’t really miss him and I’ll see him and tell you. Come on.” she grabbed your arm and almost dragged you out the door.

It didn’t take long to find him, he was as tall as a tree after all. Eri’s gasp when she saw him was the cutest thing you had ever heard but then you were yanked towards his direction by the small girl. She let go of your hand and jumped in the arms of the boy, Mirio, giving small apologies for running off. That’s when you truly saw him.

The light that surrounded him was the exact same as the one you would see in your dreams. The feeling you have been waiting for was there and it was hitting you across the head over and over the more you looked at him. You could only imagine your expression but you could use one word for it. Shock.

Mirio on the other and was frozen in place, Eri still in his arms. That aura. The one he has been feeling for so long every time he saw her in his dreams. The one that surrounded the person that pulled him out of his despair when he was dealing with the loss of his quirk and Sir’s death. The aura of his soulmate. He could only let out a small laugh before he stumbled over his own words trying to say something to the literal goddess that was standing in front of him. You giggled at his nervousness and he swore he hadn’t heard a more angelic sound in his life.

“I/m Y/N L/N.”

“And I’m your soulmate.”

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

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@the-arcana-fan-fic , @brattyquirks

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theholycovenantrpg · 3 years

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In the beginning was ZADKIEL, an ANGEL loyal to the cause of the ANGELS. He is said to be IMMORTAL and uses HE/HIM pronouns. In this New Testament he serves as the LEADER of the VIRTUES. Blessed be his name.

THE INDELIBLE MARK.

Zadkiel is the leader of the Virtues and has been anointed as the virtue of Justice. Such an anointing is no small thing, granting him an uncanny ability - even among the angels - to find those who have not yet been given the proper condemnation for their sins and transgressions. The blade that he was given was forged by Michael himself, as all the Virtues’ blades are, and is said to flicker blue in the light. Those who have had the misfortune of being cut by it say that it fills them with a frigid sort of cold, the feeling coming over them comparable to being filled by the fear of God. Since he was given the blade of Justice, Zadkiel has also been entrusted with aiding Michael and being his counsel in all matters of war. During battles and all public appearances, Zadkiel rides beside the great king of Caelum with the infamous blade of Justice strapped to his waist and the retinue of the Virtues behind him.

THE HISTORY.

What does it mean to ache -- to ache for what you have and what you don’t? He has lived his whole life aching and is no closer to finding the answer. Every breath he has taken since the first flicker of his existence has reminded him that he has no other purpose than to exist in a perpetual state of tragedy, and yet he can’t find it within himself to loathe the one that made him like this. He was one of the first to be created and the first to whom God extended his mercy -- it was nothing more than a simple pat on the cheek, as though his existence was a blight that God was forgiving. So enraptured was he by his Father that he was blind to the golden tear that painted his Creator’s cheek. God might have made him, but how was he to know that He had rendered tragedy embodied? When He raised his fist against his people, it was Zadkiel who drew it back. When he bid Abraham to kill his son Isaac, it was Zadkiel who threw himself upon God’s favored mortal and counseled mercy. He became one of the greatest Cherubims of God, so much so that there were those among his brethren who whispered it was Lucifer who was jealous of him, and not the besotted mortals. Lucifer was the Light-Bearer, but it was Zadkiel who bore the light within him, shining it upon those who were lucky enough to bask within his ever-forgiving presence.

They did not know his perpetual anguish. They did not see how it resounded with every breath, with every movement of his celestial bones, with every painful beat of his immortal heart. From his lofty height he watched as Mortals began to turn their back against the God that had granted them so much -- God called and beseeched them to love Him once more, but their ears had turned to stone the moment that they had realized the potential of the gift of free will that He had given them. And Zadkiel, merciful and forgiving as he was... could not blame them. Their creations were fascinating, their minds free; who were God and His angels to constrain them from such unending potential? It would soon become clear that not all within Heaven held feeble Man in the same regard. What was once reverent and holy became something rotten and rancorous. As devoted as he was, Zadkiel did not realize what his brethren were doing until it was too late; before he knew it, he was wielding his blade against his brethren. It became slippery with their ichor. He will never forget how the blade blazed and glistened when covered with the blood of divinity.

All he could remember was the searing pain of Michael’s hand enclosed around his arm. The way the beat of his heart seemed to quiet itself when he was told that now was the time to decide. How tears fell from his cheeks as he realized that he had no choice but to forgive his brothers for committing this atrocity, for forcing him to commit it with them, and for casting out from heaven the only entity who might have understood the ineffable pain of his existence. And each day it seemed that they were all intent on reminding him of the horrors he had done -- Michael especially. Each day, with a smile upon their face, they brought him close, teeth white and shining, looking invigorated. Proud, even, of what had unfolded at their hands. Zadkiel did then what he’d always known to do: he forgave them, willingly and readily, donning his armor and steadfastly staying at Michael’s side, hand upon the pommel of his blade when others drifted too close. Many laughed at him for being so guarded. Who could fell the greatest among them?

A heretic, drenched in Holy Oil, careened towards Michael. The angels stood in shock as he moved closer and closer, howling: death made all equals, celestial or not. It was Zadkiel who cut him down in one clean movement, and though his hands were singed, he wiped his blade clean, still. It was then that he was anointed the leader of the Virtues. Justice, they all cried, and it was Justice that they declared him to be. How far he had fallen from the angel that he used to be; the hand of God, who counseled the staying of cruel hands though he wielded his own so liberally. There was a hypocrisy to his existence, the Harbinger of Justice, when all that had he done proved he was anything but. He could forgive others readily -- easily, even for horrific, blasphemous things, and yet he had long since forgotten how to forgive himself.

THE CONNECTIONS.

MICHAEL: Liege. They were close once, despite the disparity in their positions - one an Archangel and the other a Cherubim. They were both treasured by God, beloved by Him especially when Lucifer was cast out from Heaven. They had both thought of the fallen angel as a brother and had found comradery in the face of misery and disappointment. But then Michael became more prominent among the Mortals, revered and uplifted while Zadkiel receded into the background, all too glad to remain beneath the shadow of God’s hand. To this day, though, he does not speak to Michael of what had been done to their Father, nor does he question the reigning king of the Divine as to the motivations behind his actions. Such insight would not change what had happened but he cannot help but wonder, when cleaning the blade of his sword, if there was something he could have done that would have prevented the fall of his Father, the fall of them all.

ISOLDE WICKEN: Twin-flame. He had known of her when light first dawned - it had meant to be different; the world less wild and vicious, the two of them more content and peaceable. God had meant for him to be her guardian angel, to guide her so that she might relish the power of her visions, tend to them like a gardener might tend to a bush of roses. She would appreciate the beauty of their power, but would be careful of the thorns that might pierce her skin and make her bleed. The ache that would wash over her would abate, but she would know, she would understand how it fills her lungs and how unrelenting it can be. When he first tried to approach her, to spark something of what might have been and though there is the vehemence of a woman who has suffered, there is something that quakes in the air whenever they draw near to one another. Perhaps that is the power of shared pain and misery.

CASSIEL: Shadow. He had adored her -- as they all had. He had been her guard and her protector, had sought to quell any rebukes that might have been spurred by jealousy for her lofty place among the hierarchies. Though the world was full of tragedy, it was reassuring to know that there was a singular light that was untouched by such melancholy darkness. He knew that his heart was forever heavy, but there was dastardly hope that was ever pervasive and present whenever he would look into Cassiel’s eyes and witness nothing other than unabated light. Imagine his disappointment, then, when he had to hear from Michael’s own mouth how she had not only turned against her brethren but more or less torn the wings from their backs herself -- had ultimately been the executioner of so many of their kind. He can not abide to look at her now, because when he does there is only ever an impenetrable shadow that is cast over his heart.

JUDAS: Disgust. It is hard for him to be disgusted by someone - he is merciful and just, forgiving to a very fatal fault, but Judas is someone that seems to be the exception that proves the rule. Perhaps it’s because Zadkiel finds him so piteous, like looking upon a festering, disease-ridden thing and finding that they beg you to not put them out of their misery. One would think that Zadkiel would have the same point of view upon all demons but no, this sentiment seems to be singularly reserved for Judas. Whenever the two are forced to convene in the Holy Land and Zadkiel is forced to level his gaze with that stain upon the earth, he can conjure within himself no sense of respect or amicability - only terse civility that seems to belie a near-palpable sense of repugnance. Perhaps it is because the two are so at odds - one divine being is capable of forgiving everyone but himself, while the other forgives himself and condemns the whole world.

Zadkiel is portrayed by Lewis Tan and was written by ROSEY. He is currently OPEN.

#literate rp #rpg #new rp #biblical rp #fantasy rp #m #a #zadkiel #o #om

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pangtasias-atelier · 4 years

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Drabble (TW: Imprisonment) - Ashe gets captured by the Empire. To prevent him from escaping, Hubert orders that Ashe gets forcefed and fattened up until he's too big to escape. Ashe has no choice but to eat and eat, getting fatter every day until the seams on his clothes start splitting. He desperately hopes for the Professor or his friends to save him!

Ashe is an absolute cutey so this was fun to write.

Kinda went off at the beginning with Edelgard and Hubert lmao, but I hope the fat and stuffing goodness makes up for it!

Hope you enjoy!

______

“Hubert,” The waning moon aiding Edelgard in her approach, the sudden appearance of Her Majesty even throws Hubert off guard, Edelgard the only one to ever do so. Her and their prior professor, but neither Hubert or Edelgard have the option to concern themselves over such trivialities as mentor figures. “How many forces were lost?” The question is as simple as straightforward, Edelgard disregarding all notions as subtlety when in the presence of Hubert. The same could not be said for their ex-professor, a twinkle of regret shoved back down by Edelgard’s own fortitude.

“Ah, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert’s hair is more frazzled, a tinge off his usual part, strands of hair standing out of place where nothing but perfection was allowed for. “We fortunately suffered minimal losses. I’ll personally hand you the report when we have all the numbers figured out,” The truth of Fort Merceus being in the Resistance’s hands tremains unsaid, the Adrestian empire’s retreat easy to understand said fact.

“You usually have the report finished by this time, Hubert,”

“My apologies, Lady Edelgard. My own incompetence once again-”

“Hubert,” A hand on his shoulder silences him. “You saw the professor again, didn’t you,” Eyes cast to the ground, Hubert nearly has the gall to reassure. Remembering his place, and the place of Edelgard, he simply sighs instead.

“Yes, but that is unimportant. During the retreat, our forces were able to capture one of the enemy’s soldiers,”

“Ashe,” Edelgard sighs. “Make sure he is to not be tortured and have a room prepared for him,” Edelgard trudges off, mind burdened with heavy thoughts.

“Lady Edelgard! Just because he was a former member of our class...,” Byleth being responsible for said feat remains unsaid. “We should take whatever info we could possibly get from him,”

“Hubert, what I say is final. I will not have you bring harm to one who is already unarmed and captured,” Edelgard sighs, tossing a forlorn look at Hubert before heading off once more. “Simply ensure that he cannot escape,”

“Of course, Lady Edelgard,” Refraining from shaking his head, the act beneath him, Hubert walks off. First to the attendants in the west wing to order a room prepared at once. Then to the prison cells to get Ashe. Neither servant nor guard offer any rebuttal to Hubert’s strange commands, everyone knowing not to upset the lethal mage.

Blindfolded and arms bound as instructed, Ashe calmly walks wherever his captor takes him, knowing not to upset the ones who hold his life in their palms. The walk seemingly endless, the twists and turns of their winding trek all blur together. Suddenly stopping, the jolt of a push nearly tosses Ashe to the floor, awkwardly stumbling forward to not fall face flat. The door closed, Ashe blinks as his eyes adjust to the removal of his blindfold. A grandiose furnished room standing in front of him, Ashe has no time to think before hands work on his arm cuffs.

“Lady Edelgard has graciously allowed for your stay here,” Ashe instinctively rubs his wrists as Hubert frees them. “If you take advantage of Lady Edelgard’s kindness, then I will be there to make sure you never do so again,”

“But-I?” Ashe stutters, still shocked from the change of scenery.

“Call it a favor for an old classmate,” Hubert retorts, his face clearly showing his displeasure. Walking off, Hubert locks the door behind him. Keeping the key to himself, he commands the guards to not let anyone through without his own express permission.

Ashe left alone in his grand new room, the ostentatious furniture leaves him feeling out of place. Still a prisoner bright in his mind, he tentatively heads to the adjoined bathroom to finally freshen up, the grime of the day killing him.

Already no way to escape, Ashe thinks nothing of Hubert’s extreme methods. Already assuming for Hubert to have placed them, he is unaware of Hubert's true plot to ensure he never escapes.

The day arriving far sooner than pleasantly should be possible, Ashe’s weary bones crack and sigh as he stretches. Fine satin sheets under him, the nice nature of his prison cell still makes him feel on edge. Sitting up, the loose fabric for pajamas he had found in the drawers hangs off his skinny body. Lean muscle in his arms from drawing bows so often, the rest of his body has minimal musculature. Upon standing up, Ashe finds the door opening.

Hubert stepping in, he drags in a cart behind him as he closes the door. Unceremoniously, he pushes it towards Ashe, Hubert refusing to budge from his spot in front of the door. “Your breakfast,”

“All this?” Eyes agape, Ashe fervently removes the several cloches keeping his food warm. An omelette, sausages, bacon, pancakes, toast with jam, and hash browns, the meal is the definition of hearty with each having its own sizable portion.

“You would do well to not underestimate Lady Edelgard’s hospitality. And to appreciate it,” Heading off once more, Hubert locks the door.

Ashe once again alone, his stomach grumbles as the intoxicating aroma of the breakfast wafts its way into his nostrils. Having not eaten since his capture, a small nibble from each dish yields no possibility of poison. Starting with the omelette, Ashe drenches it and the hash browns in ketchup. Plenty of water to wash it down, his hungry state easily finishes half of each before moving on to the bacon and sausage. Grabbing a piece of each, the crispy texture of the bacon assaults his hungry tongue. Eating the sausage, the juicy sausage easily goes down his throat, Ashe rubbing his stomach. Glancing down, Ashe finds a small tum where once there was a flat stomach. Checking back to the plates, he sheepishly rubs his head at seeing a good chunk of the feast already gone. Reaching for a slice of toast, the fresh strawberry jam dances on his taste buds, the warm crunchy toast delicious just as the rest. The heaping stack of pancakes thankfully already cut into pieces for him, Ashe drowns them in the sweet syrup. Grabbing them with his fork, the soft chewy batter ends up devoured, Ashe finishing two whole pancakes before giving up.

Resting back on his bed, his stuffed stomach is slightly distended. Protruding a bit, the huge shirt he has offers the perfect amount of give to not bring him any more discomfort. Rubbing the small mass, Ashe lets out a yawn. Drowsily smacking his lips, Ashe contentedly falls back into the cushiony land of dreams.

Right to assume no poison had been put into his food, Ashe was simply lacking in knowledge of the magical arts. His food indeed tampered, Hubert had messed with it to ensure as much fattening as possible. Magic only able to go so far, the effect wasn’t anything obscene, but it did help expedite results.

Asleep, Ashe is unawate as a thin layer of pudge forms on his stomach, the once flat abdomen now sporting a sliver of flab. His thighs and arms ever so slightly thickening up, the effect takes hold of Ashe.

Happy to snooze away with a full stomach, the slamming of the door finally wakes him up. Groggily looking to and fro, he quickly sits up from Hubert visiting him once more. A bit more give where there once was none, Ashe reaches a hand to his stomach. Before he can mull on his thoughts Hubert speaks up,

“Your lunch is here,” The cart containing only a singular dish, the chicken salad sounds like a nice respite for Ashe despite his still engorged stomach. Hubert spots the still full breakfast cart. “Hmm, I see someone was unappreciative of their breakfast,” The door locked behind him, Hubert grabs the plate of hash browns. “Well, I’m sure a guest of Lady Edelgard would be a fool to not enjoy all of her gifts, wouldn’t you agree, Ashe?” Grabbing some with the fork, Huberts stands at the ready.

“Wh-?’ Unable to answer the rhetorical question, Ashe finds a fork of hash browns crammed into his mouth.

“We can’t be leaving any scraps left,” Ashe slightly struggling, Hubert puts the plat back down. Producing rope, he ties Ashe’s arms to the bedpost. Grabbing the plate once more, he sits beside Ashe, vigilant on his thrashing feet. The hash browns slowly going down Ashe’s throat, Hubert washes it down for him by pouring the cup of water down his gullet. Ashe breathing through his nose now, his stomach gurgles as more food still finds its way down his throat. The omelette going next, soon it's the sausage, then the bacon, next the toast, before finally, Hubert is cramming the pancakes down Ashe’s throat.

His cheek positively spherical from so much food crammed in his maw at once, dribbles of the syrup trickles down his chin. Huffing, Ashe groans as the last remnants of breakfast end up in his stomach along with the rest. Arms untied, all he can think of is rubbing his distended gut, his shirt lifting up from it.

“From now on, make sure that you finish all your meals before the next one,” Already leaving, Hubert is at the doorway. “Or we’ll have another repeat of this,”

Rubbing his gut, Ashe simply nods in bed, his jaw too tired to form any words. Left alone, time trickles slowly by, his stuffed gut taking up all his thoughts.

Glancing at the plate of salad, Ashe’s stomach yells at him for even looking at the food. Hubert’s words relaying themself to Ashe, he groans as he stands up. Heavy, tired feet hitting the floor, one hand rests on his paunch as he grabs the plate. Weighing his options, he takes a bit. About to spit it out, Ashe clenches a hand over his mouth, mentally willing himself to chew. Huffing, he drenches the salad with ranch, hoping the extra flavor will help him along. Pinching his nose, Ashe nibbles at the salad. Eyes clenched, each bite is a promise Ashe makes to his stomach to be the last one. A clear lie, but the mental effort needed to finish is taxing.

Fork scraping porcelain, Ashe drops his fork. He rests back down on his mattress. Rubbing his gut, the pounding sensation of being ridiculously overstuffed assaults him.

Resting, time seems to go slowly enough until the door opens up. Hubert bringing in another cart, Ashe nearly feels like losing the day’s meals from thinking about more food. “Hmm, you’re learning. I’ll be back in the morning,” Is all Hubert comments as he takes the prior cart and its plate back.

Ashe figures on taking a nap before eating his dinner, enough time thankfully offered to him.

By the time Ashe eats his dinner and crashes back into bed, the morning helps offer a new sense of clarity. Still stuffed, the noticeable fat on his body makes it clear to the tampering of his food. Clothes still thankfully loose, Ashe offers a groan as it becomes apparent that yesterday was not a one time thing, a heavy breakfast brought to him by Hubert.

Stuffing himself round the clock, Hubert’s chilling attitude and thinly veiled threats gets to Ashe every time. The effects of his food clearly grow more visible by the day on Ashe’s short body. Always skinny, the past feels so long ago as more and more flab stockpiles itself onto his frame.

A flat stomach turns into a distended little gut. Chunky thighs and arms to go along with it, Ashe had assumed it to be the end of his growth. But the meals simply kept up and so did Ashe’s ballooning figure. A potbelly a permanent fixture to his abdomen, even that was a stepping stone for Ashe’s obese body. Word of the Resistance absolutely unknown to him, Ashe has no idea of the current state of the war, his growing waistline concerning him.

Currently sitting in bed, Ashe had easily devoured the monumental feast for breakfast. His gut flowing onto his colossal thighs, the rolls of lard rise and fall with each wheeze he gives. Resting a hand on his gut, the other rubs it, unable to soothe the entire expanse of it. His large breasts rest on top of his stomach, his man boobs splaying to the side as they sag. Wide, doughy bags for arms, the wings for fat sag as well. His wide, fat ass oozing behind him, Ashe’s pear shape had become quickly apparent. Thighs nearly the width of the doorway, escaping was quickly making itself an invalid option. His massive thighs unable to spread much at all, the layers and rolls of flab ooze and meld together.

His lended clothes were torn long ago; the only fabric to fit Ashe now is a brand new pair of light blue boxers. Upon receiving the expansive fabric, the idea of needing so much was ridiculous, yet now he finds them to be on the tighter end of the spectrum, his ass filling out the back and falling out the bottom and the top.

The door opening without announcement, Ashe groans, his stomach still digesting the morning’s meal. Hibert brings another cart of food. He leaves it beside Ashe and leaves with a simple scoff at Ashe’s corpulent state.

A meaty hand on the bed, Ashe grunts as he pushes himself up. Arms burning, straining from doing so, he flops back down on his bed. Entire body jiggling, Ashe's cheeks follow suit as he wheezes. One half of his mind is concerned about his meal, the other half is concerned with his friends finding him before he grows too fat to move, Ashe's titanic size not far from reaching that reality.

#my writing #fat!ashe #fat!threehouses #male weight gain

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aveaugvstus · 4 years

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❛ You made a mistake. Everybody makes them. Even me. I’ve made many. It’s only fair that you made one. ❜

it’s strange how the passage of time warps and bends around the shape of the people in your life, the silhouettes they carve from the liminal space of your soul — it’s like that thing about stars and how when you’re looking up at the night sky, you’re actually looking at stars that could be already be dead a hundred years ago, their fading requiem only just now reaching earth’s stratosphere, a thousand light years away.

this is what it feels like to see vladimir standing in the door frame of his childhood bedroom looking like the ghost of fuck-ups past. ( he has no lock now, which is mildly insulting and excruciatingly patronising; he’s an addict, not bloody suicidal, but to his family the distinction might as well be non-existent. ) he looks different, and also like nothing has changed at all in a way that august can’t quite pinpoint. it’s as if he’s lost his ability to translate him; the myriad tiny, insignificant nuances and habits he used to obsessively decrypt with his very own rosetta stone, a whole stele for the vladimir yamatov script, forgotten like a dead language. or maybe he no longer cares to. he doesn’t know if that should make him feel nostalgic, or furious, or bittersweet. feeling particularly strongly about anything these days is a herculean task in and of itself. which, he supposes, was the original sin that instigated everything to begin with.

he thinks he can remember asking vladimir to come home.

he thinks he can almost remember begging, knees in the dirt and gravel scraping his flesh raw, over voicemail like a needy fling who had accidentally gone and done the thing you and every other idiot knows you’re not supposed to do, and fallen.

he thinks he might have begged for absolution.

but that could have also been the sixth line of blow cut with ketamine and procaine and only god and the devil knows what else ( he’d been desperate, it was three a.m. in camden ) and he’s composed text messages nay, goddamn fucking letters, ad nauseam, ad infinitum, like he’s on the receiving end of some dear john bullshit, and he’s never been sure which of them actually made it to the send button. he’s smashed, or lost, or misplaced, half a dozen phones, for all the futile effort to replace them. collateral damage in the dawning realisation that vladimir wasn’t replying because he was mercilessly leaving him on read, but because he wasn’t receiving them at all, and judging by his infrequent instagram updates, was doing absolutely fine / fuck him, happy / having the time of his fucking life on his primitive anti-tech detox.

for a moment, he entertains the fleeting, whimsical distraction that this could be yet another delusion. after all, he’s conjured vladimir enough times that this wouldn’t be unusual. ( why, sometimes i’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast. ) he has imagined vladimir heartsick, wretchedly beside himself with guilt. he has painted him alabastrine, cold and immovable, patron saint raphael of the lost and the meek indifferent to august’s self-inflicted torment. he has envisioned him lit with madness, seized in catastrophic rage, gripping him by the jaw and rattling his bones till he might see reason. there were other imaginings, too, steeped in the unspeakable, tauntings of an uninhibited mind free to conceptualise the reality of its most ludicrous desire. in the worst dream, the most terrible, most fantastical one, vladimir comes home because of him. for him. it plays out like the final scene of a cult romantic comedy, or the odyssey, maybe, much-enduring odysseus returning home to penelope at last. two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk, their hands meeting as light spills in a flood, the sky pouring out the sun. and he would take his other-soul’s face in his hands and kiss him and say the words this lifetime’s vladimir would never say.

there is, of course, a singular difference in this one. this vladimir. the vladimir he filled his dreams with never looked at him like this. with this curious amalgamation of horror and — most tellingly so; am i not what you expected, vladimir? how did you imagine you would find me? beatific? flourishing? — disgust.

august knows what he looks like. five shades too pale and ashen, like the vivacity has been drained right out of him. a layer of grease shines in his hair, the fade he alway maintains with meticulous care and precision grown out into his natural, unruly curls. he’s not quite skeletal, his frame was always too lean and muscular for that, but he seems perilously thin for his height. it shows in his face, he knows even though he’s been avoiding mirrors and isn’t allowed one anyway, because a) addicts use those to cut their coke, and b) suicidal ones might be inclined to break them, he knows because of the way his mum looks at him when she comes into his room to bring him his meals three times a day like a convict. it hurts him a little, more than the physical pain of looking at vladimir, of hearing his voice, that he sees him like this. he had not been informed in advance that vladimir would come calling. if he had, he would’ve — he doesn’t know what he would’ve done ( attempted an escape, maybe; broken his twelve-day sobriety, maybe ) but he might’ve. cleaned up a little. tried to look less like a shell of himself. augustus has always been vain, has always been a gilded, preening thing who took great pride in being pretty and well-loved for it. it pains him. not to be even that anymore. he is rusted. tarnished.

if he had known, maybe he would have told vladimir not to come.

now that he is here, he is split in two, cleaved in half by the urge to tell him to go and the more pressing compulsion to make him stay to never go never leave again never go anywhere that is out of his sight out of his life out of him.

his ambivalence makes him poor company and a poorer conversationalist. not that this is entirely his fault — what are they supposed to do? chat about the weather and trade perfunctory banter just to fill the air? he’d rather do a line right here in front of vladimir.

your hair is longer, august had said. the only thing other than what are you doing here, which had come out of his mouth, part-shock and part-petulance, when his mother had opened the door and presented vladimir like some screwed-up surprise gift for reaching a whopping week and a half of not being a fucking disappointment to everyone around him. so, now he can disappoint the person that matters most fundamentally, tortuously, to him in the world, too. how delightful.

vladimir’s hair being longer is the only thing he can think to say that doesn’t make him want to give in to the pulverising sensation in his head, in his bones, in his chest, screaming for a deus ex machina reprieve. if this is what they have come to — the two of them, who had spent their entire lives talking about nothing and everything till they could anticipate exactly what the other’s response would be — augustus is glad he didn’t come home sooner. he looks handsome, which feels like another slight against august’s pride. rugged and sun-soaked like a male model cum travel influencer, but one that actually does something meaningful with his life. time, and sunlight, and the kind of hard labour that builds muscle definition and character, has certainly been kinder to him than it has been to august. he doesn’t say you look good because that would sound like he has any remotely positive feelings towards this interaction, and, indeed, the cause of vladimir’s looking like a golden, newly-anointed demi-god. it seems they have traded places. or maybe vladimir is exactly who he was always supposed to be. and august is, too.

august supposes it’s the silence, and the reality that vladimir cannot abide it either, that prompts him to say what he does.

what happened?

he doesn’t say anything for a long moment, he drifts in the absence of an answer because he is allowed to, because he is technically, partially an invalid now, and people who are sick are allowed to be not altogether there.

( sick. malaised. he likes this word for it. he likes that there is a scientific explanation for what he is. a brain disease. a diagnosable mental illness. see, vladimir, he almost wants to say, a little deranged part of him finally gleeful at not having a pedestal to stand on anymore, you aren’t special. i’m fucked up now, too. )

well, vladimir. it’s a very long story that i don’t care to repeat as i’ve recounted the tales to you so many times through missives you were never inclined to respond to. there was angel, and bennie, there was emmy, and good old molly. ah, and charlie, my favourite of the lot. ours was a whirldwind love affair. but it turns out i loved him more than he loved me. seems like i have a nasty little habit of doing that. it’s one i haven’t learned to kick yet.

god — august...

it’s the look of wrenching disgust, again. the thing that twists and snakes across vladimir’s face and awakes something snarling and animal shackled to august’s throat, something that slams into him chest-first and doesn’t stop until it’s gone right through him, left him raw, all bloodied edge and teeth.

what happened? what happened? what’s the point of asking now when it’s all been said and done. how long am i supposed to carry this black mark? until everyone around me deigns to let me bury it? i’m not a fucking child.

it’s not an explanation, which is what vladimir is after. he would know, however, if he had bothered to answer august any of those times. he would know, he would have known, if he hadn’t left august in their bed that morning at the warwickshire summer palace and run from everything they’d ever touched. they’d had the world world in their hands in that bed, in that room, in that place of stolen summer outside of time, outside of life itself. they could have had — everything. everything august had to give. and he gave it, and vladimir looked him in the eye and decided it was not for him.

you made a mistake. everybody makes them. even me. i’ve made many. it’s only fair that you made one.

he feels each word grate right through him, each syllable catching on his skin like little knives, the thin strand keeping him tethered to the present grinding down into dust and bone. he doesn’t blame vladimir for what happened to him. he blames him for leaving. but it’s a mistake that vladimir won’t — can’t acknowledge because to do that, he would have to admit to the thing he doesn’t want to say, or can’t say, and august can’t make him say it. that’s what made him do it, the first night at that grimy, filthy club in the berlin underground. that’s what made him want to trade his soul for just a night of rapture so euphoric he wouldn’t have to remember how fucking miserable it was to be unloved by the one person you thought you were meant for. but then, it’s never just one night is it? it couldn’t have been. you don’t get over something like that with one goddamn night.

( if august were honest, and his heart not surrendered, he would say it was this, too: that vladimir could walk away from them, has always been able to walk away, and think nothing of it. him. that vladimir had found purpose and higher meaning in something other than themselves and the stupid, foolish, boyish dreams they used to talk about like they might someday happen. that august had disappointed him somehow by, what, not being enough? not living up to the unearned greatness that vladimir saw in him and was supposedly the only person in the world who could? that vladimir would forge a path for himself in life that diverged from august and not feel his soul rending itself in half to be half a world away from him, and survive it. — it was enough to ruin him then, it still ruins him now. )

“if you’ve come all this way just to lecture to me, you can sod the fuck off back to phuket or hanoi or fucking antarctica if that’s what you want. maybe there’s some disease-riddled penguins out there that you can save to sate your saviour complex. saint francis of assisi. a non-shitty mother teresa. malala.”

he’s exhausted before the first word leaves his mouth, strung out just with the effort of starting, but he can’t stop them now any more than he can stop the hunger and thirst clawing at his head howling for a drop of blood, a pound of flesh, any part of him that it can cannibalise in retribution for starving. it’s easier to be cruel than to be wounded, better to be the conqueror than the fallen — but right now it just feels like he is going through his twelfth or two hundredth day of withdrawal and the boy he loves has come back but not the way august wanted and not the way he wants to be wanted. it hurts just to look at him, it hurts to have him looking back. every part of his body aches with dependence, codependence. they’re the definition of it. see what happens to me when you are not in my life?

alexander lay on hephaestion’s bed for three days. but you are not him. you are just a spoiled, arrogant, silver-spooned nothing who will never amount to greatness, glory, or anything at all. it is no wonder he would not have you.

his rage breaks, like sea foam crashing against cliffs; it rends and shatters down the fault line mapped throughout his body, the one that winds from his throat to his sternum, down to his thighs and feet, and aches forever mostly at his heel. helpless to the unbidden trembling of his hands as he curls them around the sheets of his bed, unmoored. he looks small and disarmed, more lost than he’s ever been with vladimir by his side. it doesn’t mean the same thing anymore, does it? not if he cannot make vladimir stay. whatever they had between them — is it damaged, now. they could rebuild it, but the foundations would still bear the memory of where the cracks lie. he would still remember this look on vladimir’s face.

he has looked at him a thousand times, and there has always been an echo reverberating between them. the wavelength of an elegy he knows the words to like they are writ upon heartbeat, upon headstone. there have been other faces, but vladimir’s eyes have always been the same. fathomless as distant stars in an entire universe light years away and yet close enough to touch if he dared to. if it is fate, or circumstance, or a reiteration of the immortality that stands between them and their freedom, then he already knows how this ends. vladimir knows it, too. it doesn’t make him want it any less. it doesn’t make him suffer for it any less. this ache he has spent an eternity chasing after, this feeling of being so incandescently alive that even death cannot keep them apart, this is what vladimir ran from. augustus cannot blame him. if he was not the one who always outlived him, he’d do the same.

“is this why you came back? because you think you can save me, too?”

#SING O MUSE AND THROUGH ME TELL THE STORY. / ASK.#HE IS HALF OF MY SOUL AS THE POETS SAY. / VLADIMIR.#T. / MODERNITY.#addiction tw #drug abuse tw #suicide mention tw #this is going to make you think twice about ever casually sending me memes #hehe

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jflove · 4 years

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I want to correct some things I wrote in my last taekook post. But it just too long and hard to edit, also, those were my early thoughts, and now I learned more in these few days, makes me wanna change some of my theory.

First, I would say I think I know tae more now. Before, I wasn't able to tell what he's like. Hes just so secrecy. And the part he can lie without blink, made me feel weird. Like why? Why you like to hide your name when stranger asks you? Why you so good at losing? Why even lie at all? What's the center reason?

Then I saw taekook-lives vids, she has so many insightful, and background informations, love her YouTube channel. She pointed out about both tae and jungkook's sexuality could be gay even before they met each other, then it hits me. That explains everything, why tae sometimes childish and sometimes mature, why he's shy and a bit femenime(not saying it's a bad things, or because of his sexuality, im not that old and stupid) in general but act silly loud exaggerated behavior sometimes, especially when he was younger, like he was trying to act more boyish.

A little bit same thing with young JK too, his speaking voice when he with the members are higher now and he has more cute face and body expressions. He used to only smile or laugh, but now he has way too many cute faces. Maybe he has a little bit knowing that hes kinda different than other boys so that's why he likes to hangout with older people. But tae, I think he knows his sexuality and that's why he kept the real him hidden, put on a different cover on the outside, that's why he's so conflicted when he's young.

I was wrong about the inner child lyric, I thought the first changing part means tae visit jk's room and changed their relationship from friends into lovers. But then I was a bit confused cuz they seem sleep in the same room, so... How he visits jk's room? Then I saw one of taekook-lives vid mentions an article about JK talking how he met tae. He says tae visit his room and introduced himself. I realized I was so wrong, that's what tae means in the lyric, hes talking about meeting JK changes both of them.

Another thing I learned is that how much JK really pulling tae out. I didn't know RM implied that we should listen to the last album from V's singularity to fake love to love maze then magic shop. It's just a love story about how tae was hiding himself under deep ice, till someone found him and saved him. Then he tried to protect this love by faking it, and jk's part is saying no, it's still fake. So much pain and suffering, but he finally accept it cuz how much he loves tae.

I learn about the almost one year separation, and why jk covers so many love songs. The things they had been though, all those time tae protend like he didn't even see jk on cam. People talked(still some) about is he and jk not getting along, company set jk with jimin... All those things, and how much pain tae and jk feel constantly, couldn't saying anything, just using music and those tiny hints to spread their love.

I now sure it must be tae didn't wanna come out. jk in on's solo part sings "Michael told me in the closet, they got some chicken I so sad" is an unbelievable brave and smartest lyric ever. I think maybe the company said they will support them if them came out, but chicken out, so jk was sad, but now he's gonna taking over like the lyric says.

Now I think inner child is not just talking about coming out, it reviewed their relationship form the start. I thought it was a sad love calling, but maybe the second change is positive too. They gonna change their relationship to the next level. The "hold my hand" and "give you my world", I think it's a propose.

And soon I was thinking that, I saw some other stuff showing they wearing rings on the left hand forth finger lately... And also, I heard that they don't even allow to sit in the same car in Korea seems they are married.

Seriously? They not just gonna announce coming out, but straight go for marriage? Is this for real? What m I even writing stuff here? The boat just sails itself to the far beyond.

But I would like to say how much Im touched by their relationship. I had to go through all those details, like cracking codes to find those puzzle pieces, so I can understand what they have going through. This is just sad. And I heard they already starting to get some awful treatments in Korea, so I'm really sorry but also proud and admire their courage. Not just tae and jk, also other members stand by them to face the coming war, I only hope army won't get too shocked and still love and support them.

I sometimes forget though jk has this bunny cuteness, but hes also a kid that choose a small agency by his own preference when he's 13, and singing lead when he's 15 in a group full of people order than him. He doesn't scare of anything, pain and hurt cannot wipe the smile on his face, he always so positive. That's why he can save a sensitive brooding boy form the deep ice, and brings light and laugher to tae's life. They did change a lot, both of them actually, more than any of the other members. Because they grow together and slowly understand and accept who they are. Jk only stays in the closet because that was the wish of the person he loves. But he always that kind of person can never be press down forever. I can't wait to see their story finally written under daylight, so I can proudly support them and the whole BTS family. They deserve everything.

#Taekook #vkook #forver

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spicedrobot · 5 years

Text

A Matching Set

Fandom: Overwatch Pairing: B.O.B/Concept!Zenyatta Warnings: all the sex parts, switching, semi-public se/x Notes: This is just horn/y. That’s all there is my dudes.

When the large omnic beelines across the busy Numbani streets towards Zenyatta’s makeshift shrine, the monk doesn’t know what to expect. Omnics of all types and models came to see him, some to scoff or question, others to seek aid or offer it. Their reasons rarely surprised, but as Zenyatta channels harmonious energy into his current, injured visitor, he wonders if this newcomer’s will.

Leather clad, scuffed, twice as wide as a civilian model and towering over nervous passersby, the newcomer is only deceptively intimidating. He waits patiently behind the small queue of the shrine’s visitors, twiddling his fingers as he watches Zenyatta with optics that never quite reach the monk’s array. By the time Zenyatta sweeps his many hands in front of him and ushers the omnic forward, a bead of oil slides down his faceplate, his optics following the shifting lines of Zenyatta’s arms.

“What is it you seek, brother?”

The omnic avoids looking at his face, instead recording the ground, his shoulders hunching as he fidgets.

“There is no need to be shy.”

Zenyatta extends one of his hands. The omnic stares at his upturned palm, the green glint of his optics expanding. Hesitation from such an imposing figure is strange indeed, but not strange enough to shake him. Slowly, he slots his hand over Zenyatta’s, just as large but nearly double in thickness, warm and smooth. Minute vibrations reach Zenyatta’s sensors; the motion of the other’s hand trembling ever so slightly.

With a flare of his array, Zenyatta grants sharing permissions, and the omnic’s — B.O.B’s — consciousness touches his own.

“Oh, I see,” Zenyatta says, fingers interlacing with B.O.B.’s. “That I am able to provide.”

B.O.B. startles when Zenyatta leads him by the hand, the monk’s shoulders softly shifting in silent laughter. The space is tight inside the shrine, not quite meant for large models, but it conceals them well enough. It’s quiet and warm when Zenyatta reaches behind his companion to close the door.

B.O.B.’s arms remain limp at his sides, and again his optics dart around, not knowing where to look.

“Be at peace. There is no judgement here.”

Two hands slip from behind Zenyatta’s frame and grasp B.O.B.’s wrists. He lets himself be moved easily, the gentle, stubborn tremble that plagues his chassis intensifying as Zenyatta settles B.O.B.’s hands on his own hip struts. The monk tips his head as the other’s fingers tighten around him, array flashing one light at a time. He studies B.O.B.’s faceplate, one hand cupping around the strong jut of his chin, the heavy curve of his chest, hard and warm. His hands trail down the omnic’s chassis, unbuckle his belt while his others touch and explore to his fill. In that singular moment of connection, B.O.B. had painted this scene, sweet and dark, tinted by a desire more human than most of their type. Upgraded, the how and why unimportant, not Zenyatta’s to know. Not now.

The omnic shakes on his feet when Zenyatta depresses his panel with a few deft clicks, a thick, synthetic cock nearly too large to grasp fully sliding hot and eager across the sensor of his palm.

“My…” Zenyatta hums, curling his fingers around it, judging its girth. “I hope this is not your normal state, my friend.”

B.O.B. shakes his head as steam billows from his vents, and Zenyatta laughs, deep and pleased. A second hand joins the first as he begins to stroke, caressing what the other does not reach, leaning closer when a noise rumbles from B.O.B.’s primitive synth, hard and crackled. Coolant slickens Zenyatta’s fingers, the slide of B.O.B.’s cock smooth and satisfying, startlingly responsive. It is not often that one of his size is outfitted which such an attachment, and just as the thought forms Zenyatta realizes the truth to it.

A third hand joins the others, cupping the end of B.O.B’s length, a tumid space to fill and rock into, his cock trapped completely by the monk’s hands while his others are busy elsewhere, sliding between the seams of B.O.B.’s chestplate, tracing ports along his side that spark and sizzle against the smooth tips of his fingers. Still B.O.B.’s own hands stay upon Zenyatta’s hips, grip flexing between too tight and crushing. Strong. It’s not many that had the power to compromise his structural integrity, and Zenyatta’s array brightens, blinding and sudden in the steam.

“You will make a mess of me like this,” Zenyatta whispers.

B.O.B.’s whole frame shudders, the first, unsure snap of the omnic’s hips surging into the channel of his hands. The plip of coolant landing on the floor is lost beneath the gentle creaking of machinery, the hiss of steam, the muffled sound of life outside, only a thin, quickly cobbled structure between them and the rest of the world.

Zenyatta’s touches slow, not teasing, not on purpose, as other hands slip away and fist into his skirts, drawing the threadbare cloth up and up until it bunches at his waist, revealing saffron and silver paneling, thick and sturdy. There is no mistaking where B.O.B.’s optics record then, narrowed and unmoving as Zenyatta traces one hand over the plating between his thighs.

“Can you lift me? Then I ma—“ His synth glitches as his feet leave the ground in an instant. “Eager. No, I am not angry.” Zenyatta murmurs as B.O.B. tips his head down. “Your enthusiasm is touching.”

He supposes he’s to blame for such urgency, tugging and teasing B.O.B.’s cock while he gives a gentle command.

“It is fortunate we are alike.”

Zenyatta slides his legs around B.O.B.’s back, positioning himself as much as he can as he depresses his own panel. His cock slides out just as readily as his companion’s did, slick trailing down its glowing, segmented length. Beneath is flushed and primed too, and he gently urges B.O.B. closer with his hands upon his cock. “Here you can make as much of a mess as you like.”

Zenyatta can almost feel the other’s processors whirring, the steam blocking their vision for several seconds, Zenyatta’s shaky laughter following on its notes as he kisses B.O.B.’s cock to the opening between his legs.

“Hurry. I want to feel you.”

He had forgotten just how long it had been, having a partner of a similar size. The first press of B.O.B.’s cock barely breeches him, then slides north against his panels, both of them hissing with contact lost, Zenyatta’s hands quickly repositioning his cock once more, stroking, goading, only one step ahead of his own want. Pressure, re-calibration, both overheated, systems struggling to keep up in less than ideal conditions, hands all over B.O.B.’s body, scrabbling for purchase when he slides inside, thick and unbelievably filling every inch of his port. Zenyatta steams, a set of hands planting on B.O.B.’s shoulders, another clutching the base of his own dick, too late to alter his own sensitivity levels, especially when B.O.B. begins to thrust, two pinpoints of green burning into him through the gloom.

The snap of their bodies is loud and wet, pace controlled by the omnic rutting into him; had anyone had been strong enough to hold Zenyatta, to fuck him like this before? His mind is slow to recall, supplying instead the taste of information that B.O.B. had given him, one who could not take another without concern for pain or injury. Kindred, Zenyatta’s processors supply, and the word clings, makes his hands greedier, wilder, touching wherever he can, pressing and searching, wanting to give what most could not. Sliding hands along B.O.B.’s quaking thighs, beneath his cock, smooth and almost burning to the touch, wet with their coupling and B.O.B.’s own port, empty and swollen.

He teases against him, fingers gliding smooth, dipping inside, his chassis nearly buckling under B.O.B.’s grip as he tugs Zenyatta onto his cock again and again, using him with an abandon he could never have before. More. Harder. His own selfishness has his legs sealing tight around B.O.B. in return, clenching, wanting, fingers thrusting into the twitching mess; the noise B.O.B. makes is brutally low, like grating gears, and for a moment, Zenyatta worries—

—and then doesn’t have the capacity to do so, thrusts so fast he cannot tell where they start or stop, the impossible wave of pleasure coursing through him, a flash of filling heat, a struggle, a stumble as thrusts grow erratic, each punctured by a short, grinding cry.

He cannot contain all that B.O.B. gives, and it pools from around his cock, messing the steamed metal of his inner thighs, his own cock twitching dangerously as the other pumps him full. Lost momentarily, Zenyatta groans when B.O.B.’s fingers glance over his own, trying to work the monk’s cock while still buried to the hilt himself. Zenyatta wants it, to spill over those huge hands, to groan and twist and lose himself even as a queue of visitors surely gathers outside.

“W-wait,” Zenyatta manages. “H-here.” His fingers, still half-buried in B.O.B.’s port, curl and press deeper, his insides hot and clinging. “Do you wish for me here?”

The other hikes Zenyatta up, both exhaling at the shift, faceplates together, touching, green into blue.

“T-then. How would you prefer?” B.O.B.’s hand finds his own, lights flared. “Okay.”

B.O.B. lowers him, Zenyatta gasping as the other draws out, fluids dribbling down his panels, the loss of him quickly replaced by something equally enticing. The floor is more cramped than standing, but it’s just enough room for Zenyatta to lie back, for B.O.B. to ease his knees apart and reach for Zenyatta’s cock. His quiet companion makes another deep, mechanical sound, chassis stuttering.

“Ssh. Let me.”

Two hands grasp B.O.B.’s hips, another grips his own cock, steadying, leading. B.O.B. groans, sound cracking high as he sinks onto him, aching heat swallowing Zenyatta in a single motion. Their bodies lock together, fingers intertwining in turn, connecting again, ushering away his worry.

“I can hold you. You are not so heavy,” Zenyatta whispers.

B.O.B.’s consciousness brightens, happiness, awe, an undercurrent of pleasure as Zenyatta moves him, his other hands cupping B.O.B.’s backside, his thighs, touching his cock, tumid, pearled and leaking.

The monk takes him slowly but forgets himself just as quickly, hungry for his sounds, his quiet, alien whines, the quaking of his large body quickening his motions. B.O.B. leaks over Zenyatta’s hands, stains his skirts and gleams on his metal, a strange, possessive bite shocking through Zenyatta’s processes, an emotion B.O.B. reads immediately and reflects back at him, spilling hot with only a handful of thrusts and a few lazy touches to his cock.

Zenyatta hums, synth crackling, tracing over slick mess gleaming on his chassis with an idle hand.

“You made a mess after all.”

B.O.B. groans and begins to move on his own, replacing any remaining quips Zenyatta had planned with a soft gasp.

The afternoon disappears as they have one another in all the ways they can. Fingers twist into wires, bodies turn, lower, offer and claim, even as their systems’ effectiveness diminish, warning messages ignored as steam and heat builds and builds, touches grown sloppy and uninhibited.

Only when several loud pings echo from B.O.B.’s synth do they finally still their sluggish shifting, watching each other with dimmed, blinking lights.

“You must go,” Zenyatta sighs, several sets of hands cupping B.O.B.’s faceplate softly before slipping away. “We have left your partner waiting quite a while.”

B.O.B. rubs his neck, but leans in when Zenyatta does, pressing their faceplates together.

“I will be here for many weeks more. Return if you have the time.”

B.O.B. intertwines their fingers and nods with a slow dip of his head.

#bobyatta #bendoverwatch #fics #lemon #concept zenyatta #mine

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thecomicsnexus · 4 years

Photo

THE WILD STORM #7-12 NOVEMBER 2017 - MAY 2018 BY WARREN ELLIS, JON DAVIS-HUNT AND STEVE BUCCELLATO

SYNOPSIS (FROM DC DATABASE)

Yesterday was a day like a lightning strike, a day of movers and shakers, runners and gunners. But today dawns brightly over New York, as a woman prepares for work, says goodbye to her cat, and takes a bus. In the lobby of an office building, she signs in - Jacklyn King, IO's Chief of Analysis.

On Sub-Level 5, Jackie meets her underling, Mitchell Saunders, who hands her her morning coffee. Armed, she walks into the office, where her whole staff is assembled for a briefing. She begins: Angela Spica, an IO research engineer, built technology into herself which IO had stolen from Skywatch. She subsequently used this technology to save Jacob Marlowe, billionaire head of the Halo Corporation, from an assassination. Marlowe was a sanctioned IO hit, assigned to Michael Cray, an IO "hitter". For his failure, Cray was disbarred from IO, and a two-man Warblade team was sent to "hit" him. However, the team was unsuccessful, and Cray is now in the wind. Spica, meanwhile, ran to Camp Hero, a disused IO bunker. IO sent a covert action team (CAT) to finally sanction her, but this team ran afoul of a wild CAT, and in the confusion, Spica escaped.

Mitchell points out that she could be dead, but Jackie says then they need to find her body. Spica's technology is proof that IO has stolen technology from Skywatch, the secret space agency. Skywatch & IO agree to stay out of each other's way, but if someone else finds the body, it could spark a covert war that would destroy both agencies.

Connected to this, Mitchell explains that Christine Trelane cannot be found at Skywatch Ground Division in New York, and they think she's in San Francisco. Jackie says they need to make sure, and also need to work out who is temporarily replacing her, pointing out that Lucy Blaze, Skywatch's senior investigator, was at Camp Hero after the firefight.

Meanwhile, at a brownstone safehouse, Adrianna Tereshkova is reading the newspaper, much to the confusion of Cole Cash who is only now waking up. They receive a phone call from John Colt, a double agent working at a blacksite, Hightower, who has important data but thinks he's been discovered. Cole & Adrianna know John, but cannot teleport him out from the corridor because they are trying to hide the existence of Adrianna from IO. They tell him to find a broom closet, and not to break his second cover as a corporate spy.

John shoots through two teams of armed guards using a graphene/plastic handgun with isobutane propellant. He ducks into a broom closet, but when the third team arrives, he is gone...

At the brownstone safehouse, Angie Spica wakes up to discover she is bleeding from her side. She goes to the kitchen to get paper towels, and her arrival causes John - who was explaining about the information he found, that Hightower was secretly an IO research effort into "machine telepathy" - to clam up. John introduces himself as a normal man, but Angie uses her technology to do a deep scan of him before leaving.

A once-majestic ruined building with trees growing out of it, under two suns in an orange sky. A rotating ring habitat, built to mimic a biosphere, slowly falling apart. Jacob Marlowe blinks in the back of his limousine, and leans forward.

At the safehouse, John, Cole and Adrianna meet Kenesha in the drawing room, and pass the time waiting for Jacob Marlowe by voicing their theory that IO wanted Marlowe dead because they knew he was an alien. John dismisses this, saying there is no angle to this theory that makes sense. They discuss the facts. The assassin's weapon was polonium. Death by polonium, under normal circumstances, precipitates an autopsy, which is an inefficient method of spreading news of aliens. John points out that Jacob Marlowe has made a lot of human enemies. Adrianna adds that the kill only failed because the assassin, having bypassed all the other alarms, tripped a secret alarm for extraterrestrials, and this shocked the assassin - and then the assassin demonstrated a strange ability, which shocked both him and Marlowe.

John says he needs to assess all this news. Kenesha says she needs to assess the data that John brought back from Hightower. Jacob Marlowe walks in the door, ready to begin, only for Cole to point out that they already covered everything, and he needs to calm down Angie, the houseguest of their weirdness.

Jacob knocks on Angie's door as she is trying to mop the blood that spilled on the bed during the night. Angie says she needs painkillers before she leaves them. Marlowe says she can stay as long as she wants, but Angie declines - of this group, Adrianna and Cole are weird, but they are weird in very human ways. Jacob and John and Kenesha, however, are weird in very inhuman ways, and if she stays, she wants to know the whole truth. She is confident it is something easily-comprehensible.

Ichthyoid bipeds, chanting crosslegged around glowing blue methane vents beneath a blue-black sea. A long spacecraft with a non-rocket drive system, approaching the edge of a nebula. Jacob Marlowe steeples his fingers, and leans forward.

Sitting down, Jacob Marlowe begins his story with a bombshell: he is not a human with dwarfism, but rather a member of an extraterrestrial species. His species is divided into five intelligent sub-species - similar to how humans were related to homo neanderthalensis, homo floriensis, and so on - and thousands of years ago, his species sent an expedition to space, with representatives of the five races, to seek out life. Life is easy to kill in the universe, and intelligent life rarely evolves fast enough to truly blossom.

The expedition, informed of tool-using primitives on Earth, came here, but the ship was damaged and was forced to make a landing. Their superiors assumed them dead and, because interstellar travel is expensive, never came looking for them. After arrival, some of the aliens decided that they would use their extensive knowledge to assist humans in getting off the planet. This is the vocation Jacob has today. By using the data and material of his people, his goal is to subtly prompt the engineers he employs through the Halo Corporation to achieve technological milestones and get humans to space.

Angela Spica, who is the audience of this story, remarks that the narrative seems simplified. Jacob admits that it is, but says he has told her the story to prove that he trusts her with his secrets. He offers her the use of the Halo Corporation's technology, to improve or enhance her relationship to the technology she implanted into herself, as it is hampering her immune system and causing her to bleed sporadically. All he asks in return is a data dump about the technology she has now, to gauge what data and technology her former employers, I.O., have access to, and then a second data dump when she is finished, to see what she has done. Angela accepts the offer.

After Jacob leaves the room, Kenesha accuses him of leaving out significant parts of the story. Jacob explains that Angie is smart enough, and resourceful enough, that she could kill them all if they made her their enemy. He insists that they can never tell Angie the real reason for the expedition.

In I.O.'s Analysis Division, Jacklyn King takes a break from pestering her underling to receive data - of the three members of the wild CAT they are hunting, they have a positive ID on exactly one - Cole Cash, a former I.O. field specialist, listed as having died on a mission ten years ago. When Jacklyn relates this to Miles Craven, her superior, she adds that after searching every database on the planet, they have nothing on the other two renegades, which leaves only one suspect she can think of - Skywatch, the secret space agency. Craven counters that Skywatch is not allowed to have a covert action team on Earth, due to the treaty between their two agencies, and that he will not take further action without more data.

So Jacklyn goes back to her underling, Mitchell Saunders, and orders him to form a working group, in an Event-shielded room, with no computers, to assess the possibility of hacking into Skywatch's computer database. Mitchell underlines that that's illegal, and Jacklyn orders him to tell anyone who asks that it is a harmless exploration of hypotheticals. Mitchell underlines that based on everything they know, it's also impossible, and Jacklyn responds that this is why she's asking him to check.

In a café in Amsterdam, a young woman named Evi is telling her friend Bram about a guided drug trip she just did with a healer named Shen Li-Men. On the trip, Shen Li-Min seemed to sprout wings, and introduced herself as "the Doctor". Her group passed through the center of a lotus, into a dimension of pink energy, where they saw a mighty metal ship with a thousand identical passengers, sailing on a wild storm-cloud. At the end of the trip, there was a garden, and Shen Li-Men reached into Evi's heart and healed her. It was incredible... except that one member of the group didn't wake up.

In her workspace, Shen Li-Men is standing over the comatose young Englishwoman. She journeys into the woman's headspace, to find her mind intact, standing at the entrance of a tunnel. Curious, Li-Men follows the tunnel, through tableaux of past times when events of singular importance unfolded, each one empty except for a faceless woman in the garb of that time. And at the very back, she finds a machine shaped like a human heart, with a gestating human fetus inside it, guarded by two hooded bipeds with inhuman faces.

One sees and recognises her, which abruptly ends the trip. The young woman admits that it was quite a sight. Li-Men demands answers. The young woman explains that she came to see what sort of person Shen Li-Men was, and that to tell all, she will need Li-Men to open a livestream in London on her phone. Confused, Li-Men complies - and suddenly the young woman is in the livestream, and not in the workspace. With a lazy wave, the young woman walks out of frame, leaving Li-Men with no answers.

Reluctantly, Li-Men calls on the resource she likes the least - the Hospital, a bardo realm of infinite sunlight, manicured lawns, and free-floating stone cuboids, inhabited by people from the past who have held the role of the Doctor. Here, she unburdens herself to these "mad dead old farts", who explain that the identical people on the metal ship are a rarely-seen class of beings called Daemon - and that the Englishwoman is something they've seen before: a unique spirit of the mechanical arts and crafts, personified as a woman, equipped with powers related to the technologies of her time... and whose like is only seen at moments of critical importance. The opinion of the Doctors is that these women function as a planetary defense system.

As the Doctors try to provide helpful information from their long-past lives, Shen Li-Min ponders the strange case of the Englishwoman she knows only as Jenny Mei Sparks...

Jacob Marlowe and Adrianna Tereshkova have delivered Angie Spica to a space where Marlowe store their stuff. Marlowe explains that this warehouse of immense solitude has the security of a fortress, and part of that security is that he won't tell her where it is. Adrianna will act as a 'taxi' service, responding to a phone he hands Angie. Marlowe lists off the amenities, and then mentions that there is a field medic kit in one of the side rooms, which he assumes she will need. Marlowe offers to bring her a doctor, but Angie, toying with a pastel-colored pistol she found on a nearby table, says she will be fine.

At IO HQ, Mitch Saunders walks into Jackie King's office and lays out a story: a contractor named "Wilson Flowers" at the Hightower facility, who passed every background check, was caught hacking into the computers. He killed some of the guards, walked into a supply closet... and vanished. But the strangest thing is that his profile also vanished. They don't even have a picture now. Saunders wonders what he is becoming, that he can rattle off these facts without thinking of the families of the bereaved. Jackie muses at this, and then says she needs to talk to the director.

On the way to Miles Craven's office, she runs into Ivana Baiul, the Deputy Director, who questions her on the working group she has set up, but Jackie keeps her cool, and walks on. In Craven's office, she says that her research into Cole Cash lists him as working for something called "Project Thunderbook", which she can find nothing on. Craven says Project Thunderbook was classified Director's Eyes Only, and when Jackie objects, he specifies - it was classified as such by his predecessor, John Lynch.

Before he quit, Lynch destroyed the files on Project Thunderbook, and also a bunch of the staff committed suicide. And also three of their buildings burned down. Thunderbook is a locked box, but Jackie says she will look into it. Craven asks what about the purpose of her new working group. Jackie tries to stonewall, but eventually confesses that she is wargaming a method of hacking into Skywatch's computers. Craven orders her not to do anything without consulting him.

It is raining on Brooklyn, which makes John Colt pause as he puts on his suit, and remember another time, when he confronted a group of warriors in 17th century Japan. With a mix of sword skill and superhuman power, he had cut his way through the group, only for the driver to remark that if he had asked, he would have given him the thing he's transporting.

In the back of the wagon, John had found a piece of nonhuman technology, and cursed someone named Emp who had clumsily stored it under his bed.

In the present, Kenesha calls John to go over their plans for Hightower. John wonders aloud if there is any champagne in the house, which irritates Kenesha, who fires back that they have lived through times when clean running water was a luxury. Coldly, John points out the class difference between the two of them: Kenesha, with her three-syllable name, honored as a savant, selected to serve on the expedition led by Emp, who was so important he had a one-syllable name. John, meanwhile, was a frontline grunt with an eight-syllable name, marked as an "individual of no value". At home, he would never be allowed near the luxury that champagne and fine suits represents in New York, which is why he intends to indulge himself. Kenesha remarks that between one-syllable rulers and three-syllable savants, there are two-syllable names like "Zannah".

Across town, in the Skywatch Ground Division office, Lucy Blaze is looking out the window when she gets a call from Lauren Pennington, who is speaking on behalf of Director Bendix. Pennington orders her to prioritize the exosuit case[1]. Lucy asks why, and though Pennington initially bridles at even being asked, she admits that Bendix believes the exosuit case will reveal that IO has stolen Skywatch hardware, and she is to watch IO's Analysis section for leads on who they need to blame.

At the end of the workday at IO, Jackie is waiting for the bus when she sees Mitch using a rideshare app. Jackie pulls him aside and tries to lecture him on the terrible operation security that apps represent. Mitch gets defensive - he acknowledges that she is right, but says that he spends his days doing a job he cannot tell anyone about, working to help IO control and create the real world. He wants to feel normal. And in the world IO has created, rideshare apps are normal. Jackie asks him to think about security, and then catches the bus. Feeling adrift, Mitch opens a dating app.

At the warehouse, Angie has taken the medical kit and set up an intravenous drip via a stent she grew around the peripheral veins in her left hand. Picking up the pastel-colored pistol, she muses that it is time to learn about guns.

In the safehouse, Jacob Marlowe’s wild CAT are strategizing the best way to destroy the I.O. blacksite codenamed ‘Hightower’. Kenesha immediately suggests that they blow it up, but this is vetoed by Cole, Adrianna and John. Cole presents the ideal plan: trick the occupants into leaving the building, by faking an environmental breach or by pulling a fire alarm, and then after everyone has left, inflict damage which destroys the facility but can plausibly be written off as coincidental.

After John and Adrianna give a brief explanation of “event shielding” - a technology at I.O.’s disposal which can generate a screen of “fake time” around a space, rendering it physically unscannable by an outside body - Cole hits on the idea of using one of the microdrones Angie used back at Camp Hero to remotely hack Hightower’s systems to get the results they want. Kenesha agrees with this, thinking she can put explosives in the drone also.

As it is time for her to come home, Adrianna goes to retrieve Angie from the warehouse where she is working, taking Cole with her. At the warehouse, Cole asks for her help, making the suggestion. Angie is initially leery of the idea, but warms up when she realises that they want to blow up an I.O. facility. She remotely interfaces with the safehouse’s computer hub and downloads the drone stats for Kenesha’s use... which causes Kenesha to become defensive, as she had not given Angie the passcodes, and Kenesha prides herself on her ability to secure data from people.

On Skywatch’s space station headquarters, Ms Pennington walks into Henry Bendix’s office, where he is reading a report from Christine Trelane. Bendix is pleased: Trelane was able to use the chaos surrounding the Marlowe Incident to recruit Michael Cray, an assassin, away from I.O. and into Skywatch. Now he is on the other side of the country, merrily working for them, oblivious to his new employer’s true nature, and ensconced in a support structure of her creation. But the most surprising part of the report is that Michael Cray joined the organization saying he needed medical treatment for a brain tumor - but the tumor is anything but, and the doctor wants to do more scans.

Ms Pennington wonders aloud what could be causing the tumor. Bendix has a suspicion - reptilian humanoids. This exasperates Pennington, who has heard this line from Bendix before, but has gone over the files available to her and found nothing to support this old story. As they walk, Bendix reiterates that when he is dead and she has his job, she will understand everything.

Bendix pivots the conversation, announcing that he has put Lucy Blaze on the task of surveilling I.O. Analysis, to see what she can get out of the most guarded office in I.O. Bendix wonders aloud if he can have a few I.O. agents killed to “send a message”. As he pulls out a syringe and gets Pennington to inject him with it, he muses on what Skywatch could have accomplished by now if they didn’t have to maintain their secrecy.

Ennervated by the syringe contents, Bendix marches off through an iris doorway. Pennington, turning the other way, pulls out her phone and makes an open transmission to all Mission Control officers - the Weatherman is on deck.

In London, Jenny Mei Sparks is waiting at a bus stop when Shen Li-Men steps up to her and starts talking. Jenny’s eyes glow and she refuses to answer, but Li-Men smiles as Jenny glances around in dull confusion. Li-Men explains that she has turned all the communication signals within fifty meters into music. Jenny acknowledges that she owes Li-Men an explanation, preferably in conjunction with alcohol, but she begs Li-Men to turn all the music off, as it is giving her a headache.

So at Jenny’s flat, Jenny gives Li-Men her whisky and explains what she knows: International Operations is an American intelligence agency that has grown to the point where it subtly controls society. Skywatch, meanwhile, is a secret space program which carefully controls who gets to leave Earth. The two organizations have a non-interference agreement, because if they fought, civilization would collapse. Li-Men asks how Jenny could know this. Reluctantly, Jenny admits that she was there when the agreement was hammered out. Belying her seeming youth, she is in fact roughly 120 years old. However, after the agreement, Jenny fell into a decades-long drunken stupor. When recently she came to the conclusion that she could not die of alcohol poisoning, she forced herself to recover, and is now researching the state of the world.

Swirling her whisky, Li-Men taps on a point on Jenny’s board, “reptilian aliens”. Li-Men believes that this refers to The Daemon, a class of beings she has seen in visions. Jenny admits that she heard stories about reptilians, but has never seen hard evidence for them. Li-Men says that she never left evidence, but Jenny still came looking for her. Stories have to start somewhere. Underlining her position as the Doctor - a planetary shaman who is part of an unbroken spiritual tradition going all the way back to the earliest humans on the African savannah - and, crucially, who has the ability to draw on the knowledge of her predecessors - Li-Men explains that when Jenny came to see her, she looks into Jenny’s head to view Jenny’s lineage. And while the things she saw were presented mostly in visual metaphors, the earliest image was a machine, built by the Daemon, which Li-Men believes is what created Jenny. If she is right, Jenny is a planetary defense system, created by aliens to protect the human race.

Jenny takes this information with a mute scowl, and then says she will need more whisky to accept this knowledge.

In Brooklyn, Kenesha is going to a bodega. She stops outside to ask an unkempt man in a suit why he is looking up in the sky. With a sheepish grin, the man explains that he is watching out for flying robots which might attack people. He advises her to look after herself as he ”can’t be everywhere”.

Going into the bodega, Kenesha asks the shopkeeper who the guy is. The shopkeeper says he knows him only as “the mayor”, a homeless man who wanders the city, asking people if they are alright. Sometimes he can go missing for months at a time, but always shows up... and he has a way of lifting people spirit’s. Everyone feels valued after a visit from “the mayor”.

Outside, “the mayor” picks a cigarette butt from between the silvery treads on the soles of his feet, and curses the litterers of New York. He remarks that Copenhagen is usually clean this time of year. Running up a nearby wall, he backflips into a dive, landing head-first in the middle of the road... and vanishes with a ripple, like a swimmer.

A nearby limousine stops on the road, disgorging Pris “Voodoo” Kitaen, the pop singer, and her assistant. The two have been on a hedonistic tear of cocaine and fine champagne for at least six hours, but Pris has just enough presence of mind to recognise what “the mayor” just did as something she saw in a dream recently - and if the rest of the dream is true, then a war is about to break out!

Waking up in bed together the day after their late-night whiskey session, Jenny Mei Sparks and Shen Li-Men share cigarettes. Jenny confesses that when she first went to investigate Li-Men, she just thought she was one of the anomalous people who struggle to live between the twin controlling powers of Skywatch and IO. Shocked by the realization that there might be more like them, Li-Men savours her cigarette, already planning for them to find and protect these people.

In New York, IO analyst Mitchell Saunders is using a rideshare app to get home. As he looks at the screen, he does not notice a passing jogger in a black hoodie - Lucy Blaze, who uses software called ‘Ambush Bug’ to suborn his phone’s microphone to her use as a listening device.

Later, Mitchell is in a meeting to show Jackie King his team’s first plan for how to hack into Skywatch’s orbiting server, to find out if they are running an illegal covert action team. The team’s plan is simple: every day, IO & Skywatch exchange data, as part of an effort to keep each other honest. So, they will put an infiltration package in the data exchange, to search Skywatch’s database for info on the CAT. To get the data out, they will then fake a swarm attack on the IO satellites, by bots programmed in Korean to cover their tracks. The bots will swarm and multiply, and will by simple proximity, try to get into Skywatch’s system. This attack will draw the attention of the admins, and allow the infiltration package to narrowcast back the info. IO will look like fools, Skywatch will feel smug, Skywatch will not know they have been robbed, everybody wins.

Jackie congratulates the team, then asks Mitchell to talk to her outside. There, she asks him how feasible it is. Mitchell, checking his phone as they are not allowed to bring them into the meeting room, says they are confident, but that his main problem is that this an act of aggression which could start a fight between the two organizations. Jackie says she needed the plan because she believes that Skywatch broke the treaty first. And while the director doesn’t know about the plan yet, she thinks he will agree. If Mitchell and the team are working on that, she can focus on her own current target - Project Thunderbook, the mysterious IO operation that trained Cole, and whose records were all sealed or destroyed by the previous director.

On the Skywatch satellite headquarters, Henry Bendix and Lauren Pennington are meeting after their work shift. They make small talk, and then Lauren asks Henry why he is so keen to break Skywatch’s treaty with IO. Henry sneers, saying that he was there when the treaty was signed, and does not have the respect for the treaty that his younger co-workers do. Lauren argues that the treaty protects both organizations from potential catastrophe. Henry corrects her - the treaty protects the organizations from certain catastrophe. The conflict would expose both organizations to the world. Skywatch, on the one hand, has space stations, Mars bases, and scientific and medical technology far beyond the mainline society, which will inspire fear and greed, which would inspire theft. IO, meanwhile, would need to rely on the resources of various states, which would be destroyed in self-defense by IO, which would result in counter-attacks, as not all the nuclear-armed countries can be controlled by IO.

Sitting down with a cocktail, Henry tells Lauren about the incident that led to the signing of the treaty, during the Seventies. Skywatch had been created to ensure that any aliens who made first contact with humans would only be able to interact with one polity, and so Skywatch maintained a secret veto on any spacelaunches. But during the Seventies, as part of a covert agreement between IO and the Soviet Politburo, the two organizations build a secret facility for military research, including spacelaunch technology. So Skywatch sent a flight of spacecraft to frighten this facility, which they had discovered was using the name “Science City Zero”.

When the spacecraft got to the facility, the defenses were aimed at them, but Skywatch’s assessment was that the city was trying to parallel their technology but had no idea how to replicate it. Skywatch had no respect for their neighbors.

The opening salvo destroyed the lead spacecrafting, killing its crew of four. The other spacecraft opened fire in response. The facility was destroyed, its population of twenty thousand reduced to thirty-five survivors. Of the seven Skywatch spacecraft in the attack, only one returned. On that craft had been a young Henry Bendix. In the city had been the then-director of IO, John Lynch, who survived with a noticeable injury.

In New York, Jackie is explaining her plan to Miles Craven, the current director of IO. He has worries, but he agrees to let her run the raid against Skywatch. He also asks her not to tell him whatever Thunderbook was doing, as he is queasy that it will hamper his ability to do his job.

In Jacob Marlowe’s secret storehouse, Angie Spica has found and activates a blue goop which is nanotechnological on nature. Swallowing the goop and waiting for it to interface with her systems, she activates her ‘base integument’, which is a new intermediate stage between her armor and her normal self. It feels cold as it coats her body and shocking as it coats her throat and eyes, but when it has passed, her internal injuries are healed and her vitals are seemingly fine. Putting her equipment to the final test, she activates her full armor, which is now a stark white and black, in contrast to the previous black-and-grey. Amazed at her success, Angie poses in victory.

In the Brooklyn safehouse, Kenesha and Cole Cash are discussing their upcoming mission against the Hightower facility, when Cole gets a strangely-worded text message and says he wants to go for a walk. On the roof of a skyscraper, he meets Lucy Blaze, who cuts to the point - IO knows he is alive, but they think he has betrayed them to Skywatch and they are going to respond accordingly. She thinks this is all he needs to know. Cole grabs her arm, saying that she must know more. Lucy goes stiff, and in the tone of a threat says that she taught him much of combat and that John Lynch and Project Thunderbook did not teach him enough to outmatch her.

Retreating hastily, Cole asks Lucy why she is even telling him. Lucy says she has a code... and that Cole belongs to her. Shocked by this, Cole does not stop her as she leaves. In the stairwell, Lucy says the he should give her regards to Jacob Marlowe and Kenesha, and tell them that Zannah says hello.

In a warehouse, Jackie King has found a specific box. In the box is a collection of ring binders, and in one of the ring binders is the index for Project Thunderbook, the I.O. group that trained Cole Cash before he faked his death and joined a team of wildcat operators who Jackie is now trying to defeat. However, as she opens the file, a small device sparks and breaks. Jackie pockets the remains, sure that it is a failed incendiary left by John Lynch, who started Project Thunderbook and subsequently tried to bury it.

Later, in their Brooklyn safehouse, Cole Cash and his team are preparing for a mission. The first part of the plan is simple: Adri Tereshkova will teleport into an I.O. blacksite codenamed “Hightower”, and release a robot drone the size of an insect using a smartphone app. When it activates the environmental alarms, she is to teleport back to get the rest of them. Adri, shocked by the functionality of the tiny drone, departs.

Meanwhile, across town, at the I.O. headquarters in Manhattan, Jackie King is heading a big Analysis op against Skywatch. Cognizant of the high-stakes nature of the job, she orders all workers present, including Mitch Saunders, to turn their phones off. Miles Craven, director of I.O., walks into the room, and though he is hesitant, he orders the mission to go ahead. A chorus of return-keys being pressed is rewarded, about a minute later, with some of the lights on the big board going green. Jackie explains to Miles that when all the lights on the board go green, that is the signal that they have all the data, and then they will shut it down. Miles' mood perks up, and he hopes aloud that after their recent run of bad luck, maybe they will have a profitable day.

At Hightower, the wild CAT steps out of a closet after the last stragglers flee the alarms. Using John Colt's knowledge of the layout, they go down a stairwell, into the area protected by event shielding. They are convinced that they will encounter no-one... but immediately they meet a group of guards in hazmat suits with guns, which frustrates Cole.

Kenesha, John Colt, and Cole Cash make short work of the guards while Adri hides behind a wall, her senses hampered by the event shielding. When the guards are dead, they move onto the lab doing the “machine telepathy” research. Here, they find 500 human brains, kept alive in jars. Cole is unnerved, but John Colt and Kenesha are unfazed. Kenesha, caressing the main console, deactivates the event shielding, much to the relief of Adri. Looking further, she realises that she has a direct line to the I.O. main servers, which she can use to delete everything tagged as originating in Hightower. Cole is hesitant, but agrees.

Her hacking complete, Kenesha whips out an incendiary she has labelled “explodey!” Cole and Adri disapprove of her enthusiasm for explosives, which leads her to denounce Cole as “the worst human in the history of humans”, adding as the group teleports away, “and I am thousands of years old, so, you know, I've met most of them.”

On Skywatch's satellite headquarters, Henry Bendix is frustrated by the swarm of North Korean bots that are attacking his network, when he is handed an emergency message from Skywatch Ground Division in New York, who says that her suborned phone microphone led to her hearing that I.O. was about to do something significant to Skywatch. Bendix, coming to the conclusion that I.O. is playing him, orders Blaze to give their crime a cost, by killing one of the I.O. Analysis people.

At I.O., deputy director Ivana Baiul tries to pull rank on Jackie King, but stops when she sees Miles Craven is present. She tells him that disaster has struck at Hightower. Craven orders the site be evacuated, and when he is informed that they have, orders her to start allocating bodies so they can speedily investigate what went wrong.

At this point, Mitch notices that the data link from Hightower is hitting them with a software package which is deleting all of their data they had previously received from that blacksite. Ordinarily, they could stop the software by shutting down their system, but they are currently hacking Skywatch and cannot do that. They are forced to watch as the Skywatch download completes, before they shut down the entire system.

Jackie King, Miles Craven and Ivana Baiul meet in a corner to assess the situation. Jackie underlines her position: Skywatch has no idea what they did, the Hightower hack must be a continuation of previous actions which happened to coincide with their efforts. Nevertheless, the Hightower data, even the parts of it stored securely offsite, are gone forever. Baiul interrupts in to add that the Hightower staff are reporting an on-site explosion. Craven orders that tomorrow, Jackie will personally sift the Skywatch haul, in search of whatever leverage he can use to get Henry Bendix, who he is sure is behind this, to back down. Craven says he has no desire to start a war.

Jackie says that, based on today, they may already be at war.

Later that day, Mitch and Jackie are leaving work. Mitch gets a lift using the Overshare app, but the driver is Lucy Blaze. She drives down an alley, abruptly shoots Mitch in the head, and leaves the dead body in the car, with the lights on.

In a snow-covered rural homestead, a man walks into the kitchen where there is an animal carcass on the countertop. Leaving his gun in a gun rack, he goes to a computer, where he is informed that the “index file” has been discovered. The audience is led to the realisation that this man is John Lynch, former head of I.O., just as he decides to go on a road trip!

REVIEW

I have mixed feelings about this book. On one side, I like how all the characters are being introduced or re-invented for this volume. On the other side, it is taking too long and some of this characters don’t seem to play a role just yet, and they are making me lose track of all the characters on the board.

I also wonder what the future of this incarnation will be. DC has had problems handling WildStorm since they acquired it. Considering the lack of news for this universe or imprint and how new 52 failed to merge them into the main universe, I am feeling that, whatever is left unexplored at the end of this story, will remain that way forever.

Besides the extreme decompression, the visuals are very good, and sometimes, very creative, dynamic and spectacular. This euro look really pays off to make the story move more than it is actually moving.

I recognize most of the new characters from previous incarnations, but others, like Spartan, are harder to remember (and changed a lot visually).

I give these issues a score of 8.

#jon davis-hunt #dc comics #comics #review #2017 #2018 #post modern age #wildstorm #the wild storm #spartan #grifter #stormwatch

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diveronarpg · 4 years

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Congratulations, KYLIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of BENVOLIO. Admin Julie: If I could, I’d wax poetry over the intricacies that came from reading your application for Bellamy. From the inherent bravery that comes from being kind in a world that eats kindness whole, to having to learn how to survive in that sort of environment, you’ve enraptured us with Bellamy’s conflict and narrative. Your writing sample captured an emotion note often seen in Verona: panic, terror, and worse, acceptance. The seven stages of grief, compounded into one man? It’s awe-inspiring and heartbreaking on one. We cannot wait to see where you’ll take him. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Kylie

Age | 25

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | 5-6, the holidays have been a busy time for me, but now that they are coming to a close my activity should only go up.

Timezone | mst

Triggers | already listed!

How did you find the rp? | I am a member who loves it dearly.

Current/Past RP Accounts | @ronanivarsson @nickborisov

IN CHARACTER

Character | Bellamy Santo-Domingo, Benvolio

What drew you to this character? |

I was drawn to Bellamy because I was thinking about the idea of heroism in Verona, and came to the conclusion that he must surely be the closest thing that Verona has to a real “hero” or heroic figure–what could possibly be more admirable than advocating for peace in a city where it is universally acknowledged that peace, that goodness, cannot thrive? I began comparing him to classical heroes like Aneas, who was divinely tasked with building a new city from the ashes of an old one, who was able to maintain his epithet of pious even as his city burned and the blood of his people was spilled. Because of his relationships with Marcelo and with Roman, both Achilles figures in their own right, I compared him to Patroclus–in the same way that Patroclus put on the armor of Achilles and went out to fight the Trojans, Bellamy has learned to put on the same armor that Roman and Marcelo wear in order to better protect them.

These comparisons have merit–but I think it would be a mistake to allow Bellamy to be so easily defined. I think a lot of contradictions exist within him–his banner is peace, he has cried and cried for it until he has lost his voice, but I think he also holds a lot of anger in his heart. He is angry that he seems to be the only one who can see where all of the destruction will lead, he is angry that the people he loves are so willing to gamble with their lives, he is angry at the fact that none of this is what he would have chosen for himself. I also think he is both very self sacrificing, as all heroes must be, but also very selfish. He would willingly give his life for Marcelo or Roman, or if he thought his death would mean something in terms of bringing peace to Verona–but at the same time, I think he would also willingly leave it all and go back to wandering, to make that choice for himself and shed the uniform the Montagues handed to him and ordered him into.

I also just enjoyed all the potential that exists within him–what is the difference between the person he would like to be, the person that he sees himself as, and the person he has to be in order to survive in Verona? He is an Atlas, bearing the weight of an entire city on his shoulders, but surely even Atlas cried out in pain, began to curse the gods at some point? How much blood must he shed in his quest for peace? Will there come a point where he has to turn his back on the people that he loves, on the lives that they lead?

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

DEATH DOESN’T DISCRIMINATE BETWEEN THE SINNERS AND THE SAINTS | I’m very interested in Bellamy’s relationship with the violence of the Montagues–he is a character that is defined by his goodness, by his desire for peace over violence, but I don’t think that makes him a soft character necessarily. I would love to investigate how far both he and his convictions could be pushed, where his point of no-return might be. Would he kill for them? Would he be willing to torture someone? If he is willing, how does he justify it in his mind? Is it a case of some blood being necessary in the quest to bring peace to Verona? How would he handle it if Roman or Marcelo specifically asked him to commit an act of violence in their name? Is there a point where he would consider himself too far gone, too far lost, too much of a sinner?

IF THERE’S A REASON I’M STILL ALIVE | One of the things that really interests me is the relationships that Bellamy has with Roman and Marcelo. He came back to Verona because his mother asked, because he felt a sense of familial obligation, yes—but he also came back because he was worried about his brothers. They are the reason he stays, the reason he wants peace in this city—he wants to see them grow old, see them have faith in something other than the blood. I would love to investigate how far he’s willing to go for them, what kind of situations does he have to bail them out of? Would there ever come a point where he would decide that he’s more dedicated to his cause than to the two of them? Is there any resentment between them because of Bellamy’s dedication to peace, to opposing the organization that brought the three of them together?

THERE ARE THINGS THAT THE HOMILIES AND HYMNS WON’T TEACH YOU | I’m very interested in Bellamy’s job as a police officer, especially since it isn’t a job that he picked for himself—I was very interested in the phrasing in his biography, in the use of the word “posing” when talking about his position as a law enforcement officer. Does he feel like he’s wearing a costume, when he wears that uniform? How dedicated is he to the work? He wants to help people, but can he balance that with doing the bidding of the Montagues? What would he have chosen for himself instead? How does he interact with the other officers who are Capulets?

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes, if his death really meant something–but I’m also kind of attached to him suffering the same fate as his namesake, of being the only one left alive with the carnage of the very thing he had fought so hard to prevent.

IN DEPTH

He drops his keys three times before he manages to stop his hands from shaking. It takes another three attempts before he’s able to unlock the door to his apartment, three heavy footed and stumbling steps before he is inside and able to collapse his weight against the wall of the entryway, before he is able to slide to the floor and hide his face behind his hands without the fear of being seen.

Because if anyone saw him right now, there would surely be more questions about Bellamy Santo-Domingo, more doubts about the soft hearted boy who surely doesn’t have the same stomach for blood, the same singular eye fixed on his own divinely appointed destiny, that his friends have. He’s certain that’s why Damiano had asked it of him, had filtered it down through Pandora who had said it as though it was just another task, another meaningless item to be efficiently checked off a list. If Bellamy could kill some no-name dealer who thought himself brave enough to sell on Don Montague’s territory, then there could be no more questioning his loyalty—to his family and to the Montagues as a whole. He would finally be equal to Roman, to Marcelo—an unquestioned part of the future that the two of them would build.

And he had almost done it, hadn’t he? He’d had the man dead to rights in the darkness of an abandoned warehouse, had the cold steel of his standard issue pistol pressed against the man’s temple–he’d even allowed him to say one last prayer to his God, though the words had been half choked out through sobs, and had fallen on ears both unqualified and unworthy to hear them. All that remained was to pull the trigger, to force his fingers into applying the specific amount of pressure that would end the man’s life.

His hands had been suprisingly steady then, the muscles of his jaw had been clenched but unwavering, his eyes had been cold and unfeeling–the very model of a soldato, someone that Damiano Montague could have been proud to call family, something like a son. He could have done it, he could have left the man to bleed out onto the cement and dedicated himself to finding the bottom of as many bottles as it took to render the memory of it nothing but haze and the aftertaste of copper. He would have been fine, in the same way that everyone in Verona is only ever fine–in the same way that anyone who has ever taken another life can never be good again.

In that moment, Bellamy Santo-Domingo made the radical decision to be something other than fine for the rest of his life. He lowered the gun.

He told the man to get out of Verona, that the next person who came for him would not be in possession of the same kindness.

It was then that his hands had started shaking.

Bellamy was certain that Damiano had meant the whole excersise as a test of his loyalty, to the Montague cause, to the actions that would be nessecary if they were going to win the war he was waging against Cosimo Capulet. He had meant to see if Bellamy could be hardened, if the soul of the poet could be worn away by a continually crashing sea of blood and made into a new and more useful shape. It was why he had merely nodded when Pandora had issued the command, instead of challenging her as he normally did. He had wanted answers to the same questions, and tonight he had received them.

On the floor of his apartment, Bellamy Santo-Domingo sobs into his hands. He sobs in a way that is anthetical to the very foundations that Verona is built on–he sobs unashamedly, as a howling prayer of thanks to God, not because he is overcome with tragedy. He sobs because the heart that beats inside of his chest, that stubbornly hopes and cries for something better for the people that he loves, is not so easily vanquished. He sobs because above all else, in spite of the war raging outside of his window, he has remained loyal to that hope, to the idea that peace is possible. He knows the metric by which he will be measured now, and it is not the number of lives that he takes in the name of Montague, it is not the amount of cruelty that he inflicts–it will be the number of lives that he saves, the world that he builds for the people that he loves.

There is no blood to wash off of his hands, to stain the porcelain of the bathroom sink rust colored for weeks on end. There is only sleep to be had, a new day to be lived beginning to be visible over the horizion. There is a war to be waged, and he will need the rest if he is to continue to stand between the two sides underneath his own banner, if his voice and the strength of his words is to fly between bullets and knife blades until both can be set down. He wipes at his eyes and gets to his feet, and Bellamy Santo-Domingo laughs. He cannot wait to begin.

Extras: pinterest board x

#accepted: benvolio #accepted

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mayrasportfolio · 4 years

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TASK II - SECOND ADRESS: SANDY HOOK PRAYER VIGIL

Upon the aftermath of the Sandy Hook elementary school shooting, president Barack Obama delivered a speech for the prayer Vigil in 2011. The delivery, unlike with the first statement, was not based on the emotional response of the President, but rather relied on addressing global issues to find a common solution and achieve a sense of resolution within the public.

The speech begins with a direct jump into religious matters. After expressing his gratitude towards the community that is addressed, the President opens his statement with a biblical allusion to the Scripture. The statement begins, and ends with such a reference, thus creating the sense that throughout the speech, religious values are maintained and cherished. Indeed, religion does play a crucial role in Obama’s delivery. When people are faced with the idea of death, especially when confronted with the loss of a loved one, indulging in religious beliefs can be comforting. No matter how various the beliefs, how different the worshipped entity, religions have always answered the question that is so essential to our human existence, which is the - what lies beyond death? Obama is naturally aware of this fact, and reaches for religion to assure the families of the victims that the demise of their loved one is painful only for the ones that stay behind in this life, while the dead move on to ,,an eternal house in heaven’’. The closing biblical allusion also incorporates heaven imagery, as it mentions Jesus’s love towards children ,,[…] for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven”, now not only suggesting the pure existence of the divine afterlife, but also claiming that the children lost during the school shooting will find their way to that place, so unimaginably magnificent that it cannot be described by words.

Religion also appears in another segment of the speech, when Obama states that - ,,All the world’s religions – so many of them represented here today — start with a simple question: Why are we here? What gives our life meaning? What gives our acts a purpose? […]”. Subsequently, the president elaborates on the struggle we face while trying the answer these questions ,,unable to discern Gods heavenly plans”. However, the answer to all these doubts lies within family bonds. Obama connects the religious meaning of life with the most inherent earthly quality of all, which is love for ones family.

It is the value of family that is most extensively discussed in this address, during which Obama specifically emphasizes the meaning of parenthood in their community. The issue is first explored through simply explaining the feeling of becoming a parent as - ,,the equivalent of having your heart outside of your body, all the time, walking around”. Obama stresses the anxiety that entails parenthood, caused by the need to keep one’s child happy and away from harm. Nonetheless, the president momentarily drops the formal register of the speech, positioning himself as nothing more than a normal parent in the eyes of the public, when he claims -,,It comes as a shock at a certain point where you realize, no matter how much you love these kids, you can’t do it by yourself”. Only after conveying these thoughts can the idea that it is the responsibility of the whole community, even the entire nation, to care for every child individually and ensure their safety be put above anything else. The phrase “they are all our children” will be pursued throughout the speech to show that the death of these twenty children is a loss for every parent in the country, and that responsibility for well-being must be taken by every citizen individually. Obama also states that the role of our society is caring for its youngest generations, preparing them for life and allowing for their development. These singular ideas bring up the concept of the whole nation acting together as a family. And as it was mentioned above, in the paragraph regarding religion, love for one’s family is the most naturally good act one can even fathom.

Religion and family are intertwined with each other in the speech, one influencing the other, until both fall into place as an irreplaceable value in people’s lives. Obama urges the public to take a collectivist standpoint on the issue, and hopes that through religion, his public may find peace and tranquility in their love for their families.

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askfuneraldirge · 5 years

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Portheous

Portheous lays to the fringed North west of the Immaculate isle at the center of the world. Portheous is known for its harsh cold climate and hearty people. Portheous is a natural place of conflict which is just fine for its people. Competitions,small scale wars between cities and more mark Portheous’s social identity. Porthians tend to be on slightly larger side and are famed for there raw durability and sense of community. In Portheous the individual only matters so much, for the lone wolf dies. Only the pack survive. Thusly this has lead to a unique social structure of groups or ‘Companions’ When a group of companions accomplishes something everyone gets a piece of the credit and reward. Each city and village is a self contained and sufficient entity in the land of Portheous, though some cities specialized all are expected to be able to defend and supply itself incase of being cut off from the rest of the country. It is not to say the porthians are ill educated but much like the rest of the country even academics tend to lead toward brute force and more practical applications. Though fighting between cities is common this is seldom malicious, its often a mix of keeping the warriors skills sharp and wagers between the heads of cities offering rewards and prizes to the victors. Political Hierarchy Chief- A chief can be seen as the lowest form of individual who holds true political sway. Though he might have underlings who might talk better then him and be a bit book smarter, the chief is a mix of a merchant,politician and warrior. He is meant to overlook the well being of his village in all regards. Lord-A lord plays a role very similar to a chief, but for a province. A Lord on average has anywhere between 10-20 chiefs who answer to him in the province. Where a chief levy’s his taxe’s from the residence of there village the jarl levy’s his taxes and if needed able bodies from the chiefs who answer to him. Cardinal 8 jarls- The 8 Jarls are a step above the lords. Living in the grand cities of Portheous, hailing the largest and best trained troops in the land. The Jarls represent the mightiest line of defenses for the land. Jarls are the leaders of grand campaigns, famed for there wisdom and strength. to sit upon the seat of a jarl is to command utter respect from ones lesser’s. But the Jarl tends to spoil the companions who helped him upon his seat. There can only ever be 8 Jarls but there tends to be large stretches of time between a seat becoming vacant and it being filled. The seat does not merely belong to the descendant of a Jarl, you must prove you are truly worthy of its mantle. Gaining the support of 80% of the lords who fall with-in the seats region or by having 6 of the existing Jarls approval. War Master- When the in fighting and bureaucracy of Portheous cannot be tolerated and in times of great desperation. The jarls will turn to the tried and true method of naming a War Master. The Master is given absolute Authority during his reign, but before he can take the mantle terms for there rule are set down and they make a solemn pledge before the 4 great immortals of Portheous. When the crisis ends that requires the War Master’s presence he returns power to the jarls and steps down. The master may return to his previous life knowing the good deeds he has done. Sometimes the master even originates from a humble beginning. Though an officially unpaid position that doesn’t give any true political power. Non forget the War masters deeds, and the gifts they tend to receive for there service tends to outweigh any pay they might of asked for in the first place. Trade Major Exports-Mead,Honey,pelts,Metal Crafts,apples,Precious metals,Cheese, Necromantic servitude, mercenary bands Major Imports-Fine Clothing,Enchanted items,jewelry,gemstones,fish.spices,silk, Corpses, Glass, Salt,Sugar Vilkata The View on vilkata are extremely grim in the lands of Portheous, They haven’t been on the receiving end of the deadly companions like those of Zoartis but they are the most constantly attacked by the foul creatures. There Are a few recognized tribes who have relationships with the country but it is wary at best. The vast majority of Vilkata are treated with the same merciless views as the vilkata themselves. Porthians do not take prisoners or spare any in there conflicts. When waging war and battle against the hordes Porthians find the best answer is that non survive to fight again. This has lead a few commanders to sacrifice more of there soldiers to make sure no vilkatan can escape there wrath. The soldiers smile from there grave’s to have made that possible. Education Portheous lacks standardized education. Most commonly children are raised and trained in the craft of there parents or seek apprenticeship under a master. Though there is not a known Porthian who cannot read, though central libraries are few and far between, Portheous has no shortage of books on nearly any subject. This is a double edged sword for there is little regulation on what can be printed and sold. Magic Those with the capacity for magic can often find themselves shuffled off to an academy to further there study of the arts. Every larger city has some type of facility to help mages hone there craft like a finely tuned sword.

Unique laws Blood Debts-Blood debts are taken in record by the local authorities then held by a lord in the area. Certain crimes or grievances can enact a blood Debt. A certain price is set based on how drastic the grievance was, this is often far to much for anyone to pay. Small payments are made monthly on the debt to the one you owe it to. When you die your debt is then transferred to your next of kin. Continuing until the debt is paid in full. Favorable Guests- Certain disputes especially among the wealthy tend to be settled or at least set aside by sending a member of one house to serve the other while things are worked out. Though the ‘Guest’ Does work for the family they are staying with, there are laws in place to protect the guests from unreasonable abuse by the family who is watching over them. Hospitality-These laws generally regard treatment of individuals away from home more so then anything with-in one’s own community. These laws are enforced more harshly during Winter, when one cold night can find many dead.

1.Shelter:Due to the harsh climate of portheous, if one seeks shelter for the evening they must be provided so. The shelter does not need to be necessarily great but well enough against the elements. Opening up your stable, letting the drunkards pass out in the tavern main lobby till morning and other basic shelter. 2.Food:Should you host a guest, whether for business or welcoming them into your homem you are to offer your guests food. This is not to be your leftover bread, you must treat your guest to a meal as you would expect to have. You do not need to let them leave with said food, but you must make them as reasonably comfortable as you are. This law is not enforced in places of business, though many inns and common houses will include stew and bread with room and board. 3.Jager’s:All must reasonably accommodate a jager to the best of there capacity as long as the jager is acting in good faith to the town. Should the Slayers lodge be full the wealthy of the town must accommodate the Jagers first and foremost. Jager’s who take advantage of there hospitality instantly lose there license. 4.Slayer’s Lodge: Every settlement, from the smallest village to the largest city, is expected to maintain a Slayer’s Lodge. These way-stations are communally funded, serving all travelers who visit that particular settlement. Despite this openness, licensed Jagers are given priority. This is keeping with the Lodge’s traditional role as a gathering and resting location for Jagers. The Lodge is to be maintained to the best of the towns capabilities as the embodiment of Porthean hospitality, though this serves a few important purposes. In truth, these way-stations are vital to communication and travel within all three lands, serving everyone from couriers to diplomats. Improving a town’s Lodge is a simple way to attract travelers, even beyond the vital Slayers themselves. To them, the Lodge serves as a place to acquire bounties, meet companions, and recover from hunts. Finally, all Lodges are considered Sacrosanct in any conflict, as they are important to the continued existence of Portheus as a whole. The lodge and all within are to be left alone in times of war, and intentional failure to abide by this has led to one singular act of divine retribution. Stygia Von Stroud made clear the cost of future offenses against his followers and his temples. To further prevent temptation, Jagers are not to intervene in military conflicts other than to protect the lodge and those with-in.

#Legends of Arima #portheous #country guide

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