#✦ hunter || answered ✦ this stuff is restricted for a reason

[stardustedstories]

@missallanea asked: we're looking out for you. / amity @ hunter

"He's gonna kill me," Hunter says, sitting off to the side, knees to his chest, arms wrapped around them. "Oh, he's just….actually going to kill me this time." He let out a laugh that was harsh, even to his own ears, a sound that makes him flinch. Belos might have forgiven him the last couple of times he'd messed up, but that was because it hadn't been nearly as big as this….., not to mention the fact that he now knew he was replaceable.

But……shouldn't he still want to keep him around? Wasn't he useful? He could show him that he was useful, couldn't he? Hunter could always do better, be better, he could, he could! He just needed another chance!

The problem was…..he wasn't sure he wanted another chance, not after everything. Had his uncle--no, he's not his uncle, is he? Had Belos…..ever really cared about him at all? Or had he just been a tool, only brought around when he was useful and discarded when he no longer served his purpose?

How many had there been before him?

Hunter hadn't noticed that his hands were pulling at his hair, eyes shut tight against the burning sensation behind them as he fights to keep himself together until he feels someone sit down near him. They hadn't even touched him and he recoils, something that brings him out of his own mind, at least a little.

He wasn't at the palace, wasn't with Belos. Probably couldn't ever go back, not even to get any of his stuff. A deep, shaking breath leaves him, sounding suspiciously like a sob, but he focuses on his breathing while Amity just ….. sits near him, not saying anything, touching him.

And when Hunter's breathing has returned to a more normal cadence, Amity finally speaks, her voice just about as gentle as he's ever heard it.

"We're looking out for you," she murmurs.

Silence stretches between them for a long moment as Hunter struggles to fully process her words. He knew what she'd said, but how could she mean that, after everything?

"Why?" he finally chokes out, his arms wrapping around his legs again, hugging them tight as he looks over at her. "Why aren't you locking me up or punishing me? I'm not….I'm a monster; you shouldn't be looking out for me. You should toss me in a dungeon and throw away the key. I'm not good for anything, not anymore." Had he ever been? His whole life had been a lie…., so what was the point anymore? They should just get rid of him while they could, before he caused them any more problems.

[hows-my-handwriting]

Hobie Brown Headcanons

long post ahead. will put as much as i can under the cut but i will have a.... loose table of contents.

and im not feeding you everything. i need more content to drip feed you later.

the inspo is driving me crazy but the hands are refusing to write.

the table: backstory food british animals

lmk if ppl want this to be split up into individual posts per category. cuz its l o n g

BACKSTORY:

Not based on the comics. purely my own attempt at writing his backstory and his particular villains.

Hobie's Doc Oc was a university professor pressured by Osborn's regime to produce weapons. Hobie had met the guy while crashing a university class, but nothing more than that. Octavius snapped and took the revolution to the extreme. he built a WMD and planned to use it on the city. Hobie talked octavius down and disarmed the weapon.

Hobie's lizard was his close friend and bandmate who got jealous over their lead singer's affections towards hobie. they were close friends until hobie started drifting away. curtis was bitter and never really forgave him. the final straw was when hobie returned in full, having just abandoned his spider suit. the band is back together but curtis still has hard feelings. he knew vaguely about hobie's connection with spiderman but thought that it was some kind of special deal or friendship which was just another nail in the coffin. he turns himself into the lizard and attacks hobie, demanding answers and refusing to listen.

the above is just an excuse to hurt hobie really bad >:3 i love my angst and my beating my muses up. i wanted to break his ribs.

electro was a civilian who just happened to get struck by lightning. he is the sole reason hobie has insulated all of his gear and one of the reasons all of his spikes can shoot excess electricity like one of those funky little electrode balls. hobie took one look at this guy and immediately got to work.

Kraven was a bounty hunter hired and possibly engineered by osborn and fisk to hunt down hobie. classic kraven activities. he tried to drown hobie in the thames. hobie managed to escape but couldn't breathe or eat properly for a week after the attack

hobie's ship was hauled from the local junkyard. It was originally just used as a figure head to lead the charge from the government locked dam blocking off water. it somehow survived so he uses it as his hq.

hobie is immune to his scorpion's venom after being stung so many times and stealing samples of it to build up an immunity. yes it hurt. yes it sucked. but it worked. (loosely inspired by a fanfic)

the above are not in chronological order. mostly.

FOOD:

Hobie's world doesn't have a lot of spices. it's a closed state unless importing 'important' materials like lumber, steel and other sciency stuff, food is a lower priority or just a restricted luxury. the spice trade has regressed to something like the 1600s where foreign spices are held by those in power purely as a status symbol. the common man might have access to salt, sugar and cream, but anything else- especially anything spicy- is a luxury item.

hobie would love spicy food. i just dont think he's gotten much exposure to it. day one out of e-138 he opened a bag of spicy chips in the cafeteria, touched one and exploded.

exotic/foreign fruits fall under this same category but for more legit reasons of travel and lack of safe storage. so for example: mangoes, oranges/citrus, kiwi, pomegranates.

boba would freak him the fuck out. he has no idea what those little jiggly things are and its only made worse when one of the kids inevitably shows him the hamster 'is it worth it' meme. he becomes scarred for life.

if you take too long to take a bite out of whatever you're holding and hobie is hungry, he will just lean over and take a bite out of it. sandwich? bitten. spaghetti? stolen off the fork. chocolate bar? wrapper and bar, gone.

his favorite flavor of cake is chocolate or caramel. sue me im projecting onto him

BRITISH

he holds out his pinky when holding cups. it's just an unconscious thing that turns conscious once someone calls it out. in which case he sticks it out even further

flips the police and the royal family off regularly with the one fingered or the two fingered version. will only respect the french for inventing the creative two fingered fuck you, but nothing else.

has a winter fit that is just like a pile of whatever sweaters he has and two scarves. and long socks that make the space in his tight boots even more tight. sometimes cuts off circulation to his feet.

loves going to pubs and just chatting with people. also loves picking fights with the drunk people. Particularly the irish. he thinks their accents are funny and has long arguments with them while they're both speaking absolute gibberish.

knows french but only the insults. has an arsenal of french insults he will just whip out of his back pocket and drop on someone's head.

not really a british thing but i bet he doesn't know how to ride a bike. he was a) too tall and b) not willing to get his entire skeleton rattled by riding over the cobbled streets of london.

wimpy's fan. (its like the british version of mcdonalds but less popular and less famous. according to my research).

ANIMALS

Hobie keeps pigeons. he built a little house when he was bored and was surprised to find three pigeons hiding from the rain underneath it the next day. he didn't really intend to keep them but they nested and he kept bringing them food and water. he did name the brown one hobie jr.

hobie has a cat. again, not really 'has' but rather 'it broke into his boat and wont leave'. he didn't name her because he can't think of a good one. for the longest time he had no idea she was living in his floorboards but later discovered a hole in the side of his boat and found a crawlspace just large enough for a kitten.

he is freaked out by snakes. not as in a fear of snakes. but rather in utter disbelief that they can be the size of a human person. he's read about and probably seen the average snake, about the size of an arm. but anything larger than that will make his jaw drop right off of his face

he did have a symbiote dog for a short time. the dog was badly hurt and the passive symbiote had merged with its body to try and help it. he offered it a place to stay and rest and it happily agreed. it followed him around for the short while they had together and one day went off on its own.

he still sees that dog around (affectionately named 'spider-mutt') and offers it head scratches or belly rubs but they always part ways sooner than later.

loves opossums. thinks they look funny.

part two? maybe....

might add more to this as my brain keeps turning.

[the-nocturnal-writer]

Evenfall Grove Dev log 3

Busy, Busy, Busy.

My partner got a new job recently, so I've been helping him prepare and not feel so nerves. That being said, I have been getting stuff done here and there when I can.

I keep thinking "Oh, I finally have a little time to sit and draw/write!" then something new pops up for us. 😂 It's a bit funny, but also makes me so frustrated with myself. But- This is also my first game on my own, so I guess playing it slow and steady isn't the worst thing...

I have been finishing up Heke and Constantin's re-design, while Ashborn is done (expect their full portrait to be posted soon!) Also, say hi to Ash's friend. He's a small and mighty bird.

I'm going to miss colouring Ashborn's picture, they were just a vibrant assortment of colours compared to the other two. (Question to build the hype for our gorgeous witch's full reveal! Would you let Ashborn give you a tattoo if they asked? Better yet, would you get matching tattoos?)

I like Heka's neater attire since I wanted him to be well-kept and comfy. Lots of soft fabrics and loose clothes. I also added more make-up and designs to his human form because my boy has FLAIR. (Should I post shirtless Heka to show off his chest markings? Hmm....)

I believe I mentioned it already, but I wanted Heka to give a welcoming presence, if a little mysterious. The only off-putting thing I kept was his human body's eyes... But there's a reason for that decision....

Constantin is less bulky and features more sentimental accessories (He's not going to be an easy one to romance the more and more I write....) and tighter attire... I stand by my decision. He's a Hunter, so to me, he needed something that wouldn't restrict him, but also not weigh him down too much. Also had to add the eye cover for his scarred eye. The more I write, the better I can see how these characters present themselves.

For instance, Con is a character full of guilt, shame and fear. The scarred eye is the one injury he ever felt he deserved and it's also his biggest shame, so he would be the sort to cover and hide it.

I don't have much else to update on, other then I've been mindlessly writing and drawing when I can. It's all a cluster of mess, but I'm at least happy I'm moving along despite life not giving us a moment to breath.

I've also been thinking, since it was recommended, to create a Patreon! I wanted to post about it to get some feedback and hear what you all would like to see! So far I was thinking exclusive stories, art and early access, etc. Maybe also extra NSFW stuff? Hm...

Anyway. Thank you to everyone still following along with the progress and giving Evenfall a second thought. It means so much to know how many of you are interested in Evenfall Grove. It helps, more then you'll ever know, to keep me creating! So again, thank you!

Final thing, I will try to put aside some time to answer ask this weekend, so feel free to throw any feedback, questions and curiosities over there!

[soutakuphi]

what is a crosslancer anyways, what like the basic premise of your oc story

Quick answer:

fancy name for mercenary groups. you know how Hunters are like in Hunter X Hunter? Like that. They also kinda serve as a version of 3’s Hero system if it were a game, an extra party member as you get to know their respective group, a Cross Guild. Plus if it was a game it would allow for some dumb fun online stuff, get to name your own cross guild and all that jazz.

Long answer (the premise):

Society has yearned for venturing towards the unknown. It has been a part of our DNA for centuries, perhaps even millennia. To seek out the depths of the void…

and to dev̵̛̳͖̘̓̔̊̈́̓͌̀͑́̓̄̒̾̀ơ̸̢̢̮̮͍̯̾́̀̏̚û̶̳͇̟́̒̔̈́̋͝r̷̢̢̮̹͎̮̝͔͙̳̰̪̙͓͒͌̈̉̈̐ͅ ̷̢̖͖̼͙̦̞̰̖̺̳̠̙̽͐͆̊̀́͋͊̈́̽̇̐̋̚͝ i̴̬̠̝̊͋̄̒͋͒̾̔̇̔́̈́̈́t̸̞͍̗̳̭̟̙̼͎́̈́͂͗͐̉͑́̀͊͆͘͜

In this world, there is a section of the planet that draws people towards it. The Western Sphere (name pending): An collection of islands and continents previously closed off by officials and several ruling organizations/governments several centuries ago, was re-opened to the world three decades ago. The common folk are highly conflicted over this decision, especially over the idea of being ‘restrained’ from the rest of the world for reasons that are unknown for the majority of the public. They are heavily restricted while visiting the Sphere, with the only people with lax regulations are highly trained registered individuals (mostly mercenaries), labeled as “Crosslancers.” On paper, They can afford to visit without restrictions and explore to their heart’s contents, so many people try to label themselves as one to enter, and then quickly get killed off after their first trial. The more successful stories come from Cross Guilds and groups of Crosslancers venturing outwards.

One such Crosslancer is the brash Eli Hapist, a roguish rookie with a lax view on life, stowing himself and his gear on the nearest Aetherline (fancy name for ferronis/ship that runs on ether) to the Western Sphere, outwardly expressing his desire to explore the Sphere himself. Armed with his trusty Repeater and lugging around a strange black slab-like object, he boldly braces the brave new frontiers, crossing paths with several individuals with their own goals and secrets as they explore the Sphere.

Some venture to become famous Others explore the unknown to hunt for their quarry Others simply want to escape their past and start anew

However, one must consider this while entering the Sphere: There is a reason why the Sphere was closed off. A secret that links our unlikely group of Crosslancers together…

The cause from which the depths of the void gnaws at, Aberrations sowing their claws at the earth.

[nekoprankster218]

my Youtube algorithm is acting weird all of a sudden?

I know that if you watch anything political - even if it's the most far left thing possible - YouTube will try pushing right-wing stuff 'cause it doesn't sub-categorize politics like it should. But my YouTube for years has been good at not doing that. Like, for a long time, it'd be rare to see conservative videos in my sidebar. The only exception was ads (even tho I specifically curated my Google ads and marked "politics" as a topic I DID NOT wanna see). I would binge a new commentary channel and the only other channel recommendations I'd get were people actually like them, not the opposite end of the political aisle.

All of a sudden, the last few days, I'm seeing some channels popping up in my recommended that are just... I have no idea why YouTube is bringing them up with me. A majority have been conservative to conservative-leaning, although a few for some reason have been kids content/kids educational and one in a language I don't speak and have never watched YouTube videos in that language?

I have scrolled my YouTube history to see wtf could have triggered all this and getting nothing obvious. I've gone quite awhile not watching any political video essays (got into other things + needed to take a mental break) and recently watched a few, which may have been misinterpreted by the algorithm? Like maybe before it never went outta whack 'cause I was consistent in what specifically I was watching, but suddenly accidentally "detoxing" the algorithm and going back might've made it forget what my politics are? Doesn't explain the non-political anomalies tho.

The only significant change to my account's habits is that I've been letting my mom watch paranormal channels through it (since sometimes videos get restricted meaning you can't watch without an account). That's caused my recommended to get flooded with the channels she's watched and stuff similar, but I don't particularly mind that. I've watched paranormal content myself (Wendigoon, Buzzfeed Unsolved, Night Mind) but my mom's going for a completely different genre (the ghost hunters with the all-caps titles and shocked faces in the thumbnails); I wouldn't watch it myself but I wouldn't kick her off over it. But combing through my history, she hasn't touched anything but the paranormal stuff, so she shouldn't be the cause for the anomalies. Can't be a third party who's gotten into my account either, otherwise it would show up - and if they tried deleting their marks on the history to cover their tracks, well that would also delete that data for the algorithm to use.

So like I'm left wondering wtf is going on all of a sudden? I guess it's still not completely out of the question that somehow the paranormal content is making YouTube think "ah then these conservative commentary / right-wing memers will also be of interest!". I'm also wondering if maybe there's some quiet changes being made that this is a symptom of, which is why I'm putting this out there to see if anyone else is noticing anything unusual suddenly happening to their algorithm with no clear trigger for it. I've tried googling, but I get stuff from a few years ago, and answers that don't seem to fit the situation.

[callmearcturus]

Spooky Jake Autumn is coming

So I have decided to make a list of fics I think will help people get into the Mood of the season. I'm already seeing some exciting stuff, and I am here to hype the shit out of this.

THESE ARE IN NO ORDER, just the order I remember them in!

Bacchanalian Hangovers, by @thedoublepp

Jake English, dizzy and downtrodden, follows a god into the wildwood.

My dear pal Paya wrote this one and its Jake getting caught up with a god of gold and revelry, and is drenched in the same vibes of Paya's art. Excellent.

the "adoring, adorned" series, by someone who now prefers to be anonymous

this is an OLD CLASSIC that is heavy with dark, treacle-sweet emotions and physicality. it's not explicitly spooky, but to me i9t's a very good touchstone for just what you can do with bodies and deified emotions.

the weary and the wild, by @mimsiical

"I wanted the ideal animal to hunt," explained the general. "So I said, 'What are the attributes of an ideal quarry?' And the answer was, of course, 'It must have courage, cunning, and, above all, it must be able to reason."' "But no animal can reason," objected Rainsford. "My dear fellow," said the general, "there is one that can." OR: Dirk hides. Jake seeks.

The one in which Jake and Dirk do a roleplay scene in which Jake hunts Dirk across the island. The effect of the close POV use in this story is EXTREMELY effective, and gave me secondhand adrenaline rush.

everybody on your knees and testify, by MULTIPLE PEOPLE (including me, full disclosure)

[Divinity Studies: XXX Core] (69 units across multiple courses) The course sequence examines the impact and influence of dormant sex deities on modern day college life, with emphasis on the rise and growth of divine worship. It will also cover individual arousal responses as well as the increase in group orgiastic interactions. Assignments include group projects, workshops, and individual study. [Restricted to students with no gag reflexes.]

The one where Jake is the god of sex and Dirk accidentally wakes him up due to being that good at giving head. A lot of weird magic stuff and everyone having a blast adding in more kinks. Lighthearted and weird.

green eyes, spread thighs, by saccharomyces_cerevisibae

Dirk goes home with a hot demon and things get… interesting pretty fast.

lmao i love this one. it's so much fun. Jake is a demon with some cool-ass hypno eyes and he's going to get some use out of the pretty thing he picked up at the bar.

cambion, by treeprince

It's your final year of college. Again. But at least this time you're doing something you love. It's also killing you slowly and eating all your time. You need to unwind. Good thing your friends look out for you. Or, "suck one (1) dick, gain a boyfriend slash roommate that wastes your money on overpriced exotic food ingredients and your bandwidth on Netflix while you're away."

another fun one and one I have on good authority will be finished for Spooky Jake Autumn /fingers crossed. Jake as an incubus is always a ton of fun.

Take a Gulp and Take A Breath, by Stormbourne

Dirk Strider, bodyguard of the heiress to the marine empire, desperately needs help from a sea witch.

I LOVE THE ATMOSPHERE OF THIS ONE. It's a good lengthy one shot but I woulda read 70k of this AU.

Not A Hunter's Moon, shamepillow

“The full moon is tomorrow,” you tell him. His eyes widen slightly, and then watch you with a new kind of intensity. “A strong moon, so I gather. That is when I will kill you.” (Dirk finds a werewolf dying in the snow, and like the arrogant Hunter he is, he takes him back to his hideout and nurses him back to health, intent on killing him as the next full moon rises. But this moon is different. It's not a moon for hunting, as Dirk soon finds out.)

LISTEN TO ME. I do not like werewolves. And even I enjoyed this one. The Bloodborne vibes are strong and v good.

and of course, this list would be incomplete without:

BONES OF BLACK MARROW, by oxfordroulette

Dirk summons a demon for the exclusive purpose of 'cathartic boning.' He gets what he wants.

The one. The only. I feel like a lot of us quietly were trying to figure out how to do Spooky Jake, and then BOBM showed up and turned the world upside down. This is THE fic. Erotic horror, poetry, ergodic nonsense, and through all the interface plays and coding tricks, some honest to fucking god true and deep pathos like an arrow through the heart. If you somehow don't know BOBM, rectify that. Also consider reading it for Halloween, tbh.

(also I was told I should put my own pump your veins with gushing gold on this list but one, that seems gauche, and two, I think we float before the sea at dusk is MUCH more spooky. do with that as you will.)

[thousand-winters]

Hi quick question! Why isn’t Eberwolf part of the government in your fics? First I’m just going to thank you for giving me good uncle Eber fics but just why isn’t he also in charge? He was Head Witch like Raine and Darius. (Please don’t think I mean this is a negative way I am just extremely curious I love your writing)

Hi, there! 💕 Thank you for the nice words 😄

Okay, short answer is that I'm generally not basing the new integrants of the government on the Coven Heads, because while I do think covens can still be a thing post-Belos (just without the sigils and magic restrictions), I think the distribution of power will reasonably change given the reasons why it was like that in the first place.

Long answer is...

We don't really know a lot about the structure of power with Belos in charge, though we can speculate about how it worked and the role of the Coven Heads in it. In the hierarchy, we have the Emperor first of all, of course, then technically both Kikimora and whoever at the moment is Head Witch of the Emperor's Coven, then just a step below, the rest of the Coven Heads. Given how the EC works, it seems like the government was militaristic in nature, and so members of it with high ranks would also have a considerable amount of power (like Kikimora's captain and other high-ranking scouts).

It would help to know if this structure is based on some real-life equivalent. I haven't heard anything about that, but maybe it is? Anyway, I think this is important to consider to be able to get an idea of the kind of changes they would want to do in the future, but also the changes they would realistically be able to do. 

There’s no doubt in my mind that by the end of the third special, Belos will be gone. That obviously leaves a huge vacuum of power that only now they will have time to worry about (I imagine there’s no time to freak out over that with the Collector causing mayhem) and there are a lot of interesting possibilities on how this could go. Even knowing that Belos tried to kill them all, this is all everyone has known for 50 years, some people will undoubtedly want to cling to the pre-existent government structure, trying to appoint someone as the new Emperor, most likely Hunter if they find out about their “familiar” link... that, if Belos ever bothered to establish something like that as part of his new way to rule when he assumed power. Now, this is something I can see the CATTs shutting down REAL quick because the solution to the mess is not giving someone that amount of power again, let alone a very traumatized teenager. 

Truthfully, I don’t have a completely well-structured and coherent idea about how the government will actually work. In part because it’s a complicated matter (also politics are NOT my forte) and in part because in this kind of situation, I feel like it’s common for a long period of transition to exist between the old government and the new government.What I do have well established is that: this is a period of transition AND they need some provisional form of government because there will be a lot of rebuilding and changes to laws and stuff required right away. 

Now, let’s think of the ideal scenario I’m working with here: at the end, everyone has been told about what exactly happened on the Day of Unity and what led to it, aka, Belos’s plan to commit genocide, the rebellion trying to stop it, and the role of each Coven Head on this, along with their different levels of knowledge. Working with this assumption there’s still trouble: people who will prefer the old reign, who won’t believe this is the truth or will have their own reasons to despise this new attempt of forming a fair government. 

This is why I believe some of the people who were already in power under Belos’s rule will remain on it. Big, active participants on the disaster wouldn’t, of course, like Kikimora, Terra, etc, but I can see high-ranking officials keeping their power, since most of them probably had no idea of what was being planned and are technically “innocent”, plus they probably already took care of some more administrative matters and it would be a pain to replace them at the moment, and unless they want a very violent transition of government, the rebellion might have to accept this in order for the changes they desire to be smoother. 

All of this to say that I tend to think of a council of sorts, conformed by some of these government officials that might still share some of the values of Belos’s government, plus members of the rebellion and other people who might now get the chance to participate in this. But to the point of this long ramble... why wouldn’t Eber be part of it?

Belos’s reign in a sense was a meritocracy of sorts, at least when it comes to the Coven Heads it’s clear they had to prove they were exceptional at their kind of magic. I imagine this kind of “the powerful get ultimate say over others” situation won’t fly after everything that went down, so I don’t see the Coven Heads being automatically drafted into being part of the new government. So what is my criteria for deciding who gets to stay and who doesn’t?

The CATTs were all very committed to doing what’s right, there’s no doubt about that, but I do think there’s differences in the way in which they approached this. People like Darius and Raine seemed to me like the ones who made the plans and took care of a lot of logistic details for the rebellion, whereas people like Eber, Katya, Derwin, and Amber were more the action kind of rebels; still super committed to the cause and willing to give their all for it, but ultimately not that involved on the strategic and bureaucratic part of it. Sure, for Eber it might be that we don’t ever find out what he thinks about anything aside from his expressions and the sounds he makes, and to write Eber one must make a lot of assumptions and develop their own headcanons about him, but this is the impression I get from him. 

That is to say, I think Darius and Raine are so incredibly committed to doing what’s best for the Boiling Isles that I think they both would absolutely want to be part of the new council, while Eberwolf, even if he still wants what’s best, would not necessarily be interested in the administrative part of it. Plus, since he either doesn’t speak a lot or most people don’t understand his language, I feel like they could easily underestimate his value as a government official and think of him simply as someone powerful, but not particularly smart or worthy of having a place. That probably would absolutely infuriate people who care about him, like Darius, but since Eberwolf doesn’t really want to be part of it and doesn’t care a lot about what strangers think of him, he doesn’t really give a fuck. 

This was a very long ramble to say: Eber is not in my tentative version of the new government because he doesn’t have the vibes 🤣 That’s... the simplest way to put it askjfhkjdg 

Apologies for the long answer, but I do hope this satisfies your curiosity!

[cerastes]

What do you make of Specter's operator record? Personally I liked it, but that's with the knowledge we're getting more Specter backstory soon.

Ok, so! Just as you pointed out, I went into it with the knowledge that:

We're getting Under TIDES soon.

Specter gets a second Operator Record later, some time after Under TIDES.

And with that in mind, I'm fine with it, but if I was a CN player and all we got was Specter's first Operator Record without any knowledge of the future, I would be pretty pissed, lmao. In fact, CN players were pretty pissed, the reception to her Operator Record was pretty bad. Specter is a popular character both in terms of gameplay and character (the latter more so in China, she gets a steady influx of cosplayers, fanart and fanfic in Weibo, Lofter, and such). It's believed that Hypergryph announced her second Operator Record because of this backlash.

Now, with the context and preamble on the table, I want to say: Great idea, not so great execution. Overall, I enjoyed it, but again, that's only with knowledge of the future. Despite that, I sincerely praise Hypergryph for actually having the balls to try a narrative approach like this one on a mobile game. The thing is, just because an idea is interesting doesn't mean it's good, and I think a lot of aspiring writers and designers need to hammer that in their head, especially armchair game designers that like to theorize oh so much about how cool it would be to have a game that did this or that. I don't care if it's cool or not, is it enjoyable to experience?

And that's just the thing with Specter's Operator Record: It felt lackluster in many regards. The approach was definitely interesting, bold, I'd even say, but that doesn't really matter too much if the result isn't a success, now, does it? Let's immediately address the Originium Slug in the room: Specter doesn't even appear in it. Now, is that an interesting approach to an Operator Record? Sure! Is it good? I don't really think so, especially with a character that fans really have been clamoring to see more of in actual cutscenes, given the wealth of clues they've put regarding Specter in other places:

Blue Poison' Files -> We learn that Blue Poison knew Specter personally before her descent to madness, addressing her with her real name.

Skadi's Dialogue -> Skadi implies that Specter was on a very important mission, and more or less confirms she knew her before she went crazy.

Several pieces of official art -> Specter is associated with the phrase "All seas are singing your name".

Ceobe's Fungimist -> It's implied the cursed painting depicting the end times is the same confusing painting Specter painted in her Token.

Rosmontis' Files -> It's confirmed that Specter's spinal cord is filed to the brim with originium fluid, and the Medical Team theorizes that, just like Rosmontis, her infection was artificially induced. It also confirms that they have no idea how Specter is able to fight such an insanely high level of infection.

So, see, this has been a character that fans have really been clamoring to see again. The only cutscene Specter's ever been is the secret cutscene of Grani and the Knight's Treasure AKA the very first event in the game. Understandably, after two years of the game existing, people were a bit miffed that once again we just get breadcrumbs and a non-participation 'appearance', to say the least, in what's supposed to be her day in the limelight.

Now, personally, I kind of get how they are handling her, and the Operator Records are a very faithful reflection of this: Specter is meant to be this mysterious force that we don't have clearance to know about, as Kal'tsit herself is the only one authorized to treat her or even enter her containment quarters. And, in this regard, I think the Records succeed:

It all starts innocently with Suzuran drawing Specter in a Secret Santa and then having to start deep diving to find out who the hell even IS Specter, because absolutely no one knows of her. Eventually, Suzuran lucks out by asking Meteorite, who did participate in a mission with Specter once, to which Suzuran immediately reacts: "Hey hold on, don't they send you on pretty dangerous missions all the time?", and Meteorite's answer is, "Yeah, and she's right at home there."

Now, this is really interesting because we, as Doctor, have some level of clearance: We know things about Specter and can even converse with her to a certain degree, because Doctor is a high authority in Rhodes Island, but the average Operator, like Suzuran, Aosta and Chiave, doesn't even know of her existence. She's one of Rhodes Island's well kept secrets, even within Rhodes Island. Even Meteorite, a veteran Sarkaz mercenary and a bombardment expert, only knows about Specter in a need-to-know basis (because they deployed once together). More telling is the fact that Meteorite doesn't think she'd get along with Specter, simply based on the fact that, just on that one operation, the level of violence and carnage brought upon by Specter unnerved even her, a Kazdel Sarkaz veteran. Well, to be precise, it's not the sheer level of destruction that Specter is capable of that unnerved Meteorite, it's the fact that she does it all seemingly without a care in the world, expressionless, soundless, simply following orders to the letter without showing or taking in a single emotion. To paraphrase Meteorite, "someone that can unleash such destruction and violence upon others so easily, and that can then just not mind it in the slightest, has something wrong and concerning going on with them, no doubt".

Next up, we also learn that Folinic has very restricted, also on a need-to-know basis access to Specter. Keep in mind that Folinic is extremely competent and not at all a stranger to danger: She handles Phantom. So this is a huge hint: There's perhaps more to the secrecy regarding Specter than just her being a dangerous, unstable element. Folinic could reasonably handle Specter professionally, but it's not about whether she can or not, it's about information, and this brings us back to Grani and the Knight's Treasure: Kal'tsit makes it clear to Skadi that Specter is, as a whole, inaccessible to everyone but her, that only she has clearance to access Specter's quarters. Keep in mind that Skadi does not operate in the same conditions, despite also being an Abyssal Hunter. In fact, it's well known that Skadi is infamous among other Operators for being unreasonable and obstructive in operations, as well as unapproachable outside of them (unless you are Grani, who managed to successfully befriend Skadi and vouches for her). There's things about Specter that are so sensitive, so important, that Kal'tsit can't risk them getting out, and even using her as an Operator is something reserved for very dangerous operations. Not even Warfarin, senior staff and Operator that's been with Rhodes Island for a very long time, has full access to Specter, but she clearly knows the importance of keeping her under curtains, given she immediately diffused the Folinic-Suzuran situation by coming up with a compromise on the spot.

There's another interesting contrast between Files and the Operator Record: Meteorite describes Specter as "dead silent". Mind you, we knew from before, thanks to Specter's Files, that the shark is completely silent in battle, but we also do know that she incoherently rambles quite a lot. Folinic sheds some light onto this, explaining that Specter intentionally stays silent most of the time so as to not say anything that could be misunderstood when around others. When she's in a more private setting, however, she does let loose with the insane talk. This is confirmation of something that had been hinted at before: Even though she's insane, there's a fervent part of her clinging onto sanity for dear life with bloodied, splintered fingers, and it manifests itself in how she'll never harm an ally, and how Specter is, to a certain degree, aware of how far gone she is, and thus keeps her mouth shut around others that aren't Doctor or Kal'tsit, so as to not spook them out or accidentally threaten them with her insane rambling.

Then, at the very end, after Suzuran managed to get her present to her, Specter does in fact deliver a thank you present back to Suzuran: A music box, consistent with Specter's love for the arts. Of course, the gift might have been chosen by a proxy of hers (Skadi or Blue Poison, both known to also enjoy music), but the message is all the same: Specter clearly appreciated the gift, and was mentioned to see an improvement in her condition after receiving the doll Suzuran gave her.

So, in paper? All of this? I love it. Of course I do, she's my favorite character, and it was such a bold way to present her Record, too, I respect them trying out new things, it managed to capture the essence of "the mysterious, terrifying fighting machine Operator they don't want us to know about that's actually a pretty sweet and decent person, just going through some really hard stuff" that they've been going for with Specter, it's just, I can also understand (and agree with) fans because... It's been two years, bwahaha, let us see her again, you know? It's her Operator Record, we've gotten some VERY good insights into the lives and days of other Operators through those, like with Angelina's or Kroos'! Of course we also wanted something like that, bwahaha.

What I would've loved, and what I think would've made it all better with fans, is if the final scene had Specter actually show up in Suzuran's room like the cryptid she is, with Suzuran noting the security door had just sort of been casually pried open, Specter's perpetual smile on her face as she's holding her thank you gift before Warfarin and Folinic just sort of storm into the room like "DUDE, WE SAID YOU CAN'T--", she thanks Suzuran wordlessly, gently hands her the music box, and then she calmly turns back and walks back to her confinement quarters.

But, yeah, I've gone on for long enough. I appreciate it overall, knowing what's coming, and I appreciate the idea, I just think they could've handled it better, but the whole essence and message of it, I think lands pretty nicely.

[watermelon-converse]

answer all of them then! no reason to restrict yourself if you wanna do them all 👀 (if you feel like it ofc)

hErE wE gO /pos

1. From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

hmm, three? four if I’m being serious

2. Why do you write fanfiction

because I’m bored as heck and have way too many ideas

3. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

I get super into it and plan everything out before I start. is insane actually

4. Are there any writers that inspire you?

all of them. Lex, in particular, @your-local-hurt-comfort-junkie-1 , is so good at writing I can’t even TvT

5. What’s the fic you’re most proud of?

an undisclosed Tangled AU that took me two years. It’s not shared yet lol

6. What element of writing do you find comes easily?

banter, no question. It just comes lol

7. What element of writing do you struggle with most?

action omg. I can’t do it XD

8. Which character(s) do you find easiest to write?

happy characters or ones in pain. No inbetween.

9. Which character(s) do you find most difficult to write?

evil characters are hard hhh. I want to make them nuanced! Have depth! If I’m writing fic with a character who doesn’t have that, I’m tempted to put it in, even if I don’t plan to have them in for more that a chapter.

10. What’s your favorite genre to write for?

f- fluff?

11. Who or what do you find yourself writing about most?

tangled heh

12. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about.

doing a tangled band Au actually 👀

13. First fandom you ever wrote for?

Ramona and Beezus, I was six. Yes no that’s the truth

14. What’s your favorite fandom to write for?

I want to discover more than tangled lol, I’m getting into amphibia fic now

15. What’s the weirdest fandom you’ve ever written for?

ramona and beezus probably

16. Any guilty pleasure trope(s)?

cheese. Anything that is cheesy, be it fluff, drama, etc. you will cringe as you laugh/cry/pine

17. A trope you’ll never, ever write for.

centaur-ification? idk

18. Wildest fic you’ve ever written?

im working on it

19. Do you prefer canon-compliant, AUs, or something in-between?

AUs are so fun! They have so many possibilities while still being typical to the characters

20. Gen fic or shippy stuff?

both; shippy but plot-centric

21. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

:sob: cassunzel

and sashannearcy heh

22. Do you listen to anything while you write?

I usually have music on anyway lol

23. Do you prefer prompts and challenges, or completely independent ideas?

independent - it gives me more time

24. One-shots or multi-chaptered works?

one shots are fun and come naturally, but. Longer things call to me

25. Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them!

omg yes! But it’s for the long one 👀 do i want to spend another two years doing that 👀

26. Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

not really

27. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

once someone told me they would be heartbroken if I stopped writing 🥺

28. How well do you handle criticism when it comes to your writing?

pretty well! I need it lol

29. Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

writing for characters Im not good with is hard. I’ve always learned from it, though.

30. Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

F L U F F

31. Do you have any OCs? Tell us about them!

Nope!

32. Summarize a random fic of yours in 10 words or less.

The Crystal Gems (Old Skool, with Rose) play baseball

33. Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process?

I care so much about my fics - so much aaaaa

34. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

from my Owl House fic, Mad but Sad Boy:

“Is that … really a thing? Genuinely good people? People who would make Hunter, not mad or sad, but just … okay?

Maybe even … happy?

He notes how happily Amity Blight talked about Luz. How much laughter there was between the Owl Lady and her pet rat. How much … warmth Hunter gets from this tiny little bird.

“Dang it,” Hunter mutters.

The palisman looks at him gently.

“Wanna go watch some Steven Universe?” Hunter sighs, giving in to his heart for once. For once, all he wants is to feel warm with a friend.

His friend peeps in agreement.

35. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

LeX YouR fiC iS bReAkINg mE iN tHe bEsT wAyyYyYyYyYyYyY

[jail-crow-of-mandos]

Is Caranthir Autistic Or Am I Just Projecting: An Autobiography

Yup, here it is. My long-promised autistic Caranthir meta. Although I’m not sure how much of a meta it can be considering Caranthir is only mentioned by name 24 times in the entire Silmarillion, outside of the name index at the end. So here’s the plan: we’re gonna go through every time he’s mentioned and see if it tells us anything about potentially being autistic.

Before we begin. here is the DSM list of requirements for being diagnosed as autistic. Considering how few times we see Caranthir doing stuff in day to day life, odds are we won’t get to the level required for full diagnosis, but it certainly can help support it as a theory.

Requirements:

Deficits in social-emotional reciprocity

Deficits in nonverbal communicative behaviors used for social interaction,

Deficits in developing, maintaining, and understanding relationships

At least two of the following: Stereotyped or repetitive motor movements, use of objects, or speech, Insistence on sameness, inflexible adherence to routines, or ritualized patterns of verbal or nonverbal behavior, Highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus, Hyper- or hyporeactivity to sensory input or unusual interest in sensory aspects of the environment

Symptoms must be present in the early developmental period (but may not become fully manifest until social demands exceed limited capacities, or may be masked by learned strategies in later life)

Symptoms cause clinically significant impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of current functioning.

These disturbances are not better explained by intellectual disability or global developmental delay. Intellectual disability and autism spectrum disorder frequently co-occur; to make comorbid diagnoses of autism spectrum disorder and intellectual disability, social communication should be below that expected for general developmental level.

With that being said, let’s start at the beginning:

“The seven sons of Fëanor were Maedhros the tall; Maglor the mighty singer, whose voice was heard far over land and sea; Celegorm the fair, and Caranthir the dark; Curufin the crafty, who inherited most of his father’s skill of hand; and the youngest Amrod and Amras, who were twin brothers, alike in mood and face. In later days they were great hunters in the woods of Middle-earth; and a hunter also was Celegorm [...]”

“[Regarding the Oath] Thus spoke Maedhros and Maglor and Celegorm, Curufin and Caranthir, Amros and Amras, princes of the Noldor [...]”

Okay these two tell us absolutely nothing about Caranthir in particular, at least for this particular topic. Moving swiftly along.

“But Caranthir, who loved not the sons of Finarfin, and was the harshest of the brothers and the most quick to anger, cried aloud: ‘Yea more! Let not the sons of Finarfin run hither and thither with their tales to this dark Elf in his caves! Who made them our spokesmen to deal with him? And though they be come indeed to Beleriand, let them not so swiftly forget that their father is a lord of the Noldor, though their mother be of other kin”

Now we’re finally getting to the good part. Let’s start at the beginning. “Deficits in social-emotional reciprocity”. Yep. To put that in layman’s terms, it means to have trouble understanding how to navigate conversations in a normal way, often talking out of turn or speaking too harshly. This falls into both of those. On top of that, it also shows signs of “Deficits in developing, maintaining, and understanding relationships”. He is clearly misreading the situation and attacking Angrod for no real reason outside of being mad about everything. This is not how you speak to a stranger, especially not a diplomat. 

One could even argue that it could show signs of “Insistence on sameness, inflexible adherence to routines, or ritualized patterns of verbal or nonverbal behavior”” and “Deficits in nonverbal communicative behaviors used for social interaction”. The former could be argued because one could say that he has fallen into a comfortable pattern, and the idea of changing it is deeply distressing to him, hence why he lashed out. The idea of changes happening that he didn’t directly have a say in causes him to panic and react with anger. As far as the latter one goes, given Maedhros’s initial response to Angrod as well as him trying to calm Caranthir down afterwards, one can reasonably assume that his body language was telling his brothers to stay calm and cordial. Caranthir either ignored this deliberately (which would strengthen the prior argument that he struggles maintaining and understanding relationships, given the authority Maedhros has over him) or he simply could not pick up on the nonverbal cues that Maedhros was giving.

“Now the people of Caranthir dwelt furthest east beyond the upper waters of Gelion, about Lake Helevorn under Mount Rerir and to the southward; and they climbed the heights of Ered Luin and looked eastward in wonder, for wild and wide it seemed to them were the lands of Middle-earth. And thus it was that Caranthir's people came upon the Dwarves, who after the onslaught of Morgoth and the coming of the Noldor had ceased their traffic into Beleriand. But though either people loved skill and were eager to learn, no great love was there between them; for the Dwarves were secret and quick to resentment, and Caranthir was haughty and scarce concealed his scorn for the unloveliness of the Naugrim, and his people followed their lord. Nevertheless since both peoples feared and hated Morgoth they made alliance, and had of it great profit; for the Naugrim learned many secrets of craft in those days, so that the smiths and masons of Nogrod and Belegost became renowned among their kin, and when the Dwarves began again to journey into Beleriand all the traffic of the dwarf-mines passed first through the hands of Caranthir, and thus great riches came to him.”

So this is the part that led to all of the Caranthir loving money jokes, which ultimately led to there being a Caranthir/money tag on AO3. (No, really.) That said, there’s a lot to unpack here. First of all, it’s pretty reasonable to think that Caranthir’s love for planning and economics go beyond average, so let’s assume for a moment that economics are his special interest. This would fill the third elective requirement: “Highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus”. Or, in other words, having a special interest. But beyond that, him not even trying to hide his distaste for the Dwarves clearly shows a lack of basic diplomacy, which we’ve been over before. He has severely lacking social skills. Plus, choosing to be hostile towards a group that have the exact same interests as him proves that he struggles with change, or at the very least forming interpersonal bonds, even if he did form an alliance with them in the end (which only goes to show how strong his special interest is).

“Therefore the Noldor held strength of cavalry In the plains at that place; and the people of Caranthir fortified the mountains to the east of Maglor's Gap. There Mount Rerir, and about it many lesser heights, stood out from the main range of Ered Lindon westward; and in the angle between Rerir and Ered Lindon there was a lake, shadowed by mountains on all sides save the south. That was Lake Helevorn, deep and dark, and beside it Caranthir had his abode; but all the great land between Gelion and the mountains, and between Rerir and the River Ascar, was called by the Noldor Thargelion, which signifies the Land beyond Gelion, or Dor Caranthir, the Land of Caranthir; and it was here that the Noldor first met the Dwarves. But Thargelion was before called by the Grey-elves Talath Rhúnen, the East Vale.”

Okay this one might be a bit of a stretch, but one could argue that Caranthir choosing to live beneath the mountains and in a notably dark region could indicate a sensitivity to bright lights, which would qualify as a sensory sensitivity. Even if not, though, we already have the required two of the four electives.

“At that time [Celegorm and Curufin] were from home, riding with Caranthir east in Thargelion [...]”

And this tells us absolutely nothing.

“But seven days later, as the Orcs made their last assault and had already broken through the stockade, there came suddenly a music of trumpets, and Caranthir with his host came down from the north and drove the Orcs into the rivers.

Then Caranthir looked kindly upon Men and did Haleth great honour; and he offered her recompense for her father and brother. And seeing, over late, what valour there was in the Edain, he said to her: 'If you will remove and dwell further north, there you shall have the friendship and protection of the Eldar, and free lands of your own.'

But Haleth was proud, and unwilling to be guided or ruled, and most of the Haladin were of like mood. Therefore she thanked Caranthir, but answered: 'My mind is now set, lord, to leave the shadow of the mountains, and go west, whither others of our kin have gone.'”

One could probably argue that Haleth was Caranthir’s only friend outside of his immediate family, which certainly indicates a struggle in forming bonds. That being said, he did pretty good here. I’m proud of him :))

“Maglor joined Maedhros upon Himring; but Caranthir fled and joined the remnant of his people to the scattered folk of the hunters, Amrod and Amras, and they retreated and passed Ramdal in the south. Upon Amon Ereb they maintained a watch and some strength of war, and they had aid of the Green-elves; and the Orcs came not into Ossiriand, nor to Taur-im-Duinath and the wilds of the south.”

While this is a very interesting passage for Caranthir’s characterization, it has nothing to do with him potentially being autistic, so we can move on.

“The sons of Ulfang the Black were Ulfast, and Ulwarth, and Uldor the accursed; and they followed Caranthir and swore allegiance to him, and proved faithless”

Poor Caranthir can’t catch a break, can he? But yeah of course he chooses the people who end up being the least loyal. Certainly indicates a lack of character judgement, which falls under not understanding nonverbal communication.

“There fell Celegorm by Dior's hand, and there fell Curufin, and dark Caranthir”

RIP. But it doesn’t really tell us anything.

Obviously, we can’t know what he was like during childhood development, nor can we know what underlying conditions he may have. However, given how many alliances he fucked over or nearly fucked over with his bad social skills, it’s fair to say that his autistic traits would have clinical significance. So, in conclusion, while nothing can be said for certain, it is reasonable to think that Caranthir is autistic.

[bitterlikesweets]

Love Bites Ch 4

This is the fourth chapter of a modern/vampire AU ereri fanfic. You can also read it on Ao3.

Prev | Next

“Armin, what the fuck?”

Armin freezes in the doorway to Eren’s apartment, readjusting the massive stack of books in his arms as he looks up at his friend, confused.

“What?”

“Why did you bring an entire library with you?” Eren asks, moving out of the way so that his blond friend could come inside.

“Well, you said you wanted to talk about vampire stuff, so I thought it would be a good chance to go over what I’ve been researching. I just wasn’t sure what to focus on, so in the end, I brought everything.”

Armin smiles sheepishly, setting down the stack of books on the floor by the door. Eren's apartment is small—a desk, bed, bathroom, and a kitchenette. Armin's precariously stacked books nearly rise to the height of the desk they were placed beside. Eren shakes his head in disbelief, angling his head to scan the titles on the spines.

“I just… Got ahead of myself. We haven’t talked about it in detail since…”

Armin falters, biting his lip, and Eren kneels down by the books, in a hurry to find something to help him change the subject. One harrowing walk down memory lane was more than enough for Eren; he has no desire to lose his cool twice within one week.

His gaze locks on a book with an image of a pair of pale hands and a red apple on the book’s spine.

“Armin,” Eren says, wiggling the book to pull it out of the stack without sending the whole thing toppling to the floor. “You brought Twilight?”

Armin flushes pink, snatching the book out of Eren’s hand.

“I just—I needed to check everything, okay? If vampires are real, then it’s possible that any references in pop culture have some truth to them!”

Eren laughs and Armin throws the book at Eren’s shoulder, which just makes him laugh even more. Armin eventually sighs and settles onto the floor beside Eren, who is still examining the stack of books.

“You look better,” Armin says, and Eren tilts his head curiously when he turns to look at his friend.

“Better?”

“I mean, like, physically. You have a bit more… color.”

“Ah,” Eren says, and now it’s his turn to blush. He turns his head away, hoping his hair will hide his face from view. “I, uh… That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll explain when Mikasa gets here,” Eren says, grabbing an old copy of Dracula and running his fingers over the worn cover. He's cautious with the book, making sure to keep his grip light, wanting no repeats of anything like the table fiasco back at Kuchel's Kitchen.

He can feel Armin’s gaze on him, but Armin doesn’t ask for clarification just yet, so Eren breathes a sigh of relief.

“What exactly are you researching with all this stuff anyway?”

“I was just trying to contrast books and legends against what you actually experience,” Armin says.

Armin reaches towards the bottom of the stack, where a spiral notebook is trapped between the floor and the rest of the books, managing to pull it out, though the stack sways precariously for a moment.

Eren leans over Armin’s shoulder when he flips the notebook open.

“Sunlight and garlic are a danger to you,” Armin says, pointing to a list of possible dangers on the page.

Sunlight and garlic have little checkmarks next to them. Eren’s eyes quickly scan the list. He sees holy water, mirrors, and bricks listed, though he has no idea what special quality about bricks makes him more susceptible to them as a vampire.

“There’s the classic threat of wooden stakes,” Armin continues, his finger sliding down the page, “though we have no way to test that without risking your life.”

“Put a check next to that one,” Eren says.

Armin blinks and looks up at Eren with a frown.

“How do you know? What trouble did you get into in the week that I haven’t seen you?”

“No trouble!” Eren says quickly, but he winces and rephrases. “Not bad trouble anyway.”

Armin frowns and sets the notebook down on the floor, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Eren.”

“That’s also part of what I need to explain once Mikasa—”

He’s cut off by a sharp knock on the door, and Armin is the one who rushes to answer. Mikasa steps in with a grocery bag over her arm, though she frowns as she takes in Armin’s expression.

“What?” she asks, but Armin just whirls around to face Eren.

“Okay,” Armin says, “time for the explanation.”

Eren sighs, setting Dracula on his knee before gesturing for his friends to come closer.

“Sit down,” he says. “This might take a while.”

~ ~ ~

“I’ll do it,” Mikasa says as soon as Eren has finished his recap of the situation.

Eren frowns.

“Do what?”

“I’ll be your partner.”

“Oh.”

Eren stares dumbly at her, and Mikasa frowns, bunching her shirt in her fists.

“I mean, unless you’d rather not—”

“No! No, it’s not that, I just…” Eren takes a breath. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she replies with a firm nod. “I mean, you’re going to need blood either way. It might as well be me.”

“Me too!” Armin pipes up. “There’s no rule against multiple partners, is there?”

“I doubt it,” Eren says. “Levi didn’t say anything about it anyway.”

He thinks of their conversation, about concerns about drinking too much. Perhaps two people would even be better. He wouldn’t want anything to happen to them. Maybe they could alternate weeks, that way their blood would replenish, or however the fuck this worked.

“Uh,” Armin begins after a moment, “does it hurt?”

“Does it matter if it does?” Mikasa asks him, and Armin quickly shakes his head.

“I would help either way! I just… I mean, I would like to know if it does hurt. Just to be prepared.”

Eren reaches up to the scar on his neck, to the bite mark he knows is there. He doesn’t remember it that well. He also doesn’t know if there’s something different about biting just to drink and biting to turn.

He wonders if that’s why Levi is always offering his wrist instead of his neck.

“You’d have to ask Levi that,” Eren says eventually, and Mikasa scowls.

“I don’t trust that man.”

“What? Why?” Eren asks.

“I mean, you said he’s a vampire hunter. Why would he help you? What if he put garlic in your lasagna on purpose? He could’ve ignored that no garlic message from the waitress and just pretended he didn't understand. Maybe he’s just pretending to be innocent so he can kill you later.”

“He said he doesn’t hunt anymore,” Eren says. He unconsciously raised his voice and tries to tone it down, unsure why he’s trying so hard to defend the man he barely knows. “Why would he give me his blood if he was trying to hurt me?”

“All I’m saying,” Mikasa says, holding up her hands, “is that I doubt a vampire hunter would just quit and basically switch sides for no reason. Until we know that reason, I want you to be careful.”

“Why don’t we go with you next time?” Armin suggests. “We have questions we need to ask, and it’ll help Mikasa worry less.”

Eren casts a wary glance in Mikasa’s direction, but he eventually nods.

“When are you going?” Armin asks.

“He just said to come the next time I’m thirsty,” Eren says with a shrug.

“Then, let us know when that time comes,” Mikasa says, and Eren nods, though a frown pulls at his lips.

Eren thinks about the way he cried after talking about his mom, about the table he flung across the room after getting upset. Those are details he conveniently left out of his explanation—also Levi pretending to throw a massive stake at him—because he didn’t want to worry his friends too much. He doesn’t want to put his friends in any danger, especially while he still doesn’t know what he’s capable of.

“Actually,” he says after a moment, “can you guys hold off for a bit?”

Mikasa frowns.

“Why?”

“Because, uh…” He scrambles to think up an excuse. “Because I don’t want to spring it on him! I don’t really have any way to contact him, and I would prefer to warn him before I just bring people to our vampire lessons, you know?”

Mikasa continues to frown, unconvinced, but Armin nods, and Eren takes that as all the answer he needs.

“That’s fine,” Armin says, and he nudges Mikasa with his elbow. “Right, Mikasa?”

She huffs and looks away, but after a moment, she nods.

“If he hurts you,” Mikasa begins, her voice low, “I’m going to go over there and shove a stake right up his—”

“Anyways!” Armin exclaims loudly, pointedly ignoring Mikasa’s glare. “Since that’s settled, let’s talk vampires. What should we have Eren ask Levi?”

Armin flips to a new page in his notebook, pulling a pen from his pocket.

“Does being bit…” Armin mumbles as he writes, “hurt a lot? There.”

He hands the notebook and the pen to Mikasa.

“Are there any restrictions about numbers of partners?” she says as she writes, and Eren is genuinely surprised that her question doesn’t have any insult worked into it.

When the notebook is passed to him, Eren glances at the stack of books, skimming the titles. He knows so little about vampires that it’s hard to think of a single question.

A book he pulled from the stack earlier catches his eye, and Eren grins.

“How much of Twilight is accurate?”

“Eren!” Armin exclaims, snatching the notebook away.

Mikasa’s gaze shifts to the stack of books, her eyes settling on the novel in question.

“...Didn’t know you read that sort of thing, Armin,” she says.

“I don’t! It was for Eren that I even brought it!”

“Dracula makes sense to me,” Eren says, “but come on, Armin. Twilight?”

“Oh, Dracula!” Armin exclaims, his voice an octave higher as he frantically tries to change the subject. “You don’t need to be invited into buildings. I’ll cross that off the list.”

Armin moves to flip the page, but it’s Mikasa who takes the notebook into her hands to write something down.

“Do vampires get offended by humans who think Twilight is accurate?” she asks, the pen darting across the page.

“Mikasa, not you too!”

Armin lunges for the notebook, but she quickly passes it to Eren who holds it up and out of reach, laughing.

"Do vampires sparkle like they do in Twilight?" Eren asks, dancing out of the way of Armin, who is still desperately attempting to take the notebook back.

Mikasa picks up the book and skims through the pages, her subsequent hum sending Armin lunging at her next.

"Does a vampire's sense of smell work like it does in Twilight?" Mikasa manages to ask before Armin tackles her to the ground and sends her into a fit of laughter as they wrestle over the silly book. Eren grins and takes the chance to scribble all their idiotic questions into Armin's notebook.

“What other Twilight related questions could I ask…” Eren muses, tapping the pen against his chin.

A well aimed book is thrown at the back of Eren’s ankles, and despite the pain, Armin’s attack just makes Eren laugh even harder. The blond groans in frustration, burying his face into his hands.

“I’m never helping you with anything ever again!”

[stardustedstories]

@missallanea asked: this is your room. you can decorate it however you'd like. / eda @ hunter

found/adopted family prompts // accepting

Hunter hadn't had anywhere else to go. Luz had insisted that he come with her, that he stay, but he still wasn't sure. Wouldn't he just be putting everyone here in danger if he did? Wouldn't it be better for everyone if he just….disappeared? He could find somewhere else to stay, couldn't he? There was the school--no, too many students; he'd be found immediately. Well, what about…..wouldn't that…..but as he tried to think of other places he could go, he realized there really wasn't anywhere or anyone he could turn to, not anymore.

It was supposed to be temporary. Just a couple of days while he figured out where else he could go. But it had been a couple of weeks, and Eda the Owl Lady had given him a Look that said if he ran off, she was absolutely going to go after him and drag him back to the house.

So he'd stayed. And he jumped at pretty much any noise, ready to run, to put distance between himself and the people who were being kind to him, to do what he could to keep any fallout from landing on their heads. Though he supposed he probably couldn't actually do much in that regard since they were already on his uncle's the Emperor's bad side.

Before he knew what was happening, he had a room of his own…, or at least, that's what Luz had called it. She'd said that it was his room, but he had still been wary, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Flapjack sat on his shoulder, letting out a pointed chirrup, wings flapping momentarily as he communicated with his companion. Hunter shook his head, letting out a soft sigh as he ran a hand through his messy blonde hair.

"No, Flapjack; I can't get too comfortable," he murmurs. "I really can't put anything up." Especially not one of the flyers for the day he'd met Willow and the rest of the Emerald Entrails. If he had to run…, he'd have to leave that behind. Of course, he'd have to leave most things behind, something that made his heart ache in a way he hadn't realized it could.

"this is your room. you can decorate it however you'd like," came a voice from the doorway, and Hunter stood bolt upright, automatically slipping into a defensive stance.

He relaxes a little bit when he sees that it was just Eda, offering her a sheepish little smile. "I….really don't want to impose," he says. "You're already letting me stay here; that seems like…..too much." He helped out as much as he possibly could around the house, to show that he was useful, to earn his keep, but he still felt like he was an inconvenience to all of them. If he did anything to the room, that was just one more thing they'd have to clean up when he inevitably became too much for them and they wanted him to leave.

[huntertales]

Part One: Slippery Little Snake. (Dog Dean Afternoon S09E05)

Episode Summary: While investigating two bizarre murders, Y/N and the boys realize there is an eyewitness to both gruesome deaths--a German Shepard. Anxious to find out what monsters they are dealing with, the three look up a spell that can help communicate with the dog. When Dean decides to be the one to perform the spell, he quickly realizes it comes with side effects no one saw coming.  Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 4,356.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Best cure of all.”

You grimaced at the sight of Dean’s infamous hangover cure he swore was the key to getting over the consequences of drinking from the previous night before. You and the boys had given Kevin a chance to cut loose and enjoy himself away from his responsibilities in hopes it might help make the kid feel more refreshed. Only it seemed the opposite reaction happened. Kevin complained of a headache that wouldn’t go away and feeling nauseous to the point he feared he might throw up. You didn’t think he would have taken it so hard, and he was such a lightweight. Luckily through the complaints of an upset stomach and how the room spinned he managed to keep down the food you offered him.

Dean suggested an infamous Winchester speciality that might be able to kick this hangover in its ass, his own words. You watched in disturbance as Kevin drank two glasses of the stuff. The sight made you flashback to your younger pre-hunting days where you were a lightweight compared to the way a Winchester could handle their alcohol. Dean always could drink you under the table, not that you tried to keep up with him when you drank with him. The next morning you suffered the consequences almost exactly like Kevin had. Dean swore the drink he created helped. You swallowed it down and a few minutes later you threw up everything you had drank from the night before, and anything else that hadn’t digested yet. You admitted the stuff made you feel better. But you wouldn’t touch that stuff ever again.

You told Kevin to keep resting up and sleep off the hangover for a little while longer. When you were sure the kid was going to be fine on his own, you and Dean made your way to the war room where Sam had been occupying for a little while. He sat at the table with his laptop open and doing a little bit of research, hopefully accomplishing something better than the fiasco you had endured just a few minutes ago.

“Wow.” Dean’s approaching voice made his brother turn his attention away from the screen for a moment to see the both of you appeared to be beside yourselves in what you just went through. Sam gave you a confused expression, wondering what the problem was. “Kevin. Just poured some buffalo milk down his gob twice.”

“Buffalo milk?” Sam repeated what his brother just said, not exactly sure if he wanted to know where the man managed to get his hands on the suff. You sat on the edge of the table as Dean placed his hands on the back of an empty rolling chair next to his brother and leaned his body forward.

“Yeah, Dean’s infamous hangover cure-all. It’s apparently got everything in it. Except buffalo milk. God, the smell of it alone brought me back to my early twenties.” You mumbled, your nose scrunching up at the past memories you wished stayed buried. “Hopefully it’ll help Kevin from puking anymore of his guts out.”

“How is that kid still recovering from Branson?” Sam had seen his fair share of lightweights in his time, but there might have been nobody who couldn’t tolerate alcohol the way Kevin showed he wasn’t able to. You shrugged your shoulders from the lack of answers. The poor kid was a lost cause. You figured he would have taken the first chance he got to crawl into a bottle in some kind of attempt to bury the trauma that came from the chaos that ensued.

“What can I say? He’s an amateur.” Dean said. You scoffed as your reaction, feeling that was an understatement from the way you left the poor kid. “The slippery nipple shots at the Dolly Parton Dixie Stampede nearly killed the guy.”

“All right. Well, I got something that’s gonna get us back on the road.” Sam offered a change of subject to something he thought his brother might be interested in hearing. The older man took a seat next to him as you leaned over to take a quick peek at the screen, wondering what kind of case it was.

“Great.” You said. “I’ve been itching to stretch my legs and get out there again.”

Dean turned his head to your direction when you voiced your happiness of tagging along. The man was hesitant about letting you back out there after the favor Ezekial had done for him, and the warning of the consequences of furthering his stay. “You sure you’re ready for that?”

You furrowed your brow from his question, “Why would I not be ready for that?”

“Aren’t you kind of running on empty?” Dean asked in concern.

“Yeah, but the last three nights straight, I had eight hours of shut-eye. And for a hunter, that’s like twenty.” You tried to talk the man into letting you do your damn job without restrictions. You looked over at Sam to see the young man was hesitant himself about giving you the chance to tag along on a hunt. You rolled your eyes from the way they were acting. “Trust me, guys. I feel good.”

“Well, that’s great and all, but you’re still recovering from the trials. I think you ought to pace yourself, you know? And the sooner you heal…” Dean reminded you of a little fact he thought slipped your mind. You crossed your arms over your chest at the flimsy excuse he thought was going to work on you. When he trailed off and fell silent for a moment, you raised your brow in curiosity as to what he was going to say next. “Sam and I just want you back to your old self.”

“I am, guys. I know my body better than anyone else. Not to mention the fact that Kevin’s back on the heaven spell. Crowley’s locked up. We should be out there doing what we do best.” You said. The boys thought otherwise from their unspoken actions that said more than they were willing to admit. You rolled your eyes in annoyance as Dean leaned back in his seat and kicked up one of his legs to the table. The man tried to get a word into the argument, but you stopped him before he could. “Sammy, what’s this case you got for us?”

“Uh, a taxidermist named Max Alexander mysteriously crushed to death. Nearly every joint in his body dislocated, every bone broken.” Sam read off the gory details that caught his attention in the first place. “Poor guy is a human pretzel.”

“Tell me, Dean, what’s got that kind of strength?” You asked him, curious to see what his response was going to be since he had so much to say just a minute ago.

“A demonic luchador?” Dean made little effort into trying to make an education assumption to what might be the cause behind the out of ordinary death.

“Shop’s a couple hours away in Enid, Oklahoma.” Sam said. “We should at least check it out.”

“Unless the boss man thinks there’s some reason we shouldn’t.” You directed your gaze back over to the older Winchester to hear what he had to say. A smile crept to the edges of your lips from the way he fell silent. The response to his defeat. You slid off the table and back to your feet to get started on the packing that was ahead of you. Before you did, you wanted to make one thing clear. “Don’t forget the fact that I kicked your ass just the other day. And I’ll gladly do it again.”

You went on your way from stating the small fact you thought was enough proof to get you back on hunting without them worrying about your health. Dean let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand down his face from your ever growing stubborn behavior. “I swear, I don’t even know why I even bother with her.”

+ + +

You and the boys arrived in Oklahoma a few hours later, the first stop on your list was checking out the crime scene that was still crawling with cops. The first suspicious thing you noticed before even walking into the building was the threat painted on the front entrance of Max Alexander’s taxidermy business. “Die Scum” was written in all capital letters. Whoever painted the threat wanted to get their message across loud as possible. And someone made sure to keep to the painted words. You wondered if it was done by the same person. A few monsters liked to taunt their victims before going in for the thrill of the kill.

Sam noticed something in the letter M that was worth pointing out. You noticed it was an upside down triangle with what appeared to be a paw print. He snapped a quick picture with his phone for future research and headed inside with the rest of you. Taxidermy was something you didn’t give much of a second thought about. However when you stepped into Max’s business, you found yourself surrounded by endless animals of all sorts, all dead and stuffed for display. Animals’ heads mounted to the wall, birds frozen in mid flight, wild cats bearing their sharp fangs appearing as if they were ready to attack. There was some sort of strange craft to stuffing a dead animal and making it look realistic.

“Well, the creep factor just skyrocketed.” Dean mumbled, eyeing the dozens of dead animals surrounding him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” A sheriff stopped the three of you, not sure who you were. 

“How are you? I’m Special Agent Chaplin.” You introduced yourself to him, flashing your fake FBI badge to the man. “These are my partners Agent Michaels and DeVille.”

“The body’s already been to the morgue. Just wrapping it up with Dave Stephens. He’s the one who discovered the boy.” The sheriff explained. You looked over to see an older man leaning against the register, still distraught from the events he thought would have never happened in a million years. “Such a shame. I used to go hunting with Max. He was a real good egg.”

“Sorry for your loss.” Dean gave his condolences to the officer. “You mind showing my partner around? Agent Chaplin and I have a couple of questions for Mr. Stephens.”

The sheriff nodded his head and gestured for Sam to follow him into the next room where the murder took place. You and Dean approached the older man, figuring he might know a thing or two that might be helpful in discovering if this case might be worth your while.

“Dave Stephens?” You asked. You and Dean flashed your badges once again at the man, “My partner and I have got a couple of questions for you if that’s all right.”

“I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.” Dave responded without an ounce of hesitation. “Max was a real pal.”

“Hunting buddy?” You wondered. You smiled ever so slightly when you saw his expression immediately change into surprise from how you were able to answer correctly in one guess. You had a feeling it was a common hobby among the locals from the sight of this place. “So, about what time did you discover the body?”

“About nine A.M.—my usual pickup time.” Dave answered. “I come in every Wednesday and Sundays to collect the entrails.”

You furrowed your brow from the terminology. “The entrails?”

“The animal organs. After Max would dig them out and work his magic.” Dave said. “He was a real artist, you know?”

You discovered what kind of magic Max was able to do with the creatures he was given. You found your attention lingering away from the conversation for a moment when you spotted Sam exploring the man's collection. You quickly bit your bottom lip to keep a smile from spreading across your lips at the little creature he was holding that appeared to be dressed as a character from Game of Thrones. Sam amused himself from the expression that crossed his face. Dean found it nothing more than bizarre as to why a grown man would waste his time putting so much effort into such a thing.

“Strange thing is, though,” The both of you quickly turned your full attention back to Dave to hear what else he had to say, pretending as if you were distracted by something childish. “bins were empty this morning.”

“Why is that strange?” Dean asked.

“Well, because it’s a Sunday. Weekend hunts are pretty much a given in this neck of the woods, so they’re usually chock-full of guts.” Dave explained as to why it was out of the ordinary for him.

“Any chance Max could have cleaned them out himself?” You wondered.

“No. It’s a biohazard. You can’t just throw the stuff out.” Dave said. You were learning all sorts of things about animal organs today, more than you ever wanted in your entire life. “You gotta burn it.”

“Huh. The more you know.” You gave him a polite smile from his explanation you could have gone without. You looked over to the sheriff when he approached the three of you again. “Is there anything else missing from the shop?”

“No.” The sheriff said. “The register was full, and the safe was intact. And all of Max’s trophies were still on the walls.”

“And was there anybody else here when you showed up?” Dean asked. 

“No one. No, other than the Colonel.” Dave chuckled and looked over his shoulder to Max’s pet. You felt a smile stretch across your lips at the sight of a German Shepard. 

Sam finished up his search around the crime scene and headed back over to you and his brother. You smiled at the sheriff and Dave, excusing yourself and walking over to another part of the shop where there was nobody else around to have a private conversation of your own to discuss what you found. You had a feeling this was going to be a worthwhile case after all. Everything was adding up with unusual circumstances.

“Okay, so,” You stood with your back to the crime scene, catching up with the younger man about everything you were able to learn in the short time. “We’ve got a thief who’s jonesing for animal parts, we’ve got a pagan symbol, and we’ve got a human pretzel.”

“Yeah, it all sounds very witch-y, but I wasn’t able to find a hex bag.” Sam said, putting a hole in his own theory to what might be to blame for the taxidermist’s death.

“All right, well, let’s keep digging. But not here.” Dean suggested. He didn’t move right away. You noticed his eyes wandered up to a part of the shop that kept his attention. You followed his gaze to see the man was staring at a stuffed owl hanging up on a high shelf, its yellow eyes fixated on the huner in a way that made him uncomfortable. “I don’t like the way that one’s looking at me.”

You stifled a laugh from his paranoid behavior and softly nudged him in the arm to get moving. The three of you still needed to get settled into a motel and started on research to figure out what was the cause of Max Alexander’s death. You took one more curious glance at the owl before heading out the front door.

+ + +

“Okay, that symbol in the graffiti, it’s…not wiccan. It’s copywritten.” Sam worked right away on trying to figure out what the strange symbol you had seen back at the crime scene. The search took little effort into finding its source. You walked over to the man, dropping the shirt you pulled out from your bag you pulled out to change into and out of your fed clothes. He held out his laptop for Dean to take so the both of you could take a look at the homepage for yourselves. “Local animal rights group, Enid’s answer to PETA.”

“S.N.A.R.T.?” Dean read off the animal rights’ group and its terrible name they thought was a good idea. It stood for Showing No Animal Rough Treatment. You didn’t know if you should laugh or at least give them credit for trying to be original. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Well, it makes sense that an animals-rights group would have an axe to grind with a taxidermist.” Sam said.

“Why?” Dean asked, not seeing the connection between the two. “The animals’ already dead.”

“Yeah, but hunters are what keep them in business.” You added on. “Now the question is, are those bleeding hearts actually witches or just hippies?”

Dean glanced up from the laptop screen and to you, proposing a question. “What’s the difference?”

+ + +

The difference between the two that one was capable of murder. You took doubt in the fact that a group of animal rights activists would go far as committing murder. But when you added the element of witchcraft that’s when the lines between right and wrong started to grow blurry. You and the boys decided to speak to a couple of the members after tracking them down to a vegan bakery called Gentle Earth. Business was booming with customers enjoying a plant-based meal inside and passing by a couple of women walking out with a cup of all organic and overly expensive coffee, ethically sourced you guessed.

“Always knew I’d find the source of all evil at a vegan bakery.” Dean muttered. The man felt out of his element from the people he was surrounded by.

Sam sniffed the air, finding an odor he couldn’t place his finger on. “What’s that smell?”

“Patchouli. Yeah, mixed with depression from meat deprivation.” Dean said. You rolled your eyes from the way he was acting in such an immature fashion. His strong beliefs were radical as those who thought eating animal products were cruel and unusual. The man drew your attention to the front counter when he spotted the owners waiting on a few customers. He was quick to point out a fashion accessory that was a bit odd from the setting that didn’t require them. “Hey. You know who wears sunglasses inside? Blind people. And douchebags.”

You let out a quiet sigh and shook your head from the way he was acting, heading up to the counter to have a discussion with the owners. “Olivia and Dylan Camrose?” You asked the couple. Olivia nodded and smiled. “You two are members of S.N.A.R.T, correct?”

“Founders and co-presidents, actually.” Olivia corrected you about the role they played in the activist group. She playfully bumped shoulders with her husband, both of them sharing matching smiles from the hard work they loved doing. Olivia reached out and grabbed a brochure that was kept near a display of their desserts, presuming all of you were curious for being part of a good cause. “Can we interest you in some literature?”

You politely shook your head. “Or a flaxseed scone?” Dylan asked. You looked down at the pastry that appeared to be tasty at first glance, until you heard the lack of ingredients that made it vegan. “It’s wheat-free, gluten-free, sugar-free, and surprisingly moist.”

“Let me stop you right there.” Dean was quick to end this conversation before he could get roped any further into this hippie lifestyle he wanted nothing to do with. He pulled out his badge to flash it at the couple and got to the reason why you were here in the first place. “We’re here to investigate the death of Max Alexander, a local taxidermist.”

Olivia placed the brochure to the counter, her body growing stiff at the unexpected news. “He’s…dead?”

“You knew him?” You asked.

“Ish. Um…” She glanced over to her husband before finishing her response. “small town.”

“Well, he was murdered last night, and a S.N.A.R.T. logo was found at the crime scene.” Sam informed the couple. All though their eyes were covered with a pair of dark shades, the man could see the couples’ body language change in a way that made him suspicious. “You two wouldn’t have to know anything about that, would you?”

The couple thought it would be best for everyone to move this conversation somewhere else. All of you moved to an empty table in the middle of the bakery to hear their side of the story and fill in the gaps of that night.

“His business is funded by hunters. And you know how hunters are.” Dylan immediately lost you from the point he was trying to make. He was more than happy to elaborate on his view of them. “They’re selfish dicks who define themselves by what they kill.”

You had to admit you were a little offended by their presumption, despite the type of hunters who they were talking about was the complete opposite of what you did. “And as animal advocates, we couldn’t stand for that.” Olivia added on.

“So, you killed him?” Sam questioned the couple. 

“Of course not.” Olivia said. She was awfully quick to shoot down the accusation that was simply false. “S.N.A.R.T. doesn’t tolerate violence.”

“Huh. This is coming from a couple who spray-paints death threats.” Dean said, bringing up the red flag that seemed out of character for someone who advocated for the complete opposite for animals lives.

“It was a scare tactic.”Dylan defended himself. “We just wanted to spook him.”

“Turns out we were the ones who got spooked.” Olivia admitted. You wondered exactly what she meant by that, causing her to elaborate even further on her story. She passed a glance over at her husband, who nodded his head, feeling it was the right thing to do in order to set the record straight. “Well, last night, when we were tagging the joint, we heard this noise.”

“A hissing noise.” Dylan added.

“It freaked us out, so we ran into the alley.” Olivia continued on.

“But someone attacked us.”

“Sprayed us in the eyes with mace.”

“And it's not like we could go to the cops.”

“So, now we look like total douchebags because we have to wear our sunglasses inside.” Olivia gave the reason why the couple was forced to wear the dark shades indoors, making them feel exactly like what Dean had said earlier. You didn’t even bother looking over at the older man to see his smug smile at his judgement that turned out to be right.

The couple took off their sunglasses to show the damage that had been done to them from the surprise pepper spray attack. You winced at the scarring around their eyes that sure didn’t look like it was caused by something like pepper spray. It almost appeared to be acid burns from the extent of the physical damages. Dean subtly wagged his index finger, signaling for them to put the shades back on after finding the burns a little too uncomfortable to keep staring at.

+ + +

You did a little research of your own after you made it back to the motel and changed out of your fed clothes for some jeans and a shirt. Something about the burn like wounds the couple had gotten didn’t seem to add up. And you were right about your suspicions.

“Necrosis?” Dean read off the medical term you discovered, wondering what it meant.

“Premature death of tissues—that’s why their eyes were all messed up.” You said. “And it’s not caused by mace.”

“All right.” Dean twisted off the cap to his beer and tossed it to the sink. He leaned over your shoulder and placed a hand on the table to steady himself in doing so. He read off the medical information about black eyes from the page you pulled up. "What causes it?"

“Right here.” You placed a finger on the screen and began to read off something from the paragraph that might explain the reason behind the couples’ painful looking burns. “‘Blunt force, radiation, venom.’”

“As in ‘snake’?” Dean guessed from the sounds of it.

“The taxidermist was constricted. Olivia and Dylan heard hissing, and they were sprayed in the eyes. By venom. Sounds snake-y to me. I say if it does turn out to be that, we should skin it and turn it into a fabulous pair of boots.” You suggested. Dean chuckled at your joke, taking a seat from across from you at the table. “Bet S.N.A.R.T would love that.”

“Okay, so…what are we talking here,” Dean said, deciding to get serious for a moment to try and figure out what you might be hunting. “Some sort of freaky-ass snake monster?”

“Maybe.” You mumbled. You fell silent for a moment trying to figure out how all of this added up to make proper sense with what knowledge you had about the reptilians. “The weird thing is snakes either envenomate or constrict. No snake does both.”

“Correction,” Dean said. “freaky-ass mega-snake monster.”

You quietly chuckled to yourself before throwing out your best guess as to what it might be. “It could be a vetala.”

“Yeah, but they’re not afraid to sink their fangs in. Taxidermist was bite free. It doesn’t really fit the profile.” Dean reminded you about the small detail. You nodded your head. A sigh fell from your lips at the lack of leads you had at the moment. Dean came to your rescue of adding another pair of hands to the night of research ahead for you and Sam. “Call Kevin. Have him look some stuff up.”

You shut your laptop and reached for your phone when you decided to do just that. It wouldn’t hurt to have an extra set of hands on the case while you figured out what you were hunting. You just hoped the poor kid still wasn’t feeling hungover. The internet only had so much information at your fingertips, the Men of Letters’ library would hopefully have the answers you were looking for. You needed to find out and quick, before another life could be taken. 

[Next Part]

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[bopinion]

2020 / 44

Aperçu of the week:

It takes two to tango (Al Hoffman & Dick Manning)

Bad news of the week:

Justitia carries a sword. Since she is to punish the guilty. Justitia carries a scale. Because she shall weigh up accusation and defense against each other. And Justice wears a blindfold. Because she is to judge neutrally and uninfluenced. So much for the theory of any reasonable legal system.

Let's get down to practice: Courts speak law on the basis of laws. First and foremost on the basis of the Constitution. This regulates matters that seem to be self-evident in a democracy: equal rights, freedom of the press and religion, protection of persons and property, freedom of opinion and the press, and much more. Without any discussion, high goods that must be defended unconditionally. And then there are personal liberty rights, vulgo self-determination. Anyone who feels that these rights are threatened can appeal to a court, which - in extreme cases in so-called summary proceedings - will decide whether there is a restriction of such personal rights. This is only right and proper in the truest sense of the word.

Recently, there have been strange stylistic blossoms of this principle. And of course Corona is to blame. There a hotelier sues against entry restrictions from risk areas. Or a teacher for a home office. Or a bus driver against the compulsory wearing of masks. Or a schoolgirl against airing the classroom. All legitimate interests of the individual. But with consequences for everyone. Well, a hotelier may fight for the basis of his professional existence. And a teacher for a secure working environment. And a bus driver for fresh breath and clear speech. And a schoolgirl for not put in risk of catching a cold. But wait: in court, the pros of one party are always the cons of the other. So the result is at whose expense? The general public?

The courts take care of these concerns. Of course they do. But the judgments sometimes miss the balance. For example, a court in Schleswig-Holstein ruled against the ban on accommodating statistically more likely infected guests. And the neighboring Hamburg for that same ban. Or the blindfold. Thus the court of a district judges for the interest of the individual at the expense of the general public. And the next district for the safety of all against the personal freedom of the individual. Two fundamentally different results on exactly the same factual basis.

Is it allowed in a constitutional state that the basic laws of physics, which make the inclination of a balance measurable and repeatable and unambiguously in one direction at least in the laboratory, depend on the place of residence of the plaintiff? Or that the ophthalmological transparency of a blindfold is determined by the personal diopter value of the magistrate on duty. Of course not - because jurisdiction must follow comprehensible criteria, which apply always and everywhere and for everyone. Of course yes - because whenever people are involved, variables are involved and no code of law in world history can give clear instructions for all legal constellations. So this fundamental question can probably never be answered completely clearly and objectively. Not even in the face of a crisis. Work in progress. C'est la vie. Everyone remains responsible for themselves. Unfortunately, not everyone seems to know...

Good news of the week:

"Devastating revelations", "a bad case of corruption", "the real scandal" etc. For two years Donald Trump and Rudy Giuliani have been trying to accuse the Democratic presidential candidate Joe Biden and his son Hunter of corruption in connection with the Ukrainian company Burisma. In principle, of course, this could be true, but Trump's traditional love of truth alone casts doubt on it. After all, Trump had also spent two years trying to "prove" to the Obama administration that they had spied on him during his presidential campaign: "the worst political crime ever".

In both cases apparently dubious Russian collaborators are involved. In both cases, the liberal US media are at least suspicious, so according to Trump, they do not report on it for partisan reasons as devastatingly as would be appropriate. Says the US president of all people, who has set completely new standards in the hoax issue. And so it comes as no surprise that "new evidence" appears in the home stretch of the election campaign. It used to be called a dirty campaign, but nowadays it has become the norm among Republicans.

They say that no matter how unfounded the accusation may turn out to be, something always sticks. But apparently not with the US-Americans: demoscopic studies show that voters are not impressed by the Burisma scandal. Biden's numbers remain stable, and practically no one says that his election decision would be influenced by it. Trump has miscalculated. Not only in the current situation, but also in principle - after all, it was he who permanently shifted the standards of truthfulness. And so the inventor of the "Alternative Facts" has his own attitude of mind falling on his feet. At least that is what we can hope for the 03rd November 2020.

Sense of achievement of the week:

We moved almost four and a half years ago. And even though we cleaned out the mess on that occasion, some dust catchers stayed - and made themselves at home in the garage. The water feature tub, which could be repaired sometime. A former sink, which could be installed next to the grill on the terrace and thus create a veritable outdoor kitchen. The shredder, which one could use in a few years, when the vegetation would be accordingly luxuriant. The fire basket, which would look nice if there were garden parties again one day.

In addition old skis of the children, broken flower pots, remains of a damaged basketball basket, a broken lawn mower, a battered shelf, an old bobby car and so on. But there was enough room in the garage. Until now, because two e-bikes will soon need a solid wintering place. So yesterday we not only treated distant neighbors with discarded items, but also drove four cars full of stuff to the recycling center. Although it already closes at noon. Although it rained. Even though nobody felt like it.

[kiercorp]

Markus’ Backstory Master Post

Yesterday was Markus’ birthday so I figured it was the perfect time to piece together his back story based on what Nahal basically confirmed for us. Along with hints from his back story dream in “The Storm”, his visions in the wizard tower, the song “Ballad of Markus Velafi”, and the back story told to us in “The Campfire” episode. I’m trained to write things like history essays I apologize for that format ahead of time. 

But before we begin it is important to remember that Markus has admitted to lying and stretching the truth when talking about his past. From what I’ve gathered he doesn’t blatantly lie about his past instead, he lies through omission of details. Which Ashe also admits to doing when she tells her back story in the campfire episode. Therefore even though Ashe questions how much of his story is true. We can at the very least trust that what he says did happen even if he didn’t tell us everything that happened. But only when it comes to Markus telling the story. The Ballad of Markus Velafi should be taken with a grain of salt since it’s clearly a fantasized version of the story.

I’m going to tell the events of his back story in the chronological order that they happened. Not in the order, they were told to us. Yes, this means we’ll jump around with what evidence is where. But I feel like it’s the easiest way to tell it. There are some areas that are speculation but most of this is alluded to in canon. The very end might be spoilers for where Markus’ plot is going in the future. But it’s mostly theories on my part. The rest is under a read more because I wrote way too much. 1,500 words actually.

First we start at the very beginning. He was born and as the Ballad of Markus, Velafi says half tiefling and half not. Originally that would lead to the assumption that one of his parents was a demon and the other human. But Markus confirmed that his dad’s line had been serving the royal line for generations as tieflings. Then One in “God’s are Gone” confirms again that it was Markus’ ancestors that made the pack with Demons and that Markus’ demon blood is actually incredibly deluded. So when he says the line half Demon man he means half tiefling, not half demon half human. That leaves the other half of his family line completely unknown. With the easiest answer being that his mother was just a human. But in the campfire episode, he intentionally skips around his mother. Stating “I can talk about my mother another time”. If she’s dead there’s no reason for talk of his mother to be a completely different story.

Until what we got in the most recent ep the assumption was human and the theory was celestial. Nahal states that he smells Royal and Markus repeats the line he said to Ashe all the way back in the campfire episode. He’s not royal; he’s royal adjacent or almost royalty. Nahal then drops the name of the Royal group she thought he smelled like, Aasimar. Aasimar’s are angels (Don’t know if that needs to be explained or not.) which checks out with Markus’ admittance that the Royals were celestial in nature. But that’s not the point. The point is we all know a scent that “rubbed off on him” wouldn’t stick around to the present which is 20 years later. Especially when Ashe on multiple occasions has mentioned the brimstone smell that is always on him. The only way the Aasimar scent would still be coming off of him was if he was making it himself and it was just covered up to most people by the smell of brimstone.

So that’s all the new stuff which is just confirming a theory people have had for a while. Now it’s time to connect it to all the other parts of his story. Starting with his mom! In the campfire episode, he actively skips over her and focuses’ on his father even though by his own admission his dad was rarely around. Mostly because of his dad’s work and also because this would have been the time when Markus was sent away to “wizard high school” aka boarding school. To be half Aasimar his mother would have been one of the royals. It would have made Markus’ birth a scandalous affair. If not for that fact that it was clearly covered up. He grew up with his dad and the servant’s most likely being told his mother was dead. And when Markus’ uncontrollable magic, that was clearly stronger than an average tiefling, showed up he was sent to wizard high school to learn to control it. Markus is clearly now aware that his magic is stronger than the average well anyone. It’s where the label “sorcerlock” comes from. As well as his reading of Nahal in the most recent episode.

At some point when he’s younger, Markus labels the age “around 12”. His father sits him down to explain why it’s important they serve the royal family. Knowing that his Dad had been and might still be in a secret relationship with one of them explains what his father said. “True fulfillment comes only through obedience and servitude to something greater than yourself.”  It’s the only quote from the conversation Markus remembers. To Markus, it left a bad taste in his mouth that he remembers to this day. To his father, it was probably the only way he could keep his little broken family together. As long as he and Markus kept their heads down and served the royal family. He’d be able to stay near the love of his life. Assuming she wasn’t dead.

Meeting Silverfish in the woods most likely happened before he went off to school. Since little Markus makes no reference to magic. But he does tell the ironic lie that he’s a prince from a nearby kingdom. Because of Ashe and Gregor’s meddling, it’s impossible to tell how much of their part of the dream actually happened. I do believe Markus and Silverfish ran into a hunter and Markus convinced said hunter to help with the promise of getting paid. Of course, said hunter wasn’t paid and Markus ran away from them. It would have been the first time he put on a fake persona. The origin of Morkass Velafmor if you will.

Markus is sent to Wizard High school for the rest of his teen years. Some of his fear of high school is played up for laughs. But I do believe he struggled. The restrictions imposed on Inien’s type of magic would have made a very awkward learning environment for someone with basically unlimited magical reserves. He does eventually get a handle on his magic most likely through his own private studies. Once done with his schooling he returns to Tannhauser.

Upon his return he starts taking over his father’s duties as he was chosen to do. He does well in the position and gains the king’s trust. Then, of course, the big night happens. The king gets drunk and Markus escorts the King to his room alone. Markus learns two things that night. First is what he told the group at the campfire. The family line currently on the throne was not the original royal line. This truth shakes him, but it’s not the reason he left.

Markus learns of a second cover-up, all about him. He learns that his mother is part of the royal family either the king’s sister or daughter, depending on how old this king was. He was old enough that Markus was being trained to serve the next king and not this current king. He learns that even if he’s the oldest heir his half breed status would keep him from the throne. He also puts together that the king he’s being trained to serve is either his younger half brother or younger cousin. Which explains why Markus, Matt, and Jay all compare Markus to viziers. The head adviser to the king usually had some family relation to the king. It’s where the evil uncle stealing the throne from the young prince trope comes from. Young Markus literally reads a book about a Vizier that gets away with it in his flashback dream.

Learning this truth leaves Markus with a choice. The choice he tells Ashe. He can reveal the lie and along the way put himself on the throne or he can leave. This part is even in the Ballad of Markus Velafi. “This mountain that I’ve summited I’ve fallen from by choice.” He “laid siege to the gods” and was at the top. He easily could have taken the thrown either legitimately if he’s the oldest or illegitimately by causing another coop and “leading” the servants to revolution. Them never putting together that he was related to the royals they were overthrowing. But he chose to throw it all away. He left and never turned back.

Now it’s many years later. His father and the King are certainly dead and the current king is a younger relative of his. Wither that king knows of Markus’ relation to him depends on if the Tannhausers are showing up in TI anytime soon. And with multiple new characters referencing Tannhauser or straight up saying they’re from there. It’s incredibly likely we’ll get more of Markus’ story very soon. 

So yeah that’s where we are. Markus is half demon half angel and now we just need to wait for the others to put it together. I do wonder if the Celestial part is why his demon form is more colorful then One’s. It would also explain the invisible barrier that protected him along with his little demon wings when Ashe attacked him in the dream. There’s also the fact that Matt has admitted that Markus does a glamour spell 24/7. I’ve always seen glamour as a more light affiliated spell. It’s an illusion that affects what people see by changing what light shows basically.  Who knows but I’m really excited to see what’s coming!

PS. thank you for reading all this. Sorry, again it’s so long.

[404botnotfound]

Hope

SERIES: Destiny WORD COUNT: 3,719 CHARACTERS: kel, @gildedskeleton​‘s Sloane, @tagyourjakku​‘s Vera, lord shaxx

rewrite of an older fic bc i’m apparently determined to give facelifts to all of my older stuff.

When she comes to, the first thing Sloane notices is a steady beeping.

Her eyes blink open slowly, blurry vision settling on machinery that takes her several long seconds to identify as medical in nature—assumably, it’s what’s making the beeping.

She wants the beeping to stop.

A groan leaves her. Every bit of her body and mind feels sluggish, her senses dulled and delayed like a heavy static has settled over her and is determined to keep her from who she is where she is why she’s here.

Medical equipment. A flat and uncomfortable hospital bed. Sterile white surroundings. That Sky-damned beeping.

She’s in the med-wing of the Tower. Was the obfuscation of her senses a result of drugs? It’s the only conclusion she can come to.

Even through the haze of whatever drugs are pumping through her veins she feels exhausted, tired for a reason she can’t fathom or can’t remember. Had there been an accident out in the field? Why couldn’t she remember? Where had she been before?

No answers are forthcoming, and she decides it’s in her best interests to just go with it and turns her head back onto the pillow. Her eyes slide shut.

For whatever reason, the idea of falling asleep again just scares her. Why?

Slowly, infuriatingly slowly, her brain supplies her images—all the nightmares of past days-weeks-months, the whispering hiding in the dark corners of her mind and thoughts, the fear the panic.

She see Shaxx and Vera’s worried faces.

She hears a gunshot.

Her eyes snap open, the exhaustion not so much vanishing as pushed away in favor of anxiety. Of fear. Why is she so afraid? Gunshots were an everyday occurence for guardians. Their entire existence revolved around gunfire and fighting and danger.

Why am I so afraid?

The gunshot echoes between her ears, and with the numbing haze of the drags washing away with sudden clarity Sloane can feel the soreness in her back, the ache in her neck. Something has happened, they weren’t just everyday aches and pains. Something something…

What?

There’s no visual accompanying the sound in her head, nothing to tell her why it’s there or what it’s supposed to mean or why the hell it scares her so much.

Swallowing the stone that had settled in her throat Sloane presses her eyes shut and wills the anxiety wriggling in her stomach to vanish, to go away—begs the whispering in the back of her head to leave because she doesn’t want it and she’s tired of dealing with it.

Something had happened. Did it have something to do with those whispers?

Her senses return to her agonizingly slow and when they do she realizes, with no small amount of bittersweet amusement, that a light-binding cuff is keeping her restrained to the rail on the side of the bed.

There was another clue that made the wriggling in her stomach intensify; something had happened, the whispers were back, and someone didn’t trust her to be moving freely. Whatever it was that had landed her here, it hadn’t been good.

Everything she’s been struggling with, of late, made the words ‘it hadn’t been good’ fall so woefully short.

Her thoughts drift into anxious emptiness, the static clearing for just long enough—

—someone is in the room with her.

Eyes snapping open she jolts upright on the cot and drags her eyes around, taking in everything she can and not seeing a damn thing that could be causing the hair-raising feeling of being watched.

What now? Hallucinations instead of just voices? Phantoms that accompany the whispers? Ones that plague her presence and tell her to attack the people she cares about? To bleed them of their light and leave them dark and empty?

Her body is wrought with an animal fear that has her tense to the point of painful.

No one is in the room. Someone is, but no one is.

Swallowing again, she looks around one more time with slower and more careful eyes—and then she catches sight of white hair at the foot of her bed. Her throat restricts in panic and horror.

A little girl. Her little girl. The same white hair and the same light blue skin, coruscating with light and her eyes dark and curious. There’s nothing but pure innocence in her gaze, but even if Sloane didn’t know acutely why her little girl shouldn’t be here she can feel the crawling over her skin intensify under Stella’s stare.

“Ignore it.” A man’s voice says out of thin air. Sloane nearly screams at it, her heart leaping into her throat and gaze once again whipping around the room; this time she catches sight of the slight shimmer in the air that’s settled in the darkest corner of the stark white room. “It’s what I do.”

Out of the shimmer materializes the form of a hunter that had been completely immobile and silent, hidden by one of the light-given abilities of his class.

He’s tall, athletically built, and wearing dark clothes underneath burnished armor that’s equally as dark. Greaves, gauntlets, a chest plate—light and functional and typical of hunters. The pieces of armor have accents of forest green and are covered in scorch marks and scratches, remnants of dents that couldn’t be completely hammered out. Even the cloak he wore, pitch black with a thin edge of venom-green along the edge of the hood, is ripped and tattered where it brushes booted ankles.

Visual tales of hard-fought battles and fights to survive, ones that he came out of alive but maybe not unscathed.

This was a hunter that’s been alive for a very long time.

The helmet he wears is stark black and featureless. He doesn’t remove it.

Most guardians would remove their helmets to speak to one another while in secure zones, whether it be for polite courtesy or just a desire to be more emotive. At first Sloane thinks that he isn’t doing so because he doesn’t feel she’s safe to be around, but something in her gut tells her that it’s just the way this hunter is.

She stares at the impartial and empty visor, trying to get some kind of read on the man from body language or anything, but he’s offering nothing outwardly. Not so much as a twitch of a finger.

Something draws her eyes down, and when they light on the handgun strapped to his thigh she wonders how she missed it the first time. It’s ichor-black, the frame jagged like teeth or thorns, and all along the barrel it pulses with sickly green light.

She must be imagining the way it almost seems—hungry. It’s just a gun. Whatever issues she’s dealing with, it has to be her imagination.

“You see her too?” She finally asks after a length, her tongue leaden within her mouth.

His head turns towards the foot of her bed and she follows his gaze.

Her little girl is gone.

Great, so she is seeing phantoms on top of everything else. Weakly hysterical laughter bubbles in her throat but she swallows it down.

“It looked like a ‘her’ to you?” He asks, and she blinks back over at him, confused.

“I thought you implied you could see her, too?”

His arms fold over his chest at the question but his head doesn’t turn back towards her, almost like he’s waiting for her to show up again. He doesn’t seem to have any desire to step closer to her while they speak. “I saw a shadow. That ghost is yours, not mine. Suppose being able to see it despite that is a...gift.”

She shivers in response, only managing to push away the fear by latching onto a piece of his answer. “You see ghosts?”

“Have for hundreds of years.” He answers, finally returning his focus back to her. She’s not sure if it’s an improvement. “Little girl. Blonde hair, bright smile, frilly pink dress. Never talked until recently. Quiet whispers.”

He’s staring at her, and the completely empty aura he’s putting off is making her skin crawl just as much as her little girl’s presence had—no, wait. It’s not empty, it’s just...cold. Carefully impassive.

Eager for something to keep her from the subject of whispers and ghosts, Sloane allows her curiosity to take over and she studies the hunter a bit more carefully.

He’s completely still where he stands, almost to the point where it’s difficult to discern if he’s even breathing. Every movement he’s made up to this point from the simple turns of his head to the slow but deliberate shift as he crossed his arms, it all spoke of absolute control to her. Like he’s pouring every ounce of his focus into restraining his entire being from everything around him.

Like he’s trying to be a blank slate, an empty husk. Unapproachable. Unnerving.

She wonders why.

“She was yours?” Sloane asks finally, not sure if she should. Her eyes flick back over to the end of the bed with discomfort, knowing that she’s certainly not comfortable with her own painful reminder.

His response is delayed and heavy. “Long time ago. Does yours whisper to you?”

Her breathing catches at the question and her eyes widen slightly. It’s a bad time for the whispering that had been nothing but a quiet haze at the back of her mind to crescendo into a dull roar, but she can’t control when and where the voices decide to coerce her with dark urges.

It can’t be her little girl that had been tormenting her with all these black thoughts recently. Not only was she—gone, not only that, but it wasn’t possible.

She’s not fine, and she knows that the blackness that had been pooling between her ears ever since that accident with SIVA wasn’t normal. Was she going insane? Had she dug just the slightest bit too deep, just like Toland the Shattered had once?

Was she going to be kept from Shaxx and Vera, exiled from the City for being corrupted?

Terror grips at her heart and she opens her mouth to lie that she has no idea what he’s talking about.

“There’s a darkness clinging to you.” He says, cutting her off before the words can even leave her mouth. For the first time she can hear emotion in his voice; barely a ripple, almost imperceptible, but the concerned frustration is enough to break through his impassivity. “I can feel it.”

Her vision blurs with panic that threatens to choke and overwhelm her and she drops her gaze to the sheets her hands are fisted in. She’s known it since they brought her out of the Plaguelands. SIVA had marked her to the point that not even Buddy could completely repair her.

The nightmares were evidence enough, but the fact that she’s stabbed herself and keeps having to resist her own impulses to harm the people she cares for—

“You nearly shot Ikora Rey.”

Shock jolts her out of the panic and her eyes snap back up to him. “What?”

“I heard Shaxx...talking about it.”

The way he hesitates before saying ‘talking’ has a trace of amusement to it; based on her own knowledge of the titan she knows that what he actually means is he had probably been arguing with someone about the event. Loudly.

The event which she...can’t…

The gunshot.

Oh, Sky help her.

Inhaling sharply Sloane lifts her hands and presses them into the sides of her skull, tries once again to will the cacophony of voices that aren’t hers to subside, to be quiet, to leave her alone. “I didn’t mean...I don’t—is she?”

“She’s fine.” His answer is quick and, she thinks, just the slightest bit gentle. For someone so consciously, tightly contained and controlled, it says a lot. “You lost control. People were there to intervene.”

The statement gives her no comfort. She had nearly shot a Vanguard member. She had attacked someone. A whimper of fear bubbles in her throat.

“For what it’s worth, you aren’t the first to lose control in the Vanguard’s presence. Eris Morn spoke on behalf of one other beside you. They know that wasn’t you.” His voice is even quieter and much more obviously warm.

But she catches the second meaning in his words, and when she opens her eyes she levels them on the hand cannon at his side, staring and wondering.

She looks him in what she hopes is the eye again, her hands shaking as she lowers them back to her lap. She knows this hunter, now that she thinks about it—doesn’t she? He was clearly a veteran, knows Shaxx well enough to find amusement in his typically toothless temper.

He couldn’t mean he was the other one, could he?

His head tilts to the side ever so slightly. Could he tell where her thoughts had gone? “You’ll regain their trust. You just have to learn to control it.”

“Control what?” She asks, her voice hoarse and strained; the throbbing in her skull makes it hard to think. “What is happening to me?”

The whispers are wild and overwhelming, greedy and grasping and leaving flashes of red and black sinew in the corners of her vision; they want her to find the nearest weapon and rend this hunter to shreds.

“The darkness you faced is digging its fingers into you, and it’s going to keep digging until it wins and you dance like a puppet on its strings. You need to find the strength to push back. To fight it.” He must have known that her question was more rhetorical than anything else, but the fact he has an answer for her all but confirms her earlier question.

He knows exactly what she’s going through. He understands it intimately, regardless of how it took shape for him. Whether it was the little girl he mentioned or some other outside force, perhaps a kind of madness he’d been reborn with.

She doesn’t know what this is and doesn’t know how to get rid of it, but she wants it gone. The phantoms, the whispers, the stifling haze of losing control, all of it. It has her backed into a corner without a way to fight back and without a way to escape.

However he had fought it back, she didn’t have it. How do you fight against something intangible, something within your own mind?

“Look at me.” He says, and she blinks as it brings her out of the panic that had begun to build again, her eyes refocusing on him. His words are firm and unyielding, almost as though he’s trying to project his own strength and control into her. “The darkness will make you think your light is gone. Like you’re trapped in the black and there’s no way out. It’ll use that fear if you let it.”

“And what if the light is gone?” She demands, her voice cracking and her eyes welling up.

The hunter takes a single step forward. “The light isn’t ever gone. It can be trapped, choked, diminished—but it’s always there. If you can’t find it in yourself, you let others lead you back to it.”

Her throat constricts with some unnameable emotion. She says nothing, the words not coming and all the questions she has jumbled and nonsensical.

“Hope is a hard thing to kill.” He says, voice quiet. “It can die, but only if you give up on it. Only if you let yourself believe it’s gone. And when you do, you’ll do things that’ll make you sick and ashamed. So you have to fight to keep hope from dying. You find it, you grab hold of it in whatever form it takes, and you don’t let go. Ever. Not even when it flickers.”

She swallows, wringing her hands together anxiously; he knows what this is. He knows, and he’s telling her how to fight it. Hope is a hard thing to kill. Even embers can start a roaring, sweeping fire.

Whatever black haze in her mind hisses at her or at him or at both of them, trying to grasp that knowledge and rip it away from her.

Find your hope. Grab it. Don’t let go.

So she does. “Does it go away?”

He’s silent for a long, heavy pause. “No.”

Her lips tremble at the answer. Find your hope. Find....find it. Don’t let go.

“You can’t let yourself stop fighting it. You know what it is now. Recognize when it’s trying to take control. Fight it like you’ve got nothing to lose. Fight it harder if you do have something to lose.”

With a shaky exhale Sloane lifts her hands and drags them down her face, and she fights. She reaches for every ounce of strength that tries to flee from her and she wills the angry hissing and whispers at the back of her mind away.

She thinks of Shaxx and Vera, of their smiles and laughter and her lips twitch into a smile at the memory of Shaxx once throwing her over his shoulder so he could run off while Vera chased.

The whispers are drowned out.

The hunter waits patiently, completely silent until she looks wearily over at him. No longer is his aura cold and dispassionate; he almost seems...satisfied. Proud. Is she imagining it?

He’s incredibly difficult to read.

“What’s your name?” She asks him.

Whether he was going to answer or not, the door to the room slides open with a sudden hiss and both her and the hunter’s attention move to the doorway. Through it steps Vera, followed shortly by Shaxx’s imposing form—

The titan goes rigid upon catching sight of the hunter, his fists clenching tightly at his sides; Sloane doesn’t need to see his face behind the flat visor of his horned helmet to know some kind of fury has overtaken him.

Vera notices it as well and stops next to Sloane’s bed, blinking first at Shaxx and then following his gaze to the hunter—who’s gone back to standing as still and as silent as the grave, the aura of aloof coldness returning.

She doesn’t know the hunter well enough to tell, but she knows stillness with Shaxx usually spoke of impending violence.

“Shaxx, it’s okay. He’s—”

“You’re not going to convince him I’m a friend.” The hunter cuts her off, and both her and Vera look at him. He doesn’t look away from Shaxx. Probably wise considering at the moment Shaxx looks about five seconds from attempting to liberate the hunter’s limbs from his body. “I was, once.”

“And you never will be again, Dredgen. You don’t belong here.” Shaxx says, electricity sparking around his arms. Sloane has never heard him this angry before.

“No, I don’t.” The hunter agrees, completely unbothered by whatever damning accusation Shaxx was leveling onto him. No, not unbothered. Just...accepting of it.

Wait—Dredgen? Why does she know that word? That name?

Dredgen Yor. She can feel herself pale at the cold realization, her wide eyes going back to the hunter and flickering once again to the black hand cannon he carried. Was he—could he be? The legendary Dredgen Yor hadn’t been seen in hundreds upon hundreds of years, and this hunter was old.

But if he was, why would he help her? She’s heard the stories, the whispers, seen the infinitesimally small words written in the margins of texts. Wasn’t the darkness his game? Why would he give her to tools to fight it, if he were one and the same?

He couldn’t be.

“You still hold that vile weapon, and you have the gall to step foot in the City?” Shaxx’s voice rises in volume.

Now the hunter just seems amused. “Believe it or not, old friend, I was invited.”

Shaxx advances on him with threat lining every tense muscle in his body. “Do you expect me to believe that one of our own would risk unleashing a guardian killer on the City? You are a monster corrupted by the very things we fight.”

Guardian killer. She sucks in a breath—hadn’t there been a true death, recently? One within a Crucible match, one that had left Shaxx furious for weeks? Is that what he was referring to?

“Do you call Eris a monster to her face?” The hunter asks pointedly, not so much as flinching at Shaxx’s attempt at intimidation. His arms drop to his sides and he nods over at Sloane, causing her to stiffen. “Are you going to call her that to her face?”

Shaxx’s imposing fury is doused by the question, confusion replacing it like a bucket tossed over a campfire.

All three of them watch as the hunter—still unconcerned with Shaxx’s threat—in that carefully controlled way of his moves for the door. He sidesteps the titan and as he passes leaves a bitter statement with him. “Darkness leaves its marks. All we can do is own our failures and mistakes and move forward. Whatever you think of me now, Shaxx, that’s all I’m trying to do.”

Shaxx’s fists clench and unclench at his sides again as he deliberates stopping the hunter on his way out. He doesn’t, his stance just shy of relaxed.

The hunter starts to turn down the hall but pauses in the threshold, turning back and looking at Sloane once more. “Find your light. Don’t let anything take it from you.”

And then he’s gone.

No one in the room speaks for a heavy length, but then both Shaxx and Vera turn curious and concerned gazes onto her—she’s still looking at the place where the hunter had vanished with a stomach twisting in anxiety.

Hope is a hard thing to kill.

Find your light.

Don’t let go.

Her light felt so far away. It felt nonexistent. She couldn’t see it anymore, and the black static in her mind is still there like a cancer, just waiting to infect her further.

Her eyes flicker between the two people that mean everything to her, and the ill feeling in her stomach eases.

Maybe it feels like it’s gone, but she holds onto his words. She had a reason to not give up hope, a reason to keep her light alive, a reason to fight.

And she was going to fight like hell.