#But now the remnants can be used to create “new life”

[profounddefendorcrusade-blog]

More on Clover's personality/mbti

this one's shorter don't worry

So, I mentioned before how Clover's creative when it comes to a lot of stuff (more than they are grounded), but there's also the fact they can sing (that's how they spare Insomnitot), dance (not as much into it as Bailador, but they CAN dance), make puns (Gun-hat and how they wanted to make puns in the stable in Wild East; idk the exact line) are into drawing (in Axis' office, you'll get a text saying "You wish you could draw that well..."), video games (with Mew Mew) and they even know how to play the harmonica (from the teaser trailer), plus tend to zone out ↓

They constantly kept choosing kindness over what's right.

Those are PERSONAL values they have, that these monsters deserve forgiveness. I really think the inferior Te clashes with dominant Fi in their case. Clover wants to do what's objectively right and just, but at same time their heart is just too pure. They were able to empathise with everyone and get in everyone's shoes (also affectionate but that's a bonus) ↓

there's no change in their kindness from the beginning to end

Like if they were actually in court I don't think they'd act like a "typical" judge and deliver 100% fair consequences. No, that Fi kindness would ALWAYS win, like it did with Star and Ceroba.

Clover's Fi was always there, but differentiates depending on the route. In pacifist, they decided that everyone, in spite of what they objectively did wrong, should be forgiven and understood. In neutral, they decide whose actions were moral enough to get spared, and whose weren't. In geno, instead of killing five monsters, they wipe out anyone THEY think is in their way.

If they were Ti dominant they'd naturally be a lot more rigid and have/show a lot less empathy, imo. The Te inferior is present in geno bc they think they are dealing with the events in the outside world objectively, but the Fi is still there, that's why they don't stop killing: THEY are the one who thinks it should be this way. Clover wants to influence/control the outer world (Te; they don't spend a lot of time dwelling on their actions, unlike Ti users, Clover's a lot more forceful) based on how they subjectively think things should be (still that Fi except that it manifests differently than in pacifist). Clover as a thinker would naturally be more detached from emotions, but they're... they're not. Even in the beginning.

Inferior Te present their Fi opinions like they are objective Te facts - I found this line and it instantly reminded me of geno Clover. "Yeah, I'm right for killing everyone, even though I'm really not"

Clover becomes like a "manager of justice" when in their dark side. You step outta line, you're dead - that's kinda the "structure" I think we're talking about here. Still values over how logically to assess a situation, though. Ceroba calls them naive.

This means that Clover WANTS.... no, ALWAYS WANTED to approach the "missing children" situation like they're in control, but in reality, they were without a clear plan of what to do and how to do it. That's inferior Te.

On the contrary, in the vengance route, they step into their inferior function and take control... but at what cost.

As for their Si, we have the fact Clover remembers their past home life, remembers cramped living conditions, their responsibilities at home, the TV channel they "watched"...

All this stuff from the past contributed to them leaving for the Underground (aka affected their future). I really really don't think Clover has auxiliary Se. That would mean they're usually present-focused. But no, this kid's thought process feels more complex to me. As explained, Se mostly focuses on what's in front of them; Clover, while in the present, can think of the past (their home life), which then influences their future (jumping down Mt. Ebott). And when in the present, they can think of the far future (dying during their mission and therefore never coming back home or becoming an adult, and in the end the potential freedom of monsterkind) and recall the past vividly (all those things their friends told them throughout their journey)

They don't suspect Flowey's malicious, either. And even if some part of them didnt trust Ceroba, Clover never showed it or said anything out loud (not that i remember), and even if they did, they still chose to spare Axis since he is the only thing left of Chujin. That's naive, maybe. But Clover's REALLY REALLY REALLY sweet.

Speaking of Flowey... remember how he would often encourage Clover and tell them to have more confidence and that they "don't have to be scared" and "lean on him for emotional support" and that they should "have some faith in themselves too"? Yeah, that's the aspect of their personality that they had to work on; becoming the leader they were always meant to be.

Their arc feels like going from a scared kid to a great hero. Aka stepping into that inferior Te... the right way.

[bonesofapoet]

ruination [ lucanis dellamorte x rook ] author's note: i am sleepy and threw this together, but I wanted to share lucanis reacting Badly to rook being reckless in battle so! yeehaw kids let's goooo word count: 839

Everything disintegrated upon your return to camp. 

The copse of trees sheltering the clearing sighed with your weary bones, welcoming you back to this makeshift home after a mission gone so magnificently, catastrophically sideways. Your tent beckoned you into it's sweet embrace, in which you were seconds away from answering it's call - yet a body grazed past, a mere breath away from clipping your shoulder.

A tightness began to slip around your ribcage, burrowing deep and harsh and stubborn into your unsuspecting heart.

Lucanis veered off towards his tent, soundless in voice, yet lacking stealth in his execution. Twigs snapped under boots, metal twanged as gear unclipped and fell to the ground. 

It was obvious how he felt by the way his brows fell together, eyes narrowed so their corners crinkled. Arms were crossed over leather armor upon your approach, half discarded with a grip tight enough to bunch up fabric exposed and straps hanging loose. Angry, would be an understatement, you decide. Livid, however, seemed to be a more accurate description.

"You could have - you almost died."

He sees the rise and fall of your chest as your breath deepens. The audible sigh of an exhale being the prelude to something he knows is going to rile him even more, knowing you. And he does - know you, that is - more than he'd like to dwell on. He knows you and that, apparently, seems to be the trouble.

"Yes," you nod once. Hold yourself a step back, giving him his space. "But I had an opening, and you were busy, if you recall-"

"I was there, yes -"

"I'm sorry." The harshness of his tone was enough  prompting for the words to come spilling through your lips. They still tasted faintly of blood and sweat and magic. You wished he would come near and kiss it away.

Your words sounded scratchy, rough almost. Sincere, for sure. Lucanis wishes he could reach for you and -

"You're sorry."

"I -" you hesitate, unsure how to navigate what you may have just broken. It's new, this version of your Crow. You haven't met him yet, not directly, and now balking in the face of such an occurrence seemed like the thing to do, when caught so off guard.

Truth be told, you hadn't been expecting a confrontation. At least not one so. . .personal.

"I reacted," you mend. "And I suppose in hindsight, I see how it - how I miscalculated. Obviously." the hand not wrapped in bandages raises, gestures to the remnants of the fight marring your skin. It all aches, but you're not going to let him see that. 

Lucanis stares, and stares, and stares. The grip on his elbows lessen, and he shakes his head, stepping back to create more distance. He sees you watching him, eyes wide and clouding with something like hurt, when he backs away from you.

His response is quick, sudden in the way he tears off his gloves and finishes unlatching the buckles of his leathers. They don't fall to the ground so much as they are aggressively dropped, a pile of bloody gear laying at his feet. He needs to take a minute. To breathe, to think, anything - because he's not sure he can hone this kind of anger into anything useful at this very moment. Except -

Except.

You catch the way Lucanis hides the tremors of his hands by busying them with his blades. The way his response time is longer when he removes the bandolier across his chest. How they shake when reaching down to unearth hidden knives in boots and daggers secured in hidden sheaths. He says nothing, yet doesn't turn you away, doesn't walk away, either.

Because Lucanis had come face to face with a possibility he had not allowed himself to foresee. You could have died, and he would be here, in camp, mourning over your pyre instead of hiding how impossibly, magnificently, gut-wrenchingly unprepared he is to lead a life void of - well, you.

A few paces away, your boot toes the ground. You can't look at him either, right now.

"Right. Well. I'll leave you to it then."

Lucanis stops. Slips his gaze to where you stand, a picture of valiant failure to appear nonchalant. He sees the regret tainting your expression, coloring your vibrant heart into melancholy shades of mountain greys. The way you hold yourself back from anything remotely resembling yourself in the wake of a mistake, yes, but - don't you care you almost died?

The blades in his hands fall to the ground, their CLANK clattering loud in the mutual silence. The way your eyes shine as you turn and walk away - 

He lets you go, this time, a hand ripping through hair, an exhale tearing up his lungs. He knows he's hurt you, but until he calms the hell down - it's something he can live with, even if it reopens wounds he thought he'd burned shut.

This dance is tearing both of you into a million pieces, because neither of you will take the goddamn lead.

[nerdyenby]

Going insane about how the world of Minecraft keeps growing. Taller, wider, deeper, older than we the player will ever truly know. We are tiny in the grand scheme of things, yet we have been given this world — this universe — as a blank canvas.

We have the power to shape the world to our will, to literally move the mountains, yet we could never explore it all. There is no end for us to find, there is no beginning we can make any sense of, there only is the now and the remnants of the past buried beneath our feet.

The world is coming back to life around us, but with it emerges reminders of the immense loss this universe has suffered.

We find plants thriving without sunlight; we find darkness unfathomable with creatures who cannot comprehend the light and kill without mercy, alone for who knows how long. We discover a new mineral only now beginning to form again, presumably after being harvested nearly out of existence, but we find no trace of where it all went - of what it was used for. We find otherworldly new crops that have been in the soil below us all along; unable to reemerge on their own and us ignorant to their existence.

We find a way to bring back a species long extinct, but how many of them died first? We find ruins and remnants of structures created by intelligent creatures, but these people are gone. We don’t know what happened to them, who they were, or what knowledge they may have had to pass down to us.

We know nothing of the people who came before us. Their structures are submerged under the ocean and beneath the earth. Any language they may have left behind has long since been lost to time. All we know is that someone used to be here, that this world was lived in and loved, and now it is ours alone.

We are the sole inhabitants of a world we used to be able to believe was fresh and new and untouched by man, but as the game progresses we realize that was never the case. We were never the first ones here. This world has a history, one of love and life and pain and death we will never get the full story of. We’re starting to develop the tools to uncover some of the pieces, but we will never be able to grasp what came before.

Maybe we were never meant to find out. Knowing we aren’t alone in the universe changes everything, but does it really? So we are not the first to build our homes and live our lives here. This is still our home and this is still our life.

This world knows loss unfathomable, but she found us and took us in. This world has seen far more destruction than we will ever know, yet she entrusts herself to us, allowing us to create. This world has a past, but we are her present, and we get to help shape her future.

[kepler-station]

౨ৎ.𖥔˚ 'masquerade of the impartial' — cookie run: kingdom oneshot/drabble

— 𝜗𝜚 "i wanna live better days, never look back and say 'it could have been me!'" or i mean, normally there are five beasts and five ancient heroes, right? well, what if there was a sixth?

— rq by @l1l-sprout 🫶🏻, thank you so much for requesting ! prt ii !!

— because reader is requested to be inspired/basically is furina and nahida but in cookie run: kingdom, i've taken a liberty to make the non-justice cookie reader a well known figure on earthbread, esp. in the faerie kingdom since they were like conceived in front of the tree basically. i mean like it's not that implied either but it's canon. i prob. should've asked beforehand but i also took inspiration from navia for reader's character. correction, i picture impartiality to be like navia.

— moreover, reader is a part of the ancient heroes. i just felt like i was fitting, but without a kingdom. you and white lily both, you and white lily both. (you 🤝 white lily, having no kingdom) more-moreover, only pure vanilla was there to witness the execution while the others were told via letter just like how they were told abt the beasts. meanwhile, all of the beasts witnessed the execution through the tree and of course the brave gang saw it in person (or in cookie...?)

— like vaguely inspired by @brittle-doughie's compassion au writings, a crk creator whose content i've been reading for a while. 🙌🏻

𔓕 ⸝⸝ ꒱ sumi radio ; could have been me by the struts/halsey

ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ heads up ! — reader's virtue is green and soul jam is red, the shape can be up to you bcuz my brain isn't helping me make one up.

— "impartiality" is used as the substitute for "reader cookie" in narrative parts while in dialogue they're referred to as "[impartiality] cookie" and "[justice] cookie" for the beast.

— reader is portrayed as somewhat timid..?

During the earliest days of Dessertkind, the Witches baked six cookies to assist with the creation of the new world. Imbued with special powers, they walked Earthbread as great heroes who aided the Witches themselves.

Knowledge, Volition, Happiness, Change, Solidarity, and Justice.

One by one, five of the six virtues fell to the abyss named corruption...

...An abyss not even the Witches were able to perceive.

Justice observed Knowledge turn into Deceit, Volition turn into Apathy, Happiness into Sloth, Change into Destruction, and Solidarity into Silence. To avoid the inevitable as they foresaw, they created a coy dough-body using their own dough, molded to be the cookie whom they had desired to be and everything that they had wished to be.

But this action turned out to be a double edged-sword. Was it justice to create the perfect cookie taking the best traits from your friends or was it being selfish taking things from others only to benefit yourself as you saw fit?

And there it was, amidst the creation of the coy-dough body, Justice turned into Selfishness.

Now known as the Six Beasts, these apostles of evil brought the longest age of darkness upon the land the Witches had worked on for so long.

The Witches could not bear to see this fall upon their beloved creation. Consequently, they punished the six and sealed them away in the lands of Beast-Yeast, planting the seed of what would become the Silver Tree to ensure their darkness would never see the light of day again.

The Witches then gathered the last remnants of power left untouched by darkness, and further purified it... turning it into Soul Jam.

The purest Soul Jam was mean to be earned by Cookies who had proven themselves worthy.

One by one, the Soul Jam was earned rightfully by the fated Cookies.

Truth, Resolution, Passion, Abundance, Freedom...

But years before, on the day the Six Beasts were sealed away, the Soul Jam procured from Justice was bestowed unto the coy-dough body by the same Witch who baked the Cookie of Justice. As the Soul Jam gave life to the limp coy-dough body, the pure Virtue of Justice became the Light of Impartiality.

A mission assigned by the Witches themselves, Impartiality was tasked to keep the world in balance, to fight the darkness and disperse the light across the land.

Years later, as the Soul Jam was coveted one by one, earned rightfully by diligence and patience, Impartiality joined the group of friends that would one day be known as the Six Ancient Heroes.

All but White Lily Cookie and Impartiality went out and built elaborate, and revolutionary kingdoms as they were chosen to be heroes of a brand new era of peace. Impartiality survived and justified the actions of a harbinger of darkness who kick-started one of the longest eras of darkness in Cookie history.

It wasn't long when Impartiality gazed out of their abode high in the clouds and it dawned on them that the inevitable had come, and a big decision was on the horizon... The Beasts have awoken.

And here you are, staring into the forests of Beast-Yeast, a bittersweet feeling tugging at your chest's heart tightly at the sight of your first home. It doesn't help the fact that you're just like those right next to you right now, you don't know who these beasts are either, but they supposedly know you. I mean, obviously the Faeries know who you are, but the Beasts too..? They probably saw through the tree... But if they saw that, then they should've seen—

"[Impartiality], are you quite alright? You look... lightheaded." Right, you mustn't get distracted with other missions. You are looking for Dark Enchantress Cookie and Dark Encantress Cookie alone.

Pure Vanilla Cookie put a hand on your shoulder. You shook your head and responded by, "I'm fine, Pure Vanilla Cookie. I'm just... not used to flying like this." A moment of silence passed between you two before Pure Vanilla admitted he knows you for long enough to know you're lying about something, but he chooses not to pry after facing rejection again, following Strawberry Cookie commenting how pale you look.

When they had left you be, the Light of Impartiality spoke to you again. "But you must make a decision now. You are approaching your first home and where your first friends lay grounded. You are aware the Six Beasts have awakened, and with them..." The Light of Impartiality trailed off as you continued the thought. "[Justice] Cookie..."

"The first holder of your Soul Jam. A beast with power far beyond yours. Of course I am not aware of their power myself, but do you choose to hide this revelation from your friends... and fail to warn them before disaster strikes..." You couldn't say anything.

And then the airship crashed.

Clutching your Soul Jam as Pure Vanilla Cookie takes your hand and helps you up on your two legs, you look around both warily and nostalgically. Everyone's words seem to fade into the background as the Light of Impartiality's words still echo in your mind. "...And fail to warn them before disaster strikes..."

"[Impartiality] Cookie?" Gingerbrave asks you, the group already several steps ahead after meeting Carameleon Cookie. Concern can be seen on Strawberry Cookie and Pure Vanilla Cookie's faces as you clutch your Soul Jam once more, "It's nothing... L-let's keep going."

You can feel the Light of Impartiality facepalm at you right then and there.

Yeast Spores soon come the group's way, and you make quick use of them using your own magic. Nothing you're too familiar with. As they divide and divide and divide, the others join in on fighting before Gingerbrave comments, "What on Earthbread are those?! They keep dividing, and dividing, and dividing...!" You turn your head and respond before the Cameleon Jelly Cookie... thing can, "They're yeast spores. They're what they make up our doughy bodies. In other words, they're the smallest of what make up the bodies of all dessert creatures." Wizard Cookie darts forward with a step forward and a pensive expression, "The "SMALLEST"? How are they the smallest?! They're bigger than we are!"

"That's Beast-Yeast for you. Worry not, I've been here before." The gang follows the now-maybe-happy-looking Yeast Spores into... an environment of Cookie crumbs! Horror was covering your friends and allies' faces before a Spore Moth comes your way.

And then you find a shard of the Light of Freedom.

And another.

And before you know it, you come across a familiar Silver-winged faerie who luckily recognizes you... but not in the same way as you because you barely recognize them. Luckily again, they were kind enough to remember you as a friend of the Faerie Kingdom and they kindly let you and your allies in the silver kingdom of Faeries.

The petite silverbell faerie with a bow pushes the silver gates open into the familiar silver kingdom you once called your home. Looks like nothing much has changed since your earliest days that you spent in these very walls, maybe except those vines covering the oddly familiar tree...

A tall woman with a black, pointy hat was talking to you about a few moments after they had planted the seed of the Silver Tree. An incredibly large hand pointed to the tree, grazing it with the Witch's nail. "This tree will grow to seal the Beasts away..." Your freshly given-life dough was daydreaming through half of that conversation, forced to pay attention like a child. "You will grow to protect Earthbread from the evils should the tree wilt." The Witch's large nail pointed to you...

And then, oh, look! Your friends are over there in the Gazebo with Elder Faerie Cookie!

"Pardon my tardiness, Elder Faerie Cookie..." You step into the Gazebo next to Pure Vanilla Cookie, unable to take your eyes off the now grown tree.

Elder Faerie Cookie stares at you. "...So it is you who has returned to the Faerie Kingdom at last." You clutch your Soul Jam as it flickers again, the more you stare until you force yourself to look at Elder Faerie Cookie in the eyes. "Fate has not bestowed you to find White Lily Cookie just yet. Are you aware of your Soul Jam's origins?" He continued.

And then he explained the Beasts with emphasis on Justice, and the Soul Jam... from there the conversation continued to focus on you.

"One of them is the Light of Impartiality from the Witch that gave you life long, long ago."

"Before, both Impartiality and Selfishness existed within the Light of Justice."

"Cleansing and purifying it created the Soul Jam that you wield today."

You looked down as your Soul Jam flickered, listening to Elder Faerie's words without looking at him. "...From what I remember, the power of Selfishness is still sealed here in the Silver Tree."

"Yes. It remains sealed somewhere in Beast-Yeast. And yet, your Light of Truth and Impartiality serves another purpose..."

"... which is to balance the scales of good and evil... to ensure the Beasts stay confined."

You didn't need to listen any further to get what needed to be done. The Beasts were going to get out soon and you needed to act fast.

"The Branches were wilting this entire time, which meant during the time Dark Enchantress Cookie waged war, they had time to grow power and were able to... regrow their strengths..." You clutched your Soul Jam more as Pure Vanilla Cookie tried to reach your shoulder, maybe to comfort you a bit from your uneasiness.

Elder Faerie Cookie closed his eyes and nodded. "As the Guardian, I channeled all my power to keep the seal intact. But my strength alone was not enough... And the Beasts have already grown much too strong. Now this great evil lies hidden somewhere in Beast-Yeast, ready to strike at any moment..."

"You, [Impartiality] Cookie, are a direct copy of [Justice] Cookie. You hold their dough, but not their soul, only a fragment of their original power do you hold in Soul Jam. If we play our cards correctly, we might just be able to evade the evil forces laid dormant here in Beast-Yeast."

Inhale, exhale. You nodded and turned to Elder Faerie Cookie. "We should get White Lily Cookie's help too, should my power not be enough to keep the evils at bay..."

And then they found another shard of the Light of Freedom.

And then another...

And then another...

Before they were able to revive White Lily successfully using [Impartiality] Cookie's life powder, a giant crack was heard.

However, it wasn't the Faerie Kingdom that they awoke in.

greetings, humans. there will be a part two because ain't no way i'm finishing this in one part. — sumi ᯓ★

[torturedtypewritersdept]

of canyons + wildflowers - pt. one

✯ pairing:

ex!cowboy!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

it's time to head home to Montana

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, mentions of Montana, nostalgia, heartbreak, injury, ghosting, fluff and fear, mentions of gunshot wounds (not rafe), etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) trying out a new format with this post, hope you like it!

This isn’t your scene – well, it was at one point in time. But, it’s not now. Not anymore. The barstool you are perched on is rickety. It compliments the aged wood floors beneath you well. You’re shocked really, because you were sure all traces of life outside of the city were left behind when you packed up your car and fled from Montana. It’s been so long since you’ve been in a situation like this, remnants of home littered around you. It feels foreign, like a life you were meant to live but didn’t. You were almost positive that New York didn’t have dive bars, yet, here you were; in one. You cursed Danica, thinking about how she practically threatened to kill you if you wasted one more minute on your hometown sweetheart, whose name you’d never reveal to her. This version of you is what she knew; an act on your part that was purposeful in an attempt to erase the girl you used to be – the girl that only he could know. She’d never know the girl that he knew or the pain that was left in his wake. You’re not sure why she’d been so obsessed with finding you someone to have casual sex with. But she was. So, she did what she does best – she held her metaphorical loaded gun to your head and forced you onto Tinder; somewhere you swore you’d never be because it was fucking beneath you. You take a sip of the apple flavored beer in your hands, waiting for prince charming, hoping he wasn’t going to be a raging cunt. You’d had enough of that, you didn’t need more exposure to it. You almost don’t hear his voice over the music, but when you do, you turn quickly away with wide eyes and furrowed brows. Tall, dark, and handsome – that’s what he is, drenched in work clothes and a cowboy hat. For someone who didn’t know you pre-city, pre-business meetings, pre-college, she sure pulled this nightmarish trick out of her magician’s hat. For the normal broad, it’s a dream come true. But, for you, it’s quite frankly the worst scenario you could’ve possibly dreamed up. Because Patrick from New York isn’t your Rafe from Montana. He never could be because no one can mimic that kind of charisma – the kind that emulates blowing wind that knocks you off your horse, yet, somehow keeps you coming back for more. Nope, no one could ever be him and even if they could, you’re not interested. But, Patrick is easy on the eyes, that doesn’t get past you. Nor, does his sickly sweet southern drawl or attempt to have one. You can’t tell if he’s a real cowboy or not, or if he’s trying to emulate being a big fish in the small pond of New York – pretending to be something he’s not in an attempt to create an edge for himself. That’s what you’re trying to convince yourself of when he grabs your elbow and speaks again. 

“Well, howdy darlin’ – are you with me?” 

He questions, wondering if you are the girl that he’d been speaking with on the other end of the phone. That girl, she seemed to be pretty gungho to meet him, but as he approaches you and drinks you in, he’s not so sure that you’re her. 

“I’m y/n.” 

You smile warmly, though a bit dejected. 

“Patrick.” 

He replied, his smile assaulting you like molasses on your tongue. It’s not fair how smooth he feels against your skin when he speaks. It should create butterflies in your tummy, but it doesn’t. Instead, all you can think of is blue eyes and the purple hues of a Montana skyline and a horse named bronco. It makes you miss home, miss him; to have a stranger this eerily similar to him in your vicinity. You know Patrick can’t win the great war between your heart and Rafe mother fucking Cameron – no one can. Many have tried and no one has ever succeeded. 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think I need to go home.” 

You said, kindly. 

“Am I that bad looking?” 

He replies with a smirk and a deep chuckle. It’s something Rafe would say, you notate on the invisible pen pad in your brain. You almost smile, but you don’t, your face instead sporting a furrowed brow at his insinuation that you need to find him cheeky. 

“Patrick – it’s Patrick right?” 

You ask and his smile lines seem to retreat back toward his lips, the fullness of his cheeks that are adorned with a five o’clock shadow is dissipating before your very eyes. He nods at your question after pondering on it for a moment. 

“I’ll spare you the ‘it’s not you, it’s me' speech. It’ll save us both some embarrassment, just know that it really is me and no matter how inviting and warm you seem, nothing will change that.” 

He smiles at you again. This time it’s confusing – the way he wears his smirk almost earnestly. 

“So, what’s his name then?” 

He asks, tucking a stray hair away from your eyes that were now cast down toward the beer in your hands. Your eyes almost pop out of your skull as your gaze shot up toward his chiseled jaw. Shock littered your features as this total stranger saw right through you. 

“What?” 

You asked, mouth agape. 

“You heard me darlin’ – what’s his name?” 

He asks again and you chuckle dryly. 

“Rafe. Rafe Cameron.” 

You whisper in what you think is a voice only loud enough for you to hear. But, you’re wrong. Patrick hears you and he nods, his hand coming to the small of your back. 

“I hope it works out with Rafe, sweet girl. But, he’s a loser for letting you go.” 

You chuckle at his remark, brought out of the conversation you’re in as your phone rings – Dad littering your screen. 

“Excuse me, I’ve gotta take this. It’s my dad.” 

You mutter, pushing through the crowd and answering the phone as you exit the doors, the crisp autumn new york air hitting your skin. 

“Hey, daddy. What’s up?” 

You ask, as the ringing stops. 

“Hey, sweetheart. How’s your night?” 

He asks with a quiver in his voice. 

“You saved me from a bad date, actually. What’s wrong? You sound funny.” 

You ask, unsure why you’re so unnerved by his tone.

“listen, baby — you need to come home.” 

He states and immediately you know that something has gone morbidly wrong. The hair on the back of your neck stands up as you wait for the blow of his news. 

“What is it? Is it mom? O-or the horses? Does the ranch need money? What’s wrong daddy?” 

You can’t see it, but he’s smiling tearfully at your incessant questioning. You – always the worrier; his sweet girl. It guts him to tell you the truth.  

“It’s your brother, baby. He was shot. It’s touch and go right now. We don’t know if he’s going to make it. Just – just come home, baby.” 

You're gutted by the revelation. Yet, somehow you knew, like only a twin can. You weren’t aware of the home you were referring to when you had previously spoken to Patrick about leaving. But, now you are. 

Montana is no longer in the rearview mirror. That’s the last thing you think about before you frantically hail a cab to the airport with no thoughts of retrieving any of your belongings from your apartment. Getting to your brother, the only thing driving you.

TAGLIST:

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey @yagirlwrites @obxbabygirl @rafeecameronsbitch @klutzy-kay24 @roseczbalt

[nikkalick]

Veilguard Spoilers below the cut. About the Blight, the current state of Southern Thedas, and the Veil…I’ve never made a rant like this so bear with my ramblings, please

I’ve seen so many people say, “We should’ve been able to tear down the Veil” and I feel like I’m going insane every time I see that take like…

MAMA A BLIGHT IS BEHIND IT??!

You think what happened to Southern Thedas was bad this game? You have no idea what’s in store for you if you open up the fucking Veil and let that trickle of Blight become a flood.

Point of Order just to set the scene with how bad the literal Blight is

“They (the writers/devs/Bioware/EA) nuked Southern Thedas so they don’t have to deal with the lore the past content set up there going forward”

Maybe. But also the only other Blight we’ve seen in game was the Fifth Blight. By all accounts a statistical anomaly in how it acted when compared to Blights 1-4. I don’t wanna delve too deep into this because it is so not the point I’m trying to make with this post, but the Architect very much had a hand in waking up Blight numero 5 and very likely impacted it in a way that made it less volatile. Past Blights saw Darkspawn hitting big populations hard and fast. The 5th started slow, in the wilds, at Ostagar. Away from large amounts of people. It is mentioned in DA:O that this Blight “feels different”.

The Blight we see in Veilguard is more in line with the Blights that came before the 5th. Something something the Inquisitor writing “worse than we have seen in living memory” because the only living memory anyone has of a Blight was the one from 20 years ago. Which was bad, but not as bad as they usually are. Veilguard’s is bad the way Blights are meant to be (if not worse because, ya know, the Gods), and it was still ONLY A TRICKLE OF WHAT THE BLIGHT IS BEHIND THE VEIL. If the full force of the Blight escapes the prison/the Fade that’s it. Goodnight to everyone in this world both within and without all of Thedas.

Moving on.

“Solas can move the Blight into the new prison that was meant for the Gods and then tear down the Veil. That was his plan.”

Sorry, did we play the same game? We know what the Blight is now. It’s the last remnants of the Titans. Twisted, broken, angry, nightmarish. It’s all that’s left. All that’s left are the plagued dreams of ancient beings that are so devastated because of what Mythal, Solas, and the rest of the Evanuris did to them with the very dagger we now hold.

I want to take a moment to address that what I’m about to say is said as someone who’s been trapped in Solavellen hell for years. I love Solas and his character, and I believe that yes, he had a plan that would have both moved (or killed) the remaining Evanuris and the Blight to a new prison while simultaneously tearing down the Fade. But if you, like me, wanted to redeem this idiot despite everything, then pray tell how does Solas locking up the Blight offer him said redemption?

How does locking away the only thing that remains of the Titans into a prison and throwing away the key redeem him? The Evanuris fucked up when using the Titan’s, idk…life blood? To take form. Solas fucked up when he, upon Mythal’s behest, created a weapon that sundered the Titan’s (and the Dwarves as whole) from their magic, from their dreams, from their very being. And they did it because they thought they had a right to. They put themselves above the dwarves and as a result they caused the Blight. And then they hid the Blight away. Yes, they hid it away to keep people safe, and yes, locking it and the Evanuris away when they tried to use what was essentially a bio weapon to maintain their position of power was a call that kept people safe for a long time. But the Veil was a consequence of that call. And while the Blight was trapped in its prison, behind the Veil, it got angrier and angrier with every passing generation.

Removing the Veil and shoving it into yet another prison will not only piss it off even more, but it doesn’t allow for Solas to actually atone for the part he played in its creation and the part he played in destroying what the dwarves used to have. He has to uphold the current prison. He has to go to it to try to soothe it. To heal it as best he can. Locking it away elsewhere, and then trying to offer it salvation after the fact? It’s not gonna cut it.

He has to go to the Black City, he has to face what he did, and he has to put aside his favorable bias towards giving the Elves “back what they lost” (a world current day Elves don’t remember and have never known) to instead put the safety and wellbeing of every being in the current world at a higher priority. That’s part of his redemption arc by the way; learning to value the lives of the people that walk this new world he had a hand in creating. Because when he wakes up before the start of DA:I he doesn’t value anyone. Shit, when Felassan declines to help him destroy the Veil and suggests he learns to appreciate the world that has been in place for centuries, Solas kills him for it.

All that said, he can’t fully put things right. He can’t reconnect the Blight with the dormant remains of the Titans. Because, as the game tells us, we’d then be faced with a bunch of Titans the size of mountains rampaging, rightfully so, because of the wrongs that were committed against them. But Solas can put in the work to find a way to ease its agony. And maybe, if given the time and the patience, one day the Veil could come down because the Blight will have had the opportunity and been given the help it needed to actually heal from the trauma that created it. And maybe taking the time to do that will have, in some small way, allowed him to make up for the shitty hand he played in destroying the Dwarves. A race he (finally) sees as his equal. Because that’s a big part of his fucking redemption arc.

[zutarasbuff]

I watched the Netflix adaptation of ATLA today and being a hardcore fan of the OG series who knows every nook and cranny of the ATLA world, here’s my unbiased and truly honest review (It contains both the negatives and positives of the series, so dear reader please enter to read at your own risk).

Firstly, let’s talk about the wonderful additions to the already magical world of ATLA.

1. The depth of the genocide

Well, I always wanted to know how the air nomads were suddenly wiped out and how it would have been for them? Why didn’t they resist? I got my answers in the first episode where we explore how the unhinged power of the comet was “actually” used to create a genocide on a massive level. Before that, I had only heard about it in the OG series. Those few scenes were so powerful that they had left me sobbing uncontrollably and Gyatso’s concern regarding Aang had me bawling.

2. Suki’s Characterization

In the OG series, we do find our Suki the fiercest warrior, but here in the live action, she’s an absolute goddess. She is perfect in every sense. She understands the responsibilities she has being a non-bender and is fearless. Her character is what I believe to be was the strongest one of all.

3. Graphics & Music

We never talk about a film by M.Night (that didn’t happen), but this one is really a visual treat for you can readily set yourself up for some mind-blowing bending scenes, plus the fight scenes are quite impressive. It seems that the VFX team had really done their homework this time. Plus, both Momo and Appa are so freaking cute. I loved the fluffy Appa. Good work over there. The revival of the OG theme is also a highlight plus the sun warriors’ chanting in the end is given a new but intriguing twist. The background music especially in scenes where Aang unravels his Avatar powers is mystical in every aspect.

4. Life in motion

I don’t know about others, but I have always been a sucker for animation as well as live-action where characters are operating even in the direst of the circumstances. Life is there and even after they know what happened a hundred years ago, they are still trying to believe and regain their past confidence. This is beautifully portrayed and I was very much impressed by the way people are continuing their day-to-day activities even in the middle of a crisis.

Overall, the series serves the purpose of an adaptation carrying its unique colors (at least better than the previous live-action disaster that didn’t happen).

Now let’s move to the bad side, and when I say it’s honestly what I felt, you need to take my word on it being a hardcore Atla fan.

1. Weak writing & lots of exposition

ATLA remains at a 9.2 IMDB rating even after years because of its writing, strong plot, and very few plot holes. This time, the writers are the real amateur ones. Despite adding more to the already flourishing universe of ATLA, sadly, they killed the quest of the viewer to find answers. There is too much exposition. It seems that every character just wants to see the end of the war and keeps on revealing things after things. Plus, some of the OG moments that were the soul of the series are not even included. The way Aang finds Momo and then decides to keep it with him as a last remnant of their bygone air nomad civilization is nowhere to be found. In fact, the replacement of Roku with Kyoshi is the biggest disappointment. I love Kyoshi like no one else but that was unnecessary as per the cycle.

2. Bland acting

Even the worst writing shots can be digested only if the acting appears real good. Sadly, this is another issue that I found with the NETFLIXED version. No doubt the characters must have done a lot of hard work for this, yet, they lack the expressive power. Gordon as Aang is super cute but the goofiness is not even there. Katara seems a nerd who doesn’t like to talk much even when it’s necessary and Sokka’s jokes are forced. Meanwhile, Dallas seems to save the day at one point, but again his over-the-top angry young man attitude ruins it for me. Maybe the actors will learn from the criticism in the upcoming season (if Netflix plans to go with it).

3. Major changes

Yes, it’s okay to change the narrative while you are working on an adaptation, but targeting the loyal viewers who are OG fans of ATLA means that you have to be very careful when you are trying to implement your changes in scenes that are the real soul of the OG. You can’t change the Omashu myth as if it’s nothing when we actually see even the cute animated version of the folklore. You cannot portray Roku more as a perpetrator of the genocide and Bumi as the evil king when in truth he’s the mad king who’s known for his genius ways of teaching. I hated that. Plus, reducing Zhao’s authority and taking Uncle Iroh’s sarcastic attitude is just meh. Mai again doesn’t even seem perfect as a cast. Jet is good as far as the aesthetics are concerned but Jet being in Omashu doesn’t even sit right with me. The amalgamation of multiple storylines creates so much confusion and this persists till the end.

4. Bending at convenience

We all know how Katara’s bending progressed throughout the first season and it’s little effort each day. However, in series, one day she’s unable to bend even a droplet of water and the next day she is capable of producing ice crystals. This was unacceptable for me because I was anticipating her learning strategies. Besides, Aang doesn’t learn much water bending throughout this season and in the end, it’s him being the savior in Avatar state. Thoughtless bending sucks despite the great VFX and that’s one thing at which you can’t convince me otherwise.

5. Forced friendships

We all know how it took some time for Sokka to embrace Aang as a chum. However, here Sokka keeps on calling him “the kid” and remains mostly alienated from Aang. Talking to Katara, then she also seems more interested in helping Avatar fulfill his goal than being with a friend. I hated the scene where Aang comes into the Avatar state and instead of hugging him just like in the OG series, Katara runs along Sokka and keeps on calling his name. How is that going to build any organic friendship? I think the first mistake began right from the very moment when Aang was taken back to Wolf Cove on a boat in his unconscious state. Upon opening his eyes, the first person he finds near him is neither Katara nor Sokka but a tribesman who’s playing guessing games. Writers were really high when they wrote that.

6. Lack of the four nations’ biodiversity

Maybe in live action, it’s difficult to create all the marvels of the four nations when we talk about their natural biodiversity. In the OG series, it is indicated by Aang that even after 112 years, he has still not forgotten the animals that define different regions in the four kingdoms and that’s exactly why he wants to finish those “important tasks” alongside saving the world. His important tasks included keeping a check on the natural biodiversity of the lands and exploring whether the Hundred Years’ War had not damaged the majestic animals. Actually, his first dialogue right after regaining consciousness is to go for an otter penguin’s ride with Katara. When I thought about that I felt that somewhere in Aang’s mind he was always connected to nature and that’s why he wanted to regain that connection by being an avatar. Sadly we never see much of the biodiversity but I hoped that maybe they will.

Also, how come Aang had that silent whistle for one hundred years when in the series he only discovers that accidentally? I missed the OG Yip Yip for our Appa. There are lots and lots of problems with the Netflix version, and no I am not being a nitpicker. I appreciate how the current creators credited the original ones, but now I know why Bryan and Michael bade farewell to this project. On a scale of 10, it’s a 4 for me or 4.5 if I am being too generous.

If I am asked to review the live action in a single line, I would only say this:

“The Netflixed ATLA makes you go back to the OG series and you end up watching the animation to give your mind a much-needed respite from a carefully crafted artistic disaster aimed at the sensationalized generation.”

[ninten-draw]

The Tundra Era

In the beginning of the world, there was nothing but cold tundra. Unlike most planets who have a warm magma filled core, the planet of rainworld has a cold void fluid core, with the only natural heat coming from the sun. The world is a freezing tundra with almost nightly blizzards, but not without life, as some creatures have adapted to its freezing ways.

The Ancients Era

Soon, an intelligent species forms form the barren wastelands, known simply as the ancients. The ancients in their form resembled closely to aquatic fishes and insects of our world. They too adapted to their frozen environment, living in caves and underwater homes at first, and then building their own homes and citadels. At this time, they were unaware of their eternal life.

The Karmic Era

The great problem has now been made aware to the ancients, and thus the karmic religion is born. At this time only the first five karma symbols are made known to the ancients, and they do everything in their power to rid themselves of these urges, with very limiting success. It’s around this time that the ancients don their signature masks and adorned clothing as well.

Void Fluid Discovery

While drilling and constructing a train system, the ancients come across stranger structures, indicating a civilization before them. Engineers are soon replaced with paleontologists to dig and study these stranger remnants. As they continue to dig, some start having strange dreams and hallucinations of moving stars, strange worms, an empty void, until they come across the depths, and subsequently the void fluid is discovered

Void Fluid Revolution

With the introduction of the void fluid, ancient society flourishes, now they have a proper way to die. Time is spent expanding the depths, building statues and making sacrifices to the void. Their technology also expands exponentially, now able to make large factories and farms to provide for themselves. The next several karma symbols are also made known to the ancients. However echos are soon discovered in the world, fearful that the void may not have been the perfect solution they were looking for, the ancients seek another solution. This leads to the creation of the iterator, whose purpose is to find a solution to the great problem without the void. During this time, a new boom in the ancients is found, more iterators are made because of their many uses. During this time purposed creatures are brought to life to assist the ancients and iterators. It is also known during this time, that the ancients created the shelters and pathways, a place for creatures to rest in and navigate across the world that had become habituated with urban development. The world is now warmer, with the memories of a cold tundra seeming more like a dream than anything. However despite all the good times, the void is not stupid, and it certainly is displeased that the ancients who once worshipped it were now seeking another solution

The Mass Ascension Event

The great ascension was an interesting, and frightening time. Iterators noticed how more and more ancients were going to ascend, and noted how their reasonings were barely understandable. Other ancients noted how the ones going to ascend seemed almost robotic. The more frightening thing, ancients who previously had no desire in ascension, would find themselves seeking, almost yearning it, the next cycle. More and more ancients were going to ascend, and less were born. The remaining ancients during the last few years of their kind were terrified, it seemed as though every one of their kind was infected with an invisible ailment forcing them to ascend, wether they were ready or not. Some stuck by the iterators begging them to prevent them from leaving to ascend. Others traveled outside of the iterators can, to the corners of the world away from any depths entrances. Any efforts were for naught however, as the remaining ancients went to ascend as well, leaving none behind.

Post Ancient Era

Many years passed after the ancients disappeared, and the world had adapted to the structures that they had left behind. The animals were now used to the unnatural shelters and pathways that the ancients had originally constructed for them, and the iterators who were once tasked with finding a solution to the great problem now mostly did their own thing, including helping lesser creatures on their way to ascension. The slugcat campaigns also take place in this era.

Shelter Destruction

Not everything lasts forever, and this includes the ancients’ constructions. The iterators collapse due to entropy, the world losing its main heat source and being plunged into an icey torrent of blizzards. The shelters that the ancients once made to shield creatures from precipitation, also fell from the constant blizzards and entropy, leaving the creatures who once depended on them alone to brave the elements. A mass extinction follows these events, causing creature, both inorganic and natural, to die out or seek ascension to escape their miserable circumstance.

Everything Must Go

Soon, the void itself releases from its previous underground home, to pull the remaining memories and remnants of this civilization down to the depths and rubicon.

The Tundra Era again

Thus, with the remainder of the ancients gone, the world is left an endless tundra once more, but soon life will start to evolve to this cold wasteland, and soon, an intelligent species of aquatic descent will walk upon the ground, and perhaps, like the civilization before them, seek a way out of this world

[luchibelle-throughthecosmere]

W&T

REVIEW WITH SPOILERS

Kal.- Such a beatiful journey for my boy. Ever since leaving his hometown he unwittingly became a legend. Only a few actually got to see the mortal (Kaladin) behind that inmortal mask of determination (Stormblessed). His journey resounds in so many of us because beyond his inhuman abbilities he is a human just like us. The ultimate protector. The last remnant of Honor. Kaladin. Herald. Herald of Kings. Herald of the Wind. Herald of Second Chances.

Shallan.- Always wanted her to be a worldhopper but couldn't really see how that might happen once she married Adolin. Now she is trapped in Shadesmar among other worldhoppers. Yay. Also, she got on well with Thaidakar (whose motivations and needs don't disturbe Shallan's unlike Mraize and Iyatil's did). And- CHARANACH IS HER MOM.

Taln did NOT break. Ever. It was Shallan who triggered it all (poor thing has no fault really). Love the fact that Taln never broke, it always felt wrong. Reminds me of Dabbid a little -although his lack of words is trully caused by trauma not pretended-. Gotta make him tells us why he tried to kill Cultivation.

Jasnah.- Never liked her morality. It always felt wrong. Never liked her character because of it. That night at Karbranth, the assassins she hired, considering the extermination of the singers, stabbing a highprince... And then Brandon used the reverse card and actually confronted her about her actions and intentions. That is exactly what she needed. She will grow so much in the coming books! We still don't know why exactly she was confined as a kid but she kind of hinted that her mother was not okay with it, rescued her as soon as she got back from her travels. Hopefully, she will be the one to take Navani out of her self-induced coma.

Lift will finally let herself grow up and Vasher will help her about it! Will Cultivation's absence affect her powers? Since she never used Stormlight (or Towerlight) creating Lifelight out of food instead, will anything change for her now that Cultivation flee? Maybe Lift's presence lures her back to Roshar someday.

Sezth.- Never liked the idea of him becoming an Herald, even if it thematically worked since he won Jezrien's Shardblade. Glad how it turned out, he deserves a quiet life with the sheeps. Also, him being a Skybreaker finally clicked for me, it was about gainning agency and deciding for yourself. And we got to learn Aux's backstory as well!

Adolin not becoming a surgebinder was perfect. After how disappointing Wayne holding up a gun was, it was refreshing how Adolin stood by his decision not to become a Radiant. Really beautiful to see how despite the unoathed not being broken they can form an attachment to the spren. Now he is learning how to read which is fulfilling in itself, just like he was okay with women holding weapons he needs to be okay with men reading. Times are changing and they have to change as well, otherwise they will be left behind. Change can be good, both Lift and Adolin got to learn that finally.

Dalinar.- He understood Honor but didn't fit in. There was always something about him becoming the vessel of Honor that didn't work out for me. Now we have another vessel having trouble with the two Shards and their conflicting interests. Wished we could have seen a little bit more of what it meant to be the Stormfather's Bondsmith, now we will never get a chance unless we get new flashbacks. Syl, as the Ancient Daughter, is currently the oldest honorspren we have. Will she eventually take his place? The storm in her eyes... Also, really liked how Dalinar didn't have to fight Gav and found the answers where he always did, in Nohadon's pressence.

Rlain and Renarin paralleling Windrunner Garith and the Regal femalen singer was genius. Proof that both races can coexist and any conflict between them is each individual's fault, not the race they belong to. Both of them grow up a lot in this book and grow away from what their people want them to be, they become who THEY want to be. Agency. Individuality. Self-worth.

[deadboyfriendd]

I Hope This Letter Finds You Well.

Summary: It is already so hot that it burns. The sheriff had faced many things. He had killed men with his bare hands, he had been covered in so much blood that he couldn't decipher theirs from his own. He had known starvation, heatstroke, and tragedy. Though, he had never known this.

A culmination of letters shared between family and new friends turns into a stand-off at the tarmac of Tucson, Arizona.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Sheriff/Wyatt Earp!Steve Harrington x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, Sherrif!Steve (he has a mustache), guns and gun violence, death of minor original characters, death of a spouse, period-appropriate death, drug use, angst, fluff, save a horse, ride a cowboy, feminine rage embodied (I couldn't give her a gun this time because, if I did, everyone would be dead), eventual discussion of The Civil War and the politics that came from it.

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 4.5k

Author's Note: This is it. Bisbee is here and it feels like I'm breathing life back into my cowboys through my sheriff. This is so, so special to me and @dr-aculaaa, and I cannot wait to tell you all their stories.

Find the series masterlist here!

“When the lambs is lost in the mountain, he said. They is cry. Sometime come the mother. Sometime the wolf.” Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian

Nellie, 

I believe that the face of death is a woman, and that she is beautiful. 

I believe that she may have loved my betrothed, at least as long as there was breath in his lungs and a thrum in his chest. I believe that William looked into her dark eyes and followed her into that unknown place, and I know, there, he might finally find something to still his mind. 

I believe that she kissed him good and hard, Nellie, in a way that I could not have done– that she danced her spindly dance clear across the desert, through the plains of the midlands, and splashed in the bayou of Louisiana until she found him. 

I believe that death is a friend to our family, that her sinewy arms loom over our men in an embrace that we can not provide, and I believe that she is warm. Much warmer than you or I have been created to be. I believe she walks alongside us, whispers into the ear of our husbands, and laughs as they dance their troublesome dances. 

I believe she is kind, much kinder than us, for why else would our men leave the safety of us for her? I cannot fathom it, Nellie. 

I no longer believe that death is cold and harsh, for I know that no man could be as cruel as she. 

We were always cut from the same cloth, in life, and now in death. 

Signed, your cousin. 

+

He could have said that he never wanted any trouble, and he could have said he didn’t go around picking fights, yet both seemed to find him with speed and vigor. He sought them out, begged for the metallic heat to seep from behind his teeth and drip down his lips like ambrosia. The boy could not read nor write, yet also harbored a taste for mindless violence– his gangly teenage frame a harbinger of death. 

The monsoon was fast approaching, dark clouds filling the sky in an apocalyptic haze, though the Lord knew this land needed it. The rain came down in heavy sheets, droplets weighing deep against the flesh and warm in strides. The powder dust beneath it stirred and settled in waves, and he prayed for no wind, for the wall of dust that would overtake them in the future just might suffocate him. He cried out in thirst, having mistaken this anguish for freedom. All he could do was turn his mouth towards the sky and hope it would wash away the rawness in his throat.

This heaviness did not go away with time nor age. The boy-now-man sifted through the powder silt of the remnants of his life the same way he sifted through these crises as a child, though with more sure steps and a heavier hand for subtlety. He no longer craved ambrose violence gilded in the candied sheen of shed blood, though it did not stop searching for him. 

He was out with lanterns, in search of himself. 

There used to be nothing here but a broad expanse of mirage, the heat rising from the sand and warping the distance into a false lake like a sick joke. He remembered the settlement. The miners came first, then the saloons, and dance halls. The cattle drovers and thieves would follow suit to reap their fortunes, but the plume of the mines came first. 

Still there is hope, an old miner had said to him, for I know of two Bibles in town. 

Though men of God and men of war both have strange affinities, it would seem. 

War, much like God, was here long before man. It crouched its ugly pose and waited for his arrival. The ultimate trade awaits the ultimate practitioner. 

Today, the oak planks, rotted from years in the sun, groan in the same anguish beneath his boots and he ignores it as much as the God he prayed to ignored his own cries. The bright orange of globe mallow presses its way between the planks, soft resilience even in this heat. When he reaches down to touch it, it crumbles between hardened finger pads. 

This township felt like a tunnel, a vignette blurring the Gaussian edges of its structures that settled like graves. His boots sunk a lowly sulk through the banks of the roads where wagon wheels had pushed them from their packing. He still felt the nothingness here, vast openness in which he awaited a tomahawk crowning, sinking into the same sand on his knees, candy-coated in that gilded red gloss. 

Through the nothingness there was a stirring, his eyes fixated on the microburst brewing along the mountain's edge in the distance. 

Thunder fades to wheels along tracks.

You’d watched the land turn from green to brown and back again. You’d watch the sun wick the water from the soil and feel it warm your skin. There’s a certain disdain that fills your chest like liquid when you picture Nellie on this trail. There was no train west to take. There was no railway. 

Did Nellie still look like her mother? Had her mouth begun to crease with a perpetual smile? Was her hair still long and did she still let it fall in ringlets down her back? Surely, she had not sounded the same in her letters, though, this sullen stranger had still signed the letters with the same swooping motions. 

As the trees became sparse and turned into gangly, reaching boojums, you realized just how far from home you had been. You had never left the great state of Louisiana but, had run those riverbeds and marshes ragged with bare feet, had run heels hard against the hollow tomb of that old paddle boat. Could you be as wild as the West? Would it love you in the same way the marshes had? Wrap you in its mossy embrace and let you sink beneath stagnant water in wait?

But for what? 

The sharecropping had been a logical by-product of everything your father had fought for in the war, rock salt and nails and hand over first for years under the lead of General Benjamin F. Butler, though no one could foresee the way the plantation had hemorrhaged money after he took on nearly ten hired men, or the way the land had would have dwindled to nothing had you not taken that ghastly, ugly burden against your back, one heavy enough to spur you west. One heavy enough that even the sting of the sunburn did nothing to quell the ache that you still felt in your chest against it. 

You watched the life drain from this land, music and the lush green of the coming summer turning to sweltering, daguerreotype daydreams. You pressed your palm against the glass and sighed. 

It was already warm enough to burn. 

When you pressed your face against the glass, you could feel the rumble of the hardened earth beneath the sodden tracks. The dried parchment of letters scraped against themselves where they pooled in the makeshift reservoir of your dresses ruched into your lap– just high enough so that your ankles could feel any movement within the waning stagnation of air in the train car. 

You tore the one on top open with your thumb– the last one to remain unopened. Its straight edge was too sharp and angled perfectly as you pulled at it, the edge of your thumb already pooling cherry beads of blood where it rippled. 

“Shit.” you cursed.

Gilded eyes peered towards you, slicing through the silence of this welling heat like ice. Had it been dark, they would have glowed. Ladies in Parisian hats tailing the woeful gazes of their well-tailored merchant husbands turning towards the spectacle that was you. Young. Unmarried. Unaccompanied and profane in your lack of grace aboard the train to the lawless lands. Maybe, by God’s hand, you had been cut from the same cloth as this lawless place– the rumble of the tracks a song to the listlessness that stirred in your chest like silt in distant waters. 

You dismissed the judgment, the venom of it all sliding off of you like that same water against a duck’s back, turning your attention back towards the product of your own disdain: Nellie’s letter, signed, sealed, and delivered to your last known location. 

Cousin, 

Your father has sent word about your arrival in Tucson, and I will meet you at the train depot in due time. I do hope that, in time, the heat of this land may dry your tears in the same way it has mine. 

I fear that you may not recognize me upon your arrival to Tucson, my face has grown harder and my body less soft. You will become this way, too. I am tough. I am afraid this place has weathered me like old leather. 

I have asked the sheriff to accompany me to the train depot in Tucson, and he has happily obliged. I didn’t think you would mind much, either. 

The sheriff is a nice man, as I am sure you have come to find, however, this land has hardened him in the same way it has hardened Edward and I. In the same way, it took Wilhelm as payment for some grander, more horrendous scheme.  I do not ask you to excuse his shortcomings– or mine– but I do ask that you try to understand us. 

Though it is better now than it has ever been, this place is still not like Louisiana. This land is lawless. This land is tough. This land does not make promises or send prayers. It exists as it is, rough and unbinding– blistering for all it is worth. 

We are the law, here. 

If we lose our morality, we lose everything. 

I will see you soon. I love you. 

Nellie. 

It was an unspoken truth that there was something broken much deeper within them that they had shared some form of solidarity within. Somehow, in some way, Nellie and Steve had shared something they never wanted you to see, but, even now, something was different about her in more recent letters that you couldn’t quite differentiate. 

Perhaps it was the way she told you she loved you. She hadn’t written those three words since writing of Wilhelm’s death. Maybe she said it then in search of the love she had lost, had looked for shreds of it to mend herself back together. Maybe Edward had done that for her, and maybe now she had some left to give. You hoped that much for her.

Edward was an entity unknown to you– a phantom in his own respects. He reaped his own form of morosity in the way he loved Nellie. He did so in a way that was devouring, in a way that encompassed her in every respect. You had been well past the persuasion of beautiful faces, for a face much like his was the face that launched a thousand ships. Another puppet wielded by The Devil, he was. That holy shape becomes a devil, best. 

It was an unholy thing, to resurrect the dead. And, you supposed, Edward had done just that. Nellie’s letters came to an abrupt halt after the announcement of the Death of Wilhelm. Your family, the only remaining kinship to her lineage, had not received a letter from her in over a year. 

You’d thought of all of the ways she could have died, but the most plausible cause was a broken heart. Even now, as rolling hills turned to planes and back again, as you watched the horrors that this land reaped, you could not see any of them taking your cousin. No, she was a force to be reckoned with. Not even this land could break her will. No, if she were to die here, now, it would have been by her hand. 

And then, by some unforsaken force beyond even your father’s control, Nellie breathed once more. Her letters were flowery, her writing curling into crashing waves of stories told. You watched as this solemn stranger breathed life back into Nellie, something as cruel and unusual as beauty in this place unseen and unheard of for years, beauty unseen to Nellie since Wilhem was killed. 

You knew of only unholy things that fed upon the dead– that breathed an ugly, hot breath back into their lungs and pulled them from the sodden earth in which they lay. Edward was not entirely truthful, that much you could tell. 

You supposed you and Edward had shared that sentiment, in some way. 

+

The Whispering Sands was still not the ritzy bar. That was still located in the lobby of The Grand Hotel, just footsteps from where The Sheriff stood now, planks still singing their groaning songs of protest beneath his legs, still stiff with sleep or nerves or years of failed prayer. 

His footfall fell heavy against the hollow floors, the weight of him reverberating against the early hum of the bar. The dealer was still as straight as a Christmastime wreath, though, now, he knew that this one could at least shoot in the right direction. You no longer needed to carry when you walked through, your spare now confined to below the counter out of sheer caution and the guiding hands of ghosts alone. The doors didn’t hang crooked anymore, the dealer making fast work of fixing all of the things Nellie had pushed to the back burner in relentless disembowelment of her own self-preservation that she so readily gave to him in the form of softened twine and spoken promises tightened around ring fingers. 

The Sheriff would not be so easy. His self-preservation ran deeper than that. 

Nellie knew it, knew that his roots were wrapped around something vital within him, something deeper than hers– something from a time before her, before this town, and before the West was wild.  

The echo of him reverberated off of the walls of the bar, bounced off of the piano, and rattled the windows. It demanded her attention long before the brass bell of the front door rang and the heavy oak clattered against the frame. 

8:50. Like clockwork. 

In the times before, just after Wilhelm, he would stop in and buy a cigar, though, to this day, she had never seen him smoke. She never inquired it, and he never inquired her. 

There was a solidarity in their grief, and it never quite, even now that she felt happy more times than not. She had a sneaking suspicion he was there for something other than a cigar every morning, but she pulled one from the humidor and took his money anyway. There had been a time where she insisted it was on the house. It wasn’t worth the fight, now. 

He looked different today. Still sullen is his strange, tortured way, but there was almost something beautiful about it, about the way he ruminated in this state of torture. Even in the way his stagnation had turned into just that with time, something seemed to still sit there in wait, leaden in the pit of his chest. 

He looked like the face of a handbill like this, enveloped in all black. Square-toed boots with black trousers that made him look ganglier than he was, made him loom over Nellie more than he already did. His black frock coat dusted his calves at a three-quarter length, and a black bolo tie covered as much of the stark white high-collar as possible. On the hat rack by the door sat his usual wide-brimmed Stetson, and, from just behind the plain silver of his belt buckle, the Colt Burtline Special shone in the light. 

He looked fit for a funeral.

He walked like he beckoned the apocalypse in clouds of rolling thunder behind him. When his heels pressed into the softened sand, the earth quaked beneath it. The weight of him made the stagecoach groan on its hinges– leaden and heavy with the weight of something bigger than settled silt within his chest, kicked up like the sand behind horse hooves and stagecoach wheels. 

Parchment sat like lead in his lap, curdling there and souring something that had sat too long. Cracking fingers curled around your words like poison, sweetened with sasparilla whiskey, golden ambergris letters seeping into him and warming his throat like bile and molten gold. He opened the first one with a nimbleness unlike one he had ever known, and read it once more:

25 April, 1894

To the Sheriff that this letter finds, 

I am afraid your letter has found me in a state of disrepair. I have never been one for niceties and I am afraid I do not have it in me to start now. 

My betrothed had never known peace in life, and I am afraid that he may not ever know it in death, wherever that plane Hell may be. 

Maybe it is I that has died, and maybe it is I that walks across this Hell. Maybe it is my own doing that brought me to this. Maybe I am the creature of my own undoing. I am not a nice girl, Steve. Not the nice girl you think I might be. 

We were raised like leather, stretched and scraped to be tough in the way that our mothers were, unbending and unbreaking as they had been. They were not forgiving, nor were they kind. Nellie was once that way, too. Though, I fear that your desert sun has softened her. That it changed something deeper within her in a way that she may be someone I no longer recognize. 

I plan to arrive in Tucson by train on the first of October. Maybe this sun will soften me in the same way it has softened my cousin. Maybe I don’t want it to. 

Though I hope for my tomorrow to be kind, I have an inkling that it never will be, for this life had never had a kindness to offer. 

I’ll be the one in white. 

I will see you then, Sheriff. 

He pictures the way you will step off the train, white linens spilling over the threshold of it by some sickened grace of the hand of an unkind God. He both relished in it and could not bear the thought. He thought of linens hiked over knees and rucked up under the fabric of itself, a  depiction of the implosion of his world. 

He had already lived this, soft hair against soft legs and white linens shed in a dustbowl around shared space and soft, breathlessness passed between lips. He had felt this kind of softness before– had known this tender touch of a woman outside of the mother he never had. 

It was the first time he had ever been touched gently. 

Even Nellie’s hand seemed gruff as it gripped his shoulders in a grounding movement, his eyes slowing with the movement of reading and dissipating into blankness an indicator that he had gone somewhere that even she would never be allowed to see. It was a look she had known all too well.

“I’m afraid she might not like me much.” He whispered, low enough for Eddie to not be able to hear– or, at least, low enough so he could pretend not to. She knew what he meant by this, another feeling chased after her own reanimated heart. 

Nevertheless, she avoided the philosophical nature of it all, answering him with the only thought she had: “I’m afraid she might not like anyone much, Steve.” She starts, and the questioning gaze he gives her urges her to continue. 

“It wasn’t easy for her, either, Steve.” She starts with another sigh, now more like the weight was being pressed out of her lungs from the weight that she felt, “Most of the time, it was out right hard.” 

“We’ve all had it hard, Nellie. Nothing about this life has been particularly easy.” Steve says back. He didn’t mean it to be as harsh as it was. She knew that, though it didn’t stop that initial sting of his dismissiveness.  

“William wasn’t a nice man, no matter how much she loved him.” She tells him, louder this time and too fast. Eddie couldn’t help the the way his eyes are drawn to her from where they are fixed to the periscope of landscape before them, “Forgive her if she isn’t welcoming.” 

+ 

To the Lady that may find this letter, I hope it finds her well

Tucson still radiates heat at this time of year, the mirage at the end of town makes the expanse of land between here and the mountains feel both endless and right in front of you at the same time. It warps like the heat is melting space and time itself. Nevertheless, the first blooms of orange mallow have begun to open in a patch where the stagecoach stopped. 

He doesn’t know what comes over him, but he was inclined to plock them from the ground and brush the dirt from their roots. 

It seems the desert knew you would board the train in New Orleans and set west for us, and wanted to welcome you with its kindest hello. The desert is not kind, but she would make an exception for someone like you, I would suppose. 

The wheels screech along the wrought iron of the track as they slow to a halt– and he swears, just for a single, fleeting moment, his heart stops with them. There is a stream of people that step down. Ladies with large hats and square-shouldered men in frock coats not unlike his. He wonders if you will know your face before Nellie does– wonders if he knows who you are just from the curls of your letters. 

And then, you were there. 

You were unremarkable in every way possible, though, at a closer glance, you had chosen to forego a bustle and corset. Instead, the pliant lines of your body undefined against a white buttoned shirt and a long dark skirt. A plain, flat-brimmed stetson sat against the crown of your head, just enough to obscure your face from his view. 

Your cousin is very kind. I like to think that you are kind like her, though, I also hope that you are tough in the same way that she is.

He steps forward, his hands sticky with sweat or the sap of the stems of the orange mallow crushed beneath a pressing grip, he isn’t sure. As he steps on to the tarmac, he remembers his manners– remembers that he isn’t an animal and you are not inherently dangerous, and pulls off his hat, pressing it to his chest as he holds an arm out stiffly towards you without any further introduction. 

You see the star against his chest, pressed silver pinned there like a placard on the spectacle of the man before you, and know that this is him– that this is the entity whom has spilled his heart to you over parchment and ink and blood, “Well, now, those are awfully pretty, sheriff.” You say to him, looking down at the crushed orange matter in his hands. They have already begun to wilt. 

“I have an affinity for pretty things.” 

He flirts shamelessly with you, and something deep within you stirrs. It is not the schoolgirl crush you harbored with William. It isn’t even akin to love, but something worse and something ugly. His letters and flowery words and then his backtracking and condolences meddle into one ugly mass of insult. No, this thing that rose in you was not love, nor was it even a cousin. It was hate. Blinding, furious hate.

“And I have an affinity for men who can make up their minds.” You nod towards him, reaching towards the tarmac for the cracking handle of your green steamer trunk, especially now that the gangly, lean man you presume is Edward reaches for it. 

There is a moment in time where everyone freezes. Both Nellie and her husband, as well as the sheriff before you. They are walking a thin line, one akin to the silver thread between life and death. The tension is palpable, and Nellie shatters the thing you cling to for resolve like glass:

“Now you’re being outright childish–”

She sucks in a breath when you snap, the wild dogs that live within your chest writhing and pulling against chains as you release whatever hurt and pain you held in your heart towards her. Everything you had wanted to say, everything you wanted to scream back at her once she had resurrected. You weilded them now as weapons against her. 

“You sure are one to talk about childish, Nellie. You ran in the other direction when things got hard, and then you up and died on us.” 

“I’m not dead. I was never dead.”

“Well, I have a hard time believing that.”

The Sheriff and the tall man take a step back behind Nellie, shrink away from your thunderous roar as if you might actually bite. The leather of your handle and the steamer dropping from your hand with had resonant patriarchal basso against the tarmac. Time has frozen in place, but people continue to swirl around you in a flurry of haste and posthaste annoyance. Silver tears well against the pink line of her eyes, and you are acutely aware that yours are a mirror image.

Steve had faced many things. He had killed men with his bare hands, he had been covered in so much blood that he couldn’t decipher theirs from his own. He had known starvation, heartstroke, and tragedy. Though, he had never known this– his wife was only ever tender. 

He can see the rage drip from your mouth like hot, molten tar, can see the tears well in your eyes like casted silver against the mold of your face– the way a single one cools and leaves a residual streak against the ashen skin of your cheek. You want to love Nellie, in the same way she wanted to love Edward, and in the way he loved his wife. He can see it, that burning want so bad that it becomes hatred. That kind of love whose flame burns blue. 

He knows Nellie loves you, too, but also knows how dangerous it is to speak it aloud– lest that vile maiden Death may hear it. 

Your eyes stare holes into him, burn against his abdomen from where you fix them. He had heard of women becoming alight with lust born from rage before, but had not though of you to be insane enough to eye him in a familiar way right here on the tarmac. That blue flame affixed to him and warming him from the inside, as well. 

“That’s an awfully ugly belt buckle, sheriff.” You speak, finally, breaking the silence and restoring some semblance of order to this congregation. 

This place is not forgiving, nor is it kind. I hope that your heart is not faint, and I hope that this place is kinder to you than it has been to us. 

With warmest regards, 

Steven Harrington

[bestworstcase]

oh. hm. i wonder if dark made grimm by himself because light refused to participate in creating anything destructive again after the jabberwalker—certainly it seems telling that in the myth, light creates a vast monoculture lawn and then declares that dark’s contribution of a moon and new biomes and plate tectonics is “spoiling” it; the myth flows from light’s presentation of himself to ancient humans and if he saw any value in these things he would surely have claimed them as his own—and then there’s the brother-cult framing that humans were given the capacity for evil (destruction) and good (creation) and the free will to choose which path to walk, always with the underlying premise that if humankind chooses wrong then they will “destroy themselves” (by earning annihilation at the final judgment)

this is in stark contrast to the narrative treatment of destruction as hunger and as an agent of change, and creation-without-destruction as, well, a vast monoculture lawn. sterile, stagnant, artificial, unalive.

(<- not a euphemism for “dead” and i resent that the word has those connotations now.)

to create is to destroy; paint, for example, is destroyed by the act of painting. you can’t ever use it as paint again. eating a meal is destructive—both in the sense that something living has to be killed, whether plant or animal, and in the sense that the food itself is destroyed. but this is the basis of all life. one eats to stay alive, to grow.

so in light’s view grimm are evil abominations because his brother made them to be destructive; to dark the grimm are embodiments of natural forces whose churnings keep the world forever in motion and therefore alive. jabber came out wrong—brutal, but effective, the blacksmith says—because light’s misapprehension of destruction influenced his nature. the grimm, created by dark alone, turned out right.

are they good? are they bad? they just are. the tides, the mountains, the deserts, the storms, earthquakes and volcanoes, the grimm.

meanwhile humans were given destruction by darkness and creation by light—the separation and recombination into one being was probably necessary to avoid a repeat of what happened with jabber—and then taught, by light, to understand their natures as a moral conflict and a moral challenge to rise above ‘evil’, i.e. destruction.

this is, of course, why light is so set on the necessity of permanent death: in his afterlife the dead are unaware and unalive, existing in everlasting stasis, and so nothing can ever be destroyed. darkness, who has never feared destruction, allows salem to glimpse the truth that life and death are a circle. and then he burns it all down and leaves her alive in the ashes, the wellspring of primordial destruction there for her to do with it as she will. and she does, and that is how mankind returns to life and how the faunus come to be.

which is the whole point. the grimm represent and embody pure destruction, hunger and change, which the brothers’ humans were taught to abhor as unnatural, evil abominations. salem becomes grimm and in doing so stakes humanity’s claim on destruction as darkness understood it, rejecting the false moral dichotomy light imposed on her generation. remnant is set free, and humanity rises phoenix-like from the ashes, unbound by death.

the brothers’ humans rebelled in order to claim the powers of their creators and perfect their own design. and she did.

[codenamesazanka]

AFO+Shigaraki Tomura/Shimura Tenko Role Reversal AU

*

Terrorist Shimura Tenko, age 26, has been sentenced to death for his heinous crimes. Morning before he goes though, he's carted over to Central Hospital.

Little AFO, age 12, is brought before Shimura to give him five quirks - this will surely overload Shimura’s brain, but since he's about to be executed anyways, it doesn't really matter.

But right before the procedure starts, Central Hospital is attacked. It's the League of Villains, here to rescue their boss. As he marbles Shimura, Mr. Compress also ends up marbling AFO and taking him along.

Hours later, in a secret hideout, the League congrats themselves on a successful rescue mission, but wonders what to do about this weird kid they've kidnapped. They’ll have to act quick - Heroes and HPSC will come for them soon. The HPSC have to come for the kidnapped kid, because, the moment the League realized who the kid is, they know AFO as the central piece of HPSC's new direction for society.

*

Four years ago, the government made a paradigm changing announcement - they've gained the ability to take away quirks and will start doing so as part of criminal justice.

This is a great thing, as it solves the century-old question about what to do with Villains. Really Bad Villains will have their quirks taken away, and put into regular security prison. Mild Villains can exchange their quirks for a shorter sentence. Dangerous quirks can now be eliminated. Human rights will be improved. Society will be safer.

—At least, it will be, once the chaos the announcement created settles down. Because the remnants of the Meta Liberation Army straight up revolted, along with other groups and other people.

The League of Villains did not start with this upheaval - they were already active two years before the announcement, led by Shimura Tenko, as just particularly notorious Villains doing whatever they wanted, whether it was heists or killing heroes or feuding with other villain groups - but they have become embroiled into the fight through a loose alliance with the MLA, and due to the HPSC holding members of the League up as the reason why the new law was enacted in the first place.

The HPSC have kept very, very top secret the exact method they’re using to take away quirks. No one knows for sure whether it was a drug or surgery or implant. There was a rumor that it was a quirk that was doing this, but it was just a rumor—until now.

Though, the League didn’t expect that it would be a kid. So what will they do with him now?

*

For all nearly all twelve years of his life, AFO (and his younger twin brother) has been in care of the HPSC. This is the first time he's ever been kidnapped, is in real danger, but he knows exactly what to do:

Nothing.

In all honesty, AFO would rather destroy this 'League of Villains' - just a bunch of insignificant insects running around causes messes and ruining everything (like his day!) - and just go home using his own power. He doesn’t like being away from Yoichi; he still has schoolwork to finish; the new chapter of Captain Hero: New Ultra is out Monday; he’s got his life to get back to.

But AFO has been relentlessly counseled and drilled by the HPSC for this exact scenario: He is NOT allowed to use his quirk. No matter what happens, he is only to wait for rescue.

Not that using his quirks might help much. AFO has never been taught to fight, and besides his own ‘Give-and-Take’ quirk, he’s got only five other low-tier quirks he had only taken this morning that he’s never used. The HPSC won’t risk letting him keep the quirks, see, so the system they’ve come up with is this: the quirks taken from criminals are transferred immediately to a Villain scheduled for execution. (Given the explosion in criminal activity and revolt over the past four years, death row has just the right and regular numbers to supply.) They’ve even got a machine just for him, just for tracking his quirk(s), invented by the famous American scientists David Shield and Toshinori Yagi, so they know exactly what he takes in and lets out.

When AFO has just his own original quirk, it’s as good as no quirk.

The HPSC has to do this, because AFO is a born villain. They know it; he knows it, everyone who’s ever met him knows it. It’s just hard to describe otherwise a child who came into this world stealing everything within reach: his mother’s life, his twin brother’s health, and every person’s quirk he ever had come into physical contact with even as an infant - the homeless woman who rescued the twins from a decaying corpse, the police who later found them while investigating a dead body that was registered in the system with a quirk but autopsy had revealed zero quirk factors left, the doctors that examined the twin babies.

AFO has heard this story many times. He’s got a too-strong quirk that’s made him clinically diagnosed kleptomaniac with a Cluster B personality disorder. Quirk counseling, behavioral counseling, regular counseling, art therapy... He’s been handled extremely delicately and thoroughly his entire life.

And that’s…fine. That’s how the world works. That’s the price of power. It’s better than being dead in the grave with the mom he killed, or out there in the chaos, if the HSPC had never found them. AFO’s on the side that’s calling the shots and set to dictate the final reality of a post-Advent world - he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. One day, he’ll grow up and he’ll become part of the HPSC and he’ll get his rightful piece of the cake - really, they’ve let him have some of it already, when he first started taking quirks away for them five years ago (first year was trial year, before they went public).

His itch to use his quirk is scratched regularly. He got to keep Yoichi, who had once almost been adopted away. Being on his best behavior means he gets most of what he asks for. The worst AFO can say is that he’s bored - which is expected, his brain is wired differently after all.

All he has to do is stay calm, play nice with the League, and wait for Heroes to arrive. Someone will come save him soon enough.

Everything is in order.

*

But of course, this encounter with Shimura and the League will be the catalyst that will destroy that very order.

(In one universe, AFO tells Tenko he'll teach him how to take his rage and give it purpose.

In this universe, Shimura tells little AFO he'll teach him how to find his rage.)

[himiko-yumehellno]

Kodaka very obviously wants to make Danganronpa 4, but as many people have pointed out already, this would conflict with the ending of V3. I thought I would make things easier on our resident murder mystery writer who appears to really like making mascots that remind me of Whisper from Yo-Kai Watch, and come up with some solutions to this problem! Organized in approximate order of increasing silliness and grasping at straws, with some additional director's notes from ✨me✨!!

So, how can Kodaka make a new Danganronpa game that works with the ending of Danganronpa V3?:

Danganronpa isn't actually a killing game franchise loved around the world; Tsumugi either lied or was lied to herself (probably with the use of a Flashback Light to make her believe she was a willing ringleader). Allows for some interesting angst if it's the second option.

Despair made a sudden comeback and took over a good portion of the world. Tsumugi fudged some details, but it's true that a lot of the world now enjoys killing games, because normal life is just boring to them (a life without despair and death?! Ugh! Who'd want that, am I right?). We find out in a later installment that the survivors joined with other forces fighting against despair. Danganronpa 4 explores a separate killing game also put on in the name of this new global wave of despair.

Danganronpa 4 turns out to be a prequel (possibly featuring a killing game that the in-game franchise was inspired by, possibly just being one of the numerous previous installments Tsumugi threw out there in her exposition monologue, possibly some secret third option), and ends up with some ridiculous name so fans don't get confused on the sequence of events. Personally, I hope the name is Danganronpa Negative Four.

As so many postgame fics have taken to declaring, the entire game was a simulation. Except to make this work, it probably wouldn't be a simulation designed by Team Danganronpa – no, no, no! Perhaps this killing game was put on by Remnants of Despair or – *exaggerated gasp* – the Future Foundation themselves, hm?

Danganronpa V3 was a really fucked up social experiment and none of the "reality TV" backstory was real. No one knows how it got past the ethics committee, so don't ask.

It was all an alternate dimension/timeline. ... Look, if all it takes to brainwash someone into mass murder is forcing them to come to anime night, they can throw in a little time or dimension travel!

To piggyback on that last idea, the "reality TV" backstory was true; Danganronpa V3 and all the previous installments in this series were fiction... in the Rain Code universe. Or some other video game setting made by Kodaka. Nothing of the sort happened in the actual Danganronpa continuity, however.

Danganronpa V3 was Junko Enoshima's idea of heaven. Of course, it wouldn't have been complete without the despair of her ideal world being destroyed, hence the survivor trio shutting down her killing game show. Danganronpa 4, therefore, takes place in the living world, continuing off vaguely where the Danganronpa 3 anime left off. Notably, all questions about how Junko's heaven works and why she even got to go to heaven in the first place are not solved until a separate anime series, where we find out it was originally supposed to be her hell until she made the demon in charge of looking after her quit and give her full range of the place. It's never answered whether the participants of the killing game were other dead souls or just beings she created.

The entire thing was just the Monokuma Children playing with dolls. ... Or, knowing them, dead bodies.

Before V3 came out my brother had this whole theory that all of the characters were in a pseudo time loop where every time a killing game concluded, they'd just roll out a set of clones of everyone and start all over again, presumably killing off the survivors of the last game. I have no idea how this would solve Kodaka's issue but I want to see if they could find a way to make it work.

I'm excited to see what becomes of Kodaka's newest works, but apparently by his own admission he's interested in returning to Danganronpa at some point, so I thought I'd do the hard part for him. Feel free to take any of these ideas and run with them, Kodaka!

(feel free to add your own suggestions on how to make the ending of V3 work with a new Danganronpa game!)

[fantasblog]

CHAPTER 1: riffle between us (scibill au/shift falls)

In the dim light of a lab scattered with arcane artifacts and scientific instruments, a peculiar figure adjusted his glasses. Bill Cipher, an enigmatic triangle demon known for his chaos and destruction, had shed his usual chaotic demeanor for the role of a scientist. His black necktie, neatly tied around his neck, and his tailored scientist's cloak created a sharp contrast to the turmoil that had once defined him.

Years had passed since the Euclidean massacre, a cataclysmic event that left its mark on the very fabric of existence. Bill had been a survivor of that disaster, though he was not the only one affected. His parents, once benevolent beings, had turned to darkness in the aftermath, driven mad by the carnage that had unfolded. They had embraced chaos, leaving Bill to flee and start anew. The rift between them was as vast as the void itself, and Bill had not seen them since.

Now, he occupied himself with research and invention, trying to piece together the shattered remnants of his once-promising life. The chaos that had been his birthright seemed like a distant memory as he worked tirelessly to understand the mysteries of the universe from a scientific perspective. His new life was a strange blend of old-world knowledge and modern scientific theory, and his laboratory was a testament to this synthesis.

The lab was quiet, save for the occasional hum of machinery and the scratch of Bill's pen on a notepad. He was deep in thought when the lab's door creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped in. It was Stanford Pines, the renowned scientist whose reputation for unraveling the mysteries of the universe preceded him.

"Dr. Pines," Bill greeted, setting down his pen and adjusting his glasses. "I wasn’t expecting a visit."

Stanford, dressed in his usual attire of a tweed jacket and glasses, glanced around the lab with curiosity. "I heard you had made some impressive breakthroughs in your research, Bill. I wanted to see for myself."

Bill's eyes, usually alight with mischief, softened with a hint of pride. "I’m glad to hear that. I’ve been working on a theory about interdimensional stability. It’s quite complex."

As the two scientists delved into discussion, Bill couldn't help but notice the irony of his situation. Here he was, once a being of pure chaos, now engaging in conversations of quantum mechanics and dimensional rifts with one of the foremost minds in the field. The juxtaposition was not lost on him.

Stanford, absorbed in the conversation, remarked, "You know, it's impressive how far you’ve come from your... previous endeavors. Your work here could have significant implications for understanding the boundaries between dimensions."

Bill shrugged, a wry smile playing at his lips. "I suppose it's my way of compensating for the past. If I can contribute something positive, maybe it will make up for the chaos I once caused."

As the hours passed, the discussion between Bill and Stanford flowed seamlessly. Their shared passion for discovery bridged the gap between their respective pasts, creating a new partnership founded on mutual respect and curiosity. In that moment, Bill realized that perhaps he could forge a new path, one where he could reconcile his past with his present.

Outside the lab, the night sky was clear, and the stars shone brightly. For the first time in a long while, Bill felt a glimmer of hope. The darkness of his past seemed to recede, if only slightly, as he looked forward to the possibilities that lay ahead.

As the evening wore on, the conversation between Bill Cipher and Stanford Pines grew more animated, filled with complex theories and mutual admiration. The two scientists were so engrossed in their discussion that neither noticed the soft knock on the lab door.

The door creaked open, and a burly figure with wild, silver hair and a pair of thick, round glasses entered the room. He was dressed in an old-fashioned lab coat that looked as though it had seen better days, its pockets stuffed with various tools and gadgets. The man’s eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and excitement as he took in the sight of the advanced equipment around him.

“Howdy there!” he called out, his voice rich with a Southern drawl. “I heard some mighty interesting talk and thought I’d come see what’s cookin’ in this here lab.”

Stanford glanced over and smiled. “Ah, Fiddleford! Just in time. This is Bill Cipher, a colleague of mine whose work has been truly remarkable. Bill, this is Fiddleford McGucket, another brilliant mind in the field of scientific research.”

Bill’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the newcomer. Fiddleford McGucket was a name he had heard in passing, a scientist known for his unconventional theories and inventions. Though their paths had never crossed, Bill had always respected McGucket’s reputation.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. McGucket,” Bill said, extending a hand in greeting. “I’ve heard quite a bit about your work. It’s an honor.”

Fiddleford shook Bill’s hand enthusiastically, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “Well, the pleasure’s all mine! I’ve been followin’ your research from afar and I gotta say, I’m impressed. You’ve got quite the knack for makin’ sense of things that most folks wouldn’t even dream of.”

Bill chuckled, slightly taken aback by Fiddleford’s friendly demeanor. “Thank you. I suppose we’re all just trying to make sense of a universe that often defies understanding.”

Fiddleford’s gaze shifted to the array of gadgets and devices in the lab. “I can see you’ve been busy. What’s the latest project you’re workin’ on?”

Stanford, sensing the enthusiasm in the room, took a step back to let the two scientists converse freely. “Bill was just explaining his theory on interdimensional stability. It’s a groundbreaking approach, and I think Fiddleford’s expertise could offer valuable insights.”

Fiddleford’s eyes lit up as he examined the blueprints and notes scattered across the lab table. “Interdimensional stability, you say? That’s right up my alley! I’ve been tinkerin’ with some ideas on dimensional harmonics myself. Maybe we could collaborate on this?”

Bill’s interest was piqued. “Collaboration? That could be very beneficial. I’d be open to exploring new ideas with you.”

As the evening continued, the three scientists delved into discussions that spanned multiple disciplines. The exchange of ideas was invigorating, and the synergy between them was palpable. Bill found himself more inspired than he had been in years, his past struggles momentarily forgotten as he focused on the exciting possibilities of the present.

Outside, the night deepened, but inside the lab, the spirit of discovery burned brightly. Bill Cipher, once a figure of chaos, was now part of a new chapter—one where his talents could be harnessed for creation and understanding. With Stanford Pines and Fiddleford McGucket by his side, the future seemed filled with endless potential.

---

As the evening advanced, the lab’s atmosphere was charged with excitement and new possibilities. The sound of lively discussion and the clinking of tools filled the air. Just then, the lab’s door swung open once more, and in walked another Pines sibling—Stanley Pines. His presence was marked by a rugged charm and a slightly disheveled appearance, a stark contrast to the polished looks of his brother and their colleague.

“Hey, Stanford! I thought I’d find you here,” Stanley greeted, his voice carrying a mix of warmth and weariness. He spotted Bill and Fiddleford, giving them a friendly nod. “I see you’ve got company. Nice to meet you both.”

Stanford looked up, his eyes lighting up with recognition and a touch of concern. “Stanley, it’s good to see you. I didn’t expect you to come by tonight.”

Stanley’s gaze shifted to the room’s various gadgets and blueprints. “I figured I’d drop in and see what you’ve been up to. It’s been a while since we’ve had a chance to catch up.”

Bill, sensing the tension between the brothers, gave a polite nod. “I’m Bill Cipher, and this is Fiddleford McGucket. We were just discussing some intriguing theories on dimensional stability.”

Stanley raised an eyebrow but didn’t pursue the matter further. “Sounds like you’re in good company. I’m here to—well, let’s just say I’ve got some unfinished business with my brother.”

Stanford’s expression grew serious. “Stanley, I hope this isn’t about—”

Stanley cut him off with a wave of his hand. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now, I want to know what’s really going on. I’ve heard some troubling things, and I need answers.”

Fiddleford, sensing the undercurrent of tension, attempted to lighten the mood. “Why don’t we all sit down and have a chat? There’s plenty of room in the lab for discussions.”

As they settled around the table, the conversation turned to less contentious topics, though the air remained thick with unspoken concerns. Bill observed the dynamics between the Pines brothers with a mixture of curiosity and unease. He had heard about the rift between them—Stanford’s mysterious disappearance and the subsequent discord between him and Stanley—but witnessing it firsthand added a new layer of complexity.

After a while, the conversation naturally shifted back to the topic of Stanford’s research. Stanley’s curiosity was piqued, but it was clear he was still preoccupied with his own issues. The talk was cut short when an unexpected commotion was heard from outside the lab.

Stanley’s eyes narrowed, and he stood abruptly. “That doesn’t sound good. I need to check something.”

Stanford followed, clearly concerned. “Wait, Stanley—”

Before Stanford could finish his sentence, Stanley was already out the door. Bill and Fiddleford exchanged puzzled looks as they followed at a more measured pace.

Outside, the night sky was illuminated by strange, flickering lights that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy. Stanley stood by a swirling portal that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The portal crackled with unstable energy, casting eerie shadows on the surrounding landscape.

Stanford arrived breathless, his face pale. “Stanley, what have you done?”

Stanley’s face was set with determination. “I didn’t do this. But it’s connected to the problems we’ve been having. I need to get to the bottom of it.”

Stanford’s eyes widened in realization. “This portal—it’s unstable. It could lead to anywhere—or nowhere. It might even be linked to the dimensional rifts I’ve been studying.”

The portal began to pulse more violently, and before anyone could react, a sudden burst of energy erupted from it, drawing Stanford toward its swirling vortex. His eyes locked with Stanley’s, a mixture of regret and determination flashing across his face.

“Stanley, I—” Stanford’s voice was cut off as he was pulled into the portal, which closed with a blinding flash of light.

Stanley staggered back, shock and anger warring on his face. Bill and Fiddleford rushed to his side, their own concerns mirrored in their expressions.

“What just happened?” Bill asked, his voice tinged with urgency.

Stanley’s face was grim. “That portal—it’s taken Stanford. And we don’t know where he’s gone. I’ve got to find him.”

As the night settled into an uneasy silence, the gravity of the situation became clear. The portal had not only separated the Pines brothers but had also opened a new chapter of uncertainty and danger. Bill and Fiddleford knew that their work was far from over and that the coming days would demand their utmost resolve.

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

[sofreddie]

Against All Odds

Summary: Jared is a small-town Deputy who's lived there all his life. When he met Y/N - a new Omega in town - in the drunk tank, he wondered if he'd ever get a second chance at love.

Characters: Alpha!Correctional Officer!Jared x Omega!Reader

Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, Angst, Fluff, Drinking/Alcohol Abuse, Medical Conditions, Medical Treatments, Heat/Rut Cycles, Medical Emergency, Procedural Violations (Doctors bending the rules/laws), Smut (Fuck or Die, Unprotected Sex, Knotting, Claiming/Biting, Dirty Talk)

AU: CORRECTIONAL OFFICER!JARED (@spnaubingo)

ANGST: IN THE HOSPITAL (@anyfandomangstbingo)

OMEGAVERSE: CLAIM SEX (@afgomegaversebingo)

SW: FREE SPACE (@samwinchesterbingo)

WC: 11,623

A/N: So I started this fic in 2021 for my Bingos (which I am still working on and intend to complete eventually). I doubt they count anymore, but that's not the point, LOL. I took quite a few liberties with the prompts. Although it took ages to complete, I am delighted with how this fic turned out. I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is appreciated. : )

My Masterlist

The weight of her head was heavy in her hands, the concrete beneath her cold enough to numb her backside. Groaning, she pinched her eyes shut against the overly bright lights that rained down on her, creating a constant pounding behind her closed lids.

"Good Morning, Ms. Y/L/N. How are we feeling today?"

Y/N groaned louder, the chipper and familiar voice only adding to her torment.

"Mornin' Padadeputy," she snorted at her joke, wincing as it caused her poor, battered brain pain. "Can I go home?" she croaked, working her mouth to ease the dryness.

She could use a drink. But the very thought had her throwing a hand over her mouth and rushing to the steel toilet in the corner, the remnants of her late-night excursions making a reappearance.

Wiping a hand across her mouth, she leaned her back against the wall, her head tilted back, and her eyes closed as she felt a bit of relief from her suffering. Though the constant rhythmic pounding in her head only grew more prominent.

The sound of metal sliding against metal, locks clicking, and doors sliding alerted her that she was no longer confined. Opening her eyes just enough, she could make out her favorite deputy's tall and lean figure.

"So, at this rate, should we keep this room open for you?" Officer Padalecki joked as he leaned against the open doorway of the cell.

Using the wall as leverage, she forced herself to her feet, her body protesting the movements. She quickly rinsed her mouth and washed her face, waking herself up enough to return home.

"Maybe I just like seeing you?" She smiled over-sweetly and shuffled past him as her feet walked the familiar path.

"Not that I'm complaining, but there's probably better ways to get my attention," he teased.

The flirty banter between them happened with ease. Y/N, unfortunately, made a habit of landing herself in the drunk tank at least once a week. Though they'd never seen or talked to each other outside of the local jail, they formed an easy camaraderie.

The truth was he worried about her, the unclaimed Omega slowly drinking herself to death, being forcibly removed from local bars for disorderly conduct on many occasions. She seemed like a sweet but troubled woman. Maybe it was his caring side or his Alpha, but he worried and wanted her to be okay.

Y/N's senses were sharp, even when drunk out of her mind. She could see his attractiveness and smell his rich Alpha lurking under the surface. She'd never been with an Alpha, never felt the pull. But in her condition, there was no way she could start now, even if there were an attraction unlike anything she'd felt before. She brushed it off as another symptom; her Omega had long since become unreliable.

-

Jared walked back into the office area after escorting Y/N outside. As soon as he entered, Jensen looked up with a lewd grin, making Jared sigh and roll his eyes.

"Alright, let's have it," Jared scoffed as he sat at his desk, crossing his booted feet on the desktop and leaning back in his chair.

He had worked with Jensen at the station for years, but they had met at the training academy before that. However, they only spent a little time together outside of work, as they were involved in the community. Sometimes, they'd see each other at local events, but they were both occupied with helping the community in various ways, volunteering, and making their hometown well-cared for and safe.

Y/N was relatively new to their community. No one knew much about her. She lived in town but didn't seem to work anywhere, and she spent almost every Friday night sleeping it off in the jail. Regardless, Jared was attracted to her almost immediately after catching a slight hint of her scent. He often felt like a swooning teenager again in her presence, which Jensen never missed a chance to rib him about, leaving Jared an embarrassed and blustering mess.

"So, you ever gonna ask her out, or you just planning to be a secret admirer?" Jensen teased as usual.

"Come on, man," Jared groaned. "We've been over this. It's unprofessional to do that when I'm on duty and she's in jail. I never see her outside of this place. Maybe it's just not meant to be?"

He didn't like how the words tasted as he spoke them, somehow feeling malformed. There was something between them, a possible compatibility. After all, Jensen could never catch any scent from her; he was an Alpha, too. So, if Jared was sensitive to her scent, it must mean something.

Jensen shook his head and laughed before getting back to some paperwork. Jared sighed again, doing the same and wondering if he'd ever see her outside the jail and off duty, just like two people in the world. Then, he promised himself, he’d try again.

-

After Jared clocked out for the end of his shift - his relief right on time as usual - he tried to put Y/N out of his mind, but his Alpha was set on her ever since he'd first laid eyes on her. His mind flip-flopped as usual, switching from the primal Alpha wanting her to the rational man determined to remain professional. Either way, whatever was going on in her life, he was sure the last thing she needed was an Alpha sniffing around.

As he walked towards his truck, twirling his keys in his hand, he saw Y/N waiting on a bench by the station. She usually called a cab to come and get her when she was released, but she was long gone by the time he left to go home. Deciding to take a chance, he went over to her.

"Waiting on your cab?" he smiled down at her.

She nodded, "Yeah, they're just a little busy this morning."

"I can give you a ride if you'd like," he offered, pointing over his shoulder at his truck. Y/N's eyes flitted between him and his truck before she sighed and nodded.

"Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks."

She could feel his eyes on her as she climbed in the old truck, the effort seeming to drain her. She glanced at him, the same look of worry she saw from everyone etched onto his beautiful face.

"I'm fine. Just need some sleep."

It was one of her standard responses. She was glad that Jared seemed to buy it and started driving. She gave him directions to her house, grateful the town was small and wasn't a long drive.

"Thanks again," she said as she climbed out of the truck and shut the door. "See you later."

"I hope under different circumstances," he chuckled, a light tinge of pink staining his cheeks and ears.

Yeah, she wished that things could be different, too. She bid her farewell as it was, noting that Jared hadn't driven off until she was safely secured inside. Sighing, she brushed it off, eager to get rid of the stink of jail and stale liquor that clung to her.

She stumbled into her bathroom, pulling off her clothes on the way, a haphazard trail left behind her. She leaned on the bathroom counter, groaning at her disheveled reflection in the mirror. Drinking wasn't doing her any favors, but it was the only way to drown the pain and sorrow.

She turned to the corner of the counter, opening her organized pill box and eyeballing the many different medications in various colors and sizes she had to take every day. She hated it, but her regimen required it as part of her treatment for aging, unmated Omegas.

She downed the pills with a glass of water, showered, and dried as quickly as possible. Forgoing clothes, she climbed into her bed, sleep taking over quickly.

-

Y/N sat in the oversized pleather chair, letting out a long sigh. Her eyes were more than bored with whatever random home makeover show played on the muted TV. She allowed her eyes to roam, taking in the other chairs like hers, with different people occupying them.

Her head rolled to the other side, glancing at the IV in her arm, her eyes following up the tubing to the bag hanging above her, still half-full. She groaned, knowing she'd be there a while yet.

She'd been at it for six months, and the treatment of donated Alpha enzymes was designed to counteract the decline of her Omega body. She was past the average age for Omegas to be mated, never having found an Alpha that called to her Omega. Now, being mateless had become a medical condition, her body rapidly deteriorating from lack of a mate and the necessary enzymes a bite would provide.

Still, the treatments would only work so much and for so long, prolonging the inevitable. Y/N's doctors insisted she try finding a mate as soon as possible, but she wasn't willing to settle for anyone. Her stubbornness, however, didn't help her condition. The treatments weren't as effective anymore, and her body started to build a tolerance. She shifted in her chair, the squeaky creak of the materials making her groan.

"Y/N?"

Her head snapped up, and her brow furrowed at the figure across the room. He finished his conversation with a doctor, rolling the sleeves of his plaid flannel down over his forearms as he approached her with a smile.

He pulled up one of the smaller guest chairs beside her, laying his coat over his knee. His body looked too large and long for the basic chair.

"Padadeputy," she greeted, but without the usual smile. "What are you doing here?" she asked, still confused over his sudden appearance and at having someone see her here. She hadn't told a soul about her treatments, not that she had anyone to say anything to.

"Jared," he corrected her with a smile. "I come in a couple times a month," he explained. "I donate enzymes."

His eyes drifted from the IV in her arm to the hanging bag, his gaze flicking back to her eyes. She lowered her head in shame, heat spreading across her cheeks. For a moment, they both wondered if it was his enzymes she'd received.

The awkward silence dragged out between them, Jared waiting for her to speak. She didn't like anyone knowing about her condition, afraid Alphas would try to claim her in a heartbeat 'for her own good.' But, for whatever reason, Y/N felt compelled to tell Jared the truth. She wanted him to know. Maybe her Omega was reaching out to him again, but she gave in to this small need to connect with the Alpha before her.

"I've never had a mate," she spoke quietly, picking at her nails. "I've been doing treatments for a few months. But it's-" she sighed, briefly meeting his eyes and forcing a smile, "-it's not working so well."

"I had a mate," Jared broke the silent tension after a beat. "A long time ago," he dropped his head. She worried for him, wanting to reach out and comfort him. But she focused instead on her hands in her lap again.

"She died in an accident," he continued, seemingly composing himself as he met her eyes again. "Now that I'm…older," he smirked, "It's getting harder to deal with." She was thoroughly surprised by his admission.

"Well, I wouldn't recommend drinking to cope," she chuckled, trying to ease the seriousness.

"I can't imagine the drinking is helping," Jared stated. "It can't be good with the treatments-"

"I don't need a lecture," she whined, surprised at herself for not being more angry at his audacity. "I get enough of that from my doctor."

"Maybe you should listen," Dr. Collins interrupted with a smile and a reassuring hand on Y/N's shoulder. "Hey, Jared. Didn't know you two knew each other."

"Hey, Mish," Jared responded with a warm smile. 

Misha had also grown up in the town and was a prominent fixture in the community. The Omega Outreach Program, which he helped found and develop, drew Omegas from all over for his unique treatments and regimens.

Y/N listened as the two men chatted. She often felt like an outsider, having moved there specifically for the treatments. When both men turned their attention back to her, she was pulled from her musings.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I'd like to go over some things with you. Would you like Jared to leave?"

Both men waited as she made up her mind, shaking her head. "He can stay," she said in a small and quiet voice.

Jared was the closest thing she had to a friend; having someone to know and talk to about things would be helpful. But also, it was an attempted blow to stifle her Omega. As much as she pined after Jared, she knew he wouldn't be interested if he knew the truth of her condition. What Alpha would want a broken, dying Omega? At least when he learned, he could leave, and she could try and let go of this stupid fantasy she'd concocted in her mind.

"Okay," Dr. Collins nodded as he pulled up a seat to talk with her. "You'll be happy to know it appears this round of treatments is starting to work, at least a little," he explained. Y/N was surprised as each round of treatments before had failed, her body not finding compatibility with any of the enzymes she was provided. Now, it seemed, they'd finally found a match. "I'm still worried about your heat. And, of course," he leveled her with a gaze, "The goal is to find an Alpha for a permanent solution possibly. Have you given more thought to what we discussed?"

She appreciated his vagueness at the time, seeing Jared stir quietly. Dr. Collins had recommended a matching service that would pair her with an Alpha who needed an Omega. A clinical pairing that would keep them alive, if not happy or in love. That wasn't the point of those programs; she didn't want to go that route. It felt like giving up, and a small part of her hoped to find the fairytale of True Mates and love and romance. Her eyes flashed to Jared, stirring deep within her, alerting her to the fact her Omega was trying to seek the Alpha it needed in him.

"No," she shook her head, forcing her eyes from Jared back to Misha. "I don't want to do that."

Misha sighed, glancing between the pair before nodding. "Alright, we'll continue your treatments and see how you do. Same time next week?"

She smiled and nodded, and Dr. Collins dismissed himself to help the next patient. She liked him a lot. He never seemed to judge her, was open, kind, and understanding, but provided the same level of detailed care to every one of his patients. It was a big part of what made him so sought after in the first place.

"It seems pretty bad," Jared mumbled once they were alone again. He tried to bite back the rising jealousy at his following words: "He's recommending a matching service, isn't he?" She nodded, and he felt a little queasy. "Is that what you want?"

"No," she said, meeting his eyes. "I don't want to give myself to any Alpha to survive. But because I've never been with an Alpha at all, my condition is worse. I'm afraid the choice will be taken from me."

Jared licked his lips and leaned forward, ready to take the chance and offer himself to her, "Y/N, I-"

His phone ringing made him squeeze his eyes shut and curse. As he answered the phone, Jared's body slumped, and Y/N knew he would have to leave.

"-I have to go," he finished lamely, flashing her an apologetic look.

"Duty calls," she chuckled, attempting again to lighten a rather heavy mood.

He laughed with a light sparkle in his eyes. Even though he was a rather large Alpha, she felt comfortable around him. Conversation flowed easily, and she found herself drawn to him in a way she hadn't felt with anyone before. She was almost sad when her treatment finished, and he bid her farewell. Her eyes followed him until he disappeared from her sight.

Maybe it's for the best, she thought, that he leaves before her Omega reaches out for him with dying desperation, ignoring the lingering flutter in her chest. Regardless, she hoped she might see him again, not from within the drunk tank.

-

Jared checked his watch, hurrying his steps toward the hospital's entrance. He did his best to try and calm his racing heart. Jared scheduled his donations for several weeks to coincide with Y/N's treatments.

After their third visit, Dr. Collins pulled him aside to say that she'd been improving with Jared's visits and that the treatments were becoming more effective. However, they still wouldn't tell him if she received his enzymes, so Jared made sure to be there for her.

She was utterly alone, he learned. And her drinking that kept landing her in jail was a failed coping mechanism. She was spiraling toward a painful end. The more he knew and the more time he spent with her, the stronger the pull between them became.

Maybe it was because they were both without a mate. Perhaps it was because they were both dealing with their bodies degrading. But he held on to the slight hope that maybe they were compatible, and that's why their visits always felt like the highlight of his week.

He was nervous as he reached the treatment floor. He was excited to see Y/N and had been working up the nerve over the past two weeks. This time, he was ready; he would go for it and ask her out. Their connection was strong, and he'd been attracted to her since he first saw her. Finally, things were aligning.

As he entered the clinic, his heart sank. He did not see Y/N anywhere among those receiving treatment. He knew it was the right day, the same as it had always been. Checking his watch once more, he frowned. Turning to the receptionist's desk, he gave his name and signed in on the sheet. While the woman behind the desk typed on her computer, he took a moment to glance over the sign-in sheet, not seeing her name anywhere.

Maybe she had other things going on and had to reschedule her appointment. Jared forced back his despondency, deciding to show up earlier the following week. As he sat through his donation, his mind overthinking in circles and lamenting her absence, the most primal side of his inner Alpha began to wake for the first time in years.

-

Jared tried to focus on the paperwork at his desk, but he was restless, his inner Alpha rising to the forefront increasingly with each passing day. He could feel Jensen's eyes boring into him, but he did his best to ignore it. Jensen was increasingly concerned as he watched his Alpha friend unravel before him. He wasn't even sure Jared was aware of the huffs and growls falling from his lips sporadically, his scent permeating everything around him.

"What?" Jared growled at his friend and co-worker with bared teeth. At Jensen's raised brow, Jared tried to compose himself. "I'm sorry."

"Man, I've never seen you like this," Jensen said. "Not even after Gen."

"I know," Jared responded defensively, trying not to bristle at the mention of his former mate.

"Have you seen Y/N lately?"

Jensen didn't want to bring her up, but she hadn't been in jail in weeks. While grateful for that, he could see how badly it affected Jared not to see or be around her.

"She wasn't at the clinic," Jared mumbled, seeing Jensen's curious look. Remembering no one knew, he decided to talk it out with a friend. "She goes to the clinic for Omega treatment," he explained. "I've seen her when I go for donations, but she wasn't there this week."

"Look, I don't want you snapping my head off. But you're different around her, and now that she's not around, you're not looking great. I thought it was just a crush, but maybe you've imprinted," Jensen said as Jared scowled. "Maybe she's yours."

Jared tried to ignore how those words affected him, making him purr at the thought of her being his. He'd entertained the idea himself, the fantastical notion of True Mates. He tried to brush it off as silly, immature musings. But now, hearing Jensen vocalize the same thoughts, Jared wondered if maybe it wasn't just childish notions grounded in something genuine.

When Jared didn't speak and returned to work, Jensen let it go. However, he was determined to keep an eye on his friend and help if needed. He didn't want to see Jared spin out like he did when he lost his mate, Gen. Maybe Jared and Y/N could save each other from a fate worse than death.

-

As promised to himself, Jared returned to the clinic the following week, an hour before he or Y/N were usually scheduled to be there. He sat and waited, completed his donation, and waited another hour beyond the end of his appointment.

But Y/N never showed.

His Alpha was beginning to spin out of his control. A control he maintained so tightly and with relative ease most of his life was now being stripped away in his worry over Y/N. An Omega. One that his Alpha wanted to claim as its own.

He continued going to work each day, both happy and sad that she was never there. He visited the clinic daily to see if her schedule had changed, but she was absent. He briefly entertained the idea of showing up at her door, but he stopped himself. As much as he may care about and want her, she wasn't his Omega. She wasn't his anything, and he had no right to show up. If anything, she might consider it an abuse of his knowledge or power as a deputy, and he certainly didn't want that either.

By the time of his next appointment, Jared was a mess. His Alpha was now at the forefront. He felt almost on the cusp of a rut and wasn't due for some time. The looks from the hospital staff irritated him further as he huffed and stomped his way into the clinic, wiping the ever-present sweat from his brow. It took all he had to contain himself when Dr. Collins refused his weekly donation and sent him home.

He decided to call out of work that night, his rut on the cusp, his Alpha barely restrained. He never called out of work, keeping himself to a strict and disciplined schedule and lifestyle - his way of controlling the beast.

Jared was interrupted from his musings by the phone ringing. He scowled, checking the ID and seeing it was the station. He laid back on the couch with a groan, wiping the sweat from his brow before answering.

"I told you I was too sick to come in tonight," Jared nearly growled.

"I know. But your lady friend found herself locked up again." It was Jensen. "She wanted me to call you."

That had him sitting upright, clutching the phone a little tighter. "She okay?" he asked, jumping up from the couch and rushing to put on his shoes.

"Drunk," Jensen sighed into the phone. "Not as lively as usual, though."

Jared slammed his door as he hastened to his truck, eager to see her and hoping she was okay. His Alpha was chomping at the bit.

"I'll be there in a few minutes."

God, he couldn't be anything but happy she was alive. He slowly drove himself mad for weeks, wondering if he'd missed his chance. Maybe she was going feral, and he couldn't help. Perhaps he did something to piss her off, and she was avoiding him. But now, at least, he knew she was alive and out in the world and asking for HIM. His Alpha puffed with pride, ready to answer his Omega's call.

He barely had the truck in park before hopping out, his long legs marching hurriedly to the station doors. He banged on the glass of the locked front door with an open palm, shuffling from foot to foot as he waited for entry. The bright lights around the law enforcement facility thoroughly polluted the dark of night.

As the door opened, Jared met Jensen's eyes, which roamed him from head to toe and back again. Jared squirmed under the scrutiny, knowing he was a mess. His hair was wild and matted with sweat. His clothes and body were drenched in pheromones, making Jensen's nose crinkle.

"You good?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jared nodded and swallowed hard, taking several breaths to try and calm himself.

Jensen hesitated momentarily, eyeing Jared warily before huffing and letting him in. Jared followed hot on his heels as Jensen unlocked doors and led the way into the holding cell.

Jared froze as soon as his eyes landed on her. She was huddled in the corner, looking far worse than he'd ever seen her. She was undoubtedly drunk, but by the smells permeating every corner of the room, he knew it was more than just alcohol that was making her so lethargic.

"Y/N?" he called out loudly as he clung to the bars.

She stirred and grunted but didn't respond beyond that. Jared's nostrils flared, his Alpha ready to pry the bars apart to get to her.

"Omega?" he whimpered under his breath as if saying it were a delicate secret.

Hearing her title, she sat up slightly, fluttering open her eyes to lock on the source. She took a deep breath at the slight whine from the Alpha on the other side of the bars. As her vision cleared and her body filled with his scent, she rose, stumbling to him. When her smaller hands clutched at the bars, he automatically moved to cover hers with his own, drawing a small whimper from the fragile Omega.

"Sorry, Padadeputy," she smirked, finally meeting his eyes. "I didn't have anyone else to call."

He could see unspoken pain in her eyes, could sense just how bad her condition had gotten and how worse she was making it from drinking. He reluctantly released her, stepping back from the bars and turning to Jensen.

"Let her out," Jared asked but with a commanding Alpha edge. "I'll take her home."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," Jensen protested.

"I don't care what you think," Jared growled. "I'm taking her home where she can sleep it off. You don't know her condition, man."

"And you do?" Jensen asked surprisingly calmly, though his look was anything but.

"Yes, I do," Jared stood tall, squaring his shoulders. "I won't hurt her."

Jensen was still hesitant. But in the end, he trusted his friend. Jared had always been thoughtful and in control in a way Jensen envied. If he could trust anyone with her care, it was Jared. Besides, whatever the Hell was going on with her, she'd certainly do better at home than in a cold, concrete cell.

With a nod and a huff, Jensen relented, turning to the cell door and opening it up, letting Y/N out.

She smiled at Jensen, "Thank you, Ocifer Ankles." She grinned, making Jensen roll his eyes.

"Just get her home safe, okay?"

"Promise," Jared nodded, wrapping an arm around Y/N to steady her as they left the building and walked to his truck.

He secured her safely in the passenger's seat, closed the door, and jogged to the driver's side. He hopped in and started up the truck but leaned back in his seat with a huff, taking a deep breath.

He turned to Y/N, surprised to find her already looking at him. "You called for me," he breathed out, more a statement than a question.

"Well, I didn't have your number," she fidgeted with her hands. “I didn't know anyone else and wanted to go home."

"I haven't seen you in weeks-"

He stopped as her hand landed on his, squeezing lightly. "I'm sorry," she said. “I'll explain everything. Please, take me home."

He agreed, guiding the truck onto the road and quickly remembering the route to her house. He may not have gone there, but he traveled the path in his mind often enough. He was pleasantly surprised that she held his hand the whole ride, even if her attention was on the passing scenery.

Parking in the driveway, they both got out. Y/N quickly took Jared by the hand again as she led him into her house. Guiding him to the couch, she went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. He was already missing her touch and warmth, her presence beside him. He fought the urge to wander into the kitchen and forced himself to sit on the couch.

She knew there was a lot to tell him. She could tell he was riled, and she wasn't entirely surprised. During his visits, they talked and grew more familiar, and Y/N began to entertain the thought of having an Alpha. It was hard for her not to see him in weeks, and she could see that it also affected him.

Pouring the coffee into two mugs, she carried them to the living room, handing Jared one before sitting on the couch facing him.

"Jared," she started, and he purred at hearing his name from her lips. "I'm sorry if I made things awkward by calling you."

"What?" he said, setting his mug on the small table and paying attention to her. "You didn't. I'm glad you called."

She smiled bashfully, "I'm sorry I haven't been to treatment in a while."

"What happened, Y/N?" he asked, still worried but needing to know why she was gone.

"My heat's trying to break through," she explained. "It's been a long time since I've had one because of medications. It didn't hit fully, but what started to break through was enough to make me sick."

Jared's breathing picked up as he listened to her words. His Alpha was going into a panic again. He knew something was wrong. If it was her heat, he could've helped. He can help.

"I was admitted to the Omega wing at the hospital," seeing him getting worked up, she tried to calm him. "They got it managed and switched my meds. It's been trying to worm to the surface for weeks."

"Eventually, it'll come back full force, though, right?" he swallowed hard at the question, knowing full well how painful and possibly fatal a heat for her could be. He had thoroughly researched her condition, and it only made him more sure they met for a reason.

"I've never had an Alpha, Jared. I've never even been with one before." 

He let out a deep growl at her statement, which was more a call to her womanhood than something scary. He wasn't fully aware he'd done it until he saw her body respond. Taking a chance and testing the waters, she set her cup on the table and scooted closer to him. Leaning in, she lay her head on his chest, her arms wrapping around him in a tight hug. She breathed in deeply, blatantly scenting him and humming in satisfaction and comfort.

Jared set his mug aside and wrapped his arms around her, tucking her close. He leaned down to scent her hair as she breathed in his scent, an involuntary groan ripping from his lips. In his youth, he would have been eager to take and claim. Now, there was only calm and peace, her scent and warmth soothing the primal beast within.

"You know I had an Omega before," Jared's voice rumbled in his chest. "It shames me to say this, but it never felt like this."

"I know what you mean," she responded, squeezing him a little, making him hold her closer. “I've never felt such compatibility before. I can usually resist Alphas, but with you…"

True mates, Jared's mind offered, but he remained silent. As the conversation quieted, he moved to retrieve the remote from the table, putting something on to watch until she was ready to sleep. It didn't take long for her to pass out. Jared carefully moved, scooping her into his arms and carrying her to her bedroom. He tucked her under the covers, standing over her as she settled into comfort.

He knew this was when he should leave but he couldn't move his feet. His eyes drifted over Y/N’s face, settled peacefully in slumber, before looking over her shape and form, hidden by the covers. She was beautiful, her scent sweet and enticing. His muscles twitched as he fought the urge to crawl beside her, his Alpha yearning to make her his.

He could leave, he supposed, and he probably should. But he didn't want to, and he reasoned that Y/N probably needed someone to look after her anyway. So, returning to the living room, he kicked off his shoes and settled on the couch. He was asleep in a matter of minutes, her scent surrounding him and providing him with much-needed comfort.

-

Jared woke suddenly in the middle of the night, a second of confusion clouding his mind before he realized why he had woken. Drenched in sweat, he discovered his rut had finally broken in his relaxed state. Although he could smell himself—sweating in the same clothes for two days and soaked once more—her delectable scent still permeated everything.

Now fully awake, he sat upright on the couch, cradling his aching head. His Alpha was desperate to go to her, sneak into her room, and ease their suffering. But he also didn't want to scare her or ruin what they were starting to develop between them. He wouldn't let himself lose control with her. But if he stayed there much longer, the choice might be taken from him.

Mind made up, he searched for a scrap of paper and something to write with, hastily jotting down his number and that he'd see her at the next treatment appointment the following day. He placed the note on the coffee table and forced his feet towards the door. He paused with his hand on the handle, his forehead leaning against the cool door. His Alpha was screaming at him not to do this or leave her.

With his last bought of strength and willpower, he opened the door, shutting it quietly behind him as he forced his feet toward his truck, hoping to sleep it off at home.

-

When she woke in the morning, she felt awful. She knew right away that her heat had broken. She feared this would be the one the doctor had warned her about - the one that would drive her feral. She could faintly smell Jared, and her body forced her to crawl from the bed and towards the source.

She stumbled to the living room like a zombie on automatic. She was surprised not to find him there when she reached the couch. Maybe he was in the bathroom? She glanced at the coffee table, seeing a paper. Dashing to grab it, she read the hastily scribbled note from Jared.

He had to go but would see her at her next appointment. That was tomorrow afternoon. Her Omega whined in protest of his absence. His scent lingered, and she crawled onto the couch, wrapping herself in the throw and drowning in his potent scent. It seemed to seep into everything fabric he touched and slept upon.

As Jared's rich, Alpha scent filled her lungs, her heat slammed into her with a ferocity that terrified her. The pain compounded with heartbreak over the perceived rejection from his departure. His scent ramped up her body from desire to urgent need as a pitiful whine escaped her parted lips.

With hazy images in her mind's eye, her hand wandered down her body and between her thighs, desperate for any form of relief from the burning within her. She came hard with Jared's name on her lips but was still unsatisfied and yearning. Already feeling tired and drained, she forced her fingers to continue, her wetness more than she'd ever felt before. A brief, alarming worry flashed through her before a second climax erased all thought. Again, it wasn't quite enough, but it eased her pain just enough for her to fall asleep.

-

Jared rushed toward the clinic doors, his heart racing. Ever since he'd left Y/N's house, he'd been itching to see her again, to just be near her. He'd showered twice and doused himself in scent blockers, knowing they wouldn't let him stay if he was in a rut. But he'd promised to see her. He couldn't donate in his condition, but he could keep her company and show her he could be trusted.

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Jared walked into the clinic, his eyes flitting about, looking for her. He didn't see or scent her anywhere. Glancing at the clock, he reviewed the sign-in sheet, but her name was not listed. A sinking dread filled his stomach, and he was unaware of his worried Alpha scent growing and filling the space, drawing unwanted attention.

Jared rechecked his phone, but there were no calls or texts. He sent Y/N a text as he began to panic. Maybe he shouldn't have left. Maybe he should go to her house and see if she was okay. His spiraling panic had amped his rut again, the blockers now useless against the many emotions and pheromones clogging the air.

Nurse Benedict - a small but kind man - approached him warily, and Jared looked around to see him drawing attention.

"Hey, Jared," he spoke calmly with a soft smile. "You shouldn't be here in your condition."

Jared could see several patients eyeing him warily, and he knew he was making them uncomfortable.

"I—I'm sorry," he apologized and reluctantly forced himself to leave. The familiar voice of Dr. Collins stopped him at the door.

"Jared?"

Misha had just stepped off the elevators leading to the hospital. Jared's nostrils flared, and his pupils dilated as he caught Y/N's scent from the smaller male. His rut was still simmering under the surface, and her scent on another man—regardless of whom—exacerbated it. 

The Alpha within gained the upper hand as Jared rushed Misha, pinning him against the wall with his forearm across the smaller male’s throat, baring his teeth in warning as he growled. 

“Where is she?”

“Who?” Misha squeaked, urging Jared to loosen his hold enough for him to speak. “Who are you looking for, Jared?”

“Y/N. Where is Y/N? I can smell her all over you. Did you touch what’s mine?” 

Misha knew Jared was deep into his rut. Moreover, his apparent instincts over Y/N further confirmed his suspicions about the pair. 

“Dr. Collins,” Nurse Benedict said, and Misha raised his hand to urge him to stay back. “Should I call security?”

“No. Thank you, Rob. We’re fine. Just need a little space to talk, is all.”

Misha remained calm as Nurse Benedict backed away, leaving him and Jared alone. Jared relaxed and released Misha, a part of him sensing his anger was misplaced. 

"Is she here?" Jared growled, unable to maintain pleasantries. 

Even his logical mind screamed that he was her doctor, for crying out loud. Dr. Collins looked Jared up and down before glancing down the hallway to see Nurse Benedict still watching the scene.

"Come with me," Misha insisted, gesturing for Jared to follow him onto the elevator. Pressing the floor button, the elevator doors closed, leaving the two men alone. "She's on the Omega treatment floor; she was brought in the middle of the night by ambulance."

Guilt slammed into him hard; he knew he shouldn't have left. He was trying to be respectful, but it may have been what sent her there. He couldn't lose her. Not when he'd finally let himself believe they could have something.

The bell chimed, indicating they'd reached their floor as the doors opened again. Jared followed Y/N's doctor in silence. He wasn't her Alpha and wouldn't be allowed to see her or even be on the floor, especially in his condition. But he trusted Misha and didn't want to get thrown out. So he stayed quiet and followed a very close step behind.

Jared tried to tamper down his Alpha as the overwhelming scents of Omegas and their Alphas assaulted him. While he could scent they mainly were bonded, the pheromones had him wanting to fight or fuck it out.

“Dr. Collins?”

A brunette female doctor greeted Misha as they stopped in the hall. Her gaze flicked over Jared questioningly before returning to Misha in confusion. Jared was finding it difficult to control himself when they reached the floor, and everyone was looking at him or scurrying away, his scent potent and alarming.

“Dr. Rhodes,” Misha greeted with a smile. “This is Jared. We’re here for Y/N Y/L/N.”

Dr. Rhodes was slightly concerned and upset over the situation, not to mention the visible marks on Misha’s neck. She was almost sure this was a dangerous Alpha and her colleague was being coerced. Pulling a syringe stealthily from her coat pocket, Dr. Rhodes attempted to inject Jared with a sedative. Jared was too quick - years of police training made him ever aware of possible danger - and he pinned her to the wall, just like he had with Misha, growling and squeezing her wrist until she cried out in pain and dropped the syringe.

“Jared, let her go.”

Expecting Misha, Jared was surprised to see Jensen beside him, still in uniform. Jared eased his grip, glancing at Misha and seeing the fear in his eyes. He forced himself to release the doctor and backed away from her, his eyes flashing between her and Dr. Collins. Dr. Rhodes rubbed her aching wrist as she eyed Jared warily.

“What are you doing here?” 

“I came in with the ambulance after the emergency call,” Jensen explained, trying to control his anger. “I let her go home with you, and then I get a call there’s an emergency at her house. I thought you lost control like in the past and possibly did something.”

By the time he finished speaking, Jensen’s shoulders slumped, knowing his words would strike a chord with his friend. Jared was certainly pissed and hurt at the insinuation.

“I left because I didn’t want to force her into anything. I was losing my mind, and I left,” Jared yelled, tugging at his hair in frustration. His arms dropped to his sides, and he started to cry. “I did this to her by leaving. This is my fault.”

Jared dropped to his knees and cried into his hands. He tried to do the right thing by her, but she ended up hurt anyway. Jensen tried to comfort him, helping him to his feet. Jared wiped his eyes and struggled to control his emotions.

“Please,” Jared turned to Doctors Rhodes and Collins. “Please let me see her. She needs me, and I can fix this.”

“She’s unmated,” Dr. Rhodes snapped. “We can’t have an unmated Alpha in a rut here.”

“He’s her donor.”

“Excuse me?” Jared and Dr. Rhodes spoke at the same time.

Jared was just as surprised at Misha’s words; he and Dr. Rhodes both anticipated Dr. Collins's response.

“Y/N’s body rejected everything we gave her until she received Jared’s enzymes. It’s what has kept her alive this long. They are highly compatible.”

Highly compatible—a modern, scientific term to replace the adage of ‘True Mates.’ As Dr. Collins and Dr. Rhodes argued over professionalism and ethics, Jared’s mind tuned them out. Y/N was his—he just knew it, and she needed him. He couldn’t fathom losing another mate; he would surely go feral.

As they continued debating, Jared slipped away. In a trance, he let his nose and instincts guide him, finding Y/N’s room with ease. He entered the room, glancing back at the doctors before mostly closing the door behind him.

The sight of her lying in bed, covered in sweat and groaning in pain, broke his heart. But the luscious scent of her heat called out to him, drawing him closer until he stood beside her bed.

“Omega,” he breathed out, more of a growl that made her body jerk and her eyes flutter open with a groan.

“Jared?” she weakly asked, shuddering from cramps and fever.

Jared took her hand, the heat of her skin scorching. She sighed, and her body relaxed. After only a few moments, he watched in amazement as her vitals settled to something more normal, though her scent grew more potent.

“You left,” she croaked, pulling her hand from his hold, making him frown. “You rejected me.”

Jared was horrified, her perceived rejection making his heart clench painfully.

“No,” he insisted, retaking her hand and urging her to look at him, “No, Omega. I would never reject you. I didn’t want to take advantage.”

Drs. Rhodes and Collins entered the room, and Jared looked sheepish and caught but refused to move from Y/N’s side.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t be in here without authorization,” Dr. Rhodes spoke, Misha just beside her.

Jensen appeared again, grabbing Jared by the arm and trying to lead him from the room, “I’m sorry, Jared. I have to take you out of here. Don’t make it difficult, okay?”

“I’m an authorized donor,” Jared thought quickly on his feet. “You said she was getting my enzymes, right?” he spoke, fighting against Jensen’s hold.

“We could do a direct enzyme infusion,” Misha suggested to his colleague. “Kim, we have to do something. He can help.”

“The infusion would help,” Dr. Rhodes offered. 

“No,” Y/N spoke again. “I’m a broken and rejected Omega. I don’t want to go through this anymore.”

“Maybe we can give them a chance to talk?” Dr. Collins spoke with his colleague, seeing she was at least considering. No one wanted to see someone die because they couldn’t be matched or mated. 

“We should run tests,” Dr. Rhodes offered with a sigh, both Misha and Jared relieved she seemed to be on board finally.  “If they are compatible, they should mate as soon as possible.”

Jared was grateful they were bending the rules. As they all left the room, Jared felt the urgency of convincing Y/N that they could do this - could mate and be together if she wanted.

Holding her hand firmly in his, he cupped her cheek with his other hand, urging her to look at him. He took a moment to caress and soak in her features and scent.

“I left because you smelled so good I was afraid I’d lose control and do something you didn’t want. But I would very much like to be your Alpha.”

“I woke up, and I scented you,” Y/N explained. “But you weren’t there. I lay on the couch. I needed your scent.”

She fought back tears, and Jared did his best to soothe her from his position.

“The idea of having an Alpha, of belonging to them, terrifies me. I never wanted it, and now I’m paying for that. But then you came along, and I wasn’t afraid. I was drawn and curious but never afraid.” 

She let her tears fall then but smiled warmly at Jared, squeezing his hand.  Jared’s heart swelled. He shouldn’t have left, but now he’d get a second chance.

“Will you let me claim you?” He asked, needing to be bonded with her and knowing her body needed it too.

Before she could respond, two Beta nurses entered with Dr. Rhodes behind them, “So, are we doing the transfusion?”

Y/N and Jared held each others’ gaze for a long moment before Y/N turned to the doctor.

“Yes.”

Y/N looked back to Jared, who kissed her hand and moved into a chair beside the bed. The nurses set up IVs and a machine to feed Jared’s enzymes to stabilize her.

“As soon as possible,” Jared whispered just for her, “I’ll get you home and take care of you.”

The implications of his promise made her shiver. The staff left them alone while the transfusion was going on. However, after several minutes, Y/N looked like she was about to pass out as the alarms started blaring. Jared was out of his seat and at her side in a flash, cupping her face and trying to rouse her. The nurses and doctor rushed in, pushing Jared back into his chair as they checked her over. Her scent blossomed, almost choking him, and he detected the bitter tones of her heat on the verge of turning feral.

“The transfusion isn’t enough,” Dr. Rhodes explained to Jared.

“She needs a claim,” he understood, his feet pulling him closer to her. “Can I take her home?”

He couldn’t lose her, and he couldn’t survive losing another mate. He felt blessed at having found her, but now he felt cursed to know only loss. He knew it would save her if he could mate and claim her.

“She’s not stable enough to leave,” the doctor explained. “But I can secure the room and give you privacy,” she offered instead.

Jared could only nod, his Alpha ready to care for his mate, his scent informing all others to keep their distance. The doctor rushed off, giving Jared a wide berth and securing the door behind her as promised.

“Y/N?” Jared urged, trying to get her to focus on him, to at least hear him. “Omega?”

His voice was tinged with both whine and growl as he let his instincts guide him. He leaned down over Y/N and kissed her chaste but deeply.

“Alpha,” she whispered as her body sought him out.

“My true mate,” he whispered back reverently. “Not how I wanted this to go, but I can’t lose you. Need to mate and claim you.”

She shook her head, fighting to stay coherent and awake as the heat raced through her body. Her utter desperation for the Alpha before her was the only thing tethering her to wakefulness. 

“It’s too fast,” she protested, a tiny sliver of rationality clinging to her consciousness. 

“You’re dying,” he responded bluntly. “You would have had to have someone assigned as your mate. We’ll never get to know each other if you’re dead. I can’t let that happen when I can help you.” He held her face in his hands, his forehead pressed to hers. “Omega, please.”

“Jared,” she breathed, giving in to her body’s needs and tilting her head to kiss him. He responded in kind, his Alpha chomping to make her his. “Alpha, please. Need you. Need-”

Her voice trailed off as a painful cramp seized hold, making her whine and whimper. Jumping to action, Jared removed his shoes and hastily removed his clothes, leaving him in his boxer briefs. He pulled down the blankets and pushed up her hospital gown to her stomach. Her folds glistened in the harsh light, her scent potent and slamming into him hard. He breathed deep, his body shuddering.

Crawling on the bed to hover over her, she automatically spread her legs, Jared’s hand finding her core. Slipping two fingers inside, he groaned, feeling her soaked and more than ready for him.

She whined and squirmed, the fever taking hold. Jared would have reveled in her desperation and submission, but now was not the time or place. He removed her clothes and climbed on the small bed, settling between her legs and pulling the covers over them for modesty.

His hard and heavy cock twitched eagerly against her hot and drenched folds. Without hesitation, he slid within her, groaning at the delectable feel of her heat wrapped around him. She whimpered again, and he shushed her, kissing her sweet as he began to move.

It was desperate and clinical, feeding primal needs and alleviating both their near-feral biologies. Y/N still felt better than anyone he’d ever had, and he promised himself the romance would come later when they were both safely out of danger.

“Alpha,” she called out, her legs spreading wider, letting Jared slide even deeper. “Alpha, need your knot!”

Jared groaned long and deep, burying his face in her neck as he picked up his pace. The small bed creaked with his every movement. Her hands on his ass, pulling him even closer, reminded him of her desperation and his own.

“Gonna knot and mark you, Omega,” he warned, his knot already swelling, making it more challenging to fuck her how they needed. Feeling her grow close, he slipped a hand between them, rubbing tight and fast circles on her clit.

Her body tensed, right on the edge, and Jared could no longer hold off.

“Omega,” he groaned, his knot popping and locking them together.

As his teeth sank into her neck, marking her as his and bonding them, she came loud and hard, gushing around his knot.

They both lay panting, waiting for Jared’s knot to recede. Jared licked and kissed her wound, allowing his instincts to guide him, his heart full in a way he never thought possible after his loss. Once his knot released, he moved from the bed, dressed, and cleaned them up. When done, Y/N slept, and Jared ran to get someone to check to ensure she was okay.

He knew she would need more than one round to heal, but he hoped he could take her home, where it would be more comfortable and private. Jared rushed out of the room to find Drs. Rhodes and Collins who paused their speech when they saw him.

“Is everything alright?” Dr. Rhodes looked concerned.

“She’s sleeping,” Jared offered.

“I’ll just go check on her.”

Jared followed into Y/N’s room, and Dr. Collins was close behind. They both stood by patiently as Dr. Rhodes examined Y/N.

“She seems better,” Dr. Rhodes announced. “I’ll need to draw some blood, and we’ll need to keep her for observation for a few hours.”

Jared tensed but nodded. He didn’t want to be in the hospital any longer than necessary and just wanted to get her into a comfortable bed where he could tend to her every need and bring her back to life. But he could force himself to wait a few more hours for Y/N’s sake. He’d rather know she was stabilized before he removed her from the place that could save her if something went wrong. 

“Try to get some rest,” Misha insisted as Y/N’s blood was drawn. “You both need your strength.”

Once again, they were left alone, the door secured behind them. It was easier to control his instincts now that they were bonded, but it still took effort to restrain himself from those having to touch or go near his mate.

Jared took residence in his chair again, scooting it as close as possible to the bed so he could hold Y/N’s hand as she slept. He laid his head on her belly, watching her as she slumbered. It wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep with her.

-

It took half a day and a second round before Y/N was stable enough to leave the hospital. The second she was wheeled outside—per hospital protocol—Jared scooped her from the chair into his arms and carried her to his waiting truck, tucking her safely inside.

Y/N was more than surprised when Jared pulled into her home's driveway. She expected as an Alpha - and her Alpha - that he’d want her in his space. Most Alphas were territorial in that way. Before she could vocalize a word, Jared was out of the truck and at her side, carrying her in his arms again towards her front door.

“I wanted you to be comfortable,” he explained as he opened her door. She was surprised he had her keys, but she supposed she was pretty out of it and was grateful she had someone looking out for her. “I figured you’d want to be in your space for now.”

It would take some getting used to. But as her eyes trailed over Jared’s body as he stood from laying her on the couch, she was thankful to have been blessed with such an attractive and caring mate. But her mood was soured as she smelled herself, a mix of her heat, sex, and not having showered in a couple of days.

“I want a shower,” she whined, her stomach gurgling loudly. “And something to eat.”

“Okay,” Jared readily agreed, ready to help her off the couch. “Why don’t we shower first, and then I’ll make us something to eat?”

“Jared,” she protested. “You don’t have to.”

“You’re my mate, Y/N,” he gently argued. “Please, Omega, let me take care of you?”

He pulled her to her feet, his arms wrapped around her securely. She swooned at his rich and calming scent as he quietly purred to soothe her.

“Yes, Alpha.” She smiled warmly at him, and Jared gave in to his urge to kiss her.

In the hospital, she was so out of it that she could barely remember them mating, let alone his kiss. She could feel the pulse in her neck from his bite, reminding her it was real. She imagined he was as gone as her when they mated, the urgency overriding all else. Now, however, she could savor his kiss - a kiss that was making her swoon so hard her legs gave out. Luckily, he was swift to scoop her into his arms once again. 

Jared had wanted this - wanted her - for so long since he had first scented her. The first time, he was in the local bar on a rare night out. He had caught her scent wafting over all the others, calling to his inner Alpha that had been dormant for many years. He followed his nose, intent on finding the source. As soon as he laid eyes on her, his heart stuttered. But she left before he could ever approach her.

The second time he saw her, she was locked in the drunk tank. He had reported for an overnight shift and was briefed on the persons in holding. That’s when he learned her name. He spent the entire night with a watchful eye, her scent driving him mad with want. 

Y/N’s second visit to the drunk tank was his third time seeing her, and they spent most of that time in friendly chatting. That’s when Jared began to wonder if he could ever have a chance with this stunning Omega that called to him. It was also the first time he wondered what demons had led her to drink and be locked up. That’s when he tried to rid himself of the idea of her as ever being his. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake her from his mind, her scent ingrained in him.

As he set her down in the bathroom and turned on the shower, Y/N began stripping her dirty and sweat-soaked clothes. When Jared turned back around, finally satisfied with the water temperature, Y/N was naked and smiling shyly. He couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming her nude body, finally able and allowed to view and appreciate every inch of her - and appreciate he did.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he breathed heavily, removing his clothes as he watched her eyes devour him in turn. “My Omega.”

A shiver ran through Y/N’s body at Jared’s Alpha tone, laced with his desire for her. They both took their time appreciating each other's bodies. Y/N had never seen a man so fit and toned or a cock so large and - frankly - beautiful, which is something she never thought she’d say. 

As another wave of her heat ramped up, she trusted Jared to help her. Y/N’s mind was foggy, and her body focused only on her basic needs. She could barely stand on her own in the shower. She could smell Jared’s delicious scent all around her, already mingling with hers. His hands, large and warm, delicately cleansed and caressed her skin.

After showering, he dried her down, and she slipped on a silky robe that barely covered her ass but was lightweight and didn’t irritate her frazzled skin. Jared threw on his boxers and t-shirt, knowing she’d need him again soon and not wanting too many layers in their way.

He left her on the couch, searching her kitchen for something to feed them. He opted for eggs and toast, something easy to make and eat. As he gathered the needed items, he noted that there were bottles everywhere he turned. Some bottles were empty, some half full or waiting to be opened. He was more than worried and knew he’d have to ask her about it. Maybe he could help her.

Bringing the plates to the living room, Jared handed her one as he sat on the couch beside her. He observed her as they ate, more than happy that she liked it and ate it all. Without a word, he gathered their dishes and neatly placed them on the coffee table. He planned to wash them at some point, but he needed to confront her about the drinking finally.

“Y/N?” Jared began cautiously, grateful when she eagerly met his gaze. “I don’t want to tell you how to live your life or try to control you; I’m not that kind of Alpha,” he started, her brow furrowed as he continued. “It’s just…all the drinking, the bottles everywhere, ending up in the drunk tank. I’m worried and want to help if you let me.”

She dropped her gaze to her lap as she nodded her head. She had expected it to come up at some point. After all, it was a prominent part of her life lately, and she worried it was all Jared really knew about her from being locked up so much. 

Y/N could only feel safety and comfort from Jared, no judgment or anger. Their bond was new and raw, but she was grateful that she could feel him and knew it was okay to be honest. She met his eyes again and smiled reassuringly.

“For a while, it was the only way I could escape the pain, at least for a little while—mental, emotional, physical pain over my whole situation. I never wanted to be tied to a mate. I didn’t want to be matched to someone I didn’t love or know just to stay alive. I didn’t want to die or hurt myself;  I just wanted to escape. I don’t need to drink, and I never really enjoyed it either. I want to give it up.”

Jared had expected at least a small argument or fight, not immediate acceptance. He placed a hand on top of hers, needing to feel her and reassure her. She flashed him that soft smile again and squeezed his hand back. Now, he felt like she was the one comforting him.

“I mean it,” she insisted. “I fought against this whole thing, but now that we’re mated, I am happy and content. I’m happy it’s you, and I know being mated to you will heal the pain. My health and mood will improve,” She laughed to herself. “It feels so stupid that I fought against it so much. It’s better than I ever thought it could be to be mated to you.”

He couldn’t help it as he leaned in, cupping her cheek and kissing her deeply. To know that she genuinely wanted him as much as he wanted her, after everything and how she felt, she was more than just okay with him claiming her. She was happy; she wanted it, and he wanted her.

Y/N kissed him hungrily, pushing him back into the couch and crawling into his lap as she demanded more. Jared wrapped his arms around her, moaning as she ground her bare, wet folds against his clothed cock. He hastily undid the tie of her robe, brushing it off her shoulders and to the ground. When his hands found her warm flesh, he hummed in satisfaction.

She ground her hips into him as she devoured his mouth, desperate for her Alpha, her heat ramping up again, far from satiated. She ran her hands down his chest and whined at the t-shirt that obscured her from his flesh. Jared caught on quickly, breaking the kiss long enough to pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. Her fingers trailed over his torso, exploring his flesh as she kissed him deep again.

Her grinding was riling him up quicker than he’d anticipated, her scent and neediness, the desperate sounds she was making, all colliding into a perfect storm that aroused him to no end. But he’d promised her that he’d mate her properly when they were home, and that’s precisely what he intended to do.

Scooping her into his arms, Jared stood and carried Y/N toward the bedroom, finding it hard to focus as she continued grinding against him and nibbling at the sensitive spots on his neck. 

“Naughty little Omega,” Jared playfully chastised as he slapped her ass. She gasped and ground against him harder. “Oh, you are naughty, aren’t you?”

Stepping into the room, he laid her on the bed and removed his boxers before he crawled over her with a smirk. 

“Oh, maybe we can play Cops and Robbers, and you can punish me, Padadeputy,” she teased with a sultry smirk. 

Jared growled and kissed her hard with teeth and tongue, “Next time,” he promised. “I have something else in mind,” he added as he pulled back and rolled her to her stomach. “Promised to claim you proper.”

She attempted to rise and present, but he placed a large hand on her lower back, keeping her flat and prone on the bed. He bent one of her knees, exposing her to him. Using his knees and thighs, he nudged her further until he could settle comfortably on top of her and between her thighs.

Y/N moaned as his weight settled on top of her, pressing her into the mattress. She was trapped beneath him, unable to move much in any way. But she wasn’t afraid. Instead, she willingly submitted to her strong and potent Alpha. 

Jared shifted his hips and slowly guided his cock into her tight and wet core. It felt like an eternity before he finally settled deep within her, moving his hips to nudge against her depths. Y/N moaned, her fingers clenched in the sheets. He was so deep, and she felt so incredibly full. 

While they had already mated, it was rushed and fevered, and she was so out of it that she didn’t remember much. Now, however, she could feel every little thing, which seemed deliciously overwhelming: from the emotions, the connection, and the sensations of him nestled inside and around her.

She squirmed desperately beneath him as much as she could. Jared nipped her shoulder, and she went still with a whine. He rewarded her by glacially pulling out and pressing in again just as slowly. She needed more and was growing ravenous, but he had other ideas.

Jared continued his slow and passionate rhythm, his hips rolling like gentle waves lapping at the shore. It felt incredible, and Y/N could feel every detail of his length as he speared her open again and again. But it wasn’t enough to take them anywhere. Instead, Jared held them in the realm of pleasure, near torture, with seemingly no end in sight. It was maddening and divine.

“Tell me how it feels,” Jared whispered as he kissed her neck and shoulders.

“Alpha.”

“Tell me,” he reiterated, nipping at her claim and making her moan.

“Feels big and deep,” she gasped, and another nip told her he wanted more. “Ugh! So thick and hot, splitting me open. Feel like you could break right through into my womb. So full,” she whined into the sheets.

Jared groaned and increased his pace, his hands exploring her body, his mouth tasting everywhere he could reach as he drove them both toward their ends. His body stilled as his knot popped, locking them together as his cum flooded her channel. He leaned in to renew his claim; even the bite was intentional and slow, and Jared savored the pop and burst as her skin broke anew. 

“You did so well, Omega,” Jared praised, shifting them to a spooning position as they waited for his knot to go down. “How are you feeling?” he asked, leaning on an elbow to look down at her.

Y/N met his eyes and marveled at the many colors present and the myriad of emotions reflected back at her. Her heart swelled, and she knew she already loved him. She never knew mating could feel like this like she had found a piece of herself she was missing. Jared was a better Alpha than she ever imagined an Alpha could be. All the pain and suffering was worth it just to find him.

“Lucky, Jared,” she smiled warmly. “I feel so damn lucky.”

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[theresattrpgforthat]

Are there any TTRPGs with a focus on weapons and weapon customization. I've been poking around and haven't found anything that was quite what I was looking for. There are a few about making weapons but those usually don't involve using them outside of recording their history.

Theme: Weapons / Weapon Customization

Hello there friend, I had a bit of a hard time trying to nail down what you were looking for, but I figured I could give you a few different approaches and hopefully something here works for you.

RIG, by NotWriting.

"You’re alive. Good."

"What do you remember? Do you know your Mars songs? Were you born on real ground? Do you remember Earth's hand reaching out to steal from the stars? Hmm. Endocortex must have some rot. Don’t bother with the local infonet, your soft is too old. I’ll find something. I’ll be your Local Admin. You have a rig, a mech. It’s a good one, a Dead Core. Good way to hop the gaps of the firmament, deal with threats."

"And we have problems aplenty right now."

RIG is based on the Rune RPG system designed by Spencer Campbell, perfectly tuned for capturing the difficult and disciplined design decisions of video games inspired by Dark Souls. Instead of quick reactions, each round of combat builds tension and rewards creativity and patience by giving you windows of opportunity and weaknesses to exploit. High risk maneuvers give high rewards but can build up dangerous amounts of heat that can damage your rig. Active your core, unsheathe your core blade, and sink that heat into your enemies, or risk death. Experiment with different builds as you refit your rig between encounters, or push your luck to delve deeper and deeper into the dying heart of Recombinant Earth.

The first thing I thought of when I saw your ask was mech games, and RIG is a solo game all about piloting a mech. Your rig is highly customizable, and the designer described it as rogue-like, allowing your character to try out new configurations using different pieces. Much of the building is a balancing act: you’ll be assigning dice to various modules and some modules take up more dice than others. Your mech also comes with a resource called Heat, which can be marked to give you short-term effects, but must be strategically dumped before it fills to the point of causing you problems. If you want a solo experience that allows you to progress cyclically, I recommend RIG.

Reclaim the Wild, by Elemental Knight.

The Legend of Zelda: Reclaim the Wild is a freely-distributed tabletop roleplaying system made by fans, for fans, of both tabletop games and of The Legend of Zelda. It was designed from the ground up to enable players to create all new adventures in the world of Zelda, and specifically the hit game Breath of the Wild.

Because of this game’s inspiration, there is a lot of detail put into the different kinds of weapons your characters can wield, and more importantly, make. Weapons break all the time in this game, and if you want something a bit more sturdy, you’ll either need to trade with a merchant, or build something yourself. Characters that specialize in weapons crafting have to pick what kind of weapons they can craft, and the party will want to keep whatever bits and pieces they can salvage from fights in the wild, because those pieces will become essential in creating more durable weapons, more magical weapons, and more effective weapons. If you like inventory and record-keeping, then this game is for you.

Numenera - Destiny and Building Tomorrow by Monte Cook Games.

Terrible beasts. Abhumans. The iron wind. Ancient machines that lurch to life unexpectedly—or leave communities desperate when they catastrophically fail. The Ninth World is awash in dangers left by the prior worlds. But these ancient remnants also hold the keys to the future. Those brave enough to discover and study the amazing structures, weird devices, inscrutable automatons, and extradimensional gateways can unearth the knowledge and materials to build the future.

Discover new kinds of numenera items, along with the plans and materials to construct them yourself. Explore the ruins of the prior worlds, uncover their mysteries, and from their secrets begin to build a new tomorrow for the beleaguered people of the Ninth World.

Out of all of the recommendations in this list, Numenera is probably the biggest investment if you’re looking at complex weapon design. First of all, Numenera has some really unique, one-time use items called Cyphers, which (in this setting), are objects that your characters don’t really know the original purpose of, but which can be insanely useful in fortifying settlements, finding information, and doing a lot of damage in a battle. Not all cyphers are weapons, and not all weapons get the same attention that cyphers do.

However, if you really want to explore what these items can do, you’ll want to take a peek at both the Destiny and Building Tomorrow books for this game. Destiny is the first book after the corebook that I recommend getting, because it provides character options that focus on salvage and building, and because it hosts the bulk of the creation plans for Cyphers and more permanent objects such as Artifacts and Installations. Building Tomorrow expands on this crafting system, by introducing new crafting materials, salvage locations, and weird side effects that might come about when your crafting roll is less than ideal.

LUMEN, by GilaRPGs.

This is a link not to a game, but rather a System Reference Document for a family of games. LUMEN is an RPG system for high-action, high-speed, high-power games.

The character classes in many big LUMEN games are often differentiated by fighting style or weapon type. You can see this in Monster Guts, a LUMEN game inspired by Monster Hunter, and NOVA, a game about piloting exo-suits after the world has gone dark. There are also plenty of customizable options within those classes, allowing you to try out different combinations to find something that works really well for you.

This game can really sing in a small group, as each player can build their character to do some outstanding combinations, and then synchronize those combinations with things that the other players at the table do really well. There’s a lot of interesting things being done with this rules system, and if you don’t find exactly what you’re looking for in this collection compiled by Gila RPGs, then perhaps you still have the tools you need to make what you want for yourself!

Heartbearers, by Whimsy Machine.

It's a dangerous world of heroes and monsters. You play in pairs: a sentient weapon and their bearer. You go on thrilling adventures with other pairs. Be the greatest fighter pair through the ultimate feat of strength: making friends!

Long ago weapons realized that their bearers can get really hurt in battle, so culture shifted: the goal of combat changed to skillfully clash weapons, not harm bearers. Two weapons going head to head can show off their magic, abilities, and legends. Colors burst, sparks fly—it's intense!

In this game, players pair up and choose whether they will play a hero or a sentient weapon. Bearers and Weapons will have very different responsibilities in game; while Weapons focus on shifting their forms or concentrating their attacks, the Bearers will determine why they are fighting in the first place, ruminating on desires, emotions, and goals. Duels use d12s as counters to track actions, with a rest for all of the characters once their counters reach 0. Weapons can also aid their Bearers during non-combat parts of the quest, while Bearers will determine what alliances they will make (and possibly whether they will lay down their Weapon for good). If you want a game that gives personality and sentience to a weapon, or if you want to play a weapon yourself, this might be a game for you.

Lancer, by Massif Press.

In Lancer, players adopt the roles of mechanized chassis pilots - mech pilots - comrades together in a galaxy of danger and hope. Some groups will fight to rectify the crimes of previous administrations; others will fight for their nation,  pieces in a greater game of hegemony. Others will carry the banner of a corpro-state or mercenary company, working to advance private interests while lining their pockets. Others still will fight for groups acting in opposition to those in power - for the underground, for the forgotten, agents of entropy and agents of yet more radical revolutions. 

If we’re going to talk about mech games and weapons, I’d be remiss not to talk about Lancer. This is a highly tactical game with most of its rules focusing on mech combat, and a very exciting wealth of mech options that you’ll be toying around with after almost every section. Your mech will have distinct weapons, such as the Blackbeard’s Chain Axe or Omni-Harpoon, but there’s also systems that you can add for specific strategies on the battlefield, such as the Swallowtail’s cloaking field, which helps you hide both you and your allies, or the Goblin’s metahook, which allows teammates to share their systems and sensors, for improved e-defense and a broader range for electronic warfare.

Other Thoughts

If you like the high tactics and strategy of Lancer, but you want a fantasy setting, then I'd recommend Gubat Banwa instead.

If you want to focus on inventory and less on character class, you might want to check out the OSR side of things, including games such as Knave or Into the Odd.

If you like inventory but want to keep your character class, then Troika! might be for you.