#have it be a mess of lines that somehow form a map

[tenderwulf]

I have to make three maps for Art School: one of them using just lineart, one using just shading, and one using color. I had no idea what to make for the lineart one

So I decided to make Domino's map as described in the Last Puzzle and add lines of different color tracing each main character's journey through the city from the beginning of the fic till now

Yeah wish me luck

[summer-nights19]

Good for business part 1 - A New Farmer in Town

Balor x fem reader (Fields of Mistria)

Blurb: It was only supposed to be a business partnership with a few benefits. After all, you were both ambitious and seeking to make names for yourselves ... so how did you get here ? You didn't know, and part of you refused to care.

Genre: slowburn

This fanfic will mostly follow the plot of the game and include some lines from it

Part 2

You sighed as you stumbled your way through the woods. According to your map, you were almost there. Honestly, it had been a gamble - after finishing your studies, you hadn't found any work opportunities in your hometown, so, after reading that a little town called Mistria was looking for a farmer and offering free land after being hit by a pretty bad earthquake, you'd quickly written to Adeline to make your interest known. However, it had meant leaving everything you knew behind, a realisation that was dawning closer on you as you neared what used to be a stone bridge but was now floating rubble.

You were so deep in own your own thoughts that you didn't realise when you walked straight into something hard and solid. A wall ? No. You took a few steps back and looked up, slowly coming back down to earth. Before you stood the most attractive man you'd ever seen. He was tall and well built without being too buff; his hair was blue and reached his shoulders. You inhaled and looked up into his eyes, which were a dark, rich brown. Before you could apologise for walking into him, he spoke up, the hint of a smirk creeping on his face.

"Hey ! Didn't expect to find anyone else here. The roads have been a mess since the earthquake. I'm Balor, a travelling merchant. Pleased to meet you. You're here at Lady Adeline's request ? She mentioned someone had taken her up on her offer," he winked at you, and you felt the heat rise to your face

"Yeah, there was something about free land and a house... gotta put food on the table somehow," you were being honest, but you suddenly worried your answer might sound selfish. Balor kept smiling at you, seemingly unfazed.

"It's a lovely spot. Quite close to town. I'll walk with you if you don't mind the company,"

You gave him a smile of your own.

"Great, let's go !"

Balor jumped across the broken bridge and you tried to follow suit, slipping and landing on some rubble in the process. He extended his hand, and, after a bit of hesitation, you took it. It was warm and considerably larger than yours, with a few scars on the knuckles. You wondered where they came from and felt your stomach tighten into knots. He pulled you up letting go of your hand after you found your footing again. You mourned the loss of contact more than you were willing to admit.

"We should be able to make it before it gets dark. Come on, we'll head straight to your new farmstead," Balor started walking down the path after shooting you another grin. You followed him, still slightly flustered.

***

A couple of hours had passed since Balor had left you with Eiland at your farm. After he and Adeline had shown you how everything worked, they'd left too, leaving you alone to unpack your stuff. Not that there was much to unpack - you'd only brought some clothes and a few of your favourite books from home, which you'd packed up in the chest. The smart thing to do would have been starting on the farm work - the land was overgrown and unkempt, so it needed a little maintenance- but after 12 hours of travel, you could only bring yourself to light the fireplace and lie down on your worn mattress. Before falling asleep, you thought back to flowing blue locks, confident smirks, shining brown eyes and scarred knuckles. A sleepy smile started forming on your face.

Maybe you'd be just fine here.

Masterlist

[rainbowolfe]

The One They Love Most

What if I told you Kallamar was the one Shamura loved the most, then what?

That's what I said. It was /hj. I was just spit-balling. Being silly. Because what do you mean the one the moon loves the most isn't the sun? A love forbidden not by their peers or their family, but by nature itself? The ship humans have shipped since before written language?

And then I went to elaborate and I found some things and connected some dots, and it slowly stopped being silly. Now it's a real theory. It's /srs.

I strongly suspect that Aym and Baal weren't a gift for Narinder, but a gift for Kallamar. Making him the one Shamura loves most.

This all started with a one-off thought about how Kallamar was definitely somehow involved in the transaction of Aym and Baal. There are too many intersecting lines and connected dots for him not to be. The sun staffs and Aym's appearance reflecting Kallamar's (messed up ears, cut over an eye) are the big pieces, but even their move-sets point to his involvement.

Shamura uses melee attacks, but their form of melee is more aligned with the gauntlets. Shamura even slashes with four of their claws, mimicking the effect a gauntlet (or a clawed mammal) would have. The curses they use are poison, bombs, and fireballs. Visually, Aym and Baal have the same reddened feet and hands that Shamura has.

Narinder attacks exclusively using curses: fireball and chains, with the implication that he could use melee combat pre-banishment. But again, in that same gauntlet-esque way as Shamura. Kallamar is the only one who engages in melee combat with actual weapons—not just biological defense mechanisms. His curses are exclusively fireballs, but he also has the ability to summon enemies.

Aym and Baal use staffs that double as spears. (Assuming Aym can use his as a spear, since it has a spike on the end). Aym swings his like a sword. Interestingly, he swings it as a mix of a sword and dagger, as the dagger is the only weapon that has a forward thrust move. They use fireball and chain curses. Baal can summon enemies.

They're Narinder's spitting image, yet their designs also hold pieces of Shamura and Kallamar. Isn't that weird? Suspicious?

Then there's little things. Like how, in the Ars Goetia, Aym is also known as Harborym; and Baal is also known as Baalzebub. They could've been named anything, as their characters don't seem to be informed by the Ars Goetia demon they're named after, and yet they share a name with two of Kallamar's goons.

And how Kallamar Punished has Aym and Baal's leitmotif right at the start of it. (it's that 'call and response' melody in the background that starts at ~0:17) Aym and Baal appear on TOWWs track and we go yeah, that makes sense. Cause it does! They're a package deal bonded (or chained, according to some) to each other. So for Aym and Baal to appear on Kallamar's track...

Also the fact that Forneus lives on the coast of Anchordeep. Within destroyed "Walls of Ruin", something that explicitly belongs to the Old Faith.

In Pilgrim, Jalala and Rinor visit both Rakshasa's Restaurant and Forneus' home. At Rakshasa's, Jalala marks where they are on a topographical map. I matched this map to the main map.

This means that Rakshasa's Restaurant overlooks Anchordeep. Forneus is most likely somewhere in the area marked in green. Forneus' is the stop right after Rakshasa's (transitioning from sunset into nighttime) and if you choose to go the other direction you run into Plimbo a second time and miss the chance to meet Forneus at all.

Based on these images, she's settled between Midas' Cave and an unnamed but bare mountain. She lives on a hill that overlooks the ocean. There are some small islands visible here, but they're mostly flat, giving her a clear view of the horizon.

But there's something else. Something huge.

Narinder wouldn't have been The One Who Waits when Aym and Baal were taken.

"Two kits I did have, true love found! And yet one lackadaisy summer day, my beautiful children were taken away… a gift, they said, for the one they loved most, the one that waits… I wept, I keened… But how can one say no to a God?"

Narinder was made TOWW by being bound and exiled by the other Bishops. He was still known as "The Fifth" by everyone when it happened. And it happened either towards the end of the God Purge (because the Fanatic wouldn't include him as one of the five survivors if he'd been sealed by then) or after it. But the result is the same either way.

The Fanatic observes that Yngya must be dead because the leaves stopped changing color. So the Purge was wrapping up early-to-mid Fall, and it has perpetually been Fall since. Which means there is no Summer from that point on.

And regardless, Narinder isn't "the one that waits", he's "the one who waits". That's a red herring. Names in this game's dialogue are highlighted in yellow (and sometimes red). It's not even capitalized when Forneus says it. She could be talking about literally anyone. We all 'wait' for things.

But there's dialogue that narrows down the culprit list and brings another form of waiting to the table. Not at the Crown Fountain, where Death no longer wished to wait. But in Midas' Cave, where Followers have been subjected to a fate worse than death.

"...sparking gold one day found amongst the dregs, lost by a pirate with many legs..." "...pretty shiny prize for all...... they all want... they all want..." "...they all want... nothing remains... blood washes away in the tide..."

Before he mugs Lamb, Midas makes a comment about Anchordeep, something he doesn't do for any other location.

"Take care not to get lost. Things seem to get lost around here all the time... so easy to misplace one's Gold!"

This little comment can only be to connect with what the Giant Follower said. It wasn't anything special or arcane Plimbo lost, it was just. Gold. Coin or bars or both.

Gold Coin: The lust for gold is oft all consuming of one's heart. Gold Bars: Countless souls have been lost in pursuit of this glittering treasure. Gold Nugget: Said to be the tears of an ancient goddess.

But it was special (and ultimately devastating) to the community he lost it in, because "the dregs" is a euphemism for impoverished communities. The ghetto. The undesirables. And that ties in with the figurative meaning of 'bottom dweller' in a way the literal meaning doesn't. :3c

Finally, there's legitimately nothing in Anchordeep. We see the remains of temples, which means there were other Gods residing here at some point. There are the remains of both housing and ships, destroyed machinery, and ruins of what may have been monoliths or similar sacred structures. In Pilgrim, there are no fun "stops" when the girls reach Anchordeep. Anura has Spore Grotto and Smuggler's Sanctuary; Darkwood has everything else. In the journal, Jalala is only inspired to draw/catalog some sea life and coral formations.

The descriptions of our culprit the Giant Follower offers are most likely meant to be taken figuratively. (and even literally, they don't actually work for Midas either.)

"...bottom dweller he was, muck eating prey..."

Outside of a way of classifying sea life, a 'bottom dweller' can refer to both a low-class, low-ranked person in society AND someone of poor character (scum, scammers, etc). It could even be a reference to where Ratoo's lover originates from, whose bed is 'at the bottom of the sea'.

'Prey' in the context of this universe just means someone who doesn't (willfully) engage in cannibalism. The question for Tier 2 of Sustenance is "Food of the predator, or food of the prey?". Follower meat or Grass.

Muck is: 'Something regarded as worthless, sordid [ignoble], or corrupt.' So, a consumer of beings that are considered dirty or inherently corrupt. Like how many IRL faiths disallow the eating of anything that 'crawls on its belly' or feeds off the ground, like shellfish, snakes, or pigs.

What in this world would be considered unfit for consumption?

...

Heretics.

The Fleece of the Heretics: An ignoble garb, worn by only the most unholy heretics. via Chemach; "They are hungry, hungry for miscreant flesh..." The Heart of a Heretic: Unholy hearts [...] cast in vile, impermeable, unrelenting terror.

And that's exactly what the Old Faith's Followers are. Heretics. They may not know that, but they are. Leshy and Shamura are explicitly stated to eat their Followers. Heket presumably does, being inclined to Gluttony as a Follower. I doubt Kallamar is the exception. You are what you eat, after all.

Honestly, I would argue that a God eating their Follower is, on its own, 'muck-eating'. Cannibalism is frowned upon in a cosmic sense. Eating the Follower Meat Meal gives Lamb Diseased Hearts. The lore text for Follower Meat is very accusatory (they gave their soul, you took their flesh). The Cannibalism Ritual produces guaranteed sin.

And depending on the rules of Australian grammar (which I cannot read about... for free, anyways), the intention might even be "muck" (scumbag person) that eats "prey" (helpless creatures).

"...he waits, waits and then takes... even muck eaters have teeth..."

He waits [stays; or serves] and then takes [captures; controls, or swindles]. He waits... not for something inevitable, but for the right moment. He's an opportunist.

"Have teeth" is an idiom that means 'To have enough power or support of authority to compel obedience or punish offenders, as of law.

Even shameful, 'unclean' people have power.

He is he of blight. While a blight can mean sickness or plant disease, it can also mean someone/something that ruins, destroys, or otherwise devalues things. A scourge. A bane, if you will. 👀

Kallamar has always had a reputation as a coward. At minimum, for as along as the Red Crown has been apart of this Godly ecosystem. Your siblings wouldn't really be considered your "peers", so it would've been other Gods (while they still existed) who knew Kallamar as such. He's also known as a coward by Followers. So it seems very likely that's how Kallamar would be referred to.

The one that waits [[and then takes]].

(congrats you've reached the halfway point)

Throughout the entire game, Shamura only ever talks about two of their siblings: Kallamar and Narinder. Narinder is frequently on their mind because, as Jojo puts it, they won't allow themselves to forget what happened and that there was a fifth. And yet they are, for some reason, taking a stroll through Anchordeep reminiscing about Kallamar and his fear of the Red Crown.

We don't get a fourth interaction with Kallamar, because he's too terrified to leave his temple. We instead get an extra interaction with Shamura, triggered by Baalzebub's (and by extension, Haborym's) death. Even if they didn't show up specifically to intimidate Lamb... there's nothing in Anchordeep besides Kallamar. So for what reason are they in Anchordeep if not for him?

Whatever they're remembering is definitely a conversation. And as seen with their "Feeling Confused" thoughts, they speak as if they're experiencing the past. This:

"Kallamar was always frightened of the Red Crown." "Yes, fear made a coward of him."

Is definitely them responding to someone.

But my point is, is that Kallamar holds a similar level of importance in Shamura's mind as Narinder. A level Heket and Leshy don't reach.

"Ooh, kits... I remember, I remember... two kits in my claws... a gift..." "I did not want him to be... lonely..."

Regardless of if I've convinced you that Aym and Baal were a gift for Kallamar, this line needs to be rethought because of the timing talked about in the first half. They were taken as a gift before the Purge, and thus before Narinder's banishment. So... why would Shamura be concerned that either of them would be lonely?

There's also Narinder's perception of them. "Intended as Keepers". But why would he need Keepers? He's chained up in another realm. Even if he did manage to break free... what are two, inexperienced children going to do about it? Not to mention, they're loyal to him.

In fact, I would argue that Narinder saying that he can't be blamed for his 'influence' makes it sound like Baal and Aym chose to go to him of their own volition. They were intended to become someone's Keepers, but they were untrained and undisciplined, and thus couldn't/didn't want to perform the job.

Aym and Baal are more than just companions to combat isolation and loneliness. More than just cats that look like Narinder to a weird degree. They're hearts. Each one half of a whole that rightfully belongs to Forneus.

There's probably something to be said about Shamura being unwilling/unable to give their own heart, and opting to take someone else's, but that's a theory for another time.

Kallamar's Top 5 List characterizes him as someone desperate to find "True Love". It would make sense for Shamura to try to give him that in the form of Aym and Baal, since they fulfill that role for Forneus.

And there's a handful of reasons why Kallamar would be at risk of loneliness in a way the others aren't.

-its implied that Kallamar made a habit of hiding in his temple even before the Lamb or Narinder's banishment, as it was a place of safety in his mind. A place untouchable by whatever conflicts he didn't want to face—of which there seem to have been a lot of. Which would explain why his cowardice is so well-known and talked about. It's something that's so ingrained into his instincts, he goes to hide in the ruins of a temple that clearly cannot protect him.

-Heket clearly favors Leshy the most out of all of them. So that pairs them off, leaving Kallamar and Shamura (or Kallamar and Narinder). But Shamura and Narinder are, at some point, busy experimenting with resurrection. Leaving Kallamar alone. With the implication that Shamura allowed themselves to die so that Narinder could try to resurrect them, Shamura would gift Kallamar the boys with the assumption that it would be a while before they came back (if they managed to come back at all lol).

-While Kallamar is in Purgatory reliving his final moments, it's interesting that he's experiencing a memory where he's been trapped somewhere. If he's being held captive, then that would give a need for both companions and Keepers.

And that's why Kallamar is the one Shamura loves most.

Also the way Kallamar's inclined to depend on Shamura even when they don't really have the ability to protect him anymore. His first concern is what they're going to tell Shamura, and it's only Heket's intervention that stops him from involving them sooner. When Shamura's in the room he talks over Heket, when previously he conceded to her. And when he's revived, the first name out his mouth is Shamura's.

Perhaps there's something Kallamar feels guilty about regarding Shamura, in the same way Shamura has something they feel guilty about regarding Narinder—hence why he's always on their mind.

Final Tangent:

Long, long ago... one of my very first theories... was about the base weapons. Assigning them to the Bishops since, you know, there's five of them. And I ascribed the Crusader's Blade to Narinder, since that's the one Lamb starts with. A "Stalwart companion to the wandering warrior."

Forneus says about Baal and Aym, "O, the soul of a wanderer one, and a warrior the other!" Baal and Aym represent two halves of a whole heart. Combine those two halves, and the whole is a wandering warrior. The idea was that Narinder's influence on them was split between his clashing ideals. One took on his aggressive traits, the other the gentler traits.

But Pestilence makes it out that those base weapons are associated with Kallamar. So.

[thesorcerersapprenticeu]

Chapter 15: Lovers from the Past

The fight on the bridge is over. With Jinx's almost lifeless body in your arms, you run through the Undercity - your destination is clear: Singed. Even though you haven't seen each other for years, you have no other choice. And so, after a long time, Sorcerer and Sorcerer's Apprentice meet again.

But you're not here to relive old memories - you're putting him under pressure, even threatening to kill his daughter if he doesn't help.

Later, you enter the bar to fetch Vi. Sevika stands in your way, but you defeat her easily. However, Jinx has her own plans and is not prepared to let her go.

---

I'll keep it short this time - the endnotes are particularly important this time, so make sure you check them out!

wc: 5.8 k

---

Magic is a miracle.

So complicated, yet so simple.

In some parts of the world, it is a source of beauty, hope and healing. In others, it is a weapon, as cruel as death, as cold as the end itself.

Magic saves lives, gives people abilities beyond their wildest dreams. But it is a double-edged sword - because it is fueled not only by knowledge, but by emotions. To be a king, a soldier or a Royal Guard, you have to learn to master these feelings.

But it is no lie to say that the most powerful magic, the most iron will and the most brutal aura come from the darkness. From pain, anger, loss - from that which makes humans monsters and yet somehow gods.

But why are you thinking about it right now?

Why, while you carry Jinx, her almost lifeless body that feels heavier with every step? While her breathing becomes weaker, her skin colder and time slips mercilessly through your fingers?

Your gaze wanders forward, the roads are uneven, but you keep running ahead at full speed.

Maybe because you have to remind yourself.

Magic brought you here - in all its beauty and cruelty. Magic gave you the power to protect her. But magic also brought you to this world of loss and blood.

You can feel the memories of the debris of the past surfacing in your mind, each image a splinter stabbing into your soul.

And yet magic is all you have.

You concentrate, your aura forms around the two of you like a second skin, keeping the cold away from her, even as it eats away at your insides.

Magic is a miracle.

You open the door, breathing lightly, although the march here has taken its toll on you. Behind you are Silco and some of his men, exhausted but determined. As you walk forward, you hear their heavy footsteps, but they fade into the background of your consciousness. Your focus is on the room in front of you.

Singed's Labor.

The air is thick with chemicals, a heavy, acrid smell that you recognize immediately. The walls are lined with shelves full of test tubes, flasks and instruments. Liquids of all colors - some glowing faintly, others looking like liquid poison - bubble in apparatus whose purpose you no longer even question. It's chaotic, a visual mess, but you know that behind every little arrangement there is a methodologist, a man who has every detail under control.

And there he is.

He sits at his table, his silhouette slightly bent forward, his hands gripping a small vial containing an unidentifiable, pulsating liquid. He turns around slowly, his movements mechanical, almost like a machine.

Your gaze hits him.

For a moment, no one says anything. The sounds around you - the hissing of equipment, the occasional drip of liquids - seem to fall silent. You stare at each other, and in that moment, time is frozen.

His face. The bandages that usually cover his scars are missing. You can see them all, the deep cuts and burnt areas that look like a map of his past. One eye is missing, the empty socket looking like a silent witness to his own experiments. The remaining eye, cold and analytical, fixes you while he recognizes you.

It takes a few seconds for the spark of recognition to flash in his gaze. His posture barely changes, but you realize that he recognizes you. His voice, low and hoarse, breaks the silence.

"So it's you."

---

"Her injuries are severe. She suffers from a severe concussion," says Singed with his characteristic calm as he carefully ties Jinx onto a stretcher. His movements are precise, almost mechanical, as he examines the wounds.

"You think we can't see that?" Silco, cutting and full of rhetoric, his gaze full of anger, but his voice restrained.

You just stand there and watch as Singed continues to work while Silco stays close, fixing Jinx's limp form with a look that shows both concern and a will to control. Singed is checking her injuries and already seems to be putting together a procedure in his head - you can tell by the way his hands run over the instruments he's preparing.

You analyze in the same way, and you don't like it. The fact that you and Singed come to the same conclusions is worrying.

Jinx will be able to survive, you know that. A little Shimmer to support the function of her organs and a method to stabilize her blood flow. But that alone is not enough. Her body will need to regenerate faster than it naturally can. Without accelerated cell division, she won't be able to produce enough blood cells. Without that - her end.

"I believe we can save her, but the process will be demanding," says Singed, interrupting your thoughts. His tone is neutral, almost as if he's talking about a scientific experiment, not a life. You don't like the word "we" in his statement. It hints at a shared responsibility that you don't necessarily want to bear, and not with him either.

And then he adds, with a calm, almost cutting firmness:

"Sometimes death is a mercy."

The sentence hangs in the room, heavy and unyielding. Silco turns to him with a sharp look, his anger almost palpable.

"She can take it," Silco growls, his voice full of determination.

Singed steps away from the stretcher for a moment and picks up a syringe, which he slowly fills with a green liquid. His movements are calm and methodical, but you already know what he's planning - you can tell by the way his gaze wanders past you.

"And before I begin, I must know," says Singed in a voice that carries both professionalism and gravity. "Are you prepared to lose her?"

At this moment, Jinx gasps softly, a faint sound that nevertheless draws the entire attention of the room. Your eyes fix on her form as she lies there, fragile and yet unbroken.

"She won't die, doctor. She cant," Silco replies. His voice is rock solid, without a doubt, and he leans over her and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"I understand," Singed mumbles without wasting another second. He pulls up a chair and positions it behind Silco. It only takes a moment for you to understand what's going to happen.

"Please understand, this is for your sanity," Singed says, his voice softer, almost regretful, and he raises the syringe without Silco noticing.

Before Silco can react, Singed stabs the syringe into his neck. The effect is immediate. Silco's eyes widen briefly before they glaze over and his body slumps. You're not sure whether it was pain or surprise that was in his last look before he slipped into unconsciousness.

"I, too, once had a daughter," Singed murmurs quietly, almost to himself, as he gently lowers Silco onto the chair.

That makes you two the only ones who are still awake.

Singed looks around, his laboratory in perfect order, ready for what is about to happen. He checks the instruments, the test tubes, the protocols - an orderly place in the midst of chaos.

"You've grown." His voice breaks through the silence, slow and deliberate. It takes you a moment to realize he's talking to you. "Not much in stature, though. But your appearance... that compensates for a lot."

Your gaze remains cold, your hands buried in your coat pockets. One of them is clutching a steel ball, and the aura surrounding you begins to thicken - a silent warning signal.

"I see... you've unlocked some of your talent and potential." He appraises you with an almost scientific interest. "But I daresay you're still far from your peak. Maybe ten percent, if I'm being generous."

If Jinx wasn't tied here next to you and you didn't need his help, this would probably be the moment when a steel ball would have severed his head from the rest of his body.

"How much shimmer do we need?" You cut through his words, ignoring his comments. Your voice is calm, but it carries the weight of an ultimatum.

Singed hesitates, his eyes scrutinizing Jinx and returning to you. "Hm... you should know that for yourself, shouldn't you? I've taught you everything you need."

Your grip on the steel ball tightens, and a low hum of your aura fills the room. The temperature seems to drop as your anger seeps through, and even Singed, who is usually so unflappable, suddenly seems nervous.

"Hey..." Your voice is low, almost a growl, as your aura radiates a menace that no one can ignore. "If you continue with your game..."

Your gaze meets his, cold and determined. With an outstretched index finger at him and a sinister aura. "... Then I'll kill her. And you're next."

The room falls into an eerie silence. Singed's face remains composed, but a drop of sweat trickles down his forehead. He slowly raises his hands, not in surrender, but in appeasement.

"Three milliliters of pure Shimmer," he finally says, his voice even. "Mixed with blood thinner and a stabilizing solution. Anything more and her heart will fail."

"Then do it." Your tone is cutting, no more patience in your gaze.

Singed turns away, his hands routinely reaching for the necessary containers. You watch his every move as he prepares the serum. Your gaze remains alert, analyzing his every action, ready to intervene at the slightest deviation.

"I hope you understand," Singed begins without looking at you, "that this is a risky operation. Even if she survives physically... Her spirit could break."

You squint your eyes, your heart is racing, but you don't let it show. You step closer to Jinx and gently place a hand on her shoulder.

"She's stronger than you think," you repeat firmly, your gaze fixed on Jinx, though part of you is unsure. "And we don't need a stabilizer."

Singed pauses, the serum in his hand, and slowly turns to face you. His brow furrows, a hint of skepticism in his gaze.

"No stabilizer?" he asks, as if the thought is inconceivable to him. "And... what are you going to do to stabilize them during the process?"

You don't answer directly. Your gaze is cool, your focus is on Jinx. Instead, you pull your spellbook out of your coat pocket in one fluid motion. The leather of the cover feels familiar, reassuring, as you open the pages.

Singed watches you, confused and fascinated at the same time, as a gentle aura appears around your hand. The energy spreads out, permeating the room with a warm, golden glow. It clings to the stretcher, spreading over Jinx like an invisible protective shield.

"Doctor Blythe..." you murmur, almost reverently, as the magic takes shape.

A powerful, supernatural being materializes before Jinx's eyes - a giant doll whose appearance is both reassuring and eerie. Dressed in a nurse's uniform, it hovers directly above Jinx, its presence filling the room with an inexplicable authority. She pauses barely ten feet above the stretcher, her massive hands spread out as if assessing the situation.

Singed opens his eyes, his analytical mind failing him for a moment. "What... is that?" he mutters, his voice a whisper that fades into the room. "Did you just... conjure that? Magic?"

The doll moves. Its mechanical fingers, fine and precise, slowly unfold, each equipped with a surgical instrument. The soft hum of magic intensifies the tension in the room as the puppet prepares its work.

"This is Doctor Blythe," you explain calmly, your eyes fixed on Singed as your hands continue to hold the book to direct the magic. "She's going to stabilize Jinx - physically, at least. Your job is to prevent a more severe concussion. I'll take care of the rest."

Singed nods slowly, though the confusion remains on his face. He doesn't dare to question further and turns his focus back to the serum.

Doctor Blythe's mechanical fingers gently descend on Jinx. The surgical instruments at their tips begin their work precisely and synchronously. With a mixture of mechanical precision and magical healing, she closes the gaping wounds, stops internal bleeding and even repairs broken bones.

Time passes slowly, each minute dragging on like an eternity. Singed administers his serum, monitoring the vital signs, while you concentrate on keeping the doll alive with your magic.

Jinx opens her eyes several times, briefly forced into consciousness by the shimmer. Her lips move as if she wants to say something, but the words remain unintelligible. A shiver goes through you every time her gaze wanders to you - so much pain, so much confusion.

You work without exchanging a word. No talk about old times. Not a word about the days you spent in his lab, the lessons he taught you or the wounds he inflicted on you. The room is filled with an unspoken hatred that hangs between you like a dark cloud.

Singed seems to sense it. He says nothing, as if any wrong word could put him in danger. Your anger, so evident in the intensity of your aura, leaves no doubt that one misstep could cost him his life - or worse, his daughter.

After just under an hour, it's finally done. Wounds closed, bones mended, bleeding stopped. Singed puts the last tool aside and wipes his forehead with a cloth. Doctor Blythe withdraws, her fingers remain in standby mode. You let the doll slowly disappear, your magic ebbs away, and it slowly bursts like a balloon, but without a sound.

Jinx lies motionless, her breathing shallow but steady. Her body shows the scars of the ordeal, but she is alive - kept alive by your magic, Singed's serum and Shimmer, which now flows through her veins. A bittersweet victory.

"She'll survive," Singed finally says, his voice almost a whisper. "But the Shimmer will have side effects. She's... changed now."

You nod, your eyes fixed on Jinx, who looks calm despite everything. "Changed or not," you say, your voice calm but firm. "She's alive. That's all that matters."

For a moment, your eyes and Singed's meet. You don't see much in his eyes - just the emptiness of a man who has long since given up on the world. But in your eyes he recognizes something else: fire, unshakeable determination, and the aura of a power that inspires respect and fear in him.

Jinx begins to cough, and immediately all your focus is on her. Her head moves slightly, her lips form silent words. And then you see it - her eyes, now a bright purple. An unmistakable sign of what she has been through.

"Better get out of here before he wakes up," Singed says, pointing a small knife at Silco, who is sitting unconscious on a chair. His words are matter-of-fact, almost indifferent, as if the chaos that has taken place here is nothing unusual for him.

You don't answer, you don't say thank you. Your voice remains silent as you help Jinx up. She leans heavily on you, her legs weak and trembling. You leave the lab, step by step, without exchanging a word.

The room falls silent as soon as you are gone. Singed remains motionless, his eyes wandering between Silco, the instruments, and the door through which you disappeared. The expression on his face remains unreadable, but the encounter with you still echoes in his mind.

After minutes of silence, he finally breaks it himself. A single word, almost a whisper:

"...terrifying."

You and Jinx move slowly through the dark corridors of Zaun. Her steps are heavy, but she mumbles something occasionally, her voice brittle. "Was it... bad?" she asks quietly.

"It was nothing you couldn't survive," you reply calmly, although the images of the fight and the operation still reverberate in your mind. "You're here, Jinx. That's all that matters."

You reach a small abandoned area where you gently place her on an old crate. Her eyes, now purple and smouldering, scrutinize you. "You haven't given up on me," she murmurs, almost in disbelief.

"Never," you say, and there is a truth in your voice that does not allow for discussion.

Jinx blinks slowly, as if trying to catch your words. "Are you..." Her voice is quiet, almost uncertain. "Angry?"

You pause for a moment. Your gaze wanders from her healed wounds to her bright purple eyes, which seem to draw you into a trance. But your mind is elsewhere.

"I know about the Corpse."

Ekko's words echo in your head. The moment on the bridge, the chaos, the explosion - he could have killed Jinx. Just one more blow, just a moment longer, and she wouldn't be here now.

And you? You were watching. Once again.

You're angry. At Ekko for almost doing it. At Vi and Caitlyn for just disappearing instead of trying to resolve the situation. You knew what was going to happen and yet they did nothing.

If things had turned out differently, you might have let them have the crystal. You wouldn't have decided to steal it.

"You're really creepy..." gasps Jinx, her voice weak but her usual smirk on her lips. "When you're angry."

You take a deep breath, trying to tame the rage inside you. But it's there, burning and unyielding. You crouch down slightly so that your eyes are level with hers.

"You almost died," you say softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. "And there was nothing I could do but watch."

Jinx looks at you for a moment, then laughs - softly, almost mockingly. "Pff! That almost sounds like you're not proud of me. I survived, didn't I?"

Your jaw tightens. "That's not the point, Jinx."

"Oh no?" She leans back slightly, her tiredness obvious. "Then what's the point?"

You close your eyes for a moment. She doesn't understand. Or doesn't want to understand.

"I almost lost you again."

She freezes, her grin disappears for a split second before she puts it back on. But this time it's not as convincing as usual.

"But you didn't."

You shake your head. "Not this time."

"Well look!" Jinx grins triumphantly, as if this is all a game she's just won. "So, what's the next move?"

You look around as if you would find an answer somewhere. But the reality is different. You have the crystal, Jinx is alive - but what else? The situation between Piltover and Zaun continues to escalate, war is inevitable. And Vi and Caitlyn... They've disappeared, simply taken off without even trying to resolve the situation.

But that's not what Jinx is getting at. You can see it in her attitude, in that spark in her eyes. She doesn't want to talk about politics or consequences. She wants to act.

"You must already have a plan, right?" you ask, almost resignedly.

"Of course!" Jinx beams, as if she's been waiting for that very question. "We'll kidnap Caitlyn and Vi and pay them back!"

A brief moment of silence.

"And then?" Your voice is calm, but your gaze bores into hers.

"Then..." Jinx shrugs her shoulders. "Then we'll just do what we want."

If you were in a clearer state of mind, you would have laughed - or freaked out because it's the most illogical, risky plan you've heard in a long time. But your thoughts are clouded, your anger at Vi, Caitlyn and Ekko mingling with a deep-seated love for Jinx.

"Good..." You take a deep breath. "How's it looking?"

"You go into the Last Drop and get Vi." Jinx leans back with a broad grin. "I'll take care of Caitlyn in the meantime... and pay her a little surprise visit."

You nod. No more questions. No hesitation.

You part, both with the same goal in mind - but maybe, just maybe, with completely different ways of achieving it.

---

The streets of Zaun stretch out before you, dark and shrouded in mist as you approach the Last Drop. Your every movement feels heavy, as if the weight of the past is dragging you down. Memories flood your mind - old faces, old voices, old wounds you never quite closed.

Even for someone like you, whose perceptive faculties are sharper than most, it's getting to be too much. Too many thoughts, too many unanswered questions, too much knowledge that's running through your head as if it's overwhelming you.

And then comes a thought that you had long buried.

Should I check on them?

'You' - your family. No, not Vander, not Vi or Powder. But your real family. The scientists in Piltover who treated you like an idiot as a child. The ones who never accepted you because you didn't fit into their world of logic and cold research.

After all these years, you've never tried to look back. Never tried to find out what happened to them. Why not?

Was it pride? Anger? Fear?

Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe it doesn't.

You feel the familiar tingling in your aura as your emotions flow uncontrollably into your magic. You need to focus - you have a job to do.

And yet...

Would it really be so bad to take a look?

What am I doing here anyway?

Damn! Why am I like this all of a sudden?

All the years you've been alone - even with a teacher by your side - your mind has never been as out of control as it is now. Not even in the worst battles, where seconds felt like minutes, have you felt as lost as you do right now.

You feel powerless.

And this despite the fact that - according to your own well-founded assessment - you could probably defeat any opponent here in Piltover with ease.

And that's exactly what makes you angry.

Damn!

Ekko.

You could have decapitated him then with a single, lightning-fast attack. No spell needed, just pure, focused aura - one move, faster than the eye can see, and it would have been over.

The same with Silco. Or Singed. Or Vi. Or Caitlyn.

None of them could harm you.

Not really.

Because you've been through more than all of them put together. Endured more pain, shouldered more guilt, suffered more consequences than they ever could. Your magic is just an extension of that - an extra that serves your unyielding will.

Nobody would stand a chance in a fight.

But that's not the point.

You breathe out, try to collect yourself. You need a clear head, otherwise you will make mistakes.

Then your eyes turn back to the road.

The shield of the Last Drop glows in the darkness, its faint glow bringing you back to reality. But it's not the light that catches your attention - it's the people.

They leave the bar in a hurry. Some cast nervous glances back as if they were fleeing from something.

She's already inside.

Vi...

Of course she does. She wants revenge against Sevika.

And that means chaos.

A battlefield spreads out in front of the entrance to the Last Drop. Silco's men - highly armed, pumped full of Shimmer, ready for war - lie on the ground. Defeated. Most of them are still breathing, but you can feel it: they are on the brink of death.

Vi took care of her. Alone.

You look at the bar, then close your eyes briefly. For a single moment, you expand your aura - not strongly, just a wave, barely noticeable to someone without training. But it's enough for you.

Three auras.

Jinx. Vi. Sevika.

But there is something else. Magic.

Hextech. Two charged objects, not as powerful as when a real magician would let his life energy - his aura - flow through them, but still unexpected in a place like this.

You enter.

Your steps are silent, your presence hidden. First observe.

Sevika and Vi fight.

Fists meet flesh. Blades cut through air and skin. Screams echo through the room. The smell of blood, shimmer and fear mix into a cocktail of madness.

Sevika's new weapon - a blade-like extension of her mechanical arm - whizzes through the air. Vi dodges, blocks, counters, but she loses her rhythm. She was always impatient, always too direct. She had no defense.

She will lose.

You seize the moment. While the two of them focus on each other, you glide through the shadows, moving along the bar - invisible to their eyes.

And then you touch Sevika's glass.

You quickly reach for your spell book, wrap it in your aura and place your fingerprints on the glass with a light touch.

The spell is set.

Harmless - for now. But if the condition is met...

If she touches the glass, I've won. Getting Vi won't be difficult either.

And then comes the moment you've been waiting for.

Vi goes to the ground.

A brutal blow, directly after a devastating combo from Sevika, drops her to her knees. Her face hits the ground hard and blood drips from her mouth. But you know better - she's not done yet. Vi doesn't give up that easily.

You keep moving, keeping your distance. Your gaze remains fixed on Sevika, who is now slowly walking to the bar. She stretches out her hand to reach for a glass - but not the right one.

The wrong glass.

A loud crack as you deliberately step on the wood with your foot.

"What are you doing-!"

She reflexively turns towards you, but she can't finish her sentence because your steel ball is already flying towards her.

Not a powerful, charged throw - just enough to divert their attention.

Sevika raises her mechanical arm and the ball bounces against it with a dull clonk. Perfect. She flinches briefly, and just then she reaches for the other glass.

I win.

She raises the glass, downs the liquid and looks directly at you. Neither of you says a word. Only the heavy breathing of her and Vi fills the silence.

Then...

A twitch.

A barely noticeable tremor in her hand.

"What..." Sevika blinks, her voice full of suspicion. "What did you do-?"

She can't finish the sentence.

Her grip on the glass weakens. Your fingers tremble. Her muscles suddenly feel light - too light. Her bones seem to give way and the glass slips from her hand in a helpless movement.

It breaks on the floor.

"Damn it! WHAT ARE YOU-?!"

Panic sets in, but it is already too late.

The magic unfolds its full effect.

Sevika's mechanical arm suddenly starts to get heavier and heavier. Too heavy. Heavy enough that the flesh on her shoulder slowly gives way and begins to separate from the metal. She cries out, staggers, and with a deafening crash her arm hits the floor - as if the weight had torn her skin.

She takes a panicked step back, her foot hits one of the splinters of wood from the fight. But instead of simply stumbling, the small piece of wood pierces effortlessly through her entire foot as if it were made of soft wax.

She cries out once more.

Her free hand shoots forward, desperately searching for a grip on the counter. But when her fingers touch the wood, they deform.

They literally melt.

As if her flesh would give way at the slightest touch, her hand contorts, her fingers sink in as if the wood has dissolved all her stability.

Sevika gasps, her chest rises and falls frantically. But not another word escapes her lips.

She begins to fall.

And that is your sign to come closer.

You walk slowly towards her, with an almost bored calm in your demeanor. Meanwhile, Sevika struggles to hold on to the counter, her heavy-breathing body full of desperation and anger. But control? She lost it long ago.

"Vitamin C is a water-soluble vitamin, also known as ascorbic acid," you say in an almost casual voice.

Sevika gasps and lifts her gaze to you, her eyes full of burning hatred, but also with a hint of panic.

"It is important for the formation of bones, teeth and connective tissue. If it's missing..." You pause briefly, as if giving her a moment to think. "That's what happens."

You slowly lift your foot - and then lower it onto her deformed hand with deliberate force.

The result is predictable.

Sevika's flesh gives way as if it were nothing more than melted wax. Her fingers deform under your kick and a pain-filled scream escapes her throat.

"You-! You're just too much of a coward to fight normally!" she yells as she tries to pull her hand away, but control of her body has long since slipped from her grasp. "All this time with your damn tricks, with your weird toys, just because you can't do anything!"

Is she really that stupid? I won the battle a long time ago.

You just shake your head, your gaze remains fixed on her - cool, emotionless, as if you were talking about something that doesn't even concern you.

"You're right," you finally say. "But for someone like you..."

You take another step closer, lowering yourself slightly until you are standing right in front of her.

"I don't need anything special."

You like it - you'd be lying if you said you didn't. Victory tastes sweet, almost intoxicating, especially against someone like Sevika.

A traitor.

One that Vander sold to Silco.

One that helped change everything.

Even back then, when you dropped the monkey bomb with the Enforcer gadget, she was the one who threw herself in front of Silco. She had made her choice - and today you have made yours.

"Y/N, stop."

The voice breaks through your thoughts, forcing you to leave the moment.

Slowly you straighten up, turn around - and your eyes meet Vi's.

Her blue eyes burn into yours, full of determination, but it only takes you a moment to see it: She's finished.

Her aura is weak, her body weakened. She couldn't fight you even if she wanted to.

And then - you feel it.

The third presence.

A faint grin appears on your face.

Perfect timing.

Vi sees your grin and a spark of panic flashes in her eyes. She knows it doesn't mean anything good - but it's too late.

"Bravo, Sis."

Jinx is already behind her.

Before Vi can react, the blow from her gun hits hard against her head. Vi collapses, unconscious on the floor.

Now it's just the two of you.

Sevika, destroyed and helpless, a shadowy reminder of her former strength.

Vi, defeated, an echo of her former invincibility.

And Jinx, leaning casually against her weapon, watches the scene with undisguised amusement.

"You two have really done something," she says as her gaze falls on Sevika. Then she grins wider. "But you really do look like shit."

You take a deep breath as the intoxication of the fight slowly sets in.

But there is still work to be done.

"And now?" you ask calmly.

Jinx shrugs her shoulders. "Well, now let's pack up our present."

Jinx shrugs her shoulders, but just as you're about to pick Vi up, she raises a hand.

"Or... wait a minute."

You stop, your eyes narrow slightly. She has that certain tone in her voice - playful, but dangerous.

Jinx grabs Sevika by the shoulder and pulls her a little further, as if she were nothing more than a broken toy. A guttural, painful crack echoes through the empty bar, and you are sure that your spell has broken several bones in her shoulder and ribcage.

"I-!" Sevika gasps, pain contorting her expression. "I'll kill you both!"

Jinx laughs out loud, almost manically, while you just smile slightly yourself. An empty threat, nothing more. She can't move, only has one arm left, and if Jinx really wanted to, she could crush her skull with a single punch - thanks to your spell, it wouldn't even be a challenge.

"For a loser, you sure make a lot of noise..." Jinx grins as she nudges Sevika with her foot. "Until Silco's men collect you, you might as well just lie here. But..."

She stretches out her hands, her fingers trembling slightly as if she can no longer hold back an impatient tension.

"My fingers are just itching."

You watch them carefully.

Jinx is unpredictable, you know that. But you can read her behavior better than anyone else. And you can see it in her eyes - it's not just an impulse. It's a plan.

"You bastard betrayed Vander." Her voice cracks, a hint of real, unfiltered hatred creeping in. "That makes one less good person on this planet."

Your eyes meet for a brief moment. Her violet eyes pierce you, shimmering in the faint light. But she smiles.

"Time for a tournament!"

You blink. A what?

"What kind of tournament?" you ask skeptically.

"The right question!" Jinx beams as Sevika writhes weakly beneath you.

"Hey-! Wait a minute! What do you want-?"

Sevika fights through the pain, her voice a strained gasp.

"Are you joining in too, Y/N?" Jinx looks at you with sparkling eyes. "In the tournament of the strongest?"

You squint your eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"She betrayed Vander in cold blood, didn't she? He died in the factory because of her." Jinx grins broadly. "A sacrifice costs a body part!"

You just look at them. Somewhere in your mind, where logic and rationality still reign, you don't understand anything right now.

"The tournament is on!" shouts Jinx enthusiastically. "We'll kick the pig's body now... and whoever makes her howl the loudest until Silco's men arrive wins!"

The silence that follows is heavy.

Sevika isn't the only one shocked - you are too.

"You're... joking?" gasps Sevika.

You slowly get to your knees and sigh. Deeply. Long and drawn out. The whole situation is so absurd that you try to make sense of it - in vain.

I thought we were just paying Caitlyn and Vi back.

"Hey, aren't you joining us?" Jinx looks at you expectantly, her violet eyes sparkling in the dim light of the bar.

You shake your head. "I thought we were going to get Vi. Not that we're torturing Sevika to make ourselves feel better."

You take a deep breath and try to organize your thoughts.

"I'm sure Vander wouldn't approve of that either."

Silence.

Jinx says nothing. Neither does Sevika.

But your mind is working at full speed, prioritizing, ordering, searching for the common thread in all the chaos.

Vander...

"I see..." Jinx's voice is quieter, as if you've hit a nerve.

Slowly you stand up, your hands wander into your coat pockets, feeling the familiar cold of the steel balls, the weight of your books.

And then it comes - the memory.

The cold floor of the factory. The metallic smell of blood in the air. The trembling fingers running over Vander's lifeless body. Your own harsh breathing, mixed with sobs that you couldn't hold back at the time.

All this because of Sevika.

Your grip on the book with the Corpse Parts map tightens.

You slowly raise your eyes and feel a strange smile playing around your lips. A strange mix of control and madness, anger and clarity.

"Hey..." Your voice is calm, but the tension in the air is growing. You push back your sleeves, exposing your wrist.

"What do I get if I win?"

Jinx blinks - and then she starts to grin.

"Hehe! I'd say you get to pick!" She stretches out her arms, cracks them, and flashes you a huge smile - a smile that's far too innocent for what's about to happen.

And that was it.

Jinx laughs and closes the door.

You laugh and kick.

Sevika writhes beneath you, groans and grits her teeth, but it doesn't stop you.

Every kick, every blow, every hammering of your boots on their battered bodies is rewarded with a laugh or a saying.

It feels like when you were children.

When you just kicked an old, broken ball and threw it against the wall again and again until your feet hurt.

Vander.

Can you hear that up there in heaven?

Our requiem for you.

[tremastersweb]

(OOC: I'm putting this under a read more, bcs it's long. S o r r y the Doctor thinks a l o t)

Like Alice, the Doctor always tried to believe three impossible things before breakfast.

The first, an immovable statement in his daily practice, was that good would always pervail. The impossibility was in the word "always". Still, it kept him going - the Universe had kindness in it, in spite of the numerous heart wrenching displays of cruelty he had gotten well accustomed with in his travels. There were trillions of marvels to smile about, such as people who had lost it all, in the direst of situations, spreading hope within their little found communities with the sweetest of gestures. He had seen it countless times, in fact he had participated. A single spark could often cause a chain reaction, if people's hearts were in the right place.

Right, that's the start of a smile. He incorporated from the wooden floor he unfortunately had fallen asleep at, after who knows how many days of sleep deprivation, supporting himself on the old console. He stared at the screen, he had managed to rearrange the TARDIS' architectural configuration almost in its entirety. The radar was still somewhat unreliable, yet it informed him that everyone was alive and, in fact, in this dimension. He didn't want to risk anyone becoming trapped in time, completely disintegrating, or worse.

Loss.

He wondered what had been of the people he had met on Gallifrey, his friends, his colleagues, his family. If the war had devastated the planet in its entirety... the odds of survival were grim. He chose to believe, for his second impossibility, that, somehow, at least some of them escaped, just like Vera, that they'd be safe, that...

He took a deep breath and shook his head. He didn't need to question it, or think it too much, just believe it. If he hoped hard enough, perhaps it would come true, besides, there wasn't much he could do, not at the moment. He examined the TARDIS' status. She seemed to be feeling better, the source of this improvement was unknown to him, but her energy was evenly distributed now save for the excess in the main console room. Hopefully that meant that most of the damage had been undone, that she was not suffering anymore, but he'd only make sure once he could take a look at the main console. The Doctor hadn't heard any more drumming, so he deducted the Master must have stopped messing with them. Perhaps, only perhaps, they had helped him attend to reason... he swallowed, tension fast returning to his body. He wrote a few more lines of code, making sure the design was stable, protected, not easily disrupted by the Master, and let go of the console. He drew a map on an old sheet of paper, it would be rather tragic to get lost with the correct arrangement.

He started walking towards the main console room, the image of the Master attacking him invading his mind, then Vera, oh Vera, yes the Magister was with her, so she should be safe... He was aware of the reassuring effect his presence had on her, and that he truly, deeply cared about her. The Magister would never let her get hurt if it was in his power, and he seemed rather determined before he left. He had shown her compassion, offered her protection, and demonstrated genuine, loving amiability, qualities he had long thought gone on him, and yet...

The third impossible thing he would attempt to believe in today was that, despite it all, the Master still had this part in him, that it could be recovered if nurtured enough. That, perhaps, he could for once, truly help him.

The shy smile that had formed on his face twitched, as he struggled to believe. Not too long after, he arrived at some familiar corridors. Yes, that was A- ...That room, and the kitchen was nearby. He peeked inside, noticing a familiar silhouette.

"...Magister, is that you?"

[lunod]

I have somehow already finished the update despite not playing that long or rushing through it (I actually played a couple parts twice already) and I just don't feel good about it at all, from honestly any angle.

Gameplay wise, a bunch of the story is having you to basic exploring that I feel like players outgrow by the end of the PS. Not as in "go to new location for story" but as in "view these 3 vistas to proceed with story, no there is literally nothing there" and it just feels dull and like they needed to make you do menial tasks to stretch out the game content. Why do I need to be wrangled into map comp when I have presumably played core and the other expacs by this point? The enemies including the boss are reskins with nothing new to them.

Story-wise it's a mess. There's some interesting stuff, don't get me wrong, but it all feels like you won't get to find out much about it, because most of the interesting tidbits are delivered through random unnamed NPCs you overhear. The pacing is all over the place. It honestly feels like YouTube content for children where they just toss a bunch of new stuff your way every 2 seconds without elaborating on anything in an attempt to keep you entertained. You don't get to figure out the people you're with at the beginning, because you get introduced to new people from within the Wizard's Tower and you don't get to figure them out either because you get new people from Inner Nayos, and throughout all this you have characters introduced to you and you're going "okay cool let me remember this person" and by the time you turn around they're dead. And the thing is their deaths don't impact me at all because I have not formed any feelings about them! I don't know them! I don't get to feel sad or angry or bittersweet or relieved about their deaths because I have spent all of 30 seconds around them.

And to be frank we know SO LITTLE about any of the people we're around that it's shocking we aren't getting any sort of feedback at all from Anyone about trust. Nobody's asked why we, the player, want to get involved in this at all. We, the player, have not questioned the wizards or their motives, we didn't question Zojja's decision (honestly Zojja's whole Thing is a writing AND a marketing issue), we have not questioned Peitha or her motives, we have not questioned whether we should be putting Peitha in power at all especially when we know nothing about Kryptis culture or politics (and let's be real we know SO little that we don't know if the issue is even as black and white as needing to choose between Peitha or Eparch), we haven't questioned whether Nephus is going to be reliable given he has openly stated he was forced into this, we know nothing about anyone we're putting not just our own life but Everyone's lives on the line for. Especially when a lot of the dialogue should give us pause, like the way Nephus makes it clear Peitha has no real experience with what she's doing and that what she IS good at is manipulating people and coming up with speeches on the fly. Or the Wizard's Court in general and as a whole honestly.

I honestly haven't felt this flat about any of the GW2 story besides IBS, and IBS still had some parts I didn't feel flat about.

[snippychicke]

Your Kuro work is awesome! I've been on a Kuro kick lately and was wondering if you could write a prompt about a reader with the straw hat gang figuring out Kuro's identity like immediately and just messes with him by not revealing his secrets cuz she's a low morals gal as well

Maybe a little spicy 🫣

I am so sorry about the delay. Things have been harsh, but I really loved this idea. It has a bittersweet ending, but open to interpretation.

You had broken out of the marine prison at Shells Town the same time that Luffy and his crew-not-a-crew had stolen the Grand Line map from Ax-hand Morgan. And, well, one thing led to another and you were roped into the not-a-crew just like Nami and Zoro.

Unlike them, however, you were an actual seasoned pirate, and was amused by the antics of your Captain. That bright optimism and empathy seemed at odds with his dream of being Pirate King, and you wanted to see what would become of him. Especially after the events of Orange Town and the fight with Buggy the Clown.

And then you ended up in Syrup Village.

You remembered three years ago; the whisper of the Captain of the Black Cat pirates dying at Ax-hand Morgan’s blade. You hadn’t wanted to believe it then, considering you had seen Captain Kuro fight more than once through the years. It seemed like a cosmic joke that many of the pirate crews you had joined in your younger years had run-ins with the Black Cats.

It was either that or Kuro himself was hunting you down, just for those small heated moments as he toyed with the decision of allowing you to live like a cat playing with a mouse.

And seeing Klahadore? You didn’t fall for it for a second and knew that the ‘butler’ knew as soon as your gaze met his across the garden. His eyes narrowed slightly, and you could almost hear the silent command. ‘Silence.’

Oh, you’d be silent for now. But maybe it was your turn to play with him.

---

Zoro had complained about you wearing black, but you simply rolled your eyes. As soon as you saw the black dress with gold details, complete with a simple black velvet choker, a plan had formed instantly in your mind. You were going to taunt and tease the former pirate as payback.

And by gods the look on his face when he saw you, eyes widening just a fraction with a hard swallow making his adam’s apple shift. It boosted your confidence as he followed Merry and Kaya down the stairs, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Cat got your tongue?” you teased quietly, assuring no one else would overhear.

“Silence.” he hissed, eyes narrowing as he stood by your side, his posture still as stiff and rigid as always. “What are you doing here?”

“Funny, was going to ask you the same thing,” you teased as you sipped the cocktail you had been given. “The rest of the world thinks you're dead.” There was a bit of unintended bite to your words, but you hoped he wouldn't notice.

Who were you kidding, of course he noticed. You saw that familiar head tilt and raised eyebrow of intrigue, but thankfully he stayed silent.

And you tried. Really, you did. “...just tagging along with these wannabes,” you found yourself saying after a heartbeat. “They're… something else. Amusing, mainly, but oddly competent. Somehow.”

“Hmm.”

“Not like you, of course.”

You downed the rest of your drink and pretended not to notice Kuro (Klahadore?) look at you… and then cover a smile by coughing into his white butler-type gloves (so different from the black furred and bladed gloves that he used to wield. You still remembered what it was like to have one of those blades resting beneath your chin, the others carefully arranged as not to hurt you but could with the slightest twitch.)

“I see you haven't changed,” he finally stated. “You still can't control your mouth at all.”

“It's why I try to keep it occupied with other things,” you sighed before realizing how that may have sounded. (Or maybe that was your own thoughts dirtying the meaning and it probably sounded benign to everyone else.) “Wait, that's not--I mean--”

Thankfully you were saved as your conversation with the stoic butler didn’t go unnoticed by Kaya. “I don’t mean to interrupt,” the young woman lightly spoke as you floundered for words. “But… Do you two know each other?”

Kuro stiffened slightly, erasing any signs that he had actually relaxed in your presence. “We’re acquaintances,” he answered simply--or was that sharply?

Either way, you couldn’t help but scoff, “Is that what you’d call it?” You literally could not recall how many times you had been entangled with the Black Cat pirates, your life spared by the captain because of some odd whim every time. Each time feeling an undercurrent of something when he spoke to you.

Both Kaya and Kuro looked at you-- the former with surprise, the latter like he was about ready to murder you right then and there. You blushed as you rubbed your neck self consciously. “It’s uh, complicated.”

Thankfully, the young lady of the house smiled without asking any more questions. “That’s wonderful! I’m so glad you were able to reunite, Klahadore rarely ever talks about his past.”

You felt the itch to say something. Your drink was empty. You had no little plate of horse-dours or whatever they were called. You could feel the intimidating aura radiate from the fake-butler next to you, threatening you not to speak. “There’s nothing to speak of, miss Kaya,” he spoke with such soft kindness that seemed unnatural from the man you knew.

“Yep, nothing interesting. At all. We’d just run into each other. A lot. Either the universe decided it was a funny joke or he was stalking me, one or the other. Though I always did think of him as an oversized cat, ya know?”

Kuro just had to say your name and you shut your mouth quickly, sealing your lips to prevent anything else from escaping. Kaya was doing a poor job of hiding her smile behind her hand. There was a decided humored light in her eyes as she looked up at her ‘butler’. “I never thought about it, but I think you’re right. No offense, Klahadore,” she tacked on quickly at his dour look.

The expression shifted into something akin to endearing patience in a simple blink of an eye. “None taken, my lady. I’ve… heard the sentiment before.”

“I’m sure you have,” you coughed. “I’m gonna go get myself another drink, do either of you want anything?”

Kuro fixed you with that sharp glare of his. “I think it might be best if we move onto the dining room. Your lips hardly need any further loosening.”

If he had been worried about you ruining the birthday dinner, you were sure Kuro was sufficiently surprised when it was your ‘captain’ that handled that with a grin on his face to boot. You (unwisely) lingered around while everyone else retreated to the guest rooms, deciding to admire the eccentric decorations of porcelain plates adorning the walls and ceiling. (your favorite was the little tuxedo kitten with a blue bow around his neck, attacking a ball of yarn. No reason, of course.)

“Miss, do you need help to your room?” the maid asked (Sham? They looked like them at least).

“Uh, no I’m good,” you said with a faint smile, wondering if they remembered you but decided it was unlikely. “I was just, uh, admiring the decorations.”

Sham narrowed their eyes, clearly unhappy with your response but excused themself with a small ‘hmm’ and began to clean the dining room, making you feel very unwelcomed. You took the hint and meandered towards the hallway leading to the guest rooms. The place was sprawling and a monument to the family’s wealth, but you were blessed with an intuitive sense of direction and had already more or less mapped out everywhere you had been, noting servant’s passages behind the walls just by the sight of small seams in the walls.

The wealth and splendor of the house was something that itched at you as a seasoned pirate and thief. If it wasn’t for the fact you knew Kuro himself was likely watching you like a jaguar protecting its territory (or maybe hunting its prey) you would have pocketed as much as you dared. The truly-silver dining utensils. Bits and bobbles that could fetch a pretty berry on the black market.

So caught up in ‘admiring’ the display of a knife made of seastone and a hilt encrusted in gems (that could be sold for tens of millions of berries, if it was seastone. An ‘accident’ with Luffy could prove it too…) you failed to noticed the faint reflection in the glass.

A cotton-gloved hand wrapped around your throat, the other quickly grabbing your wrist from reaching for the dagger that rested in a holster attached to your upper thigh.

“I think not,” Kuro purred quietly in your ear, causing the knot of fear in your stomach to tangle with the flutter of butterflies that suddenly bloomed as you caught sight of his reflection. “I’ve been biding my time for three long painful years. As fond as I am of you, I won’t be merciful if you ruin this.”

Despite the underlying threat as he tightened his grip, you couldn’t help but smile. There was the Kuro you were more familiar with. It hadn’t made any sense for him to give up being a pirate captain for this. “Have I ever went against you, Kur-”

His hand tightened enough to choke you for a split moment as he pressed closer to hiss in your ear. “Do not say that name.” The pressure eased up, allowing to gasp for air, though his hand remained. “...but no. You’ve always been… obedient.”

You cursed both him and your own body for the way you trembled at the way he said the last word, how it stoked a fire deep in your belly. “If it hadn’t been for that mouth of yours, I would have had you join my crew.”

“Loose lips sink ships, and I might’ve done that once or twice,” you admitted. “But I kept the little secrets of yours I gathered through the years here,” you said, touching your chest with your free hand. “And this one will be no different.”

He hummed in thought, lips brushing the exposed part of your neck while his gaze met yours through the reflection. “We have two hours to kill before the last step of my plan comes into play. Why don’t we find a way to keep your mouth occupied until then?”

--------

“How did you sleep through all of that?!” Usopp exclaimed after everything, making you rub your neck (hoping that no one noticed the marks you tried to cover with the high collar of your shirt.)

“...I’m a very heavy sleeper.” That and Kuro had made sure you were well worn out by the time midnight struck. You were still amazed he was able to move, let alone act like it had been nothing as he kissed your brow and told you ‘Be a good kitten and stay here until I return.’

Which you were fully going to obey, considering you knew how vicious and uncontrolled he became when in the thick of it. Except daylight came, the metal shudders protecting the window retreated back into the wall… and he never returned.

Learning why had you twisted up inside for reasons you didn’t want to examine. You frankly didn’t care that it had been his plan to kill Kaya-- she was nothing to you, after all, and you had seen death so many times you were numb to it. Granted, to you the plan seemed a bit obtuse and over-the-top, but who were you, the woman with no plans, to argue with Kuro of the thousand plans.

But there was the fact that while Sham and Bucchi were now in marine custody, Kuro hadn’t been found. He had escaped (apparently after Luffy headbutted him through a window.) You were relieved. Delighted. Worried. Anxious.

To find him after three years of thinking he was dead, a few hours filled with admittingly some of the best orgasms of your life, and now this. Knowing he was on the run with no one watching his back, while you continued to tag along with a misfit bunch of pirates that were still not quite a crew.

Young, hopeful pirates that would likely soon realize that the world wasn’t as nice as they thought. The world was either kill or be killed; Plunder or be plundered.

Luffy called your name, a rare frown on his face as you shook yourself out of your thoughts. “Come on, Kaya said that she has a ship.”

You smiled tightly at the teen. “Thanks, but I think we should part ways here. I don’t think the path to my dream is with you, sorry.”

You expected him to protest, but instead there was a faint smile that seemed far to knowing and wise for his years. “Gotcha. Go chase your dream.”

[numberonenarinderhater]

Okay Idk what tumblr's issue with me today is but consider this my message in a bottle from my island of soilutde. Hello @unknownvariance! I literally cannot seem to reblog ur reply to my post with the response I've been trying to... reblog it with.

So, I'm just gonna cobble this together in a separate post. I didn't want u to think I was ignoring u so here we are.

I'm not sure how these arguments really refute my original points from my pinned post. If anything, it seems like you agree with me -and even make some of the same points I did- but in the opposite direction, somehow. I'm gonna take this point by point though, so I can break this down in my head. Stop me if I misunderstand anything here.

"He did have at least one vessel before Lamb, Ratau. So clearly he either didn't entirely believe in the prophecy until he had no choice or just hoped Ratau would somehow manage to make do. I doubt he gave his crown to Ratau for shits and giggles after all."

This still doesn't answer my question of why he didn't do anything to intervene. If the species of the Crown Bearer really doesn't matter (and assuming that Ratau was the bearer during the same time that lambs were being killed) then how was this not time and effort wasted? If anything, it just makes it seem like he didn't even notice that was happening until it was too late and he was like 'oh well, I guess this guy will do'. It's not like Ratau was even killed in the line of his duties- he just quit. So I don't think Ratau's failure to lead a cult in Narinder's name had anything to do with any prophecies. And if he didn't believe in the prophecy until he "had no choice"… How is that supposed to make him look better?

"I feel like the "Oh Narinder could have stopped the genocide if he'd chosen a Lamb earlier" just doesn't work. The bishops would have still believed in the prophecy regardless and would continue to genocide the sheep."

Ehhh, this is an assumption. You could be wrong, you could be right, but it's the thought that counts right?

My point was more that he doesn't really manage to do anything with all the free time he had. Opting to do nothing is still doing nothing.

"Also given how he gives Lamb the crown before sending them back, he may very well not have the power to just revive people just because in his chained form. I mean the Lamb needs bones and everything I see no reason why Narinder wouldn't. If he had the power to revive the Sheep, why wouldn't he after all?"

'Why wouldn't he' is exactly my problem with this whole mess, but anyways-

He has no problem reviving the player character over and over, no matter how many times you come crawling to death's door struggling through Hard Mode. He never complains about not having the resources to revive you from death.

(not that I know of, maybe I'm just too good at the game to have heard him say anything about that lollll)

And I know what you're thinking: "Well, that's probably because the player's Lamb has the Red Crown!! He can revive a bearer, not just any random sheep."

Then why not make that first executed lamb your vessel?? You'd have way more margin for error and the lambs would have an immortal demigod defending them and scaring away any more attempts to wipe their species off the map. Procrastination doesn't suit plans to overthrow old world religious orders, after all! Get started early!

If logistics is the issue with his ability to revive the dead and stop the end of a species then you may have to forgive me for not being very impressed with his abilities to either: a) make a plan that isn't bullshit or b) do fuckall about his situation.

Speaking of logistics…

"Even in a more callous sense, he could have an army of angry sheep to go to war against the bishops and wear them down."

If I didn't know better, this is where I would cry plagiarism.

"…why didn't he just amass a huge army of vessels to lead his cult all at once if he needs believers that bad?"

Don't steal my ideas about how to nitpick a character, come up with your own, dammit!

Nah but fr tho. Admittedly, that wasn't meant to be a very serious point, but it's funny that we both had the same thought. Great minds or stopped clocks? Who knows.

Ultimately nothing you said counters my original point:

"As far as the writing on the wall is he is selfish at heart and if he isn't stupid then I guess I have to assume that he's way weaker than he says."

My original post is mostly about the fact that I find Narinder's moral and ethical character to be weak, not about the ways in which he could have done better and either chose not to or couldn't. The fact of the matter is that he didn't and a lot of creatures died in his name and, when it came time for him to do better by his followers, he betrayed the only person who helped him out. He's a leech, a group-project moocher. The guy who, after you've done all the hard work, swoops in and tries to reap all the rewards because he knows he's not able to do it by himself. Whether that's because he's unable to be good or incompetent doesn't matter because it's an exercise in hair-splitting.

If he isn't stupid, I have to assume he's weak, and neither possibility makes me think that he's cool or interesting.

Nevertheless, thank you for your reblog. None of this is meant to come across as me doing an awesome cool internet dunk on you where I destroy you with facts and logic, I just saw your reblog and wanted to respond in good faith. I'm interested in the fact that you seem to like narilamb and (therefore, I assume) have more reasons to like him than I do but you still ended up agreeing with more of my arguments than I expected. It seems like we're on the same page, but we're just slightly opposed on the whole 'how responsible is Narinder for the literal end of a species' which is a sticky subject.

If anyone else wants to weigh in on the issue or if you want to reclarify something I said about your argument here, please send me an ask or a message!

[chibivesicle]

Trigun Stampede Episode 5 - subtle we are not; Monev the Gale, we only knew you briefly

Another Saturday morning has come and gone here and it means the next episode of Trigun Stampede.  Still pushing that breakneck pace and jamming in more world building.  For this week, I’ll start with the location map highlighting that we are in the Windmill Village.  Which is the remains of a crashed ship that has a lot of windmills to provide power. 

The episode starts with an establishing shot of the lack of wind at the Windmill Village.  A man is speaking over the radio, clearly a sort of televangelist type with the fire and brimstone sort of pseudo-Christian worship.  And if you’ve watched the original Trigun anime, you will immediately recognize that the radio preacher is Wolfwood’s VA, 速水 奨, Hayami Shō, stylized as Show Hayami in English.

As his sermon continues there is a shot of two people kneeling in prayer before a sort of eye of god/cross banner in their home.

The two of them continue to listen to the broadcast, their hands clasped together and we get a shot of the younger child looking nervous before it cuts to the OP.

This opening segment establishes that there is a sort of hard line religious group and these two people are worshipping it, or at least the mother based on the awkward body language of the child.

Our next shot is of Meryl driving as a religious radio program is on the radio and she’s ready to change the station, also telling us that it is around 50 degrees C on this desert planet at the moment! 

Don’t worry though, Roberto is here to info dump and tell us that the religious group around plant worship is newly established - only around for a few years in the Stampede timeline.  While they discuss the social cultural context, Vash and Wolfwood are sleeping soundly, somehow Wolfwood is able to do so with a half smoked cigarette.

Since Roberto doesn’t want to really have an actual conversation with Meryl, he decides to mess with her and make up some story about the red desert sand around them - which of course scares the shit out of her and then she almost hits the carcass of a giant dead bug.  Which when they inspect it, Wolfwood somehow is able to explain it was killed with a single one handed strike from a ‘person’.

Wow dude, way to try to cover that you aren’t an ‘undertaker’ and are a trained assassin.  Are you even trying to blend in Wolfwood?  I’m going to guess that Wolfwood likely knows who could have done this - perhaps not the specific individual but that he knows it was a modified human by the Eye of Michael.

They go onto investigate the ghost town further and conclude it died due to the lack of consistent wind.  The entire exchange between Meryl and Wolfwood about it is just weird.  What was the point of Wolfwood commenting that using wind power is dumb for Meryl to try to correct him that it is a flawed form of power if there is no wind?

The scientist in me has more of an issue with this set up of wind power is unreliable.  If you don’t have a plant, your plan would be to have both wind power and solar.  Since we don’t see any clouds at all on this desert planet.  Additionally, when you do live in a desert it is almost super reliable that you will have wind power; I never got over how windy the desert is and how sunny it is when I lived in the desert.  The solution for this plot point is a combination of wind and solar.  You have advanced technology even if some of it is lost - you can have solar panels.  Of course this then creates the issue of you need another piece of the puzzle to explain why plants are so important in this world.

It was always my understanding of the manga that besides generating power, the idea was that the plants also helped to stabilize the local environment for terraforming needs as highlighted in the anime episode and series of manga chapters around Little Arcadia (and the rest of the Nebraska family).  Even if you had wind and solar power it was the extra special stuff that the plants helped to add to the local environment made it livable and arable for farming if one put in the time and effort.  Little Arcadia implies that something from a plant sort of escaped into the land and the family that nurtured it were able to create a little oasis in the desert.

The group explore the area and Vash picks up a strip of cloth that is covered in dust before he’s shot at by gunfire.  Someone is attacking him!  Wolfwood rushes in with his weapon uncovered and yells at him to take an action.

I have to admit I’m missing the dramatic reveal of his Punisher from the original anime and manga, it always indicated that things are serious.  Now, he’s just there and ready to go.  The scenes keep flipping back and forth between the worried kid, Rollo and the action of the giant man in a mask with machine guns for arms.  The kid overhears his mother talking with others about how he’s supposed to be the next sacrifice to god having been a child born on a windless day.  Studio Orange is clear - being subtle is not their storytelling style in this.  We know that young Rollo knows that he’s up next for some sort of weather/ritual sacrifice to save the town and of course he makes a run for it into the desert.

Vash gets cornered and Wolfwood shoots him only for the camera to make sure that we know that little vials inject something into him that allows for rapid healing.  Wolfwood knows this man they are fighting has similar technology that he has so - yeah - it harkens back to his statement of punching the desert bug with a bare hand.

The two run away for the moment, with Wolfwood almost dragging Vash along.  We get them in an alley catching their breath and Wolfwood is already insulting and muttering about how pathetic Vash is.  And the fact that he knows that Vash is hiding something about this Windmill Village.

It cuts to what is for the first time clearly defined as a flashback.  I get it, they wanted you to not be sure if you were seeing parallel actions between Rollo and Vash but with a heavy nudge that this is likely a flashback and that kid might have something to do with the giant monster chasing them and yelling “Vash the Stampede!”

Vash finds Rollo when he tried to run away from him and that he was bringing him back for his mother who was very worried about him.  Rollo through his conversation with Vash is trying to decide if he should trust Vash’s [likely naive] advice and return to meet his fate of a certain death or continue to run.

Of course Vash is clueless to the dark sacrificial plot and instead promises that he will get the proper medicine to heal Rollo.  Since this is full time perma-sad Vash, we know by time he completes his quest to save the kid, he would have arrived too late!

The flashback then has Rollo going alone with a lantern to some part of the structure where he encounters our fine Doctor, the blonde girl who is barefoot and is restrained by some sort of grunts for the Eye of Michael who knock him out with a drug. 

The flashback has the girl stating that she’s not the same as Rollo, that she’s actually and angel and that he’s totally different.  The statement that she’s angel would make me think plant, but the fact that she doesn’t have the weird markings on her bare arms imply that she’s not a plant like Vash and Knives but more of a rather confident girl.

Rollo gets strapped to an exam room table, injected with all sorts of stuff and the Doctor explains that he’ll age rapidly but won’t die of his sickness if he can regenerate etc etc.

And this allows us to learn he is a ‘successful’ experiment living at least 5 years as his superhuman form.  The girl still thinks he’s a possible failure but the Doctor seems pleased enough and is using his hatred of Vash not saving him to drive his anger.  I guess.  The experiment scene also wants to hammer home that he is indeed Rollo, as at least 5 years later, he returns home to visit his mother before destroying their home which Meryl and Roberto inspect.  We can hear the radio is still on with the Wolfwood VA talking while they look around.  Interestingly, Roberto states it looks like this all fell apart 20 years ago.

If that is the case, the incident with Rollo running away from home and being rescued by Vash happened ~25 years prior, Rollo became his unnamed form, went back home 20 years ago, likely killed his mother and destroyed the place and then went back to the base?

While they inspect the rubble, Meryl finds a photograph of Rollo as a baby with Vash holding him that clearly his mother had taken.  Thus, the timeline that Vash is older than he appears is being confirmed but with all the info dumping that Roberto does - he’d know that Vash is older wouldn’t he?

While Roberto and Meryl are being good investigative reporters Rollo is fighting with Wolfwood and Vash, but Wolfwood is looking a bit rough and spits out his cigarette to pop out his own regenerative vial as he watches Rollo pin Vash against the wall.

These vials don’t appear into Volume 8 of Trigun Maximum with a full explanation from Wolfwood after he rescues Vash from Knives ark after fighting with Chapel, Livio and Legato.  This was after the 7 month time skip when Vash is kidnapped and imprisoned by Knives and Wolfwood eventually is able to brute force get him out of the ark through the combination of sheer willpower, a tacit understanding of Vash and the regenerative vials.

Vash is trying to get through to Rollo’s humanity which shows a shift as his facial display goes from Venom-ish from Spiderman to a regular man.  The reason this character looks like Venom is that Yasushiro Nightow is a huge fan of Spiderman and designed him as such in the original manga.  Vash is there pleading about his promise but it is obvious that he failed to save him.

Wolfwood then cracks open the vial, heals himself and then shoots Rollo through the head with the laser beam function of his gun.  The scene shifts to Vash pleading for Rollo to wake up as Roberto and Meryl watch and Wolfwood hangs back.  Wolfwood finally breaks the situation by stating that he’s dead and that he is not waking up.  Vash rushes at Wolfwood to grab him by the collar demanding why he killed him to which Wolfwood replies with ‘Mercy.’

He goes on to further admit that Rollo had become a monster, lost his humanity and even if he didn’t kill him, the man would not return to who he was.

This the starts the first of Wolfwood’s lectures/philosophical debates with Vash about how it isn’t always possible to save everyone and not hurt them.  Vash is someone who is able to say what he wants to see have happen but has no way to implement it in reality.  However, since we are going at a rapid pace there has been no time for Wolfwood and Vash to get to know each other as just friends; their debate both in the anime and manga only happened after they spent some time with each other for it to really show the differences between them.

This is an even more black and white interpretation of the difference between Wolfwood and Vash.  We do get excellent animation of Vash’s own shock here in his eyes which I was very impressed with.  Wolfwood’s facial expressions are a bit more muted in this episode, it seems if he glances to the side that is the most he can do for any sense of remorse/frustration.   Furthermore, it sort of makes it a Vash versus Wolfwood, when in reality it is Vash versus Knives with Wolfwood straddling the middle ground in life philosophy.

The group silently leave the Windmill Village as the wind begins to pick up.  With the sacrificial death of the child born on a windless day, the windmills are all able to spin and begin to light up the ghost town in the night.

Back at Knives HQ, Conrad is informed of Rollo’s death by Zazie, stating that he was killed by another one of them.  The blonde girl states he was Nicholas, but Conrad corrects it to the Punisher.

Which makes it clear that he was involved in the creation of Wolfwood’s current state and abilities. 

The episode then ends and the credits roll.  The first thing I did was double check the credits this time to confirm the blonde girl’s identity since I didn’t think to do so in other episodes if she had made a ‘hrm’ sound or not.  And there at the bottom of the first page she is and she’s indeed Elendira the Crimsonnail.

So, as of this point, Elendira appears to be a young girl, but since Rollo was ‘made’ at least 25 years ago in the current timeline she can appear to be a young girl at the moment.  It also looks like she will not be a trans woman either - unless we get more backstory for her.

It is clear that the terminology for the Gung-ho Guns no longer is a thing in Stampede and they are popping up in a new order.

Rollo is Monev the Gale from the manga and anime.  The whole association with the Windmill Village is more than enough to make that connection as well as the events happening over 20 years ago since the original Monev was imprisoned for ~20 years by Legato.  He shows up to cause total chaos in hunting Vash for Legato taking out lots of innocent bystanders in the process.

In the anime the climax of the action is when Vash shoots off his face shield and almost kills him with his hidden arm machine gun at point blank.  This was such an emotional scene where it is first the we really see Vash almost lose it in the slow build up to this point.

The manga makes it even more dramatic, with the close up on Vash’s face as he holds his long colt to his face as he’d had to break his arm off to escape the handcuffs/chains.

Both tense scenes end with Vash breaking down in tears by thinking about his past relationship and conversations with Rem.  With that we get the total emotional release of all of his anxiety, sadness and fears in a very cathartic scene.

What sort of hero has to hold himself in a hug as he weeps in pure frustration and loss?  It really was a great reveal of how Vash’s own moral compass and code is struggling with the reality of his own circumstances and existence and he does not know what to do. 

However, it doesn’t matter that Vash is compassionate and merciful to Monev, he’s eventually killed by other Gung-ho Guns several days later; crucified of course.

Things to ponder and take away from episode 5.

Honestly, I’m sort of really trying to scrape together my conclusion. In a narrative sense this episode does nothing to advance the plot. Sure, they have some themes that occur but all we did was repeat episode 4.  We introduce that Wolfwood is not good and Vash is good.  Wolfwood chooses violence and Vash does not.  Wow.

Additionally, the lack of inner monologues and thoughts from the characters is making it harder to understand them. Apparently, we are to infer everything from these characters through their actions alone.  Can a TV show do that and succeed? Yes, but Trigun Stampede is not Black Sails.  The original anime and manga have a lot of inner thoughts to show the conflict and issues characters are dealing with and it is completely missing from the story telling in this anime.

Themes:

1.) Religious groups prey upon and use desperate people - this is painfully obvious the entire episode.  Rollo’s unnamed mother is willing to give him up in order to save the town by bringing them wind and salvation from God.  Rollo clearly is questioning his faith and runs off into the desert to save himself - by likely dying from another fate.  The televangelists over the radio started more than 25 years ago and continue to do their work - though Roberto refers to them as a new cult.  In the manga, we know that the ships crashed ~150 years prior to the current events and the Eye of Michael state that they are ~130 years old working in the background for most of the time humans have been struggling to survive on the planet.

It also implies that the Eye of Michael sees no issue with taking unwanted children to form them into tools to achieve their goals - though I wonder if it is actually an independent group like in the manga or something else that Knives created and set into motion in this version?

2.) A pure pacifist cannot make impactful change - Vash convinced Rollo to return to his mother and Rollo wasn’t able to verbally state his own fears to Vash dooming him to his terrible fate.  Vash, you really aren’t a good listener or you can’t read people’s body language after over 100 years?  Vash at least is able to fire his gun again and works hard to defensively fight Rollo shooting at buildings and structures to slow him down or distract him but by not facing him head on, he is going to lose.

3.) Sometimes you have to pick the worst option - this is shown by Wolfwood killing Rollo.  Granted, since Wolfwood is on the same side, it is in his own best interest to kill Rollo to conceal his own identity - though his blunt statements aren’t really helping him to not look like an obvious assassin.  This is most likely supposed to mirror the moral conflict between Vash and Wolfwood when Wolfwood shoots Zazie the Beast in the anime and Vash and him get into a very heated argument about it.  We also have absolutely no context for why Vash refuses to kill in episode 5 nor why Wolfwood feels obligated to kill. 

Stampede is going through the motions, using specific lines and dialogue, but it isn’t working since we really don’t get that feeling that Vash sees all life as sacred.  There is no declaration of this land is made of love & peace.  Or how he freaked out when he shot B.D.N.’s lackeys and had to stop them from bleeding out.  The manga does a good job early on of establishing his no killing rule and the anime takes it to the next level.  Meanwhile, the manga and anime establish Wolfwood as a more compassionate and complex character.

We just have very 1 dimensional characters who seem to do one thing in the plot and that’s it.

4.) The mix of Buddhist & Catholic ideology that underpinned the original work is only at a surface level - Upon my recent watching and reading of the manga, it refreshed me on how the entire series is very much using philosophical and moral arguments that are a mix of Buddhist and Catholic ones combined.  There is the idea of humans by nature existing in a state of suffering and that are naturally born with sin, thus requiring a religious way to deal with that sin.  That Vash struggles to live an impossible moral code and that Wolfwood has crushing Catholic guilt through his own actions and decisions to protect others.  Knives is clearly a fallen angel but that Vash can’t be a hands off sort of distant angel either watching but not doing. 

I’m not here to make any sort of strong religious statement, more that the original work used these to religions as the foundation for the moral and philosophical struggles that the main cast face in the story.  Vash has to actually become critical of his own morals while Wolfwood sacrifices himself not only to save the orphanage but he also saves Livio.  Livio then also learns that despite all the terrible things that he has done is still a person worth saving and caring for and that he too is redeemable and can be forgiven.  Meryl has to learn of her fear and bias toward Vash when he protects her with his angel arm and then accept him as is.  It is just all these things worked well in the story and I appreciated how they were used in the manga and original anime.

Stampede instead is adapting these concepts on the surface level.  Characters are saying similar lines and doing similar actions but that doesn’t mean it replicates the original feelings. 

5.) Missing those dramatic sunglasses scenes - Due to the high octane nature of the action in this sci fi series, I find myself missing the ‘I mean business when I put my sunglasses on’ scenes with both Vash and Wolfwood.  Wolfwood frequently dons his own sunglasses when he has to get down to business or is trying to appear cool and collected.  But when the two of them are less stressed or in non-dangerous situations, they are without their sunglasses.

Escape from Pain is an anime only episode, but it highlights how Vash did his mock kill to allow Julius and Moore to escape.  Wolfwood steps on his sunglasses that Milly slapped off of his face, likely because he himself is upset that Vash upset Milly.  He won’t allow Vash to put them back on to hide his own emotions and look serious when he hurt Milly’s feelings through his fake actions.

Which is then balanced out with the humor where he reaches over, grabs Vash’s gun, pops out the bullets, squeezes it to show it is a rubber bullet before he rapidly reloads it with one, and shoots Vash at point blank range.

I’ve also realized how much I liked Wolfwood’s reveal of his own personal tools in the anime.  You want to take me on, allow for me to show you that I mean business.

Characters, comments & observations:

1.) Vash - continues to be passive; but finally is spurred into feeling some sort of rage when Wolfwood kills Rollo.  He apparently tries to do everything himself and trusts all adults at their word.  However, since this version of Monev didn’t kill and harm countless innocent people, we don’t get the full emotional breakdown of Vash.  This makes it hard for us to connect with his pain and suffering that his personal code has caused him.  It doesn’t make us feel how much of a struggle it is for him to continue to hold himself to his impossibly high standards.  Instead, he just looks sad and passive.  Furthermore, I feel the longer they don’t have him explain his moral code the more muddied it becomes; they missed their chance to have him clearly state “I will not kill!” which is sort of ironic with how blunt the story is otherwise.  This also fails when Wolfwood was a priest and Vash could always give him shit with “Thou shall not kill!” and he actually did not kill. 2.) Meryl & Roberto - do their best as the senior/junior reporter team.  We don’t get a lot of development from them other than that Roberto knows how to scare her and she’s decent enough to find a pristine photo of a younger Vash.  They honestly don’t do anything to advance the plot since they hide during the shoot out and are both info dumping for us.  I’m also starting to get tired of Roberto’s perpetually half untucked shirt look.  I get it, he’s supposed to be messy but can you at least switch between it being the right side, the left side or both?  Instead, it has been consistently the right side for the first 5 episodes when we know they’ve at least had time to clean up a little.  This isn’t a low budget anime from the 80s and 90s where you have no choice but to animate something out of order (I’m looking at you bus in Muder Machine where Wolfwood’s cross is on the top of the bus before they pick him up in the desert). At least the bickering between Meryl and Wolfwood is minimal at best, but they were only together for a short time during the episode.

3.) Wolfwood - is not doing a good job of hiding he’s a trained assassin with similar tools and tricks that Rollo/Monev the Gale had.  We know that some religious organization that worships plants clearly recruited him as a young child and he was subjected to treatments and experiments.  Hopefully, it will at least reveal that he was not directly involved with team Knives.  With the obvious nature of this work, they will likely beat us over the head when we get to Wolfwood’s backstory as an orphan taken into the Eye of Michael and trained to work for them.  However, since he doesn’t seem to be a compassionate and likeable guy trapped between his own unfortunate circumstances, who tried to escape his teacher and therefore those obligations it is hard to feel for him.  He’s just angry, aggressive and bitter lashing out at everyone.

4.) Rollo/Monev the Gale - we only knew you briefly.  This version gave us a new backstory for you.   You are an explanation for Wolfwood’s own background and the technology behind the assassins.  Does this work for me?  Sort of.  Rollo achieves the goal of being someone who knew and trusted Vash in the past to only be hurt by those actions; like Hopper the Gauntlet and Leonof the Puppet Master.  But his character also has to do double duty to explain that there is biotechnology that can turn children into super killing machines by physically altering them, giving them rapid regeneration skills at the expanse of aging them quickly and we know that Wolfwood is using it as well.

What is lost in Stampede’s version is the humanity of Monev the Gale and Vash’s inner conflict to not stoop to the level of killing.  Monev had no issue with killing innocents and lambasts Vash for not fighting him head on, civilians be dammed.

But it is when he’s defeated that Monev begs for his life that his humanity is shown to still be there - despite being forced to train in isolation for 20 years.  Was he a deep character in the original manga or anime?  No, but his own mortality and that realization of his own actions turned the tables on him showed that he still very much had basic human needs and emotions.

Instead, Wolfwood puts Rollo out of his own misery by killing him and we never get to see if he still had those human emotions only by him revealing his real face behind the mask as Vash apologizes.  Which doesn’t have the punch the barrel of a gun to the eye socket does as you cry out for mercy.

My two cents on the rapidly aging sci fi aspect of the story

Anime Wolfwood was a normally aging guy who trained as a child to about adulthood before he fucked off to do his own thing for a number of years, but based on how he acts and looks it is safe to say he’s late 20s to early 30s.

Manga Wolfwood suffers from unclear retcon with a wishy washy timeline for his backstory.  One reading is that he was recruited 6 years prior to the 2 year time skip - so, 4 years before the start of the manga he joined the Eye of Michael when he was 11-ish and did stuff and got shot enough to age him up to mid-20s ish when he first meets the group in the desert.  This very condensed timeline for him means he dies around 17 or 18 at the end since the kids don’t recognize him.  However, there are flashbacks with the young girl who Livio liked and we see her as a clear adult in the manga when Livio protects her implying that they were likely older when they entered the Eye of Michael and started the rapid aging bits.  With this information it means Wolfwood and Livio are in their 20s instead.  I’ve found support for both of these interpretations in the manga so I’m just not going to take one or the other and keep it unclear since it is vague.

Honestly, between these two scenarios, I preferred anime Wolfwood since his actions and words made more sense coming from a normal aging adult than a young kid who sounded so world weary at times it broke my immersion from the story when reading the manga.  But that is my opinion.  I’m not against the idea of him having a regeneration serum that has a karmic tradeoff. It was almost overkill when you realize he was a religiously trained gunman from a young age and trapped by his circumstances.  Tug at your heart strings more that Wolfwood dies even more tragically young. . .

Anyhoo, that took me off course.

Predictions for the future: 1.) Another bad guy of the week for episode 6.  Who will it be?  Who knows? The introduction of all the characters is not the same as the original anime or Maximum so your best guess is as good as mine.  Elendira, Zazie, Livio, Legato, Grey - any of them are possible.  We still have a ways to go to reach July on that map and there is an orphanage at the halfway point.  Does this mean Wolfwood will die by then? 2.) Characters likely dropped.  Dominique the Cyclops, Rai-dei the Blade, Midvalley the Hornfreak.  I very much liked all of them and how chaotic they were.  Oh well, they would seem too campy in this sleek sci fi series.

3.) Moar action!  Move frantically forward with no character development and only action. Action action action.  Please let the story breathe - at least have them stop for donuts?  Or have Vash mistaken for a cat?  Or fight Wolfwood for spaghetti?  You can’t keep up this level of depressing without some humor - that was key to the Vash-Wolfwood dynamic as well.

All in all, episode 5 was weaker than episode 4, which was weaker than the first three.  This episode has not advanced the plot, explained anyone’s motivations beyond that Vash is running away and now sort of heading towards July, that Meryl and Roberto want their story and that Wolfwood has to make sure he gets there.  I’m not sure who the intended audience for this is, but I’m pretty sure I’m not it. 

Studio Orange continues to demonstrate extreme technical skills with their animation but the lack of a coherent understanding of narrative structure, character development and world building are killing this for me.  The story lacks any sort of emotional core or heart.  Just slapping a known series onto 1D characters and making them look pretty.   And without character inner monologues we have to take what characters say at face value when interacting with others.

[eponymous-rose]

Wanted to add, if anyone’s curious: Critical Role is starting its third campaign tomorrow (Thursday, October 21)! If you’ve been looking for a jumping-on point for the show that doesn’t involve watching hundreds and hundreds of hours of content to catch up, this is it. Each campaign takes place in the same overall world as the previous ones, but at enough of a remove (different continent, set some time later) that the impact of prior campaigns is usually reduced to the odd NPC cameo and no knowledge of those plots is needed to enjoy the story.

I know D&D actual-plays are much more mainstream than they were back when campaign two was first getting started, but in case that hasn’t been your thing: it’s literally just listening in on someone else’s game of Dungeons and Dragons. They’ve got great production value and an absolutely absurd new set for the new campaign (projections????), but the game itself is totally unedited, which means you get the full experience of table talk, flubs, and occasionally having to take an early break because everyone has the giggles. The players are all experienced actors and longtime friends, though, so they’re very good at sharing the spotlight, building each other up, and occasionally messing with each other for maximum humorous effect.

Matt Mercer, the DM, is clearly living his Dungeons & Dragons dreams - he’s mentioned that this set is something he’s daydreamed about since he was DMing in high school, and on top of creating the world, he has control over the visual effects during the game and builds the battle maps himself. The seven players (plus occasional guest players!) buy in to their characters in a huge way; it really does feel like reading a book or watching a show where every single character has a writer who’s always in their corner. They’ve got a great crew (including, now that they’re pre-recording, subtitles for every episode as it airs) and the show’s getting more and more polished without losing the fun side of the chaos of it all.

The episodes are free-to-watch and air every Thursday (except, starting in November, for the last week of each month when a one-shot will air instead) at 7 PM Pacific Time on Twitch, typically running for around 4 hours. That’s long as heck, so if you’re not super into watching something for that long in one sitting or if the time zone’s not in your favor, you’re in luck: they rebroadcast on Twitch at midnight Pacific Time and 9 AM Pacific Time on Fridays, then post to YouTube the following Monday. You can also subscribe on Twitch to be able to watch the VOD immediately after (and even during) airing - if you have an Amazon Prime account, you get one free subscription.

They also post episodes in audio-only form to a podcast feed a week after airing - you may have to poke around a bit because the earlier episodes were on a different feed due to the changeover to CR becoming its own company.

Anyway, I do really love this show - I think it’s an incredibly fun example of creativity and communal storytelling, and the throughline always hews back to found family and deep friendships. It feels like watching a fantasy epic that’s somehow had the goofy cast shenanigans integrated right into it, with the added intensity of a really good sports game - after all, everything is unscripted and the nature of D&D means that a character can permanently die at any time.

It’s great fun all around, and even if you do fall behind on it and only poke your head back in occasionally down the line, jumping in at the start of a new campaign is a pretty wild experience all around.

If you’re interested, the Twitch channel is here and the YouTube channel is here. Watch live at 7 PM Pacific on Thursday, October 21st!

[heartofspells]

Masterpost

@wolfstarmicrofic

Prompt: afraid

Fear is a relative term. Some people are scared of the dark. Others find it in insects or heights or tight spaces. More still are terrified of death and what comes after, what that will mean for them and their souls, if they believe in those sorts of things, but Sirius has never worried much with any of these. What Sirius fears is far worse to him. Sirius is afraid of losing.

Loss is something Sirius is well-versed in. He's lost a lot in his life so far, but he feels as though he's gained much more, a better family along the way, that love he'd always been missing as a child. His friends have given him everything, and without it, Sirius knows he'd be nothing, not even worth a second glance from anyone. He'd thought, for a long time, that the Potters slipping away from him would be the worst thing possible, the most he'd ever stand to lose, but now he's looking at the new life somehow forming around him through all this mess, and Sirius is realizing he stands to lose so much more than he'd ever imagined.

The next week passes in a half-blur of anger, anguish, and that startling relief that Remus seems to provide him at nearly every turn, always managing to pull Sirius from his darkest moments when he thinks no one else could. He's soft and kind under most circumstances, but firm and unwavering when Sirius needs it most, like Remus can tell and knows just when to use which tactic to gain the best results. Sirius isn't sure how he does it, watching the other man constantly, trying to sort it out in his head, make sense of the things that aren't lining up properly yet.

He still studies Remus when he sleeps, thinking that will give him some clues, that ability to simply stare unhindered, but it doesn't. Sirius finds things he's never noticed before, like a fine scar just over one side of his upper lip, one eyelash that's slightly longer than all the rest, grazing the man's cheek with a delicacy even silk can't rival. He maps the slant of his nose, observing the random cluster of freckles near the tip, and once, for a second, Sirius almost leans in to touch them before he stops himself.

Teddy comes to stay with them again, and Sirius basks in his jovial presence, but he only stays for a day before Remus falls ill and aching. Dora comes back to pick him up, doting on Remus while she's there, checking him over, pushing him to rest. Sirius is grateful for it, but he also feels a surge of jealousy rise in him that he can't understand.

When they're gone, Sirius keeps a close eye on Remus, remaining near to his side. The other man doesn't complain about his presence, but he tells Sirius not to worry, that it happens often, a shadow falling over his eyes that only concerns Sirius further instead of abating it. And then, the next night, without an explanation, Remus disappears, leaving Sirius alone until he returns in the morning, shuffling through the door on barely moving feet, looking pale and drawn, haggard in a way Sirius hasn't seen him before. He meets Sirius' eyes as he pushes the door closed behind him, leaning on the handle heavily, his mouth opening to speak, and then he collapses, and the terror spikes in Sirius deeper.

Remus rouses hours later, Sirius having managed to get him in the bed. He's stripped down to his pants beneath the warmth of the layers of blankets Sirius had piled over him. Remus stirs a bit but stills when he sees Sirius seated beside him, hovering a little, watching his face as he wakes and returns to consciousness. Sirius doesn't speak as Remus glances down at himself, taking in his bare chest and arms, the scars there standing out in the afternoon light of the sun, gleaming faintly like rivulets of streaming water. Remus' eyes lift to meet Sirius', mostly blank, but Sirius can see the shields flying up, guarding against the panic steadily rising.

"What did you – ?" starts Remus, but something in Sirius' gaze seems to stop him.

"I patched up what I could with flannels and bandages," explains Sirius. "You weren't too bad off, but I don't have a wand and couldn't manage to use yours, though I'm guessing trying to heal the wounds likely wouldn't have been very successful." Remus stares at him, his mouth twisting into a terrible line that Sirius hates on sight. "You're a werewolf. That's why you knew about the moons, why you didn't go to Hogwarts or any school. Right?"

And there it is, that fear flooding through Remus as he physically tries to retreat into the bed, looking caged and trapped. "Sirius – " he rasps out nearly pleadingly, but Sirius only shakes his head, silencing him as he reaches to the side table and grabs up the glass of water he'd left there.

"Drink," he instructs, hand slotting behind Remus' head, lifting it enough to press the cup to the other man's lips. Remus' wide brown eyes remain fixed on him with a slow-building terror as he does as he's told, downing half the glass before he pushes it away, glancing at it briefly as though he thinks it might be poisoned. Sirius never looks away from him as he settles the water back in place and says, "I don't care, Remus."

Remus' mouth drops open, his jaw falling slack. "You don't – " he tries to repeat, but he stops, snapping his teeth together quickly. "You don't understand, Sirius."

"I understand. You're a werewolf, and that's not your fault. As far as I can tell you're not hurting anyone. You have people that love you unconditionally, a family that you love in return," says Sirius factually. "And you've been helping an irritating stranger for a month now when you could have just as easily ignored me."

Remus shakes his head, brown eyes still impossibly wide. Sirius thinks he might want to drown in them. "You're not a stranger," he whispers.

"No, I'm not," says Sirius just as quietly, and then he's leaning down without another second of thought and kissing him.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Saving Grace S2 E2: Nowhere to Hide

S2 E2

Fox Mulder x Reader

Words: 2496

Summary: The reader  and Alex’s investigation is interrupted by a familiar face. Something about this case isn’t right and the reader and Scully both know it. 

Notes: Making my timeline is a little difficult, but I believe I’m using the years from the character Wiki pages so nobody come after me for inaccuracies haha. The timeline for this series is extensive. Also, sorry this is late, I honestly forgot yesterday was Monday. 

More Mulder Imagines: HERE

-

The map glared back at him with mocking lines and smeared red ink. Three shiny pins blinked and shined under the fluorescent light. Around him, the clutter of files and records and photos had turned his office into the den of a mad man. Well, at least more than it already was. 

“Three missing scientists… one corrupt research institution…” He slammed his hand down on a blurry security photo with the subject just barely caught in the frame. “And Krycek.”

His musing turned to rambling, as they often did, and he paced around his office, trying to make it all connect. Somehow, he knew. If he followed the trail of Zimtech trying to clean up its mess, he would find you. 

The door opened and his phone started to ring. Scully entered, her expression unreadable. She stared at the report in her hand with an intense perplexion. Before she could share her information, however, Mulder quickly answered his phone. 

“Mulder.” His greeting held that desperate hope that only Scully recognized. As if every time he answered the phone, he expected it to be you. And, like each call in the past three months, she watched his demeanor fall. This time, however, whoever was on the other line piqued his interest. Mulder shot across his office, phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear, and jammed a new pin into the map on the wall. 

“What is it?” Scully asked. He put a hand up and listened to the voice. 

“And you’re sure the name is Greenwich?” He inhaled sharply. Scully just continued to watch in confusion. Mulder’s intense focus was something she’d grown used to, but this was different. He seemed almost hopeful. 

He slammed the phone down on the receiver and looked at her with wide eyes. The fax machine beeped. Scully remembered the report in her hand. 

“Mulder, there’s something I think you should-”

“Greenwich, Scully,” He exclaimed. “I’ve been having the Lone Gunman keep tabs on all of the missing person reports that connect back to Zimtech.” Mulder took the paper from the fax machine and pinned it next to the map. “Dr. Albert Greenwich- one of the lead scientists at Zimtech was reported missing by his wife under the alias of Marc Plum.” 

He pointed at the side by side picture of Dr. Greenwich and the missing persons report for Plum. The same man- though Plum looked significantly more disheveled than the doctor in the Zimtech uniform- looked back at her. The connection to his excitement was still unclear. 

“We’ve been tracking missing Zimtech employees for months,” she said, “what’s different about him?”

He started pacing again.’ “When we started investigating Zimtech, Y/N had an informant form the research department. She never told me much about him other than the name he gave her- Mr. Green.”

Scully nodded, understanding now. “And you think if you find her informant…”

“I find my wife.” 

There was a long pause. Scully wanted to believe he was right, but the case in her hand kept coming back to her mind. She handed him the paper. 

“Dr. Mira Lagosi was also one of the head researchers in Zimtech’s zoology department. She specialized in DNA and altering the genetic makeup of mammals.” 

Mulder glanced over the paper with confusion. “What does this have to do with finding Y/N?”  

Scully handed him another page. “Dr. Lagosi’s body was found in her apartment this morning. She appears to have been mauled to death. Due to the state of her body, the coroner is having difficulty with some of the details, but he put the time of death around three days ago.” She cleared her throat. “Apparently, there was a gas leak in the building so no one was there to notice the smell.” 

Mulder looked over the case for a moment, but handed it back to her. 

“Greenwich has been missing for only 36 hours, making him the more recent case. Y/N will be there.” 

“I don’t think we can just toss this aside,” Scully said. “This is the first time we have a body to examine.”

“Which tells me that it probably wasn’t Zimtech.” He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “My best bet is to keep following the trail Y/N is leaving for me.” 

“How do you know Y/N is the one leaving it?” She asked. “The only person you’ve connected anything to is Krycek.”

“She’s with him,” he said. His shoulders slumped slightly. “I know it.” 

Scully hated seeing him like this. Desperate. Defeated. But something in her told her this case was the one. 

“We can’t ignore this case,” she sighed. 

Mulder nodded. “Then I’ll go to Nevada alone.”

“Mulder-”

“I’ll look into the Greenwich case while you find out what happened to Dr. Frankenstein.” His tone was final.

Scully didn’t see any other option. She tucked the file into her bag and started towards the door. 

“I’ll call you if I find anything,” she said. She turned back towards him. “Be careful, Mulder.”

He simply looked away, staring at the pins in the map. 

-

It didn’t make any sense. You’d tracked Lagosi’s every move since she’d become Professor Maggie King at the local college. Alex and you canvassed the whole damn town, playing the happy couple on vacation, and nothing was turning up. Three days was too long to stay in one place. If you don't find her soon… well you certainly weren’t looking forward to that phone call from Zimmer.

You waited in the car, listening to some crappy talk show while Alex stood at the payphone. He never told you who his informants were, but whoever it was certainly pissed him off. You absent-mindedly observed the world around you. People out on morning jogs, older couples grabbing breakfast at a diner, a young boy tossing out newspapers. 

One paper landed close enough to the car that you could see the headline. Your heart leaped into your throat and you scrambled out of the car. 

“What the hell?” You muttered. 

“I thought I told you to-” Alex whined, but you thrust the paper at him before he could finish. 

Police Investigate Death on 42nd Street.

“At least it explains why we haven’t found her,” you said. “Looks like something got to her first.” 

“That isn’t possible.” He read the article in disbelief. “We would have heard about it. Zimtech would have heard about it.”

“Unless they set us up.” You said through gritted teeth. There was no way your lack of information was an accident.

Alex threw the paper to the ground. “Well, Mrs. Carter, looks like our job just got a little more complicated.”

You sneered. “Stop calling me that.” 

-

Blood stained altex fell into the trash. Scully turned off the light about the table and removed her goggles. The autopsy- of what was left of the body- revealed what she’d expected. Dr. Lagos was essentially ripped apart. Cause of death was blood loss, but several of her organs had also been removed. They appeared to have been clawed out of her chest cavity. By what, she had yet to determine. It almost seemed feline. 

She finished gathering her things and made a mental note to call Mr. Y/L/N to check on Grace. She’d also need to call Mulder and tell him what she’d discovered so far and see if he’d found anything about Greenwich. The thought of calling Y/N entered her mind before she could stop it. 

This was easier when you were here. 

Dana shut the door and started down the hallway of the coroner’s office. Facts floated around in her mind, attempting to cling together to form theories. Nothing stuck. How could a predator like a cougar or lion have gotten into Lagosi’s locked apartment? Sure, the window was open, but she lived on the seventh floor. No such creature could have climbed the fire escape like that. Not unnoticed anyway. Mulder would probably suggest some kind of werewolf. She almost wished he was here to distract her with his crazy theories. 

She’d need to go back to the crime scene to see if the local authorities had missed something. Plus, the drive across town would give her a little time to think. All of this meant something. It just didn’t make sense yet. 

She didn’t know that someone had gotten there first. 

“What the hell happened?” You grimaced at the gruesome scene before you. While the body was gone and investigators had already gone through everything, the blood stains on nearly every surface painted a clear enough picture. 

Alex stepped over a shattered lamp. “That’s what we’re here to figure out. Time to break out all of that Academy training. You used to be Violent Crimes, right?” His tone made it sound more like a jab than genuine interest. 

You ignored him. He seemed to think now was a good time to push you. 

“Yeah…” He mused. “That’s how you met Mulder. The weirdo genius kid from BSU.”

You gritted your teeth. “How do you know that?”

He chuckled. “When are you going to get it through your head? I know everything.” He smirked at you, satisfied that he’d hit a nerve. 

“Less talking. More looking.” You snapped. You had to fight to keep the memories from flooding your head. They were too painful now. But he knew that. 

“I can see I’ve struck a nerve, Carter.” He still said the name with a smugness that made you want to punch him. Thankfully, he stopped there. 

Christmas lights framed the doorway of the building. Scully noted the lack of police cars. Shouldn’t there be a team watching the crime scene? Her phone rang before she could finish the thought. 

“Hello?”

“Scully, it’s me.” Mullder’s disappointed voice greeted. “I think you were right. There's no sign of Greenwich or what happened to him. No sign of Y/N.” She could hear him kick over something, probably a chair. 

She took a deep breath. “I was about to call you. I think something seriously strange is going on here, Mulder.” She hit the elevator button, still observing the odd quietness around her. 

“I’ll take the first flight to North Carolina.”

Dana sighed. Until she had any evidence that Y/N could be involved, there was no need to get his hopes up. Reaching the floor, she walked towards Dr. Lagossi’s apartment.

If Alex had still been making his snide remarks, you wouldn’t have heard the footsteps outside, accompanied by a voice that shot panic through your chest. You grabbed Alex by the lapel and shoved him into the closet. Unfortunately, the small space only fit one. 

“What the hell?” He objected. 

“I’ll handle this.” You slammed the door just as the front door opened. 

“No. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Go home and spend it with your daughter.”

You could almost hear his voice on the other line. Scully closed the door behind her and looked up. She froze, eyes locking with yours. 

“Mulder… I’ll call you back.” 

-

1992

You sat at your desk. Mulder sat at one of the tables looking through slides. You had a mountain of memos and taxes to go through before Blevins started breathing down your neck. A knock pulled you out of your work, but Mulder didn’t lose his focus.

“Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes. “Fox.” 

He looked at you the same way he always did when you called him by his first name. Annoyed, but affectionate all the same. 

A woman you didn’t recognize entered tentatively. She had red hair, bright eyes, and curious air about her. Your desk was closer, so she approached you first. 

“You must be Agent Y/L/N,” she said. She held out her hand to you with a kind smile. “Dana Scully. I’ve been assigned to work with you and Agent Mulder.”

“Isn’t it nice to be suddenly so highly regarded?” Mulder had turned around, his usual cynicism thick in his tone. 

“Ignore him.” You stood, taking a little more effort with the weight of your eight-months pregnant belly. “If it were up to him, I’d be working as soon as I could stand after labor.”

“You make me sound so insensitive,” He said in mock offense. “I’m actually very interested to see what Blevins is concocting by sending Dr. Scully to us.” He stood, crossing his arms and leaving back on the table. “So, who did you tick off to get stuck with this detail, Scully?” 

“Actually I’m looking forward to working with you.” She turned back to you. “Both of you, once Agent Y/L/N gets back, of course.”

“Please,” You smiled, “call me Y/N. Unlike my partner, I’m not into the whole last name only thing.”

“Alright, Y/N.” From the look of her polite, yet intrigued smile, you could tell you were going to like her. “I’ve heard a lot about the two of you.”

“And I was under the impression you were sent to spy on us.” Fox snarked. 

Mulder proceeded to be Mulder, but Scully didn’t seem deterred. Yes, you were definitely going to like her.

-

You just stood there, frozen by her stare. Her expression morphed from shock to disbelief to confusion and back. 

“Dana-” You started. She cut you off with a hug. 

“I thought I’d never see you again.” She said. You could feel the tears welling in your eyes and hugged her back. For that short, perfect moment, it felt like you had a part of your life back. But then you remembered why you were here and who was with you. You pushed away. 

“Dana, you can’t be here.”

“What?” She exclaimed. “Y/N, we’ve been looking for you for months. What are you doing here? Where have you been? What’s going on?”

“You have to leave. They probably already know you’re here. When they find out you saw me-”

“What are they making you do? Are you the one that’s been killing those people?” She stepped back. 

“It’s…” You took a deep breath. “Complicated.” You put your hands on her shoulders. “I need you to go home. Keep yourself safe. Keep them safe.”

She shrugged your hands off. “Do you have any idea what this has done to him? He’s driving himself insane trying to find you. He goes home to a daughter who doesn’t understand why her mother isn’t coming home and he has to try and be both parents.”

“I’m doing this to keep them safe,” you cried. 

She shook her head. “It’s time for you to go home. Y/N, please. We can-”

A flash and a thud stopped her. Scully fell to the floor. You rushed to help her, pulling her into her arms. Alex stood over her, having hit her with the butt of his gun. 

“What the hell?” You exclaimed. He looked at you furiously. 

“Nowhere to hide now.” 

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks; @kendahl0216; @yellowbubblewrap

Mulder: @posiemax; @muldersufo; @springholland

[remakethestars]

Being Damian Wayne's Twin Sister Would Include:

Headcanons.

❝Exactly. I don't ask my dog to drive, and I don't ask the Justice League to solve my problems.❞

— Damian Wayne, Adventures of the Super Sons #9: Showdown on Hexworld

TRIGGER WARNING: Cursing, (Damian’s) death. Mentions of toxic masculinity and internalized misogyny, nightmares, blood, knives.

Headcanon masterlist.

When people ask you, “So, which one of you is the evil twin?” Damian always glowers, and you always motion to him.

You look disturbingly alike when only your eyes are showing; Damian’s got long lashes. Talia taught you a good tactic for tag-teaming in combat as kids was to pull up your hinged balaclavas and make the enemy think there was only one of you, that they’re seeing double.

Or for one of you to hang back while the other attacks as a distraction before the other knocks them out from behind.

Obviously, this won’t work when the two of you start filling out, but it works when you’re kids. It’s the reason why, even off the field, the two of you usually wear a matching outfits with hoods.

You utilize the same methods when she sends you to live with Bruce.

You don the Robin costume just like he does, much to the rest of the Batfam’s confusion (both because they weren’t expecting it and because they can’t tell you apart either), but sticking with the “red” theme, you go by Redstart.

There’s a rumor on the street that Robin V. is a meta that can teleport.

The two of you are freakishly good at mimicking the other’s voice and mannerisms, which makes it even harder for your family.

Jason tells you two about April Fools Day, and you make the most of it. Of course, Damian’s a pain in the a$$ and decides to go around pretending to be you and getting into trouble. You’re banned from the mall, and you still have no idea why. 

The two of you can communicate with just an impassive expression (Dick says it looks like a prime example of twin telepathy to anyone else), but anyone close to you knows sh¡t’s about to hit the fan when the two of you look at each other and smirk.

If it’s something you can’t communicate nonverbally, you use your cryptophasia. 

Cryptophasia is a language developed by twins when they’re learning to talk. Most of them grow out of it, you and Damian decided to keep developing it so it became more of a conlang. No one else has been taught to speak it, and they never will be. It’s for emergencies only.

Sun Tzu’s The Art of War was your Bible growing up, and the two of you call out verses when you fight together and need the other to understand a tactic (you both inherited Bruce’s eidetic memory, so you’ve got it memorized).

When you get too big to pull off the which-is-which game, you make your own costume and become the true Redstart. 

It’s basically Damian’s Robin uniform (the Super Sons’s version is the only one I’ll accept), but the boots and gloves are black, the biceps have a white stripe, the lining of the cape is white (the lining of the hood is black), the gold accents become white, it has a zipper down the front instead of clasps, and the mask becomes black (including the eyes). The waterline of the eyes is white. Like a painted redstart.

If Damian’s into animals, you’re into plants. The two of you find common ground on the fact that pollution sucks, so when you walk Titus, you take a trash bag and gloves with you to pick up litter as you go.

You did not want to go to Jon’s school. 

Not because you don’t like Jon (because you do), but because you know you could run intellectual circles around every one of those snot-nosed brats. 

School is stupid. Especially because the American education system is subpar; everything about it is.

You hardly pay attention in class. You do all of the homework a week ahead of time incase something comes up. Usually you’re doing next week’s homework in class. You’ve written entire papers on your phone in Google Docs in the middle of class to be printed out later.

If you’ve already done everything, Damian’s usually drawing and you’re daydreaming or you’re working on a case on your phone.

The teachers are always trying to catch you not paying attention, but you little sh¡ts can always answer their questions. 

Damian’s closest with Dick, but you’re closest with Tim. You admire his ability to plan ahead (see the entirety of the Red Robin comics), and you know that he’s better than both your father and your grandfather; you want to be as good as him when you grow up.

It takes a long time to wash the toxic masculinity and internalized misogyny our of your head, to learn that your grandfather’s ideas of “strength” were wrong, that it’s okay to lean on someone besides Damian, that you can be just as strong as your brother and still be feminine, that there are acceptable emotions besides anger.

Actually, your father teaches you that anger is more likely to get you killed. He won’t let you go into the field when he knows your angry.

It’s harder to drill out of you than your instinct to kill.

There’s a Lebanese restaurant called Tarbooshes (Teen Titans Special #1) the two of you go to when you’re feeling homesick. They make ox blood soup the same way your mother did, and it’s the only non-vegetarian thing Damian will eat for that very reason.

It’s nice to have a place to go where they know you by name and know what you want when you tell them “the usual.” It’s nice to have a place where you’re not a Wayne or an Al Ghul, where you’re just [Y/N] and Damian.

You disappear for an hour on your birthday to eat there. Bruce has asked you were you go, but you kept that between the two of you. 

Speaking of birthdays, you’re eleven minutes older than him. He was six pounds and ten ounces (Batman & Robin #0?), and you were a solid seven.

After Damian died, you go to Tarbooshes to feel close to him.

You were doing all right with the no-killing thing until the night Damian died.

Heretic never stood a chance.

He looked so much like Damian it gave you nightmares, though. Nightmares where you killed your twin brother and woke up sobbing.

Damian didn’t give you a speech in his last moments. He just looked over at you and said in your cryptophasia, “I’m sorry.” 

Not “I love you.” Not “Take care of them for me.” You knew that; you’d do that. He didn’t have to tell you, and he didn’t have to ask.

Just “I’m sorry.” Sorry that you were the one that was left behind.

It’s one thing to lose a family member, to lose a friend, or to lose a lover. It’s another to lose half of your soul.

The two of you had always feared you would die apart. It had always been a possibility; you weren’t stupid enough to think, “It’ll never happen to me.” Because it definitely could. 

And it had.

You wanted to run away from everything. Even just for a while. Go to one of your safe houses in London or France or whatever and just — you didn’t know — stare at the wall until you felt better? But you’d made that unspoken promise to Damian — “I’ll take care of them for you; don’t worry.” — to take care of Titus and Catfred and Jerry and Batcow and Goliath, to take care of Alfred and Bruce and Dick and Jason and Cassandra and Tim, to take care of Jon and Colin and Maps.

You avoided the cave. And if you had to go down there for some reason, you refused to look at the Robin suits.

Dick noticed. He asked if you wanted them taken down, even just for a while. You gave him a look like he was nuts and said, “No.”

Jon was a mess. More of a mess than you were, somehow. 

You’d shown up at the Kents’s. Jon was out doing Superboy things with Clark and Conner. Lois was the only one home.

You nearly scared her out of her skin when you materialized behind her and asked, “Is Jon home? It’s important.” 

He had to know first. He deserved to.

For all he put up with from you two, he deserved to be the first to know when one of you was f*cking dead.

Lois, of course, bless her heart, had the mom instincts to know that you were in no way, shape, or form okay even when you were trying so hard to hold yourself together. She asked you what’s wrong, and it’s what made you break. 

Your lip trembled. “He’s gone.”

“Who’s gone?”

“Damian,” your voice broke. “He’s dead.” 

Jon came home to find you in his living room in your Robin uniform, covered in Damian’s and Heretic’s blood, snot running down your lip, sobbing in his mothers arms and knew what happened without having to ask. He did anyway.

When you and Jon both finally passed out, your Uncle Clark flew you back to the Batcave. No one was in any condition — not even Alfred — so he carried you up to your room; took your boots, mask, cape, and gloves off; and tucked you in. Then he went to find Bruce because there was no doubt he was losing it too.

Bruce doesn’t tell you anything about trying to find a way to bring him back without the Lazarus pit because he doesn’t want to get your hopes up. 

You walk into your room one day to find Damian sitting there reading the dissertation (the requirement was three pages, not 120, but your teacher would just have to deal with your coping mechanisms) you had been working on for your World History class and left up on your laptop while on patrol. 

He said with the utmost indifference, “You’ve made some good points, Sister,” and, of course, you pulled out a knife and attacked him because this was — was — was some shapeshifting alien or hologram tech or a cruel joke — your twin was dead, this wasn’t funny, whoever did this was going to pay.

He met you blow-for-blow and flipped away from you before saying, “And here I was expecting a warm welcome,” in your cryptophasia. 

“Brother?” 

“Tt. Obviously.” 

Yeah, a college level thesis. You’re smart. You inherited Bruce’s eidetic memory and were raised by assassins.

You learned seven languages and wrote five doctoral theses by the time your teeth came in, wrote your first letter to a newspaper editor when you were two, could’ve had a geology doctorate when you were seven (Super Sons #1), and it only took you a week to learn the language on Takron-Galtos. You’re smart.

You’re also incredibly skilled. You learned to drive when you were five (Super Sons #1), your mother trained you to go for weeks without eating (Adventures of the Super Sons #6), you can micro-sleep for days and converse with half your brain asleep, can use a muscular contraction to move your liver out of the way of a blade (Nightwing #20), and can place yourself in a deep trance to heal damages caused by a hematoma (also #20).

(My dumba$$ didn’t note what Super Sons/Adventure of the Super Sons comic I was reading when I took notes, so I don’t have all of them noted in the two above bullet points. But that’s where they’re from. If I end up rereading them, I’ll edit this and add the comic numbers.)

The first time on patrol you thought Bruce was gonna die, you called him Baba. 

The next evening, when Dick came to visit the cave, he turned to you and Damian and asked, “So, which one of you called him Dad?” 

“How’d you know?” you asked. 

“He’s smiling the way he did the day I called him Tati.”

“He’s not smiling,” Damian pointed out.

“He is on the inside.”

Can we talk about how royally the Arkham Knights game screwed up Tim Drake? (Though, everything seems to screw up Tim one way or another, I guess.) Why does he look like a quidditch player in the gif above the cut?

Visit my headcanon masterlist.

DISCLAIMER ━━━ I’m a dumb white American, and I don’t know much about Arab or Romani culture other than what I’ve learned online. I hope I got it right?? If I didn’t, please drop a comment or P.M. me or something to let me know!

[kmackatie]

Originally asked by @jamieylnn on this post: "84, 102, or 119 for the intimacy prompts with Shadowgast". I got around to another one of them. It's less fluff and a bit more angsty, but this is where my brain went with it.

Thanks again to @mllekurtz for taking my spaghetti-thrown-at-a-wall mess and helping turn it into an actual coherent meal. <3

request a prompt here

84 - sky watching Shadowgast, post canon established relationship, canon compliant, 2108 words, cw: brief fatalistic thoughts

Caleb stepped onto the roof, hands tucked into the pockets of his linen pants, feet bare and hair untied. He found Essek in the middle of it, lying on his back and hovering a few inches off the ground, one hand held up as he seemed to map something in the stars above.

He paused, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, taking in the sight of moonlight against Essek’s skin. The shifting, gentle light was like a caress, catching on the smattering of freckles across Essek’s cheeks, the traces of silver still lined around his eyes, and glinted off the jewellery delicately clasped to his ears. He had come out here sometime while Caleb was bathing, the bedroom empty and the open window the only indication that he hadn’t teleported away completely.

They were in Emon, Caleb visiting Allura under the pretence of collaboration in magical education when really it was an excuse for Essek to spend some time investigating some interesting dunamantic pulls he had discovered in the jungles to the south of the capital. It had been three weeks of exploring, discovering, and relaxing in the way that Essek and Caleb do, days filled with academic pursuits while taking advantage of the fact that Essek didn’t have to hide, could just be Essek. They had their Tower, though it wasn’t used much, each more content to take the time to enjoy the open air and sky above them.

But, like all things, it had to come to an end. They lingered as much as they could, on the journey back to Emon. Had slowed down the pace, spending more time in the Tower than exploring outside of it, until they couldn’t justify the delay any further and Essek teleported them back to the house they had rented.

Essek’s easy smile had become strained during their dinner, as Caleb spoke of his students and the plans he had been toying with for the next semester, answers taking longer to come when Caleb would ask for his opinion. He could recognise the signs, having seen them before, but he knew that Essek would only talk about it when he was ready to.

He stepped forward, feet scuffing intentionally against the loose dirt and pebbles. One of Essek’s ears twitched, the only indication that he had heard Caleb’s arrival. Essek continued to stare up at the sky, hand pausing in its tracing before he pulled it back. His violet eyes were shining in the low light, the stars reflected back, an endless void that Caleb could lose himself in if he looked too long.

Pausing, Caleb debated for a long moment before he eased himself down onto the ground next to Essek, groaning slightly as his muscles protested the movement. He envied Essek’s ability to hover, the rough ground was not kind on his ageing body, but it was one trick he had never quite got the hang of every time Essek had tried to teach it to him.

He stared at the skyline of Emon, Allura’s tower in the distance, a beacon on the edge of the Cloudtop district, the few lights still lit up in the houses around them. It was still, quiet, and every bit of his focus was on monitoring the small movements of the drow next to him. The stuttering rise and fall of Essek’s chest, breath ragged and uneven, hand flicking through somatic gestures and arcane runes as if by habit, all while his eyes stared at the sky above, unblinking.

It was a long moment before Essek blinked and broke the silence, his voice rough and low.

“I miss the sky. This one… this one is different. It’s not Rosohna’s sky. I did not think— I should not miss it.”

“It is not that different—”

“Except it is,” Essek cut in, voice sharp. “Rosohna’s… it isn’t a perfect match for what would be in the sky above Wildemount. It’s based off the Bright Queen’s memory of what it once was, over thousands of years ago. The sky has changed since then.”

“I wasn’t aware of that,” Caleb admitted, drawing one knee up to his chest and wrapping an arm around it, eyes still focused on Essek’s face.

“No. You had no reason to be. You weren’t there for that long… and you had more pressing concerns.”

“Fjord never did see that ceremony.”

Essek laughed hollowly. “No, he did not.”

They fell back into silence, and there was a tension there now that wasn’t there earlier. A wariness to the way Essek’s shoulders hunched ever so slightly, as if he had to brace himself for whatever was said next.

And Caleb didn’t want to ask it, didn’t want to bring it up, but he knew that if he didn’t, then this would fester and he couldn’t bear anything being a reason for Essek to stay away.

“Do you regret it?” He saw Essek flinch, a barely perceptible motion that he would have missed, hadn’t he been looking for it. He clarified, “Not… not taking it. I mean— well. Us, the Nein. We threw your plans into disarray and Jester… and me. You would not be here if not for us, you wouldn’t have had suspicion placed on you.”

“There would have been suspicion on me eventually.”

“And Shadowhand Thelyss would have had a plan for that,” he pointed out with a rueful chuckle. “Or at least, the glimmer that we saw of Shadowhand Thelyss would have, and if he was anything like Bren, well… plans upon plans.”

There was a long beat before Essek replied.

“I would not change any step that I took that led me to you—”

“I don’t doubt you on that, meine Liebe, but—”

“I don’t say that for you,” Essek snapped, holding a finger up between them while his eyes didn’t move from the sky. “Just… just let me finish.”

Caleb merely nodded, biting his lip at his instinct to respond.

“I don’t say that for you. I say it because sometimes I need to remind myself of what I have gained. I don’t… it’s not regret. Or rather, I did not know quite how much it would bite. I did not anticipate the… the vastness of it, of displacement.”

Caleb got the sense that Essek wasn’t finished, so he said nothing, just waited and watched, hands itching to reach out, to comfort and hold.

“I miss home. Not… I know I have one with you. My towers, my laboratory. I did not expect to miss it quite so much. The eternal night, the easy access… this hiding. I hate it. I hate it.”

Essek scrubbed a hand across his eyes, and Caleb’s heart ached. He knew what it was like to not be able to return to a place that he wanted to, a weight that nobody who hadn’t experienced loss understood. He lifted a hand towards Essek, but before his fingers could connect Essek flinched back, turning away from Caleb.

“Essek, Liebling.”

“No— don’t,” Essek gasped, curling in on himself. He hunched over, still somehow hovering a few inches off the floor, shoulders raised. “Don’t give me your sympathy. I bought this bed and now I have to live in it.”

Caleb could not help the way his heart clenched at that, the fondness for the jumbled saying seeping through his own pain, his own realisation that this had been brewing for far longer than he had realised. He should have seen it. Should have realised that all the times Essek snapped recently weren’t just due to the exhaustion of being in the sun, that when Essek chose to trance before Caleb had fallen asleep he did so to avoid conversation, that the times he had tracked him down to the ninth floor, the moment of vacant expression before a smile kicked in was more than just troubling thoughts. Caleb had to swallow around the lump that had formed in his own throat. There was a sudden hollowness in his stomach as he realised how much the situation was affecting Essek.

It took a moment to realise the hollow gasping sound wasn’t coming from him, that despite the swirling storm of his own emotions, his shoulders weren’t shaking and he wasn’t falling apart.

Essek was.

Essek, who had tried to hide his worries from Caleb. Essek, who had to be coaxed to state what he needed and wanted on a good day. Essek, who could command and demand his way into any room but would barely make eye contact when he truly cared about the opinion of whoever he was talking to.

This was exactly why he hadn’t said anything, why he didn’t show it. He was as bad as Caleb in his determination to carry his own burdens.

But there was something Caleb had learned, that he had an advantage on Essek in learning, and that was that burdens were immensely easier to carry when shared.

Shoving away his own guilt, carefully, ever so carefully, Caleb inched forward and placed a hand on Essek’s back. He felt Essek tense under his hand, but this time he didn’t move away. Swallowing, Caleb took that as encouragement and shifted again, hand moving across Essek’s back until his arm was wrapped around Essek’s shoulders.

“Essek.”

Essek gasped, letting out a heartbreaking sob before leaning the tiniest bit into Caleb’s grasp.

Caleb just waited. Not demanding, and not expecting, just hoping that Essek would take the comfort offered.

Slowly, Essek turned to Caleb, fraction by fraction he shifted until his shoulder was against Caleb’s chest, his forehead tucked against Caleb, and he was sobbing into Caleb’s shirt. Caleb held him, hand moving in gentle, soothing circles on his back as he murmured in Zemnian, nonsense phrases and observations about everything he loved about Essek.

When he judged that Essek may have calmed, when the sobs became sniffles and Essek stopped clutching Caleb’s clothing like he would drown without the lifeline, Caleb leaned down and pressed a kiss into Essek’s soft curls.

He gently ran a thumb under each eye, drawing away what dampness he could as shining violet eyes blinked up at him.

“I’m so—”

“Shh, Liebling, it’s okay. There is nothing to apologise for.”

Essek’s eyes closed, as he let out a shuddering breath.

“It is okay to mourn what you had, Essek. It is okay to acknowledge what you have lost, even while you acknowledge what you have gained. One doesn’t cancel out the other. Looking back… it is not a bad thing.” He was saying it as much for Essek as he was for himself. They had always been similar, had always understood each other in a way that no one else did. It could be a crutch, could be their downfall, but instead it led to a partnership that was equal, that felt so right, like it was always meant to be. He wanted to be that support for Essek, the way Essek always was for him. “When we visited Blumenthal, and I said goodbye, you stood with me. In the T-Dock even, you would have helped me, without question. You have ever since, even when all I wanted to do was rewrite time so I could step back and do it all again.”

“It is not the same.” There was little conviction in Essek’s tone, it was barely a protest.

“No, it isn’t. But what I am saying is that it is okay to have dark days, to have days where it is all too much. That is why I am here. To remind you that you can do this, Essek. That it is worth it, that you are strong enough to get through it. And on the days where you aren’t, where you need quiet and to escape, I will be here to hold you.”

“You won’t always be here, when you’re teaching and I’m off… wherever.”

“We can both teleport, distance and time are meaningless with the right determination.”

Essek half laughed and half hiccuped, an odd choked off noise that Caleb had never heard him make before. A grin started to grow across his face as Essek looked taken aback at the noise, and it was far too cute for Caleb to let it go.

He leaned forward and kissed Essek, chapped lips pressing gently against carefully looked after ones. Drawing back, Caleb presses a second kiss to the tip of Essek’s nose, another between his eyes, his forehead.

“I love you,” murmured Essek.

Caleb smiled, shifting carefully to lie back, adjusting and holding Essek to his chest as he went.

“Come. Tell me about the differences in the stars.”

[yeojaa]

wherever i’m with you.

[ read devil in a new suit ]

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  mature.  tags.  kook is just really really in love.  also some light smut.  wc. 1.3k.  beta reader.  duhhhh, it’s @hobi-gif​.  author note.  i had two ask requests for more devil drabbles but... when i tried to answer them, the asks disappeared. i am so sorry. @_@ anyway, i’m really into super soft stuff lately so... enjoy the fluff! 

Jeon Jungkook enjoys a lot of things.  Playing music far too loudly in the car, going for night drives that feel as if they’re never long enough, receiving praise from his mother and father, seeing you in the skimpiest lingerie money can buy.  He likes runny egg yolks and perfectly crisp potatoes, samgyupsal and lettuce dipped in ssamjang at two in the morning.�� Wasting too much time in the shower and tracking kisses over your wrist when you’re watching television shows you spend too long arguing over. 

He thinks he’s a simple man, someone who finds beauty in the little things.  Someone who appreciates the moments in between, the befores and afters of the great big crescendos. 

Now, for instance, as you’re half-asleep and lovely in his arms, curled against his chest like a cat.  Hair askew, makeup worse for wear, skin sweat-slick and intoxicating.  So warm in his arms that it’s as if he’s holding the sun, somehow having managed to trap all the light in the galaxy in this piece of paradise.

“Stop staring.”  

He hadn’t realised he had been.  Also hadn’t realised you’d noticed. (Frankly isn’t sure how you had, considering your face is buried against his pec, remnants of your lipstick staining his skin in the prettiest mosaic.  A piece of artwork he’d like to keep forever.)

“I-I’m not,”  he says, stutters, uncertain and flustered and so in love it makes his head spin, pulse thundering in his ears at being caught.

(Somehow, you just know him.  Know who he is, beneath it all.  Under the layers of carefully crafted armour, down to a molecular level.  Jungkook supposes you recognise yourself in the shape of his structure, your own face reflected back at you when you pry his chest open to lay your head.)

“You are.”  You’re right.  He is.

Can you blame him when you’re so lovely, so pretty, so kind?  Warming him from the inside out, offering all your stardust into the crevices of his bones?  (You can’t.  He knows you can’t.  You like him too much to begrudge him this:  the eagerness with which he adores you, folds his affections between your silk strands and writes them into your skin.  Burns them like a brand, forming them by the edge of his teeth and the press of his mouth.)

(He’s a magician, you’d say. Turning you soft soft soft, crafting all those sharp edges into something different but still you.  Because you’ll always be you - the brilliantly bright girl he’s fallen head over heels for, who sends his heart tripping over its feet.)

“Sorry,”  he offers, though he’s not very sorry at all.  Why would he be, when this is the thing he loves best - more than his mother’s coffee cake and the shiny gold Rolex his father gifted him as a twenty-third birthday present?

A breathy exhale falls, tickles all the nerve endings that already feel too worn, electrified by your touch and left to sizzle to ash beneath his skin.  It’s barely a sound - a simple in and out of your lungs - but it feels as if you’ve caught him in your orbit, drawn him entirely into your system to be consumed.  He doesn’t mind.  

“Close your eyes.”

“Closing.”  Except they’re not, still trained on you as if the longer he stares, the better he might remember you, imprint your figure into the backs of his eyelids until you’re all he sees, all he knows. 

(He’ll never get enough.  There will never be a moment where you - where this feeling that overwhelms him and scares him and makes him want to shout from rooftops - will be enough.)

(Did that make him greedy?  Probably.)

“You’re not closing,”  you chide him again, always knowing, omniscient like a god.  (Perhaps that’s what you were, though.  A deity to be worshipped, to guide him in the dark, to hold his head high when he felt nothing like himself.  A reason for being, for loving, for living.)  

He wonders why you’re so intent, insistent.  He understands quickly enough, lurches into realisation with a keening breath when you find him, curl a hand around his length and brush the pad of your thumb across the tip.

(A part of him wonders when he’d grown hard again, leaking into the warmth your palm offers.  Another part knows it doesn’t matter - that you could hold his hand and call him baby boy and he’d want nothing more than to kiss you senseless, fold you in half and whisper those same sweet things back to you.)

(Jeon Jungkook is a sucker - but just for you.)

“____.”  It comes in a broken whine, the kind of noise he rarely makes, that has you swirling your thumb through pearlescent pre-cum, stroking him from base to tip with languid twists of your wrist.  You’re taking your time in driving him crazy, gradually toppling his walls, unfurling heat in the pit of his stomach.  (Bringing him to ruin, conquering his kingdom.)  He loves it like he loves you - endlessly, arduously, wholly.  You’re so good to him, touching exactly how he likes, teasing until he can’t keep his thoughts in a straight line, coherency tied into a knot.

“Relax,”  you purr, the sound rumbling through his chest, branching into the cavity behind, stuttering his heart.  (It goes deeper too, shoots straight to his cock in your fist, curls his toes when you massage the sensitive underside of his head.)  

Jungkook’s not sure what’s got you like this but he doesn’t mind.  Revels in it instead, lets his hands furl into fists, clutching linens as if they’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Again?”  He asks, half-hopeful, half-surprised.  You’d been a complete mess not even an hour earlier, begging for a reprieve when he’d sealed his mouth to your clit, devoured you like a beast of a man.  Fucked you through your third orgasm of the morning with the hook of three fingers and a tongue intent on mapping out the geography of your body.

Your response is sheer sweetness, cotton candy laughter sticking in his ears.  “Again.”

Who is he to deny you?  He’s but a boy in love, desperate to do as asked, to make you happy, to make you laugh, to make you smile and shake and sob. 

“Again,”  he repeats, with a touch that crafts you into the perfect puzzle piece, fitting you against him with a push here, a nudge there.  That has you straddling him, hair a halo around your head, a crown for his queen.  “I love you.”

It’s not the first time he says it and he’s certain it won’t be the last.  It still feels brand new though, drowned in emotion and drunk on passion.  An amalgamation of all your experiences - of shared secrets, hands under the table, your chiding it’ll be okay’s.  The taste of your jasmine toothpaste, the glide of your skin over his, the way you run your hands through his hair when he’s falling asleep on the couch.

It’s a promise and a request all at once, asking for you to love him just as he does you.

And you do, so well, so utterly perfect for him when you sink onto his cock and thread your fingers with his, lock your knuckles together where they rest on your hips.  

You return his profession with one of your own, an I love you too that comes with a twinkle in your eye, all the stars sparkling against the night sky.  Four words that fades into a sigh, a rise and fall of your chest when you swivel your hips, rock down against him until he swears he’s never filled you better.  (He swears he finds home in the warmth of your walls, the heat of your stare.)

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @snackhobi​ @codeinebelle​

[thechekhov]

Hello, I’m a big fan of your brain and I just need some advice. I started working on this big project earlier this year and it’s gotten very popular, even people I admire have praised it. I have no plans on abandoning this project but the growing popularity has made me anxious, like I might mess up and disappoint everyone. This anxiety is preventing me from working on said project. What should I do? :(

Hey there, sorry for the late reply. 

My advice might befuddle you a little bit, so I’ll explain first, and advise second.

#1. What IS ‘being disappointed’? 

We all try to see the future. Even if we don’t mean to, we do our best to predict how things will turn out. How we WANT them to turn out... or how we fear they MAY turn out. Our expectations are unstoppable, an inevitable byproduct of us being thinking, emotional beings that have desires and worries. It is not something we can stop. Engaging with any form of media or content already guarantees that we will start making predictions about how things MIGHT unravel. We will do this without realizing it. 

BUT.

#2: Not everyone is the same. 

(I think that much is obvious.) 

What does it mean? It means our expectations, fears, and worries and hopes... are all going to be going off in different directions. YOU, as the author who is in charge of the story, can actually control where it goes (to an extent. Of course, in a way, the story kind of unravels on its own, and it’s all you can do to keep up with it.) 

However, your readers lack this control. And their conflicting expectations? 

They’re guaranteed to be ruined. 

I need to stress this the most, because it matters the most - and it’s something you need to come to terms with as an author creating ANYTHING:

You. Will. Disappoint. People.

Maybe a few people. Maybe more. Maybe hundreds. 

Why? Because your story is bad? No.

Why? Because you didn’t choose the ‘right’ plotline? No.

Why? Because you failed to depict a character in a 100% accurate way? No.

Why?

Because ‘correctness’ doesn’t exist in storytelling. Storytelling just IS. It’s not a Google Map Route that has a singular goal. It’s an open world where you draw your own squiggly lines. 

And you, a single person, physically cannot satisfy the exact and personal expectations of hundreds of different people!!

Thinking you may be able to somehow please everyone is not just naive. It’s self-destructive. It’s a sure-fire way to burn out and crawl under a rock and stop creating because you’re terrified that a few people didn’t completely love your work. 

The truth is, the bigger your story, the more people will hate it. 

The more plot points you create, the more people will disagree with you.

The more character development you have, the more often you will get messages from people who were deeply offended that you didn’t read THEIR mind and do things THEIR way.

And my advice?  ...is to learn to stop caring about what people you never met think.

And instead tailor your caring to a few select people you admire and respect.

Your story isn’t ever going to be perfect.

And that’s fine.

It doesn’t mean it’s going to be immune to criticism. It doesn’t mean you can’t ever get advice on how to develop things a little more efficiently, or be a little more consistent with character choices, or explore the lore a bit deeper. It doesn’t mean you won’t ever make mistakes, or include something offensive, or forget a detail. That stuff is natural, and should be kept in mind and those mistakes can and should be learned from.

But that kind of advice won’t come from randos on the internet who don’t know you, your motivations, and what story you’re trying to tell.

They’re going to come from your peers, your friends, and other people you trust to brainstorm with you and give you ACTUAL advice, IF and WHEN you need it. 

When you create content, you don’t go into the art-store and sweep the entire inventory into your shopping cart and then go draw a picture using each and every random crayon that happened to be in reach. You will use a few carefully selected tools you KNOW are going to work for you, which you trust. 

Treat your readers the same way. It’s great that they’re there - but whether you decide to listen to them is YOUR choice.