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ssuperficialspacecadett · 2 years ago

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Clementine Kisses

Chapter Seven of the Through the Scope Series | Chapter Eight

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.8K

Chapter Overview: You wake up in a strange bedroom and investigate

TW: smut !! oral (f receiving), f in v, p in v, depictions of breasts but without their size

Notes: now i know this isnt a gif of frankie, but i am the law of the land and i want to use it. okay LMAO we finally made it to the smut hehe i mean i feel like yall knew this was coming tbh,, i havent written it in a while so i might be a bit rusty, but im still pleased with how it turned out. its just so much fun to write. as usual ... my asks are always open & happy reading <3 (oh and listen to lemon boy by cavetown bc it was on repeat while i wrote this chapter)

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

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Your head is spinning, but your body is so comfortable. When did your shitty mattress get this soft? Without even having to open your eyes you can tell that the sun is up. You must have forgotten to close the blinds when you got home last night. Wait a second…you don’t remember coming home. Still choosing to keep your eyes shut for fear of seeing a stranger next to you in bed, you hoist the covers up and over your head. Maybe if you just pretend you didn’t do anything stupid last night it will become a reality.

You inhale deeply, slightly wincing at the throbbing in your head, and your eyes pop open. It may be pitch black under the sheets, but you are starting to see things more clearly. You know this smell. It’s a smell that has haunted the deepest corners of your mind since you first encountered it. Since you first encountered him. It’s musky, but not in a dirty way. It fills your nose and soothes the anxiety you felt creeping its way into your belly. You breathe in deeply again. There were subtle hits of…tire rubber? Well he works in an auto body shop so that checks out.

You decide to hold your breath to see if you can hear anyone breathing softly beside you. A few seconds go by with the only sound being the steady beat of your heart. Hoping that you correctly assumed that you’re alone, you peel back the covers to reveal a foreign sun lit room. You look beside you and breathe a sigh of relief when you see that the right side of the bed has been left undisturbed. As much as you wanted to have sex with him, that was definitely something you wanted to remember. Using your elbows as support, you scoot your body into a sitting position and lean your back against his headboard. Looking at the nightstand beside the bed, you see three things: a glass full of water, two tylenol pills, and a small slip of paper. Without thinking twice you pop the painkillers in your mouth and chase them down with the now room temperature water. Nothing has ever tasted so refreshing. You trade the empty glass for the piece of paper. Aloud you read what it says.

You fell asleep in the truck. I’ll explain everything in the morning. On the couch if you need me. -Frankie

He had drawn a little smiley face next to his name. You laugh quietly to yourself as you set the note back down on the small table. Looking down you see your shoes neatly placed in front of it. There is a shirt you don’t recognize folded and carefully placed on top of them. You reach down and unfold it in your lap.

“Hmm.” You run your fingers over the faded design on the front of it. “Fleetwood Mac. You have good taste in music, Frankie.”

After giving the room one final once over to make sure no one is inside you shimmy out of yesterday's shirt and bra and dawn the one left out for you. Then you throw the rest of the covers back, climb out of bed, and take off your jeans. It wasn’t your fault he didn’t have any shorts for you. His shirt comes to rest a few inches above your knees as you start quietly tiptoeing around his room. You know snooping is wrong, but you just can’t help yourself. Your still socked feet guide you over to a thin, vertical bookshelf that sits directly in front of the side of the bed that you slept on. Dust has started to collect on the shelves and the books themselves. You run your fingers across the spines of them until you see one that peaks your interest.

“What do we have here, Frankie? A Helicopter flying handbook?”

You slide the heavy duty book from its seemingly perpetual resting place and crack it open. A lot of the pages are dog-eared and highlighted to high heaven. You close it and set it back where you found it. As you look closer you see that the majority of the books he has relate to helicopters, aviation, and the mechanics of flying aircrafts. A pang of sadness and realization shoots through you as you realize that you know so little about him. You know so little about what he did when he was on missions, fuck, you didn’t even know that he knew how to fly. But you want to. You want to know everything there is to know about him whether it be big or small or beautiful or ugly.

Moving over to his dresser, curiosity building, you see a group photo. You pick it up and you mentally name Frankie, Santi, Will, Benny, and who’s that? A gruff looking man smiles and has his arm around your coworker. He appears older than the other men he’s standing with. You’ve never met him or even heard the guys talk about him before. Right as your mind starts to pick apart who the fifth man in the photo could be, the sun reflects off something else on the dresser and catches your eye. You set the photo down and look for the culprit. When you find it, you feel your knees get weak. Sitting on top of a familiar looking post-it note there is a beer bottle cap. You gasp to yourself as you pick it up. This must have been the cap of the beer that he opened for you when you attended the fights with him. You thought you had seen him slip it into his pocket, but you figured that it was just because that was an easier alternative than leaving to throw it away. He saved it as a memento and kept it by your number. Two things that another man would consider trash, he kept and cherished.

The smell of coffee tickles your nose and you can hear faint clanging coming from the kitchen. You decide that you have been hiding and snooping long enough, so you set the cap down and make your way to the door. The room you were in appears to be on the left side of the hallway. You walk quietly down the hall and notice that the walls are barren. The noises get louder as you close the space between yourself and the kitchen. His house’s layout makes you walk through the living room, which has the front door, before you reach the kitchen. There’s no door when you approach so you’re able to see Frankie engrossed in his task. Well, his back to be more precise. He has on a tired looking t-shirt and some boxers. One side of his hair is sticking up in a way that causes you to stifle a laugh. For a man that slept on the couch last night, he seems to be quite chipper. His low humming only makes that fact more apparent. You get comfortable by leaning against the shared living room and kitchen wall, but it’s short lived. The man in front of you turns around and bursts both of y’alls bubbles of ignorant bliss.

“Oh!” He’s holding a mug in each hand. “Good morning! Or I guess it’s technically the afternoon now.”

“Good morning to you too.” You follow him when he beckons you to join him at the kitchen table. “So…do I want to know how I ended up here?”

Frankie watches as you sit down across from him at the table in his shirt. If he’s being honest it makes his cock twitch to see you like this. He is in awe at how beautiful you look after waking up. Sure, your hair is wilder and your mascara is smudged, but fuck if you aren’t a breath of fresh air. He finds himself getting irrationally jealous that his bed was the one that got to hold you while you slept. He wanted to wake up to that face in the morning. Every morning.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” He slides a mug over to you and scratches the back of his head.

“If waking up in the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in and then being greeted by a cup of coffee is bad, then I don’t ever want to end up in a good looking situation again.”

His shoulders relax when you say this, as if he was anxiously waiting to see how you would react to the situation. “Well, Pope and I tried to drop you off at your apartment, but you didn’t have your house keys in your tote. So, this was the next best option.”

“Oh my God! I knew it seemed lighter than usual when I left the gym! Damn, Benny for rushing me last night.”

“Your bag is over on the entryway table if you want it. It’s got your phone.”

“No, I’m alright.” You say before sipping your drink. “I’m in good company.”

He looks at you bashfully before indulging in his own cup of coffee. You take the cozy silence as an opportunity to look around his kitchen. It’s oddly reminiscent of yours. No art, no decorations. Save for a small basket of fruit on his counter. The only room that has given you a glimpse into his mind has been his room.

“Did you,” He follows your eyes. “Did you want an orange? I can never get around to eating them in time and it would be a shame for them to go to waste.”

“How about we share one? I’ve never been very hungry when I first wake up, but I’ll make an exception.”

He stands just enough to give himself the extra length to reach the fruit. You take it from him when he offers it and start peeling. When you finish, you split it in half and offer one side to him.

“I told you that you enjoy taking care of people last night.” You eat one of your citrus slices.

He tries to look nonchalant as he mirrors your actions. “Maybe there is some sense to all that star stuff you like. Tal vez eres una estrella.”

“And what makes you think I’m a star?” Your stomach feels like it's made of knots.

“Well…you have this brightness about you.” You can see it in his eyes that he’s struggling with telling you what he's thinking. Not because he doesn’t want to say it, but because he doesn’t know how to. “I seem to see you most often after the sun has already gone down, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know that you’re there when the sun is still up. Sometimes, I get lucky enough to see you during the day.”

You breathe in a shaky breath as he presses forward in his explanation.

“I find myself getting sucked into your gravitational pull whenever I’m around you.”

Both of you have unconsciously started to lean towards each other.

“And you’re…”

“I’m what, Frankie?”

“You’re beautiful.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” It comes out shakier than you intend.

His eyes crinkle at the corners when he hears your reaction to his confession. “I’ve been in awe of you from the moment I met you and every moment after, mi estrella.”

“My star.” You repeat what he just called you in spanish. You have to do something to distract from the intense feeling of bawling that suddenly consumes you.

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He stands up and cups your face in his hands.

“Say you mean it.” You say looking at him.

His deep pools of chestnut trace your face as he stares back at you. “I mean it, mi estrella. Every syllable.”

You stand, his hands still in place, and kiss him. You finally kiss him. There is no way that you could have waited any longer. His lips mold with yours hungrily. As he opens his mouth to you, you can taste coffee and sweet oranges. You can’t help but moan into him when he slides his hands down your body to cup your ass and pull you tight against him. His teeth catch your bottom lip and pull on it gently. He groans when your own hands snake their way up his chest and wrap around his neck. You intertwine your fingers in his thick curls, grateful that you now have unbridled access to them without his cap.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you.” His chest heaves against your body and you can feel him hardening against your bare leg.

You open your mouth for him again and tilt your head so you can deepen the kiss. His tongue explores your mouth and you eagerly let him. The sounds he’s making while he palms your ass are sinful. You feel yourself clench around nothing at the thought of the sounds he will make while he fucks you. He scoops you off the ground and your legs wrap around his waist as he sets you down on the table. The cool wood sends a shiver through your body that makes him smile against your lips.

“I don’t think I can make it to the bedroom.” He sounds like he's in pain.

“That makes two of us.” You gasp as he starts to work his way down your neck.

Desperate to quell the growing ache in between your legs you grind your core against him and feel him shutter.

“You want this just as badly as I do, huh?” His breath is hot against your skin.

“I want it so bad.” You bring his face back up to yours and sloppily kiss him. “It’s all I can think about.”

His hand answers your prayers when he starts to rub circles on you through your underwear. He swallows your wanton cries with his mouth. You feel him laugh against you and you already know the cause of it.

“You’re so wet for me and I’ve barely laid a finger on you, cariño. How is that?”

He slides your underwear to the side and easily slides in a finger. You have to lay your head on his shoulder as he curves it up inside you and hits that sweet spot.

“I would have-” Your breath is stolen for a moment when one finger hastily becomes two. “I would have let you do this to me at the bar. Would have let you make me come with your fingers while everyone sat around us.”

“Fuck.” He whines into your hair. “You’re so filthy. Not caring who’s around or who could see what I’m doing to this sweet pussy.” He removes his fingers from inside of you and you whimper at the loss. You watch, mystified, as he places them in his mouth and licks each one clean with greed. “Lay back for me. I need to taste the real thing.”

His eyes are glazed over with lust right now. The ache in between your legs is so painful and you are desperate for reprieve. You immediately do as he asks and lay your back down on the kitchen table. You take the liberty of lifting your shirt up and exposing your breasts to him. The way he is looking at you makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world. His eyes wash over your body and you can’t help but squirm underneath his gaze. He leans down and takes one of them in his mouth while he forcefully cups the other. Your back arches when he catches your nipple between his teeth. Never one to neglect, he works his mouth to the other one before he trails his lips agonizingly slow down your body. He peppers kisses right above the start of your underwear and you can’t help but buck your hips up towards him.

“Patience is a virtue.” He chides looking up at you through hooded lids.

“Please, Frankie.” You plead with him. You hope he can see how badly you're hurting. “Please, touch me. I can’t wait anymore.”

He smiles to himself as he shifts his attention to what's right in front of him. His thumbs hook into the fabric and he slowly starts to pull them down.

Ding Dong! Ding Dong!

You both freeze and hold your breath to see if the sound was imagined. When its unholy ringing comes again, he rests his forehead on your stomach.

“I’m going to kill them. I’m legitimately going to fucking kill them.” His beard tickles your skin as he speaks.

“Who-who is it?” You’re trying to catch your breath.

“The guys.” He doesn’t move his head from where he laid it to rest. “They are here to watch the basketball game.”

“Open up, Fish!” Benny yells as he raps on the door. “I know you’re in there, you bastard! Your truck is in the driveway!”

Frankie all but growls as he pulls your underwear back up and helps you sit up straight. If you didn’t know any better you’d think that Benny’s a dead man. You reluctantly hop off the table as Frankie tells them he will be there in a minute.

“Why don’t I answer it?” You gesture down to his now very strained shorts. “You can change while I handle them.”

“Oh fuck me.” He rolls his head back.

“That’s what I was trying to do! Now go, go!”

You push him towards his room and start to head for the door. Two steps in and you feel a strong hand grab your arm and pull your body back. He captures you in a desperate kiss before he releases you.

“This isn’t finished.”

“Patience is a virtue, Frankie.” You wink.

He sends you to the door with a spank and heads into his room. You scurry to let everyone in as another round of banging starts.

“Hey guys! Long time no see.”

They don’t look the least bit shocked to see you greeting them at the door. Pope must have filled them in about the events of last night on the way over. They all greet you with a tender kiss on the cheek and lug their various bags inside the house. You tell them that Frankie is just finishing changing and that he’ll be out shortly.

“How’d you sleep last night, hermosa?” Pope sets four cases of beer on the kitchen table. The very sight of it causes heat to rise in your belly again.

“Oh umm good? I slept good!”

“Yeah I guess that would explain why your hair looks like it was caught up in a tornado and you have a crazed look in your eye.” Benny snickers.

“Consequences of last night's actions at the bar.” You shrug leaning back on the sofa.

“There he is!” Will walks up to Frankie as he enters the room and pulls him in for a hug.

When they break apart his eyes immediately fall on you which causes the rest of the men to follow suit. Suddenly, you’re very aware of how little clothing you have on.

“Why don’t I put on some pants?” Your cheeks are burning under all the attention and with the knowledge of what almost happened.

“You don’t have too.” Benny offers casually as he lays takeout boxes down on the table. “It’s good practice for when you’re in the ring.”

“Now I’m definitely going to put on pants.”

You hush the guys as they hoop and holler at you while you head to Frankie’s room in search of yesterday's jeans. If you didn’t know they meant it with love, those would have been the last sounds they uttered.

“She looks mighty relaxed here, Catfish.” Frankie is shocked that Will is the first one to address the elephant in the room. Usually he stays out of silly things like this, but you must be an exception. “Well, except for when Benny decided to poke the hornet's nest with that comment about her hair.”

“Her hair? What about it?” He looks behind him where you disappeared. “And keep your voices down.”

“Be serious, man.” Pope cracks open a beer. “She looked so frustrated when we walked in. Like she’s a string that’s wound too tight and is this close to snapping.” He emphasizes his point by snapping his own fingers.

“I didn’t think she looked upset.” Benny sounds so confused.

“Not frustrated as in upset, you fuckin’ dolt.” Will looks at his brother with genuine annoyance.

Much to Frankie’s horror he watches in silence as understanding washes over Benny’s face when all the pieces click together in his head.

“Catfish, I’ve never known you to be a man that leaves a woman unsatisfied.” Benny remarks.

“Well that wouldn’t have happened if y’all had come just a little fucking later.”

“That’s probably my fault.” Pope looks at him sheepishly. “I was anxious to see what unfolded after you dropped me off.”

Frankie can’t help but chuckle at his friend's excitement. “Nothing ‘unfolded’ after I took you home, hand to God. She was dead to the world when I brought her inside and tucked her in. She didn’t even wake up until 30 minutes before y’all arrived.”

“Now swear something wasn’t happening while she was awake.” Pope smiles knowing damn well he has Frankie cornered.

“I uhh-”

“Okay I’m presentable looking now.” You walk into the room and immediately notice Will, Santi, and Benny fighting back laughter while Frankie flounders in front of them. “What the fuck have y’all done now?”

“Just some good ol’ fashion teasin’, hon.” Will waves you over. “You’re going to stay and watch the game with us, right?”

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude.” You start.

“You’re not!” Frankie is quick to say.

“Yeah! We want you to hang with us!” Benny voices enthusiastically.

“All these beers aren’t going to drink themselves.” Pope waves his hand dramatically over the booze. “Plus, your car is still at the gym. It looks like you’re stuck with us.”

“You got me there. I guess it’s only fair that I listen to y’all talk about basketball since y’all listened to me talk about the stars.”

“Atta girl!” Will pulls you into a side hug while the rest of the boys cheer, Frankie included.

***

You watch happily on the couch as the men around you take turns yelling at the television and then at each other. Thankfully, you knew how basketball worked so you were more than capable of keeping up with what was going on. You and Frankie sit right next to each other on the couch the entire time. Throughout the game they would all jump up and cheer when their team made a basket, but the second you sat with your legs crossed and had your knee touching Frankie, he happily realized he could better encourage the players from a sitting position. After the game ends and all the food is eaten, you get questioned about how you usually spend your Sundays off.

“It used to be similar to this. When I was living with Robbie back home,” You laugh when you notice the raised eyebrows from Will, Frankie, Pope.

“Robbie is a girl. Calm down y’all.” Benny explains.

“Anyway, when I was living with Robbie back home, we would pile into one of our beds with wine and snacks to watch shitty reality TV. We definitely had our fair share of times yelling choice words at the screen and contestants.”

You’re met with immediate disbelief that reality TV could invoke those kinds of emotions. Instead of verbally pleading your case, you take the remove from Frankie and use it to open up Hulu. You find your favorite show and your favorite season and hit play.

“After a single episode y’all will be eating your words.”

When it ends Will is too angry to speak, Frankie is asking you ‘why that dude with the buzzed hair choose the girl in the yellow bikini over the girl in the pink bikini?”, Benny is fully convinced he would dominate at the show, and Pope is begging to watch the next episode. Completely surprised they all loved it, you play the next episode and snuggle deeper into the cushions. You rest your arm on the back of the couch and play with the ends of Frankie’s curls. Electricity shoots through you each time you feel his body tremble under your soft touch. You all only realize how late it's gotten by the time the season is halfway over.

“Shit, I gotta be up early tomorrow to talk to some vets at the VA.” Will says as he stands.

Pope and Benny follow his lead and stretch as they do it. You pat on Frankie’s leg and get up as well. Picking up the trash that has collected on the coffee table, you take it to the kitchen to dispose of it. It doesn’t take Will long to expertly gather up both his things and the men he brought with him. You and Frankie walk them out and send them off with sweet goodbyes and promises of doing this again soon.

“See you at work tomorrow!” Benny calls back to you from the driveway.

As soon as you close the door, you can feel the energy shift in the room.

“I thought they would never leave.” His voice is gravelly.

When you look up at Frankie, he’s already staring down at you with the same look he had in his eyes earlier this afternoon.

“I could barely hold it together with you teasing me like that. Did you enjoy it? Feeling me suffer under your fingers?”

He’s already got his hands on your hips and is pulling you flush against his body. You let out a low whimper as his mouth finds its home on yours. Your smile against him is answer enough to his question and he nips at your bottom lip in response.

“Now it’s my turn to make you suffer. To drag it out until you’re begging me to stop.”

He lifts you off the ground and you find yourself in an all too familiar position with your legs around his waist. You can feel him start to walk somewhere, but you can’t be bothered to look as you suck sweet red marks under his jaw line. Hearing him moan loudly only adds fuel to your fire that was never properly put out earlier. Each time he takes a step, the buckle of his belt rubs against your throbbing clit. You wriggle your body against his as best you can to generate as much friction as possible. When the light behind your eyelids fades, you know exactly where he has taken you. You feel him come to a stop and detach your lips from his neck and admire your work. Those rosy marks will definitely be there in the morning.

“Hi.” You whisper as you turn your attention to his face.

“Hi.” He says in the same hushed tone. “I’m going to give you an out. I should have done this this afternoon, but I-I got so caught up in you that I couldn’t think properly. If you don’t want to do this, tell me right now and we can pretend like it never happened. No hard feelings. I just don’t want you to do something you regret tomorrow.”

“Frankie,” You reach up for his hat and throw it to the floor so you can run your hands through his hair. His eyes flutter as you touch him ever so tenderly. “I don’t want an out. I want you.”

His eyes water ever so slightly at your words. Like it was the first time he had ever been truly craved by another person in his life. It makes your heart crack at the thought. You lean in and capture his lips. They are so pliant against yours. It feels like they were made for you and you alone.

“Do you want me?”

“More than anything.”

“Then show me.”

He tosses you down on the bed and the plush comforter cradles your body. In an instant each of you are ripping off shirts and haphazardly unbuttoning pants. You look up at him, only in your underwear, and take all of him in. His strong arms, broad shoulders, a stomach that you can’t wait to feel rub against you. The lower your eyes go on his body, the harder he gets under his boxers. You squeal when he wraps his hands around your ankles and pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. He never breaks eye contact as he kneels down in front of you. He starts slowly at first, kissing you through the fabric barrier. Adorning your thighs with his tongue and soft nips from his teeth. Your quiet moans fill his ears as he finally removes your last stitch of clothing. He chokes at the sight of your weeping cunt before him. You spread your legs wider, beckoning him to take a taste.

Your cries bounce off the bedroom walls as he buries his face in between your thighs. His tongue works in ways that you never thought possible. You ball up the sheets beside you in your fists as he laps at you relentlessly. Breath stolen with each wicked sound that pours out of his throat. His hand removes itself from your thigh and climbs its way up your writhing body. In an effort to remain tethered to the earth you grab on tighter to him than you thought possible.

“Fuck, Frankie,” You’re drunk off of him. “You feel so good.”

“And you taste even better.”

He takes your clit in his mouth and your back arches as two thick fingers glide inside you. If this is his idea of suffering, you wouldn’t mind spending eternity in hell. Your legs start to tremble, but he is unwavering. Drinking you up like you were the first sip of water he has had in years.

“Come for me, mi estrella.”

He holds your hand through your climax. The two of you moaning in unison as you drench him. He doesn’t detach his mouth from you until your body has ceased its shaking. Only when you're struggling to catch your breath, splayed out on the bed, does he retrace his path back up your body with his lips. His beard is glistening with your slick as he lowers himself to kiss you. The taste of you is prominent on his tongue when he slips it into your mouth. You wrap your arms around him and pull the rest of his weight on top of you. You can hear him growl in your ear when you start to move your hips underneath him.

“Take them off.” You mewl. “I want to feel you. All of you.”

He pushes off the bed frantically and sheds the last of his clothing. God, he was much bigger than you originally thought. You move your body upwards on the bed so you can lay on a pillow. You watch, mouth watering, as he starts to crawl his way back towards you. He licks his palm and uses it to stoke himself. The profane performance in front of you causes your mind to go blank. He lowers himself in between your legs again and you can feel his tip at your entrance. You can only mutter incomprehensible words as he sinks himself deep inside you. You wrap your arms back around him to keep yourself steady as you feel your walls stretch around his length.

“You’re so fucking tight around me, cariño.” His face is inches from yours. “I’ve got to move, okay?”

You answer him by bringing your lips up to kiss him. Your whimpers are muffled by his mouth as he sets his pace. Each stroke is more detrimental than the previous one. Your nails bitting into his back only serves to motivate him as he continues.

“You’re so big. I can feel you everywhere. Frankie.”

He sits up just enough to allow himself room to rub your clit. His face fluctuates between concentration and bliss.

“Are you going to come for me again? Come for me all over my cock?” His fingers rub tight circles and you can feel yourself quickly approaching.

You nod in response to him.

“I can’t hear you. Use your words.” He demands.

“Yes,” you pant. “I’m going to come for you. Only for you.”

Frankie is trying to keep himself from finishing before you do. He wants to make sure you at least finish twice before he even considers it. He brings the hand he was using on you up to his mouth and spits on it before connecting it to you again. The sounds that are coming from you are making it increasingly difficult to stay focused on his task. He looks down at you while he continues to pound into you and work at your clit. Your body gleams with sweat, your chest is heaving, your lips are swollen from him kissing them, and your eyes…your eyes are on him. He falters for a split second under your gaze. No other woman has ever made him nervous in bed the way you have. Never has he worried that he was doing too little or too much. But with you, he wanted everything to be perfect.

Frankie adjusts your hips so he can hit that sweet spot. He knows he found it when your eyes go wide and your jaw goes slack. He doesn’t change a thing about what he is doing.

“I’m gonna come,” You sob.

You clench down tightly around him as you’re thrust into your second orgasm of the night. It only takes three or four more pumps until he too is consumed by his own pleasure. You feel him spurt hot ropes inside you and sink deeper into the bed. When he’s done, you feel a slight sting as he pulls out. He crawls beside you in the bed and ghosts his lips over yours.

“I’m going to get a towel to clean you up, alright? Are you going to be good here by yourself for a sec?”

“I don’t think I could move even if I wanted to.”

He smiles down at you and kisses you quickly before disappearing into the bathroom. You rest your eyes while the faucet runs faintly in the background. He’s quiet when pads into the bedroom, but you feel the bed creak beside you under his weight. The towel is damp and warm against you. You sigh contentedly as he takes his time in cleaning you up as if he is sad to see the evidence of him being washed clean from your skin. When he finishes, he sets the towel down on a nightstand and pulls the covers over both of you. His arms pull your tired body against his and envelop you in his warmth.

“That was worth the wait.” You laugh.

“I would definitely say so, but hopefully we won’t have to wait so long for the next time.”

“No, I don’t think we will.”

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#francisco morales #frankie morales #catfish #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #benny miller #will miller #ironhead #santiago garcia #pope #through the scope #read on a03

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heartkaji · 4 months ago

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[ ★ ⸻ @gojoracle ]

★ OVERVIEW

hi maru !! your ask was such a good read, your oc’s personality is rlly interesting. i was also surprised to see you asked for loki ?? he’s so underrated omg 💔 anyways, i feel like sakura and loki are pretty similar in the sense that they’d give off nearly the same first impression : distant & reserved. tbh if you ask me i can imagine them being rivals to an extent. not exactly, but i feel like sakura would be distrustful and really cautious about loki at first. she doesn’t buy his kind facade and is convinced he’s wearing some sort of mask. loki can sense how sakura is always trying to get a read on him and i can imagine him being almost playful about it, doing things to mislead her perception of him (think of how suo from winbre might do that cuz that’s exactly what i’m imagining). either way, they both find each other very interesting and make for an unexpected couple💘

Q1 — WHO FELL FIRST, WHO FELL HARDER ?

sakura fell first. it’s something she never saw coming too. like i said she’s not too fond of loki, she’s usually good at reading people but to her loki is just different. it’s like when she thinks he’ll do one thing, he does the exact opposite. i can imagine sakura getting to a point where she’s almost obsessed with getting a read on him—she begins to fixate on his habits and mannerisms, and soon starts to pick up on little things about him : the way he absolutely refuses to drink from a teacup without a saucer, or how he carries those mini tissue packs in his short pockets, or how he seems to squint whenever he’s on his phone. after some more observing, she finds herself growing almost fond of him, though his nearly teasing comments never fail to snap her out of it . sakura doesn’t even realize when she’s fallen in love with loki. all she knows is that when loki accuses her of staring with a knowing grin on his face, she find herself almost struggling to say no

julian falls harder. at the beginning of your relationship i can imagine sakura being the avoidant type. she leaves him on delivered for hours simply because her chest aches at the idea of responding. she has no idea why either. even though at this point the two have warmed up to each other, sakura remains somewhat distant to a degree. that, combined with how sakura seeems to show a strange warmth to certain people like shidou never fails to confuse loki. he wonders why she won’t look at him with that soft and familiar gaze either, despite them being a couple. its impossible to notice, but it makes loki go crazy. he turns into a full fledged simp. buying her flowers and expensive jewelry, showering her with affection in all sorts of love languages, etc. julian does all this with the hope that he can get sakura to open up to him a little bit faster, but fortunately for him it’s slowly but surely working 💘

Q2 — AT WHAT MOMENT DID THEY FALL IN LOVE ?

the first time he saw sakura laugh !! she’s asked him this question and that’s what he said, he’s so cheesy my god 😭 at this point in time the two already have some sort of affection towards each other. feelings if you will, though both of them would deny that if you asked 🤦‍♀️ like i said, i can imagine loki being a tease suo style and please bear with me when i say that as a flirt this man is the BIGGEST cornball 😭😭 he thinks he’s so slick and suave with his one liners but whenever karasu and the other members overhear him they side eye each other 🚶‍♂️also trust me when i say that shidou and charles mock him behind his back 😭 they call him the rizzlèr (notice the french) and everything. ANYWAYS, loki hardly flirts. it’s mostly subtle teasing, but as the two sort of grow on each other he (sadly) becomes more comfortable using pick up lines on her. sakura was practicing dribbling one day when julian walked in. he watched her play for a while until she mis-kicked the ball and it rolled straight towards him. he picked up the ball and with his whole chest he said,

“do you play soccer ? because you’re a keeper.”

sakura grabbed another soccer ball lying on the pitch and promptly shot it at his face.

!! it was worth it though. his nose was aching from the shot and he was rubbing at his eyes but his ears perked up at the sound of her laugh. it’s a quiet giggle accompanied by a few snorts, but julian thought it was the prettiest thing he’d ever heard. at that moment his chest felt warm and suddenly the ache of his nose couldn’t compare to the ache in his heart 💓

Q3 — AT WHAT MOMENT DID YOU FALL IN LOVE ?

like i said, sakura fell first. it was definitely a gradual thing though; i can imagine her slowly becoming swayed by julian’s subtle teasing and witty remarks. at first she shoots all sorts of sharp comebacks at him but soon her comebacks become flustered stammers 💔 poor thing, she’s frustrated and wants to rip his head off and loki’s subtle grin isn’t helping matters at all ☹️ he’s such a bastard and sakura should hate him but for some reason her chest feels warm ?? and her cheeks too ?? she definitely panics at the feeling and tells shidou and charles about it and they tell her she’s in love but she’s so quick to deny it 🤦‍♀️ she’s in denial for DAYS and shidou and charles hate it. like she can’t be this dense ?? they make it a point to tease her by calling loki her boyfriend and lover but when she doesn’t deny it they know they’ve caught her red handed 🤞 shidou also makes sakura say that she likes julian out loud or else he’ll call him and tell loki himself but hey that’s between you and me !!

>> 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 <<

#୨ৎ ─ [ 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 ]#・౨ৎ ─ 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒖𝒆𝒅 𓏲 .˚˖ ᵎᵎ #blue lock #bllk #self ships #matchups #julian loki

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vacantgodling · 7 months ago

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Hi, I hate to be a bother but is chapter 1 of Paramour (hope I'm spelling that right) the only chapter you've shared or are there more posted? your writing is so good and I've fallen in love with the story after seeing your anniversary art. Also, do you post it anywhere outside of Tumblr? unfortunately, the color scheme of your blog and the size of the font makes it hard for my poor eyesight to read (No hate to you btw I just zoom in real close)

hello hello!! firstly you are not at ALL a bother <3 (also you're spelling it right lol) regarding my desktop blog, i bumped up the font size so i hope that's helped it be a bit more readable? i'm planning on changing up color schemes and the like at the end of this year, but i hope the size change makes it more bearable ;3;

secondly, hearing that people like my writing enough to want to seek more of it has me giggling and kicking my feet so THANK YOU for enjoying chapter 1 and the art so much--there's some details that may or may not get added in whenever i eventually make a third pass at writing this behemoth and i spent 6 hours slaving over that drawing LMAO SO i really appreciate you reading it AND telling me you enjoyed it im so EEEE

at this time, i'm not formally publishing / putting out paramour because its still very much a work-in-progress (essentially, i'm working on draft 2 right now bc i'm doing some major outline renovating, but tbh i'm thinking that when i DO feel like i'm at the point that i want to publish it, i'm kinda leaning towards a serial style like @/stjohnstarling's what manner of man... but those are details for several years from now, i'm just rambling at this point) BUT FEAR NOT!! its my main obsession at all times and i have posted a TON about it on my blog. but for your convenience, i've compiled all the 'main' writing bits that i've posted on this blog over the past several years into this ask so that way if you wanna just read the 'main' meat and potatoes that i've decided to release from the vault so to speak... then here they are.

but, if in general you want to peruse my main wip tag, i talk about paramour so much its Ridiculous lmao -> s: paramour and you can check out the overview powerpoint intro i made for it here, just to get a clearer picture of what the heckie is going on lol -> powerpoint intro

anyway though, the list of main writings, broken into a couple of sections. i will also preface, that chapter 1 doesn't make it too apparent--but there is a LOT of sex, kink, and romance involved in this story. so proceed at your own disgression dear anon since i'm not sure how you feel about that lol.

MAIN WIP WRITINGS (in chronological story order)

paramour draft 2 chapter 1: pre-wedding

paramour (title drop 👀 but this scene is gonna end up slightly different in draft 2)

midnight query (amon and erecia talk in some undetermined chapter)

the bird & the worm (flashback to amon at 12)

but i am not (a bit from chapter 9 of draft 1)

masquerade (the first time hya and amon fuck—there is smut proceed with caution. also the latter half of chapter 9 draft 1)

an invitation (excerpt from chapter 10 draft 1)

displeasure (a relationship snippet from an undetermined chapter)

nervous (just hya and amon being kinky)

ties that bind (kink interrupted by feelings from some undetermined chapter)

divine (some sappy shit from an undetermined chapter)

hiccup (excerpt from chapter 20 of draft 1)

AUS & JUST FOR FUNZIES (meaning not in the main wip)

jealousy (amon & hya slums au—where both of them grow up in central halifax)

pleasure (amon’s birthday present 2023-> this is sex/smut so proceed with caution)

a fool’s errand (role swap au—aka the au where amon is rich and hya is the butler)

laundry (role swap au)

wedding invitation (role swap au—amon being friends with myrtus makes me insane actually)

i know what you’re saying (amon & hya slums au)

#s: paramour #hall of fame #this is also just a good little master post #at some point i may make this a separate post that i update as i eventually add more writing on this blog #but yeah thank you for this ask it made my week #so i decided to go above and beyond for it

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stormyoceans · 7 months ago

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We are really that good? I'm scared off by the large number of couples. Is each of the couples sufficiently disclosed in the script? You're so excited about this show. I'm skeptical, but maybe I should try?

I MEAN. MUST A SHOW BE GOOD. IS IT NOT ENOUGH FOR IT TO SPARK JOY AND GIVE YOU A BRAINROT SO DEEP THEY HAVE TO GET YOU INVOLUNTARY COMMITTED BECAUSE OF IT

but all jokes aside, let's talk about it. when it comes to reviewing shows, i always try to be as honest and objective as i can, so im not just gonna lie to you and pretend we are is a masterpiece. it's very much not. if you enjoy plot driven stories then this series is very much not for you because the plot is basically non-existent, or rather.. all the different dynamics between the characters ARE the plot. to me the show is a slice of life in the connotation that's given to it in anime and manga: a narrative that takes place in a recognisable everyday setting, often in a school, and that focuses on interpersonal relationships. this isn't to say slice of life shows with a character driven story can't be masterpieces, they absolutely can, but we are is not..very refined, there are some things that do not make much sense to me and the way the story is told can be a bit frustrating at times, not to mention that for a director who likes to show a million angles of the same moment you'd think the editing would be top notch but it's just. it's not, okay, it looks like my hair after i chop it off over the bathroom sink at 2 am when i cannot sleep, that shit's ROUGH

all this being said, im still enjoying this show TREMENDOUSLY. and believe me, no one is more surprised about this than i am. tbh i can't quite explain to you why it works for me when other (maybe even better) shows don't, it just feels very genuine, the humor isn't over the top, the characters are all extremely likeable, and i love that they're giving the platonic relationships the same weight and importance as the romantic ones. and i mean..im mostly insane about phumpeem because apparently that's THEE Dynamic™ for me, but since there are four different pairings i feel like there's something for everyone

although when it comes to development, since you asked, i do want to point out that pondphuwin and winnysatang's pairings are clearly the main ones (before anyone comes at me, i do remember the cast saying this), but aouboom still get a fair amount of screentime and they're the heart of the show tbh. the only pair that's suffering in this regard is marcpoon, but honestly it makes sense considering they had to reshoot stuff

so, um. yeah ;;;;;; this is way too long and it's probably a mess but i wanted to give you an honest and complete overview so you know what you're getting yourself into if you do decide to give it a chance. i actually started to like the show more and more after episode 3, so maybe if you have a free evening you could just try it out and see if you can get into it!!!!!!

tl;dr: it's not a masterpiece and it has its shortcomings but it's highly enjoyable and although not all couples have the same amount of screentime and development i think everyone could find something to like in the show

#the way i started this show expecting to feel nothing about it and even kinda disliking the first episode #and now it got me in a chokehold #JOKE'S ON ME I GUESS #but yeah i don't want to tell you 'yeah it's great watch it!!!!!' because i know it's not for everyone #but if i learned something thanks to it is that keeping an open mind and giving things a chance can surprise you #so yeah maybe watch the first 3/4 episodes and see if there's some potential!!!!!!#and let me know what you think about it if you do watch it and if you feel like it!!!!!!#hope you're having a wonderful day!!!!!! 💜#we are the series #m: ask #idk what im saying anymore what is english

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greyplainsttrpg · 4 months ago

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5e Villain Arc 5.5 2024 One Next

The last post was a diatribe into specifically the absurdity of turning into a Brown Bear at Level 2. My problem with turning into a Brown Bear is that it is really easy and really powerful for a Level 2 Character to be able to do consistently. My complaint is not that the Brown Bear is the best thing that the Moon Druid can turn into. No. What makes the Moon Druid so unbelievably ridiculous is that the Brown Bear is THE FLOOR of what you can do at Level 2. The Floor, mind you, is twice per day getting a bunch of temporary HP, literally healing as you do it, getting a bunch of Str and Con, getting Longstrider, getting multi-attack, getting to-hit bonuses, etc. The Ceiling is MUCH higher, especially in comparison to what every other Class can do at Level 2. This ceiling is also far and above what every previous iteration of the Druid. Yes, including "omega-busted 3.5." The 3.5 Druid IS good, but not that good.

Let's first start with an overview of some of the crazy animals that a Druid can transform into at Level 2:

Dire Wolf: Fast, strong, bulky, stealthy, solid perception (best skill in the game).

Giant Eagle: 80 flying movement, strong, advantage on sight-based Perception (not a Spot Check btw inshallah) (still the best skill in the game) (also, the druid keeps THEIR Wisdom, btw).

Giant Spider: We'll circle back to this in a moment, HOWEVER, Climbing Movement, +7 stealth, stupid bite attack that does a crapload of damage, web projectile to control any non-martial Str-based Character (worst Ability Score, btw).

Lion/Tiger: The two are pretty similar, tbh. I think they are okay. They have a conditional multi-attack triggered off their pounce action, but like this is clearly just a worse bear in most situations. Getting advantage to attack as a lion (so long as sduifbewivb) is AN upside.

Reef Shark: This is not a CR 1 monster, but it is important to note that the Moon Druid gets immediate access to a pretty solid aquatic option on command. If the DM planned a "hard fight because water" and they forgot that they have a Moon Druid in the party, well that fight is pretty much over now. That is a bit of an exaggeration, but it adds to the overall stew of "why being a 5e DM sucks." The Moon Druid has a solution to basically every problem at Level 2 via spellcasting or wild shape. It peeves me a bit that the shark does not specifically require salt water to function, but whatever.

This is just what is available in the Player's Handbook. This does not include everything in the Monster Manual that the Druid gets access to. Granted, these are actually pretty slim pickings. The Giant Octopus is an upgrade to the Reef Shark in many cases. Nothing else stood out to me at CR 1 that was not better than the ones in the Player's Handbook, tbh.

Let's compare this to what every other Class gets at Level 2:

Barbarian; Reckless Attack and Danger Sense: The Druid gets ways to have Advantage via its various forms without the downside of giving opponents Advantage to hit them. Danger Sense does not matter if the Druid turns into a literal spider that cannot activate traps, a bird that flies above traps, just tanks the damage from the pathetic traps in 5e by being a self-healing bear, or is turned into something with excellent Dexterity.

Bard; Jack of All Trades: Why have 1/2 Proficiency when you could have +7 Proficiency to the skills you need by turning into the animal that accomplishes it? Yes, I know that an animal form will NOT give you all the skills you might want. The Druid cannot perfectly replicate this, but they can often outperform it when possible.

Cleric; Channel Divinity: Turn Undead and maybe a feature from their Divine Domain. If you happen to be fighting undead, this feature is great. If you are not fighting undead (most of the time), then this feature does literally nothing.

Fighter; Action Surge: This gets better, but for now Action Surge is strictly worse then being a Bear and always having more movement and multi-attack.

Monk; Ki and Unarmored Movement: Ki for multi-attack and Unarmored movement for bonus to movement. Literally just being a worse bear with more resources and without the option to have a flying movement speed of 80.

Paladin; Spellcasting, Divine Smite, Fighting Style: The Druid already has better spellcasting. many of the wild shape forms are similar to paladin fighting style. Divine smite is somewhat similar to the Druid healing themselves with Spell Slots during the transformation into Wild Shape in how they work. I think Divine Smite is better, but the average damage of being a bear out-performs the paladin with divine smite until the paladin receives Extra Attack. Even then, the bear is still doing pretty solidly at Level 5 with fewer resources.

Ranger; Fighting Style and Spellcasting: Strictly worse than the Paladin because no Divine Smite. Otherwise the same (excepting that the Ranger has Fighting Styles that the Druid cannot emulate).

Rogue; Cunning Action: LMAO. Okay, buddy.

Sorcerer; Font of Magic: Being able to shift how your magic works a bit is not overall as good as the inherent flexibility of being able to turn into so many different animals at Level 2. I'm strictly comparing the depth of flexibility between the two features, and I would rather be able to turn into anything.

Warlock; Eldritch Invocation: Again, in a purely flexibility comparison, whenever you have to choose anything you are losing to the Druid which does not really need to compromise.

Wizard; Arcane Tradition: A few of these are quite good. Portent, from Divination, is maybe the single only feature that is similarly potent to Wild Shape. Twice per day, the Divination Wizard can replace any d20 roll with an alternate roll. Depending on those dice rolls, that could be more critical to success than turning into a Brown Bear. On average, turning into a Brown Bear or anything else is probably better, but it is is debatable. Other than that, Abjuration is pretty good. Enchantment is okay. Evocation is okay.

So, besides the Divination Wizard, no other Class can compete with the Mood Druid at Level 2.

The counterargument I have heard a lot is "yeah, but the Moon Druid is not as good at higher Levels." Well, considering D&D 5e falls apart at higher levels anyway, idk how much I believe that or care. For one, the Druid is still a full Caster. For another, they eventually get to turn into an elemental which is... okay. I see it like this: between levels 2-8 or so, the Moon Druid is the party's primary combat threat and best utility option. After that, they shift solely to the party's best utility option and remain a solid combat threat. Also, by the time Combat Wild Shape becomes less good, the Druid can just cast Polymorph instead to be a CR ridiculous beast. Let me say it like this: I would prefer to be a level 15 Moon Druid over a Level 20 Fighter (any archetype). This is purely for the utility/power of being a full spellcaster with a huge upside of being able to quickly spam out extra HP as a Bonus Action. What the Moon Druid eventually lacks in offensive output with their Wild Shape they make up for in being the bulkiest spellcaster in the game (and it is not even close). I would likely prefer to be a Moon Druid over anything else in the game at basically any Level. Adaptability, speed, and bulk are just that good.

The Druid was not always this way. Combat Wild Shape has a lot in common with the bizarre power-creep of Dexterity (discussed in Villain Arc 4). In an attempt to simplify the nature of Wild Shape for players, the result is something obviously over-centralizing. It's not a perfect 1-1, obviously, but they share a number of aspects in game design failure. What is interesting about Combat Wild Shape is that it was actually fine in the D&D Next Playtest. In fact, it was actually way more interesting in that version. Let's take a look at what Wizards was cooking up before they burnt the house down.

So the text formatting describing what you get after the entry itself is... questionable, but this is not a final product so filing an actual complaint about that is actually unfair. This is the kind of thing I was expecting to change going from the Playtest to the Final Release. Not whatever the hell happened.

The important thing to note with this version of Wild Shape: You get access to kinds of forms over several levels. So all Druids start with the Hound, and then the Moon Druid gets bonuses to being a Hound. Then all Druids get the Steed, and then the Moon Druid gets the Bear and Cat. All Druids get the Rodent and Fish form at 7th Level. Finally, the Moon Druid can turn into a mammoth or some other huge animal. The Moon Druid gets access to a couple of unique forms (Bear, Cat, Behemoth) and they get bonuses to being them. It is a pretty okay subclass. In its current form, I would argue that it is actually somewhat weaker then Land Druid. If I were to make some edits to this Druid Circle, I would add a bird (or "Raptor") option instead of Cat. I think the Cat is too much of an in-between of the Bear and Hound and does not provide enough utility over what a Raptor would provide. Additionally, I think they should get Proficiency to the relevant Saves in their Wild Shape forms. Infinite uses of Wild Shape is a bit silly, but it is Level 20 so I don't really care. Like, it basically means that the Moon Druid can always heal themselves back to at least half-health+. It's not THAT overpowered though, so it's fine I guess. Now that I'm thinking about it, I would probably increase the healing from reverting from an animal form to be Double Level or Level + WIS MOD + PROF or something. It needs a little more sauce, in my opinion because the Druid doesn't just, like, get an infinite number of health-bars. I also think the bonuses to STR and DEX could actually go up. +2 and +4 are not amazing.

That's the primary difference between this Druid and the released Druid. This Druid assumes the SHAPE of an animal, but they can also fudge it around with room for player expression. The Release Druid just IS a bear (or whatever). One of the reasons that Release Moon Druids are so overpowered is because they do not need to spread their ability scores out, like, at all. They can roll up with a 8, 8, 8, 15, 15, 15 pre-species point-buy and do totally fine. Because in what situation are they not using the physical attributes of a better form? When they are casting spells in the background? The Next Druid needs to actually consider their ability scores. They are not a Bear, they are a Druid with the appearance of a Bear. It is a huge distinction that sets a wildly different tone for the game.

Another interesting thing to note here is that the small forms (fish and rodent) are locked away to a higher level than the more obvious combat or utility forms. That's because being Small but with the HP of a Druid is actually pretty epic and powerful. This is why CR is NOT a good metric to determine what is or is not reasonable for a PC to be able to turn into at X Level. Small is kinda cracked actually, and being able to access these forms should be gated to a higher level.

This leads us to the elephant (CR 4 btw) in the room. Binding the Druid to the worst thought-through mechanic in any TTRPG was always going to lead to disaster. This is my conspiracy theory, but I genuinely believe that the Moon Druid in particular is responsible for the entire cascade of nonsense that is the CR system in 5e. Maybe not intentionally, but certainly functionally. Let me explain.

Let's pretend that I am a WotC Designer in the years 2013-2014. We have come up with this system called "Challenge Rating" that clarifies what a party of 4 PCs should be able to fight and defeat with using some amount of resources. Similar to WoW and Skyrim, some of the early enemies a party should be able to fight are animals. I'm not sure WHY this is the case, but it is. However, there are now two questions: 1) what Level should a party be to fight the animal and 2) what level should the moon druid be able to turn into it? The result has beast-master results. Because I don't think the average person knows just how truly nightmarish and kaiju-adjacent brown bears are. They are faster than horses, can run as long as horses, they weigh several hundred pounds, their claws are razor-sharp, they consistently carve and powerlift their way through cars to get a baggy of peanuts, they can climb trees and other objects as fast as they run. Do you know how bears deal with wild fires? They run INTO the wildfire to get to the other side as quickly as possible. Their survival strategy for the kill-everything button is to just tank the damage. And it works. Bears are more powerful than your wall of fire spell. Bears have some of the most sensitive noses in nature, exceeding dogs by a fair amount. The actual power of grizzly bears is not properly reflected on their stat block. Why are they so terribly nerfed? Probably so that the Moon Druid can turn into them at Level 2. All the animals in 5e are not accurately portrayed. They are all much slower, weaker, and less adapted than their real-life counterparts. Take for example the expected Strength Score of a Brown Bear. It naturally has 19 Strength. As a game mechanic for a Player to turn into, that is a pretty impressive number, but for an actual bear that number is pretty terrible. Think about it like this: the strongest humans can temporarily power-lift something as heavy as a sedan car for a few moments by a few inches. Bears have been known to simply push these kinds of cars over for scraps of food. This is funnier when you think about elephants. Elephants have 22 Str? That's it? Like, no. They don't. Bears should probably have like 25-30 Str, and elephants probably have like 50 Str. HOWEVER, this would be really weird game mechanics in the situation that something were to turn INTO a bear or an elephant. Imagine being an elephant for a moment. You just are the biggest thing on land currently existing (that is alive and can move). One mid-level wizard and a couple of elephants could probably defeat most dragons.

Think about it like this. Ignore the the total number and consider just the modifier as it presents on a d20. Each number on a d20 is equivalent to 5%. RaR, a Brown Bear is 20% (+4) stronger than a guy/gal/gaul (first thing that came in my head and I thought it was funny--don't tell Caesar lol). An elephant is 30% stronger than a commoner. Like, think about that. What the hell? What--the hell. That's not how elephants work. 30% stronger? If you could deadlift around 250lbs with some practice, then an elephant could deadlift 325bs. Now, how much can an Elephant deadlift is a confusing question because they don't/can't do that. However an elephant can lift over 650 lbs with their trunk alone. So an elephant's trunk, not the elephant itself, is 260% stronger than an average-ish human. And an elephant does not practice specifically to be the swolest elephant, so we don't really know what the peak strength of an elephant's trunk is. Anyway, put into 5% increments and then added to 10, the elephant's trunk should have a Strength of 62 and possess a modifier of +26. That is not the elephant itself. That is the trunk, okay. Now, as game design, should the elephant's trunk have a +26 to attack and damage? Probably not. That's why it MIGHT not be a good idea to give enemies the same kinds of ability scores as player-characters. Would you believe that D&D did not use to do enemies this way?

Is AD&D/2nd Edition perfect? No. Does this game properly represent an elephant? Probably not. However, the elephant has an effective +11 to attack, 5 attacks that each do 2d6 or 2d8 damage, has an average of 55HP (you have to understand, that's a pretty solid amount of HP for AD&D) or more if you assume max role (many GMs do, thus 88HP), and they appear in groups of up to 12. What is the CR of AN elephant, let alone 12 elephants? You might say, "but Mr. Greyplains, this is not strictly more powerful than the 5e version!" True. Again, this is not a perfect translation of an elephant either. However, the numbers that are smaller are scaled to a game that generally has smaller numbers. Assuming a Character is the same level as the Elephant's hit die, a Wizard will have an average of 32 HP at Level 11, and a Fighter will have an average HP of 61-70 (if they have at least 15 Con for the second number). So 2d8 + 2d8 immediate damage could high-roll 1-shot a Level 11 Wizard. It could then Trunk/Stomp the fighter for 2d6/2d6 and then stomp something else for another 2d6. Then up to 11 more elephants get to resolve. Back to the primary subject at hand.

This leans the conversation back into Villain Arc 4 territory. I think that the solution to Strength's problems, in particular, is to just let it get unbounded from the other ability scores. You want to have super-heroic strength? Sure. Put enough levels into Fighter, and you can have like a 26 Strength or something. Pop-off king/queen/themperor. I'm not against super-heroes being as strong as bears. I'm against bears being as strong as a strong guy. Strength can be less useful overall (as per Villain Arc 4) if the number is allowed to get gigantic. This hits on the similar subject as Villain Arc 3. The Beast Master Ranger is partly so bad because of how weak the animals they control are. The real-world elements of Dungeons and Dragons 5e are worse then their reality equivalent IN ADDITION to being worse than their magical alternative. Truly, it is the Strength Ability Score, in particular, that is the actual through line of WotC's terrible game design.

What level should 4 adventurers be able to fight a brown bear? Like, a real one. I have no idea. You see, the problem with CR is that I have no idea who the party is, what their levels are, what their equipment is, what the temperament of the Players are, what the temperament of the GM is, etc. A PC that is optimized to fight a bear could probably do it pretty easily with planning. Say for example you had a character who could train several dogs (impossible RaR, btw) who could spook a bear into a specific position. At this point, the character would take their very powerful projectile to the place wear the bear is cornered and then kill it from a safe position. This is how bear hunting works. It is terrible for the bear but also the dogs because the hunters VERY OFTEN just leaves the dogs in the woods, however people CAN kill bears with a winning strategy. Is this hunter a Level 1 Player character? Are they part of a Level 1 party, they being a Level 1 character and each of their three dogs also being level 1 characters? People hunt elephants. It sucks, but it is achievable. It's not that hard. The general trick is to 1) have a car and 2) have a gun.

The Moon Druid is just the perfect synthesis of everything wrong with 5e. The Moon Druid is too powerful, yet they are also too weak. They are too weak because otherwise the non-casters would not be able to compete with their most common form--the brown bear. The same kinds of non-casters that historically are absolutely capable of killing the un-nerfed, real-world bear with proper strategy (without character levels). The Moon Druid should not be able to turn into a bear because turning into a bear should be essentially game-ending. The game is fundamentally vexing because the elements which are based in reality are weird and video-gamey to a comical degree. I can see an anti-simulationist argument here of "yo, this is a game, it does not have to be realistic." Sure, but if the designers want to use real creatures in their game, those will be used as touchstones to compare all other elements of the game to.

The result of this nonsense is that 5e is not a power-fantasy game. The PCs are not that powerful, really. The universe they inhabit is just so incredibly flaccid that it crumbles to the slightest bit of organic strategy and exploits of mechanics. It is a daycare. You are a child in a padded room with little toys to smash into each other with no actual risk. And I, as the DM, am the underpaid daycare worker who is begging you to play with the toys fairly and to stop hitting the other children with the toys. The parent, WotC has LEFT the building and only comes back to reprimand me for not allowing their precious little child to do whatever they want because "I'm paying for this service" in the sense that we only are working daycare because they provided the context to allow it to exist. Not a perfect analogy, but that's how it feels DMing a 5e game with a Moon Druid PC. "Oh yeah, I turn into a bear! Oh yeah, I turn into a giant spider! Oh yeah, I turn into a shark!"

Fucking kill me.

#transrights

#freepalestine

#buymybook

Previous Villain Arc Post:

#ttrpg #tabletop roleplaying #roleplaying games #anti 5e action #tabletop #ttrpg design #buy my books #indie ttrpg #osr #ad&d 2e #d&d 5e #d&d

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emberglowfox · 1 year ago

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okay a few people have asked now abt steelheart redux so i will do my best to give an overview the maelstrom of vague thoughts it consists of at the moment

basically, steelheart is the oc story i've been posting a shitton of on and off for the past while. steelheart redux refers specifically to its latest iteration, which is completely (mostly) sci-fi and mech driven as opposed to the standard dragon rider story it was before.

it focuses primarily on these guys!

arthur is a human, while zarian is a DRACO, specifically a v1, which i will elaborate on below the readmore bc this is a little long haha

the setup for the story is essentially this:

the DRACOs (version 1, aka v1s) are big draconic mechs that are basically the equivalent of a super high-tech fighter jet with some other bells and whistles, the most notable being that they're pretty much human powered. but to be efficiently powered long-term, they have to be (or have part of them, really) permanently fused to a human host (or any living creature, technically, but humans are what they're like. made for).

despite all that, stuff surrounding their creation goes pretty well for a while, until the v1s mysteriously 'wake up'-- as in, suddenly attain self-aware consciousness, and start talking to their hosts (known as pilots) who understandably take this pretty badly. it's like if the fighter jet you've been flying around and are also kind of biologically fused to suddenly grew a brain and started asking about your day. things get even worse when the company producing the v1s attempts to like. undo this by forcing out an update patch, which has the unintended effect of corrupting the (previously entirely benevolent, just curious) v1s and turning them into crazed murder machines. stuff is bad for a while.

the ACTUAL story takes place 15 years after this, when stuff still isn't amazing but has mostly evened out. the company responsible for the v1s collapsed in the initial chaos, but from its ashes came a new company, Defenex, which has been producing DRACO v2s. they're the sleeker, badder cousins to the v1, made for the sole purpose of protecting towns from and hunting down remaining v1s. they're also, very critically, Not Mysteriously Self-Aware like the v1s are (or. were?) which is good.

the plot follows arthur steele, a fifteen year old boy living in one of the surviving cities, who through a series of accidents comes to be permanently fused to a (mysteriously un-murderous but distinctly unhappy) v1 calling himself Zarian. at first, his goal is to get Zarian removed from his back so they can go their separate ways and he can go back to his unremarkable, relatively safe life. unfortunately, this does not go according to plan. at all. but in the process, they start learning more about the mysterious origins of the DRACO incident and asking questions some people REALLY don't want answered. along the way, they make a few friends, come to actually like each other, and accidentally develop a reputation as Public Enemy #1, Definitely Evil, Kill On Sight. oops.

and that's the gist! i know... a lot of what happens, within that window, but most stuff isn't like nailed down clearly or in order yet, because i've discovered that while i am good with coming up with originally story ideas, actually plotting one from start to finish, coherently and satisfactorily, does NOT come naturally to me at all.

but, at the very least, it has become a fun brain playground and happiness generator, because i am veeery attached to these guys. moreso than i ever have gotten about my own ocs in my whole life tbh

#if u have specific questions feel free but i hope this is like. a legible world overview #so much happens here though. they almost die in a rite-aid. they blackmail a grown adult. they meet god(?) and hes annoying. its a blast #sparks speaks #steelheart redux #sparks art #steelheart redux lore

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blackbatcass · 3 months ago

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im so happy u turned ur anons back on they rlly thought they were baiting you, huh?

anyways! im sooo excited for the cass rebirth fic skdfewkd but in the meantime i DO wanna get into some arrowfam. ollie, roy, mia and connor just interest me so muchh but i havent read muc except for fics and even though i was supposed to follow my super specific reading order i wanna take a break from nw and the batfam and read something else.

like you said ga can be very healing!

anyways do you have a read list for me that includes all of them? thankss!

p.s nightwing vs green arrow was a question dc posted on their insta and the answers really surprised me! any insight on this?

LOVE YAAA

hey! <3333 tyyy i hope it lives up to expectation. LITERALLY reading ollie is so healing its good for the soul.

so this is like a comprehensive list of ollie comics, and this is a guide to everyone in the arrowfam. they’re super helpful if you want a broad overview

for my own personal recs, i think it's nice to start with green arrow: year one or green arrow stranded, to get a feel for his origin & time on the island. the hard traveling heroes (green lantern/green arrow) stories are also essential reading in that they basically established the modern version of ollie's personality and they're soo much fun, just beware of snowbirds lol.

from there green arrow vol 2 (1988) is the big one! pretty much Thee green arrow run, especially if you want to get to know ollie better. it's a lot of solid street-level ga stories in seattle, dinah's there, eddie fyers is there, and connor's introduced towards the end! if you're specifically interested in connor #102-137 was his original green arrow run. though word of caution that anything written after mike grell is a bit questionable.

if you're more interested in the 'arrowfamily' as a whole then you're looking for green arrow vol 3 (2001). it's 75 issues and a lot of fun. this is where ollie comes back to life, mia is introduced, ollie legalizes gay marriage, etc. it's pretty much just ollie hanging out with connor and mia and having some more street-level star city shenanigans, and i am very fond of it. that being said when judd winick takes over there is some questionable shit (you might want to just skip the arc with joanna pierce) but overall it's a fun time. roy shows up occasionally, dinah comes and goes. it's probably the best run to read if you want to get to know the arrowfam as a whole.

do not read green arrow/black canary unless you're desperate. it's bad. it's hilariously bad. do not trust anyone who tells you it's good. it is pretty harmless so if you just want to skim through for mia funny moments go ahead but...yeah it's trash.

post-new 52 there is not a lot unfortunately. a lot of it's garbage. the jeff lemire run is probably the most salvageable? and the rebirth one (volume 6) isn't as nauseating so that's also an option. but obviously you can read & enjoy whatever you want, maybe new52 ollie is your favorite ollie. i would say to read through some of this if you're interested in emiko but i can't really recommend it per se.

and that brings us to the current ga ongoing! you've probably heard us bitch about it a lot on here, but tbh it's been less bad & more mediocre. mediocre comics are just really frustrating to read through in real time. i might give it a try though, it has some nice moments even though it's not great, and williamson is leaving the title next month! chris condon is set to take over and has said the first arc is about street-level crime in star city, influenced by grell and o'neill. so i am VERY excited, it has the possibility to be peak. i think condon's run (issue 18) could be a great place to hop on!

so those are my green arrow recs! if you're more interested in roy, he usually features more in titans titles than ga titles so i have a separate list in my comic recs tag for him.

i couldn't find the ig post you were talking about? i have no clue how a fight between dick and ollie would go if that's the question. power scaling is not my forte by any means. i'm not sure how ollie's archery and dick's hand to hand fighting would match up. so i don't have a lot of insight on that sorry!

#ask #green arrow #comic recs

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stormbreaker101 · 1 year ago

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Music(ology) headcanons! Part 2

My friend @klaraflamez and I have been writing a shared story based upon the wizard101 AUs we made independently. Things go somewhat off the rails, and so these headcanons that we made for Music absolutely do not work for canon, which is part of why I'm making this post separate.

An overview of our AUs:

In both Corrupted Spiral (my AU) and the Cleaved AU (Klara's), the Spiral learned so heavily on its dependency upon its Wizard that it led to the Wizards' demises. In CS, before Arc 4 could properly begin, Nora lashed out in fury, sick of being Nothing but a title and weapon, and abandons the Spiral. In Cleaved, Scarlet was killed in the final fight of Lemuria, a 1v8, abandoned and alone because the Spiral assumed she would have handled it.

The main characters of the next generation after the two Wizards (~0-5 years after Nora's departure and 25 years after Scarlet's death) each realize that even though they're not The Wizard, they still have a duty to serve the good of the Spiral.

Overall there's a major theme of destiny and responsibility not falling on just one person's shoulders. The Wizard is not the only Paradox, and the primordial magics of Light, Shadow, and Music are no longer reserved for the Wizard and the gods. They become proper schools, integrated with the other ten (7 playable schools + 3 Astrals).

I've written and come up with spells for the Music school, as one of the characters I'm writing ends up as the Scion of Music, while Klara's writing the revamped Shadow and Light schools because her OCs become the Scions for those.

More details on Music as its own school in CCSAU (both lorewise and mechanicswise because i am gamerpilled), and all the spells themselves plus their explanations (where I derived inspiration from) are under the cut!

Music is the magic of creation. 'Outgoing' mechanics are the name of the game. It is a major hitter like Fire and Storm, but also has access to heals like the more defensive Life magic that came from the Song of Creation. Music's greatest weakness is that it is a major glass cannon, with no spells in its repertoire able to mitigate incoming damage.

The reason Music is tied to Fire and Storm alongside Life lorewise is because the Scion of Music first studied Fire and Storm magic alongside Musicology, before Music was its own school. Our Scion shaped Music as much as Music shaped him.

Now onto the spells themselves!

MAINLINE (primarily ATTACKING) SPELLS:

1 pip - Lyrebird - 90-130 damage. Based on the lyre instrument, and also a nod to Lyra, the fanon Music school tree in the Cleaved AU.

2 pip - Trombun - 220-260 damage. A pun on trombone and bunny.

3 pip - Earworm - 500 damage over 3 turns. Colloquially, earworms are catchy bits of song that just stay in your head and WON'T GET OUT, which is the inspiration for making this spell a pesky overtime. Also, taken from the Earworm/Brainworm mobs in Empyrea.

4 pip - Melodeer - 465-525, + 20% heal OR damage blade to self. Melody + deer. Here we begin to see some utility and niche poke its way into spells so that they're not plain and pure damage. Also, just to balance Music against the other 'hitter' schools a little bit more, it doesn't get a 4-pip AoE.

5 pip - Volta Bracken - 400 damage AND 400 health to self. A reference to volta brackets (an element in musical notation), with language nodding at Storm and Life magic (volt as in electricity, bracken as in a kind of plant). Yes this spell is an objectively better version of Beary Surprise. I hate Beary Surprise so much why is the bear both anthro and nude. why does he fucking smile like that. why can i see the whites of his eyes. WHY THE HUG?

6 pip - Resonance - 525-610 damage + remove all blades on 1 target. A single-target version of Myth's dreaded Earthquake.

7 pip - Horschestra - 700 damage to all enemies. Your classic 7-pip AOE. Horse + Orchestra, taken from a song in the Homestuck OST because it made me laugh tbh.

8 pip - Revivace - 1200 Heal to all allies. Name derived from Revive (synonym of Rebirth) and Vivace (musical mood). Meant to be a parallel to Life’s Rebirth spell, since Bartleby is the closest thing to a Music school tree in CS. However Rebirth gives an absorb-shield, which counts as temporary HP even if the spell heals someone to full, while Revivace has no extra defense.

9 pip - Crescendo! - 100 damage turn 1, then a DoT for 200, 300, then 400 damage, to all enemies. Crescendo is a musical term for "get gradually louder"

10 pip (Azteca) - Ceramic Drake - 1000 damage to 1 target, then 625 damage to all enemies over 3 rounds. The first of Music's spells that take on aesthetics derived from the world they're learned in. It takes inspiration from the tlapitzalli, an Aztec flute-like instrument made of ceramic.

5 pip + Shadow (Darkmoor) - Rehubution - 810 damage + 25% Music trap to all enemies. The spell's name comes from the word Retribution and the rehu, an instrument made by the Māori of Aotearoa. All of the canon Darkmoor spells are actually Khrysalis themed, and @chrono101 (now deactivated) made a really cool post about how the Hoppers had Aotearoan references that I remembered while coming up with this post. The effect in combat is derived from Fire from Above before it was nerfed and then slaughtered.

6 pip + Shadow (Polaris) - Luphilymn - 1260 damage, +1 turn to Damage over Times (DoTs) on enemy and +1 turn to Heal over Times (HoTs) on self. Luphilim + Hymn.

4 pip + Shadow (Mirage) - Spirit of the Groove - 900 damage, divided between targets (like all other Mirage spells). This spell is less a reference to something Miragian, and more a nod to a character who had a major impact on the Scion of Music's development. Ceramic Drake, Luphilhymn, and the upcoming spells of Ramalong and Jungle Drum Jam also are nods to characters that the Scion of Music was greatly supported by.

X-pip + Shadow (Karamelle) - Ramalong - 220 damage per pip. A blend of sing-along and the candy rams. This spell is an X-pip because there are a handful of songs/lullabies about counting sheep. Count your pips up!

6 pip + Shadow (Lemuria) - Jungle Drum Jam - 850 damage to all enemies, +40% Music blade AND +40% heal blade to self. Taken from this once-off moment in Lemuria where Bantam says that he and the Koolakamba just casually use advanced musicology for the sake of boogieing.

The effect is taken DIRECTLY from the far superior path of the Life Lemuria spell, Lord of the Jungle, before KI nerfed it to bits. I am so fucking mad about the nerf. I fucking liked having a decent shadow AoE on my Life and now it's useless again. <- had to get my gamer rage out sorry.

1 pip + Fire pip + Storm pip (Novus) - Tempo Inferno - 800 damage, gambit 1 blade into a DoT for 500 over 4 turns, gambit 1 trap into a HoT for 500 HP over 4 turns. Tempo refers to the speed of a musical piece, and both pieces of this spell's name are nods to Storm and Fire as well (Temp- for tempest, Storm's most iconic spell, Inferno for fire). This spell would also hold visual reference to that one sidequest about how clocks don't work on Novus.

1 pip + Death pip + Myth pip (Wallaru) - Crab Grave - 575 damage to all enemies. A reference to the extinct Juggernaut crabs of Wallaru, the still living Tasmanian giant crab, and the legendary Crab Rave meme. Given that all of the Wallaru spells' archmastery pips are the ones backwards from the Novus spells' pips, it made sense to make Crab Grave's pips the roshambo opposite to Tempo Inferno's. Myth is the roshambo opposite of Storm, and Death is the roshambo opposite of Fire. Don't believe me on Death and Fire? Look at how Balance's Novus gear has 3 variants that pair Ice-Life, Storm-Myth, and Fire-Death as its archschools. No I don't know why the Balance Wallaru spell is Death-Storm instead of Death-Fire I don't get it <- gamer raging again.

UTILITY SPELLS:

There are some utility spells that every school gets access to, simply changed per school: the basic Blade and Trap and Shield are simply named Music Blade, Music Trap, and Music Shield, because they're standardized for all the schools (Except Ice Shield, which is actually Snow Shield, for whatever reason?). Though, to put a wrinkle into things and keep with Music's theming as hyper-outgoing, Music Trap is the only ward spell (a spell that affects incoming damage rather than outgoing) that Music gets permanent access to. Music Shield would be TC only. Traps get special treatment because of Maulwurf von Trap existing. I like the guy don't @ me.

Then there's the utility spells that are just about the same for each school but with unique names. These include:

the 2 pip damage bubble - Circle of Fifths, after an important element in music theory. +25% damage to all outgoing Music spells AND +25% to all outgoing Music heals (the boost to healing alongside damage is unique to Music. Life gets Circle of Thorns (+25% damage) and Sanctuary (+60% healing) as two different bubbles.)

the 4-pip critical and pierce bubble - Acoustic Arena, +15% Music critical and +20% Music pierce.

the dispel - Mute

the Taunt/Pacify - Soloist, Taunts the enemy for 2 turns, making you the only target they can hit. Yes, having a glass cannon school gain taunt is a bit poor in game design, typically you want your glass cannons to have some form of Pacify so that they're not killed as quickly, but thematically Music becoming a loud center of attention makes more sense to me.

the complementary triad shield - Eclipse Shield, -70% incoming Light and Shadow damage. The parallel to Storm's Thermic Shield (-70% Fire and Ice) or Death's Dream Shield (-70% Life and Myth). Like Music Shield, because this spell is both a staple piece of utility that every school should have access to and a defensive ward that goes against Music's school identity, it would only exist as a treasure card.

The level 75 minion from The Professor - Baronness Webberfeld - 5 pips, summon a minion of Music. She is a reference to Baronness Elberfeld, a minor character from the Sound of Music. Because I had to get a reference to that in. Because I am normal about Maulwurf von Trap and his source media.

And then we get to the unique utility spells, the gimmicks that gives Music its identity in-game or give it thematic support.

Tune Up - 0 pips, +20% accuracy to the next outgoing Music spell. A parallel to Storm's Lightning Strike (which back in my day only gave +10% accuracy, not +25%). Music spells have a base accuracy of 70% like Storm, so the accuracy buff would be greatly needed at lower levels.

Bangsnap! - 2 pips, Confuse or stun each enemy for 1 turn.

Gurdy-hurdy - 3 pips, Confuse or stun each enemy for 2 turns.

Bangsnap and Gurdyhurdy go together, I'm thinking of them being from the Grizzleheim and Wintertusk spell quests at level 35 and 55. Bang snaps are small explosives that only release a loud sound but do no damage. Gurdy-hurdy is a reference to another in-game moment.

(The hurdy-gurdy, un-reversed, is a kind of musical instrument.)

And, yep! Myth is no longer the only school with the Confusion mechanic! Yippee! (I can hear the gamerbro players scream.) This is because before Music became a standalone school in CCSAU, Klara had the idea that, the way some Wizard101 spells are musicological despite not being in the school of Music, some Pirate101 abilities are inherently musicological as well, namely Blast of Discord.

And this is an ability that our Scion of Music was able to learn before Music became an independent school, so rather than take that ability away from him, we decided to incorporate it into Music's entire repertoire.

Leitmotif - 2 pips, 305 HP to 1 target, then 305 more HP 3 turns later. A leitmotif is a snippet of a musical melody that comes back later in a piece or in another piece (Toby Fox, one of my favorite composers, uses leitmotifs to the MAX.)

Sonatyr - 4 pip, 650 Health + 30% Healing Blade to all. Satyr + Sonata. Does less health than Life's Satyr because I don't want to completely upstage Life, but giving an extra blade to everyone is useful. It buffs every healer, and would count for any blade-based gambits/secondary effects.

Adagio - 1 pip, +1 turn to a HoT on an ally or to a DoT on an enemy. Adagio means for a piece of music to slow down.

Allegro - 1 pip, -1 turn to a HoT on an enemy or to a DoT on an ally. Allegro means for a piece of music to speed up.

Adagio and Allegro are spells that go together. If they were to be implemented in-game, I'd have them be learned at the same time. Having a spell that does different things depending on whether it's on an ally or enemy is really interesting to me, though it would be a pain in the ass to code.

Encore - 5 pips, force your target to cast the same spell for the next 2 turns. Encore, of course, means "to play again". Taken directly from Pokemon because why not?

Baton Pass - X pips, give your blades to an ally, universal and at half-value, (1 pip per blade). Also derived from Pokemon because why not? The half-value gimmick comes from Bantam's cheat of "I'll be taking that, thanks!" Where he replaces a blade you cast on someone else with a universal blade of half value. The devs intended that cheat to be annoying and discourage buffing one player to the max, but it's actually a REALLY HANDY mechanic when used correctly. The half-value blade would count as a unique blade that therefore stacks with whatever other blades your ally has.

Perfect Pitch - 1 pip, +20% accuracy to all allies. Perfect pitch is defined as the ability to tell exactly what note(s) a sound is without any reference. This spell would be copy-pasted over from Life, and also derived from the Pirate101 abilities Call to Arms and Esprit de Corps, which both boost your team's accuracy. (Esprit also gives dodge, a stat that I cannot find any way to translate into Wizard101 that wouldn't be a defensive ward, which Music does not do). The animations for those two powers feature musical instruments (a drum and a trumpet), which makes it feel very musicological to me and therefore fitting for Music itself.

Fortissimo! - 2 pips, +15% Critical chance to all allies. Fortissimo is music speak for "BE FUCKING LOUD!" This spell is derived from the Pirate101 abilities Discipline and Enduring Discipline, which (are supposed to) give +5% and +10% critical chance to all allies. (I have heard that the abilities that purely increase critical chance rather than another stat simply don't work because Pirate101's code is made out of silly string, but that's besides the point). There are very few spells that affect critical, so it's a niche that Music could fill in if it wanted to.

This probably isn't even enough utility, Wizard101 has a SURPRISING amount of spells it throws at you. It's such an in-depth game. I love it. I am normal about Wizard101.

Also, Klara was absolutely AMAZING and drew some of the spells!

#wizard101 #headcanon #musicology #i wrote this all through yesterday up until like. 12:30 am and then wrote some more this morning.#i got incredibly rambly and jargony and for that i am sorry #i am unfortunately a gamer and i know wiz mechanics #i have THOUGHTS #i am. so normal. <- lie #corrupted spiral #cleaved au #CCSAU #leah speaks :3

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aspoonofsugar · 2 years ago

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Hello big brain, I wonder if you can help me figure something out about RWBY. I am trying to see more in Oscar, but the parts of his character that interest me the most are his background art and hints at the future, rather than any actions or dialogue he's had so far. The one exception is his conversation with Ruby about fear. I am down to clown with this show, I know and love the story of Tip and Ozma, but Oscar feels to me like sneak preview of something that hasn't aired yet. Who is this kid? What did I miss? How do I love the green boy?

Hi anon!

I am so sorry for this super late reply! I wanted to finish some longer meta first :)

Anyway, here are some of my metas on Oscar:

An overview on Oscar

Some thoughts on Oscar and Ruby

Some thoughts on the Wizard of Oz allusion

In general, I think that if you are not particularly interested in Oscar... there is really nothing to do :''')

In my opinion, Oscar is one of the best written characters in how his story is well integrated in the main plot and rather thightly written. His development is perfectly interwoven with the events and it does not feel that the narrative has to take away time to focus on him. On the other hand this might be why you feel you can't pintpoint him so well. He grows a lot, but his development happens so naturally you might arrive at the end of it and ask: "Wait, what happened?"

Anyway, about the things you say interest you the most:

I am confused about what you mean by background art. Do you mean Oscar's room art? In any case, I don't think Oscar's background is so important tbh. His story really starts when Oz appears and its focus is his relationship with the Wizard and how it influences his sense of self - identity :)

You are right about a climax still needing to happen for Oscar's arc. I think he and Ruby are among the characters who will take a rather large portion of the final section of the story

In general, Oscar's foiling with Ruby is a good way to look at his character. I am gonna give you a rather schematic and synthetic overview.

Parents and Children

The crux of Ruby and Oscar's arcs is the relationship with a parental figure, that they decline in opposite ways:

Ruby's story starts with Summer's sudden disappearence

Oscar's story starts with Ozpin's sudden appearence

This is why Ruby sets off on a journey to follow into Summer's footsteps, while Oscar sets off on a journey to find out who he really is. They both meet Oz and go to a Huntsman Academy (Beacon-Choice for Ruby and Haven-Knowledge for Oscar). Still, they do so driven by different motivations.

Ruby wants to save the world (the macrochosm), while Oscar wants to become his own person (the microchosm). This difference is well conveyed through Ruby and Oscar's major ongoing motif: outside/inside.

Ruby is focused on the outside, so that she can avoid looking inside.

Oscar is focused on the inside, so that he has trouble dealing with the outside.

Leader and Teammate

Mistral is the arc where Ruby fully becomes the leader, while Oscar fully integrates with the main group. This happens especially after Oz's disappearence in volume 6. Then is when Ruby and Oscar have to step up in different ways:

Ruby has to shoulder the group (team-leader)

Oscar has to shoulder who he is (team-member)

Once again Ruby has to take care of the macrochosm. She needs to make sure others are okay and to bear everyone's fears and doubts. Oscar instead has to deal with the microchosm. He needs to face crippling self-doubt and to decide who he wants to be on his own.

This struggle is solved in the fight against Cordovin. There:

Oscar comes up with the idea to destroy Cordovin's missile launcher by observing from outside:

Oscar: Right, but her missile launcher doesn’t lock in, it pops out! Without her shields, one well-placed shot could detonate the missiles while they’re still in the launcher!

Ruby executes the plan and defeats Cordovin by acting from inside:

Jaune: The missile launcher springs out… but the raw dust gets locked in!

Ruby still gets an active role and Oscar is still passive, but they are still progressing. Finally, they succeed at becoming a leader and a member of the group, respectively:

Ren: You (Ruby) petrified a Leviathan... after diving down the barrel of a cannon!

Ruby: I mean, Oscar made a successful crash landing! He's a fourteen-year-old farm hand!

This new-found identities are tested in Atlas, where Ruby and Oscar meet a strong foil: Ironwood.

A New Approach

Ruby and Oscar both foil Ironwood, in opposite ways:

Ruby foils Ironwood when it comes to leadership

Oscar foils Ironwood when it comes to self-identity

As a matter of fact Ironwood is struggling to cope with Ozpin's disappearence, just like the 2 kids are doing. Ruby and Oscar just happen to comment different parts of his arc:

Ruby like Ironwood has to step into a role of leadership and wants to find a new approach. This is why she is intrigued by the Amity project. She also has to struggle with trusting others.

Oscar like Ironwood has to grow into his own person without Ozpin's guidance. This is why they are shown training together and growing closer. The way Ironwood treats Oscar is symbolic of the progress of his personal journey. It is not by chance Ironwood grows when he listens to Oscar (not Oz). They are both trying to become the best versions of themselves.

And yet, Ironwood falls and symbolically he does so by giving up on the Amity Project and by shooting Oscar. Still, Ruby and Oscar push forward.

Ruby is the one who ends up using Amity to tell the world the truth. Oscar instead doesn't give up on trust or who he is because of a failure. He keeps on trusting himself and others, even enemies. In this way, he succeeds at guiding Ozpin, whereas Ironwood never could.

Once again, you see Ruby taking care of the macrochosm, while Oscar takes care of the microchosm. Ruby warns the world, while Oscar warns Salem's inner circle.

At the same time, Ruby and Oscar also make progress with the crux of their arcs:

What are you?

The Girl Who Fell Through The World

Oscar: I thought the idea of falling through Remnant into a new world was exciting. I never understood why she was so sad when she finally made it back home. But now it makes more sense.

Ozpin: She wasn’t the same girl anymore.

Oscar is the one who introduces Alyx's story to the audience and he is the first character to relate to her. Oscar himself is like Alyx, after all. He left home and is changed by his journey. This makes so he is now not the same person as to when he left home.

Ruby goes through the same realization in volume 9, when she ends up specifically in the Ever After, the set of Alyx's story. She too is not the same happy child who left home to save Remnant. And she has to face this truth.

Once again, Ruby and Oscar are opposite and yet the same. They have similar fears and doubts, but face it differently:

Ruby is focused on the world and refuses to look inside, so she is forced by the narrative to make a deep dive into her own self. She falls in a world designed to challenge and eventually heal her.

Oscar is focused on the self and is definately one of the most introspective characters. I mean, he is literally the only one we hear the thoughts of thanks to his conversations with Ozpin. So, he doesn't need more introspection, but rather to act and to face challenges outside himself. This si why he doesn't fall, but is asked by the narrative to keep going even without Ruby to guide him.

In short, Ruby and Oscar have parallel arcs, but our Little Red is forced to go inside, while our Little Ozma has to wait outside.

Still, they are both asked to define who they are. This happens with some clear parallel scenes:

For example, Jaune lashes out on them, which sets them both off, but in the end their crisis has a positive resolution, since they both grow more into the people they need to be:

At the same time, they both fall:

But this fall ends with them successfully grabbing their weapons.

Grab your weapon! Get a hold of yourself!

Both Ruby and Oscar reach out to their weapons in parallel scenes. This happens because they are both getting a hold of themselves. Sure, their growth and journey is still not complete, but they are not lost. They are still themselves, despite all the changes. They are not the same children they were in the beginning, but they are still Ruby and Oscar. They are still Someones.

So, Ruby realizes she doesn't have to be Summer, but can be herself. Oscar instead realizes (well not really, but he is getting there) that he is still himself despite the merge with Ozpin.

About this it is interesting to notice how Ruby's wish is really Oscar's fear:

Ruby wants to become Summer

Oscar doesn't want to become Ozpin

The end result for both will be to realize they are their own people. Sure, they may grow similar to Summer and Ozpin and be influenced by them. Still, they are different people with ultimately different stories and destinies.

This is more or less where we are with Ruby and Oscar's story :)

Thank you for the wait and have a nice day!

#rwby #oscar pine #ruby rose #asksfullofsugar #anonymous

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maccreadysbaby · 5 months ago

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you like destiny 2? You????? Like destiny???

IF YOU LIKE IT SO MUCH PUT BENTLEY AND ASTEN IN IT 🔫🔫🔫

Oh MAN this is the whackiest crossover I've ever done and I'm STOKED about it... also there's a little synopsis of destiny under the cut for my bentley followers that have no clue what I'm on about. bentley and asten would not even be remotely similar in this au, therefore there's actually TWO little stories in this post, one for each of them... yeah I went a little overboard but ITS FINE IM HAVING FUN *unintelligible weeping*

Project: Killcode Drabbles

tw: destiny typical violence, gore, emeto, cursing (only in asten's)

wanna read the extended fic? here’s the table of contents!

⚠️ THIS IS NOT PART OF BENTLEY’S MAIN STORYLINE, THIS BENTLEY & ASTEN INSERTED INTO AN AU (ALTERNATE UNIVERSE.)

Hi! here’s the briefest of overviews for my Bentley peeps that have no clue what Destiny is:

(I’m sorry destiny is so detailed you can’t actually be brief about it, these are the things I think are fundamental for understanding these pieces)

Destiny is a first person shooter/space travel rpg set in a time when the world has collapsed and the remaining facets of humanity live largely in a city called The Last City on Earth. In order to protect humanity from (a lot of) invading alien forces, the Traveler (a giant floating ball that helped humanity stay alive during the bad times) released hundreds of thousands of small robots called Ghosts into the solar system — these Ghosts were to find one specific person among the dead, resurrect them as a Guardian, and give them the Traveler’s magic (called Light) so they could protect humanity. (Basically, the Traveler makes the Ghost, and the Ghost raises their specific Guardian from the dead and gives them epic superpowers in the forms of Fire powers (Solar Light), Electricity powers (Arc Light), and The Void powers (Void Light)). Ghosts can resurrect their Guardians every time they die, rendering them immortal, but the downside is that these individuals don’t remember any of their lives before they were raised as a Guardian and have to start completely anew. The only way a Guardian can die for good is if their Ghost dies as well.

There are three Classes of Guardians: Warlocks, Hunters, and Titans. Guardians don't get to choose which they are, and the nature of their powers are determined by which one they turn out to be.

In this work, Bentley is a Guardian (A warlock, specifically, while the other character featured in this is a Hunter named Crow). Bentley does not have guardian superpowers (yet)

Anyways, I'm rambling, but I hope I helped you understand this just a wee little bit! I don't even understand destiny fully tbh don't feel bad. Maybe it was enough to help you enjoy the story... lmaoooo I tried.

Also here are some pictures of some of the things mentioned to help you imagine them...

<< aka me trying really hard to help you imagine this so you have a good time

Crow ↗︎ (aka the love of my life, also the only reason Asten and Bentley meet each other in this AU.)

A Ghost ↗︎ (little floating robot; bentley’s is named sevyn, crow’s is glint, asten doesn’t have one)

Fallen ↗︎ (aka the only alien race you see in these stories)

BENTLEY ↴

THE COSMODROME, OLD EARTH, SOL SYSTEM -- 7:48PM —

“FOR THE RECORD, I THOUGHT THIS WAS A HORRENDOUS IDEA,”

Bentley sighed heavily, glaring over at the small robot that was hovering a few inches from his face. It was purple, fashioned from small floating segments with one glowing blue eye -- which was glaring right back at him with just about the most irritated look the little machine could muster.

“Because I didn't hear you the first five times, Sevyn,” Bentley mumbled. He was stationed with his back pressed flat against the surface of a large boulder, wedged on top of a layer of moss and mud, the stone wall of a cliffside ahead of him sandwiching him into the tight, damp space.

He’d never seen Old Earth before, besides looking off the balconies of the Tower he'd spent his entire Risen life in — which, in hindsight, was not great preparation for teleporting himself directly there on a whim. Everything looked the same, but bigger, and more expansive up close. The whole place was also crawling with various species of alien... which was a bit of a jarring experience considering he’d never actually seen one before. (He definitely hadn’t expected to teleport to Old Earth just to appear face-to-face with a four-armed freak of nature Sevyn insisted was a Fallen; hence why Bentley was now hiding between a rock and a hard spot.)

“You do realize you’re not allowed out of the Tower, right? That the Commander is gonna have your head?” Bentley's Ghost questioned anxiously, his segments spinning freely around his eye in a twitchy kind of way that let him know he was pretty irritated. “You do realize that you don’t know how to harness the Light for battle, right? That you have no guns? That no one knows where you are to come save your excruciatingly impulsive person?”

Bentley, again, rolled his eyes, pressing the soles of his tall brown boots harder into the stone wall ahead, to better hide himself from the Fallen he could hear clicking and hissing in the distance.

“If I die, you revive me. I’ve got my savior right here,” Bentley muttered, reaching up and tapping on Sevyn's eye, looking to his left. The sun was setting over the sector of Old Earth he was in -- called the Cosmodrome, if he remembered correctly. Being stuck there at night would not be a fun experience in the slightest.

Sevyn sighed heavily, shaking his head — well, technically, shaking his whole small robot self. In a disapproving, head shaking way. “If the Commander says you can’t leave the Tower, then you probably shouldn’t leave the tower. Following Crow, of all people! He’s so reckless; you know how many times Glint had to revive him in his pursuit of that Fallen Captain on his Hunt last week? Twenty-five! In one day!”

Bentley rubbed his hands together — it was getting cold now that the sun was setting, and his fingerless gloves weren’t exactly designed to help with warmth as much as they were to look cool. “He’s on a patrol. Patrols aren’t dangerous. I just need to find him.”

“Patrols aren’t…?“ Seven made an exasperated sound, his segments twitching wildly. “I know you think it’s unfair that you have to stay in the tower, but you were resurrected at thirteen! The Commander isn’t gonna send a thirteen year old Guardian into battle! There are good reasons you don’t know how to wield the Light!”

“So what, he expects me to stay in the Tower for my entire immortal life just so he doesn’t look bad? I’m never gonna get any older,” Bentley huffed, zipping up his brown bomber jacket. “Crow said he was going to The Forgotten Shore, didn't he?”

Sevyn bobbed up and down anxiously, his blue eye flicking around the area in a practiced, mechanical way. “And there’s about three hundred Fallen signals between you and there. How do you expect to get there?”

The teenager shrugged, eyes tracing the stone cliffside covered in vine. “Sneak?”

“Sneak around the aliens that can turn invisible and have the hearing of a wolf. Why didn’t I think of that?” Sevyn deadpanned. “I’m just going to teleport you back home so you can go sit in the corner and think about what you did.”

“What? No!” Bentley argued, reaching out to grab at the floating robot, who dodged his hand readily. “Stop it! I can do it! And if I can’t you can revive me!”

“Or we can go home and I can talk to the Commander about field work,”

Bentley made a humph noise. “He would never let me do field work. He thinks I’m five.”

“Technically speaking, you’re a few centuries younger than most Guardians,”

“Sevyn!”

“Just saying!”

Bentley sighed softly, daring to peek out of his hiding spot just enough to catch a glimpse of his surroundings. He’d managed to find himself in a small canyon of sorts, with a shallow creek running through it, illuminated gold by the sunlight that was bound to fade soon. Rocks and boulders jutted out of the sparsely grassed terrain, gracing him with just a little bit of cover to utilize against the Fallen he could see skittering around the rocky landscape.

The sight of them made him grimace. He’d never really seen an alien before — not up close, and definitely not alone. Their quartet of blue eyes were glowing in the dimming sunlight, lanky, strange bodies adorned with metal-bent armor and shreds of fabric organized into some semblance of clothing. They moved, some like people, some like apes, some like spiders. They weren't much larger than him, but they carried guns, and knives, and grenades, all situated on themselves and clasped tightly in the extra hands that sprouted from the sides of their bodies. Aliens with two arms were creepy enough; Bentley wasn’t sure why Fallen needed four.

He glanced around until his eyes lingered on another boulder, maybe four or five yards from his current one, close to the cliffside and large enough to render him hidden.

Sevyn made a mechanical beep. “Don’t even think about it.”

Bentley moved his legs, forcing himself to crouch in the small space. “Thinking about it.”

Sevyn, with an exasperated sigh, de-materialized himself, dispersing into atoms that fizzled into the air and disappeared, waiting to re-materialize again when his Guardian called for him.

Or, the more likely situation, when Bentley got himself killed and needed to be resurrected.

(Oh, well. Real Guardians were well versed with death. Some of them died like thirty times a day! Bentley had never died before — well, he had, obviously, but he didn’t remember that one. Since he was technically a Guardian, dying now that he had a Ghost didn’t matter all that much. It was what Guardians did! He’d just come back, like everyone always did. No big deal. It wasn’t like it would be scary, or terrifying, or horrific, or anything, if he just came back to life afterwards...)

With a small noise of effort, he propelled himself forward so quickly his boots left skid marks in the mud. He kept low, ran lightly, slipping from one place of cover to the next without making much of a peep at all.

Ducking into the shadows and pressing his back hard against the new rock he was hidden behind, he exhaled heavily. Beyond that boulder, there weren’t many more large enough to hide him — smaller stones and a few sparse trees, too young and thin to conceal him from view. The walls of the canyon curved up and above him, but they offered no protection, besides maybe darkening the cover of night that was approaching. Maybe if he waited until it was pitch black, he could slip past unseen. The Forgotten Shore was only on the other end of the canyon; surely he could make it.

If Crow was even still there come nightfall.

Bentley flinched when something clattered against the cliffside to his left with a shrill clang. Glancing over, he caught sight of something small, flashing. Suddenly, Sevyn's disembodied voice emanated from his immaterial state:

"Grenade!"

Fortunately for Bentley's appendages and organs, it was only a flashbang -- which still had to have been the absolute worst experience of his whole risen life. Before he could as much as flinch away, the thing had erupted with a BOOM! that left his ears ringing a pitch that threatened to split his skull, a blinding flash of light sending a ripple of searing pain through his eyeballs and into his brain. Everything went white.

The world seemed to move in slow motion as the piercing pitch screamed in his head, completely enabling him from thinking about anything else. He seemed to bring his hands up to his face at a snail's pace, scrubbing at his eyes as he was rendered temporarily, completely, terrifyingly blind.

"Eyes up, Guardian!" Sevyn called.

Bentley willed his eyes open just enough to be greeted by a bright white fog and the faint, dancing colors of stone and sunlight filtering through the blindness, if only a little. The faint colors of stone, sunlight, and some dark blob that was moving right toward him.

He wasn't sure what kind of sound he made, but he was sure it was embarrassing as he all but threw himself out from behind the boulder, still vigorously rubbing at his eyes with one hand, scrambling away from what he assumed was an alien with the rest of his strength. A loud crack! echoed from beside him, and he flinched, though he couldn't see what it was.

He continued to scramble until the effects of the grenade faded enough for him to decipher that yes; the thing chasing him was a four-armed alien with glowing blue eyes and...

Four knives?!

He rolled to the side just quick enough to miss the Fallen when it jumped, all four knives sinking into the dirt where he had been with four bone-chilling shinks!

Bentley must've kicked up dust with the speed he forced himself off of the ground, eyes flicking around wildly -- in addition to the one with the knives, there had to be at least ten more Fallen closing in on him. There were two wielding a quartet of knives just like the first -- and two with nothing, but they seemed hungry for blood all the same, like they were ready to physically bludgeon him to death. The rest of them seemed to have homemade guns of various shapes and sizes -- guns Bentley wasn't very keen on examining any closer than he already was.

The alien with the knives lurched again, and one of the weaponless ones dove straight for his legs, both of which he managed to dodge by tumbling ungracefully backwards -- hitting the ground and forcing himself up again, fast. A blue laser flickered in his still foggy eyes, and he jerked to the left, a long trail of blue electricity shooting past his head with an audible zing! from one of their rifles.

"Oh my God!" He managed to squeak as he ran full-speed, hurrying back to the first boulder and jumping behind it with a thump. Strings of lightning and other identifiable projectiles from their guns barraged the ground next to his cover so vigorously the electricity made his hair stand up.

"Sevyn, what do I do?!" He practically begged, the dull sounds of ammunition and electricity against stone and dirt finally warding off the ever-present ringing from his ears. His chest was heaving, heart pounding in his chest -- how did Guardians do battle every day?

"Run!" Was his Ghost's panicked reply.

So Bentley did, and just in time, too -- all three of the fallen with the knives, and one with nothing, came crawling and leaping over the boulder just as he moved away from it, banging their blades and fists against solid stone.

Bentley's boots pounded on the mud as he fled as quickly as his body could manage, blitzing past his second cover-boulder and continuing full-speed deeper into the canyon, toward where Crow said he'd be. It couldn't be that far. It couldn't.

The cracks and zips and bams of projectiles shooting past him were nearly deafening, a few of them close enough to take the hair off his head. One lucky wire of electricity hit it's mark, leaving a graze of searing agony streaking across his left shoulder and tearing the fabric of his jacket away.

Bentley's response was a shrill: "Ah!" That bounced along the walls of the canyon, and bringing his hand up to touch the would only made it explode into an even worse pain. He bit his lip, hard, and forced himself on as fast as his legs could pump, farther from the way he'd come, deeper into uncharted territory.

It took about thirty seconds of running for his surroundings to quiet, for him to slow to more of a jog. His wound was already throbbing uncomfortably, and the leather of his jacket was singed and curled up there -- the whole thing was unbearably nasty and the longer he looked at it, the more he thought he might pass out. He searched for cover but there wasn't any; only a few young trees, the creek, and rocks too small to hide him. Surely the Fallen were chasing him -- he needed some kind of plan.

He didn't get any longer to think about it -- something he hadn't seen nor heard grabbed his ankles mid-jog and sent him hurling face-first into the mud. His head hit with a slam that threatened to leave him disoriented, but he couldn't afford to be disoriented right then. Instead, he flipped himself over on the ground, and a Fallen appeared out of thin air, shrieking indecipherably in his face.

(He'd forgotten Sevyn said they could turn invisible.)

"Ah!" He cried out in terror, writhing under the alien that was looming over top of him, straddling his lower-body with all six of its appendages. In a panic, he wrenched his left foot out of one of its hands and used every available ounce of strength to kick it directly in the head with the heel of his boot. It shrieked again, releasing his other ankle. Bentley scrambled back and off the ground, taking off again with nothing but sheer panic coursing through his veins.

His first instinct was to scream: "Crow!" As if the far-off Guardian would be able to hear him all the way from the beach. Yelling was a horrible idea, yes, but he didn't seem to comprehend that at the time.

Nevertheless, he continued to pitifully shout: "Crow!" as he weaved through the darkening canyon, searching for cover but getting repetitively let down. Tears were burning behind his eyes now, though not just from the pain of the gunshot. He could hear footsteps behind him, some skittering, some booming, and others thumping quickly just like his. He didn't dare turn around -- he might've died from horror.

"Sevyn -- Crow!" Was all he could manage at the speed he was moving, with the amount of terror that was coursing through his body. There was a mechanical beep that came from nowhere that let him know Sevyn was trying to contact Crow's Ghost, Glint. A moment later, the sound of a failed communication line returned.

Bentley sprinted, biting his tongue so hard the metallic taste of blood blossomed on in his mouth. The scuffling, screeching sounds of the Fallen continued behind him, the zing! of a rifle shooting past his head every so often. The canyon he was following veered hard to the right, so he did, too, hoping the new direction would provide him with cover.

He skidded to an ungraceful stop as soon as he took the turn, dread washing over him like a shockwave.

Right around the corner were three more Fallen. Not the ones that were chasing him, but bigger ones, with better armor, nicer clothes. They had the same lanky build, the quartet of arms, but they had to be at least two, maybe three Bentley's tall, carrying guns that were probably the size of his entire body.

Bentley stopped, heart ripping a hole in his ribcage, breathing so quickly he was starting to feel lightheaded. All three of the giant Fallen looked at him curiously, one of them stowing its gun on its back and pulling out two blades instead -- large ones, and curved, like katanas.

Bentley glanced back the direction he'd come, the smaller Fallen stumbling over themselves and falling over each other in pursuit of him. He couldn't get past them, there were too many -- but he couldn't get past the big ones, either... and the canyon left him nowhere else to run.

(He was going to die.)

In his moment of hesitation, one of the big aliens lunged forward and grabbed him by the ankle, picking him up and making him dangle completely upside down.

"No! Crow!" Bentley screamed, thrashing and writhing in its grip. He wasn't sure why, but the alien tilted its head at him like a confused dog before rearing back and throwing him -- yes, throwing him, probably ten yards before he hit the stone wall of the canyon with a slam! and crumpled to the dirt.

A terrible pain radiated through his body, the entire right side of his person stinging like fire from the impact.

“Sevyn…” Bentley mumbled, but he didn’t have any time to move — he was suddenly grabbed and flipped over violently, landing on his back with a harsh thump. One of the big Fallen was there — the one who’d pulled out the knives. The other two big ones were looming behind it like guards, and the little Fallen that had been chasing Bentley were skittering around and making noises, but they didn’t come near, like they were afraid of the larger ones.

Bentley attempted to scramble backwards on all fours, but the alien, with a few inhuman clicks and a tilt of its head, jumped on top of him and crouched there. Two of its hands found his shoulders, a third finding his forehead, all but drilling him into the dirt with such force that his right shoulder popped and cracked with a searing pain that made him cry out.

The Fallen’s glowing, beaty eyes seemed to bore into his skull as it held a knife in its free hand — the long, sort of katana looking weapon with machine parts at the hilt and coil wrapped around the blade. There were tiny bolts of electricity sparking and arcing around it.

(He was going to die.)

Bentley couldn’t see very good, and he quickly realized it was because he was starting to cry. “Crow!”

“Sh, sh, sh,” The Alien tutted, and Bentley writhed and thrashed under its weight when he realized they could talk. The thrashing didn’t do much good — the alien had to be nearly five times as heavy as him.

“Crow!” He tried, desperately — he could feel tears streaking down the sides of his face now, still obscuring his vision and blurring the image of the alien whose head was only about a foot from his. The Fallen pushed him harder into the ground, making his other shoulder crack and pop with a jolt of terrible pain.

His response, this time, was sobs.

“Now, now, little Light,” The Fallen started, its voice strange, like gurgling and clicking overlaid on top of a human voice. It was low, and gravely, too, like an old man who smoked too much. “It will hurt only for a moment, yes? I will aim directly for your heart, yes?”

Bentley writhed again when it reached down and simply tapped the blade of the knife on the left side of his jacket, right where his heart would be.

“Yes, I have had much practice,”

Bentley sobbed, trying to move, to escape, but failing miserably. “Sevyn…”

He didn’t want to die. He knew he could come right back to life, but he didn’t want that alien to sink its electric knife into his heart — he could only imagine what it felt like. An agony that wouldn’t even come close to any sensation he’d ever felt before.

How did other Guardian’s die every day?

With one last round of animalistic clicks, the Fallen lifted the knife far above Bentley’s chest, tilting its head again when the teenager tried one last time (and failed one last time) to wriggle out of its grip. He wasn’t strong enough — all the strength in his entire tiny body wasn’t strong enough.

“Please,” Bentley choked.

SHNNK.

It took Bentley about a whole five seconds to realize that there was not a knife in his chest.

Instead, there was a flash of something white.

Crow was suddenly on the large Fallen’s shoulders, his combat knife buried deep into the alien’s skull. Bentley had never been happier to see his blue skin and bright, cheesy armor. He didn't think he'd ever been happier to see a human shaped creature in his life.

The alien’s grip on Bentley’s body loosened, and Crow leaped off of it, kicking it to the side so its massive weight didn’t crash down on top of either of them. He landed a perfectly executed flip, his Hunter cape settling over his head and face so he had to shove it off.

“Bentley,” He scolded, though Bentley didn’t really hear it. He was too focused on staring at the body of the Fallen that was now laying beside him, twitching menacingly but showing no further signs of life.

That thing had almost… almost…

All of the other Fallen, small and large alike, leaped into action, charging at the battle’s newest arrival with shrieks of rage for their dead friend. The zips and bams of their guns returned, and Bentley stayed low to the ground, the body of the dead Fallen large enough for him to use as measly cover.

Bentley watched in a silent sort of shock as a full-blown battle played out before his eyes. Crow dodged the Fallen’s projectiles with some kind of backwards summersault the child couldn’t even seem to comprehend, whipping Hawkmoon — the largest revolver Bentley had ever seen — out of a holster on his hip. He spun it around his fingers before he began repeatedly flicking the hammer, sending out eight back-to-back bam, bam, bams, each one resulting in a Fallen crumpling into an unmoving heap on the ground.

One of the large ones, now armed with a giant, electricity-sparking sword, swung for Crow’s head, which he ducked and slid away from just in time to not get decapitated. He dropped the cylinder from Hawkmoon and replaced it just as fast, turning and unleashing a lightning-fast stream of eight bullets into the monster’s chest. It roared, staggered, and hit the ground.

Its roar echoed and bounced through the canyon with a chillingly repetitive melody. Bentley watched in silence as Crow extended his hand, a ball of fire forming and spluttering in the air above his palm until he threw it right at the smaller Fallen that were attacking as a group — it exploded into a huge wall of flame that charred and burned the aliens into lifeless crisps on impact.

“Eyes up!”

Bentley looked up, coming face-to-face with Sevyn, who was hovering right in front of him. The little Ghost’s segments spun and twitched worriedly, his robotic eye flicking about Bentley’s form with a little bit of pity in its mechanical iris. “I’ve got you, Guardian.”

Sevyn then moved toward Bentley’s left shoulder, a small spray of light shining from his eye onto the teenager’s wounds that almost felt like a layer of cold mist. Bentley couldn’t help but sigh in relief as the pain was warded away, the Ghost’s Light slowly rebuilding and reattaching the very atoms of his flesh — closing up the gunshot wound and shifting his shoulders back into place in mere moments. The scratches and bruises he could already feel forming across his body from hitting the cliffside dulled in discomfort in seconds, until they disappeared entirely from existence.

In only a moment, Bentley was whole again.

Sevyn moved forward, tapping himself gently against Bentley’s forehead in an affectionate gesture, before fizzling into atoms again.

When Bentley looked up, all of the Fallen were dead, and Crow was standing in the midst of the corpses, revolver in one hand, his Ghost, Glint, hovering just above the other. The little crimson robot moved about the older Guardian, shining his healing light on his injuries and mending them in a blink. He disappeared into a fizzle of atoms right after.

Bentley exhaled shakily, bringing a dirty hand up to wipe and his still watering eyes. He scooted slowly away from the body of the Fallen he had been using for cover, cringing at the still sparking knife that was laying in the dirt not a foot from his boot -- the knife it was going to sink into his chest. Into his heart. He brought one hand up to his jacket and tugged at it, eyes unmoving.

It was only then that he noticed how badly his hands were still shaking — how hard his heart was pumping, how shallowly and quickly and shakily he was still breathing. He couldn’t really get much air into him at all. And he couldn't seem to stop crying.

Crow’s boots came to a stop in front of him. “What are you doing outside of the Tower?” He all but demanded.

Bentley opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, eyes locked solely on the alien corpse. After a few moments of that, Crow moved forward and hauled him off the ground, gently, setting him on his wobbly feet and checking him over for injuries. The older Guardian was speaking, but Bentley couldn’t really hear it, his eyes still lingering on the knife. The crack, crack, crack of the electric blade made him want to throw it off a cliff. He sniffed and hiccuped as softly as he could, bringing a hand up in an attempt to quiet it.

“Hey, focus on me, Little Light,”

Bentley blinked when Crow manually turned his head so their gazes met. He was taller than the teenager by maybe a foot, maybe more, his dazzling skin a pale blue that looked foreign next to Bentley’s pasty beige. He pushed some of his black and white hair back from his eyes, the glowing, orange orbs locking onto Bentley’s and staying there. He wasn’t sure how old Crow was — he looked to be in his early twenties, but for all the teenager knew, he could’ve been hundreds of years old. But however old he was, he was familiar -- and that was comforting enough.

Bentley broke their eye contact to look straight down at his own boots, rubbing at his eyes, pushing his red hair out of his face.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered.

With a sigh, Crow put his hand on the back of Bentley's head and tugged him into his chest. “You’re okay, kid.”

Bentley squeezed his eyes shut and kept his hands over his face, the sudden hug only seeming to make the crying worse. “That was so scary.”

“I know,”

There was a little whoosh that let Bentley know Sevyn had materialized by his side, and a second whoosh, which must’ve been Crow’s Ghost appearing, too.

"Let's get you out of here, yeah?" Sevyn's voice came, close to his head.

Before Bentley could respond, a low rumble shook the ground beneath their boots, the loud, menacing whir of an approaching ship piercing the air. Bentley pulled away from Crow to glance up to the sky — in not a millisecond, a large ship was hanging there, casting a huge, dark shadow over them. It looked almost primordial, cobbled together skillfully with metals and machines.

Bentley was no expert on alien things, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t a Guardian’s ship.

“Sevyn, get Bentley out of here. Now,” Crow demanded, pulling the shiny silver revolver from his hip and replacing the cylinder in one swift motion. Glint, his little crimson Ghost, spun and then disappeared in a fizzle of atoms.

Sevyn hovered up next to Bentley’s head, his purple segments spinning, emanating a few small beeping sounds. “I… I can’t. Something in that Fallen ship is jamming my signal! I’ve never felt anything like it before — like a solid wall between us and the Vanguard!”

“Splicers?” Crow whispered. Bentley didn’t know what those were, and he decided he probably didn’t want to. Crow glanced back at him, reaching back and squeezing his shoulder. “Hide. And Sevyn; stay out of sight.”

Sevyn fizzled away, and Bentley quickly returned to the only cover in the area — behind the body of the big, dead Fallen.

Not a second after he was hidden, the bottom of the ship sprung open, and several mechanical arms came out of it. They each held an alien, and dropped them from the ship onto the ground before retracting and fetching another.

Bentley immediately noticed three things about this particular group of Fallen:

1) They were all the big kind, some even bigger than the dead one he was hiding behind. And their armor was nicer, cleaner, better. They dawned capes and hoods that looked like they could’ve been made by people instead of the rough looking outfits the little ones had been wearing.

2) They all seemed to have some type of machinery on them, wether that be strange, glowing goggles over their blue eyes, backpacks that looked more like a giant radio with antennas, or literal limbs replaced by robotic parts. He wasn’t sure why, but they were more off-putting than the normal Fallen.

And 3) Their weapons looked better, more powerful, though there were more knives and swords and less guns — only three with guns, really; and they all seemed really angry.

There were probably two dozen of them, and only one Crow. The ship whirred and shot off, disappearing into the sky beyond, leaving its warriors behind.

Even starkly outnumbered by aliens twice and three times his size, Crow didn’t hesitate to leap into action. One of the Fallen shot at him with a big, strange rifle — a glowing orange projectile that whirred and made weird noises. Crow dodged it by sliding directly at the alien's feet, coming back up and swiping at the hammer of Hawkmoon, sending three methodical shots into the Fallen — chest, throat, head. It hit the ground.

Bentley stayed crouched behind the corpse as low as he could, and Sevyn’s disembodied voice came from nowhere: “As soon as I get a stable connection, I’m sending you anywhere but here!”

“We’re just going to leave him?” Bentley whispered, watching Crow dodge another electric knife-sword-thing and slide between a huge Fallen’s legs, popping up behind him and jerking on its cape with his full weight. It’s back arched, sending its head down to Crow’s level, and he sent two bullets into it. Its body made a thump.

“He’d appreciate the sentiment, Guardian, but given the fact that you have zero training or abilities to fight with, staying is… well, kind of stupid,”

Bentley said nothing, but watched Crow do another chest-neck-head trio of shots, dropping his cylinder and replacing it with another while dodging a blade with some kind of flip-spin-thing. Three huge Fallen down, twenty-ish to go.

“I’m reading the Tower! It’s faint, but it’s there! Probably only a few more minutes before I can get you there!” Sevyn announced.

Crow released more rounds and dropped two more Fallen, dodging strange orange projectiles and blades like he was nothing more than a shadow. The aliens, big and strong as they were, seemed to be no match for an agile Hunter like him.

(Bentley wished the Commander would let him learn how to fight like that.)

As if on queue with Bentley’s thoughts, Crow got struck in the shoulder by one of the strange orange projectiles with a ding! sound against his armor. There was no blood, and he didn't seem to be in pain. There was a tiny metal machine stuck to him instead, and orange electricity suddenly exploded out of it with a loud, crackling vengeance.

Bentley heard him cry out, collapsing and convulsing when the electricity pulsed through his body. The nearest Fallen grabbed him by the cloak and lifted him as though he were weightless, slinging him into a nearby cliff with a crack.

Bentley flinched, but before he could even move, Sevyn announced: “Don’t you dare get yourself seen! I mean it, Guardian!”

Crow’s Ghost began to materialize next to him, but he must’ve told him not to, because he waved his hand and the robot never fully appeared. The group of up-teen massive, scary Fallen were crowding where he laid, and like he was being tortured, Bentley had a line of sight directly between the aliens. Directly to Crow.

(He’d never seen another Guardian — or anyone — die before. Did he even want to watch?)

Sevyn answered that for him. “Don’t look, Guardian.”

Bentley couldn't look away.

Instead, he watched Crow flick his hand, summoning three sparks of fire that turned into flaming knives that he launched into the two nearest Fallen. One of the aliens caught two of the fiery blades in the face, stumbling back with a terrible screech. The other blade lodged in another Fallen’s throat; it went limp on impact.

The other seventeen closed in on Crow like a swarm of vultures.

Bentley saw him lift his hand up toward the sky like some sort of last stand — reaching for the final beams of fading sunlight. The Traveler was up there, too, the huge, white orb hovering over the planet like a second moon. Bentley wondered if it ever responded to Guardians… after all, it was what gave them their power, their Ghosts.

Bentley’s eyes drifted back down to Crow, whose hand was still outstretched — and the fleeting beams of sun came down to meet him.

With a loud whoosh and a flash of light, Crow’s entire body was engulfed in Solar Light, setting him on fire from the crown of his head to the soles of his boots without as much as singing his armor. In his outstretched hand formed a pistol made of pure flame — a rapid fire revolver like the one he carried.

Bentley flinched when the ablaze Hunter fired a fan of six shots into the crowd of Fallen with loud, almost deafening bangs, much much louder than Hawkmoon. The bullets, blazing with a fiery rage, incinerated the massive Fallen on impact and then continued to the ones behind, blowing fiery holes larger than a shotgun slug through their bodies and disintegrating them into piles of ash. A wave of heat washed over Bentley all the way from where he was, staring in shock and awe. Not an alien was left standing.

He’d never actually seen a Guardian do that before — channel all of their Light into a mega-magic-assault capable of destroying entire hordes of massive aliens. Vanguard slang called them supers, the most violent offense a Guardian could have in their arsenal — a final call to the Traveler’s magic for help, a last stand, an unleashing of all the power left within. The one Crow had just performed, Bentley had learned over the years, was referred to as The Golden Gun.

Crow then slumped back against the cliffside, the flames that had swallowed him fading, still convulsing and jerking thanks to the orange electricity coming from whatever little machine was stuck to him. Glint materialized next to him, frantically fluttering about, and Bentley shifted.

“Don’t! I’m still picking up Fallen signals inside the-“

Bentley ignored Sevyn’s orders and sprung to his feet, jogging across the now-empty canyon and little creek to Crow’s side.

“Crow!” He exclaimed, dropping to a crouch next to him. He eyed the little metal thing on Crow’s shoulder that was creating the electricity, and then he reached for it.

“Bentley, no!” Sevyn exclaimed, and Bentley cried out and flinched away when the strange electricity jumped to his hand, not only electrocuting him, but leaving his skin and muscles burning and tingling like he was holding his hand inside a extremely hot fire.

Sevyn materialized next to him in a blink, shining his healing light on it, immediately cooling it and staving the pain. “Need I teach you not to touch strange alien electronics?”

Bentley glanced from Sevyn back to Crow, who was jerking and writhing on the dirt under the influence of the electricity. His features were contorted into an expression of agony, and Glint was floating about, lost, watching as though Crow's pain hurt him, too.

Bentley eyed the little metal machine on his shoulder again.

"Bentley..." Sevyn started, glancing between him and Crow. "If you're thinking-"

Before Sevyn could continue his likely long-winded protest of his Guardian's impulsiveness, Bentley moved as fast as he could, biting his tongue and shooting his hand forward, ripping the small machine from Crow's shoulder in a blink.

It felt like he got struck by lightning, and he couldn't help but shout in pain when the electricity seared and stabbed its way up his whole arm. He threw the little machine to the side as his muscles tensed and tightened under his skin in response to the electric pulse.

"Sevyn!" He managed, shaking out his arm like it would help; tears immediately springing in his eyes at the strange numb-veins-filled-with-lava feeling it left him with.

"Geez, stop taking after the reckless ones!" Sevyn all but scolded, moving toward Bentley's arm and shining his healing light there, too. In his peripheral, Bentley could see Glint doing the same, moving methodically about Crow's body, starting at the worst of it and moving on from there.

"Will he be okay?" Bentley asked softly as Sevyn finished healing his arm for the second time, the small robot hovering close by his head. Crow seemed practically unconscious -- though Bentley didn't blame him. He probably would've blacked out on the spot, had his entire body been electrocuted like that.

"Of course he will. It'll just take me a bit to patch him up. What were you doing out here, anyways?" Glint questioned, still floating about Crow's battered body. Bentley shrugged.

"Just wanted to... do something. Other than sitting in the Tower all day,"

Glint hummed in response. "Ye old person-isolated-against-their-will-breaks-out-and-nearly-dies act. I could have assumed. No hate, of course -- I'm not one to talk. Crow and I spent a long time living under someone else's will, too."

Bentley's eyes trailed down to the ground he was sitting on, and Sevyn bumped himself against his shoulder supportively. "Chin up, Guardian."

Suddenly, the ground shook again, and Bentley, along with the two Ghosts, glanced around the canyon.

A second ship just like the first swooped down toward them, and a horrendous amount of dread blossomed in Bentley's stomach at the sight of the bottom opening up, mechanical arms extending outward.

He inhaled shakily, shifting on the ground. "Glint?"

Crow's Ghost was now working frantically, beeping in a weird pattern that indicated anxiety. "I'm working as fast as I can!"

The robotic arms reached into the ship and came back out with more Fallen -- the same, massive ones whose bodies were littering the floor of the canyon. It dropped two with a thud, and two more after. They were all carrying the terrible electric blades -- all but one, who had a gun that resembled a sniper rifle whose barrel was glowing orange.

There was a whoosh of Sevyn disappearing. "Hide, Glint!" He said from nowhere.

Crow's Ghost kept working despite Sevyn's words, bathing his Guardian in Light. "I'm almost done!"

"If you get sniped, you could cost Crow his life!"

Bentley barely heard the two robots bickering -- instead, he watched in silence as the huge Fallen zeroed in on him and Crow, clicking back and forth like they were communicating. The ship sped off into the distance and left the four aliens there, alone, with Bentley and two panicking robots; and the only one there that could defend them was hardly conscious.

Bentley blinked, and stared at the aliens, the strange realization that he was actually about to die washing over him and leaving him feeling oddly cold. (Didn't getting revived after make it okay...? Why didn't it feel okay?)

The Fallen with the rifle lifted it and pulled the trigger, a beam of orange electricity arcing through the air right toward them -- though it didn't hit Bentley; It was aimed at Glint, who narrowly dodged it by ducking to the side. The beam cracked loudly against the cliffside behind them.

Bentley reached out and grabbed Crow's Ghost by his eye, getting him out of sight the one way he knew how -- by holding him behind his back.

"Whoa, kid!"

"Bentley!"

Bentley looked forward, and all four of the massive Fallen were staring at him.

(He was about to die.)

But the Fallen didn't rush to take him down, no -- the one with the gun even stowed it, pulling out blades instead. They moved forward at a slow, menacing crawl, clicking back and forth, eyes trained on Bentley like they were mocking him. He stepped backwards until the heel of his boot nudged Crow's leg.

"Tiny Guardian," One in the front said -- it's voice sounded vaguely female, raspy and layered. It swiped its blades across one another with a shnnnnk. "Thought Lightbearers were bigger, yes?"

Bentley said nothing as the four of them moved closer like animals stalking their prey, eyes bouncing between the four of them. Their glowing, empty eyes, creepy, lanky statures. Part of him wanted to run and never stop, but the thought of leaving Crow there vulnerable and in the open made him feel vaguely sick. The fact that he could be brought back to life wasn't good enough to make Bentley's feet move. Glint wiggled around in his hand, fighting against his grip, but he didn't dare let him go.

"The Great Machine makes bad choice, yes," One of the others replied, a lower baritone. Did they mean the Traveler? "Yes; tiny Lightbearer smells of fear. Fear of death. Tiny Lightbearer has not met her yet."

Her? Her as in death?

Bentley cleared his throat, and the four of them glanced back at him with their glowing eyes, curiously. "I'm... right here, you know. Gossiping is bad."

Sevyn made a strangled noise in his immaterial state, likely revolting against Bentley's audacity.

The one closest to him -- that sounded vaguely like a girl -- made a few clicks, coming closer. "Tiny Lightbearer speaks, yes. Has attitude. Reminds Avix of her own son."

Bentley flinched with a gasp when she sprung towards him on all-sixes, crawling across the ground and rising back up mere feet from him. He scrambled backwards until he thudded into the cliffside next to Crow's unconscious form, keeping Glint hidden behind his back.

The alien stood, and stared, tilting her head back and forth with a few clicks. Bentley could practically feel his heart trying to escape his chest.

"Tiny Lightbearer is... harmless, yes." She said, turning to the other three and clicking. Then she looked back at Bentley, holding out one of her three-fingered hands. "Give Avix Little Machine -- then run, yes?"

Bentley tightened his hold around Glint, exhaling shakily, staring at her hand. "Uh... n-no."

He gasped when the giant Fallen -- Avix -- moved forward, forcing him backwards until he was pinned between the cliffside and her, Glint pinned tightly behind him. She reached forward at the speed of a cobra's strike and grabbed his face with her giant, gross hand, squeezing lightly. Bentley let out a sound akin to a squeak, his other hand coming up in an attempt to bat her's away, a burn already threatening to surface behind his eyes.

"G... get off," He said, but it wasn't threatening in the slightest.

Avix kept getting closer, crouching down until her face was mere inches from his own, her glowing eyes staring right into his. The crackling of her electrified blade came from one of her other hands, and his eyes flicked to it momentarily.

"Look at me!" She shrieked deafeningly in his face, and Bentley couldn't help but jump out of his skin, forcing himself to lock gazes with her again. The burn behind his eyes got worse, and his vision started going watery -- he didn't want to die.

"Tiny Lightbearer cries, yes. Has not met death. Smells of much fear, yes, much fear," She stammered, shaking his face when he glanced at the blade again, forcing his eyes back on her. "Give Avix little machine -- Tiny Lightbearer will not meet her. Avix says so. Avix is leader, yes. Others will not kill what Avix does not kill."

Bentley glanced back at the other three Fallen, who were staying in the distance, weapons drawn, lurking here and there in the now almost pitch-black canyon.

The odd feeling of Glint de-materializing between his fingertips made something in Bentley relax.

Carefully, he lifted both of his hands to the giant alien, palms out and open, revealing that there was no robot there.

Avix jerked Bentley away from the wall to check behind him, and when there was nothing there, she made a loud, unidentifiable screech and shoved him into the stone with a thud so hard it seemed to rattle his bones and leave his head foggy. With a few clicks and hisses, she stalked her way back to the other three and turned on her heel.

“Tiny Lightbearer dies,” She growled, and the one behind her pulled out its rifle again. “His body comes with Avix, yes. I have plans for when Tiny Lightbearer rises. He will not disrespect Avix again, yes, yes.”

They were going to kill him? And then take him with them?

Bentley glanced at Crow, who was still unresponsive.

“Sevyn?”

“It’s now or never, Guardian! Channel the Traveler’s Light! Call on it! I’ll help you the best I can!” Sevyn exclaimed from nowhere.

“I can’t use the Light!” Bentley replied, and a wire of orange shot from the rifle, zinging right past his head, only narrowly missing thanks to a well-timed duck.

“Now would be a great time to learn!” Sevyn shouted. “Just imagine yourself destroying all these Fallen using the Light!”

With no other options, Bentley ducked behind one of the massive Fallen bodies and closed his eyes, hoping and praying the Traveler would help him.

“Feel the Light inside of you, Guardian. It is in you, whether you believe it is or not. You can do this,” Sevyn mumbled. Another zing! went past Bentley, and he flinched. “Focus — Concentrate. I have my eye on the Fallen.”

Bentley tried. How was he supposed to feel the Light now when he’d never felt it before? He’d heard stories — that most Guardians found their Light in times of dire trouble, and he was pretty sure getting kidnapped by aliens counted.

“Tiny Lightbearer!” Avix’s enraged voice came, growing closer to him. “Hiding is futile when Avix knows where you are, yes!”

Bentley focused really hard on his own body, imagining the Light like Sevyn had said. How did other Guardians do this so easily, so fluidly?

“Tiny Lightbearer will make Avix good pet, yes! Fun to watch squirm!” She shouted, her voice drawing nearer and nearer.

Bentley suddenly felt… strange. Not in a bad way, though — strange like something simultaneously cold and boiling was pooling in his fingertips. Like something was moving through his veins, like gasoline -- cool, but also ready to explode. He peeled his eyes open to glance at his hands, and-

They were surging with bright, glowing Arc Light, white-blue bolts of electricity sparking from his fingertips and crackling across his skin, though it didn’t hurt. It felt like his whole being was buzzing, vibrating in anticipation. He felt… empowered.

“Now, Guardian!”

At Sevyn’s mark, Bentley stood up and turned, extending his electrified palms outward. An unknown, never-before-felt power surged inside of him. Electricity seemed to burst out of his entire body, crackling, striking, bolts of lightning crawling across his skin and cracking atop his clothes. It illuminated the entire canyon in the nighttime with a blinding, luminescent glow.

He felt his feet leave the ground. Avix and her three minions were not too far from where he was, now, blades and rifle drawn to attack.

Bentley cried out when power exploded from him, a solid beam of screaming electricity shooting from the palm of his right hand. It slammed directly into Avix’s chest, knocking her backwards maybe six or seven yards, boring a charred hole through her chest and disintegrating her entire body not a second after. Bentley made a sound of surprise as the smell of charred flesh and static electricity filled the air.

“Keep going, Guardian! You’re doing it!” Sevyn encouraged, sounding probably the giddiest he ever had. At his excitement, Bentley turned his sights to the other three Fallen, and the beam of electricity followed where he led. He raked it across the final trio of aliens and it blitzed right through them, severing their bodies in half before incinerating them completely.

As soon as the four Fallen were dead, Bentley’s power, as well as all his remaining strength, fled, and he fell a few feet before crashing hands-and-knees in the dirt. His whole body was still buzzing, his arms and legs tingling with the remnants of leftover power. Everything around him seemed to be swimming a little, sounds muffled and vision swirling around his head. He felt like he could go to bed and sleep for a year.

There were two little whooshes next to his face.

“You did it! You casted a super! Bentley, you’re a Warlock!” Sevyn all but screamed, hovering up close to his face, tapping himself gently on his forehead over and over. “You’re a Warlock! A Warlock!”

There was a small sound of Glint finishing his healing process, and Bentley heard Crow groan, sitting up a few yards to his right.

“Ugh. That was unpleasant,”

“While you were down, Bentley casted a super! Chaos Reach!” Sevyn screamed at him. “He’s a Warlock, Crow, a Warlock!”

With a grunt of effort, Bentley pushed his vibrating body off of the ground and onto his feet, teetering a bit on reaching his full height. Black dots danced around in his vision, but didn’t fully take over -- like they were taunting him. He couldn’t even seem to process the words Sevyn was screaming right in his face.

In the blink of an eye, Crow had come up next to him, both Ghosts hovering by his side.

“Yeah, he sure looks like he casted his first super,” Crow said with a snicker, and Bentley felt his gloved hand land on his left shoulder. He looked up at the older Guardian, but he couldn’t really focus on his pale blue face.

“Yep, there you go,”

Bentley didn't even realize he’d fallen over until he was hoisted limply up into Crow’s arms, settled against the soft front of his cloak.

“Mm… Sorry,” He hummed.

“Nah, you’re doing great to stay conscious at all. I passed flat out as soon as I came out of my first super. In the middle of a horde of Taken, no less,”

Bentley didn’t know anything about Taken besides the fact that they were aliens, but he also didn’t have the willpower to ask.

“I’ve gotcha, kid. Glint, Sevyn, to the Tower please,” Crow ordered.

“On it!”

Bentley’s world proceeded to fade to black, but his hearing remained just long enough for him to hear Crow inhale and exhale deeply.

“I'm so dead for this.”

Asten’s story is below ↴

IN GAME CHAOS REACH:

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IN GAME GOLDEN GUN:

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ASTEN ↴

THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE LAST CITY, OLD EARTH, SOL SYSTEM -- 6:16PM

YOU SEE, ASTEN WAS A TOUGH KID. Tougher than most. Growing up homeless on the outskirts of the Last City presented him with no shortage of things he had to endure in order to merely survive — muggings, beatings, high-stakes chases, a life of thievery, actually getting stabbed, twice, flashy guns waved in his face, really bad habits, and lots of time spent cursing his existence into the wind. He’d survived more things than he’d like to admit in all his sixteen years. Forcing himself to fight with a knife in his shoulder and still coming out on top, having a Guardian called on him and watching it's Ghost scramble to resurrect them nearly six times before they ever got close enough to put a hand on him. In his mind, he was invincible — or at least he could be, when he needed to.

That invincibility seemed to have fled on this particular day, because he’d woken up having apparently caught the Black Plague. It was hard to move, to think, to breathe, to see, to hear — he felt trashier than a full dumpster from the Fallen District, and given he’d managed a stab wound and cauterization with half as much suffering, he knew he’d be down for the count, and soon.

So, he soldiered through it in his incredibly Asten way, willing himself to fix it before it killed him. He forced his way to the nearest pharmacy, walked in circles around it for about an hour, almost passed out twice, before he was able to form some semblance of a plan within his muddied brain.

And of course, it had backfired. Now, he was in a fenced-off back-alley of The Last City that he often used as a hideout, with a small pack full of stolen medicine, an entire platoon of security searching for him, and about as much will to move as a blade of grass. (Running at full-speed for a solid ten minutes away from the pharmacy hadn’t been the most brilliant idea for a kid sporting a fever so high he could practically hear his brain frying.)

Any other night after stealing something big like a bag full of expensive medicine, he’d be watching his surroundings extra carefully — moving to different hideouts methodically until the initial search was over and security gave him room to breathe… but tonight he wasn’t. Tonight, he was barely hidden from view by various dumpsters and trash cans, curled up, shivering on the cool concrete. It was mostly quiet there, and he could hear the wind whistling through the city. The only things that accompanied him in the dark, gross alley was the trash, a chain-link fence, and the walls. That was all.

While the air was pleasantly cool for the other inhabitants of the city, for him, it was an icy cold that made his skin tingle. He was shivering despite his blackish-blue hair and first layer of clothes being drenched with sweat. The strong smells coming from several different establishments and sewers were only working to make his head hurt worse and his stomach turn unsettlingly. Which, for him, was strange. Usually, the very prospect of food would have him climbing through vents or breaking open windows if it meant he wouldn’t have to go hungry for another day, but right now, he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than disgust at the very thought.

The stars shone brightly above the Last City. He would usually be staring at them, watching them move with a nonchalant air about him, going from here to there and sending guards to the wrong places over and over again. But tonight, he didn’t really have the willpower to open his eyes. Right now, he didn’t even have the willpower to take any of the stolen medicine.

He winced as his head throbbed with a newer, sharper pain than it had all day, probably in response to pushing his body way farther than it should’ve been pushed. He coiled up tighter. He was really glad no one really traveled those alleys, because he must’ve looked more pitiful than a crippled puppy. His arms and legs were aching in a way that made him want to weep, feeling like they were tied to cinder blocks he had to drag around with him. His head felt like it was full of cotton, hazy and blurry and a feeling a little bit like it might explode, like it had too much of something in it. Every organ in his body was revolting its very existence, and he swore he’d rather have a knife in him again than feel like that.

He’d made doubly sure his trusty sniper-rifle was within grasp — an old thing, dropped by a guy in a fight long ago — which, naturally, had led to him clutching onto the faithful firearm like other kids would a stuffed animal. It was smushed against his torso, safety on, because he had his arms wrapped securely around himself as to not upset his body anymore. It wasn’t the best weapon for close quarters fighting like running from security in the city, but it was all he had. He was pretty good at hip firing the thing anyways — not that he was looking to blow anyone’s head off anytime soon.

Even when he was wholly convinced he was dying, vague thoughts still pestered his mind — like the fact that most security knew about this particular hideout, and that most security definitely knew what he looked like, blue hair and all. He would’ve ditched his clothes and hid his hair after a normal heist. Instead, he pressed his burning forehead into the cool concrete beneath him and grimaced.

He drifted in and out of consciousness for a while. Sleep seemed like it would be a sweet release from the terrible state his body was in, but he couldn’t actually seem to fall asleep. Not while he had to keep one eye open for security. When they got here, he’d run, he kept telling himself. Just five more minutes. When he heard them, he’d go.

Those five more minutes turned into an indecipherable amount of time loathing his existence on the ground before a pair of voices flitted down the alley and made his head hurt worse.

“Are you sure this is where they said he went? There’s nothing out here!” Said a small voice — quiet, and somewhat… robotic? “They said he’d been stealing for years, surely he'd have a better place to hide!”

“I’m pretty sure hiding somewhere unsuspecting is the point, Glint. Run a thermal scan,”

Asten immediately forced his heavy eyes open as a realization dawned on him — that the first voice had been too robotic to be a human’s, overlaid with something mechanical. The second, too calm, too unbothered to be a guard on the City outskirts where sketchy people lurked and bad things crept in the shadows.

This wasn’t a pair of security guards — this was a Ghost and a Guardian.

They’d sicced a Lightbearer on him, again.

He felt his heart rate pick up as he pushed himself upright, the entire world spinning there for a few seconds before he was able to right himself. He fumbled for his bag and his rifle, forcing himself onto his feet only to careen into the alley wall thanks to the black dots dancing in his vision that had invited their friend violent vertigo to the party.

Last time they’d sent a Guardian out to pursue him, the Titan had been so brutal with his magical-superpowers and epic-hand-to-hand-skills that he didn’t let Asten breathe until he couldn’t move. Until he was beaten and battered and had lost enough blood that the huge Titan was able to drag him through the city streets by the collar of his jacket without a single sound falling from Asten’s lips except soft, nearly unidentifiable sobs. He’d been thirteen then. He wondered if all Guardians had a knack for torturing children who were just trying to live.

Something cold and mean blossomed in his chest when he realized that, in this state, he wouldn’t be able to survive a beating like that again.

Instead of deciding on something rational, like turning himself in, or simply begging for mercy and letting them know he was the sickest he’d ever been in his life, his first instinct was to grab a magazine from his belt and jam it into the bottom of his sniper rifle.

This Guardian was not going to touch him.

“I’m picking up a heat signature in the next alley,” Came the Ghost’s voice.

Once the vertigo had mostly subsided, Asten forced himself to move even though it made him feel like passing out and throwing up and maybe even dying on the spot. The chain-link fence on the opposite end of the alley would do little to keep the Guardian out, but maybe it’d give him just a little head-start. At this point, he’d take what he could get. He pushed himself out the back end of the alley, between the old buildings and the the city walls, and went to the left. Forced himself to move quickly and quietly even though it felt like torture, watching buildings pass as he went.

Once he reached a reasonable distance away, he turned back and shouldered his sniper rifle, sliding the lever with a click-click so it loaded a round. Bringing the sights up to his face, he let the reticle rest just on the mouth of the alley he’d left.

He wouldn’t feel bad for killing him. He wouldn’t. He’d just come right back to life… like Guardians always did. Better that Ghost have to work than Asten be reduced to a pretty little stain on the concrete. A pretty little stain on the concrete that didn’t have a Ghost to bring it back to life.

Not two seconds later, a Guardian broke the threshold of the alley — a Hunter, it looked like, for a long cape flowed behind his back. He looked strange, dawning white armor that sort of looked like scales, or feathers, maybe, with pale blue Awoken skin and no helmet. He had a large, shiny revolver in his hand that reflected light right in Asten’s eyes.

No helmet — a rookie mistake.

In one fluid, mechanical movement, his heart thumping wildly in his chest, Asten held his breath and took the shot.

BOOM!

Even though he was crouched, the recoil nearly knocked him over in his weak state, the boom leaving a piercing ring in his ears that threatened to crack his skull. The Guardian’s head exploded in a mist of red.

At the sight, Asten’s entire body twisted — his mind, his conscience, his morality, his guts — and his response in his sickly state was to gag. The ringing was still present in his ears, and he let the sniper rifle fall to brace one hand on the ground, staying crouched in the back-alley. Black dots came into his vision and danced around some more.

He let out a string of curses he barely heard, forcing his eyes back up to the body of the Hunter. His Ghost was hovering over him, glowing, its segments split wide open and spinning around a ball of bright Light.

Asten knew Ghost mannerisms well enough to know the Hunter was about to be resurrected. And he couldn’t be here when he was.

With that realization, he grabbed his rifle and forced himself onto his feet, again, still not hearing or seeing very well, his entire body screaming at him to stop. But he didn’t; instead, he forced himself forward and past a few more alleyways, only taking a right turn into one that he knew contained a fire escape. He fell into a wheezy, barky coughing fit that left him breathless and hardly able to stay upright; The only thing keeping him off the concrete at this point was pure adrenaline.

He reached for the medicine bag to make sure it was still on his shoulder, a terrible ache settling in his chest after the bout of coughing — a kind of soreness in his lungs that made even breathing painful. He wiped at his involuntarily watering eyes and pushed himself up the stairs of the fire escape, settling on the first platform and jerking on the lever of his sniper again, loading another round. The movement sent more pain streaking through his chest, and he coughed and coughed until he was seeing stars, felt unbearably hot, and thought his lungs might splat on the fire escape.

Luckily, they didn’t. Unluckily, the violent coughing made his lava-filled stomach churn, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before it demanded to have his undivided attention.

Despite the fact that his whole body felt like it might cave in on him, he crouched and lifted the rifle to his shoulder again, settling his eye on the scope. His arms proved too weak and shaky to hold it still, so he rested the barrel on the railing and aimed at the mouth of the alley.

“-this way!” The Ghost’s voice echoed in his head.

As soon as the white-clad Guardian rounded the corner, Asten wasted no time, a second shot from the sniper rifle ringing out and leaving an explosion of blood and another limp Guardian in it's wake. His Ghost appeared hovering over him — a little crimson robot with a worried air about him.

The recoil from the shot jolted Asten’s entire body. He saw stars again, heard nothing but ringing — a dagger of pain shot all the way through his torso, his shoulder, lungs, stomach, so sudden and sharp that it made him cry out. He reached for his thin jacket in an attempt to stave the pain — a terrible mistake, for his sniper rifle tipped over the railing and, even though he reached for it, his reflexes were botched. It dropped to the ground below with the telltale clatter of concrete on metal.

He looked up at the Ghost, the stars slowly fading from his vision; the little robot was staring at him.

He stared back.

And it dawned on him — now it was a race.

The Ghost immediately turned back to its Guardian and opened up frantically, expelling a bright light. Asten, with all his senses shot, conscious from nothing more than mere spite, forced himself to stumble back down the metal stairs. He had to focus all of his remaining energy into his legs just to keep from face-planting. And then-

And then another round of ultra-violent coughing sprung forth from inside of him, completely halting him in his tracks. His chest rattled and constricted with a vengeance, putting him in so much pain he actually considered crying. He had to completely stop moving just to keep from hitting the ground, and the coughing continued and continued and continued until everything he’d eaten in the not-so-distant past was displayed on the ground for the Ghost and Guardian to see. He had to move for a wall to stay upright, bracing himself against it and taking a moment to breathe — a painful action that sounded more like horrific wheezing.

Thankfully, his outburst seemed to have distracted the Ghost, who was back in one piece and blinking at him in surprise. For a moment, he thought the little thing might even try and speak to him — instead, it turned and opened up again, to raise its Guardian.

Asten glanced at the sniper rifle laying about a dozen feet from him. Moving for it, reloading, aiming, all while hardly able to make his body obey in the first place would take too long — the Guardian would be awake by then.

So he lunged for the Ghost instead.

The little robot shouted: “Ah!” When he grabbed it by its eye, and in a blind moment of adrenaline, he fumbled around on the concrete until he found the Guardian’s dropped revolver, pressing the cold barrel against the Ghost’s center.

“Oh, not again!” The little thing pleaded, writhing in his hand. “Let me go! I’ll contact the Vanguard!” It threatened.

“And I’ll blow you to bits and leave your Guardian to rot,” Asten hissed. He sent a glance to the Hunter, though he didn’t look for very long since a portion of his head was missing thanks to a bullet he'd let fly.

“Raise him,” He ordered at the Ghost.

“No!”

“Raise him!” He repeated, louder, though his voice was hoarse now, and his mouth tasted vile. Not that he had been very threatening in the first place. He pulled back the hammer of the revolver with a shrill click that echoed in the quiet alley.

“Okay, okay, okay!” The Ghost murmured, sighing heavily. It opened up, eye still held tightly in Asten’s hand, shining a bright light on its Guardian. For a split second, Asten’s hand that was engulfed in the light cooled off and he felt… okay.

And as soon as the Ghost closed and his Guardian sat up with a groan, Asten felt like a heaping pile of death again.

It took a few seconds for the Hunter to comprehend what was going on, his orange glowing eyes flicking around and then coming to rest on his Ghost.

“Crow…” The little robot begged, wiggling in Asten’s grip. Crow must’ve been the Guardian’s name, he guessed.

The Hunter — Crow — popped off of the ground, reaching for his holster that had no gun. His glowing orange eyes flicked to said holster, to the revolver in Asten’s hand; to the sniper rifle on the ground behind him.

“Hands up. You move, he dies,” Asten ordered. Crow obliged, lifting his gloved hands — though Asten knew he could blow him sky high with superpowers if he really wanted to. He just kinda hoped he… didn’t really want to. Or that he was threatening enough to dissuade him… maybe.

Crow and Asten stared at each other for a solid ten seconds, the former sending a glance to his Ghost. He shifted uncomfortably, like seeing the little robot — what had he called him earlier, Glint? — in such a dire situation physically pained him. Asten knew the relationships between Guardians and Ghosts were insanely intimate, like having a part of their soul manifested in physical form to aid them.

That’s why he kept the barrel of the gun pressed firmly against Glint’s eye when he growled: “Leave me the hell alone.”

“Look, I… I know you're scared. And I wouldn’t have chased you like that if I knew you were just a kid-” Crow moved, maybe to step forward, maybe to reach for Asten, he wasn’t sure -- but he squeezed the Ghost’s eye hard enough to make the robot squeak out a pained sound. The noise all but glued Crow’s feet to the concrete below them, and he stretched his hands out, a desperate look on his face. “Please, let him go. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Bullshit,” Asten murmured. “I’ve been burned enough to know that's a half-assed lie. At least be more original.”

He tried to make it sound venomous, but given that the force he had to put into the words sent him into another moment of rough-sounding coughing, it probably came across more like an angry toddler.

“All I was told was that I was chasing perp with over a hundred robberies and years of stealing under his belt. I didn’t realize you were…” Crow trailed off, really taking in Asten’s appearance for the first time. He was pretty sure he looked like death incarnate, given he felt like it. His hand that was holding the revolver was shaking from the effort, but he didn’t dare let it move from the Ghost’s eye. “Well, I’m guessing you didn’t raid that pharmacy just for fun.”

“Just get the hell out of here, superhero. Once you’re out of sight, and once you promise not to follow me or come after me again, I’ll let your little pet go,” Coming up with and forcing out words was starting to become way more of a task than it should’ve been, and Asten’s head started getting foggy, everything feeling a little bit… off. More off.

Crow watched him intently with his glowing eyes. “Maybe I shouldn’t leave you out here.”

“Like hell you’re taking me anywhere,” Asten hissed, the sudden, loud words sending a burst of pain through his head that made him wince, though he thought he hid it pretty well under a scowl. “You’re-”

A few quiet noises emanated from the robot, and Asten glanced over with an appalled expression when it shined a bright light up and down his face, like it was scanning him.

“What the f-”

“Internal temperature is one-hundred-four-point-five degrees,” Glint announced, as though he didn’t still have a gun pressed to his eye. “He’s very… well… he’s very unwell, Crow. He threw up on the ground right before you woke. Hardly-”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Asten forced out, gritting his teeth at the pain it sent rippling from his head, down his neck and into his chest. He coughed a few times, muffling them by keeping his mouth closed. His voice was completely and utterly gone when he rasped out: “I just want you to… leave.”

“Sent out to take medicine from a sick kid. Why do I get stuck with all these jobs?” Crow muttered, mostly to Glint, but also to himself. “Look, what’s your name?”

Asten scowled. “Not-stupid-enough-to-answer-that-McGee.”

Crow breathed in and out, visibly irritated, though he pushed it back and kept his composure, trying a different approach instead. “I know you feel like shit -- flu’s been going around the City like no one’s ever seen. Lots of people have been hospitalized. The Vanguard even has Guardians helping out in some of the medical establishments around.”

Asten didn’t reply -- because, what was he really supposed to say to that, anyways? Plus, he was starting to feel nauseous again, so he didn’t really want to open his mouth.

“I spent a long time doing… bad things just to keep myself alive. Worse than stealing someone's food or robbing a place,” Crow started, holding a hand out to him. “I know how hard it is to trust people, to trust Guardians… I spent the first while of my Risen life getting murdered by them over and over again. Like they were playing a game with me.”

Asten vaguely wondered why the other Guardians would murder one of their own, but he didn’t give it much thought. He couldn’t; not really. Not when he was focused solely on not hurling. “Go away. Please. I’ll let him go, just… leave.”

“I want to help you,” Crow tried, stepping closer, daring to edge his hand nearer. Part of Asten yearned for the idea of help. Of letting someone else make sure he didn’t die for once.

The rest of him was revolted at the proximity he was allowing the Guardian to gain on him.

“No,” He breathed, voice still squeaky and wheezy. “I don’t want your pity help. The last Guardian that talked to me like this dragged me through the city half-dead. Like I was some kind of trophy.”

“And I’m so sorry one of them treated you like that,” Crow apologized, and Asten searched his face for a lie; all he saw was dangerous, dangerous sincerity. Sincerity that made the teenager want to cave. “Please let me help you. I won’t let anyone hurt you. You won’t get in trouble. I promise.”

When had someone last spoken to him like that? He wasn’t sure anyone ever had. And every single expression, movement, mannerism led him to believe Crow was being wholly genuine.

And it made him want to cave so damn bad. A Guardian, of all people.

“Asten,” He croaked.

Crow cocked a brow, his glowing eyes searching his face. “What?”

“My name,” He replied. Part of his conscience was kicking him over and over for giving him his real name -- the rest was whispering for him to give in.

“Asten,” Crow tried the name out, deciding it sounded about right. “How old are you?”

Well, since he was on a roll… “Sixteen.”

He heard Crow curse under his breath.

“Listen... I’m sorry if I scared you, I really am. You’re an incredible shot,” He started, eyes scanning him repetitively, forcing this little, quick smile on his face. “Please, let me help you. You… don’t look so good.”

“One-hundred-four-point-seven,” Glint chimed in.

Asten just stood for a moment, staring at the Guardian ahead of him. His words bounced around and around in his head. Promises for help, that he wouldn’t get hurt, that he wouldn’t die from the plague. That he wouldn’t be in trouble and thrown into confinement again. It all sounded too good to be true, and most of him knew that. But there was a little voice in his head that was rejoicing because someone actually… cared. In all sixteen years, someone actually…

Oh, shit. All those fancy promises about help and rainbows and butterflies was starting to-

“No,” Asten tried once more, his already gone voice breaking slightly in the middle of the word. He wasn’t sure why, but his eyes began to water. He chose to believe it was the fever and delirium and the fact that he felt like death making it happen, but part of him knew that wasn’t really the case. “Just… stop. Go away.”

(He didn't say stop because he really wanted him to stop, though — he said stop because he was caving and he knew it.)

Pity rippled across Crow's features -- sadness. "If you really want me to, I will. But I don't think that's the case."

Asten said nothing, but bit the inside of his cheek hard, forcing the wetness in his eyes to subside. Of course, it didn't really work.

"Why are you crying?" Glint questioned innocently. His little robot voice was doing that same thing Crow's had -- going soft, quiet, gentle.

"I'm not crying, you little shithead," Asten snapped, blinking rapidly in an attempt to ward the tears off again.

Crow opened his mouth to speak, but with a sudden and violent intensity, Asten’s entire body seemed to go on strike; He threw up all over his own feet, his hands slipping from both the Ghost and the gun to slink around himself instead. The revolver clattered on the concrete and Glint whirred up to his Guardian’s side, turning to look back at him.

His leverage was gone.

That was about when he realized darkness was not only dancing in his vision, but threatening to take in entirely, his whole body going into a strange, numb feeling that Glint seemed to catch onto before it fully took over.

“Catch him, Crow!” The Ghost shouted, before Asten was even falling.

But then he was — his legs gave out beneath him not a second later. Only, for the first time in his life, he didn’t hit the concrete — instead, Crow scooped him up like a small child, and he let him.

“Glint, take us to the Tower,” Crow ordered.

Oh, Asten was so going to die.

—

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