#maybe even dig in some garbage (or that's what I do at least)

[jack-crow-lantern]

Spike bracelet (idk what this would be called) made out of old jeans and studs taken out of old boots.

[katsukistofu]

my caffeine mix-up!

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ hawks x fem reader. fluff. slightly suggestive. you accidentally pick up the number two hero’s coffee so picks you up instead. | pt. ii

You take a sip of your morning coffee and almost spit it out on your dashboard.

This could not be your order. It was so… unusually sugary. Too sugary. Like someone liquified a whole candy store and shoved it into a venti cup.

Still reeling a little from the overly sweet aftertaste that lingers on your tongue, your eyes trail down to read:

Vt Crml Crnch Frap

5 Banana

Ex Caramel Drizzle

Extra Whip

Extra Ice

Ex Cinnamon

7 pumps Add Dk Crml Sauce

Ex Caramel Crunch

1 pump Honey Blend

Heavy Cream

Double Blended

What kind of pretentious asshole orders this garbage? Were their taste buds dead?

You mentally sent your condolences to the poor person that had to make this disgusting monstrosity of a drink. Please, you would’ve taken one look at the order and thrown it in the trash.

Your eyes searched the paper cup for who your local coffee shop transgressor was– catching sight of a scribble in blue marker reading “H-A.” You moved your hand a bit to reveal a “W-K-S.” A sense of dread creeps in as you numbly stare at the squiggly heart next to it.

It was like someone slipped an ice cube down the back of your shirt.

You had mistakenly picked up the wildly famous winged pro hero’s order and to make things even worse, put your mouth on where his was supposed to be.

Okay that sounded kind of dirty. But it’s not like you could drive back and return it now, what with your lip gloss already staining the lid.

Hey, um, I think I accidentally took a sip of the Hawks’s coffee? Oopsies? You guess you could pay for his order to be remade, but who’s to say he’ll even come back for it, much less accept it from some random stranger?

You were already running late to your desk job as is, and your coworkers were probably scratching their heads, wondering where you were since you always arrived at least half an hour before them. Should you just throw it away and pretend it never happened?

Oh god, would some person dig through the trash the moment you turned your back and extract your DNA from your lip gloss on the lid, thinking you were a deranged fan who stole his drink on purpose?

Or worse—that you were his secret girlfriend picking up his drink who had just wanted a little taste first before delivering it to him?

Your brain starts to wring itself dry of all the possibilities that could happen, shuddering despite each one being as unlikely as the next. An impressive mental workout for an un-caffeinated person at barely eight in the morning.

You wish you never even went to get your usual little treat today. That barista definitely looked right at you when you went to pick up your order, you swear they did.

But now that you’re thinking about it, maybe they were looking at the person standing behind you that you didn’t see as you rushed out of the shop? How do you even miss a man with wings that big?

Something gently knocks on the driver side window and you almost jump out of your seat.

As you roll it down with caution, your brain momentarily stops functioning as you’re met with a pair of striking golden eyes. Another inch of tinted glass down, a strong Grecian nose.

Forget work, the hell. You didn’t even know noses could be that pretty, and as your last bit of window disappears into the car so does your self-respect as you realize he’s abandoned his usual tan-colored jacket, standing before you in his black compression shirt with gold embossment.

Forget everything, actually.

You don't realize you’re holding your breath until he laughs at you, and you sheepishly close your slightly parted lips.

“Didn’t know coffee thieves came this cute.” Drinking in your appearance his keen eyes stray from yours, slowly trailing down to your trembling lips, a stark contrast to the growing smirk on his. “Or this nervous.”

His fingers drum absentmindedly on the side of your car door, clear amusement written across his handsome face as he waits for you to say something. You collect yourself and snap out of your thoughts, taking a deep breath.

“I’msososorryIdrankyourcoffee!” You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment as your words come out in a jumble. “I totally grabbed the wrong order and I can’t believe I didn’t see you waiting behind me, I swear I’m not a creep–”

“Hey, hey,” Hawks gently interrupts you, reassurance laced in his voice. “It’s all good, no harm done.” He taps the paper cup that somehow miraculously hasn’t slipped out of your fingers yet.

“Sooo was it good?”

You choke on air, not expecting that. “Your drink?”

“Yeah, my drink.” He shoots you a cheeky grin. That bastard. “Good or nah?” You pause, contemplating if you should lie–no. No, today you chose honesty.

“...Genuinely, I have no idea how you drink this shit.”

Hawks laughs at your bold answer. “Thanks for being my little taste tester anyways. Too sweet, huh?” The tip of his finger traces around the remnants of your lip gloss on the lid, the cup still in your now slightly shaky hand as you nod.

His touch seared against your skin, as his pretty fingers closed around yours to raise the drink up to his lips to take a slow sip, eyes never leaving your own.

With a gaze that was infuriatingly sultry as it was sweet, like a bird of prey beckoning a field mouse to be their next meal, he murmurs, “Just how I like it.”

You’re not really sure he was talking about the coffee anymore.

He hums, and your thighs involuntarily clench a bit as his soft-looking mouth closes around the opening of the lid to take another sip.

“I’d say you’re a villain that deserves their own special category.” He grins, eyes sparkling conspiratorially. “One that involves letting me take her out to dinner.”

If you weren’t sitting down you know your legs would have given out. “Like… like on a date?” You gape at him incredulously. Because there was no way. Hawks. Just asked you out.

“Now sweetheart, what else would it be?” Hawks smirks at your dazed expression, like you’re sure you misheard him. So cute. “I mean, unless you don’t want to–”

“No!” He blinks, and your hand flies to cover your mouth at your sudden outburst.

“I-I mean, I want to…” You shyly say at a much quieter volume, fidgeting with the rings on your fingers. He leans closer to you with a grin, languidly resting his folded arms over the open frame of your car door.

“It’s a date then. I know this really good sushi and ramen place down the block near my agency, my treat of course.”

“If I’m a villain is this your idea of rehabilitation?” You joke dryly. “Because it’s working.”

He tips your chin up. “Oh don’t worry pretty, I’m just getting started with turning you into a good girl.” A hot flush creeps up your neck to your cheeks, and you almost melt into a puddle right then and there at your steering wheel.

“I’d love to stay but I’m actually so late for work right now.” You utter weakly, chin still resting against his finger. Hawks tilts his head at that, unfolding his vibrant crimson wings as he wordlessly opens the front door of your car.

With little effort and an impressive flex of his biceps, plus a sharp intake of breath from you, one of his arms slips under your thighs and another firmly hugs you just under your shoulder blades as he lifts you up to his firm chest.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he feels your flustered arms hastily reach up to wrap around his neck. Honeyed eyes like molten gold meet yours as he gives a gentle squeeze to your thigh through your pencil skirt, and once again you find yourself needing a reminder to breathe.

“So, where to?”

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“IS THAT FUCKING HAWKS OUTSIDE OUR COMPANY’S BUILDING?!”

say you can’t sleep, baby i know, that’s that me expresso~ ♪

[exceptional-z]

zed necrodopolis x reader

this is an au where zombies were never allowed to go to human high school. so zed is aged up (though age is never mentioned so you can imagine whatever) but has never been on the other side of the barrier. i attempted not to use gendered language but i tend to write with fem!reader in mind.

also please ignore any inconsistent verb tenses. english is not my first language and verb tenses are literally the bane of my existence. + i wrote this in like an hour

your family didn’t have much money growing up, hence why you lived so close to the gate. real estate was cheap since no one wanted to live near the zombies. but it also meant you learnt how to save money in as many ways as you could.

seabrook was all about perfection. if a mattress was two years old, it was time to throw it out and buy a new one. if a bike had a single scratch, it was thrown into the dumpster. all of the old items deemed as ‘garbage’ were brought to a warehouse that was emptied around every two weeks. and this was your favourite place to be.

you sneak into the warehouse. it’s late at night and there’s never any security around. you’re immediately greeted with piles of furniture and clothing and trinkets that are too unique to fit into the seabrook aesthetic.

you start to rummage through with the plastic gloves you always wear just in case any bugs or mice decide that this is a perfect place to burrow. lost in thought, you don’t hear the creaky door open, but you do hear the sudden shout that erupted from behind you.

your heart nearly stops beating at the sudden noise and your head swivels around. the lighting isn’t great, and you can only make out the vague shape of the person blocking your only exit. he looks fairly lanky, and if you squint you could make out some of his features. he doesn’t look much older than you and he certainly doesn’t scream “imposing”. he’s taller than you, but maybe if you caught him off guard you could knock him out with one of the many heavy objects splayed around you.

“i was told no one ever came in here,” the boy says. fuck, his voice is attractive.

“they don’t. in the three years i’ve been doing this i’ve never run into anyone else.” you answer, obviously suspicious.

“i’m uh- i’m just looking for a gift for my little sister,” he explains, “it’s her birthday soon and she said she wanted a new bike but we can’t really afford it.”

you relax a little at his explanation, sharing that you’d gotten into the habit of coming here to rummage for things since your family also doesn’t have much money. “i could help you look if you’d like? and even if we can’t find a bike, there’s a ton of cool stuff you can find if you’re willing to dig.” you offer.

you can’t be sure, but you think he smiles as he answers. “i’ll take any help i can get. my friend eliza told me to try coming here to look, but honestly, i’m a bit overwhelmed.”

you talk and laugh together for what must be at least two hours. you don’t end up finding a bike, but you find an old cheerleader outfit that looks to be in perfect condition. you can’t imagine why anyone would throw it out unless it just didn’t fit anymore. the boy -who still doesn’t have a name- literally jumped up in joy when he saw you holding the skirt from the set, doing a little celebratory dance that should have been embarrassing but was somehow endearing. (that’s how you figured out his little sister was obsessed with cheer).

eventually you have to part ways; it’s getting into the early hours of the morning and you both need to be getting home. he’s halfway down the street when you realise you never shared names and you yell out, “wait!”

he stops and turns around, and you jog to catch up to him.

“what’s your name, stranger?” you ask, “just in case we run into each other again.”

he tells you his name is zed, and you tell him your name in return. for a few seconds the both of you just stand in the street, memorising each other’s faces until you look away, shaking off the thoughts of how attractive he is under the starlight.

(bonus: when zed gets home, all he can think about is you. he wonders if eliza would recognise your name, or if he would possibly run into you if he chose to go to school for once instead of always skipping. he wonders where you live in zombietown, since he doesn’t recognise you and is sure he would remember seeing someone as gorgeous are you. he spends the next few days wondering, and then is in for the shock of his life when he sees you through the fence that blocks off zombietown from seabrook and learns that you’re human.)

[ssukidesu]

what friends do

Fandom: Fairy Tail

Pairing: Nalu

Rating: T

Nalu Week 2024 - ( @allaboutnalu @thenaluarchive )

Summary: Lucy gets a little too happy and does something (maybe not) regrettable.

Chapter 7: what friends don’t do (yearning)

Read on AO3

Read below the cut

She pulled the bread slices out of the oven and finished throwing together the salad—not that she thought he’d eat any of it.

He was busy setting her small dining table with silverware and napkins. A moment later, they were seated and digging in.

“That really was a good move,” he was saying between bites. “It woulda worked if you found a way to pin at least one of my arms. We can work on that next time.”

Lucy slathered some butter on a piece of bread. “Yeah,” she muttered mournfully. “I’ve been planning that one for a while. You kept getting me with those low sweeps—I wanted to try something that took advantage of that.”

“Not a bad strategy,” he hummed. “If you had your whip, you coulda used it. So at least in a real fight with a real bad guy, you could pull it off.”

Lucy pouted. “You can be a real bad guy when we spar.”

“What?” he cried. “I’m a perfect gentleman.”

“Really?” she drawled. “What about that time you—”

“That doesn’t count,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

They both were referring (or refusing to refer) to the time that Natsu had very indecently (and, he insisted, accidentally) groped her ass while trying to force her to release him from a quite complicated hold.

I didn’t know what I was grabbing! he’d sworn. You’d twisted us into a pretzel!

“Yeah, whatever,” she acquiesced. “Anyways… don’t you think I’m getting better?”

“Loads!” he said cheerfully, swallowing his last bite of fish before licking his fingers. “I don’t know if today counts as a real victory… but you’re getting stronger every time.”

Lucy rolled her eyes, but she appreciated his honesty. He was leaning back in his chair lazily, watching her finish her plate. She felt a little self-conscious—she was wearing her typical t-shirt and pajama shorts, but his eyes seemed to be roaming a little more than normal. At first she wondered if she’d gotten food on her shirt—but upon looking down, nothing seemed out of place.

She stood and gathered their empty plates. She brought them to the sink and turned on the hot water, figuring she’d go ahead and clean them. When the water was warm enough, she doused the sponge with soap and began to scrub.

Is he just gonna watch me do this? she thought after a minute. I wish he’d do something useful, like take out the garbage…

She heard him stand with a grunt, and his bare feet padded quietly on the hardwood as he approached to stand behind her. While she rinsed the plates, she inspected his hazy reflection in the window above the sink: he was looking down at her with drooping eyes and a lazy smile. When his hands came to brace themselves on the bar on either side of her, her attention went from his reflection to the veins on his forearms, the calluses on his fingertips. His breath surprised her when it brushed her ear—but what surprised her more was when he continued to angle his head until his mouth hovered above her cheekbone. His lips brushed her skin lightly, as if testing for something, and then pressed firmly there.

“For the food,” he muttered.

When he didn’t release her from the trap of his arms, she slowly turned her head to meet his eyes from over her shoulder. His were piercing, watchful. His face was slightly red, but not anxiously so.

She swallowed. “I was happy to do it.”

His eyes flicked downward. “Yeah?”

Wrong thing to say, she thought in half panic. But upon second thought, she realized it might have actually been the perfect thing to say. She thought she’d say something else.

“Movie?” she asked, her voice cracking just enough to make her blush even harder.

His lips perked into an easy grin. “Sure.”

She cleared her throat. He released her.

As she changed into pajamas, she willed her heart to slow down and utterly failed. When she returned to the living room, she saw he had found a bag of popcorn and was pouring some into a large bowl. He never used the microwave; he was too impatient, and his magic was perfect for the job.

They settled on the couch, and he handed her the remote. “You pick,” he said, draping his arm over the couch back. She had her legs flung over his; it was a nice way to stay close without being so close that she couldn’t think.

“Really? Anything I want?” she teased, leaning forward to grab a handful of popcorn, which was wedged between his calves.

He curled his lip. “Nothing mushy.”

She giggled. “Thought so.”

Lucy shuffled through the different options that were available and settled on an action flick she’d seen once before. There was a romantic subplot, but she figured there were enough explosions to make up for it.

Thirty seconds in, they both sat up to grab more popcorn, meeting in the middle. Though they had both filled their hands, neither reclined again, favoring instead to remain near over the bowl.

Lucy watched him shove the entire bundle into his mouth in one go. As he licked his buttery fingers, she felt her stomach flip in recollection of his lips on her face mere minutes ago.

She brought a piece of popcorn to her mouth and placed it on her tongue behind her teeth. “Thanks for letting me pick,” she tested.

He fished out another handful, smirking sourly. “You did make dinner, after all.”

Her fingers twitched in her lap as she watched him stare at her absently. “Still…” she said.

She pushed herself up on her knees. Her hand sought balance on his shoulder. He stopped chewing. She moved quick, too afraid to linger in her uncertainty, and pecked him on his cheekbone—right where he had kissed her. The sound it made was sweet, and pronounced. She returned right away to her previous reclined position and filled her mouth with the rest of the popcorn in her hand. Her cheeks flushed, and she turned her head back to the screen.

The movie trudged on. Lucy forced herself to focus on it, no matter how often she felt his gaze burning into the side of her face through the dark room. As his thoughtful silence persisted, she wondered if she had pushed it too far—if he was weirded out by her arbitrary reason for the affection.

She also knew he could definitely hear her heart racing. She wouldn’t be able to play pretend much longer.

But it seemed he was playing the same game. She was visibly red, but during a quieter part of the movie, he surprised her with a question.

“You cold?”

Lucy turned her head toward him, grateful for an excuse to inspect him outright for the first time in a half hour. “Huh?”

“Your feet are cold,” he observed, pushing his toes into the sole of her foot. His gaze was nonchalant.

“Oh. Uh… maybe a little,” she answered, a complete lie.

He sat up from his position leaning against the arm rest. He grabbed the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch and loosened it out of its fold. “Sit up,” he said.

She obeyed, eyes glued to his unreadable face.

Leaning forward to meet her, he flung the blanket around her back and secured it around her frame. She thought that’d be the end of it, but he scooted closer still, his hot fingers collecting her hair from her neck and freeing it from the confines.

He was close enough for her to smell the salt on his breath. “Better?” he breathed.

She nodded, dumbfounded and staring. He didn’t look away. After a moment, Lucy wondered what he was waiting for—that is, until he made a soft noise that was eerily close to a whine, angled his jaw toward her, and nodded his chin in a subtle expectant gesture while flicking his eyes to her mouth.

If her heart was pounding before, it was outright thundering now.

Her throat made a noise upon her sucking in a breath that sounded a lot like a gasp. She knew he heard it, but he still didn’t move. His fingers had left the blanket at some point and were resting lazily against her ankle, which was between them. Slowly, she leaned her face forward toward his, which he did a poor job keeping angled properly. When she was close enough, she had to turn her own head rather sharply to reach around to his cheek. When she made contact with it, she heard him exhale, and his eyes fluttered closed. She lingered for a beat, her nose brushing the skin she had just kissed before she slowly pulled away. He turned his head as she retreated, the breath from his lips ghosting over hers until she was too far for him to follow.

His fingers stayed on her ankle, pressing more firmly now. She didn’t recline fully back, but she did separate enough to regain her own air. The movie kept playing; a car crashed into the side of a brick building, flames breaking out on the screen. The room was dyed red by the television. Their skin flickered as they kept staring. Natsu’s jaw was clenched; hers was slacked.

He spoke again, and she almost didn’t hear over the loud sounds of the film. “Can I have some of your water?”

It took a second for his words to fully hit her, but once they did, she nodded rapidly, angling her body to turn and grab the half-full glass on the end table. He placed the bowl of popcorn on the ground, since all that was left were kernels. She resteadied herself on the cushion and handed it to him with both hands, worried her fingers would tremble.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, securing the glass from her.

She watched his throat bob up and down as he drank, and her throat ran dry. When he finished swallowing and returned it to her, she stole a couple of sips herself, emptying it. She placed it on the floor, not wanting to stretch far from him again, though she couldn’t bring herself to lift her attention from the ground.

He tapped his pointer finger twice on her ankle. He wanted her attention.

Slowly, she lifted her face up again, but she kept her eyes lowered. They were already sitting closer now than they were before, so he didn’t need to lean forward much to reach her. He brought his right hand to brush beneath her chin, tilting her up an inch. She couldn’t meet his eyes now—he was too close for that. His lips were warm on her cheek, and he placed them an inch closer. Closer to where friends would never kiss each other.

He barely pulled back. “Lucy…” he began, and his breath was on her cheek as he spoke. “Tell me... What am I supposed to do if everything you do makes me happy?”

Her heart was in her throat. They were so close now; they were breathing into each other’s necks. Her hands clung to his shirt, holding him there. “You’re exaggerating,” she whispered, clutching for a tone that was somewhat familiar while simultaneously longing for something new. “No way I make you happy all the time.”

His lips were on her ear now, dragging, not kissing. “What do I do?” he asked again.

Lucy kissed the scar on his neck. It was right there—she couldn’t help herself. “Whatever you want, Natsu,” was her faint answer.

He pulled back to look down at her, brows furrowed and lips parted. The television cast him in flickering rays of reds and blues and yellows. His right hand came to her neck, thumb tracing down her throat, then back up again. He brought his lips again to her, a mere inch from her mouth, and kissed her softly. He didn’t pull away. Her eyelids were permanently drooping now, gaze fixed low. She felt her head turning, and she wasn’t sure if she turned it herself or if his hand on her neck had done it.

Another kiss, a centimeter away now. She thought this was getting rather frustrating. “Natsu?” she urged, tilting the final bit to mingle their breaths.

It was timid, tantalizing—the way he brushed his lips over hers without actually kissing her. It was like he was mapping her out before landing. A stupid thing, in her view, and very unlike him. She wished he would barrel right in, just like he did with everything else. But she let him explore. Let the air electrify. And when he finally pressed against her mouth firmly, she whimpered.

His hands were on her face. This was a long, firm kiss. They both inhaled each other like a drug. When this kiss ended with a sweet sound that churned her gut, she was worried he’d pull away—but he didn’t. His mouth came back, lips rough but pliant, stealing every attempt of breath from her mouth. She had no idea kissing would be equally centered around teeth and tongues, alternating between avoiding and seeking them out.

After a minute, he realized all at once that his hands could do other things, too. He released her face and gathered her to his chest, yanking and tugging her close first by her clothes and then by the waist beneath them. He wasn’t content until she was in his lap, her legs wrapped around his hips and his arms secured around her back.

His mouth was steaming hot. Tongue even hotter. It almost burned her own, and she sucked in a relieving breath when he pulled away to lap at her neck, which he could reach easily at this position. Her fingers were in his hair, on his shoulders, at his lower back, clawing the bottom of his shirt until it rolled up and exposed his skin.

Then, she was under him.

He propped his weight on his elbows by her head, her blond locks tangling in his fingers above. She bit his lip, and he found himself wanting to pull her hair, just a little, just to make her gasp. He tucked his hand under the nape of her neck and clenched his fist. When her mouth opened, he dove in again, deeper than before. Their foreheads brushed, and he felt the sweat collecting there.

He tore his mouth away, panting. She was wrecked beneath him, face almost as red as her lips and expression wild and helpless.

“Too hot?” he grunted, quiet but half savage.

Lucy, also panting, nodded her head. She could hardly think words, much less say them.

He peeled his body off of hers and brought her to sit up. He grabbed the empty glass on the ground and tore himself from the couch to fill it up in the kitchen. Lucy instantly shivered by the drop in temperature from his absence. She watched him return with heavy strides. He knelt in front of her on the ground and brought the glass to her lips. She drank until it was empty. As soon as the cup was removed from her lips, his mouth was back on hers for one, two, three firm kisses. But he wouldn’t suffocate her again, no matter the fact that she’d absolutely let him if he tried.

“Natsu?” Lucy squeaked. “I should tell you…”

His gaze was fixed on hers, his breath held. “What?” he urged.

“I lied to you before. About friends kissing each other on the cheek when they were happy.”

She could see his pulse beating through the vein on his neck. Her words made him nervous, she saw, so she chased him for another kiss, placing her arms over his shoulders. He swallowed it whole.

She continued against his lips, “It’s kinda… for people who are more than friends.”

His eyes flicked from her mouth to her brown irises. “We’re more than friends,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And after the thrill of his words settled into her heart, Lucy laughed. Hard.

“What is it?” he inquired anxiously.

Her forehead rested against his. “Nothing. Just kiss me again,” she said, smiling.

And he did.

[northwest-cryptid]

You know what, no I'll go on record and just say that;

Mabinogi hands down IS the best MMORPG.

Now sure, you can immediately call me bias; and I can literally tell you that is an overused argument. Truth is, yes I have a bias, I have a bias as someone who has played literally hundreds of MMOs, and has never found one that can hold a candle to Mabinogi. Yes this includes games like WoW or FFXIV, and even lesser known but still popular titles like Path of Exiles or Warframe or even Tree of Savior.

But why exactly do I say that Mabinogi is the best MMORPG on the market? Well I think a good MMORPG does a few things, firstly I think any game that wants to be an RPG that lets you make a character needs to give you a sense of identity. Second, I believe an MMO needs to create an interesting environment for playing alongside others; whether they're directly in your party or not. Lastly, no good RPG is complete without going on a grand adventure with proper noticeable growth.

Now, before we begin to really dive into this essay of a post, I want to cover something real quick because I think it's important. When I say Mabinogi is the best MMORPG, and I'm saying that I've played games like WoW or FFXIV. I'm not trying to say those games are bad. I will concede that direct translation and definition would suggest I believe they are "worse" than Mabinogi, and yes I do believe that. However I'm not trying to tell you that your favorite MMORPG is bad or garbage or whatever. Please do not take my personal opinion to be slander of your favorite game. For a lot of players, an MMORPG can be special to them, the characters and the world can mean something to them; and I don't want to be some hater when it comes to your favorite place on the internet.

I'm not coming into this as someone who's naive about the world of MMOs, I know the good and the bad of them, not ALL of them; but a good lot of them. However I want to make something clear; if I went into why other games were "worse" than Mabinogi I would immediately be ignored. Let's say you really like FFXIV, that's fine; it's a good game, I play it myself and am excited about the latest expansion coming out in a few days. Now if I tell you that I think it's kind of ridiculous how much they've simplified the game to the point no class feels truly unique mechanically, or how I used to like AST more before they took away our card's uniqueness and such. It's entirely possible you would stick with me and understand that, even if our opinions differ; what I'm saying is true to me even if it's not to you. Sure maybe you hated having RNG in the RNG healer class, maybe you disliked having to decide if you wanted to spread that buff to the whole party, or enhance that buff for one person, or extend the buff. Maybe you like it more now that everything sort of does the same thing. I'm not talking down to you or being sarcastic when I say, that's fine. We just feel differently about it. Thing is, I've very likely lost you; It's unlikely you hear all of that and not think I'm just some FFXIV hater. I'm not, but it's unlikely you think that way after hearing all my gripes with it. I wouldn't blame you for thinking someone who just tore into a game likely dislikes the game, that's a fair assumption.

If at any point I do sort of dig into a game for it's changes, mechanics, or just how it works. I want you to understand I only feel that way because I do enjoy those games and wish they didn't do things that made playing them feel less fun to me. Those last two words are possibly the most important there; this whole post is strictly opinion, it's my opinion. We don't need to share that opinion, but I hope you find what I say to be at least interesting. I don't see much reason to sit through the whole thing otherwise.

Oh... and one more thing, if you follow this link and download the game now it should be done roughly by the time you finish reading this, probably; maybe? <- That's not even an affiliate link; I'm not sponsored to say anything I'm saying here, I wish I was though.

Game Website Link -> Right here, if you need to make an account.

Now without further delay, let's get into my first key point of why Mabinogi is the best MMORPG on the market right now.

The first order of business in any MMORPG will also be the first thing we talk about here, creating a character. You can't step foot into a world of fantasy without having an avatar to represent yourself. If this individual is to be your fantasy self then the game better have enough customization options to really let you be you. Mabinogi has plenty, from skin color, player weight, and even age; to the colors of the garments you wear.

Let's start with that first bit I mentioned in the introductory paragraph, creating an identity. Mabinogi is a game that truly allows for a diverse cast of characters, when you first make a character the system will unfortunately be fairly limited. Yet when you're released into the game proper and complete the tutorial you will soon find that it's extremely open ended. Your character will start at an age between 10 and 17 (but can go to 25 and even further if you wish), which you'll be able to select once per day, or once per week depending on your level. Age has a very slight almost non-existent effect on your stats, but will mostly determine how tall you are. As a quick example, here is my human main at 18 (left) alongside 2 other players. While I cannot see their age, I can tell their race is human; which allows me to at least guess one is roughly 10 - 13 (middle) and the other is likely anywhere between 15 - 16 (right).

When it comes to skin color, Mabinogi is one of the few games that has a great selection. From the realistic to the fantastical; there's almost certainly something for everyone here.

I've seen light skinned characters, dark skinned characters, tanned and red skinned characters. I've partied up with fantasy demons and zombies. I buy my dyes from a player who's literally pure black with blinding white eyes; a small imp-like character who's style I absolutely adore and who's dyes are top quality. While it doesn't even begin to cover the extensive list, I thought I'd take a few screenshots to help show what I mean.

Now I understand a lot of you may feel like your character doesn't truly reflect you as a person unless you can be the right weight for you. Mabinogi has you covered here as well, albeit with a slightly convoluted system. I will openly admit that this game is flawed, it is by no means a perfect game; but I take this as a sort of "better than nothing" approach. Food in Mabinogi will grant slight stat bonuses, but underneath those stat points and flavor text there's a hidden mechanic.

Food provides players with Upper and Lower muscle gain or loss, as well as a Weight gain or loss. While food is not the only method of gaining or losing both weight and muscle, it is the most common, and arguably easiest method. Players have many guides on the internet that explain which foods to eat in which order to gain the body type you want, this even includes the wiki.

It's also important to note that weight does not effect your stats, the food you eat absolutely does give a small temporary bonus. However your character can be as fat or skinny as you'd like without ever effecting your ability to perform any task.

I would be remiss not to mention another feature of creating an identity, and it does feel like this is an appropriate place to do it. Every day, or every week (depending on your level) you can preform something called a Rebirth, your level will return to 1 and you will be allowed to change some things about your character or leave them as they are.

This will unfortunately readjust your weight settings, which is why we see so many guides on how to get the ideal weight you're looking for. Thankfully it is by no means difficult to achieve this weight gain once more and will take no more than a few minutes after rebirthing.

As a quick note I won't spend too much time on, for my fellow genderfluid and NB friends out there; you can actively change your gender whenever you rebirth (though obviously you don't have to be NB or Genderfluid to enjoy this feature) and there is a good amount of items specific for crossdressing if that is something you'd prefer. That list of items is far more than your generic maid outfit for men; including everything from dresses to common skirts, with women getting suits, hoodies, and everything in between. If you switch genders you will even get an achievement specifically titled "Genderfluid" which I genuinely appreciate quite a lot.

Speaking of clothing, Mabinogi allows you to use a Style Tab when putting on gear. Your style tab won't give you any stats, but allows you to use the look of whatever is equip to the selected slot over the actual gear worn under it. The Style Tab is free for all players, so you can look your best no matter what you might be doing. Though I suppose those clothes wouldn't really be your own unless you had some kind of say over how they looked right?

Thankfully Mabinogi features a robust dying system in which you can actually use hex coded colors on just about any part of an outfit. You can also preview these changes directly on your character prior to using a dye.

There's a specific, and short; list of items that can't be dyed. Otherwise it's common for every item in the game to have at least one or two dye slots where you can customize their colors however you'd like.

You can do the same for your weapons, even giving them skins to change how they look; and then dying those skins to look just how you want them. A good weapon should match your best outfit after all, right?

Clothing items additionally come in the form of helmets, gloves, boots, main body, robes/back slot, face accessories, and then two more accessories that typically float to either side or behind you. This means you can mix and match everything you wear. You're not stuck trying to make some minor hat fit the entire rest of your armor that came as one solid piece, and you're certainly not struggling to match colors when only a small part of your armor actually dyes to the color you want.

Your identity in Mabinogi is what you see fit to make it, and while it would make this segment incredibly long, more so than it already is; the customization doesn't even end here. To give you an idea of what I'm talking about, you can actually customize how often and how many times your character will blink. There is no other game on the market that lets you create a character the way Mabinogi does, not while still being an entire world outside of your character for you to explore. Speaking of that world, before we get to exploring just what this game has in store for you on your adventure; I'd like to talk about the characters who aren't you. No I don't mean the NPCs, I mean the other players, and how they impact the game you play even when they're not in your party.

Speaking of other players, to really hit home just how different everyone can look I ran around and took a few pictures of players I found in just this one small town.

You may be wondering how much these other players actually matter, in a lot of MMORPGs other players are merely there to fill out the party for dungeons or assist with world encounters. In Mabinogi they do that as well, however there is a constantly evolving economy both on the player ran Auction House, and for things like the Commerce system. Players can also run their own shops, join you for a jam session to play some music together; and even burn some items for a campfire spirit summoned at a group bonfire.

While the NPCs in this game are fantastic, the players are the lifeblood of the game, as is the case with any good MMORPG. From guilds and parties running content together, to the occasional camp you'll come across while exploring the world. Players populate Mabinogi and their effects are felt whether or not you're actively a part of their game.

One of the features most effected by this is Commerce; a trade system which lets players transport trade goods between major cities and towns. If an item is being traded to a town more than others, it's price will drop and you may find better deals by taking it to far away cities. Though you'll encounter bandits on the road, and due to carrying heavy trade goods you'll be a good bit weaker than you usually find yourself. This makes traveling in groups much easier, with those who use air travel particularly; in need of parties thanks to the dragons who will come after your hoard of trade goods. If a bandit is to steal your loot, you need not worry; as other players can take up the role of bounty hunters and track down these bandits at their hideouts to get your stuff back. Bounty Hunting is an easy way to make some cash and also help out your fellow players who may have been wronged by a poorly placed bandit or two.

What about production? Surely I don't need anyone to assist me with making my goods. Though, a second opinion never hurts; you will actually get a boost to production success rate while in a party with other players who also have production skills. In fact, this is a great way to make some strong gear; as products you make will get bonus stats over those found in stores. This does mean that the player economy is largely populated by products made by other players. If you do a good enough job on the item you're making, you'll even leave a signature behind which can be seen by the individuals who buy and use that gear. This is a minor touch, but it's one I greatly appreciate. Anyone can have a really cool demon sword, but only I have a blade forged specifically by my good friend; in hopes it would aid me in my quest. The connection between myself and my party is ever so slightly more apparent, even when they're not around; I always have a small piece of them with me.

Players attending the banquet, an event held weekly that awards free EXP and a lottery raffle at the Tara Castle; can actually donate their food to the catering tables. This is a great time to hang out with fellow players, get some free levels; and of course eat significantly too much food.

Surely that's all, right? Well no, believe it or not players actually have a hand in many things. If you want to enchant some gear but you don't have the enchanting rank to do it yourself; you can request another player to assist you. Perhaps you're an alchemist needing to create alchemy crystals of special magic skills; another player can cast that magic nearby and let you synthesize it into a crystal. If you're using the Jam Session action other players can join you with their own instruments when you play music; automatically matching whatever song you're playing. There's a fashion contest where the winner is put on display in full costume right in the middle of the major cities for all to see. There's even mechanical changes to things like magic, if you're casting Ice Bolt while I cast Fire Bolt next to you; we instead both gain a charge of Fusion Bolt. This form of magic combines the properties of your Ice Bolt and my Fire Bolt into a more powerful version of our respective magics, all because we happened to cast at the same time nearby each other.

If you enjoy music then you might find yourself reading through the Bard Bulletin Board, where players can post the compositions for their custom music. You can transcribe this music yourself and play it whenever you wish, though you can also use the MabiNovel Bulletin to read books written and published by your fellow players as well. This does in fact mean that you too could become a composer, or even an author and post your works to the respective boards.

Players can also obtain their own small piece of the world via Homesteads. These function as a sort of player owned housing system, and they allow you to do everything from growing farms to hosting your own production stations with boosted success rates. Of course the owner of the Homestead can allow either friends, or anyone; to come and gather from their herb patches, farm animals, and various logging, mining, and production sites. Meaning that other players not only offer you an expanded world to explore, but potentially gathering and production spots that may not otherwise be available at your current location.

While Homesteads start quite small, they're nothing to scoff at when fully upgraded; allowing for even a proper house, pets, and partners; to be placed on the fully customizable property. Some items will even passively grant you bonuses to your stats or provide your gathering and production stations bonuses to gathering and success rates.

Alright great, so you have a character who's uniquely you; you even have a place in the world among other players. However what good is that if you don't have a world worth existing in. You're here to play an MMORPG, if you wanted to simply dress up an avatar and exist in a space with others; you'd play something like VRChat or Second Life, or maybe you'd go download that Sims multiplayer mod. You want an RPG! An adventure! A living world to explore and be a part of!

Well Mabinogi's got you covered there as well believe it or not. Now where you fall in terms of enjoying the story is fairly up in the air; I know some people who love it and others who could take it or leave it. That's entirely fair and I don't blame them for feeling that way. To avoid potential spoilers I will be saying up front that if this has been enough for you and you're willing to trust me that this game is worth your time. Skip ahead to the Q and A if you think you need it, or go download and play the game now if you didn't already do that. Hell you can even add me in game if you want some people to play with who are going to be chill with newbies. If you need a bit more though, then keep reading because you might just like what I have to say about this game's journey.

When you start Mabinogi you'll be told you're this being from the stars, something that cannot die; and therefore has importance here. You may literally be an immortal entity, but you won't feel like it. You'll start with only a handful of skills, and with this game having no real class system it's not so straight forward how to get more of them. You'll stumble upon a few while just exploring the world, but others might require you to actually engage with the world around you. If that sounds exciting, don't worry; we've only just begun to explain the whole system of interacting with NPCs.

See the game of Mabinogi is before all else, the story of you; your character the journey you go on. So it's fitting that you keep notes in a Memo, this Memo is written in the perspective of your character; and will keep tabs on what you've been through. Each entry in the Memo is given a Key Word; and these key words will be given to you as you experience new places and things. Whenever you engage with an NPC you can start a conversation, this allows you to flip through your Memo and select a Key Word to speak about with them. Asking them about their private story will reveal this character's lore and backstory, at least; if they like you enough to share that information with you. NPCs do actually contain a system of trust with the player, and if you befriend an NPC they'll even let you access a secret shop where they sell exclusive items. Other Key Words include things like Nearby Rumors where you can obtain gossip and quests; or perhaps you want to ask about Part Time Jobs. Whether you're working for the town blacksmith to deliver some refined ore, or you're gathering wool to make bandages for the town healer; Part Time Jobs offer you fitting rewards for the work you perform, and allow you to even unlock various skills down the line if you perform well enough. Which brings us to another Key Word, the Skills Key Word. Skills is a Key Word that will ask an NPC if they believe they could teach you anything, if you see a knight you can ask them about Skills and maybe learn a new technique for your swordsmanship. Asking a chef about skills may result in them giving you a quest that has you running out to make flour and bake some bread. These methods are meant to immerse you in the world and teach you how the mechanics behind these skills works, rather than just saying you're level 16 so now you can bake bread.

Some NPCs will even react to your title, thanking you for the deeds you've done or perhaps judging you for why you'd do such a thing. This is because every NPC in the game, no matter how minor; has a story to tell. They all have unique theme music that contains a name referencing something about the character and their story. The more you talk to these NPCs and they open up to you, the more you'll learn about the world you're a part of.

However, small NPC stories don't amount to much in the grand scheme of an epic adventure do they? Well don't worry, now we're getting into the main scenario quests, and the lasting impact they have on you as a character. Have you ever felt like you should have maybe gotten a new power, or been recognized for the deeds you've accomplished after you literally save the world; only to return to business as usual? Well Mabinogi actually considered all of that, not only do you get a title that NPCs might react to, as I mentioned previously; but the Main Scenario Questline actually gives you everything from transformations to special unique items. This is again the last chance to not have spoilers as I will be covering at the very least Generation 2: Paladin and Generation 10: Goddess of Light through Generation 12: Return of the Hero.

Okay now that everyone who doesn't want spoilers is gone, allow me to tell you about just a few of these MSQ rewards; of course jumping right to the good stuff without context makes it meaningless. So let's start with a quick summary of Generation 1 that's roughly spoiler free.

Generation 1: Advent of the Goddess starts with The Goddess asking you for help, then you save her. See I kept it spoiler free! You're given the title "[Player name] Who Saved The Goddess" for doing this which grants you some nice stats, but the real reward is that you get to move on to Generation 2: Paladin. Well wow, that's kind of an underwhelming title isn't it? You just finished Advent of the Goddess and now you're on... Paladin? Huh okay, well this quest line is all about a Paladin of legend. You spend the generation becoming someone worthy of the Paladin's armor, searching for his old armor, and even reliving some old memories of his. All to figure out who he is and solve the grand mystery that sparked this whole generation in the first place. The political drama of a potentially puppeteered prince who may actually be dead from the start... Okay yea listen it's more interesting when you actually play it. The real plot twist of this whole generation however is when you figure out who that old Paladin actually is, and more importantly that they're still alive. In the final dungeon of this generation when you face off against the final encounter he is not the one who saves the day. Rather it is you who gets to don the armor of the legendary Paladin and in a moment I love, you get to save him. This transformation is actually a fairly minor stat boost at first. You're not some overpowered god, you're still you; just powered up. When you complete the generation you will find yourself with a wholly new power available to you, the power to become that very same Paladin; now with it's own skills to rank to make it even stronger than it already was.

Yes, just for clearing Generation 2 you now have an entirely new power unlocked for you. The power to, once a day in game time; transform into your Paladin form. If you're an Elf you transform instead into a Falcon, and Giants transform into a Beast. These new forms come with their own unique skills and properties. However you don't lose access to the skills and abilities you already have. This will be a running theme throughout Mabinogi, you only get more; you don't get locked out from being you. If the Paladin aesthetic isn't your deal, and you want things a little different, don't worry; Generation 3: Dark Knight might be more your style. However, this begs the question; are Dark Knights and Paladins the same thing flavored differently? Nope. Sure they are both the same Transformation at the end of the day, but their inner workings are very different. To give you a quick example of what I mean, Paladins always get the same stats every time, but they have no specialized skill they can use while transform. They're essentially your generic stronger form, with buffed stats and nothing more, dull but reliable. Dark Knights instead roll for their stats every time they transform, meaning sometimes you're going to have much stronger physical defense, and other times a much higher magic damage stat. If you're interested in the specifics, here you go:

Dark Knights also don't get forcibly removed from their transformation when their timer is up, rather they go into a state called "Disarmed" where they will take heavy damage over time, but this can be healed if they wish to power through it and keep fighting in their transformed state. They additionally obtain Control of Darkness which lets them tame an enemy to fight for them for a short time.

The Generation 2 transforms (Paladin, Dark Knight, Falcon, and Beast) all have 4 tiers of their transformation, dependent on the skills rank. Each boasting it's own unique title and appearance that builds on their central aesthetic and motif. This means a player who's max ranked Paladin will transform into a Champion, or for Dark Knights, they'll become an Infra Black. I do enjoy the morals of the game being muddier than to just say Paladin is bright and shiny and good, and Dark Knight is well, dark and edgy and bad. As you go through the game you'll learn a lot about the politics of the gods, and understand their moral values a lot better. Which leads us to our next major upgrade.

In Generation 10: Goddess of Light, we take the fight to the gods, and between Generation 10 and Generation 12, we'll even obtain the Sword of the Gods, a then usable sword weapon which ironically may not even be as powerful as some of our own gear by the time we get it; but more specifically we'll decline godhood and become a Demigod. However it's a bit deeper than that, as you'll find that at the end of Generation 10 you're confronted by your doppelganger. Upon defeating it, you gain the power to assume the form of a Demigod; which yes, you can in fact transform into while also transformed into your Generation 2 state. Not only does this form regen your HP, MP, and Stamina; but it additionally allows the use of special skills that depend on which of the gods you're allied with. Those who are being supported by the Goddess Neamhain will obtain skills such as Spear of Light, and Fury of Light; however if you decide to be supported by the Goddess Morrighan you instead obtain Wings of Eclipse, and Wings of Rage. Of course you won't have a choice right away, when you first obtain the ability to become a Demigod, you'll be defaulted to working with Naemhain's skills. They're not bad, but Morrighan isn't going to just give you her skills so easily so if we want options we'll need to get her to work with us. Once we clear Generation 11: Sword of the Gods; we in fact obtain the Sword of the Gods itself. This is important since we'll need it if we're going to fight the gods. Now in Generation 12 we are asked to fight alongside Morrighan to bring down the King of the Gods, Nuadha. For clearing this generation, you'll obtain the right to be supported by Morrighan; which is kind of funny since if you're a Dark Knight it shows you've actually betrayed her by giving up the path of the Paladin in favor of following Dark Knight. I guess she can overlook that given you just helped her defeat the King of the Gods.

Surely the upgrades stop there right? Well no, actually; but you probably knew that already. See there's actually currently, up to G25, with G26 on an active countdown to release as I make this post. With even more transformations, special skills, and some really incredible upgrades that change even the way we engage with crafting; the generation quests are more than worth your time and leave you feeling more powerful with each completion.

Mabinogi isn't just having you go through these quests to complete the story, it's also actively making you more and more the proper image of this immortal hero of legend. It's giving you a power boost on par with some silly shonen anime. As much as you may cringe to hear me make a stupid joke from the early internet; yes the Milletian could beat Goku. Sorry I had to make the dumb joke after making the shonen anime reference you know? These powers aren't ever restricted from you either; it's not as if you suddenly can't use your Paladin transformation in a dungeon, nor are you locked out from using Demigod to regen some stamina just to pick some flowers. Mabinogi is the story of your character, and it gives you so many upgrades and power scale boosts because it genuinely wants you to feel like a powerful hero going up against powerful enemies.

Now I will admit there's something to be said about the balance in some of the later Generation quests, especially because you can skip over a lot of them. They absolutely do plan for you to have the full arsenal of Generation specific skills by the time you reach Generation 20+ but dare I say, I think that's fair. We actually see this in other games too, it's just more allowed from other games because they do a better job of hiding their barrier to entry.

What I mean is that FFXIV is like Dark Souls 3, it's not going to let me go somewhere I'm not actually ready for, because it knows I won't have any fun getting my ass kicked but it's really linear. While Mabinogi is like Elden Ring, it looks at me saying "I'm ready I'm ready put me in coach!" While facing down against an actual god well before I'm... you know, actually ready. Yet it just says "go get 'em champ!" Only to watch me become a pancake two seconds later and think "yea this balance is garbage." Truth is, if I go back and do the content I'm suppose to do first; I will be more than ready for this content when I reach it. However I might actually be able to clear this content when I'm not supposed to yet, and Mabinogi; much like Elden Ring, lets me try. We see this same type of barrier to entry in how FFXIV says "hey man you can't run this until you're Item Level 280 sorry." That feels boring when you just want to run the thing, you don't want to go back and "grind" for item levels, but in reality it's just stopping you from trying and failing repeatedly. Which makes sense for the type of game FFXIV is, where other players are a requirement, and you don't want to hold them back because you thought you could do it with less.

The other truth is, with Mabinogi; not every path to success is going to look the same. I might spend my time training my combat skills, slowly saving up the small stat gains to get to where my base strength is at 500 and I can deal some nice damage. My friend who doesn't want to touch combat skills can absolutely focus on his cooking, slowly but surely becoming a master chef as I've become a master warrior. Now he can make a catering dish that boosts his strength to 500 all the same. We're not going to be dealing the same damage since things like weapon type, and skill ranks will come into play; but this does mean he could achieve the same goals as me in a totally different way. Personally I'm a huge fan of this, it lets every single character feel unique; you can truly become your own kind of player here.

Whether it's weaving your magic skills into your archery gameplay, or becoming an apothecary bard who uses musical buffs and potions to level the playing field. Perhaps you want to train your Ninja and Chain Blade skills to keep you at a distance, debuff enemies, and set explosive traps. You could even just play the game with life skills, relaxing by the pond as a master fisher; before tailoring a new outfit. All of these methods are entirely valid ways to play the game, they all give the necessary stats to enjoy whatever content you wish to, and yes they all give you levels.

It is for these reasons, and honestly; many others. That I have played this game since it's beta, for literally half my lifetime; and why I believe this is genuinely hands down the best MMORPG on the market right now. I urge you to give this game even 15 or 30 minutes of your time, don't get caught up on the old dated graphics, don't fret if you don't understand everything right away. The game is complex, it has a ton of mechanics that mix and intertwine to create a unique experience. The things you might find troublesome at first are exactly what makes the game so fun and unique when you understand them. Given the average internet speed and size of Mabinogi, should you have downloaded this game at the start of this reading it should be about done by now. If not, you've got the Q and A down there for any potential follow up questions you may have. So go ahead and jump into the world of Erinn, if you stop by Dunbarton on Channel 9 you might catch someone from the Landsbetween guild, feel free to stop and say hi; we're a friendly bunch.

A quick Q&A for things I've been asked frequently and might answer some questions or possible concerns you have about the game.

Q: I see a weird banner with P on it, does that mean I require a premium account to use that skin/hair color? A: No. That symbol signifies that it would cost Pon. A cash shop currency that is given to the player fairly regularly. You in fact get a gift box with about 20 Pon when you reach an early level milestone such as 50 or 100. It costs anywhere between 3 - 5 to change eye, hair, and skin color. Of course it only costs you to change to a color that uses the P banner, if a color you would like doesn't have any symbol (either a P for Pon or a B for a Beauty Coupon) then it's completely free. Q: I see a lot of cool characters, how much of a grind is it; or do I need to pay real money to customize my character? A: You can play Mabinogi entirely free to play, gacha boxes do contain high end loot and good in-game items. However the Auction House easily allows you to buy these items from players using entirely free to play gold when a new gacha comes out. While it might seem intimidating to make 1m at first. You'll quickly learn you can make 1m passively per week + any actual activity you do in this game earns you quite a lot. A single run of a dungeon will net me between 50k - 350k depending on drops and my actual in game luck stat. This is on top of the 160k I can make for free just logging in and doing Fynni Blossoming for the day. Of course, the higher your skills and total level; the easier it will be to make money. Q: I don't want to do a specific part of this game, can I still enjoy the other features? A: Yes. Entirely, in fact; I'm doing a challenge run on a character who's not allowed to rank up any combat or damage skills. I've already completed the first major questline of the game without any problem. I will say that your ability to play the game will directly reflect how much knowledge of the mechanics you have. This isn't to say you should scour the wiki for days on end, unless you're into that. However I would argue that having a few friends to play with, or perhaps actually taking the time to read through skills and practice with what you do enjoy doing; will help you to get by not doing the stuff you don't want to. You really can play this game however you want, it just may require you to have a better understanding of it's inner workings. You're always welcome to ask me about stuff whether that's here on tumblr or in game.

Q: My UI and HUD are this weird plastic blue color and I kinda hate it. Can I fix that or am I stuck with this? A: In the settings menu the game allows you to change the color of the UI and HUD to fit your liking. You can also enable various hotbars and disable others. Additionally you can change the game's resolution, and even pick out which version of the OST you'd like to use of which there are three distinct versions.

Q: Does this game have a meta I should worry about?

A: Yes and no, yes it has a meta; no you shouldn't worry about it. If you're really concerned I recommend picking Giant as your race and Close Combat as your starting Talent. I didn't go over Talents in this essay but they're sort of specializations, not classes. They don't limit anything you can do, but rather give you 2x EXP towards the skills they govern. Giants have a fair bit more strength and HP, they're your standard tanky race. While they may not be as fast on their feet as nimble Elves; they can take a good few more blows, and even have racial skills specific to gathering up enemies. Close Combat doubles down on what Giants are already good at, giving you more HP and Strength. Start out by ranking your essential basics, those being Defense, Smash, Counter, Windmill, and honestly throw Assault Slash in for good measure; since you'll want to often combo these skills together. DO NOT SLEEP ON DEFENSE, it is a heavily overlooked but extremely powerful skill. If you feel like you're struggling in combat, grab a shield and rank your shield mastery; even light armor mastery will be more than enough so long as you have a decent shield and the necessary ranks in the skills. You'll soon feel like a steel wall of defense that not even major storyline bosses can put a dent into.

Q: What are the differences between Elves, Humans, and Giants? Can I change my race after I make my character, since I can change my gender?

A: First off, no; sadly you cannot change your race after making a character. This is become of the racial differences. The major ones are as follows...

Elves can use invisibility to hide themselves, they'll fire 2 arrows as opposed to 1 when using archery; and they obtain a unique poison arrow that spreads to nearby targets when fired. They move faster than other races and have stats better geared towards Magic and Archery; though that won't matter too much. They become a Falcon after Generation 2 letting them use Elven Magic Missile, and cannot use 2 handed weapons nor can they dual wield.

Giants can use stomp which is a fairly week AoE ability, they also get Taunt, Stampede, and Wind Guard as unique skills. They can use two handed weapons in one hand letting them use a shield with them, and can dual wield blunt objects. They have stats geared towards a close combat play style, though again that won't matter too much later on. They become a Beast after Generation 2 letting them use Giant Full Swing, they cannot use bows but have thrown spears instead.

Humans cannot learn the specific racial skills of the other two races. They can dual wield swords; and don't have equipment restrictions outside of not being able to dual wield blunt objects and not being able to use the throwing spears. They have stats geared to an all around play style, which as you know; doesn't really matter much. They become a Paladin after Generation 2, or they can become a Dark Knight which gives them the active skill Control of Darkness which lets them tame an enemy to fight for them.

Q: Is this game Pay to Win?

A: Is any MMORPG not Pay to Win? Alright, real answer; let's break it down. Does Mabinogi have Pay to Win properties? Absolutely it does. Most if not all MMORPGs do. FFXIV has the paid level boosts just like Mabinogi has paid gacha boxes with end game loot. I'm not trying to pick on FFXIV here, it's just what I'm familiar with because I also play it. Truth is, Mabinogi gives you a lot of gold for just doing content, whether you're a crafter who can sell your wares for millions, just doing daily Fynni gems for 1m a week per character, or combat focused and running your Lord missions with boosts for a few million in a couple hours. So while I'd argue that it absolutely is pay to win, not only do you not need those minor boosts from the gear until long into the later generations; you also will have the money to buy it off players long before you actually need it. That's if you need it at all, since you can easily get ahead in this game by just engaging with the many skills and mechanics. If I had to give this a simple yes or no, the answer is yes; but I really don't think it's nearly as bad in Mabinogi as it is in other games. Especially considering how small the PvP scene in this game is. You don't need to pay to win when someone else in your party absolutely did, or maybe you just pay in gold to win. However I'd argue that it's pay to win FASTER than others. Just take it slow and enjoy the journey. Every game is pay to win, Mabinogi handles it better than most.

Q: Is there any reason for me to not like this game?

A: Yea the devs haven't hired me to write articles like this for their marketing. Boycott worthy honestly; they should pay me for this, or at least make me a soul streamer, you know? (┬┬﹏┬┬) ^ This last one is a joke, you know; in case reading comprehension.

[uloelu]

Location: Lykke Center, Windenburg

(transcript under the cut)

Previous (Part 2) | Next

Here's the third and final part! Hope you enjoyed this episode centered around the foster moms. I'd been waiting for the best moment to introduce them to you! You'll see them here and there in the future, and I hope to give them at least one joint episode per season.

Episode 5: Mother, Mother - Part 3

Scene 4 - Leuchtterm Bar und Grille, Lykke Center, Windenburg

[Evening breaks at a restaurant in town…]

Eva Capricciosa (Maître d'): Leuchtterm, how may I help you?

Clara Bjergsen: Björn, for God’s sake, stop sulking.

Patron: ...and then I told her, my daughter does not have bad gas!

Malcolm Landgraab (thinking to himself): This place is a fucking dump. Couldn't we have gone anywhere else?

Geoffrey Landgraab: Have a good day at school, Malcolm?

[Audreyanna sits with her father and his much younger fiancée. All are on their phones; little conversation is being made.]

Lloyd Brookestone: So…a little birdie told me that someone’s living in a full house.

Brylee O’Donnell: Yeah! You’re so odd, Anna. Fostering six teenagers? Is that even legal?

Audreyanna (thinking to herself): God-fucking-damnit

Audreyanna: It’s Audreyanna, thanks. Why am I not surprised that you two stalked me again? Was moving to Germany not a big enough hint?

Lloyd: I have my ways. And hey, I’m still your old man. You could have told me! I would have loved to advise you during the process.

Audreyanna: Like you’ve had experience with the foster system.

Lloyd: Maybe not, but I’ve had experience raising a teenager. Come on, Audreyanna, six kids? Talk about a trial by fire! (pauses) Besides, you’re not the only one expanding the Brookestone family…

Audreyanna (thinking to herself): You’ve got to be kidding me.

[Brylee and Audreyanna stand up so the former can display her slightly pregnant stomach.]

Brylee: Surprise! We wanted to tell you in person. Lloyd and I are going to be parents!

Audreyanna: What the fuck?!

Lloyd: Now, I know this is a bit unexpected…

[Brylee yawns loudly.]

Audreyanna: Unexpected isn’t the word, Dad. You mean to tell me that you got her pregnant? Has her frontal lobe even finished developing? Not to mention, you found out I’m going through something as big as fostering teens for the first time…and you decided to launch your fucking baby the first time we talked about it?

Brylee: Anna, don’t tear his head—

Audreyanna: How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t call me that?

Brylee: Okay, I know that we haven’t been the best of friends, but I thought you’d be happy for me. You know, as a woman.

Audreyanna: As a woman? You’re barely out of college! Shacking up with a 73-year-old man!

Lloyd (thinking to himself): I’ll just stay out of this one.

Brylee: Oh, and you’re so high and mighty, huh? Isn’t Evelyn older than you?

Audreyanna: …what? I mean, yeah, by ten months!

Brylee: There you go. I’m an adult perfectly capable of making my own decisions. I’m not trying to be your stepmom here.

Audreyanna: No, you’re just trying to give birth to a sibling that’s fifty years younger than me!

Brylee: Then ignore their existence! You’re pretty good at that. After all, isn’t what you’ve been doing to us?

Silence.

Lloyd: You’ve always been careful about hiding your life from me, Audreyanna. I don’t understand it, but fine. As long as you respect that we’re making our own life choices, too.

[The waiter arrives.]

Waiter: You guys ready to order?

Audreyanna: Please.

Geoffrey: Malcolm, it’s almost been an hour. The sun’s already set. Can you please just pick something to eat?

Malcolm: How does anyone eat this garbage food? I’ll just get a water.

[Some time later, the waiter reappears with the trio’s food.]

Waiter: Here you go. My, you guys are quiet all of a sudden.

[They dig in.]

Brylee: Gosh, this fake chicken is really delish! A fine testament to the wonders of tofu.

Audreyanna: Tofu, huh? I feel for that baby.

Brylee: If you must know, my doctor says it’s perfectly fine to—

Audreyanna: I don’t care that you’re vegan, Brylee. Just feed that kid greens or something. Anything but tofu.

[quackquackcey]

How Stiles Almost Became a Fitness Diet Nutritionist

Fic written for @sterekweekly’s prompt ‘bacon’. Rated E, 2.8k words. Tags: pining, fluff, smut, & bacon lol. Read on AO3.

Summary:

Stiles somehow lands a date with the ripped, hot guy from the gym that he’s been crushing on for months by praising bacon, but accidentally digs a hole he can’t get out of in the process. Can he keep up the lie or will it all fall apart?~ 🥓🐷

“Why don’t you just ask him out?”

Stiles smacked Scott’s shoulder. “Keep your voice down!” he hissed. “What if he hears you? I can’t just go up to him! I’m just a random stranger; he’d be so creeped.”

“Stiles, he’s literally on the other side of the gym.” Scott huffed out a laugh as he put down his weights. “Besides, you drool over him so much he’s probably long noticed you. Just say hi and that you’ve seen him around, and ask if he’d want to go out on a date with you.”

“I don’t watch him that much!”

Except he did, and he knew it—he even changed his weekly grocery shopping from Mondays to Fridays because he noticed Derek at the store a few times when picking up ice cream on movie night Fridays.

He wasn’t a stalker.

He wasn’t. It was just the grocery store, and it wasn’t like he followed Derek around.

He just…peeked over sometimes.

That was it.

It was hardly his fault that Derek was practically a walking god.

So he continued living his life sneaking glances at Derek sometimes, until one Friday when he saw Derek shopping at the grocery store with a dark-haired woman. Usually, he’d jump to conclusions and assume she was his girlfriend, but they looked similar and bickered as siblings did—(no, relief did not fill Stiles’ chest at that realization).

Currently, the woman was berating Derek for only putting meat and a plethora of bacon in the shopping cart, which Stiles had noticed seemed to be Derek’s favorite food item by far.

Stiles pushed his cart beside them to get himself some bacon, too—what did he need bacon for again?—and then took a step towards the eggs section when—

“Hey, tell my brother that this is not healthy!”

Stiles looked around, but no one was there.

A beat of silence.

He pointed at himself. “Me?”

“Look at all this bacon!” the woman forged on as Derek stood there pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you think this is healthy? Derek won’t listen to me!”

Stiles just sort of stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “U-Uh, well, uh, maybe some, er…variety could be good…?”

It only took him at least a minute to say that garbage line, and he wanted to dig a hole.

The woman nodded approvingly. “See? He agrees!”

Stiles thought that’d be the end of his first not-really-a-conversation-but-maybe-it-counted-indirectly with Derek, but then the woman introduced herself as Laura and Derek as, well, Derek.

Stiles nearly tripped saying his own name.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you at the gym,” said Derek with a casual, blinding smile that rendered Stiles speechless now that he was on the receiving end of it. “We work out on the same days, I think.”

Stiles acted like he had no idea. “Oh, really? Huh. Small world.”

Small world, his ass.

And then Derek laughed, and Stiles’ brain simultaneously short-circuited from the heavenly sound and spiraled, because why was Derek laughing? Was he laughing because he thought Stiles was funny?

Or was it because he knew Stiles was full of shit and had been subtly and discreetly staring stealing glances at him at the gym for who knew how long now?

Whichever one it was, Stiles didn’t have the time to parse it out, because Laura started telling Derek that eating different types of bacon wasn’t any nutritionally better than eating one type of bacon, and Stiles, being the fountain of random knowledge no one gave a shit about that he was, opened his big mouth to defend Derek’s cartful of bacon and proceeded to spiel about how regular cured bacon had 30% protein and 70% fat per serving while back bacon had 65% protein and turkey bacon had 53% protein, so actually, Derek’s selection of bacon did make sense to an extent, and—

“Oh my god, are you a fitness nut, too?” asked Laura. She squinted at him. “No, wait, are you studying nutrition? I have a friend who’s studying that and they spout off random facts all the time when they’re preparing for exams.”

And that was when it all started going wrong.

Continue on AO3!

[what-a-weird-rose]

RoseKiller: The Things You Do (Make Me Crazy)

Pairing: Evan Rosier / Barty Crouch Jr.

Rating: E

Prompt: Choking

Word Count: 1.4k

There is a long mirror on the wall of his office, stretching from the ceiling to the floor; it was too big to fit anywhere else, not to mention a strange addition to the rustic look of the rest of the bar. Barty liked it, he liked looking through it during the wee hour of the night and seeing his father’s face staring back at him. Perhaps it was strange, his need to see his father in himself when he was half-way high, or drunk, or both. The crazy thing about it was, really, Barty wasn’t sure when it started, all he knows is that from the moment he can remember he reveled in seeing his father’s face on his own, doing terrible things.

Maybe that was the problem with the whole picture, Barty could never let go. His father had quietly disowned him -gave him a good chunk of cash and sent him away- and clearly had no intention of reaching out, but Barty just couldn’t. He loathed the very idea of letting the resentment die because, at the end of the day, the resentment is what kept him going most times; when the dark was too chilling and the loneliness too overbearing, the resentment of his father kept the embers stirred.

Even now, as the night dwindles into very early morning, Barty finds himself lost staring at himself -his father- in the massive mirror.

There is a knock at his office door, he says nothing.

The door opened and Barty makes no effort to look at who decided to ignore the obvious brooding energy in favor of annoying him, not like he doesn’t know already.

Of all his friends -the ones he considers friends and not stepping stones to bigger things- Evan is the one with the least patience for Barty’s moods. Often, he outright ignoring them in favor of doing whatever it was Evan dragged him into on those days.

“Good morning, hot-stuff,” Barty snorts as his swivel-chair is spun around, “brought you breakfast, sexy.”

“Disgusting,” Barty says derisively, digging his hands into the flimsy paper bag Evan holds out.

“You get stuck with Dorky and McKinnon for a day and then tell me how you’re planning to cope with the things you’ve seen.” Evan nods to himself, as if trying to convince his own brain that he’s in the right -he’s is, no one should be subjected to Dorcas and Marlene’s hot-garbage flirting.

“You mean you don’t think I’m really ‘hot-stuff’?” Barty pouts, exaggerated in the motion as he dunks fries into a half-melted milkshake. Evan shakes his head vigorously, though Barty is unsure if its in reference to his comment or his fry-milkshake crime. “Thanks for the food, babygirl.”

“Ew. Never call me that again, toad.” Evan recoils, pulling his feet up to rest on the plush of the chair he must have pulled in from the hall. “They’re so fucking nasty, hot-stuff, I don’t know how they manage it.”

Barty nods, throwing his legs out to rest precariously on Evan’s socked feet. “Who stole your shoes?”

“Nargles.”

“Of course, pesky things.”

Evan stretches out in the chair, shoving Barty’s gross mostly-decayed-but-decent-enough Sketchers’ off him. “Those things are so gross, Barty.” And he laughs, as though Evan can’t see his hot pink socks through the holes.

“But without them, I can’t see in the dark,” Barty whines petulantly, stamping his feet on the ground to demonstrate his point, waving his arms around as the soles flicker to life.

“Get a flashlight ‘fore you give me tetanus.” Barty smiles wide as he stands, lifting his arms up high. “When’re you leaving tonight?”

“Wanna take me home?”

“Better than you going with some crazy with a vendetta.”

“One time, Ev. It was one fucking time.”

Evan watches as Barty moves across the room to stare into that mirror of his. He watches as the muscles in Barty’s back shift as he scoots the thing over to access the safe; he says nothing as Barty unlocks the metal box.

“Pandora wants you to come to breakfast tomor- later this morning,” He can’t see it, but Evan can certainly feel Barty roll his eyes, “don’t blow me off, and don’t blow her off either. They’re getting worried about you.”

“Panda send you then? Wanted to make sure ickle Barty was staying out of trouble?” Evan feels the moment Barty stiffens, as if prepared for a fight.

“Either you meet them somewhere they choose, make niceties, and convince them you’re fine, or I tell them your half-homeless and living mostly out of your boss’ office.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Fucking test me, Crouch, see how close to wouldn’t I’ll get.”

Evan’s hands are warm and soft around his neck, holding tight around his airways- Barty feels high.

Evan licks the side of his face, moving one of his hands from Barty’s neck to his arm, where he pulls one hand up and toward his face. He bites and licks Barty’s inner wrist before setting the hand in his hair.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” Evan says, like last time, and every time before that.

“Take me somewhere nice, Ev.”

Evan tightens his grasp over Barty’s neck, shifting his body if only to get more leverage. He pushes backwards into the wall until there is even less no where for Barty to go- not that he’d want to.

Evan kisses his jaw, scraping his teeth along the skin as far as he can get before he runs out of space to mark on Barty’s face. His hand loosens, moving off of Barty’s neck entirely to join his other to pin Barty’s wrists against the wall. Evan’s mouth works quickly, licking stripes of sweaty skin and kissing the crevices between Barty’s jaw, neck, and shoulders.

Barty throws his head back, whining loudly as Evan licks along his collarbones.

“Fuck you, make me cum.”

“Shut up, Barty, no one wants to hear you whine.”

Evan releases his hands and spins him around speedily, before grasping at Barty’s neck once again and sending him back into that quiet submission they both seemed so fond of.

Evan takes the opportunity to bite into the back of Barty’s neck, sucking the skin into his mouth enough to definitely leave a mark. Good, he thinks as his free hand unbuckles Barty’s cheap belt.

Barty jerks his hips forward in some half-hearted attempt at getting friction against the wall; Evan gives his bare ass one good slap in retaliation.

“What have they done to you to make you so fucking impatient.”

“They don’t dally around with foreplay, that’s what.”

Evan rolls his eyes, feeling around Barty’s ass until he finds that puckering hole.

Barty whines louder than before as Evan’s index finger drags along the sensitive skin.

“Fuck me, whore.”

“Shut up, slut.” Evan grips hard on Barty’s neck, and deeply enjoys feeling the way Barty’s gasps around it, trying desperately to get something, with such little luck.

Evan reaches out toward the bag Barty brought in with him, scrambling around inside it until he finds the little bottle of cheap lube.

He squirts the clear gel on the plump of Barty’s ass before smearing it onto his fingers.

“Have you been good, pretty?” He feels as Barty desperately tries to nod, or speak, or anything, and revels in how little he manages. “That’s right, you haven’t, shame that. But I suppose, since I’m so nice, I’ll give you a treat anyways.”

He gives no other warnings before shoving three fingers into Barty’s ass, confident enough in the other’s innate ability to be stretched at all times.

Barty cries, though its choked and scratchy sounding.

Evan soothes him by nuzzling in his hair, though they both know its more patronizing than anything else.

He pumps his fingers in and out, splaying they out at random intervals before calling it a day. Evan scoops more lube off Barty’s ass before stroking his cock, setting up the angle, and shoving in all the way at once.

Barty thinks he might really cry at that.

Evan makes quick work of configuring the angles, setting the pace rough and quick, finding his now-free hand loss in Barty’s hair, tugging and petting.

Barty moans and grunts and groans, though all sound decrepit and pitiful from behind Evan’s large hand.

Evan’s pace is relentless, setting them up for a quick end regardless of anything Barty does. And as they always seem to do at the end, Barty cums first, fast and hard and all-consuming, right before Evan follows, quieter and more deliberate as he fills Barty’s hole.

“Ugh, now I have to sit in your car with cum in my ass.”

“Sucks to suck, cuntface.”

[rosebloodcat]

Ramshackle Fits A Little Too Well

(Or, Crewel learns what can happen to a dorm when there is no one taking care of it for 50-some years)

AN: I started writing this one on a lark, but I really liked it so I figured, why not post it? There are a lot of little background things that I haven't gotten into in this story but I may get to them in a later chapter. But I'm down to explain if people ask, so go ahead if you want to know what's up.

I mostly wanted to get into the horrors of a house that's been abandoned for years at a time in this chapter, and I'm quite pleased with them so far.

Maybe I'll get to the rest of the cool things later. XD

AO3 Link!

Crewel wasn't a fan of the Ramshackle Dorm. As far as he was concerned, it was an eyesore on the esteemed Night Raven College's campus. He'd never understood why the Headmage hadn't had the place torn down and replaced with something more useful to the school after the dorm had been shut down.

Although, at the moment, he supposed it was a good thing that he hadn't done that.  Since it gave them a place for the magic-less puppy to stay after the school carriages accidentally snatched him.

(They needed to have that checked out. The carriages picking up people who weren't even students was a problem.)

He was uncouth and unrefined, but at least he seemed to be sensible.

The puppy had taken time to approach each teacher after class and warn them that some of his assignments may be turned in late throughout the year, as he had to do repairs to the dorm he was staying in along with the work he needed to meet the school's criteria. And the unspoken fact that he would be doing all that by hand on his own, as the barely tolerated familiar staying with him would be all-but-useless for such a task.

Crewel did have to give the puppy credit. He wasn't afraid of hard work or getting his hands dirty.

But he had begun to wonder if, perhaps, such a task would be too much for a single student to manage alone.

The buckled floor he'd found when the student led him to the mostly cleaned sitting room certainly suggested it. (Sort of cleaned? It seemed cleaner than the great of the place at the moment. The whole place was still repulsive.) It was the first of many clues as to the house’s state.

Though he couldn't help raising a brow at the chairs lying on their sides near a very large garbage bag. And with the windows wide open as well, the curtains he knew had once been there were gone.

Upon closer inspection of the heaps, he could see rubber gloves and a rather sharp-looking knife lying there as well. The puppy caught the look and let out a huff.

“Yeah, you’re gonna want to sit on the plain wood chairs in here, Prof. Anythin’ with cloth on it is a giant mold patch now thanks to the leaky roof and the cracked windows. I’m carving as much of it off as I can to throw it out.” He rocked back on his heels, nodding to the garbage bag. Well, that explained that. “Might be able to salvage the wood parts, but the cushions are goners. Grim is outside with Ace studying because this shi- er, stuff was making him sick. I’ve been tying a rag that I got from the school store over my face to keep from feeling the same.”

Ah, mold. Yes, that made sense for how old the dorm was and how long it’s been since anyone was staying there. Of course, there would be-  Wait.

“Leaking roof?” he asked, a trickle of alarm in the back of his mind. Water leaks could do a  lot of damage, but when it froze and melted during the winters…

“Oh yeah, the roof’s got a lot of them. Found out during the storm a couple days ago. Had to dig through every closet I could find to get enough buckets for ‘em.” He let out a gusty sigh, scratching at his still-growing mustache. He glanced upward with a grimace. “I’m dreading when I finally get to clearin’ out the top floors of this place. Which is why I wanted to ask you about stuff for clearing out mold.”

He pointed to a door further down the hall, his jaw setting.

“Especially for the bathroom down there. I think one of the old students forgot some medicine in the cabinet when they left the dorm. I wouldn’t be surprised if it could get up and walk by now if it felt like it, so I need something strong to get rid of it. Even if I can’t use the bathrooms very much right now.”

“And what makes you say that?” Crewel asked. Surely the bathrooms weren’t that disgusting.

“Cause the pipes might blow if do.”

What.

“The pipes have probably frozen over multiple times over the years. So it’s probably messed them up a lot.” He continued, not even noticing the way his new teacher had frozen. “If you send pipes into full use after something like that, it can cause the weakened seals to burst, and you can’t just patch ‘em or else you might end up breakin’ them up in your hands. I’d love to hire a pro to take a look at ‘em and see how much can be safely patched and how much would be better off replaced but…”

He shrugged helplessly at Crewel. He didn’t need to finish the sentence.

Because of his arrival, he had nothing but the clothes on his back. And he certainly had no money to do all the repairs and refurbishing that Ramshackle needed to be inhabitable for a student. Surely the headmage was allowing some form of budget to cover the boy’s efforts to restore the dorm? He wasn’t expecting the boy to do it all out of his own pocket by working at the school store, was he?

The boy certainly couldn’t ask his parents to help pay for it all…

“And how much of this is our esteemed headmage helping cover?” The puppy tilted his head in confusion. He felt his heart sinking. “The headmage has given you a budget for this work, hasn’t he?”

“No? He hasn’t really said anything about helping cover the repair costs for this place. Ace, uh, one of the Heartsyble guys, has been helping with food ever since he got booted from his dorm for eating a tart from the communal fridge without asking first. Most of it’s dry stock but… Yeah.” He looked a bit uncomfortable, glancing back toward the kitchen.

(By the Seven, he didn’t even want to think about the state of the kitchen if the rest of the building was anything to go by.)

Crewel was rapidly re-evaluating the knowledge he’d had about the dorm, the skills of his student, and the stupidity of the headmage for just dumping a student there without even considering the health and safety risks of them staying there.

He took in a breath, held it, and then slowly let it out.

“We will make a list. Of the essentials needed for this building to be comfortable, and safe to live in for however long you’re going to be here. I will call the needed people to get price evaluations and speak with the headmage about setting a repair budget for your work.” He looked down at the student in front of him, who stilled at the sharpened edge of his gaze. “If you are going to be doing the work restoring this building yourself, then you need the funds to do it right. Now, show me the rooms you’ve been looking at using and we can start building up the basics.”

This was going to be far more work than he had been ready for, never mind a lone, magicless student that had been abducted and left to (practically) fend for themselves. (The dorm barely counted as a safe place to stay in its current state.)

And Crewel fully planned to make Crowly share in the misery as well, until he put in the work to fix it.

(Crowly was not ready for the list of extreme hazards that their student was facing being thrown on his desk by the furious Crewel. But it took very little persuading to set a budget to rebuild the dorm. They could justify why the abandoned dorm needed this much work to the school board later. For now, they needed to ensure their student wasn’t poisoned by airborne mold spores or worse while they were stuck at the school.)

(Cab was just happy when Crewel told him that both a plumber and a handyman had been booked to come by in a few days to take a look at the bathrooms and Kitchen.)

[bluejay-writes]

The Raccoon Problem

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Characters: Halsin/Saoirse (Mimi's Druid Tav!) Wordcount: 3630

Notes: This is a secret santa gift for @lavellvn!

You can also read/collect this over on AO3!

“Hey! Get out of that garbage! Don’t make me call The Watch.”

Regin froze mid-rummage, and looked up at the man silhouetted there against the back door of the tavern in the lantern light, but didn’t say anything in response. Having The Watch looking for him was the most terrifying thing he’d experienced in all of his seven years and he wasn’t interested in having it happen again, thanks. He backed away from the garbage, into the darkness of the alleyway, tying the cloth around the spoils of his trash adventure.

“Damn urchin.” the man muttered, unaware how his voice carried in the silence of the night. “If it were a girl, they’d at least take it off my hands for some coin.”

When he returned to the literal hole in a wall he was currently sleeping in, Regin looked over the food he’d managed to gather. A very burned bread roll, a few bones that hadn’t been picked quite clean though he didn’t know what the meat was, and some rinds from cheese that only had a little mold on them. It would get him through to tomorrow night, at least. But that tavern was the last place that he’d been able to visit, everywhere else had chased him away, and now they were on the lookout for him as well. He might have to brave one of the older places again. Or figure out how to hide better so they didn’t shoo him away. If only he was a girl, like the tavern keep had said. He didn’t know why girls were better, or who they were that would want a girl, but at least he wouldn’t be cold and hungry. 

Maybe he could try foraging as a dog, not just sleeping. But dogs tended to draw attention, that’s why he was only a dog when he was in his hiding place, to stay warm for sleeping. Maybe he could try being one of those stripey-whatsits that he saw in the trash sometimes. They had good hands for digging through the trash, and people tended to avoid them. Yeah. That’s what he’d do.

“So, tell me again why you’re looking for help from Druids?” Halsin asked the bartender. His tavern was well-kept, and as far as Halsin could tell, it didn’t even have the usual vermin problem, thanks most likely to the two cats laying in the last rays of sunlight coming through the front window. The tavernkeep’s eyes often strayed to his partner, Saoirse, who was entertaining herself chatting with said cats. Her usual attire tended to draw attention wherever they went, not that he would ever find fault with her choices. She looked stunning no matter what form or coverings she chose.

“We’ve got a raccoon problem. Thing’s a real menace. It’s in our trash every night and it’s gotten smart enough to avoid the traps and even the dogs we’ve tried to set on it. Only thing else I can think of to do to get rid of it at this point is a bigger predator, but I’ll be damned before I bring in a wild bear or wolf just to get rid of a clever raccoon. Figured a druid would be able to talk to the thing or scare it away by sleeping in the yard as something bigger.”

Halsin nodded, and turned to consult with Saoirse.

“My heart, what do you think about this? Any insight from your feline friends?”

Saoirse hummed in thought. “They say the raccoon smells wrong. Not like other raccoons.”

“Cursed, perhaps?” Halsin thought, and Saoirse shrugged. “Well, would you like to spend some time here, dearest? Solve a little raccoon puzzle before we head on?”

Saoirse chuckled. “Who would I be if I passed up both the chance to understand a creature of Faerûn and a chance to have a bear nap with my beloved?”

Halsin turned and addressed the man behind the bar once again. “We’ll handle your raccoon problem.”

“Good, you have two days, as we’ve a wedding here in four and if you can’t do it we gotta have a day to try… something else.”

“What something else?” Halsin asked, half-growled as though he knew already what the man was going to say.

“Poison, obviously. I don’t want to do it, else I never would have put a call out for druid adventurers, but if I want to keep the noble wedding contract, I gotta get rid of the raccoon.”

Halsin sighed. “Don’t even consider the poison. Children rummage through the trash and anything that can hurt a raccoon can kill a child in no time flat, let alone the harm it could do to local pets.” Or the destitute in the area. He didn’t add that last bit. Most people saw the poor as a blight anyway and would happily be rid of them just as much as they would pests. “We’ll handle your raccoon, one way or another.”

The tavernkeeper nodded, and Halsin was calmed to notice the relief in their face. They weren’t lying about being reluctant to use fatal methods, at least.

“You gonna be warm enough out there or should I get you some firewood? It can get a mite chilly now that it’s started snowing.”

“We’ll be fine.” Saiorse purred, pulling Halsin out through the kitchen into the Tavern’s yard. She’d had enough of this conversation, and wanted to get started, thanks.

Regin sniffed the air as he approached his usual tavern hunting ground. Okay, okay, it was the trash, but he was hunting for dinner so it counted. He paused for a moment when he smelled something unusual. He crept slower and more carefully towards the tavern only to see large furry lumps in the yard. Was that… bears?! Regin had only ever seen a bear from a distance before. These two looked cozy, all curled up together in the snow. Regin was jealous. He wished he had someone to curl up with on the snowy nights. It was too cold these days, even when he was a dog. Maybe if he was one of those fluffy dogs? He hadn’t gotten a good enough look at one of those to be one before, and even though he could see the bears real close, he knew being a bear would get him in way more trouble than a small dog would, even if it were warmer.

The bears didn’t seem to react to him arriving, so Regin decided to risk digging through the trash even though there were bears. They didn’t look like they wanted to attack him when he appeared, so maybe they would just let him dig through the trash. Besides, he knew the way up to the rooftops between here and his hole, so he was sure he could outrun a bear no problem, even if they were angry. 

As he dug through the trash, setting aside the most edible looking pieces of refuse, he could feel the eyes of the larger bear following his movements. The smaller bear seemed to be asleep, right up until the point where it stood and lunged at the trash bins, all in a matter of seconds.

Regin didn’t know why the bear was coming after him but he did know that he definitely didn’t want to die. He especially didn’t want to get eaten by a bear! Abandoning his haul, little cloth bag and all, he skittered away down the alley and up to the rooftops, dropping his stripey-whatsit form just as soon as he was clear of the bear so that it wouldn’t be able to follow him by scent. Sure, getting back off of the roofs as a little boy was dangerous, but a whole lot less dangerous than being eaten by a bear!

Saoirse cursed as she lost track of the raccoon across the rooftops. Little thing was wicked fast, and the cats were right. It didn’t smell like a raccoon at all. She shifted into a shrew and skittered her way up to the rooftop, sniffing as she went. Unfortunately, the trail stopped dead just two roofs away, and the roof itself was awash in so much scent that her little nose got confused, and she was forced to head back to Halsin empty-handed.

“Nothing.” She said, as she stopped next to where Halsin was staring into the trash bin. “It got away.”

“It’s definitely more than just a normal raccoon.” Halsin rumbled quietly, and showed Saoirse the cloth bag that the raccoon had been carrying, sewn together with rough but intentional stitches. “I don’t think it’s a curse, unless that curse burdens it with a humanoid level of intelligence.”

“Were-Raccoon?” Saoirse suggested, though even she was hesitant to believe it.

“Possible. Or a Doppleganger trying to stay under the radar while it gathers intelligence. There are any number of things it could be, up to and including a fellow druid. Though, a fellow druid should have recognized our nature and spoken to us rather than running.”

“What if it’s a child, Halsin?” Saoirse said, leaning against his shoulder. “Would a child know druidic norms and expectations? If they aren’t yet part of a circle, they may not even be able to tell the difference between one of us and a standard bear.”

“It would explain the level of moxie this one had, to rummage in the garbage even with us both laying there. A normal raccoon wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near that close the moment it smelled us.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’ll be back for this bag. it’s a clearly well loved and cared for object, after all.” Saoirse said, running her finger along the rough seam. “Shall we adjourn once more to rest?”

“Aye, we shall. I would have you take a flighted form though, my heart. If it comes back, i do not want to lose sight of it again.”

Saoirse nodded, and as Halsin settled back to rest as a bear, she shifted to nighthawk and settled on his flank to keep watch for the raccoon’s return.

Regin shivered in his hole. Even his dog form wasn’t keeping him warm in this weather, and with no food in his belly he was feeling especially bad. With winter setting in, fewer people were traveling so there was less edible waste at the inn, so he was even thinner than usual. Eventually, he knew he had to go back and try again, at least to retrieve his bag. The bears couldn’t be there forever, and if he could at least grab his bag he’d be able to scrounge food from somewhere else tonight. Something, anything to keep him going one more day.

Without changing form, Regin loped out of his hole and back down the alleys towards the inn. He could at least see if the bears were still there before spending the energy to shift into his striped trash-dweller self.

Sure enough, the larger of the two bears was there, eyes closed in apparent rest. The small bear had yet to return, and Regin wondered if it was still trying to get up the building to chase after the stripey-whatsit he used to be. He walked around the inn’s area a few times, and then turned to go back to his home. One bear was there, but it was sleeping. That would probably give him the time to grab his bag and get out if he was lucky. He didn’t really have a choice, though. He needed his bag if he was going to carry enough food to keep himself alive.

“You seeing this?” Halsin rumbled, and Saoirse chuckled.

“That scrawny pup? It’s circled three times, each time checking you out, and the trash, and the building the raccoon disappeared on. If it comes again, I’m going to wing up and follow it and see if I can’t find its home.” Saoirse moved from his flank to the rooftop, to make it easier to tail the dog that did in fact reappear moments later, before turning and leaving.

She followed it, until it tucked itself into a literal hole in one of the town’s outer walls, before curling up. She started to reach out to Halsin to tell him what she’d learned, only to interrupt herself mid sentence.

Well, the dog seems to be holed up in— Nature’s Bounty, Halsin!! You were right! It is a little druid boy. He’s heading back your way as a raccoon, I can only assume to retrieve his bag.

Heard. was the only response Halsin gave, and Saoirse waited until the boy was well and truly gone before she shifted back to herself and investigated the den to try and understand him better. There was nothing here to identify the owner as anything more than a scraggly little dog. Bones, the inedible parts of cheese rinds (though these too were gnawed on) and some tattered bits of blanket were all that were here. The den smelled of dog, and of raccoon, and of boy, all of them seeming slightly off somehow. This boy had been doing nothing more than surviving, and that just barely. Saoirse felt herself flare with protective anger, but before she could say a word, Halsin reached her with another message.

I have him. Come back to me, my heart, we have much to discuss with this young one.

Regin shivered in fear, the large bear’s paw pinning him to the ground.

“Promise me you won’t run, child, and I will let you up.” The bear spoke.

Bears can talk?! Regin thought, confused and very very afraid. He just nodded. He didn’t know if stripey-whatsits normally nodded, but he knew that bears probably couldn’t normally speak common, so maybe it was okay if he nodded.

The bear paw lifted off of him, and Regin felt blessed to be alive. He wasn’t even hurt, the bear had been very scary, but careful, which was weird because the bear definitely should have wanted to eat him because bears totally ate things like him in the wild, and… 

Regin’s eyes blew wide as the bear in front of him turned into a man. Still big. Still scary. Still very bear-like. But definitely a person now. Did that mean the littler bear was also a person!? Where was it now? Oh no, was it okay? Had it gotten hurt chasing him? That would be the worst, he never wanted anyone to get hurt because of him. Not like mama. Not again.

“You’re safe here, little one.” He rumbled, and Regin shook his head. How could he be safe, there was a big scary bear that was also a man and somewhere there was a smaller bear that was probably also a person that had gotten hurt because of him, and now he was going to be in trouble and…

“You’re scaring him, dear.” a voice said, as a bird landed on the fence near him and then… became a lady? Oh. They were… like him, then. People that could be animals. The lady wasn’t wearing much, just vines, it looked like, even in the snow. She crouched down next to him and reached out slowly, tentatively, before touching his nose, and saying ‘boop.’

Regin couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound awkward and stilted coming from a stripey-whatsit. He let go then, and went back to being a little boy. Hopefully it was okay with them, then, that he was a little boy who could also be a stripy-whatsit, and not a little girl like the tavernkeep said.

“There you are, little one.” the bear-man said, crouching down next to him. “I am Halsin, and she is Saoirse. Do you have a name?”

Regin nodded. “Mama called me Regin. Nobody else calls me anything though, so I must be Regin.”

Bear-man, no Halsin, seemed to be smiling. “I will call you Regin, then. Are you hungry?” He pulled some trail bread from a pouch and held it out towards Regin, who shook his head. He didn’t dare take anything from someone, that was the last thing he could possibly do.

“Mister Halsin, am I in trouble?” He looked between the two adults in front of him, still tense. He was still sure that he was going to be in real trouble, like with The Watch and everything. The Watch… he… really didn’t want to be handed over to The Watch.

“That depends.” Halsin said, not mincing words despite the youth in front of him. “Have you done something bad?”

“I stole from the trash.” Regin said. They knew he’d done it, there was no reason to pretend he was innocent. “I… I know stealing is wrong, always. But I was hungry, and it was the trash so that meant they didn’t want it anymore, and…”

“Shh.” Saoirse said, and Regin stopped talking immediately. “It’s not stealing if they threw it away, little one.”

“B-but I was also there when they didn’t want me there, I just didn’t have nowhere else to go so I kept using their trash even after they told me to leave, even though I had to learn to be a stripey-whatsit to do it.”

“A raccoon.” Halsin said, and Regin nodded.

“Yeah, a stripey-whatsit.”

“Who taught you how to be a raccoon?” Saoirse asked, now sitting casually in the snow next to him.

“Nobody. I just saw them and thought it was good that they had little hands and no one seemed to mind them being in or around trash.” Regin shrugged. “Dogs don’t have hands, so.”

“Did anyone teach you to be a dog?” Saoirse asked, then, and he shook his head.

“No, but lots of people called mama a dog so I thought maybe if I was a dog…” Regin didn’t want to finish that sentence, so he didn’t.

“Can you tell me anything more about your mother?” Saoirse asked, sharing a look with the man that Regin didn’t understand.

“She dressed a lot like you, well, kindof. Yours looks like plants, but mama mostly wore soft cloth, just… about as much as you wear I guess? It was red, always red. She was real pretty, her hair was real long, it went all the way to her hips! I want to have hair that long someday, but mine keeps breaking.” Regin reached up and played idly with the ends of his brown-black hair, shrugging.

“Where’s your mama now, Regin?” Halsin asked, softly.

“Oh. She’s dead.” Regin said, the relative nonchalance of his tone startling the adults. “I’ve been on my own for three winters now.”

Halsin eyed him carefully. “How old are you, child?”

“Seven, as of last summer.”

“And how did your mother die, if you can tell me?”

Regin shivered, but it wasn’t just from the cold. “The Watch killed her, Mister Halsin. She told me if The Watch ever took her that I had to run away and never go back home, and she’d find me, but… I couldn’t stay away. I knew I could get her back away from The Watch. They were looking for something she was hiding, like a pet, but she just swore she wasn’t hiding anything. She didn’t have a pet or nothin, just me. We couldn’t really take care of a pet, there was really only enough food for the two of us. But they kept saying they knew she was carrying it, and she told them she lost it, so it must have been something real important, cause the head of The Watch himself was there and he was so so mad. When she refused to tell him anything, he… he…” Regin’s eyes welled up with tears. He hadn’t cried over his mother since the day it had happened, why was he crying now? He almost didn’t flinch when the lady pulled him into her lap and hugged him. No one had hugged him like this since Mama.

“What happened to her?” Halsin asked, quietly.

“He shot her. With a crossbow. She fell down and never got up. I think she was gone right away. I.. I just ran and ran, like she told me to.”

Regin’s tears picked up then, and he sobbed into Saoirse’s chest until he was so exhausted he simply fell asleep.

Halsin and Saoirse took the boy into the room they had at the inn - they weren’t planning on solely sleeping outside, after all.

Once Saoirse had tucked the boy in, she sat down at the table with Halsin and sighed.

“So, the raccoon problem is a talented child druid.” She said, and Halsin nodded.

“Whose mother was likely a sex worker of some variety, hiding the fact that she’d had a child.”

“A child of some import, if The Watch was willing to go so far as to kill her over it.”

“Said child has spent three years fending for himself on the streets and not a single soul cared enough to take him in.” Halsin tried to tamp down the growl in his tone, but was generally unsuccessful. “I will not leave him to weather a fourth.”

“He wouldn’t be likely to survive it.” Saoirse said, sighing. “I have always wanted a son. Do you think… he would be willing to travel with us? Leave this place?”

“If he is willing, I will take him, lineage be damned.” Halsin said, reaching out to wrap Saoirse’s hands in his. “And I will teach him the proper names for animals. No more stripey-whatsits.”

“I want to feed him until he’s plump and happy like a young boy should be. I do not want to be able to count his ribs at a glance.”

“And make sure he can grow his hair long, like his mother.” Halsin said, the smile evident in his tone.

[sio-writes]

Botanist's Guide - Chapter 12

<<Chapter 11 (NSFW)

<<< Chapter 1

Summary: Cassandra Rowland, PhD, finally has the chance to work on an experiment that really matters: growing Earth crops on another planet. Too many overdue reports and marked failures have put her in hot water with the board, and this is her last chance at redemption. So when she finds herself railroaded by a seven foot tall, glowing alien named Kri, it won’t be as easy as sticking some seeds in the soil and running them under the tap. Tack on the looming repossession of her lab contingent on her success in Kri’s reports, and Cassie realizes she may have her work cut out for her.

Looking into the microscope I see exactly what I should be seeing: The box-like cell structure of a plant, no different than one I'd see on Earth. It's sage, so crushing it between the slides released it's earthy aroma, and now my whole station smells like the greenhouse, but that's not a complaint. 

Mutations are non-existent, cell walls look good, chlorophyll is bright green. I check off the Salvia officinalis box on my laptop as well as transfer any notes from my head to the computer, and then I pick up the next slide. 

Lactuca Satvia, iceberg lettuce, also looks like every slide I've made. No mutations, it's bright green that fades into a white at the stalk, and if it weren't currently doing a job for science, I'd definitely add it to a salad. I note it down right next to the sage, humming something off-key as I do. Maybe I'll grab a salad for lunch. 

There's only a few more slides to go through, I'm making great time today. My mp3 player crapped out on me, a victim of getting slammed against the wall the other day. I have a little funeral planned, which just consists of putting her into the garbage cube-maker thing. If I had funeral music to play I would, but…well.

It's absence has left the lab deathly silent, but I think my coworkers are thankful for it. At least, no one's said otherwise. The change in pace has kept me focused, a good thing for today with so much technical work to get done. Staying on task is my number one priority.

And Jillie won't stop staring at me.

All day now, she's been throwing me glances, flat out staring me down, she even sent a paper note over. I've been pointedly ignoring her in favor of digging into my work, with huge success on my end. I'm apparently very good at my job when I'm avoiding something else.

I'd tried the silent treatment when the door first opened-- two hours later!-- but once she started crying I felt too bad to keep up the charade. Then she'd shoved these nasty granola bars and an ice-cold water in my face, and I ate only to appease her and not because I'd skipped dinner to head back to the lab in the first place. Besides, a few minutes of pretending to be mad told her what I needed it to, and it was about all I could handle anyway. She's my friend, I can't be mad at her for trying to hook me up. But I can pretend to withhold the information to torture her for a few days. Just a little. 

The first day back had been the worst of her prying. Kri had decided to keep up his schedule of only showing up once a week, giving her permission to blabber away.

"So. Is it big?"

"Hand me the pipettes, please."

"Aw come on! At least tell me if he was good!"

"Pipettes. Please."

But Kri is here today, thank god, so her barrage of questions has stopped for now.

Eventually I will share, because I want to, but Kri and I didn't actually talk about anything. He didn't wake me up after ten minutes like I'd asked him to, instead the shrill metal of the door sliding open is what woke me up. And then Jillie rushed in with her terrible food, and we all went home. It felt particularly anti-climactic compared to the heated confession and fucking. 

Part of me is hopeful, but it's nearly drowned out by the cynic in me. Until we parted ways, Kri kept constant contact with me-- a steadying hand on my back, an arm around my waist, and once, for a glorious moment as Jillie walked out ahead of us, he interlaced our hands together and squeezed my fingers. I think my heart actually leapt into my throat, and then he was walking away without a goodbye.

It's left this…whatever we have going, undefined and hazy. We exchanged pleasantries this morning, but that was all, and it's been nothing but work since. I'm not picking up any anger or malice, but it's also awkward as hell, especially with an extra set of blue eyes watching my every move. "Ignore us Jill, but hey Kri, remember when we fucked? That was great, wanna do it again? On a regular basis?" 

It's not like I can call or text him, I don't have a phone that connects to Summanus' sat-system. Just the chunky brick they gave at landing that connects to the handful of satellites we ground out of the military's original plan. I don't know where Kri lives, either, and they don't have any kind of directory in English. But it's not like Kri's made any moves either, and he actually knows where I live.

I sigh through my nose as I prep the next set of slides. Maybe I'm making excuses, flimsy reasons to keep this going as a casual thing instead of what I'd hoped it would be, what I want it to be. But we need to talk, hands down. Because not knowing is driving me crazy. 

Stealing a glance at Kri is easy, just pretend to hold the slide to the light. I simultaneously want to catch his attention as well as have him keep ignoring me so I can keep staring like a creep. There's things I hadn't picked up on before, small details. The line of his shoulders, the angles of his wings. He's still so pretty under the lights with the flecks of opalescent color in his plating, but it feels like I'm seeing him in an entirely new light. Has something in my brain switched?

The cosmos grants me a favor when Jillie walks to the bathroom. Immediately, I step away from my desk and towards Kri.

"Hey," I say. 

I probably should've thought of something to say.

"Hello," he says, resting his hands on his lap and giving me his full attention. "Is everything alright?"

I fidget with my coat, trying not to remember how it felt to take off for him. "Can we--Can we talk?"

He glances sideways at the bathroom door, then back to me. "Right now?"

I've come to realize that Kri isn't cagey like I once thought, he's just intensely private. He doesn't broadcast things, doesn't offer information like I do, isn't loud or boisterous. He flies under the radar a lot, and I think it's on purpose. 

"Later," I assure him. "Later-- um, do you wanna-- I mean, would you mind, maybe--"

As I talk and fidget, Kri stands from his chair and steps up to me. He grabs my face gently between two hands, and tilts my head up to his, both thumbs tracing lines over my cheeks.

"Would you like to talk over dinner?"

"That's a--" I clear my throat, and Kri's eyes crinkle as he smiles. "Sounds great."

His fingers are soft and warm, thumbs tracing over my cheek again, and his gaze falls to my lips. 

Nothing's been set in stone, but this, and the reminder of everything else, makes me want something solid. Something real, tangible.

I've tried to think about what I want to say, but I've never been good at stringing words together. I'm more a woman of action than speaking, I'd rather just push Kri against the desk and kiss him until my lips bleed.

We lean closer together, almost kissing, until the sound of a soft 'ahem' makes us jump apart, and we both turn to the source of the noise. In the doorway, Jillie has the biggest, shit-eating grin on her face.

My jaw works on several starting noises, but none make their way out. I wind up looking like a fish.

She holds up her hands, placating. "Hey don't let me interrupt." And sits back at the countertop as if nothing happened.

Heat rises to my cheeks, even more so when I hear Kri softly chuckle behind me as he steps back to sit down. I grumble back to my desk, and Jillie's pointed looks burns a hole through my spine. But we work through the next thirty minutes without issue. It's boring as shit, and the tension in the air makes my leg bounce up and down.

After a few more minutes of tense silence, I'm ready to burst. I'm going to explode.

"I'm holding a funeral for Emmie."

The two of them look to me, but their expressions couldn't be further apart. Kri looks shocked, genuinely concerned that I have a deceased friend, and Jillie's look is flat, very much done with my shit. 

"Your mp3 player, really Cass?"

Kri's expression resolves into understanding, and then falls to match Jillie's. "Hardly grounds for a funeral."

I chew on my bottom lip and stare at the floor. "Yeah the, uh, the screen cracked." I pull Emmie out of my back pocket, where she usually lives, and display her in my cupped palms like a baby bird. Behind Jillie, Kri sucks in a breath, but says nothing. Jillie either doesn't notice or doesn't care, because she scoffs, smiling.

"You're so dramatic."

I pocket Emmie again, my brows pinching in mock-offense. "She was a member of this family!"

"It was outdated before your grandparents were born!"

"She was reliable," I hold my hand to my heart, and wipe away a tear. "Three thousand songs, no internet required. Now I have to find something else."

"God forbid you talk to us instead."

I hold my sordid expression. "No one here understands me."

"You listen to your sad music too much, hun."

"It is rather whiny," Kri chimes in, and I shoot him a dirty look over Jillie's shoulder. He shrugs.

"You're both bullies, I'm putting in for a transfer," I say very mildly as I grab the next slides.

"Good," Jillie sniffs. "You can smooch it up in someone else's lab."

As slowly and dramatically as possible, I turn to her. "I'm sorry, who stuck us in a room for three hours?"

"Two, you drama queen."

"At least Kri likes me," I say and Jillie shoves my shoulder.

"One of us has to."

Our shoulders shake as we hold back laughter, and for the first time all day, I feel light. Like a seal has been broken and released all the pressure in the room.

Jillie doesn't stare at me anymore, instead she focuses her efforts on the experiment, and even hums a few songs to break up the silence. We hit a flow again, something that's been sorely lacking the past few weeks, and zoom through the required tests. Despite the crushing quiet, it's been nice to sink into a routine that we both know, stepping around each other like a dance.

I keep my eye-contact down to a minimum, because my thoughts will scatter to the wind again. And it's hard enough reigning them in even when I'm  focusing on my work. Looking at Kri only makes me think of the other day, and then what may happen later. It opens up a question that I desperately need an answer to, but won't get until later. But I need it now, and the anxiety of not knowing is ramping up my anxiety to a twelve.

We all break for lunch, the three of us walking to the cafeteria. Jillie and I snag a booth with our food, and Kri splits off. I look around to see if I can find him in the mess that is the food prep stations, but I don't see him. He chose to eat by himself those first few days, a habit that carried over even when Jillie was out sick, but I wish he'd sit with us now. 

Turning back to the booth, I accidentally make eye-contact with Jillie. The flame of curiosity is back in her eyes, and I shrink down in my seat. I suppose it's time to end her suffering.

"This is killing me," she says. "Are you guys a thing now?"

She looks so excited, so hungry to hear about everything. I push out a sigh. "I have no idea. We didn't talk about it."

Leaning back, Jillie's face falls into an impressed expression, and I fail to suppress a responding smile. Jillie slaps her palms on the table and barks out a laugh. "I knew it!"

"Shush!" I hiss, reaching over as if the motion would quiet her. "Not so loud."

Jillie's eyes are glittering as she reaches for my hands across the table. "You have to tell me everything."

In as many words, I try to surmise the evening, from the fight to falling asleep, with Jillie interjecting with questions every now and then. Some details I keep to myself, I'm allowed some secrets, but Jillie's my best friend. We try to eat in between, but eventually wind up setting down our food to focus on conversation.

I finish with her opening the door, and she squeezes my hands. "So where should I disinfect? The countertop? The floor? The shower in the bathroom?"

"He held me against the wall," I say, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.

"Ooh, standing?"

I shake my head, and her look of realization is priceless.

"You have to tell me how big he is."

I groan to the ceiling. "I wish I knew. I couldn't see it."

"Then you gotta look again, hun!"

Leaning back, I grab my water bottle and take a swig. "He did invite me to dinner."

Jillie nods sagely. "You're definitely gonna get some tonight, then."

I open the wrapper for my salad and mull it over as I pour the dressing on. "I don't know if I want to. At least not tonight. I was hoping we'd talk instead."

"Talk?"

I nod. "We didn't do much talking-- shut up-- so now I don't know what this is. Friends-with-benefits? Something serious? And what do I even want? What does he want from me? What is he--"

"Cass, calm down. Nothing's happened yet."

"That's the problem! I don't know what's going on."

Jillie scrunches her face, her head falling to one side. "Then ask him?"

I plop my cheek into my palm, squishing my face on one side. "Not like we've had time."

Jillie offers me a sympathetic look. "Maybe you need to be more upfront. Instead of making out while I'm in the bathroom, you have a little chit-chat. I can disappear for a while."

"We already agreed on dinner," I say, smiling.

"You sure?" She raises her eyebrows. "You just say the word, and I'm gone for fifteen to twenty minutes."

I shake my head again, filled with warmth that she's so insistent. I am anxious about it, but things can wait. It's not worth putting the experiment on hold for. Besides, the lab is hardly a romantic setting to have a serious conversation.

With a deciding nod, Jillie starts to clean her space, and I'm short to follow behind. The rest of the day runs as planned, no interruptions. Jillie stays in her seat, and I'm not thrown into a panic.

I'm actually looking forward to dinner with Kri. The restaurants here are okay, and there's even a few with that warm, low, romantic lighting that's perfect for dates. And honestly, I'm more excited to spend time with Kri. A small, girlish part of me wants to go home to freshen up, make myself look nice instead of the lab rat I must resemble.

All three of us head out of the building, Jillie heading west, Kri and I heading south. The restaurants are all in the northern quadrant by the Capitalism District, there's none in this direction. The only thing this way is housing.

I fake nonchalance as we walk. "So, where're we headed?"

"The…" he trails off, frowning and speaking slowly like he's testing out the words. "Food storage facility."

I raise an eyebrow. "The grocery store?"

He looks down at me, concerned. "Is that okay?"

The grocery store is closer to a MiniMart or a gas station. A handful of isles of instant meals, comfort foods, and frozen produce shipped from Earth. But there's also the ento-run store to the east with more selection. It's open to the public, but everything is labeled in Universal, and I have no idea what's good or not, so I've been too intimidated to go on my own. "Which store?" I ask.

"The eastern building, I just need to pick up a few items."

I feel my stomach grumble. "And food after?"

"I was hoping to cook for you," he says, wings fluttering. "If that's alright."

I haven't had anyone cook for me since I visited my parents. Warmth settles in me, not quite arousal, but something else, something heavier. Kri wants to cook for me.

"That'd be awesome."

The walk to the grocery store runs through another block of buildings, all of them painted in subdued, warm tones. They're all short, maybe three stories at the tallest, and the terrain reminds me of a seaside strip mall-- laid brick and cobblestone. I've only ever been to this side once on a tour, this is where it turns into culture and arts. 

The store is nestled at the bottom floor of a deep red building, a carved out space that may have once been a multi-vehicle garage. Inside are several rows of foodstuffs, some packaged, some open. There's an assortment of fruits that I have no idea the names of as well as what look like a few rows of packaged instant ramen. Some things are universal, I suppose. 

The store is empty, so it's just the two of us looking through the isles. I wander the isles while Kri picks up several fruits. He grabs a plum-sized blue seed, a handful of bean pods the size of my finger, and two green vegetables that look like potatoes. I'm examining the isle of drinks, wondering what tastes like what, when Kri grabs my attention.

"Would you prefer sweet, or savory?" He holds up two nearly identical looking spheres that look like dark red coconuts. I walk up and pretend to inspect them, humming as I think. I have no idea what he's doing, but I appreciate that he's including me. 

"What do you like?" I ask. 

"It's your decision."

I blink at him. "But I don't know what you're cooking. What's easier for you?"

Kri regards me, head tilted, and puts the coconut in his left hand back on the pile. He doesn't say anything, remaining silent as he grabs several other things, all the while catching glimpses of me as he does. I sidle up to him as the cashier bags his stuff.

"What'd ya go with?"

The cashier extends one long arm and hands Kri his things, and Kri quickly closes the bag so I can't see inside. "You'll have to find out."

I balk. "No fair!"

He smirks at me sidelong. "You insisted it was my decision."

"But I need to know the results."

"You will."

***

Kri’s apartment isn’t far from the store. I have to wrestle one of the grocery bags out of his grubby hands so I can I carry it and feel useful as we wind around buildings and cross a few streets. We walk quietly, not quite awkward enough for my reflexive talking to kick in, but I feel the need to fill the space simmering under my skin.

I want to say something. I should probably say something. It's only fair, and would help my anxiety so much more than waiting. 

We wait in the elevator to his floor and I need to say something. We're approaching his place and I need to speak up, but I say silent.

It's too much, it would break this easy flow. The timing isn't right and god damn it, we're already at his door. 

Stepping through the doorway feels simultaneously like jumping off a cliff and nothing at all. I'm aware of how huge this feels, my stomach lurches and my hands go clammy, but I'm also aware of the world continuing to turn around me. This doesn't feel real, but I want to grab at it with both hands and take it before it disappears.

Kri flicks the lights on, and I don't know what I expected, but a mirror of my own place wasn't it. This building is supposed to have the nicer layouts, with actual bedrooms instead of a studio layout. It's not surprising though, us Earth scientists are about as creative as socks for Christmas when it comes to designing buildings. I hope Kri isn't paying extra.

Everything is scaled up for someone of Kri's size, and there's a massive cloth hammock where the bed should be that's piled high with pillows. Along the living room wall on the right are shelves of books, interspersed with plants of various sizes that hang down almost to the floor. To the left of the sliding glass door to the balcony is another bookshelf, with a screen and speakers, and the light reflects off several picture frames that flick through a few photos.

Giving in to my base urge to be nosy, I set my bag on the kitchen counter and wander over to the television set. Under the coffee table is an ornate looking rug that's definitely too expensive for my apartment, and I try to tip-toe around it to avoid leaving any dirt, when something catches my eye.

In the corner, on a bottom shelf, is a taxidermied rat on a tiny skateboard. It's in the middle of popping an ollie, sitting in the center of some kind of ceramic crown of Summanian flowers. The frame above it swipes to a new photo, and in my peripheral I see Kri

My anxiety flares, and I turn away from the shelf of picture frames and other memories. Focusing my attention on something else is all I can do not to feel like a trespasser here, and I wander to the kitchen where Kri is grabbing several items from the fridge. The feeling of inadequacy swells, gelatinous and without form, and I try to push it down. It squishes between the bars of my mind, an imprint reflected back at me that tells me I’m not welcome here.

Instead, I step up to Kri and wrap my arms over his waist. The chitinous plating covering his body draws lines over his form that lead my fingers to his front, and I lean into his frame. Even bent over, my arms are level with his waist, and when he straightens, it pushes my face into his wings. Their whole structure is split into two sets, the bottom that folds open like a fan, and the top shaped like a dragonfly’s wing. They’re cool under my cheek, catching the light and shimmering.

“Yes?” He asks, two hands coming to pat mine.

I sigh heavily against his back, trying to sort my thoughts and coming up short. Taking my silence for an answer, Kri turns in my arms and cups my face in his lower hands.

“Am I not paying you enough attention?” He teases gently, running a free hand over my head. “Because I’m trying to provide you with a meal.”

Shame wells up behind my anxiety, hot and present, and I puff my cheeks and stare at a spot on his shoulder. I know talking is the right choice here, but my head is too much of a mess to talk about anything. 

Ignoring the swirling feelings in my gut, I push up on the balls of my feet and press our lips together. He hums, a surprised note deep in his throat, as the hands gently cupping my cheeks firmly hold me and he pushes back. It’s a different kiss than the first one, softer, sweeter, holding promise. He’s slow to lick in my mouth, but it adds heat that reminds me of the passion of last week. He can pick me up and set me against the wall, can hold me with two arms and work me over with the other two.

I push my tongue into his mouth, wanting to make up for the interrupted kiss earlier today. My lips slot against his and he hums another satisfied note as he skims his tongue against mine and starts exploring my mouth.

I want more of this, I want this all the time. I can’t imagine giving up the way he slots so perfectly against me, like a puzzle piece I didn’t realize I was missing.

Kri pulls away from my mouth with a pained sound, but I can hear the smile in his voice. "I thought you wanted to talk first."

I lean into him and push my lip out in a pout. "Changed my mind." 

And then he smiles against my lips and pushes forward again. It's so easy to give in, like falling into a soft bed. I'm surrounded by comfort and warmth. 

Taking the lead, Kri steps me over to the counter and, without breaking the kiss, picks me up by the waist and lifts me onto the countertop. The ease that he picks me up makes me feel hot, and I moan softly against his lips before Kri pulls away. 

"What would you like to--" 

"Anything you want," I breathe. "What do you want?" 

Kri laughs, low and dangerous. "From you? Everything."

He leans forward to kiss me again, but the silence of the room makes my growling stomach practically echo against the walls, and Kri's hands stop halfway to my chest.

"You need to eat," he says, smiling. 

With that, he straightens, hands smoothing down my hair, and turns away from me and back into the kitchen.

"What would you like to drink? I have water, and I'm quite fond of Earth's orange juice."

I snicker. "Orange juice is actually more of a breakfast drink."

Kri presses his lips together and looks away, wings fluttering. "I also have lifrit juice, and wegol soda."

I hop down from the countertop and walk around the island to a stool. It's tall enough that when I sit, my legs swing freely. It's been a long while since my feet haven't hit the floor, it makes me feel like a kid again. 

Humming, I tap my fingertips over my lips. I'm not sure what those last two were, and I'm up for trying something new, but I also want tonight to mean something. It feels important that everything go right. "What would go with tonight's meal?"

He perks up at that. "I may have something," And starts rooting around in his lower cabinets. I hear him knocking about lots of metal objects-- pots and pans maybe, before he straightens, holding a bottle of wine.

"Is this acceptable?"

I drag the bottle closer and spin it around to get a look at the label. It's a Sauvignon blanc from a few years back, unopened. What a random thing to have in his cabinet. "Why do you have this?"

"I bought it to sample the taste, but never got the chance," he says as he roots around in the drawers. He opens a few before finding the little corkscrew opener and hands it to me. The bottle pops open easily, and I pour it into the two glasses Kri sets out for me. I bring the glass to my lips and sip at it while Kri watches and mimics me. I'm not super into wine-tasting but this one is good, it would pair well with a fancy meal. 

The face Kri makes after he sips is the same face I make when Jillie orders tequila shots, and I have to be careful not to inhale my drink. Kri immediately sets his glass down and shakes his head.

I hide my smile behind my glass. "Not a fan?"

"That is quite awful," he says with a shudder.

I take another sip of mine and then swirl the glass because I feel fancy. "It's pretty dry, you may be a fan of the sweeter stuff like Moscato. That one tastes like ginger ale."

Kri eyes my glass and purses his lips, skeptical, "I'll take your word for it."

As he turns back to the stove, I tip the remnants of his drink into my own, nearly filling the glass to the brim. Drinking on an empty stomach is a bad idea, especially if I'm going to need to find my way home later, but if I take little sips instead of trying to gulp it down like I usually do, I think I'll manage.

I watch Kri as he cooks, sitting on the opposite end of the countertop island to stay out of his way. As always, he's graceful in what he does, even with his back to me. All four hands doing something different, always switching focus and lasering in on it, not a single mistake is allowed, and absolutely hypnotizing to watch. 

"You're an alien of many talents," I say, and he glances at me over his shoulder.

"How do you mean?"

"I didn't know you could cook."

"Oh, I quite enjoy it. I can make you all manner of things."

I ignore the flutter in my stomach at the idea of him making me food regularly, and try to peer around him as he works. "What's your favorite thing to make?"

"Lepsc'it, it's a fried Trokk root stuffed with vegetables and spices. It's very easy, only a few ingredients, and there's many varieties all over the globe."

"Are you making that now?"

His wings flutter. "I thought I'd attempt something a bit more complicated."

"Are you trying to impress me?" I ask with a smirk.

He's too slow to cover his smile, "Only if it's working."

The smell of spices and vegetables fills the small space, like thyme or rosemary, with a hint of heat behind all of it, mixed with whatever main dish he's prepping. There's large puffs of pink something resting on a pan in the corner, a thick brown sauce that he scraped cubed veggies into, and something else that's blocked by his frame. It all smells heavenly.

My mouth is watering by the time he sets a large plate in front of me with one of those pink bread rolls on one side, the sauce and cubed veggies on the other. I smell more spices and heat, and it's agony to wait for him to sit next to me at the countertop. 

"Is it rude to just dig in?"

"Absolutely it is," he says, smiling. "But we're not at a paid dining establishment." He motions to my plate. "Eat."

This dish reminds me of curry but with bread instead of rice, and smells the same. Kri hasn't laid out any utensils as most ento eat with their hands, so I tear a piece of the pink bread off, dip it in the sauce, and pop it in my mouth. 

Spices and flavor dance over my tongue, things I can't name but are still delicious. It pairs with the bread so well, I'm barely through the first mouthful before I'm shoving a second bite in my face.

Kri eats opposite me, slow and careful, trying to casually glimpse up at me like he's checking in on me, and I cover my smile around another bite of food. He's worried, I can tell, and it's kind of cute.

I wolf down my food and say nothing, and normally I would feel bad about the silence, but Kri doesn't say anything either. 

"It was acceptable?"

"Don't kid yourself, it was delicious. I'm so full," I say, patting my stomach for emphasis.

It's not just the food that keeps me quiet. I also don't want to talk about how I feel. Being emotionally honest makes me anxious, makes me think of all the ways it could be used against me. I don't want to scare off Kri with all the issues I have. He listened to me in Igrien, but how many more times will he listen to me say, "Oh, Stephen made me this way," before he walks out?

But as we both set our plates aside and sit awkwardly in the kitchen, I realize that this is it. That if I want something to happen with Kri, I have to grab it with both hands myself. Even so, I still fiddle with my hands as I speak up.

"So uh, is this the part where we talk about feelings?"

Kri tilts his head, probably picking up on my mood, and quietly says, "If you'd like."

"Not really," I laugh, nerves making the sound shaky. "But I just want to know that we're on the same page-- that we're at a complete understanding," I correct when Kri narrows his eyes in confusion.

I focus my attention to a spot on the table. "I'm not good at words but I want…this. Us-- something…Something."

Even to my own ears it sounds horrible, and I grimace. God damn it, I should've thought about it before we got here. But all I have is feelings, emotions that push at my heart and flood my senses. I don't know how to describe my anxiety any better than describing the color red. Sometimes it feels like too much, like if I acknowledge anything it'll turn into too much to handle.

Kri only stares at me, giving me more space to talk, and my teeth creak as I grind them together anxiously. "Okay, it's your turn."

And then he looks away, down at the table, at his hands. His expression shutters off, a blank face, then darkens into something profoundly sad, and it's like I can hear his thoughts across the table. I appreciate the romp in the lab, Cass, but this just isn't for me. You're too fucked up, and I'm not about to deal with all of that. Except he'd say it nicer, with bigger words. Taking a shaking inhale, I hold my breath as the tightness of anxiety starts to coil around my chest and wraps fingers over my brain.

Then Kri sighs, a heavy movement of his shoulders, and he looks back up at me. "I admit that my thoughts are scattered. Between wanting to breathe you in like oxygen, and questioning whether I've earned the right to inhale. You've already bared your feelings for me, and I did not tell you mine at the time as I was--" he pauses to think, then huffs a laugh, "distracted. But I believe I have words for you now."

He reaches across the small table, taking my hands in his. He's warm as always, and his thumb rubs the back of my hand comfortingly. The tightness in my chest eases, ever so slightly.

"Cassie," he says. "I have a great many feelings for you, some of which I'm prepared for, and others that frighten me deeply. I am well aware that I come with a history, and the weight that it implies. But if you'll allow me your patience and understanding, I'd very much like to explore what a relationship with you would look like."

It's so earnest, so bare, that I'm hit with a wave of emotion that completely drowns out any other thoughts I have in my head. I want to lean forward and kiss his hands. I want to vault over the table and climb into his lap. "Jesus, did you prepare that?"

His eyes widen a fraction, like he didn't expect me to respond like that, and then he nods. "When confronted with interpersonal problems, I know that I tend to recede into myself and minimize the words leaving my mouth, and I'm trying not to do that so we're, what did you say, on the same page? You deserve my transparency in this, especially considering how I've been acting. I was trying to push you away when you wanted to be close, and you deserve so much better than that."

There's so much he's saying without saying it, and I can analyze why he thinks I deserve better, or inspect why all I want to do is jump over the table and give him the ride of his life, but my brain only latches onto my own insecurity. "You prepared a speech for me and all I had was, like, five words."

With a free hand, Kri rustles around in his bag and produces a small square of paper, folded very neatly. "I also wrote down several non-starters in case you realized that you're too good for me, so I also had a handful of words prepared."

It's said so casually, so matter-of-fact, that I can't help but snort. It breaks the tension in the room and my smile feels easier than before, keeping eye contact isn't as difficult.

"And to be fair," he continues. "You said more than enough the other day. I was worried that you'd take it all back."

Something clicks into place in my head, a small, flighty piece of Kri's psyche that I've been seeing without noticing. That despite his attitude, or ego, or anything else, he still craves a form of validation, still vies for approval. And I desperately, so desperately want to know what he's afraid of. But that's a whole other conversation, a heavy and upsetting one. One that I don't think either of us are up for right now.

So I squeeze his hands in mine. "I…really like you," I say. "I think we just need to get better at showing it. I guess we could…figure it out together?"

"That sounds lovely."

Kri tries to clean up on his own, but I butt my way in when he starts to wash the dishes. I'm off to his left, drying and setting them aside, and we fall into a good rhythm that reminds me of his time helping in the lab. We don't need to speak to fill space, I'm guided by his movements, and he's guided by me.

This is nice. Domestic, even. My heart stutters at the idea of doing this again, of sharing a space, of being welcomed into his home.

As I'm drying my hands on a towel, Kri steps around and in front of me, close enough that I can smell fresh water, and I look up at him and offer a warm smile. Taking my chin in one hand, he presses a kiss to my lips, chaste and simple and wholly perfect. This is our first kiss as a couple, I realize as his other hands carefully take the towel from me and rest it on the counter. 

The first of many, hopefully. 

Is that sappy? I don't care, as long as they keep happening. I press up to continue the kiss, a deep-seated need shocking through me at the soft noise he makes against my lips. 

Then Kri searches my face, and I hear the chitter of his wings as they flutter against his back. "You're more than welcome to stay," he says, voice low, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

It physically pains me to be responsible and say, "I have to clock in tomorrow."

He nods once, decisive, and quickly pecks my cheek again before straightening. "I will fly you home, then."

"Sounds goo-- wait what?"

Kri doesn't answer me, only walks past me and into the living room.

Surely, surely he can't mean literally, I continue to think as I grab my stuff and we head out the door.

But sure enough, we walk outside and he picks me up like I'm a princess, something that still shocks me that he can do, and off we go.

I've never seen the Outpost from above, and it's kind of beautiful. I can trace the lights of the walking paths and the hovercar roads, I see single rooms lit from the buildings, other residents up late like me. And outside the border of the Outpost is the pure, unfiltered landscape of Summanus, with its primordial trees and glowing underbrush, like the ground itself is framing us with light. I've seen Kri fly faster, he must be slowing himself for my benefit. And Kri is glowing too, not nearly as bright as the electronics around us, but more subtle, softer. It's still that pale blue, rivers of light lining his chitinous plating. I want to trace them with my fingers, before I remember what it does to him.

We land in front of my building, so gently that Kri's feet don't make a sound, and he sets me down just as carefully.

"Thanks," I mutter, suddenly shy and awkward. I feel like he's bringing me home from prom and it's past curfew. I clear my throat. "Thank you for dinner. Not bad for a first date."

With his two lower arms, he grabs my hands and brings them together. "You will have to decide the next one, then."

I huff an exhale, smiling up at him. "Okay."

He smiles back, soft, relaxed, totally content. Dark eyes search my face, and even in the low light I can make out my reflection in the inky blackness. Two hands come up to cup my cheeks, fingers wrapping around to the base of my skull, as Kri leans down and gently kisses me.

I tilt my head and sigh into it as my eyes fall shut, wishing I were taller so he wouldn't have to bend down as far and I could press up against him. This is still good, though, he can still rest his other hands over my hips, and I can wind my arms over his shoulders. 

This is all going to hit me later, a hurricane of repressed feelings. It's going to be a lot of good emotions though, I can feel them boiling behind my chest. Giddyness and arousal alongside anxiety and dread. I'm both excited and terrified of what could happen.

I can still feel the warmth coming off of him even when he leans back. His hands stay on my face, steady and comforting, and he leans forward and quickly kisses me again. 

"I should go before I follow you inside," he says around a laugh, and I nod sadly. 

"Or before I drag you in." 

He chuckles, low and sexy, and squeezes my hands. 

"Goodnight Cassie." 

"Goodnight Kri," I mumble, and he steps back, dropping my hands from his.

I watch him take off before going inside, and I couldn't wipe the smile from my face if I tried.

Chapter 13 >>

[weregreatatcrime]

In the Two Daughters AU, what do the Turtles and company do for Christmas and/or New Years, if anything? Happy Holidays, BTW!

Happy Holidays! This got very, very long sjfbskbfkshfjf

The family is awkward, but happy to try and fit Karai and Miwa into their holiday celebrations. The Hamatos all have a small get together for Christmas, exchanging presents they've mostly handmade or scavenged. This year is better because they have April and Casey to help them get stuff directly from stores without stealing

Miwa is absolutely showered in baby gifts of clothes and toys and everything a baby could ever want. Have you ever seen a new parent in Christmas? Everything is baby stuff. Depending on if he's in on the family yet I think Kirby would help out by both getting new stuff and donating a lot of April's old baby stuff if he still has it! You also never get rid of baby stuff, for the sheer fact that everyone gives you way too much and you know someone else will eventually come around for YOU to gift it to. I think it'd be extra sweet if Casey brings his little sister's baby stuff too. His dad was just gonna toss it all out or give it to Goodwill anyways, may as well

It's for all intents and purposes Miwa’s first Christmas at home. Splinter doesn't want to put her down. For once, Karai doesn't try to wheedle him into letting her hold her familiar more often. Splinter is... very emotional. Karai is a little allergic to all the feelings and spends more time than probably necessary hiding in the ceiling

Thing is, it's also KARAI’S first Christmas with the Hamatos. They try to be careful and ask if changelings celebrate it. Karai laughs in their faces and then disappears for a few hours. They do celebrate it, when they have the time, when they have the energy. At least the changelings who actually have some fondness for humanity do. Karai hasn't ever celebrated it as a changeling. She's celebrated it as Oroku Karai, clan heir and doted on only daughter, with presents of nice expensive shiny things and tools and weapons. She's not sure how to feel about it all now that she'll no longer receive a room full of presents, 90% of which will be useless or shallow things she didn't even care for.

....it's nicer, actually, to have Mikey gifting her all kinds of weird bits and bobs he's picked up from junkyards that he thinks she might like to eat. The look on Donnie's face when she bites into an old iPod like a candy bar is hilarious. Mikey also gifts her a paper under her door that says he'll save his kitchen scraps for her whenever she wants and he won't say anything to the others, so she doesn't have to dig in the garbage when she wants them, just let him know and he'll tuck them away just for her. Maybe it's the least generous gift, but to Karai it's one of the most meaningful because she's spent centuries starving. Mikey, without even being told, knows and has taken it as a personal affront.

Donnie has a new hip brace for her, tougher and more flexible. He also gives her so many little toys and dangerous things that he wouldn't Dare gift his brothers who are a lot more fragile and prone to accidental arson than Karai. At least when she burns things down it's intentional. Karai recognizes the trust and awareness this costs- Donatello is more aware than his brothers how dangerous Karai is, and to put weapons in her hands with a promise to explain what everything does later? It surprises her.

Leo offers her a matching dagger and sword. Forged himself. Karai doesn't know how to react when she sees the crooked edges and odd spikes. His best attempt at a troll inspired set, from what he's seen of her ridiculously varied arsenal. They aren't the toughest of her toys - human metalworking is inherently weaker than troll work - but they're up at the top of her favorites, with the red and white wrappings around the hilts. They become her favorite weapons to use against human enemies. Leo struggled to create something jagged and vicious, a blade that rips flesh as much as slices it cleanly, and that struggle means all the more to it.

Raph’s gift is interesting. She gets a few basic gifts later, some knives and books, but the biggest is when he knocks on her door ridiculously early Christmas morning with a box full of chalk and offers to do her patterns for her. Karai’s been having fun being able to use chalk for actually interesting designs rather than just blending in, but she's not very artistic. She remembers bits and pieces of what culture changelings have. She can't give herself carvings, and she doesn't consider herself old enough to have those age markers anyways, but she directs Raph in the patterns in chalk and feels a little more real. He even has some sort of setting spray to keep the chalk from smearing into cloudy blurs. Karai looks in the mirror and sees a changeling, covered in red markings and important symbols that she would never get to have actually carved on her body. Raph is pleased and covered in chalk smudges by the time they exit her room to the rest of the family puttering about waiting on them. Karai actually stops him, before the door is open, to press her forehead to the top of his head and rumble under her breath. She doesn't need to say anything- him and Mikey both are best with physical language and Raph just shoves his head into her with a satisfied hum.

April and Casey even give her some things, though she's completely thrown off by it. She's pretty sure April doesn't even like her. But April gifts her some clothes and a sewing kit to modify them for her extra arms and tail. Kirby pitches in with a cropped jacket that rests just above her secondary arms and she might not even have to trim it. Casey gifts her eyeliner and nail polish and she would be a little offended but the blood red makes her remember the eyeliner pen she used as her Key and the colors are nice. She's not even sure if the eyeliner will stick on this form.

Splinter doesn't need to give her anything. He's given her everything the past few months, letting her into his family and taking care of her Heart. He's even personally helped her heal bit by bit and exhausting himself on the regular to do so. Karai is shocked when he offers her a beautiful kimono. It's dark and sturdier than she expects. When she sniffs the fabric she can smell that it's made of something tougher than typical. It's a battle kimono, that won't tear and wear away as easily on her stone flesh. It's been a battle trying to explain to the Hamatos why she doesn't wear much clothing if at all - human clothes are usually so thin and her rough surface scrapes them to threads faster than she wants to bother replacing them. But this will last her a while. Furthermore, it smells old. Splinter smiles at her warmly and Karai doesn't ask whose it used to be, just mentally promises to sand herself down before she ever wears it, to smooth her rough stone at least a bit to prolong its life.

There's other clothing he offers her, most of it sturdy and practical to her pleasure. He's modified much of it already to fit her and promises to tailor the rest whenever she'd like. He understands the difficulty of wearing pants with a tail, at least. But the kimono is special. It's a blue so deep it's almost black, with black vines trailing the hems and almost blending into the blue. It looks stunning next to her cream colored stone and red slashes. She wonders if Raphael would mind helping her put those vines on her skin in chalk, when she eventuslly wears it.

Karai didn't expect to be given so much. She'd expected some kindness, by now she understood the Hamatos' generosity was endless, but she didn't expect all THIS. She's quietly befuddled by the time presents have been mostly unwrapped for the whole family. Everyone is happy to exist around her while she sits and crunches on old Tupperware lids that taste like old grease. Mikey even drew on them with markers to look like Christmas cookies.

Karai expected their generosity but she wasn't sure yet if she should reciprocate, until Christmas morning when she's showered with the same love the family is giving to each other. Karai will figure something out for April and Casey later, Kirby as well- ESPECIALLY for the toys and clothes Miwa is giggling amidst. She's got a pair of daggers for Leo. They're one of the nicer pairs she has, plus they're actually sturdy enough to hurt a troll and they're made for strange fingered hands. He's a bit in awe when he holds daggers that fit in his hands

[thesandsofelsweyr]

REMEMBER JASON TODD?

《 READ ON AO3 》

Joker reminisces to Batman about one of the happiest years of his life: the year he spent breaking Jason Todd.

《RATING》 Mature 《WORDS》 1,865

《CHARACTERS》 Joker, Jason Todd/Robin (Arkhamverse)

《TROPES》 Hurt No Comfort, Jason Todd Needs a Hug

《WARNINGS》 Graphic Depictions of Violence, Underage, Torture, Mindfuck

《NOTES》

I somehow got possessed by a death-worshipping garbage clown and wrote this Jason Todd torture-fest 🃏

If you enjoy the read, please consider reblogging 💚

《 ALSO ON AO3 》 (comments & kudos there are much appreciated!)

Remember Jason Todd? Ugh, what a whiner. Always complaining… We’re both better off without that loser.

I gotta confess though, Bats. Screwing around with his little-kid mind, digging around in his grey matter, stirring it up until Toddy made me look almost sane—that was the happiest I’d been in a long, long time. I’d thank the boy for that, if his brains weren’t splattered all over the basement of Arkham, huhuhu.

Ahh, the memories. I tortured that poor kid for nearly a year. Shattered his ankle, knocked out a few teeth, yanked out a few more, broke a few ribs—well, probably all of his ribs, after it was all said and done. Let’s face it, that pretty red armor of his could only withstand so many beatings before it started wearing down and losing its Bat-tested, Bat-approved effectiveness. Near the end the boy was practically begging me to take it off of him! But, hmm, now that I think of it, that was probably more about his shame over being such a miserable embarrassment to his Batdad and less about its ineffectiveness when I was bashing his skull in with my trusty, rusty crowbar.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes! I even invited a few of my fellow inmates down to take some shots at the little punk who’d terrorized them at Batman’s side. Man oh man, did those guys hate your jilted sidekick or what? I found myself a teensy-bit envious of all the fun they were having with the kid, especially after seeing Bane slam Toddy’s body into that concrete foundation so hard that I’m pretty sure he left a Robin-shaped dent.

Oh Batsy, you should’ve seen our boy’s face! I’m still kicking myself for not including a photo with your consolation prize. The video I sent you just didn’t do him justice. Your enemies collaborated on a masterpiece, they really did. Vibrant reds and pinks, rich purples, blacks, and blues; so battered and broken, his features all askew—Picasso himself would be in awe of their bloody canvas. They must’ve broken his beak at least a dozen times. By the time they were through with him, you wouldn’t even have recognized the little guy.

But c’mon, be honest. We’ve been buds for so long, you and I. You can trust me with anything—Clown’s honor. Tell me, did you even try to find the kid? I never bought the “World’s Greatest Detective” charade, but you gotta admit Batsy, I made it pretty easy for you. I stashed your Boy Blunder in the most obvious place I could think of. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame you for wanting to delete ol’ Jason from your history. He was a real piece of work, fighting me tooth and nail every chance he got, spitting on my hospitality and me. More of a “rabid dog” than a Robin, if I do say so myself. And that mouth of his, ugh! His mother would thank me for the beatings I gave him if she heard half the things he said to me. A real blight on the house of Bat, that one. This new Robin of yours seems more in line with your legacy. Maybe I’ll get my hands on him someday, tenderize him like I did Toddy, huhu.

Well, whatever your reasons, you gave me ample time to get my creative juices flowing. I’d been itching to try out some new ideas that had been floating around my noggin. I’m sure you’re familiar with the Rack. Sadly, I wasn’t able to procure that particular device for our little bird’s cage, but I’ve always been good at improvising. I read somewhere about this rather nasty technique they used during that delightful period known as the Inquisition. Ahh, the good ole days… when torturing people was a paid profession.

With the help of my pal Boles, we tied the boy’s arms behind his back then strung him up by the wrists. Some Arkham orderlies were kind enough to provide me with some weights, which I tied to his ankles. Must’ve been painful because that was the loudest I’d heard the boy squeal since he dropped in my lap! The pitiful thing was wriggling and writhing like a worm on a hook. I left him dangling like that for a few hours since he seemed to enjoy it so much. Tehehe.

That little device of mine ripped his arms clean out of their sockets, yet the bird still refused to break. He was as defiant as ever, cursing at me between sobs. Talk about loyalty. He was ready to die for you. How do you inspire that kind of devotion from these brats? It’s the car, right? Gotta be that fancy car of yours. Hmm, I should get me a Jokermobile of my own someday. Anyway, Junior wasn’t the sharpest Bat-tool in the Bat-shed. Six months of suffering and he was still convinced you were coming to rescue him. I tried to tell him that you’d moved on with your life, found yourself a new partner who wasn’t such a loser, but he refused to believe me. We’d reached an impasse.

But then—here’s the best part of the story, ooo it gives me chills just thinking about it—then you gave me a gift. You actually did replace the kid with a new one. BWAHAHAHAHA, now that’s my brand of cruelty, Bats—I always knew you had it in ya! After everything I’d done to that poor boy, all it took was a photograph to break your bird into a million little pieces. Yes Batsy, a photo of you and his replacement gallivanting around Gotham, saving the city from crazy men like me.

Oh how he bawled after I showed him that photo! And that was even before I beat him senseless with his favorite crowbar. I pressed that photo into his palm before I left him bleeding on the floor of his cage, and, God love 'em, the dumb kid was still begging for his Bat-daddy to come save him from the evil Clown. “Please forgive me, Batman. I tried to be the partner you wanted, I swear I did. I’m so sorry I disobeyed you. Please don’t let him punish me again. I’ll be a good boy for you, I just wanna come home. Wah-wah-wah, boo-hoo-hoo.” If only I had a heart, it would’ve been broken by his pathetic pleas. But I don’t, so I kept beating him for good measure.

Wee Todders was much more pliable after it finally sank into that thick skull of his that you’d abandoned him. I gotta be honest with you, Bats, you made it so easy for me to make him hate you after that, it almost felt like cheating. Still a rootin’ tootin’ good time though. For me at least. Can’t speak for our dearly departed boy toy.

No wonder you dumped his half of the dynamic duo on my doorstep. Talk about rough edges! Took some blood, sweat, and tears (his, not mine) but I eventually sanded him down and hollowed him out; sculpted him into a partner in crime worthy of the Clown Prince of Crime. Had to teach him some manners first, though. Clearly Emily Post wasn’t included in your crime fighting curriculum. Did no one bother to teach the child any words beyond the four-letter variety? Well, I trained him to address me properly: “yes sir”, “no sir”, “please don’t hurt me sir”—that sort of thing. I find that negative reinforcement works best when it comes to naughty little boys like him: electrocution, sensory deprivation, barbed wire bondage, blunt force trauma, starvation, force-feeding, puncture wounds, power tools, waterboarding, acid trips, acid burns, regular burns, stabbings, stranglings, even good ole fashioned paddlings. By the time I was done with the brat I had him thanking me for yanking out his fingernails with red-hot pincers. 

Jason was some of my finest work to date, if I do say so myself. I transformed your rejected Robin into a perfect pet. The boy was mine, body and soul, but I wanted to make sure he never forgot who he belonged to, who made him who he truly was, made him realize that potential you tried to snuff out. Let me tell you, he was none too happy about being branded like a bull. You’d think the kid’d be more grateful after all the time I spent hunting down a J-shaped branding iron just for him. He didn’t carry on about it for long though. By that point just the sight of my toybox had him cowering in a corner, shivering and whimpering like a kicked puppy with his tail between his legs. 

Speaking of puppies… I even had a collar made for my darling boy, in case my signature on his sweet cheek wasn’t enough. A red leather collar to match that red leather getup. What an adorable sight that was! Him, bruised and scarred from head to toe, down on all fours, staring up at me with those blown out baby blues, full of tears and fear, and dare I say, even affection. That poor kid’s psyche was so twisted by the end that he was clinging to me, clutching at my suit, begging me not to abandon him like you did. Hil-ari-ous! Bless his widdle heart, he was such a good boy by then. I rarely had to punish him but it was just so dang fun I couldn’t resist. I did so well with the little laddy, it got me thinking maybe Harley and I should have a few tykes of our own for me to abuse. But nah, you seem to have so many to spare, I’ll just stick to your brood. Lord knows I don’t want to get saddled with child support—oh the horror!

We had some good times, y’know? Little Toddy-woddy was like a son to me, he really was. He hated you so much it made me one proud papa. It’s a shame I had to put him out to pasture with a bullet through his brain, but he was becoming such a bore. He just didn’t scream as much as he used to—that collapsed lung of his probably had something to do with that. And he was so obedient, so submissive, so utterly desperate to please me… (yawns) If I wanted a vegetable, I would’ve made him a vegetable. This is a nut house after all. Got all the tools I need for a lobotomy right here at home. No, I wanted that ball of wildfire, that feral foul-mouthed urchin I fell in love with! I guess since I’m being honest here, I have only myself to blame. I suppose it’s a lesson to learn for my future bird boy endeavors—you can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs (and legs) after all.

Welp, no use crying over spilled brain matter! If it’s any consolation to you, my pointy-eared pal, I’ll never forget the kid you gave me and that magical year we spent together. No really, I have a jar full of teeth and fingernails to remember him by! hehehehehehehehe 

[asydicsydney]

I was just remembering how Carlos said he could catch Cecil's broadcasts in the Desert Otherworld, but that they were sometimes from the past or future.

Anyway here's a very inaccurate fic I just cranked out with that premise.

I haven't eaten or drunk anything in days. Although I'm not sure I need to anymore, really. I also haven't heard his voice in days. I was so accustomed to slacking on work when his show came on, punishing myself for it later on with all the all nighters, such a welcome escape from reality while I assured my team I was simply using my resources wisely for finding new issues around town. His voice could slip into the air around me and dig out my deepest secrets. A prize only for him, but one of which he knew nothing of. Even after a year of dating and moving in with each other, you can't know someone's deepest secrets. It would take a lifetime to know someone that well. And we would never get a lifetime, all because I went through that stupid door. Carlos, 'the man who can't stop sciencing even during a capitalistic uprising'. My team definitely owes me those 5$.

I've managed to find a wire hanger sticking out of a cactus. I bent it into an antenna-like shape and stuck it in the top of my phone. I couldn't do any damage to it anyway, maybe I could do some good, find a signal.

Yes! Oh, sweet radio waves, how I missed you! Now, if I go to my NVCR app I might catch him on the air... Unless it's his lunch break, or the weather, or it's 2AM and he's pretending to sleep. Oh, I forgot to turn my volume up.

"-has a square jaw, and teeth like a military cemetery. His hair is perfect, and we all hate, and despair, and love that perfect hair in equal measure."

Is he waxing poetic about me again? Eh, at least he still thinks of me.

"-had come to study just what is going on around here. He grinned, and everything about him was perfect, and I fell in love instantly."

Aww, he sounds exactly the same as when...

He sounds exactly the same...

Did I just go back in time?

No no no no no, this must not be tuned right, I'll just-

"And here I remind you that he became trapped there while saving our city from treacherous, dark forces. I remind you he is a hero. I remind you that my boyfriend is-"

Wait! No no, go back! That sounded like the right frequency... Where are we now?

"-and Carlos. I'm proud to call you family."

Steve? Family?

"I said once that a home is just a group of objects connected by a shared personal experience of time. Which was just a fancy way of asking you to move in with me. And it worked."

Now I'm talking? Am I talking to Cecil? Where on the timeline is this?

"In other words, changing the story about you or the story about me into a story about us."

I- what? I'll-I'll just sit down for awhile and listen. Not like an oak door will just show up anyway.

"And now, tonight, I say I'm glad again, for this decision and all the decisions that will come every day after. Which is to say-"

Is this really?

"I just thought that it was time for us to make a life together."

Us? Did.. we? R-really? And of course it's on air. Oh, Cecil, babe! We did it! Wait, that means-

"-knowing that Carlos was there, that no matter what else happened we would come back to each other-"

I made it home.

"I know nowhere friendlier. I know nowhere hotter. The moon is still beautiful, mysterious lights still pass overhead."

I really made it home.

"Stay tuned next for a drunk, newly married couple, long after all the well-wishers have left, pilling up bags of garbage-"

I'm gonna make it, Cecil.

"And good night, Night Vale, and every person who can hear my voice. Good night."

I'll make it home on time. I promise.

[weyrwolfen]

Eidola: Chapter 19 - CT-91-2496 Riff

Rating: T

Characters: Gen, Clone Trooper OCs, Captain Rex, Ahsoka Tano, and other canon members of the 501st/332nd and the Bad Batch

Warnings: canon-typical violence; references to self-harm, injuries, and substance abuse; PTSD; it’s post-Order 66 and nobody is having a good time (but they’re all working on it)

Summary: The mission was never to bring down the Empire. Not really. The mission was to save every single one of their chipped brothers. But if doing do helped break the Empire’s stranglehold on the galaxy? Well, that was just a bonus.

The galley’s waste disposal unit made a horrendous, grinding sound when Riff tossed in his fruit rind and hit the cycle button. He quickly shut it back off, grimacing.

Normally he wouldn’t give a kriff – the ship was destined for a chop shop, after all – but their buyer had already used every excuse in the manual to slice their finders’ fee down to the bone. Riff wasn’t about to give the buyer additional ammunition to short them even more.

Riff sent Faze a ping from his wrist comm unit.

He didn’t have long to wait.

“Yeah?” his brother said, the audio crackling a little even over that short distance.

Cheap civilian garbage.

“The galley’s waste system is doing its best impression of a dying clanker,” Riff said, trying to ignore how awkward the words felt, just a little too slow and a little too slurred, even after all these months working with Aughts and Sling. He eyed the device in question. “Do I have time to attempt a repair before we need to move?”

“No idea. I’m still waiting for clearance,” Faze replied, sounding unutterably bored.

Right. Riff wondered what the hang-up was. They’d been sitting up here for a while, waiting for permission to take off.

“I’m taking a look,” Riff said. “Let me know if anything changes.”

“Roger, roger,” Faze said dryly and cut the connection.

The cover-panel had hidden fasteners holding the pearlescent material in place. Force karking forbid that anything so much as a visible fastener break up the aesthetic flow of this kriffing pleasure yacht. As if the previous, unlamented owner had ever stooped to preparing his own food. Karking slaver chakaar.

It took some careful probing with his boot knife, awkward and clumsy enough to make Riff curse his hands at least as much as the galley’s designer, but he did eventually manage to pry the cover off the disposal system. He was rewarded for his efforts with a face full of putrid, rotten food stench.

Riff and his brothers had only been onboard for maybe a quarter of a standard rotation, so no way had anything they’d generated had time to go this bad. It had to be something left over from back before the Raiders had taken the craft.

Kark it all.

At least the insides of the device seemed a little more galactic standard, but he was going to need more tools than his knife if he wanted to make any further progress.

It wasn’t a long walk to reach the opulent staterooms Riff, Faze, and Bevel had claimed for this mission. None of them were about to pass up the opportunity to sleep in that level of objective decadence, even if Vash and his team had stripped the rooms of most of their furnishings. Sure, his rucksack looked decidedly out of place on the plush carpeting, but Riff was going to spread his bedroll on that enormous mattress and sleep like a kriffing duke once they got into hyperspace.

Riff’s repair kit was near the very bottom of his rucksack, so it took some digging to get to it. But soon enough he was on his way back to the galley, tools in hand.

The smell had miraculously gotten even worse by the time he got back to the room.

There was a flexible light stick inside the kit, the kind that could be twisted around into all sorts of inconvenient shipboard nooks and crannies. Once Riff had bent the thing where he could easily insert it partway into the chute, he leaned against the wall to try to get at an angle where he could see inside. If he was lucky, something was just jammed in the thing’s shredding rollers. Anything else was going to involve pulling the karking thing apart one piece at a time. He tried breathing through his mouth to avoid the smell, but it only helped a little. He swore he could taste the fumes coming out of the processor. But he did manage to spot a glimmer of something shiny in the chunky, putrid globs of weeks-old food scraps. So, that was one single, solitary piece of potentially good news.

Riff took off his wrist comm, rolled up both of his sleeves past his elbows, and then started releasing the straps that kept his arm brace in place. It didn’t react well to water, so he’d need it out of the way for the clean up afterwards. The loss of the extra support and neural amplification made his hand cramp, and he flexed it awkwardly, fingers responding a little slowly and unevenly. Kix was going to have his head for not keeping up on his exercises, but they all felt so futile. It wasn’t like his hand was ever going to get better. Just like his leg. Just like the whole karking right side of his body.

And obsessing about it wasn’t going to fix his hand either, much less the kriffing waste disposal system.

Riff reached down into the chute with his left hand. It didn’t take much feeling around to find the problem – thank the Force – but whatever it was seemed to be good and stuck. It also wasn’t a piece of flatware or a plate, which was weird. It felt blocky and oddly-shaped for anything he would have expected in a ship’s galley. It took some awkward tugging and a fair amount of cursing to free whatever-it-was from the toothed rollers; and when it popped free, the slick, slime-covered thing rotated out of his awkward grip and attached itself to the interior wall of the chute.

Because it was apparently… Wait, what was the word?

Magnetic.

Right, the mystery blockage was magnetic.

What the kriff?

At least that was easy enough to handle. Riff just slid the thing up the interior wall of the chute until it cleared the lip of the opening and then levered it free without too much effort.

It looked like a box of some kind, hexagonal around the narrowest dimension and about as long as his hand.

So, that was kriffing weird.

Riff put the memento from the yacht’s previous owners in the galley’s small sink, taking care not to drip anything too disgusting on the floor, and set to washing both it and his hands with a vengeance.

His right hand made the entire endeavor more than a little awkward, but luckily, the thing seemed to be sturdily constructed the one time he fumbled it. It was definitely a box of some kind, there was a hinge running down one side. The seam in between the halves looked like it was sealed with some kind of gasket, which hopefully meant the half-rotten food waste hadn’t managed to seep inside.

Once Riff had gotten the outside of the box, and his hands, scrubbed clean, he reached over and pressed the button to activate the waste disposal. It creaked and gurgled ominously for a second, but it eventually settled into the expected low, steady hum as the food waste was rendered down and drained away to the ship’s incinerator. Given how much gunk had been inside, he decided to let it run for a minute longer while he took a closer look at the mystery container.

It was made of some kind of sturdy, silver-colored metal. The outside surface was only a little scratched from the disposer’s rollers. There weren’t any words or decorations on the outside either, nor did it have an obvious port or keyhole, which might end up being a problem. It also looked very utilitarian, unlike most of the ornate stuff which had been left on board. Given the magnetic stripping, not to mention where he’d found the thing, Riff assumed it was meant to hide something.

So, what kind of thing did karking slaver perverts hide inside a waste disposal unit?

Riff’s wrist comm beeped from its spot on the polished stone countertop, derailing that line of thought.

He set aside the box, switched off the waste disposal system, and poked the ‘accept’ button. “Riff here.”

“We just got clearance,” Faze said. “You almost done down there?”

“Yeah,” Riff replied, wiping his wet hands on his bodysuit to dry them. “Give me just a minute, and I’ll be right up.”

The cover panel popped back into place with far more ease than it had taken to remove it. Getting his brace back onto his right hand was another story. Riff gritted his teeth and forced his uncooperative fingers to obey him, but once the neural stimulators were back in contact with his skin, he could move his hand almost like normal.

Almost… but not quite.

Riff found his brothers already in the ship’s cockpit, buckled into their flight seats and waiting for him.

“You figure out what the problem was?” Faze asked, as Riff slid into the rear observer seat.

“Yeah,” Riff answered, reaching forward to tap Faze on the shoulder with the box itself. Faze took it, helmet canting in obvious question. “Found that caught in the rollers.”

“What is it?” Bevel asked, and Faze handed it over to be inspected.

“Kriff if I know,” Riff replied, stowing his toolkit and buckling himself into place. “Some kind of hide box. It’s magnetic. Must have gotten jostled out of place.”

A modified Nebula-class freighter appeared in their line of sight, pulling into view around the natural, rocky curve of the Draboon VIII base.

“We have received your coordinates, Silver Angel,” Faze said, obviously responding to something on his internal comms.

Bevel reached the box back over his shoulder and Riff took it, freeing up their copilot to lean forward and start his own pre-flight sequence.

Riff rolled the elongate box over and over in his hands as his brothers lifted off and guided their prize through the treacherous debris field which made up Draboon VIII’s rings.

What are you?

When it was his turn to cycle off watch, Riff did, in fact, spread out his bedroll on the stupidly oversized, if bare, mattress in his cabin. He’d never felt anything so soft. It probably cost more than his entire training. He wanted to luxuriate in the sensation, burrow into it and soak it in.

Except it also kind of felt like the mattress was slowly eating him, like one of those carnivorous plants on Felucia. Like if he fell asleep, the avian-down padding would close in over his head and smother him.

After tossing and turning for far too long, he finally stood up, nudged aside his tool kit and his mysterious box to clear a little extra space, and moved his bedroll to the floor. The thick carpet was still softer than his bunk on the Tribunal had been. After that, he slept like a tubie.

The Martezes’ contact seemed happy enough with the pleasure craft. It was a little hard to tell. The big Besalisk kept doing something with his wattle, inflating it and then immediately deflating it. Riff thought he’d read somewhere that Besalisks puffed up their throat pouches as some kind of threat display, when they were excited or scared or angry, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember where.

This guy didn’t look angry. Or scared, for that matter.

He also managed to look nothing like Krell, despite their shared species. He was the wrong color, the wrong build. He didn’t carry himself the same way. After the shock of the initial meeting, Riff had been able to mostly set aside that suite of unpleasant memories.

It also helped that he hadn’t really had to interact with their buyer much. Riff had been tasked with guarding the ship and keeping an eye on the droids who were topping off the Silver Angel’s fuel tanks. The Martezes might trust their contact, but all three clones had felt better with at least one set of eyes on the droids, if only to make sure they weren’t karking around with anything they shouldn’t be.

Bevel and Faze had been trailing around behind the Besalisk and Rafa Martez while she showed their buyer around the ship. Now, they were hanging back while Rafa exchanged a few seemingly cordial words as well as a pouch of something with the Besalisk. Probably datachips or credit chits. Whatever it was, they both seemed pleased with the development, so that had to be a good sign. Their buyer tucked away the bag with a short, wary glance over his shoulder at Riff’s brothers.

The clones had exactly two jobs on this leg of the mission – look intimidating and get the Martezes out safely if things went sideways – and the Besalisk’s flashes of reserved caution suggested they were accomplishing their first objective perfectly.

Buckler’s team had intentionally designed them all new gear that looked less like clone armor and more like some of the styles favored by high-end private security and bounty hunters. Riff liked his set well enough. It didn’t quite provide the same coverage as his old plate, but it fit over his braces and the HUD programming was at least familiar. Even if he still preferred his old kit, he had to admit that he, Faze, and Bevel looked pretty slick, all decked out in textured, black plastoid and synthleather.

They all looked like more trouble than a small-time criminal should tangle with, which meant the situation probably was less likely to turn violent. And that would be the ideal outcome for everybody.

Riff was… okay with his left hand. But only okay. They were all trained with both hands, even though most clones were right-hand dominant. He had gotten used to wearing his blaster on his off-side, but there was a reason why he was on droid detail while his brothers shadowed the real threat. In a firefight, Riff knew he’d be a liability. The knowledge chaffed him. He kept trying to remind himself that ‘okay’ for a clone trooper was still a kark-load better than your average natborn civilian, but facts were facts.

He hadn’t been brought in on this mission for his ability to shoot his blaster. He’d been recruited because he could keep the rust buckets the Raiders kept shooting to pieces flying.

He could still be useful.

The droids were closing up the fuel ports, presumably done with their task. Riff punched a quick status report into his wrist comm and sent it off to his brothers as well as Trace Martez, who was keeping an ear on the comms from the freighter’s cockpit.

Maybe a minute later, Faze holstered his blaster and started entering something into his own wrist comm. No message appeared in Riff’s HUD, so all he could do was wait.

And wait.

And wait some more as his brother continued typing and pausing, typing and pausing, clearly having a conversation with someone.

Finally, Rafa reached out her hand, apparently looking to seal their deal with a final handshake. The Besalisk returned the gesture gingerly, his huge hand engulfing the woman’s smaller one up past her wrist, but he was also wearing a wide, toothy grin. That was good. Great, actually.

A comm request from Faze popped up in Riff’s HUD, which Riff immediately accepted.

“Status?” he asked.

“We’re done here,” Faze replied, sounding utterly unbothered. That was also great. Some of the knots of tension between Riff’s shoulders loosened. “Pack it up, Rex wants us to head to the Abainya system.”

Abainya? The joint raid with the Mandalorians must have gone well.

Trace didn’t want anyone else working on her ship.

It wasn’t personal. Or, at least Riff didn’t think it was personal. He certainly wasn’t about to take it that way, especially not when it freed up his time to dedicate to his mystery box while they were cooling their heels in hyperspace.

External scans revealed a variety of different metals, consistent with a small amount of circuitry and blended alloy casing. No obvious explosives, no organics. Given all that, Riff could feel reasonably sure he wasn’t about to set off some kind of booby trap opening the thing. Faze and Bevel agreed, as curious as Riff was to see what was inside.

Riff suspected that the box had an internal, electronic locking system. Without knowing the correct signal to release it, much less the frequency used, he was concentrating his efforts on the exposed hinge instead. His laser cutter could slice away small slivers at a time without overheating the metal and potentially damaging the contents of the container, but the process was slow, made even slower by his unsteady hands.

But Riff could be patient. He’d had to learn to be patient after his injury.

Synching the music holorecordings he’d stored on his personal datapad with his helmet’s internal speakers helped. Maybe he didn’t have the dexterity to play much of anything anymore, but he could kriffing well listen to someone else do it.

He’d made it through Oran Lyella’s latest release and started in on some new musicians Bevel had recommended when he finally shaved through enough of the box’s hinge to pry it apart.

Inside was a datastick.

Riff wasn’t much of a slicer, but he also wasn’t stupid. He gingerly plugged the thing into a spare, un-networked datapad and ran every diagnostic he could think of on it before he tried to open it.

It didn’t immediately attempt to upload any viruses or tracking software onto his system, which was good.

And it didn’t explode. Also good.

It was, however, encrypted to within an inch of its life, which was less good.

“Kriff me,” Riff muttered under his breath as they walked past the wreckage of several downed ships in the base’s courtyard. Two were Kom’rks, one so gutted out by fire that it took him a moment to place the design. The other was Jesse’s Scythe, and sticking out of its side was… “Is that a kriffing spear?” Seriously, what even was the right name for that thing? He didn’t think he was just forgetting words again.

The brother who’d been leading Riff into the base, Course, glanced at the ship and snorted. “It’s some kind of massively oversized ballista bolt,” he replied easily, as if that statement wasn’t patently insane. “The Reapers want to keep it for some Force-cursed reason, or else we would have cut the shaft away first thing.”

That was crazy. Anyone who volunteered for the Reapers was crazy. All of them.

“You’re not cutting the panel off, are you?” Riff asked, severely unimpressed. Times weren’t like they were back in the G.A.R., even with the recent improvements to their situation. They couldn’t just send a parts request up through the quartermaster and expect to receive a replacement at their next restock. And he had no idea if they had the right gear in this osik-hole of a firebombed-out pirates’ base to perform major welds that could stand up to vacuum.

Not that any of that was his problem. Unless it was. Kriff, was he supposed to help get these ships back up in the air? That might explain why he’d been shuttled back down to the surface while Bevel, Faze, and both Martezes had stayed on the Silver Angel, up in orbit with Commander Tano, Jesse, and the Mandalorian command ship…

No. Kark, no. Not unless he received direct orders to wade into that mess. Kriff.

“Have a little faith in me,” Course was saying, sounding more amused than annoyed. “I’m making Jesse’s idiots shimmy the panel up the bolt shaft and pull it off the end with one of the gimbal droids we managed to salvage from the hanger.”

Oh. Well, that sounded at least a little more reasonable.

“Did it hit the power couplings?” Riff asked as they passed the Scythe, curious in spite of himself.

“So eager to pitch in…” Course drawled, and then chuckled at the sour face Riff pulled. “No, thank kriff, but it’s jammed in the shield generator’s magnetic coil, so that’s all going to have to come out before we can really assess the extent of the damage.”

It wasn’t Riff’s worst-case scenario. Worst-case scenario, the spear had actually ruptured the shield generator’s core, in which case the whole thing could go up at the slightest jostling.

But again, not his problem.

So, what was his problem? Why was he down here?

“Any idea why they called us in?” Riff asked.

Course shrugged. “The Captain’s got a kriff-ton of freed natborns who want to ship out to Alderaan. Pretty sure that’s why he wanted the Martezes. No way is he sending any brothers that deep into the Core.”

Alderaan. Kriff. None of them had dared go that far back into the Core since… Well, since the end of the war. At least he and his brothers wouldn’t be tagging along on that mission, but they’d be risking some of their few natborn allies, ones who had the right trade permits and flight transponders to move around the Empire at will. It seemed like one haran of a gamble to send them in at all, much less without some clones to watch their backs.

It was also a little weird. Usually they’d end up bouncing all over, dropping off one natborn here, another two there, whenever the Raiders ended up rescuing a big batch of sentients.

Course nodded at the two Mandalorians who were standing a rather lackadaisical guard on either side of the base’s main doors. They just nodded back and waved them through, unconcerned.

Captain Rex would have Riff’s head if he’d ever been that unprofessional about a guard assignment, but that wasn’t his problem either.

“Why Alderaan?” Riff asked, once they were inside the base and out of earshot of the two natborns. What he really meant was, ‘Why are they all going to one place?’

He wasn’t expecting the annoyed expression that question earned. “One of the pirates’ hostages turned out to be a higher up from one of the refugee resettlement organizations. She’s been making things… complicated,” Course said quietly, not that there was anyone in the hallways to overhear. “And she’s talked basically all of the natborns to returning with her, so they can go through ‘proper channels.’”

That sounded spectacularly bad, and also way, way above Riff’s pay grade.

Not his problem, not his problem. He wasn’t responsible for fixing everything, just his ships.

At least that explained why they’d all received some very cryptic orders from Captain Rex to mind their words once they got dirtside. It sounded like they needed to sell their ‘Empire special forces’ story even more convincingly than usual.

But that also didn’t actually answer the question he’d been angling for originally. He’d been about to ask why he, specifically, was down here and not up with the rest of his team, when Course pushed open a final set of double doors and revealed an enormous space, kriffing filled with brothers and natborns.

Riff clammed up in a hurry, because while most of the natborns were wearing Mandalorian armor, a whole bunch of them weren’t.

It looked like some kind of a mess hall, but the round tables scattered all over the room had clearly been co-opted for a whole lot more than eating. Riff spotted Captain Rex, who was head down in a pile of datapads along with Quad and a couple Mandalorians on the far side of the room. Lady Kryze was over near the… bar? This base had a bar? Lucky shabuire. Anyway, Lady Kryze was over near the bar, arms crossed over her cuirass, having what looked to be an argument with two of her people, a man and a woman whose armor was painted in blues and grays.

Course herded Riff along, further into the space. He spotted Rasp and Mimic, Kix and Agar, and a whole bunch of other familiar faces, but it rapidly became obvious that they were headed towards Ridge, who was camped out at a table on the far side of the room with Psy and Mirror.

Ridge waved them over and gestured towards two of the empty chairs across from him. “Heard you found a mystery datastick on that yacht,” he said without any other preamble.

Was that what this was all about? Faze must have reported something back when he’d checked in with command. “Uh, yes sir,” he said, fumbling the thing out of one of the pouches on his belt. He eyed Psy and Mirror, two brothers he knew for a fact had slicing training, and felt compelled to add, “It’s encrypted something fierce though.”

Psy smiled, small and crooked. Mirror just eyed the datastick like a starving strill.

Ridge reached over, took the thing, and immediately passed it to the two slicers. Mirror plugged it into his datapad and started tapping furiously at the screen. Psy leaned over, offering quiet commentary.

Riff had to squash down a little flare of disappointment. The datastick was his find, his little mystery to solve, but in all fairness, he didn’t have the skills to slice it. Maybe Mirror and Psy did.

He also wasn’t sure what the big deal was, but if that was all Ridge wanted, “Will that be all, sir?”

The Reaper team leader cracked a thin smile of his own. “Ah, not exactly,” he said dryly. “Apparently we could use some extra help, getting our ships space-worthy again. That’s why Jesse routed you down to us.”

Riff glanced at Course out of the corner of his eye. His brother was wearing the most perfect expression of innocence Riff had ever seen. Kriffing traitor. “Right,” he said, trying to keep his tone strictly professional and failing miserably. “I mean, yes, sir.”

“What do you know about ballista bolts?” Ridge asked.

“How’s she looking?” a brother’s voice called out behind Riff.

He didn’t knock his head against the inside of the Scythe’s port-side shield generator housing, but it was a close thing.

Course, who was wedged in right next to Riff, asked, “You got this for a second?”

Riff just grunted and kept twisting the replacement coil into place.

Course slithered out feet-first, leaving Riff to his work.

“Getting there,” Course said, once he’d made it all the way out and onto the scaffolding they’d built up next to the downed ship.

“Buckler’s working on a replacement panel, if we can just limp her back to Wadj,” a brother said, and the intonation of his voice pegged him as Jesse.

Riff tried to tune the conversation out. He was getting tired, both physically and mentally. If he could just get the replacement coil they’d dug out of one of the pirates’ trashed ships installed, he wouldn’t feel quite so guilty ducking out for a meal break. At least Course wasn’t in here with him anymore, side-eyeing the way his right hand was starting to tremble.

Two more grinding twists, some choice words of ‘encouragement’ in both Huttese and Mando’a, and the coil finally shifted into place with a heavy thunk.

Course must have heard it too, because he knocked his knuckles against Riff’s ankle, an obvious request to come join the conversation if there ever was one.

Riff backed out slowly. He was only wearing a set of blacks over his braces, and they tended to get caught on anything and everything unless he was careful. He was a little unsteady, getting back up on his feet, but he managed well enough, thank you very much.

Course clearly didn’t think so, if the worried expression on his face was any indication.

Neither did Jesse, who cocked his head to one side, eyeing Riff critically.

“When was your last break?” he asked, tone about as neutral as an ARC trained in spycraft could manage.

Riff scowled, seeing right through his ranking brother’s attempt at diplomacy. He didn’t need a karking mother nuna up his shebs. He was perfectly capable taking care of himself. “A while ago,” he said, being intentionally vague. He’d stopped for a ration bar that morning, right after the Silver Angel had shipped back out with six Mandalorian guards and basically all of the freed natborns.

Which, okay, was several hours ago. He’d left his chrono with the rest of his armor in the temporary bunk he’d been assigned. So kriffing what?

“Go on,” Course said. “I took a break for midmeal an hour ago, you’re beyond past due.”

Riff grumbled several uncomplimentary things at his fellow mechanic, but he did climb back down the short ladder to ground.

Jesse didn’t say anything when Riff’s right foot almost slid off the second to last rung, stiff and awkward after so long folded up in the guts of a busted ship.

They walked in awkward silence for a few minutes before Jesse casually said, “Psy and Mirror finally managed to decrypt your datastick.” He was clearly trying to draw Riff into conversation, get him to let down his guard a little.

“Oh?” Riff asked, curious enough to rise to the bait.

“Apparently someone on that ship was collecting blackmail material on their clients and business partners,” Jesse replied with a sharp, vindictive smile. “It’s got banking codes, video records, just all sorts of dirty little secrets.”

Well, that was interesting. “Anything we can use?”

“Oh, I would think so,” Jesse said. “Psy’s working on figuring out how to drain all of those accounts. The real trick will be making it look like someone else did it.”

Once, Riff would have whistled, low and heartfelt. Now, he couldn’t quite manage, the muscles of his face wouldn’t cooperate fully, so he just let out a long breath. “Kriff,” he whispered.

“Rex is talking about looping Echo and Tech in on the project,” Jesse said, taking a left at a fork in the hall where Riff really thought they should have gone right. “We’re not sure how high we can safely target when picking our patsy.”

Kriffing haran, the possibilities ran through Riff’s mind, each more outlandish than the last. A Hutt? A senator? Tarkin?

Karking Vader?

Yeah, that was probably way too ambitious. Better to let the Captain sort that out. But still. Kriffing Force, that had been a lucky find.

Also, this hallway definitely wasn’t leading towards the mess hall, which is where he had assumed they’d been heading. In fact…

Riff’s steps slowed to a stop. Jesse kept going a couple more steps, but he paused, clearly realizing he’d lost his audience. He turned to look at Riff, expression guarded again.

“Kix wants to check in on you,” he admitted, tone aggressively bland.

Riff’s hands clenched involuntarily at his sides.

Jesse’s helmet was tucked under one arm, leaving his face bare to show the path his eyebrow took, crinkling up one side of his Republic cog tattoo. The look said, ‘I’ll make it an order, if you force me to.’

Riff was tempted to.

He seriously considered testing the limits of the whole, ‘We’re not really soldiers anymore. You can walk away whenever you want,’ line all of the officers kept repeating. Just turn around and walk away, refuse to comply.

He didn’t though.

He started walking again, even if his steps had become a slow, unwilling trudge.

Force of habit, probably. Good soldiers follow orders. Story of his kriffing life.

The base’s infirmary was both more and less than he’d been expecting. The space was larger than he thought it would be, excruciatingly neat, and exactingly well-organized. It was also clearly understocked, with bare shelves and mostly-empty cabinets everywhere. Some part of Riff wondered if it had always been this stripped down, or if they’d packed up a bunch of their supplies to send back with the natborns on the Silver Angel.

The rest of his attention was focused on Kix and the pale-skinned, four-armed sentient standing at the medic’s side.

A hand, Jesse’s hand, landed on Riff’s shoulder. “Just an updated scan,” he said, sounding like he was talking to a spooked animal. Maybe he was. “And a conversation.”

Riff didn’t want to be here.

He’d done a lot of things he didn’t want to, for as long as he could remember.

At least letting himself be led over to one of the cots presented no physical or ethical challenges.

The pale-skinned natborn, with too many limbs and eyes like a Kaminoan, was apparently named Mel. They introduced themselves politely, asked for permission to proceed.

He nodded, resigned, and allowed them to sweep a handheld medical scanner over his scalp and the side of his face.

The machine beeped.

“Still all karked up, I assume?” he muttered bitterly, and Kix flinched.

Riff wanted to claw the words back. He didn’t blame Kix for what had happened. He didn’t. But kriff, if his whole situation wasn’t a bitter pill to swallow.

“How did this damage occur?” the natborn, Mel, asked softly.

Riff didn’t answer for a minute, not sure if the question was directed at him or at Kix. Not sure if he should even answer them. He glanced at Jesse, not even sure how to frame the question in front of a natborn witness.

“Mel is planning to return with us to Wadj,” Jesse said calmly, but he’d taken up a defensive position at Riff’s side. “They’ve been read in on the situation.”

Oh.

That was standing procedure, for any stray natborns they’d vetted and allowed to come back to base with them. They had to know the general outline of the situation, at least, and living amongst the freed clones would fill them in the rest quickly enough.

So, they knew that Riff and his brothers weren’t with the Empire anymore. They knew about the chips, about why.

And Kix apparently trusted this natborn with his brothers, which was one haran of a vote of confidence, but he still wasn’t speaking.

Neither was Riff, so Jesse cut in. “Right after, well…” he paused awkwardly, gesturing towards the faint scar on the side of his own shaved, tattooed head. “After the chip went off, our ship went down hard. Riff was knocked out under a collapsed bulkhead for several hours.”

Mel just nodded. Their expression was encouraging, in a placid sort of way that didn’t seem to reach their solid black eyes.

Jesse’s highly abbreviated retelling of the story was true, at least as far as Riff knew. He’d been unconscious after the Tribunal had gone down. He’d heard this story many times before, repeated every time another medic was read in on his file. He’d grown sick of hearing it months and months ago.

Instead of listening to it again, he distracted himself by fiddling with his brace, where it ran down the back of his hand, jointed sections mimicking the pattern of the bones in his wrist, his palm, his fingers. He hadn’t worn his gloves to work on the Scythe, they would have only caught on the parts and gotten in the way. He found himself regretting that now. He felt uncomfortably exposed.

“Our Commander found me, stunned me, and she and Captain Rex got my chip out,” Kix said, finally finding his voice. He sounded flat, almost like a droid. Not like himself at all. It set Riff’s teeth on edge. “After that, I performed the rest of the surgeries. What happened was my call.”

“Kix–” Jesse tried to interrupt, but Kix cut him off with a sharp look.

“It was my call,” he said harshly, and then, to Mel, “Only one surgical pod had survived the crash, but it was running on a damaged backup energy system. I decided to prioritize removing the chips, above treating other injuries first.”

Kix didn’t try to defend himself. It had been the right call, Riff knew that.

What Riff didn’t know was if his long-term problem was because of the blow to his head and the slow, prolonged bleed into his brain which had followed, or if it had more to do with the emergency removal of his chip using a damaged, glitching surgical pod.

And Kix didn’t know either.

It had been his call as acting CMO, and it had been the right one. There’d been no time for more caution. If Riff had woken up with his chip still active, he probably would have attacked Kix or his recovering brothers. Really, anyone and anything who got between him and executing Commander Tano. Given his condition, he’d probably have just ended up injuring himself further.

At least he’d survived the procedure, unlike Twig or Swirls.

Kix hadn’t forgiven himself for any of it. Not that he ever said anything, but Riff could tell. Everyone from the 332nd could tell. He’d been killing himself by centimeters ever since, trying to make up for everyone he hadn’t been able to save on that Force-cursed moon.

Riff wasn’t a particularly forgiving personality. Well, not after. He’d been a whole lot more forgiving before. But even though he cursed the Emperor, and the Kaminoans, and the indifferent Force for what had happened to him, he’d never blamed Kix. Osik happened, in war. That was just the way of the galaxy, especially for a clone.

Didn’t make this interaction any less awkward though. Riff and Kix had been avoiding each other whenever possible for months. Technically years, at this point.

“Why did you rule out implants?” Mel asked, and there was something gentle and cautious in their expression.

“No access,” Kix answered, still avoiding looking directly at Riff. And kark, but those two words covered a galaxy’s worth of sins.

That knowledge had been the hardest part to try to accept. Not the injury itself, but the bitter unfairness of what had come after. Maybe if Riff had had access to one of the fancy, Core hospitals, then something more could have been done for his condition, but, well… He was just a fugitive clone, hardly worth the credits it would have taken to fix up this kind of damage, even before he’d gone AWOL. It had been no different under the Republic, and it was doubly true now, on the run from the Empire.

Mel’s huge, black eyes blinked slowly once, then again, and then she dropped her gaze in an apologetic nod that encompassed both Kix and Riff. “I see,” she said, and maybe she did. There were burn marks around her neck, the kind a sentient got from being on the receiving end of an electrified slave collar. The kind which would have healed overnight, if they’d been treated with even a little bacta. Bacta, like in the tubes Riff saw stacked on one the half-empty shelves.

Riff just shrugged, staring down at his hands. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jesse try to edge closer to Kix, probably trying to offer support. Kix didn’t respond.

“It is my understanding that there is a small hospital on the planet where you make your base,” Mel finally said, sounding like she was picking her words very carefully. “It is my intention to seek employment there, assuming I can obtain some facsimile of my previous licensure. I can make no promises, but if you wish it, I will look into obtaining the implants and equipment needed to attempt the procedure.”

Riff looked up. He… couldn’t have heard that correctly.

“What?” he said stupidly. His voice was barely a whisper.

Mel folded their primary and secondary sets of hands together low across their torso. “If you consent, I should be able to access the materials needed to attempt a surgical repair to the damaged portion of your brain. I cannot promise success, only the attempt.”

Riff’s memory issues weren’t usually much worse than his other de-chipped brothers, but he sometimes forgot words, or jumbled them up. It had been worse, back at the beginning. It had taken months, practicing and working with the medics, to get to the point where most sentients, even most brothers, wouldn’t immediately notice that something was wrong, whenever he spoke. He still had lapses though, maybe that was what was happening now.

He didn’t think that was happening now.

He wanted to ask them why, but the words just weren’t coming.

Something must have shown on his face though, because the natborn, Mel, just nodded and said, “I studied medicine to help ease suffering, but I was forced to serve sentients who profited from it instead.” Their folded hands wound together more tightly, and they pulled them up to press against the part of their chest above, if human anatomy was any analogy, their heart. It was an odd gesture, maybe it emphasized a plea or sealed a vow. “Your brothers released me from that and helped me release others. I will help you.”

Riff still didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. Kix was in much the same boat. After a while, Riff just nodded and allowed Jesse to gently nudge him through a slightly more thorough scan and then return Riff to his bunk.

No one was there, and Riff wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

He should probably go back to the courtyard, to help Course with the Scythe.

He absolutely couldn’t bring himself to do that, just then.

Finally, without stopping to let himself really consider what he was doing, he sat down on the floor, opened his footlocker, and started to dig through his carefully packed armor and other gear. Bevel and Faze had hauled it out of the Silver Angel, when they’d been clearing their stuff out to make way for the base’s freed natborns. Riff finally found what he was looking for, wrapped up in an old, torn towel at the very bottom of the crate.

A Kowian san-pipe.

He’d been drunk off his shebs when he’d won it at 79’s. He didn’t even remember the game, but he’d kept the small, metal pipe afterwards and taught himself to play it between missions, much to the consternation of his bunkmates. He’d gotten pretty good too, after a while.

He hadn’t been in any state to go looking for his own belongings, in the wreckage of the Tribunal. He wasn’t sure which of his brothers had fished the pipe out of the Venator’s destroyed barracks.

He didn’t know how this stupid, cheap instrument, some mass-produced garbage probably made for natborn children, had survived the crash, when so many of his brothers had not.

He didn’t know why he’d kept it, especially after it became obvious that his hand, his brain, wasn’t going to just go back to normal.

Now, he stared at it, resting in his semi-functional hand, and he started to laugh.

Maybe it didn’t sound much like laughter. Maybe it sounded ragged, and gasping, and a little bit desperate, but nobody else was there to hear or to judge.

And the next morning, when Kix dropped a familiar squeeze-spring and hard, rubber ball next to his cup of caf and bowl of sweetened grains with a caustic order to, “Do your karking exercises,” he readily agreed, without complaint.

AN: Previous chapters are available here.

Dividers by @freesia-writes using helmets by @lornaka. More designs available here.

[nightiingaled]

Moros Returns | Pt 1.

tagging @badassxbirdy for angst reasons

It was her off day and wow did something feel wrong.

She should have felt calm, cosy and warm. The fire was going, the pups were sleeping around it. She was wearing a cute little sweater that Tyler had gotten. But the big old house was empty besides her and the animals. Elisiel had been spending time at the Great Library with Eden lately. Thanatos was off doing what Thanatos did. And Tyler, as far as she knew, was off on a quick gig.

But the emptiness of the house wasn't what was wrong. There was a cold chill Mel couldn't shake, the feeling of being watched, the eyes on the back of her neck that wouldn't go away.

Then suddenly the feeling grew stronger and the aura became a stench she knew all too well. By the time he fully appeared in her living room, Mel was ready. Or at least, she thought she was. Moros had her by the throat before she even caught sight of him.

"Hello again little one."

"Get. Out. Of. My. House." She managed the words through clenched teeth and tried to reach out to grab him, to suck the life from him. To drain him of everything that made him alive.

"Oh you're so adorable to think that will work," he laughed and this time he tossed her away like a bag of garbage into the bin.

Mel landed on her shoulder and kept her groan to herself. The force with which he tossed her had sent shockwaves through her entire body, but thankfully her floorboards remained intact. Silly thought to have at this moment, she chided herself.

"What do you want this time?" she snapped, "I'm not going to 'eat the world' or whatever, haven't you learned that yet?"

Moros circled his side of the room as if waiting for her next move. And gods she was going to give it to him even if it was the last thing she did. She was getting real tired of this shit.

"You will...one day...maybe sooner rather than later. But right now I need a favor."

"A favor!" Mel disappeared from where she stood, but Moros grabbed her by the wrist before she finished materializing, flipping her and slamming her down to the ground. Something sharp pinned her shoulder in place and she let out a loud cry.

"I need Thanatos. Call for him!"

"Eat shit."

The sharpness in her shoulder twisted and she grit her teeth against the pain. This was far less agonizing than the last visit for sure. Something was off. Something was always off when it came to Moros. "Call to him!"

"NO!"

"Fine. I've already paid a visit to your girlfriend, she was no help either..."

Mel drug herself up, digging the sharp edged knife further into her shoulder. She grabbed him by his perfect suit and pulled him closer with a yank. He did not stop her. How strange. What was his game?

"You touch her and I'll kill you - I'll find a way to end you. I won't rest until you burn."

He grinned, a sideways crooked kind of smile that lit up his features in a grotesque way that didn't seem like it belonged there. "I'd like to see you try," he said yet again and some part of Mel started to wonder if he really DID want to see her try. If that was the point of all of this.

"But alas, our time is up. The Doorway is here to take you away."

Mel felt her stomach lurch with a sudden sense of fear. "No. Not again. Don't do this...." The Doorway would keep her from getting to Tyler, would keep her from her home, would keep her away again for who knew how long.

"Just call for Thanatos. And you get her back. You save the day!"

That's all she had to do. Than, I need you. But she couldn't say it out loud, couldn't give in. No matter how much she wanted to avoid the Doorway, no matter how much she wanted to save Tyler from Moros.

She had to do it. For Tyler.

"Than...Thanatos please..."

He grabbed her by the chin and smiled. "Good girl."

And the air behind her grew chilly as the Doorway opened behind her, tugging violently at her with a gust of wind. "No! You said -Moros you--"

"I didn't promise."

And then he pulled free the knife holding her in place, the Doorway pulling her back into it's reaches yet again. Falling back and back and back into that place in between worlds. The place in between everything.