#not realizing it was full of flammable things

[beck-a-leck]

Saw one too many posts along the lines of 'I put something not oven-safe in the turned off oven for Reasons and then my spouse/roommate/sibling turned on the oven and ruined it!' recently and that combined with my automatic pre-turning on the oven habit of opening the door to make sure there's nothing in there has got me thinking.

I Always check the oven before I turn it on. Doesn't matter if I know for a fact nothing is in there or the racks haven't moved out of the position i want, I always check. And I always check because that's the way I was taught. When I started learning how to cook from my mom, the first thing she taught me to do was check the oven. I always figured that was just a common sense safety thing she passed on, but it also occurred to me that my mom worked as a firefighter/paramedic for a good portion of my childhood. So maybe that was something she passed on from her experiences as a firefighter.

So now I'm curious, and in true tumblr fashion I'm gonna sate my curiosity with a poll.

Note: 'Raised' can mean you had a parent/parental figure who was a firefighter. Or an extended family member who was. Or a family friend. If they served a role in your life that taught you things, they had a hand in raising you.

Obligatory please reblog for sample size. I doubt this will break containment and get more than a dozen or so votes but it would be super cool if it did.

[bledlust]

closed starter for @gravekeeps.

"what they show you in movies, it ain't..." his voice trails off. real, he wants to say. but for some reason, he can't. it would've been easier to tell her that it was just a movie, but she proved to him with pointed fangs and a flammability to sunlight that vampires were very much real.

the reason why he became an actor was because he loved what movies meant to people. movies made people feel like they weren't alone. and as he stares up into her pretty eyes so full of hope, he realizes that that was what was happening here. she doesn't want to be alone. so even though he's not on a set, why should this role be any different for him to play?

"...it ain't always true." he says instead. "hollywood likes to fabricate things sometimes. like... garlic, for example. humans only say we don't like garlic so they can sell more."

[iztarshi]

oh boy, i believe i recognize what au "raphael vs aoi" is from! i didn't realize you were writing it, tell me more :D

I think I did share this snippet on the server! But I am very happy to talk about this AU.

First, context for anyone who does not know about a Very Specific turtle AU XD

This is a server AU where the various iterations of turtles are werewolf packs living in the same area. This kind of started with the meta thought of werewolves as "monster, curse or animal", due to the different ways horror movies can treat them and the different ways they might view themselves, and how this overlaps with how mutant turtles see themselves.

87 are wolves that were turned into werewolves accidentally by werewolf Splinter (they attacked him, he's very sorry he bit them, they are not that sorry they have thumbs now).

03 are experiments that were rescued by their (different) Splinter (they were human to begin with but don't remember it, Splinter was a wolf).

12 Splinter was a werewolf hunter who rescued some baby werewolves rather than kill them. They bit him in the process so he's been hiding out with them since. He's raised them to view it as a curse, they're the only ones that lock themselves up at full moon.

Rise are a different kind of experiment, with the blood of Old Ones (Krang) injected into them, making huge semi-humanoid demonic wolves at full moon. They're nice kids! But scary as hell. Lou Jitsu!Splinter is a vampire because Big Mama would be, wouldn't she? He can turn into a wolf as a result! Also a bat, but that's less good for family bonding.

We gave everyone different names, as well, which I'm not going to relate here. But it's important that Aoi is Rise!Leo while the 87 turtles are the ones who kept the original names.

So! 87 Raphael is usually the least angry Raphael - if any of his fans are reading this I need to note that as a pre-emptive apology - but he has a really bad time in Red Sky. So one of the things we were playing with in the werewolf AU was shifting things more towards Red Sky at some point both because it gives 87 werewolf issues (being hunted, feeling resentful) and because it makes 87 the oldest for a fun switch from them being the young, silly ones.

This snippet was me running with that idea, and with the fact that 87!Raphael gets less funny and more bitter under pressure but Rise!Leo just doubles down on the jokes. I'm not really sure I got Raphael's voice here, even at his most aggressive. But the idea of Aoi having his coping mechanism treated as annoying and broken by someone who usually shares it still feels like something.

*

The thing is. The thing is, it’s not really your fault. You’re not used to this, not used to feeling like this, and you’re not even sure if this is the way things have been going lately or the wolf hormones finally hitting. You’ve always been the quickest to yip and nip and tease but roll over as soon as anyone sends a glare your way. Suddenly you’re standing next to Donatello and Leonardo staring down Michelangelo when he starts bouncing along and poking at things.

That’s not the thing though. Making Michelangelo sad isn’t your fault either, but it’s not the thing.

The town’s feeling more hostile lately. You’ve seen enough horror movies to know what a mob looks like even before they grab the torches and pitchforks. It’s pretty certain you’re immune to pitchforks, but you’re not immune to torches, even if you’re not as flammable as Yoshi’s pack. That’s not counting the hunter someone hired who used silver bullets. Silver. Normal bullets bounce off you. These go through you and they burn all the way.

So you’ve always been the one to make a joke but not much seems funny right now. You’re territorial, uncertain, powerful, you’re picking fights with Leonardo, you’re terrified, you want it all to stop.

And Aoi made a dumb joke like everything was normal.

He’s a monster in wolf form. Huge, long limbs to reach for you tipped by tearing claws, with an uncanny ability to fade into the shadows. That didn’t stop you going for his throat like a bullet.

The look on his face, ears folded down, eyes wide and averted, the way he’d thrown himself back from you as if you were the size of Shuiro. Like you’d attacked a puppy.

Then he’d perked his ears up, lolling his tongue out in that weird doggy laugh he affects.

You switched to human form, soft hands and blunt nails. A signal that you weren’t going to fight that didn’t require backing down. “Get out of here, Aoi,” you said. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

You think maybe you shouldn’t have said that. You haven’t seen him since. He’s fine, though. If he was actually missing you’d have heard from all three of his brothers. He’s just avoiding you.

Aoi’s not the stupid puppy he acts like. He can handle some hurt feelings.

And anyway, it’s not your fault.

[containatrocity]

"...Former frontman of Autumn's Gambler and the Solo project Odd Revolver, Oleander Grimm, wanted for questioning in the death of two former members of his camp...."

"....Undercover police officers investigating the disappearances of hundreds across the country in seemingly ritualistic killings found dead after seemingly being compromised..... a manhunt has begun for the presumed killer.... Grimm, once a household name with his band, is wanted and his whereabouts are unknown, his Los Angeles home set ablaze seemingly intentionally..."

"The body of a man has been found in the remains of Grimm's former home, matching descriptions of the musician- while forensics will be required to identify the remains completely.... it seems the nightmare may finally be over."

The TV crackles and fades to silence on the motel dresser, and seated at the foot of the filthy bed, a dead man smokes another cigarette. He'd been had- fucking pigs, 30 years of careful work down the drain, because his 'manager' and his bitch wife were deep-cover officers. So he'd reacted poorly- most would, when their entire livelihood was about to fall to scraps at their feet. He'd not realized that he'd kicked the last struggling, termite eaten support out from beneath his existence until he was behind the wheel of a moving van with the bay over-full with flammables, and the corpse of some poor SOB who's only crime had been drinking in the same bar. Until his entire life's work sat in hot ash- the fire greedy for her fuel, the devil starved for his due.

So he was stood now at square one- a square his feet had never been acquainted with, thanks to the Grimm family's connections in Hollywood- He'd been born with the blessings he needed to build an empire, and even when he cast those off- his family and his acting career quickly growing unbearable in his teens- colored by a cocaine addiction and a twin flame who's bad moon eclipsed his own, He still had the recognition it had given him when from the remains rose Autumn's Gamblers. He wonders, for a moment, as he stretches out in his motel bed, how much time he's bought himself with this little display- he'd liked that house, and with a case so high profile, they were bound to run the forensics on that body soon enough- his DNA was on the books from that riot he incited at the Roxy in the 90s, from a number of B & E's with the band, prints marked down from bar fight after bar fight in city after city just to try and feel something other than the absent numbness.

It hadn't worked, but then, it never worked, if he was being honest with himself, and eventually, that numbness became an asset. Eventually, that numbness made him a perfect hunter. He'd gotten sloppy, this time. He was the fox caught in the henhouse, and while he'd done his best to wipe blood from his maw, the farmer was closing in. But he'd had a failsafe in mind for quite some time, hadn't he? A disappearing ghost town in West Virginia, now a mere two states away, would be his salvation. America's own little bermuda triangle, swallowing up those who traveled inside simply to erase them from the world outside. He'd kept track of it, his interest in the Occult storied and well known- part of the reason he was in this mess to begin with, the perfect suspect for his own murders.

That tech mogul heir who'd done promotion in LA vanished in 2021 on his way to DC. The frontwoman for The Damned Woman, originally from the area, gone without a trace after going home for a visit. Actors, artists, musicians, government agents, military types, and even the average joe simply wiped off the earth. And Huntsville had been the key. So he'd packed his things before lighting his home ablaze- something he hoped the fire would cover up- something he knew it wouldn't not completely- and struck out on the road, unknowing of what might wait for him inside, it was better than giving himself up to the sheep who'd see him hang for simply doing his role in the food chain.

Some of us are put here to be greater than everyone else, Ollie, that's you and me. I made a promise to something when I was young, it told me I'd find fame and fortune, I just had to find my partner. That's you.

Words decades old echo in his mind even now, as blue eyes fall on the bedside clock, the dusty digital display flagging the exact time of night he should be asleep were he a different kind of man. Instead he sparks up his second cigarette in quick succession, takes a drag and leans his head back, watches the smoke dance past his lips.

It's up to you. It was always gonna be up to you. I've gotta answer for what we did, Ollie, but you'll keep doing our work, won't you? Too many rabbits and not enough wolves to cull them down. We're not like them, you're special, It blessed you. Now I need you to watch me, and make sure I don't chicken out or try to come down. It always knew you would be stronger, okay? Come on, don't cry. 27's as good an age as any to go- I'll live forever in the minds of people who love us and you.

His fingers graze over a hand-written 27 tattoo on his wrist, sighing softly. Part of him feels like he failed. This wasn't part of the plan, part of the deal. Their number had come up years ago. He had sacrificed himself to ensure October's side of the deal didn't hang unfulfilled. And here he was. Running away, because whatever protection, whatever luck had been on his side had abandoned him just long enough for anger to win.

It's enough to make him angry again, sends rage pricking through his body, because this was not part of the deal, everything he'd ever worked for burning away somewhere thousands of miles away while he rots in bed, thinking about long-dead lovers and sacraments in blood made when he was little more than a boy himself. This was his calling, his duty- he was meant to cull and destroy in service of something he couldn't hear the voice of on his own- that had been his job. to listen.

Morning comes. He doesn't sleep. simply pays his room fee with more money than he needs to and climbs behind the wheel of the moving van once more. He drives in silence, memories on replay even as he passes the town limits from a detour.

He tries to hide the smile on his face as the mayor and sheriff explain to him what he's driven into- tries to pass it off as a nervous grin about his uncertain future, suffocate the thrill of a built-in alibi and creatures to hunt alongside beneath false fear.

One day, we'll hunt together, free from everything the world insists on. Changed, but together. I promise, Ollie.

October's pleased to see his face on a ghost a few nights later.

Maybe he kept his promise, after all.

[ginger375]

LUtober

See the full collection on AO3.

Day 23: Slaughter

“You know you can’t spell ‘slaughter’ without ‘laughter’?”

“What the hell kind of comment is that?”

Wild shrugged. “I dunno, I just always found that interesting.”

Legend just gave him a flat look. “And you just decided to bring that up while you’re slaughtering a boar?”

“That’s why I thought of it.”

As much as he liked Wild (he did, honestly), sometimes the amnesiac cook would say things that just made him want to smack his head against a tree.

Legend had been tasked with helping Wild restock his meat stores, so he’d been out with the cook for most of the day. The largest animals they’d seen for most of their venture were squirrels (“Not enough meat on ‘em”) and rabbits (“Don’t. You. Dare”). They’d gotten lucky to come across a wild boar, which Legend had taken out quickly. Now, Wild was butchering the animal, having drained it of its blood and peeling back the skin to reveal the flesh beneath.

“Where’d you even learn to do that?”

“From folks I came across on my journey, mostly,” Wild said with a shrug. “When I first got out of the shrine I’d just shove whatever I caught in the fire. It worked for apples and mushrooms, so why not birds and squirrels?”

Legend knelt down to help remove the hide. “How’d that work for you?

“Not that great. Did you know feathers are flammable? Whole bird would be burnt on the outside and raw on the inside. Ate it anyway, somehow managed to live to regret every single minute of it,” Wild said, screwing up his face at the memory of being so sick he thought he’d die all over again.

“Tell me you’re kidding, please?”

“I wish. Took a week to get over it, even the monsters wouldn’t come near me.”

Legend snorted at that and gestured for Wild to continue.

“Once I finally got off the Great Plateau and encountered other people, I saw how they cooked food, but also how they butchered wild game. Had some folks at the stables show me how.”

Legend nodded in acknowledgement. “What’re you planning to do with the hide?”

“Maybe we could sell it in the next town we come across? Get some rupees for potions?” Wild asked as he cut portions off the carcass and put them in the slate.

“I’m sure we could,” Legend agreed.

Wild stood up, wiping the excess blood and sinew off with a rag. “Wolves will be along soon to take care of the rest. Let’s head to that stream to clean up.”

As Legend followed Wild, he came to a stunning realization; he’d just had a whole conversation with the champion and didn’t want to beat his head against a tree.

Legend chuckled to himself, catching Wild’s attention.

“What?”

“Can’t spell ‘slaughter’ without ‘laughter’… sheesh, kid.”

[glovepaint]

But what if the architect had actually been worried about the ritual for longer? Because elves have been doing it dangerously close to the tents (and because that one elf can't have been the first one to do it in 2 years, c'mon). Even though nothing has ever happened. But multiple humans in camp are on her side and don't know if it's worth to risk it any longer, despite being thoroughly taught about the importance of the ritual (as they should have been, maybe even before building flammable tents???). Then one night, a candle gets mysteriously snuffed out or something similar and the elves obviously seek the culprit among the humans. And then from this point a whole thing ensues and maybe in the end after some realizations, the architect and an elf have the idea of building a special place for the ritual together through it.

Idk maybe this is just a dumb idea but somehow I really didn't like how it played out in the season. Why didn't the architect know of that ritual and did the sunfire elf not know of the no open fire rule?

Personally also not a fan that she was the sole receiver of blame, at least to that extreme extent. She had every reason to be worried about that fire in a flammable tent city after all. She also overreacted immensely, like a lunatic, no doubt. Especially because as long as someone was there to watch, why not get this settled in peace with Janai there instead of being stupid and acting without thinking? But also the sunfire elf did burn her hands, most likely causing damage that will impact her ability to work like she did before.

Or at least make the architect be well aware of the ritual and it being explicitly allowed beforehand and let her be a full on intolerant bigot if she has to take all the blame.

Weh.

[chicknparm]

Hello Jenny. I'd love to hear your thoughts on bg3 so far! What's your relationship to the series/the CRPG genre? What sort of character are you playing? What's a cool or interesting thing that's happened to you so far? What characters do you like the most so far?

omg okay so the tl;dr is I really like it! it feels cliche to say this but it def feels like a true follow-up to DA: Origins with much better gameplay, but not quite as good writing (tho it's a pretty high bar to clear for fantasy RPGs imo!)

I'm playing as a half-elf bard and making mostly good, altruistic decisions, but not above being an asshole or selfish to people who are rude to me or my party. I'm besties with Shadowheart and Karlach, and Lae'zel likes me but uhhhh the feeling is not mutual! So I mostly run with the Girl Gang but occasionally tag Gale or Astarion in when necessary.

And without giving too much away there's a section where there's a lot of fungi that release toxic spores if you get too close to them, so I thought I was being clever and was going to just slowly pop them all from a distance and slowly make my way as the spores dissipate. I failed to realize that there was a torch in the back of the room. and that the spores are highly flammable. The chain of explosions lasted like a full minute and let's just say the rescue mission I was on turned out unsuccessful.

[ninjastormhawkkat]

The Real Steven Boxleitner - Part 2

"It started with a man named Professor Carl Woods. He was a brilliant geneticist and biologist. He wanted to accomplish so much in life, but the most important thing he wanted to do was to leave a legacy that can enjoy his accomplishments when he passed. Someone he wanted to bond with, he wanted an heir. I don't know why he didn't get married or adopted a child, but Professor Woods wanted to create a child of his own from his own DNA. So he created his child, a clone of sorts but it had genetic makeup from other people so it didn't look exactly like him but had similar physical features to the man. Professor Carl Woods had a home near the college where he worked so everyday he took his child to the labs to monitor his health and educate him there and every night snuck him home to sleep. He took care of the clone and treated him as his own. He also kept the clone a secret for fear of greedy investors and other scientist treating him like a science experiment, or fear for himself for getting arrested for his actions."

"But why."

"Becky this was the 70s and 80s. Cloning was new and science with genetics wasn't always...a legal practice back then as it is now. But unfortunately for most people, the more illegal something is, the more popular and desired it becomes. So anyway, some years later, Professor Carl Woods hired on an assistant, a college student who was majoring in science, to work with the professor on his public experiments. The clone, which the professor called Gene, got curious about the assistant and ran into him one day. The assistant was surprised by this man who he never seen before who called himself Gene Woods. Of course when Professor Carl Woods found out he was upset with the clone and just about threatened the assistant to keep quiet. The clone then asked the professor to let him keep his friend with him. Well Carl Woods was astounded that it was the first time he heard Gene call anyone friend and realized he never really got a chance to let his son socialize with others even though he was trying to protect him. So he finally let Gene and his assistants hang out in the labs when the assistant was on break and they wound up becoming the best of friends. The assistant taught Gene about the outside world that his dad promised to introduce him too when he was in his 20s and was ready to live out there without drawing attention. They did normal stuff and Gene had moments where he forgot he wasn't a normal human. Sadly things change. One day government officials barged into the lab. One man offered to buy Gene from Professor Carl Woods for a significant amount of money to give them Gene and for the scientist to work for them creating more clones like Gene."

"Why were they so interested in Gene?"

"What Professor Carl Woods did not realize until sometime later after creating Gene was that Gene had unique adaptability skills. Woods could have spliced his son's DNA with other non human DNA and Gene could continue on living a full life while adapting to his new traits. These skills also meant that Gene could get hurt badly but would not suffer the same results as most people. Now Professor Carl Woods of course refused to do so and demanded that they leave his lab this instant. A few lackeys of the government official and some armed men soon attacked the professor and dragged him away while he was bruised and beaten up. The assistant then tossed some flammable chemicals together and started a fire which caused a distraction which allowed the assistant to take Gene and tried to escape. While they were running, one of those armed men ended up trying to shoot at Gene, the assistant jumped in the way to save Gene's life and splashed hydrochloric acid from a beaker on the shooter's face. Gene was horrified and shocked what happened to his friend and tried to save him. His friend told Gene to save himself. That bullet hit a vital artery apparently and there was no way the assistant would have survived in time. So sobbing and with a heavy heart, Gene escaped the lab through an old passage way Gene showed him that was once used for distributing alcohol through prohibition in the 1920s to the 1930s. Gene got outside and was only a few yards away when the lab exploded in a blaze possibly due to hitting some flammable gas tanks. Gene never saw those government agents again. He never saw his father or his first real friend ever again as well."

Dr. Two Brains paused, trying to hold back tears after telling this story to his daughter. A tale he wished he didn't have to relive again. Becky stared at her father with shock and horror and grief at that tragedy. She started to gather clues from that tale. "So that assistant was.." Becky began to hesitantly ask. Dr. Two Brains nodded solemnly. "He was the real Steven Andrew Boxleitner. I was the clone. I was Gene Woods."

Becky just stared at her dad, emotions flooding her mind and face. She now had more questions. Why did her dad choose that Steven's name to take? Why did he abandon it after becoming Dr. Two Brains?"

As if reading his child's mind, Dr. Two Brains continued to tell her the rest of the truth.

(available in part 3)

@drtwobrainsstuff

@melodythebunny

[kieuecaprie]

I must ask... Does Elpis have any particularly strong opinions on any of those funny managers? :3

As tempting as it may be to give you the full list and go off one by one, which would indeed be easy, it's probably best to pick off a few notable ones that caught the deer's eye (or ire).

Prethinker (Brian) - Elpis tried to reason with him but got shot down because they're just a "dumb animal" with "no intellect to speak of". So now they just plain hate him, full stop. Not enough to want to end his existence, more like they want to style on him in his own battle of wits. So, their opinion? "I despise him and I want to beat him at his own game, maybe then he'll realize what a pompous mee he is."

Duck Shuffler (Buck Ruffler) - Initially, when they moved to Toontown, they were somewhat intimidated by this manager's presence due to them being a newbie in the Toon Resistance at the time, but after training and getting acquainted with Buck, they really want to join Buck on his escapades to the casino and win BIG BUX. Their opinion of Buck is: "Used to be scary but is actually just a little goober. An idiot. A dummy. And if anything happens to him, I will shoot everyone in this room, and then myself."

Rainmaker (Misty Monsoon) - After an initially rough encounter with her, Elpis just kind of feels sorry for her because it just seems like she wants to have a good time but can't due to 1) some toons attacking cogs on sight and 2) her boss wouldn't like it. Nevertheless, they have attempted to make contact with her and tried their hardest to make friends with her. So far, they have been attempting to bring her a picnic and is currently trying to figure out her favorite drinks, which would be easy if it weren't for the fact that, well, robot and robots don't take kindly to most toon drinks, if at all. She is one of the biggest reasons why El has the opinion that they could potentially make friends with the cogs in the end, and maybe get them to loosen up and not be so stiffy and all about money and profits. Their opinion of Misty is: "One day I'll show you that toons and cogs can get along, Mity. I'll keep trying, no matter how long it'd take, for both of us."

Major Player (Dave Brubot) - I haven't experienced his fight in-game yet, despite having MML kudos awaiting promotion to level 10 because I'm slowly working on everything else first. I can wager that Elpis was initially weirded out when they found out about the video tape containing said manager's hijinks (if you could call eating cereal several hours straight as such...) but hearing that he was behind the snazzy tunes in the buildings they've invaded as well as hearing about the live performances, they're pretty much a fan. Maybe not as crazy as some because they tend to carry an air of composure (as much as a toon can be anyhow), but if they were to actually meet Dave, they'd probably be inwardly screaming the entire time.

Firestarter (Flint Bonpyre) - Actually feels really sorry for this dude, to the point where they've started to hype him up whenever they cross paths and encourage the poor guy, even when he accidentally sets something flammable on fire. This, of course, also means they want to crush him with a boulder but it's because they love him (platonically speaking, btw).

Chief Operating Officer (Thomas Saggs) - Not a manager, per say, but at the moment he gets a special spot here. Despite disagreeing with Thomas's opinions on some things (such as not really doing much to stop the cogs from taking over), they do find some common ground in a lot of things, as well as just generally appreciating the discussion as it is a welcome break from the wackiness of the toons and the outright hostility from most cogs. They have quite a bit of respect for him and are probably gonna be sad when the Toon Resistance decide to take on the Boardbot HQ, whenever it finishes construction that is, 'cause that means there's a possibility of fighting him.

High Roller (High Roller) - NON-CANON - Absolutely loves High Roller, in fact, they love High Roller so much that they have a shrine dedicated to Their Quackjesty in their home's attic. They never leave home with the green rubber duck and will happily shout out HR's favorite catchphrase: "It'ff High Roller time" and then High Roller all over the floor. Okay, okay, but to be serious about this, if High Roller were to exist in canon, they'd be a big fan of the fused cog, maybe not to the craziest extent but they'd still carry the green rubber duckie and be proud of being a member of the Low Rollers.

---

Those are the ones that kind of stood out to me right now either because I haven't truly experienced their battles in TTCC yet or because I haven't given too much thought to Elpis's opinions of a particular manager at the moment.

[logarhythm-bees]

The Carousel Kingdom 🏰 CH8 Old Foods, New Friends

Masterlist

Prev - Next

They settle away from rebellion plans for a little while in exchange for mealtime. The refrigerator (which, thankfully, does exist in this world, though it operates on magic instead of coolant) isn’t lavish, but it has the necessities, and Patton offers to make them all Earth egg salad sandwiches.

“This is *delicious.*” Roman says after their first bite, patting their lips with a napkin, “Earth has the best food. Virgil, when we have the supplies, you should show me how to make pancakes.”

“I can do that,” Virgil says around a mouthful of food, then realizes his manners and swallows quickly. “Uhm. Sorry.”

“You brought our prince home, you can eat however you want.” Thomas says, winking at him. Virgil covers his face with his hands. 

“Nope! From now on, manners in front of the royalty.” Virgil laughs in embarrassment. “But yeah, we can make pancakes when we’ve got the ingredients, Roman. Do you guys have baking powder here?”

“We have baking powder in Innova, yes.” Logan laughs. “We are running low within our cabinet, but we can go out and get some once the disguise is perfected.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Virgil tsks. “You…still want me to be a spy?”

‘Yes.” Logan says. 

Virgil thinks. “How did you get…groceries and stuff, before?”

“I cast a disguise on myself. A simple one, just to change my hair and eye color. I wore a hat over my horn, and it worked well while the guards left the outskirts of town alone.” Logan explains, xer eyes looking into Virgil’s. “But I don’t know that it will continue to work, if the guards are going to be on the lookout here. I expect they’ll recognize the former royal advisor, even if xer hair has changed.”

Virgil nods. “And what would change for me?”

“I could make you appear as an entirely new person.” Logan explains. “It’s a difficult spell to cast on oneself. But if you are amicable, I could put a sort of costume over you. Other people would see you differently, but your true shape would remain the same.” Logan touches xer horn. “Part of the reason it would be difficult for me particularly is because my horn would still be there, it would just be invisible to the eye. I’d have to be extremely careful not to hit anything with it, lest someone realize it was there. That’s why I haven’t tried it on Thomas, either. That, and we agreed it would be better for the king to stay where we knew he would be safe.”

Virgil swallows. “So you wouldn’t be changing my shape, so much as making it just *appear* different?”

“Precisely.” Logan says. “Shapeshifting is complicated, and very difficult to perform. Glamours, as they are, are much easier, and small things, like a change to your nose or eyes, are much simpler to manage the difference of than these.” Xe points at xer horn.

“I…I’d be up for giving it a go.” Virgil says after a while. “Only if we start small, though. I’m a lot more prepared to go buy baking powder than to infiltrate the castle.”

“You’re going to be really good at it, though, I just know it!” Roman pipes up, their mouth full of sandwich. Thomas gives them a lighthearted glare to not do that. Roman winks at Virgil, amused.

“I think starting small is an excellent plan.” Logan says, ignoring Roman’s intentional disregard for table manners. “I would, also, like to try these pancakes that Roman speaks of.”

“They’re *so* good.” Roman adds, having finished their sandwich.

“Yeah! Virgil’s an awesome chef.” Patton adds. “I’m, uh, not so good at the things that involve actual cooking, and not just hot water. I am banned from quite a few hotpot restaurants back home.”

“What’s a hotpot?” Roman asks.

“It involves a pot, and it’s hot.” Virgil says,picking up his sandwich again. “And Patton does not learn that he can’t put the flammable paper napkin near it.”

“I did too learn!” Patton retorts. “After the third try!”

“Mhm,” Virgil says, ignoring him in favor of finishing his sandwich. “I’m eating now.”

Roman fiddles with the fuzz on their tail, twisting it between their fingers. “It might be nice to visit Earth again sometime,” they whisper. “But, you know, under better circumstances. I’d…like to see Earth things, like hotpot and cars.”

“We’d be happy to have you again!” Patton hums. “You’re welcome to stay with me.”

“Or me again,” Virgil adds quickly. “I know my apartment’s not huge, but you’re always welcome to stay over.” 

“Speaking of,” Thomas starts, “the library’s living space isn’t...extraordinary, admittedly, but we would be happy to house you here.” Thomas explains. “It was built to house the librarian in the days when they were more integral to the function of the library, to put it one way. Writing and reading more of the books, as opposed to shelving them. With that practice going, well, out of practice, these quarters were mostly used as a storage closet. We’ve renovated it over, as you can see, but there’s still only one bedroom. We put a curtain up for privacy’s sake, but it may be a bit tricky with all five of us.”

“I wouldn’t mind sleeping out here,” Patton says, gesturing to the room around them. “I used to sleep on Virgil’s couch all the time when we had sleepovers.”

“A sleepover?” Thomas asks.

“On Earth, kids often spend the night at a friend’s house, playing games while staying up late.” Patton replies. “You don’t have that here in Innova?”

“Not really.” Roman replies. “But it sounds fun.”

“It is nice,” Virgil replies, having spent more than a few nights on Patton’s couch when they were younger, having liked the extended company of staying up late with a friend. “I can sleep out here too, if it’s easier. I have a sleeping bag.”

“I will too?” Roman offers, though hesitantly. “I slept on Virgil’s couch when they rescued me, it was pretty comfortable.”

“Nonsense.” Logan replies, Thomas bobbing his head in agreement. “You are our heir to the throne, and there is plenty of space in either of our beds. If you would like to sleep on your own, too, I would be happy to take the floor.”

“That’s really not necessary!” Roman exclaims, bashfully waving their hands at the idea. “I’ll share your bed, Logan. It’ll be like old times.”

“Ah, sneaking into xer quarters to ask for help with your math homework when you thought I wasn’t looking,” Thomas says, winking. Roman sputters. “Math homework that I did great on!”

“I wasn’t aware you knew about that,” Logan laughs, covering xer face. 

“Figured Roman was going to engage in acts of rebellion at some point,” Thomas says. “Better that than Remus putting worms in the guard’s boots.”

Patton makes a face at that, and Virgil laughs. “Did he really?”

“Yes.” Thomas says. “I’m sure the cobbler was overjoyed to receive an order for a guards’ worth of new boots.”

“Shame he couldn’t stick to putting worms in my shoes, rather than overtaking my kingdom.” Roman sighs, fiddling their thumbs. “I think I should head to bed.”

“Oh, Roman, I just meant-” Thomas starts, but Roman waves it off. “It’s ok. I’m just tired.”

“You must be,” Logan remarks, xer eyes following them. “You’re welcome to borrow a set of my pajamas. They’re in the top drawer, in the center.”

“Thank you,” Roman nods, earnest but melancholy. “Goodnight, Virgil, Patton.”

“‘Night,” Virgil says, as Patton waves and Roman turns out of the room.

“I didn’t mean to upset them,” Thomas says.

“It’s okay.” Patton tells him. “I think it’s just a sore spot for them, having just come back.”

“...I didn’t mean to compare Roman to their brother, in any case.” Thomas said. “They’ve always wanted to be thought of as the upstanding one, the *good* kid. Not that Remus was *bad* growing up, but they were…different.” Thomas sighs. “And certainly even more so now.”

Patton nods. “I don’t have siblings, but I was always the ‘good’ kid in class, so I got paired up with the rowdy ones. Like the dog put in a pen of wild horses to help them calm down, except I didn’t like it very much.” 

“Yeah, I offered to punch the teacher after they put you next to that kid who kept upsetting you on purpose.” Virgil remarks. “They gotta respect your boundaries, man.”

Patton smiles. “I appreciate it.”

Thomas contemplates, fiddling with his hands. “I want Roman to know I’m there for them, no matter what.”

“I think they know already.” Patton says. “But telling them can’t hurt.”

Thomas smiles. “I think I will, Patton. Thank you. Both of you. I’m glad Roman is back here in Innova.”

“As am I,” Logan adds, bowing xer head. “We owe both of you a great debt, Virgil and Patton.”

“Aw, shucks,” Patton says, and Virgil smiles appreciatively. “But, uhm-” A yawn breaks out on Patton’s face, leading Virgil to yawn as well. “Maybe we should get to bed too, huh?”

“Let me grab you some blankets,” Thomas says, rushing down the small hallway. Logan follows. Patton, after a few moments of muffled rusting, sits down on the couch.

“So, Innova, huh?” Patton laughs.

Virgil sits down besides him. “Yeah,” he adds. “It’s…odd, being here, but…everyone’s been really kind. Well, except the guards.”

“Yeah,” Patton says, squeezing Virgil’s hand. “But we’ve beaten them once, we can do it again. And we’re gonna get Roman back on that throne, I just know it!”

The shower starts, muffled by the walls. 

“...I’m trying not to think too much about being in a new universe.” Virgil says. “I’m…nervous. But Roman needs us.”

Patton looks at him scrutinizingly. 

“It’s okay to be afraid.” Patton says after a while. “I’m scared too. And I think Roman would understand. How does that one quote go? Bravery isn’t the absence of fear, it’s doing the thing anyways. Or something like that.”

Virgil laughs a little, anxiously fiddling with a loose thread on his hoodie. “Yeah. I guess.”

Patton pats his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Virgil.” Virgil bites his tongue, nodding, hand still trembling around a piece of string.

Luckily, Thomas enters the room just then, letting Virgil and Patton focus on getting a sleeping area set up, with Patton on the couch and Virgil on a pile of blankets on the floor. What Logan carries in with xer magic is more than enough bedding to make the floor soft, even if Virgil would have slept there anyways.

“Goodnight, you two.” Thomas says after they’re all set up and changed, wearing the pajamas they packed. Roman had slipped between them in the hall, heading to the room, where Virgil hears them snoring quietly. Thomas gazes over his shoulder into the room, a wistful look on his face. 

“Thank you, again,” he says softly, looking into Virgil’s eyes, then Patton’s. “I’m so glad Roman is back home.”

“We are too,” Virgil says, quiet and on impulse. His brain splutters, though, catching up with him. “Not that we didn’t like having them, it’s just, they belong here, I- I’m glad they’re safe, here, yeah. That’s- what I meant, yeah.”

Thomas laughs softly, unperturbed by Virgil’s stuttering around the subject. “I understand,” Thomas says. “I am too.”

Virgil gives him a soft smile, and Patton does too, and Thomas turns and walks out of sight. Logan offers them all a grateful smile, xer tail swishing behind them. 

“We really are grateful.” Xe says, not whispering, but not breaking the quiet of the room. “You brought my friend home. Thank you.”

“No prob,” Virgil says, cringing. Patton nods in agreement. “We’re happy to help.”

“You have helped indeed,” Logan says, a gentle smile on xer face. “Thank you. Sleep well.”

Virgil salutes xem, and Patton offers a finger gun, and xe smiles and leaves them alone. 

Patton flops back on the couch immediately with a sigh and a yawn, and then offers Virgil a sleepy smile.

“Goodnight, Virgil.” Patton offers, eyes fluttering closed. “Y’r really brave, y’know? I’m glad we’re friends.”

“Me too, Patty-cake.” Virgil says to him as Patton dozes off, snoring like a hummingbird, and Virgil rolls his eyes in amusement, laying back on his own bedding and staring at the ceiling.

And stays there, for three hours.

“I can’t *sleep,* Virgil groans to himself, eventually having picked up a book from the floor and trying to use the words to find himself in dreamland. The book about Shakespearian plays looks back at him as much as a book can, mocking him. Virgil grunts in annoyance and resolves himself to a night of laying on the floor and getting no real shuteye.

From the hallway, a light clicks on, and then Roman appears in the doorway, silk pajamas draping over their form in the silhouette. They come a little bit more out of the light, eyes widening a little as Virgil’s gaze meets theirs.

“You can’t sleep either, huh?” Virgil asks. Roman nods.

“I was going to get a glass of water,” Roman explains. “But I…did hope there might be some company out here.”

“I’ve never been great at having a sleep schedule,” Virgil replies, getting himself out of the sleeping bag.

“You don’t have to-” Roman starts, but Virgil just shrugs, standing up. “Wouldn’t mind a glass of water. We can make it a group effort.”

“Ah, well-that's very kind.” Roman replies. Virgil waves them off, moving towards the little kitchenette. From the cabinet he grabs two glasses, filling each up most of the way and then handing one to Roman.

“Thank you.” Roman says, taking it. They take a sip in the quiet, and Virgil does too, watching them as their hands fiddle around the glass.

“...I just can’t believe it’s been three years.” Roman says after a while, soft in the night. “I remember being in the castle only yesterday.”

Virgil nods, letting Roman speak.

“I feel like I’ve failed my kingdom.” Roman says. “If I had just been better, I could have- perhaps I could have noticed Remus, and avoided the attack.” 

“I don’t know if I’m ready to be king,” Roman admits in the darkness.

“And that’s okay,” Virgil says to them, placing a hand on Roman’s shoulder. “You care about your kingdom, right?”

“Of course,” Roman says in a breath.

“And you want what’s best for them,” Virgil says, and Roman nods. “You’re a good person, Princey.”

Roman laughs, gently taking Virgil’s hand in their own, glow from their antlers casting hints of light on their skin. “Is-” Roman swallows, thinking, “is that enough?”

“Maybe not. But-” Virgil says when Roman falters, “it means you have what it takes to *be* enough. And from what I’ve seen of you, Roman, you’d be a great king.”

Roman ducks, blinking a tear away though a smile appears on their lips. “Thank you, Virgil. You’re right. And, thank you for bringing me home, too.” 

“You’re welcome.” Noticing their drifting lashes, Virgil helps them up, Roman leaning on their shoulder. “You’re tired. Let’s get you to bed, huh?”

“You’re warm,” Roman says sleepily. Virgil flushes, looking at the wall. “Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep.”

“Ok.” Roman says, Virgil pushing them down the hall and into the bedroom, and Roman stumbles inside. “You’re awesome, Virge. Glad ‘re here.”

Roman turns and stumbles into bed, falling asleep instantly. Going back to his blanket pile, and clambering under the blankets with the lingering feeling of Roman’s warmth against his skin, Virgil does too.

[the-shattering]

Chapter 3: Aftermath

Had Marventas been cleaned up and in a less desolate scene he may have looked as grand as all mages seemed to think they were. However, his robes were tattered and burnt and his cloak was more of a scrap of fabric fastened around his shoulders. His normally blond hair was now half scorched and standing on end. His normally pale skin was now darker than Torvola’s thanks to the layer of soot that covered it.

He hurried over to Torvola and offered a hand, “I must apologize, m’lady.”

“Was this your doing?” Torvola asked as he helped her up.

“In my defense,” he said, “My intention was to zap one of these foul beasts – not start a forest fire.”

“Well at least you didn’t do too much damage to the wood,” Torvola said and looked around her. The underbrush had been completely cleared out and a few of the drier branches and leaves were still smoldering. A few yards away laid the charred remains of the creature that had almost killed her.

Elders were incredibly hard to kill but apparently an explosion did the trick quite nicely.

Unfortunately she wasn’t entirely convinced on the viability of that tactic if she wanted to live to the next battle. If there were more of these monsters out there, Torvola had a feeling she was going to be fighting many more battles. She suppressed a tired sigh.

“What are you doing here?” she asked the mage.

“Looking for survivors of course. We were attacked by those accursed things at daybreak. We put up a fierce resistance but we were thoroughly routed. Those monsters are hard to kill.”

“Yes,” Torvola said, “Yes they are. Is Lord Lanim alright?”

Marventas nodded, “He and I ran off with a few of his guard. We managed to make a stand at Shepherd’s Hill. When we finally fought them off, those of us who survived went off in search of the others. That’s when we were attacked by who I’m assuming is the group that attacked you.”

They began to walk through the wood, Torvola listened to Marventas talk but she only heard snippets of what he was saying. Her eyes darted around constantly, looking for any threats. Had they seen the last of the Elders? Had they been chased off by the light of day? The forest had become bright enough for them to navigate without much trouble. Though the sun had risen, the birds stayed silent and Torvola knew why: Their corpses littered the forest floor like fallen leaves, victims of stinkdamp or the subsequent fireball. Marventas kept talking, either oblivious to the death around them or trying very hard not to pay attention to it. “Lightning spells worked well on those creatures so I figured I would use it again,” he was saying, “I didn’t realize the gas that caused that accursed smell was so flammable.”

“Stinkdamp.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s called stinkdamp, it collects in mine tunnels and is explosive to the smallest spark,” Torvola said, “I’ve smelled similar gases in the swamps but never in the same concentrations as they were in the mines.”

Marventas made a troubled noise in the back of his throat, “What could it mean?”

“I don’t know yet,” Torvola said and the two stopped short as they reached a creek.

A creek full of charred corpses.

Some bore wounds obviously made by a blade but most did not. Torvola knelt down to inspect one such corpse and grimaced at its horrific state. She couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman, only that it died with its mouth open as if mid scream. Did Marventas cause this?

‘He didn’t know the gas was flammable.’

She looked around the draw they found themselves in – the gas would have collected here to a lethal degree. If the fire hadn’t killed them, the poisonous effects of the gas most certainly would have.

Marventas looked distraught and queasy, he had one hand clamped over his mouth and nose and the other clutched at his stomach. Tears streaked down his soot covered cheeks and he choked back a hysterical sob as the horrific realization dawned on him.

“Thoran forgive me,” he finally managed to choke out, “What have I done?”

Torvola stood up slowly, “If they were caught in this fire, they were dead long before it happened,” she said quietly. Though even she wasn’t convinced that his actions didn’t result in their deaths … but she needed to keep Marventas from completely breaking down. She still needed him to help her. Marventas shook his head and finally turned away to vomit.

She scanned over the bodies, trying hard to not look at any one for too long. A larger figure lay atop two smaller figures, as if trying to protect them. Clutched in its blackened hand was a charred log.

Torvola returned to a frame of mind she hoped she never would experience again. The world became a distant blur to her as she went through the motions of maneuvering the corpses in the draw into neat rows. She tried to ignore how the charred clothes crumbled away and the skin sloughed off in her hands. Marventas sat heavily on the ground and stared straight ahead and Torvola realized he’d be of no help in his state.

Lord Lanim and the few surviving villagers had found them a short while later. The lord’s elegant robes were tattered and bloodied. While he sported a few cuts on his face and arms, he had no wounds that would account for the amount of blood that had soaked into the fabric. He approached Torvola, “I’m glad to see you survived m’lady.”

“You as well, m’lord,” Torvola said, “We’ve taken heavy losses.”

“I know,” Lanim said. He looked around at the charred bodies that Torvola had already lined up, “… That damage, was it from the explosion?”

“Yes.”

Torvola saw the lord’s mouth set into a thin line, an unreadable expression crossed his features and he took a deep breath. His gaze flickered to Marventas, “Did he…?”

She knew what he wanted to know even if he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Was Marventas responsible for the deaths? She couldn’t say. She had no way of knowing if they were alive or dead before the explosion happened. She desperately hoped they had already succumbed to the gas or the blades of the monsters that attacked them. Burning to death was a very unpleasant way to die.

“They may have already been gone,” Torvola finally said, “But I don’t think any one will know for sure.”

Lanim nodded slowly and looked like he was about to say something before he shook his head. Instead he knelt down next to one of the corpses Torvola hadn’t moved yet, hesitating but for a moment before putting his hands under the body’s armpits and heaving it up. Torvola grabbed the body’s legs and together they carried it to the row. Torvola didn’t even dare look at the face of the body she held or even speculate on who it could have been. There would be time for grief later. Right now she was needed to help the living.

Minutes later they had finished their task: The bodies in the draw were lined up neatly in a row on the mossy earth. Torvola knew they needed to leave, to search for other survivors, to start the process of recovering from the disaster that had befallen them. Still, it felt wrong to leave the dead where they were, it felt as if they were abandoning them to the wood.

“Where would we take them?” Torvola asked. Her voice sounded flat, emotionless – even to her.

Lanim ran a hand through his long, dark hair. His eyes looked as vacant as she felt, “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right to leave them here.”

“We may have to,” Torvola said.

They left their dead where they lay, piling rocks over their corpses in an attempt to keep the scavengers from getting to them. They’d have to retrieve them later. Torvola and the others resumed their search for survivors but aside from finding a terrified and barely coherent Petan – they found no one else. Most of the corpses they found were either charred or run through. Some of the dead though were discolored, mouths agape as if they had died mid-gasp, and their bloodshot eyes stared vacantly up at the sky. Marventas grew quieter and quieter as the day progressed and Torvola couldn’t blame him.

She knew there wasn’t much she could say to make him feel any better about the situation they found themselves in.

They ascended the hill to where Torvola had camped with the survivors the night before. At the summit lay the dead body of the guard, a few villagers who didn’t make it out in time, and Saxus. Torvola pointedly looked away from the scene and towards the sea and she finally felt something for the first time in hours. A low, smoldering ember of rage deep in the pit of her stomach. She clenched her fists and set her jaw.

She didn’t know why the Elders had emerged from their dark, dreary holes to attack her and her village but she wasn’t going to let that transgression slide. She recognized the landscape around her, knew where her house sat high above the sea and the waves. She picked up her cloak that still lay on the ground by the fire where she had left it for the baker and his wife. She wrapped Saxus’s body in the cloak, working quickly to avoid looking at him for too long. She knew if she looked at him, looked at the wounds that marred his body, she’d never recover. She picked him up and cradled him in both arms like a mother carrying her baby.

Without a word to anyone she marched along the ridge and towards her home.

No one dared stop her.

There was some obvious damage to the walls of her cabin and the roof had collapsed in some spots. The door had popped out of its warped frame but the walls, by some miracle, were technically still standing. She stepped into the room and set Saxus gently down on the floor by the cold hearth.

Torvola’s world finally grew quiet and calm after the chaos she had been through. The silence weighed heavy on her tired mind and she leaned heavily against the wall – ignoring the pain in her burnt back. She slid down to the floor and drew her knees to her chest, staring off at nothing. She half expected Saxus to come to her side, whining and licking to comfort her. She looked up and scanned the room for him before her eyes settled on the form swaddled in her cloak.

Of course.

Tears ran down her cheek and a sob tore through her chest. The feeling of emptiness, of loss, finally took hold. She buried her face in her knees and cried.

_____

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

[lifewiththelulus]

Seeing how the Ashwoods home started to change to accommodate Mimi from food to more plants and floral decor, made her feel both excited and a bit guilty. She didn't want to make them feel like they had to change everything for her.

I see Mimi and Kindlin getting along over sharing silly stories about how it is to live with each other's elements as parents lol

"Mom totally forgot I couldn't have water for the first couple weeks. Kept offering it then apologizing. I know she feels bad about it, but honestly it was just nice to have someone who cared to ask."

Misty tried to put paint on my flowers because "it's watercolor, that's basically good for plants"

Aww imagine Flint and Birch meeting when Mimi and Flint come in for some treats and Kindlin just goes "Hey mom! Can you come help? The register is doing that thing again!" She comes in and while she's fixing it Kindlin introduces them. "This is my friend Mimi, and her Dad." Birch finally glanced up and when she realizes they're also a flame/plant family she can't help but smile.

Of course she dotes on Mimi and compliments her on how beautiful and healthy her flowers look

PFFFF MISTY NO

"so do you have to fireproof everything too?" "Oh big time"

"Oh goodness I remember that first week, I never realized how many things could be so flammable. Let's just say we don't have nearly as many plants in here as we used to. Especially dry ones." She just chuckles "If I had to move every single plant out of her though, I would in a heartbeat."

Flint being the dad guy with a lot of pictures in his wallet. Doesn't take too long for one with Mimi and Hazel at plumes birthday to turn into her at other events to just her, doing anything lol

Birch wishes she had pictures of little Kindlin like that

Of course her wish is fulfilled when Kindlin gets those boxes full of her abandoned stuff back Anala had left a big album of pictures There weren't many of kin after the age of 6 but just having those fills her with so much happiness

Briar took a lot of pictures of Mimi as a baby for social media attention but when that fell off she didn't bother much

[thebard490]

Paladins Chapter 7: A Day After

I am the Bard, who knows the tragedy of guilt, that only those who are not yet lost feel it, and yet it makes them feel as though they were already lost.

After rousing themselves after a long night of undead smiting, the party set about getting ready to move out. They were slowed somewhat in their departure as they paused for a couple hours to construct a small shrine to Maeve in the woods outside their newly reconsecrated chapel. Thanks to their late start, they didn’t make it far before dark began to fall again.

They made camp, and Jort reported that they were now only a few miles from the abbey. After some debate, Senket and Yndri determined to set out into the night to scout the location. After an hour, they arrived. The abbey was indeed an impressive structure that almost resembled a castle more than a place of worship, a huge wall, twenty feet tall, surrounded a sizable area. Behind the walll they saw one main building with a tall bell tower, several floors, and multiple wings. This abbey could probably hold the majority of the colonizing force by itself, and with its strong fortifications, taking it would prove difficult.

The pair snuck closer to the walls, which glowed faintly red in the faint gleam of infrasight. Elves and tieflings alike, both being primarily carnivorous predatory species, had specially developed eyes, able to close an inner eyelid to shift their vision into the infrared spectrum.. They were indeed warm to the touch. They spied guards walking in patrol, and once one passed, they raced to the edge of the wall. With a boost from Senket, Yndri leapt, her fingers just catching the lip of the parapet, fully extended above her head. She pulled herself up just enough to peer over the walls. The walls were thick enough for two men to walk abreast with no discomfort, and there was only a single gate, a huge oaken thing reinforced with steel. Inside the walls was a lake, an orchard, and enough space that a ramshackle goblin camp had been built. Through a window she could spy a hobgoblin walking by inside the main building, it seemed they'd reserved that part of the place for themselves. She ran the numbers, estimating the size of the main building, then dropped back down.

Senket watched the walls carefully, until she saw a light above the gate. She peered closer and saw the flaming ghost of another Tiefling, clad in full plate and bearing a brilliant sword. He looked to her and then pointed towards the abbey. "I am the heart of fire in stone. I am the story unforgotten. I am victory over the darkness. Seek where I rest. Restore us, heir of fire." It commanded, then faded.

Yndri dropped from the wall next to Senket, startling her from her reverie. "Did you see him?" The startled Tiefling demanded.

"See who? Is there a commander?"

"No, the ghost. The flaming Tiefling?"

"Nothing ghostly and nothing flammable." She said with a shake of her head.

"Pits." Senket cursed softly as they retreated back into the dark woods. As they moved from the abbey, they made the startling realization that it, and everywhere within a few meters of it, are totally free of the black vines. They shared a "Well that's worth investigating later" look and slunk back to the encampment. Back at their hidden camp, the paladins discuss the situation worriedly.

"If the measures ye've given me are accurate, assuming dwarves built it, an' that's a fair guess with those walls an' that gate, an' taking into account both mess halls an' a primary worship center, we're looking at around a hundred tae five hundred hobs, nae counting the goblins camp, which could have just as many if nae more. Wit' those walls an' those numbers, we cannae jus' charge in an' take it, that'd be suicide." Kazador said grimly as he observed the rough map Yndri drew of the abbey.

"Even if we 'ad the numbers fer it, I'd nae challenge this place with an army. It's built like a bloody castle an' has both water and food, probably with an unknown amount o' stores. Even in a siege this place would be bloody to take. We need an advantage o' some sneaky or seriously magical kind."

"I strongly doubt the abbey building is full to capacity." Julian said. "Hobgoblins are intensely hierarchical. A horde this size will have probably a single commander for every ten men or so, and while the grunts might bunk together, any commander will probably have their own private room, and the warlord probably has an entire suite for status symbols. If the abbey was full, they'd have built more hob quarters inside and forced the goblins out."

Jort nodded in confirmation. “Pompey calls it a legion, but we’re only about two hundred strong in terms of legionaries, closer to three hundred with goblin and bugbear singulares.”

"What about those goblins?" Peregrin asked. "Hordes usually treat them the absolute worst, and this time's no different. Maybe we could convince them to rebel?"

"That would require trusting goblins to work with us." Senket said with a snort.

"Not necessarily, if we get them to fight, odds are whoever came out on top of this will be fairly badly weakened. Then we can strike." Julian pointed out.

"Nae, it'd be a one-sided slaughter. The hobs are bigger, stronger, and far better equipped. Besides, the goblins would nae be able to work together as a whole without a leader nasty enough that we'd nae want to arise."

"What about poison? We know what they're using for a water source, we could poison that and weaken the entire horde." Yndri observed, pointing to the lake.

"Two major problems, first we'd need a lot of poison, and we'd need to find a way to purify that lake again if we mean to hold this place. Which is also going to require that we get the colonists here, which is just another problem no matter how we do it." Julian advised, pondering the map.

"What we really need is more information, especially about the inside. Here's the thought. We find their commanders, assassinate them, and then funnel their forces into a killing zone. If we can bottleneck them, we nullify the numbers advantage, and while I don't fancy the idea of how long we'd have to fight to wipe out a hundred hobgoblins, we're more than a match for them if they can't come at us more than one or two at a time."

"As entertaining as the idea of slaughtering an entire army is, that's an extremely risky plan. I doubt their commanders will be so easily dealt with, especially if they're spread out. Even getting to them would require infiltrating the place, which is a problem in and of itself." Sen pointed out.

"We're attacking too many problems at once." Peregrin observed. "Let's lay them out and solve each in turn. They have three major advantages. They're occupying a very strong defensive position, they have a serious numerical advantage, and they know the inside of the abbey. However, they have two major disadvantages. Their forces are divided between the goblins and the hobs, and the hobs are highly reliant on an intact command and control structure. We have the advantage of surprise and superior combat ability on a per-soldier basis. What do we do with this?"

"Let's start with the defenses. From what we can gather they have three major defensive lines. There are the walls themselves, which we could probably climb, although doing that quietly is going to be a problem. Next is the goblin camp. If we go stealthily then this is a massive moray of possible alarms, and if combat breaks out here then we're probably dead. Last is the abbey itself, which we don't know anything about. Not a pretty picture." Julian said, pointing at each section.

"The walls can be climbed relatively stealthily, but they have guards more or less constantly." Senket pointed out. "Getting anyone besides Yndri and Peregrin over without setting off the alarm isn't going to happen."

"What about here, at the gatehouse." Julian said as he pointed it out. "If Yndri and Peregrin can kill the guards there quickly enough, we could slip open the gate and get inside before anyone noticed. Of course, then we're on a timer until they change the gatekeepers out."

“The gatekeepers only change about every six hours.” Jort contributed. “However, the patrols give a check to see if it’s all clear there every time they pass by. At best, you’d have about five minutes.”

"I can be remarkably fast over short distances.” Kazador mused. “We could get in, providing there was a way of keeping the enemy from noticing the dead.”

“I think I may be able to put something together given the right components, or could simply dominate the gatekeeper and have them repeat the all-clear.” Julian suggested. “But even then, there’s a hundred goblins between us and the abbey proper.”

"Exactly, but those goblins could be the solution to all our problems." Peregrin points out. "If we can get them on our side, or at least enough of them, they could be a way inside the abbey, and a valuable source of information."

"How exactly are ye gonna get them on side laddie? Yer a fine speaker but ye cannae simply wander in an' say 'allo there, ye feel like an' uprising? Even assuming they dinae kill ye, the hobs most certainly will."

"I go in disguise. I'm the same size as a goblin and speak it to boot, so if we were to disguise me like one of, say, the wolf riders we killed back at the watchtower and ride in with a warning about that tower's fall, I could get in."

"That could work. It might even bait them into sending forces away to try to retake the tower, which could be an opportunity to strike at some of their forces and reduce their number." Julian said, visibly brightening at the idea.

"You're carrying around a book of magical rituals." Yndri pointed out. "And you'd need to be able to disguise yourself anytime you had to take off that helmet of yours, wouldn't you?"

"While I appreciate the confidence, there's a couple of problems with that particular spell, which is why I keep the aforementioned helmet on. Namely, it only lasts an hour. Good if you need to make a quick meeting with a potential employer or prevent rumors from popping up in an inn, but not good for long term infiltration."

"Huh. I suppose the stories about fey being able to hide themselves permanently were just stories then." Yndri said, sounding slightly disappointed.

"They probably could, but that's because they're essentially made out of magic, and while I've got my suspicions about why exactly this place is constantly summer, looking for faerie backup is probably foolish." Julian responded. "That being said I could potentially be the infiltrator."

The party stared at him for a moment. "I can cast that spell as many times as I like, I just need ten minutes to do it. I could disguise myself as a hobgoblin and sneak inside. If I lose my disguise, I'm also the most likely to escape considering I can just fly out. I can identify the commanders and get the layout of the interior."

"De ye ken how to speak goblin though?" Kazador said, and the frown on Julian's face told him that he'd poked a hole in the otherwise rather clever plan.

"Disguise is still the best idea for information gathering we've got thus far, and it might even let us deal with their numbers somewhat. It's risky, but I say we try it." Senket said. "But just in case, I say we introduce the disguise to one of their scouting parties first to see if it will fool them."

"What am I, chopped liver?" Jort, who had been waiting for one of them to notice him for some time. The paladins turned quickly, and Peregrin facepalmed "You know, I really should have thought of that sooner."

"Small problem, can we trust him?” Julian asked, cutting to the quick of the matter. “No offense, but you did already turn on one set of allies, and it would be a relatively simple matter for you to claim we were responsible, and then take control of the legion for yourself.”

Jort raised an eyebrow at the manner. “I’m an eighty, about the bottom of the barrel. I’d really need every other major officer in the legion to die first, and then probably to kill at least one of you in single combat to do that, and while I’m a better swordsman than you are, you’ve got the advantage of your powers.”

“I’m going to chose to ignore that comment about my swordplay, given you managed to cut your foot in half.”

“You use that greatsword of yours like a club.”

“It’s a greatsword, you don’t exactly fence with it.”

“Enough.” Senket cut in. “Cease this bickering, the both of you.”

Julian crossed his arms. “I’m simply saying, it’s what I would do, given your situation, it appears only logical.”

“I think that may say more about ye than ye care too laddie.” Kazador rumbled. “Though it does bring a wise point to mind. Ye never did say what ye meant to do after Pompey was dead.” He noted towards Jort.

The young hobgoblin shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t entirely know.” He admitted. “I’ve spent the past two years trying to find or manufacture an opportunity to kill him, I didn’t really think about what came a day after. I will say though, I never thought to take a legion for myself. I’m sixteen for crying out loud, I’m certainly not qualified to be a leader.”

Julian’s eyes widened, and then his attitude softened somewhat. “Ah, that… hm.” He considered carefully. “I appear to have miscalculated.”

“You were wrong?” Yndri corrected.

“If you want to put it that way, yes. I prefer not to.” Julian replied, notably embarrassed, but also softening his stance somewhat towards Jort. Kazador watched him carefully, noting the odd sort of shared pain in the nephilim’s eyes. “My apologies Jort.”

            That earned a serious eyebrow raise from the hobgoblin. “Well that’s a first.”

            “I try to not mistakes too often, if I have it my way it’ll be the last.” Julian replied with a grumble. “That said, you clearly have intel on the inside of the abbey already. You could just give us that and then you don’t need to risk going in.”

            “I have intel on the layout, but not on what Pompey is currently up to, and I assure you, he is always up to something.” Jort countered. “This lets me get you that, and potentially being on the inside to open a gate, or put a dagger in Pompey’s eye.”

            “Save your temper laddie. Dinnae do anything too rash.” Kazador cautioned. “Even if ye’ve nae figured out what to do with your life, I cannae suggest throwing it away.”

            “Isn’t your god one of vengeance?” Yndri pointed out.

            “Justice. An’ precisely so that folk dinnae have to take it into their own hands.” Kazador corrected.

            “I’ve waited two years for justice to fall on Pompey. I can wait a little longer.” Jort consoled.

            “Justice to fall? You’ll be waiting a long time for that.” Julian remarked. “Justice is in what we do about it. So yes, do something about it, but at a time where you get to live to enjoy your vindication. But waiting on fate, on the gods, on the will of heaven? That’s a fool’s game. The gods care for their justice, and theirs alone. The problem is they’re all disagreeing about it.” He mused carefully, tracing the edges of his spellbook. “Not since Mardok fell has there been anything strong enough to make there be a singular justice, one that forced all others beneath itself.”

            “I would hardly say that is so.” Peregrin countered. “Justice, in the sense you are termining it, means nothing more than right and wrong. Right is right, and wrong is wrong, regardless of whoever says what it is.”

            Julian snorted. “Perhaps, but the high and mighty rarely admit that there is any sort of standard beyond those which are self-imposed. Not that I blame them, one should really only be limited by their dreams, and ambition to achieve those dreams. So often, that which is limiting is placed upon you by someone who was simply stronger. The highest truth will and always will be power.”

            “I should certainly think not. The highest truth is truth.” Peregrin countered. “It’s a bit tautological, but if you don’t hold what really is to be the highest truth, how can you convince anyone of anything?”

            “What really is is very malleable, given sufficient arcane power. It would be nice to think that there really is a justice, an absolute law, certain as gravity, but you’d need something of an absolute power to enforce that.”

            “Or, simply good people.” Peregrin answered. “Are we not here?”

            “Good people aren’t enough.” Julian replied. “No mere mortal can bear all the world’s evil, though I admit it is the right thing to do to try.”

            “Who are you to carry all the world’s evil?” Senket asked incredulously.

            “Someone willing to try, which is more than any god seems willing to.” Julian replied. “Though, admittedly, someone nowhere near strong enough. But I have to do what I can with what I’ve been given. I can’t simply allow things to go on as they are without trying to fix what’s broken.”

            Yndri laughed, somewhat coldly, but with a rare smile that contained some warmth. “You are a fool, Julian Tyraan. Right about some things, and so very wrong on so many others. But at least, you make an endearing fool.”

            “I’m only a fool so long as I haven’t done it yet.” Julian replied confidently. “And I will do it. I have to, because somebody has to.”

            “Aye, for once we agree laddie. The world is crooked, an’ it is to good men to set it right, though I give the gods more credit than ye. Ye perhaps dinnae give them credit enough.” Kazador rumbled in concurrence.

            “No, perhaps he does give them what they deserve.” Yndri mused darkly. “They allow far too much. Though perhaps, it is simply because they lack enough hands.” Her arrows glinted in the dark, her eyes no less bright.

            Senket shook her head solemnly. “How is it that I, hellbound from birth, am less a heathen than an angel?”

            “My father was an angel, it’s how I know they’re not all they’re cracked up to be.” Julian replied.

            “Daddy issues.” Yndri repeated, earning a snort from Kazador that threatened to set dinner on fire.

            As the rest of the paladins scrambled to extinguish their dinner, Jort stepped away, sitting near to Peregrin. The two watched, Jort with a sort of longing curiosity, and Peregrin with a familiar, grandfatherly smile. Jort turned to the halfling. “You keep bringing up the goblins, but it’s not just for a tactical reason. Why?”

            Peregrin took out a small pipe and began to smoke from it. “Because I think that anybody can be good, given the chance. Can, not will, plenty will chose to go on being wicked, and then you have to stop them. But anyone can chose to be good. For some it is harder than for others, because of bad education, history, or temperament. But anyone can be, much as Julian is right about how what people think justice is often comes down to the bigger stick, anyone can be good. Goodness is written onto the hearts of all living creatures. We see it, we know it, we remember it. We do often get it so very wrong, or chose to ignore it, but it’s always there. So, there’s always hope, even for the darkest heart and the biggest bastard.”

            “So that’s why you didn’t kill me?” Jort asked.

            “More or less. Though you’re good company to have around besides.”

            “Thanks, I suppose.” Jort was quiet for a long moment, and then Peregrin spoke again.

            “You never do say you want revenge. That’s interesting.” The halfling observed. “What did you say? You want to be free of him. You want all of your brethren to be free of him. What does freedom mean?” He asked the young hobgoblin.

            “Not him.” Jort retorted immediately, and then thought about it. He thought about it for a very long time. Peregrin had blown four smoke rings and seen each dissipate before Jort finally admitted it. “I don’t think I really know.”

            “Well, you aught to think on that some more. It’s always important to know what you’re fighting for.” Peregrin concluded.

            “So what do you fight for?”

            “For the people who haven’t been given their chance yet.”

[phantomrose96]

So Jon's always been a stupid motherfucker which is not open for debate. And I kinda thought the s1 finale would be a turning point for him to get his head on straight but instead he graduated into being a stupider motherfucker in season 2 due to his whole paranoid unraveling descent into "everyone in this grocery store wants to kill me carnally".

But what has me amazed right now is, against all expectation, he's managed to become an even stupider motherfucker in season 3 by deciding the best thing to do while being a fugitive is to go solo candid-camera'ing with all the monsters that he knows love to do death and murder so so so much.

Like season 2 Jon was like "supplemental I threw away my tea because I realized I left it on my desk within breathing distance of Martin which means Martin could very easily have poisoned it if he was carrying around tea poison" to season 3 *clicks on clunky tape recorder he stole from his previous boss* "okay I'm here in the park with Ms. Loves Arson who we know from previous statements is 300 years old and has committed every single act of arson in the greater London area and also she hates my guts so much. Luckily I cornered her in this park full of flammable leaves. I have an IQ of 137. Statement begins."

[writeshite]

Im on my knees begging for more Homelander stuff

You Are My Sunshine, My Only Sunshine

Summary:

You flick his forehead, “Yeah, well, at least I don’t wear hair gel, which, fun fact, is flammable.” You chase him around the room, hands in the air, and your little suns rush past him, leaving dents in the walls, “I’m gonna fry you, John,” you cackle when he tries to fly away and ends up with his head through the ceiling, you fall to the floor in full-blown laughter.

Pairings:

Homelander x Male!Reader

Tags:

Supe!Reader | Childhood Friends to Lovers | Crack Treated Like Fanfic

Words: 1816

Author's Note:

Do I know what this is? No. Hope you like it.

Your room in the Vought labs is average; you’ve counted every dent, corner, and scorched burn mark a hundred times over, so it’s strange when you see the new face. The face in question belongs to another boy, about your age, his hair is swept well, and he looks normal enough. He looked tired, though, like he’d just been running from someone and hadn’t expected his hiding place to have someone else in it. His confusion was replaced by curiosity when he realizes the shiny glow of your skin, like the sun, your skin is quite literally like the solar celestial. The burn marks, your outbursts, the human shape in the burn marks, Vought employees that thought it’d be fun to piss off a child with the power to turn you to ash. Your eyes are just white, with no pupils, no color, just glowy white things in your head.

“Wow! You’re shiny!” He reaches out to you, but you flinch back and try to warn him off, but he ignores you, grabs your arm, and he marvels at it. “That’s so not fair! You got a better power than me!” 

You just stare at him, he’s not burning or screaming; aside from the edge of his sleeves charring up, he’s perfectly fine. “You can touch me?”

He huffs, “Yeah. My name’s John; what’s yours?”

John was a curious case, he was a lab rat like you, but he had a lot more freedom - mainly because he was a little brat and used his power to get what he wanted -  he was also your only friend, well, technically, he was the only friend you hadn't turned into barbeque. As mentioned, if John wanted something, then he would get it, so he wanted to be your friend, and there was nothing the scientists could do about it. 

“John, what are we doing?” He'd rushed into your room, and dragged you away without explanation.

“Just trust me,” he responds. 

It’s way past curfew, and if you get caught, you might get in trouble; you’re pulled into another area, and your light fills the room; John moves to stand in front of you, hands spread out in a ta-da gesture, “Surprise! We’re gonna be roommates!”

“Really? How? Vought wouldn’t….”

“Fuck Vought—”

You put your hands on his mouth, “That’s a bad word.” John licks your hand, and you draw back with a disgusted look on your face.

“See, this is our drawing wall, and this is our bed, and I even got more blankets in case you get cold.”

“How would I get cold? I’m the sun, you dodo,” you remind him.

His face scrunches up, “I know that! I was just trying to be nice,” he huffs, punching your arm; you smack his face and laugh when he flies into a wall. “Meanie,” he pouts. The two of you play fight for a bit, and when the Vought scientists come in the morning, they find you side by side, hands together. When they try to separate you, John breaks a few arms before they get the hint, and John’s room becomes your room.

It doesn’t end there; pretty soon, John decides it’s not enough and demands to have you by his side at every instance. So you clap when John gets his training done, and he catches the little suns you throw in the air. When he doesn’t pay attention to the education side of things, you stay up tutoring him, and sometimes, when you’re upset, he’ll make his shitty shadow puppets, and you wipe away the tears laughing. 

You go from child to teenager, and both your powers grow with you; John’s eyes hurt when he opens them, the red beams are more powerful now, and he sucks at flying. Parts of your body will flicker, and you'll have human skin for a brief few moments, but those moments are few and far in between. John says it’s stupid, “Why would you want human skin? You’re cooler than that,” he insists, but you sigh.

“Don’t you wish you were normal, like normal, normal?” you ask back; his face does the little scrunchy thing when he’s confused, “you know, like the kids we see on TV, parents, cousins, grandparents, normal birthdays and actual rooms, not this.” You gesture around you, your shared ‘room’ had seen minor upgrades, with the inclusion of a larger bed and actual drawers, but it still wasn’t a proper room. “Sometimes I wish I could actually touch things without worrying they’ll melt in my hands.”

John headbutts you, “Maybe, but if I were normal, then I wouldn’t have you, and I’d be a nobody.”

“With a face that ugly,” you joke, “I doubt it.”

He huffs, sticking out his tongue, “At least I’m not a lightbulb.” 

You flick his forehead, “Yeah, well, at least I don’t wear hair gel, which, fun fact, is flammable.” You chase him around the room, hands in the air, and your little suns rush past him, leaving dents in the walls, “I’m gonna fry you, John,” you cackle when he tries to fly away and ends up with his head through the ceiling, you fall to the floor in full-blown laughter.

On occasion, this lady comes to see you, well, not you, mostly John; she babies him every chance she gets. Coming in between you and him whenever she can. Madelyn Stillwell, if you heard the others right, she must be high on the totem pole if they let her take John anywhere she wants, whenever she wants. Despite John's reassurances, you don’t like her; any time she comes too close, you make sure her outfit of the day gets burned somehow. It’s probably why she hates you. Once John comes back from one of their field trips looking lost and barely utters a word for a few days, but after every other field trip, he gushes about her like the mother he never had.

The childhood euphoria doesn’t last long; Vought decides to make the two of you the faces of their brand, and they wind up some bullshit about the two of you finding some calling in an ordinary childhood. You don’t care about the details as much as they do and roll your eyes every second they force you to memorize it. Then they get you costumes; that was your favorite bit, watching John squirm as they fit you in various suits - his hero costume looks like the American flag took a shat all over it; yours is like a solar eclipse like it absorbed all the light, a contrast to your abilities, and between the two of you, you share a gold accent.

“I feel ridiculous,” John grimaces, “I mean, look at this thing; why are there so many stars?!”

“Yeah, you do look stupid,” you agree with him; holding the ends of your cape, you turn on the spot, marveling at your starry pattern, much smaller than his; it resembles the night sky, and every time you move it looks like it’s moving on its own. “I look amazing, they said my Supe name’s going to be Eclipse because I take away the light for myself.”

John sulks, “How come you get the cool stuff?” He sits on the floor, arms folded as his cheeks puff up childishly. 

You roll your eyes, flicking his forehead, “I was only joking; you look fine.” That doesn’t stop the pouting; in fact, John just turns away from you, so you resort to plan B. You’d seen something like this once; one of the Vought employees had made her girlfriend happy by kissing him, so that’s what you do, you kiss John’s cheek. It doesn’t make him happy per se, but he stops sulking, and now you’re not sure what to do because you just stare at each other. John’s cheeks have a slight tinge of red to them.

“You kissed me,” he mutters.

“Yeah, don’t expect me to do it again,” you shove him and run off; John sits there, hand on his cheek, as he watches you leave.

Vought brings in other Supes over time; some survive, some don’t, and those that do survive get put with you and John in the Seven - the world’s greatest team of Supes. The lineup changes one or two times, but right now, it’s you, John, Queen Maeve, Stormfront, the Deep, Starlight, A-Train, and Black Noir. You go from a lab rat to a celebrity, interviews, paparazzi, fans, merch, the whole nine yards, and you get moved up to the 99th floor. Your room is ever bigger, and you spend the first few days just staring out at the city, John sneaks into your room a lot, and the two of you just sit. 

You talk, but sometimes, John is too busy staring at you to respond; unlike before, you could switch the glowy skin off. The first time you did it, you practically cried in relief; back then, John had said you looked weird, but now he just stared at you like you were the most remarkable thing on Earth. You snap your fingers in his face, “Hello, Earth to John.”

“Huh?”

“You were staring again, weirdo,” you tell him.

“Sorry,” he says, looking away. Your hands are intertwined, and you’re leaning back on him; when you glance over at him, he’s got a red blush creeping up his skin. You grab his chin, tilting it down, and you kiss him again, this time on the lips. It’s fleeting and brief, but it’s enough, and John’s face is entirely red for a while.

You don't have a relationship per se; more like brief rendezvous in the hallways, tag teaming for missions; Edgar makes his displeasure pretty clear, but you don’t pay him any mind, and he, at the very least, does the favor of keeping it to himself. The general public is equally as perceptive, and before long, the internet blows up over it; Madelyn is very much displeased by it and makes it known.

“It’s a distraction to your careers and dedication to Vought International.”

“And trying to set him up with Starlight and having me with the Deep isn’t?” You ask, creeping close to her, “John may hold a soft spot for you, but I don’t, try and come in between him and me, and I’ll turn you to barbecue.” 

“You wouldn’t dare,” she challenges, stepping back anyway; she goes to say more, but the doors slide open, and John enters the room. He looks beat and barely pays her any mind; coming up to you, he kisses your forehead, Madelyn clears her throat when he starts to rant, and he turns to her in surprise. Their conversation is brief, but John ends it with a yawn, and as Madelyn leaves for the elevator, you smile, drawing a line across your neck to get the message clear.

End Note:

Reader is a living sun btw, if I didn't make it clear enough. I don't know what this is, I just wanted to write some childhood friends to lovers kinda thing. Hope you enjoyed reading this shite, stay hydrated.

[bidoofenergy]

Good days are hard to come by in the death games. You wake to the weight of your remaining lives on your shoulders, of your lost lives dragging you down. The guilt over your actions, the things you’ve done to your friends, sits in the pit in your stomach until you’re Red and feel nothing but a lust for blood and chaos. Good days are hard to come by in the death games, but Tango feels like today might be one.

As soon as he thinks it, he regrets it. Nothing tempts fate more than confidence and the day isn’t finished yet. But he can’t help it. Yesterday, he had maybe four iron ingots to his name and then he blew up and saw Jimmy when they respawned together and suddenly everything got better. Now they have cows and chickens and Scar and Grian as neighbors to annoy and goat horns with matching calls. It’s been a good day, he decides, even as dread creeps down his insides.  

I was right to be worried, he thinks to himself, later, as he fumes and stares at the ruins of the ranch. Distantly, he hears Jimmy thank their neighbors for their help. The goats were bad enough (they weren’t worth anything except what they meant to him and jimmy and whoever killed them did it for that reason alone) but their house? Rage boils through him, familiar, and the edges of his vision turn red-orange. Scar will pay for this. Tango will rip their revenge from his chest if he needs to.

Blindly, he riffles through his inventory, taking stock of the weapons at his disposal, and turns towards Scar and Grian’s base. The crowd around him flutters in excitement and follows. Someone (Scott? Joel? Cleo?) yells after him but the only words that register are “Scar” and “burn”. He storms past the wall and the crowd shifts with him, their excitement growing. Their words tumble around him, barely heard. Scar will pay for this.

He sees nothing but the birch and mangrove walls he knows Scar is behind. He smells nothing but the smoke of burning wood and animals and wool. He hears only faintly, distantly, the other players of the death games as they jeer and hiss about pits of pandas and how flammable birch and mangrove are and buckets of lava and “Breathe Tango, think about this!”

Suddenly Tango realizes he’s inches away from Scott’s eager, sharp-edged smile and he whirls around, into Jimmy. “Tango, let’s think about this.” Jimmy pleads, and grabs his hands. Tango spins again, unable to look at Jimmy, and again sees the birch and mangrove wall in the distance and again feels the rage boil through him. “Tango, listen—” Jimmy blows his ram horn and, instinctively, Tango replies with his own. Jimmy is in front of him again and smiling at him, apologetic and nervous and pleading. “Let’s think about this.” he says again and grabs Tango’s empty hand. “We’ll go for it later.” he promises and Tango feels his shoulders drop, his fists unclench.

“Okay,” he growls and his chest tightens at how Jimmy’s expression tenses slightly, at how he searches Tango’s face for a clue to his next move. Tango exhales sharply and forces his jaw to relax. “Okay,” he says and Jimmy’s smile loses the edge a little.

“Tomorrow.” Jimmy promises and pulls Tango back towards their ranch (empty and burnt and destroyed), waving the others off. The crowd dissipates, full of concern and disappointment, but Tango only has eyes for him.

“Tomorrow.” Tango promises. Now they have half as many cows and no goats and Scar and Grian as enemies but as they cling to each other, Tango realizes, in the middle of the death games, he feels okay.