#the tool has been Occasionally Helpful like when i want a specific sound that might be in a generator i havent heard before or forgot about

[postmakerkiwi]

Algorithm Alchemy

Composites of music and tone, formed by processing an ingredient through myNoise's keyword generator.

☿ Mercury

☼ Gold

☾ Silver

🜔 Salt

𝐇 Hydrogen

𝐍𝐞 Neon

𝐂𝐮𝐙𝐧 Brass

𝐒𝐢 Silicon

𝐒𝐢𝐎₄ Quartz

𝐂𝐚𝐂𝐎₃ Marble

𝐂 Diamond

[thornybubbles]

Playing Minecraft with the Stardust Crusaders

**Note: Originally I was going to have this be a story with just Kakyoin, but I decided to add the rest of the Stardust Crusaders. Also I decided to just do headcanons instead of writing a full story. I’ve been writing a lot of dark yandere stuff and I just wanted a break. So here’s something wholesome. PS. Polnareff’s part was my favorite to write. XD **

Joseph

He may be an old man, but he’s not completely out of touch when it comes to the concept of video games. It takes him a little bit to learn how to play, but once he gets the hang of it, there’s no stopping him. Joseph’s building skills are pretty basic. He’s more interested in the survival and exploration elements of Minecraft. Once he gets his house built, he does a little mining to get a full set of iron armor, weapons, and tools and then he’s off to explore. He’s almost never seen around the main base and spends most of his time many, many blocks away, discovering cool things. He will often ask questions about things he’s unfamiliar with and you explain it to him. Sometimes he hardly speaks at all because he’s too enamored with all the stuff he’s discovering. 

Then there was the “Creeper Incident”. Joseph made the mistake of doing some exploring at night instead of going to sleep like a good little Minecrafter. 

“Hey, what’s this freaky green thing?” he asked you. 

“Freaky green thing? What kind of freaky green thing?” you said, wanting some specifics. 

“It looks like a depressed cactus,” he explained. 

Uh oh.

“Oh! That’s a cr---!” 

There was a distant explosion followed by Joseph screaming, “Oh my God! Son of a bitch!!!” 

After that, something changed in Joseph’s play style. He went from explorer to monster hunter. Angry at having been blown up and losing all his stuff, he goes on a vendetta to destroy all creepers. And why stop there? Zombies, spiders,skeletons or any other creature of the night that crosses his path were quickly dealt with. He goes deep into learning brewing, armor and weapon enchanting, and anything else he can think of to give him an edge against the hostile mobs. With Avdol’s help he builds a battle tower and protective wall around the base. He has very big dreams about taking out the Ender Dragon. 

Joseph is a bit of a jack of all trades when it comes to Minecraft. He may not be the best builder but he has a lot of creative ideas that help all of you with whatever projects you might be working on, especially when it comes to base defense and monster fighting.

Jotaro

He only ever plays when either you or one of the other Crusaders asks him to. When he first spawned in he wasn’t too impressed. He had a hard time figuring out what he wanted to do. At first, he doesn’t bother building a house or anything and just bums around his grandpa’s house. He makes a snide comment about how Joseph’s house is just a big, wooden block with one window and a door. Joseph grumbles something about how his house didn’t need to be pretty, just practical. Joseph ends up being the one to teach Jotaro how to play, while you occasionally interject to mention something Joseph may have forgotten about. Jotaro just responds with non-committal grunts and wanders around the base, checking things out. 

Eventually, he goes off on his own to explore and find somewhere nearby to build a house. He hasn’t collected any resources, has no tools, or crafted a weapon of any kind when he starts exploring. You try to warn him that he should at least get a wooden sword to defend himself with, but he ignores you. It isn’t until night comes and he is nearly killed by zombies that he finally decides to get some wood and stone and make some basic tools. He still hasn’t found a decent place to build yet, though.  

After he’s wandered around for about 4 in-game days, he comes across a village. Jotaro watches the villagers run around, doing their thing, and is bemused at their silly appearance and sounds. But when nighttime comes and zombies start attacking them, Jotaro feels he’s found his purpose in the game. Somebody has to protect these dumb looking guys and it may as well be him. He teams up with Avdol and Joseph (who is a little miffed that someone found a village before he did) to form a “Village Security Team”. While Avdol fixes the village up by patching holes in walkways, correcting poorly spawned buildings, and starting work on building a monster proof wall around the village, Jotaro and Joseph stay up at night to fight off the monsters. 

Eventually, Jotaro builds a massive fortress near the village and Avdol attaches the wall to it. This fortress serves as Jotaro’s home and the village becomes the secondary base for you guys. Joseph jokingly calls him “King JoJo” and “Your Highness” which usually has Jotaro grumbling under his breath. He spends most of his days decorating or improving either the fortress or the village itself. When he’s not doing that, he’s usually tagging along on one of his Grandfather’s adventures. 

Kakyoin

The redstone wizard of the group. Noriaki’s beaten the game a few times already, but only recently started messing around with redstone contraptions. He set up an automated farm that both harvests and replants crops as well as a huge mineshaft with minecarts set up so that they returned to the surface to be unloaded whenever players filled them up with resources.

As innovative as he is, though, he often uses his redstone skills to be an absolute troll. And usually, his victim is you. That’s not to say that he hasn’t pranked any of the others yet, it’s just that you’re his favorite target. It’s kinda your fault though. It started back when you first started playing Minecraft together and you might have, possibly, sorta, kinda, completely un-accidentally pilfered a diamond or two from one of his chests. He knew you were the culprit because there wasn’t anyone else in the game at the time but the two of you. He didn’t call you out on it, though, assuming that you would replace the diamonds as soon as you got a chance. You never did. While you actually did have every intention of returning the diamonds to him, you just forgot about it. It didn’t help that you later developed a habit of helping yourself to whatever you found in his chests instead of going out and getting the resources for yourself. Hey, it was easier and it saved time!

Nori never said a word about it, instead opting to quietly plan his revenge. One day you went down into his storage basement to grab some cobblestone from one of his chests. You were only going to grab a stack or two and make a mental note (for the hundredth time) to replace whatever you took, but knowing that you’d probably forget. When you opened the chest, though, you didn’t find any cobblestone. Instead you found yourself staring into the sullen face of a creeper, its warning hiss in your ears. You let out a shriek of terror and braced yourself for the inevitable explosion, but it never came. You examined the “creeper” again only to see that it was nothing more than an armor stand wearing a creeper head and green dyed leather armor. It was inside of a minecart that was cleverly hidden behind the chest. You just stared at it as your brain slowly came to the conclusion that you’d just been pranked. 

“Ah, I see you found my theft deterrent.” Noriaki said, amusement clear in his voice. “It’s a nifty little project I found online called the ‘creeper in a box’ prank.” 

You can’t even say anything. He got you good and you know it. You made it a point to stay out of his storage basement from then on. 

It doesn’t stop there though. That one little incident unleashed Noriaki’s inner troll and you’re the one who gets to suffer for it. From filling your house with dirt blocks to slowly rearranging your decorations over time to see how long it would take for you to notice, Noriaki just seems to love messing with you. You have to admit that while his pranks are annoying, they are pretty funny and too clever for you to really get mad at. Your “favorite” was when he hid a bunch of note blocks under your house and arranged them to play a certain song when you opened the front door. 

“Nori, why is my house Rick Rolling me?” you demand of him, annoyed but admittedly amused. 

“Why are you asking me?” he says, playing dumb. 

He knows what he did. 

You eventually do give him his diamonds back in hopes that will appease him. It does… for a little while at least. 

Avdol

The master builder. Before being invited to play Minecraft with you guys, he’d never really played a video game before. But there was something about the building mechanics of the game that awakened something within him, possibly nostalgia for those calm times with building blocks when he was a little kid. Whatever the case, Avdol takes to building like a pro and all without any YouTube tutorials, too. You want a medieval style bakery? You got one. Want a modern bungalow? He’ll do it. Giant fire breathing demon chicken to put in the middle of the base? You can envision the weird looks he wants to give you, but he’ll make one of those, no problem. His best projects are the ones he does on his own, though, with no guidance and with minimal suggestions. 

Due to his building skills, he finds himself constantly busy within the game as someone always has some kind of building project they want help with. He even offered to improve Joseph’s plain block house. The old man told him to do whatever he pleased and then went off to go treasure hunting with Jotaro and Kakyoin. When Joseph came back he found his simple home had been converted into a deceptively cute cabin. While Joseph was impressed enough with how cozy it looked, Avdol revealed that the cabin had a secret, a well hidden secret chamber that appealed to Joseph's inner superhero fanboy. He had his very own secret lair now (yeah, it’s not really a secret if everybody on the server knows about it, but let the old man dream)!

Over time, Avdol has added things here and there to the base to keep things from looking so plain. He’s added a decorated pond for fishing and just a place to hang out. There’s also a meeting area for when the whole gang gets together right before going on an adventure (brings back bittersweet memories. At least this time there’s no danger of anyone actually dying.). 

And yes, he even added that giant fire breathing demon chicken statue you wanted so badly. Your odd tastes aside, Avdol managed to make the abomination of a statue look rather cool and stylized. Kakyoin wants it to be the mascot for your group. It ends up being put on any and all banners for the base, much to Avdol’s chagrin. 

Every time he gets online with you guys he is either working on a project or starting another one. He never seems to run out of things to do. Surprisingly, his own home is rather quaint. Just a regular old farm house, but it’s very pretty. And yes, he has a chicken farm. 

Polnareff

Chaos incarnate. This man got into the game and immediately started doing everything WRONG! Digging straight down, forgetting to sleep at least once to ward off phantoms, forgetting to crouch when standing at the edge of great heights, you name it he’s messed it up. So basically just Polnareff being Polnareff. He always manages to find danger or danger finds him. Every monster in the area seems to target him specifically. On one mining trip you actually watched around five zombies shamble right past you and head straight for a very startled Polnareff. They completely ignored you! He’s died so many times that you actually put in the “keep inventory” cheat so that at the very least he stops losing all of his hard earned resources. 

Speaking of resources, when it comes to mining it’s the one thing that Jean Pierre is really, really lucky at. To the point that it makes everyone else jealous. He was the first to find diamonds and emeralds and the first to manage to get full stacks of both. You never even thought it possible to find 64 emeralds naturally, but Polnareff managed to pull it off. Joseph is quick to accuse him of cheating which results in a very childish argument between the two until you step in and explain that you were with Polnareff the whole time and he just finds diamonds and emeralds by chance. Joseph apologizes but grumbles when Polnareff laughs. Ever since then, whenever he comes across diamonds, or anything even remotely interesting, he is very obnoxious about it. 

“HEY GUYS!!! GUESS WHO FOUND EVEN MORE DIAMONDS?!!” he’ll shout in an annoying sing-song voice.

This usually results in annoyed huffs from Avdol and Kakyoin, disgruntled “Good griefs” from Jotaro, not-so-humble requests for him to stop bragging like an asshole from Joseph, and a threat or two from you that if he didn’t stop rubbing your faces in it, you would shove him into the nearest lava pit. This always earns a mischievous giggle or two from him. He’s so full of himself about it. He does make up for it though, when he crafts full sets of diamond armor for you all. For all his arrogant bragging, he’s really rather generous with his finds. If any of you need diamonds or emeralds he’s the first to offer up his stash. After all, he has so many, why shouldn’t he share? ~ ❤

Whenever he goes mining, you usually tag along. You say that it’s so you can help him carry his loot, but actually it’s because you’re his self appointed babysitter. Just like in real life, it just isn’t a good idea for him to run off by himself. You never say that out loud though because you know how sensitive he is about being danger-prone. Besides he likes having you along and the two of you end up as mining buddies almost every time you play. Sometimes Kakyoin joins you as he’s always in need of redstone and other materials for his contraptions (it’s important to note that Polnareff is Kakyoin’s second favorite trolling victim and it always makes you nervous whenever he tags along because you never know if he’s up to something or just genuinely wants to collect resources.). 

Whenever you and Polnareff go off on your own to do anything, the rest of the Crusaders server prepares their poor ears for the inevitable screaming and swearing that will follow. Something happens to you whenever you pair up with Polnareff. Your brain power seems to get cut in half and the two of you end up becoming an unintentional comedy duo that has everyone else either laughing or, in Jotaro’s case, muting you for being “too damn loud”. 

There was one time that Polnereff was digging a strip mine that ended up leading right into the Deep Dark and the Warden’s territory. You can probably guess what happened. Before you could warn him, Polnareff’s antics end up summoning the Warden and the monster kills you both before either of you have a chance to panic. This results in Polnareff seeking revenge (or trying to) and going all the way back to the Deep Dark to fight the Warden again (and dragging you along each time), and (both of you) dying again. This happens about three more times before he actually manages to defeat the Warden only to find out that he doesn’t get any kind of reward for it (other than bragging rights, which believe me, he takes advantage of). 

On a minor note, Polnareff’s inventory is always extremely unorganized. Whether referring to his personal inventory or his storage chests his inventory is in shambles. There’s no rhyme or reason for where he places things in his hotbar and sometimes he’ll end up hitting monsters with a stick or block of glass rather than his sword. He also has a bad habit of using the wrong tool for certain jobs, such as using his pickaxe on dirt instead of his shovel and it drives more organized players like Kakyoin and Avdol insane. 

BONUS:

Iggy

(We’re assuming that the little gremlin lives with you) While he can’t exactly play video games for obvious reasons, he does kinda like watching you play, but that’s only if he’s not trying to take a nap (you’re kinda noisy). Most of the time he just plops down in his comfy spot and watches you struggle to survive in what he mentally calls the “stupid human block game”. He is really amused whenever you and Polnareff team up because watching you two together is comedy gold. Sometimes, when you’re playing alone, he’ll wait for you to be exploring a dark, creepy cave and suddenly bark very loudly for no reason, causing you to very nearly jump out of your skin. 

Iggy: “BARK!”

You scream, swear, and jump back so hard that your headset falls off. Your mouse has been practically thrown across the room. You turn around and glare at the little brat. 

“IGGY!” you shout accusingly. 

The cheeky little doggo runs out of the room making sounds that can be interpreted as the canine equivalent of snickering.

[liminalwings]

Building Your Draconic Path

Whether you're a witchy veteran or someone coming into magical work for the very first time, you might be absolutely lost when it comes to starting work with dragons. While I have no intention of telling others how to walk their path, I do feel that a loose guide to help you start building your own framework would be beneficial. Note that this is written for those who wish to work with dragons as beings, rather than dragons as a symbol or ideal, so being able to communicate with them might be important. Also, if you're someone who already has a solid practice in place that does not center around working with dragons, it's not necessary to abandon it and rebuild everything from the ground up; you absolutely can work with dragons within your already existing framework. And even if you don’t have one, it’s alright to just dive in and start working with them. This is for those who want something a little more involved. 

The first step is to ask yourself why you want to work with dragons. Is it just because you think they’re cool and powerful? Is it something you’ve heard about from someone else and you’ve been curious about it for a while? Is it something you’ve had an inexplicable pull toward? Are you someone who has already had an encounter with a dragon and feel like this is the next logical step? 

Analyze yourself. Ask the hard questions. What are your strengths and weaknesses, what knowledge do you lack? Do the research. Being honest with yourself will get you where you want to go much faster. Also keep an open mind, not because "everything's valid uwu", but because internalizing what others say, taking it at face value as 'fact', can keep you from picking up information meant for you as part of your UPG. 

Speaking of which, keep a journal. It doesn't have to be fancy, it's not expressly a Book of Shadows or a grimoire, and it doesn't have to be physical, it just has to be some sort of log for you to keep notes. You can write down your thoughts regarding the path you're taking, but mainly it's to keep track of the information you gain, especially any channeled information or UPG, or any signs you may notice. Being able to return to these tidbits over time is extremely helpful, and you might find that some things no longer feel correct 5-10 months or years down the road, while other things remain solidly true; a changing, growing belief or system is not a bad thing, and re-examining and being able to let go of things you no longer vibe with is a healthy practice. Also, being able to refer back to your notes while doing research can occasionally have some fascinating results, especially if something a dragon told you somehow ends up in a bit of lore. Rare, but it can happen. 

Why research?

Besides learning the basics of spellcraft so we can stop repeating ourselves ad infinitum every time someone new appears, there is a rich and varied amount of dragon lore in the world, some of it symbolic, some of it spiritual, and some of it quite revealing of human nature when faced with the unknown. You may end up being someone who works best with Earth Mythology archetype dragons better than individuals from the astral/elsewhere, and knowing these myths would be quite important, especially the different variations of even the same myth through time or between cultures. Learning the lore can also help you tap into draconic energy. You also want to have practical and sound knowledge of any tools or materials you may be drawn to work with, especially in the case of herbs in which non-magical, medical knowledge is crucial if you're going to be using them for more than symbolic or energetic oomph in ritual. 

And yes, you can read what dragon magick books are out there to get a feel for what systems others have made. Do they use tools that you could see being useful to your own practice? Do you disagree with the specific beings/rulers they call on, but agree with other correspondences they use? Do they use a code/creed that you largely like? There's nothing wrong with adapting them, as long as it's not something being pulled from any sort of closed culture; seeing as how the vast majority of dragon magick systems are flavorings of Wicca or ceremonial magick, that shouldn't be too much of an issue outside of what those systems themselves might be guilty of. 

If you're not simply adapting an already existing system, you should determine the nature of your work, and the relationship between you and the dragons you work with. Some people are not comfortable with spellwork as found in Wicca and other modern pagan paths, but are okay with energy work and prayer. This is absolutely fine and something that is compatible with working with dragons. Some prefer using a Wicca/modern witchcraft-based system, with dragons as co-practitioners. Are the dragons you work with only peers, or is it more of a master-student situation? Are the dragons okay with you calling on them as friends any time? Or are they your deity, and receive offerings from you? 

These are answers you have to figure out as you build your bond with your dragons and communicate with them. Sometimes, they will have more say in what you do than you expect and be very particular about what you include. It may be things like "use this tool", "use this herb", or can even be things like following rules they give you, within reason. This includes whether or not some sort of oath or initiation is even necessary. Other times, the dragons you work with may not care about any of these things and will work with you as long as you respect them, leaving the precise methods to you and what you're comfortable with. This even includes elements: while the most common elemental model tends to be earth/air/fire/water(/spirit), this may not be the one you end up working with.

It's also good to remember that dragons are incredibly varied, just like people. Dragons can be deceptive, they can lie or tell half-truths or lie by omission, they can mean you harm and be malicious jerks, but like the people you meet every day, these are going to be the minority. I don't point this out to scare anyone off, but because a lot of information out there will try to tell you that all dragons ever only work for the highest good, and even the non-New Age sector will often tell you that dragons operate on a code of honor. This is not an absolute truth. Therefore, it is not necessary for your path to have a set of rules governing your behavior. You don't have to never lie again or the dragons will call you a sinner and abandon you. This is also why common sense, discernment, and knowing how to protect yourself is important. That said, drama with dragons is fairly uncommon, at least in my experience.

Okay, but how do I build my practice?

Decide how much structure you actually want in your practice. Do you want more ritual trappings, or are you wanting something a little more 'low-spoon' friendly and casual? Are there days that you feel should be recognized as sacred on your path? Is every day sacred and magical? Having certain days of note can help you to refocus on your path throughout the year, and it doesn't have to be the Wiccan sabbats; I know at least a handful of practitioners even observe Dragon Appreciation Day (January 16th, celebrates dragons in literature and art), or World Dragon Day (an inconsistent date in October, and established largely by 'lightworkers').

In short, reflect on everything that draws you to this path, everything that makes you feel closer to dragons, to your own power, and use what inspires you as your building blocks. It's okay to incorporate things that may be seen by others as 'cringey', because this is for you, and is all private unless you choose to share with others. As well, this is merely the beginning steps and nothing final; like anything else in life, your path will grow with you and be refined as you learn more. This might seem like a lot of footwork and effort, especially if you're coming to this bright-eyed and exuberant, but anything worth doing takes some level of personal investment.

Can… can I give my path a cool name?

Absolutely. You can also not call your path anything. Unless you're planning on sharing your UPG and whatever structure you decide to make, it's really not necessary. There are so many "draconic paths" and groups already floating around out there that it can be nice to differentiate. Because of the nature of UPG and how much of it makes up modern dragon magick, there really isn't "one true draconic path". 

The TL;DR Bullet List of Things to Consider

Why? What are your goals with this path?

How do you want to connect and work with dragons?

What do you want to incorporate? What inspires you about this path?

Take notes and do your homework.

[aggressive-positivity-network]

Do you have any autistic Scout headcanons? :P

Hell yeah!

I’ve actually thought about this a lot. A lot of people might think that Scout has ADHD, but I think he either has both ADHD and autism or just autism.

This is both because labeling Scout as having just ADHD is kind of a low-hanging fruit, and I also want to explore his symptoms a little more. So, in a word, I do, and thank you for asking about them!

*****************

Scout’s Spectrum:

So, where exactly does Scout fall on the autism spectrum?

First of all, he probably has both ADHD and autism, but wasn’t diagnosed with the latter until much later. This means that some of his symptoms were taken into account, but not all.

The ones that were paid attention to ramped up out of control, and the ones he didn’t hear about were stuffed away.

His ADHD symptoms include impulsiveness, need for stimulation, hyperfixations, forgetfulness, and insomnia; his autism symptoms include trouble with social skills, stimming, near inability to remember names and faces, lack of eye contact, hyperfixations again, and sensory processing issues, especially with noise and touch.

He used to have a lot of meltdowns when he was younger, usually about wearing new clothes and the amount of noise his eight brothers generated.

However, he was teased and pushed into masking nearly all the time, and made his whole personality about his ADHD, since that was what everyone accepted.

As he got older, he usually wrote off any autistic tendencies as either his ADHD or just “little habits” of his.

During his middle school years, he used energy drinks to bounce back from being exhausted every day after school. This would work, except those energy drinks would upset his ADHD, and would make it much harder to focus on even basic conversation.

After a while, he got such bad grades and had such a hard time making friends that Scout just stopped going to school altogether.

Baseball helped his focus, and the quick movement and thinking made a lot of sense to him. He never had to wait very long for the next development, and the instant gratification and community it provided supplemented what he never got at school.

With sports on his side, he rarely ever drank any energy drinks (the coach would never let them on the field), and he drank bucketfuls of water during every meet and game. Those teenage years were probably the healthiest he ever was.

However, with the amount of rumbles he got into with his brothers, and the turf wars that constantly raged in those neighborhoods, it was only a matter of time before his crime caught up with him.

After his first incarceration, he was booted from the team, which led to a downward spiral of unhealthy coping mechanisms - which included fighting someone tooth and nail whenever he could.

Even if he lost the fight, it not only catered to his impulsive nature and impatience, but also gave him roughly the same sense of friendship and camaraderie that baseball had.

One thing led to another, and by the time Mann Co. found him, Scout was a monster in hand to hand (and bat to bat) and had racked up quite the criminal record.

A perfect mercenary, ripe for the picking.

On The Team:

Scout very quickly adopted the “stupid, scrappy Boston boy” persona.

It was the only thing that made sense, and it kept him from having to try too hard in both the battlefield and socially.

Besides, that meant that he could be as silly, forgetful, and fidgety as he wanted, and no one would bat an eye.

And if he ever needed to take a break from the team, he figured everyone would appreciate the quiet.

The only thing that ever gave him away was him occasionally dissociating right when battle began, especially if the day had been stressful.

It was usually how he calmed down after a fight when he was young, but now he sometimes slid into that state when he was overwhelmed.

However, a yell from one of his teammates would usually snap him out of it.

Medic noticed this pretty early on, and wanted to look more into it, but Scout would keep making excuses not to get a mental examination.

He would blame it on zoning out, being tired, drinking too many Bonks - whatever it took for people to stop asking.

And, eventually, they did.

Even Medic stopped asking after a while - he couldn’t get a thing out of Scout.

This “try so little that when you do try it’s above average” charade worked for a long time. In fact, it went on for so long that Scout forgot how much he was actually capable of.

He began to internalize the stupidity, the exacerbation, the many comments on how dumb he was, everything.

The only time he ever gave his all was on the battlefield - moving fast, memorizing strategies, doing complicated footwork, knowing exactly how much force it took to crush someone’s skull with his bat.

That was one of the only things that he felt good doing, the only thing he could really work on without him being “found out.”

That and drawing, though he never showed the actual pieces to anyone. It was all stick figures and crooked lines with everyone else.

Sometimes, though, Scout wouldn’t be paying attention and he’d let something slip.

One time, Engineer was looking for his screwdriver, and couldn’t seem to find it anywhere.

Scout, not looking up from his comic, said, “Under the couch cushion, hard hat.”

Engineer bent down and reached into the couch, and his hand came back with his red and yellow striped screwdriver.

“Well I’ll be damned…”

At first Engineer thought Scout had just hid it, but Scout explained, still not paying attention:

“Last time we went out on th’ field, you had it on your belt, like always. But I was walkin’ by your workshop, you were usin’ a quarter to tighten a screw or somethin’. Your screwdriver had to be somewhere between the battlefield and your workshop. Engie, you’re like freakin’ clockwork. Every day, after a fight, you go to the kitchen, get a water, go to that couch, between the second and third cushion from the left, and sit there. Then ya go back to the fridge to get lunch and a beer, and ya go to your workshop until somebody needs you for somethin’. Your back loop in your tool belt is looser than all the others, ‘cause the screwdriver pulls against it when you sit down. The shank was probably in between the two cushions, and when you got up, it fell in. Demo, Pyro, and Heavy all sit on the second or third cushion at some point, so it got shimmied down. And since that’s the only time you sat down, ‘cause you woulda heard it if it dropped on the floor, and I…uh…”

“I’ll be damned,” Engie repeated, and felt the back tool belt loop. It was indeed loose.

Scout finally looked up, and realized what had happened.

“Uh, uh - l-lucky guess, huh Engie?”

Engineer squinted behind his goggles. “Yeah…real lucky…”

What ensued was Engie trying to get Scout to turn into a B.L.U Spy by chasing him around with his wrench. After a few good hits, though, Engineer saw that it was the teammate he knew and loved.

“But…how didja…?”

Scout threw his hand up, the other rubbing the back of his head where he’d been hit.

“I toldja Engie! Lucky guess! Jesus!”

Ever since then, Scout chose his words more carefully.

The Breakdown:

But, unfortunately, Scout could not pretend forever.

There was one week where Scout’s assignment count was so high that, if he wasn’t in a fight, he was on a mission.

Usually, Pauling wouldn’t trust him with so much, but no one else was available - or willing - to do the jobs.

Even when she was getting concerned about the amount of hours Scout was putting in, he blew it off.

“It’s no sweat, Miss Pauling! Their practically givin’ me the pay day. Those yahoos don’t know who they’re messin’ with.”

Over time, though, Scout had a harder and harder time staying focused and alert.

He’d sleep through alarms, stare off into space, zone out completely during briefing (not that he didn’t already do that), have a hard time hearing people in battle - even through his headset - ignore Spy’s taunts, and even forget to bring his bat onto the field.

Nothing seemed to help - Bonk!, warming up, stretching, cold showers, setting reminders, nothing.

And the team was starting to notice.

At first it was with the regular frustration - maybe Scout was just being lazy.

But as time went on, and his condition grew worse, their scorn turned into worry. They implored Medic to do something, but he had no way of getting through to Scout.

The doctor wasn’t above simply sedating him and dragging him into his lab for a check-up. However, he had a feeling that this was more than a physical issue.

The worst came when Scout was doing a routine battle with the B.L.U team on the field.

Everything had started out okay - he even remembered to bring his bad this time - but suddenly, everything was ear-splittingly loud.

He couldn’t focus on more than one sound at once, much less communicate the best course of action to his teammates.

He ended up hiding in a dilapidated shed, in a dusty, dark corner, somewhere between zoning out and panicking.

Scout’s head was in his knees, he was shaking, close to crying, when a sudden splitting of wood roused him.

A B.L.U Soldier had kicked his way into the shed, either having heard Scout or to hide from the other team.

Scout was stunned at first, but something of a blind terror filled him. He picked up his bat, screamed, and started pummeling the surprised Soldier.

At some point, he threw aside his bat and began to swing punch after punch, just like he did in his gang days when he had felt overwhelmed. Still screaming. Still crying.

By the time Scout had dissolved into a rocking, sobbing mess, the Soldier was long dead, with a gigantic pool of blood staining Scout’s shoes.

No one even knew where Scout was until a few hours later, when Spy heard a faint note of “Sexbomb” coming from Scout’s Walkman.

Scout had crawled into the shed’s framework, between the outer and inner wall, and was playing a specific verse over and over and over again, looking like he was on another plane of existence.

Spy immediately called for Medic, who had to lift Scout out by the underarms through a jagged hole in the side of the building. By then, the fight was over, so they could take him directly to the lab.

Medic’s Evaluation:

“I’m guessing zhis is your first mental breakdown?”

“Mental…doc, I ain’t crazy. Wait, you’re not goin’ to put me in a straight jacket, are ya?”

“If you’re not doing anyzhing later.”

Medic started to laugh, but quickly realized this might not be the time.

“No, Scout, everyvun has a mental breakdown at least vunce in their lives. It’s a…how do you say…a vake-up call of sorts. Vhen your body has no other options left.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“For zhe past few months, you health, both physical and mental, has been deteriorating. You eat less. You talk less. Your attacks are lackluster. You have bags under your eyes. You flinch vhen somevun yells for you. You stare off into space. Your routine, vhich usually has at least some changes, has become stringent, as if you can’t possibly expend any more energy into extra activities. You have avoided Demoman on zhe battlefield, even though you usually use him for cover.”

Medic flipped through his notes.

“I have pages and pages of your decline. However, as a scientist, I believe it is caused by zhe same source. And, though I usually respect my patient’s right to privacy vhen it comes to these sorts of matters, I believe you’ve been keeping something from me. Something that I should know as your general practitioner…your doctor.”

Scout shrugged, already shutting out the conversation.

Medic sighed.

“Maybe I tried to talk to you about zhis too soon. After all, you’ve just had a very sudden and exhausting episode. But…perhaps…”

Medic took a sheet of printer paper from his clipboard and a spare pen from his pocket.

“…zhere is an alternative.”

Scout was still unresponsive, but Medic continued.

“Zhere is a patient in my vaiting room vis a metal pole through the chest. It vill take me at least an hour to properly remove it, and a few minutes more to heal zhe area. Vhile I do zhat, vhy don’t you draw how you feel?”

Medic smiled.

“I know how much it grounds you.”

It wasn’t until Medic left that Scout actually picked up the pen, but he began drawing immediately.

For the first time in a while, he wasn’t trying to hide his strokes or scratch up the cleaner lines. No more stick figures. No more pretending.

Five minutes later, he was fully engrossed.

Medic started to walk in at one point, but, seeing how relaxed Scout was, decided to give him a few more minutes.

He deserved it.

[beskarberry]

Valkyrie

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 4

(The Mandalorian x f!reader)

“What... did you... do?”  You hissed between clenched teeth. “Did you poison him?! Give me the antidote right now or so fucking help me I’ll tear every limb off your ugly little body!” You were seething, fear and fury stoking fire behind your eyes. The bounty only laughed harder.

“Antidote?There’s only one antidote for that one, sugar, and I sure hope you like him enough to give it to him! Bwahaha ha! Good luck!”

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 7.8k

Content warnings: Canon-typical violence, SEX POLLEN + rough sex, oral sex (m receiving) and kink talk (not gonna list all of them but they’re all very common.) There’s another filk song reference in this one that I’ll link in the replies.

A/N: VERY IMPORTANT TAG! The bounty uses she/her pronouns so if girl on girl violence makes you squeamish please read ahead with caution! Also know that I >>do not<< use any gender-specific slurs (b*tch, c*nt, etc.)

<-Previous Next->

Everything. Was. Purple.

Purple! The grass, the sky, the trees, if you could call them that. The pulsating, gelatinous towers that spiraled into the sky were definitely alive, but you weren’t sure if ‘tree’ was a fitting word for them. Their branches were long and hanging, weighed down by some kind of berry or fruit that glowed with teal streaks. Your next bounty was on a habitable moon orbiting an enormous gas giant that took up the entire skyline. It was lush with vegetation and sparsely populated, a perfect hideout for an Ardennian.

The Razor Crest was parked in a meadow of lavender grass, though once again you questioned your choice of words, watching the way the long wet leaves wiggled in the breeze. You breathed deep, letting the rich, humid air fill your lungs while your traveling companions followed behind you down the old ship’s ramp. Baby beans trotted right past you on stubby legs, picking things up off the ground that he probably shouldn’t be putting in his mouth, but was too sneaky for you to stop him from doing so. You heard the Crest’s access door shut, and turned to see Mando eagerly trotting along to join you.

No, not ‘Mando’... Din. Mr. Mystery finally had a name, though you were still conflicted about using it. The man had spilled so many secrets into you in such a short amount of time that the butterflies in your stomach were breeding many-legged worms. Squirming, creeping things that quickly metamorphosized back into their illustrious true selves, and you weren’t sure which part of their cycle was making you more nauseous. But they were your secrets to keep, your heart wearing his name like a locket; safely hidden where nobody but you could see.

You had slid the heavy beskar bucket back up the ladder to him while he stayed in the dark of the cockpit, the knowledge of his facial features still kept by your hands alone. The pair of you had then stood close together at the armory, him with his helmet back where it belonged and you with your bright eyed mask protecting your crown. At the equipment cache he couldn’t stop talking, pointing out and picking up a variety of weapons and traps that would work particularly well for this simian quarry. Everything had a story, and he told you all about the bounties he had pulled trophies off of, or things he had gotten as rewards for helping someone else. He’s giddy. You could only listen along as he prattled away, handing you grapple after snare until you had to start putting things back in the armory, just so you could have your hands free again.

Hands. Every time he gave you another tool of the trade to add to your ever-growing inventory his hands brushed somewhere on you. Leather tipped fingers glancing quickly on your wrist, a lingering palm on your shoulder; each fleeting touch lasting just slightly longer than the last. He was struggling to keep his hands off of you, reluctant to give up the intimacy you had both been working at in the void-black darkness of the flight deck before atmospheric reentry tore you both apart. What other prayers of devotion could he pour into you, if you’d just had a little more time? ‘You belong to them, that is The Way’. The oath he had made to you was followed coldly in your mind by another string of words, ‘I’m not asking you to do the same, you’re not Mandalorian’.

You couldn’t think about all the words that you still needed to unpack, it was hunting time. The six-limbed simian was wanted for, checks puck notes, chemical warfare. She had blasted her way to the Guild’s Most Wanted list by lobbing incendiary bombs and poison gas grenades through a meeting of outer rim parliament, and the price on her head might have been higher than yours. The bounty puck specifically stated she was to be taken alive. Super. The droid-face mask wasn’t going to be much protection for your lungs, but it might at least keep your eyes safe. You took time to pack extra bacta and some quality rations, plus one of your new bantha-wool blankets. You woke up that morning on Tatooine, and the voice of your tortured circadian rhythm wondered if you would be sleeping rugged tonight somewhere on this heliotropic hellscape.

A bounty fob blinked lazily from the larger hunter’s belt, indicating that the quarry was on-world, but not close enough to catch. The three of you would have some walking to do. The child tried to make friends with every wiggly thing, running on his short little legs from fern to fern, hunting for treats. The little beastie’s adopted father chased him through the grass, trying, and failing, to keep him from getting into trouble. The sight of the mighty metal man being defeated so easily by a baby made you laugh, and the sound of your melodic giggles drew his attention.

“What are you laughing at?”

Oh no, I’ve been caught!  “I’m laughing at you, rust bucket! The scariest person here isn’t either of us, it’s him!” You pointed to where the child was tearing through the reeds after some kind of amphibian, and started laughing harder when Mando cursed and flew after his impish son. The rowdy child had a frog-like creature hanging from his mouth that vanished the second his dad tried to pull it away.

“Stop eating things you find on the ground!” The baby only squealed at the scolding, earning himself a grumpy, papa-patented sigh. Mando picked up the potato-sack of a child and dumped him unceremoniously into the hover-crib that floated along behind. “You can get back out when you learn your lesson! I don’t want you to get sick.” The baby made huge, sad eyes up at his dad, but Mando turned away quickly to avoid their hypnotic powers. You were doing your best to hide your giggles, covering the part of your mask where your mouth was, as if that would help. The Mandalorian strode up to you with a swagger. “Oh, you think that’s funny, cyar’ika?”

“You don’t?” You caught your reflection in the black gloss of his visor as he sauntered up to you, and your bug-eyed doppelganger only made you laugh more. A wall of beskar stood in front of you, eyeing you with slow tilts of his helmet while you got it all out of your system. When your breaths returned to normal you looked down at your hands and found that they had made friends. You had reached out for him without even thinking, and you were a little embarrassed that they had gravitated to him so naturally. He squeezed your hands gently before letting them return to you, and you heard the songs of star-lost sailors whispering in the back of your mind. The nights are long between the stars, and lonely, too, for me. I wonder how I might have fared with home and family.

“Night’s coming fast, we should keep moving.” Hunting mode reactivated, your companion started towards the undulating wilderness. He wasn’t wrong, within a few hours the massive planet that hung above you drifted out of view, replaced with a sea of glittering stars. The foliage around you glowed with otherworldly colors, teals and violets splattering their dense leaves and curling down their jelly trunks. Their loveliness made it easy to distract yourself from the task at hand, your eyes chasing the occasional yellow and red flashes that blinked from insects high in the branches. Ahead of you a large old tree had fallen over, and between its trunk and its upturned roots the spot was easily defensible.

Mando busied himself with clearing squishy sticks and leaves from the area to make a campsite while you looked for something to start a fire with. Nothing looked burnable, everything had a gooey, wet consistency, but some dead leaves under the log were dried out. They would have to do. You made them into a neat pile and pushed some rocks in a circle around them for safety, now you would just need a light.

“Hey, tinman, I need some heat!” He followed your pointing finger with his helmet and waltzed over to you, happy to be of assistance. He started up his wrist mounted flamethrower and used the pilot light to set the tinder ablaze. Not even fire could escape the overwhelming purpleness of the estranged moon as the blaze kicked up a bright indigo with a low heat. You got to work getting dinner around, pulling savory Tatooine treats out of your pack, pushing some of them towards the heat source so they would be warm. At the bottom of your bag you found some soft, squashed thing, and pulled the remains of breakfast out into the light. It was mashed, but it was still probably edible. “Mando, you never ate your breakfast.”

“What?” He looked at the sad excuse for a meal that you were offering him, eyeing it with curiosity. “You got me breakfast?”

“Yes? I told you that I would, though I guess it’s dinner now. Here.” You waved it at him so he would get the hint, and he took it carefully from you with timid hands.

“T-thank you. You’re very kind.”

“And don’t you forget it!” You whooped with overwhelming confidence, but the sweet words made you blush under your mask. Before he could turn and leave the safety of the fire to find a private eating area you reached for his hand again, pulling the armored paw to your forehead and knocking it softly against your mask. Kov'nynir. A wistful sigh escaped his modulator, and you knew the act of affection was well received. He bent himself down to where you sat at the fire and pressed his own forehead against yours, rumbling with contentment. The gentle sound made your heart swell, such a simple gesture that carried so much meaning. A bounty hunter’s life was fast and dangerous, why should finding companionship be any different?

You pushed your heads together just a little harder before he pulled himself away from you to go eat. You lifted your own dinner and the baby’s from the hearth, poking at it with your fingers to make sure it wasn’t too hot for Mr. Green Beans to eat. The child took it from you eagerly, content in his protective pram and making gross little noises while he ate. The food tin you had was much better than day one’s menu: bantha meat and Tusken hardtack with a side of more mystery mush. Your partner chose to take his meal elsewhere, fading into the darkness behind the fallen log where he could remove his helmet and eat in peace. Someday he might make more sense to you. The clank! of an empty food tin hitting the ground brought your attention back to your campsite buddy, the baby having thrown his clean plate at you.

“What’s wrong, booger? You bored? Alright.” There was a tiny bit of energy still left in your bones, and what better way to spend it than entertaining your precious audience. You pulled yourself to your feet, taking a moment to dust the spores from your pants and pull your backpack on before launching into song.

“When we pulled into Naboo’s Port in need of R&R,

The crew set out investigating every joint and bar.

We had high expectations of their hospitality,

But found too late it wasn't geared for spacers such as we!”

“And we're banned from Naboo, everyone!

Banned from Naboo, just for having a little fun!

We spent a jolly shore leave there for just three days or four,

But Naboo doesn't want us anymore!”

Green baby hands tried their best to clap in time with your sailor song, accompanied by adorable cooing noises while he tried to sing along. Your rambunctiousness summoned Mando back over to the fire, and he sat down on a large rock next to his foundling, watching you through his visor as you danced around the fire with flailing limbs.

“Our Engineer would yield to none at putting down the brew;

She outdrank seven space marines and a demolition crew!

The Navigator didn't win, but he out-drank almost all,

And now they've got a shuttlecraft on the roof of City Hall!”

You ran through the chorus again, taking a second to notice that tinman was tapping his foot to the beat along with you. You wondered briefly if they ever sang on Mandalore. You took a deep breath to continue-

“-KABOOM-!”

The fireside exploded just meters from your spinning dance, and you were hauled backwards to safety by your oathsworn protector,along with his foundling, and ushered towards the safety of the trees.

“-BOOM! Ba-BOOM! KERPLOW-!”

Trees and plants exploded on either side of you as you ran through the luminous dark. The Ardennian! Neither of you had been paying attention to the bounty fob, blinking fast and red under his cloak. Above you the sound of something swinging through the branches caught your ear, and you pulled your blaster and fired behind you.

“Bwahaha! Missed me missed me now you gotta kiss me, two-arms!” You couldn’t see her, but her taunts gave you a better idea of her position, firing several more shots towards their source. You knew you had to take her alive, but that didn’t mean intact.

“Go go go!” Mando was at your back, doing his best human shield impression while he hurried you away from the bombardment, the child’s bulky pram tucked uncomfortably under one arm. Your flight through the forest was haunted with vicious cackling and the sound of serene foliage being obliterated by the explosives that rained down around you, choking you with incendiary fumes.

A clearing materialized ahead, and the three of you rushed out from under the unmerciful trees. When you had gotten far enough from the tree line you both turned your eyes to the canopy.

“There!” Picking up her heat signature on his visor’s infrared sensors, he pointed to your target, his other arm still occupied with protecting the foundling. You grabbed the barrel of the pulse rife that was still slung over his shoulder, aimed, and fired. The ball of electricity arced from your little trio and collided with the trees, the sound of pained screams and crashes followed the wounded pyromaniac as she fell hard to the ground. Bullseye.

”Stay here, Mando, I got this! Keep him safe!” You stormed into the woods after the sounds of distress, snare at the ready to take the bounty alive. You were angry, rage powering your stride as you chased after her like a Corellian tracking hound. Angry that your sweet moment had been ruined, angry that she’d put the foundling in danger, angry that your partner had been pulled from the comfort of the fire to fulfill his duties as guardian. You sprang over roots and fallen branches, catching the sight of movement where the Ardennian was making a run for it. 

“Oh no you don’t! Get back here!”  Your words boiled with so much fury that they almost weren’t your own. Balls of fire exploded around you in a last ditch effort by the primate to kill you first. You dropped a knee into the loamy soil to steady your shot.

Woosh! The net sailed past her by mere inches, and you flew to your feet to begin the chase again.

“Ha! Grow some more arms and maybe you’ll have better aim!”  Fire erupted around you again, but the flames that seared at your eyes came from inside, burning with fuel siphoned from your heart. You took another shot.

Woosh! Miss! FUCK. You had one shot left on the snare-slinger, and you had to make it count. The trees were thinner here, how long had you been running? The simian was struggling to get away now, the long slimy branches too far apart to swing through. Behind you the sound of thunderous armored boots told you that Mando was hot on your trail, and you were glad to have the back up even though you had specifically told him to stay put. Nobody listens in this crew. Something green and gaseous poofed next to you, and the terms of the bounty puck came back to you clear as day: chemical warfare. The Ardennian was out of bombs and had switched to gas canisters, hurling a variety of brightly colored poisons at your face. Third time’s the charm.

Woosh! The net flew true, tangling in the many limbs of the fleeing quarry and throwing her to the ground. Gotcha! You bore down on her as brightly glowing vials sailed over your head, landing on something behind you with a crash! You were on her in an instant, shoving a blaster in her face.

“You’re done, chuckles! It’s over!” The fear in her eyes vanished as quickly as it had appeared when she glanced back behind you.

“Ha! I don’t think so, stinky. You’re gonna have yer hands too full with that to deal with little old me.” You followed her gaze, and froze from the ice crystalizing in your veins. Mando stood a ways back, still as a statue. Bright neon pink goo slimed its way down his helmet and dripped onto his chest plate. You turned on the Ardennian again.

“What... did you... do?”  You hissed between clenched teeth. “Did you poison him?! Give me the antidote right now or so fucking help me I’ll tear every limb off your ugly little body!” You were seething, fear and fury stoking fire behind your eyes. The bounty only laughed harder.

“Antidote? There’s only one antidote for that one, sugar, and I sure hope you like him enough to give it to him! Bwahaha ha! Good luck!” She was howling with laughter in your grasp, and the sound of her mirth was like nails on chalkboard to your ears. You practically threw her to the ground, running back to your incapacitated partner. He hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Mando! Hey hey can you hear me? Tell me what’s wrong!” The glowing pink slime was still on his helmet, and you hunted for something to wipe it off with. The closest thing was his cloak, so you reached for it and went to clean the pretty pink sludge from his helmet when an armored claw shot up and caught your wrist. The action startled you, but you were happy to see him still able to move. “Mando? You ok?” Slowly, with almost robotic precision, he turned his gaze to you.

“Cyar...’ika....?” His words were long and labored, the strain of them sending a chill through your bones.

“Yes! It’s me, Mando. I’m right here, I’m gonna get you taken care of. I- I’ll find some bacta or-” Your words were cut off by another wicked claw on your shoulder.

“So... Beautiful...”  The lustful words made the gears in your head grind to a halt. Really? Right now?

“Ok great, glad to see you’re fine, now can we get back to hunt-” He cut you off with a hand at your throat.

“Beautiful.. and mouthy. So... fucking... mouthy.” A leather tipped hand snaked up your neck to your lips, grabbing at your jaw and pushing a thumb in past your teeth. You tried to spit him out but his other hand latched on to the back of your skull. “I’m going to put that mouth to good use, mesh’la.”  Your mask was tossed to the ground, and the ‘good luck’ the Ardennian had wished you now made sense. Whatever was oozing down the front of his helmet was driving him into an uncontrolled sexual frenzy, and you were the sole outlet for all his desires.

“Mando! -Blech-! Man- Din!” He stopped trying to get down your throat at the sound of his own name, hearing it for the first time from your lips. “Din! We don’t have time for this right now! Get a grip!” Oh, but he already had a grip, and it was tightening on your scalp.

“That’s right, sweetheart, say my name.”  The command dripped from his modulator the same way the poison dripped down his face, and he started walking you backwards by the hair until you bumped against a squishy tree. The change of emotion from rage to fear to confusion made your head spin, and the new contending feeling of heat building in your guts was making itself known.

“Knock it off! Fucking hell, she’s going to get away if we don’t do something right now! ”

“Let her. You’re the only one I want.” The weight of his arms on your neck and shoulders became too much, and the man who you had shared a such a sweet moment with not too long ago was now forcing you to your knees. You dropped to a kneel, and your face was hard pressed up against the solid bulge that was trying to rip its way out of his pants. He took only a second to free himself, pushing his throbbing cock against your teeth. “Open wide.”

You wished you were meeting with mini-mando under better circumstances, but if getting him off would get you back to the hunt, you were happy to help. The taste of him on your tongue sent electricity through your body, spooling up fresh heat between your own legs. Above you Mando was making deep, guttural groans as you took his cock all the way to the back of your throat, wrapping a fist around where you couldn’t reach without gagging. You glanced around his leg to where you could see the hover-crib, floating a good distance away with the shield closed tight. Good, he doesn’t need to see this. A swift thrust brought your attention back to where it was demanded.

“That’s a good girl, take it all in. Let me make a mess of that pretty little mouth of yours.” He had a death grip on the back of your hair and the side of your jaw, pushing up to keep you open enough to take his length. Inside you were swirling your tongue around the tip every time it slid past, making sultry praises flood from his modulator. Most of the words were garbled, raunchy and alien, probably Mando’a. Spit leaked from the sides of your mouth, making good on his word to make a mess of you. The claws in your hair pulled tight, forcing your nose into the tuft of soft hair at his base so he could pump your throat full of cum without you escaping. “Ahh~! That’s it, mesh’la, drink it all down.”

The hot spunk made you choke and gag, tears rushing to your eyes, but you still swallowed as best you could. When he finally let you pull away you gasped for air, coughing on the ground at his feet.

“There! *cough!* is that... -blech-, better? Can you hunt now? Are you done?” The potionmaster was probably long gone, you couldn’t hear her fucking cackling anymore.

“Cyar’ika, we’re not done until I say we’re done.” The spear at your cheek was still hard as beskar, ready for round two. The armored man yanked you to your feet, shoving you face first towards the nearest tree. The tree’s flesh was soft and squishy, a fact you would be grateful for soon enough. Your hips were pulled backwards, and a buzzing sound told you he had pulled a vibroblade from his belt, stabbing under your pants’ edge and pulling down the crack of your ass until your clothes were cut away; leaving just the legs and your boots to protect you. The cold air hitting your cunt gave away your arousal, and he zoned in on it like a falcon, pressing still-gloved fingers to your wet slit. The roughness of the leather invading you made you cry out and your knees buckle, squirming under the intrusion of one finger, then two; pumping in and out of you to stoke your flame.

“You’re so pretty. So fucking pretty, and strong. I’m gonna lose myself in you, fierce little thing, and I never want to be found.” His hands ripped away from your swollen cunt, and the head of his cock was pressed to its lips. Both of you made delicious, filthy noises as he buried himself to the hilt, the slick of his own cum making a wonderful lube. “Fuuuuuck, you’re hot inside, lovely girl. My cock was made just for you.” He barely made it a few inches out of you before he was slamming back into you again. The force of him behind you smashed you face into the soft, forgiving tree, though you wished you could find somewhere for your hands to grab hold. He fucked you like a man possessed, and you were sure there would be bruises on your hips and thighs when he was finished.

His mouth ran like surging lava. “Fucking.. Maker... beautiful girl, beautiful hunter! Hunter-killer! I knew you would be a challenge to hunt, but I never thought you would be the one to capture me! You’re a work of art on the killing field! Mmph! You are mine and I’m going to fill your belly with my warriors ‘til you’re fit to burst. They’ll be so ferocious! Born with daggers in their teeth.” Vulgar words between thrusts made your entire body hot with a mix of embarrassment and lust. You might never know if the neon goo had given him the desire to breed you, or if he adored you so much that he wanted more of you to care for, but you did know your contraceptive implant would be having none of it either way. Still, his damning words flowed. “Nobody will ever put their hands on you again but me. I’ll give you everything you desire, cyar’ika, anything you ask for will be yours. I’ll bring the stars down from the sky if you ask me to! I- I’ll- I’m gonna...”

The Mandalorian stilled behind you, twitching as his cock spilled into you and ran hot down your thighs. His breaths were gasping, broken and desperate for air. His fingers digging into the soft skin on your hips would leave their mark for sure, and though he’d done a fantastic job of scrambling your insides you still felt warmth in your chest. Even in his poisoned, delirious state of mind, all of his thoughts were of you alone. The grip on your ass loosened, and the sound of a heavy thud hitting the ground told you he had fallen down into the soft purple grass. You struggled to peel your face from the jelly tree, standing like a newborn fawn on shaky legs. The bright pink streak on his helmet had lost all its glow, and your human rust-bucket was slumped over on his side, still as the grave. Not again, fucksake. You clambered over to him, digging under his cloak with your hands until you found his pulse. Still alive.

“Alright Mando, fucking stay here this time like I told you to.” You glanced around the meadow, but the Ardennian was nowhere to be found. Fuck! All that work for nothing. You groaned, looking down at what was left of your pants. You checked all the pockets, finding your lucky krayt teeth and a bacta patch before kicking the ruined fabric off over your boots. You dropped down to the spent form of your comrade, tilting his helmet up and slapping the bacta patch on one of the hickies you had left there a few days ago. You took a moment to stuff the teeth into one of his many pouches since you no longer had pockets of your own. With your ass in the wind you made your way over to the floating pram to check on your tiny pal. “Hey beans, you doing ok? Your dad and I were just having a little-” you spun the cradle around. Empty.

“No! Fuck! Fuck fuck FUCK!” The bounty had made off with Din’s infant son, your little buddy! You couldn’t stop the fear that dried your throat and brought tears to your eyes. Get a hold of yourself! Find him! NOW! Familiar rage welled up behind your eyes, and you raced back over to your unconscious guardian, still laying in the dirt and making it extra difficult to untangle the pulse rifle still slung over his back. Your hunting instincts were on high alert, and the sound of shouting caught your ears. “I’m gonna get him back, Din! Just... just fucking stay here!”

You tore off after the noise, every horrible scenario running through your head at once. Would she steal him? Would she hurt him? Would she kill him? Rage flared hot in your chest and threatened to burn you alive, your feverish skin icy with sweat. Wet leaves slapped past your bare knees so fast that their thin edges left vicious paper cuts. You didn’t care, nothing else mattered but the foundling. The sound of shouting grew louder, and you thundered though the trees to another clearing by a narrow wine-dark stream. 

“Help! This thing’s got me! Get me down, please! Get it away from me!” The simian terror was hanging in the air ahead of you. No, not hanging, floating. She was thrashing her arms, but all that did was slowly spin her in place. The sight was magical, but more important was the safety of child. On the ground near her, he stood with one fat little paw in the air, pointing at his abductor and concentrating with all his might. You didn’t know how he had escaped, or what the actual fuck he was doing, but you didn’t hesitate. You pulled the pulse rifle from your back and fired, once, twice, three times until her limp body was hanging in the air, knocked out cold. Or dead.

Baby beans crumpled to the ground, and the Ardennian followed suit, the ugly noise she made when she hit the ground brought a wicked smile to your cheeks. The baby’s little eyes were bleary and tired under his big droopy ears, and you scooped him carefully up off the ground to pull him in for a good, strong hug.

“Did you get the mean lady, sweetie? Good job! I don’t know what the fuck you did but hey, no questions asked, alright? I’m just glad you’re ok.” He smiled up at you with his tiny toothy grin before conking out in your arms, leaning heavily against your chest. You set him back down on the ground, just long enough to tie that six limbed asshole up tight, using everything you still had above the waist to keep her captured. You tied her arms to her feet and slung her limp body over you like a rucksack, then picked the foundling back up. With your bounty, baby, and bare ass you started the hike back to your fallen man.

Mando still laid where you had left him on his side, and you were annoyed to realize that, out of everybody involved, you were the only one left awake. Fantastic. You returned the baby to his floating bucket, pulling it closer to the pair of you this time, and dumped the Ardennian in the dirt. There was no way you could maneuver three bodies at once, somebody was going to have to get up and walk.

“Mando! Mando get up, we gotta go.” The man in question didn’t budge, soft, muffled snores your only response. You tried everything you could think of, pulling on his hands and legs and shouting, anything to wake his ass up. You knocked on his helmet, “Ground control to Major Mando, time to get up! Rise and shine, bucket boy!” Nothing, he was going to have to sleep the after-effects of the potion off, so he was staying right where he was.

You had no idea how far you had gotten from the campsite, and the cold night air on your bare booty made you remember your half-nakedness. On the ground scattered around the pile of living beskar was your backpack and the remains of your pants, along with the rest of your trap gear. Start packing more clothes. You went for the gear first, pulling another set of cuffs and a good strong rope out, and added a few more knots to the half-dead quarry so she wouldn’t be pulling any bullshit in the night. The backpack still had the bantha-wool blanket wrapped up tight, and you tied it around yourself like a skirt. Better than nothing.

Kneeling on the ground next to your Mandalorian, you cleared yourself a space to sit down, taking an extra second to make sure all his bits were tucked back out of view. You leaned back against the crook of his hips, feeling the slow rise and fall of his belly at your back. You were so tired, how many times had you been on the run in the last cycle alone? Your body desperately craved sleep, but you couldn’t take your eyes off the bounty. Anger crept its way back into your eyes again, and you wanted to take it out on her, channel your inner rancor. No, she’s already lost. Go to sleep.

But the merciful tug of sleep didn’t come, and when you realized why you felt foolish. The child’s pram was on the ground where you had pushed it next to his fathers’ armored head. He was sleeping like a little prince, and didn’t move at all when you pulled him out of the crib. When he was situated in your arms you pulled Mando’s cloak around the three of you for extra warmth. Sitting upright was a horrible way to sleep, but with the baby safely in your arms and a blaster at your side, you were able to catch a handful of winks.

You woke up many times that night, worried that something might happen to your baby or your partner, and each time your eyes shot open you glared at the dark form in the grass; though not once did it move. Still, you didn’t trust that you were safe, and only when the rim of the planet that dominated the sky drifted over the horizon could you actually keep your eyes closed. But the blissful comfort of real sleep was torn from you by your lounge chair trying to get up on its own. The rush from trying to sit up too fast knocked Mando right back down on his back, and his hands went to his armored temples to try to stop the world from spinning.

“What...where am... where’s....” He shot up like a bolt of lightning “WHERE’S MY SON?!”

“Right here!” You turned yourself to show the bug-eyed bundle to his father, letting him see that the child was safe. Mando wrapped his arms around you and the child, and you could hear his quick, shuddering breaths coming out from under the helmet. The hug was tight, a comforting fortress around your shoulders.

“Are you ok? What happened? Why are we in the grass? Where’s the bounty? Did she get away?” His questions gushed like a river, urgent and frightened. You pointed at where the Ardennian was still on the ground, far enough away that she was out of earshot. She was awake now, but still immobilized. Her eyes were fixed on you, and you could see the edges of her mouth turning upwards into a snarl to bare her teeth. Din’s hands were all over you, inspecting you for damage, and his breath caught in his throat when he reached your waist. Big, ugly red and purple fingerprints were swelling up between the scrapes on your skin, and he pushed the edge of your makeshift skirt down to follow their horrifying trail; they were everywhere.

“Who did this to you?”  The volcano behind the beskar threatened to erupt with molten malevolence, “Did she do this to you?”

“No Mando,” you sighed, a little hurt that he didn’t remember. “You did.” The wall of metal armor went stiff as a rail, his visor locked on your eyes, looking for the truth. But the truth was right in front of him, and he couldn’t accept it.

“What? N-no.. I would never... I could never hurt you, cyar’ika! Please... please tell me that I didn’t do this.” His fingers ghosted over your marks, but never touched them, his hands afraid of dealing more damage to your lovely skin. “I-I couldn’t have... I’m... I’m so sorr-” You cut him off with a hand on his helmet where his mouth might be.

“It’s not your fault, you were poisoned. I’m just glad you’re alive, Din.” The sound of his own name made his shoulders droop and his hands come up cradle your cheeks. You couldn’t meet his visor, the closeness of the distraught hunter making you flustered, so you tried to crack a joke. “I’m just glad you wanted to fuck me instead of the Ardennian.” The way his helmet snapped backwards made you realize he didn’t remember that part either. “Oh don’t look at me like that, I took it like a champ! You’re gonna have to do better than bruises to hurt this mighty hunter!” Your attempted words of comfort didn’t seem to work, and he pulled you and the wiggly child back to his chest in a world-erasing hug.

“Please just tell me you know I wouldn’t do this to you on purpose, I never want to hurt you again. Please.”

“Mando! I’m fine, really.” He held your head firmly, the blackness of the visor trying to bore though your very soul. You nodded in his grasp, “I know you didn’t, it’s alright, Din. I forgive you.” The force of his helmet knocking against your forehead almost made you see stars. His hands were wrapped around your head, holding you as close as he could in the intimate gesture of his people. You didn’t blame him at all for what happened, but it would be a while, if ever, before he could forgive himself.

“Oh isn’t that puke. Spare me the lovey-dovey crap and take me back to the Guild already! Buncha bucketheads.” You didn’t want to address the Ardennian that hollered at you from from the grass, but the beskar bucket turned on her in a heartbeat. He sprang to his feet in a flash, pulling the pulse rife from the ground and firing, stunning the target for the fourth time, fifth time, sixth, seventh.

He’s gonna kill her. You grabbed at his arm, demanding his attention “Mando, you got her, it’s over! It’s done.” Stance wide and chest heaving, the barrel of the long rifle stayed trained on the bounty for what seemed like an eternity before being lowered back to the ground. “Good, good, see, everyone’s ok. Let’s get back to the Crest and get out of here, sound like a plan?” He nodded, still watching the limp-again simian for signs of movement. When he was sure there wouldn’t be any more argument he stalked over to the quarry and slung her over his shoulder, ready to make the long march back to the ship. You set the baby back in his pram so you could take a second to grab everything off the ground, making sure you had your pack and your mask, and followed Mando back through the woods.

After hours of silent hiking, the Razor Crest came into view, and you had never been so happy to see the old girl, pretty as a plum in the violet haze. Once everyone was aboard, the fog of the carbonite chamber filled the tiny cabin to the brim, and left a new dark block in its wake. The Ardennian’s body was limp, though thankfully still alive; but the mischievous sneer couldn’t be erased so easily. You took a deep breath, sighing with relief that this hunt was over. Two down, one to go. Then Nevarro.

Your Mandalorian hadn’t spoken to you the entire trek back to the ship, and he was distracting himself by placing all the weaponry back in their spots in the cabinet. He’s still upset with himself. You still wore the bantha-blanket skirt, and its soft edges swished around your ankles. Gently you placed your hand on his shoulder, and he jumped violently under your touch as he was brought back to the present.

“You know I’m not mad at you, right?” He didn’t meet your eyes, but his hands stopped fussing with the armory. “Really, Din, I don’t blame you at all. I’m ok.” You tugged on his waist, bidding him to turn and face you, but still he couldn’t lift his eyes from the floor. You ran your hands from his shoulders down his chest, trying to bring him comfort with your touch, but when you saw his utility belt you remembered what was in his pockets. A flashbulb of an idea lit up in your skull, and clear as day the reason for your frivolous purchase on Tatooine made itself known. “You know what, I’m so not-mad at you that I have a present for you.” You grabbed his belt to dig through the pouches, but strong hands shot up to carefully take your wrists.

“Mesh’la no! Not after.. not after I- I can’t. I don’t deserve your affections.” Your eyes met his visor, its gaze no longer staring down at the floor and instead watching you with intensity. A smile broke it’s way out past your teeth, followed by a knowing laugh.

“No, that’s not what I meant, good thought though. No, Mand-...Din. Din, I have a gift for you.”  He hesitated to release your arms, but when you were free of his delicate hold you went back to the pockets on his belt and pulled the opalized krayt teeth from one of the pouches. Your companion’s visor followed the glittering treasures as they were brought into the light, and you wished you could see his bewildered face under the beskar. You handed them to him, and he carefully turned them over in his palm, letting the fossils catch the light and revealing their intricate patterns. His helmet tilted slowly, baffled that such beautiful things could be pulled from anywhere on his body, but the way his beskar sent streaks of light over his armor gave you a fantastic new idea.

Taking the treasures back from him you unscrewed the button fasteners that protruded from their backs, revealing the small, strong magnets hidden underneath; and pressed them up to his helmet. The teeth fit perfectly in the recesses of his cheeks, like they had been made just for him; and though you knew hunters didn’t wear adornments, they still looked lovely. “I know you can’t keep them on, especially when we go hunt, but they still look nice on you. Now you get to be my lucky charm.” His soft leather fingertips rubbed gently at his cheeks, feeling the way the indents had been filled with the precious jewels. The ship didn’t have any mirrors, and he would have to see how the swirling pools of crystalized moonlight looked the next time he took his helmet off. 

Wordlessly he reached out for you, taking your face in his hands and pulling your head to his so he could press your foreheads together. You were becoming fond of the mysterious gesture, letting the butterflies in your stomach stretch their iridescent wings and fan contentment into your heart. You pushed back against him, wrapping your own arms around his shoulders, locking his helmet to you. The whole galaxy could fly apart at the seams and you knew you would be alright, as long as you were right where you were, shielded in your Mandalorian’s embrace. I wonder if he feels the same. Tiny claws on your leg pulled your attention to the floor, and you were overjoyed to see big black orbs staring up at you.

“Little Beans! C’mere you, get in on this.” You hauled the foundling up between your bodies, letting him get a good look at you and his father. He chirped away, happily patting his papa’s fancy new trinkets, mesmerized by their shine. The little creature was full of energy, but you had been on your last leg for hours and you couldn’t stifle your yawns any longer. “Boys, I can’t keep this up anymore, you’re both awful cute, but I need sleep.”

“Of course, cyare, you’ve earned it.” Mando reluctantly stepped away from you and rolled out the Tusken sleeping mat that you had purchased. It was much thicker than the sheet originally on the little cot, and a hundred times more forgiving. You were comfy in seconds, and the warm embrace of sleep started pulling on your limbs and shutting your eyes. A different touch was on your arm, and you lazily opened one eye to see an armored hand pulling the bantha blankie up snug around you. Sweet, thoughtful murder-machine is what you had thought of him that first day, and the stupid pet name made you chuckle.

“What does that mean? That word, sire-eeka or sigh-air, they’re Mando’a, right?” You wouldn’t let sleep win you over without a fight, even if it was a fight you wanted to lose.

“Cyar’ika. The closest translation in Basic would be sweetheart, or darling.” Here we go again with Mando’a 101.

“Sweetheart, huh? Pfft... sounds like you like me or something. What’s the other word mean? You’ve never used it before now.” He sighed, long and tired, and you could see the foundling on his lap, still enthralled with the glittering opal on his fathers' metal face.

“I...I don’t know how to translate that one, but it’s more than cyar’ika, stronger, with more depth.” Something about his posture told you he might be lying, he knew exactly how to translate that word, but he wasn’t ready to tell it to you. He might, though, when he was ready.

“Alright, tin man, if you say so.” Your eyes finally let themselves close all the way, but even in the darkness behind your lids your devious hands still found their way to him, giving his hand a good squeeze. “Teach me more someday?”

“For you, ner cyare’se,” Your hand was pulled up from the blankets until the backs of your knuckles rested on the cool beskar of his brow, “I’d bring you the stars down from the sky, if you asked me to.”

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[im-frickin-trying-okay]

Hey there, i have maybe an odd fic request for you, or just headcanon if it doesn't grab you that much.

Y/N is a witch/wiccan and offers too help shoto with his hand crusher curse, but after an intimate little ritual he thinks they/she accidentally cast a love spell on him or maybe the spell backfired. Turns out he just has a crush and is being a big dork about it.

Sorry this took so long! It might not be the most accurate, but hopefully it turned out okay. Also, I sorta mixed it with a coffee shop au but that's more as a tool than a plot point lol

Hand Crusher's Crush

I hope I did this justice :) I feel like I'm a bit better at descriptions than dialogue. Also, I did a bunch of research, but if anything's super inaccurate, please let me know!

A knock on your door caught your attention. You didn't tend to get visitors, as sometimes the world felt too 'peopley' for your taste. It's not like you weren't open to them, you just didn't have a lot of friends. Opening the door, you found yourself face-to-face with a striking young man. His hair fell slightly over his eyes, with red and white split down the middle.

"Um, hello," you said, not sure about this curious stranger. He cleared his throat quietly.

"Hello. I'm Shoto from UA," he said. He seemed quite serious, but it came across as a bit awkward. "Shoto Todoroki," he added. "I heard you have a special kind of healing quirk."

"Well, technically no, but I like to think I do," you reply simply. Your quirk is called Vibes. You can visualize, manipulate, and use certain energies. Once you got control of it, and did a little research on how to collect the intentions and energies, you changed your lifestyle. "Are you hurt or sick?"

"Well, no, it's not that I'm hurt. It's that I... I hurt people," he said, remorse bleeding into his voice. He glanced down at his hands, before looking back up at you. "I don't want to hurt people anymore."

For a split second, you wondered if there was some sort of killer at your doorstep, but instead of turning him away, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. "Hurt people, how?"

"Whenever I'm around, people hurt their hands," he said, completely serious, and a bit regretful. "It's like I'm the hand crusher or something." You blinked at him. Hand crusher? Well, at least he's not a serial killer. "I think I'm cursed, and I heard that maybe you could help with that."

"Ohh, a curse, huh? Well, I suppose I could try," you said, opening the door a bit wider.

He walked in, and was immediately hit with the scent of lemons. Looking around your living room, he noticed some things that he wasn't quite familiar with. He narrowly avoided the small black tourmaline towers on either side of the door, and felt his gaze land on the shadowy shelf on which there were three different jars of water. His eyes were drawn in all different directions by all the different things. Crystals on the shelves, tiny jars by the windows, and enough candles to set the house on fire.

"So," you said, gesturing around. "Uh, welcome, I guess. Come on over here." You gestured over to a small table with a few chairs around it. He sat down across from you, not seeming sure of what to do. "Let's start off easy. Who's hands have you been crushing?"

He sighed at the question. "A couple of my classmates', at least. I'm not sure if I've hurt anyone else." He took a bit to explain the situations, and how as far as he could tell, he was the only thing that tied the events together. It sounded a little bit like a coincidence, but then again, it was probably possible, right? And he would know better than you about what happened.

"Well, okay. I can probably help you," you said, still pondering over the stories he'd just told. "How good are you at cracking eggs?"

After an egg test, you found that he wasn't cursed per say, but there was definitely a lot of negativity surrounding him, and it was definitely weighing on him.

"Well... I'm not sure if it has to do with the crushing-of-hands, but there's some stuff I can help with," you said simply. He nodded, fully trusting.

You walked across the room and grabbed a few things. Selenite, rosemary... You counted off the things you needed in your head, before going back to your seat. You explained your plan to him. Cleanse and banish negative energy, and you'd be giving him a selenite crystal. It wasn't a problem, since you already had a lot.

"Will the crystal help stop me from hurting people?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"It's possible," you said simply. "If someone decided to punch a wall while you were in the room, their hand would be crushed, but it's not your fault."

"But wouldn't I have-?"

"Hey, hey, listen," you said gently, putting your hand over his. You could feel his doubt, but you wanted to reassure him. "It wouldn't be your fault. If it still feels that way, maybe try not to identify as The Hand-Crusher. That might be part of why these things occur so often." He frowned slightly, before nodding. He came to you for help, so it wouldn't be right of him to turn it down. "The crystal will basically just help keep your energy clear."

"My... Energy," he repeated, trying to remember if the first hand-crushing incident happened before or after Kaminari convinced him to try a Monster. "Is it bad?" he asked nervously.

"It's not bad, it's more of the things crowding around and onto it." After attempting to explain it, and getting a confirmation of his understanding, you began.

Rosemary smoke began to fill the room, but because of your quirk, it didn't look like smoke. Instead, a soft white light flowed through the space. Shoto watched in what seemed like awe as the room began to glow. Placing the rosemary bundle in a bowl, you continued on.

You clapped your hands, and golden sparks shimmered around them. Shooting your hands up, the sparks flew, before landing in a circle around you, like a dome of glitter. Shoto couldn't seem to pick where he wanted to look. The room seemed completely different now.

What would've normally been a smoky room and a bunch of stones turned into a beautiful light show, a light filled world with the two of you at its core. Something about the way his eyes sparkled made you feel a vague satisfaction. It made you glad to know that he wasn't bored or anything of that sort. He didn't seem to be a very smiley person, but he was clearly enjoying this.

Once all was said and done, and the lights began to fade, his eyes remained trained on you. "How was that?" You asked. "How're you feeling?"

He blinked out of his reverie. "Actually, much better," he said, seemingly surprised. "Thank you," he added.

"Happy to help," you replied, completely genuine.

"How could I repay you?" He asked, already reaching for whatever was in his pocket. It didn't take a genius to figure out he intended to use money, and really, you were financially comfortable. Your YouTube channel was decent, and considering that working at a coffee shop meant constantly being around coffee and tea, you didn't mind it. Besides, you didn't feel like you did as much as you probably did.

"Oh, no no," you said. "It's okay. You can repay me by trying to tune out negative people in your life," you said matter-of-factly. "It'll probably help delay any bad-vibes buildup." He hummed, nodding, but it wasn't hard to tell that he already had his mind on a specific someone.

"I know who I need to keep away from."

• • •

Over the next few weeks, Shoto was aware of the way that his mood had been lifted. He hadn't realized that he was feeling bad until he started feeling better. He was also vaguely aware that Midoriya hadn't broken his arms recently. It really worked! He felt glad that the curse was gone, as long as whatever else may have been wrong.

Then it began. He would occasionally think of you, think of what happened, and look back with a feeling of gratitude. When he held the selenite and felt his mood and thoughts balance out, he thought back to when you gave it to him. He couldn't help but think that you truly were magic.

After a while though, he noticed something changing. He'd look back on the same events, but instead of gratitude, he felt nothing but longing. He wanted to see the way the room lit up, he wanted to see your face, he wanted to hear your voice, he wanted you to hold his hand again... These new thoughts were more frequent, and you were always on his mind now! You were stuck in his head, and now he found himself missing this perfect stranger, always wishing to be in your presence. At first he couldn't identify these feelings, but then... Oh no.

You must've accidentally hit him with a love spell or something! He'd only seen you once, so that had to be the explanation, right? He'd have to go to you so you could fix it! Or was that the spell talking? Could it just be that he wanted to see you again? Maybe he just wanted to hear your explanations, to see the way you smiled if he said something that sounded like a joke but really wasn't, to see the way that your eyes lit up when you used your quirk, and oh, those eyes- No, bad Shoto, focus.

Things were complicated to say the least. It actually made him happy to think about you, and considering that the crystal didn't do anything to take away the feelings, he wasn't overly worried about the love spell's effects. However, over time, he realized how problematic it could be. Spacing out in the middle of an English lesson just to think of you was probably the most common reoccurrence. It wasn't like he didn't know the topic, but it was confusing to be asked a question and not even know what was being discussed.

He wasn't used to losing focus like this. Occasionally it would happen, but everyone's mind wanders. This felt different. You'd populate his mind, even narrate his thoughts, and he wasn't sure how to prevent it.

He had to put a stop to this. He tucked the selenite into his jacket pocket, and went to go get some tea. Yes, tea. Contrary to popular belief, he could still enjoy the stuff. Right now, he just wanted to pick some up before going to see you. Hopefully it would help get his thoughts in order, and calm him down. He walked into the shop and stared at the ceiling for a good thirty seconds before getting in line. He pondered if he should go talk to you directly about the love spell. Should he imply it? Did he want to fix it? It was hard to tell. He didn't dislike it, but the things that it caused weren't the best. He thought this over until he got to the front of the line.

"Hello, welcome to- Shoto?" came a familiar voice. His gaze snapped up to meet yours, and his heart jumped into his throat. The incessant fluttering in his stomach and chest made it hard to string words into a sentence. "Wow! Didn't expect to see you here," you said, pleasantly surprised.

"Hello," he blurted out, a mix of embarrassment and confusion swirling around in his head. He tried to come up with something more articulate, but was suddenly drawing a sudden blank. "Spell worked," he said, before immediately feeling like that was an understatement.

"Oh, well that's good," you said with a smile. You glanced up at the clock. "I'm off in like, 20 minutes if you wanna talk, but for now, how can I help you?" you asked. He blinked, before firing off the order he only remembered because he'd said several times before.

A bit later, he sat at his own table, a small one in the corner, and thought. He thought about how his mind was clouded with everything about you. He thought about how he finally got to see you after so long. He thought about how he'd only seen you once before. He thought about this love spell, and how he didn't exactly dislike it. He thought about how you might react when he told you. He thought about how it would be better to go into this slowly, and how- "Shoto!"

He popped his head up, before running over to grab his drink. He forced an awkward smile, which kinda looked like a grimace, before heading back to his seat, lost in thought once again. He didn't want to scare you off, of course, but did he even know you well enough to bring up this topic? He could say that he loved you right then and there, but he didn't even know your birthday! He barely noticed the time passing until you sat in the chair across from him.

"Hey," you said, smiling. "So, how've you been?" you asked. His mind went completely blank and he had no memory of what language it was that he spoke. His heart pounded in his ears. I can't do this, not yet- Idiot, that's what you're here for! Well, that and tea. Dammit- Say something! Once he wrangled his thoughts together, he tried his best to respond.

"I-I've been good. Well? Well. Grammar. Um, how about you?" he managed, the tips of his ears already bright red. He was embarrassed by the lack of his usual composure.

"I've been decent," you replied shrugging. "Thinking about you," you added. He choked on his drink, his face turning bright red.

"What?" he asked, trying not to seem flustered. This spell was getting troublesome.

"Y'know, just how you've been doing and stuff. So, you said that the stuff we did worked?" you asked. He nodded. "That's great!"

"Y-yeah," he said, frowning slightly. "Question. Er, is it possible for me to lo- No, is it possible to accidentally cast a love spell?" His heart was pounding.

"What? Not that I'm aware of, no. Why, did something happen?" you asked, slightly confused. Those things have to be intentional, don't they?

"Ah. Can they be a result of a spell backfiring?" Shoto asked, trying to think of what else could've caused it.

"I mean, I guess that would probably depend on the spell, but even then, I don't think so," you said, now a bit concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Me?" he asked incredulously. "Of course I'm alright," he said. If a spell didn't cause this, then what did? He tried to run through the possibilities. Should he tell?

"Hey, look at me," you said. He did as you said, meeting your eyes. "If you think something happened, you can tell me."

"Oh, no," he said, shaking his head. "I'm fine." The warm and fluttery feeling didn't give him time to think before he said his next words. "I just thought it might be a spell, since I'm falling in love as we speak."

About five seconds of complete silence followed. In those five seconds, a lot happened. Shoto could've sworn his heart stopped, but the blood rushing to his face proved otherwise. You seemed to be in a state of shock, not able to respond. Your heart thudded in a he's cute, yeah, but how did this even happen kind of way.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out.

"Are you for real?" you asked at the same time. Your head was spinning. What's happening right now?!

"What? I'm right in front of you," he said. When you laughed, he took a moment to reconsider. "Ah, right. Well, yes, I am, but I didn't mean to say it like that." The nervous buzzing in his head was one of the strongest emotions he'd felt in the past who-knows-how-long. "I thought it might be a spell or side-effect, since I don't know you all that well."

Holy shit, he's completely serious.

The situation would've been concerning if it weren't so funny. You found yourself laughing, and trying desperately not to in order to not hurt his feelings, but oh my gods, he really thought this was a spell?! He seemed bewildered, and that just made it funnier.

"I'm- I'm sorry," you said, gasping for air, "You thought I cast a love spell?"

"Unintentionally," he added, as if that made it better. "I don't think you would have done that without telling me first." His face was still red, but he seemed calmer.

"Well- You're- you're right about that part," you managed through the laughter. "I can confirm for you that I didn't cast a love spell," you said, just barely able to sound calm.

"I see," he said, not meeting your eyes. The second-hand embarrassment was a lot. He stayed quiet, not sure what to say.

"Shoto?" you called, once you managed to calm down.

"Hm?" came his wordless reply, his mind clearly somewhere else.

"That was adorable," you said, simply stating your thoughts out loud. He's so painfully genuine all the time that it's hard to not to think so.

"Wh-what?" he said, as light embers flew from his red hair. Or rather, the red part of his hair.

"I mean, it was!" you said, before suddenly backtracking. "Not in a weird way, it just is, y'know?"

After stumbling through awkward conversation for three minutes or so, Shoto asked a question. The question almost killed you.

"If I'm not under a love spell, then what is this?" he asked. You choked, really not understanding how you'd have to explain this.

"You... Is it possible that the, er, feelings developed naturally?" You asked, trying to phrase it as professionally as possible.

"Don't you have to know someone for a long time for that?" he asked in response.

"N-not necessarily," you said, trying to decipher if he was still being serious. "One interaction can be enough, and as of now, we've had two," you added. He seemed thoughtful for a moment.

"Alright, then I suppose that makes sense," he said, nodding. After a beat of silence, you laughed.

"Well. Uh. If your concern was too few interactions, we could always just talk more, if you want," you offered, head still swirling with the awkwardness of all this.

"I'd like that," he replied, the blush never leaving.

• • •

It had been five months now, and Shoto could now say for absolute sure that there was no love spell involved. The two of you were much closer, and he liked getting to call himself your boyfriend. He enjoyed getting to know you, and was surprised at how much better he knew himself. He was still a dork, and still a bit fast to jump to conclusions, but that's just who he is. However, you did help him change, and it was in the best way possible. You showed him how to change his definition of love into something healthy, and he couldn't be more grateful.

From the day you met, you lit up his life in more ways than one.

Could anyone blame him for loving you?

[dawn-of-tomorrow]

PGR COMMANDANT Q & A

FINALLY TOOK THE TIME TO ANSWER THIS-- ssdsjdlksd

link to OG post here! (made by @punishing-gray-raven-ocs)

1) How do you feel about being a Commandant? Are you proud of your job? Terrified of failing at your job?

Higetsu: Honestly speaking, it's nothing new compared to what I went through in the past-- just that now I've become an authority figure that has to lead people. ...Truthfully, however, a little unnerving, but it has to be done, and I knew what I was getting into when I decided to become one.

Yoko: Mhhmm... it's tough, I'm not gonna lie. Sometimes I have to make decisions I personally don't like but the situation demands it, and it ends up not sitting right with me. ...That's why an occasional loophole exploitation here and there is fine in spare amounts, ain't it~?

(Higetsu: Who the hell taught you to think like that-- you know what, never mind, I'd be shooting myself in the foot if I finished that sentence. // Yoko: *giggles, does a victory pose*)

2) Why did you become Commandant in the first place? How did you become a Commandant?

Yoko: Brother and I decided to become a Commandant to honor mom's memory. It sounds kinda childish to have that as a reason to take up a career as dangerous as this, but, at least to me (though I'm sure brother shares the same sentiment as I do), mom was everything to us, so we wanted to experience what she did, see the sights she did-- all the good and bad.

Higetsu: "That person", huh... Speaking of which, the relatively-fresh flowers at that grave--... No, it's nothing. In any case, "that person" took us in as her children after finding us in the remnants of our old home, bringing us back to Babylonia, to her home and husband. Well, things went as you can see, no?

3) How do your Constructs feel about your leadership skills? Are they comfortable with you? Do they fear you?

Higetsu: There's no issues at the moment with either Strike Hawk or Gray Raven. After all, if there was any problem, either Chrome or Lucia would've told me. ...Leading isn't my strongest skill, though, and sometimes they worry me. Actually, scratch that, not sometimes, FREQUENTLY. Haaaahh.

Yoko: Hrmm~... honestly, I'm not entirely too confident with my leadership skills, and the others often say that I'm a bit too lenient when it comes to dealing with Gray Raven, but... they're still people, you know? I don't want them to get hurt too much, but they don't seem to value their own lives as much as I'd wish they do...

4) Do you think the war against the Corrupted will ever come to an end?

Yoko: It will certainly come, I know it. As long as everyone continues to fight for a future, a future where we can all live in peace, then I believe that this war will come to an end. Be it in our lifetime, or the next generation.

Higetsu: ... Honestly speaking, I'm not as optimistic as Yoko. This war has been going on for a century at this point, and we are still barely scratching the surface of our objectives; that and it would seem like a bunch of rats managed to infiltrate the higher-ups. ...In any case, while I do think that the odds are stacked against us, it doesn't mean I don't believe that, one day, this entire hell will come to an end.

5) Are you in love with anyone? What drew you to them?

Higetsu: ....No comment.

Yoko: Brother~~!! It's no fun if you don't answer a harmless question like this~~!! Or do you want me to talk about your ex-penpal--

Higetsu: I evoke my right to remain silent, and DON'T YOU DARE- LIKE I KEEP SAYING, WE WERE ONLY FRIENDS-- Don't make me not let you come to the Oasis with me next time.

Yoko: Hrrmph...! Fiiine~. In any case, I'll answer here right now. I--

Higetsu: It's Lee. We all know it, you're way too obvious in your affections for him.

Yoko: Ehehe... E-Ehem--! I-In any case~~ the things I like about Lee, gosh, there's so many I might not be able to tell everything (and it would take too long)--!

Higetsu: Then just list off the top 3 things you like about him (to shorten the exposition).

Yoko: Hmmm, top 3 things about Lee, huh.... well, for starters, I like his caring nature; it's not that obvious at first glance, but he really does care about the people around him, so much so that while he may gripe and verbally snark at others, in the end he chooses to do good by them and will protect them. Secondly, I like his focus and determination; he's a man of his word, and he doesn't make promises lightly, seeing them as something that must be upheld in sincerity-- ehe, his face whenever he's working on his tools and machinery is something I can't ever not look at. Thirdly, I like him; he's equally easily flustered and annoyed by a lot of things, but at the same time, he's also very serious and earnest in what he sets out to do; he's not honest with himself, but his actions speak for itself. ....That got long, didn't it?

Higetsu: Very much so.

Yoko: Ehe~.

6) If you had to choose between saving your squad, or saving yourself to make sure you would fight on in their honor, which would you choose?

Yoko: Both. I would save myself and my squad. I won't accept any other option; rather, if there's no other option, then I WILL force that third option in!

Higetsu: Logically speaking, both of my squads would tell me to survive and live another day, and I would agree with that. ...However, such a thing doesn't sit well with me. Even if there's only the tiniest sliver of a possibility that I could save them, no matter how reckless or dangerous it may be, then I'd save the Strike Hawks and Gray Ravens.

7) You have to make a difficult choice that will affect your squad and another squad. Which squad do you prioritize? Why?

Higetsu: We can't always save people from out of our reach, so it's best to protect the ones closest to you.

Yoko: But if there's a chance that we could help them, then--

Higetsu: ...I know. ...In the end, it's your choice to do what you think is right, Yoko.

Yoko: ...Yeah. I get it. Brother wants to protect me, Gray Raven, and Strike Hawk, even at the cost of other's lives.... that's why I wish to save the others too.

8) Who is your least favorite Construct/person to be around? Why?

Higetsu: Nanami.

Yoko: EEEHHH!??! Why?! Nanami's fun to be around!!

Higetsu: Shall I list off the reasons?

Yoko: ....Ok you have a point, but she's not at all that bad--!!

Higetsu: True, but the amount of headaches she causes us is just... haaaah.

Yoko: Ah, you're starting to sound like Watanabe. Is Brother becoming an uncle now? (laughs)

Higetsu: ...I'm leaving.

Yoko: Wait I was just kidding-- brother-- BROTHER--!!! (We're not even finished with answering the questions yet~!!)

Higetsu: Just kidding.

Yoko: Really--!! (pout)

Higetsu: (amused chuckle) What about you, Yoko?

Yoko: Eh? Me? Hmm.... I suppose... it would have to be Gabriel. It's a first that I'm saying this but, I really do hate him.

Higetsu: ... Don't worry, I can say the same thing.

9) What other Commandants would you like to meet? (a clear invitation for you to involve any of my Commandants lol, because I'm always up for interacting with others)

Yoko: I'm always happy to meet other Commandants~. It's always nice to meet your colleagues whenever, especially during off-work hours.

Higetsu: Except Vanessa though. I'd rather not deal with her again.

Yoko: Ehehe... Brother, you're making a scary face right now~. In any case, I've always wanted to meet Qiu, Ash, Xiao, Kyrie, and Noir!

Higetsu: Aaaah, them. They're interesting people, not gonna lie.

10) What will you do once the war is over? Will you miss leading your squad, or will you be happy that the war is over?

Higetsu: What will I do after the war is over? ...I haven't actually put any thought into what I would do after this is all over. What about you, Yoko?

Yoko: Hmmm... honestly, I wanna join the Association of Arts, specifically the Archaeological team! Because, you know, by then, there would be no more worry of the Punishing attacking, and we could finally be able to recover in peace the remnants of the Golden Age. I want to see it all-- what other stuff left have we not unearthed from the sands of time, what potential wonders are there left from the past. ...And of course, I wanna settle down with Lee someday too, ehe.

Higetsu: I see. You've really thought about this through, huh.

Yoko: Only a little, and just fairly recently. ...Not gonna lie, I'm gonna end up missing these days; where we're all together, even through pain and suffering, because there are still a lot of good moments to cherish.

Higetsu: But it doesn't mean that you have to cut off your connections, now does it. So long as you still value them wholeheartedly and sincerely, those bonds you hold close to you will never die out.

Yoko: Aaawww, brother, you're being finally honest~! (pokes)

Higetsu: ....Shut it. (pout)

Yoko: What about you, brother? What're you gonna do after the war ends?

Higetsu: Like I said, I don't know, since I haven't thought of it yet. ...But, I suppose quietly settling down somewhere would be nice.

Yoko: Oh, right, speaking of which-- didn't Watanabe extend an offer for us to join the Oasis? ...Don't tell me, brother is thinking--

Higetsu: No, I am not.

Yoko: But you ARE thinking about it, yes?

Higetsu: ....

Yoko: Hehe~. To be fair, the Oasis isn't so bad. The people there are really nice and warm. They really do seem to be people just trying to live and get by, helping and supporting each other.

[kitkat1003]

Who Are You Really?

Just who is Yin Spirit?

Anyway finally made a Spirit fic 

Cover Here

Ao3 link

Chapter 1: Escape

Spirit has been scared for a long, long time.

Not for forever, because there used to be good times.  Good times were the days spent scampering through the forest and eating anything they could off of bushes and trees, finding out what was good and not while hiding from the predators that could never catch them.  Good times were days following Mom around the Inn, helping mix up medicines and salves and watching as she fixed wounds and illnesses as if they were mere inconveniences rather than life threatening.  Good times were scritches behind their ears, nights curled up on a branch or in a soft bed next to someone who cared, where there was nothing to cause nightmares yet.

But the good times are behind them.

They have been for a long, long time.

But Spirit won’t let that get them down!  They’ve been around for...well, they lost count of the years a while back, because Mom was the one who kept count and they didn’t feel like asking.  They wonder if they’re timeless, if they just keep going because no one has told them to stop.

They’ve told themself to stop plenty of times, but it never sticks.

But they have a day job!  Sure, it doesn’t pay anything, but going around and helping spirits move on is something they think their Mom would be proud of.  One of their eyes, the one their mom helped fix, can spot spirits without any trouble and that makes the job easier.  

It’s the one on the left side of their face.  The lonely one.

They’re good with their blades and they can fight off the occasional mean spirit if they happen to pop in.  They’ve been busier, too, since they can’t rely on mortals to fend for themselves in smaller cases anymore.

Mortals wouldn’t know what to do, because the types of mortals who knew how to fend off spirits, who knew the sigils and magic necessary for self-protection, those died off long ago.  Peacetime breeds lack of preparation; those traditions and that vigilance was lost to time.  A lack of consistent danger leads to laziness.

Spirit isn’t lazy.  There’s always danger.

The job is a bit lonely, though.  Spirit doesn’t interact with humans without a disguise, because monkey demons seem to cause more of a stir than others.  Spirit thinks Monkey King is the reason behind it, but then again, Monkey King has been missing for a while.  And everyone blames Monkey King for everything.  Demons and Gods alike hate him.  Spirit’s pretty sure the name Sun Wukong is banned from being said in the heavenly palace, even.

They duck behind a building and through a secret passageway a few miles out from the nearest city.

They do have a second job, after all.

Bull clones greet them, red eyes glancing over them before moving out of the way so Spirit can enter.  They pass through the very, very lavish halls of the building, down towards the basement.  

Or, well, down towards the workshop.

They can tell Red Son is up in a tizzy, because things get hotter and hotter the deeper they go in.  That usually means that Red Son is upset.  He’s been upset more often lately.

Spirit tries not to think about how it’s probably because Princess Iron Fan has become someone who no longer reminds them of their Mom; rather, she’s more like their other parent.

“Hi Red!” they greet, and Red Son really is in a mood, because he scowls at the nickname.

He’s hunched over his desk, hair wild.  It flickers, whipping around like actual flames rather than the controlled shapes Red Son prides himself in styling, and Red Son’s hands burn the metal tools he holds.  When he flips up his welding mask, there are bags under his eyes, his pupils burning with exhaustion.

Spirit winces at the sight.

“I am Red Son!  Address me as such!” he shouts.

Spirit flinches back a little.  Sometimes Red Son’s shouting is easy to handle and other times they want to curl into a ball until the storm passes.  This is more of the latter.

“Sorry,” Spirit mutters, and they mean it.  “I keep forgetting.  You used to be Red Boy, you know?  I get them mixed up, so saying Red makes sure I’m right no matter what!”

Red Son glances over at them and softens.  It’s a secret, but Red Son has always been a little soft.  Soft isn’t what a Princess Iron Fan needs, though, so Red Son has put his heart on the shelf, so to speak.  

It’s admirable.  Spirit knows that as a kid, you have to do a lot to keep your parents happy, or else you won’t be good enough anymore and you’ll have to go.  They hadn’t told Red Son that when they’d met, but they’re glad Red Son learned before anything too drastic happened.  Princess Iron Fan hadn’t seemed like that type of parent when Spirit had first met her, but ever since Demon Bull King was sealed away…

Spirit sees less of Princess Iron Fan every time they visit.  It’s likely for the best.

“You may call me Red in private.  Not in public.  Or around mother,” Red Son acquiesces.

Spirit smiles, warm.

“Thanks Red.” They reach into their pocket, pulling out a mechanical piece.  “And here!  That part you wanted!”

Red Son snatches it from their hands, and they jerk back at the violent motion, a shot of fear jolting up their spine.

“About time!” he snarls, but there’s no heat to it.  Spirit knows Red Son enough to know when the anger is more performative, though they’re still a little wary regardless.

“It took a bit to find, you know.  I was as fast with it as I could be, you know that,” Spirit assures.  They take their favors very seriously, after all.  If they fulfilled it in a less than perfect fashion, it might not count, and if it didn’t count then that would mean that they could get hurt.

“Yes,” Red Son mutters.  “Adequate work.”

“That brings you up to…” Spirit pulls out their nifty favor book, flipping through the pages until they spot Red Son’s name.  “Ten favors!” They tally it down.

Ten favors means Spirit can mess up ten times and not get hurt.  Ten favors means ten degrees of safety, ten layers of protection.  It’s another blanket of relief.

Red Son doesn’t deign that with a reply, setting the part onto the workbench and turning it around.  He measures it out.

“This is more than enough material,” he mutters, glancing over at Spirit questioningly.

Spirit rubs the back of their neck, sheepish.

“Yeah, I know you said a specific size, but finding flame resistant, rust resistance, magically reinforced metal in a specific size isn’t easy!  But, I got this lazer thing,” Spirit reaches into their pocket and pulls it out.  “It’s tuned to the specific enchantment so you can use it to cut the metal!  And you can keep the extra material!”  They hand it over to Red Son.

Red Son rolls the device around in his hand, before glancing up at Spirit, seemingly unimpressed.

“I thought it was nifty…” Spirit mutters.  They would have thought Red Son would like to have extra material.  He’s always got another invention on the backburner, so more stuff is better, right?  And they brought him a new laser cutter thing!  What’s wrong with that?

Then again, Red Son has been a bit more particular about perfection as of late, so that could be the issue.

Spirit chews on the inside of their cheek and tries to not take it personally.  Why bother, when fighting back will lead to nothing but regret and pain?  They’re not strong, and they know that.  If they were strong, they’d still have four eyes and a mom.  So it’s easier to let it slide off their back than make a fuss.

Even if it does hurt a little.  But that’s fine.

“I suppose it’ll do.” Red Son slides down his welding mask and starts cutting the metal down to size.

Spirit watches, rocking back and forth on their feet, because watching Red Son work is always fun.  They used to watch their mom work, whenever there was a patient, and she’d always ask them to grab this herb or that gauze.  From start to end, Spirit would see their mom fix up any health issue with practiced, simple movements.  Always graceful and soft.

In contrast Red Son is very animated, when he’s in the zone, with sharp, harsh motions and dangerous flames that have them stepping back a few times.  Still, Spirit has been getting a lot of parts for whatever it is Red Son is making, so it almost feels the same.  It’s a wonderful feeling, to be able to help in the creation of something, whether it be a healed patient or...

“What’s all this stuff for?” they ask, because now that they think about it, they were never told.

Red Son freezes, and Spirit takes that reaction as reason for why they weren’t told.  They take another step back, out of the immediate blast zone (last time they checked, Red Son’s explosive temper had a thirty foot radius, with the most dangerous flames being within ten feet of the explosion) and tries not to make a mistake that could cost them.  They have their favors, but those only got so far, and they only have ten!  They can’t lose them.

“If-if it’s okay to ask,” Spirit fumbles, fidgeting.  Their tail curls around their leg, an anxious habit.  “I was just curious on how you’re gonna use all this stuff I’ve been bringing.”

Red Son doesn’t turn, but his posture does loosen ever so slightly. “...Mother wouldn’t want me to tell you,” he does seem a bit apologetic at the refusal.

Spirit gets it.  Princess Iron Fan knows them.  Spirit doesn’t betray, but they’ll do anything for a favor.  And if someone wants information they already have, why wouldn’t they give it away?

“Can I know what you’re making?  You don’t have to tell me how you’re using it, I’m just curious.” They kind of like eavesdropping.  Sometimes, when they finish a job around mortals, they’ll lurk around to pick up the town gossip.  Mortals have a lot to talk about, since they don’t have mortal peril to contend with.

“It’s for a gauntlet,” Red Son admits.  “A glove so powerful that the wearing could lift anything with it!”  

His hair flickers wildly in excitement, voice rising in pitch and volume as he continues.

Spirit “oooo”’s in appreciation, clapping their hands.

“Sounds exciting!” They have a few guesses of what said gauntlet could be used for, but no one tells them to think for a favor, so they keep those thoughts to themself.  “Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair.  That stuff burns!”

Red Son does not laugh at their joke.  To be fair, they’ve said it about a hundred times in the past thousand years.  Red Son does smile, for a moment, before turning back to his work.

“See you, Red!” They get a wave as they leave, which means they’ve improved Red’s mood a little.

If Red Son is in a good mood, he’ll actually say goodbye, but a wave is far better than when he just ignores their departure.  

They head up the stairs and then down the hall toward the way they came in, and nearly run into Princess Iron Fan in their haste to leave.  Their vision is a little lopsided, one side of their face having one eye and the other having two, so they can miss things if they aren’t paying attention.  It helps if they close one eye to even things out.

“S-Sorry ma’am!” They quickly bow, standing up straight a moment later.  

They usually try to hunch over when they’re around others, since their height can be seen as an intimidation tactic or even a sign of disrespect, for those with big egos, but Princess Iron Fan could never be intimidated by them and to insinuate such would be the real insult.  After all, Princess Iron Fan is the wife to the Demon Bull King.  Clearly, size means little to her.

“Spirit,” Princess Iron Fan’s voice is colder than it has ever been, and Spirit shivers.  “I see you have delivered your latest favor.”

“Yes ma’am.” Spirit nods with a small, what they hope is respectful, smile.  “Do you have any other favors you need me to do?”

The Demon Bull Family has been Spirit’s greatest...well, ally is a bit strong, but Spirit likes them a lot, out of those that typically call for favors.  While Princess Iron Fan has gotten less maternal over the years, she’s never outright mean to Spirit, and they take what they can get.

“No, we’re fine,” Princess Iron Fan waves a hand, before her gaze turns sharp.

Spirit feels their breath catch in their throat and they clasp their hands tight behind their back.  Their tail goes ramrod straight, the tip brushing the floor.

“I’ll ask you once more,” she starts.  “Align yourself with the Demon Bull Clan.  You will have our protection and will be at our disposal.”

Spirit bites back a sigh, because Princess Iron Fan has asked them a few times to join, and they do appreciate the offer, really, but it just is...too much.  Maybe they would have considered the offer more when Princess Iron Fan was nicer, but Spirit has seen the expectations she’s put on Red Son and they don’t have it in them to disappoint another parent.

They don’t know what she’d do, if Spirit failed her, but they know it would hurt.

“Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t align myself with clans.  I’m a free Spirit, so to speak,” they bite back a giggle at the pun.

Princess Iron Fan’s eyes flicker yellow and Spirit wonders if they’re going to have to run, but then she sighs.

“Very well then.  Stay out of town for the next few months.  For...your own safety.  If things go according to plan, then…” Spirit nearly jumps back at the feral smile that graces Princess Iron Fan’s face.  “Things are going to get messy around here.”

Spirit takes a shaky breath, and nods.

“Yes ma’am.  Farewell.” They bow, and then run off.

Jeez.  This is exactly why they keep away from all this stuff.  The Demon Bull Family is scary, and Spirit just wants to dole out favors in peace.

They don’t have any favors in mind on the backburner, and no one has called for them, so they head to the nearest town outside of the one Princess Iron Fan has told them to leave, and decide to clean up the local spirit activity there.

The next few months are relatively uneventful, if only because there’s no new favors for them to spend their time on.  Sometimes there are dry spells.  They once went two years without a favor, and boy, was that a boring couple of years!

It gets really lonely, some days.  They’ll play as a human for a while, intermingling with the mortals who have no clue what spirits haunt them.  

Spirits don’t have to be people, they just have to be things that were alive.  A dead relationship is just as haunting as a person.  Dead hopes, dead wishes, dead family ties, dead lives you’ve left behind—all weights that cling to auras.  

Spirit knows they have plenty themselves.  They’ve lost a lot. It sticks around.

Being around humans is hard nowadays, though.  They used to hang out around humans a lot.  Helping their Mom out in the Inn with patients acclimated them to seeing humans of all shapes and sizes, but then they had to run.  And they never stopped.

Staying around humans brings an itchy feeling that feels too much like grief.  They don’t like remembering how things used to be, because that only ever hurts.  So, when they get too entrenched in the past, they pull away, hide in the forests around the towns.

But they don’t fit in with the wild either.  Far too used to civilization, they can never find a place to stay.  So they wander.

No one can not notice the carnage that happens.  Spirit recognizes Demon Bull King’s aura from miles away, and as the surrounding areas evacuate, Spirit heads towards the danger to investigate.

Normally they’d run away, but whenever they were around Demon Bull King, he seemed nice.  Fluffy and kind and ever worried and furious about his son’s imprisonment, demanding Spirit send word to Red and come back with an update on the boy’s condition.  

Usually, Spirit wouldn’t try to go toe to toe with the Guanyin, but Princess Iron Fan was inconsolable and Demon Bull King had nearly begged.

So they snuck in to give Red Son, then Red Boy, a letter, and Red Son had them send one back.  It was an arrangement made simple, Spirit the messenger.  They wonder if the Guanyin knew the whole time and was just letting them sneak around, but regardless, they gained a rapport with the family.

And then Demon Bull King was sealed away, and Princess Iron Fan was despondent.  Nothing Spirit said could get her to stop crying, and when they’d relayed the news to Red Son he’d begged on his knees for them to sneak him out, so he could help his mother grieve and move on.

That favor was a hard one to decide on.  Again, risking the ire of the Guanyin was not something Spirit was interested in.  They knew what the Guanyin could do—she managed to reign in Sun Wukong and she could keep Red Son imprisoned.  What would she be able to do to them, a monkey with less than a quarter of the power she’d dealt with before?

But Red Son pleaded, and Spirit caved.

Their history with the family makes it hard to be worried about their safety around Demon Bull King returns, but that doesn’t stop Spirit from worrying about Demon Bull King himself.  Being imprisoned for so long is likely unpleasant, and who knows what happened to him underneath the mountain? How has it changed him? It’s not like something like that doesn’t hurt.

They could do without the violence, but Spirit doesn’t try to judge other people’s decisions.  If they were locked up for a while, unable to see their family, they might be upset too.

But Spirit doesn’t really get angry, on the regular.  Anger doesn’t do anyone good.  People getting angry at them has only been bad for Spirit, so the idea of them letting that same anger fester in them so that they hurt someone is ludicrous.  And what would their anger accomplish, anyway?

There’s enough pain in the world.  Spirit doesn’t feel like adding to it.

They sneak around the levelled town, watching Demon Bull King raze the ground, wondering if there are any mortals hurt.  Spirit catches a glimpse of a few spirits wisping around in the rubble, a moment later.  They’re of all ages, some even children, and the sight makes them wince.  None of this is right, mortals shouldn’t be getting hurt like this.  

What did they even do, to deserve the ire of the Demon Bull King?  Anything?  Or is this all meaningless rage, directed at someone weaker, someone who can’t fight back?

A hand, reaching down towards them, grasping them by the neck and pulling them up, up, up.  They kick their legs but their feet touch nothing, and the spoon comes in closer, and it digs, down, down, down—

Spirit takes a breath.  There’s no point in letting the past cling.

They would say something, maybe say hello and distract Demon Bull king from adding the to death toll, but that would just get them killed.  And Spirit has never been the one to step in and save someone. They’ve never been a hero, not when it counts.

Demon Bull King looks neither fluffy nor kind.  It seems that, just like with Princess Iron Fan, time has hardened whatever fluffiness he had.  It was as if the mountain had pressure cooked the lid on his temper, letting the anger boil over into the carnage below. And while the rage may have been….justifiable, almost, it still makes Spirit turn tail and run to the memory of stomping feet and angered roars that never were stopped by their mom’s pleads.

They duck away just as a newcomer arrives, weilding a very identifiable staff.  Spirit doesn’t catch who the newcomer is, exactly, but it has to be Monkey King, right?  Who else could wield the staff?

They scamper off to the sounds of a battle they don’t want to be in the middle of, passing by Red Son on the ground.  The sight makes them slow their escape, stopping to kneel besides him for a brief moment. He groans, hardly conscious, and they place a bottle of healing balm in one of his jacket pockets for later, before they finally make it out of the battle range.

They don’t see how the fight ends, but they know Demon Bull King certainly didn’t win.

Town reconstruction is pretty quick.  They haven’t caught up on all the different technological advancements mortals have managed in a thousand years, but last they checked this sort of damage would have taken years to fix, not just a month.

Mortals are pretty crafty in this day and age.  Spirit doesn’t exactly interact with all the new technology because it all seems to change so fast.  They interact with humans every once in a while, maybe a week at a time every few months, but they watch from the sidelines more often than not.  They’ve been called a wallflower before and it seems fitting.  They like watching the world pass by, and every time they think about joining the parade, the procession is moving too fast for them to feel safe jumping in.

It’s after a few days of scaling the rooftops of the newly rebuilt town, finding the lost spirits, and helping them fade into the underworld, that they get a summons.  Being the wanderer they are, most clans who know of them give them a token of sorts, one that they can use to notify Spirit when said clan is in need of their assistance.  They keep them on hand, hidden in their pocket.  

Sometimes they’ll jump around to hear the different tokens clack against each other.  It’s a fun sound.

They pull out their keychain of many, many tokens, and find the glowing one.

Ah.  The Demon Bull Family.  

Spirit considers ignoring it, but that would likely not end well, considering Demon Bull King’s newly-demonstrated-and-somehow-worse-than-before temper.  So, they sigh, and press the glowing red eyes of the bull token, letting the pull of the call teleport them to where they need to be.

They appear beneath the looming figure of the Demon Bull King, and they quickly bow, before looking up with an anxious smile.

“Hello, sir,” they greet with a tiny wave.  “It’s nice to see you again!  I was pretty sad when I heard you were sealed away, so it’s nice that you’re out.”

They bite their lip, hard, to stop themselves from saying anything else.

Princess Iron Fan is sitting on Demon Bull King’s shoulder, and Red Son is at Demon Bull King’s feet, looking...uncomfortable.  Spirit glances at him and smiles.  Red Son remains stoic, silent, and upset.

It makes them wonder, because they remember Demon Bull King being able to tell if Red Son was in a bad mood just by how he wrote in his letters, always sure to tell Spirit to bring an extra something or other if the latest letter had revealed Red Son’s dour mood.  How Demon Bull King can look at Red Son now and ignore the clear signs of sadness that are written in the red lines beneath Red Son’s eyes, the rage that comes from hurt that paints the tight set of Red Son’s shoulders, the frustration that reads in Red Son’s clenched fists, Spirit doesn’t understand. He sees it, right?

Maybe that’s just the eventuality of parents.  The good ones die, or they stop pretending.

Spirit was hoping that Red Son would look happier after his father returned, instead of scared.  They’d hoped things in the family would have gotten better, with Princess Iron Fan being happier and maybe kinder with her husband back at her side.  But, well….being under a mountain and spat back out into the world thousands of years after is probably quite the culture shock. 

Spirit worries.  Red Son only has two eyes.  Losing one won’t be as easy as it was for them, starting with four. If it comes to that, of course.

“Spirit,” Demon Bull King’s voice rumbles, far darker than it used to be. 

It always had a baritone timber, but now everything is said with an undercurrent of a growl, as if he’s angry before anyone has even done anything.

It reminds Spirit of their father way too much.  But that’s...fine.

“We have another favor to ask of you,” Princess Iron Fan continues for her husband.  “We want you to steal Monkey King’s staff.”

Spirit opens their mouth to say yes, of course, as they always do, but then the words sink in, and everything comes to a screeching halt.

“What?” Is what comes out of their mouth, incredulous and terrified.  “No-I can’t-how could I even lift it?  Isn’t it a million pounds?  I thought only Monkey King could wield it!” Their tail wraps so tightly around their leg that it hurts, as they tremble in place and refuse to look Princess Iron Fan nor Demon Bull King in the eye.

Red Son’s face shifts from neutral displeasure to panic, at Spirit’s refusal, before he steps forward.

“The gauntlet you brought materials for will fit you fine,” He holds it out, even as Spirit recoils.  “It gives the wearer the ability to lift Monkey King’s staff.”

Spirit scrambles to argue back, again, because they can’t do this, is everyone here crazy?  Sun Wukong isn’t someone they can sneak around, or talk around, or use a favor around.  He’s a being that has gone up against the Gods, fought them head on, and won.  The only person who could beat him was the Buddha himself, and the Buddha could only seal him away.  Spirit isn’t strong, they’re just crafty and careful, and neither of those things matter when going against the Monkey King.  Even if they managed to grab the staff, Monkey King would catch them before they took two steps away from him.

They’re so dead.  Their hands clutch at their face as they try to control their panicked breathing.  They blink a few times to focus and swing their arms out towards the Demon Bull family as everything bursts out of them.

“I-I can’t fight the Monkey King, though!  He beat you, the Demon Bull King!  I couldn’t even-how could I—” They’re rambling, half terrified they’re going to be killed for saying anything in dissent to the request, but far more paralyzed by the idea of fighting the Monkey King of all people.

Monkey King has not met them and owes them nothing, which is worse than if he hated them and owed them something.  They don’t know what he’d do to them, if they met, but they know that they like being alive.

And fighting Sun Wukong is a good way of making yourself not alive.

“The Monkey King has chosen a successor.  A mortal boy,” Princess Iron Fan explains.  “He’ll be far less skilled, and far easier to overpower.”

Spirit bites back the argument that if that were the case, Demon Bull King would have won when he returned.  Clearly, they’re being used as a pawn, and they don’t mind that usually, because it doesn’t always lead to them being put in the line of fire.  And hey, pawns are pretty useful, right?  They like being useful.  But—

“How old is he?” They have to ask.  It’s important.

“A mortal,” Princess Iron Fan says.  “He could be no older than Red Son, in mortal years.”

Red Son is younger than they are.  Red Son is a kid.

“No.” Their voice is sharp.

Red Son takes a step back, unused to the tone.  Even Princess Iron Fan goes still.  

Spirit doesn’t have a lot of lines in the sand.  They’ll do just about anything for just about anyone.  Just about, though, and they refuse to falter on this.

Ten years old and curled on the ground, clutching their face as their father roared, feeling the emptiness in their skull because he took it, he took it and it hurts—

“I don’t fight kids,” they say.  “I don’t.  The successor has to be a kid, right?  Smaller than Red Son, and Red Son isn’t all adult, right?”

“I am an adult!” Red Son shrieks in outrage, but Spirit has tripped too far into terror to stop talking.

“I’ve been told the mortal brain doesn’t develop until one is twenty five, and Red Son isn’t at that age, right?  Not with the way demons like us age, anyway.  So, I can’t!  I have a rule,” they shrug a little helplessly.

Oh god what are you doing you’re going to get killed shut up stop talking stop stop stop—

“And besides, you think I can beat someone who can go toe to toe with the Demon Bull Family?” they laugh, a little hysterical and shaky.  

Spirit glances up and regret it, because Demon Bull King’s face is dark with rage.  Red Son keeps staring at them like they’re already dead, and Princess Iron Fan’s eyes glow.  They feel very, very small here, shoulders hunched up as they manage something that could be described as a smile if you didn’t know what a smile was.

Useless, Useless.  If you keep messing up, maybe you’ll finally have a normal number of eyes, and wouldn’t that be funny?

“H-hey-I’m not a miracle worker!  But I can give you some information, anyway.  There are a lot of powerful artifacts you could use, I know where they are!” Spirit offers, voice shaking.

They fidget, staring up and waiting for the other shoe to drop.  On them, or in their favor, either way.  They can run anytime.  They wouldn’t get far, they know, but they have to try in that situation, don’t they?

Demon Bull King’s eyes glow, a snarl on his face that curls up his lip to reveal sharp teeth the size of Spirit’s arm.  Spirit trembles, and watches as Princess Iron Fan considers them, eyes glowing as well, before she pats a hand against Demon Bull King’s head and whispers something into his ear.

Spirit expects an axe a moment later, but instead—

“An acceptable proposal,” Princess Iron Fan says, finally.

Spirit manages to stay upright, so relieved they might just pass out.  They won’t be dying today, probably.  That’s good!  Cool.  Nice.  

They’re mad at you.  Can’t you feel it?  You have to run, before they can catch you.  Remember what happened last time?  You can’t expect this to turn out well.  Keep on guard.

They tug on their sleeves, shuffling their feet.  Cool.  

“So, to start, I would suggest the Jade Dragon blade,” they start, without prompting.  “It’s in the manor outside of town.  It’s an ancient blade passed down from the Dragon of the West Sea!  Very powerful.”

They continue to prattle on about any and all artifacts they can think of that would be useful, from the blade all the way up to the weird blue power source locked up in a tomb that no one touches for some reason.

Spirit had gone to check it out, once, but looking at it made their eye, the lonely one without its pair, hurt.  So they left it alone.

They talk for about an hour before they’re relieved, and they nearly trip over themselves in their haste to get out of there.  They run in one direction until their legs burn, and curl into a ball on the ground, trying to breathe.

They said no.  To Demon Bull King.  They can’t just do that, they don’t have that type of power!  That whole fiasco had to have shaved a favor or two of protection off of their tally.  They’ll have to edit that in their book, when their hands stop shaking enough to be able to write.

It’s fine.  It’s fine!  They handled it, like they always do.

They’re going to come after you and take your eyes.  They don’t even need a spoon.  Demon Bull King’s claw will work just fine, it’s large enough.  Or maybe they’ll use one of Red Son’s inventions, to make it more painful.

Spirit fights the urge to scream and buries their face in their knees.  Deep breaths.  

It takes them a few hours to calm down and they meticulously erase two tallies from Demon Bull King’s count.  There’s still five left, they still have room for error, it’s fine.  Sure, the sight makes their stomach churn and they hate to erase, but they have to.  It’s better to know where you stand than to pretend, no matter how scary the truth is.

Satisfied, they tuck the book away and lay back, staring up at the stars.

They should really check out the town, though.  The idea that Sun Wukong of all people has a successor is near ludicrous, but Princess Iron Fan probably wouldn’t lie to them.  Either way, checking it out is imperative, especially since such a newcomer means a possible new client!

If Monkey King has a successor, maybe Spirit can be of assistance, can offer a favor.  Just like with how a favor for Red puts them in the good graces with his parents, the same may be able to be said for Monkey King and his successor.  And if that’s the case, then they’ll stop at nothing to make it so.

Maybe, if they plan this right, Spirit can finally be safe from everyone.

They have to try, right?

[allykakamatsu]

Hypothetical P5A

Okay, gonna make this clear right up front, I wanted to make this post for a while but the main reason I decided to do it now is because the Atlus announcement thing is almost here, and also cause I saw a video on this topic by Thorgi’s Arcade (go watch it btw it’s good) and while I agree with a lot of what he said, there’s also some things I’d change, not just cause I disagree, but also cause I think it would be fun. Anyway enough beating around the bush, let’s do this

Gameplay

I’m a firm believer in the phrase, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, and the Arena games are already really good so not much to change. That being said, I still wanna change some things. First off though, we are keeping this 1 vs 1, no tag team matches. The arena games already have a lot of Mechanics going on and trying to keep everything as well as some new stuff WHILE adding a tag team button, yeah no let’s not outside of maybe a bonus mode.

This means I can’t add Batton Pass in as a new mechanic to represent P5, but I have a solution, that being Technicals. Status ailments already exist in this game, so how about when you inflict one and do a specific combo you do more damage, also providing risk vs reward as the player with the status will have a better idea of what the opponent will do making them more predictable. Also as for Persona’s, mostly everyone’s will be fully evolved, minus Yu cause him getting a final boss persona normally is a tad to OP, meanwhile the P5 characters will have their starting Persona’s, but they will evolve for big moves, like awakened mode supers and instant kills

I’m also borrowing Thorgi’s Arcade idea of having supports giving a slight buff in battle, like if you pick Fuuka your meter can build faster for a bit, meanwhile if you pick Futaba you’ll get an attack and defence buff. It’s the fairest way to include them without having to make them playable. I know Rise is already playable but this roster is going to have to be small as it is, and being a support doesn’t mean you can’t be DLC later.

Also, we’re not bringing back the Shadow Characters, just, we are not dealing with the likes of Shadow Naoto again.

:readmore:

Story

I am about to cop out a bit here, but Thorgi’s Arcade video had a really good idea for the story so I’ll just link it here https://youtu.be/yyB5rEM9UVU

To summarise for people who don’t want to watch, Nyarlathotep, the main villain from the Persona 2 games, has been gaining strength from all the suffering humanity has gone through due to 3, 4 and 5, and has gained enough strength to create a new Joker to try finish what he started and destroy the world. Mitsuru might think the Phantom Thieves are behind it cause this is clearly persona related and the fact that the leader of the PT’s is also named Joker is public knowledge, Naoto gets largely the same idea, Katsuya and Maya decide to have their own investigation, meanwhile the Phantom Thieves are trying to prove their innocence and help save the world. Nice excuse to bring everyone together, but who will the everyone be?

Base Roster

Okay, I know the dream is getting everyone from Ultimax back plus the new P5 characters, but given Arc System’s standard for small base rosters, I’m not holding my breath. The ideal would be everyone plus who I’m about to say for P2 and P5, but I’m keeping it… somewhat realistic. Anyway onto the actual size, 16 seems fair enough. One more than the most recent Guilty Gear game for a series that had pretty big success so that sound fair enough. Let’s get the obvious out of the way though, all the base 8 Phantom Thieves besides Futaba are making the cut

Okay so that’s obvious but how will they play? Starting off with Ren/Joker, Smash Bros already laid a great foundation with him being very fast on the ground and in the air plus being great at combos, so I see no reason to change that. Also no need for him to be a Jack of all trades either cause spoilers, Yu is coming back and he already fills that role.

As for the others, Ryuji I can see being a slugger charge hybrid. Basically starting out he hits pretty hard but is a bit on the slow side to compensate, but just like any good athlete, give him a chance to warm up, ie do a charge input, and he becomes a lot faster and has better combo potential. Or we could make him a toned down version of Little Mac where he’s great on the ground but he’s in trouble the second aerial combat is involved. Then there’s Morgana who with his ability to turn into cars and the fact he introduces thief tools like smoke bombs, I can see him being a faster but frailer successor to Teddie.

Then there’s Ann who, no doubt, she’s a Zoner, and with her fire she’ll be Yukiko’s sort of successor. However instead of healing, I’d implement the fact that she learns concentrate and have it so the more she charges it up, the stronger her attacks get, but the Meter will gradually go down over the match. Yusuke, as tempting as it is to cop out and say ‘have him play like Vergil in Marvel vs Capcom’, I have a different idea. Namely, take advantage of the fact that Yusuke can learn counter by having him be the defensive specialist, set up ice traps to freeze the opponent, and if they get close, he can either counter or go for some combos.

Then there’s Makoto who would definitely be a grappler. I mean, she practices Aikido and is really strong, she can 100% pull it off. Finally Haru…… TANK! I mean come on, Haru wields an axe, has a grenade launcher, and Melady is literally a dancing tank in a pink dress, it just makes too much sense. I’d also give her a bit of armor cause if she’s slow she at least needs a chance to get her attacks in.

Okay so that’s 7 out of our 16 slots down, and given that one slot will have to be saved for the Evil Joker who would be the villain, we’re halfway done with 3 games to go, lord help me.

Okay, starting this off with P4, I’m gonna give them more than the others purely because they were the focus of the originals and there’s less realistic cuts I can make compared to 2 and 3. To make things simple, every returning character would play the same, and as for the ones I’d bring back for the base roster, we’ve got Yu, Yosuke, Chie and Naoto. Why them specifically? Well Yu is the main character, Naoto being a detective would basically mean she’d be the one getting everyone involved in the first place, Chie is currently training to be a cop as confirmed in P5 so her getting called in makes sense, and Yosuke is the best investigator after Yu and Naoto, he’s always up for a mystery and the second he learns Yu is involved he’s joining in. I just couldn’t cut him.

Now before the really painful cuts, Persona 2 is really easy. Out of Innocent Sin party members, by the end of the series Maya is the only one left with a Persona, and Katsuya is not only older brother of Innocent Sin’s protag Tatsuya, but he’s also pretty important and a detective so he’s definetly the one Maya’s dragging into this. As for how they play, they both use guns like Naoto, but how I’d mix them up is with Katsuya, I’d let him attack while moving (unlike Naoto who has so stay still to fire) at the cost of less combo potential, meanwhile Maya dual wields her guns so she’ll probably play like Noel Vermillion from BlazBlue where she’d more or less just use the guns to get longer reach melee attacks instead of shooting.

Now, for the hard part. There’s only 2 slots left, one of them basically has to go to Mitsuru (not that I’m complaining I’d probably add her anyway) meaning now I have to choose between the rest of the Shadow Operatives/SEES for the last slot. I narrowed it down to the 3 that were in the original Arena cause they’re the most plot relevant, but that still meant I had to choose between Akihiko and Aigis. I ended up deciding on Aigis though cause A, with Labrys not making the base roster someone has to represent the robots of the series, and B, with Akihiko currently pulling a Ryu by travelling to get stronger, it makes more sense that Aigis would be closer and easier for Mitsuru to call up. Honestly I was tempted to bump the roster up to 17 so I could have both of them on the base roster, but this is ArcSystems, 16 is already kinda pushing it.

DLC

Given that this is a modern fighting game, DLC is inevitable. However since this DLC will likely be like Ultimax where the story acts to wrap up loose ends and have a new story, it’s going yo be big, especially since there’s going to be a fight with Nyaraloptep, so go big or go home in this case. Okay so first order of business, anyone who was in the previous arena games who wasn’t in the base roster is getting added back in, it’s only fair. That out of the way, the new faces I’d add are Futaba actually being playable now and the big 4 P5 characters I skipped, Akechi, Yoshizawa, and Sophie. Before anyone asks though, Sophie was added into a Dragalia Lost collab with Koei Techmo not being credited so she’s likely Atlus’s copyright so she's safe to add.

With that out of the way, how would they play? Starting with Futaba, I’d think she’d be the resident puppet fighter, sitting on top of Necinomicon and only occasionally adding in some of her own attacks like a projectile. Also she'd also probably act as a bit of a grappler cause her Persona has tentacles (no hentai jokes please) which have long reach so that'll be perfect for it. Next up is Akechi who I can see as semi being two characters in one. My basic idea is that at first Akechi will be fighting with Robin Hood and he'll be a solid jack of all trades with a slight focus on rush down. However once he goes into his awakened mode he'll gain Loki, which will increase his speed and attack strength, at the cost of his defence, turning him into a glass cannon.

Next is Yoshizawa, or 'Sumi as I like to call her, and her thing will be she's the mobility focused fighter, namely constantly moving around the stage and poking at her opponent while doing it, at the cost of being frail. Finally there’s Sophie who would be a combo focused zoner, as in her standard projectiles (the yo-yo’s) wouldn’t hurt that much on their own, but she can string them together into the fancy yo-yo tricks to potentially do big damage. As for how much this DLC would cost, it’s going to be very big, so €25 to €30 sounds fair

I think that more or less covers my thoughts. I could keep going on about this for a while, but I think this is a good place to stop. Hope you like my idea!

[dmsden]

Campaign Sorcery - A Taste of Adventure

Hullo, Gentle Readers. I love talking about the potential of using food to enhance your game, and we’re going to have a fun discussion about it here. We’ve talked about music for your ears and smells for your nose. Now, let’s talk about some food for your tongue and taste buds! There are a number of ways food and drink can be used in your games, and I’m going to throw some fun ones out for you today.

First off, I’m going to say that, if you decide to use food in your games in some way, make sure you’re very aware of any potential allergies that your players might have. I have friends with such severe allergies to, for example, peanuts, that they can’t even be in the same room with them because of the dust that they can give off. Be mindful of this; you don’t want to hurt anyone in the pursuit of good gaming.

Gaming is an inherently social activity, and sharing food is a good way to bond. If you and your group have time, you could make food to serve before your games, giving everyone a chance to be social before diving into the game itself. This could be as simple as ordering some pizza or what have you. If you like to cook, you could make food. This could run the gamut from some crockpot meatballs or a big one-pan casserole to a fully themed feast of multiple dishes.

There are some great cookbooks out there I can recommend specifically for gaming groups. I’ve had a lot of success with Heroes’ Feast lately. With one exception (I’m looking at you, Kara-Tur Noodles), every recipe I’ve made from it has been excellent. I can also strongly recommend the Unexpected Cookbook (unofficial cookbook of Middle Earth) and A Feast of Ice and Fire (the official cookbook of Westeros). All of these books have recipes varying in complexity, and all of them have excellent theming.

Snacks are also an excellent food-based resource while gaming. Yes, you can have cheetos and Mountain Dew, but you can provide a much better grade of snack. Imagine putting together what might be travel rations - hard cheese, crackers, dried fruits, nuts, dried meats, and the like. These snacks are generally healthier and better than a lot of alternatives.

So now, you may be asking yourself, “All this sounds fine, but how does this quality as a Campaign Sorcery article? How does food enhance my game?”

I’m glad you asked. Food is a powerful tool; taste is linked to smell, and the combination is very effective for creating and conjuring memories. It can also act as something of a cultural touchstone. Different kinds of peoples can have different kinds of cuisine, and you can use those elements to create a specific feel. If the area of your campaign world that your players are in is elven, you can provide snacks that reinforce that. You could find a recipe for something like the infamous lembas bread, provide candied flowers and nuts, serve sliced veggies and fruits, or the like. For a dwarven realm, maybe you could make a dish like the Delzoun Tide-Me-Overs from Heroes’ Feast, or Dwarven Tide-Me-Overs if you have the original Leaves from the Inn of the Last Home. For a country whose culture resembles one of the Middle Eastern countries, you could provide hummus, pita bread, stuffed grape leaves, and olives.

You could extend this into the pre-game meal if you have access to foods from the kinds of cultures you want to suggest. I’m lucky, in that I can tons of different food options within delivery distance of where I live. Within minutes, I can get Brazilian, Caribbean, Chinese, Cuban, Ethiopian, Greek, Hawaiian, Italian, Japanese, Mexican, Thai, Tibetan, and other kinds of cuisines. If I were running a game in a culture somewhat based on one of these, I could get my group to order from one of them and bring an extra element to that night’s game when the characters were eating with locals.

You could even mix things together. If you’re making a themed meal, and you know the PCs will be eating a meal in a tavern partway through the game, maybe start the game, then serve the food when the moment comes in the game. For something like this, I recommend sticking to simpler things. Maybe store-bought bread or bread you’ve baked ahead of time, a big wedge of cheese, and a stew. Unless you set aside a gaming session just for serving an elaborate meal, you don’t want to entirely derail things with food.

If you have an accomplice, perhaps a housemate or S.O. that doesn’t play, they could work with you to help with the timing. That way, you’re not splitting your attention between the kitchen and the table. You could also make food ahead of time, perhaps in a crockpot, so that you can serve whenever you want.

And, with that said, here’s a fun crockpot recipe that will make something delicious for your table. Only you can say what culture in your campaign will serve these sweet and tart meaty bundles. Until we meet again, may all your 20s be natural.

Sweet, Tart, Spicy Meatballs

Ingredients:

- big bag of frozen meatballs (about 32 oz, though you can multiply the recipe if your bag is bigger)

- 14.5 oz can of whole berry cranberry sauce

-12 oz bottle of chili sauce (this stuff is like a relic from the 50s...you’re looking for something like <A HREF=“https://www.target.com/p/heinz-chili-sauce-12oz/-/A-13651988?ref=tgt_adv_XS000000&AFID=google_pla_df&fndsrc=tgtao&DFA=71700000012510691&CPNG=PLA_Grocery%2BShopping%7CGrocery_Ecomm_Food_Bev&adgroup=SC_Grocery&LID=700000001170770pgs&LNM=PRODUCT_GROUP&network=g&device=c&location=9002001&targetid=aud-1015938909496:pla-948468624165&ds_rl=1246978&ds_rl=1248099&gclid=Cj0KCQjwmcWDBhCOARIsALgJ2QegJI3PRaNdTP9-_Ac8p4nnrSnmV4yaBh3A2BCF1kMeHtRU5Yq0aOsaAuHlEALw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds“>this</A>.

- lemon juice (about 1/2 lemon worth...fresh is best, but bottled will do)

- a few drops of hot sauce (like Tabasco) or to taste

Put the frozen meatballs into your slow cooker first. Add everything else. Stir until everything’s well-combined. Cook on high, stirring occasionally, for about 3 hours, until the meatballs are fully thawed, and everything’s nice and hot.

[thewritewolf]

Old Ways, New Age Chapter 4

A major akuma attack hits and Ladybug has to seek out heroes to wield the miraculous if they will have any hope of stopping them.

@marinettemarch

Enjoy!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Read on Ao3

“As much as I hate to say it… the best place I can hide it is in my own room for now.” Ladybug sighed and looked at her partner with a serious expression on her face. “Do you think you can hold off the akuma long enough for me to take this back?”

Chat Noir was staring off into the distance, where the head of… something… was poking over the buildings. His tail swished behind him, low and lazy. He nodded.

“I’ll do my best to keep it distracted.” His eyes landed on her. “Hurry back though, okay?”

“I promise. Now get going, and I’ll meet up with you as soon as I can.”

With a grin, Chat Noir gave her a quick salute and leapt off the roof. A moment later, he soared back into view, propelled by his extending baton. She watched him go for a few seconds longer before taking out her yoyo and swinging away.

On the way back, her mind was racing. She had been banking on hunting down Namdak to keep the miracle box safe - but now she was going to be distracted by the akuma battle for who knows how long. Would he be bold enough to try again? If she hid it somewhere else in the city, would he be able to find it? Or would she end the battle only for it to have vanished?

The thought of some random civilian - or, even worse, an agent of Hawkmoth - finding the miracle box outside during the coming battle sent shivers down her spine. No, she’d tuck it in her room and hope that the same paranoia that made the Guardians so cautious would keep the box safe for tonight. At least then if it disappeared, she could be sure it hadn’t fallen into Hawkmoth’s hands.

She’d hidden it away the best that she could and was about to leave her room when she got a call on her yoyo. Lowering her hand from its throwing position, she backed into a corner before opening the yoyo to answer the call, ensuring that the view of her room was minimal.

“Something up, Chat?”

“Uhhh yeah I don’t think-” A wall of noise from an explosion nearby on his end drowned him out. “-and we’re gonna need some help on this.”

“Help?” Ladybug blinked down at his video image. “How much help?”

“Um…” The scene behind Chat was a blur thanks to his running and even her partner was a little hard to make it with how the screen was shaking. “How about two? Someone strong—” He cut himself off to duck and the wall behind him burst into rubble. “And maybe some insurance, too. Are there any healing miraculous?”

Ladybug cupped her chin and narrowed her eyes. “I’ll see what I can do. Can you keep it busy for a little while longer?”

Even in the middle of a fight, he took a second to flash her a grin. “For you? Anything.” A shadow fell over him and his grin evaporated. “Gotta go, LB!”

His screen went dark and she put the yoyo back on her side. Her mind racing, she pulled out the miracle box from its hiding spot and looked over the miraculous at her disposal.

This was the first time they’d had to call on new miraculous heroes since the Miracle Queen fiasco - everyone she’d already brought out was out of the running for now. At least with the miraculous they’d used before.

Someone strong… The physically strongest miraculous was Stompp, the Ox kwami. Hopefully that was what Chat meant. On the bright side, since she had never called on it before, she could give it to practically anyone she wanted.

As for insurance, well… she wasn’t aware of any healing abilities outside her Ladybug Cure, but the ability of the Snake miraculous, Second Chance, was a good runner up. Although that did mean that Luka and probably Adrien, too were out of the running.

Her eyes widened with realization. The two she had in mind might not be the perfect fit for the miraculous, but they would be the best fit she had. After checking her notes for her friends’ schedules, she hid the miracle box away as best she could and hoped that she could bring down this akuma in time.

-----------

Ladybug landed at the front door of a gym. Quips and puns could just barely be heard above the explosions and maniacal laughter of the akuma of the day, none of which was all that far away from where she was standing. Even more worrying was the occasional tremor that shook the city - was it a giant amok, or a tunneling one? Practically everyone with any sense left was long gone.

Which just left those who were too caught up in their own competition to worry about something as trivial as an akuma attack.

Upon entering the building, she peered into the various exercise rooms looking for her duo of potential heroes. Despite being inside, the sounds of battle still reached her, driving her to move faster in locating them. As much as she wanted to keep them separate for identity purposes, she had no idea if Chat would be able to hold on that long.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she opened the door to a basketball court to see the two of them locked in the middle of a game. One which only had a passing resemblance to basketball, judging by Alix’s rollerskates and the obstacles set up on the court.

Alix noticed her first, giving her a double take as she tried to dribble across the court.

“Ladybug?!”

The price for her inattention came immediately when she collided with Kim. Ladybug watched the basketball bounce forlornly past her and hit the wall. Clamping down on the last minute doubts she had about them, she walked over to the pile of athletes as they were trying to get to their feet.

“Woah!” A grin spread across Kim’s face. “Did you come to coach our match, Ladybug? Pipsqueak over here could definitely use some pointers.”

Finally getting her skates under her, Alix shot a glare at him. “You wanna try that again, airhead? Cuz the scoreboard sure as hell doesn’t agree with you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kim snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not my fault you’ve got all those dirty tricks to get ahead.”

“You-!”

“Cut it out and listen to me!” Ladybug had enough of their bickering at school - she wasn’t about to tolerate it now. “There is a big fight going on and we need help. Who’s in?”

“Oo, oo, pick me!” Kim raised his hand and put the other on Alix’s head and shoved her back slightly. “I, uh… Let’s just say this isn’t my first lap around the pool.”

Kim gave an obvious and exaggerated wink to Ladybug, who could only pinch the bridge of her nose in exasperation.

Alix rolled her eyes. “She said she needs help, not someone that she’ll need to babysit. Besides,” Alix added with a knowing grin. “I’ve been hoping to hop into a fight for ages now. Know what I mean, LB?”

Ladybug put her hands together to cover her face, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. When she felt a little more composed, she looked back at them.

“I’ve got two miraculous here - the fight is going that bad. Are you still interested?”

Alix and Kim looked at each other for a moment before nodding. Ladybug gave them each her usual speech and handed them the miraculous - the Snake for Alix and the Bull for Kim. Both seemed surprised at the specific miraculous they got, but took it in stride.

With two new heroes in tow, Ladybug rushed out of the gym and hoped that she would make it in time.

-----------------

As he examined the locking box trap that had captured his hand, Master Namdak took a moment to respect the chosen of Creation. Fire and boldness were likely pairs when dealing with those who wielded the miraculous, but deviousness and cleverness were a rare pearl.

Sadly for her, mere tricks were not sufficient to guard the miracle box - another reason why it needed to be returned to the order.

Tapping the box twice with his staff, the hinges flew open and the trap dropped to the ground, leaving the miracle box securely in his hand.

He leapt out of the room and stood on the rooftop. Deep in his bones, he knew that he needed to leave for Tibet soon. The journey was long and the return home would be equally as arduous. He stood still, quietly taking in the scenery. His eyes roved the horizon, taking in the sight of a city from two hundred years in the future.

Which was when he saw the villains that had been so helpful in acquiring the miracle box. They were locked in a desperate battle against the heroes of this city. Despite himself, Master Namdak was drawn closer to the fighting. Even setting aside his time spent removed from the world, it had been long decades since he had last seen the miraculous in action. Curiosity could not be ignored.

He watched from a rooftop as a team of four heroes battled against the puppets of the butterfly and peacock, saw the ebb and flow of the battle.

Master Namdak had long years of experience - he could see the clash of personalities apparent on the heroic team. By all rights, a lack of cohesion ought to have been enough to destroy them.

And yet... despite that, Tikki’s chosen held them firm. They followed her instructions without question, no matter how baffling they might seem. Her knowledge of the miraculous strengths was astounding as she used each power of her allies like a familiar tool in her armory. If circumstances were different, perhaps she could have been a Guardian as well. Perhaps even risen to the rank of Master, like himself.

But they fought a losing battle. Even with aid, Master Namdak knew that they were on the backfoot and edging closer and closer to defeat.

He turned to leave.

Long moments passed, but he could not take a step forward.

He looked over his shoulder at the heroes battling against evil, his heart torn between duty and compassion.

[shebeafancyflapjack]

What She Needs

Quick EOTB (not a) drabble for @cecret-with-c . This should make up for me clearly not finishing my other whump fic by the weekend as I’d hoped.

This stinks!

For that matter, when did the waves outside get so rough and loud? It’s as if every sound in this little corner of paradise he created has been amplified for his annoyance, right down to the mice scurrying around in the walls who only came out to help carry a lost remote or dropped earring.

No matter how what position he lays in, no matter how much he tosses and turns, he can’t seem to get himself comfy. It makes no sense! He made sure to summon the most desirable sofa, specifically for human napping, as he knew it would be used as Eleanor’s second bed as much as sitting to watch TV. Neither of them had any issues with it before so why was it so hard for him to get to sleep now?! Why did the pillows suddenly feel so damn lumpy?

Maybe sleeping on the couch was always this difficult. He can’t say he ever did it before. Ever since he learned how to sleep, it was always with Eleanor, in her bed. Sometimes they would take the occasional nap on the sofa together, curled up in front of a movie or spent after a day of simulated adventures. She took many a snooze on here during those early weeks, where she’d be buried underneath a blanket, clinging to one of the cushions like a shield while Michael pottered around her, trying to create as calm and normal an atmosphere as possible. Perhaps she found it as awkward as he did now, but was too frightened (and mute) to complain?

Oh, stop it, Mikey. Stop trying to rationalise this. 

He knew the reason he was truly so alert. The same reason he had been exiled to the couch in the first place.

“Are you just not gonna talk to me for the whole weekend then?” He asks once they’ve made it through the threshold and she’s still storming ahead.

He makes sure to scan the area, ensure the soundproofing is on, never too careful if one of his coworkers has followed to spy on them.

“Yep!” Eleanor snaps back before realising her mistake; “Oh...fork, that didn’t count!”

“Oh, c’mon, I said ‘my bad’! What more do you want?”

“Cockroaches, dude! You called me and my friends ‘cockroaches’ - you really don’t get why that pisses me off?!” She turns and rounds on him.

Maybe she, too, had been waiting until they were out of demon-sight to rage at him.

Michael raises his hands; “I did not say that!”

“Oh so your exact words weren’t ‘you guys are like cockroaches’?!” She quotes him, lowering her voice to badly imitate him.

He waves his hand.

“Yes, but I wasn’t...I wasn’t trying to insult you. Chidi asked me a straight question, I gave him a straight answer...Which happened to be a metaphor!” He tried to defend, stepping through the foyer of the beach house.

Eleanor was already on her way into the kitchen to grab a can of J.D and coke.

“Look, he asked me if I knew why I was struggling with understanding some of the things in his class and I was just trying to say, as an immortal being, I am technically superior to the rest of you...Your species!” He corrects himself as soon as she turns to scowl at him; “And I tried to put that into perspective for him! How it feels for me, a creature with unfathomable abilities and has been around since the dawn of time, to have to be taught lessons from a creature like him - a tiny, fragile, mortal species whose only existed for a tiny blink in all eternity.”

“And the first thing that came to mind...was a cockroach?!” 

Oh, she really is pissed about this.

He took a breath and tried to move closer, his hands out.

“Babe, c’mon now. You know I’d never mean to call you anything like that. It was just a force of habit, it’s how they would explain our jobs to use in Torturing 101.” He tries to tell her, his palm hovering near her elbow as she swigged her drink; “Old habits die hard but I’m trying my best, you know that, right?”

She meets his eyes, the sternness in her brow weakening a little, he can see. There’s a twinge in her lips as she refuses to melt.

“Old habits seem to be alive and well this week, man. Especially when you made Chidi’s writing come off the wall and attack him, just because he corrected you on Consequentialism!”

“Come on! You laughed at that!”

“No, Jason did! I...wanted to but resisted, which is what you should be learning to do! Stop lashing out at Chidi whenever he gives you the slightest bit of negative feedback, he’s only trying to help - which he keeps doing even though you can be such a nightmare student that you make me look like a teacher’s pet!” Eleanor cringes, putting down her can and stepping back; “Oh, what the fork have you turned me into?!”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’ve become a total nerd! That’s on you.” Michael deflected as he hung up his jacket and removed his bowtie, snapping his fingers to turn his trousers to jeans. 

“Actually, ding dong, only reason I even asked Chidi to help me be a better person was because you tricked me into believing I wasn’t good enough to get into Heaven!”

“That wasn’t a trick, that’s a fact of the Universe.”

“You know what I mean! This is all your fault! We’re having to put up with these stupid fake tortures every day and when I’m not pretending to be miserable about that, I gotta babysit my demon boyfriend to try and stop him from actually torturing one of my best friends!” Eleanor raises her tone as she rounds on him; “And even when I finally get a chance to escape it all, I end up having a fight with said stupid demon boyfriend who’s too much of a jerkash to admit when he’s crossed the line!”

He watches her get closer, inch by inch, doing his best not to dismiss her comments and only focus on how cute she looks when she’s angry, as well as how hot it is for her to be so fearless shouting down an all-powerful immortal being.

Michael blinks as he realises she’s waiting for a response.

“Oh, you mean me?”

Eleanor groans again, moving back to the fridge. She grabbed as many J.D cans as she could carry before pushing past Michael and heading towards their bedroom.

He watches her go with a frown; “What you taking all those in there for?”

“Because I am gonna spend my torture-free night alone, in my room, drinking, eating crab and watching Real Housewives until I pass out.” She mutters as she turns the knob.

“Sounds good, count me in.” He went to follow.

“Alone!” 

That sounded less good. Michael stops in his tracks, watching her slam the door. He scoffs. She’ll be back out soon. What’s she gonna do, just leave him to sleep alone on the couch?

-

Yes, apparently.

Were he a true demon, he’d be hoping that Eleanor was having as much trouble getting to sleep as him. That she was regretting starting a fight on what was supposed to be their monthly getaway together and was going to appear any second to apologise and agree to forget it ever happened.

But he doesn’t, because he’s already passed failing at being evil, try as his natural instincts might try to rear their ugly tentacles again. He can’t wish anything bad upon her, the woman who changed his life, who shone a light in the darkness. He doesn’t even enjoy torturing her friends, not really. Chidi, a little, as an outlet, but only for an instant high that quickly wore off when he had to deal with the consequences. Which was mostly Eleanor being pissed at him.

He wondered how close she was coming to being tempted to turn a steak knife on him again? He probably deserved it.

It was...tough, being part of a team. Bonding with Eleanor on her own, two of them here isolated away from everyone else, had run so smoothly, as if it were destiny if he dared to entertain such a lame concept. But having to share her with others, taking classes with them, sometimes it was fun but other times...Ugh, he could gladly wish for retirement. He didn’t enjoy feeling dumb or small or...so clearly inferior to the kind, ethical human who got to spend way more time with his girlfriend than he did.

Not that Michael would ever bring that up. He’d sound as bad as Ross in Season Three when he was being possessive of Rachel with that Mark guy. What a tool.

Don’t be a Ross, Mikey. That’s Ethics for Dummies right there. 

He sighs, heavily, imagining losing Eleanor forever because of being like that doofus was with Rachel. He was better than that. He understood how important this was to her. He tried to respect her friends and what it meant for her to have all of them as a group; the family she’d been denied...that they’d all been denied in some way or another.

It’s on you to make this right, he tells himself. 

He hit his pillow before groaning again. Fine! First thing in the morning, he’ll wake her up with a nice breakfast, he’ll say sorry, he’ll let her know how frustrated he’s been with Vicky and others lately, and how he should make it up to Chidi and-

Click.

Michael freezes. That was definitely Eleanor’s bedroom door.

He closes his eyes, pretending to sleep. He doesn’t wanna try to do this now, not at this hour. Let them have a night apart to think, let her sleep, let it be a surprise to wake up to. She’s probably just coming in to grab some water from the Brita. Or some midnight shrimp from that infinite platter in the fridge. There’s a rapid thumping sound rippling through the air. He can barely hear her bare feet pad across the carpet...

On their way towards...him...

He struggles not to open his eyes when he feels the smaller body push against him, moving him back against the cushions and slipping under his arm for the lack of a blanket. He doesn’t need one and, even without his natural fiery body heat, it’s warm enough tonight. So why is she shaking all over as she curls into him-?

Oh. Oh shirt. Not again.

“You okay-?” he whispers only to find a palm pressed to his lips.

“Shut up!” her voice commands, her fierce tone trembling with fear; “M’still mad at you!”

Clearly. That’s not his main concern right now.

He nods, opening his eyes. The remnants of tears shine on her cheeks.

He carefully moves his hand to wipe them with his thumb, cradling her face as if it were the most precious object in existence.

“Just tell me what you need.” He says, softly.

They can deal with all the rest in the morning. Right here, right now, he’s to do what his role has always been since they first arrived here.

Does she want to talk about it? Can he get her anything?

He doesn’t need to ask these questions. They’ve been uttered a hundred times, over a hundred nights, throughout this house. He’s never denied her a thing and he’s hardly going to stop tonight.

Eleanor sniffs; “...Just...do the thing...”

He nods; “C’mere.” he lifts his arm again, letting her curl in close against this chest before he wraps her up tight. His fingers gently massage up and down her back as she tries to sync her breathing with his, burying her face in his chest. He whispers the same soothing words, the same promises of safety, the same tender reassurance that it will all be okay. She can never hear it enough, not after what she had to endure. It’s a miracle she ever came back from it.

Michael chances his luck a little when he feels her begin to calm by brushing his lips against her hair. She gives the smallest hum, fingers still clutching on tight.

“Still mad.” She mumbles, nuzzling into him.

“I know.” He whispers, “And I’m still here.” Always.

He’s not sure when the couch became comfortable again but he can feel his own eyes becoming heavy. He watches her face, so close to his, admiring the smoothness of her skin and each hair out of place.

“Guess I might as well stay...” Eleanor says, sleepily; “I know you need me to look after you.”

He grants her that, smiling; “We cockroaches gotta stick together, right?”

She doesn’t respond.

“Still not good?”

Her lips twitch; “Getting better. We’ll make a human outta you soon, demon babe. Now go the fork to sleep.”

[fadingfloweryouth]

Cultural Appropriation among East Asian Popular Culture

*I am aware that amidst the rise of AAPI hate crimes, this is a very sensitive time to be talking about this. However, I think it is very important for East Asians (in my case, a Chinese immigrant living in the States) to address our own ignorance and avoidance on this issue in order to have solidarity with other BIPOC communities. My emphasis is on the media portrayal of cultural appropriation and how that could be potentially damaging, I do not intend to imply that cultural appropriation is prominent among all East Asians.*

If you are a frequent consumer of East Asian pop culture, you would be lying to say you haven’t seen an idol or a celebrity wearing dreads on camera. Sometimes they do so to create a streetwear look, sometimes they do so to deliberately play a character. We also tend to turn a blind eye to the countless bad rapping performances and the occasional half-joking bits about tribal, native cultures. As of now, many fans tend to defend their favs by calling these instances as acts of negligence, that none of these celebrities had an intent to harm; but how much longer, and farther, should we tolerate cultural appropriation in East Asian pop culture?

East Asian popular culture has become part of the global mainstream in recent years. With the help of social media and the supplemental supports from local governments (think South Korea), today’s cultural flow go in both directions: while Asian pop culture is often inspired by Western elements, East Asian media production is now the new leading force of culture.

One “neutral” definition of cultural appropriation could be summarized as the representation of cultural practices or experiences and the distinctive artistic styles of the particular culture used by nonmembers. However, misrepresentation, misunderstanding and manipulation of culture is frequent and damaging to many marginalized, underrepresented groups.

Appropriating Hip-hop

Even though there is a “neutral” definition of cultural appropriation, there is no neutral way to appropriate a culture. The moment you partake in a cultural practice that is not your own, you are marking it with your own social marker. Just to give an example, the rise of Gangsta Rap was in response to the mass incarceration of Black people during the War on Drugs era. The history of rap and hip-hop, as a whole, is tightly connected to Black lives in America.

So why is Asian rap so filled with flexing culture? The answer is simple. The rise of hip hop and rap in the East Asian music scene is a simple copy-and-paste of the Western pop chart. Hip-hop has become the best selling genre, yet it’s important to note that today’s hip-hop has taken a detour away from its root. Hip-hop and rap has been rendered with pop sounds, often rendered with the voices of white performers as well.

The idol factories in both South Korea and China had picked up the trend. Hip-hop and rap is what gets the cash, so that’s where the executives want to take their trainees. Shows like The Rap of China(这就是说唱), Rap for Youth(说唱新时代), received enormous popularity in the last few years among young Chinese people. While the popularization of these shows can help nurture more diversifying music tastes beyond the typical Chinese pop music, they portray rap and hip hop in a highly inaccurate fashion. The flows and forms featured in performances felt unilateral, often with a strong emphasis on flexin’ solely for the sake of flexin’. In addition, in no way did any of these shows serve to educate music lovers on the history and background of hip hop and rap.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5hIJnBh7Dv8

P.s. this video features Rich Brian, I think it goes without saying that he’s probably not the best person to be educating Chinese youth on rapping.

Appropriating Black Hairstyles

Some contestants of these hip-hop shows also wore appropriated versions of Black hairstyles, and it wouldn’t be far fetched for me to say that the increased popularity of dreads among Kpop idols had kicked off this trend. Some of these celebrities are people who I have immense respects for, such as Jackson Wang. As the Chinese member of the Kpop boy group GOT7, he was the only Chinese celebrity (that I’m aware of) who spoke up for the BLM protests openly on his social media (I should note that he received quite a lot of backlashes for “defending violence”). But he—as I found out—refused to apologize when being criticized for wearing dreads back in 2016. He was called out in 2016 for wearing dreadlocks in a Pepsi commercial. He claimed that he did not intend to be racist. However, his fans questioned his response, as his defense did not acknowledge the history of dreadlocks.

More recently, BTS’s J-Hope was also called out for his hairstyle in his first solo single, “Chicken Noodle Soup.” Not only was his hair called out to be tiptoeing the line of cultural appropriation, it also felt odd that he only switched to the dreadlock-looking hairstyle during the nighttime break-dancing scene in the music video. While this might not have any further implications intended by the artist himself, this is an example of how infiltrating the unprofessional, gang-affiliated stereotypes surrounding dreadlocks could be.

Part of me thinks they are doing this to please white people, I could easily be right. White people are interested in hip-hop but can’t go as far as getting interested in Black culture? Sure, we Asians will provide. I sound harsh but that’s truly how I see the logic behind Asian pop stars appropriating Black culture. It’s true that many from the K-pop industry do not have full authority to their own identity, but I simply do not get the extent of appropriation employed in the K-pop scene—and this sabotaging trend is spreading in a scary rate to both Japan and China.

Reality TV in China features mostly celebrities, but I assume the goal of the government (for producing all these shows) is to achieve some sort of relatability through portraying famous people doing normal things. Again, just like how Western culture and East Asian culture influence each other, creating a feedback loop, an echo chamber of what’s socially acceptable and what’s not, famous people and normal people alike are all capable of influencing the social norms of Asia. We in America indulge in drama, the unethical wrongdoings of distant rich people. It’s not like that in Asia. People look up to celebrities. So if someone in Blackpink decided to wear braids in their newest music video, you’re bound to see kids trying to do the same.

Internalized Colorism

Sure, one can argue that it’s all negligence and ignorance, but we can not pretend the acts of cultural appropriation are not a result of internalized colorism. Blatant racism is less likely to occur in East Asian societies since they tend to have a less diverse ethnic makeup, but internalized colorism has always been an underlying problem in East Asia. Take China as an example, being “light skin” (though the direct translation of the Chinese word “白” is equivalent to “white,” the phrase is usually perceived as “light skin”) is generally viewed as elegant, pretty, or decent. Phrases such as “yellow skin,” “black skin” have risen to popularity in recent years as internet slangs used by online participants to criticize celebrities or themselves. People strive to be as “white” as possible by setting a societal expectation for public figures to follow, creating this social discourse chamber that deems the white skintone to be superior.

Even more recently, the phrase “非酋” (direct translation: “African tribe leader”) is used as a metaphor for people who tend to have very bad luck and never get what they wish for. From the perspective of an outsider, not only is this phrase obviously racist, it is also more dangerous in the sense that the metaphor entails a long line of other language-specific words that imply racially-charged stereotypes that could not be easily understood by non-Chinese. The phrase itself, however, is often used lightly by gamers--since this is actually an official phrase that ties to certain characters in certain games--and other young internet users to ironically joke about themselves without really considering the racist undertones of the phrase. Therefore, while using the phrase itself does not necessarily make one racist, it certainly reveals ignorance of the Chinese society on the issue of race.

Online Community, Bullet Comments and Echo Chamber

A single character in Japanese/Chinese tends to carry a lot more information than a single letter. As a result, there could easily be more combinations of words with the same characters in comparison to the alphabet for Roman languages. With the rise of fan-fueled, fan-made, fan-moderated video/social platforms like Bilibili (Chinese) and Niconico (Japanese), internet slangs are becoming increasingly niche. However, “niche” is defined against the traditional sense here. Slangs are only “niche” in the sense that the context is only known to a very specific audience, perhaps a fandom of a game or a show, but this audience itself could be enormous--certainly in the case of China. In these separate but internally united communities, people communicate in slangs that are culturally specific among themselves. How, you may ask? Through the persistence and permanence of bullet comments.

Up till this point, bullet comments are popular only and specifically to Japanese and Chinese cultures, again, a likely result of the linguistic natures of the languages. The chaotic, seemingly-never ending feature of bullet comments is an easy tool to nurture a sense of tight-knitted community for young internet users. Teens no longer need to worry about parents’ attempts to understand youth culture--most adults literally can not bear with the overwhelming screen of repetitive slangs. Bullet comments granted a new sense of freedom that previous generations of Japanese and Chinese youth did not experience.

However, it also means that bullet comments could create the perfect scenario for a social echo chamber. It’s hard for outsiders to penetrate the existing banters among a community that talks in their own lingos, and it also encourages the repetitiveness of the same idea, same belief. But this is not a characteristic specific to bullet comments or online communities in East Asia, this is a characteristic common among many East Asian cultures. In comparison to Western cultures, East Asians are way more comfortable, even dependent on group mentality and general consensus. Relatability is often prioritized over individuality on the internet scape, which on its own isn’t necessarily an issue; but this nature of East Asian online community certainly makes it a particularly weak target to colorist beliefs and culturally-insensitive content.

The reliant tendency on echo chamber and group mentality of East Asian communities makes them vulnerable targets of certain Western influences, including cultural appropriation and internalized colorism. In the case of China, its government literally banks on unity among its citizens to establish more extensive social control in order to rule. In both Korea and Japan, unity and group mentality are strongly encouraged and embraced as well. Ultimately, while the problem of cultural appropriation is becoming increasingly worrying among pop culture in East Asia, this is a foreign concept and problem for East Asians who might be helping the spread of cultural appropriation. Regardless, education on the subject matter is necessary and we need to start addressing the problem now.

[haro-whumps]

Group Whumpees 10: Asking and Answers

So this chapter is interesting in that I wrote a lot of words, but not a ton of it is any sort of particular forward motion. Largely this is just me establishing setting, which I have sorely needed to do for my own self, and sort of giving my characters a breath before the next bad thing I have planned for them (which is just as fun as it is contrived and overdramatic). So if you wanna skip to Sasha’s first “eep” I would not fault you for it, since it is a rather long chapter and the first stretch of it is just a lot of detail work with hardly any action.

CW: slavery, aftermath of torture, referenced noncon, multiple whumpees, referenced alcoholic tendencies, referenced religious... stuff.

Tag List:@bleeding-demon-teeth @theycomeinthrees @redwingedwhump @whimperwoods @inpainandsuffering @whole-and-apart-and-between @whump-whump-whump-it-up @whumpingupastorm @newandfiguringitout @lonesome--hunter @looptheloup @icannotweave  @deluxewhump @whumping-every-day @yeet-me-out-a-window @what-a-whumpy-world @burtlederp @constellationwhump @swordkallya @finder-of-rings @fairybean101 @adventuresofacreesty @arlennil @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @lumpofwhump @thatsthewhump @pinkdiamondprince

Masterlist

First order of business: what in the fresh hell was actually happening in this house?

Well, okay, the first first order of business was tipping the locksmith and offering a can of soda before sending them back on their way, but then the first order of business was finding out what the fresh hell was actually happening in this house!

Galo had, admittedly, left it more or less unexplored. He’d gotten down all the weird art of his aunt’s with the help of Nyla and Evan, which meant he hadn’t scoured the place thoroughly, and he had settled into rather regular haunts. He passed through most of the main floor, some of the second (and he begrudgingly accepted that his mission would send him into his dead aunt’s bedroom), but that still left an expansive attic, the majority of the second floor, the rest of the main floor, the entire basement, and most of the grounds. Because Galo was agitated as all hell and his monkey hindbrain said that threats came from outside, he started with the grounds.

He’d run around them, of course, wandered through the gardens and hedges and whatnot, but the fact of the matter was that his aunt’s estate was massive. And since he was on “The Great Easter Egg Hunt: Saw Edition” for horrible things hidden in amongst the grass, it took a while. 

The smell of new mulch was thick in the air, pleasant and fresh. Galo also took the time to admire Lilah’s extraordinary work, wishing he was being this meticulous and thoughtful for more pleasant reasons. 

He never encountered Lilah, Evan, or Greyson, though he would occasionally glimpse them off a ways. He was fairly certain they were avoiding him, or at the least were cognizant of his presence and deliberately giving him space, and he honestly didn’t mind. He really wasn’t in a place, mentally, to deal with hysterics or panicking slaves. Which sounded awful, but there it was.

He managed to finish the grounds right as the sun was setting, and checked out the secondary garage more thoroughly than just passing through warranted. So far, nothing suspect was to be found. Given Auntie Bethany’s obsession with keeping up appearances, that wasn’t terribly surprising. She liked to host garden parties and had no reason to enter the secondary garage, herself, so it tracked that the estate gardens were pristine and not-evil and the garage was left to Lilah’s devices. 

The next day, after working out in a vain attempt to make himself stable enough to explore the house properly, he showered off and set to work. He started with the den.

It was blue, with a greyish-blue, dark, thin carpet, light slate walls and dark blue furniture. Galo opened the cabinets near the tv (and his aunt had so many tvs), but found only a vcr, dvd player, some unlabeled cords that he had no idea what they were for, some remotes, some old recordings labeled with name tags (shows Galo vaguely recognized, but couldn’t tell you anything about). Normal things. Not-evil things. Things that gave Galo no reason to believe this was a horrible, awful room that the slaves hated.

So he turned face and headed towards the other cabinets, the ones in the back of the room, behind a well-worn but clearly expensive armchair. Galo needed to know, but he also didn’t want to, and therefore was, quite literally, dragging his feet. Which was why he tripped, stumbling a bit. He turned back, brow furrowed, and his brain helpfully supplied that this was pretty much the exact spot where Evan had knelt, waiting for his punishment.

There was a D ring in the carpet. Dull; painted? But it blended with the carpet well, really only visible if you knew it was there. Galo sat on his haunches and hooked a finger through it, gave an experimental tug. No give at all whatsoever. 

He took a deep breath. He had a bad feeling about this. He straightened, turned back to the cabinets, and flung them open simultaneously.

First he took note of the chains. Hard not to, they glinted--metallic and grey, and there was so goddamn many of them. Handcuffs, padded leather cuffs chained together, collars and muzzles, all of them with lengths of chain that could, presumably, be used to attach them to each other, or to, say, D rings on the floor. Ahahaha god.

Distantly, as Galo pulled a muzzle from the cabinet and examined it, Galo wondered why he even bothered to still be horrified by his aunt’s actions. Sure, she was family, and Galo wanted to believe that his family wasn’t like… this. But Auntie Bethany had proven herself horrible in life and he shouldn’t keep being surprised by how horrible she was, now after her death.

The lower cabinets had a couple of canes, the kind that clearly weren’t for walking assistance, an honest to god whip, a fucking knife, and a metal rod that Galo couldn’t really discern the purpose of. Probably something awful and horrifying. He shut the cabinets firmly, rested his forehead against the cool plywood, and tried to take a deep breath.

He pulled out his notebook and drew a very large circle, in red marker, around “The Den is a bad place.” He then flipped a couple of pages and started up a running list of observations

There isn’t really anything of note in the gardens or garden garage. 

The Den has muzzles, collars, cuffs, and chains, plus a D ring in the floor

He wasn’t sure what he was ultimately going to do with this list, but simply making it made him feel a little better. Even if it was a list of horrible things he found in the mansion, it was still nice to have.

But okay. How to be sensible about this? He shouldn’t start removing things from cabinets, especially horrifying tools of torture, until he had somewhere to put them all, and something to do with them. He would need a plan, which meant he would need to complete his list of horrible things. And also probably rent a dumpster. So he removed his person from the cabinets in the den, glanced again at the half-hidden D ring in the floor, and then moved the furniture around a little. He found seven more D rings throughout the room, now that he was looking for them, subtle and easily blending in. One more on the floor, a little beyond the first ring, four in the walls, two in the ceiling, all clustered around the same relative spot, more or less. It further convinced Galo that yes, indeed, this was exactly where Evan had been kneeling.

Okay. Top down? Top down. Galo’s specific curiosity about the den now satisfied, he could just do a thorough, room-by-room sweep of the mansion, and so he made his way to the attic. The door to the attic stairs was in a guest bedroom, one that was meant for “children” in the way that it was cutesy and kitch, but had clearly been designed by someone who hadn’t really ever interacted with an actual human child. Galo had slept in one of those twin beds when he was very little, and remembered a distinct discomfort for the firmness of the mattresses and the scratchy quality of the overly-colorful block-pattern blankets. Should he go ahead and search this room now, since he was in it? No, stick to the plan, start with the attic. 

He climbed the steps, flicked on the lights, and then promptly blanked.

How did one human being even own this much stuff?? The attic was massive, a snaking maze of shelves and clothes racks with plastic covers and boxes stacked and arranged. There was a clear path through, dusty but meticulous, and, in a display of wealth so obscene it turned Galo’s head, the ceiling was finished. Who finished the ceiling of their attic?! Attic ceilings were supposed to have dangerously exposed nails and shitty insulation fully visible. Galo was far from a religious man, but even he knew that an attic ceiling was meant to be left unfinished like the good lord intended.

He might have been balking at the ceiling to cover for the fact that he had… no idea where to start, with all this junk. The attic spanned nearly the entire width and breadth of the mansion, and it was full. Absolutely full. Galo turned off the light, went back down the stairs, and shut the attic door. He would devote an entire day to going through all of that shit. Hell, he’d make a weekend out of it. But today was not that day. Kitchy kid room it was.

He explored many different guest rooms, opening drawers and closets and chests and vanities and whatever the hell else, poking his head out onto their balconies, but found them empty of anything troubling. Again, this tracked. Auntie Bethany likely wouldn’t let her non-Guest guests or family members know what she did behind the scenes. 

He found another sunroom on the second floor, the south-facing wall made entirely out of glass and a number of gridded skylights making up the southern half of the ceiling. There was a marble statue standing in the center of a tile fountain, here, and Galo held his pressed palms up in front of his mouth, squinting. He would’ve remembered this. He would’ve remembered the warm yellow walls and the aquatic mosaic flooring, he would’ve remembered the sprawling cluster of plants, he would’ve remembered the wall of glass, and definitely would’ve remembered the statue, with its detailed pubic hair and unrealistically buxom bosom. Had he just never been allowed in here? Had he simply failed to explore this far? Or was this an addition that had happened in Galo’s adulthood, when his primary method of surviving family gatherings had switched from “explore the castle away from the people” to “get drunker than them, faster”?

Who knew. What he needed to do was poke around in here and make sure it wasn’t another horrifying abomination. And check and see if the plantlife here was real, or plastic. He touched their leaves, the soil, and found, with surprise, that they were all alive. Huh.

Something… there was some gear in his head that started turning at that, some impression of a thought that was still too close to his brain’s horizon for him to make out just yet. He took out his pen and notebook and simply notated the second sunroom, which he crossed out and relabeled “plant room.” He flipped the page over and drew the general outline of the house, and then made some squares. He labeled each guest room and the plant room, and while he was no cartographer, it’d serve as a rudimentary map until he had a better idea of where everything was here.

There was only one cupboard, and it had fertilizer, a small watering can, a water spritzer, disposable gloves, and PH strips, which were more confusing than alarming if Galo was being entirely honest with himself. He hadn’t seen those things since freshman year of highschool in his mandated biology course. Actually, wait, there was also a folded up piece of paper, which Galo took out. He recognized Nyla’s careful script immediately, and read over her detailed list of the plants in the room, how much sunlight each needed and whether it was indirect or direct, and the watering schedule drawn out in a little grid calendar.

He couldn’t help but admire how meticulous she was. How put together. He had no doubt in his mind that she really was the one who’d run the whole household, when his aunt was alive. Hell, she still was--it wasn’t like Galo knew a ton of shit.

The second floor seemed primarily devoted to guest rooms, with an occasional cabinet or boudoir attached to said bedrooms. There was a large drawing room more or less in the “middle” of the mansion, a number of skylights directly over a sunken sitting area and a couple of tvs, plus places that art had clearly been stationed at before being removed for the crimes of being a bunch of fucking eyesores. A few pieces still remained, though, two different tapestries and a couple of abstracts. Plus a bunch of little tables, which were honestly charming and mercifully empty of tools of torture. Lots of little forks and platters though.

The master bedroom was not something Galo wanted to scour. His dead aunt had slept in there. (His dead aunt had hurt people, every night, in there). He made himself turn the door handle.

“Master Galo,” Nyla greeted, setting down a tiny, antique-looking watering can on the windowsill between a succulent and a corkscrew-curling plant Galo didn’t know the name of.

“Hey, Nyla,” Galo returned, extending his hand for her to cup lightly and kiss as she fluidly sank to one knee, then just as gracefully rose. “Don’t mind me, I’m just poking around a bit.”

“Yes Master,” she said with a charming little bow, her clasped hands dipping into the folds of her apron, “If I may assist at all, sir, please call upon me.”

“Will do, thanks.” He felt a surge of fondness for her. He knew she was just doing what she’d been trained to do, but he liked her smile when it wasn’t obviously-forced, and he liked her put-togetherness, and he liked, well, her.

He was very conscious of her presence, though, as he “snooped” around his own home. So he let her finish with the plants while he was in the en suite bathroom, opening the cupboards under the sink and checking the interior of the shower. Everything was meticulously clean, which he was grateful for (he could not handle it if he caught sight of his dead aunt’s body hair or some such thing). It was also perfectly normal, even if he found the little rugs along the side of the bath and looping around the base of the toilet to be ostentatious.

Nyla was still in the room, so Galo moved onto the closet door. He expected a walk-in with fifty billion changes of clothes (and really, had Galo ever seen the woman wear the same outfit twice?). He did not expect something that looked like it was intended to be a linens closet, stuffed full of canes. Canes, and, Galo noticed belatedly, knives, long strips of cloth and rope, plain eye masks far too crude to be used for her own sleep needs, and--god, was that lube?

The cane Evan had brought, that night he’d begged for punishment, stood front and center, clearly the most recently moved.

“Master?” Nyla’s voice cut through Galo’s shocked immobility, making him jump a little and tear his eyes away, “Is there anything from the tool closet you require, specifically?”

Galo shut the door harder than he should have, his own strength getting away from him and a tight smile on his face. The fact that he’d even opened that door was freaking her out, and the sudden loud noise did not help at all. For once, blessedly, Galo thought fast. “Actually, I was looking for her clothes closet? Which door is that behind?”

There were five doors in the master bedroom, one to the hallway, one to the bathroom, one to a fucking “tool” closet, so that left two guesses. Nyla visibly relaxed at Galo’s words, her smile losing it’s pinched edge (Galo was getting better, better at telling when her smile was tight or neutral or something approximating genuine happiness). Galo unwound a little, too, at seeing her return to the Nyla-equivalent of blank. 

“Of course, sir, this one,” Nyla said, leading Galo to a different door, and the exhorbitant display he’d anticipated. There was a fucking… boot bench in the center of it, with tall mirrors in the center of the three walls that didn’t hold a door, separating closets. No, wait, this whole thing was the closet, the little… shelf… hanging rack things were--

Okay Galo didn’t have all the fancy names for ridiculous rich people things, but the point was, there were so many clothes, so many shoes, a goddamn chandelier, and it was all fucking color coordinated.

“You, uh, you set up the…” Galo gestured vaguely in front of him, “rainbow effect?”

“I did, Master Galo,” Nyla said promptly, and Galo nodded. Figured. “Greyson does the laundry, and has kept it meticulously organized since, Master Galo.”

Galo made a mental note to add Greyson being the laundry dude to his list of things he knew about the slaves. “Thanks, Nyla, I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

He saw her give a cute little bow in the mirror, and she ghosted off while he stepped further into the space. The boyish instinct in him wanted to reach up and smack the chandelier, just because he was tall enough, and he could. So, like, hey, he did. It tinkled and swayed, light dancing around the space, and he snickered incredulously. He sat down on the boot bench, chandelier swinging above him, and pressed his face into his palm, elbow to his thigh, and just laughed, absurdly. 

It was too early in the day for hysterics, though, so Galo forced a deep, slow breath, then another, then a third for good measure. He took out his notebook, added Greyson’s laundry duties, and then wrote a bulletpoint on his aunt’s linen closet from hell. The worst part, the part that made him feel incredibly scummy, was that he was kind of tempted to keep the lube, whenever he managed to clear out all of the rest of that shit. It was useful, and Galo wasn’t in the habit of throwing away things that could be used. At the same time, though, why in the fuck and shit and hell was Galo entertaining the idea of using his evil aunt’s lube? Disgusting. But he’d feel bad if he threw it away. But also that was his aunt and she was evil.

Fuck, Galo thought as he ran his hands over his face, taking yet another deep breath. Fuuuuuuuck. Was there an off switch for his brain? He’d like it if there was an off switch for his brain.

Alcohol, aforementioned brain suggested helpfully. Later, he told it. For now: distractions. He stood and began pulling open drawers, lifting clothing in search for hidden horrors like a hyper-controlling parent looking for naughty magazines or diary entries. He found nothing but cloth, more cloth, more cloth, and silk.

Hey, remember how you didn’t give me alcohol? Galo’s brain told him spitefully, I’m going to make you think about your wrinkly aunt in lingerie, now.

Galo shoved the silk back in the drawer and shut it hard, mentally batting at his mind with a cartoon broom. Disgusting. Negative one hundred out of ten. Something he literally never, ever wanted to think about. He bopped the chandelier once more, in a spurt of whimsy, on his way out.

The fifth door led to his aunt’s personal boudoir, which made Galo sigh. He was definitely gonna find atrocities here. And he did! More rope, candles that Galo knew the exact purpose for (he might not have all the kinks, but he possessed some, and was aware of others), more restraints, and more canes. Good lord and he’d thought she had an extensive cane collection back when he didn’t know shit. Even the balcony had a cane on it! He gathered them up with intention to take them to the “tool closet,” where they could all collectively wait for the arrival of the dumpster, and spun too fast and tripped over the fireplace tool set, sending it over and its contents clattering. He sighed, setting down the torture shit on a nearby chair. Why did Auntie Bethany even have a fireplace tool set? All her fireplaces were gas fires, it wasn’t like she had anything to stoke. 

Probably decorative. It was shaped to look like an antler, each spoke housing a different tool, which also had intricate carvings/detailing on the handles and along the metal rods.

Galo shoved the canes and shit into the “tool closet” and sighed, pressing his forehead against it. Fuckin… He wasn’t even done with the second floor. But, he hoped, the master bedroom would be the worst of it, he hoped, he hoped. Since that was where the slaves “attended” her, and where she spent the majority of her time in this massive fucking house.

He found a supply closet full of actual supplies, cleaning chemicals and rubber gloves and dust masks and scrub brushes. It was so completely, entirely normal (if heavily stocked) that Galo felt a ridiculous amount of relief. He nudged some stuff around, but ultimately left it alone.

The old craft room, which was slowly turning into Galo’s computer room, was already scoured, so he passed it by. He moved into the music room--sound proofed, which made Galo’s stomach churn anxiously--with its piano and sound system and lounge chairs and folded up electric keyboard tucked behind a fancily carved record player. There were a couple of wind instruments in the cabinets, a violin or viola or whatever it was (Galo didn’t know instruments super well, hardly enough to distinguish on sight), and--yay--more restraints! A close examination revealed D rings in the floor, walls, and ceiling, like in the den, and Galo sighed as he took out his notebook.

There was some sort of… dressing room? Galo couldn’t discern the intent of it, until he found nursing blankets (which he knew were nursing blankets because they had lovely little cherub-like depictions of babies on them) in an otherwise empty cabinet. No devices of torture, so yay, big fucking mirrors for a room that people would allegedly feed babies in, less of a “yay” and more of a Giant Singular Question Mark.

He wasn’t gonna think too hard on it. He’d made that promise to himself the first night--or was it the second?--and he intended to keep it. Just accept things, and let them move on. If he didn’t let water under the bridge, he was going to drown. 

There was a well-stocked office not far from Galo’s room, and he added that to a list of miscellaneous notes. He didn’t know if he’d need an office, all things considered, but if he needed a designated space to work on things and focus, this would be a good place to do that. A thorough examination revealed only office supplies, though some of the paperclips had been bent out of shape and there were a lot of those little clips, like what you put on manilla envelopes or stacks of looseleaf.

The library was a two-story thing, the upper floor boasting a large square hole in the middle that allowed a clear view to the main floor, one wall broken up by floor to ceiling windows between the bookshelves (or maybe the bookshelves were the ones between the windows? Eh). An ornate spiral staircase connected the two, and he smiled at it fondly, remembering being utterly enamored with it when he was a kid. Honestly, he was still pretty enamored with it as an adult. He stroked his fingers over the railing, wondering if he could spruce the place up a bit. Add fairy lights to the railing or something. Add more than just his aunt’s pristine, chic, expensive art that took up minimal space, like her home was a museum or some shit. Clutter it up, fill the space, make the damn mansion feel lived in.

Later. He wrote that onto his list of things to do, but lines and lines below keeping his demeanor calm, cheerful, and approachable, and finding therapists with experience with traumatized slaves. 

Ugh speaking of he should really get on that. But first, the library. He half expected that if he grabbed the right book, or moved the correct artistically expensive bookend, a secret passage would open up. He’d housed the same belief since he’d been flopping around this place as a kid. He just had different ideas on what he might find behind the entrance. But the library was just a library, well-lit with lots of books on his aunt’s particular interests. He found a couple volumes on methods of torture used throughout history, and a couple of psychology books that he did not trust At All, and he moved those to a lower-level bookshelf where he could find them all later. The psychology books he debated on--he liked psychology, and was also the kind of person to read what was effectively a textbook for fun. And these were officially published, sourced, and researched. So it wasn’t like they were… bad… and Galo didn’t want to throw out useful things.

But he also wouldn’t be able to get a mental image of his aunt, reading over them, thinking up dastardly fucking bullshit as she read them. So if Galo wanted to read a textbook, he’d just buy one for himself.

He took lunch in the library, Greyson bringing it in and leaving it on one of the small tables. Galo picked at it as he picked through the books, and Greyson was quiet enough that Galo didn’t even notice him come in, grab the plate, and leave when he was done. 

The library was not far from the foyer, so Galo beelined to the front door, spun on his heel, and took a deep breath. One floor down. Two to go. And the attic, but again, that shit was for another time. The foyer was a large, open space, sparsely decorated, mostly just an ostentatious display of wealth and wasted space and the giant fucking chandelier. 

Immediately adjacent was the solar, which was full of tacky and ugly as sin furniture, but no terrible horrible secrets. Next to the solar was the parlor, which had nicer furniture and looked incredibly bare, which made Galo think that there had been a LOT of god awful art in here before the purge. Still no instruments of torture though. The living room was observed closely, but again there was nothing more than superfluous fire pokers for a gas lit fire, uncomfortable tiny furniture, and a wall hanging Galo kept waffling back and forth on about keeping.

After the dining room, Galo entered the sunroom and felt his mood lift. He really enjoyed the sunroom. He peered into nooks and crannies, but he spent enough time here that he wasn’t anticipating anything. A distant shriek made him look out the window.

Evan had lifted Lilah up in his arms, holding her about the waist as she visibly struggled. Galo frowned, alert, and was drawing himself up to his full height, about to bolt out there, when Evan set Lilah down, and draped himself over her. Galo could not hear them from here, nor could he make out the shape of Evan’s words, but Galo would bet his right arm that Evan was proclaiming a sudden increase in gravity. The posture was unmistakable. Galo smiled as Lilah wriggled out from under him, and Evan dramatically threw his arm up over his forehead and fell to the ground. Galo snorted when Lilah stared at him a moment before kicking him.

Galo watched, heart full of something nameless, as Evan wrestled Lilah back into his hold after chasing her halfway to the hedges, and he sank, body unexpectedly heavy, into a lounge chair. He watched Sasha enter the scene, carrying something Galo couldn’t see from that angle and prompting Evan to swing Lilah around like some long-suffering cat, dramatically talking with his hands, which were full of his friend.

Galo felt like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding for a long, long time. Since that first night when Greyson had knelt on his bedroom floor.

He got himself a drink of water and got back to his search, feeling… better. There was a room just next to the pool, with a little rinsing area and changing areas, plus pool supplies. He remembered this from when he was younger, and made a note to go swimming again soon. He had been up to his elbows hooking up his game systems in the entertainment center, so he did a quick perusal just to mentally mark it off. There was a room with gorgeous stain glass windows and old candles and religious iconography that Galo was pretty sure was some sort of personal chapel, which was gorgeous and had stale fucking comunion wafers and, haha, a bottle of wine. He still had to force himself not to drink it, but it wasn’t as alluring as it might have been. 

There was a room filled, floor to ceiling, wall to wall, with butterfly pinboards. It was smaller than a room-room, like a walk-in closet but without a clothes rack, and entirely, completely bare of anything except the pinboards. No furniture, no windows, nothing. Galo shut the door, mind blank, and felt the terror-giddy urge to write “set on fire” in his notebook. He did not. 

Another drawing room, a study, the salon, the billiards room, and Galo’s search of the main floor ended in the kitchen. Auntie Bethany seemed to have her haunts, and kept most of her instruments of torture there. Galo just sorta poked his head into the kitchen to see if Sasha was back yet (she wasn’t) and left it at that, knowing his aunt wouldn’t set foot in the kitchen unless she felt it absolutely necessary. The pantry, which was large as hell, was also somewhere Galo had been, and wasn’t worried about. 

The door to the basement had a series of locks on it, all on the side of the main floor. Galo remembered distinctly how Auntie Bethany had “put her staff away” during gatherings, and imagined each one of these locks being fastened. How had she gotten away with it? With treating them so terribly for so long? Why hadn’t anyone noticed? Why hadn’t Galo?

Descending the stairs was an experience. The basement was fucking vaulted. There was, there was, some sort of fucking ballroom or some shit, Galo couldn’t even describe the space, at the bottom of the stairs. It’d be cool as hell if it wasn’t fucking overwhelming. Actually, even still, it was cool as hell. Whatever architect had designed this place, they’d had the time of their life. 

The wine cellar was massive.

Galo made himself walk away.

There were two series of apartments, with bedrooms, a sitting area, a mini kitchen, and a bathroom to each, which took up most of the basement. Concerningly, none of them seemed used. The kitchenettes were certainly something for long-term guests to use, make coffee or some shit before heading upstairs for the day, but the drawers and closets were empty, showing no signs of the slaves living there. 

There was a massive bathtub/pool that Galo found, multiple showerheads rigged throughout the ceiling and a basin the size of two people laid out. Well, not Galo-sized people, but like, Lilah or Nyla sized people. Nothing outwardly horrifying to be found, but Galo was a little boggled to find a tub this size when there was already a pool outside. There was another bedroom, just hanging out on its own, also empty. There was the utility room, where Galo encountered Greyson.

“Master Galo,” Greyson greeted, and Galo tried to make his brain switch tracks while he was bending low to kiss his hand.

“Hey, Greyson. You doin’ laundry?”

“Yes Master; do you have need of me, sir?”

“No, no you’re good. I’m just poking around.”

Greyson nodded, and went back to switching the wet load into the dryer when Galo turned. Galo made note of a couple more D rings here, plus two dog cages and a pet carrier. Auntie Bethany had never had a dog. Certainly never one of this size. He added it to his list of awful shit to get rid of, his mind jumping. Who? Who had been locked in these? Nyla? Sasha? Greyson? Lilah? Evan? All of them? It was too easy, too easy to picture any one of them behind those metal squares, far too easy to imagine them forced into a cramped, cold, humiliating space.

Oh hey, the rat poison, just like Nyla had said. 

Greyson made no particular note of Galo, after his back had turned, and left somewhere after Galo finding the first D ring. It was just him, alone in the utility room, the sound of the washer and dryer keeping him company. Leaving, he took a deep breath. There were two doors left unopened. It was fucking barbaric, having all this space and all these rooms, and making the slaves pack in like this. They were probably separated by gender, too, one of these belonging to the men, the other to the women, because Galo had a hard time imagining his “good god-fearing” aunt running a risk of canoodling. 

He opened the one to the right, aware that he was most definitely entering a space that wasn’t his. But at the same time, he told himself, he needed to know what was happening, make sure they weren’t adhering to some atrocious routine simply because Auntie Bethany had ordered it and Galo hadn’t ordered it to stop.

This space, at least, looked lived in. Which was good, but also made Galo frown, because there was only one, large bed. He hadn’t thought his aunt, terrified of any implication of homosexuality as she was, would’ve encouraged her slaves to share sleeping space. Galo glanced at the dressertop, finding combs and hair ties and floral antiperspirant, so he guessed this was the women’s room. He poked his head into the en suite bathroom, finding only a standing shower and a relatively cramped space, not half as meticulously, tv-ready clean as every other bathroom in the house. Something made Galo relax at that, too, at seeing soap residue in the little indent next to the sink, at seeing the dust bunny behind the toilet. It was still a clean space, just, lived in. The marks of people’s presence were upon it.

Now Galo sounded fancy and old timey. He pulled open the top dresser drawer, and his brow furrowed. These clothes were Greyson’s, crisply folded and put away so that each section of the drawer was dedicated to a different type of clothing. Galo shut the drawer slowly, the idea that maybe he’d gotten it wrong, that this was the men’s room, flitting by once, but only once. He had a bad feeling about what was more likely. He opened the second drawer, and saw Nyla’s clothes, a drawer down was Sasha’s, Evan’s, Lilah’s, and the sixth drawer, the one at the very bottom, held more collars than Galo had ever seen gathered in one place. And men’s lingerie, which was equally horrifying for a different set of reasons. He shut the drawer quietly, sitting on his haunches, and took a deep breath.

He stood slowly, breathing slower, and pressed his palms together before running them over his face, up into his hair, down the back of his skull and lacing his fingers together behind his neck. He stared up at the ceiling, just allowing himself to process this information. He wasn’t particularly struck; he’d established that his aunt was terrible and he really shouldn’t expect otherwise, but he was surprised to know that they were all kept in the same fucking room as each other. And with only one bed, that was the really strange part.

“Eep!”

Galo turned, attempting not to look guilty for sticking his nose where it had no business being, and tried to smile at Sasha. Her dark hair was loose, flowing down to nearly her waist now that it was freed from her high ponytail. Her hands were wringing anxiously up in front of her chest, wide blue eyes on Galo, and he didn’t move fast enough to prevent her from dropping to her knees, forehead to the floor. He winced a little, approaching her. 

“Hey, Sasha,” he said, squatting down again and extending a hand to her. She glanced up, took the hand, and kissed it. Gently, Galo curled his fingers around her hand, holding it loosely and stroking her thumb softly with his own. “‘M sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Sasha glanced up at him, nodded as she glanced away, and Galo reached out his other hand, giving her shoulder a squeeze before bracing underneath her bicep and helping her to her feet. He left his hands where they were, once they were standing, contemplating her. It was hard to befriend, or, well, gain the trust of someone he couldn’t have conversations with. Not that any of them really talked, but with Sasha it felt like there was an added barrier. An extra obstacle.  

“Is everything alright, Sasha?” Galo asked, remembering the most recent instance of Sasha being terrified and close to him. She nodded, and he smiled. “Good.”

He glanced back at the large bed, at the dresser that housed clothes for all of them. “Sasha, do you all sleep here?”

An anxious glance at his face and another, more hesitant nod. Galo’s lips pressed thin. 

“Okay, well, we can fix that. There are those dorms on the other side of the basement, those would work, or we could choose individual rooms from--”

Galo was cut off by Sasha squeezing his hand urgently between both of her own, looking up at him with her wide eyes.

“No--!” she gasped, quiet but no less desperate for it, and Galo felt a spike of panic on his own end; what had he done wrong? “Pl--” she seemed to choke on the words, and Galo shushed at her, making as soothing of noises as he could as he pet at her shoulder. 

“Easy, Sasha, shhh shsh, easy honey, what’s wrong--” No that was a stupid question, she couldn't answer. She whimpered while Galo was trying to find a yes or no question that could discern what set her off, then the strength in her grip shot up.

“Please,” she gasped, and Galo just wanted to hug her, pet her hair and face and tell her it was gonna be okay. “M-” she choked off again, taking a series of deep and panicky breaths, “Master, don’t m-make--” Sasha cut off with a whine, lifting a hand to cover her mouth as she curled in on herself. 

Galo’s brain finally kicked back on and he blurted out, “Typing! Here, just type it out.” He pulled up the notes app on his phone and handed it to her, praying she wouldn't drop it with her trembling hands. Not that he was worried about it getting damaged--it was a good model and he had a solid phone case--just that he knew that if she dropped it she'd spiral entirely out of control, since she was already teetering on the brink. 

She didn’t, thankfully, though she did fumble it a little when she handed it back to him, letting go too soon. He caught it, easy peasy, no troubles here, see? Please Master don’t make us separate was written with no ending punctuation, though Galo was pretty sure she was thinking in exclamation points. Aw, shit, okay, Galo read over it twice, then reached out and squeezed her shoulder again, trying to think.

The bed was large, very large, but to fit five people they’d need to pack in. It hardly seemed fair. But the idea of separating distressed Sasha, and given how tight-knit they seemed, would likely distress the others, too. If Galo suggested bunkbeds at this point, there would be no guarantee that if they agreed it would be because they liked the idea, or because the “alternative” was Galo forcing them apart. Still, it was just too much, to force them all to share a single room, with its single bed and single dresser, when they were all living in a literal mansion. But Galo couldn’t let his own feelings of injustice and his own wants preside over their wants and needs, and Sasha was telling him that she wanted to perma-sleepover with her friends.

Actually. This could be a really useful opportunity. Galo would feel bad for… “manipulating” Sasha, was really the only way to say it, but it’d get the idea across, hopefully? It was a gamble. But Galo really, really wanted to make headway with these poor people, so…

“Okay, Sasha, thank you. I like it when you ask me for things,” he said, gesturing a little with his phone, “that’s very good, and since you asked, you get what you asked for, see? No separating.”

Sasha’s eyes were jerking about, looking at Galo’s hand, his phone, the hand on her shoulder, his face, the room, back to Galo. He tried to patiently let her process his words, nervous on how she’d take them, if this would help encourage her to ask for things in the future or if this would be another thing that Galo would need to help her unlearn, this time with him as the culprit. Swallowing hard, Sasha raised a hand and pointed a finger at her own chest. Me?

“Yeah, you honey. And the others. I like it when all of you ask me for things that you want. Like when I took Greyson to the cemetery, yeah?”

Sasha nodded, visibly calming down, and kept nodding, lips moving silently over unspoken words. She seemed to catch herself, glanced up at Galo, and offered a shaky, unconvincing smile. Galo smiled back, surprised. He really hoped that meant it worked, that Sasha, and the others when news spread to them, would feel less anxious about asking for things they wanted or needed, moving forward.

It had the side effect of making Galo feel like a really, really weird sugar daddy, but he wasn’t going to examine that particular thought anytime soon, no sir, right into the repression hole with that concept. Galo gave Sasha’s shoulder a final squeeze and released her entirely, stepping back.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you were doing, here. Getting a hair tie?” Galo guessed, and Sasha nodded, smile gone and nerves rising once again. Galo gave her a wide berth as he passed her and left the room, giving her a little wave goodbye and a “Alright, have a good one.”

Ugh, shit, and, he knew Sasha was the kind of person who did better and felt less anxious when she had something to do. He meant to give her extra tasks, just as soon as he could think of some, but now would it feel like he was trying to keep her on her toes, or demanding “payment” for letting them all stay together? Fuck, everything was walking on eggshells, and he knew he couldn’t rush them, couldn’t push them without serious consequences, but damn if he couldn’t fucking wait for when they weren’t so… well, petrified and broken.

He turned the handle of the final door in the basement and came to a halt in the doorframe of the dungeon.

--

Sasha woke up before her family, just like every day before that one, and slipped out of the family bed, shivering in the early morning air. Her bra, when she put it on, was uncomfortably loose, and she wondered if Nyla could maybe… just put another one on the grocery list and buy one for her. Master Galo didn’t seem to check over anything that Nyla bought (he didn’t seem to check over anything), and also wouldn’t have any idea how recently Sasha had gotten this one even if he did, so she might not get scolded for wearing out the elastic so quickly. She tugged on her dress, settled her apron on, and combed her hair and pulled it up into a ponytail, then picked up her shoes and sat on the steps to the main floor to lace them up. The rest of the family sat on the bed, but Sasha didn’t like to risk waking any of them up.

After thoroughly washing her hands, she prepared Master Galo’s breakfast juice. Was it juice? Sasha was never sure what to call it. She didn’t really know what else it would be, but it also didn’t really seem like a juice. It wasn’t a slushy, though, and was it a ‘drink’ if it was technically food?

Sasha reliably saw their Master once a day, almost like clockwork, except there was a whole half-hour range when he might show up, and she was invariably nervous that whole half hour until he finally arrived, smiling at her and thanking her for his… thing. He showed up early, that morning, right on the upper limit of that half hour, and the way he clasped her shoulder was now familiar and not particularly alarming. It helped that he did it every morning, and it was always on her right shoulder, and it never hurt. He was still big and his hand was still very warm and very strong, but especially on the heels of what had happened to Nyla yesterday, Sasha wasn’t frightened by his touch. 

Bread was next, and Sasha contemplated what she should make for breakfast for her family and herself that morning. Now that it was her job to make sure they all ate every day (and what an incredible responsibility to have!), she was experimenting a little more with what she made, branching out. That morning, she decided on blueberry muffins, making two trays of six so that when Evan and Lilah finished theirs, they wouldn’t need to split a muffin between them. Sasha also soft-boiled an egg for each of them, peeling the tricky shells off with practiced efficiency.

“Morning Sasha,” Lilah greeted as she entered the kitchen, Evan right on her heels and yawning loudly. Sasha smiled and bent down so Lilah could press a kiss to her cheek, then gave her an egg to keep her busy until the muffins were done. Same for Evan, who ate the whole thing in a single bite. While it was the best way to keep the yolk from spilling out, Sasha had to wonder if it was tricky to eat like that, what with his mouth being so full and all.

Sasha asked Nyla about the bra when she was up, and Nyla jotted it down on her neat little notebook with a small nod, voicing Sasha’s thoughts on how Master Galo didn’t really check the grocery purchases, and probably wouldn’t care if Sasha got a new bra. Nyla was so smart.

When the muffins were gone and the bread was sitting on the cooling rack, the family departed to do their tasks, moving slower and easier with their workloads reduced and their Master out of the house. Greyson stayed noticeably close to Nyla, and Sasha didn’t doubt why. News that Lady--no, not Lady, Master Galo had told them to stop calling the Guests Lords and Ladies--Barbra had nearly stolen Nyla had shaken them all badly, left them clinging to each other, Nyla in the middle, in bed that whole night. Master Galo had kept anything terrible from happening, though, and if he was right back to his routine, then they could go back to theirs. 

It was nice, too, that Master Galo’s routine didn’t involve checking over their work as frequently as Mistress Bethany had, or maybe his standards were perhaps just possibly a tiny bit less exacting than hers had been. Conceivably. 

He seemed to like what Sasha made for food, at least. She’d only been wrong once, so far, trying out breaded pepperjack cheeseballs that Nyla couldn’t eat because they were too spicy, and Master Galo had sent back with one single bite taken out of one single ball. She’d spent that evening terrified, pacing listlessly about the kitchen and pantry, wondering when the punishment would come, but it hadn’t. She’d made other food that he had liked, which had probably been her saving grace. But also, he just, didn’t punish her for the mistake. Which she was grateful for! And she would never take for granted! She wouldn’t get complacent just because he’d shown her mercy, no sir!

Stuffed bell peppers sounded fun, and she’d asked for all the ingredients last time Nyla got groceries. 

She got all the prep work done, doing everything except actually cooking the peppers, and stuck them in the fridge. She decided a roast might be nice for dinner, so she rubbed the salt and herbs into it and settled it into the crockpot with onions layered overtop. She set the crockpot on low, knowing it would ever so slowly cook over the course of the day and be fall-apart tender by the time dinner made its way around.

Sasha went to the cupboard just above the kitchen phone (and she never understood why there was a phone in the kitchen; even when cooking had been Greyson’s job no one but Nyla or Mistress ever answered it) and pulled out the small tablet. Sasha was given internet access and allowed to peruse for the sake of finding recipes, which worked out, because she genuinely loved watching food videos. She could, and did, spend hours watching people mix together ingredients in aesthetically pleasing ways (she had the materials, she could do it like they did, if she felt like washing a lot of dishes). She enjoyed watching the time lapses of the food actually cooking, and she liked watching the specific action of people cutting into their creations with such intense precision, perfect triangles skewered on perfect forks.

She set a timer, checking that the tablet was still on its lowest volume, and let herself lose a little time until she needed to put the bell peppers in to cook. 

It was kind of lonely, in the kitchen, but Sasha didn’t usually mind. She liked being secluded, most of the time, and she got to make all kinds of fancy, interesting things. Her family would pass through from time to time (more often now, with Master Galo), and she was out from underfoot. She’d been at this for long enough, she wouldn’t know what to do, if she were reassigned to another area of the estate. 

She saw a video for fluffy cheesecake with strawberries and decided she wanted to make that for dinner that night.

After Greyson brought lunch to Master Galo, Sasha got food out to her family, first Evan and Lilah, who were both outside, then Greyson, then Nyla, who was… perturbed.

“He seems to be looking for something,” she said, the two of them in an unused boudoir that had, as Nyla reported, already been checked. “I don’t know what it is he’s looking for, but he certainly seems to be looking for something.”

“M-maybe he just wants a nicer b-bedroom?” The one he had wasn’t really the best in all the mansion. 

Nyla seemed to shake it off, and smiled at Sasha. “Maybe. We’ll know when we know.”

It was a mantra that they’d clung to, with Mistress Bethany and her games, but it had hardly been a reassurance, then. More like a final thread to grasp. Hearing Nyla say it now, it was almost like… almost like a “we’ll worry about that later,” even though they’d absolutely worry about it now, too.

Things were different, with Master Galo, Sasha mused as she started planning potential meals for the upcoming week and composing a grocery list for Nyla. She pulled out an apple, after, and sliced it, carving the peels off in such a way that they looked like little red rabbits. It was cute, if a little time consuming, even for her practiced hands, and when she was done she rinsed her hands and then stared at the plate, towel in her palms. What to do with them now? Evan and Lilah were pretty guaranteed to always be interested in food, and Master Galo had said to feed people a minimum of three times a day.

She had waffled for days, now, on whether or not to bring people food outside of mealtimes, or if she was supposed to wait for them to approach her. Today, she mustered up the courage to pick the plate and… leave the kitchen with it.

She felt like a rabbit, herself, out in the open air just waiting for a hawk to catch sight of her. Just waiting for something sharp to carve into her, reshape her how it wanted her to look. She tried to remind herself that it was fine, it was fine, it was fine. Master Galo told her to leave the kitchen to bring people food, and even though it wasn’t a meal this still counted. Besides, he never really saw her anyway, and it was a big house, what were the chances of them bumping into each other?

Sasha would try to be quick, even so. She felt marginally better once she was out of the door, out into the sunlight which warmed her. The weather was gorgeous, that day, and Sasha hardly ever got outside...

Evan and Lilah were roughhousing, Sasha could see them at a distance, and part of her was happy to see them having fun, but another part of her was anxious to see them slacking off. What if Master Galo saw them? And what if Master Galo saw her, with them, and got mad at all three of them? But Master Galo was looking for something inside the house, and he’d already been out in the garden the evening before, so it was fine, it was fine. 

Evan caught sight of her before she tried to call out, and grinned wide, hoisting Lilah up into the air with both arms around her waist, setting off another peal of laughter. “Avast! Intruder! A second stowaway beholden to mine eyes!” 

Sasha giggled, shoulders hunching up.

“Nay nay f-fair sea ca-captain. It is only your h-h-humble scullery maid.”

“Aarrrrg,” Evan called, swooping Lilah down so she dangled close to the ground, wiggling only a little because she didn’t actually want to be dropped. “If ye were truly of my crew you would know me for a pirate! No fair captains here, lassie!”

“Oh,” Sasha said, taking a moment to switch gears while Evan pretended to chomp at Lilah’s face. “Then m-mayhaps this rowdy p-pirate can be bribed?”

“Death! Death to the pirate king!” Lilah pretended to shout, because none of them were actually stupid enough to be loud. “I shall have him mounted to the bow as my new figurehead!”

“Arrg, big talk for such a wee lass!” Evan kissed her temple and set her down. “But maychance I shall let the shrimpy go uneaten, at the lovely dame’s behest.”

Sasha giggled again, accepting a kiss on the cheek from Evan while Lilah “awww”ed at the apple rabbits. A hand on her elbow brought her attention to Lilah, red rabbit pinched between her fingers. “Are you good to be out of the kitchen?”

“I… don’t know,” Sasha said honestly, nerves kicking back up. “N-nervous.”

Evan nodded, chewing on the apple slice in his hand, and hooked his arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. He tongued the mouthful into one cheek and said, “You could say you’re giving us a late lunch, if Master gets bothered. We’ll back you up.”

Lilah nodded, and Sasha felt her nerves uncurl. It was hours after they’d actually eaten, but not so late to warrant scrutiny for the excuse. 

“Though, if I’m c-caught out here, you t-two definitely would b-be.”

“Point,” Evan and Lilah chorused. They moved further into the hedges, sitting down on a little stone bench together and Sasha told them about how she planned to start doing more food carvings, since she had all this time on her hands, and she liked the extravagance and challenge they presented. The sun was really hot, actually, and Sasha wondered if maybe she’d already started to burn. She didn’t want to leave, though.

But she did, when Lilah playfully gave her hair a tug and her worn elastic finally bit it. She sighed, taking that as her cue to head inside, and set the plate down in the kitchen before moving down the stairs. 

Master Galo was there.

Sasha couldn’t help the “Eep!” that escaped her, only a decade of practice keeping her from recoiling, from shrinking back, her now-trembling legs barely saved from backing away. Master Galo turned, face indiscernible before he gave a smile to Sasha. He filled their bedroom, loomed inside it with the light casting his face in a shadow, massive, like he was waiting--

Her knees gave out, body instinctively curling so her forehead was to the floor, hands wringing and clutched close to her chest. She couldn’t even breathe as he approached her. 

“Hey, Sasha,” he said, his voice taking that easy, careless tone he always seemed to take when he played his games with them. Not like his morning greetings or thanks for his green juice, something sinisterly akin to comforting, to soothing. She glanced up, and found his hand outstretched. Graceless, she took the hand, and pressed a shaking kiss to it while she prayed he would forgive her the oversight of not doing that when she saw him. She knew he preferred that to kneeling--she was so stupid! And she must have fucked up, because this time Master Galo didn’t retract his hand like he normally did, instead he curled his fingers around her hand, holding it loosely and stroking her thumb with his hand that could crush the fragile bones of her own at any moment. 

“‘M sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Sasha glanced up at him, terrorized; how was she supposed to respond to that!? What did he want? Did he want anything in particular, or was this just some script for manners that he included in the game? She nod nod nodded as she glanced away, and in her peripheral she saw him reach out his other hand, but it only landed on her shoulder. That at least was familiar. Comforting. But then, with a squeeze, he shifted his hand underneath her arm and brought her to her feet. She’d been graceless the first time he lifted her, and she was graceless again this time, too, weeks to adjust and prepare herself and still she couldn’t keep her weight off him, made him take some of her disgusting weight in his own hands in order to position her how he wanted and she knew that wasn’t forgivable. She braced for it, shivering minutely as his hands lingered where they were. She could barely breathe, standing there under his scrutiny, feeling his eyes on her as another one of his slow, thoughtful silences dragged on.

“Is everything alright, Sasha?” Images of Barbara came unbidden, of terrible things that had happened just the day before. But nothing had happened that day, so she nodded. “Good.”

It occurred to her, belatedly, as he took another (far briefer) pause to think, that perhaps he had been asking if she was behaving herself, or if she had any reason to be out of the kitchen at this time of day. Really, where did she get off even thinking that he might be voicing concern for anyone’s well-being? Stupid! (Unprecedented; her own thoughts alarmed her). 

“Sasha, do you all sleep here?”

She dared a glance at his face, not understanding. Why… why..? But hers was not to understand, hers was to obey, and her Master had asked her a question. She nodded, but it was the wrong answer. Master Galo’s lips pressed thin. 

“Okay, well, we can fix that. There are those dorms on the other side of the basement, those would work, or we could choose individual rooms from--”

Sasha felt panic flood her, her anxiety lancing her with sudden, violent intensity, enough for her to cry out a choked “No--!” He looked to her, surprised, (and in truth, she was surprised by her own actions, or at least would be later, at her defiance, at her arrogance) “Pl--” don’t stutter, don’t stutter, she couldn’t stutter, it’d make it worse, Master Galo was being forgiving still, she hadn’t fucked up the game he was playing he was shushing her and touching her but she needed to not stutter. Maybe, maybe if she could ask without stuttering, maybe then he’d, maybe they wouldn’t have to-- 

“Easy, Sasha, shhh shsh, easy honey, what’s wrong?” She choked down a high whine, a small whimper escaping her anyway (sloppy, the rest of her family would’ve stayed quiet, she was supposed to be quiet). 

She needed to get herself together. She was the one he was playing his game with, now, she needed to… to win. She squeezed his hand with panicked desperation, maybe if she could prove she wanted it enough, he’d find it entertaining. “Please,” she gasped, “M-” She cut herself off, feeling the stutter before it could bubble out of her, breathing hard like that had ever once made the stutter go away before. “Master, don’t m-make--” No! No, no, she covered her mouth with tears stinging her eyes, curling in on herself (ugly, poor posture, no-good rotten girl). She wanted to beg on the floor, curl down on her knees and huddle in on herself without it being bad but he was still touching her so she couldn’t!

“Typing! Here, just type it out.” He pulled out his phone and tapped on it before handing it to her, and she took it with shaky hands. Now she couldn’t curl down on her knees because she was holding his property, his possession, and she didn’t let herself even think about the possibility of dropping it because if she thought about it she would make herself sick. Right now, she needed to focus on begging, on keeping her family together in the one space that had been some small degree of safe, that had been in some miniscule way theirs. 

Please Master don’t make us separate, she wrote, and when she handed it back she fumbled it. She gasped, one tear slipping out, but she wiped at it while Master Galo read what she’d written and she thought maybe he didn’t even notice. When his hand approached her she flinched, but he just touched her shoulder again, and maybe it was just because nothing bad had happened to her while he was touching her there, so far, but it almost soothed her.

Master Galo had another one of his long thoughtful pauses, staring at the phone screen and moving his thumb slowly, lightly over her shoulder, skimming the edge of her apron strap. She stood, shoving down the tears, shoving down the trembling, shoving down her need to curl into a ball at his feet and beg him to just kick her and get it over with, as she waited on his response. Please, Master Galo, please don’t make us separate she willed, like if she just thought hard enough maybe he’d feel it.

“Okay, Sasha, thank you,” he said at long last, “I like it when you ask me for things, that’s very good, and since you asked, you get what you asked for, see? No separating.”

Sasha’s eyes blew wide, looking at Master Galo’s hand, at the phone in it, then the hand on her shoulder, his face, the room, back to her Master. He, he liked? He liked it, when, when they--or, when she? When, asking would, he liked it when they asked for things? She didn’t understand. She’d ask her family later, what they thought, what the game was, if he was lying, if they should ask--or if she should ask? Swallowing hard, Sasha raised a hand and pointed a finger at her own chest. Did Master Galo want her, Sasha, to be the one to ask, like a responsibility, like it was her responsibility to feed everyone?

“Yeah, you honey.” God oh no oh no Nyla was the one who was good at talking why did Sasha have to be the one--she couldn’t even talk right and-- “And the others. I like it when all of you ask me for things that you want. Like when I took Greyson to the cemetery, yeah?”

Oh. Oh! Oh!!! Sasha nodded, feeling herself calm down. Like Greyson and the indulgence. Like how Master Galo had made Evan beg to be punished before he would--oh, oh it made sense! It made sense now! Master Galo, it must be some sort of power display or something, it was the act of being asked that he liked! Like, maybe like just the reminder that he had the ability to tell them yes or no because he owned them and--and she should be paying attention to him, right now, in front of her. She risked another glance up at her owner’s face, and maybe it was just because she felt like she finally understood one of the rules to a game but she gave him a shaky, if genuine smile. Master Galo smiled back, and it almost felt like Sasha was in on something. First to know. The one who would share with the rest of the family, what she had learned.

Master Galo released her with a step back, and Sasha drew in a tremulous breath. “Didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you were doing, here. Getting a hair tie?” Sasha nodded, remembering that just now, herself. Master Galo passed her by with a “Alright, have a good one,” and Sasha took two hesitant steps toward the dresser, out of the line of sight of the doorway, before collapsing onto the carpet. She… didn’t even feel particularly scared. Just, just, so much, so intensely, and it had drained her of all her strength. She just needed a moment, please, just a moment, to collect herself, to refind her strength and composure.

She didn’t let herself stay down long, just enough for the worst of the shakes to pass through her in ebbing waves, cycling out of her, before she rose, grabbed a hair tie, got herself presentable again, and left.

Master Galo was in the Punishment Room.

Sasha knew better than to recoil, but even so, on her quietest feet, she ran. Through the basement, up the stairs, to the kitchen, and she was cornered, she couldn’t leave, but, she was hiding, “hiding,” he could find her he could come find her any moment but this was where she was supposed to be she was good she was good she wasn’t being bad she didn’t want to be bad there wasn’t any reason to put her in the Punishment Room god please god not the Punishment Room even Evan hadn’t been in the Punishment Room in so long and Mistress hadn’t put her in it in so so long and Master Galo didn’t need to use it please please not the Punishment Room why was he there what was he doing why please no please not--

“--sha? Sasha?”

“Nyla!” Sasha gasped, clinging to her the moment her eyes registered that she was there.

“What’s wrong? Sasha, what happened?”

“I--he--” Sasha choked, curling into Nyla, face pressed into her shoulder, clutching at her apron skirt, desperate, needing, and Nyla’s arms came up around her back, holding onto her (safe, safe, Nyla was safe Nyla would protect her Nyla would make everything better). She tried to speak, her mouth not working, and it took her three, four attempts before she finally managed to get it across that their Master was in the Punishment Room. Nyla soothed her, soft shushes with her hand in Sasha’s hair.

“He’s been searching the house,” Nyla said in hushed tones, “He’s looking for something, that’s all, he isn’t,” Nyla seemed to falter, but pressed on, “Master Galo isn’t going to hurt us. Not, not there, at least. He’s just searching for something, that’s all, it’s alright Sasha, pull yourself together it’s alright, sh sh.”

Sasha nodded, trying to tamp it down. Master Galo had searched the garden the day before, he’d been through the house that day, Nyla had discussed it with her earlier! Master Galo was looking for something, and, and that had to be it, right? He was just checking all the rooms. Slowly, far too slowly, Sasha wound down.

Nyla pulled back enough to cup Sasha’s cheek in her palm, and searched her eyes. “Maybe… do you suppose he’s surveying the household; he didn’t go through room-by-room when he arrived, perhaps he’s just doing it a little late?” Nyla suggested. “Or possibly inspecting our work?”

And Sasha had just been thinking, earlier, on how lucky they all were that he didn’t seem to do that. She couldn’t help but feel that she’d jinxed it.

“M-maybe?”

Nyla took a deep breath and Sasha caressed her cheek in return, their foreheads pressing together.

“Just focus on your job, for now. I’ll speak up if something happens.”

Sasha felt herself soothe down a little more. Nyla would handle it. She nodded, trying to seem more confident than she was (her nerves were shot), and Nyla drank a glass of water before leaving.

Sasha remembered belatedly that she needed to tell Nyla that Master Galo wanted them to ask him for things, but this way she just ended up telling everyone at once, once their Master had eaten and they were gathered together in the kitchen for dinner.

“So he likes grovelling,” Evan mused, not sounding as bitter as he might have. Maybe despondent? But not angry, and Sasha’s brows knit to see him so… reduced. But maybe this news would cycle through and he’d feel better.

“It explains why I didn’t have to pay for the indulgence,” Greyson mentioned quietly. “Why he rewarded me for it.” Oh right, Greyson had gotten an easy day, hadn’t he?

“And why Evan was given prolonged threats with a comparatively mild punishment,” Nyla mused, “And it also might actually explain why we weren’t allowed to eat that first week. He was waiting for us to ask, and Lilah’s stumbling indicated that we would pass out first.”

Lilah huffed and stabbed her potato. “Mistress only liked begging when we were hurting,” she groused, voicing frustration that Sasha, personally, wasn’t even brave enough to feel. “And we sure weren’t supposed to ask for anything.”

Nyla could, because Nyla knew when to ask, and how to ask, and how to ask for only so much at one time, so it didn’t come off greedy, but balanced it with not asking too frequently, to avoid pestering Mistress. But now Master wanted to be pestered.

“Arrogant,” Evan whispered, barely a breath, not bold like he was normally (like he was supposed to be (no, that was a bad thing to think)). 

“We c-can grovel,” Sasha said, kinda hopefully, “I don’t m-mind grovelling.”

“It’ll take a bit to get used to,” Nyla said, setting her fork down on her empty plate and patting down her apron, “but I think ultimately this is going to be a better situation for us. And, by some stroke of fortune, it doesn’t seem that we’ve left the adjustment period yet.”

“He might not like that he had to spell it out for us though,” Lilah said, and oh, Sasha hadn’t even thought of that. He kept waiting for them to figure it out and they hadn’t. That was… probably not good.

“We’ll…” Nyla huffed through her nose. “Everyone just keep minding their manners, and let me know if his temper seems shorter or if you notice anything peculiar, or any changes, really.”

“He seemed different during tonight’s meal,” Greyson mentioned, and the family turned to him. “Not in any discernible way, but,” Greyson shrugged, a small barely-there movement that Sasha knew as well as her own skin, “different. Stiff, maybe.”

Nyla took a deep breath, the family looking to her, waiting for her verdict. “That probably means he’s a little irritated, but still not inclined to hurt us. It might also be from not finding--or finding, possibly--whatever it was he was looking for during the day. Don’t step on his toes.”

The sensation of mild alarm left the room, and Sasha… honestly felt good. Wrung out from her encounter with their Master, but they knew he liked begging, he liked being asked for things, that was--hopeful. That was a good thing, important to know, and, well, he seemed inclined to grant the things they asked for. Probably just to encourage them to keep doing it. But his motivations still meant he would do it!

It had been many years since Sasha had received any formal training, but, she vaguely remembered a unit on how to ask for things attractively. She shut down that line of thinking, because her stutter meant she would never be able to, but… as she cleaned up the kitchen, it made for a nice idle fantasy.

Next

[kinetic-elaboration]

August 15: 2x03 The Paradise Syndrome

I have seen this episode once before and I remember it being pretty awful... but tbh, I didn’t think it was so bad this time around. Maybe that’s just because my expectations were, like, Spock’s-Brain low. It definitely had issues but there was stuff I liked too!

Hmmm, that’s not the bridge. It appears to be... California?

Wondering what people might be so “blessed by this environment”--what a manly he-man action/adventure guy thing to say, amirite?

How does Spock know the significant markers of all the Native American tribes at a distance, off the top of his head?

(Answer: he doesn’t; all of this information is wrong and also one of those tribes is completely made up lmao.)

Honestly, who’s to say these people aren’t advanced? How do YOU know?

“Just so peaceful... no command decisions.” Oh no, Jim’s feeling Romantic again.

Honestly, imagine this characterization in AOS: overworked starship captain think he wants a break (but is wrong). Beyond made a vague attempt but missed what it is that Kirk finds stressful about command--it’s not that it’s boring, it’s the weight of the responsibility and the inability to find love.

Although funnily enough, even on his Native American Vacation, he still finds himself in a command position. He just can’t be stopped. Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Oh no, the obelisk ate him.

Maybe these people specifically built the obelisk so that they could return to this idyllic ““primitive”“ state, hmm? Maybe they like their lives this way. Maybe they experienced "progress" and then decided that whatever era of their development looked like indigenous American peoples had it right. (This is not correct but it roughly is the plot of Errand of Mercy so I’m not without precedent.)

Spock’s using simple tools to explain his point to Bones lol. “Here, let me dumb it down for you, lesser man of science.”

“Who am I? What are these?” Cpine morning voice: “This must be a dream!”

Kirk looks so confused. The god from the obelisk.

“The engines are showing signs of stress.” Seems to me like SCOTTY’S showing signs of stress.

And yet the music is so whimsical.

Honestly Kirk’s expression here = Denny Crane’s when in a meeting

White man brings CPR, is hailed as god. (I wish I were making this up.)

Damn, Salish has been demoted. How embarrassing for him.

This is a VERY interesting Spock. He does all his calculations, but the he takes all the risks. He’s very certain and single-minded, almost obsessed, not afraid of anything. I think it’s IC but I also think you can see some Kirk influence, perhaps... You can see how Spock has grown in his command abilities since The Galileo Seven.

The wise ones = the aliens.

“He died before he could tell Salish the secret” to opening the Obelisk and stopping the asteroid. That IS unfortunate.

“How does this shirt open?” Lol.

“Your name is Kirok?” “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

“I’ve never been this happy and peaceful.” Funny how he looks neither happy nor peaceful. Maybe it’s something like “I’ve never been this happy and peaceful...and I don’t like it.” Or “I’ve never been this happy and peaceful... there must be something wrong.”

“Here there is much time. For everything.” No there isn’t, there’s an asteroid coming.

Kirk’s cottage core fantasy.

Poor Scotty, so stressed out. Maybe he needs some time with the indigenous aliens.

The Joining Day? Lol okay.

Kirk has no chill, at all. “Oh, you want to get married? Tomorrow? Okay!!” Is this how Gary was able to successfully distract with him the blonde lab technician?

The “stardrive.”

“Estimated repair time?” “FOREVER.”

“And you lost Jim.” Cool it Bones, there’s no need to be cruel. Spock’s already in his thinking pose so you know he’s taking this seriously.

Love Spock’s chair. That’s not Starfleet regulation.

“I have found paradise.” Is he high??

Requisite highly choreographed fight scene.

“You’ve barely eaten or slept for weeks.” That’s because he’s worried about Jim. And the giant asteroid. This is a great Spock and McCoy scene though.

I can’t believe this. Spock lies down (barely!) and McCoy just leaves like he actually thinks he’s won, and then Spock immediately gets up again to go back to work.This guy is even easier to fool than Sarek.

You know Spock spent his whole adolescence going "Sure, I'll do the thing" and then just not doing it.

“A strange lodge that moves through the sky...” Well okay.

Okay I’m sorry, is he sensing the enterprise or is he sensing SPOCK? Because most of this dialogue might just imply he’s generically remembering his old life... but he also specifically says that the “flying lodge” was farther away and now it’s closer again, and how he could he know that otherwise?

She’s pregnant? That’s not good lol. AWKWARD.

Also the closest that TOS will ever come to acknowledging people have sex.

Omg he made a lamp. He made a lamp on his first day there. Does this imply that Captain Kirk had an arts and crafts phase?? Like CPR I understand him knowing--I’m sure everyone in Starfleet does. But hand-carving a lamp? That’s a whole other skill.

Various cultures including “certain Vulcan offshoots” use music notes as words omgggggg I love this information PLEASE tell me more.

“The Preservers” is a good concept imo. Nifty sci fi innovation: taking aliens from endangered places and giving them a new place, then setting it up nicely for them.

Stop throwing things guys! It’s not helping!

“I need Nurse Chapel.” Damn right you do.

Spock really doesn’t like that “wife.” He sounds like “Wife?? How dare??”

Then he suggests it’s a hallucination even though there’s a woman right there.

"Naturally, since he did not come from there. He's my man, get your paws off him."

Vulcan mind fusion? What the heck is that? How is it season 3 and they still don’t know what to call it?

“He is an extremely dynamic individual.” Spock was really taken for a ride in that brain.

“The landing party is expendable.” There’s the Captain.

“I have an excellent eye for musical notes.” Brag.

“Just press the right button.”

Looks like Spock was the god they wanted all along.

Okay, that was an uncool ending though. I know they basically had to kill Miramanee as soon as she was pregnant but like, there was also no reason for her to be pregnant??? I would have preferred if (1) Miramanee hadn't been pregnant, (2) Jim got over her as soon as he regained his memory and (3) she lived and they just parted awkwardly.

Also I think it would have been nice if they had ended with the Enterprise explaining to Salish how the obelisk works, and then maybe even a hint that he and Miramanee will get back together. Like, maybe not that, since I’m not a fan of women just being used to, like, make men feel better--though I’m also not a fan of them being fridged because of Inconvenient Baby--but he should have at least gotten his position back and, more importantly, the knowledge he was always entitled to. Also, the very existence of an asteroid deflector, along with the people’s extensive knowledge of what weather signifies Oncoming Asteroid, implies this happens to them with some frequency. So in other words, the threat will return.

Plus Salish never got enough credit for being right, which he was! The whole time!

Oh and also I would have liked some acknowledgement that Jim does like being Captain. If you watch the whole show, you know that he occasionally bemoans the stress and his inability to maintain a romantic relationship, despite his love of long walks on the beach, but that he’s also ambitious, he loves exploration and adventure, he gets bored if left in one place too long, and he believes in the necessity of progress and discovery to keep not just individuals but societies from stagnation. But if you just watched this episode, you’d think he’d never been happy in his entire life, and that returning to command makes him miserable.

Aside from the Native American stuff--which was awkward and rather unnecessary and has aged, as you might imagine, very very poorly--I actually didn’t hate the episode. It had some VERY interesting Spock stuff, which I think is within a reasonable Spock characterization, and some great Spock and Bones moments. Kirk’s story line was surprisingly engaging for him being completely separate from the crew, and the general theme that he sometimes needs, or thinks he desires, a break from command, is definitely in keeping with other episodes. I liked the asteroid as the Big Danger, which was surprisingly dynamic--by which I mean, it did a good job of connecting the very disparate story lines on the Enterprise and on the planet. I also liked the Sci Fi Concept of the week in the Protectors. And it was interesting to see an ep take place over a longer period of time.

None of this is to downplay how awkward the Native American elements are--incredibly fetishistic, and also lazy--like, “I want to show something Simple and Idyllic...I know! Indians!” There was no reason they should look like American Indians. In fact, it makes no sense that they do: the Protectors take peoples from planets that are about to be destroyed and (somehow) discreetly move them somewhere else, but Native American peoples still.... very much exist? And so does Earth as a whole. So obviously these aliens weren’t transplanted from Earth. So why should their culture resemble some awkward mishmash of Native American cultures?

So overall I’d say, the ideas of the episode, the structure, the characterizations (mostly), and the overall ideas were good, but it was just very awkward and unfortunate that it chose the... aesthetic that it did--especially because it was very much an aesthetic choice and not a well-thought-out, culturally sensitive one. Gonna be honest and just chalk that up to it being 1968 though.

Next is And the Children Shall Lead, which I actually think was one of the first TOS eps I ever saw... But I don’t remember it at all.  So we’ll see!

[metalgearkong]

Ghost of Tsushima - Review (PS4)

9/21/20

Developed by Sucker Punch Productions, released July 2020

Let’s not beat around the bush: Ghost of Tsushima may be my favorite game of this console generation, and one of my favorite games of all time. This is a massive samurai tale crammed with unforgettable moments, characters, and environments. After finishing this game, I felt like I had been through no less than the peak samurai experience in any entertainment medium. Never before have I stood up and given a standing ovation for a video game upon the credits rolling. While feeling complete and filled to the brim, there are small technical aspects that do have room for improvement in the potential sequel. Sucker Punch came out of nowhere and knocked the world on its ass with a fantastic stylized epic feudal Japanese journey, one I can never forget. 

Ghost of Tushima is open-world, easily comparable to The Witcher 3 or a modern Ubisoft title. What Ghost of Tsushima brings to the table is its incredibly realized medieval Japanese world, to the same extent Red Dead Redemption brought the mythic American Wild West to life. Authenticity can be found in every corner, and I set the game for Japanese voices and English subtitles to extend the immersion (something I can’t recommend enough). The Mongols have invaded Japan, and their first stop is Tsushima island. The samurai here are all that stops the massive army from reaching the mainland. The details themselves might not be perfectly accurate to 1274 Japan, but the world itself is consistent, which is what’s most important. 

The game begins with a huge battle, as we take control of our main character Jin Sakai (Daisuke Tsuji / Kazuya Tsuji) right away. An orphan raised to be a samurai by his uncle Lord Shimura (Eric Steinberg / Akio Otsuka), Jin holds guilt and shame for not being able to save his father in battle when he was young, and strives to be the best warrior possible. The explosive intro gives us a quick intro to the open combat, and leads in to a fairly typical tutorial, adding in brief lessons on stealth, and using evasive tactics & tools. I remember how panful the combat first felt, as each strike looked like something akin to a samurai film. The main villain and leader of the Mongols Khotun Khan (Patrick Gallagher / Tsutomu Isobe) establishes himself as a despicable person, and someone totally opposite to the samurai honor-bound code of combat. He wants to conquer Tushima by any means necessary, and Jin is the only one willing to adapt his fighting style to combat this new  dishonorable and overwhelming threat.

Jin Sakai is closer to a Geralt, rather than a blank slate avatar character of a Fallout or Elder Scrolls game; He has a specific personality, background, and motivation. Part of the overarching story is Jin learning to rely on tactics he would normally frown upon in order to stand a change against the Mongol forces. This is something his uncle highly detests and forbids Jin to do, leading to a secondary conflict in the story. This is useful for also explaining in the gameplay why the player can either face enemies out in the open, or scurry around and stabbing them in the neck. Of course, most players will do a bit of both, and whatever suits the situation of how you’re feeling in the moment. The best part is, it’s not an binary dilemma, as open combat and stealth can be used completely intermixed at any time.

Personally, one of my favorite parts about the game was unlocking and finding new apparel and color schemes for my outfits. This game (eventually) allows you to dress anywhere from humble peasant, to shinobi of the night, to fully armored samurai warrior. My only nit pick is I wish the game gave you more cosmetic options to buy or find earlier in the game, as I felt limited to just a few outfits and accessories at first. There’s nothing more awesome than manually sheathing your sword after slicing up a dozen grunts, all the while your cape and robes aggressively blowing in the wind. The game allows you to manually bow and play a flute as well, adding the immersion of every moment of the game. You travel the huge island via horseback, and can summon your horse at any instance with the push of the button. I also love how quickly you pick up items, by merely pushing R2. No needless animations or time spend slowing the momentum for the sake or grit or realism.

One of the most unique aspects of the game is using the wind as your guide. If you really wanted to, you’d never have to open your map to know how to get to your current quest. Simply swipe up on the touch pad, and the wind blows in the direction you need to go (the game doesn’t even feature an in-game minimap or radar). This kicks up leaves, twigs, sand, and other particles which add greatly to the visual appeal of the game, and help make you feel closer to the environment itself. Adding to this is how foxes and birds can lead you to hidden secrets, upgrades, or new gear. With so few HUD elements, focus on paying attention to the environment, and the gorgeous lighting and scenery, Ghost of Tsushima gave me to many moments where I felt spiritually uplifted in its world. Despite not having the budget of a super high end Naughty Dog or Rockstar game, Ghost of Tsushima remains one of the most beautiful games I’ve ever played, and much of that leans on the art style and environmental effects alone.

Missions are equally entertaining whether they come from a main character or minor character you happen upon. Most quests may involve (but aren’t limited to) tracking, fighting, sneaking, climbing, riding, and spying. I especially enjoyed quests with specific limitations, such as having to remain undetected and not to kill any guards. Eventually, however, due to the game’s long length, some of the missions do start to show their repetitiveness, and I don’t think it would have been horrible if the overall run time was 10-15% shorter. I also enjoyed the fact that so much effort was put into side activities that feel serene and peaceful, akin to the Buhddist and Shinto side of being a samurai. Composing haikus and bathing in hot springs to increase your total health felt very much in the spirit of a Bushido lifestyle; always a calm in between the storms of violence. The fact that not all side content is action oriented was a very neat and authentic detail.

Samurai duels were some of my favorite parts of the game. Occasionally Jin would come across an opponent or rival with legitimate swordsmanship skills, and has to face them in an arena. These locations where the duels would take place never failed to be more epic than the next. Duels act like boss fights in the game, and incorporate similar combat to the regular open world combat--only Jin can’t use secondary items such as kunai, his bow, or smoke bombs. These moments were ripe for the photo mode, something I used throughout this game constantly, as its packed with incredible environmental design and lighting effects to make almost every moment and location feel like a living painting. Samurai duels were usually never very difficult, including the ending boss fights, but they always looked awesome and felt damned satisfying.

The game does suffer from some minor technical glitches, but these small drawbacks mean next to nothing compared to how impressively the rest of the game was designed and executed. Frequently I would approach an enemy group and want to initiate a stand off (the samurai version of a high noon cowboy duel) but the game either didn’t give me the option or the option blinked on screen for only a moment and I was unable to do it. Something similar would happen for stealth kills, as sometimes instead of doing the assassination animation when prompted, Jin just did a regular slash attack instead, blowing my cover. Situations like this didn’t happen often, but were consistent enough to notice. I give Sucker Punch a huge pass on these small technical details, as they never ruined my experience of the game, remaining small frustrations on occasion.

Ghost of Tsushima is a greatest hits of iconic feudal Japanese visuals, sounds, tropes, settings, and themes. Countless details build upon this heightened version of Japanese history, making this game an all in one interactive Kurosawa film. Everything from the sword duel boss fights, to the multiple fighting stances, to the stealth, to the nature surrounding you, everything has been executed with extreme skill and thoughtfulness. It can have its small moments showing a lack of polish either in the visuals or mechanics, but Sucker Punch more than accomplished what they set out to do. Ghost of Tsushima is the best PlayStation 4 exclusive, and by far one of my favorite games of all time. If you have any interest in the open world genre, and love the Japanese culture and art style, Ghost of Tsushima likely won’t let you down. An amazing adventure wreathed in katanas, honor, blood, wind, and cute foxes. 

9.5/10