#whether or not it works....well. anyway. but its a viable option and he's not even heard out. even by his own partner

[sunderedazem]

14 - bitter

Ancients? :)

You KNEW what you were asking for. So have some Elidibus POV of Azem and Emet-selch's break-up before the Sundering.

-

There are shards of red on the steps, and utter silence in the square. He blinks. Etheriys feels a little like a dream now, with the soft roaring of so many souls dulling his senses- but this sting of sorrow and shame he feels, distantly. It aches in a way he's sure he's forgotten, almost. And yet he and all those within yet remember…

The people are watching (not saved- but soon) stricken, frozen - all but one, whose cowl hangs down his back, whose silver staff is still tight-gripped in white-knuckled fingers. Who is walking away with a snarl on his lips and tears streaming down his bare face. Who has before the entirety of Amaurot denounced the Convocation, who has accused them of forgetting their duty, who has- has accused him of bias- 

They had to save the star. They have to save the star. And He was their answer. Is their answer. The roaring in his ears will never cease, now. He thinks the stretch of his very self was a small price to pay for the blue of the sky. He knows it. He volunteered.

So many had. And yet-

Azem storms out of the city center with his staff aglow in Light, wreathed round himself like a shield against- something, and he does not look back. There is only the sway of his long white braid as he departs, and Elidibus- watches it. Watches the narrow shoulders and frail stature recede into the distance, until shattered and broken and burning buildings obscure him from sight completely. Watches as one of Themis's closest friends turns his back on Zodiark and all the salvation he promises.

Elidibus does not understand it. He- remembers. Azem had pleaded with the Convocation to stay Zodiark's summoning, to give him time to find an alternative. Half the lives of their people was too awful a price for him - and Elidibus cannot condemn him for that love he has for their star and people, cannot condemn him for his dissent. Azem is the Traveler - the Shepherd. It would go against everything his seat stands for to agree. Lahabrea had not agreed - nor had Pashtarot - but in the end, Elidibus could not be partial. And thus Azem was given his time to find another way. But should Amaurot begin to burn- then they would have to act.

But he returned too late. Three days too late. And his solution was…incomplete. An effort commendable, to be sure. A solution worthy of gentle praise, and perhaps use later. But the star had fallen to ruin, and Zodiark could restore it. And then- then the star could restore their people. And Zodiark would save them all. He would save them.

He will. No matter if one man refuses to understand. Elidibus and Zodiark will save him too.

No matter how bitter that salvation tastes.

There are shards of red on the steps. Emet-selch is kneeling among them, his hands shaking, gathering the pieces one at a time. He is not crying, Elidibus thinks. Not yet, at least. He seems more stunned than anything. Of course, he is not the only one, if the way the silence still rings deafening has any meaning.

Azem has always had a temper, though it was not often apparent. But this- this by far had been the worst outburst Elidibus had ever seen from anyone, let alone from Azem. And worst of all, it had been a willful misinterpretation- a cruel misinterpretation, made solely to make a point about their plans to sacrifice the lesser creatures of the star to return those given to Zodiark to life. And- and perhaps Azem even had a point, if a misguided one.

He had always been thin of aether, incapable of all creation magicks no matter how simple, and sickly for it besides. His elevation to the Fourteenth Seat had been long delayed by a discussion of his health and the risks posed to his own wellbeing, rather than any disagreement with regard to his temperament or accomplishment as a researcher and theorist both. But to use his own recurring illness - which Emet-selch had cared for him through countless times - as a bludgeon to say that the Convocation must therefore count him among those lesser creatures-

I too am thin of aether. Weak, sickly- imperfect. Incapable of creation. Are these the only requirements for you to be willing to slaughter living beings in order to undo the willing sacrifice of half our people? I gave you another option! Those who are thin of aether - thinner than me! - may use this dynamis to restore our star, and you dismiss their capabilities save for their worth as livestock? You swore to hearken unto my solution, Emet-selch- you promised me you would have faith I would find a way and now you- you reject what I have found in favor of dishonoring your seat and returning the dead to life? Fine then! I count myself among these lesser beings freely, for I am more akin to them than you. And should you wish to wet Etheriys with their blood, you will start with me. And you will draw the blade across my throat with your own hands.

But even if he had a point- Emet-selch had only stared, utterly lost for words. The entire square had been quieter than death. Even Zodiark had seemed to still. And then, caught in the folly of sentiment, Emet-selch had stepped forward, had reached out a hand, had called- 

Helios- Helios, please-

There had been a whirl of black, a flash of red- and then Azem's mask had shattered on the wall above Emet-selch's head, had shattered into shards of his office even as his sigil had glared red over silver eyes.

I am Azem,  Emet-selch. I revoke the privilege for you to call me by my personal name- not only do I not know this man you have become, but us lesser creations have no names to speak of, now do we?

Elidibus had not known how to stop him. Emet-selch had just dropped his hand, jerking a little as if he had been struck by a physical blow.

And then Azem had gone.

And now he is gone. And Emet-selch is on his knees, gathering the shards of that shattered mask, cradling them carefully, as if he could piece together what was broken. As if he could repair a heart threaded with thorns, or another cracked down the center. As if saving the mask would save the man.

“...he will come back,” Emet-selch whispers then, staring at the bitter, broken ashes of Helios in his hands. “...I- I will have that much faith in him.”

And Elidibus- and in Elidibus, the dark waxes strong, and he lays a hand on Emet-selch's shoulder. 

“Nay- we will save him, my friend,” he promises, and watches as golden eyes behind a red mask snap to him and glaze over. There is weight in his words now - the promise of a thousand thousand souls and the hope of their people. “We will save him, and the star as well. We will.”

The doubt and grief in Emet-selch's eyes disappears, wiped clean by faith. And Elidibus smiles, heart heavy with certainty and the knowledge that in time, Themis's dearest friends will mend the rift born between them here. They will save Azem - they will - and the star he so loves, and all the people too. Elidibus will not allow for any end other than perfect salvation. The bitterness of these sorrowful days will fade, and Azem will smile again, and look upon Emet-selch with that loving mischief in his eye, and this will all be but a distant memory. 

They will. 

He will make sure of it.

-

Enjoy the angst/keep the change ya filthy animal

[lightrises]

"Only in allowing her to pass..." — Hornet, The Radiance, and the means by which Hallownest turned its victims against each other

A quick note: I read Hollow Knight as an anti-colonialist text. As such I'll be touching on topics related to colonialism as it's depicted in the world of the game, and said analysis will reflect both a sympathetic take on The Radiance and a critique of The Pale King that won't pull its punches. If this sounds up your alley, hello and thank you for the read! Let us be sad about these bugs together.

———

So!! A while back I realized something about pre-canon that felt rather... "curious" is one way to put it, I think. To wit: for all the effort and scheming and determination The Pale King poured into trying to get rid of The Radiance, neither of his plans involved directly killing her.

Was that his long game? Well, sure, that seems clear enough. His tack changed from luring the moths away from their god and creator to a more literal form of incarceration once the infection became a factor, but at its core the end goal never really changed—The Pale King very sincerely wished to destroy Radiance via obsolescence. The Seer lends us foreshadowing to confirm as much:

[Image descriptions: Two screenshots from Hollow Knight, showing the Seer and Ghost in the Seer's alcove at the Resting Grounds. Across both screenshots, the Seer tells Ghost the following: "None of us can live forever, and so we ask those who survive to remember us. Hold something in your mind and it lives on with you, but forget it and you seal it away forever. That is the only death that matters." End description.]

(Which, by the way and given the context, talk about an extremely unsubtle allusion to cultural genocide huh!!! Whew.)

In any case, we're left with a whole bunch of machinations which build up to... well, two very roundabout attempts at committing deicide. That's kind of weird, all things considered! Why not just do the deed in one fell swoop and get it over with?

This could be for any number of reasons. Maybe the king was devoid of the means to instantly kill another higher being. Maybe his personal sense of scruples stopped him short of signing off on MURDER murder (although, y'know, the aforementioned genocide + eternal imprisonment = still cool and copasectic apparently!). Maybe the long drawn-out cruelty was the point. Maybe the idea of playing fuckign 4D chess with the circumstances was too delicious for him to pass up—that man did love to tinker and stick his claws where they sure as hell didn't belong—or maybe it was a little bit of All The Things. Who knows!!

But interrogating The Pale King's methodology on this count isn't what I'm here for, at least not really. The main reason I raise this question at all is that in her own way, Hornet did too.

"I'd urge you to take that harder path... "

See, going by The Pale King's actions and what The White Lady explicitly says, they both foresaw two outcomes wrt the infection: it can be allowed to spread, or it can be contained. At Teacher's Archives, Quirrel acknowledges the fact that Ghost is expected to do... something about this, but he doesn't elaborate on what HE thinks that's supposed to be apart from the obvious "Gotta bust into Black Egg Temple first". Hornet is the one person who presents to us—to Ghost—what's framed as a third option: confront and destroy the infection at its source.

And she doesn't bring it up like it's just another tactic for Ghost to consider, prim and indifferent to what they would do. She nudges them towards it, actively, up to the point where she throws herself into the fray against Hollow at a juncture that's uniquely dangerous to her and her alone just to make that option feasible.

Even when she's couching it in disclaimers that this is still Ghost's decision to make (and let's be fair, she's extremely not wrong about that lol), no one can pretend Hornet is unbiased. It's obvious in that buttoned-down Hornet kind of way that she is way the hell done with the increasingly tenuous stalemate that's kept Hallownest's desiccated corpse from collapsing in on itself. Personally it's hard for me not to read some Toriel Undertale-esque "My father was too entrenched in his own foolishness to pursue any course of action that would have DEFINITIVELY ended this" shade into her stance here, regardless of whether that's strictly true in canon.

And that bit—Hornet's hopes for an end to Hallownest's stasis, moreover her grim calculation of what needs to be done to get there—that's the bit I find super interesting but likewise tragic and depressing as shit, on multiple levels. In no small part because a) canon itself gestures towards Hornet feeling conflicted about the very plan she's pushing, and moreover b) she has at least two (2) damn good reasons to feel that way.

So, what do I mean by that? Let's look here first:

[Image description: A screenshot from Hollow Knight, of Hornet and Ghost inside the Temple of the Black Egg, standing in front of the unsealed egg itself. Hornet has been struck by the Dream Nail and her dialogue is displayed as follows: "... Could it achieve that impossible thing? Should it?" End description.]

As the curtain is about to drop on things one way or another, Hornet thinks,

... Could it achieve that impossible thing? Should it?

Now, looking at that last bit it's easy to go "Oh no, Hornet's worried that Ghost won't survive killing The Radiance!" And I do think that's part of it: Hornet is, categorically, not her father. By endgame it's clear she's not content to view her Void-borne siblings as tools to be used then disposed of. She's also well aware that as a healthy autonomous Vessel amongst the countless dead, Ghost is the only person left alive who has a fighting chance against The Radiance. Knowing someone is the only qualified candidate for the job doesn't make encouraging them to embrace a probable death sentence any less of a bitter pill to swallow, though. And odds are on that this sentiment extends to Hollow too, who IS going to die no matter what happens here. To put it bluntly, it's more than reasonable to conclude that Hornet hates the absolute fuck out of this.

But I don't think that's all there is to it either. Remember what I said earlier about The Pale King's bids for genocide? Well, it's not like the man deigned to limit his efforts to just the moth tribe.

"We do not choose our mothers... "

On top of everything else—an infected Hallownest being all she's ever known, the fact that she only exists because of the infection, the list goes on—Hornet has spent her life wedged into a position that's been uncomfortable and terminally unglamorous at best: she is both a daughter of her father's kingdom and of Deepnest.

Deepnest, which like the moths and many others was here long before the wyrm and his lady wife swanned onto the scene and the God Become Bug laid claim to everything the Light touched plus a considerable amount of change. THAT Deepnest, which has fought claw and thread to retain its sovereignty against same-said settler king, and for which Herrah not only surrendered her life but also agreed to bed her worst enemy, all in hopes of securing a viable future for her people (put a pin in that last part by the way, I'll come back to it soon).

Two Worlds, One Family (Ft. An Indigenous Woman Trying Her Damndest To Work With What She's Got Versus An Imperialist Who Only Signed Up For This Because He Needed The Political Favor THAT Badly, So It's The Height Of Dysfunctional Actually). Fun times!!!!

The baggage this entails for Hornet is gnarly enough without implications made by The White Lady and the pre-canon timeline of events and even Team Cherry's dev notes that the king may well have looked at baby Hornet, gone "YOINK", then ensured she spent the lion's share of her childhood reared within the pearly auspices of his Pale Court*. That would be rather advantageous for Him Specifically after all, the potential to mold a born foe into a future ally and even have her trained in combat under the same tutelage as her doomed sibling. And far be it from him to stop a grown Hornet—his own flesh and blood too!—from making Deepnest her forever home if she so pleased. He totally wouldn't be reneging on his "fair bargain made" by doing this one simple thing until Hornet came of age, not t e c h nic c a l l y.

If that is indeed the case, there's a non-zero chance Hornet's formative years were a hot mess of cultural alienation and being a good deal more privy than most to just how much of a bastard her father could be. There's an equally non-zero chance that at some point she stood or sat within earshot as The Pale King finally, finally dropped all pretense and euphemism to name the Light for precisely what (for who) it was.

See, in conjunction with the question that started this whole dang train of thought I've been asking this one too: Does Hornet know? When she speaks of confronting "the heart of [the] infection" does she know she's talking about not just a literal person but someone very specific? The Radiance, who god though she may be shares skin in the game alongside Hornet as a native woman screwed over by the same settler king, likewise deprived of her kin and saddled with a life gone horrendously pear-shaped?

I'll assume for the sake of exploring the possibility and because I think it's a likely one anyway that yes, Hornet does know. She knows, and despite everything can't help empathizing. She might even look at Radiance and see bits and pieces both reflected and slightly inversed in her own mother: Radiance was forced to the sidelines while her people—her children, the brood she was meant to lead and care for—died out under The Pale King's rule, and it's no stretch to assume she's at least as upset about that as she has been about everything else; Herrah too took drastic measures for her people's sake, trying to head off annihilation by relegating herself to the sidelines in an act that was as much calculated risk as an attempt to find wiggle room and leverage in the face of a nasty proposition.

A calculated risk that, if things continue as they are, might well amount to nothing as the rest of Deepnest gets eaten alive by the infection. It survived The Pale King's advances for so so long, only to fall here. Herrah's sacrifice would be for naught; the other tribes—themselves the king's victims—would keep succumbing to the infection too.

And this is where things fall apart.

"... or the circumstance into which we are born."

Let's be clear: I think Hornet is wise enough to know what's what here, that all the carnage and suffering falls on her father's head for starting this slow-motion trainwreck in the first place. Hallownest wasn't always Hallownest. This domain was Radiance's home first, along with many others. It was the worm-turned-king who rolled up on the scene unsolicited and decided this was a ""'problem""" that had to be """solved""".

But the fact of the matter is that he's gone and The Radiance is here, raging, seemingly inconsolable. Above and beyond being Deepnest's rightful heir, Hornet isn't in a position to countenance more splash damage even if the grief and fury fueling it makes perfect sense. She can understand without ever bringing herself to love Radiance, and she can bend her knee to practicality even if she hates the everloving shit out of it because the fact that it "has" to end this way isn't fair.

This lends itself to one last awful conclusion: that Hornet has probably considered and (rightly or wrongly) discarded the possibility that Radiance can be saved, at least not without dragging more collateral along for the ride. If even her mother and every other enemy to the king seemed to dismiss talking Radiance down as an option way back when... well. Why should Hornet hope for any better after things have escalated so far?

Again, it's practical. A practical net good is what Hornet strives for. And again, it fucking sucks.

For extra tragedy points, this makes Hornet's extended crypticness around Ghost followed by her last minute casting about for a reason to tell them "Wait, don't; not just yet" that she never voices even more of a gut punch. She can't bring herself to burden Ghost with the context that haunts her so, least of all when it might weaken their resolve to go through with what (she thinks) needs doing.

It's the "same song, different verse" which led to the mantis tribe and Deepnest being pitted against each other: Hallownest rigged the game so that two women who could have been powerful allies—who have a mutual vested interest in driving out settler rule—wound up poised as enemies instead. And how awful is that? The king for all his being extremely fucking dead still gets the last laugh, because outside of a miracle the game never manifests Hornet can salvage what her mother started and look forward to a future where Deepnest pulls itself back from the brink if and only if The Radiance dies.

Resolution comes at the price of a completed genocide. Add two more dead siblings to the unconscionable pile thereof, while we're at it. That's what it boils down to whether or not Hornet can bear to articulate it as such, and there's no grace or even a properly bittersweet ending to wring from this clusterfuck. And that is rough.

———

* This has been better explained elsewhere, but a quick rundown: The White Lady tells Ghost that Hornet and Herrah "were permitted little time together." On its surface this can be taken to mean that Hornet was still very young when Herrah was shipped off to Eternal Dreamland—except this doesn't jive with the fact that we meet Hornet as an adult. If the stasis kicked in once the Dreamers went to their rest, which in turn halted the aging process for every living bug in Hallownest, AND before all this Hornet experienced little by the way of quality time with her birth mother... I think you can see where I'm going with this.

To top it off we've got Team Cherry weighing in ominously from their dev notes on Herrah: "As part of the agreement for her alliance and her role as a dreamer, King gave her a child (Hornet). Was she allowed to keep this child or was she taken away?" This isn't confirmation by itself of course, but given additional canon details (see above): Can I get a "yikes" in the chat fellas.

[elizabethrobertajones]

Hello there. I have a question (more like a thesis): What would have happened if Cas told the Truth anywhere between season 7 and 15? Do you think it would have had the same impact on Dean? Logically speaking Cas could have told him anytime.

Oh gosh, yes. I mean Dean’s reaction in season 15 is still the best it could have been really :P He was in the best place and most accepting of himself and he still had a BSOD for a moment and then Cas had to shove him away so he could go die... (Assuming you take the on screen boring presentation of what happened as canon and not throw in the reciprocation, tears, pull in for a kiss, etc that we know exists either in our hearts or on Jackles’ phone.)

I’ve been thinking about this and the parameters we’d have to apply if we were gonna get something like the show being self-healing back to its self as we know it but we were allowed a confession. Also the show has to be as punishing as ever. So these are my personal theses on each season... 

Season 7 the confession would have to be after Cas comes back, and everything in 7x17 that looked like Dean was jealous of Daphne and Meg textually was meant to be read that way in the set up for the confession. To make it the most painful obviously we still get Cas exactly as he was all through to the end of the season and he never really says anything too different but then right when they’re having the “cursed or not” discussion he’d bust out of nowhere that he supposes it is inevitable Dean would talk him into going on this dangerous mission to get Dick because obviously Cas loves him. And Dean, who is in a weirdly zen sort of place in the remaining minutes of season 7 after Bobby’s send off and final words that helped him go make up with Cas, is in a similarly season 15 oddly okay spot, mental health wise. At least. COMPARED TO ALL THE REST OF SEASON 7. But I still personally have always read it as a genuinely good place for him that could have endured much longer if not for *gestures everything that happened after stabbing Dick* and obviously making up with Cas was step one and a huge part of his process. 

(idk if you’ve noticed but 7x23 pretty much has no Sam and Dean interaction after Bobby’s send off, and their last good broments are really scarce; it feels sort of natural for abrupt calamity and no time for teary farewells in a season with a strong commentary on grief, which also hyperfocuses the attention on Dean n Cas there.)

So I think Dean would maybe be stunned but maybe quirk a sceptical smile like “He can’t mean it like that and anyway he’s currently coo-coo, this doesn’t mean anything hahaha oh Cas :)))” and then idk shake his head and move the story on and Cas just turns one longing look after him like “dammit that didn’t work out like planned” 

Anyway then the exact plot beats of 7x23 follow, exactly as seen on your screens, but we’re left going into season 8 and Carver era with Dean far far more messed up about Cas and it can force clarification in 8x02 in Purgatory where Cas is entirely adamant he meant what he meant and furious at Dean for being mad at him and Dean’s mad at Cas for all the season 8 reasons so they continue angsting at each other but Benny’s reaction shots are just 10x funnier. This is followed by Dean’s reciprocation of “I love you” instead of “I need you” in the crypt scene in 8x17 and from there honestly it’s been built up into canon in such a way that the emotional arc of the show has to go off the wheels and I can’t keep to the self-healing model to continue following the “real” plot and contain this much raw power.

Coincidentally, if the first confession is in season 8, it would be “what broke the connection” after a season 8 where nothing was different up until that point. Cas flaps off while Dean is still processing that the answer was “You. I love you.” and Dean is left yelling at the empty crypt like “What the hell, Cas?!” 

Then he’s as mad at him as he was in canon except instead of being borderline a really bad overreaction into his anger phase which we have to weather as miserable fans tethered to this ship who know sometimes Dean gets mad and yells at Cas for no reason, he’s reacting proportionately. It’s always seemed like 8x22 only makes sense if Dean is furious at Cas for confessing and fleeing except, obviously, in our “”real”” canon, it can only be like Cas confessed and Dean took it that way and also felt embarrassed how far he went with his own feelings only for Cas to run. 

This would make the bar scene with the cupids in 8x23 make a lot more sense too, and after they get the cupid bow Dean’s going to turn to Cas and give him a nervous smile, and then - Naomi flaps in like she does and distracts them away from reciprocation. 

I think this one could go long - maybe even season 13 Cas being dead and Dean being like “FUCK I never got a chance to work things out with him” and 13x06 onwards is where we get any actual work on the ship, because Carver era was so determined to be emotionally gruelling and unsatisfying and relentless from one issue to the next. And the confessions are so bound up specifically in the moments of miscommunication or failed attempts, cut off conversations etc that whether Destiel is canon or not, they’re never gonna get to talk it out under those conditions. Cas is only explicitly the grieving wife and jealous ex to Crowley’s smug take over of Dean’s affections rather than subtextually. 

The season 9 confession... I feel like we’d come perilously close to the Monkey Paw curse we once envisioned of Buckleming making it canon because they love jumping the gun on plot points and making them too obvious. So the end of 9x03, Cas is really blatantly angling to come in with a big “Hey I’m human can I live in the Bunker look at me I learned to do The Sex can we do it now” kind of vibe. All the enthusiasm he was giving to eating that burrito in the background while “Zeke” was trying to get him kicked out, but with lusting over Dean :P 

If we avoid that we can leap to Mr Bobo Berens and his first episode, and have this thing handled by a pro, as it’s already very much about Cas as a homeless queer man with a bad ex he still loves rolling into town where he’s just trying to make a new life and play straight - I mean human - for his own survival. I suspect the confrontation with Iphraim would make it really obvious that Cas didn’t just want to live as a human but had an eye for living as a human with Dean, and then he’d attempt a confession right before Dean would accidentally talk over, like, the L in “love” honestly, to tell him that sorry things do still stand that you can’t come back with me. Leaves Cas utterly devastated but Dean is none the wiser and he drives off and Cas pines piningly at the pine trees in his Gas n Sip. 

Again the end of season probably would force the real confession, since there’s a ready made moment in 9x22 where Hannah tries to force Cas to kill Dean and he gives it all up for one man. Cas can just lower that knife and be like, “No, I love him,” talking to his shoes and Hannah rather than meeting Dean’s eyes. Mark of Cain Dean is fuuuucked up at that point but we still get the moment where Dean carries Cas’s bag into the bunker and sits down with him and tries to care about his health and now also this confession. Sussing out what the heck is up with Cas, and maybe he looks like he’s playing it cool and is still so messed up but Cas is vulnerable, and finally Dean starts to reach across the library table for his hand, and it’s a moment where maybe things could have started to go better for them...... Cue Gadreel walking into the library, Dean going feral, blah blah demon!Dean, blah blah explicitly stated Drowley, blah blah muuuch healing and Cas giving Dean a wide berth for a lil while. Though, in this scenario, 10x22 is far worse but has the reverse crypt scene moment, so Dean can be more obviously unable to kill Cas because he loves him, and then he walks out, followed by season 11 and Cas being returned to them. Unfortunately. Yep. Another finger curls on the Monkey Paw... 11x03 by Buckleming would absolutely be where Destiel goes undeniably canon as it is their first real interactions post Mark of Cain. Our only consolation - directed by Jensen Ackles.

Season 10 confession, hm. Poor Cas. He has the option of 10x03, of confessing and then immediately apologising and walking off to handle stuff with Hannah (thanks Buckleming!) or the Burger Date, where Dean may be slightly less stunned stupid but still likely to laugh it off and not believe it. There’s not much heavy tension between them most of the season so it’s possible that the only time Cas would really get is to confess in 10x22 while telling Dean that he would have to watch him murder the world, and that would suck because I love you. At which point the story dictates that Dean beats Cas to paste so it’s a very bad look. Season 10 destiel confession is the worst. 

Season 11 may be better because Cas has options to be jealous of Crowley and Dean’s connection to Amara multiple times and then Casifer happens and that can really play up things in a season where a confession is coming. 

I think the Beer Run in 11x23 might be the only viable place, where Dean grabs Cas and takes him out for that drive for last drinks before the end of the world. Cas gets the “you’re our brother” thing and just lays into Dean with the certainty of someone who knows this is it - now or nothing - with “You know that’s crap, Dean. You wait until the end of the world and you can’t even say it. Well I can; I love you.” 

Cue awkward tension, well-placed interrupting Moose, and then the world very much not ending so that when Dean n Cas hug and kiss in front of Mary in 12x01. Well. There’s even more explaining to do to her. Since we’ve made it to Dabb era, I believe any confessions from this point onwards can just slot into the show as we got it from there since it’s entirely compatible to start season 12 assuming Dean n Cas are literally married and never be contradicted by the text in their behaviour. But since we’ve had canon Destiel since whenever, obviously the final episodes are good instead of. That.

Season 12... Going to have to go with the first sniff of true canon coming in Lily Sunder with just a few lines leaning even further in the Cas’s Angel Family Are Homophobic Assholes metaphor, leaving Cas’s relationship with Dean even more live wire exposed. Followed by The Mixtape Scene where Cas is going to confess to Dean and get him startled up out of his seat, accidentally knocking the mixtape to the floor and for a moment it’s like, did he throw it is he mad? but then he’s smooching Cas, fade to black, return to scheduled programming but the whole line about Cas stealing the Colt from under Dean’s pillow makes fuckin sense, as well as the fall out argument and how mad Dean was at Cas followed by how devastated he was at Cas’s death. This just means Dabb era continues as planned except we get a kiss in 13x06 under that big glowy cross, and some more smooching here and there when things are good from then on. 

Season 13... Hm. Cas has to do the confessing and I don’t think he’d throw that at Dean on return from death so unlike if Dean was the one who was being made to confess obviously the aforementioned glowy cross scene obviously would be it for him... Cas could keep that bottled up much longer, especially as he has so much to do with Jack this season. It’s entirely possible we go through the whole season and then Cas lobs it at Dean as a final card when he’s making his Michael decision and we actually see the scene that we didn’t get, where Cas has to watch Dean getting possessed. Except Dean is like, tearful and furious like why would you tell me that now, and anyway i’m doing this for you as well dumbass but fuck you but also how dare you anyway I need to be an archangel now and save our - your - son, bye. Cue Cas sitting there not just in total horror at what happened but also kicking himself for fucking up the moment :P I guess this way at least we can have that moment where Dean is un-Michaeled and tells Cas he’s going to shower and finger guns at him, and now we can have Cas wordlessly and furiously follow him. 

Season 14, we get Cas at Rocky’s bar confessing to Dean while figment!Pamela cheers the whole thing on. If there was EVER a time to use the power of love to snap Dean out of it, Cas upsetting his cosy routine with “this isn’t real, I’M NOT HERE IN YOUR FANTASY” is absolutely the time to pull a reverse crypt scene which has such low stakes in terms of neither of them needing to punch each other when Michael is an external aggressor.

My ONLY issue with this is that Sam has to witness the whole thing and we would get reaction shots and I am a weak mortal who will start cackling at them when I’m supposed to be having the transcendent moment of canon and the whole thing would be ruined just because of the way Jared gurns when doing reactions to dean n cas interacting. Wow thanks. Thanks a lot. 

[charming-2d-boys]

Adultrio with children (Illumi Version)

By the way, this one’s veeeery long, but I had too much fun 😅

You have been warned!

so, despite the usual push from the family for more future little assassins, Illumi isn’t really that thrilled by the idea

he seems like the type of person whose eyes and actions don’t really stray when he’s outside, especially on a mission or errand, whether personal or professional

that being said, the most likely way you’re going to meet Illumi is through others, whether that someone is Hisoka or his own family (but he doesn’t really trust Hisoka’s judgment when it comes to introducing someone to him, especially with the intent of getting together)

so, the family is the only viable option of meeting

Zeno is the one who comes up with a new option after several failed ones brought up by Silva and Kikyo

you, the granddaughter of an old friend and former partner of his, who used to be in charge of gathering information on the targets (not really a partner per se, but they participated in several missions together and became friends over the years)

smart, cute, close in age to Illumi and seemingly a lot more… empathetic and emotional-looking than our dear pincushion boy (who isn’t, though?)

Illumi is told about this and despite being asked for his opinion, it’s already decided nonetheless

unlike all the other candidates who were all asked - more like forced - into meeting formally and at the Zoldyck estate, you insist on meeting in a more casual place and fashion

Illumi, along with Kikyo, remain a bit shocked - Kikyo more than him because the audacity, but also the courage~

Silva doesn’t really care as long as they meet and Zeno laughs because he was expecting this from all the stories about you and your stubbornness and actions throughout the years that he heard from your grandfather

and it is settled: meeting in a quaint, little cat café in the town nearby, a little bit before lunch, no one else from your families except the two of you - coming with the promise that if you saw/sensed anyone keeping an eye on you two, you’d leave immediately and refuse any sort of contact from the family (again, shock because not many get to demand anything from the Zoldycks, but it seems that they already have a good feeling about you)

Illumi dresses up in some casual clothes (still with the flame pattern 🙄) and heads out, getting a pat on the back from Zeno and a good luck

when he enters the establishment and looks around, he sees you, next to a bookcase, with a very big and fluffy peach-coloured cat in your lap, both relaxed and watching the others around you

your eyes lock with Illumi’s when you sense his aura and you smile, beckoning him closer - cue Illumi raising an eyebrow because you’re not getting up to greet him and that’s rude, but he understands when you explain that you had to coax that cat with food and headpats for like 5 minutes until it stayed in your lap

so, he sits down next to you, petting the cat in your lap when its large, round, green eyes stare at him and next thing you know, you’ve got almost half of the other cats in the café flocking to Illumi, sitting on his lap and around him and purring loudly

the other customers can only stare, too afraid of his expressionless face to complain and when they see that the cats aren’t leaving him and returning to them, they’re slowly trickling out of the café until it's only the two of you (one of the staff members, who was apparently pushed by the other to come and talk to you, is quickly told, by you, that you’ll pay more by the end of the day to cover whatever losses they might acquire from the lack of clients, which makes them leave you two hurriedly)

you can only laugh when he stares at the cats and the empty room, then at you, almost clueless as to why you’re laughing

but you start talking and discover that you really like spending time with him

you talk about your families, your dreams, because he says that he doesn’t have any (liar), friends (again, liar) etc.

you really like that he cares about his family, even if it’s a bit twisted (good intentions, bad plan, especially when it comes to Killua)

since he was forced by his family to respect the tradition and become an assassin, he’s surprised when he finds out that despite the possibility of following the family tradition, you’re also allowed to make your own decisions, as long as you talk about them with your family

something that amuses you a lot is when Illumi receives a message from someone called Pain-in-the-Ass Clown, saying How’s your date going, Illumi-chan?  ⭐ ￣ ∀ ￣ 💧

and he explains that it’s someone really annoying who always bothers him

So, not your friend?

Never.

anyway, that was one of the first of many dates, with Illumi almost always letting you choose, mostly because you knew he’d choose some really fancy place and you wanted to have fun with him and get to know him naturally

despite his lack of expressions, he is having fun and likes that you’re happy (appreciates the fact that you are so... lively, you’re like complete opposites and apparently fit like two puzzle pieces)

Zeno is the one who pretty much declares that you’re the OTP

one of your dates definitely consisted in the two of you going on a mission together, just to see how you’d get along in a professional situation

100/10, no dilly-dally, professional from the beginning to the end of the mission, but you laughed and teased Illumi about how serious he was - as if it was just another normal day of meeting up after work... not after killing someone

the marriage proposal is more and more prominent in Illumi’s head and the rest of the Zoldycks and he’s wracking his brain trying to think of how to ask you

the two of you have bought an apartment and moved in to get used to living together and it’s going pretty well (definitely took a bit of convincing to get Illumi to agree, but he feels so human and happy with you that he just can’t say no and even his mother likes you, somewhat)

some nights are spent inside, watching movies, playing board games (he beats you here), video games (Illumi sucks at those) or cooking (he’s mostly watching and trying to remember everything, but man, too much work, he’s used to his butlers), while others involve you two going to bookstores, cafes, the zoo, even concerts/festivals

so, he decides on something that he read about on the holy Internet: Illumi had gone out that day and told you he’d come by later, but he actually bought you a puppy, who, as soon as it was put down, ran into the house when you squealed and picked it up to nuzzle it while it licked your face and wagged its tail; your fingers felt something on its collar and when you saw a ring, you froze, looking at Illumi without saying a word

he slowly approached you, face as expressionless as always (but he was so, SO nervous) and took the ring off the collar, getting on one knee and saying that you’ve made him feel happier and more human during those few months with you than he’s ever felt in all those years and he hopes that you’ll be willing to share your life with him and allow him to make sure you’ll always feel happy and loved

cue the tears because Illumi’s never said so many heartfelt words in one day and you’d be a monster to say no and extinguish that little sparkle of happiness in his eyes

so you put your puppy down and hug him tightly, kissing his face until he actually cracks a smile when the puppy whines because it wants your attention too

the wedding? Beautiful.

you? Gorgeous.

Illumi? He’s never been happier in his entire life

Hisoka cries at the wedding and is chosen as his best-man, along with Illumi’s brothers (even Killua accepted, especially after noticing the positive change you brought in the family and Illumi)

Alluka is your maid of honour along with Kalluto, because those two are attracted to you like moths to a flame

the reception is memorable, with various friends and family members congratulating you two and wishing you a long and happy marriage

things settle down a bit for a few weeks afterwards, especially after the honeymoon (which was spent somewhere where you could both enjoy some private time away from everyone as a newlywed couple)

and the biggest surprise was finding out that you’re pregnant (lucky~, that’s what Hisoka said when you texted him because yeah, you remained friends, somehow)

Illumi actually hugged you when you told him and kissed you because he was ecstatic

you definitely sat him down and told him that you need to talk with his family so they don’t get any ideas about torturing your child or children since you want them to have a normal, happy childhood

while a bit against it because that’s how he and all his siblings were raised, he definitely understands that it’s not only his decision to make and that he actually doesn’t really want anyone to go through what they did (especially after seeing that yes, even without training like his you can still be powerful and smart and somehow, his)

so, he agrees and tells the rest of the family (Zeno knew what your thoughts would be and never said anything, while Kikyo would probably be on the verge of having a stroke and Silva wouldn’t really care because they have Killua)

they can’t do much in terms of making you accept, especially because you don’t live at the estate and Illumi is loyal to his family, but now he’s got his own and he chooses you and your baby in the end

despite a few arguments with the Zoldycks, *cough* Kikyo *cough*, you still have the support of pretty much everyone else in the family and your own, so you actually can support yourselves just fine

Illumi insists on going shopping for baby clothes with you and is already looking at the variety of toys (he’s not gonna admit that he can’t wait to play with them when he’s spending time with his child because he wasn’t really allowed to have many toys or play with them so they wouldn’t make him stray from his path as an assassin)

likes talking to the baby bump and even sings to it (he’s got a beautiful singing voice and the baby always kicks when he sings something they like, which Illumi always take into account)

protective as hell whenever you’re out and about together and pretty much never lets you leave alone until you have a small argument that you can take care of yourself, after which he lets you be, but still insists on being called once an hour just to make sure and to have his heart put at ease

doesn’t even want to think about your weird craving because eww, some of them are gross (you know it, he knows it, the baby doesn’t care and when you’re hungry, neither do you)

will be there when you’re giving birth because he just wants to meet the baby faster and when he does, he smiles because there they are, his little bundle of joy

just stands and is fascinated by how small the baby is and how cute and squishy they look

it’s a girl, btw

almost always tells you to go to sleep when the baby wakes up in the middle of the night, especially because he can’t really sleep and he’s too happy and excited, plus he knows how tired you are

the baby’s first words are definitely dada and her little hands were just desperately reaching out to him (you practised with her whenever you could because you know how enamoured he is with his little girl)

Illumi actually breathed in deeply so he wouldn’t feel like crying anymore and just hugged you both while your daughter was patting his cheek

she inherits his long, black hair and they both spend the most amount of time in the bathroom taking care of it and brushing it

you’re the only one allowed to touch and braid their hair

she definitely likes all her uncles and aunts because they’re all so nice and doting and funny (Hisoka and Killua), while great-grandpa Zeno spoils her rotten

yes, Silva and Kikyo love her a lot as well, but inside they still want her to follow into their footsteps

you laugh at Illumi’s surprised face when your daughter asks you two for a brother or sister

oh boy... he’s gonna die from the cuteness and joy all these babies of yours are going to bring him

THAT was a lot, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless!

[monstersdownthepath]

Spiritual Spotlight: Tanagaar the Aurulant Eye

Lawful Good Empyreal Lord of Night, Owls, and Watchfulness

Domains: Animal, Darkness, Good, Law Subdomains: Archon, Feather, Moon, Night

Chronicles of Righteousness, pg. 25

Obedience: Find and observe a mouse or rat from no more than 30 feet away. Continue watching the mouse, unseen, for 100 breaths. Catch the mouse and release it in an area where owls hunt. Benefit: Gain a +4 sacred bonus on saving throws against effects that would hinder your sight or hearing.

Oh my god

After all these years, after all this searching, we’ve finally found it. We’ve found an Obedience that justifies carrying around a Sack Of Rats! It’s a miracle!

Anyway, this Obedience is ironically somewhat difficult to perform if your DM is being a stickler about it. Note that you not only have to find a rat--which means if you’re using a Sack Of Rats, you have to release it and then relocate it--but you have to watch it while being unseen. While one may assume that “unseen” simply applies to the rodent in question, the linguistic gymnastics we tend to pull here at Monsters Down The Path LLC to cheese Obediences sometimes works against us, and in this case “unseen” may not simply apply to your prey, but anyone. If your DM applies this additional stipulation, I hope you’ve got a good Stealth mod! And a good excuse about your weird behavior.

While Tanagaar isn’t exactly an evil guy, he’s not especially well-known, and your weird prowling may get some raised eyebrows. The good news is that as a Lawful Good deity (and an Archon at that), the number of times you’re likely to be sent into Evil territory to subtly work among them is 0, reducing your chances of needing actual excuses about why you’re skulking around like a cat. If, for whatever reason, you want to keep your worship of the Aurulant Eye under wraps, simply being a catfolk, kobold, or goblin is a good enough excuse.

Next comes catching the vermin and releasing it in an area where owls hunt. Simple enough in almost any environment but a desolate stretch of empty desert, winter wasteland, or subterranean cavern, as owls are very widespread, to the point that this Obedience could simply say “release it into the wild.” The biggest problem is refreshing your rodent stock, an issue that goes largely unaddressed in other Sack Of Rats Obediences because those usually require the death of any small critter, and this one specifically requires rodents. Better take up rat catching as a hobby or frequent the local pet store, I guess!

The benefit is more amazing than it looks at first glance, because Monsters Down The Path LLC’s patented Linguistic Gymnastics is here to point out that any effect which could impair your sight or hearing is blocked, even if that effect is SECONDARY, such as against powerful spells like Sunburst or against afflictions like Blinding Disease. Having your senses stripped from you is always bad, even for a short time, but the fact this benefit applies to “any effect” that would “hinder” your sight or hearing means it works on everything from having dust blow in your eyes to an enemy’s Greater Shout, and it can potentially give you an edge against dozens or hundreds of other effects which tack on sensory abuse as a bonus effect, making it a fantastic bonus at all levels. It even applies to EVERY saving throw instead of just Fortitude!

Boons are gained slowly, typically achieved once you reach 12, 16, and 20 Hit Dice. Followers of the Empyreal Lords, however, can enter the Mystery Cultist Prestige Class at level 8, which grants them their Boons much quicker! Entered as early as possible, you gain the Boons at levels 10, 13, and 16 instead. Mystery Cultists MUST take the Celestial Obedience feat, NOT Deific Obedience.

Empyreal Lords do not grant the typical Evangelist/Exalted/Sentinel spread (and cannot enter those classes), instead having only one set of Boons granted to their followers regardless of their class.

Boon 1: Forest Dweller. Gain Calm Animals 3/day, Eagle Eye2/day, or Deeper Darkness 1/day.

Oh, interesting! Never seen Eagle Eye here before, and it’s actually a good spell! ... sort of. It creates a magical sensor above you, upwards to 400ft+40ft/lvl, from which you can see as though you were there and rotate your viewpoint around freely. It’s more or less to give one a birds-eye view of a battlefield, akin to someone playing an RTS with an over-the-field viewpoint to make commanding armies easier, though the birds-eye view is also very, very useful for spotting threats to a small group of people (such as the party) that they cannot see from the horizontal plane.

Also, needless to say, but having a safe way to see the surrounding terrain from several hundred feet above it can make navigating towards a destination or landmark much easier. With a 1 min/lvl duration and 2/day availability, you can be the party’s aerial lookout without ever actually leaving the ground and putting yourself in danger, and the sensor itself is invisible as well if you fear flying enemies. Eagle Eyes isn’t useful at all inside enclosed environments, and in fact cannot be used to spy into the floors above you unless you have line of effect, but if you want to peel inside, say, the Evil Wizard Tower without alerting them via the use of a familiar or similar, go crazy.

Calm Animals causes up to 2d4+CL HD worth of animals to become docile and harmless for its duration, but for it to actually work on a group of animals, they all must be roughly the same type (i.e. a pack of wolves) and cannot be further than 30ft apart. This isn’t really a problem, as using it on a bunch of angry animals usually means you’re hitting a pack of scavengers or predators you’ve angered, and its generous scaling means that it’ll be useful at all levels of the game whether you need to slow down a charging pack of raptors or just one big T. Rex--wait a T. Rex has how many hit dice? well, scratch that particular idea I guess. unless you get lucky with your 2d4 roll. Still useful. The big problem is that it’s completely useless against anything that’s not an Animal, and if an Animal suddenly receives the gift of sapience--even temporarily--the spell has no effect on them. That makes this spell useful for traveling through the wilds (or, rarely, stopping the charge of an enemy warhorse), but not for much else.

Which leaves Deeper Darkness, the spell which hammers your party just as hard as it does an enemy. Creating a 60ft sphere of absolute black can send chaos through the ranks of more or less any foe, because if the area was already low or dim light it becomes supernaturally pitch that not even darkvision can pierce it! Not even yours. Cutting off your party’s ability to see is just as crippling for them as it is your enemy, so be sure to have some method to actually take advantage of the shroud or you’ll end up swinging at empty air or, worse, swing at allies. While it’s good for making an escape, Obscuring Fog is way better, way cheaper, and doesn’t take away your magical flexibility.

Boon 2: Owl's Eye. You gain darkvision out to a range of 60 feet. If you already have darkvision, increase its range by an additional 60 feet.

Wow! Boring! But useful for more or less everyone, since not needing torches or a light source when skulking around in the dark or keeping night watch makes it less likely you’re spotted by some prowling predator or sadistic dungeon-dweller, but it’s noting spectacular or even particularly noteworthy. I appreciate that Tanagaar extends existing darkvision outwards, but it’s rare you’ll actually need more than 60 feet unless you’re actually adventuring in an open area after dark.

It’s a decent Boon, but it’s also insultingly easy to replicate with existing spells or cheap items (such as a Wand or Potion of Darkvision), making its impact a little hard to appreciate.

Boon 3: Hunter's Edge. You gain Sneak Attack +3d6. This increase to Sneak Attack damage stacks with Sneak Attack damage you may have from other sources. Whenever you deal Sneak Attack damage with a piercing weapon, you deal +2 points of damage per Sneak Attack die.

huh hey that’s pretty good

hey aren’t you supposed to be Lawful, Tanagaar? Not that I don’t appreciate a little bit of pragmatism among the forces of Good, but stabbing someone in the kidney from behind seems kinda underhanded, doesn’t it? Then again, so does summoning flocks of owls to gouge out enemy eyes or appearing before them as a terrifying phantasm to gently coerce them into surrender. Even Law knows when it needs to fight dirty, I suppose.

Not that you HAVE to, mind; with how easy it is to set up a Sneak Attack (you literally just have to be flanking), you don’t have to be particularly sneaky. Just standing across from an ally and stabbing someone in the throat when they turn away from a brief second deals +3d6 damage to them, which is already good before you take into account that, actually, it’s 3d6+6 because Tanagaar superdupercharges your Sneak Attacks with +2 damage per die! Even NOT having SA to begin with is still adding a flat +6 damage to your attacks that stacks with all your other damage modifiers, but having SA available beforehand--such as by being a Rogue, a Ninja, a Slayer, or one of the rare archetypes to hand it out--is especially viable because Hunter’s Edge stacks with ALL other sources. Have +5d6 from your class already? Now it’s 8d6+16 damage.

It’s even tastier if used on a ranged weapon, but make no mistake, it’s still pretty damn nice just at its base regardless of your build... unless you’re a Mystery Cultist, which is aimed mostly at casting and doesn’t get anything particularly martial-aligned until later levels. Classing into Mystery Cultist also means that your Sneak Attack is unlikely to be at all impressive (you may reach 6d6, but certainly not the impressive 8d6 I proposed), but the only other option is waiting for this ability to kick in at level 20, which is simply unacceptable. Aside from that, the only real problem I have with this ability is that it specifically works with piercing weapons... and since Tanagaar’s holy weapon is the kukri, you actually miss this Boon entirely if you stick only to his weapon of choice, and your god actively discouraging you from using any of their sacred aspects isn’t a good look for anyone!

You can read more about him here.

[queen-scribbles]

Acceptable Risk

Art trade fic for the extremely patient @theheroofoakvale, exploring if Shepard’s recruiting Thane had gone a little.... differently.

-----

The door opened with a quiet hiss, and Shepard’s entry was greeted with the raised barrels of several assault rifles. The mercenaries, however, paused before opening fire, despite being confronted by three heavily armed individuals pointing guns back at them.

The asari in the middle of the cluster--clad for business rather than combat--spun to face them, her eyes widening. “Shepard?!”

Shepard smirked, centered his pistol on her. “Nassana.”

There was a muffled clatter in the ceiling that had the mercenaries’ attention swiveling upward. Her posture shifted defensive. “You’re dead.”

“I got better,” he retorted, and shot her in the throat.

Her bodyguards zeroed back in on him and his team, torn between them and the threat above, and that was their undoing. A dark figure dropped from one of the ceiling vents, and Shepard used that moment of distraction to take out two of them. When the remaining mercs focused in on him, the dark figure punched one in the throat and shot the other center mass. The few that were left went down quickly.

Massani and Vakarian kept their guns up, leveled at the late arrival, a drell, as he stood in the middle of the carnage, eyes fixed in an unblinking, regretful stare at Nassana Dantius’ body.

“Sorry if I stole your kill,” Shepard said after letting the silence go as long as he could tolerate. His pistol hung at his side in a loose grip, ready if he needed it. He didn’t think he would.

“I was not here for her, though the galaxy is no less for her removal,” the drell said softly, finally looking up from the dead woman and blinking just before he met Shepard’s gaze. “I am here for you.”

Behind him, Massani muttered a quiet curse and Vakarian tightened his grip on his gun, but Shepard didn’t even flinch. “I did wonder. Dantius hardly seems worth the time for someone of your... reputation.”

“And yet you still came,” the drell said, clasping his hands behind him and looking in no rush to kill anyone.

“She used me.” He let the barest edge of a snarl color the words. “I can go along with a likely trap if it gives me an excuse for payback. Also,” he took half a step forward, “seemed the best way to meet you, Krios. We need to talk.”

Thane Krios did not look at all perturbed that his target knew who he was. His expression remained impassive as he studied Shepard’s face. “Do we? What about?”

“I need your help on a mission. You can feel free to continue trying to kill me after we’re done.”

“Why?” Krios asked, still studying Shepard’s face.

“Why, what?”

“Why do you need me? Why should I help instead of killing you now?”

Shepard laughed darkly. “The fucking galaxy is at stake, I need the best of the best, even if they are out for my blood.” Another half step forward, Vakarian and Massani following this time until he waved them back. “As for the second question.... I know some things about you, Krios. I know you’re dying, and I know you have a son.” His pistol folded in on its clip as he crossed his arms and stared hard at the assassin. “And where he is. I imagine you’d hate for something to happen to him before you had a chance to mend fences.”

Three rapid blinks, a sharp breath, posture unchanged, but it was the most reaction Krios had shown in this conversation. “And would you make this...   something happen if I say no, Shepard?”

His calm was impressive. Shepard wondered if it was an easier illusion to maintain with eyes that had neither pupils nor iris to betray strong emotion. “If I have to. I need the best, Krios, which is you. Don’t really care how I get your cooperation.”

Krios was silent for a long moment. “This threat must be grave indeed for you to employ such measures.”

He was nigh impossible to read, but the slight shift of his clasped hands was hint enough. “I’m hunting an enemy who’s abducting human colonies and has ties to the Reapers, I’d call that pretty damn grave. Like I said, you can resume trying to kill me if we survive. What’s it gonna be?”

Another heavy pause, though shorter. “You have left me only one viable option if I care about my son.”

Shepard arched a brow.

“I will assist. Consider this a pause in the contract on your life.”

“Good enough for me.” Shepard cast a smug glance at Dantius’ corpse, then turned to exit the room. “We’re done here, so you can either come with us or meet us at the ship.”

“I will meet you shortly. I have a few personal effects to gather,” Krios said.

“Alright. We’re on a clock, so don’t dilly dally,” Shepard replied, and motioned their departure to Vakarian and Massani.

“What’s to stop him from shooting you on our way down?” Vakarian muttered as they headed for the elevator. “He’s already planning to kill you and you threatened his kid.”

Massani beat Shepard to the answer. “Doesn’t know if there’s a dead man’s switch on that something happenin’ to his boy if Shepard bites it.” He chuckled darkly and smirked at Shepard. “What the hell’d you do to earn a death mark, anyway?” 

Shepard shrugged, watching the blur of downward travel out the elevator’s glass-paned wall. “Hell if I know, Massani. Certainly pissed off enough people for there to be some options.”

The mercenary gave a rough laugh and slapped him on the shoulder. “Wear like a badge of fucking honor, kid. Means you got someone real riled up.”

---

Krios was, as promised, aboard the Normandy well within an hour. His personal effects he’d gone to collect were few enough to fit in a small shoulder satchel that he politely refused to let anyone inspect. (Lawson was not happy when Shepard told her to drop it, clearly suspicious of allowing an assassin on board without first vetting his gear.) He settled in life support at EDI’s suggestion, and ruffled no feathers with the rest of the crew, unless you counted Taylor’s mistrust of his career in general.

“What will be expected of me, Commander?” Krios asked, in that same modulated tone he’d used on Illium.

“No shipboard duties, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Shepard said. He leaned against the wall by the door and studied Krios. “You can do as you like here. When we have missions, I may want you to come watch my six, if your skillset seems a good fit.”

“I see.” He folded his hands, elbows braced against the small worktable at which he sat. There was a hesitation under the words that almost rang in the air.

“If there’s something else you wanna say, now’s the time,” Shepard prodded. He didn’t have time to be gentle prying out secrets or whatever.

“My son,” Krios said, words measured and careful. “You say you know where he is. Would you be willing to share that knowledge?”

Shepard mulled it over, weighing the value of his options. “In time,” he finally said. “We have a couple pressing assignments that are more important than family reunions. But if we hit a point with some free time I’ll let you know.”

Krios nodded, his expression unreadable as ever. “Very well, Shepard.”

“One thing I need to know from you,” Shepard began, pushing away from the wall, “is if whatever’s killing you will affect your abilities in a fight.”

“It shouldn’t, not yet.” He paused for the space of a few blinks. “I should have several months at least before the symptoms become noticeable even to myself. More than enough time to complete your mission, if it is as urgent as you make you sound.”

“Is that something you doubt, Krios?” 

“Not at all.” Krios pushed to his feet and crossed the room to examine a rack of spare rifle parts. “Even someone of your reputation would have to be on a mission of urgency to blackmail an assassin sent to kill you into helping your cause. I simply mean this threat seems the type where a decisive outcome will be reached swiftly; whether in victory or destruction. Well within the time I have before functionality is... affected.”

“Good.” Shepard nodded. “Not sure when I’ll need you, but I want to be sure you’ll be worth it when the times comes.” He left the room, noting Krios’ undertone murmur as he did, and from the cadence wondered what the assassin was praying for.

---

Shepard first tested him on something that seemed of no consequence; a mercenary base on a backwater planet trafficking stolen eezo. Thane did his job, no more no less, all the while making note of how the man fought. The risks he thought worth taking, the sacrifices that were acceptable cost, the balance of recklessness and cunning. It was not a complete picture, not off one mission, and Thane wouldn’t act on what he’d gleaned even if it were.

Not with the blade the commander had hung over Kolyat. Not with the hope of learning where his son might be. Patience was the hallmark of an assassin, after all; knowing when to strike as well as how. And Thane had been an assassin a very long time. He could wait.

Especially as conversations with others aboard the ship painted a clearer and clearer picture of the mission’s scope. A trip through the Omega 4 relay was very likely to be suicidal just on its own. Destroying whatever these Collectors used as a base doubly so. When Shepard made ‘if we survive’ comments, he wasn’t joking. Thane could wait. He could help with the mission--it was a worthy goal after all, one he would have assisted in accomplishing without the threats--and then resume his contract.

After the mercenary base was eliminated, and easily, Shepard made use of Thane’s skills a few more times. Usually on missions with plentiful shadow coverage and good sight lines.

“How’re you holding up?” Garrus asked on one such mission, the two of them picking off targets from a bit of a distance while Shepard made viciously short work of the battlefield.

“I’ve had worse assignments.” Thane’s rifle kicked against his shoulder and the krogan he’d been targeting dropped. He fired another shot, just to be safe, and watched the body jerk then lay still, before searching out another target. “What of you?”

Garrus snorted, took down his own target. “I’m  here because he’s my... friend” --there was a brief hesitation, as if the turian wasn’t completely sure that was the right word--”and I trust that whatever he’s doing is worth whatever it costs to accomplish.”

“You’ve fought alongside him before.”

“Against Sovereign, yeah.” Garrus’ mandible twitched as he focused on sighting in another shot. “This feels different.”

He didn’t elaborate, and it was only a few moments more for them the claim victory and press further on with their mission.

Thane watched Shepard, and wondered what had changed in the eyes of his friend.

---

It was after the derelict Reaper, after adding a geth to their mix, that Thane’s patience paid off. At least in part.

“Your kid’s on the Citadel,” Shepard informed him out of the blue. “Lucky for you, Vakarian has some unfinished business there as well, and the techs need some time to integrate the IFF to the Normandy’s systems. I can spare a side trip for personal issues while they get that squared away. Be ready to go in an hour.”

Thane didn’t protest. Didn’t question. He could ask for details on approach to the Citadel.

They set a cold knot in his gut when he learned them. “He’s here to kill someone,” Shepard said bluntly, and all Thane could think was Like father, like son. That was not a path he’d ever wanted for Kolyat. Shepard didn’t have a lot of details, just that Kolyat was there. Apparently even Cerberus’ resources had limits.

They spoke to a C-Sec officer, then to Mouse at his suggestion--Thane was surprised but pleased he was still alive--both conversations Shepard kept as short as possible. Clearly he was not in the mood to waste time. Thane wished that hadn’t involved the commander breaking Mouse’s nose, but couldn’t muster much sympathy when the same proved true of Kelham once they got his name and interrogated him.

“We have some time, not a lot of it,” Shepard growled. “And we still need to find Sidonis when we’re done with your shit, Krios.” He turned to Captain Bailey.  “What can you tell me about this Talid Kelham wants dead?”

The picture Bailey painted--up and coming turian politician, vocally anti-human and gaining support--made it obvious why Kelham would want Talid gone. He had to be very bad for business. He was also in a very vulnerable position currently; pressing flesh on a walk through the Wards with only one or two bodyguards along for protection.

Thane had to admit surprise when Shepard was alright with them splitting up to track Talid and (hopefully) find Kolyat.

“You can’t find him alone any more than I can,” Shepard commented with a sharp smile s he and Garrus headed for the catwalks. “Stay sharp, Krios.”

As if he would do otherwise. Still, he bowed his head and asked Amonkira for strength and guidance before he vanished into the shadows, hoping they weren’t too late to save his son from a very familiar dark path.

Are you really surprised? a voice inside him mocked as Thane picked his route along catwalks and ducts, through shadows and crowds. Even if he hates you, that’s the example you left.

He shook it off. He didn’t have the luxury of internal debate right now. He had to pick out his route on the fly, keep in touch with Shepard and Garrus, plot out several ways to handle the situation that all depended on Kolyat’s behavior. And he didn’t know his own son well enough to predict that, so his solutions were all loosely structured ideas at best. Some plan was better than none.

It was a close thing, despite their best efforts. Kolyat spooked, shot the bodyguards and dragged Talid into his apartment with a gun to his head.

Shepard was only a step behind once Kolyat broke cover and very quickly had a gun pointed at him.

Thane went very still, watching this standoff. He didn’t know Shepard well enough to know what the man would do, but he knew what C-Sec protocols would be, and he could hear their approach. Shepard had been very clear about the limited time they had for this side trip, the fastest resolution--which would also fulfill C-Sec’s mandate to keep Talid alive--would end with his son dead, and Shepard was not a patient man.

Kolyat’s anger blazed, even from across the room, and he was far from willing to cooperate, his pistol pressed to the back of Talid’s head.

The loud crack of a pistol shot nearly made Thane flinch, his chest squeezing in protest at the thought of his failure. Just this one thing, I wanted to fix just this.

But Shepard’s shot snapped Talid’s head back, not Kolyat’s. The turian collapsed in a spray of dark blood and Kolyat recoiled. In that moment of distraction, Thane surged forward and twisted the pistol out of Kolyat’s hands, unsure if the tremor was adrenaline or rage.

Shepard was talking to an incensed Bailey; “No one will miss a racist asshole, I did you a favor”, but Thane’s focus was all on his son. 

“This was not the best way,” he said softly.

“What do you know?” Kolyat hissed back, struggling against Thane’s unrelenting grip.

“More than you might think.”

Kolyat yanked away as if the contact had burned him. Fury simmered in his eyes, and resentment, but he was alive. C-Sec would still have to take him in for what he’d been ready to do(attempted murder? That would likely be the charge), there would be consequences for what he tried to do, and Thane didn’t know if they even could “mend fences” as Shepard had put it. But he was alive. And hopefully could be deterred from a path Thane wouldn’t wish anyone to tread.

“Krios,” Shepard barked and Thane pulled himself out of his reverie watching C-Sec lead Kolyat away. But rather than Time to go, the commander nodded after the arresting officers. “Massani can help with tracking down Fade. You have until we’re done. I wouldn’t count on more than an hour or two.”

Thane blinked, thrown off kilter by the gesture, but recovered quickly.  “Understood.” He’d taken three steps after the C-Sec officers before he stopped and turned. “...Thank you, Shepard.”

The man waved him off, already walking away with Garrus in his wake.

---

An hour and a half didn’t go very far working through a decade of distance, but it was a start.

“Why do you stay with him?” Kolyat asked when Thane’s comms crackled with a heads-up Shepard and the others were on their way back and he stood. “If... this” --a quick gesture, more a flick of the wrist than anything, between the two of them-- “is so important?”

For you. In more ways than one. “Shepard’s mission is... critical. And there is, unfortunately, a time limit on saving the galaxy.”

Kolyat snorted at his father’s dry humor. “Right.”

“I will keep in touch,” Thane promised. “Perhaps we can meet again once this is finished. If you would like.” If I survive.

“...We’ll see.” Kolyat was staring at the table rather than him, but Thane would take it.

He nodded and headed for the door. “Very well.”

“Does he have something on you?” Kolyat asked abruptly. “With the reputation Shepard’s made, he doesn’t seem the type honorable people would be following.”

“I have made no claims of honor,” Thane said quietly, hand on the door frame.  “And with  the stakes of mission, some sacrifices may prove necessary.”

“Sounds familiar,” Kolyat muttered.

Thane made no reply, and didn’t look back as he left the room with a cold weight in his chest.

---

It ha been the right call letting Krios reconnect with his son. He seemed more centered, more focused, for having dealt with his baggage. Probably that whole ‘something to live for’ schtick. Shepard only cared that Krios did his job and the mending bond made the kid an even more effective pressure point.

Not that Krios had ever protested. Ever balked. But everyone had their limit, and if he happened to find the assassin’s, it never hurt to have a brute force solution in your arsenal. Especially as they were very close to actually pursuing the Collectors through the Omega 4 relay.

“Just a few more tests,” Lawson assured him. They wanted it to work right, after all. It’d be a real short trip otherwise.

“So,” he asked Krios, “out of morbid curiosity, who wants me dead?” There were plenty of options, he wanted to know who wanted it badly enough to hire an assassin. And it wasn’t like he currently had anything better to do with his time. 

Krios cocked his head, a flicker of what might have been amusement crossing his face. “I cannot tell you, Shepard.”

Shepard snorted and arched a brow. “Client confidentiality?”

“Client anonymity,” the drell corrected.

“You let some faceless coward point you at a target with my body count?”

“As you know, I am dying,” Krios said in that implacable tone of his. “Odds of survival were... far from troubling, as a factor.”

“And odds of success?” Shepard retorted.

This time there was definitely a small smile before Krios schooled his expression neutral. Not mocking or cocky, just... amused. “There is a first time for everything.” The faint amusement was gone when he locked eyes with Shepard. “How will we handle this, commander? When we are finished our mission, assuming we both survive, and I resume my contract to kill you?”

“Feel like giving me a day’s lead?” Shepard grinned sardonically.

“I could be persuaded,” Krios said. He shifted in his chair. “Let us see how things progress, shall we?”

You’d never know to look at the man he’d been... convinced to help with this by threat of harm to his son. He seemed perfectly at home, posture easy. He didn’t talk to the crew much, Shepard knew from EDI, but it was hardly surprising an assassin was accustom to solitude.

As if summoned by his brief thought of her, a glowing sphere materialized on the AI kiosk. “Shepard, Miss Lawson wished you informed that the IFF installation is in its final stage. For the shakedown we will need complete access to the Normandy’s systems, so it is recommended you use the shuttle for whatever you plan to undertake next.”

“Got it,: Shepard tossed in vaguely the direction of the AI. “That’ll make things tight,” he muttered to himself. He had something in mind that would likely need the whole team. They’d fit in the shuttle, but it would be tight. Last thing he needed was Lawson and Jack killing each other before they even hit the Collector base.

Krios was eyeing him with curiosity. “Commander?”

“Gear up,” Shepard said, heading for the door. “Got a search and recover that might take all hands.”

The assassin nodded and pushed to his feet, heading for his locker. “Very well.”

---

Their mission went well. Things on the Normandy in their absence, not so much. Shepard left a fully-staffed state of the art warship an returned to a picked-clean husk manned only by his pilot and the now-unshackled AI.

The Collectors had bloodied his nose, cost him his crew. Again. He’d had it.  “Ship’s not getting any more ready than it is. Joker, head for the Omega 4 relay.”

“Aye, aye,” came the determined, hungry reply.The pilot was probably even more eager than Shepard to punch back at the bug-eyed bastards.

Unlike Joker--and probably the others--Shepard viewed getting the crew back as a secondary objective to taking out the Collectors. The threat they posed to humanity ended now.

Get us there was his order, and that didn’t change when they came out of the relay having to dodge starship wreckage, or when they were harried by drones, or even when a fucking occulus busted into the hold.

“Krios, Massani, with me!” he barked, rifle in hand, listening to the scrape and thud of wreckage and lasers ricocheting off the upgraded hull on the way to the bowels of the ship. By the time they had trashed the occulus, Joker had them past the debris field and the drones, and a new problem had arisen.

New, but familiar--the same Collector vessel that he had encountered numerous times before. But this time, the Normandy had sharper teeth. “Let ‘em have it!” he ordered, a command Joker follow with alacrity Darting, looping, dodging, the pilot had them dancing around the larger ship, deftly avoiding the beam that had been their destruction before.

The surge of satisfaction at destroying the vessel was short lived, as it erupted in a fireball more than large enough to knock the Normandy into a crazy, barely controlled descent that could more bluntly be called a crash.

“Everyone alive?” Shepard checked over comms. When that was affirmative, he followed with, “Assemble in the CIC.”

This was it. A quick rundown of schematics pulled from the vessel and what he expected to find inside, a victory whatever it takes reminder, and it was time to go.

---

Than prayed silently to Amonkira as they disembarked from the Normandy. Let our hands strike true, and victory be worth the cost. There would be a cost, of this he was sure. He was familiar enough with Shepard’s methods by now there was little room for doubt. If I am among that cost, please guide my son, that his steps may trace a better path.

He wondered, if he should fall, whether his client would hire someone else to complete the task of killing Shepard or if they would let it go. He hoped it wouldn’t come  to that. He wanted to survive, to speak more with Kolyat before the end, but it would be what it was.

They split into groups, Shepard leading Thane and Zaeed, Garrus the rest of them, to serve as distractions while Tali crawled through the vents to let them pass. It was a good call; the Collectors swarmed thick enough any other plan would likely have been overwhelmed by the sheer number of them. They were not given the luxury of time for sighting in targets, so Thane stuck with his pistol--and occasionally biotics--firing, reloading, firing, with the odd interruption to scrounge more thermal clips because he’d run out.

Shepard’s back and forth with Garrus and Tali was just background noise, like the beating wings of their foes, as Thane gave his focus to the task at hand.

Tali stumbled out of the vent just as they finally reached the heavy doors barring the end of the hall. She beelined for the access panel, teetered as a couple shots ricocheted off her shields.

“Get it open!” Shepard barked as the three of them wheeled to give her cover fire. “Vakarian, where the hell are you?!”

“Almost there, a group of the bastards ambushed us!”

A Collector dove toward Tali and Thane shot it--rushed, imperfect, but the grazing shot knocked it off course long enough for him to try again. This time, it fell and did not rise again.

---

The sense of urgency, pounding Hurry, hurry, hurry through Shepard’s veins thrummed louder as the door beeped and started to hiss open. A muffled burst of gunfire reached his ears a handful of seconds before Vakarian and the others came into view, hauling ass down the passageway toward them.

“Massani, Krios! Through the door!” He rattled off a stream of cover fire, driving the Collectors to hang back for a second. Just a second. But it was enough time for the second fire team to reach the end of the passage and dart through the door.

Krios and Massani maintained some cover fire from the far side of the door, buying breathing room for the others as one by one they darted through the door. Lawson brought up the rear, her barrier shimmering out as the doors groaned on closing.

“They’re stuck!” Tali bit out, shoving one door with scraping, grinding protest along its track. Shepard and Lawson ducked through the narrowing gap just as a final shot slammed into Lawson’s shoulder and sent her stumbling.

“I’m fine,” she ground out, slapping medigel on the injury as the group of them shook off the adrenaline to register what the room held.

The walls were lined with dozens, hundreds, thousands, of the Collectors’ pods. The dingy yellow glow throughout the room spoke to them all being occupied.

Movement caught Shepard’s eye and he swung his rifle toward the potential threat. it was just one of the nearby pods; the dark-skinned, dark-haired woman inside stirred, pounding against the transparent canopy in a futile attempt to escape. Even as Tali and Krios rushed forward to try and free her, the pod hummed and the woman only had time for a single terrified scream before she simply... liquefied into a sludgy brown paste which drained away almost before his crew had time to recoil in horror.

“Commander! Over here!” Taylor fumbled with a nearby pod until a very disoriented figure tumbled out. “It’s the crew!”

That broke the horror that had frozen them, and the group surged forward to free their comrades before the same fate could befall them.

Chambers. Daniels. Donnelly. Gardner. All of them were here, as Shepard ran a mental roster, but Chakwas was the one to explain. Near as she could tell, the humans in the pods were being reduced to genetic material and ...piped elsewhere in the base through tubes, though she wasn’t sure where or why. That sounded like where they needed to go.

“We need to get them out of here,” Taylor said, hovering near a few of the engineers as they stumbled to their feet.

We don’t have time for this. “You wanna take them back, be my guest,” Shepard returned brusquely. “We need to destroy this base, but we can mange without you if it’s that important to you.”

“It is.” Taylor’s voice was firm as he tugged Chambers’ arm around his shoulders and herded the crew back toward the Normandy. “See you on the other side, Commander.”

---

Thane almost offered to accompany them; it was a lot of people for one man to safeguard. But Shepard was already snapping orders for the next stage of their infiltration. He’d be taking Garrus and Zaeed, sheltered from the overabundance of Seeker swarms by Jack, down the shortest route that followed the tubes. “The rest of you follow Lawson on the other route EDI indicated, draw some of the flying bastards off.”

Forward, then. Thane checked his reserve of thermal clips, made sure his pistol was undamaged, and fell in with the others as the door hissed open and they pressed on.

They hadn’t advanced far when the first Collectors appeared, drones and a small number of husks that were easy enough tot pick off. Their numbers only increased as time wore on, but that was the point wasn’t it? Draw them here, so Shepard could get through. Thane stood shoulder to shoulder with Tali as their squad advanced, shared his thermal clips when hers ran out first, lent what strength he could to the biotic barrier Samara had summoned to protect their backs.

“There’s a lot of them, Shepard!” Miranda hollered into comms when they were forced to take cover from a particularly large group, dotted with abominations and led by a scion.

“Good!” his reply crackled back underscored by gunfire. “Keep them the hell off us! We’re almost there!”

She hissed a quiet curse, then, “Yes, Commander!” Her fist flared blue and a pair of husks flew off the edge of the path. “Samara, push them back on three!”

The justicar nodded and the rest of them by unspoken agreement turned their focus to give the women cover fire.

“One!”

Strafing fire raked Grunt’s armor and he bellowed a laugh as he shot back. Thane admired his defiance.

“Two!”

The barrier Samar had been maintaining shrank inward in preparation. Amonkira, guide their strength.

“Three!”

The combined power of two gifted biotics exploded outward in a wash over overwhelming ozone-scented blue. Just as it slammed into the descending Collector horde, a heavy, white hot pain tore into Thane’s arm and side. 

He was dimly aware of Miranda yelling for them to move, of a hand closing around his bicep to drag him with them, of his legs moving to keep up until the gave out and he was hauled over someone’s shoulder instead. There was  rushing sound in his ears and it wasn’t until it was it was punctuated by gunfire and Miranda hollering at Shepard they were under heavy attack Thane realized it was Collector wings and not the lure of unconsciousness.

“Give us a minute, Lawson!”

“We don’t have a minute!”

Shepard’s curse was broken by static. “Vakarian, get that door open! Now!”

Time was fuzzy with the pain that swirled fresh at each jolted step of whoever (probably Grunt) was carrying him, but it still seemed an eternity before, muffled, he could hear someone calling an encouragement.

He slammed against something and the pain flared so white, for a moment he saw Irikah’s face. There was a dull murmur of voices, then a spike of numb shot through the pain and spread, blanketing, pushing back until he was aware again.

Tali knelt beside him, her omnitool just closing down as he became conscious of her presence. “Good, you’re still with us.”

“Thanks to you,” Thane rasped. He passed one hand gingerly over his injured side. The healing wound was large, like from a plasma- or other energy-based weapon rather than bullets. He could cope much better with bullets.

“You are welcome,” Tali said, pushing to her feet and offering him a hand up.

Thane accepted, but leaned against a wall once he’d gained his feet. It would take a few minutes for the medigel to truly do its work. He cast a surveying glance about as he waited. Mordin was limping heavily, Grunt, Garrus, and Zaeed all had significant battle damage to their armor....

And Miranda lay still, half-slumped against a wall, pistol resting in her limp grasp. Shepard knelt next to her, blood streaked in his stark white hair, but stood even as Thane’s gaze landed on them. “She’s gone,” he confirmed, as if there was any doubt. He half-turned, hand rising to his ear, expression flint-hard. “Got it, Joker.”

Garrus’ mandibles clicked. “The crew?”

“They made it back.” Shepard shoved a new clip into his rifle. “Taylor died getting them there.”

Thane grimaced. He should have gone along. 

“It happens,” Shepard said, as if he’d caught the self-reproof without even looking. “According to EDI, this next room’s the core. Vakarian, Massani, you stick with me, the rest of you cover our asses.”

He didn’t wait for agreement or confirmation, just strode to the console for the necessary door and and punched in the command to open it. Garrus and Zaeed followed silently, the former briefly locking eyes with Tali before the three of them disappeared down the hallway.

---

The rest of them hastily arranged themselves in a defensive perimeter, gazes and weapons trained on the two doors that separated them from the Collector forces.

Thane said a rushed but heartfelt prayer to Kalahira for their fallen, working the fingers of his injured arm to test the medigel’s progress. It would do.

The sheer number of Collectors made the task a difficult one--more than once Thane feared running out of clips for his pistol until a brief pause between waves allowed them to scavenge and share from the fallen. This sort of sustained firefight was far from his normal milieu, but this close to the end he was still determined to do his best.

They held as battle chatter from Shepard’s squad broke through the static. They held even though Mordin fell and Legion fell and Jack nearly followed, snarling and spitting curses as she struggled back to her feet. They held until Shepard’s order came over comms, “Move if you don’t want to go up with this place!”

Then they ran, Samara and Jack shielding them from as much as they could, the rest picking off the bolder Collectors even as they ran. They reached the Normandy, adrenaline surging as they gave Shepard’s squad cover fire until they were aboard as well. Joker had them rocketing toward the relay before the doors had fully closed, and the whole ship seemed to hold its breath until they were safely through.

---

As the adrenaline wore off, all Shepard wanted to do was sleep. But he couldn’t. Not yet. There were things that needed to be settled first.

Krios was in the medbay, sitting serenely still as Dr. Chakwas more thoroughly treated the nasty, half-healed burns on his side and forearm. (In sharp contrast to Jack, who was glowering and cursing about both having to sit still to let her injuries heal and being around so many people.)

“Looks like we both survived,” Shepard said without preamble. Chakwas took the unspoken cue and moved off to see to Jack.

“Indeed.” Krios didn’t move, hands folded in his lap as he sat on the edge of a bed.

“You make up your mind about that head start?”

Krios chuckled. “I believe my recuperation will be a bit more than a day, Shepard. A good time for me to visit my son, I think, and a good head start for you as the contract resumes.” His lips twitched to a small smile. “Perhaps my client will reconsider in light of your actions.”

“Doubt it,” Shepard snorted. “I get the sense their beef with me is personal. Doesn’t lend itself to rational decision making. We’ll see, I guess.” Stranger things had happened, but he wouldn’t be holding his breath.”I’m not going anywhere near the Citadel, in case the Council gets any bright ideas about me or my ship, but we can drop you on Omega before we head off.”

Krios nodded solemnly. “A fair arrangement.”

A less intelligent person might have wondered--hoped--leaving him on Omega injured was as good as a death warrant, but Shepard had seen him fight. It would take more than a set of already-healing electrical burns to put Krios at a disadvantage against the thugs on Omega. (And if they did happen to prove too much for him, one thing less for Shepard to worry about.)

“We can have you there in an hour or so,” he said. “once the doc’s done with you go get your things together.”

Krios inclined his head. “I shall.”

---

It had been a while since he was last on Omega and Thane hadn’t missed it in the slightest. Fortunately he wouldn’t be here long. Passage elsewhere was easy enough to  procure, and from there he could work his way to the Citadel. He could take some time to mend more fences with Kolyat before he resumed his hunt.

That was one thing about Shepard; he was never a hard man to find.

[meowdymista]

Van der Driscoll Pt 7

Part 6 - Masterlist

Part 8

This is a bit of a filler chapter, which is stupid for the ratio of original wording to in game script ratio. Next one will be more engaging, I promise. Also sorry for the long wait; I took time off from writing last week because it was my birthday, and then England swept into a second lockdown so it’s been poo trying to prepare especially in work because I process somms for small-medium businesses but whatever. No one is getting much for Christmas this year lol

****

You find, much to your relief and Arthur’s annoyance, that Sean’s chaotic charm and energy swallows everyone’s attention over the next few weeks. He’s loud, boastful and brash: The Irish Terrier as Arthur and his adopted fathers call him.

You can’t help but find his totally unapologetic nature comforting. Whilst washing shirts, you overhear him get Molly to admit she considers him no better than a chimney sweep from the local bog - and immediately crucify her for it, calling her “snotty nosed” and a “right little madam”, much to her dismay. After the weeks of dirty looks (despite little to no actual confrontation), Sean brings a breath of fresh air. With him nearby, you know exactly where you stand and whether anyone in the vicinity is plotting against you.

“Please, Y/N,” groans Arthur into his hands one evening. “Please tell me you ain’t makin’ friends with that bastard.”

“Why?” you ask, genuinely surprised. “Isn’t he like a little brother to you?”

“Yeah, but not in a good way.” He moves his hands to give you a look of despair. “What’s wrong with Lenny? Or Tilly? Or Mary Beth?”

“Karen’s fun,” you muse, earning yourself another groan.

“Always with the loud drunkards,” he grumbles.

“Mmhm, and what was it Dutch said? When you go missing he checks the saloon, and if you’re not there he checks the jail?”

“Shurrup.” He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you onto his body, grinning as you protest, laughing.

“Don’t play innocent - Hosea’s been telling me stories!”

“Ahh, don’t go listening to him. He spins stories for a living, and anyway I was a kid in most of them.”

“And the stories I’ve heard from Lenny?” you smirk, still fighting despite it proving futile with you laughing so much. He growls, peppering your exposed skin with kisses as you wrestle playfully.

You cry out when a flailing limb makes contact with one of your swollen breasts. Arthur immediately releases you, watching you with concern as you try to rub out the punch without swearing.

“Y’alright?”

“Fine,” you huff. “Just sensitive is all.”

“I’m sorry - shouldn’t be playing so rough with you when you’re… in the way tha’ you are.”

“It’s fine, Arthur,” you repeat firmly, staring him down. “I’m fine. You didn’t knock my stomach, so we’re fine. Like I said, I’m just sensitive.”

He hums doubtfully.

Following a shootout with the Pinkertons and the law in the middle of Valentine, Dutch had ordered the camp out of Horseshoe Overlook and ushered you south east into the state of Lemoyne. On the other side of Dewberry Creek, Arthur and Charles had scouted a hideout chistened Clemens Point. Arthur hadn’t been the keenest to tell you that story, but you had weaseled it out of him.

Micah had recommended the dried out river bed, but when Charles and Arthur had arrived to scout it, there was an abandoned camp nearby, complete with a dead body. Whilst trying to assess the location’s risk to a group of outlaws should they move in, Arthur had moved some crates to find a woman with her two children.

“I guess I saw you,” he mumbled sadly, avoiding eye contact. “An’ the mess I might leave you in one day.”

You rubbed his shoulder patiently. “What happened?”

“I told ‘em to go ‘cause we needed the land.”

You were confused by the guilt still plaguing him and told him so. With a heavy sigh, he described how the girl translated her mother - that their father had been kidnapped and how it took Charles insisting otherwise to convince him to go look.

“So it’s really thanks to him we found this place,” he says gesturing at the open space bordered with woodland and lake.

If anything, you prefer this new destination to Horseshoe Overlook, and not just for the absence of bad memories. You love the sense of freedom swimming gives you: how it makes you weightless, how easy it is to tilt your head back and listen to the low rumble of the earth and water. You also enjoy that the road is more than a stone’s throw away here. A wanderer would have to purposely go out of their way to discover the camp, to hear the noise or see the light of the campfires. Clemen’s Point made you feel safe, even with the occasional canoe sailing by with a wave.

The new location lifted everyone’s spirits. So much so, Dutch dragged Arthur and Hosea out fishing. They returned hours later - singing and surprisingly sober - with deputy badges and a boat load of fish. Whilst the shiny badge continues to earn Arthur a lot of gib from you and everyone else in camp, Dutch insists the news is beyond fantastic.

“We are inaugurated in the local law!” he cries during one of his many speeches. “Hiding in plain sight!”

Still tired and snacking throughout your waking hours, you are relieved to find your morning sickness has passed its peak. Whilst you feel like your veins are popping out of your skin, Arthur insists your stomach is beginning to curve. You accuse him of an overzealous imagination until you try (and fail) to button the jeans from your past life as an O’Driscoll and your shirts that still fasten offer little to no breathing room.

“Think a trip to town is in order.” You jut out your bottom lip, demonstrating the distance between the buttons and their corresponding holes as your lover looks on laughing.

“I think you might be right.” You don’t resist as his fingertips tilt your chin up to plant a kiss on your lips. “Let me go see if Pearson’s got a list and we’ll head out. Think they’ll do another couple hours?”

“Don’t really have a choice,” you grumble, stealing Arthur’s worn blue shirt from under the cot. You can hear Sadie and Pearson bickering even from the edge of camp, so it doesn’t surprise you when Arthur’s tone cuts through the noise.

“-ain’t cooking work?”

Looking over, you see Arthur has taken the expostulating Mrs Adler aside. You look away quickly - there’s no reason to ruin an acceptable day by agitating her enough to start shouting at you too. Her and Pearson have been at each other’s necks since she’s pulled herself out of the worst of her depression, almost as though he has become the target of her grief.

You focus your attention on preparing the cart. A trip to town means a trip for supplies, and with so many mouths to feed, horseback wasn’t a viable option.

"How are you, Miss?"

You turn around, surprised at being addressed directly by someone other than Arthur. Seeing Kieran’s familiar pastiness relaxes you a little. As an ex-O’Driscoll himself, you trusted him the most not to stab you after Arthur and the little boy, Jack.

"Fine," you reply flatly, brushing out the tangles of the shire’s mane.

"We ain't really had much time to talk since we was in Tall Trees a few months back, have we?" You hum in response, trying not to flash any amount of flesh by moving too much. The poor boy was skittish enough. He immediately begins to help you, being the horse fan he is.

"I never even suspected a thing, Miss,” he gushes. “So I bet you anything Ol' Colm won't have neither."

"So you two were close, huh?" You barely contain the sarcasm.

He shrugs off the question awkwardly. "Which feller was you again?"

"Well I must’ve been good if you have to ask." You feed the shire a carrot, avoiding eye contact. "I was Thomas," you admit quietly. The following silence is prolonged. Doubtful.

“Thomas Donoghue?” You shrug your shoulders. “So you were friends with Paeder then?”

“Peter?” You respond coolly. “Never knew him.”

He opens his mouth as if to argue, but Arthur is marching across camp, shouting back over his shoulder to Mrs Adler. Spooked, Kieran bolts to a safe distance, doing nothing but look on as Arthur helps you up onto the back of the cart.

Acknowledging you with a sneer, the other woman takes her place on the bench up front. “So I’ve graduated from choppin’ vegetables to shopping?”

“Shut your goddamn mouth…” grumbles Arthur, reins in hand as the cart moves off. You give Kieran a small, apologetic wave farewell, but it’s difficult to contain the relief of your companions’ timing. Paeder was a private matter, and one which you had no desire to discuss out loud. You’re sure the shaky man meant no harm, but some things were better buried.

“You cooled down then, yet?” Arthur asks the widow, distracting you from your thoughts.

“I guess,” she grumbles. “And I ain’t no scullion! And I sure as hell ain’t takin’ orders from that sweating halfwit!”

You can almost hear his eyes roll. “Well I guess we all gotta do our share, princess.”

“Where’s that letter?”

“Oh, you reading his mail now?”

Sadie throws him a dirty look. “Robbing and killing’s ok, but letter reading’s where we draw the line?”

You stifle a smirk as Arthur pulls it from the inside of his coat, knowing he’s been had. “Here.”

“Dear Aunt Cathy-”

“You are somethin’ else…”

“I haven’t heard from you in some time, so I prayed to the Lord above that your health has not deteriorated further… bla bla bla… s’boring… Oo! Wait a sec, listen to this! Since we last corresponded, I have travelled widely, making no small name for myself.” You all laugh out loud. “Before you ask, I am still yet to take a wife, but I can assure you it is not for lack of suitors.” Arthur barks out laughing again as Sadie giggles. “He ever actually talked to a woman he ain’t paid for?” she asks in disbelief.

“Look, we’re all hiding behind something.” Whilst his tone advises the limit of fun has been reached, the smile is still audible.

“And what’s this? Return to Tacitus Kilgore?”

“Oh that? That’s Dutch’s idea. All mail to be sent to the same alias. Whenever we set up somewhere new, Strauss, he heads into town, tells them to start expecting mail from a Tacitus Kilgore or whatever they changed it to… Here, gimme that back. We got work to do.”

You all sit quietly as the cart rolls into Rhodes. The locals watch you, wary of the unfamiliar faces, but you keep your head high. Strangers smell weakness. It’s better to come off aloof and avoid trouble than to present as vulnerable and be beaten down at every turn.

“Ok, here we are.”

“So what’s the plan?” Mrs Adler points a pistol at the side of the building, squeezing one eye shut as she gauges the iron sights. “I shoot the shopkeeper, while you-?”

“No! You insane?”

“Well I thought we was outlaws…?”

“Outlaws! Not idiots!" he hisses, pushing down the gun as he looks around for any witnesses. "We rob fools that rob other people! These people- they’re just tryna get by! So you head on in there, and you buy us some food to eat. And no guns.”

“Are you sure?”

“This time.” The two of you share a look again as he helps you down. “There’ll be plenty o’ time for killin’ soon enough.”

“What are you doin’?”

“I’m gonna go check the mail, nothin’ exciting.”

Sadie shrugs and saunters off. Arthur sighs and shakes his head, touching your arm. "You gonna be alright?"

"Here's hopin'."

"Any trouble, holler. Stay outta her way best you can though, alright?"

Knowing that his concern lies with your companion's open hatred for anything remotely O'Driscoll rather than your ability to defend yourself, you nod. Blowing him a cheeky kiss, he waves back at you with a grin as you enter the general store.

"-flour, oats, salt, eggs, apples if you have them..."

"Sure, not a problem,” responds the shopkeeper as he begins to gather the goods. “Big family, have you?"

"Somethin' like that." Mrs Adler barely spares you a glance as the titter of the doorbell announces your presence. "And you sell clothes?"

So Arthur had explained to her your purpose for the journey. You're flattered, if a little bewildered at this kind gesture. From the looks she’s been giving you, you’re surprised she has buried the hatchet of your past so quickly.

"We do. Not the widest range of ladies fashion, I'm afraid."

"That's alright. I'll look at everything you got."

"Of course, Mrs…?"

"Kilgore," she smirks, turning to bat her eyelids at you. You realise then that her request is completely unrelated to you. Why wouldn’t it be? You’re not the only person that has been swept into the Van der Linde gang with little more than what you were wearing on your back. From Arthur’s story, she escaped with nothing more than her wedding ring and her nightclothes, so it’s only natural that she is also in need of a new wardrobe. "What? You don't even trust me to handle the shopping by myself?"

"You're not the only one in need of new clothes, Mrs Ad- Kilgore." You force a polite smile at the sales clerk whilst Mrs Adler browses the shelves dully. "What are the biggest sizes you have in stock? Any maternity wear by chance?"

"Ain't many women round here makin' babies," he sighs, pulling out a few options. You can feel Sadie's eyes burning past you at the pile. "You're best tryin' Saint Denis or ordering outta the catalogue. There's a tailor in Blackwater I heard is pretty good for that sorta thing, but it's quite the journey-"

"Too far for me, I fear." You flick through the pages as Mrs Adler leaves to try a few things on from the pile in front of you. Writing a quick list with estimated sizing, you purchase the largest button up shirt and skirt for sale. The trousers will have to wait for another day - you know investing twenty dollars in a pair that you'll breach the waistline of in a matter of weeks is a luxury you can't especially afford right now.

Mrs Adler on the other hand spares little expense with a sturdy pair of jeans. Finally out of the cumbersome skirts, her whole character changes and suddenly you feel the same pit of dread you did when faced with a full camp of spitting Van der Lindes all those weeks ago.

Intimidated, you step outside whilst she settles the bill. You take a short wander up the main road, taking in the familiar buildings with apathy. Who would have thought you would end up here again? Now you’re not so apprehensive about your life span, you can see how rundown this dusty crumbling town is. The few shops that are open have seen better days, and the best kept building is the bank. You feel your skin crawl as you spot the large parlour houses on the horizon. Of course this place is struggling to survive - anywhere that profited from slave labour deserved to rot. Part of you hopes it’s slow perilous march to abandonment continues: it would be disappointingly merciful to see a place be lost to one good shoot out.

“I’ve birthed foals with more strength than you!” Mrs Adler’s cursing sinks your stomach as you navigate your way back to the store where a man is helping her load the cart. “Hell, my sister’s newborn had more strength than you and he came out bright blue!”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder!”

Spotting Arthur, who is strolling back himself, fills you with relief. The shopkeeper walks back to the porch, checking the list before walking back. “I think this is everything,” he says, swinging the sack of salt on the cart.

“Thanks… here, take that for yourself, okay.” She flicks a silver coin and he catches it out of the air, scowling.

“Thanks,” he spits.

“Well, give it back then! Jesus! I didn’t ask for his goddamn help..." She pushes the sack on more securely to stop it rolling off when the cart moves. “OK, get on. I’m about done here.”

“Why don’t you drive?” suggests Arthur coolly after making sure you’re sat safely amongst the supplies. “C’mon lady, get a move on.”

She scowls as she takes the reins. “I like Sadie, not lady.”

“I know. So you get everything?”

“I think so.”

“And some… new clothes, I see?”

“Don’t start,” she sighs, the heat returning to her voice. “I can wear what I damn well want. Like I told you, my husband and I shared all the work. I wasn’t some little wife with a flower in her hair baking cherry pies all day.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that. You sure look the part now. Won’t be long before you’re smoking cigars and playin’ the harmonica.”

“I’ll have you know I used to love playing the harmonica before… well… my house and everything I owned got burned to the ground.”

“I know... I’m real sorry. About what you… you know. Maybe I’ll keep my eye out for another one.”

“I don’t want no pity,” she snaps. “Just… treat me equal and know… nobody’s taking nothing from me ever again.”

Arthur hums in comradery. “Just don’t kill the camp cook…”

A horse gallops up alongside you. “Hey there! What are you folks up to?”

“Just heading home,” says Arthur casually, adding a quiet “keep it cool, Sadie”.

“You’re in Lemoyne Raider country. You need to pay a toll to pass through here.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” The hairs on the back of your neck prickle at the anticipation of conflict. You realise with a sinking stomach that you’re completely unarmed. “How about you pull over right now?”

“Pull over?” he repeats incredulously. Your eyes scan the bags and boxes around you. There has to be something here that can double as a weapon of some kind.

“That’s what I said.”

“Hey!” calls Sadie coolly. “How’s about this?”

A pistol cracks and the Lemoyne Raider cries out in pain. She ushers the horses on with a Go, go, go! as Arthur stands up, drawing his revolvers and firing. You duck down as bullets fly over your head, your hands scrambling for anything that could be of use.

“What the hell was that?” cries Arthur furiously.

“They was gonna rob us!”

“A new pair of pants and you think you’re Landon Ricketts!” He curses loudly as more men run out in the road ahead.

“I’m gonna run this son of a bitch down!” she shouts, pulling the wagon over one raider and off the road.

“Well you wanted to see some action, lady, now you got your wish!” Arthur slings his longarm from his back and shoves it in your direction as he continues to fire. You can see more men coming out from between the trees and you take aim, knocking them down one by one as Arthur clips off any extras over your head.

“You alright there, Sadie?” you shout over the gunfire. Arthur is still firing behind you, but she’s out of your line of sight from where you’re crouched behind sacks of grain.

“Of course! You think I can’t handle these fools?” You don’t retaliate and you can almost hear her voice aim at Arthur. “Told you I could shoot a gun, didn’t I?”

“I don’t remember asking you to prove it,” he grunts, tossing you extra ammo just in case. The last bastard is fleeing south down the dirt track. You take aim, but he’s out of range.

“Yeah you run, you goddamn coward!” screams Sadie before taking a steadying breath. “I think we’re good here. Nice shooting. I’ll drive us back-”

“No! Pass those reins here!”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve caused enough trouble already.”

She doesn’t find grounds to argue, instead looking back at you, her face straight and unreadable. “We showed those bastards, huh?”

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Arthur scowls.

“They was clearly plannin’ to bushwhack us!” she argues, facing forward again.

“You did good, but that’s a lotta mess to make near camp. Hope it don’t bring anyone sniffin’ around.”

“Are you gonna tell Dutch?” she asks mockingly.

“Maybe… if he asks. But, maybe not.”

“So who did they say they were? Lemoyne Raiders?”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that. Who knows… Anyway, don’t you go ribbing Pearson about that letter.”

“How dare you? I wouldn’t dream of it!”

“Riiight, you wouldn’t…”

“I have travelled widely, making no small name of myself…”

Arthur laughs. “I won’t be giving you no mail to post any time soon, that’s for sure.”

She chuckles too. “I just wanna peak in that journal of yours. The mind boggles.”

“Not a chance…”

“You didn’t get yourself killed then, Miss Adler?” calls Pearson, strolling over smugly as Arthur pulls up near the horse station.

“Not quite,” she responds truthfully.

“Well, I’d like to say I missed your refined conversations, but I’d be lying.”

She accepts the box shoved into her chest without complaint. “I… I enjoyed myself out there.”

“Yes, we err… Mrs Adler did ok!” He holds up his arms and lifts you down gently by your waist.

“At shopping?”

“Yes, at shoppin’...”

The double meaning doesn’t go unrecognised by Sadie who thanks him with genuine gratitude.

“Don’t mention it. I would ride with you again, Mrs Adler, if you will ride with me.”

“Maybe,” she laughs. “If you prove you can handle yourself.”

“Well, they say I lack finesse, but I ain’t afraid of gun smoke.”

“We got this, Arthur. You’ve already done me a big favour today.” Turning to you with a smile, Arthur accepts the repeater you proffer. It’s best to remain unarmed for now - there’s no need to risk one of your lesser fans finding an excuse to regard you as a threat. “Okay, Miss High and Mighty. And… nice pants by the way.”

“You okay there, Y/N?” He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in close to his side. “You manage to find something too?”

“Just about,” you admit. “Had to put in an order. How long do you think we’ll be around here for?”

“Until we can’t most likely. Everything alright? They didn’t catch you or nothin’, did they?”

“Of course not, Arthur.” Your weak smile is genuine and heartfelt at his concern. “I’m not above shouting when I’m shot.”

“‘Course not.” He rubs your back, leading you back to your shared tent. “You gonna try them on, or what?”

“Nah, I figure I might as well make the most of still being able to fit in this stuff, even if it’s only for a few more days.”

He laughs, pulling you into a big hug. “Fair enough.”

From under his arm, you spot the rousing attention of Herr Strauss nearby. You nudge him in warning, but it’s too late.

“Ah, Herr Morgan! How are you enjoying yourself out here?”

“Well enough, I guess,” he replies gruffly. “And you?”

“Well, it turns out the pursuit of freedom is not a cheap business. Not for us, and not for some of the locals.”

“Sharking, already?”

“I prefer to call it banking.”

“You ain’t the one handing out the beatings,” snarls Arthur.

“No, but I am the one feeding the women and children in the camp,” he retorts. “What choice do we have, Mr Morgan?”

Arthur sighs. “Ah, I don’t know. Well, come on then! Tell me who…”

You stop listening as Strauss reads off a list of names, and only tune back in to hear Arthur ask how many he expects to be able to pay.

“With enough encouragement, both of them!” he chuckles, his black eyes twinkling from behind the round spectacles.

Sighing, Arthur returns to where you’re sat on the camp bed. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I’d best be gettin’ on.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You stand up to kiss him. “The gang comes first.”

He grimaces at that, but doesn’t dispute it. You give him another kiss for good luck and wave him out camp before dropping the flaps, not missing the glare of bitterness from Sadie across camp.

[dlamp-dictator]

Allen X’s Gacha Rules for a ‘Good’ Gacha Game (Featuring Arknights)

Hey look, that Arknights essay came quicker than I thought.

Continuing on my goal of finishing up all my years-old drafts by the end of February, I think it’s pretty damn convenient that I glanced over this half-finished opinion piece just in time for the next limited banner for Arknight’s CN server to be announced. This is a topic I’ve been wanting to cover for awhile now. If there was anything that was a decent marker for Allen X’s gaming experience these past 4-ish years it was the fact that he got real into Gacha Games. I’ve dipped my toe into quite a few different Gacha phone games over the years. AFK Arena, Granblue Fantasy, Girls Frontline, and even an Ikkitousen gacha game at one point. And of course Arknights, which is my current main gacha game at the moment.  

Honestly, the only thing I didn’t play was Fate/Grand Order, and for damn good reason, but one thing at a time.

Anyway, with all that time I spent playing these games I’ve slowly given myself a ruleset and mindset for how I handle these gacha games. And I figured I’d talk about how I go about playing some of them, some of the experiences I’ve gained, and what I look into when it comes to the money portion of playing a ‘free-to-play’ game. I’ll mostly be talking about Arknights since it’s the main gacha game I’ve been playing for the past year and I don’t play two of these at once for damn good reason. 

So, with that all said, let’s start off with... 

Point 1: Methods of Ten-Pulls

For those new, the typical loop for most gacha games is to roll for rare characters and use them to complete segments of the game, whether for their looks, stats, or playstyle (but mostly looks). The characters themselves are usually drawn in an attractive and appealing way, along with having abilities and statistics that are desirable from a gameplay perspective, at least those of a higher rarity. The more you pull and buy into the gacha, the higher the chance you get for a rare character. Some games have deals where you pull can pull for free with some in-game resource like Girls Frontline, and more commonly the game encourages you to pull 10 at a time to increase your chances. 

For any good gacha game, I feel you should be able to pull for free at a fair rate. That varies a lot depending the game mechanics at play, how the game handles duplicate pulls, the rarity rate of gacha pulls, and so on, but in general if you can pull 10 times every two weeks I’ll consider the game fair, at least on that front. 

Arknights is actually a pretty good example of this. Headhunting aside, you can pull 4 times a day using in-game resources in the recruitment section of the menu, but those pulls tend to be a lot more common and not viable in the endgame like some of the ones you get in headhunting. And even without the recruitment section you can usually ten-pull about twice a month if you do the daily and weekly missions plus the weekly Annihilation missions. When I first discussed Arknights in this regard I had some confusion about how Annihilation worked and assumed it reset monthly. I apologize if I misled people with that statement. 

Anyway, by doing all the activities and missions that give you Orundum, the gacha currency, you should be able to collection about 10,000 Orundum every month, which is one guaranteed ten-pull a month. This is a little under what I would had preferred for Arknights and there’s a good chance I’m missing a free source of Orundum somewhere (and I’m rounding down to play it safe), but... it’s fair enough. 

But onto my second point.

Point 2: Premium Currency in Relation to Real-World Currency.

In short, I should have a clear idea how much it cost to pull a character if I was going to whale. Typically, in most gacha games you can purchase a premium currency in order to pull characters with real world money. The amount can vary from game to game, but there should be a clear idea of how much it cost to pull for a character. 

As a free-to-play game, most gacha games do need some kind of reliable income. Let’s be real here, this game doesn’t run on happiness and sunshine and I don’t mind giving money to products I want to see succeed and continue, but if it takes 20 bucks to ten-pull I’m going to find that ridiculous unless the gacha rate is in highly my favor.

Arknights uses Originium Prime as it’s premium currency, an item that can be transferred into 180 Orundum per unit. One Originium Prime costs one dollar. You need about 33 Originium Prime to get the 6,000 Orundum needed to pull ten times, or a little over 3 Originium Prime to pull once using 600 Orundum. This means on average it costs around $33 to pull on command.

This is absurd for a tower defense game.

Now, Originium Prime does a lot more than let you engage with the gacha, but the brass tacks of this is that for every ten-pull you do you could just as easily get 3 games off a Steam sale, maybe more. I also think I should note that Arknight’s store lets you buy 40 Originium Prime for $30 as a bundle, cutting that cost to about 75 cents per Originium Prime. There’s also an option for 66 Originium Prime for $50, but that for just a little over 75 cents per Originium Prime if my math is correct. Either way, Arknights is asking for quite the price to engage in one of its main mechanics. 

And yes, you can gain Originium Prime in game by perfect-clearing stages and clearing the challenge modes, but there’s a finite a moment of those stages and events maps are pretty scarce in Arknights, coming around once every two-ish months with about 15-20 chances for Originium Prime. As a casual player this is... fine, but for folks that rush the endgame this is... a tad much. 

Now, I’m a casual player. I don’t rush to the latest content and I don’t try and min-max a gacha game of all things. As much I mostly just buy a monthly pack that grants me about 300 Orundum for free daily for 30 days and 6 Originium Prime upon purchase. This makes the grind a little easier and it’s a cheap way to show monetary support to the development team. However, I do recognize there are people that do these min-max and rush content and my opinion of these folks aside I think those folks probably spend the most money as well, undeservedly so. But this is more a discussion of the individual person and not the gacha community as a whole.

So... moving on...

Point 3: Late Game Viability as a Free-to-Play

To me, it should never feel like you need the gacha to finish the game or get to the endgame content. For a free to play game, you should be able to at least finish the initial pre-update content without needing to try and a pull a rare character to get you through a hard segment of the game. Events and Post-Launch stuff have a bit of wiggle room, but overall I don’t think you should need a team of the rarest characters to just beat the game, at least not a meta-team. That doesn’t mean the desire to pull can’t be there, but at least for the launch-content, you should be able to finish it out as a free-to-play player. Thankfully, most games (most good games) will give you a pretty decent team to work with if you truly have bad luck with rolls. Girls Frontline is a good example of this.

Arknights... isn’t as generous as I’d like it to be.

In Arknights, by the end of Chapter 4, with limited engagement of the Gacha, you’ll have handful of 4-Stars that can be leveled to the late game with decent stats, Amiya, and an assortment of 3 stars that can technically get you through those first four chapters if used and placed wisely. But some four stars like Gavial, Courier, and Dur-nar are time-limited if I remember correctly, so as of me typing this there’s no reliable way to get some of those characters.

Meanwhile, in Girls Frontline you got most of team Anti-Rain by the mid-game pre-updates, a group of 4-star guns that had already great utility and with half of their members being in the meta of the pre-update endgame content, and are still viable to this day if I remember correctly. 

This is a major point of contention I have with Arknights. I think they’re fairer than most gacha games, but I’ll admit they don’t like giving handouts, not as many as I’d prefer anyway. Even the stingy AFK Arena gave you more stuff after maintenance updates and the like, and I hate the fact that I complimented AFK Arena on anything.

But onto my last point.

Point 4: 5-Star/SSR Rates Must be Around 4% or Higher.

This is the main reason I’ll never touch F/GO (along with other reasons). Every gacha game should, statistically, guarantee a five-star/SSR/highest-tier rarity after 30 pulls. Any more than that and you’re playing with a rigged slot machine by my standards. Like I said, the main goal of most gacha games is to get you pulling for these are fancily drawn jpegs and pngs, and while those characters technically have gameplay function and even limited animation in certain non-gameplay settings, they’re still pictures nonetheless. And if I have to dip more than 30 times to get something good then what’s the point.

Again, using Arknights, their 5-Stars are at a rather generous 8%, but their 6-Stars being at a tad crueler 2%. By all accounts, I shouldn’t be touching Arknights because of this, but due to the nature of how busted Six-Stars are and a few other details like base functions, potential levels, and some other factors in Arknights gameplay, I let this slide for the moment.

Regardless, I shouldn’t take more than 20 pulls to get a highly rated unit of some sort. The details of the specific unit can be discussed at a later date, but my point remains.

Also, any gacha game that mixes accessories and characters in the same pull pool is equally unplayable. Characters have utility and gameplay functions that can be used for multiple strategies and methods, along with out-of-game benefits ala the base mechanics of Arknights depending on the game. Accessories and items are stat buffs in game where grinding levels is already purposely tedious. Anything making that act more of a hinderance is honestly trying to rob you blind and should be avoided like the plague.

Now... one more thing to talk about. 

About Arknights Specifically

You know... between me bitching about Chapter 7, bitching about Chapter 6, bitching about 7-18, and bitching about Code of Brawl I get the feeling you all think I hate Arknights. 

Trust me, I only whine and moan because I love this game and the people who made it, I wouldn’t waste my breath or keystrokes otherwise. 

That said, I would like to see some things change about Arknights on a foundational level. I’ll try and keep this short, but no promises.

Endgame Team for Free

This is the team you have to work with for 6-7 because of story reasons and I think this team should gained for free to by the end of chapter 6, everyone in this squad should be in your rooster by the end. Even Blaze, her kit is good, but not as busted as Silverash so she wouldn’t shatter the game’s difficulty. This team overall is very well balanced for end game content and has all the essentials to get through it. E2 medics and guards, cheap vanguards and defenders for last minute placements to stall, a good sniper that can do solid burst damage, some specialists just in case you need to manipulate enemy movement and path detection. I believe you can get Rope, FEater, and Myrrh free, but Blaze and Greythroat for reliable lategame damage feels like a must. And I see nothing wrong with giving out those two for free anyway, especially for what was near endgame content at the time and how pivotal Blaze and Greythroat were to the storyline of Chapter 6. And yes I feel the same way about Rosmontis in Chapter 7 too. She’s actually a pretty niche unit and a 6-Star that’s expensive to upgrade, just having her in your pocket wouldn’t shatter the game like it would be if you gave us, again, Silverash.

Gacha Rates

I think arguing for cheaper prices with the Originium Prime is a fools errand because corporations will never listen, but I’ll at least say this. The rules of the gacha that followed the WWE Banner should be for all future banner. You should get a banner-specific currency that lets you outright buy the rare units on said banner if you have bad enough luck. You needed to pull 300 times to get W or Weedy and about 50 times to get  Elysium. I feel like both of these should be cut in half. Going by the math I previously did counting that requirement in half would mean only doing 15 ten-pulls, about 495 Originium Prime (89,100 Orundum) or a little over $370 for a limited operator.

This is still absurd for a tower defense game, but it is a far more fair than the original system.

Other Small Quality of Life Changes

A quick pull for recruitment operators so we don’t have to see the bag animation 4 times over. Girls Frontline had something similar by the time I left and it was all the better for it. 

A similar form of auto-play to Girls Frontline where you can send in one of your 4 squads to auto play a map off screen a number of times and come back later when they’re down for materials at the cost of extra sanity. 

Have a Orundum be a log-in reward. Again, something Girls Frontline did and I think coughing out 1,000 Orundum once a week wouldn’t kill anyone.

Buff Amiya goddammit. Either remove/shorten the stun on her S2 to make her have reliable (if random) magical burst damage or remove the instant retreat on her S3 so she can become a hard-hitting damage unit at the cost of a high SP cost and cooldown timer. Don’t give major drawbacks to your only non-event free 5-Star when Silverash exists. When Click and Haze has more viability than your main character you have a problem.

Anyway, that’ll be it for me. Next time... I talk about something that isn’t me bitching.

[moonshinelouis-archive]

You can't just say you wrote an essay about Fine Line and gender and then not give it to me

mostly bc im lowkey scared it’ll link my tumblr to my assignment submission rip. but you know what!! risks!! pls note that this is the first draft that i wrote in one hour because i was nervous as it’s my coming out to my teacher haha anyway. it’s 904 words

-

The first time I heard the titular track, it had been a chaotic Thursday, filled with regular Thursday thing—classes, work, taking out the trash—and by evening, I was worn out, and did not appreciate ‘Fine Line’ as much as I came to later. It seemed too complicated to grasp, with its hopefulmelancholy and metaphor-based storyline. But as most things I’ve tried to stifle, its meaning caught up to me soon enough.

It’s hard to talk about ‘Fine Line’ because of how tightly I’ve tied myself to it. I didn’t write it, but it’s achingly personal, and to write about it is to lay myself bare. It has led me to a personal discovery that I am still understanding.

‘Fine Line’, as I interpret and relate to it, reverences the trembling ache of gender dysphoria—from the perspective of someone born male, “You’ve got my devotion, but man, I can hate you, sometimes,” juxtaposed with “We’ll get the drinks in, so I’ll get to thinking of her,” (Styles) refers not to a lover, but to the duality living within himself, and the fear and struggle of discovering this aspect of hismind and body. As I experience it, gender is fluid: some days, femininity reaches out to me like a warm grandma’s arms. Sometimes my gender is simply nonexistent. Sometimes, it wavers tremulously over a tightrope miles up in the air—a fine line, if you will—confusing and frightful, lacking an answerin its ambiguity. That is ‘Fine Line’ by Harry Styles: acquiescing to fluidity.

‘Fine Line’ is acceptance, as well as struggle. The song is a constant love-and-haterelationship, over and over, differently and similarly every time:

You’ve got my devotion, but man I can hate you, sometimes

I don’t want tofight you, and I don’t want to sleep in the dirt

Test of mypatience, there’s things that we’ll never know

You sunshine, youtemptress

My hand’s at risk, I fold (Styles)        

That is precisely how I feel. At one point, I’ll think I’ve finally got the answer: this is me; I’ve figured it out! But not a second later, it’s confusion all over again. The inconsistency of gender identity can be frustrating, and the melody of the song captures this as well: mellifluous and slow, but triumphant and safe at the same time.

‘Fine Line’ grasps also the struggle of genderqueer experience in a world dominatedby cisgender people and enforcement and re-enforcement of stereotypes; a community with ingrained misogyny and ‘toxic masculinity’, which includes everything from stereotypes to rape culture. It’s in the opening lines: “Put aprice on emotion, I’m looking for something to buy” (Styles); where the subject of the song would prefer pre-existing emotions over those he’s struggling with; where he’s struggling to allow himself to feel what hasn’t yet been ‘marketed’ as suitable. It’s in the last verse: “Crisp trepidation, I’ll try to shake thissoon” (Styles); where the subject falls for the age-old argument that queer experiences are merely temporary; where he apologizes for what he’s feeling, for displeasing those who don’t understand his struggles.

It’s difficult: for all non-binary, agender, genderqueer, and gender-fluid people, misgendering will always be a daily occurrence,whether it is by the cashier ringing up their groceries or by the people they see every day. That is because assuming a gender based on appearance is cultural. Long hair is feminine, short hair is masculine. Pink is girly, blueis boyish. Sports are manly. Makeup is womanly. It’s ingrained behavior.

Even more so for me: my first language is Portuguese, a romance language which genders every object and matches every adverb following. To simply be neither femalenor male is an act of defiance of language—the whole thing must be bent. To change your personal pronoun in Portuguese is to change the entire vocabulary describing you; a hassle most strangers won’t bother with, even in English, where the change is minimal.

My favorite part: the end, when he shifts from echoing “We’ll be a fine line” to “We’ll be alright,” (Styles). The longing for answers, the hopefulness for acceptance, it’s all right here, in these lines. One day, Styles and myself, hope that to be non-cisgender won’t be so painful, from the outside in. That one day, it’llbe alright for people to be who they were meant to be; it’ll feel alright beingwho they are.

‘Fine Line’ took me from my silent denial and hugged me; taught me it’s okay to feel the way I feel, and that other people feel this way too; that I’m not alone in my struggle with gender. It made me realize that it’s alright to step into myfemininity if I’d like to—but also that androgyny, and even masculinity, are viable options as well. It made me realize I am non-binary, and that that’s okay.

So when I pick up my album, a ballooned photo of Harry Styles with a backdrop of pink, white, and blue stripes, reminiscing the transgender flag, and when I listen to the grand finale of his sophomore album, I will always feel safe, knowing I am valid, knowing it has changed me. Knowing not everyone will understand ‘Fine Line’ the same way I do.

[carfucker9000]

On Sex With Cars, a Mechaphilic Exposure

+ I should preface this by saying that most of us do develop strong romantic or otherwise generally emotional attachments to our object partners. Many of us cross out of the Mechaphilic aspect of Objectum Sexuality as well and take on other Object Partners (Instruments, Buildings, Stuffies, etc). This is mainly about us good ol' carfuckers because we all LOVE talking about fucking cars even when we're not doing it.

- We're also capable of having human partners and attraction too, obviously.

- Typically speaking the emotional side of our relationships involve lots of projecting emotions and personalities onto our vehicles. This can stem from many reasons from nature vs. nurture to traumatic experience, abuse involving vehicles even if indirect, or other cases. We know they don't reciprocate that love but I mean... It's hard to admit. Go easy on us.

- A good portion of us are LGBT and/or on the autism spectrum. This doesn't mean all of us are, but most.

+ There are a few big No-No's in the community, despite our seeming lawlessness (we're really just loveably tacky). Mainly, don't do anything that would endanger your body or privacy.

- Don't touch hot or moving parts

- Do not fuck while it's running in an enclosed space. It's okay in the open.

- Don't expose yourself purposely to people who are non consenting.

- Do not ingest chemical substances which will harm your body. There is a man infamous for drinking used motor oil who was kicked from our group. He's also very... Weird. He thinks he can get his car pregnant. Don't be like him.

+ Lots of relationships I've seen among our numbers vary, but widely center around physical affection. This has a wide range of expression and can include but is not limited to:

- Kissing, rubbing or licking our automobile, anywhere inside or out

- Hugging, embracing and cuddling the automobile, again anywhere inside or out.  Think of inside vs. Outside being like, little spoon vs. Big spoon.

- There's feeling up the vehicle in more overtly sexual ways. We know realistically that the vehicle doesn't derive pleasure from the acts but lots of us are animists who would like to believe so anyways.

- This includes fingering, fondling, grinding, what have you.

+ The actual Sex Acts include numerous positions. Usually if you can imagine it, it's been done or talked about:

- Grinding against the bumper, quarter panels or grille. One of my favorite places with Grace was his trunk, it had a very good height for me.

- Fucking the exhaust. It is exactly how it sounds. Sex toys are often used. AMAB members describe using masturbation sleeves so they don't get cut or infected. AFAB members describe using strap-ons for the act as well.

- Give it it's own dick: mostly an AFAB thing in my experience, but one option with raised vehicles or vehicles which can be put onto a lift is to mount a sex toy beneath the vehicle, usually on the rear differential. This, to me, sounds like a lovely subbing experience.

- Handling the shifter: yup. The obvious. If your lover is equipped with a small-enough floor shifter, this is a viable option for a fun ride. Many mechs will change out their factory shifter for a more usable model.

- Tire worship: think foot/boot worship, but with tires. One of my personal favorites. Definitely gets me worked up pretty well. Extends to other bits as well.

- The hitch. Yup, some find use in their towing hitches whether it's the part itself or modifying a sex toy to be mounted on the hitch.

- a classic is just plain masturbating in the driver's seat to share an intimate moment. I did it on the road at night for the sake of privacy only. Don't attempt while moving. It's thrilling as hell but dangerous.

+ The Sex Appeal: of course, just like with humans, we find different features appealing in different ways! All of us interpret things in unique ways, but I can offer a bit of personal insight:

- Faces: humans typically experience pareidolia which is a feature evolved so that we can recognise other humans faces. This also causes faces to emerge in the most inhuman of features. Different features can help to construct the "personality" of a car, from the shape of the headlight "eyes" to the grille giving a friendly smile.

- Body types: everyone has different preferences. There are certain stereotypes which follow different cars: sports cars usually are viewed as sexy, model-type bodies. Pickups have a strong and intimidating air. Many like the idea of being dominated by trucks. SUVs, vans and hatchbacks are typically cutesy or maternal. Sedans are, I guess your average and represent a wide swath of presentations.

- gender in automobiles is fairly tricky. Different people see features in different ways and genders assigned to cars tend to be assumed based on the "energy" they give off. Initial impressions of this energy are made when the car and driver first meet, some even say this is how the car introduced themselves to them. There is a bit of debate, at times, or minor disagreement on the gender and "personality" of automobiles. Luckily this has far less consequence than issues revolving around human identities.

- the shape and features of the car's body are viewed in unique ways as well. Opinions range based on qualities like personality and practicality (ie, how well can i sexually interface with my vehicle? Is it comfortable to handle? Is it aesthetically appealing?) Some people prefer sharp angles, some prefer swooping curves, some prefer boxy bodies and still others prefer even different combinations of shapes.

- Many features of the car's body can be discussed analogously to the human body. The "face"— front end, headlights, hood, grille, bumper; the "body"— fenders, suspension and tires seen as extremities; the "hips"/"ass"— the curvy bits over the rear window or trunk, the tailgate of a pick-up, the taillights, the rear bumper. They're even seen in a similar way to humans: more muscular or sleek appearance. Bubble butts or thick bodies with the appeal of more to hold and love. Big tires on vehicles like trucks can seem almost cutesy as well, although I haven't personally noticed a bias as far as vehicle type when it comes to tire worship.

+ Other aspects still may revolve around the sensory aspect of loving automobiles, and not just their looks.

- a good rumbling engine always makes me feel safe and protected. Also a good sleep aid.

- the feel of the car's paneling or interior is often a great comfort.

- electrical features like a car's HVAC system and audio system can create a uniquely comfortable environment specific to the driver's likes.

- the feeling of vibrations from the car running are typically comforting and fall in with rumbling/revving noises.

- the sway of steering on the go is typically a sensory comfort for myself as well.

- taking travels and making memories with our automobile is just as important as with any other friend or partner.

- doing silly things like going out on "dates", sightseeing or learning special driving techniques. Many have certain roads or areas they say belong to them and their auto.

- I guess this is also in with the sway of steering, but on a more sexual note, watching a car bounce/rock on its suspension is fairly arousing.

- maybe it's just my piss kink, but watching the exhaust in some vehicles both smoke/steam and drip condensation is pretty hot.

- the feeling of being surrounded and protected by a partner whether it's sexual or not is just nice. Kind of makes me understand soft vore.

I'll add more as I think of it but that's it for now.

[scandinaviacroatiaengbergs]

Sunday: Oslo to Gothenburg (Bye-Bye to our Car, for Now!) and on to Copenhagen

There are a few things I wanted to note, just in general, but I’ve been forgetting to do so.  One: there are wind turbines all over the countryside in Norway and Sweden.  Two: the recycling program in Norway is very ahead-of-our-time (or the U.S.’s time, and I know to roll out such programs on a nationwide scale is easier to do in a smaller country than a larger one) and everyone recycles and composts  and the robot-directed sorting of bags of garbage is a sight to see (I saw it in a video that Ryley showed me).  Three: there are sooooooo many Teslas in Norway.  It is an actual fact that there are more Teslas per capita in Norway than in any other country (per my source: Eric Engberg).  Now, you’d think that this must just mean the people are super stoked to protect the environment and have loads of money to spend on buying expensive electric cars, and that is partially true, but Ryley and Roar said that many people spend way beyond their means and the government really incentivized electric car ownership, and Tesla was a huge resulting beneficiary of that.  Electric cars could drive in the bus lane for a while and there were more benefits, too, which I am forgetting.  It is really crazy how many Teslas there are on the road, and aside from that, there are just a lot of new cars, with very few that would qualify as “old” in the central city.  When we drove out of town, we saw more older models, but in the city, nope. I’ve also been thinking a lot about immigration in the late-19th and early-20th century to the U.S. from Scandinavia.  So I will digress for a minute: I know that when countries are war-torn, it makes a lot of sense for individuals and families to leave those regions, when they can (and as we see globally today and throughout history, there are so many tragic regions in which civilians are stuck in unlivable circumstances with no respite from the wars surrounding them). I also know from my own family history that people fled, say, Ireland because of famine, or Lithuania to seek an improved life in the U.S., even before abject ethic and religious persecution made conditions unsurvivable. I need to learn more about the causes for migration out of Scandinavia during the turn of the last century.  But, the lure of the “American Dream” was strong, even when a country wasn’t in a depression or there wasn’t a crop failure (though Norway had a huge potato crop failure that made many people leave, at the same time as Ireland, according to Roar), as far as I know.  And we see that immigrants from the turn of the last century to the U.S. have, by and large, left improved socio-economic legacies for their  descendants. But, when I travel to these areas today, and see some of the beauties of their regions, and size of cities and how these countries are able to develop social systems where there are many fewer people in poverty per capita than there are in our own U.S., I realize I need to learn more about why so many people left in the first place, and what the crises they were fleeing were, or whether they were just leaving to pursue riches in the U.S. when its doors were more open to such waves of immigrants (I mean, I wrote a book about this period, so I know very well the increasingly tight immigration laws of the late-19th to early-20th centuries and what “kinds” of people they privileged).  Anyway, I thought this about my Grandpa Sam too when we were in Lithuania, since he could certainly not have predicted the genocide that would develop there thirty years after he left.  He came to the U.S. alone from his family of two parents and five siblings (all but one of whom perished in the Holocaust), and seems to have traveled with a cousin. I do think about the asylum seekers who I’ve volunteered with in Albuquerque and somewhat like my uncle, they were really going into the unknown, because they hoped that gamble would make their lives better.  In the case of the asylum seekers, they’re often fleeing so much death, corruption, and destruction around them, and they hope that in the U.S. they’ll have a safer home for their children and more viable earning options for themselves. So, I am sorry to go along this tangent for so long, but I really do drive through the countryside here and I wonder why so many people left in the first place – simple as that.  I am sure different people left in different decades for very different reasons. Anyway, our last morning in Oslo was leisurely. We had to go out and find an ATM, though, since I had to leave about $70 for our Airbnb hosts to pay for parking, since we’d agreed upon this. To find an ATM on Sunday, though, was no easy task, so we went on a long walk to get to the nearest one, but that actually turned out very well, because we didn’t have to be out of the apartment at a particular time and we got to see some more neighborhoods that we hadn’t seen before.  We even found a little park right near our place that had a high hill, and we could see quite a panorama from the top. So, around 1, we left Oslo, avoiding by the smallest margin a collision in a roundabout (the Volvo’s brakes work really well, we learned!), and then made it to Gothenburg without much trouble at all. Eric booked our Airbnb in a suburb, and by the time we got in, the kids were ragged, unruly, and wild as hyenas with their squawking and back-talking and general silliness.  It was a mess. It took some stern words and some taking away of things (Rowan’s beloved Blundstone boots) to get them to know that they needed to pull it together, which they did, and we went to the Willy’s grocery store and got some dinner and got back and ate dinner, and the kids ate voluminously. After that, we tried to get the kids to bed, but that, again, was more protracted than ideal, and they weren’t asleep until nearly 10 p.m.  I should mention that the navigation in this suburb called Askim was hilarious and so convoluted; it was like driving from driveway to driveway, on tiny, tiny roads that, before GPS, I have no idea how anyone could’ve given directions to anyone unfamiliar with the area. So, the kids needed one thing after the next at bedtime – a story “from your mouth” (specifically, the serial saga of the cats Pickles and Mr. Pink that I’ve been telling since last summer), a story from a book, some water, to go to the bathroom, it’s too hot, there’s too much light, I want to sleep in with Cece, I want to go downstairs, etc. etc.  It was endless.  But, finally, they both zonked out, and then I couldn’t fall asleep until after midnight. I hope it doesn’t seem like I am complaining about the kids or their behavior a lot, because really, they roll with all of this traveling and moving from town to town pretty well, and they seem to love the adventure, and Rowan even expresses how much he loves it, repeatedly, and how sad he’s going to be when it’s over (though he has his art camp later this summer, and he *is* excited for that). But, our kids really are the loudest kids in any given room and the goofiest, so that is fun for us sometimes, but sometimes we need a knob with which we can dial down their volume considerably. We dropped our Volvo off this morning for its journey home, and while we were there, we saw another family, with two kids ages probably 8 and 6, and they were just sitting at a table with their parents while they waited for their car to be brought out. Our kids, by contrast, were needling each other and I actually heard a scream out of Cece when I was in the bathroom right before we left. Some great things can come out of their energy and curiosity, and we’re grateful for that, but, as I noted, sometimes, a dial would be useful ;)  I guess what goes around, comes around, since my mom once left my brother and I (at ages 4 and 6) with the guard at the front of some Smithsonian museum because we were being intolerable and she wanted to see the exhibit without our annoying behavior, so with the guard we sat.  That was also the day I flat-out insisted on wearing pleather boots and jeans in the humid, insane D.C. summertime weather. Anyway, I guess my kids come by their low points honestly ;) Anyway, so we *did* return the Volvo for its ocean journey home!  And now, I write this from a train to Copenhagen, and we’ll spend two nights there before flying to Croatia, land of my grandmother’s mother and ancestors.  The kids and I know, from Grandma Marion, how to say “I love you!” in Yugoslavian (as she calls it), so we’re ready for our travels there! This train ride started a bit stressfully, a) because we have a lot of loot to get situated on board, and b) there are no seat numbers above all of the seats, so it was a total frustrating guessing game to figure out which seats are ours.  But we did, and since then, the ride has been uneventful, with some beautiful ocean scenery and small towns (and some not-so-small towns) with red houses and intensely green fields. The kids have had some iPad time (Cece is doing a Montessori “hundreds board” right now and Rowan was laughing loud enough for all in our car to hear to Shawn the Sheep).  They are going to be tired tonight in Copenhagen, but we might tow them around in a bike trailer, so we’ll see what develops! More soon!

[wizerdmedgic-blog]

One thing that I admittedly

One thing that I admittedly dont have control over, proven by the phone conversation that spurred me to write this piece, is the judgment that others will cast on my when they know that I do for money. Even those who know that as well as dancing, I am a student and hold a day job in retail. Its a shame that women are continuously told not to express themselves for fear of judgment and labeling. Why are we told that there are good girls and there are whores? In my life, I want to embrace every aspect that comes with being a woman. I want to be sexy and intelligent. I want to be passionate and headstrong but I want others to know that I feel too."I usually go for dresses, lingerie, or leather," she says.Some of the girls broadcast risqué photos of themselves for free using sites like Instagram and Tumblr while others only use sites which require payment before viewing. Being a cam girl, specifically, can be a great option for sex workers because it’s a lot safer than when you are with a client in person. Cam girls still have to protect themselves, of course; making sure people can’t find out their addresses or real names. Those are things that workers in all facets of the sex industry have to worry about, whether you’re a stripper or an escort. But cam girls have the privilege of working from their homes or a studio, where they don't have that threat of violence or diseases. Or they just don’t have to deal with a client having bad breath.

I have considered opening up my profile again a few times since, and very well might once I get over the ‘what will people​ think?’ ​paranoia, and memorise the retort I have planned regarding the government youth unemployment in Australia: With youth unemployment currently sitting around 13%, creating your own job using the resources you already have (in this case, internet connection, webcam, studio lighting and cute knickers) becomes a much more viable option than waiting for callbacks from the 20 resumes you sent out last week. That said, the idea of my future prospects of employability could be damaged if this was discovered, and I do wonder about the percentage of money the site makes versus the percentages the models make.Lana is a graduate who worked in real estate until the global economic crash of 2008 plunged Romania into recession. That is when she first took up video-chat. Her first day in front of the camera has stayed with her.And that is not to say that there haven’t been bad times, like in any job. There have been mornings where I have come home with bruises all over my knees, my makeup sweated off, after a busy night. I have felt overworked and underappreciated by my bosses. Sometimes after a shift I have an overwhelming need to curl up in the arms of someone who loves me just because I crave that intimacy that I don’t get when I am at work because I am so self-sufficient there. And I am lucky that I have people who do love me, who can hold me after work and let me be still for a moment. I know that not everybody has that and I am never ungrateful for that privilege.In the media, sex workers are always portrayed as tragic victims of drug addiction or sex trafficking. But thats not always the case. So many cammers—and sex workers in general—defy that stereotype, and their lives are often totally different than what we assume. My exploration into camming definitely confirmed that.

"He told me I just had to talk. That's all. But he was in the room with me, and we made pornography there.Are there misconceptions about webcamming that you want to bust?Do you find people make assumptions about you because of your line of work?I don't know her real name, and I don't get the feeling she's willing to tell. We just talk about stripping and streaming sex, her chosen field for the past couple years. There's not much point in digging, anyway — Domino is, for my purposes, more a brand and personality than a fragile and finite person like you or me. But a thriving one. She describes herself as: CONTINUED BELOW...

[ghostmartyr]

Pokémon SoulSilver Randomized Nuzlocke [Part 1]

Since I haven’t fully learned from my mistakes, hey! It’s time for another Nuzlocke. With extra Randomizer action for reasons that are going to be very apparent as I go through this set’s rules.

I’m going to try what this person on the internet calls a Chainlocke, though with slight alterations for the sake of sanity; basic idea is that my catch Types have to be linked. If I catch a Grass/Poison pokemon, my next option has to have one of those in common.

That gets thorny really fast, which I guess is the point, but I’m more about wacky fun than serious challenges. So to make things more entertaining, I will be randomizing every pokemon in the wild, as well as NPC gifts and trades. All the other Trainers keep their original stuff. I get to be special.

So. Rules:

Only the first viable pokemon of each route may be caught.

Gift pokemon are cool to use.

In-game trades are also cool.

‘Viable’ in this case means that they must have a Type in common with the most recent caught pokemon.

The starter will be starting that chain despite not technically being caught by me. Because I feel like it.

Each pokemon must receive a nickname.

If a pokemon faints, it is considered dead. It will go in an appropriately named box in the PC.

In the event of a team wipe, the run will continue with whatever’s left (alive) in the PC.

And that’s about it. Let’s kick it.

No.

I can’t remember if this version does the all-caps for names or not. In any case, this protagonist avatar will take on the name Sunny. Because I am in a warm and welcoming mood, ready to make all the new creatures I encounter my friends.

I love how they have Lyra use the mail system.

Someone has to.

It certainly won’t be anyone playing these games.

Okay, based on how Lyra’s Marill is discussed, human names don’t get the all-caps treatment, but pokemon do. What does this mean for my nicknaming schemes? No idea. The hour is late and I don’t care enough.

-rubs hands together-

Hmmmm.

...

Dude.

Get out.

Hmmmm.

I can’t pick Cyndaquil, because what even is the point if I do that. Sableye I’ve never been so interested in as a true companion. Dewgong is fully evolved, and I hate starting out with that.

However.

I never get to use Dewgong.

Seel is never anywhere convenient.

DEWGONG WELCOME TO THE TEAM!

Shaped like a friend.

I haven’t worked out any particular theme for this run. I can name her whatever I want. I think I shall call her Chance.

Look at how cute she is. She is adorable. Sassy and highly persistent. I declare her perfect. She also knows Headbutt! That matters beyond being a cool move in this version! Much squeeing! She also knows Growl, Signal Beam, and Icy Wind.

My next pokemon will have to be Water or Ice. It will probably be Water, thanks to Water being absurdly common. That’s cool. I like Water pokemon.

And so, without yet being able to catch anything, I head out into the world. Running my obligatory fetch quest for Professor Elm.

Huh, a Smoochum says hello. That’s a good thing to know for later. But what’s in the Headbutt tree?

...A Hoothoot. Sigh. Well, one less thing to worry about when finding pokemon.

Weedle also lurks in the grass.

Yay. Gotta go fast.

Can I buy poke balls yet?

No. Sad face.

The next route has Kricketot. Did I check the similar strength button by accident?

Then suddenly, Grumpig! Okay, sweet. Just a few Buggy coincidences. Gligar is also here.

Literally have never heard of you. You have a boring name. No one should ever copy it ceaselessly for a gag that no one sees any value in.

Hello, a wild challenger approaches! With his super duper Totodile! Headbutt it, Chance. Headbutt it into submission. Good girl.

Uh. There’s not enough room for it.

Perfect.

I love how Silver’s most defining feature is his red hair.

After a short visit home to tell our mom we are far too irresponsible to be trusted with all of the money we’re going to earn from mugging other children, plus a short tutorial on catching things, we can finally get started!

Smoochum is the only thing available in the routes we’ve visited so far, but I haven’t checked out the northern one right outside the starting town yet.

But the walking takes the decision out of my hands! We encounter a level 4 Smoochum, and as per the rules, that is what I have to go for. Lest I kill the route.

...

I killed the Smoochum.

I guess that answers my question about its Typing. Ruh roh. Signal Beam was a mistake. For multiple reasons, now that I’m taking a second to think about it. Whoops. Any game that requires me to think is screwed from the start, honestly.

So now we search for something else to catch.

Route 46? Be nice?

Carvanha! That’s a Water! Can catch!

In theory. It’s broken out of two pokeballs. It’s also level 2, so I don’t think I can risk attacking it.

.I’m going to run out of balls, aren’t I?

I think I have to risk an Icy Wind. I’m on my last poke ball. I don’t really want to leave it purely up to the mood of the RNG.

Chance apparently doesn’t want friends.

She got a critical hit.

Two dead routes! Okay!

Still needing a Water or Ice Type!

Also more Poke Balls!

One of those problems I can fix. As for the other, inb4 the Mystery Egg and whatever I get from Bill are the only other teammates Chance ever has.

We march through the trainers between us and the next town. Certain of nothing but Chance’s ability to murder them all.

Route 31 has an Elekid as the first thing I see and the rules say I can’t catch it. What horrible person came up with this. Seviper and Lopunny are also here. Those I care less about.

Dark Cave? Help? Mayhaps?

A Golbat appears.

Okay.

Before we think too hard on that, I’ve gotta say that I do love how gen 4 does the caves. They are very gorgeously cavernous, and the few times I bother to think about the background art, I enjoy walking through them.

But yeah, is there anything in this cave that is not a Golbat?

Route 31 has a Butterfree.

These are things that do not help me.

The person who usually gives you an Onix for a Bellsprout in whatever this city is (Violet) offers a Corphish for a Kecleon. Things to keep in mind if I ever find a Kecleon. That I can catch.

In no version of this game have I ever done this egg thing. I was unaware there even was an egg thing, since anything that requires me to pick the right word out of the hat of words bores me to tears. Then I started watching too many people play Pokemon games on the internet.

-Googles how to get egg-

So normally, you can get a Mareep, Wooper, or Slugma. In the spirit of the Chainlocke, even though I said gifts were cool, we’ll take the Wooper egg. Vote now on whether or not it’ll actually be a Wooper. I don’t know how to use the Randomizer.

Hm. Iiiiiiinteresting.

Chance, Headbutt some trees on the off chance that a Water pokemon falls out, please.

It’s a Hoothoot.

I get the feeling that the Randomizer settings didn’t care about the pokemon found through Headbutting.

Route 32. Help.

Gligar. That is not help.

Rhydon is not help either. Likewise Torchic.

SQUIRTLE. THAT IS HELP.

...

...

...

Chance.

Why are you getting so many critical hits against your friends. Do you not want friends. Have I raised you to be so antisocial.

-sigh- Route 32 declared dead.

Ruins of Alph? Maybe you have someone Chance likes?

...

Why is Gligar everywhere.

I guess. I will go to the tower. With Chance. Just the two of us.

Plus the Gloom egg, which is looking like a very likely candidate for the only friend Chance will ever have. Besides the Mystery Egg we don’t have yet.

(Also Rock Smash HM get. Yaaaaay.)

Local level 11 Dewgong beats up 3 year-olds.

So many dead Bellsprout.

I haven’t run into any wild pokemon here, yet. Sadness. We will never know which new friend Chance was going to kill next.

SURPRISE!

It’s Medicham.

Chance kills it.

Partially because I can’t catch it anyway, partially because that is just what Chance does. Her sassiness belies her murderous intent.

Flash obtained with little fuss, and time to move on to Falkner. He of the coolest name. Yet another Gym Leader I wanted to be as a child. Even if he uses nothing but birds. Falkner is just the coolest name.

Oh, and it looks like there’s also Roselia in this tower.

I can’t do anything about it, but that’s nice.

I love how each generation of pokemon decides the Gyms need to be more extra.

They’re right and they should say it.

-five seconds later- Well that went by quickly. Good girl, Chance. Your murder spree continues. And our prize? Picking up the Mystery Egg! Which gets to be a genuine mystery for now! Chance! You might have a friend! In pure spite of your best efforts!

Time to spend an hour doing nothing but walking. I normally wouldn’t be so interested in hatching the eggs, but. I would kind of like to have a promise of Chance not being completely alone this entire game.

One down! His name is Cloud! He is... also Sassy (Chance, is this why you let him stay), level 1, and alert to sounds!

!

whatisitwhatisitwhatisitwhatisit

...Wow. Something I actually could have gotten legitimately in this Chainlocke. In theory. In a world where Chance is of slightly different temperament.

Her name shall be Sleet. She is Quiet and likes to run.

Hm.

I remain unsure if I’m going to actually use either of these new friends. The spirit of what I’m going for with this doesn’t really work with me just being handed two random Official Teammates. I might change my mind after a few more routes of things not going well for me, but for now, I think I’ll mostly stick to me and Chance.

..Though before I do..

They’re both level 1. I can be nice and not set them up for death. They can make it to level 5 before we say a cordial farewell. I can grind in this game. I can be nice.

-ten minutes later-

-tfw Ivysaur also lives on Route 32 because Route 32 is starter central-

Niceness done, let’s get on the road.

The road takes us, and our level 17 Dewgong, to Union Cave.

If you squint, this looks like fanart of a sleeping Sandslash.

Will we find the Water or Ice pokemon our team longs for here????

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Uh.

Let me look up the rules for evolving Feebas in this gen. Because Feebas is pure Water. If I can’t evolve it, I’m better off killing it so I have more options available with what I can catch.

...

The internet says I need eight massages from Daisy (Blue’s sister. in Pallet Town.) to max its Beauty so it can evolve.

Chance. just. just do the thing. we all know how this ends.

So dies Union Cave.

Awww, how cute. A Shaymin. Now just one of the many corpses littered at Sunny’s feet. Hariyama is also here. A floor below, it’s the return of Grumpig. Plus Yanmega for the first time. Girafarig.

-SIGH-

Route 33. Do you want to save us?

Weezing.

WHISCASH. GIMME. CHANCE, SWAP OUT AND LET CLOUD HELP.

AT LONG LAST.

WE HAVE.

THE CHAINLOCKE’S FIRST CATCH.

FLUDD, WELCOME TO THE TEAM!

NEXT CATCH?

WATER OR GROUND!

LET’S END IT THERE WHILE THINGS ARE STILL GOOD.

[bnha-imagines-hcs]

uwu i want angst and sorry if this is too triggering but is it okay to do dabi, present mic and shinsou where they get in a super heated fight w their s/o and the boys do a quick movement to run their hands through their hair or like hand gesture and its so fast their s/o thinks they’re going to hit them and they heavily flinch and then the guys find out shes had like an abusive past i love ur writing so much crie

( no, this is okay ❤❤❤ i won’t write a prompt of charas beating their s/o, but this is good. | warning for grade A asshole in dabi’s. | wherein present mic is the only one who knows how to do this lmfao. | shinsou’s a good boy who Tries. )

| dabi; headcanons.

a heated fight with dabi is like tryina cheat death. he’s a stone-cold professional with his mind on the job, but when anger gets involved there’s no more rules. yeah, that’s been a red flag from the get go, but here you both are…

dabi’s cruel when he’s angry. serious about his bonds, but cruel, and it’s never worse than when ppl take to clawing at him in word or deed; fighting with him gets nasty – if it hurts him, you’re fucked.(you piece of shit, like you’ve any more right than whatever rando you’re degrading yourself to be, fuck you fuck you FUCK YOU—)                                   nothing but absolute offensive defence. it’s all predatory while anyone he cares for (or who knows how to get to him) is taking shots at him; fixated on the kill to avoid his own pain. there is no pain, no gentility as a viable option for dealing with this (he doesn’t even know that’s a thing that really works, that he could do), no bond to preserve - nothing but rage to hide within and blind his enemies with.

          since it’s his primary mode for survival, it’s not smth he can consciously acknowledge (yet). he can’t - he needs it too much, too often.

it’s not the kind of mood where he likes his s/o, it’s not the kind of mood where he wants to be nice.

              you’re scared of him? (fire, fists, words, teeth- there’s              so much he can do–) good. you should be. 

       absolutely undoubtedly, dabi makes it so much fucking worse. had they not been fighting, it would’ve been so different – but there’s no mercy in a fight. an angry dabi is rarely safe.he doesn’t hit them, but he makes a play at it more than once until they’re a crying, triggered mess and that’s when he takes his vindication somewhere private / he’s won.            he’ll worry about whether you’re still dating after he’s figured out            whether he still wants that.

oh, the insinuations? bitch, no-one here is unhurt. and if you know dabi, you shouldn’t be stupid enough not to feel the threat. if that would scare you, fuck off you brainless–

     he hasn’t yet figured out whether you’re still worth giving a shit. shit.

| hizashi; headcanons.

the one motherfucker who handles this well from the get go, and that’s in part because with hizashi you just don’t get into… nasty fights. the rest is that hizashi is Absolutely not inclined toward scaring his loved ones and has no need for defensive rage to that extent. 

he’s got standards for himself, y’know? they’re more important than petty shock/hurt - his survival methods are so much more healthy than dabi’s, and that’s thanks to personality and opportunity.

if you’re really fighting, it’ll still be close to reason - hizashi’s emotionally healthy & would be with someone who is, for the most part, also that. as in, if you can’t talk about ur big issues like adults ( + some emotion ofc but honestly expressed, not cruelly ), he’s nooooooot gonna be in a relationship with you.      you- that’s. like. communication, bro. you need it.

first off he’ll a) absolutely notice and jump to the right conclusions thanks to experience b) wave it away bc he’s preoccupied and inclined to go ‘well it could be smth ELSE’ if he’s not completely ready to deal with it.the look on your face makes him ready to deal with it in about 3 seconds, and then he gently puts the fight on hold to ask whether he scared you, assure verbally that he wouldn’t, and give you space while asking what u need to feel safe enough to continue being arnd each other - or to not do that if u can’t feel safe.

hizashi is so good at making himself gentle - bc he is. he doesn’t need the walls & fronts to feel safe himself; vulnerability is his strength. he uses it well.

          there’s blankets involved and his express refusal to come near unless you ask him to, letting you control his proximity to you and what happens next. if you want, there are so many cuddles. if you want, there is reading apart from each other in blanket nests without focussing on anything so you can try to wind down. tea, maybe some anti-anxiety bg music, a super gentle kid’s show on tv. if you want to leave, you leave. if you want him to leave, he leaves. if you want to work through this but need a friend as a buffer, y’all call them over. hizashi will text aizawa for his own emotional support, cuz finding this out is rather upsetting for him too - fuck, he loves you, of course it is.       anything to be receptive, welcoming, and kind to your pain.

       the real anger comes when he finds out just who hurt you, and it’ll       be reserved for those names.

| shinsou; headcanons.

shinsou gets mad. 

it’s instant, thoughtless hurt while they’re already hurting each other and it just makes him defensive / he doesn’t stop to consider a better route. (can’t.) more angry, yells smth pained about them not trusting him (thinks it’s a jab since they know his buttons) – things aren’t registering as they would if he had his wits about him.it’s just hurt. yells, moves toward them too quick & makes it worse (not intentional) but is already backing off again. things sink in now & he’s a mess, so instead of doing anything that he can’t properly think through rn he just leaves. takes himself out of the situation.

he’s not stupid. between his own experiences, hero work, etc – once the fight’s a lil further in the past and his head cooled, he can look at it and see they weren’t trying to hurt him. it wasn’t fake– and that’s so much worse.        do they trust him anymore? no idea, so he waits it out / gives them both more time to settle. he’s not ready to be soft yet, but the idea of going in when he’s still on edge just breaks his heart.shit, he didn’t know this.

maybe he’s reading too much into it. yeah, maybe. he’ll ask. hopes that won’t be too invasive, draws on all his lessons to figure out a game plan; be calm, non-threatening, respectful. (he’s gonna phone aizawa, ask for advice.)he especially needs time to prepare for the possibility they won’t want to share with him. will respect it of course, but he’s so fucking worried it’d drive him a lil mental so he needs to prep to not push whatsoever - and it’s easier to focus on his worry than their fight that’s been abandoned like an open wound. 

           ‘easier’. ugh.

he goes back in when his head’s clear / phoned first to ask. he cuts right to the chase, tells them to set the boundaries if they want to meet up - make it so they can feel safe. it’s not that bad anymore, they say – although it really hurt when shinsou just left, made them fear he didn’t want smth so broken. 

                  that hadn’t fucking occurred to him at all.

and that’s such a relief they fucking both cry, ugly sobs into the phone and tentative ‘why were we fighting anyway’ - an equally careful ‘maybe we can write things out that bother us and just focus on finding a way through’. 

they meet. their s/o is a lil spooked in that trauma way you just can’t help & shinsou’s hyper caution makes it worse until they each find a balance. somewhere innocuous with ice cream and a view on a park, and they just. adjust to this new part of their dynamic, get used to each other again since they didn’t get to properly end the fight or deal with things.        there’s some unrelated talk to ease into things before they open up - just the tip of the iceberg, to test out shinsou’s capacity for it. 

he’s got a hard time looking gentle when he’s torn between hurting for them so much (and that’s… more intense than expected) and angry at himself, the situation, the things that hurt his s/o and the things he doesn’t need to punish himself for but does.

              after a while they call in the help of experienced adults (read: present mic) to deal with this; still more private than a counsellor, but still… they need the help.

they make it through. soft becomes a new/reinforced staple of their relationship and they learn way better ways to communicate thru issues, avoid actual fights.

learning to channel his anger differently also eases shinsou’s overall life / being soff w/ the bae becomes a new (and first) favourite part of his own personality (whoo boy). if he happens upon the bastards who hurt his s/o and curbstomps them somewhere in a back alley, well. that’s more aizawa’s influence.

[fallen029]

Dragon’s Roar: Different, Not Sad

There had been a sense of tension hanging over the tiny guild hall for a good number of months, proceeding even, perhaps, the conception. A fear, resentment, and pride had begun to intermingle with one another to encapsulate its two primary inhabitants in a rather toxic, seemingly infinite bubble. The arrival of their firstborn did, however, do a bit to alleviate the pressure.

He was born in the heat of summer, when the old guildhall his father had painstakingly rebuilt was at it’s least viable. In the harsh winters, the fireplace and heaters could help warm the place up, but when  the heat flared in the long, bright days of summer time, the members mostly suffered through. There wasn’t much to be had, anyhow, in the hall. No nice game room or bath house. No pool or much of a menu, honestly, at the bar. The Master’s wife could make you a strong drink and fry you some fish, but other than that, it was pretty bare bones and in its infancy, the hall was.

It wasn’t the appearance of the hall that drove in membership, but rather what it could do to the appearance of the members.

When Laxus Dreyar first opened his own guildhall separate from his lineage, some sneered. However, the former S-Class wizard had his share of high caliber friends that were interested in the culture he was hoping to eventually offer. He had a high standard for members and, through his own notoriety, had a nice level of job pull, albeit not many. There was a certain feeling that came along with joining up with Raijin that many were unable to provide. Stick with him through the rough years and he promised a big reward in the ones to come.

The way his eyes were alight when speaking and dreaming of those days were enough to influence many to his ideals.

But that didn’t mean that the place was at all as profitable as it seemed. Hardship was the plight of a guild master, Makarov sighed to Laxus frequently when they spoke. Perseverance was concept he could offer his grandson and, with his only true dream really at stake, Laxus buckled in early on for the long haul.

When his first and only son was born in the haze of boiling sunny whether, he frequently left the bar area down below, however, and climbed up the stairs to the attic where he and his wife had lived since he purchased the old building. The intention was, of course, to eventually move, but the timing (and the jewels) had never rightly aligned. He felt better, anyhow, with his son so close. And his wife.

His wife.

Heh.

Mirajane and he weren’t on the best of terms leading up to the birth of his son. Or before that, really. His grandfather only cautioned him of perseverance with that as well and Laxus would grumble back at this, whenever it was mentioned, because what other option was there?

Well, there were many.

But none that he wanted her to take.

All the windows were open in the guild, anyways, to catch as many drafts as were available, but up in the attic, where there was less of a chance for one, Laxus bought a little fan for his son, which gave off hardly any sound to the others, but he could hear it. With his dragon sense. The little whirling motion it made. All the way downstairs even, if he stood close to the staircase, he could hear it. He could hear most things up there. When the baby mewled or cried. When Mirajane sang to him.

Mira came down frequently, to continue help with the bar, but given that she frequently had to rush right back up the stairs to check on the child, Freed hung around more than he took jobs, to help around the bar. And with the child, too. He seemed to enjoy that portion much more than the dealing with rowdy drunks and disgruntled guild members.

Lisanna stayed with them for awhile as well, to be with the baby. It put Laxus even more on edge, in those early months, as he was almost certain that Mirajane and Lisanna would try and leave with his child, back to Magnolia. He didn’t voice this to anyone, but he really felt as if it were a possibility. He didn’t know what he’d do then, other than chase after them. Run after them. Beg after them.

The hopelessness of the idea really put him in a panic whenever he thought about it and more than once Mira had noticed how tense he’d begin to look when Lisanna was holding the baby. She’d only laugh at him though before remarking that he could calm down; her sister wouldn’t drop the baby.

Which only gave him a new fear to have.

But this didn’t happen. Lisanna left eventually as she needed to get back to Fairy Tail and take some more jobs. S-Class trials were coming up and, though it was a long shot, she was no different than all the others; a chance to prove yourself was not one to take lightly.

With a promise on her tongue of returning and Mira making a similar one to bring the child for his first visit of Magnolia soon enough, her sister departed once more.

Then it was just Mira, it seemed, who was frequently up in the attic, tending to the child.

Things were much the same one day as, while she was up there, Freed was diligently tending to the bar and Laxus was sitting close to the staircase, at his usual table, listening to the complaints and gripes of one of his guild members. It was hard to feign interest, as he was much more prone to feigning dis, yet it was one of the many duties of a diligent Master. It was while he was doing this, however, that he became aware of the noise upstairs. Rather, the lack of it.

The little whirl of the fan had stopped. For a moment, Laxus thought Mira had turned it off and was going to come down the stairs carrying the boy, but this wasn’t the case. Interested, Laxus quickly ended the worthless conversation he was momentarily trapped in and pushed up form his seat.

At the top of the stairs he found her standing over by the tiny window that overlooked the town, her soft humming just barely beating out the subdued wines of their child.

“What happened to the fan?” was the first thing Laxus asked when he came into the room, going right over to where it sat. Mira made a bit of a face over her shoulder at him, watching him bend down to examine it.

“I dunno,” was all she replied with a shrug. “Just stopped working.”

“Piece of shit,” he grumbled some, as he only gently kicked at it, causing the fan to topple over. “Well, I’ll go out and buy you another.”

“We’re okay, Laxus.”

“Okay? It’s fucking hot as-”

“I said we’re okay.”

Still, he continued to glare down at the box fan. “Wonder why it stopped working. I hate that. When stuff just stops working.”

“Would you like a warning? Before it suddenly decides to stop?”

“Would I- Shuddup, demon.” He glared at her back, Laxus did, before coming closer. “And it’s cooler downstairs. If you don’t want me to go get you another fan, come bring him down there.”

The him that Laxus was speaking of only stared up at his father, discomfort distorting his face, as he continued to wiggle in his mother’s arms. Laxus only looked down at him, as he came to stand at his wife’s side, watching the child whine.

Mira’s pregnancy had been hard. For a lot of reasons. Then during the middle of it, they had a subdued wedding that was nothing like Mira had always dreamed and Laxus felt so embarrassed that after promising her so many things that he just had no chance to deliver on.

Their wedding both made them feel like failures, in certain ways. Her being six months pregnant did little to help the matter.

The whole thing was a mess.

But it didn’t matter then, as they stood there in the tiny attic they shared, and Laxus only shook any thoughts he had away.

“Is it busy? Right now?”

He shook his head at his wife. “Pretty dead.”

“I guess I could help Freed tidy up the bar-”

“Or you could just not do anything at all, other than watch the baby, like I asked you to.”

No. She couldn’t.

He seemed to like it much better, anyhow, the baby did, when they went downstairs. He stopped whining, at least, and instead only stayed cradled in his mother’s arms, even mewling happily when Freed waved a finger in his face. As Laxus took his seat once more, he tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him, but his eyes only followed his wife around the hall.

He jumped a bit, however, when someone slammed down into the seat before him. It was only Evergreen though, in her normal flamboyancy, sighing loudly and waving obnoxiously over at Freed, as if to signal she needed a drink. And she did, no doubt. She always did.

She started talking to Laxus, Evergreen did, as she waited for her glass of wine. He didn’t listen much (she didn’t really have much interesting topics to offer up), but was pleased to hear that her job had gone well. All the other stuff was the kinds of things that he used to be able to easily tune out, when he wasn’t a guild master. When he was allowed to blast music in his headphones at full volume to block out anyone who dared to approach him.

It wasn’t a good look, shockingly enough, for a Master near his thirties to behave like a moody teenager. Who could have guessed it?

Mirajane brought over the glass for Evergreen, the baby still wiggling around in one arm. When Laxus complained, mostly about her tending bar at the moment, she took his complaints of being unable to do two things at once as an offer to watch the baby. It wasn’t, but Laxus still got stuck with his son in his lap.

“Fan, huh?” Evergreen sighed at Laxus’ explanation of why the child had been brought downstairs. Much like Laxus was with the majority of her needless talk of how important she was, Ever also only listened to the highlights of what the slayer said. Still, as she lifted the glass to her lips, she produced with her free hand one of the folded fans that she always kept closes. “Let me see him.”

It made the baby giggle, anyways, as he sat in Evergreen’s lap, enjoying the gentle breeze it provided as she mostly ignored him, but continued the motion. Laxus’ son was important to what once was the Thunder Legion because, well, it was Laxus’ son, but typically Evergreen found the idea of a young baby to be more a nuisance than anything more. Now, when he aged a few years, well, that could be entertaining, perhaps. Until then, the best she could provide was a wave of her fan now and again.

He did little to complain.

The place did cool down some, as did the whole town, when a short rainstorm began outside. Rather than the thick humidity of a thunderstorm, they were treated with the patter of rain drops as most bellowed on the room though some, unfortunately, found their ways through pesky leaks.

As always, it was a mad dash to get pots out in those plays.

Laxus grumbled some, as he always did, because he and Bickslow had attempted to patch up any leaks and he planed, completely, the seith for his lack of skill in said department, but somehow managed to completely negate the fact that he too offered little to no knowledge.

Unfortunately for the seith, he happened upon the guild, returning victorious from a job, at the exact moment Laxus was fuming about this. Instead of the hero’s welcome he was expecting (though never going to get anyhow), he was instead berated by an annoyed slayer. This power move by the slayer was undercut, however, by the fact he was had a snuggly baby under one arm, who was settle down for sleep once more.

His mother took him back up, feeding him when he whined before laying him back down once more in his crib. Then she stood for a moment, staring down at him, watching as he easily found sleep. It was home to him, the little attic. It was overly cramped, hot, and miserable for his parents, but to him, there was no better place.

When Mira envisioned having children, especially once she began to envision it in her current relationship, it was never going to be how it turned out. Like most people, she expected a bit more financial stability and safety than they currently had. Considering Laxus was once a well renown S-Class mage in one of the most prominent guilds, it made perfect sense to feel that way. Even on her own, the tips she made up at the bar, while didn’t provide anything lavish, supported her lifestyle and then some.

Now Laxus was a struggling guild master and she kept bar (as well as the guild itself, really) in hopes of eventually capturing the same success he would have gotten when Makarov, no doubt, relinquished  Fairy Tail to his grandson. It felt as close as it did far and some months Mira really hated that she’d ever…

But it didn’t matter now, she reminded herself as she stared down at her son. She’d long learned not to do that, anyways. Dream too high. Her dreams had all been used up, when she captured her status at Fairy Tail. To give her more would be a spoil. And it was her own fault anyways, Mira was always quick to remind herself. Yes, Laxus had made promises, but they’d always been far too extravagant to accomplish. She knew that when she agreed to come with him. To leave home and try and build a new life together.

To pretend to be shocked that it was essentially proving just as hard as everyone warned would be the epitome of moronic. Though she played it well, Mira was far from unintelligent. She knew it would be hard work. Determination. Drive.

She just…never thought that she’d be giving up so much. While Laxus was getting to have so much.

“It’ll be better,” he assured her the night after their quick marriage ceremony that was nothing like she’d always dreamed. Nowhere close to lavish. Subdued, honestly, felt like the best description for it. “On a special anniversary, yeah? Renew our vows and have a big wedding. Like you always wanted. I just need-

“Don’t,” she cut him off with a long sigh, “talk anymore about time.”

So he didn’t.

Things weren’t as bleak as they felt at times, she was reminded as, after watching her son’s chest rise and fall a few times, she turned to walk away. She felt such strong love towards her siblings, Mirajane did, that at times it felt paternal, but no. No. When she first held her son, when he was screaming and so purple and so red and so...gross, but hers, from that second forth, she’d felt…

No. She loved Elfman and Lisanna immensely, but it had never been anything close to the love that she held in her heart for her newborn son. She knew that Laxus felt the same. The closest she’d ever, felt to her husband was watching him tear up as he stared down at his son. His firstborn. He told her that he’d never felt so emotional, even in an emotion filled life like he had, and she believed him.

The town always looked different, from the attic window, when it rained. Maybe it was the way that there was less light as the clouds overtook the sun, but still enough to show off the sleepy village that surrounded the old guildhall building, but it always made Mira feel something, deep in her chest, when she took notice of it.

“It’s so sad here. Laxus.”

She spoke to him without even turning around, having heard his soft footsteps as he came up to the attic space.

“Sad’s relative,” he replied back simply. “Demon.”

When she turned, he had a plate for her and Mira grinned at him slightly, but Laxus had on his coat and was clearly headed out.

“For me?”

“For you,” he agreed as she came to take the plate from him as well as leaning up to press a kiss against the slayer’s cheek. “You didn’t eat while you were downstairs.”

“I was working.”

“Well, now you’re not.”

“Mmmm,” she hummed as she glanced down at the plate. “The fish smells great. Can you thank Freed for me?”

“How do you know I didn’t cook it?”

“Somehow, I just know.”

He grunted in reply and Mira only smiled gratefully as she went to sit on the edge of their bed. There was a tiny desk, before, where the baby’s crib now sat, but it had been moved to make room. It was no matter, after all. It was a guildhall. Plenty of other places to sit down and write something out. Just no longer in their bedroom.

“Where are you going, Master?” Mira asked as he went to stare over the edge of the crib down at the baby for a moment.

“Out,” was his only reply and she accepted it because, honestly, she cared little. “I’ll be gone awhile. Freed’s leaving for that job at five. Will you be able to close up on your own?”

“I’ve closed a much larger guild than yours in the past, dragon.”

To his grunt, she added, “And you should wear something other than your fuzzy coat. It’s wet out.”

“Already drying up,” he remarked simply and, sure enough, she noted then that the patter of rain had stopped on the roof above.

It would be late, as he warned, before Laxus arrived back at the guildhall. The only things he felt as he walked through the doors was the presence of his wife’s magical energy and nothing more. Finally truly alone.

His son was still snoozing much the same, though now in his jammies and hopefully down for the count that night, as Laxus inspect him. He only smiled, the slayer did, in the darkness of his bedroom and gently pressed a hand against his son’s fuzzy head, the little tuff of yellow much softer than his own.

Mira was passed out as well, atop the covers as the heat had returned over the course of the afternoon. Still, Laxus smiled as he set the box in his arms down before stripping down and joining her.

She shocked him though, when she shifted closer and pressed another, longer kiss against his cheek this time, nuzzling against it when her lips separated from his stubble.

“Where’d you go?”

He only sighed softly this time and replied, “To the market, first. To get you a fan.”

“I told you that-”

“Then I had to meet with someone. Guild stuff. In the morning we can talk about it. Right now-”

“You’re tired too?”

“Very,” he whispered, as they always did now. The baby slept through most things in those days, honestly, but neither ever wanted to test this too harshly. “Hardly even did shit today, but I feel-”

“You did plenty.”

He grunted that time and, for a few minutes, they were both silent. Mira was nearly asleep once more when, softly, he asked, “You’re not sad here, are you, Mira?”

She thought too, about it, before just as softly replying, “No. That’s not what I meant, anyways.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“It’s just a small town, Lax. It’s different than home. Magnolia, I mean. It was always so busy there. Here, it’s just… You know. Different.”

“Mmmm,” he hummed that time. “Different.”

“But not bad,” she insisted as one of her hands came to pat at his chest gently. “It reminds me sort of how Elfman, Lisanna, and I grew up.”

“I hope it’s a bit better though.”

“A big bit, actually, yeah.”

He smiled at her softly in the darkness. “I think it’ll be nice for him. To grow up here. Away from a place like Magnolia.”

It was Mira’s turn to hum. “Different, anyways. Cities are nice, having so many people around, but there is something nice about tiny little towns. Away from that sort of thing. Safer, maybe, but-”

“Cities corrupt kids,” was all Laxus told her as her hand slipped slowly off his chest when the slayer turned onto his side, giving the woman his back. “Magnolia isn’t as nice as it seems. Not to kids.”

Leaning forwards, she pressed a kiss to his back before whispering against the muscles there, “He’ll have a nice life here, in our guild.”

“Yeah,” he agreed to the shadows that the moonlight cast into their bedroom through that tiny, single window. “We all will.”

Would ya look at that, we got a new Miraxus baby to name. I’ve thought a lot about it and can’t really decide on one. Stuck between a few, but none feel right. I’m a big more excited to develop this one though as he’s a bit separated from Mira’s family, which the kids are normally more influenced by. This one’ll be the first wholly Thunder Legion sided kid. Hopefully I’ll get back to him for you guys soon. I know I’m not around posting much these days, but I just have a lot going on is all. I’m still around, just distant is all.

[svtnreactions]

“occult” CH.5 - BTS x reader

bts x female reader

romance / fantasy / action / etc. ??

word count: 4802

plot: after, accidentally, causing quite a disaster for your family, you land yourself in the ‘twilight zone’- a home for kids with more than human abilities. you’re meant to spend your time there learning how to control your powers. however, fate has another thing in store for you and your housemates.

well here it is... hope ya’ll enjoy ! <3

- cc

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Back at home, your other home, you spent a lot of time sitting outside. You’ve always loved to bask in the sun, even on the hottest of days, and it was one of those days around the Twilight Zone. The sun was beating down relentlessly and there was not a cloud to be seen. You were drawn towards it, you yearned to feel the rays on your skin.

Having been gloomy for the past week or so, this was a welcomed change for all. A few of the boys had followed in your footsteps, though Seokjin complained that it was much too hot. You pointed out that he didn’t have to come, which shut him up pretty quickly. You knew he couldn’t stand to miss out on any potential fun having.

So, Seokjin, Hoseok, and Taehyung dug out a soccer ball from a rather decrepit shed and proceeded to kick it back and forth.

Jimin was next to you, reading a book, as usual. The two of you were propped against a rather large tree stump to the far right of the yard. It was peaceful, despite the noise the other boys were making.

Taking advantage of the calmness of it all, you decided to rest your eyes for a bit and just soak in the sun. It felt like a movie scene- you could practically hear the pleasantly soft soundtrack playing in the background.

The truth was, you were tired-- terribly so. You hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in a long time. Every night, you’d wake up in a cold sweat, terrorized by nightmares you couldn’t seem to recall. It was like your mind had turned against you, plaguing your dreams with horrifying visions. Though, you had no idea what they were, or what they meant, you woke up at the same thing each time.

Blindingly white light in your eyes, a burning hot feeling running through your veins—

There was a loud yell from the boys, one you immediately recognized as Taehyung’s. Your eyes shot open in panic. But his scream had turned into a boisterous laugh as Hoseok tackled him and attempted to wrestle the ball out of his grasp.

Ever since that maid had seen you and Taehyung together that night, the two of you had become more awkward than ever. It seemed to have the opposite effect than your night in the woods-- it drove a wall between you. The worst part was, you didn’t know why. He didn’t try to spend time with you anymore, which made you sadder than you’d care to admit, and when you did talk it just wasn’t the same.

All you cared about was setting things right, so you tried to ask him about it. In the past, he would tell you what was bothering him after a bit of pushing, but this was different. Anytime you brought it up, he pretended not know what you were talking about, which hurt more than anything else.

Your night terrors were getting worse. Headmaster was constantly busy, and without Taehyung, you were beginning to feel the loneliness creep in.

“You really care about him, huh?”

You jumped at sudden statement and looked to the boy beside you. He hadn’t moved a muscle, eyes still scanning the pages of his novel. You’d began to think you imagined his words, until his eyes finally flicked to yours. “Am I right?” Jimin said softly but with a slightly impatient tone.

“Who?” You replied, feigning ignorance.

Jimin chuckled, shaking his head, “You know who.” Leaving his book open, he placed it face down on one of the tree’s roots so as not to lose his place.

You watched Jimin’s fringe blow back in a sudden breeze and felt your hair do the same. Immediately, you found yourself searching for Tae, half expecting him to be approaching you. But it was just Seokjin, running by to retrieve the ball. Unsurprisingly, he reached it with remarkable speed and went back to the game as fast as he had come.

“I’m probably not supposed to be telling you this, but what the hell.” Jimin sounded quite indifferent, but he had captured your attention quickly. He watched the boys, rather than looking at you as he spoke. “You know, the day after you came, Headmaster had a sort of talk with us.”

You cleared your throat, picking at the grass by your feet. You were trying to be casual. You didn’t want him to think that you were hanging on his every word— which you most certainly were. “What kind of talk?”

“You’re the only girl in a house full of hormonal boys.” Now it was clear where this was going. “He basically told us you couldn’t have any distractions. And that we shouldn’t try to pursue you, like-- well, you know what I mean.” You did.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and irritation. What gives Headmaster the right to speak for you like that? “Why are you telling me this?” Your eyebrows knitted together as you tried to push your anger deep down inside of you.

Jimin sighed, “Are you really that dense?” He floated a couple feet off the ground with his book in hand, then outstretched his legs and dropped into a standing position. “C’mon, Y/N. He follows you around like a lost puppy.”

You blinked at him for a moment, then he lazily pointed a finger towards the boys. You followed it, your face getting even hotter, “Taehyung?” Whether or not that was true before, you wouldn’t know, but Tae certainly isn’t following you around these days. Either way, hearing this gave you the sliver of hope you needed to hang onto your friendship with him. And it seemed as though that was Jimin’s intention, even though he acted so exasperated by the whole ordeal.

Jimin rolled his eyes, “I’m going inside. I’ve done all I can.” With that, he strode towards the back door.

“You’re going, Jimin?” Seokjin called to his friend. Hoseok took advantage of the older boy’s momentary distraction and kicked the ball away from him, as hard as he could. It soared through the air, colliding with a window on the first level of the house violently.

The sound of glass shattering filled your ears and Hoseok slapped a hand over his mouth in horror. Time stood still for a moment as you all gaped at the window, then each other, then the window again. “We were never here!” Seokjin finally said urgently, pointing around at all of you seriously. His figure blurred as he dashed after Jimin.

“Wait up!” Hoseok yelped, following Seokjin at a much slower pace. The door slammed shut behind them.

You jogged to the middle of the yard, where Taehyung was surveying the broken window from afar. You knew he could see you approach, but he didn’t look your way.

You used to speak comfortably with him, now you needed to gather your courage before doing so. “Hey, we should probably get out of here.” Your voice shook. If there’s even a speck of truth in what Jimin was insinuating about Taehyung’s feelings towards you, why was he being this way? Doesn’t  he know it hurts you? “I wouldn’t give Hoseok and Seokjin too much credit, I’m sure they’ll throw us under the bus for this if it’s a viable option.” You laughed hopefully.

“Yeah.” He said dryly, lifting one side of his mouth in a half smile. “I have to go talk to Namjoon anyway. See you around?” He didn’t wait for your answer before taking his leave.

You had to stop yourself from yelling after him. You were exhausted, not only physically, but emotionally now too. The sadness was evaporating quickly and anger began to take its’ place. 

With a newfound bitterness in your core, you stormed inside after the boys.

First, you heard the click of the maid’s shoes on the hallway floor, then the knock on your door. You let out a deep breath, bracing yourself for Headmaster’s summon. You were sure you’d be going with the rest of them, all because Hoseok just had to Falcon Kick that soccer ball.

“Miss?” The woman greeted you with a smile when you opened the door, holding out a stack of bright papers at you. No, not papers-- envelopes.

“What’s this?” You inquired, cocking your head slightly and looking at the pile with reluctance.

She held them out further, so that they were almost touching your chest  “Letters, for you. We’re so far away from town, they’re only delivered once every couple of months.”

You felt a knot in your stomach unravel at this and finally accepted the letters. “Thank you.” You said gratefully, before closing the door.

Carefully, as if they were made of glass, you spread the assortment of envelopes on your bed. Each one was addressed to you, in handwriting you immediately identified as your mother’s. 

You let out a deep breath of relief as you stared down at them. Since you moved away from them, you thought your parents had forgotten about you, or simply not cared enough to write. How relieving to find out that they had been trying to reach you all this time.

Wondering if they were stacked in order, you picked up the one that had been on the bottom of the pile. Inside was a postcard from your hometown, the kind you’d find in a local gas station.

Y/N,

You’ve only been gone a day now and your father and I miss you so much already. Please understand that we’re doing this because we care about you & the harder you work to get better, the sooner you can come back to us. We love you so much, Y/N. Please make the most of your time in this place.

-- Mom & Dad

You put the letter back with a shaky hand, a few stray sparks shooting out of your finger tips. Swatting them off your bed spread, for obvious reasons, you then moved to pick up the next letter.

Similarly, it was written on a postcard, but this one was from a town you’d never heard of.

Y/N,

Your father and I are staying with your aunt and uncle. We couldn’t take much more of that motel and we don’t quite have the money to rent an apartment yet. All in all, we’re doing fine. But we haven’t gotten a response from you-- I’m getting worried. We both are.

I hope all is well with you. We love you so much, Y/N.

-- Mom & Dad

The guilt of why you were sent away in the first place had come up once again, but it was overpowered by the happiness you felt when reading your mother’s words. You surprised yourself with the melancholy tear that dropped onto the paper, smudging the penned message. Sniffling, you carefully dabbed it with your sleeve, doing your best to salvage it. Then, you read the rest of the letters one by one.

With each one, you felt more and more reassured by your mother’s words. She always seemed to have that effect on you, the ability to comfort you on even your darkest days. You wished more than anything that you could speak to her face to face-- to tell her about all your problems. She would be able to help you with Taehyung. Your heart ached at the reminder of him, so you pushed the thought away.

Finally, you slipped the last letter out of it’s scarlet envelope. Your eyes began to scan the paper excitedly, as they had all been quite uplifting thus far. But rather quickly, you realized that this one was different. Your mother’s writing was sprawled and urgent, nothing like her usual elegant cursive. Steadying your trembling body with your bed frame, you read.

Y/N,

I’m writing to you in hopes that you get this in time to warn Headmaster Lee-- but please don’t worry too much. The war just keeps getting worse, as I’m sure you’ve heard, and the government is really scraping the bottom of the barrel for drafts. We got a military letter in the mail requesting your service. Officials have been coming to the house, pestering us, asking where you are. Whatever happens, please just stay safe Y/N. That’s all we care about.

We love you.

-- Mom and Dad

Your blood had run cold, your body completely rigid. Reading the letter over and over, you were in shock. You always knew you’d be drafted someday, as the war had only gotten worse as you’d gotten older, but you had been hopeful enough for this to be surprising.

When you were with your parents, you prayed every day that this never ending fight would be miraculously resolved-- that you would never see combat. In the Twilight Zone, so far away from civilization, it was easy to forget about all that. Especially because the boys seemed to make it a point to tune out news about the war. They’re always quick to change the radio or television station when it comes up.

With an overwhelming feeling of anxiety, you gathered the postcards back up. Stacking them on your dresser, you beelined out of your bedroom. Your mother had wanted you to warn Headmaster about this, which you certainly would, but right now there was only one person you wanted to talk to.

Scared and angry, you found yourself knocking on Taehyung’s door. Your knuckles were white from squeezing it into a fist and they stayed that way until it swung open.

But, rather than Tae, a much taller figure had answered the door. Namjoon towered over you, looking caught off guard by your sudden appearance. “Y/N, hi.” He smiled with unease, “Did you need Taehyung?”

You peeked around Namjoon’s form, catching sight of Taehyung. He was cozied up on his bed, staring holes into his comforter, avoiding eye contact-- business as usual. You felt the irate boil up like lava, retorting, “No, I was looking for you actually-- thought you might be here.”

Namjoon raised his eyebrows, but Taehyung was completely unphased. You mentally face palmed. Why on earth would you go looking for Namjoon is Taehyung’s room? You were self aware enough to recognize that you’d only said that to try and get a reaction from Taehyung, which just made his lack thereof all the more annoying.

“Oh, really?” Namjoon had said. His expression changed to something more solemn. He seemed to know that you had something important to say— maybe he could see it in your aura, or maybe he really is just that intuitive.

You let out a deep breath, reminding yourself what you were here for, “My mom wrote to me,” You began, feeling yourself start to get worked up all over again, “She-- she said I’m being drafted.”

You could have sworn Taehyung’s gaze flickered in your direction, but if so, it was only for a second. Similarly, Namjoon only let a flash of unease show. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “I guess they’re really reaching now, huh?” With a tight lipped smile, dimples showing, he placed a hand on your shoulder. The gesture was actually quite comforting, as Namjoon was someone you’d grown to really trust and admire. “I know that it sounds scary, but don’t worry. You’re not going anywhere, Y/N.”

“How’s that?” You asked, feeling unsure.

Namjoon explained, “Headmaster takes a lot of precautions when bringing us here. There’s no way for the government to know where you are-- where any of us are.” He went on, his poised facade faltering in the slightest, “I mean, I’m of age, plus a few years-- I’m sure they tried to draft me years ago, but we’re totally off the grid in the Twilight Zone.”

At this, you were starting to feel secure again. But before you could let yourself relax, you remembered something quite worrisome. “My mom said she’s being visited by government officials. They’re getting suspicious. What if they do something to my parents?” The older boy stared at you blankly, as if he was deep in thought. “I think I should let Headmaster Lee know. I’m worried about them.”

He scratched the back of his neck, “I’ll have a talk with him, since you’re so worried. But I promise, Y/N, everything will be fine.”

You had only been concerned about your parents well being, but in this moment, something struck you. If the government is out looking for you, how could you ever be safe again? How could you ever go back to your parents? You’re evading service, that makes you an outlaw. Unless the war came to an end, which seemed highly unlikely, you simply couldn’t be with them. Your biggest fear since arriving seemed to be coming true, like a nightmare after waking up.

“Thank you.” You managed to get out. Your eyes were prickling with tears, so you looked anywhere but at Namjoon.

Unsurprisingly, he still noticed. This time, his reassuring pat didn’t do much to put your mind at ease. “It’s going to be fine.” He reiterated, glancing behind him momentarily. “I’ll go right now, okay? Why don’t you just wait for me with Taehyung? I’ll be back to let you know what Headmaster says.”

Not listening for your answer, Namjoon moved to walk out of the room, ruffling your hair as he went by. You stepped fully into the room to get out of his way, the door slamming shut behind you. Just like that, you were alone with the boy that had been avoiding you for days.

You stared. He blinked at his hands, his mouth a thin line. Earlier he had left you, saying that he needed to speak with Namjoon. It was nice to know that at least that wasn’t some lie to get away from you.

Blinking rapidly, you took one step towards him. 

The silence was heavy, so heavy that you felt your knees shaking with its’ weight, threatening to give. You seemed to feel every emotion at once, the sensation sending you closer and closer to the edge. Your heart leapt at the smallest hitch in the rise and fall of his chest. Would he be the first speak? To simply acknowledge your presence?

A small eternity passed just like this, but you had grown too tired. You felt yourself switch gears, your emotions taking over.

“What’s your problem?” Your bitterness was evident. You spoke with every intention, every hope, that the words would tear into him. You wanted him to feel what you felt, to understand how hurt you were. 

At this, he graced you with his full attention. If he was surprised at your outburst, he covered it well. He simply raised his chin, meeting your fierce gaze. 

“You keep pretending like nothing’s wrong, but I’m not that naive, Tae.” All your pent up anger was forcing its way up like word vomit. “You know, when I read that letter, I was terrified. And you know who I wanted to talk to right after seeing it?” Standing there knee deep in worry and anger and fear, the flood gate broke. You hadn’t meant to let yourself cry. And yet, there you stood, silent tears running down your cheeks, “You, Tae. But that was stupid of me, I know that now. I should’ve known that even this couldn’t make you forgive me for whatever I did to you to deserve this.”

Nothing.

“Just tell me what I did, so I can fix it.” You sniffled loudly, not bothering to wipe the stream of tears of your face. ”I’m mad at you. Furious, actually. But more than that-- I just miss you.” You felt like such an idiot, pouring your heart out to someone who wanted nothing to do with you.

Apparently, that last part was enough to finally get a reaction from him. That was all you wanted at this point, something, anything. Taehyung had slid off his bed. His expression was one you couldn’t put words to as he began walking in your direction. You had anticipated him walking right past your pathetic form, heading straight out of the room.

Instead, Taehyung stopped mere inches from you. His gaze was soft, eyebrows pinched together.

“Do you really want to know?” His voice was full of hurt, which nearly made you forget that he’s the one in the wrong here. You didn’t know how to respond, so you just held this purposeful stare.

After a moment, he reached down and grabbed your hand, a spark bursting from it. If it hurt him, he didn’t let it show. He only held it firmer, guiding it up until it was resting on his chest. He placed his much larger hand over yours and you felt it-- his racing heart.

You searched his eyes for some kind of answer. What was this supposed to mean? Your mind was going a million miles an hour, the skin on your hand burning red hot where he touched it.

After a small eternity, he seemed to give up, letting your hand drop. Tae raked his fingers through his brown locks with visible distress. “God, don’t you get it?”

You shook your head with uncertainty, taken aback by his intensity, “Tae—“

Suddenly, he was closer than ever. 

With the kind of wariness and caution usually reserved for bomb diffusion, he cupped your tear streaked cheek.

Then, before you could process his actions, his lips were against yours. They were soft, softer than you could’ve ever imagined. The same could be said for his touch, as he brushed your face lightly with his thumb.

Pulling away for a moment, still only a mere inch between your mouths, he waited for some kind of reaction from you. You watched his eyes flick back and forth between yours desperately. You could feel his breath on your face and smell his pleasantly boyish scent.

More confused than ever, but desperate for the contact, you closed the distance between the two of you once again. As a response, he cocked his head to the side, deepening the kiss. You snaked your hands around his neck and Taehyung’s fingers tangled in your hair, his other hand gripping your waist.

It was getting hungrier, needier. Wind began whistling in your ear, then it was all you could hear. You felt breathless, but couldn’t bring yourself to move back. Taehyung was all that mattered, all that you cared about. His touch set your skin on fire and his cold breeze sent a chill down your spine. He was the center of your world-- but maybe that had been true for longer than you’d care to admit. You just couldn’t get enough.

It was as if the air was being sucked right out of your lungs— maybe because, it quite literally was. As if he had realized this at precisely the same moment as you, Tae’s  touch disappeared. When you opened your eyes, there was a whirlwind of air surrounding you. But, as quickly as you had seen it, the twister evaporated. All of Taehyung’s belongings that had been swept up into it dropped to the floor with a sobering slam.

Tae had put a couple feet between you. He looked mortified, “I didn’t mean to--“ He said, “I just can’t control myself around you.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, resisting the urge to touch your lips. Your cheeks were flushed, still wet from crying, and your lips felt swollen. The ghost of his touch lingered on your body, but it wasn’t quite enough to convince that that had really just happened. Had Tae really just kissed you? And had you really kissed him back?

“I’m sorry, Y/N . . .” He put his head in his hands. “It feels like all I do is hurt you.”

You frowned, wishing to feel his warmth again. “Tae, when you were avoiding me, when you acted like we were strangers— that’s what really hurt.”

“I’m just trying so hard to do what’s best for you, and every fiber of my being is telling me to go against that,” Your heart skipped a beat when the words left his lips. His beautiful lips. “I really. . . like you.”

You felt like a grade schooler again. The way your stomach turned when he said this, it made you feel weightless. It made you forget where you were, what you were. You wanted to say it back, you wanted to tell him what you really feel, but instead you said, “You’re what’s best for me.”

Taehyung’s eyes were glassy, but this brought a weak smile to his face, “I wish that was true.”

Rather than arguing, you brought up something that had been bothering you, “The maid that night. . .”

He smiled wryly at the floor, he knew what you were asking, before you even finished the thought, “I was afraid that she would tell Headmaster. That you’d get in trouble for being with me in a, uh, compromising position.” He sighed, “I’m sorry, I really am.”

“Tae, it’s not Headmaster’s decision” You tentatively closed the distance between you and him once again, “It’s ours.”

He let out a deep breath as you took his hand in yours and gave it a squeeze. With your other hand you reached up to his face, that frustratingly gorgeous face, and ran your finger up his jawline and across his cheekbone. You couldn’t help yourself but trace his features-- you’d done it with your eyes too many times to count. 

Your hand stopped at the top of his forehead and you raked your fingers through his silky hair. Turning your head to the side, you took the opportunity to plant a kiss on his lips, and then another. His response was immediate, as he reached up to hold the nape of your neck tenderly.

Then Taehyung gave a sigh. Whether it was with pleasure or disappointment, you wouldn’t know. He pulled away, whispering, “You should go.”

You pouted, feeling a bit rejected, “But I-”

“Don’t look at me like that,” He seemed flustered, averting his eyes to the ground, “Y/N, if you don’t go now, I’m not going to be able to stop myself.” For the first time in a while, the smile he gave you was genuine. “It’s getting late anyway,” Tae gestured loosely at the dark sky outside his window, “Go to bed and we can talk to Namjoon and Headmaster tomorrow, okay?”

Though you weren’t all that happy about it, you reluctantly did as he said. But not even your parting could squander the butterflies in your stomach. You were walking on sunshine the whole way back to your room, then laying on it as you tugged the blankets on your bed over yourself.

That night, it wasn’t your insomnia keeping you up. It was thoughts of Taehyung dancing around your mind-- his smile, his touch, his kisses. You were lulled to sleep by the images of him, drunk with endearment.

You’re surrounded by people. Swarms of them.

You can’t seem to focus on their faces long enough to figure out who they are, though you’d swear there were familiar figures among them. Your mind is moving too fast, your brain muddled and foggy.

The space you’re in, wherever that is, is blindingly white. You try to turn your head and get a better look, but a sudden pain shoots through your neck.

The sensation quickly heightens, becoming almost unbearable. Your knees buckle and give out, your body dropping so that you’re staring up at the lights.

That’s when your veins light up with a terrible feeling, one you’ve felt before. You’re screaming, or you’re trying to, but it’s like you’ve gone deaf. Then someone else is yelling, they’re crying out your name.

“Y/N!” You know this voice. “No! Get away from her!”

Suddenly, everything goes numb. It’s as if the pain became so much, your body could no longer register it’s sting. You can’t hear anything, you can’t say anything, or feel anything at all.

The panic is unendurable, your brain is pounding with it, threatening to burst--

Your eyes shot open and you were still staring up at the ceiling.

But it’s familiar, it’s the ceiling of your bedroom, rather than the one of your nightmares. 

This realization would’ve been comforting, if not for the hand you felt cupped tightly over your mouth. You twisted with fear, trying to free yourself from their grasp, but they pressed down your struggling body with their forearm. They were strong, that much you could tell, but their hold was surprisingly gentle. The rise and fall of your chest quickened violently.

“Don’t scream.” He hissed and you finally turned your head to meet his gaze. “They’re here. We have to go— now.”

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