#and a discount on the game and collapse

[souenkun]

July recap! 🏖

[obeymeluv]

Getting Kidnapped was Not on the List [Lilia x Reader]

Mentioned this forever ago, but the idea is you get kidnapped by some crusty, stubborn 'ye olde fae' that thinks humans are gross. The boys come to save you :)

I'm not kidding when I say 'ye old fae'. I had A LOT of fun looking up fae names and doing generators. Same fae in all three pieces, btw.

Warning for violence because Pepaw hurts the enemy.

Not proofread because it's three AM and I have to be up in about 6 hours for work >w<

**Malleus and Sebek to follow at a later date. Could only get Lilia out before I have to go to bed :/. May be able to get Malleus and Sebek out by 3/13 or 3/14**

You didn't always go alone on your weekly grocery trips into town but you'd started to put your foot down. This was your fifth time going alone and it was nice to be by yourself for a bit. For all the things you couldn't control--the overblots, having no magic, a sneeze away from your dorm collapsing--you had total autonomy at the store. Ruggie taught you how to budget in Twisted Wonderland, sharing every coupon and ethical hack he knew. Azul usually picked up a few odds and ends with larger orders to give you some wiggle room (and he got a discount, being a business).

Armed with sturdy bags from Sam's and a buss pass from Crowley, earrings from Lilia and a necklace from Malleus, you felt like you could handle anything in the city. It's like you had people with you anyways! Sure, you didn't have magic but you had all the training and safety tips from your world and that was enough.

You were wrong. Very wrong.

You never expected the older man to turn into something else. Or to disappear from the city as soon as you stepped out of the automatic doors of the grocery store.

He was a fae, and he'd made some kind of portal deep into the forest. Despite the dangerous squeeze of your heart, you hoped it was the same forest around the school. You were cursing yourself for not paying more attention to the trees on campus.

Were these the same ones? Were you somewhere totally different?

Where WERE you? And why?

The bags drop to the ground, your hands going slack with surprise. You feel fruit bouncing around your feet and something hit your toe but you don't dare look away. Liquid sloshes as the bread bag gives a pathetic wheeze. Eggshells crack. You're shocked that the fae isn't impossibly tall like Malleus but that doesn't make him any less fearsome.

Faes come in all shapes and sizes, after all.

This one sheds his middle-aged appearance; beard disappearing completely as tied-back blonde hair darkens to chestnut. The wrinkles firm up into smooth skin but there's no youthful bounce or fullness like Lilia has. It's just unblemished skin and high cheekbones with a firm brow. He doesn't have freckles but there's a hint of a scar peeking beneath his shirt, running over his shoulder and almost touching his neck. His lips are thin and his teeth are sharp.

Very sharp.

He's probably the first fae you've seen with teeth like Floyd or Jade. You're not sure what his real eye color is; he's trying to make you uncomfortable by staring at you with shiny, dark eyes. All at once his irises flare a burning red and it kicks your brain back into gear.

You think of bending down to grab something frozen, something you can throw, but the unhuman noise coming out of his throat tells you not to.

There's an icy feeling slithering all over your back, almost to the point of making it spasm. It's like a warning. If you take your eyes off of him, you're dead.

All you can do is keep your eyes on him, blindly reaching for your phone. You hold it up so you can see it out of the corner of your eye, not daring to break its gaze.

You call him, your most-recent contact. He'll know what to do!

----

He dusted, mopped, finished the laundry, did a bit of homework, and made some snacks for the boys. Lilia felt like he'd earned a bit of gaming time. He'd just settled into his gaming chair with a snack when you called. "A call from my beloved! To wh--"

"Lilia! I need your help!" the sheer panic in your voice had him on alert. He'd been the cause of such a tone many years ago and he couldn't fathom something doing the same to you. "Stay on the phone with me, okay? Don't leave me!"

"Where are you?" Lilia jumped out of his gaming chair fast enough for it to fly back against the wall. Maybe put a crack in it. "What's going on?"

His eyes dart around the room, looking for quick things to grab. Things that would make a decent weapon. For a moment, all he sees are knickknacks and things that prove he's gone soft and sentimental. It's almost enough to make him sneer, his old self shaking his head in disappointment at the unpreparedness of it all.

"Would that be Vanrouge? I hope so. But if not, getting rid of another nasty human is never a bad thing."

That spurns him to action and something tickles his brain; Lilia practically rips apart the grand chest in his closet to look for his old gear. He feels like he's heard that voice before. Especially the 'nasty human' part. It was once a misguided sentiment he shared but that voice, the inflection and hiss on nasty, was like a blast from the past.

Lilia shoves himself into the black long-sleeved underlayer, fishing blindly for the chainmail vest he felt seconds ago. He's halfway into enchanted pants--lots of pockets for lots of weapons--when it hits him.

"Elm? Elm Leafdance?"

"You remember me? I'm touched." his laugh was as dry and cruel as he remembered.

"Hard to forget the man who tried to kill my son." Lilia hisses into the phone, stomping into his old boots. These were enchanted, too. There's a beat of silence between them, Lilia standing still to listen for any hint of sound on the other line.

"Seems you still have a habit of picking up these dirty things." Elm tuts. "I couldn't end that one, but I'll get this one."

Quicker than humans could ever perceive, Lilia had broken the false bottom in one of his desk drawers and grabbed various daggers. He punches through the hidden panel in the grand drawer to grab bags of powders. Teleporting into the storage room cuts off some rumbly, squeaking sound that makes his stomach drop.

"Lilia!" Sevens, he hopes he never hears anyone scream like that again! He breaks the glamor over his magearm, strapping it to his back. Hardly anyone in Diasomnia gave the random slab of polished wood a second glance, assuming it was an expander piece for the dining table.

"I'm coming!" Lilia shouts.

He always tells you to grab your earrings when you go somewhere without them, and when he focuses he can feel the weight in his ears. And something stabbing at him. There's a lingering, burning pain that's starting to build. Lilia shuts all of that out as he calls back to the enchantment and feels himself being pulled to wherever you are.

When a fae gives you a gift, it's a connection as much as a blessing.

Elm has a good six inches on him but Lilia is unconcerned, staring up at him sharply. His glamor is totally gone, cheekbones high and face more angular than his boyish appearance. It's impossible to get his bangs to behave after Malleus burned them but his hair is still as long and wild as ever. The untamed reserves of magic he possesses have dwindled with age and time, now dimmed with control, but still flare with disgust as if to challenge Elm on its own.

"Where are they?" he growls, magearm at the ready.

"Behind you." Elm grins, all vicious teeth. Lilia risks a glance over his shoulder and he's in absolute shock. He doesn't even feel the kick to the chest, letting his body skid back to where you are. You're tangled in giant roots that remind him that Elm's talents are solely for earth and grass. It's almost as if a tree is trying to grow around you.

Trying to consume you.

He can see one arm sticking out and the hand is slack. Lilia rolls, dodging another kick as his hands scramble for purchase. He hears a blade rip out of a sheath, staking into the earth where he'd once been. The roots are moving in real time, thickening and twisting. It's a lattice-like pattern that allows him glimpses of you and he finds one of your eyes.

It's a blank look and he can only hope that you're unconscious. Hoping for paralysis would be too cruel. You're human and you have no magic so this root is feeding on your very life essence. Possibly trying to crush you at the same time.

Lilia takes a slice to the back and spins with pure rage, magearm causing a small ditch.

From then on, it's an honest battle. Elm has the advantage, given his power is from earth and grass, but Lilia remembers him being assigned to the court and lacking in battle skills. He was more of a scholar type with staunch beliefs in fae purity. Lilia has the upper hand in terms of actual battle experience and the fact that he hasn't seen Elm in over ten years. Even when he rescued Silver, it was with pure might and weaponry.

Elm doesn't know the kind of magic he can do now.

Elm thinks he'll have the upper hand with smaller weapons, overconfident with the one wound he gave Lilia, but it will not save him in the face of pure bloodlust. The only advantage he has is the fact that Lilia has to angle himself after a swing and leaves himself open from the side he swings on.

That won't do much to help him. Not as much as he thinks.

Lilia feels the grass trying to knot around his shoes, roots trying to grab him, but he rips himself free. Elm continues to dance around him, trying fruitlessly to slice him again. He counters with the magearm, using it as a shield and something to prop himself up as he launches a fire spell at the ground. Being connected to the grass and earth, this will throw Elm off and prevent him from seeding smaller magic into the ground to influence the battle.

As expected, Elm is stunned for a second. Lilia throws himself around the handle of the magearm, spinning his whole body so his foot connects solidly with Elm's face. It's enough to knock the fae on his back but he's not down for long. The two start flinging spells at each other and Lilia doesn't miss the way Elm tries to distance himself, or the way the he casts more spells when he tries to get close to his magearm.

Always a bit of a coward, that man.

Lilia's not worried about the magearm being taken from him. Someone like Elm could never wield it.

"You're not getting away from me again. It was a mistake to let you live the last time!" Lilia tilts his head to avoid a spray of razor-sharp leaves, sending a blast of fire his way. As expected, Elm counters with a water spell. Though weak, it creates steam that Lilia takes advantage of. He breaches the steam like Elm's worst nightmare, magearm in front of him like a shield. A dagger skips off the twisting vine design, almost knicking the tip of Lilia's ear as Elm falls back under the weight of Lilia and his weapon.

One arm pinned beneath him, Elm slashes frantically at the air with the dagger. He tries to squirm out from under the magearm but he can't. Lilia kneels on the magearm, tilting it with his body so the bladed edge digs into Elm.

With luck, he'll just split him in half.

As he stares down at the man who tried to take his boy, and now his lover, Lilia feels what little pity and understanding he had drain from him. He lets it go with no complaints. Lilia angles himself back, allowing the blade to rest against Elm's ribs instead of pressing into them.

There's light and disbelief in Elm's eyes. Lilia can see his mind racing, trying to figure out if anything's broken or how deep the wound is. Elm stays still, much like prey in the mouth of a predator. Lilia grabs Elm's wrist in one hand and his throat in the other. Elm lurches against him and Lilia wonders for a brief moment that if he just squeezed with no restraints, which one would break first?

Elm gasps and gurgles beneath him as Lilia leans forward, magearm once again digging into him. His wrist snaps first and once Lilia is confident Elm's hand cannot be raised against him, he grabs at the fae's throat with both hands and squeezes him.

He squeezes him like he tried to squeeze Silver. Lilia thinks of his poor boy in that sack, sobbing for his papa and not understanding why he was taken or why the man was being mean. He remembers the two, three hits Elm gave that sack after throwing Silver back in; it was before he realized Lilia had tracked him down and it's enough to make Lilia start punching him.

The tangle of roots at the edge of his vision starts to writhe and shrink. It cannot sustain itself without Elm.

Elm's clothes darken with blood. He doesn't look conscious anymore. Lilia pauses, mid-punch, when that scar comes into view. Much like now, he and Elm resorted to grappling those many years ago. Lilia unsheathes the same dagger, tracing the near-fatal wound. The blade finishes it's path and Lilia sinks it deep into the hollow of his neck.

Elm doesn't make a sound but the wound gushes. Lilia slides his magearm off the man's body, overcome with rage and the desire to hurt him. Not just for Silver, but for you.

And perhaps for himself.

Back then he wasn't totally okay with letting him live but Lilia had convinced himself it was fine. He'd made his point and he was a different person for Malleus, Silver, and Sebek.

He stabs the knife into his chest over and over. Lilia vents his frustration and makes sure the threat is truly dead, listening to the bones crack under the jab of the blade. The roots fall to pieces and your bruised body looks like it's laying in a nest. Breathing heavily, Lilia drags his magearm over to look at you.

Most definitely unconscious and he hopes you don't wake up any time soon. The roots had created smaller feelers and he could see where they'd stabbed into you like needles to leech your lifeforce. You were littered with scratches and poke wounds. There were purplish-red marks where the roots had wound around you; you'll definitely need to be looked at. It'd be a miracle if nothing was broken.

When he realized you could be bleeding internally, Lilia made quick work of the corpse. Fae were tricky and fae who died in their natural element might be able to repair themselves. He sets up a summoning circle for Malleus but doesn't activate it until he's hacked Elm to pieces and doused the bits in various powders.

"We've been searching for you for--!" Malleus stops short, unconcerned that he hadn't fully formed in the summoning circle or that green flames hadn't totally cleared from his vision. He watched Lilia dig a deep pit with his magearm and toss meaty pieces in. There was a flurry of powder and a great, roaring fire that died after a few seconds. Grunting, Lilia smoothed the earth over the pit before salting, powdering, and burning it again. Before it could die this time, he grabbed armfuls of the roots and dropped them in the fire.

Malleus took the hint, helping Lilia grab every twig, seed, and bulb from around you. He sprinkled the bits into the fire as Lilia checked you carefully for any traces of the roots. You were slack in his arms but Lilia felt like you'd be okay. There was a bit of warmth in his ears so surely you still had some life in you.

"Will they be okay?" Lilia looks up at Malleus and can't help but laugh. The future king may be over six foot tall but he's still definitely a youngling. Malleus is looking at you like a nervous child.

"I think so." Lilia smiles. "Here, hold them a moment." Malleus accepts you gingerly, watching Lilia etch something into the ground around the fire and some nearby trees. Lilia takes you back, crowding Malleus' summoning circle with three bodies. He shifts you into one arm, shooting a ball of fire at one of the marked trees. The area hums with magic and explodes with fire; the heat kisses your faces but does little else since the summoning circle has taken them back to where Malleus last stood.

The future king of Briar Valley had been in his room when he was summoned. Likely writing to his grandmother or reading. Lilia hears a great commotion outside the door, motioning for Malleus to open it. Silver and Sebek burst into the room, tripping over each other physically and with questions. Lila shushes them calmly, saying he'll explain everything after you're in the infirmary.

They follow him silently, bursting with questions. Lilia isn't your guardian and the school doesn't give much allowance to partners, but he's allowed to sit in your room with you after a scan and some vitals were taken. He thinks he hears the nurses say you have a few fractures but they're being careful. You're fast asleep and unaware that you've been given fluids and vitamins.

It's possible that you'll need blood but they're unsure and they'll need to run some tests. Lilia tells the boys about Elm and isn't too surprised that Silver doesn't remember the incident. Mrs. Zigvolt did well to veil those memories. The somberness turns quite amusing when he recounts that Sebek refused to leave Silver alone for almost a whole month after, and had a mighty tantrum that Baur was impressed with.

Little Sebek had such an adamant grip on Lilia's dining table that each Zigvolt tried their hand at removing him. Hell, even Malleus tried! Only Baur came close, and it was at the risk of bringing said table leg home with them.

The boys leave to fetch you and Lilia some food, hoping it will wake you up, when the nurses begin to give them too many looks. Too many people in your room, Lilia could tell. He leans back in the chair, facing the door but staying at your side, and wonders if he should ask Mrs. Zigvolt to veil your memories, too.

How much would you even remember?

He's dozing, body sore from battle and beginning to bruise from the spells that weren't totally blocked. The wound in Lilia's back has healed itself but the pain is relatively fresh and makes him wince when he sags in the chair wrong. Snoring slightly, Lilia starts awake when you lurch in bed.

You're slurring and incoherent. You look like you're trying to swim through mud. He can't help but laugh when you try to pick your head up and fail. "Easy, beastie," Lilia soothes, leaning over you. He kisses your brow and you relax. "Easy."

"My eggs are going to rot," you look at him with sleepy eyes, like you're not totally awake. "I have to get them in the fridge. Can't eat rotten eggs." you're almost wailing now.

"If they rot, we'll just buy new ones." Lilia's petting your hair. He's trying to calm you so the nurses don't sedate you. They're hovering at the doorway.

"Is my list in my pocket?"

Probably not, no. Your clothes were as ripped and scratched as you!

"I think you lost it. We'll make another one when you wake up from your nap."

"Okay."

And just like that you're out again. If you could remember what you bought when you were taken, he most definitely needs to get Mrs. Zigvolt to the school. He doesn't want you going through night terrors and things like Silver did.

The boys return with food and Lilia accepts it happily. You don't rouse at the scent of food and that's just as well. Lilia eats like he's young again, only this time he's not burdened by rations or whatever they can find in the field. He shoos them off to their studies after some time, insistent on keeping watch. They're reluctant but he's content to keep his post.

The earrings glitter in your ear and he feels the warmth of you in his chest. Lilia sighs happily, pulling the sheets over you as he settles back in the chair to keep watch. He falls asleep an hour later, soothed by the heartbeat he can hear from your bed.

[lostlikesaebyeok]

CAN I REQ A HOT PIZZA GIRL SAE-BYEOK?????? like the reader tries to seduce sae-byeok everytime she sees her (and fails miserably..) And sae is oblivious and annoyed. Then like after a few days of delivering to the reader she finally clicks that the reader is trying to flirt with her.. YAY! and then u can come up with the rest my brain is overloaded dawg 💔💔 MAKE IT SEMI-SMUT IF U CAN!

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 𝒌𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒂𝒆-𝒃𝒚𝒆𝒐𝒌 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

oneshot: hot pizza girl

♡ you try to seduce her with flirting. she shows up with pizza. somehow, it works. ♡

(semi-smut | fem!reader | wlw | awkward flirting | hot delivery girl | slow realisation | modern au | mild chaos)

♡ summary:

she’s got the pizza. you’ve got absolutely ZERO game.

you flirt, fumble, and fail.

eventually? she finally notices. and once she does, oh baby, it's over for you.

it started with a coupon.

one you definitely didn’t need.

you weren’t even hungry the first time you ordered from the little pizza place two blocks away. you just… happened to be scrolling through the delivery apps and saw the name kang sae-byeok as the assigned driver, and curiosity, plus the discount, got the better of you.

you hadn’t expected her.

tall. deadly sharp jaw. a little lesbian pin on her work uniform. deadpan stare that made you forget how to speak. the first time you opened the door, pizza in hand, you actually forgot to tip because you were too busy staring at her mouth.

she just blinked at you. “you gonna pay?”

“huh? oh–yes! i mean, i did! already. the app. i’m sorry–uh–have a nice–”

she was already walking back to her scooter.

you collapsed against the door like a fucking idiot. you were doomed.

you ordered again the next night.

and the next.

and the next.

each time, you tried something new. a new outfit. a new line. one night you even answered the door in a silk robe like this was a porno and not just tuesday.

“that better be your clothes under there,” sae-byeok said flatly, holding the pizza box between you.

“maybe,” you grinned.

she rolled her eyes so hard you could feel it.

“you know you’ve ordered the same pizza four nights in a row, right?”

you blinked. “…it’s good?”

she stared.

you held her gaze for maybe a second too long. she walked away again.

you watched her go with a sigh that could shatter glass.

by night six, you were questioning everything.

you had curled your hair. the lip gloss. the lean on the doorframe. she hadn’t noticed any of it.

you were wrapped in your favourite tank top this time, trying not to die of secondhand embarrassment as she handed you your pizza without looking up.

“you don’t even like pizza,” she muttered under her breath, half to herself.

you blinked. “what?”

“you’ve taken one bite every night. then thrown the box away.”

you stared at her.

and something finally clicked in her head.

she looked at you, really looked, and then–

“…you’ve been trying to flirt with me this whole time?”

your jaw dropped. “finally.”

she blinked. then, completely expressionless: “why?”

“because you’re hot!” you exploded. “and rude! and you look like you’re in a kdrama and your voice makes my brain shut off and–ugh! just kiss me or tell me to stop so i can die with dignity–”

she grabbed your shirt and pulled you into a kiss so fast your breath hitched mid-sentence.

you tasted like wine and desperation. she tasted like chapstick and smugness.

you barely noticed the pizza box hitting the floor.

her hands slid up under your tank top. not rushed, just curious. while your own curled into her uniform like lifelines.

you gasped when she pressed you back against the door.

she only pulled back when your lips were swollen and your head was spinning.

“you should’ve just said something,” she muttered, voice low and rough.

you blinked, dazed. “i did! i said ‘hi’ in six different outfits!”

“your flirting sucks,” she smirked, dragging her thumb across your lower lip.

“and yet it worked,” you shot back, breathless.

“barely.”

“still counts.”

the pizza stayed untouched on the floor.

you ended up on the couch, straddling her lap, your shirt somewhere near the tv and her fingers tracing lazy lines across your spine.

“so…” you murmured into her neck, “do i get a discount now?”

“you’re lucky i didn’t charge you double.”

you kissed her again. soft this time, slow, and she melted underneath you just a little.

you knew this would be the start of something dangerous.

and hot.

and maybe next time, you’d order dessert.

because sae-byeok always delivers.

thank u for reading, angel ♡

૮₍ ´• ˕ •` ₎ა likes = kisses + late night delivery love notes

♡ note for my mutual:

thank you so much for giving me this idea, it's perfect!

i hope it turned out how you imagined, you’ve got good taste :)

[ladybugmania]

The Lunatics’ Parade: 2025 — Twilight of the Absurd

In the House once bright, now dimmed with decay,

The Lunatics gathered at the end of the day.

Trump sat high on a throne of skulls,

Drinking Diet Coke from patriotic hulls.

He growled, “I��m chosen, I walk with the stars!”

Then misread the map and invaded Mars.

His cabinet danced to a banshee choir,

The smoke smelled like steak and executive fire.

JD Vance, Vice King of Hillbilly Hell,

Chanted slogans that rang like a Liberty Bell,

Cracked, confused, and wrapped in a flag,

Waving a torch while dragging a bag.

Rubio, the Floridian fish,

Spoke fluent evasion and granted no wish.

At State, he served diplomacy fried,

With a side of “thoughts and prayers” deep-fried.

Pete Hegseth, in camo and rage,

Declared war on books, and peace on the page.

With a bayonet pen and a helmet of lies,

He saluted the mirror with blood in his eyes.

Pam Bondi, Attorney of Doom,

Summoned subpoenas like witches in gloom.

She cross-examined ghosts and grilled thin air,

Then charged the moon with improper care.

Scott Bessent, at Treasury's gate,

Laughed while tossing coins into fate.

“Who needs math?” he asked the void.

As the dollar collapsed and Wall Street enjoyed.

Linda McMahon, the duchess of schools,

Taught “Critical Wrestling Theory” in pools.

Kids tapped out before they could read,

As she body-slammed teachers for sport and for creed.

RFK Jr., czar of the sick,

Fed vaccines to frogs with a mercury stick.

He cured the flu with lavender tears,

And called science a hoax for 73 years.

Tulsi, now whisperer of state secrets grim,

Broadcast mind-rays through every gym.

She blinked twice and satellites fell.

Then blamed it all on a gender reveal.

Duffy, Transport, paved the sky,

With TikTok lanes and jetpack pie.

No roads, no rules, just viral speed.

“Crash responsibly!” his only creed.

Brooke Rollins, in fields of ash,

Grew mutant corn with campaign cash.

Each stalk saluted, each ear did weep,

For deregulated soil that’ll never sleep.

Howard Lutnick, selling fate,

Traded ethics at a discount rate.

Commerce turned into a feast,

Where corporations dined on the Middle East.

Kristi Noem, Homeland’s queen,

Patrolled the plains with a killing machine.

She hunted threats both foreign and mild.

And shot her own shadow, then blamed a child.

Lee Zeldin, the smog baron bold,

Bottled fresh air and sold it as gold.

The EPA now stood for Everything Pollutes Always,

And rain came down in three-headed grays.

Kelly Loeffler, Small Biz, ran a scheme,

Where lemonade stands paid in Bitcoin dreams.

She smiled while taxing charity jars,

And built a Starbucks on Venus and Mars.

Ratcliffe, at CIA, watched with glee,

As pigeons turned spies for a nominal fee.

He tapped into dreams and rewrote the past.

Then tweeted classified info… fast.

Elon and Vivek, efficiency beasts,

Replaced Congress with AI priests.

The algorithms wept, the servers bled.

And democracy was quietly pronounced dead.

Stephen Miller, the hollow-eyed ghoul,

Wrote policies using virgin fossil fuel.

He whispered fear into the law,

And shaped it sharp with his demonic claw.

Susie Wiles, behind the veil,

Pulled strings like a sorceress pale.

Each move she made, a shadow would shift,

And the Earth would tilt, and the tides would lift.

And then she came, Marjorie Greene,

On a chariot made from a gym machine.

Draped in flags and CrossFit glory, Screaming,

“Demons run Congress! This is God’s story!”

She tossed books into holy flame,

While claiming Bigfoot knew her name. Laser-eyed and

Bible-armed, She stormed the stage, unvaccinated and charmed.

Last, Karoline Leavitt, voice of the throne,

Spoke in riddles, her heart a stone.

“Truth is treason,” she hissed with grace,

As her smile cracked wide across her face.

She briefed the press with puppets and flame,

Then blamed “the woke” for losing the game.

So Trump and his gang of Lunatics marched, flags aflame,

Waltzing through history with no sense of shame.

The night was their kingdom, the facts were all gone,

And satire died with the morning dawn.

So here’s to the cabinet, wild and unchained,

A circus of chaos, darkly ordained.

The nation watches, hands on their heads,

As the Lunatics’ Parade paints the town red.

The end.

[the-path-to-redemption]

I dunno if you still do P5 critical content here but one thing I really don’t like about the game is…Makoto. I feel that she’s the weakest member of the entire team with how she’s got such a nebulous role as “tactician” when Joker and Futaba do everything she can and more, her attitude towards Ann regarding what happened with Shiho as an answer to a genuine question about why she didn’t do anything with Kamoshida (it’s understandable that she couldn’t act as much as she could have but Ann still deserved a clearer answer), her theming is incredibly weak since Pope Joan doesn’t really do anything rebellious like the rest and it doesn’t even have an internal reform thing, her Confidant doesn’t even focus on her, her design as a thief is meh and most people only remember it because bike and ass shots…overall, Makoto feels the most slapped on out of all the thieves and that’s not even getting into the arc she debuts in.

I try not to post too much critical content of Persona 5 here, because despite the flaws I find with it, it's still one of my favorite games of all time. I genuinely enjoy it, and I don't want my only contribution to it to be all critical and no fun. That level of anger is reserved for another series on this blog, and I would like to work on my own P5R AU mostly.

But I do see where you're coming from, anon, but I don't think the problems many people have with Makoto come from the character herself, but rather are manifested as a product of a very prominent issue of how P5 handles a lot of its female characters. In my opinion, the issues that Makoto has aren't a "Makoto Is a Badly Written Character" issue, but a "The Female Characters of P5 Are Better Conceptualized Than Executed" issue.

Long Post Ahead. Spoilers for Persona 5, Persona 5 Royal, and Persona 5 Strikers.

Let's go through this together step by step.

Makoto as the Tactician of the Thieves

I've seen this argument come up quite often. I can see why people say that Makoto's official role as the tactician of the Phantom Thieves isn't a very apt description of what she actually contributes to the team, and you're right that the planning of the operations soon falls to Joker, Futaba, and, to an extent, Akechi. But just because the other brainiacs of the team rolled up to show out, that doesn't mean that Makoto isn't a brilliant tactician in her own right.

Makoto is a genuinely marvelous planner! She's highly aware of her situation, even in high-tension ones, and she earned her place as the brain of the Thieves. Makoto was the one who figured out the locking mechanism of the Bank Palace's second half, she managed to memorize Kaneshiro's pass code for his money case after watching him while in great danger, her navigation lines and Confidant trait Shadow Calculus are solid evidence that her mind is as sharp as ever even in combat. And the way that she stayed calm and was skilled enough to drive the others to safety during the Pyramid Palace's collapse was nothing short of awesome!

Makoto is a great tactician! Holy shit, she was the one who came up with the plan to spread the Calling Card with Ryuji without either of them being caught, while the initial Thieves' best plan for distracting Yusuke was...Looney Tunes shenanigans. Makoto has on multiple occasions showcased her intelligence, which has saved her friends and gotten them out of trouble, and that shouldn't be discounted because there are other brainiacs on the team later on.

The problem is that, and I think this is where people find issue in the portrayal of her intelligence (and by proxy, her role as the tactician), is that a lot of the feats where she's proven herself to be smart were...told to us, instead of shown to us.

I know I just used this example above to prove her capabilities, but the way that Makoto just knows Kaneshiro's pass code was a bit strange to me. Yes, I know that she said that he has opened and closed the case so many times that she managed to memorize it, but when was that? When we see her on-screen with him, she was pinned to the ground, and Kaneshiro was just yapping. It wasn't until the Thieves got there to help her that Makoto actually saw him open the case to get some cash. When were the other times he had opened and closed the case that she could possibly remember its pass code?

It's such an easy fix as well; show us a brief moment in Makoto's sprite that she noticed his movement on the case, and have her occasionally mumble the pass code to herself before she actually opens it. It's much more impressive, and we can actually believe Makoto when she said that she saw Kaneshiro use the pass code.

Another example of her intelligence was told and not shown was the aftermath of the Interrogation Room, where we found out that it was Makoto who realized that Sae might have a cognitive version of Akechi walking around and that will screw up their plan, so they had to take care of him in time. Now, where did we see this brilliant display of quick wits?

From Futaba. Who relays it to us. In an optional dialog. After the fact. Instead of seeing a flashback of it.

Deadass, the first time I've ever played P5, I didn't even talk to Futaba after we were caught up. That tibbit of information is fucking optional, and easily missable if you just...don't care enough to talk to Futaba.

That's such a disservice to Makoto! Futaba gets to have all the screen time showcasing her intelligence, and Akechi actually shows us how smart he is in the Casino Palace! Why doesn't Makoto get to show her smarts on screen, and was told to us instead? To me, that's why it's hard for people to actually believe that she's the brilliant tactician that the game wants us to believe she is. But she is one. I just wish we got to see it more on-screen.

Makoto, Ann, Shiho, and Shujin.

I'm gonna get a lot of flak for this, but like...

Makoto did not know about the extent of Kamoshida's abuse of the student body. She didn't know about the extent of Ann's struggle. And she for fucking sure did not know that Shiho was abused to the point of jumping off the roof.

Yes, Ann deserved a better answer about what happened to her best friend. Anyone would, but it's asinine to expect anyone but the adults around them to give her that answer. Makoto is not the one who should be responsible to give Ann a better answer, when she wasn't even properly informed about the abuse.

I'm not defending her initial behavior here; yes, it was wrong for her to approach them with an abrasive manner initially, and it wasn't the best response to Ann accusing her of not doing anything about Kamoshida by referring to him as a good teacher before the scandal. But the point of the scene was to show that both girls were right and wrong in a very unfortunate situation that neither of them was at fault for.

The way Makoto responded to the Thieves on the rooftop was an unhealthy defensive mechanism not uncommon for people in environments like Makoto has been; Makoto has spent a majority of her life, especially in her most formative years, being told to obey and put her all into being the best, and if she stepped out of line, all of her efforts will be taken away from her. Makoto, in the beginning, was someone who was dismissed over and over again by the people around her, the adults around her, so her only way to be heard and taken seriously by her peers was to react abrasively to their scorn. She cannot do that to adults because that would cost her, and unfortunately, that manifested into her very unhealthy style of social interaction.

Again, this isn't to excuse her actions before awakening to her Persona; this is explaining that it's not uncommon for someone who was pressured into being a pushover by their authority figures to try and defend themselves by overly defending their bad actions. To Makoto, this is the way she has rationalized herself into believing that her perspective will be heard this way, and to others, her efforts will look like excuses.

And it's not like Makoto doesn't care about her fellow students. In the Royal expansion, we see Makoto asking a teacher to help with the situation and trying to fix it, and what was the answer she was given?

The teacher, an authority figure, an adult, did not want to get himself involved when a student just tried to commit suicide. Makoto was given an excuse when she rightfully turned to someone she thought she could rely on. And when she once again rightfully demanded an answer from the highest form of authority at Shujin, Principal Kobayakawa, he told her to fuck off and held her opportunity for better secondary education hostage so Makoto doesn't pry more.

Makoto is stuck between a rock and a hard place here, where the adults at Shujin scapegoated her to mitigate the consequences of their negligence and the student body of Shujin treats her like a fucking spy. That's not fucking fair, and to expect her to know better is wrong when an abuser like Kamoshida only got to this point was because the people who can stop him refuse to do so.

Yes, Ann deserved a better answer. No, Makoto isn't the one who should be expected to give her that answer. She is another teenager who was exploited by the same environment that left Ann to suffer, and to pitch them against each other in anyway is fucking dumb. I'm sorry that I'm being harsh, but Makoto made a mistake that she is constantly fixing and rectifying, she did not told Ann to fuck off or that Shiho deserved it or anything truly warrant unforgiveness. Even Ann herself acknowledged that she fucked up with how she treated Makoto, and both girls decided to move on together as friends. That's growth! That's the right thing to do; both girls forgave each other, recognized their failings, and became friends on their own volition.

If the Persona fandom can look past Yusuke blackmailing the Thieves when Ann refused to model nude and the boys asking about Madarame's mistreatment of his pupils, it's absolutely hypocritical to not even try to let Makoto right her wrong for doing the same thing, which she has apologized for.

If the Persona fandom is going to shit on Makoto for not knowing the extent of abuse because it was hidden to her on purpose, then the priority is completely fucked. The people who should be scrutinized in the tragedy surrounding Shiho are her abuser, Kamoshida, and the adults who let him get this far. NOT A FUCKING TEENAGER.

These kids deserved better than to have a school that only doesn't care about them, but is actively pitting them against each other just to save their reputation that the adults have tarnished. Makoto is one of those kids, like Ann, like Shiho, and so many others, who make mistakes and try to fix them so that they don't become their abusers. At least give her that.

Pope Joan and the Rebellious Soul of a Woman

I think it's important for the audience to understand the story and the relevance of Pope Joan in order to understand Makoto (and to an extent, Sae); Pope Joan was allegedly the only female pope of the Catholic Church during an age where it acted not only as a religious organization, but also as one of the most powerful socio-political force in the European world (and even beyond). That is, if anyone rebelled against its structures and what it deems as "justice", they are as good as dead and condemned by their own world.

The Church and the Papacy were, and still are, a power governed by patriarchal enforcers, and for women, it served as a looming threat over their existence and autonomy as people. By mercy, they're considered witches for being different than what was expected of them by the Church, so imagine a woman acting as the highest authority of that power when that same power demonizes her existence.

A woman who defied the structures and expectations of the main judicial power of her world and placed herself as its highest authority is relevant not only to Makoto's existence in the narrative of Persona 5, but it is also relevant to the themes of social rebellion that make up the foundation of Persona 5.

Think about it; she's the highest authority in the student body, but her existence there is constantly in jeopardy because of the disadvantages the overall environment traps her in, but her Confidant shows her wanting to reform it and extend that to her future career for the betterment of society. Her more tomboy-adjacent style and hobbies defy what the traditional Japanese expectations of women want her to be, and it plays into the traits of her Arcana, the High Priestess, which is created after the visage of Pope Joan. She's justice-driven, empathetic, and angry that people would exploit the weak using the gaps in a flawed justice system. The system that consumed her sister in a prison of envy and bitterness.

Sae's anger towards the patriarchal society that puts her down when she no longer has the support of a man, her father, who she loved and admired, created the Casino. You know what's one of the greatest sins the Church commits in its crusade to maintain an unjust socio-political order?

Monetary exploitation of the people and allowing its members to gamble it away for better political standings in the name of "justice".

And what does Makoto want to do?

Reform that system so no one else has to suffer injustice.

So yeah, Johanna is more than important to the story of P5. And if I'm being honest, she's not the worst usage of Persona concerning the user's personal story in the narrative.

Is Makoto the Worst/Best Girl in Persona 5?

I'm going to say she's a good "middle" tier girl. Yes, I know I just yapped on and on in her favor, but in all honesty, Makoto is just an...okay for me. She has many more merits than people seem to give her, but she also has more flaws in her characterization than most of her diehard fans would admit. She's not the best, but there are certainly worse character writings than hers in the main female cast alone.

Regarding her PT outfit, I think it's okay. But it's mostly because she makes it work, and there are other designs that are so much fucking worse than hers. Sure, the amount of ass shots are annoying, but it has nothing on Ann's "LoOk aT aLL oF mY cURveS iN ThIS SkIn-TiGht aNd EmBaRRassiNGLy ImPRacTIcaL" catsuit, or Yoshizawa's "basically waifu Joker that hurts my character growth more than aids it" nightmare of an outfit, or Sophia's "discounted Eve from Wall-E" sorry excuse of a design.

Between those and the two others that are better suited for the characters, Makoto's actually decent. The only thing I would change about it is that I would add more red to the design and choose a different torso armor, but it serves its purpose.

Yes, I would agree that her Confidant story doesn't really focus on her, but again, it's not as bad as Ann's. My major problem with Makoto's characterization during her Confidant is her wish to become a cop; sure, the head cop that can possibly change the system, but how long until she actually gets to that point? And this point only became even more relevant in Strikers when Zenkichi became disillusioned with his occupation after it failed him, and even before that, Makoto saw how it drove Sae into a corner.

And most importantly, the person she confides this desire to is a victim of police brutality.

Oh, not to mention, Makoto would be the last person who should be a fucking cop. She's impulsive, stubborn, headstrong, and extremely confrontative when she sees injustice in the world; you can argue that it makes her not a corrupted cop, but this woman fucking bust into a criminal den by herself and slapped her friend to wake her up from a dangerous solution! That impulsivity would have her end up dead if not controlled at worst, and put others in danger at best!

If the writers want Makoto to become someone who can reform the justice system and actually prevent inequality in the force, for the love of fucking Philemon, have her aspire to be a defense attourney, a criminal analyst, a criminal justice researcher, or a fucking judge. Any of those profession would actually benefits society more than adding another cop into an already flawed and violent organization, where assholes like Shido can exploit for their own selfish means.

Atlus is absolutely terrible at sticking to its ACAB message when the premise of the story starts with the protagonist getting battered by cops at the command of a corrupted politician, but guess what? We shouldn't actually want our audience to question the corrupted criminal justice system that actually contributes to the inequalities of our society, they should keep believing that it's actually salvageable without a complete reformation and to expect the authorities to face the consequences of their deliberate shortcomings; we need to sell this game after all.

And that particular point rounds us back to my biggest problem of Persona 5's treatment of its characters; in comparison to the male characters, even in the main cast, the female characters have so many more flaws than merits when it comes to the prioritization of story beats in their personal journey. Makoto isn't the worst girl or even tacked onto the story; she's just utilized much less effectively for the character she is, and like other girls, there is an emphasis on her being a waifu first, and a character second.

But when you look at Makoto and compare her to the other girls, holy shit, she's actually way more lucky and interesting than what they were given. At least her sexuality isn't being made into a joke despite not giving her any agency in it, and, thank the heavens, she actually allowed to interacts with other characters aside from Joker for more than 10% of the game and isn't written as a fucking Satellite despite the fascinating psychology behind her conceptualization.

TL;DR, Makoto has some issues, but her issues aren't her fault, and she is actually better off than some other female characters in the Phantom Thieves alone. Those issues are more of symptoms of an ongoing problem with Atlus not treating its female characters with more interest compared to their male counterparts, and it's unfair to only use Makoto as a scapegoat for that problem when she's honestly a good mid-tier member overall.

[keozrb]

Grok story: Reality Forge

Jake, an ordinary guy with a small belly and unremarkable life, discovers a game called Reality Forge. Uploading his photo, he’s stunned by a detailed 3D model of himself, then edits it into a 6’5” billionaire bodybuilder with a chiseled physique, handsome face, and enhanced manhood. As the game’s loading screens progress, Jake transforms physically, his surroundings morph into a luxurious mansion, and his mind fills with confidence and new memories. Now Jackson, he embraces his new life as a powerful, charming billionaire, leaving his old self behind.

Jake was an ordinary guy—short blonde hair, a little overweight with a small belly that jiggled when he laughed. He lived in a modest house, worked a desk job, and spent his evenings scrolling through X or playing video games. One rainy Saturday, while rummaging through a discount bin at a local store, he found a game called Reality Forge. No reviews, no manual, just a sleek black case with glowing blue text. Intrigued, he bought it for five bucks.

Back home, Jake popped the disc into his PC. The screen flickered, and a smooth, almost too-real voice greeted him: “Welcome to Reality Forge. Create your destiny.” The game prompted him to design a character. A pop-up asked, “Would you like to generate a character based on a photo?” Curious, Jake shrugged and uploaded a recent selfie from his phone.

The screen went dark for a moment, then lit up with a hyper-detailed 3D model—of himself. Naked. Every detail was eerily accurate: the slight slump of his shoulders, the birthmark on his left hip, even the exact size and shape of his penis. Jake’s jaw dropped. “What the hell?” he muttered, heart racing. It was like staring into a digital mirror, and it freaked him out. The realism was uncanny, almost invasive.

Shaking off the unease, Jake noticed an “Edit” button. “Okay, let’s have some fun,” he said, leaning forward. He dragged sliders to stretch his avatar taller, piling on muscle until he looked like the biggest bodybuilder imaginable—veins popping, pecs like armor plates. He tweaked the face next, sharpening his jawline, perfecting his cheekbones, and adding a smoldering gaze. Feeling bold, he hesitated, then adjusted his dick size, making it bigger and thicker with a nervous chuckle. “Why not?”

The game prompted him to dress the character. Jake chose tight briefs that left little to the imagination, smirking at the absurdity. Then came personality and occupation. He typed “billionaire bodybuilder” for the job, and for traits: confident, smart, good with the ladies. Satisfied, he hit “Submit.”

A loading screen appeared. “Phase 1 of 3: Physical Transformation.” Jake laughed—until he felt a tingling in his chest. His body grew warm, then hot. He gasped as his arms swelled, muscles bulging under his skin like inflating balloons. His legs lengthened, ripping his sweatpants at the seams. His belly flattened, replaced by a cobblestone eight-pack. He stumbled to a mirror, watching his face shift—his nose refined, his eyes brightened, his lips curved into a perfect smile. Then, a deeper jolt hit. He glanced down, eyes widening as his briefs strained against a growing bulge, now matching the exaggerated size he’d chosen.

Out of breath, Jake collapsed into his chair. His clothes lay in tatters on the floor. He was massive, sculpted, a living statue. “This… this is real?” he panted, flexing an arm that felt like steel.

The screen flashed. “Phase 2 of 3: World Transformation.” The air shimmered. His cluttered living room dissolved, walls stretching into a sprawling mansion. Marble floors gleamed under chandeliers. A floor-to-ceiling window revealed a private beach. Jake blinked, disoriented, as his ripped clothes vanished, replaced by the tight briefs from the game, hugging his new physique and showcasing his enhanced endowment. He caught his reflection in a gilded mirror—a godlike figure, every inch the billionaire bodybuilder.

“Phase 3 of 3: Mind Transformation.” Jake’s head buzzed. Confidence surged through him like a tidal wave. Doubts he’d carried for years—about his looks, his charm, his worth—evaporated. New memories flooded in: closing billion-dollar deals, dead lifting world records, charming women with a single glance. He knew how to navigate boardrooms and bedrooms with equal ease. The screen went blank.

Jake—or was he Jackson now?—blinked, unsure why he was staring at a computer. A sultry voice called from upstairs: “Babe, you coming back to bed?” A grin spread across his chiseled face, effortless and magnetic. He adjusted his briefs, feeling the weight of his new body, and strode toward the bedroom, the game forgotten, his new life already in motion.

[dericbindel]

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[sol-consort]

pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.3

You can't shake the feeling that something feels off today.

Shepard never really enjoyed walking through the Citadel much of late. The novelty of the Centre-of-Civilisation Hub was as short-lived as the final facedown with Sovereign three years ago.

You placed your drink down, double clicking on the game icon.

How quickly they've become jaded to the sight of the cosmos laid bare in front of their eyes, a mere reinforced window away from the vacuum of space. Its taste still fresh at the back of their throat, the feelings of their own lungs caving in on themselves as their ribcage collapsed.

Scrolling through your phone as the usual startup video played. Checking your dms. Pretending to watch the tiktok clips your friends sent you.

Tightened security, tens of checkpoints, salarians smoking, hanar eating sushi, asari walking hand in hand with krogans, turians dancing with humans in nightclubs. It seemed that humanity found its place within the galaxy during the years Shepard's soul was stuck in limbo. Everything was so different, and yet... undeniably, the same.

The ice cubes clinked against the glass cup, fizzy foam forming atop your soda as they melted, diluting the sugary drink.

It was flattering the first few times an alien gawked at them, attempted to sneakly snap pic of them, ask for a photograph, in that order.

After all, Shepard was a nobody in the eye of the galactic masses the last time they stepped a foot on the Citadel, even if they've had a reputation amongst humanity—but as the remours of their supposed "coming back to life" spread further and further like wild fire, their newly founded fame was becoming nothing short of debilitating.

And no one in their crew seemed to relate.

"See it's because I knew better than to show my face, let the Archangel name speak for itself" The turian attempted to keep a facade of nonchalance, positioning himself so the light reflects just right off of the totally cool badass scar on his face.

"That and the fact no one could get close enough to your camping spot to see your face without being sniped from across the map." Crossing off another item from the list on his Omni-tool, Joker was down to only two items remaining.

You're still at the menu screen.

Shepard can sense the familiar signs of your presence hovering nearby, and yet, their body felt as hallow and cold as ever. Where were you? Why aren't you with them?

"How come I don't get any of that celebrity treatment? I was there too, people! Or do they think Shepard was steering the Normandy with one hand while fisting Saren with the other." That got a snicker out of the turian next to him.

Were you mad at them? Did they do something wrong? Their eyes scanned the various merchandise on the shelves, hoping for something to coax you out of hiding.

"—And with the discount from the recorded endorsement message, the total comes to 1400 credits. Will that be all for today?" The asari cashier chirped up, practised smile and overly friendly tone.

"Yeah, and uh... how much for the Destiny Ascension model?" Akin to an offering left at the altar of a displeased god, Shepard hoped this might appease you.

Or, at the very least, summon your presence to them. This never happened before. They know you're out there. They can feel you at the tip of their fingers, at the ends of their hair, hues shifting in the corner of their visions like phantoms.

"That'll be 500 extra credits, 416 with the discount."

Just their luck.

"Sheesh," Joker inhaled sharply, "Commander, unless you're planning to expand your resume and become an idol part-timer, then our budget doesn't allow for that."

"Who knows, maybe Shepard's devoted fanbase will throw money at us if we stand very still in the centre of the Presidium" Garrus purred back a little to eagerly for someone who was just claiming how not-bitter he is for having his secret alter ego remain secret.

Again. No sign of your presence, your actual presence. Only the vague anticipation of something coming, of the skies preparing to part like curtians for you to descend.

"Forget it," bringing up their omni-tool, Shepard paid for the original items, "let's just get what we came here for and hurry back aboard."

"Aye Aye Captain."

"Garrus, you're on bag duty. Joker—"

You loaded the savefile.

Their breath hitched, and a familiar feeling weighed down on them like a comforting blanket, a spring breeze filling their lungs.

"...I'll head to the Normandy. You two handle this on your own."

Finally, oh how they've missed you.

As the loading screen faded out of view, the world rendered from around you. Shepard was at the very same spot where you last left them, standing in front of the galactic map. The familiar sound of Kelly reminding you of the new emails on your terminal.

Were where you again? Oh, yeah, Mordin loyalty mission.

Strangely enough, Garrus was absent from the crewmates selection screen. You grimced, the bugs are hard a work it seems. Just your luck to get a cursed savefile.

Fine. Sure. Whatever. You won't let that ruin your mood. Maybe it was a good thing. Especially with how immensely disappointed you were after watching Garrus romance scenes on YouTube. Really? A fade to black? Good thing it bugged out, otherwise it'd have been a waste of your time and effort.

Your aim must be sharper than usual today... did Shepard always have these many hitpoints? Wow, that speed, this can't be vanilla. Ugh, did the save editor mess with your savefile?

No way, you swear you reloaded a backed up one. This should be a clean slate.

Not that you're complaining, after all the infuriating bugs and misclicks, being at the other end of the stick feels kinda good for once. You're not totally op, but noticeably stronger than your last session.

It was so fun, in fact, that you kept gunning one mission after another. Even the Garrus bug seemed to fix itself after the Mordin loyalty mission.

You were oblivious to the ticking of the clock, and your now lukewarm flat soda.

And Shepard? Oh Shepard.

They were on cloud nine. It might have been an extra couple hours of playtime for you, but with the amount of progress you've made, a whole week had passed from their point of view.

A whole week with you by their side.

Ah. They see the error of their ways. They pushed back, so you've kept your distance. They made you feel unwanted with their constant display of independence, didn't they?

Their intentions were pure. They simply wanted to prove the existence of their own volition. But apparently, it only served to hurt you instead.

Did you come back because of their gesture of attempting to buy the ship model? Were you watching them from the oblivion?

How they wish to talk to you, have one small conversation, if you are truly a person capable of speech. They're not too keen on the idea of you being a simple benevolent spirit, a mere force of the universe not that different from gravity or the change of seasons.

They're growing closer to their crew, thanks to you, that they can clearly see. Who would've known Mordin kept such a secret? Or the extent of how much Grunt repressed his nature. You seem to care for all of those people, based on the words you manifest for Shepard to say.

Well, almost all of them.

You had a defiant side that broke through whenever it was a one on one meeting between Shepard and The Illusive man himself.

You weren't a fan of Cerberus, they gathered.

Shepard themselves felt indifferent towards the whole operation. They could wrap their head to why a group like this is a necessary evil for humanity, as much as they could also picture why someone would completely resent them—if their previous crewmate's tantrum on Horizon was anything to go by.

Maybe, if you had asked them about Cerberus three years ago, they would've given a completely different answer.

But as it stands today, it's the people closest to them who turned their back on Shepard, whilst the scum of the earth fished their charred corpse out of orbit, nursed and nurtured them, welcomed them with open arms.

How confusing it was to wake up to a world full of anger at them for coming back to life. For supposedly tarnishing the image of a noble martyr.

To prefer them to remain a hero 6 feet in the ground than to see them alive walking on the surface—a flawed person, yes, but alive all the same.

Not like they even had a choice or say in the matter. Their birth, death, and reincarnation, they didn't have a say in any of them.

Which might just be the fate awaiting their future demise, when the bell tolls for them a second time, to die twice in one lifetime, and it won't even be out of their own choosing, but another matter-of-fact forced upon them, another burden to carry, another sacrifice in the name of the greater good.

Unlike you.

You who never forced them into anything.

Always phrased things as a suggestion.

Always asked them to move forward, never pulled them like a dog on a leash to fight their battles.

Became their strength from within, their voice of reason at times of strife.

You who never forced them into anything.

Kind, merciful, thought, pure hearted you.

You chose them to bless with your presence, your guidance, and your selfless labour.

Truly a guardian angel.

You who never forced them into anything.

You saw them as they are, understood them better than anyone else. Not as some tool to use for your own bidding like the council views them as, neither as a mascot to push more propaganda like the alliance have been shaping them up to be.

But as Shepard.

You who never forced them into anything.

With the sunrays peaking through the curtians, the sound of birds squeaking outside, and the sticky dryness of your eyes, you knew you've been staring at a screen too long for what's humanly recommended and socially acceptable.

It took you so many hours, a couple of open browser tabs with guides, but you've finally found all collectable ships and fish within the game.

All loyalty missions were taken care of, all dlc stories done.

Tomorrow, first thing after coming back from work, you're going to immediately book it to the Omega Relay.

Fuck the collectors, fuck the illusive man, and fuck this haunted savefile.

One last mission then it's goodbye ME2 and hello ME3!

-

"You really left me stranded with Garrus on the Citadel?? I mean, what were you thinking, Commander? What, so just because EDI can fly the ship, I'm suddenly disposable?"

"It was an urgent matter, you wouldn't understand. I had something important—"

"IMPORTANT?!" used to witnessing these arguments between these two by now, none of the Cerberus crew on the bridge were exactly phased by Joker's loud burst. "What could possibly be so important that you couldn't wait five minutes for the pilot of the damn ship."

"...."

"Yeah. Thought so. Listen, I know things been tough on you, coming back from the dead and all. But you're seriously starting to freak me out here, commander. This past month something about you just been... off"

"If I tell you, you'll think I'm a nutjob."

"Well, for one: I already think that. And two—" Joker covered the glowing orb of which EDI speaks from, to have an illusion of privacy as he lowered his voice. "Is this about what happened on Horizon? never took you for the type to get hung up over an ex. I could try to reach out and maybe arrange a reconcile dinner—"

"No. Absolutely not. I'll throw you out the airlock."

"Then spill already, Shepard. You're really giving thriller authors a run for their money."

"Fine. Tomorrow, left wing of the Presidium, 5 sharp."

"Nuh uh, you talk right here right now. How can I be sure you won't sneak off with my baby again and leave poor me to fend for himself on alien streets."

"Name your price."

"Your spectre access card, let me borrow it for a day"

"Joker—No. that's a federal crime."

"Umm no it's not? The Citadel isn't part of the federation. It's a galactic crime."

"That worse, you know that's worse right?"

"Then at least take me on a tour inside, please, been dying to know what goes on behind that freaky spectre access only door. Is it like a bdsm club with asari in full body leather carrying your guns around and—"

"No asari, just a shooting range, a terminal, and some screens. I think... a hanar urinal too. Very anticlimactic stuff, still wanna see it?

"duh?"

"you know what sure okay."

[doledition]

VIGNETTES: THE FIRST WOUND

There were still ways, of course, to get past this small hiccup: the corridors of the Manor were winding, dropping off into parts of the house that sometimes Kylar hadn’t even known about. 

(or: the first in a series of five non-linear short vignettes into Kylar's daily life. Takes place before she meets PC. Be forewarned, I do not play hard and fast with canon, so I will be taking creative liberties in this fic. Reader's discretion is advised. TW for unreality. part two will be uploaded tomorrow.)

⛤⃝

The kitchen smelled of iron and mice by the time Kylar had gotten back home. 

She’d been gone for three hours. One hour, allocated to the park, to sit and breathe in the fresh air and let the birds roost on her back. Second hour, errands, standing in line at the grocery and staring at fresh fruits and vegetables, remembering how they used to taste way back when, and then shaking out of her recollections to grab the discount ramen on the top shelf. 

The third hour she’d been walking through the landfill-she’d hopped the fence, feeling the foul stink on her legs - and combed through trash, mountains of trash, until her hands had cut on discarded rust and her bag was almost too heavy to carry. But she carried it anyway, out of the landfill and back to Danube street. 

Kylar’s neighbors turned away when she appeared. They stared at her through their windows, locked the doors to take in her scruffy knees and ratty hair and the streaks of dirt on her arms and sneer. Ever since her parents fell ill, all her neighbors ever did now was sneer. 

She can’t remember the last time she was allowed in their houses, the costly Manors, all grand and stately and clean inside. It must have been once, long ago, when her parents worked and Kylar was a cute, if awkward baby. Then, her neighbors converged upon her, holding her to the light and kissing her face and commenting on her brilliant hair, so pitch black and royal, sleek! 

Now, her hair had faded to a dull brown, like mice droppings. She hadn’t combed her mop in days, and the tangles had spread down to her scalp, like roaches, walking and biting and grazing. Her hair shuddered in the wind like a wet dog, and she could feel the all consuming eyes of the nobles stare at her with something like disgust as she walked into the manor. 

The good thing about living in an old, storied house such as Kylars was how incomprehensible the layout was. Her grandfather, back when he had first had the Mansion renovated, had been absurd, livid, paranoid- according to her parents, he’d changed the house from the inside out, adding rooms upon rooms upon rooms until it felt more as though a new house had been constructed on top of the dead carcass of the mansion. 

Floor one was the foyer. Kylar hadn’t walked through the foyer in years, ever since termites had eaten through the top half of the extension beams and had caused the room to collapse in on itself. There were still ways, of course, to get past this small hiccup: the corridors of the Manor were winding, dropping off into parts of the house that sometimes Kylar hadn’t even known about. 

It wasn’t a route she liked taking most of the time, especially not when the sun was out and she heard the walls shiver. There was a side door she could use, through the kitchen which took her to the cellar which could take her to the first floor bathroom, and then to the second floor stairs. It was a well trodden path, dusty and filled with squeaking floorboards and empty moth cocoons, left to accumulate in the footfalls of Kylar’s feet. 

Floor 2 held the bedrooms. Seven in all on that floor, only three used. She wasn’t counting the game room, or the drawing room, or the music room, or the library. Kylar only ever visited these rooms sporadically, perhaps once every few months when a school assignment mandated it. Her parents used those rooms, and she didn’t want to disturb them. 

They were sick, after all, and needed as much rest as they could get. 

Which reminded her, she mused as she locked the door behind her, three times for posterity. She needed to head back to the pharmacy later, to ask for more of her mum's medicine. They’d run out last night, as Kylar had crushed the pills into a fine powder and cooked them into the blood stew she’d made. It hadn’t incorporated all the way, and the powder had turned into a thin film that floated to the top of the stew. 

Didn’t matter in the end-her mother never ate her meds, or her food. Kylar would push the bowl of stew towards her as she huddled in a corner of her bed, the sheets covered in red paste and the scent of rot heavy in the air, and her mother would bare her fangs and hiss in response. The bowl would always lay there on the nightstand, until next mealtime, when her parents would crawl into the walls of the house and Kylar would step in to fetch it. 

Regardless, one of these days Kylar knew her mother would take them. If she was persistent, she would. She just had to keep on trying. 

She slid her shoes off and set them beside the doorway. There were three pairs of shoes there, all Kylar’s, organized into a haphazard mound. Her school shoes, which she wore day in and day out, looked as though she’d fished them from the dumpster, all scuffed and torn at the edges. The other two pairs, her hiking boots and dance shoes, had gathered a fine layer of dust on them. She’d stolen those from the Shopping Centre months ago for her birthday (her parents' wishes) and had promptly left them to waste, relegated to her home. 

She picked the pair of hiking boots and, with great effort, shook them, wrinkling her nose and holding in her sneeze as dust drifted into the air. She repeated the gesture with the dance shoes, bundling them beneath her arms as she headed down the corridor, to the left, and into the lab.

Cont.

Read the rest of the wounds here: The Second Wound, The Third Wound, The Fourth Wound, The Fifth Wound

[wearesecretmode]

The Sea Calls - Still Wakes the Deep: Siren’s Rest is Out Now!

It’s time.

Dive deep into the North Sea as Mhairi and explore the creaking wreckage of the Beira D, as the Still Wakes the Deep story continues with Siren’s Rest, the brand new paid story expansion, available now! 

Bust open doors, cut through rusted grates, and uncover lost momentos as you carefully maneuver through the cursed halls of Cadal’s collapsed centrepiece, to find closure for the fate of the crew that sank without a trace.

Get a glimpse of what awaits you in this extended gameplay trailer:

Still Wakes the Deep: Siren’s Rest is a paid story expansion costing £9.99/$12.99/€12.99 and requires an installed copy of Still Wakes the Deep to play. While completion of Still Wakes the Deep is not required, we highly recommend doing so, as the events of Siren’s Rest take place over a decade after the end of the base game’s narrative.

For the next two weeks, Still Wakes the Deep: Siren’s Rest will have a 15% introductory offer, so jump in early to unearth a handy discount. You can find all details of discounts and bundles on our Still Wakes the Deep Steam event page.

Alongside the launch of Still Wakes the Deep: Siren’s Rest, there has been a patch for the base game. Please find these patch notes in our Steam Discussions.

Did you miss our announcement trailer for Siren’s Rest? You can view that below. We also revealed our talented voice cast here.

We’d love to hear your thoughts on Still Wakes the Deep: Siren’s Rest over on the Secret Mode Discord server. Today is also your LAST CHANCE to win a key to Siren’s Rest, as well as a cassette player and cassette of the Still Wakes the Deep’s soundtrack through our fan art competition. Join the server to find out more. You can also talk to us over on X or Reddit.

[professionalscrublord]

4th Succession War campaign report 2

Game 2 I ran last Friday, a smash & grab mission

Map: "Forward Base" (Grasslands B battlemat) Time limit: 10 turns from base alert. Primary Objective: 300wp Retrieve EWS schematics Secondary: Sabotage facility operations Secrets: Raven plans, Personnel rosters

Intro: Interrogation of the captured Liao pilot from Game 1 revealed the location of a FOB where Ravens are being stored and maintained. Liao officers are operating out of here and often link up with local Emerald Dawn forces for field operations.

Goals: Hack the databases (marked in Red on the scan) and find the plans for the Electronic Warfare equipment in one of them (chosen at random). Download it, and escape back East. Beyond that, the Mercs will be paid for every database destroyed and every building collapsed.

Database contents (revealed on scan) 1: Directory (Instant, identify all DBs to players) 2: Personnel rosters* (Scan again to download) 3: Turret access** (Shutoff: first scan. Reverse IFF: 2nd scan.) 4: Jackpot (Jammer + Raven schematics***, 1 turn DL) 5: Backup database (any of the above but 2x longer to activate)

*Personnel Rosters contain ranks, performance reports, and evaluations of pilots. One of the more skilled pilots has a review marked "lacking patriotic fervor" and is scheduled for reeducation. The rosters can be turned in to the Davions postgame for extra money, or pursued by the mercs to hire a veteran 3/4 pilot at a discount.

**Turrets are Immobile Targets 15CF and 1 Medium Laser. They are untargetable while closed until the players walk into laser range, then they open and fire. Start the turn timer when this happens.

***The Jammer schematics were part of a larger file, the complete Raven-3X schematics. Raven plans are only revealed after the Jammer has finished downloading. The players may be scanning the Jammer under fire already so they will have to weigh whether they want to stand still for the next turn to get this and be shot at with no evasive modifiers.

Once the base is alerted, Ravens of various models (starting with a RVN-3X) will exit the large building in the west every 2-3 turns continually raising the pressure on the mercs.

A player mech within 3 hexes of a EW-equipped Raven cannot scan, though a mech with Improved Communications is only jammed at 2 hexes. You also cannot scan through fortress walls.

Optional Rules: Starting fires, incendiary ballistic ammo (half the damage is turned into heat, and counts as a laser for fire ignition chance), inferno missiles, Anti-TSM gas missiles

House Rule: Do not pay level-change MP when following a ramp.

The players' results:

Op. FOGHORN results: Primary objective: ✅ Jammer plans secured

Secondaries: 3/5 databases destroyed 2/5 buildings destroyed

Secret Tertiary: ✅ Full RVN-3X plans secured

Bonus objectives: -Personnel files acquired -1 pilot captured

-2 mech kills (no payment for kills via current contract but enthusiasm noted on Mercenary board review)

❌ Mission timer exceeded: departing Leopard dropship detected by House Liao reinforcements

The record sheets

How it went down:

The players got really lucky. The Directory came up early so they knew where to look for everything, and the Primary Objective ended up being in the secluded South-East building, where a mech jumped into the tiny corner hex behind it and scanned everything in complete safety. They also popped the first RVN-3X out of the base RIGHT quick with focused fire stripping armor and gas missiles following up, and the #2 Raven after it was taken out by a crazy TAC+Ammo Det on the second hit.

A merc also lucked out after taking two head hits, rolling no head crit, then having ~15 SRMs connect over the next 2 turns without any head hits (any one of which would've killed them).

Despite all the SRMs flying around, the one mech carrying a Lostech AMS only had it trigger one time, which I found funny.

Ravens 3 and 4 survived to the end of the match chasing the mercs out of the base after they'd sacked half of it. Players chose to bring Gas missiles to deal with jammer Ravens, but had no Infernos or Incendiary ammo and did not start that many fires as a result, which hampered base destruction efforts.

3 mercs escaped with various juicy stolen data among them, but the last one was juuuuuust barely 1 hex too slow to escape within the time limit. I would have said they were captured, but it was so close I decided to change plans...

The postgame choices:

-Personnel files used, veteran pilot to pick up from a hiring hall later.

The escaping Mercs have been detected and their Leopard dropship is being tailed! House Davion said they hired you as a deniable asset since they were unwilling to be seen with their fingers in the pie on this particular planet and would not take kindly to being revealed as your employer... But a detour will mean missing the scheduled jump out of system.

Will the Mercs keep the rendezvous with their employer, escaping the system but breaching opsec in the process? Or stay in-system, hide and likely fight on the dark side of the moon, for free since they're still on the same contract?

The players decided to try and lose the tail on the dark side of the moon to maintain their contract's integrity. Tune in next time for episode 3: Lunar Battle!

[squirrel-art]

Finished my little compilation of Sav and her mobility aids! ID in alt for each.

Disclaimer that I'm able-bodied & open to criticism about my portrayal! Also I realized belatedly her rollator is parked in a way that would, in fact, not keep it from rolling the fuck around, my bad.

Further details about my design philosophy/Sav's symptoms under the cut.

I played Savtas through Consular Story Chapter 1 in Full Good Girl Mode, saving all the Jedi and using the shielding ritual whenever prompted. The side effects of the rituals are vague and inconsequential in-game so as to make the job of the writers and programmers easier; characters comment worriedly about the fact that you "look tired" and not much else.

Fortunately, I have none of these restrictions. I don't know how to scientifically quantify "life-essence", but in my canon the energy required to create and maintain the shields comes right out of the body of the shielder, and behaves first and foremost like a faster-than-sustainable burning of calories. In the short-term, Sav became dangerously malnourished and fatigued; in the long-term she developed PoTS and what I've been glibly referring to as "Force fibro" in my brain, because the symptoms she experiences are the similar to that of those who suffer from fibromyalgia in real life: chronic pain, chronic fatigue, disordered sleep, and brain fog.

Some of those physical symptoms are ameliorated via use of a mobility aid, so she's tried out a couple different types.

Rollator

Sav's mobility aid of choice, purchased somewhere at the beginning of Ch 2. Sav is prone to dizziness and fatigue, and has less difficulty walking than she does standing for long periods; the rollator helps keep her balance and gives her somewhere to sit for short spells when she needs to.

The wheels do make this device better for navigating flatter and more even ground, but I imagine she can swap the wheels out for all-terrain varieties. I wonder if you could put blades on them like ice skates, to move around on places like Hoth? Well, the brakes wouldn't work, so probably not.

As mentioned in a previous post on my other sideblog, the design and colors are meant to evoke the pillars of the old Jedi Temple on Coruscant. This model is bespoke, created to Savvy's whimsical specifications. It wasn't even that expensive; you'd be surprised how many discounts people are willing to offer a Jedi!

Chair

A gift from the Jedi Council upon her defeat of Terrak Morrhage and the subsequent quelling of the Force plague. It's a more expensive model, and comes with a sturdy stand to rest it on when it's charging or not in use.

Design inspo drawn from both canon sources and the wonderful hermitmoss' hoverchair headcanons post!

I deliberated for a while as to whether Sav would have been given a wheelchair or a hoverchair. I settled on hoverchair mostly because Sav wanted a certain level of independence in her movement, but nobody was sure how long it would take her to regain enough upper body strength to reliably push herself around in a manual chair.

Sav in this image is at the beginning of her recovery, but she does continually make use of her chair after regaining some of her weight and muscle mass. Her rollator became her device of choice over the chair in part because the chair is kind of bulky and heavy, and can't be easily collapsed for transport. She probably has a lighter, more maneuverable transport chair stored on the ship to utilize in a pinch.

Looking at the design of the chair, I am already dissatisfied with it - the seat isn't raked to keep her from sliding out of it, and the control panel should realistically be attached to an extension and not directly under her hand. We'll fix that in the next pass, I think, but for now this drawing is representative of the overall design and colors.

Cane

She's got a few of these! Most have an offset or contour grip because she finds them the most comfortable, and most have adjustable bases.

Her favorite is probably the non-adjustable wooden one she got from a craftsman on Alderaan, the only one she owns made of fully organic materials.

[roanofarcc]

PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER FIFTY ONE → A FEVER DREAM HIGH

summary: steve harrington x oc | on ao3

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. 4.1k || masterlist || ocs moodboard

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

previous chapter ← → next chapter

Time was almost out of Calum Miller to get the answers he needed. He needed to understand why his father abandoned him, why his mom resented his father, and what kind of business had gone down in Hawkins National Laboratory. Calum needed to understand what connection Danielle Torres had to that place, the reason behind her strange tattoo and disappearance, and to know once and for all if she had any connection at all to his father as he had believed from the start. 

It was the Fourth of July and the next day his mom was deadset on skipping town to stay with one of her friends in Indianapolis until they found a place of their own. It was too drastic of a change, and it was happening too fast. Calum didn’t understand any of it. He didn’t understand why his mom wanted to leave so badly all of a sudden, plucking Calum from his childhood home right before his senior year of high school. His last hope was to get the truth out of Danielle and hope she led back to his dad. If he could talk to him, maybe everything would end up being one big misunderstanding. His dad could home, and everything would be set right. Calum would finish high school in Hawkins with his best friend and everything would be as if nothing had happened in the first place. 

It took Calum and Tamera a couple of days to re-write all of the information they could remember from the file and all of the other information that had been collected alongside it. They stored it all in two notebooks that had left Calum’s body in fear that his mom would find them and take them away. 

Their next course of action had to happen that night; they were going to find Danielle. The entire town was going to be at the county fair’s firework show that night, so that was their game plan. They’d track her down there and hopefully pry the truth from her. 

First, he had to pick up Tamera from her shift at the mall. He cruised down the streets of Hawkins in his busted minivan, with his windows down and head full of thoughts. Unfortunately, his van was on the verge of collapse and just as he rounded a curve along the road that cut through the thick of the woods, he heard a loud ‘pop’ before his car nearly veered off of the road. He muttered a series of curse words under his breath before he threw his van, affectionately nicknamed Beige Betty, into park. 

Beige Betty had been a cheap steal from his neighbor's yard, who sold it to him for a severely discounted price. It had a long list of problems, but Calum had gotten most of them fixed. He learned more about cars than he ever intended to, including the fasted way to fix a flat. They were on a time crunch. They needed to find Danielle and pray she knew more than she led on. That, and Calum hated being near the woods at night; they freaked him out. So, he fixed his tire as quickly as his hands would allow him, ignoring the unease that spooled in his gut as his back faced the woods.

Finishing up, he tossed his tools back into his trunk and was about to head back to the driver’s seat when a branch snapped, startling him. He felt a little stupid about it; it was the woods, teeming with all kinds of different animals, of course they were going to make noises. But then another branch snapped somewhere inside. It was an odd breaking sound. The ‘snap’ didn’t exactly sound like a twig being stepped on by an animal or a break of a thin tree branch. His first thought was maybe the fireworks had started already, creating little ‘pops’ that echoed throughout town. But as he gazed above the tree line, he listened for the noise again, and when it happened there was no sign of fireworks exploding in the sky. 

But he brushed it off and continued to collect his things. He tossed his flat tire into the trunk as well before closing it. As the trunk latched, another noise ripped through the air. It wasn’t the boom of firecrackers or fireworks. It no longer sounded like twigs snapping either. The noise was startling, and it grew louder and louder until Calum felt the vibrations through his feet as the ground shook. He turned his gaze upwards as he stood at the edge of the road. Across the way, straining his eyes in the darkness, he noticed the tops of the trees in one area of the woods move. 

Calum had listened to the news that morning on the radio as he showered. A rainstorm was supposed to blow in later that night, but the local weatherman said nothing about severe weather. 

The cracking noise turned into ear-drumming crashes. It was nearly a windless night, so there was no reason for the trees to be moving like that. He strained his ears to hear an accompanying sound along with the crashes. It was something animalistic, like a growl amplified through a speaker. 

His brain screamed at him to get into his van and drive away, ignoring whatever was happening in the woods, but something stronger inside of him compelled him to stay, stupidly so. He stepped around his van and further onto the lonely road, staring at the waving trees. It was like a path was being cut through them, picking away trees closer and closer to him until, just down the road, an entire tree crashed down, snapped in half as if it was a simple twig. He stumbled backward, having no idea to question how that was even possible before something emerged from the spot the tree had been torn out of. 

It was as if his brain short-circuited. He stared, only for a moment, at an enormous figure as tall as the treetops stalked across the road. Calum’s legs gave way under him. The sight of the animal, beast, thing was enough to knock the wind out of his lungs. It walked on too many legs which were wider than tree trunks as it stepped over the fallen tree with ease. The thing looked also like a spider, but it was far from spindly and far from quiet. Whatever it was, was more horrifying than he could put into words. It looked like something pulled from the pages of a horror novel or a nightmare. 

The thing plunged into the woods on the other side of the road, ripping down trees as if they were nothing more than annoying sticks. As just as it had come, it was gone. 

Calum blinked, seated in the center of the road unsure if what he had just seen was even real. It couldn’t have been. He was in Hawkins, the place he had resided in since he was born, and sure weird shit had happened there, but there weren’t creatures that lurked in the woods. Monsters didn’t exist; his mind must’ve been playing tricks on him. He hadn’t slept well in a while, and maybe the weed he had gotten from one of his D&D friends still lingered in his system. 

Slowly, Calum willed himself to stand up, but he was wrapped in a wet blanket of fear that locked up his limbs. He was stiff and flushed hot with panic. For a moment, he stared at the large, broken tree in the middle of the road that he had just driven down. Its spilled leaves and broken branches looked back at him sadly. He forced himself toward it until he stood in the middle of the pathway the thing had carved through the woods. It was just like the aftermath of a tornado, a line cut in almost a perfect path. 

Somewhere down the path, where the thing continued to cut down trees and toss them aside, a roar ripped through the air and that was enough to jumpstart the fear inside Calum’s body. He ran as fast as he could back to his car, threw Beige Betty into drive with uneven breaths, and hit the gas hard, peeling down the road toward Starcourt Mall. 

☀☀☀

“You look like you’re surfing!” Robin laughed loudly, holding onto the handles of a cart Steve stood on as the elevator shot up toward the surface. Sunshine and the two kids watched Robin and Steve, confused and at a loss. 

Sunshine’s hands still shook, and panic still had a tight hold of her, but she had managed to collect herself just enough. The second she heard Steve and Robin’s joint screams ring out through the base, enough of her fear melted into rage. In some half-baked plan, using the same tactics from her and El’s escape from the Lab and the strength she had built in her abilities, Sunshine broke free from her binds, drew in the two guards posted outside her room, and took them out, and fled into the pure commotion that filled the base, thanks to Erica and Dustin. 

After she ran into the two kids, much to her horror, they all located Steve and Robin. She managed to blind the doctor and the soldier who had interrogated her and collected her friends. Dustin had stolen a little transport vehicle, which made their escape to the elevator a lot easier. They used the keycard from the soldier Steve had knocked out and ascended the elevator with hopes of their nightmare being over. 

However, they weren’t completely out of the woods, yet. 

Between the lack of sleep, food, water, and reliving a familiar scene too much like Lab, Sunshine felt run down and awful. She leaned up against the wall, head hurting and hands shaking, and tried to figure out what was wrong with Steve and Robin. 

Aside from Robin’s bloodshot eyes and a small red blotch on her cheek, she looked fine, even if she was half out of her mind. 

Steve, on the other hand, looked troublingly bad. One of his eyes was nearly swollen shut and the skin all around it was a deep shade of red. Blood was dried around his nose and mouth, his skin split open in deep, harsh wounds. His eyes were also bloodshot, and he too was in a strange daze. 

“They seem drunk,” Erica said. 

“Why would they be drunk?” asked Dustin. 

“I’m a natural! Check it out!” As soon as the words left Steve’s busted lips, he tumbled off the cart and crashed against the ground with a pained groan. Sunshine winced before she peeled herself off the wall and kneeled beside him. Up close, his face was even worse. She carefully swept back the bloodied and sweaty pieces of hair that clung to his forehead, feeling the heat coming off of his skin. She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead and frowned. 

“He’s burning up,” said Sunshine. 

Steve lazy shot her another lopsided smile. “No, you’re burning up.” His eyes drooped, closing briefly before Dustin kneeled on his other side and tried to pry his eyes open. Steve groaned in protest and tried to swat Dustin’s hands away. 

“His pupils are super dilated,” Dustin noted.

“Maybe they’re drugged,” Erica said. 

Sunshine ran a hand through her tangled hair with a sigh. She didn’t know what they were supposed to do. They still had to make it out of the mall’s parking lot without being seen. They needed the hospital, but how was she supposed to explain what happened to them? She needed Hopper or Joyce, real adults who would know what to do. But they couldn’t reach them until they were away from the mall, which meant it was up to Sunshine until that point. 

“Steve.” Dustin got in his face, talking slowly yet frantically. “Are you drugged?” 

Steve scrunched up his face in an undiscerning look. “How many times, dad? I don’t do drugs. It’s only marijuana.” 

“Steve.” Sunshine drew his attention, carefully avoiding his wounds as she held onto his face. “We need to know what they did to you?” All he did was giggle in response. 

“Are you going to die on us?” Dustin asked. 

“We all die, my strange child friend,” Robin said, twirling her hair around her fingers. “It’s just a matter of how and when.” They must’ve been drugged, that was the only explanation for why they were acting that way. There was no telling what other kind of side effects they would experience before the night was over, which was why she needed to get them away from Starcourt and to someone who would help. For everyone’s sake, she hoped the only effects of the drugs were them acting and feeling spacey and nothing more severe. 

“Steve, listen to me. They’re going to be looking for us up there, okay? I need you to tell me where you parked your car.” Sunshine had little clue of how to drive, but she was sure she could figure it out. If Max could drive them without crashing, she was sure she could too. 

Steve gasped, his eyes widening as he grabbed both of her hands. “Oh! Can we make a pit stop at the food court?” 

Robin nodded enthusiastically. “I would kill for a hotdog on a stick right now.” 

“Fine!” Dustin said, growing visibly more agitated by the second. “You guys can have all the food you want, but you have to tell us where you parked your car.”

“The car's of the board,” said Steve. “They took the keys. The Russians took the keys, like, forever ago. That’s a bummer, right?” 

The elevator stopped and Erica opened the door with the keycard. They’d have to think of another plan. Maybe if they went to the far end of the parking lot, just out of sight from anyone who was lurking around the mall’s perimeter, they could use Dustin’s walkie to contact someone from the party and get a ride.  

With that plan in mind, she helped Steve to his feet and led the way out. A warm summer breeze blew across her face, welcomingly so. She had only ever been so grateful to be outside one other time in her life. 

Ahead of them was a gate that, when crossed, would take them straight to the main parking lot. It felt so close and for a moment, Sunshine believed they were going to be home free, but nothing could ever be that easy. They didn’t even make it halfway to the gate before two men, armed, spotted them. 

“Stop!” they yelled at the group before they began running in their direction. Sunshine turned around quickly and pointed back towards the mall. They raced inside a door that led into the mall’s service halls. She had no sense of direction or destination in mind, all she knew was that they needed to find somewhere to hide before they were caught, again. Dustin took the lead, promising that he had the perfect place to lie low. He skidded to a stop at one of the doors and peeked his head out, scanning the surroundings before he waved them on. 

They slipped into the mall movie theater, which was loud and dark, a perfect place to go unnoticed. Nearly every seat was filled, but Erica had spotted two in the front row. They dragged Steve and Robin toward the empty seats and forced them to sit down. 

“These seats are too close,” Robin wined. 

“Then don’t watch the movie,” Dustin replied in a hushed but sharp tone. 

Steve frowned. “But we wanna watch it.” 

“Then watch it!” A few people around glared at them, forcing Sunshine to extend them an apologetic smile. She didn’t feel sorry, though. Bigger things were happening inside the mall than some stupid movie. Not a single soul inside the theater knew about the military base right under their feet or the wide-open Gate. They went about their lives normally; it made Sunshine jealous. 

“Hey,” Sunshine whispered looking between Steve and Robin. “Stay here and do not go anywhere, okay?” They muttered a response before fixing their eyes on the screen. She, Erica, and Dustin moved down to the seats on the opposite side of the theater. 

Sunshine fell against the seat with a quiet groan, aching muscles, and a pounding head. She pressed her fingers against her temple and tried to rub away the pain to clear her head. 

“It’s official,” Dustin said, sitting beside her. “I’m never having kids.” 

“You’re telling me,” Sunshine replied. 

Erica, who sat on the other side of Sunshine, asked, “What are we doing here?” 

“We’re waiting for Sunshine to recharge so that we have at least a fighting chance against the Red Army,” Dustin replied, causing her to squeeze her eyes closed. She was going to need more than five minutes to recoup. Taking out a couple of soldiers didn’t leave her completely drained, but she wasn’t in the best shape after everything. The toll on her body and mind felt her tired and pulled tight with anxiety that she couldn’t shake. She didn’t know if another fight was in her. 

Dustin continued, “We’re just going to lie low and cool off, like Oswald.” 

“Oswald was found in a theater and shot to death,” Erica retorted. 

“Yeah, a week later.”

“The point is his plan didn’t work.” 

Dustin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because it was a setup. He was just a patsy.” 

“Tell me you’re joking?”

“Guys.” Sunshine looked between the kids, silently pleading for them to stop bickering. 

“Sorry,” Dustin apologized. “Um, so, how long do you think you’ll need before you can, you know, take out the you-know-whos?” 

Sunshine appreciated the faith Dustin had in her, but there were a lot more Russian soldiers than she could reasonably take on, and they all were looking for them. She feared their escape would not be easy, and she didn’t know how much aid her abilities would be aside from keeping them out of immediate danger. Their best bet was to sneak out, but they needed a surefire ride to do that. They’d be spotted too quickly trying to walk across the wide-open parking lot. The Russians probably had eyes everywhere, especially since they had broken into their base and then escaped it. 

“I don’t know.” 

Dustin was quiet for a moment, before he stood up, grabbing Sunshine by the hand and tugging her out of her seat. “Come on,” he whispered before looking to Erica. “Stay here and watch Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Make sure they don’t go anywhere.” 

“And where are you two going?” 

“To find us a ride,” Dustin replied. They exited the theater and found a safe spot inside the projection room, empty and free from any slider surprise attacks. Dustin pulled out his walkie-talkie as he sat on the floor. Sunshine copied his actions, leaning up against the wall with a deep breath. There was no time for her to be in pain or lag behind, not until they all were safely out. 

“Here,” Dustin tapped her leg with a half-drunk water bottle that he had, smartly, kept in his backpack for emergencies. She thanked him and took a long sip, letting the room-temperature water wash away some of her nausea. “Are you okay?” Dustin asked, eyebrows furrowed, and lips turned in a slight frown. 

“Yeah.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, rubbing off some of the stained blood from under her nose too. She then smeared the crimson off on her wrinkled dress, uncaring of the stains it would leave behind. The dress was one she’d probably never wear again. It had gotten ripped at the bottom and a hole in the upper back, which was a shame because the dark blue dress was beautiful but ruined in more ways than physical. It would hold all of the memories of the past day, and she did not want to remember any of what had happened over the last twenty-four hours.

“I’ll be a lot better once we figure a way out of here.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” There was a far-off look in Dustin’s eyes. 

“Are you okay?” She hated how tough all of the kids tried to act. She wished they didn’t feel like they needed to put on a brave face for her or anyone. They were allowed to be sad and scared, but they all had a habit of rolling their shoulders back and pretending like it was no big deal; they could handle it. They shouldn’t have had to ‘handle’ it, though. 

He shrugged. “It’s dumb.” 

“What is?” 

“We were, uh, kind of close to almost dying back there, and you know what I couldn’t stop thinking about? I couldn’t stop wishing that the rest of the party was there too and that they were with us right now. Not because I want them in danger or anything, it’s just…we usually figure this kind of stuff out together. We’re a team. We work better as a team, I think. But things are different now and I get it. It’s just weird.” Sunshine frowned and reached out, squeezing his hand and prompting him to continue. “This summer, between camp and this whole operation, is the longest I’ve spent apart from Mike, Will, and Lucas since elementary school.” 

That was the real tragedy of it all. The party had to grow up too fast, and they wouldn’t get back the time they lost. They were still just kids, but it was easy to see that they didn’t really see themselves as that anymore. All kids had to grow up eventually, but growing up wasn’t supposed to entail the knowledge of monsters in the form of people and creatures from another world. It was unfair, but most things were. 

“I bet they’re missing you as much as you’re missing them.” 

His shoulders slumped as he stared at his walkie-talkie, a little device full of memories. “And what if they aren't?”

She gave his hand another squeeze, a hopeful one. No matter how grown up the party got, she was sure that they’d continue to love each other. “Call your friends, Dustin. Let’s get out of here and solve this thing with them, together.” 

Dustin sucked in a deep breath before bringing the walkie to his lips. “This is a code red. I repeat, this is a code red. Does anyone copy?” They waited a beat but were only met with static silence. He tried again. “This is a code red. I repeat, this is a code red.” 

Another beat. Then, through the hiss of white noise, a voice cut in. “Dustin?” 

A bright, explosive smile spread across Dustin’s face that Sunshine had no choice but to mirror. “Mike!” 

“Dustin!” Mike sounded just as excited on the other end. Sunshine was sure she had never been more relieved to hear Mike’s voice. 

“Oh my God,” Dustin cried out in happiness. “You have to listen. I know I’ve been MIA, and I’m sorry. It’s not because I’m mad. I mean, I actually was mad, but not anymore. It’s also because I was trapped underground in a secret Russian base. I know that sounds insane, but the Russians have infiltrated Hawkins! The goddamn Russians! They’ve opened the Gate and now they’re after us and we don’t have a way out of here. So, I need you to come and get us. Can Nancy drive?” 

In response, Mike’s voice became gargled by static and it made no sense. He cut out too much and their connection sounded unstable. 

“Mike?” Mike! Do you copy?” Dustin’s walkie made a noise, beeping before it died in his hands. “Shit! No! Not right now! Please, not now. Mike! Shit!” 

Sunshine hung her head as the hopeless feeling crawled back up her throat. She wanted to cry, again, but refused to in front of Dustin. They had no way out, and no communication to anyone outside the mall. They could use a pay phone, but they’d have to find someone who was home and hope the calls were tapped by the Russians. 

“Do you have any batteries?” Dustin asked. She shook her head. There was nothing on her. Anything that had been in her pockets was taken by the Russians and Erica had dropped her walkie when they were in the elevator the first time. It wasn't in there when they returned, meaning the Russians had found it.

They retreated into the theater, where Dustin then asked Erica if she had any batteries on her, which she did not. They needed a different game plan. Sunshine let the kids mull over another safe place to hide in the mall while she moved to grab Steve and Robin, but when she gazed down the row of moviegoers to where they had left them, she was met with two empty seats. There was not a Steve nor Robin in sight. 

Tagged. @sattlersquarry , @leptitlu , @drunkengodsofslaughter

[unitedstatesrei]

Denver Skyscraper Meltdown (Office Towers Collapse into 98% Discount Foreclosure Freefall)

Key Takeaways Over 30% of Denver’s office-building mortgages are delinquent, making it one of the worst-hit metro areas for commercial loan defaults in the U.S. Iconic downtown skyscrapers are selling at up to 98% discounts, signaling historic opportunities—and risks—for investors. Office-to-residential conversions are accelerating, offering long-term buy-and-hold investment potential with tax advantages and strategic entry points. Denver’s skyline is disintegrating under the weight of debt, vacancy, and foreclosure. What happens when billion-dollar buildings can’t even fetch scrap value? Is Denver about to become a real estate investor’s biggest comeback story, or the next Detroit? Historic collapse of Denver’s commercial office market Shocking discounts and foreclosures sweeping the city Investor opportunities in conversions, cash deals, and bulk buys Let’s tear into the chaos and see where savvy investors can strike gold in the rubble. The Implosion No One Saw Coming (But Should Have) Downtown Denver is crumbling—tower by tower, loan by loan. What was once a gleaming symbol of the Rocky Mountain economic boom has turned into a battlefield of delinquent debt and desperate sales. Nearly 30% of office-tied commercial mortgages across the metro are now delinquent, making Denver the third-worst performing office market in the nation, trailing only behind San Francisco and Houston. But this isn’t just a temporary slump—it’s a full-scale unraveling. The dominoes are falling faster than ever. From the iconic Wells Fargo Center, immortalized in the Denver Nuggets skyline, to Republic Plaza, the city’s tallest building, lenders are no longer waiting for a rebound. They’re seizing properties, appointing receivers, and forcing distressed owners to abandon ship. It’s not just vacancy—it’s value vaporization. Towers that fetched hundreds of millions just a few years ago are now barely worth a few million dollars. Investor sentiment has shifted from patient optimism to cold surrender. “We have a lot of 1980s high-rise towers that are mostly vacant,” admitted Amy Aldridge of Tributary Real Estate. “People want to come back to the office, but they don’t want to come back to the 1980s office.” The death of Denver’s outdated office stock has begun. For real estate investors, this isn’t just another cycle—it’s a once-in-a-generation shockwave of wealth transfer. But with blood in the water, will they survive the chaos or capitalize on the carnage? Let’s go deeper. Discounted to Death: Skyscrapers for Pennies on the Dollar Downtown Denver’s towers aren’t just distressed—they’re being fire-sold for prices that would make 2008 blush. In a surreal twist that feels more like a liquidation auction than a metropolitan investment market, massive office complexes once valued in the hundreds of millions are selling for less than 2% of their former worth. These aren’t fringe properties on the city’s edge—these are skyscrapers in the heart of downtown. Case in point: Colorado Plaza Tower I and Tower II, with a combined footprint of 1.14 million square feet, were purchased for just $3.2 million. That’s a shocking 98% discount from their $200 million valuation in 2019. For perspective, that’s $3.30 per square foot in a market where office rents average $41.87 per square foot. Other bloodletting sales include: Hudson’s Bay Centre: Sold for $8.95 million, down from $41.5 million in 2014, an 80% haircut. Lincoln Crossing: Dumped for $10 million, a 90% drop from the 2018 price. Wells Fargo Center: In receivership after defaulting on a $327 million loan. And it’s not just the price tags that are plummeting, equity is being wiped out, leaving owners with nothing but the debt they can’t repay. Even buildings still technically in the black are under quiet distress, with modified loan terms, silent defaults, and lenders playing the “extend and pretend” game just to delay the inevitable. Here’s how the financial carnage looks:

Building Previous Value Sale Price % Discount Status Colorado Plaza Towers I & II $200M $3.2M 98% Sold (conversion planned) Hudson’s Bay Centre $41.5M $8.95M 78% Sold (distressed) Lincoln Crossing $100M+ $10M 90% Sold (distressed) Wells Fargo Center $327M debt N/A N/A In receivership For veteran investors, these prices are either a siren song or a death knell. Are these skyscrapers bargains, or ticking financial time bombs? One thing is clear: the scale of these discounts is more than historic, it’s a once-in-a-century signal that Denver’s commercial core has collapsed in plain sight. And this is just the beginning. The biggest deals are still hiding in the shadows. Zombie Buildings and the “Receivership Shuffle” Denver’s downtown is crawling with zombie towers—soulless shells too broke to function and too expensive to fix. These once-prized properties now sit in purgatory, neither dead nor alive, as lenders scramble to recover what little value remains. At least a third of Denver’s 105 largest office buildings (each over 100,000 square feet) are in some form of extreme financial distress, including: Loan defaults Court-ordered receiverships Outright foreclosures Voluntary ownership surrenders Distressed sales at catastrophic discounts This isn’t just a market correction, it’s a massive asset wipeout happening in slow motion. The infamous Wells Fargo Center, also known as the “Cash Register Building,” is under receivership after Brookfield defaulted on a $327 million loan. Republic Plaza, Denver’s tallest building, narrowly avoided foreclosure by renegotiating $134 million in debt. Meanwhile, lenders are installing third-party managers to stabilize properties and prepare them for auction, repurposing, or demolition. The cycle of distress looks like this: Owner defaults on commercial loan Lender appoints receiver to take control of operations Vacancy soars, and income disappears Asset value plummets Fire sale or foreclosure follows Denver’s downtown core, particularly Upper Downtown, is the epicenter of this collapse. The zone from Lawrence to Lincoln Street and 14th to 20th Street is now known as the “Foreclosure Belt of the Rockies." These aren’t obscure properties. The walking wounded include: Civic Center Plaza (1560 Broadway): Ownership returned to lender Denver Energy Center (1625 & 1675 Broadway): Seized by JPMorgan Chase Trinity Place (1801 Broadway): Claimed at auction by LoanCore Capital 1670 Broadway: Under third-party management after October default 1999 Broadway: Facing potential 70% vacancy if IRS pulls out To make matters worse, federal agencies—once considered ironclad tenants—are fleeing. The Department of Government Efficiency is slashing leases, and the IRS is eyeing a mass exit, gutting an already fragile leasing environment. And just when landlords thought things couldn’t get worse, Elevance Health (formerly Anthem) dealt a deathblow to 700 Broadway, vacating over 258,000 square feet and taking a stable 4.7% vacancy rate to a staggering 60% overnight. Denver’s skyline isn’t just distressed—it’s actively decaying. Investors who don’t understand the “receivership shuffle” may step into a deal that drains them dry before delivering any return. The stakes are sky-high, and the vultures are circling. Investor Warzone or Goldmine? The Redevelopment Gamble Denver’s broken towers may be bleeding capital, but they’re not dead yet. For the bold, they might be the greatest real estate arbitrage opportunity of the decade. Amid this brutal downtown collapse, a quiet renaissance is being whispered behind the scenes: office-to-residential conversions. Developers and deep-pocketed investors are pouncing on the chaos, buying skyscrapers for pennies, then sinking tens of millions into massive renovations, hoping to resurrect them as upscale apartments or mixed-use hubs. The Colorado Plaza Towers I & II are ground zero for this strategy. Acquired for a jaw-dropping $3.

2 million, Los Angeles developer Asher Luzzatto plans to spend $150 million to $200 million transforming the vacant giants into 700+ residential units. It’s the ultimate distressed play: buy the shell for nothing, inject capital, and rebirth the building as a luxury cash-flow machine. But there’s a catch. These buildings weren’t designed for housing. Many were built in the 1950s to 1980s, with deep floor plates, obsolete mechanical systems, and layouts that don’t naturally fit apartments. Add in asbestos remediation, ground leases, and elevator retrofits, and the costs can explode before a single rent check rolls in. Still, the math could work—especially with the steep discounts. Consider: Current residential vacancy in desirable downtown districts remains far lower than office. Rents for upscale urban apartments in Denver continue to outperform aging commercial leases. City officials are actively incentivizing conversions with fast-track approvals and zoning flexibility. With property tax assessments based on residential rates, annual liabilities plummet compared to office use. Here’s the punchline: A healthy office tower generates 4x the property taxes of a residential one. If you bought it at a 98% discount? That tax savings becomes part of your margin. However, success isn’t guaranteed. These conversion plays require: Massive upfront capital Navigating permitting minefields Winning zoning variances Long holding periods before profitability This isn’t a quick flip. It’s a war of attrition, and only the best-capitalized, most patient players will survive. Still, if pulled off, the return on investment could be staggering. Turning Denver’s dead towers into residential gold may become the city’s most dramatic real estate comeback story ever. But only if the visionaries can outlast the chaos. Strategic Entry Points for RE Investors Right Now While institutional giants retreat, private investors have a rare window to seize Denver’s fractured skyline if they know where to strike. This is no time for hesitation. As traditional lenders pull back and national firms offload properties in desperation, nimble investors can wedge themselves into deals once thought untouchable. The barriers are down. The doors are open. The distressed Denver office market has become a target-rich environment for those who move fast. Here’s where savvy real estate investors are making their plays: Joint Ventures with Debt Holders: Private lenders and distressed debt funds are hunting for partners to help stabilize or reposition troubled assets. JV structures allow smaller investors to gain equity access without full capital exposure. Seller Financing Fire Sales: Owners teetering on default may finance a sale just to walk away clean, allowing investors to step in with minimal upfront cash, especially attractive for value-add specialists. Ground Lease Leverage: Some towers, like Colorado Plaza, are on ground leases. While often seen as a complication, these leases can be negotiated or extended, letting investors buy buildings cheap and defer full land costs. Syndicated Capital Raises: With 80%–90% discounts becoming the norm, syndicators are assembling capital quickly to scoop up buildings in bulk. This group investment model is drawing accredited investors eager for outsized upside in a high-risk market. Opportunity Zones & Federal Incentives: Certain sectors of downtown Denver fall within designated Opportunity Zones, creating tax deferral and elimination potential for long-term investors pursuing redevelopment. Watch Zones: Not all of Denver is collapsing. The sharpest divide is forming between zones: Market Zone Status Upper Downtown Collapse underway Skyline Park Corridor High distress, high upside Union Station District Stable and in demand Central Platte Valley Modern, partially leased Cherry Creek & RiNo Top-tier tenant migration   Pro tip: Investors should avoid outdated Class B/C towers unless they come with either deep discounts or strong conversion potential.

Focus instead on buildings with structure, location, and zoning flexibility, even if partially distressed. In short, Denver’s downtown disaster is now a developer’s dream and an investor’s litmus test. The deals are there, but only for those who know where to look, how to negotiate, and when to pounce. This isn’t just about timing the market, it’s about timing the implosion. Caution Ahead: Why Not All Distressed Assets Are Hidden Treasures In Denver’s downtown bloodbath, not every fire sale is a fortune. Some deals are dressed-up disasters waiting to detonate your capital. Yes, the headlines are blaring about 98% discounts. But behind those numbers lie ticking time bombs: toxic financing, terminally outdated layouts, and mechanical systems older than the internet. If you think every distressed tower is a hidden gem, think again—some of these buildings are unsalvageable money pits. Before you sink a dollar into Denver’s downtown, consider the real risks lurking beneath the surface: Outdated Infrastructure: Many of the worst-hit towers were built in the 1950s–1980s. Think lead pipes, low ceilings, inefficient HVAC systems, and asbestos in the walls. Retrofits cost millions—sometimes more than the building itself. Unfavorable Ground Leases: Several properties sit on land the buyer doesn’t own. Ground leases can be expensive, expiring, or non-renegotiable, strangling future ROI and complicating financing options. Zombie Tenancy and Leasing Black Holes: Buildings advertising “only 30% vacancy” may have ghost tenants—businesses that exist on paper but haven’t paid rent in months. Or leases that expire within a year with no renewals in sight. Lender-Controlled Death Spirals: Many distressed towers are under special servicing, receivership, or foreclosure, which means navigating multiple parties, legal red tape, and uncertain timelines. You could spend months bidding on a property only for the lender to yank it off the market at the last minute. Use Restrictions and Zoning Limits: Denver may be open to residential conversions, but not every building qualifies. Zoning overlays, height restrictions, historic designations, and structural limitations can kill a conversion plan before it starts. Skyrocketing Conversion Costs: What starts as a $10M steal could end up a $75M headache. Between permitting delays, structural retrofits, union labor costs, and inflation, many redevelopment projects are blown off course before lease-up. Investors chasing the siren song of downtown Denver must learn to differentiate between value and vacancy. There’s a difference between buying low and buying doomed. This market demands due diligence like never before. That means: Walking every property Inspecting every mechanical system Confirming lease status and zoning classifications Modeling worst-case scenarios, not just pro forma dreams Because in Denver’s crumbling core, the greatest fortunes and the greatest failures will be built on the same broken towers. The difference? Who knew what they were really buying? The City’s Future—and Your Window of Opportunity Denver isn’t dying—it’s transforming. But the path forward will be brutal, political, and wildly profitable for the right investors. Behind the boarded-up doors and half-empty high-rises, a new Denver is already beginning to take shape. The city's leadership knows its commercial tax base is collapsing—and with it, the revenue that funds everything from schools to sidewalks. This fiscal squeeze is forcing policymakers to embrace redevelopment and incentivize conversions like never before. According to Denver County Assessor Keith Erffmeyer, the last two-year assessment cycle saw a 25% drop in downtown commercial property values. That number is expected to plunge even further now that deeply distressed sales, some at 90%+ discounts, have begun flooding the books. Here’s the financial fallout: Office-to-residential conversions slash tax revenue. Thanks to Colorado’s

lower residential assessment rate, a converted tower will generate only one-quarter the property taxes of a stabilized office building. Sales and employment taxes vanish. Empty buildings mean no workers, no coffee shop sales, no lunch rush, no dry cleaners, no retail. This ripple effect devastates nearby businesses and erodes Denver’s long-term economic base. Yet… there’s hope. The city has no choice but to rebuild, rezone, and reinvest. Here’s what that means for real estate investors: Zoning Flexibility Is Expanding. Denver planners are under pressure to loosen restrictions to make conversion projects pencil out. New Resident Influx = Long-Term Stability. Every successful tower-to-apartment flip brings hundreds of new residents downtown, fueling demand for retail, amenities, and services. Public-Private Partnerships Are on the Rise. Expect tax incentives, grants, and development subsidies to flow toward those willing to bet big on downtown. This isn’t just a real estate cycle, it’s a civic identity crisis. And it’s one that creative, well-capitalized investors can help solve. You’re not just buying a broken building, you’re buying a stake in Denver’s comeback. The future of Denver’s downtown will be decided not by the city’s bureaucrats, but by the builders, buyers, and visionaries who step in during the chaos. The window is narrow. The stakes are sky-high. And your opportunity is now. Assessment Denver’s downtown skyline is no longer a symbol of growth—it’s a flashing red warning light for cities across America. What we’re witnessing isn’t just a collapse in property values. It’s a violent rebalancing of urban priorities, investor expectations, and commercial real estate fundamentals. For real estate investors, this is a moment of brutal clarity: The rules have changed. The math has changed. But the opportunity has never been greater. Yes, the risks are real: obsolete infrastructure, tenant flight, political uncertainty, and razor-thin margins on conversions. But in every great collapse lies the seed of reinvention. Investors who understand that timing, creativity, and grit now outweigh square footage and prestige will be the ones to reshape Denver and profit from its rebirth. Whether you’re scouting bulk office buys at 10 cents on the dollar, assembling capital for adaptive reuse, or locking in land deals before the next upcycle hits, the battlefield is set. The question is no longer if Denver will recover. It’s who will own it when it does.

[merry-band-of-misfits]

Session 0: Into the Mists...

We went over house rules, limits, made sure character sheets were done. Had a little chat and bonded a bit.

We had chosen which hook we were using ahead of time.

Blue (Deianira's player) is our note taker so she is the one you must all thank for the detail in these entries.

The game opens on four figures around an open fire in a tent. Two of the figures, a striking tiefling woman named Deianira,

(Art by Blue)

and a seemingly innocent halfing lady Nettie

were sent to this very camp to get rid of the strange magical folk that were disturbing the peace on her lands.

The rest is in the words of Blue, our dear notetaker (with some details added by me):

Deianira and Nettie meet at the house of the Duchess of Daggerford, who offers us a job. For coin, get rid of strange, magical folk camping on her lands, disturbing the peace. 

The people at the camp seem friendly enough, and we’re welcomed warmly. There’s a sharply dressed man in purple with sharper eyes. He assures us we don’t need to be enemies. 

N: “Well, we’re kind of being paid to be your enemies, so...” 

The man invites us to join him by the fire and introduce ourselves. Bernette von Hitch, but most call her Nettie, it’s easier. The man’s name is Arrigal. He introduces us to his nephew, Nicolai. 

Nicolai

Nettie asks what they do. They travel, sell their wares. Arrigal offers us drinks. Dei asks what the catch is; He simply asks that we join him by the fire, and listen to their stories. 

Arrigal tells us of an ancient land whose name is long forgotten. One night, a wounded soldier stumbled into their camp and collapsed. The Vistani tended to him. The man refused to share his name-- all he wanted was to return home. But they were deep in the land of his enemies. The Vistani escorted him home, and they fought alongside eachother. When at last the man was safely home, he made a promise to the Vistani. (The tale is told with illusion in the flame) When the tale is concluded, Arrigal smiles sadly, and swishes his glass. The prince has since turned into a tyrant. Their people alone can travel his lands. They’ve been searching for a group of heroes to save his heart from darkness. But who believes in heroes, really? 

Nettie says she’s no hero. Dei agrees, but notes it’s an interesting tale. She swirls her drink pensively-- and she has been drinking. She asks questions, confirming that only their people may pass through the land. That none may follow unless they will it. She remarks they’re an interesting people, and she may take them up on their offer to travel with them, to this new land-- She’s been in this city for too long, anyway. 

“I have a question, if I may ask.” “Oh, you may ask.” Arrigal asks if she has a connection to the dead. There’s a lot of darkness about her. Dei replies vaguely that death touches everyone one day. She notes he has an eye for darkness, then. He says he prefers the shadow. 

Nettie finally starts telling a story about a cow. “There’s more where that came from.” For a price, of course. Arrigal is impressed by her grift. He keeps calling her “young lady” and Nettie reminds him, again, that she’s much older than him. “You look considerably younger than your age.” “Flattery won’t get you a discount.” 

Arrigal urges Nicolai to share a story, then Dei. Dei points out that she was promised drinks and entertainment. 

Nettie: “I want to receive what I am owed!” Nicolai: “Then you shall receive nothing.” 

Nicolai: “Uncle, I think these people are bigger scammers than us.” 

Before they rest for the night, Nettie crawls into Dei’s tent. She finds her half-heartedly making the preparations for an Alarm spell, clearly tired, having drunk perhaps more than she should have, given the circumstances. I also learn here that Nettie is, in fact, 3’ tall, and Dei is not having a seizure. Nettie tells her that she doesn’t trust these people one lick. Dei feels the same, but alas, it’s a long walk back to Daggerford. “I need to play up the stupid.” “I didn’t think that was possible, but if you manage it, I will be quite impressed.” “That was very cruel.” “I will get even meaner if I’m kept up any later than this.” Nettie warns her not to come crawling to her when she wakes up to a knife in her throat. Dei says she’d like to see them try. But if Nettie is frightened, she may stay in her tent for the night. [she pats the foot of her bedroll, as one would coax a dog] Nettie lays down just to spite her. 

Dei, eye twitching: “Well, I did offer.” 

Come morning, the caw of crows can be heard outside of the tent, and little else. Nicolai exits his tent to find it’s just him and the strangers. Nettie wakes Dei, and as they exit the tents, they vanish, astray in the mist. 

Paladin!!! Sigvat. He finds us outside of a grand mansion. He grumbles about us being fools. There’s a brief introduction. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to set this fool on fire, Dei?” “It is becoming increasingly tempting.” Nettie directs Nicolai to slow down and explain. 

We’re in Barovia! A pocket-plane. It has a unique characteristic where, as you get close to the borders, the mists envelop you. They sometimes whisk people away in the middle of the night. Not usually Vistani, however. But he seems to be taking things in stride. 

“So how do we leave?” Nettie asks. Nicolai reminds us of the story, of the lord. His name is Strahd von Zarovich. He’s a vampire. And it’s kind of a secret, but Nicolai wants to kill him. 

Sig, through gritted teeth: “A noble goal to have.” “Oh, don’t strain yourself trying to complement me.” 

He apologises for misleading us. There was more that he couldn’t disclose, in his uncle’s presence. Hmm. Likely because his uncle is a fan of Strahd (according to Sig). He needs help slaying this vampire. 

And then he decides to investigate the creepy house! Since the mists led us here. 

“What do you think, Dei?” Nettie turns to her. “I think that we should not be letting this fool take the lead.” She goes to follow. 

Sig uses Divine Sense. 

There is a portrait in the main hall. Nicolai steps up to examine it. A woman with long, orange hair. Dorianna. Daughter, beloved. 

“I can’t help but to feel that we’re being rather led along by the nose, here,” Dei muses as she looks around. The others agree; But there is only one way forward. “Best to take initiative, then.” 

Nicolai holds the door open. “After you, ladies.” D: “Oh, now playing the gentleman, are you?” “I am always playing the gentleman!” Nettie: “Playing being the key word.” 

Sig points out the morbid engravings on the walls. Typical Barovia. Dei leans in, squints, and her lip curls in disgust. “Inspired.” 

Through the door to the south we find a sitting room. The cat we’d seen from outside watches us cautiously. “Oh, what is your story, little fellow?” Nicolai coos. He uses Speak With Animals, which he can cast at-will. Hmmm. Again not beating the Vistani are Fey allegations. The cat tells him it’s trapped. Nicolai points out that the front door is unlocked. The cat tells us that the house will not let us leave. 

On cue, we hear the doors slam shut. Dei immediately whips to Nicolai accusingly, and asks what he did. He defends himself, nothing! It’s just the cat told him we cannot leave. Yay. 

And no, the cat does not want to be pet. 

Rolling her eyes, Dei stomps back to the front doors and tries it. Locked. As she passes Nettie again, she asks what she was thinking. Dei asserts that she was *told* they could not leave, but she’ll not be taking anything at its word in this place, thank you. Sig points out it could’ve very well been bandits pretending this is a haunted house. Putting on airs. He’s seen it before. “You are a very troubled man.” “Oh, you have no idea.” 

Nicolai: “Do any of you happen to carry thieves tools?” Dei: “You don’t? Surprising.” “I know, right?” LOL i love this guy

Sig starts rambling about the wolf taxidermies coming to life. Nettie closes the door on him. Queen. They manage to break into the cabinet and find a store of equipment. Sig calls out through the door, “Do any of you ladies like crossbows?” Nettie; “Depends on how big it is!” 

The two men finish searching the room. The cat has taken to sitting on Sig’s shoulder. Past a door to the north is a clattering and soft sobbing, the voice of a young boy. Upon hearing this, Sig opens the door and steps through. 

As soon as he steps inside, he’s hit with the scent of old, dusty food. He sees a small child in the corner clutching a small, “deranged” plushie lol. With all six feet of Sig filling the door, the boy cowers, and begs not to be hurt. Immediately, Sig shrinks into himself, and takes a knee. He attempts to comfort the boy. He explains our situation and asks if the boy is also trapped. “The monster won’t let us leave.” He assures the boy that he’s strong, he can handle the monster. 

Nicolai slips in and introduces himself. Who are we? We’re the heroes of the realm, of course! Sig is just shy. 

Nicolai attempts to coax the boy from the larder, promising that “We have two more lovely ladies who are just as nice and are just as eager to meet you!” (lollll) Sig assures him that if he’s feeling unsafe, he can remain here, however. The young boy asks for uppies and the two emerge with him in Sig’s arms. 

“Who is this, then? The young master of the house?” Dei eyes the young boy. His clothing is similar to the portraits in the hall. His facial features bear some resemblance; He’s probably related to them. The boy introduces himself as Thorn. He asks who we are. Dei tells him we’re guests and apologizes for the uninvited entry. Apparently, according to the boy, we’re not the first to visit; Others have been lured in by the “monster” before and killed. Nettie: “Yet another thing I’m glad to be hearing for the first time!” 

His mother enjoys “occult stuff”. “Does she?” Dei asks, archly. She states they’ve business with the lord and lady of the house and asks where, exactly, his parents are. Gone. Perhaps taken by the monster. His sister, Rose, is upstairs. He’s frightened and begins to cry. 

Dei tells him to keep his chin up; In his parent’s absence, he is the master of the house, and we’ll need him to take us to his sister. He asks if he’s strong enough to do something like that. Sig encourages him. Thorn tells us where to find his sister and also tells us about a can of preserved peaches in the kitchen. His treasure. He wants us to have them. Sig suggests we could all share them once the monster is dead. Dei exclaims that a banquet is an *excellent* suggestion and commends Thorn for “his” idea. The boy, emboldened, prepares to lead us upstairs. 

And we end here! 

Nettie 3’5, 3’6 on her tiptoes, bright hazelnut auburn hair, always wears a mischievous expression, huge sword on her back but it doesn’t seem to have any weight to it, pale skin, she hasn’t eaten yet, tattoo on her neck of two dots that are connected. Oh she’s definitely a dhampir lol

-Willow and Blue

[thatdebaterguy]

Deeply interesting that you critique others for not providing sources whilst rarely doing so yourself. Also interesting how you point fingers saying "that's an unsubstantiated claim!!!" at others whilst claiming everything, everyone anywhere in Palestine is Hamas if its convenient for your narrative.

You're rotting yourself to the core with your hatred. History will remember you unfavourably. The children of Palestine are the children of us all. Cutting down the flowers will not prevent spring's arrival.

I understand sounding intelligent is deeply important to you, but do you truly feel nothing seeing the battered bodies of children? The suffering that's on display for all of us - do you have anything to say apart from "but hhhhhhhamas". Is there anything left of you?

Rotting to the core? I can go about my day quite happily without suddenly collapsing at the thought of terrorists. And have you listened to a word I've said? Countless times I've said I hold sympathy for those on both sides who've suffered unfairly at the hands of old men, extremists and politicians waging their board game wars. Nowhere have I said everything in Palestine is Hamas, nowhere have I said everything everywhere is wrong apart from if it's on my side of the fence, I've critiqued Netanyahu, I've agreed that some Israeli soldiers have done horrible things, but you've got to look at the facts, Hamas employ civilians, use civilians, have a membership that takes up what could be around 5% of all Gazans, with affiliates of an unknown number, they had 10% of a global aid charity aiding them in various means, from hiding terrorists, plotting October 7th and holding hostages. I have zero sympathy for anyone who does as little as give Hamas discounts on fruit. They've slaughtered thousands for the smallest things over decades. This is just as I have no sympathy for Israeli soldiers who shoot civilians like target practice, but you have to make the distinction that, the IDF as a vast majority operates as a national military defence, whereas Hamas are openly terrorists who want the death of every Israeli. You can't say that for every member of the IDF. Actions will usually speak louder than words, but since Hamas fortunately aren't capable of eradicating Israel, hearing them say over and over how they'd massacre every Jew living peacefully in their homeland, it speaks volumes.