#and you assume some generous efficiency numbers

[random2908]

Frustrating when a VC-funded company gets credit for being the "first" and the "leader," when they had a sub-component demo the same week we had a full-system demo. Like, we are easily 5-10 years ahead of them, it's ridiculous; their approach isn't even yet proven to work. But they get science youtubers talking about them.

Because they're VC-funded, they have a marketing/press department.

And because we're an employee-owned company working off of government contracts, well, most government contracts get slapped with an ITAR label (an old Cold-War-era law saying basically sharing scientific information counts as illegally selling arms/munitions). So if you want to publicize your work, including your company's products, you have to appeal that label. (Universities have specifically negotiated a blanket exemption, so if you spend your whole life in academic science you might never even know about this.)

(My previous employer filed those appeals several times a year in order to do press releases and publish journal articles and apply for patents. I think every single information-release appeal they filed went through, because there's no reason any of this stuff should be labeled as arms--it's literally the same stuff universities are doing. My current employer is afraid to, which I think is wrong-headed; at worst they'll just say no, and anyway, our non-restricted competitors are giving fucking lab tours to youtubers.)

[diamonddaze01]

WHAT'S UP, DANGER?

ᯓ★PAIRING: williams driver! hansol x aerodynamics engineer! reader | ᯓ★WC: 4.1K ᯓ★GENRE: pure fluff ᯓ★RECOMMENDED LISTENING: what’s up danger, blackway & black caviar → the song williams revealed their 2025 car to! ᯓ★A/N:  purely self-indulgent, based on a conversation i had with @ylangelegy about williams!hansol. // williams looks so strong this year and it’s all because alex albon worked for YEARS to help design this car // side note: i literally pulled out all my old meche and aerodynamics notes to write this. its most definitely inaccurate. oh well

read the rest of the pedal to the metal universe here!

ᯓ★SUMMARY: There were a million things you expected on your first day at Williams, but a driver waiting for you at your desk with a napkin sketch in hand was not one of them.

60 DAYS UNTIL PRE-SEASON TESTING

There were a million things you expected on your first day at Williams, but a driver waiting for you at your desk with a napkin sketch in hand was not one of them.

You barely had time to settle in before a figure appeared at your side. His presence is immediate—Hansol, the team’s lead driver, standing in the doorway like he owns the place.

“Chwe, leave the engineers alone,” a voice calls out from the back. You don’t even need to look up to know it’s your boss, his tone dripping with exasperation. But Hansol doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break his quiet focus. He stands still, arms folded, and waits.

“Got ideas,” he says, like that’s enough. His voice, typically cool and calculated on the track, now carries an edge of something more… urgent.

Your fingers hover over the crumpled napkin he slides across your desk, its surface marked with grease stains and ink smudges. The edges are folded in on themselves, like it’s been stuffed in a pocket a little too long.

You glance up at him. “Do you have an engineering degree?”

“No,” he says, flat. “But I drive the damn car.”

You lean back in your chair, eyeing him carefully. “That doesn’t mean you know how to fix it.”

His eyes narrow, the slightest shift in his posture. “It does mean I know when something’s wrong.”

It’s a challenge.

You pull the napkin toward you, smoothing out the folds, your fingers tracing the lines. The sketch is rough—an almost-doodle—but there’s something in it, a fragment of an idea that, for some reason, makes sense.

“…This is wrong,” you say, tapping a section.

Hansol’s mouth twitches—not quite a smirk, but close. “Prove it.”

And just like that, the war begins.

You don’t back down. You’ve barely settled into your desk, haven’t even finished setting up your workspace, but if this is how things are going to be, so be it. You’re not here to entertain half-baked theories from a driver who thinks seat time makes him an aerodynamicist.

Still, the sketch isn’t complete nonsense. That’s what annoys you the most. The concepts are crude, the numbers nonexistent, but the logic? It’s almost there.

Hansol watches as you grab a pen, flipping open your notebook. “This,” you say, underlining a section, “assumes we’re generating enough downforce at high speed to compensate for the drag penalty.” You tap the napkin. “We’re not.”

For a moment, his expression doesn’t change. But the slight twitch of his mouth, the faintest upward curve, almost imperceptible, is enough to tell you you’re not wrong.

“But what if we could?”

You blink, taken aback by the suggestion.

“Explain,” you murmur, leaning forward.

He steps closer, voice calm but his gaze steady, never leaving you. “I think the lack of load distribution on the floor is messing with stability in high-speed corners. The balance shifts mid-corner—if we get better floor efficiency, we wouldn’t have to compensate so much with the front wing.”

You stare at him. For a driver, he’s making too much sense.

“This is aerodynamics,” you say, finally.

He exhales, almost a sigh, like the answer was obvious all along. “It’s not just a drag issue. It’s an efficiency issue.”

It’s a simple observation. And yet, you know that if you’d said it first, it wouldn’t have sounded nearly as clear.

“Alright,” you say, more to yourself than him, already calculating the possibilities in your head. “I’ll look into it.”

His lips twitch again—there’s something almost amused in it. “Good.”

And then, just like that, he’s gone. The space around you seems to breathe again, the hum of the garage filling the silence. You can’t help but shake your head, a small, disbelieving smile tugging at your lips.

37 DAYS UNTIL PRESEASON TESTING

The simulation runs in loops, numbers flashing across the screen like the world’s most unforgiving clock.

You watch Hansol’s inputs on the virtual track, tracing the movements of the car, every corner, every adjustment, the feedback looping with a precision that almost makes you forget you’re still inside the factory. His movements are sharp, calculated, but something feels off. You can see it immediately—the way the car’s drifting in the corners, the faint shift of the rear end when he throttles too early. It’s all there, hidden beneath the data.

The feedback’s not right. The car’s too unstable in the high-speed sections, and his hands aren’t the problem. The numbers don’t lie: the aerodynamics are throwing everything off. He’s fighting the car, and it’s costing him time in places he can’t afford.

“God, you’re pushing too hard,” you mutter, eyes glued to the screen. You zoom in on the telemetry, tracing the spikes and dips in the graph. A flick of a button and the frame pauses. You scan it again. You can practically feel the instability—every oversteer, every correction. The car’s not talking to him the way it should.

You’re still caught up in the data when you hear him, a shadow falling across the room. His footsteps are silent against the concrete.

“Pushing too hard in Sector 2,” you mutter, your eyes never leaving the screen. The telemetry data’s sharp, slicing through the silence. It tells you everything you need to know.

Hansol leans against the monitors, still in his race suit, his helmet dangling loosely from his hand. His eyes never leave you. You can feel the weight of his gaze, a quiet intensity that somehow fills every corner of the room. The corners of his mouth twitch, just barely, like he’s fighting a grin. “That’s the sector where I have to push.”

You let the data flicker again, deliberately slow, as if it might make him see the picture you’re painting in silence. Then you turn to face him. Arms crossed, you meet his eyes head-on, letting the pause stretch for just a beat too long. “Not if the car’s unstable.” You watch his reaction closely—does he get it? Does he feel it, too? “You’re losing time because you’re fighting it.”

He doesn’t say anything for a beat. His eyes drop to the numbers, just for a moment, almost like he’s seeing the simulation for the first time, letting the feedback hit him in a way he hasn’t. It’s like he’s looking for that one elusive piece of the puzzle, the thing you both know is there, but neither of you can quite name yet.

Then he speaks, voice low. “So fix it.”

You exhale slowly, the weight of all the late nights, the endless back-and-forths, the simulations, the math, the wind tunnels. It’s been weeks of this. Not just him—you, too. But when he speaks like that, like it’s simple, like all the parts of this fragile, complicated machine are just waiting for someone to press the right button, you feel a flicker of frustration. Maybe it’s just the exhaustion of being so close and yet so far.

You spin around to face the whiteboard, your fingers digging into the edge. “We’re trying something new in the wind tunnels. If I’m right, it should stabilize corner entry.” The words come out quicker than you intended, like you’re trying to beat the clock, trying to force the car to understand what it should be doing.

His gaze shifts from you to the whiteboard, then back to your face, cool and unwavering. “If you’re wrong?”

You can almost hear the smile in his voice, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him yet. Instead, you tap the edge of the table, focusing on the data again, the swirl of numbers almost a distraction. “Then you owe me drinks.”

There’s a beat of silence, but you can feel him. You can feel the air shift with his grin, the quiet twitch of his lips. “I feel like that should be the other way around.”

“Too late.” Your tone is final, and you turn back to face him, finally meeting his eyes. There’s something in them, something that says this isn’t over. It’s never over between you two—not really.

His lips curl into a half-smirk, but it’s fleeting. Then, with one last glance at the screens, he pushes himself off the desk, straightening up in a way that somehow makes him seem taller, broader, even more imposing. “We’ll see.”

And just like that, he’s gone—his footsteps fading into the hum of the garage, leaving behind only the faint echo of his presence.

For a long moment, you’re left alone with the buzzing of your thoughts, the unrelenting tick of the clock, and the quiet hum of anticipation that still lingers in the air. 

His challenge hangs there, like a dare. 

Fix it.

23 DAYS UNTIL PRESEASON TESTING

The hum of the factory feels too quiet now that the team’s gone home. The last of the lights flicker in the hallway outside your office, and even the sound of the ventilation seems muted, like the whole building’s winding down for the night. Except you’re still here, hunched over your desk, staring at a CAD model that’s starting to blur. The screens in front of you are all you can see—numbers, lines, angles, just another late-night grind that hasn’t gone right.

You’re on your third cup of coffee, trying to ignore the tickle at the back of your eyes, the pull of exhaustion you know will hit hard in a few hours. But there’s something—something that’s not clicking with the design. You can feel it, a faint tug in your gut like a thread you can’t quite pull.

The soft chime of the door makes you pause, just long enough to listen. Someone’s here.

You don’t need to look up.

“Thought you’d still be here.”

His voice slides through the air, casual but unmistakable, and you glance up for a fraction of a second, catching Hansol in the doorway. He’s holding a bag in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his jacket. His eyes are already on you, the same quiet intensity, but there’s something else there now—like a challenge you don’t quite understand.

You raise an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting some rest?”

He shrugs, stepping into the room with the same slow, deliberate stride that’s always made you notice him, even if you pretend you don’t. His gaze flickers over the CAD models still open on your screen, the complex curves of the car’s floor design stretched out in digital space.

“Can’t sleep.” He pauses for a beat, his lips twitching just slightly. “Couldn’t help noticing you’re about two seconds away from crashing your computer.”

Your fingers hover over the mouse, stilling for a moment as you absorb the comment. You want to shoot back something sharp, something about not needing anyone’s help, but instead, you just lean back in your chair, eyes still on the screen. “I’m fine.”

He steps closer, that bag of food still in his hand. You hear the crinkle of paper, and then a faint, familiar scent hits your senses—something warm, comforting, like… your favorite late-night food. A small frown pulls at your lips. How did he know?

You look up this time, meeting his gaze fully. He’s standing there, holding the bag out to you like it's the most casual thing in the world, though there’s a flicker of something in his eyes you can’t place.

“You’re the only one in this building still awake,” he says, his voice low, like it’s a joke only he gets. “Figured you could use some actual food.”

Your stomach gives a small, almost imperceptible growl, and you curse yourself for it. He smirks, ever so slightly, like he’s enjoying it.

“I didn’t order—”

He cuts you off, tone almost teasing. “I know. I did.”

The bag smells of something rich, comforting, and you know exactly what it is before you even open it. You never told him you liked it. Never had to.

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking the bag from him, fingers brushing briefly against his. It’s a simple moment, one you could pretend didn’t mean anything—but it does.

He stands there for a second, watching you as you dig through the bag. His eyes don’t leave you, not for a second. There’s something unspoken hanging in the air, like the weight of the last few weeks suddenly becomes tangible.

“Don’t eat too fast,” he says, his tone careful now, like he’s trying to sound casual, but it isn’t. It’s not casual. He’s not casual.

You glance up at him, eyes narrowing in that way that says you’re trying to find the right words. “Why? Afraid I’ll choke?”

Hansol’s lips quirk up, just the smallest curve of a smile. “Not at all.” He shifts his weight, his gaze shifting just a fraction of a second before he looks at you again. “But if you crash, I’ll have to deal with your stubborn ass on the track tomorrow.”

The words hit you differently this time. You swallow a bite, the food almost tasteless for a moment as your pulse spikes, but you don’t let it show.

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. So you eat instead, letting the quiet hang between you like a conversation that never happened, or one that’s already been said too many times. The tension lingers in the space, unspoken and real, like a race about to start without either of you quite ready for the gunshot.

Hansol doesn’t move. He stays by the door, arms crossed now, watching you like he’s waiting for something. Or maybe just watching because it’s easier than saying what’s in his head.

After a long silence, he shifts on his feet, clearing his throat. “Well, I’m going to head out,” he says, but the words don’t quite match the way his eyes linger a moment longer than they should. “You’ve got things covered here, right?”

You glance up at him, meeting his gaze. For a heartbeat, the world stops moving. The air crackles, like it’s charged with something neither of you can quite place.

“Yeah,” you say, voice steady, “I’ve got it.”

He doesn’t nod, doesn’t say anything else. Just turns, walking out the door like he’s leaving, but in a way, you know he isn’t. Not really.

The door clicks shut behind him, and the quiet settles in again, but it’s different now.

12 DAYS UNTIL PRESEASON TESTING

It’s late (again), hours stretching into an endless hum of calculations and adjustments. You’ve got the CAD program open on the screen in front of you, the numbers and simulations blending together into an intricate mess of numbers that don’t quite line up the way you need them to. You’re getting close, but every time you adjust something, it seems to get worse.

Hansol is perched on the corner of the big oak conference table, legs swinging idly as he watches you. You don’t know when he’s been here for so long, but you’re too caught up in the data to care. The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the screen, and all you can focus on is the problem at hand.

You tap a few more keys and tweak the load distribution again. A faint furrow creases your brow. It’s not working. It’s not supposed to be this complicated.

“Have you considered adjusting the load distribution across the rear end in sector three?” His voice cuts through the silence, casual but pointed.

You blink, pausing mid-swipe. “What?”

“You’re carrying too much load through the rear tires. That’s why the car’s losing stability at entry.” He leans forward, resting his arms across his knees. “It’s not about the front oversteer. It’s about how the rear is reacting when you try to push through.”

You furrow your brow, trying to break it down in your head. You’ve been running numbers all night—all week—but this? This isn’t something you’ve even thought to look at. The rear distribution.

You swipe through the numbers, pulling up the load distribution graph again, zeroing in on sector three. Your finger taps against the screen, the familiar patterns of tire wear and load data flashing in front of you.

“Look,” Hansol continues, “in sector three, you’re bleeding too much load from the rear tires when you hit the apex. It’s causing them to slip earlier than expected, but the data just… doesn’t show it. The front’s fine, but the rear’s handling it all wrong.”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. You adjust a few parameters on the screen, pulling the load distribution slider across. You’re silent for a long stretch, watching the numbers shift, recalculating, mentally reviewing every twist in the data.

And then, it clicks.

The back end of the car is too soft, under-loaded during that critical entry phase. No one’s noticed because they’ve all been looking at the front tires—trying to balance the downforce and stabilize the load there—but the rear is what’s tipping it over the edge.

Your fingers fly across the keyboard, adjusting the balance, redistributing the force, smoothing the curves, and—there. The graph sharpens into place. The load is spread evenly now, the numbers lining up in a way that feels… right. The data shifts, the simulation running smoother.

You let out a yelp, loud enough that Hansol nearly falls off the edge of the table. He scrambles for a second, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?”

Before you can even think, you’re off your chair and lunging toward him, throwing your arms around his neck in an unexpected, victorious hug. You barely even register it happening. The relief, the rush, the moment where everything finally clicks.

“I got it,” you gasp into his shoulder, your voice almost too loud in the quiet room. It’s raw excitement, an emotion you didn’t even know you were holding in until now.

Hansol’s hands come up to steady you, instinctively wrapping around your waist. He’s still a little stunned, but the hint of a grin pulls at the corner of his lips. “You’re crazy,” he mutters, though there’s something almost amused in his voice. He doesn’t pull back, not immediately, even as you start to realize how much closer you are to him than usual.

You pull away, breath still coming in quick bursts, suddenly aware of the awkwardness of the moment. Your face heats up, your gaze flickering away from his. “Sorry,” you mumble, feeling ridiculously self-conscious now. “I—uh, I didn’t mean to—”

But Hansol doesn’t move away. Instead, his fingers brush against the skin under your eyes, where your bangs have fallen messily, and with a gentleness that catches you off guard, he sweeps them back. His thumb skims across your face, cool and soft. His gaze is steady, but his smile? It’s that damn knowing smirk.

“Well done,” he says, his voice quiet, but there’s a certain weight to it. “Now get some rest.”

You blink, a little dazed from everything—because somehow, in the span of a few seconds, it feels like something’s shifted.

But before you can figure out what to say, he pulls back just enough to head for the door, voice lingering in the space between you both. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t screw this up.”

And it’s teasing. It’s definitely teasing. But there’s something else there, too. Something you can’t quite name.

FORMULA 1 ARAMCO PRE-SEASON TESTING 2025 Track: Bahrain International Circuit

The heat wraps itself around everything, clinging to your skin like a second layer. You pay it no mind, too focused on the tablet in front of you and the way your pulse thunders in your throat. 

The first lap comes in. Solid. Not great, but solid. The engineers around you murmur, their eyes glued to their own screens, fingers moving with purpose. The air smells like oil and exhaust, the sound of tires skimming over tarmac cutting through the stillness.

The second lap is better. A little faster, a little smoother. You feel the shift, the subtle change in the rhythm. He’s finding it. But it’s the fourth lap that makes your heart skip.

By then, you’re leaning forward so far that your fingers are starting to cramp on your tablet. You can hear every breath you take, every soft click of your nails as you tap through the data. The sector times pop up, a blur of numbers that doesn’t make sense until you read it again. Purple. Purple. Purple.

The screen feels alive in your hands. The tires are biting, the engine roaring to life with a speed you didn’t expect to see today. Hansol’s pushing. Not just the car, but the limits of everything.

A small part of you wants to look away. It feels too much like waiting for a train to derail. You don’t, though. Your eyes stay glued to the screen, each new sector time only adding to the rush building in your chest. The screen flashes again, and your fingers go cold despite the heat around you.

FASTEST SPEED TRAP

The corners of your mouth pull into a triumphant smile without you even realizing it.

Hansol’s lap finishes, and the moment hangs for a beat longer than it should, the sound of the car coasting back to the pit lane filling the silence like a distant drumbeat. You hear him before you see him. The way his engine still hums in the pit lane, the roar of the crowd inside his head, even though the only sound that remains is the distant squeal of tires.

The garage doors roll up as the car pulls in, and when Hansol climbs out, his helmet comes off with the same easy grace he’s always had. His face is flushed, sweat dripping down his neck, but there’s something different about the way he moves. More electric. More alive.

He strides over to you without hesitation, his eyes already locked on yours, a grin spreading across his face. It’s not the usual cocky smile he pulls when he’s already feeling himself. This one’s satisfied, a little wicked, but mostly: I told you so.

You straighten up, trying to hide the way your chest tightens at the sight of him—his fireproofs clinging to his skin, droplets of sweat rolling down his neck in that way that makes you wonder if you’ve ever seen him before. Or if you’d been too busy pretending not to notice him.

He stops in front of you, and for a second, you don’t know what to say.

Then he breaks the silence. “The napkin never lies.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrays you. “Shut up, Hansol.” 

Your voice doesn’t match the words. It’s harder than you meant, quieter than you thought, but he just laughs, that low, breathless sound that cuts through the air with ease. It’s a laugh full of energy and sweat and something else you can’t quite place.

“I’ll let you make it up to me with drinks after,” he says, still catching his breath, chest rising and falling from the exertion, as if he hasn’t just shredded the track in a way you didn’t think was possible for him.

You squint at him, narrowing your eyes like you’re trying to figure out if he’s still teasing or if there’s something more hidden in his words. “Are you asking me out?” you ask, only half-joking.

For the first time today, he falters. Just the slightest hesitation. His eyes flicker away from you, then back again, like he’s unsure whether to give a response or not. He just shrugs, a small shrug, one that somehow feels like a challenge all on its own. “And if I am?”

A laugh nearly slips from your lips before you catch yourself. You could press him, make him answer, but instead, you gather your things in a motion that’s almost too casual to be believed.

“Took you long enough,” you reply, the words slipping out before you even process them.

He doesn’t say anything else, but his eyes linger on you for a beat longer than necessary. Then, without warning, he leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath against your ear.

“You’re buying the first round,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost intimate.

You freeze, the words sinking in a little too deep. When you turn to meet his eyes, there’s that same challenge, but with a quiet intensity that makes it impossible to look away.

“Count on it,” you reply, barely above a whisper, as he walks out. 

The moment hangs in the air long after he’s gone.

[janmisali]

the official jan Misali styleguide

so uh I decided to compile together a bunch of rules that I've come up with over the years for myself for how I write videos. this is not comprehensive and is unlikely to be genuinely useful to anyone (very few of these are things I'd consider to be "good advice" for anyone else who wants to make videos, they're mostly just how I personally do things), but here we go anyway!

text

text should be typeset in Noto Serif by default, using other fonts for their specific aesthetic effects on a case by case basis, always presented in contrast with Noto Serif

text should be white, on a black background, with keywords highlighted in teal (#008472)

text should use justified margins, unless this looks bad or is too hard to do with the specific program being used

the pronoun "I" should always be capitalized

proper names should usually be capitalized, but may be left in lowercase to convey a less formal tone when appropriate

the name "jan Misali" should be written with a lowercase "jan" and a capitalized "Misali", following toki pona capitalization conventions (and in general, all toki pona text should follow toki pona capitalization conventions, only capitalizing proper names)

brand names with irregular capitalization such as "YouTube" should always be in lowercase ("youtube") as a sign of disrespect

words may be capitalized for Emphasis, but this should be avoided sentence-initially

avoid capitalization for any other purpose (such as sentence capitalization or all caps) unless this is done to imitate a specific style meant to contrast with the default Misalian style

in addition to the aforementioned teal-coloring and capitalization, words may also be marked as emphasized using italics

these three styles of emphasis should be used for different purposes: teal for keywords (emphasis primarily to aid in reading), italics for spoken stress ("normal emphasis"), and capitalization for the Other Kind (meant to get the reader to slow down and pay attention to the Specific Wording of the emphasized section, but without drawing immediate visual attention to it in the way teal text does)

punctuation should only be used when it is strictly necessary for the text to be parsed or when it conveys meaningful information about how the text would be read out loud (the apostrophe does not count as punctuation for the purpose of this recommendation; it is included as part of the spelling of words it appears in)

the word "amateur" should be spelled "amature" without explanation

numbers should be written out in full as words, unless they're being used for alphanumeric codes, entries in a numbered list, years, or a video about math

text should be written word for word as it would be pronounced out loud, including filler words ("um"s and "like"s) and contractions, following the manner of speech outlined in the next section

narration

everything should be written in a formal but conversational tone, with hesitations, filler words, and stutters carefully inserted to make it sound less "written", as though the narration is one continuous unscripted infodump

however, nothing should ever genuinely be unscripted. everything should be phrased very carefully to convey information precisely and efficiently in a way that is easy to understand

there should be some sort of attempt to pronounce non-english words authentically, especially with proper names (unless there exists a common-enough anglicized pronunciation that you can be confident is more likely to be understood)

nothing should be written in a way that assumes that the audience knows less about the subject matter of the video than the narrator, except in very rare cases where this assumption is appropriate (such as when using an explicitly educational style, or when the subject is so niche that acting as though everyone already knows about it would be actively detrimental). information should always be presented as though it's a recap of common knowledge ("right?"), something that the narrator only learned relatively recently ("apparently"), or something that the narrator is unsure of ("I think")

jokes should never get "in the way" of the actual video. they should serve a purpose just like everything else. (the key question to keep in mind here is "if someone doesn't find this funny, what could they take away from it instead?". the answer should be something like "it would just be information presented in an unusual way" or "it would just be an awkward transition between two unrelated topics" or something. if the answer is "nothing, it would just be a joke they're not getting" then it had better be a really funny joke to justify its existence.)

calls to action should be avoided. the video should respect its audience members to make decisions for themselves, and only directly tell them what to do in exceptional circumstances

[weirdero]

So fucking excited for the next three episodes coming up just based of their titles

Episode 5, Trojan Horse,

Episode 6 Attila,

Episode 7 Chikhai Bardo

I’ve been thinking about what they might mean for the story, so I did a little dive into the titles, and honestly, this show is just top tier TV. It’s seriously gold.

we all know what a Trojan Horse is and what it represents YK harmless little thing that’s actually oh shit! a secretly trap or deception. I’m curious if this title points to a specific character or just the general theme of deception in the episode. I’m assuming it’ll likely tied to the Helena secret agent reveal, but thats just a guess

Now, Attila is the episode that has me the most hyped because I actually know who that is! Fir all I could know they are referring a different Attila or like a fancy chocolate brand but I doubt it

In very basic and simple terms, Attila the Hun was the leader of the Huns from 434 until his death in 453 AD. He wasn’t a leader in the stereotypical European king or Roman emperor way, but more like a war general and sovereign ruler to his people. That said, he did rule his people like any other king and was respected among his community as such. He is recognized as one of history’s most infamous conquerors, known for two major things: first, his ruthless military campaigns and borderline bloodlust behavior. The man did not play. Not only did he control a strong and loyal army with good numbers, but he was also a very skilled strategist, able to complete territory raids quickly and efficiently. Secondly, he is known for his raids on the Roman Empire. During this time, he earned the title “Scourge of God.” His attacks on the Roman Empire were eventually stopped after his failed invasion of Italy in 452 and his death in 453, but his raids had such a huge impact that they led to the demise and fall of the Western Roman Empire. They never really recovered from his attacks.

Eugene Delacroix 1847

In media, Attila is usually used to represent brutality and ruthlessness. For example, the only reason I even know about the guy is because of The Sopranos (Season 1, Episode 5). Tony is out of town visiting Meadow at college, and he later calls Carmella complaining about something I don’t really remember just being miserable about some shit and Carmella responds with,

“You’re not Attila the Hun, you know.”

And if that doesn’t convince you on how brutal Attila was, the second media reference about this guy that I can think of is literally from Dante’s Inferno.

Specifically in Canto XII of Dante’s Inferno, Attila is placed in the Seventh Circle of Hell, YK the circle reserved for those who committed acts of violence. The circle that is made up of murderers, tyrants, and warlords. Yeah.

So I wonder what’s that’s about. will say I’m expecting a major milchick crash out or who knows maybe even a proper mark s crash out. I like it when whimsical men get angry.

Now Chikhai Bardo is the one that interested me the most because I had no idea what that was had no clue what this was at first, but according to my research it’s a reference to Tibetan Buddhism beliefs in the afterlife?!???! swear to god you learn something new every day. I fucking love this show

with my very limited understanding of it. From what I’ve gathered , Tibetan Buddhism is a branch of Mahayana Buddhism, which emphasizes compassion and the potential for all beings to attain Buddhahood.

(Quick side note: if you didn’t know, Mahayana Buddhism is one of the major branches of Buddhism, often called the “Greater Vehicle”. It focuses on reaching the universal potential for enlightenment, with a strong emphasis on compassion and helping all beings achieve liberation/buddhahood)

Tibetans Buddhism blends in indian Buddhist traditions with local Tibetan practices. The religion focuses a lot on rituals, meditation, and the guidance of Lamas. Another thing about Tibetan Buddhism is that they believe heavily in reincarnation. This ties in with the episode title I swear

So the term Chikhai Bardo comes from Bardo Thodol which is the Tibetan Book of the Dead. The Bardo refers to the intermediate state between death and rebirth. And Bardo Thodol means “Liberation Through Hearing in the Bardo.” It is meant to be used for guiding the consciousness of someone who is dying, or someone who has just died, through the various stages of the bardo

(So this is the most used cover for the Tibetan book of the dead I couldn’t find who it was made by of if there were other covers so yeah. )

In the Bardo Thodol, there are three stages after death that determine your place in the afterlife. Chikhai Bardo is the first step in that process.

The Chikhai Bardo happens immediately after death, where the consciousness encounters the Clear Light of Reality (whjch based of my light internet skimming its supposed to be fundamental transcendent essence) a light that represents the true nature of reality. If the deceased can recognize this light they can can basically achieve enlightenment and escape the cycle of rebirth and reach Buddhahood never having to experience suffering again

If they don’t recognize the light, they can’t escape the cycle of rebirth and have to go through another round, facing the karma from their past life in this new one. This cycle continues until they finally attain enlightenment by recognizing the true nature of reality.

This concept is insane. Resurrection had been an idea the fandom has played with especially in relation to the Lumons cult like nature, and everyone’s obsession with keir spitting his writings off as scripture but throwing in enlightenment and rebirth is next level. And the idea that enlightenment can only be reached by realizing the true nature of reality is heavy as hell.

And I’m tellling you that episode is probably going to be crazy as fuck. Probably some trippy ass shit too y’all remember Defiant Jazz? That was Episode 7 in season 1. So yeah, this episode better be fucking crazy.

I can’t stop thinking about this show I’m basically living off breadcrumbs, but God, I love the attention to detail. I could just she’d a tear.

Also, this is a pretty rough and general overview of Tibetan Buddhism. I spent a very short amount of time doing some light skimming on the internet, so if I missed anything or got something wrong please for the love of god call me out. Same thing goes for Attila all the information I know about the guy is from a paper I wrote about him from like a year ago… anyways I love learning new shit like before this I didn’t even know there were different branches of Buddhism, so yeah the more you know!

Also some of the websites I used specifically for the Tibetan Buddhism stuff in case anyone was curious

Guide to the classics: the Tibetan Book of the Dead

Bardo Thödol | Tibetan Book of the Dead, Afterlife Guide | Britannica

https://www.samyeinstitute.org/nlncnd/the-six-bardos/

[locution-youngster-enjoyer]

Ack I got lazy with this, but may I preset these four?

I keep switching between what I should call this quartet other than just ‘the mischief makers.’ Legion of Losers, Coalition of Amateur Villains, the Bottom of The Barrel, honestly who cares they suck.

So their lore I’ve decided is that they all decided to rent an apartment and become roommates but they wouldn’t say they are friends, more like begrudged acquaintances.

Ok individual lore time

Glen:

Agender, polysexual, any pronouns

28 years old. The youngest in the group

Pretty much the same as they are in canon, but now she has the added bonus of being into really ‘cutesy’ stuff. Discord mod core/hj

Glen is still trying to outdo Dr Two Brains, but is also trying to pick up his own sort of persona and identity for villainy. He’s still incredibly unsuccessful and overconfident about his abilities lmao

Out of everyone in the group, he naturally gravitates to Raul the most. They don’t really have anything deep going on, they just chill with each other the most.

Has a weird relationship with his mom he doesn’t really bring up. Their dad wasn’t really in their life.

Yeah I don’t have much to say about him

Raul:

Bisexual, he/him

35, oldest in the group

Raul is the chef of the group. Even though he was pretty much proven as a fraud on tv, he still can cook a decent meal. This is great because Glen can’t cook, Steve hates cooking (even if he’s pretty ok at it), and Guy is a mediocre cook at best.

He doesn’t care that much about attempting to be a villain, he’s only roped in by the fact Glen is like “but it can make you famous in your own way!”

Raul doesn’t have that strong of an opinion on the others around him. At worst they annoy him mildly

Salty about the Butcher outing his scam, regularly complains about it, just like how Glen regularly whines about Two Brains.

Chill relationship with his parents, nothing very special or noteworthy.

Yeah not much about him either

Steve (oh boy do I have a lot to say about him)

AroAce, he/him. He’s aroace in the way that he technically does feel some level of attraction for people, but he’s so utterly disgusted at the idea of human contact like kissing, he doesn’t really attempt anything (if there is a more accurate term for this let me know)

31. He’s kinda short so people assume he’s younger

Since he barely had an actual character in the show, I’ve kinda cranked up a lot of his traits. He’s a massive hypochondriac. His ‘suaveness’ is a persona, and in reality he’s much more of an anxious wreck, stressed about the idea of touching or interacting with something that can give him a disease. Also definitely has some level of ocd because he’s cleaning *constantly*.

Overexposure to cleaning products and chemicals has done a number on him physically. Frequent intense migraines and asthma slow him down from moving at the same efficiency as his debut, but he’s still pretty fast and agile. He also looks generally messed up and has some issues with his eyes

I’ve decided to make him parallel Two Brains a bit more other than having similar names and rivaling briefly. Steve is pretty much a genius when it comes to chemistry, and even has some medical knowledge. Given a reason, he could easily create some sort of mish-mash of cleaning supplies that makes a bomb or can knock people out.

He grew up with a large family, being the youngest out of 8 siblings with the oldest being 20 years older than him. The state of his family contributes to all his modern medical fears.

He’s actually a pretty sensitive guy because of his heightened anxiety and a combined day of stress will get him to have a bad meltdown, but it’s rare. He’s also sorta insecure about his voice, which is why he doesn’t speak for most of his debut episode.

Glen tries to bond with Steve over their shared saltiness over Two Brains undermining their plans, but Steve is not into it at all. He has an irrational annoyance for Glen and would be fully willing to mustard gas Glen’s entire room, but is held back because Raul also sleep in there, and Steve’s chill with Raul.

Out of the entire group, Steve’s closest to Guy Rich. Steve is incredibly perplexed with Guy because Guy is… weirdly nice. Too nice. “Why are you so nice you’re meant to be a villain” levels of nice. While at first it confuses Steve, he grows to appreciate Guy because he’s the most understanding of Steve’s stress. Yes I ship it

Speaking of Guy

Guy Rich:

Pansexual, he/him.

33. TALLLLL mf. Easily the tallest out of the group

Guy wanted to properly try his hand at villainy and got inspired by the fact there is a Villain School, and by seeing so many fellow amateur villains trying their best at it. He finds his current living a bit strange because he’s never been so separated from his brother before

Speaking of his brother and family, Guy grew up in a well off European family, so while he wasn’t incredibly rich, he is a little unintentionally insensitive to people living in genuine poverty. He and his brother (who I’ve named Duke) were attached at the hip because 1. They’re twins, so they naturally feel connected and 2. His brother is a selective mute, so Guy would be his translator. They still talk on occasion, but Duke is not interested in being an actual villain

Guy’s gimmick is that he’s country/western themed. Not quite cowboy, but he does tread into that territory which catches the attention of Amazing Rope Guy. ARG is annoyed that the ‘fake villain’ is stepping on his niche

When they all moved in together, Guy was interested in Steve in a sort of ‘are you o k????‘ kind of way. As they talked more, and since they shared a room, Steve grew on Guy much more, and they are much more chill around each other. Guy tries his best to be gentle with him and is like ‘if you ever wanna try out (thing outside of Steve’s comfort zone) just let me know! No pressure though ^^,’

He’s not a very successful villain but he’s trying his best

Ok goodnight fair city

[ovokthen]

Megaman 9 yapping

The story of the 9th Rockman game was short and simple, but the idea behind it was always so peculiar to me. To recap, there is now a 4th law of robotic which gives them expiration date - this encourages scientists to create newer and more efficient model while saving energy and resources from maintaining old and outdated ones. However, it proves to be a problem because the robots in Rockman have "souls" akin to that of a human, which causes them to rebel and bring destruction humanity.

This is a story that touches on ethnics and certain area of philosophy, but particularly, I'm interested in how those elements affects the robots' psychology. In the game, after defeating 8 robot masters, you would get a cutscene showing how Wily manipulated them into joining his side and how he eventually reprogram them to be destructive. However, the robots still wanted to be of use to the humans until the end:

Dr. Wily: "Just because you reached some arbitrary expiration date doesn't mean you should be scrapped! You're all still quite useful! You have a right to live! I'm going to help you. Together we'll show the world how useful you all still can be!" Robot: "Hmm… perhaps you're right. We still want to be of use to people. Can you repair us?"

All in all, their usefulness dictates whether they deserved to live or not. Before I made this post, I thought Dr Wily was going to talk about how they shouldn't be scrapped because they have souls, but after rereading the script, I realized he just reverted back to talking about their usefulness. The robots don't seem to mind at all. It is as if they were programmed to think of way, or at least were conditioned to think that way due to their environment. If I, a human, were to be born along side my peers then before I even reach old age, I was suddenly told "The new is generation is better than you at art, so you need to be executed", then I would most likely lose all of my reasons and start going berserk as well. This is what happened in Hitoshi Ariga's manga: The 4th law get administered as usual, Dr Wily said the same thing, but he didn't reprogram them or manipulate them, he only offered to get rid of their expiration date. In the end, it was up to the robot themselves to decide whether they would revolt or not (and all of them did).

Hitoshi Ariga's interpretation is more believable than it is in the game, but it's hard for me to believe that all 100% of them would turn from obedient robots to war machines just like that. Once again, If I was suddenly told that my life was cut short because someone was better, I would be mad, but that is with the assumption that I am a human. The 9th numbers and robots, even though they have emotion and "souls" similar to that of a human, they are not human; It is similar to comparing the life of a dog and a cat. Of course, we haven't discovered any species that have a level of intelligence and emotional capability similar to human, so it is impossible to tell, but I think there would be a noticeable amount of conflict that comes from being a robot (a species that is meant to die and be improved upon) that has a human mind (a species that wants a fulfilling life).

Assuming there was a robot who wanted to live (as in Hitoshi Ariga's interpretation), but also believe that their life was taken for granted (as in the game version), there would a difficult character arc whether they were mind controlled by Dr Wily or not. Let's say it is Hitoshi Ariga's version where the robots act on their own, this character would follow the other 9th numbers in the revolution to get rid of the 4th law, but I doubt they would contribute that much because they feel indebted to the humans. They are incapable of helping those around them in the revolution, but at the same time they aren't willing to turn themselves in and end their life quickly. This also leads to another problem. Let's say they couldn't care less whether they die or not, but if they are close to the other 9th numbers, it would be a problem if they just gave in because that would mean their friend/sibling could potential die because of their listlessness. If there was a dilemma like that, it's either you lose yourself and join your siblings in exterminating human, or you run away from both the 9th numbers and the human and delay the inevitable.

[mumblesplash]

You like these questions? I have more!!!

Is Redstone closer in nature to a base or an acid? Does it have corrosive properties if left unchecked and unregulated?

Does Redstone have a catalyst and if so what happens?

Can Redstone be used as seasoning? Is there a hybrid you would attribute a strong enough palette to safely consume it?

What is the general consensus on whether Redstone is dangerous? Are there people who believe that it should not be used?

How does Redstone react with Skulk? Additionally, how does it react with mobs spawning from the Deep Dark such as Wardens?

Would Redstone ever be considered a fashion statement, and if so, as what kind of clothing piece? Could you, if you made it thick enough, potentially knit with Redstone?

Can Redstone be used as a spell component for witches and evokers?

Is Redstone a unlimited resource, and if it isn't, what are the precautions on how much you can use?

Will Redstone alter properties of inherently magical things, like end crystals or totems of undying?

I have so many nessecary and unessecary questions

oh nice questions! (just for the sake of efficiency i'm gna put asterisks by any questions i had answers for already, everything else you can assume i'm making up on the spot lmao)

*Is Redstone closer in nature to a base or an acid?

neither! it's more like a scab :)

*Does Redstone have a catalyst and if so what happens?

no it does not, at least by my understanding of what a catalyst is in this context

Does it have corrosive properties?

hmm i'm gonna go with no

*Can Redstone be used as seasoning? Is there a hybrid you would attribute a strong enough palette to safely consume it?

can? yes. should? no. safely? well, tango's still alive, so...

*What is the general consensus on whether Redstone is dangerous?

the general consensus is that yes, it is dangerous, though the extent of the danger is unknown. safety measures are taken out of an abundance of caution

Are there people who believe that it should not be used?

probably. none of the hermits, obviously, but it would be very easy to disapprove of from a number of angles. at least a few people being Anti Redstone seems pretty much inevitable

*How does Redstone react with Skulk?

...see me after class

Would Redstone ever be considered a fashion statement, and if so, as what kind of clothing piece?

not clothing but i bet there's some level of prestige associated with the color of redstoners' eyes. whether they're considered good or bad would be pretty context-dependent though

Could you, if you made it thick enough, potentially knit with Redstone?

no, but you could probably dye clothes with it

Can Redstone be used as a spell component for witches and evokers?

i don't think evokers have much use for it, and i don't think witches use extended potions (could be wrong there, but also i don't consider the witches to be canon to the game lore)

*Is Redstone a unlimited resource, and if it isn't, what are the precautions on how much you can use?

the stone itself exists in unknown but presumably finite quantities, the signal it emits is infinite

Will Redstone alter properties of inherently magical things, like end crystals or totems of undying?

i don't think so? it does extend the duration of potion effects, though

[mtchee]

FALLEN GEMINI - [Dabi] GN

blurb:

As an underground hero, you're ranked well in the hundreds due to your anonymity. You'd been tasked to infiltrate and investigate the League of Villains long before the group was even officially formed--namely your assigned target, their rogue, Dabi. Your job has never been pretty, where many more upscaled heroes might even frown upon your acts. Through your hard work, you've become closely aquainted Dabi, to a point where your true loyalties start to waver...

requested by: anonymous

cw: not edited, second-person-pov, mild violence, minor descriptions of weapons and blood, fake side character named, villain things :D , hero to villain, minor enemies to lovers, swearing, omfg i've been spelling 'debris' wrong ffs ignore that, fluff??, well dabi's a villain and [name]'s morally grey so.., makeout at the end

| masterlist | boku no hero academia collection |

[1.8k]

That stupid bird and his fat fucking mouth.

Your irritation bleeds through your aura, any minor croonies scampering out of your way lest they face your wrath.

Hawks is good at his job. But he's also good at toeing the line.

A line that risks everything.

His recent assignment to your task has thrown everything ablunder. Not that it's much about the task anymore...

You run a stressed hand over your head, keeping it tight on the back of your neck as you roll your shoulders. Your reports to your handler have become less frequent, descriptions brief and lacking detail.

The higher ups haven't caught on, just assuming that you're getting busier while the league grows. Though they have been getting pushy for a breakthrough.

You slam closed the door to your provided room, taking a quick, conscious scan of the area for any trace of disturbance before deeming it safe. It's not all that glamorous, but it's generous, given the LoV.

Stood by the desk in the middle of the room, you press on the slight indent on the clasp of your analogue watch, and the contact in your left eye lights up with a teal tint.

"Nuka," You address the sidekick on the other end of the line, keeping your voice low, "fax a copy of these papers to our handler. This is as much as I could scab from the league for now."

You sifle throw a few carelessly crumpled papers, having pulled them from your belt line. You see a series of codes skim across your vision, left eye honing in and highlighting the most vital points on the documents you fetched.

"Copy. What's next?"

"Hawks has fucked it all up. Our target's his damn mentor, something about an initiation and trust or whatever." You scowl at that.

The number 2 hero's intervention has essentially severed any immediate connection you have with Dabi. With the league knowing his identity, his influence immediately outranks yours, and so you have no reason nor any means to snoop without gaining suspicion.

While you're not considered just some other crook, you're not standing on par with those like Toga and Mr. Compress. You're not fodder, but you're also not important enough to be needed for any direct involvement.

The stolen documents russle as you gather them efficiently and stow them away.

You take in a sharp breath, "I'll need you to get involved. Dabi and Hawks have a meeting tomorrow night. Start there. I'll get you the coordinates--do not engage. I need you to tail him for the next six days."

"Should I engage in disguise?"

"It's risky," You pause, "... but he is the target.."

"His schedule has changed," Nuka reassesses as a means to assure you, "I'll gather intel and then panel off."

"Fine."

A warning arrow flashes in your peripheral, and you turn to find it pointing at a wavelength slowly increasing outside your door.

Someone's coming.

"Disengage. I'll contact you at a later point."

You don't give the sidekick any time to respond before blinking and clicking on your watch. The glow dissipates, and the door swings open.

"You're a real recluse, you know that," Dabi steps in with a heavy stare, a placid grin tugging at his charred lips, "thought I'd find you here."

"Can't a thug have a bit of privacy?" You edge, eyes glaring into his while he stalks forward.

"Privacy is a luxury."

"Oh, and I can't have nice things?"

He blinks at you slowly, silver staples gleaming in the low light of your closed blinds, "You're awful snippy."

Dabi grins.

You swallow thickly.

"Thought I heard you talkin' in here." You don't step back as he approaches.

A lax hum slips through your lips, "The voices get loud, sometimes." You tap your temple nonchalantly, and he chuckles.

"Yeah?"

Dabi stands nose to nose with you, and all your senses heighten. The skin on the back of your neck tingles in discomfort, your tongue is suddenly heavy, and your stomach drops. You don't need your quirk active to hear the warning sirens blaring in your head.

His breath brushes your skin, piercing blue eyes glaring into the window of your soul. His gaze flicks down to your thinned lips, and his own quirk up in bemusement when you lick them habitually.

"Come find me next time if they're bothering you," He taps his temple, replicating your prior notion, "I know a sure fire way of getting them quiet."

His tone is low, suggestive with a slight rasp. He clicks his tongue, grinning widely so you can see the motion of his tongue kissing the back of his teeth.

When you feel your cheeks heat up with your eyes fluttering to the dip of his sharp collarbone and the open expanse of his neck, he lets out an airy laugh.

"Flustered?"

"Disgusted." You counter, and his eyes dilate at your quip.

"Sure," His gaze finds yours again, an unknown flicker passing over them. You could practically see the flurry of thoughts coursing through his mind, but his expression remains the same--rightful confidence with an intricate thread of danger.

"Whatever you say~"

Why does no one fucking listen to you!?

You'd reported to your handler that you had nearly been compromised because of Hawk's intervention, asserting that you would need to lay low with infrequent communication if you were to get back on track.

Instead though, the higher ups had commissioned Nuka to dissmiss any of your proceedings and to move ahead by themselves.

They were going to blow your cover.

With your quirk activated, you could see the orange residue of their footsteps, getting brighter and brighter the closer you got, while the ones you passed began to fade.

The darkened hallway split into two, and you turned left.

Up ahead, you spy the the charred purple residue of another set of footprints that were already fading.

Dabi.

You lower your eyes, teal glow dimming as you slink against the wall, blending in with the shadows. Your quiet footfall is now silent, and you summon a holographic blade that glitches and thrums at your touch.

The hall comes to a double opening, a room within a room where instead of windows there are rusting prison bars and a singular broken lightbulb.

Large faults of debris wreck the area, creating jagged shadows and dangerous columns that loom ominously.

You see the orange residue cut off abruptly, reappearing at the opposite end of the hall before continuing irregularly. You've lost track of them. But not of Nuka.

The footsteps remain in the room.

Your heart drops when you spy Dabi stood leisurely in the centre of the decimated cell. You're positioned to his right; his eyes are half lidded with boredom, posture lazy and undisturbed as he clenches his jaw.

You crouch lowly, the thrumming of your blade heightening in tandem with your sudden spike of anxiety. Your teal tinted eye glows brighter for but a moment, a series of codes floating across your vision before the area becomes a holographic blueprint.

The air becomes still and stuffy, and your eyes lazer in on Nuka on the opposite side of the room behind a chunk of the collapsed ceiling.

You see the navy tentacles of their apparatus readying to strike in the shadow of the debris, a silencer precariously situated on the ledge between a set of filth ridden iron bars.

Your quirk centres in on their form, wiring overtime with numbers and morse sequences before zeroing in on their position in your blueprinted vision--they're about to pull the trigger.

Dabi's head turns in your peripherals, and Nuka's tendrils strike forwards.

Your blueprint vision glitches as you dive through the nearest opening, wrist snapping with a sharp flick as your blade duplicates in the air; you see it phase through the chunk of concrete and slip precisely between the corroding bars before a wall of blue fire erupts in front of you.

The wild crackling of flames drowns out the dull shnnk! of blade into flesh that's followed by a heavy thud.

As the teal tint in your eye flickers off, you see the silenced gun scatter across the cement floor before the blueprint walls solidify again.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, and you barely have time to comprehend your own actions before the back of your neck prickles uncomfortably.

Your breath hitches and you swipe out a leg, hearing an amused cackle as you bring yourself back to balance.

With your back to the wall of bright hot flames, the light illuminates Dabi's irritatingly delighted features. A wide, impending grin is plastered across his scarred lips, and you hate the burning tingle it sends to your core.

"Holy shit," He laughs loudly, "you really are the gemini!"

You scowl, on the defence. Be damned his handsome face and rotten charisma--he's still a psycho. God knows what he'll do next.

"What?" He quirks up a mocking brow, "you did it, not me."

The fire behind you sends an uncomfortably thick wave heat across your back, and he leans his weight on one leg laxly. He huffs another laugh.

"I always knew you had a thing for me."

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Your mouth moves faster than your brain can process, and you have even less time to react before he launches at you.

With you quirk deactivated, he's infront of you within the blink of an eye with a sultry smirk and crazed, half lidded eyes.

"I always knew I was right to keep an eye on you."

You can barely gasp before he's shoving you backwards, the wall of flames dissipating around your figure before you're slammed against a stone wall with his teeth clashing against yours.

A humiliating warmth engulfs you as a storm of butterflies erupts in the pit of your stomach. He kisses you passionately, fiercly. His movements are feverish and demanding, yet you comply.

You give in to his advancement, but give him a warning of your own through a rough tug at his hair. He huffs a chuckle against your lips, chest rumbling in tune before pressing up against you firmly.

You pant when you part, fighting back a keen when he refuses to part and instead moves on to assaulting your neck in a series of bites and sloppy kisses.

"W..Wha.. shit, Dabi!--"

He pins one of your hands with his, using his other to roam as he likes.

Shit. You think to yourself, moulding pliantly to his whims. I'm done for.

"Mm?" He nips at the shell of your ear, "always knew you were a two faced bitch," he chuckles lowly when you fight against him in protest.

Your face grows hot in offence.

"You sick bastar--"

Dabi silences you by shoving his tongue down your throat, groaning against you unashamedly when he feels your angered tension slack.

He parts from you with a disgusting pop! and a cocky half smile. His eyes stare into your in twisted satisfaction.

"Good thing you're mine now, yeah?"

[luminafights]

░ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄: 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐯𝐬. 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐝 - 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫?

When repurposing a protocore, decomposing vs. feeding has no difference in exp and gold loss. Doing it one way is not more resource efficient vs. the other.

Numbers, explanations, and other considerations below.

𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲── .✦

Protocores are upgradeable items that you equip onto your Memories. This guide assumes that you have a basic understanding of protocores. If you don't, I recommend reading CFC's Protocores for Pipsqueaks and DSV's Protocore Basics to get you started.

Decomposing is the process of breaking a protocore into raw protocore upgrade materials called Core Energy. You also get back a portion of the gold used in upgrading.

Feeding is the process of using a protocore as upgrade material directly.

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬── .✦

Before going into it, here are some general considerations that you should keep in mind when deciding between decomposing and feeding:

Decomposing gives you back raw materials which then makes leveling easier to keep track of. You have more control over how many level increments to raise.

Feeding gives you the exp from the core all at once, meaning you have less control over how many level increments to raise. i.e. feeding a +15 core into a +0 core will raise it to +13 - what if all 4 rolls go into substats that you don’t like?

Feeding is quicker to do - adding in only the one upgrade material instead of adding in many upgrade materials.

Decomposing will free up your gold to use for other things like ascending Memories.

Now, let's get into the numbers.

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐱𝐩 & 𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬── .✦

𝐄𝐱𝐩 & 𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧── .✦

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬── .✦

SSR protocores have an inherent exp value of 400 exp, which is always accounted for in full when decomposing/feeding.

Adding exp to a protocore has a cost of 4 gold per 1 exp.

Taking #1 and #2 into account: This is why when you feed a protocore you must pay 400 exp inherent exp * 4 gold = 1,600 gold.

The 20% loss is applied to the exp and gold that you already put in.

There is no "loss" from decomposing a +0 SSR protocore, because you have not put anything into it yet to "lose".

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬── .✦

Based on the findings and the cost breakdowns, we can conclude the following:

When repurposing a protocore, decomposing vs. feeding has no difference in exp and gold loss. Doing it one way is not more resource efficient vs. the other.

+6 is an ideal stopping point to assess whether to keep investing in a protocore or not, as it would take only 48 stamina (4.8 hours) to recoup the loss.

It starts getting costly at +9 and up, adding up to 96 stamina (9.6 hours) to recoup the loss.

𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬── .✦

Thanks to Yeefu, Orodalf, Charm, Wiwi, Aiko, and Asianpizzamonster from Discord for their feedback and corrections!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐠── .✦

If you find any issues with this guide, please let me know through my Asks! Changes will be logged here.

2025-04-03 2:58 PM · Updated tables. Corrected conclusion: Decompose vs. feed has no difference for exp or gold efficiency. 2024-06-11 6:32 PM · Original conclusions: Decompose at +0 to +3, feed +4 and above, for gold efficiency.

[violetsandshrikes]

ok you have made good science and health posts. Is it worth taking a probiotic as part of my selfcare routine?

Note: Not a doctor! Not medical advice, only a summary of useful information out there.

Ehhhhh, it's one of those things that is debated. Some research points towards usefulness, other research says it doesn't do much. There's also issues with what strains are in said probiotic, if they're even useful for you, if they can even survive your digestive tract (and your personal microbiota)…science is mixed on this too.

A recent review (2024) has concluded there is evidence enough for doctors and patients to consider using specific probiotics for uses in specific people (like supporting gut function during antibiotics, reducing respiratory tract infections, etc.), but not enough evidence to recommend it unconditionally in the population as preventative medicine.

This is another recent (2024) review that's similar, but they've helpfully included a couple pages at the end of specific studies, probiotic strains used, and their specific impact/mode of action studied on specific illnesses/diseases.

Interestingly, they've also just dropped another 2024 meta-analysis that suggests probiotic use saw a 51% reduction in symptoms reported by COVID-19 patients, including cough, headaches and diarrhea. They included 9 studies (3 of which were clinical trials), so they likely will need a larger sample size to say conclusively, but that could be a promising angle in a post-COVID world.

To add another confusing angle, postbiotics are becoming of increasing interest in research. They're bioactive compounds that are produced when probiotic bacteria are feeding on prebiotic foods in the colon (like fibers), and it's beginning to look like health benefits associated with pre/postbiotics actually come from postbiotic production. I have yet to see any available on the market, but apparently they are out there. I would also be aware that as a new frontier (and product) I couldn't say much about their individual efficiency, product contamination, etc.

If you decide to:

You can just make sure to frequently consume probiotic foods (yogurt, kefir, sauerkraut, tempeh, kimchi, etc.) although I would also suggest you make sure you're eating enough fiber to feed the friendly bacteria already inside you.

Bacteria is very specifically named. You'll have a genus, species and a strain - Bifidobacterium longum W11. All three = you got it right, and this is important because probiotics are researched down to these specific strains. It also means that when you read a probiotic bottle, if you don't see all three of those names (as a general rule), it's probably useless to you.

Check your labelling, especially generic store brands. Yogurt starter is typically made with Streptococcus thermophilus and Lactobacillus bulgaricus, and if they advertise these as the "probiotic benefits" they're usually full of shit - these strains usually get destroyed in your stomach by acid and don't provide any benefit.

If you have a weakened or compromised immune system, don't take probiotics without medical advice. This includes if you're having chemo, you're critically ill or you've recently had surgery.

Lots of people experience gas, mild abdominal pain and changes in stools when first using probiotics, but you're probably going to want to keep a note of that for your doctor, just in case. Plenty also have additives and digestive aids, so look out for allergic reactions and things like soy/gluten if needed.

Probiotics are measured in colony forming units (CFU) - the number of viable cells. They might say 1 x 109 for 1 billion CFU or 1 x 1010 for 10 billion CFU. Some contain up to 50+ billion CFU. A common mistake made is assuming higher CFU = better for you. Most countries only require labelling to list the total weight of the microorganisms in the product (which can include both alive and dead microorganisms, not viable ones). Probiotics can die during their shelf-life and must be consumed alive to be of use. Ideally, you're looking for products labelled with the number of CFU at the end of the product's shelf life (vs at the time of manufacturing).

If in doubt, ask a doctor or pharmacist.

[wumblr]

Hi, I'm new here. Sorry if you've already answered this question; I'm new here. I saw your post about the Biden-Harris nuclear plan. I've long-since been loosely optimistic about nuclear as a petrol alternative, but knew that more reactors in the imperial world intrinsically means more bombs as well. Reading through articles here is starting to confirm some suspicions. Have you talked already about serviceable energy alternatives, or is the solution basically to just dismantle capitalism, or?

the IEEFA PDF on the most recent (third) reblog is pretty clear that renewables (wind, solar, and batteries) are the viable/cost effective mid-term strategy. these are not without their own problems (land use, resource consumption, and again batteries) but they are a better option than nuclear. it also points out that full-scale nuclear is more cost efficient than SMRs which i can't dispute, and i wouldn't theoretically have a problem with it if it weren't for the capitalism. you don't gain anything by scaling them down, and IEEFA makes the excellent point that privatized off-grid SMRs do not maintain a consistent baseload supply in the way that full-size on-grid reactors do

waste handling is a sticky problem but it's exacerbated by profiteering and corruption (unfortunately not magically solved by a revolution, either). more reactors only inevitably means more bombs in a war empire, but eliminating capitalism doesn't magically resolve all geopolitical strictures nor does it necessarily equate to eliminating war. i think it would be foolish to build them now and kick the can down the road about seizing power from capital ("you're handing the climate change machine a new 50 year megawatt generator," i keep saying). my main axe to grind is that nobody is taking any of it seriously. that's rude to somebody's kids and i'm still mad it's been done to us. if you want new reactors, know the deal with the devil you're signing, so that you will know when they slack off on their end of the bargain and start doing ohio nuclear bribery incidents and progressively abdicating decommissioning responsibilities for san onofre by reselling it over and over. saying this has made a shocking number of people very angry at me, i assume because their worldview rests on the existence of a magical solution. well, there isn't one. sorry

i'm a degrowth communist. i don't want new reactors. so, i think we should start asking where we can reclaim parts of the energy budget from industry instead of building out more capacity, but, lol. not so long as the democratic party exists, i'm afraid. they sure have been "ironclad" about that! there may be capability to persuade the political establishment toward degrowth but i'm not optimistic, since they love parading around a 0.01% solution for a 100% problem (like carbon capture). because it allows the illusion to continue

(you would think the most energy intensive sector of industry would be computing, for the amount of time we spend talking about energy consumption for crypto, ai, and datacenters, right? well, it's chemicals. i just found that out while fact checking the post. paper also still consumes more than computing, apparently. (third of the top three is "oil/coal products" which is a bit nebulous and i would have to dig into the report the EIA is referencing, MECS 2018, to figure out what's going on there. surely some of that is going back into energy production, right? so, energy production is one of the largest energy consumers? i guess that tracks, but i haven't dug. i assume it also refers to other products.) i think this was in the post but i also love to say "It's Lawrence Livermore National Library Energy Flow Sankey Diagram Sunday!" and point out that 67% of energy in the US is lost to waste heat, labeled rejected energy in the diagram. obviously that runs up against laws of thermodynamics but surely we could be doing better than that)

that was all about energy. you asked about bombs. unfortunately i have to tell you we are likely not going to live to see disarmament. maybe if we stop building reactors, disarmament will become inevitable, at best, in a hundred years. maybe if we seize power from capital it could be administrated more quickly. but, for the foreseeable future, mutually assured destruction is the only thing preventing them from being detonated. thank god for the rosenbergs

[bluegekk0]

How big is the Vyrm household? I’d imagine it’s quite Considering how big the family has gotten I’d assume it has went through some of vyrms renovations as the years passed and several rooms have been added. Like does hornet have her own room or does she share it with holly for example? Idk if you got plans to look into this in further detail like home design and all that since that’s obv not the point of the AU but from what we’ve seen from some artwork it does look quite cozy and I’m just curious about the home.

I had some rough plans of the house made on one of those house planner websites and I tried to make their house in Minecraft, but it took way more effort than anticipated. I might still return to it, but right now I'm considering doing something similar in The Sims 4, since it has a much more efficient build mode for house plans.

But since this ask has been in the inbox for so long I might as well share some written details of what I have in mind (which may change once I get to actually create it visually)

The outside of the house would be very similar to the general architectural style of Dirtmouth for the AU, which I envision to be a mix of the canon dome-like huts and a lot of elements inspired by medieval Scandinavian architecture or similar styles. Relatively simple, made of logs and stone, with strong roofs adapted for snowfall.

The Vyrm family house in particular would be one of the largest in Dirtmouth. The ground floor can be accessed from three points: the main entrance which connects to the rest of the town, the back door which leads to the garden, and Vyrm's shop and his workshop which connect to the house. The floor consists on one large room separated by archways into smaller sections. The main one is the living room area, with a fireplace and places to sit and relax. The kitchen and dining area connect to it with archways. The exact details on where everything is located is up to change, I only have a few pictures of the recreation in Minecraft to give a general idea of how it looks (it excludes the fireplace and the separate dining area since I never ended up making them)

I also want there to be an entrance to the basement, though I haven't decided where it would be placed yet. Next to the living room there is a door leading to Vyrm's workshop, which then connects to the shop part with an additional door. The little hallway between the main floor and the workshop is used as storage.

(the door to the shop is in the back of the last pic, though I never ended up building it)

There is also a small bathroom on this floor, which includes everything you'd expect from a bathroom, but the one on the bottom floor has a shower as opposed to the second bathroom on the upper floor.

Before I get to the upper floor, I can't forget about the two symmetrical rooms near the staircase. They belong to Hornet and Holly respectively, and are roughly the same in size (though Hornet's room is a lot more messy so it looks smaller on the inside). Next to Holly's room there is the door to the back garden.

The staircase leads to the upper floor, which is where the remaining bedrooms are. The biggest of them belongs to Vyrm and Grimm, and it has an entrance to the balcony. Three smaller rooms on this floor are intended to be bedrooms, but for now only one is in use: this is the shared room for Lewk and the twins. The other two rooms are currently serving the purpose of storage rooms, but in the future they will most likely become Asta and Milo's bedrooms. There is also a second bathroom here, this one has a bathtub. It's placed directly above the ground floor bathroom as the water pipes were simply extended upwards.

So as you can see from the Minecraft pics, the house is still cozy inside, but the number of rooms makes it look really big on the outside. I don't think it will be expanded much in the future, if Grimm and Vyrm ever decide to have more children, the grown up ones (especially Hornet and Holly) would most likely have already moved out by then (I quite like the idea of them building their own houses nearby, so you'd have a whole little section of Dirtmouth where the family lives haha)

Again, things are very likely to change, but this is the general idea that I'm going with for now.

[niuttuc]

I'm building Betor defenders/pillowfort, my general idea is to build a fortress and try to outlast my opponents while Betor whittles them down.

Alright, then I'll start with some more generic advice for the deck. Unlike most pillowfort decks, you likely don't want to spend slots on traditional pillowfort effects like Ghostly Prisons and friends. Your creature's toughness already do that, prevent attacks at you.

On the other hand, 20 and 40 toughness is a LOT, even with some chonky critters, it'll likely take 3 or 4 creatures to hit 20, and 5 or 6 for 40. This means protecting your board or rebuilding will be important. Spells that can save your board from a sweeper will be key (something like Flare of Fortitude or Cosmic Intervention), or bring back several creatures at once (Nethroi, Eerie Interlude,...)

With all that in mind, I'd also skew your board wipes away from creatures in general, despite there existing a number of excellent toughness-based creature board wipes. The main threat of creatures, attacks, you should be able to handle just fine. There will still be ones with problematic abilities, but handling those with more pinpoint removal should be more efficient if you're not scared of combat in general. Having ways to clean problematic artifacts/enchantments/planeswalkers off the board seems more relevant.

Alright, as far as individual cards...

Sometimes a whole lot of toughness also comes along with a lot of power. Betor don't really care if you also have power. These tend to scale towards VERY BIG even without effort on your part, and are likely to at least bring you to 20 toughness by themselves, if not 40. Notable for Soul of Eternity is that Encore exiles the tokens at end step, so you can stack the triggers so that Betor's resolve first, and then the toughness goes away once it's done its job.

Oh, and sometimes they might attack too, since they untap with Betor anyway.

Within the same bucket of power AND toughness source, the two Tendershoots do similar things with a different angle. They won't give you immediate toughness for Betor, but generating 12 toughness per turn cycle for them is nothing to scoff at.

Wall of Mourning is a card that's easy to have overlooked, in a random precon. If you can reliably have Coven on, it's a slow draw 3 on a 2-mana wall, hard to beat that rate. Coven isn't that hard to achieve assuming you're not full on on walls.

While Vehicles aren't great a pillowforting, they're also pretty good at providing extra toughness in your end step, since they're still animated by then. Better yet, if you're up to the 20 threshold, Betor untaps them and their crew to help with blocking. If you have a few, you can daisy-chain crew them to add all their toughness to your count. And they survive creature sweepers in most cases. Now, I know you already have a Vehicles deck, so have a selection of three that I think fulfill other roles in the deck, and two that add a whole lot of toughness by themselves. Hearse in particular will scale fast if Betor's untapping it and provide invaluable instant-speed graveyard hate for the deck.

Similar to Vehicles, Planeswalkers can generate some toughness regularly along with extra value with other abilities. They're slower, but while planeswalkers are generally weaker in commander because of how many people are attacking... Your deck is literally made to be able to block and protect them. I will say, I wouldn't play ALL of these, I don't think you want to end up with a superfriends deck. But these are the ones I'd give a look at.

[landfilloftrash]

Crimson Runs Blue within Crépuscule (part 2)

***

Enososin sighed and rubbed the space between her eyes. The past 72 hours had been some for the record books, and apparently, those seventy-two hours had been spread out amongst a year. When it next got the chance, it was absolutely going to press her face into her father or Xiomara and not move for the next fifteen hours. She did not want to deal with Davy Jones in any format for— at the barest minimum?— a week.

That said, the fact there was much to mend, move, and heal didn’t leave her stopped in thought for too long. 

Occasionally, Pepper would poke their head out of the ship to check on her and the outside; see if they were all still alive. Most of its own time was simply moving broken pieces of buildings so others could get in and retrieve, or she’d head into rubble to check on those still healing, and still for others she’d work in a team to get things done. Many faces they helped she recognized by virtue of being in the same space for three days, exploring, and many she didn’t by the same consequence. She was sure Pepper could greet them by name; all of them tired and worn but thanking her and whatever random passerby for whatever they had on hands or what they healed as efficiently and carefully as the situation allowed.

The Navy— or in this case, a grieving and furious general, missing his children— once again destroying and harming those that it should protect. It hated this part of the song and dance in every situation.

While it was easy to get lost in the small routine she’d set herself into, even it recognized that barely a half hour had passed before the bright activity upon The Glittering Hoard it’d occasionally spot as it rushed to and fro had stopped, and it now had to wonder at the cause of the darkness.

Stopping in place, it started tilting its head to listen closer to all the murmurs always in her hearing; that’s when she heard voices off in the distance– something about hands. And husbands. And knowing the insanity inherent to its crew, it headed in that direction. 

Approaching the sounds, rapidly confirming themselves to be her crew, she spotted Gaura and Kallstrom first. Gaura looked— well, he looked like he had been struck by lightning, and was sizzling a bit from the smoke gently wafting off of him, while Kallstrom looked unhurt; only covered in what she could only assume to be blood of his enemies, same as Ulysses. Pepper was fussing slightly about the entire group, having apparently come over far earlier. What really grabbed her attention, though, was the small sea elf standing amongst their number.

She gasped in delight— the time away from the woman had apparently done a number upon all of them, as it felt its heart start a double-beat— and loudly called over. “Sol!!”

Soleil’s head turned with fins fluffed out in surprise. “Eno!”

Lockwell— close enough to the entrance to the forge at her call— stumbled out as he started coughing loudly, as the man finally stopped breathing fire into the forge long enough to see the fuss with wide eyes. “Ho-ly sh-it, la-ss yer al-ive!”

“Oh, you old man,” it heard Pepper mutter affectionately at the display.

With barely any prompting, it rushed over and picked Soleil up in a hug, swinging her gently— “Guys, I think we should deal with Gaura, he’s smoking—” and then it started hearing a familiar sound upon stone, dirt, and sand, which was their only warning as Lockwell was suddenly upon the both of them, tackling her and Soleil to the ground into a tight hug.

There was a high pitched squeak from between the two of them, and she could laugh in sheer delight as Soleil was then patted by Pepper in a conciliatory way as they laid there.

“Oh, hi dad,” Soleil greeted, wriggling an arm free and patting the clinging dragonborn on the face affectionately. 

The pirate lord’s eyes, which were already watering from the amount of fire he had breathed, started crying in true earnest as he hugged them even tighter. “Ya called me da!”

“NoIdidn’t!” came the quick reply, despite the fact that the dragonborn had clearly heard her, and was not letting them go.

“What a beautiful moment,” she heard Gaura hazily say.

“Gaura?” Pepper questioned, and the owlin looked up slightly to see both the mothkin and the vampire looking at their swaying triton in concern.

“It certainly is a gift. Eno?” Ulysses gently prompted, looking down at the three of them.

“I see,” she warbled, nodding, “after Lockwell gets up, I’ll get up.”

Then it occurred to her that Lockwell’s grip was nowhere near as hard to wriggle from as Rollo’s. She was just far too used to not being able to escape dad hugs, not that he could escape either; “Or actually, hold on—” she kept one arm around Soleil but her now free claw reached over and grabbed Gaura’s hand, letting magic swirl and tie itself to fried skin and damaged mind. 

“Oh m’God thankyou,” he slurred together, barely pausing, “it was really something I was hit by lightning.”

“I can tell,” she trilled, “you’re smoking!”

“Yeah,” he grinned boyishly, “I’m good though. I only got hit once.”

“A good track record, to be sure,” came the lilting tone of Vyrdakks, approaching their group again with a keen intent in his posture.

Lockwell blinked in surprise, and finally moved his head to look up at the Kell in curiosity— and then promptly upon realizing he was still laying on them, pulled a delayed scramble off and hefted both Soleil and herself to their feet, a small apologetic rumble in his chest as he brushed sand off Soleil’s outfit.

“Vyrdakks,” Pepper greeted, “is there something else wrong?”

“No, no,” the eliksni shook his head, mandibles clicking from his helm, “I am here to retrieve Misirak. He is my responsibility, after all; as Captain and Kell of my House. I wish to know why he did, what he did.” 

“I could tell you,” Soleil prompted, “If you want.”

There was an interested sounding buzz of noise from Vyrdakks at that, and one of his hands gestured for her to continue.

“So,” she started, “Your first mate was trying to get me— who he thought was Kallstrom, and still a part of the Navy— to team up with him to kill you, the entirety of Nassau, and us. 

“He thought that killing all of us would get him into good graces with the King– he’s probably not wrong on that front–” she quickly muttered, wryly, “and get rid of his problems in one fell swoop. The whole ‘giving up killing thing unless in dire circumstances because you’re trying to be better' really irked him, apparently, because, the entire reason for the takeover was because he thought you were ‘too soft’ due to your attachment to Nassau and your husbands.”

“He also talked like a storybook villain?” she mused, “It would’ve been really funny were it not for the fact of. You know. Being in the storybook itself, apparently. Which was the reason why we had the whole charging up time; he wanted to make a– a ‘grand statement’ about the power you hold.”

There was a moment of pure silence from Vyrdakks, absorbing and thinking, but eventually his head tilted back down to Sol with a couple of clicking pops.

“I see,” he clicked. “Thank you, Soleil. I will take him from here.”

The lot of them backed up and away from Gaura who had Misirak lay battered and beside, and watched Vyrdakks pick him up and take him away from the populated area to a spot closer to the sea.

They followed, mostly because Gaura trotted after him like an interested cat, but after Lockwell followed on his tail, the rest of them automatically started drifting after the three of them.

Vyrdakks, undoubtedly aware of his new audience, said nothing but placed Mizirak down in a comfortable position— she assumed, for eliksnis— and backed up, waiting with both sets of arms crossed.

Vyrdakks calmly waited for Misirak to wake up, eyes fixed firmly upon his first mate, and when there was an ounce of movement, the eliksni seemed to loosen his posture as the other awoke.

“You think, I have gone soft,” he quietly started, “for believing in love, do you?”

“I do not think,” Misirak spat, barely awake and already venomous as his eyes narrowed at the Kell, “I know.” 

Enososin was not familiar with eliksni body language, but the silent disappointment that radiated off Vyrdakks at Misirak’s vitriol was not hard to identify. It was something it herself was rather familiar with.

“By the law of the People’s Republic,” the man drawled, his clicks far more pronounced. “We are not monsters; I will not kill you.”

“But you are banished,” he hissed, “You are gold no longer, Misirak.”

He reached out and ripped the golden pauldron off Misirak’s shoulder; jolting the other from their position— stumbling to keep himself stable. “You will take, a vessel. You will sail to the nearest city. You will never, come back.”

For a brief moment, Misirak seemed to be a little lost, glancing at his shoulder and where the pauldron used to be. His whole plan had revolved upon becoming the Kell of their house after all, it wasn’t like he did not care to be upon The Glittering Hoard— but took the proffered gold coins the captain held out in place of the pauldron, looked back at Vyrdakks, did what Eno assumed to be the equivalent of a half-hearted sneer, and then got up and walked off to.. Well. Fetch a vessel.

It was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but seemed too clean a severance for how vicious a mutiny the first mate had intended, and it seemed Gaura echoed her sentiments as he approached Vyrdakks from behind and peered from over his shoulder.

“Man, I really hope that doesn’t come back to bite us later,” Gaura fretted, looking after Misirak with a lightly flicking tail. “I mean, speaking from experience.”

“If it does,” Vyrdakks responded, turning to look at the knight, “I will kill him.”

Ah. That’ll do it.

“Oh,” Gaura blinked, his eyes rather wide.

“Let’s try not to jinx it however,” Pepper mused, looking at Gaura with affection and wariness.

“Hmg,” he agreed, even though his fins flattened and drooped again.

There was suddenly a large hand that softly grabbed her shoulder, and even though it was gentle, she did not have enough situational awareness to keep the small shocked whistle from escaping.

Turning her head at a speed that would’ve cracked someone else’s neck, she blinked up at Rollo standing next to her, tired eyes gently amused by its jump. She clucked a quiet chiding noise which only garnered a small twitch of his mouth.

“There’s something you should see,” he murmured, looking at her and the group now aware of his presence. 

“Oh,” she breathed, unsure of what he could be referring to— there wasn’t much it hadn’t already seen while making her way through, “okay?”

He gestured with a ‘follow me’ motion for her and the others to follow, and began making his way back to town. Making sure that everyone was indeed following, she caught Gaura doing a double blink at what her father was wearing and could only stifle a small smile. Right. He hadn’t officially met him as her father, though as a knight and a navalman, might have seen him as a Saint.

Or a warrior, depending.  Regardless of anyone’s view of her father, they made their way back through Nassau’s actual ‘city’ and back to its center, where the corpse of Silver’s bird lay as a demotivator for the entire island. Gaura quietly made a small grinding growl of a noise; he truly did not like that bird, and he wasn’t afraid to express it even when the poor beast was dead. 

But the true sight to look upon was Silver; moving.

“Oh!” she heard Soleil quietly chime along with shocked, but happy, gasps from both Ulysses and Pepper.

“Aughgh,” came from the awakened sleeper, “grhuh.”

“Silver!” it called, trying to gauge his awareness.  

Their head turned with sleep still clutching at his muscles. “Wha?”

“Silver!!” she called with more force, delighted at the fact they were even sentient, and made her way over with a quick swish of her skirts and stride and crouching back to her knees to do a small medical assessment on the man. They squinted in groggy curiosity at her, head tilting ever so slightly. “Are you.. An angel?”

It ignored that for a moment as she assessed him. Of all things to be asked, in her book, that’s a terrifying question.

“She might as well be,” Pepper joked, unaware.

“She might as well be, yeah,” Ulysses nodded, and she turned her head 180 degrees to chide them.

“Not at the moment,” she mused wryly before looking back to the dazed Silver, ‘because if I were an angel, we’d all be in heavy trouble for the things I’m doing.’

From what it could tell, he suffered no major injuries or even bruising. Just very very tired. Silver blinked a couple more times, seemingly trying to get something from their vision, before his brow furrowed a moment and he turned to look at the bird laying dead beside them. Their confusion shifted rapidly from realization to just pure and complete sorrow.

Ah. Had fallen without even knowing what had happened to his friend; this was a rather cruel wake-up. 

“He died well,” Silver murmured despondently, “fighting for what he loved..”

Having had at first tried to start moving— despite her gentle press against his shoulder to stop him— the man sat fully back down. No longer trying to move from the dragon’s side. “I don’t feel real without him. Everything’s hazy.”

He reached and petted the no longer living metal with loving care. “I can only see through my eyes,” at that, there was the barest quirk of their mouth in realized irony. “I haven’t done that in.. ages.”

His head and hand against the metal, they had closed their eyes briefly. But then there was a deeper furrowing of his brow, a pursing of his mouth before his eyes popped back open and looked up at her, hope sparking life into their gaze. “Can you bring him back? You’re a cleric right? You know how to do that.” “I– I do, but..”

It trailed off where thoughts picked up the unspoken question of hers. Could– Could someone even revive something of living metal? It had no reason not to try, nor any reason to believe it couldn’t be done, but she didn’t want to inspire false hope in something that wasn’t even manageable by a more powerful cleric’s standards. 

The thing was, the spell she immediately thought of— a resurrection spell which would heal and restore the creature’s heart if it worked— was just a smidgen outside her skill level. And by a smidgen she meant it could cast it, but her bones were going to demand it sleep for the next 15 hours uninterrupted.

It nodded to itself in determination. Tiredness or no tiredness, this was fixable. 

And then this time, she actually had the wherewithal to recognize the sound of heavy footfalls approaching her, and she looked back up at Rollo, approaching with a question in his eyes.

“You want to do this?”

It thought about what she was going to do for a brief moment; any question from him warranted it. Revive something it wasn’t sure could be revived, bending another life back from its end. But had they not vanished with Gaura and Kallstrom on board, Lobo wouldn’t have been so furious as to come to Nassau himself and kill their defender. Fix what had been broken. It looked at him head on and nodded.

“Interfering with the dead is a dangerous thing,” he gently reminded as his face fell into quiet rumination, sadness— guilt?— tugging the edges of it as his eyes went ever so distant. “I would know.”

Does it have something to do with the shadow from my dream?

It looked at him for a moment, before it gave a small churring chuckle and a soft eyed look. “Yeah. It is,” it confirmed with a small nod; dangerous as any magic is, “but—” 

She looked at Silver, looking between the two of them before it murmured to her father, mindful of perked ears. “I’d rather give someone another chance, from whence it was taken unfairly.”

It took him a moment, searching her ‘expression’, but Rollo slowly smiled. 

He took her hands in his and she noticed, very sharply cutting through any thought it might have had, that his hands— while not softer, they were too calloused to be called that— felt.. Firmer. Lighter. 

The energy in his actual grasp was closer to how it felt— a year ago for him— before she left for Nassau.

She looked back up at him in surprise and saw that his eyes… there was a light that was returning to them.

“Then my daughter, let us pray.”

He kneeled down, and she followed in immediate recognition, legs folded underneath her instead of perched. Taking her right hand back to rest upon Silver’s bird while the other grasping his hand back firmly. Rollo’s own free left hand pressed the ground, the earth, and they began to pray.

‘Heavenly Father, we come before you in faith, seeking your healing touch.’

Shining strands of bright light, the magic as always unnamable in color, emerged from the earth itself around Rollo’s arm, through his chest– centering itself around his heart— anchoring in his belly, through the arm and down to the hand clasping hers.

‘We believe in your power to restore health and well-being. Please lay your hands through us upon this creature and remove any sickness or pain from their body.’

The magic slipped into her left hand, crawling up into its chest and swirling around her own heart, settling in her gut, through to Eno’s outstretched hand, placed upon the dragon, and the magic twisted steadily into the deceased.

‘Grant them the strength and vitality so that they may continue to serve you and their fellows.’ 

Magical light ignited before her eyes in metallic eye sockets.

There was music; Soft, and strummed as a harp would. And with those notes, floating in the air, the sun began to finally peek over the horizon. Looking away for a moment from its task, there was a woman, staring at her; hair soft and shining in the cresting sun’s light. A... man, stood next to her; his deep, deep cloak hiding anything of what he looked like. The woman gave a soft nod of approval, and clasped her hands together with the man beside her. Just like that, they were gone.

‘In you we trust, in man we believe.’

The sun had just reached its tired rays through the gaps of the trees when the metallic bird sprang awake— drawing swears and shocked yells from the surrounding groups— its hide shuddering under her hand as it pulled away from her and started pulling, pulling, pulling itself off the spike struck through its breast and the metal swirling and filling in what had been lost.

‘Amen.’

“Good morning.”

And almost as if that had been the cue, the people started cheering in ecstatic delight, shouting in sheer joy, in a raucous deafening surge of hope made vocal.

Its own heart pounded loudly in her chest as exhaustion washed over her. A present thing that told her you’re here, you’re alive, even as God’s favor rested heavy upon her shoulders; Watching Silver and his friend reunite and press into one another as the bond they shared was repaired.

She looked back over to Rollo, her hand still clasped with his, and looked into his eyes. A thing it generally avoided with people if she could help it, but always comfortable with him; but as she looked, still connected through both prayer of the soul and magic, it saw the state of him once more. 

The bloodied and frayed knot tearing itself at the seams, the very center of him and his magic, was slowly being tied back together by outside strings— bright strands sticking out amongst the darker shades with its bright gleaming white, like her feathers; securing the tattered edges with steady reinforcement.

If it nearly started crying from sheer love for her dad, no the hell she didn’t and no one had any proof. Instead, she churred in love and delight with the force of a small jaguar.

In between all the noise, the air’s change was almost physically from the heavy geas of the magic being shifted around and everyone felt it; heads turning all around to see what had been altered.

Sound was what caught its ear first, and it quickly turned her head back out to the bay.

Waves.

Waves crashing gently against the beach— catching the sun’s rays, and reflecting them back onto the people of Nassau.

“Did we just stop the end of the world?” Gaura asked, his head had started spinning with everyone else’s but as he looked around, his fins flaring in delight. “That was awesome..!”

Everything had shifted back into tune.

Even if for just a moment.

As the people of Nassau looked at each other, smiling in joy and relief, it could feel the collective breath of air they breathed in. Turning her eyes through the people, her gaze eventually landed on the three lovers.

Lockwell, Vyrdakks, and Davy Jones all looked at each other with unspoken words, offered each other their hands, and they danced.

Watching them dance, a small twig within her mind lurched and she turned her head towards Pepper, who seemed to be considering something. Couldn’t be too far off from what she herself was now thinking about.

“Go check on Cass, darling.”

Pepper looked over at her in relief, and began sprinting off; their cane only occasionally clicking against rock and sand when they absolutely needed to use it.

Pulling herself to her feet, it also helped Rollo up with minimal effort; not that he truly needed it, but it was always loathe to part physical contact with anyone and he was absolutely no exception.

Following their de facto lord’s lead, the entire island seemed to spring itself to its feet– grabbing instruments, shoes— whether it was to remove them or to put them on depended on the person— and settled themselves to dancing and talking in euphoric tones.

It heard Gaura’s voice, off to its left, sigh to himself. “Oh man, it’s not depressing anymore; good.”

There was immediate hubbub around Silver and the dragon first, cheers of relief and warm welcomes back to the land of living, as everyone started pulling instruments that still could even  vaguely put together a tune and swarming together as they all began to dance. After a small amount of time later— peeling herself away to the sidelines to escape the impromptu party rush, losing her father to the tides in the process— she spotted Pepper being bridal carried by Casanova himself, both smiling ear to ear as Pepper giggled in pure delight. As she watched him, he approached his fathers eyes growing a tad misty even from this distance as he set Pepper down, and began hugging them.

She turned her eyes and shifted her ears attentions away so it did not intrude upon the homecoming, but it felt a deep joy in her heart at the reunion. They all should enjoy any and all time they had together. 

Off to another side of the dance, she saw Kallstrom gently approach Soleil; a caution in his posture, but there was an anticipatory swish and flick of the tiefling’s tail.

It could not refrain from the simple curiosity of it and kept an eye on those two.

At first it was just talking. She could see both of them flash sharp teeth, and if she opened sensitive ears to the cacophony it could hear undercurrents of laughter from them both. It let itself sway to the music as she watched the levity and mirth die for a moment as Kallstrom offered his hand. Soleil hesitated, and she watched his hand fall slightly– not pressuring, but keeping it there. And then with a soft look after some more spoken words, Soleil took his hand, and they spun into the dancing crowd, both tails flicking in their own different ways that showed excitement.

The tail never lied; she hoped that they had fun dancing.

She continued swaying in delight at the atmosphere around her, humming with the band and watching dancing people twirl and laugh and stumble.

This. This is what she worked for, all the time. People of all types and creeds to be able to exist in harmony. Never perfectly, maybe not even well-meshed; but together and happy. Concordia salus.

An ever-welcomed presence was being made to her spatial awareness however, and she watched her father beeline towards her from the beach and wrap her once more in a hug. It could only whistle a delighted sound to voice her enthusiasm at the return.

For a brief moment they both swayed a little to the music, simply resting there. Then he once again pulled only a bit away from the hug, raising a hand and a swirl of magic manifested bright, twirling lights within the palm of his hand— tossed into the air like confetti and beginning to float through the air like fireflies, settling into slowly bouncing strings of light, connecting everything in the town square together.

“That’s wonderful,” she chuffed in delight, looking at the spell’s bright additions to the party with glee, as others voiced their appreciation as well.

“You always comment on that,” he smiled, a headbonk from up high as she twittered a mirthful sound, “even missing half the aspect of them.”

“You don’t need colors to see the light of it,” she churred.

He chuckled at the familiar response and began gently pushing right below the base of her wings, careful of her remiges. “Go on then,” he ushered, “go dance.”

“Hmm,” she squinted, rotating its head in playfully, leaving her face completely upside down as she considered his words with a false severity. The grinning laughter and crinkled eyes she won from the move was absolutely worth it.

“What if I instead…” she popped her face back up upright, “danced with you?”

“You sure you want to dance with your old man?” he teased, but a slight crease appeared on his brow along with a small twitch in his lips, “There is a reason I stick to the sidelines in Kingston..”

“Of course I do! Well. That’s if the old man can still keep up with me, of course,” she goaded, ever so gently pulling on him. “If he needs to sit out, then I will of course let his feet rest.”

“Well,” he gave a small gesture of the head, amusement wry in his smile, “then it seems I will have to accept my daughter’s request to prove her wrong on account of my pride.”

Eno laughed in delight as she tugged her father into the other giggling, twirling folk and took the lead position, because as much as she teased, it knew he did not often dance.

Leading him into the outer circles of people dancing, it did a simple three-steps, the occasional spin when he settled into the small rhythmic circle she made with him— When either of them stumbled, as they often did, they’d overextend to catch each other and laugh about it as they did.

Sliding cautiously through familiar movements, she murmured a small metronome for the awkward Saint to follow along to as he slowly gained his rhythm, with him glancing down at his feet often to make sure he did not stomp on her talons often enough she learned to anticipate it and tapped his foot with her own as he did it. The small game quickly shifted into an oddly paced but entertaining twirl of them pretending to try and step on one another’s feet while ‘dancing’ together.

As it side-stepped within their constantly traveling movements, it finally realized why it had not seen Ulysses anywhere within the crowd, as she finally saw him playing an older looking, well-loved guitar amongst the band.

That was good. Seeing him, while not at peace, but more comfortable and ensconcing himself within a group of people and simply playing music was something that did the heart good, no matter who you were. Especially as for him, as this morning with its ‘confront your world-view’ had probably lowered his want to deal with people at the moment.

With a small tilt of her head as she led her father into an open position, and twirling them back into closed, that had actually reminded her of one of the many anxiety bells ringing within her mind.

Speaking of the ones who chose to stay away from larger groups; Where was Abaddon?

As the song began to shift, and the switching of partners came about, she prepared her father with a small change in hand positioning and pressure before spinning them both out of the circle— him surprising her with lifting her off her feet as they did so, until they stood on the sidelines again, where he set her down with aplomb.

“Thank you, my dear, for the dance,” he gave a small head bow as well as a soft smile as she gave a playful bow back in turn, “now go dance with some of your crew.”

“I will in a moment,” its eyes now searching the flock, “there seems to be someone I need to find before I’m satisfied.”

His eyebrow raised and he too peered around briefly, wondering at who she was talking about. If he didn’t figure it out now.. Well, he’d definitely see, should she find him.

Parting ways with her father, she made her way through a few revelers with chuffed amusement, before making its way a small distance from the main crowd of people, wondering and considering. If she were a reticent anti-social vulture, where would she be?

Well her first answer was ‘somewhere comfortable’; so somewhere up on high, if not still back on the ship itself.

Tilting its head up, it started looking amongst reinvigorated trees and battered rooftops. She spotted a figure resting on one of the rooftops behind the rest of the partying populace almost immediately— only because she knew what it was looking for. 

If she wasn’t already familiar with some of his habits, it’d probably wonder why he was just sitting alone up there.

That being said, she didn’t want to just up and out his solitary space, so once more making her way a bit more within eyeshot, she waved up at him perched up there. His head swiveled towards her in reaction and he waved back. With a questioning head tilt it made an offering gesture to him. ‘Come down and join the festivities.’ 

He took her offer and turned it on her, making the same offer but in reverse; ‘Come up here and join my solitude.’  It let out a little near silent call of amusement. Of course he wasn’t going to just come down. 

So with both a gallic shrug of ‘alright then’, and a spread of her wings, she flapped a couple powerful silent beats upwards, spinning in the air as it turned to face the crowd alongside him— landing and settling into a perch beside him.

Looking at her, his squinting eyes provided a smile that she quickly returned. “Hello,” he greeted, and then he looked back down at the celebrating crowd.

She looked back at the revelry and tilted her head between the two points of her focus. “Crowds not your style?”

“Oh, it’s less of the crowd and more of..” he paused and then gestured circularly with his prosthetic arm, “Well. The everything about me.”

Ah. “Ehh,” she shrugged with a bit of blasé, the gesture more at the notion of having to defend him more than the self-deprecation. She would gladly argue on his behalf; “stick around us and you’ll be okay.”

The music filled the small lull as he seemed to consider her words, a furrowed look on his face. “..It doesn’t matter if I’m ‘reformed’— I’m still a blood cultist,” he shook his head with a small ruffle of feathers, “They’ll take one look at me and string me up.”

If they all seriously tried that right now after everything the island had gone through, she would be thoroughly surprised at their energy. That being said, she understood his insistence and hesitancy. It sighed and shuffled its talons beneath her in concealed agitation. “I won’t let that happen.”

Abaddon turned his gaze sidelong towards her; not quite a soft look. This one was just.. tired. “You’ve done a lot today.. A lot of convincing.” 

“Just relax. Go dance,” he resettled himself and hunched over once more, “Leave me to myself.”

The deep undercurrent of melancholy seeping into his voice made her heart ache. It couldn’t just do that. First of all, that’s her friend who sounded so tired and sad, and second of all, leaving him to his lonesome would surely only exacerbate it? That being said, it knew it could not provide much entertainment in conversations. ‘Small talk’ with her often fell back upon a few subjects, and it was not about to start rambling about shrimp up here to him; that’s when an idea popped into mind.

Abaddon began to say something else, but it had already decided it would have no more of the self-imposed loneliness. “Would you care for a dance yourself?” she proposed.

He blinked and then turned to fully look at her. “What?”

“Do you want to dance..!”

“There’s no way, that out of everyone, you want to dance with me. The freak. The blood cultist.” He gestured aggressively, between himself and the group of people down below. “The one who is actively hiding from the crowd.”

Its shoulders shook from the affectionate laughter being contained in her chest, and it raised its eyes in the form of raised eyebrows with a small little bob of her head; ‘Yeah! Whatcha gonna do about it?’

“I want to dance with you,” she reiterated and then offered a hand outwards, “if you’re alright with that.”

He looked at her proffered hand with a blank look, as if instead of her limb it had instead offered him a snake. But the look passed into something curious and he began reaching over with his prosthetic hand— stopped with a tilt of his head— and then switched to clasping her hand with his real one.

“Alright.”

Practically closing her eyes at him with the force of her smile, it stood up with a small ruffle of cloth and feathers before hefting him up to a standing position with a gentle pull. 

He grumbled a little at the jostling, but didn’t say anything truly in complaint. His head turned and looked at his blood cultist patch, the star sitting atop the olive branches on his shoulder and murmured. “I don’t know if I’m willing to abandon this.”

“You don’t have to.”

Whatever response he had been expecting, that had not been it. He looked back at her in soft surprise.

She squeezed his hand in gentle assurance, rubbing her thumb in a circle. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” 

Breaking away from something.. That close to one’s heart, no matter how harmful or possibly damaging, always needed time to come around to; if at all. It was always the person’s choice, after all.

His smile once more made an appearance and he briefly removed his hand from hers— briefly fighting wings, arms, and sleeves, he flipped his cloak inside out; giving her an actual look at the armor beneath for a moment in time— hiding the sigil before smoothing out the fabric with a couple of self-conscious movements.

With a brisk readjusting of his confidence, he mused down to her. “Now, I just look like a very red bird.”

It gave a laugh at the jauntily tossed together ‘disguise’. How could it not? 

It herself gave a sweeping gesture and once more— more ceremonial this time— offered her hand with a toss of a bow. “May I have this dance?”

“Why, m’lady,” he bowed in turn, gripping her hand once more with more confidence, “you might.” 

She laughed at their game of white lies of confidence and let him take the lead on the jump from the roof; they both drifted back down to the party with a couple of wing flaps, prosthetic and real, and as they landed with a ‘fwoosh’ of sand and ‘whumpf’ of cloth both. She once more approached the crowd of dancers— but this time with the bearded vulture in tow— and she took the lead position with a smile and led Abaddon through a dance. 

It had been taught how to dance by its mom, once upon a time; small feet on large snow white, and taking her and her siblings through a two-step. Then the fuzzy memories of grey on white turned to darker shades of feathers and far more patterned as Xiomara took up a more complicated role; teaching her a multitude of different dances— the woman’s favorite being the foxtrot— but, how to lead, how to follow, but most importantly, how to help your partner have fun with it.

With a delighted opening spin, it was probably not what the aarakocra expected if his quiet shriek was any indication. With a small giddy whistle of apology, it corrected her hold on the man and began a dance a bit more complicated than what she had danced with her father, but started slow so her partner could feel the rhythm it had set before it did anything new and crazy. 

The small crease in Abaddon’s brow was quickly erased as he settled into the pattern; the hold on her hand and upper side firming with encouragement, and upon introducing a small demonstration of how it was telegraphing what she was doing next, easily matched her in pacing with the beat the band provided. 

The dance continued, sliding and spinning and snickering when either of them stumbled over a piece of rubble, or someone else’s unfortunate limb had either party not moved wings and appendages out of the way.

The band however, seemed to have had enough of the softer tunes, and began to morph what they were playing into a bit of a faster tune. It made sure Abaddon was able to keep up with her steps before turning her gaze to see what was happening.

The Nassauans seemed to understand perfectly, because the slower ones shifted farther away as more joined the inner circles. Soleil, especially, seemed keen to join, and before long Kallstrom was getting yanked into the tangled dance circle by the delighted demigoddess.

Normal couple or throuple dances quickly turned into linked arms and hands, dragging others into it, and she herself quickly found the arm keeping Abaddon’s close enough to feel the changes before they happened being similarly tugged by Pepper, linking with Abaddon’s arm as they were both pulled from their dance into the group dance. It guffawed in surprise as the vulture let out a surprised “Woah!”

Kallstrom, on the other hand, seemed frazzled beyond belief as he seemed to try and keep up with the quick step and stomp-twirl of the music. “I’ve never danced this fast before!!” 

“You’re about to fucking learn!” Pepper cackled, Casanova snickering from his own spot on the other side of Pepper.

“Find your sun-step!” Soleil beamed, easily swirling in time with the music, keeping Kallstrom just barely in line with her.

“I’ve only been to noble waltzes!!!”  

Turning her head in time with the sounds of outside help to the beat, she released the hand holding the person on her left as they passed a certain goliath and owlin, snatching one of Rollo’s clapping arms by the elbow with a dexterity that she used for catching small animals in its youth, pulling him into the circle with a mischievous delight in its heart.

“Whuhup–!” he stumbled slightly, and as he did, Xiomara reached for his other hand to help steady him, but instead got herself pulled into it as well; and it seemed that way by design. “Come now, Mara!”

The poor choirwoman was suddenly thrust into it along with the rest of them, clasping hands with the person Eno had released in favor of gaining two more to the circle. Luckily, she had caught on much faster to the steps than poor Kallstrom, and Enososin could only trill in delight at the happiness now radiating from the other woman as she moved within her element. 

Though, a quick glance at her father told her that she was going to have some thoughts soon.

“Shame Celestine isn’t here~” Rollo called loud enough for Xiomara— and by proxy, Eno— to hear. It watched Mara’s feathers immediately fluff out in reaction to the reference to its other ‘auntie’ with a lower pitched squeak, and it took all there was in restraint to keep herself from laughing. 

“I think– you know she loves music,” Rollo explained, a gentle confused look on his face at her reaction, but eyeing Xiomara with the same glint Eno knew from the mirror. 

“I— I know,” she stuttered, looking a little frazzled but a lot more shy in her feather placements.

At that, Eno couldn’t help it; it started laughing. ‘Nice save, dad.’

“Kallstrom,” Gaura announced as they all once more spun past him, “you’re really bad at that, it’s funny.”

“You try it, wiseass!”

“Haha,” he laughed as they started the shape patterns again, farther away, “nah. It's funnier from here.”

Music swelled as they all did their final patternistic movements in whichever circle they had migrated to, and the song ended with a grand note. 

A new song was starting, but since its dance with him had ended, Eno ushered them out of the throng with practiced crowd-charging ease. They ended up shuffling off to the side closer to the trees, mostly for Abaddon’s sake, because she was pretty sure if he was anywhere near the side with the thicket of people bringing out their rations of food and drink he’d start screaming. As it was, he was shaking a bit; whether it be from nerves of the dance or the need to punch someone remained to be seen.

She let the tighter socially polite tuck of her wings extend a bit farther, not far enough to be openly noticed, but enough so that people automatically avoided the limb as they would any other body part in a crowd; Using its wings as buffers, it kept a small bit of space around the two of them clear of any passerbys.

That being said, it had noticed her aunt approaching from one of the other sides of the party— having ended in a circle not rather close to her own— eyeing both her and Abaddon with curiosity.

‘Hoh boy.’ It spread the small barrier a little further on one side to accommodate Mara. ‘This will be an interesting introduction.’

If her aunt asked anything about what had happened on her trip, who Abaddon was or where they’d met, then she was going to be making a lot of excuses, half-truths, and white lies for the upcoming conversation. There was no way that conversation was happening out here, and definitely not in its entire full truth.

Miss Mara approached Eno's open side, thankfully, and stepped within the small space made for her with an appreciative nod. The open gesture had been appreciated.

Though, Xiomara approached even closer from the side and murmured to it in a silent whisper, “She’s very bright.”

‘Not where I thought we were going with this. She?’ 

It cycled through the ‘she’s it knew; did she mean Sol? Sol, from her understanding, was rather bright in hair ‘color’. Not Pepper, too many dark shades and didn’t often use ‘she’, Ulysses and Kallstrom were rather clearly presenting as masculine— Wait— did she mean Abaddon? 

If she had a silver, she’d have two of ‘em. Ulysses, and now Miss Mara.

It covered its beak in a bit of a confused stifled laugh and it could feel Abaddon shift and look down at Mara in open curiosity.

“Why are you laughing??” she whispered again, gesticulating vaguely near her but whispering very directly, “She’s very bright!”

She squeaked out a higher laugh and covered her mouth as it got a little loud. Auntie, that’s a man!

It couldn’t just say that outloud, in public, without proper context if anyone heard her, and it was going to hazard that they were definitely trying to gamble on that prospect.

“What is so funny??”

Rather than putting Mara out of her confusion, she decided to let the baffled Abaddon in on what was happening, because he was starting to grumble in slight confusion at her continued stifled chortles.

She raised a finger far closer to Mara and within only her line of sight; rather than attacking the original target, it swapped and told her to wait a moment. As she leaned a bit closer to Abaddon for the privacy of any of the keener ears nearby and murmured in question, “What is it with people and interpreting you as female..?”

A small startled shake of the head paired with speedy blinking. “I…”

Mara’s ears, both within range and meant for her to hear, easily caught it. “Wait—” her eyes widened in surprise as she mimicked Abaddon’s rapid blinking. 

Abaddon cocked his head to the side, eye flicking between the two of them as both avians flustered to come up with a response to their linked conversation. “Uh..”

Xiomara’s feathers flattened in distressed apology. “I thought he was a – a woman, oh my God. I’m so sorry, sir.”

“Ehm. Well,” he stressed, shuffling as he ducking his head in both embarrassment and seemingly to address the owlins a little more directly. “Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t always this ruggedly handsome?”

Ah!

“Oh!” Miss Mara gasped in time with Eno’s.

“I could! I could.” She nodded and gestured for him to continue. At least, she could at least believe that he might not have always considered himself nice to look at. 

He looked away briefly and scratched at the bright streak underneath his beak, standing out amongst the darker hues. “Typically, in my people’s culture, wearing this bright of a red is.. Well. Feminine, but…” 

“I always liked being bright..” His claws turned on him as he clenched his fist for a briefest of seconds. “..And there’s not exactly a lot of females of my kind left.”

Oufg. Its expression turned sympathetic in her quietly trilled condolences. Another thing it couldn’t see, then. While it now understood why both Ulysses and Mara had looked at Abaddon and had a bit of a nonconformity confusion, she mourned the fact that the culture he wasn’t conforming to was lost to memories and any written tale that survived. That was not the way cultures should go. 

Pepper, swinging close by in a dance between a woman Eno could not immediately name, and Casanova, apparently heard his comment about being bright and yelled over to him with great sincerity before once more being whisked off; “You’re very pretty!!”

All three of them looked briefly after them with a spot of bemusement ranging in depth upon their beaks. 

“Considering I can’t see colors very well, you are very bright!” Mara complimented before once again making herself smaller with her feathers in sincere apology. “I am very sorry..!”

“It’s alright,” came the wryly amused reply, a tiny undercurrent of wariness seeping out before he shook his head. “Not to– don’t worry about it.”

“Oh my God, this is so embarrassing,” she whispered in a small voice.

Exhaling in bemused sympathy, it instead peered back up at him. “You are very handsome,” she confirmed. Probably always have been, in your own way.

His eyes widened as he blinked at her.

“You look like you take very good care of your feathers,” Mara added, coming out of her small spiral to give a thumbs up.

Abaddon almost always looked preened to near incessant perfection, and so he always looked.. Well, quite frankly lovely; he was quite conscious of how he looked, at least from Enososin’s perspective— but that was not what Xiomara was referring to. For once, she was rather jealous of her aunt’s abilities to see even a speck of color. She wanted to see what colors everyone perceived him as.. How bright was his ‘red’?

That wasn’t fair to Mara though, so she pushed the little wish back into its designated corner where— the occasions were genuinely few and far between— it came out to plead with her quietly, and then continued listening onward.

Abaddon was quick to latch onto Mara’s words, something he was actually able to respond to. “That’s an actual compliment I can appreciate; thank you.”

“Oh, of course, of course.” Mara responded, giving both a series of frantic nods and a small polite bow before very quickly retreating and— was she..? Yes she was— then began hiding behind Rollo for cover.

It briefly covered its beak in another whistling giggle at her aunt’s embarrassment, just a little one, before lowering its hand again and swaying once more to the music.

There was a small clearing of a throat in the space of Mara’s retreat and she looked back up at Abaddon in curiosity. “You are.. very beautiful as well.”

Oh?

It.. had not expected? That! For some reason. But, it kept a firm grasp on its instincts to blink in equal surprise and instead bowed her head in genuine appreciation. “Thank you very much.”

He seemed to shrink in on himself, even if his actual posture and distance didn’t change, as he murmured to her rather quietly in addendum. “I don’t think.. I am… ready. Or stable enough for anything like what they have.” He nodded with his head towards Pepper and Cass, returned to each other once more as they danced.

O h.

Now it had to lock down on that instinct tenfold. Ohhh my God? Ohhh my God. Thoughts behind a calm veneer flew every which way as it scrambled to reorder a semblance of a sentence. It did not expect anyone to actually respond to its very quiet attempts at flirting, at any point, because she wasn’t good at it. She did not mind this, but whenever someone actually took the time to respond to it, it threw her for a loop. Especially this someone.

“And I do not wish to push you into anything you’re not ready for,” she assured, plucking flung words from within its startled brain, because above all else, she wanted him to feel both safe and comfortable around her. “For now, we can just be friends.”

“That is good,” he uttered so softly that it would have been lost to the crowd had she not had the ears it had. Then he gazed back down at her, still gentle in tone if a little louder now. “I like having friends.”

Her heart relaxed in elation, and she smiled back up at him in joy. “And I am glad to be yours.”

Abaddon’s voice once again went softer in the secrecy of his words. “I am.. Glad to be yours as well.”

She churred in delight and offered her hand again in question. He studied her claws for but a brief moment before he sighed with smiling eyes and took it; this time ready for her delighted spin into the crowd.

‘There are problems elsewhere in the world; not everything is ok. Things will get worse, but they will get better. Everything will be okay, because for now, they had this. Friends, loved ones, family. Today, tonight, they would have the dance.’

Prologue; One - Two - Three - Four

High Seas; It Begins - Something's Wrong - Blood in the Water pt. 1 - Blood in the Water pt. 2 - Crimson Runs Blue within Crépuscule (pt. 1) - Crimson Runs Blue within Crépuscule (pt. 2) (HOWDY!) - Fake Orchestra playing a Synthetic Symphony pt. 1 - FOpSS pt. 2 - Impacto pt. 1 - Ikanaide pt. 2

[man-and-atom]

The company plans to use solar farms in places that have little to recommend them other than a railway line nearby as filling stations at which to charge heavy but cheap batteries built into goods wagons. A 100-car train… could deliver three gigawatt-hours to users.

We wouldn’t normally suspect The Economist of innumeracy. On the other hand, solar boosters are hardly above suspicion of deliberate deception, and sometimes seem to revel in self-deception.

American railroad hopper-cars, much larger than those used most other places in the world, carry typically 100 tonnes of coal each. A modern, efficient gigawatt coal-fired power station typically burns something like 300 tonnes of coal an hour. (Those numbers will vary with the thermal efficiency of the station and the quality of the coal.) Three gigawatt-hours would then require about 10 carloads. The typical unit coal train is 100 cars long, or about 30 gigawatt-hours. At that, most of the coal-burners built in the past half-century or so have been mine-mouth stations, because for distances of about 500 km or less, it’s cheaper to burn the coal at the pit-head and send the power onward by high-tension lines.

Good lead-acid batteries (presumably the “heavy but cheap” option mentioned) store about 50 watt-hours (0·05 kWh) per kilogram. At this rate, one train car could carry a freight of 5000 kWh. The whole trainload would then be 100 times that, 500 000 kWh or half a gigawatt-hour. Only if you assume an externally-imposed economics-be-damned mandate for solar-plus-storage, as in California, does this begin to make some kind of sense.

If the numbers as given simply don’t seem to accord with reality, neither does the claim that solar “only gets cheaper and cheaper”. Solar power requires land, and vast tracts of it — land which only tends to increase in price. Besides that, each additional increment of generation tends to use more land, because the land most favorable for the purpose is usually developed first. Similarly, the vast raw materials requirements call for exploiting poorer and poorer sources, at ever-escalating costs.

Compare all that with a single half-meter-long CANDU fuel bundle, containing about 30 kg of uranium, which in the course of its time in the reactor will produce more than 1 500 000 kWh. Nuclear requires only modest quantities of land and raw materials, and depends primarily upon technological skill and know-how — which, unlike land or raw materials, constantly gets cheaper.

[zealousleopard]

Heart-shaped Sandwiches / Henry Cooldown x Gender Neutral!Reader

Exactly 5000 words!

After Henry and Sylvia’s divorce, Henry wasn’t left with much. He had lost his wife, his rightful spot in the home he shared with her, a lump sum of the money to his name, and a bit of his pride. His efficient tactics and beam katana were some of the only things he had left after the whole ordeal. Even though he didn't have much, he had to get a new place to stay. That’s where you come in.

You weren't a divorcee– nor were you some highly skilled assassin as Henry was. You were a humble server at a 24 hour diner in Santa Destroy. Getting paid minimum wage, the job took a lot out of you after most shifts. You lived in a two bedroom, two bathroom apartment in town, nothing too special. You were even generous enough to lend your extra appliances to coworkers and friends who needed it. Alas, money was getting tight, and while you didn’t mind helping someone in need, you needed help with the rent. One rough night after not getting many tips, you uploaded a roommate listing online. You got an almost immediate reply. 

The person that showed interest in your listing was completely anonymous, as there was nothing about their page that would describe who they were. Through personal inbox, you sleepily messaged the person if they could meet you at the diner you worked at the next day. They quickly replied that they’d be there at noon. You went to sleep, hoping that the person you agreed to meet with wasn’t a serial killer.

The day after that, you were up early serving guests and refilling drinks. Saturdays were always a busy day at the diner, and this morning proved no different. You had served a number of guests too high to count with your fingers before the morning was over. Shortly, high noon arrived, and so did a sharply dressed gentleman with it. He walked up to the counter and politely got the attention of your manager, saying that he had ‘urgent matters’ with you. Upon hearing your name being called aloud, you quickly put down the breakfast of yet another guest, and moved to where you were needed. You approached your manager, wondering why she called you over.

“Yes?” 

“Take the next fifteen off. This man has ‘urgent matters’ with you.” 

She gestured to the man in question. It was only then that you noticed the besuited man next to her was here for you. He stood out very strongly against the humble surroundings of the diner, being tall with long limbs and very well dressed. You looked him in the face, trying to see if you recognized him from somewhere. His blue eyes were quite cold as they gazed back into yours.

On top of how handsome he was, he had a distinct air about him. He was a bit intimidating for sure. You looked to your manager for guidance, to ask her if you really had the next fifteen minutes to talk with this man, but she provided no help. She shot you one last encouraging glance and walked off to serve more guests while you were on break. It was a busy Saturday after all. You turned and watched her leave, silently wishing she would stay. It was then that the man next to you cleared his throat.

“You uploaded a roommate listing last night, am I correct?” 

Your ears perked up upon hearing his smooth Irish lilt and you turned your head to look at him once more.

“Yes, I did. Wait– are you the person who’s meeting me today?”

“Indeed I am,” He confirmed your thoughts, holding a gloved hand out for you to shake. You took it in your own, feeling the firmness of his greeting.

“Henry Cooldown.” 

He introduced himself, and so did you. He suggested that you two continue your discussion outside, as the diner was noisy and crowded. Once there, he turned to you again.

“Listen, there’s something you must know about me before you make your decision to let me stay with you or not,” He began, a more serious tone laced with his Irish accent. 

You nodded your head, assuming that you understood what he meant by that. You didn’t know anything about him really, and welcomed anything that he might tell you. 

“I’m a professional assassin.”

He looked you in your eyes as he spoke bluntly. He was dead serious, there was no room in his voice for joking. After being lied to by Sylvia for god knows how long, he figured being upfront was the respectable thing to do. He did give a sigh though, thinking about how inconvenient it would be for you to turn him down. He had stayed in hotels, sure, but the nice ones in town were much too expensive for his shallow pockets, and thus not sustainable. He wouldn’t be caught dead in any of the other cheaper ones. While he was not a man to beg, he certainly hoped you sensed his interest in splitting your rent with you. Henry patiently waited for you to gather your thoughts, his sapphire eyes seemed to watch the gears turn in your head. 

Not expecting those words to come out of his mouth, they thoroughly surprised you. Your expression had ‘Really?’ written all over it. Santa Destroy was a hub for assassins and work of the sort, yet being the humble server at the diner you were, you weren’t familiar with it. Sure, there were quite a few shady regulars that frequented your job, though they tended to tip the most (if they tipped at all). Your lips parted as you took in what Henry told you, and you tried your best to digest it. While you weren’t expecting an assassin to show interest in your listing, that was how the cards fell. Money was very tight, and you needed a roomie ASAP. Giving a light sigh, you spoke.

“Was that all you needed to tell me?”

Henry’s head tilted to the side at your question, not expecting it at first. He quickly adjusted to it though, not letting it faze him for long.

“Yes.”

“Alright,” You replied, inwardly sighing with relief. He thankfully answered how you hoped. You didn’t know what you’d do if he had said anything else. 

His eyes bore into yours as he intently watched you. He analyzed every breath you took, and hung onto each word you spoke. Would you still let him, even after knowing his profession?

“You can stay with me.” You confirmed his thoughts, and he unclenched his jaw. He thanked whatever God was above that you would allow him to stay with you, and he wouldn’t take the opportunity for granted. 

“Thank you,” He bowed his head in gratitude, shedding some of his serious demeanor.

“All I ask is that you keep the place safe while you’re there. Can you do that?”

Henry couldn’t stop his lips from curling into a smirk at your request. It was very simple, and he couldn’t help but be amused. He would certainly keep the place he laid his head safe–no matter where it was. As the person allowing him to reside there, you would be protected too without question. He looked at you with those piercing eyes of his.

“Absolutely.”

After that was settled, the two of you agreed on a day and time for him to pick up his key to your place. With that, the two of you shook hands once more, and then parted ways.

Henry left the diner with a renewed pep in his step. He was happy to be rebuilding himself after the disastrous position Sylvia put him in. He couldn’t help the bitterness he felt regarding the matter. Though, he felt grateful towards you for being so efficient about the whole process. He could see himself protecting the place you two shared with great effort– and even you if you let him. 

You returned inside the diner to continue serving guests for the rest of your shift. Henry was on your mind the entire time, though. Your managers and coworkers kept teasing you about him, urging you to share more about your connection to the handsome gentleman. You didn’t tell them much just yet, as you barely knew anything about him. ‘An assassin…’ you thought to yourself. So that would explain his distinct vibe. He seemed quite cordial for an assassin. And attractive. His buttoned up vest fit him like a glove, almost cinching his slim wai– Okay, that's enough thinking about Henry for now. 

Soon enough, the spare key you had now belonged to him, as he also occupied the spare bedroom and bathroom in your apartment. Henry showed his gratitude to you by coming up with his share of the rent early. You were quite surprised, yet he insisted that it was only right. It was quite the happy arrangement. Needless to say, your land-lord was a much happier man with Henry living with you.

While work at the diner was busy and demanding, you always kept a neat area at home– which Henry greatly appreciated. He was a clean and organized man, disliking chaos and clutter in his living space. Whenever he would visit Travis’ place in the past, he would always have to watch his step to avoid treading on something. His brow furrowed upon the mere thought. 

His profession meant that he was often away from your now shared apartment. You assumed being an assassin was hard labor, and would guarantee that there were groceries in the fridge and good food in the pantry. You would almost always have a meal prepared for him when he got back, leaving him sticky notes of what you made. 

On days that you were both out late, you would arrive earlier than him most times and catch him when he came in. He would be unharmed, yet you always asked him if he was alright. God forbid he have blood on his clothes, as you would become greatly concerned. He would always assure you that the blood was never his and that you need not to worry.

“I’m a professional,” He would say, effectively brushing off your concern.

At first, he convinced himself that you were doing this to be nosy, or to make sure he was still able to protect your apartment. But, you were genuine, and it shone through your eyes that you were. He couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face whenever you would take a closer look at him, nor the warmth in his chest upon feeling your care for him. You were certainly growing on him with all of your tenderness and consideration. 

He had felt a lack of these two things well before the untimely end of his failing marriage with Sylvia. To receive them now in this vulnerable time for him was… special. Henry was a guarded person, even more so after his divorce, yet he found himself thinking more fondly of you by the week. You balanced his cool and collected aura quite well with your tender warmth and he couldn’t deny it. He enjoyed your company, something he couldn’t say the same for many people at all.

In fact, he adored everything about you. From the way your food tasted, to the way your diner uniform fit on your frame. You were like an escape from his bleak life, and he really cherished you. He would always express his thanks whenever you made him something to eat, and frequently ask you how your shifts went at the diner. If you had said anything about anyone bothering you, they’d be taken care of the very next day–no doubt. If it weren’t for his emotional constipation, he would do more to act on these feelings. 

Either way, before the two of you knew it, you had been staying with each other for months now. Splitting the rent was a very good arrangement, and you felt a weight was lifted off of your shoulders ever since letting Henry live with you. The Irishman was a good roommate, and you were glad to admit it. You really appreciated him, and the feeling seemed to be mutual between you two.

-

It was yet another night at the diner. It was a Friday, and that meant the diner was always bustling up until late hours of the night. Thankfully though, the place seemed to empty out by ten o’clock. You and your coworkers spent your time cleaning for the time being– polishing tables and sweeping floors. What would normally be the idle murmurs of guests and the ‘clink’s of forks on plates, a smooth song that was playing on the speakers filled the diner instead. It was refreshing for the joint to not be busy, it gave you space to relax. 

As you scrubbed a particularly grimey table, the cool track that was playing reminded you of your suave roommate. He seemed to always be on your mind, especially with your coworkers frequently asking about him. They loved gossip and drama of any kind, and basically begged to know more about Henry.

“He’s fiiine,” one of your coworkers said, playfully fanning herself with a menu. A few others in earshot of her agreed, and a few “Amen”s and “Hell yeah”s followed after her statement. You shook your head in embarrassment at this, but you didn’t say anything in protest. You were all in agreement that Henry was very handsome. A new hire that hadn’t seen him before then spoke up, wanting to be in on the fun.

“Who’s Henry?” They asked innocently enough, much to your dismay.

Before you could open your mouth to answer, one of your managers wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“This lucky duck’s ‘roommate!’ Ain't that somethin’.” 

The new hire nodded his head, immediately making an unsavory assumption about you and Henry. A few people in the room chuckled, as it was written all over his face. You shook your head, and were about to explain to everyone that it wasn’t what they all thought– but you were cut off again by the same manager squeezing your shoulder playfully.

“Honey– I swear! It’s obvious you like the guy. How long have you been livin’ together now, huh?”

“About eight months.” You coyly answered, and everyone's ears perked up at that. 

“Eight months? And you still haven’t tapped that?” she spoke, her voice filled with disbelief. The crew echoed her, wondering how it was possible for you two to still be strictly roommates.

You almost didn’t know what to tell them. You already spent great effort in making sure the apartment you two shared was clean, that he always had something to eat when he came home late from his jobs, and that you respected his mysterious privacy. The most forward thing you had done was making him heart shaped-sandwiches the week prior, and your coworkers had to practically beg you to do that. Being embarrassed, you didn’t wait up for him when he got home that night. You did leave him a rather sweet note, though, saying that you hoped he came back unharmed and safe. The next day, he expressed his gratitude by making coffee for you before you went to work that morning.

While you thought Henry was very attractive, you were much too humble to assume he felt the same way about you, assuming that he was out of your league. You were just some server at an ordinary diner working for minimum wage– and he was a highly skilled assassin who always dressed formally and smelled nice. Leaving out the information about Henry’s profession, you reminded your coworkers all of that. They all groaned in protest.

“So, what!? Opposites attract.”

“Go get your man! You live with him for fuck’s sake.”

“If I were you, I would’ve been hit that!”

The crew was insistent– reassuring you that you had a good chance with him regardless if you thought so or not. They talked about Henry as if he was already yours, and you couldn’t help the warmth that you felt on your cheeks upon hearing them do so. ‘It would be nice…’ you thought to yourself, but you didn’t know if you had it in you. Assuming that you just needed some more encouragement, they continued their aggressive support in hopes that it would drive you to be more confident. 

The rest of your shift was filled with whistles and laughs as everyone gave their two cents on what they thought of your predicament. You listened to your coworkers list ways you could drop hints to Henry, or even get in his pants. You were appreciative, sure, but also very flustered. The time came when you finished wiping down your last table and had to clock out. With a final wave goodbye to your supportive (and rather perverted) crew, you left the diner for the night.

On the way home, your mind wandered, entertaining the ideas that your coworkers put in your head. Even if caring was in your nature, you went through those lengths at your shared place because you were interested in him. You couldn’t deny the affection you had been harboring towards the assassin.  ‘Maybe I could try to be more forward…’ you thought. ‘More heart-shaped sandwiches?’ You arrived home before you knew it, and unlocked the front door.

"Ah, welcome back,”

You nearly jumped out of your skin upon hearing a voice when you walked in. Still clutching your chest, you looked over to where the voice came from. Upon a closer glance, it was Henry. He sat on the couch with his legs crossed, a glass of red wine in an ungloved hand. He also wasn’t wearing a tie or vest either. His blue eyes seemed to glow gray under the dim lighting of the living room. They watched you with a spark of amusement.

“No need to get all startled.”

He spoke calmly as ever, swirling his wine around in his glass. There was a hint of a smirk on his lips as he took a sip from the red liquid.

You weren’t sure whether to be more relaxed that Henry was home before you, or more anxious now that he was here. The hopeful words of your coworkers were still fresh in your mind, and while the idea of being more forward with Henry was a promising one– you weren't expecting the opportunity to come so soon. He looked incredibly good right now too. Taking a small gulp, you brought a hand to the back of your head and gave a nervous chuckle.

“You’re right. I’m just not used to you being home so early.” 

“Quick job tonight,” He replied, addressing your concern. You gave him another look-over to make sure he was unharmed. He noticed. Your worry for him knew no bounds it seemed.

“I got some wine for the two of us. Care to have a drink?”

“Of course, thanks so much.” You spoke with a smile, making your way to the couch to sit next to him. 

He gestured towards two tall bottles that were sitting on the coffee table. With work being so busy, you hadn’t had a drink in a while. Feeling a bit touched that Henry would go out of his way to buy the two of you wine, you figured you would indulge yourself this once. The thought that he actually wanted to drink with you made a few butterflies flutter in your stomach, but you tried not to let it show.

By the time you sat down, Henry was already pouring you a glass of the expensive liquor. You were going to do it yourself, but yet again, Henry surprised you. You let him fill it and nodded your head in thanks once more. Bringing your glass to your lips, you let the notes of the red liquid fill your palette. Upon sensing your enjoyment of the wine, one edge of his lips curled upwards, leaving him with a pleased expression.

Henry asked you about recent work at the diner, and you replied to the best of your ability. Opting to tell him about how busy and demanding work was (and leaving out the pep talks your coworkers gave you), you two shared a dialogue. He clicked his tongue, wondering how anyone could work there. Waving a hand, you assured him that it wasn’t too bad. You doubted being an assassin was any better. He gave a genuine chuckle at that, asking if you wanted to bet on it. 

“I work for minimum wage, so… I don’t think I could.”

“Precisely.”

The talk of your two professions opened further discussion about Henry’s. He told you brief stories of targets he’s dueled with in the past, and what stood out to him about them. This would be the first time Henry had revealed much about what he did for a living, and you hung onto every word. He even mentioned his younger brother Travis, whom you never heard of before. They were apparently twins, and based on Henry’s description of him– you assumed he wasn’t a guy worth knowing.

Your assumption was solidified by the next topic, his divorce. He told the rather tragic tale of his failed marriage with a woman named Sylvia. She was a huge spender, and would just disappear at times when he didn’t have enough dough. Or, to continue the affair she had with Travis. He told you how he was left with only a fraction of what he once had after the ordeal, and expressed his bitterness by taking big swigs of the wine in his glass.

You gave grunts of disapproval and hums of acknowledgement as he rambled on and on about his life. Taking everything he said like a sponge, you watched as his reserved demeanor became more spontaneous. His words grew more colorful the longer you sat with him, as he had shown the most emotion you’d ever seen from the assassin. He sweared more often, his speech and mannerisms becoming sassier with each drop of wine he consumed. His accent came thicker the more he drank. 

Your behavior had changed due to the alcohol as well. As the two of you sat together on the couch, the encouraging words of your coworkers echoed through your mind. You found yourself even more drawn to Henry as you listened to him. You were bolder than usual, having rested your legs over his lap. He surprisingly let you, and even rested a free hand on your knee while the other held his wine. 

You were pulled out of your trance by Henry calling your name, a warm hand still on your leg. The coincidental timing made it seem as if he was reading your mind. His blue eyes seemed warmer now that the wine was settling in his system.

Soon, the two wine bottles that sat on the coffee table in front of you two were now empty. You sipped the last of the wine in your glass, setting it back down on the coffee table with a ‘clink’. Whilst Henry told another tale of his work as an assassin, you tried your best to focus on his words rather than his lips. They were wet from the red wine he drank, and you wondered how they’d feel against your own. You debated with yourself, trying to decide whether or not you should make a move. 

“Care to share what’s on your mind, dear?” He spoke, his accent being so thick that you didn’t catch the pet name he threw at you.

“Can I kiss you?”

You blurted out, the three words leaving your mouth before you were able to catch them. You inwardly cursed upon hearing yourself, wishing that you hadn’t said that aloud. You opened your mouth in an attempt to take back what you said, but were beaten to it.

“Be my guest.”  

“You want to kiss me, now do you?” He repeated your question slowly, dragging each syllable out upon noticing your flustered state.

His hand moved from your knee up to your thigh, effectively drawing out your abashment. His lips curled into a small smirk as he did.

Your lips parted upon hearing him, not expecting those words to come out of his mouth. At the very least, you were relieved that your outburst didn't bother Henry. Quite the contrary, in fact. With the way he was smirking at you right now, you could’ve sworn Henry was pleased. You wordlessly nodded, adjusting yourself and moving your legs off of his lap. He watched you with an attentive eye as you were able to scoot closer to him. Leaning in, you gave him a sweet peck on his sharp cheekbone before coyly pulling away. 

‘There– I did it.’  You were about to drunkenly squeal into one of the couch pillows before Henry’s warm hand on your shoulder stopped you from getting too far.

“Is that all you’ve got?” He asked, implying that the simple gesture you gave him on the side of his face wasn’t enough. 

He looked at you with a smug grin on his face, challenging you to make the extra incentive–daring you to go further. This certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, but the way that Henry was daring you to be more bold… it excited you.

You took him up on his offer by taking his face in each of your hands. Your touch was tender as you leaned in and pressed your soft lips against his forehead, then to each of his cheeks. You couldn’t hide the smile that grew on your lips each time you pecked his skin. Soon, you were kissing him all over his face, not missing a single spot. Your kisses were gentle and mild, and they conveyed all of what you felt for Henry without you having to say a single word.  Henry relished in the feeling of your affection, welcoming everything you gave him. He sat back and let you kiss him as you pleased, the smile on his face turning more dreamy with each peck you gave.

Eventually, the only spot your lips had not lavished attention on were his lips. You hesitated for a second, the perverted encouragement your coworkers had given you tonight echoing in your mind. Henry looked at you expectantly, his cheeks having a pink glow to them. He had opened his mouth to say something, but you had already closed the gap between you two before he could manage any words.

Your kiss was as sweet and warm as the rest of your pecks before. He kissed you back passionately, and his lips were smooth and soft. Things started off slow, your hands were still caressing each side of his face, and his were on your shoulders. But as time went on, your affection deepened. The romantic warmth that your kiss once held moments before grew into something hot and sensual. 

Your hands slid into his short, brown hair as your tongue lapped at his bottom lip, wanting to taste him further. He let you explore his mouth with a low hum, welcoming anything and everything you could give him. The smooth and dark flavors of red wine were rich as your tongue swirled against his, effectively pulling another sound from him. The feeling was absolutely delightful, and it only fueled the passion you kissed him with.

The two of you made out, the air around you growing heavier as Henry’s hands slid up and down your frame. He affectionately caressed the entirety of your back, sides, and waist with an almost hypnotizing rhythm. You squirmed a bit under his touch, kissing him with a sloppy fervor. He eagerly returned the gesture, savoring the feeling of your hot mouth on his. You managed to get a few strands of his hair between your fingers and tugged, swallowing the grunt he gave you in turn. His hands slipped down to your hips, gently grabbing them so that you were now on his lap. He held you there with a pleasant grip, his thumbs rubbing circles- much to your delight.

‘The crew won’t wait to hear this,’ you thought to yourself, imagining that your perverted coworkers would be very pleased to learn about tonight. ‘What if…’

You suddenly pulled your lips off of his as a rather lewd idea came to mind. Henry looked at you with a slightly puzzled expression as you took one of his wrists in your hand, bringing it in front of you. You kissed it, and before he could guess what you were going to do next, you dragged a slow and flat lick from the base of his palm to the tip of his middle finger. He inhaled sharply at this, the noise only encouraging you to keep going.

It wasn't long before you had his index, middle, and ring fingers in your mouth, rubbing your tongue along the underside of them. Your teeth lightly grazed at the digits as you sucked on them, Henry’s cheeks growing flushed at the feeling. The air around you two was thick and hot, and the hardness straining against his pants was becoming harder for him to take. With your other hand, you reached down to palm his growing erection, appreciating the sultry sound he gave you in turn.

His sapphire eyes shined with an aroused glow as he watched you slowly take his index finger into your mouth, his hold on your hip moving down to your thigh. You sucked on the pad of his finger, watching his reactions very closely as his breaths came in heavier. Henry was enjoying this thoroughly, and it was obvious with how he slid two more slim fingers between your lips for you to lavish attention on.

You only hoped you wouldn’t be too hungover in the morning.