#granted I need to render them all still but they’re actually drawn!!!

[leviiackrman]

Of my 29 OCs… I have 1 left to draw…

[gofancyninjaworld]

Hands

I'm no artist, but I do appreciate good art when I see it. A little love then for Murata's portrayal of hands. I first wrote this sometime in 2016, one of my first posts on the OPM subreddit. I think it it’s still good!

I may tend to dig into different aspects of OPM, but it's only to consider the aspects that the writing or art actually cares about. For example, I'm yet to consider the geopolitics of OPM -- it's not important to ONE and I leave it there.

I like looking at hands in general, but my gateway drug were Genos's. Something was naggingly familiar about them, and then I realised: they're Jack Kirby hands, big, beautiful Kirby hands! Anyone who considers affordances in a mechanical rendering is my friend -- they look like they might almost work. For example he doesn't have the equivalent of metacarpals (the bones in the palm of your hand) as the palm needs to be a solid piece for the incineration cannon exhausts. It means that the width of his hand is fixed and he can’t reshape his hand for many of the precision grips we take for granted. So Murata has taken it into account, for example, when you realise that he has a telescoping thumb in some arm sets to compensate. We wouldn't have minded if Murata didn't consider such detail so consistently, but when someone works that hard to to get the trifles right, I have to care too. And then I started to look at other characters' hands too.

drawn like some thought has gone into how to engineer a functional hand rather than metal textures drawn over a regular hand -- I just fell in love with Murata’s art over this.

By and large Murata has given regular characters their own hands, rather than generic ones (which again we wouldn't have noticed or cared about). My other favourites then:

Saitama's hands have surprisingly long fingers. One almost doubts that they belong on a fighter... and then they curl into that fist. All part of the character everyone loves to underestimate.

doesn’t it look like he should be a pianist?

Garou has some of the longest fingers I've seen on a non-deformed character -- when he flips you off, you stay flipped off. But they don't create a sense of delicacy: while they're long and thin, they look as hard as bone. They fit so well with his fighting style -- when he spears them into his opponent, their devastating impact is utterly believable.

At the opposite end to delicate are Tank Top Master's. Again, without being deformed, his are these giant meat hooks that form into wrecking ball fists. The brutality of those hands contrasts so clearly with the kind face he has.

Sometimes it's not the look of the hands that's notable, but what the characters do with them instead. In that respect, Metal Bat is particularly noteworthy. He has hungry hands: they seemingly cannot hang at his side but must be touching something, holding a bat, stuck in his pockets, his sister's hand, his own hands, something. It adds a sense of restless energy to his character that you notice, but don't realise that you do.

this is as still as you’ll ever find Metal Bat

A very different kind of restlessness comes across in Dr. Genus's hands: he has bitten his fingernails to the quick, which go so well with the haunted look he wears.

Hands I was curious about then:

Dr. Kuseno. I hadn't noticed until I was compiling this list, but I've not seen them at all. They're only ever tightly locked behind his back. Everything he does is effected through robots. Now I'm curious. Well the years pass and chapter 89 rolls round and we get to see the doctor’s hands: they’re tiny, in keeping with the rest of his dimunitive self. And they’re not afraid to touch Genos. But next day comes round and they’re right back behind his back.

needless to say, this is one of my favourite panels: the care that’s gone into every character’s hands is excellent. I especially like the detail of Bang being left-handed, and notice that Genos’s fingers swivel from the knuckle to allow him to grip the chopsticks precisely. 

Looking at hands, can I draw attention to King’s for a moment?  I thought they looked a bit familiar. And then I realised that Murata has referenced his own hands to give to King. It just gives me the biggest smile.

Even in something so small, Murata has taken care to make sure it speaks to who characters are.

[writings-of-a-british-fangirl]

A Lesson In Traditions [Din Djarin x Reader]

Title: A Lesson In Traditions Summary: After the brief spark, you felt between you and Din, you are longing for it to be recreated. And, maybe a shiny trinket from Mandalorian tradition can help you with that. Warnings: None I don't think ? Request: N/A

A/N: Some of you wanted a part two to A Lesson In Mando'a so here's the follow up! I might make this a series if anyone is interested

A/N 2: I made up the idea of betrothal necklaces. I don't think these exist in Mandalorian culture, but I took inspiration from water benders in Avatar the Last Airbender, because I thought the idea was cute! So credit to that series!

PART 1: A Lesson In Mando’a PART 2: A Lesson In Traditions PART 3: A Lesson In Touch

Din Djarin~A Lesson In Traditions

It had been a while since Din had told you what cyar'ika had meant, and ever since then the two of you had been dancing around each other. Surely, he knew you liked him by now- you had tried to hint at him several times: lingering touches, longer conversations, closeness to him. And, yet the Mandalorian remained oblivious. You supposed that no matter the species or creed, men were all as dense as each other.

        You huffed as you held the child on your lap.

        "I don't know what I'm going to do, little one," you murmured, "I think I'm having more luck communicating with you, than I am with your dad. ...Maybe I should just give up. He has his creed to follow anyway..."

        The child looked at you, his head slightly tilted. His big eyes stared up at you. Despite not saying anything at all, you knew he was understanding you. He was a pretty great listener, even if he was only a youngling.

        "You know, you're right. Maybe I- maybe we just need a day out. Some fresh air. What do you think? Do you want to take a little trip? We need some more supplies anyway, I'm getting sick of rations, and I'd like some fresh food. What about you?"

        The child perked up at the mention of food, and you smiled.

        "I'll take that as a yes," you giggled, "Let me go speak to your daddy."

        You placed the child gently down in his bed, and made your way up to the cockpit, where Din was flying the ship. Your head peeked up from the ladder, and you clambered up and stood awkwardly for a second at the back of the room. Din heard you enter, and waited for you to speak. He turned his head ever so slightly, his beskar glinting from the faint light the stars around the ship were producing.

        "Hi," you murmured, wandering over to where Din was sitting, "How far away are we from the next stop?"

        "About an hour," Din replied, "Why do you ask?"

        You fold your hands neatly in front of you, you shift your weight slightly forward, and almost rock on the balls of your feet.

        "Well, I was thinking that I- well, us... You, me and the kid could take a trip to the local market on our next stop. It's just we need more food anyways, and I'm going a bit stir crazy. It'll do us some good to get some fresh air, especially the kid. He can't spend his whole life in this ship."

        Din contemplates for a second.

        "I know what you're going to say- It's dangerous, we're being hunted but-"

        "-I was actually going to say okay."

        "Really? I mean, great. Thank you!"

        Din smiles under his helmet, not that you can tell, and continues, "As you said, we need food anyway, and the next planet we're going to land on is remote enough. It's definitely not Imp friendly either."

        You nod, and flash Din a smile. The tension slowly builds in the room; you can feel his eyes on you. Despite not being able to see his eyes (hell, you didn't even know what colour they were), you could sense them: trained on you. You coughed awkwardly.

        "I'm going to go check on the kid. Uh- Give me a shout when we're about to land."

        "I will, cyar'ika."

        Your heart jumps at the nickname.

~~~

As soon as you landed, you grabbed your bag, your gun and a set of knives. Despite not technically being employed by any bounty hunting guilds right now, it never hurt to be prepared: especially when the small green creature you were travelling with had such a high price on his head. And, then you turned to Din. He was also carrying his fair share of weapons, and of course the child. He was situated in Din's bag, his cute little face peaking out over the top. You smiled at him, before beginning to walk down the ramp.

        The Mandalorian made his way into the town, with you by his side, and his small son literally at his side. He didn't feel uneasy about this place- it looked relatively safe, but he was still on high alert. And, he wanted you to be as well.

        Despite having only known you a couple of months, he didn't dare think about the possibility of something happening to you. He knew he had to protect the child, that was a given, but the growing affection he had for you was uncharted. As a boy, he had learned about Mandalorians caring for foundlings (just as they had done with him as a boy), but romantic relationships were something out of his reach. He knew they occurred; they had to. The Mandalorians, while being a creed of highly trained soldiers, still held family at their core. After all, how were they to make more warriors without romantic relationships. But, truthfully, they were something unfamiliar to him. It had never been possible in his life, not with the creed. With you, his thoughts had begun to wander more and more lately. About you being next to him, being his family. He knew Mandalorians were allowed to take their helmets off for family, for those in their Clan. The more time you spent with him, the more he considered you to be apart of his Clan... He shook himself slightly. 'Stop,' he thought, 'You shouldn't have this on your mind. Y/N doesn't think of you that way. They're here for the child. That's it.'

        If only Din knew how far from the truth that was.

        "I need you to take him," Din says to you, carefully taking the child from his bag and handing him to you, "I'm going to go into the cantina, and see if I can find me- us some work. I trust you can manage to get us some supplies?"

        "You insult me, my love," you laugh, holding the child in your arms, "I am more than capable. I hope you save me at least one good bounty. I can't let you have all the fun."

        "I'll keep an eye out. Meet me here in half an hour."

        "Will do, my love," you smile and walk away from him.

        Din was glad for the distance being put between the two of you, because he was sure if you were any closer to him, you would be able to hear his heart racing behind his beskar. 'My love,' he pondered. He quite liked the way that sounded rolling off your tongue, perhaps even more than he liked hearing you say his own name. He gave one last look over his shoulder, just to make sure you were okay, before heading into the cantina.

~~~

You'd successfully made it to the market, and had made your way around over half of the stalls, and you had basically bought all the food for you and your Mandalorian. As you continued walking through the market, most of the stalls you passed by were food, but some were trinkets, toys, and even weapons. You'd hesitated by one particular booth. They were selling crystals, luxury cloth, and jewellery. Usually, you weren't one for such fine things (in your life style, things like that would end up ruined, stolen or pawned), but you'd been drawn in by one particular necklace. The chain was made up of two types of metal from what you could tell: a shinning silver, and a deep, darker grey. Attached to the chain was an unfamiliar symbol. It curved into a symmetrical shape, one that looked like two halves of a whole.

        "That's real beskar, you know," the seller assured, "It would look beautiful sitting around your neck."

        The seller was an older woman. She wore blue and purple robes, dirtied only a little by the sand- no doubt from the extensive sand desert that lay just outside the town. She had a kind face, her eyes smiling up at you. You'd almost forgotten to reply.

        "What do you say? Can I interest you in such a fine, unique piece?"

        "Oh, I'm not sure-"

        "-I'm sure your husband would like it: it would match his own armour after all," the lady added, taking the necklace off of its stand and presenting it to you.

        "Oh, he's not- He's not my husband. We're just travel companions, that's all."

        "Someone should tell him that. The way he looks at you... Only few people are so lucky. Looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky."

        "How do you know that? His helmet-"

        "-There's some things you just know with age, dearie. Love is one of them."

        You were rendered speechless. Did he really look at you like that? Was is that obvious? Did his heart beat for yours the way yours beats for his? You hardly had time to process the thought of you and Din together that close, as spouses, before the seller spoke again.

        "So what do you say? Can I tempt you with this necklace? I can even throw in a free toy for the little one," she smiled, cooing to the child from across the table.

        You looked at the seller, and then down to him.

        "What do you say, little guy? Do you want a new toy?" you murmured to him; when you saw his eyes gleam with excitement, you knew it was all over.

        "I think he said yes," the merchant laughs.

        "I think you're right," you reply, reaching into your bag for your purse, "I usually wouldn't spend credits on a thing like this... But, it is quite beautiful. And, you do deserve a new toy."

        You handed the lady her credits, and took the necklace from her. She'd placed it into a small, black, velvet box. The box had small silver hinges and a clasp at the front. You felt a little giddy. It had been a while since you'd made such an unessential purchase, and there was a small part of you that hoped if you wore this you might get the attention of a certain masked warrior. You shook your head, granted it was a little desperate, but you figured worth a shot.

        The child also received his gift too. It was a small figurine of an animal. You weren't quite sure which one, but he seemed to like it, and that was good enough for you.

        You slipped the velvet box into your bag, and caught a glimpse of your watch. Fuck, you were late. You jostled the child closer to your chest and began to almost sprint back to the cantina: you did not want to have to deal with a grumpy Mandalorian, least of all if you were the cause of his grumpiness. The closer you got, the easier it was to make out his figure.

        "Look, before you say anything, I'm sorry I'm late. Time must have slipped my mind, and I ran into a strange lady at one of the stalls, and she sold me this- You know what, you probably don't need to know all that. Just know we've got enough food to last us at least a month, and the child had fun."

        "He has a new toy."

        "I- Yeah," you replied, "Not exactly an essential, I know, but don't worry I used my credits. Besides, it'll hopefully stop him wrecking your cockpit for a toy."

        Din nodded. You don't know why you expected him to say more. He wasn't a man of many words, and you were apparently no exception. You made your way back to the ship with the Mandalorian in silence. It wasn't unpleasant by any means, but also it felt like you both had lots to say: you just didn't know how to say it.

        "Did you buy anything for yourself?" Din asked, looking over to you as you reached the ship.

        How did he know?

        Din obviously sensed your confusion.

        "I- You said that a lady sold you something, that's all," Din clarified.

        "Oooh, oh that," you said, looking down at your bag, "Yeah, I did. A bit of an impulse buy if I'm honest, but the lady was too nice to deny. She sold me a necklace. Maybe you can help me put it on."

        Din nodded; that should be easy. It was just a necklace after all. He'd fought off enemies twice his size, survived when the odds were against him, and was one of the best bounty hunters there was... It should be easy. So why was his heart racing?

        You placed the child down on the floor of the Razor Crest, and reached inside your bag for the box. Your hands traced the inside of your bag blindly, before feelings the soft touch of velvet. Carefully, you took it out of the bag, and revealed the box. Din's eyes watched with intrigue. You unfastened the clasp and opened the box. It snapped back on its hinges, and revealed the chain.

        Din's eyes registered the metal before his brain could even process it: a betrothal necklace.

        "The lady said it was genuine beskar, but I'm not so sure. I think it's just silver, probably some iron too- but it's pretty either way. Do you mind helping me put it on still?"

        Din's mind was still racing. He'd heard about the tradition of giving a betrothal necklace from urban tales and word of mouth from other Mandalorians, but he'd never actually seen one this close. The tradition stated that the Mandalorian proposing would take part of their beskar and part of their riduur-to-be's beskar and melt them into a necklace, with the two swirling around each other before eventually combining into a symbol at the bottom. Usually it was a good luck symbol, or for fertility. Something along those lines. It felt almost surreal seeing one close up.

        "Are you alright, Din?" you ask, "Is something up?"

       He wasn't sure if he should mention the tradition, what the necklace meant to the Mandalorians... It was basically a dead tradition now, anyway. There was no harm in not telling you, right? After all, there were very few Mandalorians left, and even fewer that managed to have the privilege of finding a riduur: you didn't need to know..

        "No, no... I'm fine," he reassures, "I- Hand me the necklace."

        Din took the necklace from you and instructed you to hold your hair out of the way. You obliged, and felt him lace the necklace around your neck before fastening it in the back. There was a small pause, where the two of you just stayed there: in the moment. It took everything in you not to shiver as you felt a rush down your spine. The sensation of Din's hands on you, even just for a moment, was almost too much. You turned around to face him.

        "Do you like it?" you ask, holding the pendant of your new necklace between your thumb and your index finger.

        "It suits you," he affirmed, "Mesh'la."

       "Thank you," you blushed, making a mental note to ask what 'Mesh'la' meant at a later date, "I- I'm going to go put the food supplies away."

       Din decided against telling you about the origin of your neckalce; you looked far too radiant wearing it for him to say anything that may shift the tone. He couldn't bring himself to say anything, so he just let you walk past him. Part of him felt guilty for not saying anything, but another part of him selfishly thought it looked beautiful sat around your neck. For a moment he could almost imagine that he had given you that..

       ...That you were his riduur.

[jess-the-vampire]

Sooooo whatya think of the new episodeee?

Oh it’s definitely my favorite episode of the series so far, i was having such a good time at every turn. I’m glad i went out of my way to avoid spoilers, cause i was glad to actually be surprised by some elements on first watch.

I think this had by far the best opening for an episode so far, we finally get back to the villians, we meet the coven heads, we get insight on belos’s plans-

and then belos gets constipated, which starts getting into the more character driven lore, which is the best part. You instantly can tell GG and Kiki have some bit of tension between them to be Belo’s favorite, though granted i wonder if hunter is the only one to know belos is cursed and actually just always insists to help belos with his fits to prevent others from seeing them.

Including kiki.

It’s honestly unclear how aware anyone is that belos is cursed, like him eating pailsmans is apparently not something he hides, but like....i feel him being cursed is something that people would know universally if it got out...so i’m left wondering if anyone knows besides hunter.

Regardless, belos turns into a goop monster with an angry side, and i guess his mask doesn’t transform with him compared to the rest of his body so he breaks it again because i guess he goes though masks like crazy.

Hunter turns away in this scene from his outburst and even though he’s masked here i can already tell he’s most likely pained in these scenes. Like he’s probably seen this happen so many times, and i can’t imagine it gets any easier for him, it’s probably awful to watch belos suffer like this for him (Regardless of the abuse)

And to be honest, it seems pretty painful for him, i think this ep seems to at least confirm whatever this thing is that takes over belos’s body.....belos never actually wanted it in the first place. 

Yeah so after Hunter tells belos there’s not enough trees to medicate him anymore, we’re hit with the “UNCLE”. Which, when i first watched it i needed a second to even process the fact they confirmed their relation.

and i was like “CLOSE ENOUGH”, not his kid but uncle still works just fine for me, i’m just happy my assumption they were related actually came to ahead.

And i rewatched this episode a few times, and on second watch i realized more what happened in this scene. Hunter was talking about his interest in wild magic, and making more pailsman to help belos, and some method that could heal him and as soon as belos looked at him he instantly shut down.

He was clearly rambling about wild magic cures for belos because of his interest in it, and then suddenly remembered his uncle hates wild magic and felt super awkward.

It seems highly likely his interest in wild magic came from trying to cure belos and spending a lot of time reading up on the stuff. 

And then we get hit with the whole “Our family is dead because of wild magic” line, which.....i’m curious to know what happened there. But it does at least explain why belos feels how he does, if wild magic both killed his family beside hunter AND cursed him in the first place. We’re just gonna need more info on what exactly happened.

Also while Belos is def abusive and does not treat hunter how he should, this scene actually does read off to me like belos does care about hunter to some degree. If belos is cursed and his curse works in similar ways to how Eda’s curse works, then it’s worth reminding ppl that eda mentions early this season how stress can amplify the curse even more.

And sure enough, belos goes goopy on hunter’s shoulder all of a sudden when he grasps him. Which could be considered a sign of stress and that the idea of hunter dying or being in danger actually does stress him.

You could very much also assume this is just due to his curse not being fully handled and just getting worse, or that belos only cares about hunter for selfish reasons....but i’m not taking anything off the table here.

Belos can still be a shitty uncle, and still care about hunter, these aren’t mutually exclusive traits. But we need more episodes for now on this.

But anyways he asks hunter if he can rely on him, kiki is pissed......and we move on.

So i’m glad luz’s impulsiveness is addressed a ton in this episode, they actually bring up a lot of good points. That luz has no plan, that the time she’s spending here might render moot if she goes back to earth, ect ect.

Hunter even calls her out a lot later for not thinking things through, it’s a whole deal in this episode. I’m glad it was brought up cause it’s actually worth asking a lot of these things.

the set up here works, they actually made a good reason for why a pailsman didn’t bond with her. Speaking of which the adoption thing is cute and i love it, it’s a great idea. The designs are all very cute and fun.

Bump face reveal was a lot for me to process, but i find the idea of his pailsman being a pet that can help with his disabilities a good idea.

Also like, i did find it odd that they got staffs so early because we’ve never seen kids their ages with them before, but i guess it’s a new tradition? Does everyone at hexside now have one?

Honesty not sure why batqueen left the nest there overnight, i meant i guess she assumed they were safe with that shield but in context i dunno why she didn’t take them home after the school day was over.

but whatever, luz stays there overnight hoping  a pailsman will bond with her and GG just kidnapps them cause of pure luck on his part a bunch of pailsman were in a vulnerable spot tonight.

So GG continues to be charming, by whistling the theme song and then being blasted off his ship hilariously, before cockily teleporting himself right back on it seconds later. Like he and luz have great banter, he’s so extra like this it’s so funny, and god he’s so FAST with that staff it’s scary but so awesome.

Yeah so then hand dragon crashes them and i was so excited cause it meant face reveal. Poor dude looked so in pain and then we find out kiki tried to effing murder him because of course she did. But like, i think killing your boss’s nephew is the WORST way to get a promotion tbh.

(Also i got confused for a bit cause his mask has always been drawn as a mask, but now it’s a helmet in this scene for whatever reason but-)

Anyways, face reveal, Like honestly ppl weren’t too far off with their guesses, really the only thing people didn’t get was the tooth gap (That was fair tho, we couldn’t have guessed that). But it did make him even cuter.

like the banter is funny, he licks her hand, she slaps him, he looks SO pissed at her for this mess.

and i guess that outfit is his under armor apparently.

He’s lucky she didn’t run away immediately and followed him, but maybe he assumed she would since she had no where else to go.

Also his expressions in this ep are glorious, these had to be fun to draw.

Also we find out that the coven team members have never seen his face i guess? They just assume he’s a silly kid and are awful to him, so i guess he’s not only the youngest member of the coven but he never really shows his face much.

(”Call your parents”, ha ha.....whose gonna tell them who his uncle is?)

He is however, REALLY good at parkour and he’s fast even without his staff, so he’s well trained alright.

And then they reveal he’s not magical and i was SO happy cause i was so sure something was up when he wasn’t doing magic like the other witches despite his pointy ears. So they outright confirmed what i thought.

Hunter is pretty smart tho, like he can tell luz wouldn’t hurt him and wouldn’t flee so he knows he has the high ground here. Like he might be being a bit of a dick, but to be fair luz has been nothing but a dick to him throughout the whole episode (Everyone in this episode has been a dick to him tbh)

They team up and i get excited cause i love this kinda stuff and it gets more wholesome because hunter is super interested in her magic, he thinks it’s cool and you can tell how much he actually loves wild magic but then again...shuts himself down because of belos making him fear the stuff.

An then because luz asks, he tells her his backstory.

honestly with how this world treats people who aren’t magically powerful, living and growing up in a world that would find you useless sounds....awful. Hunter must be an anomaly around here, human blood or not.

Luz coming here to learn is different then growing up in a world and being the only one with no abilities and no future without them. Belos provides him with magic and a future, it’s no wonder he stays with him despite everything.

the whole “Found me” thing is weird, cause belos implies they’re blood related and hunter makes it sound like belos semi-adopted him. Which....if he did i dunno why “Uncle” and not “Adopted dad”, but ok....guess that’s for later.

Apparently hunter is important for something tho with the “Titan has big plans for me” thing, not sure what, but-

But yeah as soon as Hunter talked about wanting to make his own future and Rascal tried to land on him i knew EXACTLY where this was going, it was so cuteeeeee. The lil birb wanted to be with hunter, that’s so wholesome.

And he’s so terrified because of belos and what wild magic did to him, the poor bab.

But yeah, luz then trusts him with his staff back, because again....impulsive. But hunter does actually ask if she’s sure, so he might as well be asking if she trusts him.

The plan goes ahead, and hunter nearly betrays her.

though granted, hunter never promised her he’d stop and let her take them away, the truce was supposed to last till kiki was stopped and they were gonna fight out who got the pailsman. But it does bother luz cause she was hopeful he was better then this.

But just like he did before, she calls him out and he doesn’t betray her, because he’s ALSO too nice to do it, just like he said she was. He says his name (Which also took a moment to process), and then beats the crap out of kiki while letting luz get away and protecting her like a badass.

He might not have magic, but he’s good at fighting

like he can easily teleport to luz and take the pailsman, but he doesn’t, he lets them get away and luz knows this. Even though she also knows hunter has to go back to the emperor too and they have to separate.

It’s only slightly bitter terms, because in the end he came through for her and she knows it.

honestly, the worst part is i can’t even be mad at hunter for it, i’m sure he was terrified to fail belos. Both because he loves him and doesn’t want him to suffer....but also because of well...being punished. Really says something when his near betrayal doesn’t even make me mad at him, and i can understand why he nearly did it.

He let her go, knowing he’d be in SERIOUS trouble and that it would hurt someone he actually loves, so....ouch.

so yeah at this point i knew rascal wanted him so it was only of matter of what happened next.

Which was, luz getting the wood, which i like more anyway. Eda and King doing this offscreen and coming home like this is actually very funny, and honestly i appreciate the message of it being ok to wait.....means a lot to me.

yeah so belos is like...being an ass, like the kid tried his hardest, you don’t need to hit him with the “Is this the thanks i get?”. He’s a kid and he’s trying to cure you you dick, give him a break he doesn’t remotely have to help you like this.

Also apparently belos has not even told hunter HOW this happened, like...dude. Hunter is trying to be entirely reasonable here and belos spikes at him, which does imply some physical abuse though the only reason hunter doesn’t get a new scar is because he moves.

but how he reacts implies this has happened before, he is bracing for impact and he flinches. It’s pretty sad tbh, especially since hunter loves him and belos’s respect means something to him.

Belos is such an idiot, like c’mon dude, hunter is trying to help you and you don’t listen to him you dick. Kid shouldn’t have to say sorry for anything he did nothing wrong, he was just trying to help.

Anyways, he gloats at kiki (So at the very least she knows what he looks like under the mask), which he deserves a chance to do anyway. So i guess he didn’t rat her out for trying to kill him, personally my guess why is blackmail.....he was gonna hold it over her head to keep her from doing it again and threaten to tell belos.

But kiki quickly tells he LET the pailsman get away since he was the one to fight her (Curse his cute loose hair strand). So i guess now they have dirt on each other, so that’s fun.

His room is adorable, though the med kit by the bed is concerning.

Rascal comes for him and it;s so cute....though you can tell hunter nearly hurts him on instinct because of force of habit, but it’s so cute how he cares and how the birb loves him and is his new staff.

it was well hinted to as well, it’s so subtle, but the bird being cheery, curious, and his constant habit of escaping boundaries was perfect for hunter. He represents what hunter wants to be and why they got matched is done so well, all without explaining anything.

Hunter indirectly stated his deepest wish, to make his own choices, and rascal resonated with that. 

can’t wait to see where this goes.

great ending shot, love me some conflicted shots looking out of windows like trapped birds.

also this title was a pun the whole time i can’t-

[certifiedskywalker]

Misfire - Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

Anonymous said: I’ve a request for you. For a reader x Mandalorian. Bit of an angst one actually if you’re up for it. Reader gets hit by some poison and it’s slowly killing them. Slowly and very, very painfully. There’s a cure but damn it’s a hard one to find. Mando finds it and saves Reader and they share a moment of realization that they’re in love idiots and are deathly scared of loosing each other. Angst with teeth rotting fluff at the end.

AN: I hope this was the fluff you were looking for!

Even though you worked together, you and Din Djarin were very competitive. It was part of the reason Din trusted you in the first place. He knew you would never use your knowledge of his name, of his face, against him. You always fought fair, always. It was one of the things he loved about you but he would, could, never tell you. 

“Watch it, he’s mine.” You tipped your head towards the Bothan the two of you had been tasked with bringing in. Din smiled beneath his helmet at your confidence. Though the smile faded into a nervous expression as you whispered, “if I get him, I get seventy percent.”

“Sixty,” Din said, trying to steady his shaking voice.

You let out a chuckle, one so hearty that it blended seamlessly into the rhythm of the music. Din went breathless at the sound. It was such a rare and wonderful thing to hear, your laughter. Whole cycles could pass without hearing you like that. It drove Din wild in a way that made it difficult to hold himself back.

“Sixty-five,” you countered. “You do owe me.”

“Sixty,” Din echoed, turning his head away from your face so he could feel like he was serious. “No more.”

“You’re no fun,” you teased, knocking your shoulder against his.

Din looked back at you, peering into your eyes. He hoped that you could feel his gaze, the feelings behind it, the feelings he hid under quips and remarks. In your eyes, he could see the same thing; at least, he hoped he did. All he could do was hope. You must have felt something because your brow furrowed.

“What is it?” Concern laced your tone and Din felt his chest tighten. He wanted to tell you everything had was holding onto. Instead he swallowed and turned his eyes to the Bothan. 

“I’m waiting to ‘watch it’.” Your worried expression melted into a fearless grin. 

“Get ready to be rendered speechless,” you jeered softly. You pulled away from him for a moment before leaning back towards him. “Well, more than you already are.”

Din almost laughed. He could feel it brewing in his chest, all warm and light. But as you pushed yourself to your feet, it felt as if his heart was being pulled after you. When you threw a glance over your shoulder, your boldness written clear across your features, Din swore that the tension between you swirled up and into the music. It was a sharp whistle that cut through the noise, something familiar but strange, almost perfect; perfectly out of place.

Yes, that was the sound: strange, perfectly out of place. It stopped suddenly, even as the music continued. Din felt his body tense, his entire being get ready to bolt up and out. But you, you glided closer and closer to the target, completely unaware. Something wasn’t right. 

The electro-trumpet sped up and the cantina was alive. Din wanted to just keep watching you. He wanted to watch you effortlessly cuff the Bothan so you could bring him in together. Hell, he would have given you all of the credits from the bounty, not just sixty percent. Everything; he would have given you everything in that moment.

Then he saw it. He watched your steps faulter, your confidence wavering or so he thought. Then your knees began to buckle and Din’s tense body launched into action. He, almost literally, swooped towards you as you fell. His arms caught you, held your head up as he looked into your eyes. 

“Din,” your voice hoarse, his name drawn out on your tongue. “I can’t feel...legs, burning.” Din manipulated his hold on you, flinging his glove off his hand. Now bare, his fingers ran along the length of your leg. Fire, it felt as if fire was dancing along the meat of his palm. Then his skin knocked against something cool, metallic.

“Are they alright or…?”

Din’s fingers closed around of the dart and he pulled it from your flesh. Blood, a tiny stream leaked out of the wound and soaked into the fabric of your pants. Din shoved the dart into a bundle on his belt and lifted you from the floor of the cantina. There wasn’t time to waste, not when your life was at stake; or, more selfishly, he could loose you. 

“Get out of my way!” Din shouted, bustling through the gathering crowd. The Bothan, the target, glanced at Din and you, limp in his arms. He ran at the sight of you both, nearly tripping off of the stool he had been perched upon. That was fine, Din didn’t care; the Bothan would pay later. Right now, he was focused solely on you. 

Din carried you through the streets of the settlement you had tracked the Bothan to, the spot where someone had the gaul to poison you.

“Din,” you choked out. One of your arms reached up towards his helmet, but Din pulled his head away from your hand. 

“No, no. Save your strength.”

Din glanced around the shop fronts and stalls, desperate. He was looking for anyone or anything that could help on the way to the Razor Crest. There was no telling how fast the poison was rushing through your bloodstream. It had been five minutes since you were first shot. If it was a fast-actin toxin then you might only have a few more minutes of life left. He couldn’t let this be the first and last time he held you in his arms. 

“Medic! A healer! We need a medic!” Din started shouting, letting pure panic take a hold of him. Passersby glanced at him and Din couldn’t tell if they stared because he was a Mandalorian, a rare sight in the Empire’s time or if it was because he was cradling your body in his arms. There wasn’t time to think. 

“D-Din…”

He ignored you, too focused on finding help for you to listen. Any other time, Din would have stopped to hear you out. Din took a sharp turn and started the cycle of shouting again. 

He had never been so scared before, so violently upset. The day Death Watch found him, Din was scared; but then he was a child. Even as a foundling, he was hardly ever frightened. Training had thickened his skin, toughened the armor around his heart. But you, you were stronger than beskar and pierced through his defenses.

Now, you were slipping through his fingertips. 

“Oi! Mando!” Din stopped in his tracks, scanning the immediate area to see who had called out. Finally, he looked towards an alleyway. In the shadows, he saw the dark outline of a hunched form. He dared to step closer, still desperate to save you.

Within a matter of seconds, Din was in the alleyway, squinting at the figure before him. Din couldn’t believe his eyes. It had to be shock, adrenaline, or something he ate! It had to be because there was no, feasible way to explain how or why the Bothan target was standing before him. Yet, there he was, the whole reason you and Din came here in the first place.

“You!”

“They were aiming at me!” His long, furry face and dark eyes were full of panic. Din was too angry to care. 

“They shot-”

“Din…” You hand, limp and sweaty, knocked against his helmet. Din felt his chest tighten at the sight of you. Red veins spread along the whites of your eyes and your skin was clammy. It looked as if you were going to say more when your body jerked in his arms.

“They’re dying,” the Bothan observed with a calmness that infuriated Din. “You need my help.”

“Your help?!” Din pulled his eyes off you and glared at the Bothan. “We were sent to kill you, to bring you in!”

“So you collect and let your partner die, or you can grant me freedom and I save your friend.” Din fell silent for a moment that felt like an eternity. To trust a bounty, to let one willing go free was enough to get removed from the Guild.

“Din,” your voice was so weak, so weak. Din looked from the Bothan to you. “No, Din. No.” You began to convulse again and Din was scared he might drop you. He couldn’t let you down or let you go, not now not ever maybe. Carefully, Din kneeled in the alleyway and set you on the cold ground. He held you still as your body shook. The Bothan watched him, still uneasy.

“Help them.”

“Din, no,” you choked out, but Din wasn’t listening.

“How can I trust you?” The Bothan asked, kneeling at your other side. Din pull out a few credits and threw them in the Bothan’s lap.

“You have my word, that will have to be enough.”

“Din, the G-”

“No last words.” Din grabbed your hand and interlaced your cold fingers with his. You were staring at him, trying to use your eyes to say something that Din would simply not hear. He looked back at the Bothan and snapped, “do something!” Quickly, the alien man pulled out a sachel. When he unfolded the bound leather, a collection of vials shone under the limited light. He looked up at Din and frowned. 

“Show me the dart.” 

With his free hand, Din pulled the dart from his belt pocket and placed in the Bothan’s extended hand. His keen, almost animal-like eyes studied the piece of metal for a moment. You squeezed Din’s hand, bringing his attention back to you. There was fear in your eyes, something Din knew too well. The Bothan clucked his tongue and pulled a vial from his bag.

“This will only hurt a little, less than what you feel now.”

The warning fell on deaf ears. You and Din stared at each other while the Bothan worked on your wound. With every twinge of searing pain, your grip on Din’s hand. You were clinging to him, to a life you had yet to live the way you wanted to. Din was holding on to you; the only thing in his life that mattered more than his own.

Din couldn’t tell if the pain had lulled you to your unconscious state or if it was the treatment the Bothan applied. He was too caught up in making sure that you were still breathing. Even when the Bothan finished up his work, eager for his freedom.

“They will wake soon,” the Bothan said softly, “the toxins while leave the system in two days time.” With Din’s whole focus was on you, the Bothan’s words were mere background noise.

He barely registered as the alien man darted off down the alley. The two of you could find him later; grant him this victory for now. All Din cared about was getting you back to the Razor Crest. Carefully, Din tucked his arms under your back and knees. He lifted you from the ground and started off towards the landing pads. 

In his arms, you shifted and mumbling something as you slept. Din glanced down to peer at your sleeping face. Between bounties, traveling, and bickering, Din rarely got to see you so at peace. It pained him that it took you flirting with death to see you so relaxed. He was a bit more at ease when you made to the Razor Crest. 

“Din,” you mumbled as he set you in the passengers' chair. 

“Hey, you’re awake?” Din straightened his back, staring down at you with all the care in the known galaxy. 

“Din,” suddenly, your arm lifted and you were reaching for him. Din couldn’t not melt down to your level. He kneeled by your side and grabbed your hand.

“What is it?” 

In a flash, your free hand slapped against the surface of his helmet. The smack rung in Din’s ears as a sharp echo. He jerked his head away from your hand, his concern melted away. As if you hadn’t been incapacitated moments before, you perked up, your eyes aflame with anger.

“You let him run off!”

Din was dumbfounded but he kept himself calm. “You were dying, Y/N.”

“You let the bounty escape! Karga will have more than a little to say about that!” You were furious; your cheeks were flushed a near-red shade and your still-weak hands flew about. Din could feel his own biting anger rising up in his chest though it wasn’t directed at you.

“Y/N-”

“We needed those credits, Din! You could have-”

“What would you have done?” Din spoke coolly, not letting his heat show. His question was enough to bring you to a thoughtful silence. 

“You know what I would have done,” you replied in a whisper. He did.

“Y/N, I couldn’t let you die.”

You met his gaze, only for a moment before rolling your eyes. “Can you take it off please?”

Wordlessly, Din pulled his helmet from his head. Safely in the Razor Crest, Din felt no fear. This was not the first time you had seen him. That first time, Din had been in your position: near-dead and angry. He wasn’t angry with you then, just as you weren’t angry with him now. No, Din knew this brand of rage well. Self hatred, embarrassment, it had burned him before as it was currently burning you.

Din set his helmet to the side and, still kneeling at the side of the passenger seat, stared up at you. His brown eyes were soft on you, watchful, unreadable aside from the tenderness within. Part of you wanted him to get mad, to snap; but you knew he wouldn’t. Din knew you wanted him to but he couldn’t. 

“Cycles ago,” Din began, “you saved me.”

“Biggest mistake I ever made,” you said dryly. Din smiled, the sight sore to your eyes.

“We can track him again,” Din continued, “but I couldn’t lose you.”

“You were just repaying the favor,” you breezed over his tone, unable to let yourself dwell on the idea of Din wanting anything more with you. You blamed the weakness of your heart on whatever poison you had been shot with.

“No, Y/N,” Din placed a hand on your knee. “I...I need you.” 

“No, no you don’t. I got shot, Din. I didn’t even feel it happened before…” You trailed off and Din squeezed your knee gently. “Please don’t say you need me.”

“I do, Y/N.” Din was too tired to stop himself. He had held back for too long. If the days events were any sign, he needed to tell you now: tell you that he loved you. “I need you.”

You could read between the simply drawn lines. Din was never one to complicate things, muddle his speech with too many words. Staring into his eyes, you felt your anger subside. The sting of embarrassment, of rage, faded into nothing. All you felt was his eyes on you.

You shifted in the passenger seat so that your entire body was facing Din. His hand slipped from your knee and you missed its warmth. It felt that, with that one touch, he was melting the residual pain away. You had fought this, not nearly as hard as Din had’ you had blanketed you affection for the Mandalorian with competition and greed. Now, with a rush with death under your belt, there was no want to hide it any longer.

“I need you too, Din.”

Din didn’t say a word. There was nothing to say. Instead, Din closed his eyes as your hands, still cold from before, cupped his cheeks. You leaned down and drew him in close. With all the timidness of a youngling taking his first steps, your lips brushed against Din’s. 

“I need you,” Din echoed, his lips bumping more against yours as he spoke. You let the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth bloom. Then, letting your defenses go, you finally kissed him. Din reached up to your face, desperate to savor the feeling of your skin against his. Who knew when it would be the last time?

Hopefully not soon. If Din had his way, not ever.

[jetaime-jespere]

Various Storms and Saints

Narcos - Javier Peña / Helena

At first Javier thinks he imagines her, as if she’s nothing more than a figment of his own weary mind, a byproduct of the years that run together like a painting that’s gotten wet, colors running together, edges curling at the sides.

I am ridiculously nervous about posting this, as I have written solely Hotchniss/CM for over a year and never thought about writing anything else, let alone Narcos of all the things. But, this somehow solidified itself in my head over the last few weeks (there is a nearly complete chapter two as well) and here we are. These two deserved so much better than what they got in the show. There are some trigger warnings for references to and mentions of past assault and trauma with this story, consistent with what happened in s1e2, along with angst/references to drug use and violence. This is actually posted on ao3 under a different username but I might transfer it to my main ao3 account at some point. The first chapter is under the cut! 🙂

At first Javier thinks he imagines her, as if she’s nothing more than a figment of his own weary mind, a byproduct of the years that run together like a painting that’s gotten wet, colors running together, edges curling at the sides. He always expected the past to catch up to him, somehow, yet she is the very last thing he expects to see in the middle of a farmer’s market just outside of Laredo on an unnaturally chilly November Saturday morning. This is south Texas, for fuck’s sake, he thinks. His head still throbs with the lingering haze of too much whiskey, as if such a thing could exist by now, and the cool air does nothing except make him feel even more numb. He was never expecting her.

Helena.

Why he’s even here is lost on him - a favor to his father, one he remembered at the last possible moment when he’d awoken that morning with a splitting headache. His mouth was dry, his stomach churning as the sun bled into the sky, the empty bottle and an ashtray littered with cigarettes not far away. But he went, because he’s watched his father age before his own two eyes, knowing innately the small act in and of itself will save the aging man a bit of his much-needed strength for later on. Javier meanders aisles with the same sharp eye of his father to find the best produce hidden while hiding bloodshot eyes behind his aviators.

He’s lost in his own thoughts - the trancelike state he often falls into when he thinks of how things panned out - right back to where he started all those years ago. How close he got to Escobar, at the expense of so much, only to not actually get there at all. The phone call from Murphy, relaying the news of the shootout and his death, plays on loop in his mind, coupled with the endless droll of the smoky bar, the plague of relief and satisfaction and a hint of jealousy, a tightening in his chest he wasn’t sure what to do with. He still doesn’t know what to do with it all - his life or lack thereof.

“Excuse me,” comes the soft, raspy voice from the much shorter person beside him reaching around for tomatoes. It renders him frozen; it takes him right back to Bogota, to the confined four walls of his apartment, a sanctuary in the middle of a fiery hell. A voice Javier was never able to forget. The voice in his dreams and his nightmares, even if the latter was more frequent. The voice that brings a memory of her, wrapped around him, or vice versa. Those images are vivid - laying her back on his leather couch to savor the last few moments inside of her, his teeth scraping her chin as tremors ran through her, a blissful smile on her face. The brace of her knees against his hips as she sat in his lap, full of him, his hands guiding her hips as she rocked over him, her fingers digging into his hair in the hours he spent between her legs, coaxing release after release out of her.

Your hands, she’d said once, her Colombian accent thick in the hazy, smoky dark of his apartment. He knew what she was thinking. How could hands like his - ones that touched her tenderly, reverently - wield a gun with exact precision, be responsible for the deaths of so many. How do you do it? She’d asked once, cradling his right hand in her own much smaller ones. He didn’t have an answer, he just passed his flask and reached for his wallet. He never asked where the money went, just that she took it. Only when he was in way too deep did he realize he didn’t care about the money. And only after she was gone did he admit to himself he never actually cared about it at all.

It can’t be. “Helena?”

He turns a little, shuffles his feet. And there she is, not at all imagined but in fact very real, close enough to touch. There’s an audible gasp that comes from her, one of her small hands clamping over her mouth as the other tightens around the seam of her jacket. It’s because she recognizes him immediately, as she tilts her head back to meet his stare, the sun reflecting on her dark brown hair like a halo.

It’s been years, he’s lost track of exactly how long. Years to bury that night in Medellín that has never gone away. But it managed to haunt him forever. They’d been moments too late. If only, he thinks a lot. If only he said no, if he refused to put her in harm’s way. If only they’d been faster. He could have saved her from the hell he’d found her in, from what came after. It’s her face he saw with every arrest he made, every step they took closer to Escobar, as if each was somehow done for her, revenge for what she endured, not for the good of a nation under siege.

But there she is, in Texas of all places, mere miles from where he’s essentially started his own life over, clearly having done the same. She was right there all along, a woman he once knew and yet, doesn’t anymore. Gone are the impractical shoes and heavy makeup, the confidence she exuded even with the dangers of her profession withered away. He always admired her for that confidence - he never told her as much, though. She’s wearing a casual jacket and jeans, simple shoes and barely a stitch of makeup. Her hair is a little shorter and lighter; it looks different but he can’t figure out why. He never paid much attention to those things. He’d always liked this Helena better - without the painted facade of lies she concocted to stay alive. He never told her that either. There were a lot of things he never said, things he should have told her long before it ended.

“Javier.” It’s slow, drawn out, as if she’s learning how to pronounce it for the first time. “It’s … what are you …-” she stumbles over a greeting as her head starts to spin, not unlike his own. She’s clearly overwhelmed by it all. She swallows hard, takes a few wary glances around. “You’re .... how?”

“I live here, remember?” He immediately regrets it; maybe she doesn’t want to remember any of it. So he backpedals, lowering his sunglasses to offer a kind smile. “My family is from Laredo.” He’d told her some things about himself during the times they were together. Not much, but he’d found himself asking her things - seeking more, something they could never have, yet he sought nonetheless.

“I remember.” She studies him, the weight of her gaze familiar, taking in the lines that have deepened in his face. They mirror the ones on her own, the culmination of it all having taken a toll over time. “You’re not there?” She means Colombia, he realizes. She’s asking why he’s not in Colombia.

“I live here now too.” His tone answers her question more than his words do. “Have for a little while now. I had no idea you were in Laredo.” It seems too close for comfort; he would have demanded she be further away from the border, for her own protection. Those details hadn’t been shared with him. He hadn’t asked.

“Maybe conduct this little reunion somewhere else?” An older woman clears her throat, arms crossed over her chest, clearing her throat to make her presence known behind them. “Some of us are trying to … you know. Keep things moving around here?” She means no ill will, yet it’s as if they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t, as if everyone in their vicinity is watching.

It’s the way Helena startles at the woman’s sudden intrusion that splinters his chest a little bit as a quick apology falling from her lips. The subtle tremble that racks her shoulders for a brief moment before she steps away, granting the other woman access to the tomatoes they’ve both forgotten all about. As they walk away he wonders, before he can stop himself, just how much she’s struggled, how unbearable it must have been to start over as she had, after what she’d endured. He has hard questions that undoubtedly have no easy answers.

A few steps from the aisles is a tree, providing reprieve from the early morning sun. They find themselves there; he leans against the tree and tucks his sunglasses into his shirt pocket. Helena keeps her distance, an arm’s length away, arms crossed protectively over her chest. Whether it’s subconscious or not, it deepens the crack in his chest that being in his proximity might make her uneasy. But they’re out of earshot of others now, and Helena speaks again, choosing words carefully. She’s guarded, cautiously aware of her surroundings, he notices - constantly looking over her shoulder, nervously toying with the ends of her hair.

“I’ve been here since I left Colombia.” She pushes her hair off her neck, drags her finger along the row of tiny hoop earrings at her ear. “We, I mean.”

She means her son. Hearing that he’s safe too is a relief. “How is he?”

“Good.” The mention of him brings a smile to her face; it’s been so long since he saw her smile. Something inside of him aches when he sees it, like he doesn’t deserve to. Javier remembers the way she beamed with pride when she’d told him one night that he called her mama for the first time, the guilt in her eyes when she explained the little boy stayed with her sister when she worked. He’d be at least 5 now, he reckons. “He’s good.”

“And you?” What he’s asking is a loaded question. He isn’t owed an answer though. His culpability in it all can’t be denied; he pushed it for information, to get closer to Escobar and she agreed because she believed it would be her out, that he would follow through on his promise of getting her to the US.

In some cruelly fucked up way, she got her wish in the end.

“I’m okay.” Good seems too generous of a description, and anything less than okay would shatter him, Helena knows. Despite the transactional nature of their relationship, it eventually morphed into something more, something that, had the circumstances been different, could have worked, maybe. It takes more effort to smile this time but she does, even though she knows he’ll see right through it. Her last memory of him isn’t a pleasant one; thinking of it makes her vision blur and her hands tremble with the moist rush of bile in her throat. He’d carried her from that disgusting warehouse, doing his best to calm her down and failing miserably. She clung to him, trembling and shell shocked silent, only to become hysterical once outside in the cloyingly oppressive Medellín heat. It was his face she saw when she felt the pinch of a needle in her arm and a heaviness in her veins, an apology written all over it. It was the very last thing she remembers before the sedative took effect and the world went black.

When she woke up more than twelve hours later in a narrow bed at a hospital, she was alone. Alone as she had always been, except this time it set into her bones and never quite left.

“That’s good.” He doesn’t believe her. How could he? She’s lost weight since then - she’d always been slender with delicate bones and narrow wrists - once he remarked how he could fit both of them in the span of one of his hands, then did just that as she writhed beneath him - but now she’s more borderline gaunt, with sharp collar bones and sunken in cheeks. “Good.”

“You?” Helena twists the cuff of her sleeve around her wrist, a nervous habit. She didn’t expect it to physically ache when she looked at him, but she never expected to see him again, either.

“Good.” Javier fumbles in his jacket pocket in search of a cigarette. The pack is empty; he curses. There’s a thick silence, full of everything that isn’t said, what never got to be said. Maybe had he been fucking honest with her none of this would have happened. “God, Helena, we used to be better at this.”

Her eyes well with unshed tears. She thought by now she would have run out of tears by now. “We had more practice then, Javier.” The expression that ghosts over her face is wistful with remembrance for that night, the night that started all of this. When they played their hand so horribly wrong. “Remember?”

He remembers it all, every last detail. It seems like a strange twist of irony that they ended up in the same place after all this time. He’s too jaded to think it could possibly be fate, something that was meant to happen all along.

But then what was it?

[lorei-writes]

The Dragon of Yss: Extra!

Bloopers, Outtakes, some HC

Masamune x MC (Mizusaki Mai)

Fantasy AU

Summary: He wanted Mai to remain herself - and for that very reason, he promised to protect her, at any cost. Little did he know, he may need somebody to save him as well.

All parts:  Part 1 - Sands of Estarra ,  Part 2 - Findings , Part 3 - “ I knew you’d come.” , Part 4 - Reborn , Part 5 - Eevi , Part 6 - Closer , Part 7 - Way to Varshka , Part 8 - The Gods We Trust , Part 9 - Flowers that Bloom in Adversity ,  Part 10 - Singing Bird , Part 11 - Vibrant Smoke ,  Part 12 - Hidden in Plain Sight , Part 13 - Heritage , Part 14 - Isger , Part 15 - Mad Possibility , Part 16 - Unraveling , Part 17 - Promises Sealed in Snow , Part 18 - Never Unfamiliar, Part 19 - White Noise , Epilogue: Threads

So, the main part of the story may be over... But it did not stop my brain from coming up with few little things here and there. As such, allow me to share those here as well.

// Dialogue shortly following the ending of the series; between Iroha and Masamune

// General post-chapter 19 notes/HC + explanations

“What do you mean you were turned into a dragon?! I thought you said you’ve lied to me only once in my life and that this was the lie!”

“Of course not. It was when you were seven and refused to go to sleep without having cake, so I told you that the neighbours’ dog was hungry and ate it.”

(Pause)

“Are you for real?”

“Dire situations call for appropriate measures.” 

“I swear to skies, dad...” 

The Plague of Yss

Iroha - the heiress of the Date clan

I feel it may be somewhat unclear, yet I decided against repeating it in the story itself. As was stated, Mitsunari had some hypothesis to test and needed at least a single person who survived long enough into the plague OR recovered from it.

The plague of Yss was in fact more of a double-edged sword, perhaps it could be even called a ritual performed by Isgerians. Yssians are their descendants and, as you probably already know, Masamune turned into the dragon as the result of this plague.

Long story short: Masamune is the survivor of the plague, the one thing Mitsunari needed. This is also why they came to live in Varshka, the place being one of two major cities presented in the story. (Why Varshka and not Vyrminia? University in Vyrminia would still be partially destroyed. As was stated by Mila, despite being almost the same in most regards, the atmosphere is the major thing setting those two apart. +Take note that Ieyasu did work there shortly before being forced to move to Vyrminia and recorded a rapid increase of cases of said plague there).

As was implied several times in the story, magical abilities or lack thereof may influence one’s life to a great extent - from their social status to rendering them a desirable product on the black market. 

Allow me to write a short list (least to most desirable) of abilities.

Giftless.

Healer.

Connector (either of two types).

Transmuter. 

(As for why this order is like so: talk between Oxa and Masamune in regards to giftless and healers; fact that the only transmuter in the story is Alleyah/Manya and it’s specifically mentioned that this ability is extremely rare and desirable to the point of people being bred to acquire it in the offspring. Yes - yikes; the only remaining and most common class are, of course, connectors, hence its placement).

Lastly, before I move to the point, please let me remind you: abilities are inherited. It is not completely random.

How does it all tie up into Iroha’s situation?

The history repeats itself. Iroha is hence more desirable heir than any of her cousins. If she so chooses - she will become the heiress of the Date clan. However, as it was already implied in the story: it is a choice. Masamune tells her he will handle any business with his family if she wishes to take a different path.

Masamune is giftless, which, aside from having only one eye, makes him a very poor candidate for a heir. As such, it was his younger brother who was granted the role - whichever type of magic he possessed, it was better than no magic and the risk of passing this “affliction” onto the next head of the family.

However, just as magic is passed, so is lack of it. Even if it did not activate in his generation, Kojirou’s children are born giftless. (Given the context, despite the other parent possessing some sort of ability).

Meanwhile, Masamune’s daughter, Iroha, was born a connector, having inherited the ability from her mother.

Her trip to Mitsuhide’s estate is related to that - there are little other reliable ways for her to be taught about diplomacy. 

On warlords and their relationships

This may cause a question to appear: how did the warlords even end up being connected? Well... Simply as that, they were all sons from rather prominent households and had most likely met each other during diplomacy trips of their parents. Them either becoming heads of said families or not - that comes into play later on in their life. Their relationships survived. 

It also means that the reason why Ieyasu was able to become a physician is because he was a healer and hence, not the best candidate. Also - Masamune could travel the world in search of Mai because... He didn’t have any political duties to attend to.

As for Mitsunari and Hideyoshi - it’s not explained nor implied how they got where they are. However, it’s possible to adapt canon for the sake of that.

Portal magic and its many faces

As it was stated in the story, the main thing setting Arynthian people from other connectors is that - if one of them is born a connector - their magic manifests somewhat differently. It’s ruled by different limitations.

As such, Mai’s portal magic is different from that of Kyubei. (As it was shown, she can see colorful lines and can follow them basically anywhere. Kyubei, meanwhile, has to be able to see the place he is supposed to open the portal to - or to be able to visualise it well, as was pointed out when Mai passed through a portal point).

Why am I bringing it up? Because Iroha’s magic is a bit different too. It has less limitations that Kyubei’s ability, yet it isn’t as powerful as Mai’s.

This also explains why “Arynthinas” are so rare - the ability degenerates fast. It’s more of an error than actual ability, so to say.

Kenshin & the timeskip 

What was he even doing then? How long was it?

Well. Kenshin has a very fuzzy memory of last 20-ish years of his life in the form of the dragon. As was previously mentioned, it happens so when the primal desires take over human mind - when smelling blood or... Well, or what? It was mentioned he was hungry.

Yes. He was starving himself for the entire duration of the timeskip. Why? Because then the flammable substance in his stomach self-ignited and caused him to combust. In a way, he committed an act of self-burning...

And flames of the dragon were the only thing which could turn him back. So they did. 

// Bullet-points (not written in the story, may not be written, but overall, you can assume those are canon)

Iroha was born 12 months after her parents reunited. When Mai got pregnant, it was a surprise for all parties involved. However, they chose to continue the pregnancy. 

Mai became proficient in portal magic mostly because Iroha’s powers would activate at random when she was still little. A toddler stuck between the worlds doesn’t make for a happy toddler.

On that note, Masamune could be hardly left home alone with her. Hardly, as he eventually developed fast enough reflexes to pull her out of a portal right as she was starting to pass through it. It later became a joke that they needed to keep her on a leash for few months - which is not completely incorrect. 

Developing the cure involved taking plenty of samples. In other words: RiP Masamune’s veins, he would curse like a sailor whenever he had to have his blood drawn.

To follow down this path: the preventive medicine involved having your skin cut and then it being injected. Iroha was very young when it happened and so, she has a scar on her arm from that. 

Shortly after that, they moved back to Yss. Masamune might have not been the heir, but family standing did make some matters easier to achieve for him. As such, he’s a bit of a local leader in his community, I would say, dealing mostly with local politics and management. 

They were relieved when it turned out their son, Tadamune, was giftless. 

Iroha will never live down what happened at the apple tree.

During winter, the frostbite on Mai’s hands makes itself known again. Her skin cracks and scabs start to form - and each year, Masamune takes it onto himself to tend to them. He is more than aware that she got it while he was still turned into the dragon.

Manya continued to serve under Mitsuhide. However, she hardly uses her power anymore. She grew particularly close with Kyubei, although they’re still working on the terminology. Or perhpas there is no reason for it?They’re not sure themselves; Call them very close friends.

Mitsuhide does not have a chid or a partner. He doesn’t seem to mind, however, his “niece” having always been a handful to manage. He made sure to tell everybody about the apple tree. All of his stories contradict each other. 

Time almost stopped for Kenshin when he was still a dragon. In other words, he’s the oldest in actual years of life, but in terms of physical form? He’s younger than Masamune or any other warlord. This lands him in a rather peculiar spot of... Well, an adult face, although in his case, it’s just another variety of VERY severe baby face. 

// outtakes 

-- this was a very early attempt at writing the smut scene. Written several months prior to actually getting to this point in the story.

The room was cozy and simple, the inventory of it consisting of  warm chimney stretching from below the floor and up through the ceiling, a small table, with a bronze basin on top of it, and a bed, just barely big enough to fit two people comfortably. They stepped inside, the white sheets seemingly calling them, inviting them to come closer. Mai sank onto the mattress first, her legs still remaining on the floor. She kicked her boots off and, this time, lay down properly.

„ We're switching today,” she said, opening her arms for Masamune. He obliged, soon nuzzling into the crook of her neck. Resting in silent contentment, he slung his arm over her waist, pulling her even closer. She stroked his hair tenderly, basking in the warmth exchanged between their bodies. Ever since she was kidnapped, she wanted to just hold him, knowing he'd push himself with no regard for his own well-being.

„ You shouldn't have done that, you know...” she hummed. „ What were you even thinking, it was so risky...”

„ I screwed up in the market, didn't I?” he sighed. „ I'm sorry I didn't keep my word then.”

„ You idiot, you missed the point entirely. I can... If... If that's what I have to do to survive, I will accept it. But I don't want to lose you,” her voice hitched. Masamune propped himself on his elbow, cupping her cheeks with his free hand.

„ I'm sorry. But I couldn't stand having you whisked away again too.”

As if guided by pure instinct, she pulled him into a kiss. His lips pressed against hers more delicately than usually. She opened her mouth, needing to taste him, over and over again. His familiar scent enveloped her, his fingers tracing the outline of her jaw – and for a moment she could have sworn that the time stopped, that the entire universe was reduced just to that single small room. Yet, they had to part eventually, their lungs begging for air. To her surprise, Masamune returned to his previous spot, his hair tickling her chin.

„ I missed you so much, Mai,” he murmured against her skin. His lips brushed her neck once, twice, and so many more, each and every time descending slightly, until he reached the very tip of her collarbone. His hand waited at the hemline of her shirt.

„ But you should rest...” she trailed off.

„ I'm fine. You know the question was whether you want it or not.”

Hadn't she known the answer already? Yet, the reason still fought within her, reminding her of both her and his fatigue... But... Maybe? Maybe just a little... Maybe just a little more.

„ I do,” she uttered finally.

-- At first I considered Mitsuhide and Manya becoming and endgame ship. I ended up deciding against it. However, a line of dialogue stayed. I debated using it for another pair, but it didn’t happen either. 

A chilly gust of wind slipped through the tiny creaks around the window. His teeth pulled lightly on the cord keeping her neckline closed, the knot soon unraveling. His hand snuck under her shirt, travelling up so very slowly, as if he wanted to renew the map of her body in his mind. She shivered under his touch, anticipation growing deep within her. His lips returned to her neck, as he cupped her breast from below, massaging it lightly. Switching between the left one and the right one, his fingers caressed them unhurriedly. Masamune pulled onto the top of her shirt, the fabric dispersing over the cord just slightly, exposing her shoulders. Cold air inviting itself into the room again, he kissed the newly freed skin. He  propped himself on his elbow and looked down at her, her nipples peaking through her clothing.

„ Masamune...” she whined a bit, as if to rush him. He chuckled in response, the garment soon flying to the floor.

„ Aren’t you impatient, kitten?” he hummed against her breast, his breath warming up her skin. Mai shivered.

“ You’re..!” her voice hitched, as he took her nipple between his teeth and bit on it just lightly, flicking it with his tongue and sucking it a moment later.

“ Have you said anything just now?” he laughed, looking up at her. Mischief played in his eye, as he returned to caressing her, his fingers sliding down her side.

“ That I missed you too,” she gasped as he grabbed her rear, his hand sneaking beneath the fabric of her pants. As if to make up to her for all the missed time, his lips trailed a path down her abdomen – until she couldn’t take it anymore, pulling him up by his shoulders, needing to taste his lips. She pushed Masamune against the pillows and straddled him. Seeing the surprised look he gave her, Mai laughed a little.

“ I still think you should rest,” she stated firmly, her fingers tracing his jawline. She cupped his face and leaned forward,  her hair tickling his cheeks as he kissed her again, his tongue entering her mouth eagerly. Wordlessly, she

-- Another dialogue exchanged between Mitsuhide and Manya. It made it into the final story, although slightly altered.

“I love you.”

“What--”

“With every fiber of my being. I love you.”

“He will not love you, no matter how much you change.”

“How can you know that?!”

“The filthiest scums on earth are unable to feel anything lest it’s twisted - and love, my dear little one, can never withstand that sort of deformation.”

Tag list: @datenoriko, @nad-zeta, @tsubaki3192, @jiyuu-chan, @missjudge-me, @ikemencrossedmyth, @encrytpta, @nuttytani, @thesirenwashere, @milas-imaginarium, @kisara-16, @yukas-clover, @alerialumina , @cheese-ception , @iamryxx, @cottonfluffballofdoom, @ozziegrl71, @in-words-of-what-maybe

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[arecomicsevengood]

COMICS BLOGGING OF A RAMBLING AND DIGRESSIVE SORT

I am embarrassed to admit it, but I do believe I buy things as a way of coping with my own uselessness. I’d like to attribute a universality to this character flaw, and claim everyone spends money on things they don’t need to fill some sort of existential void at the center of their being. My habits are relatively healthy, some people get shitfaced in response to the stimuli that makes me simply want meat, cheese, and carbohydrates. I have at various times read books at a pace comparable to eating, where everything got finished to make way for something else, but just because “reading books” is viewed as something good for your brain doesn’t make the act of buying them feel any less like a bit of brainless consumerism, especially when one is broke, and a global depression looms. Still, considering my worries that the postal service and retail outlets might go away if we do not support them and this will make life even more unbearable I convinced myself now was not the time to be a spendthrift.

All this is to explain why I bought a handful of comics I wasn’t sure I even expected to be good. Namely, I bought a bunch of issues of Alan Moore’s Tom Strong that I wasn’t sure whether or not I’d read before. I intended to parcel them out and savor them, but when I buy snacks at the grocery store, they get eaten faster than the vegetables. I bought these, along with some other single issue comics, from wowcool.com. From Powell’s, I preordered the first volume of Taiyo Matsumoto’s Ping Pong, which should arrive in a few weeks. I also ordered a few new releases direct from Fantagraphics.

Most notable among these is the Olivier Schrauwen/Ruppert And Mulot collaboration Portrait Of A Drunk. I’m on record as liking all the artists involved, and this one demonstrates why pretty clearly: While Olivier Schrauwen specializes in comedy about dumb guys, itself a form close to my heart, Ruppert And Mulot are darker and meaner, so here the dumb guy is an indifferent murderer. Being set in a pirate milieu allows for pretty amazing sequences of action and hallucination to flourish, their skills at color and composition tie it all together. Highly recommended. The back of the book announces Fantagraphics will be publishing the Ruppert And Mulot books made in collaboration with Bastien Vives starting next year. Hopefully I will end up reading comics by people other than my known favorites this year, but during a period of belt-tightening, there’s no guarantee even one’s favorites will live up to the increasingly-burdensome expectations put upon them.

Still, those Tom Strong comics outperformed my expectations. I believe I discussed how much I like Chris Sprouse’s work when I wrote about Alan Moore’s Supreme run, but let me reiterate: There’s a handful of comics Sprouse drew in the early nineties (A Batman annual with a Two-Face story written by Andy Helfer, an eighty-page Justice League Quarterly story, the first few issues of Legionnaires) which are emblematic of a certain DC Comics skillset I really value: This George Perez style ability to draw a lot of characters, rendered with this Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez spareness, this Kevin Maguire sense of facial expressions, a certain openness to the faces which is youthful and attractive and optimistic. There’s something similar to Graham Nolan’s art too: I don’t know how much other people like this stuff, it’s not really “cool” or gnarly looking, but there’s an unobtrusive cleanliness I associate with the DC “vibe” of this era, which I find vastly more appealing than the sort of post-Image-studios runoff that was their standard look more recently. As much as I love a good stylist, his is a good house style variant. Considering that, it rules that Tom Strong is what Chris Sprouse is known for. Those early nineties comics all have a lot of panels per page, but Moore, working in a post-Image mode, lets him breathe and do action sequences. He’s not an explosive artist, his drawing has this sort of style-guide quality to it, that feels perfect for the sort of “platonic ideal of a mainstream genre comic” tone that their collaborations aim for.

Reading these comics, I realized a few things: One, I hadn’t actually read them before. Two, they’re twenty years old. The years have been kind to them, in that I spent them aging, and while I was really into Top Ten and Promethea as a teenager, I still suspect that if Tom Strong is your favorite Alan Moore comic you are probably a dad. There’s a heavily nostalgic quality to all the genre pastiche going on, and its anchored by this character who is pretty upstanding, possessing this sort of all-seeing but benevolent competence aspect, and the storytelling affirms his liberal values. Peaceful coexistence is treated as preferable to violent conflict. It’s the work where Moore’e desire to issue a corrective to what he sees as a negative influence he had is most evident, it genuinely seems to be trying to be morally instructive to a young audience. I don’t think any of these things are bad, but it’s pretty easy to see how, reading the issues as they came out, many of them would register as somewhat bland. I seem to recall comic book writers at this time like Warren Ellis, Grant Morrison, and Mark Millar all deriding what they called “dad comics,” not necessarily talking about Tom Strong, as a way of hyping up their own efforts, many of which I followed more avidly at the time but do not expect would hold up nearly as well. (There’s an issue that’s a homage to old Captain Marvel Family comics, featuring a few pages of Kyle Baker art, I particularly enjoyed.)

After being reminded that Moore is a great writer, and never forgetting for a second we live in dark times, it felt appropriate to read From Hell again. I texted a friend and found he had started rereading it at the same time. I don’t consider it Moore’s masterpiece the way that contrarians that don’t want to give the nod to Watchmen do. While the darkness feels organic to the subject matter in a way it often doesn’t in Moore’s eighties superhero work, I do feel the whole “Jack The Ripper gives birth to the twentieth century” thing is a bit of a reach. I believe I will end up reading some of Eddie Campbell’s solo comics before quarantine is over, I am impressed by how organic the pacing feels, how natural it progresses while largely avoiding calling attention to Moore as a writer. The skill set that enables Moore to do a densely researched historical conspiracy thing is evident when he does a genre serial. Many of the elements in Tom Strong do not feel like they are imagined from whole cloth so much as they feel appropriated from various sources and then connected into this larger whole. The “peaceful coexistence” remit of Tom Strong allows for a structure where stories that seems tossed-off come back into play as plot elements. You rarely receive this kind of payoff from extended serials, but it’s built into the structure of screenwriting, and it is satisfying to retroactively realize like you weren’t having your time wasted when you thought you were.

I also ordered from Wowcool the Dunja Jankovic comics Sparkplug put out circa ten years ago. They’re very cool, reminiscent of Anke Feuchtenberger and Gary Panter, slowly shifting their sense of texture over multiple pages, so that while I don’t think I realized at the time these comics were released that they’re very well-drawn, it is obvious when you actually read them. I anxiously await her “Richter’s Game” minicomic being translated into English, though obviously this is going to be a tough year for self-publishers selling zines with widespread show cancellations. My hope is that Fantagraphics’ Now anthology will just start running work by people like Dunja, Alyssa Berg, Nick Norman, and Beatrix Urkowitz, but maybe there are good reasons for that not to occur. Maybe anthology pages can’t compete with the profits one stands to gain from self-publishing, or maybe my own idea of what I consider my broad-minded and catholic tastes would not actually appeal to large sections of the indie comics market, the same way my idea of what I consider “good” in mainstream comics is actually far too nostalgic a model for the aesthetic preferences of the market as it currently stands. I offer these recommendations solely as another way of coping with my powerlessness.

[thefantasticalblaze]

Tips for Jack to not die in SCP: Containment Breach

As someone who has done a speedrun of the game in 20:51 (not the record, I believe the record is 10:12), I've compiled some helpful hints to progress through the game without getting your neck snapped. These will be separated into VAGUE HINTS and SPECIFIC HINTS; the specific hints will contain spoilers for later on in the game.

VAGUE HINTS

Don't go in the room with the floodlights unless you're doing an achievement run

Do not take the picture from the bear in Heavy Containment

Only go in the surveillance room once you're well-prepared.

SCP-914 (clockwork machine) is your best friend.

049, 096 and 173 can all be heard when they're nearby with audio cues specific to them

008, 055, 106 and 173 can be recontained. In fact, 008 must be recontained to enter heavy containment

You can use the console command "stfu" to turn off unnecessary noises, however, you will lose out on the achievement of not cheating.

Most of the announcements mean nothing.

Do NOT trust Nine Tailed Fox (Epsillon-11). They will shoot you on sight.

If you walk through a corridor and see a bear standing in the middle of it, don't hang around. Just run straight through the corridor without looking back. Don't worry about the noise it makes; if you're far enough away, you'll be fine.

Disable the remote door controls to visit SCP-079.

Trust SCP-079 for the easiest escape.

035 is not worth your time to bargain with

1499 can be used to store things like extra batteries and medkits.

SAVE OFTEN. The game runs on a really old engine and is prone to crashing randomly.

ESCPECIALLY save before messing around with 914, in case you accidentally render some of your items worthless.

914 is not, however, a safe zone.

Certain areas have specific events that trigger once you're inside them. Learn what these are and how to utilize them.

Most SCPs exist just to kill you, especially the ones that sit in a room on their own. Don't waste your time.

939 (red dog things) have a pattern that they walk in. Take your time, but don't be afraid to run.

Turn off the video feed in 895's control room to live.

SPECIFIC HINTS (stop reading here if you don't want spoilers!)

The sheet music, the floodlights, the skull, the bell and the hole in the wall are all killing machines or just there to scare you. Don't waste your time.

1499 is a pale gas mask that will take you to a different dimension when worn. This is where you can store your items.

SCP-914 can upgrade several items. The only settings you want to use are "Fine" and "Very Fine". A gas mask on either Fine or Very Fine will get you a Super Gas Mask, that allows you almost unlimited Sprint, and Sprint will regenerate back much more quickly. A ballistics vest on Fine will get you a Heavy, and on Very Fine a Bulky Ballistics Vest. All three of these reduce bullet damage from guards. A level 2 keycard, on the Safe difficulty, will guarantee you a level 3 keycard on the Fine setting. There's a 1 in 10 chance of getting a Level 4 from a Level 3 when on Fine, otherwise you'll get a Mastercard, which is basically useless. A level 4 card, however, will guarantee you a level 5 keycard when on the Fine setting and the Safe difficulty. You can put a Mastercard in on the "Fine" setting to get a Level 2 keycard again. The night vision goggles on the "fine" setting will give you night vision goggles that are tinted red, and do not require batteries to operate. They also somewhat resist the effects of SCP-012. If you put yourself in one 1:1, it will invert your mouse controls. Rough will kill you, Coarse will cause blood loss (curable using a med kit), Fine and Very Fine will cause increased speed for a short time, but will kill you in the end. Putting in the navigator or "S-Nav" on Very Fine will give you the S-Nav Ultimate, which will show you when some SCPs are nearby (049, 096, 106, 173 and 895) as well as the nearby layout of rooms, and it doesn't require batteries

SCP-500 will cure you of any ailment. It's best used if you forget to put on the hazmat suit before enter 008's chamber, otherwise it's just a medkit in a pill.

SCP-860 is a blue key that will grant you passage through a wooden door you may run into during the game. You will need a Level 3 keycard to access the key. When you unlock the door, you will be taken to 860-1, a small forest. You will need to navigate this area and find another door that will take you to a different location inside the facility. However, there will be a creature stalking you in this forest. Take too long in there, and it will jump from the trees and onto the path, and attempt to kill you. It runs at the same speed you do and will kill you in one hit, so don't take too long in 860-1.

106's pocket dimension can be used as a shortcut if you're confident you can escape it.

You will need to recontain SCP-008 before you can enter Heavy Containment. To do this, locate 008's chamber, and there should be a Hazmat suit just before you enter the chamber itself. PUT THIS ON, and then enter 008's chamber and close the lid on the container in the middle of the room. 008 will be recontained. Exit the room, close the door and take off the hazmat suit

106 can be recontained in heavy containment. To do this, locate its cell and enter the control room. You'll see a video feed and several levers. You'll want to turn on audio transmission and then enable something called the "Femur Breaker". In the video feed, you'll see a seperate D-Class strapped to a machine, and very loud screaming coming from the speakers. This is normal. Keep watching the feed, and close the containment chamber when you see 106 enter it, and turn off audio transmission. 106 shouldn't bother you after that if you've done it correctly.

You as the player cannot recontain 173, but Epsillon-11 can. You may see members of this MTF wandering around with 173 in a small, mobile cell. This means it has been recontained, and you don't need to worry about it anymore. The MTF will still attempt to shoot you on sight, however. The best way to escape them is to wear SCP-1499 and camp in that dimension for about 1-2 minutes.

You are guaranteed at least one achievement when you finish the game, and that is the achievement for recontaining SCP-055. This is a nod towards the SCP itself, as it is an object, place or person that nobody remembers. The only thing the Foundation knows about it is that it isn't circular.

In the Entrance zone, you want to disable the remote door control system, then go and speak to 079. The computer will tell you that it can no longer work any of the doors itself, but that means you also cannot leave through Gate B, which is one of the ways to escape. It will then ask you to re-enable the remote door control system, and it will open Gate B for you. This is arguably the easiest way to escape.

079 will also tell you to disable the Alpha Warhead. It's up to you whether or not you do this, as whether you enable or disable it will determine what ending you get as you exit Gate B.

If you interact with SCP-035 and let it out, do not enter its containment cell. Only bad things await you in there. Like death.

SCP-895 is a wooden coffin that causes disruption to surveillance footage. When entering its surveillance feed, your head will be drawn towards the monitor. DO NOT LOOK AT THIS FOR TOO LONG. It will cause hallucinations that will eventually kill the player. A spiral flight of stairs leads down to the coffin itself. If you approach it, 106 will spawn before the coffin and pursue you. If you approach the coffin with night vision goggles, the same hallucinations will appear and kill you if you don't remove them quick enough. However, goggles upgraded through 914 do not have this effect. At any point, 079 can flash hallucinations of 895 through any video surveillance feed in the facility, which may also kill you. The only way to stop this is to disable the video feed within 895's control room.

045 can be heard nearby with its vocalisations (such as singing "Ring-a-ring o' roses" when searching for the player), 096 by its distinct crying, and 173 with the sound of scraping.

You are going to encounter ducks at some point again. You just will. They're harmless, however.

SCP-420-J can actually heal blood loss.

That's all from me! Good luck, don't die!

[goodlucktai]

giving up on giving up slowly

good omens  pairing: aziraphale/crowley word count: 3437 part 1 of the is there a better bet than love? series read on ao3

x

They don’t quite make it back to Mayfair.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmurs. “Are you really so tired?”

The demon regards him with weary yellow eyes, little more than a pile of boneless coils draped in the next seat. Aziraphale strokes a hand from Crowley’s head down his neck, fingers gentle against the smooth groove of scales. Crowley is familiar to Aziraphale in all his forms, but there is a very special place in the angel’s heart for the serpent.

There is still a conversation to be had. Heaven and Hell certainly aren’t pleased with their meddling, and Agnes’ last warning of choose your faces wisely hasn’t been far from the front of Aziraphale’s mind since he read it. They’re not out of the woods just yet.

But for now-- for a little while, at least-- there is time to rest. Crowley can press into the warmth of Aziraphale’s hands and know he is safe.

Aziraphale can hold him and know the same.

“Never you mind, my dear,” Aziraphale says, his heart full. “I’ll carry you the rest of the way.”

It’s his turn, he thinks, to bear some of the weight.

#

There is a cross little voice somewhere in the back of Aziraphale’s mind that tells him how foolish it is, to place so much trust in a demon. It’s a familiar voice; it sounds a lot like Michael, chiding him every time he lingers too long in Crowley’s shadow, nudging him away every time he wants to stay a little longer, talk a little more. There are ways angels must behave, after all. There are things one can and cannot do.

He wonders what Michael would say if she could see him now, giving Crowley his form to wear like armor. He wonders what his punishment would be, for granting a Fallen One this unlimited access to the holy grounds. But more than that, he wonders if this will be enough.

“If they take you,” Aziraphale says fitfully, clutching Crowley’s hands-- his own hands, piloted by Crowley’s reluctant affection as they hold each other. “If they take you to Heaven-- “

“Don’t you waste time worrying about me, angel,” Crowley mutters, shifting uneasily. He doesn’t have sunglasses to hide behind, not now that he’s wearing Aziraphale’s face, and their eye contact is a very fragile creature indeed. “I’ve been Upstairs before, for all that it’s been awhile. You just worry about Hell, about getting out safe.”

“And if it goes wrong-- “

“We’ll think of something.”

It’s strange to look down at himself and know it’s Crowley staring back at him from those misty blue eyes, but it’s only strange in a fleeting sense, the way bedclothes are cold at first until they warm with body heat. If anyone could be trusted to parade about in Aziraphale’s form-- if anyone could know Aziraphale well enough to get it right, to pass without suspicion-- it would be Crowley.

And isn’t that a funny thought, he muses as the sun warms to the idea of a new dawn. The morning light peers through the wide windows of Crowley’s airy flat, glancing down on the two of them where they sit cross-legged and facing each other on the bed.

Funny that the idea of Gabriel or Uriel coming this close, taking this much, is enough to make Aziraphale’s breath hitch with fear.

Funny that a sweep of Crowley’s thumb across his knuckles is enough to soothe him entirely.

They’ve been this close before; stowed away in the cavernous hull of the great ark with a hundred smuggled Mesopotamian children, while drowning men outside begged for entry; stranded on the shores of Pompeii as a city they were both fond of and its twenty-thousand souls succumbed to ash; Europe when it was ravaged by the plague, millions of people dying faster than two desperate angels could heal them; that awful cantina where Crowley went half out of his mind in 1481, a burned letter of commendation lost somewhere among empty jugs of wine.

They’ve held one another up through countless tragedies. They held one another up through the end of the world. It comes naturally by now.

“Whatever happens, you’re not alone,” Crowley tells him, misreading the sudden tension. “You know that.”

“Of course I do,” Aziraphale says. Truly, he does.

#

It’s lovely to see the bookshop intact. Aziraphale had been fully prepared to find a smoking ruin, or so he told himself, but everything was exactly where it should have been (with the exception of a few childish additions, courtesy of the Antichrist).

Crowley follows him home from their celebratory lunch at the Ritz, picking his way gingerly up the steps with perhaps a fifth of Aziraphale’s enthusiasm.

Aziraphale, to his shame, doesn’t even notice until he’s gone on and puttered about for a good twenty minutes. It’s not until the fourth time Crowley grants him no more than a two-syllable response that Aziraphale is drawn up short. He pauses with a well-loved first edition of The Tempest in his hands, looking over at where his friend is lingering uncomfortably by the door.

“My dear?” he says. “Won’t you come in?”

Crowley slouches the rest of the way to the back room with a commendable amount of surliness, but Aziraphale isn’t fooled. He summons a bottle each of Chateau Palmer and d'Yquem and sets them on the table-- with the white nearest Crowley, who would never admit he preferred it over the red-- and settles in for a gentle interrogation.

“Don’t even start,” Crowley grumbles, cutting him off at the pass. He knocks back the first glass of wine, without a pause to appreciate the vintage or bouquet, and pours another. “Just looked different.”

Aziraphale can’t help glancing about the shop. It’s as dusty as it ever was, with its towering stacks and dimly-lit sconces. Even the piles of books on the tables and chairs are the same, down to the last crack in the last vellum spine.

“Before,” Crowley elaborates. “When it was burning. Looked different.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, surprised. “Yes, I rather think so.” He pours himself a glass, more for something to do with his hands than anything, and says slowly, “You were here, then? When it-- You saw it, I mean. From outside.”

“From inside, angel. Ran in for you, didn’t I?” Crowley abandons his glass and picks up the bottle, lifting it in a toast. The drinks over lunch have already softened his sharp edges, and what’s left of him isn’t quite up to guarding his secrets as stubbornly as usual. “Fat lot of good that did. You’d gone already.”

He’d come to the bookshop by himself earlier that morning, before their trials, at Aziraphale’s behest. The angel suddenly, fiercely regrets it.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says again.

There is something churning inside him that feels both like anguish and quite a bit like wonder. How a feeling can be painful and pleasant at the same time, he’s no idea, but he embraces it.

“You’re remarkable, Crowley.” It’s the first thing he can wrestle out of his aching chest, and it falls laughably short. “Demon or not. I’ve never known anyone else like you.”

Crowley laughs, a short, unhappy sound. “Oh, yeah. I’m one of a kind.”

Aziraphale pats the seat next to his on the worn sofa, suddenly quite unable to bear the distance between them. “Come here, dear.”

For a long moment, Crowley doesn’t move. His eyes are hidden behind those sunglasses, rendering his face all but unreadable. Then, as though coming to a decision, he unfolds himself from the sagging armchair and rounds the table, collapsing showily next to the angel in a splay of long limbs.

The nearness of him settles the ache in Aziraphale’s heart, whether or not that was his intention. Aziraphale can feel Crowley’s heart racing, the fragile human body wrapped around that celestial core thrumming with stubborn life. It’s a comfort, this nearness.

“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,” Crowley says, more to the bottle in his hand than to anyone else. “Lucky me, I’m damned already.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Ngh. Don’t worry about it.” He shifts closer by an inch, head lolling along the back of the sofa until it comes to a daring rest against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I’ve decided I’ll take what I can get.”

#

Aziraphale has a shop to run, and Crowley has plants to terrorize, so they part ways somewhere between midnight and morning. It’s surprisingly difficult to watch the demon leave, after having come so close to losing him; so Aziraphale stays safely behind his counter, where he’s far enough away that he can’t reach out and hold Crowley back.

They’ve spent whole years apart before, whole decades. What is a night or two, or even a week, even a month, now that they’ve got the rest of their lives ahead of them? A blink of an eye, really. A fraction of a second. It’s foolish to feel a pang at the parting.

Lingering by the door, Crowley turns around. There’s a peculiar look in his eyes, exposed and uncertain, when he says, “Hey. How about that picnic?”

Aziraphale brightens.

One can always count on Crowley to remember even the smallest exchange, even if it was years ago and offered as little more than a hopeful afterthought. It’s one of the staggering multitude of ways the demon is actually very sweet, though it’s best not to say as much aloud.

“I’d love to, dear boy. Tomorrow?” He glances out the window at the gray light of early dawn. “Or this evening, rather?”

“Tomorrow,” Crowley corrects, a half-smile on his face he can’t seem to help. “You’ll be wrapped up in your books all day and I’m not going to the bloody shops without you. We can pick up what we need tonight. Maybe try that new Indian restaurant in Kensington for an early supper?”

Aziraphale has the overwhelming urge to sweep out from behind the counter and gather the dear creature up in his arms. He folds his hands instead and contents himself with a smile as warm and as wide as he can make it.

“That sounds divine.”

Crowley’s half-smile graduates into the full thing, a crooked, helplessly charming number. It seems to linger in the shop long after he’s gone, and Aziraphale feels changed by it somehow, as though there’s a weight in his chest that wasn’t there before. A weight like a hand pressing harmlessly, without urgency, without agenda, against the fluttering mess of his very human heart, and when Crowley looks at him like that, smiles at him like that, it presses just a little bit harder.

#

Aziraphale tends to fuss over details, but really, he wants the picnic to be perfect. He’ll need some crisps, cold cuts, and fruits to finish out the platter he has in mind, but the cheese is an excellent start. Crowley has more virtue than the other angels of Hell combined, but even his patience is waning by the time they stop at the cheese counter.

There’s a new truffle gouda that the helpful associate recommends, offering Aziraphale a sample wedge with a generous dollop of honey and a sourdough cracker, and he’s rather taken by it.

“Really, Crowley, try a bite,” he coaxes. “It can’t be worse than the oysters.”

“We’re going to miss our reservation if you keep dithering, angel. Just get that moldy lot you usually do and be done with it.”

“I should think that for a special occasion you might be willing to try something new,” Aziraphale says primly. “And I wish you wouldn’t call it moldy, Camembert is delightful.”

“I’m going to be put off my appetite at this rate,” the demon grouses. When he stalks off, it’s not quite as dramatic as he might like it to be, considering the laden grocery basket hanging from his elbow. “I’m picking the wine.”

“Oh, get a Pinot Noir, would you?” Aziraphale calls after him. “It should compliment this gouda wonderfully.”

The associate is smothering a smile as she wraps up the gouda, along with his favorite Camembert and a large wedge of alpine.

“I hope he isn’t too upset with you,” she says when she’s handed it all over. “The two of you make a good pair.”

She doesn’t know them as any more than passing strangers, but Aziraphale can’t help feeling touched. It’s perhaps the first time anyone has said as much about the company he keeps, that they’re good together.

Aziraphale certainly thinks so, and damn anyone else’s opinion, but it’s still a nice thing to hear.

When he catches up with Crowley, the demon is making a big show of studying the white wines, but there’s clearly a Pinot Noir already bundled into his basket. Smiling, Aziraphale steps up beside him and slips a hand into the crook of his free arm.

Crowley is pleasant to the touch for a cold-blooded creature. He radiates warmth and good intentions like no angels of Heaven have ever done, a tireless spring of imagination and optimism and endless, fearless curiosity. No matter how high he builds his defenses of sarcasm and indifference, the truth is there. It’s always been there, from as early as the garden wall.

He belongs in Hell about as much as Aziraphale belongs in Heaven; which is to say, he doesn’t really belong there at all.

“You don’t have to try the cheese,” Aziraphale says, offering the token olive branch.

Crowley seems thrown for a moment, tense with surprise beneath Aziraphale’s hand, but he relaxes a heartbeat later.

“This is what we do now?” he asks of the rows of wine, hidden eyes trained straight ahead.

“I don’t see why not,” Aziraphale tells him. They’ve newly run out of reasons not to do as they wish, and lately-- often-- Aziraphale wishes for nothing more than this: Crowley, and himself, and as little space between them as can be managed. “You know what that young lady back there told me? She said we made a good pair.”

“Shows what she knows,” Crowley says, scathing. Incongruently, the hand he rests over Aziraphale’s is so gentle the angel has to look more than once to make sure it’s really there.

#

While Crowley was crawling about in the garden on his belly, Aziraphale was guarding it with a god-given sword. One of them has always been much softer than the other, even if they’re both usually content to lose track most of the time.

Most of the time.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale says, not feeling very sorry at all, “but what is it that you think you’re doing here?”

The angel in the bookshop is unfamiliar to him at a glance. It could be that their corporeal form is new, or that they’ve never met before, but he sees the way they look at Crowley. He sees the disdain dripping off them like a disease. A being of love, created for a higher purpose, and they can stand here and hate as if they have any right to.

“Michael may have told the rest of us to leave you alone, but it doesn’t seem right,” they say by-way of greeting. “Leaving you down here with nothing but a demon for company. He’ll ruin you.”

Behind him, Crowley twitches. It’s impossible to say what his expression looks like, but Aziraphale has known him for over six thousand years. He can guess.

“We’ve heard stories about you,” the angel goes on. They sound impossibly young. “All of us have. You’ve been on earth since the beginning. You’ve seen the garden. You faced the Morningstar. You can do whatever you want, I bet, so why are you here?”

“You’ve answered your own question, my dear,” Aziraphale says mildly. “Because I can do whatever I want.”

Crowley is tense at Aziraphale’s back, coiled like a snake ready to spring at any second. Aziraphale wishes he could reach back to soothe him.

He is, at first and at last, a Principality. He is at his strongest when he has something to guard, and this shop is his domain. With Crowley behind him, the most precious thing Aziraphale has ever put behind him, he would like to see this fledgling try anything.

Perhaps sensing how outclassed they are, the fledgling does not.

“Now,” he says briskly, “if you’d like to have a civilized conversation, you’re more than welcome to sit down for tea. I’ve even got a delicious Battenberg cake we can nip into for the occasion. But Crowley is my guest, my friend, and my dearest love; I hold him in much higher esteem than I do any of your lot, and I won’t tolerate rudeness. So what shall it be?”

For a moment, no one moves. Crowley is strung as tight as a wire, and the angel in the bookshop waffles visibly as they come to a decision they never thought they would have to make: pick a fight with a Principality or take tea with a Fallen One.

Finally, grudgingly, they ask, “What is cake?”

Only after they’re squared away in the back room, eating sweets with a look of wonder on their face, does Aziraphale turn to Crowley.

The demon is staring at him, sunglasses slipping down his nose.

“You said,” he begins, and stops there, as though he’s hit a dead end.

“I’ve been terribly unkind to you,” Aziraphale admits softly. “Denying you to everyone who asked, like you were something shameful. You must know that I love you, you clever old serpent, but I’m sure it would still have been nice to hear.”

“I thought it was an angel thing,” comes the lurching, uncertain confession. “Loving everyone. I knew you loved me, but I thought it was-- default.”

“An angel thing.” Aziraphale frowns at him. “As if Gabriel is even capable.”

Crowley laughs shortly, half-hysterical. “Okay. You’ve got a point.”

The picnic will have to wait, thanks to their visitor in the back room. The hamper receives a stern look and makes the decision to keep itself fresh for the next day, since Aziraphale refuses to be put off any longer than that.

Then he steps forward and takes Crowley’s hands.

“I was going to give up,” Crowley says helplessly. “I was jussst going to take whatever I could get and be happy with it. I go too fast and it's been so long I can't ssslow down, I don't know how."

"Don't worry about it anymore, my dear." Aziraphale uses their joined hands to pull him closer, until he can wrap his arms around Crowley and hold him as tenderly as he deserves. The demon shivers, as though chilled, and Aziraphale loses a kiss somewhere against his wayward hair. "I've finally caught up to you."

#

Nanael is still puttering about the shop a month later. Aziraphale has grown fond of them, not in the least because they take to the books like a fish to water. It took them about two days to decide Crowley was safe enough to pester, and watching them pelt a recalcitrant snake with question after question about the earth's history has quickly become one of Aziraphale's favorite ways to spend an afternoon.

"You were there when they built it?" Nanael demands, holding a book open to a glossy two-page photo spread of La Torre Di Pisa. "What was it for? Why does it lean?"

"Look, Feathers, why don't you ask Aziraphale? He's right here, not busy doing anything but laughing at me," Crowley mutters, making his slow and winding way up the side of the counter. "He'd be more than happy to tell you whatever you want to know."

"But I want to hear it from you," Nanael says stubbornly. "He knows more about things, but you know more about people. You like people, he said. You liked Eve, that's why you gave her the apple."

"I gave her a choice. She didn't have to eat the apple, did she? She chose to, because she wanted-- "

"Knowledge," Nanael says, hugging the book to their chest. There's hope for this one yet, Aziraphale thinks with a surge of pride. "Yes, exactly. Please tell me. I won't call you a demon anymore if you'll tell me."

Crowley looks up at the ceiling as though hoping for divine intervention, and then slides his yellow eyes Aziraphale's way.

"Isn't there supposed to be a honeymoon period before the kids come along?" he grouses. "I feel cheated."

"I'll make it all up to you," Aziraphale vows, stroking a familiar hand down his spine. "All of it, my love."

[sky-scribbles]

Whether they realise it or not, all Force-users are photokineticists.

It doesn’t occur to most Sith, when they funnel their rage through the Force and surround themselves in seething masses of shadow, that they’re changing the wavelengths of light around them. And the Jedi, Lana thinks, probably take it for granted that when they kneel down or fold their hands to meditate, golden light will rise from them in a fine mist. The spark of lightning between an Inquisitor’s fingers, the glow of energy from a healer’s hand, even the yellow radiance of a Sith’s eyes – it’s light, all of it.  

Lana’s never met anyone, Sith or Jedi, who specialised in light-manipulation. It’s not as flashy (ironically) as shooting electricity from your fingertips or slicing someone in two with a saber-blow. Most Sith tend to favour such tried and tested tactics, and – excepting a few assassins who can render themselves invisible – Lana’s never found anyone who’s favoured light over lightning.

Until, that is, she meets Neyna.

Arkous assigns them to Lana’s command one morning. Tall, scarlet eyes striking against their pale blue skin, freckles dusted across their face, a doublesaber hanging at their belt and an ill-tempered kell drake padding at their heels. They’re a replacement, presumably, for yet another one of Lana’s colleagues who’s fallen to SIS sniper blasts or Jedi lightsabers. Or Sith lightsabers. Despite Marr’s steady push towards reform, treachery is a long-established tradition within the order, and all of this adds up to give Lana’s co-workers what she diplomatically calls a high staff turnover rate.

‘You’ve spent time in Chiss Intelligence,’ Lana remarks, running her eyes over the newcomer’s identity profile, and they nod.

‘Five years. I was trained in stealth, infiltration, information-gathering, combat – the usual.’

Lana turns her next question over in her mind, wondering how to phrase it delicately. ‘Was it your own decision to leave, or – ?’

This meets with a snort and a wry smile. ‘Force-sensitive Chiss don’t tend to leave the Ascendancy voluntarily.’

There’s a moment in which Lana thinks they might elaborate, but they only shrug, so Lana nods and flicks off the datapad. ‘Well, welcome to the sphere of military offence, Arn’eyn’arethua.’

‘Just Neyna.’ A smile – a real one, this time, not tinged with sarcasm – flickers at the corner of their mouth. ‘I’m aware that it’s something of a mouthful. And that humans tend to struggle with the pronunciation.’

‘Neyna,’ Lana repeats, and is rewarded by seeing their smile widen. She wouldn’t be Sith – wouldn’t even be alive – if she couldn’t adjust to new concepts quickly, and the pupil-less red gaze is no longer alarming. It’s rather striking, actually.

So Neyna begins their work under Lana’s command, gathering intelligence, slicing databases, hunting down their enemies. And within six months, they have saved Lana’s life.

It’s a simple thing, really. They’re in the field together on Nar Shaddaa, and they’re glimpsed by their target’s bodyguards, an elite Morgukai force, at a moment when they really can’t afford to be. It’s not the Morgukai that pose the threat – Lana could kill them single-handedly if she had to, and with Neyna to help? It wouldn’t even be a challenge. No, the danger is what Arkous will do to them if they botch the operation by letting themselves be seen.

So when Neyna grabs Lana’s hand, pulls her into a side alley and shoves her into an alcove behind a public holoterminal, Lana follows their lead. Neyna’s a former Chiss operative; they know, surely, how to hide in plain sight.

As it turns out, Neyna knows how to do better than that. As they squeeze themselves into the nook after Lana, their face creases in concentration – and Lana is treated to the bizarre phenomenon of watching the colour trickle away from her own body. The green of her robes dulls to the same grey-brown of the alley wall behind her. Her skin melts out of sight. Next to her, Neyna is vanishing too, the colour dissipating from their form until all that’s left is the faintest outline.

They’re controlling the light around us with the Force. Changing its wavelengths so that we’re almost invisible.

The Morgukai steps into the alleyway, blade drawn, looks around, and sees nothing. Lana’s fingers itch for her lightsaber – if he investigates, he might hear their breathing, feel the warmth of their bodies against the cold of the metal walls. But the moment passes. He spits onto the street and stalks away.

Neyna lets out a breath, and as they do so, both their bodies flood back into view. Lana looks at them, and sees that they’re grinning.

Once everything’s over, the mission completed without further incident and the two of them safe on a shuttle bound for Dromund Kaas, Lana turns to them with a smile. ‘I knew you’re a photokineticist. I had no idea just how impressive your talents are.’

Their grin grows, if possible, even more smug. ‘Thank you. It’s… rather fun, finding out what I can do with it. Dazzle people with light, make them get lost in shadow. Confuse Indigo here –’ they nod towards their kell drake – ‘by doing this.’

Neyna holds out their palm, and a small red dot of light materialises on the floor of their shuttle. Indigo lunges for it, only for Neyna to send the dot spinning across to the other end of the room. The drake charges after it, claws skidding on the floor, and Lana laughs before she can stop herself.

After a few minutes of watching Indigo cavort across the shuttle, Neyna snuffs out the light and sinks into a seat. ‘I have to admit, I’m… still not used to people reacting to it with approval. Chiss really aren’t enthused by the whole Force thing.’

It’s the first time, not counting the day Lana met them, that Neyna’s ever mentioned their time on Csilla. ‘If you don’t mind my asking, how did they discover your abilities?’

Neyna pulls Indigo into their lap and sits in silence for a moment, rubbing the drake between his spines. ‘I found out when I was six. I broke something – a bowl of my mother’s, I think – and I thought she’d be angry with me. Before I knew it, I was sucking all the light out of the room. Mother should have reported me, but she hid me instead, did everything she could to help me keep it secret. I grew up knowing that if I ever showed it – showed me – I would be banished or killed.’

They lift one hand, curls their fingers inwards. White light snaps into being over their palm, outlining their face in shining contours.

‘This –’ Neyna dips their head towards their handful of light – ‘was why I joined Chiss Intelligence. I hoped no one would notice how fast I was, or how well I could hide. Those things are only expected of spies, aren’t they? But then a mission went wrong, and one of my friends was wounded. I thought he was dead, and I – I lost control.’ They clench their fist, and the light blinks out. ‘One of my fellow agents needed medical treatment to restore her eyesight. And the others… the way they looked at me when they realised what I was –’

A long silence. Neyna’s hands run mechanically over Indigo’s spines.

‘My family are influential,’ they say at last. ‘That was enough to ensure that I was exiled, not executed. Not that I’m allowed to claim them as family anymore – I recall my father saying something about purging me from all records of our history, acting as if I had never existed, et cetera, et cetera. Mother was the only one to visit me while I was imprisoned. She offered to come with me. I told her not to leave her life behind for my sake.’

Lana’s jaw clenches, and she takes a seat at Neyna’s side. She doesn’t know them well enough to put a hand on their shoulder, to comfort them. But she’d like to.

She still remembers the moment the Force first broke from her, how her parents’ faces flashed through shock to wonder and pride. Neyna’s talents should have been met with the same, not with disgust and exile. They had their mother’s support, yes – but Lana doesn’t need to ask to know that Neyna hasn’t seen their mother since the day they were exiled.

‘So you came here,’ she says. ‘To where the Force is embraced, not seen as a corruption.’

Neyna gives her a smile that doesn’t reach their eyes. ‘They called me that, you know. Walking corruption. They said that once I was exiled, I’d go mad within a year, consume myself.’

‘You don’t believe that, surely?’

‘I don’t know. Did I ever tell you how I ended up under Arkous’s command?’

Lana shakes her head. ‘I assumed you were brought in to replace someone who’d been killed in action.’

‘Well, you’re half right. I was replacing my master. I trained under Harkun on Korriban –’

‘You too? I suppose he insulted you at every turn and sent you on a series of increasingly impossible trials, all of which you survived?’

Neyna laughs, and Lana thinks maybe some of the heaviness lifts from their shoulders. ‘Got it in one. I heard something about Lord Zash having her eye on me, but she chose another – they’re on the Dark Council now. I, meanwhile, was apprenticed to one Lord Byral, and he worked for Arkous. And I want to make it quite clear that I had no interest in seizing his position. I know what’s just what’s done in the Sith, but… I came here to learn how to control my abilities. I just wanted to survive. Climbing the hierarchy would only draw attention to me, it was the last thing I wanted, and all the same, he –’

They stop, and Lana suppresses a sigh. ‘He tried to kill you. As masters do, when they start to fear their apprentices’ power.’

‘He tried to kill me in my sleep. I can’t say I wasn’t expecting it, but – well, I’m pretty good, but even I’m going to have trouble when a fully-fledged Sith Lord sets upon me while I’m in my pyjamas. Fortunately, I sleep with a kell drake curled up on the end of my bed, and he really doesn’t like being disturbed.’

They scratch Indigo on the end of his snout, and he lets out a drowsy noise of contentment.

‘Lord Byral was a coward, then,’ Lana says. ‘And I’m glad we have you instead of him.’

Neyna’s eyes close. ‘He had a brilliant mind. I learned so much from him. But when he attacked me, when he flew out of nowhere with his eyes gleaming and his lightsaber aimed at my neck he – he was gone, Lord Beniko. I couldn’t see anything of the man who chose me and trained me. He was just rage and hunger and madness and – I could feel myself wanting to become that too, so I’d be strong enough to kill him.’

‘And you think…’ Lana hesitates, uncertain if it’s her place to say it, then ploughs on. ‘You think that means the Chiss were right about you. That you’ll drown in the Force and be consumed.’

Neyna says nothing, but their silence is all the answer Lana needs.

‘It’s not true.’ The words come out a little more forcefully than Lana intended. ‘Yes, there are some Sith who lose themselves. But you will not be one of them. You have a will stronger than many Sith I’ve met with twice your years of training. You concealed your abilities for over a decade. You survived your people’s treatment of you, you survived Korriban, you survived your master’s attempt to kill you. Today, your desire to keep us alive was strong enough to alter the shape of light itself.’

She has to stop to take in a breath. ‘You couldn’t have done any of that if you didn’t have both the anger needed to drive you and the will to rule it, rather than be ruled by it. And as long as you work under my command, I swear that you will not be treated as you were on Csilla. Here, your power, your strength, your passion – they will be respected, Arn’eyn’arethua.’

She’s probably bungled the pronunciation completely. But trying is worth it, to see the look that Neyna gives her. It’s hard to read, but Lana would place it somewhere between delight, gratitude, and awe.

‘I believe you,’ they say. ‘I’ve watched you in the field. The way you channel your rage. I don’t know if it showed, but when Arkous assigned me to you, I was… afraid. Afraid that I couldn’t have the Force and still be me. You, I’m glad to say, proved me wrong.’

There’s a faint purplish flush under their freckles. Lana’s never seen a Chiss blush before, and it’s honestly rather endearing.

The shuttle flies on, and they sit in comfortable silence, apart from Indigo’s yaps as Neyna sends him chasing after a coloured dot again. The only thing of note that happens for the rest of their journey is that, once or twice, Lana catches Neyna glancing her direction. There’s a pause, and then they look away again, a smile playing about their lips.

Lana’s not entirely sure why. She likes to consider herself an observant woman, but she has the strangest feeling that she’s missed something.

[em-dashes]

8.27.19 - Character Profiles

You know that feeling when you leave your WIP for a long time and when you come back to it it’s like you forgot how to write and everything you manage to type out feels....I don’t know.....bland and uninspired.

Yeah. That’s me right now.

Like mentioned in the last update, I’ve been working on a huge commission for a little more than two weeks now, and that meant I wasn’t able to properly focus on writing. For me, writing is something I have to spend a lot of time mulling over--it’s hard for me to multi-task with it.  I’ve been able to write little bits and bobs here and there, but nothing really substantial yet.

In the meantime, here are some character profiles!

I’ve drawn pictures of my main characters before (if you’re on mobile, just search APHELION in the linked blog), but I’ve been trying to actually write out their descriptions with more detail. I’ve had these in my outlines doc for a quite a while and honestly? It really helps to have written descriptions of them because I keep forgetting which one of Rian’s eyes is green lmao.

Anyway, here goes:

CAY is a seventeen-year-old scavenger who, according to official records, died five years ago. In reality, he was rescued by orphans Jack and Ev, and has since lived with them in secret in Brery, a poorer outskirt town close to the no-go.

He has medium brown skin and short unkempt dark hair, which would be curly if he let it grow out longer than a few inches. His deep-set eyes are light brown, close to the colour of honey, and framed by thick dark lashes. He wears baggy clothes that cover as much skin as possible. He especially likes wearing a fraying grey scarf that Jack gave him, and fingerless gloves. He hunches and holds himself as small as possible, like he’s afraid to be seen.

Significant relationships include Jack and Ev; he is very close with Jack, who he spent a lot of time with while he was recovering, and he often goes on scavenging trips with Ev.

SHELBY TAN--which is not her real name--is a nineteen-year-old scavenger and smuggler. Originally from the planet Bolerre, she was arrested by the Essan government for trespassing on their airspace three years ago, and has since been living illegally on Es, unable to return due to her broken ship.

She has raven hair, cut bluntly at her shoulders and usually kept in a ponytail or hidden under a red wig. She has once-freckled beige skin, now pale and freckle-less from years missing the sun. Her shallow-set eyes are dark brown. She is often very impatient and cranky, unafraid to stand up for herself. She tries to put on a cold, uncaring front, but in truth cares very deeply for those who matter to her.

Significant others include Idan, a homeless orphan, and Arada, her mysterious employer who has promised to fix Shelby’s ship if she smuggles equally mysterious parcels for her.

RIAN SCOTT is a thirteen-year-old boy who is connected to everything in the world, granting him the ability to manipulate and influence objects in the form of telekinesis and telepathy. These abilities are used by the government to gain intelligence and carry out less-sanctioned missions.

He has fair skin, often rendered even paler by his poor health. His hair is auburn, curly and grown past his ears from months without cutting it. His left eye is brown, while is right eye is green, the result of an eye transplant. He is keen on independence and self preservation, willing to leave people behind to save himself, but he is also desperate for genuine friendship and family. He resents his abilities only for the fact they’re so easily weaponized by others despite his own intentions to use them for good, and the negative consequences that always seem to occur no matter what he does.

Significant relationships include Holly, his primary caretaker, and Dr. Emelia Scott, his namesake and the lead scientist studying his abilities.

-

Of these characters, I’ve found Rian to be the hardest to write. I find it really difficult to put myself in his shoes the same way I can with Cay and Shelby--who, despite all the shit they go through, are just regular people. Added to the fact I’ve never been good at writing children, especially one who has been through such unfathomable trauma. Added added to the fact, I feel like the “child having superpowers” archetype has been so done before, and especially now that Stranger Things has come out, it’s a struggle for me to make Rian a more unique character. In my mind, I can tell that Rian is different from, say, Season 1 Eleven, but I really need to work on making that clear on-page. He’s also, for some reason, the hardest to draw. The picture above isn’t even totally accurate to how I picture him. He’s just a difficult character all around :^/

Needless to say, I’m not going to meet my goal of “finish drafting Part 1” by the end of August. In fact, I doubt I can even finish outlining Part 1 by the end of August. I still haven’t figured out a huge gap in the plot where I somehow have to get a character from Location A to Location B without leaps in logic. But luckily, I anticipated this, so I’m not too bummed out. Now I’m aiming for end of September.

Anyway, sorry this update has been so long and text-heavy (and fruitless lol). C’est tout pour le moment mes amis!

-Emily

[leakinghate]

You are Wrong about Lotor

The advertisements for this season promised to blur the lines between good and evil and delivered exactly that. By the conclusion of Voltron Legendary Defender season Six our paladins have apparently killed the only true hero in this show, destroyed their only access point to unlimited clean energy, and kickstarted a civil war in the Galra Empire. Team Voltron, has become the villains.

What’s that?

Doesn’t sound like we watched the same show?

Let me explain.

The writing and framing this season were truly incredible. Meticulously calculated to provide just the right information at just the right time to draw the exact wrong conclusions. It aims to provoke a violent emotional reaction in the viewer and discourage them from thinking critically about what they’re seeing. Even better, it’s a double trick, as additionally, our protagonists in the show fall into the same trap. It’s so incredibly meta, to have your audience make the same, independent conclusion as your characters.

It’s emotional manipulation at it’s cruelest, and this is only the first of the one-two punch that’s due to land it’s second hit next season.

Because team Voltron is wrong about Lotor, and so are you.

To cut to the chase, the story the narrative wants you to conclude, is that Lotor is keeping a group of Alteans hostage to systematically drain them of quintessence for use in his experiments.

I’m going to tell you right now, that’s not what’s happening.

Romelle is either hopelessly naive or malicious: she straight up admits to only knowing parts of the truth. Suspiciously, she is the first and only person Keith and Krolia encounter, but just so happens to be the only person privy to the ‘dark secrets’ of the colony. What luck! Of course, they must avoid interacting with the other Alteans who reside in the colony, as nobody else would believe Romelle if she told them. Convenient.  As far as I am concerned, everything she tells them that was not also directly witnessed by Krolia and Keith is suspect.

Speaking of, how is it, exactly, that we know Lotor is extracting quintessence from these people? Hmm? Do we have any concrete proof? No. Keith jumps to conclusions. Keith shoots first and asks questions later.

Upon discovering the emaciated Alteans in the pods Keith immediately declares that Lotor must be harvesting their quintessence. We see no actual quintessence in the lab, and by the accumulation of dust it appears that the facility has been unused for quite some time. Logically, the quintessence that the blade intercepted, and that Keith and Krolia have been seeking the source of, had to have come from somewhere, but that place isn’t this lab. But, this is no time for logic; Keith, Krolia and Romelle race off to the Castle of Lions to confront Lotor.

Sendak was absolutely correct when he said that the paladin’s greatest weakness was that they value the lives of others. Because just the suggestion that some innocent people may have lost their lives is enough to prompt the paladins to ambush someone, guns drawn, who has thus far proved himself a powerful and valuable ally. They ask Lotor exactly zero questions and don’t allow him the time to explain themselves. And it was the idea alone that caused them to act, because at no point did they seek out any proof whatsoever!

Allura alone I will grant some leeway in her reaction.

I 100% understand why Allura reacted the way she did, after all the shit she’s been through. She’s only just managed to feel that not all Galra are as monstrous as Zarkon. She’s fallen in love with his own son, and she’s hoping with everything she has that he’s really a good person. I’m sure there was still some residual fear there, it can’t have been more than two years from her perspective since everything she’s known and loved was taken from her. It takes so long to shake a trauma like she’s been through, and many people never fully do. And when she discovers that Lotor has been hiding the existence of other Alteans from her? That he admits to having to sacrifice a few? That fear and anger flared up.

It’s conspicuous, that circumstances conspire to both render Lotor unconscious and to remove him from the castle before he can explain himself. He doesn’t even hear half of the things that he’s been accused of doing and so wouldn’t know to deny them. No one ever, at any point, asks Lotor if he’s been harvesting quintessence from living Alteans. We’re left waiting to hear his side of things, and then, the next thing he says referencing Team Voltron is this:

“Zethrid, Ezor, my deepest apologies for lying to you both. But in order to gain the princess’s trust, and make the paladins of Voltron believe we were truly at odds, it had to be done.”

This comes at an interesting place in the narrative. Seemingly confirming that Lotor has been manipulating Team Voltron the whole time, and thus invalidating the sincerity of any of his prior actions since splitting from his generals. Because it follows immediately upon the horrific accusations he was denied the chance to refute it also tricks us into thinking he’s admitting to them. After all, if he’s been faking this entire time, what couldn’t he be capable of? Except. This apology is itself a lie.

In fact, regardless of whatever understanding Lotor and Axca have between them, it is impossible for them to have been working together at any point between Axca’s betrayal at Daibazaal and The Generals allying themselves with Haggar; after the point in which Allura and Team Voltron began extending some trust to Lotor. While it’s possible - even probable - that Lotor and Axca may have had contingency plans for faking a split between the generals and Lotor, and some of those plans may have included attempting an alliance with Voltron, there are far too many moving pieces for all that transpired between them to have been planned ahead of time. Far too many opportunities for one or all of them to have died. And, consistently, Lotor puts his own survival and that of his loyal allies above all other priorities.

Simply put, if the generals hadn’t been recruited by Haggar they would have been executed. If Axca was loyal to Lotor at this point she would have had no good reason to risk her life by returning to the empire, especially when Lotor had just killed Zarkon.

He says this when he does because he needs Ezor and Zethrid to not fight him over returning to the Castle of Lions. His words towards his generals, notably using ‘power’ instead of ‘peace’, are chosen to convince them to work with him again and to give the impression that he has control of the situation and a plan - which he absolutely does not.

We know this is a facade, because the moment Lotor comes face to face - or ship to lion - with Allura again he drops it and reverts to language and mannerisms he’s been using before with her. But he’s doing this openly in front of his generals and they’re visibly perplexed.

Lotor rushes back to the Castle of Lions to attempt to reason with Allura. He loves her, and he's willing to put aside his pride and plead with her in front of both of their teams. You can hear the panic in his voice as he tries to hold it together.

And then Allura accuses Lotor of being worse than Zarkon. Everything after that, isn't really him. He has a mental breakdown. He’s had every support ripped away, and 10,000 years worth of repressed pain and anguish come crashing down on him. He's lost everything that matters to him, had the one person he though he could trust, the woman he loves, accuse him of his own greatest fear, and he's hurting.

In meta about prior seasons I’ve seen it expressed that it’s a miracle that Lotor escaped his upbringing as apparently put together as he did. He’s paranoid, and occasionally willing to go against his own moral code if it means surviving another day, but surprisingly stable.

Well, it turns out he isn’t. Lotor fairly obviously has some degree of mental illness, and it unfortunately contributes to his decline in the season finale. At the risk of getting too personal in a fandom meta post, Lotor’s breakdown is eerily familiar to me - and I would expect many other fans with experience with mental health issues as well. I too have had crisis like that, complete with screaming, ranting and threatening to kill everyone who’s ever even so much as looked at you funny.

This whole situation went to hell because team Voltron has a history of making decisions based on emotions rather than logic. So far, it’s worked out pretty alright for them, but that’s about to change. They’ve lost their home, their best chance for stability and avoiding a civil war in the Galra Empire, and a loyal friend. Because they let their emotions get the best of them and couldn’t take fifteen minutes to sort out their facts from their fears.

The only negative thing. The only negative thing Lotor admits to, is that ‘many Alteans perished in [his] quest to unlock the mysteries of quintessence.’ He does not say how they died, he does not say he killed them, he doesn’t even say that their deaths were intentional. For all we know, they died in a lab accident. Those Alteans in pods? Among the many functions pods like those are established to have in VLD are healing and cryopreservation. We don’t even know that those people are the deceased Alteans in question. We don’t even know if they’re dead!

The one and only time we see the blue quintessence used as intended in show is when Lotor uses the last of his supply of it to energize his Sincline ship and attempts to pass through the gate for the first time. In response to Zethrid’s concern that this is the last of their concentrated quintessence Lotor states that once they get into the rift they will have access to an unlimited amount of it. Therefore, it stands to reason that the white quintessence found in the rift contains the same properties as the blue of unknown origin. But that the yellow and purple the Empire uses apparently does not.  Lotor doesn't need the quintessence in the rift for the empire: he needs it for the Alteans. He's not manipulating anyone, his goals are the same as theirs: peace and free energy for the universe. While it’s likely the blue quintessence does have some relation to the colony, whatever that is, there is currenly no evidence whatsoever that it’s being extracted from sentient beings. He’s clearly looking for a replacement source as it is. He likely wanted to tell Allura about the Altean colony, but felt he needed to secure reliable access to the quintessence field before he could do so.

So what’s this second punch that’s going to land next season?

If you haven’t guessed already, think how this is actually going to turn out. Because we know Romelle is wrong, whether on purpose or by accident. She basically conspired to kill the man who did everything in his power to save her people and her culture. And she did so by turning his friends against him.

How are the paladins going to feel when they realize this? How is Allura going to feel? She left Lotor to die in the rift. After he begged her to see reason. After he confessed his feelings for her. After she fell in love with him.

Ultimately, despite what many people expected, and indeed what many people are saying, Lotor has never intentionally manipulated the paladins and he didn’t betray Team Voltron.

Allow me to repeat myself:

Lotor didn’t betray Team Voltron

They betrayed him.

Sincere thanks to all my fandom family in the Lotura 18+ discord. Nearly all of the conclusions reached in this meta were origionally hashed out during chat sessions. Love you all, and I hope for anyone disheartened by s6 this meta can give you a bit of hope for the future.

I sincerely believe, that when all things are said and done, Voltron: Legendary Defender is going to go down as one of the best shows ever created.

[berry-cat7]

Treasure

@kurokolovesakashi

For AkaKuro Month! The prompt is Fairy tale AU, so I went with trapped in a tower with a dragon, but with my own twist.

Can be read on AO3 or Fanfiction.

Kuroko no Basuke

G Rating

Brief mention of nudity

2,032 Words

Characters: Akashi Seijurou, Kuroko Tetsuya, Momoi Satsuki (Ft. Aomine)

Summary: A new knight approaches Kuroko's tower. It goes better than expected.

"Oh dear." Kuroko remarks rather flatly.  

His reaction is more appropriate for noting an impending rain, rather than the sight of another knight preparing to storm his tower. However, he feels mild annoyance towards both phenomena, so perhaps it is quite fitting. If they were a messenger, they wouldn't have been so heavily armored, and nobody lugs around a broadsword for fun.

This knight can't be too unreasonable if they decided to make their approach from the forest though. While it is filled with many dangerous creatures and the terrain quite treacherous in general, it does provide excellent cover from the dragon's fiery gaze. The last fool who thought to take the mountain path directly to the western face of his tower saw their death approaching long before they had a chance to even catch a glimpse of the 'damsel' himself. Admittedly his keeper was feeling rather agitated that day, since that was the fourth challenger that week; usually the dragon is charitable enough to at least let them approach his fence, and give him a chance to send them away with their lives.  

Not that they ever listen.

Between their greed towards the ridiculous amounts of riches the dragon has amassed in this castle, their desire to slay a mighty beast, and the power they've attached to his name; many chose to ignore him and press on.  This usually results in the forest fauna coming out for a midnight snack on the remains if the dragon is out of sight. Kuroko doesn't like it when the dragon chars his lawn to burn the bodies, and the dragon refuses to actually eat them, so what isn't scavenged, is scattered along his grounds in warning.  

This knight is definitely promising though.

Rather than charging in blindly while the dragon is still out of sight, they slow their steed to a trot and carefully examine the area. Kuroko knows that his companion has taken to the skies, silently observing the situation. The knight is too far for Kuroko to read the insignia painted onto their shield, but the powder blue of their cloak, and the style of the horse's reigns match those of Teiko, his kingdom of origin. Despite their cautious pace, the knight approaches with absolute confidence. The vibrant red plume decorating their helmet wavers in the wind, and their cape billows artistically as they draw nearer. Honestly, Kuroko is rather impressed. Usually people don't have that kind of flair for dramatics anymore.

At this distance, the golden dragon insignia of Teiko is clear and just as they reach they the barrier around his tower, they pull their horse to a halt. The knight is silent for a moment, before they reach up to remove their helmet. Messy pink hair drawn up into a loose bun, and a feminine face. It seems to be another woman this time.

The knight's voice rings loud and true through the clearing. "Fair prince, I am Sir Momo! Momoi Satsuki! And I have heard tales of your beauty and virtue! They say you are held captive by a fearsome beast and I have arrive to rescue you, and offer my hand in marriage! Where is your captor?"

It's a pain to strain his voice, but Kuroko addresses the challenger from his window. "Fair knight, I thank you for coming all this way, but I fear your quest has been for naught! I am in no peril! And I am no prince! Nor am I looking to marry!"

Her eyes widen in surprise.

"...Then who are you? There are many tales of your royal status!"

"I was but a humble farmhand! I befriended the local dragon, and moved into this tower! People have come and gone, spinning ridiculous fables of increasing fantasy!" That's quite an over-simplification of the situation, but it's unwise to shout such a long and personal story out of a window to a potentially dangerous stranger.

Overall, he's not quite sure how things escalated to this point himself. At first a few travelers stumbled across his little abode and the dragon was content to watch from afar. But once he had almost been killed by a roving band of looters, he supposes some rumours had begun to spread once the survivors regaled their harrowing tales. The average wanderers stopped appearing, and the warriors and knights started flocking in for various reasons.

Kuroko is far from captive when he travels back into town every other week for supplies. Not that many can recognize him.  

"I apologize that you have come all this way! I can only offer my regrets." The last time he had bribed away an intruder, the dragon had sulked for days, curling around the tower's treasures possessively until Kuroko polished quite a few in repentance.

The knight shifts on her saddle as she thinks over this new development. "...Are you sure you require no aid? Are you truly unthreatened by the dragon?"

"Not unless you offer repair services." All of the rain has been rather troublesome. His wood fence is starting to rot from all of the moisture.

"Unfortunately, my main craft is the blade. My apologies for the disturbance then. Though I do hope you won't mind if I return for a visit? Someone as lovely as you should at least have human company every now and then." Ironically, he gets plenty of human company, it's just that they're usually hostile while the dragon is a reprieve.

She's been polite, outwardly nonthreatening and respectful, patient. Kuroko is about to grant tentative permission when a distant roar echoes in warning. It seems the dragon has grown tired of their guest. Thankfully she's aware enough to understand this unsubtle warning herself. "It seems I've overstayed my welcome. I bid you farewell, and may our paths cross again." She says with a sweet smile and a wave. Quite the juxtaposition from the worn armor broadening her frame and the gleaming blade strapped to her back.

Although she intended to take her leave, it seems her horse has other ideas. It continues to graze on the lush grass of his property, regardless of its rider pulling at its reigns. "Oh come on! Dai-chan, you can eat later!" The horse takes its time chewing through one more mouthful before it finally heeds its master's cries. And once the knight disappears into the forest from whence she came, the dragon is quick to land.

Kuroko rolls his eyes to himself once he is safely out of sight, and heads to his front door in order to greet the dragon in person, taking the spare cloak with him. He really is a sight to behold, gleaming wine-coloured scales and magnificent wings. Large eyes focus on him, one cranberry red and the other daffodil gold, both scanning for a hair out of place even though the knight hadn't even unsheathed her weapon. It's ridiculous and over-protective, but he can't complain when it's done for his sake. The dragon sort of sighs out a puff of smoke and a flurry of embers, a sign that he is satisfied with what he sees and Kuroko is permitted to move.

"See? I'm fine. But thank you Seijurou."

The dragon's lipless mouth is unmoving, but a velvety smooth voice can still be heard. "I don't understand why you won't just leave with me, and be done with these vermin."  

Kuroko puts a hand on the dragon's warm snout, each nostril almost half of his height and every exhale a visible heatwave. "As hot as you can keep the cave and as lavishly as you furnish it, I'd rather not actually live in a cave. Kagami-kun already claims that I'm so isolated I may as well live under a rock, the last thing he needs is validation."

The dragon releases a burst of hot air at the mention of one of his few friends. He's close enough that the twin jets of scalding steam billow out past him without harm, but it's still uncomfortably hot at this distance. He smacks the dragon with a frown in reprimand, but the gesture is more symbolic since he doubts it was really felt through such thick skin.  

"I can be human too." Kuroko is sure it's supposed to sound ominous or maybe even vaguely threatening, but he's learned to associate that tone with a petulant child. He absently resumes running his hand against the dragon's face. The larger, shield-sized scales covering the rest of his body are mostly cold and sharp, but his face is covered with smooth snake-like soft-scaled skin.  

He has to tread carefully, because the last thing he wants to do is offend. Inter-species relationships – romantic or otherwise – are always complicated. "...Yes, I know, but even I would like to see other faces every now and then. I'm not a jewel Seijurou, I need more than just safety."

He can feel scales heating beneath his palm, just shy of painful as the dragon shifts. He closes his eyes against the bright light but he can already feel a feverishly warm cheek resting in his hand. Two very human hands grab onto him. One rests overtop of his, while the other carefully grips his fragile wrist. It wouldn't take much to turn his joints into mush, break his legs and render him immobile – completely helpless and dependent. But the dragon is careful, his touch always almost annoyingly feather-light with his unspoken fear.  

He opens his eyes to meet red and gold.

There is a possessive look in Seijurou's eyes as he speaks, low and reverently. "I know human's require a lot of care to remain in optimal condition, but I can't help but place your physical well-being before your happiness. It's fine if you hate me. As long as you are alive and within my sights, I don't care what you do if it's not detrimental to your health. Your life is short as it is. You are my most precious treasure." The dragon places a tender kiss over the pulse point of Kuroko's inner wrist, and the human flushes a bright red as he recalls Seijurou's bare state. Seijurou himself always stands proud, completely unbothered by his nudity because he only wears what Kuroko forces onto him.

Without context, that whole speech would be rather concerning, no doubt that knight would come sweeping back to rescue him had she heard some of the other things he's said. But Kuroko knows that the dragon would never treat him like that. An object to be hoarded in the dark. He's merely voicing his opinion, the disgruntled grumbling of the guard of a particularly troublesome treasure. Kuroko pulls Seijurou into an embrace, surrounding himself with the dragon's heat. He rests his chin over the other's shoulder. "I know. You're my most important person too."  

In all of his years of life as a simple farmhand, Kuroko Tetsuya had never seen much value in his life. He considered it a good life, but like any peasant, he thought he wasn't worth more than the mud he toiled in. It was mere chance that he had stumbled across this abandoned structure filled with wealth, and perhaps some would call it misfortune that it turned out to belong to a dragon; but his restraint had been his saving grace, and once the dragon had located him further down the path the rest had become history.

It's another irony, one he thinks about every day, that a dragon – creatures notorious for their material greed – believes that his life is worth more than his weight in gold.

It's easy to slip out of Seijurou's hold, all hard muscles and soft grip. It's not as bad as it used to be, but he's still embarrassed that he was in the arms of a naked man out in the open. He carefully throws the cloak he brought over Seijurou's shoulders, one of the only articles of clothing he'll wear without a word of complain, and leads the dragon by the hand into his castle.

The lifeblood rushing through his veins, every breath he draws, every day for the rest of his days – all of it, Kuroko is more than happy to give him to cherish.

[jadehqknb]

Could I have a fluffy scenario with Ushijima and his fem s/o on their first date?

I kind of went crazy with it but hopefully thelength makes up for how long it took me to get it done. I really hope you likeit! It’s a blend of awkward, funny and fluff (at least I hope it is). Ilistened to Dashboard Confessional’s “Stolen” on repeat while writing this incase you’d like a tune to set the mood.

Wakatoshi Ushijima – Fortune Favors the Blunt

Nobody is more surprised when Ushijima asks you outthan him. Normally one to avoid anything or anyone that gives him a feeling ofnot knowing what he’s going to do, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to you.It starts off subtle, as these things often do, with his eyes consistentlyshifting to you in class. Every time he catches himself staring at you, he whiskshis attention back to the front of the room but even then, he’s distracted justby the thought of you.

Eventually he gives into the inevitable; he may bestubborn but he’s not stupid.

“______-san,” his deep voice rumbles one day afterschool. He’s on his way to the gym when you cross his path. Inevitability ornot, there’s no way he’d be late for practice looking for you but he’ll takefortune where he can find it.

You almost drop your books in surprise at being addresseddirectly by the huge volleyball player. Turning around and craning your neckupwards you ask, “Yes?”

“I really like you, go out with me,” he says. It’snot a question, it’s a statement.

Beside him, Tendo doubles over with laughter. “Wakatoshi,that’s not how you get a girl to go out with you!” he exclaims throwing an armaround his blunt friend. “You have to askher,” he mock whispers to him, casting a side wink in your direction.

The attention this whole scene is garnering ismaking you rather uncomfortable so to avoid further embarrassment you say, “Ok,Ushijima-san, um,” you pause ripping a piece of paper from your notebook.Scribbling your number down you hand it to him, Tendo’s mouth falling open asyou say, “Call me.” Then you scurry away, completely convinced the past fiveminutes had to be a figment of your imagination.

Behind you, Tendo, still slack jawed, looks at hisfriend in awe. “Then again, maybe it ishow you get a girl to go out with you.” Ushijima is unaffected, turning on hisheel to head to practice.

Later that evening, your phone rings, a number youdon’t recognize flashing on the display.

“Hello?” you answer

“______-chan,” comes the reply. “It’s Ushijima,” headds completely unnecessarily.

“Oh…hel…hello,” you stammer, clearly shocked heactually called.

There’s a moment of silence, which really shouldn’tsurprise you considering who you’re “talking” to; maybe you should havesuggested texting. Clearing your throat, you try to get the conversation going.“So, um, thanks for calling. I…I didn’t really think you would.”

“Why wouldn’t I call? You gave me your number inorder to,” he asks confused.

“I know! I…it’s just that usually when guys say they’regoing to call, they don’t.”

“That’s stupid,” he says simply and you can’t helpbut laugh.

“Yeah, you’re right it is. Um, anyway, did you…didyou have an idea of where you wanted to go for a date?”

There’s another pause. “A date?” he asks.

Now you’re the one confused. “Well, yeah, you asked,er, um, told me to go out with you, so…did you have anything in mind?”

“You misunderstood, when I said go out with me, Imeant be my girlfriend. Isn’t that what that usually means?”

The phone slips from your hands, shock renderingyour limbs temporarily paralyzed. From the ground, you hear his voice callingfor you, but you can’t move. With no warning, no indication of ever liking you at all, he just…wants you to be hisgirlfriend?

“______-chan?” Wakatoshi tries again, borderingbetween irritation and concern; is the idea of exclusively dating him that bad?

Finally, you come back on the line, voice shaking abit. “Um…Ushijima-san, why…why do you want me to be your girlfriend?”

He doesn’t have to think long on his answer. “I don’tknow, I just know I want to be with you.”

An incredulous laugh escapes your lips; this is alljust too surreal. Shaking your head, you’re just about to tell him you don’tthink that’s the best foundation to base a relationshipon when you stop. When is the last time you’ve taken a risk? And what bettertime than now? It’s your third year and you’ve only ever dated one other guy,one who told you all the reasons he loved you only to end up breaking yourheart in the end by cheating on you. At least with Ushijima-san you’ll havefull disclosure.

“Ok,” you say before you can convince yourself notto. “Ok,” you repeat, “I’ll considerbeing your girlfriend, but on one condition.”

“And that is?” he asks.

You have no idea where this sudden bout ofconfidence is coming from but you’re determined to ride the wave as long aspossible. “You have to take me on a proper date first, then we’ll see.”

For a moment, Ushijima is at a loss. Why didn’tanyone ever tell him dating would be this difficult? Granted, he’s never asked anyone about it before but still. Buthe knows, without understanding why, that he wants you to be his, so he’ll dowhat it takes to make that happen.

“Alright, I’ll take you out Saturday night,” he replies.

“Sounds great,” you say smiling. After another pauseyou add, “Well, I better get going. Homework to do and all that, but I’ll seeyou tomorrow at school…Wakatoshi-kun.”

He’s not sure why it is that you saying his firstname makes him blush, but Ushijima can feel his cheeks heating up and iseternally grateful you’re not having this conversation in person.

The rest of the week passes uneventfully, no one (saveTendo) the wiser of the change in your relationship status since, technically,nothing has changed between the twoof you except the fact that you’re going on a date this weekend.

“Sooooo,” Tendo says Friday afternoon in the lockerroom, “where are you taking _____-chan tomorrow?”

“Dinner and a movie,” comes the quick reply.

Tendo yawns dramatically. “Boooorrrringgg!”

Wakatoshi looks at his grinning face. “Well then,what would you suggest?”

Slamming his locker door, the red head then leansagainst it. “Look, she said this date is conditional of her becoming yourgirlfriend. If you’re serious about this you’re going to have to up your game.”

A sudden feeling of doubt overcomes the ace; what thehell was he thinking?

“Don’t panic, your best buddy is here to rescue youfrom dating ineptitude,” Tendo says following him out of the locker room.

“But you’ve never had a girlfriend,” Wakatoshi says.

“Tch, doesn’t mean I don’t know what to do,” he sayswiggling his eyebrows.

The next day you are bouncing around the house, completelyexcited, nervous, anxious and…hopeful. For the whole week, you’ve struggledwith whether to call this whole thing off, but your girlfriends insisted you atleast go on the date; the guy deserves that much they reminded you.

In the afternoon, you receive a text from Wakatoshiadvising you to dress nicely but warm. After going through your entire closet,you decide upon a knee length grey skirt with blue leggings, black ankle bootsand long sleeved white shirt, a black vest over it. Finishing your hair andmakeup, you take one last look in the mirror; well, it’s as good as it’s goingto get.

A knock at the front door has your heart racing.Rushing from the back of your house, you open it to reveal Wakatoshi with abouquet of daisies which he thrusts a little abruptly at you.

“Thank you,” you say, placing them in a vase ofwater. Now that the flowers are out of your field of vision you see he’s cladin dark jeans, a black long sleeve shirt and maroon jacket.

“Ready to go?” he asks and you nod, following himout the door.

You walk down the street in silence, heading to abus stop. When it arrives, you climb on and take seats next to one another. Thesilence is slightly awkward but you know Wakatoshi enough to not be surprisedby his lack of conversation skills; he doesn’t speak that much and when he doesit’s often in quick, concise sentences.

When you arrive to your destination, he stands andyou follow him. Surprise registers on your face when you see you’re at a largepark, a gigantic lake spread in the center. Wakatoshi is walking slightly aheadof you, his long legs and quick strides making it hard for you to keep up. To hiscredit, he does notice and slows down, coming to a stop and looking at you. In silence,he reaches out his hand to you. After a moment’s hesitation, you take it, yourhand being swallowed into his. You can feel the callouses built up over yearsof hitting a volleyball, you’re sure, hundreds of thousands of times.

Walking a bit slower, the two of you make your wayto a dock and his intention becomes clear; you’re going in a paddle boat. Payingfor the rental, Wakatoshi gets in first, turning to assist you. Both of you blushslightly when he has need to touch your waist to make sure you don’t fall over.Once you’re seated, he settles next to you and you both begin pushing on thepeddles, the boat coasting out towards the center of the lake.

It’s lovely here, sakura trees releasing theirpetals which float through the air and land silently on the glass like surfaceof the water. Above you, the stars are starting to wink and twinkle, the moon ahalf crescent but bright.

After peddling for a while, you decide to stop,looking up to enjoy the night sky. Glancing at him from the corner of your eye,you smile; he may not say much, but his efforts thus far have impressed you.

Deciding you should put in a little more effort too,you say, “You know, we don’t really know that much about each other. So howabout we play twenty questions? Answer one, ask one?”

“I don’t think I’ll come up with very goodquestions,” he says.

“Nothing says they have to be clever,” you say lightly, “Just ask things you want to know aboutme.”

Thinking it over, he realizes you’re right and nodshis agreement to your suggestion.

By the end of the game he’s properly fallen for you,learning about your love of animals and dream to be a veterinarian, the factthat you’re a pretty good cook and enjoy comedy movies over any other genre.You learn about his family, his ambition to play professional volleyball (not surprisingat all but you are surprised by thelevel of detail he went into once he really got going) and that he enjoysreading mysteries when he has the time.

“This was a really great idea,” you say with a softsmile.

He wants to confess it wasn’t really his, that Tendowas the one who found out about this place but thinks it better not to; youlook so happy.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says instead.

When the temperature shifts downward a few degreesand you shiver Wakatoshi takes off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders.

“We should probably head back,” you say and he nods.You get the boat turned around and return to the dock. Wakatoshi gets out firstafter it’s secure, leaning down and extending his hand to you to help you out.You grasp his hand, but as you step you slip, careening forward. Were he notthere, you’d probably have banged your knee up pretty bad but his strong armsand quick reflexes are more than enough to pull you to safety; which means you’reclasped in a full Wakatoshi embrace.

Looking up at his face, you smile and say, “Thanks.”

He swallows, his blush returning due to theproximity of your face to his. Unthinkingly, he leans down further, lipshovering over yours, eyes almost closed. Deciding to risk it, he continuesdownward, kissing you very gently. When he pulls away, your eyes are shining,your own cheeks sporting a beautiful, natural rouge.

“So, does this mean you’ll be my girlfriend?” heasks.

“Yes,” you breathe, “yes, Wakatoshi-kun, I’ll beyour girlfriend.”

When he smiles, you think your heart is going stopbut don’t have time for further consideration of your impending cardiac arrestsince he’s kissing you again, a bit firmer, a bit longer and oh my, you nowknow that while his mouth may not expel many words, it is exceptionallytalented in communicating passion.

[uhxrp]

reapers

I. OVERVIEW

reapers are beings that serve a single purpose—to uphold the natural order. they do this by keeping souls on their rightful path and ensuring the balance between light or dark magic by returning it after death. while it's thought they originate from the fey realm, they are considered by the fey to be a primordial species, and not much in known how they originated. or who brought them into existence.

they're not required for death to occur, though they must be there after when a soul is passing, and though they do have the power to extend life, they know that in doing so for one they're causing a more horrific death for them soon after, so they typically don't. occasionally in prelude to great destruction, reapers will come in a mass gathering to prepare.

there is only one account of a reaper ignoring the natural order, when that reaper who had been kidnapped and forced to kill was freed, he turned on and killed the person who kidnapped him. this is the only known occasion of any reaper ever being the cause of a person's death directly, and it was in self defense and not seen as an egregious offense but rather as an exception. it is well known in the supernatural world that trying to force or sway a reaper leads to your death, in one way or another, and even in the supernatural world they are often outcasts.

despite appearing stoic at times, reapers are apparently as capable at experiencing emotions as humans, as on many occasions reapers have shown sorrow, annoyance, compassion and anger. they also appear to have free will, although they rarely act upon it because they have been trained to know their calling is their ultimate duty.

II. STATISTICS

reapers are known to be the true neutrals of the supernatural world, immortals with specific given purpose. currently, no one knows that the purpose reapers are given can be anything but the guidance of souls - and the reapers who know are making sure it stays that way.

LIFESPAN

reapers are immortal and can be made between the ages of 18 and 850 years old.

CREATION

reapers are created prior to times of great destruction, such as major natural disasters, genocide, and war.

TRANSFORMATION

a reaper cannot transform into anything else.

PROCREATION

reapers do not reproduce and cannot create other reapers.

III. GOVERNANCE

reapers seem to think of all other reapers as something kin to distant relatives, as they were all created to do one job. there is no known hierarchy for reapers and all seem to think of each other on the same level of respect and courtesy as one another, something almost unheard of in all other species. these beings are dedicated to the natural order and see good and evil as both having a purpose and thus a place in the world, and as such do not see a need for a hierarchy or ruling power, believing they are all under their duties as keepers of the natural order and therefore without any real power.

IV. ALLIANCES

known for their neutrality, reapers have occasionally been sought for issues that require a party with no allegiance to light or dark magic. but more often, their requested to deal with matters of death, that require a being more knowledgeable.

banshees banshees will occasionally interact with reapers when they are both drawn to a soon-to-be deceased person. as they both deal with death, there is often a mutual understanding and respect between the two species.

ghosts due to the nature of their abilities and purpose, reapers work with spirits pretty often. they are the first seen in the moment a spirit is created, to guide them on their path or to let them continue until they are ready to go.

V. FOES

reapers are misunderstood by most supernaturals. seen as cold and otherworldly, they are the keepers of death and coming across one is a chilling experience, not knowing if the end of the line is just around the corner.

necromancers from a reaper's opinion, necromancers harm the natural order. from a necromancer's opinion, reapers are bad for business. necromancers use spirits that have yet to be guided by a reaper, as once a reaper has finished their job the spirit is gone for good and cannot be called back.

poltergeists due to the nature of their abilities and purpose, reapers work with spirits pretty often. they are the first seen in the moment a spirit is created, to guide them on their path or to let them continue until they are ready to go. however, when a ghost becomes a poltergeist and gives up on moving on, this can mean an inability to do their job on the side of a reaper (or a need to do so with additional means) which can be largely inconvenient for them.

VI. PHYSIOLOGY

BEGINNER

- REAPER PHYSIOLOGY reapers are born immortal, born looking a single age typically between twenty and forty without any change in appearance due to the abilities they will acquire over their time. they are for all intents and purposes dead and unable to be killed, but can be sent to the underworld. they are born with full knowledge of their place in the world, to protect and ensure the natural order.

- DEATH SENSE having this power means the reaper is capable of sensing the coming of death, able to determine when someone is dead or dying or if others have died in a specific location. reapers know when it is someone's time, but their devotion to their purpose keeps them from telling this information usually.

- AFTERLIFE TRANSPORT the user is capable of taking the souls of others, willingly or otherwise, to the afterlife. the reaper can come and go as they please to this life and the one after, transporting the souls they have reaped.

NOVICE

- DEATH INDUCEMENT this is the power to cause death. user can kill anyone and anything using varying means, either instantly, slowly over time, after certain conditions are met, or after a certain period of time has gone. may be used by touch, at a distance, simply willing it to happen, or performing certain ritual.

- WEAPON MANIPULATION this is the ability to manipulate weapons, traditionally a scythe, but swords are common too. regardless of what weapon the user has, it's always sharpened and infused with death. the reaper can summon or create their chosen weapon and are automatically proficient with it, allowing them to both defend themselves and take life when necessary.

COMPETENT

- FEAR INDUCEMENT the power to evoke extreme fear and horror in others. this can be used to enhance any feelings of fear until the victim literally dies of fright, thus making their job easier.

- CHRONOKINESIS (MINOR) at this level, the ability to manipulate time is incredibly weak. the reaper only manages to slow time for a few minutes and it requires most of their energy to be able to perform. they are unable to manipulate time in any other form.

PROFICIENT

- DESIRE FORM this is the power to take on the form of others greatest desire. they can appear as their victim's dead loved ones to ease the transition to the other side, or whatever may help them best do their job.

- INVISIBILITY users can render themselves unseen by the naked eye and become invisible in visible spectrum. the user can move about an environment unseen by others and act without being observed. reapers can choose to let certain people see them, while staying invisible to others, something that makes it easy to interact with souls when in public.

- CHRONOKINESIS (MODERATE) at this level, the reaper is able to manipulate time for longer, though the ability still comes with a massive power draw. the reaper can slow for an hour and pause time completely for a few minutes.

EXPERT

- ETERNAL REST INDUCEMENT this is the power to grant eternal rest to anyone or anything. user can grant death to anyone or anything that is stuck being alive, such as reanimated corpses and users of cursed resurrection, but without actually having to kill them. this can bypass/ignore powers that force the target to stay alive unnaturally and also ensures the target effected can stay dead by granting them peace of mind in the afterlife. this ability is seen as their ultimate ability and saved for special circumstances, such as when a poltergeist is disturbing the natural order, but otherwise reapers typically do not feel it is their duty to interfere with someone's unfinished business.

- DEATH EMPOWERMENT users become stronger, faster, more durable, etc. by the deaths of others, enhancing their powers.

- CHRONOKINESIS (MAJOR) at this level, the reaper is able to manipulate time for far longer and with less of a power draw, the reaper can slow time for a few hours, pause time completely for a few minutes, and can keep time going for an individual while time is stopped.

VII. WEAKNESSES

reapers are notoriously difficult to kill, however they can be trapped using witches' sigils, and be burned using incinerating spells.

while it's not known why, a seelie fey's blood is also deeply harmful to a reaper, and will burn their skin if they come into contact with it.

they also cause electromagnetic interference while reaping a soul or using a lot of power, often causing the lights to flash and other electrical circuits to give out. often, this alerts others to the presence of a supernatural.

reapers who are still training their gifts can also get temporarily stuck in time or stuck mid-teleportation, if they are not focused enough or do not have enough power built up. this can result in a mess; torn limbs, wide open cuts, and occasional decapitation. for a reaper, climbing the ranks is immensely difficult, and often its the eldest reapers that are the most powerful.

(note: we would like to note that we do allow the use of creative weaknesses in play, such as a witch and human coming up with their own decision on how their abilities counteract one another, but we urge you to remember that we are trusting you to keep this balanced and fair. as such, the weaknesses we list will be minimal but are by and far not a full list of possible weaknesses. should we notice a character who seems too powerful, you will be asked to bump that character back down or be denied continued play here on unholy for the sake of creative freedom for all members. this includes the knowledge of the strengths and weaknesses of the species that your character would have here on unholy.)