#ty for the ask dren!!

[daisychainsandbowties]

5, 9 and 13 for the fic asks? Hope you're having a wonderful day!

5. what's a fic idea you've had that you will never write?

i have so many fic idea swimming around in my head that i will definitely never have time to write but.

i do have a fighter pilot au (who am i kidding a Battlestar Galactica au) where Ava's an ace pilot sent out in an experimental ship to look for safe harbor after human civilization is decimated; only 50,000 living souls left alive out of billions. the first jump carries them into deep space.

Bea's is an expert navigator and astrobiologist, sent along with Ava to keep an eye on her, since Ava's famously reckless and spent basically every other night in the brig back on the Galactica. but Bea's also the science officer, tasked with seeking out habitable planets for an initial attempt at seeding human colonies as far from the ruins of civilization as possible. the idea would be to give them the ability to contact each other, but leave warnings about the Cylons, warnings to never go back.

they have a larger freighter-style ship capable of supporting them for... as long as it takes, complete with a lab (for Bea) and a starfighter (so that Ava can immediately destroy any Cylon scout ship that makes visual contact with them). they have equipment Bea can use to study any habitable planet they find, to set up shop on the surface for the several weeks it takes to fully bio-map and geologically assess the landscape. once they set down a beacon, hopefully the signal can reach the people working on the Dandelion Pods that Beatrice created - ships that can follow their trail and carry the 500 or so people needed for a viable population to the planets they've earmarked.

it ends up taking them far away from the fighting, Ava picking off one or two scouts who locate their signature before it fades out of sight. then it's her mechanical skills that help, fixing the ship as it breaks, setting up systems they didn't have the time to anticipate the need for.

just... quiet, and fathomless space. the two of them growing closer, Bea's initial wariness giving way to fondness, to something more. huddling for warmth when they have to all but power down the ship to avoid creating a heat signature when the Cylons scan into deep space for survivors.

they're the last hope for humanity, adrift out in the stars with Bea growing veggies in planter pots because "access to fresh food has been proven to promote psychological health" "sorry professor. i won't make fun of your beets ever again"

Ava buffing her fighter and Beatrice watching her check the weapons systems and paint new, lurid designs on the wings, hoping desperately that they never have to use it, that they're never found, (that they never have to go back).

9. Do you write every day? If you wrote today, share a sentence of what you've written?

yes i write every day unless i have bad pain or brain fog, but even if it's just a sentence i like to write Something because i couldn't for years & i'm trying to make up for lost time lmao.

a sentence:

"She sat with the paper bag of chocolates cupped in her palms and thought of how the vendor touched them all with his bare fingers, once or twice raising them to wipe at the sweat in his hair, and how the vents rattled, pumping recycled air into that deep space, little ribbons on the grilles to show everyone that the air was flowing, to warn them when it stopped."

13: How much planning do you do before writing?

i think about my WIPs when i'm out walking sometimes, but i never write anything down, believing foolishly that if a plot point or a scene or a line is good enough i'll remember it, or that when i sit down to write it'll reassert itself as a natural part of the narrative. aside from that, all i work with is a first line and a vague concept and i much prefer it that way.

[dark-night-hero]

Hey so I found the little drabble you wrote about Morax sacrificing Y/n for the world? And it gave me this scene of a Y/n being forced to pick between him and the world, and they choose him? And it would hurt. And I'd like to see it written in your style of angst, if you ever write it at all, because i think it would be cool. have a good day/night heart🧡

: I know I'm very late but this gives me the idea of the prequel of the world > you of Morax|Zhongli imagine.

Imagine being in a situation where you have to sacrifice the world for your love one. What would you do? Would you choose to do the greater good for others or for yourself? The answer for you is quite obvious. It would be Morax over the world.

Imagine the Archon War leaving a mental toll on your mental health, constantly seeing your lover fighting, seeing him fight for his and your dear live as well as both of your people. But what leaves you the scar the most is seeing him get hurt, although he was powerful and fearsome, that doesn't mean that he does not escape close call encounter. At times like that, you have nothing to do but to watch there and stood in horror, thinking how much of a baggage were you that you cannot even fight side by side. Because even for a supreme being, you are weak.

Imagine it wasn't just the war that took a toll on you but also the mortals. You have seen people turning their back on their Gods, you have seen people revolts on their Gods, Gods who have done nothing but to protect them and some have lost their lives upon doing so. How fucking cruel and disgusting creatures were they. And how thankful you are that your people were different. That is why this thoughts and memories remained on the back of your mind.

Imagine, or so you thought as you day you have awoken up from a dream, drenched on cold sweat as your heart hammered on your chest. It was a dream- no a nightmare- no... It was a vision. It was a prophecy of your lovers death. Died and assassinated by his-your own people.

"Love?" It was your lover who seems to have been awake.

"Are you alright? You're dren-" You cut him off as you embraced him and he chuckles before turning your embrace, giving you a tap on the back for more comfort.

"Was it a bad dream?" He asked as pull you even more closer to him, taking you in his arms as you could only tighten your hold on him.

"It's alright, Love. I'm here, it's just a dream."

Imagine the truth is that you love your people more than anything, you love them just right after Morax, your lover. That is why you decided not to pay attention to that vision. Because you knew more than anything that your people respect and worship him more than anything.

Imagine Morax should have seen the signs. The way you less and lesser interact with the people. The more you seems cautious of the way they view and talked about him. The way you stay up all night and seems to be lacking of sleep. The way the look of gentleness in your eyes seems to fade the more you look at the people you vow yourself to protect. The way you were slowly falling and experiencing signs of erosion.

"What did you just say, you low life piece of utter shit?" You glare at the man, wanting to snap off his neck if it wasn't for your lover holding you back from doing so.

"I- I was just telling the truth! It's not like Rex Lapis is all that great and might- hick!"

"It's not like I did not heard you the first time. What I'm tying to say it that, do you, know the consequence you have to face for saying such-"

"That's enough, (First name). I would like to apologise on behalf of my lover, they were just.."

Imagine becoming aware that you were losing yourself but it was already too late. All the sleepless nights, the visions that kept showing up and hunting you. The way the people in your vision- your prophecy doesn't even seem to mind that Morax have died. The way the people talks about him these days. The way your memories of the archon war and the people back in those days does not seem to think twice turning their back and raising their weapons on their own beloved Gods.

Imagine one day, you snap. Walking in the city with your fake persona. There comes the man who was just talking shit about Morax on the other day. And the nerve of this man to continue to convince you that he was in fact right, that the world is better off without the Archons, specifically Morax in it, the God of War. The one who seems to have killed the God he was formerly worshipping. The one who according to him should have died instead.

Imagine as his words went one ear to another, you smile at him before talking and convincing him to go on a remote area where no one could see the two of you and of course, bewitched by your beauty, how could he not come with you. Only to get himself killed not even a second the moment the two of you reach your promised location. And during those very moment, the way you look down at your blood stained hand. The way a smile crept up on your lips as a strange sense of satisfaction came into you.

"This is fun." You spoke looking at the bloody scene.

"This is what you get for assume you know better to turn your back against by beloved."

Imagine Morax becoming aware of the missing and killing of people within your land. But what raised his concerns the most is that you don't even seem to mind, but at least you were not going feral as you were quite some time now. So he brush it off and went to investigate only to find out that most of the people declared missing and dead were people who were talking bad about him. Most of those people were refugees of the wars and were formerly worshipping other Gods before him. Nevertheless it was still suspicious and wrong. You have always made it clear with him that people, mortals were fragile being, that is why you should protect them.

so Imagine the horror on Morax face once he have seen you, in the midst of the burning remote village, a bloody child in your hand, grabbing it on the neck as you held it up within your level, a smile on your face which become even more bright one you have seen him when it pained him even more than to see you this way. How could he have not notice this? You were always together, how could he have not notice you were slowly losing youself?

"Wha-" His voice cracked as his mind tried to came up hundreds if not thousand of reason why you have come into this conclusion.

"What- why are you doing this?"

"They were planning a rebellion Morax, how could I not let this slide?"

"No... no no no no no no no. My Love, what happened to you?"

"Huh? You're asking strange things Morax." Your eye twich as you drop the child on the ground without care.

"Let me handle this kind of things. There is no need for you to lift up a finger okay? I'll keep you safe so let's go home, okay? Thought I'll have to come back and clean up for the rest of them so their is nothing to harm you."

Imagine the moment you tried to walk towards him, you stopped at the way his iconic weapon, a pole arm appeared. Then a smile makes it's way on your lips as you clasp your bloody hand together.

"Oh Morax! I appreciate you trying to help but there is in no need of that-?"

Imagine the look of confusion in your face. The way his weapon was pointed at you, you tilt your head to the side, a look of confusion and hurt could be seen in your face. And then there was anger.

"I am doing this for YOU whaT GIVES YOU THE NERVE TO POINT YOUR WEAPON AT ME?" You screamed at him, sending glares on his way as he looks at you emotionless. As if all emotion of him were turned off.

"Doing this for me? Do you think that was enough reason to do this? To cause this?"

"They were trying to revolt against you! They were trying to kill you! Do you think I want this?! I kept having visions! I kept hearing voices! And every single damnn time they were trying to kill you! And you died! Living me alone! I could not handle that! So before everything of that come true, I'll kill them. I'll fucking get rid of them. So don't be mad at me okay? I'm doing this for you, for us." You smile sweetly at him.

Imagine Morax having a mental breakdown at those very moment. The way he was tightly holding his pole arm as you approached him with a sweet smile on your face and damn. How lovely you were in the midst of the burning town and the countless lives taken away by your very own hands.

Imagine him, one of the seven archons praying and begging at these very moment. Oh celestia. Not you, god fucking damn. Not you. This was just a dream, none of this was true. But damn, the way he felt someone, another child clinging on his feet, murmuring cries of help. He swallowed back a sob. Oh celestia, what could- what should he do?

Imagine the way his hand shake, the way he took a deep breath before leaving his chaotic mind behind. His hands were still shaking, but he held his firmly up on your direction. The way you start to emits black smoke as well as the cracks on your face says it was already too late to save you. And as much as it pained him, as much as it fucking kills him to kill you. He has to do it.

"So this is it for us?" You spoke across him.

"No one's going to hurt me, Love."

"My vision says different and you know my vision was never wrong." You chuckle as you did not stop coming at him.

"I know what you're thinking. I don't regret it." The more you approach him, the more his heart ached.

"If I am to make choices over and over again, I'll do the same thing. If it means turning thr world outside the down, if it means burning the world for you, I will, Morax."

Imagine the way his amber iris were shaken as you walked right into his weapon that was preventing you from approaching him. The way his weapon easily and smoothly pierced your chest as he held it firmly.

Imagine the way his mouth close and open, looking down to his weapon and onto you. He saw you smiling as you pull away from the blade of the pole arm, stumbling a couple of stepps backwards but still retaining your balance. He knows that smile, fuck. He knows that smile.

"Celestia. Perhaps, I have done things too far." You spoke as you look down at your bloody hand and chest.

Imagine the way Morax hold back a sob, the way his throat burns as he can't seem to find the right words to say to you. And at the very end, he could only lower his weapon as he utter the words he wanted you to know even after all of this.

"You know I love you, right?"

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2023°

: Hi, sorry if this takes too long to make. College seems to drain me out but I'm glad to answer this ask that I have been thinking for quite some time now.

[colderdrafts]

8: Preparations and anticipations

Underground visitor, gn reader x monster (male drider). Sfw. Previous Next

It's early in the morning back in the living room. You're seated once again on a sheepskin close to the fire, and Dren has spent most of the morning rummaging around his storage and seemingly sorting his items.

He’s been climbing all over the room left and right - a little slower than usual, after your stern reminder to be mindful of his injuries - and pulling out different knickknacks from holes in the ceiling and walls you hadn’t even noticed were there.

"Did you manage to find out what you're going to do with your off-world business?" Dren asks, perfectly content sideways and up high. He’s holding up some sort of tough straw, inspecting them carefully with a frown.

You swallow a mouthful of oats - desperately missing any taste at all - and reiterate to him what the barkeep told you. “Marketplace, early in the morning after half and full moons. Find a red tent, and talk to the harpy.”

Dren’s mandibles click as he exhales in annoyance, picking out several strands.

"I've heard of that harpy," he grimaces. "I was not aware she frequented here. She’s supposedly powerful, but she uses magic just for fun."

"Is that bad?"

"It is if you're too enthusiastic about it. One wrong move and she will destroy the entire marketplace."

You raise a slightly judgmental eyebrow at him, as he did that himself barely a day ago. He catches it and averts his gaze, a little sheepish.

"Granted, I had something more pressing than 'fun' on my mind," he mutters, and climbs down.

"After a half or full moon," you repeat, letting him off the hook. "Do you know when the next one is?"

"A week from now is a full moon," he offers. He folds his legs and sits down, laying out the strands in front of him, sorting them by length. He nods at your breakfast. "In any case, we will need to get more supplies to keep you better sustained if you are to stay here for the time being. You can't live on only that."

"Probably not," you sigh, moving the pitiful porridge around in the cup. "But we're going to run into the same issue as last time. I don't want you to leave the eggs at risk because of me."

He smiles. "I know. And thank you for your concern. This is why we're bringing them this time," he says, nodding at the tough straws he's now rapidly tying together with practiced ease.

You watch him weave for a minute, hands moving so quick you almost can't keep track of which thread is going where. Pretty quickly he's managed to create a starting point for what you assume will become some sort of basket.

Wait.

"Bringing them? How is that in any way safer?" you argue.

“It's not, exactly," he agrees, "but it's the better option in this case. 'Safer' is where-ever the two of us are present.”

You scoot over to sit next to him, slightly mesmerized by the process of his work. “I guess so, but what if something happens out there again? It didn’t exactly go swimmingly yesterday.”

“Yesterday was ill planned. I left in a hurry and did what I could to ensure them here, because I did not know what to expect outside. We have time to rectify that now. If we run into trouble, I will now trust you to protect them while I take care of it,” he says, eyes still on his work.

While the fact he feels he can entrust them to you is moving, you’re still not sure it’s a good idea. "Seriously Dren, if it's only for a week I can-"

"No," he chuckles, gently cutting you off. "Even if you could, we're going to run out in any case. I will not have my guest starving, and I will not leave my young again. This way, I can keep my eyes on all of you at the same time."

He turns the humble beginnings of his work around to carefully inspect it for a moment. "Besides, since there will be two of us, I have an actual opportunity to stock up on some things. I've been having the oddest craving for dried fruits these past few days."

It is true, there's not really any good options here. You do unfortunately need to eat.

Dren probably isn't letting you go get supplies on your own in any case after what has just transpired, and you'd be lying if you said you're entirely comfortable doing it yourself anyway.

Even if it turns out Morgan really is dead.

Something prickles uncomfortably under your skin at the thought, and you forcefully will it away.

"Can we even go back to the marketplace after all of this?" you ask to distract yourself. "We didn't exactly leave it in a good state."

"Yes," Dren says, shrugging. His lower body absentmindedly taps its front legs, claws clicking on the floor. "Who would stop us?"

“Fair point.”

Still, it feels odd to just nonchalantly wander back into the place that was just destroyed because of you. And even odder to force Dren back there after he just got hurt.

You glance over at him, calmly weaving the thread in his hands, the bruises and scrapes littering his body still looking raw and very visible. He’s still partially covered in web for the particularly gnarly ones.

Dren catches you looking, and takes note of your apprehension.

"Ah, don't feel guilty. This isn't the first time a custodian skirmish has ended poorly for that place. There's procedures for that. By now everything will be back in a regular state anyway," he reassures you.

"That's some efficient carpentry," you joke. "The entire plaza was wrecked."

"Magic," he leaves it at, smiling at you.

“And what about you? You’re still injured.”

“I am, but a good nights’ rest always helps,” he says. “And I’ll have another before we go tomorrow morning. I’ll be fine. These little marks are nothing to worry about.”

You cog an eyebrow at him. “Dude, your leg was literally torn open and oozing.”

“That’s why I have eight of them. Come now, I didn’t even have to tear it off to regrow.”

“Tear it-!” you protest, incredulous.

Dren laughs. A leg curls around where you’re sitting, and the movement seemed so natural you’re not entirely sure he’s aware he did it. Regardless, it sort of makes you want to lean further into him.

“Now look who’s a – what was that word you used? A ‘worry-wart?’” he teases.

“Sure, sure, I’m a worrywart too,” you huff, glancing at the clawed, hairy appendage at your side. “Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

You feel the tough carapace of his leg brushing against your back and freeze. Dren eyes you with a very soft expression, but there’s certainly fondness in the look. He’s completely still for once, just keeping the silence for a bit.

“..you good?” you ask to break it, avoiding the fluster that’s creeping up on you.

Dren hums in thought, still just looking at you. “I’m quite alright.”

He returns his attention to the thread in front of him, resuming his weaving. “We’ll need something to trade when we get to the marketplace. Luckily I have a lot of spare items lying about. There's been an oddly large opportunity to collect the past year."

Collect, you inwardly cringe. That's one word for how he gets his stuff. It’s little whiplash reminders like this that brings you back into the reality that Dren is not only an anxious, protective and sweet arachnid who lives in a cave.

Better not think too hard on it, or you'll just make yourself nauseous.

Speaking of nausea -

"When I met Morgan, I saw them use some sort of blue crystal for payment," you share. "Let's just hope the common-folk don't have that as a preference, then."

"A blue crystal?" Dren asks, bewildered. "I did not realize they had started using those for trading. I may be behind on current trends."

Come to think of it, that crystal Morgan gave the barkeep does seem familiar. "Dren, don't you have an entire room in the cave basically full of those?"

He stares ahead a moment in realization. "Huh. I suppose I do. I just thought they were pleasing to look at when I dug them out."

You remember the inside of one of the cave openings he showed you during the storm, full of the sparkling blue sheen. "I think we're good, wares wise."

"And I think I know why there was a sudden influx of trespassers the past year," he muses.

You spend most of the day preparing for the trip back. Dren carefully weaves a basket large enough to comfortably house his eggs, and spends a lot of time fuzzing about it and webbing up its interior. He makes sure it's structurally sound and very soft internally, so nothing can happen to whatever is nestled inside of it.

He remains seated most of the time he works, most likely saving his strength and resting up from the vicious fight yesterday. He seems chipper, though, all things considered, throwing warm glances, small jokes and pleasantries your way whenever you pass him by as you do your end of the tasks.

Said tasks includes picking out items that you won’t have use for, and sorting them in different piles. You put things back in the places you can reach, and the ones you can't, you leave for Dren to put back later.

Once that's done, you venture to the cave full of blue crystals, using a small pickax you found among the assorted tools Dren has collected, to chip some out. It takes some time and effort, but you manage to collect a small bunch to keep in the satchel at your side.

You pause as you spot your home clothes still inside of it, faintly wondering if anyone back home have started looking for you.

They must have at this point. You wonder how they will feel when they realize you're nowhere to be found, as it would seem those superstitions you heard when you first moved there proved to be correct. And now, you're just fuel for that story to continue. What happens to that story when you get back and reiterate your experience?

If you get back, that is. You can only hope you’ll have a better shot at knowing for sure in a week.

You bring the clothes to your face and breathe in, the smell of your home engulfing your senses. It's odd that you've come to a point where you can actually identify it - usually your own scent isn't too noticeable to you.

But you wont be needing those at the moment. Sentimentality can wait until you’re certain anything is actually lost. You fold them, and leave the blue cave to store them safely in the back of your sleeping pod. Right now, they’ll just weigh you down.

Afterwards you return to the living room, but you don't see Dren anywhere, neither the basket. Perhaps he's gone to check on his eggs.

You pull out a cup to get a drink of water and sit down, muscles sore from today’s work and needing a rest. You lean back and admire the swirly patterns running across the ceiling, closing your eyes to the gentle sound of fire warming the room and filling it with a soft glow.

We’ll need to refuel the lanterns soon, you make a mental note to inform the guy who can walk on the ceiling. You’re lucky he even thought to keep any around, and that he keeps it up for your sake. As he does with a lot of other things.

You understand the motivation better now, though it’s odd to have Dren throw his need to care on you, a random passerby who just happened to stumble upon him. From what you've learned, supposedly you should count yourself lucky he got to you first.

But why does he care so much, if he knows you wont be here for long? He’s content to let you go on your merry way, despite how difficult it seemingly is for him to split from you. He cares so much because that’s what he has been naturally programmed to do. Are you taking advantage of that?

He said it himself. He only shelters you because of what you are.

But the way he engages, talks to and looks at you, god when you’re being stared at by four black eyes at a time in that odd way he does - it’s difficult to look away. Like he doesn’t let you, like he wants you to see just how much he likes to focus on you. How much he wants to connect.

No strings attached.

Then why all of this effort?

Or perhaps you are just overthinking things, and it really isn’t more complicated than he’s a little lonely down here, and likes having a guest to talk to. Who could blame him?

You sit for a while, alone with your thoughts. At one point you start dozing a bit, perhaps this day took more out of you than you realized. You've definitely spent a few hours on all of the preparations, but you're still not sure what time it is, the constant darkness not offering any clue. Perhaps you should get into the habit of checking outside, and let the sun guide you. If anything it will help distract you form your current thoughts.

You grab hold of the webs leading to the tunnel that brings you to the 'window', and start climbing to have a look.

It's already dark outside again, and you smell the cool evening air brushing against your face hidden behind the rocks. You breathe it in for a bit, ignoring the subtle claustrophobia. Staring out from beneath the rocks, it can sort of feel like being trapped underground.

Not trapped, you remind yourself. You can go outside whenever you darn please.

You’re about to turn back, when something out to corner of your eye catches your attention, instantly putting you on alert. Something is moving out there.

Hidden further away in the gloom, in between the rustling trees, something big with gangly limbs ventures quietly. It’s partially obscured by the dark, and you can’t make it out completely. And yet, your breath hitches in your throat.

The dull ache in your chest, that had until now gone unnoticed, suddenly increases tenfold. Your heart starts hammering, struggling as if being forcibly pulled at. The sudden pain makes you audibly gasp.

And the entity outside halts. Its face snaps in your direction, staring straight into you despite how well you’re hidden.

Its eyes are red, and the look sends terror down your spine.

You tumble backwards, almost rolling back down the tunnel before you get a grip on the soft webbing. You haul yourself down and away, feeling cold sweat break out. The further you run, the harder to pull in your heart, like a hook is tearing at it and you're the fish trying to escape.

You stumble out back into the living room, heaving for breath, the heat of the fire doing nothing to alleviate the freezing chill in your bones.

What the fuck was that? It’s couldn’t have been them, could it?

It takes a few minutes before the pull diminishes, and the ache settles. You lean back against the wall, feeling the soil warmed from the fire, running under your fingers over the gentle swirly patterns carved into the floor. Letting the feeling remind you you're still in your body, and your heart is right where it needs to be.

And then it's gone. Everything is quiet again.

Eventually, you gather yourself and stand up, shaking it off. You stoke the fireplace, put some logs on it and chug a cup of water to drown the feeling.

"You've been quiet this evening. Are you worried about tomorrow?" Dren asks.

You’re back at the sleeping pods, settling in to get some rest. Tonight Dren decides to call it quits early as well, given the trip tomorrow will have to be conducted well in advance of dawn.

You lie flat on your back staring up into the patterns running across the ceiling of your pod, illuminated by the faint glow of your lantern. What you should tell him?

You are alright at the moment, just a little tired and sore. While the experience was intimidating, you don't want to make Dren worry over nothing - he worries enough as it is.

On the other hand, if you did see what you’re afraid you saw, he should know about it. Keeping him out of the loop of potential danger seems counterproductive if he’s supposed to be helping keeping you alive. You brace yourself for the interrogation you're about to cause.

"I had a small scare earlier,” you reply. “Spotted something moving outside while I was checking the time.”

You can practically feel Dren snapping to attention in the pod above yours, and you're thankful he can't see your partially amused face at the instant reaction.

To his credit, he tries not to sound alarmed when he speaks in a very alarmed manner. “Oh?”

“At ease,” you chuckle at him. “Nothing happened. I just spotted someone moving about, and they kind of – I guess they reminded me of Morgan.”

“..I see.”

“But I’m not sure. I don’t really see what they would be doing out here.”

You can hear a quiet chitter escape him. "Many things live in these woods. It could have been all manner of beasts and animals. Common-folk venture here as well," he offers. "Was there anything in particular that intimidated you about the thing you saw?"

You sigh through your nose. “The eyes. They were red. And my chest – I don’t know, I think I started panicking a little. It went over pretty quick, though.”

He’s quiet for a beat, contemplating. “Why did you wait until now to tell me?”

“It seemed a little on the nose to bring more worries up than necessary. We’ve got enough to deal with right now. Especially since nothing really happened.”

There’s movement above you, unraveling of limbs and scraping across the surface of the walls. Suddenly Dren’s torso is visible, peeking out upside down and peering down at you through the opening of your pod.

“Whether something ‘happened’ or not is irrelevant. If you are uneasy, I would like you to inform me so I can help you,” he says gently. “This is important. If you are worried about something, I want to know about it.”

The completely honest altruistic way he talks is almost enough to throw you off loop. So worried about you, always on guard and in tune. If it was anyone else, you might have found it suffocating. But he’s so earnest about everything he does, it’s difficult not to lean into it and let him do it.

“I’m worried about a lot of things.”

He hums, pleased. “Enlighten me?”

It’s not exactly easy to bring your troubles to the surface and speak them on command like that. Worries of your home, of your stay here, your odd relationship with him that is so difficult to pinpoint. Worried for your life, your role in this world and this odd slight pressure in the middle of your chest that just. Won’t. Quit.

But Dren is, as always, eager to help your carry your burdens, as he calmly looks at you and waits for you to speak.

You sigh, deciding to take his encouragement for what it is; genuine concern for your well-being. “Are we sure they’re actually gone?” you ask.

“No,” he admits. He thinks for a moment, and then adds with a growl: “But if they come near again, I will not hesitate to ensure that they will be.”

The comment should put you at ease. It should be a reassurance; you know for a fact Dren intends to make good on that promise. But the fact that he's able to do so, and presumably with ease, brings the same subtle nausea back.

Something in the corner of your mind speaks, unbidden and unwelcome; He’s dangerous as well. Why are you putting your faith in a someone you barely know?

Because he’s putting his faith in me, you hiss back internally, strangling the thought.

"Thank you. I think I'll go to sleep now," you say, doing your best to send Dren a reassuring smile.

It doesn't make the worried furrow of his brow vanish, but he doesn't press you. He nods, and retreats back into his own sleeping space. "Get some sleep. We'll have to leave early tomorrow."

[lesbianchemicalplant]

Indi­an board­ing and day schools attempt­ed, for decades, to forcibly assim­i­late Native chil­dren. The schools have a long, doc­u­ment­ed his­to­ry of abuse and cul­tur­al debase­ment. For­mer stu­dents have recount­ed sex­u­al abuse, cor­po­ral pun­ish­ment and neglect at the hands of teach­ers and admin­is­tra­tors. Stu­dents were pro­hib­it­ed from speak­ing Native lan­guages and prac­tic­ing Native tra­di­tions, often with the threat of vio­lence. Abuse was report­ed at both gov­ern­ment-run and reli­gious institutions.

Of the approx­i­mate­ly 400 Indi­an board­ing and day schools in the Unit­ed States (which start­ed around 1830), the fed­er­al gov­ern­ment oper­at­ed more than half. Var­i­ous Chris­t­ian denom­i­na­tions oper­at­ed the remain­ing schools, but the Catholic Church dom­i­nat­ed the field with about 100. My moth­er attend­ed one of these schools in the 1930s and 1940s: St. Mary’s Indi­an Board­ing School on the Bad Riv­er Ojib­we Reser­va­tion in Wis­con­sin, about 250 miles from Red Lake. Like oth­ers, my moth­er car­ried the trau­ma and shame of that expe­ri­ence her entire life.

The eco­nom­ic vio­la­tions com­mit­ted at these schools, how­ev­er, have not been wide­ly report­ed. A year­long effort from Type Inves­ti­ga­tions and In These Times has found that, for the greater part of the 20th cen­tu­ry, the fed­er­al gov­ern­ment rout­ed funds — des­ig­nat­ed as direct pay­ments for Native peo­ple — to Catholic mis­sion schools, drain­ing fam­i­lies of mil­lions of dol­lars by today’s measures.

For many par­ents, some of whom were bare­ly lit­er­ate, the approval to send their chil­dren to these reli­gious board­ing schools took the form of thumbprints. Pressed on gov­ern­ment forms, signed and wit­nessed by church and gov­ern­ment offi­cials, these thumbprints autho­rized the mis­sion schools to take por­tions of treaty and trust funds—owed to Native fam­i­lies by the fed­er­al gov­ern­ment in exchange for their land — to pay tuition.

Osten­si­bly, Native Amer­i­cans chose to send their chil­dren to these mis­sion schools rather than free, gov­ern­ment-fund­ed schools. But fed­er­al schools were rarely built on reser­va­tions in the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry. With the dis­tri­b­u­tion of rations and oth­er goods also some­times depen­dent on Native chil­dren attend­ing school, Native Amer­i­cans were often effec­tive­ly coerced into pay­ing for their own assimilation.

[...]

But the schools promised by the fed­er­al gov­ern­ment were not built on every reser­va­tion. Mean­while, the gov­ern­ment gave Chris­t­ian church­es, includ­ing the Catholic Church, land for mis­sion schools. Fed­er­al schools were also known to be par­tic­u­lar­ly cru­el to Native stu­dents, often for­bid­ding con­tact between stu­dents and fam­i­lies. This led some par­ents to opt for reli­gious board­ing schools in the hope that their chil­dren would be treat­ed mar­gin­al­ly better.

In 1900, Catholic lead­er­ship intro­duced the idea of allow­ing Native Amer­i­cans to autho­rize the fed­er­al gov­ern­ment to divert indi­vid­ual Native treaty and trust funds to pay for tuition at Catholic schools. Short­ly after, a group of three Sioux Indi­ans from South Dako­ta sued the fed­er­al gov­ern­ment, argu­ing the agree­ments amount­ed to theft. School­ing should have already been pro­vid­ed for free, the plain­tiffs argued, through pre­vi­ous treaties. The case, Quick Bear v. Leupp, reached the Supreme Court in 1908.

Ulti­mate­ly, the court ruled that mis­sion school lead­ers could ask Native Amer­i­cans to use indi­vid­ual treaty and trust funds to pay tuition at their reli­gious schools. Chief Jus­tice Melville Fuller wrote that for­bid­ding Natives to use their mon­ey as they want­ed would deny them free exer­cise of their rights. Begin­ning in 1908, then, the prin­ci­pal of each school was required to gath­er sig­na­tures (or thumbprints) from par­ents to autho­rize the use of the funds. The peti­tions then had to be sub­mit­ted to the Bureau of Catholic Indi­an Mis­sions (BCIM) and the Bureau of Indi­an Affairs.

The cumu­la­tive drain from Native fam­i­lies’ wealth was sig­nif­i­cant. Type Inves­ti­ga­tions and In These Times locat­ed annu­al reports from BCIM for nine years that Catholic mis­sion schools received fund­ing this way. Giv­en the lim­it­ed infor­ma­tion avail­able to the pub­lic, it is dif­fi­cult to know the total amount of funds paid to the mis­sions dur­ing this peri­od. These records, how­ev­er, offer a glimpse of the scope.

In 1910, BCIM records show Native Amer­i­can par­ents signed over $128,308 to the mis­sion schools — more than $3.5 mil­lion today. In 1935, the schools received $234,675 from Native trust and treaty funds — about $4.3 mil­lion today. In total, over the nine years records were avail­able (1910, 1933, 1935, 1939 – 1943, 1954), Native par­ents gave the schools some $30.4 mil­lion, adjust­ed for inflation.

This num­ber does not include fed­er­al stu­dent rations divert­ed to schools, other fed­er­al fund­ing, the val­ue of the exten­sive Native lands giv­en to the schools by the gov­ern­ment, nor the oth­er 53 years between 1908 and 1970 for which records were unavailable.

Accord­ing to a report from the Raynor Memo­r­i­al Libraries at Mar­quette Uni­ver­si­ty, a Catholic Jesuit uni­ver­si­ty that main­tains a spe­cial col­lec­tion of BCIM archives, the prac­tice stopped in the 1970s — because the Native trusts had been siphoned to depletion.

[c4tto626]

some excellent bits from the various books on the many different race and faction crafting styles of the elder scrolls online:

I have heard some commentary to the effect that the Aldmeri Eagle is overused in these designs. Such remarks are contrary to Praxis. (Aldmeri Dominion Arms and Armor, by Aicantar of Shimmerene, Sapiarch of Indoctrination)

Personally, I like the Pact military boots: plain steel-toed sabatons, practical and easy to keep clean. Like Nords, really, except for the easy-to-keep-clean part. (Ebonheart Pact Arms and Armor, by General Holgunn One-Eye)

And the axes: nasty-looking things with scythe-blades … genuine scythe-blades from … well, truth be told, I've no idea where they come from, but someplace fun, almost certainly! (Soul-Shriven Style, by Sir Cadwell the Undaunted, Knight of the Court of Coldharbour)

Thieves Guild axes are sturdy, made to open up both armored opponents and reluctant doors. (Thieves Guild Style, by Kari Coin-Counter)

If someone should say unto you, "Oh, I see your bow has death's-heads on it, so I guess I should be really afraid, since you must be some kind of assassin or something, right?" …You are authorized by the League to kill such a person, and take their head. Full-sized skulls make good decorations for ballistas. (Assassins League Style, by the Gray Maybe)

Acquire a pair of medium-grade Nord gauntlets, with good coverage of the lower forearms. Then Draugr-ize them by tying them to a cord and dragging them behind your mount for a few weeks. (Draugr Style, by Narsis Dren, Treasure Hunter)

Milord has probably already forgotten he asked me to do it, but what better do I have to do with my time than write manuals for mortals? Actually, almost anything, now that I think about it. (Grim Harlequin Style, by Chamberlain Haskill)

This chitin is affixed to the leather beneath with a powerful and permanent adhesive we derive by boiling kwama cuttle and (when we can get them) horse's hooves. The rest of the horse goes into the stew pot. (Ashlander Style, by Sannemmu Khamishi, Wise Woman of the Erabenimsun Tribe)

Apostle boots eschew lacing and pliable leathers for solid, water-tight seals and accordion gaskets at the ankles. It can get a bit sweaty in there: all the more reason to replace those fleshy feet with metal ones! (Apostle Style, by Artificer Dalomar)

While in principle the ideal material for our Fang Lair belts would be tanned human skin, in practice human-hide just isn't thick or durable enough for our needs, so you may substitute cattle or horse-hide leather. A skull-shaped belt buckle will get our point across just as well. (Fang Lair Style, by Orryn the Black)

For what is a Dremora if not a belligerent collision of acute hyper-angles? (Dremora Style, by Lyranth the Foolkiller)

The armored area of Pyandonean chest pieces is largely confined to protecting the chest, back, and abdomen, with the arms left lightly covered or free to enable swimming. (Note to self: do the Sea Elves have a particular fear of drowning? Worth researching.) (Pyandonean Style, by Telenger the Artificer)

Is any Daedric Prince more active and more athletic than mighty Lord Hircine? I will answer for you to avoid foolish error: NO! (Huntsman Style, by Uraccanach the Witchman)

Welkynars never tire of avian symbology, so of course our flaring pauldrons evoke the wings of great raptors. Their edges are even feathered with genuine gryphon plumage! (Don't even think of substituting raven feathers.) (Welkynar Style, by Sir Relequen, Wing Captain of the Welkynars)

Anequine belts, as it is with most Khajiiti fashion, are both stylish and practical. After all, it would not do for warriors in the midst of battle to have their leggings fall down. (Anequina Style, by Captain Nala-do, Northern Elsweyr Defense Force)

Torval's damp climate and our distaste for restrictive clothing make metal armor very unpopular here in Southern Elsweyr. Leave heavy iron hauberks to the hoary Nords and flat-footed Bretons, yes? (Pellitine Style, by Cashia Khrasaat-Plume, Envoy of the Mane, Torval)

Elements of the Dragonguard symbol embellish the headgear, along with horsehair crests. At least, Sidura thinks they are horsehair. Yet, wouldn't horsehair have disintegrated by now? Perhaps the crests aren't horsehair. A mystery! (Dragonguard Style, by Sidura, Navigator of the Perfect Pounce)

When you're working in an environment full of dense metallic objects that fall over a lot, the rigid toe-box that protects the front of the foot is the most important part of your boot. (Refabricated Style, by Dreyla Indavel, Halls of Fabrication)

The heat in Southern Elsweyr makes open and flexible toed boots highly desirable. After a few dozen cases of what the locals call "Scorch-Paw"—which is just as dreadful as it sounds—we adapted to a more breathable structure. (Shield of Senchal Style, by Centurion Ancrus Vesnentia of the Shields of Senchal, Thirteenth Legion)

[sphinxsmuses-archived]

All my favorite guy characters!

Warning, this is very long. lol I’ve started this back in high school 14 years ago and have been adding to it ever since. I thought it would be fun to share here and show what things I’m into (fandom wise)

Teen Titans Aqualad Kid Flash Prince of Tennis Kaoru Kaido Tezuka Kunimitsu Shuusuke Fuji Shinji Ibu Ryoma Echizen (Only in the anime...) Eiji Kikumaru That one guy with the red long headband thing.. lol Tales of Symphonia Kratos Aurion Genis Sage Yuan IGPX Immortal Grand Prix Takeshi River Cunningham s-CRY-ed Ryuhou Asuka Tachibana Demon Diary Eclipse Fushigi Yuugi Chichiri Cardcaptors Lee Syaoran Eriol Yue Full Metal Alchemist Roy Mustang Envy Magic Knight Rayearth Ferio Eagle .Hack Balmung Bith the black Elk Moonstone Haseo Ovan Silabus Endrance Kuhn

Zoids Jack Sisco Raven Sonic Knuckles Megaman Chaud Protoman Zero Slayers Zelgadis Metal Gear Solid Master Otacon Raiden Tekken Lee Shaoran Jin Kazuma Hwoarang Naruto Kabuto Kakashi Sasuke Zabuza Kiba Super Smash Brothers Brawl Marth Ike Pit Toon Link Link Lucas Phantom Brave Ash Yugioh Bakura (Yami and Regular) Seto Kaiba Yami Yugi Valon/Varon Teen Pegasus Zane Truesdale/Ryu Marufuji (Yugioh GX) Mr. Banner and Pharoah (Yugioh GX) Bastion Misawa/Daichi Misawa (Yugioh GX) Syrus Truesdale/Sho Marufuji (sort of a cute thing...XD Yugioh GX) Atticus Rhodes/Fubuki Tenjione (Yugioh GX) The Gambler (lol Yugioh GX) Astir Pheonix/Edo Pheonix (GX) Jesse Anderson/Johan Anderson (GX) Yubel Jesse/Yubel Johan (GX) Jim 'Crocodile' Cook (GX) Adrian Gecko/Amon Garam (GX) Jaden Yuki/Judai Yuki (GX) (Especially season 4 Jaden. XD) Supreme King Jaden AKA Haou Judai (GX) (without his armor aka fanart lol) Yusei (5Ds) Jack Atlas (5Ds) Kalin/Kiryu (5Ds) Crow (5Ds) Gundam Wing Quetra Duo Maxwell Heero Yuy Cheng Outlaw Star Jim Hawking Gene Starwind Pirates of the Carribean Will Turner Final Fantasy Cloud(Final Fantasy 7) Vincent(FF7) Sephiroth(FF7) Reno(FF7) Irvine(FF8) Seifer(FF8) Squall Leonhart(FF8) Zidane Tribal (FF9) Auron(FFX) Balthier!!!! (FFXII) Genesis (Final Fantasy 7 Crisis Core) Zack (Crisis Core) Snow (FFXIII)

Noctis (FFXV)

Prompto (FFXV)

Ignis (FFXV)

Rurouni Kenshin Sanosuke Rurouni Kenshin Aoshi Yu Yu Hakashu Hiei Jin Karasu Teen Koenma Kurama Shishiwakamaru Kuronue Kingdom Hearts Riku Zexion (from Kingdom Hearts chain of memories) Axel Demyx Luxord Marluxia Xemnas Xigbar Roxas Saix Ven Wild ARMS 3 Jet Enduro Clive Winslet Janus Cascade Matrix Neo Lord of the rings Pippin Took Merry Brandybuck Legolas Greenleaf Celebs Clay Aiken Ty Pennington Ashley Parker Angel Orlando Bloom Steve Bryn Teddy Greiger Ryan Seacrest Harry Potter Draco Malfoy Fred and George Weasley Cedric James Potter Sirius (when he was younger) Code Lyoko Odd Ulrich William Witch Hunter Robin Michael Wolf's Rain Hige Kiba Toboe One Piece Zolo (or Zoro) Shanks Ace Peacemaker Susumu Yamazaki Suzu Kitamura Getbackers Ban D.N.Angel Dark Satoshi Hiwatari Krad Daisuke Shaman King Ren or Len Yoh Horohoro or Trey Zeke Dragonball Z Android 17 Teen Trunks Supreme Kai Older Goten Vegeta Digimon Matt Henry Kouji Ken or Digimon Emperor Teen Izzy Mummymon Inuyasha Miroku Tokyo Mew Mew or Mew Mew Power Keiichiro (Known as Wesley on Mew Mew Power) Ryou (In Mew Mew Power he's known as Elliot..) Kish (known as Dren on Mew Mew Power) Fruits Basket Kyo Hatsuharu Yuki Vice president of the Student Council (can't remember name.. XD) Momiji Samurai Champloo Mugen Star Ocean Till the end of time Albel Nox Cliff Fittir Fayte Leingod Soul Calibur Maxi (with blonde hair) Kilik Raphael Kaleido Star Ken Yuri E's otherwise Eiji Yuuki Kai Shen-lon Saiyuki Sanzo Spirited Away Haku Angelic Layer Ouji Final Fantasy Unlimited Kaze Chrono Crusade Chrono (both demon and normal) Wish Koryu Kokuyo Bleach Ichigo Ichimaru Gin Captain Aizen Juvenile Orion Kaname Kusakabe Isshin Shiba Ultra Maniac Tetsushi Kaji Hiroki Tsujiai Yuta Kirishima Kare Kano His and Her circumstances Asaba Hideaki Full Moon O Sagashite Takuto Eichi Twinkle star sprites (A Mame32 or Dreamcast game) Griffon Tsubasa Resevior Chronicles Fai Kurogane Kamui Subaru Kimihiro Watanuki The Gorillaz 2-D X-men (any X-men) Nightcrawler Gambit W.I.T.C.H. Caleb Hands Off Youta Star Wars Obi-wan Kenobi (younger one don't ask..XD) Howl's moving castle Howl Xiaolin Showdown Raimundo Chase Young Galaxy Angel Takuto Lester Trigun Wolfwood Legato Alice 19th Kyo Frei Dragon Knights Thatz Kai-long Rath Lord Lykouleon Dream Saga Takaomi (Dream World/After Stage) Keima (Dream World) Vampire Game Darres Hume Illsade Pokemon Mewtwo Gary Brawly Morty Koga Tracy Aaron (or Riley or whatever xD) Legend of Dragoon Dartz Blonde haired King dude(can't remember name, starts with an L) Jet Set Radio Future Yo-yo Beat Corn (Tab) Final Fantasy Advent Children Cloud Vincent Reno Kadaj Devil May Cry Dante Xenosaga Kevin Chaos Tony Animal Crossing Aziz Sky high Stretchy dude (can't remember name..XD) Ouran High School Host Club Tamaki Suoh The Hitachin Twins Hunny Mori Kyoya Nekozawa Eragon Eragon Starfox Falco Lombardi Leon Powalski Wolf O' Donnell Storm Hawks Finn Aerrow Stork Code Geass Lelouch Suzaku Pheonix Wright Edgeworth Diego (Pheonix Wright 3) Godot (Phoenix Wright 3) Solty Rei Yuto Eureka 7 Holland The World Ends With You Joshua Beat Sho Minamimoto Kariya Prince Neku Mushi Shi Ginko Heroes Hiro Nakamura Peter Petrelli Fairy Tail Gray Loki Soul Eater Soul Evans Death the kid Kill la Kill Sanageyama League of Legends Azir Malzahar Ekko Fate Series Archer (From Fate Stay Night) Lancer (From Fate Zero and Stay Night) Gilgamesh

Yona of the Dawn

Hak

God Eater

Soma

Lindow

Gundam Iron Blooded Orphans

Orga Itsuka

Assassination Classroom

Karma

A Certain Magical Index/Railgun

Accelerator (I don’t know why. lol)

Karneval

Yogi

Gareki

Hirato

Magi:

Alibaba

Jafar

Sinbad

Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki Kun

Mikoshiba

Seven Deadly Sins

King

Ban

Meliodas

Kamisama Kiss

Tomoe

My Hero Academia

Iida

Aizawa (Eraserhead)

Bungou Stray Dogs

Dazai

Cavalier of the Abyss

Regis Nex

Ninoorut Noah

Persona

Joker

Yosuke

Akihiko Sanada

Nier Automata

9S

Adam

[colderdrafts]

3: A pleasant discussion

Underground visitor, gn reader x monster (male drider). Sfw. Previous Next

You awake some time later, not exactly sure when given you still can’t tell the difference from your eyes being opened or closed. You fumble around blindly until your palm connects with the cool metal of your lantern. You wince at the contrast when you light it, your eyes previously adjusted to the abyssal gloom.

Everything seems still as you glance around the odd room, and you don't spot Dren anywhere. He must already be up and about, content to let you sleep.

You roll out from the hole in the ground and stretch, wincing as your muscles are a bit sore from both the 'roughhousing' last night, and the somewhat tough padding. You feel something sticking to your face and gingerly peel off a stray cobweb that has somehow lodged itself to your cheek as you slept.

"How long was I out?" you ponder quietly to yourself and stifle a yawn.

"Approximately 6 hours," Dren replies and you almost jump out of your skin. The voice came from above.

Surely enough, you look up to find Dren’s upper body poking out from a hole above the one you slept in, front spider legs casually resting on the edge.

"Please don't do that," you breathe. "I’m not awake enough for jumpscares."

"Apologies," Dren says. "What's a 'jumpscare'?"

You frown. "A scare so startling you jump, I guess."

"Do you have words for all of that? For example, if you're afraid and you hide, is it a 'hide-scare'? Or if you run, is it a 'run-scare'?" he asks, seemingly genuinely intrigued.

"No, that's not - hm. It's not, but maybe it should be."

"Maybe it should."

You're honestly too tired for wordplay right now, so you change the subject. "How do you tell the time down here without sunlight? Like, is it morning right now? I can't tell."

Dren cogs his head. "Oh, that's usually not necessary to think about."

You frown at him. "'Usually not necessary'?"

"Well, unless I have to go do trading and interact with the common-folk, they prefer doing exchanges with me at sunrise. Otherwise, no. I sleep when I'm tired, and wake when I'm not."

You suppose spending most of your time in pitch blackness would do that to a person.

"But - you can tell?" you press.

"I can. It is not yet sunrise."

"Then what am I doing up?" you groan, rubbing your eyes.

Dren laughs. "You're already adjusting."

You spend the early morning finding water to wash up some of the grime from yesterday’s escapades. You follow the stream as Dren explained to you, thankfully also illuminated so you can watch your step, lest you fall in. The stream comes from a small outcropping of rock that Dren has tunneled past, and he has since followed the source of the water to dig it out. There’s a smooth transition between the hard patterned soil and stone. The water is cold, but clean.

Feeling refreshed, you trek back to the living room.

Dren has actually lit the fireplace while you were at the stream, and it spreads a pleasant warmth in the room. You also notice he has taken the liberty of tying up your drenched clothes to dry in some silky threads hanging from the ceiling in front of it.

"I'm afraid I haven't much to offer, though I managed to scavenge some oats last night if you're hungry?" Dren offers, looking at you over his shoulder as you walk in.

You once again nod your thanks and soon you're settled on a sheepskin with a cup full of oatmeal. Dren's lounging across from you again fiddling with a piece of webbing.

"Are you not having anything?" you ask in between mouthfuls. It's very bland, but you should probably take what you can get here.

"Oh, I already ate, not to worry," Dren replies without looking up from the webbing in his hands.

You watch him fiddling for a moment, deftly weaving the silky thread between his fingers to no particular avail, and then somehow managing to uncoil the sticky threads again to start over. He always seem to keep his hands busy for some reason.

"Can I ask you something?"

He looks up. "Of course. Go ahead."

"You don't seem to have use for them really, so why do you have all these things like clothes, cups and stuff?" you ask, gesturing vaguely at yourself and the utensil in you hands. "How did you get them?"

"Trespassers," Dren shrugs.

"You stole their clothes?" you grin at the prospect.

He chuckles. "Ah, no. I killed them. Their clothes were just left behind."

You were about to lift a spoonful to your mouth though it remains resting in the cup as your hands lock up. You're subtly try to discern if he’s joking or not, though he appears pleasantly nonchalant as if it's the most reasonable thing on the planet, gently weaving the thread in his hands in and out. His lower body silently rubs its front legs together.

You glance over at the pile of neatly folded clothes in the corner, and suddenly the soft shirt currently keeping you warm itches a little bit.

That's a lot of trespassers.

Dren cogs his head at you and frowns in concern, sensing your unease. "Is something the matter?"

"It's just - I thought you said not a lot of people come down here?" you deflect, shoveling in another spoonful to avoid speaking lest your voice shakes and gives you away.

"Not a lot of guests," he corrects you gently. "Others intrude here once in a while. Mostly thieves, hunters or snatchers after my eggs."

You really don't want to talk about this anymore, but given you've just discovered you're in the same room as a cold-blooded murderer, you should probably do something to ensure yourself a little better. Dren has already assured you you're a guest, so that should mean you're safe, right?

Right. Again.

"Well, I should thank you for the hospitality," you say, politely changing the subject, "even after my intrusion."

Dren waves it off. "Think nothing of it. After all, I shouldn’t have made ill assumptions of your intentions while blinded by anger. Letting you stay is the least I can do. Besides-" he shifts, folding his legs to his sides and getting to a more comfortable sitting position. When he looks at you again the gaze is full of warmth. "It's been years since I've just sat down and had a pleasant discussion. I appreciate the company."

"..No problem," you say, clumsily.

You hadn't expected a heartfelt comment like that.

Well if he's having a good time it seems you're not leaving this world just yet. At least there's that.

"Years?" you ask, prompting him to elaborate to ease your tension. "What about family? Friends?"

"My kind tend to keep to themselves, mostly," he responds, once again twisting the webbing in his hands. "Especially from our own. We mostly only interact with our young, and whenever we pass by a potential mate. Even that is very brief and we go our separate ways as soon as we can."

"But then - how did you get your eggs?" you ask, but catch yourself. "Well, I shouldn't assume-"

"Oh," Dren grins. "You're fine. No, I cannot lie them myself. I had to fight their mother for custody because she wouldn't give them up."

You gape at him. "You fought her?"

Isn't that like. A whole thing, with female spiders being a lot bigger and meaner and very much into the whole widowy-business? Maybe it's different for driders. You briefly try and imagine a creature like Dren but larger and even more imposing. It's not pleasant.

"I was not confident she would look after them properly. I had to," Dren says, serious. "They are very vulnerable at this stage, they need to be protected. Taken care of."

"Well, then it's good you won. You obviously care about them a lot."

"I always do. These are my third brood," he smiles.

"You thought I had stolen your eggs," you realize, speaking somewhat cautiously in case that's a touchy subject. "Does that mean-?"

Dren’s smile falters as he looks away for a bit and sighs. "Yes. I- I have not been vigilant enough this time."

It’s odd seeing him so on edge on something like that, and yet being so indifferent to the lives of whoever enters here unbidden. He has killed, but he is also a parent. Perhaps killing is simply just viewed differently in this world. You don’t exactly know what to make of that.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up-" you start but he lifts a hand to stop you.

"No, it's alright. I've lost some along the way, but that's just how it is with these things. The ones who made it are roaming around somewhere in the world far from here. I take solace in knowing I could give most of them a good start," Dren says, though he's still clearly affected by it. He looks back to you, considering for a moment. "This time, though - I was starving. I had to go hunting. I was only gone for a few hours. But when I came back 8 of my 11 young were gone."

You cover your mouth in shock. You can't imagine what it must be like to lose 8 of your children. "Dren, that's horrible. I'm so sorry."

His lower body chitters as he rubs his face and huffs. "Thank you. It's very odd. I keep my eggs very well hidden within the system. I almost tore this place apart searching for them once I realized they were gone, but the thieves had somehow managed to navigate my tunnels and leave quicker than anyone ever has before them. I've lost one or two in scuffles before, sure, but they've never just vanished like that."

That is odd. But with such a big system, wouldn't there be lots of opportunities to hide? "Maybe they didn't leave while you were gone," you offer.

Dren looks at you. "What do you mean?"

"I mean - maybe they managed to remain hidden in your system while you were in here? And slip past you?"

You worry for a second if you've offended him as he frowns, but he purses his lips, mandibles moving a bit in thought. "They would have passed by my webs. I would have felt them moving about if we were here simultaneously. It's how I knew you were here."

"Webs?” you ask, perplexed. “Aren't they only on the ceiling?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Dren hums with a smile.

You frown and instinctively glance around on the floor, trying to spot any stray silky threads or cobwebs, but you really see nothing. It looks like just a well-kept and intricately carved-out dirt floor. Even if see-through, wouldn't the silky strands at least reflect the light of the fireplace or a lantern?

Unless..

"The carved patterns," you realize out loud, and look to him for confirmation. "They're not just for show, are they?"

"They also serve as very efficient deceivers of the eye," Dren nods, pleased. "Look at you uncovering all my secrets. You catch on quickly."

You guess that's pretty clever. Anyone who ventured in here would most likely assume the same, and not know the resident in this dwelling would know of their presence and location the second they ventured inside. A fatal mistake that, judging from the small pile of treasures in the corner, has been made many times.

But it's also a good point. You'd think with how quickly he sniffed you out he'd be breathing down the snatchers' necks too. They must how found some way to avoid setting anything off.

“But enough about all of that dreary business,” Dren says, stretching his arms above his head before settling back down and focusing on you. “Tell me of where you came from. I’m curious.”

“Well-”

You start vaguely, explaining briefly what you used to do back home, the area you lived in, general small talk stuff. Dren encourages you however, asking for details and elaborations, generally urging you to keep talking. It’s a little odd to be in the spotlight like that, and you try multiple times to stop and pass on the conversational baton, only to be politely handed it back. Eventually you’re in a full monologue about your home, your friends, your family, to the point where Dren can name your neighbor’s obnoxious dog that barks late at night.

Other than brief encouragements, Dren has stayed silent, just attentively taking in your every word.

“You can’t seriously be entertained by me yapping on anymore,” you laugh after a while. “I’ve been talking for a decade.”

“Quite the contrary,” Dren says. “This is a whole new world I’m hearing about. I’d be a fool to not try and learn more, now that I have the opportunity.”

“Well, I think that about covers it, though. So there you are, have a slice of my home life story.”

“Much obliged,” Dren nods. “I cannot even imagine – a world of only sentries and animals? And yet, you still fight each other?”

“Buddy, you have no idea,” you grouch.

“You do seem to have built quite the life for yourself back there. Do you miss it?” he asks.

You haven’t been gone for more than a day, though somehow, knowing that you can’t simply just go back makes the separation from what you know a little more intimidating. Your plan of waking up in a hospital bed has, after all, been thoroughly foiled by waking up in a fur-covered hole in the ground, so you surmise this might just be what you’re dealing with now.

Do you miss it? Or do you miss certainty in knowing what will come next?

“I think I’m experiencing some separation anxiety,” you snort, half joking, half serious.

Dren nods in understanding.

The morning hours pass by quickly with more pleasant chatting, comparing worlds and discussing habits and hobbies. You get along surprisingly well with Dren, you learn, as the conversation flows naturally and you find small things you have in common. He’s very easy to talk to with a somewhat dry sense of humor, and you soon find yourself somewhat at ease in his company – which is surprising, considering not an hour ago you learned the humanoid spider is also very much okay with murder. It’s a fact you have to remind yourself should probably not be taken too lightly, no matter how pleasant his company seems.

According to Dren, the storm is still raging outside, so for now, you're somewhat content to hunker down in the relative safety of the patterned walls.

[colderdrafts]

After the last part you posted I need something sweet, how will your OC’s reaction be to the first time the reader says ‘I love you’?Romantically with Irwin too if you don't mind!, Thank you <:

Some nice 'First I love you's' scenarios for ya as compensation after that rodeo 👏

Dren: He had been in the middle of hanging up some fruits to dry when the words left your mouth, stretching to reach the silky threads tying the drying rack in place.

What an oddly thoughtful interruption of his endeavors.

He pauses momentarily, and turns to look at you over his furred shoulder, gauging if he'd just imagined that particular string of words you just blurted barely above a breath. The poorly hidden mortification in your expression tells otherwise, and he smiles gently to reassure you. Why are you so embarrassed?

"I love you too," he says easily. The claws on his legs click on the ground as he slowly turns fully toward you, beckoning you closer with a wave of his hand. "Are you alright?"

Morgan: You'd never though it wise to straight up tell them, but here you are. You look at them standing tall on the side of you temporary home in the trees, a place built to protect you. Their claws and front of their torso are covered in blood, their face calm, staring down at the poor rabbit they're casually skinning, preparing for your shared dinner.

The words leave your mouth as you watch the scene unfold. There's something oddly reassuring in their domestic brutality. When have you gotten so used to this?

Morgan looks up at you, a wry smile playing on their lips, mandibles clicking together in approval. "I know," they state, chuckling. "And I, love you."

They ignore the rabbit in favor of stepping over to you, leaning in to push their face against your cheek. They enjoy the way you suck in a breath as they do, a low chittering purr escaping them. "That's how it works. I'm glad you're taking to it."

Amren: Amren almost chokes in the tea he'd just sipped from, a spluttering cough. Leave it to Tiny to throw him off the loop like that, disturbing the calm of the day you've spent together. I love you. The words warp around his mind and he finds he doesn't know how to store them in there. This has never happened to him before.

You do? He wants to ask. To reassure himself. But you look up at him like you're as surprised as he is. Or simply awaiting judgement. What's an appropriate response? Well, obviously the one he wants to give. Somewhere, he knows. He just doesn't want to scare you.

"I love you," he repeats, voice raspy and hesitant, forked tongue tasting the air like the sentence still hangs there to be investigated. He keeps looking at you, and something clicks in his mind. It felt right. Saying it, and watching the relieved recognition in your eyes. That you're happy to hear it back.

He might as well repeat it. Just to make sure you got it. "I love you."

Irwin: Irwin leans away from you momentarily to search your face, hand on your cheek. It's taken you a long while to get to this point of trust with him, he wants to be sure you're not saying this out of obligation.

Still, when he finds the slightly nervous look in your eyes he can't help but to keep you in suspense with a thoughtful hum. You growl at his teasing, and he laughs heartily when you push at his shoulder in annoyance. He gets a slightly dopey look on his face, for once completely calm and focused. He leans in slowly, waiting for your approval. When you nod, he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

"I love you too, dummy," he grins in your ear. You can feel his smile against your cheek, the slight scruff of his stubble caressing your skin. "So fucking much, gods, I love you," he says again.