#anyways this is more of a reference sheet than anything else

[zei-ord-art]

funky lil portraits of everyone to go w the line up

#at one point I wanted to stay as close to their canon designs as possible #but then I said fuck it #so we have a bit of a mashup #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #astarion bg3 #bg3 shadowheart #lae’zel bg3 #jaheira #bg3 karlach #minthara baenre #wyll ravengard #halsin bg3 #bg3 minsc #bg3 fanart #anyways this is more of a reference sheet than anything else #art #fan art

[blackleatherjacketz]

Nocturne

Miguel O'Hara x Female Reader

Summary: Miguel wakes you in the middle of the night to fulfill your arrangement.

Warnings: 18+ Only!, Explicit, NSFW, Wake-Up Sex, Kissing, Biting, Scratching, Miguel's Fangs, Miguel's Claws, Blood Drinking, Groping, Fondling, Caressing, Teasing, Taunting, Miguel Ripping Your Panties in Half, Vaginal Sex, Doggy Style, Female Orgasm, *Bonus points if you catch the Sting reference*

Word Count: 1.6K+

Read my other MIGUEL stories!

You always feel him before anything else; before you can hear his footsteps bend the hardwood of your floorboards into a whiny creak, before he whispers your name longingly into your ear as he crawls into your bed, slipping beneath the sheets. He’s always careful not to stir you from your slumber too abruptly, crossing over that threshold of the waking world and into the hazy realm of your dreams with relative ease.

He first appears as tall stalks of grain in fields of gold beneath your fingertips, as wispy branches dangling from the tops of willow trees, surrounding your face and arms with soft, delicate touches. Those leaves gently lay themselves across your shoulders, pleating around your upper body as they pull you in closer to the aged tree trunk, slowly growing in warmth. The smell of his sweat and the heat of his breath eventually signals you to his presence beyond the sandman’s grasp, the kisses he plants onto your neck tenderly waking you as the trees begin to fade out of sight.

“Mmm, you’re late,” you mumble as your eyes flutter open, the blurry green numbers of your alarm clock showing three thirty in the morning.

“Am I?” He slides his hand beneath your shirt, tickling the skin on your torso like those dreamy willow branches before cupping your breast with his palm. “I ran into some trouble, but I can make it up to you,” he kisses his excuses into the nape of your neck, taking your nipple between his fingers and pinching to get a quick moan from your lips. “I promise.”

“Uh-huh,” is all you can manage in response, his targeted handiwork distracting you from his tardiness as he pinches even harder, forcing your breath to quicken.

“What were you dreaming about anyways, huh?” He twists your nipple toward him, grinding his hips against your backside as his bare arousal grows between your cheeks, getting your body good and ready for what he has in mind, for what he always comes here for.

“All kinds of things,” you whisper, his erection more than prominent against your underwear as you instinctively rock back into him, your own moisture collecting between your folds as his kisses only get deeper.

“Oh yeah?” He lifts his knee between your legs, shifting his weight onto your hips with a quickness that forces you onto your stomach, keeping you right where he wants you. “Anything like this?”

The weight of his massive body resting on your lower back nearly forces the air out of your lungs as both of his hands graze over the gooseflesh cascading it’s way down your spine. Like a blind man reading braille for the very first time, he palpates every bump, studies every raised hair on your skin as if committing it to memory before slowly pushing the fabric of your t-shirt up above your shoulders. He waits for you to fully acclimate to the sensation of him laying on top of you before tickling the tiny spaces between your ribs just enough to get you to shiver and tense back up.

“Arms up, baby, you know the drill.”

Too drowsy to make any quippy retorts for your usual snarky banter, you follow his command and lift your arms above your head. You let your eyelids fall shut again as he disrobes you at an agonizing pace, peeling your sleeves off your biceps and forearms as he playfully nips at your shoulders and neck along the way. He takes his time massaging the muscles in your hands as your collar passes over your head, finally pulling your shirt from your fingers before silently dropping it onto the floor.

“You’re almost all healed up from last time,” he notices as he kisses his way back up your arm, sucking on the yellowing bruise he’d left on your shoulder just last week. “It’s like I was never even here.” He sits up and leans backward, slowly dragging his claws down the length of your torso just deep enough to leave tiny trails of white, disrupted skin in their wake. “Looks like I gotta fix that.”

Your back arches instinctively as the cool air of your bedroom shocks your nervous system, stinging your freshly exposed skin as you inhale with a quick hiss. You try not to writhe beneath him as the pain trickles down through each layer of your skin, settling into a deep somatic ache in its futile attempt to soothe your now reddened flesh.

“Nice and open for me now, huh?” You hear the fabric of your underwear being split down the middle before he mercilessly rips it apart, each thread separating in sequential succession before it falls to shreds around your hips. Another hiss from you turns into a high-pitched gasp, his expanding audacity almost making you regret your unspoken arrangement with him to trade your blood for sex.

Almost.

You hear him laugh in sheer delight before you feel him glide down across your folds as he wastes no time thrusting against you. You can feel him pause to grab hold of himself at the base, barely brushing over your swollen bud as he spreads your juices up and down your length, refusing to acknowledge the wounds he just created. “Where should we start this time, eh, cariño?”

“Miguel,” you plead, lifting your hips up to meet him just in time for him to pull back with another confident chuckle. “Miggy, please, I’m so tired.”

“Oh, you’re tired? Hmmm?” He taunts, playfully slapping the head of his cock against your ass as he spreads your cheeks apart with his opposite hand. “Maybe I should bite into one of your wrists this time, huh? Take a little bit more than usual… or try this spot over here by your ribs,” he pinches the skin behind your breast to make you flinch. “That seems pretty fucking ticklish.”

You whimper at his callousness, nodding your cheek against the pillow as he glides over your clit a few more times, relishing those little bursts of joy that counter the throbbing ache in your back as he continues to toy with your emotions. “Or maybe you could just…”

“How about here?” He cuts your suggestion short by grasping onto the muscles at the base of your neck, tracing the outline of your pulse as it races down your throat into your right shoulder. “Give that other side a break?”

“Mmm hmm,” you nod again, your mumbled word stifled as he finally thrusts inside you at the most delicious angle, turning that moan into a feral groan as he delves inside your slick, velvety walls.

The two of you sigh together as he fills that void deep within you, stretching you out inch by inch until you’ve enveloped him completely, his muscular thighs flush against the backs of yours. You can feel his heart beating through his chest as it rests against your broken skin, pausing in a brief moment of stasis before he pulls out and pushes back in at twice the speed. Closing your eyes again, you choose to focus on the tantalizing, rhythmic thrusts of pleasure he feeds up into your core, clenching down around him as you ignore the stinging friction of his body as he holds up his end of the deal.

Each ounce of pain he doles out is worth every pound of ecstasy that he delivers along with it; his hand smoothing its way across your hip and beneath your pelvis to find your bud, rubbing it up and down in perfect tempo with the dizzying movement of his hips. Like a classically trained musician, he plays you like a fiddle, knowing exactly how deep to push and how long to pull against your soaking wet organ in order to get you to play the tune that he wants. Your breathy moans reach notes you’ve never even dreamed of hitting before, the sound of his skin slapping against yours providing the perfect beat for his baritone growls as he wraps his other arm around your chest. Pulling you into him, he plays the last few notes leading up to your crescendo with such unmatched fervor that he can feel you vibrate around his bow.

You surrender to the music and let it move its way through you, its rapturous notes immersing your senses with such unbridled bliss that you can barely feel his bite. Your part of the deal never felt so good, so mundane compared to what he gives you in return every time that he drains that little bit of life from your veins. That sharp twinge sinks deep into your shoulder as the song he plays continues up into your spine, exploding in a symphony of the erratic drumbeats of his hips, the mismatched chorus of your moans and his muffled breath against your skin. The reverb shakes itself through you both in waves, pulsing through your core as you flutter around him, quaking into your extremities and out of your fingertips as you desperately grasp onto the sheets.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet when you come.” He finally whispers after getting his fill, lapping up the excess blood off your neck as he finishes sputtering his release inside you.

“Yeah?” You turn your neck to face him as your body continues to shake, running your fingers through his hair as he playfully licks and sucks the skin around your new bite. “How’s that?”

“Like honey, or butterscotch,” he smiles, pressing a trail of kisses into your cheek until he reaches your mouth, giving you a small sample of whatever it is that he can taste.

“I’ll take your word for it,” you whine as he pulls out, the absence of his girth leaving you feeling empty again as he lets go of you completely before laying down next to you. You tuck your head up under his armpit and wonder if you’ll be able to feel him laying next to you in your dreams after you finally fall asleep again.

#miguel o’hara #Miguel O'hara smut #Miguel O'hara x Reader #Oscar Isaac #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara fan fiction #spiderman 2099 #2099 #across the spiderverse

[midnightmah07]

Character info:

Finally made a little reference sheet for Pierre!

He's a young fae boy born years earlier than Jeanne, knowing her basically his entire life as Jeanne's family lived closer to them. Despite the clear age gap (considering that Pierre is a fae and Jeanne is just a half fae, meaning she has a normal human lifespan), Pierre was always eager to play with Jeanne and her younger sister, teasing and annoying them (unintentionally) almost daily; he's also considerably immature despite his many years of life, often spoiled by his parents and getting away with his lack of responsibility and social cues. He's very talented at sports, being in RSA's Spelldrive team, but is easily bored and doesn't care about learning other topics as "my family is wealthy anyway, why the heck would I need to learn all that?"

More info might be added/changed in the future, tho he is more a plot device than an actual character that I focus on!

Basic info:

Height: 1,60cm

Age: 100 years old

Nicknames: brat (by Jeanne)

Twisted from: Peter Pan

Race: fae

Dominant hand: right

Club: RSA's Spelldrive team

Favorite food: anything spicy

Best subject: flight

Unique Magic: [need to flesh it out better before sharing]

Relationship dynamics:

Jeanne Hook: Jeanne is to Pierre what Captain Hook is to Peter Pan, a rival. He's always thought Jeanne as someone interesting, and because she has a normal human lifespan Pierre always thought it was fun and intriguing to see how humans or half fae grow, going as far as to visit Jeanne everyday to play with her and invent new games; at first I assume Jeanne kinda liked having him around, but as time went and her parents started shoving the responsibility of taking care of her sibling and having to dedicate her life to assume her parents' place as the heir of their business onto her, Jeanne started feeling annoyed at Pierre. He was always complimented by her parents while she was always put down for not being nearly as talented, that plus the fact that he could act as immature as he wanted and have as much fun as he wanted while she was forced to be an adult at the age of 12 made her jealous and angry. Pierre is also the reason she lost her left hand.

Isabelle Desrosiers: Pierre is infatuated with Isabelle, but his advances are always turned down and are unwanted, Neige often tells him to drop it, especially because Isabelle is already arranged to marry someone else. His crush on her is just because of her beautiful appearance, and because her interests in everything that bores him intrigues him. Isa tolerates him but puts her foot down when needed.

Neige LeBlanche: Neige and him don't get along very well. Neige tries to be nice and kind to him, but he gets a bit annoyed at how be acts around Isa since they're great friends. Pierre thinks he's too good for his own good, wanting him to let loose a little.

Chenya: Pierre and Chenya get along quite well, as they're both chaotic in nature and feed off of teasing and annoying others. I assume Chenya helps Pierre understand his limits as time goes on and helps him with understanding other people better and respecting them.

Dividers.

🏷️: @shinysparklesapphires (if anyone wants to be added to my tag list everytime I post about my art, just let me know!)

#💙! mah's art #💙! pierre #twisted wonderland #oc x canon #artists on tumblr #twst #twisted oc #ocs #oc art #royal sword academy #rsa #rsa oc #royal sword academy oc

[posebean]

fantasys your alkaloid‼️ ‼️ ‼️ ‼️ ‼️ ‼️ ‼️  ref sheet of alkaloid for my alkakurei fantasy au that i totally didnt abandon crazy:B here (notes abt world+magic system and other stuff on that post)

stuff abt their outfits and etc under read more

hiiro is fresh from his village baby boy left to go find his nii-san with only his clothes and a trusty satchel at his side- he just goes around looking for his nii-san and etcetc idk how long the gap is but he finds tatsumi and mayo and stays with them for some time and during that time tatsun gets him a coat because baby boy literally only has those and hes just been doing work for some guild (idk how to explain bc guilds require education but i guess tatsun pulled strings for him) so he has money to live while also looking for his nii-san and sometimes he has to go to cold places and one time he comes home after a job in a cold place and hes sick and tatsun is like hiiro-san please take this jacket with you :..) so now hiiro has a coat custom-made for him :3! he's good with elemental magic (the 5 core elements water wind fire earth plant) very versatile and a skilled little guy (not as talented as his nii-san but no one is as talented as nii-san!) anyways yadda yadda he gets a message or smth and is preparing to leave tatsun and mayo but (spoilers for meru fic) meru points him towards the town where everyone else is and yea he goes and finds his nii-san and now his goal has changed from find nii-san to convince nii-san to go back home but he befriends everyone else too and i think they do eventually go on some kind of adventure together maybe more the three younger ppl aira hiiro and kohaku

aira is a little silly fellow he dresses nicely (very inspired by fs2 but i cant stop looking at it and thinking damn he french colored......) and loves magic so much he admires all the grand mages and everyone in the upper echelons and loves watching other people cast spells and such unfortunately for him while he has a decently high innate talent, his control is God Awful which results in magic never going well for him- with no control at all, literally negative control, he can try to cast one spell and something completely different will be cast instead- and the skill level varies too it's literally just a roll of a dice for him if he tries to cast a simple flame spell he might end up flooding the room with a wall of water, it's that bad kkshfkj also he acts like he doesn't like it but he actually loves rabuhan-junior so much he secretly spoils the hamster named after him and rabuhan junior loves him back rabuhan-junior likes to sleep in his hat or on aira's head whenever kohaku goes out and leaves rabu-han junior with aira tatsun has very normal clothes bro dresses like a dad (did you know both of his fs have the same color palettes i didnt but using them as reference made me realize, anyways-) his clothes are very comfortable and easy to move around in, especially given his injury from [spoiler event here ]. he also has a cane and his injured leg has pain suppressor sigils and bandages wrapped all over it his leg isn't completely unusable like its not broken or anything its more like. a kind of necrosis like if you unwrapped it there would be a dark mark thats like icky and sometimes it flares up and hurts tatsun so much that he falls over and :( he found the cane one day in the catacomb (wonder who put it there) he added the begonia himself as a reminder of his sin... shiro is his little mouse familiar that he conjured with the help of kaname! she's a sweet little thing, often found sleeping on an open book on tatsumi's desk. she has the tatsumi-colored ears and legs because she was conjured up rather than a pact familiar. regarding magic tatsun is pretty average on both control and power, but that doesnt really matter because most of the spells he uses are passive spells more used for healing/doing work. he likes to garden and has a beautiful garden of all kinds of flowers at the chapel :) he just doesn't dare touch the flowers in the catacomb, because he knows someone else already takes care of those also that purple gem hanging around his neck is a gift from mayomayo it doesn't do anything and has no magic but tatsun still likes it :) mayomayo dresses in all dark colors because he believes that if he always dresses in dark colors no one will ever have to be bothered by seeing his existence he comes from a lineage that practices forbidden magic, not necessarily all dark but some of the more ... interesting spells . something happens in his past and he ends up leaving, taking with him his tome and well. proceeding to get chased by all kinds of monsters out in the wild because for some reason he just attracts all kinds of beasts poor guy magic-wise he does have the forbidden magic from his family but he more specializes in healing and curse removal- he doesn't dare do anything else for fear of (redacted). besides, maybe he'll one day be able to actually save somebody instead of hurting them, maybe his existence would be worth it some day. the ribbon in his hair (the green/teal one) is from tatsun :) he said mayo would look good in brighter colors and mayo disagreed so tatsun gave it to him and now its become part of his outfit and (i combust into a thousand bits ) also because of that mayo feels like he has to give tatsun something back so thats why he gives tatsumi a purple gem he had that used to hang from his spell tome anyways i still love this au very much and i hope you enjoyed now i will proceed to forget about it again /j i still really wanna write kohaku's fic and then maybe one last one for rinne-kun or smth because aghghj there's still so much that's not developed yet but (explodes)

#enstars #alkaloid #hiiro amagi #aira shiratori #tatsumi kazehaya #mayoi ayase #fantasyau #bean art #look at rabuhan-junior he is so small please love him

[aphroditesswan]

OML THANK U FOR RESPONDING TO MY QUESTION 😭🙏

Okay so like how about this...

Chuuya and reader/y/n are dating, but she's been hanging out with dazai more often then with him. But in reality they ploting a surprise for him for an anniversary or his birthday! (Gender can be any I don't mind!)

Angst to fluff please 😢🙏

Can be either a short fic, headcanon or anything I don't mind as long as ur confterble and happy! Anyways have a nice day/night (might request more in the future...) ♡♡

rather melodramatic, aren’t you? 

chuuya nakahara x gn! reader 

warnings : a lotttt of drinking, jealousy, insecurities in the relationship 

summary : chuuya absolutely loses himself thinking of why you would pick dazai of all people over him to hang out with, jumping to conclusions until you get home to explain everything. 

genre : angst to fluff with like one suggestive comment 

notes : i listened to cigarettes out the window, a pearl, step on me, the other woman christmas kids, and mr loverman for this so if you see any references to those, they were most def intentional 😭

its been a week and you’ve been hanging around that idiotic dazai, probably out flirting and getting all close to him… 

at least that’s how it was in chuuya’s eyes. 

he was a bit delusional and when you sprinkle dazai in along with the absolute insanity that goes on in his head, it can’t lead to anything good. 

maybe you’re growing tired of him, he thinks. 

maybe you’ve grown to love that idiot more than him, he thinks. 

there are infinite possibilities running through chuuya’s head as he consistently drinks away this thoughts, the days and nights feeling utterly, completely, inexplicably empty without you. 

you fill the hole in his heart that he’s had for as long as he can remember, and to think he’d have dazai take that away from him?? 

not on his watch. 

well… his sober watch.

he threw his hat onto the couch, grabbing a bottle of wine without even looking at the cabinets for a cup. he didn’t care at l this point, all he wanted was to forget the ache in his chest, the spinning in his stomach, the burn of tears in his eyes as he flopped his back flat on the bed, breathing deeply to at least try and calm himself even a little bit. 

but he knew that was pointless. 

he felt like nothing without you. sure he was an important figure in the Port Mafia but without you? please, his status and power could’ve meant the same as a dirty nickel he almost tripped on while walking on the sidewalk. 

he opened the bottle, sitting up as he did so he didn’t spill it all over his soft silk sheets. those were expensive, not worth the mess he thought. 

he chugged a bit of it, throwing the cork into a forgotten corner of the room as he threw his head back to throughly get the most out of his five second gulp. 

he slammed it onto the nightstand, the aggression in his movements aimed at you, at dazai, at his insecurities. he tore his gloves off, throwing them onto the nightstand before putting his hands over his face, his fingers in his hair as he quietly cried into his hands. 

he wished he was better. he knew him and dazai were a team at times, that you wouldn’t do this to him, that he was just as good as everyone else if not better… 

but he couldn’t shake it. he couldn’t shake his insecurities, his anxieties all because of dazai.  

he’d drink himself to death inside a prison cell before he admits that though. 

he just wished that you wouldn’t disappear from his life, he’d let you do whatever you want as long as you stay with him. okay, that was a lie, he isn’t a pushover. a devoted boyfriend? absolutely but a doormat? never.

he grabbed the cold dark bottle of wine again, drinking and crying the rest of the sunset away as all he could think and worry about was whatever the hell you and dazai were doing and why you had barely texted him all week. 

he paced through your shared bedroom, talking rather loudly to himself as he tried to come up with reasonable explanations, his reasoning for your absence getting more and more insane as he kept drinking. 

thankfully, he heard you finally walk through the door. he quickly grabbed his hat, throwing it on as he went to meet you at the door with his cheeks flushed and his eyes dazed from alcohol. 

“there you are! do you- do you know how long i’ve been waiting for you- to get back? i swear i was about to text you and ask what- what position you two were in for fucks sake i-“ 

he rambled on and on until he saw your amused yet concerned smile… and a gift bag in your hand…? 

“what the hell- stop smiling like that! don’t tell me dazai got you that bullshit- you’ve got to be joking don’t tell me your-“ 

he was cut off by a kiss, his lips tasting like alcohol and his breath smelling the same. you counted the seconds until midnight like it was new year’s eve and although you could tell he was already breathless, you didn’t let go. he could hold out for just a bit longer, he’d have to. 

as soon as it hit 12:00 and the notification for a very very special day popped up you let him go, the poor man almost falling straight into you. 

“why-… the hell did you-“ 

“it’s april 29th chuuya.” 

“what does that have to do with anything? i don’t give a single shit what the day is.” 

“chuuya.” 

“what??” 

“it’s your birthday. happy birthday, love.” 

you smiled, one hand still holding onto his shoulder and the other bringing up the gift bag you have for him. it takes him a good minute or two, but eventually his drunken mind put two and two together and figured out everything on its own. 

“oh- ohhh… ugh, i’m so sorry dear.” 

he groaned with a frown, his forehead falling onto your shoulder as he lazily wrapped his arms around your waist to bring you closer to him. 

“it’s fine chuu, i missed you, you know. it’s not easy keeping secrets.” 

“i’m glad you feel that way.” 

he sighed into your shoulder, breathing in your scent. he thanked the gods that you didn’t smell a bit like dazai but just like you always do, maybe a bit tainted with wine and his cologne but that’s how he liked it, he was possessive like that. 

“we can spend the day together… right? just us for today.” 

“well after you get some sleep and a pill for your hangover, yes of course we can.” 

“as long as you come with me, i accept.

“see? what would you do without me.”

“baby, i’m a wreck when i’m without you.”

sorry this was super short!! i wrote this at like midnight cause that’s when i get randomly motivated but i hope this is to your liking!! please feel free to request more :DD

#chuuya nakahara #chuuya angst #bsd angst #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #chuuya x reader #bungo stray dogs angst #chuuya fluff #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya nakahara fluff #chuuya nakahara angst #chuuya nakahara bsd #chuuya bsd

[you-found-my-profile]

Ok so here is a detailed ref sheet of my Sun and Moon designs for the au:

They can now emote a little bit more with their faceplate: Eyes are fully articulated with eyelids, the swirl that acts as their eyebrow is fully mobile, outer mouth plates are switched for a silicone layer and underneath, for stability, is an aluminum alloy that allows for a little bit extra movement. They are still stuck smiling unfortunately, but they can control how wide or crooked it is most of the time.

Hardware:

Their back wiring is now covered by a small metalic box that's waterproof. They needed that long ago anyway. They have "retractable claws" that are there more for show than anything else. Yes, they are kind of sharp but they can't exactly rip flesh off of bones. They were installed more or less to make moon look intimidating in case he comes upon an intruder on his patrols or while nap time. (Like it matters anyway, they are literally animatronics. Made out of metal.)

They can make a few soundboard effects from their voicebox. Why? They are jesters and they are caretakers. Entertainment honey.

They are directly connected to the internet as long as a wifi router is nearby. Also they can connect to bluetooth devices. The backup memory and RAM memory in their AI was upgraded aswell because let's be honest, how could they save all those guest profiles, children's preferences, allergies, special needs, intruder profiles etc.? deleting old information because "they are just some old files that we don't need anymore!" Is not the best way to approach it.

Software:

Unique features:

Sun: His rays can tilt 90° on each axis, they can retract but they cannot spin unfortunately (honestly it would be kind of hard to make it possible considering the amount of wiring inside his flat faceplate). He has pupils, they are just not visible in a brightly lit room, wich is ironic in a way or another, but that can be used to his advantage oftentimes.

The small embroidery on his pants was a last second detail he wanted to be added just on his design, the technician didn't ask why and he still won't dare to ask.

Moon: His hat and pants are made from the same material. The cape acts as a back-up blanket: it preserves heat and also can be cooled down easily. It was originally intended for aesthetic purposes only but after a little session of fuck around and find out the technician figured that the cape can fit 2-3 toddlers underneath.

The cape and hoodie parts have little magnets on the inside part of the textile, (they were supposed to be pins but because of another "accident" that idea was scratched) wich hold the two pieces together neatly and secure.

Now you may wonder: "Well then, how can Moon use his wire if that cape is in the way?" Good question! I literally have no idea, but he does it somehow.

That is all for this post, for now at least. If you have more questions feel free to leave me an ask! Also I will update this post once I make more references and sketches :)

#fnaf daycare attendant #sun fnaf #fnaf moon #daycare attendant fnaf #fnaf au #dca au #mentally eclipsed au

[mediocreanomaly]

Heya! Same patchwork anon here >:]

Im so glad you like the idea! And id definitely see Vash being so protective of it, but sir we need to clean that omg 😩

But i did wanna shoot another reply cause i had another thought (Its 3am, so its the perfect time for thoughts) but imagine instead of white solid thread for Nai's janky ass milk puzzle blanket, its instead stitched with colored thread to at least give it some more life :0

I do like the idea that Nai just keeps it hidden, but imagine Nai's mate finding it and wanting to improve on it more, so little by little theyve been hand-embroiddering stuff on each patch to give it more life, and Nai doesnt notice cause he doesnt really lay it out often, and one day he just has this urge to look at it again, maybe give it a chance and add it to the nest, afterall its the thought that counts right? but then he spreads it out and sees the different embroiderry, like hearts or flowers that Nai's mate saw in books~ Theres even an ongoing embroiderry that makes it clear that his mate has been stitching this behind his back lol

(okay thats all sorry for the ramble im just so weak for them huhu)

Authors Note: Oh my gosh??? I'm so sorry for being away everyone work is busy busy busy rn, gotta serve up some of my drafts fr...anyways! Patchwork anon strikes again! You know nesting hc's are my weakness I had to indulge, R.I.P. Knives milk puzzle.

In reference to both of these post: Nesting Hc's, Patchwork Anon

A Blanket of Many Colors, Knives x Reader

You run your fingers over the blanket you had gifted Nai, the patchwork of white making the blanket look more like a haphazard ghost costume rather than a gift you'd painstakingly sown together. You sigh, you didn't really blame Nai for hiding it away in fact you'd been a be relived when you found out your mate kept the scraggly piece of fabric at all. While the vision had been there the end result had ended up lack luster at best.

You groan, about to tuck it back away in its hiding spot for good when you pause over one of the squares. Although by itself it wasn't much...it'd be the perfect base for something else. You think of what you could fill the tiles with, you had more than enough colored thread to add a bit of life to it, you mull over a couple options before remembering the book of flowers Nai had shown you once, his expression had soften as he explained the differences between each species. Inspired, you quickly grab the blanket and march over to the large bookcase in the corner of Nai's room, running your fingers over the spines of the books trying to find the correct one.

"c'mon...it's gotta be here somewh- ah!" you say triumphantly, pulling out the book containing pictures hundreds of different flowers. You'd been amazed when Nai first showed you, plants like this didn't bloom on Gunsmoke, so the idea of their soft petals were all you had to go off of. You quickly flip through the book picking out one of the flowers and grab some red thread and a needle, ready to go to work.

Some where along the way this little practice had become routine for you. Every time Nai was away or you were bored you'd sneak over to the cabinet your mate had stored the blanket and add a small embroidery. Adding a different flower every time until the blanket was becoming a colorful tapestry of your own making. You weren't sure if Nai even knew what you were doing, if he did he didn't say anything about it. So you continued the harmless pass time figuring he had just forgotten about the gift to collect dust.

He hadn't. Nai was, admittedly, particular when it came to his nest and he knew it. He'd mull over the sheets over and over making sure they were the same shade of white and that they were both soft and large enough. When you had presented him with the hand made blanket...it wasn't that he didn't apricate a gift from his beloved mate, it's just that he cringed internally anytime he thought about it in his nest. He couldn't bring himself to throw away something made by your hands though, so he had stored it away for safe keeping, not wanting anyone else to get their filthy hands on something made specifically for him.

It wasn't until a couple months and one tedious day later that he found himself marching towards his quarters. His instincts where screaming to wind down and drag you into the nest with him but you were out in Ja'Lai, escorted by Legato. He huffs, thinking of grabbing some of your clothes to add to the nest for your scent but then grimaces at the idea of all that disorganized fabric against the white sheets and pillows. He pauses looking at the cabinet that contained the gift you had made all that time ago. Although he still bristles slightly at the idea of it sprawled out in his nest...maybe it's the thought that counts? No. Absolutely not. But he could at least drag it out for a little while, maybe it wasn't as bad as he remembered.

Nai opens the cabinet and reaches in for the blanket but when he pulls it out...his eyes go wide. He holds it up so that he had a better view of what he's seeing, flowers he had only seen as a child blossom against the white fabric painting a scene of an intricate garden that only his memories and dreams could recreate. Had his mate been doing this the whole time? He tilts his head and gently traces the patters of the petals and whining stems that adorns the blanket now, then...he glances up towards his nest.

"Nai? You you here?" you call walking towards your shared room. The others had informed you of your mates arrival while you were out in town and you were eager to welcome him with open arms. You pad in, cold floor beneath you feet. He must be curled up in the nest it's where he liked to recharge after being gone. You walk towards the bed where you know a heap of white blankets and pillows is waiting as you quietly peek in the room. Your mate is in the nest alright, but...instead of the usual stark white, a myriad of color litters the top. Your blanket, you realize, is now the main center piece of the nest, curled securely around your sleeping mate as he purrs in his sleep, plant marking glowing softly. It seems...he liked the gift after all.

#knives x you #knives x reader #trigun x reader #knives millions #patchwork anon at it again #nesting plants...my heart

[izloveshorses]

we're almost to the halfway mark, so i thought i'd share another progress update on this little (big) project!! (previous update)

i've almost finished drawing half of all the assets (according to my spreadsheet) and then we can start assembling them into a "book." the bulk of the assets are characters/costumes, but i've also completed several props and started working on some backgrounds as well. I need to decide how the book will be laid out before i make much more progress on those, though. i've been trying to hold off on finishing the principal cast because i think saving them for ~dessert~ will keep me motivated to power through the rest, but i'm so anxious to get to them because i want to play with them in photoshop and put them on their associated backgrounds like little paper dolls 🙈 so that's why ballet tuxedo!dmitry doesn't exist yet, and why i've yet to color the rest of anya's act ii wardrobe.

anyway. progress in my workflow is hardly ever linear, but you can kind of see how i approach the rendering process from these images, i hope. the drawing carries the weight of the image so that step always takes the longest, since getting the likeness, the proportions, the folds, and the expressions right is the most important. if any of that looks off no skillful painting or rendering can save it.

and then i always color skin first because everything else (clothes, hair) goes on top of skin. you can see the color palette i'm using is the same for almost all of them, though act ii requires a few more saturated hues than act i (bright blue, some reds, and green every once in a while). coloring the rest in doesn't usually take very long. once the flats are down i go in for a final pass, laying down those patterns and textures that always give me a hard time lol. and then i clean up and recolor the line work and mark it as done! since i'm working digital i use alpha lock and clipping masks for that.

director's cut commentary of each image included (under the cut bc this post is already so long):

anya's act ii lineup. her phtk outfit is the only one i've marked complete (the linework on the others is still black and need just a few more touchups). I've yet to lay in the flats for the maroon travel coat because i think the drawing needs more work. i might change a few things on big red, maybe her expression, but i haven't decided yet.

dmitry's act ii lineup (sans tuxedo). he just needs a final pass on the first two on the left, and then his finale look is finished, because it's the same from act i :)

vlad's act ii lineup. he's almost done, just needs a final pass on the finale and phtk outfits.

lily's act ii lineup. i'm going to redo the pattern on her neva club dress (linda cho i love u but god) but otherwise she's all finished.

the dowager's act ii lineup. she's done! :) maybe i'll find something to pick at later but rn i'm marking her done lol.

petersburg citizens from rumor! i think these guys are all done. there are more people i could include, but there isn't enough variation on the costumes to make it worth it imo.

neva club patrons. the only two marked complete are the two on the left, sergei the doorman/the male server and count leopold. i still need to find a good reference for the female server lol.

the press! just the men for now lol. i used the obc program as a reference for this one, so i'll get the two ladies in soon :)

the hussies! i've marked it complete, but. we'll see if there's more adjustments i can make.

there's still more i've completed that's not pictured, but i'll definitely share more soon. act i is nearly finished entirely, which is cool, and the only big ensemble sheet i've yet to make much progress on is everyone in phtk. i may end up just drawing one or two people from that and then copying them with different patterns because, honestly, the shape of the dresses and suits are all very similar. hopefully that won't be boring to look at lol.

if there's anything in particular you'd like to see/have any questions, or even suggestions, lmk!! and follow my 'anastasia illustrated guide' tag for more updates :)

#anastasia broadway #anastasia #fan art #my art #iz draws #anastasia illustrated guide #long post #wip

[safetycar-restart]

I love your poly!piarles' fics sm <3. I was wondering if u could do a follow-up to the previous 💧💧with them.

Where Pierre didn't wear a diaper after a very intense scene because he didn't want Charles to find out, but then he had an accident. I just need a fluffy ending to that with obv Charles be OK with it and pierre just being reassured <3

Oh my god I had actually completely forgotten about that? And yeah we really need to discuss it more I can't believe I forgot about it. Also, all watersports thoughts are tagged with 💧 💧 and all diaper thoughts are tagged with 🧴 so block those if either of those things are not your vibe.

For context, this is in reference to something I wrote a while ago with poly!piarles. Pierre enjoys very intense scenes with painplay that sends him into subspace for the next day or two. During those days, he's so vulnerable and reliant on you, and he needs those days to properly rest and he feels amazing afterwards. While you're looking after him, he wears diapers, because he's just floating in subspace so deep and lovely that he can't control anything. He adores it.

But then Charles joins the relationship and suddenly Pierre is not just a sub anymore he's now also charles's dom. Make no mistake, he ADORES that. As a switch, he thrives when he can both dom and sub, but because of charles's involvement he's scared to bring diapers back into the equation.

Even though Charles has no interest in those intense pain play scenes, he loves coming in for aftercare to help you take care of Pierre. Pierre loves having his bunny there for cuddles and reassurance for the less intense pain play aftercare, but he's terrified of doing the type of intense scenes that will require days of aftercare and him wearing diapers because he doesn't want his sub to see him like that.

But he needs those scenes, and so eventually he tells you to do it anyway and just not diaper him after. And it goes about as badly as expected with Pierre wetting himself out of nowhere and going right into subdrop after because he feels like he's disappointed you.

Charles has no idea what just happened, so confused about why Pierre had an accident, but he's more worried about Pierre than anything else. He doesn't at all care that Pierre wet the bed, that can be handled, but Pierre is crying and begging for forgiveness and he doesn't know what to do.

You know why this happened, of course, but you promised to keep Pierre's secret. So you just pull Pierre into your arms and kiss his head, promise him that you and Charles arent upset with him. Charles hugs Pierre from behind, trying to give Pierre as much comfort as he can.

You take Pierre to the bathroom, clean him up and get him in fresh clothes while Charles changes the sheets. Maybe you put a diaper on him? Even though you had promised you wouldn't, he's deep in subdrop and you don't want to imagine what might happen if he has another accident. You make an executive decision as his dom to put one on him anyway, and you know you've made the right call when he relaxes as he feels it put on him.

Charles is confused when he sees the diaper, but you subtly shake your head at him. Charles nods and doesn't say a thing, understanding that now is not the time.

You and Charles take care of Pierre as best you can until he's out of the drop and can talk to you two properly. He cries again when he comes up, realising what he did and he's convinced that Charles will hate him for it.

Except Charles looks at him with only love and concern, taking his head and begging to find out what he can do to help and make him feel better.

Pierre has you explain to him what happened, and why, and charles's heart just breaks. Charles actually feels like he's failed in some way, because he made Pierre feel like he couldn't be honest about what he needed.

Charles thinks about all the things he gets from Pierre, all the times he's ugly cried and been carried to the bath and had his hair washed and been hand fed. Pierre did all of that and more for him, and yet Pierre couldnt tell him what he needed?

It's a very tough thing to work through because they both feel inadequate, and I think the thing that might get them straight is you admitting that you feel like a bad dom? Because you knew doing that scene with Pierre and not diapering him afterward wouldn't end well, but you agreed to it anyway. You shouldn't have done that.

When you say that, Pierre and Charles both jump and instantly start going on and on about how it isnt your fault. They say how they both made mistakes and how they both feel and why.

And then suddenly they just turn to each other and then they're both hugging and crying, promising this will never happen again.

(And now this is already too long so I won't go into the first aftercare with Charles where you do diaper Pierre, but I would love to talk about that so if anyone wants to see it then let me know!!)

#poly!piarles #sub!pierre #sub!charles #cl #pg #nsfw. #f!reader #🧴 #💧 💧

[hunkledunk]

This is going to be a bit of a vent but I'm also curious if anyone else feels the same. Please share if you do ❤

Something I've been feeling more and more recently is the drive to be creative, and I'm going to be honest but it doesn't feel good? I've never been that good at art or music or woodworking or textiles or baking or anything expressive, really. When I see someone playing an instrument beautifully, constructing a lovely little ornament, or even just a reference sheet for someone's OC I feel an intense sense of longing.

The only thing I would consider myself notably good at is gaming, and that doesn't really feel like something I can share with people, as in I struggle to express myself with it? I can't show people how I feel by playing a run of Isaac the same way a pianist can with the notes they play. What I feel like I'm missing is the ability to draw a scene and have people see what I'm feeling inside. That sense of understanding that comes with damn good art.

I know the popular response on this site is "do it badly anyway" and I really do appreciate the sentiment but doing something badly just makes me feel truly awful. I can't get around that mental block no matter how hard I try and it's stopping me from practicing any of these skills. It doesn't feel like I have so much space to improve, it feels like I'll always be this bad because I always have been. Regardless of how provably untrue that is it's how I feel.

I want to be able to enjoy the process but that's simply impossible for me right now, not when everything I try ends up worse than I expect. I know it's a problem with my mindset and not a profound lack of talent but it's just as insurmountable a barrier to me. I wish I could play the violin.

#art #digital art #drawing #sketch #crafts #embroidery #baking #perfectionism #perfectionist

[worldsokayestmagicalgirl]

The first batch of pictures for Amoré's character journal are here! Also I have been so super sick that I've literally had nothing to do but to work on this for like almost 2 weeks so...

The cover to cover tour officially starts here. All I can say about the front & back is that I lament my lack of experience with my Cricut when I made these decals. I only had 2 "fun" colors to work with at the time & I was still getting comfortable drawing in Procreate, so my silhouette art leaves a lot to be desired compared to some stuff I've made recently. I also found it's incredibly easy to burn this leather book.

But she's volume one, everything with her is a learning experience, & I realized as much as it helps to have a mini heat press for tight corners & small spaces, the cloth barrier they suggest you use between the vinyl & the iron tends to make things harder to press on this scale. So instead I gotta quickly tap straight on the transfer film & hope I don't burn anything around it :(´◦ω◦｀):ﾟﾟ

So at the risk of thoroughly exposing my inner theater kid, Amoré set the precedent with how I went forward creating campaign characters. I started off collecting 5 songs to make a mini story arc (almost like a show choir set list 🙃) that helps me figure out an outline for the kind of story I wanna give them.

Somehow Amoré ended up with a truly horrendous blend of rock & theatre. Absolutely incredibe. No wonder she's always such a dramatic bitch.

It was a lot easier to go in & add little decals around these lyrics. I'm definitely cursed with the Too Much™ gene, but I enjoy the little pops of color they give ✨ plus it justifies me hoarding all these vinyl scraps printing stuff this small lol.

Stat sheet!

In all honesty, as my first character I had no fucking clue what I was doing when I placed these & if I could go back & change one thing I'd probably swap her Intelligence & her Wisdom. She’s definitely more people smart than book smart.

But everything else is...very accurate. She has all the upper body strength of a chicken nugget. Plus on top of the (already) negative I traded disadvantage on everything DEX for magic crystal shoes that can be periodically harvested. Just a way for her to carry around the family fortune without actually having to return to the vault✨

For something that started so average, her CON became a monster & always comes in clutch for her alcohol tolerance. I've played variations of her across a few different one shots & I always manage to roll well for anything alcohol related. The dice do respect a bit 🤣

Spells on the other hand, I floundered with a lot at first because we’re not a combat heavy game, but then I found Chaos Bolt & that was that. It’s essentially Amoré in spell form & I’ve had a ton of fun with it over the years. Also Mage Armor cuz my girl is SO DISTRESSINGLY SQUISHY.

Cantrips were more or less a bit of a toss up. Message was fun for the sheer idea of her using it to talk shit during social events without being caught. But aside from Light serving fun backstory purposes the other 3 are kinda just what looked fun ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ unless you count the idea that she would absolutely delight in zapping handshakes.

From there, I wanted to extend the world map made by our wonderful DM @cappierong into a full scroll. Ya know, for the aesthetic ✨

Our campaign started in Civania, where Amoré's main Estate is. I just wanted a quick mock up to reference, so I edited a preexisting picture I found that checked all the boxes (large, on a plateau, accessible only by bridge) and then absolutely smothered it in flowers.

But anyways... This is primarily where Diana & Amoré grew up together in their decade of backstory ✨

There was probably waaaay to much back & forth trying to keep the continuity between stuff I've already drawn & this big reference. But I think it turned out pretty ok? Not like if I make a mistake anyone will really know lol.

Scaling was also another big issue I had, & I moments where I thought something was too big I just kinda handwaved it away like "ehhhhh she's from a stupid rich family." But now I have a NEED to draw baby Diana & Amoré around like, the statue gardens or something cuz I feel like certain parts of this place are definitely ominous 👀 especially for children...

And lastly we have the back cover & the High Noble political relationship map! I normally have this closer to the front but for layout purposes it'll be here. I kinda feel like I need to do more for the decoration of it but I can’t think of anything else to add at the moment.

Sam if u read that no you didn't.

But now! Other than a family portrait that I've always wanted to draw, I think I'm ready to move onto the art for Season 1 : Arc 2. It's a pretty hefty amount of art in comparison to others, so I gotta get busy. Especially since I think I'm gonna have to draw a few comics *sobs*

If you made it this far, thanks so much for reading! I'm always excited to talk out our little idiots so thanks for indulging me ❀(*´▽`*)❀

#duo rong #dungeons and dragons #dnd character scrapbook #duo chronicles #amore bellridge #diana blackthorn if you squint #dnd #dnd character #dnd pc #dnd oc #character creation #character study(?) #dnd backstory #season 1 #dnd art #dnd campaign #campaign art

[heich0e]

(inspired by this post by mintmatcha bc it made me think of magpie loverboy livio)

the building where you live is called the barracks.

it's a cold, characterless block of chambers on the 20th floor of the monolithic tower that looms in the dead center of the city of julai. along the long, sterile corridor that comprises the floor, every room that lines either side (sometimes referred to as dorms) looks the exact same. they're equipped with one bed and one desk. there are no windows, just a single light overhead and a lamp for the desk for those who are lucky enough to be granted one. the walls are bare. the sheets are scratchy. the doors lock only from the outside.

they really ought to call them cells.

your dorm is seven minute journey from the lab on the 33rd floor, accounting for the elevator ride. when doctor conrad needs to summon you, his voice crackles out through the small intercom speaker built into the wall. it's not two-way--you have no means of answering back--you simply know that when you're called you obey. you don't even consider any different.

it's the same reason why they don't bother locking you in anymore.

it's not as though you have anywhere to run.

after another long day of assisting dr. conrad in the lab, you're dismissed with a wave of the hand whose meaning you've grown to understand as a signal to depart. he doesn't even bother looking at you; he just lifts his hand in a limp gesture from his desk, his eyes still fixed to the screen of the monitor before him. you dip in a parting bow anyway, backing yourself towards the door.

you make your way back to your dorm--the same walk you've made a thousand times--each step robotic and rehearsed. it's a path so familiar you're sure you could make it even with your eyes closed; a journey so well-known to you that you don't even bother to lift your eyes from your feet as you place one in front of the other on the cold, tiled floor.

julai tower is so incredibly vast that you rarely cross paths with anyone else along the way, even though the eye of michael is anything but lacking when it comes to its members. but you appreciate that fact. socialization is often more unpleasant than the solitude.

your luck runs out on the 28th floor.

the elevator grinds to a halt unexpectedly, ninety seconds earlier than it should. your eyes flicker up from your feet to the panel on the opposite side of the narrow elevator car, and you realize that it's stopped to pick up another passenger. you press yourself to the wall in anticipation of the doors sliding open, your eyes rushing to resume their downturned gaze.

you know who enters the confined space without looking up. you'd recognize him even without the disdainful kiss of his teeth that he makes as he spots you while he steps across the threshold.

bluesummers.

his presence is effortlessly suffocating; the doors sliding closed behind him leave you feeling deprived for air. legato doesn't need to touch you, doesn't need to exert his power over you at all, and yet you still feel as though his hands are on your body--every part of your body--like his presence is crushing in on you from every side.

the sensation makes you feel sick.

"learn to greet your superiors," he sneers.

if you had greeted him, he would have taken issue with that too. legato bluesummers would find any reason to fault you if he could. any means to justify a punishment.

"bluesummers," you murmur weakly, lifting your head and nodding in his direction. his lip curls in disgust at the sound of your voice.

he must have returned that day while you were working. he'd been gone for weeks now, from what you could tell, sent out into no man's land on a mission that you didn't have the clearance to know the details of. his departure was something you had learned only in passing, only because you're always listening even when no one thinks you are. you knew he was gone, and you knew who had gone with him.

and now you know they're back.

the doors open on the 20th floor, but you feel no relief.

you won't feel safe until you're back inside your own room, with the door closed behind you. won't feel any semblance of comfort until the elevator carries the man beside you further away.

you step out past him briskly, moving much faster than you normally would, and don't spare him a second glance. you feel his eyes on you every step of the way back to your dorm, until the elevator doors slide shut once more.

getting back to your room is your singular focus, but seven doors down from your own quarters in the barracks, you pause. the doors had been open that morning, because the occupant had been away.

they're closed now, but they aren't locked.

the man shut behind them had long-stopped trying to run, too.

you stare at the panels of metal that seal the small room shut, reaching out until your fingertips are just shy of brushing the surface. you stop before they make contact, your outstretched hand curling into a tight fist.

you turn and continue walking back towards your own dorm.

your room is the same as it always is as you step through the doorway, and the mechanisms of the door groan unpleasantly as the two panels of metal join together when the shut behind you. it takes a moment for the overhead light to flicker on, which leaves you trapped in darkness temporarily, but when the bulb does eventually come to life something unexpected catches your attention--a glimmer of something that shouldn't be there peeking out from underneath your thin pillow.

your heartbeat knocks against your brittle ribs as you tiptoe closer.

it's small. littler than the tip of your pinkie finger. tiny enough to cradle in the palm of your hand. it's a carving of some sort, made of an unidentifiable ore. you aren't sure what it's supposed to be, or what it's made of--you haven't seen enough of the world outside of julai tower to know things like that. but it's cool to the touch. even as it rests against your skin, it doesn't seem to leech any of the heat from your body. it glitters in the light overhead. it's delicate. pretty even.

your throat feels tight.

quietly you crouch beside the edge of your bed, snaking your hand underneath the corner of your thin, lumpy mattress. from below you pull out an old, threadbare pillow case you'd hidden away years ago. at the bottom of the case a few things rattle around. a thimble. an old coin. a few shiny rocks. a broken watch-face. some small wood carvings, half-rotted away by time. you add your glittering little trinket to the collection, admiring it for a moment.

you think of the boy who had given them to you. a secret shared only between you both. a meaning in the little treasures that you don't know how to understand.

you think of livio, seven rooms away.

you pack the items carefully back into their pillowcase, return it safely to its hiding place beneath your mattress, and then you crawl into your bed overtop.

the light above your head flickers as you peer up at it drowsily. it's not unusual to see it dim and brighten sporadically, the inconsistent buzz a long-familiar sound you've learned to filter out. it won't keep you awake the way it used to. won't burrow itself into your brain it the same manner that it had once driven you mad.

it's easy to ignore it now.

it's easy to shut your eyes and let the world disappear.

it's easy to focus on other things. nicer things.

like the feeling of cool metal against your skin. the slight lump you can feel underneath your mattress. the steady thump of your heart.

sleep comes to you more quickly than it has in weeks.

you're happy that he's home.

#livio x reader #livio the double fang x reader #trigun drabble #trigun writing #writing

[crow2222]

I don't feel like I'm ever do the reference sheets for the polish outsiders so fuck it, here's what I DO have so far

👇

(before anything else, I wanna say all the stuff about Poland during this time is from what my family has told me, mainly my parents, aunt and grandma in the North of Poland so it's different than How'd it be in the south 🙏 )

In the book, Greasers are called "pheasants" and therefore I want to make the designs of them resemble pheasants in a way 😇 I drew ponyboy in his beginning story clothes!!

Paul and darry before graduation 😇

Darry: Aye! I'll be really late for class..

Paul: We have time birdie.

In the book, socs at the start when jumping pony refer to him as "a birdie" instead of a greaser.

Darry has green eyes.. And I'm just feeding my high-school sweethearts paulxdarry here 💋 + gave Paul my bomber jacket

Soda is called Oranżada (a popular polish drink) and Ponyboy is just pony in polish.. anyways the picture explains it all!

(Bażanty = pheasants (greasers))

1) Darry: wheres the fucking milk

2) Pony: I don't know..

Soda: I'll ask God for help! (for us)

3) Outside the block..(apartment)

(milk for cats, don't touch!!!)

There's a lot of stray cats in Poland, at least where I'm from anyways, so I thought of making a hc where they feed the neighbourhood cats ever so often which Darry HATES because then they don't have milk for themselves.

They also get milk from a milkman who comes with a giant tin of milk from his own cows and people come with their own milk tins to fill up (What my aunt told me) and whenever Soda or pony filled it up, they'd fill it up to the brim, drink a bit of it and fill it to the brim again.

😇😇 so yeah.. I have more thoughts on my au of it but I wanna share it with drawings... if enough people care about this au it'd definitely motivate me :3

#the outsiders #darry curtis #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #the outsiders fanart #art #polish #polska #the outsiders polish #outsiderzy #the outsiderzy #theoutsiders #the outsiders darry #yippee #the outsiders au #polish outsiders #polish the outsiders

[chubbening]

OH MY GOD OKAY HEY so me and a popular artist friend who shall not be named recently got into your fic Calories and Kink and IT IS SO HOT AND SUCH A HUGE INSPIRATION!!!! I literally started my own fic bc of it and I'm trying so hard to do my own things based on my own tastes and not lift too much inspiration xD

I just wanted to ask if any of your characters (Alexa, Reggie, or anyone else) has references? We may or may not be doing gay fanart for your adorable fat lesbian comfort fic.

Also I was stoked to find you're trans (us too)!!! Happy for you, also just learned you're a system!!! You both rock, keep up the good work, you got some real fans here :D

I think you just broke Ava's part of the brain lmao (she'll be fine) but thank you so so so much!! We've gotten so much lovely feedback on this story, and it means so much to us that what started as a kinky little side project has so engaged folks in our corner of the internet <3 Best of luck with your fic! One thing about writing is no one else is gonna do it like you, so even if you take inspiration, it'll still be your own.

It's funny you ask about references, because we've been thinking about commissioning some art for a while, just haven't gotten around to it (*coughcough* $$$). So like, we don't have ref sheets or anything. But (speaking of lifting inspiration) Reggie was originally inspired by one of NekoCrispy's characters, Astrid. Specifically the energy of this piece sparked something. Obviously we made Reggie a maned wolf and very much our own character, but we still think of her shape as similar to Astrid's (while compensating for NekoCrispy's more stylized hips), but 6' tall and with bigger arms ;)

For Alexa, shape- and vibe-wise, we go to https://www.tumblr.com/littlestpigletann. She's been posting since she was a lot smaller, so it's handy to dig back (on various platforms) and get a sense of Alexa at various points in the story. Although, Alexa's probably a bit lankier than Ann, who if I remember is 5'1" (Alexa's 5'6").

Feel free to DM us with any questions (about this stuff or w/e), we love chatting with folks! Honestly feels surreal to have people calling themselves fans and talking about doing art of something we created, like… Obviously no pressure to follow through, but we'd love to see what y'all come up with!!

Woo, trans! Honestly if we had a do-over, the one thing we'd change is making one or both of the MCs trans. We were just at a weird place with our dysphoria when we started writing it, and by the time we got comfier with things, there wasn't enough support in the story to retcon that. That's probably why we started doing more with Ash, tbh.

Okay, last anecdote here, the system thing is so funny in relation to Calories & Kink, because we didn't know we were plural when we wrote most of it, but we 1000% wrote Alexa and Reggie as individual self-inserts. When one of our partners started reading it, she compared us (still unaware) to Reggie because I fronted more during sex, but Ava, the more frequent fronter at the time, was like, "What? No, I'm way more like Alexa."

Anyway, thank you so much for sharing this message <3 We'll be giddy all day now ^^

Promise we'll work on the last few chapters soon--we really do want to give this thing a proper ending.

Take care,

Seija

#ask #my writing #calories and kink

[gffa]

One of my favorite projects is Taking a Closer Look at the Jedi Order in Star Wars: What They Actually Say And Do In Canon (and word of god commentary) to provide a set of references for what’s actually canon and what’s not, to illustrate and celebrate the Jedi ways that I really love, and to make it easier to write worldbuilding in your fic without you having to read a dozen different books, because I’ve already read them for fun!  Though, I always encourage reading them anyway, get context for yourself, see what you think of it yourself, etc.  But if you want a quicker cheat sheet, then this aims to help! One of the best books for worldbuilding recently was PADAWAN by Kiersten White, a book that I absolutely recommend, not just for the worldbuilding stuff (though, that’s fun, too) but because it was a satisfying, sparkling, delightful story that really gave me a ton of feelings about Obi-Wan Kenobi and the Jedi ways. These snippets will eventually be folded into my bigger meta project (and thus are organized in the same categories), but as a way to promote that I think more people should pick this book up, I’m collating these together for this book specifically and I hope that you find it useful for getting a better picture of what Jedi Padawans were like in the prequels era! (Spoiler alert: They are adorable kidlets but also adorable hellions I LOVE THEM SO MUCH, I want an entire novel about Bolla Ropal and Prie and Obi-Wan Kenobi and Siri Tachi as Padawans now!!) Topics Covered In This Post: Section 1 - How the Force Works Section 2 - Jedi Culture & Philosophy & Teachings Section 3 - Jedi As a People (aka Jedi younglings are CHAOS GREMLINS) Section 4 - Psychic Space Wizards Doing Psychic Space Wizard Things Section 5 - Jedi Temple (Living Quarters and Dining Halls!) Section 6 - Jedi Outreach and the Bigger Galaxy Now enjoy almost 7k words of Jedi Worldbuilding you can use for your fic writing, if you want!  Write me fiiiiiiiic about the chaos gremlin Padawans, fandom, I’m begging you!

SECTION 1 - HOW THE FORCE WORKS: JEDI EMOTIONS ARE ABOUT CONTROL NOT SUPPRESSION - PREQUELS:

The Padawans expression emotion all along the gamut just fine:      Obi-Wan gleefully made his way down to the Padawan dining hall. If Padawans weren't busy, they could almost always be found eating. Sure enough, Bolla, Prie, and a few other Padawans he'd known and trained alongside his entire life were gathered around a table. But rather than eating, they were all leaning intently toward Siri Tachi, talking.      Obi-Wan could barely contain his smile as he sat down next to Prie.      "Oh, you're here," Siri said, and her expression re-formed into a worried frown.      "Don't be so excited to see me," Obi-Wan said with a laugh. [Star Wars: Padawan]

Obi-Wan isn’t just passively out of balance in the Padawan novel, he is extremely aware that he’s out of balance, his connection to the Force is wonky because of it, that’s how the Force works, it manifests in a Jedi’s Force abilities when they’re emotionally unbalanced:     Just like Lenahra, he wasn't in balance. Not with himself, not with the Force. For so long he had been afraid of being afraid. Closing himself off to his feelings because of what they might mean, what they might lead to. But closing himself off was doing the opposite of what he hoped. It wasn't about not feeling fear or ambition or anything else he didn't think was right for a Jedi. It was about whether or not he gave those feelings power. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     He could almost laugh. His fear that he wouldn't be able to use the Force to help others was making him close like a fist, tighter and tighter around himself. He didn't trust himself, and because of that, he also didn't trust the Force. If he didn't believe he deserved the Force, then he didn't trust that the Force had chosen him, or that this path was the one he should be on, or that the losses he would go through along the way were natural. Necessary, even. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     With the fear in front of him, honestly acknowledged, Obi-Wan felt himself lightening. At last, all Qui-Gon's admonishments to exist in the present made sense. All Obi-Wan's worries were tied to his past and future, and he couldn't control either of those. Obi-Wan set his fears aside the same way he had moved through this clearing. Respectfully, but purposefully. His fears would always be there, but by looking right at them, he could put them where they belonged instead of constantly hiding from them. He could move toward the trust he needed in himself and in the Force.       It wasn't a destination he could reach with one try. He knew that. Learning this trust would be a journey he'd be on for the rest of his life. But he was ready to start.      For the first time since becoming a Padawan, Obi-Wan let go. He opened his hands, and his heart, and his mind, and he reached out. His shock almost brought him out of the meditation, but he tried to stay present as the waves of connection rushed in. His fears had been like a dam, blocking the flow, and now that they were out of the way, the life of this planet was everywhere.      [....] he was aware of everything. He was floating in a vast current of the Force, connected to it, and through his connection to it, to everything else on Lenahra. That was what had tried to fling his senses further and further out the night before—he had inadvertently been close to connecting with the planet because he hadn't been trying to do it. [Star Wars: Padawan]

Basic Jedi training is to feel things, not control them:      Obi-Wan laughed. "If I knew, I wouldn't be here. Not being calm or focused is exactly why I left." He tried to think of how Qui-Gon instructed him, or how their meditation classes as younglings had gone, back before meditation had become so fraught and aggravating. Back before the things that had felt easy became impossible because he stopped feeling them and started trying to understand them, to control them. [Star Wars: Padawan]

THE JEDI AND "ATTACHMENT" AND THE ART OF LETTING GO - PREQUELS:

The theme of letting go is one of the intrinsic themes of Star Wars as a whole and specifically to the Force, the entire plot of Padawan hinges on Obi-Wan’s inability to let go, his clinging to the Force (this is what attachment is) and once he resolves that, he is able to connect with the Force again, it’s not just Jedi philosophy (though it is that as well) but literally how the Force works:       That had been Obi-Wan's problem, hadn't it? He had been reaching for the Force to grab hold of it, to cling to it, to try to wring his own destiny from it. Not unlike the way the Lenahrans used the Power. In their minds, it was a tool to be wielded, not a cycle to join. Obi-Wan had been treating the Force in a similar way. He wanted things from it, wanted it to do things for him. Centering himself, always. He was so focused on his own desires and, most destructively, his desperate fear of failure.       Fear of loss, too. The Lenahrans were afraid of losing the Power, of losing the life their parents had chosen for them. And he was afraid of losing his Jedi friends as they drifted apart into the galaxy. Afraid of losing his place in the Temple, in the Force. Afraid of letting go of the familiarity of his past and embracing the unknown future, whatever it would bring to him. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     But it didn't have to be like this. The people here didn't have to be parasites, sucking life from Lenahra and giving nothing back. If they could let go, if they could give up consuming the Power, the planet would sustain them as it sustained everything else. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     Obi-Wan wanted to know more about the past. Maybe it would help him decide his future. And it wasn't against his own beliefs [like it was the Lenahrans’]. He was supposed to let go of the past, yes, but also learn from it. That was why the Jedi had such extensive archives, after all. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     Obi-Wan understood. Loss was part of growing up. It changed you, but it also stayed with you, shaping you. But he could control how it shaped him. He could stop fearing it, stop resisting it, and instead let it become part of his journey. [Star Wars: Padawan]

UNTRAINED FORCE ADEPTS - PREQUELS:

     If Force adepts weren't identified and trained young, their connection was haphazard, chaotic. Dangerous even, at times. And in a lot of them it faded, becoming a hum in the background of their lives. Not vital or active. [Star Wars: Padawan]

SECTION 2 - JEDI CULTURE & PHILOSOPHY & TEACHINGS: JEDI CULTURE - PREQUELS:

Jedi do not forbid personal possessions, most of them seem to not really need more (contrasted against Anakin’s room full of them), but they have them      So instead Obi-Wan trudged to his room. It was small and austere, but a shelf above his bed held a few treasures he had gathered. A rock from Ilum. A flower Siri had once tucked behind his ear as a joke. A shell Prie had given him that was probably from an unspeakably terrifying creature she adored. The spoon from their initiate days that Bolla had for some reason decided was his favorite, so they all made a game of stealing it. Obi-Wan had won, he supposed, since they were no longer younglings.  [Star Wars: Padawan]

    Qui-Gon sat on the simple gray cushion he kept in place of more elaborate seating. He had never added furniture for hosting guests. Obi-Wan always felt like he was somehow intruding, like there really was no place for him in Qui-Gon's life. He knew Siri's master had a table for two in her living quarters where they took most meals together. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     Or going back and finding Qui-Gon wasn't there at all, his name already added to the Lost, the Temple Guard ready to arrest Obi-Wan for theft of Temple property and betrayal of the entire Order. He knew they wouldn't do that—it wasn't the Jedi way. [Star Wars: Padawan]

JEDI PHILOSOPHY + TEACHINGS - PREQUELS:

     Meditation was the last thing Obi-Wan wanted to do, soaked and still caught somewhere between panic and fury. But given that it was the last thing he wanted to do, it was probably the best thing for him. Many things in the Jedi Order were like that: the less he wanted to do them, the better they were for him. [Star Wars: Padawan]

Meditation is about facing yourself:      Now, with Qui-Gon, [meditation] seemed to be the bulk of [his training]. Obi-Wan couldn't rely on his other skills to compensate. Maybe that was what he hated: meditation laid his weaknesses bare in front of him. There was nothing else to think about, nothing to do but face them.  [Star Wars: Padawan]

     He had found the balance he had been sent here for, and he was ready to go back. To face his fears of failure, of loss, of inadequacy, and to accept them so he could move forward. "I know. And I'm grateful. But my place is at the Temple. Assuming I'm still welcome there." [Star Wars: Padawan]

     "Well, what are the good leaders like there?"      Obi-Wan thought of Master Yoda. The way he taught by prompting them to find their own answers, never giving them information when they could gain experience for themselves. "They see the best in people, and help them get there." [Star Wars: Padawan]

Jedi are very aware of the physical power they have over people and make a point not to rule because of it, how they could really hurt people if they didn’t guard themselves:      “I didn't have to find the Force. It found me. But that's why Jedi move through the galaxy and don't stay in one place for long. Why we don't rule. Because we do have access to power. And we have to be on constant guard to make certain it doesn't corrupt us. We have rules—so many rules—and structure, and guidance, and still we have to always be alert to ourselves. And the Jedi around us." Obi-Wan thought of Orla Jareni dropping her own studies to help another Jedi. And on the other end of the scale, of Master Dooku walking away from the Order and abandoning his path as a Jedi in favor of ruling on his home planet. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     "The right way isn't always easy," Obi-Wan said, thinking about the Jedi path. How he wanted it to come easily to him as proof that it was right and that he belonged on it. But so often the right thing to do was the most difficult. If he had the chance, he would follow the path the Force put him on for the rest of his life, no matter how hard it was. [Star Wars: Padawan]

Obi-Wan’s goal, as is implied a Jedi ultimate goal, is to be an extension of the Force rather than the other way around:      But when it came to the other aspects of the Force—communing with it, not using it as an extension of himself, like a lightsaber to be wielded, but getting to the point where he was an extension of the Force—well, maybe that was why Qui-Gon didn't bother with him. [Star Wars: Padawan]

The Jedi’s goal is not to be competitive, but even when they are, it’s never punished or yelled at, just that the bigger goal is to be the best Jedi you can uniquely be:   ��  Obi-Wan laughed. "We're not supposed to be competitive. Everyone uses the Force as best suits their abilities." [Star Wars: Padawan]

Which is given context with Obi-Wan’s thoughts of how he’d been competitive and it was something that was looked on positively, that Bolla was trying to help him return to, that Obi-Wan values and doesn’t think should be bad:      Now that he thought about it, though, he'd had fun with Bolla, hadn't he? They had played jokes on each other all the time. Once, Obi-Wan had swapped Bolla's wash cream for Naboo glitterpaste. Bolla had shimmered for days. He almost laughed out loud, remembering it. Bolla was right—Obi-Wan had been competitive. So maybe when Bolla said he was trying to help Obi-Wan lighten up again, he had meant it. Obi-Wan had been so miserable lately, he could only assume miserable intentions from others. [Star Wars: Padawan]

Jedi do not consume the Force, they’re not stealing it, they’re not hurting the Force:      “But I think this whole planet is connected, symbiotic even, and that those things, your so-called Power, are a physical manifestation of its life. You aren't using the Power like Jedi use the Force. You're stealing it. You're consuming it. You're hurting Lenahra and everything on it." [Star Wars: Padawan]

     "I think I can explain it better now. The Power isn't like the Force. The Force isn't something I consume and burn up. It's so much more than just power. It's life. It's connection. It's—it's this." Obi-Wan gestured around the clearing. "It's trying to find the balance, that place between life and death where peace can exist. Being a small part of a great whole." [Star Wars: Padawan]

     Obi-Wan knew that death was simply returning to the Force, but still. He didn't want that for them. Not yet. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     Obi-Wan laughed. "Well, then, we merry band of attractive adventurers, let's go see a man about a mine. And may the Force be with us."      "What does that mean?" Audj asked.      "It's something we say to each other, when we're embarking into the unknown. It's what we hope for, always." [Star Wars: Padawan]

JEDI AND THEIR LOVE OF RIDDLES IN TEACHING - PREQUELS:

     What would Qui-Gon Jinn do if he were here? Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Qui-Gon was maddening and puzzling, but Obi-Wan could almost hear his voice. [Star Wars: Padawan]

EARLY JEDI  TEACHINGS - PREQUELS:

Youngling training is pretty broad in scope, not just one thing or another:      Meditation. Obi-Wan had to figure it out. He had never been bad at it before his trials, but then again, it had been only one small part of his training. [Star Wars: Padawan]

Though, they do have meditation classes as younglings, it’s just not all they do:      He tried to think of how Qui-Gon instructed him, or how their meditation classes as younglings had gone, back before meditation had become so fraught and aggravating. [Star Wars: Padawan]

MIDDLE JEDI TEACHINGS - PREQUELS:

     Reach for the Force with open hands, Qui-Gon told him in his memory of their very first meditation together. Not to grasp or to grab, but to touch. To connect. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     Exist in the present, Qui-Gon had said many times, trying to ground Obi-Wan when it was clear Obi-Wan couldn't settle into meditation. Move through the present as the Force moves through you, connecting you to everything. You are one small part of an infinite whole. Find peace and purpose in that.      Obi-Wan certainly couldn't meditate right now, and he doubted there was much peace to be found. He could, however, follow the advice to move through this moment like the Force, connected to everything around him. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     There were many avenues to becoming a Knight that Obi-Wan was sure involved almost no meditation whatsoever. [Star Wars: Padawan]

JEDI YOUNGLINGS CULTURE - PREQUELS:

     He almost laughed as he remembered a game they had played often as initiates: hide-and-sense. They would scatter throughout their clan and training quarters, and one youngling would have to try to sense where they all were—blindfolded. They had thought it was merely a game, but in reality it was careful, crucial training.      Everything had been easier when he was an initiate, when using the Force was the same as playing. As easy as reaching out and expecting to find something, and finding it there simply because he expected it to be.      [....] Trying to remember what playing a game had felt like, Obi-Wan closed his eyes to quiet his mind and focus. It wasn't as easy or as fun as when he had been young, but—there, like warm spots in a chilled room. They were scattered through the ship: three clustered on the far end, one closer, a couple above him somewhere. Six total, seven with the one outside, and— [Star Wars: Padawan]

JEDI KNIGHT CULTURE - PREQUELS:

Sometimes he wondered why Qui-Gon ever took him on as a Padawan. It wasn't required of Jedi Knights. When they did choose an initiate after the Trials, they were always guided by the Force. [Star Wars: Padawan]

SECTION 3 - JEDI AS A PEOPLE: JEDI VIEWS OF THEMSELVES AS FAMILY AND CARE FOR THEIR YOUNG - PREQUELS:

     The Jedi were his only family, the Temple his only home. [Star Wars: Padawan]

Obi-Wan parallels the Lenahra younglings’ connection to family with his own in the Jedi Order, to be with others who understand you:      "We talked about it. We want another planet filled with nature, with lots of water for Shush, Trill, and Whistle. One where we can connect and grow alongside the planet, not in spite of it. Dex thinks he can figure out where the other families ended up settling; it would be nice to be among people who understand where we're coming from. Maybe even find some relatives. Hopefully better ones than Loegrib." She tried to smile, but it didn't quite work. Obi-Wan didn't blame her. It was a loss on top of a devastating betrayal.      As much as Obi-Wan would miss them, he couldn't fault them for wanting to reconnect with others who knew what they had grown up with. The idea of never being among Jedi, not having other Padawans to talk with—and complain to and about—was terribly lonely. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     Even though no one here had parents, it was clear they were a family. It made Obi-Wan miss the closeness of his own youngling initiate clan. [Star Wars: Padawan]

JEDI PADAWANS - PREQUELS:

     They would continue on as they always had, whether he returned or not. After all, Padawan deaths were rare but not unheard of.  [Star Wars: Padawan]

If a Jedi teacher is no longer available, they’re simply assigned to another Master:      "If Qui-Gon leaves, you'll simply be assigned to another Jedi Master." [Star Wars: Padawan]

     Almost every Padawan made it through to Knighthood, but there were rare exceptions. [Star Wars: Padawan]

JEDI ROLES + CAREERS - PREQUELS:

There are a variety of roles within the Jedi Order and a Padawan’s area of study reflects that as well:      Prie's master worked extensively with animals, was known for it across the galaxy. If a planet was having issues with fauna, they requested him. Prie was a great fit as his Padawan. She had an intuitive way with creatures and an endless thirst for knowledge.      Their friend Jape had a brilliant grasp of astrophysics, which paired him perfectly with his more scholarly Jedi Master. Even Bolla, who had often struggled as an initiate, seemed thrilled with his new duties as a Padawan. He and his master spent much of their time in the Archives, researching. Bolla was never happier than when he had a holocron in his hands. [Star Wars: Padawan]

JEDI SCHOOLING - PREQUELS:

Obi-Wan, in addition to the other languages he learns, is learning binary:      Obi-Wan was still getting the gist of binary, but from what he could tell, the droid was ready to go. [Star Wars: Padawan]

JEDI AND COMMUNITY - PREQUELS:

     When he arrived, he skirted the edges of the extensive [Archives] rooms. He didn't want to attract the attention of Jocasta Nu or any of the other librarians. They'd all be more than eager and willing to help him, but he wanted to do this on his own. And he definitely didn't want to see Bolla.      Fortunately, there was no sign of the other Padawan, and all the librarians were occupied with a group of younglings. The younglings watched, rapt, as Jocasta Nu taught them how to navigate the labyrinthine shelves. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     He'd never been alone. The entire Temple was filled with mentors, teachers, helpers. There had been one time as a youngling when he had gotten sick. He still remembered the comfort of the Temple nurses, gently caring for him and bossing the droids around. It had felt nice to have nothing to do but get better, and to have capable, patient, caring adults there to make sure it happened. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     "Don't talk about it as if you understand! You have no idea what it's been like for us. You've been taken care of your whole life."      "You're right," Obi-Wan said. "I have. And I didn't have to find the Force. It found me.” [Star Wars: Padawan]

JEDI YOUNGLINGS AND PADAWANS ARE ADORABLE HELLIONS - PREQUELS:

     The same liquid Obi-Wan was soaked in flew out of Bolla's mouth, streaming down his scaled green chin as he laughed so hard he couldn't contain it. His fingertips were still suctioned to his own bowl of steaming—and decidedly demon-squid-free—supper.      "Ow," Bolla said, trying not to spill his bowl as he wiped under his mouth. "The spices in this soup hurt my skin!"      Obi-Wan's hands clenched into fists. Pain spiked through his raw and throbbing wrist. "Hot soup also hurts when it splashes all over you while a demon squid tries to inject you with poison!" [Star Wars: Padawan]

     He used the forms to move himself through the waiting creatures. It was hard not to get distracted by success as the creatures around them shifted aside without a noise or a threat, but Obi-Wan had plenty of practice doing his forms when things were chaotic. Though usually that chaos came in the form of other Padawan learners, as opposed to lots of animals with lots of teeth.      Then again, Padawans had teeth, too. They just didn't go to them as their first line of attack and defense. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     Siri nodded. She and Obi-Wan had been close growing up, and he missed that closeness now. He missed all of them, really. They had been a merry band of brats, as Yaddle had once muttered under her breath during a particularly raucous lesson. [Star Wars: Padawan]

Obi-Wan does not miss a beat when trolling younglings, he absolutely has done this on a regular basis all his life:       "Oh, it absolutely is. Your horns will rot, and rockmites will burrow in and set up a nest. Isn't that right, Obi-Wan?"      Obi-Wan blinked in surprise. "Oh, yes. It's a hopeless situation for a warrior like yourself, once rockmites settle in. All you are then is living quarters, and they're terrible tenants. Always making too much noise and keeping you up at night, never cleaning up after themselves. Not to mention the noise of them chewing, chewing, chewing away on your horns." [Star Wars: Padawan]

Obi-Wan acts like this all the time, just casually “yah holding a live bomb helps negotations”:      "The impact might set [this bomb] off and hurt some animals. When we get on the other ship, we can figure out how to disarm it, or find someone who knows. Besides, if all else fails, nothing like holding a bomb to help speed along negotiations." [Star Wars: Padawan]

     Once, his creche had snuck into the lower sections of the Temple where the more aquatically inclined Jedi and younglings spent their time in vast pools. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     Even Bolla would be welcome. Obi-Wan wouldn't ask a gobbler to eat him. Maybe he'd ask one to scare him, though. Just a little. [Star Wars: Padawan]

      Mem actually laughed aloud at that, and it cut right through the tension, like a lightsaber through a block of cheese. Bolla had done that once to see if it would toast the cheese. All it had done was make a mess. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     Obi-Wan answered, distracted as he watched the younglings finish eating and then begin an elaborate game of keep-away with the last piece of fruit. Was he imagining things, or did they all seem to be more coordinated than normal, leaping and twisting and flipping through the air in ways he had seen only among Temple younglings? [Star Wars: Padawan]

     He could treat this like a game, though the potential bomb in his pouch did make the stakes rather higher than they had been at the Temple, when all he faced was Siri's teasing and Prie's transparent attempts to cheat. She hated games so much.      Now that he thought about it, though, he'd had fun with Bolla, hadn't he? They had played jokes on each other all the time. Once, Obi-Wan had swapped Bolla's wash cream for Naboo glitterpaste. Bolla had shimmered for days. He almost laughed out loud, remembering it. Bolla was right—Obi-Wan had been competitive. [Star Wars: Padawan]

    His confidence that everything was going to be okay was disappearing faster than dessert in an initiate dining hall. [Star Wars: Padawan]

JEDI LEAVING THE JEDI ORDER - PREQUELS:

     "We keep our door open to my old master Dooku. Sometimes paths diverge, and he is walking a different one than the rest of us. But he is still welcome. If we cut off everyone whose choices differ from our own, we would stagnate and cease to learn, cease to grow. We must let people choose their path, and let them go as they see fit, but always leave a door open for them to return. Despite what others may call them, no one is ever truly lost. There is always hope in the Force.” [Star Wars: Padawan]

     If anything, Qui-Gon spoke of his old master with respect and admiration.      "He's here often enough," Siri said, folding her arms. "He still meets with the Council on occasion. Just because he's no longer on it—"      "No longer a Jedi," Bolla interjected.      "—doesn't mean he's not welcome here. [Star Wars: Padawan]

SECTION 4 - PSYCHIC SPACE WIZARDS DOING PSYCHIC SPACE WIZARD THINGS: JEDI CARRYING A PSYCHIC WEIGHT/FEELING OTHERS’ WEIGHT ON THEM - PREQUELS:

     Now that Obi-Wan wasn't braced for attack, he realized he didn't sense any threat from the gobbler. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     Anger surrounded that wound and that ship. Anger and fear, two things Lenahra had never had to feel before sentient life landed here.      That anger and fear pulsed up with roiling darkness from the wound. It broke Obi-Wan's heart, tracing that pain as it spread out into the land around it, poisoning the trees, corrupting the gobblers, agitating the avalanches. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     His stomach roiled, head spinning. He took a staggering step away from them and the ship. That sense of wrongness had picked up, thrumming through him, setting every nerve on edge. "Can you feel that?" he asked.      Audj ripped the cloth away from her head tendrils. "Do you sense her?" [Star Wars: Padawan]

Jedi can sense other (likely active) Force-users:       And why, with so many Force users around him, could Obi-Wan not sense them the way he could sense Master Qui-Gon or the other Padawans? And what was that terrible low humming just outside his hearing that he could feel in his teeth? [Star Wars: Padawan]

Obi-Wan is confused why they can’t sense things empathically/psychically if they’re using the Force, and it’s a running theme, showing that Force use pretty much almost always automatically comes with being psychic:      Zae-Brii settled next to Obi-Wan again, turning to look at him. "You seem conflicted," they said softly.      "Can you sense that?" Obi-Wan propped himself up on an elbow, excited. "You can feel my emotional state? So you are using the Force in more than just—" [Star Wars: Padawan]

    "The Force is more than just physically sensing things. It can help you sense moods, calm emotions, connect with—well, almost anything." Obi-Wan was struggling to explain. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     Obi-Wan smashed his hands over his ears, but he could still hear the screaming. He could feel it, like needles in his entire body. "Stop!" he shouted. "Something's wrong!"      [....] Obi-Wan could barely think straight. It was a wonder he was still standing. How were any of them functioning? And how could they not feel that whatever was happening was bad?      [....] Whatever his friends had done, it had hurt...the cave? The water? The roots? The planet? Obi-Wan had no idea. But it was hurting, and Obi-Wan was hurting, too. [Star Wars: Padawan]

JEDI AND KYBER CRYSTALS + LIGHTSABERS - PREQUELS:

     He changed out of his dirty clothes, trying and failing not to mentally curse Bolla. Then he washed and wrapped his wrist. All the initiates and Padawan learners had tidy little burn kits, designed to soothe minor burns from lightsaber learning errors. He hadn't used his in so long, but he was glad to have it now. The gel instantly soothed his inflamed skin. [Star Wars: Padawan]

Apparently lightsaber practice with Padawans can get pretty chaotic:      Obi-Wan had plenty of practice doing his forms when things were chaotic. Though usually that chaos came in the form of other Padawan learners, as opposed to lots of animals with lots of teeth. [Star Wars: Padawan]

JEDI BONDS - PREQUELS:

     He had lost his clan, his Padawan friends were all busy, and the most important bond he had was supposed to be with a Jedi who couldn't even bother to show up when he promised he would. [Star Wars: Padawan]

Jedi younglings have strong bonds with each other, such that Obi-Wan mentally compares them to the family on Lenahra.  He misses that connection multiple times over the course of the novel and not once says he shouldn’t, it’s always with the context that he should feel more connected to people as a Jedi:      Being a Padawan was so unexpectedly lonely. He wasn't connected to Qui-Gon, and he didn't feel connected to the Force, and all his friends were tied to other people more than they'd ever be tied to him again. Becoming a Padawan had always been his goal—the most important step toward his final destiny as a Jedi Knight—so why did it feel so much like a loss?      Maybe that was why he was dreading leaving Lenahra. He wasn't part of this crew the same way he had been part of his youngling clan, but for a while it had almost felt like he was. [Star Wars: Padawan]

SECTION 5 - JEDI TEMPLES: JEDI TEMPLE ON CORUSCANT - MAIN ZIGGURAT - PREQUELS:

     He loved the Temple, now that he was away from it and might not ever get to go back. He loved the pools, the underground rooms, the secret passageways he and his creche mates found, only to realize later they weren't secret at all. He loved the training rooms, loved sparring, loved the exhilaration triggered by the hum of the little droids that shot him until he learned to deflect with his lightsaber. He loved the Archives, loved visiting them and seeing the galaxy spread out, contained, knowable. Right there for them to learn about, right there for them to know how to help. An answer to every question. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     Obi-Wan gleefully made his way down to the Padawan dining hall. If Padawans weren't busy, they could almost always be found eating. [Star Wars: Padawan]

    Once, his creche had snuck into the lower sections of the Temple where the more aquatically inclined Jedi and younglings spent their time in vast pools. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     Obi-Wan followed Qui-Gon out of the Padawan dining hall. They left the lower sections with their vast training rooms and various living areas, then wound their way up toward the gardens Qui-Gon favored. Obi-Wan liked them, as well. Or at least he used to, before they became the location of his most consistent training failures. Now even the fresh scent of a green space triggered a spike of anxiety.      In a quiet corner of the luscious and sprawling gardens, surrounded by vivid orange blossoms and the sound of unseen water, Qui-Gon sat on the floor. [Star Wars: Padawan]

JEDI TEMPLE ON CORUSCANT - LIVING ARRANGEMENTS - PREQUELS:

     Qui-Gon sat on the simple gray cushion he kept in place of more elaborate seating. He had never added furniture for hosting guests. Obi-Wan always felt like he was somehow intruding, like there really was no place for him in Qui-Gon's life. He knew Siri's master had a table for two in her living quarters where they took most meals together, and Prie's had insisted on a Padawan room right next to his own so they could have easier access to each other when studying together. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     All around him were the small noises of other bodies sleeping. It wasn't that keeping him awake—if anything, it was comforting, a reminder of his days bunking with creche mates instead of sleeping alone in his Padawan quarters. [Star Wars: Padawan]

JEDI TEMPLE ON CORUSCANT - KITCHENS - PREQUELS:

     "They don't post guards in the kitchen," Prie snapped. She continued, her voice kind in the most horrifying way as she tried to be supportive. [Star Wars: Padawan]

The Jedi Temple has a variety of foods and spices, there’s always something unusual to try:      Obi-Wan looked in the container. Did they really eat only this? The fruit wasn't terrible, but it was stringy and fibrous. Too much longer here and he'd even be willing to risk tentacles to get some variety. With so many different species living at the Temple, there was always something unusual to try. "Have you ever had anything to eat besides this fruit?"      "It's food," Mem said, scowling at him from behind the container. She always kept something between them.      "Yes, I know, but there are other types of food. Varieties. Textures and flavors and spices and a million ways to prepare them all." [Star Wars: Padawan]

     His confidence that everything was going to be okay was disappearing faster than dessert in an initiate dining hall. [Star Wars: Padawan]

SECTION 6 - JEDI AND THE BIGGER GALAXY: JEDI MAKE FRIENDS WHEREVER THEY GO - PREQUELS:

     Now that Obi-Wan wasn't braced for attack, he realized he didn't sense any threat from the gobbler. He deactivated his saber and hooked it onto his belt, then put one tentative hand on the gobbler's exposed belly. It kicked three legs in the air, twitching them, and made a low rumbling sound that was all satisfaction and no anger. [Star Wars: Padawan]

     "Hello, friends," he said, reaching out a hand. Several little avalanche creatures rolled up, popping out of their tight rolls and nuzzling his extended palm. A gobbler settled on the ground next to him with a sigh, closing its eyes in peaceful rest. The pitcher plants' antennae danced in the air, and even the worms seemed to sway in a rhythm that was, once again, either extremely cute or deeply unnerving. Several flying creatures, small and fragile, broke free from their hiding places among the trees and landed in the clearing, rubbing themselves on the outsides of the pitcher plants and gathering spores they would carry to the trees.      One even settled on Obi-Wan's shoulder, singing high notes in his ear. Obi-Wan whistled back. The gobbler opened one eye, giving a surly huff of air.      "Oh, sorry, were you trying to sleep?" Obi-Wan laughed, patting it on its scaled head. [Star Wars: Padawan]

Obi-Wan makes friends with a whole ass planet:      A piece of the cliff rock beneath the droid shot upward, launching the droid in the most beautiful arc Obi-Wan had ever seen, straight over his head and down into oblivion.      The Force really had been guiding him exactly where he needed to be for Lenahra to use its terrifying power. "Just a reminder," Obi-Wan said, kneeling and patting the rocks beneath him, "that I am your friend." [Star Wars: Padawan]

     "Before I helped you, everything here was ambivalent toward me. Friendly, even. Because I wasn't stealing from the planet, or harming it. It only ever tried to attack me when I was with one of you." [Star Wars: Padawan]

JEDI OUTREACH - PREQUELS:

     He peered around the corner and caught sight of a tall black-cloaked frame and a head of elegant silver hair disappearing through a doorway. Whoever he was, that man knew a lot of the Temple's history. Maybe he was a senator. Politicians weren't common sights in the Temple but weren't unheard of. [Star Wars: Padawan]

#obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #bolla ropal #prie #siri tachi #jedi order #meta #novels #novels: padawan #reference

[quaranmine]

The Incandescence of a Dying Light (Chapter Ten)

Grian finds something.

Chapter Ten: 8,359 words

<< Chapter Nine | Masterpost | Chapter Eleven >>

Hi! I finished this a few weeks ago but sat on it for a while so I could write ahead and reference it. I meant to have art ready for this chapter, but it never materialized so I'm posting it without. I'd rather have the writing done than the art. If I do art later I will add it, both to this post and the masterpost.

No CW for this chapter. A lot happens though! :D

February 2, 1989

Grian is not the sort of person to say he believes in fate—this idea that something is meant to happen, or that all roads taken converge on the same location, or that a random coincidence is a sign of something more. He’s not even trying to be a cynic. He just doesn’t think the patterns exist. 

Sometimes, though, things do work out like that. Sometimes it’s hard to look at something and not see it for the bright, shining ball of sheer rightness that it is. It’s small, but it’s fate. 

It’s meant to be. 

He’s having a moment like that right now, in a very strange place for it. He’s standing on the kitchen tile in wool socks, holding today’s copy of the newspaper. 

It’s freezing outside, both literally and figuratively. A cold front has moved in this week, bringing with it below 0 temperatures—and that’s Farhenheit, which Grian is still clumsily learning—as well as sleet and snow. The streets are slowly turning white with a thin layer of snow. Grian’s not sure if the temperatures right now are record-breaking or not, but they’re certainly colder than average. The kitchen faucet steadily drip-drips in the background, his effort to keep the pipes from freezing.

He still has work in the morning though, because of course he does. 

Grian doesn’t always read the entire newspaper, but he gets a copy of The Denver Post every day anyway. For the past several months he’s been browsing through the want ads in the back. Does he want to quit his current job and get more peace of mind, or does he want to find a second job so that the bills are easier? It’s hard to say, but looking through the advertisements reminds him that there are other options out there. Maybe one day he’ll find something that will dig him out of the hole he’s currently in. 

Well, this newspaper seems to be handing him a shovel. 

It's the Forest Service logo that catches his eye, with its badge and pine tree in the center. They've taken out a relatively large ad in the bottom quarter of one of the sheets. It says:

Hiring NOW! Seasonal positions in the beautiful Rockies!

There's a list of positions available, along with the GS4 hourly pay rates. Trail crew, concessional employees, interpretative ranger, wildland firefighter, fire line digging, and fire lookout. None of them pay well, but it's all above the minimum wage at least.

And, well, the ad also says No experience necessary.

It's the last one that catches his eye. Fire lookout. He's not 100% what the job entails, but he remembers visiting one with Mumbo a few months after they arrived. Just an hour and a half from Denver, it was located in the Pike National Forest. They'd camped on a roadside spot that weekend and hiked a short trail up a mountain to see the lookout. Grian had been more interested in the view of Pikes Peak than anything else, though. 

The ad lists the Pike National Forest as having seasonal positions open, as well as numerous other locations that Grian assumes are also in Colorado somewhere. He recognizes one as being in Montana. Those fade away in his mind though, because of what he notices next. It's like a beacon on the page. 

Shoshone National Forest. 

There's a plan starting to form in his mind. Is it a crazy one? Almost certainly, but the more he thinks about it the less it seems that way. He's all the way out here, and Mumbo is all the way out there. If he gets a job in the same National Forest, he can close that distance.

If he's there he can search. If he's there he can actually find Mumbo himself and bring him home. 

Grian needs to stop relying on the Forest personnel and start relying on himself. He knows of no plans to restart the search in the spring. Right now in the winter, he couldn't even search if he wanted to—most of the roads in the Forest, save the main highway, are seasonally closed due to snow and ice. 

Nobody's helping him anymore. Nobody cares anymore, but Grian does. He always does. Mumbo’s family cares too. He can't fix what went wrong for his family and he can't turn back time to go with Mumbo instead, but maybe he can do this. 

Fire lookout also just seems like the least strenuous job listed. He certainly doesn't think he's cut out for any firefighting, at least. He also suspects it'll involve less interaction with other people than the others. He's not sure he can take other people anymore. The fire lookout he'd visited with Mumbo was a busy destination, but Grian already knows that the area Mumbo went missing in is nearly pure wilderness.

It's the perfect job. It's everything he needs handed to him in one convenient spot. It's almost like fate.

The ad states to send inquiries to an address listed in Lakewood, Colorado, which is in the Denver area. The first address line identifies this as their Region 2 office. Once they receive inquiries, they'll mail an application for him to fill out. There's also a phone number, with the same area code he has. He thinks that’s probably the fastest way to request an application, short of driving to their office himself. 

Grian reaches for a notepad on the counter and starts copying the information down. 

»»———-　　———-««

July 1989

Grian flees the Ranger’s station as fast as possible, bouncing down that 19 mile road to the Thorofare trail in record time. By the time he reaches it his teeth are nearly rattled out of his head, his backpack is strewn across the floorboard, and his hands are still shaking. When he throws the vehicle in park, he just sits there a minute, looking out the windshield at the trees beyond. 

He’s not the only car in the parking lot this time, but it’s not a busy location by any means. The sun is warm and low in the sky, casting long tree shadows across the gravel. 

The manila folder is in the passenger’s seat. Its contents have shifted throughout the journey, and some of the papers have started to slide out. Grian catches a glimpse of words printed on a page, and even that’s enough to cause his heart to stutter. 

This is real. This is important. 

He takes a deep breath, and then gathers the papers back into their folder neatly. He doesn’t look, not yet. He wants to, but he needs time to examine it. He needs to start back toward his lookout while there’s still enough light to do so. He’s all alone out here. Nobody followed him from the ranger’s station. But he’s still running, in a way. 

Grian gathers his things, and starts back down the trail.

He remembers the first time he hiked this trail, heading toward his lookout for the first time. Last time, he’d nearly lost himself in the quiet repetition and the soft rustle of wind in the trees. This time, his mind races and his steps are fast. Last time, it felt like a beginning. This time, it feels like an ending. 

Will this be the last time he hikes up here, he wonders? He might find himself getting an escort back to his car in the next few days. He’ll probably get fired after being caught stealing the documents. At minimum, he’s in trouble. But will any of it matter if he finds Mumbo? He’ll be gone anyway as soon as that happens. Maybe this will be the last time he hikes up here because it’s the last time he’ll ever need to. 

The shadows continue to lengthen and the trail begins to get dark. The sun sets early in the mountains, and even earlier in the forests where the sky is blocked out. He has to start squinting to even make out the bumps and rocks in the trail so he doesn’t trip. 

“I guess it’s time to stop for the night,” he says to himself. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to the lookout by the end of the day anyway. He’d just—he’d just wanted to be on the way home, separated from the chaos he left in his wake and in the relative peace of the forest. His car is a link to the outside world. The trail is just him and his thoughts. He had to put some miles behind him. 

He sets up his tent in a flat clearing, and thinks about Mumbo doing the same last year. He fires up his camp stove and makes something to eat, and thinks about Mumbo doing the same. How many times has he done something out here in the exact way Mumbo has?  

Total darkness falls quickly after that. Soon, the forest is a sea of black, and Grian’s moored only by the single orange light of his lantern. It flickers now and then, casting long shadows. The lighting reminds him of those quintessential campfire ghost stories. He’s solving one on his own right now. 

It’s time to look at the folder. He can’t resist anymore. 

The first thing at the top of the file is a paper with Mumbo’s face on it. His dark eyes stare blankly up at Grian’s, and for a moment Grian just stares back. The rest of the page just has information about the case written on it. It’s formatted like it could be a poster, but there’s too many details for public release. It’s a bit eerie, seeing this all written down again. The sheet lists when Mumbo was reported missing, his height, his weight, his age, his physical features, his vehicle, his planned route, the square miles searched, the search and rescue team involved, everything. 

Grian sets it aside into the darkness, and keeps looking. 

There’s that statement from another hiker who said they saw him on the trail. What were they doing on the closed trail, Grian wonders? Do they realize the way they ensured that everyone thought Mumbo stayed on that trail? It’s dated two days after Mumbo was reported missing. 

There’s several copies of letters printed on official letterhead. The agency seal is at the top. The correspondence is from several offices. The District Ranger’s office in Wapiti. The Shoshone National Forest Supervisor’s Office in Cody. The Region 2 office in Lakewood, Colorado. The Law Enforcement and Investigations Branch in Washington, D.C. 

Grian reads these, but they’re disappointingly dry and full of formal wording. There’s a request for assistance with the case sent to D.C., but everything else in these letters is just reporting. It’s the higher level version of the weather report Grian radios in every morning in his lookout—here’s the situation with the missing person, here’s the actions our office has taken, here’s the results. 

Which are none. There are no results. Mumbo’s still gone. 

Grian wonders if a person from the D.C. investigations office actually came out, or if Mumbo’s case wasn’t deemed important enough for that. 

He flips through more pages. There’s a list of contact information for Mumbo. Grian’s name is first, along with their apartment’s address in Denver and their phone number. Mumbo’s parents are listed next, with their UK address. The page is typewritten but someone has written in pen next to their names to remember the seven hour time difference. Sweet of them. 

He’s looking for a smoking gun, here in the flickering lantern light. 

There has to be one. He knows he’s missing information, and the file is thorough, and there’s a reason they didn’t want to give him the file, so surely, surely, surely. 

There’s correspondence with a search and rescue team that helped out. Grian remembers the matching patches on their jackets. They’d been a volunteer organization. There’s incident command reports in the file too. There’s also a copy of the police report Grian had filed and some correspondence between the Forest Service and the police. It was the Forest’s jurisdiction, in the end. They handled anything that happened on federal land.

There’s minutes and notes from meetings held about the case. There seems to be one from every morning of the search, like a sort of morning goals session. Grian reads over them with interest. They paint an interesting story; it’s a view from the other side. This is what the rangers and search and rescue and the police had thought about Mumbo’s odds. This is where they thought he might have gone, areas he might have hidden, areas he might have gotten hurt, so on. But there’s not a word about Cloud Lake being closed, or any indication of Pinnacles being on the radar at all. 

Why? Aren’t these people professionals? 

The maps are the most interesting part of the file. Grian pores over the page with care, mentally tracing every topo line. He’s got his own map in his backpack still, with him always. It’s very similar to the ones he’s looking at now, but these feel a bit more clinical. They’re put together by professionals who know the land better than him. The extent of the Mink Fire is also mapped, and for the first time Grian can really see how close it was to some of their search areas. 

He’s…glad, almost, that Mumbo wasn’t around there after all when it was burning. 

Eventually, Grian gets to the newer stuff. There’s a note written up of all the details the hikers gave when they reported the bike. It includes when they found it, where they found it, and in what condition. They didn’t see anything else nearby, and didn’t investigate much because the bike looked abandoned and not like someone had left it there recently. 

There’s a memo that a phone call was made to the Investigations Branch again. There’s an authorization for an aerial search. There’s a note that Grian is to be contacted with updates when he is able to be reached, along with Mumbo’s parents. 

Grian reads that, and everything else comes to a screeching halt.

Oh, god. Mumbo’s parents. 

Grian hasn’t called them once all summer. He didn’t tell them about the bike. Some stranger told them about that instead. He hasn’t told them anything about what he’s learned. He sent them a note scribbled on the back of a postcard the day he left to start working at the lookout, and never looked back since. 

What are they thinking right now? How are they holding up? He didn’t even reach out to them on the anniversary of Mumbo’s disappearance back in June. Are they worried about him? They shouldn’t be, they should worry about Mumbo instead, but he knows they’re worried about him anyway. Oh, god, he didn’t even call them. 

He feels sick, but he forces himself to keep going through the folder. It doesn’t matter what Mumbo’s parents think. They’ll be fine if Grian finds their son. 

Nestled into the newer materials is an older paper. It’s a copy of Mumbo’s backcountry permit, issued June 9, 1988. It has the dates for his trip, the campsites he reserved, and the price he paid for them. 

Stapled to it are several more papers. Grian swallows, and flips through them. 

There is an old memo about the Cloud Lake Trail being closed. For the first time, Grian sees more specifics than Scar could give. A rockslide had been triggered over the winter. It wasn’t reported until the spring, when someone first tried to hike the trail after the snow melted. Cloud Lake is an alpine lake, nestled in a bowl surrounded by peaks and inaccessible through other routes. The rockslide had changed the terrain significantly, causing trees to be destroyed and the original trail lost. The trail was to be closed all summer for maintenance. They were going to salvage what parts they could, and reroute others. The new, salvaged trail may no longer be suitable as a mountain biking route given the terrain changes. 

Someone’s underlined the part that says the trail is closed all season. Another report is attached to it. It notes that Mumbo was issued a permit he shouldn’t have been, and that he likely became lost after encountering the rockslide. It’s a record of the decision the search and rescue team made—that there was, apparently, no evidence to suggest Mumbo had done anything but stray off-trail, and that the rockslide actually increased the chances he was in the area.

Increased the chances he was at Cloud Lake? Instead of suggesting he might have gone elsewhere?

The report continues, explaining Mumbo might have become confused in the altered terrain and that searches in that area should be increased since it was the most likely place for him to get lost. They’d actually shifted the focus away from where he was supposed to be. They had the right idea but the wrong answer. Grian’s heart sinks. 

The final document stapled to Mumbo’s backcountry permit is a letter that orders the reinvestigation of the case based on new evidence. The date is recent, from just one month ago when Mumbo’s bike was found by those hikers.

The last paper Grian looks at is another map. This one is also new, issued just a few weeks ago. It denotes the Pinnacles area in minute detail, each and every wrinkle of the topography important. Grian has a map of the Pinnacles area already, but it isn’t this zoomed in at all. There’s a marker placed where Mumbo’s bike was found, along with the trail and other geological features of interest. 

And…that’s it. That’s the entire file. 

He can’t help but feel like there’s something missing. There’s a giant hole at the center of this case. How can this be everything? Where’s the answer, the smoking gun? Where are the puzzle pieces that only Grian is smart enough to piece together? Where’s Mumbo in all of this? 

He was so certain that he would find something here. No, he can still find something here. There’s got to be things here. This is all the information, so that has to mean something right? He rifles through the papers again, looking for anything he’s missed, but no—there isn’t anything. He’s looked at it all. 

It’s just…dry. It’s reports between management chains and records of operation from search and rescue. There’s helicopter authorizations and documentation of search locations that already came up empty. There’s letters and memos and maps and none of it means anything, because Mumbo’s still out there and everybody involved in this case is an idiot, Grian included. 

He sets the folder to the side carefully, even though it’s useless. He presses his face into his hands and doesn’t move for a long time. The shadows flicker. 

»»———-　　———-««

Grian steps out from trees less than a mile from his lookout, and the first thing he sees is a column of smoke. 

He blinks. There’s a ridgeline or two that separates his lookout from the road; it’s part of the reason the hike takes so long. That, along with the canopy of the forest itself, has seemingly obscured this smoke from his view until now, when he’s broken through to the other side. It’s morning, and the sky is otherwise clear and blue today except for the tall smoke that bisects it.

He can tell it’s nearby. A strange mix of dread and adrenaline fills his stomach. 

Grian slings his pack onto the ground and begins to dig through it looking for his radio before realizing it’s still in his side pocket. He turns it on and the light blinks yellow. The battery is low from being off the charger for a few days. He’s never pushed its limits, but it’s not going to die any time soon. 

“Scar,” he says urgently. “I’m nearly back and I see smoke. West of my tower, I think. Do you see it too?”

“G-man?” Scar says a minute later. “You’re back?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m back,” Grian says. He picks his backpack up off the ground and starts rushing down the trail. He needs to get back to the lookout. “Do you see the smoke?”

“What did you do?” Scar asks. 

“The smoke,” Grian insists. 

“I see the smoke, I saw it yesterday,” Scar says. “Called it in. Sorry, I got naming privileges even though it’s definitely in your sector.”

This relieves Grian, but only so much. He grits his teeth a little.  “Okay, so you’re monitoring it. I just wanted to make sure it got called in. I’m nearly at my tower again.” He sighs. “Is it Jonesy Lake? Was it the idiots?”

He knows it’s Jonesy Lake. He knows it’s the idiots. He knows what lies directly west of his tower and he recognizes the directions by the peaks on the horizon. A spark was thrown two days ago, and this is the consequences of it. 

“Yeah, I think it was the idiots,” Scar mutters. “The fire’s on the other side of the lake. They’re sending in a crew for it, I’m surprised you didn’t run into anyone on your way in.”

If it was the idiots’ fault, this fire will be suppressed as quickly as possible. Human-caused fires are in an entirely different category to lightning-caused fires or prescribed burns. With the dryness of July in full force, they’ll have to work hard to keep this one contained. It’s a shame that it had to happen in the first place. Grian should’ve woken up earlier to stop those people. 

“I didn’t see anyone in the parking lot besides a few other cars that belonged to hikers. Maybe they’re running behind me or they’ll helicopter the crew in,” Grian says. “I wouldn’t want to hike carrying that much gear. They could land in the meadow.”

“Some smokejumpers went in yesterday already,” Scar says. “But they’ll need a proper crew to hike in too so the fireline can be established.” He pauses, for what seems like a nearly uncomfortable period of time. The trail has descended back into the trees once more, and pine needles form a springy surface below Grian’s feet as he walks. Finally, Scar adds: “So you’re coming back to the tower?”

“Give me like 15 or 20 minutes and yeah, I’ll be there,” Grian says. 

“I didn’t think you’d be back,” Scar says. 

“Um,” he says. “Not sure why you thought that. I know it's still my time off, but I’m still going to call in smoke I see. I only went into town briefly, I have some places I want to search again.”

“Grian,” Scar says, “you don’t work here anymore.”

He stops dead in the middle of the trail. 

“What?”

“They told me you were fired!” Scar says. “My supervisor called me first thing this morning. You’re not a lookout anymore. I didn’t expect you to come back, I thought they’d like get your stuff for you or whatever. I was worried!”

“What do you mean?” Grian says. “I’m not—nobody told me that, what?”

“Grian,” Scar begs, “what did you do.”

Grian’s heart picks up in pace. It shouldn’t be a surprise, honestly, and yet hearing Scar say it nearly knocks him off his feet. He predicted this for himself yesterday. He’d known that this might be the end. His actions weren’t acceptable in any capacity, outside that of saving Mumbo.

It feels entirely different than it did yesterday, though. It’s entirely different because yesterday he had a smoking gun, and today he doesn’t. It’d be different if there was a big red arrow pointing to where Mumbo was, but there isn’t. He thought it would be fine yesterday, because today he would know what to do, but he doesn’t.

That’s it, isn’t it? All of this for a file that has nothing in it.

“I—I have to get back to my lookout,” he says to Scar. “I’ll tell you more there. I just have to get back first.”

He turns the radio off, slides it into his pocket and sets off down the trail again. His thoughts racing. If he’s fired, then he has to leave. He needs to gather his things back at the tower. Most of his things are already with him in the pack, but he still has things he left in the lookout. He’ll need to get all of that before he leaves. He’ll need to leave because someone will probably come today to make sure he leaves and he doesn’t want to still be here. He’s had too many confrontations already. 

What about the fire? Will they make Scar monitor it, cross referencing with his other neighboring sectors? Will they bring in a volunteer to finish out the rest of the season? 

If he has to leave, where will he go? There’s a map in the folder. It’s the new one, the one that was created after Mumbo’s bike was found. He can follow that. That only gives him a plan for the next day or two, but he can regroup after that. 

And what about after that? And after that and after that? The lookout is his foothold, his plan. The lookout gives him proximity and insight into places to search, and a home base close enough that Grian can work on finding Mumbo every day. 

He’s back to square one now, and it’s all his fault. 

The tower comes into view soon with the frenetic pace Grian is hiking at. It stands tall at the top of the mountain, surrounded by trees. When he looks out the windows, all he sees is sky and mountains and the treetops below him. Now he walks through the trees to its base. He takes the stairs two at a time until he gets to the top, and then pauses at the door. 

He puts his key in slowly. It’ll be the last time he does it. 

The lookout is exactly as he left it a few days ago, and it’s almost exactly as it appeared when he arrived over two months ago. He hasn’t brought many personal effects with him, not any more than he could carry in his original pack. A person like Scar would have accumulated a little more personality in their lookout after working there for 8 seasons. The posters that line the blank parts of the wall were brought in by somebody at some point. The old paperbacks in the bookshelf were, too. 

But Grian? He’s left nothing here. He’s made no impact. 

He sets his pack on the bed and sits down next to it. For a moment, all is still except the twisting smoke to the west. He watches it for a moment. It ranges from brown to tan to grayish—the color smoke is when wood is burning. The volume is disturbing. The Trout Fire didn’t escalate as quickly as this one has appeared to. The Trout Fire smoldered in the damp after-storm undergrowth for a long time, but this one looks large.

He pulls the radio out of the pack’s side pocket once more and turns it on. “Scar,” he says. “I’m back at my lookout now.”

“Are you staying there?” Scar says. 

“I can’t, can I?” he asks. “Won’t they send someone after me? I don’t want to wait for someone to come tell me I’m fired. I’ll just go. I won’t make a fuss.” 

He’s made enough fuss recently. It hardly seems worth it to make more. He doesn’t know if he has it in him to keep fighting this the way he has been.

“Grian,” Scar says, and that’s it. Nothing but his name. 

“I’m sorry,” he confesses. “I think I did do something stupid.”

Scar sighs. “What’d you do? My supervisor didn’t tell me. Believe me, I asked. He just said you were no longer working for the agency and that they’d try to find a volunteer to replace you the rest of the season. I think they would’ve left the tower empty if it weren’t for that new fire they want monitored.”

“What’d you name it, anyway?”

“I’ll trade you the name if you tell me what you did first,” Scar says. He never loses sight of what he wants out of a conversation. It’s something infuriating about him. 

“I took Mumbo’s case file,” he says. “I stole it out of the District Ranger’s desk and got caught. Might have also jumped through a window.”

Scar laughs, a short bright sound that almost startles Grian out of his funk. “A window? Man, I wish I could’ve been there. How’d you manage all of that?”

There’s a ghost of a smile on Grian’s lips. “I turned in the fireworks to him that morning as contraband. He made the mistake of telling me he was taking a half day. Then I just needed an excuse to get back in there while he was gone.”

“Was it a good one?”

“I got caught, didn’t I?” Grian responds drily. “Don’t think I would have chosen a window as an escape route otherwise.”

“Nah,” Scar says. “You might have a heist movie in ya somewhere.” 

“I don’t—I don’t think I had any thought. I just wanted to get that file. I needed to get that file. He told me he couldn’t give it to me, Scar, and I needed that file because I need to know, and I can’t find Mumbo because I don’t know.”

“Do you at least know now?” Scar says quietly. 

“No!” Grian cries. “I don’t know what to do with this information! There’s—there’s no obvious path to follow. I don’t know why they didn’t tell me that the trail was closed, but now I know why they kept searching in the same area. And I know what technical concerns the search and rescue team had about terrain, weather, and wildfires, and I know the name of the investigator who was assigned to the case in D.C., and I know what the National Forest reported to the regional office, and I know when they performed new aerial searches this summer, and I still don’t know where Mumbo is.”

“So there’s nothing in there at all? Are you sure?” Scar asks. “I wish I could look through it.”

“I wish you could too,” Grian responds. 

Scar is quiet for a long moment, and Grian imagines him in his lookout perched on the rocks. What does his little cabin look like? Are there paintings hung on the walls and a cat sleeping on the blanket? Radios and telephones and stacks of papers and Scar’s hiking boots unlaced by the door? He’s never seen it. It has to be more peaceful than Grian’s own place. 

Finally, Scar speaks again. 

“I think you need to stop thinking about the past,” he says. “Who cares about Cloud Lake and all that data in the file? It doesn't matter. We know he isn’t there—we figured that out a while ago! Who cares who’s fault it is, or why someone did or didn’t do something a year ago?”

“I just want it to make sense.”

He tries not to remember the way the District Ranger told him that they’d already given him all the results of the search. He tries not to remember the way incident command had run things by him last year, and the way he finally agreed to end the search once he realized they were going to stop anyway. 

“It never will,” Scar says. “Things are just like that sometimes.”

“I want it to be someone’s fault.”

“Someone other than Mumbo’s fault?”

“It’s not Mumbo’s fault,” Grian says. 

“And it isn’t yours either.”

Grian might have argued about that at some point earlier in the summer. He still isn’t entirely convinced of it. But he’s tired now. He’s so, so tired. Instead he just says, “So it must be their fault.”

“It could be nobody’s fault,” Scar offers tentatively. 

“It has to be their fault,” he replies, doubling down. “It has to be.”

“Did they lie to you?”

“They didn’t tell me about the trail being closed or Mumbo being given a faulty permit,” Grian says. “I consider that a lie.”

“I do too,” Scar says. “Sounds like they fumbled it.”

Grian continues. “But…I don’t think they lied about anything else. Scar, how can that be? I’m supposed to be able to figure it out now. I’m supposed to find all the pieces they didn’t tell me and put them together. They were supposed to be keeping information from me. I don’t—I don’t know how to find him.”

“I’m sorry,” Scar says. “I was…I was really hoping you had something.”

Grian pulls the folder out of his backpack again. He stares at it. “There is a map,” he says. “It’s basically the same as the one I already have, but they’ve actually marked the area where Mumbo’s bike was found instead of me trying to piece it together based on what you told me. I think he must have camped there too. I’m going to follow it.”

“Today?”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go, do I?” Grian stops, and then asks in a small voice: “Are they going to arrest me or something, Scar?”

Scar contemplates this for a moment. Actually, a moment too long to keep Grian balancing his anxiety, if he had anything to say about it. He finally replies, “I don’t think so. I don’t think they’d do that. You didn’t take money or commit fraud or leak confidential information, you just took a file for personal use. It’s not allowed and you might never work here again but I don’t think you’ll get arrested.”

“If I got in trouble they’d just send me right back to England, I guess.”

“Would you hate that?”

“If Mumbo was still here, yeah.”

“If he wasn’t?”

Grian’s silent. 

“Right,” Scar says. “Well, I don’t think you’re going to be arrested.”

“Good,” Grian says quietly. If there’s any good news of the day, that would be it. It’s not that—it’s not that he isn’t willing to get into legal trouble to help Mumbo. It’s that he can’t be of any help at all to Mumbo if that happens.

And, perhaps, he doesn’t want to be in trouble anyway. He’s so tired. He can’t give up on this, not now, not after everything he’s learned and not after all of his setbacks. He can’t give up. But he’s so tired, and he just can’t let anything more get in his way.

He changes the subject,  “I need to go now. I have to get my stuff ready. I can’t stay here anymore.”

“And you’re going to go to Pinnacles again?” Scar asks. 

“Yeah. I’m going to follow the map and try to find his old campsite. I don't know what I’ll do next so don’t ask.”

“Take your radio with you,” Scar says. 

Against his better will, Grian smiles. “Are you encouraging me to steal more government property?”

“I just think you might need it,” Scar says. “I mean, what are they gonna do? Get you fired twice for stealing something? Just take it with you. I’ll keep an eye on things for you. Talk to me. Be careful.”

Grian swallows, suddenly feeling…something. “Thank you,” he says. Then, before he has the chance to turn it off, he remembers: “What did you name the fire?”

“Huh?”

“The fire. You said you’d tell me what name you picked if I told you what I did yesterday.”

“Oh,” Scar says. “I called it the Nitwit fire. You know, because of the idiots.”

Grian smiles a little, despite himself. Yeah, because of the idiots. 

»»———-　　———-««

It’s late afternoon, and Grian is on the Pinnacles trail again. 

The hike isn’t bad at all, but he’s growing weary. He’s been carrying around this pack since this morning, and from yesterday. It’s biting into his shoulders and collarbone. The pack carries basically his entire life at this point; he left as little as possible back in the lookout. He straightened up the place, made it neat, took his things, and left. 

It is also much more obvious now that there is a fire nearby than it was when he was hiking in this morning. The air quality is poor. This trail normally has good views, but right now the good views are only in a specific direction. If Grian faces anywhere in the vicinity of the Nitwit fire, the entire horizon disappears under the blanket of smoke. 

This is not making hiking easier. 

He stops to reexamine the map, and then compare it to the compass he carries. Before Mumbo went missing, he was not experienced at orienteering. Since then, he’s basically taught himself. He falls back on that practice now. It’s not the trail he’s afraid of losing; he knows where he is. It’s where the trail is in relation to where those hikers found Mumbo’s bike. 

He should be close. He’s got to be close. 

This area is mostly forested, except for when the trees break away at points to review a lovely vista that is currently mostly covered in smoke. This is good, because it means it’s sheltered. It’s nicer to camp in a sheltered place than it is an open place—the wind doesn’t mess around on a mountain peak. 

This trail does not have any backcountry campsites on it in this section, but free camping is allowed in Shoshone National Forest. While people need a permit to enter the backcountry, it isn’t required to stay in a designated campsite. If Mumbo followed the rules, then his campsite needs to be 200 feet off the trail. That’s what makes this so difficult; it won’t be right next to the trail. In some places in the wilderness the sightlines are so obscured that he wouldn’t be able to see 200 feet. 

Grian is operating on the assumption that Mumbo did follow the rules. He’s generally too nervous of a person to blatantly break them, so Grian feels safe in this guess. He is also assuming that Mumbo would have chosen his campsite purposefully and not randomly, so he’s looking for spaces that are easy to access. It’s far more likely that there is an already established spot where people have camped before that it is for Mumbo to have bushwhacked his way into a clearing Grian can’t already see. 

Of course, maybe that’s why they haven’t found him. Maybe he is in one of those locations Grian can’t already see. 

Still, Grian focuses on places that look like obvious campsites first. He checks several of these such locations, and comes up empty each time. He can determine pretty quickly whether someone has been camping in the area or not. When he finds Mumbo’s campsite, he’ll know when he sees it. 

He sees it just a few minutes later. 

He's been looking for things that seem out of place, or man-made, in the forest. There, through the trees, he sees what he was looking for: a glimpse of fabric. There’s something red hanging in one of the trees. It’s remarkably well-hidden. If he hadn't looked in just the right direction at the right time, he would have missed it. 

Grian is stepping off the trail before his brain can catch up to his feet. He brushes past bushes, crunches leaves, and steps over a log before he’s there, at the base of this tree. 

There’s a backpack strung up in one of the branches, dangling several feet above Grian’s head. It’s tied in the way that bags are recommended to be tied in bear country—ten feet from the trunk and fifteen feet above the ground. If you are camping for the night and carrying food, this is how you protect your pack in absence of a bear box. 

Grian recognizes this backpack. It’s like the bike all over again. He was with Mumbo when he bought this. 

They’d both gotten backpacks on the same day. Grian’s, the one he’s carrying right now, is dark green and tan. Mumbo’s was red and tan. Mumbo had told Grian that red was really more of his color, but Grian could tell Mumbo secretly liked that color the best. He insisted Mumbo buy that one instead. 

He insisted Mumbo buy the one that is dangling in front of him right now.

He just stares. The bag moves slightly in the breeze.

It’s worn. The color has faded from months of sunlight. The rope that was used to secure it has deteriorated. It seems more brittle than it should be, the material stiff, inflexible, and faded from sunlight. Another winter season and this bag would be on the ground. 

Mumbo’s bag is here, and it clearly hasn’t been moved in a long time. 

Suddenly Grian moves toward the tree, nearly tripping over himself in his haste. He struggles to undo the knot that is securing it—his hands are shaky, why are they so shaky? Just when he’s ready to give up and try to dig through his own pack for a knife he gets it, and instead of letting the pack down gently he misjudges the weight. It lands with a thump on the ground, and Grian stares again. Then he’s rushing over to the bag, slinging his own pack onto the ground, and kneeling next to it. 

He has to open it. It’s Mumbo’s. If he had doubted it before, he can’t now—there’s a name scribbled onto a tag at the back of the bag. This is something that is tangibly his, something that is actually right in front of Grian. It’s heavy. It might have clues in it. But part of Grian hesitates, the same part of him that is fighting to still stay present in the moment. His heart beats in his ears. 

Clearly, the hikers who returned his bike hadn’t been lying. He didn’t realize that he thought they might have been lying until this very moment. Mumbo was in this area. He’d really been on the Pinnacles trail the entire time. But he isn’t here now and hasn’t been for some time. This bag is his, but it’s been abandoned. The bike was rusty and in bad shape, also abandoned. 

This is the second item that belonged to him that has been found in this area. The second item that wasn’t with him. 

Why are his things here, but not him? 

What would make him abandon his things? 

Why did he leave them? 

Why didn’t he come back for them? 

He feels ice cold. Grian opens the bag anyway. There was never an option not to open it, just a moment that he required to steel himself for its contents. 

There’s a lot in the bag. There’s too many things. There’s far too many things. 

He pulls out Mumbo’s camp stove. He pulls out his sleeping bag, and his sleeping pad. He pulls out some of Mumbo’s food—setting the nonperishable things aside and gingerly tossing the very perishable things further away. The bears can eat that now, he doesn’t care anymore. He pulls out some spare bike tools. He pulls out the tent, and some spare clothing. 

There are no water containers in the bag, no lantern or torch, no jacket, no first aid kit, no compass, and no maps. 

Grian sits back on the forest floor, and thinks about what he has found. He has packed his own bags enough times now that he can tell which components are missing. This clearly isn’t everything that Mumbo would have taken with him. Mumbo isn’t here, which means that the remaining things are with him, wherever that is. 

This isn’t Mumbo’s final campsite, either. If Mumbo had been following the guidelines then he strung his bag up 200 feet from where he had slept. Set your camp 200 feet from the trail, and string your food up 200 feet from your campsite. But the material packed in the bag is telling Grian that there is unlikely to be anything left in the spot Mumbo camped. Maybe the campsite is where the hikers had found his bike, the metal sparkling in the sunshine, far enough away that they didn’t notice the bag hanging from the tree. 

He should tell Scar this. He needs to tell anybody this. 

He pulls his radio out again, and flicks it into the on position. “Scar?” Grian calls. “Scar? I found the—I found Mumbo’s campsite, it really is on Pinnacles, I found his bag. It’s here Scar, all of it is here. Scar, I—I need you to be with me.”

Scar is ready on the receiving end, like maybe he’s been waiting this whole time. “Grian?” he responds. “Where are you? You found it?”

“It’s right where it was on the map, right where the hikers said it was. I found his bag.” He can’t take his eyes off it. “Scar, it matches mine but it’s red. We bought it on the same day. It’s his. I know it’s his. His name is on it. We bought it at the same time. I found it. It’s still here. It was hanging in the tree. Like for bears, when you camp, right? It was just hanging there. I found it.”

“I can’t believe you found it. Are you okay?” Scar asks. 

“What’s he going to do without his tent?” Grian says. His voice is rising in pitch. “He needs that, Scar, he needs shelter. He doesn’t have his tent, or his sleeping bag, or his extra clothes, or his food, or, or clearly his bike—it’s all still here.”

“He left it there?” Scar says. “Why did he leave his things?”

Grian knows. He can piece it together by the negative space. What’s missing is what tells the story. That’s the worst part of all of this. He knows. It’s all he’s ever wanted, to know, and it’s carving him inside out. 

He knows. He can’t unknow this. 

“I think he went on a day hike,” he says, speaking fast. “I think he camped here more than one night. I think he left his bike during the day because he wanted to go somewhere he couldn’t ride it. I think he strung up his pack because he didn’t want to carry it with him and needed to keep the food away from the bears. He took his water, he took his maps, he took his flashlight, he took his jacket. He left his sleeping bag and tent.”

“He planned to come back.”

“It’s been over a year,” Grian whispers. 

“I’m sorry,” Scar says. “I’m sorry he didn’t come back.”

“No, no,” Grian says. He’s holding his radio’s call button down with one hand, but the other hand is just gripping the canvas of the backpack. He can’t let go. “This is not it. I still haven’t found him. This is just one more clue.”

“Grian.”

“Stop it,” he says. “Stop it, it’s fine. It’s fine.”

“Grian,” Scar repeats. “You found his campsite, like you wanted. You did that. Can you—can you come back now? What if you came back and searched it more later?”

“There isn’t time,” Grian bites. “I can’t go back anyway. I’m fired. I don’t have any time left. I’ve been waiting too long, this is progress, I can’t—why would I do that? Scar, why would I do that? Why are you asking me to do this?”

“I just don’t think you should be out there anymore right now,” Scar says. “I don’t think it’s really safe right now. I’ve been on the radio all afternoon coordinating for the Nitwit fire. I’m worried about you being out there. Please come back, you found the campsite, you can do this again later.”

“I can’t,” Grian says. 

It has to be now, because this is the most progress he has made in months. It has to be now, because the dominoes are starting to fall and he’s beholden to watch it to its end. He needs to know more than anything else. 

Sometimes, his need to know really is more than anything else. It’s more than his desire to keep a job, it’s more than his desire to please his family and friends, it’s more than his desire to not commit a crime. It might be more than his desire to live. 

“Please,” Scar says. 

“He’s out here. I won’t abandon him.”

“Please,” Scar says. “He isn’t out here, Grian. Not anymore. He hasn’t been for a while.” 

This is a gut punch. Because Grian, in defiance of every personal rule he’s set for himself this past year, actually trusted Scar. 

“Did you ever believe me?” he asks. 

“Of course I did!” Scar says. “I believed in you.”

“But you didn’t believe Mumbo was alive.”

Nobody does. He should have known this, because nobody except Grian does. And Grian, does—does he?

Almost all of Mumbo’s gear is here, and he never came back for it. All of his survival gear is here, and he isn’t. 

“I wanted to help you find him, I wanted to help you figure out what happened to him because you deserved to know. Mumbo deserved to have someone know.  I never—” Scar stops, and doesn’t finish the thought. It’s for the best. There’s a difference between finding someone alive, and finding them dead. There doesn’t have to be a heartbeat attached to unraveling a mystery. Scar only ever claimed to want to help find Mumbo.

 Instead, Scar finishes, “You’re hurting yourself.”

“I’m so close,” he says. “I’m making progress. I’m so close. You can’t stop me, Scar. You aren’t here.”

“I know,” Scar says, and he sounds broken. “I know. Can you just—go back, back to your lookout, back to your car, just anywhere else. We can talk about this later, I’ll talk to you about it later, I’ll help you search more later, I promise I will, but you don’t need to be on this channel anymore. Please switch to the main channel so you can hear everyone’s updates on the fire.”

“You know I can’t,” he says. 

“Then be careful,” Scar pleads. 

“I’m going to find him.”

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