#multiple light sources my worst enemy

[rae-blu]

Wanted to give @lemonomelette's DTIYS a try!

#rae-bluArt #transformers #mtmte rodimus #rodimus #dtiys #LEMONYDTIYS #multiple light sources my worst enemy #first time drawing this goober and he subsequently murdered me #I had a peak at the tag and everyone's drawing Roddy lmao #sorry Lemon im not immune to this idiot /affectionate

[hikari-ni-naritai]

emily's oc masterpost

your quick and easy guide to my various girlies. to be updated as i inevitably make up more Women.

Link to the isekai I'm writing featuring at least one of these girlies

my characters are spawned from 2 sources: ff14 and d&d. my eventual goal is to make girls for every spellcasting class, but we're not quite there yet. some of these girls can be adapted to other settings and systems, but some are too specific. section titles link to my tags for that character. you can also see posts referencing multiple ocs in this tag

Hikari Ni'naritai (aka hikari finalfantasy, my ff14 main)

25, 5'4", cis, aroace, moon miqote

hikari is my most developed girl for obvious reasons. a former conscript of the garlean military in othard, hikari changed her name and defected to eorzea in an attempt to escape her vicious past. if youre not familiar with japanese, 'hikari ni naritai' translates to 'i want to become light', and she's made this a personal creed. her story after defecting follows the events of the game pretty closely, though her meteoric rise to the status of Hero did untold damage to her mental health. her favorite things include fighting, sugary sweets, costuming, and fishing. she started adventuring as a mage, but shes too stupid to cast spells and is much more comfortable in a physical role. her primary driving force is her need to be a perfect, shining example of infallible heroism, and her secondary motivation is redeeming her enemies, because as the worst person to ever walk the earth, she has to believe that everyone can change so she can believe in her own change.

Aoi Furukane (ff14)

28, [height to be updated, shes shorter tho], cis, bisexual polyamorous, au ra

aoi is hikari's normie friend! they met on the ship to vesper bay, separated when aoi continued to limsa, but met back up again later. aoi left a comfortable life in kugane to go where the wind takes her, which happened to be adventuring in eorzea. she was present with hikari through stormblood, but didnt take part in shadowbringers, and now serves in a more supportive role as hikari's problems become more and more world-threatening. she'll probably go to the new world with her for dawntrail though. even when shes not involved though, aoi serves as hikari's confidant and closest friend. she was the first to learn about her past and often lends an ear to her depressed ramblings. aoi's a mage and a healer. her hobbies include scrapbooking, crochet, wearing leather jackets, and helping cid finalfantasy test fucked up motorcycles. i never thought id say this about a character before it became obvious but i imagine her in a relationship with aymeric. she'll probably pick up others but i havent finished playing through the game with her yet so idk who she vibes with besides him.

Euthalia "Lia" Pontikos (D&D Lore Mastery Wizard)

1024, 6', cis, pansexual aromantic, elf

Lia is a monument to my hubris. she is the epitome of what i believe a wizard is. lia is an elf who has exactly two hobbies: studying magic and having weird polymorph sex. she's always looking for new knowledge and experiences, but she has trouble forming connections with others and doesnt emote well. after pioneering and mastering magic as an adventurer, lia grew bored and developed a spell to travel to a different random universe, where she would be able to study the magic there from scratch. she's repeated this process numerous times, visiting a number of worlds and developing a minor interest in cataloguing curious similarities between worlds, until she landed on a world that didn't have magic. luckily, it was technologically advanced enough for her to get a job working on warp speed space travel, and she stole their prototype ship to escape that universe in a desperate gamble. she's now spent the last 500 or so years searching for a way to gain some kind of inborn magic to use in case of similar emergencies. she hasnt managed it yet.

Anestesia "Nest" Blackmoor (D&D Eldritch Knight)

17, 5'7", girl-adjacent (she/they), demisexual lesbian, human

Nest is the daughter of two particularly shitty nobles. Due to their poor behavior as a child, their parents sent them to a remote boarding school to learn proper decorum. this did not work, obviously. they often snuck out to play with a family of orcs they found while exploring the woods around the school, where they learned to fight. nest's primary hobby is getting into unnecessary fist fights, and their second hobby is protecting girls. occasionally these goals align but mostly they just like fighting. surprisingly, nest is actually smart, and they picked up a baseline level of magic at school, which theyve been working to incorporate with their swordplay. nest is still figuring out their sexuality but im sure if they find a girl to protect, that will sort itself out pretty quick.

Violet (D&D Clockwork Soul Sorcerer)

real age ???, physical age 14, 4'8", Girl Presumably, aroace also shes 14 chill, human?

violet's one of the girls who requires a specific setting to work. she was a mid-tier modron in Mechanus in the service of the god of order Primus. modrons can be promoted from one tier to a higher tier when a spot needs filled, and by a similar process violet was 'promoted' to a human, as a sort of experiment to see if order could be restored to the material plane in this way. however, between the confusion of the human experience and her lack of clear orders (she was simply ordered to Increase Order), violet was a failure. she woke up in a dark bedroom, so she put everything in the room in alphabetical order and left through the window, where she walked due north until she luckily came to a city with a temple to primus in it. a worker there named Enba (created by @neurodecadence) took pity on her and allowed her to stay, where she was given a name and earned her keep organising the library every day. after a year, she felt the presence of her god leave her and realised she somehow misunderstood their directions. now she is searching for a new way to bring Order. violet has a curious interest in fashion, though she doesnt understand it at all. she's colourblind. she reorganises her things every day, with different sorting methods. she gives off the air of something very obviously trying to imitate a human girl, but in a cute way rather than an unsettling way.

Valyrie (D&D Vengeance Paladin)

35, 6'3", trans woman, demisexual lesbian, half-elf

valyrie was orphaned when her hometown was burned down. she was rescued by a priestess of a temple and taken in, where she was raised as a holy assassin. she's a proper follower of the god they worship, but her duties to the church come second to her quest for vengeance against the person who destroyed her home and family. officially, her title is Priestess, and she introduces herself as such, but she prefers to wear a priest's outfit. she likes the pants. she keeps most of her body covered to hide her burn scars. valyrie is a dex-based build and her physique is most similar to a starved child stretched on a torture rack. she rarely smiles because her smile scares children. she's soft-spoken but firm. she could sneak a knife into a public bath.

Doctor Anarcha "Ann" Marion (D&D Theurgy Wizard)

30, 5'6", cis, lesbian, human

Ann Marion got her medical license revoked for performing experimental healing magic on a patient, resulting in his death. the patient was doomed anyway, and she only did it as a last resort, but it was determined that the pain experienced by the patient caused him to go into shock, accelerating his death and therefore placing the blame firmly on Dr. Marion. despite the class's roots as a 'wizard with ties to a god', dr marion is more attempting to replicate divine acts through intellectual arcane means. she rejects the gods for creating humanity to be so eminently fallible and murderable. her goal is to overcome death and evil through advanced medical technology. she has since completed her work on her healing spell (including an anesthetic preparation) and continues to experiment with more advanced healing. in its early stages, dr marion's healing spells would leave a visible herringbone-pattern scar, but she's perfected it now. she has several of those scars on left her arm from where she practiced on herself. she has a pet adder that she's modified to replace its venom with healing potion. her primary combat spells are for healing, but she does also work with necrotic spells, poisons, and diseases for damage.

Cassidy (D&D Fey Wanderer Ranger)

32, 5'11", trans woman, lesbian, half-elf

cassidy comes from a very large family. her parents are a legendary 5-member adventuring-party-turned-polycule who've spawned a catastrophic number of exceptional children. each of her dozens of older siblings are independently famous or powerful in some way, including her identical twin brother. cassidy took a more mellow path in life and got married. unfortunately, her wife died in childbirth, and cassidy did not deal with it well. she left their child with her wife's parents and went off to try and find herself adventuring, even though she knows she'll never live up to her family's reputation and skills. she is so tired.

Lady Adela, Witch of the Veil (D&D Peace Domain Cleric)

???, 7', cis, aromantic lesbian, erstwhile elf

Lady Adela is the rotting corpse of an ancient evil reanimated by a god of peace and forced to serve. she hates this so so much. she once subjugated the world as the dreaded Witch of the Veil, leading terrible armies against the forces of good and laying waste to whole cities with a single wave of her staff or swing of her blade. now, adela is forced to do good deeds and protect others under penalty of death. she cannot even suggest violence. as such, she relishes any opportunity to kill afforded to her by her work as an adventurer. her primary goal is to reclaim the relics of her ascension from the old days (her Veil, her Blade, and her Staff) so she can break the god's hold on her and resume her quest of world domination. critically, this will not work.

Elyria (D&D Arcane Trickster Rogue)

23, 5'3", cis (derogatory), bisexual, human

Elyria is an annoying nightmare of a woman who shows up in a number of universes and has been noted by Lia as a 'curious and irritating multiversal semiconstant'. she's an accomplished and deadly assassin with a fanatical obsession with the holiest god she can find in whatever universe has spawned her. she dedicates all her kills to the god she worships and claims her arcane tricks are divine magic granted to her because she is a holy servant of the lord. she frequently uses a nun's habit as a disguise for her work, and she also uses it to indulge in her nun kink. sometimes these two goals intertwine. its her greatest joy to defile the divine with her earnest, misguided worship. whatever god she worships hates her so so much and wants her dead. despite intelligence being her spellcasting ability, i think its her dump stat. shes dumb as hell.

étoile (D&D Undying Patron Warlock, Pact of the Tome)

???, 3', sexless girl, aroace, doll

étoile was created by a mad wizard in the throes of apotheostic euphoria as a tool through which she could maintain a connection to the material world as she ascended to godhood. She can't speak, but she's able to communicate concepts and feelings telepathically. She's not shy per se, but she takes a while to open up to others and doesn't readily offer information about herself. But once she's more comfortable, she's very open about what she wants and how she feels, in her own way. If she likes you, she'll let you write your name in her Cursed Book so she can write messages into your brain or maybe save your life. The wizard god IS potentially watching everything through her eyes, but it's impossible to know when, and étoile wouldn't have told you anyway.

Caroline Miller (D&D College of Lore Bard)

23, 5'5", cis, we'll call her "bicurious", human

Caroline Miller is a normal girl with no problems. She grew up as the middle child (of 5) in a loving family who ran the mill in a midsized rural community. She's very friendly and quick to pick up on others' emotions. She decided to become an adventurer because of a local coming-of-age tradition wherein the mayor, an amateur diviner, foretold that she would make an excellent adventurer. She attended some local seminars on adventuring basics before moving to the city to intern with an established party and get some hands-on experience. With her natural charisma and familiarity with the family lute, she took on the mantle of Bard. At the end of her internship, she celebrated by getting drunk with her party and dying a streak of her hair pink. Now she's looking for a party to call her own.

Robin (Soul bound to Weapon possessing a Body)

???, 5'10", cis, lesbian, looks human at least

Robin is the closest thing I have to a universal game avatar. She began as an NPC in my DnD game, but I've created her in Monster Hunter and Bloodborne and will continue creating her in any action game that lets me. She was created initially as an excuse to have a scythe-wielding character in my game despite scythes being extremely unwieldy, so her general lore is that a powerful wizard bound her soul to a scythe, and then some other more kind wizard created a body she would be able to possess so she could pass as human. Unfortunately, since she needs to maintain contact with the body to possess it, she's had to learn to wield herself as an effective weapon. The exact weapon she's bound to changes from game to game, and her canon is more fluid than most of my other OCs to allow her to fit other settings. She's a generally carefree woman who loves adventure and fighting, and she doesn't tend to think too deeply about anything. Her Monster Hunter incarnation specifically is a chaser.

#ocposting

[jewreallythinkthat]

I think I've worked out part of my issue with a lot of the antisemitism from the performative allyship for Palestinians and that is the disingenuous patronising way these people will talk about October 7th.

This isn't about those who deny it, it's about the people who say "of course I condemn October 7th..." And then try and change the subject because that way they can fully avoid actually acknowledging the level of trauma that was caused to Israelis, and the worldwide Jewish community, that day. It allows them to say to themselves "I am a good person" because they have acknowledged that this happened and now they can say whatever they want, no matter how bigoted, or simply untrue, safe in the knowledge that they can point to this one line and shut down any discussion about the actual details of the atrocities which are still coming to light.

To borrow a phrase so many people like to use to justify the butchering of innocent civilians in Israel, what is happening in Gaza "did not happen in a vacuum". That is not to say that what's happening is acceptable, but it is unbelievably important to preface any discussion about the situation as a whole with the fact that there was a actual caesefire in place on October 6th which was broken by Hamas in the most vile, horrific ways that wouldn't even make it into a horror film because it is unfathomably awful.

To acknowledge the events of October 7th, you MUST talk about the grizzly details of what happened, you must be willing to engage with people who are still coming to grips with losing family, and friends and never feeling safe again because all they have seen since is unbridled glee at the thought of their death. Frankly, I'd never want anyone to be able to empathise with how I have felt as that would mean that have actually experienced the fear that someone will actually kill you because you see people hunting you down in broad daylight because I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.

To flippantly say "of course that was awful, but anyway now I want to talk exclusively about the other side..." When someone Is trying to discuss October 7th itself is just trying to shut up Jews, Israelis, and anyone else who is trying to actually have a productive conversation.

What is happening in Gaza at the moment is a catastrophe and an horrific loss of life; an event which will leave lasting scars of trauma for generations. This doesn't mean it was unprovoked. And saying it wasn't unprovoked is also not saying that it is deserved. This is the fallacy of the argument. Multiple thing can be, and are true. If you only want to consider one, without the others, you are deliberately changing the situation and spreading misinformation.

The whole situation, and in fact the entire history of the middle east is one of the most complicated around the planet. But you cannot pick and choose where to count from just to make your argument work. If you think the only way to engage with people with different opinions to to infantilise, patrinise, and belittle, then you are not doing anything to help anyone. You are cementing yourself as a narrowminded fool with no ability to think for yourself.

If you genuinly think someone else's human rights should be taken away because of something they have done, they why shouldn't yours? It's a slippery slope.

If your opinions are not actually productive and you only get your news from one source, you are genuinely part of the problem. This is not meant to be a call out, it's a plea to actually do genuine research and read what people who disagree with you say with an open mind. You do not have to agree with them, but you have a duty to at least understand other people's point of view if you think you're important enough to be involved in the discussion - especially if it doesn't affect you personally in any way, shape or form.

#jumblr #antisemitism #i/p #shower thoughts tbh #the number of people who habe claimed they are acused of antisemitism to shut them up #and then immediately used this line to shut down any jews talking is insane

[anasui-at-disneyland]

Concepto Sacrógrito/ Sacrieur Concept:

Los Sacrógritos sin la perfecta definición de "lo que no te mata, te hace mas fuerte", entre mas daño les hagan y se mantengan vivos, peor va a ser para sus enemigos, por esa misma razón, hice que mi Sacrógrito asegure tener la mayor cantidad de dolor posible para una pelea.

Su equipo tiene 2 opuestos distintos:

Ropa ligera y bastante desgastada de todas las peleas por las que ha pasado, el valor defensivo de esta es nulo, porque no lo necesita, ya que su fortaleza viene de recibir daño, para devolverlo con aun mas fuerza.

Material de tortura de metal sumamente pesado, lo cual asegura que sin importar lo que haga, tenga una fuente de sufrimiento para incrementar su fuerza, y además pueda usarlo de forma ofensiva, de entre lo que encontramos...

Collar de púas.

Grilletes.

Alambre de púas a rojo vivo que funciona como cinturón.

Grandes clavos que pasan desde la base del pie y sale por su talón.

Varias armas clavadas a su cuerpo, como espadas, dagas, flechas y un hacha (estas no esta diseñadas para que las use en combate, solo como fuente de sufrimiento).

En cuanto a sus habilidades, posee los clásicos castigos de Dofus y Wakfu, los cuales se manifiestas como un par de brazos y látigos que se manifiestan desde sus tatuajes de sangre (Dofus) y tinta (Wakfu), y aparte de estos, su cuerpo tiene la modificación de tener expuesto los músculos, ligamentos y huesos de sus codos y rodillas, permitiéndole dislocar estos para lograr golpes y patadas a distancias y ángulos que normalmente no podría lograr.

___

Sacrieurs are the perfect definition of the phrase "what doesn´t kill you makes you stronger", the more damage they stand while keeping themselves alive, the worst it will be for their enemies, so for that reason, I wanted to secure my sacrieur to get the most pain for a fight as possible.

Her equipmente has 2 opposites:

Light clothing, which is really wore out after all the fights she´s been, it´s defensive value is null, since she doesn´t need it, her strength comes from receiving damage, so she can turn it back stronger.

Torture devices made from heavy metal, which secures that no matter what she does, she´ll have a suffer source to boost her strength, and also being able to use it offensively, they are...

Spike collar

Shackles

Red hot barbed wire that she wears as a belt

Huge nails that goes through the base of her feet and comes out through her heel.

Multiple weapons stabbing her body, such as swords, daggers arrows and an axe (they aren´t designed as a weapon, just as a suffer source).

As her abilities goes, she has the classic punishments from Dofus and Wakfu, which manifests as a pair of arms and whips that comes from her blood tatoos (Dofus) and ink tatoos (Wakfu), aside from that, her body is modified to expose muscles, ligaments and bones on her elbows and knees, letting her dislocate them to achive punches and kicks with distances and angles that would usually be impossible.

___

Su diseño esta basado en mis Sacrogritos Bruiser-Heart (Dofus) y Joyful-Pain (Wakfu), su diseño esta basado en el concepto de un berseker, solo que en vez de no sentir dolor, lo siente, y disfruta cada segundo de este.

Her design is based on both my Sacrieurs Bruiser-Heart (Dofus) and Joyful-Pain (Wakfu), her design is based on the concept of a berseker, but insted of not feeling pain, she feels it, and enjoys every second of it.

Dofus:

Wakfu:

#Dofus #Wakfu #Sacrógrito #Sacrieur

[lightrises]

"Only in allowing her to pass..." — Hornet, The Radiance, and the means by which Hallownest turned its victims against each other

A quick note: I read Hollow Knight as an anti-colonialist text. As such I'll be touching on topics related to colonialism as it's depicted in the world of the game, and said analysis will reflect both a sympathetic take on The Radiance and a critique of The Pale King that won't pull its punches. If this sounds up your alley, hello and thank you for the read! Let us be sad about these bugs together.

———

So!! A while back I realized something about pre-canon that felt rather... "curious" is one way to put it, I think. To wit: for all the effort and scheming and determination The Pale King poured into trying to get rid of The Radiance, neither of his plans involved directly killing her.

Was that his long game? Well, sure, that seems clear enough. His tack changed from luring the moths away from their god and creator to a more literal form of incarceration once the infection became a factor, but at its core the end goal never really changed—The Pale King very sincerely wished to destroy Radiance via obsolescence. The Seer lends us foreshadowing to confirm as much:

[Image descriptions: Two screenshots from Hollow Knight, showing the Seer and Ghost in the Seer's alcove at the Resting Grounds. Across both screenshots, the Seer tells Ghost the following: "None of us can live forever, and so we ask those who survive to remember us. Hold something in your mind and it lives on with you, but forget it and you seal it away forever. That is the only death that matters." End description.]

(Which, by the way and given the context, talk about an extremely unsubtle allusion to cultural genocide huh!!! Whew.)

In any case, we're left with a whole bunch of machinations which build up to... well, two very roundabout attempts at committing deicide. That's kind of weird, all things considered! Why not just do the deed in one fell swoop and get it over with?

This could be for any number of reasons. Maybe the king was devoid of the means to instantly kill another higher being. Maybe his personal sense of scruples stopped him short of signing off on MURDER murder (although, y'know, the aforementioned genocide + eternal imprisonment = still cool and copasectic apparently!). Maybe the long drawn-out cruelty was the point. Maybe the idea of playing fuckign 4D chess with the circumstances was too delicious for him to pass up—that man did love to tinker and stick his claws where they sure as hell didn't belong—or maybe it was a little bit of All The Things. Who knows!!

But interrogating The Pale King's methodology on this count isn't what I'm here for, at least not really. The main reason I raise this question at all is that in her own way, Hornet did too.

"I'd urge you to take that harder path... "

See, going by The Pale King's actions and what The White Lady explicitly says, they both foresaw two outcomes wrt the infection: it can be allowed to spread, or it can be contained. At Teacher's Archives, Quirrel acknowledges the fact that Ghost is expected to do... something about this, but he doesn't elaborate on what HE thinks that's supposed to be apart from the obvious "Gotta bust into Black Egg Temple first". Hornet is the one person who presents to us—to Ghost—what's framed as a third option: confront and destroy the infection at its source.

And she doesn't bring it up like it's just another tactic for Ghost to consider, prim and indifferent to what they would do. She nudges them towards it, actively, up to the point where she throws herself into the fray against Hollow at a juncture that's uniquely dangerous to her and her alone just to make that option feasible.

Even when she's couching it in disclaimers that this is still Ghost's decision to make (and let's be fair, she's extremely not wrong about that lol), no one can pretend Hornet is unbiased. It's obvious in that buttoned-down Hornet kind of way that she is way the hell done with the increasingly tenuous stalemate that's kept Hallownest's desiccated corpse from collapsing in on itself. Personally it's hard for me not to read some Toriel Undertale-esque "My father was too entrenched in his own foolishness to pursue any course of action that would have DEFINITIVELY ended this" shade into her stance here, regardless of whether that's strictly true in canon.

And that bit—Hornet's hopes for an end to Hallownest's stasis, moreover her grim calculation of what needs to be done to get there—that's the bit I find super interesting but likewise tragic and depressing as shit, on multiple levels. In no small part because a) canon itself gestures towards Hornet feeling conflicted about the very plan she's pushing, and moreover b) she has at least two (2) damn good reasons to feel that way.

So, what do I mean by that? Let's look here first:

[Image description: A screenshot from Hollow Knight, of Hornet and Ghost inside the Temple of the Black Egg, standing in front of the unsealed egg itself. Hornet has been struck by the Dream Nail and her dialogue is displayed as follows: "... Could it achieve that impossible thing? Should it?" End description.]

As the curtain is about to drop on things one way or another, Hornet thinks,

... Could it achieve that impossible thing? Should it?

Now, looking at that last bit it's easy to go "Oh no, Hornet's worried that Ghost won't survive killing The Radiance!" And I do think that's part of it: Hornet is, categorically, not her father. By endgame it's clear she's not content to view her Void-borne siblings as tools to be used then disposed of. She's also well aware that as a healthy autonomous Vessel amongst the countless dead, Ghost is the only person left alive who has a fighting chance against The Radiance. Knowing someone is the only qualified candidate for the job doesn't make encouraging them to embrace a probable death sentence any less of a bitter pill to swallow, though. And odds are on that this sentiment extends to Hollow too, who IS going to die no matter what happens here. To put it bluntly, it's more than reasonable to conclude that Hornet hates the absolute fuck out of this.

But I don't think that's all there is to it either. Remember what I said earlier about The Pale King's bids for genocide? Well, it's not like the man deigned to limit his efforts to just the moth tribe.

"We do not choose our mothers... "

On top of everything else—an infected Hallownest being all she's ever known, the fact that she only exists because of the infection, the list goes on—Hornet has spent her life wedged into a position that's been uncomfortable and terminally unglamorous at best: she is both a daughter of her father's kingdom and of Deepnest.

Deepnest, which like the moths and many others was here long before the wyrm and his lady wife swanned onto the scene and the God Become Bug laid claim to everything the Light touched plus a considerable amount of change. THAT Deepnest, which has fought claw and thread to retain its sovereignty against same-said settler king, and for which Herrah not only surrendered her life but also agreed to bed her worst enemy, all in hopes of securing a viable future for her people (put a pin in that last part by the way, I'll come back to it soon).

Two Worlds, One Family (Ft. An Indigenous Woman Trying Her Damndest To Work With What She's Got Versus An Imperialist Who Only Signed Up For This Because He Needed The Political Favor THAT Badly, So It's The Height Of Dysfunctional Actually). Fun times!!!!

The baggage this entails for Hornet is gnarly enough without implications made by The White Lady and the pre-canon timeline of events and even Team Cherry's dev notes that the king may well have looked at baby Hornet, gone "YOINK", then ensured she spent the lion's share of her childhood reared within the pearly auspices of his Pale Court*. That would be rather advantageous for Him Specifically after all, the potential to mold a born foe into a future ally and even have her trained in combat under the same tutelage as her doomed sibling. And far be it from him to stop a grown Hornet—his own flesh and blood too!—from making Deepnest her forever home if she so pleased. He totally wouldn't be reneging on his "fair bargain made" by doing this one simple thing until Hornet came of age, not t e c h nic c a l l y.

If that is indeed the case, there's a non-zero chance Hornet's formative years were a hot mess of cultural alienation and being a good deal more privy than most to just how much of a bastard her father could be. There's an equally non-zero chance that at some point she stood or sat within earshot as The Pale King finally, finally dropped all pretense and euphemism to name the Light for precisely what (for who) it was.

See, in conjunction with the question that started this whole dang train of thought I've been asking this one too: Does Hornet know? When she speaks of confronting "the heart of [the] infection" does she know she's talking about not just a literal person but someone very specific? The Radiance, who god though she may be shares skin in the game alongside Hornet as a native woman screwed over by the same settler king, likewise deprived of her kin and saddled with a life gone horrendously pear-shaped?

I'll assume for the sake of exploring the possibility and because I think it's a likely one anyway that yes, Hornet does know. She knows, and despite everything can't help empathizing. She might even look at Radiance and see bits and pieces both reflected and slightly inversed in her own mother: Radiance was forced to the sidelines while her people—her children, the brood she was meant to lead and care for—died out under The Pale King's rule, and it's no stretch to assume she's at least as upset about that as she has been about everything else; Herrah too took drastic measures for her people's sake, trying to head off annihilation by relegating herself to the sidelines in an act that was as much calculated risk as an attempt to find wiggle room and leverage in the face of a nasty proposition.

A calculated risk that, if things continue as they are, might well amount to nothing as the rest of Deepnest gets eaten alive by the infection. It survived The Pale King's advances for so so long, only to fall here. Herrah's sacrifice would be for naught; the other tribes—themselves the king's victims—would keep succumbing to the infection too.

And this is where things fall apart.

"... or the circumstance into which we are born."

Let's be clear: I think Hornet is wise enough to know what's what here, that all the carnage and suffering falls on her father's head for starting this slow-motion trainwreck in the first place. Hallownest wasn't always Hallownest. This domain was Radiance's home first, along with many others. It was the worm-turned-king who rolled up on the scene unsolicited and decided this was a ""'problem""" that had to be """solved""".

But the fact of the matter is that he's gone and The Radiance is here, raging, seemingly inconsolable. Above and beyond being Deepnest's rightful heir, Hornet isn't in a position to countenance more splash damage even if the grief and fury fueling it makes perfect sense. She can understand without ever bringing herself to love Radiance, and she can bend her knee to practicality even if she hates the everloving shit out of it because the fact that it "has" to end this way isn't fair.

This lends itself to one last awful conclusion: that Hornet has probably considered and (rightly or wrongly) discarded the possibility that Radiance can be saved, at least not without dragging more collateral along for the ride. If even her mother and every other enemy to the king seemed to dismiss talking Radiance down as an option way back when... well. Why should Hornet hope for any better after things have escalated so far?

Again, it's practical. A practical net good is what Hornet strives for. And again, it fucking sucks.

For extra tragedy points, this makes Hornet's extended crypticness around Ghost followed by her last minute casting about for a reason to tell them "Wait, don't; not just yet" that she never voices even more of a gut punch. She can't bring herself to burden Ghost with the context that haunts her so, least of all when it might weaken their resolve to go through with what (she thinks) needs doing.

It's the "same song, different verse" which led to the mantis tribe and Deepnest being pitted against each other: Hallownest rigged the game so that two women who could have been powerful allies—who have a mutual vested interest in driving out settler rule—wound up poised as enemies instead. And how awful is that? The king for all his being extremely fucking dead still gets the last laugh, because outside of a miracle the game never manifests Hornet can salvage what her mother started and look forward to a future where Deepnest pulls itself back from the brink if and only if The Radiance dies.

Resolution comes at the price of a completed genocide. Add two more dead siblings to the unconscionable pile thereof, while we're at it. That's what it boils down to whether or not Hornet can bear to articulate it as such, and there's no grace or even a properly bittersweet ending to wring from this clusterfuck. And that is rough.

———

* This has been better explained elsewhere, but a quick rundown: The White Lady tells Ghost that Hornet and Herrah "were permitted little time together." On its surface this can be taken to mean that Hornet was still very young when Herrah was shipped off to Eternal Dreamland—except this doesn't jive with the fact that we meet Hornet as an adult. If the stasis kicked in once the Dreamers went to their rest, which in turn halted the aging process for every living bug in Hallownest, AND before all this Hornet experienced little by the way of quality time with her birth mother... I think you can see where I'm going with this.

To top it off we've got Team Cherry weighing in ominously from their dev notes on Herrah: "As part of the agreement for her alliance and her role as a dreamer, King gave her a child (Hornet). Was she allowed to keep this child or was she taken away?" This isn't confirmation by itself of course, but given additional canon details (see above): Can I get a "yikes" in the chat fellas.

#hollow knight #hornet (hollow knight) #hornet hollow knight #hk hornet #the radiance #hk radiance #herrah #hk herrah #hollow knight meta #sup folks it's been a minute since i dropped a whole dang essay but Here We Go!!!!!!

[my-writings-and-musings]

Hey I read your oxygen loss scenarios and I absolutely loved them, even if they made me really sad at first, but I still love them entirely! If you're still doing them, could you do one with Fort Max?

Thanks a bunch! Angst with a happy ending is kind of my favorite thing in the world, so I'm glad others feel the same! It absolutely works well with our big Maxy boy!

Here's the other posts for this prompt!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: You're Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Fort Max

·Somehow, he's fallen for a being so small they fit in his cupped palms, and yet the two of you fit together so well he can't complain. Though he's a tad bit overprotective, you don't mind at all, and understand what drives the behavior even if he doesn't say it. What matters is that he's improving, and adores you so much every little activity is better in his mind when done with you, even just chilling and managing his security reports. That's why you're on his desk at the moment, relaxing on the human sized furniture he occasionally uses as paperweights when you're not around. Every so often you'll look up and find him glancing your way with a loving expression just visible through his attempt to remain neutral, after which point he'll dart his optics back to his work and pretend he's been busy the whole time. You can't help but think you're the reason he can't get much done.

·In addition to his filing reports, he has his monitors open at all times, each of which feeds him the security information for the various sections and systems of the ship. Most of the time there's nothing to report, save for hijinks going wrong or an experiment accidentally knocking things offline, yet he's always quick to respond. The rapid reactions to potential threats has put him on surprisingly good terms with Red Alert. Thus you're none too alarmed when he sees something unusual on one data feed and immediately gets to investigating, his large digits tapping away for answers while he vocalizes his thought process. Curious as always as to what might be the source of the issue, you move in wordlessly and are placed on his shoulder without having to ask. Having you watch him work always makes him feel quite proud after all.

·Initially the issue appears to be a simple bug in the programming of the communication systems, an inconvenient but none too hard to fix dilemma. Seeking out the source however, he finds none of the expected signs of an internal miscalculation, and before you can ask what's wrong he's messaging the bridge with a full alert. You listen as an audibly erratic signal forces him to keep things brief; emergency defense units and protocols need to be scrambled now, the ship is suffering an encrypted hack and a physical assault is undoubtedly inbound. While you feel instinctive fear at every word, somehow being in his presence and seeing him take command lessens that to a remarkable extent, for not much can get through your partner when he's on alert. Unfortunately for him he's anything but unafraid.

·When the line inevitably goes dead, he actually struggles to recall the next phase of his crisis response plans, as having you right beside him makes doing anything but protecting his delicate partner seem insignificant. Only by reminding himself that protecting you requires him to protect the ship is he able to get moving. Double checking your position on his shoulder, he clarifies that you'll be going to the nearest secure zone before he heads off to check various rendezvous points, as the crew is trained for this and the silent alarm has already been triggered. As you settle in on the broad expanse beside his helm, he just manages to grab the last of his spare weapons before a cataclysmic tremor rocks the ship. An audible rumbling through the ship blocks out all sound as you briefly tumble through the air.

·Catching you in a mad dash, he bombards you with questions as to possible injuries before you can clarify that you're fine. Tragically the relief on his face isn't something you get to enjoy for long. A second metallic rumble through the Lost Light turns his expression to a scowl. The enemy must have snagged them with a kind of anchor, he surmises, which no doubt means they'll be boarding in very short order. He needs to get you out of here now. Knowing that high stress situations can exhaust him in ways he's still not used to, you hold one of his digits tightly from your place on his palm. You're ready, you assure him, and you know he's going to be just fine. It works in the smallest way. The two of you draw strength from shared reassuring smiles before he leaves the safety of his office to start moving.

·As usual, he's not really afraid for his own sake as he moves through the hallways, due in no small part to his massive size and strength. For you though, he has to at least admit to himself that he's terrified. Hearing and feeling the tremor as intensely as he did means it must have come from somewhere uncomfortably close by, and that means the likelihood of encountering a threat in the next few minutes was remarkably high. The intensity of Cybertronian combat made such an occurrence not unlikely to be fatal for squishy little you. Yet as he recalls the closest potential drop off spot he can secure you at, he can't help but think on his role as a protector of this ship and how his responsibilities seem divided at the moment. While he has to keep you from harm, the same is true of the crew, and he can hardly ensure your safety if the ship is compromised...

·The decision to take the route he settles on is one not made easily, but it still feels proper. By going a less direct way he can check on multiple key locations only a little out of the way, helping to ensure that protocol is being followed and that the enemy isn't overwhelming their defenses. He can get you somewhere safe, while protecting you and the rest of the crew at once. It doesn't feel ideal, but he has to do his job, right? You can't be safe without the ship, unlike a Cybertronian who can at least endure the vacuum of space and even has a fair chance of surviving a planets fiery atmosphere... Primus, he can't handle thinking about those things. Focusing on getting you to safety along with everyone else is what he has to think of instead, especially with the sensation of your tiny body so warm and delicate in his palm, which he tries to also draw comfort from.

·As you trust him above all else, you don't ask any questions as he moves through the ship, sneaking as much as a bot of his size can in the open hallways. You're hardly scared for your own sake with Fort Max holding you close to his spark. In fact, the world beyond doesn't seem scary at all from this perspective. Being such a massive bot equals out to a rather strong spark, and as close to it as you are, you can feel it humming even now. It's kind of like a miniature sun with how warm and alive it makes you feel. Silly as it sounds, you do believe it feels stronger than when you first met him, as if the healing he's done since has made his very spirit grow brighter. For the sake of that hard earned recovery you hope everything goes smoothly today. It's enough to make you hold on to him a little tighter, just to convey your support.

·Eons of training prevent him from being taken by surprise, but he feels far from prepared as he detects enemy movement down a hallway. The aliens are large, numerous, and well armed. Regardless of their intent to take prisoners, he knows he can't let them go, as the mere possibility of them hurting even a single being on this ship is too much for him to take. Knowing they have to be taken care of is unfortunate with you in his care, as he doesn't want you to see him in combat. But... he trusts himself enough not to take it too far, a realization that makes it easier for him to whisper a warning and secure you in a tiny maintenance hatch, from which you will be safe and hopefully won't observe much. As soon as you promise to stay put he takes off to end the threat as quickly as he can.

·From your spot the chaos of battle is mostly the noises that reach your ears, but through them you're still able to recognize Fort Max as the imminent victor, if only because the fight is so one sided he hardly has to make a sound. It still makes you curl up in the little shelter and hope for it to be over as soon as possible. Yet the darkness of the maintenance shaft makes worrying a tad bit difficult... in fact, it makes you oddly tired. Exhaustion you didn't even notice is suddenly weighing you down, making the battle seem so far away and insignificant, all despite how clearly you realize now isn't the time to sleep. Perhaps the rush of all this has simply worn you down?

·Max finishes off the batch of enemies quickly and without a trace of the usual thrill of battle. He doesn't want to enjoy combat the way he once did, or feel the way he used to when he was at his worst and tearing foes apart actually felt good... As soon as the last enemy is down he returns to you, actually thinking he made the right call for once in checking key locations like this, for now this batch won't be able to hurt anyone. Though his usual luck shows through when he returns and finds you extremely groggy, to the point that even as a bot without medical experience he knows something is wrong, and he scoops you up immediately to start looking for injuries. You react amicably to his concern and assure him you're fine, but your breathless tone gives away that something is obviously affecting your respiration. In a series of horrifying realizations he connects the dots.

·The ship being hacked must have affected everything, including the life support systems you need for the air to be breathable, which he should have considered as a possibility from the very beginning. Without a moment to spare, he tucks you close to his chest and charges towards the medical bay. It's painfully obvious to him now that he made the wrong decision. He should have prioritized you over everything, should have anticipated there being additional threats, should have done a million other things... Hearing your weak reassurance only makes it hurt more. Unable to comprehend what's going on and not getting anything from him but whispered apologies, you just try to stay awake to support him as he runs through the ship at full speed. The only thing that stops him is an ambush from a full legion of enemies, though thankfully he still has enough of a grip to shelter you when the energy weapons start firing. Your tiny form is shielded by the impenetrable armor of his curled body as he briefly retreats to secure you once again, but this time his charge into combat is anything but controlled.

·From a little cubby you watch him unleash total vengeance on a horde of unprepared combatants, his incredible strength reducing enemy weapons and bodies to shreds without a trace of hesitation. Yet as you slip from consciousness there's no fear in your heart. Only sadness, for his sake and your own, as his resurfaced trauma tears into him yet again. It's worse than that though, he blames himself almost more than the enemies he tears apart, because protecting you was supposed to be his job. He'd told himself you needed the ship secure to be safe, but had he even considered the air you needed to breathe? It should have been obvious. Fighting somehow dulls the pain, as if the little rush of every kill helps his processor subdue the ache, and as the enemy needs to die regardless for their crimes against you he doesn't hesitate to go all in. The heated blur of battle overtakes him so completely he almost doesn't realize when he's joined by backup Autobots on his security team until there's not an enemy left to kill.

·Your last conscious perception is his face as strong hands lift you gently, followed by muffled instructions to get you to the medical bay. Some part of you knows he won't rest until every threat on the ship is dealt with, and you're correct. As you're whisked away to the medical bay, he takes no prisoners as he initiates his defense, rallying the gathering bots to annihilate those who would have turned them into a quick profit. But with every blow, he can only think of you. As he's cheered on by his fellows, he can only think of you. At the final declaration of victory and the rebooting of the systems, he can only think of you... Not even knowing the medics saved you and that you'll fully recover assuages his guilt. If anything, as he washes the blood off his servos and forgoes the festivities to sit by your bedside, he's certain he's never felt more like a monster...

·When you wake up there's a lovely warmth all around you, coupled with a gentle hum through the air that you know has been there in the past. Open eyes let you see a familiar wall of a chest, and through the oxygen mask you happily whisper Fort Max's name, making the hulking bot twitch in surprise as he looks down to you. It's with a smile you realize he was dozing with you shielded beneath his tented form. Remembering the haze of chaos and danger, you reach out to him as he offers a gentle hand to adjust the blankets laid loosely over your small body, but despite the fact that you're both okay you only see sadness in his optics. At your first prompt he lightly deflects with a sad smile. At your second his face falls and the whole ordeal comes tumbling out of him, with particular emphasis on how he failed to protect you when it truly mattered, something that impacts him so greatly he sheds a few tears as he lays his head in his hand.

·Heart breaking at the sight, you quickly point out the multiple times he charged into battle for you, though he counters by recalling how savagely he killed his enemies in front of you. It was the kind of brutality he'd thought himself beyond, but if he isn't, how can he be safe for you? It takes all the strength you have to sit up and firmly request his attention. At what point, you ask, were any of his actions not in some way motivated by the greater good? Even if he didn't know everything that was going to happen, did he once abandon you? Of course not, because he's a good bot, and you know he is. Before he can bring up one more point about his perceived failure you remind him that he's come impossibly far, enough that no setback today could undo his progress, and that you're so proud of him. As the weakness forces you to lie back and he leans in with concern, you smile and point out that everything he's done has been to the benefit of others, whether it be you or the crew. For once he can't argue. Curling protectively around you once more, he decides to let himself be happy that you're safe, shaken but reassured by your faith in him. More than anything, it gives him faith in himself.

#transformers #maccadam #idw #lost light #ll #tf #mtmte #more than meets the eye #fort max x reader #fortress maximus #fortress maximus x reader #fort max #human reader #self insert #my writing #my asks #anon #prompts

[here4theheartbreak]

An Inconvenient Attachment (myg+jjk+pjm)

AO3 Link Here!

Relationships: Jimin x Jungkook x Yoongi, Jimin x Jungkook, Jungkook x Yoongi, minor Hoseok x Seokjin Genre: smut, fantasy/supernatural au, fluff, enemies to lovers, roommates to lovers, friends to lovers Final Rating: Explicit Word Count (Chapter): ~15k

Tags (more added as needed): werewolf Jungkook, vampire Yoongi, human Jimin, kumiho Seokjin, selkie Hoseok, snowed in, handcuffed together, friends with benefits, polyamory, past violence, past murder, past abuse, discussion of murder, semi-graphic descriptions of violence, blood drinking, threesome, sharing a bed, multiple partners, dirty talk, oral sex, coming untouched

Summary: When Yoongi agreed to go on a two week winter getaway to the mountains with his roommates, he expected peace, quiet, and plenty of alone time with his roommate with benefits Jungkook. What he did not expect was to be handcuffed to his worst enemy for the duration of the trip. He figured it couldn't get worse... Until it did.

A/N: This fic was written for the @thebtswritersclub​ Fic Exchange for sujigguk! Sorry it was so late, I hope you enjoy it! | This fic also fulfills the July Prompt for X to Lovers! A/N 2: Banner made by @imyourhobiii - thank you so much!  A/N 3: This also fills  the square Road Trip for @bangtanwritingbingo​ 

As a vampire, one would think the worst thing about living with a human would be the temptation, the bloodlust. But for Yoongi… The worst part of living with Jimin was that he was the most fucking annoying, ridiculous human that Yoongi had ever had the misfortune of meeting in sixty years of life. Draining him would be a welcomed reprieve.

However, the man Yoongi had – rather surprisingly – fallen in love with was also in love with the trifling human and his stupid pretty mouth and his horribly adorable hands, and – no. Yoongi was not wandering down that path again.

Jimin was the son of vampire hunters. Murders of so many of Yoongi’s kind. And though Jimin had sworn that he had renounced their way of thinking and was estranged from them… Born into a family of killers made him just as untrustworthy, in Yoongi’s mind. Certain crimes simply could not be repented for and yes, sometimes the son did need to bear the crimes of the father.

Yoongi tolerated Jimin for Jungkook’s sake, the dopey wolf boy that had wriggled into his undead heart; and for their fourth roommate – Jin – a Kumiho with an odd affection for the human. In fact, Yoongi often felt like he was the only one that didn’t like Jimin. 

And recently, more and more, Yoongi was starting to wonder if Jimin hated him as much as he hated Jimin. Especially lately; it seemed like everything Jimin did was done specifically to annoy Yoongi.

Which is likely why Yoongi ended up in a car, sitting next to his mortal (literally) enemy, on the way to an isolated cabin that Jin’s boyfriend, Hoseok owned. Jin had suggested it a few days after a particularly aggressive fight between Jimin and he, where he not only showed his fangs, but may or may not have thrown an open bag of blood at Jimin. 

The trip hadn’t been so bad so far, Yoongi had to admit. They were driving straight through, and the drive was two days away from the city. Jimin was forced into a seat next to Yoongi, but was keeping to himself, reading and staring out the window or talking to Jungkook. Jungkook was in the front with Jin and was, at that very moment, pestering the hell out of the fox shifter.

Normally Yoongi would jump in and soothe the excitable wolf’s mood, but at the moment… Let them both suffer. This diabolical idea to get him to play nice with Jimin was likely both of theirs, so they could deal. Even immortality could not cure Yoongi’s sense of petty revenge. 

Yoongi reached into the small bag next to his feet, withdrawing a bag of chilled blood. He grimaced. A microwave would have been nice; but they weren’t scheduled to stop for quite some time – and only really to let the more humanlike ones stretch their legs. He pinched open the tip of the bag, tilting it back into his mouth. The sticky, sickly sweet fluid hit his tongue. Cold or not, it was the most refreshing thing he’d had in hours. He was able to go quite a number of days without blood, but dammit if it wasn’t uncomfortable. 

As he drank, he glanced over at Jimin from the corner of his eye. Jimin was reading a book, paying him no attention. How could a human pay someone no attention when they were drinking blood right next to him? Yoongi righted the bag, scowling down at it. Why did he want Jimin to pay attention to him? He hoped to disturb the human, perhaps. That’s what it was. Make Jimin uncomfortable and prove he secretly hated vampires just like his parents. Maybe then Jin and Jungkook wouldn’t love him so much. 

“Jiminie,” Jungkook whined. He turned in his seat, leaning into the back. “Yoongi…”

“What?” Jimin and Yoongi answered at nearly the same time.

“Will you two go for a run with me in the woods next time we stop? I’m itchy.”

Yoongi scoffed. “Why bother asking the human? He can’t keep up with you like I can.” 

Jimin shifted a little. He smiled softly. “He’s right.”

“So? I’ll let you ride on my back,” Jungkook offered.

“That’s not running with you then. Yoongi can go with you.”

Jungkook pouted a little but nodded. He wriggled himself further between the seats, grabbing for Jimin. Before he could get him, Jin’s hand emerged. He grabbed the collar of Jungkook’s shirt and yanked him back. “Stop distracting the driver!” He snapped.

“You bully,” Jungkook complained, smacking at him despite his warning. The two very quickly fell into another playful bicker, leaving Yoongi in peace with his thoughts. Next to him, Yoongi felt Jimin shift, and then again, before hearing him sigh. He looked over. Jimin had curled up onto the seat, bunching a hoodie under his head against the window to rest. He was getting on toward nighttime, Yoongi supposed. Day and night blended for him these days – and Jungkook was naturally nocturnal. It must have been hard to be where Jimin was, he thought as he watched Jimin sleep. A home with three creatures so different from himself. And in love – or at least lust – with one of them. A pang of sympathy shot through Yoongi’s chest. He grimaced at himself. What was he doing. Maybe there was something in the car, poisoning him. Pitying the rotten human? Never. Yoongi scoffed to himself. He nuzzled himself into the other corner of the seat, pulling his legs up under him. He “accidentally” let one slip, kicking Jimin squarely in the thigh. Jimin shot upright, grimacing. From his mostly closed lids, Yoongi could see Jimin look down at his leg where he’d been kicked, then over at Yoongi. Instead of getting angry, much to Yoongi’s surprise (and discomfort), Jimin smiled. He shook his head and laid back down, snuggling against the hoodie. 

Being technically undead, Yoongi didn’t require sleep. He had periods where he needed to rest, usually early in the morning around sunrise, but not necessarily sleep in the human sense of the phrase. But boy, did he like it. Sleeping was great. Six to eight hours of just not existing, having fun dreams, waking up to a new day – Yoongi couldn’t ever imagine willingly not sleeping like some of his vampire friends. However, much like a human who slept away a third of their hours, sleeping made Yoongi absolutely ravenous upon waking. Which wasn’t normally a problem. 

Except when he was in a car. With a living being that was filled with his only food source. And somehow in his sleep had wound up snuggling against said obnoxious human’s stupidly soft neck. 

Yoongi felt his fangs poking his bottom lip before he realized it. He inhaled sharply. Oh, that smelled delicious. His mouth watered in response, and he inhaled again, opening his mouth instinctively. 

His eyes fluttered open and he shifted, hunting for the source of the bittersweet, rich aroma. Instead of a particularly juicy steak or even a cup of blood warmed thoughtfully by Jungkook, Yoongi’s gaze fell on Jimin. The human’s shaggy black hair had fallen over his eyes as he slept, his plush lips wet and parted. His pulse was throbbing firm and steady by Yoongi’s ear. 

He shot up, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the car. 

Jin glanced back. “Maggot bite your ass or something?” He teased.

“I’ll bite you,” Yoongi grumbled. He wriggled as far away from Jimin and his stupid sweet smelling blood as he could before digging into his bag and pulling out the other satchel of blood he’d stored in it. It should be all he needed until they reached the cabin, and once there they had packed a solid supply of blood bags for him. Good too – because based on the weather as the car climbed into the mountains, Yoongi wondered if they might not be snowed in for a few days. 

The final rest stop was only a few more miles. Jin pulled in, stepping out to stretch his legs. Jungkook bounded out himself, taking a quick peek to make sure they were alone. He stripped shamelessly out of his clothing, piling it on the seat and seemingly unaware of the brisk chill in the air. 

“Yoongi!” He called, nearly bouncing with excitement and wiggling out of his skin.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Yoongi grumped, crawling out of the car himself. He watched Jungkook shift from a two-legged ball of energy into a massive four legged one, unable to keep from smiling. In wolf form, Jungkook was just as stunning as his human form. Dark black fur streaked with blonde, massive paws and bright hazel eyes that shone in the light. He barked sharply before taking off toward the tree line. Yoongi followed, catching up and keeping up easily as they darted through the trees. 

The two ran for a solid twenty minutes, looping through the woods and back toward the rest stop. As they neared the tree line, Jungkook skidded to a stop, his large paws kicking up dirt and leaves as he did. Yoongi stopped next to him, walking at a slower pace out of the trees. The rest area was still empty, save for their vehicle. Jin was nowhere to be found; probably had taken the time to have his own running session in the woods. 

In the fading light of the sunset, Yoongi could see Jimin. He’d wandered a few yards from the car and was lying on a picnic table. His shaggy hair flopped back from his forehead, toned arms up and bulging just a little as he cradled the back of his head against the cold wood. One knee up, leg of his shorts falling back to reveal his smooth thigh, thick with well-defined muscles. He had to be freezing, lying outside in shorts – but they all had weird temperature mechanics after living with Jungkook so long

Next to Yoongi, Jungkook shifted, and Yoongi scoffed. “All that working out the human does, and he still can’t begin to keep up with you.”

When Jungkook didn’t answer, Yoongi glanced over, a little surprised to see Jungkook scowling. 

“What? I’m not wrong. He’ll never give you all you need – You love running.”

“What makes you think I need a running partner to have a happy relationship? Jimin can’t run as fast as you or me, but he supports me in other ways.”

“A relationship now, huh?” Yoongi sniped. “Since when was he more than your human toy?”

“Yoongi—” Jungkook hesitated then shook his head. He grabbed his clothes from the car and began tugging them on. “You know I’m fucking both of you. It’s never bothered you before.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Fine. You’ve never been so malicious about it before. Why are you so mean to him anyways? Jimin’s never done anything but try to be kind to you.”

“You know why, Jungkook. If his family were wolf hunters, maybe you’d understand.”

“He’s never hurt one of your kind.”

“Sins of the father, just like his family believes.”

“And he disowned his family because he believes all creatures, living or undead, deserve a chance to be happy. Jin would have never let him into our house if he sensed even a whisper of hatred from that man. And I’m not as stupid as you think either. I may not be some wise old vampire but I am half canine. And we can sense intentions pretty well. You’d do better to try and get along with Jimin.” Jungkook yanked his shirt on, patting his hair down. “Never know, maybe you’d learn something you didn’t expect about him.”

“Oh, like what?” Yoongi grunted, leaning against the car.

“Not my place to say,” Jungkook said simply. “But you’ll never find out if you keep being a needless jerk.”

He blinked in surprise at Jungkook’s unexpected snap, watching him pad off toward where Jimin was lying. Yoongi opted instead to get back into the vehicle, sensing that he’d pushed his annoyance a bit too far with the younger this time. 

When Jin returned from his own jaunt in the forest, Jimin and Jungkook returned to the car. Jimin slid into the seat next to Yoongi, offering a soft smile at him. Yoongi remained stone faced. Did he feel a little bad for what he said? Not that he’d ever admit. 

Jungkook wriggled in next to Jimin, forcing him over closer to Yoongi.

“Wh—” “Wanna sit back here for a bit,” Jungkook said simply.

“I can move up front,” Jimin offered.

“No. I wanna sit by you both.”

“Then get between us.” “Jin’s about to start driving. I’ll crawl over later. I can reach you both.” Jungkook reached over and grabbed Yoongi’s hand for emphasis. Yoongi frowned but said nothing more, though he did twine his fingers with Jungkook’s, squeezing firmly once. 

Yoongi let his mind wander as they began to drive once more, staring out the window as the last rays of the day slid down below the horizon. He felt Jungkook’s hand shift away from his, resting on his thigh for a moment before disappearing. There was a slight shuffle, and then Yoongi felt something thin and cold hit his wrist and click. He looked down, brows shooting up when he realized his wrist now had an accessory… A steel handcuff. And said handcuff was attached to someone else… Park Jimin. 

Yoongi looked over at Jungkook, who was grinning in his sheepish, bunny-rabbit way.

“Kook…”

“What did you do?” Jimin asked, lifting his wrist gently. He tugged Yoongi’s wrist up as he did.

“Well, you two avoid each other unless you’re fighting. And you’d do that even while we’re up in the cabin. Which is the literal reason we’re going up there, to try and help you two find a common ground. So, now you have no choice but to play nice or end up not being able to do anything.” Jungkook crossed his arms, looking smug as he spoke.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yoongi grumbled. He grabbed the bracelet of the cuffs. “I can’t just snap—” As he spoke, he tugged and twisted at the metal, expecting it to bend open in his grip. 

“I can break—” He tried the chain. 

“No, you can’t,” Jungkook said simply. “I got monster proof cuffs. Amazing what you can find with a little clever digging these days.”

“Jungkook,” Jimin whispered. He shook his head. “Don’t do this to him.” He offered his wrist as well as he could. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s not meant to be, Jimin,” Jungkook said, his smile fading. “You’re my best friend. So is Yoongi. And you both know my feelings run much deeper than that for you both.”

“Then let yourself have those feelings, you don’t need to stress him out like this.”

“I can’t. Even though we may share those feelings… I can’t date one or both of you knowing you hate each other. It doesn’t feel right to me, and I’m not going to have a peaceful relationship knowing that.”

“Date?” Yoongi perked up. “You want to date us?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Maybe. I guess it’ll depend on how this goes. How hard you’re willing to try to get along. I won’t lose either one of you. Whether it progresses from our current sort of friends with benefits deal to more…” Jungkook drifted off. “I’ll unlock the cuffs when we’re back in the car on the way home. Not a minute sooner.”

Jimin sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging. 

Yoongi bit back a sharp remark about how disappointed he looked – he was disappointed too. Despite the true point of this trip, Yoongi had been looking forward to a little quiet time with Jungkook. Perhaps even, yes, pushing the idea of taking their relationship from friends with benefits to a little more. He knew Jimin felt the same – or at least very similar – he wasn’t blind. He also knew Jungkook was unlikely to choose one over the other. He hadn’t in the three years they’d kept up this quirky triangle.

Yoongi tugged at the cuffs once more, weakly, pulling Jimin’s wrist along with it. 

Jimin looked over at him, his plush lips stuck out in a bit of a pout. “I’ll try not to be too much of a bother,” he mumbled. Rather demurely, given what Yoongi knew of his normal sparky attitude. 

“I’ve got a vampire hunter hanging off my wrist,” Yoongi snarked. “It’s already a bother.”

Jimin’s cheek twitched as he clenched his jaw. He ground his teeth for a moment, eyes darkening. He wanted to say something. Yoongi almost wished he would. Let them start to fight – Jungkook might see this was a stupid idea if he did and take off these god-awful cuffs sooner. 

But Jimin’s jaw released at the same time his shoulders relaxed again. He faced forward, holding his cuffed wrist delicately on his leg, as close to Yoongi as possible without touching him. Probably to give him more freedom of movement; not that the six-inch chain offered much room for that at all without yanking on one another. 

Yoongi huffed, glaring around Jimin at Jungkook, who looked far too smug for what he’d done. He offered a wide, crinkly nosed grin and wriggled down in his seat, snuggling up against Jimin’s shoulder and burying his nose in his neck, his preferred sleeping position with anyone. 

Yoongi slouched as far away from Jimin as he could and glared out the window. The weight of the cuff on his wrist made it impossible to relax, sleep, or even let his mind wander to anything except that. And the stupid human. He hated how calm Jimin was about this whole thing. And his pleading. On Yoongi’s behalf. What the hell was that? 

Don’t do this to him.

Yoongi didn’t need the human defending him. He was able to stand up for himself. Why did Jimin sound so genuinely stressed out? Oh.

Yoongi scoffed. He looked over at Jimin. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not gonna fucking eat you.”

Jimin blinked at him owlishly. “What?”

“You panicking about the cuffs. I’m sure you think I’m gonna lose my mind and become some blood lust crazy monster just because I’m in proximity to a human.”

“No?” Jimin frowned. “You live with me and have never acted like that. Why would I think that?”

“You know why,” Yoongi tried to cross his arms, only succeeding in tugging Jimin’s wrist onto his lap. 

Jimin let himself be tugged, still frowning in confusion at Yoongi. “I really don’t,” he finally said.

“It’s the reason you people kill my kind. You’re scared of us.”

“Maybe,” Jimin said. He shrugged. “I can’t say why humans kill vampires. Or wolves or selkies or any creatures. It’s not for food. Maybe it is fear. Maybe it’s sport.”

“Why don’t you just go ask your dad?” 

“Yoongi…” Jimin’s voice was soft, gentle – as if he were talking to a scared animal. “I understand why you hate me. I would too, if I were in your place. I know you’re not happy with this.”

“Can say that again. Can’t even itch my fucking nose. At least your dominant hand is free, what am I supposed to do?”

“Well, what do you actually do that you can’t do with your left?”

Yoongi turned a glare onto Jimin, who grinned. “You weren’t intending to jerk off with me right next to you, were you?” He teased.

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed. “Like I could get it up with you breathing down my neck, hunter,” he muttered. 

“I told you I’d try not to be much of a bother, and I will do my best. I know you love Jungkook. We just need to keep it together for the week up here, for him. That’s it. Then we can go back to comfortable avoidance.”

Yoongi looked out the window. Jimin was right – he knew that much, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing Yoongi say it. So, he said nothing. They were climbing in elevation now, the trees thickening around the road as it became progressively bumpier. Patches of snow began to appear along the sides of the road and through the trees, and – entirely unsurprising to Yoongi – flakes began to drift down around the car. 

The flakes were coming down in far larger clumps, piling a few inches thick by the time they pulled into the cabin. Jin sighed heavily, letting go of the steering wheel. He shook his hands out, rubbing at his palms. 

“Those last few miles were hell,” he commented.

“We’re not going to be able to get back down if this keeps up,” Jungkook agreed.

The cabin door burst open as he did, and out rushed Hoseok. Jin climbed out of the car just in time to catch the leaping man, pressing a deep kiss to his mouth. Jungkook leapt out as well, grabbing Hoseok in a tight hug the moment Jin released him. 

Yoongi watched the trio, his heart giving an uncomfortable little clench. All shifters. He and Jimin were the oddballs out in this group. He looked through the window. The trees were thick, and heavy with snow, obscuring the view almost entirely around them. Behind the large cabin with a friendly tendril of smoke rising from the chimney, was a stunning, still lake. Despite the grey coloring of the slowly rising sun, it was breathtaking. The water was crystal clear, nearly mirror like. A crust of ice had formed a few feet from the shore toward the center, and Yoongi assumed it would nearly encompass the lake within a few days if the snowfall kept up. 

“You should probably get out first,” Jimin mumbled, pulling Yoongi out of his admiration of the scenery. He yanked open the door and climbed out, his left arm trailing back as he waited for Jimin to climb out behind him. 

This was going to be dreadful. Everything would need to be done at a snail’s pace, compared to his normal speed, having the human hanging off his wrist.

Hoseok came around the side of the car, stopping short. His eyes drifted down to the cuffs connecting their wrists. Yoongi opened his mouth, about to warn or threaten the seal shifter away from a tease, when Hoseok began to laugh, nearly doubling over in pure joy at the predicament the two had found themselves in. 

Jimin sighed heavily. “Lay off, Hobi,” he said, speaking loudly enough to be heard over Hoseok’s cackling. 

Hoseok righted himself, still holding his stomach and wiping tears. He shook his head, small titters of laughter emerging even as he tried to contain them.

“What a situation, eh?”

“It’s not funny,” Jimin stepped forward. “This isn’t fun for us. The least you could do is not laugh at us.”

“Oh come on, you won’t mind it all that much,” Hoseok slapped Jimin on the shoulder. “God knows you’ve been fond of living dead boy for ages.”

Yoongi looked over fast enough to see Jimin’s eyes bulge. He swiped at Hoseok with his free left, baring his teeth in the universal sign for ‘shut it’.

Fond of the living dead boy? Well the only undead here was Yoongi… But Jimin wasn’t fond of him. Jimin could barely tolerate him, in the same way he could barely tolerate Jimin…. Right?

“Let’s just unpack the stuff,” Jimin said quickly. He turned to circle around the car, jerking Yoongi’s arm.

Yoongi glared, and Jimin winced. “Sorry. This is… Taking some getting used to.”

“Why don’t we take out the luggage,” Jungkook offered. He and Jin had come around behind Hoseok. “You two go relax.”

“When you pull out the cooler, I need to get a bag. I’m starving,” Yoongi said. He stepped up to Jimin and looked at him numbly. “You need to walk now too.” He tried to sound patronizing, but it came off as far more gentle than he intended.

Jimin obeyed, walking with Yoongi toward the cabin. Yoongi could feel him shiver, and scowled. 

“You shouldn’t have worn shorts,” he scolded with no venom, pulling open the cabin door. “You knew it was snowy.”

“I didn’t figure I’d be outside much without Jungkook,” Jimin said, entering. He headed immediately toward the fireplace, once more yanking Yoongi, who’d stayed behind to shut the door. Yoongi hissed, baring his fangs.

“Would you stop that?!”

“I’m sorry!” Jimin snapped back. “This is an adjustment for us both. Stop yelling at me and learn to work with me, dammit.”

Yoongi smirked. That was the Jimin he knew better. 

“Now,” Jimin continued before Yoongi could speak. “I’m cold. I want to go sit by the fire and warm up. Is that okay?”

“Fine.” Yoongi nodded. He walked with Jimin toward the fire, taking a seat on the ground with him. Jimin wrapped one arm around his knees, resting his chin on them. He let his other arm hang outward awkwardly, trying not to disturb Yoongi’s positioning. 

Yoongi frowned. “You can put your arm down, it’s okay.”  He tugged lightly as he spoke, setting his arm on his leg. Jimin let his arm drop to the ground. He continued to stare at the fire. Yoongi took the opportunity to look openly at the human. He really was quite striking; neatly sculpted brows and soft, plush lips, a gentle, sloping jawline that had just enough definition to trace. Light shadow and contour decorated his nearly flawless skin; Yoongi knew he spent quite a good chunk of time perfecting a casual makeup look despite not needing it. He must have touched up during their last rest stop. A simple earring – some dangling gold chain, sprinkled with tiny gems on each link. And – despite a two-day drive – smooth, perfect hair, shaggy enough to fall over his brows, but currently brushed back from Jimin’s own nervous twitch of carding his fingers through his locks. His throat was smooth – and Yoongi could trace the patterns of his strong veins and along the curve of his neck. How soft the skin looked behind his ear, how strong and dark that one particular vein looked… 

Yoongi’s fangs poked his bottom lip, snapping him out of whatever fantasy he’d fallen into. He drew in a sharp breath and straightened up, drawing Jimin’s attention.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Yoongi mumbled, covering his mouth.

“Something wrong? Do you feel sick?” Jimin paused. “Can vampires puke?”

“We can,” Yoongi mumbled. “But I don’t feel sick.”

“Oh.” Jimin gasped then. “Oh!”

“What’s that oh for,” Yoongi mocked, glaring over at him.

“Are you hungry? Your voice is muffled – your fangs. We should see if Jungkook has grabbed your cooler yet.” 

Jimin rose into a crouch. “Come on.”

“You can’t go back out in shorts,” Yoongi argued, letting his hand drop. He saw Jimin’s gaze drop to his mouth, where his canines poked from his top lip. He had always hated his fangs – their size was almost comical in his small mouth. Jimin’s heartrate picked up.

“I’m not going to bite you.”

“I trust you. I’ve just never been so close when you’ve had them out,” Jimin confessed. “They’re… Big.”

“All the better to eat you with, as the big bad wolf would say.” Yoongi hissed, but Jimin only laughed. 

“That’s our Jungkook. You’re a little less intimidating.”

“How is a vampire less intimidating than an overgrown puppy dog?” Yoongi asked, offended. 

“Because you won’t hurt me. Jungkook could hurt me accidentally just jumping on me too hard when he gets excited. He forgets his own strength. You’ve had years to practice control.”

“How do you know I won’t hurt you? I eat your species.”

“You drink human blood. But I know damn well that doesn’t mean you eat or even hurt humans. You drink bagged blood.”

“Oh, do you think they had easily accessible bagged blood when I first turned? So, what, that I woke from my grave and trotted to the local monster shop and ordered a pint of A positive over a sundae? No. I woke up and I ripped out the throat of the nearest human I could find.”

“You were newly turned. You were ravenous. Nobody would blame a hungry bear for attacking.”

“Oh, so I’m nothing more than an animal to you?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m on your side, Yoongi, when will you see that?”

“Do you know how to kill a vampire, Jimin?”

Jimin seemed to freeze at that, his lips parted just a bit. He looked over at Yoongi, who sat still, waiting.

“I—”

“Answer me honestly. Do you know how to kill a vampire?”

Jimin hung his head. “Yes, I do.”

“Not so easy, is it?” Yoongi pressed. “Not like the movies. A stake to the heart, sunlight. We don’t die easy, do we, Jimin?”

Jimin shifted, pulling his knees tighter to his chest. “It’s horrible,” he choked.

“Oh, is it? Have you seen it done?”

“Yes.”

“And did you have any part in it?”

Jimin looked over. “My father brought me hunting on my sixteenth birthday. It was his gift to me. He handed me a knife, and he told me that I was going to become a man.” 

“I bet he did.” Yoongi looked away.

“She only looked about twenty,” Jimin continued, staring at the fire. “Gorgeous, honestly. Her eyes were big and dark, and her hair was long – it looked so soft. I was meant to be the bait. I was so scared, when I went up to her in the cafe. I grew up hearing the tales about how even the smell of a human could make a vampire go crazy. I thought for sure she’d try to rip my throat out.”

“What happened?” Yoongi asked. He looked over at Jimin. He wasn’t sure why he asked. He knew what happened. She died. And Jimin and his father killed her. Maybe a sick pleasure, knowing firsthand how brutal the human attached to his wrist was. Jimin continued to stare at the fire. 

“She bought me a fucking soda. To this day, Cherry Coke makes me nauseous. She bought me a soda and she talked to me while I drank it. She offered to walk me home, because it was getting late. So, I let her. I figured now. Here is where she’ll try to rip my throat out. Dig her claws into me and show me her fangs and hurt me.”

“And did she?”

“No.” Jimin swallowed hard. “She walked me almost all the way home, polite as can be, when my father came up to us. She knew, I think. When she saw him – what he was. She looked so… Scared. She tried to run. Not attack – run.

I stepped between her and my father. I knew it was wrong, right then. But he shoved me down and told me I was a disappointment. That he’d give me one more chance. And then he caught her. She was fast but he… He had a bow. It was dipped in –”

“I know. A paralyzing agent.”

“Yeah. She went down and he caught her and dragged her back to me. She was pleading for her life. Swore she didn’t eat humans. He didn’t listen. He grabbed me and he dragged us both into the woods where he’d set up his work space. Tied her down to a bench… And told me to start cutting.”

Yoongi’s stomach lurched. He wanted to scream, to run, to strike. He looked over at Jimin, ready to snap a cruel comment, but froze. Jimin was still staring at the fire. But as Yoongi watched, he saw wet streaks running down Jimin’s cheek. He was crying. 

“I told him no,” Jimin choked. “I told him I couldn’t. She wasn’t a danger. She was nice.” Jimin sniffled. “He hit me. And he shoved me against a tree. And he told me if I was too big of a pansy to do it, I could watch it.”

Jimin wiped his cheeks with his free hand. He sniffled again and looked over at Yoongi. “The night of my sixteenth birthday I watched him cut her to pieces with a knife. The sound of her flesh and muscles tearing still haunts me. I tried to stop him over and over, and all he did was push me back. Hit me. Tell me to man up. Remind me of how monstrous your kind is. And then he handed me the matches. To burn her body. I threw them into the woods and I ran.” 

Jimin smiled weakly. “The fact that I couldn’t save Siyeon still haunts me.”

“What happened after?” Yoongi asked.

“I got a bus ticket to Seoul. And I found a nice couple that took me in. Let me finish school, gave me a space to hide. They were vampires, Yoongi. Ages sixteen and seventeen, I lived with vampires – and I thought of them as parents. A—” Jimin swallowed hard. “And then my actual parents found me. And I watched… Once more… The brutality of hunting your kind. And once again I couldn’t save them. I was too weak. But I disowned my parents at that very moment. I told them I supported vampires and I would never pick up a weapon against them. And that I wasn’t their son anymore. Oh… They thought I’d been turned, even tried to prove it. For two weeks they waited for my fangs to come out. And when they didn’t… They left me. I’ve been on my own ever since.”

Yoongi remained silent, unsure how to respond. Part of him wanted to pop off with something smart and sassy – but he could feel the waves of emotion coming from Jimin. His story wasn’t a lie to gain sympathy. He believed what he was saying. So Yoongi said nothing.

Jimin looked over. Despite his eyes, red rimmed from the tears that streaked his cheeks, he was still stunning. “I’ve never told anybody the whole truth. Not even Jungkook knows.”

“Why?” Yoongi asked. His mouth had gone strangely dry. 

“Because it’s not something I like to relive. It’s not something I want people to know. How weak I was. How helpless… To save them.”

“Hunters are brutal,” Yoongi said. He shrugged. “If you’d done more to interfere… Parents or not, I don’t know that you’d be here now.”

“Probably not. My father always said I was too weak to be his. So that’s my story, Yoongi. That’s why I’m here, living with Jin and Jungkook and you.”

“Why did you tell me? We aren’t friends. We aren’t even that close.”

“Well, for the next two weeks – maybe three – we’re literally stuck together. I know you hate me. And that’s fine, I get it. But I wanted you to know what really happened.”

Yoongi opened his mouth to respond when the door burst open. Jungkook entered, lugging the cooler that housed Yoongi’s meals for the next few weeks. “That snow is intense,” Jungkook commented, shaking the snow from his shaggy brown hair like cold dandruff. 

“It is,” Jin agreed, lugging in a pile of bags. Hoseok followed after and kicked the door shut, his own arms full of bags. 

“You three are gonna be out here at least three weeks based on this – it’s cold enough in these mountains that we don’t melt fast.”

“Will you have enough food?” Jin worried, looking at Yoongi. He nodded. 

“The supply I gave you to put in there should last comfortably two and a half, and I can go without for about a week without losing my mind, so I’ll just space the bags out. Would you put it in the snow outside though? The ice is probably melted by now so you’ll wanna keep it cold. And I don’t think Hoseok wants gallons of blood in his fridge.”

“Rather not,” Hoseok agreed, padding past them into a bedroom with some of the bags. “So Jin will sleep with me, and I did have two rooms set up for you and Jimin, but seeing as you’re sharing,” he smirked at them from around the door, “Jungkook can take the extra room as needed.” 

“Do you wanna get some?” Jimin asked. Yoongi looked away from the cooler and nodded. “Yeah, a little.”

“Let’s go. Jungkook, hold on a sec,” Jimin called. He and Yoongi rose and headed over. Jungkook turned around, setting the cooler on the ground with a thud. 

Yoongi crouched and opened it, scowling. Inside – rather than his pint bags of blood, floating in a pool of water, he saw nothing but vacuum sealed packages of… Meat. 

“Jungkook…”

Yoongi reached in, pawing through the meat. Jimin crouched with him, reaching in as well.

“Jungkook, you didn’t—” Jimin whispered. Jungkook looked down. His eyes bulged.

“No—Oh no.” He sank down next to the others and began yanking the meat packages out. “No, no… Jin!” Jungkook whipped around. “You grabbed the wrong cooler!”

Jin turned from where he’d been talking with Hoseok, his smile slowly fading. “No – The red one. Yoongi said the blood was in the red one by the window.”

“The living room window, Jin,” Yoongi hissed. 

“My meats – My dried and cured meats – they were in the other red cooler by the kitchen window,” Jungkook said, holding up one of the bags.

Jin’s smile disappeared completely. “Oh no,” he whispered. He looked at Yoongi. “We have to go back down.”

“You can’t,” Hoseok said, grabbing Jin’s arm. “Look at that snowfall. You’d wreck in a heartbeat.”

“He can’t go without food, Hobi,” Jin cried.

“I’ll be okay,” Yoongi said. Truthfully, he didn’t know if he would. The very thought of starving sent a chill down his spine. He knew what happened to vampires who were too deeply starved. 

“I can head down the mountain,” he suggested.

“You’d freeze to death,” Jimin argued.

“I’m already dead.”

“You’d still never make it. Dead and immortal doesn’t make you immune to dying in other ways. And freezing solid and shattering is a pretty shitty way to go.”

“Jimin,” Yoongi said softly. “You know better than anyone…”

“We might not be up here three weeks. Maybe the snow will melt faster, and we can get you back to the city.”

“Can’t you eat an animal?” Hoseok offered. “Surely Jungkook could catch something—”

“I can’t drink animal blood. Old vampire myth to make us seem less scary. It makes us very sick. Monster blood is worse, so don’t get any ideas there either.”

“But you drink human blood,” Jimin said softly.

“From a bag.” Yoongi looked over as he spoke, his voice firm. He hated the way Jimin was looking at him. “I’m not even that hungry right now. Jungkook…” He looked to Jungkook, who looked close to tears himself. “I promise I won’t fight with Jimin. Would you please unhandcuff us?”

“Well that takes the fun out of it,” Jungkook pouted.

“Jungkook… You need to uncuff me from him.”

Jungkook scowled at that, looking between Jimin and Yoongi. “But—”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi strained. “I am a vampire. Who is in an isolated cabin with no food. Potentially for multiple weeks. You need to uncuff me from this human.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened a little as the pieces seemed to fall into place. “Oh God, of course. Right, hold on.” He scrambled to his feet and rushed to where his bags were, beginning to dig around in one. “Yoongi…” Jimin reached over, setting his free hand on Yoongi’s upper arm. “You won’t hurt me. I trust you.”

“Jimin—”

“I was going to offer anyways. You know… If you were hungry…”

“Don’t.”

The small smile that had been curving Jimin’s mouth disappeared immediately at Yoongi’s tone. Yoongi looked away, hating the way his heart did a little flip at the idea. Sinking his fangs into Jimin’s smooth neck… Tasting that sweet blood… Hearing Jimin’s breath pick up… Yoongi shook his head slightly to knock the image from his mind. He was supposed to hate the stupid human, not want to feed off him. 

He hadn’t bitten a living human since he was turned. The shame he felt even now, after all these years, when he thought about what he did when he first turned… Once he was in his right mind he swore he’d rather die than feed from a living human. And he’d kept that promise to himself all these years. Easily, really. Even when blood was hard to come by – the simple thought of feeding on a person was enough to turn his stomach. 

So then why did his mind keep drifting to Jimin? The way his veins painted delicate, abstract art on his neck… The sweet, rich scent of his life fluid just… There, right under the surface. The way it made Yoongi’s mouth water, his fangs slipping down, his own pulse – slow and lethargic most of the time – picking up like a horny schoolboy…

“Jungkook,” Yoongi snapped. Jungkook looked up from where he was digging in a second bag. His hair was plastered over his forehead, a look of desperation in his eyes.

“Still looking, it’s a small key. Give me just one more minute, no worries,” he said. Though, any monster in the room could hear his panic… There was a definite need to worry. 

“What if we drove down slow?” Jin offered. “You and me could go, Yoongi. You won’t bite me, and even if you get… very hungry—”

Yoongi nodded. “That could work… But if the car gets stuck, you’ll die a hell of a lot faster than I will. It’d be safer for me to creep down on my own.”

“Except the the gas station on the way up the mountain will be closed and you’ll use far more than usual creeping. You’d be on empty long before you get to civilization,” Hoseok argued. “Not to mention, when you get around people again, then what? You eat the first one you see?”

“Hey!” Jimin’s sharp tone surprised Yoongi. He looked over.

“He’s not going to go feral.”

“Jimin…”

“You won’t. You guys keep talking like you have no food.” Jimin tilted his head a little, exposing his neck. “Hate me or not, I’m still a perfectly viable meal. And you can easily feed from me without hurting me. I know you can control yourself.”

“No.” Yoongi shook his head. “I won’t eat live meals.”

“You’re not eating me. You can just drink a little… Every few days, just enough to take the edge off.”

Yoongi scooted back as far as he could, his arm jerking forward with the cuffs. “Jungkook!” He snapped. 

Jungkook made a small noise and flopped back on his butt. “I can’t find it.”

“Can’t find the key?!” Yoongi cried. He rose, grabbing Jimin’s wrist and lifting him up easily to drag him over. He sank down in front of Jungkook’s bags, beginning to dig through the piles. 

“I’ve looked three times now,” Jungkook said softly, looking near tears. “I can’t find them. I—I must have lost it or left it at home or… Something.”

“Then we pick it!” Yoongi said. He looked to Jin and Hoseok. “Pick it for us.”

“I can’t pick locks,” Hoseok chuckled. “You have far too much faith in me.” “I could try,” Jin said, “but I’m not very good.”

“I don’t care. We have time.” 

“Yoongi,” Jimin tried as Yoongi hauled him up once more, dragging him over to where Jin stood. 

“Why aren’t you more panicked?” Yoongi asked, seeing Jimin looking incredibly calm… And a little sad. 

“Because there isn’t a reason to panic.”

“You’re tied to a thing that fucking eats you.”

“Who I’ve already offered my neck to and he won’t bite. Literally. Yoongi, I’m not scared of you. I’ve said it once and it still stands. I would, however, like you to stop hauling me around like I’m luggage. I can walk. And while I enjoy being manhandled at times, we are both far too clothed for the type I enjoy.” Jimin tugged their cuffed wrists for emphasis. 

A series of titters erupted from the other three in the room, and Yoongi scowled. “You crack jokes as if this isn’t serious.”

“Just lightening the mood.” Jimin shrugged. 

“As if you’d be able to handle me in bed anyways. Or would want to.”

Jimin shrugged. “Says you.” He looked to Jin. “Wanna try to pick it?”

“Sure. Do you have something I can use, Hobi?”

“Lemme look.” Hoseok headed around the counter into the kitchen and began digging through the drawers.

“Go sit down,” Jin said. “It’ll be easier.”

Yoongi moved to walk, but stopped. He motioned for Jimin to lead the way, feeling a little guilty for dragging him around. It wasn’t his fault they were in this situation, after all. And yeah, Yoongi thought as he walked with Jimin and settled onto the couch with him, after learning the truth… Maybe he was beginning to feel some sympathy for the human. Not that they could ever realistically be friends. They couldn’t stand each other. Jimin was scared of him, or hated him… And he disliked the human. It was just how it was… Or how it should be. But maybe, now that Jimin had shared something with Yoongi about his history, they could at least become tolerant of one another.

Yoongi tried to pretend Jimin wasn’t sitting far too close to him. He wasn’t all that hungry. He’d gone about twelve days without food before, and it was uncomfortable, but he wasn’t feral. So, there was no real reason why he couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than Jimin’s pulse. His infuriatingly slow pulse. How could someone so soft and breakable be so calm hanging off the arm of a predator? And so eager to offer his throat?

Jin came around with a handful of slender items. He crouched, grabbing the cuffs and beginning to try the different things. Brows furrowed, Yoongi could tell he was trying. But as the minutes passed, the pile of untried items grew smaller, and the pile of useless, bent, or broken items got larger and larger. 

Jin sighed, picking up a steak knife – the last item in his pile. “There’s no way,” he said.

“Just try it,” Yoongi mumbled. He knew Jin was right, no way would a steak knife open the cuffs. Jin did as he said, jabbing at the hole in the cuffs, trying to get it to release. Nearly a minute of fiddling, and he finally sat back, shaking his head no. “I’m sorry guys, I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Jimin said. “You tried.”

Yoongi grabbed his cuff and yanked, grimacing when it tugged the skin of his hand. “Did you have to make it so tight?” He growled at Jungkook. 

“I wanted to make sure you couldn’t pull it off,” Jungkook said. He came around the side of the couch, looking sheepish. “I know I have a spare key for it… It’s just in my room.”

“Well that won’t do any good up here!” Yoongi snapped. Jungkook flinched, his eyes widening a little. 

Yoongi took a steadying breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s my fault. I deserve it.”

“No… You were trying to make us get along. It would have been funny, honestly, if things didn’t turn out like this,” Yoongi said. There is a final option… I just would like to not have to try it until things get… Bad.”

“What are you thinking of, Yoongi?” Jin asked, trepidation clear in his tone.

“Hoseok has a wood stove. A fireplace. Which means he has an axe.”

“No.” Both Jimin and Jungkook spoke in unison. “We’re not cutting any body parts off.”

“Well if I go feral and am still attached to Jimin, you’ll be doing a lot more than cutting off something. You’ll have to put me down.”

“You aren’t a dog!” Jimin cried. “If it gets to that point, we can just dislocate my thumb. It’ll hurt like a mother but the cuffs can come off. But you could prevent getting to that point if you’d just drink from me.”

“I will not let you hurt yourself for my sake,” Yoongi argued.

“Why not? You hate me, don’t you? A stupid hunter’s son.” Yoongi should have said yes. His brain told him that he should say yes. Yet the word wouldn’t come out. Instead, he just shook his head, looking down. “I just won’t let you,” he muttered.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Jin said. He rose, setting his hands on their shoulders. “Come on. This is a setback, but we’re still up here, let’s try to have a good time, right?”

Yoongi smiled softly, nodding. “You’re right. Hobi, how long until the lake freezes over completely do you think?”

“A day or two, why?”

“I know Jungkook’s been dying to take a swim in ice water. Mostly because he’s a lunatic. Want to?”

Hoseok grinned brightly. “I’d love to. You know me, never turn down water.”

“What about you?” Jin asked. He looked at Jimin. “He won’t have the same tolerance to cold…”

Yoongi glanced at Jimin, who’s smile - which had grown at the mention of a cold swim, was sinking.

“Yeah, maybe not, but I don’t much like the cold either. I’m sure I’ll be ready to be done when he is. We can still have fun. I won’t let you drown.” 

Jimin looked at him, that sweet smile returning. He nodded. “Deal.”

Yoongi regretted that deal the second they hit the water. Not at any fault of Jimin’s, oh no. But more because Yoongi had forgotten just how much he hated the cold. He was shuddering nearly instantly. Jimin laughed brightly next to him, a high, tinkling sound on the cool wind. Yoongi looked over. Jimin was shivering just as hard as he was.

“This can’t be safe for humans,” Yoongi worried.

“A few minutes is fine. It’s good for the body,” Jimin assured him. “Can we go deeper? I wanna try to get to where Jungkook is.”

Yoongi looked across the lake. About fifteen feet ahead, closer to the center of the unfrozen part of the water, were their three friends. They’d jumped in as humans – but now Yoongi could see a wolf, a fox with many tails, and a seal, all bobbing along the water. 

“We’ll try – but remember they are all furred animals. You may not make it that far.”

“I still wanna try.”

Yoongi nodded. He and Jimin set off carefully, their swimming motions needing to be perfectly aligned due to the cuffs. They made it nearly as far as Jungkook when Jimin whined softly. Yoongi glanced over, concern furrowing his brows. Jimin was shivering less, but his arms were covered in gooseflesh, and his lips were turning a startling shade of purple-blue. 

“We need to go back,” Yoongi said. 

Jimin nodded, not bothering to argue.

“Can you make it?”

“I c—can t-t-t-try,” Jimin chattered. 

“Ah, you soft humans,” Yoongi teased with no real venom. He got them turned around. “Here, go over my head so you’re hooked around my shoulders.” He brought the hand with the cuff across his chest. Jimin moved his arm over Yoongi’s head, dropping it against his back. 

“Good, try to help me paddle a bit with your free hand okay? And kick some.”

Jimin nodded. Yoongi could barely feel heat from his skin despite their closeness; a rather concerning feeling. He swam them back as quick as he could manage, Jimin doing his best to help. When they reached the ice patch, Yoongi moved to dislodge himself from Jimin’s arm. “Okay, get out.”

Jimin nodded. He braced his hands on the ice and hoisted himself out, spinning around and crouching as he helped Yoongi up and out. 

Unfortunately – their wet skin on the ice did nothing in terms of support, and as soon as Yoongi was out of the water, a single step sent them both flying. Yoongi landed on top of Jimin, clearly knocking the breath from his chest. Snow that had puffed up around them in the fall now drifted down, speckling Jimin’s face like glitter. They laid nose to nose for a moment, Jimin’s eyes wide as he looked up at Yoongi. 

“I—”

“Sorry,” Yoongi whispered, though he couldn’t bring himself to move. Not because of the ice… But mostly because Jimin felt so good under him. 

“It’s okay,” Jimin breathed. His eyes darted down to Yoongi’s mouth, and Yoongi froze. Was he about to kiss him? He jerked back, panic bubbling up in his chest. This was all wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be okay with that idea. Carefully, he moved off Jimin and rose, helping Jimin to his feet. Jimin clung to him, shivering harder than ever. 

They entered the cabin. “You should strip,” he said.

“S—” Jimin’s eyes bulged. 

“As we melt we’re gonna soak the floor. And it’ll be easier to warm up if you’re in just a pair of dry pants than if you’re in soaking wet clothes.

“Right…” Jimin glanced down. “Shit.”

“What?” 

“The cuffs. How am I gonna get my shirt off with the cuffs?”

Yoongi looked down as well. He swore under his breath, glaring in the general direction of the lake. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Jimin laughed a little. “Didn’t think that one through, did he?”

“Let’s get to the bathroom. We’re dripping.” Yoongi led him through the cabin into the bathroom. He guided Jimin into the tub. “Okay, so we could cut them off, but then we’d be shirtless for the next three weeks and I’d like to go outside at some point, so…”

“Yeah, no.” Jimin tapped his chin in thought. “What about just letting them hang over the cuff chain to dry? If we set a towel under them, squeeze them out as much as we can here, they should dry in front of the fire too, and we can put them back on?”

Yoongi thought for a moment, his eyes darting from Jimin to their cuffs as he tried to determine if it would succeed. Finally, he nodded. “I think that’ll work. Try it?”

Jimin nodded. He pulled his left arm free, apologizing softly when he tugged Yoongi over so his right hand could be used. Over the head, over his right arm, it dangled on the chain, as predicted, dripping into the tub. 

“Perfect!” Jimin said. 

Yoongi nodded. He wasn’t sure what he was nodding about though, as he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes away from Jimin’s bare chest. Though Jimin was slender, under his clothes he was very clearly hiding a lot. A toned chest and firm muscles, the cold water had tightened his dusky nipples to hard little points. His belly was slim, with the faint outlines of muscles that Yoongi knew were probably far tighter than a quick glance. And his hips – cut almost ridiculously perfect into a v shape, visible over the top of his waistband. Though he was clothed from the bottom down, Yoongi could imagine very clearly where that v pointed.

“Yoongi?” Jimin’s voice drew him out of his staring. He looked up, clearing his throat. “Right. Perfect. I’ll do mine.” Yoongi moved a little quicker, yanking his off and adding it to Jimin’s dangling from the chain. After seeing Jimin, he felt a little self-conscious. Though strong – it was all his inhuman nature; he was far less fit and chiseled than the human. 

“We should wring them out now.” Yoongi grabbed his own shirt and began to ring it out, twisting it this way and that to get as much water out as he could. Jimin did the same, the water splashing between them like a mini waterfall. 

“Great,” Jimin said when they could wring no more water from the shirts. He moved to step out, but Yoongi grabbed his wrist. “Shorts and shoes too – you’ll drip everywhere.”

“Oh—” Jimin hesitated, looking down and then up at Yoongi. “Uh… Naked?” He squeaked. 

“Well, yeah.” Yoongi chuckled. “What, you shy about something?”

Jimin looked away, his cheeks pinking up delightfully. “Well, no, I just…”

Yoongi sighed and grabbed a towel from the nearby rack. He turned away from Jimin as well as he could and hung it over his shoulder. “Here, just change and wrap it around your waist. I won’t look.” 

He heard a shuffle and felt a tug on his wrist. He was distinctly aware of the fact that if he shifted his right hand at all he would likely be brushing against Jimin’s bare skin. His wrist was pulld again, and this time he felt a towel skim past his fingers.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

“Alright, I’m taking mine off now,” Yoongi said. He pulled his hand back, quickly tugging his shoes, socks, jeans, and boxers off. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his own waist. 

“Okay, come on.” They stepped out of the bathtub and walked into the room where their bags had been dropped, the wet clothes dangling awkwardly between them. Yoongi let Jimin grab clothes first, looking away politely while he pulled on sweats. He pulled on his own sweats and handed Jimin their towels. Out into the living room, he grabbed a blanket from the chair as they settled onto the loveseat nearest to the fire. He slung the blanket over their shoulders.

“The wet—” Jimin began. “I know, here, just wrap them up with the towels.” They worked together with surprising efficiency to wrap the clothes. Jimin relaxed a bit, pressing closer to Yoongi to get further under the blanket as they sat.

Jimin’s body was warming quickly, radiating heat into his own normally barely lukewarm bones. It was… Comfortable, if Yoongi was being honest. Yoongi felt his head drooping, soothed by the sounds of the fire and the warmth. Jimin shifted, snuggling next to him and resting his head on Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi quirked his brow, peeking around Jimin’s head. Sure enough, the human was sleeping. Yoongi smiled a little. Yeah, Jimin wasn’t so bad, maybe… 

Yoongi was amazed at how much he could simultaneously adore and hate a singular person. If Jungkook hadn’t been a werewolf, Yoongi may have considered feeding on him.

“I’m sorry, I can’t have heard that right.” Yoongi repeated for the second time, staring at Jungkook in the dark bedroom. Jungkook pouted, his bottom lip sticking out and making him look far younger than his twenty-three years would imply. 

“I said I’m bored.”

“And you proceeded to grab my dick.”

“Well, what better way to solve boredom?”

“Jungkook, we’re cuffed.”

“Which makes it less sexy how?”

Yoongi’s face remained stoic. “I’m not gonna fuck you, Jungkook. I’m still upset with you.”

“For what?!” Jungkook cried, seemingly offended that Yoongi would dare.

Yoongi blinked at him before lifting the cuffs, inadvertently dragging Jimin’s arm up and making Jungkook’s head hit the pillow where he’d been cuddling between the two of them. He gave it a shake.

“Also for losing the key. And for whatever other harebrained ideas you get while we’re up here.”

Jungkook’s pout returned full force. “Well fine. Your loss.”

“My loss?”

“Jimin will keep me company, right?” Jungkook turned to look at Jimin, his grin broadening. 

“I—I can’t say no,” Jimin mumbled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry Yoongi.”

Yoongi gaped at Jimin. 

“So what, you two are just gonna fuck next to me? Could you be any more obscene?”

“Oh it’s not like you’ve not seen it before, you prude.”

“I haven’t! Not with Jimin.”

“Just go to sleep then.” Jungkook stuck his tongue out at Yoongi. He rolled over, facing away from Yoongi. A shift on the bed, and Yoongi heard the soft sounds of kissing. He scowled at them for a moment. He hated the way his stomach was making those nasty little knots, the way he wanted to reach out and card his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, pull him back from Jimin and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. Hated the way he wanted to feel Jimin’s mouth too. Sink into his tight heat and find out if his moans were as pretty as his laugh. The days spent cuffed together had done a number on Yoongi. More and more he found himself enjoying Jimin’s company, laughing with him, conversing with him willingly. And more and more he found himself staring at him, wondering more about him, noticing his subtle (and obvious) beauty. 

Yoongi shut his eyes, trying to block out the sounds of their kissing, the soft breathy sighs from them, and the shift of fabric as they moved together, slowly stripping.  

It worked, for a while. Yoongi managed to remain feigning sleep (how could he actually sleep?) through Jungkook very clearly giving Jimin some amazing oral sex, and through Jungkook prepping Jimin’s soft body for sex. He even managed to feign sleep when Jungkook slid into Jimin, but felt Jimin’s hand grab his own for the briefest second, paired with a sharp, pleasured cry from the human. 

But Yoongi’s strength only went so far. He could feel a stirring in his groin as the bed shifted rhythmically, hearing the slick sounds of their skin slapping together as Jungkook thrust into him, their muffled panting.

He opened his eyes the tiniest bit. They wouldn’t notice, not so caught up in their lovemaking. Jimin was covering his mouth with his free hand, muffling his soft whines as Jungkook thrust into him. 

From his viewpoint, Yoongi could see Jimin’s hips bent up, his cock hard and leaking onto his belly. Jungkook reached up, pinching Jimin’s nipple and tugging. Jimin moaned, shoving his head back into the pillow and grabbing the sheet. “Jungkook—“ he whined, strained.

Jungkook glanced over, catching Yoongi’s gaze. Yoongi tried to shut his eyes, but knew it was too late. He glanced again, seeing Jungkook lean down. He was whispering, but Yoongi heard it clear as day. 

“He’s watching us,” he whispered, “and you’re making him hard.” 

Jimin looked over. Yoongi met his gaze openly, wetting his lips. Jungkook wasn’t wrong, his cock was hard in his sweats, pushing up the blanket a little. Yoongi reached down, palming himself as he watched Jungkook make love to Jimin. He could feel his fangs poking his bottom lip, and knew as soon as he spoke they’d be just as obvious as his erection.

“Want me to take care of that?” Jungkook teased. “Or maybe you wanna see if Jimin feels as good as you think he might, hm?”

Yoongi swallowed hard. “Ride me, Jungkook,” he demanded. 

Jungkook smirked. He pulled out of Jimin, his cock slick with lube. He pushed the blanket down and tugged Yoongi’s sweats around his ankles. He licked his lips, staring at Yoongi’s dick.

“Come suck him with me, Jimin.”

Jimin obeyed, sitting and moving down. He and Jungkook set to work immediately, dragging a surprised shout out of Yoongi. Their mouths were everywhere, tongues sliding over his sensitive cock, sharing kisses. Jungkook leaned back to grab lube and Jimin took advantage. He sank down on Yoongi, swallowing his cock to the root. Yoongi’s hips jerked up, his tip bumping Jimin’s throat. Jimin swallowed, looking up at him. He began to suck and lick, bobbing his head slow.

Yoongi grabbed his head, his lips parted. He began to guide his head, unable to tear his gaze away from Jimin’s mouth, his perfect lips sliding over his cock like silk.

“Amazing, isn’t he?” Jungkook purred. He was fingering himself open, watching the two. “I don’t know how many times I’ve come just from his mouth when I didn’t plan to.”

Yoongi wanted to answer, but all that came out was an incoherent moan. He had had a lot of blowjobs in his time but none like this. He fisted Jimin’s hair, tugging to pull him off. Jimin obeyed, moaning happily. His eyes rolled back when Yoongi pulled, cock jerking between his muscular thighs. 

“Jungkook—” Yoongi strained. He let go of Jimin before he hurt him, grunting when Jimin immediately began to nuzzle and kiss over his thighs and hip.

“Aw, are you that close?” Jungkook teased, pressing kisses along Yoongi’s jaw. Yoongi nodded. 

“You sure you don’t wanna see what he feels like? He’s so tight, and warm, and wet inside…”

Yoongi whimpered, looking down at Jimin. He bared his fangs almost instinctively, the sound of Jimin’s blood pumping nearly overwhelming him. Jimin’s breath caught audibly. He crawled up Yoongi’s body, until they were nearly nose to nose. 

“You can,” he whispered. He straddled Yoongi’s hips, settling onto his crotch until Yoongi’s cock bumped his hole. “If you want to… And…” Jimin touched Yoongi’s chin, pulling his bottom lip. “This too…” He bared his neck, leaning closer to Yoongi. 

Panic bubbled up in Yoongi’s chest when he realized he’d moved forward, mouth opening instinctively. He snapped his jaws shut hard enough to hurt, piercing his own bottom lip with his fangs. 

“Jimin—” He gritted. “Get off me.”

Jimin sat back, disappointment clear on his face. He obeyed though, slinking off Yoongi’s hips and laying next to him. 

“Yoongi—” Jungkook began. 

“Don’t.”

“We don’t have to stop,” Jungkook continued anyways. “Let me finish you off. Or you can watch Jimin and I—”

Embarrassed, shameful tears burned the back of Yoongi’s throat. He closed his eyes, trying to stave them off as long as possible. And he was cuffed – he couldn’t even escape this horribly awkward situation. 

“Just go back to what you were doing. I’m sorry I bothered you,” he mumbled. He sat up and yanked his sweats up one handed before rolling to his side, facing away from the two. His cuffed arm twisted back uncomfortably, but he ignored it. He deserved a little discomfort… He nearly bit Jimin – and for what? A fucking orgasm. Nearly broke his vow with a moment of sex. Shame colored his cheeks as he glared at the door. 

“Jungkook—” Jimin’s voice was barely above a breath.

“It’s not you,” Jungkook assured him. He had to know Yoongi could hear them. No way to prevent it – his headphones were in the other room. 

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I know, baby. He’s just scared. He’s…” Jungkook drifted off. “He isn’t mad at you.”

“Do you still want me to…”

“Are you still in the mood?” 

Jimin chuckled. “I can get into the mood again.”

“No.” Yoongi heard them kiss. “I’m not into it either. I feel bad. I pushed you guys into it. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Guilt clenched Yoongi’s heart. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t Jimin’s either. It was Yoongi’s. He wished he had the nerve to roll back over, to apologize and tell them they were okay, but he couldn’t. So, he laid still, staring at the door as he listened to them pull on their shorts and cuddle, sharing quiet kisses as their breath evened out and they drifted to sleep. 

They didn’t talk about it the next morning, or the morning after, or the day after that. In fact, Jungkook and Jimin didn’t bring up that night for the remainder of the week, or the following week. Yoongi was relieved, but also… A little stung. He had wondered if maybe they would want to talk about it, bring it up in some way so he could assure them that it was him, not them. Specifically, not Jimin. But, as the days progressed, it seemed like things were no different, and Yoongi let the situation slip to the back of his mind. He had more pressing things to worry about anyways. 

Like, for example, the fact that the snow was showing no signs of melting enough for any sort of safe moving off the mountain. And the fact that it was now day thirteen without blood and he was feeling the effects of hunger. And the fact that Jimin was still stuck to his arm and he smelled so damn delicious that he was fighting the urge to show fang every ten minutes.

And to top it all off, Jin and Jungkook had decided this afternoon was the perfect time to go for a run in the woods. And Hoseok, in his own infinite wisdom, decided to go find a patch of thin ice for a swim in his own animal form. Which left Jimin and Yoongi entirely alone. 

Which wouldn’t have been so bad, really. They often spent time just sitting on the couch together, reading or listening to music, talking or just sitting, watching the fire in comfortable silence. Even after the incident in bed the week prior, this feeling of ease and comfort didn’t fade. If anything, it continued to grow.

“I wish you could’ve gone out with them,” Jimin said softly, gazing into the fire. Yoongi glanced up from his notebook. 

“Hm?”

“Jin and Jungkook. I’m sure you wanted to run with them.”

“Nah, it’s too cold for me,” Yoongi said. “I’d rather chill with the fire.”

Jimin chuckled. You don’t need to be lazy for my sake.”

“Not for your sake,” Yoongi assured him. “I really j—” A sharp pang in his stomach cut Yoongi’s words off. He doubled over, his fangs slipping out as he cried out. 

Jimin reached for him, grabbing his hand that was cuffed together. “Yoongi—”

Yoongi turned, baring his fangs and hissing, nearly catlike. 

Instead of shying away, Jimin’s face drooped. “Oh, it’s getting bad, isn’t it?” He asked. 

Yoongi dropped his head again, drawing in a deep breath. He felt like he was sweating despite an inability to do that for many years. 

“I’m fine,” he huffed.

“No, you’re not. You look sick. And I know you’re in pain. Please, I know you’re scared of hurting me, Yoongi but… Please.”

“It’s more than a fear of hurting you,” Yoongi muttered. He sat upright, closing his eyes for a second as he waited for the pain and nausea to fade. When it did, he drew in another breath and nodded. 

“Then what is it, Yoongi? Please trust me to understand.”

Yoongi hesitated. He sat back on the couch, considering. Jimin had shared his story… Maybe it was time for Yoongi to do the same. If they were to be… Friends. 

“I was turned about sixty years ago. I was twenty-eight. I don’t know… If you know much about how vampires are turned?”

“Not the details, but I know it’s a big process, death and burying and a whole ordeal.”

“It is. And generally, usually… The one who turns the new vampire stays around, it’s like giving birth to a child when all is said and done.” 

Jimin nodded in understanding. Yoongi hesitated, another wave of nausea slipping over him. He remained silent until it passed before continuing. 

“I did not have that grand bringing into the world. I never met the person that turned me.”

Yoongi heard Jimin make a small, sympathetic noise. Though he would have normally made a snarky comment, he had to admit, at that moment… It felt kind of nice.

“So, I crawled out of my grave one night… I was… God, I was so hungry. The last thing I remembered was being grabbed, and a pain in my throat. And then… Just dizziness and then darkness. I was so confused and scared and… So hungry. So thirsty.”

Yoongi shuddered despite the warmth, his stomach knotting painfully again. He curled his knees up, grimacing.

“Yoongi,” Jimin whispered. He shifted their hands, holding Yoongi’s tightly. “I’m here.”

“Oh, I know… You smell so… Fucking good, I can’t even pretend you aren’t,” Yoongi muttered. Jimin giggled a little at that.

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Yoongi chuckled. The knots in his stomach released a little, allowing him to continue. “So I stumbled around the graveyard for a bit. I was looking for… Something, I didn’t know what at the time. And this young guy comes up. He was so handsome. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen. Dressed very poor. But he comes up to the gat of the graveyard and calls to me. I was so happy to see someone. Someone who could tell me what happened, or help me somehow. I ran up to him. I knew I must have looked horrid. I mean I just climbed out of my damn grave, but he barely blinked. He was instantly worried for me. Helped me find the entrance gate and started walking with me and checking on me as we headed toward the village for a doctor.

And then the hunger hit again. And it was so much stronger… God, it was like someone was hitting me in the face with every delicious food I’d ever eaten at once. My entire body and mind seemed to ignite. I couldn’t control myself. I can’t tell you exactly what I was thinking at that moment except feed.”

Yoongi hesitated once more. He swallowed hard, not due to his stomach, but due to the painful memories. Jimin moved closer to him, setting his other hand on Yoongi’s thigh. “I’m here,” he whispered again, his head nearly on Yoongi’s shoulder. 

“I—I ripped his throat out, Jimin. God, I can still remember the sounds of him dying. The smells, the feeling of the blood and… The taste. The power. I was drunk on it.” 

Yoongi paused as another wave of pain hit him, shivers running down his spine. “I came to my senses a few hours later. I was in the woods, covered in blood. Everything hit me then. What I was, what I did. I tried to kill myself. But it… It didn’t work. So instead I swore I’d never place my teeth on another living human. I didn’t care if I starved to death. I’d lock myself up in a cave and wait to die if the only other option was biting a person. Risking doing what I did to that boy… I have kept that vow for sixty years, Jimin. That’s why I won’t bite you.”

“I understand,” Jimin said softly. “I do. What you went through was traumatic. But Yoongi… You don’t have the option of locking yourself up in a cave right now.”

Yoongi closed his eyes. “I know.”

“So if you do reach that point… You will kill me.”

Yoongi grimaced. Jimin squeezed his hand tighter. “I would rather have you drink some now… When you can control yourself. When you can take care of me… When we can both feel good maybe… Than die that way. Because I know you’ll hate yourself afterward.”

“I’ll hate myself either way,” Yoongi whispered.

“Fine. But at least I’ll be around to help you let go of that hate this way. And so will Jungkook.” Jimin’s lips brushed over Yoongi’s cheek. “I keep thinking about last week. How good I felt on your lap… How nice it felt to see you relax. I am sorry I offered my neck, and not just my body… But I am offering both again.”

Yoongi looked over quickly. Jimin smiled softly. “Yoongi, please let me help you.”

“Help me?” Yoongi breathed. He could hear Jimin’s heartbeat, and smell his arousal. He chuckled. “You’re propositioning a hungry vampire to have sex with you.”

“I am. I’ve heard it makes the bite feel better. Do you… Want me? That night, I wasn’t sure. I felt like we pushed…”

“No, no, I wanted you that night.” Yoongi pressed his forehead against Jimin’s. “I still do. I don’t know what changed, I—I can’t stop thinking about you these days.”

“I’ve liked you for a long time, Yoongi,” Jimin confessed. “But you hated me for my parents…”

“I was wrong.”

“No. You just didn’t know. Now you do.”

“And I do like you. I… God, I fell for you.”

Jimin pulled back this time, his mouth quirking up into a grin. “You did?”

“I did,” Yoongi muttered. “Don’t let it go to your head.

“I won’t.” The two sat in silence. Yoongi’s shudders were coming more regularly, his body edging closer and closer to starvation, rather than hunger. 

“Yoongi,” Jimin finally whispered. “Please take me to bed.”

Yoongi’s breath puffed out of his lungs. He nodded. Jimin rose and Yoongi let himself be pulled toward the bedroom. They were so used to the cuffs now that they moved as a unit, knowing how to twist and turn to move fluidly. It would be weird to have them off, Yoongi realized. 

Once in the bedroom, Jimin turned, pulling his shirt off. He let it dangle from the chain and smiled shyly. “Do you… Want me to…”

“No,” Yoongi pulled his own shirt off. He stepped forward, going almost chest to chest with Jimin. “The last time we stripped… You made me look away when you took off your jeans… You gonna be shy on me again?”

Jimin laughed. “Not this time.”

“Good.” Yoongi undid Jimin’s jeans, pushing them to the ground for Jimin to step out of. He kicked his own sweats off, and then his boxers, before setting his hands on Jimin’s hips. He caught the band of his boxers. “You sure about this?”

“I’m sure.”

Yoongi pushed them down, stepping back to look Jimin up and down. He reached out with his free hand, palming Jimin’s cock. It twitched and hardened further in his palm, and he gave it a firm stroke. “I didn’t get a good look at you that night… I’m glad to now.”

“Like what you see?” Jimin asked. Yoongi nodded slowly. He let go of Jimin to cup his cheeks, pulling him into a sweet kiss, despite the fire raging in his veins. Jimin wrapped one arm around his shoulders, holding onto his wrist with the cuffed hand. They moved toward the bed in unison, and Jimin let himself fall back onto it. Yoongi went with him, nudging open his smooth thighs. 

Jimin looked up at him, his lips wet and full from the kiss, his cheeks rosy with life. His eyes were dark, hair brushed back from his forehead. 

“How do you—” Jimin swallowed. “Now? Or…” He touched his neck.

“Not quite yet,” Yoongi said. He reached over to where he knew Jungkook had stashed the lube, pulling the bottle out and opening it. 

The two shared soft kisses while Yoongi prepped Jimin, determined not to hurt him any more than necessary. None – if he could have his way. He could smell Jimin’s blood so strongly, his teeth aching like a sweet tooth, mouth watering as they kissed. And Jimin – oh, the creature under him couldn’t be a human – Jimin had to be an imp. Playing with fire, Jimin would scrape his tongue over Yoongi’s fangs, sometimes almost hard enough to draw blood. Each time he did, his cock would jerk against Yoongi’s hip, and Yoongi would have to refrain from giving in and biting Jimin then and there.

He resisted by some miracle, however, and pulled back, lining himself up to Jimin’s body. “Are you ready?” 

Jimin nodded, spreading his legs wider.  Yoongi laid over him, bracing himself on the hand that was cuffed. Jimin twined their fingers together, meeting Yoongi’s gaze as Yoongi pushed into him for the first time. 

Jimin’s lips parted, a sharp gasp breaking the silence of the room. Yoongi bared his fangs, his own vision going a little hazy at the tight heat of Jimin’s body. 

“Yoongi…” Jimin’s voice was soft, muffled. Yoongi forced himself to focus, offering what he hoped was a comforting smile – though he knew the fangs probably made that difficult. 

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered.

“I know. It feels good,” Jimin assured him. He reached his free hand down, gripping Yoongi’s ass. “You can move. I want this.”

Yoongi nodded. He began to thrust at an even pace, mindful of not going too hard. Jimin moaned under him, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. Curious, Yoongi reached out, pinching his left nipple. Jimin shouted, gasping. 

“Please—“

“Oh, you are sensitive,” Yoongi teased. “And responsive.”

He pinched again, this time tugging. Jimin shouted, squeezing Yoongi’s cock almost painfully tight. Yoongi continued to thrust, leaning down to gently suck and bite at each hard nub. As he did, he fisted Jimin’s cock, using his ample precome to jerk him in time to his own movements. 

He was already so close, he wished it could last longer. He wanted to stay like this, hear Jimin’s sounds of pleasure, for eternity. He moved back up, nuzzling Jimin’s neck. 

Jimin’s breath caught, his throat clicking. He let his head fall, baring his neck to Yoongi.

“Yes—“ He whispered. “Please, Yoongi… Do it…”

Yoongi pulled his cock free of Jimin’s hole, chuckling when Jimin whined.

“Don’t stop, please—“ 

Yoongi began to tease him, prodding and bumping his opening with his tip. Not enough to get any real stimulation, but feeling Jimin’s body open for him, so receptive - and the sounds of his voice as he begged for it… If Yoongi didn’t have other plans he may have come then and there.

He lined himself back up and nuzzled Jimin’s neck once more. A moment to steady himself, and then… 

His teeth penetrated Jimin’s soft neck at the same moment he drove himself into Jimin’s body once more. 

Jimin screamed, his free hand rising and scratching down Yoongi’s back. He began to pump his hips quickly, swallowing the sweet, hot blood that filled his mouth as he sucked. He ran his tongue over the puncture wounds, his saliva working to clot and slow the blood already so Jimin wouldn’t bleed too much. 

Jimin’s entire body jerked, nearly dislodging his mouth. His release spilled, hot and sticky, between their stomachs as he moaned against Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Jesus— Yoongi!” Jungkook’s voice startled Yoongi. He felt Jungkook’s hand on the back of his neck, so he released, afraid he’d drunk too much. But Jimin was grinning brightly, looking all too fucked out.

“Hey Jungkook,” he signed, moaning softly when Yoongi thrust in. 

Jungkook looked between the two, letting go of Yoongi’s neck. 

“Oh.”

“Sorry we didn’t wait for you,” Jimin teased. “You should join us now.”

Jungkook looked at Yoongi, smiling softly. “I think I will.” He began to strip, grabbing the lube to ready himself.

Yoongi looked back down at Jimin, leaning down to lick a stray dribble of blood on his neck. He thrust in, and Jimin winced. He pushed Yoongi’s chest.

“Too sensitive after I come,” he whined. “Finish with Jungkook. Oh—“ He laughed into Yoongi’s mouth when Yoongi kissed him hard, gently pulling out. He flopped next to him, still holding his hand.

Jungkook straddled his hips, dick hard. He lifted Yoongi’s cock and settled onto it, both of them gasping. He began to ride him almost immediately, leaning down to kiss them both. 

Jimin sat up, shifting over to begin sucking Jungkook’s cock as he moved, the soft wet noises punctuating the rougher ones.

Yoongi’s eyes went fuzzy as he watched the two, his toes curling against the mattress. 

“I’m close,” he warned Jungkook, who only nodded. His fingers were buried in Jimin’s hair, guiding him along his length. 

Jimin coughed and Jungkook grunted, his body shuddering and beginning to clench and relax - a sure sign of his release… Directly down Jimin’s eager throat if the soft gulping was any indication. 

Yoongi moaned softly. The pressure around his cock and the absolutely stunning image in front of him became too much far too quickly. With a deep grunt, and a firm hand on Jungkook’s hip to hold him still, Yoongi came, spilling inside Jungkook.

The three ended up in a haphazard cuddle pile as they all came down from their climaxes. Though Yoongi was sure he’d taken less than a pint from Jimin, but he still felt calm and full and strangely sated. Maybe it was due to feeding live. But maybe it was due to the two men snuggled up against his body, warming him from the outside in. 

“Any regrets?” Jimin asked sleepily, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

“None. You okay?”

“I feel great. How often do you need to feed?”

“Just every few days. I won’t need much, just enough to take the edge off… I don’t want to force you—”

“Shh,” Jimin kissed his mouth to silence him. “I’m offering. You already look better. I want to help. I told you things wouldn’t be like they were sixty years ago.”

Yoongi nodded. “Thank you.” He sighed softly, looking between the two. “I have a question for both of you.”

When they looked up, he smiled. “Jungkook – you mentioned… Changing your relationship with us. And that… I believe… Implied dating.”

Jungkook nodded. 

“Do you still feel that way?”

Another nod. “Of course I do.”

“Then… I think now is a good time for me to formally ask you… Both of you… If you’d like to make this situation an official one.”

Jimin made a small noise that was a cross between an ‘oh’ and a giggle. “Are you asking out the vampire hunter’s son, Yoongi?”

Yoongi smirked. “Guess I like to live on the wild side. It’s only fair after I’ve had my teeth in your neck.” 

Jimin laughed brightly, nuzzling against Yoongi’s neck. Yoongi glanced at Jungkook, noticing he’d remained silent.

“Jungkook?” 

Jungkook smiled softly. He met Yoongi’s gaze. “I never expected… When I cuffed you two together, I didn’t expect things to actually work out.”

“Are you okay with how it did?” Yoongi confirmed.

“You really do care for Jimin? This isn’t some effect of drinking his blood or… Or sex or… For peace in the apartment?”

Yoongi chuckled. He nodded. “I mean, it’ll be nice to have peace in the apartment, but no… And we aren’t affected by blood drinking or anything like that, it’s just like sitting down and having a good steak – No offense.”

“None taken,” Jimin answered. 

“So, yeah, I… I’ve really developed a fondness for Jimin over these few weeks. Spending more time with him, learning to work together. I don’t know if it’s love but it’s… Definitely more than tolerance. I do care for him a great deal. Just like you.”

“Were you not wanting this, Jungkook?” Jimin worried. “Like… I know you want me and you want Yoongi, but us… Together.”

“It’s not that.” Jungkook sat up. “I do. This is a dream, all three of us together. I just didn’t expect it. To be honest, I… I keep expecting to wake up.” He looked to Yoongi. “You really don’t hate Jimin?”

“No. I don’t… I don’t think I ever did. I was blaming him for his parents, for hunters who have killed my friends over the years… He was the face of it.” Yoongi paused, brows furrowed as he thought. “But he’s been just as much a victim to vampire hunters as anyone else. Has still been hurt and traumatized by them, in a different way, but… It’s there. I was just too stubborn to hear that until these weeks. And I regret that. Because getting to know the real Jimin these past few weeks has been so fun. I just hope that I can keep learning more about him.”

“And you don’t… Resent him, Jimin? For all that he’s said to you?”

“Not even a little. I wish he’d given me a chance earlier – but I understand fully why he didn’t. And I don’t blame him. I can’t say I would have either, in his shoes. And I’m glad that we’ve gotten over that bump and can move forward with our friendship and… Relationship.”

Jungkook seemed to relax a little, a small smile crossing his face as he looked at the two.

“So, what do you say, Jungkook?” Yoongi pressed. “Is this— Are the three of us… Okay?” 

Jungkook remained silent a moment, looking between the two. He nodded then. “You two make a cute couple.”

“And we three will make an adorable throuple,” Jimin said. Jungkook’s soft smile widened then, crinkling his nose and exposing his front teeth. 

“We will, won’t we?”

Yoongi grabbed for Jungkook with his free hand, pulling him down into a kiss. After, he turned, kissing Jimin gently. “Amazing how comfortable that feels,” he commented.

“Guess we shoulda been doing it this whole time,” Jimin said.

Yoongi nodded, kissing him once more. “I guess so. We’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

“What a trio we are,” Jungkook said. “A vampire, a human, and a werewolf.”

“Unique and fun, I’d call it.”

“You know,” Jungkook said, nuzzling against Yoongi’s neck. “I’d like to point out that none of this would have happened if I hadn’t thought to cuff you two together.”

Jimin snorted, but Yoongi chuckled. “You’re not wrong… I’m gonna kinda miss being cuffed to you when we get home, Jimin.” 

Jimin grinned broadly. “It’s okay, I know you like holding my hand is all. I promise to hold it all the time, even if we’re not joined at the wrist.” He shifted, taking Yoongi’s hand and twining their fingers.

“Only if Jungkook holds my other hand,” Yoongi said, holding his free hand out. Jungkook grinned brightly and grabbed it, lacing his fingers between Yoongi’s before letting it rest on his stomach. 

Yoongi closed his eyes, sighing softly. He could hear the steady, firm heartbeats of his boyfriends, and smell their comforting scents. The taste of Jimin’s blood was still present on his tongue, but it didn’t frighten him in the way the thought of it had. It felt safe. He felt safe. Even as a vampire – deadly and near unkillable – there had always been something missing in Yoongi’s world. Something that made him feel exposed, and scared, in a way even he couldn’t pinpoint. 

And now, for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel that fear. Instead he felt warmth. And he felt happiness. And he’d spend the rest of his time on earth protecting that happiness, no matter what. 

#thebtswritersclub #bangtansummerbingo #yoonminkook #yoonmin #jikook #enemies to lovers #long fic #vampire yoongi #werewolf jungkook #jeon jungkook smut #park jimin #jungkook #jimin x jungkook x yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #jimin smut #jimin fanfic #supernatural au #jungkook smut #jimin x jungkook #jungkook x yoongi #jimin x yoongi #yoonkook #mywriting

[phoenotopia]

The Last Phoenotopia Blog Update

(Date 2021 MAR 01)

I debated how to open this blog post, but perhaps the main crux of this blog post is the best place to start. The blog is being retired.

The purpose of this blog was to be a "development" blog for Phoenotopia, and well, Phoenotopia's development is done. I'll still be doing bug fixes and maintenance on the PC and Switch versions, and playstation and xbox ports are underway (by a publisher). But I'm not going to be making any more major changes to the game. At some point, you put the paintbrush down and say it's done. Blemishes and all.

Recent Events

The game launched on Steam last month, and like any launch, it was hectic. Bugs Galore. This is our first commercial PC launch, so it was a real baptism by fire. Unlike Switch's one configuration, the PC has multiple configurations and factors to account for. The game needed to be able to handle multiple control schemes, screen resolutions, refresh rates, and more! I had a 60Hz monitor going into launch and didn't know anything about Hz (I do now). There was a troublesome stutter that some players were sensitive to that my whole team didn't notice since our eyes compensated it away. There were a few times where in fixing something at one party's behest, it introduced problems for another party. A few times, due to disorganization, I unwittingly rolled back a fix that was meant to be applied. For some, the game couldn't play at all (really glad Steam allows refunds).

It was messy. It was tiring. I.AM.BEAT.

I think the worst of it is over... I'll still be around to do the last updates and bug fixes, but I'm ultimately ready for what's next.

SO what is next?

What isn't next... is Phoenotopia 2. As you may have heard down the grapevine, the game couldn't be what you call successful. No one's earned even minimum wage on it.

Maybe there's hope in the game's long tail. A year or two down the line... maybe. I won't hold my breath though. At some point in the past few months, I finished processing (or grieving) and it's time to move on.

The game has at least earned enough for us to continue our modest operations. As long as we don't expand the team, and we don't take another monster six-year dev cycle like what Phoenotopia took, we can continue. We'll have to be smarter and faster. Perhaps the most valuable thing we gained from all this is experience.

The Experience

It is a dev blog. Here are some of the lessons I've accumulated from this game's development.

- Have a good menu design. Menus aren't just that in-between fluff before you get to the good stuff. Menus are KEY. Your menus need to be robust, expandable, and *understandable* (to you, the developer). Because once the game's out, you will invariably be asked to add more options. And if your menu design is bad, every time you have to add a new menu option, it becomes a whole new pain all over again. Support mouse from the get-go, etc.

- Focus on features that people will actually care about. For instance, I've never seen anyone praise the camera's zoom feature. In practice, people try that feature a few times and then never use it again. But that feature was a constant consideration factor for every level. Run through it multiple times to make sure the level didn't break, think about which zoom levels made sense, resize rooms because they worked at one zoom level but not the other, and so on.

- Don't do boxes that you can move around. Other 2D platformers avoid movable boxes because they're a huge headache to program and they really complicate the game space. Enemies need to respond to boxes you throw in their path and either navigate around or attack it. When you're moving the box, you have to worry about constantly changing your collision size and reconciling when the box gets snagged on the environment. The boxes were also a constant source of bugs because people can manipulate them to soft-lock themselves and more.

- More focused script. Phoenotopia's 100,000+ word script was panned more for being bloated than it was praised for being lengthy. Long scripts take a long time to write and make the game more unwieldy, increasing the costs of translation and upkeep. Every update we're addressing some textual error or mistranslation. There are some highly renowned games (e.g. Hyper Light Drifter) that do without a script at all!

- Be flashy! A bat and a lightsaber take the same amount of work to program, but the lightsaber will draw a lot more attention and interest.

- Slopes, surprisingly! Six years ago when I started, Unity was ill-equipped for 2D games. If you used the physics that Unity provided you'd have a really floaty character that wouldn't adhere to the slope when going downhill. There were a hundred different tutorials saying different things (use forces, use move position, use translation, etc). You can get rectangular collisions done in a day, but to do slopes took weeks. Meanwhile, games can actually get by fine without slopes. Most people won't even notice. Did you know the Phoenotopia flash game didn't have slopes? Neither does Hollow Knight or Rogue Legacy. You can save yourself a lot of work by avoiding slopes.

(big entities look weird on slopes. Bad slope!)

I could write enough little knowledge nuggets like this to fill a book! But I'd rather just make the next game. 

So… what IS next?

As mentioned previously, it's not Phoenotopia 2. Pirate and I are mostly just tossing some ideas back and forth right now. We'll go silent for a year (or two). Our next game's scope will be more modest in some ways, more ambitious in others. It will definitely be more smartly designed. (There will be a map!)

We'll announce it when it's ready for the public. It might be necessary for us to do a kickstarter. I've tried to avoid kickstarters having been burnt on quite a few myself and also because I worry that mismanaging a kickstarter would earn the ire of backers.

But I did keep this blog regularly updated for six years. So I've gained some confidence in my abilities to at least manage a kickstarter well.

Is it really the last Phoenotopia Blog update though?

Okay, not really. There is some news that I'll need to announce, and this blog is one of the game's main outreach channels. Here are the events that will cause me to update the blog:

Announcing the launch of the xbox/playstation ports when they're ready

If a physical edition of the game happens

If a new language is getting introduced into the game (Korean is a high possibility)

When we're ready to talk about our next game

If (BIG IF) we begin development on a Phoenotopia sequel. I do want to do a sequel one day if we have the means and the demand is there. 

Those updates will be more on a "when they happen" basis, rather than me reporting in every couple months.

Fan Art

As always, I'm very happy to see fanart of Phoenotopia. Major thanks again to Pimez for collecting all the artwork from the corners of the internet! Since this is the "last" blogpost, Sir Pimez can finally take a rest from collecting the fanart :P

ÆV made a series of pictures that tell a story. A Pooki is humanely sheared of its wool to create a hat. The Pooki is unharmed. Nice! Gotta love Gail’s expressions.

Amagoo Mazeru makes a stunning landscape shot of a full moon and shooting stars. It’s a sharp and clear vector art. I like the faint glow of the moon and the fire and the subtle gradient in the night sky. Very skillfully done!

Hah hah. I got a chuckle out of this one. I imagine this is how Gail's enemies see her by the end of the game. CaESar made this image based on TerminalMontage's famous youtube videos. Nailed it!

CrownStar drew two pictures of Gail. I'm a big player of JRPGs, so the first shot instantly reminded me of Persona 4's art style. (Hmmm... Phoeonotopia as a JRPG... there’s potential there...) Next, Birdy is shown carried off after her defeat. I really like Birdy's expression here - she just seems mildly uncomfortable.

There's a bit of a story behind the first image. As Firanka shares it, she wasn't able to defeat the Big Eye monster at the end of the flash game, so she believed a tall tale that what awaited after was a 6 armed Kobold boss. Hilarious! The second is a rendition of the lonely Anuri elder. A rare subject. The loneliness is portrayed well here. I feel lonely just looking at it!

Koo_chop draws the clash between Gail and Katash at the top of the towers. I really like this interpretation of the game's art style. It’s faithful to the in-game graphics. And the lighting, from the glow of Gail's bat, to Katash's sword, and the lightning in the background... Amazing!

Lime Hazard shows Gail with a salute pose. Very appropriate for this occasion. I also like how there's a slight tilt in the angle that Gail is portrayed. Those dynamic angles are always hard to get right, and Lime Hazard pulled it off very skillfully. See you next mission!

Lyoung0J with a digital painting of Gail posed sitting on a rock. I like how it almost seems like she was caught in a candid moment - she’s smiling, but also feeling self-conscious. Cute! The art style really pops, and I like how Gail is sporting what I call the old anime style nose. 

MyUesrNameIsSh*t with a sketch of Gail performing a skillful slingshot. I like how Gail is depicted with her tongue out in a mischievous manner, the way all mischievous people with slingshots do.

Niitsu Kentaro returns with a 2021 Happy New Year picture. That happened didn't it? A New Year... Gail's pose gave me a chuckle with how she seems to be waving the bat around as casually as one would wave hello. And "Phoenotopiyear"... Well said! One day we'll have our Phoenotopiyear...

Ochan Nu breaks all records with a stunning NINE pictures in one session :O

There's so many goodies here. My favorite would be the one with Gail staring intently at the screen - it's like she's looking directly at you. You almost feel uncomfortable.

Next, there's an Animal Crossing villager dressed as Gail and sporting her pink hair. It even looks like a house Gail would live in. Gail is a connoisseur of the arts and likes Mona Lisa. Yes :)

There are various comics of Gail pointing out Gail's weird food habits. A picture of Fran looking really cool, and even Gail rocking a bathing suit. (bathing suit image linked here in case NSFW). Wow!

Pimez didn't just collect the arts, he creates them as well! This one, which he aptly named 'The Year 175' is a depiction of when the dragons invaded the towers as told by an elderly Daean woman. Great pixeling skills! I got a good chuckle from the ice dragon leaving with its stuff slung over its shoulder.

Quo made a stunning picture of Gail playing the flute surrounded by the 5 musical notes and the Phoenix logo behind her. The theme seems to be "fire" and it works really well. Gail herself looks awesome depicted in her red suit - it's like she's leading a marching band!

Rai Asuha depicts Gail in the late game with her red suit, and night star bat, and holding a lamp. She looks ready for adventure! I really like the white outline here and Gail's poofy shoulders here - the art style feels reminiscent of Final Fantasy Tactics.

Seri also draws Gail bearing her late game equipment. Unique to Seri's drawing is how all of Gail's equipment is accessible from a pocket on her shirt. I also like how Gail is depicted with her lucky earrings - that accessory is often forgotten.

Treedude depicts Gail with a bat and wearing a funny smirk. She looks like she's ready to hurt someone!

Warotar returns with everyone's favorite Great Drake, Bubbles! It seems so happy to be featured!

I'm really grateful for all the fanart this game has received. From the bottom of my heart, thank you!

Closing Notes

Pirate drew a picture to mark the occasion. It shows Gail enjoying a hot chocolate with marshmallows and a pumpkin muffin. A rest well-earned...

Goodbye! Until next time!

#phoenotopia

[miloscat]

[Review] The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (PS2)

The first proper movie adaptation... or should I say two half-movie adaptations?

I grew up with the Return of the King game on Xbox. I was always curious about its predecessor, so I’m happy I was able to catch up with it... but boy is it rough. First of all, it’s part of the odd licensing/timing situation where there’s no Fellowship movie game (although there is a Fellowship book game under a different publisher, as per my previous reviews), so almost half the levels in this game depict events from the first movie (presented within the framing device of Aragorn telling stories to Éowyn prior to the battle of Helm’s Deep). And when they get to adapting The Two Towers, the two hobbit-based plotlines are completely dropped!

I understand focusing the game on the more action-heavy thread of the film, it makes sense for a straight-up 3D brawler of this type. It also means they can focus on developing just three playable characters (Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli). But it makes it feel like a heavily-edited highlights package instead of a story, the bridging cutscenes—using footage from the films—doing little to help it feel coherent. Were they ever proud of those cutscenes, fading “seamlessly” between the FMV and the game engine’s models... it’s pretty funny seeing John Rhys-Davies’ face melt into the hideous gremlin that is the Gimli model. I’m sure it was impressive for an early PS2 game, but these graphical styles that aim for realism tend to age the worst.

So this is a beat-em-up style game, with lots of set pieces, cinematic flourishes, and a decent ranged attack. I don’t think it’s balanced too well though. Chaotic enemy spam too easily knocks you down and stunlocks you, and often your light attack is completely useless thanks to shields or enemies able to block, so you just spam strong attack most of the time. Trying to legitimately engage with the game’s mechanics is only for the superhuman, us mortals have to rely on cheesing enemy patterns and the rising attack/finisher strat. Unlike the sequel, this is also strictly a solo experience (with the occasional NPC buddy) so you have to get yourself out of every jam. And with very few checkpoints you’ll likely be playing these levels multiple times, not because you want to try another character but because you die and get sent back.

Between levels you get to unlock new attacks depending on your performance, so the strong get stronger and poor performance is punished by making subsequent stages harder. Sadly there’s no way to replay a stage with the same character if you’ve cleared it (until after you beat the game) so the whole thing is some kind of endurance run. Thankfully there is a difficulty setting and some cheats as a prop, although I was too proud to use them. I did settle on just clearing it once with the best character—Legolas of course, who has the most powerful, fast, and abundant ranged option.

As usual I liked the parts of the game that expanded on the source. You get a couple of levels in burning Rohan villages, giving you a chance to fight Uruk-hai and explode their copious bombs while rescuing civilians. Apart from that it’s just inserting a tonne more orcs to hew in the various film locations. There’s also a lot more trolls to fight than I remember from the films... I didn’t really relish seeing them though as they’re among the most tedious enemies to take down.

At least the game has authenticity going for it. Part of the package is mini-documentaries that show a bit of behind the scenes of the film while establishing the access the game had; they directly referenced miniatures in order to make the game environments match, for example. They also had the film actors reprise their roles (and conduct interviews for these extras); at least the ones that actually appear in the game. Aragorn’s voiceover narration is a bit laconic but apart from that they’re all plum professionals that deliver their new contributions well. In this sense the game feels like a competent companion to the films... pity about the rest of it.

#The Lord of the Rings #the two towers #JRR Tolkien #ea #stormfront studios #ps2 #review

[boxoftheskyking]

Pick Up Every Piece, Part Four

Ugh this took forevvvvver

I know that the MDZS map is like based on actual China, so my apologies to whatever Yiling is based on. I need a shithole for this story, and Yiling’s it.

In which Lan Zhan follows A Story

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

----

Early November 2000

Lan Zhan is headed back to Moling. It’s not a trip that he particularly enjoys, anymore. He takes the train these days, since he got rid of his car.

He used to drive the 45 minutes there twice a week when he and Liu Shirong were first dating, before they moved in together in Caiyi. There used to be a sense of anticipation, enjoyment, each landmark and familiar turning a step closer to someone he wanted to see. An arm across his back, a kiss to his jaw, Shirong reaching up on tiptoe to greet him. He’d pick up Shirong at school and they’d wave out the window at the little kids in the schoolyard. Bye, Teacher Liu! Moling was an escape, an innocent place, somewhere far away from the darkness and dirt he spent his days sifting through.

Dear Shirong. He’s a good man. Short, kind, a silly gasping laugh. Desperate for children. He has two now, and a husband. Lan Zhan has lunch with him occasionally.

Now that he thinks about it, their last lunch was over a year ago. He supposes that doesn’t count as “occasionally” anymore. He could reach out first, if he wanted to. But he’s never been the type to reach out. Shirong has a life, a family, all the things he always wanted. All the things Lan Zhan couldn’t give him.

“I cannot imagine myself with a child,” he’d said when they broke up. He hadn’t intended for it to actually be a breakup—he hadn’t really thought that far ahead. But Shirong had visited an actual agency the day before and handed him a brochure, and Lan Zhan had left the apartment and driven into the mountains in a blind panic. He’d ended up stopped outside someone’s cabin, all the way up their driveway, and parked outside this stranger’s house until he’d gotten his breathing under control. That’s one of the reasons he’d sold the car. He’d never done that before, taken off like that, trespassed on private property, so getting rid of the car was the safest option. 

Precept 45 of the Lan Clan: Do not act impulsively.

Precept 213: Be strict with yourself.

Precept 341: When faced with temptation away from the righteous path, remove the source of temptation.

His brother finds his interest in the old clan rules an amusing idiosyncrasy. Even his uncle, strict as he is, finds the rules nothing more than an heirloom, evidence of some kind of hereditary virtue but nothing relevant to the modern day.

It’s not that he follows them. He just likes to know them, to turn them over in his mind. As options. When faced with a decision, there’s a comfort in turning to generations of dead Lans for guidance. Some people like astrology.

There are a lot of Lans, these days, enough that he’s never met a good number of cousins. There’s plenty of Lans he’s barely related to at all, at this point, but the name still has a good reputation. It’s the opposite of what the Wens have to deal with, those who weren’t involved in the insurrection. Everyone knows the old clans are ancient history and you can’t judge someone on their family name. But still, no one named Wen is going to find work in Lanling anytime soon. 

The point is, the Lans have survived and multiplied, so whatever kept them going in the old days can’t be completely useless.

His original interest in the rules was mostly as a journalist, which he’d hoped his uncle might understand. Every rule implies a story. A reason. Thousands of them mean you can triangulate an entire context. Who were we? How did we get here? What did we lose, and how?

Precept 9: Do not speak dishonestly.

Precept 77: Do not make promises that you cannot honor.

“I cannot imagine myself with a child,” he’d said.

Don’t worry, Lan Zhan, we’ll figure it out together. “I’m not sure I want to imagine myself with a child.” It will be different when it’s ours. You’ll see. “The more you talk about it, the less sure I am.” That’s okay, Lan Zhan, I can be sure enough for the both of us.

“I don’t want this. I don’t want this with you.”

Precept 424: Do not be needlessly cruel.

Lan Zhan had killed men during the war. Cultivation was useful for long-range attacks, but he still found himself in the situation of killing up close, of watching the light leave an enemy’s eyes.

He saw the light leave Liu Shirong’s eyes. For a moment his instincts had jolted, shocking through his nervous system. You’ve killed him. You activated your core, by accident, and you’ve killed him.

But it wasn’t the end of Liu Shirong’s life, of course, just the end of his love for Lan Zhan, the end of their life together, the end of whatever future he’d imagined for them. Lan Zhan had meant to release him gently, like a small rabbit with a newly-healed leg, back out into the world he came from. But he’d crushed him instead, under his clumsy feet.

Do not be needlessly cruel.

There are pools of guilt around Moling. Every place that he recognizes, everywhere they went together, even if the memories themselves are good. The guilt gathers on his clothes, soaks through to the skin, makes him cold.

It’s not that he misses Shirong. Perhaps he should miss him more than he does. It’s been nearly three years since they split up. It should perhaps hurt more than it does. It’s embarrassing that it took longer for him to get over Wei Ying—a relationship that never happened. 

The worst part of the breakup didn’t even have to do with Shirong himself. He hadn’t made a special call after Shirong left, or even after he officially moved out a week later, but he had mentioned it when Lan Huan called him as usual on the second Tuesday of the month.

“Oh, I’m sorry, didi,” Lan Huan had said. “I know you did love him, in your own way.”

In your own way.

Is he not— Did he not—

Had he never—

He is nearly to Moling. The train track curves here, about fifteen minutes out, and the rails were laid in crooked. It’s a jolt, every time. It’s easy to see who the regular commuters are, whose coffee sloshes over, who widens their stance in time, who looks suddenly out the window, worried. Sabotage on the tracks, maybe, or someone under the cars. The younger people don’t look worried, only bored. 

The landscape is odd, he realizes suddenly. He’s been staring vaguely out the window, letting his mind wander, but where he’s used to a few farms, a man-made lake, and mostly open country there is torn up ground, heavy machinery, and miles of chain-link fence. Did he not notice this on his last trip? Had he been reading?

Out the window he sees a large sign on the fence announcing, “Future home of Jin Industries Moling Satellite Campus.” Typical.

In your own way.

He never asked what Lan Huan meant by that. Lan Zhan has won multiple awards for his reporting, for his ability to encourage others to talk. The right facial expression at the right time. A direct, polite question with just the right emphasis. Merciless is what they say about him, sometimes. He’s like a swordsman in an old movie, Nie Mingue used to say, in a way that sounded like a compliment. He moves so quick and so sharp, you don’t even know he’s cut you until you’re around the corner and your head falls off.

He’s poking at it like a sore tooth, needlessly. His golden core makes itself known, just a little sense, a small awakening. It’s always ready to defend him, even so many years later. He does nothing with the awareness, of course. No cultivation is authorized outside of combat. But his core was never removed, never shut down. Can’t put the hot sauce back in that bottle, Jiang Cheng had said once.

The train slows, stops. 

“Moling station. Depart here—” The pleasant voice is cut off by a beeping. Lan Zhan stands and shoulders his bag.

“Attention passengers,” a crackled voice comes over the loudspeaker, far less pleasant than the recording. “Due to a security concern all passengers must depart the train at car fourteen. Doors will not open except for car fourteen. Departing passengers, please make your way to car fourteen.”

Lan Zhan looks around the car, then sees a “3” on the far wall. He sighs and follows the few people who are struggling with the connecting door to car four. The chimes that gently demand Get off the damn train are going. He has to speedwalk down the aisle, which is undignified, and everyone looks up at him with that poor bastard expression reserved for torn grocery bags and flat tires. 

He makes it off the train a second before the door closes and it pulls away.

“Close one!” an old man grins at him, more humor than teeth.

The police have roped off most of the platform, everyone standing around looking at each other. A few are smoking. Lan Zhan goes over to the rope, coming up next to a kid with one of those handheld electronic games. The kid’s staring around at the cops while his game beeps vaguely in a lonely sort of way.

“What’s happened?” Lan Zhan asks him.

The kid answers without looking at him. “Abandoned bag. Nothing’s happening.” He sounds disappointed.

“Hm.” Sure enough, there’s a nondescript green backpack slumped on a bench.

“They always say it might blow up, but it never does.”

“Not so much these days,” Lan Zhan agrees.

“Like, if it was gonna blow up they wouldn’t be smoking near it, right?”

Lan Zhan smiles despite himself. “Good eye,” he says. His golden core is settled within him, curling beneath his breastbone like a sleeping cat, uninterested and unconcerned. No danger.

There had been a certain amount of withdrawal, after the war. And grief, and nightmares, and a limp for a while. But the end of regular cultivation, of relying on his golden core as a seventh sense, a second consciousness, a second self, the end of healing himself from the inside, of Wangji at his back and power at his fingertips . . .

It’s not entirely the government’s fault, if he’s being fair. Governments have always thrown away veterans, no matter who is in power. Always have, always will. Use you up and spit you out with maybe some benefits and the number of some overtaxed and underpaid case worker. And cultivation, being both new and more ancient than anything, was an unknown since the beginning. There are no peer-reviewed studies on the long-term effects of using a golden core. If Jin Guangyao hadn’t been doing his own research with the Wens for all those years, only to defect back to his father’s side when the tide began to turn, there wouldn’t have been a cultivator corps at all. So Lan Zhan can’t put the responsibility on any one person’s shoulders.

But it still claws at him, sometimes. His core wants out, wants to stretch, to strike, to light something up. It’s like wrapping his head in blankets, sometimes, stifling and muffled and hard to breathe.

Jin Zixuan likes to talk about it, how it feels. Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng do not.

He checks his watch and picks up his pace, passing by another building down the block under renovation with a Jin Industries sign. The logo is close enough to the Sunshot flag that the government connection is implied, but different enough for plausible deniability. 

Lan Qiaolian is leaning on her car a few blocks away, exactly where she said she’d be. Lan Zhan appreciates it—they’ve met only once, and he doesn’t trust his ability to pick her out in a crowd. She’s a short woman, but solidly built. Doesn’t look like a Lan, is what his uncle would say.

“Lan Zhan!” she waves to him and drops her cigarette on the pavement. “Thanks for coming.”

He nods and takes his place in the passenger seat. The drive to the Moling Children’s Center is quiet for a while. The Center is near Yilong’s old gym; he remembers the road.

“You had a meeting with the detective?” he asks, though he knows the answer.

“Yeah. Still stonewalling me. Everything’s fucking confidential. They say they’ve canvassed the neighborhood, everywhere between the school and the bus stop and home. But it’s like everyone saw him walking home with his cousin, his cousin turns around for a minute to chase a damn neighborhood cat up a tree, and Sizhui is just . . . gone. How does a kid just disappear like that?”

“But this lead?”

“The administrator I talked to at the Center said they might have something, some record of where he was born. Maybe someone from his birth family has been looking for him, would take him? There’s just— Even if the records do exist, if they weren’t destroyed, I don’t know who has access. And he’s just a kid, you know? I’m not special. We’re not special. So I can’t think of anything but the worst. You know what happens to kids, especially if they take them West, I know they sell—”

“You don’t know,” Lan Zhan cuts her off, gently. “No one knows. No reason to go down that road unless the evidence points there.”

Lan Qiaolian rubs her face. “I just don’t know what the evidence is.”

“We’ll find something. I have a hunch.”

He does not have a hunch. He doesn’t believe in hunches. Or, rather, he didn’t before he started cultivating. Now he believes in the extra-sensory perception of his golden core, which he has been ordered—and signed pages of documents agreeing—to never use it again.

Either way, he’s learned that the general public like hunches. It’s comforting, apparently, someone taking the lead off of no information. It doesn’t make much sense, but most reassuring things don’t.

“I can’t help thinking—” Lan Qiaolian trails off, tapping her thumb on the steering wheel. “Maybe he left because of me.”

This is not a comfortable situation. Lan Zhan should respond with Of course not, don’t think like that. But for all he knows it could be true. He doesn’t really know Lan Qiaolian, and he certainly doesn’t know Lan Sizhui.

All he knows are the facts. Lan Qiaolian began fostering Lan Sizhui a year ago, when he was eight. It was just the two of them until a few weeks ago when Lan Sizhui went missing. It’s not his job to find missing children, but they are technically family, and if there’s some kidnapping or a dangerous part of Moling where children are falling into holes in the ground, that’s a story.

“Why would you think that?” It’s not as gentle, maybe, but it’s useful.

“I got laid off a few years ago. A lot of us did, mass layoffs.”

“Construction?”

“Yeah. Everyone from site managers to the detailers to— well, everyone. One whole firm shut down. So I thought, you know, I’d be home for a while, I got some unemployment, so maybe it would be a good time to finally start fostering. You know? I could stay home until he got adjusted, then when he started school I’d have found something new.”

“And he was happy?”

Lan Qiaolian smiles. “He’s always happy. He’s a real happy kid. Whatever he went through when he was little, he doesn’t seem to remember. Makes friends easily, fine by himself. He’s a dream. But maybe he was just good at showing me what I wanted to see. You know? Coming from a traumatic background like that, being in the system. You know, kids learn how to survive.”

“If he seemed happy, I’m sure he was.”

She sighs. “I just— The work never came back. The last six, seven months I’ve been calling everywhere I can think of. Even considered moving. Nothing. And so it’s been tight, even though it’s just the two of us. I figured with my husband’s life insurance we’d be fine until I found something, but I didn’t anticipate it taking this long. I’ve got some unemployment, but the support payments from fostering messed with my benefits. And so it’s been tight. And maybe he— You know, the secondhand clothes, no takeout, no games. Not getting to go on the school trips because I can’t pay the— I can’t help thinking, maybe all that time in the system, he must’ve been dreaming about a home, you know, what it would be like. And then when it wasn’t—”

“That’s a lot of conjecture.”

She laughs. “True. I just— The brain, it spins. You know?”

“Hm.” Lan Zhan looks out the window at the familiar neighborhood, then startles a bit. “Did they tear down the market?”

Qiaolian glances over. “Oh, yeah. Couple months ago. No more independent groceries in this part of town anymore. Not that most people could afford it at the end. They tried to stick it out, but the big chains moved in after the war, got those tax breaks.”

“Ah. ‘Economic revitalization.’”

She laughs again. 

“So, if I can ask,” he starts, glancing out of the corner of his eye to gauge her response. “On the train I noticed building sites. Jin Industries?”

Her jaw clenches. “They’re not hiring.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“We’ve all tried. They’ve bought up half of Moling, and whoever’s running the construction’s not hiring local. Union’s totally shut out.”

“Really?”

“I’ve tried, okay? I’ve called so many—” she cuts off with a frustrated noise.

“Forgive me. It wasn’t a criticism. I’m just curious.”

She nods curtly. “We’re here.”

The administrator who has agreed to meet with them has black toner smudged up the inside of her left forearm and a framed picture of a cat on her desk. She offers Lan Zhan room temperature water in a cracked coffee mug.

“So you’re my eleven o’clock, right? Okay, right.”

“That’s an old flag,” Lan Zhan says, nodding up at the wall behind her. “I haven’t seen that design for a while.”

For the most part, it’s a standard Sunshot, but in addition to the golden hand and red sun, thin black lines reach up the palm like branches.

The administrator looks surprised, turning around to it. “Oh. Yeah, I guess. I don’t know, I don’t have time to keep up with all that. We have to pay for our own, you know. We’re required to hang a flag in every room but the bathroom, but it comes out of our general operating budget. The official ones aren’t cheap.”

Lan Qiaolian chuckles. “My cousin got it tattooed right after he got discharged. He was pissed when they got rid of the black squiggles in the update. I told him, that’s why you gotta think for more than a week before you make a permanent decision, you know?”

The administrator smiles politely. “Anyway. Let me see here.” She starts digging through her pile of folders. “Lai, Lai—”

“Lan,” Lan Zhan corrects.

“Sorry?”

“The name, it’s Lan.”

“Right! Right, okay, Lan. Lan . . . Here we go. Lan . . . Qiaolian. Foster mother. Yes?”

Qiaolian nods.

“And you are?”

“Family,” Lan Zhan says.

“Right. Okay, let’s see. Lan Sizhui, age nine.”

Lan Zhan leans forward. “Anything you can tell us about where he came from, his life before Lan Qiaolian met him?”

She clicks her tongue and runs a finger down the page. “War orphan, typical story. Moved around, a bit once he got to Gusu. No injuries or disabilities. Hearing and sight all good, average height. Slightly underweight, but that’s not unusual.”

“When did he arrive here?” 

“At our facility? Looks like ‘98.”

“So he wasn’t here long before you got him,” Lan Zhan looks to Lan Qiaolian.

“Yeah, I guess. We don’t really talk about his past. That’s what the counselors recommend. You’re supposed to wait until they volunteer, you know? You don’t ask first.”

“Any idea where he came from? Birth family?”

The administrator clicks her tongue again, flips a few pages. Lan Zhan catches a sight of a grainy printed photograph, a kid looking around six, big chubby cheeks and shaggy long hair.

“Came in through law enforcement. No note of any charges or juvenile detention, so likely if he had surviving family they lost custody due to a criminal conviction. Looks like the child didn’t offer any details to counselors or placement. Um, looks like Sizhui was the name he got here.”

Lan Qiaolian frowns. “You named him? That’s not his birth name?”

“Common practice, especially if we have multiple kids with the same given name. He never gave a family name—Likely he either didn’t know his parents or forgot after being in the system for a while. A-Yuan is what he was called when he got here.”

“Yuan,” Lan Zhan turns it over in his mouth. “Something Yuan. Any record of where he was born?”

“Mmm, can’t be sure. But he entered the system in Yiling.”

“Yiling?”

“Yep. First registered into care in Yiling, 1995.”

Lan Zhan looks back up at the flag. The others must be thinking the same thing. Yiling in 1995, the Sunshot Massacre. But that’s a ridiculous thought—there were no survivors then, and plenty of other battles, bombings, one-off murders in the area at the end of the war.

“No family names though?” Lan Qiaolian asks. “Any record of someone who might be looking for him, might want him back?”

The administrator suddenly yawns hugely, covering her mouth with both hands. “I’m so sorry. No, no siblings, no recorded birth family. I’m so sorry, I haven’t been sleeping.”

“It’s all right,” Qiaolian says.

“I live over on the East side. They’re building some new damn complex, pounding in pilings at all hours of the night.”

“At night?” Qiaolian asks. “Why?”

The woman sighs. “I don’t know. Lights coming in the windows at one in the morning. I had to dig out my old curtains, thank goodness I still have them. Wake up in the middle of the night thinking the bombing’s started up again, ha, the banging and the lights. We’ve been complaining, but the company offered all the neighbors a settlement stop reporting it. Two months’ rent, we couldn’t turn it down.”

“Lots of construction,” Lan Zhan says, carefully. “Unusual construction.”

“I wouldn’t know,” the administrator shrugs. “I just hope they finish up quickly. My cats are getting stressed to death.”

“Have you noticed— Never mind.” Qiaolian chews her lip.

“Noticed what?”

“The site over by me, there’s a lot of trailers.”

“Like trailers you live in?”

“They look similar—usually there’s a double-wide or two for an on-site office, break area, you know. The site by us there’s a dozen at least. I just find that odd.”

“I haven’t noticed. Maybe. I don’t know, I try to ignore it. Whatever office complex or hotel or whatever it is, I don’t need it.”

The administrator flips through the file again. “I’m afraid that’s about all I can give you. Yiling might have more information—I think the children’s home there moved a couple years ago so files might have been lost, but it’s worth an ask. Signature on the transfer form looks like a Xie Ling. It’s not a huge town, anyway, could be someone remembers the kid, or the family. Local police or courts maybe, if they keep decent records.”

Lan Zhan and Lan Qiaolian exchange a glance.

“Sounds like I’m going to Yiling,” Lan Zhan says.

“You don’t have to—”

He shakes his head, then hands his card to the administrator. “If you think of anything, or hear anything.”

She takes it. “Gusu Herald? You’re not going to mention the flag thing, right? We’re compliant with everything, this one’s just a mistake.”

“I doubt you’ll even be mentioned. I’m just following the story.”

She looks doubtful. “Okay. We’re compliant, though.”

“I work for a newspaper, not the government.”

She snorts. “Yeah. Okay. ”

It twists a little in his stomach, but he nods at her politely as they leave.

The hallway takes them past a large window showing some kind of playroom. Three adults huddle around a low table, arguing in hushed tones, while a child who looks around four plays by himself with a few scratched up toy cars. The child has a cast on one arm, rolling one car at a time solemnly around on the carpet. He looks up as they pass him and tracks them all the way down the hallway. Lan Zhan can feel his eyes on the back of his neck even as they go out into the sunshine.

“Did Sizhui talk about anybody here?” Lan Zhan asks as they get back in the car. “Any friends at the group home, or children he knew when he was younger?”

“Not really. I was worried he’d have a hard time making friends, because he always seemed so content playing by himself. It’s why I was so glad he had Jingyi, his cousin. He’s the same age. He’s the one who was with—” Qiaolian breaks off, blinking hard. “Sorry. Long day.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he says. He should say something else like It’s okay. It will be fine. We will find him. But he doesn’t, because that would probably be a lie. His silence rises like water in the car, over his mouth, his nose, stifling.

Do not be needlessly cruel.

“Yiling,” Lan Zhan says, to fill the space. 

“Fucking Yiling,” Qiaolian agrees.

“I’ll go this weekend.”

“What? You can’t just take off across the country.”

“I haven’t taken vacation in three years. I can go.”

“Lan Zhan—”

“I will go. I’m not saying I will find him, but I will go.”

Lan Qiaolian doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride. When she drops him at the station, she just nods, lips pressed tight together.

“I will call you,” he says. She nods again and he gets out.

He stops by the payphone on the way in to the station to call the office.

“Can I talk to Lan Shu? Yes, thank you.” He waits while the call is transferred down to the basement. “Hi, Lan Shu. Have we got anything from Yiling? Anything we’ve covered. Is there a local paper there? I haven’t—”

Lan Shu snaps her gum on the other end of the line. He pulls the receiver away from his ear, wincing. It’s a very wet sound. “Yeah, I got some. I’ll check our clippings, but they’ve got some shitty local rag. A weekly, I think.”

“Please pull that for me. I’m looking for 1995, don’t know what month.”

“Eh, looks like it’s only been running a couple years. First edition I have is April ‘98.”

Lan Zhan taps his finger, thinking. “I’ll take everything you’ve got. Any of our coverage from ‘95.”

“So, Sunshot.”

“And anything else we covered.”

Lan Shu laughs around her gum, “What else is there? No one gave a shit about Yiling before Sunshot, and nobody’s given a shit since.”

Lan Zhan sighs. “Just pull what you can find. Please. I’ll be by in an hour and a half.”

He hangs up before she can snap her gum again. It gives him a headache, the wet sound. 

He grabs a copy of the Herald for the train ride back. Instead of reading, he flips through the entire paper looking for one word: Yiling. He finds three mentions: once as the birthplace of a soccer player (a rags-to-riches story), once as the site of a hailstorm in the weather section, and once, as expected, in reference to the Sunshot Massacre. 

He hasn’t thought about it much before. He’s never been to Yiling, but there’s never really been a reason. Even before the war it was a small, poor, middle of nowhere town with low property values, high crime rates, and the worst literacy numbers in the country. It was shitty, but not in an interesting way. Qinghe was always shitty but exciting—drug kingpins and porn producers and a famous red light district. It’s become more respectable since the war, though it’s kept some of it’s sleazy veneer. Lan Huan likes to visit, says there’s a good arts scene, but Lan Zhan has never been tempted. He traveled a lot during the war, but since returning home he’s never really felt the urge. For a while it was justified. Recovery. But five years? Maybe he’s more than comfortable, now. Maybe he’s stagnating.

Lan Shu gives him two-and-a-half years of weekly papers in a brown paper bag and slim folder of photocopied clipping from the Herald’s own files. He hauls it all home on the bus piles them neatly by year on the coffee table, then settles in with a cup of tea to read. There are empty gum wrappers in the bottom of the bag.

The Yiling Observer is a quick read, only eight pages in its first edition. There are no bylines, oddly, no editors listed, no photographs, just one phone number and a street address in the masthead. The stories are . . . not quite what he expected. No gruesome crimes or depressing statistics. Just coverage of a local amateur basketball tournament, a car accident that took out a storefront, an interview with a grandmother about her vegetable garden. Small stories, almost defiantly local, but clearly and concisely written. Professional. A recipe for xiao long bao attributed to a Mrs. Yi.

He flips to the back page, under the fold. Whatever it says in bold. 

This is your humble author’s own column, where our fearless and frightening editor has given me these few inches to write whatever I like. Hence the name, Whatever. Today we’re going to talk about the Sunshot Flag, or as I like to call it, “Hey, let’s slap reminders of a war crime up on every building in the country, that’s a great idea.” 

Lan Zhan snorts. Whoever the writer is, they’re not wrong. He gets up to heat more water and adds to his list of things to do on the kitchen counter. Read all of the newspapers. Call the HR department and schedule a few days of vacation, maybe a week. Wait until his uncle sees it on the out of office calendar and calls him in a huff to explain the story. Book a train ticket to Yiling. Make an appointment at children’s services. Find a hotel. Ask Lan Huan to water his plants. Do laundry. 

He feels better with a list, like all of the static of potential responsibilities has focused into a clearly intelligible sound inside his skull. 

He goes back to the paper.

And before you complain—and I know some of you will—you’re the one reading my paper. Maybe someday you’ll have better options and can use this only for lining your bird cages, but for now I’m the best you got. That’s Yiling, baby.

Part Five

#assorted writings #pick up every piece #the untamed #cql #mo dao zu shi #postwar journalist au #i hate plot

[redmoonrises]

@catdragonunicorn @bury-me-face-down @torristrey @gravestone-monarch i wrote a thing :3 i don’t really have a taglist so i figured y’all would be the most likely to want to read my stuff. uh mind the tags tho i don’t wanna trigger anyone and this is kinda dark

The battlefield sprawled in all directions. The only sounds were the cawing of crows, shrieking of vultures, and the groans of the badly wounded who were strewn across the field. I stumbled over another stiff body, holding my bleeding arm close to my chest. Where were they? I couldn’t find them. I had to find them. Please, please, don’t be dead. I slowly traversed the battlefield, scanning every face to find the ones I sought. Not them. Not them. Not-

“G-gen?” A familiar voice, quiet and laced with pain. I whirled around to see where it had come from, and saw them leaning heavily against the remains of a cart, blood soaking their uniform. No armour. There hadn’t been enough for everyone, and they’d insisted they could go without. Why had I let them? I rushed over, my own minor injuries forgotten.

“Shit. You need a healer.” I looked them over frantically, trying to find the source of the bleeding. There were too many sources. Stab and slash marks across their torso and arms, and places where arrows had pierced and been removed. It looked like someone had hit them over the head with a rock multiple times. How were they still standing?

“‘M fine,” they murmured, barely able to speak loud enough for me to hear. “You’re bleeding,” they realized, eyes widening. “Who did this?”

I huffed, batting their hands away. “It’s just a scratch. You, on the other hand, look like you took on the whole army at once.”

“Tis but a flesh wound,” they insisted with a laugh- which only made them cough and wince in pain. “I’ve had worse.” I didn’t want to think about when or how.

“I am not. Asking. You are going to see a healer right now.” I grabbed their arm and started dragging them back across the battlefield. They were too weak from blood loss at this point to resist me. The remaining survivors- at least, the ones who could walk- had gathered near the mouth of the pass, and I could see smoke rising from campfires as we got closer.

They stumbled every step, cursing under their breath, but I just kept pulling them along. At this point that was all I could do. I remembered our conversation before the battle had begun. They had made me promise I would stay near the wall, where it was safer. They’d promised in turn to be careful, and to retreat if they were injured, no matter what the rest of the army was doing. Dismissal for ‘cowardice’ was better than dying. Of course they hadn’t listened. Why had I expected them too? I had kept my word, and remained on the wall with the other archers, only joining the main army when the rest had been gunned down. Our army had been no match for the enemy’s superior weaponry. They knew exactly where to hit us to make it hurt. When I’d gone looking for them, our commanding officer said they’d joined the front lines to try and take out the enemy’s canons. Of course. Stubborn asshole, why didn’t you just retreat?

I realized I was muttering to myself as I pulled them along. “Almost there.” They stumbled again and grunted in pain, but I ignored it. Why hadn’t they just listened to me? We’ve been through too much for them to give up now. “I’m not letting you die, dammit.”

The healers’ tent was on the edge of camp. I dragged them inside, despite their renewed protests, and flagged over the nearest healer. She gaped in astonishment upon seeing that they were still on their feet- albeit leaning heavily on me. She called over another healer, and the two carried them to one of the cots ringing the room. “Are you alright, dear?” She asked, glancing back at me.

“I have a wound on my arm, but nothing serious,” I responded.

She nodded. “Sit tight then. Don’t worry, your friend will be alright.”

I doubted they’d ever really be alright, but I just nodded and sat down on one of the chairs by the entrance. I could hear angry cursing from somewhere in the room- they were still fighting, even now, demanding to know where I’d gone- but it all just faded into the background. Never again. I had promised myself I would never let this happen again. But they were so damned stubborn, and I didn’t want to be like those people who had controlled their life for so long. I wanted them to be able to have a choice.

I’d been stupid to think they’d make the right one.

It wasn’t their fault. Their mindset was a learned one. They had to do everything themself. But there was a difference between independence and isolation. I’d tried to keep them from crossing it, but by the time I truly understood what was going on- by the time they told me enough that I could understand- it was too late. I was stuck trying to pull them out of a loop I had no hope of breaking. They didn’t care if they died. They thought I’d be better off without them. They were wrong, but they were too stubborn to see themself as anything but a burden to me.

Never again.

I realized that the room had gone fuzzy around me. The sounds had faded, the lights had rings around them. I looked down at the cut on my arm. It was still oozing blood. It had been bleeding since I’d woken up on the battlefield- probably since long before that. A minor injury on its own, but I’d been walking all day, and pulling them along had torn it open more. How much blood had I lost? I didn’t care. The healers were two steps away, once they were done healing the worse injuries one of them would fix me up in less than a minute.

I couldn’t hear their voice anymore. I stood, swaying as spots took over my vision for a moment. Then I stumbled over to where I’d seen the healers take them. They were lying on a cot, still and silent, and for a moment I feared the worst. But then I saw the barely visible scars from healed wounds peeking through their ruined uniform, and realized they were just sleeping. Good. They didn’t get enough sleep these days anyway. I smiled slightly, brushing a bit of hair out of their face. “Stubborn asshole. You just had to make it difficult for them, huh. It’s always been like pulling teeth to get you to a healer. Why can’t you just accept when you need help?” I knew why, of course. But that’s why I was here. They would protect me, and in turn, I would take care of them. Whether they liked it or not. “You’re the one who claimed me as a friend. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Suddenly, everything went black.

#tw blood #tw gun mention #tw injury #tw war #tw death #tw weapons #uhh idk i think that's everything?? #lemme know if i need to add more

[sparrowwritings]

Final Fantasy 14 Writing Challenge Day Six: Champagne taste, Beer budget

Day Five -- Masterpost -- Day Seven

“Lara.”

“I know, I know. I was stupid and just said the first thing that came to mind.”

“Lara.”

“But like, boy did that shut him up when I asked. Did you see his face?? Priceless.”

“Lara.”

“I shouldn’t be this satisfied about it but oh my gods I’m so pumped I could fight another Lightwarden.”

“Lara, you invited Emet-Selch--you know, the Ascian that’s been bugging us on the First this whole time--to have dinner with us. If we don’t get murdered by him, we’re definitely going to be murdered by Alisaie. After everyone else lectures us to death. The Exarch might even cry. I know he’s all mysterious and such but I get the feeling he definitely would if he found out we invited an enemy to dinner.”

“It should be...well not fine but it should be okay. He keeps saying he won’t work against us and this will prove if he’s even a little bit trustworthy. We just...don’t have to tell anyone about it.”

“HOW? Everyone in the Crystarium knows everyone else and they’ll definitely say something to our friends when they see the Warriors of Darkness having dinner with a tall guy with black clothes, white-and-brown hair and an extra eye on his forehead. It won’t even take a day.”

“And that’s why we have dinner with him in our room. He can teleport anywhere, we can have a very awkward meal, no one finds out and we’re solid.”

“...Our room.” 

“Yes.”

“Where the shades of Ardbert and Gwyneth hang out waiting for us when they’re not wandering because no one can see them except us and they can’t even see each other.”

“......look, you’re as aware of our record for good plans as I am. This isn’t even the worst one I’ve ever come up with.”

“That’s...sadly true.” 

“...It’s okay you can say it’s a bad idea and I can try to come up with a way to say that we changed our mind without insulting him--”

“No, don’t.”

“Huh?”

“You’re right. For sure Emet-Selch’s not telling us everything, but...it’d be nice to know if he means it when he says he wants us to understand his point of view.”

“...Yeah. Even if it didn’t work out so well when we tried that with Emperor Varis.”

“Mmhm. Although, that reminds me...what are we even going to feed him? He used to be an Emperor, he’s probably used to super expensive foods. We’re not exactly flush with gil.”

“I’ll...think of something. Improvisation is key to being a great Culinarian, as Chef Lyngsath says.”

-----

“This is a horrible mistake.” Ardbert leaned against the wooden countertop of the small kitchen of the room that Lara and Roger shared. He really didn’t need to, being intangible to all but Lara herself, but it was one of the few things that made him feel like more than just a shade. Besides which, he needed to showcase just how upset he was.

Lara rolled her eyes as she uncovered a pot and checked on the food inside. “It’s not going to be any less of a mistake the twelfth time you mention it. We just have to see it through.”

“And if Emet-Selch decides, as Ascians are wont to do, to forget about any promises he’s made and just kill you both while you’re at your most vulnerable?” 

“Well then we’ll see that through, too.” She set the lid back down, apparently satisfied with how it looked. “For now, though, I’m just going to focus on getting through dinner without any incidents. How’s the table looking, Roger?”

“It’s fine.” Roger muttered as he poked a finger into one of his ears. “Gwyn’s, uh, letting me know her opinion on our guest but everything’s set.”

Not for the first time, Ardbert felt a flare of emotion burst in his chest. A mixture of fierce pride and overwhelming sadness. For all that he couldn’t touch anything in this state, it seemed like any sort of feelings within himself was all the more intense. Particularly when they involved his sister, Gwyneth. The one other shade that was similarly denied the ability to move onward when his friends had gone where the Oracle of Light had led them.

The one other shade he couldn’t see much less detect, even while they stood in the same room.

Truly fate was set to reject anything close to happiness for him.

Whether it was in response to his expression or something else, Lara snapped her fingers in front of Ardbert’s face a couple of times to get his attention. “Look, just pay attention to what Emet-Selch does and let me know if you notice anything--well, odd’s not the right word because he’s all odd, but anything that might look like he’s about to kill us.” She then directed her voice in the general direction of the dinner table. “Same goes for you and Roger, Gwyneth! If he looks like he’s about to try something, be sure to scream or something.” 

“She’s sulking on the desk chair on the platform, actually, but Gwyn says she heard you the first time.” A snort left Ardbert’s nose before he could stop himself. 

His good humor died with the rapping at the chamber door.

Roger and Lara gave each other a look before he went to answer it. Against the advice of Ardbert (and from context clues, Gywneth too), both of the Warriors of Darkness were dressed in more casual clothing. As if they had set a time to sup with one of their Scion friends and not a being that was directly responsible for the chaos and misery plaguing all fourteen parallel worlds. He stomped over to a better vantage point as the door opened and Emet-Selch entered. 

The man’s pale yellow eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail even as they slid over where the shades were located. They lingered briefly on the platform where the two beds were positioned at opposite corners with the desk set up between them before settling on Roger.  A slimy smirk tugged at his lips that made Ardbert want to smack him. “I see you’ve made do with what the Crystarium could afford to spare.” Every word that dripped out of his mouth had the tang of sarcasm. “There’s nothing quite like what you can find on the Source.”

Instead of taking the argument bait, Roger gave a one-shoulder shrug as he closed the door. “We take what we can get. It’s how adventurers work.” He walked back and offered Emet-Selch one of the actual chairs that had been provided to the Warriors of Darkness before making his way to a stool. The man sat and immediately slouched, crossing one leg over the other while folding his arms. 

“So what you’re saying is that your invitation to dinner was more akin to asking if I’d enjoy whatever vaguely edible scraps you could whip together. Perhaps I should leave before you attempt to poison this body of mine.”

“Yes, please.” Ardbert called out. “And don’t let the door hit your arse on the way out.” Lara bit her lip and hard to keep herself from inappropriately laughing as she carefully plated the meal. Roger suddenly coughed, indicating that Gwyn had a similar comment.

“The invitation was a genuine thing, Emet-Selch.” She said lightly while balancing three dishes in her hands. “You said you wanted us to see your perspective, right? Well,” Lara set a plate in front of the man first. “In my experience, one of the better ways to discuss topics is over food.” She made her way over to the other side of the table and set the far more vegetable-laden plate in front of Roger before sitting down with her own meal. 

“So.” She smiled, but Ardbert could tell it was the kind that merchants used with customers. “We’ll start with pleasantries and see where it goes from there, just like any other person at dinner. And no, nothing is poisoned.”

A tense quiet fell over the table. Instinct more than necessity had Ardbert holding his breath. Eventually, Emet-Selch sat forward in his chair and took a couple of the utensils set out for him. With the ease and grace of one who had broken bread among nobles for decades, he carefully cut a small bite’s worth of the meal and ate it. After chewing for a moment and swallowing, he declared, “Not poisoned indeed. It seems you do have some skill in something other than murder.”

Lara let out the breath that she’d been holding in something like a relieved sigh and her smile was somewhat more genuine this time. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The rest of the dinner was just as awkward as expected. Emet-Selch spent far more time making verbal jabs at the lifestyle of the Warriors of Darkness and the quality of their friends than he did giving any useful information. He gestured quite a bit while he spoke, but nothing seemed to indicate that he planned to kill them with dark magics or summon sin eaters directly into the room to do it for him. Not that Ardbert ever stopped being alert to any potential danger.

When the meal was finished and he’d made to leave, Roger had the courage to ask why that was. He’d given a smirk and responded, “It’s far too much effort to explain a concept multiple times, particularly to those who wouldn’t understand it the first time.” He turned and gave a dramatic wave above his head as a violet portal opened ahead of him. “And for as novel as this dinner was, I’m afraid I must decline any future invitations. Until next we meet.”

Minutes later, the Crystal Exarch paid a visit and Ardbert had a much grander time watching the two stumble over themselves explaining what had happened as the older man chided them. They’d completely forgotten that he could see what Roger and Lara were up to through his mirror in the Crystal Tower.

#Final fantasy 14 #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #fanfiction #writing challenge #champagne taste beer budget #dual WoL AU #roger briden #lara marner #emet-selch #ardbert #crystal exarch #Gwyneth #who in this AU is Ardbert's younger sister #that joined up with him for his adventures #they can't see each other mostly because *drama* #but also because that isolation from everyone and everything for a century was too important to ardbert's character to just ignore #so you get a whole new layer of angst #hurray! #and also other implications that i won't spell out here at least #a little late but hey i got it #six down twenty five to go

[yukiwrites]

Getting Back Together

Thank you so much for the patience and support as always, @breeachuu! I hope you like it!

Summary: After five years of loneliness and anxiety, Wolfram discovers that Byleth had woken up from her Slumber and had headed to the Monastery. The day they had promised to meet again when they were younger had finally come, so now the former classmates all flocked back together to fight for the Kingdom.

Commission info HERE and HERE!

__________________________

Wolfram felt the icy grip of fear encroach him from inside. Byleth was nowhere to be found -- thought that wasn’t even the worst part.

He couldn’t feel her, either. It felt very much like that time whence she was thrown into a portal by Solon; it was as though she didn’t exist. The Blood that had been emitting its constant energy throughout the years… it simply wasn’t anymore.

“No, Wolfram, calm down, maybe,” he took a shaky breath as his eyes darted from one side of the dark cave to the other, “maybe she’s just confused after waking up from the Slumber. Mother said that we shouldn’t wake a dragonkin from one because we don’t know the state of mind they’ll be in…”

The half manakete quickly made excuses as his breathing became more and more uneven. His body shook, though he couldn’t even pay attention to it at the moment, what with his mind being so preoccupied.

If he was to look for her, then he had to be quick about it -- dawn was just about to break so he would lose the cloak of the night to shield him and his wings from leering eyes. Perhaps it would be better to fly on Aquilo to be safe.

Breathing deeply, Wolfie made up his mind to do what he could do at the moment instead of despairing. Look for her. Be with her. The Heart of Immortals had finally woken up from its Slumber so he had to be beside her to fulfil his mission.

… Of course, Byleth had turned into a special existence for him after all these years as well, so it wasn’t just about the mission. He had to help a valued friend in need.

Besides, Dimitri was back at the Monastery as well. If all else failed, Wolfram could still reunite with his friend and they’d plan what to do next together.

“Together…” Wolfie murmured as he nodded to himself in the darkness before running out of the cave with a steeled resolve. He had gotten used to solitude during this exile, but it wasn’t as though he enjoyed it.

He was a boy who loved to be around people first and foremost, after all.

The moment he exited the cave to call for Aquilo so they could watch from the skies, Wolfram sensed something pulling at him from the Monastery. It was something hard to explain, like he had walked to the wrong direction once he gave his back to the mountain; like something, not unlike a string, had made his steps heavier as long as he went against it.

Wolfram gasped, looking up as he blew his whistle to call for Aquilo.

It was the Blood!

Well, not entirely, anyway. It felt too drowsy to feel like the Blood, but since it was a presence so akin to his own though it bore a significant difference he couldn’t quite pinpoint; Wolfram was sure it was the presence of the Blood.

He had been right, after all! The Heart of Immortals was truly in a confused state after waking up from the Slumber! 

As the first lights of dawn broke, Wolfram got on Aquilo’s back, flying at full speed towards the place that had been all but a shell of what it once was; towards the only place that he had called home outside of his own world.

To the Monastery!

Huffing, Wolfram made use of all of his heightened senses to scout from the sky, still finding it difficult to pinpoint the Blood’s exact location. He could hear the sounds of fighting from multiple sources -- perhaps more ruffians had broken in after Dimitri had cleared out the first few that had gotten in his way -- but he couldn’t see through walls, so he would need to land eventually to get a closer look.

A voice not too far from his spot at the sky made Wolfie steer Aquilo in its direction out of pure reflex, however.

“Why… Why are you here?”

It was faint, almost like a whisper, but it was unmistakingly Dimitri’s voice. 

Had he found Byleth?!

“Maybe that’s really the right direction! I can feel the fog around the Blood clearing…” Wolfram said aloud, habit he had cultivated even more during these years of solitude. As he approached the remains of a garden, he saw some familiar faces. “Wait, those are…!”

Ashe, Annette, Mercedes… and Byleth. There were more presences all around them so he couldn’t be sure of how many of those were hostile or friendly, but to see the faces of those he had missed for so long, finally within his grasp…

Wolfram’s eyes itched with tears before he even approached them to help with the bandit problem.

“Hey, Wolfie’s here too!” Annette waved cheerfully, forgetting that she was giving away her position to the enemies all around.

“Annie, shh!” Mercedes pulled her friend’s arm, taking her behind a wall.

A fight against looters and robbers certainly wasn’t the time to feel as elated as Wolfram felt at that moment, but he couldn’t help smiling from ear to ear before drying his tears. Puffing his chest, he focused on the task at hand so he could properly hug all of them later.

The most impressive part was how more and more of his past classmates showed up the longer the battle went on. Ingrid, Felix, Sylvain, Dorothea, Caspar, Linhardt and even Bernadetta…

By the time they all gathered together, it felt as though they could simply sit down and wait for Byleth’s lesson to begin -- they were basically all accounted for!

Wolfram covered his face with both hands to sniffle silently as the grown-up faces of his treasured classmates one by one entered into view.

A strong arm around his neck made Wolfram bend down in surprise, being almost choked in the middle of the incredible strength behind the shorter stature.

“Yo! Still crying as always, huh, Wolf?” Caspar grinned as he tightened the embrace, patting Wolfram’s chest with such vigor that it should be called ‘manhandling’ instead of ‘patting’.

“C-Caspar…” Wolfie hiccuped, his chest wringing in emotion. Byleth was awake, his classmates were flocking together… it felt as though all the loneliness he had felt so far was a lie.

There were so many things he wanted to do. So many things he wanted to ask.

He wanted to shake Byleth’s shoulders and ask her how in the world she had woken up so suddenly; how did she get back to the monastery in the exact timeframe he was away… How did she feel, why did she need to go into a Slumber… So many things.

He wanted to ask each and every one of his classmates how the war had treated them; he wanted to hug them and cry in their arms; he wanted to hold Dimitri’s hand to help him out of the dark place that seemed to have taken over inside his mind.

But he was overwhelmed -- with his own feelings and emotions, yes, but also with the amount of people talking all around him: they were asking each other how they’d been, what they had been doing and how in the world they all managed to come together after five years of war.

However, the answer they most wanted to hear was Dimitri’s. He had been sentenced to death right after the war started, so having him stand there in their midst was surprising to say the least, especially to the ones who had been looking for him all this time.

Blinking the tears away, Wolfie remembered what the merchant had told him some weeks (or years?) ago: people from Duscur helped him escape, hadn’t they?

“Dedue.” Dimitri answered simply, the weight in his voice making Wolfram’s hairs stand on end instead of bringing him solace.

Noticing the somber tone, Byleth cocked her head to the side, “what happened?”

The prince scowled as his bangs covered more of his good eye. “He’s dead. He died in my place.”

A low murmur ran across the classmates as Gilbert nodded solemnly, speaking something or other about sacrifice or the war. Honestly, he could’ve started talking about baking for all that was worth -- Wolfram had stopped listening.

A buzzing sound started to ricochet inside Wolfram’s head, getting louder and louder the more he struggled to breathe. It got so painfully loud to the point of Wolfie having to hold his head with both hands as his breathing shook.

Dead? Dedue was?

They barely had had the time to properly forge a friendship.

He had been Wolfram’s first roommate and the one who opened Wolfie’s eyes about Dimitri’s inner struggle. Even though he was a man of few words, it simply meant that every single thing that left his lips was worth listening to. To think that that admirably loyal man was… That he had given his life to-

He owed Dedue so much. So much.

Trembling, Wolfram didn’t listen to a single word said during the meeting, or what was decided after it.

It was only after Caspar shook him with enough force to make his brain bounce inside his skull that the half manakete managed to blink and focus on his friend.

“Are you back? I was about to call Linhardt to take a look at you.” The shorter man frowned slightly, worried about the lack of color in Wolfie’s face.

Looking at Caspar made Wolfram suddenly aware of his surroundings again: he felt the morning air; heard his classmates’ voices and their steps as well as the ruffling of leaves all around them. It was like he had taken his first breath in a new world after a long Slumber.

Was he- was he about to enter a Slumber out of shock? It couldn’t be!

He couldn’t get into a Slumber now. Surely one had to be a very ancient or powerful dragon to need a Slumber? Although he was the child of a manakete and a human, he had much more prominent human features, so all of his family seemed to agree that he was a quarter manakete at most. Could he even get into a Slumber?

“Heeey, c’mon man, you gotta focus.” Caspar waved in front of Wolfie’s eyes, nudging his shoulder to walk to where all the others were going. “Look, everyone’s leaving us here! I’m not really good at cleaning either, but I can at least lug heavy stuff around.”

“Cleaning?” Wolfram didn’t recognize his own voice, too confused to even realize he had started walking.

“Yeah. You didn’t hear anything? We’re gonna use the Monastery as our base, but this place’s a mess. So we’re gonna clean.” Caspar kept pushing Wolfram, apparently unbothered for having to do so as he pointed with his chin towards the group walking right ahead of them. “The girls said it’s better to start with the dormitories so we can have a place to stay tonight, so c’mon, let’s go and check how everything looks now!”

Caspar’s enthusiasm and obliviousness to Wolfie’s inner turmoil stole a smile from the half manakete, though the weight inside his chest didn’t get any lighter.

“... Yeah, let’s go.” He managed to say in the end, holding Caspar’s hand so he could lead the way.

Wolfram often heard -- both back home and in Fódlan -- that a common thing humans did to cope with difficult times was to keep the body busy with chores, regardless of their nature. But that honestly wasn’t the way manaketes’ minds worked. They needed time to think and put their feelings in order, so doing other things in the meantime was distracting and stressful.

Especially because they had started cleaning the dormitories located on the first floor -- right where the room Wolfram shared with Dedue was.

The more stuff they carried outside to air them, the more they dusted and cleaned the surprisingly untouched furniture, the heavier Wolfram’s heart became. Even his head seemed to be so full of knots it made him tilt it sideways whenever he walked.

He remembered how anxious he had spent the first few nights in Dedue’s room: what if his bandanna came off while he slept? What if he sneezed and his wings popped out by accident? What if his secret was exposed on the very week of his arrival?

Of course, he also felt a tad anxious when he went to share a room with Caspar, especially about his bandanna, but it wasn’t as much as the first time -- and it was precisely because of how peaceful the time he spent with Dedue had been.

… It hurt so much.

Wolfie had wanted to tell both Caspar and Dedue about the purpose of his arrival in Fódlan, because he knew both of his roommates would accept him just like Dimitri did. Actually, he wanted to come clean about his reasons to all of his classmates, especially after living in exile for so long. He had pondered over which words to use and under which circumstances, but now everything was just a blank.

His body moved as he was told, but his brain felt like wet cotton.

Suddenly, he remembered the words his elder siblings had left him with. The words about death, parting and finding ways to deal with the loss the best way he could. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Wolfram sniffled the warm tears back as his shoulders trembled.

They never taught him how to deal with a secret he didn’t want to keep. They never taught him how to come clean with a lie he had kept for years.

They told him that experiencing war with his own skin would be hard and that he had to do anything in his power to cope with it, but… to think that it would be like this. He had barely done any fighting and the weight of this responsibility was already so heavy.

Wolfram dried the tears that fell uncaring of his best efforts to keep them away. He simply stood there, in the middle of cleaning, hiding his face with both hands as he sobbed.

There weren’t many people assigned to that specific area, but it wasn’t as though he was alone -- yet he couldn’t help the tears that streamed down his face.

Out of the former students assigned to this part of the dormitories, there were Dorothea, Caspar, Wolfram and Ashe; and the first one to see Wolfram hunched back was Dorothea. She gasped and meant to comfort the tall boy, but bit her lower lip in hesitation. Wolfie had confided in her in the past, but perhaps the best person to be by his side at that moment wasn’t her, but…

Dorothea spied Caspar with the corner of her eyes, quickly running to his side to tap his shoulder. “Caspie, I need help with something.”

“Yeah?” The young man brushed one hand over his forehead to dry the sweat after placing a cabinet on the ground. “Anything you want me to move?”

“No, it’s actually about Wolfie. Can you take him to the gardens? He… he needs a break.” She whispered, stealing a glance at the crying boy.

Caspar’s eyes immediately widened in surprise as he hurried to Wolfram’s side without even giving Dorothea a reply. “Wolf?! Hey, you okay, man? Wolf!” He shook the half manakete’s shoulder vigorously, making the hands slip out of his crying face.

“C-Casparrr!” Wolfram wailed pitifully, hugging the shorter man so as to sob on his shoulder.

Confused out of his mind, Caspar looked around as if he could find the answer of what to do just lying in the middle of the scattered furniture. He awkwardly patted Wolfram’s back, his chest sinking in what he assumed was sympathy.

Catching Caspar’s gaze, Dorothea pointed to the gardens, which made Caspar remember her previous words. “Alright!” He heaved and took Wolfram in his arms to smuggle him to the gardens. Honestly, he had no idea why they had to change locations, but since he knew he wasn’t good with sensitive matters, he chose to simply trust Dorothea and do as she said.

Wolfram barely noticed that they had moved as he hugged Caspar with everything he had as he poured all of the loneliness, uncertainties and grief of the past 5 years onto his friend’s shoulder.

Without much to do, Caspar patted Wolfram’s back with one hand as he grippeda t the grass with the other -- he felt like fighting someone. Who had made Wolfram feel that way? He wanted to fight them and settle things for good, but there was no way he could get a clear answer from his friend at the moment, so he simply waited.

It was only after the tears had dried and his throat hurt that Wolfram managed to stop himself from crying as he slowly pulled away from Caspar. “Th-thank you for being with me, Caspar. It means a lot.”

“Don’t mention it! Are you alright? Did you get into a fight? I’m gonna punch ‘em for you.” Caspar punched his open palm as he cracked his neck, but that only made Wolfram’s shoulders sag and a faint smile sprout on his lips.

“Actually, it was like everything rushed in at once, so it wasn’t just one or two things.” He took Caspar’s hands in his own so his friend wouldn’t hurt himself from clenching his fists. “It helped me clear my head a lot, though, so thank you again.”

“Sure, but,” Caspar tilted his head to the side, looking straight into Wolfie’s red, tear-stained eyes, “I’m still mad for some reason. I don’t like seeing you like this, Wolf.” He said in a whisper, unsure of his own feelings.

Wolfram’s chin trembled with emotion as Caspar reached out to move a few strands of hair that had glued themselves on Wolfie’s face. “Actually I- I have something to tell you, Caspar.” Wolfram sniffled, unable to take a deep breath through his stuffy nose.

Crying had taken an immense load off of Wolfram’s shoulder, but the issue itself remained. He grieved for his friend; he wanted to tell everyone about his secret -- he wanted to be able to stand beside them proudly, without the need to hide who he was or what he had come here to do.

And Caspar had to be the first one to know from his own mouth. Not by accident like what had happened with Dimitri, but willingly, from the bottom of his heart. Of course, his mind wanted him to wait at least for night time, even if they were in a secluded location, there were people wandering around amidst their cleaning effort.

Yet, Wolfram’s heart pounded, wanting him to blurt everything out at that very moment.

“Yeah? I can’t help much with words, but I can listen.” Caspar nodded, looking up at Wolfram with the clear, sincere eyes that Wolfie liked so much.

“Actually, I’m not human.” He lowered his head to pull the bandanna off of his head, exposing his pointy ears. “I came here with a mission-”

“Whoa, wait, wait, wait, what? Wait, you remember you past? That’s awesome, Wolf! And those ears-” Caspar moved from one side to the other, taking a better look at them. “Whaddya mean ‘not human’? What else could you be? I never heard of anything not human living here…”

“Heehee,” Wolfie laughed awkwardly, scratching his chin. “I’m not from ‘here’. I came from another world under the guidance of the goddess I worship.” He grasped his locket as he spoke, his chest feeling lighter and lighter the more words left his lips. “I was told to stay by Byleth’s side and protect her during the ‘turmoil’ that would shake this world, though I had no idea how soon war would break out after I arrived…”

Caspar frowned so deeply one could see the gears inside his brain struggling to work. “So the goddess appeared for you too? Like with the Professor?” He still couldn’t grasp it due to the sheer absurdity of it all.

Snorting, Wolfie held his locket closer and focused on his dragonstone. “I’ll just show you.” He brought out dragon half as he felt part of his body being covered by scales. The wings, tail and horns popped out as well, making Caspar let out a loud exclamation of surprise.

“HOLY SHIT, YOU CAN FLY?” He jumped out of his spot. “That’s dope. What the hell, man…” He murmured as he walked all around Wolfram, poking at his wings and horns.

Is that really the most surprising part here…? Wolfie snorted inwardly, glad that Caspar’s reaction was much better than he had anticipated.

He called his wings back after a few moments, still wary of the bright sun above them. “I couldn’t tell anyone about my origins since, well, it’s crazy, right? So I just said I didn’t remember anything so I could stay with Byleth.”

“Hey, wait, bring it back!” Caspar slammed Wolfram’s back with both hands right where his wings were. “That’s so cool, I never saw someone with wings before.”

… Clearly nothing else Wolfram said would get through Caspar, so he simply giggled in amusement. “It’s still a secret, so please don’t tell anyone, okay? I can call them back at night.” He slipped the bandanna back on his head, once again covering his ears. 

“I dunno why you’d hide this, it’s fucking amazing.” Caspar kneaded his knuckles on Wolfram’s back, wondering how the hell the wings went back inside. Ticklish with the constant contact, Wolfie’s laughter grew, his heart lighter than any other time he spent in Fódlan.

“We can go flying sometime when it’s quieter,” Wolfie suggested, wondering if he should ask Aquilo to carry Caspar as they soared in the night sky.

“REALLY? Hell yeah, man! When’s good? Let’s go tonight!” Caspar arm-locked Wolfie’s head, excited like a little boy to go on an adventure.

Wolfram laughed heartily, falling backwards as Caspar’s hug turned more into a wrestling match the more they cuddled.

It still hurt, but now Wolfie was glad that he had taken a tiny step towards the road of feeling better.

The cleaning effort took weeks to finish -- and it honestly would take much longer than that to actually bring the Monastery back to its full glory. They did the best they could to make the place at least enough to shelter them from rain and wind, but there was much they couldn’t do with their meager numbers -- not to mention how morale hadn’t been the best due to how Dimitri acted.

Wolfie had so much to digest he couldn’t find a good time to speak with his first friend so as to deliver the jewel to him. Besides, the friendship jewel should be exchanged when both parties were ready for the commitment of being confidants for life -- and the current Dimitri wasn’t in that state of mind, not at that moment.

Dedue’s words rang true even five years after they were uttered: Dimitri fought a losing battle within himself, and now it seemed like he had accepted the defeat. What Wolfram could do -- what any of them could do -- was to support him in any way they could.

For now, that meant fighting for him, a goal that would be accomplished much sooner than they would like, for an imperial force had been seen making its way to the Monastery after the Empire had caught wind of the Knights of Seiros coming back to reclaim it.

Dimitri laughed without any mirth in his voice once he heard about the imperial army breathing down their necks, his sleepless mien carving for the silence of the dead. Gulping, Wolfram nodded as Byleth started guiding them to their defensive positions: the Monastery had taken a great blow at the battle five years ago, but it was still a fortress of its own might; so they would be able to protect it should they act wisely.

The battle was fierce -- the imperial forces would stop at nothing to take the Monastery back as they resorted to long range weapons, destructive fireballs and assassins that slipped through their defenses to take out their healers and commanders.

Byleth guided them with all of her power, commanding them as though she predicted the enemy’s every step: She cleared out their reinforcements, secured the ballistae and surrounded their elite knights with the precision of a seasoned soldier.

Once the commander was backed into a corner, he shook with anger. “A total loss… But we can’t just return home like this…” He raised his face with fire in his eyes, aiming at the one who orchestrated his defeat. “I’ll take you with me!”

“Professor, get down!” Dimitri threw himself in front of the blow the commander sent to Byleth’s way at the same time Caspar ran to intercept it. He managed to catch the javelin with his hands before throwing them on the ground in front of the commander.

Frowning, he looked up at the man. “Hey, so you’re Randolph, right? My uncle.” He rolled his shoulder and neck before adjusting the gauntlets wrapped around his fists.

“Uncle?!” Wolfram gasped from above, making sure to hold the position Byleth had told him to. How horrible, to fight his own family in a meaningless war…

The man called Randolph widened his eyes much like Wolfram did. “Caspar?! Yes, indeed... So, I see you have chosen to oppose the Empire.” He stelled himself, taking his battle position. “If so, be warned that I won't hesitate. I'll strike you down, even if we're of the same house!”

Caspar hopped in place to warm himself up. “You took the words right outta my mouth! Graaagh!” He jumped into the fight without hesitation, his resolve having been tested a long time ago.

Wolfie admired the way Caspar threw himself into battle like he had all the answers of the world, but it still pained him to see blood fight with blood like that, so he averted his eyes from the brawl entirely.

Eventually, Randolph fell in defeat as Caspar puffed his chest proudly.

However, Dimitri stepped in, basically shoving the shorter man out of the way. “Capture him.”

The battle was won, but there was a sense of uncertainty in the air, as no one could predict what the ‘Delusional Prince’, as Dimitri came to be known, would do. Soldiers who came under Gilbert’s command heeded Dimitri’s orders and tied the man down as Byleth instructed the people who still had energy to start cleaning after the battle.

Randolph was dragged down the steps he had climbed just hours previous as the attacker, with Dimitri pulling on the rope as though unconcerned of how the commander’s head was bashed on the stairs.

He coughed blood after the third staircase, his head spinning. “I-I have family waiting for me, p-please… I can’t die here.”

Once again Dimitri laughed without mirth, pointing languidly at the fallen commander. He then took out a dagger as he crouched in front of the decaying Randolph. “A beast of your depravity, prattling on about family?” he tapped the dagger on the bleeding cheek. “How amusing.”

“As though you could understand...such a thing as love…” Randolph panted with difficulty as several of his ribs were shattered during and after the battle. “You heartless monster!”

“You are a monster too, General. You just have yet to realize it.” Dimitri slid the sharp blade through the man’s skin, as though pondering where to stab it next.

The conversation was sickening to say the least. Wolfram had been ordered to move the wounded on Aquilo back to the Monastery, but he couldn’t help but listen in with his sensitive hearing. He felt like a pit had opened in his stomach, just waiting to swallow him whole.

Not to mention, that man was Caspar’s…

He looked at his friend with pity in his eyes, wondering what the young man thought about it all.

When the conversation started to take a bloodier turn, Wolfie could see Caspar flinching in contained anger -- he was just about to reach out to stop him from doing something foolish when the smell of fresh blood rose to his nose.

Byleth had taken Randolph out of his misery.

“... What is the meaning of this?” Dimitri asked in a cold voice at the same time Caspar’s shoulders hardened and his breathing stopped for a moment before being let out all at once.

Soon the young man turned away from the scene and went back to doing what he had been ordered to do, but Wolfram couldn’t help but notice the entire scene. Byleth tried to help Dimitri out of the dark place, so there was no space for Wolfie at the moment -- besides, he wanted to give Caspar a big hug for his loss, even if it had looked like he had made peace with it even before the battle.

Wolfie ran back inside after placing the last wounded on an improvised cot on the floor, leaving it to the healers to help them back into shape. Soon he found the blue-haired head he was looking for due to his own height.

However, when he approached, he didn’t know how to even start that conversation.

“Hey.” He looked down awkwardly as Caspar was setting out to the dining hall.

“Hey there, Wolf. We did good back there, didn’t we? We taught them a lesson.” He tried to cheer, but the voice didn’t come out as high as he thought it would.

“Are… are you okay? Even if you were estranged, he was still your uncle, right?” Wolfie reached out to his friend, tentatively patting his shoulder.

Caspar twisted his lips uncomfortably. “Nah, I’m not really feeling bad about that. We weren’t really related by blood and… ugh.”

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Yeah, I don’t, really. It’s just… Dimitri’s methods, man.” He scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. “The guy was defeated already, there was no need to-”

It was now Wolfie’s turn to hug his friend and lend him a comforting shoulder to lean on. “Even if you say you’re okay about it, it’s a different story to be face to face at opposing sides with family. Especially after all… that.” Wolfram glossed over so as not to upset Caspar more, patting the spiky hair soothingly.

Unaccustomed to get in touch with his feelings like Wolfram, Caspar frowned inside the hug. He didn’t think that he was that upset about it, but there was this nagging feeling at the back of his heart that weighed a ton.

He was fine, he was. Truly.

But… being in Wolfram’s arms made him feel better. Lighter. So perhaps he wasn’t as ‘fine’ as he thought he was, since it felt better just to be within his friend’s warmth. There was a lot to process and he didn’t have much brain capacity for it all, but for the moment it felt good to just enjoy the hug and be pampered for a change.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #byleth fire emblem #dimitri fire emblem #caspar fire emblem #fatesona #fodlansona #my writings #yuki's commissions

[cowtale-utau]

Oh I would absolutely love to learn more about human magic!! And for a soulmate, would an S/O’s magic match their skelly soulmate? Or would it be unique to them?

So I can probably make several decently large posts on magic, both human and monster, but for now I'm going to try to do a concise (ish) post on where I'm pulling my HC's for magic from, how it works, and what it can do. I'll also probably include a bit on some known existent mages (cough Frisk/Chara cough), and you asked for some info on soulmates so I'll see what I can do with human souls, soulmates, and monster/human soulmates. (in my drafts I called this the “short version”, it will not be short)

So I'm largely basing human magic off the Mage system from the table-top pen-and-paper rpg Mage, part of the World of Darkness franchise. The Wiki for it has lots of good info and interesting lore if you wanna read into it.

It works in 'spheres' or nine branches/types of magic/facets of reality. Now I'm bending a lot of the lore so don't assume this is a perfect match for the Mage RPG. I used it as a template to work from, and have incorporated some of the lore, but I've also dismissed and altered other large chunks of Mage RPG canon. (basically if you play Mage or read the wiki, don't @ me, I know it's “wrong” ok, I wanted it that way ;p)

Correspondence Essentially the “space” half of time/space. Covers things like teleportation, levitation, flying, and remote viewing. Combines with other spheres to create distance/ranged/area effects. Also allows for the creation of sub-space. It is limited however, in that it only covers space. To move a body, one must combine it with Life. For an object, Matter. Correspondence is a sphere that is fairly easy to learn the basics, and extremely difficult to master.

Entropy Chaos, Order, Luck, Destiny, Creation, Destruction. The natural order of things. The ability to sense and manipulate probability and patterns. Allows one to tap into the natural entropic cycle. The more complex an “object” the easier it is to break. Much like Correspondence, one must be able to use the other applicable sphere(s) to achieve an effect. A tricky sphere to use and control. It tends to be a bit resistant to manipulation by most Mages.

Forces The sphere that allows manipulation of “energy”. Light, heat, vibration, radiation, gravity. While this can be done instinctively, that tends to be sloppy and dangerous. The more one understands about the energy/force they're trying to manipulate the better off they'll be. However one should be mindful that they do not allow the knowledge gained to restrict them. Magic cares not for what human science says is or isn't true. How easy the sphere is to work with depends largely on how much effort one puts into learning the background knowledge. Or how how willing they are to risk brute forcing it.

Life Anything living, or with life energy. Can be used to heal, or unheal. Modify biological entities. Create disease or grow plants. Restore youth. Life as a sphere has many wonderful, helpful applications, and just as many horrifying ones. One can heal and cure and fix, but also cause untold damage. To fully grasp and master life, one must understand how life connects to itself, and the cycles in which it exists. The chain between predator and prey. How simple it is to learn is largely dependent on how much understanding you already have of the subject you're trying to alter.

Matter Non living/inorganic things. Also covers all the elements on the periodic table. Works very well when combined with other spheres. Entropy to break an object, Forces to animate inanimate things, Correspondence to move objects, Time to alter them temporally. Allows the Mage to alter but also to see and understand the make up of an object. Arguably one of the easiest to learn and use, given that it inherently allows you to pick up understanding of what you're working with on the go.

Mind Covers consciousness and how a person perceives reality. Knowledge, imagination, emotion. Can be used to alter memory, thinking, emotions, perception, and concentration among other things. Mind is a bit different from other spheres in that one does not need an understanding of how the “mind” works to utilize it well. Talent in this sphere comes down to mostly practice and natural inclination.

Prime Primal Energy, the raw magical force of the world. Often considered an almost Holy Power. A Prime Mage can detect/sense magic, enchant objects or living things, cut off another Mage's access to magic and it is often used to bolster or power other magics. Prime is the source from which all other magic springs. Having skill in Prime is tricky as there's no deeper understanding to help you, beyond the understanding that you can't understand. That it is a power beyond you, and can strike back at any moment.

Spirit Something connected to but separate from the concept of souls. The culmination of hope, emotion, and thought. A skilled Spirit Mage can touch or even pass through the wall between the tangible world, the void, and what lies beyond. Allows one to reach out, speak to, and interact with spirits lost to the physical world. A Mage less morally inclined could even, with enough power, subjugate those beings. Using and mastering the Spirit sphere requires a strong understanding and sense of self, while also being able to release physical/material ties and limits.

Time Time is sort of self explanatory. Though time as a concept is not a straight forward as many assume. Very much subjective to the observer. A Time Mage is more aware than most that while time naturally moves forward (mostly), it contracts and dilates, whirls and twists. It jumps, and branches, and curves back on itself. A Time Mage can know the exact time at any time, and sense distortions in the time line. They can slow time, rewind or loop, create anchor (save) points, and with enough skill they can outright time travel or exist outside the timeline entirely. To master Time is to understand it as an esoteric and inexact science.

Humans pull their magic externally. This is both more freeing and more restricting than monsters. They can do just about anything they can imagine, assuming they can figure out how, have the respective understanding and magical inclinations, and the world allows it. Sometimes whatever source, force, whatever, the magic comes from, disagrees with a Mage. And the backlash can be catastrophic. And while a Mage cannot “drain” themselves to the point of death, they can over channel, and over load. The end result is the same.

Related Side Note ; Monster magic is much more free form and almost entirely “intent” based. This means technically any monster can learn any magic type. However some souls are better suited for certain types than others. Some just can't muster up the intent needed. They also tend to not be able to do things quite on the scale that Mages can. Monster magic is pulled from themselves. It's a part of their soul, and fueled by their soul. They have a much more limited pool. Mind you, some monsters still have immense pools of magic they can pull from, and high regen rates, but still ultimately are more limited than humans. (Side note, if a monster uses up their “pool” the can continue using magic, but its a good way to die very quickly as it drains on their souls directly)

As for existing Mages, the obvious would be Frisk/Chara. Correspondence and Time. Possibly Prime. I'm actually unsure on Spirit, but leaning towards no. If you want more on that lemme know. I could discuss it a fair amount I think.

The other part of your question ; Soulmates.

There are essentially three types of bonds that fall under what most would consider “soulmates”. Kindred Spirits, Soul Mates, and Twin Flames. Any of these bonds can be platonic, romantic, or anything in between. Friends, lovers, rivals.

Kindred Spirits – Compatible. Someone with who you find forming an easy, comfortable bond. Often very similar to ourselves in a comforting way. Someone to whom we easily relate and connect to.

Soulmates – Complementary. A near perfect resonation. The traditional idea behind most soulmate lore. One can meet multiple soulmates in their lives, though they're not quite as common as Kindred Spirits.

Twin Flames – Twin Flames are the other half of an incomplete soul. A perfect mirror. Both the same and opposite in everywhere. Twin Flames rarely exist in the same world at the same time. When they do they are often both drawn to and repelled by one another. It is a bond existing beyond defining, beyond platonic/romantic labels. You're greatest ally, worst enemy, deepest love, your Twin Flame, is undeniable bound to you no matter what.

While Kindred Spirits and Soulmates won't necessarily have “matching” magic, their magic is often compatible/complementary to some degree in it's natural leanings.

If you want more info on anything specific, let me know. 💜

#Cowtale #magic lore #soul lore #human magic #bastardized MtA #seriously i jacked with a lot of the system #but im pretty happy with how it turned out #asks

[chriscdcase95]

Reposting for TLDR reasons. 

To see the full rant, click the “Keep Reading”, but this covers what I consider an example of a show taking shipping wars too seriously, giving fans and how it can potentially pull a show down the tubes. Especially at the expense of character development and their stories.

It’s kind of a follow-up to another post I made about canon and non canon ships, and how there’s some ship based stories better left to fanfiction.

Disclaimer: I generally don’t like Ship Policing (bullying, and badgering other people for liking “the wrong ship”) despite this being one of my biggest NOTP’s. I don’t intend to bully people who like this ship, and this analysis is based on my observations and opinions. 

So here I am talking about a barley known show and ship that’s barely relevant anymore if at all. This is a follow up post on a Loud House post regarding a non canon ship called Luaggie. I mentioned on that post , how it was an example of a fanfic ship and it’s best to be left a fanfic based ship. I now bring to you it’s antithesis; Jemma of Every Witch Way. Originally this was strictly about why some ships and stories that are best left to fanfiction, but there are so many problems with this ship, that I don’t really know where to start. I guess I’ll start with an introduction to the show.

Edit: I also had to revisit to trim this down, and correct misinformation.

Edit Edit: Twice. I had to edit it twice!

“What is Every Witch Way ?”

Every Witch Way was a comedy/drama series on Nickelodeon. Anyone who heard of it would know it is an Americanized remake of Grachi, a Latin American Nickelodeon series. The less educated may dismiss it as a Wizards of Waverly Place knockoff. The series focuses on Emma Alonso, a teenage girl who moves to Miami with her father and discovers she is a witch and chosen to one day lead the magical realm. With a group of muggle friends, the enthusiastic tough girl Andi; Emma’s queen bee rival Maddie also being a witch; a subplot about Fantastic Racism that ended with the wiping out of all but two of an entire race; we got ourselves a simple little TV show that could be a passible watch.

Coming from a post iCarly, Victorious and Big Time Rush era of Nickelodeon, where most of their shows were marketed to the younger kids and barely anything for teens to chew on, Every Witch Way was a breath of fresh air. Taking cues from previous Nick shows such as H2O Just Add Water and House of Anubis, and aimed for a teenage audience, it was more interested in telling stories than telling jokes.

I would have called the show an underrated cult classic series to get nostalgic over, like The Troop (a show which I’ll also talk about one day)…then comes seasons three and four and it becomes clear that Every Witch Way is more interested in ship war than it was telling stories. Maybe I was giving the show too much credit or had too much expectations for it. Let’s just say this was no House of Anubis or the Avatar franchise. I don’t know what pulled the show down the tubes; it was either the character Jax Novoa and his story arc, or his relationship with Emma. But they overlap with eachother so I might as well cover all of them.

“What kind of relationship is Jemma ?”

Imagine if you will; a high school drama, that involves a loving, kind and empathetic girl meeting a dark brooding bad boy, who does bad things. But because he has a sad past and bad parents, anything bad he does is immediately forgiven and brushed aside, or justified. And it is by the love of this girl, and only because of this love, does the bad boy get redeemed. 

It’s the kind of story you see in mediocre romance stories or fanfics; the idea that the dark and brooding love interest with a bad past or history can be changed for the better with the love of the protagonist. This describes the relationship Emma and Jax’s relationship to such a tee that it’s borderline parody. The kind of reationship you’d at least put some kind of spin on.

So how does this compare to Jax and Emma’s relationship ? A quick description is that Jax is a new student and a dark seeming wizard introduced in the second season, who immediately displays an arrogant personality and behaviour while befriending Emma and putting the moves on her (and making a quick rivalry with Emma’s then boyfriend Daniel). Emma has a good heart, and a loving empathetic girl, so of course she likes to see the good in people and Jax was no exception. Jax eventually “changes” his darker ways and becomes more altruistic, mainly to get back and stay into Emma’s good graces. 

Normally, I have no issues with an Enemies to Lovers story, but it’s the context and overexposure that puts Jemma in a bad light.

Emma continuously forgives, or ignores Jax’s flaws to near absurdity, mainly because Jax has a dead mom and an emotionally distant, controlling and seemingly abusive father…which is shown to be false in the many retcons season four gives us.

“What are the problems with Jemma ?”

I said in another post that a friend of mine defined toxic relationships differently than I did; one definition was that a ship is toxic based off of fans behaviour in the name of the ship; I define them for how much it romanticizes problematic behaviour. How does Jemma fall into either of these ?

Back when Every Witch Way was on, Jax x Emma fans were pretty rapid, and became the most loud and vocal part of the fanbase. Any attempts to criticize Jax, his behaviour or relationship with Emma is bombarded with “HE CHANGED! HE CHANGED FOR HER!” ad nauseum. 

It’s gotten to the point where they literally vote their preference to make them the shows official couple. This can be partially blamed on the writers because they went about asking their audience what they want to happen in a TV show, having them vote for wat hey want to happen and in turn made season four into a Jemma based AU fic that rewrote the entire show. Kind of lacks integrity if you ask me. It also had to have been one of most one sided and manufactured shipping wars I’ve seen. By the end of the series, Jemma fans were pretty sore winners.

So Jemma fans could be pushy, but did Jax and Emma’s relationship entail toxic ideals I listed above ? On the surface, “no” since Jax doesn’t physically abuse Emma or the like…but Jax is manipulative person, and is rather possessive and entitled towards Emma all things considered. And what else can you say about a relationship where this partner has manipulated and gaslighted nearly everyone around him to get in, and attempts to destroy the world over a breakup ?

There’s so much to cover that stems from Jax that I might as well write a section on Jax himself. The worst that can be said of Emma here is that she was too forgiving and empathetic for her own good.

“Jax and how not to write a redemption arc”

So Jax is an overwhelmingly popular character on the show, so much that season four retconned him into the main character behind Emma. It’s easy to call him a Gary Stu character since he’s a seemingly perfect character who gets his way all the time and soon becomes the center of the show. This trope also fits; “Draco In Leather Pants” where a villain tends to get romanticized or woobified in fanfics regardless of how sympathetic or redeemable they are in canon; mostly because they are cute.

When Jax was introduced, he was the de-facto Big Bad of season two, being the most prominent, and personal antagonist and direct source of most of the drama that occurs in the season. Throughout the season he befriends and puts the moves on Emma with the intent on using the power coming Fool Moon (long story) to take over the world and rule at her side. Jax eventually falls in love with Emma, but when she breaks up with him when she makes right with Daniel… Jax’s response was aiding in an attempt to destroy the magic realm; something they make clear would kill all but a few magical beings in the world and this is something Jax is very aware of In the final showdown Jax makes it clear to Emma that he doesn’t care about what could happen to their loved ones in this magical apocalypse, so long as Emma is with him.

Again, I wouldn’t take this as seriously if the show didn’t treat it as seriously.

Now in his defense, I was originally rooting for Jax to reform himself. No joke, I genuinely wanted to see how Jax would make good with those he manipulated, pushed around and tried to fucking kill. I like a good redemption stoy as much as the next guy, but Jax doesn’t really go through one; he just turns Face at the last minute, apologizes to Emma about not wanting to hurt her, Emma immediately forgives him and Jax wastes no time putting the moves on her and antagonizing Daniel. What punishment does Jax go through ? What atonement did he have to suffer ? He’s put through a boot camp with the threat losing his powers, all the while he agonizes that those who he wronged still resent him. To be fair he does have genuine good deeds in season three; such as heping a dying friend, and even riskiig his life to save another But even then, the sho treats Emma as his prize for being a Nice Guy, and he admits this to Emma during the third seasons finale in a scene we are supposed to find romantic. And when he gets the girl, its all rendered moot in season four.

Helping or not helping with Jax’s character is that in season two he is given multiple “excuses”; controlling and abusive father, seemingly dead mother. They worked back then in making Jax sympathetic. The problem is when we get the actual revelations of his family and in turn make him unsympathetic in retrospect.

“The Mess That Is Season Four”

I don’t like the Fanon Discontinuity trope - where fans refuse to accept an istallment as canon out of a dislike of them. I generally don’t apply this trope with very few exceptions. But let me tell you this; when I say season four isn’t canon to the previous seasons, that’s not me talking, that’s the show itself talking. 

It isn’t a continuation of the previous seasons, it’s a reboot. When Emma and Jax become the shows OTP, the universe literally changes around them. Season four introduces a plot point that where an SCP style anomaly exists called a Continuum Break, in which as a direct result of Emma’s decision, the universe casted Daniel out of everyone’s lives, and their friends memories, and retroactively replaces him with Jax. Subsequently, the events of the previous seasons and their conflicts revolve around Jax and Emma’s relationship. 

One reason why these retcons don’t work is that because the world was altered in Jemma’s image, Jax here isn’t the same Jax as we knew through season two and three. The retcons fail because Jax’s previous sympathy is erased in retrospect, because Jax would hide behind his parents as an excuse for his actions (the dead mother wasn’t dead, but in fact, secret villain; and Jax’s abusive father wasn’t abusive). Jax being sympathetic hinged off of these excuses, and they either never applied, or was hit by the reset button, and thus irrelevant to his development.

And I am left asking myself why the writers came up with the Continuum Break in the first place ?Where Jemma fans that pushy about making their ship canon that they had to make it the only canon relationship in the show ? If so, that’s how wildly Jemma shippers are, if not that’s on the writers for being that much fan slaves. What other point could there be in portraying the Continuum Break as the way things should be ? Not to be pesimeistic, but it feels like this is the show throwing a character under the bus for the sake of rewriting the previous seasons and making Jax the new protagonist.

On top of that, other characters and arcs get thrown under the bus too

Mainly, Mia Black, who was introduced in season three as the de-facto main antagonist, and is added as another member of the love triangle. Mia is also affected by the Continuum Break as she is also cast from everyone’s memories and lives, to live an alternate life with Daniel. This is arguably more jarring than Daniel being taken away because Mia ultimately doesn’t sacrifice her morals for what she believes in and ultimately wasn’t that much of a threat and her own redemption arc is foreshadowed throughout the season by bonding with Daniel and Diego, and the added empathise on how lonely she is. This culminates in Emma reaching out to her in the season finale, and declaring herself her protector.  Like Jax, I was looking forward to seeing where they would take Mia and her arc the next season. Well as a result of the Continuum Break, she’s out of everyone’s lives, and living an artificial alternate one the universe spat out. Like Daniel, she may have been happy with her new life, but it still renders everything they foreshadowed for her and what she’s been through for nothing.

Personal conclusion

I reiterate my first statement Every Witch Way was a great show (first three seasons, at least is IMO). It was a breath of fresh air in a time when most of Nick’s shows were targeting a younger demographic in a post iCarly, Big Time Rush, and Victorious era. I’d call it an cult classic series, but I still feel that season four keeps it from being one of the great ones. I do recommend checking the series out, the story arcs are mostly good. Unfortunately by the time season four rolled in, it seemed pretty clear the show was more interested in shipping wars than it was in telling it’s stories.

I can’t really pinpoint what caused the show to drop in quality; the manufactured ship war ? Jax as a character ? Jemma’s pushy fans ? The writers for bending to fan demands ? Either way, season four’s Continuum Break was something the show could have done without. I won’t say that Jax is the most unlikeable character on the show (that would be Emma’s father) and he isn’t the most evil either (that would be Torres). I consider Jax and his blunders more so the fault of how he was written than anything else.

I will give Jax and Jemma this; the character and ship has so much going for it, I can’t help but compare and contrast them to other similar characters, story arcs and ships. I use it as an example of not to write a redemptive romance, and why some things are best left to fanfiction. But above all else, I hold it as an example as to why writers and creators shouldn’t sacrifice their stories blindly cater to fans and popular ships.

#Every Witch Way #Emma Alonso #Daniel Miller #Jax Novoa #Mia Black #Andi Cruz #Maddie Van Pelt #Deigo Rueda #Katie Rice #Sophie Johnson #And because I mentioned these shows #Victorious #icarly #big time rush #house of anubis #h2o just add water #the troop

[barberwitch]

Witch Tip Wednesday 1.23.19

The Blasting Rod

I received an ask about how to make a blasting rod a while back, and through a series of events, I delayed answering so I could gather some additional information because this tool has a very powerful mystique, coupled with a relatively simple premise.

I’ll start off with some possible ways to make a Blasting Rod aka Black Rod before I delve deeper into some of the references and my ramblings. One thing that seems clear to me, but seems obvious is that to make a blasting rod, that must be your intent. It isn’t simply a wand made of blackthorn (powerful enough on its own) but one made with the intent to utilize it for both beneficial and malefic magic. In European/Celtic tradition it is made of Blackthorn, though other sources do not specify the wood needed. Designate it as a blasting rod, include iron, thorn, or bone, and connect to it as an extension of yourself. It is called a blasting rod, because of its use as blasting the witch’s power in the direction it is aimed, alternatively named a blasting rod for the fact that it will blast or destroy if that is the witch’s intent. Aside from that, I believe the further fabrication of it should be personal to the one creating it. If that is including an inscription, a symbols or sigil of power, or a glyph that represents the witch or the possible workings. The blasting rod should mirror the witch as an inanimate representation of how the witch works, how they view themselves, and the endless possibilities that encompass the witch’s work.

There are of course specific rituals one can do to make the rod, but their validity is again an issue that one must sort through to find what is someone’s idea of how it was done traditionally, someone’s own creation, or a remnant come to light from times gone by. I’m not going to police you and tell you that it must be done one ritual is more valid than another, especially because I’m not going to share my own ritual for crafting a blasting rod. My goal is to provide some context, food for thought, and to show that it’s not as simple as spouting some universal truth in the matter of crafting it.

Top: Blackthorn and bone blasting rod. Middle: Bone and rosewood wand. Bottom: Bone and rosewood want with fossilized belemnite tip by traditional witch Gemma Gary.

Another blasting rod from the Museum of Witchcraft (Cornwall) Braided blackthorn.

More Below the Break!

The blasting rod is a tool used in witchcraft that can vary greatly depending on the creator. It has a history of being used for multiple purposes, but it is eclipsed by the possible malefic usages. It is known to be able to purify, banish, protect of course, but it also used to wither crops and wombs, cause illness, accident, break up storms and divert lightning. Absorbing clouds and controlling spirits and demons alike, as well as being a tool that can intimidate or offend the Fae.

Most times when it’s described, it’s made of blackthorn. Prunus spinosa, or the blackthorn tree, sloe berry etc is a perennial plant that grows in Europe, notably in Ireland, Scotland, and England, though it is also found in the United States near the coasts. It’s a relative of Rowan and Hawthorn, but unlike the other two, has a notable penchant for more “aggressive” magics. All accounts can agree that whether or not you have a sensitivity to energies, or spirits, care must be taken when working with the plant because on the mundane front, black, vicious thorns sprout from the branches. Left untreated, the wounds have been known to fester and grow septic. For this, and the history of burning witch’s with their rods, canes and walking sticks, as well as tossing additional blackthorn wood, the reasoning that it is a purifying wood may come from that.

I’ve spoken at length with several other witches about the ins and outs of blasting rods and changed my opinion on their creation more than once. The conclusion, I have trouble deciding to this day. While mentioned in traditional witchcraft based on European, especially Celtic traditions, it is almost inexplicably tied with blackthorn. It’s possible that it has that connection because of the common practice of having blackthorn staffs, canes, and shillelagh, but in another famous text (although the origin is a bit dubios), blackthorn is not mentioned.

According to the French text “The Grand Grimoire”, it is described as a hand wand that has two forks, capped with magnetized steel. This text, supposedly written in 1522, but researches place the text as written most likely in the 17th and 18th centuries, also claims that the blasting rod is an ancient tool that harkens back to the Garden of Eden, being the tool that God gave to the Angel when Adam and Eve were driven from paradise. Further account says that the blasting rod was used to smite the rebellious angels and condemn them to the pit.

Whether through this text, other folklore, or individual’s experiences with their own rods, it is known as a tool with an affinity for banishment and control of spirits and demons through intimidation. One could assume that, similar to lore of vampires being afraid of the sign of the cross, demons and spirits fear the replica of the tool originally used to seal their fate…again, simply an extrapolation if you go off The Grand Grimoire.

There is another story that I read ages ago that, apologies, I know I’m missing some details, but included a man who had business to attend with The Good Neighbors, or the Fae. He had a blackthorn cane as many did, but to conclude his business, he had to lessen his terrible weapon, by removing the iron tip. Only then, by lessening the fatal nature of the blasting rod, was he allowed entry under the hill to ask his favor.

From this story, and common practice of having metal at the tip of the cane for stability, another aspect of the blasting rod is revealed that mirrors that of the Grand Grimiore. Rather than a forked wand with magnetized caps, it is a simple cane of blackthorn with an iron tip.

Another supposed traditions from an article, claims that to make a blackthorn anything into a blasting rod or black rod, the rune Thurisaz is inscribed or burned into it. This may be some holdover from viking or Norse interactions with Ireland and the British isles. Speaking with some traditional witches I know of various backgrounds, an iron blade is attached to the rod, preferably from a knife that the witch had used previously. Some say that it is in the harvesting of the plant that the rod gains its power. By communicating with the plant spirits, either an agreement is formed where witch and wielded work together, or by infuriating the plant enough to lend its power to the witch through the gift of a branch. Either are valid depending on your tradition, and this is where I get stuck myself on the creation.

The Blasting rod in Celtic tradition is always made of blackthorn, though in other texts, the blackthorn is not listed specifically. Does that mean that this powerful tool gains its power through any baneful plant, or that blackthorn is the catalyst? Does that make it a blasting rod if you use any thorned plant, or do you follow the tradition of utilizing metal and forked branches. I’m not quite sure, to be honest. It could be a case of creating a powerful tool that has those usages, but referring to it as a “Blasting Rod” is a misnomer. Similar to referring to the magistellus flora of a plant as an “Alraune” when it’s not made of mandrake.

What I can surmise from wand lore, folklore, tradition and locale, is that a branch with some marking, whether metal or burned into it, is ritually consecrated to connect to the witch. It is from a woody plant that has import and history, connected to power, purification, and a connection to the land. If a metal is included, it is of iron, or a metal that is magnetized, and it must be treated with care. Of course, there are variances, as there is with any tool crafted by the witch. Some examples keep the thorns, an outward symbol of its offensive power, others are disguised as simple walking sticks, what is agreed is that it is a powerful tool if it is in fact a blasting rod and not just a wand. If made with the proper intent, it can be your greatest ally, or worst enemy. And after seeing more than one post about someone’s pet being found eating their “blasting rod” I urge you to refrain from trying to make one if you can’t be responsible.

The last thing I will say is that I believe that a tool like this is crafted once, and not created again until broken. Let me clarify, I think that you can have multiple blasting rods of various sizes, and possibly purposes if one seems to meld better to a specific type of magic. I’ve seen people talk about making wands of 12 different woods, and some with crystals, and some with wire, and some with feathers. Don’t make it if you aren’t going to use it. Spend time getting it right the first time, instead of abandoning it as soon as you find a “better” piece of wood. But who am I to tell you what to do? You do you, but this is my answer to a question I received and my rambling opinions.

🦋Cheers, Barberwitch

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