#I know people like Artificer for Tech as well

[niobiumao3]

The Meet Cute but in a D&D setting:

Phee, an Arcane Trickster: You're a handsome devil, what's your name. Tech, a Bladesinger Tiefling: Like all tiefling clones I am derived from a demon, not a devil. Devils are--

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb tech #phee genoa #techphee #tech x phee #phee like ah yes I see #well you're cute either way brown eyes #obvs Hunter is a ranger/druid #Wrecker is a Rune Knight #Cross is a gunslinger or ranged Battlemaster #Echo I can go a few ways on #but I feel like Artificer works best for him #I know people like Artificer for Tech as well #but tbh I feel like Bladesinger is good for him because #Bladesingers are an int class and insanely OP #where-as artificers are fun but not nearly as absurd #Phee is obvs a swashbuckler arcane trickster #with a pirate background #okay maybe Tech is an artificer bladesinger multiclass #yeah that could work

[shuttershocky]

Who do you think would appear in the new R6 collab with AK? Fuze was confirmed to appear, I wanna know who do you think will appear in this one

Now that Fuze is in, it means anyone's fair game no matter how unlikely, so here are some guesses. I tried to pick Operators that wouldn't directly compete with who's already in the game (so no Thorn, Kapkan, or Lesion to compete with Frost since they'd all be Trapmasters) and who would be fun picks to interact with Rhodes Island.

___

Solis - Look, we're not going to get Sam Fisher from Splinter Cell (unless Lowlight pulls a miracle), so we might as well get his star student. Solis' job in Siege is using her visor to detect enemy gadgets through walls (therefore allowing her to retrace enemy movements as well as identify their strategies and identities), so I can kind of see her being a Hexer that removes invisibility and silences enemies, maybe even applying a disarm or equipped with a massive range so she'd be viable compared to the other (very strong) Hexers.

She's also a linguist just like Blitz, so she'd acclimate to Terra's alien world just as easily. While she's noted to be something of a genius, being an intelligent computer programmer and hacker and while still being surprisingly proficient in close quarters combat, she's often agitated and anxious, her self-worth hinging on her success as an Operator and being deathly afraid of failure. She would do great with a certain Blacksteel member. Plus she already kind of looks like an Arknights operator with those antenna.

Wamai - One of my personal favorite Defenders to play in Siege. This guy's gimmick is he throws magnetic frisbees that attract enemy projectiles towards them, allowing him to redirect gadgets and grenades towards different areas (or even back at the attackers if they're not paying attention). This sounds a lot like Nightingale's Cages, which we could use an alternate pick for. Maybe instead of simply tanking shots, Wamai's magnets explode after attracting ranged attacks, allowing him to make the enemy bomb themselves.

Wamai's... Well he's a bit of a weird one. He's friendly, talented, and emotionally intelligent, aware that people can kind of get lost when talking to him because of how he freely flows between wildly different and abstract topics and able to ground himself right before it happens, but also... The dude believes he's an alien because he can hold his breath underwater for unnaturally long. That makes him PERFECT for going into an actual alien world where he can test if he really fits in. Plus he's Nighthaven, not Rainbow, meaning his inclusion will make for good Rainbow vs Nighthaven drama.

Osa - Osa's incredibly funny as an operator because she's this sci-fi obsessed supergenius inventor who's the reason why Nighthaven has tech that rivals the coalition of the world's strongest militaries, but also her personal gadget of choice is a simple shield made of bulletproof glass, letting her watch the enemy from almost complete safety (almost, because the enemy can always bring out explosives). She could easily be a new Arts Protector or an Artificer.

I've talked before about how Osa and Kali could be critical to the story for a second R6 event, but Osa in general would make a great fit. Things like mobile cities or Rhine labs' power armor would be things she would study for days with the intent to bring the tech back with her to Nighthaven's labs. Everything from Glaucus' EMP gun to Mayer's Meebos will become a source of endless fascination and inspiration. Don't let her meet Blemishine, you will never see the two of them again. Her backstory is also about how her inventive talent (and being trans) led to her isolation from her peers, which is why she's so fiercely loyal to Kali, who both supported her transition and gave her a whole lab to make her wildest inventions come true. She'd be SO fun with the Rhine Lab members.

Flores - Flores' Siege gimmick is simple, but effective — It's an RC toy car, but it's got a bomb attached to it. A master at dismantling enemy defenses from a safe distance and at creating very loud and highly destructive distractions, I see Flores being a specialist with a deployable not unlike the ones from Stulifera Navis that can run over enemies or attack them. He should be able to put down his summon, swipe in a direction, and send it running forward to explode on the first set of enemies it hits, allowing him to deal good if not constant AOE damage from anywhere on the map.

Unlike the rest of Rainbow who have long careers in police, military, or espionage, Flores was just a regular guy in Argentina whose mother fell ill, and so he turned to burglary to keep her alive. However, he was so good at it that he began targeting the rich and corrupt in order to help all the poor of Buenos Aires, until he became an infamous Robin Hood figure. Eventually he got cornered and had to be rescued by Rainbow, who offered him a job when they realized holy shit this dude is incredible at stealing shit from heavily fortified buildings. I feel like Flores is the exact sort of character who would most sympathize with the plight of the poor throughout AK, and he wouldn't judge anyone for turning to banditry either, as he once had to just to survive. If there's anyone who would understand the state of Terra the quickest, it would be Flores.

#Arknights #long post

[anemonet]

I want to ask about Moon and Pebbles but I'm bad at asking questions D: My brain is forever empty. But I love them and I love you drawing them

Heeelllooo anon you have activated my trap card!! Brace for words.

First of aww hi thank you thats so sweet, they are so beloved :D

Second of oh boy I hope you were asking for headcanons!! if not.. uh.. Anyhow im gonna talk abit about some iteratormodel thoughts!! Im gonna use this totally legit reference here to you know, viszualize.

Keep in mind this is all just my own thoughts!

So to get started I like to seperate iterators into older models v newer models - older being ones before anchients lived on top of them and the newer ones post ancheints - which reflects how their built. Older ones like moon are for one, well.. older, older tech and older materials, their clunkier and larger, think the teddybear phones. Second, their made to be low maintence, their built somewhere and then they will just chug along till they solve The Great problem. They generally more durable, hide all inner wiring and machinery with plates, all delicate things like hands are also covered. In short their more machines and tools than anything else.

The newer models in contrast like pebbles are more like our modern smartphones: lighter, sleeker, more functions and also shit quality, which is why pebbles got a much sleeker and thinner look. And besides the fact that tech evolves and develops this also ties into how their created (possibly? not sure if its actully canon who knows) when the ancheints are in closer proximity to the iterators, - think how pebbles entrence is bascily right by artificers entrence to pebbles city - their now not only machines, their something closer to art(?) their something to show off ( i have some deranged thoughts about iterator manifacturing and capatlism but lets not get into that) and they are now something not just a machine, working somewhere unseen, they are now objects you can see, so they need a "cooler" look. ( think like those transparent gameconsols)

-- also side note i read a like comment somewhere talking about iterators and ancheints beautystandards which oh boy, feral. and i like to think that shows in pebbles and the newer models design much more than older ones, the whole thin gangly monk look and tiny feet (ancheint bound their cool birdfeet) and a more elaborate design. I always found it curious that iterators dont wear masks but i guess there is a distance, i mean its funny that the people who wanted death most of all created something that couldnt die, - also it implies some iterators killed themself which oh boy - anyhow i also have a lot of thoughts of iterators using wires as hairdoes but this tangent is getting long so i stop.--

so to come to somewhat of an end, moons definitely just gonna chug along till the world ends if needed while pebbles probably started cracking his shell and wires like half a century after maintence stopped, boys not made to last in that way, aestetics over function if you will. also no this is not an elaborate way to explain why moon is just bigger ( i like drawing soft squares, sue me) and let me tell you it felt very fucked up to draw naked pebbles. Now i think i talked to long but again if you read this long thanks for the ask!!! I hope I answered nothing!!

also bonus drawing cause i think that was what you were actully asking for :))

#rain world #ahem uh yes sorry this took so long to answer or well yeh #thank you so much for sednign the ask and sorry that i uh words #anyhow!! #iterators my beloved #also for anyone not here for weird pink creatures im waiting fro the technojoy zine thing so uh art on the 5th? #song of the day is i need some fine wine and you you need to be nicer by the cardigans #its not that good!!! #also whats with the iterators pronouns

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

Now the real question is, what would the characters PLAY AS in D&D. -nyx

ohohoho WELL

Sonic keeps trying to change his class because he hates being tied down. Eventually Tails gets him to stick to "Druid" bc Nature™

Tails is the DM but could be Artificer otherwise bc inventor

Knuckles would probably want to be a Paladin because he loves the whole "swore an oath to uphold a thing"

Amy insists on playing as a Paladin (SFSB ref!) despite everyone telling her she'd be a Barbarian. She proceeds to hit them with a hammer

Shadow switches class every time they play cause he doesn't know what he wants to do and also he keeps dying. He'd probably eventually pick Paladin as well

Rouge will ONLY play as a rogue. Try to make her play something else and she'll throw a fit

Blaze: "So I think Imma be a Paladin" Tails, throwing the board: "YOU CAN'T ALL BE FUCKING PALADINS"

Silver would actually probably want to play as a Druid so he can Protect Nature as much as possible and also do some cool shapeshifting

Marine plays as a Rogue or a Ranger

Sticks likes to play as a Rogue because "fuck the government"

Sally would probably play as an Artificer so she can do fun tech stuff

Tangle likes to play as a Monk so she "can do cool acrobatics shit"

Whisper plays as a Rogue so she can have the best stealth

Belle plays as a Cleric so she can heal people. Kit plays as a Cleric specifically so he can heal Surge

Surge saw that wizards are described as "reality-breaking" and immediately picked that, then was incredibly disappointed to see how "fucking weak these bitches are"

#sonic squad #d&d #dnd #dungeons and dragons

[autumnalwalker]

Seven Snippets, Seven People

Thank you for the tag, @druidx.

Rules: post seven snippets and tag seven people.

Passing the (completely optional) tag to @saintedseraph, @moondust-bard, @maskedemerald, @mundanemoongirl, @camillenrose, @rmgrey-author, @nrivanwrites, plus the usual open tag to anyone else who wants to participate.

Here's seven snippets of the Empty Names cast talking about Road, the one who ties them all together, but never gets their own POV chapter:

1: Chapter 2

He walks over to the stage and leans an elbow on it, looking up at Ashan.  “Have you ever heard of the individual known as Road?”

Ashan arches an eyebrow in surprise.  “The guy who runs around in purple armor fighting subway dragons and saving goth kids from vampire cults?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“From what I have heard they are a noble fool who just happens to be skilled and lucky enough to back up their reckless actions.  But a fool whose heart is in the right place.  Supposedly they used to be a big deal before disappearing several years ago.”  Ashan stops himself and gets back to the still unanswered question.  “Why?”

Bridgewood chuckles.  “Because,” he drags out the word, “said noble fool just so happens to be an old friend of mine and recently got back to town.  They’re looking to put a team together and could use a proper spellslinger.”  He smiles just a little too widely and reaches up a hand.  “So, interested?”

2: Chapter 5

“What was it that you told them?”  Lacuna finally breaks the silence.  Not so much looking at Eris as past her.  “Road I mean.  About me.”

Not where Eris thought that conversation was going to go when it inevitably came back around.  She rubs the back of her neck as she takes a moment to think.

“After he gave me the pitch for this team he’s putting together,” she begins, “we got to talking about who else was going to be on board, and he said he was still looking for a ‘tech guy’ - finger quotes and all - and asked if I knew anyone.  I remembered you were in the market again, so I told him how the company you were working for on some sort of advanced AI thing got bought out by some big corp and you chose to walk instead of working for them.  Said you were the best programmer I know.”

“Eris, I’m the only programmer you know.”

“And while I’ve got no idea what you’re saying half the time you go on about it, I can tell that you do, and that you really care about what you’re working on.”

“What I was working on.”

“Sorry.  Sore spot?”

“Just a bit.  Also, ‘he’?”

“Road’s fluid about that.  And they were he at the time so, eh.” Eris shrugs.  “I try to handle that on an individual basis, and Road said something along the lines of ‘whatever fits in the moment’ when I asked them about it.

“Anyway, when I told them-slash-him about you he said that he remembered you.  They said some stuff about you having natural talent and being the kind of person to run towards problems to solve them instead of away to safety.”

“More like having dumb luck and being sleep deprived enough for my self-preservation tendencies to be shot.”

“You’re selling yourself short again.  Whatever it was you did, you made enough of an impression that I didn’t even have to say all that much before Road jumped all over the idea and said that he’d call you first chance he got.  Which was apparently before I even got home that night.”

The conversation hangs.

“Why do you ask?” Eris asks.

“Well...  I...  You know...  Haven’t actually accepted Road’s offer yet.”

“Oh?”  That one syllable is all Eris can think of as she wonders to herself if she should have seen this coming.

“Some of the stuff they were saying…  They were throwing out words like ‘hacker’ and ‘artificer’ and ‘magi-tech’.  Like they’d gotten the idea into their head that I was some kind of action movie cyberpunk net wizard and I’m just.  So.  Very.  Not.”

“And you told them that?”

“Tried to anyway.  Said that I don’t ‘hack’ things.  Just because I’m a programmer, that doesn’t mean I do cybersecurity.  You wouldn’t call a plumber to change the locks on your house.  You know?”

“The apartment maintenance guy does both.”

“Okay, bad analogy.  Also, Jim’s awesome enough to probably be an outlier.  But you get my point, right?”

“Sure.”

“But I’m not sure Road does.  Even after I tried to explain they toned it down a bit but were still talking me up enough that I couldn’t help but feel they’re overestimating me.”  Lacuna lets out the longest sigh of the night.  “It would be wrong of me to jump into this unqualified.  Especially when…  well, I’ve seen how you wind up on nights I need to help you back to your apartment.  Or to Doc.”

“Well, I doubt you’d actually be in the field, and if you did end up there somehow, there’s no way Road or I would let anything happen to you.”

“But what if I let something happen to you?!”

3: Chapter 5

It’s Lacuna who breaks the silence of the last stretch of their return home, asking “By the way, what’s up with that guy who contacted us after Road’s offer asking for ‘equipment requests for this new business venture’?”

“Oh, Sullivan?”

“I think that’s what the email said, yeah.”

“I’ll admit, I’m not entirely sure what his deal is.  I only briefly met him the once on a job Road was helping me with.  Apparently the two of them go way back.  Got the impression he does a lot of info gathering for Road.  Like, he’s the reason they’ve got such an uncanny knack for showing up just when they're needed.”

“Huh… guess he’s probably one of the other people Road mentioned being on this team.”

“Either that or just bankrolling the whole operation.  From what I hear, he’s absolutely loaded.  Old money shit.”

“That would explain the blank check for a budget, I guess.”

The conversation pauses momentarily as they reach the apartment complex gate and enter the code to open it.

“Although,” Eris picks back up as they cross the lamplit parking lot to their building, “I have heard some weird rumors about him when I tried asking around.”

“What kind of weird?” Lacuna asks after a moment’s hesitation.

“The big one’s that he used to be some kind of hitman.  And that he married some bigwig sorceress to steal her secrets and no one’s heard from her since.”  Eris shrugs.  “Can’t say I put much stock in either of them.  Just doesn’t seem like the kind of guy Road would roll with, you know?”

“Yeah… I mean, you know Road better than I do, but… okay, it’s sort of embarrassing to say, but when they saved me and when they were showing me around Crossherd for the first time, they had this aura about them.  Like they were some hero who’d just stepped out of a story.”

Eris leans against the railing of the stairwell they’ve stopped in.  They’re on Lacuna’s floor now.

“You’re actually not the first to say that.  More than a few guys I know in the monster hunting gig were originally brought Backstage by Road, and they all came away with the same impression.  At least two of them have admitted to getting into the biz to try to copy them.”

“Really?  I wouldn’t have guessed,” Lacuna says.  She’s looking down at the floor again.  

“Yeah.  And I’ll admit I’ve gotten a similar vibe myself the few times I’ve worked with them.  Strict no killing rule.  Encouraging speeches.  Putting saving people above catching the monster.  All the classic hero stuff.”  Hard not to feel like a punch-happy brute in comparison, Eris refrains from adding.

4: Chapter 9

There’s a soft electronic pop in Eris’s ear as Road’s headset abruptly disconnects and she, Sullivan and Ashan are left standing in the quiet dark of the hold.  

“Yeah…” Lacuna’s voice breaks the awkward silence, “they just turned their whole earpiece off.”

The muffled sound of captain Cabetha laughing some distance from her own microphone echoes in everyone’s ears.

Sullivan sighs and massages his forehead.  “I distinctly told them the button was power and the switch was mute.”

5: Chapter 12

As the the photophores on Dis!ma*s’s face flicker in surprise, it occurs to Ashan that the bruises that had covered the man yesterday are gone.

“But aren’t you one of them?  After the way you jumped in the fire I figured you must be friends or something.”

Ashan shakes his head.  “Perhaps one day, but for now ‘coworkers’ is the more apt descriptor.  From what I gather, the woman who built this place as her home valued her privacy and simply never intended to have visitors going in and out.  I suspect our temporary confinement is merely a lack of preparation rather than imprisonment.  I myself only set foot here for the first time yesterday and only met Road for the first time a week ago, although I have known them by reputation as a forthright and heroic individual for some time longer.”

“Road’s the one with the symbiote coat?  They seemed to be an alright enough sort, I suppose.  Stopped by to check on me this morning, talked me into getting out of my room and keeping busy instead of dwelling on what happened.  They even offered me an amnestic if it gets too painful.  I turned down the drug, but they were right about keeping busy.”

6: Chapter 14

Silence stretches.  Drinks cool, one of them still untouched.

“You mind if I share something?” Eris asks.  “An untold anxiety for an untold anxiety.  More of a confession, really.”

“Of course you may.  You are my friend.”

“Thanks.  Truth is, part of me was glad when I realized I lost my comms down there.  It meant that if I ran into anything Lacuna wouldn’t have to watch me go to work on it.”

“I am not sure I follow.  She seemed enthusiastic enough in her recounting of Road’s exploits and you said yourself that she has seen you in worse states after a hunt.”

“That’s the point, she’s seen me after, never during.  And Road doesn’t rip beasts limb from limb and cave in skulls with their bare hands.  Road doesn’t get covered in gore during fights.  Road doesn’t enjoy the smell and feel and taste of fresh blood or the sound of cracking bones and ripping flesh.  Road’s not a monster.”

“Is that how you think of yourself?”

“No, not quite, but I know I would be if I didn’t have a constructive outlet for managing it.  Autogenesis being what it is, I’m not being entirely figurative about that either.  I know it’s not normal or healthy to find what I do and how I do it fun or to go barehanded instead of bringing a weapon because I like feeling it all up close and viscerally personal.  But the point is I do manage it.  I just also know it doesn’t look that way from the outside.”

7: Chapter 16

Sullivan takes the paper, holds it up, and catches the ashes in a handkerchief that he subsequently pockets.

“A pleasure doing business with you, as always,” he says, pushing off of the counter.  Halfway to the door he spins around on his heel and adds  “By the by, if it eases your conscience any I’m actually going to save dear mister Whelan’s life.  This is one of my friend’s jobs, not one of mine.”

“It’s for Road?”

“Have I ever been known to have another?”

“Seven hells, man!  You could have just opened with that and I would have handed the damn address over.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Then why the wheedling and the threats?”

Sullivan shrugs theatrically.  “I wanted to see if I could still get a rise out of you.  You should have seen your face, even through the proxy dummy.  The real thing must have been just priceless.  Did you really think that I - what? - ate people and stole their magic?  Ooohhh, out of all the wild rumors to come out of my marriage and that’s the one you jump to?  And did you really think I’d be fool enough to seriously threaten so useful a contact?”  He chuckles and shakes his head.  “Don’t ever change Eustace.”

The exhale of relief comes through the wax proxy better than Sullivan would have expected.  When Eustace speaks, the anger is still there, but it’s duller now.  “Let the door hit you on the way out.”

Sullivan gives a flourishing bow and walks out the boutique backwards, making a show of bumping into the door to open it.

#tag game #seven snippets seven people #writing tag games #writeblr #my writing #writers on tumblr #empty names

[wallacejwriting]

As I work on Farsiders I've been coming up with a lot of background scenes that need to be filled in before the story proper begins.

This is one of them.

Shahin is one of the biggest characters in Farsiders and I think this is a really good way to introduce him. Hopefully you agree. Feedback welcome!

If you wanna be tagged please let me know.

WC: 2,450~ words

CW for: violence, vomit, addiction, infection, referenced child harm

6 Years Ago: Shahin

Ten years and an economic boom later and Underside was just as much of a dark, damp shit hole as it’d always been. Shahin stood on the floating docks and breathed deeply, eyes closed. Sweat, sewage, sky whale, and the coppery tinge of old money changing dirty hands. That hadn’t changed, either.

The stench of Underside had long faded from his clothes, but now he welcomed its return. For all the topside apartments, airship suites, and grimy street level inns he’d been in over the last decade, nothing brought him closer to his goal than this stench. He’d have to embrace it, if he wanted to get anywhere,

Behind him, beneath him, the open sky beckoned. Too late in the night to see that far down, but clouds hung about the lower docks, making lonely flags out of ship sails. The mists rolled in, thick and heavy, off the clouds. Dock workers called out anchor warnings. Visibility was too low to try anything else.

He’d gotten here just in time.

Shahin drummed his fingers across the carved wooden handle of his cane and struck off into the city. It tapped against the uneven, natural stone of the ground. The tapping grew louder as the noise of the docks fell away.

Oil lamps hung about the dingy buildings and grime older than he was clung to everything, painting the whole place in shades of brown and grey. The people were better, their clothes newer than they’d been, before, and the prostheses he saw gave him brief pause.

Metalwork, elegant even in its crudeness, and the soft glow of an artifice engine. It appeared Artifice Tech had made its way to Underside, as well. Cheap enough, available enough, that these people, some of them far smaller than Shahin, displayed the telltale glow with no more fear than displaying one’s nose.

Interesting.

Shahin leaned heavily on his cane as he studied the storefronts on the narrow corner. The sound of water splashing into a basin sounded rhythmically. One of the drains from Topside. Sewage or rainwater? Or maybe this one was both.

Hard to tell when the smell was already so strong. He grimaced and fought the urge to cover his mouth with one of his gloves. It’d take time to readjust to the smells. He’d been gone from Tairkyda for ten years, and from Underside for much longer. But it was part of him. Once it sank into his skin he’d smell it no more than he smelled himself.

Treasure’s, the sign above him beckoned. Spelling error or purposeful? Half of Underside was illiterate, at best, and being literate didn’t mean educated.

“Hey, outsider.” A man half his age swayed up to him, the telltale pockmarks of Glyss injections littered the bare lower halves of his arms. Shahin wrinkled his nose. Of course Glyss was here, too. It’d be too much to ask there was one damn island it hadn’t ruined.

“What’re you looking at, old man?” The man lifted his chin at Shahin.

Riffraff. He’d been too distracted in his contemplating to notice his approach.

Something to adjust for the future. Nostalgia was a nasty blinder.

“What do you want?” asked Shahin, voice flat. The man, more of a boy, really, started. Acknowledgement or the lack of accent? Hard to tell with these pale, straw haired boys. They were all as cruel as harpies and half as intelligent. Clawing, reedy little thieves the world would be better off without.

“You look like you should be Topside,” said a second boy, this one with concave cheeks like they’d been punched too many times to heal. “What’chu doing down here?”

“Who cares what he’s doing?” said a third boy. He came from behind Shahin.

Damn it. How had he let them surround him? Too out of practice. The last few months hadn’t done him any favours.

“Hand over your shit, old man, and we won’t fuck you up too bad,” said the first boy.

That was a terrible threat. Brutal, ineffective, and encouraged nothing but trembling and blind panic.

“I’ll pass,” said Shahin. He cast his glance back to the shop sign. “Do any of you know who’s in charge down here, these days?”

When he’d left Underside, it’d been the Old Maid. She’d been a cruel woman.

When he’d died, Underside had been at war with itself, two small groups battling for control.

“What do you mean you pass?” said the third boy. “You can’t do that.”

Shahin sighed. They were going to make him get violent, weren’t they? He’d hoped to avoid that until he had secured a shower. Or more than a single change of clothing.

He doubted any of the three could point him toward a laundry.

“And what, you think you can stop me?” asked Shahin, raising an eyebrow. He tucked his cane under one arm and adjusted his gloves. Black leather. Worn. Supple. A gift from Luthor and one he took great care of.

He sighed.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Yeah, well, too bad,” said the first boy. He launched himself at Shahin in the clumsy, jerky motions of advanced Glyss addiction. Ugh. This was going to be messy.

Shahin side-stepped him, dropped the cane back to his good hand and swung it upward into the boy’s gut. The boy gasped and fell to his knees, spitting. The neon pink of Glyss vomit splattered onto the dirty stone.

He’d be dead in a week, no matter what Shahin did to him.

“You’re out of your league, boy,” said Shahin. “Stand down, before you get hurt.” The latter he directed to the two still standing. Around them, people kept walking. Most kept their heads down. A few stared. But no one slowed. Not to watch and certainly not to interfere.

They never had.

Shahin’s grip tightened on his cane.

“Like depths I will,” snapped the boy. He staggered to his feet, arm wrapped around his middle, and sneered at Shahin. His companions flanked him. “You’re gonna gimme your shit and then I’m gonna pound you for doing that. Fucking asshole.”

Shahin narrowed his eyes and scowled.

The boys moved. Shahin moved faster.

He moved between them as the mists flowed through the docks. His cane came down on their bones over and over, the sharp snaps telling him when to move on. He did not blink. He barely breathed. He simply struck.

In seconds, the three were on the ground, broken, bleeding, and probably dying faster than before.

Not his problem.

Shahin straightened his jacket and his gloves before settling both hands on his cane.

“I do not like repeating myself, boys,” said Shahin, staring down at them, coolly. “Tell me, who is in charge of Underside?”

No one spoke.

Shahin lifted his cane and smashed the end down over a knee. The boy screamed and bucked.

“Answer me.”

The boy whimpered. “Baqir. His name’s Baqir.”

A Fiyyad name. Interesting. From where, though? Ghiti? Alubi? Baqu? Each came with its own rules and culture, and whichever was the answer could mean changing his tactics. Another thing to consider.

“Where is he?” asked Shahin.

The boy swallowed, working around something in his mouth. Probably a tooth. Shahin had caught him the face at least once.

“He’s got a bar, in the Haze, it’s—it’s down, all the way, and on north side.”

A king in the dungeon rather than the castle? His intrigue grew.

“Well done, boys,” said Shahin. He stepped back, settling his weight until his leg didn’t pain as badly. He turned and started off, only to stop when one of the boys called out.

“What are you going to do with us?” asked one of the boys.

Shahin tilted his head but didn’t turn back. “Why would I do anything?” he asked. “You’re already dying.”

He moved through the streets, leaning more heavily on his cane than before. The pain in his right leg burned from heel to hip, and the pain radiated out into his hip and up his lower back. His shoulder was starting, too, and it’d turn his nerves to fire soon enough. He squinted, closing his bad eye more than his good, and looked for a place to stay for the night.

Baqir wasn’t going anywhere. Shahin needed more information, first.

Like how a Fiyyad man was running Underside. A refugee with an army? A rich man who stepped on skulls to get here? Someone with connections and spies? What sort of leader was Baqir and where had he come from?

Had to be a Fiyyad. Anyone else and Shahin wouldn’t have worried too much, but this was one of his people.

They were a clever lot.

He pondered his next step as he moved through the streets. It would do well to memorize the layouts as soon as possible. Didn’t need people thinking he was an outsider a second time.

The back alleys of Underside had changed since he’d last walked them. Back pathways and stone and dirt trails left him moving in circles, staring endlessly up at the stacked buildings that spiralled toward the ceiling of this level of Underside.

Too much time looking at the ceiling left him stumbling around more than one pile of garbage, and he only narrowly avoided tripping over a particularly foul smelling pile.

He moved around the garbage— wait. Noise. Crying? Garbage didn’t cry.

He turned. In the garbage, tucked beside the stacks of old wood and piles of waste, was a small child. She wore a dirty smock whose original colour was impossible to tell beneath the dirt and grime. Her hair, matted and knotted, billowed around her ears and neck.

Shahin took a step forward.

Her skin was almost the same brown his was, from the clean spots he could spy. A warm hued umber that looked sickly in the dark and godly in the sun. But she’d probably never seen her skin in the sunlight. Probably never stood under any sunlight at all. Maybe cast off from the docks, if she could sneak close enough.

He took another step forward.

She had her arms wrapped around risen knees. Bruises, scraps, and cuts littered her skin. She’d been beaten, recently. His stomach flipped. How badly? And why? For food, most likely. She’d go hungry often, at that size, which just made it worse. He’d been beaten for scraps more times than he could count.

Another step forward.

Only one hand. He hadn’t noticed until he’d gotten so close, but her left arm ended in a stump. A swollen, badly wrapped one that was discoloured with blood and infection. Streaks of blood poisoning wound up her arm, stopping near the elbow.

Just the hand gone, then. Clipped just below the wrist, by his best guess.

The next step left him in front of the crying girl.

His stomach churned. The smell of running sewage burned the hairs from his nose.

She was dying. Blood poisoning was fatal without intervention. Intervention was expensive. Requiring not just money, but connections.

Shahin’s coins weighed heavy in the inner pocket of his jacket.

She’d be dead in a few weeks, maybe a month.

He crouched in front of her.

“Hello,” said Shahin, softly.

The girl raised her head just enough to stare at him over her knees. Her eyes were a deep, vivid brown so dark they were almost black in the shadow. Nothing else penetrated them, just that solid colour.

And they were filled with such sorrow, such fear, that Shahin forgot to breathe.

When his chest began to ache, Shahin forced himself to inhale. He reached into his pocket and pulled his snack from it.

The girl flinched when he held his hand out to her. He grimaced.

“It’s jerky,” he said, opening his hand. “Turkey.” As if she’d care what meat it was, as long as it wasn’t human.

She stared at it, but didn’t move.

Shahin lifted it and tore a piece off with his teeth, chewing and swallowing while he held it back out to her. She watched until he swallowed, traced the bob of his throat, then snatched the jerky from his hands and tore into it with the half feral nature of a starving child.

She couldn’t be more than five years old. Maybe a little older, if she was as starved as he thought. Maybe younger. How had she lost the hand? Infection from a cut? Rift Rot? Who had done it, and why leave her alone afterwards?

He swallowed. His leg ached from crouching for so long.

For just a moment, he saw himself in her place. A child of perhaps eight years old, alone, dirty, and terrified. He’d spent a lot of time curled up in the garbage, too.

No one had ever stopped for him.

“What’s your name?” asked Shahin. He shifted, kneeling on his good leg and propping his arm up with his cane. “Mine is Shahin.”

She stared at him, eyes big and dark and full of horrors she never should have seen.

“Padma.” Her voice was two pieces of paper whispering across one another.

He didn’t recognize the origin. A little girl floating in a sea of garbage, not even a culture he could anchor her to.

Shahin extended his hand.

“I’ve been away from Underside for some time,” he said. “I need someone to show me around, to help me get my bearings. Would you be that person for me?”

She furrowed her brow at him.

Shahin swallowed. “I’ll pay you with food, a place to sleep, and clothing.”

“Will you like me?” she whispered.

Shahin blinked. “Pardon?”

“Will you like me? If you… if you take care of me, will you like me?”

Shahin’s eyes burned. No doubt from the stench. He cleared his throat and blinked, hard, several times.

“Yes. I promise to like you very much.”

She took his hand. “Okay. I’ll come with you.”

He stood, holding her little hand in one of his and gripped his cane in the other.

“Now then, why don’t you show me where we can find a room to sleep in?” asked Shahin. He smiled down at Padma. “I have money,” he whispered. “Take me to the fanciest place you know.”

Her eyes lit up and she pulled him, quicker than he thought she could, down the street.

He’d find a doctor for her infection right after. Then he’d get her some shoes, and some clothes. Do something about her poor hair.

Then, he’d see about finding Baqir.

Baqu wasn’t built in a day, after all, and not even Farsiders could tear it down in one.

#writeblr #amwriting #am writing #my writing #creative writing #wip: farsiders #snippet: farsiders

[pigtailedgirl]

So dog tired but taking my time for me and catching up on some movies.

Hocus Pocus 2 and Nope.

Hocus Pocus 2 not positive. 

Nope was fantastic. 

SPOILERS

Of course, Jordan Peele’s film understands how to reference or make eerie a real example or homage something. From the western horse chases blending so well with the monster hunt, from the Akira bike slide being so cool but just a blink and you miss ref, from the Gordy and Mary Jo as the woman without a face in comparison to the real story...I love a movie that knows when and what it wants to tell you and the themes and emotions it’s driving at you. 

I loved the characters too. The brother and sister. The tech guy. The film guy. 

Jupe is not a good person, he’s as close to a villain as the TMZ guy, regardless of the backstory. But he’s fascinating to see how spectacle and his pursuit, his chase and disrespect of others, of nature and pun intended, sense or horse sense, is his killer. His undoing. Trying to force connection, be it animal or people, through artifice. A childish way for a man scarred emotionally and stuck in child fame and fear.

I loved it. The creature creepy as hell.

OJ was brilliant. His scene in the truck. His love of his Dad and sis. His quiet and frustrated straight man persona.

The beauty in some scenes.  I want to talk about this movie. To gush.

....

In contrast we have Hocus Pocus 2. Straight up nostalgia bait, cash grab, bank on nothing new in idea or execution, nothing special in the way it creates or attempts to reference or homage the original or others. But people, myself included, are flocking to it because we just wanted to see if it could for a moment bring back the feeling or carry it forward for us that OG did. No.

It’s what is most insulting to me about the film. It’s one thing to make the same basic plot points twice, to try to mimic the 93 gags while missing why it was camp or risky or off cuff then, in the way Walgreens or roombas are product placement and not, in the way it’s not as funny to hear Sarah says amok amok amok again when it is not a spontaneous fool’s glee but callback, to have them sing is not an inventive nod to Bette and fun song when it’s so forced in thrice.

Or turn it into a generic tale, to both dumb down and de-evil the Sanderson sisters, Winnie in particular. To have characters that were obsessed with sucking the life out of children for eternal life and beauty grow old without care or die without care is failing the OG theme but can perhaps be done...if it was subverted wisely. This was not. 

Winnie in OG neither loved nor cared for her sisters. That was the big contrast to the pair of Dani/Max and Emily/Thackery. 

So they return, so maybe they or her should learn to love thy sister but the movie never builds this. Or contrasts them against the three young girls as other sisters/friends/witch enthusiasts.

Disney is so obsessed with the pat and perfect boss of a woman trope, look at the perfect cool woods witch WTH, that they no longer let them have a character or arc. None get growth because the must already be right and perfect, even as the story warps around the unreality. So Winnie was right to be against the village, being forcefully separated from her sisters and to be married off. Right to want power. Let us ignore her moral usage of. Or make the Billy affair a lie. Let’s strip her of character because we can’t like an evil woman, only the boss one.

Of the younger characters, the girl’s conflict with each other is left unanswered. They just needed to work together. Ignore the question and growth that they need by being independent individuals, of asking what they actually want to do together and why, or why they were rushing to conflict and separate, or even the who they are. You know, basics of character. Glasses girl friend was as generic as leader girl as was party friend. The only young person, stupid as they were, to arc was the himbo, who sat and went from I tease, to the explained I tease out of affection, to you don’t like that and I’m sorry. 

Also the mood was a ruin. Not spooky or pretty Fall or fun Halloween. Generic.

Well, I wasn’t expecting good so I wipe it from my brain. Go back to the 90s one.

Which is my last thought. The difference in the 90s, being as vapid and consumer and full of playing on it’s era... there is a reason that remakes and the nostalgia trips of today are failing. You can’t recreate that time. You reference it by trying too hard to mimic and you look foolish because both the generation of today is far too different, far too removed to understand so it doesn’t bring them real emotion, it doesn’t connect to their experience, hell if I can even think what is today’s kids and tweens culture and their feels and fears and hopes that isn’t trapped and trying to be consumer branded by my aging failed generation... but also trying to cater to my generation, trying to bribe me with the past, to recapture my love and emotion, it only really works if you can take it and and tell me why it still matters. Otherwise all you are reminding me of is it was hollow or it and I changed. You turn me from it, or you look a poor attempt mimic without saying anything.

#hocus pocus 2 #nope #spoilers

[snackhobi]

min yoongi is the best shot in the business. you’re the best gunsmith in the city and the only person he trusts to programme his tech; to make his gear. 

he likes your work. it’s a shame, then, that he doesn’t like you.

pairing: yoongi x f!reader / word count: 14.3k / genre + rating: NSFW (18+), cyberpunk!au, smut, frenemies (?) to lovers

warnings/etc: hitman!yoongi. black market dealer/gunsmith!reader. cursing/explicit language. whole lotta tension, sexual and otherwise. mentions of injury/violence. minor character death (no one important, don’t worry, this isn’t an angst fic). brief hurt/comfort. reader has tattoos. sexually explicit content. oral; fingering; multiple orgasms; overstimulation (f). unprotected sex (please take the necessary precautions irl). rough sex?. choking. creampie. brief mention of aftercare. I think that’s everything but please lmk if I missed any!

a/n: thank you SO MUCH to both @hobi-gif​ and @morndas​ for beta reading this and being so supportive, ily both so much and I owe you my life 🤧💕 as always what was meant to be a short fic turned into a huge one. also this is technically for my 1.1k milestone but it’s a billion years late, oops!​

Yoongi really doesn’t like you.

You’re loud. Cocky. Arrogant. You needle him all the time, dig your fingernails in and squeeze, revelling in the way he sets his jaw, the muted spark of irritation in his eyes. You bat your eyelashes and tilt your head, throw it back whenever you laugh and reveal the easing column of your throat, dragging each interaction out with a kind of sadistic pleasure that has him gritting his teeth. Because you love annoying him, getting under his skin, tapping your fingers against the soft swell of your bottom lip as you eye him up, taking your time before you speak.

Infuriating. You’re infuriating and you know it.

It’s unfortunate, really, because you’re unavoidable. 

Jungkook had asked, once, why Yoongi doesn’t just go elsewhere. They’re more than familiar with the underbelly of this heaving city, underneath all the neon lights and shimmering holograms and towering skyscrapers and legal tech; the scuttling seams of back alley traders and illegal goods, tech or otherwise. There are plenty of black market dealers, after all, plenty of other vendors he could go to to get the equipment he wants. Plenty of other skilled crafters, artificers, artisans, people who would be more than happy to create the things that Yoongi asks for, that he needs. People who can get their hands on anything you want. For a price.

Yoongi’s answer had been short and succinct.

“She’s the best there is,” he’d said, and that had been that.

Because it’s true. You might be exasperating, maddening, laughing in Yoongi’s face where others might cower or genuflect, but no one is as good as you. All of Yoongi’s gear has been crafted by you; each and every single one of his weapons, his tech, the headpiece that fits so perfectly around the back of his skull that Yoongi often forgets that it’s there, hidden in his hair, unfolding across his eyes whenever he lines up a shot to make the kill—there’s evidence of your work across every inch of his body, hidden away under his clothes, day in, day out. Even when he’s not on a contract Yoongi never leaves anything to chance. 

(A walking armoury, Namjoon had called him once.)

(You’d phrased it differently.

You’re always packing, hmm? you’d hummed, rapping your fingernails in a steady beat as you’d leaned back in your chair, smiling with teeth. There was laughter in your words and your gaze, no attempt made to hide your amusement, but after your goading you’d made him a collapsible sword anyway. It’s a beautiful thing, this folding blade, bristling with plasma and energy if Yoongi needs it, lethal and deadly. One of his most prized possessions, something that’s gotten him out of multiple corners, and he owes it—you—his life.)

There’s no one on par with you. You’re a Renaissance woman, a fiercely talented polymath who doesn’t need to rely on anyone else to create the things you create. Low-tech, high-tech, no tech—you make everything from scratch, programme things yourself, hunched over each project in your own workshop with nothing but your mind and your own two hands.

It’s the only reason he puts up with you and your antics, the sharp jibes, the shameless flirting; you’re the most infuriating person he knows, but there’s no one else he would trust with the work that you do.

Unfortunately.

Which is why Yoongi finds himself here, again and again, as familiar with this studio as you are—he watches you work, sometimes, watches you sketch up blueprints and drag your fingers across your array of displays, your world cast in shifting shades of cyan and electric blue from all the tech in here, humming and alive. He likes to see how his equipment is made, after all. It can mean the difference between life and death. He takes this seriously.

It’s the one time you might be quiet. Might be quiet, because you still talk even when you work; flick your gaze between Yoongi and whatever’s set in front of you, that ever present smile spread across your lips, smug and amused. You’re only silent during the hardest jobs. Like right now, you’re intense and focused, a furrow dug between your brows as you survey his sniper rifle—almost shorn in two. (It had been the only thing to hand when he’d had to block a blow from a guard he’d somehow overlooked, no time to draw any other weapons before they’d started to brawl.)

You’d been unimpressed. You’d raised your eyebrows with all the severity of a disappointed mother, bitten words out at him with molten snideness, dripping heat and snark.

“It’s a gun, Yoongi. A gun. You know, something you shoot with? Pew pew? Blammo? I’m not sure what sort of shields and body armour you’ve seen in the past but this isn’t either of those things. Do you want me to sketch some diagrams up for you? Or maybe I could write you a book. Baby’s First Arsenal, Chapter One: The Difference Between Things That Are Guns And Things That Aren’t. Would that be helpful?”

No one else talks to Yoongi like that. No one else would dare. It’s only a rare few that know his birth name and it’s not often that he hears it, more used to the sound of Agust D falling off people’s lips. But that had been part of your price, part of the agreement when he’d first met you and asked for your services: his real name.

Yoongi had let it wash over him, had endured your tongue-lashing before putting the gun down with a heavy finality and thrust it over at you, tired of all your talk.

“Just fix it,” he’d demanded.

You’d laughed in his face.

“As always, your bedside manner leaves something to be desired,” you’d said, taking the rifle from him.

The D-2 Shadow isn’t just a weapon. It’s a piece of art, clean edges and slick lines, and Yoongi is grateful to have it back in his hands. There’s no other sniper rifle like it, made of super lightweight alloy and easy to handle; thermal scope, enhanced stabilisers for accuracy; superior kinetic coils for better shot penetration. Yoongi had asked for the best and you’d delivered. Gone above and beyond, crafted a weapon the likes of which no one else possesses, modified in ways other people can’t even fathom.

And you’d fixed it when he'd almost let it get destroyed. Made it better than new, even, layered it in more alloy to make it stronger without making it heavier, a new material of your own design. If he hadn’t known you as well as he does he’d have worried that it was beyond repair, knows that other gunsmiths would have taken one look at its crumpled body and shaken their heads, but you hadn’t. 

Of course you hadn’t. You never do.

You charge him a pretty penny for your work, make him pay through the nose for everything he asks of you, but Yoongi is more than willing to do so. More than capable of paying, coffers lined with more money than he might need, one of the best contract killers there is—the real price he pays is with his sanity, worn away each time you open your mouth. He can’t help but rise to your bait, as derisive as you are; it’s only the smallest things, a sharpness to his otherwise even tone, an angry spark in his eyes, but you pick up on it all.

He’s not your only customer. You don’t extend your services to many, only to the people you want to—Yoongi’s not sure what set of harebrained criteria you have that lets you choose who you’ll sell to and who you won’t but he can’t make heads nor tails of it. He knows he’s not part of your clientele because he’s got the credits to pay, nor is it because he’s one of the most highly regarded hitmen in his line of business. 

You don’t just choose people who can afford to pay or people who have a level of power and influence in this dark underworld you inhabit. You really don’t care about those things. You just pick and choose on a whim.

(Once, back when he’d first met you, Yoongi had discovered that you’d concocted an entirely new security system—practically incapable of being hacked, crawling with tech, a level of complexity even the richest elites could barely afford—for some small artist who’d worried that their paintings might get stolen. He was an unknown at the time, this V, squirrelled away in one of the dark corners in the lowest levels of the city, and you’d all but given him some of the best work you’d ever done, undercharged him something chronic.

You’d shrugged when Yoongi had asked why.

“He makes me laugh,” you’d replied.)

Yoongi isn’t your only customer but he’s certainly the only one you seem to treat the way you do. There’s a level of irreverence in everything you do, self-confidence settled across every inch of you like the obnoxious stench of a teenage boy’s body spray, but you seem to take particular pleasure in Yoongi’s displeasure. He’d brought Namjoon along, once, inquiring after an imitation greenhouse, how someone might set up the tech to raise tropical plants that wouldn’t survive otherwise (mostly above board, even; Namjoon might grow illicit plants, poisonous and prohibited, but he likes pretty flowers, too). And there had been none of the mocking that Yoongi receives. None of the wind ups. You’d been pleasant, despite your incessant snark, agreeing to take the job with a smile on your face that Yoongi never gets given.

(It had been infuriating, to know that you’re capable of not being an ass, but you just choose not to be. For fun.)

Yoongi really, really doesn’t like you, but he respects your work. Respects you, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

You keep your word. You don’t supply his competitors, although you claim it’s not loyalty to him and it’s only because they can’t pay as well as he does—winnings go to the highest bidder, you’d said sagely, as obtuse and irritating as always. 

But Yoongi knows other sellers will provide anyone who’s willing to pay, freelancers who peddle their wares regardless of affiliation or alliances. You’re beholden to no one and yet Yoongi knows you would never double cross him. Never supply anyone who challenges his work, even if they have the money, even if he’s on good terms with them (it’s not personal, it’s business; Yoongi has no issue with other hired killers as long as they stay out of his way). He knows he can rely on you, which is something to be treasured in these back-crossing back-stabbing backstreets.

So when he makes his way to your door, the details of a new contract still fresh in his mind, he instantly comes to a stop.

There’s something off. He can tell immediately, years of instinct causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise, every part of him on edge. Everything looks normal, is normal, but there’s a burning in his gut that has Yoongi’s finger itching for the trigger even though there’s nothing to shoot. 

You’ve granted him the privilege of access to your workshop, to the other rooms, entered the scans of his hand and eye and voice into the security systems, keep him updated on the varying passwords you cycle through, so he can enter whenever he needs to. 

(He’s woken you up on more than one occasion, roused you from sleep for last minute supplies before he leaves for another contract, appearing in the dead of night like a spectre of death, clothing dark and eyes darker, overflowing with weaponry. A looming silhouette edged in strokes of cyan and magenta from the ever present, low-level neon light in your room, so much darker than the bright lights of your workshop. Intimidating. 

And you always just roll your eyes and sigh and tell him to keep a better eye on his cache of equipment and climb out of bed for him. You’re so at odds to him in your sleep rumpled clothing and mussed hair, still unafraid even when he’s fully geared and ready to kill; shirt slipping off your shoulder, swathes of bare skin in the place of Yoongi's all-encompassing outfit, shimmering black light tattoos visible on your legs and arms and bare skin of your collarbones, geometric lines in the palest of blues and greens. You hand over whatever he needs and tell him the creds he owes you.

“I’ve already given you a key to my apartment and you haven’t even taken me for dinner once,” you sigh—dramatic and melodramatic—even as you hand over a bundle of crossbow bolts. The synthesised toxin inside the darts is your own concoction, of course, courtesy of the plant matter provided from Namjoon’s greenhouse.

“I’d literally rather be shot in the head than willingly spend time with you,” he replies.

“You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid,” you say, and just laugh in the face of his unimpressed deadpan. As insufferable as always.)

So he doesn’t need your permission to enter. He’s silent, light-footed as he makes his way inside, scanning each inch of this familiar interior; nothing’s wrong, not yet, but Yoongi can sense something in the air. Something heavy, settled bitter on his tongue, coating the back of his throat.

And then he walks into your workshop.

You’re meticulous. Even when you’re overrun with gear, with parts that have yet to be used, everything has its place. You prefer paper over datapads, too, tack sheets of designs and notes up on the wall, have clipboards and stacks of sheets set neatly in their place, a throwback to a time before tech ruled everything. Yoongi knows the layout of this room as well as he knows his own home, a mental map of straight lines and unwavering coordinates with you in the centre of it all.

Upheaval. Those neat lines of organised cartography have been pulled apart. Ham-handed work, to be sure, more of a statement than anything else; intent to instil fear rather than to destroy (although, Yoongi sees now that one of the monitors has been smashed, display sparking white and blue as it bleeds out electricity.). Even in the darkness of the room—overhead lights off and only emergency lighting on, painting things in shades of dark crimson and pink—Yoongi can tell that whichever interlopers have done this are already gone. The room is empty.

Then the sound of a clatter breaks the silence and Yoongi’s already got his pistol out, drawn without a thought as he approaches the sound that comes from the back room, fleet-footed and silent as he raises the gun and rounds the corner—

And sees you at the end of the barrel.

There’s a first aid kit on the floor. Packs of medi-gel and rolls of bandages and other supplies scattered around your feet. You haven’t even spotted Yoongi yet, in despair at the mess in front of you; he’s never seen you like this, never seen anything other than your veneer of enraging smugness and never-ending energy.

“Y/n?” 

You flinch even as your head snaps around, eyes wide—but the second you see Yoongi you visibly relax, even though he’s still holding a gun in your direction.

There’s a bruise blossoming across your left cheek.

“Ah, Yoongi.” The smile that paints itself across your lips is almost convincing despite the dark flower that’s unfolding on your skin, blood rising to the surface and painting it in hues of pain; you wince, a little, when the smile makes your wound ache. Soldier onwards as you act as though nothing is wrong. “I know you’re always desperate for my attention but do you mind giving me a second? I’m kind of indisposed at the moment.”

Yoongi’s lips are set in a thin line. He only has one question on his mind.

“Who did this to you?”

Your gaze flickers before you break eye contact, staring at the first aid supplies on the floor. “What, this? Have you never dropped something before?”

Yoongi ignores your deflection. It only takes a few moments to reholster the pistol, to step over to you, to grasp your chin and tilt your face towards him.

“Who did this to you?”

Yoongi’s tone is quiet and low, firm and undeniable. For the first time since he’s met you it seems as though you’re lost for words, lips parted around a silent sound of surprise as you’re subjected to the full force of Yoongi’s gaze, cutting through you; past every layer of self-inflated narcissism you put on, past every deflection you might make.

There's a beat of silence.

And then you slowly but irrevocably fold underneath the weight of his stare.

You let him lead you, sit you down, bowing to his hands and his directions. You’re silent throughout, lips an unfamiliar shape as they’re pulled down into the slightest of frowns. He’s only ever seen you smile, seen you laugh, self-assured. Never like this.

You seem surprised, startled when he sits across from you and cracks open a pack of medi-gel. Yoongi’s surprised too, although he doesn’t show it, lets his instincts take over and settles into auto-pilot as he reaches for your face. He’s never seen your eyes so round, so wide, watching the hand that descends on your cheek with all the single-minded intent of a man about to fillet a fish—careful and practiced but menacing, maybe. (He doesn’t like you but you don’t deserve to have been hurt and Yoongi can’t just stand by and not help.)

And you don’t shy away. You stare at him as he stares at his fingers, layers the gel evenly across the pain of your bruise, cool and soothing.

It’s only when he’s reached for more medi-gel and touched your cheek for the second time that you finally speak.

“It was one of the Tang cousins.”

Yoongi goes still, fingers resting across your skin, slick with purple gel. 

“One of the cousins?”

Yoongi doesn’t like you. But—and God knows what he did wrong in a previous life for this to be true—you’re one of his inner circle, one of the very, very few people he trusts. You’re not friends and he doesn’t like you, but he owes you, owes you a hundred times over, owes you for every successful kill, every silent infiltration, every averted detection. All thanks to your tech and the work you put into it for him. He’s indebted to you.

Yoongi always pays his debts.

“I didn’t even catch his name.” You sound dismissive. Normally you’d laugh, deride the person you’re speaking about, but instead you just sound tired. “One of the low down ones. New kid on the block; someone I didn’t recognise, with some lackeys or similar. Trying to make a name for himself, I think. He demanded that I build weapons for him. I said no.”

The Tang family is a big one, a criminal empire that has its tendrils dug in everywhere. You don’t deal with them, have no interest throwing your lot in with them intentionally or not; it’s a big, formidable family, but it’s not the only one around. You’d be dumb to get involved in that mess of generational, cross-family conflict. You’ll sell things to the highest bidder, shift illicit high-tech stock, build generic modifications that people can buy—but you don’t make bespoke weaponry for just anyone.

You don’t even sell to the heads of the Tang family directly, let alone to some back-alley sewer rat who probably barely has the faintest ties to the family, a single vein of Tang blood in his body, just enough to give him an in.

Whoever this cousin was he must be really fucking stupid to not know that. Stupid to think he could demand anything from you. Stupid to think he could hurt you when you laughed in his face and said no. Anyone with half a brain-cell should know not to fuck with you, know that it’s an honour to even be allowed inside your workshop, that to be told ‘no’ by you is a privilege.

Stupid to think that he wasn’t going to pay for that stupidity.

The pack of medi-gel is empty, the deflated pouch forgotten on Yoongi’s knee as he stares at you. The flecks of biomatter in the gel catch the light, sparkling like glitter in the lavender that’s seeping into your skin; all the surprise is gone from your eyes and instead you’re just watching him, stolid and steady. Analytical.

(You’re smart. Yoongi knows you are. For all that you talk shit and play foolish, he never forgets about that fierce intelligence. Never underestimates you or how perceptive you are. He only wonders what’s on your mind right now; what it is that you see in front of you.)

“Next time don’t let someone in unless you’re certain you’re going to sell to them.”

You scoff in his face. “Alright, Dad. Do you want to update my curfew while you’re at it? Make it ten p.m. instead of eleven?”

Yoongi blinks slowly. You’ve got both eyebrows raised, surveying him with a mixture of amusement and disbelief that he’s trying to tell you what to do (because no one tells you what to do; they wouldn't dare). But you don’t pull away, your knees still touching his, body bowed towards him from when he’d coaxed you closer so he could reach your face—so he knows you don’t mind. Not really.

(Knows you don’t care about anyone’s opinions or rules, only sticking to your own. The fact you’d been shaken from that place of confidence by some thug—even for a moment—doesn’t sit right in Yoongi’s belly. That bitter taste is back in his throat and it’s ice cold, icicles prickling through his blood.)

(He doesn’t like you but you’re one of his people and no one fucks with Yoongi’s people.)

The bruise is still there days later, after you’ve rearranged your workshop back to the way it was, sourced a new monitor to replace the one that was broken. You’re back to smirking, already ready for his request, more bullets for his weapons and super-charged plasma to recharge his sword, but the bruise is a stark reminder of what you’ve been through. So is, too, the new blueprint he spies half finished on your open displays: an automated security system that scans thermal signatures, guns unfolding from the ceiling whenever aggressive movement is detected from an unfamiliar person. Anyone who’s not listed as familiar in the security logs. 

(Yoongi used to wonder about that. Why you didn’t have security mechs set in place, programming their AI to protect you, but you don’t like to use mechs. Don’t like to use them, even if you could afford to build them, because you compare it to forced servitude. You’ve never needed them before now, anyway. Safe in your reputation, knowing that you’re in a position of power, that people come here because they know you’re the best of the best.)

(But it seems like you don’t trust that any more. Don’t feel safe.)

Yoongi keeps as silent as always, bites his tongue when you cut him off mid-sentence with nothing more than a raised finger.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut, wagging the finger back and forth like the slow pendulum of a grandfather clock. “No more crafting requests. I’m still working on the concentration mod you asked for and I’ll let you know when it’s ready. I don't rush for anyone. Patience is a virtue, baby. Did no one ever tell you that?”

“Don’t call me baby.”

“Okay, handsome.” Your reply is instant, unruffled, and Yoongi grits his teeth. 

But still. For all that you’re acting like normal, workshop set back into place, white lighting shining overhead, as neat and presentable as always—Yoongi can read uncertainty in the way you move. Discomfort. You don’t feel safe in your own space and it’s obvious, even if you don’t realise it.

“Come back any time,” you say coyly, and Yoongi, as always, ignores you. Transfers the creds he owes you in silence before he takes one last look at the bruise that’s still painted across your skin, dark eyes touching yours for the briefest moment before he turns and leaves.

For the first time since you met, Yoongi buys from someone who isn’t you.

It’s not bad. Well made, decent tech, Predator pistol sitting easy in his hands when he brings it to the light and watches it unfold from its holstered state, the way plasma bursts to life in the barrel; weaker than bullets but easier to reload in the field. It’s no surprise that the Yeom family gets their stuff sourced from here. The body armour, too, isn’t bad, engraved with the family crest and cast in their colours.

It’s not bad, but it’s not as good as it could be. Not as good as Yoongi needs his tech to be, demands it to be—but quality doesn’t matter. Not today. He has a job to do.

It’s easy to find his mark. Scum gathers in stagnant water, in the dirtiest and dankest places, and this is where Yoongi finds Tang Lee. Finds him spilling beer and money in the backroom of some grimy strip club where the holograms flicker from age and the strippers are tired, trying their best to scrape a living from the seething riverbed of filth that runs underneath the bright neon lights of the skyscrapers in the levels above.

Lee isn’t alone but it’s so easy to take them out it’s laughable, men drunk from cheap alcohol; Yoongi catches one in a chokehold, smashes another’s face into the glass table with enough force it shatters, faces Lee once they’re the only two standing. The music outside is too loud and the room is sound proofed for privacy and so Yoongi isn’t interrupted as he brings Lee to his knees, thrusting his face into a smear of blood that drips from his now-broken nose, courtesy of a quick jab of Yoongi’s right fist.

It’s not a quick kill. It could be. Yoongi could have ended this in moments, caught Lee off guard and ended his miserable life almost effortlessly—but he doesn’t. He takes his time, makes it count, teaches him a lesson, has Lee on his hands and knees as he sobs out apologies and snivels for mercy before he takes the pistol and blows his brains out. Yoongi doesn’t feel sorry for the man, eyes the body impassively, not even worth his disgust—he only feels sorry for whoever finds the chaos of the room and the bodies inside, the distinct plasma burns he purposefully leaves in the wall with the Predator pistol, the entire scene he’s created here: a scuffle gone wrong, fast.

You’re not the only person Tang Lee has crossed but you’ll be the last. Yoongi checks the pulses of the other two men, finds one dead and the other still alive, barely, just like he’d planned—and his work is done. It’s the Yeom family’s problem now, any fall out from Lee’s death pointed at them, a repayment of a slight Lee had made to a Yeom supplier only a few weeks ago. (Yoongi wagers that neither family will care, will draw a veil over this moment and let this settle without raising arms, no one important enough to go to war over.)

He discards the pistol and armour once he’s done, incinerates it all, no interest in keeping subpar equipment. It’s not even worth dismantling for parts. Hoseok finds him in their basement, eyeing the blue flames that lick their way around the discarded armaments; he just watches Yoongi, inscrutable and calm as he eyes the blood on the clothing before it bursts into flames.

“Not a contract,” Hoseok says. (It’s not a question.)

“A job.” Yoongi replies, watches the cloth turn to ash through the thrumming display of the incinerator. “Something that needed to be done.”

He doesn’t tell anyone what he’s done. There’s no point in it. Yoongi decides something needs to be done and he’ll do it, whether that’s building a new chair for Jungkook after he broke his old one or killing a man who hurt you.

The next time he sees you your bruise is practically gone, faded into your skin. You’re intent on something on a monitor but when you notice him you turn, swivelling in your chair in one smooth motion as you lean back and put your hands behind your head, cross one leg over the other, dripping self-satisfaction, your smile sharp and full of teeth.

“Ah, Yoongi.” You look so smug that Yoongi has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Welcome, once again, to my laboratory. Is this visit for business or pleasure? Either way, you know I'm happy to oblige.”

“I’m here for the mod you promised me,” he says bluntly, and you just keep smiling, even as you hold out a hand for the sniper rifle, handling the D-2 Shadow with as much reverence as Yoongi does as you affix the mod.

It’s perfect, of course. All that Yoongi asked for and more. The software links with his eyepiece, biometric sensors that help him find his target, software to adjust to his pulse and breathing.

“You can even change the colour of the HUD,” you say, as if it’s some sort of buy-one-get-one-free offer, some fun little feature, rather than another helpful piece of software that you’ve created. Dismissive. An afterthought.

(You act like you take nothing seriously. Yoongi is your stark opposite, weighing everything in his hands and treating it with the level of attention it deserves, intent and focused.)

He’s staring down the scope when you speak once more. Light and easy, for once, rather than loud with your usual exaggerated exuberance or silken with unnecessary suggestiveness.

“I hear that they found a Tang family member dead.”

Yoongi just hums in response. Keeps his eye on the scope, wills the colour from dark green to white using the affinity link he has synced with his headpiece, watches the lines of the heads up display of the scope repaint themselves without even a single flicker, transition smooth and effortless. (Perfection.)

“It seems like the Yeom family did it,” you say, tone still conversational.

“Is that so.” Yoongi sounds disinterested, face impassive as he draws the gun away from his face, eye piece automatically folding away from his eyes. “Can I ask about other mods now that this one is finished?”

One of your brows rises, a perfect curve of discontent. “Say thank you first, Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes cut into yours but you don’t back down, watch his blank face as he eventually says: “Thank you. Now I need more mods.”

You throw your head back as you laugh. “You’re insatiable,” you say, but you don’t say no. “What do you want now?”

(It’s not that you never say no to Yoongi. Because you have, and you do, and you will. But never because you can’t make what he asks for—and only because you refuse to make things that might endanger his safety, illicit bio-mods that other hired hitmen use, things that degrade the body from the inside out.)

Yoongi’s just holstered the Shadow, ready to go, when you speak one final time.

“Yoongi?”

He’s never heard you say his name like that, soft and quiet.

“Thanks.” You’re staring at him, regarding him steadily, solemn in a way that he’s never seen. You’re smiling, as always, but the expression is lightyears away from what Yoongi is used to—just the barest hint of an upturn to your lips.

Yoongi stares back at you. “I don’t know what you’re thanking me for.”

Your smile grows, a warm thing, unfurling like a flower. Almost affectionate. “Sure,” you say. “Of course. Silly me. Slip of the tongue.” And then, as if your brain’s only just caught up with what you just said, the smile turns salacious. “On the note of slipping the tongue—”

“Bye.”

Your cascading laughter follows him on his way out, cutting and shining with amusement. 

Yoongi’s been getting more contracts. He’s finally buckled under Jungkook’s insistent whining and has agreed to get gear for him, too, to train him how to shoot. Hoseok has more than enough contacts in the underworld to get jobs for them both—he’s the most powerful information broker around, after all, sitting in the centre of a web he’s woven after years of work, all that sharpness and darkness hidden behind his deceptively bright smile.

(Yoongi’s lucky to consider him a friend and not an enemy.)

So that’s why he’s here with increasing frequency. That’s why he finds himself at your door more often than not. To get those orders in place, to make sure they’re progressing as fast as they need to.

You never react when Yoongi steps into your workshop. Well, you do, you lean into your hand and smirk at him, pursing your lips around each snide remark, each suggestive comment—but you never question his appearance. You just go with the flow, unbothered by his presence, even when there are other people there—other customers who eye him with unveiled curiosity and confusion (some Yoongi recognises, some he doesn’t, well-known faces and unknowns alike; none of them know who he is, though, unrecognisable as Agust D without his battle gear on). Yoongi keeps a close eye on their stances, any unchecked aggression or hostility towards you. Keeps a watch on the tension of your shoulders and spine, because of… habit. Battle instinct. Nothing else.

“You know my policy, Yoongi.” You’re analysing something in your hand. It looks like an antique spyglass, something from the decades before technology overtook the world, but it’s jammed full of tech; it doesn’t just magnify to a terrifying degree, it also amplifies sound, connected to an earpiece that’s sleek and easy to overlook. ‘A small project’, you’d called it, as if it isn’t something that people would pay a fortune to own. “If I’m making something for someone I have to meet them first. If you want me to make anything for this ‘JK’ then it’s not happening until you bring him here. Just like with your friend RM.”

Yoongi is lolling by your monitors, half-asleep in your chair (which had moulded to the shape of his body the second he sat in it, designed to be too comfortable for its own good). 

“I know you can’t pull yourself away from me,” you continue, glancing up from the scope. “But you have to spend time with your friends sometimes. I know they’re not as pleasing to look at as me—”

“Stop.”

You shift the spyglass to one hand and lean your chin on the other, regarding him with sharp eyes and an amused quirk to your lips. “I love that you think you can tell me what to do.”

Yoongi resists the urge to make a noise at the back of his throat, opting to keep mum instead.

He’s too tired to argue with you. He’d come straight after a contract, blood still on the edge of his sleeves (not his), watched the way your eyebrows had risen when you’d casually taken in the state of him before offering to wash his jacket. You know the reality of this world you both inhabit, operating in the shadows, survival paid for in blood; you might not be on the high ground, lining the shot up to take the kill, but you craft the trigger that Yoongi pulls.

(You might be aware of this reality but you’re far removed from it, shaken by violence on your own door. You never should have been faced with it. You’re an inventor; a creator. Not a killer. Not like Yoongi is. He’s not going to let that happen again. He doesn’t like you but you shouldn’t have been subject to pain—shouldn’t still have your motions edged with a held breath, as if you’re waiting for it to repeat itself. 

No matter how well you hide it, Yoongi knows that there's a part of you that's still scared.)

“I know you think you’re too important to need to remember things, but we’ve worked together for long enough that you know that I’d ask to meet JK first, Yoongi,” you say. “Did you really have to come straight after murking someone just to be reminded about that? Not complaining—you know I love seeing that pretty scowl of yours—but I just figured you’d rather be resting right now. Don't tell me the infamous Agust D missed me and decided to come here instead.”

“You were on the way.”

(He’d circled around, taken a longer route, descended into the familiar maze of the lower city. To throw off the scent of any potential pursuers. You just happened to be nearby, pure coincidence and convenience.)

You retract the spyglass, collapsing it in your hands. “Either you leave right now and go to your own place to sleep, or you’re going to sleep in my bed. Your choice.”

(If Yoongi took the time to think about it, really think about it, he’d notice that the words aren’t shrouded in suggestion or insinuation. Your brows are raised and you’re looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to decide what he’s going to do—unimpressed at how tired he is, how he’s come here instead of sliding into his own bed for the rest he so clearly needs.)

Of course, Yoongi leaves. He returns home without his jacket, strips his shirt off as soon as he’s in this safe place, this base, sheds pieces of his body armour as easy as anything (you’d designed it to be lightweight and easy to don and doff, the perfect defence for someone who relied on stealth and speed); he’s just removing the last greave when Hoseok appears, rapping his knuckles against the open door.

“You’re finally back.”

Yoongi looks up. Hoseok is dressed for work, Hope Broker persona in place, tailored suit that sits perfectly with the lines of his body, handsome and stylish and entirely put together. He oozes poise and power. Elegance.

“Yeah.” Yoongi lets the greave drop, silent as it falls to the floor. “Job’s done.”

Hoseok smiles. It’s a genuine one because it’s for Yoongi. “I know,” he says, even though scarcely any time has passed since Yoongi put a bullet in the back of the target’s skull. Nothing happens in this world of theirs without Hoseok finding out about it, always sooner rather than later. “Just wanted to check in and make sure you were okay.”

“All good.” 

“Good.” Hoseok is used to Yoongi’s blunt nature, his short responses when he’s tired. “Get some sleep.”

Hoseok’s elegant even as he adjusts his cufflinks. It’s just the briefest of moments, the crisp edge of his perfectly white sleeve contrasting with the shining silver, the design inlaid in them—but Yoongi recognises that design immediately.

Because it’s yours.

It’s the same emblem on each piece of his gear, small and understated, hidden away, easy to miss—but Yoongi knows it intimately. He doesn’t say anything. Lets Hoseok leave without a word. Each one of the men that Yoongi considers family, the tiny collection of people that stay in this same home as him, know that he only gets equipment sourced from you—but Hoseok had never mentioned that he’s been in contact with you, too. 

It’s not important. Hoseok might be his friend and a staunch ally but there’s plenty that he gets up to that none of the others are privy to, trading information to the highest bidders, head of a huge network that Yoongi can use to his advantage but isn’t technically a part of. The people Hoseok deals with—buys his information and resources from, keeps perfectly balanced in comparison to his own power—is his own business and not Yoongi’s.

Yoongi moves to gather his armour, the hardsuit he wears like a second skin, and spots that insignia that he knows so well branded into it. To have Hoseok wearing it at his wrist—the Hope Broker, renowned trader of secrets—is a statement. You could have made the cufflinks plain and unadorned. But you hadn’t.

When Yoongi climbs into bed that night, he finds that his sleep is restless.

The smile on your face fades. “You know I don’t talk about business with other customers.”

Yoongi’s staring at you across your workbench, the light from its surface going dim as you take your hands off it, disassembled stun mine forgotten.

No one knows about his genuine friendship with Hoseok, but they do know that Agust D and the Hope Broker have an agreement; a professional working relationship. “I know the Hope Broker,” Yoongi says. 

Your eyebrows rise so far they seem to threaten to ascend into your hairline, you’re so incredulous. “Everyone does. What’s your point? Do you expect me to give you information about everyone you ask about? I get paid to keep people’s privacy, Yoongi. Do you think I sell the information of your equipment, how to dissemble every defence you have? Do you think I give your name out to everyone who asks?”

There’s no touch of amusement to the line of your lips, no sparkling irreverence in your eyes. You’re genuinely displeased.

“He’s wearing your symbol.”

You scoff. “You wear my symbol too. Why, are you jealous? Your armour has exactly the same technology. Better, even, because I can fit more tech in there.”

The cufflinks generate a kinetic barrier, then, a layer of invisible shielding that lays just atop Hoseok’s skin. But no one sees Yoongi’s armour; no one sees the workmanship of your weapons, no one except him. Your insignia isn’t emblazoned on his wrist for all to see.

Yoongi isn’t jealous.

“Hope is a powerful man,” you continue. “Everyone knows that. Even people who haven’t met him know that. Even people who aren’t sure he exists know that. If I want to sell to him then that’s my business.”

Everyone who’s anyone recognises your logo, no matter how rare it is to spot it (you only craft for a select few, after all). And Hoseok’s influence is far reaching and powerful; no one would dare cross him, dare to cross anyone who’s associated with him. 

“I’m looking for a new workshop.” You rise, moving away from your workbench to your monitors, touching a display with your fingers to bring it to life. Ignoring Yoongi’s presence, not even looking at him. “I haven’t got the space to modify the systems in this one as much as I want to. The walls are already full enough as it is. Do you know how hard it is to find somewhere with the specifications I need?”

Yoongi realises, then, why you’re doing this. The bruise is long gone and your skin is unmarred but you still don’t feel safe. You’ve always worked alone. Until now. Now you’re making moves to settle down, settle in, make a statement of allegiance to someone who can offer you a level of protection with their influence.

Someone who can offer you somewhere new, away from this inadequate place you’ve outgrown.

Hoseok laughs lightly when Yoongi asks about it, mentions it in passing as the two of them drink soju side by side, Hoseok in his suit and Yoongi girded in the armour under his unassuming clothes, both in the upper city for work; they stare down at the myriads of tall buildings and huge holo-boards and rainbow array of neon lights, far above the place they call home.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, utterly relaxed (and faintly amused). “I know you respect her work so I thought I’d reach out. I’m surprised she can make the things she does in that tiny workshop. You’re right; she’s very good.”

You are. The next time you meet, you give Yoongi his usual shipment and more besides, more than he’d ordered, reflected in the amount of creds he has to pay—because he won’t be able to just drop in for a while, your workshop dismantled and scraped empty in preparation for the move. Where to, he doesn’t know, but you say you’ll pass on the information once everything is up and running again.

“If you break any of your gear while I’m gone then you’re on your own,” you say. “I’m not shipping anything before my new workshop is finished.”

Two days later, Yoongi spies a new watch on Hoseok’s wrist. It looks low-tech, old style, metal strap and round clock face—but he sees the silhouette of your logo under those ticking hands and knows there’s more tech in there that meets the eye.

He looks away.

It takes a week for the message to appear, encrypted: your new location. Levels above your former workshop, one of the higher strata of the lower city—still hidden and out of the way but away from the dirt and darkness. 

Yoongi goes. He finds the door panel, scans his palm, leans forward for the light to flit across his eye, murmurs a word, watches the door slide open. He’s already programmed in. New workshop, new security system, but he’s still allowed in, still one of the people you consider familiar, trustworthy. 

(He doesn’t know of anyone else who fits that category. Has only ever seen you manually allow people inside, granting your permission each time, rather than giving them free run of the place. No one has as many complex orders as he does, he’s certain. It’s for ease and practicality’s sake.)

He’s unfamiliar with the layout of this new building, first corridor already longer than he’s used to; he pauses for a moment but then hears something, faint—your laughter. Follows that sound, makes his way forward, through polished corridors with lines of light underfoot, leading him down some stairs and towards the sound of you.

Your new workshop is beautiful. There’s enough room in here for everything, no need for a backroom: a central worktable, benches lining the walls, tech displays built in, everything edged with lighting, dark surfaces shining bright, large floor panels underfoot emitting a low glow. Your former home had been that underground workshop and a locked door to a ladder to your micro apartment up top, tiny kitchen and single bed in a small room with a shower cubicle in the corner. Yoongi already knows that this building is far, far bigger, and you have more space than you’ve ever had before; you’d never been discontent with your smaller home, comfort from familiarity, until that comfort had been stripped from you.

You’re smiling. The snark woven into your words that Yoongi is used to is muted, light comment falling from your lips as you sit on that central table, perched on its edge. And Hoseok, he laughs, grinning so widely his teeth are on show—he’s wearing a suit but his jacket is resting on his shoulders, tie undone and cast around his neck. A stance of relaxation, one Yoongi’s never seen from him, not when he’s working. Not when he’s The Hope Broker and not Hoseok.

He’s still smiling when he notices Yoongi, the two of you looking over when the hitman speaks.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Hoseok.”

That ever-present smirk freezes on your face for a split second, eyes widening at the sound of Hope’s real name. Hoseok just takes it in stride, his smile not dimming even for a second.

“Hey, Yoongi.” His greeting is as warm as it always is. “Just checking in. Have to make sure everything is up to scratch. What’s the verdict?”

You’ve hidden your surprise, wiped it off your face, eyes on Hoseok as you answer him. “It’s perfect.” A pause. “I take it you two know each other?”

“Sure. Yoongi is an old friend of mine.” Hoseok is still smiling, looking at Yoongi with creased eyes. Unafraid of revealing this information to you, still at ease despite the tension that’s bubbling in the air, Yoongi’s impassive face. Hoseok is always an unshaken pillar of positivity. “I didn’t realise he was coming. Am I interrupting an appointment?”

You stare at Yoongi. “No, you’re not. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

(You’d sent the message less than an hour ago. Yoongi had taken one look at the address, memorised it, pulled on his jacket and headed out; clearly you hadn’t anticipated how fast his arrival would be.)

“A happy coincidence, then.” Hoseok sounds like he genuinely means it, is pleased to see Yoongi here, his smile unwavering. There’s a languid set to his body, the easing line of his spine, hands in his pockets. A glittering in his eyes. (No one ever gets the drop on Hoseok, never surprises him, catches him off guard, no matter what they do.) “But I’ll let you conduct your business and we can catch up another time.”

He takes a hand out of his pocket as he walks past Yoongi, pats his shoulder amicably. His palm is relaxed against the tense set of Yoongi’s shoulders before he ascends the stairs and disappears out of sight, the sound of his polished shoes fading until he’s gone, one of the monitors on the wall flickering to indicate the front door is shut once more.

You’re still staring at Yoongi. The atmosphere had been heavy, even with Hoseok there—and now that he’s gone there’s nothing to alleviate that pressure, nothing to dissolve the strange twist to the air.

“Who,” you start, measured but sharp, “do you think you are?”

Yoongi returns your stare, looks back at you with his dark eyes. Doesn’t respond to your question; an unnecessary, unprompted thing, razor-edged for a reason he can’t discern. 

“Can’t you hear me?” You slide off the table, stalk towards him. “I said—” you raise a hand— “who? Do? You? Think? You? Are?”

You emphasise each word with a sharp jab to Yoongi’s chest, driving your finger forward with so much force it must hurt. You keep it in place, keep it dug into the centre of his ribcage. There’s no laughter hidden in the corner of your lips. He’s annoyed you again, somehow, a familiar guest turned unwelcome interloper.

“You say that you know Hope and yet I just watched you treat him like dirt.” Your eyes are piercing, cutting through the soft frame of your curled lashes, boring straight into him. “You come into my workshop as if you’re meant to be here; like there’s something you’re owed. Do you want me to treat you like a child, send you to your room? Not let you back in here? Because I will.”

“You sent me your address,” Yoongi points out.

You let out a bark of laughter. “Please.” Your hand drops back to your side and you turn, stepping away. “I’ve sent this address to all my business associates. I can’t sell or buy unless people can find me. You’re the only one who’s taken this as an invitation to just turn up and waltz in. At least when Hope turns up he warns me beforehand. Oh, and he doesn’t say stuff like he’d rather blow his own brains out than be forced to see me. I know you just love being contrary but has it ever occurred to you to be more polite to people? You’d make a terrible waiter. You’d get fired on your first day.”

You’re in front of one of your cabinets. You reach inside for something, hefting it in your hands before returning, handling it in a way that’s completely unceremonious, dropping it to the bench at his side like you want to be rid of it. Like you don’t even want to hand it directly to him, to interact with him. “There. Nothing but a pleasure doing business with you, Yoongi, even if your customer service still needs improving.”

It looks like a flat, hexagonal panel, the same colour and material as his armour. Something to be locked into it, wired in, trailing veins of unattached tech spilling from it. He’s seen you working on this for a while, seen you draw up blueprints with a bruise fresh on your cheek, seen it turned in your hands as that mark had faded and left your skin. 

It’s not something he ordered.

“What is this?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “Auto medi-gel distributor. It syncs with your armour and senses when you’ve been hurt and disperses gel in the affected area. Your armour’s always been too lightweight to have extra mods on but I’ve been working on this for a while.”

It’s an astonishing piece of tech. Usually one that’s reserved for heavier armour, restricting and hard to move in but easier to mod—but this thing is slim, compact, the same technology crammed into a smaller package without losing any of its punch. He doesn’t know what materials you’ve had to use to circumvent this, the level of tech you’ve layered into this, the amount of time and thought you’ve put into this.

“How much is it?”

The wrong thing to say. The smile that spreads itself across your lips is an echo of its usual curve, brittle and flaking around the edges, a baring of teeth.

“It’s a gift, Yoongi. Usually when someone does something for you, you return the favour.” Your lips are still upturned but your eyes are unsmiling even when your tone seems whimsical and light. You’ve got on your usual flippant façade, but there’s a pointed undercurrent to it. “You know, I don’t understand you at all. You remind me that you don’t like me but then you always hang around. You kill someone who threatened me and pretend that you didn’t do it. You say you don’t like me, but I thought you at least respected me, and yet here you are. Lying to me and treating me like I'm a fool.”

“I do respect you,” Yoongi says. 

(Because he does, and as much as he would hate to inflate your ego, he doesn’t shy away from telling the truth.)

“Sure you do.” An unimpressed eye-roll, cutting under his words, knocking his feet out from underneath him. You don’t care to believe him. “This is my fault for not treating you the same as all my other business associates.  Next time you come in you’ll have to have an appointment, just like everyone else. It’ll minimise the amount of time we have to spend together.”

Yoongi doesn’t like you. He finds, though, that he likes the sound of this even less; finds it pulling at his brows, his mouth, impassive expression turned to one of disapproval.

And his mouth opens. The word falls from his lips before he has a chance to think—years of battle intuition, years of following instinct, moving as he needs to in the moment.

“No.”

A raise of the brows. A purse of the lips. Incredulous. “No?” you parrot it back, mocking. “Oh, okay, sure. Never mind. You’re welcome to come in whenever you want and act like you have free rein of the place. There’s nothing I enjoy more than your scowling presence.”

Sharp tongued, sharp eyed, narrowed at him: a confrontation. For all that you needle him you never mean it, really (even if it’s still infuriating, aggravating). But right now? Right now each of your words is barbed, your sarcasm a defence, an offence. You’re running your mouth not just to rile him, but to ward him away. 

“You’re really not as smart as you think you are, Min Yoongi.” You wield his name like a weapon. “You tell me right now why I should listen to you. What do you come here for? And don’t say it’s for my work because it stopped being just that a long time ago. And if it is just for my work then take it and go. Then I’ll take you off the security system and we’ll only see each other as much as is strictly necessary. In fact, you could pass your orders along via Hope—then we won’t have to even see each other at all. ”

“And then he’ll be the only one allowed free rein?”

It comes out before he’s even really thought about what he’s saying, which isn’t like him at all. Yoongi is two parts: pure, honed instinct, and careful, wary vigilance. He’s not like you, saying the first thing that comes to mind—not normally, anyway—but the words jump from his lips, from some near-silent part of him that balks at the idea. Of Hoseok stepping into your space the way that Yoongi does, appearing without warning, to be greeted with a curled smirk and glittering eyes.

“You’re a fucking idiot if you think that you’re not the only person with security clearance. My God. You’re infuriating. Seriously? I didn’t realise you were genuinely this dense. You’re the only one I’ve ever allowed in without prior agreement.” You emphasise this statement with another jab to his chest, your finger a sharp knife that cuts into him as you stab it forwards.

He catches your wrist. His grasp is firm but there’s no pressure to it; doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t tighten his fingers, just holds you in place. You’re staring at him with a challenge in your eyes, one that he finds himself rising to match, never one to back down.

“Is that so?”

Your hand unfurls, fingers splayed across his chest; he’s still holding your wrist, shifting with your movement. “Don’t be obtuse.” An irritated exhale. “Normally you complain whenever I talk and now you’re trying to get me to repeat myself. Again with the inconsistency, Yoongi. Make up your mind.”

He could do what you do whenever you’re feeling particularly aggravating. Play dumb, ask more questions, drag out the interaction until you’re bordering on snapping—but he doesn’t. He looks at the set of your jaw, the way you’re staring at him. Unflinching. You’ve never been scared of him, and you aren’t now, not with how he’s got a hold of you, how close he is to you.

He toes the line. Shifts closer. Notes the way your pupils dilate, how the tips of your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt; how the air grows heavier, a frisson of electricity crackling through it. Yoongi doesn’t like you, but he likes that feeling—how the tension in the air shivers from indignation into something different.

Because you’re still staring at him, and there’s still that hard set to your jaw, but there’s not just anger in your eyes. There’s that warm thing he’s grown used to seeing, smouldering in near silence until he’d coaxed it to full flame, thrown gasoline onto the coals when he’d shot plasma into the back of Tang Lee’s skull. He’d protected you even though he hadn’t needed to, doesn’t need to, but does anyway—because he trusts you and there’s no one else he trusts to keep you safe.

And there’s no one else you trust, either.

“You talk too much,” Yoongi says, like he so often does—but there’s no irritation in it, touched instead with a simmering heat, the faintest edge of a bite.

You tilt your head. There’s a provocation etched into the twist of your mouth, the way your lips lift. Because no matter how much you needle him, dig your fingernails into every crack of his armour and twist—no matter how annoying you are, how angry you make him—you know that he’s not mad. Not really. Not in a way that makes you afraid, but in a way that thrills you, makes you want to see him snap, to wipe away that level facade he maintains.

“Maybe you should shut me up, then,” you reply, a murmur. A challenge.

A beat. Yoongi’s fingers tighten around your wrist. A warning.

And in response?

You just smile.

The way your eyes widen just seconds later is delicious, though, when Yoongi lets go of your wrist—because he’s moving faster than you expected. Your surprise melts into delight, a spark of glee that says you’ve gotten exactly what you want when Yoongi threads his fingers in your hair, tilting your head back to bare the column of your throat. He holds you firmly in place, crowds you back against the workbench so hard its edge must be digging almost painfully into your back but not once does that glee dim, written over every line of your smile, eyes bright and teeth sharp.

Yoongi likes to take things slow. There’s the part of him that never steps into a situation without knowing every angle, every escape route, each one of his kills planned meticulously. But, he thinks, the two of you have been waiting long enough, and he’s never been patient around you—has found his composure worn thin faster than anywhere else, by anyone else. It’s this part of him, frayed into non-existence by you, that rises to the surface now, makes him move as quick as he does.

And you respond just the way he knew you would. When he presses his mouth to yours you kiss him back like you have a point to make (you always do), fast and almost reckless, all lips and teeth and tongue. There’s no finesse to it. When he presses his tongue into your mouth you part your lips so prettily, let him take his fill, slide your tongue against his and tilt your head to get even deeper—and just like always, you're vocal, letting out small noises that are caught and muffled in the kiss, lust filled. But when you try to nip at his lip with the edge of your teeth Yoongi tightens his grip in your hair and swallows down your gasp before he pulls away, holding you in place so you can’t chase after his mouth. Your lips are kiss swollen and under the bright lights above they shine, slightly parted, pupils blown as you stare at him. 

(You look good like this.)

Your eyes slide shut when Yoongi lowers his lips to your neck, across your throat. There’s nothing gentle about it. He moves with single-minded intent, lips and teeth harsh against your sensitive skin—and you take it all, little sounds falling from your lips as Yoongi drags his teeth towards the hollow of your neck. And when he takes his hand from your hair, takes both hands and digs his fingers into your waist and lifts you, you go so easily; a mimicry of your earlier position when he’d stepped in, perched on the edge of the table. Legs spread so Yoongi can stand between them. He’d be surprised at how pliant you are if it wasn’t so obvious that this is exactly what you want: lifting your hips so he can strip your lower half bare. 

Your bare thighs press against the surface of the workbench, tech displays coming alive under your body heat. You’ve shrugged your cropped jacket off and you’re just reaching for your top when Yoongi stops you; splays a hand in the centre of your chest and presses you back, slow but undeniable. You’re not the one setting the pace. He is. He’s the one in control, with you spread out in front of him, only a thin layer of fabric keeping you from being completely bare—thin cotton underwear, dark and damp between your legs, betraying your arousal.

“Wet,” Yoongi murmurs.

Your retort stutters on your lips when he drags his fingers upwards over your slit, barely dulled by the material in the way. “No shit,” you say, and then suck in a breath when he presses the pad of his thumb across your clit.

It’s no good, the fact you’re still talking. But that’s okay. Yoongi’s planning on changing that.

It’s lewd, the way your legs are spread, parting further at the urging of his hands. Your hands slide across the bench, papers scattering, palms flat on the work surface and white light shimmering on dark blue in reaction to your touch; an unnecessary distraction that you both ignore. There’s nothing graceful about this, the peel of underwear away from your core, already slick even with the barest of attentions; he drags his fingers down the inside of your thighs, all that soft skin, and then under, urging your hips up and towards his mouth. No foreplay to this foreplay, no dragging out this moment—he bites at that soft skin of your inner thigh, sinks his teeth into it and listens to the way you gasp in surprise—and before you have a moment to ground yourself, he presses his mouth to your cunt.

You’re wet and warm under his tongue and the smell of you surrounds him, musky and heavy, and he feels how your entire body goes tense as you arch your back. He’d normally take his time with this, have you strung out and begging, but he has different plans today—knows exactly what he wants from this, sucking your clit between his lips and feeling your thighs tighten around his head, legs slung over his shoulders as he listens to the way you moan. Each sound shudders out from your mouth like you tried so desperately to keep it in but couldn’t help it. Yoongi loves eating pussy anyway but this is even better, the way all your witty ripostes die in your throat before you can shape them on your lips, turned into breathy gasps instead. 

The taste of you fills his mouth and it’s so fucking good. You’ve been watching him, how his head moves between your legs, but he can tell you’re close; you’ve given up, eyes shut as you lean into the sensation building up in you, and Yoongi thinks he likes you better like this. Forced into speechlessness under his hands and tongue. Your pretty mouth softened from sharpness into urging noises of pleasure. He slides one arm across your stomach and holds you in place, a hard line that you can’t overpower and you’re left squirming in place, hips trying to kick up each time he draws his tongue over your slit, every part of you sloppy with your own arousal and Yoongi’s spit, flushed and lovely. One of your hands is in his hair and you’re pulling, pulling hard, unaware of how tight your grip is as you try to buck your hips and sob. 

You’re so sensitive, and it only takes one, two fingers pressing into you and curling just right as Yoongi slides his tongue over your clit before you’re cumming, hot around his fingers as you come apart all wet and messy. He’s never seen you so undone, back arched as you ride out your orgasm, hair swept away from your forehead as you throw your head back. Keeps his mouth open on you, feels you under his tongue, until you’re flopped on your back and your chest is heaving, legs untensed and loose over his shoulders.

You shift an arm. Your fingers barely brush the medi-gel mod you’d made him, a loose sheet of paper sliding away and joining the others on the floor.

“Just moved in and it’s already a mess,” Yoongi says, and he doesn’t just mean the paper; fingers and chin and mouth covered in your slick, your core soaked. He’s still knuckle deep and when he curls his fingers again your entire body jolts, your mouth parting almost wantonly before you seem to struggle back to reality, surfacing from a haze of arousal and post orgasmic bliss.

“That’s your fault,” you say, voice weaker than usual. “I’ll send you the cleaning bill.”

“Mm. Not my fault you’re a messy girl.”

“Fuck you.” The blunt words are softened by your breathlessness, your bonelessness; the way your breath catches in your throat when he calls you a messy girl, even if you try to hide it. Trying not to let him in on exactly how much power he holds in this moment. 

“I was planning on it,” Yoongi says, as calm as ever, even if arousal is simmering through his veins and gathering in his gut—has been this entire time, the taste of you on his tongue and the heat of you under his lips and the sound of you in his ears. “Want to make your workshop even messier?”

You dig your balls of your feet into his back, legs still over his shoulders. His fingers shift inside you and you shiver. “I don’t think so,” you say. “Bedroom.”

“So you’re giving me a tour, then?”

You don’t dignify him with a response, although the noise you make when he finally pulls his fingers out of you is more than enough to satisfy him. He’s still fully dressed and you’re only half so, and it would be comical if the sight of your bare legs and slick on your inner thighs wasn’t so hot, barefoot on the glowing and pristine (papers notwithstanding) floors as you reach for his hand and lift it to your lips, sucking his fingers into your mouth and licking your arousal off his fingers with your tongue, warm and wet, before you grab his wrist and pull. 

He watches the movement of your hips as you lead him, your bare ass. Shameless as ever. Confident in yourself, even now. It’s not until you’ve stepped over the threshold and into your new bedroom that your tattoos become visible, as bright as the low lights in the room, those geometric lines and stylised circuitry on your legs shifting as you step forwards.

Even with the relative darkness Yoongi immediately notices something. Cast over the back of a chair near the bed, there’s his jacket, blood stains at the edge of the sleeves gone. Cleaned. Yoongi shifts his hand so you don’t have your fingers wrapped around his wrist any more. Instead he’s the one shackling you, holding you in place as you look over your shoulder.

“Were you ever going to return that to me?” He tilts his head at the chair. 

You pause. Glance over. Look back at him, all amusement and provocation, recovered from your earlier breathlessness. “But Yoongi, I get so cold.”

There’s something about the idea of you in his clothes, clothes that you know he’s worn when he’s been getting his hands dirty—he ignores the curl to your lips and moves you towards the bed, ignoring the sound of your self satisfied laughter when he reaches for your shirt and pulls, with you lifting your arms to help him, grinning at him the whole time. Even when he’s thrown your bra aside and kicked his boots off and pushed you onto the mattress, trapped you underneath him, completely naked against his completely clothed body you’re still smiling, like the cat who got the cream.

You’re stunning. There’s no doubt about it. You always have been, annoyingly so, even when Yoongi’s wanted to wring your neck; not just because you’re pretty but because you’re intelligent and confident and in control, staring up at him without a lick of fear or concern, even now. Never with him, never. He can see your tattoos in all their glory, nothing hidden away from his gaze; he sees one he hasn’t been able to see before, a sunflower bursting across your ribcage, curved under the swell of your breast, glowing red and orange in the midst of all your other cyan and teal lines, glowing in the black light. He’s pressing you down, trapped under his body, and you’re just waiting. Waiting and still smiling, smirking, letting him take you in, preening under his attention.

He wants to eat you alive.

So he does just that. Shifts back down the mattress on his knees, keeping his hands on you, pulling his hands down the easing lines of your ribs and waist and hips, before a firm tug has you lifting up—your smug facade shakes when you’re left with only your shoulders and head against the bed, the rest of your body pulled towards Yoongi’s waiting mouth once more, held in place with fingers that dig into your hips, thighs soft against his ears, your hands scrabbling at the linen underneath you when Yoongi’s lips press into the crease of your thigh, off balance.

“Safeword?” He murmurs into your skin, and you pause.

“Hoseok,” you answer, and Yoongi responds by biting into your thigh again, soothing it with his tongue when you squeal.

“Shameless.”

You’re still wet from before, slick with cum, and Yoongi doesn’t hesitate before he dives back in. He can hear more than he can see the way your fingers curl into your sheets and rumple them in your hands, anchored helplessly into place by Yoongi’s mouth and the fingers cupped under your ass, digging into the soft skin, undignified and at his mercy. 

“Yoongi!” You gasp, almost a whimper as a breath gets caught in your throat. “Y-Yoongi—”

You’re so helpless like this. It’s a little hard for Yoongi to breathe, your legs tightening around him, but it’s worth it for the way he can see you shaking apart. He presses his tongue as deep into you as he can, sucks your swollen pearl between his lips and circles it with his tongue, notices the way you jolt at those wet kisses, still sensitive from before, and he doesn’t let up. Keeps going and going and going until you’re gasping for air, sensations rippling through your body as you buck and writhe; you’re trying to keep yourself together, he can tell, but you’re unravelling, smirk wiped off your face and your mouth in a pretty little circle whenever you choke out oh, oh.

You cum faster than he expects, shoulders lifting away from the mattress as you arch your back so far it must hurt and tighten your legs and he feels the way your pussy throbs under his tongue, practically gushing when you reach your peak. Your eyes are unfocused when they flutter back open but you’re reaching for him, for the waistband of his trousers, trying to touch the hard length of his cock—he’s been ignoring it, how he’s leaked so much precum he can feel how wet it is in his boxer-briefs.

He keeps ignoring it now. He catches your hands, stops you in place, stares you down with an unimpressed tilt to his brows.

“What,” he says levelly, “do you think you’re doing?”

“Want you in my mouth,” you say. You seem almost desperate for it, fingers flexing in his hold, letting your tongue linger against your lips longer than necessary. “I want your cock in my mouth, Yoongi.”

He tightens his grip around your wrists. And then, for the first time all night, he smiles.

“No.”

You look stunned. Just for a moment. Then you’re squirming in his hold, but you’re trapped, nowhere to go. “What do you mean, no?”

Yoongi’s still smiling, mirroring the self satisfaction that had been written all over your face earlier. “I mean no. You don’t get what you want. You get what you’re given.”

There’s nothing he’d like more than to sink into that wet heat, to see your smart mouth put to good use, lips spread over his cock, but this is better. Seeing the genuine frustration and disbelief written across your features. 

He doesn’t give you time to line up another angered retort on your tongue. Doesn’t give you time to breathe before he’s flipping you over, the wings of your shoulder blades and curve of your spine emphasised by the lines that are traced symmetrically and shining across your skin. They shift when you move, hips lifted from the mattress by Yoongi’s hands, on your hands and knees as he fumbles his waistband and zipper and pulls his cock free. He’s painfully hard, flushed head with precum that beads at the tip, and when he tugs you back he watches the way the head drags across the curve of your ass, leaving a shining line of wetness on your skin.

And when he sinks into you he barely gives you time to adjust, barely has time to adjust himself, to all this hot tight wetness after his cock’s gotten no attention at all—you let out a moan that almost sounds like you’re singing, long and high with pleasure, the slide eased from all your cum.

 You take it so well, always so good to him no matter how irritating you are, so lost in the sensations that you don’t say anything about the hard edges of Yoongi’s clothes whenever he drives his hips forward and it presses into the soft skin of your thighs. It’s messy and choppy and fast and you slump onto your elbows, entire body shaking as you take everything Yoongi is giving you. Caged underneath him when he follows you forwards, presses his front to your back, feels the way the sweat on your skin is caught against the fabric of his clothes. Grinds his hips deep and feels the way you gasp, sucking in a shaking breath, your entire body lost in it. He bites his lip and keeps his own sounds caught behind his teeth, not letting you know how you’re pulling him towards his own edge.

He’s not done with you yet.

Your clit is slick under his touch when he lifts his fingers to touch you, to layer another sensation on top of the cock inside you, and you’re sobbing. You don’t ask him to stop, never know when to quit, face every challenge thrown at you—and Yoongi can tell that you love it even if your body is crying out, that you love this oversensitivity, pulled taut and strung out. You’re beyond speech, words slurred, barely recognisable as his name and pleas of more, please, more. He can feel when you’ve crested the wave of too much sensation and fallen back into that rippling sea of pleasure, and when you cum it’s with a soundless moan, mouth wide open but no noise escaping. No more sharp retorts, no smart words, fucked into incoherency, trembling and quivering as you go tight around him and Yoongi struggles not to lose himself then and there, in your scorching, wet cunt, fluttering around him.

The noise when he pulls out is slick and lewd, just like all the other noises that have been filling the room, the slap of skin on skin temporarily halted when Yoongi rolls you onto your back. There’s sweat beading on your skin, shimmering, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes and glistening like tiny jewels in the multi-coloured low light of this room. Your lips are parted and your gaze is bleary and you’re everything Yoongi has never seen from you before, fuzzy and quiet, entirely pliant. When he reaches for you again, runs his hands over the rise of your hipbones and down the side of your thighs, you whimper.

“One more,” Yoongi says. “One more, you can give me one more.”

You’ve never known when to quit, and now is no different, even if you’re on the verge of being entirely fucked dumb. Those tears pool in your eyes and stream down towards your hairline, but you let Yoongi move you, try to help by lifting your hips but almost too gone to move at all. Yoongi almost cums when he sinks into you, your willing body; he thinks you’ve never looked better than you do now, smelling like sweat and sex and so soft under his hands, taking his cock like you were made for it, and you’re so gorgeous when you’re falling apart. 

The attitude you wear normally—the one that chafes at Yoongi’s nerve-endings—has been entirely wiped away, forced out of you by mindless pleasure. But still, you know what you want, even now, even when you’re barely coherent—Yoongi feels your hand slide across his and pull weakly, guiding it across your chest and up, circling his fingers around your neck.

He swears. Snaps his hips forward hard, watches the way your eyes roll back when he gives an experimental squeeze around your throat. Yoongi’s choked people before, knows exactly how much pressure to give, how much it takes to cut someone’s airways completely or how to just leave them reeling; he lets you linger on the edge of breathlessness, feels the way you go tight around him. When you orgasm it rips through you, your thighs tightening around Yoongi’s hips as you hit your peak and cum hard, and the feeling of it has Yoongi cursing and bending forwards to shove his face in your neck and kiss the salt-sweat taste he finds there as he falls off the edge. He cums wet inside you, keeps rolling his hips through it all, lets his cum mix with yours and watches the way you just keep taking it, even when your whole body is trembling from how much it is.

And when Yoongi calls you a good girl, you don’t snap back like you normally would, don’t deride his praise. You bask in it, as tired as you are, letting out a soft noise when he pulls his softening cock out of you, unbothered by the wet patches on your sheets and how the whole room stinks of sex. When he moves to lift you, to get you clean, you go easily and without argument, every one of your honed edges dulled, and you make no move to sharpen them again, to drag them over Yoongi in the way he’s so familiar with by now. Even when you’ve lifted out of your haze and you’re back in the moment, the way you watch Yoongi is no less calm than normal, but still different.

“Stay.”

He’s in the middle of reaching for his boots, discarded on the floor, a discordant note on the clear floor. You’re wearing clean underwear and a loose t-shirt and you’re looking at him with something verging on surprise, like you hadn’t expected to see him moving to pull his shoes back on to leave.

He hadn’t been planning to.

“Just moving them out of the way,” says Yoongi, putting them upright by the base of your chair, and then he makes his way back to you. You don’t attempt to hide your pleasure that he’s listened to you,  pulling him onto the bed despite the fact he’s still dressed.

“I don’t cuddle,” he says, even as you tuck yourself into the crook of his arm, and he shifts to make it more comfortable for you.

You press your face into the hollow of his neck, touch your nose against his throat, breathing in the smell of sweat that still lingers—because you’re shower soft and fresh but he isn’t, and weirdly enough, you seem to enjoy it. Seem to enjoy that contrast, the one that’s always existed between you, Yoongi immersed in blood and sweat and tears while you’re away from it, one degree of separation from it all. “You know, I like it when you do things for me.”

Normally he’d protest, say that he doesn’t do things for you, but the truth is that he does, even if he’s only just admitting it to himself. 

“Like that time you killed someone for me,” you say, and Yoongi’s fingers tighten, soft skin of your waist yielding under his touch.

“I kill a lot of people.”

You let out a laugh against his skin, quietly amused. “Just admit it. You like me, Min Yoongi.”

A pause. 

Then: “Against my better judgement, I do.”

And he does. Even if you’re irritating and maddening, he does like you, and not just because of the work you do for him. He thinks that even if you weren’t so good at your job that he’d find himself here anyway, caught in this push and pull you have, magnetised.

“No need to sound so begrudging,” you say, but there’s no real annoyance behind your words. 

Yoongi finds that he likes that note in your voice, like you’re indulging him and his stubbornness and you’re unmoved by it. He hums in response. Feels the way you shift back, lean on your elbows to look down at him, lips curled up at the corners.

“Kiss me.”

Not a question. A demand. Yoongi stares you down, just for a second, before he lifts a hand and weaves a hand back into your hair, tilting your mouth against his. He can feel your self satisfied smile against his lips and he doesn’t mind it at all, sees it spread across your face when you eventually pull back, all flushed lips and warm eyes.

You’re still sharp, a weapon in your own right, but you willingly hand yourself over to be held in his skilled hands, let yourself be worn smooth by his touch. He weaves his fingers between your own, your palm soft and warm against his, and he likes this. That you’re unafraid of what he is, that the fact he’s a killer isn’t something that scares you or thrills you.

Yoongi likes your work. He likes that he knows he can trust you. He likes that he knows of your loyalty, to the people you choose and to yourself, your unwavering principles, as unpredictable as they might seem. He likes that you’re unashamed to be yourself and to be confident, no matter how people react to that cockiness. 

What he likes even better than all that is this, though: the way you’re pressed against his side, evidence of his touch written into your skin. The feeling of your hand in his. Despite all the odds, all the months of drawn out and simmering exasperation and tension coming to a head like this, Yoongi likes you.

“I’m not going to give you a discount, you know,” you say suddenly, and for the first time since you met, Yoongi allows himself to laugh at you.

“I’d be offended if you did.”

(You’re loud. Cocky. Arrogant. You love to irritate him just for the hell of it, because you think it’s funny and you love knowing that you can rile him up—but he can rile you up too, and you both know it.

Yeah. Yoongi likes you.)

tagging: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove @gyukult  @swinginpicklesuitcaseapricot @kpopheart2 @loveyoongles @muzikabijou  @katbonv @jaxx-7 @yeojaa

#btswritingcafe #houseofddaeng #magicshopnet #btswriterscollective #btsguild #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #yoongi x you #bts #bts x reader #yoongi #yoongi scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist #let's see if this appears in the tags this time! fingers crossed! #wow can you believe I wrote like 4k words of smut or something close to that

[arcane-temp-fandomblog]

Viktor the Machine Herald - whole Season 1 tease

So the most known lore profile and the most teased in the show without showing up - The Machine Herald.

These are the winning cards Sevika has in episode 5, the first 2 shown before I'm pretty sure represent Jayce and Caitlyn (and act 2 and 3), so logically these must be a teaser for season 2 - left one I thought was Sky but more probably is Jinx's card (since eyes are her shimmer power), and the last one for sure is Viktor (so act 4 and 5 of season 2). Well just vague theory of easter egg.

Anyway, this show has so many fun setups in dialogue (episode 4 and 8 here):

How about 2 in 1 with help of magic-tech

Err, so at least I think that's the setup why Viktor will be thrown out of Piltover. What he did is probably coucil's worst person from the undercity scenario.

Anyway, imo. first part is in Jayce's journals from council Archives:

Entry #3 I have collected several theories I've discovered on my journeys on how the power of the Arcane might be harnessed: Crystals form bonds with a sole user - their power is channeled though it Can a device be created to manufacture such a connection? What determines the bond?

Yeah... I bet it can. Probably imprinting it with own blood. Just an idea since there was no one awake to see it happen aside from the ppl watching the show.

Entry #4 The interaction with the crystal is generated by power from ANY user. Does the power react with the crystal externally or internally? Could this power be recreated successfully and repeated?

Entry #5 Do you need an object to house the power? Some type of staff Too on the nose.'

I really don't know if Jayce of all people should be making fun of Viktor character design choices. His idea was to make a hammer. That's not too on the nose.

Entry #6 Best practices: wind and/or water turbine? A current channeled through lightning? Entry #7 My own theory: the Arcane is a field around us, invisible to the naked eye but ever-present with careful use of a particular source of energy (still unknown) we can crack into this field, and merge it with our own reality

So we also have the laser arm in episode 4.

Which is a funny application of the laser but then again Viktor is that in Zaun. Man you come to for augmentations, artificers in Piltover do mechanical devices but also things like prosthetics. Just gear based, not idk. magic tech energy based.

The laser is the only Hextech tool they made that still doesn't have an "owner". And from Lore we know Jayce only ever makes one more - sight for Caitlyn.

And for all else in LoL skills, so not laser, we already know Hexcore can produce electricity. Since that's what's most of Viktor's skills revolve around. Actually all of them aside of the laser. I love that the laser is awkward to wield for Viktor - that laser is a nightmare to learn in game. Also all his other skills are more deterrent than offensive.

Well the hexcore is pretty cute, I made a whole bunch of posts about it.

If - only if we were to look at history of industrialisation of Britain - it does sound, from inspiration, like an electrical engine and automation. Since hexcrystals are more like steam engine (airship travel is powered by them), and hexgems are more refined diesel engine?

Anyway, so basic tools to construct his skills are there.

Also, my own note why inspiration rune is not part of basic runes - inspiration has to come from the mage. That's why Sky's notebook had inspiration clasp, something is/was inspiring in her research.

Now that dialogue threw me off loop

...And curing Viktor.

because in 2 lines of dialogue these two just went through basic ideas of how technology could be used for everyone according to transhumanist philosophical thought. I'm not sure if it's accidental, because there's never a direct link in lore to transhumanism for Viktor, but I guess people decided that's what he is in philosophical sense. It's good to remember that transhumanism is an extension of humanism in philosophy, along with posthumanism. That means it inherits and expands on values that humanism talks about.

But the funny part is that criticism of transhumanism has some spaces in common with 19th century anti-industrialisation social movement that opposed the replacement of human manual labourers by machines. So u know, maybe that's why these two are conflated.

Plus imo. Viktor will sound very, very different once his illness is 'fixed' with Hexcore. But first the Hexcore needs to be fixed or remade.

And the last part is that we're show that Viktor already chooses and relies on some invasive artificer tech to function and have better quality of iife. Proper medical help and cure for his illness was never developed in Piltover.

I mean even in game he still has a leg brace - on the leg opposite his now purple leg, and walks with slight limp.

I don't know how all of this will come together. But hey the pieces are there.

Also he needs to loose his left arm. Personal bet that'll happen in the council meeting.

Also, also - idea where the vision came from - the runes on the hexgates started breaking down. And once they're fired up - there's a bg whisper noise even before Viktor has the vision.

Well will Viktor be possessed by Hexcore and turn EVIL? Lol, We'll see. My bet is that he's already evil incarnate in the eyes of the council at the last meeting.

Other posts: Arcane meta analysis posts by me Hexcore the evil lab pet: 1 / Hexcore the evil lab pet 2 / Framing Hexcore the evil lab pet 3 / Hexcore the evil lab pet

#arcane viktor #viktor the machine herald #arcane meta #hexcore #jayce arcane

[thescreaminghat]

ok so ive thought a lot about this in relation to Acca-13, a series which cranks up the sociopolitical functions of food to an eleven, but hear me out b/c i think this is also used as an effective form of worldbuilding in arcane: 

so the scene where vi is slurping and munching and having her fill of jericho the fish guy’s street food was supposed to be funny and “gross” (based on caitlyn’s reaction, the uncomfortable sound of wet food slapping against the the bowl, and the way the food is animated as pretty unappealing to the viewer) but i think it was a nice way to illustrate vi’s feeling of “being home?” like food is such an important means of conveying the values of a specific culture (e.g. the social niceties and forms of hospitality that exist when food is arranged and served) or relationships within that culture (e.g. food served at a banquet vs. food served at a family gathering both come with different social expectations and feelings in how we engage with the meal and the people around us). in piltover we have the formalities that come with the consumption of champagne/wine (e.g. clinking glasses as a political gesture (when Jayce makes his deals with members of the council behind closed doors), as well as the richly decorated glasses highlighting the indulgence and wealth of those who can afford to drink such liquor), and the idea of “sampling the local cuisine” (a phrase which, as we all know, also has a sexual connotation when used by mel’s mother). in other words, piltover’s relationship to food and drink exists beneath a layer of artifice and double-meanings, where the hospitality and grandeur of the place are gilded images of the power wielded by those who can use and manipulate the meanings of food and culture.  

food and drink in zaun are also used as gateways to sociopolitical transactions (e.g. the last drop being a place where people like huck can carry out trade under the protection of the lanes, a place where enforcers like marcus should not openly enter into because it’s an act of political aggression/of “crossing the line”, and a place where the undercity’s political power is concentrated (silco making it his base after vander is “overthrown”)). similarly, even where the availability of street food and the engagement of characters with those spots conveys a turn away from the artifice of piltover’s largely decorative use of food (e.g. the openness of the stalls, the informality between vi and jericho, the “less-than-standard” means of preparation contrasted with the actual taste of the food (something that hits super close to home as someone who has repeatedly eaten at vendors or restaurants that have later closed down for food safety violations XDD)), political transactions also occur at these points: when vi eats at jericho’s stall, it’s not just a way for her to reconnect with the lanes, but becomes a means of obtaining information. food and drink reflect the culture of these spots as much as clothing or tech, and i thought it would be interesting just to talk about that.

#arcane #theres also the whole thing with shimmer #its not food but it is a thing that is regularly consumed #idk #theres a lot i have to say about this #esp related to acca-13 #go watch it everyone its great #but yea i fucking love food and i dont even know how to cook but its 100% something thats on my mind daily

[vlad-the-lad]

My Critical Role Class Ideas are a touch different from some people's: I don't really have any hopes for a particular player playing a particular class (honestly, I have faith in them to kill it no matter WHAT they play). Instead, I just have classes that I hope SOMEONE plays, mainly: Artificer: These guys are PAINFULLY underrepresented so far: the only one we've ever had was Tary, and while I adore him, he was made when Artificer was essentially still in beta! These days, the class is more coherent and has way more sub-classes: plus, it's been, what, 30-40 years since Campaign 1 at this point? What better way to show how much more technologically advanced Exandria's become than with someone who uses that tech? Ranger Revised: Listen y'all, Vex is my favorite VM character; always has been, always will be. But poor Matt and Laura always had their hands full keeping her viable because PHB Ranger is ASS, and Beastmaster is a bigger stinkier ass: between all the magical items and having to dip into Rogue, I admire Vex and Laura for being such an effective character IN SPITE of their class, not because of it. As someone currently playing a Revised Ranger of a different subclass, I can confirm that, when not bogged down with PHB rules, Ranger can KICK. FUCKING. ASS. Plus, like Artificer, we've only ever had the one: more badass Ranger representation, please!

Sorcerer: I fully admit to being horribly biased here because Sorcerer is my all-time favorite class, but it's my favorite for a reason: in the right hands, that Metamagic can RUIN enemy encounters in the best possible way! And given how clever the cast has shown themselves to be with tactics, most of them could HAUL ASS as a Sorcerer! And they're in the same boat as the last two, as well, since we've only ever had one in Dariax (not counting Calianna since she was a guest character): more representation for a neglected class! Paladin: I know what you're thinking, "But this one isn't underrepresented! We've had two Paladins, one for each main campaign!" And you are correct! HOWEVER! Both paladins multiclassed INTO Paladin rather than it be their primary class! Not that I mind, it's a great multiclass option, but how cool would it be to have a fledgling Paladin in the party from the start? Let me answer that for you: VERY! Plus, the vows are ALWAYS good roleplaying and backstory fodder: I'd love to see what the cast does with one!

Blood Hunter: This one speaks for itself: the only Blood Hunter we've ever had in the party didn't make it far enough for us to really appreciate the class! Admittedly, we DID get to see a high-level Molly in VM vs. M9, but I would KILL to see a retry for one to get to a higher level in the party! (Plus, Blood Hunters are just SICK, man. You know it, I know it, we all know it. MORE PLEASE.)

#please cast members I have been SO GOOD #critical role #campaign 3 #d&d

[nerdythebard]

#12: The Doctor [Doctor Who]

Brother, I disown you...

I don't know what my friend/chosen brother was thinking when he made this request... Actually, no, I know exactly what he was thinking! Well, no time to dawdle, let's do this Time Warp. Again.

Next Time: Before we return to the gods, I want to make a character very close to my heart. He is also a Doctor... only, word of warning, he's a little... Strange.

Well then... sigh, let's see the goals we need to meet to make the most brilliant alien in television playable in D&D:

Heroes Never Die: The signature ability of a Time Lord (and the most problematic), a way to cheat death and return to life. Yes, somehow we need to make a virtually immortal character in Dungeons & Dragons...

Bunny-Ears Lawyer: Even in his relatively serious regenerations, the Doctor is prone to flashes of randomness, acts of nonsense, mixing puns and physical comedy to often hide the incredibly fast and advanced brain processes.

Go-Go Gadget Galore: Do I even need to say anything? Besides his trusty TARDIS (which will not be included here, we're making the Doctor, not his equipment!), the Doctor also brandishes sonic devices of multiple varieties, psychic paper, the thing that goes DING, etc.

---

As you can imagine, finding the right race replacement for Time Lords wasn't easy. I'm definitely not using The-Movie-That-Does-Not-Exist solution, and making the Doctor... half-human, urgh. All we need to do is find a humanoid, almost-fossil race that can come back from death a limited amount of times.

The Doctor is a Human Revenant, a playtest race from Unearthed Arcana: Gothic Heroes. In-game, Revenant is an undead that came back to life to pursue a certain goal, whether it's vengeance, retribution, or to make amends. Putting some flavour into it, and turning it into a long-living, mysterious being who perhaps came from the Astral Plane to search for a way to save his home planet... why not? Regular Revenants get only a +1 to Constitution, but if we're using pre-existing race (such as Human), there's another set of rules. So, we get a +1 Constitution and +1 Intelligence, and we don't get to pick a skill or a feat. Not yet.

What's most important here is the Revenant's Relentless Nature feature. We are assigned a goal, a very specific one, that we must complete in order to achieve peace. Work with your DM on that one (the saving-your-home-world one from before sounds like a good start). Until we complete the goal:

If we are below Hit Points Maximum, at the start of our turn we regain 1 Hit Point;

We know the distance and direction to any creature involved in our goal (perhaps a fellow, once-friend Time Lord?);

When we die, we come back to life within 24 hours with 1 Hit Point. If our body is destroyed, we come back in a spot within 1 mile of our place of death (unfortunately, our equipment is destroyed);

BOOM! JUST FLAVOUR EACH DEATH AS A CHANGE OF FACE AND PERSONALITY, AND WE HAVE THE REGENERATION SYSTEM! HAH! YOU SEE THAT, BROTHER!?

Ekhm... back to work, then.

The Doctor is pretty far from home, so giving him the Far Traveller background seems like the right approach. We gain proficiencies in Insight and Perception skills, proficiencies with one musical instrument (perhaps a recorder?)/gaming set, we learn one language of our choice, and we get the All Eyes on You feature; our mannerisms and quirks definitely draw attention towards us and our group, but we can take advantage of that in order to fish for some information, secure an audience with the local nobleman, or... I dunno, snog Madame de Pompadour?

ABILITY SCORES

No surprise there, we start with Intelligence. We have a literal Big Galaxy Brain™ and we use it often, and only sometimes to show off. Follow that up with Dexterity, we're nimble and we're doing a lot of running, especially when being chased (plus, we've invented the Drunken Giraffe dance). Constitution is next, the Gallifreyan biology is significantly superior to that of regular Terrans.

Next up, Charisma. It usually works, sometimes it doesn't, but even then we're kinda adorkable. Wisdom is a little low, I think we all shall agree to that, the Doctor is a creature of whim. He gets lost in thought, has a hard time remembering to explain his logic to others. Finally, we're dumping Strength. Now, we're definitely physically stronger than humans, I just don't remember any particular feats of super-strength in the show.

Heck, you want even more Time Lord shenanigans? Ask your DM to implement the "every death/regeneration makes all ability scores randomly switch places" rule.

CLASS

Level 1 - Artificer: Once again, nobody is surprised we begin with the Smart & Techy One™ for the Doctor. Artificers were brought to 5e via Tasha's Cauldron of Everything. These magical tinkers have d8 Hit Dice, [8 + Constitution modifier] initial Hit Points, proficiencies with light armour, medium armour, heavy armour, shields, simple weapons, and optionally firearms (although that's definitely not the Doctor's style). We additionally get proficiency with thieves' tools, tinker's tools, and one set of artisan's tools we choose. We can't get the sonic screwdriver (although if you want one, hint to your DM about the existence of the All-Purpose Tool), we have all these tools to replace it with. Our saving throws are Constitution and Intelligence, and we get to pick two class skills: let's get History and Investigation.

Artificers start with Magical Tinkering, an ability to bestow harmless magical properties onto inanimate objects. We choose a Tiny object with no magic in it, and grant it one of the following properties indefinitely:

It sheds bright light for 5 feet and dim light for an additional 5;

Whenever tapped, the object plays a recorded message no longer than six seconds;

The object continuously emits a smell or a sound of our choice;

A static image (picture, lines of text, shapes, etc.) appear on the object's surface.

Artificers are also casters, so at the first level, we get Spellcasting. Our casting ability is, of course, Intelligence and the number of spells we can prepare is equal to [our Intelligence modifier + half of our Artificer level rounded down]. We also know how to cast rituals.

We start with two cantrips:

Magic Stone lets us imbue three pebbles with magic (or perhaps, in this case, kinetic energy?) for 1 minute. We can then use the pebbles ourselves, or give them to somebody else. On a successful hit, the target suffers [1d6 + our Intelligence modifier] bludgeoning damage and the spell ends on that particular pebble.

Prestidigitation is a cantrip of plenty varieties, which very well could be disguised as the Doctor's tinkering with his sonic screwdriver. It can be used to warm or chill food, clean or soil objects, or perhaps lighting and snuffing our small flames.

We start with two 1st-level spell slots, and we get three 1st-level spells:

Alarm sets up a secured perimeter, no larger than a 20-feet cube, for 8 hours. Whenever a create not-designated as safe while setting the spell, crosses its boundary, we get a signal informing us about the intrusion, which also wakes us up if we're sleeping. The signal can be set to inform only us, or everybody around.

Detect Magic informs us of any magical activity within 30 feet of us for 10 minutes (concentration). We sense magic lingering on objects, people, as well as locations, and we can determine the type of magic present (but not a particular spell, for example, we sense that a spell on the object is enchantment-type, but not that it's Power Word: Kill).

Identify is... pretty much the one function of the sonic screwdriver we've all seen. It lets us learn about an object we choose, including its magical properties (if any) and if it's affected by any spells. And it works on wood!

With a spell list like that, we can safely say

Level 2 - Artificer: We continue with the Tech Savvy Class, and we learn the Artificer's signature skill, Infuse Item. It lets us bestow magical properties onto mundane items. Similarly to Warlock's Invocations, Artificers have Infusions they can select and put into items. Starting from this level, we can infuse two items at once, and we get to pick four Infusions from the list. For the Doctor, let's pick:

Replicate Magic Item: Bag of Holding is probably the most useful infusion in the early game. The infusion does exactly what it says, and a Bag of Holding is always a good item to own (just watch out for the Bag Man!)

Enhanced Defence infusion puts some extra protection (+1 to AC) onto an armour or a shield.

Mind Sharpener is a helping hand for any spellcaster. The infusion put onto an armour, or woven into a robe, sends a jolt to re-focus the mind. When the wearer fails a Constitution saving throw to keep their concentration, one charge (out of four) of the infusion expends, to make them succeed instead. The charges are refilled at dawn.

Returning Weapon gives a +1 to attack and damage rolls of the weapon it's applied on and makes it return to the wielder's hand immediately after it's used to make a ranged attack. With the keyword "immediately", it gives your Rangers and other bow-users infinite ammunition with just one arrow.

We can also get one more 1st-level spell: Disguise Self changes our appearance for 1 hour, or until we choose to dismiss it as an action. The spell affects our body, clothing, and items we carry (including weapons). It is not a physical disguise, just an illusion woven around us; if we make ourselves thinner than we really are, and somebody was to touch the space where our regular body would be, they're going to feel the body, albeit invisible. For the Doctor, this seems like a combination of psychic paper and the Chameleon Circuit.

Level 3 - Artificer: At this level, we get the Right Tool for the Job feature. If we have thieves' tools or artisan's tools in hand, we can create any other set of artisan's tools.

We also get to pick our subclass, our Artificer Specialization. The Doctor is no alchemist, and we'll probably build Tony Stark at some time in the future, therefore we're picking Battle Smith. Those tinkers are masters of protections, being able to put up defensive mechanisms on the spot. Since the Doctor is a diplomat first, runner second, and combatant very close and reluctant third, focusing on support is a good option.

As a Battle Smith, we gain proficiencies with smith's tools, and we gain some more magic with Battle Smith Spells:

Heroism imbues the willing creature with bravery. Until the spell ends (1 minute, concentration), the target is immune to being frightened and gains Temporary Hit Points equal to our Intelligence modifier at the start of each of their turns (AKA every six seconds). When the spell ends, any Temporary Hit Points remaining are lost.

Shield creates an invisible barrier as a reaction to getting hit. It adds +5 to our AC until the start of our next turn.

Although a reluctant fighter, the Doctor as a Battle Smith also gets the Battle Ready feature. We gain proficiency with martial weapons, and when we attack with a magic weapon, we can use our Intelligence modifier instead of Strength or Dexterity for attack and damage rolls.

Finally, Battle Smiths get the Steel Defender. With our tinkering, we create our first companion, a steel defender; it is friendly to us and our companions and obeys our commands. With that, we got ourselves the one and only K9

Level 4 - Artificer: At this level, we get our first Ability Score Improvement! However, instead of upgrading our abilities this time, we'll grab a feat. The Telepathic feat from Tasha's Cauldron of Everything will represent the Doctor's limited psychic abilities: we increase one of our non-physical abilities by 1, let's go for Intelligence. We can speak telepathically to any creature within 60 feet, but the creature cannot reply (unless they're telepathic too, of course). Finally, we can touch a Detect Thoughts spell once per long rest, without a need to expend spell slots. Give your target a good headbutt, and learn their surface thoughts.

We also get our final spell: Catapult turns one inanimate object that isn't worn or carried (and weighs from 1 to 5 pounds) and turns it into a remote projectile. The object flies in a straight line for 90 feet before losing its momentum and falling. If it hits a creature, they have to make a Dexterity saving throw or take 3d8 bludgeoning damage. Distract your pursuers with a head of cabbage flying at their heads.

Level 5 - Rogue: We say goodbye to the Artificer, as we move onto Rogue for the rest of the build. Rogues use the same Hit Dice as Artificers, so nothing really changes when it comes to our Hit Points. We already have proficiency with light armour and thieves' tools, but we can pick one class skill – let's pick Acrobatics for better running and parkour chances when escaping aliens and responsibilities.

Rogues start with Expertise, which lets us double our proficiency bonus (NOT ability modifier) for two skills of our choice: let's boost Insight and History, to best utilize our centuries of living. We also learn how to speak Thieves' Cant, a special system of phrases and signals used by other Rogues to communicate without revealing their secrets. Finally, we have Sneak Attack: once per turn we can add 1d6 extra damage if a) we have an advantage on our roll, or b) the target is within 5 feet of another creature hostile towards it. The attack must be done by either a ranged weapon or one with the finesse property (like a dagger or a rapier).

Level 6 - Rogue: We get Cunning Action, which let us turn some Actions we can do in combat into Bonus Actions. That way, we still have an Action to spare if we decide to use Dash, Disengage, or Hide. Considering how much running the Doctor does, it's good to have something else to do just in case.

Level 7 - Rogue: Our Sneak Attack changes to 2d6.

We also get to pick our second subclass, our Roguish Archetype. Now, initially, I considered going Swashbuckler, as it combines nimble footwork and gives us some charm abilities. However, since we're going with the build that emphasizes support and actual combat as a last resort, we'll go with Inquisitive.

We start this subclass with Ear for Deceit, whenever we roll Insight checks to determine if a creature is lying to us, we treat each roll of 7 or lower as 8.

We also get Eye for Detail. This is mostly to be used in combat (or if your DM runs dungeons in Initiative Mode), as it allows us to use Perception or Investigation checks as a bonus action, where it would normally take an action.

Finally, Inquisitive Rogues get Insightful Fighting. As a bonus action, we can make an Insight check, contested by the enemy's Deception check. If we succeed, for 1 minute we can use our Sneak Attack on the target even if we don't have an advantage or the target isn't near another of its enemies.

Level 8 - Rogue: Time for another ASI! Let's raise our Intelligence by 1 point, and use the spare one for Strength.

Level 9 - Rogue: Our Sneak Attack changes to 3d6.

We also get Uncanny Dodge. Whenever we're being hit by an attack, we can use our reaction to halve the damage dealt.

Level 10 - Rogue: Halfway through the build, and we get another shot at Expertise. Once again, we get two skills to which we can double our proficiency bonus. Let's go with Perception and Investigation.

Level 11 - Rogue: Our Sneak Attack becomes 4d6.

We also get one of the better abilities in the game, Evasion. If we're being targeted by an AoE attack that would deal half damage on a successful Dexterity saving throw, we take no damage if we make the save. What that means is, we can now take a Fireball face-on, shrug it off and loudly proclaim

Level 12 - Rogue: We get another ASI. Let's improve our Dexterity by two points this time.

Level 13 - Rogue: Our Sneak Attack becomes 5d6.

We also get another subclass feature. Steady Eye gives us an advantage on Perception or Investigation checks if we move no more than half of our movement speed on our turn.

Level 14 - Rogue: Time for another ASI. Let's focus on getting some more Hit Points this time, and get +2 points to Constitution.

Level 15 - Rogue: Our Sneak Attack becomes 6d6.

At this level, we get Reliable Talent, which upgrades our abilities to almost anime protagonist-level. Whenever we make a check for a skill we're proficient in, we treat all rolls of 9 and lower as 10.

Level 16 - Rogue: We're getting one more ASI. Let's raise our Dexterity again, putting 2 points in it.

Level 17 - Rogue: Our Sneak Attack becomes 7d6.

We get our final subclass upgrade for this build, the Unerring Eye. We can now sense illusions and magical tricks within 30 feet, as well as shapechangers not in their original form. We can detect there is an effect trying to trick our senses around us, but we don't know its nature (i.e. if we meet a creature that activates our sense, we cannot distinguish whether it's a Disguise Self spell, or a natural shapeshifting ability, or a Druid's Wild Shape).

Level 18 - Rogue: We get another one of the best abilities in the game, Blindsense. We can now detect the presence of invisible and hidden creatures within 10 feet radius of us.

Level 19 - Rogue: Our Sneak Attack becomes 8d6.

Our mind becomes more slippery with Slippery Mind. We gain proficiency in Wisdom saving throws.

Level 20 - Rogue: Our build's capstone is Rogue 16, which is also our final ASI. Let's finally cap Intelligence, as it should've been from the start when it comes to Time Lords.

---

There it is. My take on how to play as the Doctor in Dungeons & Dragons. I believe I've covered most if not all of the important features the Doctor has, but let's see:

Let's face it, we're not a frontline fighter... we're not even a backline fighter. We support. With 14 AC (without armour), 151 Hit Points on average, and a +4 to Initiative, our job is to manoeuvre, around the battlefield and let our friends take care of the enemy, while we do other things. With Reliable Talent and Expertise we are great at sweeping the room for clues and hints, even if in the heat of battle. Thanks to Unerring Eye and Blindsense, our senses aren't that easy to fool.

Unfortunately, our Strength is not great, and that means some weapons are just a hindrance (unless we pick a finesse weapon, which replaces Strength with Dexterity). While we have late-game proficiency in Wisdom saving throws, throughout the earlier stages those might prove a little problem.

---

And that is it for this build. I hope that you guys enjoyed it, and I'll see you for the next one!

- Nerdy out!

#d&d 5e #dnd #dungeons and dragons #character building #the doctor #doctor who #new who #classic who #time lord #artificer #battle smith #rogue #inquisitive #revenant

[therewithall]

Roswell, New Mexico custom Magic: The Gathering cards

For RNM D&D Weekend Warriors, I branched out to another tabletop format and made a handful of custom Magic: The Gathering cards based on the core cast of Roswell, NM. Here’s the break-down of how I chose each character’s color(s) and abilities as well as highlight some of the neat ways they interact. None of the cards have been playtested so there is still room for them to be further developed and balanced. For anyone who isn’t very familiar with Magic: The Gathering, every card fits into various types that can be played for the cost printed in the top right-hand corner. There are 5 colors of Mana- White, Blue, Black, Red, Green- I’ll be using the letters W, U (blue), B (black), R, and G to represent the mana colors in my discussion. Each card can also have different traits and abilities, and a set of numbers that represents how strong its attack and defense are (represented as attack/defense). There’s a lot of amazingly nerdy discussion of Magic Lore that delves into how the Mana colors relate to personality traits and behaviors of the characters on the cards-- more on that here- but just know that I’ll be discussing some of those qualities as I go into why I chose the attributes for each card/character.So here we go!

Max Evans, Smalltown Hero        2WR Legendary Creature – Human Alien Vigilance, Haste (This creature doesn’t tap to attack and may attack or use tap abilities the turn it enters the battlefield.) T, Sacrifice a nonland permanent: Another target creature gains indestructible until end of turn. Max is a deputy with the sheriff’s department and a natural leader who has kept his powers and identity a secret for years. 3/1

Max is kind hearted and wants to protect his community and friends. On the other hand, he’s impulsive and will make rash decisions without thinking about the consequences of his actions. These two beliefs place him firmly in red/white for Magic colors; a combination that often plays small aggressive creatures and engages in frequent combat. I gave Max vigilance to represent him being a defender as well as an aggressor in a lot of circumstances. His ability to sacrifice something to protect someone else exemplifies his ability to both heal and destroy. Lastly he has haste and a fragile body (1 toughness) making a game with Max play out with an early attack followed by him protecting someone else and only getting in when the coast is clear.

Michael Guerin, Tech Genius      1WU Legendary Creature – Human Alien Artificer When Michael Guerin, Tech Genius enters the battlefield, search your library and/or graveyard for a noncreature artifact or enchantment card and exile it with a research counter on it. If you searched your library this way, shuffle. X, T: Create a token that’s a copy of a card exiled with a research counter. X is that card’s mana value. 2/3

Michael cares about the team differently than Max does. He is often tinkering with things in order to heal or protect others if possible and is a genius when it comes to inventions involving alien technology. His intelligence and need for knowing more fits in blue (alongside a few other science oriented characters). Whereas Max is a straightforward attacker, I chose an ability that is much more complex to understand for Michael. He makes copies of trinkets after taking the time to examine them which lends itself to more combo and control oriented play patterns instead of just blindly turning stuff sideways. I didn’t capture Michael’s temper, but I didn’t want all aliens to be red. Maybe I’ll make another version some time that incorporates different facets of their personalities.

Isobel Evans, Influencer                UBR Legendary Creature – Human Alien Your opponents play with the top card of their library revealed. 3R, T: Gain control of target creature an opponent controls until end of turn. Untap that creature. It gains haste until end of turn. 6BB, T: You control target player’s next turn. Activate only once. 1/4

Isobel has fewer words than Michael, but oh my is she complex as well. If Max leans toward aggro and Michael is combo, Isobel is the control card of the siblings. Isobel is often guided by her emotions, but channels that into careful thought in how to execute a plan and always looks out for herself and her people. Her abilities represent her powers spread across the three colors: Blue – Reading your opponent’s mind, Red – Controlling someone’s impulses for a short period, Black – Forcing your opponent’s actions, once.

Liz Ortecho, Savvy Scientist          1UB Legendary Creature – Human Rebel Liz Ortecho, Savvy Scientist can’t be blocked as long as defending player controls an artifact. Whenever Liz Ortecho deals combat damage to a player, gain control of target artifact that player controls with mana value less than or equal to the damage dealt. 2/1

Liz is smart, cunning, and will protect her own. Her science background lends itself to Blue, but this card plays up some of her devious nature of stealing hospital equipment, doing illegal research, and general sneaking around, so there’s Black in her mana cost as well. She often draws on the abilities of those around her, which means that her connections make her stronger. Amusingly, she’s unblockable against some of our other characters including her own dad!

Alex Manes, Tech Specialist            1WUB Whenever you draw a card, target creature you control gains deathtouch (Any amount of damage it deals to a creature is enough to destroy it.), lifelink (Damage dealt by that creature also causes you to gain that much life.), or vigilance (Attacking doesn’t cause it to tap.) until end of turn. Whenever Alex Manes, Tech Specialist deals combat damage to a player, create a clue token. (It’s an artifact with “2, Sacrifice this artifact: Draw a card.”) Kyle: “What’s the worst thing we could find?“ Alex: “Literal skeletons.” 2/3

Alex also sneaks around, but I wanted to play up his investigation skills a little more. Instead of just drawing a card when he does damage, he makes a clue “token”. That clue token represents information (drawing a card) that can be held onto or acted on later. He’s a character who’s able to do plenty of damage in his own right, but his big advantage is being able to help other characters do their jobs and get combat abilities they wouldn’t otherwise have. He protects his friends.

Maria DeLuca, Entrepreneur       2RG Legendary Creature – Human Alien Haste (This creature may attack and use tap abilities the turn it enters the battlefield.) Each other creature you control enters the battlefield with an additional +1/+1 counter on it. “Maria DeLuca is her own savior.” 3/2

Maria cares about her friends and her business. Her ability helps everyone and represents your other creatures being able to stop in for a drink at the bar. She gets haste to show how hard she works and has aggressive stats so she can get her hands dirty in a fight. Like Michael, I could see another version playing into her psychic powers.

Dr. Kyle Valenti                 1WW Legendary Creature – Human Lifelink (Damage dealt by that creature also causes you to gain that much life.) When Dr. Kyle Valenti enters the battlefield, put a +1/+1 counter on each other creature you control. "In a hospital it doesn't matter what someone did before they came through the doors." 2/2

Kyle is a healer and instead of showing that with damage prevention, I chose a simpler buff to the whole team. Now you’re less worried about losing fights!

Rosa Ortecho, Troubled Artist                     1BR Legendary Creature – Human Alien At the beginning of your upkeep, choose one — • Draw a card and lose 2 life. • Exile the top card of your library. Until end of turn, you may play that card. Red is armor. 3/2

Rosa was a fun one to design. She is black red which is a color combo notoriously bad at impulse control. She has aggressive stats and an ability that makes the controller make a hard choice every turn. Do I take the guaranteed draw at the cost of a couple life or do I risk not being able to cast whatever I exile? Among other things, this represents her struggle with addiction-- taking the most directly expedient option comes with some harm to her life totals- but it’s the damage you know. The second option requires you to risk the unknown, but be able to participate in the fight without automatically being harmed-- it requires you to trust your deck and your support network...but be prepared for potential setbacks.

Arturo Ortecho                 GG Legendary Creature – Human Defender (This creature can’t attack.) Whenever a nontoken creature enters the battlefield under your control, create a Food token. (It’s an artifact with “{2}, {T}, Sacrifice this artifact: You gain 3 life.”) G, T, Sacrifice a Food: Target creature gets +2/+2 until end of turn. “I already have my miracle.” 2/4

Arturo cares about his community as do many of our characters, but if there’s any color that cares about bringing everyone in for dinner, it’s green. He delivers food whenever a new creature enters and can use them as buffs instead of just life gain! His kindness and compassion sustain everyone.

Deputy Jenna Cameron                 1RR Legendary Creature – Human First Strike (This creature deals combat damage before creatures without first strike.) Whenever Jenna blocks or becomes blocked by a creature, she deals 1 damage to that creature. “Who you callin’ a girl?” 2/3

In case you can’t tell, a lot of our characters act on impulse and emotion, which is a Red trait. Cam is tough (A 3/4 is needed to best her in combat!) and efficiently deals with enemies. The faster-than-first strike damage represents her sharp shooting skill. And because of her skills, anyone going up against her is going to feel it right away.

Sergeant Jesse Manes                   2BB Legendary Creature – Human Soldier Menace (This creature must be blocked by two or more creatures.) When Sergeant Jesse Manes enters the battlefield or attacks, exile the top card of each opponent’s library face down. You may cast noncreature cards exiled this way and you may spend mana as though it were mana of any type to cast that spell. Jesse's inhumane methods leave only pain in his wake. 3/2

Jesse is a character who has his own twisted view of how his actions will better society. His card here plays up how he tends to believe the ends justify any means-- for him, at least. He steals information and uses it against those he took it from, to represent his involvement in Project Shepherd and the threat he represents not just to the safety and security of the aliens, but to anyone helping them. I chose to exclude creatures in order to make the ability a little more efficient and make it feel more like controlling the chess board and less like mind control (Which a Noah card would someday probably do).

Whew! I hope you enjoyed reading these as much as I enjoyed making them!

#rnmweekendwarriors2021 #magic the gathering #roswell new mexico

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #166

Bonjour and Bienvenue boys and belles to another bit on the BB Channel! For today we’re building the boisterous baroness of bacchanalia as one bit Berserk Bewitchment Bloodline, one bit Battery Builder, all for badass beatdowns! All this brouhaha is to say we’re building and buffing the beauteous brat known as BB.

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet here!

Next up: Hacking the planet? I think you misheard.

Race and Background

The evil AI from the moon BB is about as Custom a Lineage as they come, giving you +1 Dexterity and Intelligence. She also comes packed with Darkvision to dunk on those foolish human eyes and the Lucky feat to tip the scales in your favor by re-rolling attacks, checks, or saves that directly involve you three times per long rest. Games aren’t fun if they’re fair, silly!

Again, Evil AI from The Moon isn’t going to be a background you can find in most games of D&D. That being said, she certainly likes to put on shows of life and death, so once you get past their obsession with fire I’d bet she’d find a lot of common ground with Rakdos Cultists. This gives her proficiency with Acrobatics and Performance so you too can twirl around on stage and put a little flair into your attacks.

This background also gives you an additional bunch of spells to tack onto your spell lists. When you unlock spellcasting in the first place, you get Fire Bolt, Vicious Mockery, Burning Hands, Dissonant Whispers, and Hellish Rebuke. Your free second level spells are Crown of Madness, Enthrall, and Flaming Sphere. Third level is Fear and Haste, fourth is Confusion and Wall of Fire, and your free fifth level spell is Dominate Person. Don’t look at me like that, how else are you going to keep your daughters in line? BB doesn’t rely on fire that much -yet- but the other spells are absolutely in her wheelhouse. And giving a computer virus a fire wall is just plain funny.

Ability Scores

As a hyper-advanced AI from the future, it’d be a little weird if your Intelligence wasn’t your highest ability score. Your smarts are almost as obvious as how great a kouhai you are, so make your Charisma the next highest. Your Dexterity is pretty good too- that outfit probably isn’t armor, at least not in the practical sense. Your Constitution isn’t too bad either. The saying goes, “if it bleeds, you can kill it,” but you’re made out of data so you don’t bleed at all. Your Strength isn’t anything to write home about, but you can warp reality, so why would you need to lift? Dump Wisdom. You’re not exactly the most stable person in Chaldea.

Class Levels

1. Artificer 1: First level artificers get Magical Tinkering, so now you can put minor magical effects into tiny objects. Most of them probably aren’t that practical, but every event shop needs some junk.

You can also cast Spells this level, using your Intelligence to prepare and cast them. On top of your rakdos spells, you can use Lightning Lure and Mage Hand to mess with people. You can also prepare first level spells, like Identify to scan enemies for their status effects, Tasha’s Caustic Brew to re-enact your extra attack card, and Cure Wounds for a bit of maintenance on your spirit origin. It takes work to look this good, y’know!

Finally, you get proficiency with Constitution and Intelligence saves, as well as Arcana and Medicine. You were built to look after humans, and you obviously know a lot about tech.

2. Artificer 2: Second level artificers can Infuse Items to turn dumb ol’ mundane objects into magical objects! You learn four infusions right now, but you can only keep two of them available at a time, and you can swap them out between long rests. Really lean into it, make the rest of the party fight for the affection of their kouhai.

As far as your actual infusions go, Mind Sharpener is a great one for spellcasters, letting them force their concentration to stick even if they fail a save as a reaction. You can also use an Enhanced Arcane Focus to make your spells even stronger. For magic items, the classic Bag of Holding is always in fashion, and Sending Stones will help bring party communication into the 21st century.

3. Sorcerer 1: Being smart is nice, but it’s time to make things a bit more.. interesting. As a sorcerer, you get another Spell list that uses your Charisma to cast. You also get your own home game version of BB slots thanks to your Wild Magic Surge. When you cast a sorcerer spell that uses a spell slot, your DM can make you roll a d20. On a one, you then have to roll on the wild magic surge table.

If that’s not wacky enough for you, the Tides of Chaos can speed things up. Once per long rest, you gain advantage on one attack, check, or save of your choice. Your DM can also force you to roll on the WMS table when you’d normally get a WMS to recharge it.

You get cantrips like Friends, to make friends with Senpai; Message, to send calls to Senpai; Light, to help with Senpai’s dumb human eyes; and Minor Illusion, for some cheap holograms. For first level spells, Mage Armor makes that outfit less of a tactical issue, and Tasha’s Caustic Brew frees up some prep slots for artificer spells.

4. Sorcerer 2: Second level sorcerers are Fonts of Magic, giving you sorcery points equal to your sorcerer level each long rest. Right now they can be used to refill spell slots, or you can empty spell slots to get more points.

You can also cast Magic Missile for some caster balls. I know you’re not a caster, but you do run around with a magic wand, it’s not that wild a concept.

5. Sorcerer 3: Third level sorcerers get second level spells, as well as Metamagic to make them a little bit more you flavored. Distant Spell doubles the range of a spell (or gives it a range of 30′ if it’s touch), while Subtle Spell lets you cast a spell without all that vocal or somatic component nonsense. Why waste time chanting when you could spend it narrating?

You can also cast Enhance Ability to alter your data in favor of one kind of skill checks, gaining advantage on them for the duration. You also double your carrying capacity for strength checks, avoid small falling damage with dexterity checks, or gain temporary HP with constitution checks.

6. Sorcerer 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump up your Charisma to make Senpai notice you. And also to make your sorcerer spells harder to avoid.

You can also cast Prestidigitation to make more small magical effects, or Alter Self to further improve your being. When you cast it, you pick one of three modes. Mode 1 gives you a swimming speed and the ability to breathe underwater. Mode 2 lets you change appearance as an action for the duration, and Mode 3 lets you grow Natural Weapons that are magical against resistances. Honestly Mode 3′s a bad matchup for you, but you’re an independent AI who don’t need no humanity, I’ll let you make your own decisions.

7. Sorcerer 5: Fifth level sorcerers get Magical Guidance, letting you spend 1 sorcery point to re-roll a failed skill check. You can also cast third level spells like Dispel Magic to bonk Kiara back into horny jail. Probably. We haven’t built her yet, still not entirely sure how that’s going to work.

8. Sorcerer 6: Sixth level wild mages can Bend Luck, using their reaction and 2 sorcery points to add or subtract 1d4 to another creature’s attack, check, or save. You love playing games, but more in the ‘dungeon master’ sense.

You can also cast Clairvoyance to set up your very own BB channel studio wherever you’ve been before.

9. Artificer 3: Third level artificers can always find the Right Tool for the Job, creating whatever tools you might need over the course of a short rest. Thanks to being an Artillerist, you can also bring one of those weird geometric enemies from the CCC event to the battlefield in the form of an Eldritch Cannon, creating a freestanding small cannon or a handheld tiny one. They’re pretty customizable, but they all come in one of three flavors. Flamethrowers deal AoE fire damage, Force Ballistas deal single-target force damage and throw people around, and Protectors give out temporary HP.

You also get the freebie spells Shield and Thunderwave. 

10. Artificer 4: Use this ASI to bump up your Intelligence for better artificer spells.

11. Sorcerer 7: Seventh level sorcerers get fourth level spells, like Ego Whip! If your target fails an intelligence save, they get disadvantage on all attacks, checks, and saves, and it can’t cast spells. At the end of each turn it can try to make another intelligence save (still at disadvantage), but tbh most creatures aren’t that bright compared to you.

12. Sorcerer 8: Another ASI already? Bump up your Charisma to make it even harder to break out of your ego whip, and also grab Banishment so you can deal with that giant pain in your behind, Kingprotea (note: this level description does not contain the opinions of fateandphantasms. fateandphantasms does not condone any kind of Kingprotea hating.)

13. Sorcerer 9: Fifth level spell time! Grab Creation so you can warp reality and make pretty much whatever you might need out of thin air!

14. Artificer 5: Fifth level artillerists can make Arcane Firearms this level, adding 1d8 to artificer spell damage cast from a specific focus. This also means that your artificer spells and sorcerer spells can finally come out of the same wand, though I doubt most DMs would care to correct you before now.

You can also cast the freebie spells Scorching Ray and Shatter now, since you can learn 2nd level artificer spells. Use Heat Metal if you’re feeling sadistic, Invisibility or Spider Climb for some hacks, or grab Lesser Restoration for some cursed cupid cleansing.

15. Artificer 6: Your Tool Expertise doubles the proficiency of all tool-based checks, but you also get two more infusions, and one more concurrent infusion to boot! A Spell-Refueling Ring will give you more energy to deal with your many, many, problem children, while a Radiant Weapon will just make your wand shinier. Not that it’s a bad reason to grab it.

16. Artificer 7: At seventh level, you can speed up your processors to have Flashes of Genius, using your reaction to add your intelligence modifier to an ability check or saving throw nearby. You can use this Intelligence Modifier times per long rest.

17. Sorcerer 10: Your newest metamagic option lets you twin spells, turning a one-target spell into a two target spell. Now you can keep both your daughters under control at once with one casting of Dominate Person!

You also get the Mending cantrip, because let’s be real your outfit probably doesn’t look as good as it did 17 levels ago. Finally, you get the spell Far Step to bip and bop all over the place as you see fit. Remember, if you teleport off camera it’s not cheating!

18. Sorcerer 11: Eleventh level sorcerers get sixth level spells, like Tasha’s Otherworldly Guise! If you’re going to wear a nurse outfit, it might as well come with superpowers. You get immunities to certain damages and conditions, you can fly, your AC goes up, and your weapon attacks use your spellcasting modifier, are magical, and you can attack twice per action. Ramming a giant needle into somebody never felt so right!

19. Sorcerer 12: For your last ASI, grab the Tough feat. All these sorcerer levels have not done your HP total any favors.

20. Sorcerer 13: Your capstone level nets you a seventh level spell, so grab Plane Shift so you can finally escape the Mooncell and show Senpai all the hard work you’ve done!

Pros:

You have a ton of ways to cheat at dice, manipulating the world to always work in your favor. Re-roll dice with magical guidance and lucky, or just stick a finger on the scale with bend luck and flash of genius. Either way, your party will be thankful to have you.

You also make a decent variety caster thanks to the variety of technological goodies at your disposal. Support team communication with sending stones, spy on people with clairvoyance, create whatever the party might need with creation, or just blow people up with thunderwave and your eldritch cannon. You come packing a little bit of everything.

You’re particularly good at shutting down one or two opponents, with Ego Whip destroying their ability to do much of anything, Enthrall and Fear keeping you their main focus, or Banishment shoving them out of existence entirely.

Cons:

Those wild magic surges can bite you in the ass just as much as they help you, so try to make sure you don’t spin a bankrupt on the BB slots. Seriously though they can straight up kill your entire party at level 1. Don’t be unlucky.

Having a bit of everything means you aren’t focused on any one thing. Builds like Ishtar and -god help me- Mephistopheles?? beat you in magic damage, Scheherazade and Kogil beat you for utility, and Medea Lily and Irisviel beat you for healing. It must be nice to have so many senpais though!

Trying to keep on top of all those checks and saves means you’ll burn through your sorcery points really fast, so just... don’t push yourself too hard, you might not like what happens when you run out of power.

#fate grand order #fgo #D&D 5e #DND #BB #Sorcerer #Artificer

[sanstropfremir]

what do you think makes someone have good stage presence? do you think it's something that can be taught or something one just naturally possesses?

i read your answer to the other ask. and re. super m, i like lucas. don't get me wrong. he's very much a hong kong beauty that i love (sm is really missing out by not putting him in more editorials).

but in terms of stage presence, he isn't a standout to me? maybe that's because he's in a group with, in my opinion, two of the best performers (taemin + kai). i put him in the same category as baekhyun. like you mentioned, he doesn't stand out but makes up for it by screaming. but for lucas, he's not the best rapper or vocalist and isn't given a lot of lines.

also, what do you think about nct's infinite concept? this is a bit random but wanted to group together since we're talking about nct members. nct2020 was a whole mess for me (as someone who absolutely LOVED nct2018 concept wise and thought maybe, hey this could work). watching nct2020, it seems... asjhdakjhlgds for a lack of better words. like if i was a member and wasn't taeyong/mark/ten/lucas/doyoung, i would be :/ there's definitely a reason why sm pushes them the most because they're just better in capturing the audience. the other members feel like glorified background dancers.

in my personal opinion, stage presence is how well a performer can convince the audience that they are alive, and that they belong there. the stage is an artifice. it isn’t real, nothing you do on it is real, all performance is just that: performative. a human being’s natural state is not on a large platform being stared at, obviously anyone put in that situation is going to find it difficult to act in a natural way. why do you think people hate public speaking? why stage fright is a thing? those of us that can make it over that initial hurdle of being looked at have dual challenges; we as the audience know this whole scenario is fake; what makes it real is our willingness to be convinced that it is real, and the performer’s ability to make us believe that it is real. a huge part of this is making their bodies move and respond in a way that we recognize. this includes making facial expressions. it also includes exuding the confidence that you belong on that stage. that we should be looking at you. this is no place for timidity or nervousness. yes, i do think this is something you can learn, it’s acting and anyone can learn to act. do some people have an advantage over others? absolutely, it's the same with any skill. are there some people that despite being on stage for years never learn? also yes. i don’t think it's a ‘you have it or you don’t’ scenario, like with all reductivist binary statements, it belittles the effort of the people that work extremely hard to get where they are. this is the fallacy of mozart***; those with a high level of natural talent cannot coast by just that talent alone - a true artist is dedicated to pushing their own boundaries and skills regardless of what others deem you as. no one is born a genius, but we all have predispositions that, if applied cultivation, can become fully fledged ‘genius’ level skills. 

i’m gonna put the rest of my responses under a cut because i got extremely deep in the weeds on that one, whoops.

i can totally see why lucas and baekhyun would fall into the same category for you, that's valid. obviously a lot of how effective someone’s stage presence can be is pretty subjective. my standards have a slightly different skew than the average kpop fan, since my life has been working and making performance for over a decade. yes, lucas doesn’t have the same presence as taemin or kai, and yea he's not the best rapper or best vocalist by far, but i think he carries himself extremely well despite that. he's got advantages from the start; he’s the tallest in the group and he’s pretty, but the few times that he is in center i am absolutely paying attention to him. ‘im the other one chilling with them other ones’? no idea what the fuck that means but i absolutely believe him. honestly i can't even remember any other parts of that song. if sm ever decides to give him more parts i think we’ll see a uptick in his skills. he really knows how to work a camera; his expressions and body language are already really strong and he exudes confidence like an overeager puppy.

i think nct’s infinite concept is ridiculous and a bit disrespectful to the original members who’ve done the lion's share of the work building the brand. obviously i understand why sm did it, when you have an established brand that you can keep plugging new members into you essentially never have to take the risks involved with debuting a new group ever again. plus with nct’s whole.....new culture + technology thing, they’re primed for any of the weird awful tech updates that are inevitably coming in the next decade. no shade on the girls in aespa, i just find the idea of debuting a girl group with overly sexualized ai robot versions of themselves into a world where the boundaries between idol and fan are already constantly violated uhhh...........distasteful. to put it mildly. i also think the concept is disrespectful to the new members that constantly get added in; because they get added into a system that has a clear working structure based on those original members, who are going to be in every iteration ever. because they’re the proven selling points. at least when you debut a totally new group you’re giving those idols a clean slate. any of the new nct boys will never really have a chance to truly establish themselves outside of that context. plus they will forever be plagued by exclusionist stans. if you’re lucky and charismatic and pretty like lucas you might get the chance to get beyond that (he made it to superm after all), but for pretty much everyone else? anon you said it not me.

*** i know this is not actually what the mozart fallacy is. hence the wording change. but as far as i'm aware there isn’t actually a name for this phenomenon so i'm calling it like how i heard it first described, which was using mozart as an example.

#i am absolutely not tagging this as nct because i value my life #a good example of an idol with the fledgling start of a good stage presence is felix #hes pretty hes got a unique skill and hes clearly dedicated to being an idol #hes just young and SO nervous that you can feel that he's never quite settled on stage #its been fairly obvious for kingdom i think because its a new experience but even in skz music show stages you can see it #give him a few more years to shake the most of those nerves and grow some more confidence #and he'll be even more of the powerhouse than he already is #i feel like maybe i didnt cover everything i wanted to here but for the life of me i cant really figure out what to add #i know i talked about acting and dance a while ago but i dont think ive ever fully elucidated exactly how much of kpop is acting #(the answer is all of it) #but yea tldr everything in entertainment is performative and everything performative is acting and acting isnt real #art is fake #dont believe anyone who says otherwise #every time i say that i get a flashback to my tutor's face when i said that to her in a tutorial #and i instantly knew no one had ever said that to her before #my grad school experience has just been continually questioning and upsetting the contemporary art school standards #ANYWAYS #kpop question #kpop analysis #text #Anonymous #group analysis

[dmsden]

Nuts & Bolts - Personal Plot for Artificers

Hullo, Gentle Readers. Don’t you love when a small town hero makes it big? I know I do. The Artificer has been a class I’ve loved for years, but it’s always occupied a niche existence over in Eberron. I certainly have allowed Artificers to creep out to other campaign worlds, but they’ve never been so completely embraced as they are now. With the release of Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything, the Artificer has become part of Core D&D.  If you haven’t already gotten your teeth into the Artificer through Eberron, I strongly recommend picking up a copy of Tasha’s...and not JUST for the Artificer. You’ll also get tons of new subclasses, magic-items, spells, and other assorted goodies. It’s a big expansion to D&D 5E, and it’s a lot of fun to read.

A little grain of salt must be taken here. Your DM is, of course, the final arbiter of what works and what doesn’t in their campaign world. If they say that their world has no artificers, then that’s the final word. For my part, I’m happy to welcome the Artificer to D&D’s wider reality, and, even before I knew Tasha would feature these crafty folks, I had planned to write a Personal Plot article for them.

Someone playing an artificer is likely looking for a different kind of story. Their character, after all, is an inventor...maybe he got tossed out of magic school for praising works of metal and the forge. Maybe he’s always been drawing ideas for inventions in the dirt or on any surface she could. They might be a bit of a loner, or they may be super-excited to show their beloved inventions to the world. They may be excited to explain everything, or they may be more comfortable around mechanical devices than people. I find myself thinking of Entrapta from She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. 

If I had an Artificer in my campaign, I would definitely talk to the player about what they’d like to see in terms of other inventors. If they’d like to feel there’s a more firm backing and to have their curious bit of technology somewhat supported, I’d likely introduce some kind of Inventor’s Guild. In a situation like this, there might be rivals, mentors, guildmasters, and all sorts of NPCs that your PC could have a relationship with. Maybe they have tasks they need to perform for their mentors or guildmasters, or maybe their rival’s made need for validation will lead to a climactic battle with a Warforged Titan.

A thirst for knowledge is likely to be driving the PC along. Did they create the technology they’re using, or are they drawing on ancient technologies recovered from a fallen Warforged Colossus, the mysterious “City of the Gods” from Blackmoor, or even a curious “metal cave” in the Barrier Peaks? If the PC salvaged and modified existing technologies, it would make sense for them to seek out other instances of this technology. In my own campaign ,the mystic technologies of the Old Ones would be a perfect springboard for an Artificer’s storyline.

To flip this idea on its head, the Artificer could understand how dangerous the technologies they unleashed are, and they could be acting to stop it. Percival de Rolo of Critical Role’s season one would make an excellent example of an Artillerist Artificer. A number of the campaign’s plots involved others who learned to use the guns that Percy more or less invented and trying to keep those out of the hands of those who would do evil with them. Imagine a Battle Smith Artificer whose father created a mighty mechanical servant that was stolen by an evil warlord. Perhaps a major storyline of the campaign would involve going after the warlord and finding a way to destroy the servant so that it could not be corrupted again. This adds a touch of Tony Stark/Iron Man 2 to the blend as well.

An interesting concept to examine would be if there were a reversal of the roles of technology and magic from how they are perceived in our world. Perhaps magic is considered natural and proper, and technology is viewed with suspicion and superstition. It might be entertaining if you had a well-respected wizard turning his nose up at this new-fangled tech, or even calling for an artificer to be burned for the heretical teachings they’re espousing!

I hope this has you planning some fun inventions to tantalize your techie pal, the Artificer, should one end up at your gaming table. If you have ideas for an Artificer plot, let us all know!