"When you set out to take Vienna, take Vienna."

- Napoleon Bonaparte


"I have to say, you're being unusually… aggressive, I suppose," Shiro remarked, leaning back against the sun-warmed stone of the villa's terrace. It was a far cry from the grand palaces of Mistral's bygone monarchy, but the villa which used to belong to a corrupt — and now dismantled — noble family now served as Percy's home. Below, sprawling vineyards shimmered in the afternoon light, a bit out of Percy's area of interest, but the wine was apparently a hit internationally.

Percy glanced up from the map of Menagerie spread across the table, his brows furrowed. "How so?"

Shiro shrugged, gesturing towards the map. "It feels like you're escalating more than you ordinarily would. I expected the plan to be an uneasy peace with the White Fang — threatening sanctions or tactical strikes if they do anything too aggressive themselves."

"Is that a dig?" A hint of amusement curled Percy's lips. "I thought you had stopped needling me to be more aggressive years ago."

"That's my point!" Shiro exclaimed. "You've been passive whenever you can afford it, you're escalation averse. You'll toe the line but you haven't been the one to escalate conflict since the Malachites — publicly, at least. So what gives? Why the sudden shift?"

Percy hummed, thoughtfully tapping a finger against the map. He became distracted for a moment, eyes tracing over the hastily scrawled markings that their spies had provided.

"The difference is that playing the escalation game is only my preference when I'm either trying not to make an enemy or in the weaker position," he explained, returning his attention to Shiro. "For example, I didn't want Ozpin as an enemy and Mistral's nobility was in a stronger position than me."

"Until they weren't," Shiro dryly commented, looking around the villa with the subtlety of a minotaur.

"Until they weren't," Percy echoed with a nod. "The difference is that neither applies here. I'll admit, that's partially because they pissed me off. I take loyalty very seriously — they stabbed me in the back. In my mind, there's no escalation greater than betrayal. Adam's actions have made the White Fang a threat to the stability of Remnant. They crossed a line — as far as I'm concerned, the White Fang was as good as gone from that moment."

Shiro hummed, his gaze sweeping across the picturesque landscape. The air was sweet with the scent of ripening grapes. "Well, you won't hear any complaints from me — as far as I'm concerned we should've crushed everyone years ago and been done with it. Just make sure your emotions aren't leading you to make a mistake."

The two locked gazes, and Percy nodded firmly. "I'll make sure of it." A breeze rustled through the vineyards, carrying the distant sound of workers tending to the vines.

"Besides," Percy added, a wry smile tugging at his lips, "The men have had it too easy for a while now, it's time they get some more experience."

Shiro chuckled, raising his glass in a toast. "To experience, then."

Percy rolled his eyes and turned back to the map, mentally playing out the upcoming invasion.

Liberation, he reminded himself. The White Fang was his monster, turned loose on Remnant. It was his responsibility to fix it.

It's time he got started.


The ship rocked violently, throwing Blake against the wall of her makeshift cell. She cried out in agony as the impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through her bruised ribs. The ship lurched again, and Blake fought to rise to her feet and steady herself. She'd had her sea legs since she was eight, but trying to balance herself while her hands were bound together was a new one for her. Thankfully they hadn't seen a need to bind her legs on the ship, so she wasn't completely helpless to the sea's whims.

The harsh rocking continued bouncing her from wall to wall, but something was off about it that Blake couldn't place through the pounding in her head. The rocking of the ship was too… sharp, somehow. Sudden. There was no rhythm to it.

Blake's cat ears twitched as she listened closer, trying to hear what was going on outside. Faintly, she heard boots running through the ship — lots of running — and indiscernible shouting.

Nothing too out of the ordinary for a harsh storm, then.

Terror seized her as the sound of splintering wood filled the air all around her, and she dove for cover as the wall ruptured directly behind her.

Through the newly created gaping hole in the wall, her eyes met the inhuman gaze of a Grimm Serpent, held aloft by a massive, armored body. The enormous beast was larger than the ship, and Blake had no doubt that each of the many spikes running down its length were larger than her.

The two stared at each other for a single moment before the Grimm turned, distracted by a hail of gunfire from the ship's deck.

Blake scrambled away from the hole the moment it looked away, but a deafening roar shook the air before she could get her bearings. She instinctively threw her hands up to her ears, only succeeding in hitting herself in the nose with the cuffs around her wrists.

Blake's heart pounded in her chest. That thing was huge. We're all dead.

The delayed blare of an alarm echoed through the ship, doing nothing to help her headache.

She had just barely reached her feet when the door to her room burst open. A White Fang soldier ran in — the markings on his shoulder marking him as nothing more than a rather experienced grunt.

The man didn't waste a beat, running over to her and grabbing her by the cuffs. She put up a token fight, but didn't see much point in resisting. What could they do to her at this point, really?

The biting pain that had plagued her wrists for days suddenly disappeared, and Blake stared down at them in muted shock. The grunt removed her cuffs, tossing them aside.

A traitor? Blake studied the soldier, quickly finding a pair of horse ears sticking out of the top of his head. Definitely not human, then.

"Go!" he shouted, and Blake wasted no time taking his advice. She dashed out of the room as quickly as her injured body could carry her, hastily ducking into rooms whenever White Fang ran past.

For a couple minutes she kept running through the confusing corridors of the ship, no destination in mind other than away from where she had last been seen.

Her flight took her upwards, until eventually she could see sunlight. Biting her lip, Blake made up her mind and dashed up the stairs. The White Fang were sure to notice her, but she didn't have much of another option.

Attempt escape via lifeboat and risk near certain death, or stay below deck and accept certain death.

The choice, while not ideal, was obvious.

Sunlight blinded her for several precious moments, but Blake kept running. She almost immediately ran into someone, falling on top of them. She tried to get up to keep running, but quickly found herself restrained.

"Blake!?" the last person on Remnant Blake wanted to be on top of shouted. "How — never mind." Ilia shook her head. "We need to deal with that thing or we're both dead!"

Reluctantly, Blake agreed. The emergency rafts had been a pipe dream anyway. The only way to survive was to kill the Grimm, but there was no way the White Fang had that kind of strength on this ship.

But Ilia and her, working together?

She didn't like their odds, but they were better than the alternatives.

"Okay," Blake agreed, her voice raspy from disuse. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'll help."

The two stood, and Blake resisted the urge to make a run for it the moment she was on her feet.

"I need Gambol Shroud," Blake said.

Ilia winced. "I don't have it."

"What!?" Blake stared at her. "What do you mean you don't have it?"

"I don't know where Gambol Shroud is but it isn't on the ship."

All of a sudden, Blake decided the odds of trying to escape weren't so bad. The idea of trying to kill this thing — the Grimm dived into the water right next to the ship, its tail flicking at the last moment and sending a small squad of White Fang flying, tearing another hole in the deck and violently rocking the boat — bare handed filled her with dread.

But more than that, it filled her with rage. They had kidnapped her, bound her until she was weak and sore, kept her in captivity for days without seeing the light of day, barely fed her, and physically abused her until she wasn't able to stand, and now they needed her help? And they hadn't even bothered to pick up Gambol Shroud?

"Useless," she spat.

She sprinted across the ship, ignoring Ilia's shouts and the commotion from the rank and file that was quickly taking notice. She ducked into a roll, grabbing a submachine gun from one of the lifeless grunts splayed across the deck and raising it just as the eye of the serpent appeared over the ship's railing.

It screeched, black blood splattering across the deck as dozens of bullets peppered its face, taking out one of its eyes. It quickly dived beneath the waves, the echo of its screech signaling its retreat.

Blake's shoulders heaved and her grip faltered, the gun falling to the deck with an unceremonious clatter. She followed a moment later, pressing a hand against the wooden surface to keep herself upright and hoping the world would stop spinning.

The deck was silent. Nobody dared to make a move. Nobody dared to make a sound. The seconds melted by as the ship's occupants stood with baited breath.

The Grimm burst through the water some distance from the ship, close enough to see that one of the yellow lights in its skull had been put out.

"It's not going to let you do that again," Ilia muttered, coming to a halt beside Blake's prone form.

As the serpent reached the height of its arc, Blake spotted movement on its back. A moment later, wings burst free, flapping and slowly lifting the serpent out of the water.

"Another fucking dragon," Ilia cursed.

Blake stared at her old friend in befuddlement.

"Another?"

The Grimm rudely interrupted before Ilia could answer, its roar sending shockwaves that tilted the ship. Blake successfully covered her ears this time, peering up at the flying monster. Its eyes were filled with an ancient hatred.

Hatred directed at one person.

Blake swallowed.


Winter set her pen aside, shaking the cramp from her hand. She stood and turned to look out one of the windows that made up the walls — from her office at the peak of Atlas tower, she looked down at Mantle, illuminated by the full moon.

The city… was not making her job easier.

While she held a tight grip on her political base, her popular support had never been the strongest. Though many in Atlas had gotten rich off of her father's favor it was easy to hate the richest people on Remnant, and her by extension — even if she had been disinherited. That she had been all but appointed by a foreign invader didn't help matters. By now the council — elected by the public — had voted her a full term as general and headmaster, but the impression stubbornly remained.

Those problems might have been bad enough on their own, but they were manageable. Unfortunately, the separation of Mantle had led to a steep downturn in Atlas' economy, one she'd just barely managed to stop from being an outright collapse by securing favorable trade terms with Mantle.

Her plan had been to economically integrate Mantle over time until they were a common market again. Unfortunately, that plan had fallen to rubble with most of Mantle.

The newly liberated city had torn itself apart while the Grimm were at their gates — the enemy of all humanity was invading their city, and they still fought each other.

She watched as smoke rose from Mantle's industrial district — for the first time in weeks not due to a section of the city burning down. The city's industry was slowly churning back to life.

Paid for by the Atlesian taxpayer, of course — she had no choice, lest she wanted to let Mantle fall entirely and render Atlas a fraction of the superpower it had been. Already prices were skyrocketing and more and more of their trade came from outside kingdoms.

Mantle wasn't capable of governing itself — that much was clear. It was little wonder. They had taken a city and abruptly removed their entire upper class, and the result had been infighting, death, and destruction.

They needed leadership, and she had been forced into that role by their ineptitude.

A sharp knock at her door interrupted her internal monologue.

"Enter," she called.

A lean man in a stately burgundy uniform opened the door, the older man's wiry frame seeming to cast a shadow all the way to her desk from the entrance to her office.

Ratsel Marigold, the Director of Atlesian Intelligence, entered the room.

"Is it four already?" she mused. The sleepless nights made the days go much quicker.

"Yes, General," Ratsel confirmed, his patient tone undercut by the heavy aristocratic lilt that colored his words.

"Please, sit," she waved him over to her desk, walking back to her own seat and settling in.

Ratsel was one of the very few in Atlas' highest echelon of government that had survived the purge following Atlas' loss due to his immense influence. He sat at the center of the most advanced intelligence organization ever known to Remnant, and such a position allowed him the kind of leverage that kept a man around during a political purge.

"Shall we, General?" he asked with a polite — though faux — smile.

"Please," Winter wearily gestured for him to continue.

"Firstly," he began, "Mistral is deploying its fleet and much of its army to Menagerie. They plan to take the island outright, which we expect to be a trivial affair."

"Oh?" she asked, pleasantly surprised. "That's unlike Perseus."

"Indeed," he agreed, seeming genuinely pleased himself. Whether at the turn of events or that she was visibly happy with the news she wasn't sure.

That Percy — her ally — had backed the White Fang, a long-time enemy of Atlas, had not earned her favors within the intelligence community. She suspected he thought of her as being a White Fang sympathizer to some degree, which was an especially bad look following the events in Vale and Mantle. That she was clearly glad to hear him bringing the hammer down on them was probably reassuring to the man.

"Moving on," he continued, "there is a situation to address in Mantle."

Winter scrunched her brows. "That's an affair for military intelligence, isn't it?"

"Not so," he disagreed with a chiding smile, "In their first election since we have propped the city back up, there is a Mantlese politician which is gaining some traction. They are campaigning on the idea that our soldiers are occupying their city, and demanding more autonomy. Though they make sure to mention they are grateful for our help, of course."

"Of course," Winter muttered, rubbing her eyes until she saw stars. "A mayoral candidate?"

"The council," he corrected.

She blinked her eyes open. "And you propose?" she asked indifferently. A council member really wasn't important enough to be on her radar at the moment, especially when her goal wasn't to keep the strictest control possible over the city forever. All she was focused on was keeping the city stable — or, as stable as possible at least — and rebuilding Mantle's industry to help prevent the further collapse of Atlas' ailing economy.

"Mantle cannot afford the instability," he cautioned, "We have now seen what happens when Mantle governs itself. This would begin its drift in that direction once again."

She paused to think over her response, aware of Ratsel watching her carefully for a reaction. Winter knew this was a test of sorts — he wanted to see if she would prioritize the best interests of Atlas, which tightening control of Mantle would certainly be.

She tried to ignore that fact. Ratsel was influential and dangerous in his own right, but he was not untouchable. It might have been foolish to risk crossing such a man on such a relatively small issue, but she was too principled to compromise her ideals for his sake. She had the loyalty of the military, and she was a huntress herself — Ratsel would dance to her tune so long as she continued to hold the cards.

She thought about her answer for some time, making Ratsel sit and wait for her response.

She had to decide what she actually wanted to do with Mantle in the long term, not just the immediate future. Did she want to take over the city? Was she willing to let it go back to what it was when it collapsed? Something in-between the two?

Though, she thinks, in-between wouldn't have prevented Mantle's fall. Nothing short of absolute authority would have let her crush dissent from the Faunus before it became too large an issue.

They had tried letting Mantle be independent — they had tried it Percy's way.

And it had failed.

"Take care of it," she finally decided.

"Thank you, General," he smiled widely, though Winter knew this one was far more genuine. He rose from his seat and bowed shallowly, turning and promptly exiting.

Winter span in her chair to look out the window overlooking Atlas.

Mantle wasn't capable of governing themselves, recent events had shown that. They needed leadership.

If she was forced to be Mantle's leader, she would be a good one. She wouldn't pillage from them to enrich Atlas like the old government had done. She was now responsible for both cities, and so she would work for the benefit of the people in both cities.

She watched as bullheads lazily drifted through the air far below, and stood to look over her city.

She loved her city, and loved its people. They had been through much recently, and they deserved better.

The people of Mantle had been pushed beyond their limit, to the point of collapse — they needed better.

She wouldn't rest until they got it.


Blake dove behind a stack of crates, pressing herself flat against the deck as the dragon's tail ripped through them, splinters flying as it blurred past her and the wind from its passage whipped at her hair. She panted, feeling like her lungs were about to spill out of her onto the deck.

The beast flew off, the waves of bullets from the White Fang on the deck having no effect despite their best efforts.

By now used to this song and dance, Blake wasted no time finding cover. She sluggishly rose to her feet and dived away just as the Grimm's tail whipped down, smashing a hole in the deck where she'd been seconds ago.

The Grimm's fury made it focused, relentless. It hadn't let up on her since taking flight, its sole purpose was to exhaust her and it was succeeding.

Ilia dashed in, lodging two long blades in the dragon's tail before it could withdraw. It roared in rage, flicking its tail as it gained altitude with a mighty flap of its wings and launching Ilia a dozen feet.

That made Blake worry but she didn't have time to check on her old friend. She sprinted towards the back of the ship, hoping to have an easier time finding cover. She gasped for air, her lungs burning.

A missile from a rocket launcher hit the dragon on its side, doing little but taking its attention off Blake for a short moment. It was enough to give her time to catch her breath for the first time in several minutes, and just as important to let her think.

She watched the dragon fly, swiping its tail across the deck and sending a dozen members of the White Fang careening off the ship and into the sea.

Two more missiles found their mark, one glancing off its skull, the other its armored belly. The head shot seemed to momentarily disorient the beast. If only they could get it back in the water...

Eyeing its wings, she noticed they didn't look particularly strong. Enough to resist bullets probably, but rockets?

A few feet to her left, Blake spotted a White Fang soldier clumsily loading a rocket launcher.

"Give me that," She said, hands extended.

The White Fang did a double take. "What?"

"If you want to survive, give me the launcher," She repeated impatiently, lungs too tired to raise her voice. Her eyes flickered to his shoulder. "Now, private!"

Hastily, he handed her the launcher.

Blake pulled back a small slot on the launcher slot to ensure it had been loaded properly — it would do.

"Make sure to press the release switch he-"

WHOOSH!

The missile was expelled from the tube with a cloud of smoke, but Blake didn't let her focus slip from where the dragon's wing met its body. The Grimm moved in the last second before the missile could hit it, barely stopping the missile from hitting its target.

But it still hit the wing.

As she suspected, the missile tore through the wing like paper. The beast screeched in pain as a hole opened up in its skin, flapping its wings hard to stay afloat. It hadn't disabled the beast's ability to fly, but it was a start.

"Target the wings!" Blake ordered, standing and projecting her voice over the deck. "All missile fire, concentrate on the wings! If we can knock it out of the sky, we can kill it!"

A cheer erupted at her words, a scene that reminded her too much of when she had been in the White Fang.

She didn't like it.

In the following minute almost a dozen missiles were fired at the dragon's wings. Almost all of them missed, but two others hit, damaging its wings enough that it could no longer stay aloft.

It desperately flapped as it slowly sank back into the water, an almost frantic thrashing to prevent its fate. But soon enough it sank beneath the waves once more.

"Target the eyes and mouth!" she commanded, "Don't be afraid to get up close! It can hit you no matter how close to the railing you are, but you'll have an easier time hitting its vitals if you're closer!"

Nobody argued, and those that had been keeping to the inner part of the deck — almost all of them — slowly moved towards the railings.

The entire deck held their breath, waiting for the serpent to show itself. She could feel the ship taking on water — the damage the Grimm had done slowly taking its toll.

The serpent surfaced again, but instead of next to their ship, it was many hundreds of feet away. Its wings were gone, folded into its back, and it rose about halfway out of the water.

ROOOOOOOAR!

The Grimm opened its jaw wide, and with a mix of resignation, weariness, and horror, Blake watched as sparks of lightning began flickering in its maw. A ball of lightning slowly but clearly grew until it was nearly as big as its mouth, and Blake had no words of wisdom. If she was right, that attack would kill them all, and there was nothing they could do about it.

But then, suddenly, the serpent rapidly sank beneath the surface. It might have been her being delirious, but she could swear the monster looked surprised as it went under.

A moment later a massive pillar of yellow light emerged from the water and soared into the sky, energy crackling off of it before it was suddenly cut short.

Minutes passed without anyone moving a muscle, and without the flood of adrenaline the dragon had brought Blake's muscles screamed at her more than ever. She fell to her knees, unable to remain standing for so long.

Not a few seconds later, her ears perked up as she noticed a high-pitched whir. Groggily, she tried to locate the noise. One or two others with advanced hearing began looking around as well, trying to spot the noise.

As it grew louder, Blake's eyes widened in recognition.

It was an engine!

And not just any engine, but a bullhead engine!

Apparently it was audible to human ears now, because there was commotion on the deck as they tried to spot the bullheads.

Faintly, Blake heard her name called through the commotion. It was the only warning she received before she was struck in the side of the head, black moving in at the edges of her vision and replacing the noise of the commotion with ringing.

Her arms were seized, each by two pairs of hands, and she was bodily hauled across the deck. Briefly, Ilia's concerned face crossed her vision. She didn't know where they were taking her, and frankly she didn't care — she needed to rest.

The sunlight disappeared as she was taken below deck and dragged through innumerable hallways. The sound of combat resounded from above, and the iconic sound of a bullhead's gun filled her ears. Her vision was flooded with White Fang as they ran down the stairs, officers ordering everyone to come below deck.

She wasn't around to see anymore, taken down another level. The men tossed her in a room, and Blake lay motionless on the wooden floor.

Cold water touched her lips, and she opened her mouth without thinking, allowing the cool liquid to soothe her throat. The blackness in her vision almost immediately began retreating, and the ringing in her ears faded.

Ilia gently withdrew her flask and began fussing over her, checking her for fresh injuries.

Blake briefly looked around to find they weren't alone in the room, a White Fang guard standing steadfast at the door.

Shouts and gunshots echoed from the floor above, a staccato of running feet passing directly overhead.

The door burst open, and the two White Fang lieutenants stormed in.

The rough one led, shoving Ilia aside and grabbing Blake by her shirt. He hauled her to her feet, tearing stitches.

"They want to attack us while we have a hostage?" he demanded, spittle landing across Blake's face. "Fine, we'll show them what happens!"

He raised his hand, revealing a submachine gun and aiming the barrel in-between Blake's eyes. At her current aura, she knew she wouldn't survive a mag dump directly to her face.

Instead of shooting, the man expelled a harsh breath, and then began gasping for air. The moment of confusion gave way as he collapsed, revealing Ilia holding a bloody knife, angled downwards where his back had been.

"Argh!" she cried out as the second lieutenant — the quiet one — jabbed her in the side. Blake couldn't see it under his hand, but she suspected a taser of some sort. Ilia collapsed to the ground, twitching. The lieutenant held a gun in his right hand, and pointed it at the back of Ilia's head. Blake tried to muster her energy to intervene, but barely managed to climb to her hands and knees.

Bang!

A gunshot sounded, and the second lieutenant collapsed like a sack of bricks.

With wide eyes, Blake looked to the door.

Bang!

The guard that had been there with her and Ilia stood with his rifle raised, and another member of the White Fang — one Blake hadn't even noticed enter — joined the officers on the floor. A pool of blood began forming, the metallic scented liquid slowly flowing around her hands and legs.

The guard — who she was just noticing had horse ears, just like the one that had let her out of her cell when the Grimm began attacking — quickly knelt by Blake, wrapping one of her arms around his shoulders and standing. She did her best to hold on to him, though she found it hard to keep her balance.

"Why are you helping?" she mumbled, though she was fairly sure it came out something like 'whyre y'hlphig?'

In answer he took off his mask, revealing a rather plain face that Blake didn't recognize. However, then he rolled up his left sleeve, and Blake's eyes widened.

On his upper arm, there rested a small but prominent tattoo of a purple spider.

Before she could hobble a single step the door burst open again. Her rescuer awkwardly raised his rifle, but quickly lowered it when it was clear it wasn't the White Fang.

Instead, soldiers clad head to toe in black tactical gear burst into the room.

"Right clear!"

"Left clear!"

"All clear!"

The rifle barrels didn't stay on them for more than a moment, sweeping over the other occupants of the room, both deceased and alive.

"VIP located," One of the masked soldiers spoke, though Blake got the feeling it wasn't to anyone in the room. "Is the VIP critically injured?" the same masked man asked them as the others spread out. Two stayed in the room, crouching and keeping their guns trained on the doorway, paying no mind to the blood that stained their uniforms. Two more went back into the hallway, each headed in a different direction.

"No," the spider answered, helping lift her so that her other arm could go over the soldier's back. "Injured, but she'll make it to the bullhead."

"Afirm."

"Ilia…" Blake called weakly.

The two paused.

"The girl on the floor," the spider answered. "Defected just before she was taken out. She's a tentative green."

The soldier nodded that he understood, and quickly signaled one of the men to carry her.

"Heading to deck with VIP," the soldier at her shoulder spoke, and like that they began moving.

She slowed them down considerably, but they hastily made their way to the deck. An entire separate team of soldiers cleared the way ahead of them, and though White Fang were around every corner, they were always dead before they could shoot.

Eventually they emerged on deck, followed by White Fang hounding their trail. The team that had been leading the way stayed at the bottom of the stairs to hold off pursuers, and Blake was basically carried the rest of the way across the deck. Several sleek black bullheads were spread across the deck, each with their engines running.

She was loaded into the closest one, and immediately a soldier with a white cross on his arm began looking over her. Her bullhead lifted off and began hovering, though the others remained on the ship. She ignored as he lifted what remained of her shirt to look at her torso, only wincing when he raised her arm too far. She kept her eyes outside, watching as ilia was loaded into a different bullhead, and the teams that had covered their retreat surfaced onto the deck and began running towards the bullheads. Some White Fang followed them up, but didn't make it far. The guns in the nearest bullhead whirred to life, turning the first few to make it on deck into red mist within moments.

Nobody followed them.

On the other side of the deck from where she had been rescued, Blake saw a flash of color. She looked on with wide eyes as Ruby and Weiss — the latter's white dress flecked with red — came up from below deck with all of team JNPR and Perseus himself. She was too tired to think about that.

Once they were loaded the remaining bullheads simultaneously lifted into the air, all rotating to face the same direction and speeding off.

As Blake watched the ship grow smaller, she wasn't surprised when it rapidly sank below the water, and soon there wasn't a sign that there had ever been a ship there in the first place.

Turning her attention to the bullhead's ceiling, she leaned back.

She was unconscious before her eyes closed.


Hope you enjoyed! Apologies for the very late upload - it's 11am I haven't slept so I could finish editing chapter 83 to the point I liked it. Ik I do this every update at this point, but this time I had a good reason I swear! Had to move on the 11th, which sucked a lot and basically have just been dealing with all of the results of that. I did know I would be moving when I set the release date though, so it's on me. Just didn't have it quite as edited as I wanted to come the 11th.

Somewhat related, but thinking about trying to write a lot more in the short-mid term. No promises but stay posted.

Also, love how ffn removes all my formatting so I have to go through and redo it every time I update. Thank you ffn very cool.

Anyway, let me know what you thought! I appreciate your reviews & comments. Pat ron and discord are on my profile, come chat! And follow me on ao3 so you know when this site eventually decides I just can't upload chapters anymore.

Hope you guys have a great week!

:)

Next Chapter October 1st