#I have so many pages open with references to like. double check my memory on things

[gryfon-spanish-werewolf]

Soulsborne!Frozen AU: Great Knight Annatorias, the Abyss Walker

This is @jabs-wocks and @daughterofhel’s fault but I’m also @-ing myself because apparently I don’t need much encouragement to write stories sometimes so…

Before getting started, this entire 3.5k (yes, that's the correct number) brain-on-fire, sleep depriving idea, was inspired by two pieces by @azaffranist and one by twitter user @agongbushou. I highly recommend checking the linked art out before reading, since I reference them at times directly.

Okay Soulsborne!Frozen au, Anna is Knight Artorias, legendary fighter, sent to the Abyss to seek and destroy the Darkness of the world itself.

No pressure or anything.

Anna is a brave hearted woman, shoulder to shoulder with those who fought and killed nigh immortal dragons. Her kind pluck such foul creatures from the sky with arrows larger than trees, with lightning more forked than a hurricane, and slay enemies with the kindness of silver and gold-tipped daggers.

Her own mighty broadsword swings over her left shoulder with ease, a smile on her lips as she walks. The Age of Fire is upon them, but there is fear in the hearts of the gods, and to save those who would, without help, succumb to the evil inside of them Great Knight Anna will stop at nothing.

There are monsters to kill, perverted and misguided souls, each one more disturbing and profane than the last, as each is born from the Abyss itself, a dark, treacherous place where no mortal would dare tread. The city of Oolacile is threatened, sinking slowly into Darkness as an ancient, promethean man eats it from the inside out.

But Anna holds courage in her heart, and should she need a reminder of strength or solace, she need only look to her right and Elsa, her direwolf companion, is next to her, ice-blue eyes speaking more than a voice ever could. Her pure white fur makes the Darkness shrink, her frost-like Light magic a boon in the most murky corridor. Elsa has a nose for danger, and can conjure crystals to warn of dangerous earth, poisoned water, a new rash of weather over the mountains, or the lurking threat of fire. Her pelt is soft and warm, and in the mountains where they camp she’s as cozy as a bonfire, her fluffy tail wrapped around Anna’s middle as the Knight snoozes against her side.

With such skill and determination, and pureness of heart, Anna is more than well equipped to fight the Darkness, especially when Elsa is with her every step of the way.

The Abyss calls itself Manus and it is a nightmare.

For the first time, Anna is overwhelmed. She is battered against the walls of this cave, she is clawed and crushed and flogged with fists of pure Darkness. Her ears ring with primal screams. Elsa’s magic is no more effective than her teeth, and Anna watches as her companion lunges at the Manus’ middle, watches how the Darkness warps impossibly, sees a hand of incredible size form above Elsa’s unprotected back. Anna moves.

She does not feel her arm shatter (that pain will come later) but she hears it, cracking and shredding and splintering, heedless of muscle and skin.

The shield’s magic forces Manus back, screeching into the Dark. A brief respite.

Elsa pants hard, the concussive force of the hit rattling already exhausted bones, empty of energy and magic. Anna knows Elsa will not survive another blow. She is still young, a pup, and deserves to grow, large and strong. A pelt, a life, as bright as Elsa’s should not be swallowed by the Dark.

Anna speaks the runes and the shield ignites with Light, protecting Elsa from the Abyss forever, but also protecting Elsa from following Anna as she hefts her greatsword in her off hand and limps back towards the sound of Manus’ roars. She closes her ears to Elsa’s pitiful cries.

The Dark would not claim another victim.

But it does.

-----

Whatever thou art, stay away.

Soon I will be consumed by ‘Them’, by the Dark.

All of you… forgive me. For I have availed you nothing.

-----

Hundreds of years later Elsa’s ears pick up the sound of an interloper in the graveyard. She rouses herself, shaking rainwater from her coat. The snowflake mark on her brow has dulled, no longer lively purple but a morose kind of brown, the color of bloodied earth long dry.

Elsa is tired. Thieves keep coming to steal what is most precious to her. Could they not see the weapons of their fellows littered on the ground? Monuments to greed, pillars of failure each one of them, a blade planted vertically in the dirt next to small, unmarked headstones. Don’t they see? They seek an object that will only kill them, the wicked artifact that allowed Anna to walk into the Abyss unharmed, only for claws of black to tear her asunder. The cursed item that allowed Anna’s fate.

No one should have the power to throw themselves so willingly onto Death’s sword.

As the thief approaches Anna’s enormous headstone, reaches their hand out to touch Anna’s greatsword, Elsa makes her presence known. She is a formidable sight: a fully grown Great Wolf, she towers, mountainous, over this puny looter. Anger shoots through Elsa, igniting her limbs as she leaps down and tears Anna’s weapon from the dirt. Again. To stop one so desperate to kill themselves. Again.

Elsa howls at the moon, anguish and guilt and fury clashing within her.

Let Anna rest, her work is done. Do not walk in her footsteps, as there lies only suffering.

She repositions the sword in her mouth and swings, long and sweeping as she has seen Anna do many times before.

Blood stains the rocky headstones in crimson arcs.

----

Elsa awakes yet again and everything has changed.

It is dark, unnaturally so. There is no graveyard, there are no trees, no whisper of wind through her coat. She is flat on her back and there is a strange man in a wheelchair to her right, telling her things. Yharnam? An Outsider? He mentions blood and suddenly Elsa’s nose is filled with it, cloying and pressing against her. How had she not noticed it before?

How also had she not noticed she was strapped to a bed?

He begins his so-called transfusion and Elsa sees that her feet do not end in paws and her tail is missing. Her teeth are no longer sharp as she tests them with her tongue and her muzzle does not like to growl but to grumble, too short to carry the sound forward.

But she does not have time to contemplate this as her vision blurs and she falls backwards into the dark once more.

A Beast of blood emerges from the floor but Elsa feels no kinship with it. The Beast is twisted and wrong, and as it reaches out to touch her it bursts into flame, screaming. Perhaps her Light magic still works here… or perhaps Anna’s shield is still bound to her, after all this time. For surely that creature is borne of the Abyss.

So too must these small pygmy-like wretches crawling up her stomach and chest. Fear jolts through Elsa’s heart as these pale things are not deflected by magic and instead reach her head and cover her eyes. A voice whispers in her mind.

“Ah… you’ve found a hunter…”

Anna?

The Hunter’s Dream is serene and soft compared to the Night eating Yharnam alive. Here there are flowers, a pleasant breeze that does not carry wails, and though there are graves it seems a peaceful place of rest for all, not just the dead.

And this is where Elsa finds her.

Anna. Her Knight, her long lost friend, lying against the garden wall. Her eyes are closed, peaceful in sleep. Elsa approaches with great joy but… something is wrong.

Anna… doesn’t smell like Anna. Elsa presses her nose against the woman’s cheek, just to be sure, but is chastised by the man inside a house at the top of the steps, the one who must have brought her here. Elsa remembers a piercing pain in her chest followed by a long dark like a heavy blanket, deep and inevitable. Perhaps she died the night of the thief, and this world is simply the next one. Anna, or perhaps not-Anna, has not stirred in the slightest to Elsa’s presence, and with another beckoning of the old man, Elsa realizes this is a mystery to be put aside for the moment. Besides, Anna is peaceful in this state, and… she was not peaceful the last time Elsa saw her. Maybe this is where she has been sleeping all along, as Elsa watched over her grave in the other world.

Elsa slowly gets used to walking on two legs, though she always misses her tail, expecting it on the back of her calves every other step. She is both taller and shorter than she feels she should be but the little pygmies do not laugh when she misses her target because of this. In fact they are friendly, bringing her trinkets at times. She understands them a little, as they too are non-verbal. Human language still eludes her, though Elsa realizes she has now, the ability to speak it, as clearly and easily as she used to speak to Anna with just her movements. No one seems to mind her silence, and in turn she feels no need to break it.

Except for the Doll.

That’s what the man calls her, the not-Anna. Now awake, she is kind and gentle, and while her warmth kindles familiarity in Elsa’s soul, it is not enough like the bonfire of a spirit Knight Anna always possessed. Though she shares Anna’s face, her voice is thinner, like a creek through reeds, shallow like music from another room. If this is what her Anna has been reduced to, then Elsa will care for her as she always has, her silent companion. But it is the only time Elsa wishes she could speak, align her muzzle and teeth and tongue in the right order for speech. But she, the Doll… Anna… this woman, seems to read Elsa’s eyes well enough, and always wishes her wellness and luck in her hunts.

The Yharnam Elsa now stalks may be new, but it is not unfamiliar. There are monsters here too, but they are not undead but Beasts, sick like the Darkness made humans sick. The town conjures a feeling of familiar unease, it is like Oolacile being consumed all over again. Elsa has been given a strange blade: a cane-sword, they called it a trick weapon. It has a different kind of grace than Anna’s greatsword, but Elsa can admire its stinging, erratic bite as it curls around shields and tears flesh with the same ease as her old jaw.

Elsa resigns herself to the Doll, this copy of Anna, a pale comparison but not an unkind one. Until the day she learns of Lady Anna, an Old Hunter, experienced slayer, and roaming ghost of Yharnam. The man tells Elsa that Lady Anna wishes to exterminate Beasts so that people can live in peace, forever, and she is as ruthless as she is discerning, relentless in her quest. Even the Doll has nothing but admiration in her too-soft voice for this person.

Elsa needs to meet this her, and sets out immediately. She sounds… very much like Great Knight Anna: firmly set in her beliefs and desire for goodness and peace in her grisly work, but Elsa swallows the glass-like shards of hope rising in her throat. Disappointment would be its own kind if dying.

She finds her in the Clock Tower. The likeness is uncanny, but if the Doll was an enthusiastic replacement, this body was a carbon copy. The swallowed glass gets lodged, stabbing into Elsa’s heart, but still, she dared not hope. This person, Lady Anna, was so… still. Knight Anna was never still, so much boundless energy, so much eagerness, the will to do good, to make safe haven, sometimes even robbed her of sleep. The woman sitting in a lonesome chair is not like that at all, she is calm, collected.

Perhaps she is dead.

Indeed, Lady Anna is covered in blood and Elsa does not see her chest breathe, not even an inch. Tentatively she reaches out a hand. Oh, now this would be cruel indeed - to find her Knight only for her to be dead and bloodless and empty of everything once again.

The vice-like grip around her wrist shocks Elsa from her thoughts.

“A corpse… should be left well alone.” A corpse, a corpse!? But Lady Anna is so very alive and her voice--

Unmistakable.

But quickly Elsa realizes she’s fighting for her life. There’s so much noise and movement and blood, so much blood it reeks. Lady Anna’s swings seem to come from nowhere, fire igniting in the wake of every slash and it’s dazzling and swift and uncanny… and yet.

Her stance may be foreign but her prowess is not, she directs her weapons with grace and skill, and the blades dance towards Elsa’s throat with a precision borne from battle hardened assurance.

Just like a knight. Just like Anna with her greatsword.

Suddenly Lady Anna is upon her, grabbing Elsa’s collar and pulling, clutching Elsa to her chest. It’s rough and unfriendly but Elsa knows deep down this is new and startling for both of them. Anna’s breathing is ragged despite her absolute dominance over the battlefield, her voice shaking with some burdening magnitude.

“I know you,” Lady Anna whispers in her ear.

And Elsa, having not made a sound this entire time except in exhaustion or pain, gets her too short tongue working and too small teeth out of the way to say, “And I know you. You are Lady Anna, protector of Yharnam, slayer of the Darkness that lurks in the hearts of men to make them Beasts, and you have done well to make a name for yourself here. But all of that I know only because I found myself here, in a Dream. When I was young, and Awake, I knew you as Great Knight Anna, warrior against the Darkness itself, and you held in your powerful grip a sword as tall as you so that you could always slay something larger than yourself. It flashed as brightly as your smile until it could no more. And the last I saw you was when I had no shared language to warn you, no voice to scream in grief as your arm shattered and yielded to profane horror. Despite your broken body you used your only able limb to shield me against death itself, magical and eternal. But it kept me from you, and you walked back into the Dark where I could not follow and then there was the most terrible quiet. I saw someone go in afterwards, and only then did I hear your voice again, but as it was never meant to be: broken and hollow and defeated. Dark.”

Lady Anna’s hand shakes, her other poised over Elsa’s heart. It could drive right through her chest, seek the Beast in Elsa’s blood and rip it out. But perhaps it was there before the infusion, one of kindred spirit instead of illness and madness. Anna releases her hold without warning and Elsa’s knees hit the ground hard.

“I… have felt a loneliness for so long,” Lady Anna says, almost to herself. “I have searched for years, every nook and cranny, guided by nothing but some deep knowledge of a phantom ‘other’ by my side, etched so deeply it could be in my very own blood. But this presence, this… twin soul, has never showed itself.” She looks at her swords. “They did not used to split, it was one weapon, until I could not stomach the void anymore. I threw it away, and fashioned these. They… somehow I knew I needed two. There were supposed to be two. Two… of… us.”

Elsa goes to answer but the words tangle in her mouth, gargled and guttural and rough. Speech flees from her again, focus gone, and Elsa clutches her throat, gasping. Lady Anna twitches, hands tightening on her weapons.

Anna’s voice holds the tension of a tripwire. “You--... She... I gave someone a name once. My closest friend. She had unique Light magic: small diamonds, blue, beautiful.” Her eyes flashed with her steel. “Show me. Tell me her name, or be not Hunter but Beast.”

And Elsa does.

The Clock Tower fills with floating diamonds, glittering and bright, etched with symbols of safety and protection and Light. They move and spin, arranging themselves into a shape, not a Yharnam rune but an older one, one only Anna would know. Elsa’s name in the language of the Age of Fire.

Anna drops her swords, clattering to the floor and embraces Elsa with arms so fierce and desperate that Elsa cannot breathe, until Anna’s shoulders slump and hitch with sobs and now Elsa holds Anna with tired, grateful hands.

“I thought…,” Anna manages, trembling in Elsa’s grasp, “I thought it was a Dream. All that before… really happened.” Anna clutches at Elsa’s clothes, like burying fingers in thick fur, “I have missed you every moment of my death, including all the seconds from when I Awoke without you, until now.”

Elsa wipes Anna’s tears away, clumsy in her joy but her eyes say everything her stubborn tongue won’t, and it is just like before, when she knows Anna understands her completely.

“In my defense,” Anna sniffs, regaining a bit of control, “I thought you’d be taller. And well, you were a wolf the last time we met.”

Elsa can’t help but smile at that, lending Anna an arm as they stand. The smile turns into quite the wolfish grin indeed when they realize at the same time that Elsa is in fact, an inch or so taller than Anna.

“You really did grow up without me, didn’t you?” Anna says wistfully, as though to chastise for leaving her behind.

Elsa makes a huffing sound that they both know is laughter and presses her forehead against Anna’s.

Finally. Her Knight. Her Lady.

Her home.

This time, neither will face the Darkness alone.

------

Alternate Endings, courtesy of questions asked by @daughterofhel (who patiently let me tell the ENTIRE story of Artorias and Sif AND the Good Hunter and the Doll and Lady Maria to contextualize this… entire… thing)

-Lady Maria!Anna is not immune to Beast blood like in canon and after joining up with Sif!Elsa actually succumbs to the plague and goes feral. Their roles are now reversed, Elsa is the badass Hunter with a Beast companion. They still know each other well enough to communicate but are ostracized from the other Hunters because Elsa refuses to kill Anna

-Because Elsa was a creature in her past life, the Beast blood takes hold very naturally, and it does not change her personality or sense of self. Lady Anna reclaims her greatsword trick weapon and travels Yharnam with Elsa by her side, now a were-beast. The magical snowflake on her forehead comes back and her fur is the same white/white-blonde as when she was a Great Wolf

-Lady Anna actually DOES rip Elsa’s heart out of her chest like that killer parry (for female Hunters only!), realizing seconds too late she has killed her life long friend who crossed time and space to find her. Distraught, Lady Anna consumes Elsa’s heart, drawing upon her vampiric, Vileblood ancestry to bond Elsa’s soul to hers. Other Hunters begin to hear rumors of a unique Beast stalking Yharnam, slaying it’s own kin and leaving behind oceans of blood. It has patchy red and white fur, a greatsword strapped to it’s back, and two different colored eyes: one green, one blue. Some even claim that it speaks to itself, though broken and twisted, and it will leave a trail of blue-glowing diamonds in areas safe to return to, lighting up the dark.

Players who fight this Beast are startled to learn that the heat-up phase is actually the Beast transforming into a much smaller, very human figure who begins to wield the trick weapon on its back with swift, deadly, and ferocious attacks. The figure will sometimes scale walls and launch attacks from above, the air along the cut of the weapon’s blade igniting into flame and leaving explosive blue crystals behind. Upon the boss’s defeat the player gets double the amount of Blood Echos they expect and as the person collapses a white soul emerges to entwine around a red one, dissipating into the ether together

[the-silentium]

Folded messages

Masterlist

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Words: 4900 words

Warnings: TUA season 1 and 2 spoilers, swearing.

Requested by: Anon

Hello!! I just recently read you 11 Five fic and I have to say it was incredible. I have no words to describe it, your writing is so good💖💖 with that, I was wondering if you did fics based on songs, if you do, would you mind doing a 5xreader based on “sway with me” by Micheal Buble? Idk what the plot could be, maybe they are in a mission from commission and have to go to a fancy ballroom. Maybe they are enemies. Maybe reader pulls him to dance around S2. The choices are endless, go crazy :”)

A/N: Finally I found time to write! I've had insomnia for too long because I couldn't write! Damn day job! 

On a better note, I really hope you guys like this little piece of fluff 💜 I swear, this started as a small idea and then it just got bigger and bigger. Sorry not sorry!

Was it even possible? The prospect of falling in love for someone of his nature was almost as high as his targets' survival rate. He wasn't an emotional man, his feelings were deeply buried in the depth of his heavily guarded heart, locked away in a three inches thick chest that was itself hidden in an impossible maze where traumas and demons were furiously protecting the paths. 

Add this to the fact that he never saw her, not even once, the only proof of her existence being the small animals made of colorful folded paper that appears in his jacket pockets whenever he crossed her path, the possibilities of developing such feelings were in no way probable. The origami aside, the woman seemingly took pleasure in throwing wrenches into his work. He was asked to assassinate a brilliant inventor who was getting too close to discovering the secrets of time-traveling? It would have been an easy job if it wasn’t that every single bullet he had in his possession suddenly disappeared, forcing him to finish the job with his knife. 

There was another time, he was tasked with the termination of a group of people meeting in the back of a bar, his guns were loaded, his knives were sharpened, he was full of juice, there was no way that this job would take more than one minute and forty-three seconds. He made his way to the door leading to the room hosting his targets when he noticed a small dark purple llama on the door handle. He pocketed the folded piece of paper for later and tried the handle to find out that it wouldn't even turn on itself. The assassin rolled his eyes at the futile attempt to keep him from completing his mission, he closed his hands into fists but his ability decided to fail at this right moment.

The door behind him closed on a loud banging noise, a delicate click following closely behind, indicating that the door was locked from the other side. Five remembers it clear as day, the moment he knew he had found his equal. He heard you giggling lightly on the other side of the door and his heart started speeding up. Not in anger, not in annoyance nor in embarrassment. He couldn't say what it was, but he knew for sure that he wanted more of it. 

It happened four times, you making his job more challenging and him receiving a small gift before Five decided to do some research. In a box carefully concealed under the double bottom of his drawer were stored every paper animal he found during his missions along with books about origami and colors. 

An olive green and lavender cat, a dark blue dragon, an orange fish and a dark purple llama were now aligned on his desk in order of acquisition. The different books were opened on different pages and then Five started his information gathering. He scribbled in his notebook the different significance associated to each color and animal and an hour and a half later, he was contemplating his findings. 

The cat was a symbol of independence and mystery among other things. Its olive-green body with the patches of lavender told him that the first gift was, in fact, a peace offering from a feminine person. Her very own olive branch that he took long enough to decipher. 

Then there was the dragon, symbol of power, wisdom, mastery and success. The dark shade of blue told him that the dragon was full of knowledge, power and seriousness. He frowned, thinking and slightly hoping that maybe this was how she saw him. 

He didn't know what to think of the orange fish. Happiness, freedom and energy. He couldn't relate to this one, having not been free for many years now as stipulated by his contract with the Commission. He was a slave, used for his ability and his will to do everything to survive one more day and save his family from their imminent doom. 

Maybe the fish was a reference to yourself. This was the only explanation he could find. You were a young adult from what he deduced of your giggles and were pretty happy and free if the folded paper was anything to go by. 

The last gift proved that Five's theory stipulating that every origami was a metaphor about yourself and himself was correct. 

A dark purple llama. An animal representing hard work, endurance under difficult situations and responsibility. His heart accelerated at the possibility that you knew that he was trying to buy some time and betray his employer sooner than later. Would you rat him out? He really hoped that the olive cat meant that you were on his side and not against him, he would really hate to put an end to the warm feeling dancing in his chest whenever he realized that you were around and ready to play a trick on him. 

Now if he followed your logic, the next one he will receive will say more about yourself and he couldn't wait to be assigned to another mission so that he had a chance to learn more about you or even possibly see you. You, his little time traveler. Five had thought about this for the longest of time and he came to the conclusion that you were indeed a time traveler. The Commission kept very close control over their briefcase so there was no way that you had one in your possession, he would know, after all, he checked the lost briefcases records and they were all reported destroyed. 

To his dismay, his next mission was uneventful. He got in and got out. No hiccup, no paper animal. Nothing. It went like this for his next six missions and with every passing success, Five found himself getting irritated. Every night he found himself chasing your shadow in his dreams and every time you managed to evade his attempts at catching you. One morning when even his first coffee of the day wasn't enough to ease his frustration, he thought of a plan that would allow him to finally see you. 

To avoid making his kills personal, Five always prioritized a long-range way to kill, meaning with guns. Guns had a way to remove all responsibilities off his shoulder and lighten his soul at the end of the day. He had enough demons consuming more and more of his conscience on a daily basis, he definitely could do without this kind of remorse. Sure, he was the one who pulled the trigger, but ultimately, it was the bullet that killed the target, not his hands. 

But tonight, Five decided that he would complete his mission with the idea that you were around. If you were, then he would finally meet you. If not, he would need something strong to accompany his coffee. Whiskey maybe. 

He abandoned his prized sniper in the deserted building next to the one his target was currently dancing in and made his way to a back door. There he space-jumped inside the building and quickly blended himself with the crowd. He found himself straightening his suit in the case you were around and made his way to the bar. 

A glass of whiskey in hand, Five turned his back to the counter and analyzed the crowd in search of his wealthy bastard who was enjoying his very last evening on this Earth. There he was, dancing around, totally unconcerned of the people around him. 

Unconsciously, Five reached into his pockets where the gifts usually appeared out of thin air, his fingers searching around as they did a hundred times before but ultimately finding nothing. With a frustrated groan, Five grabbed his glass, emptied its content in one gulp, smashed the glass back on the counter and pushed his way to his target. Another night without your little schemes meaning another night chasing your shadow in his sleep. If this was how the night would unfold, then he wanted to finish this quickly. 

Five's hand reached for his target, grabbed a hold of his upper arm and pulled him in a nearby hallway before jumping the both of them in the nearby abandoned building where his weapons were patiently waiting for him. 

Five turned around to face his target, knife in hand and ready to strike when his breath caught in his throat and every muscle in his body contracted, stopping every movement. Where his prey stood mere milliseconds ago was now an elegant woman in a beautiful gown, all smile and giggling at his reaction. He knew it was you the second he heard your giggles, causing his heart to skip a beat and his fingers to let go of the sharp weapon. 

He stopped himself from moving a stray strand of hair behind your ear, instead choosing to release his grip on your arm and take a step away. You were too beautiful, so much more beautiful than what he imagined, with your shining eyes, your soft-looking hair, your perfectly curved body, he tried to burn every detail into his memory. 

"Dance with me?" You asked, closing the distance and reaching for his hand. Your movement got him out of his thoughts and everything came back full force. The mischievous glint into your eyes caused a smirk to form on his lips.

"You just want to keep me from my job." And you were doing a magnificent job at it.

"Is it working?" You batted your eyelashes in an innocent way, making Five roll his eyes before he positioned your hands correctly and pull your body so that you were almost touching each other. 

You smiled in satisfaction, following his steps flawlessly on a tempo only he could hear. The blue-eyed man enjoyed the silent minute, savoring the feeling of your soft skin cradled into his palm and the warmth of your waist radiating through the fabric under his opposite hand. The comfortable silence was soon replaced by a soft song playing in the background, stopping Five in his tracks and almost causing you to fall if it wasn’t for his strong arms keeping you up and close. 

Five eyes finally left your face and widened at the new scenery surrounding him. The once dusty floor was now pristine and exempt of all the trash and needles that were once lingering around, the tagged walls were perfectly painted in a new shade of light grey, giving the room a nice glow under the gleam of the light strings hanging from the ceiling. 

Five didn’t know his mouth had opened in awe before you chuckled and your hand left his shoulder to caress his chin, effectively causing him to close it. 

"I take it that you like it?" Your eyes were shining under the soft lights and the pride he saw in them almost got a smile out of him.

"You made this?" He was still stunned about the complete makeover of the room. Even the lingering moldy smell disappeared, letting a pleasant smell floating around in its place. 

"You’re not the first one the Commission took a liking to, ya know. I’m kinda like an illusionist, but my stuff is the real deal. They saw my potential and offered me a job, which I refused and they’ve been on my tail ever since." You shrugged, replacing your hand at its rightful place on his shoulder. 

Five was truly amazed by the woman standing in front of him. Her ability had so many possibilities and she managed to escape the Commission for seemingly a long time. Add this to the fact that she can time-travel and play tricks on the best assassin this planet has ever seen, Five has never been so interested in someone like that before, not even Dolores who has been his everything for many years. 

"I can see why they were interested in you." He resumed his dancing, this time following the rhythm of the soft music playing around them. "Having two abilities is pretty rare."

You shook your head, before clarifying. "I only have one. I don't know where you get the second one from." You frowned in confusion, which reflected on his own face. 

"But you time-travel." He remembered finding the folded fish in the 1800s, the dragon around the 1950s and today was September 23th, 1987.

"Yeah, the same way as you. With a briefcase." You nodded toward the black briefcase neatly placed near the window. Five only got more and more confused. 

"But they were all dest-" He cut himself at your cheeky grin. "You created your very own. Impressive."

"Thank you." You were beaming at that point and Five felt proud that he was the source of your happiness. 

The slow song ended but neither of you stopped moving your feet in unison. Five was enjoying himself like never before and he wasn't in a hurry to end it. The corner of his lips quirked upward when he realized that you pressed yourself against him when the song ended, your way of saying that you didn't want this to end either. 

You silently danced the second song in its entirety, living every second like everything would disappear at any moment. Five was scared that this was a one night deal and that he would never see you again. Why did you reveal yourself tonight of any other night? 

Before he gathered the courage to ask you, the song reached its end and a completely different kind of music floated in the air. 

When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

Five pulled away slightly, not much, only to be able to see the sheepish smile on your lips. "I love this song." Was your only answer to his frowned brows. 

Five laughed softly before stepping away and made you spin. He pulled you back to him, your melodious laugh bouncing around him like the greatest melody ever written. 

Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me

It was clear that neither of you knew how to dance on this song, but you didn't care. You were both moving around freely, Five making you spin from time to time. 

Other dancers may be on the floor

Dear, but my eyes will see only you

Only you have that magic technique

When we sway I go weak

Five's heart was beating quickly, not because of the physical exercise, he was trained to accomplish way more than dancing without breaking a sweat, but because the sight of your delighted face stroked something deep within himself. A primal need. The need of a life partner. Someone who he could trust blindly and love without holding back. 

I can hear the sounds of violins

Long before it begins

Make me thrill as only you know how

Sway me smooth, sway me now

A too-quick step made you trip on your own feet, in an attempt to keep you on your feet Five reached for your arms but it was already too late. Instead of helping, Five only unbalanced you more leading you to fall to the ground and drag the man with you. Thanks to his sharp reflexes, Five caught himself on his forearms before he crushed your small form under his larger one. 

When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

For a moment the assassin's heart stopped in fear. He hasn't felt afraid in years and it definitely wasn't a feeling he had missed. Your laugh flicked a switch in his heart, making it beat again in an erratic rhythm that he was almost embarrassed of. He guessed that if feeling that good meant that sometimes he was going to be afraid, it wasn't a big deal. He could deal with his fears if at the end of the day you were fine and happy in his arms. 

Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me

"I'm so sorry Five!" You managed to say after catching your breath. Tears rolled from your eyes and into your hair, the reflection of the lights above creating stars in your eyes. 

"It's fine." Was all he could say, for his brain had stopped working when he realized that only a couple of centimeters separated the two of you. His body started heating up to his dismay, Five pushed on his arms and sit on his heels to help you sit up. 

When marimba rhythms start to play

Hold me close, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

"Thanks." You muttered while passing a hand through your messy hair. 

The sound of a metallic object falling on the ground made you jump. Five frowned, confused as to why the Commission would send him another assignment right now and not wait until his return. 

"What was that?" You whispered. 

"My employer." He was beyond annoyed by the interruption. They couldn't have chosen a worse time than tonight. 

Offering you a helping hand, Five got up and helped you when your hand closed on his. He couldn't stop himself, he enlaced his fingers through yours, the tightness of your grip made him chuckle. 

"Don't worry, they are not here." He lightly hit the wall near the window with the underside of his fist, searching for a spot on the wall that wasn't hollow. When he found it, he searched for the dissimulated door and took the canister with his name written on it. 

Releasing your hand, Five opened the canister, took the folded paper and read the words. Terminate Y/N L/N. How was he supposed to terminate someone he didn't even know? This job was so frustrating! He folded back the paper, storing it in his pants pocket. This would have to wait. He turned back to you and the sight bring a genuine smile to his lips. 

You were smiling at something outside the window, the light of the moon joined to the string lights gave you an angelic glow. He would have loved to contemplate you longer, but duty called and he now had two targets instead of one. 

"I have to go." He didn't dare say it too loud, maybe time would stop and let him live this perfect night for all eternity. 

You turned around with a small smile on your lips. He could see that you were disappointed even though you nodded like it was nothing. "Well, tonight couldn't go on forever." You walked up to him, with each one of your steps Five felt himself growing weak in the knees. Oh how he didn't want to go. "It's fine. I'll find you again." At that, you tenderly reached for his cheek while your lips pressed a delicate kiss on the other one, stealing his breath. 

You giggled, surely at the blush covering his cheeks and walked away, the illusion fading along with your steps. Just as you were about to walk down the stairs, Five remembered something. 

"Wait! I didn't get your name!" He quickly space-jumped in front of you to block your path. 

"Y/N L/N." Her smile dropped when a dark expression fell on his face. Even if he tried, he couldn’t have repressed it, the surprise and the anger were too much. 

"You have to leave." He didn’t know how they found her, he always made sure he didn’t have any bug on himself before going on a mission. 

"N-not that I wasn’t doing that anyway, but w-why the long face?" His fingers twitched at the waver in your voice. It wasn’t his intention to scare you, even less to scare you off. 

"The Commission knows you’re here. I don't know how, but they know." Five was starting to get tired of them pretty quickly. Maybe one day he would get out of there with explosions resonating through the hallways. Maybe he could use grenades. Yeah, grenades were good. 

You started to walk down the stairs when you stopped and turned to him, one last time. "Be careful."

Five smirked although your concern was touching. "I should be the one telling you that." 

With one last giggle, you walked out of his sight. Five returned to his very first task of the night, took place at his spot by the window and finished the initial job. 

Back at the Commission that night, Five removed his jacket, eager to go to bed and find himself dancing in your arms again to the sound of soft slow music. A sound caught his attention when he threw his jacket on the back of his chair, the sound of crumbling paper. 

His hands searched his pocket, grabbing the grey fox that somehow found its way into his jacket without him noticing. A smile stretched his lips before he carefully slipped the fox under his pillow and went to bed. 

A whole year passed before the next animal appeared in his pocket. As frustrated as he was of being away from you for a whole year, Five knew why this was necessary. The Commission was close on your tail. Apparently, he wasn't the only agent tasked of your termination and some got lucky enough to find your location but not enough to hurt you. 

The whole year he kept tabs on the Commission's information on you and kept worrying that someday he would find a red stamp crossing out your picture.  As of today, his worst nightmare hasn't yet come true, so he pushed his worry aside and continued his job. 

He assembled his sniper, preparing himself to kill the president of the United States in 1963 when something hit him in the head. It didn't hurt or anything, it was light as a leaf. Frowning, Five pulled away from the scope of his weapon to discover a brown frog made of folded paper lying on the ground next to his feet.

Receiving one of your signature gift after all that time caused his heart to skyrocket in his chest. All those feelings he had repressed, fearing that one day you would be gone for good and that he would definitely be alone in this cruel world, came rushing back at full speed, making him drop his gun and look around for you. 

You weren't far, waving at him with a tired smile on your face, dark shadows marking the underside of your eyes. He didn't take the time to run, simply jumping to you and engulfing your body into his arms.

Many times he thought about how much he had fallen for you after only one dancing night and five tricks followed by origamis. If it were someone else, he would have told them that they were being stupidly influenced by their primal urges that forced them to find a partner and procreate, for this was the circle of life since the dawn of time. In his case, he knew it was much more than that. It was more important to him than a need to procreate. He had found his equal, someone that sparked an insatiable interest in him and showed him that there was way more in this life than what he originally knew. 

Five tensed as soon as he heard the first sobs. Immediately he started to scan your body for wounds or blood, anything to show that you were hurt. However, his analysis was cut short by both your hands cradling his cheeks. 

"I'm fine. I'm just real' tired and I'm so happy to see you." Your arms wrapped around his neck forcing Five to hug your body closer. Not that he minded. 

He whispered words of reassurance into your hair while thinking of what to do next. You couldn't keep fleeing the Commission alone, not in your state. They would catch up to you in no time and he couldn't have that. He couldn't say that he killed you to get them off your back, the higher-ups would request physical proof of your death. It only left him with his last resort. He would have liked to find the good variable, but time was against him so he would have to deal with it. 

"I have a plan, don't worry." He dried her tears with his thumb when she lifted her head to look into his eyes. "I'll get us out of here." 

You managed a smile before chuckling. "I know. Why do you think I gave you a brown frog? A frog to ensure a safe return of your journey and brown for home." 

Five shook his head, once again amazed at how perfectly you could read him despite everyone else describing him as unpredictable. 

He grabbed your hands in his, mentally reciting the equation he passed the last 45 years developing. Before the portal appeared, Five stopped everything in a hurry, scaring the shit out of you. He let go of your hands for two seconds, enough time for him to run back at his sniper, grab the brown frog and run back at you. You rolled your eyes when he secured the frog in his jacket pocket, quickly saying that it has sentimental value, before concentrating on the portal again. 

The blue vortex appeared, its power pushing them away. It took every ounce of strength into Five's body to pull you with him through the portal, your weakened state left you helpless in front of the blue resistance. 

Five did his best to catch you during the fall, your body falling directly on top of his, stealing his breath for a moment. 

You managed to roll off of him, allowing him to take a nice bowl of air to fill his lungs. He made it. You weren't 100% safe, but he could have help now. He cou-

"Five." The worry in your voice along with your hand closing tightly on his forearm pushed him to sit up quickly and find the source of the danger. He understood your reaction when his eyes fell on his siblings who looked like hell. 

"You guys didn't change one bit." He deadpanned. His usual unimpressed face was back in service at the gaping fish-like faces of his siblings. 

"We should be the one telling you that. You haven't aged at all!" Klaus yelled, his outstretched arms moving up and down in his direction. 

Confused, Five glanced at his body and realization hit him like a brick. He knew something wasn't right! 

Your repressed giggles caught his attention, he found your 13 years old body, a hand on your mouth desperately trying to keep a full-on laugh in. He couldn't help but notice how much more tired you looked in your younger self. 

"It's not funny." Was all he said before he spacial-jumped the two of you to his old bedroom. There he guided you to the bed where he helped you get under the covers and watched you get comfortable. 

"It is funny." Five scoffed and went to the door, knowing his siblings were gathered behind it and very probably listening to their conversation. He hit the door with his foot and as expected, Klaus yelled in pain, complaining about his hurting ear. 

"I'll be downstairs to talk in a few minutes so get lost." He told them through the door. He was awarded by some angry muttering and finally, fading footsteps. 

He walked back to your side when he was sure that everyone went on their merry way, sitting on the nearby chair with your hand in his. 

"You need to rest. You'll be safe here." He kissed your hand at your tired smile. "I'll stay until you fall asleep, that okay?" You nodded, already your eyelids seemed pretty heavy. 

"I missed you Five."

You were out in less than two minutes, your breathing became deeper and slower, your facial muscles relaxed and your mouth opened slightly allowing Five to hear your even respiration. 

The boy didn't notice exactly when it happened, but the demons were now silent and the traumas shrank in size, forming a clear path toward the center of the maze that was his heart. There, the three inches thick chest that was protecting his feelings was now wide open, strings were delicately wrapped around them, not too tight as to not suffocate them, but with just enough contact so that he could permanently feel her affection enveloping him.  

"I missed you too."

[A/N] This passed SO close to having an angsty ending! So close! I figured you guys had enough angst with 11 already… and the part 2 that's coming next. 

[tchallasbabymama]

M’Baku’s Love-Chapter 1

Hey y’all, sooooo this is inspired by Sylvie’s Love. It was such a sweet movie that made me feel all the feels, so I felt the need to write a love story for our Thicc Kang. Seriously, go watch it on Prime if you can. Let me know what y’all think, and check out my masterlist if you haven’t already! I have a few one shots and a series for both our king and our prince. 

This one’s on the shorter side, but enjoy!

Word count: 2992

When M’Baku integrated the Jabari into the rest of Wakandan society he had some concerns about there being some cultural friction. Having been separated for centuries, M’Baku assumed his people would have a hard time with adjusting to the new union, but as it turned out he didn't have to worry. Above all, he was worried about lowland Wakandans possibly subjecting his people to their prejudices, but it turned out that they have a pretty similar society to the Jabari and they meld really well. The different tribes of Wakanda all live in their separate provinces and have their own ways of living just like the Jabari, the only difference being that they interacted with the larger community that included the rest of Wakanda as well. 

The chief’s misconceptions and prejudices about the other Wakandans were soon wiped out and replaced with a love of his country. The whole of it, as opposed to just his domain. He even began to enjoy his trips to the city, still finding the advancements unnecessary but amazing nonetheless. Over time, he grew curious of the outside world after befriending Prince N’Jadaka. The prince would regale him with horror stories of life on the outside, some were personal others were from around the diaspora. 

However, M’Baku still couldn't understand the outside world, so King T’Challa decided  it would be best if he get to experience it for a while. At first, he was against it. Why would he want to experience such a horrible place? After much effort, T’Challa was able to convince him to spend three months in Oakland at the Outreach Center. At first, M’Baku thought the time span was excessive. He was Chief of the Jabari and had important duties to attend to, after all, he couldn’t just go galavanting halfway across the world just because he couldn’t grasp the concept of white supremacy. 

M’Baku made his way through the hallways of the royal palace and when he arrived at the large ornate door to the king’s office, the guards saluted him before parting and letting him pass. He raised his fist to knock when T’Challa spoke up from inside.

“Enter.”

M’Baku cautiously opened the door and looked at the king with confusion written all over his chiseled face.

“How did you-”

“The heart shaped herb gives me enhanced hearing among many other things. Come, sit down. How has the tour been so far?”

In addition to his time in the outside world, M’Baku had chosen to learn more about the tribes of Wakanda. He had spent one weekend a month with a different tribe to understand their way of life. He only just started but so far the river tribe was in the running for second favorite.

“It is going well, umhlobo wam. You all are not too different from Jabari, aside from the frivolous gadgets.”

T’Challa smiled at his stubborn friend’s unwillingness to accept their technology. Getting him to wear Kimoyo beads was harder than bathing a cat, but he eventually came around but only for communication purposes. Some Jabari, especially the younger ones took right to it, but most were still living their traditional lives. 

“I noticed the same thing when I stayed with you...the second time, clearly.” 

The two chuckled at the now fond memory of the king almost dying at the hands of his newly beloved cousin. 

“Clearly. So have you decided on a departure date yet?”

“Yes, I will be leaving with you and staying for about a week to check on the centers myself and help you acclimate. Obviously N’Jadaka will be there as well but I figured you’d want someone with you that’s a little more…”

“Level headed?”

“N-, well, yes, but also no. He is doing well at the Center, but he is still...himself.”

The prince was a wildcard. One you want to have in your hand, but a wildcard nonetheless. M'Baku  needed someone with a slightly longer fuse and a calmer disposition to show him around. 

“Well I would not have it any other way, he is quite entertaining at times.”

A grin creeped up the king’s face as he thought of how his cousin’s progress had allowed for the parts of personality that aren’t rooted in anger to shine through. 

“I agree. So, since I’ll be accompanying you we have to leave tomorrow.”

“I will alert my council.”

——————

The heat in California was marginally better than Wakanda, but still too high for M’Baku’s liking. He would have preferred to visit in the middle of their winter when the temperatures were milder, but anything over 60 degrees felt like a sauna to him. He also wasn’t used to having so much unprotected skin showing, but the weather called for his arms and legs to be free from fabric. His size and physique made him hyper visible and he noticed several of the volunteers doing double-takes as he and T’Challa walked through the halls of the Wakandan Outreach Center. He knew some of the attention was because the king didn’t visit often, but when he would catch eyes lingering on him he’d smirk and keep on moving.

T’Challa took him on a tour of the Center that ended with N’Jobu’s memorial in room 1401, which was preserved like a museum exhibit. The room stood as a reminder of Wakanda’s dark past, and a promise to never repeat it. M’Baku walked around the memorial, silently paying his respects to the murdered Wakandan prince and taking in the scene. The small plaques around the room gave visitors information about Prince N’Jobu, his family, his mission, and his death.  

“Why did you go with these instead of virtual pages? Or whatever they are called...” M’Baku asked.

“Holograms. I felt it would take away from the feeling of heaviness this room invokes on you when you enter. This memorial needs to be both seen and felt for it to be effective.”

M’Baku nodded slowly, eyes still roaming around the room.

“Come, my friend,” T’Challa clapped him on the shoulder. “You will have plenty of time to come back here if you wish. For now, let me show you to your office.”

“Office?” The two walked down yet another hallway and headed up to the top floor.

“Yes, you didn’t think this was a vacation did you?” The king chuckled.

“Well, no but I assumed it would be more study than work.”

“It is both. You will be our Jabari Ambassador while you are here. I would like for you to come up with a skillshare program that will allow for the kids here in Oakland to learn your ways. One of the purposes of our Outreach Center is to bring about cultural understanding between us and our diaspora siblings, who we are now referring to as the Lost Tribe at the prince’s request. For now, we just have Oakland but eventually I plan to expand the program. Shuri is over the STEM program, Nakia handles social outreach, and N’Jadaka keeps the whole thing running smoothly, and you will make sure the Jabari are represented in our curriculum.”

“It would be my honor to bring Jabari ways to the Lost children.”

“I’m glad, now here is your office,” T’Challa pointed to a corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the bay. “It is not a throne room, but it is quite nice.”

The king then took the time to show him the basic technology he would need to use and some of the more advanced technology at his disposal he knew he would probably never touch.

“You will have plenty of time to settle in tomorrow, for now I will show you your apartment,” T’Challa led the way back through the center and out to the car which took them about 10 minutes away to an apartment building. 

“Our buildings are much more impressive,” M’Baku remarked.. It warmed T’Challa’s heart to hear his friend refer to Wakanda proudly instead of just his own corner of the country, and he let out a chuckle. Things really can change…

“I completely agree, my friend.”

The apartment turned out to be a loft that was the perfect size for the large Jabari Chief. The high ceilings, the open space, the floor to ceiling windows, the exposed brick...M’Baku actually liked it. 

“Worthy of a chief?” T’Challa asked.

“That it is,” M’Baku said, walking around and taking in the space. The restaurant style kitchen was fully stocked with all his vegetarian favorites and some soon to be new favorites as well. He picked up a square package and stared at it in confusion, never having seen the meat-substitute before. “What is this to-fu?”

“It’s a very popular protein source made from soybeans.”

M’Baku nodded then moved to the living space, surprised to see a television, but the king explained he would need to stay up on current events, or maybe even watch a movie every now and then.

When T’Challa showed him the thermostat, he was so ecstatic he immediately put it on the lowest setting.

“I should leave before you freeze me out. If you need anything I’m just a kimoyo bead aw-,” T’Challa cut himself off when another, more important thought occurred to him. “Oh, I forgot to mention you’ll be getting an assistant. I sent three files to your beads, take a look and hire whichever one fits you best”

“Thank you, brother.” The two shook hands and saluted each other before the king left to give M’Baku his space. 

The chief admired the Jabari wood furniture and the furs on the couch, plopping down to try to figure out how to work the television. After some time, he found a news station and only lasted about 5 minutes before he needed to turn it off. Instead, he accidentally switched to a thing called HBO Max and clicked on a show where the main character looked familiar somehow.

“In West Philadelphia, born and raised,” the theme song played over and over and over as M’Baku binged his first tv show, laughing the whole way.

A few hours passed and he was brought back from tv land by a rumble in his stomach. Not in the mood to cook, he decided to explore the neighborhood and look for food instead. 

After just a few minutes M’Baku came to a stop in front of a place called Cafe V. He stopped to take a look at the menu in the window when he felt a small, or regular sized, person bump into his side. His eyes travelled down to see who would dare shove Lord M’Baku, Chief of the Jabari, when his eyes landed on a caramel-complected goddess with a bright teal fade. His face immediately softened as she stammered through an apology.

“I-I am so s-sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I got a text and, it doesn’t matter, are you ok?”

He struggled to find the words.

“Yes, are you? That was quite the impact.”

She was surprised by his kindness and gave him a smile.

“It was, wasn’t it?” The two shared a quick laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m running late to meet a friend...literally.” 

“Well I would not want to keep you, but please be mindful of your surroundings. I am sure everyone is not as nice as I am.”

“That’s for sure. Oh, and by the way,” she leaned in as if to tell him a secret. He leaned in to listen to whatever she had to tell him. “There’s a Black-owned vegan restaurant around the corner there.”

M’Baku’s eyes lit up, “Two things I love.”

“Black people and vegan food?” 

“Precisely,” a grin overtook his face and she couldn’t help but stare at his adorable gap. 

“Well I really have to go, nice meeting you stranger!” 

And with that, she was off before he could even get her name. The best he could do is hope she’d crash into him on the sidewalk again one day.

“I really hope she is more careful,” he said to himself as he rounded the corner to The V Spot.

——————

Monday morning, M’Baku arrived at the outreach center full of nervous energy. He had wanted to look nice for his first day, but his tunic felt like it was cutting off his circulation the closer he got to the building. When he finally arrived in his office, he found it full of royals. 

“Nigga you look uncomfortable as hell in that,” N’Jadaka was, naturally, the first to call out the obvious. Thankfully, the Queen came to his rescue.

“Stop it Daka, you’d look uncomfortable in Jabari attire,” Nakia said as she undid his top button. “There. Better?”

“Much. I did not want to ruin the look.”

“Turning blue ruins the look, genius,” Princess Shuri chimed in. 

“Sister, he wasn’t blue...yet. If we hadn’t gotten here when we did the Jabari would’ve been out a Chief,” the king added. 

“Ha. You all are very funny. Are you done?”

“We’re just fucking with you, man. How you liking the loft?”

“It is wonderful. I am almost embarrassed to say I have watched the television for several hours. Have you ever seen the Fresh Prince of Bel Air? It is hilarious!”

“Aw hell yeah, that’s like thee funniest show hands down. You know what? While you’re here, I’m introducing you to alllllll the Black entertainment. You’re gonna love it, niggas stay laughing at something.”  

“Speaking of, I thought… that word-“

“You can say nigga. You’re a nigga too, my nigga.” 

T’Challa leaned over to M’Baku, “It is an adjustment, but the reclaiming of slurs can be a powerful thing for oppressed peoples. And it’s just so versatile.”

“What an interesting language…”

“Are we teaching an English class or are we meeting about curriculum…?” Shuri asked impatiently before her brother pinched her arm.

“Ouch! I’m telling mother.”

“Go ahead, I’ll tell her you’ve been sneaking out at night to hang with your little friends.”

Shuri shot her cousin a deadly glare, making him put his hands up in surrender.

“I didn’t say shit. He’s a walking lie-detector, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Nakia and M’Baku snickered at the situation they had no part in. Nakia, because she knew her husband had known for quite some time and would never snitch on his baby sister, but always had Dora following her at a safe distance. M’Baku enjoyed the moment because he and the Princess had a love-hate relationship and seeing her in “trouble” tickled him. 

The moment passed and the five of them moved to a conference room to discuss the upcoming summer. Shuri advocated for a nanobots workshop on weekends and Nakia laid out her plans for summer programs. The king and prince listened closely and N’Jadaka gave his input here and there. T’Challa mostly nodded along, as this was more so his cousin’s job than his. He just signs the checks. 

“...and Monaé just hired three new dance instructors because our classes are so popular with the community. She’ll discuss it in the Department Head meeting later-“

“Is that not what this is?” M’Baku asked, genuinely confused.

“If anything this is more of an executive meeting. We each oversee our departments, but have help running them. That’s who we will meet with in about 15 minutes.” Nakia responded, checking her beads for the time.

The executives finished their meeting just as other people started to roll in. Kitchen staff brought up some breakfast for everyone, and as soon as M’Baku stood to grab a bagel his knees nearly buckled. There she was, Miss In A Hurry herself. He tried to play it cool and keep his smile under wraps, but when she caught sight of the blinding whiteness from the other side of the room she recognized him immediately and waved. 

“Friend of yours…?” T’Challa asked quietly with a raised brow. The man had only been here 24 hours…

“She ran into me on the street the other day and recommended an amazing restaurant. I should go say thank you…”

“Yes you should...why aren’t you?”

“I-“

“Mhm,” T’Challa said before turning to the rest of the attendees. “Everyone, please welcome Lord M’Baku, Chief of the Jabari. He will be here the next three months integrating Jabari culture into our curriculum. As many of you know, the Jabari-“

M’Baku tuned T’Challa out, staring instead at the girl with the teal fade. The look on her face when the king introduced him made him want to go hold her. It was painstakingly obvious that she was embarrassed to have almost run over royalty. 

“-until we started the integration process a year ago. Now, Lord M’Baku you may have the floor.”

M’Baku cleared his throat and shook himself from his daydream. 

“Uh, hello. I am sure it will be a pleasure to work here with you all. I would like to meet with each department head at some point this week to discuss how to make your programs more inclusive of Jabari customs. We can start scheduling those after we are finished here.”

The meeting went on for about an hour with M’Baku and the department heads furiously taking notes. M’Baku was pleasantly surprised that he wasn’t the only one using a physical notepad and pen. He looked to the stranger from earlier and noticed her bright notebook with a multicolored neon leopard cub in the middle. The name on the side read “Lisa Frank”, but he wasn’t sure if that was her name or the artist. She used several different colored pens to take her notes, and the red cat eye glasses he didn’t see on her face the other day kept slipping down her nose. She was a colorful one, that was for sure.

By the time the meeting ended he still hadn’t caught her name, but he knew she was head of the Arts department and that he would meet with her the next day. He could wait until then.

Next Chapter

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 72 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Miss Fame and Raja appeared on morning TV, and Miss Fame was visibly irritated with Courtney.

This Chapter: Violet stresses, Sutan orders some dinner, Katya chills, Raven preens, and Courtney’s Day From Hell continues.

***

“Courtney!” Miss Fame’s voice was sharp, sharper than usual. “Do you ever use your head? Or do you just go through life without a shred of critical thinking?”

It was fairly obvious that it was a rhetorical question, so Courtney kept her mouth shut, wondering what had gone wrong, what mess she’d have to clean up now.

“Hello?!?!”

“I’m sorry, Miss, I-” Courtney picked up her bags, prepared to head into the building. She looked at the cab driver, wondering if she should attempt to get a receipt for her expense report or just say fuck it. Jaida was pretty forgiving with petty cash records if the ride was less than fifty dollars.

“Do you know what happened when I got dressed for the investor lunch, Courtney? Thank god Raja was here, she’s the one who spotted it!”

Courtney pushed the door to the cab closed with her hip, trying to follow Miss Fame’s thought process, her heavy purse slung over one shoulder and laptop bag over the other.

“Spotted…?”

“A rip! There was a rip in the seam of the dress! Is that how you wanted me to show up? Looking like an absolute disaster?!”

“I-” Courtney scrambled into the lobby as quickly as she could to avoid the drizzling rain, glancing for a moment at the elevators before deciding that getting cut off wasn’t worth the risk. She opened the door to the stairwell and began trudging up, cursing the heels she’d chosen today and wondering if it would be too awful and unsanitary to just take them off and go barefoot.

“Next time you pick something up, you need to use your brain and your eyes and check the garment! Always check everything! Don’t trust anyone, do you hear me?!”

“Yes, Miss.”

“These kinds of careless mistakes are unacceptable. You’re not new anymore, you’ve been here for months. Violet isn’t around to protect you, you have to think, think!”

“Yes, Miss-”

“Luckily for you, I had my outfit from the show this morning, so it wasn’t an absolute disaster but if this ever happens again, I won’t be forgiving.”

“I understand, Miss.”

“This meeting better go flawlessly. I simply cannot take more incompetence today!”

“Yes, Miss-”

“That’s all.”

And with that, the phone clicked off. Courtney sighed, sagging against the banister before continuing on her way. Luckily, she hadn’t climbed too many flights, so she could still catch the elevator before she turned entirely into a sweaty, disheveled mess.

***

Violet heard her phone vibrate, and she looked down on the floor, her bag carefully placed under her desk. She abandoned her computer, several tabs with pictures from past Met balls open, and reached for her phone, messages from Sutan ticking in.

SUTAN: Any thoughts on dinner?

SUTAN: I could go for italian

SUTAN: I know a place that has a great fettuccine al salmone that I think you’ll like

Violet read the messages, a smile on her lips. Sutan was probably stuck in traffic or watching a presentation somewhere, her boyfriend often texting her like this when he was bored.

VIOLET: That sounds good

SUTAN: Great! I’ll order. Bottle of red too.

SUTAN: Feeling like dessert? Raja texted that she’s picking up Dominique Ansel for her and Raven and I’m jealous. The Italian place has a fantastic torta tenerina

SUTAN: It’s a chocolate cake if you haven’t had it

SUTAN: It’ll be just like our second date ;-)

Violet felt an instant blush rise in her cheeks, the memory of falling off the couch hitting her like a freight train. Sutan had been so kind about it, the man just laughing when Violet had messed everything up. She knew she was insanely lucky that Sutan was so calm and collected, that he rolled with the punches and took most things with a grain of salt, but she couldn’t help but worry if he was too relaxed.

Violet had meant to push it aside, to stop thinking about it, but Maxwell’s words from yesterday were still playing around in her head, the small comment about her sex life with Sutan starting an avalanche of worries.

Because Maxwell was wrong.

Violet did not, in fact, suck Sutan’s dick. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, wasn’t that she found it gross or unappealing, it had just never… happened.

She didn’t know how she’d bring it up, what she’d say or what she’d do, but she knew that she wanted to talk to Sutan about it, and make sure that everything was okay.

VIOLET: Can’t wait

***

“Hey, Court, how are you?” Jaida asked, entering the conference room, holding up a flash drive with their investor presentation.

“Jaida! Oh thank god, is that the final?” Courtney asked, shifting from one foot to the other. She stood next to Shawn from IT, who was crouched over the projector.

“It is, it is...at least until Miss Fame texts me with another round of helpful suggestions,” Jaida said with a grin, and Courtney closed her eyes briefly.

“Don’t even joke about that,” she warned.

Jaida handed over the flash drive, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Poor thing looked very much on the edge, her little face screwed up anxiously, a crease in her brow where no one her age should have one.

“It’ll be okay, I promise. And I’m gonna stay here with you until it looks perfect.”

“Thank you,” Courtney said, her face softening into a grateful smile. “I know how to handle all the refreshments and stuff, but we don’t usually do these kind of multimedia things. I’m so worried that I’m gonna mess it up.”

“You won’t. And anyway, I’ll be right here. I can always tell you to go back a slide.”

“Right...yeah, that’s true.”

“How’s that look?” Shawn asked, and Jaida gave him a thumbs-up.

“Perfecto. Thank you, sir.”

“Alright, great. Court, you need anything else? ‘Cause apparently marketing is having some kind of emergency with their calendars not synching.”

“No, I think I got it,” Courtney said, sounding not at all confident.

“We got it,” Jaida said, sitting down beside her to look at the laptop that controlled the screen. “Why don’t I give you a basic rundown of what I’m gonna say, and then we can even do some rehearsing.”

“Sure!” Courtney said, smiling brightly.

Jaida took her through the whole presentation, then stood up to do a run-through, making sure they worked out a signal for when she was moving to the next slide, and double-checking the investor packets to make sure all the references to page numbers were accurate.

“Alright...I think we’re good. Do you feel better?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Courtney said, standing and walking towards the refreshment table, lining all the drinks up in neat pyramids. “You can take a break, I’m sorry to have kept you so long.”

“It’s no problem,” Jaida said. “But I could use a little breather before they arrive. I’ll be back in 30.”

“Okay. Um, also…”

Jaida turned in the doorway. “Yes?”

“Well...it’s just...um, some people were talking about their bonuses, and my last paycheck was just my regular salary. So I just wasn’t sure how that all worked.”

“Oh.” Jaida sighed to herself. Of course Miss Fame hadn’t filled her in. Dammit. “Well, usually we only give end of year bonuses to people who’ve worked for the company for six months or longer.”

“Oh. Right. Okay, sorry.” Courtney said, looking disappointed but not surprised, and Jaida felt awful.

Courtney’s salary was a pittance--barely enough to be off the street in New York. Jaida knew that, and she knew how much of a difference even a few hundred dollars would have made to her. But Miss Fame had insisted that the rules were there for a reason, and it would be a bad precedent to set to overrule them for her own office. It was pure nonsense--all employee bonuses were at the discretion of the department heads and always had been.

Clearly, Miss Fame had simply not wanted to reward her for whatever reason. At the time, Jaida didn’t think it was worth the headache to push back, but looking at her sad little face, Jaida couldn’t help feeling like maybe she should have.

“But hey,” Jaida said, giving a rueful smile, “It gives you someone to look forward to next year, right?”

“Yeah.” Courtney returned her smile, trying her best to recover. “Sorry to bother you about it.”

“It’s no bother. I’m sorry I didn’t have a better answer for you,” Jaida told her, guilt still eating away at her. “I’ll see you at 3, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Jaida.”

***

“And there we go!” Raven looked up from her phone, Juju standing behind her, a big smile on her face. “What do we think?”

Juju held up a mirror, showing Raven the back of her head. She had gotten a keratin treatment, her thick black locks cascading down her back like a silky waterfall, the ends cut ramrod straight, her December touchups going exactly according to plan.

“It looks great,” Raven smiled, running her fingers through her hair, the strands beyond soft to the touch. She always got her hair done by Juju, Raven’s salon visits an excellent opportunity to chat with her best friend without kids around. “Good job.”

“Thanks,” Juju smiled. “I’ll have someone over shortly to fill up your lashes. Can I get you anything?”

“A Pellegrino please.” Raven held up her glass, Juju leaving her to stay in her chair. She didn’t really want the water, a caramel macchiato or a hot cocoa much more weather appropriate, but she had already had her first fitting for Galactica’s closing look, which meant she had to stay true to that size.

Raven looked at herself in her mirror, turning her head side to side, her brows already threaded and perfect. She hadn’t told Sutan, or even Raja, but she had started to get the tiniest botox injections, her day starting off with a visit to the doctor. It was just 5 units here, another 10 there, to make sure her glabellar lines didn’t show up and that her nasalis lines stayed on the side of cute, instead of wrinkly and gross.

Raven pulled some of her hair over her shoulder, twisting her waist to catch the best lighting as she held up her phone, snapping a pic for her Instagram, a grin spreading on her lips at how hot she looked.

***

Courtney flexed her fingers and toes, trying to keep them from going numb. Her brain already felt like mush. They were going into hour three of the investor meeting. At first, she’d found it incredibly interesting, how the new fund they were raising would help with their 2015 growth, allowing them to expand into several Asian markets and open up a whole new stream of revenue. She’d taken a few business classes in college, and while math was never her strong suit, the financial charts and projections were fascinating.

However, after several hours of this, coupled with the fact that she’d been working since 6 am, and the fact that nearly everyone else in the entire company had already left to start their winter vacations, Courtney was slowly losing her interest in, not just the meeting, but the fashion industry period.

She glanced out the window. A flurry of snow was swirling past the window--it would probably melt before it reached the ground, but it made her long to be tucked under a blanket with Bianca. She picked up her personal phone to discreetly check the messages.

BIANCA: Still getting out early?

COURTNEY: We’ll see. :’(

BIANCA: LOL, poor baby. I’m heading home now, tell me when you’re done there.

COURTNEY: I will. Can’t wait to see you...counting the seconds...<3

Courtney sighed softly to herself. The drone of voices was starting to sound surreal to her, like she was under water. She checked the time again, wishing that they would wrap things up. By the sound of it, though, no one was in any hurry to leave. Maybe I’ll die here…

“Courtney!” Miss Fame’s sharp voice cut through her thoughts and she stood up straight, back against the wall.

“Yes Miss?”

The fury in Miss Fame’s eyes told her that she’d missed a cue, and she racked her brain for what it could have been. They were done with the presentation, and she’d laid all the refreshments out, as well as clearing the empty plates and replacing them with clean ones twice already.

Miss Fame glared at her harder, eyes darting to the box near her feet, and she jumped, realizing her mistake. Miss Fame wanted her to hand out the glossy photo books of the history of Galactica that were on standby, just in case. She reached down and pulled a big stack out of the box, then quickly began handing them out.

“If you’ll open your books,” Fame said, going back to the meeting with a charming smile, “You’ll see some photos of our humble beginnings at New York Fashion week, 2002.”

I will definitely die here, Courtney thought, trudging back towards her spot against the wall.

***

Winter break was here, and Katya absolutely loved it. She had slept in, enjoying a slow morning making pancakes in her pajamas, listening to Christmas music and dancing around, since she was completely alone.

Well, not completely, at least not anymore. She couldn’t feel the baby yet, and probably wouldn’t for a few more weeks, the app Trixie had downloaded informing her that she should be able to sense movement from week 20.

Katya took a sip of her hot cocoa, a Hallmark Christmas movie playing on the TV. She had cleaned up the apartment, making sure to get all of the laundry out of the way so everything was nice and tidy for the upcoming vacation.

She picked Pearl’s bomber jacket back up, the scent of her cigarettes clinging to the fabric. She had noticed that there was a tear while checking it, Pearl often forgetting the most random things in her pockets, so she had taken it upon herself to sew it back together.

She knew she didn't need to, but she liked doing things for her friend, the small project perfect for a relaxing day with nothing important on the agenda.

***

“Raja!” Raven couldn’t keep in the shout of happiness as she finally finally heard the front door open and click shut. She rushed to the hallway, making sure not to trip over her dress in her heels. “You’re home!”

“Hey Princess,” Raja smiled, taking off her coat, specks of snow in her long hair, revealing one of her office suits underneath. “You look perfect.”

“Mmh?” Raven grinned, her fiancée’s eyes sweeping over her body, appreciating the brand new outfit she had put on. “You think?”

“I know,” Raja hung her jacket up, and Raven stepped up, wrapping herself in Raja’s arms, a moment of complete peace washing over her.

Raja was home for the holidays, almost two wonderful weeks ahead of them with no work, minimal obligations and parties except New Year’s, all followed by their annual trip to Aspen.

It was Raven’s favorite time of year, for the simple reason that she had Raja’s undivided attention, and that was why she had picked New Year’s Eve as their wedding date. It was a little stressful that she only had about a year left to plan, but she knew that the night would be perfect, no matter what.

“Did you remember dessert?” Raven looked up at Raja, the fact that she was still taller than her even in heels insanely hot.

“Of course I remembered dessert,” Raja grinned, the Dominique Ansel box on the little hallway table, “I got your favorites.”

“I love you,” Raven smiled, getting up on her toes to plant a kiss on Raja’s lips.

“Are you talking to me or the pastries?”

“You,” Raven rolled her eyes, Raja as always teasing her, “...and the pastries.”

***

“So, what are we in the mood for?” Sutan asked. He sat down on the couch, placing the chocolate cake and the two forks on the table before grabbing the remote to turn the TV on. “A Christmas movie?”

He waited for a beat, and then another, no reply coming.

It was normal for Violet to be on the quiet side, common for her to come home from work and need time to unwind and reset before she could be present, his girlfriend not saying much during dinner.

What wasn’t normal was for Violet to ignore him outright, and Sutan couldn’t help but feel worried.

“Violet?” He sat up, looking over at her. She was tapping her fingers against her leg, looking straight ahead, her lip between her teeth. “Is everything okay?”

“Does it bother you that I don’t suck dick?”

“What?” Sutan spluttered, nearly choking on air, the question taking him by complete surprise.

“Does it bother you?” Violet twisted her body, her knees knocking against his as she turned towards him.

“Why are you asking?” Sutan knew it wasn’t what he should focus on, but he hadn’t expected Violet to ask that, hadn’t figured that a sex thing was what had twisted her into a knot, though the direct and blunt approach was exactly her.

“Answer my question.”

“I’m very satisfied with our sex life.” Sutan turned the TV off, commercials in the background not what he needed at the moment. “So no. It doesn’t bother me.” He was being completely sincere, the lack of Violet performing oral not something he had thought about except in brief fantasies here and there.

But it was just that, a fantasy.

A tantalizing and sexy fantasy for sure, but when it came down to it, not getting blow jobs was a miniscule price to pay in exchange for Violet, Sutan much more concerned with making sure that his girlfriend was having a good time, and that she was into what they did in bed.

“I simply assumed you wouldn’t enjoy it.”

“Okay.” Violet bit her lip, and Sutan moved closer, putting his arm on the back of the couch.

“Why are you asking? Is everything okay?”

“Maxwell made a comment at work.” Violet pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, looking at Sutan’s chest instead of his face.

“And?” Sutan reached out, gently putting his hand on her shoulder.

“I just figured, I never really…” Violet sighed, tugging at the edge of her skirt, Sutan rubbing his thumb up and down. “Offered, and I hadn’t considered…”

“Violet. Good sex, is sex that makes everyone feel good, and I like, no, I love, making you feel good.” Sutan smirked, watching the prettiest blush bloom on Violet’s cheeks, but this time, she didn’t shy away, didn’t look down, instead, she met his gaze straight on, their eyes locking together.

“I want that too. To make you feel good.”

“Is this your way of offering?” Sutan raised an eyebrow, “To experiment with blow jobs I mean.”

“Yes,” Violet nodded. “I think I could enjoy it with you.”

“If you want it,” Sutan smiled. “I want it.”

***

As Courtney helped Miss Fame into her coat, she could feel her will to live come surging back, the end of the day so close now that she could taste it. She’d already brought the many gifts from Miss Fame’s friends and associates downstairs to her car and in a remarkable display of generosity, Miss Fame had even handed Courtney one of the bottles of Veuve to take home herself.

“Merry Christmas, Miss!” Courtney exclaimed happily as she settled back down at her desk to take care of her last few tasks of the year.

“Yes. Make sure that those sketches get to Trixie before you leave. Goodnight.”

“Sure thing!” Courtney called after her, waving as she rounded the corner. The sketches. She knew she had the sketches earlier. Where were they?

She searched the mostly empty surface of her desk, stomach lurching when she realized what must have happened. The cab. She left them in the cab. Her sunny smile dissolved, color draining from Courtney’s face as she realized how absolutely fucked she was.

Miss Fame almost never did her own sketches any more. These were rare and precious; Courtney recalled how angry she’d been earlier in the day at simply the thought of a crease in the pages.

How could Courtney have been so utterly careless?

Original sketches from Miss Fame of Galactica floating around a random NYC taxi was a nightmare. She wracked her brain, trying to remember the cab company, and found her head absolutely empty of any details, devoid of anything that could help.

And of course, she didn’t have a receipt, because she’d been in such a rush to get upstairs, which meant no evidence, nothing to go off of.

She frantically searched for the numbers of any local cab companies and began the tedious task of calling them to track down the priceless unmarked envelope.

Nearly two hours later, throat hoarse from crying, she had to finally admit defeat.

Nobody had seen the envelope, and the chance of her getting a call back with good news was looking slimmer and slimmer as the dispatches closed for the day. She picked up her phone, knowing that she’d be seeing a whole bunch of increasingly concerned messages from Bianca.

There was no way she could face her tonight. Not after she’d fucked up so immensely, done something that was sure to make her boss more furious than she’d ever seen her. There was a small chance that Bianca herself wouldn’t be mad, that she might even be sympathetic--but Courtney knew that she absolutely didn’t deserve that.

Just to be certain, she waited until she was on the subway before responding to her messages, texting a simple ‘I can’t make it’ and then adding ‘I’m so sorry’ before shoving the phone back in her bag and riding the rest of the way to the Bronx with her head in her hands, cursing herself over and over.

[mldrgrl]

prompt: Mulder and Scully being competitive with each other over silly things - Jeopardy? solving the case before the end of an episode of some sort of forensic crime show? how many slices of pizza they can eat? a board game? etc.

Loved this one, Anon, thank you so much.  And I was in the mood to whip up something humorous.  Went to sleep last night thinking about it.

Half and Half

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG

“I’m dying to get out of this suit,” Scully says.  “Give me ten minutes and then we can go through the report?”

“I’ll leave the connecting door unlocked,” Mulder says as they exit their rental car and head to the doors to their rooms.  “Come over when you’re done and we’ll order in.”

She sighs in relief as she kicks off her heels at the door.  She tosses her blazer to the side, unbuttons her shirt, and loosens her skirt.  She clips her hair back, washes her face, and changes into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

File folders under her arm, she taps lightly on the connecting door before she pushes it open.  Mulder is sitting at the edge of the bed, tie off and buttons undone at the neck.  His shirtsleeves are rolled up and he’s yelling at the TV.

“What is Mork & Mindy!” he yells.  “Mork and Mindy, you idiots.  Everyone knows ‘nanu nanu.’”

“We were looking for, ‘What is Mork & Mindy?’” Alex Trebeck says.

“Obviously,” Mulder says.  “How did you people even get on the show?”

“What are you doing?” Scully asks.

“Playing Jeopardy.”

“TV Catchphrases for $400, Alex.”

“Book ‘em, Danno.”

“What is Hawaii 5-0,” Mulder yells, just as Scully says, “Hawaii 5-0.”

Mulder makes the sound of a buzzer.  “You have to answer in the form of a question, Scully, or it doesn’t count.”

“I still knew the answer.”

“You mean, the question.”

“Do you want to debate the semantics of Jeopardy or go over the reports?”

“Sure, sure.”

“Let’s try Shakespeare Who Said it? for $200.”

“Double double, toil and trouble.”

“Who are the witches?” Mulder answers.

“Who are the three witches of Macbeth,” Scully says at the same time.

“Who is Macbeth?” answers the first contestant to ring in.

“Oh, come on,” Scully says.  “You can’t be that dumb.”

“Right?”

“Not quite what we’re looking for,” Alex answers.  Finally, the second contestant answers correctly.

“Shakespeare Who Said It for $300.”

“I prithee daughter do not make me mad.”

“Baptista, maybe,” Mulder answers.  “Who is Baptista?”

“No, who is King Lear?” Scully disagrees.

“Who is King Lear?”

“Who is, King Lear.  Act 2, scene 4, referring to Goneril.  And that will lead us to our first commercial break.  More to come after these words from our sponsors.”

“I should’ve known that one,” Mulder says, scooting over to make room for Scully on the bed.  “$600 to $500, I’m winning.”

“How do you figure that?”

“You lost Hawaii 5-0 to incorrect phrasing.”

“You didn’t establish the rules.  $600 to $900, I’m winning.”

“I didn’t have to establish anything, those are the inherent rules of Jeopardy.  Everybody knows that.”

“Mulder, I’m here to go over these reports,” Scully answers, holding up the file folders that have been tucked under her arm the whole time.  She is still standing.

“How about a little wager?”

“On what?”

“Winner orders the pizza of their choice, loser pays.”

“Come on, Mulder.”

“You don’t think you can beat me?”

“No, I know I can beat you.  I just want to get this review done so I can go to bed.”

“Scully, it’s 7 o’clock.  The review can wait.  Unless you’re just chicken.”

“Very mature.”

“Triple dog dare you?”

Scully held her hand out as though to shake Mulder’s.  “We start with a clean slate going in from the commercial and we make our own wagers on Double Jeopardy questions.”

“I’ll keep score!”  Mulder leaves Scully’s handshake hanging in the breeze and jumps up to grab the complimentary pad of paper and pen on the motel desk, which she snatches from him as soon as he comes back to sit down.

“I’ll keep score,” she says.

“You are the math geek.”

They sit through contestant bios and Alex Trebek’s vaguely sarcastic comments on the tidbits they’ve chosen to share with the audience.  When the game starts back up again, there are two answers left in Shakespeare Who Said It? and every answer available in Civil War Nicknames, The Old West, and American Folklore.

Unsurprisingly, Mulder dominates the folklore category, but they tie for two answers.  They both struggle with The Old West more than Civil War Nicknames, but the answers there are easier to decipher within the clues.  Mulder is up $700 when the first Daily Double comes up in The Old West.

“$200,” Scully says.  “I already don’t even want to know the answer.”

“$500,” Mulder answers.  

“Suffering from tuberculosis and alcoholism, this dentist turned gunslinger died in a sanitarium at the age of 36.”

“Who is Doc Holliday,” Scully answers.

“Who is Bat Master..dammit!” Mulder replies just a beat behind her.

“You should’ve known that one.”

“It was the first thing that popped into my head.  What’s the damage?”

“We’re tied.”

“All right, next round, it’s getting serious.”

“Prepare to pay for a large vegetarian with extra olives.”

“Ugh, vegetables on pizza is the antithesis to the point of pizza.”

“And what is the point of pizza?”

“All the pepperoni you can handle and then add in some sausage for good measure.”

“You’re a heart attack waiting to happen, Mulder.  When was the last time you had your cholesterol checked?”

“In May, actually.  Fit as a fiddle.  Here we go, round 2.”

“...categories are: Before & After, Science, Word Origins, Potpourri, The Body Human, and finally, Astronomy. ”

The contestants seem fixated on Potpourri and Before & After, to Mulder’s relief.  He isn’t ready for Scully to completely smoke him in the Science and The Body Human categories.  He figures if he can do well enough in the first two, he might be able to hold firm and maybe they might get to Astronomy where he can make a comeback.  Sure enough, she responds so quickly in the first two Science answers he can’t even get a word out.

“Born this year, a sheep named this introduced the world to cloning.”

“Dolly!” Mulder yells, too excited about knowing a Science question he forgets to phrase it properly.

“Who is Dolly,” Scully corrects.

“Dammit!”

“Your rules.”

“I know, I know.  Still, dammit.”

Blessedly, the contestants leave Science and migrate to Astronomy and since the first answer is the planet nicknamed The Red Planet, a Jeopardy equivalent of low-hanging fruit, they stick with it.  The first Daily Double of the 2nd round hits them at the $800 question in Astronomy.

“I’m up by $1,600,” Scully says.  “You have $3,900.”

“I’m going to make it a true Daily Double.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“$600,” Scully says, after a few moments hesitation.

Mulder worries his bottom lip with his teeth and waits for the answer to come.

“This spiral galaxy is named for an Ethiopian princess in Greek Mythology.”

“What is Andromeda!” They both yell.

Mulder realizes he’s sweating after the last question and even though it paid off, he vows not to make that kind of gamble again.  Scully berates herself for not being more confident in her astronomy knowledge as she now trails Mulder by $1,700, which may or may not be easy to recover from.

Time runs out before all the clues are revealed and the 2nd Daily Double is never found.  By final Jeopardy, they’re nearly neck and neck, with Mulder at $9,100 and Scully at $8,500.

“The final category is: Computers.”

“Good thing The Gunmen aren’t here,” Mulder says.  “Gimme one of those sheets of paper and we can write our wagers and guesses like the others.”

Scully rips off a piece of paper and they both take nearly all of the commercial break to come up with their wagers.  Scully folds her paper in half with the wager face down.  Mulder turns his over and places it on the bed.

“And here we go with the final answer.  Born in 1815, this daughter of a famous poet published an algorithm for a mechanical calculator and is believed by some to be the first ever computer programmer.”

Mulder writes his answer immediately and Scully taps her pen against her teeth as the final Jeopardy music winds down.  She finally picks up her paper and memorializes her guess before the final note.

“Whatcha got?” Mulder asks.

“I want to see their answers first,” Scully replies.

Mulder bounces his knee in anticipation.  The contestant in 3rd place answers incorrectly with Dora Wordsworth, but only wagered $1.

“I hate when they do that,” Scully says.  “It’s not The Price is Right.”

“Listen, if the category was Nuclear Physics, I might only be waging $1 as well.”

“Too bad it wasn’t.”

The contestant in 2nd place also answers incorrectly with “Who is ____?” and ends up with $4500.  Mulder shakes his head.

“At least put something,” he says.

“Seriously,” Scully agrees.

“And now Judith, our three day champion, currently in the lead with $13,800.  What did she guess?  Who is Ada Lovelace?  Daughter of Lord Byron, known for her work on Charles Babbage’s Analytical Engine, August Ada King, Countess of Lovelace, or Ada Lovelace.  And how much did Judith wager?  $7,000, bringing her three day total to $65,941.”

“Alright, Scully, moment of truth.”

“Count of three?” she asks.

“Is that one, two, reveal?  Or one, two, three, reveal?”

“One, two, reveal.”

“Okay.  One, two…”  

They both turn their papers around.  Both answered Who is Ada Lovelace?  They both grin.

“Frohike would be so tickled with your familiarity with the mother of computer programming,” Mulder says.  

“Yeah?  How does he feel about your familiarity with her?”

“Pretty jealous, actually.”

“What was your wager?”

Mulder turns over the paper again to show her.  “$3,000.  You?”

Scully bites her lip a little and then flips the fold of her paper for Mulder to see.  “$8,000.”

“$8,000!”

“Go big or go home, right?”

“Damn, Scully.  You’re a monster.  In a good way, obviously.  But, damn.  So, I guess that vegetarian is on me.”

“Extra olives.”

“With extra olives.”  He grimaces and gets up to grab the Yellow Pages in the nightstand.  

Scully opens up her file folders and begins sorting the reports for review across the end of Mulder’s bed as he searches for a pizza parlor.  He’s on the phone fairly quickly after browsing the phone book.

“Yes, I’d like to place an order for delivery,” Mulder says.  “A large.  Vegetarian.”

“Half vegetarian,” Scully interrupts without looking up.  “Half pepperoni and sausage.”

“Sorry, half vegetarian, half pepperoni and sausage.  Extra olives on the vegetarian side, please.  Yeah, I’ll hold.”  Mulder drops the phone to his shoulder while hold music plays and smiles slightly.  “Scully, you interested in a rematch tomorrow night?”

“Depends on how interested you are in buying another pizza.”

The End

[nomanwalksalone]

BOOK REVIEW: SIMON CROMPTON’S BESPOKE STYLE

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

Simon Crompton’s Bespoke Style is a shout from another period into the void that has been this past year. For the past decade, Crompton has been an infuriatingly disarming voice of intelligence and reason describing his various orders and experiences with makers of custom (and otherwise spousally unpardonably expensive) clothing and accessories. His latest book hit my quarantine bookshelf like a temporally retconned souvenir of Crisis on Infinite Earths, a link to a time that seems from a remote and recalibrated universe.

In that universe, Bespoke Style offered readers the chance to see Crompton make himself the pleasant, bearded and tattooed guinea pig for 25 of the best. Sadistic boarding school masters would be disappointed to learn that said best were not birch switches but some of the most prominent tailors in the world, whose styles, cuts, finishing, prices and proportions Crompton compares as closely as possible in the pages of Bespoke Style. And that’s it.

It’s a concept so simple it’s rather genius, as well as seemingly pointless: in each chapter the author poses in similar garments (generally a single-breasted two-piece suit or jacket and trousers) from each of the 25 houses, describes their styles and cuts and contrasts those with their neighbors’ or competitors’, and provides the same set of measurements for each tailor’s work so that the reader can get a sense of how each house differs from the others and what makes them stand out.

As the book was sponsored by cloth house Vitale Barberis Canonico, the Anderson & Sheppard haberdashery and shoemaker Edward Green, Crompton accessorizes each pose with A&S accessories and nice Green shoes. A particular splayed-leg shot modeling his Anderson & Sheppard clothes through a turned-around open-back chair is perhaps the book’s raciest. Cromton notes that almost all of the garments he wears were ordered in the house style, something clearly on display in his Huntsman jacket, a tweed whose huge check could even have deafened the jacket Roger Moore wears in The Man With The Golden Gun.

Simplicity presumes various absolute. :Here, such presumptions include that the tailors profiled are indeed the best, most prominent or most likely to be of interest to Crompton’s readers; that each house has a consistent style; and that each house will maintain its level of quality. The nature of a book like this, all about comparing details, invites quibbles attacking such presumptions. Out of the 25 tailors profiled, only two (Camps de Luca and Cifonelli) are French, while the book has two separate sections for Italian tailors. No Smalto or Florian Sirven at Berluti, for example. Some of the cutters (scrupulously listed in each chapter) who made the garments Crompton models have retired or move on, causing real changes to house styles or quality at certain prominent tailors who would prefer we continue presuming their perennity.

But this is a book that is the mirror image of quibbles: exhaustive details for the pulling apart, snapshots already fading of past moments. For this simple book captures a tension: it profiles famous tailors at a particular moment in order to memorialize their details and differences, even as many of those houses, and the custom tailoring tradition itself, are being undermined by skyrocketing rents and retail prices (prices are easily double, or more, the full prices I was paying at some of the same houses a decade or so ago), by the retirement or departure of knowledgeable and experienced staff, and all the pressures that mean that a skill that required years of patient, difficult practice and training is now exercised competently by, as well as only available to, a dwindling few who must still believe that what they are making or getting is more than just the Emperor’s New Clothes… even if more and more companies, even some of the most famous, sometimes try to get clients to accept less than what they ordered…

So whether or not the houses that Bespoke Style compares will remain, in some pocket universe, so even if it outlives its practical goal of providing aspirational punters a way of comparing and deciding on what tailors they would use… in their castles in the sky.. it is and will ever more become an interesting artifact, a time capsule like the books Alan Flusser used to write that told men where to find custom tailors (and British clothes) in cities all over the world. Our time-warped, isolated universe, each of us encased in our own Phantom Zone, can already find this book an interesting curiosity. Should time ever move linearly again, whether or not some Monitor realigns the various incarnations of the multiverse so that we actually travel and wear suits, this book will become a reference for sartorial archaeologists the way that old issues of Apparel Arts did, the closest thing to some sort of record of how names that were once meaningful supposedly looked, draped, fit… once upon another time.

[tyk-tyk-tyk]

🍁 Achievements + Analysis

I thought about making separate posts, but then I realized I could multitask and mash all of these into one. Lists all of the achievements in English and translated from Russian + some commentary. Behold, the Knock Knock Achievement Master Post. As always, long post under the cut.

“How’s Annie” was a fun tidbit that had a shallow rabbit hole to follow. Some of these are interesting, some of these are not. I used Yandex to help translate these, so take it with a grain of salt. 

This was taken from a website that archives Steam achievements. I’ll be going through them all, just to tie up any loose ends.

🍁Fear of a blank page

English: Fear of a blank page - Found a diary page Russian: Unclean leaf - Found the diary page

The Russian translation is interesting because it references something that you don’t really figure out until you find the whole diary in one piece. 

🍁Busy with paperwork

English: Busy with paperwork - Found five diary pages Russian: Paperwork - I found five pages of my diary

Not much to commentate on. Though it should be noted that in the Russian translations, typically it either refers to Lodger as a “he” or uses first person. Could be a translation issue, or it could have been used on purpose. 

🍁Weaving the story

English: Weaving the story - Remembered the story of the Lost Child Russian: The fabric of the story - I learned the story of the invisible child

I also like this one for referencing the diary more specifically. I wish we had gotten more black and white info on when this happened, where they were and what happened to the other children.

🍁Something in the way

English: Something in the way - Entered a haunter Russian: I do not believe - Entered the pop-up window

Pretty sure the Russian description is a mistranslation. But I’m glad that The Lodger retained his key character trait through translation. 

🍁They are legion

English: They are legion - Entered ten haunters Russian: Their name is Legion - Entered at ten o’clock

I’m ALMOST CERTAIN this is another wrong translation on Yandex’s part. I’m assuming the Russian description is the same as the English description. If it also isn’t a wrong translation, I like the title for the achievement in Russian. It sounds spookier.

🍁Open your mind

English: Open your mind - Saw a fragment of reality Russian: Window to the courtyard - I saw a fragment of reality

This could tie in to some theories that The Lodger was one of the children lost to The Program. ‘Courtyard’ is vague, but it could mean a school (like it’s referenced in the dream written in the diary) or some kind of asylum. Those are my best guesses. Cool nonetheless, could just be imagery of ‘looking outside’ that they were going for.

🍁Good things come in threes

English: Good things come in threes - Saw three fragments of reality Russian: In three pines - I saw three fragments of reality

Now I don’t know any symbolism with three pines, so I had to look it up. And according to this website post, this was based on a novel. Maybe. Some people claim that it may have been based off of real life events, someone planted pine trees to signify that refugees fleeing The Revolutionary War were safe in Quebec. Who knows though, another legend to throw on to the pile of growing mysteries.

🍁Knowing the flip side

English: Knowing the flip side - Saw all fragments of reality Russian: The flipside of being - I saw all the fragments of reality

Again, the translations are similar. Flipside could mean something like an alternate dimension, or if we’re being literal and are taking the textbook definition, could be a complicated roundabout way of saying “tomorrow.” So this is either a poke at seeing ghosts or seeing the future.

🍁I was ready

English: I was ready - Managed to hide successfully Russian: It’s not my fault - Hid and didn’t get caught

Woah, can we talk about this one for a second? “It’s not my fault.” This is definitely a reference to the diary, whether it’s The Lodger or his father or etc. 

🍁I’m not there

English: I’m not there - Managed to hide successfully five times Russian: I’m not here - I hid five times and didn’t get caught

Unlike the previous achievement, uneventful here. 

🍁Nobody home

English: Nobody home - Managed to hide successfully ten times Russian: No one’s home - Ten times I hid and didn’t get caught

Also uneventful. I will mention the perspective changes between languages again though. (I will also mention that this could be translated wrong... again)

🍁The enlightened

English: The enlightened - Turned the light on in every room Russian: Education - Lit up the whole house

I like the English title better, but I like the Russian description better. Feels more ominous and spooky.

🍁My name is Nobody

English: My name is Nobody - Turned the light on in a room before a breach opened Russian: My name is Nobody - Turned on the light in the room before opening the gap

Standard, similar translations, not really a theory to go off of. The breaches are weird on their own and could have many meanings, attachments or symbolism behind them, but who knows.

🍁Babysitter

English: Babysitter - Touched the weeping one Russian: Now don’t look - Touched the lost one

Not a lot to comment on this one. The translations are pretty similar, and the Russian version is a reference to gameplay (and maybe an in game line? My memory is hazy. Just like The Lodger’s har har)

🍁How’s Annie?

English: How’s Annie? - Turned into a doppelganger Russian: How’s Annie? - Changed into a double

If you’re new and/or haven’t checked out one of my earliest theories, you can check it out here. It goes over this particular achievement in whole. 

🍁Through the looking glass

English: Through the looking glass - Entered a breach Russian: Sight unseen - Entered the breach

The English version of this achievement is actually extremely interesting. A “looking glass” can either mean a mirror, or according to Lewis Carroll, something opposite of what we expect. Kind of gives me doppelganger vibes. Please imagine The Lodger in an Alice in Wonderland dress

🍁Breaking the circle

English: Breaking the circle - Chose to go into the woods Russian: Don’t go in circles - Preferred to go into the woods

I liked the wording of this better in Russian. Otherwise, no comment. 

🍁Pagurian 

English: Pagurian - Chose to lock The Lodger inside the cabin and remain hidden Russian: Hermit - He chose to lock himself in the house

A final commentary and then farewell. In English, the game makes it sound like we chose to torture The Lodger. In Russian, it makes it sound like he chose to torture himself. Ominous, I like it.

If you made it to the bottom of this post, you deserve two brownie points. I feel bad for taking so long to put this out, but I figure it’s done and out of the way. I do this because I enjoy it, and I hope you guys are enjoying it too. Next up I’m going to be reblogging some things from @eyesofflora, offering my own commentary, and doing more research on fae and folklore.

[onigirisuna]

ours are the moments (i play in the dark)

a contribution to @zutaramonth, quarantine edition, day 13: hidden (and just a bit of moonbeams). view my other work for zutara month (quarantine edition) here.

cw: heavy swearing and the tiniest hint of smut. tw: cheating and abortion.

Everything happens under the moonlight; when he burns the last memories of a happy family, when she grapples with forgiveness, when he begs for forgiveness from her, when she comforts him in his sorrow. Their most vivid memories were ones spent under the moonlight –

– So they choose the new moon to create the ones they want to forget.

—

They’re back in the Earth Kingdom, two months after his coronation. His friends flood in, a little more gaunt-looking than they were when they parted ways weeks ago; ten weeks of peace talks, negotiating with rigid officials, and keeping the world from falling apart (again) has forced all of them to grow up.

They’re so young, Iroh thinks with a twinge of sadness in his heart. Too young to be this hardened by war. 

But they are war heroes and war criminals – was there any difference nowadays? – and war is cruel to the young and naïve. They’ve all had to grow up, regardless of whether it was due to a mother lost, a man killed, or genocide. 

The three days that they have in the Jasmine Dragon are the only ones that the world will let them have to relive their youth; so Iroh lets them. Just don’t touch the tea, the ceramics, the kettles, the incoming supply of food, stay away from the customers if you plan to play a full-body game of Elements– oh! And no going into the work room unless you plan to serve some tea!

If Zuko had received this earful three months earlier, he would have rolled his eyes; instead, he smiles at his uncle and mimes a salute. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Zuko returns to the balcony; when he gets to the landing, he finds that its tiles are already upturned and the floor is suspiciously wet. “Sokka,” he starts, but the blue-eyed boy shushes him.

“Shut up, Zuko! I’m working on a masterpiece!”

The ink bleeds out on the page before he could dip his brush back in. “What the hell, Katara!”

“My hair loopies looked like black holes, Sokka! That was not a masterpiece,” Katara yells back.

“I’d say I was pretty accurate,” Sokka responds, pulling out another blank scroll. Katara sticks her tongue out in response, but pulls back as soon as she sees Zuko.

“You look well,” she says, quickly pulling her eyes away from him. She cringes inwardly, berating herself for how utterly weird that sounded. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze.

“Thanks.”

Mai appears next to Zuko, scrutinizing her space buns.

Oh, Spirits, Katara thinks. I should’ve stayed home.

—

It happened soon after his coronation, six weeks after they’ve won the war.

In between the flurry of paperwork and long, dragging meetings, she and her friends miraculously found a common time to spend together. They rendezvous in the palace garden, each bringing their own share for the party; Katara nearly doubles over with horrible flashbacks of sand dunes and mushroom clouds when she sees Sokka carry a crate of cactus juice.

Sokka catches her blanched look. “Oh come on, it’ll be fine,” he says. “It’s distilled!”

“And besides, we’re young, Katara. Loosen up a little!”

Sokka, you fucking idiot, she thinks much later, when her vision is distorted and her head – or is that her body? – begins to sway. She looks around and attempts decipher her surroundings; in one corner, Toph is yelling angrily at Aang while he sleeps on top of overturned Pai Sho tiles. At her six o’ clock – thank the Spirits – she could hear Suki and Sokka sucking face. “Get a fucking room!” Toph yells their way.

Zuko, however, is quiet. She sees him sulking by the corner, by their makeshift dining set up, taking another gulp of cactus juice. Even when he’s drunk, he’s a depressing sight to see, she thinks somberly. She slowly picks up her glass, keeping a careful eye on it as she makes her way to him.

“Stop that,” she says, taking a seat next to him. Zuko looks at her with a mixture of confusion and offense, arching his only brow as he says, “I’m sorry?”

“Stop being so sad all the fucking time,” she says, taking her own gulp of cactus juice. She picks up an uneaten lemon tart from a plate and shoves it in her mouth. Zuko makes a noise.

“Mai walked out again.”

Katara swallows. “She always does.”

Zuko shrugs, because she’s right; Mai always walks out, only to waltz back in a few weeks after she’s cleared her head. “It sucks, though,” he says as he refills his glass. What he doesn’t say is that he’s no longer referring to Mai’s thousandth walk-out; what sucks is that she keeps coming back, even when I don’t want her to, and I can’t bring myself to say no.

I don’t know how to tell her that I want you.

But Katara catches it anyway.

She washes the tang of the lemon tart down with more cactus juice; despite herself, she starts to sober. “I still don’t know how to tell Aang.”

Zuko takes a sidelong glance, checking to see if anyone else was watching. When he confirms that they’re in the clear, he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

Neither of them are married, but this thing between them feels no less than an affair. How could they tell their friends – hell, how could they tell their partners – that they’ve been hiding a (painful, sorrowful) blossoming relationship since the comet left?

For war heroes, we sure are cowards, Katara thinks bitterly.

“Don’t be sorry,” she says. “I kissed you first, remember?”

Zuko smiles at the memory; it happened under a full moon, when he woke up for the first time since collapsing after the Agni Kai.

Katara gives him a pained smile as she sets her glass down. Before she gets up to leave, she runs a single hand through his hair and briefly rests her palm against his scarred cheek. “Good night, Zuko.”

He follows her in response.

The guilt that gnaws at her heart keeps her feet running. Maybe if I run fast enough, she thinks, I could put all this behind me.

But Zuko is agile and quick and he gets to her door long before she reaches the guest hallway. 

“Don’t,” she begs, her voice straining through the tears threatening to fall. “Stop it.”

Zuko tightens his grip on the handles. “But you started it. You said it yourse–”

“I know!” she yells, tears leaking down her face. “Don’t you think that the guilt eats me every fucking day? Every fucking time she walks back into your life, my heart bursts with relief and guilt and so much pain – don’t you ever think that?”

“And do you think that’s any different from how I feel?” he yells back with unmasked remorse. “I see him every fucking day, Katara. He’s in every meeting, signing every scroll beside me, and every time he says something, I keep on having to absolve for my sins because, Agni forgive me, I’m in love with his girlfriend and she’s in love with me too.”

Visions of a heartbroken boy of arrows fill her mind – there’s so much yelling, crying, too many twisted apologies – and she all but crumbles when she says, “Get the fuck out.”

Zuko steps aside this time; but before she could bring a second foot through the door, he whirls her around and kisses her.

This kiss is different from its predecessors; it’s fervent, desperate, and filled with unspoken apologies – to whom, however, she doesn’t know – and she gives in, because they’re both wretched on the inside.

They fall onto her mattress in a mess of limbs and tears. She’s crying and whimpering all at once, whispering his name through pained moans; his breath quickens as he moves down her body, his own shaking with regret, relief, and (sick, twisted) pleasure. Through their agony and remorse, they hold each other like a lifeline – only letting go when he enters her.

Wretched, like they’ve always been.

When they finish, she thanks the spirits for the new moon that shrouds them in darkness.

—

When Zuko steps away from her to inspect Sokka’s new masterpiece, Katara starts to feel her head spin; she holds onto the parapet, her face blanching with fear and nausea. In her periphery, she sees Aang and Toph whirring earth and water against each other; the quick movements and the raucous laughter almost makes her double over.

Oh fuck.

She darts for the nearest bathroom, careful not to slam the door; when her knees touch the ground, she retches all of her stomach’s contents. No, no, no, she thinks as she grips the sides of the bowl. Her head continues swimming as she attempts to hurl the last of her insides. She hears the door open behind her, followed by the sound of alarmed voices. A flurry of what happened? Are you okay? What the hell was that all about, Sugar Queen? assail her ears. Her head begins to spin again.

Katara tries to shoot a weak smile their way, but her face quickly contorts to agony as she empties her stomach once more.

When her stomach settles and her head clears, she no longer hears her friends’ incessant questioning; but the tingle behind her neck tells her that someone’s behind her, and the said person hands her a damp cloth. She wipes her mouth with it. “Thanks,” she says, her voice too weak to be heard.

“You’re a wise girl, you know,” Suki says. Katara tenses at the sound of her voice; she’s helped Suki through enough scares to know what she’s thinking.

“But it’s not Aang’s, is it?”

Katara shakes her head; Suki sighs and gently pulls Katara up from the floor. “Well, it’s a new moon tonight.”

Katara looks at her with a mix of relief and pain; Suki steps back in surprise. “You want to keep it?”

Katara shakes her head and bites her lip; she doesn’t want to keep it, but why does it still hurt?

Suki gently squeezes her arm in understanding; she then bends her head forward and whispers, “Will you be able to bloobend tonight?”

“Yeah,” she replies, still shaking from all her retching. As they cross the wooden floor of the teashop, she sees her friends cast terribly-masked and worried glances her way.

Zuko is nowhere to be found; Mai gives her a blank – yet knowing – look.

Suki never lets go of Katara’s arm until she reaches her room; when they’re sure that they’re out of earshot, Suki says, “I told them it was the new bean juice that we had on our way here.”

“Coffee?” Katara asks, amusement flitting through her eyes. Suki smiles.

“Bean juice.”

—

The bloodbending that happens that night is quick; she keeps an iron grip Suki’s arm as she forces her own blood outwards. The searing pain only lasts for a few seconds before she begins to leak red, and when she does, she holds back a strangled cry.

“I’ll wait outside,” Suki says, shutting the door behind her. Katara uses her bloodbending again to check for any abnormalities in her blood flow and eliminate any chance of blood poisoning; when she’s sure that her body is safe, she cleans up.

When she exits the bathroom, she pulls Suki into a hug. “Thank you,” she says, gripping the warrior with all that her gratitude could offer. She allows a single sob to escape her; Suki hugs her tightly in response.

—

A few minutes later, Zuko shows up at her doorway.

“It’s gone,” she says through gritted teeth and unrestrained tears.

Zuko says nothing as he walks towards her and gathers her into his arms; she lets herself cave into him as the full weight of the last month collapses onto her shoulders. With Aang in the next room and Mai in his, she feels sick, twisted, and–

Wretched, like they always will be.

[sandersstudies]

Quirky - Chapter 5

A High School Superhero AU - Sanders Sides

(Will add tag list in a reblog! If I miss you, please let me know ASAP - As always, asks, comments, messages, reblogs, and keysmashes are more than welcome.)

-> Chapter Six

<- Chapter Four

<<- Chapter One

You can now also find the fic with the same username and title on AO3 :)

Virgil kicked a stone in front of him as the class walked toward the bus. Next to him, Logan was going on about the history of U.S.J., their destination for Hero Studies class. Virgil wasn’t a fan of field trips. He almost envied Terrence, who had stayed home sick from school.

“Pick up the pace, gang,” Mr. Picani said. “Last I checked, none of you had lead feet as a quirk.” There had been no updates on Mr. Sanders, but Virgil and many of the other students had been watching the news religiously. All that had been released to the public was that Mr. Sanders had encountered an unnamed retired pro hero at the site of a recent vandalism, attacked him using his quirk, and fled the scene. Police officers had pursued, but initially lost the trail until Mr. Sanders was arrested in the early hours of the morning in his apartment. The date of his trial had not yet been announced.

“Am I boring you?” Logan asked, stopping mid-sentence.

“Oh, no, no,” Virgil said, spasmodically grabbing Logan’s wrist and then dropping it immediately. “Sorry, guess I’m a little caught up in my own head. What were you saying?”

“U.S.J. is a fascinating location, that is all,” Logan said. Mr. Picani checked their names off his list as they got on board the bus. “Think: a single building containing several ecosystems and terrains to prepare heroes for work in any field at all! Especially useful for disaster intervention, search-and-rescue...but I won’t go on.” He took one of the few remaining open seats, and Virgil sat beside him, on the aisle side. “What were you thinking about?”

“Mr. Sanders again,” Virgil said, lowering his voice and leaning toward Logan. He felt exposed sitting near the aisle. “Do you really think he attacked another hero?”

“Rumor has it the other hero was the Flying Falcon,” Logan said in an even lower voice. “But I don’t like spreading inconclusive evidence.”

“The Flying-” Logan shushed him. “The Flying Falcon?” Virgil whispered. “Roman’s dad?”

“Inconclusive evidence.”

Virgil craned over the back of his seat as the bus started. Roman was several seats back reading a comic book, the seat next to him empty.

His posse not hanging out with him anymore? Roman had seemed a little quieter than usual yesterday. Then again, everyone had. Roman was dwelling an awfully long time on his page. He’s no genius, Virgil thought, But I’m pretty sure he can read. Roman’s eyes did look a little glazed over, come to think of it—

Logan pulled gently on Virgil’s sleeve, and Virgil came back to himself as he slid back into the seat.

“It’s rude to stare,” Logan said. Virgil felt his neck flush hot as he bounced his leg. Logan must think he was a real ass. He stared down at his hands, and then toward the front window of the bus, watching for U.S.J. to appear on the horizon. Another disadvantage of sitting on the aisle side of the seat was limited window access.

“There it is,” Rafaela said a few minutes later, pointing. Students craned their necks to get a first glance at the dome.

“Please stay in your seats,” Mr. Picani said from the front of the bus. Students sulked back down.

U.S.J. didn’t look like much to Virgil. He’d gone on vacation once with his mom and visited the Omaha zoo, and the huge glass building reminded him of the desert dome that housed things like Fennec foxes and meerkats. He had a vague idea that once he entered U.S.J. he would be pounced on by a bobcat.

“The hero Glass runs the U.S.J.,” Kai whispered to Kenny from behind Virgil. “They’re so cool.”

Virgil vaguely recalled seeing Glass on television before. The hero could turn things they touched into glass, and also transform into a glass figure which, when damaged, could regenerate almost instantly. That cheesy action figure, Virgil remembered. The little clear plastic arm that shot off and could “regrow with the power of their Quirk!” (that is, be replaced and reused). How many millions did heroes make off of dumb things like that?

Kai was bouncing up and down, grasping the back of Virgil’s seat and shaking it back and forth as the bus pulled up to the building. Virgil winced. He’d noticed that when Kai was overexcited, his quirk goo could leak from his nose and ears.

“Let’s go!” Kai said.

“Just a minute,” Mr. Picani said. “Your names must be checked off the list as you get off the bus, so don’t rush, now.”

“You checked us on off when we got on!” Kai whined, draping himself over his seat. Roman was instructed to check off names so Mr. Picani could lead the students into the building, and the students started to file into the aisle. Virgil wondered for a moment if Roman would be petty enough to leave Virgil’s name unchecked, but the class president’s face was serious as the other students got off the bus.

“Are you thinking again?” Logan asked, alighting just behind Virgil.

“A little,” Virgil admitted. At least Logan wasn’t embarrassed by Virgil’s awkward staring anymore.

“I do find the construction of U.S.J. compelling,” Logan said again. “The ecosystems…” He was staring at the building with barely-contained delight. “I’ve read about their systems of environment regulation for the six main zones. It’s fascinating. Do let me know if I go on about them too long.”

Virgil felt his lips contort irresistibly into a smile. Logan sure was a nerd, but it was kind of funny how excited he got. “You’re fine.”

Logan continued, rejuvenated by Virgil’s consent. “The main zones are the Ruins, the Landslide, the Mountain, the Flood, the Downpour, and the Conflagration zones. As their names suggest, each is related to a different environmental factor.”

Logan sounded almost like he was reciting from a book. His quirk isn’t a photographic memory, Virgil thought. In fact, Logan was liable to forget things that didn’t interest him. But it might as well be when it comes to this stuff.

“The Conflagration Zone is perhaps most impressive,” Logan went on. “Designed to simulate a city on fire, a blaze is kept constant within the zone, maintained by the environmental factors which prevent it from spreading into the other zones. It’s actually a very delicate balance, the design took years to perfect.” He spoke as proudly as if he’d designed it himself. The class began to move toward the entrance of the building where there was a large sign with U.S.J. emblazoned above it in gold letters.

“Glass is the official caretaker and one of the head designers, along with Multi-Man himself.” Logan’s arms moved emphatically. “Glass’ quirk is quite astonishing. I would be very interested in seeing it in person. Of course, they are also a faculty member. Perhaps they would prefer to be referred to by their civilian name.”

Other students were also commenting on the structure and its caretaker, but none in such technical terms as Logan, who had paused to take a breath after a particularly long paragraph.

“We’re going to process into the front entrance,” Mr. Picani said. “We’ll stop there and you’ll be directed into the next location.”

The students jostled a bit, and Virgil shrunk into his oversized hoodie. Logan, on the other hand, seemed to have grown two inches taller since they’d left the main campus. He was scanning each part of the building as they went through the front double doors, and Virgil imagined once again that he could hear Logan’s synapses firing.

The class oohed and ahhed as they entered the building. The raised platform they entered onto let them see across the entire space, which was more massive than a stadium. From their height, it reminded Virgil of an arena. In front of them was a blue arch leading to the stairs that descended into the rest of the building, which had a dirt floor. Smaller domes encased two of the environmental zones, but a real miniature mountain rose to the ceiling on their right, with a landslide arching down to its base where rested a mock town, small but with everything to real scale. It was so realistic Virgil expected to see people peering out of the windows to watch their arrival. At the edge of the town was a series of collapsed buildings which came almost up to the edge of the raised platform, and across from those was a lake to the students’ right; Virgil had anticipated a pool, a simulated lake, but the body of water had grass and even small trees at the edge, growing happily inside the pavilion with a healthy diet of lake water and sunshine.

The building seemed all sunshine, in fact. Even the mountain was contained inside the massive glass ceiling, and on this sunny day no artificial lights were needed. A few metal beams around the edge were the only reminder that they were not really outside.

Forgetting Mr. Picani’s instructions in their excitement, a couple students began to rush for the stairs that led down into the zones, but stopped suddenly, as if prevented by an invisible barrier.

“Woah there,” said a new voice. In their astonishment at seeing the building, none of the students had noticed the figure standing before him. The person had outstretched their hands to stop Kai with one arm and Rafaela with the other. They were not invisible, but clear through their entire body, and it was only as they began to return to their ordinary form that Virgil could make them out.

They wore ordinary black clothing that looked casual and modern. In place of the mask that usually covered the whole round face was a smile under dark eyes and hair. Virgil realized that the action figure had exaggerated the hero’s age: Glass could not be much older than some of the UA upperclassmen. A few students muttered the name in awe and surprise.

“Here, I’d ask that you refer to me as Mx. Stokes,” Glass said. “Glass is for field work and going on Ellen and things like that.”

Kai was staring up at Mx. Stokes in astonishment, mouth slightly agape. Mr. Picani walked up to the other hero.

“Mx. Stokes is going to begin by giving you all a bit of a tour, and then you’ll be prepared when you start using this place for rescue training,” he said

“That’s right,” Mx. Stokes agreed. “Do any of you know how many zones are in U.S.J.?”

Logan’s hand shot up so fast he almost smacked Virgil in the face.

“Yes?” Mx. Stokes said. “And your name is?”

Logan had begun after the teacher’s first word, so the response went something like “U.S.J-contains-eight-zones-six-of-which—Logan—six-of-which-contain-specific-environmental-factors.”

“Thank you, Logan,” Mx. Stokes said. “That’s correct. All of you are actually standing in the first zone now. The entrance is itself one of the zones, and if you’ll look down those steps you can see into the central plaza, which connects the entrance to the six environmental zones.”

Virgil stared past the other students down the massive flights of steps, lined with guardrails and wide enough that the whole class could have walked down side-by-side. At the base of the steps was the plaza, in the center of which was a circular green space. Virgil hadn’t noticed it at first; it had been dwarfed in size by the other zones. It was little more than a fountain surrounded by plants, a typical park centerpiece. It looked out of place only because it was framed by fallen buildings, a mountain, and a lake.

“Let’s start walking toward the plaza,” Mx. Stokes said, turning for the stairs. The students began to follow, Kai leading the way. Virgil grumbled at the thought of having to go back up the stairs again before they left. He envied Patton, who Mr. Picani was directing to a small elevator — too small for the whole class, but Virgil could dream.

“Now, when lots of people think of hero work,” Mx. Stokes went on. “They think first of TV stuff like punching people and blowing stuff up, right?” A few students muttered agreement. “Right! But the most important part of being a hero isn’t that stuff. Even more important than knocking the shit out of villains—”

“Glass,” Mr. Picani warned from the top of the steps.

“Knocking the stuffing out of villains is caring for the people we serve, and that often means search-and-rescue operations. Plenty of heroes are known for this kind of work.”

There was a beat of glances among the students. Rescue was Multi-Man’s speciality.

If he wasn’t in jail, would he be giving us this speech? Virgil wondered.

“Now,” Mx. Stokes said, breaking the moment. “If the entrance is noon, we’re going to move around the zones clockwise. Does anybody know what the zone immediately to our left is called?” The students were halfway down the stairs, and the collapsed buildings began to loom to one side.

Logan’s hand shot up in the air again, but Mx. Stokes glanced over the students and called on Kai’s much shorter raised arm instead.

“The Ruined Zone,” Kai said.

“Ruins Zone,” Logan corrected in a whisper.

“Right, the Ruins Zone,” Mx. Stokes said. “Or the Collapse Zone. It probably looks a lot like the place where you guys had your heroes vs. villains exercise, and where you took your entrance exam.”

Virgil shuddered at the memory.

“However, the Ruins Zone is meant to simulate an urban environment in the middle of a disaster like an earthquake or tornado, and some of the buildings are not very stable.” They’d finally reached the base of the stairs and had landed almost among the buildings where Patton, just coming off the elevator, was waiting for them. Virgil was startled by the level of detail in the fallen city. Real road signs lay bent at the side of cracked roads. He could see inside individual broken windows and into the rooms inside. He could imagine himself, perched on top of a building in his mask. He could swoop inside the windows and rescue...who was inside the building? He imagined a crouched figure inside. Perhaps it was—

He cut off his daydream halfway. Unrealistic.

“Could...could one of the buildings collapse now?” Kai asked nervously.

“Nope,” Mx. Stokes said, hands on their hips. “The entire building is currently in safety mode. Nothing can hurt you right now so long as nobody goes messing around. But some of the beams and stones are very unstable and are liable to collapse if tampered with, so it’s not a good place to experiment if you don’t know it very well. Anybody know the name of this next zone?”

Since they’d reached the bottom of the stairs, Logan had edged closer to the front of the class and was directly in Mx. Stokes line of sight when he raised his hand.

“Logan.”

“The Landslide Zone,” Logan enunciated.

“That’s right,” Mx. Stokes said, turning around to lead then away from the buildings and toward the small town, surrounded by forest and half-buried under the edge of the mountain with mud and rocks. “I think the name is pretty self-explanatory.”

Virgil was astonished with how long it took to walk first to the Landslide Zone and then all the way to the Mountain Zone, around five or six o’clock on Mx. Stokes’ imaginary map. Surely the building didn’t look this big from the outside? If he kept his gaze focused on the mountain, he found he could almost forget he was inside a building.

“Quite a lot of cliffs there,” Mx. Stokes declared after ignoring Logan’s hand to allow Remy to say “Mountain Zone.”  

“Here’s a question,” Mr. Picani said, coming to stand beside Mx. Stokes. “I want each of you to think about your quirk strengths and weaknesses for a moment, and when we get back to the entrance, I’d like to hear which zones you feel work to your advantage and which would be most difficult for you.”

“Does this count as homework?” Remy asked.

Mr. Picani pointed a joking finger at the students. “Be lucky this is Hero Studies and not Literature or I’d have you write an essay on it.” A few students chuckled good-naturedly.

“We’ll take a quick break here,” Mx. Stokes said. “You guys can think about that question and take a quick look around the base of the mountain. No climbing though, okay?”

Some of the students practically sprinted toward the rocks, while Virgil and several others fell gratefully into splayed sitting positions.

“I am going to investigate the rock face, would you like to come?” Logan asked, leaning over Virgil.

“No thanks,” Virgil said. “Think I’m just gonna chill out here.”

“Understood.” Logan sped-walked away, paused to examine a root, and vanished behind a small clump of trees at the base of the mountain.

It is cool, having all this stuff indoors, Virgil admitted to himself. But he was no geology student. He flopped onto his back. The ground felt like real dirt, and he stared through the ceiling’s metal beams to see the clouds drifting lazily overhead. He hadn’t slept well after the news about Mr. Sanders. It was silly but—

He was distracted from his thoughts as Mx. Stokes leaned in to say something to Mr. Picani, too quietly for Virgil to hear except as a mutter. The glass hero touched the other teacher on the arm, and the two took several steps away from the class, though Mr. Picani’s gaze still scanned the students, most of whom had run some distance away or were now chatting amongst themselves. Kai had made a bouncy ball using his goo quirk and he and Kenny were tossing it back and forth, occasionally sprinting after it when it managed to slip through their fingers.

What was Glass saying to Picani? Half-closing his eyes, Virgil rolled onto his side as casually as possible to see the pair better. With the arrest of Mr. Sanders, maybe it was better not to trust anyone, not even the other UA teachers.

From Virgil’s distance, Mx. Stokes’ furrowed brows looked almost sympathetic as he spoke. Picani shooed the younger teacher away after a moment, and Mx. Stokes took a respectful step back.

Something’s going on between those two, Virgil thought. He glanced around to see if any of the other students were watching, but the only one nearby was Patton who was—

Looking at him.

Virgil quickly rolled over and went back to half-closing his eyes. He probably didn’t see that, he tried to convince himself. It didn’t work. He really didn’t like Patton’s eyes. If Virgil had had the courage, he would have watched to see if Patton ever actually blinked, or if his eyes were always staring just a bit. He didn’t look back for several minutes, and was nearly drifting into a nap when Mx. Stokes’ voice broke out again.

“Okay, everybody come back!” Mx. Stokes called. “Roman, you’re class rep, aren’t you? Run around toward the mountain and make sure we’ve got everybody back.”

Virgil pushed himself back into a standing position and dusted himself up without checking to see whether Patton was looking at him.

“Enjoyed your rest?” Logan asked as he approached.

“Enjoyed your investigating?” Virgil responded.

“Thoroughly. They’ve used an ingenious mix of sedimentary rock and artificial materials to create an accurate imitation of a genuine landmass. The trees are growing via an irrigation system routed from the lake under the tile.”

“Who knows the name of the next zone?” Mx. Stokes asked. Logan’s delight at the discovery of sediment and irrigations had distracted him long enough that he had not raised his hand by the time the question was answered.

“The Conflagration or Fire Zone.”

“That’s right, Roman,” Mx. Stokes said. “Let’s start moving that way. And before any of you freak out—” The teacher raised their hands defensively. “The safety settings make the location totally secure.”

A few students scoffed, but Virgil stifled a grateful sigh. The Conflagration Zone, situated near seven o’clock, was the first of the zones covered completely in a dome, this one red instead of clear, with drawn-on flames rising along the sides. Ordinarily, Virgil would have thought of it as a large building, but dwarfed by the entire U.S.J. it was much less impressive. Virgil could almost feel Logan shaking with excitement next to him.

“How does the Conflagration Zone work?” Virgil said, deadpan.

“Very interesting that you would ask!” Logan almost burst out. “Actually, the fire in the space is maintained via a chemical balance, not by burning materials, which regulates it while simulating real fire. Many of the materials inside are actually functionally fireproof. A ventilation system maintains a regulated amount of smoke, and—”

“So,” Mx. Stokes began from the front of the group. Logan trailed off his lecture to listen. “We’re about to go inside the dome now. We are going to stop right inside the entrance, where there won’t be any fire, so don’t break off from the group or run around.”

The doors looked as if they might lead into an ordinary pavillion or museum, but Virgil shivered (ironically, he thought) at the prospect of going inside. He pulled his hood over his head.

“The Conflagration Zone is an environmentally controlled space—” The teacher’s voice changed as he crossed the threshold of the dome, and Virgil was pushed along as the students followed. It was a good thing Logan had already told him about the zone, because he couldn’t hear Mx. Stokes talking over the roaring in his ears.

Like the Ruins Zone, the space contained rubble and several collapsed structures, all engulfed in fire. Standing just inside the door was like facing a raging campfire, and Virgil flushed in the heat. There was no lighting inside the dome besides the flames, so the entire place was illuminated in red and orange. A few mock streets between buildings were the only places away from the entrance that seemed to be totally clear of fire. The class’ brief stay inside was mostly a blur for Virgil, and he breathed deeply when they turned and proceeded back outside. Outside, Virgil realized, was how he thought of the inside of U.S.J., despite the domed ceiling above them.

“Everybody really likes this next spot,” Mx. Stokes said. “Who knows what it’s called?”

“Flood Zone,” a few students said at once.

“Right, sometimes called the Shipwreck Zone,” Mx. Stokes went on. “Nice relief after that heat, huh?”

The students muttered agreement. Near nine o’clock arched the clear blue water of the artificial lake, a large yacht bobbing like a massive buoy two hundred yards from the shore. Behind the lake rose up a small mountain on which perched wooden scaffolding to support a amusement-park-style waterslide, funneling water into the lake. The main slide twisted around several times, reaching the height of an office building, and was wide enough that the entire yacht could have slid inside it. An offshoot from the slide did not come to rest in the water, but jutted out over the zone, spewing water to form a waterfall.

“Looks fun, right?” Mx. Stokes said. “You can’t see from here, but rock formations stab out of the belly of the slide, and the way down is pretty dangerous. The slide and boat are fully functional, though. You guys can check them out when you come back for your first session of rescue training.”

They’d reached the edge of the water, and Mx. Stokes bent down on the mossy shore to reach into the water and cup it in their hand.

“Lightly chlorinated,” they said. “To keep out bacteria and the like. You can even—” and they slurped the water from their hand like they were taking a shot. “Though I don’t necessarily recommend it. Go ahead and touch if you like.”

Several of the students plunged their hands into the water. Kai slipped off his sandles and dipped in his toes. Virgil slid down to sitting and felt the wet ground sink slightly under his weight. When he stuck his fingers into the lake, he could still see them clearly, if slightly distorted in shape and blued in color.

Logan plopped down next to Virgil and plunged his arm in all the way up to his shirt sleeve. When he pulled his hand back out, he’d grasped a fistful of soil from the edge of the water.

“Incredible,” he said, rubbing the grains of sandy dirt between his fingers. “They’ve actually incorporated the lake directly into the ground of the location. The irrigation of the water must be highly advanced.” When he sat back up, the front of his shirt was blurred with mud, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“The lake is connected directly to our next zone,” Mx. Stokes said, gesturing to the dome near ten o’clock. “The Downpour Zone’s ceiling and floor are routed with pipes to and from the lake to create the constant rain without wasting water. Now, I can see you’re all enjoying the lake, but I’m not sure you all would like to walk into the eye of a storm.”

Virgil suspected Logan would enjoy that very much, if it meant a chance to learn about irrigation or whatever it was.

“So, we’re going to walk along the dome and take a look through the doors, and we won’t be getting soaked,” Mx. Stokes said, beginning to walk around the edge of the lake toward the second dome at a brisk trot. Some of the students took an extra moment to get up from the shore, and Kai skipped several steps as he tried to put on his left sandal. Mr. Picani brought up the rear.

“You guys still with me?” Mx. Stokes called over their shoulder smilingly. “We’re almost done, I promise.”

As they approached the final dome, there was a faint sound of thunder from within, muffled by the walls, and Virgil had an image of the Downpour Zone as a snowglobe on Mx. Stokes’ mantlepiece. The dome was indigo and dappled with large painted clouds of blue and purple, intersected with large beams. When the teacher swung the double doors in to let the students peer inside, Virgil remained suspended near the back of the group. He’d seen storms before, and he only had to wait through a few minutes of oohs and ahhs before it was the time he’d been dreading: time to ascend back up all those massive stairs to the exit. Do you want to be a hero or not? he asked himself in an attempt at motivation.

Not that badly, he responded.

The entire group sans Patton and Mr. Picani, who had returned in the elevator, slugged up the stairs. The only students still apparently full of energy were Kai and Logan, who had sparked a conversation in their mutual admiration of the space and were now gibbering away to one another excitedly.

Too discouraged by the stairs to keep up, Virgil walked a few steps behind. It looked like Logan had found a new, more willing set of ears, even if those ears sometimes leaked goo. Virgil found he wasn’t relieved to be rid of Logan’s lecturing, and managed to catch a few snippets of their conversation.

“The production of the building was a direct result of…that’s why I find it so interesting....me too!”

Kai was several inches shorter than Logan, and did pant for breath about halfway up the stairs. Virgil slowed even further, but still caught up to the pair.

“Hello, Virgil,” Logan said. He was smiling. “Kai also knows a lot regarding the history of U.S.J.”

“I’m a big Glass fan,” Kai said, pausing to catch his breath. “I figured.” Virgil hadn’t meant to sound so cold, but Kai’s nose was leaking goo again. The shorter boy sniffed and then suddenly tensed. “Oh no, don’t—” Virgil didn’t get a chance to finish before Kai let out a massive sneeze, splattering Virgil with flecks of goo like smashed Jell-O.

“Oh, gross!” he said instinctively, shoving Kai away from him. Whether the other student was already thrown off balance or whether he’d pushed harder than he meant to Virgil was never quite sure, but Kai tumbled back and would have fallen onto his butt if Logan had not been directly behind him. Too surprised to catch Kai, Logan fell back against the railing of the stairs with an “oof,” Kai essentially in his lap. His glasses went flying.

Kai exclaimed and threw out one hand as if to catch the glasses, and they were enveloped suddenly by goo shot from his fingers before they flew past the safety rail and over the edge of the tall, tall staircase.

Kai almost screamed. “I’m really sorry!” he said, covering the noise of Virgil swearing.

Virgil leaned down to drag Kai to his feet — he was very light — and take Logan by the hand.

“I think my glasses…” Logan muttered.

“They went over the edge,” Virgil said. “Gosh, I’m so so sorry, will you need new ones? Can you see okay? Should I—”

“Oh, they’re not broken!” Kai insisted.

“What?” Logan got back to his feet.

“They’re not broken,” Kai said. “My goo is a shock absorber, they’ll be protected.”

“Everything okay back there?” Mx. Stokes had been leading the group, but paused when Kai shouted, and had now turned around to approach them. Mr. Picani appeared at the top of the steps after exiting the elevator with Patton and was also peering down to see why the group had paused.

“We’re so sorry, Mx. Stokes,” Virgil stuttered. “It was my fault. Logan’s glasses fell over the side of the stairs.”

“Well, that’s not good,” Mx. Stokes said after a beat. They leaned over the guardrail to peer into the Ruins Zone below. “Can’t see much from here, huh? Well, why don’t you — and what’s your name, kid?” They planted their left hand on Virgil’s shoulder.

“Virgil.”

“Okay, Virgil, I don’t think Logan here will be much help to you down there.”

Logan had, in fact, lost his depth perception and was experimentally walking up and down the nearest three steps with only minimal success.

“You...you want me to go down there?” Virgil asked. He was unsure how to put confused emphasis on every word in a sentence at once.

Mx. Stokes tapped their thumb against their lip. “Here, Virgil, why don’t you take your class rep, he’s a popular guy, right? His light quirk will be a big help down there.” Virgil had no time to protest before Mx. Stokes was waving. “Hey, Roman! Hop down here a minute!”

Roman was near the front of the group but trooped down the steps at the sound of his name. Mx. Stokes slapped their right hand onto his shoulder so they stood in a T-pose connecting the boys (albeit a crooked T, because Roman was taller than Virgil).

“You’re gonna take a jaunt with Virgil here to recover Logan’s glasses,” Mx. Stokes said. “Think of it like a real hero mission, boys.”

Roman looked unimpressed.

“Now,” Mx. Stokes went on. “Safety settings are still on in all zones, so there’s nothing dangerous down there so long as neither of you messes with anything. Just go ahead and run down there and right back up and we’ll hold the bus for you.” They lightly smacked both the boys’ shoulders and jogged away, gesturing for the rest of the class to follow.

“I really appreciate it, Virgil,” Logan said, touching Virgil’s arm lightly before walking away and leaving Virgil facing Roman on the middle of the stair.

The two stared at one another for a second before Roman huffed and started off down the steps. “Well, are we going or not?”

Virgil bit his tongue. He supposed putting up with Roman was enough of a punishment for sending Logan’s glasses spiraling into a collapsed city, and began to follow the other boy down, loath to think that he’d have to climb the stairs all over again.

When Virgil reached the base of the steps, Roman had wandered a few steps into the city and was staring around the ground, occasionally swearing under his breath.

“Thought you and Specs were buddies or something,” he said, peering under some fallen beams. “What’d you knock his glasses off for?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Virgil snapped.

“Geez, chill out,” Roman said, straightening up. “Just a question. Where did the damn things go, anyhow?”

“They fell over there,” Virgil said, pointing deeper into the ruins. There were a number of beams arching above the walk and though a strong sunlight was coming through the ceiling, it was difficult to see underneath them. “Why don’t you just use your quirk?”

“I don’t need to use it for everything!” Roman said a little too loudly.

“Geez, just a question,” Virgil said, imitating Roman and sticking out his tongue. “What, jealous since you’re basically quirkless anyway?”

“Hey, fuck off!” Virgil said, bristling. “I didn’t drag you down here or anything.”

“You said it was your fault the stupid things fell.” Roman took a few steps toward Virgil, his hands balled into fists.

“Yeah, but it’s not my fault that you’re acting like a massive ass,” Virgil snarled.

“Oh, fuck off, I’ll get the stupid things myself.” Roman whirled around. He stalked away, shaking slightly at the shoulders. Just as he was about to round the corner of one of the collapsed buildings, he took a furious swing at a low hanging beam, the impact of which created a hollow groaning sound. Roman kept walking.

Virgil was about to follow him when suddenly the groaning grew instead of faded, and the beam shuddered and collapsed directly over Roman’s head.

[sparklyjojos]

THE SAIMON FAMILY CASE recaps [4/13]

In which our detectives meet the great magician, talk about the theory of illusion a lot, and Kirigirisu is charmed.

--

PART 3

The first person narrator of the framing device shows up for a brief page to tell us about a memory predating the Case a few years. That was when he first visited the Saimon family—and when he became aware of her existence for the first time.

Crouching to watch the beautiful carps in the canal by the family’s residence, he lifted his sight and noticed first a visibly pregnant belly, then its owner: a woman in a black tomesode looking back at him, her gentle sight full of love befitting a mother.

He would later learn that her name was Tsukumo Yumeji.

--

Though the reader has already witnessed the splendid magical show of November 23rd, let us go back in time a day to the evening of 22nd, for that is when Ajiro Souji and Kirigirisu Tarou arrive in Yamaguchi. The circus schedules two performances a day, one in the afternoon and one in the evening, so free time after the evening performance seems like the perfect time to speak with Soga Tensui.

The detectives head towards the giant white tent against the stream of people who have just finished watching the show. Once they explain they’re here on Tensui's request, a young staff member leads them through the circus grounds—next to the souvenir booths, the toilets, and so forth—towards the restricted area by the back wall of the tent, where he holds the entrance open for them and beckons them to go through.

The staff area is a square of open space surrounded by a few smaller tents, with a bunch of trailer houses in the middle making the place feel cramped. People dressed in staff jackets are hanging all around. A couple of men still have their clown outfits on.

Kirigirisu is enthralled by this unusual sight; he has never seen something like this before and tries to take in everything at once. Ajiro, who has been walking in front of him, turns around to say something… but instead goes still, staring at something right behind Kirigirisu’s back. It’s probably just that young staff member who has been following them, but Ajiro’s strange expression makes Kirigirisu turn around to look as well.

Standing there is not the young staff member, but a tall man about fifty years of age, his magnificent stature and dignity making him seem an emperor, his jet-black hair elegantly swept back, his intense features adorned with a thin Kaiser moustache. He regards the detectives in complete silence, no visible emotions on his face, dark eyes intense, and the staff jacket he’s wearing does little to counteract the sheer power of his presence. He must have intentionally crept up upon them, patiently waiting for them to notice.

“You… you must be Soga Tensui?” Kirigirisu finally manages to say.

Instead of answering, the man removes his right glove, sticks his hand out for Kirigirisu to shake, then quickly puts the glove back on. Though the man’s hand looked empty, Kirigirisu realizes that a small piece of paper was somehow left in his own hand. It’s about the size of a business card, but says only:

Nice to meet you, I’m Soga Tensui.

And on the other side:

Nice to meet you, Kirigirisu Tarou.

“You already know my name…?” Kirigirisu is confused. Did Ajiro tell the man about him beforehand? He glances at Ajiro, but is met with an impenetrable stone face, so he shrugs off the surprise and presents his own business card. “It is indeed nice to meet you. I am a member of Nihon Tantei Club, Kirigirisu Tarou. I’m looking forward to our cooperation…”

Tensui accepts the business card, then holds it on top of his open left palm, covers it with his right, uncovers it, and… the business card has magically changed into a copy of Tensui’s own card. He shows both sides to stunned Kirigirisu. Nice to meet you, Kirigirisu Tarou. Nice to meet you, I’m Soga Tensui. Then Tensui uses his free right hand to point intently between his jacket’s right pocket and Kirigirisu.

“Are you asking me to look inside your pocket?” Kirigirisu once more glances at still completely serious Ajiro, who just nods, so he follows the instructions. “...I looked, but there doesn’t appear to be anything inside.”

Tensui nods, puts his right hand inside the pocket that has just been confirmed to be empty… and pulls out Kirigiru’s business card out of it.

“But—how?!” Kirigirisu can’t help but shout.

“Are you sure you checked thoroughly?” Ajiro sounds like he’s poking fun at him.

“I’m sure I did.” Kirigirisu is already feeling lost, but surprises don’t end there.

Tensui puts Kirigirisu’s card back in his right pocket, then tears his own card in half. The piece with Nice to meet you is given to Kirigirisu, then Tensui holds up the one with I’m Soga Tensui in his right hand so they can see it clearly. His left hand pulls out a lighter from his left pocket, lights the card on fire, and puts the lighter back. Once the fire subsides, an orange silk handkerchief shows up out of nowhere in its place. Tensui gestures at Kirigirisu to take and inspect it.

“It’s normal silk.” Kirigirisu tries to pass it to Ajiro, but he just shakes his head, I’m good.

Tensui takes the handkerchief back with his right hand, then makes a fist with his left and stuffs the handkerchief inside through a tiny opening between his fingers, the orange color peeking out. He moves his fingers like he’s curling the material inside into a ball, finally opens his fist… and instead of a handkerchief there is an actual orange ball there. He lets it bounce a few times on his palm, throws it high in the air—dumbfounded Kirigirisu following it with his sight—then catches it with both hands… but it has now turned into a mandarin orange.

From a burning business card to a silk handkerchief, to a ball, to an orange. Kirigirisu is already shocked out of his mind, but the show still doesn’t seem to be over, for Tensui gives him the orange and mimes peeling off the skin. Kirigirisu has no choice but to entrust his Nice to meet you scrap to Ajiro, then start to peel the orange… inside of which he finds a tightly rolled piece of paper.

The piece of paper is one half of a business card, saying I’m Soga Tensui on one side and Kirigirisu Tarou on the other, its torn edge a perfect fit to the Nice to meet you part Ajiro has been holding onto.

Kirigirisu has been involved in his fair share of strange and complicated cases over the years, but nothing has ever shaken him as much as the last few minutes.

A small applause arises next to him; Ajiro is clapping.

“I see you've improved further, Gensui,” he says.

Gensui? Kirigirisu looks closer at the torn card and notices that indeed it says I’m Soga Gensui, as if the printed words have magically transformed.

Tensui (Gensui?) finally loses his unemotional facade and gives them a genuine, gentle smile, a great contrast to his previously stern features.

“Forgive me for this little surprise,” he says in a fittingly deep, friendly voice. “Let me say it once more: my name is Soga Gensui, and it is nice to meet you, Kirigirisu Tarou.”

Kirigirisu is still in shock, but Gensui’s sudden change from an impenetrable wall to an affable fellow is accompanied by such relief that it makes him automatically crack a smile of his own.

“Likewise. So you aren’t Soga Tensui, but Soga Gensui?”

“Well, I am also Soga Tensui. As long as I don’t speak, that is.” Seeing Kirigirisu’s confusion, he adds, “You’ll understand once you meet my older brother. He is Soga Tensui, see.”

“Let’s leave explanations for later, Gensui,” Ajiro interrupts.

“As you wish, Souji.”

Looks like these two are good friends despite the age difference. For some strange reason, the thought evokes feelings of jealousy and loneliness in Kirigirisu; maybe it’s because as a man with no past, he finds Ajiro about the only person in his life he can truly be close with, other than his wife Kano.

Unfortunately, Gensui can’t really talk with them right now; tomorrow is the concluding day of the current show repertoire, and many preparations are still in order. What’s more, Gensui wants the two detectives to watch tomorrow's show first before they discuss the case in details. (While he is smiling a lot, whenever he mentions the case his face goes back to utterly serious.) The plan is that tomorrow evening after the show they will catch a ride with the Saimons to go back to their hometown, Tsuwano. That same night they will attend the wake of Saimon Yuuta, the third possible victim who was found dead just a couple days ago.

Since Gensui has to go help everybody prepare, Kirigirisu gets more information from Ajiro as they’re walking to the inn where they intend to spend the night.

The man they’ve just met is Saimon Suigetsu (48), whose stage name is Soga Gensui. He’s the younger brother and body double of Saimon Ryuusui (50), who’s known as Soga Tensui. It’s easy to get lost in all these similar names, especially considering that all of them have sui (“water”) in them somewhere.

[To explain a bit more about their names: Ryuusui is written 流水, just like the JDC author’s pen name, and means “flowing water”, “stream”. His stage name Tensui (天水) literally means “rainwater”, with the individual kanji standing for “sky” and “water”, perhaps referring to his Sky Walk and Sea Walk.

Suigetsu (水月) is a term meaning the Moon’s reflection in water, and the first kanji of Gensui (幻水) means a “phantom” or an “illusion”—quite fitting for a double.]

According to Ajiro, Gensui wanted to see for himself what kind of person Kirigirisu was before making his identity known. Apparently Kirigirisu made a positive first impression, so Gensui sent a sneaky signal to Ajiro, who only then could start referring to the man as “Gensui”.

While the two brothers are not twins, for show purposes they made themselves look as similar as possible. A part of this was introducing easily noticeable and memorable things to their looks: the tailcoat, the hairstyle, the moustache. Any good detective knows that people tend to remember characteristic details like that and overlook more subtle differences.

(As they are walking, Kirigirisu gets a strange feeling of deja vu. Perhaps he visited Yamaguchi before, just can't remember it.)

--

Soon, Ajiro and Kirigirisu settle down in a room at a traditional inn, the kind where you sit in a tatami room on legless chairs on opposite sides of a low table, eating local delicacies and having an inn employee ready to assist you whenever you clap your hands. It’s quite a relaxing time, in part because they got some alcohol inside them already and the conversation is flowing well. Maybe they’re getting a bit too relaxed on a job trip, but hey, they have time to spare, and are already close enough to consider the other something of a family member.

The conversation inevitably drifts back to the magician brothers.

“Just like Gensui himself said, he serves as his brother Tensui’s double,” Ajiro says. “Because of that, he must act like Soga Tensui in front of outsiders, at least until they prove themselves trustworthy. You can’t reveal this secret to anyone, do you understand? Not even your wife. I didn’t tell mine either.”

Kirigirisu knows that Ajiro is married to a kind woman called Mizuki and that they have a little boy called Souya. Apparently Mizuki was born in Shimane prefecture, just like the Saimons, and just like the two magician brothers she has the kanji for “water” (mizu) in her name… but surely that’s just a coincidence.

“Understood. I won’t tell anyone, not even Kano.”

“Looks like Gensui can judge people well.” Ajiro smiles a little.

“By the way, boss, this may be a baseless doubt on my part, but… have you ever actually seen both Tensui and Gensui at the same time?”

“You’ve barely just met one of them, and you’re already doubting the other’s existence?”

“No, that’s not what I—”

“Don’t worry. If anything, doubting is what makes a detective. However, I can assure you that Tensui and Gensui are two different people. I’ve met both at the same time, even.”

“Are they really so similar that no one ever notices? Not even their close ones?”

“The Saimons know, of course. The show is mostly ran by their family, but they employ some additional staff that doesn’t know the secret.”

“It’s beyond my understanding how two people could manage something like that. To always pretend to be the same person in front of their staff...”

“Then you still don’t understand what kind of people Tensui and Gensui are. They are magicians. Pretending that they are one and the same person is a part of the act.”

Kirigirisu shares his theory on how Gensui managed to sneak behind them earlier. He couldn’t just mix in with the crowd, since always perceptive Ajiro would spot him, so he probably hid himself in one of the nearby toilets, waited until they passed by, came out and quickly switched places with the young staff member. The switch had to happen just as Ajiro and Kirigirisu were getting through the entrance to the restricted area. However, it still seems strange how much Gensui had to rely on sheer luck; if they randomly looked back and witnessed the switch in progress, wouldn’t that break the illusion?

“Do you think a famous magician wouldn’t have already anticipated the possibility?” Ajiro answers with a question. “What may look to you like a lucky coincidence was actually a carefully calculated inevitability. Something like us suddenly turning around simply would not happen.”

Kirigirisu recalls that moment again and realizes just what Ajiro means. At the time, they had just entered a restricted area filled with smaller tents, trailer houses, staff walking all around, some people still in costume. These sights were something not many people were used to and would almost certainly take a minute to stare at. In fact, did Ajiro not turn around first, maybe Kirigirisu would never notice Gensui, too focused on the scenery in front of him.

“The possibility that we wouldn’t turn around was indeed high,” Kirigirisu admits, “but I wouldn’t say you can make an outcome of a situation like this completely inevitable.”

“You can if you use misdirection,” Ajiro says. “In magician vocabulary, it means pulling the audience’s attention away from something. Leading them in a wrong direction, hence: misdirection.” Seeing that Kirigirisu still doubts him, he adds, “If you think that misdirection can't make an illusion inevitably work, then… how about this?”

Ajiro rolls up his sleeves, holds his lit cigarette between two fingers of his right hand and stretches his arm towards the ashtray. Kirigirisu has no idea what’s going on, but something clearly is, so he looks at the cigarette in anticipation. Ajiro stretches his left hand forward as well, and suddenly—flings the lit cigarette towards it, left hand immediately closing in a fist. Thin wisps of smoke arise from between his fingers. The heat must be unbearable, but Ajiro seems unfazed. He points to the fist using his right hand, look closely, then slowly opens the fist… revealing absolutely nothing inside. He shows that both the front and back of his left hand look normal, no cigarette anywhere. Then, as if guessing Kirigirisu’s immediate thought, shows his right hand as well. Empty.

It’s not a big illusion, but Kirigirisu’s entire world still turns upside down. Despite knowing Ajiro for a few years, he’s never ever suspected that the man could do magic. Maybe every single person on the planet can, and he just forgot about it like about everything else, who knows at this point.

But even as he remains speechless, Kirigirisu’s brain is already working hard, his detective instinct yearning to logically explain what seems unsolvable.

The cigarette had to still be there, and still be lit, to give off smoke. Lack of a burn wound meant Ajiro couldn’t extinguish it in his hand. Therefore, it was probably still lit at the current moment, and couldn’t be hidden away easily without giving off smoke. But hidden where? Ajiro’s sleeves are rolled up. What is the trick?

Before he can figure it out, Ajiro once again shows him that both his hands are empty.

“Look closely,” he says. “I’m not holding anything, right? So if I now curl my left hand into a fist...” He does so. ”...there should be nothing inside, shouldn’t it? Now please hold it tight between your hands.”

Kirigirisu holds Ajiro’s fist with both his hands. He has to strongly lean forward on his knees to do that, and sincerely hopes that no one enters the room to see them in that awkward pose.

“You saw there was nothing in my hand,” Ajiro says, “and you yourself are holding it closed now. Wouldn’t it be strange if something appeared inside?”

“Strange? That would really have to be magic!”

“Then let me show you magic.” Ajiro reaches from below with his right hand, fingers squeezing in inside his fist as if he wants to pull something out… and at the same time, a wisp of smoke rises from between his and Kirigirisu’s fingers.

“That’s impossible!” Kirigirisu forgets himself and yells when Ajiro pulls out the lit cigarette from inside his fist.

“That’s quite an overreaction,” Ajiro comments with a slight smile. “I wouldn’t even call it magic, more like a small sleight of hand.”

Kirigirisu isn’t sure what the difference would be, considering that even if it was sleight of hand, it definitely looked like pure magic to him… maybe even more than Gensui’s act. Gensui was a professional magician, so one could prepare emotionally for the meeting, expect to see a few illusions from him, and know deep inside that there is always a logical method behind his act.

Ajiro, on the other hand, has just randomly done something that made him look like a wizard.

Maybe it's the surprise involved that makes an act truly magical; had Kirigirisu known about Ajiro’s skills before, he probably wouldn’t be nearly as astonished. Without time to prepare, he felt the same shock he would if a case’s culprit turned out to be someone not even on the list of suspects.

...interesting how when his brain couldn’t understand the illusion, it instead started analysing his own reactions.

“Can I borrow one of yours?”  Ajiro gestures to Kirigirisu’s pack of cigarettes.

“Take as many as you want, boss.”

“And I can do anything I want with them?”

“Yes, but… what are you going to do with them?”

“You won’t protest if I snap one in half, then?” And like he says, he does, despite definitely not being the type of person who would just take an underling’s cigarette and destroy it.

Before Kirigirisu can blink, Ajiro is throwing one half (only one half?) of the cigarette between his hands, playing catch ball with it. Eventually, he catches it in between fingers of both hands so that it can’t be seen. He opens his hands, revealing that the cigarette is now back to being whole.

“These are just bar tricks, but they help explain the use of misdirection.” Ajiro’s left hand makes a fist into which he inserts the cigarette. He holds it closed for a while, making strange stroking movements with his fingers, then opens his hand. No cigarette. Right hand empty as well.

Suddenly, Ajiro’s sight starts to wander, as if he’s noticed a fly. Kirigirisu follows his sight, but can’t see anything. Ajiro points to an empty spot in the air with his left hand, reaches there, grabs something invisible and holds it in his fist. He reaches inside his fist from below… and out comes the cigarette.

“Do what I do now, Kirigirisu.” Ajiro gestures at him to also take a cigarette and try imitating his strange grip. “Yes, just like that. Then you do this…” He moves his hands in slow motion, repeating a few times until Kirigirisu gets it right. “Once more. Hit your palms together at the end, as hard as you can.” As soon as they both clap, Ajiro shows both his hands, his cigarette nowhere to be seen. His left hand makes a fist, and just like before he reaches in with his right and pulls out the cigarette.

“What… how…?” Kirigirisu stammers out.

Ajiro opens his mouth to say something, but at that exact moment the room’s door is opened.

“Can I help you with something?” The inn’s employee looks inside the room. He must have heard them clap and assumed they were calling for him.

“Could you please tell us when our order will be ready?” Ajiro asks nonchalantly.

“We’re very sorry for the delay, we will bring it as soon as possible.”

“No, no, it’s all right. There’s no rush.”

The employee closes the door. Kirigirisu returns his sight to Ajiro… who already has his cigarette back and lit in his mouth, and gives him a very satisfied look before saying:

“And that, Kirigirisu, was misdirection.”

--

“I had the opportunity to pursue magic after I met the Saimons,” Ajiro explains once Kirigirisu comes out of shock. “It was frankly intimidating to realize just what mastery it requires and how it changes one’s life. There was a time when I trained religiously. Even now it’s a small hobby of mine, but not something I’d go around demonstrating to others. It’s not that I don’t want to; I still show the odd trick for my family sometimes. Souya is young enough that he believes I’m really a wizard, just like he believes in Santa Claus. But I really just know a few simple tricks that work better with the element of surprise.”

Kirigirisu can relate to little Souya, considering he also for a moment felt like Ajiro was using real magic. Well, losing his memories essentially made him a reborn man, so maybe in that sense he really resembles an innocent child sometimes. Which is to say, he’s pretty easy to deceive. It’s not like he can remember ever seeing magic before.

“I think you’re being too humble, boss,” he says. “It really looked like magic to me.”

“That’s because you don’t know anything about illusion yet. These were beginner acts, nothing to brag about... though it is true that the wide world of illusion is supported on the backs of amateurs more than professionals, and the latter all had to start somewhere. I’m really not much more than a beginner and haven’t mastered many things yet—and the unspoken rule of magic, the moral responsibility of a magician, is to never show anyone an illusion one hasn’t mastered. Not even those you fully trust.”

“Not even…?” Kirigirisu thinks that if he were ever to learn magic, he would for sure train in front of Kano so she could help point out mistakes. “Why not?”

“Because an imperfect illusion reveals the method behind it. For a magician, the method is his entire life, the utmost secret of his art. Do you think I’m exaggerating? Magicians aren’t wizards. They need secrets in order to work. They make a living by selling dreams. People know, of course, that there must be a logical explanation behind the illusion—but as long as the method is kept hidden, they can indulge in the charm of magic, briefly go back to being a child.”

“So revealing the method destroys the illusion… but I feel like what I just saw was simply too amazing. Surely its charm won't just completely disappear if I learn how it's done.”

“A lot of laymen think the same way. However, the moment I tell you the method, the wondrous feeling of true magic will surely disappear, as if you just came to your senses after a period of infatuation. When I look back at how easily charmed I was when I first saw simple illusions, it feels like looking back at how much you once believed in Santa Claus and bemoaning own ignorance.”

“But does this way of thinking really apply to all people? I think that rather than being annoyed or embarrassed at their old belief in Santa Claus, many would look back at it fondly as a memory of innocent times.”

“That is true. In a similar manner, we can divide people into two groups based on their approach towards illusion.”

“You mean that those who belittle their past selves for believing in Santa Claus would also lose all sense of wonder after learning the method behind an illusion? And conversely, those who look back at it fondly would still feel charmed?”

“That’s the easy way to describe it. The thing is, there’s few people for whom the magic wouldn’t be lost. Many methods are, once you know them, ridiculously simple. When learning the truth, many will feel deceived, deny that they were ever emotionally moved, consider the magician a swindler, and maybe even storm out in anger.” A tone of sadness can be heard in Ajiro’s voice, perhaps caused by his own experiences. “That’s not the only reason for secrecy. Another is that illusions are a sort of joint intellectual property belonging to all magicians. Exposing the secret impacts not just your own life, but lives of many others that use the same method, it may even expose an entire genre of the art of illusion. Usually, magicians only learn each other's methods through willing exchange.”

“So methods are kept secret in order to protect the entire magician community…”

“It’s not just to protect their own well-being; it’s also for the sake of their audience. Many amateurs seem to think that when a charmed spectator asks them to reveal the secret, they should do so—but it only breaks the illusion for them, sours the pleasant memory. Keeping the secret safe is actually the best thing you can do for your audience. The unspoken rules of conduct really boil down to what we know as Howard Thurston’s Three Rules in Magic. To tell you the truth, these are just a few of the rules Thurston listed, but these are the ones widely circulated in the magician community of Japan.”

The three rules are as follows:

1. Do not preemptively explain what you are going to do.

2. Do not show the same illusion twice to the same audience.

3. Even if asked directly, do not reveal the secret.

The third rule is obvious. The first one is easy to understand too: if Ajiro started his little show by saying he’s going to make the cigarette disappear, that would lessen the element of surprise and heighten the risk of Kirigirisu noticing how it was done. The second rule serves the same purpose, as someone seeing an illusion for the second time would already know what’s coming and probably be actively trying to guess the method, sometimes successfully.

“You may be thinking I showed you the same illusion four times in a row, but in reality these were four slightly different illusions connected in one routine,” Ajiro explains.

“I see. Just like Gensui performed one routine made of many little illusions. I understand the rule, but still… I would really love to see you perform your routine again, boss.”

By saying this, Kirigirisu doesn’t mean that he wants to try guessing the secret or challenge Ajiro in some way. It’s just an innocent wish to witness the magic again. Once he explains his feelings, maybe a bit too desperately, Ajiro smiles at him in response.

“I know you’re not the type of person to do things out of malice, I wouldn’t take you here if you were. You would never reveal a secret to anyone if you can help it. Well, maybe except to Kano… I’m joking. But it’s a point of personal morals for me to never show the same illusion twice to the same person, not even to you, not even to my own family. ...I hate to talk in hackneyed cliches, but that’s the truth. There are two kinds of people in the world: magicians and non-magicians. The distinction between amateurs and pros doesn’t matter, just like those who investigate fewer cases than us are nonetheless called detectives. It’s not even the matter of actually performing magic or not. What matters is having the right spirit. Even a talented master might be selling out secrets behind people’s back. Someone who can’t even perform a single illusion, but loves the world of magic with all their heart and guards its secrets, can be seen as a magician even when being a part of the audience. In fact, Kirigirisu—if you want, you can become a magician starting right now. How about it?”

“I… If I do decide to become a magician...” Kirigirisu’s voice is trembling. “What will I actually have to do in order to do that?”

“All you need is the right spirit. Be true to your heart’s love towards magic, and you shall be a magician.”

In order to never forget that, Ajiro has apparently created his own little set of rules for himself that he has never spoken about to anyone before Kirigirisu.

Ajiro’s Three Rules are as follows:

1. Do not boast about being a magician.

2. Remember to treat other magicians with respect.

3. Do not reveal your secrets to anyone who isn’t a magician.

Kirigirisu likes these rules; they are concise and easy to understand.

“But this aside,” he says, “why are you telling me all that about becoming a magician in the first place?”

“Because you asked to see my illusions again, and because I can see what sort of person you are. Usually, people unfit for magic lose interest after I talk to them about it, but you’re different. And you must have noticed that while my rules say to never reveal your secrets to others, there is one exception.”

“If the other person is also a magician...”

“That’s why I’m telling you all this. You only need determination to become a magician. So, Kirigirisu—won’t you become one?”

If he does, it means that he will be able to learn about Ajiro’s magic, and not only his, Gensui’s too… There’s only one answer Kigirisu can give to that.

And so, the magician Kirigirisu Tarou is born.

--

[>>>NEXT PART>>>]

[kentuckywrites]

Brainjack: Loud Silence (Part 1)

So @heroicmeep has been writing @deltheor ‘s Sydney’s Brainjack tyrant arc for a while (which is an AMAZING read) and I recently got inspired to write something based off its events.  However, that something grew into twenty four pages where “Pongo” got somewhat involved in things...needless to say, I went OVERBOARD. So this will be two parts long - it was a fun little ride, and now I have feelings.

It felt weird having his comm device turned off. Vandham had given him the all clear to do so - well, actually, he’d taken it out of Pongo’s hands and shut it down himself after he granted Pongo time to take a vacation. Pongo didn’t exactly want a vacation, but Secretary Nagi had gotten wind of how hard he was working and had told him in the most polite terms possible that he was taking a break whether he liked it or not. Pongo hadn’t been given much room to argue.

So halfway through his vacation Pongo flew his Skell over to Oblivia, to the Floating Reef to the far east. He’d packed himself a nice lunch to enjoy while looking out over the continent, and for once he was looking forward to the peace and quiet. It wasn’t that Pongo didn’t enjoy human interaction, but lately his missions with other BLADEs had come with little inconveniences, little mishaps that he had to solve. Broken comm devices, Skells out of gas, teammates arguing, battle tactics thrown to the wind. They all built up after a while. As Pongo exited his Skell, he realized that maybe being forced onto a vacation wasn’t a bad thing after all. 

His plan for vacation had been to explore the continents on his own, get some time alone with his thoughts. He’d packed enough coffee and extra rations to last him a week, maybe a little longer. Pongo knew enough about Mira’s ecosystem that he’d be able to hunt down and scavenge for some food, making good use of the knife Irina had lent him. The blade still felt awkward in his hands, and he preferred using traps whenever possible, but he couldn’t exactly avoid using it. He still had his photon saber and dual guns if things went wrong. Surprisingly, he hadn’t gotten into any dangerous altercations with indigens or Ganglion during his vacation, and he hoped it stayed that way.

Pongo sat down at the edge of the Floating Reef, setting down his lunch to the side. It was a rare day where Oblivia was shrouded under a layer of clouds, a threat of storms and lightning. He breathed in the Oblivia air, a mixture of moisture and sandy desert metals. If only he could sit here forever, taking in the sights and smells. It was calming in a way he could never admit out loud. He’d be forced on more vacations if he confessed his desires. 

The moment Pongo decided to open up his lunch, his stomach lurched. A rumble pierced his ears and he looked up quickly at the horizon. Was that the beginnings of the electrical storm in the west? That was what he thought, at first, but when he saw no traces of lightning he scowled. His hands pressed into the dry desert ground, rocks imprinting into his palms. He watched with a close eye to see if the horizon would change.

Pongo.

Mira spoke, a whisper that was both distant and too close for comfort. He spoke out loud in response, for there was no one else around to hear his monologuing.

“Mira? Are you alright?”

Something is wrong. I feel their confusion and pain in Caul-dron’avos. They are scared, but why?

Pongo knew Mira was referring to the indigens in Cauldros. “Is something attacking them?”

No, not attacking. But...I think something is there. Something unnatural. 

“The Ganglion?”

No, they have existed in Caul-dron’avos long enough for me to consider them natural. This is artificial in nature, but...I believe this stems from a human presence. 

“A human?” Pongo said, rubbing his chin. His hand lifted sand up from the ground and deposited it on his chin and on his lap, but he paid no mind to it. “Is someone going around and killing indigens?”

No one is dying. But there are many humans there, and they seem...subdued by something. Controlled, almost. 

“Controlled...what in the name of everything living…”

I guess I should have expected you to be just as confused. You are being forced on a vacation, after all, so it is only natural for you to be ignorant of everything happening around you.

“That is not fair!” Pongo cried, “But you have me curious. Perhaps I should go to Cauldros to investigate?”

That might put you in danger.

“Nice to see you caring about me! I can handle myself out there.”

Am I not allowed to care about my vessel despite him being overwritten by a childish and naive personality who has no sense of self preservation?

Pongo chuckled to himself. “Love you too, Mira. Let me know if anything changes out there. I will investigate after I eat.”

Are you telling me you are prioritizing your lunch over rushing headfirst into danger?

“You just called me out on my lack of self preservation, so yes.”

Fuck you. Eat quickly.

Pongo couldn’t help but smirk as he unrolled the wrapping around his sandwich, but deep down he was still shaken about Mira’s warning. What had happened in Cauldros? Were people really being controlled by something, like Mira theorized? He had picked up on the fear in Mira’s voice, almost hidden by its monotonous whisper, and now that same fear was taking root within him. If there were people in danger, he was going to help, vacation be damned. He wouldn’t let Vandham chew him out for this. 

In a few quick minutes Pongo scarfed down the food he’d brought and hopped back into his Skell. Eros’s engines purred as he booted up the flight module, setting course for Cauldros. It would be a long flight over a vast ocean, hardly scenic. Pongo could cut the tension in his cockpit with his knife, and after a few minutes of peaceful flight, he turned on Eros’s radio. The station that came on liked to play Earth music, songs considered classics, old but not forgotten. He recognized the one that came on - IRIS, by the Goo Goo Dolls. What a funny band name. He lost himself to the music for the entire flight to Cauldros, the sky around him shifting into darkness. 

When Pongo finally saw Cauldros on the horizon, he tried to look for any indication that something was wrong. But from the surface, everything was as it should have been. He pushed Eros’s thrusters to go faster, on a direct path to the Adder Byroad. Flying in from the southeast wasn’t the safest way into Cauldros; the sky was always littered with Ganglion Skells patrolling the continent. But he’d had good luck flying past them before. He knew the openings in their defenses.

And so he snuck past, landing in a secluded part of the Byroad. He opened up his cockpit, his nose shriveling up when he smelled the metallic heat of Cauldros. It had been a while since he’d been to Cauldros, and looking upon its barren and lava-filled landscape, it wasn’t hard to remember why. Too many indigens thrived here for his comfort, too many evil schemes, too many disturbing memories. He shivered as his feet hit the ground, his skin tingling under his vest. The heat had never bothered him, but the memories always would.

Pongo double checked his gear before beginning his surveillance, keeping an eye out for any other humans. Everything seemed quiet, but as Pongo kept walking, he discovered things were too quiet. He had at least expected some gerrids on the Byroad, but it was just him. Just Pongo.

...No. No, it wasn’t just him. Something else was here.

He could feel it, but couldn’t see it. Something pressing inside his mind, an oppressive and shadowed force. It felt similar to Mira’s presence, but this wasn’t Mira trying to control him. This was...could it be a Ganglion? A new indigen? Another human? Whatever it was, he could feel its mind crawling around in his own, tiny spiders invading his brain. Pongo clutched his head as the spiders started to bite, pain coursing through his body. He fell to his knees, gritting his teeth, doing everything in his power not to scream, not to draw attention to himself. 

Mira’s voice broke through the pain.

I know what this is. You cannot fight this. You need to give me control.

Its tone was dark, laced with a poisonous rage. Pongo had no choice but to let go, and his vision went white.

~

Mira opened his eyes, letting go of his head and standing himself up. The pain was residing now that Pongo had given him control, and Mira prepared himself to explain.

That was an Art. Brainjack.

Pongo began, his voice an echo inside Mira’s mind. It felt strange to have the roles reversed, for the physical body to belong to Mira instead of Pongo, for Pongo’s voice to be guiding Mira instead of the other way around.

“Yes. If I remember correctly, it can be used by humans who wield knives.” Mira’s voice sounded almost exactly like Pongo’s now that he was in control, but there was still an echo in this form, an otherworldly and commanding force. “You were Brainjacked once. I had to save you. Remember?”

I remember something like that happening. I was having coffee. The man who Brainjacked me...his name was Sydney.

“Right. He got fairly angry that I wiped his attempt from your memory.”

You did WHAT -

“Believe me, you did NOT want to remember what he did to us. Besides, your absolutely childish optimism shut him up quickly afterwards.”

Pongo was quiet for a moment, and Mira took that as a cue to walk, his hand dangling close to his photon saber. 

He said he Brainjacked me because he was bored. I always thought Brainjack only worked on indigens, but...Mira, do you think that he is the one who tried to Brainjack me just then?

Mira’s lips pursed. “I do not want to ignore that possibility, but I do not think Brainjack has that large of a range.”

You are right, its range is fairly small. But you said it felt like a lot of things were being controlled, right?

“...this does not feel right. Hopefully we stumble across a human soon so we can ask what is going on.”

You will maintain control through it all? Are you sure?

Mira rolled his eyes. “Either that or you get immediately Brainjacked the moment you regain control. Best you stay inside for a while.”

Alright. I trust you.

“Like you have a choice,” Mira joked, but when Pongo didn’t respond, he assumed he’d hit a nerve and sighed. He walked on, making a mental note of where Pongo had parked his Skell as he trekked farther into the continent.

With such a high surveillance point, Mira could eventually see other humans in the distance, some clumped together into groups, others traversing the land solo. All of them had weapons drawn. Some of them sparked memories in Mira’s mind - were they friends of Pongo? Had they gone on missions before?

There! We should try and talk to those people down there. Maybe they can tell us what is going on!

Pongo sounded excited, relieved in a way. Mira rolled his eyes, letting one of his hands rest on the hilt of his photon saber. He would’ve preferred if Pongo brought his dual swords instead, but then again, it wasn’t as if Pongo had prepared for any of this.

“Are you an idiot? That is too dangerous,” Mira hissed, “If something tried to Brainjack you before, then it likely tried to Brainjack those humans too. I bet that is why I sensed something off before. They are being controlled by something...someone.”

Controlled by another human, or at least a humanoid who can wield a knife and has been registered with BLADE. No civilians can access Arts.

“What about the Ganglion? Do they have Arts like you do?”

I am not sure. They have their own technology and method of weapon creation, but in my experience, they have nothing like Brainjack. I can only think of one other creature on the planet that can control humans, but -

“The Wanderer-King resides in Noctilum,” Mira finished, “And as far as I can discern, he is still there.”

Right. He hardly ever leaves his cave.

In the midst of their conversation, Mira had failed to notice that the humans down below had spotted him, and were approaching with their guns and melee weapons pointed at him. When he snapped back into reality and saw the humans coming his way, he grit his teeth. 

“Pong’netai-opta, LOOK. Do they look like they harbor good intent?”

Mira drew the photon saber at his side, the blade igniting under his grasp. It hit him that he had only a small grasp of human fighting styles; he knew Arts existed, what some weapons provided in terms of resistance and buffs, but the bar on his hilt labeled TP had almost no meaning to him. He had no time to ask Pongo about it, because when the humans descended upon him, they were quick to act. 

The first human to strike held a javelin between her auburn hands, and when the tip of the blade thrust forward it crackled with colorful electricity, reds and blacks intertwined in twisted harmony. Mira twisted his body to dodge it and immediately put up his photon saber to block the longsword that had attempted to strike him down at the same time as the javelin. He ducked and ran to an open spot to regain his bearings before pressing one of the Arts on the photon saber’s hilt. He cast the blade down in a brilliant show of sea green energy, wisps of light trailing behind and floating around his body, unconscious supports. He managed to hit the longsword user in the shoulder, a well dressed man with sunglasses dark enough to hide his eyes, but it was not a success to be proud of. From Mira’s backside he caught another photon saber wielder activate an Art and run forward, launching his body into a series of front flips, his saber inches away from hitting Mira. He grit his teeth as he stumbled backwards, and yelped when a bullet hit him in the upper arm. Three melee fighters, two ranged maintaining their distance. Mira shook his head. He could take them down, he just had to focus.

The girl with the javelin propelled herself forward by jamming her javelin into the ground and pushing to aim a kick at Mira. She’d taken too long to set herself up and Mira could predict where to go to dodge it and knock her off balance, and he did exactly that. She tumbled to the ground, and when she got herself back up, Mira saw out of the corner of his eye that her gaze was burning red, a strange symbol within her iris. 

Mira, stop!! That is my friend, Aeviann! 

“They are not your friends right now,” Mira said, nearly dodging another swing from the longsword user. A name popped up from Pongo’s memory - Draco - and Mira had to step back in a defensive posture. 

“Stop trying to regain control! You will jeopardize us both!!”

I will not let you hurt them!

A swing, a hit, someone was bleeding now and it wasn’t Mira. Time became irrelevant and he could only feel the hilt of the photon saber in his hand, how it finally connected with its targets, how the dark landscape of Caul-dron’avos was being stained with blue. There was something beautiful about Mira’s rage in that moment, something freeing. He had wanted revenge against the humans not long ago for their savage destruction of his ecosystems, and they’d proven themselves worthy, but some resentment lingered behind. He swung and hit with everything his body had left, but with every hit, his grip on the body kept slipping.

MIRA!! STOP!!

“And just give up?! They would kill us if we stopped defending ourselves,” Mira yelled, realizing just how long the fight had been dragging on, realizing that Pongo was close to regaining control. “Just shut up and let me -”

Mira screamed suddenly as his inner conscious was ripped apart. Pongo was too close to returning to the body, and whoever was Brainjacking these humans was close to taking Pongo’s mind too. Mira had to use the last bit of his strength to stay in control, almost ignoring his surroundings to keep Pongo at bay. But in the end, all he could do was watch Pongo’s mind slip to the front, and the pain erupted tenfold. Mira held on for dear life trying to stop Pongo from being Brainjacked, and through a lens he watched Pongo drop his saber, take every hit that came to him, pleading with his former friends to remember him, to break free of their binds, to remember themselves. 

Of course it didn’t work. 

Pongo took too many hits in the end and the poor body collapsed, and in Pongo’s mind, Mira spat a final curse before their vision went dark.

[sheonvinyl]

the snl standby line ~experience~

um. wow.....

so i’m making this post mostly for myself and to have a documentation of these memories while its all still pretty fresh in my brain, but i figured i would share it on here too just in case anyone wanted to read it or chat about it all w me. (side note: if u were in the line too PLS hit me up we MUST discuss)

basically, long story short is my friend and i slept on the streets of nyc for three nights in below freezing degree weather, got standby tickets for the live show and were able to get in......like i was THERE. for the snl LIVE taping. 

feel free to keep reading below the break if you want an extremely detailed description of the whole ordeal and my personal experience that no one asked for dsjkhfksdjh

to be frank our journey did not start out as we had originally planned lmao. when harry announced that he was doing double duty my friend and i immediately were like. let’s start planning bc we’re 100% going. that resulted in a lot of amazon prime orders and reading up on blogs about tips and tricks in order to plan. we were trying to gauge how far in advance we were going to have to get in line in order to have a good chance. we got a lot of our info from a twitter account/blog run by these three women who have been to every show this season and been in the standby line every week so we trusted their advice. they have been so many times that they apparently have a relationship with the security ppl and are in contact with them. and obviously since it was harry this week, there was a lot more buzz about it and higher stakes of actually getting a ticket. people had been tweeting about lining up on MONDAY in order to be in the front of the line. this account reached out to people and nbc and said that security didn’t want anyone lining up before thursday and if people did, they would be asked to leave and not allowed to get back in line again. finding this out made us panic a bit bc we didn’t want to get thrown out for breaking the rules or anything like that. we originally decided to finish up our days at our internships on wednesday, head back to our apartment, gather up all our supplies and head to 30 roc around 10 so that we could be ready to get in line at midnight aka when it would officially be thursday. 

however, when i woke up wedensday morning amidst all the news about harry’s tour dates etc. there was an update that there were ~20ish people in line already. and that set us into a panic. we were confused if they were going to be thrown out or not bc they lined up before thursday, but periodically as we checked throughout the day security didn’t seem to be doing anything about it. so we made the decision to get to the line as quickly as possible after work. not sure i’ve ever moved faster in my life than i did when i got home and immediately threw anything i thought would be remotely useful into my duffle bag. the state of my room right now? despicable.

we make it to the line a little bit after 8 pm and after an initial assessment, we were around #70-80 in line. and based on that, we decided to stay and set up camp bc we thought our chances were pretty good. (for reference: when the standby tickets were handed out on saturday morning, we were 86th and 87th in line so the number definitely fluctuated based on when people counted us and people maybe being in the bathroom during the count etc.)

everyone around us in line was super super super nice and the ppl we met thru it will def be homies for life. we went through too much together not to be bonded for life ksjdhfksdh. shout out to aisha @teafull​ specifically !!!! we really did that luv......miss u and kristina already babes xoxoxox

wednesday night was definitely the worst sleeping-wise. our set up originally was a waterproof tarp on the ground and then a yoga mat that my friend used as a bed and then our two camping chairs next to the yoga mat. for the first night, i slept in the camping chairs using one to sit in and having my legs propped up on the other one. we each had two blankets and were wearing more layers than i could ever count. we bought a shitton of feet warmers, toe warmers and hand warmers in preparation, but we didn’t really get the hang of using them until the second and third night lol. i woke up probably every hour and a half on wednesday night bc i was either uncomfortable or just so unbearably cold. every time i woke up i made sure to move my toes around bc i was so paranoid i was going to get frostbite lmao. 

thursday was better. we actually got the hang of the hand and feet warmers!! we figured out that if we were wearing shoes they didn’t really work because they were being suffocated and they needed to be in open air to work properly. they worked exponentially better if we didn't wear shoes bc they were exposed to the cold air and heated up really well so that’s a useful piece of information out of this i guess?? sdjhkds. at this point i think there were about 150 people in line. the line wrapped from the back of the nbc building on 6th ave/avenue of the americas around to w 48th street as far as the nintendo store which ends right at the today show plaza (and it got even longer over the next two days). 

one of the worst things about the whole experience would probably have to be the incessant comments from passerbys on the street. they would look at us and speak about us as if we weren’t there. they would also film or take photos of us in the LEAST discreet ways possible which was very irritating. and made me feel like a literal zoo animal on display. i heard comments like “they know the show is on SATURDAY right?”, “they’re doing all of this for that one guy from one direction?”, “do your parents know you’re doing this?”, “you’ve got to be kidding me”, “they’re going to freeze to death for not even a guaranteed ticket to see this guy” and by far the absolute worst one and most offensive thing i heard, “they’re like the modern day homeless”. i could go on a whole separate tangent about this because it makes me so FUCKING angry, but i was very close to confronting some people because of the impeccably inconsiderate, insensitive and blatantly classist comments people were making straight to our faces. additionally some people in line were being harassed by people from radio stations (or people posing as employees of radio stations) that clearly had the agenda of making it seem like fans of harry are dumb and unaware of world issues etc. you can read a more well-written and detailed account about it all on aj’s blog here. but i’ll reiterate that they definitely chose the wrong group to mess with!! the issue was dealt with in record time and i’m proud of and thankful for all the people who stood up to that asshole and put him in his place. he deserved it.

i slept the best on thursday night into friday. probably because i finally had the common sense to buy GLOVES (someone lmk why i thought it was okay to come without them ??? ) as well as buy an extra blanket at a barnes and noble nearby. one of my roommates was also kind enough to bring me her yoga mat and two extra pairs of pants to add to my layers. those two extra layers 100% made a difference. not much happened in the line on friday besides a little bit of drama between a couple of girls at the front of the line who apparently left for 10+ hours that day and (to my knowledge) weren’t kicked out of the line. i don’t want to speak too much on it because i wasn’t directly involved in any of it and only heard it by word of mouth. however, i will say i think there was definitely some suspicious activity from some people that were in line who were for example, using lawn chairs (which are specifically prohibited on the snl webpage) and abusing their break times. 

at 7 pm on friday, the line was shifted so that the beginning of it started at the doors to the nbc studio. i think they do this mainly so that the pages who hand out the standby tickets have easier access to the line? but i’m not positive. our new area was now on 6th ave, smack dab in front of the rear end of 30 roc, basically where the line had originally started. with the amount of people in line (probably around 200 or so at this point on friday) it STILL wrapped around to west 48th even after the shift. and then not even 20 minutes after they moved us was when snl interns came down with CARTS of slices of WATERMELON and CHERRIES !!!!!!! when i tell you i lost it.....

i didn’t get a good picture of the cherries but you get the idea. one of the interns giving us info about what was going on said that harry “was very specific about giving you guys cherries and watermelon” sjkdfhksdjh. and because of his previous behavior w the kiwis i was like....well he’s not playing watermelon sugar then we’re just going to have to prepare for something else. and let me tell you, i have never been more happy to be wrong in my entire LIFE. 

additionally, a couple of men, who i believe worked for snl or nbc, came around with carts of soup for all of us. they didn't confirm or deny that harry sent them (which makes me think he probably didn’t), but the two options were either chicken and sausage or split pea. yes, that’s correct. SPLIT. PEA. when they told me that, i shrieked in their faces, “YOU’VE GOT TO BE JOKING” and they just looked at me so weirdly and go, “......no? like which one do you want......” skdjhfkjsdh. they definitely thought i was absolutely off my rocker (which i certainly was, but that’s besides the point). i’m pescatarian so i chose split pea, and if there’s one thing to know about me it’s that i absolutely ABHOR peas, but i ate it anyway. i had to use all of the oyster crackers as well as some pretzel crisps that i brought with me as a snack in order to make it bearable LMAO. however, regardless of if harry sent it himself, it was a really nice gesture and i’m thankful that they were kind enough to provide us with some food. the snl staff also sent down hot chocolate and coffee and pizza over the course of the three days which was very much appreciated as well!

we were a lot less separated in our new spot on 6th ave so everyone in line was able to hang out with each other a lot more which as really fun!! a girl near us had brought cards against humanity and a group of 7 of us played for what felt like over an hour or so which was really good time. aisha won and no, i am not salty about it at all !!!!!1!1!11!11!!!! 

it was really difficult to sleep that night as well because we were on a much busier road with a lot more lights. it also felt colder and windier despite windscreens that staff put up around our barricades (see the poor quality pic of my friend and i with one of them below LOL). i think everyone was really on edge for the next morning so i’m sure that didn’t help with sleeping either. we settled down to go to bed a little past midnight and i woke up at least three times throughout the night to readjust my blankets and sleeping position or check the time.

finally saturday morning came. my friend had to shake me awake at 6:30 am bc i was finally able to doze off again, but the panic in me immediately activated and i was UP and ready to go. we still hadn't come to a full decision on if we were going to choose dress rehearsal or live yet so we were definitely on edge. we basically wanted to wait until the pages came to us and ask them how many people chose live vs. dress so that we could choose the show we were more likely to get into. however, deep inside i know that we both desperately wanted tickets to the live show. we had been keeping track of other people who were farther up in the line via their socials and seeing what they were choosing too. surprisingly (at least to me), a lot of people ahead of us decided to choose dress rehearsal rather than live. in theory, it makes sense because you’d hopefully get to see more sketches that might get cut for time as well as “spend more time” w harry. my friend and i (who is probably the biggest snl fan on the planet, no lie) would’ve been happy with either, but we both definitely wanted to witness the show that everyone else was going to watch on tv. 

when the pages got to us we found out that it was basically split 50/50. an equal amount of people decided to do live vs. dress. for either show we chose, we would’ve been in the 40s for our standby ticket number. and because of that, we decided to SEND IT and sign up for tickets for the live show (and partly because all our friends in line were also sending it w the live show too!!!). we were tickets #41 and #42 and we honestly felt really really good about it, but we didn’t want to discuss it too much or get our hopes up in the event that it didn’t end up working out. 

after that, the actual standby line experience was basically over. we IMMEDIATELY grabbed all our stuff and ubered back to our apartment. our roommates were already up and they greeted us with lights up blasting through our alexa akjhfkdfh. saturday was also conveniently my university’s homecoming weekend, and as seniors in college, my friend and i felt that it was important for us to go. i won’t go into too much detail about it bc that’s not really the point of this whole post, but my friend and i REALLY had ourselves a DAY on saturday. i actually don’t know how we pulled this off. we ended up showering for probably 40 minutes each to scrub the grime off our body and then day drank from 11:30 to maybe 5 pm........like??? whomst???? luckily, i was able to squeeze in a nap before we had to start getting ready for check in at 10 pm back at 30 roc, but i was 110% hungover when i woke up. 

we got to 30 roc at around 9:30 and were told to go to the nbc store to check in. from there they cross-checked the name on your ID and name on your ticket and then lined you up in order based on your ticket number. i don’t think i realized how many people actually ended up lining up for the standby line until we were there....people had ticket numbers all the way up #267 or something. that’s CRAZY!! after a bit of waiting (maybe half an hour?) a security guy came out and told us that they were going to starting bringing the group up into the corridor and get the process moving. he made it clear that this wasn’t a guarantee to get in. the first 40 were taken and then after about 5 minutes they sent probably the next 40 or so (including us in the front of that second group). from there, we did a security check and waited in the hallway outside the peacock lounge (anyone who’s been to a taping of snl, jimmy fallon or seth meyers might know what i’m talking about). while waiting there we saw a few people trickle in and go through a security check as well. those people included zoey deutch (!!!!!!) - who was rocking this INSANE red plaid suit combo as well as the cutest bob i’ve ever seen - as well as GLENNE aka jeff’s wife who was also serving looks™️ with her outfit. 

security then moved us farther down the hallway closer to the elevators and this is where we all started getting really nervous. i had no concept of time bc my phone was running out of battery and i turned it off bc i was paranoid if they saw it they would ask me to leave skdjhfs. it was only a matter of minutes before we knew if we were going to make it in or not. the staff had us line up two by two and kept counting and recounting us. then one of them grabbed a stack of wristbands and counted us one last time before he stopped at ticket #30 and said “congratulations all of you have a seat in the show”. the energy in the room was SO CHARGED. he was handing out their tickets and was urging them to put them on as quickly as possible and then they were ushered into the elevators. side note: there’s rumors that lorne michaels (creator and head of snl) reserves 30 seats specifically for the standby line. so that might be why he originally stopped at ticket #30.

my friend and i were holding each others hands as if our lives depended on it bc it was really make it or break it at this point. a couple minutes later he goes down the line again while counting us and stops after maybe 15-20 people behind us and again goes “congratulations, you have a seat in the show”. my legs literally almost gave out. my friend couldn’t speak to me bc she was trying so hard to hold in her sobs. i had to put on her wristband for her bc her hands were shaking so much LMAO. they quickly usher us into the elevator and as soon as the doors close all of us in the elevator start screaming and cheering bc WE MADE IT!!! but we quickly quiet down because we had been told beforehand that if we were excessively screaming during the show that we would be removed. i’m pretty sure that during dress rehearsal the staff said someone was shouting distracting comments at harry during the pauses and they were kicked out. someone else was also kicked out for drinking which......blows my mind. but anyway.

when they elevator doors open we are ushered SO FAST into the studio and into seats. i almost got split up from my friend bc the page tried to sit me in a single seat and i was like “no no no, i’m with her”. luckily they were able to sit us together on the back wall of the section that was facing front. they weren’t actual seats, but rather a large cushioned bench. most of our standby line peeps were sat in the right-most section of the studio which was sad that we couldn’t sit next to everyone, but also glad that my friend and i were sat together. 

the taping started no more than 10 minutes after we got there. it all happened so quick and i don’t think i’ve really fully processed everything that happened. i won’t talk too much about the sketches because you can all just watch them yourself but i’ll talk a little bit about some of the behind the scenes things that we witnessed. 

1. the way in which harry RAN between scenes and sketches was INSANE sdkfjhsdkjfh. right after the monologue he basically LUNGED off stage. a staff member (i think its a woman who does wigs for the snl cast) was moving so fast past the main stage after the cameras cut that from what i saw, the way harry had moved so quickly made her TRIP and harry IMMEDIATELY scooped her up basically DRAGGED her backstage skjdfhksjdhfdjkshk. it all happened so fast i still can’t tell if i imagined it happening or not but it was crazy. either way, harry was on the MOVE. 

2. one of my fav sketches by far was the lamaze class one. harry did SUCH A GOOD JOB SFKHSKJDHFSD especially w the accent????? (he actually did so many accents throughout the show i’m so proud of him). he broke a little bit during the lamaze one but as far as i remember that’s the only time he broke?? which??? that’s honestly impressive, especially for the sketches/jokes they were doing (don’t even get me started on the Sara Lee sketch....). also i wasn’t openly jealous of heidi gardiner because of how harry was holding her and caressing her but i was jealous. i will not speak more on this topic.

3. the slow/ballad version of lights up.............BREATHTAKING. there was not a sound in that studio literally everyone was so mesmerized by it. it was honestly gorgeously performed and the back up vocalists did SUCH and amazing job!! the music stage wasn’t really near us but we still had a good view of harry himself and THAT OUTFIT. it was......chefs kiss.

4. when the ballerina photos came up on the screen there was an audible GASP that ran through the audience. i shrieked. i almost grabbed the woman’s hand whom was sitting next to me and i did not know. that is all. 

5. WATERMELON SUGAR !!!!!!?!?!?!??!?!!!!!!!! y’all. have i got a story for you. when the drums hit right before the first “high” my friend and i went FERAL. we were on the edges of our seat the WHOLE song. i had such the urge to stand up and dance but we couldn’t out of fear of getting kicked out ksjhdfkjhs. the entire song we had our hands in the air grooving to it, i was flailing my limbs as MUCH AS I POSSIBLY COULD to jam out to it. additionally, if you watch the performance back you can actually see that harry’s hands are shaking and he’s fiddling with his soundbox on his back during the beginning of the song. we’re pretty sure that his earpiece wasn’t working so he was freaking out a bit. he started to dance a little, but you can kind of tell that he was a bit stiff, maybe because of nerves. then at one point, he looks to someone off stage to his right and he smiles at them and laughs a bit to himself. after that, he starts looking around at the audience up above and there are times that harry looks over to his left EXACTLY in the direction of where my friend and i were sitting/dancing. my friend who has literally ANALYZED this performance from watching it so many times claims that 2:15 is the exact moment that he looks over sees us flailing our entire bodies. and right after he looks over is when he really starts moving and grooving himself and appearing to look a bit more comfortable. while we don’t know FOR SURE if he really did see us or started dancing bc he saw us jamming out, i do want to mention that we were literally the ONLY people in the studio moving like that. we were in the back corner by the sound guy and one of the exits and sitting next to a middle aged married couple who were looking at us like we were certifiably crazy. we had a view of almost everyone in the audience because we were in the last row and as far as we could tell, we were the only ones that were jamming out as hard as we were. so take with that what you will. but from this time forward, i will go on with my life believing that my uncontrollable bodily reactions to hearing watermelon sugar LIVE perhaps made dear harold feel a little less nervous and more comfortable to do his thang :-)))))

i don’t think i’ve clapped harder for anything in my life than i did when he finished performing watermelon sugar and when he signed off the show. i teared up watching him go around to his band and all the cast members giving them the BIGGEST hugs. you can clearly tell that every single person on that cast had the best time with him this week. heidi and cecily both mentioned in their instagram posts about how agreeable he was to everything and how he has to come back to host again. it was clear that he had SUCH a fun experience and he did SO WELL!!!!! i have no doubt in my mind that he is going to host (or do double duty) again at some point in the future. so to those who were in the standby line and didn’t make it in to the taping for live or dress, don’t lose faith. there will for SURE be another opportunity to do this whole thing again. i am so so proud of everyone who was brave enough to face the elements for even a chance to get a standby ticket over these past couple days. you’re all so strong and such warriors. this is certainly not the last time he’ll be doing this. 

as grueling and testing as the whole camping out on the streets and standby ticket experience was, i would do it all over again in a heartbeat. i’m a senior in college and was privileged enough to be able to skip some classes and call out of work in order to do this. i figured that this time in my life is probably one of the only chances where i’ll be able to actually drop everything and sleep on the streets for three days to see one of my favorite people in the world. and in the end, it was all worth it. i couldn’t be prouder of harry and what an amazing job he did last night. this journey is something that i will cherish forever (and will definitely be telling my kids about in the future).

feel free to message me or drop in my inbox if you have questions or want to come chat about it all ! thanks to anyone who actually had the patience to read this whole thing. i’m so sorry for how unbearably long this was dkjfhsdkjhsdk. much love to you all. treat people with kindness :-)

[angelinasway]

Worlds Collide Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Buffy Summers

Summary: How Buffy and Spencer first met

A/N: This is my first time posting on tumblr, so please give me a shout and let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Dr. Spencer Reid was a man of science and he prided himself on that particular aspect of who he was. It was a very rare day when something could challenge his belief in the way he viewed the world. However, today was about to not only shake that foundation, today was the day that Dr. Reid’s world view was about to be obliterated. He just graduated from Quantico, and to celebrate decided to take a trip to Washington D.C. It was a place he had never been before, but a place he always wanted to see. Considering he would soon be working for the BAU, or at least he hoped. The truth was he hadn’t actually been assigned yet, but he figured getting in the sites and knowing the land marks for the country he would soon be serving was a step in the right direction. For a man such as himself, he supposed it was typical that the first place on his agenda was one of the most prestigious libraries in the U.S., the Library of Congress. He wondered how many books he would be able to read, while giving himself about five hours here. He quickly did the math in his head, and realized depending on the size of the book, he could read approximately six to twelve volumes. His excitement at the prospect for the knowledge he was about to imbue himself with doubled. That however, all changed the moment he saw her. She was beautiful, and to be quite frank, unlike any woman he had ever seen before. She was petite in stature, blonde with delicate features, but what drew his attention the most were her eyes. They were large and bright green, but so old and tired they didn’t look like they belonged in someone nearly as young as her. She walked with purpose up to the second floor and he suddenly found his feet following. It was very unlike him to pursue someone of the opposite sex. He had never had much luck in that department, but his curiosity had gotten the best of him and he couldn’t stop himself if he tried. He wondered why she was here? Was she like him? Was she someone who could get lost in the written word? He wanted to know what she would read, and if he had read it himself. He thought maybe he could find an opening to strike up a conversation with her if he could just find the right thing to say. When she pulled out her cell phone however, and he overheard the conversation she was having, Spencer Reid felt like his world was collapsing. At first he thought she was insane. Not necessarily the best description for someone with an obvious mental illness but what she was saying… Well, it was just crazy. He immediately went into profiling mode after that, everything he studied pouring out of his eidetic memory like a running faucet. Unfortunately, the more he listened, the less anything made any sense. It wasn’t until she put the phone on speaker that the rest of what he knew about the world shattered into a million pieces.

_____________________________________________________________

Buffy grunted in frustration as she removed a stack of large volumes from the book case. Her flip phone nestled snugly between her ear and shoulder. "So what exactly am I looking for again?" "You'll know it when you see it.” Came Giles cryptic response through the receiver. "You know," she grouched. "I was supposed to be on vacation." There was a sigh of frustration on the other line. "Buffy." "No seriously," She snapped, thinking how typical this was to her life. "I've spent years fighting battles, years being the only one. Is it too much to ask for a year off while some of the other girls pick up the slack?" She sighed, her voice taking on a pouty whine as she said. "Why do I always have to be the one to save the world?" "I do apologize, Buffy; however this mission can only be yours." Giles said sympathetically. "On the bright side this has nothing to do with saving the world, or at least not yet." "Yeah," She muttered slamming the books down on a nearby table with a little more force than necessary, "Yet, being the operative word." There was a chuckle on the other end of the phone and she rolled her eyes. “So how is it that the Founding Fathers had information on the Slayer line anyway?" "Well," Giles began. "According to the obscure reference I found in what was left of the Watchers archives, they've known about Slayers since John Adams. One of his daughter's was one." There was a long pause on the other line as something jogged in her memory. "Wait... You're telling me Abigail Adams was a Slayer?" "No actually, it seems her younger sister Susanna was." Giles responded. "But I thought she died?" Buffy said frowning as she walked back towards the bookcase. There was a long pause, before Giles made a choking noise on the line. "Buffy, did you actually just recite a historical fact?" She rolled her eyes. "Hardy, har, har. Very funny." She chuckled, as she removed some more books from the shelf. "Just making sure it's actually you." Giles countered, suspicion leaking into his voice. "Oh, calm down Giles, still the real girl here." She said setting the books down. She shrugged, "There was a special on the History Channel last week. I guess I just retain information better when it's on TV." She swore she could hear him polishing his glasses in aggravation at her comment. "Yes, well Susanna was a Potential whose parents gave her up to the Watchers Council after finding out her possible destiny." "I almost forgot about the original Councils old creepy ways." Buffy said making a face in distaste. "Please tell me we aren't keeping to that barbaric tradition. These girls need their childhood before they're thrown in the thick of things." "I have no desire to start training toddlers Buffy.” Giles voice taking on a tone that she knew well. He was about at the end of his rope with her. “We have neither the man power nor the means to take on such an endeavor. I think when the new generation starts popping up we will simply enlist the older generation and the Watchers we have to train them." “Well that’s good then.” She said, frowning when she couldn’t see anything in the area she just revealed. “Hold on, I’m gonna put you on speaker while I find this damn panel.” “Do you think that wise?” Giles asked, his voice now sounding in the small alcove. “I think that if anyone’s listening security's already on its way up.” She pointed out. “Touché.” He conceded. Buffy reached in her purse and pulled out the mini-flashlight she always stashed in case of emergencies. “Anything?” Her Watcher asked impatiently. “Hold your horses.” She snapped, removing some of the dust that had accumulated off the back panel of the book case. She frowned when she realized how warm the wood felt, her fingers feeling small grooves and indents along the otherwise smooth surface. It felt like some sort of symbol or wording carved in the wood. Buffy shined the flashlight, and froze. There, cut deep in the wood was the symbol she remembered being on the Guardian’s Crypt. “Giles,” She whispered. “Did you know?” “Pardon?” He asked, worry tainting his voice. “Did I know what exactly?” “Did you know this was about the Guardians?” She snapped a little more harshly than she intended. "The Guardians you say?" Was his response, "No, I did not. Hold on a moment Buffy." She could hear pages flipping as he double checked whatever he read in the book he discovered in what was left of the old Watchers building. "No, it simply says that the Americans had discovered something, possibly a text that could be useful to the Slayer. It says they were positive it was located on the second floor of the Library of Congress, but they didn't't know how to access it." He paused. "Then it gets less legible from here. If I'm reading this correctly it also speaks of a warrior for the light being born near the end of the twentieth century. She's supposed to turn the tide in the wars to come. Something about her being reborn thrice, once in death, once in earth, and once in life, but even that isn't the full text. He sighed, "I do apologize Buffy this manuscript is quite burnt. I'm having a hard time reading it. On the next page the only words I can distinguish are ‘healing a broken soul.'" There was a long pause as Giles flipped a few more charred pages. "And nothing else is legible after that." Buffy frowned, "So they knew." "Yes, it appears so." Giles muttered. "Do you..." She swallowed down the lump in her throat. "Do you think Travers didn't give us the four-one-one because of the way I treated the Council?" "It's highly unlikely." Giles said quietly, trying to soothe her fears. "It's much more plausible that Quentin didn't tell us to ensure that this…Well, I suppose, prophesy came to pass." Buffy shook her head, rubbing her eyes with her palm to stem off the tears she could feel building. This was just so typical of them. She never would wish death on anyone, but after everything she had been through, everything she had endured, and they knew, they knew her destiny better than she did. Well, let's just say she wasn't upset they were gone. "So," She said, pushing her emotions to the side. She would re-examine them later, preferably over a pint of chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream. "The reborn in earth is pretty obvious, considering how I had to dig myself out of my own grave." She paused, sighing. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and say the reborn in death has to do with the prophecy where the Master was supposed to kill me. I'm lucky that didn't take, though I would put that more in the category of beating death, not being reborn to it." "On the contrary Buffy, I believe the being reborn is exactly what you did. Think about it. Not only did you face the Master. You faced the prophecy and died, but your rebirth happened when you were resuscitated. The Slayer line was broken that day and a new Slayer was called." He paused, and she could hear the pride in his voice as he said, "You were amazing that day." "Yeah, you weren't so bad yourself." She said smiling. "So what do you think the reborn in life means, because right now I got nothing?" "Perhaps it was the calling of the Slayer's. We, in essence, breathed a new life into these girls." "That doesn't make any sense though. Willow did all that." She said frowning, while continuing her search for some sort of lever to pop open a hidden panel. "Yes, but your belief in her is what made that possible." He reminded her. "Or, it very well could be that it hasn't happened yet." "Great." she muttered, wondering how much more crap the Powers could drop on her shoulders. "Look Giles," she said, changing the subject. "I'm not seeing it. There's no lever, hidden panel, or button... Just nothing." She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. "Are you sure this is the right one?" "I should think so, especially with the sigil for the Guardians carved into it." He paused, "Perhaps...Hmm... Is there any wording or fraise carved into the wood?" She shined her light again, running it along the back surface. This was so ridiculous, if someone caught her she could be put on a terrorist watch list or something. Okay, so she knew that was a bit dramatic, but she was definitely running the risk of being thrown into the psych ward for a three day observation. “No...Nothing.” She said stomping her foot in aggravation, and of course that’s when she noticed it on the upper right hand panel nowhere near the sigil itself. “Hey, wait...I see it. Hold on." She frowned squinting as she tried to read it. "Shit Giles, it's in Latin." "I can read that,” Came an unknown voice from around the corner. Buffy spun around, slamming her head in the process. She cringed in pain, grabbing the left side of her forehead. Why did it always hurt more when you did it to yourself? Then she looked up at the man who revealed himself. He stood there very obviously uncomfortable, and her jaw literally almost hit the floor. He was tall and slim with slightly messy light brown hair and eyes. He was especially geeky with his glasses and sweater vest, but the part that made her go all dear-in-headlights-catatonic was that he was gorgeous, absolutely drop-dead gorgeous. She quickly wiped her chin to make sure she wasn’t drooling. Did she mention he was gorgeous? "I mean..." He fidgeted. "If that's okay?" Buffy meant to answer; she really did, but the only coherent noise she could seem to produce was a strange sort of gurgling whimper. "What's your name Sir?" Giles came to her rescue, the amusement in his voice clear. He knew his Slayer too well. Reid shifted uncomfortably, looking at the ground. "Spencer... Dr. Spencer Reid, Sir." "A doctor you say," Was Giles response, his amusement growing by the minute. “Why you don’t sound much older than Buffy here?” "You would be correct. I’m twenty-two, and I’m not... That is to say, I’m not that kind of doctor, Sir. I have three PhD's, one from Cal Tech and two from Yale." He paused, adding. "I also have two BA's from Yale as well." "Good Lord!" Giles exclaimed. "My dear boy, you wouldn't happen to be in the market for a job, would you?" "I mean well... Um..." Spencer stuttered. "Giles, stop it." Buffy chided, finally coming back to herself in time to rescue him from her over enthusiastic Watcher. She met startled light brown eyes before he quickly looked to the ground again, crossing his arms over his chest in a pose that clearly stated how out of his element he was. "Hey," she said, walking slowly closer as if not to startle him. "Sorry about that, he gets excited when he meets someone as smart, or in your case, much smarter than him." There was an indignant huff over the phone, which she ignored. "So um... How much of that did you hear?" She chuckled awkwardly. "I bet you think we're both nuts, huh?" He shifted uncertainly, before finally saying, "Shared delusions are pretty rare, and usually one of the parties, the more dominate of the two, has obvious signs of psychosis. However, neither of you seem to show any signs of a psychotic break…" "Except for the part where we were talking about hidden books and prophecies," Buffy interrupted. "Well yes, there's that." Spencer conceded. "But neither of you seem to display the usual compulsion most people with a mental illness display." He paused for breath. "You in fact seem annoyed at the prospect of being here, and the nonchalance in which you address the situation, as if it's something you deal with daily. It leads me to believe that either you truly believe what you're saying, or it is in fact, the truth." "So..." Buffy said, "You don't think we're crazy?" "I... Well..." Spencer looked up again, this time holding eye contact and wetting his lips. "I haven't decided yet." He shrugged and added. "When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” Buffy raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching as she tried and failed to hold back a grin. "Did you just quote Spock?" His cheeks turned pink at her words, and he ran his hand through his short messy brown hair. "Actually, it was first quoted by Sherlock Holmes or more specifically the author, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Though I have to admit I'm pretty impressed you know Star Trek that well." Her grin broadened at his words, her eyes dancing with amusement. He was just too adorable for words. "Spencer, or would you prefer Dr. Reid?" She asked holding out her hand in a show of good faith. "Name’s Buffy, Buffy Summers." On a normal day Spencer would be quite averse to shaking someone's hand, but today was apparently a whole new day for firsts. He reached out hesitantly, his long slender fingers closing around her delicate looking ones. The first thing he noticed was how strong her grip was, he swallowed, realizing that if she wanted to she could probably crush the bones in his hand without blinking an eye. The second thing was the scars all over her fingers and hand. Her palm as well as the area between her thumb and pointer finger also had a large callous typically seen on swordsmen. He stared at her a long time, beginning to believe more and more that they were both telling the truth. "Spencer will be fine, Miss Summers" He said quietly. Buffy smiled deviously. "And you can call me Buffy; otherwise I'll feel like I'm in trouble." Spencer smiled then, a real true smile. "Okay, Buffy then." "And never underestimate a girl who knows her pop culture." She added with a laugh and a wink. "Though, just between you and me, I probably wouldn't have remembered had I not recently spent three weeks in Rome with a super nerd by the name of Andrew Wells." His face fell at her words, so she quickly added, "I never realized there was so much sexual tension between Spock and Kirk until I watched it with him." Spencer frowned in confusion for a moment, before it dawned on him exactly what she was trying to say. He blushed even more when he realized she was hinting at being unattached. "I..." His voice came out at a squeak, and he quickly cleared his throat. "That is to say I never noticed that before." Buffy grinned. "That's good to know." Giles cleared his throat, muttering something about young people and their hormones, before saying. "Dr. Reid, you said you can read Latin?" “Oh,” He said, tearing his eyes away from the pretty girl who had captured his attention so thoroughly. “Um… Yes, yes I can.” “If you would be so kind…” Giles asked. “Yes, of course.” He stumbled as he took his first step, feeling a strong grip on his elbow before he could fall completely. He looked down into the sparkling green eyes of his savior as she held him up, feeling his face heat up in mortification. She managed to ease his embarrassment though, with a kind smile. “It’s over here.” She said, guiding Spencer to where she had been standing before. Buffy turned the flashlight back on and pointed it toward the sigil first. Spencer felt his vision tilt and narrow when he saw it, his breath evacuating his lungs in disbelief. He was pretty sure had Buffy not still been holding on he would have collapsed. It wasn’t that he hadn’t believed them; it was that he convinced himself he only wanted to believe them, and now with the Egyptian symbol for Isis staring him in the face, he had no choice but to believe. He shook his head and looked at the girl with wide disbelieving eyes. “Impossible.” He whispered. “What is it?” Giles immediately jumped in. Spencer cleared his throat. “It’s the Ancient Egyptian symbol for the goddess Isis.” “Dear Lord.” Giles breathed. “Buffy why on earth didn’t you tell me the sigil over that temple was Egyptian.” Buffy pursed her lips in anger at his words. “Excuse me! I was just a little too busy to notice, Giles.” “Bloody hell, Buffy!” He exclaimed “Do you have any idea…” “Hey,” She interrupted, making Spencer take a step back as he watched her fury build. “I had just spent the last six months training a bunch of teenage girls, while simultaneously trying to make sure they didn’t get themselves dead. Not to mention getting thrown out of my own house, by whom… Oh yah, I forgot…you! And let’s not forget the massiveness that was the battle with the First fucking Evil looming over all our heads. So just excuse the hell out of me for not recognizing every Egyptian goddamn symbol I see.” Spencer kept quiet at the exchange. Not really knowing what to think of what he just overheard. It was clear however that Giles was quite used to this type of outburst if his next words were any indication. “Are you quite finished?” Giles said calmly. “Buffy I do actually realize the magnitude of the stress you were under.” He paused. “I was there too, remember? We were all under an enormous amount of stress. However, had I known the Guardians were worshipers of Isis?” She could literally hear him cleaning his glasses. “My God Buffy, the Guardians told you they used the essence of the Slayer to create the Scythe, and they worshiped Isis. What if, what if the Slayers origins lie with her?” It was Buffy’s turn to feel woozy and she reached out and grabbed a hold of Spencer without thinking. “You…you mean the Shadow Men invoked a goddess, not…not a demon?” Her words came out croaked and hallow. “Precisely,” Giles agreed. “It all makes perfect sense. Daemon is the Latin word for the Ancient Greek daimon, meaning god, god like, power, and fate. They were supposed to be benevolent deities, who watched over and guarded mortal men.” Spencer couldn’t help himself, he cut in. “Isis was known as the Goddess of protection, and though she stayed in the background most of the time, she was also thought to be more powerful than her husband Osiris or even Ra.” “Osiris.” Buffy whispered, the color draining from her face. “Good Lord!” Giles breathed, not putting two and two together until just then. “Did I…Did I say something wrong?” Spencer asked, worry now coloring his voice. “No.” Giles said in a defeated voice. “We just have… Well…some experience with that particular deity.” “I died.” Buffy blurted, stepping away from him and wrapping her arms around herself. “I was dead, and my friends invoked Osiris to bring me back.” “I’m not sure I understand your definition of dead.” Spencer said, still trying to hold on to that little bit of the scientific world he wanted so badly to cling too. “Try one hundred and forty-seven days.” Buffy sniped, “I was rotting in the ground, six feet under.” His eyes widened, but he didn’t say what she expected. “That’s what you meant by having to dig yourself out…You were serious? I thought it was a euphemism or perhaps a horribly traumatic encounter with a serial killer.” Giles interrupted, “Dr. Reid, I know the idea of this must be hard for you, but you must understand that this is the same world you’ve always lived in. However, there are things, very dark things that exist in it.” “Mr. Giles, Sir,” Spencer said in a passive aggressive manner that surprised and impressed both Buffy and Giles. “Please do not patronize me. I may be young Sir, but I am not oblivious to the terrors the world has to offer.” He paused for breath. “I just graduated from my training at Quantico, Sir. My whole field of study was Behavioral Analysis, so I am quite aware how horrible the world can get.” His small tangent had Buffy’s eyes widening, but Giles next words had her leaning against the bookcase for support. “You’re FBI.” Giles stated. “I haven’t been assigned yet, but yes.” Spencer confirmed. “Is Jason Gideon still head of that department?” Giles asked. Spencer froze, “You…you know Special Agent Gideon?” “We’ve met a few times.” Giles confirmed. “There are times in your line of work Dr. Reid, where our worlds collide. It wouldn’t do to send a team of agents into a situation they cannot handle.” He paused. “Agent Gideon has been somewhat of a mediator between the Watchers Council and the FBI, he makes sure you don’t pick up a case that will get you all killed.” “Okay, could someone please explain to me what the hell is going on?” Buffy cut in. "The work that Dr. Reid will one day be doing Buffy, is profiling violent criminals." Giles explained, “In that line of work they are more than likely to get called out on a case at some point where the supernatural plays a role. It's Agent Gideon’s job to make sure those cases don’t cross his desk." Buffy gasped, "Giles, how long has this been going on?" Giles cleared his throat. “Well we’ve been involved to some capacity with the authorities since 1973. It was actually Nikki Wood who first brought to our attention the need to have someone on the inside.” “Nikki Wood?” Reid frowned in confusion. “I remember hearing about that case. She was accused of killing her lover, Li Howard. Agent Gideon was called in to profile her, but quickly realized she wasn’t the UN-SUB. They actually never caught the guy.” “Trust me my boy; he was caught, just not by the usual means.” Giles said. Buffy frowned. “Vamp?” “Unfortunately, yes.” Giles confirmed. Spencer looked to Buffy then, deciding once he was done here, him and Senior Supervisory Special Agent Gideon were going to have a very long conversation. “Maybe you should show me that inscription now.” Buffy nodded, feeling her stomach drop. Well, there went any chance of him ever wanting to see her again. She sighed, cursing the freakishness that was her life. “Sure, it’s umm…its right over here.” She pointed the flashlight in the direction, closing her eyes as she felt him lean in closer to get a better look. He was so warm, that was the first thing she noticed, and he smelled good, like old books and aftershave. She found herself wanting to bury her nose in his sweater, and had to shake her head to get the visual out of her mind. Dear god, what on earth was this man doing to her. Spencer wasn’t fairing much better in that department. It took him three times to even read the inscription before it made any sense. He felt like his senses had been charged with electricity, the smell of her strawberry shampoo filling his nose and making his head spin. He quickly shook his head coming back to himself. “Non enim te solum, quia illam. Quod sanguis ejus aperire, quem ipse sibi elegit.” Spencer whispered. “And the English version?” Buffy asked. “It is not for thee, only for She. The blood of the Chosen shall open it.” Giles translated. “Great,” She muttered. “Blood magic.” “I do believe in this case Buffy, blood magic was a necessity.” Giles said. “It insured that the only person able to access whatever is hidden would be you.” “Yeah.” She sighed. “I know.” She turned and looked to Spencer, pulling out the dagger she kept tucked between her jeans and the small of her back. His eyes widened when he saw it, and took a step back. “Do you think the blood should go on the sigil or inscription?” She asked, wincing as she sliced her palm open. “The sigil.” Came both Giles and Spencer’s voice. “The sigil it is.” She said, reaching out her bloodied hand. Something happened then. Something Spencer couldn’t have stopped if he tried. He felt frightened for her, and maybe even more frightened for himself. He reached out to stop her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder just as her hand made contact with the carving. Suddenly, everything seemed to go black and the world began to spin. He felt like he was free falling without a parachute, and then she was there gripping his hand tight enough to make him wince in pain. When the world righted itself again they stood in what must be some sort of temple. A woman with skin the color of bronze, hair as black as night, and clothed form head to toe in gold and jewels stared back at them. She smiled lovingly at Buffy. “My daughter of night, you have finally come.”

[pinkwitchobject]

Ms Sql Server For Mac

Sql Server Studio Mac

Ms Sql Server Management Studio For Mac

Ms Sql Server 2019 For Mac

Ms Sql Server Download For Mac

Here I’ll show you how to get SQL Server up and running on your Mac in less than half an hour. And the best part is, you’ll have SQL Server running locally without needing any virtualization software.

Prior to SQL Server 2017, if you wanted to run SQL Server on your Mac, you first had to create a virtual machine (using VirtualBox, Parallels Desktop, VMware Fusion, or Bootcamp), then install Windows onto that VM, then finally SQL Server. This is still a valid option depending on your requirements (here’s how to install SQL Server on a Mac with VirtualBox if you’d like to try that method). Zip unlocker online.

My employer produces a simple, proof-of-concept HTML5-based SQL client which can be used against any ODBC data source on the web-browser host machine, through the HTML5 WebDB-to-ODBC Bridge we also produce. These components are free, for Mac, Windows, and more. Applicable to many of the other answers here - the Type 1 JDBC-to-ODBC Bridge that most are referring to is the one Sun built in to. Microsoft sql server 2008 free download - Microsoft Office 2008 update, Actual ODBC SQL Server driver, MySQL Database Server, and many more programs. There are some suggestions on SQL Server on Mac to run SQL Server in a VM. However what is interesting is that earlier this year MS announced SQL Server to run on Linux. Announcing SQL Server on Linux. Public preview of the next release of SQL Server. And also instructions for installing SQL Server via Docker.

Starting with SQL Server 2017, you can now install SQL Server directly on to a Linux machine. And because macOS is Unix based (and Linux is Unix based), you can run SQL Server for Linux on your Mac. The way to do this is to run SQL Server on Docker.

So let’s go ahead and install Docker. Then we’ll download and install SQL Server.

Sql Server Studio Mac

Install Docker

Download the (free) Docker Community Edition for Mac (unless you’ve already got it installed on your system). This will enable you to run SQL Server from within a Docker container.

To download, visit the Docker CE for Mac download page and click Get Docker.

To install, double-click on the .dmg file and then drag the Docker.app icon to your Application folder.

What is Docker?

Docker is a platform that enables software to run in its own isolated environment. SQL Server (from 2017) can be run on Docker in its own isolated container. Once Docker is installed, you simply download — or “pull” — the SQL Server on Linux Docker Image to your Mac, then run it as a Docker container. This container is an isolated environment that contains everything SQL Server needs to run.

Launch Docker

Launch Docker the same way you’d launch any other application (eg, via the Applications folder, the Launchpad, etc).

When you open Docker, you might be prompted for your password so that Docker can install its networking components and links to the Docker apps. Go ahead and provide your password, as Docker needs this to run.

Increase the Memory

By default, Docker will have 2GB of memory allocated to it. SQL Server needs at least 3.25GB. To be safe, increase it to 4GB if you can.

To do this:

Select Preferences from the little Docker icon in the top menu

Slide the memory slider up to at least 4GB

Click Apply & Restart

Download SQL Server

Now that Docker is installed and its memory has been increased, we can download and install SQL Server for Linux.

Open a Terminal window and run the following command.

This downloads the latest SQL Server 2019 for Linux Docker image to your computer.

You can also check for the latest container version on the Docker website if you wish.

Update: When I first wrote this article, I used the following image:

Which downloaded SQL Server 2017. Therefore, the examples below reflect that version.

Launch the Docker Image

Run the following command to launch an instance of the Docker image you just downloaded: Free sims download for mac.

But of course, use your own name and password. Also, if you downloaded a different Docker image, replace microsoft/mssql-server-linux with the one you downloaded.

Here’s an explanation of the parameters:

-dThis optional parameter launches the Docker container in daemon mode. This means that it runs in the background and doesn’t need its own Terminal window open. You can omit this parameter to have the container run in its own Terminal window.--name sql_server_demoAnother optional parameter. This parameter allows you to name the container. This can be handy when stopping and starting your container from the Terminal.-e 'ACCEPT_EULA=Y'The Y shows that you agree with the EULA (End User Licence Agreement). This is required in order to have SQL Server for Linux run on your Mac.-e 'SA_PASSWORD=reallyStrongPwd123'Required parameter that sets the sa database password.-p 1433:1433This maps the local port 1433 to port 1433 on the container. This is the default TCP port that SQL Server uses to listen for connections.microsoft/mssql-server-linuxThis tells Docker which image to use. If you downloaded a different one, use it instead.

Password Strength

If you get the following error at this step, try again, but with a stronger password.

I received this error when using reallyStrongPwd as the password (but of course, it’s not a really strong password!). I was able to overcome this by adding some numbers to the end. However, if it wasn’t just a demo I’d definitely make it stronger than a few dictionary words and numbers.

Check the Docker container (optional)

You can type the following command to check that the Docker container is running.

If it’s up and running, it should return something like this:

Install sql-cli (unless already installed)

Run the following command to install the sql-cli command line tool. This tool allows you to run queries and other commands against your SQL Server instance.

This assumes you have NodeJs installed. If you don’t, download it from Nodejs.org first. Installing NodeJs will automatically install npm which is what we use in this command to install sql-cli.

Permissions Error?

If you get an error, and part of it reads something like Please try running this command again as root/Administrator, try again, but this time prepend sudo to your command:

Connect to SQL Server

Now that sql-cli is installed, we can start working with SQL Server via the Terminal window on our Mac.

Connect to SQL Server using the mssql command, followed by the username and password parameters.

You should see something like this:

This means you’ve successfully connected to your instance of SQL Server.

Run a Quick Test

Run a quick test to check that SQL Server is up and running and you can query it.

For example, you can run the following command to see which version of SQL Server your running:

If it’s running, you should see something like this (but of course, this will depend on which version you’re running):

If you see a message like this, congratulations — SQL Server is now up and running on your Mac!

A SQL Server GUI for your Mac – Azure Data Studio

Azure Data Studio (formerly SQL Operations Studio) is a free GUI management tool that you can use to manage SQL Server on your Mac. You can use it to create and manage databases, write queries, backup and restore databases, and more.

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Azure Data Studio is available on Windows, Mac and Linux.

Here are some articles/tutorials I’ve written for Azure Data Studio:

Another Free SQL Server GUI – DBeaver

Another SQL Server GUI tool that you can use on your Mac (and Windows/Linux/Solaris) is DBeaver.

DBeaver is a free, open source database management tool that can be used on most database management systems (such as MySQL, PostgreSQL, MariaDB, SQLite, Oracle, DB2, SQL Server, Sybase, Microsoft Access, Teradata, Firebird, Derby, and more).

Ms Sql Server Management Studio For Mac

I wrote a little introduction to DBeaver, or you can go straight to the DBeaver download page and try it out with your new SQL Server installation.

Ms Sql Server 2019 For Mac

Limitations of SQL Server for Linux/Mac

Ms Sql Server Download For Mac

SQL Server for Linux does have some limitations when compared to the Windows editions (although this could change over time). The Linux release doesn’t include many of the extra services that are available in the Windows release, such as Analysis Services, Reporting Services, etc. Here’s a list of what’s available and what’s not on SQL Server 2017 for Linux and here’s Microsoft’s list of Editions and supported features of SQL Server 2019 on Linux.

Another limitation is that SQL Server Management Studio is not available on Mac or Linux. SSMS a full-blown GUI management for SQL Server, and it provides many more features than Azure Data Studio and DBeaver (at least at the time of writing). You can still use SSMS on a Windows machine to connect to SQL Server on a Linux or Mac machine, but you just can’t install it locally on the Linux or Mac machine.

If you need any of the features not supported in SQL Server for Linux, you’ll need SQL Server for Windows. However, you can still run SQL Server for Windows on your Mac by using virtualization software. Here’s how to install SQL Server for Windows on a Mac using VirtualBox.

[journeysintowebcomics]

Girl Genius Liveblog #143

UPDATE 143: Zola Kinda Wins

Last time Agatha, Tarvek and Gil were actually doing progress! They were fixing the Castle and all. Also Gil was falling for Tarvek’s manipulations. So let’s continue!

Oh hey, Violetta is here. She didn’t leave with Higgs and Zeetha, she returned here because she has a duty with Agatha – at least that’s my guess. Would she stay for Tarvek, too? I...I’m not entirely sure. I’m pretty sure she would guard him, yes, but I’m not sure if she’d be doing it willingly or not, if she had the option to decide. The fact she’s punching him gratuitously doesn’t help me decide.

The moment Violetta hears Agatha was injured, she punches Tarvek again and hurries to examine the wound.

...so it was poisoned. Figures. It must be a really slow and insidious poison; I wonder how exactly she’d have died? It must be quite subtle, if it’s called ‘natural causes’.  Luckily for everyone, Violetta is here and she has ways to counter the poison, so Agatha’s not going to die. Thank goodness. It’d have been really awful if Zola got the last laugh even after all that. I like that everyone in Agatha’s ragtag group has been useful, nobody so far has been a dead weight on the rest. It’s often said that to see if a character should be kept around, you should fully remove it and check the text to see if anything changes. If nothing changes, then that character isn’t needed. I think removing even a single one of Agatha’s closer circle would break the story.

There’s more work to be done. Like this room here, it’s on fire. I...I can’t decide if the Heterodynes would make a room on fire on purpose or not, just for kicks and giggles. My gut tells me they definitely would.

Looks like the Castle has a trick up his sleeve, or...whatever equivalent you can make for a building. After finding out where exactly the fire is – the equestrian statue of Alexandros Heterodyne? A side story about the many Heterodyne ancestors would be interesting – the Castle empties the cisterns. I suppose there really was a use for the impluvium.

Back to the hospital. Zola looks like she was run over by a truck, so yeah, she’s looking much better than I expected, considering everything she went through. Dr. Sun and his granddaughter note just how toxic Zola is, and they’re not talking about her personality. All that Movit 11 and who knows what other stuff must still be in her. After discussing that they should add some more restraints and put some guards here, Zola tries to get out, but she’s still too weak for that. Oh the humanity! Her protesting gets Anevka’s attention, who enters and tries to go out when she notices it’s someone she doesn’t know. Yeah, for simplicity’s sake I’m referring her as Anevka.

Zola is quite lucky, all things considered. Lucrezia in Agatha’s body screwed up and implanted a copy of herself into Zola, giving her the means to approach other iterations of Lucrezia and ruin her plans to make hers advance. That’s the kind of thing that’d be difficult to plan, yet it happened spontaneously. Not only that, she also got taken to the same building Anevka was at. Sure, it’s the only hospital around, but she got there at the right time. She really is lucky!

Speaking of this, Zola is also a good actress, much better than Lucrezia. She’s able to convince Anevka that it’s her, mostly by reciting fond memories that of course involve someone else’s misery. I almost wouldn’t be surprised if Zola is the last villain to be dealt with in Girl Genius, this is a lot of cunning.

I hope Agatha learns to keep the iteration of Lucrezia in her at bay without the locket, because that may be a target for Zola and Anevka next time they see her.

After everything I have heard about Barry and Bill I hope they appear at some point. It’d be really fun.

The Baron being here at the hospital is something Anevka hadn’t planned, and is kind of a wrench in her plans. Now that I think about it, she doesn’t know about the wasp that infected Klaus, does she? Hm. She wants to smother Wulfenbach. Honestly I think that wouldn’t change much. I think Dr. Sun would revive Klaus and keep his death a secret, so if that’s all Anevka does, not much would change. I’m not sure how reviving works, but surely there’d be a way to revive Wulfenbach, yeah – destroying the head seems to be the only way for someone to die permanently.

Oh, whoops, Zola just informed her about the wasp! Not in those exact words, but the insinuation is there! Sorry for your enslaving, Wulfenbach, hope it won’t be as awful for everyone as I think it’ll be.

Since Zola staying around in this hospital room for a long while can be a problem, Lucrezia rigs a few machines to pump Zola full of electricity so she recovers faster --- much faster, because I doubt Dr. Sun and his granddaughter will be away for long. Someone will bring the restraints sooner or later. Once she’s sure Zola will be okay – in a definition of the word – Anevka steps out, getting caught by a doctor before she can get too far away. It’s only matter of time before she gets her audience with Wulfenbach, so...yeah, the events in this hospital are like a time bomb.

Leaving that aside for a moment:

Honestly I wouldn’t have noticed there was something off until she pointed it out, so yeah, it works. Well, it doesn’t mean much. I sometimes miss a lot of stuff even when it’s in plain sight, I bet Zola could grow a double shoulder in half of her appearances and I’d be none the wiser.

I think I have time for one scene more before stopping for today. Sanaa and Othar are still wandering around, sitting on skulls and wondering why the Castle felt so empty. They haven’t stumbled upon anyone for a long while. Maybe most people already died or fell into random pits, the Castle is filled with them, if the prisoners that were with Sanaa are any indication. Or maybe Othar scares them when he enters a room and shouts—

--yeah. That. Any conversation stops when the Castle notices there are people wandering around, and since his first reaction is to open a hatch, that gives some credence to my theory about everyone being trapped in holes right now. At least the Castle remembers who the prisoners are, Sanaa should be relatively safe. Othar...not so much.

...how does he do that? Honestly, it’s like magic. Did he master teleportation or something? Does he have an army of clones following him all the time? What’s up with this man, haha! Well, it’s better if he survives. The Castle seemingly agrees, elated he can toy with a real bonafide hero – elation that kinda fades a bit when Othar reveals he knows Agatha. Since Agatha wouldn’t be happy if Othar dies, the Castle is limited to non-lethal torture. Classy.

This is a rather pink torture chamber. Alright then!

There’s something I like a lot of Girl Genius: its humor. It doesn’t try too hard; I find it often hits the right chords in me. I like this! And just in these three pages, I’m fonder of Othar than I was during the Weasel Queen interlude. Well, in that interlude he was more like an exaggeration of Othar, but yeah. I think I like him back in this tale. For now I’d like to know what Tiktoffen is doing in this torture chamber. Was he already here or did he wander in here?

...looks like I won’t know for now, this is the end of the scene. I’m ending the update here for now.

Next update: in five updates

[what-even-is-thiss]

Fic, You Don't Know Everything

@ts-sideblog requested a fic about Logic getting mad when the others know things that he doesn’t. Let’s see where this goes.

Forgive me for using google translate, by the way. English is the only language I’m native level in and I’m only at ILR level 1 with high German.

Tip Jar

Fic under the cut. 2,093 words. I can’t think of any warnings. Let me know if I should add some. I’m bad with warnings but really feel I should get better because I myself need them for certain things. Please let me know if I should add a warning.

Abstract: Being basically one dimensional aspects of a three dimensional personality, the sides tend to be slightly territorial. Especially Logan, who can’t seem to comprehend anyone stepping out of their assigned role, even though he does so at times.

Logic was checking through his flashcards.

“German? Der Prinz ist dumm. Yes,”

He flipped to the next one. “Arabic. Al'amir ghabi. Yes,”

“Hey Logan! What’re you up to?”

Logic did not look up from his cards. “Not now, Morality. It is none of your concern,”

Patton watched him go down the hall. Logic didn’t notice the stupid Prince approaching.

“Dutch. Die prins is dom,”

“That would be Afrikaans, actually. There is a difference,”

Logic looked up to see if it was who he thought it was. Unfortunately, it was.

“Oh. Hello Roman,”

The silence between them became thick enough to cut with a knife. Logic’s eyes looked everywhere but the regal figure that was blocking his way. Roman’s arms were crossed and he looked at Logic with a cold stare that could drill through rock. After a solid half minute of this uncomfortable arrangement, Logan cleared his throat.

“So, you speak Afrikaans as well?”

“I am the imagination, Logan. I can speak any language I want, even if Thomas does not speak it,”

Roman pushed Logic against the wall and walked past him. Suddenly Logic understood how Thomas had played so many villains in plays. He then willed a trash can into existence and dumped the flash cards into it.

Any language? He could not believe this. He decided to go to a library within the mind space. That was where all the facts and practical ideas were kept. That was his space.

He decided to take refuge in the fiction library. Perhaps he could revisit the plot of an old epic or mystery novel. When he got there however, he found he was not alone.

“Hey,” said Anxiety, hanging upside down off a table reading from a book of works by Edgar Allan Poe.

Logic was slightly taken aback. “Anxiety, why are you here? This is my space. And… I have no memory of having ever read that,”

“You and Princey aren’t the only ones around here that like poetry, pocket protector. Besides, I like this guy. There’s no hope in anything. Everything is creepy. He knows the truth,”

“We have read the works of Edgar Allan Poe?” Logic asked, still not believing it.

“You don’t have all the information, Logan.”

Logan started talking quickly. “Anxiety, that is complete and utter nonsense. I am the mind. I am where the information is stored. How could any of you possibly have any information that I do not?”

Anxiety turned himself around until he sat upright. and then swayed slightly as the blood rushed out of his head.

“Oh, wow. Okay,” he finally righted himself.

“How long were you hanging upside down?” Logan asked, slightly concerned.

“Too long. Here, you want answers? Read this page. Even a literal idiot like you can figure it out. I’ve got somewhere to be,”

Anxiety shoved the open book into Logic’s chest, waited for him to get a grip on on it, and then sunk out of the library.

Logic looked down at the page Anxiety had left open. It had parts of two long poems on it and one short one. Sonnet-To Science.

Roman was walking angrily through a forest he had imagined, hacking at bushes and trees angrily with his katana. Today had not been a good day. He was experiencing a horrid case of writer’s block, he was generally feeling distracted, and then he had heard wind of Logic’s little project from Thomas and it had turned out to be true. On an ordinary day he might not be so bothered by it, but right now he was fuming.

Prince was just about to attempt to cut off a branch with one hack, when Anxiety popped out in front of him.

“Hey, Princey,” Anxiety said, an evil smirk on his face.

Roman screamed a surprisingly high pitched scream and fell over. The forest blinked away and they were standing in his room. A clean bright space with a large double bed and rich decorations that could convince you that you were in pre revolutionary France.

“What in the name of Hades’ helmet are you doing? I nearly killed you!” Roman cried out, clutching at his heart.

“Ah, cut it with the dramatics, Hercules. I’m here because you’re pissed. I thrive under these conditions. So much inner turmoil,”

Roman stood up. “So you are here to make it worse. This is why I do not like you. Well, it is among many reasons why I do not like you,”

“Oh, really? Well if you can spend two minutes of your stupid, ‘happy ever after’ existence being serious, I’ve got an idea,”

Roman looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m bored, you’re pissed, let’s mess with Logan. If we can disguise it properly, I’ll bet we can get dad in on it too. He’s pretty gullible,”

Roman sheathed his sword.

“That would not be a noble thing to do,” He said simply.

Anxiety buttered his words with sweet venom. “C’mon, man. I know you fantasize about being the villain too. It can’t always be me. When Thomas plays the bad guy we’re both right up on stage with him. You know it’s true,”

Roman narrowed his eyes and gave Anxiety a side glance. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

Logic’s mind was racing. He jumped from one book to the next, picking up facts here and there. How could any of them know something he didn’t? It made no sense. Nothing around here made sense. If Thomas knew something, then Logan must know it too, right?

He thought back to when Morality had corrected him a few months before. Was he making mistakes like that all the time? Did he just say wrong words left and right? He decided to take a breather. It was almost dinner time anyways.

Anxiety smirked and sunk down away from the library and appeared back in Roman’s room.

“So?” Roman asked, “did you find anything?”

“Oh yeah. He’s worried that he’s using malapropisms. He’s also upset that we know things that he doesn’t. Now if we can…”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Huh?”

“That word. What was that word?”

Anxiety looked confused. “Malapropism?”

“Yes, that one,”

“Oh man. Maybe this was a bad idea. Yeah, this was a bad idea. A malapropism is the misuse of big complicated words, you dingus,”

The prince looked offended. “Did… Did you just make fun of the size of my vocabulary and then call me a dingus?”

“I’ve said before that creativity is not my department. Now are you ready to hit the books or what?”

The next day Logic found the prince sitting on an armchair reading a book of myths.

“Ah, Prince. I was just looking for you. We have… What is that book?”

“Oh, this? These are the Norse myths we have read. Fascinating tales. Ah, stories of death and blood and giants. True poetry,”

“I do not believe we have read that many,” Logic said

“That is where you are wrong. We have read all of them. Every surviving story we could get our hands on. Did you think I only read fairy tales, Logan?”

Logic had forgotten what he was going to ask the prince. He angrily walked away without a word.

Later, he found himself in the kitchen in search of a snack. Patton was there baking a cake.

“Hey there, Logan! What are you up to?” Patton asked, happily clapping his hands together to remove some of the flour.

Logic saw that some flour had gotten on his black shirt and began to hit it in an attempt to get it off. “Would you refrain from getting flour all over the kitchen? And why are you baking anyways? Wheat products are incredibly unhealthy,”

Morality smiled and started mixing the batter with a spoon. “Oh, I doubt it’ll kill ya teach. People have been using flour for over eight thousand years and we’re still all here, right?”

Logic took a double take. “Eight thousand years? Are you certain? I do not remember learning that,”

“Well sure. I’ve got some fun facts up my sleeve too ya know,”

He gave Logic a playful punch on the shoulder with his flour covered hand, leaving a white smear behind. Logic suddenly didn’t feel hungry anymore.

Later, Logic was writing down some of his ideas for the newest video when Anxiety popped up.

“You’re worried about something,” Anxiety said.

“And what, pray tell, am I so worried about?” Logic asked as he jotted down some more things on his notepad.

“Circumlocution and malapropisms,” Anxiety said before disappearing without any explaination.

Logic looked up just after Anxiety teleported away.

“What does that mean?” He said, a little too loudly.

Logan stormed into the reference library and opened a dictionary. Roman and Patton had been bringing up stories and facts he had never heard of all day, and now Anxiety had used two words that he did not know the definitions of.

“Circumlocution. The use of many words where fewer would do. When did we learn this?”

He flipped to another page. “Malaprop. The mistaken use of a word in place of a similar-sounding one. Well, I suppose Anxiety was right, but where did he learn those words?”

Roman was listening at a vent with a recording device he had imagined. Morality was bouncing on the balls of his feet. Anxiety was leaning against the wall, hood up, cleaning his nails.

Soon, morality couldn’t hold his excitement any longer. “What’s happening in there? Can you tell?”

Roman listened carefully. “He is ranting to himself. Anxiety, just how confused is he?”

Anxiety started peeling off a bit of nail that had gotten too long. “Imagine rehearsing for ten weeks thinking you’re going to be playing an Antipholus in the comedy of errors only to find you’ve actually been cast as Troy in a stage play of high school musical the day before final dress rehearsal,”

“Very confused would have done,” Said Roman. “How did we pull that off so fast?”

“Do you know what I am?” Asked Anxiety. “I am literally fear. Seriously, do I have to tell you how to add two plus three? I know what I’m doing, Princey,”

“And he is doing a great job!” Patton exclaimed.

“He is coming this way!” Roman announced.

They all vanished before Logan turned the corner.

“Something is happening. Think. Deductive reasoning. This is what you were made for,” Logic said to himself.

Anxiety heard a knock on his door. Yeah, he knew this was a bad idea. He decided to see what would happen if he just didn’t answer.

Logic threw open the door anyways and stepped inside where he immediately tripped and fell over a pile of black skinny jeans and t-shirts.

“Do you have any kind of organization system?” Logan said, angrily getting up.

“What? Not an emotionless robot today, Spock?” Anxiety asked.

Logan gritted his teeth. An angry teacher with messy hair and a look that deadly in his eyes would probably have at least slightly disturbed someone else. However, given how many problems Anxiety caused, he had seen almost every kind of reaction from the others so this did not surprise him one bit.

“Why are you all spitting information at me? That is my job!”

Anxiety leaned against his headboard and put his hands behind his head.

“It’s quite simple, Sherlock. You have been unbearable lately, and you refuse to accept that there are facts, words, and stories that don’t have to do with you. So, with a bit of reading, and a little help from me, Princey and dad gave you one of the most frustrating days of your life,”

Logic took a breath and straightened out his hair.

“I still think you are all trying to do my job. You are all inconsequential. You will see! I know more than all of you combined,”

Logic went off to one of the libraries. Anxiety smiled and murmured to himself after he left. “Never said you didn’t, Mr. Know-it-all,”

In case you were curious about that poem Anxiety shoved at Logic:

Sonnet-To Science, By Edgar Allan Poe

Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!   Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes. Why preyest thou thus upon the poet’s heart,   Vulture, whose wings are dull realities? How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,   Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,   Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing? Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car,   And driven the Hamadryad from the wood To seek a shelter in some happier star?   Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood, The Elfin from the green grass, and from me The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?