#Should I count her damaged art? So many people have drawn it.

[sannyo-appreciation-posts]

Sannyo's Outfits

Honorable mention

Her frequently used damaged art

[rocketink]

YOUR EYES TELL

In which you kiss Wonwoo twice at a party while getting over your ex and now you have a huge crush on him while you try to look for your soulmate. Or, your soulmate mark means how many times you’ve kissed them and now you have to ask your exes around while trying to accept there’s no way Wonwoo’s kisses have something to do with you.

Pairing: Wonwoo x gender neutral reader

Genre: angst + fluff

wc: 2.8k (I’m sorry I keep making them so long!!)

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and maybe a curse word around there + a very hateful ex that says mean things to y/n :(

notes: credits to tiktok for this type of soulmate!! I found it very interesting haha // mingyu’s minghao’s soulmate aus! I’ve been a little lost I’m sorry, I just need to find inspiration sometimes and I wasn’t feeling like writing:( also!! Shall I continue with soulmate aus or should I start thinking about the gossip girl series?

You still don't know what to do with the number two next to a pair of drawn lips that you can see on top of your head when you watch your reflection in the mirror. This can only mean one thing: you've kissed your soulmate two times. Your mother already warned you, this type of soulmate is almost exclusively from your family, and if your counter says 0 you're in a risky position because you don't feel like kissing random people in any place of their body until you find your other half. But when the day comes and your counter already has the number two in it, you feel nothing but relief. Initially, of course, because that could only meet one thing: you have already kissed that person, a low number of times.

You want to tear your hair apart before dialing Seungkwan. He would either make a big deal out of it or be completely chill and transparent. You don't know if you like what he could tell you, but you decide to take the risk.

"I've got some big news," you say right when he picks up.

"Oh really? Me too!" He seems happy today, that's good.

"On the count to three, we'll say what we have to say, okay?" Seungkwan hums in approval and you sigh.

"I got my soulmate mark today,"

"Vernon has finally asked someone out... WAIT, WHAT?"

"It's so good that Vernon has finally risked his life asking someone out! He still has all the parts of his body doesn't he?"

"Vernon's unlucky love life is not important now, tell me everything about your mark!"

So you tell him, knowing you can explain yourself to the fullest because Seungkwan is fond of details. You tell him how you almost fainted this morning, how glad you are for not having to kiss some stranger's ass, how unsure you are of your future right now and how you can't start the list of how many people you've kissed on your own.

"Let's make a list together, then!" Seungkwan's too giddy about this, he's teasing you, and you know it, "where should we start?"

"Jeon Jungkook."

"Wait, really?"

"Yep, the first year of high school was wild, not much kissing but it was there. Then there's Im Changkyun, but we were still too young so we didn't kiss much, we mainly held hands. And then there's..."

"Kyungho..." Seungkwan whispers his name as if it was forbidden, and you almost laugh at your friend's hatred towards your latest ex.

"Seungkwan, breaking up with someone because you are not compatible is not a bad thing."

"It's not. Doing it over a text message and two weeks after you started dating and then blocking you is."

"Yeah, right." Seungkwan's right, Kyungho was an asshole to you, he behaved like a kid when you were acquaintances and it didn't change when you began dating. Throughout your two weeks of relationship, you saw him like five times because he barely made time for you. You can't remember how many times you've kissed him, but you wouldn't be surprised if only two times happened.

"Aren't you forgetting someone?" You close your eyes. This is what you didn't want Seungkwan to remind you.

"Jeon Wonwoo," You say his name in a whisper and you're afraid Seungkwan hasn't even heard you, but he always does. "What happened doesn't count, he... is not available now."

"Y/n, the universe does not care if making out with Wonwoo one night counts or not, or if he's available or not. It happened, there's a possibility, it's there."

Seungkwan is, once again, right, but you don't want to be reminded of that night, or else your feeling for Wonwoo will hurt more than they do now.

It happened the night Kyungho broke up with you. Your feeling for Kyungho weren't the big thing, but you did spend your time and effort trying to make it work. You felt tired of giving and not receiving and ashamed of him being the one to break up with you and not the other way around. Seungkwan said Mingyu was going to a party with a few friends and he invited the golden trio (you, Vernon, Seungkwan) and he didn't let you complain.

You met Jeon Wonwoo at the party. You had seen him around campus a few times, in Mingyu's group of friends, he was incredibly eye-catching. That night, Mingyu introduced both of you properly and you don't know how you started talking. You don't remember much of that night in general, your brain preferred to forget all the traumatic experience of the breakup as the shots you took with Wonwoo kicked in (not many, but you were tired and they hit hard). What you do remember is pouring out your heart to a handsome stranger, him listening to you with beautiful eyes and speaking careful words. You remember kissing him first and Wonwoo following your lead. You remember him stopping you and you almost wanting to cry as you felt his touch all over your face.

"You just want revenge, Y/n. I can't give you that," you closed your eyes, you just wanted to sleep for a while. "Come to me when your head and your heart are completely sobered. Meanwhile, we can be friends." You nodded, a little ashamed. He gave you a sweet peck on the lips and a tight hug. When you got home and thought of what had happened that night, you knew your heart didn't need Kyungho anymore, your heart needed Jeon Wonwoo.

A few daws later, Wonwoo was seen around the halls with a beautiful girl by his side, too close to him, wishing for the same lips to kiss her as you had been kissed. You know from Mingyu that they lasted for two weeks, Wonwoo broke up with the girl, but Wonwoo told you he never liked break-ups. He must be feeling sad.

It's been two weeks ever since, and you are just like you were the first day.

"So your plan is talking to each boy, one by one?" Seungkwan raises his eyebrow. He's judging you.

"Yep, do you have anything better?"

"Are you asking if I have a plan that might not damage your integrity? I'm afraid I don't."

"Then shut up, when the time to find your soulmate gets to you I might not help you." He rolls his eyes and looks at the list you've made with the four names."

"And how are you going to approach them? Do you even know where they are?"

"Jungkook is friends with Mingyu, I'll try to talk to him without Mingyu knowing... Somehow. I still follow Changkyun on Instagram, that won't be hard. The only hard one is Kyungho, I don't know anything about him, thank God"

"And Wonwoo is the most approachable one, isn't he? Why don't you talk to him first?"

"No damaging my integrity is what we are looking for, remember?"

"I still don't understand why you don't want to talk to him. He is a nice guy, he'll be very chill about anything."

You almost tell Seungkwan that that's the problem. That night shouldn't have happened, not when you were heartbroken and Wonwoo was into someone else. Maybe that's the thing that hurt you, Wonwoo liking someone else and being heartbroken because of the break-up.

"I'd better talk to Changkyun now, the sooner the better, right?"

Talking to Changkyun was both a victory and a loss. He was a good friend of yours when you were younger and it's been a lot since you last talked to him. He wasn't weirded out by the sudden soulmate topic and instead he spoke freely about it, you suddenly remember how he had always been an open-minded guy. However, he had already found his soulmate.

You move on to the next person on your list almost immediately. Talking to Jeon Jungkook without Mingyu knowing was harder than you thought it would, mainly because you know nothing about him ever since he moved a few years ago, and you can't find him on Instagram or twitter. You know the only thing you can do is ask Mingyu directly, so you get Seungkwan to do it for you.

"Why do you want Jungkook's number?" Seungkwan looks at you after Mingyu pops out the question, you expected him to just give it to you, he is not the type to get into someone's business. He must be really curious.

"Just... Woozi told me... he's looking for a singer for his new song... Yeah... that,"

"Aren't you and Dokyeom his singers?"

Seungkwan looks uneasy. He is too honest, he doesn't like lying. He keeps on looking and you and you decide to help him help you because this is not looking good.

"You know how stressed he's being lately, Mingyu," You feel Mingyu's, Seungkwan's, and Wonwoo's eyes on you, "He thinks that trying a new voice will help him,"

"Then why isn't he asking me himself?"

"Mingyu, just give them Jungkook's number, it's not that deep," Wonwoo steps in "Excuse him, ever since he found his soulmate he is not as nice as he was."

Mingyu complies as his hyung tells him and you feel your heartbeat rising. You don't talk to Wonwoo a lot after that night so listening to his voice feels like reliving the events. Especially when his eyes don't leave yours, almost as if saying 'I know you're lying'. That night, he sends you a text

Wonwoo: Have fun with Jeon Wonwoo is typing... Wonwoo is on line

Whatever he was writing, you'll never know. You couldn't answer the text either

You don't know what's funnier, Kyungho trying to delete himself from your life or you trying to locate him back. Jungkook was not your soulmate. He actually gave up his soulmate life after a very tragic story with his supposed-to-be soulmate and now he dedicates his life to art, in any of the ways. It was a sad story, you cried like a baby at your situation and then at his while he laughed softly and told you soft thing like he always did. It was gratificating.

But now, your list only points towards one direction, and that is Kyungho's old working place, a café near some beautiful parks, and an outdoor basketball court Kyungho himself used to play in. He did a lot of things but being a good boyfriend or friend, actually.

You feel scared for a second 'will he be there?', 'How will he react?' 'What if he's my soulmate?' You stopped in your tracks. You didn't want to have such an awful person as a boyfriend. Great, another fear added to your list! But when you find the guts to come inside the café and he is right there, wearing the same clothes and same hairstyle he always had, you feel like ending all this as soon as possible.

His gaze changes when he recognizes you, surprised.

"Hi, Kyungho. I know you don't want to see me, but can we talk?"

"My shift ends in ten," he speaks after a few seconds "wait for me outside"

You do as he asks. For a second, you think he might run away through the back door or something, but he complies and meets you outside the café.

"What are you doing here?" Straight to the point, as he's always done.

You roll your eyes and he keeps a straight face.

"Have you found your soulmate?"

He laughs as if you had told the funniest joke.

"What now, baby? You want me as your soulmate so bad?" You want to slap him in the face.

"Just answer my damn question."

"Why do you think I left?" Your eyes go wide. Does this mean that he... You almost feel like crying, why does your soulmate have to be him and not Wonwoo? You shouldn't have, but you must admit you had gotten your hopes up for a second. "I'm joking! You should have seen your face!"

"So... No soulmate then?" You ask, pretending to find his joke boring when you're just furious.

"No, no soulmate Y/n. I feel nothing when it comes to you." Your hand moves faster than you think, and you surprise yourself when he grabs your wrist before your hand can reach his face.

"Nice try, Y/n. Maybe try again?"

"What if I do it for them?" You could recognize that voice everywhere. Kyungho turns around and there he is, Jeon Wonwoo. He is so close to Kyungho it's almost comical: Wonwoo is a bit taller, so Kyungho looks like a defenseless animal. "I play basketball nearby, you know? I wouldn't mind using you like a ball."

Kyungho is going to make another comment, you know that, but Wonwoo doesn't let him.

"Let's go, Y/n. We have better things to do." Wonwoo puts his hands in his pockets and begins to walk and you follow him, without looking back at a very scared Kyungho.

"Do you always go around asking exes if they've found their soulmates?" He asks and you blush.

"Not really"

"I'm guessing it was not just some random thought?"

You sigh, you didn't want to have this conversation.

"No. My soulmate mark has appeared and I had to do something about it."

"Oh, how random, mine has appeared too." You want to ask him directly about it, but you can't find your voice. "It's a number, what about yours?"

"A number too"

"That's nice!" He smiles sweetly, your heart is about to burst "Which number?"

"Two"

"Oh." He looks lost in thought for a second "Well, at least it's not Kyungho"

"Yeah, I don't even know why I dated him"

"I'm wondering the same thing. You deserve so much better," how can he be so chill about all this? All you can think is how he is the last person on your list.

"Jeon isn't your soulmate either." It wasn't a question, he was just confirming it.

"How do you know... about that?"

"I told you, Mingyu is not as nice as he was. He likes to gossip now, with his soulmate. Jungkook told him how he wished you found a soulmate who treated you nicely and how comforting he found your chic-chat"

That guy...

"I guess the universe thought I deserve something else, but what could be better than Jungkook?" You joke.

"Maybe try with another Jeon?" He chuckles when you don't answer him.

Does he know...?

"Aren't you going to ask me what my number is?" He knows.

"What is your number, Wonwoo?"

"Ten." What? If Wonwoo isn't your soulmate then... You will never recover from this low blow. "You seem surprised."

"I just- I thought that maybe... You know since that night... And I might be wrong but I'm sure I've never kissed anyone else apart from my exes and you... I'm sorry, I must have made this uncomfortable."

"Oh no, absolutely not" He is trying his best to stay calm, but you can tell he's a little nervous "so your soulmate mark is how many times you've kissed them?"

"Yeah"

"Mine too" Could this be possible? That much of a coincidence?

"That's... Curious, I think"

"It is." He is looking at you again with that look, the one that says 'I know everything about you even before you do' but this time you catch up.

"You think that we..."

"There's only one way to try."

When his lips meet yours just like they did that night, you find the same comforting feeling. It's like being pulled, like magnets. You feel safe.

And then you remember something you had forgotten about that night. You were feeling sad and tired, but Wonwoo's presence made everything better, your eyes were closed. You had kissed Wonwoo for the first time but then he cut you off and told you to come back when you were sober (but you were sober!). You thought he was caressing your face slowly with his fingers, trying to comfort you, but he actually gave you a kiss.

One on your right cheek, then another one on your left, then another one at the tip of your nose. His lips moved your jaw and placed a small kiss there, then on your chin and another one very close to your mouth and finally he planted a kiss on your forehead and you opened your eyes. He then kissed the back of your hand which made both of you laugh.

It is true that you kissed him two times, and it is true that he kissed you ten.

When you parted, a small eleven was placed on top of his head with a pair of drawn lips just like yours.

"I see a three there, soulmate." He pointed to the top of your head.

"And I see an eleven there, soulmate." You do the same thing he did. He hugs you "I'm so glad it's you, Wonwoo. You don't know how confused I was, I thought you were broken-hearted because of a break-up!"

"You just made that up by yourself! You should have asked me first instead of Jungkook or Kyungho."

"I know. I was scared you would end up being my soulmate but you wouldn't like me back"

"Y/n, I'm head over heels for you." You smile and he leans closer "You know what? I hate odd numbers."

"Me too."

He kisses you one more time.

[anonniemousefics]

My Dearest Inej | Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Masterlist

Originally posted on AO3

Rating: Teen And Up

Synopsis: A series of letters kept among the personal belongings of Captain Inej Ghafa. (The one where I had to cheat a little - these are not all letters, per se. But it still fun, I think!)

Chapter Nineteen: The Ketterdam Daily Ledger

LANKSROON BAKERY ORDER FORM

Customer Information

Name: K. Brekker

Delivery Address: Fifth Harbor

Rush Processing: Yes

Payment Method: Cash plus rush deposit, paid in advance

Order Specifications:

Five layer chocolate cake with chocolate ganache, raspberry drizzle, fresh raspberries

Two dozen sugared waffles with apple syrup

Special Instructions:

Just don’t fuck it up.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

(in a package containing a folded up newspaper)  

Look! We’re headline news. My father will be so pleased…to never read this, ever. Seriously, I will murder anyone who sends this to him. I’m a little tempted to buy up every copy, but Wylan’s keeping the cheque book under lock and key.

In any case, here it is, in all its glory. Your wanted sketch is so mysterious and glamorous! They got Wylan’s all wrong, and he’s quite put out about it. See if Brekker wants one framed for The Slat. I have plenty of extras.

The dust is settling here. Life is slowly resuming a bit of normalcy now that the Dregs have returned to The Slat. Anika’s at the reins for the interim, and there’s been very little activity from Stadhall. No inquiry whatsoever. I can’t shake the feeling Kaz has something to do with that. Ask him for me?  

- Jesper  

P.S. – Ambroos is waiting at the window again. He does it every afternoon around lunch time. Let Kaz know.  

THE KETTERDAM DAILY LEDGER

Stadhall In Shambles

Explosion at the Stadwatch’s central headquarters releases dozens of alleged criminals back into Ketterdam’s streets; Foul play suspected, officials report

By A. Van Poel

Stadwatch officers are investigating the cause of a massive explosion that occurred last night in the northern sector of Stadhall in Ketterdam, as well as varying reports of what led up to the event. Citizens of Ketterdam are advised to remain vigilant after dozens of detainees who were awaiting trial are now on the loose following the eruption that tore away wide sections of Stadhall’s northern wall.

According to sources within Stadhall, investigators have set their sights on tracking down accomplices of a privateer known only as The Wraith, who is said to have connections to criminal networks in East Stave.

The Wraith was one of the dozens of detainees who escaped last night, and is described by officers as of a young female of Suli descent, slight of stature and build.

“Don’t let her fool you,” said Stadwatch Chief Inspector Hoedemann, in a statement to The Ketterdam Daily Ledger. “The Wraith is a serious threat and should be considered armed and dangerous. Anyone with information as to her whereabouts should report the tip directly to Stadhall. And absolutely no one should attempt to engage her or her associates without the assistance of law enforcement.”

Rumors swirled last night as multiple sources speculated on sightings of a rogue Grisha Corporalki and possibly a Materialki working in connection with The Wraith, but as of this morning, these rumors had not been confirmed. Speculation on what this could imply regarding Ravka’s involvement in the explosion also remained unconfirmed.

In a statement released by Stadwatch Chief Inspector Hoedemann, the events last night began after a Zemeni man dressed as a Stadwatch guard led in three detainees he was said to have arrested. It was later discovered that the arrest warrants as well as the man’s identification had been forged. Chief Inspector Hoedemann released the following sketches to The Ketterdam Daily Ledger of the man and his cohorts, who are believed to have been assistants of The Wraith.

(in Kaz’s handwriting in the margin: “Assistants”?!?! Inej has drawn a devilish little smiley face.)

In the timeline of events shared by Chief Inspector Hoedemann, the four – three male and one female – are alleged to have walked the length of the Stadwatch detainment cells as this time, as many sources reported multiple sightings around the same time in the evening.

“It is my belief,” said Chief Inspector Hoedemann, “that it was during this period of time that the suspects were discovering the whereabouts of The Wraith’s detainment and possibly other associates of The Wraith that were to be freed in last night’s operation.”

Chief Inspector Hoedemann also reported that the four seemed to have knowledge of the inner workings of Stadwatch personnel and patrolling, as, according to the timeline, they appear to have waited until a particular guard shift change to put their plan into motion. This raised many questions among reporters as to a possible inside connection to Stadwatch officers themselves; however, Chief Inspector Hoedemann emphatically denied these rumors.

“Each one of my officers holds themselves to the highest standard of integrity that the good people of Ketterdam have come to expect of their lawmen,” Chief Inspector Hoedemann said.

Multiple Stadwatch officers who were on duty that night reported that they recognized the female in the group, the suspected Grisha Corporalki, but none would go on record about neither her identity nor how they might have known her.

“I will just say she’s a wiley one,” said one officer, who spoke to reporters with the promise of anonymity, “and leave it at that. She’s like no other Grisha I’ve ever seen.”

The suspected Ravkan Corporalki, described as tall and alluring, is suspected to have distracted the Stadwatch patrolmen while her associates met The Wraith at her detainment cell.

Other eye-witnesses are not as convinced that The Wraith was working in connection with these suspects as Chief Inspector Hoedemann would have the public believe. One Stadwatch officer, who asked only to be known as Officer B., was reported to be down the hall from where the suspects were releasing The Wraith. It is suspected they used a Materialki, as no keys were found missing and no damage had been done to the lock.

“I think they were kidnapping her,” Officer B. speculated. “Maybe revenge or something. From what I could see, it looked like The Wraith was trying to wrestle one of them, the tall one with the funny haircut. At one point, she had him pinned against the far wall, but I guess he won out in the end.”

It is one of multiple opinions about the nature of the relationship between The Wraith and the mysterious four who helped her escape.

“That wasn’t wrestling,” said another eyewitness who wished to remain anonymous. “They were obviously lovers. She was snogging his face the minute they let her out. I think he was an art thief or something. It sounded like she was asking about the art, and he was telling her she could do whatever she wanted with it. He must’ve stolen something for her.”

“Kind of romantic,” he added, “if you’re willing to overlook the illegal nature of it and the complete lack of conscience.”

Chief Inspector Hoedemann would not comment on the nature of the relationship of the two suspects, only that it was clear that all five were familiar with each other on some level.

“We are interested in protecting the public from some very dangerous criminals, not spreading folk lore and entertaining the public,” he told reporters.

Hoedemann has reason to want to wrap the case up quickly and air-tight, as he is running for election to the Merchant Council this year. His handling of the attack on Stadhall is seen by many as a make-or-break moment in his campaign. Many of his would-be constituents are already scratching their heads at how so many of his officers could have been witness to the events and yet were powerless to stop it or apprehend the suspects in the wake of the explosion.

According to reports obtained from Stadhall by The Ketterdam Daily Ledger, at least twelve different Stadwatch guards reported being stopped by the alleged Corporalki or were within range of The Wraith at the time of her escape. Chief Inspector Hoedemann confirmed that there was a significant confrontation that occurred between his officers and the five suspects in the hallways just outside of the detainment cells, but did not report if anyone had been injured during the skirmish.

“By my count, at least a dozen shots were fired off,” Officer B. told reporters. “But the Materialki could stop them all. And the Corporalki…could do something that terrified us all. The lights…the air…it felt like we were being suffocated by dead hands.”

Most eye-witnesses have refused to comment on the nature of the Corporalki’s small science, only that it frightened them, causing several to turn and run.

“We thought at first that we’d had them surrounded - outnumbered two to one,” said Officer B. “But it didn’t matter.”

One thing all reports have agreed on: the smallest of the suspects, a male, was the one to carry in the explosive. And when it seemed as though they were cornered, he used it – but not before the suspected Materialki had loosened all the locks on the detainment cells.

“One moment, it seemed like we could turn the tide,” said an anonymous witness, “and then in the next, a whole wall was blowing out. And there was mayhem all down the hall – all the cell doors were rattling open in the debris. Everyone was running for the hole, into the night.”

The explosion took down all internal communications within Stadhall for hours, and amidst whatever small science the Ravkan Corporalki was using, only a handful of Stadwatch guards managed to follow the escapees into the debris.

None, however, returned.

“We want to assure everyone that this was not a random act,” said Chief Inspector Hoedemann in his statement. “This was an organized, prepared attack for the sole purpose of freeing The Wraith, and, for the majority of Ketterdam, as long as you are not an associate of these people, you are as safe as you have always been within our city limits. The structural damage to our headquarters in no way hinders our ability to carry out our duties to the people of Ketterdam, and I can give every assurance that all is reparable and will be put right long before election day.”

As for any current leads about The Wraith’s whereabouts today, investigators have had nothing to show. But Officer B. put it best.

“She’s a pirate,” he said. “She could be anywhere in the world by now.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Mr. Brekker,  

This is to send my gratitude for your very generous campaign donation. I am interested in hearing your terms in regards to becoming a regular contributor to our cause and would be happy to discuss it further either in person or in continued correspondence.  

I thank you for your continued patronage and support of the Merchant Council.

With gratitude,

Chief Inspector Hoedemann

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My dearest, loveliest Inej (for you are mine, after all, no matter what Brekker insists),

We did not have anywhere near enough time to celebrate and catch up in the aftermath of this whirlwind adventure, so I’m writing this down. In my haste to come to your aid, I left all the letters I’ve been writing you in Fjerda, so one of these days, you’re going to get a massive envelope, but in the meantime, you’ll have this for now.  

Saints, it was so good to see all of your faces again, but especially yours. This was somehow not at all and exactly the proper reunion we all needed, and not just because of the monstrous mountain of cake that I still can’t believe Brekker had delivered to the harbor in the midst of a goddamn getaway. What have you done to him? Or has kruge actually fulfilled his cold, empty heart after all? (I would like to reiterate that it may have been the best cake I've ever eaten, but don't let it go to his head.)

I tease, love – there was a time when I would not have wished love on either of you, but you’re here now, and I cannot imagine it any other way. The sea suits you, and he suits you, and you suit him, and if I could somehow alchemize the feeling of seeing you happy into a flavor of waffle, I’d be the richest woman in Ketterdam. Brekker, too. You can even tell him I said so.

So, while I’m sad to leave you again for a little while, know that I’m cherishing these moments and they will sustain me for months. Change can happen so slowly sometimes, it can feel as if it will never happen at all. But seeing you this time – you and your mad, sloppy prison-kissing and your chocolate-cake-filled face – and how your brilliance feeds and fuels the people around you, the people who love you, I feel I’ve caught a glimpse of the other side. Even people like Brekker can be happy. Even people like me.  

You slurp up every moment of goodness in your getaway. You are not a criminal slinking away into the night. You are a mastermind seizing her bit of the world.

Until we are together again, love,  

Nina

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dearest Jesper,

Kaz is annoyed that the paper called his haircut funny, and he’s not thrilled at all at the prospect of having that framed. But don’t throw them all out yet. Maybe he’ll change his tune by the time we get back to Ketterdam.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Jesper, I don’t know what I would have done without you, and that goes equally for Wylan. Kaz would be dead, and I probably would be, too. You held us all together like the valiant and steadfast true friend you have always been. Kaz agrees – begrudgingly and in far fewer words, but he agrees.  

Kiss Wylan and Ambroos for us. Well, fine, for me. Kaz just made a face, but I know, deep down, he wants to make sure Ambroos is patted and kissed, too.  

We’ve a long journey ahead of us to Leflin, and I’m not sure yet how long we will be in Novyi Zem. A couple months, I think, if I can have my way, and I think I can. We’ll have a more celebratory reunion when we return than this last one, I promise.

With all our love,  

Inej and Kaz

(in Kaz’s handwriting)

P.S. – Dogs respond to body language and consistency. Try not to ruin him while I’m gone.

[evilmuffinlord]

Stranger in a Strange Land- Chapter 6- Search

Cover art by: https://wolfy1298.tumblr.com/

In which a search is conducted, a deal is struck, and a throne is usurped

Read it on AO3:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/20280019/chapters/62418322

or on FF.net:  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13365894/6/Strangers-in-a-Strange-Land

Teaser below cut

“So, where do we start?” Mina asked as she and Izuku stepped out of the front gate of Astera and into the edges of the Ancient Forest. They had been given a long-term objective by the Commission, but the exact path they took there had been left up to them.

After Mina and Izuku’s initial success in the Rotten Vale, progress on the investigation into Zorah Magdaros had ground to a halt. It was obvious from the massive chunks of solidified magma at the bottom of the Vale that Zorah Magdaros had been there at some point, but it had moved on before the Commission had gotten anywhere near the area, and didn’t seem to be coming back anytime soon. 

Not that Mina really blamed the massive Elder Dragon for not wanting to stick around in the Vale. In addition to being a deeply unpleasant place to spend time, the Vale apparently served as some sort of monster graveyard, feeding the rest of the New World with nutrients. It sounded weird to Mina, but Izuku had found the idea quite fascinating. He and the Tracker had spent several hours back in the Third Fleet’s Research Base swapping ideas about how the Vale “fit into the broader ecosystem of the New World” while Mina did her best not to fall asleep at the table. She hadn’t succeeded, of course, and Izuku had eventually carried her back to the room the Third Fleet had set aside for them, but he at least had seemed to have fun with the discussion.

In the end, despite several more missions to the Rotten Vale (including an assignment to capture a live Odogaron for a half-mad researcher who wanted to keep the ravenous monster as a “pet”), they hadn’t been able to find out any more about Zorah Magdaros’ movements or destination.

The members of the Commission were nothing if not determined, though, and they had immediately come up with several new angles to attack the problem from. The Tracker was staying in the Vale, both to search for any clues that had been overlooked, and to monitor the effluvia levels there, which seemed to be rising the longer the Commission was there. 

Meanwhile, the Field Team Leader was leading an expedition to follow Zorah Magdaros’ trail from where it had first made landfall to the canyon where they had attempted to capture it. They hoped that with the new information they had uncovered about Zorah Magdaros’ reasons for coming to the new world, they would be able to uncover some new clues about where the massive Elder Dragon was heading.

Lastly, Izuku and Mina had been dispatched to the Ancient Forest to search for a First Wyverian who was rumored to be living there. The reclusive native inhabitants of the New World were said to be expert hunters, as well as incredibly knowledgeable on the subject of monster behavior. If there was any group that would know why Zorah had fled its grave site, it would be them.

Unfortunately, they were tricky to find when they didn’t want to be seen, which meant none of the other hunters who regularly visited the Ancient Forest had seen hide nor hair of the Wyverian. Their only clues were a few scattered footprints and a hunch that the recent changes in monster population had to do with a very skilled hunter in the area.

Izuku and Mina’s search for it was a bit of a Hail Mary, but they had known that going in. Besides, it wasn’t any less likely to turn up results than the other avenues the Commission was pursuing, so there was no harm in trying.

There was also another reason that Mina had so ardently pushed for her and Izuku to take the assignment. The researchers had gone on and on about how knowledgeable the Wyverians were supposed to be, to the point that even she had begun to think about what all that knowledge could include. If the stories about them were to be believed, the First Wyverians had been around for ages, and had even interacted with civilizations that were now lost to time. Some of these civilizations had possessed incredible technology, and Mina hoped that one of them might have passed along information about how she and Izuku could return home.

Not that she wanted to do it right away, of course. They needed to help the Commission find Zorah Magdaros before they could return. There were far too many people counting on their help at this point, and Mina was far too invested in the project to leave now. 

But she did miss her home, her parents, her friends, and her original form. Life in the New World was great, aside from the monsters that regularly threatened to eat her, and she had made many excellent friends, but it just wasn’t the same as she was used to.

She knew Izuku was feeling a bit homesick as well. They hadn’t discussed it much, but she often caught him looking at a portrait of his mother that he had drawn in the back of his hunting notebook. The way he had drawn her made his mother look like the sweetest, gentlest woman in the world, which Mina had no trouble believing. After all, only someone as good as that could have raised someone as amazing as Izuku.

“I was thinking we should ask the Bugtrappers if they have any leads,” Izuku replied, breaking her out of her reverie, “They take a lot of paths that the hunters don’t, so they might know where the First Wyverian is staying. Even if they don’t, they should be able to point us in the right direction.”

“Sounds good to me,” Mina said, setting her course for the Bugtrapper village near the top of the Ancient Forest. 

After the adventures in recent weeks, the trek through the Forest was actually rather relaxing. The air was clean and fresh, and made Mina feel all the healthier for breathing it. The ground was firm enough that she didn’t have to worry about turning an ankle on a random patch of gristle or falling into a hidden swamp hole if she wasn’t paying attention. Even the weather was excellent, with nary a cloud in the sky as they picked their way through the foliage and towards the base of the massive tree.

Eventually they reached a large clearing at the base of the tree, one that she and Izuku were quite familiar with. After all, it housed the entrance to the cave where the largest Jagras pack in the Forest made their home, and where Izuku and Mina had fought their first monster. 

The clearing was far from empty though. Apparently the Jagras pack agreed that the weather was quite nice, and had decided to take their lunch outside. The pack was arrayed in a loose semicircle around a pair of Kestodon carcasses, with some mid-feast and the rest sunning themselves in nearby patches of sunlight. 

It didn’t take long for one of the Jagras to notice that their meal had been interrupted. The cry of alarm rippled through the pack, causing every member to leap to their feet and rush the hunters.

While Izuku unlimbered his charge blade, Mina wasted no time in charging the pack. She remembered their first encounter with a Jagras pack well, and she didn’t want to risk Izuku getting surrounded again. True, he was much better equipped to handle a pack than he had been back then, but she still didn’t want to risk him being overwhelmed and gnawed to pieces.

She dashed through their ranks, slashing wildly at any Jagras that came within striking distance and just generally making herself a nuisance. It worked like a charm, and a large part of the pack broke off to attack her, leaving Izuku to battle a much more manageable group of six Jagras.

She, on the other hand, had attracted the attention of nearly a dozen of the miniature wyverns. They hissed and spat as they circled her, weaving back and forth around each other to create the illusion that there were even more of them present. Every few seconds, one of them would dart forward to swipe at her, but Mina was easily able to avoid such blows while countering with her own.

Finally, after seeing that fighting defensively was getting them nowhere, the Jagras paused their circling, then darted forward as one.

Mina had to admire their teamwork and coordination. She and Izuku were a well-oiled team at this point, and they could sometimes communicate their intentions without words, but it still took them time to do so. The Jagras seemed to move as a singular unit. Maybe it was an ability that was inherent to the Jagras species, or maybe it came from living as a member of a pack for their entire lives. Either way, the display had Mina hoping that she and Izuku would someday reach that level of coordination. 

Instead of retreating from the charge or defending herself, Mina surged towards one of the larger members of the Jagras pack. It blinked in surprise and confusion, slowing slightly and making Mina’s job all the easier. She leapt forward, springboarding off of the Jagras’s head and flying over the pack. Behind her, she could hear the cries of surprise and alarm as the Jagras lost sight of their prey and ran into each other.

She snickered, picturing the surprised looks on their faces, then prepared to actually fight them. She’d made them good and angry by now, and Jagras were nothing if not tenacious once they were provoked. They wouldn’t be dissuaded by some surprise maneuvers and a few light blows.

True to form, the Jagras were already recovering from their confusion and lining up to attack again. Rather than let them get into formation, Mina began her assault on the Jagras in earnest. She danced between the members of the pack, slashing at their legs and faces wherever she could and moving on before any could land a blow on her.

The pack, unused to fighting anything her size that was so aggressive, struggled to keep up with her movements. As the damage increased and morale dropped, the Jagras began to retreat one by one. The more that fled, the more their morale dropped, which only increased Mina’s chances.

For her part, Mina was happy to let them flee. She and Izuku might be spending quite a bit of time in the Ancient Forest in the near future, and making the Jagras wary of them might prove to be very useful. Besides, they had an entire box filled with Jagras scales and talons back in Astera at this point.

Then, when only five Jagras remained and her victory was nearly assured, disaster struck.

Read the rest on AO3 or FF.net! Links available on my bio if tumblr deletes them again.

[limited-practice]

In The Bar of Bad Things part 4

Hubcap, Nickel, and Helex continue to have increasingly unpleasant and implausible times in an alien bar where nothing goes right for them.

@jet-teeth my continued thanks to you for the fantastic art you’ve drawn for this fic! It’s all perfect, PERFECT

art for chapter 1 is here, and the drawing for this chapter is at the end of this post.

This nonsense story is a lot of fun to write, and it’s the best thing to talk with people about it because that’s where I get most of my inspiration from. I’m always grateful to everyone who’s read it and talks with me about it it’s the best thing, thank you!

Chapter 1 is here on tumblr  and chapters 2, 3 and this one are on Ao3.

2904 words of sfw random antics at a bar where everything keeps going wrong are below the cut. 

“It's about time,” Nickel said. She felt someone come to a slow stop behind her, but she didn’t bother to look over her shoulder at them. “Did you get lost in that bathroom?”

“Ha, no! I didn't- didn’t get lost," Hubcap replied. He slid up next to her and plastered a too wide smile onto his face. He laced his fingers together tightly. “I’m here. I'm fine. I'm here and I’m fine."

“We heard some banging,” Helex said in a slow and knowing tone. “We thought you were having a Good Time after sending your message, if you know what I mean."

“WE did not think that,” Nickel said. “I didn’t think about him for a second after he left us.”

“Do you know what I mean?” Helex said, ignoring her. “Because I do. And so does Nickel. But you’re a small sheltered Autobot with no experience, so you probably don’t.”

“I, ha, wait,” Hubcap said. He tried to inject some steel into his voice. “How do you know I don’t have any experience? You could be setting yourself up for major embarrassment here. I could be embarrassed by you for a change.”

Helex gave him a fondly condescending look.

Nickel gave Helex her third best weary look. “He’s got a rotating cast of desperates all throughout the galaxy that message him for Good Times as soon as they can, so it’s safe to say he’s got some experience. We have more important things to do, so just ignore him. And do you know what I’m going to ignore? A continuation of this conversation.”

“But just because he has a list of admirers doesn’t mean he’s got experience with any of them,” Helex said, continuing the conversation. “Or anyone at all. Does it Nickel? Does it?”

Nickel gave him her second best weary look. She paused. She remembered how terrified Hubcap was about replying to his send nudes message. She fought not to think about it any more. She tapped her fingers against her leg. “No. No it doesn’t Helex. It doesn’t. Are you happy now?”

“I’m always happy.”

Helex picked up two full glasses. He drank from one and offered the other to Nickel. “Your one has little bubbles in it.”

He gently shook the drink to fizz it up further. “Look at them go!”

Nickel fought back a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

She reached out a hand to take it.

WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP!

“What the?" Nickel's head snapped up, the drink forgotten.

Everyone in the bar collectively snapped their heads up. Heads and eyes and sensors swivelled like searchlights to seek out where the blaring alarm was coming from and what it meant.

Helex drank Nickel’s drink in one gulp. He made a face. “I don’t like this.”

WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP!

“It’s an alarm,” Nickel said. “You’re not supposed to like it.”

She put her hands on her hips and looked around. “Is that the fire alarm?”

“Uh, no,” Hubcap said, twisting his fingers together and peering up at the ceiling anxiously. “That’s not the fire alarm.”

“Did you set off the fire alarm?” Nickel pointed a finger at Helex. “Did your smelter slow leak again and set something on fire?”

“No!” Helex held three innocent hands up. His fourth held another drink. “It’s not me! I promise!”

“Because I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve told you to see me as soon as you get a micro-fissure or a heat fracture in it. I’ve lost count of the number of times I've told you, I really have.”

“It wasn’t me! I’ve been standing next to you the entire time!”

“Just because you’re here now doesn’t mean you couldn’t have leaked elsewhere earlier, does it? Does it Helex? Does it?”

“I just said it’s not the fire alarm,” Hubcap muttered to his fingers. “But Primus forbid anyone should ever listen to--”

Whoop Whoop Whoop!

Whoop Whoop Whoop!

“I’m going to see who’s set the fire alarm off,” Nickel scowled. “That useless bartender had better turn it off soon because one, I can’t see a fire anywhere and two, it’s giving me a headache.”

She stalked away.

Hubcap glanced around. It wasn’t the fire alarm. The frequency sounded all wrong. It felt all wrong. There wasn’t an explosion or any type of mortal threat that he could see, but people were pouring out of the bar as if their life depended on it. The DJD and the Wreckers were nowhere to be seen. They must have been some of the first to evacuate. Which meant that whatever was happening or was about to happen would be serious and life-threatening and a horrible experience in general. Which meant they had to leave immediately. Hubcap made a sudden move towards the nearest exit, but he was stopped by one of Helex’s arms on his shoulder.

“If it’s not the fire alarm, what is it?” Helex asked.

“I don’t know,” Hubcap said, giving Helex’s hand a wary look. “But it’s something bad. It’s something serious. Something serious has happened and people have left. So we should leave too. We have to leave.”

He tried to take a step towards the exit.

Helex gently squeezed Hubcap’s shoulder.

All three layers of Hubcap’s plating buckled. An explosion of alarms erupted and spread throughout his system, warning him of imminent structural collapse and irreparable damage to most of his primary circuit field if this tremendous external pressure continued.

“Nickel’s not back yet,” Helex said.

>//> critical system breach in 6, 5, 4,

“We’ll wait as long as it takes for her!” Hubcap gasped. “I want nothing more in my short little life than to stay right here with you and wait for her but oh god please let go of me I don’t want to die like this!”

“Die?” Helex released Hubcap’s shoulder. He gave him what he considered to be a reassuring look. “You’re not going to die. Someone will put that scary fire out, don’t you worry.”

Hubcap massaged his near crippled shoulder. He muttered desperate thanks of praise to Primus and dark promises of revenge to Helex under his breath.

Helex bent his head down so that his mouth brushed Hubcap’s ear. “What?”

“Ahh!” Hubcap sprang back and gripped his shoulder harder.

“You’re weird,” Helex told him. “I like it.”

Helex looked around. “Where’s Nickel?”

“How should I know?” Hubcap snapped.

Helex flexed the fingers of his shoulder grabbing hand. “What?”

“I said I’m terribly sorry but I’m afraid I don’t know. But I do know that she’ll be fine, and that we’ll do absolutely everything in our power to find her and make sure she’s OK and we won’t, absolutely won’t, evacuate this death trap of a bar until she’s back with us despite the fact that she’s the most capable out of the three of us and could take out anyone with one eye closed and is the one who will outlive us by millions of years no matter what happens.”

Helex nodded slowly. “Do you know what this means?”

Hubcap's processor whirled “...that we’re...going to die while she looks in on us through a window and shakes her head in sadness but not surprise?”

“It means that we have more time for drinking!”

“Yeah, that was definitely going to be my next guess.”

Helex turned back towards the bar. Every inch of the enormous counter was taken up with different sized glasses filled with liquids in every colour imaginable. Some were fizzing, some were smoking, one was hardening into concrete and several were leaking.

“Look at what I ordered while you were having fun in the bathroom.”

“...how…” Hubcap began, as a sense of impending doom bit into his spine and slid down it using nothing but teeth, “...many drinks did you put on my tab?”

Helex took a sip of the drink he now held in a small hand. “Two of each per round.” The liquid slid down his throat, and he blinked in happy surprise. He held out the glass and peered into the roiling mustard coloured froth inside. “Oh that’s good.”

“I should hope so,” Hubcap said slowly, “Because that drink is going to cost me an arm and a leg.”

“It’s going to cost more than that.” Helex drained the glass. “Have you seen how much debt you’re in?”

“...excuse me?”

“It’s a lot.” Helex smiled. “I’ve crippled you.”

“What?”

“But only financially.”

“That’s so much worse!”

Hubcap whipped out his communicator and poked it hard. He brought up his bank account and typed in the password. He looked at the string of numbers that told him how much money he now owed. He made the soul searing sound of eternal pain that all of Helex’s victims made.

“Calm down,” Helex said. “I can’t hear the mysterious wailing alarm over you.”

Whoop Whoop Whoop

Whoop Whoop Whoop

Helex put his glass down on the bar. “So. Did your weirdo friend respond to those pictures of questionable content you sent them?”

Hubcap looked at the horrific negative numbers screaming along the bottom of his bank account. They were neon red. They were pulsing. They were underlined. His mouth was open and his spark was fading.

“Well?” Helex prompted.

“How?” Hubcap whispered.

“How what?”

“How did you manage to drink so much?” Hubcap’s horrified eyes scanned the itemised charges and calculated the times they were bought. "Everything on the bar right now is your fourth round! I was only gone for a few minutes!"

Helex patted his smelter fondly. “She’s a thirsty girl.”

“I’m ruined,” Hubcap said to himself. “I can’t pay this back. I’ll have to take out a loan. I’ll have to take out several. I’ll have to rob someone and go on the run for the rest of my life.”

“I’ve already called the Debt Collector of Eternal Interest and Perpetual Payback to take you into Bank Custody.”

Hubcap’s head shot up. “What? Why?!”

Helex shrugged. “Owed her a favour.”

“Oh my god.”

“She’ll be here soon. I gave her our location and your description. And since she’s getting on in years, make sure you’re respectful and shriek extra loud when she starts stabbing you. Her hearing’s on the way out and her frame is frail.”

“Oh My God.”

Whoop Whoop Whoop

Whoop Whoop Whoop

“Why are you yelling so much?” Nickel asked.

“Ah!” Hubcap yelled, startled. He gripped his communicator hard.

“I can’t hear the alarm over your wailing.”

She looked at Helex. “It’s not the fire alarm. I checked. I asked the bartender what it was, but all he said was ‘it’s not the fire alarm’ before bolting out of the exit door.”

Helex nodded. “That’s what we thought.”

Nickel looked over Hubcap’s shoulder to see what was on his screen. She cackled loudly. “You’re so screwed.”

“I’ve already called the Debt Collector,” Helex said. “She’ll be here after she’s had a nap.”

“Someone her age needs her rest,” Nickel agreed. “When she gets here I’ll offer to give her a check-up free of charge.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“She works hard. And it’s difficult to get customers in her line of work these days. Hardly anyone has a lot of money now, which means they’re not in a lot of crippling debt that needs to be recovered. It was nice of you to give the work to her.”

“Do the two of you,” Hubcap said slowly, “Really not care that I’m about to get stabbed by a geriatric debt collector?”

“Don’t call her that,” Helex said. “Show some respect.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten into so much debt in the first place,” Nickel said flatly. “You need lessons on how to manage your finances. Swindle runs a basic course for absolute beginners you should go on.”

“I didn’t get into debt myself! Helex put me in it! He’s drinking this overpriced place dry and making me pay for it!”

Nickel’s expression didn’t change. “Because you said he could. Remember? You agreed to pay for all his drinks so he’d cover for you when you went to message your friend.”

Hubcap’s mouth opened to respond. It stayed open. “...I didn’t think he’d buy so many,” he said limply.

“There’s an old Earth saying about Assumptions,” Nickel said. “Swindle covers it in his course.”

“I am not paying Swindle money so he can trick me into giving him more.”

“How’s that worse than tricking yourself out of it?”

“You should definitely tell him this story,” Helex said. “He might name a case study after you. You know, the type of example that everyone laughs at but also takes seriously because they’d die ten times over if it ever happened to them.”

Whoop Whoop Whoop

Whoop Whoop Whoop

“That’s really goddamn annoying,” Nickel glared.

Helex nodded in agreement. He unravelled his long tongue and coiled it inside another foam coated glass. He slurped noisily as he cleaned it.

Hubcap put his hands on his head and remembered that there had been a few good times in his life.

Whoop Whoop Whoop!

Whoop Whoop Whoop!

“First of all,” Nickel said, “The fact that I can hear you over the sound of this alarm is disgusting. You’re disgusting.”

S L U R R R R R P

“And second of all, we need to get out of here. Everyone’s already left. I don’t know what that alarm’s for, but it can’t be anything good.”

Helex unravelled his tongue from the glass and sucked it back into his mouth. “It’s not all bad. It means no-one’s going to try and sneak one of my drinks off of the counter again. They screamed so loudly when I caught them!”

“Exit. Now.”

“I’m just saying--”

“You can stick your tongue in things when we get back to the ship,” Nickel ordered. “Now let’s go.”

Nickel strode towards the nearest exit. “Helex, contact the ship and give them our locations for transport. I’m not going to be stuck in this miserable place for whatever awful thing is about to happen. Hubcap, you figure out what the alarm is for. And stop crying.”

“...I’m not crying. I’m just...thinking. Concentrating. The air’s very dry in here and sometimes that makes my eyes water to compensate and--”

Just as Nickel reached the exit a set of huge black and yellow containment doors slammed shut in front of her face and blocked it.

“Dammit!”

She spun around and immediately headed to the secondary exit. Huge blast doors slammed down in front of those doors too.

Nickel clenched her hands into fists and groaned in deep frustration. “I can’t believe we’re stuck in this dump!”

“Shall we have another drink?” Helex asked.

“Stuck?” Hubcap said, as he tried to surreptitiously wipe his eyes. “We’re stuck in here? We’re actually stuck? In here? Stuck?”

“Stop repeating yourself and calm down. It’s really annoying.”

“Well excuse me for, you know, not being in the best frame of mind given everything that’s just previously happened to me.”

“Ooh, bubbles!” Helex chirped.

“We’re not drinking any more bubble drinks,” Nickel snapped. “We’re going to find a way out of here before whatever bad thing is going to happen to us happens to us, understood?”

“But if it’s stopped then maybe it won’t happen,” Hubcap said cautiously. He looked around the deserted bar, and scanned it with even greater attention and dread than he had examined his bank account. “Maybe it’s already happened. Or it’s been prevented. Or it was never actually going to happen in the first place, and that was just an unfortunate and unintended miscommunication of a defensive or offensive response to an external threat that never ended up materializing.”

“What in the goddamn hell are you babbling on about?” Nickel said. “I am one second away from charging a new spaceship to your account Hubcap. One second! And then I’m going to give Swindle a heads up that despite being broker than broke you’re a prime candidate for--”

“The alarm’s stopped,” Hubcap said bluntly. “Listen.”

Nickel listened. The wailing alarm had stopped. And in its place was a low, slow, grinding mechanical hum that was steadily getting louder and louder and louder.

“That’s not good,” she said.

Hubcap shook his head in agreement.

Tiny white stars drifted down in front of Nickel’s face. She locked eyes with Hubcap. They both followed its spiralling path down, down, down to the disgusting sticky floor where it popped silently at her feet.

She looked back up at Hubcap. Who was already looking up at the ceiling with a horrified expression on his face.

“Like I said, bubbles,” Helex beamed. He held out all four hands and turned his palms up to the ceiling. Small piles of happy popping bubbles collected in piles on them.

Nickel reluctantly looked up. She read the warning. “So that’s what the alarm was for,” she whispered.

A huge hatch covered the entirety of the ceiling. It was studded with jets and openings and switches. Stamped across it in twenty different languages were the words 'Hostile Suppressant Foam. Mechanical Grade. For Use In Emergencies Only. Never, Ever, EVER Ingest.’

The hatch slowly opened.

She heard Hubcap typing furiously on his communicator.

Orange warning lights strobed the room.

She heard Helex lick his lips and swallow.

The ever widening hatch began to rain foam down on them

A tidal wave of deadly foam slowly leaked out of the ever widening hatch directly above their heads.

“We are so screwed.”

[yan-purgatory]

Dauntless

Pairing: Yandere! Hyungwon x reader

Admin: ღ

Word Count: 2.6k

Divergent AU

“This will take me about four hours. Are you sure you have that kind of time to spare?” Hyungwon nodded, leaning back in the reclined black leather chair. The sleek material reserved for the most important of clients, meaning himself naturally. And this small luxury had some familiarity to the executive Dauntless leader, who’d found himself seeking this particular artist out many times.

He felt the cool sting of the rubbing alcohol on his collar bone, followed by the stencil being pressed into his skin and peeled off. He opened his eyes just in time to see (Y/N) powering up the tool. His eyes trailed down the parts of her body visible to him in his position. Seeing the feathers of a wing tattoo stretching across one arm, a black rose curving up each bicep. Art was splayed on nearly every inch of her body, yet the most beautiful part of her wasn’t touched by ink. Her face, which came into view as she held the whirring needle in her hand.

Having her lean close to him meant he could observe such beauty. The controversially cute upturn of her nose, the cut across one of her eyebrows, the hardened expression of concentration in her eyes. Being able to observe such a masterpiece of a woman relieved all pain of his tattoo. No anesthetic was necessary when he had (Y/N) to take his breath away.

Yet four hours passed far too fast. Before he knew it, she was leaning away and switching the tattoo needle off, wiping sweat from her forehead and offering him some water from a fridge in the corner. Hyungwon took the bottle without a thank you, letting the cool liquid trickle down his throat as he watched her remove the latex gloves and find a mirror.

“Do you like it?” The first words that left her lips in the four hours shocked Hyungwon out of a stupor, holding up the mirror to show off her work. A happy smirk worked its way onto his face as he saw the devil he’d always envisioned dancing along his collarbone, the tip of its horns reaching his shoulder.

“It’s great, thanks.” He replied simply. He would never be a man to grovel, no matter what kind of feelings (Y/N) gave him. He was a man of pride, and he wouldn’t let a tattoo artist become more powerful than him. She would be the one to run to him, to beg him to fuck her, to ask him to dominate him as he desired.

Yet she was not yet at that point. She was simply providing a service, no feelings involved. But already Hyungwon was seeing his feelings mixing into their relationship. And it wouldn’t take long for someone to push the balance and tip the scales.

As soon as (Y/N) had patched up his tattoo, Hyungwon was in a hurry to leave. The sensation of (Y/N) fingers on his skin was enough to leave him with desires that he was not ready to reveal. The deepest parts of his mind were flourishing, and she couldn’t know that until she was ready to be all his.

Without so much as a thank you he had left the parlour, brushing past his associates without any consideration. The only thing on his mind was getting back to his apartment whilst his euphoria was lasting.

He slammed the door closed as soon as he was inside, not a care in the world about how he could damage it. It wasn’t his problem, he could replace it a thousand times over with his healthy wage.

Hyungwon just collapsed onto the sofa and immediately unzipped his jeans, one hands creeping into his pants. Hyungwon leant back, his mind racing with all kinds of dirty thoughts. Imagining (Y/N)’s fingers moving from his chest to where his hand was situated, or even her mouth. Imagining how her lips would quiver, how he would make the brave girl weak beneath him.

Such ideas spilt over, and soon Hyungwon was gasping in pleasure. Sweat rolled down his forehead and his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he groaned her name in pure ecstasy.

Yet after he was finished, something crossed his mind. An unplanned yet brilliant situation, that would help him achieve his objective.

He’d left his jacket at (Y/N)’s tattoo parlour.

~ ღ ~

‘She’s simply honoured to have me as a guest.’

Hyungwon was musing over their relationship as he prepared himself for the day ahead, combing his black hair out of his eyes neatly. There was a tinge of toxicity to his mind, a possessive streak. ‘I could buy her entire existence. I could remove her from her position and leave her in the streets to rot.’

He smirked at his reflection, tracing nimble fingers over the bandaged spot on his collarbone. Feeling the same places (Y/N) had touched him and imagining the same scenario but with both of them naked, her chest pressed to his and her warm breath on his ear and his-

A loud knock on the door killed his mood.

“We need you to assess a situation for us, another fight has broken out and one of trainees has broken some ribs.”

Hyungwon sighed irritably but told them he would be on his way, pulling on a shirt and letting all his thoughts be bottled up for later.

~ ღ ~

The parlour that was usually buzzing with customers early in the night had become quiet as it hit eleven. Hyungwon knew this well from the many visits that he’d spent covering the canvas of his body with her art. And he was excited to have another opportunity to visit, to woo (Y/N) and possibly get lucky, seeing as it was late at night and the chances of someone walking in were slim.

Yet, as he laid eyes upon the artist he discovers that he was not alone with her. Distracting (Y/N)’s attention with a perfect smile was a shorter man in a guard’s uniform, eyes sparkling as he whispered to her. Her hands were lethally close to his, the tattoo gun tracing the simple words of ‘Heart’ on his knuckles.

At the sound of the door, (Y/N) raised her head.

“Oh, I’m sorry but I’m with another client right now. And I can’t tattoo you again, it wouldn’t be good for your-”

“I left my jacket here,” Hyungwon replied icily, glaring at the other man sat in his chair with a shit-eating grin.

“I did find it yesterday, but I’m not sure where I put it. Search around all you like.” (Y/N) wasn’t fazed by his presence, but he was very much unwelcome in the eyes of his rival in the seat.

He stalked towards the duo, using just his body language to intimidate the other man, but this guard was of Dauntless. He wasn’t about to back down in fear of Hyungwon.

“Move. I need to find my jacket.” The younger man hissed, only to be met with a stony glare.

“(Y/N) is in the middle of my tattoo. Once it’s finished you can check the chair.” The reply was cocky and disrespectful and was clearly to be met with consequences.

“Kihyun, you should-”

“Know your place, pipsqueak, or you’ll be snuffed out.”

Kihyun didn’t flinch, glowering back with equal intensity, until a voice interrupted them.

“This is it, isn’t it?” (Y/N), the girl they both valued the attention of yet had forgotten she was present, was holding up a black leather jacket in her hand.

Hyungwon didn’t reply, simply taking it out of her grasp in one swoop and slinging it over his shoulder coolly.

The last chilling threat he gave Kihyun before leaving was one slender finger being drawn across his throat whilst (Y/N) wasn’t looking.

~ ღ ~

Hyungwon didn’t like sitting in the cafeteria, not when he has the choice of sitting in a lush reclusive area. But it gave him perfect view of his faction, the people that joined for their brave personality over all else but were mere ants in comparison to him.

The leader loved seeing his control. He especially loved thinking about all the ways he wanted to make (Y/N) his, but he always avoided indulging in those luxuries in public, knowing the effect they would have on him.

He still remembered the day of his choosing ceremony, how he’s easily sauntered over to the bowl of hot coal and let his blood sizzle. He remembered how he’d risen through the ranks in his training, easily becoming top of the class and winning every fight. And most of all, he remembered the victorious feeling of being elected as the leader of Dauntless, and how he’d felt looking at the face of his competitors and knowing that he was better and that he would always get what he deserved.

But even as he picked apart the hamburger a nasty sight caught his attention and drove all hunger away. The Kihyun fucker sat next to (Y/N), without a care in the world, as she spoke to him with an adoring look in her eyes. It was as if Hyungwon’s blood was on fire, as he stood up and let his chair fall back. The loud clatter drew plenty of attention to the executive, but he was already storming away. Those who dared to make eye contact with him saw nothing but murder hidden in those deep onyx eyes.

~ ღ ~

“What are you doing here?” Kihyun couldn’t help but burst out at the sight of the faction leader waiting outside his apartment, arms folded over his chest.

“I have something to talk with you about, pipsqueak. Follow me.” Hyungwon left no room for protest as he strode away, leaving Kihyun to follow.

As they walked through the pit, Kihyun observed that it was not bustling with life at all, and a sick feeling grew in his stomach as Hyungwon led him further down the spiral, towards the chasm.

“The power really has gone to your head, Hyungwon.” The first words that Kihyun spoke since they left the outside of his abode were dripping with toxicity.

Hyungwon stopped in his tracks, right before the gaping chasm.

“Yet you don’t seem to recognise the power I have.” He snapped back.

“Just because you beat me in the leadership contest doesn’t mean I have to kiss your boots.”

Hyungwon didn’t reply for a moment, watching the rushing waterfall.

“Why have you been getting close to (Y/N)?” He asked, not looking back at his rival.

“Why does that matter to you?” Kihyun replied simply, but that wasn’t good enough for Hyungwon.

“You’ve been trying to seduce (Y/N), haven’t you? Spending nights with her when she’s meant to be helping me and snatching her attention when I’m not available.” The Dauntless leader snarled, grasping the shorter male by the collar and tugging it harshly.

“What, am I not allowed to get a girlfriend because I threatened your position once?”

Hyungwon let out a noise of frustration before slamming Kihyun into the stone wall, a cry of pain coming from the security guard’s lips.

“You know that’s not why I’m so… concerned. It’s because I laid claim of (Y/N) a long time ago, and you don’t respect that.” Hyungwon’s rival opened his mouth to give a snarky reply only to gasp as he was hit hard in the stomach.

“I want you to stay away from her. If you can’t do that, leave Dauntless and live on the streets.” The leader was tough, but his opponent had a psyche made of steel.

“Like fuck, I will. I’m not giving in to your temper tantrum because the girl you like won’t fuck you.” It was almost like magic how Hyungwon’s face changed. What had previously been an expression of anger morphed into something more chaotic.

His grip on Kihyun’s collar was tightened as he dragged him towards the other side of the path, near the edge of the chasm where the railing was the only protection against certain death.

“You know how I spent most of this evening? I looked up your files. And I found your Aptitude test.” Seeing his victim’s face pale encouraged Hyungwon to continue with his nefarious scheme.

“And I was shocked to find that you were said to be a Candor.”

“You’re lying.” Kihyun gasped.

“But why would you pick Dauntless after testing for Candor?” Hyungwon ignored the accusation. “My guess is that you’re divergent.”

“You lying monster! My altitude test was Dauntless, and I’m not-“

“Tut tut. Such awful lies for a man who values honesty.” The smirk painted on the younger man’s face was something truly terrifying. “Now, I don’t think anyone would be surprised if a divergent like you just… disappeared.”

“You…” There was a reason Kihyun had tested so highly for Dauntless, and that was showing in his unwavering determination to not back down.

“What do you say, pipsqueak? You think you’re top dog, but you don’t belong here. You certainly don’t belong with her.” Hyungwon snarled, pushing Kihyun further against the metal railing and delighting in how his victim gasped in pain at the hard material digging into his back.

“Is the all over your fantasy with (Y/N)? I swear, if you’re threatening murder just because of some girl then you’re more off your rocker than I ever thought-”

“How dare you call her ‘some girl’!” Hyungwon roared, gripping Kihyun’s throat tightly. “She is MY girl, she is MY angel and I will fucking tear your throat out for your disrespect to the woman that is worth more than you could ever be, you good for nothing piece of shit!”

As Hyungwon ranted furiously, Kihyun tried to struggle away furiously, but he only found himself in more danger as he was pushed further back until the railing he was grasping onto was the only hope for keeping balance and not falling into the depths of the chasm.

Even so, his stubbornness wouldn’t let him give in. No matter what, he couldn’t just let Hyungwon monopolise (Y/N). She didn’t deserve that.

“Bastard.” Kihyun hissed, pushing against his opponent’s grasp. “You talk about her as if she’s your possession. She’ll never feel the way you want her to feel when all you do is jack off from her touching you and threaten her competitors, you idiot.”

“She’s going to love me,” Hyungwon affirmed, almost telling himself that. Clearly, Kihyun’s words had affected him more than he would have ever admitted.“Some divergent scum like you won’t change that.”

A foreign panic rose in Kihyun’s chest as his fingers were pried from the railing.

“Good thing you won’t be wasting our air anymore.”

The chasm claimed another life that night.

~ ღ ~

(Y/N)’s face was devoid of emotion, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she absentmindedly cleaned her client’s hand. But Hyungwon was not happy with only half her attention, and he lifted her chin with his free hand.

“What’s up, babe?” The young woman blushed at his nickname. It was like he’d done a complete one-eighty in his attitude, being much more confident and flirty than (Y/N) was used to. She’d be a fool to say that she wasn’t melting under his heat.

“It’s just that I did this exact same tattoo yesterday. On Kihyun, in fact. Feels like some sick fate.” She replied, wiping her sweaty forehead. “I hope you’re not a divergent like him.”

“Never, babe.” He replied, relaxing. When she’s brought up the tattoo, he’d tensed thinking she was catching onto his plan but luckily the topic was shifted to the tragedy. More important than that, she was concerned about him. And they were well on the way to being the perfect couple that Hyungwon envisioned on lonely nights, despite the obstacle along the way.

Hyungwon truly had nothing to fear.

[greenninjagal-blog]

Bury the Body

I swear I’m gonna stop making new AUs one day. This is not that day. Based on these prompts from @sandersidesquotes right here: 1 2 3. 

Let’s go Serial Killer AU!

TW: Murder, blood, stabbings, arson, causal mentions of killing people

Words: 3854

Summary: Logan is a serial killer and he’s not the only one.

General Taglist: @felicianoromano @jemthebookworm @holliberries @stricken-with-clairvoyancy 

Read on AO3

To be honest the day had gone great. Exceeding so. He had gotten the promotion he had been after for the past year and received the nice raise that had come with the new position. He no longer had to sit in a tiny cubical and listen to Jeff from two cubicles over have phone sex with his secret girlfriend that his wife didn’t know a thing about. And, sure, the new workload was strenuous, but that made his nights out so much more entertaining, so much more fun.

It was a science. A science that Logan had perfected at sixteen. The more stress he had, the more the bat felt right when it cracked against the skull of his latest victim.

Logan had never been great at baseball, but people had stopped teasing him about it long ago. They had other things to worry about, like the funeral for the captain of the baseball team who passed away suddenly when his shed caught fire while he was out back underage drinking.

In the darkness, his victim when down heavy without even a chance to scream. Not that there wouldn’t be more time for that later. He had chosen her mostly at random from the bar, although the fact that she had been alone and her phone had died had been huge factors. Logan didn’t know if she was pretty or not, but he thought the red splatter on the edge of his metal bat looked a bit like art in the dull light.

Really she should have called an uber hours ago, should have brought a charger, should have dyed her hair brown and worn less make up. She looked too much like one of his sister’s Barbies.

Logan rubbed one of his gloved hands over the splotch of blood on his bat and wondered if she’d scream the way he always imagined the dolls did when he turned them into metal mounds of plastics. Logan felt his stomach flutter, the edges of his lips twitch into a smile at the idea of the lighter fluid in his jacket pocket, at the idea of the matches and the smell of smoke spiraling into the midnight sky.

Personally, Logan thought that arson was a rather beautiful way to die. She should be honored. It was a science, a specific ratio of gas to the victim, a detailed design that would swallow an entire building so completely without collapsing too quickly. She should be thrilled that Logan had deemed her the next one to go floating up to sky with his smoke.

“Oh, that’s not very nice!” A voice said some nearby.

Logan stilled.

He had been lingering in this alley for an hour, waiting for his victim to come out. He knew there was no one else here. So where had the voice come from? And why did it sound so happy?

Logan twitched to look at the mouth of alley where a figure was standing dressed in cargo shorts and a blue polo. He had a cardigan wrapped around his shoulders, and loafers on his feet. If he hadn’t looked so happy, Logan would have assumed he was a Dad running around after his kids.

If it hadn’t been nearing one in the morning, Logan would have assumed he was just a poor civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Not nice at all, kiddo!” The man said. “Don’t you know that could cause brain damage?”

“Who are you?”

“And she already has so many other problems with her brain.” The other strolled forward with a hop in his step, completely ignore Logan’s question, “I’m going to have to ask you to step away from her now, kiddo!”

Logan was not sure who this man was, or why he found the happy tone so annoying. It grated on his nerves. Logan held the bat out at him. “Stop,” He commanded.

The man took three more steps and hovered just outside the range of Logan’s swing.  Logan was sure if either of them leaned more than five inches they’d both explode. The part of him he kept buried deep inside sang.

The smog of the city blocked out most of the moonlight, but Logan had no issue making out the whites of his teeth, the forced edges of his smile that only looked natural at first glance. At this close Logan could make out how robotic and unnatural it is, how it didn’t meet his eyes, how the man before him was so fake he could have been one of the dolls Logan melted as a kid.

Logan’s lips twitched. Could this man keep up that stupid fake voice while he burned like one too?

“Kady Kay here has so many problems with her brain. Just like me!” the man said, “I’m gonna fix them all for her!”

Logan didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t care either.

Until the voice behind him spoke up. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Pat.”

Logan swirled at the sound, so close, so surprising. His victim was on the ground, and right next to her was another figure, dressed all in black, with an oversized hoodie that made him look like a child. He had a marker out, holding the limp left arm of the victim and drawing neat dotted lines at the intersection between her humerus and her radius and ulnar. The second man looks up at him, a shy smile on his face, a guilty smile, like a kid who was found with his hand in his cookie jar.

In the next second there was a skittering on the asphalt behind him. Logan remembered just a second too late that the other man had still been there, that he hadn’t been normal, that there had been a bloodlust in those twinkling eyes that Logan was so familiar with from all the times he had looked in the mirror before he left his house in the morning.

He threw an arm up just as the knife came jabbing at him. The motion was fluid and surgical, and it would have severed Logan’s carotid artery if it hadn’t plunged straight into his forearm.

The man smiled. “Oh?”

“He’s fast.” The other said.

Logan blinked at the blade protruding from his arm mere inches from his face. There was blood on it too, blood dripping down the metal edge and dotting the asphalt at their feet. He twisted his hold on his bat, so that it was easier to adjust his glasses.

“Oh, kiddo,” The man with the fake smile said, “There’s something wrong with your brain too!”

“Congenital Analgesia,” Logan responded.

“You can’t feel pain?” The other said. Logan thought he sounded disappointed.

“Precisely,” Logan said and then he folded his arm inward and broke the handle from the smiling man’s grip and flexed his fingers. Half of them don’t move. Something was severed, but Logan wasn’t worried yet.

“Kay feels pain.” The other said quietly.

“I want to make her smile!” The smiling man said. His hands danced in the air revealing more tiny knifes between his fingers, and slicing fluid motions in the air.

The other shrugged. “I just like taking things apart.”

“What makes you think I will allow you to take my victim?” Logan asked them.

They shared a look and then they give him a twin smiles: One small and shy like a kid who understood a joke an adult did not, the other bright and blinding and completely fake. Logan guessed they were brothers from the way their heads tilt, their curly hair twists into their eyes, and their mouths open at the same time.

“Because we called dibs!”

“How childish,” Logan sniffed. “I hit her first.”

“We’ve been watching her for weeks.” The man in the hoodie countered.

“And premeditated murder doesn’t make it to court unless you actually attempt to kill someone. What is your point?”

The other man’s smile wilted slightly, “Can’t we just….share?”

Logan and the other shot him withering looks, “No!”

“Please V? Pretty please! Please, Please, Please?!” The man said, “I want to see this man smile too!”

“I don’t!”

Logan was about to cut in when another noise cuts through the alley. The sound of trash bins being pushed over, and someone running, several screams.

“HELP!”

Logan found himself drawn to the next person throwing themselves down the narrow venue. A male, a teenager. In the dull light of the night, Logan could see the way he was stumbling in a panic and screaming for help, holding his side and his neck with his arms and the bubbling shining red that was spewing from between his fingertips.

“HELP!” The man yelled, “He’s right behind me! He’s got—”

Logan blinked and there was a long metal blade protruding from the man’s chest. The man gurgled, blood shot out of his mouth and then his eyes rolled back.

The body dropped to the ground with a wet splat and a new figure stepped into the limelight: He was dressed head to toe in white, a suit tailored to fit him perfectly. It would have looked flattering if it weren’t for the red wine hand prints and splotches and smears all over it. He held a katana in one hand and a red rag in the other.

“Twenty Seven!” He sang to them, with a dazzling gleam in his brown eyes that made them look like rubies. His hair was gelled back, and glitter dusted his cheeks just enough to make him look other worldly, “Hi! Give me just a moment and Emo Nightmare there can be Twenty Eight!”

“Hi!” the man with the fake smile said, “I like your clothes! They’re so pretty!”

“Why thank you, Twenty Nine!”

The man laughed, “I’d hate to make you sad there kiddo, but we can’t stay to play! Kady Kay needs to smile too! Come on, Virge!”

“Pat,” the other said, his marker jabbed at the man in white and red, “I want to take him apart.”

“Oh dear,” The man in all white said, “You’re going to mess up my count, Batboy.”

Logan flexed his stabbed arm again. The blood was making his gloves slippery. No doubt his blood was all over this crime scene. Most likely he was going to have to disappear in the night, pretend to be one of the several people to have gone missing in the past months. Oh what a shame, he had liked that promotion and the new money and all the gasoline he could have bought.

He waved his bat slightly, eyed his victim on the ground once more and wished that he had more time to hear her scream and watch the flames to consume her in the warmest hug this life could give her. Then he bolted from the alley while the others are distracted, escaping into the city he knows so well.

What a shame. What a waste.

Maybe one day he’ll see the others again, and he’ll melt them all too.

****

He didn’t leave the city. Not that night or the next.

He bought three stuffed animals from a toy store and lit them on fire on his fire escape. It wasn’t as fun, didn’t relieve as much stress as it should have. There wasn’t any screaming, wasn’t enough smoke, wasn’t the smell of burning flesh tickling his nose. He poured a pitcher of water on the mess and left it on the metal bars.

No police came to his door. And aside from a twenty seven victim murder spree by an unknown killer, there was no news that suggested he was going to have a difficult time. However, there was also no news about the three other killers he had seen.

The following day he took his smoke break twenty minutes earlier than normal. His arm was wrapped and in a sling and his coworkers were being extra nice to him after he told them he had been in an unfortunate mugging. Still it was rather annoying to see that three of his fingers refused to curl and instead hung off his palm completely useless.

He lit a cigarette, but didn’t bring it near his mouth. He didn’t smoke. Not like the others did. Instead he stood on the roof—the designated smoking area of the bank he worked at—and held the lit cigarette between his thumb and index finger while he stares at the flame of his lighter without any interruptions.

If he thought any of his coworkers had half a brain he would have been more careful about being caught so openly aiding his obsession. But as it stood no one in the entire city had put together that stiff, unmovable Logan Ackroyd was the same man who set fire to several warehouses and on one occasion a car in a deserted parking garage.

(That one hadn’t been fun. The flames had hit the gas tank too quickly. The man—or had it been a woman? He didn’t remember anymore—hadn’t had time to scream before they had disappeared into the warm embrace.)

Logan could feel the heat when he brought the light close to his face. It was the closest he got to physical pain.

The door behind him screeched open and Logan extinguished the flame with an irritated huff. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was, and honestly it didn’t matter either. None of his coworkers knew how to do their jobs. It made sense that he wouldn’t be able to get more than five minutes of peace.

“Logan? Logan buddy you up here?”

“What do you need Jeff?” Logan coldly asked without turning around.

“There you are! You usually don’t take your smoke break for another twenty minutes and I was just—”

“Is there a point your disturbing me?” Logan cut him off. His eyes glared at the ash that floated off the each of his cigarette and dissipated into the wind so freely. The smoke tickled his nose comfortingly.

“There’s a couple guys here who need a withdraw—”

“The tellers are quite adequate at their jobs, Jeff.”

“They want $12,000. Per regulations we need to report any transaction over $10,000. And Janice is with someone right now so she can’t take them, and I was hoping that you would confirm their request and—”

“If you want me to do your paperwork, just say so, Jeffery.” Logan said, “I will happily do it, because that will mean it gets done correctly and I will not have to go back and fix your mistakes later.” Logan stubbed out his cigarette, somewhat regretfully, and then stormed past Jeff from two cubicles over to handle the clients.

The clients were twins, a surgeon and a therapist that were big named into those fields. Logan took one look at them and nearly slammed the brand new door of his brand new office closed.

“Oh, hi, there kiddo!” The man with the fake smile said brightly, “You look familiar. Have we met?”

“I understand you want to make a withdraw.” Logan said coldly as he sat down at his desk.

The two men from three days ago were sitting in the chairs opposite of him, a desk between them, but Logan was not stupid enough to think that provided any type of hinderance to either of them. As it stood, the smiling man was bouncing in his seat beaming, and Logan could see flecks of water dried on his glasses from a frivolous cleaning recently. The other was still wearing that swamped hoodie curled into the seat like he might be able to escape the light by folding in on himself. There was gauze taped to his forehead all the way to his left eye. He was silent, and although Logan couldn’t quite tell if the tense of his shoulders was from anger or just general childlike misery.

“Oh yes sir!” The bouncing man said, “We’re going on a trip!”

“Per regulations I must ask where,” Logan said.

“All over! But mostly to the Midwest!”

Desert area, Logan noted offhandedly. He glanced between them imagining the flat plain desert miles away from civilization and a bonfire so large a satellite might be able to pick it up. He imagined both of the others at the center of it, with their voices drowned out by the crackling of the unforgiving fire.

“I’ve always wanted to see the other side of the country! It’s so vast and big! Oh maybe we’ll get to see some Aliens!”

“Excellent plan,” Logan said distastefully, and even he didn’t know why it sounded so sour coming out of his mouth, “Now I need you to sign—”

“I’m going to bury a body.”

Logan stilled at the sound of the other’s voice.

The smiling man laughed. “Virgil you can’t just say that!”

“What’s he gonna do, Pat? Call the police?” The other snarled at his brother and then stared at Logan directly in the eyes, “We’re going to the desert and I’m gonna bury the body of a man I’m gonna take apart limb from limb.”

Logan found it rather hard to look away. He had no difficulty believing the other when he spoke. He tapped a pen in his right hand twice on his desk. “I wish you the best of luck, Mr. Sanders. Now please sign here and I will return with your money.”

“You should come with us!” The smiling man said. “It would be so much more fun than being in this stuffy office all day! We could go on all sorts of adventures! Oh! I can show you how to smile!”

He hummed dreamily leaning forward on Logan’s desk. The pastel of his sweater was bleached at the sleeves, like someone had worked very hard to get a dark color off of it. Logan felt his lighter in his pocket grow heavy—his brain was off doing math to determine how long it would take to turn that sweater and the man in it to dust before he could stop himself.

Two to three hours for that plastic smile to melt off his face, for his soft pale skin to turn to crusted ash, for Logan to figure out if he’d scream just like those dolls from so long ago. His fingers itched as he waited for the twins to finish signing the forms he provided.

“You clean up nice.” The man in the hoodie said. “Would you wear that to your funeral?”

“12,000 American Dollars, Mr. Sanders.” Logan handed him the money. “Spend it wisely.”

“Have you ever been on a train?” He asked, without counting the stack of bills Logan had handed him.

Logan replaced the cap on his fountain pen and gently placed them back in the cup next to his name plaque. “I have not.”

They gave him those smiles again, the ones that made him feel like they were vaguely teasing him. Bright and bashful, fake and deceiving: but it didn’t reach their frigid eyes. Logan imagined they were made of ice.

Ice melted so very nicely now, didn’t it?

“Goodbye, Logie!” The smiling man sang as his brother shoved him out the door.

Logan crinkled the papers in his hand until the two signatures were barely recognizable. He glared at it hard enough that it might have caught on fire had it been any other reality.

“I’m going on my smoke break,” He yelled to Jeff from two cubicles over and spent the rest of the work day on the roof holding his pocket lighter right next to his temple and watching the flames in the reflection of his glasses.

***

Logan found out he had a total of forty three days of paid vacation that his management was all too willing to give him.

“Go live a little!” They told him. “You’re still young!”

They didn't notice how he pulled the two credit records right before he checked out for the day. The kind lady on the phone was all too happy to tell him all about the reserved seats he had once she had confirmed his basic information.

“Bring me back a souvenir,” His sister said on the phone. “And it can’t be another ashtray. I don’t even smoke!”

Logan lit the jacket she got him for Christmas last year on fire and watched it burn until the night sky began to light again. The heat pricked at his unmoving fingers the sensation of something licking him, of something being not-right.

He did not put it out before he left.

***

He knocked on the door to the private sitting room. The shifting of the carriage had taken some getting used to, but he had always adapted to things so well. His mother had blamed the inability to feel pain, but she wasn’t exactly the smartest person he had ever come across. She wanted him to do more chores and less burning ants with his magnifying glass.

Even her screams got boring after the first hour.

“Might I join you?” Logan asked when the door slid open.

“The sign says private for a reason, Teach.” A voice said from inside. Logan raised an eyebrow at the man, at his plain white t-shirt and jeans that still have the tag on it. He was lounging on a full booth seat, with black boots sprinkling dirt on the other seats, and a phone in one hand. Even without that katana in his hands, he was easily recognizable.

Logan glanced at the twins who sit across from him, “I was under the impression you killed him?”

“Pat made me put him back together.” The man in the hoodie said, rather regretfully. He blew on his fingertips, crinkled his nose, and then went back to using his butterfly knife to scrap the purple nail polish off his nails.

“As if Johnny Depressing there could kill someone as amazing as me!” The other man scoffed.

“Give it four days, Princey.” He retorted, “The only reason I haven’t taken you apart yet is because its easier to transport you alive.”

The carriage filled with a booming laughter, “It’s going to be so much fun killing you, Twenty Eight!”

The smiling man held out his arms for Logan, like an offer of a hug if it hadn’t been for the knives in both of his hands. The toothy grin was too sharp to be flattering.

“I’m glad you came, Logie!” He sang. “I can’t wait to see you smile just like I made Kady Kay smile!”

Logan dropped his bag--a duffel that held a bottle of lighter fluid, a box of matches and three outfits— on top of the man’s black boots. ("Hey! Watch it!") His lips twitched.

“I do believe that you’ll try.” Logan told the smiling man. “However it will be difficult when you’re little more than a charred corpse in the middle of the desert.”

He settled on the seat next to the other serial killers, pulled out his phone, and began searching for an ashtray to send back to home to his sister.

(Chapter 2)

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 3739 Chapter: 19/? Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn’t happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Chapter 19

He tried to stay at home and wait patiently for Tobirama to come back, he really did. After his time away the man deserved a chance to reunite with his precious ones in private. Unfortunately the encounter with his father had left Madara antsy and his stomach felt tight from the need to share this with his husband. Not saying anything felt like keeping secrets and even though he had no intentions of actually keeping this to himself, obviously planned to bring it up as soon as Tobirama returned, that apparently wasn’t enough for the heavy lead ball that had replaced his heart.

Less than an hour and several anxious circuits around their living room later and he was out the door again with a scowl on his face that sent many people scrambling to get out of his way. Even as he wound through the streets of the Uchiha compound Madara told himself he was being stupid but he couldn’t seem to convince himself to turn around.

Not many people gave him a second look once he made his way in to the Senju compound. Several more people sent him respectful nods than he used to get here and despite being distracted with the heavy issue on his mind he still found a moment to swell with pride. It was nice to see more and more people in the village acknowledging him with respect the way his own clan did.

Tobirama’s chakra wasn’t hard to find and it was no surprise that he would visit Touka first. Actions speak louder than words but words had their own power and Madara had noticed that his husband brought up Touka in casual conversation much more often than he did Hashirama. Clearly he was closer to his cousin than his brother. The idea was a little hard for someone like Madara to wrap his head around who had no idea which of the fatherless brats in the Uchiha clans were his cousins but had almost made an art form out of the protective older sibling routine. It wasn’t for him to judge though.

So focused on his mission was he that Madara very nearly waltzed straight in to the home without even bothering to knock, stopping himself at the last second and freezing in place. Though he was more than certain if it came down to it he could defeat Touka in battle he wasn’t really up for volunteering to fight her on her own turf. He had seen her on the sparring fields enough times to know how much damage she could do to him on the way down and that wasn’t something he wanted to deal with just then. Very carefully he took a step back and knocked on the door, forcing himself to wait politely until the barrier opened to reveal Tobirama with his brows drawn inward.

“I felt you approaching but I assumed you wished to see Hashirama. Is something wrong?”

“Ah…a little…” Madara cleared his throat when he saw Touka appear at the end of the hallway. “Since I know you’ll share whatever I say with her perhaps I might come in and you can both hear what happened at the same time.”

“Yeah whatever, let him in.” Her voice was deep and rich, apparently, when she wasn’t snapping out commands to the rest of the security teams.

The two of them had worked together quite a bit since Madara was assigned head of security but despite the obvious connection between them they’d never made any attempts to discuss personal matters, keeping their conversations entirely professional and always making sure there was a witness in the room with them whenever possible. It was no secret that Touka had very little warm feelings for him.

His first glimpse of the home’s interior was an odd sort of surprise. In a weird way he had expected the upstairs to resemble the laboratory downstairs, cold and minimal, but instead he found a warm cozy little nest with tasteful decorations and artwork on the wall that immediately prompted a mental note to ask for the artist’s name later. Touka gave him a long, slow look before waving him towards a single armchair but Tobirama pulled him down on to the couch with a roll of his eyes and made a point of sitting close enough for their clothing to brush together.

“So, tell me.” Touka lifted the tea she must have been enjoying before he arrived. “What was so important that you needed to come interrupt our private conversation?”

“It’s about Tajima.” All traces of ire slipped away from her face instantly, replaced with a blank slate. From the many meetings they had attended together he recognized the look of a soldier awaiting details and withholding judgment.

“Go on.”

“He got to Izuna before I did this morning and he did not take the news of my brother’s injury very well. Long story short he’s going to be kicking up some sort of fuss but I don’t know when and I don’t know what. What I can tell you is that he’s a dramatic bitch with an unfortunate amount of brains.” Madara pinched his lips together with a sigh. “Actually that could describe a lot of Uchiha.”

Beside him Tobirama’s hand had disappeared inside the clothing Madara had been so proud to see him wearing earlier and came back out holding a small notebook. “I believe we’re going to need that longer story.”

Telling them what happened didn’t take much time. Answering all the questions both of them fired at him one after the other took several times longer than that. He found himself a little surprised that most of Touka’s questions focused on Tajima’s tone or how he held himself when he said what he did but when he asked later she told him it was because she already knew Tobirama would be asking the other important questions. Questions like thought patterns, how he had reacted to similar things in the past, what Madara thought his father meant by specific turns of phrase.

And most importantly: what he thought they should do about it.

Unfortunately that was one question he wasn’t at all sure how to answer. How to react all depended on what Tajima decided to do in the face of what he saw as a betrayal. It also depended on how much support Tajima could count on from the people of Konoha or the high council members. Sadly, he also had trouble predicting which side of the fence Izuna would come down on. If it came to the option of splitting the Uchiha off from the venture they had been a part of setting in motion Madara honestly couldn’t say what his brother would do. The man hadn’t exactly integrated with any grace.

“So this is basically a wait and see situation?” Touka summed up after the questions had been flying for a while. Madara grunted.

“Just don’t hold your breath. He can be patient when he needs to.”

“We’ll be ready whenever he decides to move,” Tobirama said, placing one of his hands over Madara's and squeezing reassuringly. He wasn’t about to mention it in front of other company but Madara actually found it more reassuring that his husband chose to leave their hands linked together. It seemed oddly intimate from what he had seen of Senju practices but then he supposed that Tobirama considered Touka’s presence still private enough for such displays.

He himself wasn’t all that comfortable with Touka in particular but he had been raised in a clan that saw nothing wrong with publicly expressing themselves so he saw no reason to encourage Tobirama to remove his grip. The firm grip was steadying and it felt nice to have that small weight on the back of his own hand, a small connection to another human being. It was also just distracting enough that he almost missed the dismissive tone in Touka’s voice when she spoke again, a rookie mistake from such a well-trained shinobi as himself.

“Much as I’m sure we both appreciate you bringing this up as soon as possible, I believe I’d like to go back to speaking with my cousin now. He was mine a long time before he was yours.” She lifted one eyebrow in a challenge that he was already puffing up in response to when Tobirama snorted.

“You’ve gone longer without seeing me in the past,” he pointed out, “and you know very well I was leaving soon anyway to go speak with Hashirama about the situation surrounding the Daimyo.”

“Shouldn’t you report that to your father first?” Madara asked. Surprisingly, his husband only shrugged in a careless manner.

“I sent a mission report to him this morning before you woke up, he’s aware of what happened. Anija will have ten times the number of questions to ask. Better to get him out of the way first.” The wrinkled in Tobirama’s nose said he was not looking forward to fielding all those questions.

And what sort of husband would Madara be if he allowed to man to face such horrors alone? “You wouldn’t mind if I came with you to Hashirama's?”

“You didn’t get your fill of his company while I was gone?”

“Well…” Madara cleared his throat and looked away.

Sensing weakness, Touka zeroed in on him like a shark and threw him under the bridge without mercy. “How could he enjoy anyone’s company when he spent most of that time moping at home?”

Flushing in a way that made it very obvious he had something to hide, Madara cleared his throat and hurried to suggest they get a move on over to Hashirama's house. He was very careful not to study the expression on Tobirama’s face while they all stood up. Things had been moving in to uncharted waters between them lately and even he wasn’t sure how he would have liked Tobirama to react to the fact that Madara had missed him while he was away.

The journey over to Hashirama's was short, just a quick jaunt across the backyard, but the man’s expression was priceless to see them all trooping in together. It occurred to Madara that probably some of them were meant to be at work this morning but he could not have cared less. Surely the village could survive some of them being late every so often and if Hashirama was already late to work then he could stand to be a little later in favor of hearing some important news.

News that Madara was not supposed to be sharing with anyone. He should probably warn them all to keep their mouths shut.

Surprisingly, Hashirama listened to the story with a lot more calm than any of them expected. Sometimes Madara forgot that underneath the smiling carefree personality he preferred to show his friends was the serious heart of the warrior who had been dubbed the God of Shinobi even at such a young age. His reaction to the potential threat of Tajima starting a civil war in the small haven of peaceful living they had only created a few months before was to sit back with a serious face so rarely seen off of the battlefield and hum in thought.

“I will not let him hurt anyone.” The finality of his voice left no room for doubt. If Hashirama said he would not allow it then it would not happen.

“He’s already tried direct confrontation with your father,” Madara pointed out. “I’m not so sure that he’ll try to outright hurt anyone. He’s intelligent when he wants to be and his frontal assault has already failed; it’s more likely he’ll try for something sneakier.”

“Like what, though?” Tobirama asked.

Madara shifted in his seat so that his thigh pressed against his husband’s under the table. “I can’t say. Knowing him it will be quiet, underhanded, and it will be something meant to make him look good while making Butsuma look bad.”

He could see Touka eyeing him again but ignored her. If she didn’t find his answers pleasing enough she was welcome to go ask Tajima for herself.

“You’re the head of security,” Tobirama pointed out, the change in topic sudden enough that it nearly gave him whiplash. He turned to look at his husband with a frown, trying to piece together what he might be getting at, but eventually had to give in and ask.

“I am. And?”

“Do you have any teams with enough skill to look in to him without being noticed? How closely does your father follow the schedules you post? If you added a few extra patrols here and there, especially around the tower or, say, along whatever paths he typically travels during the day, would he even notice?” Leaning forward, Tobirama rapped his fingers along the table’s surface. “I’m just wondering if we could maybe catch wind of whatever he’s planning before he sets it in motion. Or with at least enough time to move in counter.”

“That’s a good idea, actually. Patrol schedules were one of my duties back in the old compound as well so I don’t think he’s ever bothered to do more than glance over the ones I hand in to him now – if that. He trusts that I know what I’m doing. If I add an extra team or two a few days a week he won’t notice.”

Touka sat forward as well. “I could follow him.”

“No.” Madara shook his head. “That part I don’t agree with. I trust your skills but all it takes is one slip up or a bit of extra vigilance on his part and I will not be part of losing someone so important to my husband.” Because when it came to threats against himself Madara had no doubt his father would act with deadly force and explain away his actions when the dust had settled. Against others he would have no mercy.

“Yeah. I’m sure you’re real worried about my safety.” Still, Touka was looking at him a little differently even as she spoke and Tobirama was openly staring, speechless.

Hashirama felt no need to hide the tears in his eyes as he reached across the table with both hands. “Oh Madara, you’re such a good friend and a good man! I knew the two of you would be so great for each other if you just gave it a little time! Come here, come let me hug you!”

“No, get off!” Madara scraped his chair backwards along the kitchen tile to escape.

“Oh come on, just one hug!” Hashirama pouted and reached farther. “I bet you let Tobi hug you!”

“That doesn’t mean I want you to get your paws all over me! Where is your wife? Tell her to come control her man-child!”

He should have known that inevitably the veneer would drop back in to place and the silly Hashirama they all saw day to day would show himself again. It was like the man was allergic to being serious unless absolutely necessary. Reluctantly sacrificing the warm feeling of having his thigh pressed up against Tobirama’s without the other pulling away, Madara stood from his chair to take himself out of Hashirama's reach and crossed his arms with a stern expression. He was not moved when his friend pouted in return.

“I guess there’s really nothing more to say on the situation?” Touka said after clearing her throat.

“Oh there’s always much to say,” Tobirama corrected her. “Unfortunately it seems as though most of it would be speculation from here on out. From this point all we can do is keep ourselves sharp and remember not to react too strongly if and when something does happen.”

“Exactly. That’s what he wants.” Even admitting it made Madara want to shake his head for his father’s dramatics.

“Right.” Touka slid down in her chair and tapped one jagged fingernail against her chin. “What he wants is a big reaction in his favor. He wants everyone irrational because high emotions would make them easier to manipulate in to seeing things the way he wants us to.”

Madara pinched the bridge of his nose. He really hated the sneaky part of being a shinobi. It would be so much better if all disagreements could be settled by tossing each other around a training field for a while and shouting aimlessly. Short, to the point, and since he was stronger than most that meant he would win most fights. A perfect world, really.

His vision of a perfect world may have had some slight dictator undertones but he’d never claimed he himself was anything close to perfect.

“We’re done here, I guess. I’ll get out of the way of your little family reunion and…I don’t know. Do some paperwork I guess. Are any of us supposed to be working right now? It feels weird that we all have the day off.” Madara looked around the room to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.

“A gift from my father,” Hashirama said. “When a returning shinobi had been injured as our brothers were he’s learned that it’s better to give their families the day off rather than risk their distraction at work. Distraction leads to mistakes. And he says it builds loyalty from the families to be seen as caring.” He twisted his mouth to one side, clearly agreeing with the result but taking no pleasure from the reasons behind them. Butsuma was a clever man too it seemed.

That solved one of the many mysteries chasing themselves around his head, at least. Madara nodded to himself. “Alright. Well. Then back home for me I suppose. Have fun with...whatever assholery you Senju get up to when you’re all together.”

“I believe you will find”-Tobirama delicately extricated himself from his chair and brushed imaginary dust from his front-“that I represent an entirely different clan now. If home is your destination I should like to go home as well. Hashirama, Touka, I’ll see you both tomorrow I expect.” With a serene expression he turned and headed for the front door, turning his back to Hashirama for the first time since entering the home.

As he obviously intended, the effect was immediate. The moment Hashirama caught sight of the uchiwa fan between his brother’s shoulder blades there were fat tears dripping down his cheeks so fast Madara wondered if he really could cry at will. Only the idiot’s tear-blurred vision stopped him from catching up as Madara bolted out of the room and hurried after his husband, pulling Tobirama along to hustle them both out of the house without an ounce of regret for leaving Touka to deal with that mess on her own. Hashirama was her relative after all. She must be better equipped than him to handle such situations.

Once they were outside he felt a little bit less worried by the possibility of unwanted hugs from an overgrown tree. There was only one tree around Konoha allowed to get their arms around him and that man was walking at his side with his jaw clenched tight and his eyes off in the opposite direction as he tried not to laugh out loud.

“I’m not afraid of him,” Madara insisted unsure why he felt the need to point it out.

“No, perish the thought.”

“It’s just not his business to touch me or anything.”

“Understandable.”

Madara scowled. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Yes, I am.” The tips of his ears were turning red with suppressed laughter.

“Aren’t you supposed to take my side?”

“On the contrary; having equal connection to you both, I believe I’m supposed to be the neutral party in any disputes.” It would be a lot easier to believe he meant it if he weren’t so determinedly avoiding looking over at Madara. Smarmy bastard. It was a distractingly adorable look on him.

Not really sure how to refute that, Madara chose to pout ostentatiously and turn his attention to the folks around them. A rush of pride he was unprepared for hit him with all the force of a punch in the gut when he noticed several people reacting to the blatant declaration stitched across the back of Tobirama’s clothing. With every head that he saw turning from the corner of his eye he had the strangest urge to shove his face in to theirs and shout because yes of course Tobirama belonged to the Uchiha clan. Of course he should have no shame in that. And of course he should feel comfortable walking about in public with the uchiwa riding proudly on his clothing as was right and proper.

“Should I be worried about whatever is happening in your mind right now?” Tobirama asked, breaking in to his thoughts. “You have a very worrisome smile on your face.”

“I’m fine! Nothing is – what? No. I’m good.”

“That was an extraordinarily convincing act, please hold for my applause.”

Madara tried to give his husband a flat look but it had less effect when Tobirama was already giving him one in return. So instead he huffed and tossed his head. With as much hair as he was blessed with he’d always found that to be an effective move.

“Your student missed you,” was the first thing he could think of to change the subject.

Immediately he could tell he had Tobirama’s full attention. Madara preened and without needing any further prompting he launched in to a slightly exaggerated retelling of how Kagami had shown up looking for his sensei and ended up staying for dinner. With how close the two of them had grown in such a short amount of time it would not surprise him for word of Tobirama’s return to spread far enough for little ears to hear and come greet them on their way home.

Keeping his movements as subtle as possible, he angled his own path just a little to bring himself gradually closer to the man at his side as they walked and talked about the precious people in both of their lives. Madara sort of wished he could go back in time a handful of months and tell himself that all the negative feelings he had wallowed in since the signing of the treaty were simply a waste of time. In the end it seemed like maybe married life wasn’t so bad – as long as it was Tobirama by his side.

[egoiistas]

may i feel, said he (20)

first | tag | ao3 | ffn

[co-written with @tsaritsa]

a/n not six months this time! but there’s so.... SO much to unpack. so lets jump in. 

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of post partum depression Words: ~8.6k || Rated: M - Royai

CHAPTER 20

Before him, Greta Flores de la Vega stands in all her scarlet-accented glamour.

The sight of her catapults him into the darker corners of his mind and the whispers of the devil on his shoulder rises in volume. The years they’ve been officially separated are eradicated with the unbidden nostalgia of her features. Her almond shaped eyes are still as rich in mischief as they were the first time he came across them. The subtly complex way she carries herself: arms framing her curvaceous torso as one hand holds her elbow to allow the other to slyly touch the corner of her painted lips. She’s made it into an art. And in that curling smile, entire histories are indexed and tucked away, conjuring up memories of a different time. Different skin on skin and -

“Well? Do I at least get a proper greeting?”

He swallows down the thickness in his throat and he moves automatically. It’s the way everyone says hello - a hug and air kisses on each cheek, but she leaves a mark on one of his. Roy knows it’s a deliberate move on her part, because her smell ruins him, like a dog trained to salivate on physiological triggers, on command, and it feels like a wrench purposely thrown into a sentient machine doing its best to work efficiently. It’s been used against him many, many times before and he’d be a fool to ignore the jolt in his gut and mislabel it for fear instead of involuntary lust. What haunts him worst of all is that the subsequent emotions he wants to feel is horror and guilt. Not anticipation.

He hates that it works so stupendously; loves that Greta knows what she’s doing one hundred percent.  

Clearly, old habits die hard.

Before it can do any real damage, before he steps in closer and assume the behavior of his former self… Roy calls her by her given name to break the trance. Something flashes in her chestnut eyes unexpected to her and it pauses for a moment. The literal miracle of speaking her given name.

She hums, amused, and reaches to cup his jaw to give it a little shake. “Jester that you are.”

There’s a beat before he collects himself, becomes aware of the way his jaw is slack. He should have known. He should have known.

“I heard you weren’t coming,” he blurts out inelegantly. Perhaps not the right choice of words, considering the way Greta’s expression flickers, but Roy is too shocked and too confused to care.

She covers her mouth to hide her short laugh. “From whom?”

“Maes.”

Greta doesn’t obstruct the wide smile this time. The laughter spills into her words: “For all his intel experience and information gathering, I can’t imagine how he was ever good at his job. I guess that’s why he plays househusband now.” She pushes her long dark curls behind her ears, cocking her head to the side. “What? At least he knows I’m honest where it matters.”

“And what’s that even meant to mean? He’s made his opinion on you abundantly clear.”

“Last-minute change of plans worked out in my favour. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Or you.” she says softly. “Especially not after I missed Elicita’s birthday party” She looks beyond him for a moment, smiling, and he follows her gaze to where Maes and Gracia are. “What kind of godmother would I be?”

“You’re not her godmother.”

She waves a hand in the air flippantly. “So I wasn’t there for the ceremony. The kid will have padrinos for basically anything in her lifetime.

“And Maes…” She scrunches her face, the roundness almost makes it cute. “He has always been so black-and-white about issues. The man never leaves any chance to consider any side that isn’t his own, something that doesn’t earn him many points on this side of the family.” She shrugs, looking towards Maes and Gracia with a familiar expression. “A falta de pan, buenas son las tortas… so long as Gracia remains happy.”

“And that’s important to you?”

Greta turns back to him and scoffs. “More than to you, leaving family and friends behind. Poor Chris left worrying about you.”

Roy counts to five. The retort is on the tip of his tongue, just begging to be uttered. He wills his reaction to simmer. He knows this game. She knows him well, which buttons to press - their locations, circumference, and how well it gives when pressed. How to tease and touch...  All this he’s memorised from the playbook of their relationship, where he gives and she takes and takes and takes.

Except that’s not entirely true.

“Why are you here?”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” Greta says; the sweet tone returns to her voice. “For my dear cousin, her family-”

“No. why are you here? Don’t you have other people to say hello to?”

She doesn’t exactly frown, but she’s no longer smiling. Greta takes a calculated step closer, careful of the cobblestone. “I heard you were in Central that weekend.”

He pauses, taking a moment to scope any sign of unwarranted contact that might come about. “As the actual godparent - “

“And you didn’t tell me?” She cuts him off with another step.

This feeling, low in his gut: simmering, roiling - it’s twisting and changing, manifesting in physical ways that have him shifting his weight. On a logical level, Roy knows he shouldn’t be feeling any iota of attraction to the woman before him. But it’s viceral, entirely reactionary, no bearing on -

Roy looks down at her; the aroma now wafting towards him and he could almost see it materialize in his vision -  tendrils trying to curl around him, ensnare him. The only predictable thing about her was that she was unpredictable by nature. For the longest time he was content to sit back and let her act how she liked. Now… well, it was different.

“Wouldn’t you know that I’ve been in Central more times than you’ve been told?” He can feel the defiance surge through his body like electricity.

All the condescending mirth is wiped from her face as she frowns, pouts. Her expression changes as if she’s been offended to the point of exaggeration and she nudges his shoulder back. What he doesn’t anticipate is the person behind him. Roy stumbles to adjust his footing, an apology dying on his lips as he turns.

Riza. She blinks slowly, raising two glasses of sangria.

Before he can respond, Greta brushes her off and tells her in Spanish, “Girl we don’t want sangria, there’s mezcal at the bar. Be a darling and bring us two.” And then she snaps her fingers to gesture it should be done quickly.

He hates this tone, the higher lilt in her voice; the drawn-out syllables, the concentrated power she commands in them, and yet he’s grateful Riza can’t understand them.

To her credit, Riza doesn’t say anything, and merely passes him the glass. She’s waiting for him to introduce them, he realises with a start, and Roy quickly clears his throat.

“Riza, this is Greta.” His arm slips around her waist. “Greta, this is Riza. My girlfriend.”

Greta’s smile freezes momentarily before relaxing. Her eyes are wide as she offers her hand out - the diamonds on her right hand shimmer in the light. “You never told me you got yourself a girlfriend, conejito,” she teases, drawing close to kiss Riza’s cheeks affectionately, bypassing Riza’s outstretched hand entirely. The whole picture in front of him is incredibly surreal - not to mention that particular nickname being brought up.

“I thought you were told,” he says before taking a long sip from the glass.

“Nooo, no one tells me anything.” The elongated pronunciation and melody she adds to her whine gives her more of an accent than the light one she already had; it makes her sound approachable. She lightly taps Riza arms with the back of her hand to get Riza’s attention. “Can you believe the nerve? How rude of you to keep her from the family.”

Riza says something that sounds demure and meek but his attention is beyond the women before him and across the terrace and meets Maes’ eyes, which have narrowed to almost slits. He mouths something to Roy - he can’t read lips at this distance, but he doesn’t need to with the way Maes throws his hands up, all sharp angles and stiff movements. Clearly Greta had done a good job of sneaking onto the island with minimal fanfare - which when he thinks about it, is actually rather impressive for her considering her love of theatrics and the spotlight.

It doesn’t take long for Maes to make his way over to where they are, and the unpleasantness of his countenance subdues as he nears them, replaced with a smile plastered widely across his lips which never quite meets his eyes.

“I wondered where you had gotten to, Roy. Trust you to sequester away the beautiful woman you have and leave the rest of us wanting.” Maes turns to Riza, and his smile becomes marginally more honest, drawing her close to drop kisses on her cheeks. “It’s been too long Riza. Gracia and I are so glad you were able to help us celebrate.” He pulls back and his expression locks into place as he addresses the other member of their company. “And you’re here too Greta. Wonders never cease.”

“What do you expect? The last party you threw, I heard there was only chicken dancing.” She laughs at Maes’s expense. “How does it go?” Greta butchers the tune to the “Chicken Dance” and somehow manages to move her arms like wings with grace, chuckling the entire time and completely comfortable.

Riza makes a strangled noise next to him.

“Is Gracia teaching you nothing? Pobrecito…” Greta addresses Riza, “Hopefully, he’s teaching you some moves.”

“That’s great,” Maes interrupts before Riza can get a word in, voice dripping with disdain. “Gracia and I have some speeches planned for everyone and I think-” he cranes his neck back to his wife who signs the okay symbol over some guests’ heads, “we’re gonna start about now.” His hand claps onto Riza’s shoulder. “I’ll catch you two later.”

His abrupt exit leaves Roy with a sense of unease; he’s not stupid enough to recognise that that entire dismissal of Greta’s prescence wasn’t a warning in of itself but if anything it seemed to bolster the woman’s defiant attitude.

“Come, let’s get some seats - Maes will take a good hour to sob through whatever speech he has planned and I want to save my feet for dancing.” Greta takes hold of Riza’s hand before he can protest and Riza can only turn back to raise her eyebrows in alarm before the two of them disappear into a small crowd of people.

Roy finds them not too long afterwards, just as Gracia stands to speak. Greta is pointing at various people who Roy vaguely recognises as members of the Hughes and Flores clans and Riza nods along politely; though she flashes him a grateful smile when he sits in the chair next to her.

In contrast to the measured speech his wife gave, Maes gets increasingly drunk throughout his own. A shot before. A shot to their first date. And their first anniversary and now their fifth which they celebrate this day. And honestly, it’s the most entertaining thing Roy’s seen in a while -  a buffer to the shitshow this entire day has consisted of. There’s the obligatory powerpoint with star wipes and Elicia cheers every time her face is superimposed on the white stone. By a large margin it’s the sweetest part of the evening.

And yet, there’s a chill that Roy can’t quite shake despite the balmy temperatures with the sun now completely gone and the light illuminating overhead. He contemplates whether another beer will solve that problem when Maes’ words drag him firmly into the present.

“... and that is why this woman, this forking angel of a human being-” Roy takes another swig instinctively at the utterance of the not-swear. It was an old game they used to play in the academy, substituting the litany of swears they usually dealt with in favour of cleaner versions. As it turned out, it was a wonderful way to practice for the three year old in their presence now.

Gracia is frowning at her husband but Roy is intimately familiar with the shit-eating grin on his friend’s face; whatever she wanted to stop had left the station long ago.

“-is being so good and following all that medical training even though we had this planned out years in advance: in honour of your brave sacrifice I will raise two shots in your name.” Maes winks at the crowd and Gracia’s palm covers her face. “Because she can’t drink for a while yet,” he hedges, a grin splitting his mouth wide open. “Because my beautiful and wonderful wife is pregnant again and Elicia gets to be a big sister and I have been literally dying to tell each and every one of you! So… por favor raise your glasses for us and Elicia and for the cutest bun in the oven that has ever been made.”  

Roy processes the information slowly, feeling the smile grow on his face wider and wider. He stops staring off into the distance when he feels the touch of another hand on his own and Riza meets his eyes with an endearing smile - he imagines its the smile he had when he found her reading in the library.

There’s whooping and shouting around them - something started by Maes no doubt - but Riza grips his hands in hers, her thumbs running over his knuckles, focused entirely on his face. “Do you get first dibs again?” she teases, leaning closer. “I don’t really get how this whole ‘godparenting’ thing works but-”

He kisses her then, and maybe now wasn’t the best time to do so, but god if it didn’t feel right. She laughs against his mouth, and Roy takes the opportunity to snake his arm around her waist, coaxing her into his lap with only minimal effort. Her arms curl around his neck, fingers drifting into his hair. It is one, shining moment where all he can focus on is just how unequivocally happy he is. He knows to not look too deeply into her reaction - but it is the nature of it that bubbles over, makes him feel giddy with untempered energy. She’s happy because he’s happy. It’s in stark contrast to how he’s been made to feel before, how any celebration of fatherhood, psuedo or otherwise, was wrong and shameful.

Curiosity also takes the better of him and he catches sight of Greta’s face. She’s eerily still, fingers blanched white against the champagne flute she holds, staring at the middle distance like she’s not trying to stare towards their direction.

All of a sudden Roy realises what’s going to happen before it does. Impossibly, the grip on the flute grows even tighter. Anticipation morphs into trepidation. He sees the transformation of an eerily empty canvas of Greta’s face deepen into a frustration, a rage.

It explodes like the flute she hurls straight down to the ground.

--------

He’s used to her hysterics. The practice he’s had over the years makes him well-versed in it. Her reaction was the piece of the puzzle that he was missing each time, conveniently forgetting that for each good moment they’d share, there would be a dozen bad ones to follow. It eats at him that it took the deliberate shattering of a glass when she thought no one was looking to come to this realization. That even if he responded on the most base levels of her, it couldn’t erase the treatment that followed and would never be justified.

He’s intimately familiar with her opinions on children, childbirth - and yet she couldn’t even restrain herself in a moment that should've been nothing but joyful for his best friend and her fucking family. Riza has shifted off him, but her fingers still drift over the fabric of his shirt, along the lines of his shoulder. She had remained silent throughout the whole scene, wide brown eyes blinking owlishly as Greta apologised and clutched her hand to her heart.

Oh, I was just so shocked. I couldn’t be happier for them, you know. Roy imagines the tears she managed to conjure and mask as happiness came from the anger he saw in her face. She couldn’t argue passionately without crying. And now, there were other surrounding her, coddling her from this “genuine display of joy”. Tan dulce, la Greta. He grimaces.

He scoffs under his breath. Yes, he thinks viciously. And Riza and I started fucking under completely ethical circumstances.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Maes over by the bar. The inebriation- and continued drinking - makes a lot more sense now.

Was he really so blind?

A rhythmic tune begins to play; Roy only notices because its a distinct difference from the slower song before. People from other tables around them stand and walk to the dance floor and their bodies start to sway in beat with song. He shifts towards Riza, a request for a dance dying on his lips as Greta walks into back into his line of sight.

She swivels gracefully through abandoned chairs, taking the one on Riza’s side. In turn, Riza turns to her and away from Roy to face her. “I am so, so sorry about before. I don’t think I could have been more embarrassed unless I purposely tried .” Greta covers her face briefly then sighs, placing folded hands over her knee. He has to hand it to her - she can really put on the act when it suits her. “The last thing I’d want to make anyone feel unwelcome.”

Roy makes some kind of noise but Riza doesn’t seem to pay attention. She smiles courteously to the fabled ex. “I don’t think it merits worrying over it for more than a few minutes. I think the few you spent since then are enough.”

The dry wit takes a moment to sink in for her before Greta grins in understanding. “Thank you, and if there’s anything you need during your stay just let me know.”

“It’s a beautiful island. Honestly, the view of the ocean if a treat in itself.”

“I know right? Daddy had someone kick the reservations set just so Maes and Gracia could have it for the weekend.”

“Is it your family that owns the island?”

She grins widely at this, winking furtively in his direction. “I can see Roy has been talking, but talking about that makes this all the less magical.” She slaps her hands lightly on her knees. “Are you two not dancing?” She addresses them both but only looks at Riza.

Riza releases something in between a guffaw and a chortle. “No, I don’t think so. We didn’t quite get through the last time Roy tried to teach me a dance lesson.”

Not my fault, Roy thinks childishly. There’s guilt though, festering deep down - he hadn’t really given much thought to her unfamiliarity with dancing beyond what he had shown her. Here, it was treated like… it was just something they did, was expected of them in the same way he was expected to know that the sky was blue, and that two and three summed to five. Music would play and he would dance, whether it was with his mother and sisters, or drunkenly with his academy friends on a night out on the town, flirting with girls who fluttered their eyelashes at the mere mention of rank. He certainly liked dancing with Riza, but they had the unfortunate habit of getting distracted with other things partway through.

“Ahh, but it’s not about the steps, but about feeling the music in your body. Non-latin styles like waltzes are so frigid and tight - beautiful, of course - but they allow less...fluidity. Freedom. Passion.” She rests a hand on Riza’s shoulder. “And, if you were invited then you’re amongst family now.”

It’s these kinds of declarations that make Roy pause and recollect himself, lest his shock show openly on his face. Who is this woman, who has replaced the one from his memory? This dazzling display of charisma and warmth is a far cry from the yelling and hysterical demands that he remembers - hell, the woman from ten minutes ago, who most definitely smashed a champagne flute on purpose. And once again, as the only witness, he feels there would be no use to recounting it to anyone but Maes.

“Perhaps later,” Riza answers meekly. He slips his hand under the table, resting it over her thigh, squeezing lightly. Her head turns back a little in response, and the slight quirk of her lips tells him she’s understood his message.

Greta presses on. “I find a drink or two helps loosen up and forget what other people are thinking. There are still some days I trip over my own feet.”

On cue, Riza takes a sip from her drink.

Greta smiles prettily, and Roy distracts himself with his own glass, contemplating the best way to get away from her without attracting a scene. “In the meantime, would you mind if I borrow Roy for a song?”

His fingers grip her thigh again - tighter this time, a silent plea for her to say no, to put her foot down and stop this woman in her tracks: but again, Riza makes no verbal confirmation seemingly nodding her head out of some compelled compliance.

“And if I say no?”

Simultaneously, they both pout - one more exaggerated than the other.

“I thought you wanted to save your feet for dancing?”

Roy tenses at the use of his own words against him. In a lower voice and through grit teeth, he says, “Yes, but I’d like to dance with you.”

She whispers back, “And with that display this afternoon, I don’t think I could do more than walk briskly right now.”

Maybe it’s the tiring trip or the emotional cost of all his interaction thus far, but he leans back a little with a smug look on his face.

“Go, I’m more of a visual learner.”

The smile splits into a wide grin that pulls back over Greta’s canines. “Fabulous, I’ll bring him right back.”

Greta wastes no time. Roy is taken aback as he’s lifted from his chair with surprisingly strong fingers digging into his bicep. He’s walked into the throng of people when the situation finally settles with him. He tries to pull his arm back to no avail and Greta pivots with it, gripping tightly.

Greta faces him, waiting for the current song to end in the middle of other dancers. And out of nowhere, she smiles - chuckles with her head thrown back as the next song starts. “Are you kidding me right now? I’ve been trying to have a moment of your time this entire time and this-”

“I thought you would get the message,” he intones.

“Silence isn’t a message. How was I supposed to know you wanted to play babysitter? I’d have let you get it out of your system. Or what, do you expect me to think you’re serious about a girl like her? That’s like going back in time and dealing emotionally with an early twenties me again. If so, your sense of humour needs work.”

It stings, it really does sting. He’s not wanting any sort of blessing from her - considering the context of their relationship. Already, this conversation alone is more than he anticipated. Any conversation with her today was more than he anticipated. Is it so hard to want to keep the drama to a minimum, to please everyone, at least a little? The guilt gnaws at him as he realises his way of going about this might not go how he intends. He had tried so hard to play diplomatic, to be bland and amiable enough that Greta would lose interest in whatever machinations she had planned. He should have warned Riza. Properly. As they move across the wooden floor in perfect time, Roy thinks he might need to acknowledge his limits in this strange, three-dimensional chess game they’ve found themselves playing.

Others now are caught in the crossfire.

Greta spins out from him, dark hair spiraling out in a perfect arc. She seems smaller than what he remembers, her nails digging into his hands with more pressure than necessary. She isn’t clinging to him, not quite, but he’s certainly given no leeway. Where he pulls back, following the beat and pause of the music, she mirrors him, reacting with ease.

“Roy...” she coos at him, one slender finger sliding along the bone of his jaw. He shivers at the intimate touch, desperately trying to think of a way to extract himself from this position.  “Mirala.” She cajoles, leaning closer. “Es una niña. A fetus.”

Roy clutches her hand and spins her - hard - as a warning and she needs a split second to orient her feet. “Milagros,” he says, low and dangerous. “Don’t.”

Her reaction is instantaneous: what serenity was present on her face from her spite and malice is replaced with displeasure, harsh lines forming around her eyes and lips. “Do not call me that. It’s Greta,” she hisses. “I let you get away with it once already. Today.”

“And her name is Riza, so I suggest you learn it,” Roy replies snidely.

“The night of the last dinner,” she starts, all the ferocity and bite suddenly gone. “Was she the one you were talking to?”

Roy doesn’t answer, but he figures it’s still an answer in itself.

Greta scoffs. “You’re a piece of shit.”

Roy chuckles at the accusation, of all people. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and he resists the urge to loosen his collar. “I’m the piece of shit? You-” he stops himself, tempering himself. “I’m not doing this here.”

“Doing what, amorcito? If there was nothing to talk about then you wouldn’t be so riled up. Months of zero returned calls and left on read, you really do have some balls on you if you think you could come here and think I wouldn’t do this here.”

“Call it wishful thinking.”

She makes him lurch towards her, inches from his face despite the difference in height. “I’m not fucking around.”

“I’m not either.” He backs away. “I said what I said the last time we saw each other.”

“You always said that, how did you expect me to believe you this time?”

He remains as stoic as he can. It’s only when she manages to push his buttons that she gets a good grasp on him before he can realize he’s done for. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Tell me what you call two years of fucking on and off then? Organizing all those motherfucking galas with your department and attending as the gracious benefactor. You drop off the face of the earth but then you text me the address of your hotel when either of us were in town. We might not have been engaged Roy, but we were sure as shit still in a relationship.

“And if we are done, why didn’t you just tell me? Why didn’t you give me a clear answer, Roy Mustang? Is it because you couldn’t? Is it because, deep down you wanted someone to fall back to in case your relationship went south? Don’t think me so stupid that I can’t see right through you.”

“Don’t bullshit me; I know you were fucking other dudes when I wasn’t available.” An acidic laugh escapes him - a freeing, cathartic laugh, to say these thoughts out loud, finally. “Is this grilling meant to make me fall back in love with you? Maybe that would’ve worked a year ago, sure. But you’re deluding yourself if you think you can be comparable to Riza.” It’s a cruel barb, tailored to hurt her feelings perfectly. But it’s the truth - what lingering affection he had for her has vanished as the blatant dichotomy of these two women becomes more and more apparent.

“Si, the barely-legal boba is the girl of your dreams. I’m sure your mother is very proud of you for bringing home a girl who hasn’t even had her quinceañera!”

His silence makes her slow the pace of their dancing. “Oh, Roy, don’t tell me you’re-”

“She is,” he answers quietly, voice barely carrying over the volume of the music. “I don’t care if you don’t like it, or understand it. I honestly wouldn’t expect you to. You push and push and push, Milagros, and you never care about how many people you hurt. You wanna know why we always fought? Because it’s what we do. You never inspired me to become a better person, or to think about how I could be a better partner to you - it was just about the sex, or making you look good in front of whoever or-” Roy cuts himself off, laughing bitterly. “We used each other because it was about ourselves and never each other.”

Roy can count the times on a single hand where he’s seen this woman - once Milagros, now Greta - look truly, properly shocked, and now he can add one more to that small total. He extracts himself from her grip, rubbing at the skin indented by little red crescents.

“Whatever you planned to achieve here, it’s... “ Roy sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. The dancers sway around them while they stand there.

She pulls him back into the rhythm of the dance and he moves to it instinctively and that's just it, he’s programmed to do so. “Do you think… she will settle for you?” She’s mocking him. “That she wants to have your precious little baaabies? That the supposed girl of your dreams will want to immediately settle her life down and put down roots for you?” She whispers in his ear. “Who’s being selfish now?”

Again, he pushes her back. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Ah, so your bullshit reasoning only applies to me, is that it?[1]  Que funny.”

“There’s no point. I didn’t come here to waste my time on you, and Gracia deserves better from her cousin. They invited Riza here. Please respect that.”

Greta steps once more into his space, her right hand gripping his chin. He tenses his jaw, feels her near - but mercifully her grip weakens and he manages to jerk his head to the side, her lips barely grazing the edge of his own. Even six months ago, he would’ve killed for this kind of reaction from her. Now, skin crawling under the sensation, the need to flee is overwhelming; klaxons blaring in his head.

“This was never about me, amorcito,” she tells him, almost breathlessly. “When are you going to understand that?”

---

The whole scene unfolds before her eyes. They take to each other like flower petals moving effortlessly in the wind.

If it were only that innocent.

At first, Riza doesn’t know what to make of it, of them, the way they sway - to and fro, give and take. She’s hypnotised, captivated by the way their bodies flow with the rhythm of the music instead of the lack of distance between them. It’s quick-paced, almost choreographed, something she’s sure she would not have been able to pick up on the spot.

It’s intimate. More than she would have expected - should have expected. Their eyes never tear away from each other. Their hands use each other to help any growing distance become meager again. Her brow wrinkles because… this is just dancing, and she doesn’t know if it’s instinct or insecurity that’s whispering in her ear and telling it’s more than just than meets the eye. Common sense tells her that if she looks to any other couples dancing, they’ve either made way for them to watch or to give them the floor. The clapping and whooping from the crowd makes her ears burn, heartbeat thumps in her ear as Roy twirls her and Greta smiles brightly in turn.

Riza inhales. Jealousy, she concludes, is a normal human emotion; right now, an irrational reaction won’t help in any way. She’s been dropped into foreign territory without a means to isolate herself that doesn’t insult the celebrations. Later, she can examine the intricacies of the performance in front of her.

Riza exhales slowly. Right now, she needs a drink.

She doesn’t draw any attention as she skirts the gathered crowd, and for that she’s grateful. Leaning against the popup bar, she flags the bartender, who appears equally interested in the dancing pair, to bring her something familiar, rattling off the first wine name to come to mind. The first sip is cool and rest of the glass, and the two more after that, follow in quick succession. Anything to distract her from what’s happening in her periphery.

She’s nervous, it’s normal. There isn’t a familiar face here, she tells herself - thinking too soon.

A loud drop sounds next to her; impressively considering the enormity of the bass. He’s even less put-together than he was for his speech: he’s slouching over the edge of the bar and his glasses appear to be missing, giving Riza clear view of his glazed green eyes.

Maes lifts a beer bottle towards her. “Welcome to the telenovela, Riza!” There’s only the slightest hint of slur in her name. It’s impressive considering the amount of shots taken during his speech alone. She imagines he hasn’t stopped since. “Are you enjoying yourself so far?”

She smiles down at her drink and takes a sip before mirroring his greeting. “The island is beautiful. Congratulations on your milestone,” she says genuinely. She can’t stop complimenting the island. She doesn’t know what else to say.

But he doesn’t hear her and he leans his ear in closer. “What?”

“It’s great! Thanks! Congrats!” and then the clapping behind them stops. She can hear somewhat normally again.

From here, she realises that Maes Hughes is a lot drunker than at first glance - the way he leans against the bar, the flushing of his face. It occurs to her as strange that he isn’t stuck to the hip of his wife, but she’s rudely roused from her woolgathering.

“So why the fuck are you here? Where’s-” he does a full turn as if he’d step out of some mist form into a physical one “-where’s Roy?”

Riza points to the dismantling wall of people. “He’s dancing.”

“What? Why aren’t you dancing with Roy?” He cranes his neck up as if he wasn’t already tall enough and he groans loudly, the bottle hitting his brow with a thunk when he smacks his own face. “Why in the ever-loving FUCK is he dancing with her? Jesus fucking Christ.” He snaps at the bartender, motioning at some used glasses in front of them. “Oi, mate - tequila por favor. Don’t judge me it's the only word I know  with too many shots” He groans deeply, running a hand roughly over his face. “I should have known this spectacle was because of them. It always fucking is.”

“This happens regularly?”

The bartender goes to pour the shot of tequila, but Maes huffs, waving the man away and grabs the bottle roughly. “It used to. You would think they were preparing to launch their careers as professional dancers.” He offers Riza the other wedge of lime. “Come on, you’re gonna need this - we all fucking will if she gets her way-”

After the charming censorship in his speech, it’s jarring to hear Maes utter the original swears with such venom, but nonetheless she accepts the wedge, licking the side of her hand and offering it out to be salted.

The tequila burns deliciously on her tongue - clearly she was in the big leagues now, not restricted by college budgets and the want for quantity over quality. She watches with interest as Maes finishes a second shot in quick succession. “Do we suffer from the same gene that disables us from dancing as well as they do?” Riza asks, rubbing the remaining salt against the skin of her hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My dancing is top-notch missy. But if you’re talking about salsa, then no; I can’t dance salsa. But neither can Gracia so ha!” He adds, as if it physically hurt him not to: “And she’s still a perfect wife and human being regardless.”

“Of course.” Riza nods. Her tummy feels pleasantly warm.

“You know, I really thought I come up with the perfect plan. That she wasn’t going to show up because Llamapolooza or Bonaroo or...whatever Bitchella she usually attends. Never misses.”

Riza notes the change in his tone. It’s more aggressive, angrier, but not at her. Following his gaze into the crowd, she guesses, “Do you mean Greta?”

“Shh, shh. Don’t say her name. That’s what summoned the witch here in the first place.”

Riza bites her lip to contain the laugh. “I feel like there’s a lot history to unpack there.”

Maes scoffs and it's a whole body jerking affair. “They’re both a piece of work. But she-” he chuckles sardonically, narrowing his eyes “- she’s been forgiven for more than she should have been allowed to, talking about Gracia the way she did.”

“Sorry… I don’t really understand-”

Maes’ index finger is thrust out in front of her face. “Exactly! That is what everyone at this party should be saying because we asked and asked and asked her and it was always ‘oh no, I’m too busy skiing in Drachma, I couldn’t possibly, ex-oh ex-oh-’” he shudders at the nasal tone, picking up the bottle of tequila to pour them shots again.

“Even with all my reservations about you - don’t think I’m over that little stunt he pulled, and as a dad I should be giving my girl the best role models I can, but-” he dissolves into drunken giggles that err too close to hysterical rather than hilarious.

“It’s completely fucked up that the student is a better match for him than that she-devil. Completely. And I’m complicit now!” Maes throws his hands up in the air, stumbling against the wood of the bar as the gesture moves his whole body. Riza carefully moves her filled-to-the-meniscus shot out of his way, trying to figure out the best way to not spill the majority as soon as she tries to lift it.

Maybe it’s the tequila, or the three glasses of chardonnay she sculled before; but Riza in this moment feels emboldened, defiance surging through her at the crowd cheers for some reason.

Well, she knows the reason. It burns like the tequila does when she takes the second shot under Maes’ glassy gaze.

“Why do you hate her?” Riza asks bluntly, running her tongue over her fingers, savouring the drops that spilled onto her hand. “It can’t be because they broke up, because otherwise you’d be like Chris and be trying to get them back together-”

Maes chokes on his chewed wedge of lime. “You’ve met Chris?” he asks weakly.

“This afternoon,” she answers breezily. “She’s not a fan of me being here. For all her airs about having a private talk with her son, she sure as shit can’t tell him off without half the neighbourhood hearing.”

Maes wheezes, thumping his fist down on the dark wood of the bar. It’s entertaining to see him caught off-guard - even if she’s got an edge because he’s clearly sloshed and she’s only a little tipsy. But she’s tired of all these secrets, all these looks and the confusing behaviour of the woman herself compared to the men she’s been around. In her mind it doesn’t make sense - sure, Greta had been friendly, if a little too much, but Riza could easily put that down to her own awkwardness than any machinations of a more nefarious design.

So why the venom, the animosity? Maes strikes her as the kind of man who is reasonable when presented with all the evidence, and he would have had the best of both worlds: Roy’s perspective as well as that of his wife’s - who was cousin to Greta. Truthfully, a part of her trusts his judgement more so than that of her boyfriend’s, and that wasn’t just because when she turns back to the crowd, she can see him and Greta practically glued at the hips.

If Rebecca was here, Riza would feel bold enough to go and interrupt the two of them, snake her arms around Roy’s shoulders and smile bitchily at this blatant display of… whatever this was. But she’s alone here - on the other side of the dancefloor, Riza can spot Gracia, holding a dozing Elicia and talking with one of Roy’s sisters. For all the welcomes and hugs, the only person who is actually bothering to interact with her  is already halfway to smashed and requires something solid to lean against. The odds are not in her favour right now and it hurts to admit it.

She turns back to face Maes properly. “So, what’s the deal? Clearly it had to be horrible to get this kind of reaction.”

His mouth opens and then shuts, the man sighs deeply, pushing away the bottle of tequila. “I promised Gracia I wouldn’t meddle with you two,” he begins, and Riza feels her hackles start to rise, “but then Greta promised she wouldn’t be attending so I frankly don’t give a shit anymore.” Maes runs his hands over his face, roughly through his hair. He looks so tired.

“Okay. Let’s figure out what he’s told you so far. Do you know why they broke up?”

“Roy told me that it was down to her attitude about kids, and not wanting her own-”

Maes snorts loudly. “That man really knows how to play down an issue, doesn’t he? I mean, he’s not wrong - I don’t think that woman has got a single maternal bone in her body, but it wasn’t about kids in general. I…” he falters here, sighing deeply.

Riza frowns, but keeps quiet. Maes fiddles with his empty shot glass for a moment, and then sets it on the table with a little more force than necessary.

“Not many people know about this, and we want to keep it this way. We’re not ashamed - god knows I’m not, I couldn’t be prouder of her - but I know she’s always blamed herself for it, no matter how many times I tell her it’s not. Years of family pressure had a much bigger impact on her than what she understood logically as a doctor.

“After Elicia was born, Gracia really struggled. You’ve heard of postpartum depression before, yeah?”

Riza nods.

“It creeps up on you slowly. We were young, new parents -

Emboldened, tipsy Riza interjects, “It was three years ago…”

Flustered, he stammers out, “And we’re still young!” He breathes out dramatically. “Now can I finish telling this story?”

Riza chuckles to herself and nods.

“All the stresses could be explained away as us just adjusting to her, to our new routine. Gracia’s an only child as well, and there was enormous pressure she put on herself to present this front that we were fine, we were coping, the golden child had succeeded at motherhood. I was still working for the military at the time, but it got to a point where I either had to choose my career or my family. It was a no-brainer. Things got better for a time, but… it was still taking its toll on her.”

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“Honestly, that’s the only reaction from someone that means something. I’ve heard every explanation from ‘she’ll get over it soon’ to ‘oh sometimes I get sad too’. Hell, she studied it as part of her work as a locum and we still weren’t prepared. Everything came to a head about… five months, I think, after Elicia was born.”

The cogs align in her head, and very suddenly, Riza realises just how deep these wounds ran. “Roy is the godfather.”

Maes nods. “He is. We didn’t ask him to do this - the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. But it was the right choice to make. My wife needed help - beyond what I could do while simultaneously juggling a newborn. Giving Elicia to him is still the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

Riza stays quiet. Of all the explanations she had been preparing for - this was not one of them.

“Long story short, Roy gave me the best option in the worst scenario. I think maybe five people, all up, knew what was happening. Greta, naturally, had to be keyed in because they were living together at the time.

“I don’t know if you’ve seen Roy with Elicia but it’s just - I know in my heart that that man loves my girl with every fibre of his being. He was the best choice for her - essentially worked from home, negotiated his contract with the military - made easier by his accident - to ensure that he could be around Elicia as much as possible. He sent us videos of her first words, and the first time she stood up on her own. He threw himself into godfatherhood and he did it perfectly.” Maes takes a deep breath here, rubbing at his eyes roughly.

“I don’t know what he’s told you about his aspirations for fatherhood or, at least, how he looks forward to it but it’s… I know it’s something he wants. Greta on the other hand…They couldn't be more different on the matter.

“They were already rocky when all this shit happened - his accident hadn’t been too long before that - and… I don’t know, maybe he came on too strong about this whole thing, but Greta just outright rejected this situation. It wasn’t even in like an uncomfortable kind of way - which I’d get, because you know, not her kid - but she was just so fucking dismissive and shitty about Roy doing the right fucking thing and-” he catches himself here, jaw tensed and jutting out slightly.

“Greta treated Elicia like she was the dirt on her shoe. Always complaining about how Roy never had time for her anymore, how my girl was loud. How my daughter was annoying and then she had the fucking audacity to say that it was Gracia’s fault that she was having relationship issues with Roy. If it wasn’t for Elicia fucking everything up, they’d be happy. But my wife was selfish, a bad mother, and it was her fault that Roy broke up with her.”

The chardonnay and tequila turns over uncomfortably in Riza’s gut.

“I don’t wanna know what she said to him that night: Roy’s never told me and I’ll never ask. But just before Elicia’s first birthday, he came by with her at like four in the morning. Said Greta was becoming impossible to deal with and he wasn’t going to let Elicia be in the middle of that. I just assumed they’d had a spat - not a new development for them - and it was getting calm enough at home that we were almost ready to have her back full time anyway. A few hours later his family was blowing up my phone because according to Greta, he had tendered his resignation from the military, abandoned the lease on his apartment and left her to cancel all the wedding plans. It was three weeks before he answered any of my calls.”

Maes blinks at her. He seems to be waiting for a response, but there’s nothing she can say that would be even remotely appropriate to respond with. This is what brought him out East? This was why she was called Axe?

Perhaps for the first time in a long while, Riza feels her immaturity in this situation. It’s no wonder Roy edited the story so cleanly for her when she pressed him for details - this is beyond messy, or the boundaries of any normal breakup.

“And yet,” Maes continues, picking at his chewed piece of lime, unaware of the maelstrom of emotions he’s conjured within her, “my beautiful, wonderful, unfailingly kind wife forgave her cousin, and gave her a shoulder to cry on when Roy didn’t come back.

“That’s the one thing I’ll never be able to wrap my head around. Forgiving others when they’re toxic or abusive or just plain unpleasant, just because they’re family. I know it’s common in other parts of the world but here, it’s like it’s amplified - expected to be accepted with the simple passage of time. And then they had to go and make everything ten times worse.” He nudges her arm with his shot glass as if her attention wasn’t already his. “I bet you he invited her here himself. He thinks his the sneakiest little fucker, thinking I wouldn’t know when he’d come specifically see her in Central or vice versa... he’s like some kind of junkie. Pah.”

She hears the words but the context doesn’t make sense. “Sorry, who?”

“Roy.”

Riza feels her expression freeze. For all intents and purposes, she never imagined it would round the conversation back to him. Riza looks back up to Maes who is glaring in the general direction of the dancefloor. She thinks herself, does she dare ask? Something inside her hardens and plummets with the weight of a metric tonne. “What do you mean?”

The shot glass slams back on the counter and he stands up properly, easily towering over her. Still, he needs the bar to stand without swaying. “Oh did he- did he not tell you?” He rubs his chin pensively. “Like, I thought fucking his ex-fiancée was bad enough to keep secret but then, our boy, decides to raise the stakes by fucking his student?” He turns to her, his face somber. “No offense, Riza. You’re great but you’re smart enough to understand how stupid it’s all been. I can’t forget that nor can I forgive him for it right now.

“And you wanna know how I know?” He taps his temple. “Because I know things.”

Riza stares at the ground as the gravity of his words hit her all at once, then around, then to the dancing couple. Her automatic denial manifests in an unchecked sentence: “That was before my time.”

Maes snorts. “Are you sure about that?”

Riza opens her mouth to refute him because the insinuation of any infideilty and how it doesnt make sense; the trip, the everything - why would he even be stupid enough to have both of them on the same island? All this she wants to argue back to the drunk Maes.

And then, the picture sharpens; hazy fog in her mind gives way to clarity for the crisp lines and captured images from her memory.

She’s seen Greta before. Not in the picture. Not in magazines. It was in his office at Eastern, in the days leading up to spring break - the well-dressed woman from all those months ago.

That was her.

my soul takes flight (miklós radnóti, rain shower)

You were right to run! The stream is swollen with grief. The wind shudders. The clouds have torn their moorings. The rain pounds the surface of the lake with its fist, The raindrops turn to dust. I watch as you go.

The raindrops turn to dust. My body longs for yours, my muscles, my sinews, that guard the memory of our wild couplings, the crush of our unruly love! Flesh remembering flesh, tortured by sorrow.

I long for you, torn and tormented by grief, my soul takes flight, fluttering after you, and before you; and then nothing matters anymore! for not even rain can wash away this fierce and raging desire.

[aelaer]

So I have a request: A Stephen who, in the Canon compliant universe, returns to the Sanctum for the first time in 5 years, breaks down and is completely devastated and exhausted from everything that happened. And then a time skip, to Stephen now having moved on, in acceptance. He may still feel a little guilty, but is immensly thankful for intimately knowing the beautiful souls who sacrificed themselves and resolved to cherish and celebrate their lives with their friends and family.

So my goal for this was to keep it under 1500 words. I completely failed that goal.

But that is what I am going to attempt to do with my ask prompts (should I get any more in the future), mostly because I have three multi-chapter stories completely spiraling out of control (and a fourth that needs its last chapter completed) and I will never get my Stephen Strange bingo card done by November if I keep on writing these super long things for every square XD

I’m not terribly pleased with the ending but oh well. Nothing was coming for days and I figured I sat on this for long enough.

Fill for @stephenstrangebingo​ square ‘It’s not your fault’. Warning for canon compliance and my obsessive need to explain away plot-holes with magic-science for a few paragraphs before actually addressing the prompt :P

Title: Black TagRating: GenPairings: NoneWord count: About 3k

The sun was setting over a celebratory New York City when Stephen came again to the New York Sanctum after five years gone. The powers that surrounded the building muffled the cheers and shouts and crying out on Bleecker Street from all the locals, unaware that the man who had helped instigate all their suffering was within the neighborhood.

It had been well over thirty hours since he had come back with the rest of the Disappeared. He was done with giving his report to the other Masters of Kamar-Taj and done with his part in what immediate reorganization was needed for their order. They had finally let him go to rest; he was alone. Wong, for instance, was still settling things as one of those who had survived the Decimation, and still helping others come to terms with what had passed.

And now, now all Stephen could think of was bed. He had washed up a bit in Kamar-Taj, thankfully, for he did not know if he would have had the stamina to do it now. The Cloak more-or-less carried him to his room as his body trembled, complete exhaustion overwhelming his entire being. He fell asleep near instantly.

It wasn’t until twelve hours later, as the dawn broke through his (unnatural) window to an untarnished view of the eastern coastline, that his exhaustion had dimmed to weariness and his mind had time to sort through everything that had happened.

Stephen had not spent his five years gone idle; unlike most other souls that were caught within the Soul Stone due to Thanos, he had an awareness of consciousness due to his connection to the Mystic Arts that made him able to utilize his time, even if time was not something he could feel passing. In those five years he had drawn power from the Soul Stone, a continuous draw into his own spirit to prepare for what he had to do upon his return.

(He knew, of course, that the Stone’s housing was disintegrated into atoms back in 2018. However, its raw energy was not actually gone, just scattered like the rest of the Infinity Stones. The first rule of thermodynamics was something Thanos did not consider, or maybe he did not care so long as that power was not easily obtainable for some time to come. In the end, he supposed it really didn’t matter.)

When he came to on Titan once more, he spared a minute briefly explaining the situation to the others, then asked for complete silence as he got them back to Earth, and more; for he had taken his borrowed energy to send a mental message to all warriors across the universe that he had found within the Soul Stone: The one who sent you away for five years must be defeated. Prepare for battle.

And then he made portals. So many fucking portals, portals he had no business having the ability to create, portals connected to the locations of those warriors across the universe, portals created with the power of the Soul Stone accumulated over five years and fully spent over the course of five minutes.

It was a damned miracle he had anything left in him for battle, but the Soul Stone was unlike any power source he had ever used before, including the Time Stone. Channeling the energy of Infinity Stones was unique to the standard rules of magic already, but the Soul Stone’s power was— indescribable.

So he had been able to battle. To hold himself up. And to watch as people from all over the universe, both the newly resurrected and those that had lived in a broken world, were slaughtered by Thanos’s armies. Slaughtered and with no way to return, not this time; he had used the Time Stone once to reverse death, and he had paid the price with several (hundreds, thousands) of his own deaths.

But the fabric of reality surrounding the battlefield was already torn by the combined actions of both the Avengers and Thanos, and it would tear even further with the final sacrifice; to use the Stones again at that moment, even one, was to rip the threads of the universe to pieces.

And so the dead remained dead.

Even though Stephen knew this, knew the logic behind his actions, knew that in triage situations, some people got the black tag—  it did not stop his stomach from twisting into a knot as he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and weighed down by the consequences of his actions.

In the silence and loneliness of the Sanctum, even while logic echoed in his head, guilt settled in the depths of Stephen’s core and began to make a home there.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Despite pretending everything was okay and despite going through the motions of his duties, the guilt grew into a beast that swiftly consumed Stephen’s being. He felt little need to eat and his sleep was plagued with new nightmares that caused him to work himself into exhaustion (and thus dreamless nights).

By the time Tony’s funeral arrived, he had lost several pounds and the raccoon eyes were becoming more prominent. A small glamour spell helped conceal that, but still Wong looked at him with thinly-veiled concern.

“Are you sure that the invitation was not just for you?” Stephen asked as he found a suit, miraculously still intact after years (literally years) of no wear.

“Of course I’m sure,” Wong said slowly, his voice carefully even. “You were mentioned by name.”

“Ah.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be ready in time, then.”

Wong was still looking at him with that expressionless and yet all-knowing look, so Stephen turned away and went to the ensuite bathroom to avoid uncomfortable questions. They didn’t have time to prod into that right now.

After all, it would be rather rude of him to be late to the funeral of a man he had black tagged.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

His lack of regular meals and general lack of care for eating was a new thing for him in this post-Thanos world (but he just didn’t have time for such trivial pursuits as food, not when he had five years to catch up on and a very damaged border between realities to monitor, to attempt to repair). Stephen got away with not really eating anything substantial for two weeks after Tony’s funeral.

Apparently someone (probably Wong) noticed this and the trend came to an abrupt halt. 

It started with the steward of the New York Sanctum. The steward’s role fulfilled the very real need of seeing to the general care and maintenance of the very magical and rather finicky building; it could only be fully overseen by a fully-trained disciple while its Master was dealing with the mystical threats in their part of the world. Stephen’s steward had been snapped into oblivion at the same time as he and was replaced with someone who spoke very little English. He remained at the post after the return of the Disappeared and generally avoided him, which was all well and good for Stephen. However, two weeks after the funeral, his steward was suddenly transferred to London (with no input asked from him either, the nerve) and the London steward came to New York.

His new steward was a woman: Italian, about sixty years old, five feet tall, and potentially the scariest woman he had ever met.

If anyone ever discovered his thoughts on the matter, they might wonder how that was possible when Stephen had been under the tutelage of the Ancient One. To him, she was the most powerful woman he had ever known, but he did not equivocate power with terror.

Ludovica Guerriero, on the other hand, was downright frightening. She seemed nice on first meeting; he learned she had come to be a part of the order a year after the Decimation, for all her children and grandchildren had been lost in that event (and with that story his guilt buried itself deeper into his soul). Unlike some of the new recruits who left for their families once they returned, Ludovica stayed on; she liked keeping busy and could ‘go visit the family whenever I want to, anyway’.

At first it was fine. Her first day there, she rearranged things her way while Stephen beat back some inter-dimensional boggarts and sealed a rip between dimensions in Guatemala. When he portaled back to the Sanctum, something that could only be called Italian was permeating the halls that led to the kitchen with a rich mix of smells. Unwittingly, his stomach growled.

He stepped towards the kitchen, then paused. He did not have time to sit down and eat if he wanted to finish his research before his body ultimately gave out on him. But as he started towards the stairs, Ludovica’s voice came to him with, “Doctor Strange? Is that you?”

Stephen sighed quietly and then called, “It’s me.” He took the few remaining steps towards the kitchen and halted at the doorway. “Smells good, Mrs Guerriero.”

“I’m glad you think so. I thought I’d do something special for my first night in New York for our dinner.”

Best to tell her immediately of his plans. “Actually, I—”

She continued on as if he hadn’t said a thing. “This was my nonna’s recipe. Parmigiana di melanzane with tomato, aubergine, the freshest mozzarella cheese; all ingredients picked up in my home town today.”

He blinked, momentarily sidetracked. “Sorry, uh, aubergine?”

Her brow furrowed. “Is that not the right word? It is melanzane, you know—” She cut herself off and pulled a stem with only part of the purple fruit remaining upon it. “This plant.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, that’s an eggplant.”

“Eggplant? What a strange name.” She started dishing out the bake. “Would you mind setting the table, doctor?”

“I…” he started in protest, but the look she gave him was so sweet and imploring and kind. It reminded him of his grandmother from when he was young. He exhaled slowly; so much for his plans. “Sure.”

And that parmigiana di melanzane was really fucking delicious. It had no right to be that good.

About a week later, when he realized he had somehow been corralled to the dinner table every night since her arrival (and was a couple pounds heavier because of it), Stephen Strange realized that, underneath that sweet exterior, Ludovica Guerriero was an emotionally manipulative mastermind that knew exactly what to say to get him to do exactly what she wanted. This was absolutely terrifying.

Stephen was going to kill Wong.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Despite the terrible emotional manipulation being forced upon his person regarding (incredibly delicious) food, Stephen somehow maintained the status quo with his duties for five weeks after the funeral. He would work himself to utter exhaustion and only then find some rest (though even with this method the nightmares came on occasion, when he was just not exhausted enough, in his opinion).

(The part of his mind well-versed in psychology laughed incredulously at that line of thinking. He told that part of his mind to shut up and mind its own business, then threw himself in his work again.)

But eventually it all came crashing down. Of course it did; that was his life the last… however many years. Two or seven depending on how one counted.

The most embarrassing part was the situation that ended up being the straw that broke the camel’s back. It was stupid, completely irrelevant, and shouldn’t have even happened, but here he was.

It went like this:

Ludovica was out for the day with her family in Italy, Wong was over to discuss things, and they were both hungry. Neither of them felt like cooking, so.

“What do you want to eat?” Stephen asked as his glamour spell transformed his robes to something more normal for New York. “Pizza? Sandwiches? Thai? Something else?”

Wong thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t say no to a tuna melt.”

Stephen stilled his steps; that sounded familiar. Why did that sound familiar? It was just a sandwich—

‘I’ll tell the guys at the deli. Maybe they’ll make you a metaphysical ham on rye.’

Stephen blinked and placed a hand against the wall to steady himself. He heard Wong say, “Stephen?” but it sounded muffled and distant.

‘A… buck and a half,’ Wong admitted.

He sighed. ‘What do you want?’

Wong clapped his hands together and followed him down the rest of the stairs. ‘I wouldn’t say no to a tuna melt.’

The crash of breaking glass and wood, emitting a sound loud enough to almost contest the car accident.

Bruce Banner. Tony Stark. Thanos is coming. Ebony Maw. We swore an oath to protect the Time Stone with our lives. Fourteen million, six hundred and five. 

One.

“…en. Look at me, Stephen. You’re in the New York Sanctum Sanctorum. You’re safe. The cloak wants to reach out to you, Stephen, but I batted it away until you can look at me. You’re safe.”

Wong’s words managed to break through the cacophony of madness splitting his mind and he gasped as he focused his eyes on Wong. At some point he had ended up on the floor. His heart attempted to beat itself out of his chest.

When they made eye contact, Wong said without breaking it, “You can rest on him, but get back if his heart rate increases.” Then he continued, as the cloak gently settled itself on Stephen’s shoulders, “Copy my breathing, Stephen. Inhale… and exhale. Good, just like that. Again, inhale… and exhale. Again.”

His breathing evened out and his heart rate eventually slowed to something approaching normal, and Stephen was finally able to manage words. “Where—  where did you—  learn how to do—  do that?”

Wong didn’t answer. Rather, he asked, “Can I help you off the floor?”

Still in a daze he nodded his acquiescence, and Wong took an elbow and forearm and hoisted him up with the assistance of the cloak. He led Stephen to one of the smaller, quieter parlours within the Sanctum and sat him down in a comfortable chair. “I’ll be right back.”

'Right back’ was certainly not immediate, but Stephen lost track of time and Wong seemed to return nearly instantly, this time with a couple fresh cups of tea. He did not attempt to give it to Stephen, but rather set it down beside him. Clearly he saw just how badly his hands were trembling.

Wong took a seat across from him and brought his own cup to his lips. He said nothing as Stephen further calmed his heart rate and the tremors in his hands became less prominent.

Several minutes of silence later, Stephen murmured, “Sorry.”

“I knew it would happen sooner or later,” was Wong’s answer. Stephen swallowed and said nothing. “You cannot continue going on like this.”

Stephen’s instinctive reaction was denial, but he could feel Wong’s eyes on him and his retort fell before it could even begin. “There’s too much to do,” he said instead.

“There always is,” was Wong’s reply.

The silence sat between them again when Wong did not expound further and Stephen battled against a myriad of emotions within his own mind. He tried to distract himself with tea, but the shaking in his hand was too prominent, too debilitating, so he withdrew it.

Another two minutes passed. “I have been given another chance in this world,” he tried instead. “All my efforts should go to protecting it.”

Wong eyed him expressionlessly. “Your efforts have gone above and beyond most. They have seen the resurrection of all life that was unjustly taken five years ago.”

“Those were not my efforts,” Stephen argued. “That was the Avengers.”

“And you set them on that path.”

The tremors increased. He swallowed heavily. “My efforts caused the entire universe to suffer for years. My efforts brought an intergalactic war to Earth’s soil. My efforts brought chaos and despair that led to so much death.” His voice broke on that last word and he turned his head away from Wong.

Wong permitted him a moment before speaking again. “I was told it was over fourteen million futures you saw.” A shudder ran through Stephen in reply. “At what point did you see this future?”

He swallowed. “Somewhere around four million.”

“And you searched another ten million after.”

His hands would not stop their violent shaking. He loosely gripped at the cloak and it curled around his hand. “I’m not—  I’ve done triage before,” he started. “Battle of New York. We didn’t have the resources to—  to save everyone. We had to pick our cases. Before the accident, it was one of the most difficult moments of my life.

“But this reality was—  it was too much to ask. There were too many black tags. I knew there… there were hundreds of millions of permutations. Maybe billions. But I could not sustain the strength needed to search further. I was not… not strong enough.” And to his horror, he felt tears falling from his eyes. He could not look at Wong.

“Stephen. Stephen, look at me.” Reluctantly, after a brief moment, he turned his face towards him. Wong’s steadfast look was blurred by the unwanted tears. “You are the strongest man I have ever known. What you did no other human being could have accomplished.” Stephen’s gaze lowered. “And you must remember: you saw the paths of the future, but you did not control its course. Everyone had their own free will to make the choices they made; they knew death was a real possibility, but they chose to fight.”

Another shudder ran through his entire body and he felt the cloak increase its pressure against him ever so slightly. He placed his face in his trembling hands and just tried to get a grip.

He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Stephen,” Wong muttered.

His tenuous grasp on his emotions completely broke. Another full body shudder ran through him before an ugly sob broke past his lips. Once it started, it was as if a dam had been broken; all his grief and guilt released itself then, the all-encompassing pain overwhelming his entire being. Even as he wept and mourned everything that had been lost, the cloak carefully curled about him and Wong remained a silent, steadfast presence at his side. His hand never left his shoulder.

And with the brick wall he had put about his heart finally breaking down, Stephen began to take his first steps towards recovery.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“Oh, Doctor, you have mail.”

Stephen looked up from the tome to stare at Ludovica. “Mail? As in… from the mailbox?”

“Where else does mail come from?” she answered with a soft tut. He took the envelope from her and she left the study.

He frowned at the address. Upstate New York. What was in upstate New York? He carefully opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

Oh. They finished rebuilding the Avengers compound. And… a celebration. A memorial, for Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, and all those who gave their lives over a year ago.

And he, Wong, and any sorcerer who wished to attend were invited to celebrate their lives.

Stephen’s eyes grew distant for a moment as his mind went back to that day. The ache was still there, but it did not consume him anymore. It had joined the other poignant, bittersweet reminders of days past, of those gone but still within living memory.

He softly exhaled before standing to head down the hall to Kamar-Taj. He was sure there were many who would be interested in attending, and to remember those gone so that they would not be forgotten.

——

A/N: Someone with the dedicated duty of basically babysitting Sanctums while their Masters fight off things was lovingly borrowed from keshwyn on AO3. Her series of one-shots around this figure are super super super gorgeous, go read them. Wonderful character development (I’ll write a proper fic rec soon)

(had to save it as jpg because for some reason it’s not letting me save as a png on photoshop atm? ugh)(and formatting should be fixed double ugh)

[xocookiest]

Lesbian Asks!

Note: **I am not a lesbian, but some of these questions do pertain to me a lot. So, I’m answering all these questions because I think it might be something silly and fun to do while I’m self-quarantining. So, excuse the jokes I have made, bits of sarcasm, or if I go a little bit too dark or something for you all. And, if you guys have any questions or need any further clarification about some of the answers I have given. I’m going to be opening up my ask box for a couple of days to answer them, but you’re more than welcome to shoot me a private message. Just keep it respectful and civil, please and thank you. ** 

1) Femme or butch?

         a) Femme Fatale. The character archetype that has drawn in millions of men and women through literature, art, and now the media over the course of centuries because of her mysterious allure, charm, and wit. As it is a thrilling and intriguing experience because you just don’t quite know what the person might do next and it makes you keep guessing, but it also can be an extremely deep and rewarding relationship without words ever being spoken. Plus, I’ve always loved a good mystery to try and solve. And, one of them obviously being the consciousness of the human mind. 

2) Do you have a “type”? If so, describe it

          a) Hm…. I wouldn’t say I have a “type”, but I think I would like a person who would respect my boundaries, honor their commitments, be honest about their mistakes in life, acknowledge their faults, and be willing to change and grow to better themselves, have morals, values, and commitments that they can stick to because it would prove to me in some way that they are loyal. At least to something. However, that’s something difficult to serve up on a platter. So, let’s just say my “type” is a person who has flaws, but is a good-natured person and is trying their best to be the best version of themselves they can be.

3) Plaid button-ups or leather jackets?

         a) What if you own a bunch of plaid button-ups and leather jackets in your closet? What do I do with that? Wait. Is this a preference of style on a person? Uh…. I’m going to have to skip because I don’t really have one. Mostly, because a woman can look good in both and kick a guy’s ass while doing it. So…. yeah. No preference. 

4) Describe your style

        a) Jeans. Long-sleeve/T-Shirt. Jacket/Hoodie/Cape. Boots/Tennis Shoes. Minimal/ No Makeup. Occasional Dress, Shorts, Heels, and Sandals. Minimal Makeup/Full Makeup Routine (DO NOT HAVE at least currently). Those are the most common things you’ll find me wearing. But, here’s the kicker. Comfortability. I repeat. Comfortability. I can’t tell you how many times my heels have bled while wearing regular shoes or heels while walking on them or bruised the side of my toes or feet while wearing flats or sandals. Ugh. Fashion does not need to be painful people. You can look good and be comfortable in your own skin without being in pain. Plus, who wants to feel like your dress is falling off you between your legs while you’re at an event? Other than when you’re having sex or at least about to do so.

5) Describe your aesthetic

           a) Um, okay there is no cute way to describe this. I’m a nerd. I like playing video games late into the night, reading books, comics, or manga for hours that I forget the last time I ate, diving into a new anime, K-drama, or old cartoon that I stay up till the next morning watching, struggling to write and publish stories, and doing cosplays while meeting new and interesting people. But I also love watching documentaries about history, science, and art. I can’t stand to be inside too long because I feel claustrophobic and it reminds me of being trapped in a room with someone I don’t particularly like. So, I take hour long walks in my neighborhood, woods, forest, cities, and beaches while blasting really loud music that will probably damage my ears in the long run. So, don’t expect me to hear a single thing you’ve said when I have them on because it takes forever to get my attention since I have such a one-track mind. Plus, I’m terrible at cooking almost burnt down my friend’s house once with a microwave. Hence, why I prefer doing the prep work, dishes, and gardening. Though, don’t ask me to slaughter a live chicken. I can’t do it. 

6) Favorite article of clothing?

           a) A jacket. Did you expect anything else?

7) Favorite pair of shoes?

          a) Boots. Specifically, Steel-Toed Boots. So, if you ever drop anything heavy on yourself, it doesn’t hurt as much or if someone is really bothering you. It gives you an extra kick.

8) Current haircut?

         a) Long Hair w/ side bangs. I’m cutting it for the summer to be above my shoulders just because summers are just hot and long hair is just difficult to deal with when it is hot and sticky on your face.

9) Any haircut goals for the future?

        a) I’m hoping at some point I can get some red ombre at the ends of my hair because it adds a nice accent, but it’s not really necessary. I just really cut my hair shorter in the summer and let it grow the rest of the time. So, I’m not overtly cold in the winter/fall. 

10) Describe the best date you’ve been on

        a) I haven’t had one yet. So, really can’t tell you that one.

11) Describe the worst date you’ve been on

        a) Can’t really tell you one that’s been that bad. Since I think every date has its worse and best points in a date. But maybe there is one and I just haven’t realized it yet. Does a guy who leaves you on the curbside count? Seriously, though. What counts as a worst date for you guys?

12) Single? Taken?

          a) Single. Definitely, single. You can tell by how my friends get overly excited any time I’ve tried dating anyone or tried setting me up with someone they think would be a good match. Most of the time I think they’re giddier than I am about me going on a date with someone. My gosh. Actually, rewrite. I’m not giddy at all I’m just a bottle of nerves they just try to settle down before I actually go on the actual date. Lol.

13) If taken, talk about your girlfriend/wife!

         a) You know, I would love to do this because it just would make me smile to read it. But, unfortunately. I don’t have one to talk about. So, if any of you have a girlfriend or wife you want to talk about here. Please do it. I want to read your stories. 

14) If single, what are you looking for in a potential girlfriend/wife?

         a) Err…. I’m not actually looking for anything in particular, really. I just want them to be a nice and good person who I can spend hours talking and spending time with and want to spend time with. Is that too much of an ask to the great universe of the world? 

15) Describe your dream wedding

         a) My dream wedding is having a small wedding with family and friends that love and support me and my relationship with my partner. I don’t really have an idea of what I really want for it, but what’s important is celebrating your relationship with the person you love. Maybe, outside? But, then you have to think about the weather and what’d it be like. So, maybe I should do it indoors. I don’t know, alright. I thought a wedding would always be something that you and your partner would discuss and figure out together, I guess. 

16) Do you want kids?

        a) What if you already have one? What happens then? Though, as of this moment I do not. I love them, don’t get me wrong and I would really love to adopt a child who really does need a home, but I’m just not financially stable to do so currently or am staying in one place long enough that would make a stable life for one. Hence, no kids currently.

17) If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?

        a) Um, that’s a difficult question currently because my plan is to travel the world? So, is around the world a good answer because I’ve never actually felt at home anywhere and the last place, I really felt at home was in my hometown in California. But that isn’t really home anymore either. So…. yeah. I don’t really have a particular place I want to call home or live. Anybody have any ideas on that?

18) Favorite lesbian movie?

        a) I’ve only ever watched one lesbian film called, Jenny’s Wedding. Which hit a little too close to home at the time. So, I only could watch the film in bits. But if anyone has any recommendations, I’m open to them. Just shoot me a message.

19) Favorite lesbian novel/story?

          a) Okay, I love reading books. But this is the one thing lacking in my repertoire. Please recommend me something intriguing to read. I can’t stand the idiocy of human male and female relationship anymore currently. It is driving me nuts. So, I’m asking please let me go insane with other stories not dominated by male and female relationship. Otherwise, I would highly recommend you guys try reading Queen of Thieves. It’s a choice story written by several different writers for Lovestruck. So, you have several different partners that you can choose from. But, my god. The route for Vivienne Tang is just a gold mine and I’m salivating for the next season because it’s just so freaking good. If you’re reading this xekstrin. I love your work there and know that if you were to ever write a novel. I’m buying it. No questions asked. Oh, and tell your wife, “Hi!” for me too! =)

20) Favorite lesbian song?

         a) Okay, so this sounds terrible. But I don’t have one because I just like the sound of the music, sound, or lyrics and it changes frequently. Not to say, that I don’t have any lesbian songs in my playlist because I probably do. However, I did look up some songs? And, apparently 1950 by King Princess from my Spotify playlist is one of them. So…. I probably have more, and I just don’t realize that they are there because I have a tendency of fantasizing about scenarios based upon the song and lyrics anyhow. But if anyone has any recommendation for songs. I’m down to listen to any of them. 

21) Favorite lesbian musician?

          a) So, I’m terrible with names and I barely ever look up an artist or even what their sexual orientation is. So, I’m going to have to say I don’t have one because I honestly don’t even have a favorite musician and even if I did, I don’t think I’d even know if they were lesbian. But I probably do have some lesbian musicians in my Spotify playlist? I just don’t think anything of it because if you like the sound, music, and lyrics then you listen to more of their music. At least that’s how I think about it. But it is different for other people. So, that’s understandable. Everyone has different tastes and ways they enjoy music. However, if you know some artists with songs, you’d think I’d enjoy. Shoot me a message.

22) What lesbian stereotypes do you fit into, if any?

       a) What stereotypes? Can someone please educate me on this subject? Also, why? Other than, the reason it’s easier to identify the type of person because as much as I think it is utterly rude to do so I have to admit there is some truth to them. But not everything you hear about a particular stereotype is true. For example, not all goths are dark and brooding or wear black constantly. However, this might be a consistent part of their wardrobe because its comfortable or it’s their favorite color. So, sue them for wearing dark clothing and being interested in something they like. 

23) Ever been assumed to be nothing more than a gal pal?

       a) Oh god, yes. If you’ve ever met a girl who you’ve ever wanted to be more than friends with and they say, “You’re such a great friend.” That’s just your heart breaking into a million pieces, dude. Hope you have a dustpan and a lot of glue because that’s going to take a while to work through with all the tears and blood spilled over it. So…. yeah. 

24) If a woman wanted to woo you, what would a surefire way to accomplish that?

        a) Uh…. I have no idea. I guess you’d have to date me to figure that out. Lol.

25) Be positive! What do you like most about being a lesbian?

       a) I’m not one, but I can tell you what I admire about you guys. And, that’s your strength because you guys take on so much scrutiny and blame for things in media and even in your own communities and that takes a lot of strength to do. So, I’m proud of you guys for being so strong and supporting each other when things get tough. For those of you who are still in the closet, I hope one day you find a safe place where you can come out to your loved ones and be comfortable with who you are because finding that place is just as important as finding the person you want to spend forever with too.

26) Are you more of a cat person or a dog person?

      a) Totally, a dog person. Mostly, because my friends keep telling me I look like a kicked puppy every time they tell me we can’t do something. Like go to the nearest frozen yogurt shop after just eating out at a restaurant or doing something inappropriately dangerous. Though, I’ve been living with like three different cats for almost two to three years now on and off. So, maybe. I’m actually a cat person. 

27) Turn ons?

     a) Wit. You can’t honestly say you wouldn’t love a woman who could tease you with her extensive vocabulary and had you begging on your knees for more. Would you?

28) Turn offs?

     a) Arrogance. Look, if all you care about is yourself and how important you are to the world. Then, that’s great and good for you. But that really doesn’t leave a lot of room for you and I that doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed your space and time alone when you need it or even to celebrate your achievements, but also give your partner that same respect too.  

29)Do you usually ask other women out or do you wait for them to ask you?

      a) I actually try not to ask them out, but it always ends in failure. So…. yeah. I ask them out. 

30) What is your dream career?

      a) To be able to work as a traveling librarian while being an investigative reporter that writes novels and scripts for film and tv, but also can work on film and tv sets as part of their set or run crew when I’m not traveling or writing. That’s a dream. Really, it is my dream career. 

31) Talk about your interests or hobbies!

      a) I think I’ve spoken about them in length enough. So, I suppose I’ll just tell you what you can probably find me doing on a regular Friday night. Which is watching a show intently on my television or laptop and screaming at the screen or reading a book on the bed or couch with my ear plugs on while drinking sprite and hot cocoa with a blanket wrapped around me. 

32) What is the most attractive quality a woman can have?

      a) Again, I don’t know I think it really depends on the person you are with because the thing that you find initially attractive might not be same after you get to know them. Not to say, that it is a bad thing. But that love is sort of evolving and as your relationship grows with the person, you’re with the things you love about the person will change too. So, I think that the most attractive quality a woman can have is just being able to be genuine or be comfortable with themselves because if it feels forced. It’ll feel forced to the other person too. I guess. Am I making any sense here?

33) Do you love easily, or does it take time for you to warm up to someone?

      a) That’s a difficult question because sometimes it takes time for me to warm up to someone, I don’t really know all that well when I first meet them and other times, I’m really open about it. I think it really depends on the person, though. 

34) Ever fallen for your best-friend?

      a) Yes. My best friend in high school. She and I had been friends since 7th grade in middle school. We used to talk and hangout all the time after school using a messenger application and I hadn’t realized it until much later. But, by that point she was already with someone else and I didn’t really want to impose my feelings or strain the relationship. Though, I’m pretty sure her girlfriend at the time knew something was up because I don’t think she liked me very much. Though, understandable considering things. So, eventually the relationship sort of faded out as she started hanging out with my friends and I less and less as her and her girlfriend got closer.

35) Ever fallen for a straight girl?

    a) That’s a good question. I probably have and passed it off as me just being a caring friend. Which, with my sexual orientation becomes a little difficult to differentiate between sometimes, anyhow. Seriously, it is a freaking headache. 

36) The L-Word: yes or no? (love it or hate it?)

   a) Are you talking about the word lesbian or love because I don’t necessarily hate the word on either side of things it’s just…? Can we (people) really not think of a better word to describe it? I mean. I know it’s pretty hard to find a word that encompasses the meaning of something, but people make up words all the time. But I think for right now the word lesbian works and is fine. So, thoughts?

37) Favorite comfort food?

    a) Soup. There is literally no other food that makes me feel happier when I’m sick or upset. Especially, if it’s made by someone you love because it makes it all the more special. Though, don’t be surprised if I ask for seconds and then just skip to dessert instead.

38) Coffee or tea?

    a) Tea. I don’t drink coffee as much. It’s just too bitter for me, not that there aren’t teas that aren’t bitter, but I’ve always had to put so much sugar and milk into my coffee that it doesn’t make any sense to just waste the coffee. Hence, any time I get coffee it goes straight to my mom or one of my friends who practically runs on it. And, I just don’t do that as often when I’m drinking tea. Except, for Thai Tea. Which basically is like coffee for me.

39) Vegetarian? Vegan? None of the above?

    a) Neither. I’m willing to try vegan food, though. Just don’t expect me to be entirely excited about it. 

40) Do you have any pets?

    a) I have a cannibalistic goldfish. And, before you ask. Yes, she does eat other fish. I call her Cannibal, it used to be Christy. But, now it’s just Cannibal. 

41) Early-riser or night-owl?

    a) Night-Owl. I can’t seem to get up that early for some odd reason. Oh, well. I try to, though. Key word: Try.

42) What is your sign?

     a) Are you asking what my astrology sign is? If you are it’s a Cancer. I was born on the 6th of July. Apparently, I was supposed to be a 4th of July baby. Lol, that would have been an event. However, if you’re asking what year I was born then I’m going to have to say I was born in the Year of the Ox in the element of fire. You can probably figure out the rest from there I suppose. 

43) Can you drive?

      a) Yeah, I drive. I’ve only been driving for a couple of years, though. I am actually really terrified of driving on the road. It’s why it took so long for me to get my license and that I actually don’t particularly like driving. I’d actually prefer if I could walk, fly, bike, subway, train or bus somewhere, but most places in the United States don’t have much of a transportation system that is consistent or reliant enough to do so here. Unless, you live in a bustling city like New York. Hence, we have overpriced dangerous honking killing machines zipping through the roads. So, drive safely guys. 

44) Who was your first lesbian crush?

       a) My first lesbian crush? Hm…. a girl I met in college I guess? She was in the same major and courses I was but was a year behind me technically. She was a really intelligent and nice person, though I wasn’t able to actually hangout with her as much because I had other priorities at the time. The funny thing was I didn’t even know she was a lesbian until a friend of mine told me when the two of us went to trivia night at a bar that my friends and I frequented. Now, before you ask. How could you not know? And, my answer is I’m an oblivious child. Seriously, I have a bucket of stories that will tell you that along with my friends who have stood or sat right next to me and watched a girl or guy flirt with me and ask me out and I being a completely dense human being. Don’t catch it.

45) At what age did you know you were a lesbian?

      a) Hm…. when did I know I liked girls? Probably forever ago just didn’t want to admit to it because I was told so many times it wasn’t “right” to do so. But, I don’t think I really knew officially until I was in high school when my friends at lunch one time all spoke about some guy or girl they liked, and I didn’t really have anyone in particular I liked at all. Well, I did. Just didn’t tell her because I was in denial at the time that I wanted more than just a friendship. Which, is a situation I think a lot of people have been in before. 

46) At what age did you come out (if you have)?

      a) Came out to my close friends in college freshman year. But technically I told my grandmother way before that when I was in 4th/5th grade one time when I was really upset about a bunch of kids bullying me at school and just outrightly told her when she asked if I liked anyone and I said, “I don’t like anyone. Boys suck and I don’t even really like girls all that much either.” And, she laughed then said that’s okay. Just focus on doing what you like to do, and the rest will sort itself out. Plus, boys and girls can be really immature anyhow. (Apologies, to my little brother if you ever read this. But you have to admit you were a real brat to handle as a child. Love you, anyhow though.) Then, I unwillingly came out to my parents after graduating from college when I got wrapped up in some family drama. Woof, that was a horse. But it is over with now. Nothing, I can do about it now. 

47) Are you crushing on anyone at the moment (celebrity or otherwise)?

     a) Hahaha……. yeah. But she is currently unavailable and that’s okay. I’m not really in any rush to be in a relationship currently.

48) Talk about how your day went

     a) What do you talk about when you are stuck in quarantine? Do you tell the internet you spent the last three days trying to finish answering a Lesbian Ask! Questionnaire because you were really bored and was tired of staring at job applications all day? Because that’s what happened. 

49) Talk about your dreams/aspirations for the future

    a). I hope that one day I get to settle down somewhere and call it home. Have a loving partner, a kid, a dog, and two cats. And hopefully, it’ll be somewhere in New York or at least close to there because it seems like every single one of my friends plans on moving there at some point. Lol. 

50) Least favorite gay celebrity?

     a) Wow. Great question. No idea. Lol. Like I said. I don’t know much about celebrities and their sexual orientation because it shouldn’t matter what someone’s sexual orientation is. Since it shouldn’t change a person perspective about you because you’re still you. Nothing’s changed. Just the fact that your friends, family, and close relatives now know a little bit more about the type of person you like. Nothing else. And, if someone wants to give you crap about it. Let them be small, ignorant, and stuck in the past while you get to enjoy and see the world for what it is. A very dark scary dank place that screws over a lot of people sometimes, but overall, it’s a relatively nice, beautiful, and an ever evolving place that always seems to keep you on your toes. 

[fenrirlives]

So after getting some feedback here and from some gacha folks on discord, the overall picture I’m seeing here is that people had a much larger problem with the way Minase wrote a lot of the servants and their interactions than the concept of Agartha in general. I also see alot of people base their dislike on the JP version, which I can’t really comment on because I don’t speak the language and I’m not a fan of basing opinions on possibly biased translations for or against the subject matter

tl;dr, I liked it a good deal! Hated the repetitive dialogue, but the blended fictional worlds, Megalos, and a bunch of other things were really to my liking! I view it as a cool singularity with a sloppy ending and sloppier dialogue. Not as good as Shinjuku, but leagues better than Septem, London, or Orleans on my chart.

also as far as villain servants go, Columbus goes in my “What a douche, I love em!” shelf of fame right next to Mebd and Teach. I mean look at this dude!

Truly Rider is best servant class in all respects! (also his artist is great go follow!)

Addressing the elephant in the room first, I was really confused at the whole misogyny complaints. I saw a few people who found the tyrants to be sexist in concept, while others took more issue with Fergus’ interaction with Scheherazade, or how Fergus as a character was treated overall. 

I don’t imagine there are THAT many people who see the kingdoms as the problem, as they never came off as a commentary on gender to begin with, and context shows that they wouldn’t even work as commentary since all aspects of them are either A) fabricated in regards to the non servants, or B) altered by Scheherazade’s Noble Phantasm in regards to actual servants. If anyone saw them as the writer’s take on gender roles, I think it’s unintended.

People taking umbrage with Fergus and Sche, I can understand a little more, as alot of that is a symptom of the repetitive dialogue that plagues this whole singularity. Fergus’ message near the end is one that I agree with (living in constant fear of death isn’t living at all, and using your trauma as an excuse to generalize or hurt other people is unacceptable), and I was a big fan of how the end of his quest to become a good king is realizing he’s just not meant to be one.

 The thing is, character arcs are carried by their dialogue, and having Fergy either repeat the same crap about training/not hitting women or break the pace of a scene to internally monologue about the philosophy of a kingdom really did no favors. I also wished that his revelation about there being strong women was something someone else told him instead of something he just randomly remembers when the time is convenient, because that makes his whole “younger self” aspect kind of meaningless outside of not letting him be playable. Medea and Medusa lily were far better examples of how one goes about writing these younger servants and their relation to the knowledge of their future selves.

 I think it would’ve worked better to use Adult Fergus instead, and have him show new levels of discomfort both with the situation in Argartha, and with his own behavior when first interacting with Sche (thereby betraying her expectations and reason for summoning him by actually being more thoughtful and reserved than she initially expected) . Maybe have him focus more on male camaraderie with Columbus and the resistance than sleeping with women, as I don’t imagine he’d have much interest in cell dividing zombies with fabricated personalities, even if he doesn’t know that’s what they are yet!

Now, Scheherazade is actually my favorite character from this singularity besides Wu. I love stories that have trauma & behavior developed from trauma (rather than principle built upon trauma) as an antagonistic force. Having to perfect your craft of storytelling to survive for over 2 and a half years while also suffering abuse and captivity is nothing short of awful, and the fact that this attracts the Demon Pillar to her and allows them to work together is really interesting.

 I did dislike the fact that she seemed more affected by her infatuation with Fergus than his encouragement to find strength and pride in her storytelling, and see her nature as a heroic spirit as a boon to it, rather than something to fear. It feels like a big flaw of her character in FGO, which is that DW can’t decide if they want her to be a shivering leaf that hates fighting, or a sly beauty that subverts authority with her tales. Ideally these two aspects should be combined, but it comes across as inconsistent since there’s no solid in-between to give that transition more nuance. 

That being said, I think the folks that label Fergus’ speech as inherently sexist are kinda missing the forest for the trees. No amount of headcanon or fan interpretation changes that he’s a character highly motivated by carnal instinct, and the fact that it’s the lense through which he tries to argue against Scheherazade’s viewpoint is pretty consistent, though the afore mentioned issues with his dialogue makes his sudden shift back to being horny on main jarring and could be fixed by him always being adult Fergus. I can at least appreciate that the story brings up the clumsiness of his words and that even if they get the message across, the flaw in delivery means that Scheherazade will not indulge him on his terms, even if she’s grown just a tiny bit out of her old mindset (plus everyone calls him out so it’s not like his attitude is treated as being “good”, just that it’s not all there is to him). Bottom line I love both those characters, and Agartha left them both in a place where I’d love to see more about them and their relationship explored!

Drake/Dahut was unremarkable (though I was a huge fan of the character design, and I wish DW would make that a skin for Drake). The concept of Ys and her being a creepy rapist/murderer using Drake as her puppet was interesting, but she really didn’t get screen time needed to do anything with that. Wu Zetian on the other hand, I felt was really fun!

I would’ve liked to see her more before the confrontation while we were in the Nightless city, but her speech about working her way up from nothing to becoming a ruler through sheer tenacity, contrasted against the lady that tries SO hard not to let it show that she likes being doted on really clicked with me. All in all, she definitely swiped Gorgon’s spot as the 4 star servant I’m gonna use that ticket on later in the year!

Penthesilea and Megalos had the highlight of the singularity. Nothing was cooler than fighting a bunch of Amazons as those two clashed overhead, and despite almost losing that fight due to a string of Penthesilea’s intrusions hitting my team, I actually wish they did more damage at this point because I wouldn’t even be mad (fyi Colombus actually got killed by Penth during the Megalos fight and I couldn’t stop laughing).

Now if we’re talking about parts of Agartha I absolutely hated, that’s Phenex with a bullet! Besides his bossfight being the most drawn out and irritating thing ever, the fact that both him and the Pillar in Shinjuku don’t fight us in their more humanoid form feels like such a waste. These are supposed to be 4 (5 counting ccc) Pillars that had enough independence gained to run away from Goetia, so the fact that they still look like pillars and never become those human forms when we fight them seems like a real dropped ball here when it comes to visual storytelling and Story/gameplay integration.Also, after how radical Shinjuku’s final fight was, Agartha really didn’t do much to sell Caladbolg finally going off in the middle of the fight (the poison of Wu’s NP was a nice touch at least!)

so yeah, I had quite a few problems here, but I always regard the art and media I consume on a component basis, and for me, the lows here really couldn’t beat out the fact that Agartha was this really cool combination of fabricated settings with tyrannical rulers facing off against a villain masquerading as a revolutionary hero, with a Nightmare monster appearing anywhere at any time, and our heroes seeking to find out which of these figures was the one truly responsible. 

This was always the strength of the Remnants imo, taking looser concepts that normally don’t fly in Nasuverse fiction, and using it to twist the rules of servants through singularities in a way the original seven didn’t outside of Camelot and Babylonia. It wasn’t as great as those two by a long shot, but at the end of the day, It’s left me quite excited for Shimosa, which I’ve been told is the hypest Pseudo Singularity out of the bunch. 

It sucks that this singularity gets such a bad rap when it has so many cool and interesting things in it, but if people dislike something, then there’s nothing for it. As for me, I’d give it a B- on an F to S scale, with Camelot still sitting at the absolute top for me. Anyway, Happy 4th of July tomorrow if you celebrate it, and here’s to EoR 3 and Shirou eventually getting in the game (lmao nope)

[headcrossed]

A/N: no one asked for this, but I can’t stop thinking about it so here goes. Also still taking requests for these guys, if anyone’s interested!

THE RFA PLAYS DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS FOR THE FIRST TIME

SEVEN

We all know he’s the one that suggested it. Call it a team building exercise, if you will. Besides, since they’re going to be having more parties now in the future, they gotta make sure they stay strong as an organization. What better way than this?

Since no one else is experienced with this game, Seven also takes it upon himself to DM.

Even though oddly enough, he’s never really played it either... at least, not officially.

He found a rulebook when he was younger at the library, and it inspired him, but he knew he couldn’t take it home where his mom might find it.

So instead he memorized it, and when Saeran was sick he would make up a story and roleplay with him. No stats, character sheets, or anything. Just two lonely kids getting enraptured in pure imagination for a little while. It’s one of the fondest memories he has from his childhood.

I’mma be honest: Seven’s DM-ing style is basically the same as Griffin McElroy’s in TAZ.

He keeps things pretty well-balanced. Plenty of humor and shenanigans, but the more serious and emotional moments are really moving, and everyone’s surprised by this.

Zen and Yoosung and even Jaehee and V probably shed some tears over the way the story unfolds. 

He also does really good voice acting for his characters. Nowhere near on Zen’s level, like you could still kinda tell it’s him doing the voices if you couldn’t see his face, but he gets into character really easy (even Zen thinks he should audition to voice act for a game or something... ;) )

Yoosung

Aside from the obvious previous experience he might have, he probably played some one-shot campaigns with some D&D clubs on campus before. 

The first character he makes is probably a literal recreation of his LOLOL character, since it’s familiar to him, and is a good place to start with since he’s not very experienced. Besides, he’s built like a tank in LOLOL, and if he knows anything about these kinds of games, it’s that balance is key, and they need at least someone who can soak up all the damage of whatever Seven throws at them (is he afraid that he’ll make them face bosses way to big for any of them to handle and they’ll all die in the process? GOD YES)

And it turns out that concern was legit. He dies like 5 minutes in.

Scrapping that strategy, he probably will end up making a half-orc , and he ends up really enjoying this character a lot more.

Plays him... surprisingly chivalrous, probably ends up saving a princess at some point in the game.

Seven lets him romance her and... wait... HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND NOW!!!

The game doesn’t count, my sweet summer child

It’s a little awkward that she’s voiced by Seven,and even though he teases Yoosung about it (both in-game and out), quite often it’s really sweet, actually.

He really, REALLY wishes he could commission someone to do fan art of them, but he has no money T_T

Might ask V if he gets desperate enough... might

Believe it or not, Yoosung will actually ditch playing LOLOL for this.

He likes being able to see all his best friends gathered in one place, laughing and just having a good time. It warms his poor college student heart. 

ZEN

He’s not really sure how he was convinced to do this, but somehow he’s very into it 

He’s not very good at the numbers part of the game (and he usually has to ask Yoosung or Jaehee to help him with it), but he really shines in the roleplay department (I mean he’s an actor! If nothing else it’s a really good opportunity to work on his improv skills) 

Plays an high-elf bard, with a VERY high charisma stat. 

“Not very original, huh Zen? Trying to make life imitate art?” “Shut up, mistah trust-fund kid!”

AND HE PLAYS THEM EXACTLY HOW YOU WOULD EXPECT.

Flirts with EVERY ENEMY. To the point that Seven has to make his character have near-death experiences MANY TIMES to get him to stop. 

Still, somehow, by the end of the game he has amassed a harem of enemies who worship him for his god-like beauty. 

VOICE ACTS FOR HIS CHARACTER AND SINGS ACTUAL BARD SONGS HE’S MEMORIZED BEFORE-HAND (rest in peace, Jaehee)

Oh but he doesn’t stop there.

He COSPLAYS HIS CHARACTER, AND HIS WHOLE FANBASE GOES INSANE 

His bard now has a whole fandom and following irl too. He even made a separate social media account where he shares all the amazing fan art that people have drawn for his character. He even thinks that maybe they should start broadcasting their sessions or do a podcast. 

JAEHEE

Jaehee is an absolute beast at this game.

She’s read over the rulebook at least 20 times and knows it inside and out. 

Probably gets into arguments with Seven and maybe accidentally metagames once or twice. 

She should be dm-ing not seven what the hell are they all thinking? She knows the stats better, anyways 

She plays a rowdy dwarven paladin, and no one expected it.

Her logic is: it’s a fantasy-world. She can be whatever she wants, and she wants to smash things, be as rowdy as she likes, and be blunt and tell things like it is. 

Also she’s semi-intentionally trying to recreate a gimli and legolas style relationship with Zen’s character, go figure ;) it’s actually really sweet at the end of the day though they make a great fucking team.

Has her own special routine for dice-rolls that she believes will increase her odds of getting a better roll.

They all laugh at her for varying degrees for it but FOR SOME REASON IT WORKS AND SHE HAS CRAZY NAT 20 STREAKS SOMETIMES.

She ends up stealing a lot of Jumin’s kills, but she’s just roleplaying, after all. (Seven gives her bonus xp for good roleplaying too like yeah good for her for using this as an outlet) 

Frequents D&D forums a lot now. Thinking up new strategies and probably makes like a million new characters based on them that she may never play (but she hopes to, someday)

JUMIN

He’s heard of it before, and that’s no surprise with his extensive interest in small specialty businesses and the fact that the RFA has at least two members who have played it before. 

But alas, he has never played it himself.

He agrees because the level of spectacle that he’s seen around playing this game is astounding, and he’s intrigued. Thinks maybe he’ll get a new business idea out of it.

“So Jumin, what race are you going to play as?” Seven asks, innocently, as though he doesn’t know the answer.

“... you’ll see.” 

Everyone gets suspicious, but he keeps his poker-face as cool as ever. 

When they go around the table introducing their characters, he puts on his most serious face, puts his hands up in front of his face like paws, and introduces himself as his character: Elizabeth the 4th, Tabaxi Ranger

Zen has to leave the room to get over a sneezing fit, Jaehee’s glasses shatter, Seven straight up dies laughing on the floor. None of it matters to Jumin. He’s living the fucking dream.

All that being said, Jumin is definitely tries to take a more methodical approach to the game. He carefully plans out his strategies for the best strategical outcome. 

Although 

He actually ends up really enjoying it, at the end of the day.

You know he’s looking into premium gear for future sessions. Buys all the rulebooks and lorebooks, buys a bunch of really cool-looking handmade dice (that he personally tests himself for balance, to make sure they all roll true). He probably even commissions someone to make custom mini figurines for their characters. 

V

Like Zen, he’s also not quite sure how he got roped into doing this.

He’s never played, or ever really even HEARD of this game before, let alone understand how it works, but given an opportunity to hang out with the rest of the RFA and relax, he takes it. It sounds like fun to him anyway. 

He has to spend a lot of time making his character (this poor boy, he sees everyone else with their faces stuffed in the character stat books and he doesn’t wanna ask if he can borrow it ‘cause they need it to make their characters too and doesn’t want to interrupt them) 

When he finally DOES make a character, however. He goes with a Tiefling Druid. Not only do they look aesthetically pleasing and unique, but also he empathizes with how they’re treated by society as a whole. It’s kinda the perfect fit. 

He’s super clueless when they first start playing. 

Seven says “Roll for initiative” and he sits there like “wait... what do I do? ^^; ”

Jaehee, Jumin and Seven usually help him out and explain things as they go along.

As the game progresses he picks things up bit by bit. Turns out, he’s actually really good at roleplaying.

In the beginning, he plays his character as this cold and distant,  not really caring about anyone in the team, but over time that dissolves into unerring loyalty to the rest of the party. Probably created an elaborate backstory involving a long lost love, too.

Everyone gets super attached to V’s character.

But of course, OF COURSE

When they face the final boss of the arc, someone has to sacrifice themselves to defeat it.

V immediately volunteers, and is dealt a killing blow before any of the rest of them can so much as talk it through. 

As he dies, he says “My people only know hatred because they have been so hated. But... I’ve never felt that. Not with all of you. Thank you, for showing me that there’s hope for all of us!” and his character dies, with a smile on his face.

DAMNIT V NO

EVERYONE’S FUCKING CRYING NOW LOOK WHAT YOU DID

All-in-all though, he had a really great time. 10/10 would play again. Maybe even starts constructing a story-based campaign in his head and wants to try DM-ing next time!

He’s always snapping super aesthetic photos of the sessions, and probably does a painting of all their characters together to commemorate their first campaign. 

SAERAN

Saeyoung invited him to play, but he says no. 

It’s childish and he has other things he wants to do.

Saeyoung doesn’t pressure him, and honestly he thought that would be the last he’d hear of it. 

However, Seven’s house is usually where they end up meeting to play (since no one else really has the room for it, and playing at Jumin’s house is ruled outright due to level of c-hair)

He’s a little annoyed, and thus stays in his room for most of the night, figuring he can wait the session out in his room.

But alas, the one thing he didn’t factor in was wanting some ice cream at 1 am.  

After a deep internal debate, he ultimately decides to leave his room to satisfy the craving, and unlocks his door. 

He wanders into the kitchen, surprisingly unnoticed, silently grabbing a spoon from the drawer and taking the carton of ice-cream out of the freezer, when he overhears something... familiar.

“BOOM! BOOM! Drums sound in the deep. A mighty roar soon follows, as the chamber rumbles with the sound, pieces of the construction tumbling to the floor of the ancient hall in its wake...” 

Seven roars, for effect. 

“Oh shit...” Zen says.

“Louder and louder, the sound draws nearer, until the sound stops at the foot of the barricaded door. Large shadows overcome what little faint light shone from beneath the door...”

*pushes up his glasses* “Roll for initiative”

“WHAT?!”, screams Yoosung, “WE JUST FOUGHT A CAVE TROLL! WE HAVEN’T EVEN HAD THE TIME TO RECOVER!”

“Shame...” Seven says, “If only there was one more party member... then you might have a chance...” 

Seven then looks over to the doorway, locking eyes with Saeran briefly.

Memories prickle at the back of his head. Memories of those same eyes lighting up as he told the same stories to him. He remembers getting lost in those stories, feeling happy deep down as he figured out what he would do next. He even remembers... smiling? 

He runs back into his room, and slams the door. 

And that’s the last the RFA sees of him...

Or so they think.

Half an hour later, he comes out of his room, pulls out one of the kitchen chairs, sits down and slams a hastily-printed character sheet. 

“Looks like you’re running into some trouble with that Balrog... tch. Amateurs.”

He made a Kenku Monk, chaotic neutral alignment.

And he completely destroys the boss that Seven had planned for them. 

DID SOMEONE SAY EDGELORD?

Probably splits from the party a bunch, but Saeyoung planned for that, so there’s usually a bunch of story-heavy side-quests waiting for him anyway, and they all eventually lead him back to the party somehow.

But truth be told, he’s not that mad about it.

Every opportunity he gets to describe exactly the kind of moves he’s exacting on the enemies they face, he takes. He explains it in creative, gory detail, and it shocks some of the other party members, but Seven seems cool with it.

That’s right kiddo, harness all that repressed rage. Let it out. 

He’s helping clean the kitchen after everyone’s gone when Seven asks,

“So? You going to play with us next session too?”

He pauses washing the snack dishes for a beat, and the corners of his lips start to twitch, just a little.

“Y-yeah, I-... I actually had a lot of fun.”

His brother pats him on the back, his hand still on his shoulder when he says “I’m glad! That’s what I was hoping to hear.”

“... Wait... you planned this from the beginning, didn’t you?”

The sly smirk on Seven’s face says it all. Bih you know he did

“... you little shit.”

[grundyscribbling]

That last art reblog made me start thinking Finwë/Miriel/Indis again (as I do from time to time), and I decided I’d write out some of my headcanons about them, because who knows how long it will be before it really makes it into any fic.

It’s on the long side, so cut to spare everyone’s dash...

When the elves first awoke in Cuivienen, there were no “Laws and Customs”. Everything was new to them, and there were no rules but whatever they decided on for themselves.

Some elves, like Indis and Ingwë, woke up feeling kinship to other elves, and eventually the words ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ were made for elves like them. Others, like Miriel, awoke to find themselves without such close kin, but counted it no great loss, for the world was wondrous and the stars fair.

In those days, there was nothing to say an elf could not be drawn to more than one other elf as a mate, any more than there was to say that mates had to be of opposite sex. How elves chose to pair up was regarded as their own business, and no one gave much thought to it. When Finwë, Miriel, and Indis declared themselves mates despite there being three of them instead of two, no one quibbled, unique though it was. They were happy, and all was well.

The elves encountered the Hunter well before they encountered the Valar, and people began to disappear. The first time one of those disappeared died was a shock unprecedented in the elven experience - the mate of the missing elf knew immediately that something terrible had happened, that their mate was simply not there anymore. The entire community rallied around the bereaved survivor, and tried as best they could to help them carry on. When, eventually, the survivor re-married, no one was much surprised. It was clear that after such a catastrophic event they needed the support of a close relationship, the comfort only a mate could give, and at that time there was no expectation that the dead would ever return.

Then Oromë arrived, and eventually took three volunteer ‘ambassadors’ to Aman to show them what the Valar were offering the elves. Ingwë, Finwë, and Elwë returned and related with awe and longing what they had seen, and how this was very different than the Hunter. Some elves were skeptical, but others were convinced, and ultimately they all made their choices, to Journey or to Refuse. (Though the ones who refused would have said Remain.)

When the elves of the Journey arrive in Aman, they are surprised that their Valarin hosts have Opinions - which turn into rules, which eventually become Laws and Customs - about the proper structure of relationships and what they term ‘marriage’. It should be one male and one female, and it should last for the lifetime of Arda, because the dead will eventually return. (It was not Eru’s design that elves should marry more than once. Somehow they overlooked that it was also not Eru’s design that elves should die.)

This was a shock to the elves whose marriages don’t fit in that narrow box. Obviously some cannot comply, and quietly carry on. A rapidly expanding elven society manages to overlook those instances of same-sex couples living together as ‘friends’. The younger generation for the most part don’t realize, because when it comes to these couples, conversation simply slides smoothly away under the subtle guidance of those old enough to know that the pair are more than merely friends. Those elves who remember other ways may not protest - they already know the Valar refuse to be moved on this matter - but they give those who could not abandon their mates the protection of their silence, and they create enough doubt to prevent the Valar taking notice. (A nis may be friends with another nis and choose to live with her until such time as she finds a ner she wishes to marry. What of it if two neri share a house? Is there some reason why they should not?)

But unlike same-sex mates, Finwë, Miriel, and Indis find themselves in a bind- there’s no good way they can flout the decree of the Valar. As King of the Noldor, Finwë does not have the same degree of privacy other elves whose relationships don’t match the strictures of the Valar have, nor can he carve such privacy out for himself and his mates. There’s no plausible deniability for why the sister of the King of the Vanyar is constantly in the company of the Noldorin royal couple. It’s inevitable that sooner or later the elves who are not old enough to know differently will notice they are more than just friends in a way that no clever conversational segues will cover up. This is where it begins to unravel.

They eventually decide that since Indis, unlike Miriel, has a brother, she can better weather being separated from her mates for long periods of time. She goes with Ingwë to Valimar when the Vanyar relocate, and does her best to visit no more often than an ordinary friend would. Sometimes she slips, but for the most part she manages to stay away. Her brother is grateful for her assistance in his kingdom, and her young nephews are happy to have their aunt doting on them. It’s not ideal, and no one is happy, but it works.

The real problems begin when Miriel and Finwë beget their first son in Tirion. A pregnant elf requires as much support from their mate(s) as possible during pregnancy, since so much of their fëa and energy is being channeled into the creation of their child. But Miriel has only half of the support she should have, and bearing Curufinwë Fëanaro drains her to the point that she realizes another such pregnancy would destroy her. (Can a dead elf whose spirit has been wholly consumed return from Mandos? Do they even go there? And do all expectant mothers have such dark dreams? They didn’t even feel like they were hers...)

Finwë doesn’t entirely understand. He’s never been pregnant, and there is only so much Miriel can say or share with him given his lack of experience in the matter. She knows she’s asking him to imagine a country he has never seen and realize that the flowers are colored all wrong, and he’s trying his hardest. But he certainly understands missing Indis, because he does too. Without her to balance them, the scale has dipped so sharply that some days it feels like they’re flying off to crash into who knows what.

Miriel comes to the conclusion that she would rather defy the Valar than spend the entire lifetime of Arda pretending to be ok with this state of affairs when the reality is that none of them are. Indis is unhappy in Valimar, and if Miriel and Finwë are less unhappy, this definitely isn’t the bliss the Valar had promised. They were better off under the stars on the far side of the Sea. (She’ll wonder later if her rebellious thought had been unknowingly passed to Fëanaro.)

But if the Valar insist on this stupidity, Miriel doesn’t have to make it easy for them. Her retreat to Mandos is a form of protest - and she knows perfectly well that Finwë and Indis will certainly marry in her ‘absence’. She expects she will be able to return at some point - as elves who died before the Journey are expected to do also - and if the Valar don’t like elves having two wives or two husbands, or a wife and a husband, it will be too darn bad.

The problem none of them foresaw was the ruling of the Valar that elven marriage being for the lifetime of Arda, an elf could only remarry if their dead mate did not intend to return to life - ever. This went beyond just Miriel, Finwë, and Indis, because Miriel wasn’t the only dead elf whose living mate had taken another mate. (Nevermind that Miriel had taken that mate, too, and long before they’d ever met a Vala.) This she hadn’t expected, but she had little choice - if she agreed to return to life, Indis would be forever alone, and the damage still done to those already in Mandos whose mates had remarried. Eventually Miriel brokers a compromise with the Valar - those whose mates remarried before this ruling will not be confined to Mandos for something their mate did in ignorance. But she’s stuck for it.

What she didn’t realize until much later was the fracture lines the so-called Doom of Manwë created among the Noldor. (She’s darkly amused that it was later renamed the Statue of Finwë and Miriel as if the Valar had nothing to do with it.) By this point, the majority of the Noldor were descendants of the original elves, either begotten on the Journey or in Aman. They don’t remember the days before the Hunter and the disappearances, or the time when the elves governed themselves as seemed right to them. Many know the Journey only as stories their parents or even grandparents told them. They have no idea that Indis has a long-standing relationship with Finwë, they see only her usurping their Queen’s place, and they resent her for it.

When Finwë’s spirit comes to Mandos, broken in more ways than one, Miriel is shocked - and furious. This is twice the Valar’s failings have done serious damage to her mates and her family, and she is in no mood to forgive as she holds him for the first time in long Valian years and he relates to her between shuddering sobs what has transpired in her absence.

Yet when Mandos offers her the chance to return to life, to let Finwë take her place as the one who remains in his Halls for all time, she cannot refuse. Not when Finwë is all but demanding she accept, that she finally be reunited with Indis.

The life she returns to is not at all what she’d expected. Indis was no better off than Finwë - actually, she is much worse, for she has not only lost both her mates to death, by this time she also knew Fëanor, Ambarussa Umbarto, and Arakano to be dead as well. The first few years of her second life Miriel spends nursing her mate back to some semblance of health (and restraining her fury at the Valar.)

If Indis’ remaining daughter notices - and it’s possible she doesn’t, for when Miriel can spare a thought from her mate, it occurs to her that their eldest daughter looks like her spirit may be straining to reach the quiet numbness of the Halls - she says nothing. (What is there to say when Miriel is the one person who has made her mother smile since her father’s death?) 

It is only when Indis at long last begins to speak and move as a living elf rather than one half-dead that Miriel can cast her mind about for what to do. She had no mind to return to living in Tirion, not when the King’s House was nothing but pain to Indis, and even her own workshop was a quiet reproach, taken up as it was with the work of a grandson she has never met.

That was what gave her the idea. Her talent was unparalleled among the elves, and it had long been said that the only one who surpassed her was Vairë...

“But why do you wish to enter my service?” the Valie asked, as uneasy as Miriel has even seen one of them since the ruling on her marriage.

“You record the story of the world,” Miriel replied steadily. “If I cannot know my children and their children, I would at least know their deeds.”

She silently surveyed the Weaver’s discomfort - and through her, that of her mate the Judge. Had the Valar never before had to face the consequences of their own decrees?

If she did not often enjoy her work - so little joy, so many tears - at least she got to know her children and grandchildren, and was able to tell Indis, however belatedly, how they were faring on the Shores they had foolishly left behind so long ago.

[tinydooms]

AU where Belle asked for a book from the market instead of a rose (which makes more sense to me). While in the castle, Maurice finds the library, and takes a book. He leaves (without Adam knowing about the stolen book. Or maybe he does know, and let’s a poor artist take a book for his daughter) and brings the book back to Belle. She is intrigued by the strange castle with the large library, so one day she sneaks away to find the castle. She finds the library and the story goes on from there...

Okay, I like this,but I need to throw in some modifications. So you get a bullet pointstory!

*Maurice is sensible enough not to steal a book from thecastle-unlike picking a flower, which is not out of the ordinary foranyone to do, book thieving is actual theft, and so he does not doit.

*He does, however, notice the stack of books on a chair by ahalf-played game of chess, while standing by the fire. It’s aFrench translation of an English novel. Intrigued, he takes itthrough to the dining room when he hears the table being laid. 

*He does not notice Chip slide down the table, so engrossed is hein the story, for Maurice, too, is a reader. 

*The Beast, who had noticed him riding through the gardens towardsthe castle, comes inside and inquires of his servants about thevisitor. He orders a bed made up in the little drawing room, as hedoes whenever a traveller visits the castle, and hides himself. 

*Unbeknownst to Maurice, Philippe has seen the Beast, spooked, andgalloped towards home. So as Maurice sleeps the night away in thegrand “little” drawing room, on a comfortable couch made upwith feather blankets and silk cushions and catered to by unseenservants, the horse makes his way home to Villeneuve. 

*Belle naturally assumes the worst and comes in search of herfather. She finds him looking for Philippe in the gardens. 

*”No really, I’m fine!” Maurice assures her. “I mean,there were wolves, and we were chased, and I lost the cart and themusic boxes, but I’m sure we can find them on our way out. Butyou’ve got to see this place; it’s stunning!”

*So he and Belle go inside, and he shows her the room he’d sleptin, and the dining room that has breakfast set on it again for thenew arrival, and the novel that he had picked up to read last night. 

*Belle still carries her stick around, because she can sense thatthey are being watched, and feel the repressed excitement in the air,and she doesn’t understand or like it. 

*Both father and daughter know that they should get out of there,but curiosity and excitement war within them. Maurice wants to finishhis book. Belle has discovered the other books by the fire and iscrouching down, reading their spines. 

*”I hope you can forgive our intrusion,” Maurice calls out, ashe has been doing to communicate with his unseen host. “Butyou have such a beautiful home and so many interesting books-I hopeyou do not mind us pausing to read for a while longer.”

*Adam, who has been watching them surreptitiously from both theMirror and various balconies, is intrigued. Lumiere gestures at himto say something to them, and he clears his throat.It comes out a low growl. Maurice starts, and Belle hefts her stickagain. 

*”You…care for books so much?” Adam asks, keeping to theshadows. 

*Belle and Maurice trade a glance. “Yes, monsieur,” Bellesays. “Thank you, sir, for your kind hospitality. Will you notshow yourself?”

*Adam dithers. They are clearly villagers, but they speak well andare dressed respectably enough. He could default to being an ass tothem, or he could not. he is a prince, but he is also a beast. Butthey like books. And Adam is lonely, moreso than he caresto admit. 

*”I have no wish to frighten you,” he says at last. “Pleaseconsider yourselves our guests. My servants will attend to you.”

*Lumiere takes this as permission to reveal that they are allenchanted objects. Belle comes alarmingly close to coshing him overthe head with her stick, but Maurice stops her just in time. 

*And so they stay, morning turning into afternoon as they wanderthe downstairs, taking in its faded grandeur and the books set aroundas makeshift seats for the talking candelabra and mantle clock. 

*It starts to snow as they wander the public rooms, thick sheetsof ice falling from the sky. Father and daughter glance at eachother. They won’t be going anywhere in this mess. 

*Adam is in his bedroom, having bathed and dressed in new clothes,just in case he actually has to play host to these people. He knowsthe curse won’t be broken, but Chapeau has pulled rank as Adam’soldest and most beloved servant and ordered him into the bath. 

*”There is no chance,” Adam protests against his servants’hope. But-

*”She is reading that volume of lays by Marie de France,”Chapeau says, “and she’s taking notes.” And Adam knowshe’s doomed. 

*He looks in the Mirror; father and daughter are standing by thedoorway, looking out into the snow. Adam sighs and goes to findthem. 

*”I hope, monsieur, mademoiselle, that you will accept myhospitality one more night,” he says, hiding behind a pillar in oneof the balconies. They look up into the darkness, searching for him,but Adam stays hidden. “The weather is terrible. Let us lookafter you for one more night.”

*Maurice accepts the kind invitation, but mentions that he is moreconcerned for his music boxes, out by his upset wagon. There is along pause from their unseen host. Where are the music boxes? Out onthe road, about half a mile from the gates. What’s so importantabout them? They’re my main source of income, my lord. 

*Oh. Adam doesn’t know what to do. Eventually, he distracts themwith dinner. That night, while they are sleeping (Lumiere has movedthem from the little drawing room to the Flower Suite in the EastWing), he goes out into the snow and fetches the boxes himself. (He’dorder a servant to, normally, but none of them have hands to carrywith.)

*He sets the boxes down by the front hall fire, where he noticesBelle’s notes on Lanval. She has copied out quotationsand made commentary on them, her writing neat, her ideas bold. Adamreads, absorbed. Who on earth is this young woman, and where did shelearn literary theory? If he was not a hideous monstrous beast, Adamwould have wanted to know her. But he does not want to frighten her,and anyway, the curse will never be broken. It’s better that theydon’t see him. 

*He does not count on Belle coming to find him the next morning,to thank him for fetching in the music boxes. 

*She finds him in the kitchen, by dint of asking Lumiere where heis. Adam raises his face from his breakfast and stares at her,aghast. Belle stares back, nonplussed. Plumette, desperate to keepthe situation calm, asks Belle if she would like some coffee. 

*Belle accepts the coffee. She stares at Adam and Adam staresback. He is frightened, and inclined to be snappish and rude to hideit. Then-

*”Thank you, sir, for rescuing the music boxes,” shesays. “Papa will be able to repair the worst of the damage. Wewondered if perhaps you would accept one, as a token of our thanksfor looking after us.”

*Adam doesn’t know what to say, to think, but he allows Belle tolead him through to meet her father, and to look at the music boxes.Maurice goes saucer-eyed at the sight of the Beast, but like hisdaughter, does not say anything. Instead, he takes the music boxesout of their cases and shows them to Adam, who finds his heartlifting at the sight of the beautiful creations. He is especiallydrawn to a delicate windmill, in which sits a lovely lady having herportrait painted. Maurice seems oddly hesitant about letting Adamhave it, and Adam finds himself negotiating with the man. They canhave four books from his library in return for the windmill musicbox. 

*”You have a library?” exclaims Belle, and nearly faints deadaway in pleasure when Adam shows her. Maurice, amused, shakes hishead at Adam. “You’ll never get rid of her now, sir.”

*Somehow, some way, they become friends. The snow doesn’t stopfor a week, and in that time Belle and Maurice figure Adam out: hisgrief and fear and despair, his love of beauty, the curse that he andhis staff are under (though not how to fix it). Maurice findsartists’ supplies and sets to repairing a number of paintings thatare faded, worn, and in the case of a fine portrait of a beautifuland arrogant young man, shredded. Belle reads, and writes, and getsCogsworth to explain the rope and pulley system used for thedumbwaiters that allow the staff to get around with ease. And theytalk, artist, reader, and beast. Books, art, cities visited, theatersattended (though on different sides of the stage), music and dancingand food. Adam cannot afford to let himself think that the curse willbe broken, but Belle and Maurice are so kind and fun and normal thathe finds himself warming to them.

*Belle is intrigued by the Beast, who shies away from telling themhis name and story. He does not treat her like Gaston does, as apretty little woman to cater to his every need, but as a true friend.He shows her books on engineering and maths and history, fights withher over Shakespeare (she loves Romeo and Juliet; he prefers Much Ado About Nothing), recommends authors to her. If he were human,Belle thinks, she would encourage him to court her. But he is abeast, and a prince, and cursed somehow. But that doesn’t stop hertreacherous heart from falling for him. 

*Maurice is perhaps even more intrigued by the Beast than Belleis. He senses that the creature is young, and lost, and alone. Hesees the sorrow that shrouds Adam, and sets himself to figuring itout. Slowly but surely, he picks away at Adam’s melancholy,encouraging and cajoling by turns. He teaches the Beast to draw again(a pastime given up in disgust when cursed), and shows him how tomake music boxes. He finds that he quite likes the Beast’s wit andsarcasm, his quiet sense of humor. The Beast is dramatic and hasfaced tremendous horror, but it has not quite broken him. 

*It takes rather longer than a week for the curse to break, andBelle and Maurice are not permanent residents at the castle duringthat time. Rather, they come and go, maintaining a facade of normalcyin Villeneuve, though Belle soon decides to spend part of her week atthe castle, and puts it about that she has a job in Lansquenet, thebigger town on the other side of the forest where Maurice sells hismusic boxes. 

*Adam asks her to dance one night, and they spin about theballroom before going to take a break on the terrace. 

*”It’s foolish, I suppose, for a creature like me to hope thatone day he might earn your affection.”

*Belle gives him a funny look. “Of course not,” shesays. “I love you just the way you are.”

*For a moment she thinks the chandeliers in the ballroom exploded;there is a great rushing sound and her hair and skirts whip around.Then the light fades, and Belle, blinking, sees that the Beast isgone and a young man is in his place, staring at her in disbelief. 

*For a long moment they just stare at each other. Is this theBeast? Belle hesitates, not wanting to say anything stupid. But thoseare his eyes, and that expression of wonder and surprise and, andlove is something she’s seen on her Beast’s face before. Shesmiles at him, and touches his face. “If I profane with myunworthiest hand/this holy shine, the gentle fine is this,” shebegins, quoting Romeo.

*”Peace!” cries Adam, quoting Benedick, and catching her up into his arms. “I will stop your mouth!”*Maurice gladly gives the young could his blessing. And as the French say, they lived long and had many children. (They also had one of the wealthiest and happiest provinces in France and due to a Certain Fae named Agathe, entirely avoided that unhappy conflict known as the French Revolution. But that’s another story.)

[robotnik-mun]

Robotnik Art Historia- Part Four: Age of the Eggman

Welcome one and all to the Robotnik Art Historia, where we examine the visual depictions of Robotnik over the years! Well beautiful friends, we’re close to the end here, and it’s rather appropriate given that the particular ‘era’ of the books covered here is where things really began to end for the old Robotnik, with a new Robotnik emerging to take the place of the old- Robo-Robotnik, an early one shot villain, who after devastating his own Mobius was moving in to the current one in order to re-live the thrill of conquest. Uploading his consciousness into a body modeled after the modernized Eggman design from Sonic Adventure, he would take over as central villain to the book, and usher in a time when SEGA would finally start exerting more and more control over the book in order to align things more closely to the games, having decided that they wanted a more consistent depiction of their mascot and his world. To sound off that declaration, an adaptation of Sonic Adventure would become the first major plot after issue 75. Afterwards came what I like to call ‘The Dark Ages’.

Now, for each person, when and why ‘The Dark Ages’ started up is a matter of interpretation. Personally, I place the deterioration of things as happening after the Sonic Adventure adaptation finished- this is era that would give us Green Knuckles, the Love Triangle, Freedom Fighters In School, and the thrice accursed art of Ron Lim (more on him below). It was an age of uneven storytelling and even more uneven art. Yet despite having long since been permanently killed off, Robotnik managed to linger on all the same. Fittingly, this era would feature some of the crappiest art of Robotnik yet, and at the same time would signal his temporary return to the books... in what was probably one of the worst Sonic issues ever. 

19. Chris Allan

A former regular on the Archie Ninja Turtles comic, Chris Allan theoretically should have been a perfect fit for the book, having demonstrated more than enough skill in drawing anthropmorphic animals that would qualify him to handle Sonic. Unfortunately, Allan was a rather prominent example of what I call ‘Sonic Complacency Syndrome’- it’s when an otherwise skilled and competent artist’s abilities turn to complete shit when they try to do Sonic. It has felled more than a few, and serves as a good illustration as to why it takes effort to do this shit right- Allan’s Mobians were poorly, poorly executed, and try as he might he could never quite get them right. He was selected to illustrate the ‘Tales of the Great War’ stories, which helped to flesh out the (underwhelming) details of the Great War and how Robotnik came to be Warlord. While his Mobians were sub-par, he managed to do a pretty good job with Robotnik. There was nothing in particular that stood out about his take on the guy, but given how the rest of his work ‘stood out’, that’s prolly for the best. 

19. Frank Strom

Frank Strom’s enduring legacy on the Sonic Book was the creation of the Dragon Kingdom and all the characters associated with it, including the infamous Monkey Khan. Frank Strom before working on Sonic was heavily involved with DC’s Looney Tunes comics as a writer, and worked extensively in Adult Comics. When it came to drawing for Sonic, he was.... not really all that good, at least when it came to Mobians. He had more luck with humans, including Robotnik, and was among the few to draw the guy before he had the bionic earsa nd eyes. While there is nothing especially bad about how he drew Robotnik, there’s something very... off, about the way he looks. Bit of an uncanny valley thing going on there. And as many before him did, Strom is yet another to draw Robotnik with a bulbous nose. Out of all the features that artists drawing the guy seem to mess up, it’s more often than not its his nose- which is ironic, given that this design has the least exaggerated nose out of any Robotnik and Eggman out there. 

20. Suzanne Paddock 

Susan Paddock is a bit of a mystery- she has only two Sonic works to her name, only one of them being a proper story, and I can’t really find much of anything about her career outside of the hedgehog. Still, the one story she illustrated for was perhaps one of the most out there ideas in all of the book- a story where Sonic winds up in a rules obsessed zone and has to clear his name with the help of a lawyer Sally Acorn called “Sally McAcorn”. Yeah, that’s not dated or anything (for those of you who weren’t children of the 90s, Fox in those days had a comedy tinged lawyer show called ‘Ally McBeal’, best known for birthing the ‘dancing baby’ meme of the early internet).

 Anyway, Paddock’s art style in general was really weird, and her depiction of Robotnik was no different- in this Zone an AI called ‘J.U.D.G.’, at some point in the past there was an organic Robotnik, and just... look at him. He has teeny tiny T-rex arms! And his body looks like it was glued onto his legs! Damn this was a weird ass story, and I’m still not clear if it was meant to be implied that the past Robotnik became J.U.D.G.E or not... yeah in addition to being weird, this was a crappy story in general. It was also the last time Robotnik in any form would appear in a Super Special, as between this stinker and the even worse ‘Naugus Games’ the line was cancelled. 

21. J. Axer 

Jeffrey Axer was one of a number of artists on the book who started out as a fanartist, and easily one of the most well regarded- bringing to the book an incredibly detailed anime-influenced aesthetic, he was responsible for some of the most gorgeous artwork to grace the early 2000s era of the book. Which is why its such a crying shame that the only times he got to draw Robotnik 1.0 where in a pair of Pro-Art pieces, both of which were miscolored. Seriously, why is it so hard to remember that his eyes are red against black??? Why??? Ah well- Axer’s Robotnik was cool looking, taking much of the SatAM Robotnik and making it fit into the anime aesthetic very nicely. I especially dig  the fang-like eye teeth and attention paid to his cheek bones. 

22. Ron Lim

Hooo boy, Ron Lim... I still wonder if he was a victim of Sonic Complacency Syndrome or if he just didn’t give a shit. Either way, Lim was a former Marvel hotshot who was particularly well known for his work on Silver Surfer. I am convinced that the reason he got the job at Archie was purely on the basis of having been a big name at Marvel, because lord almighty his artwork was just horrendous. Well, that’s not entirely fair- Ron Lim is in fact a very skilled artist, but the problem was? He was a poor, poor, poor fit at Sonic with a near total inability to even vaguely grasp the kind of style you’d expect for a Sonic book. What was worse though was that despite how awful his work on the book was, Ron Lim stuck around for a long, long time, to such an extent that he was practically the main artist for the book for much of the early 2000s. Yeah, not fun times. 

Naturally, his touch of dung extended to his art for Robotnik. Much like Penders, Lim struggled to reconcile the realism he was used to with the toony exaggeration required of the book, and ended up failing on both counts. Ron Lim’s Robotnik as an end result was a stubby, wrinkly looking guy whose appearance made it seem as though he had been sculpted from butter and was in the process of melting. Not helping matters at all was the fact that the story he appeared in was one of the very worst of the series, and a personally despised one. Lim’s Robontik is noteworthy in that it might be the most realistic looking of the various attempts at drawing Robotnik... this however was not a good thing, as much like Penders, Lim’s Robotnik was caught in an awkward area between realism and tooniness, and executing neither well. Still, this wasn’t the worst drawn Robotnik on the book. That distinct honor would go to the next on our list...

23. “Many Hands” 

Many Hands. A name which will live in infamy. Okay technically ‘Many Hands’ wasn’t a person but a bunch of people, but twice this name has popped up and twice the end result was just odious. Look at this. Just... look at this. Do I really have to explain why this is awful? He looks like a deflated baloon, his shoulder pads are all wrong, and the coloring and shading is just *garish*. This is probably the worst drawn Robotnik in the entire series, and given all the shitty art that came before and after that’s REALLY saying something. 

24. Dawn Best 

Another of the ‘New Wave’ of fanartists-turned-pro that hit the book in the early 2000s, Dawn Best was a much anticipated addition to the books, having made a name for herself in fan circles as a superb artist. She showed a great deal of promise, much of which was unfortunately squandered thanks to Ken Penders’ absolutely abominable inks making a hash out of the bulk of her art. While he slowly improved down the line, the damage was done. Regardless, Best remained pretty popular. She only managed to draw Robotnik once- her take on Robotnik was an especially chunky and brutish looking specimen, with a shaggier and more unkempt mustache than most. As I say far too often than I like, its a shame we could not have seen more from her... both regarding Robotnik and in general.

And thus we bring this chapter of the Historia to a close. Well friends, it’s the beginning of the end now- after this there will only be one last post to this artist retrospective, as we exit the Dark Age of the book and enter into what was a bright and shiny renaissance- the Flynn Era!