#VIS. THE ARTIFICER.

[85-rend]

I did that color wheel challenge over on twitter!!

[morebagels]

i love all the ELSE tracks, but this one is of my favourite three just for its really. hard to describe but incredible vibes. like you're barely holding onto something, fragmenting and breaking away. fits that even if it didn't make it into the base game, it'd be right here huh?

[animusrox]

TOP 10

Past Lives

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

How to Blow Up a Pipeline

Poor Things

Oppenheimer

Barbie

BlackBerry

The Holdovers

The Iron Claw

Killers of the Flower Moon

MY LETTERBOXD Grade A 11.    The Killer 12.    Beau Is Afraid 13.    Dream Scenario 14.    Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 15.    Godzilla Minus One 16.    American Fiction 17.    They Cloned Tyrone 18.     Evil Dead Rise 19.    Eileen 20.    The Artifice Girl 21.   Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem 22.    Talk to Me 23.    Reality 24.    Leave the World Behind 25.    A Thousand and One 26.    Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One 27.    Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. 28.    Theater Camp 29.   Carmen 30.    Merry Little Batman 31.    Priscilla 32.    Society of the Snow 33.    Infinity Pool 34.    Enys Men 35.    Sanctuary 36.    Rye Lane 37.    Skinamarink 38.    Monster 39.    Anatomy of a Fall 40.    Landscape with Invisible Hand 41.    Reptile 42.    Sisu 43.    Pinball: The Man Who Saved the Game 44.    No One Will Save You 45.    Tetris 46.    May December 47.    The Zone of Interest 48.    V/H/S/85 49.    Dumb Money 50.    El Conde 51.    Arnold 52.    Maestro 53.    Napoleon 54.    20 Days in Mariupol 55.    Influencer 56.    The Creator 57.    Origin 58.    Thanksgiving 59.    Next Goal Wins 60.    The Boy and the Heron 61.    Bottoms 62.    Wonka

[Press Keep Reading For The Full Graded List]

Grade B

63.   God Is a Bullet 64.    No Hard Feelings 65.    Joy Ride 66.    Fair Play 67.     Cocaine Bear 68.    NYAD 69.    Asteroid City 70.    Nowhere 71.    The Angry Black Girl and Her Monster 72.    Divinity 73.    The Equalizer 3 74.    The Last Voyage of the Demeter 75.    Venus 76.    Butcher’s Crossing 77.    Somewhere in Queens 78.    The Persian Version 79.    Boston Strangler 80.    Polite Society 81.    Miguel Wants to Fight 82.    The Color Purple 83.    The Royal Hotel 84.    Saw X 85.    All of Us Strangers 86.    Fallen Leaves 87.    Ferrari 88.    Elemental 89.    Peter Pan & Wendy 90.    Renfield 91.    Cat Person 92.    Scream VI 93.    The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes 94.    BS High 95.    Blue Beetle 96.    Huesera: The Bone Woman 97.    When Evil Lurks 98.    Dark Harvest 99.    A Good Person 100.    Final Cut 101.    Knock at the Cabin 102.    Quiz Lady 103.    Leo 104.    Air 105.    The Super Mario Bros. Movie 106.    Batman: The Doom That Came to Gotham 107.    John Wick: Chapter 4 108.    Beaten to Death 109.    The Wrath of Becky 110.    Passages 111.    Transformers: Rise of the Beasts 112.    Gran Turismo 113.    65 114.    Sick 115.    Sister Death 116.    The Blackening 117.    Please Don’t Destroy: The Treasure of Foggy Mountain 118.    Flamin’ Hot 119.    Nimona 120.    Cobweb 121.    Totally Killer 122.    What’s Love Got to Do with It? 123.     Sharper 124.    Unseen 125.    Dunki 126.    Bird Box Barcelona 127.    The Marvels 128.    Shazam! Fury of the Gods

Grade C

129.   Wildflower 130.    Freelance 131.    M3GAN 132.    Strays 133.    Sympathy for the Devil 134.    Creed III 135.    Chevalier 136.    The Marsh King’s Daughter 137.    A Haunting in Venice 138.    The Little Mermaid 139.    Silent Night 140.    Master Gardener 141.    The Flash 142.    Fast X 143.    The Pope’s Exorcist 144.    Saltburn 145.    Kandahar 146.    Stand 147.    Plane 148.   Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny 149.    Fingernails 150.    Quicksand 151.    Fool’s Paradise 152.    Migration 153.    Rustin 154.    The Covenant 155.    Good Burger 2 156.    The Pod Generation 157.    Alice, Darling 158.    Insidious: The Red Door 159.    Missing 160.    Shotgun Wedding 161.    You Hurt My Feelings 162.    The Boogeyman 163.    Showing Up 164.    Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom 165.    Champions 166.    Consecration 167.    The Nun II 168.    Biosphere 169.    House Party 170.    The Exorcist: Believer 171.    Big George Foreman 172.    Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves 173.    Children of the Corn 174.    The Beanie Bubble 175.    Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania

Grade F

176.    Anyone But You 177.    Marlowe 178.    Paint 179.    Extraction 2 180.    It Lives Inside 181.    Deliver Us 182.    Trolls Band Together 183.    Finestkind 184.    Corner Office 185.    Wish 186.    Prisoner’s Daughter 187.    Pain Hustlers 188.    Foe 189.    The Mother 190.    Old Dads 191.    Ghosted 192.    Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken 193.    Haunted Mansion 194.    Mafia Mamma 195.    Five Nights at Freddy’s 196.    The Machine 197.    Justice League: Warworld 198.    We Have a Ghost 199.    What Comes Around 200.    Legion of Super-Heroes 201.    The Boys in the Boat 202.    Attachment 203.    Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre 204.    About My Father 205.    You People 206.    Meg 2: The Trench 207.    Pathaan 208.    Rebel Moon - Part One: A Child of Fire 209.    Assassin 210.    Dalíland 211.    Vacation Friends 2

Bottom 10

212.    Sound of Freedom 213.    Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey 214.    When You Finish Saving The World 215.    Heart of Stone 216.    Family Switch 217.    Expend4bles 218.    Sweetwater 219.    Hypnotic 220.    80 for Brady 221.    Spinning Gold

[mrs5sn0w]

Serenade of Shadows

I : A Dance of Shadows -> II : Whisper of Deceit -> A Symphony of Heartbreak-> IV : Fractured Reflections -> V : Shadows of Allegiance -> VI : Echoes of Decent

Series Masterlist

Young!Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

warnings: Arranged marriage, MILD ANGST, unrequited love, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers

Reader's surname : Flare

Time frame : Before, during and after tbosbas

synopsis: In the events of Panem's political dynamics and the 10th annual Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow and her find themselves entwined. Standing at the brink of an enforced union, 6 years later, their mutual trust unravels amidst a damaging misinterpretation, prompting Coriolanus to believe the wrong. As the glacial barriers guarding his emotions begin to melt, a revelation of profound feelings unfolds, initiating a sprint against time for redemption.

The grandeur of the Capitol unfolded like a tapestry of opulence on the day Coriolanus Snow and her were bound in matrimony. The air was heavy with the scent of roses, and the opulent venue shimmered in the soft glow of chandeliers. The Capitol's elite had gathered to witness the union of the President of Panem and the Flare family, one of the most prestigious families in the whole Panem, their wedding was a spectacle that rivaled the most extravagant of royal weddings.

As she walked down the aisle in her resplendent gown, a vision of ethereal beauty, the weight of the ornate veil seemed to mirror the heavy burden on her heart. Coriolanus, standing at the altar in a meticulously tailored suit, wore a mask of composure that hid the turbulent emotions within.

He did not want to be there. He does not want to marry her.

The ceremony unfolded like a symphony of obligations, the vows echoing through the grand hall as if scripted by Capitol decree. Her eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, met with his cold and indifferent eyes. The congregation, unaware of the loveless undertones, erupted in applause as the Capitol celebrated the union of the two.

As the reception commenced, Snow and her navigated the intricate dance of social formalities. In front of the Capitol's watchful eyes, they exchanged pleasantries and smiled for the cameras, their every move orchestrated like pieces on a strategic board.

In a quiet corner, away from the prying eyes, she summoned a smile that barely concealed the turmoil within.

"Corio-"

"It's Snow." He reminded her not to call him by what she called him years ago.

"Snow, we are the talk of the Capitol today," she remarked, her voice carrying a hint of wistfulness.

He nodded curtly, his gaze fixed on the swirling dancers. "It's expected. our union of significance, a merging of legacies."

A fragile smile played on her lips while Coriolanus' eyes remained impassive, a fortress against the vulnerability she tried to breach.

"Sentimentality has no place in our world. Our duty is to uphold the Capitol's ideals. I'm just doing my duty by marrying you."

He then continued

"Don't get ahead of yourself if you think you can have a chance. Everyone may have forgotten what you did, but not me."

"Cor- Snow, I did what I had to do, to protect you-"

"protect me ?" He scoffed

"The only protection you did was throw my future away"

"But you're here now" she argued

"You still did it to me. It will never change." he demanded

He still believes that she did it.

but until this very day, he did not know the whole truth of what she did.

As the night wore on, the facade of marital bliss cracked in the shadows. She resplendent in her gown, felt the weight of isolation. She approached Coriolanus with a delicate grace, her eyes seeking a connection amidst the artifice.

The reception continued, a lavish display of decadence, but in the hidden recesses of their shared existence, the echoes of unspoken pain reverberated. She was once Coriolanus Snow's closest classmates, and she found herself as a stranger in his indifferent world.

"Snow," she began, her voice tinged with both sadness and defiance,

"do you ever wonder what our lives could have been if things were different?"

He looked at her, the coldness in his eyes softened by the moon's gentle caress. "Wondering is a futile endeavor. Our reality is the only truth we know."

"The only thing i wished to be different is that I didn't have to marry someone like you"

"Anyone but you"

Before she could respond, the distant strains of music heralded their return to the festivities. The grandeur of their wedding, an illusion of splendor, concealed the fractured emotions beneath the surface.

As the night waned and the Capitol reveled in the spectacle, Coriolanus Snow and his wife danced through the shadows of their union, a poignant duet of obligation and unspoken regret.

Snow's wife would always remember this day as the day she gave her life up to be stuck in a loveless marriage.

It didn't matter to her, as long as she was married to the person she loves even when he hates her with every beat of his heart.

[jessaerys]

the word father rotted in my mouth: i. tom stoppard, rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead. ii. nurnehpetsnur iii. anne carson, plainwater: essays and poetry iv. see notes. v. see notes. vi. genesis 4:9 vii. anaïs nin, winter of artifice viii. see notes. ix. slider.xxxxxxxx x. josh alex baker, death wish. xi. see notes. xii. eric larocca, things have gotten worse since we last spoke xiii. death note, c-kira one-shot. xiv. leah horlick, for your own good, xv. death note manga, L's death, mello's death. xvi. ocean vuong, someday i'll love, xvii. woyaocharlie xviii. death note short stories, a-kira one-shot. xix. anna belle kaufman, cold solace.

notes under the cut.

*iv. artist notoriously hard to track, there's several images on pinterest that are clearly the same style, tried with all of them and they all seem to come from a long deleted 2008 photobucket folder.

v. & viii. the oldest source seems to be long-deleted posts from this blog, which were re-posts.

xi. this is the only source i can find but i don't think it leads to the artist ): please hmu if you have any leads about all of these.

part of the mine and the bestie’s delusional headcanon that near and mello (& matt) did have somewhat of a mentor/mentee relationship with L (fuck them other kids….) whom although genuinely fond of them was a willing participant in the amoral watari industrial complex (did he care to be succeeded? did he find it amusing or an interesting long term project? were the tests and mindfuckery and hot/cold unpredictable behavior and purposeful sowing of a rivalry between them the only model of family and mentorship he knew and was capable of? did he ever really love them? will they ever know? etc etc etc.)

i’m handwaving away the “we only talked to L once” story as skillfully edited by near because 1. he loves to lie and 2. his complicated relationship with L and subsequent grief AND resentment is still wrapped in seventeen thousand layers of emotional repression and who wants to get into that. 3. also makes mello’s comments in LABB about not caring if near is hurt that he knows more about L than near does way funnier. sibling behavior

anyway the both of them have a brotherfatherhero complex the size of TEXAS but thankfully they can sublimate that in the bedroom through creative kinky means. i know the usual "don't ship them!" rethoric is that they're foster brothers but unfortunately that just makes them a billion times more compelling. to me

[yourplayersaidwhat]

[Warlock is trying to sell off some scrap metal and is trying to haggle with the very tired shop keep in an apothecary and armory]

Warlock, ooc: Okay, I failed persuasion, can I roll intimidation?

Me, ooc: ...Yeah, you sure can, go for it.

Warlock, ooc: 17

Me, ooc: Cool she got a 12. Okay.

Warlock: I know the value of what I am selling you. I will not stand for anything less than 8 silver.

Shopkeep: ...Are you trying to pick a fight?

Warlock: And what if I am?

Shopkeep, reaching for a pair of LoL Vi style guantlets: Alright motherfucker. Outside. Now.

[Warlock, level 3, almost dies just to her reaction]

Warlock, ooc: WHAT IS THIS SHOPKEEPER?

Me: Uh a level 17 armorer artificer. The other shopkeeper is the same but alchemist.

Warlock: Didn't I succeed on the intimidation check?

Me: You did. This is just how a grumpy shopkeep who doesn't appreciate hagglers at 1 in the morning and loves a fight responds to being intimidated. Actions have consequences <3

[thisisnotthenerd]

bigger and better things

an exploration of the bad kids as children and what it means to be destined for greatness

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

vi. gorgug thistlespring

the last time gorgug looks at his parents from eye level, he is four years old. he is taller than most of the other kids in little branch and he’s the only one who can jump high enough to reach the branches of the thistlespring tree and swing on it. 

the fact that he looks different, that he is different, is foundational to his life. the neighbors look at green skin and dark eyes and tusks and say adopted when they come around for barbecues on the lawn. it means not like them.

gorgug doesn’t have grandparents. well, he does, but they’re just not around. they just don’t want anything to do with his parents or him.

but he ignores that, and goes on having fun, playing and going to school, by all rights an ordinary kid. school is hard sometimes–they talk really quickly and he has to try and catch up, try and figure out exactly what they’re drilling into his brain. 

and when gorgug can’t do it, when he gets frustrated, things start breaking around him. he holds a pencil a little too hard and shatters it, the shrapnel going into his hands. 

(when you feel a little mad, it's probably because you really feel sad; just remember your mom and dad; and then you'll start to feel real glad) 

it gets harder as he starts to get too big for the tree. beyond reaching the high shelves, beyond ducking his head to get into the attic where his room is, but truly too big.

sometimes, the lack of space makes breath catch in his chest, makes the warmth of home feel like a furnace. his parents try their best, but there’s only so much they can do.

when he goes to school, he feels a little better, less slouching to fit and more to not be noticed.

it’s not intuitive. he doesn’t get it. it’s hard and it takes work and it’s frustrating but he can’t get angry, he just can’t.

(they call him a pioneer, a brilliant adventurer who combined the power of rage with spellcasting, who brought the artificer’s perspective to a barbarian’s martial prowess)

it helps when he can let it out. sometimes it’s in the workshop, fiddling with wires and twisting them into shapes as his parents bustle around, tinkering. sometimes he cuts wood in the backyard with his ax and lets his feelings out in a pure bout of rage. sometimes it’s just listening to music in his room, letting his heartbeat slow down as the tempo of the song speeds up.

the school counselor says he’s suited to being a barbarian, that him being big and strong and breaking things can be useful to a party.

gorgug just thinks it would be nice to have friends. 

(there will come a day when he puts his body on the line for his party, when he holds off monsters that would devour a being any less resistant than he is)

[atopvisenyashill]

notes on the abandoned child

catelyn vi, a clash of kings / gravel to tempo, hayley kiyoko / the heirs of the dragon, house of the dragon / the winter of artifice, anaïs nin / and now his watch has ended, game of thrones / the body electric, hurray for riff raff / what is dead may never die, game of thrones / a better sondaughter, rilo kiley / script for the black queen / you win or you die, game of thrones / tyrion vi, a storm of swords / alayne ii, a feast for crows / the rogue prince, house of the dragon / driftmark, house of the dragon / under my skin, jukebox the ghost / jaime i, a feast for crows / terminallytwee / the princess and the queen, house of the dragon / the heirs of the dragon, fire and blood / scribblymouse / king jaehaerys with alicent hightower, doug wheatley / catelyn x, a game of thrones / cersei vi, a feast for crows / the wolf and the lion, game of thrones / claws part ii, typhoon / the green council, house of the dragon

[thatswhatsushesaid]

Good hot take, actually. One interpretation of NHS is that he KNOWS it’s not Justice…and just goes for it anyway, because he’s grieving and angry and feels like he has to destroy JGY. And now he’s going to have a VERY fun post-canon. (/s). Idk I love NHS but he’s complicated.

🤝🤝🤝 we are the same, anon. I too love nhs, and you're so right that he is a complicated mess of a little guy who comes by his deep wellspring of rage and fury and trauma honestly. he can't very well go back in time and talk his ancestors out of choosing a cultivation technique that turns each subsequent generation of sect leaders into resentment-addled slaughterers, and he also can't abandon the Nie sect's chosen cultivation path without being unfilial (which is something that I do think matters to him) and ultimately meaning there is no Nie sect anymore.

I realize I'm entering Speculation Station here with my thoughts because the text is never going to confirm or deny any of this for me (or for anyone else lol) but I believe one of the reasons it takes nhs such a long time to enact his revenge vision quest is because he truly cannot decide what he wants to do. I don't think his headshaker routine was all artifice, smokes and mirrors; I do think he learned how to leverage his own indecisiveness quite early to either avoid doing things he just didn't want to do, or to coax sympathy and support out of his friends/family/sworn brothers when he felt overwhelmed by /checks notes, literally anything at all. so not learned helplessness but uhhhh some other thing that definitely exists, the word is just escaping me right now because it's not even 9am on a friday sfkls;k; something something executive dysfunction as both a real problem (boy can I relate to that) and also a means of manipulation? I'll mull that one over.

also, I think over the years he genuinely just goes a little crazy from how much he needs the person he feels most personally betrayed by!! which is also how I feel about jgy vis-a-vis jgs to be honest, tho I would say jgy has an iron grip on his executive function and, if he did become a ghost post-guanyin temple, would probably be the type of ghost who rises from his mortal remains and tries to go into the office anyway.

[coolvieilledentelle]

VIRTUELLEMENT SENSIBLE...

Le virtuel peut ronger de l’intérieur. Il peut tuer à petit feu...

Sur la toile, on aime, on se « like » mutuellement, on se découvre... On s'aime et on se tue petit à petit... On exprime nos rêves, nos envies, nos angoisses, nos peurs... Mais isolés dans notre sphère réelle, on se retrouve seul !

Pas de réconfort, pas de regard tendre, ni de caresses. Il n'y a que les mots et leurs immenses pouvoirs. Les mots et les maux...

Face à nous mêmes, il n'y a que notre propre reflet dans ce miroir. Usés, fatigués par tant d'épreuves. Je suis las de tant de combats, les cernes se dessinent sur mon visage.

'' Je voudrais, j'aurais aimé '', ce sont des mots que nous écrivons tous. Sur cette toile, nous vidons ce que nous avons sur le cœur. Mais en déversant sur le web nos surplus de sentiments, nous oublions que nous éclaboussons les autres de nos ondes positives, négatives, de notre énergie.

Ces autres, ces « amis » si virtuels qu'ils soient que l'on voudrait rencontrer ou réconforter... Ils n'existent pas dans nos vies, mais ont une place dans nos cœurs... Ils sont là, on ne les réconforte pas comme on le voudrait, mais par la magie de nos échanges, on arrive un petit peu à améliorer leurs quotidiens !

Le désir d'établir des contacts est ancré dans la nature humaine. L'attirance est le fruit de notre chimie interne. Nous produisons des hormones qui créent l'intimité. Nous créons des ponts neuronaux qui relient, d'un cerveau à l'autre, d'un cœur à l'autre. Une fois formés, ces liens ne peuvent être rompus.

Nos cerveaux, nos systèmes nerveux tout entier sont conçus pour que nous tissions des liens profonds et durables... Briser ces connexions peut avoir de terribles conséquences...

Chaque jour, par nos partages, on arrive à dire à l'autre, qu'il soit proche ou qu'il soit loin : « Je suis là ! Et je pense à toi ! » « Ne lâche pas ! Tiens bon, courage, Je t'aime ! »

Mais le virtuel, possède également le pouvoir d'éloigner les cœurs... Un mot de plus, ou peut-être un mot de trop et c'est toute une phrase qui peut être lue dans un autre sens que celui que le cœur voulait exprimer, quiproquos, amalgames...

Tout s'enchaîne, tout doit aller vite, de plus en plus vite, nous ne prenons même plus le temps de vivre, à l'image de cette société aux profonds abîmes, aux valeurs oubliées. Et qui nous a conditionnés à ne plus penser par nous mêmes, qui nous a enseigné à privilégier le fast food émotionnel, l'avoir ayant pris le pas sur l'être, la surconsommation n'ayant d'égale que le paraître...

Alors le cœur triste et gros, le lien même par l'intangibilité du virtuel se brise. On clique sur le fatidique « supprimer » ! Mais même si virtuel qu'il soit, un lien du cœur reste égale à lui-même.

Le cœur n'arrive pas à faire la différence entre le réel et ce qu'il n'est pas. C'est l'aspect basique de l'humain...

Parfois, je sais que je suis perchée haut, que je peux sembler si solitaire ou provenir d'une autre planète. Je suis comme je suis, pragmatique, entière, authentique, unique et sincère.

Quand j'écris, je n'ai pas cette censure qui provient très souvent de la peur de ce que peuvent penser les autres. Mes mots sont « brut de cœur », sans artifice... Sans arrière pensée.

Mes mots ne sont que des mots qui proviennent du fond du cœur, avec une authenticité et une entièreté sans égales. Je sais que nous sommes loin, que peut-être, nous ne nous connaîtrons jamais.

Cependant si tu lis ces quelques mots amis Tumblr..MeWe..Facebook ou ami « liker »... Sache que je pense à toi... Que j'essaye à chaque instant d'avoir le cœur comme une jolie fleur, de m'ouvrir à ce monde si froid et à la fois si envoûtant mais il y a des moments qui me rappellent que je ne suis qu'une femme faite de chair et de sang, aussi imparfaite soit-elle.

Je ne suis pas parfaite, je n'aspire pas à le devenir, loin de là... Et heureusement !!!

Le virtuel ne dispense pas d'être vrai et authentique. Du virtuel... Au réel, Quand les mots touchent, au delà des touches...  

[thetavolution]

20 TAV/OC QUESTIONS

More of these!

Please consider yourself tagged if you want to! Feel free to @ me so I can read them.

This time it's Sebastian (Ingrid's little brother, half-deep gnome and half-forest gnome wizard) and Viktor (tiefling paladin, oath of vengence). If artificer was available, Sebastian would have been that instead though.

This helped me get to know them better.

Sebastian

I. what do they smell like at their freshest? (and/or after a tenday. your choice)

He always smells like a forest and smokepowder, at least a little.

II. what would their blood taste like to vampires?

It'd be coffee. It'd just be straight black coffee with how much he ingests. He'll give a vampire the caffeine jitters.

III. how would they kiss their LI?

He adapts to his LI. He follows their lead on what they want. He's not good at knowing what he wants.

IV. how do they sleep with their LI (what position, does one steal the blankets, is one too hot/cold, etc)?

Dude can sleep anywhere. People joke about the weird positions he falls asleep in. It's no different when another person is added. He'll start the night up against them and then off the side of the bed by morning.

V. what does their tent area look like? where do they prefer to pitch their tent (next to water, covered on three sides, etc)?

He's a tinkerer. He has so many random parts and tools. He has things taken apart to see how they work, or he's trying to build his own. He's also an alchemist so there are a lot of ingredients. Most people fear stepping foot inside because what if something explodes in there?

VI. if they had a set of dnd dice, what would they look like?

It'd be forest green.

Photo from dnddice.com

VII. do they collect anything (gems, bottles, keys, etc)?

Does his artificer supplies count? He has so much of it. He also hordes smokepowder.

VIII. if either, are they part of the astarion/gale book club (magic & literature) or the wyll/shadowheart book club (trashy romance novels)?

Astarion/Gale, but he'd definitely get recommendations from Shadowheart and Wyll to give his sister, Ingrid.

IX. if they had to be put in a “get along shirt” with a companion, who would it be?

Astarion. Astarion's anti-gnome bullshittery would get under his skin. They eventually get along though.

X. do they prefer speak with dead or speak with animals?

Speak with animals. He's half-deep gnome and half-forest gnome, taking after his forest gnome side a bit more.

XI. what are their thoughts on clowns?

He doesn't care for them. They make him uncomfortable ever since the clowning incident of 1476.

XII. their companions are gossiping about them behind their back! who is it and what are they saying?

Back home, Ingrid and their family was gossiped about. Ingrid and Sebastian share a father, but have different mothers. The drama between them is common gossip back home. No matter where he is, his heritage is cause for gossip. There aren't a lot of half-forest half-deep gnomes running around.

The others gossip about how he could be a lawyer with how much he knows legalities of wherever they go. Astarion is impressed and jealous of how good he is at finding loopholes. They'd gossip about how and WHY he's so good at that. What crimes has he committed and justified? (This skill was inspired by Manager to Manager from Central Park.)

XIII. what makes them laugh? what does their laugh sound like?

He stifles his laugh a lot. It's very quiet chuckle as a result. It's hard to get a loud belly laugh out of him. He usually has to be drunk before he lets loose. He does have a good sense of humor though. He particularly loves puns and dad jokes.

XIV. do they have any inside jokes among their companions?

Karlach gets him to put his defenses down and he has a few inside jokes with her. He'd slowly start joking with the whole team eventually.

I am SO BAD at knowing what these jokes would be.

XV. what’s the description of their camp clothes in the inventory menu?

"These clothes smell like they've been rolling around in dirt and explosive powder."

XVI. what’s the description of their underwear in the inventory menu?

"Oh for the Gods' sake, does he have smokepowder on EVERYTHING he owns?"

XVII. how do they celebrate their birthday?

He never liked celebrating his birthday. His narcissistic mother would make the day about herself and what she wanted. Once he moved away, he really had no interest in engaging with it because of his bad memories. He'd only start to celebrate if someone eased him into it and made it about what he wants. He'd want something really low key.

XVIII. what modern day tv show would they binge over a weekend? do they get their LI to watch with them?

His list is more electic than his sister's but equally surprising. They would both watch From, What We Do In The Shadows, and ghost hunting shows together though.

Outside of that, he'd be watching House of the Dragon, Mythbusters, Fallout, and Yellowjackets. He'd also watch Love Island and The Great British Bake Off.

He'd never ask his LI to watch with him, but he'd feel warm and cozy if they offered. It'd make him happy.

XIX. do you have a playlist for your tav? if so, what’s the title + description?

I don't really do titles or descriptions. I just make the title their name and list the songs.

Failsafe — The Choir Practice

This Year — The Mountain Goats

Always Tired — Weathers

Money Issues — Chase Petra

Waving Through A Window — Ben Platt

Hate Myself — dodie

Save Me — Aimee Mann

Safe Travels (Don't Die) — Lisa Hannigan

Little Sister — Trixie Mattel (this song made me think of his relationship with his sister, Ingrid, even though she's older)

Crucify — Tori Amos

A Better Son/Daughter — Rilo Kiley

Narcissist — Avery Anna

feelings are fatal — mxmtoon

all the kids are depressed — Jeremy Zucker

My Ugly — Cloudfodder

Older Than I Am — Lennon Stella

Lemon Boy — Cavetown

Passenger Seat — Death Cab for Cutie

High On Life — Rasputina

I'm Still Standing — Elton John

XX. if you were to try pickpocketing them, what would they be carrying?

So much smokepowder. This man is a walking powder keg.

Viktor

I. what do they smell like at their freshest? (and/or after a tenday. your choice)

Rum and leather.

II. what would their blood taste like to vampires?

I'd say a spiced rum.

III. how would they kiss their LI?

He a bit emotionally stunted at the moment. His kisses begin reluctant. After his walls come down more, his kisses tend to be passionate, as if he's afraid his LI will disappear when he lets go.

I have no idea who he'd romance at this point. Barcus was the original goal, but I can also see him with Shadowheart and Wyll.

IV. how do they sleep with their LI (what position, does one steal the blankets, is one too hot/cold, etc)?

He's used to sleeping alone these days. He's always a bit warm so he's not likely to steal blankets. He's more likely to only be half-covered by them. As he grows more comfortable, he does become a cuddle bug.

V. what does their tent area look like? where do they prefer to pitch their tent (next to water, covered on three sides, etc)?

It's lacking as he doesn't carry a lot with him. He'd be a gunslinger if that were available in BG3 so he has paladin weapons or gunslinger weapons about. He has some clothing in there, but not much else. Can a gun paladin be a thing? They just show up to a sword fight with a gun.

VI. if they had a set of dnd dice, what would they look like?

It'd be red and black.

Image from Crystal Maggie.

VII. do they collect anything (gems, bottles, keys, etc)?

Not really. He doesn't like to have a lot of things on him. He hates owning things he doesn't need.

VIII. if either, are they part of the astarion/gale book club (magic & literature) or the wyll/shadowheart book club (trashy romance novels)?

Neither. He reads, but it'd be his own thing.

IX. if they had to be put in a “get along shirt” with a companion, who would it be?

Wyll. They ultimately have the same goals, but they argue so hard about how to reach them. The fact they're not that far off from each other's beliefs is why they have the worst fights.

X. do they prefer speak with dead or speak with animals?

While he does love animals, he'd say speak with the dead. He wants to give the dead a voice one last time.

XI. what are their thoughts on clowns?

He really doesn't care. While he doesn't want them to bother him, he doesn't feel strongly about them. He does avenge Dribbles because, well, he avenges all those wronged.

XII. their companions are gossiping about them behind their back! who is it and what are they saying?

He's the mysterious stranger with a dark past. Everyone would have opinions on what that dark past is and how much they should be worried about it. What has he done? What has he seen? What is the horrible sin that follows him like a shadow?

He won't open up about his past like the rest of the trauma piñatas at camp, so they gossip about it.

They'd gossip about his love life, too, regardless of who he romances.

XIII. what makes them laugh? what does their laugh sound like?

He doesn't laugh often. He might let out a little amused breath most of the time if someone does amuse him. He'll only laugh loudly and heartily once his walls are completely down with someone. He does enjoy light-hearted comedy and dark humor.

XIV. do they have any inside jokes among their companions?

He would be hesitant to try to joke around. He tries to keep people at arm's length, but they'd slowly creep in. He'd end up having the most inside jokes with Jaheira, Gale, and Shadowheart though.

XV. what’s the description of their camp clothes in the inventory menu?

"Well worn but not well loved, they're haphazardly mended after years of use."

XVI. what’s the description of their underwear in the inventory menu?

"At least he believes in getting new underwear regularly, unlike the rest of his clothing."

XVII. how do they celebrate their birthday?

He doesn't.

He'd only celebrate if someone else does something for him.

XVIII. what modern day tv show would they binge over a weekend? do they get their LI to watch with them?

He probably wouldn't watch a lot of TV. He's more of a reader. If you did get him to watch TV, he'd probably enjoy Baby Reindeer, Breaking Bad, and The Wire. If the right person introduced him to it, he'd also like White Lotus.

He'd only want his LI to watch if they were genuinely interested without his input.

XIX. do you have a playlist for your tav? if so, what’s the title + description?

Big Iron — Marty Robbins

Johnny Guitar — Peggy Lee

Glory of Love — Peter Cetera

Wrong Side of Heaven — Five Finger Death Punch

Million Reasons — Lady Gaga

Idfc - Blackbear (for him and his love interest)

Pretty Pills for Broken Hearts — Cloudy June

Diamonds And Rust — Joan Baez

Further On Up The Road — Johnny Cash

The Stranger Song — Leonard Cohen

People Ain't No Good — Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie — Colter Wall

I Am All I Got — The Dead Brothers

Devil's Backbone — The Civil Wars

I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You — Tom Waits

Lithium and a Lover — Sirenia

Grave In the Valley — Jim & Jesse

I Am Stretched on Your Grave — Kate Rusby

Take Me to Church — Hozier

Devil In You — The Haunted Windchimes

XX. if you were to try pickpocketing them, what would they be carrying?

Money and some lint. He doesn't carry anything unless he has to.

[ping1n]

Thaumcraft thoughts again but this time I'm thinking gameplay rather than lore. Comparing 4 and 6.

To start off, 6 is obviously unfinished. This alone means in a comparison w/ no addons 4 wins without a doubt.

Still, even without addons there are interesting points to make here based on what we saw in thaumcraft 6 and what we might have seen if azanor didn't fall down a well or whatever.

Fundamentals: The first tab of the 'nomicon is far more straightforward, and much less likely to give a new player an aneurysm as soon as they open the book. The only part of this I dislike is how long it takes to get to golemancy. The research system is explained on this tab, but we'll save that for last.

Auromancy: Auromancy in 6 is far more fleshed out than in 4. Plus, I personally prefer the casting gauntlet to wands. It feels much more thaumcraft, and less fairy tale magic. You're using your gauntlet to force the world to your desires. It's badass. And the modular focus system allows you to accomplish so much more. The excavate focus in 4 is a joke. It's slow, the range isn't great and it doesn't do enchants. It makes you feel sad and wet and pathetic. In 6, you make a plan silk touch excavate lvl 2 focus and you tear out 5x5 blocks of raw stone. You feel like a thaumic god, shaping the world to your desire. Is it balanced? Absolutely not. Having auromancy draw from the chunk-based vis system is hilariously broken. Vis cost doesnt matter because you move 8 blocks over and all your magic is back. But so much in thaumcraft is underpowered for the required time and effort compared to other mods, that it's nice to feel powerful for once. Ofc its limited by the small amount of effects in base tc6, but we're going to discount that for fairness.

Golemancy: The tc6 (and possibly 5? idk I never played that version) version of this mechanic is much more useful and interesting. Making golems is a pain in the ass now but theres so much more depth with the customization system. And not having to make a new golem for each task in your process makes life much easier. Though it must be said with how cheap golems were in 4 you could get a golem-based farm up and running much faster. It suffers in some areas, combat golems being pretty much useless except as bodyguards, in which case they try their best ig.

Artifice: The new arcane bore is slightly less expensive and clunky, but it's still ass. Splitting artifice and infusion was an excellent decision. The vis generator is a great addition, though it feels simultaneously underpowered and overpowered - it's basically free, but the generation is so bad you need a few to get the same power as an IE windmill and you'll burn through the aura eventually.

Infusion: Again, splitting this into it's own category is common sense. There are a few interesting new things in this tab: the verdant charms, especially the feeding one, are excellent QOL. The stabilizers and upgrades are good too, but I dislike having to purposefully destabilize an infusion to unlock the research, especially as its essential for what little endgame there is in base. I think the eldritch and void stone altars are new in this version, but they're unobtainable in base.

Alchemy: Tubes work better now. It's a fun time. The transducers are better tho, and can easily trivialize essentia organisation. Hedge alchemy I think is also new, and it adds some nice utility. Aversio is a nicer name than telum and no one liked Arbor anyway.

The Eldritch: Lol. Lmao.

And finally, Research:

NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO STOP RESEARCHING TO GO MAKE A DAYLIGHT SENSOR? OR GET A PHIAL OF AN ASPECT ONLY FOUND IN SHOES? OR WAIT FOR A SPECIFIC PHASE OF THE GODDAMN MOON?? WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH WHAT IM ACTUALLY RESEARCHING?

It's somehow simpler and infinitely more tedious than the tc4 mechanic. At least that was a minigame, albeit a tedious, frustrating game that required multiple thaumonomicon dives (or, yk, an online tool). It also doesn't make sense. Nothing I'm doing here relates to what I'm trying to learn. In 4, the research pattern often had fun nods to what you were actually doing, like having Venenum in a research about poison, or linking all the primals for a late game research. Celestial observations suck. I sleep at night I'm not gonna grab my scribing tools and paper to scribble a drawing of the moon. MC Eternal lets you buy curiosities, which just makes everything so much nicer.

Moving on.

In terms of things I would have liked to not be left behind in 4, firstly I'd like my goddamn outer lands please. Also centivis, but without nodes it really wouldn't make sense. Tbh the whole chunk based aura system is a bit meh, it breaks a lot though it is convenient.

I was going to discuss addons in this post but this is already really long and I'm tired so I'll save that for another day.

[coolseabird]

DS9 Characters as their DnD Equivalents

Sisko: Sisko imo would be a human Abberant Mind Sorcerer.

Abberant Mind Sorcerer: An alien influence has wrapped its tendrils around your mind, giving you psionic power. You can now touch other minds with that power and alter the world around you by using it to control the magical energy of the multiverse. Will this power shine from you as a hopeful beacon to others? Or will you be a source of terror to those who feel the stab of your mind and witness the strange manifestations of your might?

Kira: I think Kira would be a Tiefling or Deep Gnome Oath of the Watcher Paladin (Cardassians are technically alien invaders on her planet), maybe multiclassed with a Light Cleric. (Not the most optimal but this is just for fun)

Oath of the Watcher: The Oath of the Watchers binds paladins to protect mortal realms from the predations of extraplanar creatures, many of which can lay waste to mortal soldiers. Thus, the Watchers hone their minds, spirits, and bodies to be the ultimate weapons against such threats. Paladins who follow the Watchers' oath are ever vigilant in spotting the influence of extraplanar forces, often establishing a network of spies and informants to gather information on suspected cults. To a Watcher, keeping a healthy suspicion and awareness about one's surroundings is as natural as wearing armor in battle.

Light Domain Cleric: Gods of light – including Helm, Lathander, Pholtus, Branchala, the Silver Flame, Belenus, Apollo, and Re-Horakhty – promote the ideals of rebirth and renewal, truth, vigilance, and beauty, often using the symbol of the sun. Some of these gods are portrayed as the sun itself or as a charioteer who guides the sun across the sky. Others are tireless sentinels whose eyes pierce every shadow and see through every deception. Some are deities of beauty and artistry, who teach that art is a vehicle for the soul's improvement. Clerics of a god of light are enlightened souls infused with radiance and the power of their gods' discerning vision, charged with chasing away lies and burning away darkness.

Jadzia Dax: I think she would be a Fey Wanderer Ranger or a Hexblade Warlock. (If the weapon fully possessed her lol) I think her being a Githzerai could be cool (Mostly because spots XD) but Aasimar or any type of elf would make sense too!

Fey Wanderer Ranger: A fey mystique surrounds you, thanks to the boon of an archfey, the shining fruit you ate from a talking tree, the magic spring you swam in, or some other auspicious event. However you acquired your fey magic, you are now a Fey Wanderer, a ranger who represents both the mortal and the fey realms. As you wander the multiverse, your joyful laughter brightens the hearts of the downtrodden, and your martial prowess strikes terror in your foes, for great is the mirth of the fey and dreadful is their fury.

Hexblade Warlock:

You have made your pact with a mysterious entity from the Shadowfell – a force that manifests in sentient magic weapons carved from the stuff of shadow. The mighty sword Blackrazor is the most notable of these weapons, which have been spread across the multiverse over the ages. The shadowy force behind these weapons can offer power to warlocks who form pacts with it. Many hexblade warlocks create weapons that emulate those formed in the Shadowfell. Others forgo such arms, content to weave the dark magic of that plane into their spellcasting.

O'Brien: O'Brien would be a human artificer, Artillerist subclass.

An Artillerist specializes in using magic to hurl energy, projectiles, and explosions on a battlefield. This destructive power is valued by armies in the wars on many different worlds. And when war passes, some members of this specialization seek to build a more peaceful world by using their powers to fight the resurgence of strife. The world-hopping gnome artificer Vi has been especially vocal about making things right: "It's about time we fixed things instead of blowing them all to hell."

Bashir: I think Bashir would be a human Celestial Warlock. It's healing focused and his power not being original to him (but from a pact) kind of echoes his genetic modification in my opinion. (If this were a real campaign, his patron could be something he doesn't like telling people about)

Your patron is a powerful being of the Upper Planes. You have bound yourself to an ancient empyrean, solar, ki-rin, unicorn, or other entity that resides in the planes of everlasting bliss. Your pact with that being allows you to experience the barest touch of the holy light that illuminates the multiverse.

Worf: I think he screams paladin. I would make him either a Githyanki (for obvious reasons) or a Half Orc (I think it'd be similar to his being torn between the human and Klingon worlds due to his uprbinging) His devotion to honor and idealistic Klingon values is very important to him, even when compared to other Klingons. I think Oath of Glory would make a lot of sense. I don't think he'd be a perfect paladin by any means but I think he'd strive to be. (Also possibly a multiclass with war cleric?)

Oath of Glory: Paladins who take the Oath of Glory believe they and their companions are destined to achieve glory through deeds of heroism. They train diligently and encourage their companions so they're all ready when destiny calls. The tenets of the Oath of Glory drive a paladin to attempt heroics that might one day shine in legend. Actions over Words. Strive to be known by glorious deeds, not words. Challenges Are but Tests. Face hardships with courage, and encourage your allies to face them with you. Hone the Body. Like raw stone, your body must be worked so its potential can be realized. Discipline the Soul. You must marshal the discipline to overcome failings within yourself that threaten to dim the glory of you and your friends.

Odo: 100% a changeling also 100% an Order Domain Cleric

The Order Domain represents discipline, as well as devotion to the laws that govern a society, an institution, or a philosophy. Clerics of Order meditate on logic and justice as they serve their gods, examples of which appear in the Order Deities table. Clerics of Order believe that well-crafted laws establish legitimate hierarchies, and those selected by law to lead must be obeyed. Those who obey must do so to the best of their ability, and if those who lead fail to protect the law, they must be replaced. In this manner, law weaves a web of obligations that create order and security in a chaotic multiverse.

Quark: Kobold I think would make a ton of sense (loving shiny things XD) I also think he'd be a Rogue Inquisitive/ Lore Bard multiclass.

Rogue Inquisitive: As an archetypal Inquisitive, you excel at rooting out secrets and unraveling mysteries. You rely on your sharp eye for detail, but also on your finely honed ability to read the words and deeds of other creatures to determine their true intent. You excel at defeating creatures that hide among and prey upon ordinary folk, and your mastery of lore and your sharp eye make you well equipped to expose and end hidden evils.

Lore Bard: Bards of the College of Lore know something about most things, collecting bits of knowledge from sources as diverse as scholarly tomes and peasant tales. Whether singing folk ballads in taverns or elaborate compositions in royal courts, these bards use their gifts to hold audiences spellbound. When the applause dies down, the audience members might find themselves questioning everything they held to be true, from their faith in the priesthood of the local temple to their loyalty to the king.

Garak: I think Garak would be a Drow 100%, I also think he'd be a Mastermind Rogue.

Mastermind Rogue: Your focus is on people and on the influence and secrets they have. Many spies, courtiers, and schemers follow this archetype, leading lives of intrigue. Words are your weapons as often as knives or poison, and secrets and favors are some of your favorite treasures.

Inspired by this post by @bijoumikhawal

Go read it!

I'm new to DnD so if you have any other ideas please comment/ reblog with them! I'd love to hear it :)

[dorminchu]

Insult to Injury: The Director’s Cut — Chapter 06

a\n: Commissioned art by @marianaillust​ and @addictivities​ respectively.

Also: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

VI: WHY CAN’T I FORGET YOU, AND START MY LIFE ANEW?

At twenty eight Safin had no family or friends to call upon, nor piety. Nothing left to cling to but indomitable rage, sluiced away to expose the rot beneath artifice. The matter of his survival depended entirely on his abilities. For twenty eight years, he sought the wrong answer to his existence. A fleeting moment of vengeance could never compare to a legacy. Gostan endeavored to leave himself behind in a more permeable way than obituary.

Gostan's facility in the Kuril Islands, The Poison Garden. Before it was repossessed by the FSB, his father and a man called The Cipher worked together. Gostan had the knowledge of myriad poisons while The Cipher provided funding. Assassinations became suicides. Alternatives to euthanasia. Guntram Shatterhand, a colleague of The Cipher's, took command after Gostan died. An affluent horticulturalist, he could never appreciate its beauty.

Safin’s first job for QUANTUM began with Guntram Shatterhand and The Pale King. “You’ve worked for Shatterhand before,” said the contact. “In ’96, the Austria job.” Safin disguised his ignorance with a protracted stare. “Lucky for you, The Pale King isn’t one to hold a grudge. All that matters is that you accomplish the job.”

A colleague of The Pale King, The Cipher, otherwise known as Le Chiffre, was the kind of man who bet his entire fund in a short sale. If he crippled smaller economies in the process, so be it. The Pale King had functioned as QUANTUM’s head of finance until the mid-nineties, when Le Chiffre took control and spent the next decade at his own whims. Funding wars, drug cartels, human trafficking, gambling, nothing was below Le Chiffre’s interest. The Pale King had enough of it.

MI6’s new operative, 007, was his own complication. A real wildcard, with no problem blowing up an embassy in Madagascar to apprehend Le Chiffre’s bomb-maker. His recent attack on a private airbase put Le Chiffre in the public headlines and cost his latest stock investment. Not to be outdone, Le Chiffre decided to host a last-ditch game of poker at the Casino Royale in Royale-les-Eatix in order to break-even.

Vesper Lynd, a British Treasury agent with no prior field experience. After her lover was detained out of MI6’s jurisdiction, she struck a deal with Le Chiffre for his survival. The prize money should be transferred through Le Chiffre’s account back to The Pale King.

007 waltzed into the casino and introduced himself to the socialites as James Bond, as though he were a celebrity. He did not smoke. Drank steadily. Not to excess. Played well, up until one of Le Chiffre’s associates slipped digitalis in his martini. As 007 drank, the regulars at the table had not touched their own. And when 007 excused himself, staggering away from the table, the game proceeded as if nothing had happened.

Lynd excused herself as well. When 007 walked back into the casino, perspiring but otherwise unbowed, Le Chiffre’s confidence could not recover. By the end of the night 007 walked out of the Royale a very rich man, arm-in-arm with Vesper Lynd.

At around five in the morning, Safin was given the order. Le Chiffre was holding them both north of Dieppe.

The vehicle used to transport 007 and Lynd, parked in front of the gate to the French-style summer villa. A hasty departure from the Royale left less time to tighten security. No men on post outside the villa. Aside from his silenced PB and bulletproof mask, at a distance Safin could pass for a standard concierge. Two guards playing cards under the naked bulb, summarily dispatched. The woman, bound at the wrists and ankles, did not look up. With a pistol to the back of her head she shuddered to life, hackles raising.

“Vesper Lynd?” Her trembling worsened against the gun’s barrel. “Where is the money?”

“Password,” she whispered. “It’s an account I have to transfer, there’s a password—”

“Who else knows?”

“No one.” Lynd shuddered. “Just me.”

The gun lifted. From his breast pocket he produced a small cloth. "Thank you." His gloved hand clapped over her mouth and nose. She struggled but could do little with her arms and legs tied. The chair rattled with her resistance. When she went limp, Safin pocketed the rag and moved over to the unlocked door. The stench of stale blood and sweat mingling with freshly-brewed coffee.

007, tightly secured at the ankles and wrists against an upturned chair, stripped naked. The outline of Le Chiffre, crouched with a knife. He rose on the balls of his feet but did not look at the door directly.

“Is the car ready?” Safin did not answer. 007 struggled against the dirty floor, punch-drunk. Le Chiffre nudged the side of his head with a polished shoe, eliciting an animal sound of distress. “Inform the driver I will be running late.”

Safin raised the pistol and shot Le Chiffre in the knee. Le Chiffre cried out, crumpled to the dirty floor, dropping the knife. As he scrambled for it, Safin closed the distance and stepped on his hand. Physical violence itself was often redundant during an interrogation. Psychological warfare, the anticipation of a threat, could give a better indication of a man’s psyche and frailties.

Safin kicked him in the stomach. A gurgling rasp, Le Chiffre doubled over and wheezed. “You know what I’m going to ask.”

“The money? Look—I’ll get the money. You go back up those stairs and tell—”

“Either you’re a degenerate,” said Safin coldly, “or grossly incompetent. Perhaps both. I’ve waited twenty eight years to speak with you.”

Le Chiffre swallowed dryly, his eyes flickering to the PB. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Safin’s grip tensed. “Gostan Radinovich. You sold his weapons to the highest bidder and slaughtered the rest of his family. But you weren’t careful.”

Le Chiffre’s eyes flickered. His mouth thinned. “Wasn’t anything personal. If you put that gun down, I’ll come quietly.” His hand shifted underneath him. A hidden weapon. A pager. It made little difference, with Lynd’s word.

“There’s only one thing you can do for me,” said Safin quietly.

A silenced shot. Le Chiffre’s expression froze. The rivulet of blood bloomed from his forehead. He convulsed softly where he lay, his body exhuming itself of waste, Safin lowered the gun, regaining his composure.

A low, animal groan. 007, semiconscious in the dirt. His skin crusted with blood, as was the metal cane laid beside the upturned chair. Safin averted his eyes out of respect.

That same morning, 007 and Lynd were relocated to a private clinic to receive medical attention. The Pale King’s money was transferred into the account a few months later.

⁂

During the late-aughts, Safin was offered a long-term contract as a fixer by Marco Sciarra, one of SPECTRE’s assassins. Concerned for his wife’s security as well as his own, Sciarra was looking for someone reliable and discerning. Just a button man, as Sciarra put it. His colleagues would gather, talking about anything that came to mind over alcohol and perhaps. The occasional trouble with spouses. If there was a mistress who’d overdosed in the guest bathroom, or a subordinate who couldn’t keep his hands away from someone’s daughter, Safin would take care of it. In this way, Safin gained a deeper understanding into their company woes.

Le Chiffre’s death was weatherable—outside of his monetary value, he had always been weak-willed and perverse. The loss of Dominic Greene, along with the Pale King’s kidnapping, put several more QUANTUM members in the public eye. They already had informants within the CIA, INTERPOL, and to a lesser degree MI6. After the deal in Bolivia fell through, The Pale King began liquidizing QUANTUM’s assets. While this was a significant loss, it presented an opportunity for redemption. Establishing connections with more disciplined operatives, and requesting favours—by 2012, he had amassed enough power and funds to create a private intelligence agency in QUANTUM’s shadow. The Pale King would never reach the level of success he had once had, his loyalty to the company was paramount.

SPECTRE had to diversify its portfolio. Collaborating frequently with smaller, unscrupulous groups looking for a cut of their earnings. Exceptions had to be made for their cohorts, undeserving of a seat around the table at the Palazzo Cadenza. A wordless divide formed between the old blood and new. The head of SPECTRE became increasingly utilitarian and ruthless. Like Le Chiffre before him, he was never “too good” for any business. SPECTRE’s pursuits branched out into counterfeit pharmaceuticals and human trafficking and terrorism.

Their latest operative, a Brazilian with bleached hair, was making the rounds, introducing himself. Safin happened to make eye contact, the Brazilian sauntered over and said, "Lucifer, isn’t it?"

Safin noted the concave in his jaw, slight droop of his eyelid. "Tiago Rodriguez."

The Brazilian huffed. "I haven’t been called Tiago since my resignation from MI6." He took up a spot on the wall next to Safin, as if they were having a casual conversation. "I confess, I assumed you would be older." They sized each other up. “Sciarra is a good friend of mine. He spoke highly of you.” Silva’s eyes scanned his face. The scars imbued. “You dealt with Le Chiffre and 007. Yet you’re still only a fixer.”

“It’s my assignment.”

Silva’s mouth curled. “You learn a lot about a man, in his final moments. It’s very intimate. I’m curious. What was Le Chiffre like?”

“How much does SPECTRE pay for your dental?”

The room went quiet.

Silva, unmoved, looked him in the eyes. Something cold and precise. The same part of him that woke up every morning, in Hong Kong.

His melodic laugh cut through the tension. “That’s very good!” Safin hesitated. This wasn’t really working out the way he’d intended. "It’s strange, Lucy," Silva was saying, glued to his spot along the wall, "you’re the only one here I seem to have any commonality with. Both of us, intelligence officers. Abandoned by superiors in the line of service. Out for revenge in our own ways.”

No one in his life had ever called him Lucy. If they had, it would’ve lasted all of two seconds before they were summarily dealt with. It wouldn’t do to make an enemy of Silva. “How long have you spent rehearsing this?”

"I’ve always had a knack for improvisation."

Best to humour his ego a little. “What is your business with SPECTRE?”

"Cybersecurity. It’s far from my only endeavor. Just between us—I’ve been fortunate enough to establish a contact in Hong Kong. By the next quarter I should have my own investment." Safin said nothing. "I’d even be willing to give you a discount."

"I’m not interested."

Silva huffed. "Oh, come now. No one is that antiquated."

"It’s bad for business, to shit where you eat. Look what happened to Greene."

Silva hummed, as if this was a point worth meditation. "You’ll learn to compromise, if you ever come to work for SPECTRE. Don’t let your intelligence get in the way of an opportunity." He clapped him on the shoulder.

That same year Silva’s quest for vengeance ended with MI6’s head of SIS, Olivia Mansfield. 007’s interference cost them intel on a dozen NATO agents, and their hitman Patrice; Safin assumed his seat. The surviving members of SPECTRE assembled at the Palazzo Cadenza.

Their leader, Ernst Stavro Blofeld, surveyed them with a look of polite but unmistakable disapproval. Time and time again, Blofeld pulled the organisation away from certain collapse. Despite the string of incidents over the last six years, there was no lasting ill-will felt towards him from any member at the table. They were bound together by something deeper than the need for money or power.

"It is a shame," he said, "that we have lost two of our operatives. I will commend Patrice for his efforts, with NATO. And Silva for his tenacity. Yet, he also drew SPECTRE’s name into the light. We have made this mistake before, with Mr. Greene. There will be no repetitions, going forward." His voice was light and flat. He had an enigmatic smile and childlike gleam about his eyes whenever discussing a topic of interest, or destroying his enemies—there was little difference. Silence around the table in anticipation of his decree. Blofeld smiled. "At the same time, it would be foolish not take advantage of this opportunity. MI6’s standing has been brought into question. We are already in the process of infiltrating their numbers. Now we will see to it that they devour each other.”

⁂

By 2014, the hot topic of contention among SPECTRE operatives was the new head of SIS. "Mallory is a thorn in our side," said Max Denbigh, the latest import from MI5. "But not impermeable. He’s just cleared out a derelict lab down in London for construction. We believe he plans to manufacture a biological weapon, similar to the one used during the false flag operation in West Africa."

A former SAS Lieutenant Colonel, the only stain on Mallory’s immaculate record was Project Heracles. Peace did not exist without the threat of consequence. The cruelest man could not return to a family of distended corpses. In theory, Heracles was more efficient than a traditional assassination or malfunctioning automobile. Somewhere down the line, every man became expendable. Most did not appreciate this truth while they were alive.

Denbigh was on pace to become Director-General of the Joint Security Service—a proposed merge of MI5 and MI6 into one branch for the sake of transparency, which should go into effect next year. During this period, a series of global terrorist incidents would generate favour towards the proposed global surveillance initiative, “Nine Eyes”. SPECTRE would be given immediate, unrestricted access through the Centre for National Security. Contact had been quietly established from a private intelligence compound in the Saharan desert.

"SPECTRE’s machinations were achieved with careful planning," Dr Vogel said. "If we allow Heracles to fall into the wrong hands, the weapon will point back to the scientists.”

"We can simply dispose of them as necessary."

"The nanobots require DNA samples," Blofeld said. "By what means would these be acquired?"

"You’re familiar with Smart Blood? That’s a tracking device we inject into the arm of every operative in the Joint Security Service. With Heracles, an injection won’t even be necessary. All it takes is a little DNA and skin contact."

“But it will be impossible to control,” said Abrika. “What is to stop a group with ill-intent from targeting our families?”

Denbigh shook his head. "It’s only an idea. It will be fine-tuned during development. Progress will be much smoother once the Nine Eyes programme is complete."

"What worked in Africa," said Safin coolly, "will not suffice for the rest of the world."

Denbigh glared across the table at Abrika. “We could be accomplishing far more than we have been, relying on ground missions.” His eyes fell on Safin as he said this. “With no disrespect to our operatives, perhaps it’s time we reevaluated our approach.”

“Doctor Vogel,” said Blofeld, “has already delivered on her shipments. It is Mr. White who came up short. A quarter of a million.” Blofeld’s hands on the table remained still, like a taxidermized model. "Since last year, we’re just not pulling in numbers like we used to." A casual glance in White’s direction provoked no response. "I don’t wish to diminish your contributions, Mr. White. You’ve been a loyal friend from the beginning. No doubt, this is just another rough quarter we have to endure. But given our current diplomatic standing in Africa,” Blofeld said, “I believe Sciarra and Guerra should be capable of handling Safin’s responsibilities for the time being. Field missions are well and good, but if you spend all of your life on the ground it’s easy to neglect the bigger picture." The smile on Blofeld’s face never touched the eyes; it was just another mechanical action. "If there are no objections," said Blofeld, "then we’ll conclude the meeting here."

Safin turned his head to the head of the table. His voice was taut. "With respect to your decision, I think 007 is more of a threat to our operation than—"

"—I fail to see how this is your concern," Blofeld said with a wave of his hand. "Denbigh is keeping tabs on him."

"James Bond has lost us more funding and connections in five years than in the syndicate’s history. If our goal is to weaken the new SIS, as you suggested last year, then we should target their rogue agent."

"I assure you," said Blofeld curtly, "it is within our interest to be patient. It is imperative that we do not fall prey to obsessive suspicion.”

Safin held his tongue.

⁂

Twelve hundred miles away, Madeleine opened the door to her apartment. She kicked off her shoes and set them aside in the closet. She stumbled into her laundered clothes in the basket, from the day before. She cursed and sat down on the side of the freshly-made bed. After three months, she was falling into her new life. The apartment in Lakkegata, a twin room on the topmost floor. Split between kitchen and bedroom, with separate a bathroom. Glass doors on the furthest wall led to a red-brick patio. Amenities included in the bill. No locks on the bedroom doors. Bi-weekly cleaning.

Most affluent twenty-somethings wouldn’t have the presence of mind to think like a criminal. They were caught up in more pressing dilemmas, like aging parents and taxes and strained friendships. Substance abuse. Lack of self-fulfillment. In a clean, well-lit apartment complex, you didn’t need a portable safe stored between the coats and the shoes. Why ever think about installing a hidden camera in the potted plant, unless you were prone to paranoia?

In the safe; prepaid phone, false identification. Voice protector. Beretta, untouched since Zürich. Spare ammo. Cleaning kit. License to carry.

In the space behind the wall, behind the outlets you could make a crawlspace. Store money, jewels. Anything small or easy to misplace from drawers.

As a child, her father’s colleagues were faceless men in double-breasted suits. After her mother died, he figured he could stop dragging Madeleine along to business parties. Feigning interest in her schooling. Her hobbies. Choice of friends. Her mother would have a lot to say about her taste in men.

Last week, her receptionist pulled her aside during lunch and explained she really couldn’t keep fielding her calls. It wasn’t her father. Just a recruiter from the MSF, who knew her from a friend of a friend. "I’m in the middle of putting together a charity gala. You know the conference hall at the Raddison Blu hotel? I was wondering if you would be interested in attending, since you’ve been so loyal to our foundation." To make the MSF look good. Another injection into the public eye. Madeleine called back and said she would love to.

Living alone, there were no prerequisites for her behavior. A copy of Les Fleurs du Mal placed strategically on the end-table. If it was moved, the cleaner had been here. The television was only useful if she was in the mood to listen to music. White noise. Reading aloud to herself in the empty room, or working. On a clearer day she’d sit on the patio and look across at the buildings opposite. The gentler breeze on her face, sunlight. Ambient traffic below. Perhaps she’d rise from her seat just in time for the silenced shot to pierce her breast. Falling back into the chair, blood staining the red brick. Perhaps it would be more subtle. The patio door sliding open. A hand on her back sending her headfirst over the metal railing. It could be the maid.

Another empty casket and eulogy. A small handful of colleagues she hadn’t talked to in years would materialize, offer their condolences. Then everyone would go home. Her father's final mistake, rectified.

Without the emotional baggage, her gun was a necessary evil. Without practise, it was simply taking up space. So she had taken to frequenting the nearest gun club, twice a week.

She'd reached a point of stability, not comfort. Taking point. Raising the gun. Eyes on the target. Her hands trembled a little. Each shot, a new perforation in the target. Stench of gunpowder. Acrid taste of human rot in the back of her throat. Rush of saliva flooding her mouth. Standing in the snow, clutching the gun in her freezing hands. In the gallery. What guiltless monster said, I did it, and it was nothing personal. You won’t go the way of your mother? What drove a killer towards empathy, if not a different kind of madness?

The one constant in her life was Hinx, her new CPO. He went with her to the range. He had a wrestler’s build, dark eyes. His forearms were thicker than her neck, and he hardly said more than a few sentences to her. His silence was a comfort where Safin’s offered ambiguity.

The other constant, she'd encountered during her first foray to the Raddison Blu hotel. It was her father's idea to visit for her birthday. A quiet, awkward dinner, engaged in a one-sided conversation. All she had to do was nod along, but she brought up her mother. In Zürich, she left behind her old shame. Cowardice masked as civility. She said, without using names, that she'd figured it out herself. She made some excuse to get away.

Conrad was a little older than her but not by much. Clean-cut. Sandy hair. He didn’t give his last name, but he bought her a drink at the bar two floors down. The staff in the restaurant were rather aloof, they both agreed. And there was no harm in a drink. She told him about her clinical psychiatry and he told her about his work in business. It really didn’t matter much. Plenty of men saw the veneer of a well-dressed, attractive woman out drinking by herself and looked no further than the enigma in her eyes. Vulnerability molded into dependence.

But surely, said Madeleine, he didn’t invite her to drink with out of the goodness of his heart.

He got a kick out of that, for some reason. She was awfully cynical.

But you haven’t denied it, she said, offering a smile that didn’t touch her eyes.

Of course, she didn’t sit down out of the goodness of her heart either. There was no such thing as a free lunch. She took another sip. Her head buzzing.

It took very little effort to convince him into going back into his apartment. A meaningless affair to staunch the void inside her heart. It never solved anything but it was something to do to escape the alternative of being left alone with her own reflection. Better, to be percieved as enigmatic and untouchable and desirable. She was picturing his face in the newscast. Another dead body. Someone’s son, perhaps. The only stakes were another dead body. No exploded cars. No broken bodies decorating the pavement. Polite good-byes, no excitement there. 

She had very little time or interest in ingratiating herself with another person. Desire was flattering, but pointless in the long-term, once the spark subsided and there was nothing left to barter. As she got older, the ache in her chest became easier to weather.

Conrad was someone to hold in the dark. Their trajectories were so far removed there was no sense in comparing them.

She woke up early. The sun had yet to surface. There was hardly any sunlight in Norway, this time of year. That morning in Zürich felt years apart, yet inescapable. The overwhelming promise of dread at her door. That sense of peace, clarity, in its wake.

Two hours from now, she had to be in the office. 

Conrad was awake.

He said that he’d like to get to know her better. He’d enjoyed talking to her.

Considering his offer. A means of staving off that emptiness, just for a while. Of rebuilding what was once lost. Smothering all of her unreasonable fears with a veneer of safety. Conrad didn’t have to learn every secret. Nor did she have to understand all of his.

She’d gotten off on normalcy in France, and to a larger degree in her father’s care. There wasn’t anyone in her new life to miss her.

At the apartment, the only signs of activity were her misplaced sheets. The running washer-and-dryer combo. The dishwasher to be emptied. Groceries in the fridge. No alcohol. Maybe go out and have a drink, what could that hurt? It forced improvisation, socialization. Blending in with the people on the street. Waiting for the car to explode. Each night, the weight on the bed was only hers. She showered, redressed and took a couple painkillers. No one was offering her tea.

⁂

The private clinic ran several different operations, including a diversion program. Their focus was on rehabilitative incarceration. Madeleine’s pool of patients came from a selective list. Kęstutis, the senior corrective counsellor, called her a rubber stamp. A short man with heavy-rimmed glasses and thinning brown hair, he was usually fair when it came to the bureaucratic side of her job.

Her office was a bit more spacious. Cream walls, dark wood furniture. Everything was too clean and smelled a little like disinfectant. About as reassuring as a trip to the dentist. No amount of tireless work was going to erase her status as Mr. White’s daughter. Every morning, she placed the gun on the front desk, the staff avoided eye contact. Secure in her office, buried in papers.

The clientele possessed a debonair that would suggest opulence. Always looking to talk their way out of their situation. Offering bribes. Some would attempt charm. They’d take notice of how well she was dressed. Her perfume. Making small talk that only wasted their allotted time with her. She took down their reactions with a detached interest. Yes, of course you’re feeling disrespected. It’s natural. You were in the right, you had to defend yourself.

Guerra, her latest client, in his late thirties. He dressed in a two-piece suit. Madeleine watched him through the window, speaking to the receptionist. Leaning on the counter a little too long. Guerra was here on drug charges. When the door opened he took a seat, body language placid. "You’re new," he said. "How long have you been working here?"

"A few months."

Guerra’s eyes shifted past her, toward the window. "Your receptionist is a little uptight. You’re not going to be like that, are you?"

Madeleine’s attention flickered to follow. The receptionist’s interest in her paperwork a little too protracted. During each session, Hinx was never out of sight. Through the slats of the blinds, on the other side of the door.

“I mean, I don’t know whose dick she had to suck to get this job. It’s a disgrace.” He shrugged. “You’re White’s daughter? Guess you’d know a thing or two about it.”

That didn’t take very long. Madeleine looked him in the eyes. “You will conduct yourself appropriately, while you’re in this office.” Guerra stared back, indifferent on the surface. “Do you not want to be cleared of these charges?”

The flash of insult in his eyes. Shoulders tense. “I was referring to nepotism.”

“You understand,” said Madeleine, “this process requires your cooperation. When I write this report, it doesn’t only reflect on my judgement, but your competence.” Her hand slipped under the desk, on a small button under the lip. She kept her voice stable. “My verdict is the only thing keeping you out of prison. You really think it’s prudent to disrespect me?”

Guerra was unpleasant, but his weakness made it easy enough to corral him into submission. Just another spawn of a successful businessman who’d never faced the consequences for his behavior. He’d brood or make idle threats and take it out on someone else who didn’t have a CPO like Hinx to look after them. Another bloated corpse on the cover of that day’s tabloid, hauled from the belly of the Akerselva river.

The only difference between her and the trust-funds cycling through her office was her clean record.

 ⁂

Next morning, Madeleine came into work. Guerra had canceled their meeting without so much as an explanation. A stocky woman with greying hair and sharp eyes sitting in the reception area, introduced herself as Klebb.

Madeleine bade her into the office. "You’ll have to excuse me. My last client cancelled this morning. I wasn’t expecting anyone else."

The woman did not sit. Under her arm, a manilla folder. Closing the door behind her, she drew the blinds. "You’ve been reassigned."

"I wasn’t notified. You will have to speak to my—"

“I am not here to be coached, Doctor." The woman set the folder down on the desk. "When did you last speak to Lyutsifer Safin?"

Madeleine hesitated. The woman’s eyes scanned her face. "Three—months ago."

"In the seventeen years I have known him, he has never spoken as openly to an outsider as he did to you."

Madeleine hesitated. She hadn’t told anyone a word about Zürich.

"We have eyes everywhere," said Klebb, with the barest hint of a smile. "The recording from the safehouse provides fragments. Not the whole picture. Safin is the son of an intelligence officer who dealt with many poisons. Before he was discharged from service, he was quite formidable."

"He was discharged? For what reason, if I may ask?"

Klebb smiled. It was not a pleasant or natural look on her face. More like something practised. The cruelty shone through. "A canister of herbicide ruptured and exploded at close-quarters. Most of the documents were destroyed to erase his identity." At last, she took a seat opposite Madeleine's desk. “While he was old enough to be attending school in the orphanage, there were many physical fights with other children.”

"Did he initiate these fights?” Klebb stared at her. "Perhaps he felt as if he had no one to protect him from harm."

"It is possible," said Klebb. "He was given many psychological evaluations, but was able to clear all of them. Nevertheless he kept getting in trouble. When he was nine years old, he was set to be counselled on the threat of expulsion. A month after this, the psychologist assigned to him was found dead in his office. It was suspected at the time to be Safin’s doing but unable to be proven. The case was overlooked.”

"Did he get in any more fights after this incident?"

Klebb paused. "If so, they were struck from the record. He was only an orphan."

“I don’t follow your logic.”

“He has no tolerance for what he perceives as a lack of professionalism." Klebb said with a slight scoff. "He has always been this way, even as a boy. Forward-minded. The whims of a progressive activist serve no purpose in his line of work.” Klebb paused. “That is our issue, Doctor. If he is willing to be so open with you, what else is he willing to give up?”

Madeleine was staring at the binder full of Guerra's documents. “If you cannot provide anything more substantial than allegations, I'm afraid I cannot help you.”

Klebb’s eyes narrowed. "Are you suggesting I am mistaken?"

“You are asking me to profile a man I knew for all of one week. You asked for my opinion. I don’t see the correlation you’re making.” Klebb’s scowl deepened. Madeleine said, "I’d like to prepare for my next client."

Klebb left without a word.

Kęstutis came down for a visit. “Ms. Klebb was here to see you.”

“I cannot help her.”

Kęstutis paused. "Is it safe to say, that you would be able to profile Safin accurately if he were in-person?"

Madeleine stared at the stack of papers regarding Guerra’s case. “I imagine so.”

"And you are due to attend the charity event in March?"

"That’s correct."

"Very good," said Kęstutis, smiling the same way Klebb had. "I believe we can negotiate."

⁂

After Silva’s termination, Blofeld enforced a new policy. Every operative and guard at the Palazzo Cadenza must undergo mandatory visits to a specialized clinic, selected by Blofeld. The operative’s families and associates must be vetted, in the interest of preventing another crisis.

As long as he said whatever the therapist was looking to hear, he’d get out in a matter of hours.

The clerk at the front desk—a lithe man in his mid-twenties—was speaking to the client, in this case an elderly woman with dyed hair and too much makeup. "I haven’t seen you before."

"Yes, I’m new to Oslo." He readjusted his glasses. "I take it you’re here for an appointment?"

Ms. Bartlett confirmed this. "Are you English?"

"Originally," said the clerk. "I’m sorry, I’m rather busy."

The plate on his desk read Winston.

Safin gave his name—Zahov—and appointment—issues relating to peripheral neuropathy.

"Dr Swann is running behind schedule," the clerk said. "She’ll be with you in a few minutes."

Dr Swann.

Safin nodded curtly. The waiting room, sterile, uninteresting. Guerra, who had been coming here for weeks, was sitting opposite the window into the office. The blinds were drawn. Hinx stood by the door.

He caught Safin’s eye and nodded. Just a pair of white-collar businessmen. “Cancelled. Now I’m stuck sitting on my ass waiting for a new therapist.” He scoffed. "No hard feelings about the assignment, eh?"

Safin said nothing. His mind was consumed by the scope of his approach. The usual story wouldn’t work as easily with a familiar party. Swann’s veritable grudge against him and his family. Whatever she had been told might not be true.

Guerra made some blasé remark about urine sample and/or collection. Company perks. Perhaps if he didn’t fuck, Safin said, he would not be in this situation.

The corner of Hinx’s mouth turned up.

Guerra’s scoff was mirthless. “Now you can talk.”

“I have no choice but to listen.”

“Mr. Zahov?”

Safin stood up, tense. Walked into the office. Dr Swann glanced up over her desk. Indifferent to him. "Have a seat and we’ll begin."

No sign of familiarity. Dr Swann levelled with him. He did not break eye contact or hesitate to answer anything. Walking through general questions. "What is your relationship to your parents?"

"My father was an officer. I have two brothers and a sister. We are not close."

"You grew up in Russia?"

"Moscow."

"And you attended military school from 1993 to ‘96."

"Transferred."

Dr Swann paused. "There is a discrepancy, between what you have told me and what I have here." Safin glanced up sharply. "Psychological evaluation in ‘92, followed by hospitalization. Three weeks. Then, military school."

Safin told her a story of a kid who coerced him to steal eggs from the industrial refrigerator. It fell onto him and killed him. He’d only heard about it secondhand, from the older kids. But Dr Swann listened attentively. "These kinds of situations aren’t always so cut and dry. There are a lot of factors, in your life and I’m willing to guess, in this boy’s situation as well."

His tone lowered. "Your life is different from mine."

"In what way?"

He looked at her outfit. The well-tailored suit and dress. Shoes to match. "You understand the theory. You see patients on the other side of a desk. You go home. You do not live as they do."

"It’s common for children who have gone through to place the blame on themselves."

Safin scowled at her. "It’s fear of harm that keeps men in line." He glanced at the bowl of pink candies. "Upset a power structure, you create a vacuum. Many smaller operations fighting for control. There are no scruples. They impose their will upon the same people who were promised civility under the original hierarchy. Someone must keep the peace."

“Is that how you view yourself? As a lesser evil?”

"Where they cannot act, I have no qualms." He sat back in the chair. "My options are… limited, with respect to my condition."

"Does it concern you, that you might die with your work unfinished?"

He frowned slightly. "I will die at the whims of my failing body." At the hands of an enemy operative; whichever comes first. "I’ve made peace with it."

"And what if you were to become so sick, you couldn’t continue?"

He looked her directly in the eyes. "That’s inevitable for every one of us, Dr Swann." A small smile she did not return. He let the silence hold, studying her past the point of normalcy. She did not break it, nor acknowledge his attention.

The meeting concluded. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, I think so.” She paused. “You’re only scheduled here for one meeting.”

“You seem preoccupied,” he said.

“I’ve had a busy morning.”

He stood as though to leave.

Noting the weariness in her posture, spine a little too stiff. Beneath the immutable shell, what else was there?

“Are you all right, Madeleine?”

She stiffened. The erosion of that formal barrier into a tacit acknowledgement. Better to give one’s enemy an out than close every door. “I’m fine, thank you.” She met his gaze. The color of her irises, closer to grey than blue. This would not be the last time they spoke.

Clearance took anywhere from a couple weeks to a month, irrespective of orders. Blofeld preferred to keep each operative in the dark, working as usual. This way the verdict was a surprise.

Without new orders from Blofeld, he had to lie low. This was not strictly unusual. Mr. White told him to keep an eye on his daughter, and this did not necessitate making his presence known to the outside world.

Hinx confirmed a few key points: Madeleine did see her father in November, according to the staff at the restaurant in Raddison Blu. She frequented the gun range twice a week. She would go out with a handful of colleagues from the clinic, but never took anyone home.

The bug in her apartment, planted by the housekeeping, depicted another side to Dr Swann. Still going through the motions. Alone, with a glass of white wine. She drank more often when she was alone, but never to excess. The door would close after the sound of the pneumatic hiss. Anything to fill the empty space.

Her instinctual fight-or-flight response rewritten into a constant, soothing panic.

Conrad was Dr Swann’s longest-running foray. He’d talked her into Kavakava to learn Argentine tango. Despite the pretense of familiarity, Madeleine was never seen with him, or spoke of him outside of work. Safin would be able to get what he was after without any complications. He waited for Conrad to arrive home from work. "Waiting for someone?"

Conrad side-eyed him over his glasses. "Yeah. My girlfriend." Fumbling with a cigarette. Older than he looked, at a glance. "She’s not usually this late."

"How long have you been engaged?"

"A couple weeks." Conrad frowned slightly. "We’re not—sorry, I’ve got to take this."

“Put the phone down. She’s still at the clinic.” Conrad’s hand went still. “You’re just something to occupy her time.”

“What the hell?”

"You’re a sensible man," said Safin, "and I have no qualms with you." Eye-to-eye. “I’m letting you off easily. You are not to contact her again.”

Standing against the wall further back, in a white dress shirt and black dress which hugged her ass but didn’t cling. She looked as if she’d rather be anywhere else, but the trouble wasn’t worth the effort of moving her feet.

Madeleine didn’t strike him as the type to become overtly attached. They understood each other well, in that sense.

They locked eyes across the room. Recognition flashed over her face like a shadow. She inclined her head.

Leading him through the outer ring of dancers. Away from the centre. His only frame of reference was ballroom dancing at Kazan military school. This wasn’t the same. To be led, and follow, in lockstep with the other dancers. No words exchanged.

Under different circumstances, they might have met. A harmless, miserable existence, ignorant of the intimate relationship with one's mortality. He had surrendered his purpose to a singular goal. He felt that same urgency which she so desperately chased after. That tireless imperative for security. To blend into the shape of normalcy, among this crowd. Understood, if only for a few minutes.

⁂

The people working at the clinic, said Madeleine, were especially callous. She never appreciated what she had before, too busy pushing others away. The stamp of nepotism she couldn’t quite shake, no matter how many hours she put in.

Madeleine scoffed. “You insert yourself into my evening and don’t have the decency to explain yourself?”

"I see."

"You don’t seem surprised."

“You’re becoming a better actor than you were in France.” The look in her eyes did nothing to deter him from studying her. 

“How long have you been following me?” There was a lower pitch to her voice. A frenzy beneath the anger. Safin said nothing. “Perhaps I misled you. But you need to let this go.”

Safin looked at her clearly. “This?”

“It is not conducive to my interests, to be seen with someone from work.”

"I’ll walk with you," he said. She looked up. "It was not my intention to disturb you."

At the slightly dilapidated front desk of the hotel, she checked in under an alias. Long corridors in a faux Soviet-style. “There’s a piano bar, here. I haven’t gone there myself. You’d like it.” Up the lift. Following down the hall. Unable to outpace her loneliness. He couldn’t take his attention off her. The artificial smell of her perfume, permeative on his clothes, burned into his senses if he inhaled too deeply. Eating away at his restraint. She stopped at her room, unlocked the door.

“Well, this is it.” Her shoulder pushed the door a little wider. “It’s rather cold,” she said. “I needn’t have asked you to accompany me all this way.”

For each life she cast aside to spare her own, she only injured herself. So he would have a little coffee, for her sake.

This occupation and lifestyle left no time for conventional relationships. A psychological evaluation did not stop him from considering her in ways best left tacit. It was her profession to get into the heads of clients unsure of themselves.

Madeleine’s room was a suite with separate bedrooms. L’Occitane products in the bathroom. With a little scowl, she mentioned how the establishment down the street was rented to a loud party. “It’s usually like this, the later it gets.” She glanced at the window. Expression shifting. “But I don’t mind the noise as much as I used to.” Even with the windows closed, the beat of the synth permeated through the room. The strobe flickered, as did her resolve. “I don’t—usually do this.”

“With one of your clients?”

Madeleine hummed. “There’s a first for everything, isn’t there?” Plush carpet muffled the sound of her approaching footsteps. His window of opportunity or entrapment, shrinking around him. This close, all she had to do was wrap her arms around his neck. A hidden lens in the lamp within a twenty-foot radius. Her eyes, closer to grey than blue, fixed on him. Caught in an epiphany. “Oh, come on,” she muttered, “that was a joke. I would never do something so indecent.”

What had been covert on the dancefloor, in her office, was no longer so. He allowed her to close the distance.

The truth about women, Silva once told him, is that you can do anything to them, except bore them.

A greater purpose and justification leaving no room for error. That was his only peace. Tracking down his father, obtaining the history of his family’s company, there was no end in sight. This woman offered him the simple pleasure of her company.

Drawing her against his chest. Pressing her to the doorframe. Running his hands over her shoulders, arms, small of her back. His mouth found the pulse beneath her jaw.

Unbuttoning her blouse. Her ribs expanding, deflating. Her attention on him unflinching. The crane of her neck an invitation. He laid his fingers along the jumping pulse.

Tugging her underwear aside, pushing into her. She shuddered, draped her arms around his neck. Forehead to the side of his.

Softer, smaller hands over his clothed stomach. Unfastening his belt. Sliding into his pants to wrap around him. He grabbed her wrist and squeezed down to the bone. The flicker in her eyes, adjacent to fear, carried no hopelessness. A recognition, acknowledgement: I’m a monster, just like you.

Mr. White had always been impartial. She’d been taking the same birth control for years. There was no compunction.

Pointing him into her flesh. The riot of illumination limned the room, over her skin. The glint of her sclera, pupils dilated.

He cradled her face in his palm, never closing his eyes. A flush stained her cheeks, down her throat, below. Her nipples scraped against his clothed chest. Her expression recalling that quiet moment in Zürich, cradling the gun.

In his arms, far more intimate. Her soft, panicked breaths against his cheek. She could order him to kill, and he’d only ask for a name.

Leaning against each other, her mouth just under his ear, she said, “You knew I was being followed.” Safin went still. “You took care of it.” He nodded. So slightly it could be dismissed as turning his face into hers. “Thank you,” she breathed.

⁂

A few hours previously, Conrad walked up the street into a nearby cafe. He passed by the row of booths to his left and had a seat in the furthest corner. The man seated across barely looked up from his laptop. “Were you followed?”

“No.” Conrad handed over a glasses case. “Tell your friend to leave me the hell alone.”

Q's typing slowed. He looked up.

“This guy cornered me,” Conrad muttered. “Outside my apartment. Says I’m not to be speaking to her anymore.” He shook his head. “Thought he was one of yours.”

“Well,” said Q in a practiced tone of indifference, “perhaps you should reconsider your approach.”

“She wasn’t that interested in me to begin with,” Conrad said. “Hell if I know what her taste in men is.”

She’s bored, Conrad. You have to be a little more exciting.

Conrad scoffed, made a half-gesture towards his ear. “He’s got a fucking line for everything.”

Q nodded vaguely. His keystrokes paused. “That’s all I need for now.”

Conrad left toward the bathrooms.

Q left to a rented room two blocks from the cafe. In his room, he took his laptop and removed the glasses from the case and plugged it in, silently reviewing the footage. His earpiece crackled:

Safin, wasn’t it?

“Most of the patients in that psychiatric clinic have had ties with QUANTUM in some form or another,” said Q. “He’s an exception.”

Why’s he interested in her?

“Dr Swann’s father is the Pale King.” A beat of silence. “You remember Le Chiffre?”

A derisive exhale. All too clearly.

“Well, seems he and White and Dominic Greene met in the same division of the French Foreign Legion. There’s another man, Shatterhand. I couldn’t find anything definite on him in the archives.”

She’s our link into their new headquarters.

“Perhaps. Still doesn’t explain Safin’s game.”

It's probably just an affair. Let me handle it. Q exhaled. Smoothing this over to M wasn't his idea of time well-spent. Additional stress went to his aching jaw. Come on, I’d get the information within a fraction of the time.

“You’ve got other uses outside of filling paperwork.”

Let me guess, he brought up parliament again, didn’t he?

“Acatama, actually.”

Scoff from the earpiece. That was eight years ago. Look, Conrad obviously can’t sort out his—

“Double-oh seven,” Q said, “I don’t exactly disagree here, but it’s beside the point.”

What’s the worst I’ve done?

Q paused. “In the field?”

I doubt Dr Swann’s only living here for routine psychological evaluations.

“I suppose not,” said Q dryly. “I’m of no use in that regard.”

I’ll ask around. She still works at the clinic?

Q stiffened. “Double-oh seven—”

Now, Q. I’ll be a good boy. I won’t blow up any buildings.

The call ended.

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” Q muttered to no one.

Safin's alias, Zahov, is taken from Avakoum Zahov versus 07, an unofficial(?) Bond novel by Andrei Gulyashki. You can read about its creation in this article.

The line about women and boring them comes from the 2013 film The Counselor, coincidentally spoken by a character played by Javier Bardem.

Still trying to get a hold on 007 & Winston | Q’s characterization. I’ve always liked the idea that 007's one-liners amuse him more than anyone else, but he’s charismatic enough to get away with it. Next chapter will be his "on-screen" debut.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

what is your experience vis a vis artificers? things you enjoy, things you find irritating, silly anecdotes?

I haven't had a chance to play or play with a lot of artificers. one of my long-time players first joined my group as a kobold artificer and that was hugely fun because she's a weasel who will break everything I throw at her (affectionate) and artificers are great for that; they can really get away with a lot if you let them! I think she'd be even more devastating now because neither of us really knew what we were doing as a player or a DM, respectively, and I do think if she revisited the class now she'd pretty quickly reduce my plots to smoking craters.

I'm currently (for a loose definition of the word, we've been on hiatus to focus on a different mini-campaign for months) playing an aasimar aalchemist artificer (he/they) that I'm very fond of. I wish the character scaled a little more quickly, but it may also just be that I'm purposefully limiting myself by only using spells that I can definitely explain as the result of little potions or inventions that he's building himself rather than using magic. basically my only note is the note I always have, which is that I want more spells lmao

[mwebber]

ARTIFICE'S MARTIAN AUs - A MASTERLIST

all f1 fics can be found on @artifise.

➽───────────────❥

ACTIVE: ↳ for au ideas that are percolating / in progress, in no particular order...

➽───────────────❥

i. a model of the universe

status: work in progress

about: astronaut au with space-time warp elements. mark enters a wormhole, confronts his feelings about seb in every parallel universe he visits, and tries to come home to his seb.

tag: #orfeo ed euridice

ii. bedroom tapes: new york, 1998

status: percolating

about: mark is in his second year of art school when he meets seb, a model sitting in for one of his classes, and falls hard. coming of age, trans love, and the journey of an artist.

tag: #the bedroom tapes

iii. poison & wine

status: percolating

about: cupid and psyche, revamped. wingfic. a treatise on the nature of love.

tag: poison & wine

iv. buttercup & sunshine

status: cooking, almost abandoned

about: bonnie and clyde, good boys gone bad, the nation's most wanted making out while covered in blood and filthy rich from the banks they've robbed

tag: #buttercup n sunshine

v. on the bound

status: work in progress

about: always a girl!seb, a satirical exploration of gender roles in relationships and high profile sports

works: on the bound series link

tag: #che angelo sei

vi. landing strips in stars

status: in progress

about: after an accident leaves her unable to dance, former prima ballerina mark webber finds her next steps in life. a study in metamorphosis.

works: landing strips in stars

tag: landing strips in stars

➽───────────────❥

INACTIVE ↳ for au ideas that are complete / abandoned / put on hiatus for now, in no particular order...

➽───────────────❥

i. chasing cars

status: complete

about: sebmark high school au.

work: show me a garden that's burstin' into life

tag: chasing cars

ii. nobody asks you questions

status: complete, posting in progress

about: hitman!mark & intelligence agent!seb, mr. and mrs. smith fusion au, porny and corny

works: nobody asks you questions series link

tag: #nobody asks you questions

iii. whether a parting be forever

status: complete

about: zombie apocalypse / star wars au set in space, somewhere in the remnants of the hosnian prime.

work: whether a parting be forever

iv. schwanengesang

status: on hold

about: dark academia / music students / psych horror au. murder mystery gone wrong.

tag: #psych horror au

v. show them one last smile

status: on the back burner

about: pokemon au.

ref post

vi. sleeping seb

status: abandoned

about: sleeping beauty / enchanted au

vii. you've got mail

status: abandoned

about: seb sends jenson a wip of his martian fic to beta-read. it's a disaster. but mark ends up really liking it, so that's a win! seb takes those.

viii. 1/5 stars

status: abandoned

about: modern setting, almost all porn. seb runs a nsfw blog and rates mark's dick game. feelings get involved somewhere down the line.

tag: #yelp au