#anyway this is an old experimental drawing i decided to finish to kill time before work :]

[riotshotguns]

to the 5 other people in the world that play fallout 76; woe, aries be upon ye

[springfieldblues]

my long ass review for S32E03 Now Museum, Now You Don’t

warning: LONG because i rambled about history more than i thought i would

id been looking forward to this one because i like art history, especially after seeing how they tried their best to stick to historical accuracy in the previous episode I, Carumbus. this time however….they didnt try that hard. i dont know why i thought theyd go through that sort of trouble again LMAO

but its okay, i dont really expect the simpsons to be the paragon of historical accuracy or anything. especially in anthology episodes told through a particular character's lens (in this case, lisa, whos already feverish so whatever)

first i just wanna say that this is, i guess, less of a review and more of an accidental list of history fun facts. so im just gonna get my general thoughts out of the way first.

the episode was fun! to me at least haha. i mean it got me to think and do a lot of research on my own so that must count for something. besides a couple of really weird ones, the jokes were good. anthology episodes tend to be….not that good but i thought this one was one of the better ones so far. idk.

anyway on to lisanardo da vinky its the renaissance! jesus christ the italian accents in the beginning of this segment were annoying as hell but i also feel like that was the joke lmao. ill be real i kind of tuned out for a second there when grampa started rambling so idk what he said.

i told myself i wouldnt get nitpicky with historical accuracy if the jokes were funny (final edit: so that was a lie) but this meh bit with the pizza guys and mascots was really not worth ignoring the fact that its impossible for italy to have any tomato-based food in the 15th century (tomatoes were brought to europe from the americas in the 16th century, and pizza as we know it today—flatbread, cheese, tomato—originated in the late 18th century)

oh this next part was kind of legit tho. lisanardo, like the real leonardo, became andrea del verrochio's apprentice at his workshop. i loved this next bit:

"Whoever paints the sweetest cherub will have the honor of having MY name signed on their work. That's what great artists do!"

SO YEAH as it turns out, lisanardo painted the sweetest cherubs. the painting here is called The Baptism of Christ, and the real leonardo assisted verrochio in finishing it. specifically, he painted the cherubs in the corner.

this causes verrochio to quit and go someplace with less talented people: a music school (yes, verrochio did quit painting after getting owned by young leo and his mad angel painting skills. he never did anything with music tho, he was more of a sculptor)

alongside lisanardo, in mr largo-verrochio's workshop we have barticelli (botticelli bart), dolphatello (donatello dolph), ralphael (raphael...ralph) and mediocrito (no one that i know of. sorry milhouse) (and kearney i guess but they dont refer to him by name). botticelli and donatello are said to have also been apprentices at verrochio's workshop, but raphael came a couple of decades later so he couldnt have been there. and donatello was too old so that claim is a bit questionable. but anyway

it IS true that leonardo's peers envied him, to the point where he was anonymously and purposefully accused of being gay (a major crime punishable by death in 15th century florence) while he was still working at verrochio's workshop

we are then treated by what im pretty sure is the fourth time the show has used 'at seventeen' by janis ian, this time sung by a dejected lisanardo (man they really do keep making yeardley sing these days huh) who only wishes to be appreciated and not envied.

"I'll show them all! I'll show them all in a secret diary that no one will decipher for 400 years!"

some of lisanardo's future inventions. who wouldve known

so after barticelli, for some reason (revenge??? or something?? what was his plan here idgi) steals lisanardo's diaries full of blueprints of her inventions and takes them to mr burns who i have to assume is pope alexander VI here, they decide to use her inventions for war.

"With these, we can kill the most evil people in the world!! ....Slightly different Christians."

leo actually did this of his own accord. im surprised this is what they decided to do with lisanardo instead of talking about leo's love of nature and vegetarianism (not a single mention of that in this episode? come on...) then again, trying to do good only to end up indirectly making things worse is a very standard lisa storyline. i guess they didnt want to miss the chance to have evil pope burns (very fitting, especially for that era since they were all about money and controlling the people)

so lisanardo decides to leave for france, unlike the real leonardo who was more or less persuaded by his ultimate fanboy king francis I to move to france.

"Lisanardo, I have many questions. Why are you hitting yourself? A nerd says 'what'? And how is it possible that I am rubber and you are glue? Et cetera, et cetera."

that line may seem a little random, like hes just nelson saying nelson things (and i mean, obviously he is) but the real francis also "had an unquenchable thirst for learning, and Leonardo was the world’s best source of experimental knowledge. He could teach the king about almost any subject there was to know, from how the eye works to why the moon shines." so yeah, he did have many questions and lisanardo, finally being appreciated for her intellect, was happy to answer them all. its very interesting how lisa assigned this role to nelson in her retelling of da vinci’s life :^)

and so she lived the rest of her days in france, nat king cole's 'mona lisa' plays because duh, and they make a da vinci code reference because duh. and the segment ends. and not a single time did they show the actual mona lisa painting. the fuck?

(ngl i was fully expecting bart to say 'leonardo da vinky' for a second here)

so this next segment is about french impressionist painters, most likely the batignolles group, a name adopted by the early representatives of impressionism. its much more vague than the lisanardo segment since no one here is referred to by name (except moe, more on him in a sec) but i dont feel like it really matters in this case. bart is prrrrooobably claude monet but its hard to say, this segment is kind of a mish-mash of a lot of things. also i gotta say i really liked how lisa introduced the story to bart with an 'if you hate the formal study of art' and not 'if you hate art' because thats exactly my headcanon. i LOVE the concept of artist bart and whenever its referenced it just makes perfect sense to me.

anyway the segment opens in 1863 at the école des beaux-arts (back then it was actually known as the académie des beaux-arts), preserver of traditional french art styles. skinner reviews his students’ paintings one by one. praises the plain, unimaginative paintings depicting your typical european countryside landscapes. very run-of-the-mill (haha get it...cuz theres….a windmill) (although the real académie didnt approve of such basic stuff, they wanted artists to draw epic historical and mythological scenes) then he gets to barts painting and he gives him an F- because the painting made him think.

(the paintings in this scene arent real famous paintings as far as i know but they are inspired by real paintings enough to get the point across)

in comes barney dressed as bacchus as a model for the students to sketch, which i just loved:

barney: “You prefer robe open or robe off?” skinner: “Just cover your privates with this walnut shell.” barney: “Whoa!!! So roomy!”

skinner gasps in horror at bart’s sketch, which “looks nothing like him” and bart explains that “it shouldn’t; we’re making the art that we feel because we can’t compete with a camera.” damn, you go bart. take that, realism. draw what you feel!!

(also no, you didnt need to hold still for 17 hours for a daguerreotype. 30 min tops.)

nelson haw-haw of the week: FOIE-gras!

so here they are at the moulin rouge (“enjoy it before baz luhrmann ruins it” hey shut up. i love that movie), which wouldnt be built for another 26 years, but it is the most widely known gathering place for bohemians in the public consciousness so i can understand why they went with the moulin. nelson delivers this anachronistic line:

“This époque keeps getting beller and beller!”

which alludes to la belle époque, the golden age of france usually dated from 1880 to 1914. made me snort so ill let that slide

and heres moe! as henri de toulouse-lautrec, who was actually born a year after the year this segment is set in. yo moe szyslak he was just 1

toulouse-moetrec introduces himself as the chronicler of the demimonde (not an actual job). an iconic figure associated with the moulin rouge (largely due to his affinity for alcohol and prostitutes), toulouse-lautrec was also a painter, having illustrated a series of posters for the moulin himself. he simply had to be in this segment, anachronisms be damned, just because they decided to include the moulin. cant have one without the other.

and yes he did have a walking cane where he kept his liquor.

i love how everyone drinks absinthe in this place. theyre bohemians what else would they drink

toulouse-moetrec points out that barts paintings are the greatest thing hes ever seen (and hes seen like five things!) and that hes a genius. milhouse realizes that they should stop doing what the teacher says and use their own minds to instead...start doing what bart says lmao. to the easels!

next we have skinner hyping up chalmers about the art his students made for the salon de paris, an art exhibition that the emperor of france will attend. he assures him that none of these paintings will encourage debate, provoke thought or be out of place at a dentist’s office. when they unveil the art, theyre both SHOCKED at how scandalous the paintings actually are.

this reaction was kind of accurate. impressionism was severely rejected at the salon de paris, due to paintings not looking finished enough to them, they thought they were ugly and vulgar for depicting nudity in a contemporary setting (historical and mythological nudity was fine). these impressionist paintings were sent to the salon de refusés, which is. yeah. the place where they sent the rejects. the salon de refusés does not make an appearance but this scene makes a reference to it when the artists get expelled from the royal salon. also:

“What about our student loans?” “Oh they’ll be refunded. We are not barbarians, I mean, come on.”

(god if only)

so the painters are down because they want the emperor to actually see their paintings. toulouse-moetrec pipes in once again with an idea.

“There is one thing the emperor loves more than anything.” “France?” “No, he hates France.”

apparently the emperor really loves cheese, which makes sense since its napoleon III (who loved cheese) and homer (who loves cheese.) so the painters roll into the salon inside a giant wheel of cheese (obviously.) as lenny said, “Eh, you know French cheese. Very runny.” napoleon III chases after the wheel into a room, where the wheel falls apart after getting chomped on by the emperor. now that they got his attention, the painters proudly show the emperor their impressionist art, which he couldnt be more indifferent about because he just wants to eat his cheese dammit, and he awards them with the royal medallion just to kind of get them out of his way. skinner immediately starts kissing ass (as he does) until marge’s like ‘hey wait a minute. you expelled these students from the royal salon’ and an executioner immediately starts ominously measuring skinners neck.

“Uh, sir...is your tongue sticking out because you’re dead or because you’re mad at me?”

and thats the end of that lmao (gore in this episode, gore in the last episode, and next week we’re getting gore too cuz its THOH, what the hell is goin on)

we get a short intermission with maggie, who wants a story for her too! lisa tells her that renaissance artists loved to put babies in their paintings, especially baby angels.

here she is showing her The Triumph Of Galatea by raphael:

King David Playing The Harp by peter paul reubens:

and a very simplified version of pretty much any depiction of hell by hyeronimus bosch lmao:

not much else to say about this one, really. but i really liked that sky!

the last segment is about frida kahlo and diego rivera. or as bart puts it ‘the one about a fat guy whos wife is too good for him.’ i was REALLY looking forward to this one because i love frida and i thought itd be a cool opportunity for animators to go bonkers and do really cool shit with her art as inspiration…..but the segment is not about frida, its about diego and his selling out to capitalism. and its also yet another story with homer and marge drama. no funky cool animation here. sigh i guess i’ll take it

the story begins in 1929 at la casa azul, frida’s home (now museum dedicated to her life and work.) frida and diego are getting married. this courtyard definitely did not look this way yet back in 1929. also theres something very cringy yet funny about lovejoy saying spanish words the way he does, i honestly cant decide how i feel about that one

the writers know theyre being cringy with their gringoness so they go along with it.

moe: “Spanish for ‘best wishes’!” mel: “Spanish for ‘congratulations’!” bumblebee man: “Spanish for ‘muy bueno’!”

OH YEAH BUMBLEBEE MAN this is his new voice actor, eric lopez! hes not mexican but its still great to finally have a latino actor voicing a latino character and hes very excited to be part of the show so i hope to hear more of him!! im rooting for him

el barto/zorro makes an appearance which i am very confused about. he has jack shit to do with frida and diego and mexico in the 20s-30s. el zorro was set in the spanish california of the early 19th century. their use of the original theme song makes me think they just wanted to flex their disney privileges tbh

lets not talk about that that whole scene was bad

anyway diego announces he and frida are going to new york, without even asking her first. frida is obviously pissed.

“Don’t worry, as a woman, you’ll be treated with much more respect in America.”

so in new york, diego is having a bit of a business meeting with mr burns as one of the members of the rockefellers, who is commissioning him to draw a mural for the rockefeller center. its kinda funny how he refers to him and frida as socialists even though they were very much communists lmao its okay you can say it. ok so far, but then frida says ‘yes, we hate the capitalists! right now, a young socialist is being born who will take them down! mr. bernie sanders. i hope hes quick about it’ and that was a simple enough joke and couldve been left at that but then its immediately followed by this weird as fuck family guy-esque cutaway gag to bernie as a baby:

“Getting a cootie shot should not cost your lunch money. And if you don’t listen to me, listen to the Bernie Babies! What? Everybody’s got goons.” *larger babies start beating up this other baby* “I disavow that, and welcome it.”

this confused me so much that i had to ask one of my american friends to help me understand, but even she was like ‘uhhh yeah thats a weird joke,’ especially now that hes been out of the race for months (then again these episodes take almost a year to produce. i guess they couldnt be bothered to replace it with something more relevant.) whatever that was weird and confusing and unfunny moving on

frida is pretty irked that diego is going through with this deal. after all, it goes against everything they believe in. im not sure how the real frida felt about diego doing the mural, but she did feel a bit of rage during her visit to the united states, especially the obvious disparity between rich and poor. she hated having to interact with capitalists and found americans very boring. in this segment, frida seems to be acting more like the american communist party, which diego got kicked out of for accepting commissions from wealthy patrons. in any case, frida is pretty upset about this whole thing.

and finally we get the first and only kind of surreal frida moment. kinda. maybe. its more cartoonish than anything but im desperate ok

interesting how they felt like they had to add a “don’t smoke” in big letters after showing patty and selma flying away on their giant cigarettes. i wonder if this is something theyre making them do now? i remember hearing something about them toning down patty and selma’s smoking

diego comes home to frida, drunk as hell, followed by the marx brothers. i cant believe they didnt make a marxism joke come on it was RIGHT THERE. THE MARX BROTHERS. KARL MARX. COME ON

frida paints her feelings.

this makes diego realize that frida is a genius and he is not half the artist she is. he proclaims he will now show his awe of her by sleeping with other women, starting “an hour ago.” to which frida replies, “and i will start sleeping with other women, starting two hours ago.” yes this was pretty much their relationship. though im just wondering how the hell did diego not know frida was this kind of artist until now? i know homers an idiot but jeez. art was how frida and diego met, diego knew from the get-go that frida was an incredible artist. i guess the fame got to his head or something. again, homer just being stupid.

“well enough already, while the art is still deco, okay?”

its time for the mural diego painted, Man At The Crossroads, to be unveiled:

rockefeller examines it. good and great so far, and then...uh oh

“Who’s that fellow…? With the beard, and the bolshevik smile…” “That’s the founder of Soviet Russia, Lenin!”

“B-b-but he’s a communist!” “Oh he just attended a couple of meetings.”

rockefeller will not have this communist in the temple to capitalism that is the rockefeller center, so he orders diego to paint over it. diego stands his ground and refuses. despite rockefeller’s threats, diego says that theres only one person he wants to be proud of him no matter what and in true homer & marge fashion, frida is touched by this. they happily leave the rockefeller center.

now, the real story of Man At The Crossroads and the rockefeller center was actually not that different. as soon as the rockefellers found out diego had snuck in a portrait of lenin into the mural, they ordered him to paint over it, to which he refused. diego even offered to include abraham lincoln and even american abolitionists in the mural as a compromise, but the rockefellers simply did not want any references to communism whatsoever. they did not complain about the hammer and sickle, though. yes, they did know diego was a communist and hired him anyway. what did they expect? lmao. diego said:

"Rather than mutilate the conception [of the mural], I shall prefer the physical destruction of the conception in its entirety, but preserving, at least, its integrity."

so they decided to destroy the mural before it was even finished and they never talked to each other again.

diego then repainted the mural at the palacio de bellas artes back in mexico, this time known as Man, Controller of the Universe. this new version included even more communist leaders and a depiction of john d. rockefeller jr. drinking at a nightclub, right underneath a depiction of syphilis bacteria. cue nelson haw-haw:

this was the version they used in the episode also, since the original was, well, never finished and also destroyed. only a black and white photograph of it exists, taken by diego before it was destroyed so he could remake it.

right so, homer!diego then pulls a Barthood and finishes the episode with a large mural summarizing the entire episode. he says some rick and morty thing i didnt get because i dont watch the show idk idc

the end

ALRIGHT NOW ITS TIME FOR THE STORY OF VINCENT VAN MOE

[orangegreet]

No Minor Miracles | Chapter 9

In a Cell, At the Bottom of the World

In which we find out how Aleksander takes the news of his Sun Summoner's impending nuptials.

Alina lay awake in the moonlight, white beams cast across their bed.

Between her thighs, the tacky seed was drying and growing itchy. On this last night at the dacha, they were lazy with keeping clean.

Exhausted and spent, the effort to clean up after every round cost too much and they opted to fall asleep in each other’s arms. Waking only occasionally to refuel with food.

She watched him doze, running her hand through his long loose hair and drawing lines across his features.

She could not leave him.

She could not go home.

At home was something she did not want to face. Did not want to do. At home were people who demanded too much of her and censured her own actions in the same stride.

Running had never seemed so appealing before now.

She could take him with her, keep him as she longed to do.

And the Tsar would die and Nikolai would be put on the throne and someone else would kill Zlatan and they would find someone else to lead the West and it could all be done without either of them.

They could go live in anonymity among the otkazat’sya. They could outlive this whole generation of people and then rise up in the next century if they wanted.

Two Immortals, two creators of the world.

What was to stop them from scrapping it all to start anew? Reducing this world into powder and regenerating something better in its place.

They held the Making at the Heart of the World between them.

Did that not give them the power to decide how the world spun next?

They could create a new world and walk it’s lands from the first day, together. They would ensure equality and freedom for all Grisha from the beginning and they would rule in tandem.

It would be a world made just for them.

With a pang she thought of Tamar. Tolya too. And Nina and Matthias.

Even of the ashes of Pabel.

The bodies of her father and mother that lay at the bottom of the True Sea.

Could she destroy a world which held all of them? Erase the people she loved, both alive and dead from existence?

Pabel would not like it. Pabel who had seen so much hurt and pain in the world that he struggled to remember how to hope.

Pabel who had claimed himself as her first true miracle. “The Sun Summoner made an old man believe things could be good again. That people with power could be good again. I thank the Saints for you, Alinochka.”

To take it all away would be to obliterate that hope entirely. Was that in her?

Her fingers brushed down the neck of her Shadow Summoner, his even breaths filled the space between them.

What would it mean to erase the Fold he created?

She wondered yet again what would have happened if she had been there to push back against his Shadow. What shape would his Shadows have taken in the presence of her Light?

It would not undo the pain he poured out onto the earth that day.

Perhaps it would be wrong to undo it. Wrong of her to clear away the evidence of his agony like wiping a tear drop from the face of the earth.

Pain is memory and Aleksander might not want to forget the few people who made a mark on his long life anymore than she wanted to part with hers.

Moreover, how could she erase the world when so many had made their marks upon it?

Just a few months and she and Aleksander would be together.

That was, if Aleksander choose to stand with her when all was said and done.

The thought of the Tsar and the Tsesarevich and their impending assassination and the secession of the West and the engagement to Zlatan and the murder of Zlatan and the transition of power to Nikolai and herself all swirled around her head, unsettling her anxieties.

Would he instead hate her for eternity? She had told him once that she could endure it. She prayed that was true.

Thinking of it any longer was causing the pressure to build in her chest and his brow was furrowed in his sleep and that was probably because her emotions were bleeding into him.

She placed soft kisses to his face until it relaxed. It relaxed her too.

But then.

His cock was hardening, pressing against her thigh and she welcomed the oblivion of sex. She kissed his pliant sleep-softened lips as he murmured unintelligible words to her and his eyes blinked open.

When he was semi-aware, Alina rolled him to his back, stroking his cock with her tongue before she settled herself over him. Soft groan issued from their throats and his hands spread over her thighs, running down them with splayed fingers in appreciative strokes.

She pressed her hands to his chest and circled her hips, warming him up and feeling the pay off as he grew inside her.

When Aleksander had fully woken, his hands captured her hips in a vice and he held her still while he thrust deep a few times.

Lightning was shooting through her belly and into her core and her head was thrown back in the pleasure of it.

Everything felt suspended. Worries, anxieties, fears. They pushed out from her being and she lived in the place where she and Aleksander dwelled as one.

The need to be close was overwhelming them both and when she pulled up on his shoulders he was already sitting up. His mouth met her breasts and his hand lay against her stomach.

His palm pushed in to feel the tip of his length as it moved in her and her mouth began to water at the feeling.

His other hand went to her lips and she laved his fingers with her tongue. His wet hand pressed firm strokes to the slippery lips of her cunt, ensuring she felt every sensation of him.

“Nothing is better than this feeling, Alina.” He confessed to the valley of her breasts.

She nodded against his hair, clutching his head as they strived to get deeper, tighter, wetter.

As if through this act they could possibly fuse together for good.

“Nothing,” she agreed, “nothing will ever be better.”

Aleksander pulled her mouth to his, struggling to keep the rhythm while he tried to consume her whole.

____________________________

It was at dusk the next day that they gathered their things.

Aleksander stood before her, dressed in his black kefta, hair pulled back into his warrior’s knot. In his face he was still soft and gentle, completely open to her and her alone.

His General’s persona was just at the edge of their room and she knew once they passed the threshold, she would not see him like this again.

May not see him like this again for a lifetime or more after this day.

Alina was already crying. Dense, silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she finished the last clasp over his chest.

His calloused hands held her face and he brushed the tears away with his thumbs.

“I cannot do this, Sasha.” She whispered.

His eyes slid shut and his forehead rested to hers. He breathed a deep, shuddering breath.

“Let us go far away from everything. We can do that.” Alina began in a flurry, “We could begin a quiet life away from everyone. Just for a while. Just for now.”

He was confused and shaking his head but she barreled on, unrelenting, “In a century we can rise up together, partners and creators and we will rule all of Ravka as we were made to do. No one will deny the sanctity of a Shadow Summoner and a Sun Summoner blessing the earth in the same moment. Everything can be ours then.”

Her knuckles were white where she clutched at his wrists and he began shushing her, thumbs still methodically brushing over her cheeks, soothing her.

If she could only make him understand that this would be the best thing.

“Where is this coming from, Alinochka?” She closed her eyes and shrugged helplessly.

His voice was strained as he spoke, “I cannot leave my people. You know that I cannot. My Grisha, all those at the Little Palace, in the Second Army. Grisha cowering from discovery for fear of death, enslavement, experimentation—you know we cannot hide, solnyshka.”

Her people waited for her as well. Waited for her to deliver them from the fate of Zlatan. From the impending alliance with Fjerda which would open hunting season on all the Grisha in the West. How could she even consider abandoning them?

Her legs were crumbling beneath her and Aleksander caught her and clutched her to his chest.

Alina was so full of everything.

Full of power and full of energy and full of passion and of love and of rage and contempt.

Why did it all make her feel so small in this moment?

Her body was some insignificant casing and in her was contained the full fury of the sun and who exactly thought this would fit together well?

She was altogether too young to feel the weight of this so acutely. It seemed that everything would go flying out from her body as soon as she rested.

Had Aleksander once felt this way? Perhaps it would take a few centuries for her to adjust.

Only she did not have that kind of time. Discernment and commitment and loyalty were already tangled inside.

His hand stroked her hair and he murmured into her ear. “Come with me now. Please, Alina. We can be together and lead as we were meant to do. It can all start right now, you just have to trust me.”

The agony of his request flared inside her and she wanted desperately to be able to follow him home.

But again she thought of Tamar—all of her friends and allies and knew that she was the lynch pin in their plan to free the West.

She knew without a doubt that she would regret not following him home anyway.

She thought of the words of his mother, Zlatan fears Aleksander. Zlatan will kill Aleksander, one way or another.

The gasping breaths of Aleksander.

A Fjerdan wolf. A zealous Secessionist.

The tether fraying in her chest.

The feeling of being unmoored. Set adrift.

Alina, floating through space and time, ungrounded, untethered.

Alone.

She had to push forward. Keep to the plan. Trust that her opportunity—their opportunity—would arise again.

They had eternity to figure it out. It was she who had determined they were Inevitable.

She who held this truth in her chest as a perpetual water wheel of hope. Rising within her and renewing her resolve to see through the circumstances before her.

One day they would truly belong to each other. The fires of doubt flared again and again but the truth of their inevitability rose and doused the flames time and time again.

She owed it to give her people their day now—those who did not have eternity.

Her breathing slowed as she composed herself. When her eyes met his, she did not need to voice her rejection of his request.

His mouth scrunched with the bitterness all the same.

“It is close.” She began, cutting off any possible disdain he could offer up.

“I am close to the end of my work in the West. I will come to you when it ends. I will follow wherever you ask when I do. I will devote myself to your will and your life and your pleasure until the world burns up beneath us. And if there is an after I will find you there and my vow will remain the same.”

Aleksander did not have words for the unease he felt between them. The anxiety and the guilt and the shame she was emitting sounded off inside of him like a warning bell.

He simply nodded, bending to gather her mouth in a kiss. One that filled them both with urgency and comfort.

“I will not be able to be in touch for at least three weeks, Sasha. Everything is all right, I just need you to know.”

“Not even—“

“No. I am almost to the end of something. If I have you to fall back on right now, I may not see it through. I have to see this through. For myself.”

He did not like the answer, she could tell. Still, he nodded in acceptance.

When he lifted her traveling cloak from the bed and secured it over her shoulders, he took care to caress her neck with the backs of his fingers as he closed the clasp.

“You promise it will be soon?” He asked.

“I do.”

_________________________

Alina emerged from the Fold well past midnight.

Her goodbye with Aleksander lasted far longer than either of them intended.

Ultimately, she ended up on her hands and knees, head arched back to view the undulating curtain of Shadows as he tugged her hair in one hand and steadied her hips with the other.

His hand wrapped into her locks and he thrust into her from behind with a punishing pace—unwilling to let her forget who had used her body in this way. Who it was who owned her body. Her soul.

Their dual cries were swallowed by the void before them and something about the swirling darkness made her feel even dirtier as she cried out her ecstasy into the void.

His head fell between her shoulder blades, arm supporting her torso as he rubbed her clit with his dripping spend, determined to leave her with another orgasm.

She came again with a whimper and he let her ride it out on his fingers and then pressed his cum back into her with soothing shushes.

She growled and then moaned. She wanted to kick him away but his fingers were still moving, feeding her aching center with his cum and she hated how much it roiled her belly with pleasure.

It was impossible to know if she could ever get enough of him.

When he buckled her trousers for her, cupping her clothed cunt all saturated with his seed, he whispered in her ear, “Wouldn’t want you forgetting me on the journey home, pet.”

And then with a kiss to her mouth, he sent her off into the shadowland.

The literal dark scar of his pain, etched into the earth by his hand.

As if she could forget him in here—her Shadow Summoner had the real flare for theatrics.

She did not want to think of anything but Aleksander anyway—did not want to redirect her focus to the other General. The man whom she would announce her engagement to in a fortnight.

Alina moved through the comfort of the Fold. Feeling as if she were still safe in the arms of her love.

Feeling that, for a couple more hours at least, nothing could touch her here.

She thought again of his request that she follow him home now. Tonight.

Just as she predicted, she already regretted her decision to say no.

__________________________

Three Weeks Later __________________________

Aleksander did not hear the sound of the cheering crowd. His breathing halted altogether.

Over the heads of thousands of people, Alina’s eyes locked with his. Her fear swirled into the swell of his anguish.

His chest tore open and the alley around him filled with a tidal wave of darkness.

Shadows poured out of his body in a geyser of black matter.

Alina was still standing on stage, with her eyes fixed on him while the other General stood beside her, waving to the crowd.

He made quick work, forming his shadow into something he could control, something large and dense which he could sweep across the crowd and use to pick up the little body of the otkazat’sya General and pull it apart into a dozen—

Aleksander froze in place.

His chest convulsed.

The shadow around him was dissolving. Blowing away like the sand at the top of a dune and he did not even have a moment to be properly confused before he fell to his knees.

He saw only blackness.

__________________________

He woke on a thinly cushioned bench, head pulsing with the furious pumping of blood and he put a hand to his forehead.

The metal rod strung between his wrists stymied the movement, clunking across the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck!” He blinked and looked down. Grisha slaver’s shackles. Aleksander shook his wrists in their steel bindings and cursed again.

Metal bars stretched from floor to ceiling across the back half of the stone room he was in. Nothing else was particularly notable with the exception of a small window inset near the ceiling of his cell.

The passing horse hooves and feet he could see through the square told him he was below ground. The brightness of the light told him he had been out a few hours.

Locked in a cell.

Shackled at the wrists.

Alina.

Alina engaged to General Zlatan.

Alina would be married to a Secessionist leader.

He had to get out.

“HEY!” He shouted, calling out beyond himself over and over again.

At the other end of the basement was a door. Aleksander fixed his eyes on that as he got to his feet, yelling as if it were powerful enough to bring the thing down off it’s hinges.

He began to hit the shackles against his cage so the vibrating metal jarred him and the clanging echoed off the stone.

The door to the chamber burst open.

Had there been any room left in his body for a spare bit of shock, he might have felt it as he watched his mother descend the stairs.

He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting desperately for her to be gone when he opened them again.

She was not. Baghra looked at him, sizing him up.

“It is good that I was close by before your little episode could play out, boy.” She said. “It would have been just like you to ruin a perfectly good plan by creating another shadow Fold and turning the public tide even stronger against Grisha.”

The shadows dissipating. How quickly his creation dispersed…

Of course his mother was involved. But then how did he pass out—

“One of our Heartrenders made quick work of you while I cleaned up your mess.”

Aleksander watched her, mind sluggish with disbelief. Pain. Betrayal too.

“I do regret that,” she said, pointing at the slaver bar keeping his hands from touching, “for what it’s worth.”

There was a muffled commotion sounding through the barrier of the door. Baghra glanced behind her and then returned her attention to her son.

“Humph. I supposed I will not have long uninterrupted—”

“Is this where you have been, Baghra?” Aleksander asked. He looked around again, gaining his bearings as he processed the events of the last twelve hours.

“Yes and no. West Ravka is new to me in the last few years. Before this we were mostly overseas.”

His eyebrows raised, surprised at how easily she was answering his questions. Struggling to take advantage of it even as he could barely comprehend the circumstances. The series of events which brought him here.

“You said…a plan—what are you doing?” He asked. “Who are you doing it with?”

Very few times in his life did Aleksander feel like he was out of step.

With Alina, that was essentially the rule. However, now he knew his mother was somehow folded into his captivity, he was growing weary with all the plot points that were not his own.

“Hush boy. There is barely any time to go over all of that with you. I’m here to talk to you about what you really want to know.”

Shadows fell from beneath his clothes at the reprimand. His shackles prevented him from controlling them properly but they congregated around his ankles all the same.

“And what is it you think I want—” He began through gritted teeth.

Baghra rolled her eyes, cutting him off, “Your Sun Summoner, stupid boy.”

The commotion behind the door was growing louder.

Aleksander sneered at her and looked away. The idea that his mother was privy to his desires was a gross realization.

He could not deny it. He hungered to know everything she knew about Alina.

His body craved to swallow up everything everyone in the world knew about Alina. On this side of the Fold, it was clear, just how much of her life was obscured from him.

“As I said, you almost ruined our plan today. The truth of the Sun Summoner is not yet known to the public—at least, not as Grisha. Alina or rather the otkazat'sya 'Anya', is a well loved public figure in the West. This engagement to Zlatan is what we would call an undercover assignment.”

Aleksander grew uneasy as more questions pestered his slow-moving brain. The blood still pumped furiously and the noise outside the door continued and he had not seen his mother is over ten years.

As if all of that weren’t dividing him, his insides were still being eaten alive at the image of Alina’s hand in Zlatan. At the image of a wedding day between them.

Aleksander cricked his neck, determined to focus. “Why are you telling me this?” He growled.

A bang sounded from the other side of the door and a white flash of light illuminated through the cracks.

Baghra had a look on her face that he could not place. She was hesitating—something she never did.

Then her wrinkle-lined eyes met his. Guilt.

He read it on her face, plain as day. Though, it had never appeared to him before. At least not in memory. It was a marvel to witness—rare as the Sun Summoner herself.

“What did you do?” He asked.

The guilt dissolved into a scowl.

“What I always do—exactly what has to be done. We needed a way into the Secessionist party so we could bring it down. Alina was able to provide one for us. She was simply doing her duty—”

The din from the hall was growing louder. Another flash and then a scream.

The door burst open for a second time.

Alina stood, silhouetted on the threshold, chest heaving.

“Get out.” She hissed at Baghra.

The malice in her tone was shocking to him.

Had he not been so murderously heartsick over her in the moment, he might have been aroused to feel something more.

The surge of heat he felt was quickly squashed under the image of Zlatan holding her hand and simpering to the crowd.

Baghra lifted one imperious brow and left out the door.

Alina bolted it behind her.

She practically ran to him. Desperation written on her face as her hands wrapped around his through the bars.

Aleksander stiffened, carefully wiping his face of emotion as he backed away.

“Are you okay? Have they hurt you?”

Her desperate and pleading looks were too much to bear. On her hand, the gleam of the engagement ring caught his eyes. He sneered at the sight of it. Shining, even in the dim light.

In himself he found a cruel smile to give to her.

“Alina. Welcome.” He gestured around himself. “As you can see, my new place is sparse but over time I’m sure I will come to call it home.”

“Aleksander…”

In spite of the fact that he did not want to succumb to his bitterness—at least not immediately—he found that the persistent gleam of her ring would not stop twinkling in his eye and he could not stop himself. “Forgive me, dear. Congratulations are in order, aren’t they?”

Aleksander gestured toward the ring, his hands still heavy with the steel rod. Her eyes lingered on the shackles and then met his eyes again.

She looked afraid.

Good.

He continued, “I should thank you, I suppose. For choosing me to work out all your pre-wedding kinks. As you now know, I am quite skilled between the sheets. My one downfall is that I’m a terrible bragger. I am thinking of writing Zlatan a detailed letter of every way I have used his future wife’s body.”

Horror was painted over her face and Alina shook her head at him. “ You cannot think that I—that is not what happened with us.” She was breathless. Catching up to his words and his emotions.

Both of them once again playing the game of trying to guess the other’s thoughts. Both of them trying again to head the other’s thoughts off at the source.

Alina swallowed, glaring at him with resolve. “Aleksander, no. You mean more than him…that week meant more than—”

“Come now, Alina. You don’t have to be shy with me. I have seen you from every angle now,” The abrupt shift in his tone alerted her that he spoke of more than sex. “Who better to describe every facet of your being than I?”

“Listen to me, Sasha, please—”

Aleksander hit the slaver shackle against the bars of his cage. Alina jolted and stumbled backward as the sound again echoed off the stone walls.

That she would call him that name. That she dare use that name to coax him into submission—it was despicable.

He tore his eyes away from her, willing his emotions to abandon him in the process.

She wanted to be candid, very well. He could provide candor. “You have betrayed me. Utterly and completely.”

Her breath hitched. He did not look at her to see the tears he knew were already in her eyes.

Aleksander continued, voice even and empty, “If I could rip the light out of you and give it to someone else, I would do it. I would do anything to cut my tie from you.”

Anything that will numb it all again.

In his periphery, he watched her legs give out. Silently crumpling beneath her weight until she was kneeling quietly on the floor, her hands still clamped to the bars for support.

“I asked you not to come.” She said, softly. “I said you had enemies on this side of the Fold."

“You failed to inform me that you were one of them.” His tone was still flat and lifeless.

“I am not your enemy, Sasha—“

He stiffened, his jaw clenched. “Do not use that name with me.”

The quiet fury seeped from his otherwise controlled voice. “That you would name me with affection when you have sworn yourself to another man is the gravest of insults.”

Alina reached her arm through the bars, willing to touch him—to have him look at her.

“I am not sworn to him, Sasha."

“You are not permitted to use that name!” He shouted at her, composure breaking as his yell also echoed around the chamber. She flinched.

He paced the wall, breathing heavy from his thoughts. How did this happen? How could he not have known?

How could she not have told him?

Alina took a breath.

“Zlatan does not know me. He does not have my true name nor does he have anything true about me. He is angling for a political marriage with Anya.”

Aleksander huffed.

In truth, even he had heard of this woman. This sainted being from across the Fold capturing the heart of commoners. It was a smart move on the part of Zlatan, this ploy to tie the love of the people into his rule.

Except—now Zlatan would have to be ripped apart by shadow as soon as Aleksander could get his hands freed.

Zlatan, his hand holding Alina’s. Zlatan, marrying the Sun Summoner before the entire country.

“And has Anya spread her legs for the esteemed General Zlatan?” He asked, hoping it hurt her to hear the words as much as it hurt to ask them.

“Has she done her duty for the new leader of West Ravka? This Anya might be a saint but I’m sure the way she uses her mouth and her cunt is completely divine.”

She clenched her teeth, growling at him. Sunlight rose to the surface of her skin and he stared down at her with blank eyes.

"I have never allowed him to so much as kiss my lips.”

He scoffed, “Saving it all for the wedding day, are we? Well I suppose Anya is as big a tease as you are, Alina. The part must be terribly easy for you to play.”

Tears were falling down her cheeks and she gripped the bars as she got to her feet.

“I cannot discuss this with you right now.” She choked on the words, starting to back away.

He launched himself at the door, chest pressed to her fist, trapping her hand around the bar where she stood, already half turned toward the door.

Aleksander’s eyes were feral as they finally met hers.

“You let me believe you were mine.” Her face crumpled further, tears streaming as she spoke.

“I am yours.”

“You are a liar.” His teeth were clenched and to his own growing horror, his vision blurred with unshed tears and his voice cracked. “I have been betrayed by hundreds of people over my lifetime. None have been as cold or as treacherous as this. I will never forgive you for this, Alina.”

Alina stared into his eyes for several long moments. With her sleeve, she wiped her eyes and her nose. Sighing, she pulled away from him.

“You must be hungry. I will be back.”

It was obvious she was about to return only because the yelling commenced outside the door.

Still, the door opened and she stood at the top of the stairs, quite alone. Her demeanor was rankled but she closed the door firmly behind her, balancing a tray on one hand.

Aleksander watched her from his seat as she unlocked the cell and entered. The cage was opened but his hands were still bound and he was dangerously close to her now.

It hurt to be so close.

The tether inside of him pulsed, itching to light up and stretch between their chests as it had done a dozen times the last month. Aleksander closed his eyes and breathed, willing the thing to coil itself back up so he could press it down again.

Alina straddled the bench next to him and picked up the piece of bread, dipping it into the stew on the tray and holding it out to his lips.

Though the cell was open, his hands, evidently, would not be unbound for him to eat.

Aleksander turned his face away from the proffered food and stared out the small window at the fading daylight.

“Would you rather me send someone else here to feed you?” She asked, quiet and small again.

He hated her for it.

“I would rather you killed me than continue to force me through this humiliation.”

Alina sighed and took a bite of the food herself.

Just a few weeks ago, she had fed him. She sat on his lap and spooned jam on a roll and he licked the excess sweetness from her fingertips. Then when breakfast was done, they pushed the food aside and she fed him with her body, legs spread open on the table so he could feast on her cunt with the voracity of a starving wolf. His tongue had explored her, devouring and stroking until she had finished twice. After he had pulled her lips to his, feeding her body right back to her.

The memory sent a lurch through him.

Her eyes met his and she cleared her throat. The regret and shame in his gut told him they both felt the desire of that moment.

Just as he sometimes shared the feelings of her euphoric orgasms, she would feel his desire for her in return.

“Zlatan has never touched me.” She said, their shared feeling a natural lead in. “He will not ever touch me intimately. I swore the truth to you that day when I said I would only be yours.” She put the food behind her on the bench and shifted toward him.

“Zlatan needs me to further his agenda only. He does not require me to even pretend affection. We, my friends and I, are using him to bring me into a place of leverage and power. Once I am established, we will kill him. We know under his lead, we will never get freedoms or protection for Grisha. Under my rule, it will be law.

“Please believe me. There will be no wedding. No newly wedded kiss. No wedding night.”

Alina lay a soft hand on his arm, “I will slit the throat of Zlatan myself. I will do it in front of you if it is what you wish. I would have you watch as I take his life.”

His eyebrows twitched as indiscernible emotions waved across his features. His breaths were quick but deep. He could not deny the image she provided him was a pleasant one and she had all but cooed the promise into his ear.

“I understand you do not trust me, Aleksander. For that, I am sorry. If I could go back and tell you everything, I would.” She chewed on her lip, “Actually, if I could go back, I would have gone home with you when you asked me a few weeks ago. I would do anything to make this different.”

The churning in his stomach had been placated somewhat. The pain at the thought of Alina letting him into her body only to give it someone else had dulled a little.

A plot for power he could understand. Taking advantages when offered freely was a rule he generally followed without exception. This was war and Grisha would never be in a place to be given the freedom of a safe life. The freedom had to be wrenched from the hands of those who withheld it.

Alina took a chance, dipping the bread back in the stew and raised it to his lips again.

His eyes told her he still did not trust her but he did open his mouth for a bite.

He chewed in silence, unsure what to say next.

He wanted to know everything now.

He wanted to destroy her.

He wanted to fuck her until she cried.

He took the next bite offered and chewed.

“And the Tsar?” Aleksander said eventually, “You had him assassinated, did you not?”

She blinked, apparently forgetting her hand in the demise of the ruler of Ravka. Then again, it was not yet public knowledge on this side of the Fold. He had only received the intel hours ago.

“Yes and no. You told me the crown would align with Shu Han. Our Council has had someone in place for a very long time to take out the Tsar and the crown prince at our signal.”

Aleksander closed his eyes and grunted. The information he had shared had been useful to her after all.

He had been arrogant. Idiotic. Believing she would not be able to enter his territory without him knowing.

“How?”

Alina watched him with trepidation. Still, he did not look at her.

“A Squaller. He is young. We sent him to the Little Palace some time ago and he has been there waiting for the right moment.”

“A young Squaller…Kalem from Novyi Zem.” Aleksander said, nodding his head in understanding and internally screaming.

He had been highly impressed with the boy. Overlooked the fact that he was quite impressive for being so new to the Little Palace.

Sighing, he got to his feet, no longer able to stand being near her once again, “You have to let me go, Alina.”

She frowned.

“My army is marching back to Os Alta as we speak. Once the court finds out it was a Grisha who took out the tsar and the crowned prince, there will be no one to protect them. Not the army, not the teachers.”

He looked back at her, scrutinizing her. “Alina, there are children in the Little Palace. Did you not consider this?”

“Of course we did.” She seethed. “Kalem has ensured everything points back to the visiting Shu delegates. No one will be surprised that they have betrayed their own peace talks.”

“But you cannot be sure,” He said, pacing the cell. “You cannot be sure and I cannot stay here when there are people who count on me. Why did you not consult me?”

He glared at her, “Do you doubt me so much that you would go behind my back and put me in this position?”

“No, I do not doubt you!” Her tears and her tone made her surge of desperation all the more evident.

“Then why, Alina!?”

She flinched and then looked at the door.

“It was out of my hands.”

“Do not dare lie to me. You did not need to tell them what I confided to you about the arrangement with the Tsar and Shu Han but you did.”

“I did no such thing!” She got to her feet and was finally angry. "Kalem has been monitoring the situation for months. He knew it was time and he waited for approval from the Council first.”

Alina clutched his arms, forcing him to face her. “It was planned before we went away together. That is why I invited you when I did. I did not want anyone in the Palace to suspect your involvement.”

Frigid air cascaded into his chest, choking his lungs. A bitter laugh tore out of the cold.

He ripped his arms out of her grip and slammed the steel rod against the bars once.

The metal clang rang through the room once more forcing Alina to cover her ears.

He hit the bars again.

Then again.

Aleksander was yelling soon. Loud, raging bellows, deep and guttural, joined the clanging as he hit his hands against the bars over and over and over.

He could not stop the fury pouring out from him along with his shadows. They wafted around him without agency, their master unable to lift his hands to control them properly.

Aleksander shouted himself hoarse and blood seeped from the wounds beneath the shackles and the pool of shadows crept over the floor, filling the room.

Only then did he stop, chest heaving and forehead resting against the cell bars.

Alina approached him with caution. She touched a hand to his back and he stiffened. She flinched back.

“Let me out of here, Alina.” His voice croaked, raw from his rage. “This has gone on long enough. I have to go where I am needed.”

She said nothing for a moment.

“Aleksander, please.” Her voice was so small again and closed his eyes against her. He hated her. He had to hate her. It was easier than loving her.

“Sasha, I need you.”

If he could wish for anything at that moment, it would have been the will to believe her. The will to believe that most of the thoughts and words she had spoken to him over the last few years had been true.

He couldn’t.

“You have just told me that you not only took the throne out from under me, undermining my leadership of both the Little Palace and the Second Army in doing so, but on top of that, this week away together…This time which you so generously granted me, was some sort of ruse to serve your agenda.”

“That is not what I said. You are willfully twisting my words.”

“Am I?” He asked, his voice was empty again. Alina turned his face toward his, her palms were hot on his cheeks and he closed his eyes so he would not have to look at her. The anguished tears on her face already burned into his vision.

“Yes! You do not understand. You are used to being in charge of everything. You believe that I am in charge here but I am not.” Her forehead pressed against his.

He remained unmoved.

“Then take charge, Alina. Get me out."

The door to the chamber opened again and Aleksander turned to see his mother once more.

Alina scowled at Baghra like a feral cat. His mother looked between the two of them and eventually landed on Alina.

“I have convinced the Council it will be in our best interest to let the General return to Os Alta.”

Silence fell between the three of them. It stretched until Baghra let out an impatient noise and gestured for Aleksander to step toward her.

Baghra stood just outside the cell, a key clutched in her hands as she pulled Aleksander’s arms toward her.

Aleksander held still while his mother removed the bar from his wrists. Alina stood beside him, her hands closing over his bloodied wrists as they became free.

He watched her, cataloguing her features. Those wide and fearful eyes, her anger at the wounds he now bore. She wanted to fuss over him and he was tempted to let her.

Tempted to fall back in.

How easy it was to forget she was so young. She was still so malleable and full of raw potential. The people here did not know what it was they held.

And she did not know yet how to withdraw from the influence of others.

Perhaps he should have expected that when she fell out of his grasp, she would end up ensnared in another. Could he hold her responsible for this?

It felt impossible to decide. He was too close to the book and he had to put his mind and his focus back where it mattered.

Alina was out of his purview for the time being.

He tore his eyes from her and looked at his mother expectantly.

“We have horses saddled and ready to return you to the Fold and then on back to the Little Palace. It is expected that you will work with Nikolai, Darkling. As Tsar he will protect Grisha and keep the Second Army in his service.”

Aleksander made no acknowledgement, simply staring at the ancient woman before him. The one who raised him and endured century after century as he did.

He walked around her.

“You have done well without me, boy.” Baghra said to his back.

He scoffed, reaching for the chamber door. Alina was at his heels.

“And this Summoner,” Baghra gestured at Alina. Reluctantly, he turned to look. “She did not choose this. She is doing this for you—to protect you. For the good of Grisha.”

Alina’s eyes stared at the floor in shame as she passed.

Without a word, he followed her through the door.

________________________________

He stared up at the black curtain. The dark of nighttime surrounded them once more and their horses shuffled at the edge of the Fold.

Aleksander looked down at his hands. When he had come through the Fold just last evening, he felt he had something to hold onto.

The Light lived in his palms and was dependent on the strength of his connection to his other half.

Together, he and Alina had ventured deeper into the Making at the Heart of the World and while there, they could use the elements almost interchangeably.

And now, once again, he found himself removed from her. No trust between them—not any more.

Perhaps in time they could reforge something but, as it was, Aleksander could barely spare a thought for the woman who, just a night ago, ruled his very existence.

The pain was too much to bear and the offenses too great a burden to carry.

Only now, leaving it behind was an issue. The Darkling would be unable cross through his Shadow Fold without the volcra descending upon him. Without the protection of her Light—of their connection—it was useless.

“I need your help.” He said. The words wrenched from his mouth. “With crossing, I will need your help.”

Alina was quiet and he sensed the questions she wanted to ask but instead she just answered, “Of course.”

________________________________

The journey through the Fold was silent.

On the other side, Alina swung her body down from the horse without a thought and waited for Aleksander to do the same.

Longingly, he stared out at the field and contemplated taking off for Os Alta without a backward glance. It was easier than a goodbye.

Zlatan’s hand. Zlatan’s ring on her finger. Lie after lie after lie. He was so weary.

When he joined her in the small space between their two horses, he could not help the way his hands gravitated to her cheeks. She was warm in his hands and he wanted to swallow the gasp from her mouth. Wanted to hold his mouth over hers and share the same breath they way he felt they shared the same life force.

Her face was cradled in his palms and for a moment he distanced himself from his own confusion—long enough to look fully into her eyes.

“Alina. I don’t know when I will see you again.” Her eyes closed and she tried to pressed forward but he held her still. Lie after lie after lie. It was too much just now. “And I do not think I want to see you again.”

The space between them grew warm with her breaths which were barreling in hard and quick.

Aleksander felt the panic inside of her. Felt it trying to creep across their connection but he blocked it out as best he could. It hurt to love her and he was a General and he had responsibilities and she was engaged to another General and she promised she would not fuck him but he couldn't process that right now and it gave him no release.

“Do not try to get in touch with me. For now I want to pretend as if you never existed. I want to believe I have not met you. That I have not touched you.”

She cried, her head sagging in his grip. Her tears wetted his hands and he pulled up on her face, demanding her attention. She had to understand that she had pushed him beyond what he was capable of handling right now. She had to understand.

“Do you hear me? Not a trace. Please—I cannot bear it.” His voice broke. Alina’s eyes raked over his face, savoring his features and he knew he looked wrecked as he gazed down at her in return.

Any second he would cave inward, crumble beneath the weight of it all.

She nodded.

Aleksander turned from her, gathered the horse’s reins in his hands and pulled himself back onto the saddle.

He left her there, abandoned her at the edge of the Fold. He did not look back. His palms were still warm from her skin.

________________________________

When he caught up to his troops, it was before they had even completed the return trip to Os Alta. He welcomed the presence of Ivan and Fedyor in his company once more.

The torture of three days spent alone with his thoughts was finally ended and he entered the tent with a renewed sense of purpose.

Divulging all he learned to them—the assassination, the impending secession of the West and any next steps he worked out on a speeding horse in the last three days—returned to him a sense of control.

________________________________

A scant two weeks were spent at the Little Palace, securing defenses and paving the path for the new Tsar. Nikolai proved to be a more natural leader at least than his older brother, may he rest in peace.

Aleksander, thankfully, did not feel the need to grovel before him, nor did Nikolai expect it.

Indeed, when they are alone, save a couple guards at the door, Nikolai confided in his General. “I have received word from mutual friends of ours that you are to be trusted. I hope that is true.”

Aleksander eyed the newly minted Tsar and nodded. He had at least ascertained that the Tsar did not know the role their “friends” played in the assassination of his father and brother.

Nikolai was content to blame the Shu as all evidence indicated and Aleksander held the information close to himself, waiting for the appropriate time to use it.

________________________________

At the request of his Tsar, he returned to Kribirsk a mere fortnight after he left it. Having delivered the news that the West began steps in secession, Nikolai agreed that another trip through the Fold would be required as a final supply run before the inevitable civil war could begin.

The General thrived at the front, well distracted from the issues which plagued him just three weeks before.

Though he had meant it when he told her he wished to believe they had never met, it was not easy to commit to this sentiment for long.

At night, he dreamed of her. Felt her skin under his hands and could not stop himself from taking every part of her body for himself. In the darkness of his dreams she glowed and he watched in awe, always surrounding her, closing her into his cocoon of darkness. Protecting her, protecting them both from the world around them.

He tried not to let it drive him back into madness. Although he wished things could be different, he was at least resigned that it was only a matter of time before they reconnected.

They were magnets—opposite sides of the same thing. One of their existence beget the other and vice versa. What they were could not be undone or detached. How deeply he had missed her. How intrinsically linked they were and how wrong it felt to be divided from her.

They circled each other on and on and into eternity.

For now, though, he stubbornly clung to his hurt.

For her part, Alina did an exemplary job adhering to the promise she made to him. Alina did not so much as twinge in his direction for a solid month. And so, when the inexplicable tugging started in his chest, despite his request of her, a burst of hope radiated through him.

It was immediately followed by dread.

Accompanying the tug was a searing pain, rendered into the very heart of him. The General disappeared into the privacy of his tent, going to her at once.

“Alina?” He whispered, her body a hazy mass on the ground.

She was passed out on a dirt floor. Aleksander could not make out any of her surroundings.

“Alina?” He kneeled beside her.

Dark hair obscured her face and he tenderly lifted it, brushing it away. Her lip was cut and she had a gash across her temple but she was otherwise unmarred.

Her hands were trapped in a similar device used to keep him from summoning just weeks earlier, the steel Grisha slaver rod.

Aleksander lifted her gently into his lap, wrapping an arm around her back and cradling her head in the crook of his arm.

“Alina. Wake up.” Gently, he patted her face.

Her face scrunched.

“Alina, please.” He kissed her forehead.

Eyes blinking slowly, she looked up at him, “You came.”

“Where are you? What happened to you?”

“My friends cannot…” She coughed. “It’s been a while and no one has come…I’m sorry…I d-didn’t know what else to do.” She coughed again and he held a hand to her cheek, bringing her focus back.

“Your friends did this?”

She shook her head, eyes clenched in pain. “You have to tell them…they need to know. ’S going to ruin everything.”

“Who, Alina?” He held her face tipped up.

Her voice was croaky, “H-he is going to kill me in the morning.”

Alina took a deep breath and breathed out a sob which broke her composure, “He will kill me and then he will come for you. He wants you dead, Sasha and I won’t be able to stop him.”

“Zlatan? Alina, where are your friends?”

Her head lolled on his arm, “Look at me.” Aleksander said, jostling her as he brought her face close to his. “What happened?”

“Zlatan knows.” She whispered. “What does he know?”

“That I was going to kill him.” She said, voice fading. “He knows now that I am the Sun Summoner. He knows and now he will make sure I die.”

[enchantingkittengaditor]

The Third Maximoff: Chapter 2

Summary: What if the Avengers didn’t find the last HYDRA base? What if Pietro and Wanda weren’t the only enhanced? Or Maximoff’s? What if the Avengers were going to take on their greatest challenge yet? What if she was a 13-year-old girl who had to live with them? What if she once tried to kill Clint and Nat, and nobody knew but them?

Warnings: Mentions of Violence, Slight mentions Torture and Swearing

But again I know I’m wrong to hope

I always bloody am.

But maybe this time will different with no HYDRA looming over me.

As the trees rolled by the window, houses soared past and fields flashed past I could feel someone's eyes on my back.

I stumbled toward the back of the carriage toward the toilet. I scanned the seats for anyone who was trying not to draw attention to themselves. I didn’t see anyone until I got to the door where I noticed a blond male sitting reading a newspaper while his flip phone sat on the table in front of him. That’s odd, I realized, knowing through missions that most people had things called smartphones not phones that flip anymore and most people don’t read physical newspaper anymore. So why was he? I questioned while closing the door to the carriage before heading to the toilet.

When I came back I decided to sit across from him, seeing as a man wearing a blue baseball cap with a weird beard and US air force jacket had taken my seat. So, I sat down across from him and pulled out my broken, old smartphone and began texting Ruby telling her the news that Katrina had died and begun listening to music. The man started looking at me and out the window so it didn’t look like he was staring at me. During this time I gave him barely any attention only enough to keep an eye on him, but I was focussing most of my attention on blocking all the tracking channels HYDRA could possibly use except for the one only know to me, Katrina and Ruby. While also trying to calm down Ruby because everyone sees her as heartless and emotionless like they do me but I know the truth. I always will. She’s my Best friend and will always be as she is the only other one left alive who knows what it’s like to be raised by HYDRA.

When I was finished protecting my location on my phone I started staring out the window, which was useful due to the fact it was a reflective surface. I watched the blond man text someone and as he placed his phone down the man who took my seat got a text looking my way through his sunglasses. The next stop was Paddington, where I had to get off so I gathered my bags and made sure everything was ready to go as soon as the train stopped at the station.

3 minutes that’s only one song till I can get out of here and maybe away from these two blundering idiots who are drawing more attention to themselves that Ruby and Katrina pulled when were went undercover in a school two years ago, and they were wearing HYDRA uniforms on the anti-bullying day. I noticed every little detail about their movements and body language. They were somehow affiliated with SHIELD and the person who destroyed my home 10 long years ago.

The breaks of the train started to slow it down before it entered the station. This is my chance, I told myself, to be finally free of HYDRA. The only question remaining was how was I going to get to Sokovia.

I stepped out of the train carefully checking for any tails, making sure the two men from the train hadn’t seen the way I went through the crowd, up toward the surface trying to get somewhere where I could see how to get to Sokovia and find my sister.

6 hours earlier…

Steve’s POV

“Why are we doing this again?” Sam asked as we sat down on the train to get ready for a mission Natasha had insisted we did.

“Because Natasha swears there’s a HYDRA base here that’s still operating and she swears she heard something on one of her old spy networks that someone was planning of escaping yesterday. She also thinks they had something to do with the red room. So we’re doing this mission to put her mind at rest,” I responded to Sam.

“So, this girl is a potential deadly assassin who could kill us without us noticing, and the highly trained Russian assassin couldn’t do this mission because…”

“Because if we have to enter the HYDRA base it’s going to be too similar to the red room for her to enter without having a panic attack.”

“OK, and we couldn’t bring Wanda why?”

“The girl… I actually don’t know.”

5 hour and 30 minutes later…

Sam’s POV

“I spot someone who meets the description, Steve. Long white hair, Olive eyes, 5’11, alive,” I stated through the comms.

“Great, but remember do not engage Sam, she can kill us in the blink of an eye our mission is to follow her and make sure she’s not going to kill anyone,” Steve told me in his Captain America voice.

Now…

Yulia’s POV

I started to speed walk toward the red and blue sign that read ‘Underground’, checking behind me in the window of the cafe on my right. They were still following me. I changed my plan. I turned right and walked up the stairs toward the channel, before turning left and walking toward the alleyway on the other side of the bridge. Hoping to trap them and ask them why the hell they were following me.

I reached the end of the alleyway hoping they weren’t the bad people I heard so much about on missions. I turned to face them.

“What do you want?” I yelled challengingly at them knowing they were nervous to walk down the alleyway behind me.

“We want to help you. You ran away from HYDRA, right? We just want to help you start a normal life.” The taller blonde one said stepping forward, while the shorter one looked at him like he was insane.

“Maybe I did maybe I didn’t. But if you really wanted to help you would know that that was exactly what they said to the adoption agency when I was 2. And why should I trust you? You’re American?” I asked trying to annoy them.

“Hey, young lady that’s one hell of an accusation towards the great people of America.” The shorter one spoke up. But as he finished both me and the blonde went eh. Maybe he wasn’t American. “I expected that from her but you Steve really.”

“You should trust us because we know Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton they sent us to get you,” the blond, Steve, said to me

“I despise Natalia, she is the reason for my experimentation, the reason HYDRA made me into the monster I am now. And as for your Clint Barton, I tried to kill him, several times. I only managed to deafen him, sadly. Anyway, I’m not in danger, I am the danger,” I say totally seriously.

“Steve, she’s insane,” The shorter man muttered to Steve but he ignored his friend.

“Would you rather have to sleep on the streets and starve or come with us, get warm and have some food, we can talk about it all then. Plus, if you come with us we can help protect you from HYDRA and your past,” Steve offered, thinking those were my only two options in this ultimatum.

“Where are you taking me?” I pressed record on my phone hoping to send this information to Ruby so she could rescue me from this nightmare.

“Paris,” Short man told me without a hint of emotion.

“Ohh fun,” I respond sarcastically, pressing send on the recording.

“What’s your name?” He asked he was terrified of me, brilliant.

“Which one? My HYDRA codename, my birth name, my nickname from my friends, or the one I was known to SHIELD as?” I responded genuinely interested in if I can fool them.

“All of them,” both of them responded simultaneously.

“In the same order: the angel of death, Yulia, Boo, HYDRA’s Child. I was one of their three children. But now there’s only two of us,” I stated a single tear forming due to the thought of my friend dead on the floor bleeding out that’s scarred into my brain for all eternity.

I shouldn’t have hoped she’d come with me.

I really should have learnt by this point; I’m wrong to hope.

I always am.

Tags: @hollandroos, @neptuneparker, @hollandarling

[jsmulligan]

Smile for Me

New “Tales We’ll Tell” entry featuring Claney and Celeste below the cut.

Somewhere in the Tower watching over the Last Safe City of humanity.  Approximately four years before the Destiny campaign.

“Again,” Titan Claney Beamard demanded, bringing his arms up in a boxer's stance.

“It's not fair, you're too big,” would-be Hunter Celeste Etain whined, rubbing her left arm.

“And Fallen Barons, Archons, and Kells are bigger than me, and they won't pull their punches.  Same with Hive Knights and Ogres.  What's your point?”

“My point is you're being mean.”

“No, Kiddo,” the Titan said, “I'm trying to make sure you stay alive.”

“By beating me up?”

Claney sighed and placed his hand on a handrail, intending to lean against it, but the damaged metal gave way beneath his weight.  He stumbled, righted himself, then sat down on the stairs leading from the floor onto a low platform.  As he did, dust kicked up around him.  Behind him, a row of smashed computers stood dark, unused for at least a few decades.

The two Guardians occupied a room in one of the Towers damaged in either The Battle of Six Fronts or The Battle of Twilight Gap.  Or maybe some other attack by Fallen on the City.  They all began to blur together after a century of being under siege.  Since hardly anyone ventured into the damaged Towers, they made excellent places to carry out training that was not exactly sanctioned by the Vanguard.

“I'm trying to teach you to fight so that things out there that are a lot meaner than me won't do a lot worse than give you a few bumps and bruises.”  Claney ran a gloved hand over his close-cropped red hair.  “You asked me to start training you.  What were you expecting?”

The young girl shrugged, kicking at the ground with her toes.  “I don't know.  Light stuff? Supers, grenades, blowing stuff up.”

“That all comes later.  In the field, Light can fail, guns jam, and ammo depletes.  You need to be able to fight if you want to have any chance out there.  You need to be a weapon.”

Celeste looked at Claney, confusion evident on her face.  “Light can fail?”

The Titan nodded, grim. “Yes.  They've been teaching you about the history of the Traveler, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Claney said, gesturing with his hands as he spoke.  “So you know about the Collapse and the Darkness.  Well, as much as most of us know about it, anyway.  There are still areas out there that are known as Darkness Zones, where whatever the Darkness did during the Collapse still lingers, partially cutting us off from the Light while we are there.  We can still use the Light, but it recharges slower, and your Ghost will not be able to revive you without help.

“Beyond that, though, there are enemies that can dampen or drain your Light.  Not a worry with the Fallen here on Earth, but if you run into the Hive...”

The Titan trailed off there, a haunted look passing over his face.  His hands fell still and his eyes turned away from the young girl, staring into the shadows in a far corner.  Celeste watched him, concerned.

“Claney?”

The man shook his head clear, returning to the present.  “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.  What was I just saying?”

“You were talking about enemies that can take your Light, then you got all sad looking.”

Claney tried to force a smile, but could only manage about halfway, and it did not make it to his eyes.  “Just thinking about something.  Where, uh, where did I leave off?  Oh, right, the Hive.  They have Wizards that can just strip the Light out of a Guardian and their Ghost.  Do me a favor and stay away from the Moon, okay?”

Celeste nodded.

“Well, I think that's probably enough for today,” the Titan declared abruptly, rising to his feet.  “I should go on Patrol.  Head on back to the Anusky's.”

Celeste nodded.  Claney waited until she had left the room before heading out himself.  A few minutes later, he had transmatted to his ship and was heading for the Cosmodrome.

For her part, Celeste did as she was told, making her way out of the ruined tower and strolling along the Wall back to the tower that the Guardians, along with a smattering of civilians, called home.  She was heading to the dwelling of two of those civilians, John and Susan Anusky.  A kind, middle-aged couple who had always wanted children but had never been able to have any, they had gladly agreed to help take care of the young Guardian when Claney first brought her back to the Tower.  They had always made her feel welcome, and Celeste was grateful for everything they did for her, but she had to admit that she preferred when Claney was around and she could just stay with him.

Thinking about the big man reminded her of the look that had crossed his face when he had spoken of the Hive.  She had seen other moments like that from the Titan. He tried to hide it from her, but the more time she spent with him, the more she learned to catch them.

He had never smiled much, but Celeste had always just thought he was a serious person.  In stories and videos, there was always the tough, no-nonsense loner who did what he had to do to survive, and she just figured that was who he was.  It was a fair assumption, given the first time she met him, he'd been fighting for both their lives, killing aliens that were trying to kill her as soon as she had been reborn.  Plus, a lot of Guardians acted that exact way.  Now, though, she was certain it was something more.

Well, if there was something that was making Claney sad, Celeste decided that she would take it on herself to try to cheer him up.  She started working on ideas as soon as she made it home.

…

Claney was not going to have time to help train her for the next few days, so Celeste sneaked down into the Tower on her own, trying to practice some of the different blocks and strikes that Claney had shown her.  She had gotten her Ghost, Whisper, to gather video recordings of other Hunters, mostly gleaned from Crucible footage, so that she could study them as well.

“Whisper,” she said, holding out her right hand.  It was an unnecessary gesture, and the Ghosts were perfectly capable of materializing anywhere they chose, but most Guardians seemed to it, and she'd picked up the habit as well.  The little star-shaped robot materialized over her outstretched hand.

“Yes?” he asked in his small voice that always sounded like a nervous little boy who had just broken his mother's favorite vase.

“Play Hunter Comp. 1 for me, please.”

“Right away,” he replied, then swung to face the least damaged wall in the room.  A beam of Light shot out from his core and he projected the video image for her to watch.  Figures sprang to life, capes trailing behind them as they jumped, spun, and rolled.

“Oh, and keep the time displayed as well,” she said.  The Ghost bobbed a nod in response.

Celeste watched for a few moments, and then began copying the moves.  The first time she had tried a roll, she hadn't tucked her body in enough and banged her shoulder hard on the floor.  She had not let Whisper heal the resulting bruise despite his insistence because she wanted it to be a reminder for next time.

She spent several hours ducking, dodging, rolling away from, and striking at invisible enemies.  The Vanguard did not want to let her out of the Tower yet, and she understood why, but she planned to work hard enough that they would have to admit that she had the skills to survive and would let her outside soon.  She also knew it would surprise Claney to see how much progress she had made on her own.  The thought of catching him off-guard like that brought a grin to her face.

As she trained, she watched the clock.  It would be far too easy to lose track of time down here on her own, and she had an appointment to keep and did not want to be late.  When the time drew near, she stopped her training and sprinted home, drawing curious looks from others roaming the Tower.  She cleaned up quickly, then set off toward the north side of the Tower.

Celeste crossed through the main courtyard, pausing only briefly to watch Guardians coming and going.  She felt a surge of envy rise up that she had to force back into place.  One day.  She climbed the stairs to the hallway the lead to Tower North and followed the hallway.  She went down the final set of stairs, glancing over at the New Monarchy gathering to her left before turning right.

“Ah, Celeste, so good to see you,” a voice called out as the young Hunter rounded the corner to her little shop.  

Tucked back in the small alcove was the workstation of Eva Levante, Guardian Outfitter.  There were several tables and shelves all cluttered with signs of her occupation.  The woman herself was dressed neatly in green and yellow, a purple shawl draped over her shoulders.

“Hi, Ms. Levante,” Celeste replied with a wave.

“Please, call me Eva,” the gray-haired woman replied.

“Okay, Eva,” Celeste said experimentally.  The woman smiled.

“I was so thrilled when you asked about helping me out,” Eva said.  “It can be difficult to keep up with shader and emblem orders at times.  Guardians do love to make themselves look unique or find new styles.”

“And what we talked about...?”

“Yes, yes,” Eva smiled again.  “I will pay you some glimmer and paint supplies for your assistance.  You don't think old Eva would try to rip you off now, do you?”

“No, ma'am, I just...”

Eva raised her eyebrows. “Thought I might have forgotten because I'm old?”

“What, no, I just...”

Eva laughed and looked at Celeste with a twinkle in her eye.  “I'm sorry, dear, I was just trying to have a little fun.  I didn't mean to rile you up so.”

Celeste let out a breath and smiled.  “Okay, good.”

“Come then, young one, let's get you to work, shall we?” Eva turned to her wares.  “These emblems aren't going to craft themselves.”

…

Celeste spent several hours each day for the next three days working with Eva.  She was able to pick up quite a few tips from the outfitter, and was surprised at how willing the woman was to take her suggestions as well.  Once they were finished on the final day, Eva dusted off her hands, smiled, and patted Celeste on the shoulder.

“Well now, you definitely have some talent,” the woman said.  “If you ever feel like helping out again, you just let old Eva know, and I'll be glad to let you design more emblems.  I'm sure the Guardians will love these.”

“Thanks,” Celeste replied, “it was a lot of fun.”

“And good luck with your project, dear.”

“Thanks.  Again.”

Celeste waved and left, a bounce in her step.  With what she had gotten for helping Eva the last three days, she should have no problem following through on her plan.  Now, just to figure out exactly what she was going to be working with.

“Whisper,” she said, holding her hand out again for the Ghost.  He materialized, and she drew him in close.  Once she stepped out into the courtyard, she ducked behind some boxes that were piled near the wall.  “Show me the current Tower vendor inventory.”

“I can, but no one will sell anything to you since you haven't been officially named as a Guardian yet.”

“I know, I know,” she said with a huff.  “I have a plan to get around that.  Just do it, please.”

“Fine,” the Ghost whined, then brought up listings for all current weapon and armor vendors a the Tower.  

Celeste swiped through them until she found the perfect piece.  Once she knew what she wanted, Celeste reached behind the box and pulled out something swaddled in a dirty cloth.  She carefully unwrapped it, revealing an older model Guardian helmet.  She had found it in the old Tower and grabbed it out of curiosity one day.  Now she took a moment to clean some dust off of it, then shoved the cloth back behind the box.

“Uhm, what are you doing with that old thing?” Whisper asked, his shell twitching.

“I'm going to wear it. Duh.”

“But... why?”

“Just get this thing working, then watch and do what I tell you to do.”

Celeste slid on the helmet, which smelled old and musty inside.  Everything was pitch black for several moments, but just before she snapped at Whisper, the HUD sputtered and then flickered to life.

“Good work,” she said. With the helmet on and functional, Celeste stood and strode confidently out of the shadow of the boxes.  She moved around the small building that housed the Guardian post office, and leaned up against the corner.

“What are you doing?” Whisper asked over their shared bond.

“Shh, just wait and be ready.”

A Titan that she didn't know transmatted into the Courtyard.  Celeste broke from the wall, walking urgently toward him, waving her hand over her head.

“Hey!  Hey, buddy!” she called out, and the Titan turned to look at her.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” she said. “Look, I'm in a bind.  I have to rush out on an important mission. Bad guys to shoot, doohickeys to reclaim, you know the drill. Anyway, I really, really need to get this item,” Whisper displayed the image, “from the Vanguard vendor, but I have to run.  Would you get it for me?  Thanks.”

She handed him the glimmer that Eva had paid her.  The Titan looked at it and tried to sputter a protest.

“But... what... you're... who...?”

“Look, it's super important.  Keep any change.  Just make sure it gets delivered to Claney Beamard.  C. L. A. N. E. Y. B... something.  And, uh, if it doesn't show up, I'll kill you.  Hunter style.  Okay?  Okay!” Privately to Whisper, “Now, transmat me out of here.”

“To where?”

“I don't care where, just out of sight.”

“But...”

“Do it now!”

“See ya, Ti-” Celeste began as she felt the grip of a transmat catch her, and she made finger guns at the Titan just before she vanished.  She finished the motion as she reappeared, “-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan... Whisper!  What did you do?”

The Hunter flung herself backward.  She was standing on a ledge twenty feet below the top of the Wall, looking down over the City.  A heavy gust of wind threatened to knock her loose.

“You said out of sight.”

“Yes, but not where I might fall to my death.  Inside, inside!”

“Okay, just let me see where that Titan is...”

The transmat caught her again, and Celeste found herself back on top of the Tower, standing in the hallway that lead from the main courtyard to the hangar.  She collapsed to her knees in relief and took off the helmet.  Whisper materialized and swooped around her, his shell drooping.

“Sorry.”

“It's fine.  We're fine,” the Hunter repeated to herself several times, waving him off with her empty hand.  “It's fine.  We're fine.  Store the helmet away, would you?”

Whisper shone a beam over the helmet, scanning it.  After a few seconds, it transmatted away, stored for later use.  Celeste patted the little Ghost, then made her way to the living area and found a spot to spy on Claney's door.

After half an hour of waiting, she started to think the Titan had stolen her money.  Just as she started to get angry, a delivery person dropped a box off at Claney's door.  Celeste waited for the courier to leave, then slipped out of hiding, swiped the box, and darted away, making her way to one of her secret spots she had found in the Tower.  Once there, she opened the box and grinned at the contents.

“Perfect.”

…

The next day, Claney returned from the field to find Celeste waiting outside his door.  He offered her a weary half smile.

“Hey, Kiddo.”

“Hey, Old Man.  Rough trip?”

“You could say that.” Claney opened the door to his quarters and stepped inside and Celeste followed on his heels.

Once inside, the Titan took off his helmet and tossed it on the couch.  Celeste glanced at it, noting some new scarring.  There was a new crack on the back of his chest piece that Elgan had not quite managed to mend either. Definitely a rough mission.

“So,” Celeste began, “I know you just got back, but I was wondering if we could go to the old Tower today.”

Claney opened the fridge, looked inside, then shut it without removing anything.  He turned to look at her.  “I know you're excited about training, but I really don't think I can do that right now.  How about tomorrow.”

“No, no training.  I actually did some on my own while you were gone, actually.  There's something I want to show you.”

The Titan stared at her as if he was thinking about it.

“Pleeeeeease?” she asked, wrapping one hand around the other, bringing them to her chin, and batting her eyes at him.

“That's fine,” he said, “just stop with the cuteness.  Let me grab a bite to eat and we'll go.”

They made a quick stop at one of the many food shops and Claney grabbed a burger.  Food in hand, they strode along the Wall, heading to the old Tower.

“So you really trained on your own?” Claney asked her.

“Yep, all the different strikes and guards you taught me.”

“Good.  I'm glad to see you're taking it seriously,” the Titan said, patting her on the back.  “We'll have to put you through your paces tomorrow and see how you're doing.”

Eventually they reached the Tower and worked their way down to their training room.  They stepped in and Claney glanced around.  Nothing out of the ordinary jumped out at him.

“I thought you had to show me something.”

“I did, hang on,” Celeste said, and crossed the room.  She yanked open an old cabinet door and reached inside, pulling out a large bundle wrapped in a cloth.  “Here.”

“What is this?” Claney asked, accepting the offered item.

“Just look.”

Claney unfolding the cloth, letting the folds fall way.  In his hands, he was looking at the backside of the new Vanguard helmet.

“Celeste...”

“Turn it around,” she said with a barely concealed grin.

Claney gave her a curious look, and turned the helmet around in his hands.  Plastered on the faceplate of the helmet was a large, yellow smiley face.  Curiosity on his features turned to confusion.

“That is something,” he said.

“I know it's not really your style, but, I wanted to do something special for you,” she said.  “I've noticed lately that you just seem sad sometimes, and I thought this might cheer you up.  Or, at least you'd look happier when you wore it.”

The Titan looked at the helmet, then looked at her again.  He turned it around so that he was looking at the backside of it again, then raised it up and slid it over his head.

“How do I look?” he asked, holding his hands out wide, the grinning yellow face covering where his actual face would have been.

Celeste just smiled.

…

AN

This story was inspired by an image that NetRaptor showed me that she found with a Guardian with a smiley face painted on his helmet aiming his weapons with a young looking red-headed girl behind him and said it reminded her of Claney and Celeste.  It fit so perfect that I had to use it for a bit of inspiration.

[blackrose-ffxiv]

Pastry Picnic 11/16

Mor Dhona was even gloomier in the pre-dawn darkness and he had to follow the map very carefully to ensure he didn’t get himself lost in the Tangle. It was a dreary and drab place, but this unusual outcropping glittered with crystals. Reflecting the sickly sky into beautiful colors and breaking the first morning light into glimmering spectrums of color. Lebeaux Desrosiers approached the designated location, drawing close enough to startle another black-plumed creature that warked and warbled its dismay at the intruder. “It’s far too early for your noise, keep it up and I shall have a new feathered cap.” He noted to the chocobo before he climbed higher still. “What a curious place for a picnic.” He called out to Michaux.

Michaux Vidal grins when he hears Chanteur start squawking, but he places his hand on the hilt of his rapier anyway, just in case it's not Lebeaux. But fortunately, it is. Michaux chuckles. "It's a beautiful place for a picnic, you mean. Also, my old Free Company fought a battle here and won, so I like being reminded of the moment of victory." He takes another sip of tea, and then gestures toward the box and second thermos. "Anyroad, here is what you came for. I don't flatter myself that it was for me." A small smile follows this remark, but it fades quickly. "It sounds like we have some things to discuss, though."

The Ishgardian clasped his hands together in delight as his icy gaze fell on the offering of sweets. A fine variety of selections and judging by the box they sat in, from one of the finer establishments. “This doesn’t quite settle your medical bill, but it is a very good start.” He noted calmly as he moved closer to have a seat. Flicking out the tails of his coat so he wouldn’t sit on them. It was all rather nice, he had to admit. Hot tea, made just the way he liked it, fresh pastries without the taint of aetheryte travel or cold storage, a beautiful location for a perfect sunrise, all nicely orchestrated by the Duskwight beside him. The medic reached for one of the treats and took a small bite, remaining silent so he could savor the taste he had missed so dearly since his exile. Even going so far as to close his eyes to truly bask in it. “Several things, I suppose. You may go first.” He finally declared once he had returned to reality and swallowed that first bite.

"Well, I'm glad to have made a start, at least," Michaux says, amused and pleased. He hadn't done this as a way to pay off his bill, but if Lebeaux chose to see it that way, who was he to argue? His budget is still tight, since he hasn't received a payment from the host club yet. Once Lebeaux opens the box, Michaux looks around for a type of pastry he'd bought two of, and then takes one for himself. He doesn't often even sweet things like this, or even enjoy them much, but he wants to see what all the fuss is about. "Well," he begins after taking an experimental bite and swallowing, "you warned me not to return to Kugane for a while because of Leon. I'd like more details about your meeting with him. Are you in danger?"

Lebeaux’s attention seemed more than a little divided between the serious conversation they were having and the nearly obscene pleasure he was deriving from those delicate little confections. The medic leaned slightly, letting his shoulder rest against Michaux’s as he savored the next bite just as intently. “He came to speak with me. I don’t suspect I’m in any sort of danger from him, at the moment. He believes I would be of use to him or his organization or what have you. It’s all a bit convoluted.” He explained with a casual wave of his hand. “I set a rather steep price for my service so I doubt he’ll be returning any time soon. But.” He smiled sweetly over at the Duskwight. “He did make it clear that he’ll not suffer to see you around Kugane. At least without my supervision. I may have led him to believe that I have seduced you to my will.” He noted, the corner of his mouth quirking in amusement at the thought.

Michaux tries not to watch Lebeaux eat the pastry too closely, since the Ishgardian is doing so in a manner that is becoming distracting. It looks like he's having a near-orgasmic experience and… yeah, they have serious things to talk about. He needs to stay focused. He distracts himself with his thermos, drinking more of the bitter tea he likes, and then tries to eat a bit more of his own pastry. Not bad. Very sweet, but not to the point that the sweetness is all he can taste. It has a nutty flavor with hints of spices that he rather likes. He nearly chokes on it, though, when Lebeaux mentions his ruse. "Seduced me to your will? To the point that I'm no threat to Leon? Did he actually believe that?" He shakes his head, grinning, but then he sighs. "You're not going to work with him, are you?"

Lebeaux was certainly ensuring Michaux got his gils’ worth from these. Treating every bite as though it was the finest thing he had ever eaten. He even licked a bit of stray cream and powdered sugar from his gloves once it was finished. “Leon does not seem like the sort of man you say ‘no’ to.” He explained calmly. “At least not directly. That is how you get yourself stabbed.” He glanced aside pointedly at the Duskwight’s belly then smiled sweetly up at his face. “He believed it, after he was struck by a passing migraine. You did mention he has unusual powers akin to your own. Perhaps he saw something.” A shoulder shrugged casually. “Any roads. So long as you feign being my lovesick thrall and I continue to feign cooperation we’ve nothing to worry about.”

Michaux squirms slightly. It's hard to talk to Lebeaux without looking at him, but looking at him is dangerous at the moment. Why must nearly everything the man does be so seductive? He may not be quite seduced to Lebeaux's will, but he's definitely seduced. He sighs and takes another bite of his own pastry. He needs to focus, because Lebeaux is saying something important. Several important things, actually. "Yes," he agrees, "I think he gets visions that let him see memories from people around him. But I don't think he has much control over when it happens and what he sees, which is probably part of the reason my own abilities annoy him so much. If all he saw was that I have feelings for you, you should probably count yourself lucky." He rubs the back of his neck, looking pensive. "One of the reasons he wants to work with you is probably because he wants to learn more about you. He doesn't want an equal partnership - that's not how this organization seems to work. He wants blackmail material. He wants to control you. And you, Lebeaux… You're vulnerable to that."

The medic smiled calmly as he selected another pastry from the box, though he didn’t bite into it right away. “Michaux. I am Ishgardian. I was born to a High House and raised to join the clergy. Kugane may be Leon’s home field but the game he was playing was all but created in Ishgard and it is one I have been playing since I learned to speak.” Even if Leon did seem to be cheating by peeking at other players’ hands. “What does it matter if he unearths my past. It’s spread like wildfire as of late and has somewhat lost the leverage it once held.”

"It's not your past I'm worried about," Michaux says quietly. "It's your 'blessing.' It reminds me of something I've seen before. A tempered mind." His is speaking slowly, choosing each word carefully. Trying to get his point across without triggering immediate backlash. "Most people won't understand its true nature. And if a rumor spreads that you're tempered, you'll be in danger. You could be imprisoned or killed." He lowers his head and rubs at his left temple. Hr can feel a stress headache coming on. "You know I can't help you make any kind of deal with him. For Sol and Idris's sake, yes, but also for yours."

Lebeaux lifted a shoulder into a small shrug. “After you first mentioned that word I did a little research into what it was to be ‘Tempered’. It’s nothing like my blessing.” He explained flatly. “Those who have been tempered tend to gather crystals and hoard materials to summon their false gods. I have done nothing like that.” Yet. Nor did he mention the rest of the symptoms, which were rather close to his own behavior. Extreme devotion. Refusal to listen to reason. “In any case. I am in far more danger if I tell him ‘no’. Then there would be nothing to stop him from lashing out at me. The Kasaigumi and the Tradehouse will not be enough to protect me should he decide I’m of no value.” He finally took a bite of the sweet, but it wasn’t nearly as satisfying, it seemed. “Or should he suspect. Isn’t it better this way, buying myself some time to learn more about him as he tries to learn about me.”

Michaux heaves a sigh. Well, he tried, anyroad. And he does wonder about the crystal thing sometimes. Still, everything else fits too well with the tempering theory. Another sigh. "All right. Supposing you're right and you're really not in immediate danger from him. You've still probably already negotiated with him about getting rid of Solenne and Idristan. Obviously, I can't support that." He rubs at his temple again. "I wish you three could call a real truce. Solenne is willing to negotiate with you. She has also been looking into Leon Robinaux's past, and she thinks she may have discovered who he truly is. If you weren't at each other's throats, you could share information."

Lebeaux certainly didn’t hoard crystals. But he did have a penchant for stained crystal windows and items purported to be Halonic relics or sacred items. He wrinkled his nose and set the pastry he had bitten down. The idea of it putting a foul enough taste in his mouth to spoil even that long sought-after pleasure. “I will not ally myself with heretics and cowards.” He declared flatly. “I will stand back and let these mad dogs tear into each other and when only one is remaining, I will put down the survivor myself. If need be.”

Michaux nods slowly, avoiding Lebeaux's eyes. "Right," he murmurs. He doesn't seem angered by Lebeaux's remarks. Getting angry at Lebeaux is usually pointless anyroad. Michaux isn't even sure the man is capable of changing his mind on this point. His disgust and hatred toward Idristan and Solenne tie in too deeply with his religious fervor, and thus is probably influenced by his tempering. There's one thing Michaux doesn't quite understand, though. "Am I not a heretic? Or a heathen, I suppose. Why don't you lump me in with them?"

The medic stared wistfully at the pastries but instead he took a small sip of the tea, washing out the unpleasant taste of heresy with sugar and cream. “You are a heathen. There is no hope of salvation for you, as you were not deemed worthy to be born as one of Her chosen.” He explained calmly. “You may open yourself to Her teachings and learn our doctrine to ease the fate of your soul after your death, but you will not suffer any worse for choosing not to accept Her into your life.” Lebeaux waved his hand lightly. “On the other hand. A Heretic is one who has forsaken Her love. They were born into Her light and chose to turn away from it out of fear and cowardice. They are worse than the heathens, who were never given the choice to begin with. Worse than beasts.” He smiled and reached over to brush his fingers through Michaux’s hair. Non-Ishgardians weren’t ‘people’. That’s all there was to it.

Ye gods, what a belief system. Michaux lets out a quick breath of amusement, but there is pain under the surface. He can only imagine how frightening it could be to grow up with these beliefs. Since even the smallest of mistakes seemed to be branded as heresy under the old system, he's not sure how the whole city didn't go in fear and trembling for their souls. Perhaps they did. Perhaps only a few, like Lebeaux, had the boundless confidence to believe that they were blessed and could do no wrong. Others, like the Marchemonts, only paid lip service to the Fury while paying scant attention to her teachings. Michaux sighs and leans over to rest his head on Lebeaux's shoulder. "So I have committed no wrong. I simply wasn't worthy," he murmurs, trying to puzzle out this logic. "So do you pity me? Is that it?"

“Of course.” Empathy and sympathy were nigh-impossible concepts for him but he could easily pity the poor wretches who would never be able to truly bask in the Fury’s favor as he did. “There is no promise of salvation for you. There is only this life and the Hells that await after. Your actions only determine if it is a lighter or heavier punishment. Though for your magicks I suppose it will be the latter. It’s quite pitiful.” He shifted his arm around the other, allowing him to nestle in against the side of his chest to rest his head on his shoulder, as well as keeping his hand free to continue toying with the Duskwight’s hair. “Now consider those who were given the promise of that salvation, then spat on it. How could they be forgiven.”

Michaux smiles ruefully. "It does seem rather mad, in that context," he agrees. Not that he believes that context exists. Even if Halone does reward her faithful somehow, Michaux has trouble believing that Lebeaux would be one of them. He heaves another sigh, even know he knows it will be misinterpreted by the Ishgardian. "So, when you're in the heavens with the Fury, will you spare a thought for me?"

“Of course.” Lebeaux offered, again. “Perhaps even a prayer or two.” He seemed to be feeling better now that he had ‘enlightened’ Michaux as to the finer differences between your run of the mill heathen and a heretic. He reached for one of the pastries now, able to return to enjoying it without troubling thoughts marring its taste.

@secrets-and-aetherlight 

[wtf-hollywood]

My first post is a repost. Deal with it.

I wrote this months ago after seeing The Mummy. It was on my main, and I recently have been thinking about other movie rewrites and shit, so, hey, yet another blog.

Lets start with the mummy movie. The antagonist is fucking strong, but the protagonists are lame.

So we’re going to do better. We start by getting a restraining order against Tom Cruise, and a costumer who can do “Sexy, but empowering” for our Egyptian Princess. Then we strike out all references to Set, and instead use Apep, who is basically the evil god of ancient Egypt that these movies keep wanting. We spill some exposition in the mummification scene about how mummification was the ideal method of burial in ancient Egypt, and Ahmanet’s deal was specifically not mummification, but ritual execution and imprisonment, possibly handwaving historical inaccuracy in the law and order part by making it explicit that this whole “bound alive in bandages, put in a sealed sarcophagus, and submerged in mercury” thing was him basically taking his best guess at how to make it as hard as possible for her to come back.

Next, we make our protagonist an awesome archaeologist who isn’t a cis male. Like, maybe we go Lara Croft, but less “tomb raider” and more “properly trained archaeologist who does things by the book but cannot fucking wait to learn shit.” So she finds this site in Egypt, or we can keep the “why the hell is there Egyptian stuff all the fucking way out here!?” thing, whatever, but she finds the site and says “Ho-ly shit, this is a big fuck all prison for someone they didn’t want getting up. I cannot wait to crack it open and see who was such a big bad!” And we get a very speedy montage of her doing basic archaeology, then cut to her cracking open the sarcophagus with a notebook full of drawings and notes about the site next to her.

And I mean, otherwise, we can follow the majority of the 2017 movie outline. We just don’t bring in Prodigium, and we have better characters. And we have actors for any Egyptian characters that are at least vaguely ethnically correct.

Side benefit- we can have some seriously empowering ho yay between the archaeologist protag and the Egyptian princess. Maybe Ahmanet can take a living disguise for a limited time and uses that to try to get close to Archaeologist Chick and we get some very sweet GALS BEING PALS scenes before its revealed that this awesome person is actually the Egyptian princess who wants to unleash Apep on Earth. But would also really like to do that with said Archaeologist chick by her side.

Oh, and we finish up with Prodigium coming in during a mid-credits scene, because lets not fucking pretend we’re not trying to pull a Marvel deal. We could use Dorian Gray instead of Dr. Jekyll, too, because getting some canon bi representation on screen would be kinda cool. So, end of the Mummy, Ahmanet is dealt with, definitely sealed back up and not killed, because we’re establishing an antagonist-based franchise, here, and Archaeology Chick is aware of, but not part of, Prodigium.

Alternatively, we could kick the “Ambition is Evil” trope to the gutter, and let archaeology chick redeem Ahmanet through the power of “Look at this cool new world you could have power over without slaughtering people.” And lesbian cuddles.

For the second movie, we could go with a Creature From The Black Lagoon movie. I mean, Shape of Water just came out, and is essentially an iteration of that creature, but it’s Fox, not Universal, so whatever.

We’re going to keep the Brazilian setting of the ‘54 movie, but we’re going to make a concerted effort to have a primarily Latinx cast. In this version, however, Gillman is some manner of eldritch god. Worshipped by an indigenous tribe centuries ago, but left starved for faith since then. Hell, we’ll throw Western Europe under the bus they oh-so-richly-deserve-to-be-hit-by and say that European conquerors killed the tribe. So the god has been left in a semi-submerged temple for centuries. Alone. And bored.

Now some asshole American has showed up, paying locals to aid their expedition, looking for “aztec gold.” (Plenty of people tell them that Aztecs lived in Central America, and proceed to list off tribes that were located in what became Brazil until they realize the asshole isn’t listening.)

They find this previously completely unknown temple, and the American strides right the fuck in, while the locals are all talking about how important it is, and that they should call the local college, and so on. Then realize that if they don’t do something, Asshole American will strip the place of anything that might be valuable, and destroyed the rest through negligence, by the time archaeologists get there. We could put in a “Blink-And-You’ll-Miss-It” shout out to Asskicking Archaeologist Chick from The Mummy here for a bit of arc welding.

So the locals rush in to look for Asshole American. They carefully shuffle around, and eventually find him.

Or his corpse.

He’s in an obviously ceremonially important basin, with giant fucking gashes in him.

The locals of course decide that there’s some kind of dangerous animal in the temple, and they need to get out. And probably call someone.

This is where they find they are completely unable to find the exit, even though it didn’t seem that big, or that labyrinthine going in.

The movie then plays out like a bit of a slasher, a bit Aliens, a bit Haunted House, while the bored god makes sport of them. Maybe there could be a sort of Saw-like deal, where mostly they’re put in death traps that have an out. Those outs could be various things that strengthen the god, and maybe there’s one big one towards the end where the locals have managed to reunite, and the out is for them to worship the god.

You could even get some Designated Asshole Victims here, maybe through a B Plot about corporate exploitation of nature, or some cartel fucks. This allows the locals to be put in positions where someone has to die, but it doesn’t have to be them. The god doesn’t care who dies, they care that someone kills someone else in a ritual dedicated to him. Maybe one of the locals buys in early because they’re sympathetic to the god’s concerns about the natural world, and a bit radical, and it doesn’t take much for the god to goad them into slitting some corporate exec’s throat.

End of the movie, the locals escape. It’s a personal win. It’s the thing they care about, that they live. The god isn’t dealt with in anything even approaching a permanent fashion, but he’s not powerful enough to be anything more than a monster that haunts that temple. For now.

We could get a mid-credits scene that shows Prodigium monitoring the temple, but taking a “wait and see” approach to it. Maybe they actually care about the lives of the people who live around there and not ravaging the wilderness, and mention that going in would risk undue collateral damage.

There’s no reason you couldn’t make a good, faithful, adaptation of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. I mean, you’d want to skip the part where Frankenstein’s Monster immolates himself after killing Victor, but otherwise, you could just do a straight adaptation.

But, lets say you want a new take.

Why not make it a love story?

Replace Ambitious Asshole Victor Frankenstein with a med student who flunked out after the death of their beloved. Med Student was already into some pretty experimental shit that the admins frowned upon, and Deceased Lover donated their body to science. Maybe Med Student’s friend sees Deceased Lover being brought in, and slips Med Student in to say their last good byes.

But Med Student has other ideas.

They steal Deceased Lover’s body, or at least their head, or brain, and maybe some stuff for the experimental gene therapy and tissue rejuvenation stuff they were looking at before flunking out.

Or hell, maybe Med Student convinces Friend to help. Actually, that’d be pretty cool, especially if Friend’s name is something that is just similar enough to Igor.

Anyway, they make off with Deceased Lover, and they start the work of applying Experimental Gene and Tissue Rejuvenation Tech to Deceased Lover.

And it works.

Mostly.

There are some complications, and Deceased Lover doesn’t recognize Med Student, or Friend, and isn’t too rational, or controlled, upon waking up. Maybe Deceased Lover’s groaning and such draws attention, and between Deceased Lover seeming to have Come Back Wrong, and Someone Coming, Med Student and Friend flee. Deceased Lover lashes out in instinct at the person who investigated, killing them with inhuman strength, and Deceased Lover is alone. They slowly come to full consciousness, and slowly begin to realize that Med Student left them. They brought them back, and then left them, but not before showing an expression of horror and disgust.

Deceased Lover tries to find old friends and family, but is rebuffed in horror by the people who last knew them to be dead.

Then Prodigium gets involved, because someone reported a person apparently coming back from the dead. They attack Deceased Lover on sight.

Overall, the movie plays out similarly to Frankenstein, except, perhaps, in timescale. At the end, Prodigium decides to let Deceased Lover be, provided they don’t become a threat. Prodigium has Med Student’s research, but so does Deceased Lover, and Deceased Lover has realized that there is something about them that makes the living fear them. Deceased Lover’s best shot at not living alone until they kill themselves is to 1) find other monsters, 2) create more of themselves, or 3) join Prodigium.

I personally like the idea that they decide to create their own society, creating a third faction that can oppose both the monsters and Prodigium in the franchise. This could be presented in the mid-credits scene.

The complication with this route for the Frankenstein movie is that you can’t really use the name Frankenstein, because it’s just corny unless you’re doing a direct adaptation. But you could just call it Promethean or something similar, it’s fine.

This is probably a good point to bring in Dracula, and it could be the Dark Universe’s Period Piece to mirror Captain America. We’ll set it in the early 1900s instead of the late 1800s, though, because I forgot about this as I writing, and cars were decently available in the early 1900s, but almost completely unavailable in the late 1800s. Early 1900s still works quite well.

We start with a narrator who is dictating a report on a case handled by  Dr. Van Helsing. It’s a “How We Got Here” intro. The narrator’s voice is feminine, so audiences may expect Van Helsing to be getting a gender lift in this version, but the narrator never speaks in the first person.

We’re going to embrace some parts of various versions of Dracula, and kind of weld them together. We start by making up some history, saying that a Wallachian prince set out in a deranged, and desperate mission to establish a hold on what would become the British Isles. He managed to build a castle there, but was lost to history otherwise. The reason he wanted to do this is not given particularly straight, but we use some bad christian eschatology, and have it be some kind of religious quest, because we’re totally going to embrace the whole blood drinking/eternal life thing from Christian tradition as an impetus for Dracula’s origin.

So, Prince Dracula is some mad Wallachian prince, maybe he’s actually exiled, and he goes and builds a castle in the British Isles on a shaky religious justification. We get a very bare cliff notes version of this in the intro, and it really just sets up why in our next scene we see a British real estate agent walking up to a castle in bad disrepair, on a small island in the middle of a lake. Hell, we’re going to go super symbolic, and make it a caldera lake. I honestly don’t know how likely it is for a caldera to exist on the British Isles, but, eh, fuck it.

So, the real estate agent is writing to their fiance over breakfast in their B&B, explaining that the castle was owned by some super private individual, and pretty much completely unknown to the outside world until recently, when said owner was committed to an institution and his property liquidated. So now the agent’s firm has acquired the land, and they’ve been sent to determine whether it’s a better investment to tear the castle down, or repair it.

Deep inside the castle, they find a very odd chapel. It looks normal enough at first glance, but a closer look reveals that every saint has a monstrous face, and angels and demons have traded places.

Also, there’s the altar, which seems to be hollow.

The Agent who is completely untrained in archaeology cuts themselves while looking the scene over, deeming it “creepy as fuck,” and making a note of it before moving on. There’s a close up of the blood dripping through a crack in the altar, and a sound that Agent dismisses as just the settling of an old building.

As it gets dark, Agent calls it a night, and heads back to their B&B, where they get various ominous warnings about that island. One of which is that its known for having vicious wolves who only come out at night. Which Agent dismisses as ludicrous, because wolves have been extinct in Britain for a decade at least. The person who mentioned it just gives a knowing look and walks away.

Agent goes back the next day to continue their work. They note that things are slightly different in the chapel, but doesn’t think much of it. Figures a bird knocked shit over, or something.

Time gets away from Agent, and they find themselves walking back to their car after the sun has dropped below the trees of the surrounding forest. And they hear a howl. They dismiss it. Must be hearing things. Then there are more. They hurry back to their car.

It starts to rain. Hard. And the road goes through winding forests, and there are those howls, getting closer. There’s a quick shadow bolting across the road, making them lose control for a harrowing trip across the bridge from the island to the ring, and a sudden peal of thunder distracts Agent just as they make it across, causing them to crash into a tree. They call a tow, but wind up having to walk to the B&B in the rain when told that the area has no drivers on the road and he’ll have to wait til morning.

Next day, he gets a cab, and we get to play a little homage to the carriage in Francis Ford Coppola’s 1992 movie. Back at the castle, shit has definitely changed, and now Agent is seeing apparitions. Also, there’s some weird old man there, who introduces himself as a descendant of Dracula, and a relative of the man who previously owned the castle. A relative whom holds a copy of the deed, and persuasive arguments about the ownership of the castle. But he’s less interested in arguing over some small sum of money than he is in purchasing property in London and moving some of his more prized items there.

And then it plays out pretty similarly to the Dracula story, but with more “deal with the devil” and “dark inversion of communion.” Yes. More. Agent’s Fiance gets bit, and becomes a vampire. Van Helsing is called in, and is in fact a woman, but her voice doesn’t match the narrator’s. Dr. Van Helsing can totally be a woman, there were tons of women doctors in the 1800s.

Dracula starts a reign of terror on London, and Dr. Van Helsing has to reach out to others for help. Fortunately, she has a group of learned men and women, mostly women, who gather to trade stories, collaborate, etc. Mostly after going on expensive expeditions that polite society considers extremely wasteful and pointless. Their motto is “Prodigium de monstrum” (ess. “Prodigy out of monsters”), and they’ve proudly taken on the name The Prodigal Circle.

In the fight, Van Helsing dies, but Dracula is defeated, partially because of Mina’s ability to fight on his level as she resists his control.

Finally, it is revealed that Mina is the narrator, who has taken Van Helsing’s position in The Prodigal Circle, guiding their transition into a vigilant order from Van Helsing’s notes and instructions after being inducted by Van Helsing in one of her vigils over Mina when Mina was her patient.

The mid-credits scene shows Prodigium scientists removing Van Helsing’s body from storage, preserved through something between magic and science, as Mina, who doesn’t look a day older, supervises from above..

That is four fucking movie premises. And I think that’s enough for tonight. If there’s interest, I could write up premises/outlines for Wolf Man; Prodigium, the conclusion of Phase 1; and maybe a start of Phase two.

[youngster-monster]

Errare Diabolicum Est

Read on AO3

Rommath leans, touching the bare skin on his arm where his wounds used to be. He can still feel the beginning of a headache — an inescapable consequence of too much magic in too little time — but apart from that, he’s as healthy as can be.

In front of him, Kael’thas sighs and sags in his chair, pushing his hand through his long hair.

“Is there anything you can’t do?”

The king huffs a laugh and shrugs. “I don’t know, cooking? Winning this war? Summoning demons?”

“You cook better than Lor’themar—” Rommath ignores the muttered 'a murloc can cook better than Lor’themar’ and continues, “And you’ve beend doing a descent job at stopping Jaina and Sylvanas from tearing each other’s throat, which is definitely helping the war effort. Now, if only you could become a warlock...”

“As if we need more demons,” Kael’thas says, but the realization that there’s magic he cannot do appears to annoy him.

Rommath ducks his head to hide his grin in his mask.

So maybe Kael’thas Sunstrider, crown prince of the sin’dorei, is a massive nerd. And maybe he loathes to leave a school of magic untried.

To each their faults.

It takes him a month to find the time, between the war against the Legion and his kingly duties, to study fel magic until he’s confident enough in his abilities to try his hand at summoning and binding a demon.

(It would have taken at the least a year of non-stop studying for anyone else to get there but if there’s anything true about Kael’thas, it’s that he’s a bit of a genius.)

And then it’s another week before he finds a single free evening in his schedule to actually do the summoning. The preparations take a little more time than he expected: he stumbles in his quarters at sunset (fresh out of five consecutive hours of peace summit, because for some reason Silvermoon couldn’t stay free of those for long) and when he stands above the finished summoning circle, the moon is high in the sky.

Kael’thas yawns, pops his back, and wonders if he has the time to grab a bite before he gets to the whole ‘dragging a creature from the void into Azeroth’ thing.

Well, he can always do that after. There’s no time like the present for possible disasters, after all.

The ritual he’s using doesn’t come from any of the ‘So you want to be a warlock’ books he managed to get his hand on. Being a warlock is all about the mutual pact between summoner and demon: the creature offers its powers in exchange for a bit of the summoner’s magic and life-force. Warlocks tend to live short lives because of it and, because Kael’thas doesn’t feel like selling a part of his soul to the Legion just for shits and giggles, he’s decided to use his own ritual.

So he’s hungry, tired, and about to summon a demon using a highly modified, one-hundred percent original ritual he scribbled on spare pieces of paper during meetings. This might just be the worst idea he ever had.

(And he almost joined Illidan on his roaring rampage of revenge: that’s how bad it is.)

A snap of his fingers and candles are set alight, illuminating the room with a golden glow that can barely hides the green light of Argus that spills through the windows.

(Anything having to do with Illidan is a bad idea: it has been proven again and again in the last decade.)

Kael’thas draws the blade of his dagger over the palm of his hand and holds it over the circle, careful not to step in it as drops of blood fall on the chalk lines.

(Although the man does have a few good points.)

He’s just as careful to contain his yawn as he intones the words that will open the rift to another dimension— or whatever it does, he can’t quite remember right now.

Or he could, but he won’t, because he’s tired and also frustrated to tears, which in him translates to trying dangerous experimental magic as a way to vent.

(Like, the destruction of the Legion by any mean necessary? Kael’thas can get behind that. It’s unethical but it’s efficient, too, and they’re too desperate to complain about it. He would do the same for his people — almost did, if not for Lor’themar swift reaction.)

He utters the last words and it feels like the world stretches and tugs like a rubber band, before snapping back into place in the same way. The light of the candles flare in a flash of bright green flames, twisting around a jagged line of absolute darkness in the center of the circle so that it is the only thing visible. Kael’thas takes half a step back and blinks rapidly, trying to rid his eyes of the afterimage.

When his sights clears, it is to see a dumbfounded demon hunter standing in the middle of the summoning circle.

“What... the fuck,” Illidan says, in the perfect calm of someone about to snap and kill someone if looked at the wrong way, at the exact same time as Kael’thas says,

“How in hell—”

They both fall quiet and wait in awkward silence for a second before Illidan waves a hand and says, oddly polite in that peculiar way of his that suggests eternal suffering, “Go on.”

“That’s not what this ritual was supposed to do at all.” Kael’thas doesn’t seems sensitive to Illidan’s almost-tangible killing intent: he frowns, turns on his heels and strides to an open grimoire precariously balanced on a pile of even more books, twisting his fingers in his long hair as he does. He looks — agitated, and even more frustrated still, if that’s possible. He mutters under his breath, to low for Illidan to catch it.

“And what, pray tell, was it supposed to do?” Illidan crosses his arms over his chest and quirks an eyebrow, rage giving place to careful amusement.

Kael’thas turns his head sharply and narrows his eyes, as if to gauge if the demon hunter is messing with him or just plain stupid — which he perfectly knows he isn’t, so he’s messing with him either way. “Summon a demon, of course.”

“A demon,” Illidan says, deadpan.

“Yes, obviously!” And, saying that, Kael’thas makes a grand sweep of his arm that shows the mess of books, chalk and candles that is his room at the moment like it’s enough of an explanation, and then goes back to his notes.

“Obviously,” Illidan repeats.

“If you’re just going to repeat everything I say and not be any help at all, Lord Illidan, you can kindly get back to your quarters.” Kael’thas hisses, in such a way that the subtext of ‘please get the fuck out of my room’ is impossible to miss.

“Well, I didn’t chose to be here.” And before Kael’thas can say anything else, he asks, “Can I even get out of this circle?”

The question seems to drain all the anger out of Kael’thas. The mage stops in his riffling of his notes, and tilts his head to the side. “Well, there’s no reason you couldn’t — the binding only included demons, it’d be inefficient against someone any more powerful or less demonic, and if it could summon you then what if it had summoned a dreadlord or something such, now that would have been a disaster—” He shakes his head. “Anyway, do try— I’m sure nothing bad will happen.”

“How reassuring,” Illidan drawls as he steps over the lines of the circle. Nothing happens. He shrugs lightly to himself and walks to Kael’thas, looking over his shoulder. “I wasn’t aware you were also a warlock, on top of everything else.”

Kael’thas glances at him, now more tired than annoyed, and says, “I’m not.”

Illidan is very careful to keep his surprise hidden — too careful, and Kael’thas, trained since early childhood to see the slightest crack in a political’s adversary mask, smiles slightly at the thought that he managed to catch the infamous demon hunter off-guard.

“And I suppose you haven’t found this ritual in some old, dusty grimoire lost to history?”

Kael’thas scoffs. “Me, using outdated magical theory? I’m not stupid.”

“That’s what I thought.” Illidan sighs and shifts his weight to his other leg, looking at the scribbled notes with renewed interest. Kael’thas's handwriting is terrible. “This is... Really advanced summoning magic.” He turns his unsettling eyes on Kael’thas. “I’d like to look into it, if you’ll allow me.”

“How polite of you,” Kael’thas says. “I’ll give you a copy of my notes tomorrow morning, if only you can be bothered to get to the negotiations this time.”

Illidan actually looks distraught at the idea. “Can’t I take those?”

“No, I need them to see what I did wrong. Now get the hell out of my room, Lord Illidan.”

The demon hunter would probably roll his eyes if he could. As it is, he only walks out with a shake of his head that makes his long hair slides over his back in a rather delightful way. Kael’thas stares, but only a little.

--

“I think I got it this time,” Kael’thas tells Al’ar, who’s overlooking his work while very carefully not setting anything on fire. Kael’thas lightly pats his fluffy, embers-warm head with one hand as he writes adjustments on his notes with the other. The summoning array — which he’ll probably never get out of the floor, considering — has gained three extra circles (for extra security) and so many rhunes Kael’thas had to invent new ones to get what he wanted from the frustratingly old language. He’s writte them down somewhere, probably; Rommath will be happy to learn about them.

(They are, technically, a revolution in summoning magic, as is everything he’s been doing these last two months.)

“Ready?” The phoenix makes his peculiar hum-chirp of assent and Kael’thas nods. “Alright, here goes.”

Dawn is barely breaking — he might have forgotten to sleep, too engrossed in this new challenge. Al’ar swoops over the candles that mark the major points of the array, and the rising sun has nothing on the shimmering gold of his feathers as he lighs every single one and rises back to his perch.

Kael’thas smiles. He’s a familiar to his image: glorious and magnificent.

He guide his chant with rhytmic gestures (it’s something he’s seen warlock do so often he wonders how he managed to forget it the first time — a rookie mistake) and slowly build a web of light around the array. It expends with the words, swirls like fallen leaves caught in the wind, golden and fel-green and colored in hues that don’t have names yet, turns into a solid sphere of bright light—

And then it dissipates, and in its place stands Illidan Stormrage.

“Again?” Kael’thas says, throwing his hands up and looking at Al’ar with exasperation. The fantastical bird flaps his wings in something like a shrug and flies out the window, probably to go laugh about his failure with Rommath. Treators.

“I see you didn’t find the fault in your ritual,” Illidan replies with a mocking grin.

Kael’thas lifts his hands and then thinks better of it and lets them fall down again. Strangling the master of the demon hunters to death is not the way to go.

“Oh give me a break, you didn’t either.” He looks pointedly at Illidan, then the door. “Now would you kindly leave me to my frustrated hair-pulling, please?”

“Of course, your royal highness.” Illidan steps out of the array—

Well.

Illidan tries to step out of the array.

“You—”

“Improved the security measures, yes,” Kael’thas says dimly, trying his best not to laugh.

A pause. “I see.” Illidan takes a deep breath and knocks on the invisible barrier with his very long, very sharp nail (claw? Talon? Kael’thas isn’t used to being turned on by things he doesn’t know the therminology of and it’s bothering him). “Would you—”

“Get you out of here, yes, of course, pardon me.”

It takes a surprising amount of time and research to get the shield down. It is, apparently, easier to keep demons in than it is to get them out, or at least that’s the logic of Kael’thas unique summoning ritual.

It’s an opportunity to test his magic in ways he never thought about, so Kael’thas thinks he can be pardonned if, while trying to help Illidan, he throws a bunch of stuff into the array with him, to see what can enter and what is stopped by the barrier.

When it goes down, it frees Illidan — as well as six books of different weights and materials, a cushion, a candle, two knives, an apple core (Illidan got hungry during the hour it took to deactivate the array), a cup of tea (because Kael’thas has some manners at least) and a single sock. Living things cannot cross the threshold, as was proven by Kael’thas trying to throw a passing cat into the array and ending up with a slightly stunned and very irrate feline definitely out of the array.

“It might have something to do with intent,” Illidan says as he scans the loose pages of notes thrown over the floor. “The first time you summoned me— What were you thinking of?”

“Our first meeting,” The other mage admits easily. “When Lor’themar threw me over his shoulder and almost jumped off a cliff.”

 “Odd. You know Theron better— for all intent and purpose, he should have been the one summoned then.”

“Maybe something to do with demon blood?” Kael’thas gestures to Illidan’s— well, everything. The man does look rather demon-y. “This is a demon summoning ritual, after all. Demon hunters are at least half demon, as far as blood is concerned.”

Illidan hums noncommittally. “Or maybe you’re not cut to be a warlock.”

And then he flees (makes a tactical retreat) the scene before Kael’thas can throw more books at him.

--

“We need to stop meeting like this.”

‘I don’t know, I kind of enjoy having you on my bedroom floor.’

“You don’t say.”

--

“Still no success on this, hm?”

“Get out of there.”

--

“Fucking hell!”

“Good morning to you too, King Sunstrider.”

--

“I—”

“I will kill you with my bare hands and sends your corpse to the Legion if you say a single word, Illidan.”

--

“You’re supposed to be in Outland.”

“Well at least we now know cross-dimensional summoning isn’t the issue.”

--

"Still trying?”

“No. Here’s your paperwork. If I have to suffer through it then so do you.”

--

“I wish I could find a way to summon someone else. Non-consensual teleportation holds so many possibilities.”

“By the Light, I hope you never do.”

--

“I can’t believe you summoned me to the peace summit.”

“It wasn’t as if you’d get there yourself, hm?”

--

“I don’t know about you or royalty in general but demon hunters, against all odds, do actually need to sleep every so often, and I was doing that just now.”

“I’m bored, come help me work on this whole summoning mess.” 

“Ugh, fine.”

--

In the end, it’s a surprise it didn’t come bite him in the ass sooner than that.

Another fruitless attempt to summon an actual demon (as in: the Burning Legion kind) ends in Illidan standing in the ever-increasing array on his bedroom floor. But this time he is covered in drying blood, slightly out of breath and distinctly singed around the edge. His hairtie has been lost or broken and his hair falls freely over his shoulders, and he looks pissed.

“You need to stop this,” He says as soon as he appears.

“I’m trying, but for some reason you keep appearing!”

“Then stop trying!” Illidan snarls, revealing sharp teeth and green ichor. Out of a battle against the Legion.

Kael’thas bends his head and curls his fingers into his hair, pulling hard. “I’m so close! I can feel it! I just need to—”

“No.” Illidan stands to his full height and his wings opens just slightly, like a bird trying to make itself look bigger. “This has to stop.”

“I can’t!” Kael’thas looks up, crazed eyes and shivering hands. “I can find a way to actually summon a demon. I— I can do it, I just need to keep trying!”

Illidan is suddenly very close, breath smelling of sulfur and blood brushing over Kael’thas’s forehead as he stands above him, long black hair framing his face in darkness. “I don’t think you understand,” He says very quietly. Too calm, like a storm just before the first lightning strike. “This. Must. Stop. What if you had tried this an hour earlier? What if you’d taken me right out of a fight, or just before one? It’s a miracle you haven’t yet.”

Poison-green blood drips from his hairline and falls on Kael’thas face. He doesn’t flinch at the burn. Instead, he grabs Illidan’s horns and drags him lower, closer, and snarls right back. “I will succeed, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Isn’t there?” Illidan’s voice holds a promise of pain and Kael’thas— 

Shivers, although he is not afraid.

“I could destroy you,” Illidan adds, like it’s a surprise — like it’s new. Like he never noticed that Kael’thas — bright and always burning — is smaller than he is, weaker in the way a sword is ultimately weaker than fire.

“You could try,” Kael’thas retorts, holding Illidan’s gaze even as his back hits the wall. He wasn’t even aware they were moving.

A clawed hand fists in his hair and Illidan wrenches his head backward, barring his throat, and a second one curls around it, sharp talons brushing against his jugular. Kael’thas snaps his mouth closed and clenches his teeth around a growl, biting his tongue until it bleeds. He is better than this.

The horns in his hands are rugged and warm, jagged edges just sharp enough to hurt where they dig in his skin. He pulls harder and Illidan (willing or taken by surprise he cannot say, although he can guess) falls even closer. Kael’thas smiles, a predator threat of bloody teeth.

And then he kisses Illidan.

It’s not a nice kiss, definitely not a gentle one. It’s closer to a fight, maybe, and it tastes like one, green and red blood mixing together on their lips. Kael’thas only lets go of Illidan when he’s out of breath, and he licks his lips with a feral grin.

“You have no power over me,” He says happily, and in a wave of his fingers Illidan is thrown back through whatever space-time rift will spit him back where he’s from.

He’s making progress: now that he can forces the teleportation both ways, he might find what’s keeping him from summoning anyone or anything else.

Whistling, Kael'thas goes back to his notes.

[carryonmywitingson]

Crash Landing on Chorus

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Chapter 2: A Blast From the Past

After Ohio had finished telling the story of how she'd ended up on Chorus she asked them the same and they all helped tell the story. Or tried before it was just Carolina and Wash telling it. "Wait a minute..." Ohio said when they came to the part about the mercenaries. "What did you say their names was?" she asked. "Felix and Locus. Why?" Epsilon, or Church, said. "Because I think I might know them" she said and they all just looked at her. "You do?" Carolina asked and she nodded. "Yeah, from before my time in Project Freelancer. Say, how much do you actually know about my life before I joined the army?" Ohio asked the two freelancers. "Um... Not much actually..." Wash answered. "So... Wanna tell us how you know Felix and Locus?" Church asked and Ohio sighed.

"Well... before I joined Project Freelancer I was a mercenary and on one job I had to work together with three other mercenaries. Felix, Locus and Siris" she explained. "Siris?" Tucker said. "Who the fuck is that?" Ohio sighed. "It's one of Locus and Felix's old partners. And their real names aren't even Locus and Felix. Siris's real name is, or rather was, Mason Wu. Felix is Isaac Gates and Locus is Samuel Ortez. As for me? I was Naomi." "Naomi?" Grif said.

"Oh shut up" Carolina said.

"Anyway... We were on this job..."

~Flash back~

"Okay, the main objective to get through the guards as quietly as possible, we can't risk any alarms going off, and get to Camille Wickham and bring her back alive" Siris said and looked at Felix while empathizing the word 'alive'. "Yeah, yeah. Get the girl back alive without drawing too much attention to ourselves. Got it." Felix said. Locus nodded as Siris started handed handing out earpieces to make sure we could keep in contact during the mission. "Anything else we should be aware of?" Ohio asked. Siris shook his head. "I will help you guys out from the outside. I'll have a sniper rifle in case anything goes wrong. Here's the plan: Locus, you go in by yourself and focus on locating all the guards and neutralize as many as possible without drawing attention to yourself and be ready in case Naomi and Felix need help. Naomi and Felix, you two go in and go up to the bar. Locate Camille and try to get her away from the rest of them. And be discreet." he looked at Felix. "Think you can handle that?" Felix sighed and nodded. "Yes. I can handle it. Jesus Wu, calm down." he said. "Code names" Locus quickly said as soon as Felix used Siris's real name.

Once at the club the plan was in action. "Put your arm around me" Ohio told Felix who raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" he said. "Just do it." she said as she unbuttoned her shirt a bit and Felix obeyed. As they walked up to the guard, Ohio smiled and led Felix to the front of the line. "Whoa, back of the line guys" the guard said. "Look... My boyfriend and I are celebrating our first anniversary and were hoping that maybe you'd just let us in....?" she said and looked at Felix who was just getting what she was playing at. "I'm sorry, there's no exceptions." the guard said. Felix dug his hand into his pocked and picked up a some money. "How about you just look away and never saw my girlfriend and I?" he asked as he waved a few hundred dollars in front of the guard. He looked both ways before accepting the money and letting you into the club.

"Okay... We need some way of getting Wickham's attention..." Ohio said. just then there was some static in the earpiece before Locus started talking. "Naomi, Felix. I need a distraction. I need you two to draw the spotlight." he said. "Copy that" Felix said before looking at Ohio. "Naomi...?" he said. "Yeah?" she answered. "Are you ready for the biggest distraction of a lifetime?" he asked and smirked as he looked at her. "Siris said not to draw too much attention to ourselves..." she muttered. "I don't always listen." he said as he lead her to the middle of the room and then he stopped. "Can I have everyone's attention please!" Felix shouted. "Felix, what are you doing?" Siris said over the earpiece. "Improvising." he whispered back before getting down on one knee and continuing. "Naomi... We've known each other for a long time and I love you so much so... Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" he asked as everyone looked at her. "I said not to draw attention to yourselves Felix!" Siris nearly shouted but Ohio just acted natural and did what she was supposed to. "Yes, of course!" she said, acting surprised and happy. Everyone around you cheered. He stood up and hugged her. "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" the crowd cheered. She looked at Felix before he kissed her.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds before everyone started cheering again and then went back to their own business. Ohio and Felix made their way over to the bar. Ohio sighed before she spotted the target. "There she is..." she quietly said to Felix and gesturing towards the end of the bar.  "Looks like she's alone..." he said. "Yeah... C'mon. We've a mission to complete." Ohio mumbled before dragging Felix along towards Camille'who looked up at them as they approached. "Congratulations!" she said. "I saw the whole thing." she waved to the bartender and ordered some champagne. "On me. It's not everyday people get engaged in my club." she said and smiled. "This is you club?" Ohio asked and acted surprised and Camille nodded. "Great place you've got!" Felix chimed in. "Isn't it just...." Camille said as the champagne appeared. "Well, cheers. Hope you two have a long happy life ahead of you" she said and raised her glass. Ohio and Felix did the same. "Cheers" they said and they each took a sip before Ohio started talking to Camille. Just making small talk. "Well I'll be right back. I need to go to the ladies room." Ohio said after a couple of minutes. "I'll come with." Camille said and they made their way over to the bathroom.

Once there and after all the people had left Ohio blocked the door with a trashcan and quickly got behind Camille and choked her until she passed out. She pressed her fingers onto the small earpiece and started talking. "The target is unconscious. Prepare to leave. I'll take her through the vents to the backdoor. Meet me there." she said and soon after she heard Locus, Felix and Siris confirming the plan. She dragged her to the vent and lifted her up. "You're heavier than you look..." Ohio mumbled to herself as she climbed in after and then started to drag her towards the backdoor. Once there she looked down  to make sure the coast was clear before jumping down. She'd left Camille in the vent but only until she saw the boys. "Locus, get Camille, she's in the vent." she said before opening the backdoor to make sure no one'd see them. Felix watched in towards the club to make sure no one came that way.

Once outside a car pulled into the small space between the buildings and Siris poked out his head. "Get in" he said Locus carried Camille to the trunk and then got into the back seat beside Felix while Ohio rode shotgun.

~Present time~

"We worked a few more jobs after that before becoming regular partners. After this one job Siris quit and I haven't heard from him since but I found out a few weeks ago that he'd gotten killed a few weeks after that last mission. I worked with Locus and Felix for a few years before they just disappeared. This is the first I've heard of them since, and that was a few years ago. A few months after I saw something about this experimental military crap and decided to join in. And that's when I became Agent Ohio of project Freelancer." Ohio ended the story, leaving out a few details she didn't think to be important. Everyone was quiet. "So... Did you guys bang?" Tucker asked and everyone just shouted "Shut up Tucker!" and Washington shouted the loudest of them all.

"Okay... Well since you spent so much time with them you must know them... Right?" Church said to which she nodded. "Would you like to help us take these assholes out?" he asked and even though she was wearing a helmet she was pretty sure they knew she was smiling. "It's be my pleasure!" she said.

~Time skip~

"Alright, each team has two teleportation grenades. One to transport you there and want to get you back. First priority is obtaining the manifest, but, while we're in, we should also search for additional supplies. Teleporters, weaponry, anything that could help." Carolina said and turned to the Reds. "I don't expect there to be a hostile presence at Bravo, but be careful nonetheless. " she told them. "Don't get shot. Got it." Sarge said. "Alpha's another story. We've acquired its coordinates for teleportation, but never actually investigated the area. From what we've gathered it's a massive hotspot for pirate activity. I'd understand if you don't want to join us." Carolina said to the Blues and Wash. "Given the situation, I'd say you need all the help you can get. Count us in." Wash said. "Yeah, pretty sure Church would be disappointed if I didn't come also, sooo..." Caboose said and stepped forward. "I'll come too" Ohio said. "No. You stay here with Grey and guard the base in case someone  comes here looking for us." Carolina said. Ohio sighed but didn't argue.

A/N: Hello again guys! I hope you like this chapter and there will be more flashbacks through out the book. And if you have anything to say just leave a comment and I'll answer as soon as possible! Have a good day! XOXO CarryOnMyWritingSon

[flauntpage]

Stay or Go? The Philadelphia Union and the Road to Relevance

The 2016 Philadelphia Union finished with 11 wins, 14 losses, 9 draws, a -3 goal differential, and a playoff appearance.

The 2017 Philadelphia Union finished with 11 wins, 14 losses, 9 draws, a +3 goal differential, and no playoff appearance.

So.. they improved? Or they didn’t..

Wait, what?

Jim Curtin’s team clobbered Orlando 6-1 on Sunday evening, a visiting team that phoned it in so badly that I could have sworn they were match fixing. It was the Union’s biggest margin of victory in franchise history and only the second time the team had ever scored six or more. C.J. Sapong set the record for most goals in a single Union season and the retiring Brian Carroll was sent out in winning fashion.

In a way, that performance was the perfect end to another bland campaign, meaning that they played well when it didn’t matter. The Union needed results from March through September and didn’t get it done, beginning the season with zero wins through eight games and slumping to a miserable 1-10-6 road record. Questions of Jim Curtin’s job security were casually brushed off even as teams with similar records were axing their managers.

It was business as usual in Chester, where the season’s inevitable outcome was determined less than halfway through. Young players were benched, others regressed, and the team played the same damn formation before finally getting experimental when the season was lost. One step forward, one step back for a franchise that can’t seem to get out of its own way.

The positives are few.

Rookie Jack Elliott surprised everyone with his intuitive and veteran style of play. Sapong, who started the season on the bench, had a career year. Haris Medunjanin wound up being a great signing and Andre Blake again proved his case for a European transfer. Folks continued the treck to Talen Energy Stadium despite onset apathy and continuing mediocrity, showing me that this fan base remains recession-proof and dedicated.

The future is foggy because of owner Jay Sugarman, who simply does not spend the money required to create a competitive team. Sporting Director Earnie Stewart does not have the resources required to assemble a playoff-caliber squad. The Union tried to play Moneyball in 2017 while expansion Atlanta spent millions of dollars on talented players and shattered MLS attendance records en route to a year-one postseason berth. Philadelphia has played (and lost) three playoff games in eight seasons.

If this team is going to get it done, they need to shed those middle of the road, $500,000 contracts and play the high/low game with academy talent backing up three game-changing designated players. Using DP slots on a million-dollar midfielder and striker should be doable if their backups are $65,000 youngsters like Anthony Fontana and Adam Najem. That’s how you skate through on the cheap while pushing your academy model and fielding a competitive team at the same time. You kill three birds with one stone and give fans something to be hopeful for, but it starts with gutting half of the existing roster.

.@BigAfrika88 is now the top single-season scorer in club history with his 15th!#PHIvORL // #DecisionDay by @ATT https://t.co/n0kMKJXV5H

— Major League Soccer (@MLS) October 22, 2017

Go:

Maurice Edu, Roland Alberg, Ilsinho, Chris Pontius, Warren Creavalle, Ray Gaddis, Andre Blake, Ken Tribbett, Charlie Davies, Brian Carroll, Fabinho, Jake McGuire, Oguchi Onyewu

I believe Alberg and Ilsinho both have option years coming up. I’d decline both and let them move on. Neither showed enough during the past two seasons to warrant a 2018 roster spot.

Charlie Davies confirmed he’s out on Twitter. His Union tenure ends with eight appearances and zero goals, which makes his trade one of the worst in franchise history. I’m just glad he’s okay after beating cancer and dealing with health scares involving his children. Some things are bigger than soccer.

Brian Carroll retired, so good on him for an underrated, trophy-winning career.

I’d sell Andre Blake, assuming the red tape is cleared up, and use the money on one of the DPs.

Chris Pontius can become a free agent, Fabinho’s contract is up, and I’d move on from the rest on that list if possible. I don’t know the contract status of some of those guys, like Gaddis, Creavalle, and Onyewu.

Maurice Edu should go to expansion Los Angeles on a safe deal to try to get his career back on track.

Stay: 

Jack Elliot, Josh Yaro, Auston Trusty, Richie Marquez, Haris Medunjanin, Alejandro Bedoya, John McCarthy, Keegan Rosenberry, Fabian Herbers, C.J. Sapong, Aaron Jones, Marcus Epps, Derrick Jones, Fafa Picault, Jay Simpson, Adam Najem, Anthony Fontana, Giliano Wijnaldum

I’m pretty sure they’re locked in on another year of Jay Simpson, since most foreign guys sign 2+1 deals. His second year I believe is guaranteed.

You still have a nice young core of defenders, even if this year did absolutely nothing for Keegan Rosenberry, Richie Marquez, and Josh Yaro. Those three didn’t help themselves at all, nor did the coaching staff, but they are still going to have to be part of the conversation moving forward.

McCarthy remains the backup and I believe everybody else I listed is under contract for next season. Marquez I’m not sure actually, so we’ll see what happens there. I’ve had one foot off the beat for at least six months now.

No clue: 

Eric Ayuk

He spent the season on loan. Maybe he comes back as wing depth if Pontius becomes a free agent.

The Sons of Ben disagree with me on Blake’s future, but THEY’RE WRONG!

Re-Sign Dre reads the @sonsofben tifo. http://pic.twitter.com/95hrJR1252

— Union Soccer Talk (@UnionSoccerTalk) October 22, 2017

Offseason signings – 

DP attacking midfielder, DP striker, TAM-level center back, starting goalkeeper, right wing depth, backup left back

The biggest need is a DP #10, assuming they’re married to this 4-2-3-1 formation that never changes. They flirted with Elias Aguilar and Nicolas Martinez in the summer but decided not to sign either one. They need to be in the one million to 1.5 million range for this player and let Najem and Fontana be the cheap backups. You just can’t skimp on a playmaking number ten.

Striker is another story, because you’ve already got Sapong and Jay Simpson eating up $800,000 in this slot, and the Union only play one striker anyway. If you signed a $1,000,000 DP attacker, you’re spending $1.8m on a position where two of the guys are going to be on the bench. It’s a problem area created by the $500,000 Simpson signing. I don’t know what they do here.

If Blake goes, you can find a decent goalkeeper for $150k or $250k. We actually produce decent stoppers in this country, so no need to go the foreign route.

You’ll need another LB to replace Fabinho. Maybe you bring up Matt Real from Bethlehem Steel. If Gaddis goes, Aaron Jones can back up Keegan Rosenberry. I think you can get away with a wing combination of Picault and Herbers in 2018, assuming the former improves his finishing and the latter plays like he did at the tail-end of 2016.

At center back, I’m not sure. I still believe in Yaro or Marquez as a third CB, but a veteran TAM-level guy would be a nice complement to Jack Elliott. Onyewu had a really nice season and proved a lot of doubters wrong, but he’s not the future.

Way too early 2018 depth chart:

striker: new designated player, C.J. Sapong, Jay Simpson

attacking mid: new designated player, Adam Najem, Anthony Fontana

right wing: Fabian Herbers, Marcus Epps, Eric Ayuk

left wing: Fafa Picault, Marcus Epps, Eric Ayuk

DM #8: Alejandro Bedoya, Derrick Jones

DM#6: Haris Medunjanin, Derrick Jones

Left back: Giliano Wijnaldum, Matthew Real

Center back: TAM-level signing, Jack Elliott, Richie Marquez, Josh Yaro, Auston Trusty

Right back: Keegan Rosenberry, Aaron Jones

Goalkeeper: new signing, John McCarthy, new signing

I wrote this up assuming it’s the same old 4-2-3-1 again. You’d have Sapong backing up the new DP, who is playing in front of the other new DP. Picault and Herbers on the wings with Bedoya and Medunjanin behind them. I don’t know what Derrick Jones does next year, since having both Medunjanin and Bedoya on the roster keeps him on the bench, unless they decide to try that 4-1-4-1 again and flip the triangle. They tried a Jones/Bedoya/Medunjanin trio earlier this year and it didn’t work since Bedoya is not a number 10.

The only other thing I could see is that Bedoya goes back over to right wing and Jones plays next to Medunjanin. They won’t do that, but it’s a way to get Bedoya into better crossing and attacking positions while putting a true #6 on the field and allowing Medunjanin a little more space to roam.

Preferred 2018 lineup assuming no tactical changes:

If you go through the suggestions I listed above, this is what your team looks like next season. They can get into the playoffs as the 5th or 6th seed with this grouping if they don’t whiff on the DP signings.

It’s the same 4-2-3-1 that we’ve always seen, this time pairing Elliott with a veteran CB and improving the #9 and #10 positions.

“Go big or go home” lineup that will never happen: 

It’s a 3-5-2 using Wijnaldum and Rosenberry as wingbacks to amplify their attacking ability and mitigate their defensive liability.

Medunjanin can play the Andrea Pirlo regista role and spray the ball around from deeper positions while Bedoya and a new midfielder play box-to-box roles ala 2013 Juventus. Medunjanin, Bedoya, and the new DP would basically function like a poor man’s trio of Pirlo, Claudio Marchisio, and Paul Pogba. Sapong stays on the field with the new DP to get a pair of attackers on the field and justify dedicating that much cap space to the striker position.

Something different, but feasible

If you really can’t find a DP #10, don’t play with a DP #10.

Here you’ve got a 4-1-4-1 with Jones behind Medunjanin and a box-to-box DP midfielder. Bedoya goes over to his natural right wing and Picault is on the left behind a DP striker. You saw them have a little bit of success flipping the triangle later in the season, and something like this could at least be a nice adjustment if Curtin insists on playing with a back four and a single striker for the entirety of 2018.

Anyway, it’s a start. I think the Union created some good offseason momentum by obliterating a pathetic Orlando squad yesterday, so they should drop that press release with the roster moves ASAP and keep the train rolling.

Stay or Go? The Philadelphia Union and the Road to Relevance published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Chapter 3

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

I couldn't sleep again that night, or even the next, not even getting a few seconds of splendid nothingness in my anxiety. I had come across a dilemma in my planning, and worst of all there was no more milk. The problem was, Tucker's experiment on Nina and Alexander was an important step to Ed and Al realizing how important it was for them to stay alive.

In order to keep the story straight, I needed to keep the emotional and character development as the same as possible. For Hughes, that just meant keeping him out of the picture or at least convince others (aka Flame Colonel) of his death. However, when it came to the deaths of characters influencing the development of others, it meant that some degree of death and suffering had to be involved.

I was the kind of girl who saw these kind of moral decisions in black and white most of the time. Something was right or it was wrong, good or bad, that kind of stuff. But the lives of people? Intentionally making Edward get depressed and in effect attacked and almost killed by Scar? Not to mention his automail and Alphonse would get all busted up...poor Winry. This was a little much for me to deal with, let alone practically decide the fate of the whole series.

'An Alchemist's Anguish' and 'Rain of Sorrows' were the first really serious life and death episodes people cried about, unless they had some weird attachment to Cornello or McDougal, and it's not as if the story focused on the past trauma the Elrics had endured (not a ton I could do to help them now).

I didn't want to think about how I would deal with future situations, let alone this one, so I decided to draw some silly doodles of Maes instead. Now, I was no artist, which was why I was calling them silly doodles. They're literally stick figures with glasses and a cowlick. That was it. That was my artistic ability.

The 'drawings' (if you could call them that) clashed horribly with my messy consideration of Nina and Alexander' experimentation/deaths as a) preventable b) necessary and c) reversible. I could try to find a way to keep the resulting chimera of Tucker's experiment alive long enough for proper research to reverse their condition to be discovered, however, that meant the two having to live as that monstrosity for who knows how many years.

Not to mention the Tuckers' deaths were something that really sent Ed over the edge, thus creating the whole 'look how cool it is to be alive!' speech Alphonse had to give him. It also updated Winry on the Elric's situation, and lead to the meeting with Dr. Marcoh, which led to the fifth laboratory, not to mention Sheska's job - it all came from that event practically, and without it, no one would be able to stop Father on The Promised Day. The snowball effect of the plot was awful when considering the impact of people's deaths, but it also made one hell of a show.

All these moral and plot questions were really messing with my head, so I decided to get a glass of water. This was a mistake, as it seemed to have woken Maes up. Well, he didn't look like he'd gotten much sleep either. I almost bolted for my bedroom when I heard his door open, but decided against it since my ankle was acting up again.

I had the notebook in my room, so it was probably safe so long as Lucha didn't try to eat it. He was still acting weird, sleeping more than usual and eating less. I was starting to get worried he was depressed or something. Anyways, Hughes walked in on me as I sat down at the table. I was wearing a new nightgown Gracia had bought for me, all frilly and white like something out of a horror movie.

"Can't sleep?" I asked, peering up from my glass. He wasn't wearing his glasses, and it was just downright weird. A Maes without glasses was like an Irish without a Lucha. It was just damn unnatural. Besides the bizarre lack of glasses, Maes seemed kind of beat down, barely cracking a smile when he walked past me to start the coffee machine.

I never noticed how old it looked. Like, it was a freaking dinosaur. Probably this world's equivalent of an early Pavoni Espresso Machine. I wondered if they still drank it with or without grinds in, what year was this, 1913? The invention of filters came out in 1908 I thought… Wait, no, Elicia turned three not too long from now and she was born in 1911 so...1914-ish? So yeah, no coffee grinds.

I hate coffee, and in an episode of hyperfixation, I spent several days researching everything about my nemesis. As they say, “know thy enemy”. 

In reality though it was for a school project, but I still fucking hate that vile bean juice.

"I was about to ask you the same thing." Hughes said, waking me from my coffee musings. He had the machine running and sat down across from me, waiting for it to finish. "Want to ask me that question from earlier?"

No. I really didn't want to ask the damn question. I was a little distracted by the consequences of saving lives to think about taking them. Still, it was probably the reason I snapped at Elicia earlier and the reason I hadn't been sleeping. I rested my chin on my hands, looking across the dark room at the pictures on the mantel.

"You've killed people, right? In the civil war?" I was glad I was collected enough to act like I was making assumptions about Hughes' career as a soldier. "How do you...is it possible, I mean, to get over it?"

My heart felt as if someone had stabbed me through and through with a hot iron, and my mouth had suddenly become the Mojave Desert. My cheeks were crimson, and I knew the dark couldn't hide the tears that slipped down my cheeks. Part of me thought I was being weak, another felt vulnerable and scared, and a final piece was ready to break down sobbing and hug Maes like he was my own father.

It was quiet for a while, as if Hughes was letting me collect myself a little before he said anything that might upset me more. I realized how long I had been sitting there trying to stop the tears when I heard a short, quiet click from the coffee machine. Hughes got up and poured himself a cup. I was considerably more relaxed now, but still on the verge of tears. I had to stop crying every night, it was starting to become a bad habit. Maes sat next to me, not drinking his coffee as he thought for a moment.

"It's not something you're really supposed to 'get over'." He said slowly, assessing my lack of reaction. I tried my best to not mentally berate the statement, he wasn't finished. "But it is something you need to learn to cope with. I'm no expert in trauma - at least not on paper - but, just try to accept what you did and move on." Oh snap, I brought out the serious Hughes. Shit was about to get real. Okay, so it seemed I coped with humor.

"It's hard at first, but it helps to have someone to talk to when you start obsessing with it - blaming yourself, others, denial, that kind of stuff. You shouldn't avoid it necessarily, but it shouldn't be something that runs your life." I nodded, feeling slightly better. I was considerably more collected than I had been a minute or two ago, suddenly feeling stupid for even bothering Hughes. It probably brought up bad memories for him, not to mention there were probably books about trauma in the library - though, it would burn down before the Elrics got back from their trip to Resembool to recuperate, right? Ugh, stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Thanks, really, thank you." I said, my voice raspy from all the damn crying I'd been doing. I really hated crying in front of people, if you couldn't tell from my little self loathing speech up there. This is the most I had cried all month. He almost awkwardly rubbed my back in an attempt to help me calm down some more. Sweet of him, but it seemed to only make me more upset. My dad would always rub circles on my back like that when I was upset."Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure, anything." Maes said softly, taking a sip of his coffee, a faraway look misting over his eyes. Ugh, I was so stupid for asking for help - why couldn't I learn to deal with stuff on my own? Part of me was aware that I did the right thing by asking him for advice, but it still made me feel bad. I needed to change the subject before I started to cry again.

"What does my Honorary Citizenship come with? Why did it impress Miss. Reich enough to get me a job?" I asked, genuinely curious. It seemed all official and pretty, but what was special enough to a) get me out of prison and b) get me a job with a prejudiced shopkeeper who had zero knowledge of my skills or abilities? Hughes also seemed happy to change the morbid subject to something else.

"Well, they aren't common to say the least. I'm pretty sure only two have even been issued before you - both before King Bradley was Fuhrer. They're the highest honor that can be given to a citizen. If you ever decide to join the military, you get a starting rank of a corporal once you graduate from the academy. And even if you don't, you still have access to the same career benefits - insurance and whatnot - that a corporal would.

"There's also some legal power with it, I'm pretty sure you have the power to arrest someone under certain circumstances - I think you have to have witnessed the crime with multiple witnesses and have at least a sergeant present." I nodded, a bit intimidated by the power the small piece of paper held. It was like having Order 3066 in your back pocket, except it wouldn't cause, you know, mass genocide and that kind of stuff.

I knew about military ranks, at least a little. My older sister back home was a Chief Petty Officer of the U.S. Coast Guard, so we heard plenty of this and that, but naval ranks weren't exactly the same as army ranks.

"A corporal? What kind of job would I do?" I asked, interested. If I became involved with the military, I could keep a closer eye on Hughes and the Elrics. However, that meant Pride and Wrath would be able to keep a close eye on me. The Fuhrer had most likely already figured out that my story had some small plot holes, especially the Drachman part of it. I didn't know shit about Drachman culture, let alone some religion - I should have probably given it a name so they didn't think the story was too vague. I'll call it...Utkism? Yes. A religion named after the Russian word for duck. After finishing this little tirade with myself I realized Hughes was looking at me oddly with a small, sleepy smile growing on his face. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" He stroked his scruffy beard sagely.

"You could work with me, once you finish at the academy that is." I realized I probably missed a whole spiel on what the hell a corporal was supposed to do, so I just nodded. All this nodding was starting to hurt my neck.

We talked for a little longer about the academy; how long I'd be there if I applied, what it'd be like, stuff like that. It was around two in the morning when I realized how often we were both yawning. We had gotten to the subject of state alchemists somehow, probably by talking about Edward, and were both struggling to maintain the conversation.

"I'm heading to bed," That was a lie, I was going back to awful moral questioning and arguing with myself over the lives of people, but Maes seemed to believe it as he too began to make his way back to his room.

"See you in the morning," The man said with a yawn, making me yawn as I entered the room. Sitting on my bed, I was happy to find the notebook unscathed. The bed was really squishy and comfortable, but I couldn't fall asleep with all the planning I had to do.

The first page of the notebook had the title of the pilot episode 'Fullmetal Alchemist'. There wasn't really much I could 'plan' for the past, but I did jot down a few notes about who I came into contact with - Kimblee probably listened in on me and McDougal, Wrath (which I simply marked with a WWE symbol just in case Seliem, or rather, Pride, was up past his bedtime spying on me), Mustang, Riza, The Armstrong Squad, the Elrics, ect. I also made a minor note of the other officers and soldiers I had met, and my 'story' of how I got there and my background. It would be both embarrassing and terrifying to screw up a lie.

The next page had both 'The First Day' and 'The City of Heresy' episode titles just to jog my memory (I lied about having an eidetic memory to you, I was only good for memorizing lists, names, and numbers. Did I forget to mention I was a compulsive liar? Just kidding, that was a lie.). I had recently given up on 'An Alchemist's Anguish' as it nearly took up two whole pages and I didn't know how long this little book was.

The next episode was really sad with lots of rain, when Scar went after the Elrics...ah, yes. 'Rains of Sorrows' would happen the day after the Tuckers were murdered. It would be cool to see if I could prevent Ed and Al some pain, but then they wouldn't have to go to Resembool and meet Marcoh on the way so I guessed I had to let shit go down between Scar and the state alchemists. Speaking of which, I was pretty sure all of this would happen in East City. I should have probably found a map so I could figure out where the hell I was at least half the time.

On another note, Lucha was finally awake for once, and not hungry. But he was still acting strangely, a twitching mess acting as if he had never walked before, stumbling around the bed like a drunken pig. I sighed, walking over to the extra bed and picking the snake rat up.

"Are you sick little buddy?" His eyes were cloudy, as if he had cataracts. This made me nervous. I didn't think the vets here would provide care for living slinkies, let alone know how to remove a cataract. I kept trying to get a better view of his eyes, which was hard considering how fidgety he was. "Geez, would you stop-" I squeaked in pain as he bit me. No blood was drawn, but it hurt like hell. "Fu-dge." I said, curbing a curse as Lucha found his footing on the bed and began to tentatively shuffle over to the notebook. "No you don't you evil little-" I stopped when I realized he was picking the pen up in its mouth, dragging the tip over the page.

Okay, I knew ferrets were smart, but he was not really one to stick with stereotypes so Lucha was always a bit of an...astronaut. Yeah, an astronaut. He was never really all there, a bit dopey and clumsy (my brother dropped him when we first got the ferret, I cried the whole way to the vet and back). Anyways, no ferret - no animal (at least without an opposable thumb) should have been able to write.

I finally got out of my stupor when he made this strangled squeak, like he was afraid to make too much noise. Lucha seemed to want me to look at what he wrote. It was three simple words, messy and with letters that were somewhat backwards and too large for me to read the first few seconds I stared at the ink.

"I AM TRUTH" It read, which made me let out a short bark of laughter. Lucha in turn glared at me and gave a short snarl.

"Sorry, it's just," I really couldn't stop giggling. One of the most powerful and all knowing beings of the series, so powerful and influential some called it a god, came to earth in the form of a ferret. "You're so weak, in that form I mean." Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, but it was hilarious. The cloudiness of Lucha's eyes cleared to reveal a violet eye, rings circling around a small pupil, like the eye that appears in the middle of a human transmutation circle. Lucha - Well, Truth I guessed, picked up the pen again. "Oh, not on the notebook!" I said, snatching the small tome from the pen's inky reaches.

Truth snorted, looking around for something else to write on. I guess I gave that pen to Truth, I didn't want to write with a slimy bitten ferret pen. Finding nothing, Lucha crawled up to me and began to draw the pen's sharp tip over my shin. It hurt a little, but it would wash off later. It took me a minute to read when the ferret had written, I had to turn my head to read the upside down letters.

"What do you mean you don't like it but have to deal with it? Is this about the thing you said when I was at the Gate, you know, about not being able to possess a creature with a soul?" The ferret's snow white head bobbed up and down. "Aw, but I was kind of the person who thought that maybe-" Lucha shook his head, practically having a seizure suddenly. "Lucha!" I whispered urgently, catching the small animal before he fell off the bed to the hardwood floor below.

He looked up at me, his green eyes sparkling with their little golden flecks. Crawling around my neck, Lucha nuzzled my cheek before resting on my shoulder. I sighed, knowing Truth probably could tell me something I was wondering.

I did remember what I learned from seeing the Truth, I just needed to know if I was applying that knowledge correctly. I learned that a life would have to be taken if my presence interrupted the death of another person, meaning that if I did save Nina and Alexander, someone would die. I had no way of knowing who or when, but that could seriously screw with the timeline more than plain and simple stopping an event.

Are you starting to see my big problem with saving them? And don't even mention Hughes, I was not ready for that kind of emotional trauma after the little therapy session I just had. I just wanted to ask Truth if there was a way to predict who would die in the other person's place. But, I was stuck with a sleepy slinky that was now chewing on my hair. Was he trying to force me to bathe again? Probably.

By the time I rubbed the ink off my leg, it was only 2:30. Needing something to keep me busy, I decided to go for a walk around town and get my bearings. It'd be easier to walk around at night too, not as many people out and such. Was there a curfew? Maybe, but I'd just whip out my wondrous Certificate and get a free pass. Hopefully. I left a note on the table anyway telling Maes to call the police station if I wasn't back for breakfast.

Before I could get out the door, thunder shook the building, and lightning flashed outside as a downpour began. Just my luck. And here you would think a girl named Irish would be lucky. Still, the thunder and lightning seemed to have stopped and the initial flood of rain had quickly been reduced to a light shower. Okay, so maybe I did have some luck to my name. I decided to wear one of the skirts Gracia had bought me.

Now, I'm down to wear steel toed boots and jeans and work in the mud and drive tractors all day, but I spent my first twelve school years in a skirt and blouse. In high school, I did wear jeans and boots and hoodies daily, but dressing up was my absolute favorite thing to do.

But I digress, the skirt was long, like, traditional and formal western style. It was blue with a belt that she had bought for it. Not really my style, too loose for my liking but it would do for a quick walk. The white blouses she had bought made me uncomfortable with its relatively see through fabric, so I decided on wearing one with this cute little dress jacket that mostly hid my grey sports bra from peeking out from beneath the thin fabric.

Everything was relatively comfortable, except for the frilly collar of the blouse, it was kind of itchy. To top it off, I found this hat Mrs. Hughes had left in the bottom of the closet. It had lost most of its 1900 feathers and flowers that it once adorned, and I wished they had some cloche hats around that I could use instead, but at least this would hide my hair, which was beginning to look more like a mane.

I felt very proper, with all the old clothes I was wearing. Resisting the urge to narrate my journey to the front door with a British accent, I decided to recite a few lines of Jane Austen's Emma mentally. At the front door I was contented to find a pair of shoes that, though not my size in anyway, would suffice for a quick run through the rain. I was about to put the dress pumps on when I realized the rain might ruin the old shoes. Industry was just starting to get back to producing peacetime goods after the war, so they probably weren't the best quality.

"Okay, so barefoot it is." I said quietly, checking to make sure I had everything I needed before quietly heading out with Lucha around my neck like a breathing fur scarf. As much as I loved my slippers and orthotics, barefoot was always the way to go in the rain, so long as there weren't any broken bottles lying around.

The lights in the reception area were still on, but no one was there to stop me from stealing an umbrella from the cute old umbrella stand. There were lots of umbrellas, and it wasn't as if anyone was going to be in such a rush at this hour.

Outside it was beautiful. The street lamps were still the type that needed to be lit every evening, which resulted in some of them sputtering out of existence with the rain. However, the few left burning were enough to light the streets. The shower was lightening up, but the rain was kind of peaceful. I walked all the way down main street before I saw anyone. It was starting to lighten up a little, almost an hour had passed since I left the Hughes' residence, but it was still pretty dark out.

The man was military, his blue uniform bearing many medals and awards, which made my heart skip a beat out of fear. He was also imposing in his own right, taller than Maes with a pointy handlebar mustache. The officer was familiar, but I just couldn't put my finger on where I had seen him. Believe it or not, seeing 'characters' as 'people' was strange. Like, actually imagine meeting a living breathing human being with gold eyes like Ed? It just was a lot different than seeing it through a screen. You saw imperfections, small things that make them human instead of flawless animations. Real freaky.

The rain had stopped and I had as well in my maladaptive daydreaming about how easy it would be to mistake Hughes for anyone other than himself if you saw the man in a crowd. He would honestly look just like any dad, and unless you talked to him, you'd have no clue who he was, super fan of the show or not. In my distraction, I didn't realize that the man had slipped into an alley until I heard what sounded like my little brothers starting a pretend WWIII with opening speeches. Still clutching my umbrella, I ran up to the alley way before stopping to listen to the conversation.

"-You've picked the wrong target!" A voice said brusquely before an alchemic reaction took place, blue lightning crackling and lighting up the alley way. Literal canon fire came towards my end of the alley, causing me to duck away as smoke and fire reigned for a moment.

"You're fast," The same voice said, the scene still not clicking quite yet. "Try this!"

The smell of chemistry class was bringing on flashbacks to the great Disaster of McCarthy, in which a friend of mine a) put out match with his tongue and then b) broke the Bunsen burner and made an impromptu flame thrower. Chemistry class was not fun. What sounded like chains broke my post traumatic stress visions of the boy fearfully wielding the weapon of minor destruction. The voice continued onward as his assumed combatant avoided the attack.

"A little more!"

Why all the yelling? Was he trying to attract attention or help, or was this just how people duel in the olden days of 1914? There were three consecutive bangs as something closed, the moment of silent prompting me to peer around the corner.

"Hm, that wasn't so difficult." I finally recalled the opening scene of 'An Alchemist's Anguish', watching in horror as….Brigadier something or other Grand approached the newly made iron box.

"Oh fickle fudge balls." I said under my breath, dropping my umbrella and hiking up my skirt to quickly sprint over. "Mister officer sir please don't-" An explosion interrupted me as Scar broke out of the box using his deconstruction alchemy to grab the Iron-Blood Alchemist by the face.

"What? No, how?" His muffled voice said in surprise. I backed away, terrified but unnoticed thus far. I put my back against the box's wall, not wanting to intervene or be noticed. My heart felt like a car's piston as it pumped, fast and loud.

"Now you perish," A new voice said, husky and solemn as the crackle of an alchemic reaction occur, Grand falling with a thud and blood dripping to the ground. It was quiet for a moment, and I started to back away from the scene as blood came into view. I kept back up, keeping my eyes on the blood before I bumped into someone.

It felt like my heart was going to explode as he used a hand to pin my head against the box. Lucha had been knocked off my neck, falling into a puddle along with my hat. I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the brimming tears, but calmed myself. This was Scar. He only killed State Alchemists, right? I slowly opened my eyes to look up, and was surprised by what I saw.

So, you know how Scar was always portrayed as this grumpy looking guy with a permanent scowl and all? Yeah, went right by the real design. Okay, so the scowl thing was spot on, but his face was a lot softer looking from what I could see (his hand was on my forehead but it still blocked a good part of my view).

He didn't kill me, he was just, looking at me. For a split second by the direction of his shaded eyes I thought he was looking at my chest, but he was looking at my choker necklace. It had popped over the blouse's collar uninvited, sparkling in the moonlight that now peeked from behind the clearing clouds.

My hand instinctively grabbed it as I tried to make eye contact. It was kind of hard to make eye contact with people when they wore shades like that, and he was really tall, okay? Maybe not Armstrong tall, but Scar was up there in my list of Tall People of Amestris.

The man wouldn't make eye contact, his view shifting to the amazing rainbow of colors my bruises had acquired as they finally started to fade. Geez, I didn't want pity, especially not from a guys who was in the position to kill me or worse. We both looked down when Lucha growled the most adorable growl a ferret could make, attacking Scar's shoe with ferocity.

He finally stopped trying to squish my head against the box, allowing me to see the infamous scar. It wasn't marring, just a light cross of pale grey across his darker skin. I was enraptured by his tattoo, the intricate and conspicuous design mesmerizing.

Scar abruptly turned and began walking calmly away, Lucha losing his grip on the shoe and curling around my ankle and snarling angrily. Looking down, I realized it wasn't Lucha (the little bastard would never bite anyone, unless he was hungry). Truth's purple eyes stared up at me for a moment before the white ferret seized and writhed for a few second before lying still. Sliding to the ground, I held my snake rat out of the puddle he was inadvertently drowning in. Scar was still walking away, and I could hear sirens somewhere in the distance. My eyes went back to his arm.

"You're older brother wouldn't want this." I said quietly, but my voice echoed in the empty, window lined alleyway. The man took off running as the blare of sirens advanced, not acknowledging my statement beyond a short pause in his step. I curled my knees to my chest, holding Lucha close.

The realization of what just occurred hit me like a wall of bricks, and I ended up retching. It didn't last long, but I still felt disgusted with having to wipe the vomit from my mouth. Lucha had managed to escape the episode unscathed, I almost crushing him against my chest to keep him away from the mess I made. Believe it or not, it was relieving to throw up for once. It felt as if all of the pent up stress of the past few days was gone in an instant.

I should have just waited for Hughes and Armstrong to show, I knew they would get here to investigate the body before morning and they'd find me and question me and maybe take me to a hospital and everything would be okay in the end. But I panicked and ran. Not after Scar, oh Truth no. I ran home, or at least tried to. About halfway there, a familiar pair of voices yelled,

"Stop! You're under arrest-" I crashed right into Brosh and Ross and we all went tumbling to the ground. Lucha managed to survive yet a second crash landing that morning.

"M-Miss. Irish?" Brosh stuttered, helping me to my feet once he found his own. I was a mess, the skirt's hem all muddy and the entire skirt soaked from when I went to pick up Lucha earlier. I was in a bit of shell shock just staring around me at the familiar faces as if they were total strangers. I started run again, wanting only to curl up with a cup of hot cocoa if such a thing existed in this world.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Maria asked, catching me by my arm. My breathing was speeding up, an asthma attack seeming imminent as I began to stress about how I would explain that I was a witness fleeing a murder scene. "Woah, calm down, tell us what happened."

Why did she have to have that motherly tone? I was about to start crying again when I noticed Armstrong and Hughes getting out of a car. So that was why Maes was up last night (or, well, this morning), he never did sleep because he was working on this case. In my daze of confusion and realization, I almost forgot about Maria's question.

"Oh, um," Well, I couldn't say I was enjoying an early morning walk now could I, even though that was the truth a little while ago. I looked at my feet. "I saw something I probably shouldn't have." I said quietly, Maria and Denny looking to each other before gently leading me in the direction of Hughes and Armstrong.

Great. This was going to be lots of fun, all rainbows and unicorns. I just wanted to go home, I might have even gotten some rest knowing that the story was progressing. But no, I had to be interrogated - for like the second time this week! Why couldn't I just do something normal and get a normal experience in return? Equivalent exchange and all that stuff? Hughes looked up from the body, which they had thankfully covered with a sheet. The blood stains on the ground still made me feel physically ill though. Armstrong and he turned to me and my two escorts.

"We found her fleeing the scene, sirs." Denny said, I having to restrain a glare. The guy made it sound like I was the one who killed Grand.

"She claims to have witnessed it." Hughes nodded as Maria said this, his fatherly attitude earlier nowhere to be seen.

"Thank you, 2nd Lieutenant and Sergeant. Take Irish to central command and make sure she's okay. Don't question her until we get there." Maes said. I wasn't liking his serious tone, I had heard too much of it already this morning. Before I could get a word out otherwise, a new car pulled up, Bradley stepping out of the passenger door and approaching us. All of the soldiers saluted, but I just nodded in the general direction of the car. It's headlights were like looking at the sun. "Fuhrer Bradley, your excellency, what brings you here?" Hughes asked as the man approached Grand's body.

"I got word of what happened." He said gravely, looking down at the blood stained sheet. "Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, you're the officer in charge of this case?" Hughes looked up, replying with a curt,

"Yessir."

"Should you need any additional personnel, just ask." Bradely's voice suddenly became rather frightening considering what he personified. "The man doing this is a traitor, I want him stopped." Both Hugh and Armstrong mirrored my own slightly nervous expression at the Fuhrer's seriousness before nodding.

"Sir." Hughes said in acceptance of the task. Bradley turned to leave, but stopped as he saw me with his good eye. He probably saw me earlier with his 'all seeing eye' thing but wouldn't have been able to with the eye patch under normal circumstances.

"Irish?" I lowered my head, looking at my bare feet. They were cold, and wet, standing out starkly against the dark stone ground. "You just can't keep out of trouble, now can you kiddo." Ugh, could he not call me 'kiddo'? Only my Uncle Thomas was allowed to call me that, not the physical manifestation of Wrath.

"I'm sorry sir," I looked up making eye contact. "Trouble has a funny way of finding me." He nodded before taking his leave, allowing me to finally relax. It made you tense to be in that guy's presence, he just made you so damn nervous that he would kill you if you said the wrong thing. I sighed, looking to Hughes then to the Armstrong Squad. "Let's get this over with, I might even take that coffee offer now Hughes."

We all got into a car, I was pretty sure it was the same one Hughes had driven me to his apartment complex in because the crumbs on the floor were suspiciously similar to the cookie Lucha had been eating that day. The drive was mostly quiet, in exception for Lucha's snoring.

"Where are your shoes?" Maria asked at one point, noticing my bare feet. I shrugged, stroking my ferret's white fluff.

"I didn't want to ruin the new shoes Mrs. Hughes bought me by using them in the rain."

"So, you went barefoot?" Denny asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. I nodded, happy we weren't talking about the murder.

"Yep. Why? Did I break another law?" I asked, worried I had broken some stupid law like we had back in the states. Did you know that in some places it's illegal to walk backwards down the street with an ice cream cone in your back pocket on a Sunday? Weird.

"No. It's just a little…" I sighed, nodding as Maria faltered.

"Strange, I know. I never really wear shoes that much since there are never any my size." I explained, even though it was a partial lie. I didn't wear shoes when they messed with my balance or I didn't want to ruin a new pair. And they did have shoes my size, the problem was, well-

"But you're feet aren't that small." Denny pointed out, observing my left foot. "Even if sizes here are different than Drachman sizes, I'm sure there'd be something-"

"No, not like that." I interrupted, putting my heels together to show the two the difference. "See? My left foot is a size seven and a half, but my right foot is a size three, uh, in Drachman sizes that is." They really were in American sizes though, which made it a pain to buy shoes. You would already spend a hundred bucks on a pair of dress shoes but oh, you have to buy a second pair! It really sucked.

"Oh…" Both of the officers said, Maria speaking up and saying, "Is foot binding from Xing practiced in Drachma?" Eek, they had foot binding around still? Ouch.

"Nah, it's a genetic thing. The bones in my feet never properly formed so when my feet started to grow, the bones were still partially fused together and, well, my right foot's the result." Denny grimaced.

"Sounds like it hurt." I nodded.

"Like hell, but it stopped when I stopped growing so it's not so bad now." They were looking at me weirdly. "What?"

"How old are you?" Maria asked, a puzzled expression on her face as she and Denny looked me up and down. I looked at my chest and crossed my arms defensively.

"Seventeen, why do you ask?" That made Denny uncomfortable, and probably Maria too but she seemed to hide it better than him.

"Uh, well, you just look...young, for your age." My turn to raise a brow at him.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"We're here." Hughes said, glancing momentarily at us as he pulled the rickety old - well, old to me - car up the road of the monstrous building known as Central Command. Sunlight was finally blessing the land with its warmth, which meant I had another long day ahead of me.

I was getting real tired of this building, we're good acquaintances, but I was not overly fond of Command so I think we need some time apart. It was not Command, it was me. Actually no, it was the guy running Command and this whole damn country that I needed to spend some time away from. Unfortunately for me, it seemed no one in the car heard about my breakup with Command, so they dragged me along anyway.

After a long series of ridiculously baffling hallways, we somehow arrive at Hughes' office. Quaint little place, nothing like Mustang's temporary office he had while he was in Central, but kind of comforting. I was actually pretty nervous. I did have my certificate with me, laminated and tucked safely into my belt, but that piece of paper couldn't protect me from interrogation methods of the 1914s.

"Sit down." Hughes 'offered' motioning to a chair in front of his desk. Armstrong, Brosh, and Ross were on the couch behind me, taking notes. Well, Maria was the only one with a pad of paper and a pen so I guessed she was the one taking notes. "So, can you tell us when happened?" I sighed, unintentionally cracking my neck as I retold the events.

"Well, I was just walking down the street and it was raining - oh Tru-ck I dropped an umbrella I borrowed, do you think we'll be able to get it back?" I asked, looking behind me to Denny and Armstrong. They didn't realize I was actually looking for answer until Hughes cleared his throat.

"Don't worry about that for now, so you were walking in the rain, how did you stumble upon the murder?"

"Well, it wasn't exactly a murder, it was more of a fight. I heard some guy talking all preacher like about judgement and all so I decided to eavesdrop since it seemed interesting-"

"You didn't think to get the police?" Hughes interjected, not looking up from a note he was writing. Well, shit. Never thought about that…

"Um, well, no. There wasn't really anyone around except for the guy - Grand or whatever - and I got a little distracted after he went down the alley so anyway the guy was talking all preachy-like and I was eavesdropping. Grand sounded really confident he would win when they started fighting. I missed some of what he said, but after the fight started the preachy-guy didn't talk much. Anyway I decided to look when everything was quiet and I wasn't being shot at by freaking canons, and Grand got the guy trapped in a box. I went to go ask him if he was okay but then there were blue sparkles - alchemy I think - and a hole in the box formed. The guy had Grand by the head and I looked away when he used the alchemy stuff to-"

"You said he used alchemy?" Hughes asked, looking up. Oh, frickle frackle firetruck. Did I screw up? Truth, if you posses Lucha and tell me I didn't just give away info that might change the story in some way that'd be real great.

"Uh, yeah. I think. It was a little like what McDougal did when he froze that guy's arm back at the prison. That's the only alchemy I've ever seen before."

"They don't have alchemy in Drachma?" Armstrong asked, surprising me with his low, booming voice.

"Uh, not that I've seen." He nodded, allowing me to relax a little. Why was this so nerve racking? You're telling the truth mostly - but you probably shouldn't mention what you told Scar about his brother, that would screw shit up for sure Irish.

"Continue, please." Hughes asked, his glasses hiding his eyes from view with their glare. I never really got how glasses did that, maybe you needed special lenses...Adjusting my own spectacles, I did as he asked.

"Yeah so after Grand died I started to back away because I didn't want to mess with the guy - he wasn't going to let a witness go probably. But I kind of bumped into him and he grabbed me - oh Hughes, I lost my hat. I found this hat in that closet, real vintage 1900s stuff and it hid my hair well but it's probably still there-" Hughes cleared his throat. "Oh, sorry. Um, yeah he just kind of looked at me for a minute - my hair and eyes kind of caught him off guard I guess, and he kind of was starting to creep me out when he stared at my necklace." My hand touched the sterling silver Celtic cross.

"He took interest in your hair and eyes - your necklace, what is it, a religious symbol?" Hughes asked distractedly as he jotted down some notes. Thank Truth for me coming up with a name for the 'religion' earlier.

"Yessir, it's an Utkist cross. A symbol of martyrdom, unity, and struggle." Eh, close enough?

"Utkism, would you care to elaborate? Is it a well known religion?" Well, um, improvisation!

"The religion of Ire, my home village. It's very far in the north of Drachma by the sea, very secluded. I'm afraid it's not a well known religion by those who don't live there. Even in Drachma it has little influence beyond the far northwest." Were they buying it? Truth, why did Hughes have to have such a good poker face? Probably learned from surprise attacks on Mustang with pictures of Elicia and Gracia. That man was the absolute best. Wait, wrong time to compliment the guy interrogating you Irish - bad timing!

"Hm, a murderer of State Alchemists using a form of alchemy, and a possible connection to a small religious group." Oh, Truth. Hughes I am so sorry if this screwed up your investigation. Please don't ask me if there are any other people from Ire in Amestris please! "Could he perhaps be from your village?" Ugh, I guess that's not as bad.

"No way, I got a pretty good look at him and I knew almost every one of the maybe hundred people that live in Ire when I left only a few years ago. Besides, his skin was too dark and he had a weird scar on his forehead." I said, making up the little village of Ire in my head. A cute village where you know your neighbors and have your children marry them in arranged ceremonies. Also home to the duck religion, that worships a legendary duck called Mother Goose that was fabled to lay golden eggs. Yes, this would work nicely. Apologies any actual religions that worship ducks and geese - I needed something to convince these guys with!

"So, the Scarred Man struck again." Maria said with a sigh.

"Yes, who else has been targeting State Alchemists and killing them in an odd fashion?" Denny responded.

"The who now?" I asked, hoping to stay off the topic of the actual interrogation. Hughes looked up from his notes, his glasses no longer hiding his hazel irises.

"The Scarred Man, though most of us just call him 'Scar' for short. He's been targeting and killing State Alchemists, and it looks like Grand was his latest victim." Maes said, compiling and straightening his notes. "How'd you get away? You seem to have a knack for escaping murderers."

"One of my many unusual talents acquired from living with my weird family of freaks. One of the many…" I said wistfully, smiling at his confused and slightly concerned expression. "He let me go if you're that concerned. Lucha did bite him but, in case you haven't noticed, Lucha's a bit of a wimp." The living slinky was exploring the office, currently gnawing on Armstrong's boot lace, which seemed to entertain the big man greatly.

"Did you see where he went?"

"Nope," I swung my legs back and forth, my feet barely touched the ground in this tall chair. "I got sick with stress - you try facing off with murders twice in one week - then I ran like the wind and hoped to curl up in a ditch somewhere and pretend it never happened." Hughes nodded.

"And then you ran into 2nd Lieutenant Ross and Sergeant Brosh, correct?"

"Yepsterdoodles." He looked at me as if I had grown three heads, but said nothing as he nodded nonetheless and handed his notes to Maria.

"Thanks for your help Mac, you're free to go!" Hughes said in a suddenly jovial mood. This guy had some serious mood swings sometimes.

"Uh, can I stay for the day actually?" He looked at me in a kind of surprised manner.

"Sure, why?" I shrugged looking around the office.

"I guess I want to see if there's anything I can help with. But, I do want a list of the State Alchemists if you could get me that. There's something I want to check out." Maes seemed to think for a moment before looking to Armstrong and the amazing babysitting duo.

"Armstrong, see if you can get that list for Mac; Brosh, Ross, could you two make sure she keeps herself out of trouble - or at least keep trouble from finding her.

"Yessir," The three said, Armstrong leaving to get the list of Alchemists. Hughes turned to Denny and Maria.

"Can you two take her home so she can get a change of clothes? You must be uncomfortable in those clothes Mac." I nodded, the soaked skirt and frilly blouse collar not helping me relax.

"Yeah, sounds like a plan."

Masterlist

[readbookywooks]

He held up his latest work in a pair of tweezers. 'The strangest thing I have ever made,' he said, 'but practical, I can see that. What did you say they were called again?' 'Din-chewersh,' said Cohen. He looked at the horseshoe shapes nestling in the wrinkled palm of his hand, then opened his mouth and made a series of painful grunting noises. The door burst open. The men strode in and took up positions around the walls. They were sweating and uncertain, but their leader pushed Cohen aside disdainfully and picked up the dwarf by his shirt. 'We tole you yesterday, small stuff,' he said. 'You go ut feet down or feet up, we don't mind. So now we gonna get really —.' Cohen tapped him on the shoulder. The man looked around irritably. 'What do you want, grandad?' he snarled. Cohen paused until he had the man's full attention, and then he smiled. It was a slow, lazy smile, unveiling about 300 carats of mouth jewellery that seemed to light up the room. 'I will count to three,' he said, in a friendly tone of voice. 'One. Two.' His bony knee came up and buried itself in the man's groin with a satisfyingly meaty noise, and he half-turned to bring the full force of an elbow into the kidneys as the leader collapsed around his private universe of pain. 'Three,' he told the ball of agony on the floor. Cohen had heard of fighting fair, and had long ago decided he wanted no part of it. He looked up at the other men, and flashed his incredible srnile. They ought to have rushed him. Instead one of them, secure in the knowledge that he had a broadsword and Cohen didn't, sidled crabwise towards him. 'Oh, no,' said Cohen, waving his hands. 'Oh, come on, lad, not like that.' The man looked sideways at him. 'Not like what?' he asked suspiciously. 'You never held a sword before?' The man half-turned to his colleagues for reassurance. 'Not a lot, no,' he said. 'Not often.' He waved his sword menacingly. Cohen shrugged. 'I may be going to die, but I should hope I could be killed by a man who could hold his sword like a warrior,' he said. The man looked at his hands. 'Looks all right,' he said, doubtfully. 'Look, lad, I know a little about these things. I mean, come here a minute and – do you mind? – right, your eft hand goes here, around the pommel, and your right hand goes – that's right, just here — and the blade goes right into your leg.' As the man screamed and clutched at his foot Cohen kicked his remaining leg away and turned to the room at large. 'This is getting fiddly,' he said. Why don't you rush me?' 'That's right,' said a voice by his waist. The jeweller had produced a very large and dirty axe, guaranteed to add tetanus to all the other terrors of warfare. The four men gave these odds some consideration, and backed towards the door. 'And wipe those silly stars off,' said Cohen. 'You can tell everyone that Cohen the Barbarian will be very angry if he sees stars like that again, right?' The door slammed shut. A moment later the axe thumped into it, bounced off, and took a sliver of leather off the toe of Cohen's sandal. 'Sorry,' said the dwarf. 'It belonged to my grandad. I only use it for splitting firewood.' Cohen felt his jaw experimentally. The dine chewers seemed to be settling in quite well. 'If I was you, I'd be getting out of here anyway,' he said. But the dwarf was already scuttling around the room, tipping trays of precious metal and gems into a leather sack. A roll of tools went into one pocket, a packet of finished jewellery went into another, and with a grunt the dwarf stuck his arms through handles on either side of his little forge and heaved it bodily onto his back. 'Right,' he said. I'm ready.' 'You're coming with me?' 'As far as the city gates, if you don't mind,' he said. 'You can't blame me, can you?' 'No. But leave the axe behind.' They stepped out into the afternoon sun and a deserted street. When Cohen opened his mouth little pinpoints of bright light illuminated all the shadows. 'I've got some friends around here to pick up,' he said, nd added, 'I hope they're all right. What's your name?' 'Lackjaw.' 'Is there anywhere around here where I can—' Cohen paused lovingly, savouring the words – 'where I can get a steak?' The star people have closed all the inns. They said it's wrong to be eating and drinking when —' 'I know, I know,' said Cohen. 'I think I'm beginning to get the hang of it. Don't they approve of anything?' Lackjaw was lost in thought for a moment. 'Setting fire to things,' he said at last. 'They're quite good at that. Books and stuff. They have these great big bonfires.' Cohen was shocked. 'Bonfires of books?' 'Yes. Horrible, isn't it?' 'Right,' said Cohen. He thought it was appalling. Someone who spent his life living rough under the sky knew the value of a good thick book, which ought to outlast at least a season of cooking fires if you were careful how you tore the pages out. Many a life had been saved on a snowy night by a handful of sodden kindling and a really dry book. If you felt like a smoke and couldn't find a pipe, a book was your man every time. Cohen realised people wrote things in books. It had always seemed to him to be a frivolous waste of paper. I'm afraid if your friends met them they might be in trouble,' said Lackjaw sadly as they walked up the street. They turned the corner and saw the bonfire. It was in the middle of the street. A couple of star people were feeding it with books from a nearby house, which had its door smashed in and had been daubed with stars. News of Cohen hadn't spread too far yet. The book burners took no notice as he wandered up and leaned against the wall. Curly flakes of burnt paper bounced in the hot air and floated away over the rooftops. 'What are you doing?' he said. One of the star people, a woman, pushed her hair out of her eyes with a soot-blackened hand, gazed intently t Cohen's left ear, and said, 'Ridding the disc of wickedness.' Two men came out of the building and glared at Cohen, or at least at his ear. Cohen reached out and took the heavy book the woman was carrying. Its cover was crusted with strange red and black stones that spelled out what Cohen was sure was a word. He showed it to Lackjaw. 'The Necrotelecomnicon,' said the dwarf. 'Wizards use it. It's how to contact the dead, I think.' 'That's wizards for you,' said Cohen. He felt a page between finger and thumb; it was thin, and quite soft. The rather unpleasant organic-looking writing didn't worry him at all. Yes, a book like this could be a real friend to a man — 'Yes? You want something?' he said to one of the star men, who had gripped his arm. 'All books of magic must be burned,' said the man, but a little uncertainly, because something about Cohen's teeth was giving him a nasty feeling of sanity. 'Why?' said Cohen. 'It has been revealed to us.' Now Cohen's smile was as wide as all outdoors, and rather more dangerous. 'I think we ought to be getting along,' said Lackjaw nervously. A party of star people had turned into the street behind them. 'I think I would like to kill someone,' said Cohen, still smiling. 'The star directs that the Disc must be cleansed,' said the man, backing away. 'Stars can't talk,' said Cohen, drawing his sword. 'If you kill me a thousand will take my place,' said the man, who was now backed against the wall. 'Yes,' said Cohen, in a reasonable tone of voice, 'but that isn't the point, is it? The point is, you'll be dead.' The man's adam's apple began to bob like a yoyo. He squinted down at Cohen's sword. 'There is that, yes,' he conceded. 'Tell you what – how bout if we put the fire out?' 'Good idea,' said Cohen. Lackjaw tugged at his belt. The other star people were running towards them. There were a lot of them, many of them were armed, and it began to look as though things would become a little more serious. Cohen waved his sword at them defiantly, and turned and ran. Even Lackjaw had difficulty in keeping up. 'Funny,' he gasped, as they plunged down another alley, 'I thought – for a minute – you'd want to stand – and fight them.' 'Blow that – for a – lark.' As they came out into the light at the other end of the alley Cohen flung himself against the wall, drew his sword, stood with his head on one side as he judged the approaching footsteps, and then brought the blade around in a dead flat sweep at stomach height. There was an unpleasant noise and several screams, but by then Cohen was well away up the street, moving in the unusual shambling run that spared his bunions. With Lackjaw pounding along grimly beside him he turned off into an inn painted with red stars, jumped onto a table with only a faint whimper of pain, ran along it – while, with almost perfect choreography, Lackjaw ran straight underneath without ducking – jumped down at the other end, kicked his way through the kitchens, and came out into another alley. They scurried around a few more turnings and piled into a doorway. Cohen clung to the wall and wheezed until the little blue and purple lights went away. 'Well,' he panted, 'what did you get?' 'Um, the cruet,' said Lackjaw. 'Just that?' 'Well, I had to go under the table, didn't I? You didn't do so well yourself.' Cohen looked disdainfully at the small melon he had managed to skewer in his flight. 'This must be pretty tough here,' he said, biting through 159 the rind. 'Want some salt on it?' said the dwarf. Cohen said nothing. He just stood holding the melon, with his mouth open. Lackjaw looked around. The cul de sac they were in was empty, except for an old box someone had left against a wall. Cohen was staring at it. He handed the melon to the dwarf without looking at him and walked out into the sunlight. Lackjaw watched him creep stealthily around the box, or as stealthily as is possible with joints that creaked like a ship under full sail, and prod it once or twice with his sword, but very gingerly, as if he half-expected it to explode. 'It's just a box,' the dwarf called out. 'What's so special about a box?' Cohen said nothing. He squatted down painfully and peered closely at the lock on the lid. 'What's in it?' said Lackjaw. 'You wouldn't want to know,' said Cohen. 'Help me up, will you?' 'Yes, but this box —' 'This box,' said Cohen, 'this box is—'he waved his arms vaguely. 'Oblong?' 'Eldritch,' said Cohen mysteriously. 'Eldritch?' 'Yup.' 'Oh,' said the dwarf. They stood looking at the box for a moment. 'Cohen?' 'Yes?' 'What does eldritch mean?' 'Well, eldritch is—' Cohen paused and looked down irritably. 'Give it a kick and you'll see.' Lockjaw's steel-capped dwarfboot whammed into the side of the box. Cohen flinched. Nothing else happened. 'I see,' said the dwarf. 'Eldritch means wooden?' 'No,' said Cohen. 'It – it oughtn't to have done that.' 'I see,' said Lackjaw, who didn't, and was beginning to wish Cohen hadn't gone out into all this hot sunlight. 'It ought to have run away, you think?' 'Yes. Or bitten your leg off.' 'Ah,' said the dwarf. He took Cohen gently by the arm. 'It's nice and shady over here,' he said. 'Why don't you just have a little —' Cohen shook him off. 'It's watching that wall,' he said. 'Look, that's why it's not taking any notice of us. It's staring at the wall.' 'Yes, that's right,' said Lackjaw soothingly. 'Of course it's watching that wall with its little eyes —'

[burnsyourlipsmate]

tony trotter

In this day and age, where bravado and narcotics are the main content of most mainstream rappers, expressive and sentimental rap is a much needed breath of fresh air. Hailing from Antioch, California, Tony Trotter delivers the soul food, and more.

By Isaac Javier

At first listen, Tony Trotter’s lyrics are authentic and palpable, set to accessible, hypnotizing lo-fi backdrops, accompanied with a creamy flow honed by a motley of influences. Upon the second listen, however, Day One serves as an auditory diary in which an aspiring creative marks himself as an unassuming prodigy. The diary that is Day One reveals the experiences and struggles as an adolescent pursuing his dreams. One thing he wants to make clear is the enunciation of  his goals as a rapper. In “Rolling With the Punches” he expresses “I’m sat on the bench my whole life/ now I’m getting buckets”. He also spits about his fear of failure, doubt, and insecurities, making the overall subject matter of the EP ever more relatable as he digs down and expresses the spectrum of emotion that is his heart. In “UNTITLED” he raps “How can I believe in God when I don’t believe in myself”.

Just turning 17 as Day One released, Trotter already provides a refined and cultivated delivery which makes the listener forget that he is, in fact, 17, unsigned, and this is his first proper attempt at an EP. “Day One is all about the start of everything.” he says when asked to talk about the project. “Taking a shot in the dark really, saying out loud that everything starts now cause I believe in myself” he continues. Read the rest of the interview below. And to see what the hype is all about, have a listen to Day One too while you’re at it.

Isaac Javier: To those who don’t know who you are, introduce yourself.

Tony Trotter: I’m Tony Trotter. A kid who loves music and people. Honestly there’s so many different things about me that make me who I am so it’s kind of hard to answer. I rap, play instruments, and make the occasional beat. I’ve done wrong to a few people in my past but my favorite thing to do is just make other people feel better ’bout their day or whatever they’re doing, so that’s what I strive to do.

IJ: Talk to us about your debut EP, Day One.

TT: Day One is all about the start of everything. Taking a shot in the dark really, saying out loud that everything starts now cause I believe in myself. A ton of time and experimentation went into the tape, as a lot of people can tell with a track like “Saturday”. Within the past year I discovered the sub-genre of lo-fi and fell in love with it and knew I loved to rap on those beats and when I realized that there ain’t really another rapper doing that, I knew I’d stick with it. So, Day One really is the beginning of doing this forreal forreal, one hundred percent. Day One really allows me to just be me and do me, be myself and let people see who I am through the music.

IJ: Let’s backtrack a bit, talk about your musical beginnings. How long have you been a rapper?

TT: I’ve actually only been making music seriously for about a year and a half now. I knew I wanted to be a rapper 5-6 years ago but never practiced, never felt good enough about it and didn’t know if I could do it. My freshman year of high-school I rapped for a friend and he told me it’s something I should pursue, so I made a couple songs and here I am today, making mixtapes and what not. Making people happy has always been something I loved to do, whether I try to be funny or help them out somehow, so I figured if I could make people happy with music, something that always makes me happy doing anyways, that would be super tight. A few albums that really made me decide, “alright, I’m doing this” we’re Kendrick Lamar’s ‘Good Kid, mAAd City’, Mac Miller’s ‘Faces’ and then old classics like the Marshall Mathers LP or Mobb Deep’s ‘the Infamous’.

IJ: Describe your music to someone who’s never heard it before.

TT: I like to think of my music as a snapshot of the aura and aesthetic of a certain point in time; for the records that are on ‘Day One’ anyways. Sometimes I just like to bang out the hard hitting tracks and spit something dope because hard, dope lyrics is something I grew up with rap on.

IJ: Who are some of your biggest inspirations and influences as a musician?

TT: I get a lot of different comparisons. Some people have told me they can tell I like Eminem and Mac Miller but I don’t know if that’s cause of my skin or how I rap sometimes. My rhyme schemes have been compared to Earl Sweatshirt’s too, which is crazy cause he got the most crazy schemes to me. When it comes to rap, Mac is a big inspiration because of his growth and its so crazy. When it comes to just making music, Kanye West has really opened my eyes that it’s important not just to spit, but to make a decent song too. Listening to rappers like Big L and Pun has really assured me that I really want to always be a spitter.

IJ: That’s dope. What inspires the subject matter of your raps, then?

TT: My friends all inspire me. Whether it be a girl or a night like when just me and my boys go and kick it in SF (San Francisco, CA) at night or anything like that. SF inspires me, anything and everything around me serves as some form of inspiration usually. Something that draws me into it is events in the world, movies, other songs and albums, etc. The next tape is in the works and I’ve been watching the Matrix and Tarantino movies like Kill Bill a lot and that also serves as some inspiration.

IJ: Have you got any goals or anything that you want to achieve one day?

TT: Being an XXL freshman would be cool, BET cypher, cover of Fader, go platinum one day. My main goal though is to be able to make sure that my parents, one day wife, kids and rest of the circle never has to work ever again. I wanna meet all of my idols; Eminem, Jay-Z, Kendrick Lamar, Earl, Kanye…

IJ: What can we expect from Tony Trotter in the near distant future?

TT: Everything. I’m still a junior in high school so I got the world in my hands right now. Imma keep making music and pushing it because this is what I love to do and obviously hope to one day make it, doing this. But next up is finishing high-school and having a good backup plan.

Keep up with Tony by following him on Twitter (@tonyxtrotter) and Soundcloud (tonytrotter).