#extracts form to excel

[flowersforthemachines]

Ghilan'nains's comments about Rook's romances at the Crossroads (and their reactions)

No romance

Elgar'nan: But surely the knowledge you gained… Ghilan'nain: My champions offered themselves willingly. More works of precision laid low before finding their full potential! Elgar'nan: You will have new subjects, in recompense. Whatever you wish. Ghilan'nain: Rook's companions seek to fight as one. Combining their traits into a single form would be edifying. Elgar'nan: Inspired. Consider it done. Rook: Ignore them. We're taking these bastards down before they ever get the chance.

Bellara romance

Ghilan'nain: Rook's foolish tinkerer toys with our old works. Let her be flesh-bonded into a Sentinel's armor. Bellara: Rook. She means…

Davrin romance

Ghilan'nain: Rook's dearest Warden. He is half blighted already. I would see if I could make him crave griffon flesh. Davrin: Let her try.

Emmrich romance

Ghilan'nain: Rook's necromancer. An excellent subject to test how long one could go back and forth between life and death. Emmrich: Don't listen to her, dearest. It won't come to that.

Harding romance

Ghilan'nain: Rook's Titan pretender? There are many things I could do with one so tied to the stone. Harding: She's not saying what I think she's saying, is she? She probably is.

Lucanis romance

Ghilan'nain: Rook's assassin. His flesh could be given true wings. And a face that better suits one who carries a demon. Lucanis: She is welcome to try.

Neve romance

Ghilan'nain: Rook's delver of the truth. A mage who would provide me with both blood and ice from her veins. Neve: Rook. She means…

Taash romance

Ghilan'nain: Rook's fire-breather. I would see if there is enough dragon blood in their veins to begin a new Archdemon. Taash: She can try.

Final line (all romances)

Rook: If they touch you, death will be the least of their problems.

My DAVG Extracted Audio Masterlist

[the-midnight-blooms]

PRETTY GIRLS MAKE GRAVES | smg

pairing: spy!song mingi x assassin!reader AU: marriage of convenience au (inspired by spy x family, set during the cold war) word count: 19.0k warnings: blood, violence, mentions of death, strong language

masterlist

Apollo, to many, is an Olympian deity in classical mythology, characterised as a being of light, truth, music and prophecy. A strong entity bestowing his benefaction upon the humans who revelled in his myth.

To the Agency, Apollo is a venerated spy whose identity is obscured by the night, hidden in plain sight as he traipses the corrupted land atoning for all of its sins. There wasn't much to be said about Apollo, except for the many that were blessed enough to catch glimpses of his shadow looming in the restive airs.

He was handsome, with a cutthroat jawline, siren eyes and pink lips. He was tall, therefore heightening his attractiveness; which he was not oblivious to as he strode down the hallways of Headquarters seeing his fellow female colleagues steal glances at him only to hide behind their desks in a desperate attempt to conceal their blushes. Apollo was indifferent to their emotions, in his line of work there was no time for love, hence he was perfectly content with remaining single and rejecting all marriage and courtship prospects. Such was to only be pursued if he was on a mission.

Harsh winds roar in the dim wake of the evening light that streams over the serene atmosphere, oblivious to the churning pit of darkness overwhelming the esteemed states. The great wheels of the steam train grind against the train tracks where Apollo is settled in a private compartment, the sliding door sealed shut as the carriage sways from side to side. Before him sits a decoded letter from his superior, Athena, his sharp eyes reeling in the information.

“Good day or, perhaps, evening, Apollo

Well done on your last mission. Thanks to you, you have managed to restore a moment of peace to both conflicting states.

Your next target is the ex-member of the Agency and Chairman Hades. He is a great threat to the truce between Hala and Westonia. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to infiltrate 'The Cosmopolitan' and obtain information regarding his whereabouts and any seditious activities from his wife Park Eunha, alias Persephone.

In order to achieve this, you will get married and have a child."

Excuse me, what?

"Hades has gone into hiding, therefore it is currently unable to track him down. The only way to locate him is by extracting this information from his wife, who, herself, will not readily give this information. His children attend a nursery school, where some of the mothers congregate and form close friendships with Mrs Park, joining 'The Cosmopolitan'.

You will have your child enrol in this school and have your wife infiltrate one of the social gatherings. The enrolment deadline is drawing near, meaning you have 13 days to pull this off.”

Where am I going to find a wife and child in thirteen days?

Releasing a deep sigh, he leans back in his chair caressing his temples.

For the peace of Hala and Westonia, Apollo will do what he must.

"This is one of our single-family apartments. The unit comes furnished, including central air conditioning and heating, and… Um, sir?" The estate agent stands awkwardly at the door as Apollo's careful eyes observe the contents of the room. On the second floor, it overlooks the city with easy access to the fire escape. The walls have good soundproofing, and despite the fact some of the floorboards are out of place; there's enough gap to hide some of his equipment. Best of all, there are no wiretaps.

"I'll take it." He proclaims eagerly. A relieved grin settles on the estate agent's face.

"Excellent, Mr Song now if you sign these documents..."

Name: Song Mingi.

Occupation: Physicist.

Quite a job to be having in the midst of a Cold War, but some of Hades' associates work down at that end in a research lab and what's better than killing one bird with two stones. Besides, Mingi doesn't remember much about his father other than the fact that he was a physicist; so he supposes the job he has created for himself has sprung from a personal touch. It's a good way to not get lost in one's forged identity, like how some agents keep their initials the same so they can remember who they are.

"How nice that you and your family are moving into a new home. Do you have a boy or a girl?"

Uh—

"We'll find out soon." He ignores the look of bafflement on the man's face before grasping the keys in his hand.

“Take whichever one you want.” The orphanage director scowls at all the children running around chasing each other. It's Mingi's time to look puzzled, the establishment itself is particularly run down, the ceiling looks as if it's going to collapse in on itself. Though he supposes these kids will all have complicated pasts, so it will be easy to manipulate. "Looking for any child, specifically?"

“Around 5 years old? One that can read and write.” He ponders out loud. He needs a child with potential to pass the entrance exam.

"In that case...we have Mieun." He gesticulates to the little body in the corner, sitting on the window sill with her legs crossed. Her hair dark, wide eyes boring into the abacus resting upon a stack of encyclopaedias. “Go on, say hello.” Tentatively, Mingi approaches her, the worker loitering behind him. He'd love to get Mieun out of his hair, the devious child is notorious for biting. Clearing his throat, the child turns to meet his gaze before looking back at the abacus.

"Mieun, will you not say hello to the nice man? He might be your new daddy." Her head whips in Mingi's direction, her doe eyes looking at him up and down.

"Appa?"

"Yes, yes. This is your new Appa." The man provokes with a sly smile; the sooner she's out of his hair the better. He's even willing to get rid of her without the paperwork, she doesn't even have a birth certificate having just been abandoned outside the orphanage two years ago.

Hold on a minute. Mingi cranes his neck to meet the Orphanage Director's gaze, huffing before looking back at the child. Well if she can read and write...

"Appa!" She squeals, kicking her feet. Her arms stick out towards him and Mingi sighs.

I guess this child is mine now.

Outside of his apartment complex, he stops at the steps looking down at his daughter. He registers how little she is. Was he that little at four years old? He remembers being the tallest in his nursery. Lifting her up from the floor, he makes his way into the flat—the old ladies coo at Mieun who simply blushes at them. He cannot deny she is a cute child, however he cannot get too attached. After all, when the mission is over he may have to send her back. Or, if he has enough pity, put her in a better establishment.

"Right, this is your new home." He declares, Mieun immediately darts towards the TV, her finger hovering over the buttons to change the channels. Her wide eyes are merely two inches away from the television screen; he deduces it's not good for her eyes immediately yielding her small body back to the sofa. "House rules. One, sit on the sofa when you watch television. Two, when I watch the news, you watch the news. Three, you eat what you get given or go to bed hungry. Understood?" Her baby head bobs up and down in agreement, he raises an impressive eyebrow, he didn't think she'd agree so quickly. Before he can blink, she crawls towards him wrapping her arms around him, her face snugly fits in the crook of his neck—Mingi freezes in his spot.

"Papa." She squeals, "I want a hug."

Ah, so this is her negotiation.

Tentatively, Mingi's powerful arms encircle her delicate frame, drawing her closer to him. They cocoon her entirely, enveloping her in his warmth. Mieun's long lashes flutter gently as the comforting heat that surrounds her sings a careful lullaby, basking her consciousness into the distant seas.

Understanding the other party is the first step towards peace.

Apollo learns very quickly that his daughter's love language is physical touch. Perhaps she is touch starved, a consequence of her infancy being wrought with neglect by her biological parents. In every moment of the day, she must be attached to her father, refusing separation. Whether it's hugging, holding hands, sitting on his lap: distance is not an option. It's somehow difficult for a man who can not remember a time where a touch felt like it was borne from the conquest of love rather than violence. Each vibration against his skin feels like the burning of a hot knife pressed against the surface of his body. He gulps, as Mieun swings her limbs around his long legs, he knows he cannot outright neglect her right for affection, but he doesn't know long he can cope with the hugging and kissing.

"Mieun please get off me, I need to go shopping." Her tiny brows furrow as tears begin to spill from her wide, innocent eyes. With lips that quiver with each sob that wracks her small frame, Mieun's fists clench at her sides, and her chest heaves with the effort of each breath, as if her tiny body cannot contain the overwhelming surge of emotions. The tears stream down her flushed cheeks, catching the light, as her cries grow louder in desperate need of comfort. Releasing a defeated breath, he raises her from the ground, hesitantly, pressing his lips to her rosy cheeks. "Fine, I'll take you with me." Grumbling, he fits her coat around her, hauling her out of the home with him.

The kitchen is bathed in the golden light of the early morning, casting gentle shadows across the room. The air is still, cool with the quiet calm that only the dawn can bring; he huffs as an unusual feeling of unsettlement roams within him. He has just posted Mieun's application form for Hala Academy, he knows that when he's found his wife he'll sneak in and write her credentials in on the form, which he has currently left very ambiguous.

"Fatherhood is a funny look on you, Apollo." A familiar figure wanders into the apartment, Mingi rolls his eyes as he attempts to feed Mieun another spoonful of porridge. He heard the merciless pounding of his platform dress shoes from the bottom of the staircase, he twists his neck observing the Black Cat's disposition, who's adequately dressed in a three piece suit, hair slicked back and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his long nose. In fact, his attire almost mirrors Mingi's who somehow looks better than him in it.

"What are they calling you here?" Mingi inquires, hastily shoving the spoon inside Mieun's mouth before she can refuse. Her face scrunches up in protest before distastefully swallowing what she deems gruel.

"Jung Wooyoung, an office worker in the City Hall." Apollo can trust the Black Cat to go for the most boring jobs— they pay a lot.

"I thought you were doing the The Graveyard mission?"

"I will after I'm done here." A beat of silence fills the room, before Mieun's whines permeate the room; shrinking under her father's hard stare she receives the last spoonful of porridge before scampering to the television to watch the latest episode of the notorious spy show. "So Hades has been a bad boy then?" Mingi raises a brow at the subject before placing the bowl in the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

"That's one way of putting it." He retorts, plainly, with no enthusiasm to continue the issue, but he should know better. Wooyoung is exceptionally prying. "I wanted to help but Athens told me—,"

"What, exactly, is your point, cat boy?" He mocks, jaw clenched.

"Are you not in the slightest bit, hurt? Like, at all? It is ok to feel angry and disappointed, he was your best friend. You knew him better than anyone." Apollo's head dips beneath his shoulders, slender finger tapping against the worktop as he comprehends Wooyoung's sympathy. He's not wrong in any sense, but being a spy does mean disregarding one's emotions for the betterment of the country.

"No. I really couldn't care less." Wooyoung hums, unbelieving of Apollo's statement. "I need a favour from you. Collect me the records of all the single women who live in Oka. I need to find a wife." The Black Cat wolf-whistles, ignoring Mingi's scowl.

"What's the magic word?" He teases, ignoring the look of vexation that exceeds on his associate's face.

"Please!" Mieun shouts, jumping off her seat as she pads to the television to watch her cartoons.

She really should start revising for that entrance exam.

"I copied all the files of unmarried women from the City Hall." Wooyoung throws the files down onto the coffee table, whilst grumbling. "I'm doing way too much for a mission that isn't even mine." Apollo highly validates his help, even if he'll never show it. Mieun looks up from her seat at the coffee table, where sheets of arithmetic are littered across; her father has already got her working on Hala Academy's entrance exam.

"Why couldn't you just marry Demeter? Everyone knows that woman is head over heels for you." Mingi shoots Wooyoung a look of annoyance. Demeter, alongside Apollo, is one of the best spies in the field known for her ability to extract information out of almost anyone without the use of torture. Apollo finds it impressive considering he’s had to get his hands dirty a few times. Regardless, she’s also known for pining over Apollo seeing that she’s attempted to pursue him a multiple of times, and has failed: horrifically.

He supposes that if he was that much in love with another, he wouldn’t want to let go of them too—but then again Apollo has never been in love (and doesn’t intend to either) so he cannot help but frown at her.

Grabbing both his and Mieun’s jacket off the hook, he kneels down to wrap her in the duffle coat. Wooyoung purses his lips, visibly impressed.

“Mieun and I are going to the library, I need a bunch of physics books because my knowledge has rusted."

Morana, to many, is a tyrannical mythological being characterised by death. rebirth and dreams. To Legion, she is their truest assassin, notorious for being Death's greatest servant providing him with an abundance of souls to take over to the afterlife. She held an unwavering stare as she grasped the night’s weapon, striking it upon Legion's enemies. Led by a convoluted moral compass, the mere concept of her seemed unreal, there was no way a being could be so light on her feet that when she travelled, it was like she was floating through air. Yet, she did it as if it was a gift she was born with.

Morana proved to be the stark opposite of her male counterpart. Where kidnapping, maiming, murdering and torturing was frowned upon by the Agency: Morana openly exercised her free will without a second thought. However, where the Agency ensured their members never had to worry about money: Morana was denied the privilege of having all resources. Granted her practises supported immoral beliefs, but her devotion to Legion remained unrivalled, thus heightening her formidable reputation as the highly skilled assassin.

They say she is unabridged of a ghostly void, holding no space for emotion as the potent elixir of death dribbles from her lips. Perhaps she is death, even. In the form of a human woman, estranged from society for the scar cutting down her face. It's not poignant, but the fact that it is there, is enough.

The esteemed mercenary sits in the public library, deciphering the message that was allotted between the pages of the book that she was told to retrieve. A key, she’s informed in the possession of a woman named ‘Park Eunha’, who runs a club that goes under the name of: ‘The Cosmopolitan.’ Letting out a relentless sigh, she caresses her temples, knowing this is not a mission to complete in days but rather months.

It’s easier to infiltrate the club with a child, but where on earth is she supposed to get a baby from?

"Miss?" Her head snaps up from the book, snapping it close and holding it close against her chest. Her gaze drifts to the volunteer who awkwardly shuffles her feet, staring back at the librarian in anxiety. Truth be told, the volunteer is slightly scared of her for reasons that Morana will never know why. It could be the scar. Smiling to alleviate her nervousness, she nods to instigate the volunteer to speak. "Mrs Sam is calling you."

Sauntering down the aisles, she makes her way to the front desk where the old lady stands amongst other women Morana's age. The old lady smiles, leaning on her walking stick before she speaks. She pauses, a breath hitched in their throats. It's weird how they're afraid of a little grandma with dementia but the old lady loves her library and will love those who cherish the essence of literature with her. She says nothing in the end, scuttling back to her office, to find the sheet of paper with all her notes on. Everybody loves Mrs Sam, Morana included who has a soft spot for the geriatric and little children. Coincidentally, they're the largest demographic that even still attend libraries (aside from university students who attend out of obligation rather than interest).

There are four librarians, excluding Mrs Sam. Morana, herself, Riko, Inger and Jia. The volunteer (whose name she will never remember) loiters by the typewriter machines being the antisocial one out of them. Inger is from Germania but moved to Hala with her husband and son on account of his new occupation here. Out of the other librarians, she is the nicest and most tolerable. Sometimes she can stand Riko, when they keep a distance and exchange polite words, but Jia. Jia, Morana cannot stand and refuses to. All she does is whine about how she never got an admittance into medical school—even at her big age of 28. Morana knows Inger can't stand her too, but neither would dare to admit that out loud since Jia is Mrs Sam's niece. They stand at the front desk as the library slowly fills in the early hours of the morning, a slight chatter amongst them before a haughty laugh escapes into the air.

"Only a man would do that, don't you think Inger?" Jia prompts.

"Ach yes, but my husband is too afraid of me to say no if I asked him to do basic household chores."

"Atta girl." Riko adds.

"What about your husband?" Jia looks at her, with her wide eyes before her lips form an 'o'. "I forgot you're not married, sorry, it's just we are all so I assume you are too." It feels like a taunt, it is a taunt.

The women of Hala firmly believe that marriage is at the heart of a fulfilling life for a woman, therefore those who are unmarried are readily ostracised. Living in the midst of strained tension between Hala and Westonia means that individuals' lives are now invaded by the secret police, probed to see if they’re involved in espionage; she knows that if she wants to stay alive or out of the public eye, she’ll need to get married. Unfortunately, there are no “Find my Husband, and quickly” schemes in Hala. The best bet is to finish her mission and leave Oka.

“Does anyone want to man the desk?”

“I’ll do it.” Morana offers, to which they appreciate. The married women disperse throughout the library with their trolleys to return the books back to the shelves.

Mieun's heavy pants enter Mingi's ears as he finishes taking the final step, making his way into the warmth. Her short legs could not make it past the fourth steep step, her arms holding out for her father to pick her up. He shakes his head at her, he must admit her into a sports club; how embarrassing would it be if one learnt that a child of a spy was unfit?

The library exuded an air of quiet reverence, the room was rather grand in scale yet suffused with a sense of seclusion; the scent of parchment and aging wood lingered in the mien. Muted light of the early morning faded through the tall, arched windows spilling across the worn carpet and leather-bound novels— poised delicately upon timber stretching at least seven feet from the ground. Nestled in the corners of the library were a circuit of soft leather sofas. With the current of academia, Mingi struggled to find the children's section, his eyes occasionally flickering to Mieun's eyes lit up in wonder as her gaze bored into the array of books. He did have to bring home a massive stack of encyclopaedias she refused to give back to the orphanage director.

"Never mind, just keep them." It wasn't like any of the other children were interested in reading, to the same extent as his daughter anyway, he claimed.

"Ok, why don't you look for something to read? What about this one: 'The Tiger Who Came To Tea?'" She shook her head. "'The Tale of Peter Rabbit'?"

"I've read that. I wanna read that book." Raising herself to her toes, her finger points to the spine of a book, Mingi crouches to pull it out.

'Harriet the Spy'?

"Are you sure? Might be a little hard?" He's not sure why he's second guessing her reading level, he has watched her read a children's astrophysics book but the cleverest children in Hala are scrutinised carefully. Intelligence is a curse, not a gift. "What about 'Winnie the Pooh'? My favourite character is Tiger." Mieun holds her ground, trying to pry 'Harriet the Spy' from his hands.

Very well.

"I like Roo, Papa." She scuttles past him to look into the boxes that are low enough for her to rummage through.

She'd make a good spy.

Manning the desk is probably the most boring task when there are no takers of books. The job is a little too easy for her taste, but the hours are great—it's better than working a measly corporate job in the City Hall where it's customary to stare into a document for over thirteen hours. Her primary role is the bringer of death, Magere Hein—as they would say in Germanian, and there are plenty of bodies this city needs disposing of.

A little body dashes towards her, her eyes lit up, watching as a mop of raven hair bounces up and down—her brown duffle coat is one size too big for her, black tights are too small. The skirt is the only one of perfect size. Her parents must be horrible at sizing.

“Hello, darling. How can I help?” She makes a poor attempt at trying to put the book on the table that’s too high up for her. Gently taking her arm, she guides the girl to the smaller table.

"I want this book." She cheers, it seems above her reading level.

“Mieun, don’t run off again.” Her head piques up from where she’s looking at the child, to find a tall man clad in a suit. A stack of books rests in his arms. “Sorry about that Miss, my daughter would like to check out this book.” Her eyes dart between the book, then himself.

Surrounding him is a stream of intimidation, perfection and control. His beauty is unparalleled, his suit is of perfect size hugging his physique with such perfect solidarity. Not a single strand of hair is out of place, his dominance keeps his daughter standing beside him with a decent posture as if afraid of his vexation. Her eyes paint a line down to the bridge of his nose over the curvature of his plump lips. No pimple, no pustule, no redness on his face. He is not a labourer, his hands are not calloused as he places his own books down on the desk; tender, one—no—two paper cuts indent his right index finger. He works a desk job, not at the City Hall. The physics textbooks tell her everything.

"No problem!" She chirps, opening up the book to the front page to steal the front card. "What is your name, darling?"

"Song Mieun! I am Papa's real daughter!" She cheers, a smile tears through her face as her father clarifies the spelling of her name.

Mieun, why would you say that? A look of quiet fear flashes over his face, gone unnoticed by the infamous assassin.

Stamping the due date box, she slides the card to the side to file it behind the circulation desk later. Then, she stamps the back of the books. The only pitiful thing about being a librarian is sending out notices for overdue books when you have to rifle through stacks of book cards. "You have two weeks to read the book and return it, ok?" Nodding eagerly she grabs the book from the table dashing towards the sofa in the corner of the room. Her father releases a sigh of despair turning his gaze back to the librarian.

Mingi finds she emanates a resolute presence, preceded by composure. Her shoulders are tense, her posture straight as she is ready to defend herself against something. It had dropped when she spoke to Mieun, now alone with himself, it is there again. There's also something about the way she carries herself, like an unmarried woman would. Perhaps her single state is due to the faint scar running down her face.

There are many things he cannot deduce about her, it astounds him.

“And these are for me…” He trails off placing down an abundance of physics textbooks. She completes the same order of work as she had done for Mieun scribbling his name down on the sheet paper, the way she masticates the syllables of his name on her tongue does not go unmissed. It slips from her lips in such a dulcet way, he feels warmed by it. "Thank you, Miss."

Teikoku Research stands, proudly, in the bustling arena of the city of Oka; the hum of pelican crossing signals the pedestrians to move as the cars stop, patiently, before the stop line. At half eight in the morning, the city is already alive with small feet pounding down the roads and adults pushing their way through the teeming crowds to get to their workplace on time. At half eight in the morning, the citizens of Hala are not friendly; not when money is their lord, saviour and religion; they may have recovered from a recession but Hala is constantly wrought in a fragile state of political unrest. Mingi's towering frame pokes through the sea of heads dashing down the crossing, his gaze fixated on the tall building in front of his eyes.

Whilst he awaits to hear back from Hala Academy, and Mieun stays with Wooyoung, he needs to work on Project Waffe, Hala's very own development of a powerful weapon. To avoid suspicion, he applied to the vacancy via the traditional route and passed the interview with his exemplary record as an atomic physicist.

His polished black shoes click against the marble flooring, leather satchel clutched in hand, his immaculate disposition summoning undivided attention from the passer-bys. A man stands in front of the double doors, almost as tall as Mingi himself, a little thinner, blonde hair with a frame of rectangular glasses sat on his crooked nose. He wears a dark grey suit, a little shabby, though it seemed as if he forgot to iron his clothes the night before. As Mingi approaches, he clears his throat, polite smiles exchanged between them.

"Mr Hans Schmidt?" The older male nods, gesticulating for the spy to follow through the doors.

"Welcome to your first day at Teikoku, you must be a spectacular man of a sort, Tanaka isn't easily impressed." Mingi remembers the old, short man, bushy eyebrows glaring daggers at Mingi throughout the interview.

Hans Schmidt rambles about basic housekeeping rules, quickly points at key rooms Mingi may have to wander through in the building. Has him wave at the tea boy, the receptionist and a few other 'crucial' members of staff before completely diverting the topic of conversation.

“I’m assuming you have a wife, Mr Song?” Hans asks, his thick Germanian accent spilling through. Fifteen years in Hala, but some things will never change.

“Ah I did. Unfortunately she passed away five years ago during childbirth, so it’s just been my little one and I.” A crushing stifle oppresses the air as the two men walk in synchronisation down the hallway.

“Ach, I’m so sorry to hear that. The little one is five, ja? Girl or boy?” A genuine look of compassion pulls over Hans' face, which Mingi perceives as a possible indicator that he has experienced some kind of loss in his life. After all, Hala has been in and out of dictatorship and stuck in a century old feud with Westonia, everyone has lost someone.

“Correct, she’s five. Her name’s Mieun.” Mingi smiles as he proudly announces his daughter's name. This baffles him.

“What a beautiful name. I have a young one, Luuk. He will be starting Hala Academy, in about a few weeks time. Will she be attending H Academy too?”

“I should hope so.” Hala Academy are very picky when choosing from their candidates. There is a list of criteria, Mingi is unsure if he will be able to fulfil when he walks around the city unmarried.

“Well, this is your department Mr Song. Your supervisor will be here, shortly, to direct you. I hope you enjoy your service in Teikoku. And, remember, no question is a stupid question.”

When the day is over, Mingi closes the cap of his pen, organising the sheets of paper neatly, into a folder before packing his satchel to leave. He bids his supervisor goodbye before rushing out of the building to catch the bus home. It is five 'o'clock in the evening, in Hala, and the roads are much quieter than they were in the morning—a cold gust of air slaps across his face before he double takes reeling in the figure walking past him.

Every evening, for the next week, he finds her at the bus stop, five minutes past five waiting for the bus that arrives at nine minutes past five. Sometimes he walks slowly down the staircase, to realise he must rush across the road to catch the bus that has arrived early. She stifles a giggle as he stumbles onto the bus, panting as he slides onto the seat next to her. They share a smile before she begins interrogating him about his daughter.

One evening, she is not at the bus stop, or the next and Mingi walks the long route home to try and find her at every stop. He's unbeknownst why, but she's the only choice for a wife he has otherwise his mission has already failed. There she is, standing outside of a convenience store, bags in hand, nose nestled into a scarf searching her surroundings.

Is she waiting for someone?

“Sorry Miss, are you waiting for your husband?” The grip on his own bag tightened as her doe eyes stare up at him.

"Mingi? What are you doing here?" A pause lingers in the air as he contemplates his next few words. They stand outside the shop, the dusk seeping into the sky as the roads begin to empty, its silence reminiscent of a time before.

"I didn't see you at the bus stop, so I was worried about your whereabouts." He utters.

Morana blinks twice before regaining a hold on her rationality. "No, I'm not married, Mr Song. I was just waiting for the next bus."

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. In that case, would you like me to walk you home?” His offer is one forged of consideration, a type she has never foreseen before—it almost has her wondering what has intrigued him to display an act of compassion, towards her. “Never mind, I shouldn’t have even asked. Lead the way, madam.” He’s a gentleman, bred of a unique kind that seems to have gone extinct.

“Your wife is a very lucky woman, you’re a very polite man.” She begins, as they stroll down the cobbled pavement to her home.

“She was.” Was? As if having read her mind, he continues. “She passed away during childbirth, it’s only Mieun and I, now.” Her lips uplift into a sympathetic smile, as if to reassure him of his loss. Morana does not remember her parents herself, after all she was taken in by one of Legion's assassin's at nine years old.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Now I understand why the baby’s clothes are all the wrong sizes.” The joke rolls off her tongue effortlessly, but is replaced by a sense of unease as he's quiet for a second too long.

“Oh it’s that noticeable?” The anxiety prescient in his tone warms her, he's evidently a man who cares.

“Perhaps I could go shopping with you! To shop for Mieun, I mean.” She quickly adds, as her face turns beet red in embarrassment.

“I’m afraid you’d have to marry me first.” A quiet laugh escapes her lips, she shakes her head at his proclamation. "I'm serious, Mieun would love to have you as her mother. She's finished her book already, and pesters me to take her to see you." Morana is in awe, Mieun is a darling. (And her father is, too, of the attractive kind).

“Marriage, marriage, marriage. It's all the women of Hala care about." A sigh of despondency is released before she confesses to him, "Truth be told, the women at the library were going to report me to the police for suspicion of espionage, all for being single. If you were being serious, I would actually take you up on that offer." Mingi stops in his tracks, the luminous blaze of the streetlight forms a halo over his slicked back hair. She, too, stops in her path, turning to face him.

“Would you be willing to be my wife, so Mieun could have a mother?" His question suspends in the thoughtful atmosphere, the minute wisps of wind are hitched in their wake as they anticipate her response.

“Yes.” She answers, a relieved smile settles on Mingi’s face. “I guess, I need someone to be a mother to and your child needs a mother.”

“So you’re saying it’s ok size up for trousers, shirts and dresses?” Mingi quizzes, as he browses with his wife in the girls sections.

“Yes! It’s much more comfortable, leaves room for movement and she can go a while wearing them too. Saves us buying more clothes until she’s grown out of them.” Her eyes searched across the racks until they bore into a dark brown skirt. “We should get this! Then Mimi and I can wear matching outfits!” She squeals, a soft smile painted on her husband’s face before she rifles searching for the right size. Glancing over the price tag, her movements falter before Mingi takes the skirt from her hand to rest it over his arm, like a rack.

“I like that blue dress.” He points out, ignorant of the price tag. “It’s similar to yours.”

They’re Mr and Mrs Song now, it somehow feels odd that with some sudden twist of fate, she now remains at his side—her name in conjunction with his. Who ever would have thought that the enigmatic librarian had caught the eyes of the quiet, single father? Yet it had happened, and in a whirlwind she had moved into his home, and was practically sharing a room with the man. He was more than happy to give her the spare bedroom, though she had insisted that sharing a room wouldn’t make Mieun feel that there was some sort of particular divide between them. After all, this relationship wasn’t just orchestrated for the world, but also for their daughter too. She needn’t know that this was merely a marriage of convenience.

Morana learns off Jung Wooyoung, the civil servant at the City Hall, who often decides to drop by for dinner. Mieun calls him a ‘Cat Boy’ to which this confuses her.

“He somewhat resembles a black cat, don’t you think?” Mingi provokes at the dinner table as Wooyoung rolls his eyes. Morana takes the time to observe Wooyoung’s disposition carefully. She’s seen him before, but where?

“Has he told you about Hala Academy?” Wooyoung prompts, she nods as she chews her food. "Hear that Mimi? You have to get in, it's what would have Amma wanted, right?"

Would I—oh…

Mieun's real Amma.

"I thought...your wife passed away during giving birth, how would...Mimi know..?" She tentatively raises, stopping in between words in some hope that Mingi picks up what she wants to ask.

“It was one of the things we used to talk about when she was pregnant with Mimi.” As married couples do.

As lovers do.

"I'm sorry about Wooyoung bringing up my ex-wife, that idiot always says the first thing that comes to his head." The tablecloth in hand wipes down the surface of the ceramic plate before he settles it down onto the pile of dry dishes. Shaking her head, she waves him off as she organises the containers of leftovers in the fridge. They may have not been married very long, yet some odd systematic domesticity is established through their routines. Every evening, she will wash the dishes as Mingi clears the table. Mingi dries the dishes and she will arrange the leftovers into smaller bowls, then wipe down the table; then wash the cloth. Within it, they will always talk about their day, gossip about co-workers before exchanging gentle smiles.

"It's ok, Mingi. I know you don’t see me as a replacement for her.”

“That doesn’t mean I still don’t value you, and your role in this household. First and foremost you are my wife and Mieun’s mother.” He, quickly, interjects—his stern expression tightly fixed on her. Some odd consternation steers in her, his sincere words are the first to be spoken to a man of his kind. He is a rare creature, she deduces. Yes, many are tall and handsome; but the soft-spoken and considerate have gone almost extinct. Almost, she remembers, her husband exists. Song Mingi, exists and is hers.

It's enough to make a grown woman swoon at night.

Hala Academy stands in the centre of Oka, in all its grandeur—its imposing silhouette barely visible in the moonlight, now towering over them. A loft edifice of dark, weathered stone, the building perpetuated an air of class and sophistication subduing the couple with a sense of inferiority. The arched windows were adorned with intricate wrought ironwork, their glass panes slightly fogged with age. Ivy crept up the sides, entwining with the stone, the main entrance called for them; above, a stone plaque read simply: Hala Academy. Pushing past the mahogany door, the entryway was lit by the flickering glow of gas lamps, the stone floors covered by traditional Persian rugs. The ceilings were high, the walls panelled with a rich, dark oak, the corridors were long and narrow and despite the array of candles in their pristine silver holders it still felt significantly cold and dim. On the contrary to its suave demeanour, the rooms are filled with anxious parents and carefree children; excited chatter infiltrates out into the entryway.

They look like a composed couple, with their outfits that complement each other, colours and styles an ode to their age-old marriage and comprehensive understanding of all matters intelligent. Mr Song, the physicist, and his wife, the librarian, stride into the rooms, their daughter settled at her mother's hip, elegant in her smart clothing. Still, she doesn't understand why Mieun could not wear pink but according to Mingi, "The school's dress code is black, maroon, grey and dark brown. It’s better to follow their dress code. Remember, the first impression is the last impression."

Ah yes, 'to impress'. That is the main reason that they're here: Hala Academy organises interviews for all candidates that have fit the school's criteria. This is where the children must complete a 'simple', two-hour entrance exam, which topics include: Literature, Mathematics, Science, History, Geography and Politics. At the same time, the parents are interviewed to assess 'Familial Politics'. In other words, children of divorcees, single parents, parents who are separating are not given an admission on the grounds that their child will not perform well. It's a clever tactic as most parents would be too concerned about their child's education than about their marriage. As grim as it seems, this is one rigid rule of the eminent 'H Academy' and is the primary reason it stands as the world's best international academy.

Mieun has skipped to the exam hall, standing behind a line of nervous students all sweating and shaking as they receive firm looks from their parents. Morana deems she is the only child that has been kissed goodbye, standing with her husband in the foyer awaiting for them to be called to interrogation. An old man, with short grey hair, a pair of half-moon shaped glasses and a cane stands outside of the door—his hawk-like eyes, cautiously, observing his surroundings.

Andrew Anderson, Mingi recalls. An ex-Westonian Major turned English teacher, who has a keen eye for marriage authenticity. He also retains the excellent sixth sense of seeing through lies and has even made a mother run out of the room crying snot and tears. Anderson makes, seemingly relaxed, interviews intense; cutting down the candidates down to the bone.

"Mingi." Mrs Song whispers, he averts his gaze to her, leaning down slightly as her lips inch closer to his ears. "I think we should hold hands." She professes, her fingers grazing against his own. He noticed Anderson's hawk-like gaze from across the room. Whilst is constantly watching, Mingi is constantly performing. Enveloping her own smaller hand within his, they share a polite smile before he smooths the crease on her blazer collar.

We must prove to them that we're a happy couple.

"Mr and Mrs Song?" Their heads pique up in synchrony, somehow the grip on her hand has tightened as they scuttle towards the office, feeling the burning stare of a number of parents, who are too, awaiting their turn in anguish. The room is particularly large, like most of the rooms in the academy, with a sizzling fireplace crackling embers; daunting, as if the couple were expectant of their death. There are three interrogators, inside the classroom, Mr Anderson, Mr Jansen and Mrs Beck, all of whom Mingi is thoroughly educated on. Upon Mrs Beck's allowance, they seat themselves together on the plush sofa opposite.

The Songs shall prevail in this game of information warfare.

"Mr Song, I was informed that this is your second wife, may I ask how you met?" Mrs Beck asks. She's a mild-mannered woman, very conservative and prioritises logic; the older students love her with her concise explanations of advanced biology. Nevertheless, she's an exceptionally 'gradist'; therefore only intelligence entices her.

I see we're getting straight to the point. He looks over to Mrs Song, who matches his placid composure. "I met my wife in a library, I was in awe of her grace. Ever since the passing of my first wife, I've been hesitant on moving on but on meeting her, I felt that I had been given the privilege of being able to fall in love again." Mrs Song returns his smile, clutching the fabric of her silk dress to steady herself.

"And what about you, Madam?" Beck inquires.

"Mingi is a wonderful person who cares so much for his daughter. He's also exceptionally considerate of me." Before Beck can open her mouth to retort, she is uncouthly cut off by her colleague.

"Why would a pretty girl like you choose to be with a man with baggage?" Mr Jansen inquires, furtively, leaning back in his chair, ignoring the aghast stares of his associates.

"Why that's uncouth of you, Jansen." Beck hisses, she quickly dismisses Jansen's question proceeding forward with the interview. "As for our next question: Could you tell us why you chose to apply to Hala Academy?"

"The quality of the instructors at this establishment is superior. Of course, you are all very knowledgeable and cultured, and are excellent at guiding your students to fruitful pathways in order to become successful citizens of Hala." Anderson nods his head, impressed by Mingi's elegant response.

"Now then, how would the two of you describe your daughter? Are there any strengths and weaknesses we should be aware of?"

After a single pause, Mingi opens his mouth, contemplating his words. He remembers having this conversation with his wife last night. "Mieun is a very inquisitive child, she's quite reserved at first—which isn't necessarily a weakness but after some time she's exceptional at opening up and conversing with others." Morana watches as the deputy headmistress scribbles down her notes on the clipboard, she can just about make out some of the letters; although the pink flush of her cheeks is discernible as Mingi speaks.

“It's a shame this whole second wife/second mother ordeal is quite a...tragedy for you, Mr Song.” The deputy headmistress looks up from her clipboard, sending her colleague a look of irritation; she finds some of Hala Academy's traditions to be rather...unconventional.

"I think it's hardly unfair to be penalised on the account of death, don't you think? After all, he is a man and what use is a man without a woman and what use is a woman without her husband." Mrs Song interjects, her head held high challenging Mr Jansen's cunning gaze.

"Jagiya—" Mingi reached out for her hand, squeezing it gently to dissipate her brewing anger. Yet she ignores his attempts at trying to conceal her animosity.

"Lest we forget, you're on your third marriage—aren't you, Mr Jansen?" A spectral silence is suspended in the air, all three of the chairman's jaws go slack in sheer astonishment. Mingi narrows his eyes at her, how much does she actually know?

"And just HOW would you know that?" He barks at her, fists clenched, restraining himself from baring his teeth.

"Courtesy of Mrs Jansen, she often visits the public library and we've got chatting." Her shrewd stare boils Jansen's blood, she's eerily calm despite having ripped open his lies apart.

"The library?" A deep chuckle is eructed from Anderson, leaning forward on his cane. "I thought your wife was dyslexic? Humour me, Mrs Song, what does she like to read?"

"She has a taste for erotica." A wave of startlement succeeds the room, the face of each male going bright red--even Mingi. "The world will read what it cannot get." After a tense moment of silence, she stands up from her chair.

“I’m sor—,”

“No.” She holds out her hand to cease his futile attempts at an apology, perhaps it should be her who apologises. She did just ruin his career. “You can apologise when my daughter scores top in the entrance exam. Auf Weiderhen.”

“I’m so sorry, Mimi, I ruined your admission with my short temper.” Sulking, Mrs Song wraps the blanket tightly over her shoulders before sinking her face into the armrest in despair. Her daughter falls onto the space beside her, wearily attempting to pry open the blanket.

“Mama, opennnn.” Mieun whines, lifting up her blanket she shivers slightly before her daughter crawls in next to her, both girls cocooned warmly in the blanket. “It’s ok, I think I did good. I am sooo bad at geography, I hate it.”

“Well it’s a good thing Hala Academy lets you choose to either keep the subject or drop it in year 8.” Mingi, ambles into the living room placing the tray down on the coffee table before sitting on the leather chair adjacent to the sofa. “You said nothing wrong, we can just hope Mieun has performed well.”

A letter slides in through the letterbox, hitting the ground with a gentle thud as the family settle themselves around the dining table; in the early hours of the morning. Morana freezes, as Mieun climbs down from her chair to pick up the letter.

"It's from the school!" She cheers, which has Mingi springing up from his seat to grab the letter. Restlessly, he aptly tears the seal, his sharp eyes scanning the contents of the letter. He remains silent, in a state of shock as he reads, and re-reads. "Appaaa, what does it say?" Mieun prompts, tugging at his dress trousers. Standing up from her seat, Mrs Song, considerately, seizes the letter from her husband’s grip.

"MIEUN! YOU SCORED FIFTH! YOU'RE GOING TO HALA ACADEMY!" Morana shrieks, she swoops up the tiny body in arms, spinning her around both of them screaming and laughing as Mieun's father takes a seat on the sofa. His ears drown out the discourse of passionate laughter, his back hits the soft fabric with a thump, eyes fluttering shut.

Happiness. Is this what it is supposed to feel like?

"Like I said, if it's getting too much for you, you don't have to work. I earn good enough for the both of us." Mingi explains, as he leans against the kitchen worktop watching as his wife, skilfully slices the vegetables with point blank precision. It's odd, he thinks, that each slice is exactly 1.3cm in thickness. Despite the full background check Mingi has run on her, a small figment of him believes that there's more to her than meets the eye; as if the interview wasn't a testament to that already. Flicking her gaze over her shoulder, she returns back the pot of stewing broth.

"I like to be kept busy, besides the library isn't too far from Mieun's school so I can drop and pick her up." He can't help but agree with her, though if she's in one place at a time and not scuttling all over the city, he'll find it much easier to scrutinise her: if need be. His ears dial out the sound of the pots whirring, and the obnoxious commotion of the broth boiling; attuned to the light patter of feet trailing to the front door. Before the fist pounds against the wooden door, "Mingi, will you get the door? That will be Mimi."

The knock doesn't resound. It never does, Mieun doesn't knock in the 30 staggered seconds it takes him to reach the door, because she's too busy grabbing sweets off the granny in the neighbouring apartment to them.

How did she know Mieun was at the door?

Her slender fingers dance across the surface of his lips, his brown eyes fill with tears, muffling incoherent noises as a devilish smirk is strewn across her lips. "Quiet." She snaps, picking up the scarlet red telephone; placing it to her ears. "Stella, darling, I'm great—will you shut the fuck up like I told you to?—oh, just some pathetic guy, I'm killing him soon anyways— No, sorry, I'm picking the..." Her dagger cuts cleanly through the air, lodging straight into the midline of his torso, the metal, deviously, sunk its teeth into his skin, tissues erupting into a roar. "I think I was very clear about telling you to shut up. Sorry, Stell, I'm picking Mimi up from school. Send the cleaners, please." Her stilettos echo in the abandoned building, carelessly making her way around the masses of dead bodies lounging on the Grim Reaper's bridge.

"MAMA!" She shakes her head at her daughter's congenial nature, as she dashes towards her, after waving her little crowd of friends goodbye. They're all children of very wealthy families, Morana notes all of their faces and the mothers that wave their children over to them. Luuk Schmidt, that's Inger's son, who sends an amiable smile; he blushes slightly at Mieun's actions. Sasha Ivanov, daughter of the CEO of a large pharmaceutical company. A few other children whose parents are politicians, doctors but none are important to her. Finally, Park Kira. Daughter of Hades and Persephone. Morana can't help but be impressed at Mieun's friend group, it must be her intelligence and undeniable beauty. "What's for dinner today?" Ruffling Mieun's hair, she guides her daughter out of the exit as they discuss dinner options.

“Mrs Song?” She turns in her step to look behind, a woman slender in physique with a fitted dress, long, black silky hair stares at her in sincere judgement. She is dressed to the nines, but Morana's sleek look somehow makes Persephone feel inferior.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Park.” Her hand settles on her daughter’s shoulder who stares back at Kira, sensing the underlying tension between them. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She instigates.

“My daughter, Kira, would like to organise a play date with your daughter—if that’s ok with yourself?”

“Ah yes, of course. Mimi, would you like to play with Kira over, let’s say, the weekend?” She suggests, darting her eyes to Eunha who gives a subtle nod of agreement. The weekend works best for them. Mieun is quick to agree, Morana is relieved—she admits she would be annoyed if her daughter disagreed; that would soil her mission.

"If you don't mind staying over, Mrs Song? The ladies and I usually arrange a tea party but seeing Kira only wants Mieun over, you and I can have a natter, can't we?" Morana conceals the smirk simmering beneath her skin, a look of innocence feigned instead.

"That would be lovely."

Mingi is mildly taken aback by how quickly Mieun has become close friends with Park Kira; yet, he is not one to complain as his wife eagerly announces that both of them have been invited to the Park Estate. Absent-mindedly, he fiddles with the microchip between his fingers, watching as his wife slips on a pair of pearl earrings before hastily rummaging through her cupboard for a pair of heels. He remains silent, simply observing from the corner, as she flurries around in a slight panicked state.

To begin with, Mingi is cautious for two primary reasons.

First, Mrs. Park had always been considered a reserved woman, and the idea of her inviting another woman to tea—especially one not a member of The Cosmopolitan—strikes him as somewhat dubious. Second, Mrs. Song is an enigmatic figure. Though he can't tell if it's because his knowledge of women is rather lacklustre, or that it is, in fact, the truth that she has somehow been moulded into a different human. There are late nights she justifies by claiming to close up the library, and the bruises that mark her body seem to be symptoms of anaemia. Her sharp intellect, which many attribute to her love of knowledge, only adds to the mystery. If she really was Mieun's mother, he would have been able to understand why the child was so bright. Therefore, the chip isn't just to spy on Park Eunha, it's for her too.

Stealing one last glance of herself from the mirror, she turns on her heel, summoning her husband's attention. Her hands clasp into fists at her side, "How do I look?" She asks, softly, her breath like a cloud of heaven, dropped from the sky to bless his ears with her voice.

"Beautiful." A relieved smile settled on her lips, he stood up from the bed, strolling towards her. He stops in front, adjusting the clip in her hair and smoothing down the collar of her dress shirt. "You are beautiful." He whispers. His sincerity has her heart fluttering in awe of him—their intimate moment is cut short by Mieun stomping into the room.

"Mama! I can't find my red shoes!" Shaking his head at her, Mingi ushers her out of the room towards her own as they begin to hunt for her 'Dorothy slippers'; as her father likes to call them.

The Park Estate stands as a grand testament to an ancient opulence, nestled amongst sprawling acres of manicured grounds. It's coppery stone façade, boasts arched windows and intricate wrought-iron balconies. In the middle, stands a large water fountain where mist lightly sprays against the surface of the cobblestone path that paves the entrance down to the home. With Mieun sitting in her arms, she tightens her grip sauntering down the lane, to the doorway of the home where the household's domestic staff run up and down the corridors. Morana shifts the weight of her feet, standing uncomfortably in the foyer as she is instructed to wait for Mrs Park; Mieun wiggles out of her grip persisting to be put down. Inside, the rooms are vast and richly decorated, with heavy velvet drapes, antique chandeliers, and polished mahogany furniture. The manor emits the quiet confidence of old money, with its precise refinement. There is no doubt Eunha keeps the household on a tight leash.

The terrifying click of heels down the staircase snaps her away from her thoughts— her gaze follows Eunha walk down with Kira skipping to Mieun in front of her. “Mrs Song! Welcome! Come join me in the parlour, are you ok with Mieun playing Kira outside? My butler will supervise them?” She nods in agreement, pinching Mieun’s cheeks before following the lady of the household. She’s seen this place before, having infiltrated it, under the cover of the night, they've just passed the East wing where she knows Hades keeps his information. Passing the butler perched outside Eunha's wing, he swings open the door before gently shutting it behind them. They settle on a plush maroon sofa, her weight sinks the sofa enveloping her in a secure warmth.

In the shadowed silence, a figure glided effortlessly through the corridors, his every movement fluid and purposeful. The air was thick with an oppressive stillness, broken only by the sigh of relief as he watches his wife saunter into the room, unbeknownst of his presence. His butler's attire blended seamlessly with the surroundings. Nestled among the towering oak doors and gilded arches, he ventured deeper into the quarters; the glint of the brass handles guiding him through the halls. Each nook and cranny was carefully articulated into his mind, he knows to the right unfolds Hades' rooms but the study is more useful to him. Shallow breaths infiltrate the tense atmosphere, his hand brushing the surface of the door handle, twisting the knob before pushing himself in.

In the drawing room, the delicate clink of porcelain on fine china punctuated the room, the faint scent of chamomile filling the air. The assassin sat with poised elegance, her fingers wrapped delicately around a teacup; beneath the soft, maternal façade, lay a woman far more dangerous than she appeared. Across from her, Eunha sipped her tea with a languid grace, unaware that the pleasant conversation flowing between them was, in fact, a carefully crafted performance.

"Well I told you about our meet cute, where did you and your Mr Park meet?" Morana feigned a melody of curiosity with just the right amount of innocence.

"Our marriage was arranged, you see. My father was eager to marry me off, and consulted the youngest business partner that he knew. At the time, Hw—Seo—." She stutters over her words, Morana narrowing her eyes as Eunha presses the tips of her fingers to her mouth; she is unsure of how she is supposed to address him. "Seung Cheol wasn't interested in me but my father is a persuasive man." A faint blush falls on her cheeks, yet Mrs Song nods her head with a mild understanding.

"Well, all things work out in the end, don't they?" Eunha's hands tremble slightly as she lowers the teacup from her lips.

"I guess." Releasing a shaky breath, she regains her carefully, composed exterior. "Where did you say your husband worked again? Teikoku Research? No wonder, your daughter scored top." Morana lets out a succulent laugh, leaning back into her seat.

“Yes, but do not ask me of the specifics of his job role. I’ve often wondered about the more… serious matters, the ones that always seem to pull our husbands away at the oddest times. Does your husband ever speak of such things? I imagine his work takes him to all sorts of places, doesn’t it?” A moment of silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension. Then, with a smooth, calculated grace, Mrs Park replied, her voice now a shade colder.

“My husband is a very private man. He prefers not to discuss his affairs with me.” The assassin leaned back slightly, her smile never faltering; the pieces were starting to fit together. With a casual flick of her wrist, she refilled both their cups, her eyes scanning the room for anything out of place.

"Of course," she said gently, eyes glimmering with a hidden agenda, "Some things are better left untouched, aren’t they? After all, what would us, women, understand?" Eunha's eyes glaze with an amalgamation of emotions that include sadness and fear, it betrays the façade she has tried so hard to maintain. She is just too innocent for this world, forced to hide and stay quiet under her husband's sins.

Mingi creases his brows as he adjusts the ear piece glued to his canal; Mrs Song's artful questions are something for him to praise as he assesses there is an underlying current of inquisitiveness laid within them. Something that extends the mere nature of curiosity, as if there is some deeper knowledge she is aiming to acquire. At this point, it is hard to believe that this arrangement doesn't benefit her in more ways than one. His hands rifle through the cabinet of useless files, sliding open drawers, slender fingers sliding down each corner of furniture in an attempt to find something. He should know better, Hades would never keep something so valuable to him in sight, and by Eunha's own statements, it seems she isn't exactly willing to disclose any information about her husband.

"Is your husband affectionate, Mrs Song?" His cheeks heat up in embarrassment, freezing in his action as he anticipates his wife's response. A chorus of high-pitched merriments entrail in his ear.

She...giggled?

"We've held hands and Mieun isn't my biological child so I think that tells you everything. What about your husband, is he affectionate or does he like to keep to himself, too?"

"When I see him, again, usually at this time of year, he might give me a kiss on the forehead if he's in the mood."

Usually at this time of year, huh?

He probes his head for important dates, anything that could provoke Hades' entrance into Oka. His ninth wedding anniversary is coming up soon, if his marriage means anything to him.

"I'd love to stay longer, Mrs Park but I think my husband might be getting hungry, hence I have dinner to prepare." The resounding click of heels against the ancient wooden floorboards, tears him away from his thoughts. He aligns the sheets of paper back into a uniform fashion, before his eyes dart to the copy of the 'Odyssey' perched on the table. Two copies.

Both Apollo's and Hades'.

"We had samgyetang, and then played tag before the old lady told us to go inside." Her stubby finger points to the butler, who sends Mrs Song a sheepish smile. Adjusting the scarf around her neck, the two girls embrace each other before bidding their goodbye's. Before her, Eunha knits her brows, staring ahead of the figure sauntering to them. Calculatedly, she throws her eyes over her shoulder before, briskly, spinning on her heel.

“Mingi? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be seeing Wooyoung to the train station?”

“Yes, but then I missed you.” She blinks once. Then twice. Thrice, for consolidation. Stalking towards her, he presses his lips to her forehead, breath catching in her throat. His pinkie finger slides under the collar, swooping up the microchip before placing his hand into his blazer pocket. “Besides, the days are getting shorter and it’s unsafe for my wife and child to walk home, unchaperoned.” Eunha coos at the couple, her lips twist into a genuine smile as she ushers for Kira to come back inside. Scooping up Mieun's figure, she rests her head on his chest, sliding another arm around his wife's waist before they bid a final goodbye to the Park's. Mingi wonders if Eunha has recognised him, whether it be from his stature, to the sound of his voice. After all, they've met in a time before. A time where Hades had introduced him to his wife.

"I didn't know you were growing out your hair, what's with the change?" Both agents are crouched behind a low wall, the cool wind tousling their hair.

"Just felt like it. Why is it weird?" Hades asks after a single beat.

"Apollo, there's a target—" The gun fires at the target behind him, hitting his enemy straight between the eyes.

"No, it's not weird." It's Hades' turn to fire his gun behind him. "I think it's a good look actually, where are you hoping to grow it out to?" Gunshots resound the air, bodies dropping to the floor like dominoes.

"Just above my shoulder, maybe I'll dye it later."

"No, don't be an idiot—."

"Are you both, fucking, deaf?" Athena snarls, panting as she lands on the roof out of breath. "There's a fucking bomb about to detonate in about two minutes and you're sat here like you're having a tea party."

"Now, now, Athena, all that language isn't good for the baby." She rolls her eyes at Hades' remark, as they tumble through the skylines as fast as they can. "Oh, Apollo, will you come meet my wife? She's been asking about you."

Apollo huffs, as he skids across the cobbled rooftop. "You know, I still can't believe you're married."

"The Dad was paying good money." They both snicker, as Athena rolls her eyes.

Men.

The wind submitted to her every command, the delicate air carrying her away through the desolate city with a melancholic heart. Her body fell into the shadows as she leapt from one building to another, Morana's movements were slick. Careful. Deliberate. Perched like a spider on the wooden ledge of a collapsing ceiling, she cocks her head to the side as the room fills with important disciples of her establishment. They stand in their long black robes and silver masks, in two long rows either side of the room, awaiting for their leader to arrive. She has never met the Liege, not in person anyway, and she doesn't intend to either. A meeting with their leader means death. Instead, her legs dangle over the edge, eyes fulgurating around the room as she notices an influx of her fellow assassins enter; tucked away in corners. They wave at each other in their own funny little fashion. Morana is one of three women called, so she blows her kisses to the men, who are evidently charmed by her. Whilst seduction is not her best skill, her undeniable beauty has always drawn the scrutiny of lustful men.

"Let the meeting commence."

"May our client, Hades, come forth." A man steps out from the line of men, standing in front of the leader— he, who himself is masked in gold, clearly distinguishing himself from his disciples. "How may we help you, Hades?" The assassins' taunting laugh resounds in the room, their figures unseen as they become at one with the shadows.

"I see that my key is both a magnet for Legion and the Agency, yet should I remind you that setting your hands on it would merely mean imminent death?" His voice is deep, emanating with an authority that commands attention; his words reverberate through the air like a distant thunder preceding his primal essence. "You promised me, you would take out Apollo."

"You did, when the time comes, I will send my men." The Liege promises; it feels rather hollow in comparison to the weight of Hades' intimidation.

"You don't see me as a threat, do you?" He taunts, instigating a spectral silence to befall over the room. "In fact, make it interesting, send me your best and I will send you their head."

“Oh I will send you my best, and she will give me your heart.” A sea of eyes flicker to the corner of the room where she is enveloped within the barge of shadows.

“Everybody has a weakness, Your Honour. Even your General Morana.” Her brow raises in interest. She, herself, wonders what her greatest weakness would be.

“And only God would know what it is—do you believe that there is a God, Hades?”

“I believe that there is a higher power.”

“Then do you believe in fate or destiny?” Morana's eyes narrow, where, exactly, is this going?

“Somewhat, what should I make of this, your Liege?” Hades responds, as if he has read her thoughts and is disinterested in his Liege's provocations.

“That fate has parted you from my General to save the satisfaction of your blood befalling on her hands.” The night releases a harsh sigh upon her Liege's declaration, her hand slides off the aging timber of the abandoned church, feet fixed to the narrow ledge she stands upon. Her body shifts, ever so slightly, the moon casting a fateful light upon her body, illuminating her presence. Those who have not seen her, have seen her now. Hades has seen her now.

"Where have you been?" He sits in the armchair, just across from the fireplace, a steely gaze boring into her. With a breath hitched in her throat, she remains silent as he approaches with an air of intimidation, his round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, loose strands of hair framing his sharp cheekbones; clad in grey sweatpants and a baggy jumper as he towers over her. There's no doubt Mingi always looks good, but when he's stripped bare of his sobriety: he looks even better. With the minimal distance between them; she cannot help but admire him— god, he's beautiful in some sort of sadistic way. As if he stole the fires of beauty from Aphrodite and had been carved from her prowess. As if he was forged from some kind of celestial plane, naked to the human eye, forced to submit under his divine grace. He's apollo, a thing so eternal. His large hand moves to settle on her delicate waist, "I was so worried about you. Where did you go?" His whispers are echoes of hymns sung by a choir of angels.

"I—,” She stutters under his potent eye, heart palpitating faster than it has ever done in a life-threatening mission. Hell, she's even been close to a detonating bomb and still, it is Song Mingi, who has raised as the beat of her heart as if he is the vessel that keeps her moving. Her fingertips graze the soft fabric of his sleeve before firmly resting on the back of his neck, his siren eyes flutter under her supple caress. Why does he feel so weak? "I went on a walk." Snickering at her own poor excuse, she dares herself to not move, the warmth from his palms is all she needs.

"A walk?" He repeats, raising an eyebrow in inquisition. Her eyes trickle to the mole beneath his eye, she wonders what it would feel like to just press her lips against it.

"Yes, there's a very nice park around the corner. I don't recommend going around this time though, there's many prostitutes." She warns.

"Ah, all the more reason to go then." He jokes, Mrs Song snorts, her chest suspiring as the melodious chorus of laughter spills from her soft lips. A grin pulls on his face, when she realises: has she just seen Mingi smile for the first time? Snaking his arms to her back, she is pulled in, sinking into him, feeling the weight of his chin upon her head. "I'm joking. You’re enough for me.”

Stella. An associate of Morana, or rather she likes to call her, a subordinate. The infamous assassin strolls into the library, making her way down the aisles where a woman stands on the farther end, stacking books onto the shelf. They're all books in a language, foreign to Hala, hence who better to ask than the woman herself whose name roams the seven seas. "M." Stella greets, with the subtle dip of her head, her grey eyes boring into the decaying books on the antique shelf. "Alles ruhig an der Westfront." Her mutter prompts the book to fall out of the shelf into Morana's hands, her heels click purposefully on the floor towards the front desk with Stella passing by, throwing down War and Peace.

"Why did they send you here?" Morana asks, as she files the card behind the front desk. Stella eyes the lollipops in the jar at the front desk that Mrs Sam has left to lure the kids into reading books.

"Didn't think marriage was in the cards for you but then again, I don't know you that well." Legion doesn't think she can balance domesticity and murdering. "Though, your husband is one hunk of a man. I'm almost jealous." Her fingers flip open the pages of All Quiet on the Western Front, slipping out the clean sheet slotted between the pages, tucking it into her skirt pocket.

"Is Legion questioning my capabilities?" To any other they may have been perceived as two devotees of literature, with the way Morana tilts her head to the side, Stella clutches her book as if she is conversing about it. "They can cut ties and I can find jobs elsewhere, I don't need them but they need me." Her shrewd, low voice sends a scathing shiver down her associate's spine.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." As Riko slips into her line of sight, Morana slides out a sheet from under the desk, handing it over to the lady in front; taking the hint she receives the paper with a smile.

"I would be because I didn't sleep my way up to the top, I'm not tied down by my body." They switch to a dialect of Arabi. Stella's grimace doesn't go overlooked by herself. The telephone at the front desk sends a startling ring, Morana steals the line before Mrs Sam wakes up from her nap and answers it, baffling the caller.

"Hala Library, how can I help—Mingi? You're going to be home late? Ah ok, yes the school bus will drop Mimi. What about dinner? Ok. I'll see you at home, don't overwork yourself." Within Stella's eyes there holds a barge carrying her emotions, her morals, her modesty; all trapped in neat containers that she had locked away when she had devoted her life to Legion. Morana has sent a sturdy blow to those shipments, kicking the balance straight under Stella's feet. "Oh baby, don't be so upset. Next time try to use your head, instead of your heart."

Ahead, the coffee shop came into view, its warm, amber glow spilling through the large windows, contrasting with the sharp chill of the evening air. The door swung open with a soft chime as Apollo stepped inside; the aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit him first, its comforting bitterness masking the tension that coiled beneath the surface. He sends a single nod to the barista before slipping his way to the back, where he saunters up the stairs and to the room right at the back. The café is a front for Agency business and each aspect of it coordinates to its said trade.

A current of air follows his salient prescience into the room, where Athena is perched behind a desk, bayonetta glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. Her eyes flicker up at Apollo, through the top frame of her glasses, she closes shut the file she was scrutinising; sliding it across to him as he takes a seat in front of her. They speak of important fixtures with minimal words, he takes the hint that the file is important to his current operation.

NAME: ? ALIAS: MORANA BODY COUNT: 100+ CLASSIFICATION: DANGEROUS

His sharp eyes stare at Athena from across the table, "Do you want to tell me something I don't already know?"

"You're not the only one after that key. According to one of my informants, Hades is essentially under Legions' witness protection but they want what he has. As Morana is their most powerful associate, I have a feeling she's after that key too." Yet, it has always been hard for him to identify her in a crowd of people. She is at one with the night, blended amongst the silhouette of buildings, blinking down at him with the stars — mockingly, as he searches the ends of the earth for her.

"Well it would be helpful to know what she looks like, or even if I was just at that meeting." He resists the urge to scowl, throwing his head, long limbs slumping across the chair; a stark juxtaposition to his usually composed act but here he is with his age-old friend— Apollo can be a different man here. "December 16th, Moscow. We lost all five of our highly-trained operatives to, her."

The wind howls, as an unbridled phantom slips through the slither of light beaming from the transparent windows of their base. Apollo rubs his hands together, the frictional forces generating heat as his body withstands the harsh pressures of cold lacerating their supple skin. He remembers sliding his unwavering gaze over to Hades, who stares in such an unemotional state at a photo of his wife, thinking if the man truly loves her. But love is not an emotion neither of them can ever afford having. Athena rests her hand on her baby bump, it's a wonder the board has still deemed her fit to run missions in the field. He recalls the silence of the moment, as all three of them eventually lock their gazes onto the burner phone. When it buzzes Athena throws her whole body for it, only for her steely face to drop at the news; they've never seen her this disappointed before.

"We've lost all five of our contacts. Apollo, I need your eyes. You, with me." Athena and Hades disperse from the base faster than he can blink, his tall body dashes over to where his sniper is. His siren eyes peer through the cold, glass lens of his sniper scope, following the swift movements of his associates as they dart towards the building opposite to them, but that is not the focus of his attention. Rather, it lies in the window, fronting his own—where his client lies; dependent on the Agency's protection. In the darkness of the room, a shadow moved with unnerving precision, closer towards his client. His finger brushes across the trigger guard Hades dashes up the staircase, a full floor below where chao is about to ensue.

A gleam of silver haunts Apollo, the projectile scream of his *client* terrorises the air. Hades has stopped in his path, Athena's gaze snaps up to the staircase laid before her.

Three fingers raised: the forefinger, middle and ring, on her left hand. Her M.O.

Morana has seen them.

"You've got one more week." Stella adds, sipping on her cup of tea as Morana stirs the brimming cup of coffee almost overflowing into the porcelain saucer. Mieun pats her arm gently, ushering for the half-cut muffin. "You'll make her plump with all of those sweets." Morana gives her subordinate a harsh stare before handing over the muffin.

"She's a child, besides she doesn't eat sweets at home." Griping, she downs the coffee in one gulp, wiping her lips with the handkerchief. "What are you doing about, Hades?" Stella waves her away her question, as if it's pointless. Perhaps it is, even if Legion gifts him her presence; it will be his heart that she ships back to Persephone.

"He's just a loose end. If the worst comes to worst, take him out. Even the Agency doesn't need him, they just want to stop him, imprison him, whatever. Who gives a shit, just get that key." Stella darts her siren gaze across the cup, "Oh, and be careful about Apollo. He's probably after that key too. So make sure he doesn't get his hands on it."

It is her turn to dismiss Stella, "That man can't hurt a fly."

"Careful, sixteen men down in three minutes. You've done twelve in four." Cocking an eyebrow in amusement, she leans back in her seat, tucking a strand of hair behind Mieun’s ear. “You’re getting soft.”

“Careful.” Morana mocks, a flicker of the devil himself tugging on her sharp features. “I can dismember you with that butter knife.” Stella smirks.

There she is.

A deep sigh rolls from his pink lips, he scrunches his nose before placing his coat on the peg. A faint aroma of washing up liquid lingers in the air, he passes his gaze through the immaculately clean kitchen. It's 8PM now, Mieun has closed her books and gone to bed, whilst his wife occupies the living room with a book in hand. He settles next to her, resting his briefcase onto the table casting his gaze over the words scrawled across the page. "What are you reading?" He asks, so innocently, as if he hadn't come back from a small mission of defusing a bomb in Oka's clocktower. Most likely a Hades antic, he thought as Athena paged him.

"White Nights by Dostoevsky." She remarks, turning a page, before her gaze moves to him. "You know, he mentions Nastenka’s name at least 138 times or so in the entirety of the novel and she never asks for his." He hums in response, shifting his body to face her.

"I couldn't imagine someone saying my name that many times, in a lifetime." A thought so literal to her entity. Hasn't she only been gone by her alias?

"I can start now if you'd like. If I go at the correct rate, I can reach 138 by the end of the night." Mingi, light-heartedly, jokes. Shaking her head at him, she closes the book in hand. "You know I realised that I haven't taken you out on a date in a long time."

"You've never taken me out on a date."

"We snuck out for cake two weeks ago. Wasn't that a date?" Mingi argues, as a grin forces his way to his lips. He frequently feels a peculiar consternation with his wife. Apollo always knows the right things to say, yet with his wife he does not quite know where his rationality disperses to. He’s always been a stoic man, yet with her his cheeks hurt from smiling so much. "I can take you out next week." After the mission. After he has dealt with Hades and hands him back to the Agency.

"Oh no, I can't. I'm closing up the library— what's that? Is that a cut?" A small gash permeates down the side of his face, almost obscured by his long locks. Ah yes, he also had to encounter a few loose ends. 'White Nights' is abandoned somewhere, and Mrs Song scuttles to the kitchen coming back with a damp cloth. "How did you get this?" Mingi can't help but feel intimidated by her authoritative tone, her clothed finger gently rubs down his temple—most of it is just dried blood. He watches the way her eyebrows furrow with careful concentration, softening as the touch of the soft curves of her lips.

"I'll take you out on a date, Mrs Song, next week. Whether you like it or not."

Morana stood motionless atop the clocktower, the night air biting against her cloak as the sprawling city stretched beneath her feet, its lights flickering like a thousand unbroken stars. Her cold, unwavering gaze was fixed upon the distant horizon, where the grand silhouette of the Park estate loomed. With an almost imperceptible shift of her weight, she descended from the tower, moving with the practiced grace of a shadow. Navigating the winding rooftops, the pulse of the city was drowned in the rhythm of her movements, both purposeful and silent.

With poise, she slips between the cracks of Park’s security force, sliding through the window; the tips of her toes trailing amongst the floorboards towards Persephone’s rooms. It’s a shame that a woman bred from the tree of debauchery could not be as conniving as her predecessors. She’s cut from a fabric of sheen, of delicacy and vulnerability — Eunha adores her husband and would lay down her life for him, but the key is not with her. It's with him.

A patter of silent footsteps crawl into the room that she’s concealed within. Yet she’s not alone, the rooftops are busy with another figure. Apollo, probably. Her lips curl into a knowing smile.

This is going to be fun.

Simultaneously, another two figures draw into the room — as if the next act of this grand performance has begun. A spectral stifle diffuses through the room, Apollo stood with his usual stoic presence, the weight of years spent in the shadows barely registering on his sharp features. With a gaze cold his siren eyes were neatly obscured behind his hood and mask; there resigned a flicker of painful nostalgia as he casted a calculated gaze over his adversary. Standing across from him, Hades cut a striking contrast. Tall and slender, his figure was draped in a dark, almost ethereal manner. His raven-black hair framed his face in a way that softened the sharpness of his features. He was clad in a dark, tailored suit that gave him an air of nobility, exuding a quiet, unsettling charisma. Where Apollo had once been his friend, Hades had become a phantom—an enigmatic figure who walked past the line of salvation, to damnation. Apollo’s lips twitched slightly, not quite a smile, but something borne of recognition. "I never thought I’d see you again, Seonghwa." He said, his voice low, cutting through the silence.

Hades met his gaze, his lips curling into a smirk. "And yet, here we are," He responded coolly. Hidden in the shadows of the room, Morana breaths ceased as the deep voice travelled to the crevices she was tucked within. Apollo. There was something so familiar about his voice, as if she had heard it before in a comfort that only existed when the stars were untamed by the night. His figure too, tall with broad shoulders. His face. She just needed to see his face. "I've missed you, brother."

"You can't call me that." Apollo interjects, steadfast in his words. Not after he had spent haunting nights mourning the loss of one he had poured his heart out to and trusted, as if there was the same blood running through their veins. Seonghwa snickers, shaking his head slumping down onto the maroon leather chair legs sprawled out before him. His nonchalance startles Mingi for a split second, with his rationality restored the spy subtly begins a careful stance, almost slipping from Morana's field of vision.

"I really pity you, Min. You've always been blinded by your allegiance to the Agency. No matter how intelligent you are, you'll never realise that their morals are just as convoluted as any other network of assailants I now work with." A single blink, Seonghwa cocks his head to the side, a nefarious smile tugging at his lips. "What is it about the Agency that makes what they do right? The fact that they're legal?" Morana can't help but agree with Hades, the Agency have got their fair share of dirty secrets and innocent blood on their ledger. At least Legion takes out those the Agency holds a blind eye to.

"You've never been a rule follower, Seonghwa." A vicious drawl of laughter empties into the room. "Let's just end this here, tonight. I'll ask you nicely, hand yourself over to the Agency."

"Or?" Seonghwa provokes, resting his chin in the palm of his hands. A cold gust of air permeates into the room, the window is large enough for her to fit through.

"Or I will hand you over to them myself, bloody, bruised, broken or dead."

"That's my boy." Hades rises from his seat, Apollo takes a step back initiating a threatening stance. Morana darts from her corner, swinging her body towards Hades, her fingers reaching for the silver chain looped around his neck. With a robust pull, she tears the chain from him before tearing her body out of the window with Hades firm behind her.

The moon hung low, casting silver shadows over the sprawling mansion; Morana leaped from rooftop to rooftop, her heart pounding like a war drum. Each footfall was silent on the slate tiles as she darted past chimneys and skylights, her eyes briefly scanning for Hades behind her, then Apollo behind him. Quickening her pace, the rush of wind in her ears nearly drowned his menacing laughter. Apollo observed, his pulse racing as he followed Hades' every move. He propelled himself forward, landing just behind Seonghwa.

Hades lunged forward, his long strides closing the distance between them in seconds, his slender fingers curled around her forearm. With a swift movement, he pulled her towards him, fist connecting with her jaw in a brutal punch. The crack of bone echoed in the night air, and she staggered back, her vision momentarily blurred. “Is that all you’ve got?” She spat, wiping blood from her lip. She pivoted, launching a kick aimed at his abdomen. Just as Hades advanced again, a blur shot past, and Apollo tackled him from the side, tumbling across the rooftop - the tiles scraping against their skin. "Oh no, darling, this ones mine." Tearing away from Apollo's mighty grip, Hades charged at Morana like a bull, his fury driving him forward. With little time to react as he closed the gap, in a swift motion, she drew a knife from her belt and thrust it forward, the blade glinting in the moonlight. It found its mark, slicing into his shoulder. Grunting, Seonghwa stumbled backwards, falling to his knees and he began panting heavily.

Apollo flickered his gaze between Morana and Hades, before darting her way, himself.

I still need that key.

No myth, no legend or number of transcripts could truly depict Morana’s brutality; he’s lost count of the number of punches she throws per sequence, her movements are fluid and she moves in such fashion, that it seems inevitable that she will win. Blood dribbles, ruthlessly, down his mouth, he spits it out before turning with a crazed look. He must win now, to get the Key. To complete the mission and save Hala. To go back home to his wife and daughter.

Swinging her leg, a powerful squall of wind hits Apollo’s side, whilst her leg is still heading for his temple, he leans back, swooping his longer leg under her feet. Losing her stance, her body falls backwards, back hitting again the slate pummelling a wave of agony through her. Apollo dives, straddling her hips, securing both of her hands above her head. His fingers loop around the hem of her mask, her eyes widen in realisation of his intentions. Wrestling his robust grip, her hand fires out toward his own mask; before they know it the pair rip, synchronously, rip away their disguises.

It has never felt so quiet in Oka. Nor in the Park Estate, even when the owner’s staggered breaths persist through the silver dagger pierced through his collarbone. At the moment, Apollo doesn’t care about Hades, Athena will get to him should he decide to run away. His eyes cast over Morana, her identity no longer obscured by the night. Years chasing after her, running through files, latching onto every clue of her. Years of chasing, for her to become his wife in a single night.

“You—Mingi?” She questions, with staggered breaths as he rises from his knees, feet frozen to the ground as he stares down at his lover in confusion. “Mingi? Who are you?” She asks, her eyes flooding with tears in quick realisation that she had almost slaughtered her husband.

Yet all Mingi can feel is his heart shattering, the pieces sinking into an abyss sailing over the length of his body.

She’s a liar. So is he.

“Mingi! WHO ARE YOU?” She shouts, lips quivering as she, pathetically, fights back the tears. He cannot speak, she’s grabbing his shoulders now, throwing questions at him, shaking them. Screaming at him, holding herself back from pounding her fists against his chest; she may just batter the air from his lungs. “You lied to me! You-you said you were, you said that—,” She stops, breath lodged in the crux of her throat. Song Mingi has said a lot of things. None of them have ever been true.

“You lied to me t—,”

“You’re Apollo.” She interjects, the pieces have fallen into place. The lies, the façade, the quick thinking. The baby, the apartment, his coordination. The late nights, the cuts and bruises, the exhaustion. The warning from her establishment of him, a spy, roaming the city terrorising the land with his altruism. Protecting the demons from her wrath.

Apollo is here.

Apollo is him.

Apollo is Song Mingi.

Apollo is my husband.

“You’re Apollo.” She repeats, her voice cracks, palm pressed against her mouth to hold back the pained sobs. Because she knows what they really wanted her to do to him. Because it’s finally registered for some reason, that of course, Apollo is Song Mingi and she is just a woman riddled with hurt.

"You’re Morana." Tears well in the corners of Mingi’s eyes, his chest tightening as he struggles to breathe. A hollow sorrow envelops him, his heart aches—a stinging pain that pulses through him with each passing second. Each second surpasses in anguish, his head throbs, heart palpitating; feeling as though the ground beneath his feet was slipping under him. His sadness swiftly morphs into something darker, more dangerous, as the anger intensifies—raw, uncontrollable. "You lied to me too." Mingi's voice trembles, laden with fury, yet there's an undercurrent of sorrow that seeps through. "You’re a threat. A danger." He hisses through gritted teeth.

“Oh, how rich of you to say that to me when you’ve got just as much blood on your hands.” A shaky breath escapes her lips, eyes glossing with tears. Moving her body away from him, she takes gentle steps away from the rooftops, leaving him stranded with Hades. He lets her, because Mingi already knows that from the moment she knew of his real persona, he had lost her anyway.

Her back collides against the wooden panels, she grits her teeth as Mingi holds an unwavering stare, her shoulders plastered to his hands. The dim light of the living room drapes over the side of his profile, his hard eyes penetrate into her own. Tackling his brute force, she pushes herself off from the wall, his neck strangled by her forearm. Falling to his knees, his fingers claw at her strength every wheeze like a beg for salvation. Reluctantly, he stops prying away from her; her heart skips a beat at his subservience. Instead, he raises three fingers, like her M.O. Her eyes well up with tears, again, the grip around his neck loosens. Mingi pants for air, his wife turning away from him as pearl tears slip down her cheek. “I can’t do it, I can’t hurt you like that. Not now that you’re you.”

“How didn’t I know? How did I just foolishly believe that you were my wife?” Whipping around, her eyes fulfil with a sense of fury.

“I am your wife, Mingi. I’m also the mother of your daughter. Before you, I am a member of Legion.”

“You were my wife and the step-mother of my daughter. You are first and foremost a member of Legion.” Stepmother. How is it possible that a word can hurt more than an open wound? 'First and foremost you are my wife' he had once proclaimed. Men are such liars. "I've thought about it. I want you gone. I will willingly let you take my life, but I won't live with an assassin. It is against everything I stand for." He squeezes his eyes shut, an odd tingling sensation filling his nose. His throat burns with dejection, heart consumed by such sorrow. His hand grips the arm of the sofa, in hopes he won't bow before her. All he wants to do is kneel under the jurisdiction of her love; his poor heart has been compromised by her.

"I thought you stood for me." Mrs Song whispers, curling her paling fingers into a tight fist.

“Leave.” Is all that he can say. Her vision blurs as she shuts the door to their shared bedroom, reaching for the suitcase above the wardrobe. When the night sighs, and she knows Mingi has collapsed on the sofa, Morana sinks to her knees as tears spill down her cheeks, tickling her jawline before they patter onto the floor. Painful wails permeate the air, pharynx wrought with suffocation as she can barely breathe under his despotism. But his judgement is neither tyrannical or unfair. Rather it is justified, and she had just grabbed the short end of the stick. 

The following morning is sombre, her suitcase and bag are left near the front door. With the key given to Stella, she's no longer required to stay in Hala, but there's a small cottage on the outskirts of a village that she's been allocated a temporary stay before her next mission.

"Amma, are we going on holiday? I still have school tomorrow." Mieun's doe eyes stare up at her as she's perched by the doorway, slipping on her shoes. Mingi stands just behind Mieun, resting a hand on her shoulder, uttering for her to do her homework. "If Amma's going on holiday I want to go too."

"Mimi, listen to your Appa, ok? Amma is just going away for a while, for work." Not a complete lie. Her gaze is firm on her daughter, refusing to look back at her husband.

"You'll be back?" Her voice is timid, as she begins to realise that her parents have not shared an interaction since the morning has begun. Before she can speak, Mingi has already denied and Mieun's eyes brim with tears. Turning away, the door is swung open, bag slung around her shoulder in an attempt to hurry before she reasons with Mingi to stay. They both know it's not possible, their morals are too different.

“Mama!” Mieun’s painful sobs fulfilled the atmosphere, her arms outstretched for her mother, pearly tears streaming down her little face. “Mama, come back!” The ropes tied to her heart snapped under her innocent wails, bags dropped at the door rushing back towards Mieun. Mingi steps forward, yet before he can blink his daughter’s little body is swept up in a safe set of arms.

“Just let me hold her, Mingi. One last time. Let me hold her, please.” Her daughter’s body rocked within her arms, little hushes ceasing her sobs followed by soft sniffles. “It’s ok, Mimi, Amma is here. I’m not going anywhere.” This false delusion, she prays, her daughter does not hate her for. Soon, she will have nothing but the mere thought of Mieun to soothe her. Then at one point, Mieun may not even remember her at all. That’s the thing about children, they are blindly devout to the pursuit of love — hearts so pure even her daughter doesn’t know her parents’ hands are drenched in blood.

“Mimi, Amma won’t be gone for long.”

“Promise?” A breath is hitched in her throat, followed by an overwhelming urge to erupt into a fit of terrorising sobs.

“One way or another, Mama will be back. Ok?” The tears are gently wiped away from Mieun’s face, her eyes flickering towards Mingi’s stoic demeanour. It hurts her. Did she mean absolutely nothing to him?

The autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves as Mieun stepped out of the ivy-clad institute, her plaid skirt swishing around her knees. The clocktower chimes as the hour strikes three, her obedient eyes scour the sea of parents awaiting to pick up their children. She knows it's her father who will be picking her up; affirmed by the recognition of his tall figure standing by the wrought-iron gate, a small smile on his lips. However, it is her mother she is always seeking, standing closer to the entrance of the school her black kitten heels firm into the cobbled pathway. With a small grin, Mieun runs to him, he meets her halfway. She never needed to meet her mother halfway, she's distinctly told him this on many occasions. Mingi reaches for her leather satchel, encapsulating her minute hand into his; before he can proceed forward he is stopped by a soft voice.

"Mingi." He turns, meeting Park Eunha, who is holding Kira's hand. There's an amalgamation of Eunha's emotions in her eyes: hurt, guilt, betrayal, sadness. She must have only learnt of her husband's demise now. It's interesting, to him, how a woman wrought with poise and sophistication is now so timid before him. "Uhm, I haven't seen your wife in a while, is she ok?" His heart stuttered in his chest, sinking below the cavity. Mingi does nothing but nod because the thought of her does nothing but render him silent. Before he can move away again, she stops him.

"I don't blame you, for Seonghwa. He had it coming. I was just hoping you'd let me know when I can see him again, or if there's anything I can do to discharge him, a sum-," Mingi pivots, furiously, on his heel yet his hate is shattered as soon as he is met by her innocent face.

"No amount of money in the world can compensate for his sins, Eunha. You'll be contacted when you can see him."

He travels through the skylines in the midst of the night, just like his wife used to, soul heavy with emotions that he attempts to bury each night Athena sends him on a mission. One after another, each dreary escapade, the sounds of bodies thudding on concrete does not bring him relief for every sigh that the earth takes with its pollutants gone.

"You're not the same Apollo." His superior retorts as he throws the folder onto the table. With a raised eyebrow, he dismisses her words, watching her carefully as her steely eyes reel in the report. "Your wife is Morana, isn't she?" Gulping, Mingi resists the urge to nod. For every time he is reminded of her, it hurts.

"Was." He interjects.

"Oh you got a divorce?" Profusely shaking his head, she scoffs, "So then she's still your wife then, isn't she? Tell me, is she pretty?" Briefly Mingi shuts his eyes close, as if he's reliving the days where he would wake up to her puffy face, her pouty lips and ruffled bed hair.

"She's my Aphrodite."

He stood tall on the edge of the rooftop, dark silhouette blending in with the shadows of the night. The cold breeze tugged at the collar of his black coat, but he didn’t flinch. His gaze, sharp never left the building across the street, where chaos was unfolding. The sounds of muffled shouts and the occasional crack of glass echoed through the air as a fight broke out on the upper floors. His breath misted in the night air, siren eyes scanning each movement, analysing every shift. He had seen this kind of thing a thousand times — the slow resolve of control, the way the violence spread like wildfire — but tonight was different. As the moonlight flickered behind the building, Apollo’s sharp eyes caught a glimpse of something in the fray. A flash of familiar movement — a fluidity in the chaos.

There, among the shadows of the fight, was a figure he knew all too well.

His wife.

Morana moved like a shadow, each strike landing with precision. Her movements were both theatrical and deadly, as though she was in complete control of the situation. His breath faltered as a sigh escaped, shifting his position as he leaped from one rooftop to another towards the fight. Towards her.

Yamuriko - a beautiful small town on the outskirts of Hala, near the mountains as its name would suggest. Legion's safehouses are usually located in rural, unnoticeable areas. In a cottage, just about two miles away from the centre, the esteemed assassin sits on her porch as a steaming cup of jasmine tea sits beside in a fancy porcelain cup, one lowly assassin's are not even entitled to have.

"You look pathetically bored." Humming, she looks up from where she was staring intently at the lush grass, into her peers' eyes. 'The Black Fox' stares down at her from where she is sat, a folder fixed between his fingers. "Missing your daughter?" He questions, settling beside her, his broad shoulders almost push her out of her seat. Shuffling down, she simply hums holding out her hand for the file.

"Yeah, I miss my daughter too." A quietude is held amongst them, at least 'The Black Fox' can go back to his daughter. Her husband won't take her back. "I miss my wife." Biting on the inside of her lip, she flicks through the file, ignoring his words.

Site: Oka, Hala

A trembling whisper, "I miss my husband, too."

Releasing a sigh wrought with exhaustion, she takes her seat on the limp torso—her head sinking beneath her shoulders. Eighteen in two minutes, thirty seconds. Maybe Stella is right, she's gone all soft and slow. Tugging off the hood, she rips away her gloves, stuffing them deep into her pockets before her eyes steal the hands on the clock, again. Her ears tune into the heavy footsteps of a figure dashing up the staircase. Right, left, right, left. It holds a certain weight that she has only heard in its less panicked state. "I never thought I'd see you here, Apollo." Her voice holds a slither of spite, she raises her head slightly as the enigmatic figure stands, plastered to the doorway. A shaky breath escapes from him, as he seals the clasp holding his dagger. "I just realised, I have ruined your job, again. " Morana's taunts disorientate him as he takes careful steps towards her, pushing his way through the room full of dead bodies. It's her, she's taking his missions. Killing all of his men, so mercilessly he was forced to believe that maybe the devil had really left hell. He remains silent, whether to provoke her or that her presence has really left him stunned; he will never know. It disgusts her, like excess skin and oily hair, like grime under nails and unclean spaces. She feels so repulsed by his ignorance of her, all this for him to say nothing and stare into her as if she is nothing but a transparent soul, eradicated from his life.

"It’s been six months and twenty-seven days since you left." He utters, his large hand moving to raise her chin—as she stands to her feet, his eyes are complete with grief.

"You counted the days."

"Do you want me to tell you the hours?" Her fingers curled into fists, her body trembling as she fights to keep the tears at bay.

He even counted the hours.

His palms gently cradled her face, a quiet warmth in his touch, his lips move in disorientation as if he is unable to commit to the words that are begging to be expressed. She laughs, it almost startles him yet he holds his ground with concerned eyes boring into her. The laughter becomes less sardonic, brewing into a melancholic kind wrought with immense agitation.

It’s no longer laughter.

It’s sobbing.

“I don’t know who’s worse, or if we’re just as bad as each other?” He remains as quiet as the night they both revel in, in a state of despair that for the first time he is the villain in this story. “Every moment I had spent with you, I felt like a wife and a mother. I believed I had a husband providing for me and a baby who needed me to keep her warm.” They’re words she has spent nights scribbling away in books until the words can no longer form the same sorrow that resides with her. Words she had so wished she had least spoken aloud to him, on the night he let her go.

“Instead. I got a man who deceived me and a child that still thinks I’m her mother. I don’t care that you hurt me, but Mieun? Is she even your baby? I could never forgive you." Tearing away from his grasp, the warmth of his touch dissipates leaving her separate—yet wholly yearning for his touch, every fibre of her being aches for him. To be held by him, to be loved by him, to be honoured and worshipped; why were these notions of the past?

“I—I adopted Mieun for the sole purpose of this mission. I just needed to get to Hades and you were both the key.” Scoffing, she averts her gaze outside of the window; Legion has always been two steps ahead of the Agency, has he not realised how useless Hades really is? Closing her eyes, her chest surges as it fills with the burning sensation of despair.

"What have you done with her now? Where is she?" That same authoritative tone, no longer withstanding care.

"She's still with me. I am not a tyrant, I would never send her back to that orphanage." He argues.

"Well, I wouldn't know Mingi because I don't really know you, do I? As far as I believed, I was wrong."

"Don't say that." His voice is weak and almost cracks under her brusque proclamation. “I’m struggling.” He confesses, they may have just been the two hardest words Apollo has ever proclaimed in his lifetime. His whole life he has lived, pushing away his emotions, trapping them in Pandora’s Box, as if were to be so vicious plague to horrify the earth. He never said anything when the Agency cut him down to the bone, he never said anything when Hades had betrayed him, he never said anything when she left. Anticipating his next response, she fears moving. It’s always been hard to elicit a response from Mingi, so staying still, giving him time and space is perhaps the best she can do in this reconciliation. “I’m struggling without you. I cannot breathe, I cannot sit or stand. Or breathe, or eat and drink.” He makes his way towards her, again, craving her touch like it’s oxygen, Mrs Song lets him because the truth is she’s been suffering without him, too.

"Just please come home and shout at me, scream at me, tell me how much you hate me. I let you back, just come home.” He begs. Mingi sinks to his knees before her, siren eyes welling up with tears, lips pouting as he almost screams in agitation. He was just supposed to be here for the mission, now here is wrought in a state of vulnerability— betraying his morals and beseeching for his wife.

How can you say that after much you've hurt me?

Her palm connects with his cheek, a jolt of pain rushes through him, sending a wave of electricity through his supple skin. “I hate you!” She howls through tears, the anguish in her voice terrorises him. Her fists grab his collar, sending an outbreak of beats that hurt even more than the last. The sight of his cheeks rushing red makes her cry more. “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!” A sudden pause, and she sinks to her knees to meet his eyes; before another relentless influx of torture permeates her body, instigating her wails to plague the earth.

Falling to her knees, her head sinks into his chest in a frenzy of emotions, his palm presses against her back to steady her. Her body wracks with a profound anguish as he encases her frame within his hold. “Come back to me, please.” He rocks her back and forth, her cries cease under his benefaction.

“But—,”

“If there is a world in which I can hold you, love you and be with you eternally, then I want it to be this one.” He proclaims.

“And your morals you have sworn allegiance to?” She questions, his fingers move along the surface of her supple skin, wiping down the tears staining the front of it.

“Oh my Aphrodite, I have sworn my allegiance to you.” Scoffing, Morana buries her face into his chest, concealing her cries by baring her teeth. But Mingi has always made it so easy for her to be vulnerable around him. “Let me forget my morals tonight, let me take you home with me Mrs Song.”

“Tonight you forget your morals, tomorrow will they be there again?”

“Perhaps, but the heartache I feel in your absence is much worse.” There is no dilapidation of his essence as the words release from him, a catharsis is purged from the pits of her arrogant soul. May it be that they’re the light and the dark, or that their loyalty will soon again divide them. But Mingi knows this much is true: he will find his way to her. Shifting his gaze to her, he finds himself lost in the depth of her eyes.

“Your next mission, should you choose to accept it,” She begins, her voice a soft yet commanding whisper, “is to be my husband for all eternity. To never leave my side, to never lie to me, to love me until your heart stops beating. Tell me, Agent Apollo, do you accept?”

•••

All Rights Reserved © the-midnight-blooms

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

‘mieun’ meaning beautiful grace.

A/N: FINALLY! WAR IS OVER! I love spy x family so much, I remember watching s1 and thinking, which ateez member gives loid forger vibes, and my brain went: mingi. I don’t know if it’s because of the dilfism, but Mingi felt so perfect to me? as always, BIG THANK YOU, to @poartz-writes because she’s always my go-to when i need a cure for writer’s block.

Question: Any guesses on who ‘The Black Fox’ is? 👀👀

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tag list: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho @devilzliaison

[saphig-iawn]

The First Curse

I have been seeing one of my dolls for quite some time now. She has become such an excellent subject in the time I've had her under my care.

I proposed a little idea.

She had already surrendered her pleasure and climaxes to me. Her mind, her voice, so many parts of her belonged to me. So why not let my magic extend further. She was all ears, and her eyes widened when I spoke my proposal.

I asked her if she'd like me to curse something of hers.

An avid lover of fantasy, she moaned through her bitten lip and nodded.

We took a little time figuring out how we wanted this curse to manifest, and we settled on something delicious. Something that reinforced her place as mine.

She has a beautiful gas mask, a pristine black rubber facade, with a wonderful silencing ability.

We talked about the curse, and I just loved the idea of making another force that controlled her pleasure and her orgasms, something else that would use her like the good toy she is.

...

She took a little longer to wake from trance this time, I made sure I put her deep so I could weave this curse. She loves resistence play when it comes to going under.

We had our lovely little post-trance chat, and I could see she was becoming a little more distracted with each passing moment, like a fly had entered her room and she was trying to hold her composure.

All I could do was grin.

I knew exactly what was happening.

You see, before that trance, the gasmask was inert. Unthinking. Unfeeling. A doorway to submission and objectification, yes; but inanimate.

Now... now it whispered.

Saccharine promises of a little fun. Come on, just wear me, it won't take long, you know it'll be fun, come on, just come and get me you won't regret it~

I love watching her resolve deteriorate. Seeing her defenses wither and fade. She was holding on for dear life, as the rubber abyss stretched out beneath her.

"I know what you want to do, doll. Go ahead~" I encouraged.

She stood up, and retrieved it, a tremble in her fingers.

She began to put it on, the face first, fitting it snug. She brought the fastening straps around and began to tighten them. The trembling increased as she tightened the final strap.

A gasp.

A throb.

She began to finger at the edges of the mask, gripping at the mouth piece, but it would not budge. You see, the mask had now fused to her face and the rubber was beginning to spread. Her thoughts began to betray her, eventually dominating her mind. The mask was forcing her down to nothing but a toy for it to feed on, drinking her arousal and feasting on her pleasure.

Soon the rubber would reach her hands and they would begin to wander. No- wander implies they don't know what they're doing. They began to interrogate, to grab, to pinch, to grope. They investigating, seeking out the parts of her body that would help the mask feed even more.

Then the curse imparts a little pearl of knowledge, it parts the curtains just a little so her mind could peek at the truth that awaited her.

That this mask was going to use her and use her and use her until she was spent. That this mask was going to extract every ounce of pleasure it could from her. That it would leave her sweating, hair matted to her forehead, out of breath, and completely drained of all pleasure.

The rubber trapped her moans and forced them back into her mouth like a ballgag. Her eyes were wild behind the panes of the mask, and it was such a delicious sight.

After the first climax, she was now completely subsumed by the mask. She was nothing but an onahole for it, an aid in getting itself off.

After the second climax, she was barely able to form sentences.

After the third climax, she lay limp in her chair, chest heaving.

Then she felt it. The cold and refreshing rush of air at the seams of her face.

The mask loosened its grip, laying on her face like a spent lover lying atop their blow-up doll.

I then began to weave a blanket around my sweet doll, comforting her and soothing her, letting her muscles rest, letting her heart slow, letting her breath be caught.

She didn't need to say thank you. Her skin was aglow with gratitude.

Then it hit her.

While the mask was sated, drunk and full on her pleasure, it would soon begin to hunger again...

(This writing is about a real hypnosis session with real hypnosis and real people. If you would like to see more writing like this, then please support me over at https://ko-fi.com/saphig, and check out my main post for more on how you can hypnotised by me)

[epiphanytofu]

Fankids are still a thing, right? Whatever, go my scarab. Introducing my two fankids for an incredibly RARE rarepair that I've been keeping hidden for over 2 months now, Jangle and Chime. Twins who are complete opposites, but stick together as if they were glued to the hip.

Jangle is the more eccentric, hyperactive, silly, and chaotic half of the duo, always up and about, everywhere at once and speeding around like his life depends on it. There's rarely a moment where this one isn't doing something fun or getting into mischief as he makes it a point to search for the next adventure, regardless of the time or place. He has a love for performing, talented in many forms of entertainment and will gladly put on a show when asked to. Despite his childish nature, he is intelligent in his own ways, showing a deep interest in literature, philosophy, and morals, despite his young age. Furthermore, he has quite the eye for spotting lies and truths and he's not afraid to shout out what he sees. Funny enough, he is not a very good liar himself; he's quite blunt, but never wishes ill on anyone... unless they insult or upset his family. Perhaps Jangle takes his role as a jester very, VERY seriously. Chime is the quiet, emotional, timid, and insecure half of the duo, always preferring to stand back and let others take the spotlight and attention. Whereas Jangle is always found running about, never sticking to one spot, Chime would rather stay in her comfort zone, keeping to herself in a limited number of areas to minimize the amount of social interaction as much as possible. She finds more comfort in solitude and quiet, always becoming distressed if too much noise is made, too many people are present... or there's a minor inconvenience that just happened. It's very easy to upset her. Much like her brother, she is quite smart for her age, except her specialty lies with mathematics and anything involving numbers, which allows her to excel with machines, mechanics, and tinkering. She tends to do so often, finding it to be a special interest of sorts. Though, it's not all she does; Chime DOES have a particular interest in music as well. Perhaps one day she can finally make music that's just as pretty as her brother's. Moving onto some gameplay aspects; there is the topic of both twin's abilities, starting with Jangle's.

As it can be read here, Jangle's ability can stun Twisteds using the jester doll named Jack in his head, who has a separate conscious. His active is different from other toons' abilities, as instead of an instantaneous use, the ability can be charged up, which causes Jangle to start winding up to get ready to use his ability, which requires the ability button to be held down long enough. Thankfully, in moments of danger, he gradually speeds up the longer the icon is held. This can be particularly useful for distracting or escaping; You can release the button at any time before the ability goes off to save it.

For Chime, hers is also different from some toons' passive abilities. Using Bobette as an example, Bobette has a specific radius around her that toons can enter for stamina regeneration. However, with Chime, she doesn't have a radius. Instead, it relies solely on how areas of a map are divided into parts for her ability. Once she enters a room or a large area that counts as one space altogether, all toons within that area receive her extraction boost. though once she leaves, it will instantly wear off. She'd be useful when several machines are in the same area, offering support to all who extract on the nearby machines. Lastly, here are their trinkets!

I have. A LOT MORE. To talk about with them, since they're decently developed. But this post is already a smidge long as is and I'm tired, so I'll probably save it for another time. In the meantime, take these doodles of them as filler. (And you get to see the concepts for their Twisteds.) [ Edit: Btw if you got any questions, feel free to ask. I forgot to mention that originally, I was too tired. ]

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Stitches and Secrets”

Kix x Jedi Reader

Warnings: injury

The smell of caf, oil, and clone armor clung to the air as you strolled into the briefing tent, half a pastry in your hand and absolutely no shame in your step. Anakin was already leaning over the holotable with Ahsoka at his side, mid-conversation with Rex about insertion points and droid resistance.

“There she is,” Anakin said, smirking as you bit into your breakfast. “Glad you could make it. We were all really worried you might be doing something important, like sleeping in.”

You gave him an exaggerated bow, crumbs falling from your lips. “The Force told me to take five. Who am I to argue with destiny?”

Ahsoka laughed. “She’s worse than you, Master.”

“I’m standing right here,” Anakin said dryly.

“And I’m complimenting you,” you shot back, tossing the last of your pastry into your mouth. “You’re rubbing off on me, Skywalker. I’m starting to think I’m unfit for Jedi Council politics.”

“That makes two of us,” Anakin muttered.

Rex cleared his throat gently. “Briefing, General?”

“Right,” Anakin said. “Serious faces. Tactical minds. Let’s go.”

You stood beside Ahsoka, arms crossed, watching the blue holographic map flicker into life. The target: a droid manufacturing facility buried beneath a city block on this dusty, nowhere Separatist planet. Classic war story setup—deep insertion, sabotage, get-out-before-the-ceiling-caves-in sort of plan.

Anakin pointed to three key locations. “Ahsoka, you’ll take your Squad through the northern tunnel system. I’ll come in from the west. You,” he glanced at you, “get to lead Torrent Company. Rex is heading point. Kix is your field medic.”

“Excellent,” you said brightly. “If I get blown up, I know exactly whose name to scream out.” And winked at Kix.

Kix, who’d been standing with perfect form behind Rex, blinked and glanced your way.

“Don’t flatter him,” Anakin said, grinning. “It goes to his head.”

“I think he deserves it,” you said with a shrug.

“Force help us,” Ahsoka muttered with a smile.

Kix said nothing, but you knew he heard it. The corner of his mouth twitched. Just a little.

Anakin resumed the plan rundown. “Once we’ve cleared the tunnel entrance, regroup at the main lift shaft, plant the charges, and extract. Simple. Clean. Hopefully fast.”

“Hopefully,” you echoed. “But if it isn’t, I call dibs on the most dramatic death scene.”

“No one’s dying,” Rex said, exasperated.

You leaned toward Ahsoka and whispered, “He’s no fun at all.”

⸻

Things went sideways by hour three.

The drop had gone smoothly. Your team slipped through the tunnel entrance with minimal resistance. You moved like water through the dark—saber humming, the Force buzzing at your fingertips, and Kix never more than a few meters behind.

The issue? Droid reinforcements. Heavier than expected. A trap inside the sublevels. When the floor collapsed under you and half your squad, you barely had time to throw up a Force shield before the shrapnel cut through you like knives.

You hit the ground hard. Your saber skidded away, and a jagged spike of pain tore through your side.

“General!” Kix’s voice came sharp and clear, echoing through the smoke.

You coughed, tried to sit up, and gasped. Your hand came away red.

Kix dropped beside you in seconds, already snapping open his medkit. His gloves were steady. His jaw was clenched. “You’re lucky it missed your vital organs.”

“Define lucky,” you rasped.

“Alive.”

“You’re sweet,” you mumbled, swaying slightly.

“Try not to pass out,” he said, voice tight as he pressed a bacta patch over the worst of the wound. “You need to stay awake.”

“Trying,” you slurred. “But you’re very distracting.”

He blinked down at you. “What?”

“Your eyes. They’re the worst. Too blue. And your voice is soothing. It’s unfair. You should come with a warning label.”

You felt his hands pause for a fraction of a second.

“Considering you can’t see my eyes, and the fact they are brown not blue. You’re delirious,” he muttered, but you could hear the faintest crack of a smile in his voice.

“I am not,” you insisted, blinking up at him. “In the past 3 minutes I’ve thought about kissing you like, five times. Maybe six. Who knows. Jedi don’t count those things.”

Kix worked in silence for a moment, patching you up, checking your pulse, muttering about shock and bacta levels. You didn’t stop talking.

“You always there for them,” you murmured. “Always patient. Always there. And you never say anything. But I can see it. I see you. You’re kind, Kix. Gentle. That’s rare in this war.”

Kix looked at you then. Really looked. And something in his eyes softened—like a thaw he hadn’t allowed himself before.

“I’m not gentle,” he said quietly. “I’m trained to fix people. That’s all.”

“You’ve certainly fixed me,” you whispered.

He didn’t respond to that. He just pulled you close enough to hoist you into his arms, careful not to jostle your wounds.

“Rex, I’ve got the general. She’s stable but needs evac,” he said into the comm, already moving.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, groggy and fading. “You smell like antiseptic and courage.”

“You’re gonna be so embarrassed when you wake up.”

“I’m already embarrassed. I haven’t kissed you yet.”

Kix let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh—or maybe something softer. “Maybe next time, starlight. When you’re not bleeding out.”

⸻

You woke up in the medbay. Groggy. Alive. Sore as hell.

The lights were dimmed, and someone was sitting beside you, back straight, arms crossed. Kix.

“You stayed,” you rasped.

He glanced at you. “I wanted to see if you’d survive.”

“And…?”

His voice was quiet, but firm. “I’m glad you did.”

There was a long pause. Then, with a smirk:

“So, did you mean any of it?” he asked. “The eyes. The courage. The part about kissing me?”

You smiled, exhausted but warm all over.

“Oh yeah. Every word.”

Kix leaned forward slowly, carefully, one hand brushing your cheek.

“Then let’s see if you’re a better kisser than a patient.”

You definitely were.

⸻

You’d barely been discharged from the medbay when Skywalker and Ahsoka appeared at your door like vultures circling a wounded animal.

“Well, well, well,” Anakin drawled, arms crossed and grin far too smug. “Look who decided to flirt her way through a near-death experience.”

Ahsoka stood beside him, trying and failing to look serious. “Rex told us everything. Said you were practically writing a love poem while bleeding out.”

You groaned, covering your face with one hand. “Does no one in this battalion understand the concept of privacy?”

“Not when the drama’s this good,” Ahsoka said, plopping herself at the foot of your bed. “I mean, you told Kix he smells like courage. Who says that?”

“It was the blood loss talking.”

Anakin raised a brow. “You also apparently told him his eyes were ‘too blue.’ That doesn’t even make sense. Too blue? His eyes are brown!”

“Must’ve been the armor” you snapped, gesturing vaguely toward the corridor. “It’s aggravating. Like being judged by a beach.”

They both burst out laughing.

“Stars,” Ahsoka wheezed, wiping her eyes. “You’re lucky Master Yoda wasn’t in the room. You’d be Force-grounded for breaking the code.”

Anakin wiggled his brows. “Technically, I’m not allowed to judge.”

You shot him a look. “Please. You’re the last person who gets to bring up the Jedi Code.”

He didn’t deny it.

“Anyway,” Ahsoka said, sitting up straighter with a sly smile. “What we want to know is: did you get the kiss?”

You gave them both a very satisfied, very smug smile.

“I did.”

Silence.

Anakin blinked. “Wait. What?”

“You kissed Kix?” Ahsoka practically squealed, grabbing your arm. “When?”

“In the medbay. Post-stitches. Very romantic. Smelled like disinfectant and trauma bonding.”

Anakin shook his head in mock disbelief. “Force help us. You’re worse than I am.”

“I know,” you said with a smirk. “And unlike you, I don’t pretend to be subtle.”

Ahsoka howled with laughter.

Outside, you could’ve sworn you heard clone boots squeaking away from the medbay window. Probably Jesse or Fives listening in. Again.

“You’re never gonna live this down,” Anakin said, grinning wide.

You leaned back, smug and satisfied. “I don’t plan to.”

⸻

Fives and Jesse stumbled into the barracks like two kids who’d just found contraband candy in the Temple. Breathless, grinning, eyes wide with glee.

“Kix,” Jesse gasped, skidding to a stop in front of the medic’s bunk. “Tell me it’s true.”

Kix looked up from cleaning his kit, brow raised. “Tell you what’s true?”

“Oh, don’t play innocent,” Fives said, practically vibrating with energy. “We heard it. Straight from her own mouth.”

“She kissed you!” Jesse blurted. “Right in the medbay!”

Kix blinked once. “You were eavesdropping?”

Fives held up a hand. “Strategically positioned for morale updates.”

“You mean you pressed your faces to the window like nosey cadets,” Kix muttered, already regretting every life choice that led him here.

Fives flopped onto a bunk like he’d just been awarded a medal. “Kissing a Jedi… while she was still half-dead. That’s next-level.”

“She called you a ‘war angel in plastoid,’” Jesse said with a grin. “That’s poetry, Kix. Pure poetry.”

Kix groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I was saving her life.”

“Yeah, and then saving her lips,” Fives added.

Jesse smacked his arm. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Doesn’t have to,” Fives said proudly. “It’s romance.”

Kix opened his mouth to fire back—but then the door slid open, and in walked Rex.

“Why are you two shouting like regs on a first patrol—” He paused mid-sentence, eyes narrowing at the scene. Fives smirking. Jesse grinning. Kix looking like he wanted to dissolve into bacta.

Rex raised a brow. “Am I walking into a war crime or a love story?”

Jesse pointed at Kix. “Our boy kissed the General.”

Rex blinked. Once. Then twice.

Then, completely deadpan, he said, “About time.”

Kix’s jaw dropped. “Rex!”

Fives lost it. “I knew you knew! I knew it!”

Rex crossed his arms, smiling just enough to twist the knife. “She’s been making eyes at him the whole campaign. Whole battalion’s been waiting for someone to make a move. Just didn’t expect it to happen during triage.”

Jesse gasped. “You knew and didn’t tell us?!”

Rex shrugged. “Didn’t want to ruin the suspense.”

Fives snorted. “Cold, Rex. Cold.”

Kix looked like he was seriously considering injecting himself with a sedative. “I hate all of you.”

Rex clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll live, lover boy.”

Jesse wheezed.

“Alright, alright,” Rex said finally, stepping back toward the door. “Joke time’s over. Back to your posts before I have you cleaning carbon scoring with your tongues.”

Fives groaned. “He always ruins the fun.”

Jesse saluted with a grin. “On it, Captain Matchmaker.”

They left laughing, boots thudding down the corridor, and Kix sat in the silence for a moment, staring down at his gloves.

Then, quietly, under his breath:

“…War angel in plastoid?”

He smiled. Just a little.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

While I absolutely adore all the "Viktor acquires Jayce's last name for accidental/practical/non-romantic reasons" ideas, I think Viktor would have had to solve his last name problem for paperwork reasons as a student at the Academy, and if he didn't have a last name, the simplest option would be to steal one.

He figures out within three days of starting at the Academy that he needs a family name.

Introducing himself as "just Viktor" gets him marked out as from the undercity immediately, if missing one of a hundred other social cues hasn't already. "Don't you know no one knows whose kids are whose down there?" he hears someone scoff from down the hall, after he's extracted himself from a conversation that was going nowhere good.

Family, like most things in the undercity, is assembled from spare parts more often than not. Family is who will have your back if someone is giving you shit; who will offer you half of something that is already not enough. His parents by blood are both alive and still live together, but no one knows them as anything other than Iveta and Hal.

But topsiders care about things like bloodlines and inheritance, and they all have family names. Not just the rich kids whose family names are carved into buildings, but the children of merchants and craftspeople and workers.

So, he needs to acquire one.

He can't just make one up. What if he picks something that sounds obviously fake to their ears? Or worse, the name of a real, well-known family that he then has to explain his connection to? No, it has to be a real name, just not one that anyone would care about.

He goes to the cemetery. Not the fancy one with the high wrought-iron gates and elaborate masoleums, but a humble one, in a part of the city filled with the modest homes of tradespeople. He searches until he finds an ill-tended family plot, the most recent date of death a hundred years in the past. A simple man, maybe a baker, judging by the carving on the headstone. That will do.

He makes up a story to go with it (a Piltover family of small shopkeepers, forced into the undercity by hard times several generations ago, but topsiders by ancestry still) and starts writing his name as Viktor Trini on homework assignments and forms.

"Viktor." Professor Heimerdinger catches his attention after class one day, a few weeks into the term. Viktor has a routine for this steep amphitheater-style lecture hall by now. Sit in the front so he doesn't have to deal with the stairs; make a bit of a show of gathering up his books and papers slowly after class, letting the students who are in a hurry get out the door first, without his uneven steps slowing them down.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Excellent work on the last assignment. Inspired problem-solving, if I must say."

"Thank you, Professor." He'd been gratified by the solution he came up with, but it's nice to hear someone else say it, too.

Heimerdinger is still holding his problem set paper, rocking on his toes on the small stepladder he uses when lecturing, when he doesn't get too animated and just start striding across the desk like a stage. "You know," he says. "I knew an Aloisius Trini, many years ago. Lovely fellow. He could get a bit gruff with the customers, when the shop was busy, but he made the best meat pies, so nobody cared. I was wondering, might he be your...grandfather perhaps?"

"Yes," Viktor says quickly. "Though I never knew him."

Heimerdinger lowers his voice conspiratorially. "I think you will find that great-grandfather works better, given the math." And he winks.

Viktor's throat goes dry. "Professor, I--"

"Ah-ah. No need to worry, my dear boy. Most people you meet in Piltover won't be nearly three hundred years old." He leans in, drops his voice to a whisper again. "We'll keep this our little secret."

Ah. He understands what's going on now. "Of course. What do you want in return?" He doesn't like this, owing someone who could have him expelled with the stroke of a pen.

Heimerdinger looks surprised at the question. "Nothing!" he says. But that can't be true. He'll ask for something sooner or later.

"I want you to succeed," Heimerdinger says after a moment. "I've seen a lot of students come through these halls, and you're very bright. I predict you'll do extraordinary things."

It still feels like a trap, and maybe it shows on his face, because after a minute Heimerdinger makes a noise of frustration and says, "Fine. If you insist on viewing this as a favor to be repaid, come to my office. There's a lightbulb that needs changing and I can't reach it."

That, he can do. "Thank you, Professor," he says quietly as Heimerdinger hops down the stairs of the stepladder.

"Don't thank me until you've seen the state of this light fixture. I can't reach it to dust, either."

[beastwistenworld]

CREEPYPASTA_BEAST WISTEN_REFERENCE SHEET 2025

PERSONAL DATA:

Full name: Wisten Welin Köhler

Alias: Beast Wisten

First appearance: March 16, 1936

Age: Has no exact age, but looks like a guy in his 20s-25s.

Birthplace: “WistHell” an otherworldly world located next to Hell.

DESCRIPTION:

A demonic creature or monster with human features. Except for his face and hands, his body is covered in fur and has a dark gray skin tone. Therefore, it's important for him to wear a turtleneck sweater with long sleeves and light gray pants that cover his strange legs. He also wears an old gray-green jacket, which helps him blend in with the forest. For convenience during adventures, he wears long boots and gloves. He has long ears, turquoise eyes, and long horns. On his left ear are visible two earrings, and the tip of his tail is covered with stitches. Among his belongings is a dark gray bag in which he keeps his notes and information about other strangers.

MAIN TASKS:

Observe and extract information from each stranger he meets along the way.

Eat human corpses.

Report on new arrivals to the Slenderman forest.

BEAST WISTEN MEANING:

Beast: has many meanings, in my case it has always been a scary creature, between a demon and a regular monster.

Wisten: He began calling himself this after being exiled from the world of “WistHell”. His name comes from Dutch as “knows” about something that others don’t know.

PECULIARITIES:

He hates the sound of metal rubbing together, because it makes him aggressive and makes him want to kill strangers.

Doesn't like to show his true nature as a monster and therefore tries to behave calmly.

When he began to serve Slenderman, he, like many proxies, began to have the ability to quickly regenerate.

Has excellent stealth and can quickly move to different places.

Excellent sense of smell, but not very good eyesight.

WISTEN’S DESIGNS:

12/15/2019: Gothic period, dressed all in black and has gray soulless eyes. Originally he was a character in my goth band that broke up.

1/1/2020: His clothing designs have become more elegant in the form of a jacket with a striped shirt. On the jacket you can also see a brooch with the sign of the city “WistHell” in which he lived.

10/1/2021: The most memorable design that was first shown in #creepybeastober and was mainly included in the Slenderverse. At that time there was a comic called “Home Sweet Home” where the main characters were Wisten and Toby, as well as the characters “Marble Hornets”. The comic was soon removed.

09/12/2022: In principle, the design didn’t change much, but at the same time he began to carry a crossbow with a sniper scope and a pocket knife, which were only in the 2022 version. This design and its old history were created exclusively for the Creepypasta Fandom.

10/31/2023: Plaid shirt, white sweater and scarf with pin, on rare occasions wore a khaki coat. There was a scar on his eye and his hands were burned. At that moment he was fighting his fears.

04/5/2024: This is a remake of the 2021 and 2022 designs, only he now wears a regular black turtleneck sweater. He also now has a light gray hooded work vest that goes with his jeans. Also, the end of his tail has stitches from a fight with one of the strangers and stitches on his old jacket, which he has altered many times.

03/16/2025: The final design of Wisten as a proxy of Slenderman. His clothes almost completely repeat the 2021 design, since it all started from there. There are still some small changes, for example, the design of the boots, his gloves have become longer and his ponytail with hair has almost remained as in the 2024 design. Also, in very rare cases, he can wear glasses.

BACKGROUND:

Sometimes people believe that completely different creatures surround them and that there is a completely different world. Well, they will be right...

A long time ago, next to Hell there was an otherworldly world, which was soon nicknamed "WistHell". People who were debtors and didn't fulfill the contract with the Demons ended up there. There, these people were hunted by cruel monsters who slowly tore their bodies apart, and then ate them. One of these monsters was Wisten himself, who first began hunting people back in 1936. At that time, he didn't realize that his life would soon change.

In the 2000s, Wisten got bored with the constant routine and became interested in human life, to which the Demon, who was watching from above, decided to punish him.

The Demon decided to make a deal with Wisten that could turn the monster into a human, and in exchange, he had to kill many people. However, due to the fact that Wisten never had a human soul, he was not able to fully acquire a human appearance, but only half: facial features, human speech, hands and physique.

WISTEN: “You said that I could become a real human if I killed many people for you! We had a deal!”

DEMON: “I did it, but your very origin interrupted this process,” - the Demon said with a grin, - “Now you are an outcast and a freak of our world!”

After what happened, Wisten was severely torn apart by his own people, half to death, and then banished, throwing him into the world of people to be finished off there.

In the world of people, Wisten found himself in a dense forest and after being thrown, he hit a tree hard, which completely paralyzed his legs. After some time, Wisten sensed someone's presence and realized that he was not alone here:

WISTEN: "Please... the ruler of this forest... stop my suffering," - Wisten said, dying and bleeding.

After what was said, a silhouette of a tall man without a face approached him and began to wrap him with sharp tree branches, piercing his body. Then he was completely swallowed by the dense forest and deathly silence fell.

When morning came, Wisten was already on the river bank, fully recovered from his wounds. Having woken up, he became a proxy for Slenderman himself, whom he was now obliged to serve, now having fast regeneration.

Now working for Slender, Wisten ate human corpses, and reported on new arrivals who came to this forest. And so it continued until Wisten began hanging out with certain creatures and killers who taught him how to survive in the world of people when you are not like everyone else.

[mi-spark]

GUH I just noticed someone already asked about 3 so I'll go with 4, 7 and 9 :3 (9's kind of a boring one but oh well)

YOU ARE SO GOOD MY DUDE and this works out bc a lot of these questions can be answered in multiple ways :3c

4. what did you name your hero and partner characters? and why? THIS TIME i'm gonna talk about my rescue team, specifically for rtdx

freaking baring my soul here these sketches are ROUGH

they are Team Lucky, Finn (feraligatr, partner) and Ryme (sylveon, hero). they are alternate versions of my blue rescue team of the same names, except finn stayed a croconaw and ryme became a jolteon. i created them when i was 14, so they are my second oldest pmd characters and are over 10 years old now (wild). i remember the night i was thinking of their names— i knew i wanted to call the totodile Finn cuz i just liked it for a totodile, and i wanted their names to have a ring together, so then Ryme just popped into my head and stuck lol. finn & ryme!

(a bit of a tangent here but i was pretty proud of coming up w the name Ryme bc i hadn’t ever seen it before, and then years later Pokemon proceeds to use that name TWICE in canon— with Ryme City in detective pikachu, and then the ghost gym leader from scarlet and violet ! and i was like bitch the fuck! i INVENTED that name! lol jokes aside in a way it is validating to see that name used in canon.)

ANYWAY for rtdx, i played as eevee and totodile again and decided to slightly tweak their personalities and evolution choices in order to think of it as an alternate timeline of sorts. also they r pining for each other in this timeline :3c my singular heroxpartner team... hmm i wonder why Ryme became a sylveon... (she does not know why.)

7. how do you interpret the future trio's relationship to each other? extracting my brain from the fanon as much as i can, i think they would all be very trusted allies, if not good friends. i wouldn't consider it a huge stretch at all for the three of them to stay a team– even if just temporarily– and travel the grass continent offering their wealth of knowledge and skills to assist the scattered surviving pokemon and restore the land to a thriving and beautiful place to be. the sableye would join their efforts too!

BUT. but but but. ☝️ i would love it if the trio formed a permanent team. and the polycule headcanons are very fun :)

9. what do you ship in the games? amaya you know well that i have a taste for toxic yaoi, and this series just so happens to have an excellent example of it ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

but might i also propose: dugtrio x the sea. thank you for your consideration

[antonymphdraws]

Dandy's World OC: Pixi the Fairy

Bio and details below!

“Pixi is a Fairy Godmother in-training, who tries her best to help those in need. Her spells don’t always go as planned, but no matter what, she always tries to fix and learn from her mistakes.”

Full Name: Pixie the Fairy

Species: Fairy

Gender: Female (She/Her)

Voice Claim: Sonia Nevermind - Danganronpa (Natalie Hoover)

Dandy Store Quote

“Oh Pixi! She’s very handy with her spells! Er…when they work as intended…”

Requirements

1750 Ichor

50% Research on Twisted Pixi

Boost a stat 250 times

Appearance

Pixi Is a humanoid toon with pale skin, short honey blonde hair with a pink headband, and light blue wings. She wears a blue dress with pink accents with an off shoulder bodice, and the skirt of the dress reaches the floor, obscuring her feet. 

While they’re not seen often, she is wearing a pair of pink flats as seen on Twisted Pixi. 

Pixi’s wings emit a light blue glow during blackouts and she flies in a way similar to Flutter. 

Personality

Being a fairy godmother (in training), Pixi is graceful and elegant. As well as caring, nurturing, and motherly to the other Toons. She loves to help others and is determined to make sure those she helps are satisfied. 

Despite her elegance, she does tend to be rather accident prone, as her spells don’t always go as they planned (due to misheard words, forgotten words, etc). But she’s more than willing to fix (should she be able to) and learn from her mistakes.

Similar to Shotson, she does have a form of a “savior complex”, believing her self worth relies on her ability to help others. Growing depressed and/or disheartened when she’s unable to, or accidentally makes things worse.

Stats

Rank: Epic

Health: 3 Hearts

Skill Check: 4 Stars (Size 200/Value 2.5)

Movement Speed: 3 Stars (Walk 15/Sprint 25)

Stamina: 3 Stars (150)

Stealth: 2 Stars (5)

Extraction Speed: 3 Stars (1.00)

Ability

Alakazam! Active

This Toon grants a 50% boost to a random stat to a targeted Toon. Boost lasts for an entire floor. Can only be used 3 times. Has a cooldown of 100.

Dialogue 

Finishing extraction

“Thank goodness the spell worked this time…”

“Excellent, now onto the next one.”“These machines could use a tune-up.” 

Descending to the next floor

“Anybody need a hand?”

“Let’s see, curses, transmutations…aha! Enchantments!” 

“Great power comes great responsibility…”

Activating Alakazam!

“I cast…Stat Boost!”

“Alakazam!”

“Mipidi Mopidi Moo!” 

Interacting with Toons

(To be added later)

Twisted Pixi

"The unpredictability of this Twisted’s spells may lead to your demise. For she has cursed the machines to randomly inflict the Confused, Tired, or Slowed status effect on Toons who complete them. ”

Rank: Epic

Speed: Average

Attention Span: Average (2.5)

Detection Range: Above Average (18)

Twisted Pixi is a roaming Twisted that can be easily spotted thanks to her red glow that can be seen through walls (though it’s not as bright as Brightney or Rudie’s). Similar to Twisted Finn, completing a machine will inflict a status debuff for 8 seconds on the Toon that finishes a machine on the same floor as this Twisted. 

However, unlike Twisted Finn, these status debuffs can be either Slow II, Confusion II, or Tired II, the status effect inflicted on the Toon is always random. 

Twisted Research Trinket: Fairy Wand

Trinket Category: Other

Allows you to click an item from your inventory to transform it into a random item from the tier above it. Limit of one activation per floor. Does not work on Ultra Rare items.

(EX: Say you have a Stopwatch, a common item. At the start of a new floor, you can click on the stopwatch in your inventory to transform it into an item from the uncommon tier such as a Protein Bar. Or if you have a Speed Candy, and uncommon item, you can transform it into a rare item. So on and so forth.)

Trivia

Pixi is currently the only Toon to be holding an item on their person during gameplay.

Pixi is the second Toon to use other means of turning valves (in her case, magic via her wand). The only other Toon to do this is Astro.

One of Pixi’s lines upon activating her ability is a reference to Disney’s Cinderella (The 1950 version), specifically the Fairy Godmother’s song and spell ”Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo”

[whoelsehasthathair]

The Most Comfortable Place - George Weasley x Reader

George comforts you as you deal with a harsh breakup. Reader is a Ravenclaw. Also slight reference to my previous fic Come On George Weasley (which I never posted a part 2?) This has been sitting in my drafts for literally 4 years so it's probably shitty but i thought why not post it so here we are

As rain poured down the transparent walls of the Greenhouse 4, 5th year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors were getting ready for their Herbology class with Professor Sprout. Y/N got her usual place between George and Lyanne and put down her books on the table.

“Good evening class!” started Professor Sprout with her usual tone full of joy.

“Good evening Professor Sprout” said the class in chorus.

“Today we’re going to learn about Aconites.”

Y/N’s eyes shot wide open and a grin formed on her face. “I know about this” she whispered to George. “It’s used in Wolfsbane potion but it’s poisonous, so be careful.”

“Then I might slip some into Eddie’s pumpkin juice at dinner y’know” he whispered leaning over Y/N’s ear. It has been only a few weeks since Y/N had broken up with Eddie and George was still angry at him that he broke Y/N’s heart so badly. He realised that she wasn’t eating well nor sleeping well. He saw the joy in her eyes fading away, replaced by thoughtful, cold and blank stares. But that was when her mind wasn’t busy with classes. He had always loved the way her face lighted up and her eyes grew wider when something she knew was mentioned, the curious and hungry for information nature of her showing itself while extracting new information, how she put her whole focus on something she loved. In every class with Ravenclaws, he loved seeing her different than the times he saw her probably overthinking.

“Not gonna lie, I wouldn’t really mind it Georgie” Y/N giggled.

“Who here can tell me about the Aconite plant?” asked Professor Sprout. George looked at Y/N, she didn’t seem like she was gonna raise her hand so he decided to make a move. He grabbed her hand and under Y/N’s confused looks, raised it. Waving he shouted with a wide grin “Y/N would like to answer Professor!” Y/N was trying to lower her hand in shock but of course the best beater the Gryffindor quidditch team ever had was too strong for her and his grip tightened more as she tried.

“Oh, Miss Y/L/N! Yes please.”

“Uhmmmm... It—It’s used in brewing Wolfsbane potion but it should be carefully concocted since aconite is a poisonous plant. It’s also known as Wolfsbane because of its use in this potion.” she spoke so quickly that she caused Professor Sprout to furrow her brows trying to catch her.

“Excellent Miss Y/L/N! 5 points to Ravenclaw.” Her fellow Ravenclaws grinned with amusement.

“Look” George whispered once again to her ear “Professor Sprout doesn’t bite.”

“I know she doesn’t bite you git” she nudged George’s arm

“I’m just trying to boost your confidence. Come on, be confident! You’re excellent and I’m sure you’re gonna nail your OWLs too.”

Y/N’s cheeks went red without her realising it and she gave George her classic “thank you” smile.

It was dinner time and the Great Hall was full of students chatting and eating. But Y/N wasn’t doing either of them. She was just staring at her plate as her fork aimlessly played with the roasted chicken and tart, sighing every 5 seconds trying to fight with her thoughts and trying to hold back the tears slowly starting to forming in her eyes. “Ain’t you eating Y/N?” asked one of her friends. “You love chicken and tart.” “Just not hungry” she murmured. She sighed once again and finally decided to leave the Great Hall. She quickly made her way to the library and sat down near a window. She let the tears fall from her cheeks. She pulled her knees to her stomach and buried her face as she let out a quite sob.

George left the Great Hall right after Y/N and followed her to the library. He watched her sit, curl up and start to sob quietly. That moment he promised himself he would make a deadly prank plan to play on Eddie with Fred and that time he wouldn’t be holding Fred back from his crazy ideas. He slowly approached to Y/N and sat at the table near her. “Would you mind if I sit here for a while?”

Y/N nodded. George pretended to study as he watched Y/N in complete silence. He didn’t want to do anything that would make Y/N uncomfortable. He knew she needed a little bit of loneliness at times like this, so he watched for the right time. When Y/N finally brought her head up and sniffled, he moved his chair next to hers. “Y/N, I-- I want you to know that even if that git doesn’t love you, there are still people who love you so much. Like your mom, your grandparents, Eleanora, Lyanne, April, Fred, I, professors, your little sister and cousins... We all love you more than you can imagine. I don’t want you to think you don’t deserve to be loved, cause you really do. That git is the one who doesn’t deserve your love.” he slowly caressed her hand. Y/N smiled sniffling once again and nodded. “Thank you” she put her head on George’s shoulder and wiped her tears with her sleeve. George smiled back at her and pressed a soft kiss on the crown of her hair. “You know what, you look cute with a red nose”

Y/N giggled and looked up at George. She hadn’t felt this comfortable for a long time, not since she was comforted by George before Christmas. “I wish you could just obliviate me about him sometimes”

“I’m afraid we would need someone like Lockhart on this subject since I don’t wanna delete wrong things.” They both giggled.

“Better?” asked George.

“Better.”

“Great. Mom always said that here is the most comfortable place.” He said patting on his shoulder, a proud grin on his face.

Y/N smiled back and stood up “I think I need to go now. Thank you again for everything.”

“Great to be in service” He hugged her one more time before letting her go.

“I knew it wasn’t the books that brought you to the library.” said Fred with a wide grin as he came out amongst the shelves.

“Freddie, we have someone to prank. And this time, every idea is accepted.”

“Hmmmmm I like this.”

[makingspiritualityreal]

I’m playing Silent Hill 2 and while reading the walkthrough, I found a very interesting explanation to one of the puzzles, involving certain symbology.

The author of the article has no affiliation with astrology and so they identified the symbols as Alchemical, which they are, but what they weren’t aware of is their spiritual significance. As an Astrologer, I took notice of it immediately and was intrigued, because the explanation gives excellent background for possible planetary remediation linked to natural metals associated with planets.

I’m gonna skip vitriol and philosopher’s stone and move right to the planets.

The first one on the list is Saturn, being associated with lead. That is an intriguing piece of information, giving the fact that lead is something people are trying to get rid of and purify themselves from in their lives for the sake of health, as well as it’s the material used to produce bullets or chains, both associated with death or imprisonment. It’s a heavy material, associated with all those difficult karmic things like bondage or disease. On the plus side, it is also used for protection from danger, such as radiation shielding or excessive sound isolation. If you’re struggling with ego and need to humble yourself, or feel like you need to be isolated from external stimuli,this metal may be excellent for spiritual purposes.

The second symbol on the list is Jupiter, associated with tin. That is such a curious association, given that tin is put on cans to protect our food from corroded metal, and Jupiter rules protection and nourishment. The metal was used historically for variety of purposes, and if you research it you will see how wide its usefulness spreads. In appropriate form and small quantities, it’s even safe to ingest, again giving it that Jupiter connotation.

The next symbol is Mars, linked with iron. Iron is the cheapest, most basic but also the most universal metal for tool production, and fits perfectly with Mars’ simple logical tool usage. It’s almost primitive, yet so functional and practical, as our ancestors knew.

I’m going to lump the Sun and the Moon together, because it is a widely known fact of astrology that as the king and the queen they both rule the most precious metals, gold and silver respectively.

Venus’ ties to copper are also well known in spiritual circles, which is why copper is used in high quality cooking apparel but also as a healing metal, known for balancing the body as per Venus’ physical school of healing.

Mercury, which after all has a metal named after itself, the only liquid metal on the list, or at least commonly used in liquid form. That association further exemplifies Mercury’s ties to healing and the caduceus symbol, as Mercury is the metal used in traditional old style thermometers. Mercury, however, is dangerous to approach directly and toxic to the touch without specialized protection. Mercury is also commonly used in electricity as a conductor, and interestingly enough, in gold extraction, which is mythologically accurate, Mercury being the envoy of the Sun, the king himself. People with very strong Mercuries may like to work in professions requiring contact with wires or chemicals.

[puddleorganism]

Organism prompt #1

Lithotroph (consumes inorganic (typically oxidized) compounds to acquire electrons - essentially, they eat rust)

Large

Aquatic

Aposematic (organisms that have evolved to be conspicuous (usually through vivid coloration) in order to warn potential predators that they are toxic)

Bonus relationship prompt: Competition

This is little project to expand the biodiversity of my own worlds. I have many space-faring aliens, but few of their homeworlds are fleshed out. Anyone is more than welcome to use these prompts as well! Please tag me if you do, I’d love to see what you come up with :)

My organism below the cut:

This creature is from the Sunseeker/Jellybug homeworld (tbn).

This creature inhabits the waterways of this world - primarily in freshwater but not exclusively. It’s kind of like sponges or corals, in that it’s just kind of a strange aquatic growth. Might as well be a rock. Does not really have an identifiable body plan. It grows on river beds and rocky banks/shorelines, slowly devouring and eroding the stone, turning shallow streams into deep pools over the decades. They end up forming a mostly flat, kind of craggy mat at the bottom and shorelines of most rivers, and some of the more rocky lakes and oceans.

Sunseekers and Jellybugs have complicated relationships with these creatures. They end up competing for space a lot. They’re excellent at fostering an environment that is perfect for aquaculture and fishing, but are also prone to devouring any structures that are built in the water to facilitate said farming/fishing. Also, they’re great at extracting heavy metals from the water, making it much safer to drink and grow food in. The problem is, if you damage or kill these creatures then there’s a great risk they’ll release years worth of lead into all your shit. So, if you want to remove them they have to be very carefully removed from the environment, and disposed of elsewhere so as to not contaminate any food or water sources. Most just make peace with the fact that eventually they’ll have to replace every single part of their farm in exchange for not filling their water with lead.

Nothing except a few very specialized parasites can ever survive eating these things because of the toxins they extract from the water. That’s just a great way to get lead poisoning. They start as a dull, dark teal or blue, but the more light these guys are exposed to (which isn’t much to be fair, as there’s a dense, almost ever-present fog covering most of this world’s surface) the redder they become. Those on the shore or near the surface are a sort of rusty red, which is pretty much as bright as they ever get in the wild. However, if grown in captivity under bright lights they turn a vivid scarlet. Sometimes this is done so dyes/pigments can be made from them.

Also heed the “large” attribute. For my purposes I’ve decided that refers to the size relative to the spacefarers who share this world. Jellybugs are the size of a large horse (big). Sunseekers are the size of a large Cessna (very big). So I’d say these things get pretty damn big. Just as a wild guess, I’d say depending on age and health these things probably range from 10-20’ (3-6 m) in diameter.

[bardic-tales]

Introducing Mira Shroud, Kaela (T-5129-K)

Warnings: Psychological conditioning, emotional repression, death of parents, violence, loss of identity, Shinra corporate abuse

🌙 Name: Mira Shroud 🔮 Age: 26 👤 Gender: Female 🌌 Fandom: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children, Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core, and related media. Original World 🌟 Ship: Tseng (unofficial romantic interest; complex emotional affair) 📅 Date of Birth: April 6, [μ] – εγλ 1977 👼 Mother: Thalia Shroud (deceased) 👹 Father: Garren Shroud (deceased) 🎭 Faceclaim: Scarlett Johansson

Character Overview

Mira Shroud, codename Kaela (T-5129-K), was forged in the shattered ruins of Corel and reforged by Shinra into their perfect weapon. With both her parents dead by age 10, one to a mining collapse, the other to Mako poisoning, Mira was enrolled in Shinra’s Youth Initiative and subjected to MK-77 mental conditioning. Her life as Kaela began not with freedom, but with the snapping shut of a cage, her emotions buried beneath years of discipline, suppression, and violence.

Though officially a high-clearance Turk known for her impeccable record and ruthless efficiency, Mira carries the weight of unspoken guilt and repressed humanity. Her buried affection for Tseng is one of the few remaining traces of the girl she used to be. When she is assigned to retrieve N-01, a rogue experiment, Mira’s mission begins to crack her perfect mask—forcing her to confront what it means to be loyal, and whether that loyalty is worth her soul.

🌟 Character's Persona Mira is tactical, cold, and unflinchingly efficient. She thrives under pressure and excels in control. Yet under the surface lies a fractured identity: someone torn between being a weapon and a woman. Her journey is not about redemption, but revelation: learning that the cage she so proudly locked herself into may be her greatest weakness.

🎭 Personality INTJ | Aries | Neutral Evil | Enneagram Type 8

Mira is defined by her logic and brutal pragmatism. She trusts strategy over emotion, and believes that order must be preserved, even at the cost of lives. Her childhood trauma and Shinra’s psychological programming stripped her of emotional vulnerability, but they could not extinguish it entirely. The result is a woman who fears her own softness more than any enemy. She idolizes control, and when cracks form in her armor: especially through Tseng or her mission to capture Bianca. She fights desperately to hold the pieces together.

💑 Transcendent Bond: Mira’s strongest connection is with Tseng, her superior and the only person who sees flashes of her true self. Their bond is quiet, complicated, and unspoken. It is one built on shared silence, subtle glances, and rare moments of trust. Yet Mira’s devotion to Shinra stands between them, and she knows any step toward intimacy is a risk to both her mission and her fragile emotional control.

⚔️ Courage in Conflict Mira thrives in chaos not because she enjoys it, but because she can control it. Whether infiltrating enemy facilities, extracting rogue operatives, or executing high-level assassinations, Mira never falters. Her strength lies not in magic, but in meticulous strategy, indomitable focus, and an unshakable belief in her purpose even when that purpose begins to unravel.

✨ Likes & Dislikes Likes:

Likes: Stealth missions, Tactical precision, Mental discipline, Nighttime ops, Combat efficiency, Structured order, Loyalty, Tactical games

Dislikes: Emotional exposure, Losing control, Chaos, Weakness (in self or others), Being manipulated, Unnecessary risks, Wasting time, Expressions of sentimentality

🌿 A Soul of Many Hobbies: Mira doesn’t believe in hobbies. She believes in training. Her downtime consists of sharpening skills: silent infiltration drills, endurance runs (sometimes with Tseng), and marksmanship exercises. However, in stolen moments of privacy, she practices archery for focus and hikes in forgotten mountain passes.

Powerset Overview

Powers and Abilities: Though entirely human, Mira’s body is honed to the peak of physical potential. Through years of Turk training and Shinra’s MK-77 conditioning, she possesses enhanced reflexes, masterful stealth, and a mind resistant to psychic tampering. In moments of extreme stress, Mira enters an adrenaline-induced focus trance, allowing her to block out pain and function with surgical precision. Her real "power" is her mind: calculated, strategic, unrelenting. She has also been trained in counter-materia tactics. She has a customized, lightweight pistol.

Weaknesses: Despite her discipline, Mira is tragically mortal. She has no magical affinity, no supernatural edge. Just her gun and training. Against beings like Bianca or Sephiroth, she is constantly outmatched. Her reliance on Shinra tech can leave her vulnerable when that support is stripped away, and her emotional repression makes her blind to manipulation that targets her suppressed guilt or hidden desires. Worst of all, her moral rigidity, her inability to see nuance, prevents her from adapting in a world increasingly ruled by grey.

Key Moments in Mira's Journey:

Enrollment in Shinra's Youth Program - after the deaths of her parents. This was her first step into weaponization

MK-77 Conditioning - sealing away her emotions to build the “perfect” operative

First kill mission - which haunts her with subconscious guilt. She takes SSRI and SNRI meds, as well as other suppressants and meds to ‘cope’.

Affair with Tseng - though never fully acknowledged, represents the last tether to her humanity

Final mission: Retrieve N-01 (Bianca Moore), which becomes the catalyst for her downfall and epiphany

Themes:

Identity vs. Duty

Dehumanization by authority

Suppressed emotion and lost childhood

Weaponized loyalty

Control vs. chaos

The illusion of order

Betrayal by the system that created her

hashtags:

oc: mira shroud, ship: tsera, ship: mira / tseng

@themaradwrites @craftyhal @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon

[charles-leclerc-official]

2024 Austin Grand Prix Race Analysis

Charles brought home his third victory of the 2024 season with an impressive drive going from P4 to P1 in the first corner of lap 1. Behind him Max and Lando continued to battle while this weekend set up a very tight race for the WCC.

Table of Contents Ferrari - Charles - Carlos - Data Analysis Red Bull - Max - Max vs Lando: footage analysis - Data Analysis Mclaren - Lando - Oscar - Data Analysis Mercedes - George Conclusion

The Austin GP set the stage for the final stint of the 2024 season, and it’s looking like it has promised 3 way battles through Abu Dhabi. 

The thing I want to note before getting to the individual team sections is the yellow flag in qualifying. In Q3 George spun out in the middle of the session. After most drivers had put in one lap, but before most could complete their second lap. This impacted the qualifying results of many teams and drivers. Most notably Max who was looking like he was on track to score pole. Both Ferrari drivers were in the middle of good laps as well. And Lando and Oscar were also trying to improve. It interrupted what was already a competitive qualifying session, so it’s impossible to say what might have happened if qualifying hadn’t been interrupted. Max might have been on pole, but either Ferrari might have been able to get there, Lando might have kept it. I just wanted to point this out because I don’t think the qualifying results really reflect the best most of the top 10 had to offer for the session. 

Going off that I won’t be going over too much quali data. Because it wasn’t definitively representative, and it ended up not mattering that much with the race results. 

Final note, I don’t have much to say about the sprint. It happened. The points gained will be important in the WCC, and Max’s win is an important reminder that wins are on the table for him and Red Bull again. 

Ferrari

First thing to note about Ferrari is that while it was widely reported that Ferrari did not bring any upgrades, that isn’t quite true. Yes no aerodynamically new parts were brought to the track, however the front wing in Austin was not the same as the one used in Singapore. Since the FIA gave clarification on the permissible flexibility of the front wings Ferrari made a new wing with a more flexible composite. This wing is the same design as the one used in Singapore, but it’s more flexible. Since nothing about the design changed no upgrades were reported, but this was a key change to the car. 

Overall the car performance at Austin was strong. From free practice, to the sprint, to qualifying to the race itself the SF-24 was in fighting form. 

The pace both drivers extracted from the car this race really showed what the car is capable of, and I think highlighted all of the work the team has done to recover post triple header. Apart from that pesky fastest lap point Ferrari maximized results in the race. 

Charles

Charles qualified P4 and finished in P1 securing his third win this season.

As stated above, Charles’ qualifying was compromised by the yellow flag in Q3 he looked like he was on an improving lap from his first Q3 lap, but he had to abort and ended up qualifying P4.

This ended up working because come the race he was poised to pull off one of the moves of the season. Stealing the lead into turn one, overtaking the top 3 and securing P1 until the finish line. 

The move itself was more than a snap reaction. Charles noted after the race that he’d considered being able to gain places based on what he knew about how Max was going to drive into turn 1. The positioning on turn 1 on this circuit can be big in terms of who controls the front. There’s a lot of space to lose the lead and with the wide runoff a gap can be left. 

Charles made a pretty good prediction about what his opponents ahead would do into that turn and planned on how he wanted to take advantage of that. Excellent strategy. It’s an overlooked aspect of race strategy, it does matter who you are racing and what the stakes are for them, and you can use that knowledge to your advantage if you are really paying attention. 

Now an inside start at COTA is best. So Charles was positioned to be able to pull a move like this. 

I think the footage speaks for itself as far as the execution of this overtake goes. Smooth, perfect line.

Once Charles took the lead the race was over. The SF-24 had excellent pace all weekend, that combined with Charles’ tyre management really allowed him to build a sizable gap to comfortably lead the rest of the field. 

Another stellar performance from him, that brilliant overtake followed by masterful tyre management won him the race. 

Carlos

One of Carlos’ best weekends in some time. He was also on the pace this weekend, which I think highlights that the SF-24 was really suited to conditions on track and the team really got the setup right for both drivers. 

Carlos qualified P3 and again, that might have been better or worse if he’d been able to finish his lap. But a P3 start is solid. He started P3 and finished P2. 

In turn one at the start he was overtaken by Charles when Charles took the front. However because of Max and Lando’s fight going so far off track and Lando falling back Carlos did gain a place on Lando at the start, which would be important later in the race. He stayed P3 with Max ahead, but he was ahead of Lando in the Mclaren, which was a win for Ferrari because keeping the Mclaren cars behind in dirty air is crucial. 

Carlos had a minor problem with his car in the early laps. It was fixed pretty quickly, but that made it so the focus of the team was split on making sure his car was good instead of being able to focus on track strategy. Since he was struggling with power in the car on turns he lost roughly 1-2 seconds which notably dropped him out of Max's DRS.

The interesting thing about Carlos' race that I will dig into a little more with Max’s section is when he undercut Max in the pits. That was when he jumped from P3 up to P2, securing the front of the field for Ferrari. 

After that it was about maintaining the correct pace behind Charles. 

What we saw from this point onward was basically the same pace intervals Ferrari set in Australia just reversed(Australia had Carlos in front, whereas this time Charles was in front, but strategically it’s effectively the same scenario). Where Carlos stayed roughly 5 seconds behind Charles. He needed to stay in clean air, but also be close enough he’d be able to react if something did happen to Charles. Once they were in control of the front they went back to the same strategy and management they used before for the same situation and it worked perfectly. Carlos kept the correct pace, catching up to Charles and then hitting those lap times, and coming in for the 1-2 finish. 

Good drive from him, some of his best tyre management all year I would say.

Data Analysis

Comparison of Charles and Carlos race pace. 

Their pace on the hard tyres was pretty much identical. You can see the way the team were managing to keep them roughly on the same pace through that stint. This is when both drivers had the benefit of clean air. Carlos was far enough back he didn’t have to worry about dirty air off Charles which made things easier for him as well. This is one of the benefits of having control of the front so you can make it so both drivers are getting good conditions to set pace. 

Carlos on the mediums was slower by an average of 3-5 tenths of a second. This is mostly explained by the fact he was further back and needing to deal with more dirty air. Also the mechanical issue as mentioned earlier.

Here is a look at the top 4 on the first stint which I think highlights how powerful that clean air was this race. Carlos, Max, and Lando all getting similar pace on the mediums, while Charles is able to just keep a healthy gap ahead. 

Red Bull

Max

Max had his best weekend in some time. The RB 20 has had some improvements and they seem to have solved some of the issues with the car that were hindering it’s pace and raw speed. He started off with a win in the sprint, starting from pole there. 

Max qualified P2 and finished P3.

As stated above the qualifying interruption forced him to abort a lap some believe would have put him on pole, it was looking like a good lap, but it’s impossible to say for sure as others could also have improved. Nevertheless it doesn’t take away from the fact that Max was back competing at the front this weekend. 

At the start of the race Max went for a move to overtake Lando on the inside. Both ran wide, and Max did overtake Lando into turn 1. Because of how wide he and Lando went that opened the door for both Ferraris and specifically Charles to jump ahead. Max did manage to keep Carlos behind, but importantly Carlos did jump ahead of Lando here.

I will cover his turn 1 overtake in the footage analysis section below. But in short Max was ahead at the apex and had the right to the racing line at that point. 

Max was in P2 until the second stint of the race when he was undercut by Carlos in the pits. I found this to be a strange strategic oversight on Red Bull’s part. They didn’t seem very concerned about that undercut. Which I don’t see the advantage to be gained there. I don’t think this was intentional but instead was a pretty significant mistake on the part of the team. They seem to have underestimated Ferrari’s race pace this weekend. So that is how Max lost the place to Carlos.

While Max was running his best race in a few rounds the car was far from perfect. It struggled with race pace in terms of the tyres. 

Max vs Lando

Turn 1 lap 1: this was the first incident between these two when Max attacked off the line going into turn 1 and ran Lando wide. This was allowed because it was the first turn and first lap so there is a lot more leniency when it comes to incidents like this. Now Max had completed the overtake before Lando went off the track. He was ahead at the apex and stayed on the racing line. He ran wide but not wide enough for it to be penalty worthy.

Here are the key moments of his turn 1 overtake. The key moment is in panel 2 when he has his wheels clearly ahead at the apex of the corner. He also stayed ahead in panel 3, so it's pretty clear he did have the right to the corner and was ahead when it counted.

Lap 52: On lap 52 going into turn 11 Max was the defending driver. Lando on fresher tyres had caught up to him and was trying to make a pass. He’d already made quite a few attempts which Max expertly defended.

Lando stayed ahead and this was rewarded with a 5 second penalty from the stewards. Because of this he finished ahead of Max, but was dropped down a place due to the penalty because he did not finish more than 5 seconds ahead of Max.

Let’s take a look at the footage. This interaction has already been torn apart by many others but here is a quick breakdown of the key moments.

The thing to note here is that Lando was not comfortably ahead of Max in the lead up to the corner as shown in panel 1. He was oscillating with Max's pace, which is pretty normal when you see cars go side by side on these long straights. To say a moment when he was ahead for maybe a second was a complete overtake is not accurate and would completely change the definition of a successful overtake.

Another key moment is shown in panel 3 where Max's wheels are clearly ahead at the apex, again giving him the right to the corner.

Finally the moment that defined this exchange is in panels 5 and 6, where Lando was completely off the track, got ahead of Max. He overtook Max off the track. Which is a very clear cut penalty, especially after Max was ahead.

Max was in the right. He was racing according to the current standard of the rules. Lando did not have a right to that corner, and he overtook off the track. This is a well established precedent that Max and all the other drivers were well aware of. You can take issue with the current rule all you like, but drivers are supposed to drive according to the rules as they are currently understood, and they permit for this kind of maneuver from Max.

I will cover more about Lando and Mclaren’s side of this in his section below.

Data Analysis

Here is Max vs Lando on race pace

I think this shows the lacking pace Mclaren were having on the mediums. They were the weakest out of the top 3 on that compound. The thing to not on the hard stint is that Lando pit later, so when he was chasing Max he was on 6 lap newer hards. But you can see that Max was setting a much slower pace compared to Lando, even before Lando pit, so that was the target pace Red Bull were aiming for, and given Max noted a lack of performance on the hards it makes sense they'd need to slow down to extend the life of the tyres. Max didn't have much of a choice, the tyres and the car decided the pace.

Max's P3 finish and sprint win were important for Max's WDC bid because finishing ahead of Lando in both the sprint and the race itself allowed him to keep his gap to Lando and even increase it by a few points.

Mclaren

Another messy race for Mclaren, which seems to be their calling card this season.

The most notable parts of Mclaren’s race happened on lap 1 and lap 52. 

Lap 1: Lando started on pole, but lost the lead into turn one, to Max and Charles and Carlos. So right away Mclaren lost their lead and had to play catch up in the race.

Lap 52: Lando overtook Max off the track and the team told him not to give the place back. 

The biggest error from the team came with the order they gave Lando to keep the position after he overtook Max off the track. This was an extremely risky call and one they should not have made if they were not willing to face the very likely consequences.

I think the radio exchange between Lando and the team is very telling here.

Here the team is telling Lando he is in the right. And they maintained this after 2 laps when they would have had time to look at the footage and see Max was ahead. I think at this point they were hoping that it wouldn't stick because both cars went wide, not because they actually thought Lando was ahead.

The thing at the end is Lando kind of reviewing what they should have done, and he's right. They took a massive risk and it didn't pay off and it wasn't worth taking. The team should not have supported Lando in a risk like this, he needs them to give him the best information and there was no way for Lando to know any differently until he was out of the car what that pass actually looked like. So jsut bad support and a horrendously bad strategy call from the team.

Mclaren appealed the stewards decision of the 5 second penalty. And they changed their opinion in the documentation. Stating that Lando had already overtaken Max before reaching the corner, and thus Lando was the defending driver. Well during the race they were saying that Lando was ahead at the apex. So they changed their opinion based on the footage. Because they could not argue that Lando was ahead at the apex, he wasn't. But their argument also falls apart because if Lando had already overtaken Max he would have been ahead at the apex now wouldn't he? He wasn't, the footage is very clear on that front.

So they really just wanted to try to bend the rules in their favor. And got very upset when the stewards and FIA didn't do that for them.

Lando

This wasn’t all the team’s fault. Lando is responsible for a lot of the circumstances that led to this issue in the first place. He qualified on pole and finished in P4. 

Lando’s driving this race was sloppy and again showed his lacking abilities at wheel to wheel. First he lost the lead going into turn 1. And again, he didn’t just lose the lead, he lost the lead to three other cars. His pole win in Singapore was aided by the fact the rest of the field saw a drop in performance. When he needs to actually defend the lead it’s fairly predictable how this will go. 

He ran wide in an attempt to defend from Max (which was a very predictable outcome, everyone knew what Max was going to try)

However the other issue came when he was trying to pass Max which eventually led to the lap 52 incident. He was attempting the same pass multiple times and Max easily defended. I don’t know why he kept trying what was essentially the same move. He had a pretty big tyre advantage at that point so his chances of passing Max eventually were high, but he was still struggling. 

I think one issue with his wheel to wheel in this case is Lando seems to assume if there is a big enough pace difference between his car and the defending car then the defending car will go easy or simply roll over. Max was not in a great position pace wise, but he still defended expertly. 

Assuming that a pass should happen or should be easy is not a good way to approach these battles. Especially when a championship is on the line. Max had no reason to make this easy, even if it meant driving harder and burning through his own tyres more. 

This race was a replay of Austria in many ways. Again Lando’s lacking ability at actually competitive wheel to wheel battling on track was the main issue here. 

The rest of the problems came from the team making a very bad call to not give the place back. 

Overall a mixed to lacking race from Lando. 

“Lando was ahead of Max before they entered the turn, therefore he’d already overtaken Max”: That’s not how that works. You need to have the car you’ve overtaken behind you. Being side by side and slightly ahead does not constitute an overtake on a straight. I recommend watching Lando’s overtake of George in the COTA sprint opening lap, he was ahead before the turn, but the overtake was not complete until he managed to make it stick. I also would recommend paying attention to the Ferrari’s (and the Ferraris vs George) that sprint as well to see some examples of when things get close before the overtake sticks. Going side by side and even being ahead does not mean the overtake has stuck, you need to be able to stay ahead at the corner. Or get the defending car fully behind you. Lando did neither of those things. It was not a complete overtake and thus Max remained the defending driver. 

To overtake a car must be ahead of the defending car at the turn (Lando was not in this case)

And the overtaking car must be capable of making the corner (again Lando did not make the corner) A defending driver is allowed to defend their line, so that is part of the necessity to make the corner. Lando did not fulfill. These are well known precedents that Mclaren should be aware of. 

Furthermore this is a harder overtake to make. That corner is one where an overtake on the inside is significantly more advantageous. Max knew that so that’s where he defended. Lando tried for the same less successful overtake approach and it’s not surprising it was difficult to make it stick. This comes down to an issue with his wheel to wheel skills. 

“Max forced Lando off the track!”: Max was the defending driver, he made the apex under control, and thus he gets to determine his racing line. Lando took a risk going around the outside, that is a well known risk on that particular move. 

Oscar

Oscar's weekend was middling. I think that after looking at his first 2 years on this track that Austin overall is not a strong track for him.

He qualified P5 and finished P5.

Now his race was somewhat hobbled by the fact he was asked to slow down by the team. Mclaren did not want him to get the fastest lap (which Lando was holding until it was taken by Franco and then by Este) and also they didn't want him to be too close to Lando in case Lando did get a penalty.

So his race results were a result of his own qualifying and then sealed by team strategy as a result of what was going on with Lando further up the field.

Data Analysis

A comparison of Lando vs Oscar's race pace.

Very similar. Lando got slightly better results out of the medium tyres, but overall they were pretty much matched.

Comparison of Oscar vs Lando's qualifying laps.

The places where Oscar lost the most pace compared to Lando in quali was the low speed corners. Looking at the more detailed telemetry I think Oscar's main problem here was his timing. His throttle, and brake applications were just not timed right at certain corners.

Mercedes

This was a rough weekend for Mercedes. Both George and Lewis had incidents. George spun out in qualifying at turn 19, and Lewis spun out at the very same corner during the race.

The car had been difficult all weekend. With both drivers struggling with the car. The upgrades Mercedes brought to the weekend don't seem to have added any performance to the car and in fact have made it more difficult.

Lewis spoke about how he's never had issues like this at this track before. And I think that is telling. He noted bouncing in the car, making it too unstable.

I think that the current Mercedes car is very sensitive to conditions. There were pretty strong winds at Austin and I think the car was struggling all week being destabilized by the crosswinds. With unstable upgrades and a car that is very sensitive to the wind neither driver had a strong chance to succeed this weekend.

George

After he crashed in qualifying George had to start from the pitlane because his car needed repairs. He managed to finish the race in P6 which made for an incredibly strong recovery drive from him. An underrated drive of the race.

Conclusion

Overall I think this race strengthened Max's WDC bid. It also brought Ferrari closer to the WCC. Not only that Charles is now in the fight for P2 of the WDC. Interesting race from the standpoint of quite a few cars and how they are adjusting to upgrades changes to the cars. This has set the stage for a very competitive final 5 races this season.

That's all I got, see you in Mexico!

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

CYBERVERSE DJD IDEAS.

I FINISHED WATCHJNG CYBERVERSE... only the last special remains and i have so many questions.

ALSO TARN. CYBERVERSE TARN.

i was disappointed that all of the DJD wasn't present but then i had an idea... IMAGINE THIS... ALL THE MEMBERS OF THE DJD ARE THESE DIFFERENT KINDS OF DECEPTICON SOLDIER CLONES.

SO I PRESENT TO YOU...

CYBERVERSE DJD

Tarn is a Soldier Clone. Most foot-soldiers and ground level combatants are Tarn clones, they work as precision weapons. Able to extract specific targets from the battlefield but they leave behind massive damage.

They are extremely volatile and most commander positions are filled out by more experienced Tarn clones.

Kaon is a Communications Clone. They have range across the battlefield and mediate orders. They keep a list of directives for what each clone category should do in the form of 'The List'. Kaon clones have unique navigation abilities because of this, to save costs, most Kaon clones are optic-less.

The List has direct orders from Megatron, Commanders and Decpticon HQ. Kaon can also work for recon missions, he has unique signal dampening abilities which assist stealth operatives.

Vos is a Sniper Clone. Self-explanatory. The slender and slim design along with nimble digits and agile functionality provides for the best stealth operatives possible. Along with heightened intelligence which allows for multipurpose use— they can be used as Lab Technicians as well.

Vos clones are often paired with Kaon clones as most stealth operatives are Vos clones. The also unique navigation abilities of Kaon clones can be rerouted to Vos clones.

Helex is a Heavy Duty Clone. Equipped with four servos, they are extremely useful for heavy lifting and carrying artillery. Their aim is excellent so they are often posted near heavy machine guns and such.

The built-in smelter in their torso works as an ammunition production unit. Helex clones have a voracious appetite for metal and all the metal they consume is turned into bullets to be used.

Tesarus is a Guarding Clone. Tesarus clones guard outposts and important buildings. Unlike Tarn clones, the destruction they leave behind is minimal so lesser collateral damage to what they are guarding.

They are more well-versed in one-on-one combat using their blades which is why they leave behind comparatively lesser collateral damage.

Nickel is a Medic Clone. Built smaller and more compact, this allows them to easily cover and fix frames larger than them as well as fix the smallest of circuitry. Most Nickel clones get along with each other in groups to get the job done quicker.

They have a unique ray gun which helps defend themselves along with speed which let's them outrun their pursuers, leading them to their doom (the other clones)

The Pet is a type of Tracking Clone. Usually paired with Kaon clones, they have the innate ability to find bots using their spark signature alone after a particular signature wave has been inputted into their systems. They are paired with Kaon clones because of their navigational abilities, Kaon clones would be the first to find them.

Once they find their target, they will notify their assigned Kaon clone and then proceed to attack the target. This allows for the assigned Kaon clone to call forth the other clones upon the target.

WHAT DO YOU GUYS THINK?

[paddockanalysis]

🏆 2023 - Mastering Consistency

Main post! 2020 2021 2022 2024

The 2023 Formula 1 season was evidence of Max Verstappen’s dominance, he was often described as being ‘in a league of his own’, with his performance defining new standards of excellence. Verstappen secured a record-breaking 17 victories, eclipsing his own 2022 record of 15 wins, and led Red Bull Racing to historic achievements, including the team’s unprecedented 12th consecutive victory at the Hungarian GP.

Verstappen vs. Perez

The teammate comparison was stark: Verstappen comprehensively outperformed Sergio Pérez in both qualifying and race pace, with a 20-2 head-to-head victory in qualifying and the same record in races where both drivers finished. Verstappen’s adaptability to different circuits and conditions contrasted sharply with Pérez’s struggles to extract consistent performance, especially as the season progressed. Pérez’s drop in form highlighted Verstappen’s unparalleled ability to maximise the RB19’s potential.

Key Rivals and Their Challenges

While Verstappen was in a league of his own, rivals like Ferrari, Mercedes, and Aston Martin had moments of brilliance but lacked the consistency or outright pace to challenge him. Ferrari, with Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz, showed flashes of speed but struggled with strategic missteps and tire degradation issues. Mercedes, led by Lewis Hamilton and George Russell, made strides late in the season but were hampered by their car’s performance deficit in high-speed circuits.

Aston Martin’s early-season success with Fernando Alonso brought intrigue, but the team’s development curve flattened, leaving Alonso unable to sustain his podium streak. Verstappen’s ability to maintain dominance across various track layouts and weather conditions showcased his superiority over these rivals.

Why Other Teams Fell Behind

Red Bull’s dominance in 2023 stemmed from a combination of factors, including the RB19’s exceptional aerodynamic efficiency, superior tire management, and a significant advantage in high-speed cornering. These attributes were the result of Adrian Newey’s design brilliance and the team’s seamless execution of strategies. Other teams struggled to keep pace due to various shortcomings: Ferrari faced reliability concerns and poor tire degradation; Mercedes grappled with the W14’s unpredictable aerodynamics, particularly in low-speed corners; and Aston Martin’s rapid early-season performance stagnated as the team failed to bring effective mid-season upgrades.

A significant factor was Red Bull’s head start with the new regulations in 2022. The team carried forward a strong development baseline while others were still learning to optimize their cars under the ground-effect era. Additionally, the cost cap limited teams’ ability to recover quickly, widening the performance gap.

McLaren’s Resurgence and Limitations

McLaren stood out as one of the few teams to make noticeable progress mid-season. After a lackluster start, a comprehensive upgrade package introduced around the Austrian GP transformed the MCL60, with Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri emerging as podium contenders. McLaren’s improved aerodynamic package emphasized cornering performance, making them particularly strong at high-downforce circuits like Suzuka and Singapore.

However, McLaren’s resurgence had limitations. The RB19 remained unmatched in its versatility, excelling on tracks with diverse layouts and weather conditions. McLaren’s reliance on specific track characteristics and its late start to the season's development race meant it could not challenge Red Bull consistently. Furthermore, Red Bull’s operational precision, Verstappen’s brilliance, and the RB19’s all-round superiority created a gap that upgrades alone could not bridge. McLaren’s progress highlighted what was possible with effective updates but also underscored the importance of starting strong in F1’s ultra-competitive environment.

This juxtaposition illustrated the chasm Red Bull had created—an advantage too vast for even the most well-executed recovery to overcome in 2023.

Highlights of the Season

Miami GP: Starting ninth, Verstappen’s strategic tire management and overtaking prowess led to a spectacular victory, exemplifying his ability to recover from setbacks.

Monaco GP: In treacherous, wet conditions, Verstappen’s control underlined his mastery in one of F1’s most demanding races.

Hungarian GP: His win here secured Red Bull’s record-breaking 12th consecutive victory, cementing their status as one of F1’s greatest teams.

Comparing Verstappen to F1’s Legends

Verstappen’s dominance in 2023 invited comparisons to F1’s greatest seasons, with pundits likening his control to that of Michael Schumacher in 2004 or Sebastian Vettel in 2013. However, Verstappen’s ability to thrive under pressure and adapt to a wide range of challenges set him apart, solidifying his place as one of the sport’s all-time greats.

The RB19’s unparalleled performance and Verstappen’s brilliance elevated Red Bull Racing to a nearly untouchable position in the championship standings. By the season’s end, Verstappen’s relentless consistency and unmatched racecraft ensured personal glory and a legacy-defining year for the team.

Please don’t copy my work🙏