#here it is!! in its probably-unfinished-and-probably-going-to-stay-that-way glory

[pencap]

By Sylvie (j.p.)

[bphantom01]

ARC V MONTH DAY 4 - The Merriest Band of Misfits

A/N: Another late post lol srry :P

I wanted to write abt fusion squad, but i have a whole fic dedicated to em already, so i decided to write abt the fusion & sync duos! theyre another 4-person friend group i rlly love, u see :DD

Pairings: Yugo/Rin & Yuri/Serena

Warnings: None. They say a few cuss words but that’s about it, also expect some OOCness like witth the other things I wrote.

Earlier this morning, Yuri had invited her and the Synchro Duo, Yugo and Rin, over to "hang out" as he called it. He said it was about Yuya telling him to get along with other people or something…

—

It was gonna be a weird day for Serena, she could tell.

So here she was, sitting at a coffee shop in an Xyzian mall with Rin, waiting for their respective boys to arrive.

She and Rin surprisingly got along well after the war, as they were the orphans of the bracelet girls — the only two with no family before the war.

Other things were because she and Rin happened to be the most boyish of the girls and that they both grew up having to prove people their worth.

“What could be taking them so long?” Serena randomly asks, breaking her own trail of thoughts.

“Yugo, definitely… He's always late," Rin sighed.

Right when Rin answered, said Yu's finally showed up at the door and walked over to them.

“I apologize for being late, Rin and my dear Serena—”

“Don't-Don't call me that,” Serena interrupted.

But Yuri went on anyway. “—but you see, Yugo-kun here spent too long in the bathroom.”

“You said I had to look my best!” Yugo complained.

“You can style yourself outside.”

“Whatever…”

“Well,” Rin said, sighing, “at least you're both here. But, Serena and I told the waiter twice to wait for you both, you know. So try to be earlier next time.”

“Okay then, Yugo will try,” Yuri said blatantly. “Now can we get some coffee? And a croissant, perhaps?”

“No, I don't wanna stay here any longer. I've had enough of the place.” Serena got up.

Rin soon followed. “So have I. Let’s just go to an arcade or something…”

“Yes! Gaming time! I'm with ya, Rin-Rin!” Yugo cheered.

Yuri gaped. “I haven't eaten anything!”

“That’s your problem, cabbage.” Serena smiled.

“Hmph. Whatever. Just make sure there's lunch later.”

“There will be.” Rin rolled her eyes.

“And you girls will pay?”

“All of us will pay—we’ll divide the bill into four. Now let's leave!”

—

While walking to the arcade, Rin observed the whole of the mall.

With funding and support from Fusion as a form of apology, together with the efforts of many Xyzian people as well as Fusionists who were sent to help instead of being jailed, most of the mall has been restored to its former glory.

There were still some unfinished parts here and there, but overall it seemed to look the way it used to.

“Aww yeah, the arcade!” Yugo yelled, running into the said place with the two other Fusionists.

“Hey, wait up you three!” Rin ran after them.

“Woah,” Serena gasped, looking around to see lots of arcade machines, claw machines, driving simulators, and duel simulators, among others—all with many games and with their lights ablaze. There were a lot of people too, of course.

Ruri wasn't kidding when she said they'd have so much fun.

“Hah! Who knew Xyz'd be this cool,” Yuri exclaimed. “I almost regret being part of the war!”

“Oi, shut your trap, and stop being proud of what you helped cause,” Serena warned.

“I'm with her on that, Yuri,” Yugo added. “Starting a war is not something to be proud of.”

“Guys, I. Don't. Care. Now let's have fun!” Yuri ran off to the nearest duel simulator, also known as a duel terminal, probably.

The other two also bolted to their own destinations—Serena to this "Grand Piano Keys" game thing and Yugo to a claw machine with lots of cute duel monster plushies in them.

Meanwhile, Rin just got there. What's up with them just running off!?

She sighed and just walked to where Yugo was.

“Hey, Rin! I'm gonna try and get you that Melffy Pinny plush!” he blurted, inserting a coin into that thing where you put it in, which started the one-minute timer.

“Oh cool, good luck!”

With intense focus, Yugo moved the claw with the joystick.

The claw is so slow…!

Aaand there, right there above the plush!

He waited until the timer was at one second before pushing the grab button.

“Yes!” he yelled when the claw fell to the plush.

…before frowning as the claw seemingly, ‘couldn't hold onto it.’

“Aw, poor fusion-kun lost,” Yuri teased, seeing Yugo’s utter defeat.

“That's not fairrr!” Yugo shouted, catching the attention of a few Xyzians.

“Hey, look, it's alright, at least you tried!” Rin encouraged. “Keep your voice low, please. And Yuri, shut up.”

Serena walked over to them with a handful of tickets. “So I played some piano game and got a bunch of tickets… What do I do with these?”

“Yuto said you could exchange them for prices,” Rin stated, motioning to the price booth. “The more you have, the bigger a thing you could get, I'd guess.”

“Ooh, to another machine then!” Serena dashed across the place to what Rin could make out to be an Ice Ball game, with Yuri following suit.

“Yugo, you coming?”

The banana-head just stared sorrowfully onto the Pinny plush that lay in the machine. “Y-yeah… In a moment.”

“Uh, okay, then. I'll be with the Fusion duo to make sure they won't cause any trouble,” Rin told him, walking away.

“Okay…”

“I can stay if you want, you know?”

“Oh, no, it's fine,” Yugo assured. “Don't worry, I'll be okay!”

“Hm.” Rin nodded and walked on.

—

“You're doing it all wrong,” Yuri complained. “Put only a little force on it enough to launch it; don't put all your strength into the ball!”

“Hey! Wait for your turn!” Serena retorted. 

“Tsk. Just saying—getting 3 to 5 thousand points is better than getting none at all or an occasional 10k then nothing. Remember, you only have—”

“Nine balls, and at the moment only one left. I know!” Serena interrupted, throw-sliding the ball into the road a little too harshly, it hit the fiberglass with a loud BANG!

‘10 thousand, 10 thousand! Please…!’ she thought.

The ball rolled off to nothing.

“AUUUGHHH!”

Yuri meanwhile laughed beside her. “See? Control your force!”

“SHUT UP!”

“And what's going on with you two?” Rin asked, approaching them.

“Serena never listens,” Yuri mocked.

“And Yuri can't keep his mouth shut,” Serena hissed. “Aha! I was distracted!” She gave Yuri a glare.

He smiled at her in return, but also looked into her eyes.

…they had a staring contest.

“That's enough now, you two,” Rin scolded. She looked around.

Eventually, a certain dancing game caught her eye. “Hey, why don't you both play that dance thing over there, instead?”

Serena usually would rather not dance, but she was losing this contest, and as such, she whipped her head toward Rin so Yuri couldn't see that she blinked. “You know what? You're right.”

She turned back to Yuri. “Yuri, wanna have a dance fight?”

Yuri smiled. “Ah, sure!”

And they left with Rin following them behind, thoughts of whether leaving Yugo was a good idea or not swirling in her mind.

“Look at me, Yuri!” Serena said, and she began the game.

Her swift and graceful movements amused him.

He knew she could dance, but still! He’s never seen her do it with so much passion.

A chuckle escaped him. This little competition is easily won by her… and he couldn’t help but smile as she danced to the beat ever so beautifully.

When the round ended, she got off the small stage and walked to him. “Did ya see that?” She then noticed how he looked at her. “Hm? What’re you grinning for?”

“Nothing. Only,” he laughed, “you’re good—I’ll admit that. And you win for now.”

Serena blushed lightly, not enough for anyone to notice. His compliment also brushed her competitive side away, just for a moment. “Thank… you…? Also, what happened to your condescending attitude?”

“It’s still there, that I assure you. But…”

He looked beyond her—to a kid’s basketball machine.

He saw that the hoop was easily within arm's reach of any teenager their age—meaning they can drop or dip the ball into the hoop with tremendous ease.

And also get a whole bunch of tickets in the process.

He grinned, turning back to Serena. “Rena-kun,” he called to her.

“What do you want?”

Yuri took a deep breath. “I'm gonna ask you a favor.”

Serena laughed at him. “That's new… What is it?”

“I'm surprised you didn't make fun of me, other than that laugh, but why don't we… Cheat the kid's basketball machine?” he asked.

“Hmm… What do I get from it?”

“Let's see… You can have 40% of the tickets.”

“50 and I'll do it.”

Yuri sighed, but he just caved. “Ah, you know what, fine. C'mon.”

From the other side where Rin was playing this remake of Flappy Bird, she stopped playing—which of course made her lose—as their words caught her ears.

She saw them by the kid's basketball machine.

Of course…

When the two got there, a kid was still busy playing.

The poor thing looked back at them, and when he saw Yuri, he froze.

Yuri smirked. “Boo.”

The poor kid squeaked before slowly walking off.

“Oh Ra, you didn't need to do that,” Serena chastised. “Buuut at least we got it to ourselves now, so let's take advantage of that and the kid's tickets.”

For the next few minutes, the two watched amused as the scoreboard's numbers did nothing else but rise almost every second as they both dipped the balls just enough for the sensors to notice.

When they finished, they went for another round, and their number of tickets also kept on increasing.

Rin sighed as she watched them, but her mood brightened when she saw Yugo jogging over to them, the Melffy Pinny plush from earlier clutched in his two hands. “Hey, Rin-Rin!”

“Oh, hi, Yugo!” She laughed as he handed her the plush. “Aww, you didn't have too…”

“But I DID have to!” Yugo insisted, bright blue eyes shining with satisfaction of being able to give Rin the plush.

“Well, thanks, at least.” She gave him an embrace and he gladly returned it.

“Ah, fusion finally got the Melffy, eh?” Yuri said, amused, as Serena continued to dip the ball in the hoop.

Yugo let Rin go and said, “Yeah, so? At least I care for my girl!”

“Serena doesn't deserve me, though,” Yuri said dramatically, making him get kicked by Serena in the shins in the process.

“Can't you be not annoying for once? And you’re the one who doesn’t deserve me.”

“I'm always gonna be annoying—and you all have to put up with it…” Yuri uttered as he clutched his leg. “And you did NOT have to hit me that hard…! What if you broke my leg!?”

He went on whining on the floor, which caught a bunch of people's attention. “It hurts!”

“Oh Ra…” Serena shook her head.

And, together with the synchro duo, they yelled, “Get up!”

“Gee, fine. I'm serious, though—it really, really hurts. Can one of you guys get ice or something cold that won't melt for me, please?” he begged, leaning to a wall.

“I'll fuckin’ do it.” Serena rolled her eyes. “I'll be right back.”

While Yuri sat on a bench to wait for Serena to come back, Yugo and Rin allowed themselves to enjoy the whole arcade without the Fusion Duo having an argument behind their backs.

Both of ‘em went on to play some 2-player shooting games where they shot some mechanical aliens to save some ship before going to play the classic Whac-A-Mole game.

“Yugo, stay focused!” Rin yelled. “You can do it!”

“I'm trying, Rin, but these moles are just. So fast!” Yugo shivered as he tried to pour all his focus into this one game, but he still somehow kept missing.

He didn't hit much, but they got tickets nonetheless, so he took those.

“Can I try?” Rin asks.

“Oh, sure.”

“Thanks!” Rin took the little foam mallet and started the game.

Whack!

Oh wow, this was rather easy.

Whack! Whack!

How could Yugo be bad at this!?

Whack! Whack! Whack!

“Woah, Rin, you're a natural!” Yugo complimented. “I'll help! I'll whack those you can't with my hands!"

“Wait, Yugo, I'm fine—”

And with her focus a bit deterred, she and Yugo went for this one common target, making her hit Yugo's hand a bit too hard.

“YyyyOUCH!” he exclaimed. The pain hurt so much, it got him kneeling to the floor groaning in pain, much like what Yuri did earlier, but a bit louder and without the laying down part.

She gasped at that. “Oh, you idiot! I told you to—! Sigh, you know what, just go sit with Yuri; I'll tell Serena to get more ice…”

After a good while, Serena finally arrived with two glass bottles of cold ketchup.

“What—why'd you get that!?” Rin yelled at Serena in disbelief.

“It was the only thing I could think of!”

“You could've just, I dunno, gotten some ice bags?! And ice??”

“Actually, I thought not to do that. Plus, we can at least use the ketchup for later, bring it home or something, you know? Maybe we could give one of ‘em to the boys.”

Rin doesn't know how many times she sighed now, but she sighed anyway.

After they gave the bottle to the boys—and Serena getting another scolding from Yuri for getting ketchup—they all decided to make Yugo and Rin race through a driving simulator.

“Rin, you can do this!” Serena cheered. “Good luck, and win! YuriandIhadabetandmywalletsdependingonyousoyeahpleasewin,” she went on with the last part quickly.

“What?”

“Break a leg—but not literally.” Serena smiled.

“Oh, alright. Thanks!”

And with le boys…

“Yugo, please win. Serena and I had a bet, and if you lose, I'm not just losing money, I'm also gonna have to dye my hair brown for a week! Can you believe that?”

The banana-head raised a brow. “How's that my problem? I'd honestly love to see how you'd look with brown hair. Also, you agreed to it, not me.”

But anyway, the Synchro Duo chose their D-wheels and started.

3… Rin gripped her handle tighter.

2… Yugo smiled, getting ready.

1… They both held breaths, then,

GO!! The words appeared on the screen.

And instantly, Rin and Yugo revved their motorcycle sims and felt it "move" forward.

The screen then showed them and several NPCs racing through.

“Wooo! Go, Rin!”

“Fusion! You better do this, because I'm cheering for you for once, can you believe that!? So don't you dare waste it!”

Vrooooooooooom!

The sounds came from the speakers with the machine, and the screen showed several terrain — cliff sides, cities, a bridge and even a concrete loop-the-loop.

“Woah!” Rin exclaimed, as she almost fell off.

“Haha! Now we see who's the better driver!” Yugo teased, laughing.

“Oh, you'll see who's better!” Rin 'violently pushed him off' the loop.

“Eek!” He landed rather safely, but it was still a bit uh, traumatizing.

“Yugo, you're gonna make my hair brown!” Yuri warned, clutching his (not Yugo's) head.

“I know! Calm down, I can still beat her.”

“You better!”

Serena laughed at them. “Please, Rin’s clearly winning.”

“Yeah, Yugo, how do you plan to beat me!?” Rin teased, a glint of slyness in her orange eyes.

Yugo's eyes trailed to their front.

Rin already used hers earlier, but he didn't yet—that “Turbo Speed Acceleration” kind of thing.

Rin's was still refilling, but his was full.

Meanwhile, they both neared the finish line.

“Like in a duel, Rin, my luck never fails me.”

Rin dropped her grin at that.

And Yugo took the pleasure of grinning this time. “I activate my ‘Action Magic’, Acceleration!” He triumphantly pressed the button.

“Nooo!” Rin and Serena shouted.

“Yes!” The boys cheered.

And in an instant, Yugo sped up right by Rin and reached the finish first.

“OHHH YEAHHH, WOOOO!” Yugo shouted, dismounting the runner. “I BEAT RIN FOR ONCE!”

He and Yuri fist-bumped and hi-fived each other with both hands and did the back-hit thing in those 'secret handshake' things.

“NO BROWN HAIIRRR!” Yuri yelled, making people turn to him.

“I BEAT RINNN!” Yugo exclaimed. He was so happy, he could feel the excitement running through his veins, and he ran to Rin who just got off, and they both almost stumbled to the ground.

“Woah, hey,” Rin warned. “We almost fell.”

“I'm sorry, it's just… You always beat me and—”

“Yes, yes, I'm happy for you too.” She chuckled. “You beat me—that surprised us both, and them, too, probably.”

“Yeah, a new achievement, hehe,” Yugo giggled with a :P face.

Rin smiled proudly and kissed him on the cheek. “So cute.”

He metaphorically melted into a puddle at that. “Hehe, hehe,” he kept saying, “Hehe…”

“Now it's my turn to say, ‘That's enough you two,’” Serena said, handing Yuri a few yen.

“No brown hair,” Yuri stated casually.

“Stop, I get it already—and it's getting weirder by the minute,” Serena growled.

“Well, what’re we doing next?” Rin asked.

“That kid right there! We weren't sure what he was doing at first, but we just figured out he was hacking into the claw machine!” an officer yelled in their direction.

“Hm?” Yuri turned to the guard and saw he was pointing to Yugo. ��Aw, fusion got caught.”

Yugo instantly stood up. “Let's get outta here!” he squealed.

“We should,” Serena agreed, running off.

“Guys, agai—?” Rin was broken off by the boys going off, with Yugo dragging her arm away. “Yuuugo! What did you do!?”

“Sorry! I had to get the plushie, but the machine wasn't being fair!”

“Pretty smart, though!” Serena complimented, running backwards. “If I knew how to hack, I would've done the same thing.”

“But you don't,” Yuri once again teased.

She jumped on him and they wrestled. “I've wanted to do this since earlier!” Making Yuri go “OOF—!” with surprise.

“Oh, you think it's only you?” He fought back.

“Guys!” Rin grumbled. “Right now!?”

She and Yugo had to drag their own counterparts away from each other and out of the place until they both calmed down.

The rest of the day went by with lots of fun.

There was lunch at an Xyzian Burgery Shun recommended, then a walk in the park which included its own set of activities, laser tag, pizza, and a few other things.

Yeah… It was really nice.

The day ended when the two groups parted when they all went back to Pendulum, saying their good-byes to each other and leaving. To go to their own new respective homes.

[thelogbookproject]

The Unity of Skovlan, Entry 34: The Last Ship Out

The Unity of Skovlan is an upcoming unofficial supplement to Blades In The Dark about the fall and rise of the Skovlander people. This series explores what it is all about in the leadup to its September release.

We’ve reached the end of the campaign, and it’s launch week! Playing The Last Ship Out ends the campaign, and is required to end the game. I’ll be sharing the entirety of the Mission today, like I did with The Glory.

The Queen is dead. The War is lost. General Brandt has sacrificed himself following a speech, now known as the Speech Disbanding The Skovlan Forces, that is quoted at the beginning of Fractured Unity. Brandt’s sacrifice has opened up Lockport to allow any remaining soldiers to escape, and Alx is approaching the city with only one ship left, The Resounding Voice (it’s an Echoes joke, lol). The Akorosi are retaking it, one street at a time. It’s a race, and a dangerous one at that.

The first Objective is not hard to do if the players ignore all of the others, but the more they try to juggle, the tougher this one will be to reach. Staying out of civilian homes and shops leaves the Squad more exposed, stuck in the streets, allies, roofs, and tunnels. We’ll explore all of the Rail Station, the Theater, and the Factory again below. Notably, Valor does still matter! You can buy more Legacies with your remainder in the Epilogue, and one of the Fracturing Legacies offers some good starting benefits for the Echoes Crew for each remaining Valor, so even if the players have everything already, there’s a use for it.

This is the basic location the players will keep moving through to reach the docks. Lots of cover, lots of snipers, lots of distraction, and an ambush all keep the players slowed down to waste the No Retreat Clock. The Akorosi don’t capture the ship when the Clock fills, it just means the players will have to fight their way to the boat instead of repelling attackers from it, and also they’ll lose out on an Optional Objective.

The first detour is at the unfinished Lightning Rail Station. We meet our first other Independent Unit, Brun Squad, which is only four Soldiers at this point (and maybe only were four to start with, who knows?). Brun are a heavy weapons squad, using a mounted machine gun and explosives as their best tricks. They’re amazing soldiers, but outnumbered and outgunned. There are four ticks till one of them is killed, and at eight another dies, causing the other two to blow themselves up to complete the Objective now that there are no more future Missions to save themselves for. If the players skip the Rail Station, they hear the explosion.

A reminder that non-military culture has just been ruined by the War, and a chance for the players to save some civilians. If the players are heartless, they can skip by and save themselves at no military cost, but I don’t think many groups can just run past the screams from the building. More time spent not getting to the docks…

The three detours on the way to the Dock are a chance at one more military strike, one more civilian rescue, and one more symbolic victory. The symbol of the Factory is meaningful to Skovlan, and also to the group after the initial Mission. Truly obliterating it will take creativity to “once and for all” eliminate it. The reward is a high-Valor Optional Objective, but also a special prize of being able to buy past Legacies in the Epilogue, not just Fracturing ones. Given the lower value of survival in this Mission, it’s probably worth it, and that’s quite on purpose — I really want players to go after the Factory.

The players only need to get aboard and earn a brief window of safety to get away. The Special Rule lets any other Alx Soldiers join the fray, and even the Exhausted ones can make Last Stands if they’re willing to die. Death brings a little more Valor here, but play the characters honestly, and remember that the end of the War isn’t the end of the fight for Skovlan Independence.

There’s just not enough time for everything! The ending leads directly to the Epilogue, which I’ll include the final big decision point from, as it is effectively an extension of the Mission.

Can the Soldiers really leave Skovlan? It’s an interesting and dramatic final moment, and any who stay can survive and fight on Skovlan’s shores still. Any who go might retire or fight or be encountered within Doskvol. But this is the end of their story as Soldiers of The Unity War.

Thank you all for coming with me on this journey through the Missions! Full disclosure, I actually finished this game in May 2022, so I’ve had a lot of time to sit on it and think about it in its completed form, and getting to come back a year later and explore each piece in depth has been a wonderful experience for me, and I think getting a chance to build this series as a sort of Marginalia and Annotations collection to deepen the text, explain my intentions in a more conversational and less formal way, and deconstruct just why all of this works together has been super valuable for you now and readers in the future. The original plan at this point was to spend the final two entries discussing the Crowdfunding Campaign details and the Stretch Goals. Obviously neither of those is happening, so I'll find something else to go in those spots. Thank you all again so much for being with me through this, and an enormous thank you to every single person who has checked out the whole game on Patreon even though you'll be able to get it for free at the end of this week. It means the world to me.

The Unity War releases for PWYW on September 1, 2023. Check out https://tinyurl.com/tuos-details for the rest of this series! Sign up for my Patreon at https://patreon.com/thelogbookproject for a preview, and full early access to the game! See you Wednesday!

[rein4r1]

Portrait

Wc: 1.9k

Warning/s: Homophobia, Signs of Mental Illness, Mentions of Mental and Physical Abuse, Mentions of sexual activity, Dark Content

Pairing: [Modern AU] Mikasa x F!Reader (They/Them)

Genre: Fluff if you squint, Angst

Synopsis: On which Mikasa offers them a solution to their problems

or

They couldn't help but create a different reality

MINORS READ WITH DISCRETION

“So tell us Y/n L/n”

“Tell you what? I have nothing to tell you!”

“Tell us why you killed your parents.”

They pulled her knees to their chests, tightening their hold. The air from the AC doing nothing but worsen the already dreadful atmosphere. With shaking hands, they touched the side of their face, feeling the sting from where their father slapped them from hours ago. It wasn’t his aggressiveness that hurt them nor was it the shattered frame of a portrait that stood proudly on top of the island table, but it was their mother’s words; “I can’t believe we have a homosexual under our roof!”

Their parents were always conservative, believing that people who like the same sex are nothing but sinful. In all honesty, they believed every word they fed growing up. At least until they met her. Maybe deep down, they were already different from what their parents fear, just hiding in the closet. The first time they saw her was in the middle of the hallway, junior year in high school. To be honest, they didn’t have friends, them having friends is far-fetched anyway.

Not only did they hate their situation at home, but they also hate their situation at school. It’s not like they’re physically troubled by other kids, but they can always hear their murmurings, clearly them being the subject of their gossip.

“For someone with a pretty appearance, they sure are crazy.”

“Shut up! They might hear.”

School was already hell for them; just in the middle of the hallway stood a girl with short black hair, there she stood in the sea of despondence. They always had a downcast look, when was the last time they stared at anything but their feet. They can’t help but be drawn to her dark orbs, something about her enigmatic look draws them to her. The felt their body move automatically towards her, but in the heap of the crowd, she was gone. Their eyes searched any nook and cranny for her, hoping that there’s something she left by. And they felt it, the erratic beating of their hearts, as if nothing will help to calm it.

The next time they saw her was at the school’s courtyard, sitting at one of the benches looking like she’s lost in her own thoughts. They slowly approached her, sitting just at the other end of the bench. As if sensing their presence, her head turns towards them. Her face shows aloofness, but their eyes bore in theirs with curiosity. She turned her head back to the horizon, clearly not minding their presence.

“You look sad.” ‘What?’

“You look like… you’ve been failed by the people around you…” she continues as they look at her with sadness in their eyes.

“Wha- What are you talking about?...” And out of the blue, she pulled them towards her, letting their head rest on her shoulder. She brought her hand to caress their hair, and all they could do is cry. It’s been so long since they became vulnerable, looking no different than a walking corpse. “Don’t worry Y/n, I’m here now.” ‘Huh but how does she know my name?’

“Wait how did you-“

“I’ve always been watching you Y/n, I’m sorry it took me a long time.” They look at her face and saw genuine repentance. “But I haven’t- I don’t know who you are.” As if sensing their growing confusion, she smiled; “Mikasa, my name’s Mikasa.”

Mikasa is their first friend and the first person they talked outside of their family. They didn’t feel alone anymore with the girl beside them. The once suffocating halls didn’t feel smothering anymore. Their eyes didn’t look downcast, it slowly began to look less dull and look more with vigor. But that didn’t do anything to lessen the outlandish look their schoolmates gave them, their mumblings only continue to worsen. It didn’t matter anymore, since Mikasa is by their side, and she didn’t feel alone anymore.

Mikasa slept over at their house, this was something they’ve been looking forward the whole weekends. Lying together in their bed as they faced each other, Mikasa brought her nimble finger to draw in their features as she reached stay strand of their hair and placed it behind their eye. As if there was an unknown force that compels them to each other, they felt her lips brush against theirs in a gently manner. Feeling the way their lips moved in sync with each other, Mikasa’s kisses were steady, gentle, and slow

She looks at them as if she revers them with her whole entirety. They felt her hands drag across their skin like an adagio. Mikasa looked at their eyes for any signs of discomfort, but they only brought themselves closer as an answer. And that night, they made love under the light emanating from the moon.

A few days later, Y/n sat at the dining area with their parents for dinner. Their mother was babbling about how charming their neighbor’s son is. It fell into deaf ears of course, only having Mikasa in their thoughts.

“Y/n you should meet Mr. Grice’s son, I heard he’s about your age.” They snapped their head towards their father, they could not believe the words that came out of his mouth. Never in her life did he appreciate them having any malefriends. “You ought to have friends at your age, create a network with people.”

“I already have a friend ‘pa” he could only dismiss their reply. Their mother clearly being insistent on bringing the Grice boy and them together. “I know both of you are taking your exams for university, it doesn’t hurt having room for more people in your life.”

“I thought you never wanted me to have any guy friends.”

“But it’s the Grices we’re talking about.” They came to understand their mother’s intentions. The Grice family were considered wealthy and influential, who doesn’t want to marry into a rich family anyway? Obviously, Y/n L/n who only has Mikasa in their heart. Plus, the Grice boy already had an army of girls (and boys) willing to be his significant other. It was supposed to be a normal dinner, with them minding their business, leaving their parents to whatever chit chat they’re engrossed in. That is until, their father said something that triggered more on her already displeased mood.

“God, those sinners, parading around for some rights when they clearly don’t deserve any.” Her father muttered in disgust. The television was on, displaying news about a protest done by the LGBTQ+ community in accordance with the rights of their transgender brothers and sisters, considering that there is a rise of crimes towards the group. “If only they weren’t that then people wouldn’t-“

“I’m gay.” Their parents snapped their heads towards her, their expressions full of vexation.

“Y/n come again? What did you-“

“I’m fucking gay ‘ma, and I appreciate that the both of you stop asking those people for liability for something they clearly didn’t do, especially that they- we, are discriminated by people like –“ SLAP

They looked at their horrific faces, hand on their cheek. They expected this, they knew they were like this, but they couldn’t stand them any longer. They couldn’t help but think of Mikasa, the fact that they have this kind of mindset already means that after learning Mikasa’s existence, they’ll get in between them.

“I can’t believe we have a homosexual under our roof!” Their mother cried and their father’s face full of furry. “Go inside your room! We’ll deal with you later. FuckI can’t look at you right now without having the urge to murder you! And I don’t want to commit a sin like you!” Their father’s voice echoes around the room, as they quickly left her unfinished dinner, seeking solace inside their room. Sitting at the innermost corner of their bed, they leaned against the wall and brought their knees towards their chest. They expected them to be like this, but deep down they were hoping that they’d understand, that they’d accept them for who they are.

They felt their phone ring as they moved towards the bedside table and saw a text from Mikasa.

They immediately dashed towards their mini balcony, and there she is, Mikasa in all her glory. Seeing her made them break down, they found solace with this woman. To them, Mikasa is their sanctuary. Mikasa held them tight under the dark sky and the cold wind of the early hours of morning. She listened to them as they bawl their eyes out, pressing kisses on their face in hopes that this will make them feel better.

“I have something for you.” Mikasa reached something in her pocket to reveal a necklace with a vial as its pendant. They looked at the necklace with an astonished look, Mikasa then proceeds to wear the necklace on their neck. “You know you can do this Y/n” Mikasa smiled at them as she pressed another kiss on her shoulder, wrapping her arms around them. “I know you can”

Their parents woke up at the delightful smell of breakfast. They were bemused at the food that is already prepared on the table.

“Oh, both of you are awake, I prepared breakfast.” Their father looked at them suspiciously, but she only smiled cheerfully.

“What is this? Didn’t we tell you to-“

“I would like to apologize for yesterday, I was clearly stressed because of my exams. I was probably just confused… Yeah just stressed” they chuckled, they felt a bit unsure of their words, but they only brushed it off, content that their child finally came into their senses. They took a sip of their tea, as they began to converse with their parents. “You know about Grice, maybe I’ll approach him later at school.”

“Really? That’s great Y/n!” Her mother chimes.

“Yes ‘ma” They continue to look at their parents. Minutes pass as something went eerie that they could not explain. ‘Something’s weird’ their father glanced at their grinning face. They suddenly lack the ability to speak. As they slowly grow limp from their chairs. They could only stare at their child’s retreating form as the light in their gets swallowed by darkness.

“Tell us why you killed your parents.” Are they out of their mind? Kill? Why would Y/n kill their parents? They may have hurt them too many times, but they could never hurt their parents.

“Kill? I did not kill them!”

“The autopsy showed signs of poisoning, and the investigating team found its connection with the tea they drank. In addition, you were the last person they were last seen with.” They were confused, the tea?... The tea!

“It wasn’t me… It was… It was Mikasa!” Their eyes widen in confusion. “She gave me a vial. It was her!” They wrote their claim down on a piece of paper.

“Mikasa?... I need her last name.” He probes. ‘Wait, she never did give me her last name.’ The officer slid a small envelope. The opened it to reveal a portrait that looks oh so familiar. It’s one of the portraits her father flounced in the heat of anger. A portrait of a young woman with a baby in her hands. ‘No this can’t be… this is just a coincidence. This woman-‘

“-is Mikasa Ackerman, the one who gave birth to your mother.”

That night, they never received a text from her. It was only their alarm setting off.

An: I feel like this is badly written so bsoibhaoibh

I apologize for any grammatical errors and improper use of punctuation marks.

[carewyncromwell]

At last, my friends, we’ve come to the end! This is the final part of my POTC AU. *cue the confetti and noisemakers*

I’ll be creating a masterpost for this AU in the next few days, so that it’s easier to start at the beginning, but before we jump right in, I want to thank those people who contributed to the POTC AU during its development by creating content for their own characters -- @hphm-brooke, @danceworshipper, @rosievixen, @smarti-at-smogwarts, @theguythatdraws, @dat-silvers-girl, @that-ravenpuff-witch, @hogwarts9, @drinkyoursoupbitch and @samshogwarts -- as well as my dear friend @cursebreakerfarrier, whose character Jules I roped into this thing at the very start before having any concept of how big this thing could get and I feel so blessed to have been able to write for. I also just want to thank you all for the overwhelming flood of support you guys have sent my way for this project -- I truly have loved every minute of it, and I hope to finish some of my other unfinished projects as well as create other fresh new material for you guys in the near future! I love you all! xoxo

One last time -- previous part is here, and full tag is here!

x~x~x~x

Even with McNully’s brilliant ploy giving her an extra smattering of glory to cement her position, Carewyn had still initially feared the crew who had been on the HMS Lion would take her to task for her insubordination of Cutler Beckett. It turned out she really needn’t have worried.

“Lord Beckett may have been chosen by the King to take charge of the Empire’s anti-piracy campaign,” said Carewyn’s old lieutenant when she questioned him about it, “but he selected you as the Admiral of the fleet. Therefore it’s only right that we, as your subordinates, follow your orders -- whether they contradict Lord Beckett’s or not.”

“Even though I’m the sort of person to threaten the King’s chosen representative with my pistol?” asked Carewyn, her eyebrows raised.

“Even if you did far worse than that,” said the lieutenant, his eyes blazing with resolve. “Your orders saved a lot of our men’s lives out there, when Beckett’s no doubt would’ve led to their deaths. It’s only right that we protect you -- that the Navy protects you -- just like you protected us.”

His boyish face broke out into a broad smile. “We won’t betray you, Admiral. None of us will.”

With the Navy’s defeat at the hands of the Pirate Lords, Carewyn charted a course straight for London. The fleet had just started the month-long journey when about three days in, the Flying Dutchman emerged out of a gigantic wave and pulled up right alongside the HMS Royal. The Navy’s sailors immediately prepared for a fight, as they knew that the Dutchman was no longer under their control, but Carewyn held the order to attack, instead allowing the ship to approach.

The sailors on board the Dutchman were unrecognizable to Carewyn’s eyes -- gone were the barnacle-encrusted, shark-or-fish-headed crew members she’d seen before: all she saw were a band of very human, though admittedly very dirty and ragged-looking pirates. Sticking out amongst them was a handsome, clean-shaved man with a stylishly-embroidered coat, a brown ponytail, and discerning brown eyes, who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with a shorter, stockier man with very long curly dark hair tied back in a ponytail that swished around behind him like an oddly sentient tail. It was these two men that came aboard, when Carewyn invoked the right to parley with the Dutchman’s Captain in her office.

Percy shut the door to Carewyn’s cabin’s door behind the two men, taking off his tricorn hat just as the pirates, Ben, and Carewyn already had now that he was indoors. It was only once Carewyn, Percy, Ben, Jacob, and Ashe were alone that the two Navy officers and ex-Navy veteran dropped their professional masks and the two pirates dropped their intimidating glares, and Jacob and Carewyn ran forward, throwing their arms around each other and squeezing tight.

“Jacob!” Carewyn breathed against his shoulder as she clung to her brother.

Jacob cradled his younger sister close, absently trailing his hand through her hair in repetitive strokes. “Oh Wyn -- my brave Wyn...”

Carewyn pulled away just enough to look at Jacob. Her eyes trailed over his face, down to the long scar on his chest exposed by his slightly open shirt, and over his curly ponytail, which was currently squiggling like a ribbon in mid-air behind him.

Jacob smiled a bit sheepishly.

“Seems all sailors on the Flying Dutchman become a bit more ‘sea-like’ upon tying themselves to the ship. Rakepick’s hair kind of went all ‘jellyfish’ when she was captain -- probably because of her talent for shocking betrayals,” he added with a rather nasty smile. “Ashe thinks that my hair’s been evoking an eel. Fortunately I reckon I won’t start sprouting gills or turning green unless I actively shed my humanity and ignore my role as ferryman like Jones did...”

The severe look on Carewyn’s face made the smile slowly slide off of Jacob’s face.

“Jacob...when Jones was captain of the Dutchman, he wasn’t allowed to visit dry land but once every ten years,” said Carewyn, her voice betraying the anxiety she felt despite her best effort.

Jacob’s eyes grew a little more solemn. “...I know.”

Seeing the pain in his sister’s eyes, he immediately swooped in and trailed a hand through the hair near the front of her face.

“Wyn, I already planned for this. The whole reason I left you on Isle de Muerta is that I wanted to get Jones’s heart and force him, any way I had to, to release you from the contract.” He swallowed. “...I knew I’d have to be prepared to follow through, if I was going to threaten Jones’s life -- that I’d have to be prepared to become captain of the Dutchman myself, if it came to it.”

Carewyn looked if possible even more upset. “...You mean you planned this? You were really going to kill Jones, to stop him from impressing me into service?”

“I was not going to condemn you, Wyn,” Jacob said in a very forceful, pained voice. “I couldn’t let you suffer because of my mistake -- ”

“Two wrongs do not make a right, Jacob,” Carewyn shot back very harshly. “Jones may have been heartless, but he was still a person!”

“If you disregard the tentacles and claw, anyway,” Ashe said rather coolly. When Carewyn whirled on him with a very reproachful look, he spoke again before she did, “Carewyn, your brother had his fair share of conflict about the whole thing. He hated the thought of killing Jones and joining the crew of the Dutchman. He hated the thought of not being free to go where he wanted, to lose so much time with you...with me.”

Ashe’s eyes were very stony, but they still flickered over to Jacob, narrowing slightly with something oddly resigned. Carewyn’s gaze softened significantly.

“...I hated it for him too,” the merman said lowly. “I still do. But I hate the thought of Jack having died there on that deck more. I hate the thought that Rakepick would’ve actually managed to kill him this time, and there would’ve been nothing I could’ve done to stop it. Your friend the Pirate King couldn’t save your brother’s life, but she did prevent him from dying...all because she, like me, couldn’t bear the thought of you two never seeing each other again.”

His lips actually turned up in something of a weak, wry smile upon Carewyn.

“I understand your frustration -- your brother can be amazingly thick -- ”

“Oi!” said Jacob, a bit offended, but Ashe ignored him.

“ -- but I’ve been very fortunate to know the same intense, selfless love from Jack that he feels for you. I’m not going to act like it’ll be easy -- I mean, even if I’d be able to stay on-board on the Dutchman with Jack while he’s here in the land of the living...whenever he goes to the next world as ferryman, I won’t be able to follow. But I can always meet up with him at sea, in my regular form -- I can always catch up, given the proper time...just like I did while Jack was serving under Howell Davis. Until then, I’ll just find someplace to wait.”

Carewyn considered Ashe for a long moment, her blue eyes rippling with a rather indiscernible expression. Then, looking a bit more determined, she strode right up to Ashe and took hold of his shoulders.

“You won’t have to find a place,” she said. “You’ll have one with me.”

Both Jacob and Ashe looked taken aback.

“You’re family, Duncan,” said Carewyn with a smile. “And everything I’ve ever done -- everything I’m doing now -- is for my family...my blood one and my found one.”

She glanced at Percy, who beamed, before turning her gaze back to Ashe.

“You’ll always have a home with me, when you don’t have one with my brother,” she said very firmly. “Always.”

Ashe looked faintly stunned. His eyes trailed over Carewyn’s face, analyzing every inch as if he’d never seen anyone quite like her. His gaze flitted back over to Jacob, whose face had broken into a very warm, tear-choked smile.

Seeing the intense emotion in his partner’s face, Ashe couldn’t help but bow his head and clear his throat as he struggled to keep his composure.

“Ahem...well...that’s...nice.”

He glanced at Carewyn out the side of his eye almost hesitantly. The Admiral’s smile softened that bit more, becoming more sympathetic, and finally Ashe’s face slowly broke out into a very small, soft smile too. He brought up a hand and rested it on the crown of her head, lightly messing up her bangs.

“Guess I’ll just stick with you in the interim, then,” he said airily, “considering the Brethren Court���s instructions.”

Percy blinked in surprise. “The Brethren Court?”

Jacob nodded. “We took a vote and our Pirate King decided that a ‘representative’ should deliver the Court’s demands to the Admiral and the British Crown. Originally the plan was to have Ashe and me rendez-vous with you, and for Ashe to stay with you until ‘the terms were met.’”

“Jack would’ve done it himself if he could, but of course, he sort of needs to stick to the sea, unless he wants to waste his ‘one day every ten years,’” added Ashe.

“What terms did the Court decide on?” asked Ben, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. “I assume they want pardons for themselves and their crews...but just pardoning a mob of pirates isn’t going to fix things on its own.”

Jacob nodded. “Aye. The Court requested a ‘path toward reintegration’ -- one that includes pardons, as well as a job that suits our sailing and, er... ‘financially-inclined’ talents and can be used to build a future for ourselves and any families we may want to support. Amari’s First Mate said there would only be a 58% chance that the King would accept those terms, but he hoped that you ‘being put under duress’ by a pirate while submitting those terms in writing might improve the odds slightly -- ”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Carewyn very primly.

This startled both Jacob and Ashe. Carewyn exchanged a wry smile with Ben.

“We’re already heading to London right now,” said Ben, his smirk noticeably broader than Carewyn’s. “The Admiral plans on requesting an audience with the King himself.”

“With Beckett gone, I’m in the best position I’ll ever be in, to make my move,” Carewyn said, her blue eyes flashing with determined fire. “I’m done with staying silent -- I intend to convince the King to give every pirate the chance to start their lives over.”

And so Carewyn sailed for London with Ashe, Ben, and Percy as her entourage. Meeting King George I would be a formidable proposition for anyone, but Carewyn fortunately was able to prepare a little ahead of time. The Weasley family had grown up near London, so Percy was able to give Carewyn some advice of how to approach the King --

“His Majesty was born and raised in the Holy Roman Empire, so English is not his first language. There are some rumors that he really doesn’t even speak English at all, but I think that’s highly exaggerated -- anti-German sentiment more than anything, you know. One thing that’s for sure, though, is that what he says goes. He’s even ostracized his own son and heir, so I’ve heard, since he was more popular with the British people. But he also can’t stand the Tories -- they never quite accepted his claim to the throne, over the Stuarts...honestly, there are a lot of people who’ve never really warmed up to the man...”

“And financially?” asked Carewyn.

Percy considered this. “...Well, the King’s very wealthy, certainly -- everyone knows that. But I suppose profit would always be advantageous, for the sake of the Empire...”

Carewyn smiled wryly and shook her head. “The Navy has been commanded by the East India Trading Company more than the King himself, as of late. Beckett once equated money with power, and I think there was a reason. If the King’s been leaning so heavily on the Company, that tells me that it had financial resources the Crown is in desperate need of, so the Crown’s own coffers currently depend on the Company’s success.”

Ben got an delighted, devious glint in his eye.

“Bet he’ll be absolutely thrilled to hear what happened to his fleet, then,” he said sarcastically.

Ashe and Carewyn exchanged a smirk too.

“I reckon you could play to that desperation,” said Ashe dryly. “A lack of or loss of wealth is a very common fear among men, I’ve found.”

Carewyn nodded in agreement. 

Within twenty days, the HMS Royal docked in London, a few days ahead of schedule thanks to the almost miraculously clear weather and friendly winds. Carewyn then traveled with Percy, Ashe, and Ben to Kensington Palace. It was only one of many castles owned by the King, but according to Percy, it was the one King George I had renovated the most, so Carewyn sussed out that it was likely his favorite of his residences and so, in her opinion, the best place to seek him out first. Her intuition turned out to be spot-on -- as it turned out, both King George I and his son the Prince were there, and although the King was occupied with his Ministers and couldn’t meet with them until that evening, Prince George Augustus was eager to meet the famous Admiral Weasley and requested an audience in one of the royal drawing rooms.

The Crown Prince of England was an amiable and warm, but not a very clever or intellectual man of about forty years. He expressed a lot of interest in Carewyn’s experience as a Navy hero, sounding rather like a child as he questioned her about facing off against the likes of Orion Amari and the crew of the dreaded ship Revenge. Carewyn did have to tailor her stories somewhat, but after a while, she was able to get Prince George comfortable enough that they ended up talking casually over a game of Cribbage, where Carewyn gleaned a few other helpful insights. For one, Carewyn learned that both the King and Prince knew several languages, the first being French, which was the preferred language at court as well as among royals abroad. She also found out that the royal family had never visited the colonies themselves, and that King George I’s leading advisor on matters of business -- the First Lord of the Treasury, Sir Robert Walpole -- had been personally putting more stock in the East India Trading Company than on investing any additional money into the colonies. From the sound of things, he believed as Cutler Beckett did in the power of money over noble ancestry, and yet the Prince conceded that his wife and father both thought well of him and that he was relatively amiable.

When Carewyn finally got her audience with King George I, she sure enough encountered Sir Robert Walpole. He was a broad middle-aged man with a powdered white wig curled into ringlets who stood beside the gray-wigged, tiny-eyed elderly King -- and the news of Cutler Beckett’s fate and the outcome of the confrontation at Shipwreck Cove visibly troubled him. As Carewyn had thought, the Crown had been counting on the East India Trading Company’s profits to flow back toward England to offset the national debt brought on by the War of Spanish Succession and Britain’s other conflicts...and so, when she made her proposal to the King, she felt rather confident.

“Votre Majesté...the scourge of piracy is indeed a threat, not just to the lives of our citizens, but to the Empire’s prosperity. But the East India Trading Company is a business -- they’re not trained in military matters, nor do they know how best to use the resources of the British Crown to combat this problem. They’re not equipped to deal with sensitive matters of state, which truthfully, I believe this to be. We don’t need to get England tied up in another military conflict...particularly when there’s a much more cost-effective alternative.”

King George I raised his graying eyebrows with some interest, but did not speak.

“And what alternative would you suggest, Admiral?” asked Walpole, looking rather curious himself.

“Investing in the colonies,” said Carewyn very firmly. “There’s still a lot of undeveloped land out there -- a lot of trading potential in beaver skins, lumber, and tobacco -- the possibility of wealth that’s been left untapped by the East India Trading Company, with their intense focus on Asia. These men who have become pirates, many of them, were privateers under us during our War against the Spanish. They know shipping and are in need of honest work. They’ve asked for it explicitly. I say that we offer pardons to those pirates who would be willing to work for a new trading company in New England -- one that can be for the colonies what the Company in India already is.”

Walpole frowned deeply in thought, considering the proposal. King George straightened up slightly in his throne so he could peer down at Carewyn with a beady eye.

“You believe, truly, that these criminals would want honest employment?” the old man asked.

His voice was very quiet and laced with a husky German accent. Apparently Percy was right to think the rumors that he couldn’t speak English weren’t true, but he seemed a bit uncomfortable with the language, all the same.

Carewyn smiled at the King. “Oui, mon roi. Beasts can survive on human flesh alone, but humans need a home and money in order to live well. Et les pirates...pardon, I hope that word is correct...sont juste les humains.”

King George’s tiny eyes softened noticeably.

“Your French is very poor, Admiral,” he said in rather smug amusement, “but your word choice is correct.”

He looked at Walpole. “What say you, Earl?”

Walpole considered his answer. “...It could be an interesting proposition -- were we able to locate someone who’d be willing to put his name, reputation, and estate on the line, to fund such a company...”

“I volunteer.”

Ben took a step forward and gave a low, but clipped bow to the King.

“Lord Earl, Your Majesty, this is Captain Gordon Cooper, of the HMS Royal,” Carewyn introduced him. “He was instrumental in helping me lead our men during the battle at Shipwreck Cove.”

“I already have a small sum of money saved up, your Majesty -- enough to purchase one or two ships of my own, to start with,” said Ben. “I truly believe that the profits I could make with those two ships just from offering safe passage to the colonies would be enough to fund the purchase of another. All I’d need would be some collateral to pay a crew for each ship in advance.”

"A standard ship would only need about ten well-bodied men to sail it and transport its cargo efficiently,” Carewyn said quickly, seeing the slight hesitation in the King’s expression. "I’m no expert in finance -- ” she inclined her head respectfully in Walpole’s direction, “ -- but in order to settle more land in the colonies, trees would have to be cut down...which means more lumber to transport back to England. If the people Captain Cooper’s ships are transporting are settlers who are incentivized to build homes there -- possibly with the promise of land ownership -- then their arrival alone would spark a boom of lumber sales. That could then pay back the investment several times over.”

Walpole’s lips spread into a smile, one wryer than the King’s. He was clearly a much more discerning man than either of the two Georges, but he seemed pleased by the proposition, nonetheless.

“...Indeed it could,” he granted. He glanced at the King. “I daresay old Townsend would be pleased to have some financial leverage for his talks with the Spanish and French...”

“Mm...”

King George I gave a short, pompous nod before turning back to face Carewyn and the others.

“Very well. I grant my favor.”

Walpole inclined his head to Ben. “Captain Cooper, the Crown grants you and your Company permission to sail. We shall provide you a loan of 10,000 pounds sterling for your first twenty sailors and any necessary ship repairs, to be paid back with interest within a year. If your sailors complete a successful -- namely, profitable -- round-trip expedition to London on board those ships, then they will receive a full pardon from the British Crown for their past crimes and be permitted to continue working as part of your Company.”

Carewyn’s companions’ eyes all lit up.

“Understood,” said Ben, his face consumed by a huge grin.

“Admiral Weasley will deliver the terms to the pirates -- quietly,” said the King with a stern eye. “I expect written reports and good results.”

Carewyn’s face burst into a brilliant smile too, which she tried to obscure when she brought an arm up to her chest and gave a low bow.

“Mais oui. Merci, votre Grace -- we’ll work hard pour England, et pour vous aussi.”

The King’s eyes sparkled with the trace of a wry smile. “Vous etes un garçon très divertissant, Amiral. J'espère que votre français se sera amélioré lors de notre prochaine rencontre.”

With the King’s blessing, Ben purchased the ships needed in London and, with Percy’s help, prepared them for their first expedition. Carewyn returned to the HMS Lion with Ashe, taking it out to sea just far enough that the Flying Dutchman could emerge from the water and pull up alongside the Navy ship. Carewyn relayed King George I’s decision to Jacob in her cabin, and the Captain of the Flying Dutchman was so overwhelmed with pride that he threw his arms around his little sister and squeezed her with all of his strength. Carewyn, however, found herself unable to celebrate.

“What’s wrong, Wyn?” said Jacob. He tilted his head to look at her, his eel-like ponytail twitching almost curiously behind him. “You did it -- you convinced the King. The Lords at Shipwreck Cove, all the people who live there, will be able to live normal lives again, and it’s all thanks to you.”

“I know,” said Carewyn lowly.

Despite herself, she just couldn’t meet her brother’s gaze. Her eyes lingered on his shoulder.

“...I just wish I could’ve given you that kind of normal life too,” she admitted.

Jacob’s blue eyes darkened. Bringing up both of his arms, he encircled Carewyn and held her tightly against his chest as he rested his head on top of hers. Carewyn bit her lip, trying to hold in her emotions as best she could.

“I wanted to bring you home,” she murmured. “The whole reason I wanted to fight for a world where pirates could be forgiven was because I wanted you to be able to come home...you and Bill and Charlie and Jules and Orion...”

Jacob squeezed Carewyn that bit tighter. Both Cromwells were crying now, even though they both stubbornly fought to keep themselves from breaking down into full sobs.

Ashe shared a grim look  with Jacob over Carewyn’s head. Then he came up beside both of them, resting a hand on the crown of Carewyn’s head and leaning his forehead against his lover’s, and hummed something low under his breath. The resonant bass tone seemed to slowly calm Carewyn’s heart and breathing and help the tears ebb.

After a moment, she took a deep breath and looked up at Ashe with muted gratitude, before she turned back to her brother.

“...Now that I’ve done my duty and made sure the Crown’s terms were delivered, I intend to send in my resignation to the Navy. I can’t support Ben’s new Company while I’m still Admiral without worrying about a conflict of interest, after all.”

She offered a weak wry smile, which then slowly morphed into a much more gentle one.

“Besides...I think I’m ready to finally stop fighting.”

Jacob’s teary eyes softened fondly. “Then live, my sweet Wyn. Live in peace and happiness...”

With a heavy breath, he picked up the Dead Man’s Chest he’d brought with him back off Carewyn’s desk and faced Ashe.

“I’ll need to head to the next world soon,” said Jacob. “Would you...?”

Ashe inclined his head in a solemn nod. “Give it to me, Jack.”

Very carefully, Jacob placed the Chest into Ashe’s open hands, trailing his own much dirtier, faintly trembling hands over his lover’s once he’d taken it. His eyes darted from Ashe to Carewyn, looking heartbroken and almost starved -- like he longed so much to never look away from them again.

“Be safe,” Jacob mumbled, “and...please, keep a weather eye on the horizon for me?”

“How dare you ask me that.”

Ashe trailed his lips along the side of Jacob’s face in lingering, messy kisses, only pausing briefly to look him in the eye, blazing brown on blue.

“I will always wait, Jack. I will always find you again.”

Carewyn’s eyes were just as soft as she reached up into the inside pocket of her jacket and slowly withdrew a familiar star-like, sapphire-and-diamond pendant for Jacob to see.

It was the one he himself had given her on Isle de Muerta.

Jacob’s eyes flooded with more tears as Carewyn wrapped both of her arms around her brother’s neck, hugging him tightly just as she had then.

“We’ll be there, Jacob,” she murmured. Two streaks of tears slid from her closed eyes. “I promise.”

Jacob delivered the British Crown’s terms to the Brethren Court at Shipwreck Cove within two days, after he’d returned from ferrying the proper souls to the next life. Within a month, a ship full of twenty sailors had arrived in London, ready to man the red-and-blue-painted ships Ben Copper had purchased. The two ships set sail for the colonies, the first up to New England and the second down to the Caribbean, which allowed Percy to return home to Port Royal and go about his duties as Commodore and Ben to finally be reunited with his love Wendy Gordon and propose marriage as a free and prosperous man.

Once the two ships returned to London another month later, the first wave of pardons was signed. From there, Ben’s enterprise -- the Gordon-Cooper Trading Company -- grew, taking on more ships that then proceeded to employ the once-most-wanted criminals in the world and give them a chance at a new life. And Carewyn -- retiring with full honors from the Navy and settling in New York City with Ashe under her real name for the first time since she was a child -- visited the dock every morning to see every ship that came in.

The first ship to New York brought Ellie Hopper. The once-Pirate Lord of the Mediterranean Sea ended up colliding with the soft-spoken third son of the well-respected horse breeder Johan Schaefer in upstate New York, and the two were married within a few years.

The second ship brought Merula Snyde and the stylish Frenchman Andre Egwu. The captain of the so-called “most powerful ship on the seven seas” continued as a merchant, breaking off from the Gordon-Cooper Trading Company to buy her own ship and engage in the tobacco and sugar trade between New England and the southern colonies. Andre opened up his own clothing shop in Philadelphia and soon became one of the most sought-after tailors in Pennsylvania.

The third ship brought Bill and Jules.

When Bill caught sight of Carewyn at the dock, he practically barreled his way down the ship’s gangplank and shoved a good ten people aside to reach his best friend. The two gingers and Jules then clung to each other for what felt like hours, tears of joy streaming down their faces as Bill trailed a hand through Carewyn’s now-loose-flowing hair and Jules fawned over Carewyn’s pretty new dress.

Bill and Jules also brought a letter from Charlie with them --

My twin, Carey,

I’m sorry I won’t be able to give you this news in person -- but I won’t be accepting my pardon for a while yet.

At Shipwreck Cove, I met a woman named Sarahi (I don’t believe you know her, but she knows you, and Orion spoke very well of her), who grew up in the area of the Pacific Ocean. According to what she’s said, it’s been left largely in chaos since the death of Bartholomew Sharp -- sea serpents, carnivorous sirens, giant squids, the whole lot...and as Pirate Lord of the Pacific, it’s my responsibility to manage things there. But hey, you know I’ve never been afraid of a little adventure! Particularly when I’ve got a good crew on my side. My First Mate Barnaby’s injuries have completely healed, so we, Sarahi, and Samantha O’Connell will be heading out within the next three days on the new and improved Revolution. Sam and Sarahi helped me paint some red dragon wings on the sides, just as a flourish!

I miss you so much, and I miss Bill already, just writing this -- but I know that we won’t ever be truly apart, even when I can only see you in my mind’s eye. I know you’ll probably be worried about me, Carey, but please don’t be. I’d trust my crew with my life -- I already have, honestly, and they sure haven’t let me down yet! I can’t wait for you to meet them. I reckon you’d probably “mother” the hell out of Barnaby, and Sarahi was really happy when I told her how good of a singer you are, so she’s very excited about the prospect of singing with you. And Sam...I reckon you and she will get on famously.

Remember, Carey...we’re family, now and forever! You’ll be in my mind and heart always, until I sail up into New York Harbor and see you again! If Bill hasn’t given you the biggest hug ever for my sake, then give him a good kick to the shin and remind him. Take good care of him, Jules, and Percy for me. Love you so much.

Your brother,

Charlie

Bill and Jules Weasley ended up settling down and starting a family of their own in New York City, just twelve blocks away from where Carewyn and Ashe lived. It was not uncommon over the years for both Carewyn and Ashe to pick up babysitting duties, though Ashe most frequently would just use his particular talent for singing to put any fussy children right to sleep and then drop them off in either Carewyn’s or Jules’s lap.

Over the next six months, more and more red-and-blue ships passed through New York Harbor, dropping off more pardoned ex-pirates so they could start new lives in the colonies. Then one day, toward the end of spring, Carewyn left the brick house she shared with Ashe as if to head for the dock as usual, only to stop mid-step at the sound of someone shouting her name.

“Carewyn!”

She turned around, her ginger hair flourishing behind her as if in slow motion.

A man had just leapt off the back of a carriage he’d been hanging off of without the driver’s knowledge and was now running toward her. Carewyn squinted, taking in his unfamiliar dark ponytail and sailor’s clothes -- then, within seconds, she recognized the handsomely smiling, bearded face and his shining, galaxy-like eyes.

“Orion?” she breathed.

Her heart seemed to seize up, as if it were being squeezed in someone’s hand and yet being given wings at the exact same time. Then she threw herself into a run, and it slammed against her rib cage, as she ran to him, flat-out ignoring how her knees kept getting caught in her hoops and her heeled shoes pinched her feet.

“Orion -- ORION!”

She just about tripped into his arms. Orion caught her and swooped down on her, burying his face in her hair.

“Carewyn...” he murmured against her neck.

“Orion,” said Carewyn.

Her voice was strained with the effort of trying to contain her joy. It felt like she was being stretched at the seams and probably could’ve exploded from all the intense emotions beating at the edges of her heart. She secured her arms around his neck and clung to him -- she brought her lips up to the side of his temple and kissed it, resting her forehead against his briefly before finally pulling away enough to look him in the face.

Orion was beaming from ear to ear as he brought up a hand to trail his thumb gently along her cheek.

“...Carewyn Cromwell...I don’t think you’ve ever looked more fair.”

Carewyn smiled. “Does that mean you like my new look?”

“Yes,” said Orion, his eyes grazing her black-and-white-striped dress and the diamond-and-sapphire pendant tied with a black ribbon around her neck briefly, “but that’s not why you look so fair. You’ve been my moon goddess, previously...but now you are Libertas, personified.”

Carewyn laughed, her face contorted with confusion. “What?”

“Libertas, Carewyn,” repeated Orion, his huge smile never faltering. “The goddess of freedom! Freedom is the most beautiful thing, Carewyn. I’ve longed for it all my life, but never could truly have it, whether because I lacked the means of survival or because I was a pirate who could only live on the run. And when we first met again, on the Artemis...the thing that hurt me the most, seeing you again...was knowing that you were trapped by your position -- enslaved to the duty that made you hide who you were and march lock-step with the likes of Cutler Beckett. But now you...in this moment, here...you are free. It shines in your eyes, on your face -- it radiates off of you like a star, Carewyn. Better still -- because of you, I am free. For the first time in my life...I’m completely free to chase my heart’s desire...”

Orion’s smile seemed to shrink slightly, not out of lack of happiness but out of something almost like nerves, as he reached into his lone remaining belt and slipped out a familiar black-lidded compass.

"McNully, Skye and I have been offered salaried positions with the Gordon-Cooper Trading Company,” he said a bit more seriously, “so I may have to return to sea in the future, but...”

When he opened the compass, its scarlet arrow was pointed right at Carewyn.

“...My heart’s desire has not changed. I would always return, if you...”

He trailed off, his tone oddly shy for how calm his face appeared. The once-Admiral’s red-painted lips spread into a bigger, fuller smile too as she rested her hands on top of his.

“I wouldn’t have married you in the middle of a storm if I didn’t want to build a life with you, Orion Amari,” she said gently. “Or is it Cromwell now? We may want to make a decision about that...”

She smoothed some dark hair out of his eyes.

“I already told you that I want you to have a home. If you need to fly like a bird...then I’ll be your nest.”

Carewyn placed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. His black eyes softening, Orion brought up a hand to hold the back of her head, holding it in place. He kissed her chastely in return once, twice, and then deepened the kiss on the third go. After he released her, he lingered, his lips brushing up against hers as he smiled down at her.

“...My dear Bedlam maid...I will always follow your song home.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes sparkled affectionately. “Then I’ll never stop singing.”

“See that you don’t,” said Orion, his black eyes glittering with some wry amusement. “I do believe I said I’d envisioned a life for you where you married a man that you could sing for.”

Carewyn laughed quietly, but after a moment, she brought her forehead beside her husband’s, her arms secure around his neck as she held him close and sang for him.

“So now these two are married, and happy may they be, Like turtle doves together, in love and unity.

All pretty maids, with patience wait, that have got loves at sea – I love my love because I know...my love…loves…me.”

[utanoprinces]

Echoes from Once Upon a Time

A Story of the Emerald Dragon

(Note: This story largely revolves around death + loss! If this topic distresses you, I’d advise avoiding this installment! It also follows my past with Reiji in this au.)

“I want twins, my girl~ One of each. Won’t it be cute? The best.” She laughs. “T-twins? I don’t think I’m capable of that… That would be so much work.” He nuzzles her nose, breathing in her hazelnut scent. “You can do it. If anyone can, it’s you.” She kisses his nose… but then looks sad. “The curse… Reiji, they still haven’t found brides, Ran or Myu. Ai is struggling with his, too.” He brushes his claws through her hair, causing her to sigh. “They’ll find them. They will. And we can all live happily together.” “I hope so… …I love you.”

He opens his eyes, hand resting on cold, empty sheets, and he sighs. The ache in his chest still has not eased. Next time, he hopes they can succeed.

~~

“Open your eyes.” “Wow! It’s covered in emeralds. It looks so ‘you’. A mirror, right? Thank you.” “Not just any mirror~” He opens the clasp and lifts it to show her. “Stay here and press this when you see something interesting happen.” “Um. Okay?” He teleports to his bedroom and draws a heart shape in the air in front of his wall mirror. It ripples and then a picture of her face appears. Her eyes go wide. “Reiji? What is this?” “Ai helped me set up the spell. Sometimes you disappear, ya know? And I never want to be parted from you, so… Now, anytime we want to see each other when we’re separated, we can contact each other with this.” She laughs warmly. “You know I disappear when I need time to myself right?” He pouts. “But I worry about you! What if you get lost in the caverns?” “Oh, all right. As if I could deny a face like that, you cutie.” He can’t resist teleporting again, right into her arms so he can kiss her. His heart feels so warm.

The echoes of her laughter fade and he burrows deeper into a pile of her clothes, a mound on top of his treasure hoard. It’s too soon. Too new. But no matter how many times he casts the spell, she won’t ever be on the other side again.

~~ “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” It’s not often that Ai is emotional, but for once, his face is twisted. His hair is a wild mess and pearls fall from his eyes as he weeps. Ranmaru feels extremely unsettled by the sight but admits that it’s not entirely unwarranted. If he had succeeded in seducing his princess, they may have had more time. Reiji would have had more time. Ranmaru glances at Camus. For once, they are not at each other’s throats. The grief oppressing the castle is too thick… and it would be disrespectful. They’re that mature, at least. Reiji opens the door to his room and stares at Ai, kneeling on the ground. “It wasn’t your fault. You can’t force love, Ai-Ai.” The youngest of them breaks into a wail. “She’s gone because I failed! I’ve doomed us all! This is my fault!” “Stop,” Reiji growls, and it silences Ai immediately. Reiji is never cross, never bitter. Even as her body turned to petals in his hands and blew away with the dawn wind, he was still trying to smile. But now his eyes are cold. His face blank. “Do you really have to make this about yourself? Just… stop.” He closes the door. Ai wipes his face and then disappears into nothingness, having gone to brood. Ranmaru sighs. Who knows how long it will take to recover…?

~~ He can’t bring himself to burn them, the drawings. Ten years worth of her practice, her efforts. He sees the shaky lines from her earlier work. The harsher colors and the funny proportions of his horns and his head. And why is he breathing a gold flame? She knew by then that he breathes silver, right? His hands shake. His thumb claw pierces the page and he quickly sets it down on her desk. He’s too scared to look at her latest. He’s afraid he’ll find unfinished works… ones that maybe had hope of completion at one time, but now will never see book or frame. “Why do you always want to draw me, kiddo?” “Because I love your horns! They’re so… twisty and sharp! Look.” She gets up on her knees and grabs his horns, running her fingers over the many ridges and flanges. She seems to remember herself then, flushing as she makes eye contact with only inches between them. He can’t resist breathing out the essence of morning glories, the tartness of pineapple. An energy one cannot exactly sense but only feel. She freezes as it overtakes her, eyelids fluttering, and he pulls her down into him, folding his lips into hers. It’s their first. She trembles, gripping his hair because it’s the only thing loose enough to hold and she was probably aware that if she tugged his clothes he’d tease her for it. If he had held back then, would she still be alive? He curses his impulsivity, gathers the drawings into a pile, and brings them to his hoard.

~~ “Reiji…” She sighs, hands sliding down the side of his head. He feels the softness of her body as she shifts to get comfortable on his neck. He’s thankful he’s not like Ranmaru, covered in spikes. It would make being this close so much harder. Her fingers move to stroke the curve of his jaw. “I want to spend forever with you, my emerald king.” His tail thrashes and he flexes his talons. “I’m prepared,” he speaks to her mind as softly as he can, “to give you half my life.” She stiffens and lifts her head. “What?” He blows out a cloud of Essence. “Do you know how long, how many ways, I’ve loved you, my girl?” Tiny, human tears drip onto his scales. He lifts his head so she slides down his neck onto his back. He turns to look at her, face covered by her hands. He noses them aside. “Don’t hide your face from me.” She’s crying, sobbing even. “You can’t… Are you serious? You really mean it?” He realizes what, exactly, he’s just said and suddenly he’s small and human and she’s straddling his belly. His face is burning. “I! Meant to do that a bit more properly!” “That’s not the problem!” She lightly smacks his chest. “You!! Want to marry me? For real?” He grabs her hands so she stops hitting him and breathes a curl of silver smoke at her. “Of course I do.” “Reiji!” He laughs as she throws her arms around his neck, sobbing into his chest. He’s over it now, for the most part. The passage of five decades has a way of numbing the pain, not to mention burying everything that was solely hers beneath his entire hoard…locked beneath vines he’s too nervous to question the cause for. The only things he leaves are ones that might have use for a future bride. Some unworn clothes. Empty parchment. The… mirror. That’s not to say he’s forgotten. No, as if he could forget the happiness he felt with her. She was always particularly sensitive to his Essence, falling limp and dizzy in his arms if he got too heated. So cute. On solstice nights he feels it the strongest–when Fae magic fills the valleys surrounding the mountain. He sits on one of the towers, wings hanging down like great, viridian sails, and allows his heart to yearn for the soft touch at his cheek. The sounds of sleeping breaths. The intimacy of being wrapped up in each other for sleep whenever he wanted. Perhaps, someday, he can find that again.

~~ There is a sound few people have heard… and those that have can rarely find the words to describe it fully. 'Imagine the sound of pain concentrated to its utmost form,’ they might say, but does that even tell you anything? It was a winter morning when an agonized cry reverberated through the valley, shaking the mountain to its core. A roar, deafeningly loud and raw enough that you could hear the vocal cords scraping. It was lanced through with the cries of a man. Two voices, intertwined and made up of a single emotion: heart-shattering anguish. The other three teleported themselves to the tower the moment they could hear again, already fearing what they knew in their hearts to be true. Ai had just finished explaining that his princess had left, deciding to chance the caves in the hopes she could escape him. Perhaps it was that fact that sealed the fate of Reiji’s wife.

They find him in his room, wings thrashing the air as he beats his tail on the ground. Molten silver pours from his eyes and he whips his head back and forth. They enter, Ranmaru moving towards the lump that Reiji is hunched over. A voice erupts in their minds. “Don’t touch her! I’ll kill you if you touch her!” “What’s happened?” Camus calls over the continuing roars and crashes of Reiji’s hoard slamming against the walls like a violent sea. Ranmaru moves a bit closer, despite Reiji snapping his teeth. He tries to get a better look but Reiji reveals the truth before he can peer around his talons. He pulls her limp body up to his chest, cradling it like it’s made of glass. Her head lolls to the side, hair falling away to reveal that her lips are blue. Ranmaru closes his eyes, sinking to the floor. Ai begins to look worried. “What…” “She’s dead,” Ranmaru says. Another roaring cry shakes the castle. Ranmaru winces from the pain. “How?” Camus asks, voice taut. “Why? The curse… We were moving forward within the parameters…” Reiji suddenly goes still and silent. Smoke pours from him as he shrinks. When it clears, he’s holding her body to his chest, weeping. Ai grits his teeth and sobs once. Ranmaru and Camus look at him questioningly. His shoulders shake. “She was… with child,” he whispers in a horrified, awed tone, almost as if he’s only just realized it. The room is silent save for Reiji’s choking wails. Ai shakes his head. “She asked me for a spell to lessen nausea. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.” “Reiji…” Ranmaru asks roughly, turning to look at him. Reiji cups her head, claws running through her hair. He looks up at Ranmaru, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. His lip trembles as he breathes. “…twins. We were going to have twins.” His face crumples in despair, hanging over her as silver drops coalesce on her skin and form rivulets.

The others share hollow looks between them…

…and they know it will be a long time before any of them can try again.

END

[crashdevlin]

Well-trained

Author’s Note: Written to fulfill my Free Space for @spnkinkbingo, I chose Pain Kink and threw in some nice Dom/sub dynamics and the rare pair of Debriel x Reader. It’s also a take on this thing I shared two weeks ago about getting my newest tattoo. I blame the Debriel on @thewhiterabbit42. They welcomed me to this trashcan with open arms...

Pairing(s): Dean x Gabriel x Reader

Summary: Y/n’s boyfriends take her to get her anti-possession tattoo.

Word Count: 2526

Story Warnings: Dom!Gabriel, Switch!Dean, Sub!Reader, pain kink, established poly relationship, possessiveness, handsy tattoo artist... no sex, just kink 

The parlor was well-lit and smelled of cleaning solvent. You'd insisted upon it. You didn't want the neons and black-lights of the parlor down the street. You didn't want the place to smell like incense. You were getting a medical procedure done, that's how you saw it. A tattoo was art, but it was also more disruptive to your epidermis than most laparoscopic surgeries these days and you wanted it done somewhere clean, somewhere that smelled like a hospital.

You filled out your paperwork and sat in the waiting area while the tattoo artist set up his area. Gabriel took the opportunity to flip through the sample books, a popsicle in his hand despite the cold weather outside. “I'm thinking a badass dragon across my shoulders. What do ya think, babe?”

“I think you could do it yourself with a snap,” Dean responded, not looking up from his phone where he was losing Words With Friends to both Mary and Sam.

“Not the babe I was talkin’ to, but you're right. I could do hers the same way if you wa-”

“No. She's gotta get it done right, Gabe.”

Gabriel turned to him, eyebrow cocked over his perfect honey eyes. “You think I'd fuck it up? I could have that thing done perfectly and completely healed in a fraction of a second and she wouldn't have to worry about-”

Dean dragged his eyes up and green met gold. “The pain is half the point. You don't heal her when we tan her hide in the bedroom, why would you deprive her of what she likes, here?”

The archangel blinked slowly and nodded. “Got me there, Winchester.”

Dean turned his attention to you, nudging you with his elbow. “You nervous, baby girl?” You shook your head. ‘Nervous’ wasn't the right word. ‘Anxious’ was closer. “You sure? I mean, you're about to have a big Romanian dude with ⅞ gauges in his ears seeing the glory you usually reserve for me and a damn archangel.”

You smiled. “Not all my glory, Dean. Besides, Gabe’ll be able to tell if he’s thinking impure thoughts and he can give him his just desserts if he acts unprofessionally.”

“Don’t give him that permission, y/n. He’ll kill the guy. Dude’s gonna be full of impure thoughts once your shirt comes off.”

“Come on. He doesn’t need permission, Dean.” Gabriel’s eyes sparkled at that. “And the shirt’s not coming off. It’s why I wore a camisole instead of a t-shirt. Just gonna pull the left side down. He shouldn’t even get to see any nipple.”

“Shame,” Dean rumbled. “Definitely love it when other guys get hard for you, coveting what’s ours.”

“Don’t worry, Dean-o. He already wants her.” Gabe tossed the stick from his popsicle at the trash can by the door and flopped down next to you on the black leather couch. “He keeps wondering which of us is her boyfriend. Thinks he’s more attractive than me, but if she’s your girl, he doesn’t have a shot.”

You scoffed out a chuckle. “You guys should put on a show. See how he acts when he thinks you’re my gay best friends and I’m fair game.”

“You hear this girl? She’s trying to get this guy killed,” Gabriel said, an almost proud tinge to his words.

“Am not, but come on. It should come as no surprise that I like games, Gabe. Why else would I have fallen for you?”

“I’m adorable?”

Dean smiled and leaned across in front of you to wrap his fingers in Gabriel’s hair and pull him in for a kiss. It was a rare thing for you to be caught between, in public at least. The hunter usually kept his PDA with the archangel to a bare minimum. If he was going to neck with someone on a park bench or something, he wanted to know people were staring because they were enjoying the show not because they were judging him.

Each man put a hand on your thigh, digging their fingertips into your flesh as their tongues danced across each other in front of your face. You immediately flooded with heat, your cheeks warming under the stimulus.

“I’m ready for you, sweetheart,” the tattoo artist, Kevin, said, walking into the waiting area. The look on his face was a mix of disgust at the display of man-love on his couch and excitement at the thought that those guys were obviously together and not with you.

Your boyfriends separated once Gabe gave Dean’s bottom lip a nibble and all three of you stood to follow Kevin back to his work area. He sat you down on a seat that reminded you of a weight bench without the bar and lifted the stencil he’d made of the anti-possession sigil. “Where we puttin’ it, darlin’?”

You placed your hand over your heart. “Right about here.” His lips twitched at the corners but he held back his smile.

“Okay, just lean on back and look straight ahead.” You did as you were told, looking straight ahead as he pulled the straps of your bra and camisole down your left arm. Based on the cold air on your skin, you could tell he’d pulled the fabric down almost to the edge of your areola. His gloved fingers carefully placed the stencil and he had you stand and check the placement, which was perfect. You sat down again, getting comfortable. Dean sat in the chair in the corner and Gabe leaned against the wall.

“Play a ‘D’ on Sam’s ‘SOPHISTICATE’. You’ll get the triple,” you coached from your chair as Kevin retrieved his tattoo gun. Dean’s eyebrows raised and he pursed his lips as his phone buzzed.

“Thanks. He's probably just been waiting for a ‘D’.”

“No prob.”

“Keep looking at him. It stretches your skin just right,” Kevin said.

“Okay.”

You took a deep breath, scene starting as the gun touched your skin. The pain was instant, and a throbbing pulse of need took up in your core because of it. You focused on Dean. Not the pain or what it was doing to you, just Dean and breathing. Dean and breathing. Not the wetness slowly seeping onto your underwear. Just Dean and breathing.

“Wow. Is this thing even working?” Kevin commented after a few minutes. Dean's eyes jumped from his phone to your chest, where the outline of the symbol was definitely starting to be etched into your skin. “You haven't even flinched, sweetheart.” Dean smirked and looked back down at his phone. You didn't respond as Kevin started in again, his pinkie finger dipping under the edge of your shirt in a way that could have been an accident but totally wasn't.

“I could tattoo you forever, y/n. You're, like, the perfect client,” Kevin praised a few minutes later.

Dean nodded without looking at you. “Thank you,” you answered, now that you'd gotten permission.

The gun started its trek across your collarbone and the sharper pain forced your eyes closed, but no sound escaped you, still. “I mean, I have had grown-ass men, like big burly guys like me in this chair and not a single one has been as tough as you. I could tattoo you ‘til I was blue in the face.”

“I'd be worried if you went blue in the face, Kev,” Gabriel spoke up.

“I'm just saying, she’s a fuckin’ rock. She barely moves. She's got a pain tolerance to die for. I mean, I'm stabbing prime fuckin’ real estate here and you're barely even acknowledging it's happening.” He turned his attention back to you as he finished speaking.

Dean's smirk made you bite your lip. “Yeah.” He looked up and caught your eyes. “She's well-trained, aren't you, baby girl?”

“Yes, sir.” Kevin's hand twitched at the words and he seemed to catch the tone. Of course he didn't understand that he was just a tool in your scene, that he was no more relevant to the game than a flogger or cock cage. But he would come to understand.

His fingers dipped under your camisole again, this time far enough to brush your nipple. Dean caught it this time. “Hey, Gabe,” Dean said, quietly, a deep rumble in his voice.

“I saw. That's two.”

“And we're going to give an opportunity for a third?”

“Well, we don't want the job left unfinished. If I explode him now, she'll only have an outline… and not even a full one.” Kevin snatched his hand away from your body and looked up at the other two men, trying to ascertain what Gabriel meant by ‘explode him’.

You still didn't move. As Kevin determined there were no explosives for Gabriel to explode him with, you stayed looking off at Dean, whose green eyes had taken a darkness. “What's wrong, guys?” Kevin asked, trying to sell the idea that he didn't know why they were upset.

“You think we're blind?” Dean leaned forward. “You've got more than enough access to her ‘prime real estate’, Kev. You don't need to be tryin’ to get more.”

“I… I mean, if she's uncomfortable with anything I've done, she should-”

“Y/n?” Gabriel called out.

“Yes, sir?”

“How you feel about this fucking disgrace sticking his fingers where they don't belong?”

“I don't like it, sir. He's not supposed to do that.”

“What do you think Dean and I should do about it, lollipop?”

“Whatever makes you happy, sir, but I'm partial to the head-splosion.”

You couldn't see Kevin's eyes go wide with fear, but you could see Dean lick his lips and Gabriel raise his hand. “I wanna make you happy, sweet stuff, but head-splody is such a Lucifer move. And it's a bitch to clean up.”

Dean stood up, phone going into his pocket as he walked around you to stand next to Kevin. “How about Kevin keeps his hands off'a our real estate, he doesn't make our girl feel any more uncomfortable than he already has, and maybe, just maybe, we don't kill him and wreck his shop?”

There was a moment of silence as Kevin debated with himself what to do and were they serious. “If you call the cops, they will arrive to blood and body parts viciously strewn around your shop. I don't usually go for the direct explosion death, I like a little more flair, but I'm more than capable of it.”

Kevin cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah, I'll… I'm sorry. I'm gonna finish the, uh, the thing.”

“Good call.” Dean stepped back and looked down at you. “You need to move, baby girl?”

“May I, sir? This chair is very uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, why don't you get up and stretch, huh? Kev ain't comin’ near you again ‘til he stops pissin’ his pants.”

You stood, smiling, scene effectively paused as you stretched your arms across your chest. You turned to the mirror, ignoring the terror still on Kevin's face as you examined the start of the tattoo in the mirror. “Well, you're a terrifying guy, Dean,” Gabriel teased. “You shouldn't have been so hard on the man.”

“Me? You're the one talking about exploding the guy, name-dropping your brother ‘cause who's gonna be frightened of Gabriel: the trumpeter?”

“A lot of people!” Gabe defended.

“Maybe you as Loki, but not you as-”

“Guys!” you called out, before nodding your head toward Kevin, whose eyes were huge with shock. “Don't think he's quite ready for all that.” You turned to the mirror and smiled. “You're doing a wonderful job, Kevin. With the tattoo and the scene. Don't worry about my boys. They won't hurt you.”

“Speak for yourself, y/n. He touches that tit again and I'm gonna fuck him up.”

You rolled your eyes at Dean and shook your head. “He kinda has to if we want the tattoo finished. I mean, unless you want me to get possessed by demons.”

“What are you people?” Kevin asked.

“Well, one of us isn't even a people,” Dean joked, slapping his hand across Gabriel's ass.

“The short answer, Kev? Dangerous. Those two much more than me, and you had the bright idea to touch what belongs to them. So, ya know… you should refrain from that shit in the future.”

“Or you won't have a future,” Dean finished.

When you sat back down, Kevin started to tattoo you again, your head stayed turned to the corner where Dean was sitting. He moved quickly, without the inappropriate touching and without the praising remarks. Just Dean and breathing, Dean and breathing… pain and dizziness, pain and dizziness. Your breaths went heavy to compensate the flushing heat assaulting your skin.

“There she goes,” Gabe whispered to Dean as your eyes crossed, going unfocused as endorphins rushed through your system and all there was in your world was Dean. “She’s so cute in subspace.”

“Is she gonna pass out?” Kevin asked, but you didn’t hear him. All you could see was Dean. All you could hear was Gabe.

“Nah, she ain’t gonna pass out. Just finish the tat, man,” Dean demanded.

“She did pass out that one time, didn’t you, tootsie roll?”

“I awayaoh,” came out of your mouth but Gabe just nodded in complete understanding of your drugged-out mumbling.

“She only passed out because you didn't put the whip down when I said to.”

“I’m sorry, Dean, but what part of ‘archangel’ do you think puts you in charge, huh?” Gabriel gestured to himself, then Dean.

“Well, if you had listened, she wouldn't have passed out. Too much pain puts her over.”

“I know that, now, don't I?” Gabriel took your hand, kneeling next to you. “You good to go for her aftercare, Deanie Baby, or do you want me to handle it?”

Dean stood. “Huh, here I was thinking we were both her doms and we'd take care of her together.”

“Ya silly switch, you. Of course we can do it together. I thought you might wanna lose Words with your family some more, that's all.”

“The day I pick games on my phone over you and y/n, explode me.”

“Gonna hold you to that.” Gabriel popped to his feet, looking down at you as Kevin finished your tattoo, sliding petroleum jelly over the new symbol. “Great job, Kev. I'll take it from here,” he said, snapping his fingers.

“Gabe…” Dean's voice was full of warning.

“I didn't kill him. Just thought he should know what it feels like to be pawed at against his will.”

“Where is he?”

“Currently performing a striptease for a dozen ladies in their eighties.”

Dean chuckled as he reached down and picked you up. You nuzzled into his neck, still riding out your high. “Come on, let's get her home. She's gonna need to get her sugars back up after she's done in subspace.”

“And after that, we can see if I can get you there,” Gabriel said, quirking an eyebrow.

“Told you, man, I can't get there. Just can't let go enough.” Dean leaned down and pressed his lips to the archangel’s. “But I'm happy to let you try.” He winked as Gabriel reached out to take his hand. “Sir.”

KITCHEN SINK TAGS @heyitscam99 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mrs-meghan-winchester @henrymorganme @lonely-skys @allykat2108 @mogaruke @flamencodiva @team-free-will-you-idjits-67

SUPERNATURAL TAGS @letsby @mrswhozeewhatsis @adoptdontshoppets @spnskinnyballs @deansenwackles @gayspacenerd

GAGA FOR GREEN EYES TAGS @akshi8278

[terriblelifechoices]

Does anyone else do the thing, where you write something and put it aside because a newer, shinier idea came along and then totally forget that you wrote it?  And then you find it and go, oh, hey, this is neat.  I wonder where the writer is going with this.

And then: Fuck.  I’m the writer.  The writer is me.

Please tell me you do this, or I’m going to feel really embarrassed.  Because apparently that’s a thing I did.

Cleaning out the gdocs and came across this.  My notes say I was writing it for @thesilverqueenlady which is probably why I was going for Graves in the style of Hannibal Lecter.  I have no memory of writing it, or any idea where I was going with it.

IDK if anyone else is interested in reading it, but.  Here’s an untitled, unfinished and abandoned ficbit.  If you want to take this and finish it, please do.

In which Grindelwald demonstrates his wizard nazi tendencies with human experimentation.  Graves is not exactly human anymore, but he refuses to let anyone make him Frankenstein’s Creature.

Graves had a list of things he wanted to do once he’d broken out of Grindelwald’s prison.  He’d written it down on a scrap of fabric from a shirt that had long since been reduced to rags.  He’d used his own blood as ink, for lack of any other available writing instrument.  

Kill Grindelwald was the only thing on it, and once Graves realized that the concerned presence of MACUSA’s healers meant that he was free, that was exactly what he tried to do.

He honestly wasn’t sure how long he’d been Grindelwald’s captive – equal parts prisoner and lab rat.  He’d tried counting the days at first, but he couldn’t account for how much time he’d spent unconscious in the aftermath of torture or Grindelwald’s experiments.  All he knew was that he was different now: stronger, better, faster, and still not good enough to get out of Grindelwald’s prison.  He’d taught himself to pick locks, to break curses, to escape – to survive – by whatever means necessary.  He fed his rage and frustration into the thing he’d become – a test subject, the first of Grindelwald’s shock troops, useful for experimenting on but useless in every other regard because his rage helped him shake off the mental conditioning Grindelwald kept trying to implement.

Graves was fairly certain that whatever he was now wasn’t human anymore.  Not entirely, at any rate.

MACUSA’s wards were nothing compared to Grindelwald’s.  Graves ripped through them, dodging counter curses and hexes thrown at him by MACUSA’s best and brightest.  He slammed into Grindelwald, too-sharp teeth bared in a triumphant smile.

“Miss me?” he purred, his too-sharp fingernails drawing blood.

It took four Senior Aurors, a house elf and Madam fucking President to pry Graves off of Grindelwald.  Graves took some satisfaction in the fact that he managed to half-kill the bastard in the process.  If Picquery hadn’t arrived when she did, he probably could have managed to finish the job.

“Director Graves!” she thundered.

Graves gave the silver chains around his wrists a contemptuous look.  There was a reason suspects were supposed to be bound with their wrists behind their backs.  Was this deference, to the man he’d been, or mere stupidity?

No matter.  Graves flexed his wrists, straining against the chains for just a second, and then he broke them.

“Attacking a suspect in MACUSA’s custody is an actionable offense,” Picquery said, keeping her voice level and her wand trained on him.  Her eyes were round with – what, surprise?  Or was it terror?  MACUSA’s cuffs were supposed to be impossible to break.  “I should fire you.”

Graves looked at her.  He’d been her man, once.  He’d voted for her, bled for her, for MACUSA, for his people and not a one of the silly mewling sheep had noticed that he was gone.

Grindelwald’s blood was still on his fingers.  Graves wanted to lick them clean.

Whatever he was now, it wasn’t an Auror.  Graves wanted blood, not justice, and if he stayed here, he’d try to take it.

“You can’t fire me,” he said, making his voice sharp and cruel.  He had to cut ties with MACUSA completely; had to slam that door shut so violently that the impact crumbled the walls around it to dust.  “What right have you to my service?  You let a genocidal fanatic walk among you, wearing my face, and not one of you noticed.”  He dropped the badge he’d lifted from Grindelwald’s pocket during the scuffle on the table between them.  “I quit.”

“You what,” Picquery said.

“I said I fucking quit,” said Graves, and Apparated out of the holding cells, straight to the front gate of the manor house.

*

The Graves family’s ancestral home was located in upstate New York, deep enough into the woods to shelter them from scandal, No-Maj’s and the occasional high society invading army.  It was warded against all manner of dark creatures and spells.

Graves watched with irritated resignation as the wards lit up in warning, red sparks against the night sky like fireworks in July.

He licked the last of Grindelwald’s blood from his fingers and considered the wards.  They were old, almost as old as MACUSA itself, and old magic couldn’t be bullied or intimidated into doing anything it didn’t want to.

It could be reasoned with, though.  If you were powerful enough, or if your need was so desperate that it called and the old magics answered.

He drew one too-sharp fingernail – one claw, he might as well call it what it was – against the underside of his wrist and let his blood drip freely against the stones.

“I am Percival Richard Graves, master of the House and Head of the Graves family,” he said crisply.  “I was born within the House’s walls.  I am the only son and heir of Edward Gondulphus Graves and Helena Louise McAllister-Graves.  I have walked the House and the grounds and the woods and offered blood and power to strengthen House and Home.

“Graves Manor is mine by birthright and blood, and by my blood I demand that you let me in.”

Making demands of magic old enough to have a degree of sentience was dangerous.  Graves didn’t care.  This was his home goddamnit.  He would not cringe and play the supplicant when it was his by right.

The wards and the front gates swung open beneath his touch.

“Thank you,” Graves said, and went in.

*

The problem with the manor house, Graves discovered, was that it was located in upstate New York, deep enough in the woods to discourage visitors of any kind.  He spent a pleasantly isolated week removing the dust covers and walking the halls, returning the house to its former glory before realizing that there was no one to share its glory with.

Graves didn’t particularly want to share its glory with anyone, much less have visitors.  He wasn’t entirely certain that he wasn’t going to try and eat them.

He spent the next two weeks testing the limits of his humanity, checking his reflection for signs of change and seeing the same face he’d always seen: heavy brows, dark eyes, aquiline nose, more than a touch of silver at his temples.

He could have settled into a comfortably isolated routine, but on the full moon he felt an old familiar thrum in his blood.  It was the one that said run.

Hunt.

Kill.

In Grindelwald’s prison, he hadn’t known that it was the full moon when he felt that thrum in his blood.  All he’d known was that the urge to hunt and kill was calling, a siren song of destruction.  He’d clawed his way out of his cell but couldn’t escape the prison.  He’d scratched scars into the walls, his back, his arms.  He’d screamed curses and rage and none of it had been enough.  It hadn’t even taken the edge off.

Graves killed a deer in the woods with only the moon to bear witness, the forest lit up like it was daylight to his new and improved vision.  He ripped out the entrails and left them in the woods, a bloody offering.  The heart he ate raw; fear and adrenaline made the meat taste sweet.  He brought the rest of it back to the house and stored it in the cold room under stasis spells.  He ate it pan-seared and crusted with pepper, pink and rare and gamey.

“Definitely not human,” he told himself, and went to go fetch his spare potions kit from the lab in the old greenhouse.

Grindelwald had improved his sense of smell along with his hearing and his eyesight.  The potions lab reeked to Graves’ nose, medicinal and chemical and wrong in the same way Grindelwald’s own lab had been.  At least the lab in the old greenhouse didn’t reek of piss and shit and fear, the way Grindelwald’s did.

Graves gritted his teeth and brewed the potion to test for lycanthropy.

Properly brewed, Graves knew, the potion would turn silver if exposed to the werewolf pathogen.  That was how the myth about werewolves and silver had gotten started; for anything else, the potion would stay the same muddy brown color.  He pricked his finger and let three drops into the bowl, glowering at it when the potion turned a warm, burnished gold.

“What the fuck,” Graves said, and went off to the woods to sulk.

*

Boredom and a need for answers drove Graves back to the city less than a week after that.  Whatever he was now, he wasn’t going to find any answers living like a hermit in the country.  Too much isolationism and self-experimentation seemed like a guaranteed recipe for madness.

Graves still wasn’t sure of his control.  He didn’t feel any particular need to hunt down and eat his neighbors, no matter how annoying some of them were, but he had to admit that some days they sounded more appetizing than anything he brought home from a restaurant – or worse, his pitiful bachelor attempts at cooking for himself.  Food had simply been fuel, before.  He hadn’t cared what it tasted like, so long as it had enough calories and nutrition to keep him going.

Food tasted wrong now: the ingredients slightly off, the meat not fresh enough, the vegetables not seasoned well enough to bring out their full potential.  He found that he preferred steak tartare to steak cooked rare, which wouldn’t have been a problem, had he been able to eat anything else he ordered when he went out to eat.

He’d learned to live on half-rations while he was Grindelwald’s prisoner.  Graves resigned himself to learning to live off of them again and probably would have, if not for Sarah Rogers.

Sarah Rogers lived in one of the tenement buildings near where Graves’ own lodgings where – he’d decided against anything ostentatious; it hadn’t helped when Grindelwald took him prisoner.  Maybe here, where people actually seemed to know their neighbors, someone would notice if he went missing again.  Sarah had a small, sickly son, and a husband who hadn’t entirely come home from the war.  The whole neighborhood knew better than to try and intervene between Sarah and Joseph Rogers’ temper, but the shouting and the crying grated on Graves’ nerves, until he had no choice but to intervene.

“If you ever touch your wife and son again, I will know,” Graves said pleasantly, dangling Joseph out the window with every intention of dropping him.  

“Don’t,” Sarah begged, clutching at his arms, trying to keep him from dropping the man who’d blacked both her eyes and broken at least one rib, if Graves was any judge.  “Please, don’t hurt him.  He’s all we’ve got.”

Part of Graves approved of the fact that Sarah was so protective of her mate, despite how Joseph treated her.  But that was the part of him that Grindelwald had changed, and he knew it was the part he shouldn’t listen to.

“He’s going to kill you,” Graves told Sarah. “He’ll kill your boy, once you’re gone.  It’s what men like him do.”

He might not have been human anymore, but he wouldn’t do that.  Whatever he was, Graves wouldn’t kill children simply to secure his right to a breeding female.  He definitely wouldn’t have harmed his own offspring.

“Please,” Sarah said again.

Graves sighed and hauled Joseph back into the apartment.  “Fine,” he said.  

If he left Joseph’s memories intact, Sarah would suffer for it.  Joseph would assume they were having an affair, because he couldn’t imagine why anyone would intervene on her behalf otherwise.  “Obliviate,” he said.  

Joseph blinked in stunned incomprehension, the last fifteen or so minutes totally erased.

“Stupefy,” Graves said, and Joseph collapsed onto the floor.

Sarah rushed over to him, pressing shaking fingers against his neck.  “I thought you weren’t going to hurt him!”

“I didn’t!” Graves protested, indignant.  He was a creature of his word.  “I just knocked him out.  He’ll have a bit of a hangover in the morning, but he won’t remember any of this.”

“Oh,” said Sarah.  “Thank you.  Can you help me put him in bed?”

Graves made a face.  This was what came of getting to know your neighbors.  They expected you to be neighborly.

Still.  He’d started this; it was only right that he play it all the way through.

He hauled Joseph into bed, catching sight of bright blue eyes peeking at him from the smaller bedroom.  He winked.  There was a squeaking noise, and then the eyes vanished and the door shut itself firmly behind them.

“Thank you,” Sarah said again.  “I wish there was some way I could repay you.”

“Please,” Graves said.  “Don’t trouble yourself.  I’ll just be heading home, then.”  

The part of him that had been an Auror wanted to do more.  Graves told himself it didn’t matter.  No good could come of interfering with the No-Maj’s.  If the fool woman wanted to stay with the man who would eventually kill her, that was her business.

He’d dropped his groceries in the entryway when he’d burst into the Rogers’ apartment.  Graves thought about picking them up, but he suspected Sarah and her son would make better use of them than he could.  The boy was sickly, everyone knew that.  Fresh vegetables would do him some good.  And Sarah could use some feeding up, too.  How often did she go without, so her boy could eat?

“Your groceries,” Sarah began.

“Keep them,” he told her.  “You and your boy need them more than I do.”  They could probably make better use of them, too.  He was a terrible cook.

He felt her eyes on him as he walked out of her building and next door into the one where his lodgings were.  Pressed together close as they were, he could have heard Joseph’s voice and Sarah’s half-aborted screams even without the improvements Grindelwald had made to his hearing.  He and Sarah knew one another in passing, and that was how Graves expected it to stay.

Sarah felt otherwise.  She brought him dinner the next night – steak, a little too well done for his liking, but seasoned with a deft hand.  Carrots and potatoes seasoned with fresh rosemary and cooked in the same pan as the steak, made savory with its leftover juices.  Apples drizzled with honey, which he gleefully shared with her small son Steven, delighted by food that tasted good for the first time since he’d been changed.

“Steve,” Sarah protested weakly.

“He’s a growing boy, Mrs. Rogers,” Graves said, handing Steve another apple slice.  “Apples are good for him.”  He’d wolfed down the steak and the vegetables.  Only good manners kept him from devouring the apple slices as well.  “You didn’t need to do this,” he added.

Sarah set her jaw stubbornly.  “I don’t take charity, Mr…?”

“Graves.”

“Mr. Graves,” she finished.  

Graves considered the meal he’d just eaten.  Sarah had kept just enough of his groceries for one portion of a meal.  Joseph’s, or Steven’s, maybe.  Not enough for herself, surely.  Not unless the Rogers’ were used to surviving on considerably less than what Graves considered a half ration.

“Can I make a bargain with you, Mrs. Rogers?” he asked.

Sarah gave him a wary look.  “What sort of bargain?” she asked.

Graves gestured to his bachelor lodgings.  “I’m a bachelor, as I’m sure you can tell.  I find my own cooking skills somewhat lacking, of late.  I’d appreciate it if you could teach me how to cook properly.  I can’t pay you, but anything you make you’re more than welcome to take home.”  That was a lie, but he suspected it was the only way he could convince Sarah Rogers to take any food home with her.

Sarah hesitated.

“Please,” said Graves, giving her his best boyish grin.  He nudged Steven, who echoed him with cherubic innocence: “Please?”

“Very well,” Sarah sighed.  “How much do you know about cooking?”

“Assume the bare minimum to keep myself alive,” Graves told her, with perfect honesty.

“Right,” said Sarah.  She considered his offer for long enough that Graves thought she would say no.  “I can teach you how to cook, if you like.  But I don’t take charity, Mr. Graves.  Not from anyone.”

She should have been born a witch, Graves thought.  She’d have been magnificent.

“Yes, Mrs. Rogers,” Graves said.

*

Sarah was a nurse, Graves learned, which explained her no nonsense demeanor and the faint smell of hospital-grade antiseptic that clung to her skin like perfume.  She taught him how to select good meat - the way it was supposed to look, how fresh meat smelled versus meat that had been spoiled - and how to pick the best fruits and vegetables.  She gave him cuttings from her own herb garden, maintained carefully in pots on the windowsill.  She showed him the best way to season his meals to their full potential, and sighed, wistfully, when he produced ingredients she mentioned would be nice to cook with, if the cost of them weren’t so dear.  (Graves tried to get her to take them home, once, and Sarah gave him a flat look.  “How would I explain them?” she asked, pressing them back into his hands.  Which, fine.  Graves didn’t want to cause trouble between Sarah and her ass of a husband.  Thank god Joseph’s sense of smell was nowhere near as good as his own, and Joseph couldn’t smell another man’s presence on her the way Graves could.  Graves didn’t try to get Sarah to take anything home after that.)

“I think I’ve taught you everything I can,” Sarah said.  She grimaced.  “It’s not right, me spending so much time with an unmarried man.”

Someone had noticed, Graves translated.  He sighed.  “I wish you’d let me kill him,” he said.

Sarah swatted him.  “You shouldn’t say things like that!” she scolded.  “That’s not right, either.”

Graves shrugged, not especially bothered by her censure.  “If you change your mind…”

“I won’t.”

“Fine.”  Graves ruffled young Steven’s hair.  He put a protection charm on the boy as an afterthought.  A strong one; the one Aurors used to avoid near misses.  He liked Steven’s tenacity.  For a kid as puny and weak as he was, Steven got into enough fights for a boy twice his size.  The charm for near misses seemed appropriate.

He let Sarah and Steven go back to their own lives, and went back to rebuilding his own.

Graves discovered that he liked cooking.  He liked finding fresh ingredients, and working with them to bring out their full potential.  He took to buying things at random, just to see what he could make with them.  Then he bought a No-Maj cookbook, because the No-Maj’s had some pretty good ideas about food.  

He experimented with cooking with magic and cooking the No-Maj way, which was slower and a lot more work.  Graves drew the line at cleaning the No-Maj way, though.  He wasn’t entirely human anymore, but he wasn’t crazy.

[namariea]

Hello, Neighbor | IV

Since moving in you have compiled a comprehensive list on your mysterious neighbor across the way.

Do Kyungsoo, otherwise known as Asian Bobby Flay and apparently Bruno Mars’ protégé.

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader

Words: 1.9 k

Genre: Fluff

Previous: I II III

Today was a good day.

The sun was shining, fluffy white clouds dusting the sky like a painting. With all the windows wide open, you could hear the beauty of nature around you. Birds chirping, children laughing…

Your brain cells screaming in anguish as they were destroyed by a miasma of paint fumes.

Ah, what a time to be alive.

You wasted no time once you saw the sun begin to peak through your curtains, all but flying out of bed and getting ready to make the trip to the hardware store. You made the trip brief, grabbing rollers and various brushes while the paint was being mixed. Taping the edges went by fairly quickly and after pushing all your furniture to the middle of your room, you covered everything with a clear plastic sheet, your living room now looking very much like an episode of Dexter.

I knew I should have chosen red.

Taking down your curtains once again, you stepped back as your apartment reverted back to its fishbowl glory. Glancing over, you saw dark curtains still firmly closed. It made sense, it was the weekend after all and he was probably sleeping in. You faintly wondered what he would do once he pulled those curtains back and saw what you were doing. It should not come as a surprise since he was the one who picked out the colour, thus getting the ball rolling on your home renovation. You almost entertained the idea of asking him whether he would like to help, but you almost slapped yourself at the absurdness.

Putting on some music you had a pretty good pace going, by the time it was just past noon you were two-thirds done, humming along to the melody and swaying to the beat. As more and more paint covered the walls, washing the bland white away with deep blue you found yourself becoming more and more pleased as everything started coming together. Your neighbor had an eye for interior design, that much was certain. What a talented little thing he was.

Speak of the devil, as you swiped the roller along the corner wall beside the window, you saw familiar curtains slowly being pulled back and you almost dropped the roller as you felt your body go slack.

What the actual f-

Earlier you had assumed the reason for your neighbor’s absence was due to simply him sleeping in with it being the weekend and whatnot, doing what any rational person would do. Well, it appeared that you were half-right in your assumptions, he indeed was sleeping in… however your reasoning could not have been farther from the truth.

Once you saw the curtains being pulled back, you were expecting to be presented with a sleepy variation of the reserved man, dressed in crinkled pajamas and probably rubbing his bleary eyes or something along those lines.

But instead, you were greeted by a bloody harlot.   

Dressed in a tight black button down shirt and matching blazer, you saw an expanse of smooth pale skin as the top buttons were left undone. You took in how his usually limp black hair was fashionably styled up and tousled oh so nicely with sleep. Holding himself with an air of confidence even in his groggy state, you gaped at just how different he looked. So much more disheveled, so much more manly, you couldn’t comprehend how someone that was always so reserved could pull a 180 and look like that. 

He had yet to notice your presence, you watched as his face instantly twisted with distaste as the sun shone into his eyes, wincing away and bringing his hands up to massage his temples.

Was he wearing eyeliner-

Suddenly a charcoal rimmed eye cracked open, sights set on your general direction.

You literally threw yourself at the wall.

Feeling wet paint coat the entire left side of your body, you were not concerned in the slightest with the fact that you had just ruined your hard work. Instead, you were trying to focus on your heart, which seemed to be trying to burst out of your chest. Peeling yourself from the wall quite literally, you lowered into a crouch, keeping out of sight and held your hands out in front of you.

Gesturing with your left hand you imagined your neighbor – sheepish and kept, with his floppy bowl-cut looking hair and mild manners. Now with your right hand, you pictured…whatever it was you just saw. Maybe he has a twin? An evil twin that leads a life completely opposite of the man you had familiarized with for the past month.

There was just no way.

How could you not have noticed him dress like that before? You had admitted to yourself that he was a good-looking person sure; he had nice enough features and even wondered if he did modeling, but this. It was one thing to have an imagination, but to have fantasy become something of reality was making your head spin.

Actually, that might just be from the fumes again.

You should really get a fan in here to help with that.

Still trying to come to terms with the sick, twisted curveball your life had thrown at you, you began to think deliberately. So your squeaky clean looking neighbor was not so squeaky clean after all, where was he last night to be dressed like that. A party? Clubbing? Oh, what if he is part of a Host Club. You always prided yourself on being a good judge of character, acutely observant and silently assessing the world around you accurately.

But oh no, you have never been more wrong in your entire life.

Mentally reviewing the list you had put together about the mysterious man, you were coming to the very obvious conclusion that there was so much that you clearly did not know about him. Of course, you do not actually know anything about him, all preconceived notions you had were solely based on your own observations. You did not know anything about his personality other than what you assumed he was like by your chance encounters.

You didn’t even know his name for crying out loud.

A deep frown took residence on your face as you thought about this. You knew you weren’t exactly friends, far from it actually. You were simply two people who happened to live across one another and greeted each other cordially when the situation called for it. There was nothing special about your encounters, however, the fact that you only seemed to have said encounters with the dark haired man and no one else made it somewhat… special? Like there was a silent understanding between the two of you, one that no one in any of the other units was part of.

Did he also think about your encounters the same way? Did he share the odd sense of familiarity you felt towards him? Did you want him to think anything of you?

Because you sure as hell were going to do a whole lot of thinking about him now.

Oh boy.

Putting your head in your hands you grimaced at the slimy feel of paint in your hair, you also became aware of the left side of your face becoming stiff as the paint started to dry, pulling your skin taught as you moved it. Casting a forlorn glance at the unfinished wall, and a wary one at your window, you turned and started crawling down the hall.

You had to wash all of this paint off first. 

You will admit that you probably did not have to stay in the shower for as long as you did, but thought of leaving the confines of your bathroom and going out there, where he will probably be lounging in his living room, it was enough for you to just continue standing there in nervous contemplation. Eventually you had to cut your losses when you started resembling a human prune and dressing in paint free clothes you pulled your hair up into a bun and walked out of the bathroom.

Creeping down the corridor, you half-registered that there was no reason for you to be acting stealthily in your hallway, but nevertheless, you slowly peered into your living room. Not seeing any sign of the cause of your current strife, you quickly picked up your paint roller and began to hastily resume painting, suddenly wanting nothing more than to have it over and done with.

You had gotten back into your lull of painting, doing one final pass along the trim of your ceiling, you let out a satisfied hum, pulling back the brush and slowly climbing down the ladder-

“That colour ended up suiting really well didn’t it?”

You slipped on the last step, falling forward and slamming your arm down on the bone that isn’t actually all that funny.

A string of curses left you and dropping the paintbrush you grabbed your arm, wondering why the universe hated you today.

Turning you saw his body quickly make way to the side of the window closest to you, eyes wide with concern and arms out as if he were going to grab you for support.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you,” he hurriedly offered, looking instantly guilty at your pain-streaked face. He continued to fret, asking if you were ok but you weren’t listening, you were staring dumbstruck at him.

Long gone was the Host Club prince, and you were met with the sight of your sheepish neighbor.

What.

Did he not see you earlier? He must not have, and in the time you were in the shower, he also took the time to change, losing the provocative black ensemble and opting for a bright yellow hoodie. His face was also bare of any cosmetics, hair falling limply across his forehead.

What sorcery was this?

You could not believe you were looking at the same person. The difference is so jarring that you were beginning to wonder if you dreamt the other version. Why would he have such completely different types of styles, it was almost as if he was wearing a costume earlier and just forgot to take it off.

You belatedly noticed he had stopped talking and was now hesitantly waving a hand in your line of sight. Shaking your head slightly you looked at him properly, offering a slight smile, trying desperately to hide the flush that was creeping up your neck.

“Don’t worry about it, it was only a matter of time before gravity had its way with me” you bent down and picked up the paintbrush from the floor in a desperate attempt to hide from his eyes “Thanks again for the colour choice, I never did thank you, I think it turned out really great”

Glancing briefly at him as you placed the brush in the paint tray, you saw him nod, brows creasing slightly he opened his mouth to say something but before he could a faint ringing was heard. You watched him stall, before nodding slightly again.

“Yeah.. it was no problem, happy to have helped” with that, he excused himself and traversed deeper into his apartment, you faintly heard the ringing stop, meaning he probably went to go answer whoever was calling.

Letting out the breath didn’t realize you were holding in, you stared at the ceiling helplessly.

Why am I like this?

Chapter V 

[bellarkefanfiction]

For the month of October, Lina got the chance to catch up with @kay-emm-gee, author of Small Favors, The More Things Change, Bedgate and many, many more, which you can find here. 

BFF: Tell us about yourself!

Kayla: Hi, I’m Kayla - twentysomething, from the USA, graduate student in cancer biology. And to keep myself sane from science, I spend a good chunk of my free time watching TV and reading. I adore any type of romance story, and those of the fantasy, sci-fi, and historical genres most of all. And, when I’m too tired to read or write, I’m also an avid knitter! #grandmastatus #proudofit

BFF: When did you start shipping Bellarke?

Kayla: Pretty late compared to most, I think? Not until season 2, even though I loved their dynamic from the beginning. I was intrigued by the idea of shipping them by the end of season 1, but I can’t say I really committed until The Hug^tm from 2x05 (I love that I have to specify which hug now lol) and then they went straight to OTP status from there!

BFF: How long have you been writing fanfiction?

Kayla: Funny enough…I actually wrote fanfiction when I was eight or nine, based on Pony Pals (I was obsessed with horses for many of my younger years), I believe, for a class assignment. So that was technically my start haha – but I guess my first published fanfiction was on FFN for Avatar The Last Airbender, a little piece that was supposed to be a prologue for a longer Zuko/Katara post-series multichapter AU…which I planned out entirely but never wrote (some things never change!). I posted a few other things there (for Smallville, Gossip Girl, The Infernal Devices series) but I was more in a reading stage then and couldn’t get enough of fanfiction (Tempest in A Teacup or Stormbenders, anyone??). I didn’t hit a prolific writing phase until Bellarke! And then the floodgates opened and I couldn’t stop writing, for them or for other ships too.

BFF: Are you a part of any other fandoms?

Kayla: Game of Thrones is something I have gotten into writing for recently, although it’s mostly for rarepair ships, which is strange for me (shameless plug for my sideblog, @winterfellslady). I’m usually very much about the narratively obvious pairings, but the Thrones universe is so expansive that it’s hard not to see so many possibilities. Aside from that, I’ve written here and there for a lot of other fandoms: Teen Wolf, A Court of Thorns & Roses series, From Dusk Till Dawn, The White Princess, The Shannara Chronicles, Reign, & Black Sails.  

BFF: Which of your fics was easiest to write, and why?

Kayla: First one that comes to mind as ‘easiest’ was my Peaky Blinders AU oneshot (Our Glory Days Are Numbered). It was a 3AM fic idea that just would not go away, and so I sat up and wrote it in less than an hour with barely any edits. It was a rare experience of producing something I was super proud of, super quickly. The process is usually much more laborious for me when it comes to fics that I want to stand out. As far as multi-chapters, strangely enough, my first one (Small Favors) was easiest to write? I think it was because I had very concise & defined ideas for each chapter, so it kept it simple and the ideas didn’t run away from me…like they do most times now.

BFF: Which fic did you find most challenging to write?

Kayla: It’s a tie between my modern scientist/lawyer AU i pick my poison (and it’s you) and my modern Sense & Sensibility AU by insensible degrees. The first never sat quite right with me (still doesn’t) because I never felt like the scientist perspective/experience came through smoothly enough. The second was tough because I had to power through writing it in its entirety before posting, which was a resolution for me so I didn’t leave it unfinished, but wow was it difficult. It ended up working, but it took almost a year to write (and honestly, it only got finished because @hawthornewhisperer gave me such good feedback & encouragement along the way so shoutout to her for that!). Even so, it’s probably one of my favorite fics that I’ve ever written.  

BFF: What do you predict will happen in season 5? Especially for our favourite duo?

Kayla: After being separated for six years and not knowing if the other is alive, Bellamy and Clarke are gonna have a lot of baggage to work through. Since I’m always here for the Bellarke Angst, I hope, predict, and expect we’ll get that in boatloads. Also, I don’t necessarily predict this will happen, but I’m interested to see if the Clarke & Madi dynamics mirrors season 1 Bellamy & Octavia at all, and if so, how that plays into Bellamy & Clarke’s dynamic (for better or worse). I’d love to see Bellarke get together on screen, of course, but honestly…I just want them to be each other’s centers again in season 5, that’s really all I ask for!

BFF: Do you have a specific process for your writing?

Kayla: Music is essential – I need thematic/atmospheric music to really get in the groove. Most of my Spotify is playlists for different story ideas actually. Aside from that, nothing too particular. I tend to edit as I go, which isn’t the most effective way to write, but I’m too much of a perfectionist to do proper draft editing.

BFF: Do you have any plans for other fics you’d like to write, if so could you spoil or tease us?

Kayla: Real life has been higher-than-average busy for like a year now, so I can’t find much time to write (and I’m working on Game of Thrones fics when I do find it), but there is one Bellarke fic WIP that is holding my interest right now. It was a request from a follower celebration winner for an Anastasia AU, but I wanted to put a spin on it, so I’m making it steampunk! Honestly, it’s the most inspired I’ve felt for this pairing in ages, which is promising. Here’s hoping the inspiration and motivation stays high!

BFF: What advice would you give novice writers?

Kayla: Keep writing. Even if you hate it now, it’ll make you better. And, later, when you do get better, don’t hate something you wrote early on, especially if you loved it when you wrote it. It’s where you came from, where you started, and it’s proof that practice makes a difference. And while you should mostly write what you want to write, it’s also okay to write for others. Because honestly, sometimes writing something that you definitely know other people will like or love is a safe way to boost your confidence (and get you motivated on stuff that you aren’t sure people will like!). One of the best tricks I’ve come across, and I use it often. Lastly, use a placemarker (like a unique, random combination of letters that you can easily Ctrl+F for) to note in the text when you need to look up a fact or something, and keep writing, instead of trying to find the info at that moment. It’s a useful way to prevent falling down a research hole and instead allows the inspiration and words to keep flowing.

We thank Lina and Kayla both for bringing us such a lovely interview! Please look forward to next month’s author interview!

[delunesnumberonefan]

Can you tell me more about Jubilee and DeLune? Jubilee is your character, right? They both sound like great characters!

ANON YOU JUST SAVED MY LIFE

hooo ok. ok so. ok so listen. listen.

we gotta get something out of the way realquick: whenever i talk about DeLune and Jubilee–or really just DeLune–i getso incoherent and flail-y i just. i love DeLune so much, she’s been in mythoughts every day for the past month+ no lie

ok so. @fatalcookies​ createdDeLune as an npc for a campaign she’s going to run, in which I’m going to be aplayer, playing as Jubilee Waters, the gayest tiefling you’ll ever meet (as ofyet, there has not been a single game. I’m obsessing over a character i haventplayed as and her girlfriend. i know. I’m ridiculous)

..let’s introduce Jubilee, then DeLune, theni’ll talk a little about their relationship and maaaaybe go into the au’s I’vecooked up for them. that sounds good, yeah let’s do that

Jubilee Waters. she’s from a small mountaincommunity where tieflings are more accepted than in other places. This mountaincommunity is also known for its arts

Jubilee was abandoned on the church ofPelor’s doorstep at birth, and was taken in by one of the people whoworked in the church, a laborer/cook/whatever they needed her to be named MariaWaters.

Jubilee grew up healthy and strong, and wasquick to pick up the ways of both a cleric and an artist; shaping her own hornsinto works of art and also taking up painting as a hobby, all while training tobe a holy warrior who fought in the name of Pelor, god of the sun. She excelledat the healing arts, and it was only because of her desire to help peopleoutweighing her need for glory that she went down the cleric path instead ofthe paladin path. (that and i reallllly wanted to play a cleric, because ihavent yet)

except her mom didn’t want her to go out andadventure, because it was too dangerous. That was a point of contention for along time between them. Jubilee wanted to go out and help people, and hermother wanted her home and safe.

Eventually, Jubilee’s mother passed. Jubileestayed, mourned, and before too long had passed, she was out on the road,heading to destinations unknown in a quest with a single goal: help peoplewherever help is needed. 

Eventually, she meets the group she’ll betraveling with in-game, and she goes on her merry way, eventually meetingDeLune

(I’ve been informed that DeLune probably won’tshow up until about halfway through the campaign, which on one hand makes me :(but on the other hand has built up the Hype of meeting her so much that i thinkwhen Jennie says “and in walks a half elven businesswoman” or somethingalong those lines I’m literally going to burst into tears of joy)

DeLune Candor…im trying to decide how much ican talk about.

you know what? i don’t think any of the otherplayers follow me, so the chances of them seeing this post are slim to none.I’m going in guns a’ blazin’

Her full name, I’ve found out, is Claire DeLuneCandor (which “Claire DeLune” means moonlight so they’ve already got thisgreat sun and moon dynamic going on which makes me Weak)

DeLune Candor is a ~55 year old (or theequivalent in half-elven terms) inventor turned businesswoman who is currentlythe head of a large family business that specializes in trading. The businessis booming, and it’s exclusively due to DeLune being at the head of thebusiness. She tries her best to run an ethical business, she’s a pointy-earedcapitalist, and i love her with my whole heart oh my god

She’s a workaholic, she is Fancy to the extremeand has quite the refined taste. She doesn’t like mincing words, she’svery direct and to the point, and she’s…i was going to say she’s perfectbut she’s not, she has flaws, but she’s so My Type that it hurts me and as suchi tend to gloss over her flaws.  I love her with my entire heart, flawsand all tho?? I say i would die for a lot of characters but i would live forDeLune.

OH HOW COULD I FORGET!!!!the song that inspired this character is this song and the woman singing? Shirley Bassey?? is the voice andface claim for DeLune so you Know I’m all about this song, i’ve probablylistened to it a hundred times. i love that song

DeLune…..DeLune actually has a daughter namedCeleste who is around Jubilee’s age which makes things sorta awkward sometimesbut shh shh its perfectly fine shh it can be funny sometimes, ill get into that in a minute

she’s a huge lover of the arts and thesciences, having been an inventor at one point. the love of the arts manifestsitself in her giving patronage to many different artists and commissioningworks and stuff like that Its Good

hrrmm what else is there about DeLune that ican rant about. god i just. ok i just love her. i love her so much?? and shehurts me sometimes for reasons I’m not sure i can disclose at this point. to besafe I’m not going to go too much into it but…she gave up a lot for thefamily business. and i just want her to be happy and relaxed and without toomuch stress

Their relationship…hoogh

ok so they meet, right. and DeLune isimmediately interested in Jubilee’s horns, because they’re works of art andshe’s intrigued with how they came to be. And when Jubilee tells her that she’sbeen working on her horns since she was ten, and that they still require upkeepand management….DeLune has this “holy shit” moment. bc?? here let mefind a direct quote:

“–these are the work of a literallifetime and peoples’ /lives/ are the work of a lifetime and they can’tmaintain as much focus as this 90% of the time.”

so yes, DeLune takes notice in Jubilee becauseof her horns. And Jubilee like. she saw DeLune and she just got this momentof “holy moly I’m so gay” so like?? They both were somewhat interestedfrom the start, and it just evolved from there.

i imagine Jubilee tried to beat around the bushand be subtle about trying to get DeLune to date her but DeLune saw rightthrough it and was just like “…do you want to date me? is that whatyou’re getting at?” and jubilee was like “yes. yes yes yes please godyes"

and so?? they date??

and things go well!! they click reallynaturally and they enjoy each other’s company. They go to a variety offancy places and Jubilee is terrified each time because she doesn’t want to sayor do the wrong thing and end up embarrassing DeLune, but DeLune teaches herthe basics of fancy etiquette and that puts her at ease

…jennie and i have had a conversation abouthow DeLune just completely roasts someone who dared to make a comment aboutJubilee being a tiefling and honestly i saved that whole conversation and iread it when i get sad bc DeLune utterly destroying someone is just So Good

They have their arguments and theirdisagreements because Something (I don’t know what it is) happens around thesame time they meet each other that puts DeLune on edge and so there’sdefinitely conflict regarding this thing. I don’t know what it is but I know inmy soul that its going to hurt me whenever i find out

Hrmmm what else is there. I mean. they fuck. alot. like a lot a lot. god i love them. i just. god i love them.

and this is a thing that makes Celeste and Jubilee’s relationship kind of tense like?? Celeste doesn’t blame Jubilee for getting involved with DeLune, but she DOES blame DeLune for getting involved with Jubilee. and so

ok we’ve had this scene thought out where Celeste comes into the kitchen one morning to see Jubilee dressed in just a silk robe, hair a mess and out of it’s usual braid, leaning against the counter and drinking coffee. and they make eye contact and then that’s how Celeste gets confirmation that yes, her friend is banging her mom and I’m just over here like god fucking bless. 

honestly I’ve saved that conversation too and it makes me giggle because Jubilee just. she sees celeste and she’s like “hi!! good morning!! do you want some coffee??” and celeste is just. no nonsense like. “Jubilee. were you sleeping with someone tonight?” and jubilee makes this face and it cracks me up every time. 

and jubilee just makes the smallest “yeah” ever and celeste just. “and it was my mother, wasn’t it.” not even a question. she knows. but jubilee answers anyway, with another tiny “…yeah.” and then she just “please don’t be cross with her”

and then celeste breaks out the whiskey despite it being like. you know. breakfast. and god i love this family theyre so dysfunctional but god i love them

what else is there. they may or may not go to a small house in the countryside after everything is said and done, somewhere DeLune can make things and somewhere Jubilee can have a quiet life again. just the two of them, after DeLune gives up the reigns on the family business and god i love them. if there’s anything about them that has almost made me cry it’s this idea of them living a quiet life together, somewhere with a small workshop for DeLune and space for Jubilee and her god.

like. jennie killed me with this line:

a small little workshop, pen and paper, and a lover in her bed

…beautiful things they made together

artisan rugs are left back at a different home that she visits,sometimes, when she needs to–and besides it’s not half so beautiful as thesmile on Jubilee’s face when DeLune hand-feeds her a grape and catches atrickle of juice from the corner of her mouth with her thumb

AND OH!!!! THE PAINTING!!!!

ok so you know how jubilee paints?? she did a portrait of DeLune that she purposely left unfinished to represent that all things are a work in progress and GOD can you tell how much i love them yet they’re so good

but god, all i want is for them to be happy together. that’s all i want. i love them so much it hurts me

ok let’s get into those AUs

ok so. the aus. i made a list here of those aus but on one of them we’ve gotten real deep man

ok so. we havent gotten too deep into vampire/vampire hunter au but?? there’s some choice symbolism

i initially thought of DeLune as the vampire and Jubilee as theperson sent to kill her but they fall in love and run away together. the symbolism would be pretty choice here, DeLune representing the night (as her name means moonlight) and Jubilee with her divine connection to the sun, right

but I’vethought about it some more and the other way is also pretty choice like.

Jubilee as a prominent religious figure who had a fall from grace when shewas turned into a vampire. she fled, disgraced and outcast by the religion she had known for her whole life. and DeLune is theperson sent to hunt her down because in this au she’s probably like a goodwizard or something who knows. and so she finds this vampire and DeLune isgoing to bring her back alive, but they fall in love and run away together. but the SYMBOLISM

….Jubilee’s still a cleric of pelor, right. but now the sun burnsher and she can’t find solace in her god. but you know what light doesn’t hurt vampires?

MOONLIGHT

DeLune, symbolically the moon, giving her light and hope in a way thatdoesn’t hurt her. god i love the symbolism with these two its Good

and. then. the au we got deep in right.

crime boss au

an au where Jubilee is the new cop investigating this mob family, and falls in love with DeLune in the process.

one problem.

DeLune, unbeknownst to Jubilee, is the mob boss. she’s the leader of this crime family. she’s the head of the syndicate, and she knows that Jubilee is investigating her.

She, to her credit, tries to dissuade jubilee, tries to turn her away from her path because she knows that whatever happens, the outcome will hurt her. but Jubilee is bound and determined to make a difference, and she doesn’t heed DeLune’s advice

and Celeste shows up?? and she wants to tear this business apart to get her mom out, and her and jubilee team up because even tho jubilee doesn’t know that DeLune is the head of the mob or that Celeste is DeLune’s daughter, they have similar goals

and how does celeste find her, you ask? well. Jubilee lives in kind of a rough neighborhood, and has had her fair share of shitty things thrown at her, right. after Jubilee and DeLune started dating, all that stops.

so celeste tracks where things aren’t happening to determine where her mother has influence, and finds out that this cop is a link.

and then one day they’re working on something and Jubilee just like. stands up and starts getting ready and she’s apologizing and saying she’s late, and Celeste is like “?? late to what??” and Jubilee replies “I have a date with my girlfriend DeLune”

…and that’s how Celeste finds out just how Jubilee is linked to her mother. and god its so good bc she’s just. shocked. like. no. no this. what. 

and so eventually, in this au, Jubilee goes into somewhere undercover to try and find out more about the mob, and gets caught. she’s cornered, on the ground, surrounded by people with guns, and then there’s the clicking of heels on linoleum and there’s DeLune. and all these people who were being threatening just stop

and DeLune kind of helps her up, dusts her off, and leads her out, all in silence, with only a biting retort to one of the henchmen who protests about Jubilee knowing too much. 

and then. hoo this kills me. when theyre out of there and in the car, DeLune just says kind of quietly “Idid ask you not to dig too deep, darling.”

hooo boy that hurts me

so then DeLune takes jubilee back to her house and celeste is there so there’s a mother daughter reunion, and they go inside and jubilee almost just completely fucking loses it and she’s like “you know? if you were just a part of the syndicate i think i could’vedealt with that. but the boss?!” and then she gets real quiet for a moment and just. “how much of it was real? how much of it was you trying toget another cop in your pocket?“

and so celeste just nopes out of there and DeLune and jubilee have a long conversation where Jubilee is passive aggressive and petty to the extreme. 

like DeLune basically tells her it’s easier to deal with when Jubilee’s angry in response to Jubilee losing some of her anger and getting kind of soft over the course of the conversation. so Jubilee’s like. “she wants me to be angry? fine. i can do that”

so she kicks her out of her house

and then soon after that she goes and she takes all of her things out of DeLune’s house. and DeLune has this heartbreaking line of “If you wish very much to be so utterly removedfrom me, only say the word. I will make certain you never see me again.”

and jubilee doesn’t respond. she just leaves. because she knows in her heart she wants to mend things, but at the moment she needs to process everything that’s happening. she isn’t processing it well bc she doesn’t deal with negative emotions well but she’s trying bless her

and so Celeste and DeLune and Jubilee tear down this mafia right, and then. god i love them. so DeLune and Jubilee agree to give it another shot after another long conversation, and that they’ll meet for lunch sometime and see where it goes

and. like in canon DeLune and Celeste’s relationship is strained at best, and so this au reflects that. but in this au i get confirmation that they definitely 100% make up and that gives me Life

so yes, that’s DeLune and Jubilee. god i love them. thank you so much for asking about them, you have no idea how hard i was laughing when i got this message bc i was like “I ACTUALLY TRICKED SOMEONE INTO CARING ABOUT THESE TWO OH MY GOD” and honestly? writing this up was a delight, thank you again for asking this anon!!!

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

The Games We Play - The Last Day of Solheim

So, I wrote something new. Here’s the Link to ao3.

Summary:

Magic is in flow. Even bound as it is can it still be used to guess and to predict, if one knows how to.

What if Galahd had been more cautious after the Conqueror King of Lucis came with his Black Ships to conquer them and nearly won? What if Galahd had had a warning about the invasion to come near two thousand years later? What if Galahd had been prepared? It will be a long fight. A fight no one can see the consequences of.

New story. Yay! I know, I know. I'm still working on all of my unfinished ones, but they're taking their sweet time and my brain insisted on this one, so here it is. This work is heavily inspired by Malazan Book of the Fallen (The best book series ever imo. Go check it out) and borrows some of its elements so don't be surprised if something seemes familiar. It probably is^^ That said this will be a pretty long work beginning at the time from shortly before Nifelheim's attack on Galahd. The traditional mage system of Final Fantasy remains largely intact with a few extrad added on. Not all chapters will be fast paced and full of epic battles, most won't, in fact. War also means murky politics, so politics this will contain. From Galahdian inter-clan politics, to politics between countries and everything in between. (What can I say? I love fantasy politics.) I will also flesh out the cultures of all participating players. Mainly Galahd, Nifelheim and Lucis, so be prepared for that if the above hasn't already chased you away. ;)

Warnings for this chapter: Mention of child abuse, graphic description of death, implied sexual violence, the last Emperor of Solheim was one sick f*ck

The last Emperor of Solheim stared down onto the cards that were laid out on the table made of expensive yellow oak, in intricate design. A fiery sun wheel paired with a death-trail and a war council.

An Emperor had to be foresighted and wise, yes that he had. And this one was wise. Very, very wise. It had been him, after all, that had ordered the High Priest to lay the cards in the way his forefathers had forbidden generations ago.

A wise Emperor also knew his weaknesses and this one knew his only too well. He was weak. He lacked the strength needed to share the splendorous glory of Solheim with the rest of Eos. A goal he had worked towards from the day he had been crowned. Like his father had said after he had beaten him into a bloody pulp for slacking off in his lessons: An Emperor without a lofty goal to strife towards was no Emperor at all but a useless puppet with a crown, and no Emperor of Solheim would be a useless puppet.

And now he saw the fruits of his long and arduous labour spread out on the table in front of him. His lifework.

The Emperor's gaze wandered from the cards towards the High Priest who looked at him with impossibly wide eyes, pale beneath his caramel coloured skin. His eyes reminded the Emperor of two dull puddles of honey. Without any intelligence to speak of. He ought to know. His father had cured him of that affliction, after all. The thought was amusing and he had to suppress the silly giggle bubbling in his throat. Emperors didn't giggle. And it might chase the poor High Priest away as if the Shadows themselves were after him.

This had to stay a secret. Yes, yes, it had to. The glory of Solheim would not be diminished by something like this. Least of all now, when new lands had been found far to the west. It could be naught else but a gift from Eos herself to him. Despite her long absence had the Lady of the Heavenly Bodies acknowledged his greatness.

He would send ships. Yes, an armada of ships with his best trained slaves to settle the land and show the barbarians there what actually constituted as civilized living. Those who refused to accept Solheims superiority would be killed or broken and taken to task as the building force to erect grand palaces in his honour. Pleasure pulsed in his loins at that thought and he licked his suddenly dry lips.

He blinked as the man next to him shuffled in a growing panic, his mouth opening and closing as he jabbered on and on about something he didn't care to hear.

Ah, yes. The secret, yes.

Without sparing further thought about it or considering the consequences, he drew the dagger that, despite its ceremonial function, was still razor-sharp and rammed it into the High Priest's chest, right between his tattooed ribs and into his heart. Or at last close to. The Emperor didn't really care.

Fascinated he watched the High Priest's face grow slack, watched how his eyes went comically wide and his mouth opened and closed as if it belonged to a fish gasping for water on dry land.

Blood dripped down the no more flawless blade in small rivulets and onto the hand that gripped it. The Emperor pulled it from the hunk of flesh – and that was all that the High Priest was now, he thought with sick pleasure pooling between his legs, a dead piece of flesh. He fell towards the ground, landing with a hollow thunk in an ungraceful heap. For some reason that greatly displeased the Emperor. Death should be... be this. He kicked the piece of dead flesh with his naked foot until sightless eyes stared at him. They were even duller than before. A murky colourless something that didn't have an ounce of Solheimr grace.

If that was his innermost self, then he was glad he had killed the High Priest. Such a dirty nothingness didn't belong in his radiant Empire.

With a satisfied grin he cleaned the dagger on the floor-length toga the dead piece of flesh still wore and sheathed it back it his hip where it belonged.

A secret only stays a secret, if all but one who know are dead.

Solheim would stay great and radiant. No, it would grow even greater and more radiant. The Emperor wanted it so, and if an Emperor wanted something it would happen.

Now for the evidence. To leave evidence of a secret behind would only spell disaster. He stared at the cards on the table again. Ifrit upside down inside the fiery sun wheel, Eos at the head of the death-trail and Bahamut at the centre of the war council. And over all loomed the Gates, the Meteor and a card depicting glowing butterflies and writhing darkness. This would not do. This would not do at all. With one fell swoop of his arms the cards, painstakingly carved from ivory, clattered onto the ground, over and around the dead piece of flesh.

The Emperor nodded, satisfied with his work, and adjusted his crown that wound in stylized flames and sunbeams around the back of his head and down the sides of his face. He hummed a senseless tune as he exited the room, ordering the nearest slave to lock the door and not step or look inside. This would be his secret, and his alone. The Emperor alone would be allowed to indulge in it whenever he pleased.

There was much to do, very much indeed. A conquest to plan and games to hold to keep the mindless sheep satisfied. But first he would claim the service of one of his pleasure slaves, or maybe two or three, to relieve the tightness in his loins.

Back in the room the Emperor had ordered shut – and indeed no living person would ever step into its walls ever again – with its lofty ceiling and open round arches looking towards the Sun Tower where the imperial family resided laid the poor man that had been the last High Priest of Ifrit, dead eyes gazing upon the opulently painted ceiling.

Cards laid scattered around him. The only ones still facing up were The King of Fire, the Meteor, the Gates and the ever-devouring Parasite of Pitioss.

The flow of the future had been determined. Tomorrow Solheims eternal glory would burn in Ifrit's wrathful flames.

[agent-7-at-your-service]

Future Plot: Syer’s Rebellion - Chapter 9

Sandra, Pyrrhus, Telemachus, Kitzeh (mentioned), James, Market Splatoon, and Jane belongs to me

Camille (mentioned) and Guist belongs to @inklingleesquidly

Nebula (mentiioned) belongs to @agenttwo and @myzzy

Marina and Wish (mentioned) belong to @inklingleesquidly@agenttwo and @myzzy; designs are made by @teamuntyblue  / @ryan-sign-guy

Vix (mentioned) belongs to @teamuntyblue / @ryan-sign-guy

Beaker Jr (mentioned) belongs to @askvincent and @scrushling

Emerald and Sapphire belong to @son-of-joy and @twelvetailedkitsune

Suzy belongs to @son-of-joy

Mysteeri belongs to @dreadangel ))

((Insert opening: https://youtu.be/IBF9XEsnvJI ))

Last time on Syer's Rebellion:

The Neo Squid Sisters and the Syer's Siblings split up with the Neo Squid Sisters continuing their concert tour southwest to New Orleans while Sandra and James continue leading the rebellion in the Central US Theater.

The Rebellion has managed to march their way to the Black Hills, gaining allies and advantages from malicious acts made by President Howe. Thus, they've easily surrounded the Splat-Coats around the Black Hills with the states in this theater having their favor in the Revolution. A victory in the Black Hills would mean half of the United States rising against President Howe. Before Sandra and James can start a battle that would bring an easy win, a familiar face appeared before Sandra, Telemachus.

Fort Laramie - Wyoming, United States of America - 4:05 PM

Sandra and James bring Telemachus back to the tent so that the Agent can explain himself.

"What are you doing here!?" Sandra is surprised. "How did you even--?"

"Neo-Squidbeak Splatoon has its own fleet, remember?" Telemachus folds his arms and shook his head. "They're docked at a port in Galveston Bay, Texas. Dicorus was generous enough to drop me and Celeste of in New Orleans." His explanation indicated at the fleet meet Dicorus's Fleet at the Panama Canal.

"So this is Agent 7's son?" James asked Sandra.

"Ehh...?" Telemachus knows that Agent 7 is his father, but he is illegitimate. "She told you that?"

Sandra sheepishly scratched the back of her head, regretting that she told James that.

Sandra then wondered about Celeste. "Where is Celeste by the way?"

"We managed to find the Neo Squid Sisters and a few others in New Orleans. They told me Pyrrhus, Emerald, and Sapphire are here," Telemachus explained, "Celeste and Kitzeh decided to stay to offer protection for Camille and Nebula."

"That's good," James commented.

"Nebula then told me you are with your brother, leading a revolution. Sandra, it's great you found your family, but Agent 7 and Circe miss you. Come back," Telemachus demanded.

Sandra didn't know how to answer; she hasn't felt at home living in Inkopolis, and Agent 7 and Circe never treated her enough like parents. James can see the hesitation and intervenes.

"I wish she could, but she has to stay here, the rebellion already looks up to her," James defended.

Telemachus calculated in his head the consequences that'll be made if Sandra deserted the Revolution. He steps back and turns around.

"I still need to follow Agent 7's orders... but if it means to help the rebellion, very well." Telemachus shook his head. "What is going wrong in this country?"

"Ever since President Howe and her administration came to power, they started perverting the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. They imposed, a steampunk movement and hoarded advance technology for the government. And don't get me started on her treatment of the people." James slammed his fist on the table.  "Her administration has abused Democracy for malicious intent, letting bakers run our country."

"Hmmm... I see..." Telemachus then noticed where their next battle is taking place. "You do realize the Black Hills are sacred, right?"

"We know that," Sandra acknowledged, "But if we put down the Splat-Coats here, all the Splat-Coats in the Great Plains will have to retreat to the East Coast."

"And Texas, Hawaii, and Alaska will rejoin in favor of the Revolution." James looked eager to end this.

"When will this battle commence?" Telemachus took a closer look at the battle plans.

"In three hours, Thunderbird has already deployed early to skirmish," James answered,"We expect this battle to end in tomorrow morning without a struggle."

Three hours later...

James and Pyrrhus have left -- with Telemachus joining them-- leading Coyote-Stallion on the ground raids. Sandra and Sapphire have yet to deploy and lead Peacemaker. The camps were already taken down and packed up for the trip to the Black Hills. Going on foot would have their army arrive late, and going by bike would almost make Peacemaker late. Sandra made the alternative to bring the army in the same route as Coyote-Stallion and stop at a memorial by carrier jeeps and go to the Black Hills from there by armored carrier vehicles prepared by James. It took half an hour to contact him through a cell-phone.

Route from Fort Laramie to Crazy Horse Memorial, United States of America - 5:35 PM

On the way to the memorial, Sapphire and Sandra had this conversation in one of the carrier vehicles. Sandra started it off with a question -- one relating around Sapphire, Pyrrhus, and Camille.

((In this part of the chapter, Sandra is narrating again.

Author's note: Like the back story, I developed for Camille, the timeline of the relationship between Camille and Sapphire is considered canon to my timeline only and is questionable towards the following users involved. In addition, this may change.  ))

The carrier jeep that Sapphire and I were in was driving at an average speed; it was enough to get us to the memorial. While the jeeps were moving, I wanted to know more of Camille's friends. And judging from what I saw between Pyrrhus, Camille, and her, I want to know what was going on between them.

"The first time I saw you, I've noticed something between you and Pyrrhus," I confessed, "And I already know Pyrrhus was probably a past boyfriend of Camille."

I first noticed this from the first concert back in San Francisco with Sapphire and Pyrrhus meeting face-to-face. They both looked hostile and it showed when Pyrrhus left the backstage and Sapphire followed him. And soon, I keep seeing those two meet together and talking about... something.

Before I can ask my question, Sapphire looked uncomfortable and embarrassed, but at the same time, she sounded annoyed by the fact I was monitoring this. Yet, she allowed me to continue.

"What about it?" She replied.

"Are you jealous that Camille is with Pyrrhus?" I asked.

This question caught Sapphire's attention, but she reacted negatively by turning her hands into fists. I should apologize while I have the chance, but my curiosity got the better of me.

"...Did something happen between you two?" I sat closer to her, prepared to comfort her if she broke down.

And the answer I got, surprised me. She sighed and looked down at her hands.

"Camille and I used to have something." Sapphire put her hands together. "She was very kind to me and we've been hanging out a lot... and then there was one winter..." Sapphire then frowned. "...I wish it would've lasted longer, but she belongs in the race tracks."

"Oh... I'm sorry for asking, it's just that you and Pyrrhus have this... rivalry going on--" Sapphire correct me on my assumption.

"We don't... I just didn't know Camille moved on with someone else." Sapphire looked at me. "I already accepted her choice, and I didn't want to upset her."

I can understand why she just didn't step in and tell Pyrrhus that Camille is hers. She's shy, but despite that, Sapphire looks out for Camille. And where Sapphy is shy and protective, Pyrrhus is somewhat chivalrous and devoted. Seeing Pyrrhus around Camille, other than what I've seen between them back on the Shinkiro, they seem like a couple. However, Camille told me back in San Francisco that this relationship wasn't a big deal. And I assumed they'll go their separate ways when they return to Inkopols, but they'll still be friends though,  I just know it. I can't help but agree with Sapphire: Camille loves racing.

"Do you think you'll get the chance to get together with Camille again if you had that chance?" It was a stupid question to ask, but I asked it anyway.

And Sapphire shook her head at me. I'll take that as a no.

Then about an hour and a quarter later, our army reach the memorial. In front of us is a sculpture that representing the model of what was supposed to be carved into the mountain: a man on a horse pointing into the distance. I've read something about the man on that horse; I can only remember the name: Crazy Horse.

Looking at the mountain where the memorial was supposed to be, only the head, arms, and shoulders were complete. The horse has yet to be sculpted.

Soldiers from the Peacemaker army managed to collect documents and information about the Crazy Horse Monument. When I read them I learned that the monument was in honor of a warrior who leads a people called the Lakota to fight encroachments from the U.S. Government. The construction the memorial started in 1948 and has been far from completion until now; the construction was abandoned.

There was no time to explore this unfinished monument as my brother managed to send the armored carried for me, Sapphire, and the Peacemaker army. In just a few minutes we were on the road again.

Another hour passes, and in twelve minutes, Sapphire and I can already hear cannons fire and ink drop splattering all over the place. Then there were the shouts of inklings and octolings and the clanking and hissing of inkomatons. Speaking of the inkomatons, I can even hear the steampunk stuff breaking apart.

When the carriers stopped the doors were opened and the army and we had to get out immediately and fight. Out there, the outcome was expected; the Splat-coats were already losing the ground. I can see the humanoid Salmonid, Chris Zorin, already fighting in a blaze of glory with just 25 men forming a square; they splatted in seconds. Pyrrhus and James were already splatting another Splat-Coat commander, running him over with one of the steampunk automobiles. Telemachus had some officer apprehended for James to interrogate. Their Coyote-Stallion army was tearing down Splat-Coat settlements. All me and Sapphire had to do was lead Peacemaker army to drive the Splat-Coats east. In the sky, however, the Splat-Coats are still struggling -- those soldiers of President Howe had some help from a certain inkomaton: an Angel.

The inkomaton has all too human with metal angelic wings. It was dressed in a simple white tunic, its eyes were blindfolded, and it's armed with a scale and a sword.

This is Justice.

"That must be on the Angels that Mysteeri was talking about." Sandra took out binoculars and took a closer look. "My Brother's air fleet won't last. She's tearing through them like zeppelins."

"Then we'll have to help them?" Sapphire insisted.

Sandra soon left the Peacemaker Army to split up and help take Splat-Coat settlements. She then looked to Sapphire. A few retainers were behind the indigo inkling.

"How, Sapphire? We don't have anti-aircraft weaponry, Howe has those nearly destroyed and stored away." Sandra looked at an abandoned steampunk vehicle. "But I think there's some way to reinvent it." Sandra got her retainers to go over to the vehicle and make haste in disassembling it and rebuilt it. "It'll just take a few minutes."

Soon an ink-musket was fired by a Splat-Coat, splatting one of Sandra's retainers. Sapphire turns around and gets behind a rock with an ink sword at hand. Sandra did the same, taking out her steampunk dualies; they guns have names: Lewis and Clark. They had to protect the construction.

A small regiment of Splat-Coats is already marching towards them. The inkmaton numbers were very low in their ranks: Tinmen and Ichabods were stripped of their metal armors and left as skeletal machines. However, there were two new inkomatons in their ranks: a living furnace that shoots flaring mists of ink and a patriot in leather and animal skin, mistaken as another Splat-Coat, carrying a modified charger.

"What are those things?" Sapphire watched with caution.

Sandra was quick to nickname her enemies. "Let's call them the Fireman and Frontiersman."

The Fireman stomps once and releases one wave of flaring ink. The Frontiersman aims his charger and charged it's shot; when the trigger is released, ink shots are fired automatically into three directions, hitting the rocks and one of Sandra's Retainers.

"How many inkomatons will President Howe commission to stop us?" Sapphire asked.

"Enough to try and splat me and James!" Sandra answered before questioning the ink sword. "How deep can that sword cut even when the ink runs out?"

"Deep enough to tear a limb..." Sapphire only fight when she has to, and now is the time.

"Can it cut through metal and glass?" Sandra asked.

"Inkopolis doesn't call me 'The Weapon Seamstress' for nothing." Sapphire smiled. After all, she crafted this sword by herself. "What's the plan?"

"I'm going to fill my special gauge and perform a bomb rush on the Splat-Coat regiments." Sandra then pointed to the Fireman and Frontiersman. "And I need you to disarm the Frontiersman and cut off the arms and use its charge against the Fireman."

Sapphire knows that the two new inkomatons are too close to each other, they can cooperate to splat her in less than a minute.

"Don't you see how close those machines are?" Sapphire questioned.

"Oh... my bad." Sandra is now thinking of a way around it. "What is if I draw the Fireman close to me, and you go after the Frontiersman? I'm willing to risk drawing a heavy-hitter close to here."

Sapphire didn't question it and nods.

"We understand each other then, now wait 'til I draw the Fireman close enough for you to go around and confront the Frontiersman," Sandra stated, "That's an order from your Commander."

Sapphire nods without question and offered to double the bomb rush. Both their ink gauges fill and the two started tossing numerous splat bombs at regiment and the weak inkomatons. The Fireman and the Frontiersman, however, took the hits and continued advancing. The Fireman was moving more faster.

Sandra shoots her dualies at the Fireman, trying to encourage it to move faster. When it's close enough, Sapphire sprung into action and sprinted towards the Frontiersman. The inkomaton that Sapphire ordered to disarm removes an empty glass flask, replacing it with a full flask. It was reloading. Sapphire kept sprinting and prepared her ink sword.

When the Frontiersman prepares to aim, Sapphire jump and slashes downward, breaking one arm. However, this wasn't the arm on the trigger, but the aim was lower. It's three shots missed.

Sapphire then cuts the hand holding the handle of the charger. She then knocked the Frontiersman down and deliver a few hacks to the chest.

Sapphire grabs the charger, pulled the machine's severed hand away, and recovered the empty ink flask. She looked back and see the Fireman being slowed down by a few splat bombs that Sandra saved up. The flaring ink the Fireman made Sandra's ink evaporate before the splat bombs can hit it.

Sapphire tried to reload the charger with her ink, but it was enough to produce one shot. She hasn't tried firearms in a while, but she knew how to fire a charger. She looked into the scope and aims at the back of the Fireman's head while the inkmaton is distracted. With one pull of the trigger and the shot hits the Fireman's head.

It turns out the Fireman's head is a helmet, covering a bust made of a furnace. The Fireman stops and turns to face Sapphire. Sapphire lowers the charge. The Fireman is distracted and not longer targeting Sandra and her retainers; it's now targeting Sapphire.

The Fireman slams its fists down and started charging towards Sapphire, but it didn't manage to reach 2 feet of Sapphire. A steampunk automobile rams into the Fireman, and it collapses with a huge dent. The fires from this Inkomaton are now put out.

James and Pyrrhus get out of the cockpit as their automobile loses power.

"...Thank you." Sapphire called to them. She was breathing fast.

"What is Sandra doing?" James asked.

"Anti-Aircraft is ready, ma'am!" A retainer notified Sandra.

Sandra puts her dualies, Lewis and Clark, away and runs over to the newly built weapon. Her retainers filled it with a tank of ink while James and Pyrrhus run over to stand by Sandra's side.

"Sandra, what did you do to this?" James thinks Sandra is crazy.

"Re-invented the anti-aircraft cannon, what did you think?" She gets into what was once a cockpit and turns the machine on.

"Sandra..... thank you." James know what she did this for.

"Go lead your men, take Sapphire with you," Sandra ordered.

James nods in understanding. He runs off with Pyrrhus and Sapphire following, making their way to one more Splat-Coat settlement to take for the Rebellion. Sandra focused on aiming the angel, Justice. Once she has the inkomaton in her sights, she places a finger on a button and took a deep breath.

Sandra rephrased her mother's words:

"No matter what happens, I'll stay brave. I'll keep moving forward and stay brave, even if all is lost and even if there’s nowhere else to turn. I know James and I will make our names known to the world like you and Dad. I'll stay brave!"

She presses the button.

The ink is fired.

An angel's metallic feather falls and lands on the surface of an ink puddle.

[formermoron-blog]

The Universe’s Tale

A light breeze rustled through the apple orchard, flipping the pages of a wandering souls diary, the gentle ringing of the quiet whispering in his ears. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the longing pulling at his heart, a small smile tugging at his lips. Besides, the night skies were stunning.

The universe is vast. Endless. An infinity of possibilities and probabilities. One need only look up when the sun is down to get a glimpse of that grand canvas of cold darkness speckled by dots of stars and planets, the gravitational pull forming clusters of galaxies spiraling without a known destination. It was here, on the planet Earth, that humanity exists against the varying odds- because the universe allows it. It was here, on Earth, that humanity grew and stretched its fingers to the stars, wanting a taste of that limitless expanse. On such a small planet, within such a short time of coming into existence, humanity created the wonders of words both written and spoken to share thoughts and dreams, invented amazing technological and medical advances to extend the average lifespan and make life better, drew careful lines along canvases to capture the beauty of life and death, and sang of love and sadness. Through great triumphs and tragedies they survived.

Through it all, humanity never turned their eyes from the skies. The stardust in their bodies, their eyes, and their minds always called them elsewhere. The sweet ringing of silence in their ears on a quiet night, galaxies humming over their shoulder, forming the sorrowful sense of longing in every heart, was their gentle reminder. They did not exist in a bubble, merely observing that great vastness. They were the universe, in all its glory, wandering, thinking, feeling, creating, down to every last animal, stone, and tree, exploring itself and growing in its own skin.

As humanity continued, their advancements allowed them to leave the Earth they had always known, beyond the clouds planes flew among, and into the stars. Satellites had already made it up there, why not them? The Board of Leaders funneled funding into the Artemis Space Missions, from the astrophysicists and astronomers to the medical researchers to engineers and artists, and those needed for the project traveled to North America to get started. There were many trial and errors in the process, good lives lost and bright minds worked past exertion. But humanity was stubborn. Every failure meant a push in the right direction, a new solution to a previous problem. For every human that died during the project, a new one graduated and joined them with fresh minds and ideas. Hearts and souls poured into a single realization.

Eight years it took, everyone watching their televisions with eager eyes as the ship passed through the exosphere, past the satellites, toward the large chunk of rock that orbited the Earth. The landing was met with both cheers and tears, celebrations lasting for months on Earth as the dreams of humanity were fully brought to life. That longing to explore the universe was no longer a shared daydream. After that, more funds and people were put to work on a similar, much larger project. One to allow humanity as a whole to leave the Earth they knew so well and travel to distant planets and galaxies only observed through a telescope.

That had all started over seventy years ago. Since then, great strides had been made. Bigger ships, better equipment, new breakthroughs. By the time it was finished and tested, humanity was ready. Everyone prepared their things, filled out the proper documents, and boarded the Qube ships, the ships taking off for the speckled void above not long after. Not many remained, only those whose fields of study were specified to Earth ignoring the call of the stars to continue their research.

Two generations of the Gabler family worked on the Artemis Space Missions, and another three had worked on the Apollo Universe Mission. Apollo Gabler was included on that list, named after the program itself, just as his mother was named Artemis by his grandparents. He had been raised by astronomers and astrophysicists that taught him well, fostering a love for moonlight and shooting stars at a young age.  “Keep your eyes to the skies, Apollo. Don’t ever forget that you’re a part of it all.”

Apollo leaned back against the apple tree, gaze to the midnight sky in that wonder he would never grow out of. He wasn’t one of the ones that chose to stay behind, but here he was, feet on the ground and head in the clouds. His ship had a malfunction when something crashed into it, only waking him from stasis and making him traverse the wake-up tests and various rooms to escape before he even knew what was going on.

That had been a month ago. He had since built himself a home outside of the city in a wheatfield, exploring what remained around the area he lived in in place of the stars. It gave him new chances to learn and grow, tracking the other ships as he tried to find ways to repair communications devices and electronic generators so he could contact the others about the destroyed ships. His spare time was spent collecting what was left.

Love notes, journals, reports, calendars, unseen arts, unfinished stories, and unheard songs. He cataloged them and preserved them, finding the beauty in humanity’s remnants that could otherwise be lost to time or decay. It was important. A reminder that people had been there, that they were as diverse as the star patterns and as amazing and interesting as the things they had done. The universe was them, and they were the universe. It wanted them to remember and be remembered.

It made him feel alright, being alone and left behind, thankful to just be on Earth and breathing. There was only minor disappointment at never being able to see their galaxy from a far away point, and sadness for those who didn’t make it out, but he didn’t like to dwell on either thought too much. Sure it got lonely, but it wasn’t so bad being alone.

A light breeze rustled through the apple orchard, flipping the pages of a wandering souls diary, the gentle ringing of the quiet whispering in his ears. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the longing pulling at his heart, a small smile tugging at his lips. Besides, the night skies were stunning.

[heartofgolduria]

Magnimar, Varisia

Aviyah didn’t think she would ever get used to staying in noble houses. The Kaijitsu Villa was probably one of the more opulent buildings in the Naos District when it was in full repair. In its current state, though, the neighbors’ tongues were wagging about how the building should just be sold to someone who would actually be around to care for it. Aviyah could not say she disagreed the day they arrived. The servants--what few had been there--had made haste and left the property the moment the adventurers stepped through the door with little to no warning. Inside, it was clear that the absence of their employer had made them a little lazy. The home was still beautiful and would have only taken a day or two and some elbow grease to bring back to glory but the floors were dusty and things were out of place. Dishes were piled in the kitchen sink, unwashed from many nights of servants-only dinners and laundry remained in baskets in the washroom, untouched.

Iesha had immediately taken it upon herself to pick up the slack in her free time while the adventurers were sleeping over the past few days--much to the disdain of the neighbors, who had complained to the guard about the noise--and as they stepped back into the villa, it felt like a home again. 

“Vivi! Vivian?!” They called uselessly through the house together, checking doors and hoping desperately for any sign that their friend had returned home while they were away.

“She’s not in any of the bedrooms,” Aviyah sighed, reconvening with Akane in the hallway. “And I checked the library and the study and she’s not there, either.” 

“Not in the kitchen or the baths either,” Akane lamented, scrubbing a hand through her hair. Aviyah was so unused to seeing her without her hat on. 

“I’m sure she’ll be home soon,” the rogue offered, “but why don’t you get cleaned up and I’ll start tea. We can go over all the new evidence while we wait.”

Before she even turned the corner, she could hear the shuffling that meant their ghostly companion had already begun busying herself  in the kitchen. Aviyah watched as she floated jars and little boxes off the shelves, inspecting their labels and tossing them back in when she didn’t find what she was looking for.

“You would think a woman who runs an inn for a living would have a better selection,” Iesha grumbled, setting down a sack of salt on the countertop and turning back to whatever was already bubbling on the stove. She sighed heavily and added, “I miss the kitchen in the townhouse. Aldern was a fool but he had good taste.” Aviyah hoisted herself up onto the counter opposite Iesha to watch her work. 

“Well, he did choose you, so I’d have to agree,” she joked, balancing a butterknife idly on one finger. Iesha spun around to cross her arms pointedly at the other girl as she rolled her eyes. 

“I meant food,” she chided. Still, she smiled at Aviyah and drifted back to her place in front of the stove, moving her hands deliberately, her face stern as she attempted to stir the pot on the left and place the kettle on the right. The kettle clipped the edge of the stove, sending water flying across the tile. Iesha cursed under her breath and placed her hands over her face. “I swear I am never going to get the hang of this.” 

“Hey, now,” Aviyah hopped down and picked up the kettle, refilling it with water and placing it on the stove. “You’ve only been a ghost for, what? A week, maybe. I’d say you’re doing very well so far.” She yanked the towel hanging from the handle of the oven to mop up the water with one foot, tossing it in the bin next to the basin with the other kitchen towels. Iesha was sitting at the table with her head tucked into her arms.

“I miss my hands,” she groaned pitifully. She glanced up to meet the amusement on Aviyah’s face with a pointed glare. “I’m glad you think this is funny.” 

“It is decidedly not funny,” she conceded, stirring idly at Iesha’s project on the stove. There were bits of various vegetables churning in the bubbling pot that smelled like vinegar and garlic and something else that she couldn’t identify. She scrunched up her nose and poked at it for a moment before the wooden spoon was forcibly yanked from her hands and Iesha was suddenly beside her, looking more irritated than before.

“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it,” she groused, turning her focus to moving the spoon back over the pot. Her fingers twitched as she worked it into a steady circular rhythm. Aviyah observed the careful concentration that crossed her features, the small wrinkle that had formed between her eyebrows, the way her eyes narrowed and she caught part of her lower lip between her teeth. Iesha’s eyes met hers for a moment as she realized she was being watched and her concentration faltered. The spoon stopped and fell onto the stovetop and Iesha crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry. Why don’t you just let me--” Aviyah picked up the spoon and set back to work stirring where Iesha had left off in an uneven pattern that caused some of the strange contents to slosh up over the edge and sizzle on the grate below.

“Ah! No, not--ugh. Here!” Aviyah felt the cold pressure start in her fingers and reach its way up her forearm and when she looked down again, she was being pushed in a soft, rhythmic pattern. “Who taught you how to use a stove?” 

“Trick question,” Aviyah answered, watching the swirling liquid intently. “Papa taught me a lot of things. I can tie a sail and I can navigate by the stars, but gods was he a lousy chef.” She chuckled a little at the memory and added, “My brother used to sneak away and grab us pastries from the market and we’d hide them in our packs so we’d have something to eat after Papa went to sleep. We never wanted to hurt his feelings. He tried so hard.” She hadn’t even noticed as she’d been talking that Iesha had let go of her hand.

“Well, while I’m still with you we’ll just have to make the most of it,” she was grinning over Aviyah’s shoulder. “Grab me that salt, would you?” 

_____________

By the time Akane joined them, the girls in the kitchen had managed to make a passable sour vegetable soup. Aviyah was surprised by how good it was, despite her aversion to the smell, and after a long day they’d spent sneaking around and fighting for their lives, a warm fire and a full stomach went a long way. They spread out the papers on the large table and talked about their next move but they collectively agreed that to go forward without Vivi would be foolish at best. The guards still had not seen her when they checked in on the way back to the villa and they were beginning to worry in earnest. It was decided they would keep looking in the morning. They bid each other goodnight and headed to their own rooms for the evening.

While the majority of the villa had been constructed in a more traditional Varisian style, the guest rooms had been designed with a reflection of the owners’ Tian Xia heritage in mind. Aviyah’s guest room was on the second floor of the house on the western side of the hall.  The furniture was all made of the same polished cherry wood with delicate mother of pearl inlays. A large window on the west wall painted the room in a dim white glow from the moon, filtered by the gauzy curtains hanging from ornamental rods above. Above the low bed, a round tapestry bound in a wooden frame hung on the wall depicting a peaceful, mountainous landscape.

After a long bath and  a last cup of tea, Aviyah lit the candles by the bedside, settled into the soft mattress, her back to the padded headboard, and pulled a carefully folded bundle of  unfinished cloth from her pack. 

The first day’s work had been tedious as she tried to remember the simple patterns the sweet tiefling girl had taught her at the Merchant’s Fortune but after several days of trial and error, the thread slipped back and forth across the fabric easily. Her work was still not as clean as the tiefling’s or as beautiful as her mother’s, but Aviyah stifled some pride at how the pattern was coming together under her hands. Over the past couple of days, the little project had become a sort of meditation to put her mind at ease when she could not go to sleep. There was some satisfaction she drew from the repetition. She took the moments of peace when she did not have to focus to reflect on the day and sometimes she prayed, mostly to Desna but occasionally to Iomedae, too. 

A knock on the door startled her from her work. The house had been quiet, the only sound a light scratching on the window from a tree just outside. She hastily shoved all of the fabric with all its new stitching into her back and answered, “Come in!” 

The door did not open, but Iesha’s shimmery form phased through the heavy wood and out the other side gracefully and she settled herself on the edge of the bed in an awkward half-sit that did not look entirely natural. 

“I’m sorry for knocking so late,” she said, glancing around the room at the various knick knacks and paintings that adorned the walls. “I was just concerned. I wanted to make sure you didn’t leave a candle burning or something--there was light under the door.”

“Ah, yeah. Sorry I worried you, I was just having trouble sleeping,” Aviyah lied.  Iesha glanced down at the pack on the floor and her brow furrowed a little. 

“I miss sleeping,” she said, flopping backwards onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. “If I were you, I’d be sleeping all the time. And I miss being able to change my hair. If I had known this is what I would look like when I was a ghost I might I have taken more care to look presentable.”

“You look fine,” Aviyah chuckled and Iesha rolled her eyes a little in response.

“Ah, yes,” she countered sarcastically. “Because all I ever wanted in life was to look fine. ‘Here lies Iesha, daughter of the most beautiful woman in Varisia. She looked fine, I guess’ is exactly how I want my eulogy read. You should make a note of that.” Aviyah blushed a little and shook her head, grinning. 

“Now you’re telling me that you are your own daughter?” she joked. “No one at the funeral is gonna believe that.” Iesha looked away and broke into a fit of nervous giggles. She regained her composure and sighed heavily. 

“Thank you,” she said more seriously. “I know I’ve only been dead for three months but it’s been a lot longer since the last time someone made me laugh.” Her eyes slipped closed and she shuddered a little, her outline flickering slightly. “Is it terrible that sometimes I miss him?” 

Aviyah laid down on her back next to the other girl and traced the beams above with her eyes, thinking hard before answering, “No. I don’t think it’s terrible.” They laid there in silence for a moment.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Iesha continued softly. “But he wasn’t always that..whatever he was. That was the strangest thing about those monsters back at the townhouse. It was like staring back in time. I know it wasn’t really him but they got everything right.”

“Not everything,” Aviyah interjected before she could stop herself. “She didn’t smile like you do. Your smile tilts up more on one side. Hers didn’t.” Iesha turned and opened her mouth to object but decided better of it. 

“I think,” she said after a moment. “I just miss people. I was never alone. I grew up with siblings and cousins and friends and when Aldern and I got married there were parties and visitors and all that but then I...stayed in my room and then he took me away to the manor and out of town. Darren was the only friend I had there and he just…” She took an unnecessary, shuddering breath. “I’m just tired of being alone. All those hours awake, alone in the dark just feel like when he... I have too much time to think.” Not for the first time, Aviyah wished she could reach out for her.

“I know what you mean,” she said instead, closing her eyes. “Living with the girls was always so closely packed. We did everything together when we weren’t working. I didn’t necessarily care for their company but it was company. And then I escaped and, well, this is the most time I’ve spent with other people since. Is it terrible to miss them?”

“I miss my family,” Iesha choked out. Her visage faded in and out as her energy wavered. 

For the first time since she left the Merchant’s Fortune, Aviyah let herself say it out loud. “Me too.”  They sat like that together, listening to the tap, tap, tap on the window and watching the shadows dance along the beams that held up the ceiling. Aviyah felt the chill in her fingers and curled them up around the invisible hand she knew would be there if she just had the courage to look.

“I know you can’t sleep,” she said finally. “But you can stay here with me. Read or draw or whatever ghosts do at night. If you want to. I don’t mind.” 

“I think I’d like that.”

[busines303-blog]

Myspace Lost A Lot Of Music And With It, Hip-Hop Lost A Huge Chunk Of Its History

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Myspace Lost A Lot Of Music And With It, Hip-Hop Lost A Huge Chunk Of Its History

Getty Image/ Uproxx Studios

For the past several years, much ado has been made of the wave of rowdy, rule-breaking rappers that bubbled up from the underground on the music streaming site Soundcloud, dubbing their movement in honor of the service and praising or censuring the DIY, freeform aesthetic nature that the site helped facilitate. We’ve called them Soundcloud rappers, crediting them with bypassing the usual conventions of the recording industry and all its trappings.

The thing is, what they did wasn’t precisely new, even though the scale of assessments and ease with which they spread their viral, contrarian punk rap had been unseen. Soundcloud rappers like the Juice WRLD, Lil Pump, Lil Yachty, and Tekashi6 9 were simply building on a blueprint that had been laid out a decade before — one that was obstinately chugging along, struggling to maintain its relevance even today. Myspace was like the precursor to Soundcloud, the launching pad for a million dreams, a million narratives, and even one of rap’s biggest careers.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to stay relevant when you lose over 50 million sungs in an ill-fated server migration geared toward the effort to do so. By now, you’ve probably heard: Myspace confirmed this week that the company lost millions of files dating all the style back to the social site’s launch in 2003 up until only four years ago. Leaving aside the surprising news that anyone was still uploading songs to the site long after the advent of Soundcloud, Spotify, and other dedicated streamers, it’s actually a minor misfortune that such a large repository of music has been lost, because, with it, we’ve also lost a huge chunk of hip-hop history.

It’s odd, but for all the written histories of the world, so much of what we know about what’s been written is third-hand knowledge from surviving accounts — think of it as a library losing every transcript of the Harry Potter franchise, but maintaining an repository of literary magazines containing reviews of the books themselves. We’d be left with volumes about volumes, but no tangible proof of what was in the original texts — what they was like, how much they weighed, and more importantly, what was in them, to begin with.

Myspace’s disastrous loss is the digital equivalent of the decline of the Library of Alexandria — the real tragedy is we won’t even know what was lost, aside from hazy, anecdotal firsthand recollections and maybe dead connects on reference sites. Many of the sites that would have contained information about which artists, bands, labels, and songs got their starts on the groundbreaking social networking site are themselves lost to antique, their servers long since shut down or wiped, which means that even the guideposts we would use to remember that there were these little nuggets of information are gone.

Here’s one of those anecdotal bits that won’t appear on the top references that interested researchers would check first. Neither the Wikipedia nor the Genius entries for Drake’s seminal mixtape, So Far Gone, mention that one of its songs — in fact, the first sung that uncovered Drake to millions of fans, feeding the fever pitch of anticipation for the project’s release — began its official life on Drake’s Myspace page, which now appears nothing like it did then.

“Brand New,” originally a reference anthem for an unidentified R& B vocalist — fans have posited Chris Brown, Omarion, and Trey Songz as possible recipients — leaked via an unscrupulous engineer or label athlete to file sharing sites and music forums, despite the fact that it was never supposed to be released in its rough draft form. Knowing he was able to never get that particular genie back in its bottle, Drake instead released it on his Myspace page, which until that phase had recently hosted a handful of tracks from his second mixtape, Comeback Season.

The song was an instant sensation. Back then, you could see play counts on Myspace’s music player — another way the site paved the way for its successors — and “Brand New” attained popularity several orders of magnitude beyond anything any of his previous ways had done. In short, an unmixed, unfinished reference way shared on a social media profile may very well have led to one of the most prolific musical careers of the past decade, or hell, considering the fact that Drizzy has violated records by The Beatles, one of the most prolific musical careers in the world itself, but the proof of that fact is lost. The tale is gone, and all that’s left are narratives about the narrative. For instance, there are old articles that mention the site, and even some that captured its faded glory, long after Myspace had fallen out of favor with whoever decides what the next technological advancement on the internet looks like.

Now, hip-hop basically lives on Soundcloud, the en vogue archive for music on the internet. A whole new generation is starting out launching their careers and sharing their work with growing fan basis. New artists are being detected, by both corporate interests and curious listeners, every day. But Soundcloud is no safer than Myspace — in fact, it’s already had its own scare in recent years after shutting multiple offices and coming up short in the profit projections. More and more of our art, our run, our voices, lives online, but those lives are unstable and — as shown in the case of Myspace — all too ephemeral.

What happens if or when Soundcloud’s servers finally go kaput one day? Sure, by then we’ll have all moved on to something new — or simply uploaded our brains to the cloud or something — but again, huge pieces of history will be lost, affecting our ability to keep accurate records or even just sentimentally return to a place where something meaningful happened for us personally. Soundcloud, and whatever other services succeed it, need to take steps to ensure that there are backups for their backups to avoid such a thing happens again. It seems like these archives are stable and permanent, but as we have all been reminded, they aren’t.

Drake’s is likely far from the only nothing-to-something success story lost in Myspace’s migration. In fact, there were probably even more tales of missed opportunities, of dreams artists chased that got away, of shared underground favorites and best kept secrets. There were probably lessons to be learned and wisdom to bestow, millions of tales instructive and emotional and personal and unusual and universal. Now all those narratives are gone and if we aren’t careful, we could keep losing those stories over and over again, because those who don’t learn from history … Well, you get the rest.

Read more: uproxx.com