#i am terrible at keeping up with our prospects

[snekjin]

korchinski at Team CAN WJC 2023 selection camp 

[vivwritesfics]

Better Than He Ever Was - MV1

This gif makes me feral - I am on my KNEES

Y/N is pregnant and Max is sweating

Related works: Mini Me Prodigy

When Y/N Verstappen found out she was pregnant with Fabian, Max was terrified. He was utterly, utterly terrified.

He played it well, cheering and happy smiles when Y/N showed him the pregnancy test. To everybody on the outside, he was the overjoyed father to be, talking about Y/N and their baby on the way any chance he got.

There were very few people who saw beneath the facade Max was putting on. The first was Christian Horner, who himself was like a father to Max. The next was Charles Leclerc, who was way too excited at rhe prospect of being an uncle that he forgot he wouldn't actually be related to the baby.

Both said the same thing: that Max should talk to Y/N about it.

But where was he to begin? How did he tell her, after seeing how happy she was, that he wasn't ready to have a baby.

When she started showing? Oh boy.

It was never something Y/N wanted to keep hidden. As soon as she had all the tests she had taken come back positive, she posted something to all of her social media's. Max did, too, playing his part well.

Y/N didn't wear baggy clothes to hide her bump; she showed it off with pride. At every single grand prix she'd be standing beside her husband, hand over her stomach and the press took pictures of them.

Most husbands, when their wife's baby bump began showing, would be over the moon. But when Y/N started showing, it just made Max more fearful.

Y/Ns very first proper indication of the was when they were discussing baby names.

Any moment she got, Y/N was writing down potential names. She had at least twenty of each.

"How do you like Felix?" Y/N asked him as they watched a movie together. Max had been sim racing all day; this was the first proper moment she'd had to spend with him. "Or Daniel?"

"Daniel can be the middle name if it's a boy," Max said as he fed her a Malteaser.

Y/N moved over to her list of girls names. "If it's a girl, I liked Mila. Thought Mila Verstappen had a really nice ring to it."

Max just hummed.

It was two weeks after that Y/N finally sat him down.

"What's going on with you?" She asked, her hand resting on her bump. That morning her snack of choice had been stroopwafels, and she'd accidentally finished the entire box (but who could blame her? They're addictive).

"What do you mean?" Asked Max as he lifted the box to see what he was inside. Nothing, empty. He made a mental note to buy more.

A terrible, horrible feeling settled in Y/Ns stomach. "Please, Maxie," she placed her hand over his, rubbing her thumb over his wrist. "Tell me what's going on. I'm begging you!"

Max let out a huff. He hated himself. "I love you," he said, which definitely wasn't concerning. "I love you so much and I know how excited you are to have our baby, but I don't know if I can do it."

Her heart was beating so loud she was sure Max could hear it. "Wha-what are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say that I'm so fucking scared, Y/N. I'm terrified of being a dad. What if I raise our child like my dad raised me and the kid ends up like me? I'd never be able to forgive myself if that happened."

Oh. This wasn't a dire as Y/N thought it was. This was something she could deal with. "Come here," she said softly and tried to pull his chair closer. Max shuffled over. He let Y/N wrap her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. "Do you remember last summer, when we went on holiday with my sister and her kids? Do you remember how they loved you so much that they wouldn't leave you alone?"

They'd rented out a villa. Max and Y/N had just come back from their honeymoon when Y/N's sister had invited them away.

As soon as they had their things unpacked, the kids grabbed their uncle Max's hands and dragged him into the pool. "Let's race!" The oldest shouted. Max was more than happy to oblige. He raced them to the other side of the pool and back, letting them win, of course.

When Y/N and his sister started on lunch, Max was blowing up the inflatable pool toys and looking after the baby. He was a natural with all three of them. Y/N watched them out of the window as she buttered the bread and passed it to her sister. That was when she realised how wonderful of a father Max was going to be. That was when she realised she wanted to have his children.

By the end of the holiday, the children were obsessed with him. According to Y/N's sister they didn't stop talking about him until at least two weeks after the holiday.

Max nodded his head. At first he'd been secretly reluctant to entertain the kids. But he loved it, and he actually found it fun. Of course, it wouldn't be the same when it was his own child.

"You're going to be an amazing father, Max. You're so kind and caring and kids love you. Plus, you're aware of how shitty your dad was to you, you know what you have to differently," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "I'll be there with you every step of the way," Y/N whispered and kissed the top of her head.

Max was still terrified, but he was trying not to be. But Y/N saw him change. He really did become that cheering and happy father he was pretending to be at the start.

Aside from Formula One, Max's life became getting Y/N whatever she and the baby were craving. Stroopwafels, mostly.

They discussed names more when Max became more comfortable. He was a big fan of Nora. Nora Sophie Verstappen. It had a very nice ring to it, Max thought. Little baby Nora.

They'd struggled to settle on a name for a boy. After Max had suggested his mothers name for the baby's middle name, Y/N was afraid Jos' name was going to be thrown into the mix. Not after all of Max's fears and anxiety. They'd decided Hugo, Hugo Verstappen was to be his name.

If it was up to Y/N, Jos wouldn't be in the child's life. But, of course, it wasn't just up to her. It was a decision she and Max had to make together.

When they found out they were having a little boy, Y/N and Max were over the moon. They decorated the nursery, painting the walls to be like a Formula One track. The bottom third was all grass, the middle was the track and the rest was blue skies with fluffy clouds.

The track went all the way around the room, with little race cars painted onto the track. There was a little Red Bull with a 33 on it, and a little Ferrari with a 16. It was a friend who painted it for them, going into intricate details for the cars and garages.

And then Y/N went into labour.

All of those fears Max had managed to get past came flooding back. His wife was about to give birth to his little boy.

Max wasn't much help through the delivery. Actually, through most of it he wasn't allowed in the delivery room, since he was panicking too much.

He wasn't a Hugo. That was what Y/N and Max decided the moment he was born. He was a Fabian. Fabian Hugo Verstappen. He was the most gorgeous little boy in the world. That was all Max could think as he stared at him, cradles in his wife's arms.

His son. His boy.

"Welcome to the world, Fabian Hugo Verstappen."

[devilmaycrybrainworm]

On the topic of Hideaki Itsuno leaving Capcom, I know we're all sad at the prospect of this being the end of the Devil May Cry franchise...

I would rather have the series die an honorable death than be kept artificially alive as cash-grab zombie; unrecognizable from its source material like Resident Evil. Anything DMC related ALWAYS had painfully slow releases, and if there indeed is a dmc6 in development, it would have had Itsuno overseeing a lot of it up until this point. IMO all hope isn't lost. I have held the theory that IF we get another DMC game, 6 would be the final game. The story of the Devil May Cry universe has been told, and all stories must come to an end eventually. A game to honor the title, the fans, and the love, all wrapped up in a voluptuous bow is all that's needed to finish the story for all time, if anything. The fans are what keeps it alive, and it will continue to be enjoyed as long as it continues to exist. Thankfully this is just a video game series so it's not like we're really saying goodbye.

This series is close to my heart and absolutely to be dramatic, part of my soul at this point. I want the best for this series and considering that Itsuno is leaving, I HOPE Capcom doesn't destroy this series for the sake of money. My heart would break if it became Cashcow May Cry. Literally I'm going to go to Capcom HQ and tell them I'm taking over for any DMC related projects from now on LOL !! Still, the reboot as a stand alone game was really fun and paved the way for what improved the gameplay for 5. I wont turn my nose at a new director unless given a reason. With that being said, I'd be completely satisfied if DMC5 was the last game from the franchise. I think the story is satisfying in a way that concludes the series, but also leaves an open-end... just in case.

I'm going to be bold enough to say I'll love Devil May Cry for the rest of my life. I do not use this term lightly (or at all actually) but this series and Vergil have been my exclusive hyper fixation for the last 14(?) years. I'm gonna be here through thick and thin at this point. This series has gotten me through thick and thin. It has become a fundamental part of who I am, which I'm sure people can relate to. Stories are told to, inform, entertain, and inspire. Devil May Cry is an action game, but it is one with something to say. The capability of good and evil exists in everyone. It's a story about CHOICE. A demon has the capability of righteousness, as much as a human has for terrible evil. How wonderful it is we have the gift to choose our destiny and alter fate. To me that is the primary message of Devil May Cry.

The future is uncertain as ever but,

We Shall Never Surrender.

[lya-dustin]

Shock and Delight

Chapter 13

Cw: minor violence, implied past attempted sexual assault, misogyny, abuse of power

“Lady Tully and her son, your highness.” The footman announced today’s first callers.

Mother has only just arrived in the room filled with her prospects when Lyonel pushes through demanding an audience. He is agitated and while the bruises are gone his nose has not healed correctly. Hopefully one of the young men here will break it for her this time.

“The High Septon has given me license to wed your daughter, the King and my great uncle have agreed our marriage must happen!” Lyonel Hightower's words are enough to cause chaos in the sitting room.

“That’s impossible, I am the head of my household and my daughter’s hand is not theirs to give!” Mother is taken aback by this and does not let the man even approach them.

Aemma’s too distraught by the news that somehow her grandfather had been lucid enough to overrule his own daughter and marry her to Lyonel of all people that she runs to her room like a child.

“I can’t marry him, Teora, I can’t.” The princess cries into her Septa’s lap and tells her what occurred that night. She feels better after, but she knows this changes nothing. They would believe him over her and marry her to him to keep tongues from wagging.

“Congratulate me, cousins!” Lyonel uses the dreaded C-word as he comes to bother them in the sitting room where he and his brothers are playing cards and losing badly to Helaena. “I am to be married!”

“Who’s the poor girl?” Aegon asked sardonically while he tried to peek at Daeron’s hand and, by the looks of it, it’s another losing one. Daeron’s always been terrible at card games, apparently these were banned in Oldtown.

“Your lovely niece, the Princess Aemma.” Lyonel avoids him ---as he should--- but the smile he has makes Aemond want to toss him out a window. He could get away with it, the one-eyed prince thinks.

“You can’t! She’s to wed Aemond!” Helaena protests, accidentally revealing yet another winning hand. She still thinks Aemond will wed Aemma and live happily ever after like the songs that it started to become a concern for them.

“Rhaena says Aemma said she’d rather become a Silent Sister and cut out her own tongue than wed you.” Daeron adds his two cents and Aemond supposes he should butt in since he’s pretending to court the victim.

“Did you forget she said no the first two times? Or should I remind you, Ser?” Aemond tosses his cards on the table, having absolutely no trouble playing the jealous suitor as he squares up to his infernal relation. He likes Aemee. He'd kill Lyonel as any friend would do.

His words make the man swallow back fear and bite back with that smarmy smile of his. “Oh, her refusal means nothing when I have the King’s approval…and on parchment!”

This time he’s the one to break his nose. Helaena chastises him for getting blood on the table she painted herself instead of the violence occurring as Aemond continues hitting the older man, Daeron is stopped by Aegon from interfering and tries to place bets with him and Aemond is too incensed by this to care about the consequences of interrupting mother’s praying after dragging Lyonel out of Helaena's rooms.

“You can’t let that marriage happen, mother, if you do, I will call for a duel and marry her then and there.” It won’t come to that, he hopes, but to save Aemma from Lyonel he’d do anything. Even marry Aemma and crush her dreams of marrying for love.

Daeron literally runs straight into Rhaena on his way to call on her with Helaena in tow to talk about what happened and ask over Aemma’s wellbeing. Aemond had gone to mother demanding she stop it, Aegon was giddy for it ending up in the Morning and they were the only ones who thought about giving Rhaenyra and her daughter their condolences and asking if there was anything they could do.

Lyonel was a piece of shit, plain and simple. Too arrogant to care about anyone but himself, spared consequences because he was Cousin Ormund’s heir and a man one shouldn’t leave ladies alone with. He’d be terrible to any woman, Aemma especially.

“She hasn’t left her room.” Rhaena speaks quietly as her Septa and her stepmother share worrying looks. “Hasn’t stopped crying either.”

Aemond had mentioned two refusals and wanting to remind him of them. Perhaps they were related to the beating Lyonel got in the gardens. This he relates to his cousin who didn’t know of it despite her closeness to Aemma.

“They would still find a way to make it happen, the King’s word is law even if its was the Hand’s doing.” Helaena expressed her sympathies likely remembering how much she cried when she was forced to wed Aegon. Father and mother had been unsure, wanting to wait until they were older in hopes of finding a better alternative, but grandfather said Aegon’s indiscretions and Rhaenyra’s wedding to Daemon was a sign it had to happen in that moment.

“There has to be a way to break the match, Father managed to free mother from the Sea Lord’s son by killing him, maybe Aemond can be of use and rid the world of Lyonel the Lecher.” Baela interjects thinking some kinslaying may remedy this. She had been fuming wanting to know what has Aemma in such a state, then pacing and now plopping herself on his other side sandwiching him between herself and Rhaena.

“Kinslaying is against the Gods, Baela. He’d be cursing himself and Aemma even if the Kingsguard took his place.” Rhaenyra shook her head.

“Where is Lady Morning when you need her?” Daeron tries to focus on anything except Rhaena who looks very soft and pretty and smells like flowers and is literally leaning on him right now.

Daeron’s words are seemingly unheard by anyone as Aemond comes in with mother hot on his heels. He doesn’t even wait for an answer as to whether he can see Aemma in her rooms as he strides to her door. No one would find it untoward; they are kin after all.

“I swear on my mother’s memory I had no part in this!” Mother tells Aemond, who has already disappeared into the bedroom with the Septa, and Rhaenyra, who is genuinely surprised at her appearance here.

Daeron cannot even remember having seen mother in Rhaenyra’s rooms ever.

“Daeron has an idea.” Rhaena had heard him, something that has him redden like the flowers in her dress as she forces the attention on him.

“I merely said where was Lady Morning when you needed her, Rhaena. But it’s a stupid idea, father and grandfather wouldn’t be swayed by a gossip rag.”

It would never work. If grandfather cared about people’s opinion, he wouldn’t be here at all.

“Not if it reflects badly on the Crown, little brother.” Rhaenyra has the same smirk all his siblings have when they are about to get away with something naughty. The look she shares with his mother is like the ones Helaena shares with Elissa. Like they were best friends.

They had been once upon a time; everyone knows the story.

“What are you thinking, Rhaenyra?” his mother asks, wondering how in seven hells they were to pull this off.

“You won’t marry him, I promise you, you won’t, Aemee.” He is strangely gentle with her as he offers her a handkerchief as he did then. Goes further than that and dried her tears for her.

Its sweet of him to console her in her tribulations, but there was no way he could help her and tells him so.

“I told mother if she allows it to go through, I will challenge him to a duel and marry you as Daemon wed Laena.” He would wed her for her safety and while it was touching and sweet of him to say that the real consequences of his words have her reacting differently.

“Are you mad? What happens when he tells someone of what happened that night? What if he accuses you of taking my virtue and calls me a whore?” Aemma does not mean to be so harsh, but Aemond is always honest with her, and she knows she cannot lie to him. Especially about this madness that’s overtaken him.

“Who would believe him? It is our word against his, Aemma.” He is so sure of this going well she stares at him struggling to compose a coherent sentence.

“It doesn’t matter to those who oppose my mother’s position, Aemond, you know that. People will look for any excuse to ruin either of us, and now both our lives could be ruined if he breathed a word to the wrong person.” The princess reminds him. One word, one lie would have her branded as a whore for eons to come. Mother had never shaken off the allegations even if half of it was true. “They won’t care that you are your mother’s son if it means they can cast doubt on any child I have. You may have made things worse by your misguided act of chivalry.”

“So you’ve given up already? You’d rather marry that oaf even if it means hell for you because you’re afraid of a ruined reputation?” Her words had more than pricked him, he was even more angry than disappointed with her. It was easy for him to have his reputation ruined, he was man, what would he know about the precarious situation she was born into?

“What other choice do I have? He made sure every suitor I ever had knows he has the king’s approval!” Aemma cried feeling like a helpless child who cannot see any reason to hope anymore. “Even our mothers cannot go against him and your grandfather, Aemond and you know that!”

“I could mar---” Aemond never finishes his sentence when her sisters rush in with their news.

“Daeron had the best idea; we are going to make Lady Morning ruin Lyonel the Lecher!” Baela is so excited she doesn’t notice what she interrupted nor will Aemma ever hear what Aemond was going to do to save her.

It almost sounded like he was going to say the word marry, but she was probably imagining it. This was just friends pretending to be lovers, he had made it clear he doesn’t seek to marry at all. Aemond jokes that he will blame a broken heart for when she marries and cannot play this game with him anymore.

[alexanderlightweight]

Could you do a continuation of the prompt where Trueblood Alec got summoned like an angel?

here we go! okay so this is officially tilted 'devotion across worlds' because it's alec fucking trueblood and you know he and is shadows are going to be little shits until he gets home. even if he does have a soft spot for Magnus Bane's in general, he has a very specific one that he wants to crawl home in bed with.

i hope you enjoy <3 lumine

-

“You’re not Magnus.” His angel says and it’s the first thing he says when he wakes up. It’s clear he’s no longer disoriented and he’s looking at Magnus differently now, his eyes filled with dark wariness and Magnus sighs, because this could be going so much better.

“I am Magnus.” He retorts, because not even an angel gets to deny who he is, even one as beautiful and enchanting as this one.

“Not my Magnus—” his angel bites back after a moment, looking even more unsettled at the prospect that Magnus is indeed, some form of his Magnus.

“Terribly sorry to be myself.” Magnus teases and it earns him a flustered scowl and he can see a hint of pink on his angel’s ears.

He’s so utterly charming and Magnus wants dearly to find out how to keep him here, because surely if an angel is so devoted to one version of him, he could learn to care for another.

It’s with that thought in mind that Magnus begins to plan.

“If I get you a glass of water, you won’t eat it, will you?” Magnus checks warily, because he hasn’t forgotten what his angel said, and he’s met with a bewildered, insulted look.

“No? Why would I eat a glass of water?”

“Well excuse me for asking,” Magnus says dryly, summoning and handing him one, “you’re the one who told me you ate a cup.”

His angel jerks, water sloshing over his fingers and Magnus is about to helpfully dry him, when something dark reaches out plucks a napkin off the tray. Wiping his angel’s fingers and wrists like Magnus had wanted to do.

“Fuck—” he mutters and it’s Magnus’ turn to be shocked.

“An angel using mundane swears!”

“Wha— oh, the wings. No, I’m not an angel, Magnus. I’m just a nephilim. My name is Alec Trueblood, I’m the Head and Commander of the New York Institute in my world.” He sounds utterly confused, as if he’s never had to explain this before, which means that it’s something normal where he’s from.

“So nephilim have wings in your world?” Magnus asks curiously, wondering what other differences there are and he turns back just in time to see Alexander choke on his water again.

“No just me, it wasn’t exactly on purpose, and it can’t be replicated.” Alexander mutters and around him the shadows writhe and Magnus wonders if they’re connected to whatever has given this lovely angel his wings.

“And you know me.” Magnus tries, sliding closer and giving a smooth smirk as he reaches out and boldly runs his fingers over Alexander’s arm.

“I know my Magnus.” Alexander says, stepping away. Like he isn’t practically taunting Magnus with the possessives coming off his tongue, “who is going to be very irked that I’m missing our date. This is the second time I’ve canceled this week.”

“Surely he’ll be understanding.” Because Magnus couldn’t imagine being upset at a delay in a date if the date was with Alexander.

“He will be, until he realizes I got summoned somewhere and then he’s going to be in an utter mood.” Alexander looks warily around himself, as if he’s still not exactly sure how to feel about what’s going on. “He doesn’t mind if I miss dates because I’m busy. He hates when I miss a date because someone else interfered.”

“Well, crossing worlds and dimensions is a bit tricky, especially in such a seemingly permanent manner.” Magnus waggles his eyebrows and gets a stern, unimpressed look though he sees a hint of softness in hazel eyes. Clearly, despite his best efforts, Alexander isn’t wholly unaffected by another version of whatever Magnus is to him in the world he’s from. “I’m happy to help you darling, for a price of course.”

“The price being?” Alexander asks him, wary and dry as if he doesn’t trust Magnus.

“Your delightful company as long as you’re in this world, and perhaps a kiss from an angel for a little divine luck?”

“Still not an angel, Magnus.” Alexander mutters but he’s looking at Magnus consideringly and then he sighs, stepping forward and sealing that last bit of space between them.

Magnus is delighted and a little surprised by how easily this is going but then, instead of an amorous, heated and perhaps even angry kiss — he’s being chastely, sweetly kissed at the corner of his eye.

His unglamoured eyes are staring at Alexander in shock as he pulls back and then leans forward to kiss the corner of the other eye.  Then Magnus’ face is being cupped by large, calloused and oh-so gentle hands as his forehead is tenderly kissed as well.

“There, it’s not divine but it is a ritual for good luck kisses.” Alexander looks a bit wary but there’s also the tiniest hint of pink on the shell of his ears, hidden behind his hair. “Ragnor taught me it when I was little and when I met my Magnus, well he’s never disagreed.”

Magnus can’t even unpack everything about that sentence because of course his Magnus never disagreed.

Not when even Magnus himself can recognize such a specific trio of kisses.  It seems some things are truly the same, including the comforting habit Ragnor and Cat both created, when Magnus was at his lowest and hated his eyes the most.

To be touched this gently, this tenderly and sweetly from someone not them and know that even this small bit of affection is sincere, is almost too much for Magnus.

Especially when he knows that Alexander is staring directly into his golden eyes and not flinching or looking away.

Alexander steps away and Magnus has to fight himself to let him, because now he has to rethink everything. If that other Magnus is anything like himself, then he’s not going to want to let Alexander go, and Magnus is going to have to figure out if he’s going to end up fighting himself.

Because Magnus doesn’t have to know what exactly Alexander and his counterpart are to each other.

He wants it.

Whatever it is, whatever he can take and get of it, he craves it desperately.

[anonymousewrites]

There's a Will; There's a Way (Book 4) Chapter Sixteen

Dazai Osamu x Fem! Reader

Chapter Sixteen: Games of Tragedy

Summary: Dazai and Fyodor begin their game, and (Y/N) decides on what to do.

            It hadn’t worked.

            The Agency’s warning to the plane bringing One Order had failed. They had still arrived, plane cut apart by the Hunting Dogs, and Fukuchi stood triumphantly with the container of One Order in his hands. He knew that the Armed Detective Agency had done their best to keep him from getting it, called in every favor and used every card up their sleeve. But Fukuchi had won. He held the container tightly, almost reverently, and tried to open it.

            Nothing.

            His eyes widened. It wouldn’t open. The tried to force it open, but it wouldn’t move. The box was shrouded in some ancient ability sealing it shut. Fukuchi gritted his teeth. He knew precisely who was behind it.

            Nanako. Damn Nanako Mori was laughing at him from Hell as her actions in life prevented his final victory.

l

            “I’m bored of this room now,” said Dazai, lying back on his cot. He sat up. “It was fun at first, but we’re out of stuff to talk about now, too.”

            “Oh? But I have so much to say about my dear Angel.” Fyodor smirked. “It’s just you who refuses to respond to me.”

            Dazai’s gaze darkened. “I don’t like the way you talk about her. Besides—” he stopped the conversation from going farther “—it’s time to do the thing.”

            “The thing?” repeated Fyodor.

            Dazai looked up at him and smirked. “One of us dies.”

            “That is a fantastic idea,” said Fyodor, grinning sadistically.

            Both were fantasizing about killing the other and getting (Y/N) free of the other.

            “Right?” said Dazai, keeping up his bright attitude. “The surface is abuzz about the end of the world. If the two of us end up being the last ones alive, it’d be stupid.”

            “I absolutely agree,” said Fyodor. “Then maybe it’s time to esca—” He fell through the floor.

            Dazai blinked. “Fyodor? Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun just a little—” A whole opened up, and Dazai fell through.

            “Breakout magic successful!” cried Gogol excitedly with a tired Sigma behind him. “Just as suspected! Dazai’s ability only disables any special ability he touches! In other words, as long as he doesn’t touch the portal itself, I can still pull him through spatial splices. Applause for my assistant.”

            “Who’re you calling your assistant?” grumbled Sigma. “Shouldn’t you be telling them what’s going on?”

            “No worries, no worries,” chirped Gogol. “Told you, they get it already.”

            “Why did you break us out of our cells?” said Fyodor.

            “I missed you, bestie!” said Gogol, grabbing Fyodor’s hands. “I’m so glad you’re safe, my heart’s gonna burst! Why am I here? Do you even need to ask?! I’m here to murder you!”

            Dazai grinned. “Wow.” The game was getting interesting. Just wait, (Y/N). I’m coming, my light.

            Sure enough, Dazai and Fyodor didn’t stop smiling the entire time Gogol spoke. From taking the poison to learning about all the obstacles in their way to escape, neither genius wavered for a moment. Not only was the possibility of escape enticing but having the other dead and (Y/N) within their reach was attractive.

            “Well?” chirped Gogol as he finished explaining all the terrible deaths they could encounter. “Do you want to cry yet?”

            Fyodor and Dazai just sighed in happiness at the prospect of using their genius minds. Oh, and the idea of watching the other die.

            “Now! I’ll top it off with some good news,” said Gogol excitedly. “In honor of your march towards certain doom, I’ve got a bit of a present for you! Assistant, bring me the thing.”

            An irk mark appeared on Sigma’s head. “I’m not your assistant!” Still, he brought over a cart.

            “I’ll allow you each to take one of these items,” explained Gogol. “They’re powerful weapons that may lead you to victory! First, a radio used by armed guards. You’ll need one of these to know where the guards are. Second, a top-level clearance door card. The door to the ocean heliport can only be opened with one of these. Third, coin bombs. Now with extra explosives! Leftovers from when I snuck in here. Fourth, a satellite phone. There’s radio reception on the first floor. If you make it there, you can request help from any of your accomplices worldwide. In some ways, it’s the most powerful weapon.”

            “I see,” remarked Dazai. “So the battle…”

            “…has already begun,” finished Fyodor.

            “Feel free to choose first,” said Dazai casually.

            “Why, thank you very much,” said Fyodor with fake pleasantries. “I’ll take this one.” He stepped forward and pointed at the security card.

            “I see! Very well,” said Gogol. “Now, Dazai, what will you choose?”

            Dazai smirked. “Let’s see…” He raised a pointer finger. “I like this one.”

            Gogol, Fyodor, and Sigma’s eyes widened as Dazai pointed at Sigma.

            “Me?!” said Sigma.

            Gogol laughed brightly. “I like you! You’re great.”

l

            Sigma was amazed and horrified by how casual Dazai seemed about the entire situation. First he just danced around, second he brought Sigma into his ridiculous antics, and now Dazai was smiling at the realization that Chuuya Nakahara was a vampire and under Fyodor’s control. How did Dazai not realize how terrible their odds were? It was him and Sigma versus Fyodor and Chuuya. That was impossible.

            “Wow. That’s one nasty card he’s playing,” was all Dazai said, still with that damn smile.

            Sigma felt his stomach turn nauseous. They didn’t stand a chance.

            “Is this really safe?” he said as Dazai led them down the halls again. “It’s the master of gravity, Chuuya Nakahara, that we’re up against. He’s way more powerful in combat than we are.”

            “It’ll be fine!” said Dazai. “I’ve been thinking of ways to kill Chuuya every day for the past seven years.”

            Sigma frowned. “You don’t have an ability to kill Chuuya. The only person I’ve seen with a gift that could go up against him isn’t here.”

            Dazai glanced back. “Oh?”

            “(Y/N) from the Armed Detective Agency,” said Sigma.

            Dazai paused for barely a moment. “You’ve seen (Y/N)?”

            “She nearly saved my life,” said Sigma. “Her gift is powerful, and her heart is good. I was her enemy, but she wouldn’t kill me.” He looked down. “I tried to give her the information she needed. I hope it helped.”

            Dazai sighed. My girlfriend is such a bright light in this world that everyone goes head-over-heels for her. How troublesome. Still…it is good to know she’s persevering. His gaze focused. And I’m coming back to her.

            “Well, we don’t need to fight Chuuya,” said Dazai.

            “Huh?” said Sigma in confusion as the topic switched suddenly.

            “The walls of Mersault are made of anti-gifted metal,” said Dazai. “Not even Chuuya will get through it in time. Chuuya is strong. That’s why we’ll defeat him from here.” He stopped before a door.

            “This is the central surveillance room,” said Sigma. He watched Dazai type on the control pad. “What are you doing?”

            “This place isn’t called the world’s most secure prison for nothing,” said Dazai.

            “Don’t open the door!” cried Sigma. “It leads to the surveillance control room! Do you want us to be killed by the armed guards inside?!”

            “I already opened it!” chirped Dazai.

            Sigma braced to be shot, but nothing came. His eyes widened. The guards were all slumped across the ground. “You’re kidding…Did you do this? But we opened the door just now…How did you do this?!”

            “I told you.” Dazai winked. “I stopped time.” He strolled to a computer.

            “You stopped time?” said Sigma. “That’s impossible. Yours is a nullifying ability. Don’t mess with me!”

            “Mersault is a trade show for dangerous gifted,” said Dazai. “Gifted from all around the world are here. And she’s among them. A Gifted criminal. The world’s most successful thief. She was arrested when she stole eight military secrets in South America. Her special ability is fascinating.

            “For just a few seconds, she can stop all time around her,” explained Dazai. “She can affect a radius of several kilometers around her. She and Ango made a plea deal. In exchange for a shortened sentence, she would stop time every morning. And only the number of times Ango instructs her too.”

            “Hang on! You cancel her gift,” realized Sigma.

            “Bingo!” chirped Dazai. “I, alone, can move while time is stopped. And while time was stopped, I took control of the security room. Knocking out the guards while they couldn’t move was easier than beating up a sleeping monkey. Now, then, that gives you the answer to that homework I gave you, doesn’t it?”

            “I see. That’s how you get information from the outside,” said Sigma.

            “Yup,” said Dazai. “The duration and frequency of the pauses is a code in itself. You get it, don’t you?”

            “No one else can receive messages with that code,” said Sigma. Dazai had changed the codes to the doors, which was why Fyodor and Chuuya were left to drown in the heavy water instead of escaping. “Everything was as you’d planned…” he murmured.

            Dazai pressed a button, and the camera footage popped up. Fyodor and Chuuya were fighting to keep above the water dragging them down.

            “Can you hear me, Fyodor?” said Dazai, smirking. “How do you feel about your imminent drowning?”

            “You can’t kill me,” said Fyodor sharply.

            “I like that response, but how will you escape?” challenged Dazai. “You can’t use your special ability. The door’s indestructible. And Chuuya’s ability affects what he touches, so it’s not great for powders or water. So it must be with your ability, then, right? I’d love to see it, if that’s what you’re thinking. I suspect your ability isn’t of the kind that’ll get you out of this situation, though.” His smirk widened. “That’s why I chose this trap. I’ll tell (Y/N) about your sad, sad end.”

            Fyodor’s eyes narrowed.

            Dazai sighed. “Chuuya, it looks like this is goodbye. It’s a shame that it had to happen this way. It’s been seven years since we met. We never did get along, did we? But…come to think of it, there were times when we understood each other.” He closed his eyes, and memories of him and Chuuya ran through his mind. He blinked and smiled suddenly. “Sorry, couldn’t think of anything! Anyway! Goodbye!”

            In the dark room, Chuuya’s hat floated to the surface. He and Fyodor were nowhere to be seen.

l

            “(Y/N)?” said Akira.

            (Y/N) had her brow furrowed, and intense look on her face. “How are we gonna handle this?” Fighting Fukuchi means we could die, and I don’t want my friends to die. No, if someone dies, it’ll be me. I’ll make sure the others get out. I can handle Fukuchi for longer than the rest. She took a deep breath. “We’re split up. Dazai is in prison, Kenji and Atsushi went alone to find whoever Fukuchi is searching for since they’ll have Bram, and the rest of us are covering the airport.”

            “The plan was for us to stay here and guard for Hunting Dogs approaching,” said Akira.

            “We both know they’re going to get to the Agency whether we’re here or not,” said (Y/N). “And the fighting will slow everything down. Fukuchi will figure out a way to get into One Order’s container. We’re lucky enough that it’s sealed right now.”

            “So, what’re you thinking?” Akira leaned forward. She trusted (Y/N)’s judgement. People underestimated her, but she an intelligent woman, far cleverer than people gave her credit for.

            “I’m thinking we trust the Agency to handle themselves,” said (Y/N). She lifted her gaze to meet Akira’s. “We fought and survived Fukuchi once. We have the best chance out of any of them of doing it again.” She took a deep breath. “But it is still a risk, and I don’t want to lose you.”

            Akira grinned. “There’s always going to be a risk of dying. Honestly? As long as I’d be dying while putting a sword through the chest of the monster who murdered my mother, I’ll be fine.”

            “Then we’re doing this?” said (Y/N).

            Akira squeezed (Y/N)’s hand. “There’s a Will; There’s a Way. And you always find a way.”

[headlesssamurai]

i ask youradvice cuz you obviuosly confident enough to holla at honeys but based enough to keep it real i get what you mean to work on myself tho. just gettin tired of feelin like a nobody.

Yo, I want to tell you something and I hope you understand I mean the following quite genuinely. Our sexuality is merely a single facet of this disturbing, weird, miraculous journey we call life. I can personally attest to the notion that it sucks when you're in a spot that makes you feel invisible, ignored, ugly, unwanted, undesirable; believe me, I've been there, maybe not in the same context as you, but I've experienced the crushing nature of those feelings. Especially in my early life, where I came up girls didn't talk to guys who read comic books or played video games, I was bullied and humiliated. And yeh, it all sucked, it was awful and at times I felt like I was trash and the world was made of total shit.  But it did not last.  I've come to appreciate the pain I experienced, the struggle and hardship; I still view these things as terrible experiences, but I am also stronger because of them. Being bullied made me want to study martial arts. Being poor made me want to work to build up my prospects. Feeling ugly made me look inward for other things worthwhile, and this helped me grow, learn to master myself and gain discipline to train my body as well as my mind.  I hope this finds you in good health and if possible may lift your spirit somewhat; your value in the sexual marketplace is not your value as a human being. You are more than your body count, more than your desirable features, more than your sexual prowess.  When I say "work on your self" I'm not just talking about getting physically fit. I'm talking about changing your perspective from looking outward to looking inward. Find the path internally to discipline yourself into someone you want to live with, not just physically, but mentally and spiritually. This is not an easy process. It will be difficult, painful, and frustrating.  But if you can bear it out, win through, and conquer the demons that are telling you to look outward, you'll find a fullness which few ever achieve. Learning to live with yourself is an essential and highly under-emphasized facet of finding inner harmony. And I must emphasize harmony, not peace, not happiness. No life is ever fully without conflict, pain or struggle, so accepting them as a reality rather than ignoring or rejecting them will also help you survive them whenever they present themselves. This will make you stronger, less reactive and more proactive. Not by rejecting the negative aspects of life, but rather using them as fuel to forge your Self into newer and stronger forms. Not by ignoring your desire or need for external things such as sex and relationships, but by casting off the misconception that such things validate your existence.

“We are given appetites, not to consume the world and forget it, but to taste its goodness and hunger to make it great.” ― Robert Farrar Capon

      侍    headless

[yakumtsaki]

Thanks to my well-honed sim cockblocking reflexes, I put a stop to this nonsense before it escalated further, and now we’re gonna pretend it never happened! You hear me, sluts?? ENOUGH. 

-Don’t worry babe, that moron can barely keep us alive, let alone keep us apart!

Sophito I can’t even express how sick I am of your bullshit. Why don’t you just explain to us how a relationship with Eliza would work given your LTW, because I’d love to hear it.

-I’d figure it out!!

The only thing you’d be figuring out is how to survive massive blood loss after she cut your dick off, ok? Eliza is no Don, she’d take that rose of amnesia and stab you in the eye with it.

Speaking of Don, Sugar is determined to out-simp his father as he is about to kill both himself and Claire by hypothermia because he won’t stop hugging her long enough for them to get inside. 

-Oh darling, I can think of nothing better than staying here forever, embracing in the rain next to objects that tend to get hit by lighting!

You might have noticed a lack of Sugar the last few updates and it’s because ever since he won Claire’s heart he’s come down with a terrible case of Shajar Former Incel Syndrome. Remember when she finally got with Sophie and her entire personality disappeared because all she did was follow Soph around waiting to woohoo with her?? Well it’s time for round 2!

Our grades last semester were straight up embarrassing and we’re tittering on being broke again, mainly thanks to the 3 fortune aspiration douchebags and their delusional expensive wants, so it’s time to do the unthinkable: study.

-Ya, I don’t know how effective it is to be studying during June’s party?

Well Sugar, you of all people managed to cuck someone so clearly nothing is impossible around here.

Look how productive everyone is being! 

-Goddamn it, how do I insert a check for $5000 in this paper without ruining the formatting? You know what, I’ll just attach it in the email. 

ARE YOU BRIBING THE PROFESSORS. IS THAT WHERE ALL OUR MONEY IS GOING

-Of course I am, how do you think I keep getting A+s without ever studying?

I assumed you were a brainchad like Sophito??

-Ya, Sophito has been attaching his nudes instead of checks. 

Of course he has! 

What fresh hell is this, what is this rando feud?

-I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOU AND YOUR FELLOW FORTUNE ASSHOLES, REGINALD, STOP WASTING ALL OUR SCHOLARSHIP MONEY ON RUGS AND COKE -Not just rugs and coke, June, also sculptures! -I DON’T CARE. JUST GO BANG YOUR OLD LADY AND LEAVE OUR MONEY ALONE

-Oh Erik, finally you can move in and bring all your cash with you!  -Well I do have like 1k in household funds! -HAHA- wait, you’re serious? YOU ONLY HAVE 1K?? -I sure do!

Erik what the fuck, even the llama brought more with him when he moved in.

-I’m only a freshman! And my entire bio is about wanting to be a starving artist! 

WANTING TO BE A WHAT NOW?? JUNE WE’VE BEEN BAMBOOZLED. I thought we were getting a boring, dependable John Burb type and instead we got Darren Dreamer, fuck.

-Oh, you broke, beautiful idiot, I’m so into you right now!

June.. istg. Frankly Erik as a marriage prospect is starting to feel barely above the nephew obsession-

-CASE IN POINT. ERIK WTF

-You didn’t check my personality panel before moving me in?

I SURE DIDN’T

-2 neat points :)

Fuck my life. Let’s just move on..

..Our party is going incredibly as usual!

-FUCK YOU, STACY, HOW DARE YOU PLATONICALLY INTERACT WITH SOPHITO IN FRONT OF ME

-FUCK YOU TOO, SOPHITO, I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU AT ALL AND I NEVER WONDER IF WE’RE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER SOMETIMES WHEN I CAN’T SLEEP 

Can you people not be completely deranged for the duration of one (1) party?

Istg I can’t leave these flops unattended for more than a minute. REGINALD STOP BONDING WITH EVERY CREEPY PROFESSOR THAT CROSSES YOUR PATH

-Thank you, 00s Emo-Haired Professor, this is very flattering but I’m already in a committed relationship with your colleague, Geriatric Half-Alien Professor.  -Oh my, I’m so sorry! I’d never violate the Professor Dibs On Students Honor Code!

Ok ya, party over, everyone fuck off.

-Hi Stacy, what the hell are you doing? 

God’s work, that’s what she’s doing. Don’t let them bang, Stac, stay where you are! 

-Hey, genius, if we do the ‘shoo’ action she’s hardcoded to leave.

Fuck you, Eliza, I’m bringing reinforcements..

..HA. COCKBLOCK ACHIEVED ONCE AGAIN. Have fun, you two!

And you two I’m not letting out of my sight.

-You can’t win against me, Liz, my grandpa started teaching me chess as soon as I fell out of my mom on the bathroom floor. -Classiest birth your family has ever seen. -Both your dads wanted to marry into my family. -Wanted to marry in so badly they cheated on your grandpa with each other and he had to marry his third choice.

HEY. Wyatt wasn’t our third choice! (He totally was.)

-Well thank God you’re marrying Wilfred who’s always been your first choice! -Absolutely he is, he doesn’t at all bore my tits off. In fact, I’m gonna go wake him up right now and have loud sex with him and you can stay here, being a hoe who’s bad at chess. -Ok, have fun! -Oh, I will!

WELP I TRIED.

-Sophito, I feel our undefinable toxic relationship is gonna be a disaster for everyone involved.  -I know, isn’t it great? :D

[subtile-jagden]

Emil Schäfer - Part 2

Jasta 11

Schäfer had no trouble keeping up with the other pilots and shot down his first victory within Richthofens Staffel (his second in total) a few weeks after his arrival. On 4 March 1917 he shot down two enemies in one day. On 6 March he was awarded the Iron Cross First Class. Within the squadron there was room for friendly teasing; when Schäfer reported about his fight, his comrades teased him about his supposed bad shooting (he himself admitted that he needed a lot of ammunition): “The observer must have thrown the map at you” (in reverence to him having to get so close to the other airplane), “The observer probably cried about your lousy shooting and his handkerchief flew away”. But all in good fun.

Once when Manfred von Richthofen didn´t return after a big fight, Schäfer drove around the area trying to find out what had happened. Rumours of bullet wounds and life threatening injuried were making rounds. That's why Schäfer was pleasantly surprised when he found his squadron leader happily in the mess of a pioneer unit in Hénin-Lietard. Slurping oysters.

In his first full month with Jasta 11 Emil Schäfer increased his victory score to 8, then it was time for the infamous Bloody April. Schäfer contributed to that terrible time for the British by shooting down 15 of them. He enjoyed the spring time: “Numbers 12 and 13 fell today. It's wonderful spring weather here and it's been raining Englishmen for eight days”, he writes to his parents on 6 April 1917.

On 22 April Schäfer got shot down during a fight and he had to emergency land between lines. He had to hid in a shell hole and wait for darkness, then he had to sneak back to the German lines dodging English patrols. He managed to reach an outpost and after a short recovery break he made his way back to his comrades. His adventure impressed his comrades and even Richthofen mentioned it in his biography. He learned a lesson from that experience: “I am glad that I got out of the situation yesterday in one piece, and in future I will strongly consider attacking at low altitudes beyond the line”.

On 26 April he got the notification that the Kaiser awarded him the Hausorden von Hohenzollern (the award that usually preceeded the Pour le Mérite). He also got less happy news, as he was ordered to leave Jasta 11 and become leader of Jasta 28. He was excited about getting to lead his own unit,  but “I am bitterly sorry that I now have to leave my beloved squadron, my excellent comrades and, above all, von Richthofen”.

On the same day, Schäfer had the pleasure to safe Lothar von Richthofens life. Lothar was being attacked by an English plane and lost controll of his machine, Schäfer got behind the enemy and managed to shoot it down in flames.

On 30 April he was awarded the Pour le Mérite.

In May he left for Jasta 28. “I now face a task like no other I´ve had before. I hope and believe that I´ll be well up to it. Staffel 28 is filled with good pilots. In the four days since I am in command, we´ve shot down four, so the prospects are good”.

On 5 June 1917 Schäfers luck ran out. Used to the extremely close teamwork and mutual protection within Jasta 11 he went into a group of English planes. Max Müller, an experienced pilot himself, described the fight: “Leutnant Schäfer was the leader of our flight against eight Englishmen. I myself was attacking from above – that’s the best way to attack. Leutnant Schäfer was attacking with six other gentlemen from the same hight. He had almost brought down one Englishmen when he was attacked by three more from the rear and from above. I came to his assistance but it was too late. Leutnant Schäfer´s machine broke up and crashed vetically. The other gentlemen did not attack vigorously enough. They are not as yet proficient enough. It could also be that a cable had been severed or shot off. He made the mistake of acting without regard for himself in order to take care of the others. I have told him that many times before”.

He was buried in his home town of Krefeld on 11 June 1917. Manfred von Richthofen and Werner Voss attended the funeral. The plaque commemorating Schäfer is still above his birthplace.

RIP Emil Schäfer (1891 – 1917)

Sources:

Vom Jäger zum Flieger, by Schäfer (1918)

The Blue Max Airmen Vol.7, by Lance J. Bronnenkant (2015)

[invisibleraven]

things you said in writing, sweet tarts

Dearest Carrie,

I hope this missive finds you well. It's dreadfully boring here without you. What exactly does one do at finishing school? I was quite unaware you were unfinished as it were.

I miss you. Don't mistake it for loneliness; I still have Julie, Luke, and Alex to keep me company. But I miss the way you snort when you giggle at my terrible jokes. I miss you plodding away at the pianoforte and playing the harp like a seraphim. I miss you reading aloud under the willow tree.

I miss the thousand tiny refractions of colour in your eyes, the way your hair shines golden in the afternoon sun. I miss you singing at recitals and receptions, it almost feels like they're lacking something without you there.

I miss us sharing stolen peaches until Cook's nose, fingers and faces sticky from the juice. Hooting and hollering into the night after nipping some cordial. Growing dizzy as we do the gavotte and take turns around the room only to end up on each other's dance cared again.

I know your father intends to match you off with some landed gentry or another. Or perhaps just a man of means who cares not for the frivolities that you so adore. But if I could make a case for you considering me as a suitor, I would make it.

It would be a humble existence, but it would be full of love, of that I am certain. I would strive to make you laugh and smile every day. To keep bread on our table, even if we may both long for the dainties you serve at afternoon tea.

Perhaps it is a foolish offering. After all, my prospects are few, and I shall never be a great man. But perhaps that is enough for you, who has always lamented not leading a simpler existence.

We could have a small cottage by the sea, a tidy garden. Some hounds, a horse. A window box full of hyacinths, those pink ones you like. Music, and dancing, and love. That is what I offer you.

I know I am fool to ask this of you, especially in writing, but I could not bear to hear you reject me. Pray, be gentle when you do. Until then, I remain faithfully yours,

Reggie.

~

Reggie,

I accept wholeheartedly. That life sounds idyllic, and all I've ever wanted; the sea, music, and most importantly you. I care not for their plans for me, only my love for you. Come free me from this place and we'll head for Gretna Green straightaway. I'll be counting the minutes my love.

Yours,

Carrie.

[tam--lin]

Sometimes I am just so sad about the fact that I have to take a different job this summer because this place that I love, that I joined in its infancy, that I helped make what it is, where there are kids I’ve known since they were little, hurt me badly last year, and my nervous system straight-up can’t handle it. Sometimes even physically being on the property sets me off.

And I’ve talked about it with the head director, trying to get her to understand how destabilizing it is to work somewhere where things just change for no reason, constantly, on the whims of one person, how frustrating it is for foresight to be taken as a personal threat, how stressful it is to point out a looming problem, to have it be brushed off, and then have to deal with the eventual, inevitable fallout while quelling the “I told you so”s. How stressful it is to work somewhere where boundaries around work and life aren’t respected.

But ultimately it’s just sad, and an emotional mess, and I don’t have to deal with it this summer,. So I’ll be many states away, working somewhere with an established chain of command and incredibly well-scheduled programs where I can just put my head down and focus on my One Job, teaching kids about space, instead of feeling like I’m simultaneously the Problem Child Of The Summer and holding everything together.

And my partner will keep trying to fix the systems that hurt me (because they are fixable, just not by me) and taking care of the kids who I’ve known since they were teeny and the counselors I’ve known since they were kids. And we’ll cry about it on the phone, probably, but we’ll be together in the fall with Beatrice and with a nice vacation and the prospect of our very own apartment to look forward to.

I just wish I’d gotten an apology from the director.

A real one, not one that was about how she’s upset because I don’t think she’s a good leader, or because she wants to tell me what she’s projecting onto me that’s just baggage from her own terrible breakup with another director.

I’m sorry I hurt you. It shouldn’t have happened. I’ll work to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.

I’m just sad this morning, I think.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Skin & Scale (Part 26)

They opt to travel on foot several miles from Ba Sing Se. If dragons are a sight to see in the Fire  Nation she can only imagine the sort of fuss seeing them in Earth Kingdom skies would cause. At any rate, she can’t seem to bring about the transformation anyways. 

Her legs feel terribly heavy. Her bones seem to hold the weight of shackles or stones. While the others pack up their tents she bunches herself up–still nestled within her blankets and father’s coiled tail. She shifts the blankets and holds her hand out in front of her, the dragon’s teeth stone glints in the early morning light as it filters through the canopy. The flame that comes to blaze in her open palm casts an orange glow, it is so terribly small and she aches keeping even that alight.

She grits her teeth. 

She really has overdone it, hasn’t she? 

She lets her hand flop back down and rests her head upon it. 

Mother’s head comes to loom over her. She extends a claw and strokes her cheek. “You won’t be transforming today.”

She is relieved to know that they are on the same page. Twice as much to know that, if it came down to it, they wouldn’t let Zuzu coax her into trying for the sake of efficacy. Granted, she is fairly certain that they are now past using her like that but she still can’t rid herself of the notion that it is a possibility. That, at the very least, they will be visibly disappointed in her ability. 

She uses mother’s hand to help pull herself upright and mother holds her steady while the dizziness passes and her muscles try to warm up to the prospect of moving about. 

“You’ll build up a tolerance for transforming.” Father promises. “The more you work with the stone the more you’ll be able to transform without depleting your chi.” 

In some sense it is a neglected muscle. 

By now, by this age, she imagines that she should be able to transform at least once per day without repercussion. Or every other day depending on how much she firebends in that timeframe. 

Her stomach sinks, she hadn’t really firebent at all these past few days save for getting the campfire going and making room in her schedule for her casual firebending routine. She should be further along than this. She should be capable of so much more. She swallows, a knot forming in her belly. She has never been behind on anything related to skill. 

Never. 

“It isn’t your fault.” Mother assures her. 

She knows that but it doesn’t help. Her fault or not she has been set back by more than fourteen years now. She can’t possibly make up that lost time. Not in a case like this; a case where it isn’t a matter of pushing herself to build strength. This is a matter of endurance built patiently over time, a process that needs to happen naturally and without any hint of over exertion. 

She is a patient person but she has her limits. 

Mother continues to stroke her cheek. Father, satisfied that she can move on her own, withdraws his hand. 

“Are you ready to go, Azula?” Aang asks. “We have everything all packed up.”

“I suppose I am.”

“Are you going to transform?” Toph asks.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t?” Zuko asks. 

“It requires a lot of chi. I’m…” she hesitates. “I’m tired.” 

“Can I see?” TyLee asks.

Azula extends her arm and lets TyLee feel along it. The girl’s lips purse. “Yeah, it feels like you’re pretty drained.” She pauses. “It isn’t so bad, as long is you don’t push yourself today and tomorrow you should be perfectly okay.”

“I can’t imagine that we will run into too much trouble.” Sokka says. “As long as we stick to our ‘walk the rest of the way’ plan.”

“Yes.” Azula stuffs her hands into her pockets. “I don’t think that we will have too much trouble.” No trouble aside from her feeling like she is a hinderance. Although at the same time as those tickles of shame work their way into her tummy, there is a lighter fluttering. They aren’t demanding that she just transforms anyhow. 

.oOo.

Sokka has to admit that he still isn’t used to seeing Azula so sluggish and slow. He isn’t used to seeing her lay down and close her eyes, not when there is work to be accomplished. What he is used to is logic and reasoning. And it does make sense for her to conserve her energy. He knows it so she must. Even if she resents it. 

Mostly he isn’t used to her being so openly vulnerable with them. Perhaps he owes that to a budding sense of trust and companionship. It could also be that she is well aware that she has two dragons that will protect her viciously. He likes to think that it has more to do with trust, with that he and Katara had helped her through her initial transformation. That has to mean something to her. 

Her hair and clothing flutters in the breeze. 

He can tell that she isn’t sleeping. Sometimes she opens her eyes and stares at the passing clouds. But he can tell that she isn’t in a talkative mood. 

“Mind if I sit here?” He asks. 

She gives him a lazy wave. He is fairly certain that it is a gesture meant to convey that she doesn’t care either which way so he scrambles his way over. It leaves him slightly dizzy–he hadn’t realized just how different it is to ride a dragon rather than a bison. 

Pangs of discomfort and unrest settle into his mind seeing her like this. Even if it is far from the worst state that he has seen her in. With a soft hum she sits herself upright for the first time in about two hours. He hair, slightly disheveled, falls over her shoulders. It has gotten so long, he hadn’t realized how long it had gotten. She fixes her sleepy gaze on him. 

It comes to him why it makes his skin crawl to see those sleepy eyes and that burdened posture. Although she holds herself as proudly as ever and with as much poise and dignity as possible he can still sense her discomfort. He gets the feeling that, that is only because she lets him sense it. 

And it unsettles him because, in that posture he can still see the suffering and the overexertion from their last large adventure. 

“We’re almost there.”

He can’t tell if that had been a question or a statement. “Yeah. Shouldn’t be too long now. Are you able to walk?”

She nods. “I can walk just fine.�� 

“If you need to take a break…”

“I can make it to the Jasmine Dragon. We’ll be using their train system, I can rest then.”

Her voice is soothing somehow. Calm and in a way that provides him with a sense of security. He just hopes that it isn’t false. That she isn’t just saying what everyone wants to hear. Just saying things that make her sound and feel stronger for the sake of that impeccable facade that she likes to wear. 

“Alright then.” He smiles as Shaw begins her descent. 

It's much more pleasant this way, he decides. To work with Azula rather than in direct opposition. He supposes that he has decided that a while back. She’s rather charming to talk to in between the banter. He gets the sense that the banter, that all of those jabs are to deflect feelings of discomfort and awkwardness. They are for him, anyhow. There is a sense of familiarity in those sassy little quips that offsets the discomforts of continuing to get used to each other. 

Toph does the same thing. Humor and snark, he supposes that the two are as critical as any other survival tool. And so he gives her a sly smile and mutters, “I wonder if having three real dragons at the Jasmine Dragon will bring in business. You can be a mascot!”

“You can be a smoldering pile of decorative ash.” She grumbles. 

.oOo.

Azula can't say that she has thought much of Ba Sing Se since taking it over. She hadn’t particularly had time to dwell on it. Now that she is here the city leaves her with an itch of longing.

Longing that makes no sense when the past she is yearning for is so dismal when juxtaposed with the present.

Maybe it is that she hasn't felt the same sense of victory and accomplishment since then, perhaps that is what she is longing for–a chance to feel glorious and powerful again. Especially now when she is feeling so utterly useless. 

Really there is no reason for her to feel useless and like deadweight. It isn’t as though they need her to firebend right now. They aren’t in combat at all. So long as she can walk and talk, she isn’t holding anyone back. 

And yet it chews at her in the back of her mind, knowing that she can’t bend effectively at the moment should the need arise. 

It shouldn’t affect her so. It isn’t as though she hasn’t lost her bending before. It isn’t as though she can’t be effective without it. When had she let her confidence slip so much? She hopes that it is just a matter of getting used to her new life, to people caring for her and letting her be weak when she needs to be weak. 

“You haven’t bickered with Zuko all day.” Mai notes. “Are you…”

“I’m fine, Mai. I just…I’ll be more comfortable when we get to the Jasmine Dragon.” More comfortable and less all at once. She’d be lying to herself if she said that the prospect of finally confronting uncle isn’t playing a part in her exhaustion. 

“Are you actually fine or are you just saying that?”

“I am actually fine.” She isn’t bleeding or dying. She has certainly dealt with much worse. “I should feel better tomorrow, after sleeping in a bed.” Not that mother and father aren’t comfortable to sleep by. They don’t seem to mind that she usually ends up clinging to one of their tails in her sleep. They don’t make a point of bringing it up either. She kicks a small rock and watches it skitter down the walkway. 

Most people don’t seem to pay her any mind, if anything they are taking curious peeks at the peculiar entourage as a whole; an Avatar, a Fire Lord, a Bei Fong, two dragons in disguise, and a princess with a strange stone embedded in her arm. Add two Water Tribe folks, a Kyoshi Warrior, and a darkly dressed fire noble and they do make quite the spectacle. Not one of them seems to outshine any of the others. And Azula is perfectly content with that, she can’t imagine that Ba Sing Se’s hostility towards her has been reduced. 

Regardless, she can’t imagine that they recognize her. Most people are still looking for a grown woman. Word of mouth and information gaps allow her the luxury to stay hidden in plain sight. She doesn’t plan on correcting them and she will go about her day.

“You ready?” Zuko asks.

Azula shrugs. 

“It isn’t so bad, uncle didn’t hold it against me when I betrayed him.”

“Uncle was angry at you because he loved you enough to feel betrayed.” 

“Are we still talking about Iroh?” Mai asks. 

“Mostly.” 

TyLee slings an arm over her shoulder and she gives a slight start. It has been so long. Long enough for her to forget about TyLee’s sudden and explosive displays of affection. She hadn’t realized how much she has missed them despite how annoying she found them to be. 

 “You must love us a lot then!” 

She doesn’t deny it. “Let’s go inside and get this over with.”

[theajaheira]

Faced with the prospect of her terrible coworker's impending departure from Sunnydale, Jenny Calendar makes an impulsive and utterly baffling proposal. In every sense of the word.

so this is not north star!!! or any of the other projects that need finishing!!! but i am still a little adrift after finishing what you make, and am not yet ready to take on the sequel, nor am i quite prepared to finish the project(s) that have been in stasis for quite a while as i work on what you make, and i figured writing something that is new and fresh and also just straight-up romance would be very fun. no idea how long this will be or what will happen or how often i will update (though i do suspect chapter two will happen scarily soon.) let's see how many chapters i can get through before it takes some wildly introspective turn.

pretty sure the rating will not stay at t. my plan is to bump it up at some point down the road, so keep an eye out for that. :)

[asknarashikari]

Continuation of the Persona 5 Ask.

-----

Irumi: O-okumura-san, what brings you here to our mansion?

Irumi: I see you also brought your boyfriend with you.

Haru: Nothing, I just heard from a few sources that you had your daughter be arranged with Sugimura-san?

Irumi: Y-yes, as you know, not all of us has the luxury of marrying for love and the business won’t grow itself.

Haru: Tell me something, Kurama-san, is Neon-san your actual daughter?

*Keiwa’s and Neon’s eyes widen and were looking at Haru as if she grew another head*

Irumi: What are you talking about? She’s my daughter! We wouldn’t just replace her with someone else!

Haru: I see, how unfortunate.

Haru: I’m not saying it would have been better otherwise.

Haru: But you act like your daughter, your own flesh and blood is a commodity to be sold off to the highest bidder.

Irumi: You must understand, Okumura-san –

Haru: No, there is nothing to understand.

Haru: I loved my father, no I still love him, but I can not forgive him for setting me up with someone I do not love, even after he died.

Haru: I do hope there is still hope for you and your husband Kurama-san.

Haru: You may have been the one to arrange these marriages, but your husband hasn’t done anything to stop this.

Irumi: But…

Haru: No, I am done talking to you, Kurama-san.

Haru: Neon-chan, hello, I’m Haru Okumura…

Neon: H-hello…

Haru: I will admit, if this had been anyone else, I would have asked someone else to stop the arranged marriage to Sugimura-san

Haru: But you’re Keiwa-kun’s friend, I would remiss If I didn’t bar you, personally, from meeting with him as you are Keiwa-kun’s friend.

Neon: But why?

Haru: I know him, Neon-chan, I know Sugimura-san, I was engaged to him once because of this arranged marriage nonsense.

Haru: I know what he is going to do to you once you’re engaged to him.

Haru: If not for my friends, no they were strangers to me at the time, I would have been subjected to him as his plaything.

Neon: That’s terrible.

Irumi: You think that I was just going to match my daughter with scum?

Keiwa: With all due respect, Kurama-san, Sugimura-san’s records are clean. He appears to be from clean from any wrong doing.

Haru: But he’s been bribing police officers to keep his record clean, I know that for a fact.

Irumi: That’s…

Haru: Neon-chan, I know you can leave on your own, but if you want a place to stay, just tell Keiwa-kun to bring you to my home.

----

Geats cast react to Keiwa’s girlfriend’s actions.

Ace is probably gonna wish he was a fly on the wall for that meeting XD He's all here for the tea being spilled

Tsumuri would agree with Haru, and she's half-tempted to hunt Neon's prospective fiance down to give him an ID core to keep him... er, preoccupied. (The Riders manage to dissuade her)

Azuma just grumbles about first world problems and stuff like that lol

[gildinbainas]

mistletoe (cant remember if i already sent this in)

SEND ME ‘ MISTLETOE ’ FOR MY MUSE’S RESPONSE TO BEING UNDERNEATH MISTLETOE WITH YOUR MUSE. specify WHETHER IT’S ACCIDENTAL OR ON PURPOSE.

:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆ || @crowiley

Not that he thought Crowley was completely oblivious to the various holiday traditions concerning Christmas. Surely that couldn't be the case considering Crowley often put up with the angel's antics this time of year. No, no. That wasn't it at all. However, a rather important --- no --- symbolic sprig was nestled neatly above them upon the balcony in which they stood. Down below was where the festivities were taking place. There was a live jazz band playing smooth holiday music while people were mixing and mingling enjoying their fair share of hors d'oeuvres. The angel looked on with glee rather excited by the prospect of munching and dancing. Oh he could hardly contain himself and yet…

The sprig caught his attention shortly after their arrival and while he might have been content to leave it be, well, it was there for a reason was it not? Furthermore, there was something about the way Crowley was standing that gave the angel more than enough clue as to what the demon would rather be doing. Certainly not here mixing and mingling with all these people. His expression said it all.

"Oh cheer up mate. I promise we won't be here for very long." Then he added with a tiny smile. "I am more than capable of taking care of myself."

The derisive snort that came from Crowley wasn't unexpected, but he feared the demon forgot at times that the angel could be rather resourceful. All the same, the bit of banter was not enough to get Crowley in the holiday spirit.

He sighed. He had quite a few mixed feelings about the sprig. On one hand, it wasn't as if his lips were foreign to Crowley's own. One rather disastrous evening, fermented fruit was consumed that led to a rather troubling but awkward moment.

Or two.

He couldn't forget it if he tried --- and the god above knew that he tried for an array of reasons he chose not to dwell on. The angel was… sure he could make it quick; perhaps the shock factor of the gesture could distract the demon enough to drag him out into the crowd for food and dancing. Ahh they were playing Bing Crosby. He just HAD to get down there now and enjoy.

Oh, but then he would feel absolutely terrible if this backfired. Kissing someone --- the best friend --- while drunk was on thing. Kissing them while sober was another. And it went against the long list of rules that he was sure existed somewhere between heaven and hell. He shuddered to think of the trouble they could get into over something as silly as a holiday sprig.

But then he's never actually been able to participate. Perhaps with a random stranger but he always feared they might sense his aura. That and he has always been too afraid to kiss anyone. Oh dear he could not! But… but… Was it wrong if he's already locked lips with them before? And it's not like this was going to be a habit. As oddly enjoyable as it had been before, some things happened that made his body feel strange. No. This would be quick. They were almost in public you know. Had to keep to the rules and all.

Oh dear. This was…quite the pickle.

Eventually the idea of simply taking advantage his friend got the better of him. He could not do it. At least not without his consent.

And so he looked to Crowley and blurted all of this out because…well, selfish reasons or not, Crowley deserved the right to say yes or no.

"There's mistletoe above our head. Can I peck your lips for good luck?" He paused. "And then eat. And maybe go dancing, but kiss first. Unless the idea doesn't sit well with you. Although I rather thought since we didn't both explode into a ball of fire the first time that you might be willing to indulge me on a little holiday tradition. And then never speak of it again of course because well, rules and all. So what do you say?"

[unovanhunny]

If you’re still talking about your aus, can I hear about the Husband Murderer Ingo au? I am a slut for the ‘wealthy widow murderer’ trope (assuming that this is Ingo murdering his husband and not Emmet’s husband lol)

Okay, so. You see, the original AU is Ingo murdering Emmet's husband, and I will get into that in a moment. But because you brought it up, we now have an actual wealthy widow murderer Ingo AU and I will get into that too. I'll start with the original that wasn't the idea you had and then get into the one that was.

A cut as always because I talk too much. They're both Dark (which is to be expected of our AUs + if Ingo is killing someone its certainly not a happy AU), but still, just fair warning.

Ingo and Emmet were born into a wealthy family that was closely tied to a religious sect. They were raised with this religion and Ingo idolised the prospect of becoming the religous figure head when he got old enough. Emmet was less involved in the religion, though he feigned his interest. However, he was also dealing with something a lot worse that took up much more of his mental space. One of their parents' friends, wealthy and influential, would come round the house often and would visit Emmet at nights. He was threatened with Ingo's innocence, his family's standing, and his own safety if he were to ever tell anyone. So he stayed quiet.

When they were of age, a choice had to be made. One of them would follow their role in their religion and become something akin to a priest, and the other would be married off to the very man that had been doing terrible things to Emmet all this time. Emmet knew his brother's dream and without hesitation volunteered to marry his abuser. No one questioned the decision and Ingo went on to do what he always wanted while Emmet went to live with the man he hated with his entire being.

Emmet was not treated particularly well in his new home. More of a plaything for his husband than anything. The only thing keeping Emmet any form of Sane was knowing that he had protected Ingo and helped him acheive his dream. He endured what he had to, and he still got to see Ingo at times.

Ingo could pick up on how distressed Emmet was and he would not stand for it. His precious younger twin wasn't doing alright and he would do whatever it took to see him happy again. And if that meant ensuring that his husband died in a slow and subtle way like poisoning and no one would suspect anything, well so be it. And with Emmet freed from his obligations with his husband and Ingo realising that he would have no qualms about fulfilling his duties while living with Emmet, he moves in with him. And now Emmet can get cared for by his brother up close and personal forever.

And now for the new Black Widow Ingo AU.

At a young age Ingo was made a

replacement for the boys mother, in more ways than one. In this AU, Emmet is about 5 years younger than Ingo. Ingo did all the chores around the house and whatever else their father decided. Emmet found out some of the things Ingo was doing with their father and Ingo was absolutely horrified at the thought that Emmet had seen what he was made to do. And that was when Ingo decided to kill their father. Emmet should

have never been exposed to any of that. Ingo was in his late teens at this time and after their father was dead, he made the decision to send Emmet to boarding school. Emmet did Not want to leave his brother's side, but Ingo insisted it was for the best.

Ingo however didn't really have much going for him. He didn't have a full education and he certainly wasn't skilled in anything but home making so... He married. And he married someone a lot like their late father. He had no other frame of reference for how he should live. He was miserable but at least he knew Emmet was alright at school. He wanted Emmet to come and stay with him again now that life was stable, but his husband refused. He didn't want to take care of some brat. So... Ingo got rid of him. Emmet was more important than anything and if this man wanted to keep them separated, he wouldn't stand for it.

And with Ingo's husband gone, Emmet could come and live with him again! Emmet is happy and relieved that finally it can just be them without anyone else getting in the way!