#who intends to scrape her for parts and sell them

[strawberri-draws]

Oc, android, they’ve got a copper base that has since rusted. I liked these doodles of her 🫶

[yesimwriting]

The Needs of Pain

A/n as promised,,, here is my gift to you bc I finished ap gov today :))

The darkling x heartrender!reader story based on the whole ‘no one but me can hurt you’ thing :))

Warnings: sexual innuendos,, attempts to sexualize pain if you squint, kinda lemon-y

I kinda want to write a smutty part 2 let’s see lol 

Summary: after a training injury, Kirigan reveals how he views the dynamic of your relationship and figures out how to best help you work through the pian 

--

In an odd way, the most painful part of my injury had been the wound on my pride, not my shoulder. Though the pain that begins beneath my collarbone and continues down my left shoulder is not exactly pleasant. I can’t bring myself to pity myself too much as I stare at the extent of my burns. There’s a war going on. People die, people lose loved ones, I have to tolerate pain for an hour or two before a healer can be sent to be. 

I told Genya I’d be fine in the medical wing, but she insisted that I wait for a healer to be sent to me. The people here look up to me, if news of my injury got out, especially considering it’s a training wound, morale would take a blow we can’t currently afford. Genya had looked relatively sympathetic when she told me that many healers were occupied considering how difficult training had been and I had told her I could bear the weight. 

Now, in my room, staring at the basin full of water, I’m starting to regret my desire to be self sacrificing. I dip the towel in the water, squeezing out the excess before daring to dab the fabric on the outer edge of the wound. The feeling is fire against my skin all over again. An instinctual curse leaves me as I drop the towel on the counter that surrounds the basin. 

Arthur hadn’t meant it. I can still hear the frantic apologies tumbling from his full lips. He should have been more focused on the task at hand, he should have never stopped to look at me, at the way I could control so many living things at once. In some odd sense, his distraction had been a compliment. Many of the girls here would sell anything to have Arthur’s attention, even if it resulted in such a careless mistake. 

I grimace, picking up the towel and preparing to start again. I should at least clean it before the healers have to deal with both a physical injury and an infection. The sound of my door flying open and then shutting angrily is enough of a distraction for me to accidentally dab the towel against my skin too harshly. I curse again, turning my head towards the bathroom door. Did Genya exaggerate the severity of my wound? Are the healers that desperate to get to me? 

I turn on my toes, towel forgotten by the basen full of water as I approach the door that connects my room with the bathroom. “I’m--” Words meant to calm a frantic healer stick to the back of my throat as soon as I register all the black in the room. General Kirigan. Great. He no doubt heard about my injury after prying it from Genya and now he’s here to scold me for the childishness of it all. To be injured because a boy and I just couldn’t help ‘make eyes at each other’. All he does is insult my refusal to become bitter just because I was born possessing power. 

“You’re what?” His words are a different level of callous, darker than the shadows he creates with the will of his mind alone. “An idiot that let herself be sent back to her room instead of demanding to see a healer?” 

That’s an odd thing for him to focus his anger on. At least it’s not fully directed at me. On instinct, I half turn, attempting to hide my injury from his piercing eyes. My instinct tells me he should never see me so mortal. “Genya recommended it,” my words are determined yet calm, “It’s such a small injury it isn’t worth risking everyone’s morale. A healer will come here when one is available.” 

His face tightens in what must be some kind of disgusted disbelief. “Foolish girl--have you no instinct for preservation?” 

Every decision I’ve made since being injured made sense before he spoke to me. The fierceness of his voice leaves my face warmer than it was a moment ago and reminds me of the stem of my dislike for him. General Kirigan speaks and I am left a clumsy child. “Some things are more important than one’s self.” I expect he’ll turn that into something else to mock or belittle about me. “And it’s not a grave injury it’s barely--” 

The distance between us seemed so great less than a second ago, but he’s closed it so quickly, grabbing my left wrist and extending my arm forward so that I can’t hide anything from him. “You’re burned.” There’s the slightest bit of surprise coloring his words along with something else I can’t interpret. “How did you get burned?” 

Kirigan doesn’t know. My stomach knots, anticipating embarrassment. “Training incident--I was standing too close to an Inferni.” 

His grip on my arm tightens. I grimace as he pulls me forward with no regard for my injury. “Who?” The voracious way he says the word leaves my thoughts trembling. He is a void of darkness, starving for a victim to snuff the light out of.  

When my thoughts settle, I cannot bring myself to tell him the truth. “I didn’t see, I was distracted by the burning.” I exhale slowly, desperate to escape the flames behind his eyes the way I could not escape the fire of earlier. “It doesn’t matter, I’ve been injured worse in training.” His hold on my arm doesn’t loosen, I glance down at his hand, his firm grip on me somehow worse than the burn. “You’ve injured me worse in training.” 

“I may push you, exhaust you, and leave you mad--but I have never done anything that comes close to--that!” The last of his words carry themselves louder than the rest. 

If the skin of my shoulder wasn’t so sensitive I’d try fighting his tightening grasp. The accusation on my part had been a little much, but it was meant to serve as a reminder that he’s not one to care about my comfort or well being. “Why does it matter?” I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze. “You’ve never cared about any of my injuries before.” 

Kirigan releases my arm in a stiff trance, raising his hand to brush his thumb down my cheek. The contact is reminiscent of an extremely different moment. “The first night here you only let a few tears escape you when you were convinced that no one could see them. Do you remember how I turned and wordlessly wiped them away?” His gesture had not been comforting then and it isn’t comforting now. He never wanted to comfort me, he wanted to assert some strange power over me. “I let those tears fall because they were because of me and I knew it was for the best.” I say nothing, letting his thumb ghost tears that will not come. “The moment I discovered you, what you could be, you became mine.” 

“I am no one’s.” The reaction is instinctual, a pride my mother instilled in me. My voice is too loud, too brash. “I am my own.” 

I brace myself for his anger, but all I receive is the slight relaxation of his lips. “It’s things like that give you so much potential in other ways.” His voice is a jagged rock caressing my skin, not minding the scrapes it leaves behind. “You’re a fair plaything, as well as useful.”  

He’s speaking so gently his voice borders on vulnerable. Something in me warms, but I can’t tell why. I know that Kirigan finds joy in my discomfort--why else would he belittle me so often? “The healer will be here soon.” 

“Yes,” he makes no move to leave, instead Kirigan grabs my wrist again, forcing me to turn so that he can analyze the extent of my burn, “Which is why I will ask you again…” I try to catch his gaze, but his stone stare is focused on my burned shoulder entirely. “Who did this?” 

“I told you.” He can never know. “It was a training accident.” 

“And someone is responsible.” 

I let out a breath, tired of feeling so incomplete. I just want to be healed and go to sleep. “Why does it matter?” His fingers trail up my arm patiently, my body betrays me by shivering. “Accidents happen, you’ve put me in more risk than--” 

“I’ve always intended to break you one way or another,” his voice is more supple than it’s ever been before, “Your goodness is too tempting to not tarnish.” He turns my wrist over easily, ignoring my slight wince. “But if someone else were to do it…” Kirigan trails off, expression tightening in a way I can’t read, “I don’t let others break my play things.” 

Some strange resolve in my chest cracks at that. “Kirigan--” 

“Who are you protecting?” He moves his free hand, placing it without reservation on my shoulder. “Not telling me will only make it worse.” 

Thoughts of Arthur paying for such a small mistake leaves my stomach rolling in guilt. “Make what worse?” 

His expression tightens again. I wait for some kind of rebuke. Kirigan’s lips part as if he expects to criticize my naivety, but instead of speaking he turns sharply. He doesn't release his grip on my wrist as he leads me into my bathroom. 

“What are you doing?” 

Kirigan ignores my surprise, releasing me to pick up the towel I was so quick to abandon. “If you’re too good to take a healer from someone, you should at least avoid infection.” 

“I’m not an idiot, I was cleaning it.” The sharpness of my tone is ignored, Kirigan simply places one hand on my forearm to keep me in place. “Wha--”

 He brushes his thumb over my pulse gently in an effective attempt to silence me. I part my lips in hopes of protesting, but something odd reflects across his eyes. It must be some trick of the light because his expression seems...hesitant. Maybe even concerned. And then cool fabric is pressed into my burn. I bite my tongue so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t bleed. 

“Saints.” 

His expression shifts to that of almost amusement. “I think I’d like to hear you curse in a,” he exhales softly, fingertips trailing up my forearm, “Slightly different scenario.” 

The shock of such a bold innuendo clears my mind from thoughts of pain. But the most startling thing is that the innuendo isn’t entirely unwanted. In the wake of my surprise, he presses the wet towel into my wound again. I fight against a grimace, but that doesn’t go unnoticed by Kirigan. Instead of mentioning it, his free arm touches my uninjured shoulder. For the first time since he’s come here I’m aware of how improper my attire is. I changed out of my starched kefta and into a silk nightgown in order to leave my shoulder unbothered. Genya had helped me change, bearing all of my grimacing and pained curses. 

I should push him off of me. Kirigan can get away with a lot because of his status, but I by no means have to allow something like this. I should not feel shy, I should not be embarrassed. He’s the one that’s out of line. I look up into his eyes, prepared to yell at him for being so out of line. But when I meet his eyes, I see something so un-monstrous I am left breathless. There’s a gentleness to the way he tilts his head downwards, eyes never leaving mine. Is he asking for permission? Permission to--to what? I stay frozen as his lips brush against the unmarred side of my collarbone. His touch is almost enough to make me forget pain ever existed. He pulls away enough that I can feel his breath against the base of my neck. Thoughts I’d never dare speak are banished as the towel presses against my skin again. My face cringes immediately, but he’s quick to press his lips to the base of my neck, lingering kisses melting into my skin. 

“I thought you said you were fine.” His chiding is half-hearted, whispered between two brief kisses against my bare ski. 

He dabs the towel on the burn again, but before I can think to complain, his lips are against my skin again. This time, his lips part slightly allowing his teeth to graze over my pulse. Kirigan pulls away slightly, expression hardening, “I’m almost sorry about this part.” His words leave him in a whisper as influential as sin. 

“What part?” My voice feels foreign in my throat. 

Kirigan doesn’t reply, but then I feel the sharpest pain yet. The towel is cleaning the worst of the burn, the ruined patch of skin that will never recover without supernatural intervention. The gasp I let out is that of a bird with shattered wings. A cry forms in the base of my throat, but before it can leave me, Kirigan’s teeth bite into the skin above my pulse. The pained sound is reduced by my shock, twisting in an odd combination of some kind of pained sound and something dangerously close to a moan. 

He releases me with one last soft brush of his lips, straightening his back and retracting the towel. “There.” Kirigan drops the towel onto the bathroom counter. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

I can still feel the ghost of his lips, tongue, and teeth against my skin. I understand now. Each kiss had been a way to distract me, to lessen the pain. Something odd swells in my chest as I try to will my eyes to stop watering in pain. 

Kirigan presses his lips together, pressing his hand against my cheek again. His thumb brushes the few stray tears that escape me. “Don’t cry,” his tone is pure velvet, “I won’t tolerate tears in your eyes caused by anyone else.” He tilts his head oddly, hand sliding down my cheek before gripping my jaw, “I can provide reason for your tears if you’d like.” 

Inhaling deeply, I continue to stare at him. Today has been so sudden. He’s flirted with me through strangely sexual insults and threats before, but never has he been so forward about it. 

“I’m fine,” I force my voice to remain clear. He nods once. A soft rap at my door has me turning away from him. “The healer--I shoul--” 

“Come in,” he calls, voice clear and leaving no room for argument. 

My eyes widen. To be caught with him here could be detrimental for my reputation. Kirigan pulls away, something sharp playing at his features, something almost humorous. 

He leaves the bathroom like this is his own room. “Her wound is clean, work quickly.” I walk out of the bathroom in a strange trance. Kirigan’s gaze lands on me as I enter the main part of my room, “I need her at her full strength for what I have planned.” 

There’s a heaviness to his words, a weight that tells me he means more than what his words imply. Goosebumps erupt across my skin as I try to banish the thoughts of his mouth against my skin between inflictions of pain, blending together to create the most intense sense of fight or flight I’ve ever experienced. 

Kirigan begins to approach the door to my room. “I’ll be checking on her later.”

--

People that asked to be tagged in this/expressed interest:

@luminous-99 @voyevoda-thejoy @voidmalfoy @i-padfootblack-things @all-art-is-quite-useless @buckverse @mandowh0re @uhanddreag  

@we-love-our-bandz 

[feral-ella-flynn]

Paying the Toll, pt 2: M Troll x F Human, SFW (for now)

Part 1

Male Troll + Female Human

still SFW (so far)

2.5K/6.5K word draft

tagging @feralprose @monster-bait @apocalypticromantic666 @pre-schoolervengance @bresilienne-ami @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic @dont-call-me-a-faerie @kirmalight (comment to be tagged in updates!)

I bet no one expected this to be updated! Including me! This installment is definitely not as long as I intended, because I got really hung up on details--that’s why I’m posting anyway, to get some momentum so that hopefully the third part will be both longer and not so tardy. 

Escaping a goblin raid on your village leads you to a bridge, but you have nothing to offer the troll who guards it for a toll...except yourself

You wake in darkness.  At first you aren't sure you're awake at all--it's only by touching your own eyelids that you can feel sure they're open. It seems to make no difference between the thick, pressing dark around you either way.

“Mattie?” you whisper, your voice thin and hoarse. 

There’s no answer, and understanding comes crashing down on you, like floodwater overwhelming a dam. You are not in your cramped room under the eaves of the big house, Mathilde is not sleeping on the narrow bed an armspan away–if she’s lucky, perhaps she was able to hide in the cellars or the attics, somewhere that was safe enough until the goblin raiders felt they had run out of things to raze and ravish and moved on. Or perhaps help would come, from the regiment billeted outside the market town, or from rangers who might have been near enought to see the smoke. If Mattie was unlucky….

A sob catches in your dry throat, then turns to choking dry heaves that leave you shuddering. Bile burns on your tongue. You huddle into the nest of furs, remembering now where you are and how you came to be here, naked and alone in the pitch black.

Not alone. There is the hush of leather brushing against stone, a faint musky scent. 

“Brúsi?”

“Aye.” The troll’s gravel-rough voice is low and close–you almost reach out, ready to blunder once again into his arms rather than be alone with your fears.

The scrape of flint is loud enough in the silence to make you jump. Sparks illuminate the troll, kneeling at your side, and as he coaxes the tinder to unfurl into flame you hastily wrap a fur around your bare flesh. Whatever mood made you so bold before has been banished by your nightmares.

“Is it morning?”

The troll shrugs. “Near enough.”

“Shall I–shall I make breakfast for you?” Your fingers knead anxiously in the soft nap of the pelt that you clutch closed over your chest. “What do you like for breakfast?”

The troll–Brúsi–glances at you, his head tilted in the way that is already familiar. You think it means he’s just as bewildered by your contract, and by you, as you are yourself.

“Dried goat,” he says. “Morning meal, evening meal. Unless there is a new goat.”

“Oh. Where do the goats come from?”

He shrugs. “The bridge provides.”

Well. You take a deep breath, pushing the fear and panic of the last day, of the dark dreams, down into a tight ball at the bottom of your stomach, where you can ignore it for a little while. “Does the bridge ever provide eggs?”

And so you begin your month as housekeeper to a troll. 

Your clothes are badly stained, and chilly from being spread out on the stone floor, but they're dry and you dress in them anyway, trying to ignore the scrutiny of Brúsi’s dark blue eyes as he watches you. He seems fascinated by the layers as you lace your stays over your shift, tie the strings of your petticoat, and your cheeks burn with a blush as you finally button your gown. You do your best with the tangles in your hair--letting it hide your face until your heart stops thumping in your ears before you twist it into a hasty braid. 

There are no eggs. But you take a lantern the troll indicates and follow him into another cave that serves as a store room.

“There is goat,” he says, pointing at the considerable supply of dried meat, “and other goods, if tha wish them.” His gesture at the heaps of bags, crates, jars, casks, boxes–all jumbled together and shoved to one side–is dismissive, as if there is nothing of value to be found. You stare wide-eyed at a bolt of fine silk, at the glint of gold from a carelessly overturned casket with a broken lid.

“What is all this?”

“Payment for the toll, for when there were no goats.”

“You don’t do anything with the things paid for the toll? They just sit and rot?”

He shrugs. “I butcher the goats.”

You can only shake your head, but the practicality can’t be denied–gold and silk isn’t much use in a cave, and it’s with less wonder but more delight that you find flour, oil, and salt.

Breakfast is fried bread--and goat meat.

Once the meal is prepared and cleaned away, the troll vanishes up the dark tunnel. He takes no lantern with him. He also doesn't say a word to you before he leaves, and you stand in the cave for a while, expecting him to come back with instructions, or–well, something. But he doesn’t, and  you can only twist your hands in the skirt of your gown for so long. Eventually you pick up the lantern and explore. 

There is little enough to see. Other than what you noticed when you arrived, there is an alcove that must be where the troll sleeps, on piled furs that smell musky but not unpleasant. There is the storage cave, although it seems larger than it did at first, because you realize that you can’t see the far wall before the circle of light gives way to darkness.

And then there is the tunnel entrance, where your new employer disappeared, and which presumably leads out, to--your stomach lurches at the memory of being upside down from the sky–the underside of the bridge. But perhaps that had been an illusion, and the tunnel merely led out to an opening in the bank underneath the bridge? You had been half out of your mind with fear, after all. Maybe you dreamed that part.

Maybe…maybe you could simply walk out of this tunnel, out of the dark, and walk all the way home.

Except that you agreed to a contract. And the troll did say he wouldn’t eat you, wouldn’t even touch you, which was more than any of the men at the big house ever promised...none of them had touched you, but you knew that was because you had been careful, so careful, all the time, to be invisible. 

It had helped that Mattie made it easy to fade into the background. She flaunted her pretty curls and winsome dimples, and when she sometimes crept into your shared attic room well after midnight she always had a new length of fine fabric for a dress or a necklace of amber beads to show for it. You asked once if she wasn’t afraid of falling pregnant, but she just shrugged.

“I know to be careful,” she said, and hid the coins she’d gotten for selling her latest bauble away beneath her bed.

Thinking of Mattie makes your eyes sting with tears, and reminds you that probably there was no home to walk back to–and if you tried, there would likely be nothing to be done there except burying the dead. You leave the tunnel entrance alone, and busy yourself with organizing the heaped goods in the storage cave.

When Brúsi returns, he brings you eggs, freshly laid and nested in a straw packed basket. 

“They had no goat." He shrugs. 

Other than struggling to invent new ways of preparing goat meat, most of your time is spent sorting. You find all manner of things in the storage cave, from precious jewels to plain linen fabric. The gems and gold you store in caskets, and then can’t shift on your own–Brúsi laughs at you, and picks them up with one hand, arranging them neatly along one wall as you direct him. You stack bolts of fabric, folding shorter lengths neatly into a another chest, you line up swords with gold wrapped hilts, swords with elaborately carved scabbards, swords that are short, swords that are nearly as long as you are tall, and then there are maces and axes and other things you can’t name. There’s even a pair of pistols in a tooled leather box, their handles gleaming mother of pearl. It’s more treasure than you ever imagined, and you feel that you’re in a dragon’s den instead of a troll’s cave--except that Brúsi shows little interest in the goods, except for the goat meat.

“If you don't have a use for these things, why accept them?” you asked, after the third day of sorting boxes and bundles and barrels, and still not finding the back wall of the cave. You’d found a crown, heavy and lumpy, like something out of an ancient grave, and under it a belt of bronze scales that linked together.

The troll just shrugged. “They are the toll, for the bridge. There must be a toll.”

“Then…" you bite your lip, but blurt "can I use some things?”

“If tha hast a use for them, then mayhap the bridge meant them for tha to use.”

“You make it sound like the bridge is alive,” you murmur, running your fingers over the bolts of fabric, already imagining yourself in a dress made of such soft material.

“The bridge is the bridge,” Brúsi says.

“What does that mean?”

He just shrugs.

You sigh, picking up a bolt of wool–practical, and still finer than anything you’ve ever worn. “If the bridge provides, can I give it a list? I need thread, needles, scissors, buttons…I can’t keep wearing this dress,” you gesture down at yourself. “Not without something else to wear while I wash it, at least, but I can’t make anything without supplies. And for that matter I need soap–”

Brúsi tilts his head. “Tha may always ask the bridge, but it works slowly. Simpler for tha to go to a market.”

You stare at him, your mouth falling open. “I can? I mean, is that allowed? I thought…”

He stares at you, the intense blue of his eyes unblinking, and you finally shrug. “I just thought I couldn’t leave the cave.”

“Not for long, but art not bound to the bridge as I am. Come.” He scoops a handful of coins into a pouch and leads you into the tunnel.

The ground slopes upward under your feet, and after a time there is a door before you, swinging outward. Brúsi ducks under its arch, his broad form filling the opening. When he doesn't move to let you through, you realize that he's blocking the way deliberately. Unease spikes through you.

"Is something wrong?"

"The bridge made tha sick before," he says. “Tha shouldst close thine eyes.” You squint suspiciously up at him–is he laughing at you?–but obey. You hear the rattle of his bone-decorated belt as he steps toward you, but then he stops. “I must touch tha,” he says. “Just to lift tha over the topside.”

“All right,” you whisper. You stifle a gasp as his enormous hands circle your waist, lifting you easily off of your feet, and then after a blur of motion you feel stone under you again.

When you open your eyes, you’re on the narrow stone arch of the bridge.  Your lantern flame becomes suddenly pale compared to the warm sunlight that makes you blink and squint. There is no dark and shadowed forest hemming in the river. Instead there is a road, smooth hard dirt fringed with wildflowers on either side, and the rooftops of a village in the distance.

“Where…” You look down at the bridge under your bare feet. 

“The bridge is all bridges,” Brúsi says. He holds out the leather bag of coins, and you take it, staggering a bit at the weight. “Buy whatever tha need.”

You hesitate, glancing from the troll to the road. What is there to stop you from walking away and never returning, from making a life somewhere? The bag in your hand holds more money than you had ever expected to earn in your life. There would be nothing to hold you to the bridge…except your promise.

“Tha canst not escape the bridge.” Brúsi seems to be reading your thoughts, although he’s not even looking at you. He’s gazing down at the water. “Every bridge tha sets foot on will be this bridge, until the toll is paid.”

“Of course.” The bag of coins drags at your arms, and you fumble it open, taking out a handful. “I should be able to get everything I need with these–it would be dangerous to carry all the rest of this.”

The troll frowns, glancing from you to the distant rooftops. “Danger from other humans?”

“Only if I seem to have more money than I should,” you assure him hastily. “It would get attention from the wrong kind of humans. I'll be careful.”

 The coins bite into your palm as your fingers clench unconsciously. The frown creases his forehead, not smoothed away by your reassurances, and you half expect him to shake his head and pick you up under his arm again, ready to toss you back under the bridge. 

“Please?”

 You bite your lip too late to keep the word in, but there are lazy curls of smoke rising from the distant chimneys, and you can hear the lowing of cattle nearby, the friendly chime of chapel bells...and all you can think about is cheese. Cheese, and fruit to pair it with, or potatos, perhaps. Honeycakes. Your stomach rebels at the very thought of dried goat.

Brúsi jerks his chin toward the road. “Go, then. The bridge will be waiting for tha to return.”

You hand off the sack of coins–your shoulders more than grateful to be relieved of its weight–and the troll adds it to the other oddments that dangle from his belt among the bones. He folds his arms.

The handful of coins you kept are barely enough to make your pocket sag with their weight, but you can feel them as a reassuring lump under your skirts. You run anxious hands over your hair and stained gown, smoothing uselessly at wrinkles. 

“I wish I had been able to bathe properly,” you mutter. “I look like a ragamuffin.”

But your hands and face are clean, your hair neatly tied back, and dusk is not far off, so perhaps your bare feet will not be noticed. You step from the cool stone of the bridge to the warm hardpacked dirt of the road. 

"I'll be back s--" Your voice breaks off as you glance over your shoulder. The bridge behind you is a simple one of wooden logs, straddling a stream that a child could leap across. Gooseflesh prickles the back of your neck. You hurry down the road towards the village without looking back a second time.

[mythicamagic]

Yang x MC Oneshot: The Red Crane

Summary: The Lao Shu mafia boss is looking for a certain woman- his woman- to be exact. (Not as AU as you might think) Yang x Liliana oneshot.

Rated M for smut 

3,000 words

AN: Part of this was originally a rp between me and my friend LadyDiana2000, but I've reworked and extended it into a oneshot. As always you can read this on Ao3 or fanfiction.net via the same username.

Warning: Smut, and the usual themes found in Yang's route aka references to human trafficking.

The Red Crane

The State-Operated Casino in Burlone had been deemed 'neutral ground' for the three deadly mafia families constantly engaged in turf wars. The Falzones barely indulged there due to its leader's distaste, but it was frequently visited by the Visconti and Lao Shu alike, along with regular citizens.

Of course, due to its popularity, copycats popped up everywhere in different territories. Many tried to capture its feel and opulence, but few succeeded.

One such unsavoury copycat lurked in the innermost depths of Lao Shu territory, behind far too many back allies to ever be relevant; The White Crane.

A little tidbit the locals didn't know- or frankly didn't care about- was that its female staff had been provided through underhanded means. Human trafficking valued foreign girls highest, so it was only natural the casino house exotic looking women.

The gambling room was located underground in a transformed basement, drunk men observing the girls. Some were on a cramped stage as entertainment, others waitressing. This newest batch had arrived together, and after a few failed escape attempts and punishments- they'd been shaken enough to be potentially wonderful gifts or products to sell on.

Liliana had never intended to get mixed up with mafia men or human trafficking. One second she'd been enjoying Italy's fine streets, heading towards down an alley- the next…

She shuddered, wiping down a table. Rough hands had grabbed her, snatching her away. She seemed to have been a spur-of-the-moment kidnapping.

Escape proved futile from the seedy casino. Guards were posted outside, and though unsteady with too much liquor in their system, they always overpowered her.

Green eyes dimmed, hazed by the thick smog of cigar smoke.

She'd been fortunate enough to avoid the territory's overabundant drug use, but that could easily change.

I miss you, Elena, Sister Sophia. I hope the children are alright.

It felt like such a long amount of time had passed since she'd seen them- since she'd last glimpsed decent sunlight not smeared by grimy glass.

Glancing at a kiseru pipe held within an older gentleman's hand, she shook herself, continuing with the day's chores.

Have I been forgotten?

----

It's after hours and early in the morning when the owner unexpectedly asked the girls to stay. Usually they'd go to sleep after tidying up. He smiled, standing within the empty casino room. "The time has come for one of you to leave the nest, little songbirds."

The girls shifted anxiously, having sat down in a section of old chaises and lounges. "What does that mean?" one asked.

"Surely you've wondered why you were all brought in here at the same time? Staff are kept in rotation, you see. We need new faces every few months or so. It's just good business. Eventually all of you will be bought or gifted. In this case, one of you will be a gift to the Lao Shu mafia. I hear their leader is without a woman right now."

The door to the basement swung open soundlessly- a man leisurely wandering down white steps.

Liliana stiffened, becoming still as a statue.

"Ah- signore Yang. I didn't think you'd be here so early."

"Mn," a man wearing a fine green changshan ignored the owner, gaze half-lidded. He lowered himself into a seat facing the cluster of women, taking out an ornate pipe and lighting it. Long red hair spilt from broad shoulders- some strands having been tied into a sloppy braid. Liliana's fingers twitched, experiencing an urge to fix it.

"From the looks on their faces, I assume they know the situation," he drawled, flashing his teeth in a mockery of a smile, golden eyes icy cold. As the leader of the Chinese mafia based in Burlone, people knew his name, but he wasn't widely known to the public eye.

"That's the boss of the Lao Shu?" a girl, Victoria, leaned in close to Liliana.

"Yes- but I'm not sure why he'd come here himself," she whispered back, hands drawing into loose fists on her dusty skirts.

Yang watched them watch him, taking a drag from his pipe and exhaling a cloud of curling smoke. "There's not much atmosphere here tonight... give them alcohol if they want it, they look foolish sitting there empty-handed," he addressed the owner.

He nodded, "Chie, would you-"

"No," Yang cut in. "They're busy with me right now. You take their orders. Nothing too expensive, mind."

Miraculously, the owner nodded with the briefest flash of fear, clearly not wanting to displease him.

Some of the girls ordered, though Liliana declined softly, wanting her mind unclouded.

"We'd probably look less foolish if we knew what you wanted," she spoke up, thankful her voice didn't shake. "We were just told something about being 'gifted' a moment before you came in, sir."

"I see."

He'd been collected since the moment he'd walked in, but his eyes unexpectedly burned the second they locked onto her, stealing Liliana's breath. Twin hooks glinted- secured at his hip. "Well, the weaselly owner of this cesspool is going to gift one of you to me," he spoke in a rich cadence, lifting a shoulder lazily. "I'm sure he intends for me to pick at random but I'm not particularly interested in that. If you want to come with me, then speak up," he uttered, accepting a glass of red wine without acknowledging the owner.

"Get on with it, then," one of the more jaded women sneered.

Yang's eyes slide to her. He gazed silently, with such deep, cold apathy.

Like a hawk assessing prey, Liliana stilled. Those tiger-like, vibrant eyes slid shut as he smiled indulgently, "I'm going to tell you now, I cannot abide those who refuse to understand anything. For example...the position they're in," he shot the woman a deadly smirk.

He took a sip, tilting his head consideringly. "You could entertain my men and be passed around, or become my woman, and everything that encompasses."

The implication is startling. Mafia had prostitutes, but he was offering something usually reserved for girlfriends.

This grabbed the attention of many of the girls, though Liliana reddened and glanced away. "Is this a conscious choice?" Amira asks. "Do we say- Yes, I want to be your woman, and that's that? Or are there hurdles you expect us to jump through first, only to be prostituted?"

"No hurdles. That's that," he mimicked, lips curving sharply. "Mn... but it would be unfair not to warn you of my nature. I get bored easily," he drawled. "If you abandon any effort to think for yourself, if you tell me 'I don't know anything' or 'tell me everything'... I will assume your brain is mere decoration. You will become worth less than nothing to me."

"And if that happens, you won't let us go," Liliana murmured, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. She wondered how long this farce would last for, lips thinning.

Yang hummed, expression unreadable as he squinted. "You're skinny," he observed bluntly.

Heat abruptly burst to her cheeks, "I like to share my meals with other people if they ask for seconds!" she felt the need to defend.

"And you went hungry instead? What a soft mindset," he gave a mocking smirk as though unable to comprehend the notion. "I'll feed you, plenty."

The way he said it sounded strangely inappropriate, and she swiftly dropped her gaze, exhaling shakily. His aura was intense- attention feeling heavy. Her thighs pressed together.

Yang took another drag of his kiseru, seeming to enjoy himself. He suddenly noticed something, motioning to Lucrecia. "Woman. Come here a moment."

Lucrecia paled but dutifully stood, padding over with visible trepidation on her face. "Yes?"

His pipe lifted, propping up the ribbon on her shoulder, gazing at it. Golden eyes gleamed. "Are you Hui's plaything?"

She swallowed, stuttering. "I... I don't think so? I just attend to his drinks and food orders," she explained. "The ribbon is something he tied onto me- so that he could monopolise my time."

It wasn't the complete truth, Hui had propositioned her many times. Lili stiffened, gripped by something that heated her blood.

Yang hummed, drawing closer to invade her personal space. "That so?" he purred, voice dropping. "Because if you were Lee's woman, I'd take you just to piss him off," he flashed a sharp-toothed grin.

"Let her go," Liliana burst, standing from her seat. Silence filled the room immediately, her heart hammering loudly in her ribcage.

Ah...

Searing, half-lidded eyes pinned her in place, dragging sensually down her form. Sweat beaded on her brow.

"Are you going to wait around all night or will you finally voice your desire to come with me?" a silky chuckle caressed her hearing, Yang's amusement palpable.

Liliana bristled, biting her lip. Lucrecia's distressed features were enough to draw her forward. "I'm not interested in being your pawn, but yes. I would like to leave this place. Please stop toying with Lucrecia needlessly."

Releasing her friend without another word- a tattooed hand darted out.

Squeaking, Liliana felt herself be tugged down roughly. Prying her eyes open, she shifted on his lap, an iron grip holding her around the waist. Sturdy thighs cushioned her legs- his chest solid with muscle despite his tapered waist.

She opened her mouth to say more- before a mouth pressed to hers. He forced a deep, long kiss against startled lips- tongue brushing against hers, swallowing her muffled noises.

Blushing hotly, Lili tried to ignore their audience, pressing her palms against his chest and shoving to no avail. She couldn't help but return the kiss, stifling less than innocent noises.

Yang chuckled and nipped her bottom lip, scraping sharp teeth over soft flesh while pulling away. "Women usually pretend to be completely enamoured by me," he whispered playfully. "But your glaring eyes aren't unattractive."

"I'm sure you'll receive plenty of glares from me in due course," she panted, cheeks stained red. Green eyes flashed and narrowed, shakily wiping her mouth.

A slow, pleased smile curved his lips, directing his attention to the waiting owner. "I think this one will prove entertaining," he stood.

"Oh! I'm glad!" the man bowed. "Please accept this humble offering. We hope it demonstrates our loyalty to the Lao Shu."

"There's just one thing," Yang sighed with dismay, grasping the hilt of one of his weapons. He lifted it, resting the curve of the hook beneath Lili's chin, metal cool on her skin. Green eyes remained calm, gazing at him quietly.

Yang almost seemed to gentle- just for a moment- before continuing with a playful lift to his voice. "If you're so loyal to us- I assume you didn't mean to steal something that belonged to me."

"W-what?"

A disappointed look crossed Yang's cruel, handsome features. He tilted his head, earring catching the lamplight. "Now that is a pity. I half hoped you'd had the balls to do it on purpose. Never mind," his palm planted against Liliana's back- shoving.

"Wait outside."

Gaping, Liliana stumbled forward. Shooting the girls a worried look, she tried to convey her fear for them, fluttering her hand slightly.

Please get down. Duck for safety. Escape!

Some of them seemed confused, while others caught on, becoming tense.

Hitching blue skirts up and taking the stairs two at a time, Liliana hurried, flinching at a brilliant blaze of colour and light.

She glanced back just once- witnessing Yang swing his hooks down- cleaving through muscle, sinew and bone like butter. Women cried out with horror as the owner collapsed, choking on his own blood.

Fresh air caught in her throat, and Liliana breathed in greedily, lungs protesting as she kept moving.

Multiple swaths of pinks, purples and reds painted the skies, sunset a burning hue on the horizon beyond tiled roofs.

It felt so good to be above ground.

The second she'd managed to race out onto the streets- the guards caught wind of the horror downstairs, drawing their guns and descending into the basement.

Liliana steadied herself against a wall in an alley, hearing rapid gunfire.

Pressing a hand to her mouth, salty tears of relief and worry for her companions welled up. They slid down rosy cheeks, eyes squeezing shut.

She could've run. Seized the opportunity to flee due to the chaos downstairs. Return to the church.

But she knew he'd pursue her.

Hearing footsteps draw closer over cobbled ground, Liliana sobbed, vision blurry as she looked up. But...that wasn't quite the truth. A part of her didn't want to leave this person either.

Yang lowered his bloodied weapon off one shoulder, crimson staining his clothes. Not one injury marred him, as per the norm.

"T-the girls," she managed to choke out.

"It appears they made it out alive," he drawled uncaringly, stepping closer.

"You didn't have to play around like that," she hiccuped, glaring. "Pretending not to know me..."

"Since you're partly to blame for causing my boredom over the past few weeks, a little roleplaying isn't much punishment."

Lili opened her mouth to reply- only to feel hands grab her head, a mouth slanting over hers. The clang of metal bouncing against stone indicated he'd dropped his hook. Shuddering, Liliana pressed herself against him, gasping against his lips and feeling a fresh wave of tears overcome her.

Yang backed her into a wall, body caging her against it, drawing hungry lips down to her neck to place open-mouthed kisses there- biting down.

Jolting, Liliana mewled, gripping him tight. "Y-Yang," she wanted him closer, burying her face in his shoulder.

"I tore Veleno apart looking for you," he hissed in her ear, nipping it. "And some of the other territories. I wondered if the Falzones had finally stolen their precious maiden back- but no. The piss-poor, fucking White Crane 'casino' was holding you. It's precious, really."

Though he smiled jaggedly, Lili could feel his temper spike, coiling tense muscles tighter. His blood-lust hadn't been sated.

She endeavoured to sway it into a different kind of lust.

"I thought..." she mumbled, kissing his chin. "I thought you might've forgotten me."

His tongue ran over the shell of her ear, hands roaming. "Obviously getting kidnapped has hindered your intelligence. I don't let go of my things," he smirked. "Especially not a woman who can glare like a cat. Besides- you returned to me willingly, Lili," fingers marked with intricate tattoos glided over her hip. "You chose to be my woman in there. It's too late to pretend otherwise~"

Her shoulders dropped with relief. Stroking a hand through soft, brilliant red hair, she breathed in his spicy, masculine scent. Her hips bucked of their own accord, a sigh fell from her lips, feeling him grind against her in return.

"Yang-" she breathed, tugging at his hair as he sucked on her collarbone, hand worming between them. "Not here-" a noise escaped her throat, shuddering.

Tattooed fingers pressed and glided against her clit, hidden beneath layers of skirts.

Lifting herself from the haze of pleasure they elicited, Liliana pushed against his chest insistently. With a hiss, Yang ripped his hand away and grabbed her around the waist, retrieving his weapon before leaving the alley.

They didn't make it to the Lao Shu base.

Stumbling as far as the dimly lit docks, Yang tugged her beneath the harsh shade of a boardwalk. The tide was out, allowing Liliana to fall back, cushioned by cool sands.

He gripped her stockings and yanked- ripping a large seam over her sex to allow access. Liliana opened her arms- cradling him close as Yang sank inside her without fanfare or preparation. Lili gasped, wet enough- but needing to adjust to his size once more.

"Did anyone else touch you?" he breathed, eyes half-lidded yet blazing with liquid heat.

"No- no one."

"Good," their breaths intermingled. "Otherwise I'd regret killing them so quickly."

He tugged her dress down just enough to expose a breast, firm grip squeezing it roughly. The way Yang's pupils dilated with every shaky moan she gave made her want to drown him in screams. Liliana clutched at broad shoulders in a death grip as he began moving, rolling lean hips with quick, hard movements.

She hitched her leg, throwing it over his waist- back arching as nails scraped her thigh. His free hand settled at the base of her throat, squeezing slightly.

"I think you owe me an apology," he purred.

"Pardon?- ah!"

Yang gave a rough thrust- cock hitting a spot deep inside that had her choking on a gasp while he simultaneously gave another squeeze. "You know why."

Blunt teeth grit, breath wheezing as he controlled her oxygen flow, cunt clenching hard around him in response. "I'm...sorry, for leaving Lan and Fei," she panted. "I just wanted to quickly check on Luca in town- gn!"

She keened loudly as his other hand played with her sensitive nipple, and threw her head back as Yang began to kiss down her jaw.

"That's a good girl," cold fire brightened his gaze. "Apology- hah- accepted. You were probably sharing food again, hm? That's just like you."

He kissed her hard, using his grip to keep her in place as she shivered with a broken moan. He tasted sweet, rich and decadent and she needed more, opening her mouth just enough for him to force his tongue in.

Yang moved more fluidly, hips undulating against hers with deep, deliberate thrusts. Lili marvelled at his frankly dishevelled look. They never broke eye-contact, bodies plastered together as they made harsh marks into the sand.

They both breathed heavily, the air between them hazy. Lili felt herself getting close, squeezing around him like a vice.

"Liliana," Yang caressed the syllables of her name like a hushed, sinful word. He knew it affected her, and wielded it like any other weapon. "Grip me harder, Liliana. Don't you want me to feel it when you experience rapture?"

Whining, she found purchase on the nape of his neck- digging blunt nails in and dragging them down, feeling him gasp, hips spasming- knocking her own release out of her like a thunderclap.

"Yang!"

He grunted, choking on a dark laugh as he came, releasing inside her. He abandoned her neck in favour of gripping blonde hair- tugging it to yank her head back- a bruising kiss pressing against rosy, open lips.

"Never a dull moment, hm?" Yang chuckled breathlessly, eyes dancing.

Laying in a daze, Liliana could barely formulate words, feeling him pool inside her- their combined juices leaking down her thighs as he pulled out. She knew she'd just traded one cage for another. That this person- this murderer- was just as dark and terrible as the men who had kidnapped her.

And yet, whether it existed or not- Lili imagined she could see it. A fondness in his cruel gaze. She wanted to be kept by him. It didn't make logical sense, but she felt it didn't need to. Yang was a being of impulse, instinct and indulgence. The more he touched her, the more Liliana sank down into the depths of where he resided.

Red cheeks flushed a darker shade of rouge. God forgive me, but I think I'm in danger of loving this awful man.

With a sharp grin, Yang abruptly flipped her over onto her hands and knees, ripping skirts aside and raising her ass- entering her from behind.

"Ah-! A-again? So soon?" she squeaked, moaning.

"What are you talking about? Playtime usually runs into a few sessions," a velvety chuckle resounded in her ear. "Now spread yourself wide, Lili. I want to feel your lungs compress as I hammer into you from behind. That sounds entertaining, doesn't it?"

Lili squeezed her eyes shut, heart thudding wildly. Trembling knees shifted in the sand, dragging apart.

Yes, it does.

[doll-collecting-aerialist]

AG Lines For Dummies

Your Truly Me is not a Create Your Own.

AG has made many character lines when it comes to their 18 inch dolls. Here’s a breakdown of the various lines, and which dolls are included.

Historical Line

AG started as solely a company that sold dolls with historical narratives, and the original dolls include Samantha, Molly, and Kirsten. Felicity, Addy and Josefina soon followed. The best friend characters are best known from this line, although they have also appeared in the GOTY line. The best friend dolls were often released in order to hype customers up for upcoming movies, Logan Everett of the contemporary line being the exception. The only best friend doll who is movie-less is Ivy Ling, as Julie Albright’s movie was scraped after the mass retirement of all the friend dolls, in favor of an Amazon special.

The Historical line was originally intended as a way for feminine children to see themselves in history, which is often a male dominated scene. At the time of creation, dolls like Barbie that depicted older role models were popular, and marketing dolls meant to be the same age as little girls was unheard of. The line was originally strictly for ages 8-12, however in recent years has been marketed more towards nostalgic adults and collectors.

The Historical line still exists, but is constantly fluctuating, often falling to the wayside. It is no longer the main interest of American Girl’s buyer base.

Subsections of the Historical Line include Beforever, and the 35th anniversary collection.

Truly Me Line

Known as also (but not limited to) “Just Like You,” “American Girl of Today,” “My American Girl,” and “Innerstar U,” the (currently known as) Truly Me line is a collection of blank slate dolls who are bland enough in their features to resemble many different kids.

Until recently, these dolls were marketed as being the doll version of you. However, with American Girl’s newfound commitment to diversity, they have tried to stray away from that notation, emphasizing that the doll is your best friend, rather than literally being “you.”

Truly Mes come in meet outfits that represent the children’s fashion of the times. Until the release of the “Trendy Girls,” also known as the “Street Chic Girls,” all Truly Mes came wearing the same meet outfit, however boy Truly Mes and girl Truly Mes have differing meets from one another.

Boy Truly Mes were introduced to the line in 2017 with the contemporary character release of Logan Everett. This was met with a lot of Evangelical pushback. No new masculine Truly Mes have been released since 2017, however the original masculine Truly Mes are still available to purchase.

The “Trendy Girls,” formally known as the “Street Chic Girls” were released in 2021 as part of American Girl’s diversity plan. While much of the reception was positive, the line had issues such as including a white character in a line heavily influenced by Black culture, and not researching well enough in certain areas to properly represent things such as hip-hop. Because of this, AG has dialed back their original campaign plan for these dolls, and now simply refers to them as “The Trendy Girls.”

Currently there are three Trendy Girls, each with colourful hair and a meet outfit unique to them.

Girl Of The Year

The Girl of The Year line began in 2001, and continues to be added to each year, with tradition being that the new girl is announced on Good Morning America. Girl of The Years are typically developed two years in advance, with the exception being the Gabriela McBride fiasco, in which Oprah called American Girl out for lack of diversity within the line, and AG responded by (poorly) producing a Black character in less than six months.

The Girl Of The Year line became popular during the year of Marisol, the third doll to be released in the line, and continued this popularity through the 2000s and 2010s. In the 2010s, Girl of The Years were often accompanied with movies and apps.

Until the latter 2010s, with the exception of the early girls (who had a weird release/retirement schedule), Girl of The Years retired at the end of each year. Currently, GOTYs are available for multiple years, and are available in stores such as Costco even after retirement.

GOTYs often have a color theme associated with them, as well as a main interest their collection is based around. Popular interests amoung the girls include dance, water sports, and environmentalism.

Now a days, the Girl of The Year line fluctuates in popularity. GOTYs often don’t resonate with adult collectors due to lack of diversity in doll design. Parents are also beginning to notice the lack of diversity and repetitiveness, with recent dolls like Luciana and Joss selling out again and again, while dolls like Kira fall to the wayside.

2017 Contemporary Line

The 2017 contemporary line was a line of three dolls released along side the ill fated Gabriela McBride. Gabriela was a rushed Black character who was not the original intended GOTY, and was made as a response to the anger about the lack of diversity within the GOTY line.

American Girl still wanted a way to release their originally intended Girl Of The Year; Tenney Grant with her “best friend” doll, Logan Everett, and so they created a contemporary line consisting of Tenney, Logan and Z Yang. Z Yang was an Asian character with a very similar appearance to JLY 30, and was based off an American Girl web series. Logan was the first (and only) boy character released, and faced controversy due to being a white character with the culturally significant Kaya mold.

This contemporary line released alongside Gabriela, and Tenney Grant was heavily marketed, with Z and Gabriela being mainly side pieces.

With the exception of Tenney and her collection, Gabriela and Z experienced many quality issues, and much of their collections were rereleases of previous products.

This contemporary line quickly retired, with no additions or mentions of it since.

Gabriela and Tenney Grant are still available at Costco, however Z has not had a rerelease, and goes for $200+ second hand despite quality issues.

World, By Us

World By Us is an upcoming line with three confirmed characters of colour, and was created in response to the growing criticism of their clear favoritism of white dolls with light features. This line is aimed towards older children, with the characters having light makeup, and attending middle school. The line seeks to talk about real world events/issues, particularly racism, in a kid friendly way. There is speculation this line will expand to talk about more marginalized identities in the future, with AG dabbling into “controversial” territory with Kira and Courtney exploring the LGBT community, and Joss being the first visibly disabled character (something they’ve seemed reluctant to do since the public reception of Gwen- a houseless character). This line is also rumored to be collaborating with the high end children’s clothing brand, Janie and Jack.

Create Your Own//CYO

American Girl: Create Your Own is an official GUI that lets you design your own doll with the various options given to you for $200. These options include 6 different skin tones, the Classic, Josefina, Sonali, Jess, and Addy molds, as well as exclusive outfits and accessories, and more. The CYO GUI officially released in 2017, and has expanded since then. The “CYO experience” is available in flagship stores, but is also available online. Dolls typically take 6+ weeks to arrive, and the CYO line also has a clothing design section where you can design various pieces of clothing with official prints.

The CYO line has been both praised and criticized for having exclusive features such as a light toned Addy mold, and a dark toned Jess mold. The CYO line also has an exclusive pink hair colour, and you are able to give your doll mismatching eye colors.

[lizartgurl]

Good Fortune (Twin Suns AU)

"Oof!"

Luke looked up from gathering mushrooms to see what his sister had found. Leia was on her knees with sand all over the front of her tunic, a scrape across her eyebrow, and a small trickle of blood from her nose.

"Leia!" Beru dropped her basket and grabbed Leia's shoulders, "Are you alright?" She grabbed the kerchief from her belt and used it to pinch Leia's nose shut.

"'M fine aunt Beru, but look at what I found!" Leia held up a lump of something or other, plucking it right out of the sand. It was too smooth to be any rock that Luke had ever seen before, even with wind and sand erosion.

Beru sighed, and smiled her worn smile. She kissed Leia's forehead, "I'm glad you found it, sweetheart." She removed the cloth to see how bad the bleeding was.

"What is it?" Luke asked.

"It's a rock!" Leia declared with authority.

"I know that, but what kind of rock?" Luke asked.

Aunt Beru shook her head, "I'm not sure. Why don't we ask your uncle when he finishes this evening?"

"Okay!" The twins chorused. Leia placed her mysterious prize in her basket, suddenly empty of the mushrooms they were harvesting.

Beru smiled down at her niece and nephew. "Leia, would you please pick up the mushrooms you dropped?" She asked.

Leia flushed in the heat of Tatooine's twin suns. She looked down at her basket, the rock taking up the better part, and started to collect the loose mushrooms. They had wilted some in the heat, and she brushed the sand off with the hem of her tunic.

The three of them returned back to the domed house around the same time that Uncle Owen's speeder came back from the direction of Mos Eisley.

"Uncle Owen!" Luke cried, climbing up the side of the house to look taller. He waved his arms in greeting, and Leia fed off his enthusiasum, making even their exhausted uncle smile.

"How'd it go at the spaceport?" Beru kissed Owen's cheek in greeting as they all walked inside.

"Kriffers kept telling me my water was barely above a grade three," Owen sighed tiredly and Beru gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs, thought the twins were too busy throwing the sand from their boots at each other.

"Did you get a good price at least?" She asked, hopeful as ever.

"Nowhere near what it deserved," Owen watched the twins as they started to wrestle, "But it's enough for what we need."

Beru smiled.

"Now wash up and help me make dinner. I'm making mushrooms and biscuits." Beru said.

Once dinner was on the table, Leia and Luke wanted to hear everything about Mos Eisley. Despite his insistence that he was a terrible storyteller, the twins hung on Uncle Owen's every word as he described the different species and spaceships he'd seen at the spaceport. Rodians and Twi'lek, and even a couple Sand people who asked about the water he was selling. The suns had set by the time dinner was cleaned up, and Beru sent the twins to bed with full bellies.

Thirty minutes later, Luke wasn't tired at all, bouncing up and down on his bed with his pajamas on. Leia sat on her own cot, brushing out her hair as she read another book on her holo-pad.

"Do you think we'll ever get to have our own ship, Leia?"

She shrugged, "That'd be nice. Then we could take trips to other places."

"And Uncle Owen could start selling water on other planets!" Luke said, "It's perfect, he'd get more money and we could go with him and we could see the whole galaxy!"

"Unfortunately, that's not exactly how it works, son." Owen said, leaning against the doorframe.

"What do you mean?" Luke took one last jump and sat on his bed.

Owen sighed, "People don't need to buy water in other places like they do here. Other planets have more water than Tattooine."

"Huh?" Luke asked.

"What do you mean?"

Owen held out his hand for Leia's datapad, and sat on the bed next to her, pulling up several planetary holograms for the twins to see.

"This is Naboo. It's covered in trees and lakes that stretch on for kilometers."

"Trees?" Luke whispered in reverent awe, leaning forward so that he almost fell off his bed.

"What's a lake?" Leia asked.

"It's like an ocean, but smaller." Owen said.

"Oh. Huh."

Owen chuckled,

and pulled up another planet.

"This is Kamino, just outside the Rishi maze. It's not too far from here, actually. The entire planet is covered with water."

"Wow!" The twins's eyes grew starry as they took in the flickering hologram.

"Wow, Uncle Owen, how do you know so much about these planets?"

Owen answered Luke's question without thinking, "They were pretty big planets during the Clone Wars."

"The Clone Wars?"

"What's that?"

Owen paused.

"Leia, Beru said you found something today. Can I see it?"

Leia was smart enough to know that her uncle was changing the subject, but she was too excited to show off her prize to care very much. She ran to get it from her basket in the sandroom.

"Wow, sunshine, where did you find this?"

"I tripped over it while getting mushrooms!" Leia declared proudly

Owen chuckled and took the rock in his hand. It was surprisingly light for stone. Owen ran his thumb over the smooth surface, and made a little nick with his stubby thumbnail.

"Leia, I think you have something very special here." Owen said.

"Really?" Leia's brown eyes grew big with wonder.

"Is it a kyber crystal?" Luke asked, bouncing up on his knees.

"Leia," Owen said, "You've found some japor wood."

"Wood?" Leia almost went cross-eyed trying to comprehend the rare word.

"It's part of a plant that used to grow here. A tree was growing here a long time ago, and it dried out in the heat and died. But the Tuskens say it can bring you good fortune. A lot of them carve protective charms for their families."

Luke grinned, and tried to hide an excited squeal. "That is so cool!"

Owen smiled at Luke sadly, and Leia yawned. Owen weighted the piece of old wood in his hand a bit more.

"Leia, do you mind if I borrow this for a little bit?" He asked.

Leia nodded, and her yawn grew bigger. Owen chuckled, and finished twisting her hair back into a braid. He pulled down the covers for her, and turned to Luke.

"You need to get some rest too."

"But I'm not tired!" Luke said, taking his model T-16 off the shelf, clearly intending to jump some more in an effort to make it fly.

"Perhaps, but only little boys who go to bed on time get to come with me to Tosche Station tomorrow."

Luke's sky-blue eyes widened and he dove under his covers.

"Good night Uncle Owen!"

Owen chuckled, "Good night Luke, good night, Leia.

"I love you both."

[joonsdiary]

the engagement

↳ part four of the: (not) the love of my life series

pairing: seokjin x reader (female) genre: arranged marriage au // fluff, angst, humour word count: 6,5k

chapter summary: every fleeting glance, every soft touch—each gesture piles onto an insurmountable mountain of feelings you’d rather not have for seokjin.

the proposal | the first date | the ceo’s keeper | the engagement

“Big day tomorrow,” you looked up to see your mother approaching. She slid into the booth where you’ve been sitting comfortably for the last half-hour, trying to get your work done. It was rare to see Hwang Youngmi gallivanting in your hotel, much less the Grigio; to say you were surprised seemed like an understatement. You greeted her with a patient smile and attempted to get back to work. You had homework to catch up to, after all.

“I saw what the tabloids said about your date with Seokjin last night.” Youngmi paused, calling out for a waiter. You rolled your eyes when she ordered a cosmopolitan. It was ten in the morning, for crying out loud. But you knew better than to question the woman.

“Oh yeah? Good things, I hope.”

You meant that. You (and possibly Seokjin, you were unsure) had been working double overtime to make the romance sell. Every gesture, every hand holding, every smile; you convinced yourself it had all been for the sake of your precious hotel.

Granted, you’ve only gone on one other date since you visited the Kim Hotel. Despite coordinating schedules with Seokjin, you had to take a rain check on two other dates you were supposed to have. You had no qualms about the matter, and instead poured several dates worth of PDA on one night it would make Taehyung gag with approval.

“Yes! They’ve even dubbed you as the Tamer. I don’t know how you did it either, dear.”

You rolled your eyes at the name, biting back a smile. Kim Seokjin was far from being tamed, but you entertained the possibility if it had been real. Would you be able to hold down Seokjin for yourself and make him commit? You may never know.

“But, as I said, big day tomorrow,” she sighed wistfully, taking a sip of her freshly delivered cosmo. “I know it’s just an engagement reveal but letting the public know just makes it feel more real.”

“Uh-huh,” you replied without much thought. Your mother grew quiet for a while, and you can feel her stare on you. Ever since dinner on Monday night, she had been amicable, listening to your stories and actually making conversation with you. For other people, that would be a normal thing a mother does. But not Youngmi. She was used to getting her way, each word becoming the ultimatum. Therefore, the mere fact that you went into business and did not become a lawyer like she had wanted for you placed a huge strain in your relationship.

“You could have told me, you know,” she said softly. You looked up from your laptop, eyes wide in mild shock and confusion at her tone.

“About what?”

“When you began liking Seokjin and taking this arrangement seriously,” her eyes moist and you fidgeted, unsure of what to say.

“Oh, that.” Guilt bubbled from the pit of your stomach, crawling its way up to your throat. You scratch the nape of your neck as you think about the future, months from now when you’ll be divorced from him. What would your mother say, then? “It just kind of…happened. When he came here to visit me almost a week ago I — it was an instant attraction.” 

You tried to keep it as simple as possible to avoid getting tangled in a bigger mess. When it came down to it, at least you were telling one half of the truth.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” she began softly, and you closed your journal and gave her your full attention, feeling like you owed it to her. “I know you may think that your father and I drove your business under because we hated you for it, but that was far from what we intended.”

She fiddled with her manicured nails, unable to look you in the eye. Was she giving you the talk? After a huge argument you had with your parents about the hotel’s finances, you made a pact to yourself about not bringing it up with them anymore. Mostly because you always circled back to the same topic of not being able to live up to their dreams for you.

“Your father had the intention of helping you out, and we thought we could, but…” she paused, sighing morosely. “You have to believe me when I say that selling it to the Kims had been a ‘break in case of emergency’ type of decision. They agreed to the purchase but had their concerns regarding their son — hence the marriage.

“I had to agree because I know how much this place means to you; otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed. You know how much I distrust billionaires.”

You both laughed at the comment.

Before you were shipped off to college once upon a time, life with your mother and father were fairly simple. You understood their lack of presence in your large home, as they’ve drilled in your mind constantly that they were working hard to provide for the family. But there was only you, who had been left alone with several housekeepers throughout your youth and young adult life.

That was something you know you might not be able to forgive them for, and your mother knew that. Her attempt at patching up your relationship, despite her unconventional way of doing so, warmed your heart a little.

“When Seokjin’s father suggested to us the idea of having you marry their son, your father was furious — offended by the thought of giving away his only daughter. I convinced him it might be the only way to save the hotel, and perhaps you won’t hate us as much as you already do. That’s why I’d been initially reluctant of sharing the details of the marriage with you.”

Her lips quivered, tears threatening to fall from the corners of her eyes. The sincerity broke your heart.

“Mom, you should have told me sooner,” you chastised, grabbing both of her hands into yours. “We could have found another way.”

“I didn’t want to see you scrape the bottom of the barrel. Getting by without money is hard, Y/N. I know if that happens and you lose your hotel, you wouldn’t ask us for help and close off, which I know is my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you away when you didn’t want to become a lawyer.”

She gently tugged your arm and pulled you into a warm hug. Your heart wrenched painfully as she sobbed on your shoulder, unable to hold back your tears. You wiped them away quickly before she pulled back.

“Look at me, ruining a celebratory mood,” she laughed nervously, and you can tell she was gauging your reaction. “I’m sorry to be telling you all of this now. But you’re getting married so soon and I’m just…”

“It’s alright, Mom,” you offered a reassuring smile. “Better late than never, right?”

She laughed, genuine this time, as she rubbed your forearm gently.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook just yet, though,” you pout, suddenly feeling childish again.

“I don’t expect to be,” she said candidly, taking another sip of her drink. “I’m not a day drinker but wow, now I realize why people say alcohol gives you courage.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “I was wondering why you ordered an alcoholic drink at ten in the morning.”

“I only needed a slight push to get me through the fear.” She admitted, patting your arm softly. You grin before turning your attention back to your notes.

“I’m really glad you’ve grown fond of Seokjin. It would have made me feel guilty for the rest of my life if I had let you marry off just like that,” her eyes were soft and you looked away, afraid that you might share something you shouldn’t.

“Yeah. It feels wrong marrying solely for business.”

The sentiment was said more for yourself than for your mother. No matter which angle you viewed your situation, it was all sorts of odd. But the real world is often unforgiving, and you found yourself wondering if your mother was right; what will have become of you, if not for their rash decision? But at the same time, just because the situation happened to work in your favour, doesn’t mean their unwise decision can be swept under the rug.

You arrived at a conundrum: Morals told you to turn away, but behind it was the reality of losing everything you worked for. It was as if you couldn’t have both.

Maybe the answer was to not overthink it. Ignorance is bliss, after all, so you shelve the thoughts for another day.

“I’ll leave you to it, dear.” Your mother sighs as she slid off the booth. “By the way, remember to bring up how your father had chickened out; he was supposed to accompany me today.”

You laughed at the thought — your father had always been too shy to confess how he truly felt, that much you know of. “I’ll bring it up over tomorrow’s dinner.”

She paused, her lips pursing, attempting to recall something important. “I extended the invitation to Seokjin. Surprise.”

Your eyes widened, but your mother only replied with a playful wink before she turned away.

“That sly woman,” you groaned as you pinched the bridge of your nose. You remembered that Seokjin gave you his number the night prior — you joked that he was playing hard to get by not giving it sooner — and you pulled out your phone.

                                         𝘔𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶                                                  𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸.

There’s no instant reply, and it doesn’t come as a shock to you if he was busy in a meeting. So, you shot another text.

                               𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦?

And another.

                                     𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘦                                                      𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘴.

You set the device face down and decided that waiting for a text back was futile. Your phone vibrated two minutes later, proving you wrong.

𝖠𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗌 𝗀𝗈, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍.

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a smile. There was a text that followed.

𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎.  𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇  𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖨 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖿𝗒 𝗆𝗒  𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋-𝗂𝗇-𝗅𝖺𝗐.

                                               𝘚𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘺

𝖨 𝖺𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌.

                                                𝘍𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯                                                             𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺

𝖨𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒’𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎,  𝖨  𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖨’𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾.

                                                     𝘏𝘢-𝘩𝘢. 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺.

;)

“Ha! An emoji. He has a personality, ladies and gentlemen,” you exclaimed a little too loud bemusedly. This earned you a couple of looks from patrons trying to eat brunch, but you were too preoccupied with your own amusement to care.

                                            𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯                                              𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰

You were about to set your phone down once more when another notification came through. One glance at the screen caused you to freeze.

“Can’t wait to see you?”

Your stomach performed backflips.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

With your heart drumming wildly against your ear, you opened the message.

𝖢𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍. 𝖲𝖾𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

You inhaled slowly through your nose and exhaled quickly through your mouth, feeling lightheaded. You misread it; let heaven rejoice! The period in between the two words and the absence of the word “to” made all the difference in the world. Who knew?

You gathered your wits long enough to give a nondescript reply.

                                                             𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦.

You instinctively reach for your cup of coffee, only to find it empty. A thought occurred in your caffeinated brain. “Must be the sugar, and the caffeine, of course. I’m always jittery when I drink coffee. Yup. Good ol’ caffeine.”

You struggled to study for the next hour.

                                     *  *  *

“Congratulations on the engagement, Seokjin,” one of the board members clapped his back a little too friendly as they walked out of the conference room. He gave a polite smile. “I’m surprised to see you settling down so quickly.”

The added comment made Seokjin’s eye twitch in annoyance. The hell do you care about my personal life?

“Ready to join the married life like the rest of you, old heads,” he attempted a small banter, which brought the man laughing a little too forcefully. Throughout his tenure as COO, he’s learned a thing or two about how to navigate his way around men and women like this one, who was trying to make empty small talk. He knew well enough the intentions behind the action.

“Well, get ready to miss the bachelor life. It’s only good for a couple of months. Then the real struggle begins,” the man laughed, but Seokjin found no humour in his statement. For someone so adamant about pointing out he should settle down before they make him CEO, the man was doing a pretty bad job at convincing him to stay married.

But he knew better.

He grew up in a household where there was no shortage of love, and they came in the form of Mr. and Mrs. Kim. Throughout much of his childhood and young adult life, he witnessed how the infatuation between his parents never wavered. ‘Til death do us part, indeed.

“I’m sure Seokjin here had his fill of the bachelor life.” His father swooped in and rescued him from the clawed board member. “Isn’t that right, son?”

“As I said, I’m ready to join the married life like you, old heads.” For a few months, at least.

The corners of his father’s eyes wrinkled as he smiled genuinely, eyes misting but not for a second longer. When his father is at work, he never showed anything that would make him seem weak. Not because he questioned his masculinity, but he knew that predators lurked around to sink their teeth into any raw emotion that’s shown, before tearing their prey apart. His father had learned that the hard way, too.

The rest of them also gave curt congratulations, and Seokjin narrowly escaped the rest of the staff’s onslaught. Mina gave him a small smile, followed by the same four words as he passed by her desk on his way to the office. Seokjin laughed and shook his head, thanking her, nonetheless.

He walked back to her desk a few seconds later with a burning question.

“Is there a message from her?” he said without further elaboration, knowing that Mina would know who he’s speaking about.  

He checked his phone earlier, but there was nothing. He asked Mina if there was an e-mail or a phone call just to be thorough, is all. She shook her head and began typing on her computer.

“Did you want me to make a call? Or would you rather send an e-mail?”

Seokjin winced. When Mina said it like that, it sounded wrong on all accounts. Who the hell e-mails their fiancée a “congratulations to us both” after announcing their engagement? The level of cringe was through the roof on that one.

“Can you order a bouquet, instead? The usual?”

Mina nodded, having been well-versed at the art of calling flower shops to send to his dates every time they attempted to ask for another dinner. There was always a card accompanying that read, “I apologize we couldn’t make it work.” It was simple, easy. No loose ends left untrimmed; just like how he preferred things to be.

The realization didn’t sink in until he settled into the chair behind his desk. If Mina instructed ‘the usual’ from ‘Mr. Kim’s office’, the same flowers would be sent. With the same note.

He bolted up from his seat and almost ran out the door of his office. Mina looked at him with a perplexed expression, when he got to her desk.

“Wait! No, don’t send that. Cancel it. Immediately.”

His secretary blinked up at him with an impassive gaze.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Kim, I haven’t made the order yet.”

He sighed, straightening up and pretending to flick imaginary lint off his expensive suit. “Good.”

“But you could’ve called from your office.” Mina raised the handle of the phone to make her point.

Right. Phones.

“I wanted to make my point more concise. In person,” Seokjin cleared his throat. “Sorry for the confusion.”

He began his trek back to his office after receiving an awkward smile from Mina. But then he turned back once more.

“I don’t suppose you know which boutique sells the best tasting chocolate?” He asked her with an apologetic grin.

“Who’s getting chocolates? It better be me, and not your fiancée. She deserves better.” Taehyung waltzed in from the elevator doors and leaned over at the desk before greeting Mina with his usual flirty smile.

“Do you have a better idea?” Seokjin deadpanned, not up to dealing with Taehyung’s banter. He’d had enough from the board members.

“How about giving her something she’ll actually like? What if she’s allergic to chocolates?”

Taehyung was right – but of course, he wouldn’t feed his brother’s ego and say it out loud. It bothered him more than he’d like to admit at the fact that he doesn’t know your preferences. He felt like it was the least he could do; you’re willing to go along with his berserk idea, after all.

“The look on your face reveals it all, dear brother,” Taehyung clicked his tongue, shaking his head with disappointment.

“To be fair, we’ve only gone on two dates.”

“Would you like for me to clap for your amazing accomplishment since you often don’t last more than one?”

Seokjin scowled, hating how Taehyung knew him well enough to push the right buttons. He didn’t need to be reminded of his choice to not commit every single time they talked.

“We’re going to dinner with her parents tonight. Her mom invited me,” he said stoically.

“And you don’t want to go?” Taehyung tipped his head to the side.

“No, it’s not that. Maybe I –”

Then an epiphany struck him. Of course.

“Do you know if Dad still has the Sassicaia?” he supposed he could go ask him now.

“’85?” Taehyung broke into a grin, and Seokjin gave him a knowing look. “Classic. But I’m not sure, I haven’t been back home in a while. Not a bad idea, though. And I don’t think Mom would mind.”

Seokjin’s eyes softened. “No, she wouldn’t.”

The afternoon ended without much fanfare, despite the tumultuous morning that had him teetering on the edge a little. Before he left the office, Seokjin made sure to confirm with his father about the existence of the said red wine in their cellar. His father was more than ecstatic when his son said that he was going to give the vintage to you as an engagement gift, which made Seokjin sigh with relief.

He switched into a pair of casual jeans and a woollen pullover, topping it off with a casual suit jacket. He made sure the small box was in the pocket of his jacket before he made his way to his childhood home to pick up the only bottle of Sassicaia left. He made sure to grab other drinks he knew your parents might like, not lingering any longer than necessary. He texted you before he got into his car to let you know he was on his way to the Hwang Hotel to pick you up.  

“Grigio,” he said out loud, reading the text you sent as soon as he stepped through the doors. He was beginning to think you liked working from the restaurant rather than your actual office. The sight that greeted him let him know why.

You were surrounded by a few hotel staff and waiters alike (he could tell from the difference in uniform) in a booth, engrossed as one bartender with large round eyes told a story animatedly. He couldn’t hear from where he stood, but the way your hair fell back over your shoulders as you tilted your head back and laughed with relish convinced him that it must be that hilarious.

One of the staff with long raven hair kept in a low ponytail saw his entrance and proceeded to whisper something in your ear. His gaze locked into yours and he watched your expression melt into a soft smile, which sent his brain into overdrive. Each quick step he took mimicked his heartbeat, and he willed himself not to buckle under the weight of your stare.

You stood to greet him, revealing the dress you wore to be similar to the one he saw you in a week ago when he’d first met you. It wasn’t quite the replica, but it hugged your curves like it had been made specifically for you. He pulled you in for a quick kiss, which you more than willingly reciprocated.

He noticed your sudden surge of bravery during your previous date, which initially took him by surprise. He wasn’t saying he didn’t like it, per se, but he’d wholeheartedly let you take the reins when it came to initiating affection; he’ll follow whatever boundaries you’ll set.

“You’re early,” you breathed out when he pulled away. He doesn’t miss the blush that began forming in the apples of your cheeks, which he liked perhaps a little too much. “Also, we don’t have to…um…in front of them. I mean, they don’t know the whole thing, but they’re not the paparazzi, so –”

Seokjin grinned at your state of disarray but patted your shoulder wordlessly to let you know that he got your message. You proceeded to introduce your company one by one.

“Jungkook.” The doe-eyed storyteller, who looked too young to be working behind the bar. He lifted his hand and attempted a small wave. Seokjin returned his gesture with a small nod.

“Joohyun.” The raven-haired who’d let you know of his arrival. He recognized her as the one from the front desk days ago, as well. What were her exact words? Good-for-nothing-billionaires? Seokjin grinned, and she gave him a knowing smile.

So that must mean—

“Yoongi,” he greeted before you could introduce him, extending his hand out. Yoongi’s cat-like gaze studied Seokjin’s hand, before firmly clasping it in his. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise.” Yoongi’s voice was gruff, his stare as heavy as the hand that held Seokjin’s.

“Good things, I hope?” Seokjin ventured carefully, but Yoongi’s indifference told him that he knew a lot. Probably more than he’d like to let on.

“Only that you might be the devil’s incarnate,” Yoongi grinned, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. This earned a few quiet laughs from everyone including him.

“Yoongi!” you chastised, exasperated. He shrugged and grinned at you wickedly.

“Your words, not mine.”

Seokjin turned to you with amusement in his eyes, eyebrows knitted in confusion. You offered an apologetic smile. “I may have said that….”

“Multiple times,” Yoongi added. You fidgeted beside him as you cleared your throat.

“Oh wow, look at the time,” you flicked your empty wrist. “We must go.”

“I heard you say he was early just now,” Joohyun pointed out while smirking.

“I hate you all.” You rolled your eyes, but a grin formed on your lips, nonetheless. This earned another round of laughs, even from Yoongi. Seokjin was left in awe at how you managed to draw people in; how you interacted with them.

“No, but really, we should go. The drive is half an hour, and my mom would murder me if we’re late.” You shrugged on your coat, earning a defiant boo! from Joohyun.

After bidding them farewell, you clung onto Seokjin’s arm as you exited the restaurant.

“You should’ve said you were going for a casual. I wouldn’t have dressed up so…” you mumbled so that only he could hear as both of you crossed the lobby.

“Nonsense,” he dipped his head in disagreement. “You look beautiful.”

You turned your ruddy cheeks away from his gaze, and a smile formed on his lips.

“Have a good evening, Ms. Hwang, Mr. Kim,” the doorman bowed. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Mr. Park,” you beamed at the old man and Seokjin nodded. The gesture reminded him that your friends didn’t quite share the sentiment — at least not when he was there, anyway.

“How much do they know?” Seokjin began as soon as he pulled out of parking. You gave him a puzzling look and he happily elaborated. “Your friends, I mean. About our agreement.”

“Only Joohyun. I didn’t tell Yoongi, but he figured it out on his own, sort of. Jungkook knew the least — just the fact that we’re in an arranged marriage and that the engagement announcement was for publicity purposes.”

Seokjin nodded; he had a feeling but hearing it from you made him feel better.

“Is that okay?” you asked cautiously.

“You trust them, I trust you,” was all he said.

Seokjin watched you melt into the seat comfortably and he allowed himself to visibly relax as well. He felt queasy on the drive to your hotel from his home, but having you there beside him now, rid him of all his qualms.

He might as well talk about it before he was to meet your parents.

“We have to set our stories straight.” Seokjin broke the silence, and you nodded in agreement.

“My mom asked about it yesterday, and I told her it was instant attraction when you came to visit me a week ago,” you laughed, sounding slightly unhinged. Seokjin could tell you were nervous, as you kept glancing at his direction every so often. “No one was around to witness our conversation at that time, so it’s the perfect origin story.”

He nodded mutely; eyes focused on the road ahead. It was simple and as close to the truth as possible. “There’s another thing. I was going to give it to you tomorrow for your dress fitting, but it seems like I won’t make it.”

He cursed Namjoon for having such perfect timing to return from his honeymoon trip. But the task was urgent and putting it off another day could cause a delay in the construction of the building. Seokjin couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

The next stoplight hit, and he reached inside his suit jacket for the velvet box. He was hit with a wave of nervousness as he carefully opened it to reveal a round cut two-carat diamond ring.

You inhaled a sharp breath, “Seokjin, I…”

“I wasn’t sure of your style, so I opted for something simple.” He took your left hand in his and slid the ring with ease.

“It’s beautiful,” you stared at the glimmering rock, snug around your finger before lifting your moistened eyes to meet his gentle ones. The corner of his lips lifted into a small smile and his heart swelled with pride. There was an odd tension in the air when neither the two of you pulled away, your hand warm in Seokjin’s grasp.

The air in the car grew hot and Seokjin found it hard to swallow the lump in his throat. The unconventionality of the situation you were both in terrified him – you weren’t someone he’d have a long-term relationship with, so he had no qualms about committing. But at the same time, your stint with him isn’t short, either.

“Wow. I guess we’re unofficially official,” you mumbled, laughing quietly. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Seokjin was close enough that he could physically count the lashes in your eyes as they fluttered softly against your ruddy cheeks. But if he leaned closer…

The blaring horn that came from behind the car was enough to snap him out of his thoughts. He straightened up on his chair just as the car pulled up beside them, pausing to give Seokjin the middle finger. Rolling his eyes, he nodded and waved the driver off.

“What an asshole,” you seethed. He turned just in time to see you flipping off the guy as he drove away. Seokjin titled his head back and laughed, easing his feet off the break as his car began moving once again.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

You shrugged, smirking victoriously.

Seokjin kept tabs in his head. Two down, one to go.

“I got you something else.” He trailed his eyes on the road, careful not to lose focus. You freeze, laughing nervously.

“There’s more?” you squeaked.

Seokjin nodded.

“Taehyung was biting my ass about getting you chocolates as a congratulatory gift of some sort.” You laughed quietly beside him, mumbling something about ‘Typical Taehyung’. He left the bit out about almost giving you a we-can’t-see-each-other-anymore farewell bouquet. “So, it got me thinking…”

He paused, giving you a slanted gaze. You eagerly hung onto his words and he smirked.

“…about how much you drink.”

You balk at him and scoff, crossing your arms in front of you. “Are you insinuating that I’m an alcoholic?”

He bit back a smile; he was enjoying this a little too much.

“Anyway, I think we’ve established that I don’t know what your likes and dislikes are, yet,” he paused, licking his lips. He hoped you weren’t offended by his statement, and he took your shrug as an incentive to proceed. “I did notice, however, that you had a certain preference when you ordered your drinks.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” you joked. “Why, did you purchase me a vineyard? Will it be included in the prenup agreement?”  

“I can if you want,” he smirked, shrugging nonchalantly.

“I’m kidding. Don’t throw your money at me. I don’t want it,” you deadpanned.

“I know you don’t,” Seokjin smiled fondly at you. “Dad has a lot of different vintages, and I thought you’d like wine better than chocolate.”

“I would’ve been fine with either one, honestly. Or both,” you beamed at him. “Is it red?”

“Mhm,” he nodded. “Sassicaia, 1985.”

You gaped at him. “That’s weird. We’ve been trying to add that in our inventory, but it’s so hard to get a hold of one from that year. We’ve had to settle for recent ones, which isn’t as good, I assume, but — wow.”

“I guess now you’ll find out.” He grinned, but his hand gripped the steering wheel. “It was my mom’s favourite, but she’d only have it on special occasions. I got in trouble when I was fifteen because Namjoon and I snuck into the cellar and emptied a bottle. Little did I know, that would be the last time I’ll see her.”

Seokjin laughed morosely at the memory, but you didn’t say anything. He let the silence simmer for a bit. He didn’t plan on sharing that much but once a little bit slipped, he let the whole dam open.

“I’ll only accept it if you add it on the prenup.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t take it back,” he smirked, letting the topic pass. He loosened his grip on the wheel and rolled his shoulder back.

                                     *  *  *

An hour and a half later, the bottle of Merlot that Seokjin brought with him was almost empty; courtesy of your mother, of course. She was rightfully buzzed and spilling all of your embarrassing childhood stories she could remember; and the woman had a damn good memory. You gave a pleading look to your father, but there was only so much he could do.

“Remember that one time you asked me if you could marry our previous neighbour’s son? What was his name?” she trailed off, snapping her fingers towards your father.

He more than graciously helped. “Hyunwoo.”

“Hyunwoo!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands. You rolled your eyes and prepared yourself for an onslaught of memories you couldn’t bury. “You practically had a fit in their front lawn, refusing to leave until he proposed to you.”

“I was five, Mom.” You deadpanned, stabbing the leftover asparagus before twirling your fork mindlessly. She all but glossed over your protest.

“Anyway, I’m bringing this up because I remember I saw him at my friend’s daughter’s wedding three weeks ago — he told me he was the best man — and he grew up! And I mean actually grew! He’s got these huge muscles and —”

“Mom please get to the point,” you shared a look with your dad before you both shook your head. Seokjin laughed beside you as he finished the rest of his water.

(He’d argued that he was the designated driver so he wouldn’t drink, despite your mother offering that the two of you could sleepover, ending the sentence with a not-so-subtle wink.)

“Right, well, he still remembered and asked about you! Imagine that. Actually, now that I mentioned it, he asked me to pass along his number to you, but by that point, the deal with Seokjin’s father was in the works, so I couldn’t possibly have done that.”

You paused as you stared at your mother incredulously, trying to keep your level of anger to a minimum.

“You still could have told me. You had no right to keep me from reconnecting with old friends.”

She scoffed. “I couldn’t let you ruin the deal, Y/N.”

Your anger spilled over as you angrily slammed your silverware down. Gone was your mother who had apologized to you the night prior for her actions, or lack-there-of. What emerged was the controlling Youngmi who needed things to go her way, no matter how wrong the path carved was.

Seokjin must have noticed the steam billowing from your ears because he placed a comforting hand on your knee. He gave you an encouraging smile, and it made your heart flutter.

You let your mother ramble on as his palm didn’t leave you. His thumb occasionally skimmed on the exposed skin of your thigh, which sent a warm feeling where you made yourself off-limits from Seokjin. That wasn’t part of your agreement and was something you weren’t willing to sign off on. Despite that, he made it difficult for you not to think about his mouth on your lips, down the nape of your neck, to the valley between your chest and –

“— isn’t that right, dear?” your mother looked at you expectantly, her face as red as a tomato. She definitely needed to stop drinking more alcohol before she passed out.

“Huh? Yeah, sure,” you glanced at Seokjin for help, feeling warm and flushed. He shrugged, those sinful lips quirking up with a smirk. You leaned in close to him to whisper, “What did I just agree to?”

“She said you were going to bless her with grandchildren soon,” his hand lifted to prop his elbow on the table, leaving your thigh devoid of heat. Your face blanched and your head snapped to your mother, who was already giggling.

“Alright, I think that’s enough fun for one night,” your father stood from the head of the table. He gently placed his arms around her shoulder to help her stand while he gave you an apologetic smile.

“Good idea. We’ll clean up,” you sighed, relaxing into your chair for the first time that night. Your father mumbled something about coming back down to help after he’d set down your staggering mother. It was quiet for a while, and neither you nor Seokjin spoke. You felt that he was studying you, chin snuggly resting on his palm.

“What?” you asked, refusing to look anywhere but him.

“It wasn’t as bad as you made it sound to be,” you can hear the smile in his voice.

“For you, maybe.” You rolled your eyes and stood to gather the soiled dishes. “You weren’t the subject of constant badgering. You’re not welcomed to share any information you heard from my mother against me, by the way.”

He followed you into the kitchen carrying glasses of wine. Carefully stacking up the plates, you turned on the faucet to soak them.

“Not even the part where you agreed to have children with me?”

You whirled around only to be met with his broad shoulders that were only accentuated by the knitted pullover that he wore. The proximity made his presence feel imposing. No matter how many times he’d held you against him for the cameras to capture, you might never get used to him.

Like a moth to a flame, your gaze fell onto his, eyes wicked with the anticipation for your answer.

“I was distracted.” You said as nonchalantly as you could. That’s how much you were willing to go as far as admissions went; half-truths were becoming your motto.

“By what, exactly?” he challenged, stepping closer. Instincts told you to back off, but you held your ground. It turned out being brave cost you the remaining personal space you had. You gulped audibly, eyes trailing down to his lush lips before meeting his gaze once more. Why the hell were they always so plump and moist?

As if on cue, he leaned closer and your heart began hammering nervously against your chest. Sure, you had kissed him before, but not like this. The tension made you squeeze your thighs together as your shoulder tensed.

Your eyes were beginning to flutter close when you noticed that he leaned his head to the side, arms reaching for something behind you.

His breath was hot against your ears when he said, “You forgot about the water.”

You quickly side-stepped from him as he turned off the faucet. You swore you could hear his quiet laughter as you walked back to the dining table to clear more dishes. The quiet pattering down the stairs signalled your father’s arrival.

“You don’t have to clean it up, I’ll be fine. You should start heading out soon,” he glanced at the wall clock on the far end of the room and nodded. “Before it gets too late.”

“But dad, there’s a lot to clean up, and I don’t want you to —”

“There’s a reason why they invented a dishwasher, Y/N,” your father patted your shoulders carefully. “I’ll be fine.”

“Wow, Dad, I didn’t know you’d want to get rid of me that quickly,” you rolled your eyes, grinning playfully at him.

“To my favourite daughter? I could never,” he said, exasperated.

You giggled and moved closer to wrap your arms around his large figure.

“I’m sorry for our shortcomings; your mother and I,” your father began with a shaky voice.

“Not you, too,” you laughed softly, pulling away from him. “Mom already gave me the talk yesterday, don’t worry.”

He looked at you hesitantly, and you reassuringly squeezed his arm.

“Thank you for the lovely dinner, Mr. Hwang.” Seokjin emerged from the kitchen after putting away the rest of the plates.

“I’m glad you liked the food. I wasn’t sure if it was up to your standard,” father said playfully, before turning to give you a wink.

“That’s hardly the case at all,” Seokjin laughed softly. “It reminded me a lot of home. My mom liked cooking a lot, too.”

“Well, lucky for you, you’re part of the family now. Holidays are like this too – only more chaotic. We have a huge extended family,” he laughed, clapping Seokjin in the back. You winced; technically, Christmas was a little over two months away. Would your agreement with Seokjin be in effect, by then, and you’ll be on your merry way? Or would you still be ‘together-but-not-really’?

“I’m looking forward to it,” Seokjin smiled genuinely.

Was this part of his act, too? If so, he was pretty damn convincing.

[popculturebuffet]

New X-Men Xtrospective Part 1: E is For Extinction “They Will Need Us”

I am SO fucking excited for this one. As might not be obvious to ALL of my readers but should be obvious to some, I fucking love the X-Men. They are one of my favorite superhero teams period as are several of their spinoffs such as X-Factor (All versions), New Mutants, and Marauders. I love the wide cast, the hugely vast universe within the already vast and wonderful marvel universe, and the sheer amount of GREAT stories. I own all 11 movies, have several action figures, and two posters from Jonathan Hickman’s current and utterly dynamite run right above me right now as I work, as well as a marvel 80′s themed poster behind me that’s at least half x-men for good reason. I love this gang of mutants and I have not talked about them enough. 

I”ve done some X-Men stuff sure: I’ve talked about hickman’s time as head writer of the books a year in earlier this year, I did a few scattered reviews back when I did single issues of comics, and then we get to the one I beefed big time: covering ALL of X-Men evolution. While it’s a noble endeavor I freely admit to overexerting myself: I recapped the episodes way too closely, gave myself no real schedule and did so while I was already covering two shows a week at the time. My point is it was a good idea, but the timing was REALLY fucking bad and if I do it again, I intend to do it right and iwth a proper place in my now properly paced schedule. I also planned to do the movies which, unlike evolution, I have solid plans to do once I clear out some of my projects. Point is I burned bright and then exploded and took a whole projecet with me phoenix style. 

I had until this moment yet to do a really big x-men project, something digging into the comics, something that could help fans both of the comics and not get familiar with something really good, and help me dig into both the good and bad of something. I jsut needed the right start. 

Then Christmas gave me that spark, that project that gave me the idea for a butload more x-men content on here and was the perfect starting point for some. See my friend Marco lives in Honduras, and so since i couldn’t afford to send him anything for christmas in the mail, as i’m not exactly rich, I instead offered him three reviews of anything.l He still hasn’t taken up two of them, nor one I gave him for graduating college, but the first one was a doozy, something he hadn’t read due to not liking the art, which is fine as I have some art in comics I don’t like everyone has diffrent tastes, at least for the first arc, and something VITALLY important to x-men as a whole and that’s the backbone of hickman’s current run: the first arc of new x-men, e is for extinction. And given New X-Men is one of my faviorite comics of all time I not only lept on it.. but decided fuck it I’m covering the whole thing. So every so often on here from now until I finish, i’m going to be covering Grant Morrisons ground breaking, mind shattering, status quo destroying run on the children of the atom. This.. is going to be fucking awesome. Buckle up. 

New X-Men came about in 2001. Stop me if you heard this one: The X-Men, once marvel’s best selling title and one of i’ts most beloved, had been set adrift in a seal of editorial bullshit, bad writing, bad storylines and a stale continuity where not much could change or grow and things always reset to about the same place it was last week. If this sounds familiar it’s because it somehow happened AGAIN thanks to Ike Perlmutter’s bullshit, hence the current hickman run, but we’ll get into all of tha tsome other time. Point is as it was in 2018, so it was in 2001: The x-men were in bad straits and marvel reached out to a host of various creators to swing for the fences and find a new direction, something to bring sales and life back to the book. To my shock they actually took a LOT of diffrent pitches in before Morrisons won and from huge names: Geoff Johns, who had not yet returned to DC never to leave, Alex Ross, Keith Giffen.. all huge creative types. but in the end the best man won.

For those unfamiliar with him, Grant Morrison is a gloriously batshit scotsman with a long, storied and delightfully insane history in comics, mostly at DC before and after this comic. This is for good reason: DC scouted Morrison specifically because of his early work at 2000ad. See at the time Alan Moore had hit it really big with Swamp Thing, taking a d list, so so book and making it into an utter masterpiece and giving it thoroughly interesting mythology. Given it was a blockbuster hit that’s still widely loved and discussed, as it should be today, DC decided to repeat the strategy of asking British indie comics creators to come do the same to another property. This same experiment is why Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman exists, so.. yeah it was actually a great strategy and naturally Grant had their first big hit with Animal Man, a metafictional take on a b-list hero that made him a loveable family man, while also putting him through hell and playing with the medium and dc’s vast history, the last two being Morrison’s trademark from then on out.

 They’d next go on to reinvent one of my other faviorite teams: THE DOOM PATROL!  The patrol are a bunch of victims of strange accidents who got powers out of them that are basically curses... and Morrison solidified that concept, taking over after a weak run that ironically enough was trying to imitate the x-men’s success at the time. Instead Morrison just went all out with his weird shit for the first time and made them a team of broken but likeable people with weird powers fighting just the weirdest most incomprehensible shit, a run i’ll likely be digging into eventually along with the team as a whole. It’s also, along with Gerard Way’s recent run, the bedroock for the current and utterly masterful doom patrol series I need to catch up on. They also apparently once wrote a satrical comic starring and lik mocking hitler... a fact I somehow JUST learned but naturally doesn’t surprise me at all. 

Morrison’s career at dc, after doing some creator owned stuff there when Vertigo opened up, hit it’s peak in the late 90′s as they were given the go ahead to reinvent the Justice League, with the wildly successful and awesome JLA, another book I probably need to take a look at that put the big 7 back into the team.  And by now your probably getting the point of me covering his career pattern.. besides giving morrison the praise they deserve, and they’d have some really great runs after this.. and some terrible ones but no one’s perfect. My point is that at this point in their career Morrison’s greatest skill was taking something that had grown stagnant or been forgotten, blowing it up and reworking it into something glorious and new. Taking what worked, scraping away what didn’t and on the whole making something fucking glorious out of it. So here we are. The X-Men needed a new coat of paint and uncle grant had their lcd laced psycadelic paint bucket and brush shaped like a pidgeon at the ready. And for better, way better and admitely sometimes here and there worse,they changed the x-men for good. Some changes were rolled back out of spite, others finally got their chance after said rollback recently, and some were just outright thrown on the grown and smashed with a hammer. But for the most part Grant left a huge impact on the x-men and i’m here to show you why, warts and all. To me my x-men, this is new x-men.  Now naturally there’s even more exposition but i’ts more in what COULD’VE been. Originally while Wolverine, Cyclops, Jean Grey and Professor X were all part of the team the other two members of the slim roster for this run, Beast and Emma Frost.. weren’t. Originally Morrison was going to have Colossus and Moira Mactaggert, long time team ally, token human until very recently, and now thanks to hickman one of the most important x characters peirod and long before that a fan favorite of mine, on the team, with Moira taking over for beast. 

This.. didn’t pan out since Marvel apparently either didn’t give a shit about their plans or already had things in motion as the climax of the longtime legacy virus storyline killed both off. Colossus until Joss Whedon, bastard he may be, brought him back for his terrific Astonishing X-Men, and Moira SOMEHOW stayed dead until House/Powers of X. See this speaks to one of the big roadblocks morrison faced: Jonathan HIckman currently has absolute power and all his writers working in concert, a new way of doing things comic companies shold honestly copy en masse as it’s really working wonders. Grant.. was just one of many writers and one of three main x books the others being Chris Claremont’s XTREME X-MEN, basically “let the legend do what he wants since he can’t get freedom on the main book” and another writer on uncanny... before eventually chuck austen took over and I will tackle that horrible mess some other time. Point is while Morrison was setting the tone, costume style and making the big waves, they still didn’t have full power and thus had to play nice with eveyrone else.  So their next idea was Rogue, making mer more like her x-men evolution version.. except Chris wanted her, so that was out, though being a decent enough guy he willingly gave up Beast since the moira thing meant Morrison needed a science person. As for Colossus replacement, as it turned out a fan had suggested Grant do something with Emma Frost since Gen X was canceled and while Morrison had zero intention for it clearly Emma clicked with hthem and she was soon both a main part of the cast and one of their biggest contributions to X-Men as a whole.

As for what I think of the needed changes.. they ended up being for the best. I do like Moira... but Hank ended up being a much better fit for the team dynamic wise and power set wise, while Emma was the same. While Colossus, Rogue and Moira are all fantastic characters, I think what we ended up with was just a better mix overall. I DO think the team is incredibly white, but that’s a general x-men problem, even with having an assload of diverse and intresting characters, so it’s not entirely his fault. All in all it’s a fantastic roster: four of the x-men’s best, their leader in the field for the first time in forever, and a new and intresting wild card. IT’s a nice ballance of characters and we’ll get more into it as we go. Now all the expositions done, we can finally dive head first into new x-men. I hope you survivie the experince under the cut. 

After an utterly gorgeous and striking cover, the one used up top, we get one solid page to introduce us to Morrison’s mission statment, how  they feel and how good Frank Quitely’s art looks

I cropped it best i could for tumblr but this one image immidetly says a lot. Our heroes are just.. easily taking down this sentinel, an old model... the same one we’ve seen a dozen times. What were once the grim, possible destroyers of an entire race of beings in days of future past and devistating killing machines in the present.. had become stale easily defeated murder bots There had been noble attempts to really make the sentiinels work again like the horrifying omega sentinels, humans forcibly converted into sleeper agent killing machines, during operation: zero tolerance, but otherwise they were mostly just a prop for the x-men to knock down. And that.. really is morrison’s whole point. Lampshading and mocking the fact the x-men had grown stale, things hadn’t really progressed.. and that it was time to move on. But to Uncle Grant’s credit, they not only uses this as a mission statment but it’s plot relevant: this mission will both be explained soon and explains why Logan and Scott are out and about enough to end up where the plot will soon need them. It also helps, via the sight of the syndey opera house establish something Morrison made a staple of their run: the X-Men going global. While the x-men were never really NOT global post claremont, Morrisons run has them handling rescue missions and what not worldwide far more often than most runs before it sans Claremont, and really made it feel like they weren’t just another super team but a global force of good with a specific goal and mission. More on the global aspect next time, as that’s where it really comes in but I felt it was important to show it was there for minute one. 

So yeah before we move onto the first full scene of the run, let’s talk about the costumes. 

We’ll talk about Emma’s later since she’s not introduced to the story for a while but yeah. There’s a sharp, obvious and immediate change just in the outfits, which take after the movie’s more military look, having the x-men not only look more like a unit but more like a professional orginization. Someone to come and help when needed. While this would take on more siginifigance in a bit, we’ll get to it, it also fits Morrisions own views that the x-men were less of a traditional superhero team and more something different on the edges that fought things out there, sorta what like he did with doom patrol. And it’s honestly a valid interpretation as the x-men are often seen as outlaws and misfits by society for beingn well.. mutants. Not as trusted as the avengers. So having them adopt this look played into that: Having them look more professional and focused as The X-Men have a less blanket mission statement than the avenger.. but also mildly threatning. Something to alarm the humans. It’s an utterly brilliant look thrown best together by the big yellow x’s, still giving it a nice flash of color to show off and show this is still a comic and this is still damn colorful.. this just isn’t your AVERAGE supherhero comic or the x-men your used to. IT’s a real shame the only fox x-men movie to use it was fucking dark phoenix.. a film where it didn’t even fit as xavier was getting flashier and more reckless so why wouldn’t he have more garish and colorful and more traditional superhero outfits. They did look good in their variants in first class though. Props there. Point is this is a classic, utterly stunning look, and tha’ts coming from someone whose fine with goofy superhero outfits and perpetually bitter hawkeye is almost never allowed to wear his actual comic outift and is instead stuck with shades instead of you know.. a mask. Or anything resembling an actual good looking costume. This though this is how you do a less superheroy costume: practical and realistic, but still cool looking and comic book friendly. 

We cut to a mysterious lady, we’ll come to know her as Cassandra Nova and while I know her origin... i’m saving it for later as the comics themselves explain it eventually, and a simpering dolt she brought with her, Donald Trask, a distant relative of the creators of the sentinels who, via holograms she’s showing cro magnons slaughtring the neanderthal. Her point is that Mutants are going to do this and she’s clearly fearmongering him and trying to talk him into genocide: to wipe them out before they wipe out humanity. And it’s here we get one of hte most important plot points of Morrisons run and one of the most intresting: according to cassandra’s research Humanity will be no more in 4 generations. Mutankind is on it’s way to overtaking them at last.. i’ts still a few decades off.. but it’s coming. It’s sometihing that the whole decimation nonsense sadly snuffed.. and John Hickman has thankfully brought back. I’ll get to his run once i’ts complete in a few years, but point is it’s an utterly marvelous plot hook: Humanity, whose already attempted genocide a few times, is now in real danger of what their petty, racist, fearful attacks have been about: being replaced. It’s one of the central themes of the work the other two being “Just what IS mutantkind and what will it be”. WHat are they as a people? We’ll dig into these as we go but the threat of exctincion is the backbone of this arc... and will lead to something truly ghastly. 

It’s then we get our title page.. which nothing really to add it just looks really good and helps show off who are cast is and what they can do with striking simple art. 

And since we’re already talking the art of the book, let’s take a moment to discuss an intresting detail of this run: despite it’s short length there’s quite a few diffrent artist, who we’ll talk about of course as we get to each one. The most common and notable though is Frank Quitely. Frank Quitely is one of Morrison’s closest and best creative partners, having a unique, squishy art style.. i.e. the one my friend didn’t like which is why i’m covering this. And while I like the art style quite a bit, I do get why it’s not everyone’s cup of tea: His art is squashed, weird, and admitely some faces can be good god no incaranate. But it’s also why I like it: his characters feel unique, each body and figure feels like it was custom made and thus feels.. real. Like this is a person before you. And given comics can often surrender to having everybody look the damn same, this is nice. His faces may sometimes look similar but his bodies are where the action is. But while having a realistic feel his work also has a weird alien quality that perfectly fits Morrison, and thus his run on x-men. I will say while I love All-Star Superman, his art fits less there in the more hopeful silver agey story, so he’s not an artist for EVERY STORY OF EVERY TYPE.. but when it comes to sci fi weridness, he fits it like a glove so i’ts unsuprising he and morrison are practicaley soul mates, nor that his art sets the tone perfectly for the run: this is something new, diffrent and strange.. and what says x-men at it’s best more than that?

So after our opening titles we cut to the mansion where Hank is showing off his latest and greatest invention: Cerebra. Cerbebra is a massively upgraded version of Cerebro, aka Professor Xavier’s iconic helmet that allows him to track mutants to help them out.. and covertly backup their conconousness for his long game plan, but shhhh, don’t tell anyone yet that’s not going to be retconned in for a few decades. Though i’m damn certain if Morrison has heard about the current era of x-men and how it both builds on what he built, shatters the status quo and is incredibly weird, he’d be damn proud. As for how it’s diffrent Cerebra not only has a large dome around it but said dome allows the machine to amply Charles powers to a global reach. He can now see mutants all over the world anywhere in the world, something I didn’t realize wasn’t ALWAYS a thing because it seems so simple. It’s also likely to bring it more in line with the movies. And while marvel has done TERRIBLE with bringing things in from the movies or in line with them in recent years, i.e. making star lord more like his movie self while forgetting that’s how he already used to be in canon before later writers thankfully did hte better step of merging the two, Hawkeye’s outfit, Cap’s outfit or Nick Fury Jr.  But for every mistep there’s also been tons of times it’s worked out really well such as here, as well as bringing hulk into the avengers for the first time since the founding, making tony stark more like the mcu version and less like a nightmarish self righetous dicktator who rightfully gets beat up and called out a lot, making Scott Lang prominent since he became prominent in the MCU, Wakanda being a major force in the marvel universe as it always should have been and various titles that have popped up to tie into movies, often bringing back a team or property that hadn’t had a book in some time like Ant-Man, Black Panther, and Shang Chi just to name a few. It’s not always hawkeye looking all jeremy renner is what i’m saying.. though thankfully comics clint isn’t that uninteresting. Hopefully the series will change that. 

So yeah along with a bigger shinier cerebro we’re also introduced to a big change in Hank whose taken on his lion form rather than his classic gorilla with a weird haircut or his return to that except bald. Here he’s more like aslan in a human body and I.. love it. It looks great, helps sell hanks delima of being brilliant while looking like a beast and makes sense: he kickstarted what was likely his own secondary evolution by drinking the potion that made him bestial, so it only makes sense his body wouldn’t be all that stable even if it took years to change again. And even that makes sense as hank was breifly turned back to his original hairless ape mutation during x-factor, easily one of the books.. worse decisions honestly and one that louise simonson thankfully later undid. That probably bought him some time hence why it’s only mutating further now.  It also adds an intresting wrinkle which the run will explore further: how far does this go? Will he regress? and how much hank will be left? And how will society treat his new form? 

For now he’s actually extatic. While he’s going through hormonal changes, and giving out some excellent banter with Jean

Which also includes one of the greatest lines in comic book history, one that’s been in my head for decades and made me absolutely love henry mccoy. 

He’s just great is what i’m saying. As you can tell it’s stuff like this why i’m glad Moira fell through. While I love her.. Morrison’s hank is just a delight and one really questionable subplot aside, we’ll get to that, he’s one of the highlights of this run with an intresting internal struggle, and great chemistry with EVERYONE. And that is the main reason i’m glad Moira fell through as his history with everyone but Emma, who he still has a great raport with, means each interaction has weight. He’s close friends with both scott and jean and thus serves as their needed confidant, while still being able to buddy and banter iwth good old weapon x, and speak with his mentor charles as an equal. While I love moira... Beast just fits into the cast too perfectly and I 100% suspect Morrison was only using her because, while she’s awesome, Claremont wanted her and thus gladly snapped her up when he no longer had a science person. I’ll get into his Jean soon enough but she’s likewise fantastic and easily my faviorite version of the character.. not that until very recently there was much honest competition. 

So Cerebra fires up showing a massive cloud of mutants, showing just how much of a huge spike theirs been with Xavier wondering what it all means.. and Hank seeing a weird flare on the mointor for just a second with his special eyes. But since Xavier isn’t stupid and isn’t the kind of idiot who just dismisses it as a fulke, and since Scott and Logan are in the field, he decides to confrence call them in to see if they can go take a look. 

And naturally we get to see what their up to and get context for what the hell happened in the first page. Our heroes were on a rescue mission to save Ugly John, tha’ts what people called him, a three faced mutant who ends up passing out as they head out of the atmosphere for a second. Wolverine is regenerating and smoking out of his neck becaue he could still smoke back then before marvel decided “he’s setting a bad example”.. in a comic meant for teens and adults. 

I mean I get it on some level as the x-men cartoon was a huge thing in the 90′s and Ben Grimm is basically a giant children’s toy with the mind of a surly 40 year old jewish man from yancy street, but stilll it’s just.. why. I may not like smoking but it’s not like it was SPIDER-MAN saying

It’s a grown man.. whose not a sterling roll model and who Claremont went out of his way to have Logan point out his healing factor means it really dosen’t hurt him in the long run and when Kitty, an actual teenager, tried one of his cigars she choked. I know it’s a weird thing to get hung up on but while i’m all for keeping kids from smoking, this was a really clumsy way to try and hehlp that that made no sense and will never make any sense. 

One tangent later we find out that Cassandra was showing Trask a simulation on a flight to, unsuprisingly, south america, to a sentinel blacksite. Between covertly funding civil wars as they do, the US Goverment naturally founded an experimental sentinal project, and a second master mold during the production of the first line... when larry trask asks where it could possibly be well...

Subtly was not the trasks strong point.. or common sense... or.. not realizing their creations would dominate humanity too or not dying. 

Anyways we then cut back to the x-men, as their having a psychic zoom meeting with Charlie giving one of his patnted big speeches.. and like a lot of this comic it’s too damn good not to use 

The reason I couldn’t should be obvious: This one speech sums up the x-men, why their great and why their necessary in a nutshell: in a world full of prejucided morons.. there’s plenty of scared kids who NEED the x-men to protect and guide them, and with a surge in the mutant population, their needed now more than ever. We also get a good explanation in universe for the uniform change: Charles had them in the superhero outfits hoping humanity would accept them if they were packaged as something they know. Since that clearly hasn’t worked he’s trying new ways to reach out and thus going with a diffrent more rescue team approach to the uniforms. He assigns Wolvie and Cyke to go check out the flair as you’d expect and the meetings over. On the blackbird we get our first hint at a subplot as Logan noticed Cyclops couldn’t wait to get out of there, and is being a tad distant to his wife. He actually has reasons for being kind of cold for once instead of just bad writing as he just came back from being possed by apocalypse. Yeah that happened. So the experience has rattled our boy some what. More on that as we go. But Jean ducks the subject with hank but does breach the fact that Charles has been going kind of crazy with the spending, new uniforms and ambition lately. Hank explains it perfectly: After all the death, suffering and misery the x-men have endured lately, the aforementioned deaths I talked about that took Colossus and Moira off the roster, have lionzed Charles to make sure it was all worth something and look towards the future. 

But enough hope time for horror as Cassandra makes her first direct move, trying to take over Charles brain , make his body her own and use cerebra to kill lots and lots of mutants. We then get one of the best moments of Morrisons run with Charles response to a horrifying monster trying to take his brain

While it is shocking to find out Charles has a gun..it’s a grim but kind of understandable precaution. The guy once got fully taken over by a brood, assembling the New Mutants in part because the brood wanted to create more of i’ts kind with more super powers. You’d be paranoid too if some of your beloved students were brought together partly due to your good intentions and partly because a space monster wanted to make more space montsters out of helpless teens, and even horribly gaslighted one of them. We’ll get to that some day. Point is Charles brain is one of the greatest weapons on earth and if the wrong person got a hold of it, it’d be the end of said earth. Thankfully Charles does not need plan gun, as Jean yanks Cerebra off him but the sheer HATE Charles felt from Cassandra, the sheer power has rattled him.. and also told him she’s in Ecuador and his X-Men need to be warned NOW. It’s a great way to set up just HOW powerful Cassandra is.  Speaking of which as our first issue of the arc ends, we find out two things: Cass faked being int he government but really just used dead soldiers as prop.. and just what kind of sentinels are out there.. wild sentinels. Easily my faviorite variant of the old killing machines and one that’s barely used despite being really damn awesome. Their adaptive killing machines, designed to mutated just like their pray and take tech from around them, as a result they look like a jumble of guns and parts.. but not only does it give them a unique, cool look.. but it makes them ten times deadlier as instead of being big bricks of robots that while intimidating, the x-men know how to kill... their unpredictable variable killing machines. You can figure out how to kill one sure.. btu the next might be entirely diffrent. They are one of morrisons best creations and I hope someone uses the idea again.. aka hickman. Please use it jonathan I know your focused on nimrod but come on. 

And we end on one of the best lines of the entiire run as we close out the issue

Yeah it goes without saying but i’ll say it anyway; Morrison is really damn good with dialouge and being damn quotable. 

So we open with another great quote “When I got up today I didn’t expect to kill 20 million people”... and Cassandra being aware Wolverine and Cyclops are on their way and sending the Wild Sentinels to dispatch them. Also our heroes brought Ugly John along while while a dumb move, Wolvie does point out how dumb it was to divert to Ecuador with a civlian in tow.. after the plane crash of course. As for “wait what plane crash’, the sentinels attack and start picking it apart... and since letting them have such good tech is a terrible idea, Scotty blows up the damn plane. So to recap our heroes are stuck in ecuador, surrounded by murder machines, and oh look their there and knock off cyclops viser. Fantastic. So yeah our heroes are fucked. And naturally captured by the enemy.

The rest of the x-men are doing SLIGHTLY better. While beast makes a note for his girlfriend, more on that later on, Charles is in bed, half alive, explaning the rationale I gave for why he has the gun with Jean refusing to let him get back out of bed and you know.. put on the device that just nearly killed him. But when beast announces they lost contact with our boys.. yeah that ceased being an option. 

Back in the Ecuadorian Genocide Factory, Cassandra does the obvious and kills donald trask as his real purpose..was to stick around and be stupid for a bit while she copied his dna so she could have full control of her new murder toys.She soon uses them, having a horrifying death chamber slaughter john.. or at least flash fry him. Wolverine takes it how you’d expect and since the sentinels need to “perserve trask dna”.. they can’t fire on him without killing her. Scott escapes.. and in a heart wrenching scene mercy kills john.. before getting badass. 

To anyone who says Scott Summers is boring, unintersting, or a stupid asshole idiot head I present exhbit shut the fuck up. Morrison gets scott just right, deconstructing his emotional suppression, while showing him off as a dedicated, companionate man who gets the job done and who seconds after tearfully having to mercy kill an innocent mutant whose death was partially his fault, wastes no time making it painfully clear to the person responsible she WILL die if she tries that again. Logan however realizes she’s already won in some fashion as she’s grinning.. and yeah never a good sign when a genocidal madwoman is grinning like a loon.. and when we find out why.. it’s even less good>  We cut to Genosha. A lot of you probably know what happned to Genosha but in case you don’t know what it is it was once a horribly racist country that genetically enslaved mutants and used them for slave labor. It was freed, but still struggled to truly move on.. till Magneto showed up, took the country for himself and made it a home for all mutants. When we last saw him he once again tried to take over the world leading to Logan seemingly killing him. Right now though Emma Frost finally enters the scene teaching some mutants.. when a young one named Negasonic Teenage Warhead.. yes that one and yes she was entirely chosen for deadpool for her name, reveals, via precognition, that their all going to die.. right as the sentinels attack. 

Genosha.. is gone. In an eyeblink 16 million mutants are dead, a possible future gone, and one of their greatest leaders is no more. Yeah Magneto WAS alive.. but paralyzed so he could do nothing when his island was utterly slaughtered. Only a handful of mutants will be revealed to survive. Humanity had done a lot to mutants before .. but for once.. they’d succeeded in wiping a massive chunk out. What was an x-men location for DECADES at this point.. was now a smoldering crater. A what could of been that would hant the x-men ever after, even now into utopia it remains the darkest day in mutant history outside of hte decimation. It is a truly horrific moment.. and if the changes already hadn’t made it clear this is morrison saying “NO character is safe, nothing is safe, and nothing will be the same and I damn well mean that”. In one act of hate the world has changed. And it hasn’t finished changing yet. 

Issue Three opens hammering in things, as Jean and Beast are in the ruins of genosha, with Xavier having found ONE surivor among the rubble, and our heroes sturggling to find even them, though Jean eventually picks them up and uses her TK to sift through the rubble. 

They find Emma who emerges from a bunker in shock, clutching NTW... and not realizing she’s dead until later and revealing she now has diamond skin, her own secondary mutation. Secondary Mutation was a birlliant idea, new powers sprouting up within established mutants.. it’s just morrison barely used this great idea as did hardly anyone else. Only X-Men Blue ever really dug into it and those were artifical at that. IT’s a great idea..it’s just barely used and at most heavily implied to explain changes in powers like Jamie Madrox Multiple Personalities later on or Doug Ramsey’s vast increase in power. Disapointing. 

While Charles takes in the tragedy and the fact his old frienmie is dead, the x-men wonder what the fuck Cassandra is and what to do with her.. why did she kill 16 million people, and what the fuck is she. I mean I know, but as I said i’ll explain that when the story does.  IN the other room Beast tends to Emma who wants none of not fucking killing Cassandra.. and is utterly right. Bitchy, because i’ts Emma, but right: she killed 16 million people. Say what you want but while it may not be up to the x-men to kill her.. she shoudln’t be living much longer. She commited genocide. Emma decides fuck that and prepares to leave summoning a cab and making peace with being a glorious living fabrige egg. Emma did apparelty change in generation x.. but Morrison is responsible for returning her not only to being a bitch, but a gloriously delightful one And really I don’t think they reset her character entirely: she’s not the heartless monster she started out as: she has empathy, grace, and caring.. she just buries it under a lair of absolute bitch and after you know, surviving a fucking genocide who can blame her? And honestly.. I love their verison of her. She provides a nice contrast to the more idealistic, even logan, x-men and a nice contrarian voice in the room without being obnoxious and her style and sacrastic swagger makes her endlessly entertaning. Thanks to morrison she’s stuck around to this day and went from a pretty good character.. to a great one. And what makes her this way, or as jean puts it “such a bitch?”

With that settled, Hank explains what Cassandra is: a competing species. As he puts it sometimes evolution takes a quantum leap forward.. and Cassandra is the result. Thus she wants to wipe out the compettition and is so far above humanity, she dosen’t need them... especially since she knows what Hank now knows: humanity is at an end. As hank puts it we have an E Gene, one that basically shuts off a race.. and thus the x-men now know what we learned earlier and that cassandra wasn’t lying: in 4 generations there are no more humans and something has to repalce htem. And Cassandra wants it to be her. 

Before Logan can do what he does best, and asks why she looks like charles, Cassandra escapes, and Scott briliantly urges them to fight only on instict as she’s a telepath. A damn awesome fight insues including Cassandra donning Charles Psoonic battle armor, Scott being put in his black bug room and the general good looking chaos you’d expect from a superhero fight. While this goes on Emma has an ephinany and realizes she likes to teach, the x-men have a school.. and she shoudln’t give up on helping kids just because of what happened and turns around. 

Cassandra is near victory, slipping her way to Cerebra.. and planning to kill only one mind before getting to the millions she wnats, a horrifying slug manifesting around her.. only...

So the x-men accept this and cassandra rises.. seemingly saying “I am charles” Huh... and then charles uncaracteristiacally shoots her saying things must change

We’ll get to what all of that means next time as we close on Jean and Scott in bed. Scott explains why he’s been so distant as what I said earlier: fighting off apocalypse stripped away a lot of illusions about himself and he’s having a hard time walking back from that but Jean is willing to help.. but before they can resolve their  issues.. charles has an annoucnment to make and grant has one last whopper of a suprise to end his opening arc on, and just like genosha...it’s a game changer of titanic proportions

No longer is Xavier’s School hidden. Their walking into the light now and so is charles. Hope they surivive the experince. Obviously this move is brilliant: while it removes the veil of saftey the x-men had it also brings on tons of new possiblities and unlike secondary mutation, this one not only stuck but would impact the x-men for good: no longer would they hide and cower.. their mutant and proud.. and their here to stay.  E For Extinction is one of the best x-men stories period. Blisteringly paced, full of great character, great concepts and utterly terrifying and terrific moments that would impact the x-men all the way to present day. It’s beautifully drawn, well paced, and a masterwork. I highly recommend it and it’s a great kickoff to a great run. Shame the run couldn’t of ended on this kind of high but.. we’ll get to that. For now this is a masterclass in how to start a run and if you haven’t read it do so NEXT TIME ON NEW X-MEN: A bunch of weirdos try to harvest mutant organs, the x-men get a brain in a jar and a new teamate, and Scott maybe cheats on his wife. Until then, goodbye goodbye goodbye. 

[septic-skele]

US - Heed The Signs (Part 8)

[Part 7]

Though she had none of her own, Muffet had always liked little hatchlings. Not only were they cute, they were good for business; she rarely ever had trouble selling her wares and making loyal customers out of them. She loved the days when a brood of boisterous bunnies would come storming in, each with their meticulously counted coins to clean out her display case. All of their lively clamoring and chatter amused her. It reminded her of better days.

She would mentally swat herself whenever that thought arose. These were her better days, here and now! She was a working woman, making a living for herself and her family. She was making herself useful! Why would she even bother to think back on the days when her brothers showed her the best places to chase and tease whimsuns? When her sisters taught her how to make vast, intricate art out of her webs? When her mother would pet her head as she did up her hair with ribbons and bows and told her how lovely she was?

Yes, these days, alone in Snowdin, were…better for everyone.

Muffet ought to send them another telegram soon so she could put these things out of her mind.

The bone hatchlings served as a pleasant distraction. Now that the ugly concoction he drank was finally purging from his body, little Papyrus was on the mend.

Muffet’s soul still burned and her hands curled in fury at the thought of that old monster who had done this to him—no matter how accidental. When her cousins in Waterfall had received her news about a poisoned hatchling, they had wasted no time. They had surrounded and cornered the brute with threats and demands.

“I never saw them well enough! T-These old eyes are almost blind!” he had stammered. “I thought they were wild animals, an infestation waiting to happen, so I poured out some bottled bait! It was expired, it—it shouldn’t have done too much harm! Just enough to drive them off.” Swallowing hard at their low hisses of disdain, he shrank in on himself. “How was I to suspect? No children should be the ones rooting through my trash, right? They s-should be at home, safe, with their parents! H-How was I to know?!”

Spiders had no incredible fondness for baiters, poisoners or pest control. Muffet didn’t truly believe that her cousins would kill a monster for that slight unless it was against their own kind…but deep down, she wouldn’t have felt particularly sorry if they had.

Regardless, they had sent back the specifications of the bait he had used. Unfortunately it was one Muffet had plenty of familiarity with, though it came with the helpful byproduct of knowing precisely which medicine could combat it.

It was a medicine intended for spiders; she was unsure how it would affect bone hatchlings but Papyrus was already as frail as a fly. Could a remedy endowed with healing magic make him any sicker? In the end she simply added a splash of milk and gave it over.

Sans was more than happy to assist when Papyrus groaned and refused to take it. “Come on, champ! It may taste bad on the way down but it’s got a lot of good things for you. It’s going to make you better! Stronger!” His smile didn’t wane but it certainly changed. “That’s what you want, isn’t it, to be strong and capable like me? This will do that.”

Muffet sensed she was missing something important between them when Papyrus’ hands shot out for the cup with no more hesitation. His expression of disgust was wrenching as he gagged it down but nevertheless he persisted, spurred on by his brother’s cheers of relief and delight. Of course, he brought about half of it back up just a few minutes later; it was meant to be sipped, not guzzled.

“The next cup will come with a little digestif, sweetling—a spoonful of honey should smooth things over,” Muffet promised, patting his cheek. At first contact he flinched and kept his mouth shut until Sans lightly nudged him, prompting.

“…Papy?”

“Um. Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am. M’sorry for the mess,” he murmured, eye sockets falling dim and soft as he rested his skull against her palm.

Stars. The sight brought on a rush of affectionate warmth, followed by the instinct not to pull away, followed by confusion. Had she called him “sweetling”? She couldn’t recall saying that to any of the other children before. Her hand was uncertain as she ran a thumb over his cheekbone. Beside him, Sans looked on with a distant, wistful glow in his eyes, leaning his head into his own hand as if by instinct.

Did your parents ever spare you a kindness? Did they remind you that you were loved? If they did, do you even remember it?

Shame, shame on them for misplacing you.

The honey was magic in and of itself; in fact, Papyrus was completely enamored with it now. Within three days he was drinking more honey than milk, much to Sans’ dismay. Milk was being treated with almost the same base prejudice as medicine!

“He needs calcium, not this unhealthy, unwholesome sugar rot; his magic will crystalize!” Sans exclaimed, only to flounder at the pointed stare Muffet gave him. “I—It isn’t—What I mean to say is that—Thank you very much for our tasteful dessert, Miss Muffet! But…um…”

“I’ll whisk the honey into the milk, dearie.”

“Yes! Yes, that would be wonderful. T-Thank you kindly!”

If Muffet set Sans’ opinions on “sugar rot” aside, she could admit that he was great for business. Once Papyrus started noticeably improving, able to sit up in the hammock and hold a plate on his own, Sans became a little more willing to stray from his side and mingle with the customers—and they with him. Whenever a new child was born in the Underground, it was the word around town. Now this, a strange skeleton child appearing out of nowhere? An attraction, a novelty! The shop had more visitors in the last week than she had the three weeks prior.

Sans reveled in the attention. It seemed he had craved a listening ear for a long, long time and now he had them in abundance. He would chatter at the visitors from the moment they opened the door to the moment they closed it behind them, though he cheerfully and blatantly dodged any questions about home or his parents—and the moment he overheard so much as a ragged cough from the backroom, away he went, leaving Muffet to fend off the rest of their questions.

“Is there someone else back there?”

“How long are they staying with you, Muffet?”

“Where did they really come from?”

“Are they, um, yours…somehow?”

That last question both irritated and flustered her. Oh, of course, of course they were hers because it made such savvy sense that a spider could somehow breed bone brothers! Perfectly preposterous. But there was a little buzz in the back of her head, niggling, and it stung.

Children belonged to or with someone…and if Sans’ and Papyrus’ someone(s) were unsuitable, where did they belong?

Together, first and foremost. The first day that Papyrus could move from the hammock to one of the padded booths in the front, his presence was like honey to the flies. It turned to vinegar as soon as a group crowded around him and he shrank, wheezing, into the corner, bones rattling like Muffet’s tip jar. It was the first and only time she saw Sans’ eyes black out as he shouldered through them to sit and gather Papyrus against his side.

“You see, brother? They love you, they all want to be your friends!” he cooed, staring fixedly up at the curious onlookers. “And friends should all care, share and take their turn, so my brother can appreciate every single one of you on your own!” His cheery tone didn’t falter, but his eyelights didn’t rekindle right away either.

No, that was a web that couldn’t be unraveled. As Sans affectionately ran a hand over Papyrus’ skull, Muffet examined a particularly shiny piece of gold and pretended not to wish on it for her mother.

She wasn’t resting well in her hammock this night. Since Papyrus joined Sans now, sleeping in one of the corner booths, she had stripped the old one she had lent him and spun a fresh one. It was comfortable enough to serve, so why were her thoughts tangled up this way?

“We had a house but…we lost it.”

“It would be better to make a new home here.”

It wouldn’t be long before they left her to fend for themselves. How had that turned out for them in the first place? Pain, illness, panic. Make a new home, they said. Did they have any idea what that would truly entail?

“Hatchlings don’t know, so they don’t think until they are taught…and you don’t have any teachers, do you?”

Muffet had enough trouble on her own when she came to town. Scraping up the gold to make it through the first six months had nearly broken her back.

“We don’t have that kind of money!”

Though he should be in school, Sans could probably…hopefully work. His infectious charm could win people over to give him odd jobs, Muffet was sure. But where would that leave Papyrus? Not old enough, not strong enough, waiting somewhere for his brother to return. Muffet would have to be blind in three of her eyes to miss how he reacted whenever Sans was gone too long. The separation anxiety he felt was crushing.

“Just one brother to keep me company is better in my mind than having none.”

Muffet heaved a shaky breath. She could feel it crushing her now, in ways she thought she had trained herself to ignore. She missed her family awfully, yes, but if everything here came crashing down, she always had the last resort of returning to the nest. The family would welcome her back with open arms and legs. Where could the bone brothers go in the wild? They had no nest to scurry back to.

Hers was the first safe refuge they had found. They knew they were safe here in ways they couldn’t be out there. Odd jobs wouldn’t be enough for a table, much less for food to put on it. If they had to go back to scavenging and Papyrus came down sick again—Arachne forbid Sans falling ill—it could be over for them in a matter of months.

No, they…they’ve managed this long, only one and two. They could keep on. Somehow.

But no child should have to.

“My mother carries me on her back until I’m grown and ready, and your mother goes unbothered?”

Shame.

Muffet didn’t end up finding any rest. Instead she rolled out of her hammock, put her hair up and scuttled to her desk, spreading her meticulous finance logs out in front of her.

It didn’t take long to see that with the new boom the boys’ mere existence gave to her business, it was workable. Projecting for the next…decade?

“Two bone hatchlings. Tsk,” she muttered, fangs tugging into a slight smile. “Mother’s carried ten, twenty, fifty and some. What are one and two?”

That’s if the one and two say yes.

___________________________________

“Miss Muffet, I didn’t know you sold clothes here too!” Sans laughed as he poked his hand through the sleeve of a blue-striped shirt. “Though I don’t think this would fit many of the adults who shop here—mweheheh, especially not after eating your sweets!”

“Blue? This one’s…kind of my size,” Papyrus piped up cautiously, though he held it away from his body so as not to assume. Sans’ smile waned slightly as his eyes darted between the tatty shirt hanging from his brother’s back to the vibrant comparison in his hands.

“Well, um…I’m sure it’d look great on you, Papy, but it—it’d be rude! Yeah! Trying on her merchandise would be like taking a bite out of a donut and then putting it back! We can’t do that.”

“It’s not merchandise, dearie, but…mmm, yes. You will pay me for it regardless.” Both of them cringed, Sans hurriedly flinging the blue one back at the bag, but before he could form a protest, Muffet sighed with exasperated fondness. “Pay me by wearing them down, would you? So I know I didn’t deal for it as a laughing matter but as a gift instead.”

For once, Sans was silent.

“A…gift?” Papyrus echoed, voice cracking as his fingers curled tighter into the soft cloth. Little by little it was bunched into small, possessive folds in his lap. “A gift…for us?”

“Would I be such a poor host, inviting you into my parlor for all this time without presenting party favors? Don’t think so small of me,” she tutted.

“Ma’am.” Sans’ shoulders were sagging and his voice was softer than Muffet had ever heard it. “You’ve already done too much for us. Helping me get Papy better is more than I can thank you for. I…” Something like guilt seemed to sting him. “I…can’t repay you. Ever.”

“My, oh, my. If that’s what you think, let me make an easy barter with you: for all that I have done for you, you do a small something for me. You stay safe by staying here.” She ignored their stunned gasps, pressing on surely. “You learn from me. I’ll not have the shame of misplacing any hatchlings before their time and teaching.”

“Miss Muffet…”

“You’ll make a new home here, just as you planned, but you and only you aren’t always enough. Don’t say you don’t know. You were lost; now you’re found.” Her eyes softened as she glanced between them. “Aren’t your little feet tired of walking alone?”

Papyrus squeaked, lifting the new shirt to bury his face in it, and Sans’ tiny nod came with a quiver in his jaw.

“I’m not your mother, sweetlings. But if she isn’t going to stand on her two measly feet, it’s the job of a working woman with eight to make herself useful. Let me carry you for a while. Stay.”

[luckyjadeofliyue]

Liyue Lantern Festival - Childe x OC.

Short Story. I got really inspired after finishing the fanart I made lol.

AGAIN, I AM NOT A WRITER. I MIGHT HAVE SOME GRAMMAR AND SENTENCE MISTAKES SO YEAH. YOU WERE WARNED :p

A cool breeze is always welcomed during this hot summer nights. Liyue has always been a busy city, but today is extra special. All-day long everyone has been preparing for the annual Summer Lantern Festival. Once a year, people around Liyue gather and celebrate this auspicious event with friends and family.

Liyue streets are filled with people; everyone excited and having fun. You can see some people dancing, laughing, singing, shopping and having the time of their lives. Children are running around with their lanterns on hand, screaming excitedly about having their wishes come true.

Jadiz only experienced joining this festival once in her life despite living in Liyue since birth. And it was only inside the Yu Clan Compound grounds as she was not allowed to leave the safety of their Clan's residence.

Jadiz walked towards the nearest stall selling lanterns, she looked around and saw a medium-sized white lantern with the lotus print in front of it. She had to tippy-toe to get it, gently taking it into her hand. She stared at the red lotus flower in front of it.

Lotus Flower, it's her and her late mother's favourite flower.

"Is it true that if I wished on a lantern today, it would come true?!", a younger 6 years old Jadiz asked the beautiful woman in front of her.

"Yes little lotus flower, as long as you believe it, then it will come true", her mother kneeled in front of her brushing away a stray curly hair in front of Jadiz's face.

A huge smile grew on Jadiz's face. "YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!", she screamed, jumping up and down in a place like a bunny. "Can I write my wish on the lantern now? Please, PLEASE!!!!", tugging on her mother's sleeve.

Her mother chuckled at her enthusiastic reactions. She handed over a small white lantern with the Lotus Flower print in front of it to the little Jadiz. "Here you go, my dear."

Jadiz took the small lantern, struggled a bit to balance herself. The small lantern looked bigger than it is on her tiny little arms. She struggled to walk towards the table and took a brush dipped in red ink and started writing on the lantern.

"Be careful with your spelling my love; you don't want the gods to get confused and not grant your wish", her mother jokingly said.

"I will!", little Jadiz replied, not even looking at her mother. She stopped writing to check her work; she rubbed her nose with the hand she used to write, smudging a bit of red paint on her nose. Her calligraphy work is more than impressive for 6 years old. "DONE!", she jumped up and excitedly.

"And what does our Lucky Jade wishing for?", a manly voice asked.

Little Jadiz looked up and saw her father walking towards her and her mother. She placed her lantern down and ran towards her father. Her father opened his arms to hug the Little Jadiz and carried her in his arms.

"Hello my love", her mother gave his father a small peck on the cheeks making her father put an arm around her waist and giving both of them a hug.

Little Jadiz' eyes glowed with joy and happiness. Even at her young age, she always wanted the kind of love her mother and father has for each other.

"So, what did our Lucky Jade asked for?", her father asked once again out of curiosity.

Little Jadiz gave her father a wide and bright smile. "I….."

"Would you like to get that lantern young lady?"

Jadiz came back to her senses and saw the shop keeper smiling at her. The old man was standing behind the stall and holding his hands together in front of him.

"Oh…uhhm", Jadiz started to pat her pockets trying to see if she has mora left. She dug deep and found nothing. She sighed sadly, "I-…"

"Here you go, keep the change", someone said beside her.

She looked up and saw a tall red head man with a mask on the side of his hair. The young man smiling giddily at her, looking smug and proud of himself from buying her the lantern.

She raised an eyebrow at him, not sure what to feel or say. Part of her wants to say thank you and be grateful, but the other part wants to walk away or punch that smug look out of his face.

"Thank you, Childe, you are so generous! You didn't have to!", Childe said sarcastically.

"I-will-punch-you in the face..", Jadiz glared at Childe still holding the lantern. She started to walk away from him. "I swear…One time…I'm gonna freeze his sorry butt in the spot..", she mumbled.

Childe couldn't help but chuckle at Jadiz's reaction. He loves teasing her so much because she might be a cryo user, but her temper is hotter than any pyro user he has ever fought. He started running to catch up with her.

"Jade wait up!", he laughingly said. He caught up with her, now walking side-by-side. "You know, you are so cute when you are mad".

"Well, watch me get freaking adorable", Jadiz glared at Childe walking faster, still holding the lantern.

Childe laughed out loud and matched Jadiz' phase; he didn't have to. She is so short that his regular walking speed is her faster-walking speed. "Come on, don't be too mad now, I might fall for you if you become adorable", he teasingly says.

She stopped all of a sudden that he almost collided with her. She turned around, eyes blazing, cold air starting to form around them.

"Uhhh….now now…", he nervously said. "You know I was just joking", he laughed nervously putting both his hands up in the air as a sign of surrender. Man, she is something else he thought to himself in a good way he silently added, trying to hold back a smile.

Jadiz stared at Childe, intending to freeze his ass after the last statement. 'Fall for her?' He really needs to stop teasing her like this. It's hard enough as it is to resist his charming ways; not to mention, he was just flirting with the female store keep at the fabric and clothing store a few minutes ago whic for some reason annoyed the living wits out of her. "Hmph", she turned around so fast that her hair hit his chest and the lower part of his face.

She heard him chuckle again. ‘I still don't get why he enjoys making me mad so much’, she thought to herself as she walked fast trying to get away from Childe. She stopped suddenly to avoid colliding with the little girl that tripped in front of her.

The little girl laying flat on the ground started to sob. She kneeled, placing her lantern on her side to help the little girl to stand up. "Hey there, you're okay", she gently said, trying to comfort the little girl. She then saw a scape on the little girl's knees. "Does it hurt?", she asked worriedly.

The little girl nodded while sobbing, trying not to burst into tears. Jadiz lifted her right hand, cold air formed around them, a lotus flower made from ice started to form on her hand. She put the ice lotus flower into the child's scraped knee and almost instantly the wound disappeared. "Better?", she smiled sweetly.

The little girl's face lit up and smiled. "Thank you, big sister!", the child said, giving Jade a small hug and then running away to her friends.

Childe was trying to catch up to Jadiz and saw the little girl tripped. He stopped on his tracks and watched Jadiz turn from a mad dragoness to a sweet, endearing lady. He couldn't help but smile, she looks so beautiful when she whether she is angry or not; but even more when she is handling kids. She has a gentle touch to her that kids seem to love (he does too).

He started walking towards her after the little kid run away to her friends. He held his hand trying to offer her some help standing up. He saw her looked up at him with those gorgeous jade coloured eyes. She hesitated for a second but ended up taking his hand. He pulled her up gently, but she lost her balance and had to use his chest to stop herself from falling.

Warm. Sweet. Lavender. He thought to himself as he accidentally had a whiff of her scent. He had to calm himself down as he stopped the urge to pull her closer to him. He didn't want to let her go but she already pulled away turning her back on him.

He cleared his throat and picked up the lantern on the ground.

Jadiz had to look away, she can feel her face getting flustered, it was hard not too... She had a whiff of his scent. He smelled like Morning Dew, Ocean and Rain.

‘Calm down, calm down, calm down’, she thought to herself as she tries her hardest not to blush. She knows if he saw her blushing, she will not hear the end of it.

"I know the perfect spot to light this lantern", she heard Childe say.

She took a deep breath and turned around to face him," Really?"

"Yeah, follow me!", she felt Childe take her hand and started running towards the Harbor. She couldn't help but look at this man who is basically dragging her.

After a few minutes of running, they reached the Harbor. They passed by groups of people trying to send their lanterns out as well. Childe finally stopped in front of a very tall crane.

She looked at the crane, looked at Childe, looked at the top of the crane and back at Childe. "Up…there?...", she asked while pointing weakly at the top of the crane.

"Yep", Childe grinned.

"I…You know I'm scared of climbing heights!"

Childe chuckled, he turned around and crouched, "Hop on", gesturing for Jadiz to hop on his back.

"I…can't we just do it here", she started walking towards Childe really slowly.

"Hurry up, or I'll climb without you."

"F-Fine…", she reluctantly agreed. She placed her arms around his shoulder and clump her legs around his waist. She felt his right hand, making sure she is secured on his back. Handing her the lantern so he can use his other hand to climb the crane

"Alright! Let's go!", he excitedly said starting to climb the tall crane.

Jadiz closed her eyes holding on to Childe tighter.

"Not too tight now, I have to breath", Childe chuckled once again as he started to climb up.

After a few minutes, they reached the top. He crouched again to let her down.

"T-thank you..", she shyly said. She never had any trouble thanking anyone, so it has been a mystery to her why she is having difficulty saying those 2 words to him.

Childe chuckled and sat down. She sat down beside him, she took her pen out from her leather satchel. Jadiz then started writing her wish. She felt Childe leaning over to read what she was writing. She glared at him and turned her back away from him.

"Hey! No fair! I wanna know your wish!", Childe protested still trying to read what she is wishing.

She ignored his protest and continued to hide what she is writing. When she finished, she took a match from her satchel and lit the small candle inside of the lantern. She stood up, closed her eyes, both hands on the lantern, making sure to hide her wish from Childe. She felt Childe stood up beside her as well.

Childe can't help but look at Jadiz. Her face illuminated by the light of the lit lantern. Her black curly hair partly on the way. A part of him wants to brush it away, but he resisted. She is such a mystery to him. One moment she is gentle, the next she is a fighter. She is a huge contradiction, an enigma. Probably why he is so interested in her, he could easily finish this mission, but he is enjoying her company. He wants to unlock all her layers, so far it has been such a challenge. Never before has any woman resisted his charm this long. Never before has any woman captivated his interest this long.

He saw her gently kiss the lantern before letting it fly into the sky. A part of him wondered how her lips would feel on his. Her lips were plumped, it looked so soft. He wanted to taste them, maybe nibble on them until she moans from pleasure. He caught himself imagining that scenario and had to stop himself before he starts getting flustered. He looked back at at Jadiz who kept her eyes on the lantern until it's no longer visible.

He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, "So…what did you wished for?"

Without looking, she answered, "Something I used to see every day but have lost..I wish that for myself someday...", her voice trailing to almost a whisper.

Childe can sense the loneliness in her voice even though she tried to hide it. Something inside him grew, it's something that he only felt for his siblings which confused him even more… It was the urge to make her genuinely happy… It seemed so strange. All he wanted to do before was to fight, to kill, to get stronger; then this girl came along and something inside him changed... It also doesn't change the fact that he knows he won't be able to do it…she is…after all…his mission...

[sepublic]

Xian Characters, Features, and Landmarks (Pt. 2)

Karzahni- Karzahni is a delusional, questionably-sane despot in the Voymari District. A crimelord, he has –in addition to traditional thugs- amassed an army of orphans to do his bidding. He sends them out every day and night, scouring the streets of Voymari for small scrapes of riches and anything else of value that they report to him; Orphans who bring back better things get higher status, more food, comfortable rooms, and so forth.

           Of course, many other crimelords mock Karzahni for resorting to children, but nevertheless he is terrifying in his own right. Karzahni himself also has a penchant for ‘rebuilding’ people, taking them apart, modifying them, and grating mechanical limbs and masks and so forth. Many of his victims include people who have angered him, or just the general unfortunate homeless Xian; Regardless, Karzahni has modified many, turning them into horrific, shambling abominations with unusual proportions, too frail to be alive while also partially-mechanical.

           The sick tyrant enjoys this- He likes to build and craft, even if his materials are the bodies of people. Alas, he is somewhat frustrated by his inability to truly ‘fix’ someone, because to Karzahni he is doing a service, or at least trying to, by ‘repairing’ Xians he and others deem faulty. He tends to take his frustrations out not only on his twisted creations, but his own underlings and orphans as well. If in a particularly bad mood, he’ll tear apart a creation down to their most base parts, and/or feed them to his Manutri Penguins, which he has conditioned to be only carnivorous.

           The terror does not stop there, either- Karzahni possesses an uncanny ability to inflict powerful illusions on others, showing them ‘alternate timelines’, or so he claims, of things that could’ve happened to them; If something in their past, or another’s, turned out differently. Many times he has used this ability to torment and traumatize others, but Karzahni has also used this power to comfort himself with alternate timelines of victory, grandeur, and success of himself.

Because he dives so frequently into the subject of alternate timelines and what could have been, he is often dissatisfied and bitter over his lot- Not only that, but he occasionally has issues remembering what is or isn’t real, and will have to be reminded that what happened in one vision didn’t happen in real life. Sometimes he’ll randomly start talking to someone else that isn’t there, as if interacting with an alternate timeline; It is disconcerting to watch. Additionally, Karzahni uses his power to create simulations and predictions of events as he attempts to figure out the most optimal decision or strategy for himself. The exact accuracy of these predictions are questionable and seem to be somewhat rooted in the data he is aware of.

Karzahni wears unusual, green-and-violet armor. He has a mask that is a patchwork of various other elements, and he wields chains in combat that can lash around foes and rise to burning temperatures, searing through opponents. He has an unusual amount of strength and durability for Xian- Apparently, he has modified himself in the past as well. Even if one were to break through Karzahni’s powerful, demoralizing illusions, the tyrant himself is still a dangerous enemy to fight.

Whenua and Tehutti- These two roommates have a thankless, low-paying job as minimum-wage librarians and occasional tutors. Despite their poor wages and lack of appreciation for their work, these two have a vested passion for history and are eager to share their knowledge with others. With no prompting or personal gain beyond the satisfaction and triumph of it all, these two have pooled their lifetime’s earnings and savings towards expanding their simultaneous home/book store to include a ‘Xian Museum of History’, for any and all who are interested! No cost is required to enter and enjoy their exhibits, but unfortunately no one seems to be interested either…

Rorze- The warden of The Archives, Rorze is an Archives Vahki with the latest, most advanced AI programming in order to achieve maximum efficiency. Although all other Archives Vahki are specially designed to prevent any level of free will whatsoever, Rorze was ultimately granted the ability of sapient thought in order to enhance his leadership abilities and control over the Archives’ security. He constantly supervises every single step of each procedure, while inspecting all possible inches of his facility. Rorze has dedicated his entire existence to maintaining the Archives and protecting whatever is within- It was all he was made for, after all.

           Throughout the years, Rorze has subjected himself to new patches to ensure that his programming is completely immune to computer viruses, hacking, and other forms of tampering. After each update is installed, past memories and data are transferred to the new ‘brain’. Whether or not each version of Rorze is truly the same person is up for debate, but Rorze himself does not care. As far as he’s concerned, he has no allegiances or loyalty to anyone, and acts as a neutral party whose sole concern is preserving objects and even living creatures within the Archives. Because of his robotic, single-minded dedication towards his task, Rorze will do anything to accomplish his goals, so long as he is permitted; He is still technically beholden to The Powers That Be and those that he serves.

Idris- A grumpy, surly overseer, Idris was placed in charge of a field of Airweed and its workers after the past overseer and his hired guns mysteriously died, obviously killed by The Beast. Hired specifically for her apathy on the subject, Idris doesn’t particularly care that other workers are at risk of being devoured by The Beast each day they work; Xia’s harsh climate for workers has taught her to be similarly callous. Still, when three masked strangers appear, offering to help find and kill The Beast –and for free no less!- she can’t help but take the offer. Even if their help is on the condition that Idris herself attend the mission…

Fero- Amongst the Bone Hunter clans, one is led by the persistent, vindictive Fero. Fero is the leader of his clan for obvious reasons- He is a skilled, cold fighter who knows when to cut his losses, when to retreat, and when to strike suddenly from the cover of the sands, or the darkness of night. Like any successful Bone Hunter, Fero is a patient individual, and he has led countless raids on villages, caravans, and so forth. His clan has amassed a wide variety of goods and weaponry to sell, alongside prisoners to keep or sell off as slaves.

           Fero knows that he is human, just like anyone else, but he manages to get around this by being an incredibly stealthy and skilled hunter. He is an intelligent strategist, knowing exactly how to track footprints in the sand, find resources, or take advantage of the environment to swiftly ambush enemies. He has led various guerilla attacks on past opponents and emerged in victory in the process, and is experienced in the realm of survival in any circumstance. Fero himself wields a hand-held rail gun, and rides atop his personal Rock Steed Skirmix, with rider and steed having known each other their entire lives. Skirmix is fiercely loyal to Fero, and would die for him- And should he die, Skirmix intends to go down alongside him. Skirmix is intelligent and understands Fero’s harsh orders well.

Berix- Travelling across the arid sands of the Baran Desert are Water Merchants, who will sell precious stores of water or replenish them to thirsty travelers. Among them is Berix, a heavily-cloaked, hooded figure who keeps himself cool with mechanisms and air-conditioning units underneath his pack. Despite Berix’s rough, coarse demeanor and voice, he is still trustworthy; He is a man of his word and will not try to scam or take advantage of his customers.

Berix is also a scavenger and collector, and with his supply of water is able to make extended trips out into the desert, hoping to dig up neat artifacts to keep. One can barter for water by trading him a unique item of some sort. Berix owns quite the collection of knick-knacks, some gathered from corpses, or found in the sand, or sold to him; Others bought directly from the market. There is some suspicion towards him having killed or robbed for his collection, but he maintains that he is totally innocent.

Berix wields a sword for self-defense, one that has an edge etched with carvings in the shape of sharp waves. It is a keepsake from the past, one of the first things he found in the desert, and an item he treasures and cherishes. In addition, he also has a shield that doubles as a wide, double-edged sword.

Perditus- Perditus is a frequent champion of Zakaz’s brutal races, riding his own Thornatus V9 into victory. Amongst its modifications are an Exsidian front, an improved engine, a rail-gun, and a few Force Blasters. Outside of his races, Perditus will frequently ride across Zakaz’s deserts, and will offer rides; For a price, of course. The longer the trip, the higher the pay. For someone of his title, he is of course a skilled and quick-thinking driver, able to outmaneuver bandits and Bone Hunters on the fly.

           Perditus himself is a mysterious figure, often wearing a racing helmet that obscures his face. There is even a bit of a rumor going about that he is a serial killer, but nobody can know for sure. Outside of his Thornatus, Perditus keeps a rapier on himself for personal defense.

Sahmad- Riding across Zakaz atop his chariot, pulled by a Spikit steed is Sahmad; A ruthless, nihilistic bandit, smuggler, and poacher. Armed with a powerful whip, as well as a rail gun merged with a blade, Sahmad has made a living not only robbing helpless travelers, but also hunting and selling even endangered species- Attached to the back of his chariot is a wheeled cage that he keeps animals in. Poached animals are kept in line with brutal whip-cracks as Sahmad gathers them, before eventually selling them off. On the side, he helps carry cargo of questionable legality across the Baran Desert.

           Supposedly, Sahmad was once a member of the decimated Iron Tribe- Apparently, members of the Iron Tribe one day found themselves unable to dream when asleep. This predicament began to spread amongst others, with those afflicted soon going mad as they could not sleep; Rest had no effect on their addled minds, which became unable to recover and sort through the events of each day. Victims of the ‘Dreaming Plague’ eventually could not fall asleep, and died of exhaustion.

           Naturally, neighbors of the Iron Tribe reacted in fear, and worked to shun the group. It eventually got so bad that the Vahki, normally scarce in Zakaz, were called in to quarantine and contain the entire tribe. Sahmad escaped the quarantine, traumatized after seeing his loved ones die, and became an outcast- Others in Zakaz feared he had the Dreaming Plague and would spread it to them. As a result of his trauma, Sahmad has become an embittered, nihilistic individual who sometimes wonders if his cruel crimes are his attempts to lash out at the world that had forsaken him and his people so?

Telluris- A mad, brilliant inventor, Telluris was also another survivor of the Iron Tribe after the Dreaming Plague wiped it out; Although he and Sahmad didn’t really know each other back then, nor do they interact much in general. Still, a general kinship between the two is still there, as they both share the same trauma and have also been shunned by Xia for their association with the Dreaming Plague. Once, Telluris partnered up with Sahmad, believing that if they colored their armor a dark-blue, people wouldn’t recognize them…

           It didn’t work out, and his armor has remained a rusted-orange since. Yet despite his eccentricities, Telluris is nevertheless a brilliant engineer. On his own, he scavenged parts for and created the Skopio-XV1, a massive four-legged mech with treads built into its limbs. The Skopio has a ‘stinger tail’ equipped with powerful cannons and other weaponry, such as a targeting rail gun and Force Blasters. Telluris himself rides on the back of his Skopio, and has grafted mechanical bits into the back of his head that let himself plug cables leading into his Skopio, enabling a more accurate and precise control over it.

           Perhaps to get back at the world that hurt him –or just because- he rampages frequently around Zakaz, attacking villages, settlements, bandits; Anyone that comes across his path. His Skopio-XV1 is unmatched in firepower, and can even fold up to assume a faster vehicle mode as well. Telluris is paranoid, believing everyone has it out for him, and aims to take over all of Zakaz with his personal weapon. Thankfully, his own madness inhibits his effectiveness- If Telluris were fully sane, he likely would’ve taken over Zakaz by now. One has to wonder if he didn’t totally avoid the Dreaming Plague…

           Between the occasional rampage, Telluris will suddenly calm down and become peaceful in order to visit markets to buy parts and tools from. He has a hidden garage where he performs maintence on Skopio, which he seems to treat as a living creature and beloved pet of his, often talking to it. Damage against Skopio is a personal affront to Telluris, who believes that people are hurting his precious creature, and he will retaliate tenfold for such an action. Between his sudden mood swings and genuine brilliance, Telluris is a dangerous, volatile character that is hard to predict.

Tuma- Once a slave, this towering titan of a Xian has risen to fame and glory as an esteemed Glatorian. Operating in the Baran desert, Tuma is intimately aware of his place and status in society, and knows that the villages of Zakaz see gladiators like him as nothing more than a tool to use; And he is familiar with indignity and dehumanization of slavery as well. Initially a slave-fighter, Tuma earned his freedom after winning countless battles with his unusually potent strength and huge frame.

           Now an independent master of himself, Tuma has become dissatisfied with his lot in society, and still feels like a puppet. To remedy this, he has begun to make recent alliances, hoping to establish a ‘Glatorian Monopoly’ of sorts; Him and other like-minded Glatorian have begun to make deals with one another, purposely losing fights, or choosing jobs, according to the needs of one another. Members of this ‘ring’ of individuals will make alliances, giving out recommendations to one another, and helping to recruit new fighters and training them.

           With his lieutenants Stronius and Branar, Tuma hopes to control the gladiator system that many villages in the Baran desert rely on. Ideally, his network of gladiators will collaborate and coordinate with one another, scheming to lose or win matches with each other, reject offers and services unless at a proper price, strike for better conditions, etc. With Tuma at the top of this Glatorian Monopoly, Tuma hopes to rule the Baran desert by proxy of having control over its gladiator matches, which decide the majority of its political decisions and conflicts. With his wealth as a champion, Tuma has also set up betting offices, and employed his fellow Glatorian, whom he essentially commands, into collecting on debts, as well as accepting matches that he deems beneficial, and in general swaying the events of the arena as he pleases.

           A Glatorian strike and unionization is much-welcomed, and needed. Many gladiators have benefitted from what Tuma has brought about, and the concerns that some villages have on Tuma are not exactly out of the goodness of their hearts, or for the safety of society. Still, Tuma must not let the power and greed get to his head… It seems that gladiators who refuse to join his alliance tend to get bullied into submission, or find themselves out of a job as other members of the network will take job openings and positions from them. Tuma must beware becoming the tyrant that his masters were, and continue providing power to his fellow gladiators instead of oppressing them as well.

           Born with unusual genetics, Tuma towers over most and wears black-and-green armor while wielding a massive sword, shield, and additional blades on his back in combat. Even though he is older than most gladiators, he retains his peak strength, height, and stamina, and stories of this ‘titan’ have spread across Zakaz. Some have interest over the secrets of Tuma’s body…

As a result, groups in the past have attempted to kidnap Tuma for their own gains. Tuma has resisted such efforts naturally, and is used to Exo-Toa Baterra being sent in to spy on him and his actions. Tuma is not open about his Glatorian network, and the Baterra have been sent to keep an eye on him. Unsurprisingly, this kind of surveillance has made Tuma somewhat paranoid, but rightfully so, and he remains sharp-minded as ever to avoid any mistakes.

Metus- A silver-tongued businessman and merchant, Metus has since become a recruiter in the Baran desert. He works to spot out potential fighters and introduce them to the gladiator system, as well as recommend combatants amongst villages, settle disputes, and so forth. Metus has a good eye and nose for potential, able to scout out a potential Glatorian amongst a group, and grant them the funding, investment, and support they need to reach success.

           Metus himself was once a trader in the northern-kingdom of Iconox, only to lose everything within the crossfire of a war he wanted no part in. He does whatever it takes to survive, and will gladly sell out anyone else. He is untrustworthy, and while his recommendations are often good, he has also been caught giving villages poor fighters or else granting dishonest advice. On the side, he makes sure to place his bets well and carefully, and has amassed some wealth as a result.

Metus hopes to get in on Tuma’s planned network of Glatorian and gather a share of the riches, yet is also reporting intel and data to Baterra spies as well. Tuma doesn’t trust him of course, but Metus is insistent on getting a hand on the stocks and treasure; He aims to one day become rich enough to truly leave Zakaz behind, perhaps starting his own business in Stelt…

Surel- An aged veteran from the same conflict that robbed Metus of his livelihood, Surel was left wounded and dying on a blood-stained battlefield. But amidst the White Quartz Mountains, she found salvation in a pack of Iron Wolves that tended to her need, helping protect Surel and bringing her food as she recovered.

           Now, Surel is a leader of this Iron Wolf pack, and leads them on hunts in the White Quartz Mountains, off the fringes of the kingdom of Iconox. She is mostly crippled from age and old wounds, and walks with a limp and walking stick; But armed with a dagger, she can be lethally fast, taking down and gutting an enemy in seconds. She knows how to conserve and utilize her strength well, and with her pack of Iron Wolves by her side, Surel is a lethal opponent and not one to cross. She has no interest in Zakaz’s politics- She has long ago rejected the battlefield she almost died in, and now intends only to live a life of hunts alongside her trusted Iron Wolves.

The Sisters- A cult of powerful telepaths and mind-readers, this all-female (trans-inclusive!) coven of ‘witches’ lives in a desolate forest, somewhere along the borders of Zakaz. They worship a deity named Annona, and their exact intentions and plots are unknown. They prefer to live to themselves, occasionally venturing out in their forest for supplies, and have used their mental abilities in the past to place others beneath their thrall- Such unfortunate victims are not only robbed and used as proxies to gather more materials, but are occasionally even harvested for their body parts.

           The Sisters perform many unusual, arcane rituals. It is unknown to outsiders what they have planned, but evidently they seek to one day find Annona, whom they attribute the cause of their powers to. Attempts to infiltrate the group and learn their secrets have failed; They can sense intent and faultiness, and even Exo-Toa Baterra have been caught by them. Rumor has it that they can even perform magic, and the gladiator Tuma has an unknown connection to them that he’d rather not talk about. Things are apparently uncomfortable between him and The Sisters…

The Kraahl- In the darkness of night, people have spotted them- Darkened, cloaked figures who can be sighted briefly, only to suddenly blip out of existence as if they were never there to begin with. The Kraahl, as they are known, have been known to access areas under heavy fortification, somehow teleporting across massive distances with no one able to catch them. The Kraahl are cryptids in Zakaz, and known to occasionally appear to gather resources for themselves. Attempts to plant cameras and trackers on the things they steal have failed, with signals abruptly ending entirely once the Kraahl disappear. Where are these mysterious people going? Where do they come from? How do they have their power? Attempts to understand and decipher their strange, teleporting abilities have failed.

[fire-the-headcanons]

Tai scratched his neck with a thoughtful frown at the floor. "Have you told Professor Carmine you can carve?"

"No. …Why?"

"Custom parts for weapons. Embellishments, mostly. There was always a two-week wait at Signal for anything they didn't already have the molds for. With all the professional Huntsmen that come here for repairs, I bet it's even worse."

"Hey, yeah, I never thought of that," Summer said, pausing her rifling through the paints. "Wouldn't that be cool? Your stuff being part of real Huntresses' weapons!"

"Summer, we're not fake Huntsmen," Tai complained.

Follow the Beacon Summer—Care Package

[Link to Masterpost]

[The promised fluff! And @ranger-lcat‘s favorite chapter, actually.

TW: slight existentialism, jump to CARE PACKAGE! in all caps to skip]

"Oh—you're that kid."

Summer paused, the pen dwindling to a stop halfway through her signature. "...Oakley?"

"Are you okay?" they asked, sliding the box onto the counter. "You seemed a little... freaked out, on Halloween. I thought later maybe I should have broken character."

"N-no, it was fine!" And not at all embarrassing. She hurried to scrawl the rest of her signature. 

Slush sprayed under her boots as she headed back to the dorm. You never expect to know the person under the sheet. But they were back in reality now, and she didn't have to stand back and watch helplessly while people were hurt.

Starting with the ones in front of her.  

"CARE PACKAGE!" Summer shouted, kicking the door open a little harder than intended. It banged into Qrow's desk loud enough to send half the room diving for cover. "Whoops. Sorry."

"It's gigantic," Tai scoffed, believably, jumping up to help her carry it in. "What's in here?" They dumped it at the foot of Summer's bed with a muffled floof. 

...It was bigger than she'd expected. How much did Huang have lying around? It wasn't like anything of Summer's would fit either of the twins. "I guess Mom didn't know which paints to send, so they just sent everything." She slid Gungnir's arrow from the barrel and sliced through the tape. "Aaaaand it's a bunch of your old clothes."

"I asked him to send, like, two things. Half of these don't even fit me anymore… I thought we donated this." He held up an old band T-shirt—most of the lettering had peeled off, but the bone-like patches sewn on to imitate a Beowolf's pattern remained. She was reasonably sure it wasn't Tai's, either, his dad was the one who liked that group. Then again, Summer had mentioned the twins wearing Grimm colors on a phone call sometime in September. I guess they remembered.

"Cool." 

They both glanced at Raven, who hurriedly looked back at her textbook.

"Then it's yours," Tai said, tossing it right over the pages. "Take whatever you want, the rest is going to Ramparts. Here they are!" he shouted, pulling some of his orange zip-off cargo pants from the bottom of the pile. "I knew I had another pair! ...What's this?" he muttered with genuine confusion, drawing a note out of the pocket.

Summer grabbed a loose corner and dragged it open. "Hey kids, we've been too busy to get into Vale, could you drop this stuff off next time you're in town, Claret and Huang."

"That explains why they have some stuff in here too," Tai said, pulling a deep red skirt from the box with his free hand. Summer fought back a smile. It was perfect—her mother was about Raven's size, and while her red had a bit more of a purplish hue it was definitely closer than Tai's orange. Huang had thrown in some plain brown pants for Qrow, too, by the looks of it—

"My paints!" she gushed, pulling a large plastic toolbox from the giant wad of clothing. Another lay beneath it. "And all the figures…" You didn't need to sell it that hard.

"Sorry. Guess Dad figured Uncle Balt was dropping it off for free and just sent half the cabin." Tai grinned. "But hey, maybe we can scrape together a group to play a little Grottoes and Grimm."

"Dan won't want to, though," she said, turning her old Huntress over in her hands. It didn't look like any paint had chipped during transit. Then again… some of these were early attempts and an excuse to redo them wouldn't really hurt.

"He can deal with it for a Saturday or two," Tai said dismissively.

"Can I see them?" Qrow asked. "…The figures?"

"Of course!" Summer said, turning the toolbox to face him as he limped over. 

It had been a whole day and his aura was barely recharging, but he refused to go to the doctor. If it kept up any longer they'd probably have to drag him—if something had torn in his knee it could keep siphoning his energy forever until he got medical attention.

"Your leg doing any better?" Tai asked.

"A little." 

And all of that was ignoring the gashes on his face and neck. If he could really keep his defenses up in his sleep, it would take more than a distracted tumble down the stairs to injure him.

What they couldn't figure out was why he would lie. 

Summer inspected a little plastic Ursa, wrinkling her nose. "These don't look as good as I remember."

"They look great." Qrow picked through the box carefully, one at a time. "Well, the paint looks amazing," he amended.

"Yours are way better than the plastic," she said, setting the Ursa back down. "...You're sure you want me to paint them?"

"It'd take me forever to learn to do this," he said, holding up a little Huntress with a battleaxe. "Go for it."

Tai scratched his neck with a thoughtful frown at the floor. "Have you told Professor Carmine you can carve?" 

"No. …Why?"

"Custom parts for weapons. Embellishments, mostly. There was always a two-week wait at Signal for anything they didn't already have the molds for. With all the professional Huntsmen that come here for repairs, I bet it's even worse."

"Hey, yeah, I never thought of that," Summer said, pausing her rifling through the paints. "Wouldn't that be cool? Your stuff being part of real Huntresses' weapons!"

"Summer, we're not fake Huntsmen," Tai complained.

"You know what I mean!" She grabbed a scratch sheet of paper from her desk and dipped her smallest brush into the red paint, tracing a few practice swirls. Once she put brush to bone it wasn't likely she'd be able to erase any mistakes. When the motions finally felt automatic, she picked up the Beowolf and traced the little lines on its mask.

He peered at it, smiling. "I love it."

"Those are way better than the plastic models," Tai agreed.

"Hey, when you paint the Grimm Reaper, can you use a little of the silver just on the edge of the blade?" Qrow asked, pointing out the little tube of metallic paint sitting on the toolbox's tray.

"Ooh, and leave some of the bone showing?" Summer asked. "That's a great idea!" She beamed at him. Behind him, his sister threaded a needle. "Oh, Raven, if you're going to tailor that shirt you'll need some stay tape. I think it's knit. Here, use some of mine."

"Oh, thanks." 

Much better, Summer thought, tracing the next set of red lines onto her practice sheet for the nevermore. Raven quickly got engrossed in her project, and a slightly confused Qrow listened to Tai's enthusiastic retelling of their last G&G campaign while he picked through the box of clothes. 

Finally, the cloud of the last few days began to lift.

Next Chapter: Taiyang—Scars

[On one hand, I don't have any ideas for a Grimm and Grottoes campaign with these four. On the other hand, Qrow's Semblance screwing with the players and the GM equally would be hilarious. "Miss." "Miss." "Miss." "Miss." "Miss." "...Nat one." "You take… fifty-six points of damage." "Guys, I don't think this is working."]

[star-anise]

i was hoping my last ask would get me a free rant without having to make a dreaded choice uhhhhhhh do maybe washcloths or fake smile?

Hahaha no you have to specify what white person thing you want a rant about, or else I’m paralyzed by too many choices. And nb. by “white” I generally mean white Anglo-Saxon Protestant; WASPs have traditionally been held up as the cultural standard everyone else n North America or other British colonies should follow, and the “whiteness” of different European ethnicities in those colonies is generally judged by how assimilated they are to the WASP ideal. So my observations will not apply very well to, for example, other European ethnicities, or people from areas colonized by those other European groups.

WASHCLOTHS. Related to another trap, Guest Towels Guests Must Never Use. Which are usually distinguished by their elaborateness and a thin layer of dust. As a certified White Person (Anglo Canadian) I can say: This is a real actual literal thing my family does. If I stay at an aunt’s house, I don’t use her guest towels; I walk past the guest towels on the towel rack and ask my hostess, “What towel do you want me to use?” and she fetches me a new, less nice, towel out of the linen closet. 

The actual washcloth meant to be used is hung somewhere separate. When I was about 13, I rebelled against sharing a washcloth with my brothers, bought my own washcloth from a department store, embroidered my name on it, and zealously defended it against all comers. These days, my older brother has four children. When we go to his house to eat dinner, his children all wash their hands before they eat… and then wipe them dry on a single towel hung in the downstairs bathroom, which his guests also use. So we all wash our hands and then share germs. I… think? There might be a bar on the opposite wall with guest towels hanging on it?  But my eyes have been trained to skate right over guest towels. They’re decor, not things we actually use.

Why White People Do This:

1. Washing and cleanliness… have not traditionally held a central place in European life the way, say, wudu does in Islam. Although priests ritually wash their hands before performing the consecration of Mass, nobody else in the congregation has to. This is partly because in Christian Scripture, Jesus says that if something is ritually pure but spiritually suspect, it should be treated as impure, which Christians kind of took to mean “ritual purity and cleanliness rituals are things non-Christians do.” 

So in the 19th century, a German doctor discovered that you could reduce the rate of infection dramatically when doctors washed their hands and instruments between dissecting dead bodies and attending in childbirth. Doctors were OFFENDED and APPALLED by this–partly because the guy pointing it out was an asshole, yes, but partly because there was a feeling that “a gentleman’s hands are always clean”, so it was offensive to say their hands were dirty because it impugned their class and education.

Cleanliness is hugely related to class and status–I could go on a LOT more here about how in the 19th century, British and American attempts to “educate” and “civilize” poor white people and people of colour included imposing standards of hygiene on them that felt cruel and punitive–scrubbing skin raw, using caustic soap, delousing with kerosene–partly because white people didn’t have a very advanced idea of what chemicals made good cosmetics, and there wasn’t much awareness of the need for oils or moisturizers. (For a long time very few sources of natural oil, like canola, olives, or sunflowers, or even petroleum products, were available in Britain, so until somewhat recently they only really had pine tar and animal fat, which they used for everything from making soap to lighting lamps to greasing cart axels.) And the 19th century cleanliness movement did not have a good opinion of traditional bathing methods like the sauna, banya, or steam room, where sweat was scraped off the skin. So people who HAD hygiene rituals that worked for them, when they emigrated to western Europe or North America, got shamed and discouraged from using them. It was just expected that part of “civilizing” a child who hadn’t been “well brought up” was forcefully ducking them in a bath and scrubbing them while they screamed and fought you.

So for white people from everything but the highest classes, if you go a few generations back, there’s this feeling that cleanliness is something unnatural and unpleasant, something imposed by a punitive authoritarian force, and not something intrinsically desirable. Old men used to talk about “taking a bath once a year, whether I need it or not,” and fear of losing their “protective coating of dirt.” Which makes sense when you realize how awful old cosmetics used to feel.

I mean, as I type this, I’m applying Vaseline to the hangnails on my fingers, because when I use soap in the bath or do the dishes or wash my hands after going to the bathroom, the soap strips oil from my skin and dries it out, leading it to crack and bleed. This is a really common problem but the current solution seems to be “women carry tiny bottles of moisturizer everywhere in their purses, and men… suffer if they want to seem manly, and then post memes to facebook about how rough and terrible their hands look to emphasize their heterosexual masculinity.”

This also relates to why white people say racist things about people of colour being “dirty” when they use natural methods of keeping their hair or skin clean. The white conception of cleanliness is honestly really fucked up.

2. Cloth holds an especially weird place in white society. I mean, lots of cultures everywhere like their cloth to look nice! But in Europe and American colonies in the 1600s there was an extra special movement to restrict women economically and bar them from business and public life–so while a rich woman could run a business outside the home and buy and sell in 1400, that freedom was disappearing in 1600. Only women of the ~lower classes~ did real actual work. And the religious sentiment at the time really emphasized Purity, Hard Work, Productiveness, and No Fun. So women were supposed to stay inside all the time and not participate in industry! But they were always supposed to be busy. The saying was literally “Idle hands are the devil’s tools”. 

That turned embroidery from an aesthetic, decorative art into a moral act. You didn’t embroider to make something pretty; you embroidered for the good of your soul. Fancy embroidered pieces displayed in a home were meant to demonstrate a) that the house was rich enough to have idle women, and b) the moral purity and obedience to gender norms of the women of the house. (This also extends to things like quilts, lace doilies, hooked rugs, etc.)

So towels used to be made of linen, a plain flat cloth, and then embroidered and otherwise embellished. My mom, in the 1960s, learned how to do embroidery where you painstakingly pull a few threads out of a piece of linen, and then embellish the place where the threads have been taken out.

Linen, incidentally, is a strange and amazing fabric. When new, freshly starched and ironed, it is flat and crisp. But pressure and moisture can change it really easily. When I sew with linen, I just have to lick my fingers and fold it over, and it stays like that–something most fabrics don’t do. So if you actually use a linen towel to dry your hands, you will crumple it in a way that is very hard to reverse.

Therefore: Fancy linens were displayed prominently in the home as a status symbol, but a guest who wanted to stay on his hostess’s good side did not use them. There are a lot of ettiquettes around using linens when you absolutely have to, like just gently wiping your fingers on a towel, that diminished the damage the fabric would take.

So, I mean, actually rich people used their good towels, because if they ruin them, they can just get new ones. Fancy linens were intended for high-class guests who knew how to keep from damaging them. So using someone’s guest towels sent the message, “I am so high-status that I’m WORTH potentially ruining something that took a ton of work to make and maintain.” Or, if you obviously weren’t that high status, “I don’t know about the work that goes into making nice things, or don’t value the work you did and don’t care how much effort you’ll have to go to because I wanted to wipe my face.”

But that was in the days of linen. Guest towels are going out of fashion, partly because modern terrycloth towels are almost impossible to crease or ruin, so it doesn’t really matter if guests use them. But even with terrycloth towels, homeowners sometimes like to create really elaborate towel displays. I don’t know how those people feel when guests use them, but as a white girl I feel really uncomfortable taking a towel display in somebody else’s house apart, and try to wipe my hands while causing the least disturbance possible.

Oh, I guess I should mention that invisible tests no one will ever mention if you fail are absolutely a white person thing. Like, if you watch costumed period drama movies, there’s often a scene where someone is really unbearable and rude, and everyone is super polite and awkward and just sits there and says nothing. That’s not consciously an exclusive practice; from the perspective of white people it’s just an ingrained reflex, “Freeze and smile when something awkward happens and then later cut them out of your life.” 

That reflex comes because the Industrial Revolution and colonization (1600s-1800s) led to a lot of class mobility. Ordinary men could get involved in business and become wealthier than the hereditary landowners! Which the hereditary landowners felt super threatened by, so they went out of their way to cultivate manners and standards that were very unlike those used by the common people. Upperclass accents became more marked and exaggerated; dictionaries decided to make English spelling and grammar especially hard to learn; manners got super weird and unintuitive. They wanted to make it as hard as possible for common people to fit into high society.

Therefore, to enable that system, the rule became: Never tell someone when they’re fucking up. If they know what they’re doing wrong, they’ll FIX it, and then they’ll fit in better! And that would lead to the absolute downfall of Western civilization! Which would of course be a bad thing! And that got codified as The Right And Desirable Way To Do Things. A low-class person might say “Hey, you just insulted me, I’m upset,” but someone with aspirations of rising higher in life learned to freeze and say nothing. That was how you defined “polite”.

So like I said, if I, as a white person, point out to other liberal white people that the freeze-and-smile-awkwardly response is really exclusionary to people from different backgrounds, they go, “Oh my gosh, you’re right!” and we can talk about changing it. It’s why white people invented assertiveness training. It’s a thing white people have to unpack and decolonize. But it’s not commonly a conscious attempt to exclude someone by not letting them know they’re breaking the rules.

ANYWAY. Towels.

So IF someone has guest towels taking up their towel rack in their bathroom, there’s very little room left for the actual towels. (Unless they’re like my aunt, whose bathroom literally has a second towel rack to accommodate her guest towel arrangement) Therefore: The entire fucking family sharing a single washcloth because that’s all they have room for, and it doesn’t feel that important not to share.

WHITE CULTURE IS WEIRD AS HELL.

And if you come to my house? You’re allowed to use my guest towels. It’s what they’re there for.

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Heart of Thunder - Chapter 3

A new chapter is here! Link to AO3 like always.

Cor felt strangely adrift as the door closed behind him with a silent click that echoed in his head like a drum beat. He walked through the barracks, his long legs eating the distance with the grace of a stalking carnivore. He had not come far when he heard passionate voices locked in a lively discussion. On silent feet he doubled back down the way he came from, not certain he could stomach more strange cultural practices at the moment, and made a beeline for the exit.

The air outside was dry and warm, if slightly cool with the first hint of autumn. Shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight, Cor put a tight lid on the tiny voice screaming in his mind in panic and continued on his way towards the private meeting rooms situated on the lower levels of the citadel.

People kept well out of his way when they saw the dark frown clouding his face. One poor secretary even flattened herself against the wall, clutching the folder within her hands like a lifeline. Normally Cor tried to keep such reactions down to a minimum, but today he just couldn't bring himself to care.

The doors of the lift opened with barely the whisper of a sound and let Cor step out into the corridor. A thick, black carpet lay in the middle of the dark stone floor, dampening is steps. Tasteful flower arrangements in delicate vases situated upon gilded tables barely big enough to hold them, were the only splashes of colour to be seen. His destination wasn't far now. A dark wooden door like every other one in the vicinity. He stepped inside without knocking, surprising the occupants into silence.

There were Lord Sagitta, Minister of Outside Affairs – which he took to mean outside Insomnia and not outside Lucis – and Lords Caulis and Hypocris, Minister of Energy and Environment and President of the Hunters and Wildlife Protection Association, respectively. He could guess what this 'important meeting' was about.

“My Lords,” he said in way of a greeting, accompanied with a shallow bow, and closed the door behind him.

“Marshall Leonis, greetings,” said Lord Sagitta, his watery eyes blinking nervously. “I have to apologize for the lack of refreshments. We didn't expect you quite this soon. Please, take a seat.”

The table dominating the room was indeed empty of the usual carafes of water and traditional watered down wine. None of the three Lords bothered to stand up as propriety would have demanded of them.

Cor may not be flaunting it like some idiots, but 'Marshall' wasn't the only official title he carried. His second one, Paladin of the Crystal, granted him the title of a minor Lord by default, and as such propriety had to be observed. The three Lords in front of him knew that and chose to ignore it. A power move that bounced off of him without effect.

“I prefer to stand, my Lords,” replied Cor in a flat voice and settled into parade rest at the end of the table.

The three Lords shared what they probably thought were inconspicuous glances beneath his flat stare as he waited for them to start this farce of a meeting. Regis probably didn't know about it, either.

“We know you are a busy man, Marshall, so we will try to make this quick,” said Lord Hypocris with a fake, placid smile.

The rake thin man was of lower rank than the other two, but quite clearly the one behind this meeting, if Cor was reading the atmosphere right. And he was seldom wrong on these things these days. With a slow and carefully calculated deliberateness the Lord leafed through a crisp stack of papers in front of him, the other two, sitting next to him, tried to look dignified and important. To Cor they all just looked like greedy toads, which was an insult to every toad in existence.

“Early this morning you returned from you patrol outside Insomnia with a group of poachers you apprehended and their... loot, shall we say. What can you tell us about them?”

Lord Hypocris looked at him with an expression so earnest and serious it couldn't be anything other than fake. Cor had known the noble for long enough to note that he tended to over-emote, when he either wanted something he thought valuable, or feared to lose a lot of money. Seeing who was in his company, it was probably a bit of both this time.

“A group of five, two female, three male; the youngest barely of legal age. I saved them from a pack of wild animals before I knew what they were. They were on their way to Lestallum to sell pelts and other parts of endangered animals. Four were injured during the attack, one life threatening, the other three only had a few scrapes and bruises. I screened their... wares and brought them back to Insomnia for medical attention and their punishment. If you read my preliminary report, you already know this.”

“Do I understand this correctly: You screened their stowage before you got the injured party medical attention?” asked Lord Hypocris, folding his thin fingers over the papers.

“Yes,” Cor answered plainly.

Lord Caulis wrinkled his nose in indignation. “We expected better, Marshall. How will this poor man be able to face his trail, if he is half dead?”

“As far as I'm aware, the poaching of animals is still fined with the loss of a hand, no exceptions.”

“That sentence hasn't been carried out in a century!” bristled Lord Sagitta. “We are no barbarians, like other elements within this city. And even then, this sentence only comes into effect when the animals in question are protected by the crown.”

“Ah, but three of the pelts were that of silver spotted coeurls,” Cor said and watched in satisfaction as all three Lords paled.

“That cannot be true,” stuttered Lord Hypocris.

His hands frantically leafed through his papers until he found a list. Brown eyes devoured it rapidly until they stilled. He grew, if possible, even paler and without a word slid the list over to his companions who were anxiously staring at him. Cor's lips twitched in satisfaction when he heard Lord Caulis' strangled gasp.

Clearly trying to gather his bearings, Lord Hypocris cleared his throat. “Then we need to decide what to do with the pelts.”

There was a greedy glint in all three men's eyes, Cor didn't like at all. A silent suspicion started to needle his mind, and it didn't paint a pretty picture.

“I have claimed all pelts and other parts belonging to coeurls as my battle-spoils. The paperwork for that has already been filed and approved of,” he said, silently daring them to object with his gaze.

The claiming of battle-spoils was an ancient practice that had survived until modern day, despite it now being highly regulated. It could only be done during active war, the claim must be uncontended by other participants of the battle and only members of nobility could claim battle-spoils in the first place. This was one of the very few times he was actually glad for the title Regis had practically shoved at him the moment her had been sitting on the throne. Not that he would ever tell him that.

Lord Sagitta's face grew a splotchy red in anger. He opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly malapropos, but stopped himself at the warning glare of Lord Hypocris.

“If there is nothing else, my Lords, I need to return to my duties,” said Cor blandly.

“Of course, of course,” nodded Lord Caulis, obviously eager to see the Marshall gone. “Do not let us keep you. Thank you for answering our questions, Marshall.”

“I am always happy to do so,” Cor said as he bowed.

Everybody in the room knew that that was an obvious lie. No one said anything as the Marshall straightened again and left the room.

On the outside Cor was perfectly expressionless. On the inside however, he was seething. Who did those three bloated heads of impudence and self-importance think they were? He forced himself to take a calming breath and gritted his teeth as he entered the lift. He could think about the implications of those three being interested in exotic and rare furs later. Training was a very enticing thought right about now. The steady flow of the kata always helped him to clear his mind. And that was exactly what he needed.

His steps echoed in the mostly deserted hallways and he couldn't help the quiet sigh escaping him as the heavy door of the private training salle closed behind him. Right about now a red light would start glowing over the door to warn others away.

He moved through his warm ups diligently, but with purpose. Time. He needed time to process what had happened today.

A crystalline tinkle sounded as his blade appeared in his outstretched hands in a shower of blue sparks of magic. The action as comforting as it was helping him to ground himself in the moment. Cor took a centring breath and the next moment he was moving.

He had never intended to marry. Not necessarily because he had no desire to, but because he knew he was a difficult person to live with. No matter what Regis and Clarus said, he was self-aware enough to know that. But now...

Ulric's – Nyx' – gaze when he had taken the pelt, and later when they had talked, had stirred something in him. Something Cor couldn't name and didn't know what to do with. Infatuation perhaps? No that wasn't it.

His sword cut the air with the lethal whispers of a song as he performed a horizontal cut and transitioned seamlessly into a block.

Either way, no matter his feelings, he was engaged now to a man he could respect for his unquestioning loyalty and skill in a fight. He would pull the other man's files to learn more, but he knew that he had never left a comrade behind on the battlefield, alive or dead, if he could help it. An admirable trait, if foolish at times.

Cor had still no real idea what he had done to catch Nyx' eyes – it couldn't just be the pelt, right? A tiny part of himself couldn't help but be excited about it. For a long time he had tried to bridge the gap between the Galahdians – Galahkari, he needed to remember that – and the Lucians without much to show for it. But now he had an in to learn what they had been seemingly doing wrong for years on end. An anticipatory grin stretched over his face.

He would do this.

He would do this right and maybe get to hunt down some corrupt nobles in the meantime.

[nureyevv]

Thirty Seconds

There were many not great things that happened in the first thirty seconds Juno Steel spent back on Mars after trying to leave Hyperion’s worries behind him. The worst thing, though, was that in the time before those thirty seconds, things were good. Peter and him had finally worked things out, finally gotten to a place of stability in their relationship. Were things perfect? Of course not. But each night Juno fell asleep next to the same warm body and woke to the same loving smile he thought that, maybe, he might actually have a forever to look forward too. It was a sentiment he’d lost a long time ago, and wasn’t unhappy to be finding his way back to.

And then thirty seconds hit. Two steps off the ship and the crew was surrounded by the Hyperion City Police Department, blazers angled toward them and ready to fire. They’d dealt with cops before. Juno May have been new to the life of crime but Jet, Vespa, Buddy, and Nureyev all had the mind to get out of scrapes just like this one. By all accounts things should have been fine, and they almost were, until someone spoke. 

“Juno?” asked a familiar voice from within the chaos. Had it been anyone else he probably wouldn’t have even noticed. He would have stayed where he was, standing next to Nureyev and waiting for his signal to make their move. This wasn’t anyone though, in their voice he could still imagine his old wedding dress, packed away and out of sight but never truly gone. He’d never been able to bring himself to sell it. After all, he’d never gotten the chance to use it for its intended purpose. Or, at least, he liked to think that he hadn’t. It was a bit of a downer to think he spent all that money for the gown he was going to wear as he sat alone on the altar steps. 

“Di—“ he said, forgetting himself and spinning around to face the voice. Peter stiffened at his side, eyes ever focused on the guns aimed at them. His eyes flashed with fear as he moved to grab Juno’s arm, but it was too late. At his right Rita yelled a warning. He couldn’t hear exactly what she’d said, because by then his sudden movement had been enough to startle a shot out of some amateur cop’s pistol. 

It hit Juno square in the back and he crumpled at the impact. He’d had enough experience being shot that he was able to put together that the bullet had been set to stun in the split second before the world went dark. Really, though, that knowledge didn’t bring him much comfort, because it was right then that he found the face among the crowd: Diamond, beautiful as the day they left him on their wedding day. 

Nureyev was next to lose his composure, or maybe it was Rita. It was hard to tell for sure as he slipped out of consciousness, but they both rushed for him as he fell. Peter seethed like he was only barely restraining himself from not taking each and every one of them out then and there. He was pretty sure Rita yelled something along the lines of, “oh you’re gonna regret hurting the boss— now you’ve got another thing comin, and her names RITA!” 

And then he was out cold, long before he ever got the chance to see if the two of them really did end up charging a squadron of officers. He didn’t know if he dreamed, but he was sure even his worst nightmare would be nothing compared to the lecture Buddy would give him when he came to. 

—

After that thrilling assortment of particularly unlucky moments, Juno had trouble deciding whether his fortune had really changed when he came to.

Pros and cons: pro, he knew where he was. Con, “where he was” was a Hyperion City holding cell. Pro, he wasn’t alone. Nureyev was to his side, looking tired and a bit less pristine as usual, but alive all the same. Con, Juno had some explaining to do. 

He was working on being more open— he owed Peter that after everything they’d been through, after the pain he’d caused. Juno had shared parts of himself he thought he’d never say aloud, and it was terrifying, but it was also really really nice. It made him feel like he might actually have a chance of moving on. That, one day, he might have a future with this man. 

Diamond hadn’t even crossed his mind as something to bring up, though. Nureyev knew the basics: he’d been a detective for the HCPD once upon a time, but the corruption had nearly driven him insane. It’d started with late nights at the office, hoping that if he worked hard enough, he might be able to be able to balance out the immoral aspects of the law department with his own dedication. When that wasn’t enough, he started looking into closed cases for signs of malconduct. He’d received a few nasty blows from that stunt. Bad cops didn’t take a liking to him digging around in their business. He’d gotten solid evidence, though, and that made it worth it. When he gave that to the captain it’d be over—they couldn’t dispute hard facts. One by one he’d clear the precinct of criminals wearing badges. 

Or, at least, that’s what he thought would happen. He’d been so naive back then. 

Across from him, Nureyev stirred, having noticed Juno was awake. His back still ached, so he hadn’t attempted standing, yet. He was sure that Peter noticed this, always observing, and as such had decided to meet Juno where he sat on the cell’s bench. He felt a slender hand caressed his cheek. Juno leaned into the comfort. Dark eyes studied him, and Juno could practically see the question on his face.Nureyev being Nureyev, though, he didn’t pry. Gently, he pulled Juno towards his chest and wrapped him in a warm embrace. 

“Are you alright, Juno?” He asked, that familiar vulnerability in his voice that made Juno’s heart jump from his chest. It made him think of how this man holding him, a master of hiding the truth of himself, could so easily trust him everything.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he murmured into Nureyev’s collar. He soaked in that scent he’d been unable to name all that time ago and had finally come to mean “home.” 

“Don’t concern yourself with me-- I’m fine. The question is, are you?”

Was he fine? Juno supposed the short answer was yes, he was still in one piece. Yes, he would live. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to say the words, not when there was so much else that needed to be said. He needed to tell Peter. He hated this feeling that he was keeping something from the man who could be arrested and still only worry about him, if he was hurt, if he needed help. 

He thought back to what came after he’d handed in his reports on corrupt officers, trying to recall the important details. “I need to tell you something,” he stammered, pulling away from Nureyev’s embrace to look him in the eye. 

“Juno…” Peter began, but he didn’t let him finish. 

“No-- I want to tell you. Please.”

Nureyev still looked hesitant for a moment, almost guiltily, as if he’d forced this out of Juno rather than it being his own choice. It was almost funny-- as if Peter could make Juno feel uncomfortable, even if he wanted to. The thief didn’t have that sort of unkindness in him. A moment later, Nureyev’s face relaxed, and he nodded. 

So, Juno said what he needed to say.

A few weeks after he turned in his paperwork on what was happening in the office, the reports went missing. He brought it up with anyone who’d listen, but nothing changed. If he was being honest, he sort of started obsessing over it. Rita didn’t bring it up, but she’d been there through all of it and she’d seen just how bad he’d gotten. It was a wonder she hadn’t quit on him, but she wasn’t the only one he’d been close to in those days, and many others weren’t so patient. Diamond, his partner, had a front row seat to the shit show. 

For all the bitterness Juno held for them now, he had to admit they had never been a dirty cop. It was why they had worked so well together, both at the precinct and in… well, everything else. By day they did what they thought was right; they kept the city safe. But for Diamond, being a police officer was just a job, a job they enjoyed, yes, but a job all the same. For Juno, on the other hand, his badge controlled his entire life. He didn’t know any other way. 

They’d been happy, though, when they were together. Diamond would cook, Juno would burn toast, and then when they got to the office they’d spend the day side by side, trying to make the world a better place. Sure, they weren’t always happy. Juno wasn’t even comfortable, some days, when he’d find himself caught up on something that had happened at work and Diamond would scowl at him for being such a downer. He still remembered the look on their face at dinner one evening when he’d mentioned something about a case that was still bothering him. 

“It’s solved. We caught them.”

Juno’s brows had knotted together. “I know, but Di, the witness said the perp used a wrench, not a blaster--”

“Juno,” they’d snapped, and he lost track of whatever it was he was planning to say next. “Drop it.”

So he had. At least, until he was sure Diamond was asleep and he could look through the evidence on his comms without waking them. No relationship was perfect, though. No one had a partner who listened one hundred percent of the time. No one had a partner who was happy to lend an ear to their loved one’s every anxiety. And really, if a person like that did exist, what had Juno done to deserve them? 

So they’d gone through the motions. They dated, they moved in together, they got engaged, and they set a date. 

Despite it all, Juno really had loved them. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t alone, and that had to count for something. 

As their wedding approached Juno became more and more absorbed in his work. A good fiance would have noticed that they were growing apart, but he was so convinced he could change things that it flew right over his head. He didn’t eat, he didn’t sleep. He just worked, all the time, nonstop. He’d insisted they couldn’t ignore him forever, they’d either have to kill him or listen to him, but either way they’d have to do something. And, to their credit, they did do something, it just wasn’t what he’d expected. 

They fired him.

Looking back, that must have been the last straw for Diamond. Sure, they’d been reluctant to end it, but it wasn’t like they didn’t know Juno was a mess when he walked down the aisle. It was a small service, most of the guests attendees were people Diamond knew, and Juno had always got the sense that their side of the guest list wasn’t his biggest fan. And yet, with all the warning signs right in front of him, the great detective Juno Steel didn’t suspect a damn thing until Diamond hesitated half way through their vows. 

Time stood still for a moment before it shattered.

“Juno. Look, I’m sorry, but I just… I can’t do this. I can’t be afraid that one day you’ll have a melt down and leave me alone.

”When Juno didn’t reply, they rambled onward. “I need stability, someone who will be present, like, actually present. I-- I’m so sorry, really, I am. But I can’t.” 

He was sure a lot happened in the time after Diamond left him there, alone in his ridiculous white dress, but honestly all he remembered from the aftermath was feeling empty, like the world dropped out from underneath him. And after that, he remembered going home and sleeping on his own. 

Time went on, and he never spoke to his ex fiance again until earlier that day.

Peter listened to him speak, his face like a vault. If he was hurt, it didn’t show. When Juno finally finished, there were a few moments of silence between them, and he felt as if he might suffocate if Nureyev didn’t say something soon. 

And then Nureyev reminded him who he was talking to. 

He leaned in and pressed hip lipstick stained lips to Juno’s with a kiss that felt like dawn of the morning after the end of the world. Peter’s hand on his cheek pulled him closer and, instinctively, Juno reached for his sleeve, afraid he might slip away. It was warm and safe, but most of all it felt like being loved. He could have lived in that kiss. He could have gone through anything as long as he still had Nureyev’s body up against his.

Of course, it had to end, but Juno didn’t feel like it was an ending. Really, it felt more like a promise, like a beginning. When Peter pulled away there was barely an inch of space between them. Juno could feel his breath on his face when he spoke.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” said those loving lips, “but I cannot honestly say I wish it hadn’t happened. I’m just not that selfless. If it had never happened, I wouldn’t have the best thing in my life. You, Juno.” 

There was an intensity in the way he spoke, a fire in his eyes, that made every word ring painfully true. And, of course they did, because this was Peter Nureyev. He was a blessing Juno had no idea how he’d been lucky enough to earn. He was that someone who listened, even after every mistake he’d made, because he loved him and wanted to hear what he had to say. 

All over again, Juno was hit with the knowledge that he would burn oceans to keep Nureyev at his side. It was the least of what his boyfriend deserved. 

Juno smiled, all the tension that had haunted him suddenly gone, and let his head droop onto Peter’s shoulder. “Peter Nureyev, I love you so fucking much,” he mumbled, bordering on incoherent.

Nureyev laughed and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “And I you, my dear detective.” Then, changing the tone back to business: “How about I break us out of here, then? I’m sure Buddy and the rest are long gone by now. Maybe, if I’m lucky, we’ll run into your old friend and I’ll be able to thank them for making what is possibly the stupidest mistake I have ever heard.”

Reluctantly (and not without some somewhat childish whining) Juno allowed Nureyev to pry himself from his arms and get to work. As expected, almost immediately after he was free to examine the lock, he cracked it. Juno heard the distinct pop of the tumblers as Peter opened the cell door. 

“You know,” he said as they made their escape, “I didn’t know you had such an interest in being married. I suppose I’ll have to keep that in mind.” 

“Ha, yea,” Juno murmured.

A split second passed and he continued, flustered: “Wait, what--”

[ofsinnersandsaints]

nothing warmer than ‘i love you’

rating: M word count: 2424 one shot

AO3

Frank tells Karen he loves her for the first time

Karen came out of the shower with her hair still wet, wearing a black shirt which barely hit her mid-thigh.

Frank smiled when he saw it, remembered when she’d first brought it home and she’d been nearly giddy with laughter. She’d been walking home when she’d seen the vendor selling the black shirts with white skulls on them: Punisher merchandise.

Naturally, he couldn’t wear it, but Karen got to wearing it around the house and the first time he’d seen his mark on her chest he’d fucked her on the living room floor until the neighbors complained about the noise. He wasn’t overcome with lust just now, but it always made him smile to see her wear it.

“You’re cooking?”

“I figured it was better than letting you near the stove,” he teased. “For someone who worked at a diner for years, I’d think you’d be better be at it.”

“There was a reason I took orders,” she quipped back, pulling herself up on the counter. “I never forgot a face or an order. Foggy wants to know if you’re coming this weekend.”

Frank paused, knowing Karen had intentionally made the last comment sound casual to avoid pressuring him, but he also knew how much his answer meant to her. “Do I have to go?”

Her expression didn’t change at all but he thought he saw her eyes dim a little as she picked up one the peppers intended for the stir fry. “Of course not, I just… He’s trying, Frank, and that means a lot to me.”

Foggy was getting married and his engagement party was going to be a bash held at Josie’s-which proved just how much his fiancée love him. Karen was the best man and Foggy had told her she was more than welcome to bring her boyfriend.

When Karen had asked if he wanted to come Frank had been evasive; Foggy was hardly Frank’s biggest fan, even if he’d often been Frank’s biggest advocates. Franklin Nelson might have kicked ass as his attorney, but Frank knew the lawyer had to be dragged to the case kicking and screaming.

But that had been his reputation on the line, and now it was his friendship with Karen, which Frank knew was probably more important to Foggy than his job.

And Karen was more important to him than anything. He couldn’t very well tell her no, could he? “I’ll come.”

Her smile was bright and warm as she leaned forward to kiss him. “Thank you.”

He’d do just about anything to keep that smile on her face. “Is he going to remember to call me Pete?”

“Absolutely not,” Karen laughed, taking two more peppers and eating them like popcorn. “He’ll probably introduce you as ‘Karen’s guy’ to everyone he meets to avoid saying the wrong name.”

Frank laughed, “I’ve been called worse.”

“Cute.”

He took the pepper out of her hand, the fourth one she was trying to eat from the cutting board. “If you eat all the veggies there’s not going to be any left for dinner. Are going to head back to work tonight?”

Going back to the office after six pm wasn’t anything new because she tended to work herself to exhaustion and he didn’t try to stop her, she was a big kid and could make her own decisions, he just made sure she was fed and slept at least six hours.

Which was why he was cooking veggies and meat and not ordering take out for the third time this week.

“No, Ellison said if I came back to the office this weekend he’d fire me.” She leaned forward to try and steal a piece of steak but he swatted her hand away. “God, this smells good.”

“I thought he threatened to fire you yesterday.”

“He threatens to fire me everyday,” she clarified. “Some days he means it and some days he doesn’t. I think this time he might have meant it so I’m yours for the rest of the weekend.”

Frank glanced at the clock above the stove. “All six hours of it?”

She smiled and shrugged. “Have you gotten any more information from Dinah about the trip?”

Dinah had done some masterwork of bureaucratic nonsense and gotten him a kind of freelance job with Homeland. On occasion she would call him up for help; Frank told Karen it was basically SWAT work, and it mostly the truth. Since the foundation of their relationship was built on the fact that he always told her the truth, he didn’t lie to her about what he was doing, but he did downplay the danger involved.

And he was pretty sure she knew that. “We leave on Tuesday morning, should be back within 24 hours.”

“You’ll call me?”

Frank stood in front of her, keeping his gaze level on hers so she would see he was being honest. “As often as possible.”

“Is it weird that I hate you being in danger far away more than when you’re close by?”

He hated it too, and the more time he spent with Karen at his side, the less he liked leaving it. Hell, it had been almost a month since he’d gotten himself in any kind of serious scrape. “Maybe it’s because I’m too far away to yell at.”

She loosely wrapped her arms around his neck, “It is more fun scolding you to your face.”

Frank leaned forward and kissed her, nothing rush or hurried, because they had all the time in the world. He enjoyed these quiet moments when the rest of the world was held at bay, and even the violence which had brought them together couldn’t touch them. “You remember Schoonover?”

Karen snorted, “I think I remember him, yeah. Why?”

“Well, I think we can both agree he’s an asshole.”

“Was an asshole,” she reminded him with a sharp look which was a fraction of the anger she’d had that night in the woods. “What about him?”

“He may have been a terrible person, but he did say something to me that stuck back in the day. That our job was stressful, and heavy, and that everyone needed a chair.”

“A chair?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

Frank nodded, “A place to sit down, to set down your worries and destress from the job. For some people it’s scotch, or a book, or the boxing ring. You know what I figured out when you came in here just now?”

“That I need matching Punisher sweats to go with my shirt?”

“No,” he answered, wondering at the calmness in his chest. Awed by it. “I figured out you’re my chair.”

Her smile was small, but warm and soft so it filled him from the inside out. “That might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Give me a second, and I’ll do you one better,” he promised. “I’m in love with you, Karen Page. And I figured I should tell you at some point because it doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere anytime soon.”

Karen’s eyes went wide, her mouth falling open just a little at the confession and then her lips curved into the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She reached out and ran a thumb over his cheek, “I love you, too.”

Overwhelmed because he didn’t think he’d ever get a chance to have this again Frank kissed her, this time with more than just the moment in mind. He buried his hands in her hair, enjoyed the feeling of the damp silk threading through his fingers.

She kissed him back with a littler more desperation, a little more want, and clutched at his shoulders. “Take me to bed, Frank.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice, he tugged on her ankle and getting the hint, she hooked her legs around his waist and he carried her from the kitchen to the bedroom, to the place they’d slept and loved each other every night for the past few months.

Technically he still kept a place in another part of the Kitchen but it was more safe house than anything else at this point.

This was home.

With her.

He laid her down on the comforter and kept on kissing her because he had hours until either of them needed to be anywhere. She reached up and tugged off his shirt, her fingers tracing old scars and new tattoos. Frank had always felt like a brute, but she always managed to make him feel like something else, something he didn’t have a word for.

Maybe it was loved.

He reluctantly stripped of her shirt, and happily tossed her underwear to the side so he access to all the smooth skin beneath. When he kicked off his sweats settled on top on her, the feel of her skin against his was a familiar feeling but it still got him going every damn time.

He wanted to remember everything about this moment, how nothing was rushed or frantic between them. This was not the time for rough hands or dirty talk, instead it was all soft touches and easy sighs as they loved each other.

He kissed her on the mouth, the cheek, the lovely length of her neck and down her body to crest her over that first climax with lips and tongue. She said his name a benediction, her fists clenched in the pretty pastel comforter that always slid around on the bed while they slept.

Frank felt her peak and sigh, her body going liquid beneath his hands.

When one of their phones rang they both ignored the sound, preferring instead to stay wrapped in each other.

She guided him with soft sounds and sharp breaths and he followed the road map she created for him, enjoying every inch of the journey. When he was done tasting the heat of her he rose up above her, looking down at her. Her hair was going to dry in a mess and she was going to complain about it later, but loved how she looked just now in that moment.

“Say it again,” Frank asked as he settled between her thighs.

“I love you,” she whispered, her hands touching every inch of him she could reach. “I love you.”

“I never thought I’d get so lucky,” he confessed as worked through them both up towards a quiet and easy pleasure with hands and teeth and pressure.

“It’s not luck,” Karen assured him as she ran her hand down the back of his neck, pressing her lips to his jaw and throat. “We deserve this, Frank. We earned it.”

And he couldn’t argue with that.

They’d fought to be where they were; they’d both clawed their way out of darkness and despair, fighting against guilt and depression.

Falling in love hadn’t been luck, and it certainly hadn’t been easy.

In fact, Frank thought as Karen slid over that second climax, falling in love had been the hardest thing for either of them to do.

She dug her heels into the mattress as she arched against him, fingers digging into the muscles of his back and he wanted to give her as much as she’d given him. He wanted to kiss her for every scar she’d healed, for every reason he’d had to smile in the past few years.

For the rest of his life he wanted to make sure she was happy, protected, and loved.

Frank didn’t want there every to be a moment where Karen wondered if she was wanted, if she was needed, because she was everything to him.

Wild, reckless, curious, dangerous Karen Page.

His Karen Page.

Just as he was hers.

He could feel his own orgasm building at the base of his spine, could feel his own control slipping and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep himself in check.

“Hold on to me,” he whispered as he wrapped her close.

She did as he asked, wrapping her legs around his body, her arms around his neck, and when he spent himself inside it was a different kind of release than he’d ever experienced before.

Karen was pressing her lips to his as he came too, and spoke to him between kisses. “We forgot to turn the stove off. I think dinner’s ruined.”

“Fuck,” Frank answered, more out of a knee jerk response than any actual anger. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be angry again. “Guess you’re going to have to make dinner tonight.”

She grinned. “Then I’m definitely making Thai food.”

“I’ll get your phone.”

But she didn’t let him go so he could get up, instead she held on tighter. “It can wait, Frank. I want to hold onto this a little bit longer.”

He brushed a hand down her back. “It’s not going anywhere, Karen. I’m not going anywhere. And the smoke detector’s going to start screaming in a second.”

With a reluctant sigh she let him go and he got up to turn off the stove, then picked up their phones to see who had called-her phone didn’t show any missed calls but his did.

“That’s not a good look,” Karen commented as he came into the bedroom. “Who called?”

“Matt.”

Her brows furrowed. After coming back from the dead Matt had been distant at best, and Karen still hadn’t quite forgiven him all the way for lying to her again. And because he was on Karen’s side first and foremost, he hadn’t quite forgiven Red either. “Did he call me or you?”

“Me,” he pulled up the message and read the voicemail Matt had left. “He needs my help.”

“Tonight?”

“Now.”

She took a deep breath and reached for her shirt, pulling it on as she walked towards him. “Okay.”

Frank looked up at her, surprised. “That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say? If Matt called you for help, he needs help.”

“Okay.” He turned and went to the closet, pulling down his gear as Karen texted Matt back saying he was on his way. “I’ll call you as soon as I know more about what’s going on.”

“I love having the exclusive,” she teased as she handed him his phone back and it almost made him smile because they were now both wearing his signature white skull. “Be safe.”

“Of course.” He framed her face and kissed her. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And off to the darkness he went, carrying a piece of the light with him.

Karen loved him.