#yeah their city is having power problems the great fish is either on its last leg or it's being overworked probably the latter

[yesyourstalker]

Neta: ikkan.... You still awake?

Ikkan: mmmmm I am now

Neta: Oh I'm sorry. I'll tell you when we get home

Ikkan: I'm already awake now. You can just tell me...... Is something wrong? You've been fidgety this whole day

Neta: No there's nothing wrong I just I just have stuff in my mind.. is all

Ikkan: mmm............ Come here......

Neta: ok.......*sigh* this is nice.... You should get a chest tattoo. Maybe something that It goes with your scars. Maybe like vines or something plant related. You've been really good with your plants lately it's impressive

Ikkan: That's something to think about. What's on your mind?

Neta: I've been thinking do we get married after you graduate and we move or do we get married before so we don't have to plan anything and just settle down and adjust?

Ikkan:................................................................. um I don't know. I didn't really think about that........ I didn't really think about marriage. Haven't thought about that since we .........hm... Did my mom say something to you?

Neta: yeah she did.......I do want to get married. Do sill you want to get married?

Ikkan:........... Yeah. I do want to be married, but right now I think we should just focus on our lives. You deal with your store and me, with everything going on. I think we can put wedding planning on hold for now but I do. I do think we should renew our engagement.

Neta: that's good. I'd thought you'd say no

Ikkan: why would you think I would say no?

Neta: I don't know. I just get into my own head sometimes. I remembered moments when I was a lot to deal with. I don't think you'd want to deal with that the rest of your life.....not with me

Ikkan: That's not true. I would gladly live with you, be with you and love you through every moment of your life. Including the bad moments.... [Kiss].... Besides, I have bad moments too and you deal with me...... Remember when I couldn't find my guitar pick and just completely melted down... and I didn't speak for two days.......you stayed, most people wouldn't stay when I'm like that.... A lot people didn't

Neta: that's different.... Those are one time things and it could be preventable most of the time..... You just had a bad day.... When I have a bad day that extends to a week and then a month and so on............ That doesn't sound like a good life to share with someone. It doesn't seem like it's worth it. {Taka: it's not worth it... You're not worth it}

Ikkan: It is... It is worth it. You're kind, you're generous, you're attentive, you're nurturing, funny, smart........ You have pretty eyes.....[kiss]..... It's a good life...... You're giving me the best life Neta and I'm happy that I'm living this life with you.... You've change so much.

Neta: yeah like physically... Mostly just looks

Ikkan: no.... well yes,... But your physical changes also came along with a lot of other changes......More mature in a way. More vulnerable and affectionate. You're more calm, less angry when frustrated. Not on edge like you used to.....*sigh*....You let your guard down a little that a good thing..... You weren't like that when we met.... Or when we were first engaged..... I think at that time it wasn't the right time. I don't think you were ready. Honestly neither was I...... I think this time.... This time right now I think we're both ready for this kind of commitment

Neta: so It's a yes... Ikkan... Will you marry me?

Ikkan: hehehehe.. yes... I will marry you.... hehehe

Neta: yesss.... [Kiss] [kiss]... We're back...... [Kisskissksskiss]

Ikkan: Neta! Heheheheh stop! Hehehe

Neta: hehehe.....*sigh*...... Maybe I should have waited...

Ikkan: why?

Neta: I have this whole thing planned.... Where I was going to give you back your bass and tell you that I didn't want it anymore and you were going to ask why and I was going to explain that I didn't need it anymore because I played it when you were away.... and when I started to miss you but now that you're back in my life and it was this whole thing-

Ikkan: why don't we just forget that we had this conversation.... We go home and you get to do your little planned out proposal... Okay?

Neta: yeah..... That's a good idea....*yawn*..... We need to go to sleep........ Our flight is in the morning.........*snoring*

Ikkan: hehe how do you fall asleep so fast?... [Kiss]...

Next day

Mahi: you think it's weird that we're still at his place?... Maybe we should have went home.

Warabi: why? our whole side of the city including The mall's power is out... The hottest day of the year no less.... I'm telling you that zapfish is on its last leg..... That thing has been powering our city before it even was a city. When my grandfather was my age That's pretty old.

Mahi: yeah.... They live quite a long time and it's only 100 and what 5 years old? I'm pretty sure it can like live for maybe another 100 years

Warabi: their life span is 200 something. That's half of their lifespan gone. They're also powering underground life too. the war is over everyone has free power source. It's not just surface dwellers anymore.....

Mahi: They're going to have to get another one.. maybe a younger one..

Warabi: I'm not not one for making predictions, but I feel like this might be the first time inkling and the octarian military are going to have to work together and-oh shit hide hide hide

Mahi: *oof*

Neta: home at last! my own food and my own bed..........*gurgle*....... And my own toilet..... Brb baby.

Ikkan: where's my Nibbles! Nibbles! You miss Daddy??..... nibbles! what did I tell you about jumping on the counter! Come here!

Mahi:..............

Warabi:......... Shhhhhhh.... crawl to the bedroom when Neta leaves

Mahi: ok....... They left the front door unlocked

Ikkan:.. .. Babe did you eat my walnut shrimp!? That's been in there for a week before we even left!! ....... See this is why you're in the bathroom now. You just eat shit you shouldn't and then you pay the con-.......hehehe what are you doing?

Neta: I'm giving you back your bass... I don't need it anymore

Ikkan:...... heheh... Why I thought you wanted my bass.

Neta: I did. I used to play it all the time when you weren't here when I started to miss you. It was during a time when It was a lot harder for us to be in each other's lives.... When I played it I realize that I didn't want you to just be a little glimpse in my life. I want you to be a part of it . I want to be a part of yours...... I love you..... I-I don't really have words to describe my feelings for you. I just know that when I'm around you.... I feel safe and secure and wanted....... I didn't want to cry... *Sniff*.....I never thought I would get to this point......... where I'm actually happy..... Truly happy and I don't think I would have gotten there if I didn't meet you....... That's why I want you to have your bass back....... I don't need to keep with me all the time, it'll always be there when I need it like you. if willing?

Ikkan: if willing what?

Neta: if you're willing to marry. Ikkan......... Will you marry me?

Warabi: *gasp*

Mahi: *silent screaming*

Ikkan: hehehehe...... yes .... I will marry you

Neta: hahahaha yes! Nailed it! Hahahah [kisskissksskiss]

Ikkan: hehehe Neta!..... Cut it out! Hehe...............

Neta:................................

Ikkan:.............................

Ikkan and Neta: [kiss]

Warabi: aw....so sweet

Ikkan........*moan*....

Warabi: oh.... uhh

Mahi: we need to go NOW. They're not looking go.. gogogogogogo..... Before it gets worse..... Gogogo

Warabi:........ Oh my Cod........ Can't believe they didn't notice this!

Mahi:.......... Hahahahahahaha!

Warabi:....... hahahahahahaha!

Mahi: let's go. This was...... Wow!

Warabi: you think that the new rice place is open?... I heard it's good.

Mahi: let's just hope. The power is on over there...... You ate two week old shrimp by the way.

Warabi: but it tasted like one week...

Mahi put together with rubber bands and silly putty by @fish-at-fish-fish-resort

[goldenraeofsun]

4:01 PM

Dean sips his whiskey and glowers across the bar at his own reflection. His wrist is burning like a brand, but it’s probably all in his head. The stupid timers don’t cause physical pain when they reach T-minus zero, Houston we have a problem. The numbers freeze, and that’s that.

Dean’s had counted down to nothing at exactly 4:01 PM, fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen minutes of running into his soulmate, getting his number, continuing on his way to this bar, and telling the bartender to keep ‘em coming.

He refuses to look at the far corner of the room, the booth he had reserved like an idiot. Four PM, party of two, under the name Winchester.

On the bar by his glass, his phone is still lit up with Cas’s texts from the past hour.

Cas 3:11 I’m so sorry I have to move our appointment. My client just unexpectedly switched our time to 4pm.

Cas 3:21 I think I’ll be able to escape by 4:30. Can I meet you then?

Dean had responded with a thumbs-up emoji. He didn’t have it in him to say any more.

Cas 3:50 This city is impossible to navigate. How does anyone live here?

Cas 3:58 You were right, I should have rented a car.

Three minutes after Cas’s last text, Dean ran into his soulmate. Right on schedule.

As far as first meetings go, it hadn’t been as much of a shitshow as Dean had expected.

The dude was attractive, at least, and the first thing he did after bumping into Dean was apologize. But he was wearing a tailored suit and glued to his phone, so it definitely could have been better.

His soulmate would’ve run off none the wiser, except Dean had to blurt, “Wait!” because, despite his disappointment, Dean couldn’t let his soulmate disappear into the throngs of Michigan Avenue. Dean wasn't about to fall to one knee, but he also couldn't let his best shot just go.

The man stopped, irritated. His gaze refused to linger on Dean, instead fixating on a building at the end of the block.

Head swimming with too many thoughts to name, Dean couldn’t get the right words out. He gestured mutely to his wrist, pulling up the flannel to show him.

Eyes widening with understanding, his soulmate quickly tugged up the cuff of his sleeve, only sparing a second to verify his own timer stopped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice.” he said, distracted. “My name is James. Here,” he fished out a pen and something to write on from various pockets of his trench coat, “my number. We… should talk. Later.” He scowled, raising his other wrist to check at his watch. “I need to go.”

“Sure, man,” Dean said, mostly grateful he didn’t have to stick around and have some heart-to-heart with a stranger that was apparently meant for him. Whatever the fuck that actually meant.

“Thank you,” James said swiftly. Without another word, he took off back down the street.

Dean didn’t bother to watch him go. He had a barstool waiting with his name on it.

Sam will laugh himself silly once Dean tells him his perfect match wound up being some corporate suit. Dean once told him he’d rather microwave his own head than set foot in an office cubicle.

Sammy was the big soulmate skeptic in the family. He found his non-timer approved other half while he was protesting an illegal dismissal of a disabled employee. Three years later, when Sam bumped into Gabriel Crawford in a strip club at midnight on Dean’s birthday, he discovered Gabe was perfectly happy to let Sam live his apple pie life while Gabe continued to party like it was 1999.

Gabe made Sam promise to look him up if Eileen was ever down for a threesome.

Turned out, Eileen was.

Sam most certainly was not.

He still sends Gabe a card for the holidays, and usually Gabe sends him back candy samples from wherever he’s vacationing for the winter.

But everyone else Dean knew bought into the soulmates game, hook, line, and sinker. His parents were soulmates. Benny and Garth both settled down with theirs. Charlie and Aaron were holding out for theirs. Hell, even Jo had her weird thing with Bela Talbot.

Dean would’ve counted himself among their number - until he met Cas.

Well, until Cas messaged him on Bobby’s new ask-a-mechanic feature on the garage’s website. Cas had inherited a banged up 1967 Mustang and had no idea where to start with restoration. Apparently Gabe of all people was staying with Cas at his place in southern California, and he recommended Dean.

Why Cas couldn’t just look up a local place still baffles Dean to this day, but he has never been more grateful for Cas’s weird-ass logic.

Their relationship had stayed strictly professional until Cas’s actual car broke down on some random highway in California. Dean had tried to talk Cas through the repair himself, but it was no use. Cas either didn’t have the equipment for the fix, or Dean didn’t diagnose the right problem. Dean was about to hang up, when Cas had asked, clearly embarrassed, “Would you please stay on the line? I have this irrational fear of being murdered in the middle of nowhere where nobody can find my body for proper rites.”

Dean, almost surprising himself, didn’t laugh. Instead, he said, “Sure thing. Wanna put me on hold while you get in touch with Triple A?”

He spent an hour and a half on the phone with Cas, telling him stupid stories about the worst things people have done with their cars.

In return, Cas told him all about the stars that were just coming out in the darkening desert sky.

The week after, Bobby’s garage received a gift certificate in the mail. It was for a weeklong stay at the Chicago location of the five-star hotel chain Cas works for, in Dean’s name.

Those little chocolates on the pillows ruined Dean for motels everywhere.

At the bar, Dean signals the bartender for a refill. He glares down at his phone. The little rectangle contains his entire history with Cas, call logs, text receipts, everything.

He can’t look at it any longer. He shoves it in his pocket, and the receipt with his soulmate’s phone number crinkles in protest. With a sigh, Dean takes out the flimsy piece of paper.

James’s handwriting is neat, so Dean doesn’t even have the excuse of not being able to read a digit or two.

Maybe Dean will give him a call after his drink with Cas. Hopefully, once James finds out that Dean’s just a mechanic, lives in a shoebox apartment in Bucktown, and has never been to Aspen or the Alps, he’ll tell Dean to take a hike.

Dean flips the receipt over, and his stomach gives a sickening lurch. In pretentious curlicue lettering, the first words Dean reads are, The Nine Spheres.

James is staying at Cas’s hotel.

Fucking great. Dean crumples the receipt and shoves it back in his pocket. With his luck, James will probably want to meet in the restaurant on the first floor, the fancy-ass place with the steakhouse burger and truffle fries Dean would actually sell his soul for.

Dean actually dreamed about that burger, a few months after his Cas-sponsored stay. When he told Cas about it, Cas let out a bark of laughter.

In the next breath, though, he told Dean he does the same when he’s scoping out a new location and can’t stay at a nearby Nine Spheres.

Dean tips back his glass of whiskey. It’s stopped burning on the way down his throat, a good sign.

He was so stupid, thinking he could fuck with destiny, fate, or whatever shitty power up there decides soulmates.

Once Cas told him about his business trip to his neck of the woods, Dean had taken one look at the numbers on his arm counting down and did the math. He would meet his soulmate smack dab in the middle of Cas’s window in Chicago.

He could make Cas be his soulmate. Cas never brought up his timer, if it was still ticking, if he’d already met his other half. And Dean, coward that he was, never asked. If he didn’t know for sure, then there was that slim, slim chance that theirs matched up after all.

But no, Cas had to go and switch up their meeting time at the last second, and Dean had run into James instead.

His pocket buzzes with a new text. Mood lower than Cas’s voice register, Dean slides his phone out.

Cas 4:38 My meeting is over. Should I still meet you at the same place?

Dean 4:39 Yeah Hope its okay I got started without you

Cas 4:40 More than okay, considering my scheduling difficulties.

Dean 4:40 See you soon

Dean sighs and drains his glass.

Foot jiggling on the barstool and eyes trained on his hands clasped in front of him, Dean deliberately does not look around as the door opens.

And opens again.

And again.

Confused and irritated, Dean takes another look around. Above the bar, a chalkboard clearly proclaims Happy Hour from 4:30-6:30 PM. Dean ducks his head, scowling into the remains of his drink. He probably overlooked the sign before because of his single-minded quest to get shitfaced like a freshly-dumped senior at prom stuck next to the spiked punch bowl.

His phone obnoxiously tells him it’s 4:43.

That’s just great. Dean hops off the stool, meaning to ask the hostess if anyone’s asked for Winchester, when James pushes open the door.

Dean stops dead in his tracks.

James freezes, his eyes going wide. His trench coat swishes ominously to a stop.

Should Dean turn around? Pretend he didn’t see? Cas is going to be here any second.

Before he can make up his mind, James is walking towards him. “Hello,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you here.”

Dean swallows. “Me neither,” he says honestly.

James scans the small crowd now gathered around the bar, brow furrowing in concentration. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”

Dean lets out a silent exhale of relief. He musters up a weak smile. “No problem, man. I’ll leave you to it.” As he turns back around, James steps up to the hostess stand.

James says, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the din, “I’m a bit late, but is there a reservation for Winchester? For 4:30?”

Dean could not possibly have heard what he thinks he did. But the timing is right - for once. He spins around, practically losing his balance thanks to the booze he already drank.

The hostess scans her sheet of names, shaking her head. “There was a reservation for Winchester at four PM, but that’s it.”

James’s face falls. Shoulders slumping, he pulls out his phone, squinting as the screen lights up. “He said he was here,” he mutters.

He can’t be Cas. That would be crazy - like, dingo ate my baby, crazy.

“Could be at the bar,” the hostess says flippantly, tilting her head to the crowded area. “Most of ‘em don’t check in.”

James’s lips press together. “Thank you,” he says to the hostess, his tone clipped. “I’ll wait there.”

Dean steps in front of him before James can get lost in the throng of people. “I heard you’re lookin’ for me,” he says with a confidence that’s only 99% bullshit.

James blinks. “You?”

“Dean Winchester, at your service,” he says, spreading his arms wide.

“Dean,” he echoes, his gaze raking up and down Dean’s body, drinking him in with his new eyes.

“Gotta say,” Dean drawls as his heart pounds with nerves. Doubt niggles at the back of his mind like an itch he can’t scratch, but he’s already made his memory foam bed. Might as well lie in it. “Cas is the weirdest nickname for James that I’ve ever heard.”

“My full name is James Castiel Novak,” Cas says, flushing. “James - that’s what I go by professionally. My family calls me Castiel.”

Dean can’t hold back his broad grin. “Family, eh?”

Cas’s expression takes a swift dive from embarrassed to mortified. “And friends,” he tacks on. He takes a step closer, staring at Dean’s face in wonder. “But you’re also my soulmate.”

Dean laughs giddily. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t beat around the bush. Not your style.” He jerks his head towards the bar. “I think I see an open seat. You wanna have that talk now?”

Cas hesitates. “Would you like to go to Nine Spheres instead? I’ve had business dinners every evening I’ve been in Chicago so far, and, while the food has been good-”

“It’s not the steakhouse burger?” Dean finishes for him.

The corners of Cas’s mouth turn down into a slight grimace. “Last night, a client treated us to tapas. I woke up starving.”

Dean smiles. “You know I’m always down for that burger.”

“Excellent,” Cas says with relish as he pushes open the door.

They walk onto the street, and it’s almost offensively quiet after the noise of the bar. It’s a balmy Spring evening, the sun still relatively high in the sky.

“You don’t seem disappointed anymore,” Cas says out of nowhere as they reach the end of the block.

So Cas caught on to that, back when they first ran into each other. Dean shrugs. “I just got stood up by the guy I’d specially set up to meet me at 4:01. Wouldn’t you be?”

Cas clears his throat, asking hoarsely, “You wanted it to be me?”

Dean throws him a look. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Cas just shrugs. The light changes, and they step off the curb.

“Were you… disappointed?” Dean asks hesitantly.

Cas lets out a surprised laugh. “Of course not. I didn’t even think - well,” he falters, casting a sidelong look at Dean, “I’m not disappointed. Believe me.”

The automatic doors to Nine Spheres open, hitting them with a burst of perfectly conditioned air. Dean hasn’t stepped foot in the hotel since Cas paid for his stay, but it hasn’t changed one bit. The same tiered giant chandelier glitters overhead. Giant pillars bracket the concierge desk to the left and the enormous staircase to the right that leads up to the second floor rooms. The tiled floor, so polished Dean can practically see his reflection, stretches the length of the lobby.

Dean sticks out like a flannel-wearing sore thumb. “Cas,” he hisses, “hold on. I don’t think I’m dressed right for this place.”

Cas sucks in a breath. “No,” he says as Dean’s heart sinks, “I suppose not.” He jerks his head towards the elevator bay. “Room service?”

Dean blinks.

“I’ve called for the burgers on several occasions at other locations,” Cas assures him. “It tastes as good.”

Was Cas actually trying to convince him to go up to his room? What a dumbass. Dean laughs.

Cas colors, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Forget it,” he mutters. “We don’t-”

“You know, if you invite me up to your room,” Dean cuts him off, “you’re going to have a bitch of a time getting me to leave, right?”

Cas stares at him.

“Dude,” Dean says, “I’ve never stayed anywhere this nice in my life. Between the food, the water pressure, and the robe that felt like I was fucking a cloud, I had enough of a hard time leaving last time.”

“I’m glad,” Cas says stiltedly. “We strive to provide the optimal experience to all our guests.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “’M saying, add you to the mix, and they’re gonna have to drag me out of here, kicking and screaming.”

“And if I don’t want you to leave?” Cas asks in an undertone as he pushes the up button for the elevator.

“Then I guess we don’t have a problem,” Dean says, winking.

Cas’s responding grin falls as the doors close behind them and the elevator starts moving. He shakes his head. “It’s a shame there are cameras in here.”

Dean leans in closer, whispering in his ear, “Doesn’t bother me much. Whaddya say to giving the peeping toms a show, then?”

Cas bites his lip, and this close, Dean can see how his eyes have blown black with want. “I - I can’t.”

It’s like he’s been doused with a bucket of ice water. Dean steps back, shame filling him. That’s fine. He can regroup. Hopefully Cas will be more receptive behind closed doors. It’s not the first time this has happened, anyway.

“Dean, I have to work with these people every day,” Cas hisses, wringing his hands. “The last time an executive got… busy with a coworker in the pool, the mocking didn’t end for weeks. Not to mention her rebuke from upper management.” He throws Dean a desperate look. “I would like for you to be fully clothed by the time you meet my coworkers for the first time.”

Cas is already planning for Dean to meet his people?

The elevator dings, and Cas steps out. “Are you coming?” he asks hesitantly.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says quickly. As he follows Cas down the maze of rooms, he has to ask, “You were planning on introducing me to your coworkers?”

Cas’s cheeks pink. “Unless you were opposed to it,” he mutters as he stops in front of Room 1518. He sighs, making no move to insert his keycard. Instead, he lifts his head to meet Dean’s gaze squarely. “I’ve put in a transfer request to Chicago.”

“What?”

“It was before I knew you were my soulmate,” Cas says quickly. “I’ve never felt like I fit in in California, and my parents live in Pontiac. The Chicago office is decently large, and, well, I knew you were here,” he says, his voice going quiet near the end. He straightens. “So there were many reasons.”

“You’re staying?” Dean says, his mouth dry.

Cas bobs a nervous nod. “I hope that’s okay.”

Dean grins. “Sure is.”

Cas touches the inside of his wrist, his expression turning almost shy. “Of course, when I first pictured introductions, it was strictly as a friend. I don’t really know anyone else in this city well, and I’ve told you about my difficulty in social situations, so it would’ve been more for moral support than anything else. But after this evening -”

Dean interrupts his rambling. “Are there cameras in the hallway?”

“What- oh,” Cas says, his eyes flicking down to Dean’s lips before back up again. “Yes?” He points. “They’re all the way down there, though, so they can’t -”

Dean cuts him off with a heated kiss.

[sunflowershouto]

like this - todoroki x fem!reader // pt. one: begin again

𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: This is gonna be a multi-chapter Slow. Burn.TM, so strap in; I am not pulling any punches! Not based off a request, just something I really wanted to do! The story is written in third person, but MC’s name is still Y/N and L/N and such! Hope you enjoy, loves! Let me know if you want to be tagged in future updates to this story.

Reader’s quirk is ‘Angel,’ the same quirk I used in Shellshocked. She has angel wings and heat-based light blasts, but will get fatigued if she uses too much energy while in her angel form.

I highly recommend using the Interactive Fic Chrome extension for this fic! It essentially replaces Y/N and L/N with whatever name you want! I use it a lot and it’s really great with helping to immerse yourself more in the story.

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Y/N’s relationship with Shouto Todoroki is a long and complicated one. How long can they ignore their history before everything comes back to the surface?

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 2.1k

//

𝐥 𝐢 𝐤 𝐞    𝐭 𝐡 𝐢 𝐬

𝐩 𝐚 𝐫 𝐭   𝐨 𝐧 𝐞 :   𝐛 𝐞 𝐠 𝐢 𝐧   𝐚 𝐠 𝐚 𝐢 𝐧

Do you ever feel like you’re drowning when you look someone in the eye? When you can’t find the right words, even after years of searching for them?

“Shouto, I-”

“Don’t, L/N. Just. . . don’t.”

She felt like all of the air had been knocked out of the room as she met his eyes, and for a moment, she was drowning. “How long? How long are we going to do this?” Y/N begged, voice cracked and tired.

“Do what? There’s nothing here.”

Stop. Begin again.

//

“Ugh. . . I thought that lecture was never gonna end.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Uraraka,” Y/N laughed, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she waited for her friend to finish packing up after class. “We’ve had Aizawa giving us lectures since we were first years, it’s not that bad.”

“You’d think that third year classes would be a little less, you know...”

“Coma inducing?” Y/N suggested, grinning.

Ochako giggled and followed L/N out of the classroom, the two girls making light chatter as they headed to their dorms to change before going out for the afternoon.

In a few minutes, they were back on their way out, dressed casually to spend the rest of the day relaxing and enjoying the city. They were still talking as they headed for the front of the campus, chatting casually while walking against the stream of other students that bustled about.

“I don’t know about that. Most Pro Heroes seem to. . . to, uh. . .” Y/N trailed off mid sentence as she briefly caught sight of a flash of red and white, a glimpse of scarred skin completely derailing her thoughts. It had been so long since she’d associated him with any sense of comfort, and even longer since he had been willing to open up to her. They’d gone through all of high school dodging away from each other, avoiding and evading until they could hardly look at one another. And now. . .

How were things so broken?

“Y/N, you okay?” Uraraka nudged her shoulder gently, looking to her friend in mild concern.

“Hm? Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine,” L/N replied, her gaze snapping quickly back to Ochako as she returned to reality. “I was just saying that most Pro Heroes like to make a name for themselves, right? Like, being known for something? I just... I really want mine to mean something important to me, you know? What’s the point of being a hero if your heart isn’t all the way in it? Anyways. . . With our last Sports Festival coming up, I guess I’ve just been thinking about it a lot more.”

Uraraka nodded her agreement, thinking on what Y/N had said as they reached the front gate of the school.

When Y/N looked away from her friend and out onto the street, she was met with a sight that brought a smile to her face, her heart skipping a beat. “Takashi!” she cried, beaming as she ran forward and jumped towards him, her worries momentarily forgotten.

Takashi Hirano had been standing at the gate with his arms crossed over his chest, at least until Y/N came running forward; he opened his arms and pulled her into a hug, smiling as he leaned down to place a chaste kiss to her lips. “Hey, angel,” he greeted, giving her a soft smile.

“You said you’d be busy today. I’m not complaining, but I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Y/N confessed, standing on her toes to place a small kiss to his cheek, running her hand gently through his jet-black locks.

Takashi shrugged, flashing a carefree smile before resting his chin on the top of her head. “Just thought I’d come and surprise you. Being graduated has its perks, you know?”

Y/N was still smiling as she pulled away, her face lightly flushed. “Uraraka and I were just heading out for a bite to eat, but if you have the rest of the evening off, maybe we can catch a movie after?”

He nodded, giving his girlfriend another smile before fishing around in his pocket for something. He retrieved what he was looking for and handed it to L/N, a few slightly crumpled bills. “My treat?” he offered. “You guys get dinner on me, I don’t wanna crash your hangout, so I can go get some work done. I’ll be waiting, ‘kay?”

“Thank you, Hirano!” Uraraka nodded her head, giving him a wide smile.

“You’re the best, Takashi!” Y/N chirped, kissing his cheek again before waving goodbye and heading off with Ochako. From across the courtyard, a cold, multicolored gaze observed the scene, seemingly expressionless. Shouto Todoroki drew in a controlled breath and walked away.

“You two are so sweet together,” Uraraka sighed, once Takashi was out of earshot. “What’s it like dating a pro? Especially with such a cool power!”

“Don’t make it sound so weird! He graduated last year, he’s only a year older than us. He’s barely a pro,” Y/N reminded her, waving off the compliment with a small laugh. “But he is really sweet, and his power is pretty cool.”

“I wonder how he gets those force fields so precise,” she continued, tapping the side of her face with her finger.

“I have no idea, but you sound like Izuku right now,” L/N laughed, nudging her friend’s shoulder. “Now, c’mon. Let’s get some food, I’m starving.”

The rest of her evening was split between her time with Uraraka and her time with Takashi, and by the time she had returned to her dorm, she had forgotten all about those blue and grey eyes that had sent chills down her back.

//

The next morning, the class of 3-A was out on the P.E. courts, waiting for Aizawa to explain the activity. He checked off attendance, and then went into his introduction of the morning’s activities.

“Today is about teamwork,” Aizawa explained, standing at the front of the class with his arms crossed, bloodshot eyes scanning his students’ faces. “You’re all approaching the time when you’re going to have to do hero work on your own, uninstructed. Part of that is being able to work with whoever shows up on the scene, whether you’re friends or not. You’ve all been spoiled; you’ve spent the last three years in the same group, getting to know each other and forming bonds of trust. You won’t always have that luxury in the real world.”

L/N was standing with Yaoyorozu and Ochako, but her gaze drifted to the side, finding that head of read and white hair before she made herself look back at Aizawa. Shouto hadn’t noticed, but she wasn’t surprised; he avoided her like the plague, and she’d learned to do the same. Frankly, she wasn’t sure Todoroki would look at her even if she dropped dead on the spot.

“I’m going to put you in pairs, and you’re not going to complain about who you’re with. The whole point of this is being able to work with anyone.”

The students all nodded, waiting for their instructor to start reading off the list of partners.

“Bakugou and Midoriya. Ochako and Kirishima. Iida and Sero. Ashido and Sato. Todoroki and L/N.”

Y/N froze up, looking over to Todoroki like a deer in the headlights, unsure of what to do. “Ah. . . Aizawa-sama, can-”

“No.”

Great.

Shouto still wouldn’t look at her, even after being assigned a task, so she tried to do something to get him to at least acknowledge her presence. “Shouto, I’m not exactly thrilled about this either, but Aizawa said we need to be able to work with anyone.”

Finally, his gaze met hers, disinterested and apathetic. “It’s not a problem. Let’s just finish this lesson, okay?”

“I. . . Right.”

It was a simple enough task, in theory; the idea was to rescue dummies from a fire while also keeping in mind the structural integrity of the building. There wasn’t much communication, but Y/N and Shouto silently agreed upon their roles.

Todoroki would be using his ice to replace crumbled support beams, and L/N would use her flight to carry the training dummies to safety. It wasn’t ideal; both of them would have rather just had different partners, but they worked quickly and silently, until they were almost done, Y/N flying back into the building for the last few ‘civilians.’

She hoisted the two training dummies onto her back, nestling them between her wings, before heading for an open window.

Todoroki was just a few feet away, holding up pillars of quickly-melting ice to keep the ceiling from caving in and waiting until it was safe for him to exit the building.

Y/N passed by him, and a beam cracked loudly overhead, sending wayward sparks flying down onto her; she used her wings to shield the civilians, not noticing that the ceiling above her was cracking dangerously.

“L/N, move!”

Before she could react, the beam gave way, falling towards her like a massive torch, embers crackling in shards of splintered wood. Something cold wrapped around her arm, and she was pulled away. Y/N had squeezed her eyes shut and when she opened them again, her face was against Todoroki’s shoulder, his cold hand still wrapped around her wrist and his other arm hovering over her waist.

“Thank you,” she muttered, glancing away and starting to pull back from him. She felt like she was going to be sick; she hated being vulnerable in front of him while he was so apathetic, while he acted like she didn’t matter.

“Yeah.” He pushed her away just as quickly as he’d pulled her in, and cleared a way for them to exit the building and deliver the training dummies to safety.

The two young heroes returned to Aizawa and the rest of the class, staring straight ahead as if they couldn’t see each other.

Aizawa, as always, looked unimpressed. “L/N, Todoroki, I’m sorry, but you’ve failed the exercise.”

“What?! But we got everyone out in time! There were no casualties!” Y/N argued, face screwing up in confusion.

“It wasn’t about whether or not you could save everyone. It was about communicating with someone in the field. You didn’t say a word to each other, and you missed the point of the activity.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she whined, burying her face in the palm of her hand. Of course she’d be paired with the one person she couldn’t work with, it was just her luck.

“You and Todoroki can come in after school today for a written makeup assignment. Kaminari, Yaoyorozu, you’re up.” Aizawa didn’t waste any more time on the matter, leaving L/N and Todoroki to go steep in defeat.

Just as she was about to head into the girl’s locker room, a tap on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks.

“L/N.”

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, drawing in a breath at the sound of that voice. “Why are you here, Todoroki?”

“You were cut.”

When she turned, she was met with those eyes, drilling into her as he held out a small bandage. She hadn’t even noticed the scrape across her cheek, but now as he pointed it out, she felt a light sting.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked after a moment, frowning as she returned his stare. “You had every chance to fix this. You’ve had three years to fix this. Why? Why now? I forgave you. I forgave you so long ago, but you just... You just couldn’t let it go, could you?”

Shouto blinked at her, then placed the bandage in his pocket. “I see. So that’s it, then?”

“I don’t want to do this, okay? Not right now. Just. . .” Y/N let out a long sigh, and held her hand out, palm open.

He hesitated for a moment before digging the bandage out of his pocket and placing it in her hand.

“Thank you for the help.” With that, she turned into the locker room and started to change back into her uniform, eyeing her reflection in one of the paneled mirrors that lined the far wall.

Her fingers grazed across a long stretch of skin on her back, an angry scar running from her waist up to her shoulder-blades. The mark spiraled across her back, permanently marring a wide area of skin like oil in an ocean.

Her gaze lingered there for a long moment before she pulled her uniform shirt back on, and placed the bandage over the scrape on her cheek.

All these years later, and now he was trying to make amends? Did he really think that it would be so easy? Did he really think that they could just begin again?

//

// 𝑬𝒏𝒅 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: I really hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think, I’d love to hear feedback! -Xizi <3

[neo-shitty]

toffee!

ah yeah, i think quarentine has given people some opportunity to actually just sit with the person they are, rather than be rushing around for the person they want to become. its good you got smth good out of isolation! ah thats great! hope you had fun and ur partner in crime speeds back home so you can get out more hehe.

ah yeah ty, good suggestions.

hmm good point, i was sort of putting it separate to the whole not-sexualising thing, but yeah. mmm yeah i totally agree, some of the enhypen fics/imagines *shudder* and even reading innie stuff is just a bit *icky* cos everyone still thinks of him as our agi ppang. yeah def would be good but sadly this just seems to be the world we live in. :(

ah yes the holy masterlist (not sarc) i have actually read in the rain and gladius maximus before, but ill go look for in class! oooh thats good! character development lol. hmmmm yes champagne problems was the angst to end all angst, that shit hurt. it was actually one of the first of your fics i read and i recall almost crying over the whole thing, it was so heartbreaking, i can see how it almost made you want to drop angst. good that youve allowed yourself some lee-way tho :)

hehe thats so cool. okay here we go, ill try not to be mortally offended (/hj)

cheese - yes same, i liked it but that was all there was, it wasnt a super standout track. it was rlly underwhelming for me but some of the hook is super catchy so there is Redemption (tm) in store for cheese maybe

thunderous - mmm, yeah at first i totally agreed, i think they suffer from too much good music syndrome, that all their other tracks are such fucking bops its hard to stay at that level of perfection. the choreo was beautiful tho and tbh, the track has grown on me since ive been watching all the vids abt it. its my brothers favourite track

domino - YES GODAMMIT IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE TITLE TRACK. the raps, the vocals, the vibes, the fucking domino sound in the back? i would have streamed that shit on repeat. but tbh, as good as it is, it doesnt have that sort of grandness/oomph that skz seems to like in their title tracks so i can see why they chose thunderous (tho domino would have been so good) *sigh*

ssick - yeah same, not my fave track by a long mile, the crowd cheering was a ?strange? choice and the chorus was a bit bare/empty, plus like i mentioned earlier, it was kinda funny to me for some reason but ill still play it if im playing thru the whole album

the view - ahh one of those not like other girls (/j) i honestly think its just a good party song, just a bop to play in the background when nobodys rlly paying much attention. its pretty generic pop music but catchy

sorry, i love you - hehe yeah i thought it was going to be sadder as well, but i rlly loved the fact that they all just got to sing, which almost never happens, i dont think ive heard felix sing for a long time, so i enjoyed it. wasnt rlly a standout track but i just casually like it. looking forward to the fic haha

silent cry - this song i swear, some bits are rlly good and then others are just? why?? it does sound like a dance song tho idk. definitely not one of my faves either

secret secret - YES its so good! its such a chill song and i love their vocals in it. the combination of lo-fi/fake strings backup stuff and their heavenly vocals just makes it *chefs kiss* im listening to it rn and just... its so beautiful. it gives me pumped up another day vibes ya know? like my pace is edgy get cool, this one is energetic another day i feel like. overall i love it

STAR LOST - ah thats so cool! i didnt know that! on first listen this song had a similar vibe to secret secret but then the beat came in and ahh its such a good song. i can totally imagine them putting this song to a concert footage vid, this song is so sweet.

red lights - LMAO YES ITS SO AWKWARD WHY DOES IT GO ON FOR SO LONG ah thats good! yeah good point, its quite intense hehe. but that is my fave trope and this is lowkey my favourite track on the album so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ just the combination of hyunjins and chans voices, the backing music, the lyrics ahh red lights my beloved

surfin’ - yes lmao its always a shock, i feel like they should have put gone away in between them, but its such a fun cute song, i cant get rlly mad. yeah, as an aussie i think im contractually obligated to like beaches lol. sand im not such a fan of, but my familys rlly into fishing and my brother loves bodyboarding so we stay at a beach house at least twice a year and we live like 5 mins from 3 different beaches (hehe all aussie cities are on the coast lol) so thats cool. do you like beaches?

gone away - ah gone away my beloved, i love this song sm, its just so pure and showcases their vocals and lyrics so well. yes the pitch change is very out of the blue, i feel liek they went directly from seungmins soft vocals to hans powerful ones which was an interesting choice, but hey, im not complaining

wolfgang - YES IKR ah im so happy he got to be included in that era and song. yeah its such a full on song i cant rlly listen to it if im in a quiet mood but its very motivating :)

hehe mood, i hope they do! ahhh no rest, but at least you wont have to pull a blink and wait a year for any word from the group lol. im not rlly into nct but im excited for them! ah hopefully youll be able to sneak some rest into that chaotic schedule, with enhypen (idk if u stan but yeah) squeezed into it haha

<3 w.a. 🐺

i wheezed at partner in crime, it reminded me of smth. i have a lee know fic in the drafts that i wrote 'in honor' of him (and his departure-ish). i'll tag you when i finish it, if you want. it's a rather hilarious one.

oh my god. based on my experience on the collabs i've joined before, writing explicit shit for '01 & '02 is not accepted (nct's maknaes) but with enha's hyung line '01 & '02 somehow it's okay? i do a double take every time i see fics like those i mean, technically, it's legal but still what the fuck. maybe it's just not for me at the moment. not at us venting our frustration about this. it's just something that's so accepted here that i am (in all honesty) slightly uncomfortable about. but oh well. that's kpop writerblr for you.

man i could've linked all the fics in the ask instead so you wouldn't have to go looking for them! i think i saw you like in class the other day (the fic i renamed into sharp-tongued, god it took me a while to remember the new title). describing champagne problems as an angst to end all angst is one way to put what i was feeling back in december. it just hurt to write and admit?? if that ever happened to me i would prolly cry :d

okay back to the album talk! i love how you answered with more thoughts. i love exchanges like these! i am a victim of the cheese hook and it's now one of my favorite tracks in the album. PLS, TOO MUCH GOOD MUSIC SYNDROME. that's on our self-producing kings 😌💅 also, your brother has taste! as i am typing this, domino's currently playing in my head and i realized that too, that it doesn't have that 'vibe' of a skz title track. honestly, this could be a title track of another group. ssick is starting to grown on me because i found the beats cool kdjsk not the not like other girls 😭 the view is the generic pop that i don't like but i get why a lot of people enjoy it. sorry i love you scratches a certain itch that i find myself singing the first few lines every time i remember it. i too would want to hear felix sing more!

> a mini junction on the album talk bc i got side tracked. on that topic, i want skz to switch positions at some point like i know those allrounders are capable of doing so. specifically, i want to hear seungmin rap!!!! (yk in the recent weekly idol he talked faster than changbin in a challenge and changbin is like the fastest rapper in kpop that's active atm if im not mistaken. my dandy boy has some potential and i want it UNLEASHED.)

back to album talk. silent cry is basically sad music to twerk to. secret secret is definitely one of my favorite tracks :( i loved how you compared the tracks HAJSAH i burst out laughing bc yk what, you're right! i want to make a star lost edit of skz but i simply do not have the time i want to cry. i love the song so much. ok, my dreaded track, red lights. idt i have played the track since we last talked. my friend sent me the lyrics tho and i'm itching to write a twisted au out of it. idk if you're comfortable with yandere but somewhere along those themes. the obsessive type of love that's sweet at first but turns rotten. IMAGINE IF THEY PUT GONE AWAY BETWEEN ASHJA it's like going from 50 shades to the notebook.

i was about to ask if you lived near the coast and you literally mentions it here god im so stupid. yes i LOOOOOOOOOVE beaches so much. living in an archipelago is fun :( i live in a part of the country that's more island than city so every time i want some vitamin sea it's accessible. i heard the waves in australia are great :( anYWHOOO gone away :(( every time it plays im compelled to skip it because it makes me sAD AND NOWADAYS I DONT HAVE THE TIME TO BE SAD. contrary to you, i dislike my quiet moods because i tend to overthink a lot.

i have this little analogy about how there are stays that enjoy songs the generic pop + mellow songs and then there are other stays that enjoy the noisy tracks. in my mind, it's like a perfect balance that makes me feel like all the tracks are loved in the end. just by different people.

PULL A BLINK. bro i fucking hate yg entertainment. they have the biggest kpop girl group LOCKED in their basement when they could be (and i mean this in the most business-like way not morally) milking money of the quad. they're yg's biggest hope at not being bankrupt atm so it's a damn fucking mystery to me as to how they aren't doing anything. (jk i just realized lisa solo album soon, but i still need a ot4 cb hELLO)

i stopped looking forward to the teasers. rest > kpop boys. i don't want to sound like a cult member but have you tried checking out nct? are they just not your thing? (i get it tho, that's one hard group to get into). and yes i do stan enhypen!

wow i love how long these asks are! they're like online penpals. but i also want to ask about you! how have you been lately? are you feeling okay both mentally and physically? how's the weather there? do you have anything that you want to talk about? maybe an interesting book you read? feel free to bring up anything you want to share! i'm getting conscious about talking about myself HAJHSJ

and yet another long answer B) i am sooo sorry T___T should these ask exchanges feel draining to you, feel free to stop sending them in AAAA

[pomegranate-belle]

Fic or treat - Matt and Foggy during that one Halloween ep of Spiderman where people turn into the monsters they dress up as for the night (doctor strange helps sort everything out if I recall correctly)

I guess this is a recurring Halloween Thing (Buffy, Halloweentown, and now apparently Ultimate Spider-Man) and honestly I love it with all my heart and soul. So this got... Long. Also I just sidestepped the actual plot of the episode because Baron Mordo sucks eggs and I don’t care about him, lol

—

Foggy’s still adding the last touches to his costume and hasn’t put it on yet — that’s the only thing that saves him. But the second a blast of orange light radiates across the city, he knows something fucked-up freaky is going down.

“Oh jeez,” he mutters to himself, watching through the window as the energy continues to spread like ripples on a pond. “Matty, you might wanna go get your other Halloween costume.”

There’s a groan of pain from behind him. Foggy whirls around.

“Matt, what—”

But Matt doesn’t answer. Can’t answer, more like. He’s staggering around, hands clutched to his head. Foggy has no idea if it’s a direct effect of the freaky magic flooding the city or if whatever that magic is doing is overloading Matt’s supersenses, but either way he can’t just stand by and let his boyfriend suffer. He rushes over and wraps Matt in a hug — takes as much of Matt’s weight as he can, tries to cocoon him so his senses have time to settle or acclimate or whatever they need to do.

“I got you,” he murmurs nonsensically. “I got you, Matty, it’s ok, it’s gonna be ok, just breathe with me, buddy, just breathe—”

All Foggy’s reassurances are choked off when a clawed hand closes around his throat. He’s shoved backwards, into the wall, and Matt’s...

Matt’s gone.

In his place, the figure Foggy had been holding — that not a minute ago had been the love of his life — is otherworldly and terrifying. Its skin is cold to the touch, and flecks of gold freckle its face, creep down from its ears to the familiar arch of its cheekbones. It has Matt’s messy, dark hair but his eyes, still unseeing based on the way they don’t track, glow ice blue. It still wears the white tunic Matt had put on, but the cloth is clearly of finer quality. What was once a sparkly golden pipe-cleaner halo is now an aura of radiance so bright it makes Foggy’s eyes water. Oh yeah, and this thing’s got a pair of fuck-off enormous white wings instead of the tiny, goofy-looking faux-feather ones Matt had strapped on like a backpack not five minutes ago.

When it opens its mouth — Matt’s mouth — and speaks, the words are unintelligible and so powerful that Foggy instinctively stops trying to remove the hand from around his throat and claps his palms to his ears instead. He has an alarming thought — that he’s going to die here — and the very distant realization that Matt would be completely enraged about him giving up. But even if this... Angel. Thing. Even if it’s not Matt anymore, it was him. And Foggy has to believe the magic that changed him is going to be undone. There’s like a hundred fucking superheroes in Manhattan alone so like, it had god damn better be undone. And when it is, who knows if any injuries sustained will carry over? Foggy could never risk hurting Matt like that. He just couldn’t.

Jessica Jones does not have this problem.

Foggy learns that the second she comes bursting through the door of the apartment and discus-throws her unconscious vampire boyfriend right at Angel Matt’s unprotected back. Not that Foggy actually sees any of this — because, again, fuck-off big swan wings — but once he’s able to breathe again he’s also able to put the series of events together thanks to context clues. Flattened angel plus unconscious Hero of Harlem with an open, snoring mouth and especially pointy canines plus panting, disheveled Jess? The math’s not hard. He and Jess stare at each other in silence for a few seconds.

“You ok there, Nelson?” she asks at last, gruffly, before stepping forward to sling her enormous boyfriend into a fireman’s carry.

“Yeah? I’m good, I think. Mostly. Um...” Foggy points at the knocked out form of Luke draped over Jess’s shoulder. “How did you...?”

“Vulcan nerve pinch,” she says flatly, but doesn’t give Foggy the necessary space to determine if it’s a joke or not. “Now come on, you’re the one who knows every-fucking-body, who do we need to stomp to fix this?”

Good to know you saved me because you were concerned for my safety or something, Foggy thinks but is smart enough not to say.

“I don’t know who did it,” he admits, now that he has the time to think, “but that guy Strange who lives in the Village is supposed to be a wizard or something. Maybe it’s one of his baddies.”

Jess slams a fist into her open palm, murder in her eyes, then immediately has to break the pose to stop Luke from slumping onto the floor.

“Well he better fix it or I’m gonna kick his ass,” she insists, clearing her throat and straightening up again.

Foggy does not dignify this with an answer, and to further pretend he didn’t just witness Jess fumble Luke like a football he crouches down to check on Matt. He doesn’t seem to be unconscious, although at first it’s a little hard to tell based on the ethereal, retina-searing glow around his head. But upon inspection, the prone angel is in a pose Foggy knows well — Matt’s ‘I’m suffering and I refuse to move’ pose. Often adopted whilst sick or otherwise mildly inconvenienced, and never done while seriously injured. Which is good, Foggy supposes.

“Up and at ‘em, Matty,” he mutters, slowly and gently closing his hands around the angel’s and noting that Matt’s newly clawed nails are tipped in gold.

Matt gets to his feet without a fuss, just tilting his head to the side curiously. He sniffs. Once. Twice. Then flips their handhold so his fingers are circling Foggy’s wrists and pins him to the wall again. This time, though, instead of strangling him, he buries his nose in Foggy’s throat, sniffling at his pulse point like a weirdo.

“Hey! Murdock! Don’t make me come over there!” Jess snaps.

“It’s good, we’re good!” insists Foggy shrilly. “He’s um. He’s just. Sniffing me.”

“Fucking weirdo.”

But there’s no thud of Luke being used as a blunt weapon again, so at least she’s listening to him. After another ten uncomfortable seconds, Angel Matt pulls back. Slowly and gently, he lets go of Foggy’s wrists before combing the fingers of one clawed hand through Foggy’s hair. Then he smiles and speaks.

The expression, combined with the musical but incomprehensible words, is so beautiful that tears begin to streak down Foggy’s face. Angel Matt brushes them away with the side of his thumb.

Jess ruins the moment by groaning in frustration.

“Ok, we get it, gay love conquers all, can we get a move on before my boyfriend wakes up and tries to tear out my throat again?” she demands.

Which, to be fair to her, doesn’t sound like a great time. Matt’s wings flare angrily and he spits more crazy angel language at Jess that sounds like a threat, but Foggy is able to soothe him easily enough. After that, he tows Matt along by the hand like a particularly docile six-year-old and they set out without further incident.

—

The problem with having a huge city-wide curse fucking up everyone’s night is that getting a cab is impossible. On the bright side, Jess is one of the few people Foggy knows who actually owns a car. Then again, it’s usually hard enough fitting everyone inside that car without a potentially-murderous vampire and an angel with a fifteen foot wingspan to consider. They’re still trying to figure out the logistics when a horde of monsters descends upon them. Foggy counts two zombies — and there’s a frightening thought, are those guys contagious? — a werewolf, a ninja, and some kind of terrifying... Fish person. There’s lots of snarling, howling, and gnashing of teeth. Foggy really wishes he hadn’t been so preoccupied with Matt and had the foresight to grab his baseball bat on the way out the door.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got like, a tire iron in there or something?” he asks Jess as they’re backed up against her car.

“What do I look like, a mechanic? I’ve barely got gas in this piece of shit car.”

“Cool, great,” Foggy says, too strained to be as sarcastic as he wants since this is about as far from cool and great as it’s possible to get.

Then Matt squeezes his hand and lets go. Foggy scrambles to try and pull him back to safety, but his strides are long — too long for any normal human, like he’s gliding instead of walking. He doesn’t stop until he’s standing squarely between them and the monsters, and then he flares his wings wide enough to block them all from view. Foggy can still hear snarling, but he has to squeeze his eyes shut as the luminance around Matt ramps up about a thousand percent. There’s hissing, yelping, and the slap of feet on concrete, and the light turning the back of Foggy’s eyelids orange only fades after the sounds of retreat abate into silence.

“Holy shit, Murdock,” Jess mutters. “Maybe we oughta keep you like this.”

“Jones,” Foggy scolds. “Rude.”

He opens his eyes to find Matt now facing him as though waiting for something.

“What, Matty?”

“Fuck’s sake, Nelson,” says Jess, “he just saved our bacon — you gonna thank him or what?”

Matt continues to stare — for a certain value of stare, Foggy supposes — in his general direction expectantly.

“Um. Yes, thank you,” Foggy says, and probably because he’s gone completely insane, reaches up to pat Matt on the head. “You, um... Did good? Yes. Good job.”

Matt leans into the touch, beaming, and honest to god the expression is almost brighter than the glow of his halo. Jess makes a very rude gagging noise as she stuffs her still-snoring boyfriend into the trunk. Matt and his wings, even folded up, take up the whole back seat, so Foggy rides shotgun. With monsters of all shapes and sizes roaming the city streets, what would otherwise be a pretty boring car ride ends up feeling like a chase scene in Jurassic Park, but at last they make it. Foggy wasn’t a hundred percent on the address but Strange’s place is pretty hard to miss. It’s enormous and scary-looking and it’s got a big skylight in the shape of some round symbol that probably has magical significance.

There’s no answer when they knock on the door, except for a “doctor is out” sign that flickers into existence, along with a huge padlock — you know, just in case they weren’t getting the message. Foggy’s torn between being weirded out and being amused that the creepy mansion has a sense of humor.

“He’s not even home?!” Jess kicks the door, hard. “This is bullshit!”

She lets out a wordless, frustrated shout, and Luke startles awake. He’s on his feet almost immediately, eyes glowing blood red. Matt wraps his arms around Foggy from behind, casting huge shadows with his flared wings. But Luke? There’s no recognition of Jess there, except as food. None of the half-domesticated sentience Matt’s been showing, just snarling animal hunger. Luke’s such a chill, reasonable guy that the contrast is shocking and even if he hadn’t been held back Foggy wouldn’t have been able to do more than freeze in terror as Luke pinned Jess to the wall of Strange’s mansion and lunged for her throat. Jess, thankfully, is more of a fight instinct person than a freeze instinct one. Also she’s got superstrength. She catches Luke’s wrist and flips him like a pancake. Once he’s on the ground and winded, she really, genuinely does Vulcan nerve pinch him back to sleep, which is wild. Foggy had been leaning sixty-forty towards her being joking about that.

“Well,” he says awkwardly. “That was impressive.”

“Impressive? Impressive?!” Jess is laughing, but the sound is sharp and bitter. “It should’ve been me,” she growls, stomping back down to the sidewalk and kicking a stray soda can so hard it embeds itself in the wall of a building across the street. “Fuck. I hate seeing him like this. I’m already— half fucking feral, and he’s got that unbreakable skin. It should have been me! He’d probably just sit there calmly and let me try to bite him while he worked out how to fix everything, and all I can do is be a, a panicked fuck-up!”

“Jess!” Foggy scolds sharply, extricating himself from Matt’s arms to confront her. “You’re not a fuck-up. You kept Luke safe. You didn’t let him hurt anyone. You got us here. Look, if Strange isn’t home then maybe that means he’s out fixing this. That’s a good thing. You just need to take a deep breath. We‘ll rest here a little bit, then we’ll start driving back — dollars to donuts whatever big fight is probably going down right now is in, like, Times Square or something, because it literally always is with you super-people.”

Jess makes another frustrated noise that Foggy hopes isn’t going to end with him going through a wall, and then plops down on Dr. Strange’s porch. He settles in beside her, and Matt perches beside him. Luke’s still sprawled in front of them, snoring again. They wait quietly for a good ten minutes, and the tension fades from the air.

Foggy’s just about to suggest they get up and start heading back the way they came when there’s another blast of orange magic — this time running in reverse, moving in towards an epicenter instead of out from it. It washes through them with a disorienting whoosh and leaves behind two dazed boyfriends in simple, cobbled-together costumes.

Foggy’s never been so happy to see a lopsided pipe cleaner halo in his life. He kisses Matt full on the mouth. Matt kisses back eagerly but is also the first to pull away.

“Not that, not that I’m, um, complaining but... What was that for?” he asks, baffled but clearly amused. “And... Where are we?”

So then Foggy has to explain, while watching Jess rip the cheap plastic fangs out of Luke’s mouth and stomp on them repeatedly, exactly how the four of them ended up in front of Dr. Strange’s creepy magic mansion.

“So anyway,” he finishes lamely, “I guess somebody saved the day or something, but we didn’t do much.”

Matt shakes his head.

“You did wonderfully.” He takes a deep breath, the way he always does when he’s gathering himself to say something emotional. “I love you.”

“Love you too, angel,” Foggy says, and the flush of embarrassed pleasure that colors Matt’s cheeks in response is sweeter than any candy.

[thatfairyfangirl]

Part Of That World Chapter 8

Your eyes lingered on Bucky’s muscles glistening under the lights of the training room as Nat’s foot landed in your stomach. “Ughf.” It didn’t exactly hurt, but it definitely wasn’t comfortable as you landed on the mat. 

“You alright?” Nat asked short of breath as she lowered herself down to you, following her friend’s eyes to the former assassin sparing with Steve on the other side of the room before giving you a knowing smirk. “You seem a little distracted.”

“No I don’t...No I’m not. I uhh, I just had some hair in my eyes.” You protested as you pushed your blond and aqua hair from your face. 

“Mm hmm sure.” She said as she turned to the super soldiers. “Hey Steve, I need a break, what do you say to a coffee run?”

“Sure. Buck can you work with (Y/n) while we’re gone?” He turned to you, letting out a sigh as he watched your eyes sadden at the thought of being stuck training with him. “The more practice you get with those knives the better. Plus,” he turned to Bucky, “you getting some action against her harpoon might not be a bad idea either.”

The two of you just stood awkwardly as you were left alone for the first time since the halloween party. “So...Should we maybe talk about-”

“No.” You said sharply as you reached for the knives Steve had given you. “Let's just get this over with.”

“Alright…” He sighed as he readied to spar. “It’s just,” he dipped to the side to dodge the slash of your knife, “I’ve been wondering...” he dipped to the other side as you slashed again with enough firosity to make him think you might actually be trying to hurt him. “Did you know it was me?”

“Of course not!” You snapped as you both traded blows. “That was my one chance to get to know some people as an equal, you really think I would have wasted it on you?” 

As you attempted to punch him he grabbed your hand with his bionic arm, then the next with the other. “It’s just, Wizard of Oz is such an old film...Hell, it was the last movie I went to see before the accident. Is that really your favorite movie?” 

“Yes.” You replied as you attempted to pull your hands free. “Me and Great Aunt Pearl used to watch it all the time back in Maine. It reminds me of my childhood.” As you stood there at a stalemate he found himself looking into your eyes, heart racing. He thought about how the mystery girl from the party made his heart skip a beat with just a smile. How could this be the same girl?

~ ~ ~ ~

With a sigh you settled into your usual reading spot by the window looking down onto the streets below, barely colored with the few leaves in the city changing their colors. “Pretty isn’t it.” Bucky said with a half smile as he came close to admire the view of Central Park off in the distance.  

“It’s alright. But Maine this time of year is breathtaking. I’m thinking about going for a visit.” You said as you set Return of the King down.

“You’re still reading that book? Didn’t you start it over the summer?” Bucky half teased as he came to lean against the window.

You looked up to the ocean blue of his eyes, still finding it hard to believe this was the guy you had such a good time with at the party. As he leaned over you, you realized just how intoxicating his musk could be. He smelled just like he did the night of the party. “No, that was Fellowship. This is the third one.” You explained as you stood, worming out from between him and the window.

“Hey you two!” Steve called from down the hall, on his way to their rooms to look for them. “Shield came up with a lead on a possible Hydra base in the Rocky Mountains. Think you two can play nice long enough for a recon mission?” You both looked to each other before nodding. “Good, suit up.”

~ ~ ~ ~

You and Bucky let the auto nav system fly the quinjet as he did a last minute inspection on his guns and you did some last minute testing on your h2o condenser gauntlets. “So...Maine? Any plans for while you’re there?” 

“You mean outside of being away from you?" He couldn't help noticing much less disdain for him in your voice as you spoke. "Oh not much, maybe visit the marina dad kept his houseboat in.”

“You should go. It might help you cope with stuff.” He offered lightly as he prepared his weapons. 

You raised a brow as you looked over to him, the black leather of his uniform mingling perfectly with the metal of his arm and the dark tendrils of hair dancing over his shoulders. “What is this? What are you doing?” You asked suspiciously as you pulled your hair back into a tight bun, realizing you were close to your target. 

“It’s called being nice. You should try it sometime.” He answered with a smirk before the cabin of the quintet shook violently. "Shit!" He exclaimed as you both tumbled toward each other, arms reaching out instinctively to steady yourselves against the other. "The hell was that?!"

"You act like you've never been fired at before." Your eyes darted around the cabin. "Friday, get us out of the air!" The computer's voice was little more than static but she did as requested. 

"Well...so much for recon mission…" Bucky half chuckled  handing you your harpoon.

~ ~ ~ ~

Though the jet had been shot at you were glad to see it landed in one piece before managing to sneak your way inside. But, what you found in there definitely left you less than thrilled… The facility hidden deep within the mountains held a large tank, thankfully empty. But what sent the worst chill down your spine was the sheets of paper covered in sketches of Atlantean biology and calculations for just how much water they would need and how much sedation would be effective. "I think I'm going to be sick." You scoffed as you pieced together that what you found was a research facility and test lab for a crossbreeding program.

Bucky nodded in agreement, his eye not once leaving the scope of his gun, aim constantly moving, ready to shoot down anyone who stumbled on them. But no one did...the place seemed to be deserted. "I don't like this. We should have ran in to trouble by now."

Your eyes scoured the room. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. "There has to be someone here...who shot at the jet?" You asked as you searched for any clues.

"Might have been an automated security system." He answered as he continued to look around. Spotting a map Bucky lowered his scope, a deep sense of dread growing in his gut. The map had colored pen marks  in seemingly random points in the oceans. But one spot he recognized...where they found you. "Hey...what do you make of this?"

Your eyes looked up from a journal filled with notes before you stepped closer. "Oh good god… " you muttered, recognizing each pinpoint as a different settlement colony. "How did they find them?" You asked in a worried breath before reaching up to tear the map off the wall.

~ ~ ~ ~

“So uhh...we have a problem.” Bucky announced with a scrunched brow as he turned back to face you.

“Oh god what?” You groaned as you came to lean over him at the cockpit. The gold and blue of your hair danced over his shoulders as your head dropped in defeat seeing the black screen that was supposed to be showing a map as you realized the hit you took on the way in knocked out the auto nav systems. "So? I thought you knew how to fly this thing?"

“And what good will that do if I don't know what way to point it?” Bucky's words spat out as he gave the computer a frustrated hit. You both knew well enough neither of you knew how to fix it. "Looks like you get that vacation you were wanting."

“Just radio the team for help.” You suggested, already annoyed with this as you reached for the com set. Nothing but static. “Oh you've got to be kidding.” You shouted as you threw the headset. “FUCK!”

“It's not so bad. They'll figure out something's wrong and come looking for us in a day or so.” Bucky offered as he got up searching the jet for the emergency rations.

“How well are you adapted to the cold?” You asked folding your arms, interjecting a healthy dose of reality into Bucky's unfounded optimism. “We are in the mountains in the autumn. As soon as the sun goes down it's going to start getting colder.” You informed him. “Get your priorities straight Buck.” You added before leaving the jet, disappearing into the wilderness.

Hours later you returned with a pile of wood kneeling down in the clearing the jet landed in. Bucky watched as you got a fire going. “How does a mermaid know how to do that?” He wondered out loud as he emerged with the blankets he found.

“Atlantean. And I didn't always live in the water… Dad loved to go camping a lot when I was a kid.” You explained as you took the blanket to wrap around you. Sitting by the fire your eyes drifted up to see the stars beginning to come alive in the mountain sky. Realizing how long it had been since you've seen them you let out a long sigh, studying each point of light.

“Man that's really something amazing.” He said referring to the soft smile and starlight twinkling in against your face as he sat beside you, leaning back on the blanket. It was nice to see you looking at peace for once.

With a growing smile you leaned back as well, your fingertips brushing slightly against his as your hand landed in the plush grass.  “Yeah...I've spent so much time in the water I almost forgot how beautiful they were.” You reached up with your other hand pointing to a cluster of stars. “That one is called puppis. It was always my dad’s favorite, he named his fishing boat after it.”

“Puppis? Why would you name a boat that?” He asked with a raised brow.

“Its part of a cluster that makes up the Argo. Its this ship from Greek Myth. Dad called it the impossible ship. The constellation moves westward but it sails stern first.” He watched your eyes go wide as you spoke. “Oh my god I'm an idiot!” you announced as you jumped up, the blanket fluttering from your shoulders.

“No objections here." He chuckled, watching you put the fire out with your powers. "Didn't you just get that going?”

“Yeah but I can get us home!” You explained as you scooped the blankets up.

“Did you suddenly remember Tony showing you how to fix the nav system?” He asked with a raised brow.

“Why? We have a working nav system.” You pointed upward. What sailor can't navigate by the stars? Once back on the jet he watched you slip into the co-pilot' seat as you helped direct him back to New York as you both sailed through the stars.

[lavenderhyrdrangea]

Game plan

Wally barely had his foot in the hero bizz, but he knew getting an official suit was the equivalent of getting a license or at least a permit. Like a license or permit, the suit would come after a test. With the way Uncle B trained him, he figured he’d might as well start thinking of a code name.  After all, Speedy was already taken.

“Sorry about the early rising, Kid. Especially on the weekend but I rather you get used to it now—Heroing is an around the clock gig with no pay,” His uncle said, soft rays of sunlight slowly chasing away the shadows on the side of his face.

“Is that part of the test? The rest will be pretty easy then!”

Uncle B laughed, “You wish.” His hands on his lips, he surveyed the landscape.

It was the most cliche cityscape Wally had ever seen. Yeah, there were nice, long roads, windy roads, and bumpy ones(thanks to pot holes and the city taking its sweet time to get around to them.) There were side walks, street lamps, and apartment complexes and businesses that just seemed too close to one another. This definitely was a normal city until the hill street thing they were standing on came into play. The high standing street took a sharp dip within a few footsteps or an inch of car. It wasn’t European stair steep but whoever designed it had to be related to Evel Knievel somehow. The adrenaline junkie wasn’t done either. Once you rode the flat street surface, it would climb up again. It was mostly smooth sailing after that but God, everyone hated this little stretch of road. They even called it, DMV Street in spite of it being part of Pearson Avenue. You go in mildly ticked then it was just down hill from there.

Heh.

Downhill.

Wally supposed you be would rewarded with the sight of Central River once you made it to the bridge but with ferries offering cheap prices for a ride it didn’t seem worth it. Plus, the river was never as pristine as one would hope. Wait a while and you’d see and hear the trash skimmer boat going by.

“I brought you here to test out your coordination in a real life environment. Anybody can train in a lab or on a treadmill but out in the field?  That’s the hard part.”

“Coordination?” Wally looked down at the street and couldn’t help but think of all it’s imminent frustrations.

“Yeah. I was thinking I could make it a little more fun by making it a race. With how early it is there’s shouldn’t be that many people up and out. But there’s just enough people for it to be challenge. Plus, we’re near Star Labs so if anything makes it to the news most people will suspect it’s them.”

“Race!?”

“A little nervous?”

“You wish.”

Uncle B tried to ruffle his hair but was met with the ugly black cowl of his training suit. “Gotta get use to that.”

“I hope not,” Wally whined.

“We’re running all the way to Grocer street. You make it there and you won’t ever have to wear that thing again.”

“Simple enough.” Wally gained resolve. “I’m so getting that suit.”

“Excitement. That’s what I like to see. I put a tracker in that suit. If you run into any problems—literally or otherwise—I’ve got Jay near by with a tracking device. He’ll zip right to you.”

“You might as well tell Jay to put his feet up. I’ll clear this test on the first try.”

They decided they would each have a part in counting down to the race. They chose the ready-set one. It sounded better off the tongue and got him pumped more.

As always, he and Uncle B started off slow which he hated, it felt like he was running through quick sand but as he picked up speed he glided. Obviously, he couldn't glide as fast as his Uncle. Wally at least thought he could stay neck and neck until the next hump but there he was staring at his blurry back, trying to will his feet to take him faster.

They zoomed through the next hump with ease(aka without Wally tripping due to him having to adjust his speed to the incline.) Uncle B was still ahead of him.  How could he be a blur? He trained with him so why wasn’t he that fast?

Dang it, Uncle B. Run into something.

And of course as he thought that he narrowly missed running someone’s car door off of it’s hinges. He felt someone’s arm wrap around his shoulders then a subsequent yank and a rush, whooshing him backwards.

“You got to be a little more careful than that, Kid.” Jay said, smiling as they stood back at the very top of the first hump.

“I know. I know,” Was all he could offer.

He spent the next few weeks of the test bombing it. So much for it being easy. On his second run, Uncle B manged to get so far ahead that he’d gotten lost. The questions about that one were the worst. Explaining how he got lost even though he knew where the race was supposed to end was a whole new level of embarrassing.  He just got so deep into the whole catching up thing, that he couldn't pull himself out of it long enough to really grasp his surroundings.

His third run was just dumb. Who delivered oranges that early in the morning? Er, well, aside from produce truck drivers. Alright, who would drop oranges so they could roll on the ground? Well, he would if he were a produce truck driver. It was probably Uncle B’s gush of wind that knocked the oranges over in the first place. Either way it didn’t help him at all. Maneuvering around the oranges was like trying to learn how to roller skate all over again. The very next week, he ran into this fruit frenzy yet again. This time around he bolted ahead to try to catch the fruit before it fell but maybe his grip was weak or he got a little ahead himself with all the excitement because he ended up tripping himself up. They were just in his arms and he fumbled them. He was also pretty sure the fruit produce man thought one of his orange crates vanished into thin air.

His fifth run was the closest he got to ever finishing the test. He’d made it all the way to the bridge with Central river flowing underneath. The problem this time around was the opposite of the problem he had during his second run.  He stayed focused on his surroundings and his own footwork. Too focused.  Now, he really didn’t know how it happened but Uncle B was gone. Again. Did he expect him to run on water? Cool as it was they hadn’t gone over that and it had been ages since he practiced his backstroke.

Later on in the evening, his mom made a dinner of chicken Alfredo with peanut butter cookies for dessert and invited Uncle B and Aunt Iris over. His father was eager to talk with Uncle B about the test. Wally’s speed had been just as much a bonding experience for these two as it had been for him, his uncle and his aunt. Before then they had little in common. It wasn’t on purpose, both tried, but ended up being awkward elephants. One thing that they did have in common was that they were both fairly hands on people in their respective fields.

“So,” his mom lifted a forkful of rolled up noodles to her mouth,” did things go better today, Wally?”

It was well meaning but he wished she didn’t ask right in the middle of dinner.

All eyes were on him.

He leaned back from his plate. “Uh, it was alright.”

“Alright?” She pressed.

“Okay, slight correction. The first half was alright. The second half...” He trailed off and thought of how he could talk about the whole thing without making his parents freak out on Uncle B. It didn’t matter that neither one of them were speedsters and thus couldn’t honestly give their two cents on the finer details of his training. They were going to do it anyway. And with their input Uncle B would be babying him in no time.

“With how you talk about your powers, I thought you’d take to this like a fish to water,” His father said.

Being the awesome hero that he was, Uncle B dashed in, “It took me a while to figure out coordination when I first started out. I was running on nerves and awkwardness.

“Awkwardness? You?”

Aunt Iris almost choked on her food, she laughed so hard. “Honey, I’m so sorry,” she said to Uncle B who was narrowing his eyes by then, “but you’ve told me stories about how odd you were before everything. I’d still love you but you weren’t always Mr. Hotshot.”

“I’d argue he’s still odd now,” His mom added.

“So you’re tag teaming me now?”

His father slid in “Well...”

“Et tu, Brute?” He looked at Wally. “Looks like it’s just me and you, Kid.”

Dinner ended on a lighter note, and with his mom insisting that Uncle B and Aunt Iris take a boat load of leftovers home. His mom got use to the appetite of two speedsters like it was nothing. It wouldn’t have surprise him if it turned she enjoyed it as some sort of hobby.

His dad told him to help them carry the trays to the car. Powers or not he still had to have manners.

He was putting the last tray in the trunk when Aunt Iris tried to drop some knowledge. “I think what your Uncle was trying to say earlier is that even with meta powers there’s still a trial and error phase when trying to get better at something. And don’t forget the main focus of a test shouldn’t just be the grade. Every X you see there is to help you. If they weren’t there you wouldn’t know what you need to work on.”

“Yeah, and what if I flunk the whole paper?”

“Still helpful,” She singsonged.

“Great. I’ll tell that to my English teacher the next time time I get an F on my essay.”

Aunt Iris glazed over his quip in exchange for one last word of advice.   “And, remember don’t compare your work to others’ too much. It’s good when you want to better yourself but sometimes it’s bad for the esteem when done obsessively.  I can’ tell you how many times I’ve beat myself up over the fact that another reporter released a story quicker than me only to realize my work was suffering because of my fixation with their work.”

Uncle B suggested a break from the test for just a little while. No doubt a result of Aunt Iris doing her news reporter read on him the last few seconds before they left. She probably made him look pathetic to Uncle B. Like he needed anymore of that.

His father didn’t really like all the extra time he had since he was soft benched, so he thought it was best he got his blood going. His dad suggested that they play baseball. He was little of iffy about that. His dad was really obsessive when it came to baseball. The thought of his past little league seasons made him cringe. But he suggested gathering up the neighborhood kids and playing football instead and Wally wasn’t doing to do that. So they settled on playing catch with the baseball.

“That’s a shame,” His fathered lamented. “Football’s a great game. I’m supposed to be teaching you everything I know. Taking you to games. Cheering you on from the bleachers.  I feel like I’ve missed out you know?”

“It’s just that I don’t like to be tackled.” Or dealing his father’s weird sports lust.

“You’re going to get tackled chasing after the Flash aren’t you?”

Wally stayed quiet.

“I know people don’t think it’s something that requires a lot of brain work but anyone who says that never looked beyond the news articles they find on the internet talking about rowdy fans trashing their home towns after their team lost. It’s a game of wits. You need a game plan if you plan on winning, “Zeal overtook him. “What’s the quickest way to advance down the field? Which defensive player is the one you should keep an eye on? What tactic or strategy is better suited for all the players on your team? What plays into their strengths? It’s much more than tossing a ball back and forth. Take you for instance. You’re fast now, right? You’d make a mean running back—A tail back to be precise. You’d be able to rush the ball to the end zone no problem.”

“I can’t use my powers like that, dad. That’s cheating.”

“Oh, fine. Steal all my fun. Focus on the strategy, boy.”

“Alright, alright. You said that you start off with a plan. What if it seems like the plan isn’t working?”

“What you’re talking about is a quarterback. Possibly one of the most important members of the team. They reiterate all the coaches plays to the team in a way they all understand and they have to have quick thinking too. They can change a play at the scrimmage line if it looks like the play they’re going with won’t work out well.”

“And how do they know a play won’t work?”

“Something’s usually off with the defensive line. Look at it this way. Strategy or the game play is all about understanding yourself, your team and your opponents.”

“Mind games.”

“Yup.” His dad said proudly.

The cogs in Wally’s head whirred. “Do you think that that works on things outside of football?”

“I don’t see why not.”

He told his father to hold off on the catch and that he needed to study. The man was miserable. He probably planned to spend the whole day with him.

“Uh, dad?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks. Remind me that I owe you a game one of these days.”

With that, Wally went to craft a game play of his own. Instead of begging Uncle B to start that test again, he asked Jay to take him to DMV Street and to watch him run. With every problem he ran into, he and Jay would take note of them and analyze why they thought he was having such a problem with it. Jay was much better at it than he was because he could go beyond just a practical understanding of his problems. He didn’t only focus on implementing more jumps to avoid danger but he zeroed in on why Wally was so hesitant when it came to jumping. They found out that it was, duh, because he was nervous. There was a layer underneath that as well that for once Jay couldn't get to since he claimed Wally wouldn’t budge. Whatever that meant. It was starting to seem like his problems had problems.

Eventually he felt ready enough for the test again. Like the last few times, Uncle B took them to DMV Street early in the morning.

“Sure you’re ready?” He asked.

“Born ready.”

“Alright. Why don’t you start off the countdown?”

“Ready,” Wally said.

“Set,” Uncle B supplied.

“Go!” They said in unison.

The test started the same way it had since the beginning—slow and steady then fast. He kept close to his Uncle’s heels for a few seconds. He even ribbed him.

“That suit is mine.”

After the second hump he ended up falling back. This freaked him out at first but he knew he had to stay on it. He had to think and be aware of everything yet not to the point of hyper focusing.

He could tell how long it had been since his Uncle passed by the way his surroundings reacted. A skirt that billowed too harshly was a good marker. A crate of oranges spilling over was an even better one. The oranges rolled all over the street and adrenaline made his heart pound as he vaulted over them. He weaved in and out of the way of the people and things that threw themselves onto his path: The blockheads who must’ve wanted to live the rest of their lives without a car door and the plastic bags and pamphlets that use to smack him in the face and temporarily blind him. Man! At times he had to deal with his own two feet.

He tried to suppress the overwhelming relief that resonated in all parts of his body when he made it to Central bridge.

Something in the back mind chanted, “thisisitthisisitthisisitthisisit!”

Again, Uncle B was just gone. He steeled himself. His uncle unlike, most teachers, wouldn’t test him on things they’ve never gone over before.

The horn of the trash skimmer boat blared.

Yes.

He waited until it made its way from under the bridge to the other side. Determined, he leaped over the railing and into the boat’s dustcart.

Uncle B was waiting there on top of a pile of trash with his arms behind his head and a grin.

“Wait til they dock then it’s back to hitting the pavement to Grocer street for us.”

“Yeah.” He agreed, a little dazed.

Uncle B ruffled his hair—or better yet the cowl of his ugly training suit—and said, “You’re pretty cool, Kid.”

He grew dizzy with joy.

A/n: I really liked working on this one! Writing Wally was actually a lot of fun. His parents were slightly difficult to grasp since I had to teeter between the lines of...good and bad I guess? In the comics, Wally’s parents are depicted as no good but they’re never depicted as out and out abusive. They loved their boy. It was just at times they ended up screwing other people over in process of loving him. His mother was always depicted as the lesser of the two “evils”.

[nerdy-as-heck]

My R - Pt. 1

First | Next

Original song

English cover

Animatic that inspired me (its not directly based on this or anything, I took my own spin with it, but this gave me the idea)

Word Count: 1,032

Pairings: Platonic-ish Prinxiety (emphasis on the ish)

Warnings: Self-deprecating thoughts, suicidal thoughts, almost suicide attempt, breakup, heights, insults, “Pain Olympics”, crying, HEAVY ANGST (let me know if I missed anything!)

A/N: Virgil’s POV, song lyrics in bold with slight wording changed to fit the characters better

It had been a really, really...really long day. So many mistakes, so many things gone wrong, so may reasons why I’m such an idiot, why do I even try. I walk through the quietest part of town. The cool breeze blows past me, making me retreat further into my purple-plaid jacket. Why did you even wear this thing? It looks ridiculous, you shouldn’t have even gotten it in the first place. Step by step, slowly through the darkness until I finally reach my apartment complex. I barely trudge my way into the building, glancing at my phone for only a second before heading into the elevator. For a moment, I hesitate. My finger hovers over the button to take me to the floor for my room. Slowly, I drift it up until it is over the number for the very top floor. I push the button.

Once the elevator opens, it is only a short walk to the stairs that take me onto the roof. I walk forward, stopping at the edge. The world seems so peaceful from this far up. Almost no noise, the lights just tiny specs, the movement of cars insignificant against the vast horizon. For once, I feel a sense of calm rush over me. I haven’t been so relaxed, so...worry-free in years. A tear comes into my eye and I wipe it away before it can ruin my eyeshadow. Is...is this what it will feel like? I want this feeling to last forever. Even if it doesn’t, it has to be better than my life now...right?

Just as I was about to take my shoes off, on the rooftop there I see a boy with styled hair here before me. Despite myself I go and scream:

“Hey, don’t do it please.”

The boy slowly turned around. He looked so young, though maybe it was partly because he was dressed in a prince costume. Was it getting close to Halloween or something? I don’t remember. It was all too easy for me to see tears in his eyes. A few dripped down onto the paper crown he held it his hands, clutching it like it was his lifeline. He may have looked young, but his voice and height showed that he had to have been in high school at least.

“Are...are you talking to me?” he asked. He voice shook slightly and it was obvious that he was not someone who usually talked that quiet.

Whoa. Wait a minute. What did I just say? I thought I had said that in my head. I didn’t want to get involved. I couldn’t care less either way. It’s not my problem to deal with. To be honest I was somewhat pissed. This was an opportunity missed. A perfect night. And now...

“Uh, yeah, I am.” Great. That wasn’t awkward at all. “Do you want to talk or something?”

The boy backed away from the edge and I followed, sitting down beside him a few feet away from the ledge. It was all quiet for a few seconds, just us listening to the sounds of the city, when he began to talk.

The boy with styled hair told me his woes. He seemed really upset, but honestly it wasn’t all that special. You’ve probably heard it all before.

“There was this guy in my class. We were the best of friends for all of elementary and middle school. We were absolutely inseparable, the dashing duo that no one could ever defeat!” He smiled a bit at that part and posed like he was in a photoshoot. Jeez, what a dramatic kid. “When we starting dating at the end of middle school, it was really great. So many wonderful memories together, even despite the arguments. We worked so well together. I really thought that he might be the one.” His smile faltered a bit. “Senior year rolled around, though, and we got into a tremendous argument. I thought we had fixed it and moved on, but then he told me he was done. Just...out of nowhere. Over text. I haven’t heard from him in weeks, no explanations or anything. He’s just...gone.”

It took everything in my power not to scream at this kid. I mean, really, for gosh sake, please! Are you serious? Heartbroken over some stupid guy? Is that really the worst thing going on in your life right now? I just can’t believe that for some stupid reason you got here before me. I have thousands more reasons to be here instead of you! You should be out living your life, not sitting here wondering if one heartbreak is worth ending your life over. Are you upset cause you can’t have what you wanted?

Desperately, I try to fish for something to say that won’t make matters worse. “Don’t you have someone or something else in your life that makes you happy?”

The boy looked down at the ground. “Well...I do love singing. And theatre. Sometimes those can make things better. My dream is to work on Broadway someday. I actually just got out of the final night of my role in Into the Woods.”

Of course this dramatic kid would be a complete theatre geek. I should have known. “Well, I guess that explains the whole prince costume.” He laughs a bit at that, clearly embarrassed. “But anyway, if you really like it, then you should do that. Just throw yourself into it. And hey, I bet that guy didn’t deserve you anyway.” What is this kid just sitting here for? If he’s so talented, he can just do that! So what if you can’t always have what you want? You’re lucky that you’ve never gotten robbed of anything. The only things you've lost are things you didn’t need in the first place.

“I’m feeling better. Thank you for listening.” The boy slowly stood up, drying the tears from his eyes. He picked up the paper crown off the ground, stuck it on his head, and smiled at me. The boy with styled hair then disappeared, leaving down the stairs. I waited for a few minutes before following. It’s been a long day...maybe I should just get some sleep.

-

Tags: @fandersfic-virgil

Also I heard @softestvirgil likes angst and @the-incedible-sulk mentioned they'd be okay with being tagged

[dancingkirby]

In which Bolin plays with toys and Eska fails at flirting

I’m going to have to think up a title for this story soon.  I was thinking maybe “Into Open Waters.”

“How dare she? How dare she?”

Eska paced around the room, trying her hardest to keep her voice low so as not to disturb Kinalik.  The stress of the previous sleepless night, their escape in the wee hours, the sheer physical effort required to waterbend all the way to Republic City with a toddler and luggage in tow, the energy required to interact with people in a strange place…all of it was consuming her.

She collapsed in a chair, her body shaking and angry tears streaming down her face, which made her feel all the worse; like she was no more mature than her daughter.

Did their courtiers think that the twins did not hear the snickers and whispers of “half breed?” And yesterday…they had all looked at Kinalik like she was a monster. They felt that their only option was to get her out of there.

“I was trying to explain, but she wouldn’t listen!” she moaned to her brother.  

“Perhaps she felt the same about you,” Desna offered cautiously.

“Perhaps,” Eska muttered, making an enormous effort to control her crying.  “I have no harsh feelings towards our cousin’s significant other; she is not nearly as uncouth as the others.  I was just…trying so hard not to cry in front of them that I forgot to thank her.   People only seem to care about what I do incorrectly; not what I do the appropriate way.  Yes, I know you are an exception, brother,” she hastily added to ward off his protests.  She furiously scrubbed the tears away.  

“I recommend that we go to sleep right now and ponder the matter further in the morning,” Desna said.

“Yes…that would probably be wise.”

Eska was worried that she’d have problems falling asleep like she often did in locations that weren’t home.  However, the rhythm of Kinalik’s breathing soothed her, and the trio was soon huddled together in a deep slumber.

When Eska woke up who-knows-how-late in the morning, her back was throbbing in pain.  She supposed it was to be expected with all the exercise and lifting that she did yesterday. Even attempting to roll over caused her to moan. Thankfully, Desna had already awoken, and was ready with the bowl of water. He and Eska silently healed each other, then Eska also healed Kinalik, who was uninjured but wanted to do what the grownups were doing.  It didn’t get rid of all the pain, but reduced it enough to allow her to perform the usual morning functions and help Kinalik with hers.

When they got downstairs to the breakfast room, Korra was sitting there alone.  She had finished her own meal, but there was still a pot of tea and a plate of steamed buns filled with bean paste on the table. Eska was impressed to see that they’d remembered about Kinalik’s noodles, and that the child’s chair had a pile of cushions on it in lieu of a booster seat.

“Asami’s in the shower,” Korra said in response to their unspoken query.  “She likes to fiddle around in her workshop first thing in the morning when she’s feeling upset.”

Even Eska could tell that the last few words were pointed.  “Hm,” was all she could trust herself to say in response as she grabbed a bun.

“Does she eat anything else?” Korra asked, referring to Kinalik.  That was a somewhat safer topic, at least.

“Rice. Eggs.  Apples peeled and cut to slices exactly ¼ inch thick.  Arctic hen.  Some types of fish; she seems to change her mind about exactly which types by the day,” Eska answered.  She stopped to think.  What else was there?

“We have been having modest success in getting her to eat kelp,” Desna reminded.

“Oh yes.  The first time she ate that was a triumphant occasion indeed.  And before you ask, cousin, we do give her a daily multivitamin.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Korra said quickly.  She took a sip of her tea and said, “I wonder if she’d like Narook’s?  They have a kid’s menu.”

“Is it noisy?”

“Dinner can be…lunch is usually quieter.”

“We will consider it.”

They were spared from doing further chatting for the moment by Asami entering the room, fully dressed but with a towel wrapped around her head.  Korra looked at Eska expectantly.

Eska supposed that this was her cue to apologize.   Damn it.  She’d never cared about the feelings of anyone outside of her family before.

“I’msorry,” she mumbled while looking down at her hands.  This seemed to satisfy the requirements for now.

“It’s okay,” Asami said.  “I know you must have been under a lot of stress.  Now, is this enough food for you?  We could have the cook make something hot…”

“This is sufficient,” Desna assured her.

Asami sat down as well and got her own breakfast, and apparently decided that it would be best to get right to the point.

“So…Korra said that you were concerned about Kinalik’s safety…”

“That is one way to phrase it.”

“So exactly how deep into hiding did you want to go?”

Good question.

“We hadn’t thought things through that far yet,” Desna admitted.  “All we were hoping for was to buy a few days of time to strategize. That was why we chose not to stay at a hotel.”

“Simply arriving at this destination was the main objective.  They will discover our location sooner or later, but I doubt that they would take our lives here.  Nevertheless, we should take precautions,” Eska added.

Korra and Asami stopped to think, and then Korra said, “Well, you do have one thing going for you.  You’re fairly obscure.  Probably all that most people in Republic City know about you is that you’re those creepy twins.”

Eska clenched her jaw, and willed the angry words ready to spring from her back down her throat. She didn’t want another argument to start so quickly.  Desna appeared to be having a similar struggle, but was able to state in an even tone, “We do like our privacy.”

While they had been talking, Kinalik had finished her noodles and was getting bored.

“Down!” she commanded.  Eska rose to help her off the cushions, and sat back down with her daughter in her lap.

“And that’s another thing,” Asami said.  “I didn’t even know of Kinalik’s existence until yesterday, and I don’t think Korra did either.”

“They may have mailed something,” Korra said.  “But I was kind of distracted at the time.”

“We did air a birth announcement on the radio,” Eska remarked.  Granted, it had run only once.  At 6 AM.  Neither the twins nor their advisors had wanted to call much attention to it.

“Well, anyway, if all that the general public knows about you is that you’re twins, we’d want to make you look as unalike as possible.  Plus, the weather’s much too warm right now for your regular wardrobes. We’ll need to shop for new clothes, and one of you might have to cut your hair.”

Asami looked over at Desna, but Eska quickly said, “I’ll do it.”  Desna had done so much for her; it was only fair that she should be the one to make this sacrifice.

“I have to go get the rest of my stuff this morning, but…hold on, let me write this down,” Korra said.”  She retrieved a notebook and pencil from a side table.

“Asami, could you take them downtown this afternoon?  I’ll probably want to rest, and you’re the one with the style sense. And um…I still can’t drive that well.”

“Sure, but maybe one at a time?  Whoever is after them would be looking for twins.”

“No prob. Desna, you okay with waiting until tomorrow?”

“Whatever you think is best,” Desna answered, albeit apparently with some unease about them being separated.  The twins squeezed hands under the table.

“Bolin might want to join us,” Asami remarked.  “You know how he is about makeovers.”

“Oh, yeah, whoops, I forgot about Bolin.  And we were going to do a proper introduction today.”

“I wonder…” Asami trailed off as Korra scribbled away.  

“Hm?”

“I was just thinking about how to make all this more pleasant for Kinalik.  I think I have an idea.  You go over to Air Temple Island.  I can take care of arranging things.”

“’Kay, love you.”

They kissed.  Eska was relieved.  All of the talking had been making her dizzy.

After Korra had finally departed, Asami got Eska, Desna, and Kinalik situated in the living room. Unlike the more formal parlor they’d seen on the tour yesterday, this room was stocked with comfortable furniture, which was a blessing for Eska’s back.  It was decorated with plush carpeting, wooden paneling, several paintings, and a tall bookcase in the corner.  Eska made a beeline for the latter and thumbed through the selection.

While Eska was busy with her browsing, Asami used one of the mansion’s many phones to call Bolin.

“So what do you think about coming over here shortly?  Makeovers may be involved.”

Eska could hear Bolin’s shriek of joy from clear across the room.  Asami had to hold the receiver at arm’s length until he calmed down.

“I take it that’s a yes?  Okay, what time?  Yeah, I think we can do that.  So see you…oh?  What is it?”

She listened for a few seconds, then said, “Well, I’ll ask them,” and covered the receiver with her hand.

“Eska, Desna, Bolin says that Opal wants to come meet you.  Is that okay?”

Eska was intrigued in spite of herself.  She wanted to see just what sort of powerful woman had managed to ensnare her ex’s heart.

“It is all right with me.  Desna?”

“Me as well.”

“Great!” exclaimed Asami.  She turned back to the receiver and said, “That’s a yes from both of them.  See you in a few, then?  All right.  No, Pabu had better stay at your apartment this time. Bye.”

She hung up the phone, then left the room, saying vaguely that she had to “get things ready.”

Eska, in the meantime, had found several recent issues of Republic City Style.  She had first encountered this publication in the storage room of the library back home, and knew that it was trash, but had been unable to stop reading these chronicles of uncivilized famous people and their clothing.  And it definitely wasn’t because she was jealous of them and their hedonistic lives!  No, if ever asked, she would claim that it was simply anthropological studies.

“All right, let’s see who Ginger is dating now,” she murmured as she sat down to look at the pictures with Kinalik.

“May I have one?” Desna asked.

“You may.”

They were deeply engrossed in their reading material, with occasional snorts of incredulity from the twins and squeals of “Pretty!” from Kinalik, when they heard something being hauled down the stairs and dragged into the living room.

“I found that box of t-o-y-s that I was telling you about yesterday!” Asami said as she beamed. She had removed her towel, and looked no worse for wear from the exertion.  Eska wished that she could look that put-together.

“So I was thinking that Bolin could help Kinalik look through these, and that maybe she would warm up to him more if she associated him with a positive thing like that.”

Kinalik perked up at the mention of her name.  Eska thought that this was actually a clever idea, and wished that she could have thought of that herself.

“Shall we see what is contained in here?” Eska asked Kinalik. Her daughter didn’t answer verbally, but appeared happy for the first time since they’d left the palace.

As Asami left to get some scissors with which to open the box, the doorbell rang.  The door was opened shortly thereafter, presumably by the butler…what was his name again?

“We have arrived!” Bolin announced as he bounded into the living room, followed closely behind by Opal.  “And…hey neat, what’s that?”  He gestured at the box.

Asami explained her idea to him as Kinalik removed the first item from the box: a stuffed animal in the form of a cat-owl.

“Great, sounds great!” Bolin enthused as made to sit down right next to Kinalik, then caught himself in time and picked a spot a respectful couple of feet away.

Asami had certainly never been lacking in any amusement as a child; Eska felt a twinge when she remembered how her own toys had been taken away when she wasn’t too much older than Kinalik.  There were stuffed animals of all sorts (yes, including a turtleduck and a koala otter), dolls, and Satomobile models.  Thankfully, nothing was in that box that would pose a choking hazard; Eska presumed that Kinalik was smart enough not to put toys in her mouth, but one never knew for sure.

Kinalik was insistent on doing the unpacking herself, and kept most of the toys to herself, but every so often she would shyly offer one to Bolin.

“Thank you!” he exclaimed at her latest offering of a stuffed animal that was so worn that Eska couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to be.  “Do you wanna know something, Kinalik?  I don’t remember what toys I had when I was your age.  I wish I did.  So this is really as exciting for me as it is for you!”

Kinalik scrunched her nose, and either because she didn’t know how to respond or didn’t have the words, settled for “Okay.”  But she did hand over a toy truck to him.

“Oh, she’s just adorable!” said Opal, which slightly startled Eska because she’d been so focused on the scene across the room.  She was seated at the opposite end of the couch from the twins.

“Yes,” Eska answered.  She and Desna switched places so that there would be no one between Eska and Opal. Then she remembered.

“I have on my possession a copy of Kinalik’s birth certificate,” Eska stated as she took the piece of paper out of her pocket.  “It contains proof that Bolin was not being unfaithful to you.  Not with me, at least.”

Opal didn’t move to take it.

“It’s okay, I believe you.  Really,” she said.

It was just that easy?  Eska had been anticipating a more frosty reception.

“So what do you think?  Can we be friends?” Opal asked as she smiled gently.  She extended her hand, and Eska forced herself to make eye contact while tentatively reaching her arm out as well.  But she only had the nerve to brush Opal’s fingers with her own.

Just then, there was much excitement from the duo on the floor.  Having removed all of the toys from the box, they had reached the best part…the packing paper.  Kinalik reached for a particularly large piece and gleefully ripped it in half.

“That makes a cool sound, doesn’t it?” Bolin observed.

Kinalik studied the two halves in her hand, and then crumpled one up, walked over, and reached up to place it on Bolin’s head.

“Oh wow!  A hat!  Just what I always wanted!” Bolin said with all evidence of sincerity.  He tossed his head ever so slightly, and the paper fell to the floor.

“OOPS!  It fell off!  How clumsy of me!”

Kinalik looked at him, then at the paper, then back at him.  And she laughed.

This was something that even Eska herself rarely elicited from her daughter.  She wished that she could telepathically transmit to Bolin the significance of this event.  But as he glanced over it her, it seemed that he already knew to some extent.

Shortly thereafter, Korra returned, and while the servants transferred her things, Asami herded them all into the main dining room for lunch.  Evidently, Korra had informed her partner of Kinalik’s preferences, because the meal was omelets…plain for Kinalik and with vegetables for everyone else.  Kinalik actually ate most of hers, and even sampled a piece of mushroom from Eska’s plate without spitting it back out.

When that was concluded, Desna put Kinalik down for a nap while Eska ventured out into the great unknown.

For what felt like the millionth time, Eska felt the ends of her now shoulder-length hair.  It felt exceedingly strange to not have it hanging halfway down her back.

Also, the hairdresser had insisted on using hair clips to pin her bangs back.

“You have such a perfectly-proportioned forehead!” the older woman had gushed.  “And such delicate eyebrows.  Why would you ever want to cover that up?”

At least it might work as a disguise.  And Asami and Opal had wholeheartedly agreed with the stylist.  They had tried to get Bolin’s opinion as well, but he held up his pointer finger for silence.

“Please don’t disturb me.  I have attained manicure Nirvana,” he stated in an exaggerated whisper.

When Bolin had finally descended back down to Earth, they went clothes-shopping.  First they got some everyday items.  Eska was rather embarrassed that she had to wear clothing from the Juniors section due to her petite frame, but she managed to tolerate the shopping long enough to attain several new outfits.  The store had a changing room in case one wanted to wear an outfit out of the store, so Eska had changed her regular tunic and leggings for a sky-blue shirt with cap sleeves, white pants that fell just below the knee, and white sandals.  It was odd to have so much of her skin exposed in public, but it was amusing to imagine how the dreaded councilors back home would react.

She was taken aback when she realized that she would have to help carry her own belongings for the first time in her life, but decided not to argue.

Then Asami had remembered about Korra’s party, to which Eska hadn’t realized that she was invited, so they went to a more upscale boutique that specialized in Water Tribe inspired designs to find a dress.  Of course, the one that caught Eska’s eye was too large for her, so she would have to come back later for fitting.

By the time that was over, all of them were loaded with shopping bags and getting tired, and Eska’s back was acting up again.  She still didn’t understand why some girls and women did this for fun.

“There’s a bubble tea shop just down the street.  Let’s stop there,” Asami suggested.

Eska was about to inquire what bubble tea was, but her thoughts slammed on the brakes as a horrific sound rose from the corner next to the tea shop.

“What. Is.  That?” she demanded as she jammed her fingers inside her ears.

“That’s a trombone,” Opal answered.  She and Asami rolled their eyes at Bolin, who was edging nervously closer toward the tea shop door.

Even leading such a sheltered life, Eska had heard of street musicians.  But she had been under the impression that most did it for money.  There was no tip box beside this man’s feet, so either he was just doing it for fun or wanted to cause all pedestrians an agonizing death.  Probably the latter, she thought.

“I am going to ambulate over there right now and inform that man that he must cease and desist immediately,” she declared.

“Maybe…just going inside would be a better idea?” Bolin offered.  “Come on quick, before he sees us!”

Bolin dashed inside, and the three women had no choice but to follow, Opal and Asami both making noises of disapproval.

They got their orders and sat down.  Eska had assumed that the bubbles would be some form of carbonation, but they were actually solid spheres.  She guessed that it was not called “sphere tea” because it didn’t roll off the tongue as easily.  In any case, the spheres had a pleasantly chewy texture.

Meanwhile, Asami was still scolding Bolin.

“He’s a much better person now and you know it!” she said.

“He still scares me!”

“Well, I invited him to the party, so get used to him.”

“You what?  Oh frick…here he comes.”

The door abruptly swung open as if accompanied by a musical cue, and Trombone Man walked in like he owned the place.  To Eska’s relief, he had put away that torture device for the present.  Wait…why was he making a beeline to their table?

“Hi, Tahno!” Asami said cheerfully as Opal waved.  The latter elbowed Bolin, who squeaked out a “Hi!”

The name rang a bell.  Eska tried to recall where she’d encountered it.

“Now who is this lady here?” Tahno the Trombone Man asked.  “I don’t believe that I’ve seen you here with the Uh-vatar’s crowd before.”

Eska assumed that he was referring to Opal.  But after several seconds, she realized that he was looking at her.  Just in time, she remembered how she knew of him.

“I saw you in the magazines,” she said.  “Except then you weren’t there anymore.  And then you were, but not quite as often.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Was he flirting, or just making fun of her?

Eska rose from her seat and affixed her best glare.

“Your subpar pronounciation irritates my auditory receptacles.  As does your so-called musical talent.”

The look she was giving him would have sent a whole room full of courtiers fleeing.  But Trombone Man just laughed.

“Oh, did I offend you, Ice Queen?”

Did he know?  At any rate, Eska realized that he towered over her by at least a foot, despite her drawing herself up to as full a height as her back would allow.  This would not do.

“If I am the Ice Queen, then you are my subject.  I demand that you swear fealty to me by kneeling.”

She heard three sharp intakes of breath.  But kneel Tahno did, after only a brief pause.  He kept his eyes and his smirk on Eska.  Eska remained outwardly composed (at least she hoped so), but her heart was starting to pound…from anxiety or from something else?

“Of course…you do know what this means, Ice Queen?  Now I must kiss your hand.”

Eska barely had time to process the words before Bolin leapt in between them.

“O-kaaaayyy!” he exclaimed louder than he had to.  “I know we’re all having a wonderful time here, and it was great seeing you again, but look at the clock!  We really have to be going now, so bye and see you at the party, I guess!”

He herded the trio of women out the door, drinks, bags, and all.  Eska didn’t know whether she wanted to thank him or throttle him.

“That was interesting,” Eska mused as they walked back to the Satomobile.  “However, I doubt he would show the submission required to be my husband.”

Bolin choked on his last sip of tea.

“Mental images, Eska!  Mental! Images!” he gasped out.

At least he was starting to show his true self around her.

[nemetonisevilpassiton]

Is Teen Wolf Lovecraftian, and if so how?

When I start writing meta I have an idea of what I want to talk about and I pose a question like a high school English essay and then amuse myself for about five minutes writing the first sentence as if it was that high school English essay.

So, Yes, Teen Wolf is a Lovecraftian horror because of .... or no, Teen Wolf is not Lovecraftian, it's X and this is why. 

then I delete that.

I was watching an essay on youtube about Bloodborne 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=glP-gH_n3Yc

and it kinda made me think

When we talk about Lovecraft we get bogged down in tentacles, fish people and, dear god, what does that word mean? When you read Lovecraft you get bogged down in the overt racism, sexism and pretentious word choices, seriously, the man only used normal words if they were slurs that weren't acceptable in the thirties.

However, Lovecraft, at its core, is about alienation, the feeling of being a very small thing in a very big shitstorm, human arrogance and the inevitability of hubris. Basically, people try to use knowledge to gain power and end up being punished for it, or use power to gain knowledge and are punished for it.

Lemme explain, in Beyond the Mountains of Madness the researchers for the Miskatonic find the ruins of a city that is thousands of years old, and they start doing basic experiments on what they find there, dissections and the like - then something starts repeating those experiments on them and the abandoned city is not abandoned at all, but the things that live there are so outside their frame of reference they go mad - then are experimented on and die : so they went looking for knowledge and got killed by knowledge, they discovered something unknowable and it ate them basically.

In Charles Dexter Ward the titular character discovers he has a shady but powerful ancestor and wants to find out what was going on there, so he starts to research him in search for power and is possessed by said shady ancestor.

The idea that the human search for power for knowledge, like the Miskatonic archaeologists, or knowledge for power, like Charles Dexter Ward is the sort of heart of it and it does apply to Teen Wolf.

yes, really. just with fewer tentacles.

Lovecraft makes people irrelevant in the grand scale of things, his characters are randoms in their own stories, they are tiny pieces of a huge whole, a whole so vast that if they do perceive it they go screamingly mad and or die. Perception is king and Perception is managed.

There are several narratives at play.

There is the one we are told - Scott's narrative.

There is the story of the Hales and the Argents which we see some of.

There is the Hunter/Supernatural war - which is much larger than Scott's narrative and which cross over at points.

There is the general messed up nature of the town and those stories which Scott sort of almost interacts with, like Meredith and the Parapsychologists

There is the story of Eichen house - which is one step removed from Scott's narrative, and one step [a different step] from the Hunter/Supernatural war - this one almost certainly involves governemnt experimentation on supernaturals and humans alike.

There is the story of the things drawn to the town, the possessions, nogitsune, hell hounds, anuk-ite, the dread doctors, etc

There is the story of the nemeton and the lake because there is something in the water, and the nemeton seems to balance it out to an extent.

There is the story of the banshees which we see interact in part with Scott's

but Scott is telling the story and the story is much more interesting than he finds it.

Have you ever heard of Browning's My Last Duchess. It's a fantastic poem, it's two men walking through a house and the duke is telling the envoy of his new bride's father about his wealth and starts to talk about his wife, making it sound like she was a slattern and she died of it, but making it clear he was driven mad by jealousy and murdered her.

That's kind of how Teen Wolf's story is told, we're being told a fraction of a story he is spinning but we're seeing - through his narrative - a much more interesting one unfold.

And that is what Lovecraft does, he goes I'm telling you this story because human minds cannot comprehend the whole story so I cannot, as the narrator, tell you it, and i'm writing this down before I go do something stupid - postscript when the manuscript arrived narrator was either dead or in a mental institute.

The concept of reality and madness is something Lovecraft adored, the idea that people would not believe you because they thought you were mad, you had to be, you were seeing monsters, appears again and again in his work, as well as the idea that full expanse of knowledge those things greater than you deigned to share just broke you. 

This was written in with Stiles in 3b, he doubted his own mind with the possession.

The idea of not being able to tell hallucination from reality is omnipresent in the second half of the show but reached a crescendo in Canaan, a town that appeared to them differently because of how much of the eldritch truth that they knew.

Scott telling the story is Lovecraftian, the idea of overwhelming paranoia and creatures that create and feed on fear - these are all Lovecraftian.

He was a great writer underneath the pretentious ten dollar words, sexism and racism, but cut those out and his short stories become epigrams.

There is a wonderful graphic novel biography of Lovecraft by Hans Rodionoff which, in a lovely conceit, had Lovecraft's bibliophile grandfather [with whom he lived] actually acquire the Necronomicon, the book in Lovecraft's stories, and although he never read it the book touched him and inspired him into his stories. The GN makes him more of a victim of circumstance than his own hideous world views than he was in life but it's a lovely conceit - that the necronomicon used the nascent story writer to infect the world with what IT knew.

When we think of Lovecraft we think of tentacles and Cthulhu and maybe we should tihnk of paranoia and hubris and the power/knowledge quest that always ends badly.

Everyone who sought out knowledge of what was happening in BH was punished for it - and ended up in Eichen House

Those who sought power for the sake of understanding what was going on - Deucalion, Corinne, Talia to an extent, Gerard, had that power stripped from them with the knowledge they were given, and Julia, at least, went mad.

It needs a lot more work than i want to give it, right now, because you can make some gorgeous comparisons but it means reading Lovecraft and he tends to make me feel grimy when I read his work [his films SUCK, invariably], and Lovecraftian works tend to be more about the creeping horror that lurks behind you than the knowledge/power problem he presents - simply because it's too big to fit into an hour and a half [Guillermo del Toro came closest with Hellboy 2]

Is Teen Wolf Lovecraftian - yes, is the problem with that association the fact that Lovecraft was a racist sexist waste of humanity - yeah that doesn't help at all.

[joyous-art]

Wordtober Day 6: Sword

The sun rose through the trees and he throws his arm across his face to block it out. Something the size of a cat pounces on him and he jumps; the sleep in his eyes making the world appear hazy as he blinks at the small, rust coloured figure.

“Not now. I just got to sleep.”

“Aaand now it’s time to get up”

He groans and rolls over, hauling the blanket up to cover his head; knocking the creature off him in the process. He can hear it curse at him as it struggles to stay on the bed.

“I feel sick.”

“You should've thought about that before staying up all night.”

He grumbles as the sheet slowly becomes transparent; exposing him to the burning sunlight.

“You’re awful.”

A small chuckle can be heard; well, the equivalent of a chuckle anyway and there’s a flap of wings as he sits up. He stretches, watching as the blanket returns to it’s normal, solid, tawny brown. He yawns as the dragon sits on him again and presses its head into his hand.

“I made breakfast.”

“Lord help us.”

This particular dragon’s idea of ‘breakfast’ consisted of a variety of grubs, worms and whatever it caught in the island's shallows; not the most appetizing meal for… basically, anyone who wasn’t a dragon.

“Oh relax, Xen. There’s scrambled eggs and toast for you”

Xen raises an eyebrow in confusion. Usually, when something humanly edible was made it was cooked oysters or fish or crab but eggs?

“...What kind of eggs?”

“Chicken, I think.”

“Chicken, you think. Better question, where did you get the eggs?”

The dragon hesitates for a moment, manoeuvring itself to the end of the bed; out of arm's reach.

“Zeothess. Where. Did you get. The eggs.”

“From Poppy.”

“Poppy.”    

It had been it hadn’t been that long since he’d last seen her, only about a year. At one point they’d dropped out of contact for nearly a decade; leading him to believe she was dead until she showed up on his island one day.

“I visited her yesterday but you were so busy you obviously don’t remember me telling you.”

Xen had used the lighthouse’s power supply to aid a Mergirl he’d seen sitting on the shore a night ago. It had cost him a great about of energy to cast the spell and when he’d attempted to turn on the light the following night it had burnt out. That prompted the loss of several daylight hours and the all-nighter he was currently regretting; his own fault for deciding to live there he supposed. He was just thankful the emergency light had turned on without a problem. The one thing that made it worth it, was hearing Poppy’s voice carry across the waves that night.

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s alright. Still looking wrinkled.”

Xen swats at the dragon but Zeothess dodges it; cursing at him as they do.

“Shut it. She’s only as wrinkled as I am. What about the girl? Is she alright?”

“After you lead her into the water, with that creepy glowy-glow trick? Yeah, she’s good; hasn’t found all her scales yet though. Poppy says thanks by the way.”

He sighs and swings his legs off the bed; stretching into the sun to let his scales absorb some of the light. Being only half Mer, his scales wouldn't absorb enough to completely rejuvenate him, but it helped. He stands and throws on in his robe before heading down into the kitchen.

Xen was a person that couldn't be classified as a Mer, nor could he be classified as a Shift; and he was certainly not a Fae. He fell into a completely different category and for this and many other reasons: solitude suited him.

“Whatcha thinking ‘bout?”

“Lots of things Zeo… lots of things.”

He absentmindedly runs his hand across the dragon's back, used to the smooth, water-worn texture. The radio springs to life when he waves his hand at it and the weather report echoes through the stone tower.

“Expect a rough storm to roll in mid-afternoon with winds reaching speeds upwards of fifty knots and five-foot waves. Boats are recommended to stay in port and beaches to be cleared until it passes.”

Xen turns it off when he finishes breakfast and rubs the pale gill scars on his neck. Zeothess studies him carefully; attempting to read his expression, bat-like wings rustling in concentration. He makes eye contact with the little dragon; thin and lanky, a newt but larger and magical.

“You're not thinking what I think you're thinking… are you?”

He doesn't answer. They both knew they had to enter the Mer realm.

“No.”

“What choice do we have, Zeo? We can't weather the storm out here; we're too exposed.”

“Xen, they tried to kill you remember?”

The dragon was right; they had tried to kill him. They'd lashed at him with swords of sharpened coral and whips of kelp. Not to mention the leviathan that guarded the nearby city. He may be a Mer halfling but he was also a halfling of the forbidden realm; the human realm.  

The storm could be seen on the horizon as Xen began to pack the necessities in a waterproof sack. He'd chosen to ignore Zeothess’ warning; with some difficulty.

“We could take the boat and stay with Poppy-”

“We both know we'll be caught in the storm before we reach land and the water's too choppy for me to swim ashore without being smashed into rocks… we have no choice.”

Zeo whines softly, wrapping their tail around his leg in a failed attempt to stop him.

“We'll be fine. Seaton said there's a cave under the island; we’ll find it and stay there till it’s over”

The two of them finish prepping the lighthouse to weather the storm and head down to the water's edge. Xen eyes the black clouds; closer now.

“We wouldn't stand a chance up here”

A statement. Something to convince himself that this was the best solution. He hated storms with a passion after his father's ship had gone down in one; nearly fifty years ago. But his mother's realm wasn't friendly either; at least not to him.

The wind billows around him, wishing him luck as he steps into the water and he knows that she'll carry a message to Poppy. With the pack slung over his shoulder, he dives, relishing the feeling of his gills reopening after a long time on land. Zeothess joins him and the pair swims down, looking for the cave as the waves start crashing on the rocks.

It's quiet below the storm, almost eerily so; no sign of anyone to stop them. Xen turns on his waterproof lantern attached to his pack instantly illuminating the storm darkened waters. As the pair dive deeper they’re faced with a haunting sight: skeletons lay on the seabed, preserved in the salt-laced water. Weapons of all sorts lay scattered across the sand; coral swords and tridents, spears, daggers and others Xen couldn’t identify. He does his best not to focus on them as the remnants of dull scales catch the light. These people were Mer. Mer that had rebelled against their queen and council millennia ago and were destroyed for it. Zeo draws closer to him as they swim on; trying not to look down.

They’re almost at the cave entrance when an ancient shipwreck looms out of the darkness. Zeothess lets out a small squeal at the sudden appearance and latches onto Xen’s pack. He swims in place for a moment, admiring the wreckage; here long before the lighthouse was built to prevent its sinking. Something near the bow reflects the light; half buried in the sand. Everything in him advises against investigation but Xen feels himself drawn toward the object and finds himself swimming down for a better look; reluctantly followed by the little dragon.

“Xen, what’re you doing?”

He ignores Zeo’s hissing and brushes the sand aside, uncovering a sword of glistening iron. Its hilt was gilded and decorated with shards of aquamarine. A single, sparkling diamond adorned the end of the handle and an inscription could be seen on the blade itself, written in Eldoshi; the Mer language. Xen brings the light closer so he can read it.

“What is it?”

Zeo leans over his shoulder as he begins to translate it.

This sword, this blade of all waters, created by only the finest of workers, was once wielded by our gracious Queen, Andromeda Ochena II and used to dispose of those who dared rise against her.  

Ochena… When Xen was born he’d been given his mother’s last name; as Mer were traditionally matriarchal. His thoughts race as the stories his mother had told him, so long ago return in hazy fragments.

“Xen? Who’s Andromeda Ochena?”

Xen shakes his head and lifts the sword, unburying the sheath with it and marvelling at how it fit in his hand like it was made for him. There were no indications of a date; no clue to when Andromeda ruled but Xen knew one thing with absolute certainty:

“She was my great-grandmother.”

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: A Return to BioShock AU Thoughts

So, I recently finished the main game of BioShock Infinite and started the Burial at Sea DLC. I enjoyed it, though I would have liked a longer ending (just more looks at alternate reality stuff). And a better explanation for how the tears work, because a) it’s a bit confusing and b) I really want to know why Booker and Elizabeth (particularly the latter) didn’t catch on that making a deal with one version of Fitzroy, then going into an alternate reality because you can’t complete the deal in your current world, means that you’ve invalidated the deal ANYWAY because who knows if this Fitzroy even met you! *sigh* On the plus side, I learned that crows + lightning can kill just about anything. :p

Anyway -- as I work through the last of my BioShock experience, I figured I’d talk a little about my evolving AU thoughts regarding Victor, Victoria, Emily, and Alice in one of the two BioShock settings. Mainly, in which city I now think you’d be most likely to find them:

Victoria (and her parents): I’ve always felt a bit weird about placing the Everglots in Rapture. Their characterization in Corpse Bride is of bankrupt nobles utterly disgusted by the idea of marrying their daughter off to people who work for a living. Not exactly the best fit for a city built on the ideal of the “Great Chain of Industry!” But their grouchy, classist attitude wouldn’t be out of place in Columbia, where the idea is that the “right” kind of white people live in comfort, while the “wrong” kind of white people and non-whites do all the dirty work. Granted, it’s also supposed to be a celebration of the “right” kind of America (aka, the racist conqueror of the world), but it’s still a better fit for them. Maybe they went to America to escape their decreasing fortunes, then ended up on Columbia because they liked Comstock’s rhetoric? Victoria, being a much nicer person than Finis and Maudeline, is quite horrified by much of the racism and classism and does what she can to help the less fortunate.

Emily (and Barkis): Emily, having little non-Barkis related backstory, could appear in either city. However, if Victoria’s become Columbia-exclusive, I feel like Emily should be Rapture-exclusive for contrast. I still think that a variant on her Corpse Bride look would be good for a Splicer. In fact, maybe we could work that into her altered backstory here -- she and her father came to Rapture for a better life, and Emily was wooed by conman Barkis as she was in-movie. Barkis convinces her to elope with him, only to steal her valuables and attempt to kill her -- however, Emily started splicing recently, and the ADAM in her system manages to keep her alive. It does “glitch” some of her DNA, though, resulting in her turning blue and corpselike. She manages to stay relatively sane for a splicer, save for a bit of an obsession with finding “the one” and getting married for real. As for her type, given CB’s set in winter and she shows off offscreen teleportation once while catching up to Victor, Wintry Houdini splicer. Just, you know, not as much of a bitch as they can be.

Victor (and his parents): The Van Dorts are an obvious fit for Rapture, given the whole “nouveau riche cannery magnate” thing William has going on in the movie. But, funnily enough, I can still see them in Columbia. Nell’s certainly stuck up enough for the place, and William I think would be just as happy running a business there, on the basis of “living the American dream.” (Weird thought -- William somehow replacing Fink, and baffling Comstock by treating his workers better than Fink did. I mean, he’s not PERFECT, but he doesn’t insist on 16 hour days for a start.) Plus I still like the mental image of William just straight-up bribing his way onto Columbia because what’s more American than corruption. XD My idea for Rapture!Victor is still “Nell hears about the Little Sister experiments and volunteers him because how dare her son not be involved;” Columbia!Victor would be a Vox Populi sympathizer and do what he could to help them from the shadows (such as arranging for the occasional crate of his father’s canned fish to get “lost” near possible strongholds).

Alice (and her family): Aaand now we come to a problem, because -- uh --

I can’t see the Liddells going to either Rapture or Columbia.

Not the way I write them, anyway. They’re too nice and charitable for either city. I can’t see Dean Liddell getting swayed by either Ryan or Comstock. So, uh, how do we get Alice into these AUs?

Well, as of BioShock Infinite, we have literal tears between realities opening up and letting things -- including people -- through. Alice could be kidnapped through one -- I’m not sure if the Rapture ones only open on Columbia, or sometimes show other places, but this is already a crossover AU, so I think I’m allowed to fudge it. I’m imagining her being taken in both places in her catatonic state post-fire, because the people doing the kidnapping want an easily-taken subject: Rapture’s Suchong and Tennenbaum take their Alice to test out if Little Sisters really have to be mobile, while Columbia’s Comstock grabs her --

Because in this reality he failed to get his ACTUAL daughter, and he gets a little desperate when he hears Alice might share some distant relation with him.

Yeah, part of me kinda wants to see what happens when you give Alice Elizabeth’s powers. . .

[trendingnewsb]

MIA: This is a white country, you dont have to spell it out to me

Maya Arulpragasam is bringing dancehall, hip-hop and grime to this years Meltdown. Is the outspoken British Sri Lankan the best argument for positive cultural appropriation?

The Guardian said that you couldnt shag to my record. As conversational openers go, MIAs beats the banal niceties of, say, Hello, how are you doing?. Its no surprise that she charges straight into a chat about why her last album was considered too confrontational for the bedroom by this paper. Its an icebreaker moulded to MIAs very own design: abrasive, compelling, underpinned by sex. Yeah, she finally concedes with a grin when I suggest we move past it, you cant have it all, can you?

Its a theme she warms up to when we talk about her edition of Meltdown at the Southbank Centre, which were ostensibly here to discuss. Usually, I wouldnt do something like this, she says, slouched under an oversized khaki coat dress. [But the organisers] were like: Hey, you can do whatever you want. Still, putting on the South Banks annual festival, curated in previous years by the likes of David Bowie, David Byrne and Patti Smith, has turned out to be a fairly arduous affair for MIA who says she doesnt do computers at the moment.

They didnt tell me it was nine days long. I thought it was a weekend. And then all my lists were, like, Well, this person wont be in London and that person is doing Glastonbury. Organising festivals is actually really complicated, she stresses. It wasnt just about dreaming something and then it appeared. Programming literally means, like, programming.

For all that Maya Arulpragasam didnt quite know what she was letting herself in for, one suspects the Southbank Centre didnt either; logistics aside, the mornings photoshoot has already been met with some flapping from the press officer made nervous by MIA climbing on the roof without safety clearance. Still, her lineup dancehall, Brooklyn hip-hop, depressive Swedish rap and Nigerian grime is perhaps the most underground the festival has seen in its 24 years. How much is she expecting to shake up its comfortable concert halls, cafe bars and conference-room spaces?

Click here to watch the video for last years Go Off.

When I was a teenager in London, I would just get a Travelcard and go somewhere, explore the city and go to weird places, she says. I would never judge the place, like, This is middle class and white. This is a white country, you dont have to spell it out to me, but there wasnt ever a limit on where I could go or what I could do.

A long, elliptical digression on London then and now follows, which takes in the optimistic multiculturalism of the 90s, Tamil house parties, empire and British identity. Its the bento box of an MIA interview: individually contained ideas that dont obviously bleed into one another and yet, overall, make a collective sense if youre prepared to go with it. Thats the key thing about MIA: you have to be willing to go with her to properly get her. Given that she still looks and sounds like a beautiful, bratty, art-school upstart and is prone to labyrinthine tangents, its easy to portray her as inarticulate or unhinged. But MIAs intelligence is instinctive rather than intellectual, and fuelled by the political.

The Mehrabian maxim that reckons that only 7% of communication is verbal is one that might best be proven by the transcript of a chat with MIA removed of all tone, attitude, context and body language. Take, for instance, her explanation of why only the future remains relevant:

As humans, we dont use our past and our history to work out the importance of what our role is in the present, she says. And if you cant use the past to define your present, then it should not be an element that holds back the future. Greece is a perfect example. More than Britain, they were brought to their knees, and not a single white country thought about saving them. And it was part of their heritage. Its where their mythology comes from or their concept of capitalism and democracy comes from. Nobody cared, everybody cared about the modern. Right?

Kim Kardashian is actually more powerful than Greece. She has more money than the whole of Greece, she continues. Therefore, thats where the power lies. If you then define it that way, then you kind of just have to live with that. And maybe whats happening in modern society: that if youre going to judge it by that, then other countries are gonna come in and define the future.

In print, its a statement that seems lacking in logic and coherence. In the moment, Im fairly sure Im able to follow her and we go on to consider how and where this future is being defined (for the record: You cant ignore the fact that China is going to be doing their thing in the next 50 years) and how Arulpragasam believes the immigration issue has become a red herring covering up a truth that can explain the American and British swing to conservative populism.

With Brexit, the idea was to get away from Europe and reinvent our identity, she says. And really, that identity was going to be American, but then they gave us Trump! So, everyone now is like, Oh shit, what is Britain? Are we going to rewind back to the 1800s? We cant. Its too late for that. So, going forward, we need a charismatic leader who then va va vooms the British identity. And we dont have that either.

People thinking that Im a bitch is totally unwarranted … MIA. Photograph: Stephanie Sian Smith/The Guide

The prime minister has called a snap election on the day we meet. Does MIA have any faith in our political system? Or in the left?

Everyone keeps going, Corbyn cant do this, but its, like, well, who else is there? she says. If people just left him alone to actually do the job and actually gave him some support, maybe hed be different. Treating him with so much contempt fighting that takes all his energy. How the fuck do you expect him to do interesting things? In any case insists the estranged daughter of a Tamil revolutionary, politicians are people who couldnt get jobs somewhere else.

MIAs politics, unwieldy and unslick though they may be, have often made her an easy target for tedious sneering in the press; the most insistent narrative is that, like Banksy, shes big on arch, subversive statement but lacks substance. Or that she is a hypocrite for making herself the poster girl for the worlds most marginalised people. And yet, shes one of the best pop stars Britain has ever produced. For all the ear-clanging experimentation of her five albums, MIA has always kept a sleeve full of pop bangers Bucky Done Gun, Paper Planes, Bad Girls, Finally that have sounded like little that came before or since her. Even if she didnt have the tunes, here is an art-school refugee Sri Lankan single mother with a visual aesthetic co-opted by everyone from Vetements to Versace who was born into political rebellion and revels in controversy. Gleefully gauche and carefree, MIA is the best argument for when cultural appropriation works. Bland singer-songstress beloved of Radio 2 playlists she isnt. So how much has the criticism bothered her?

People thinking that Im a bitch is totally unwarranted because Im not, she ays. I just had to fight for shit, and I still do. I just dont care any more. I dont know. She stops and starts. What I deal with as an artist, the media, the public persona, its a walk in the fucking park, compared to how confusing the universe really fucking is. Theres so much beauty in it and theres so much mystery, theres so much confusing shit in it. That is way more interesting to think about than why, like, Patricia hates me. You know what I mean? I laugh. Its like, Who the fuck is Patricia? and How can Patricia say this shit about me?. It just does not matter to me at all.As it is, she says shes most preoccupied with how to be a functioning grown up, an adult and a mother to an eight-year-old son (whose father Benjamin Bronfman is son to the billionaire heir of the Seagram fortune) born into immense privilege.

When the war came to an end in Sri Lanka in 2009, it actually did affect me, she explains. Everyone was, like, What the fuck does she know? Shes, like, a pop star, but that was my life. It was 50% of who I was, it was my identity. I didnt know what to do with myself. So I had a kid. Its the year the cause died, but the year my personal cause my son was born. And then, OK, I have to figure out what to do in very small parameters: I have a son, how is he going to see his grandma, am I going to make it there on Saturday? Can I make sure that I dont mess up his head by being depressed about certain things?

She struggles to reconcile her upbringing poor and living in Sri Lanka for her childhood to poor and living on a council estate in Mitcham, south London, in her adolescence with her sons. Im not very straightforward as an immigrant. That whole My kids would never see the pain that I saw; Im not like that. Im totally up for reintroducing him to the pain. I dont have any qualms about that. Her problems havent changed, she says, because of money or better circumstances. Whether Im in a mansion or a council flat, I would feel the same anxiety waking up going: I need to write this thing in a scrapbook, wheres my notepad? I would still have all those problems. I might still overcook the fish fingers. Those things are not going to magically transform because your house has changed. At the beginning I thought that money couldve saved my family. Very quickly I realised that money is not the thing.

Her conflict in wanting to being huge and commercial versus credible and ahead of the curve has been a persistent tension threaded through MIAs career. When I got into the music game, it was never an option to shut up and make lots of money. she says. To be a huge pop star, I would have to be, like, Yes, I think bombing Afghanistan was a great idea, I love our democracy and what it has achieved. I love the American flag and Im going to make a jumpsuit out of it. I just think it was important to have all of those Arab Springs, and its great and lets drink Coca-Cola. I had to do that, and do it all in a thong. Could I have done that if it meant that my mum had the nicest house in Chiswick by the river?

Click here to se the video for MIAs Bad Girls.

Does she worry about money now? If youre preaching living within your means, you have to, to some extent. But I also know that if youre someone in society that speaks out about injustice or political issues, one of the things that happens is that you get economically punished, 100%. I take that hit all the time.

The most recent, obvious example was MIA being forced to quit her headline slot at Afropunk last year, following a contentious quote in which she asked in an interview why Beyonc and Kendrick Lamar might not discuss why Muslim lives matter or Syrian lives matter. I dont regret [raising the issue], she says, with triumphant chutzpah. You saw how bad it was. And the Muslim ban didnt happen just with Trump, it was already happening under Obama. But you couldnt say that about him, you couldnt say that he introduced the Muslim ban, or banned seven different countries, or was already monitoring people, or dropped more bombs than Trump has. In truth, Obamas administration did identify the seven countries on Trumps list for additional screening measures, but it didnt bar their nationals. Shes already skipped ahead. The quantity of damage cant be quantified right now, she insists. Well have to wait the four years. After eight years of Obama, we kind of knew [his failings], but we just werent allowed to say them because he was so great. He was better than any person in Hollywood that I wouldve watched. He was really likable and just had loads of swag. That doesnt mean that you have to deny the truth, though.

This (and much more) comes moments after she tells me she has no time for opinions these days. She claims she doesnt read the news any more and that her primary sources for information are customers at the local kebab shop, taxi drivers and then sort of figuring it out. What about the state of the world? MIAs moment as an agitprop pop activist has never seemed more potent. Politics? I have no time for these things because Im so stuck in the zone. Ive become a hermit. [Meltdown] is actually giving me the chance to actually go out and meet people again. Ive gone for weeks without talking to a person, I do that happily. I tell her I dont believe her, as I suspect it would be a recipe for her to go fully barmy.

Im actually quite an extreme person, so I dont see that as madness. I see that as, like, solitude, doing a phase of solitude is not that bad. After declaring her fifth album AIM to be her final one, shes also trying to find new ways to channel her creativity. Im trying to write a film. I havent stepped into it yet because I want it to be good. Once you hit the start button you cant really stop it. She has, she tells me, the added complication of ADD to contend with. When was that diagnosed? I just have it. Dont even need diagnosis, its a waste of time, its a waste of the NHS. In truly blithe MIA style, she adds: Its just when you have too many ideas and not enough ways to get them out.

MIAs Meltdown is at the Southbank Centre, SE1, 9-18 June

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[seracross]

Heart of Fire - Chapter Eighteen: Firestones

Summary: “A dragon without fire is nothing but a liability.” Nine years ago, Syra was thrust into a war: a hide-and-seek battle for control of five powerful crystals, hidden by a secret organization 200 years prior. Taking human-form, Syra searches the dragon-hating city of Altaira for clues on their location. But when her secret is revealed, fickle hearts are quick to change. And when an old enemy raises his scaly head, who will be there to turn to? Her estranged siblings? An ex-fiancé? Or a temperamental pixie the size of a duckling? In a race against her father’s murderer, Syra must traverse the five kingdoms to halt his efforts to rebuild a powerful relic that should never have been created. Are the bonds of love and family strong enough to survive the horrors of secrets and betrayal? And how do you fight an elder dragon bent on revenge when you’re a wyrmling who can’t even breathe fire?

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance, Drama

Rating: PG-17 (Strong Language & Violence)

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The thick odor of dead fish gave way to the scent of salt and sea foam, and Syra nearly forgot about Fin when the breeze from the city's port hit her full force. She stretched her arms wide, catching the warm air in her flared fingers. Her chest filled with the sea mist and her back muscles ached to spread her wings and hover above the breaking waves.

“Alright, that's enough sight-seeing,” Aidan turned away from the boardwalk to continue down the street, “Weldon's shop should be down this way.”

Fish and tourism, that's what drew crowds to Dairos. The temperate waters offered a bounty of seafood, and the city-on-stilts buzzed with music and people from all over. Even now, Syra could see a ship unloading passengers from across the sea to revel in its warm beaches, eclectic food, and the lighthouse that stood proudly on the neighboring island.

The map led them down a channel lined with boutiques of food and fashion—all of the fanciful kind—and away from the horns and the dancing, and the call of vendors. Away from the creaking wood of the stilted tourist sector, and into the more solid part of town, where the streets were carved from the rocky bed. At the bottom of a small hill, where the cobbled street wound up to the main road, sat a brick cottage. Its shutters were drawn and no smoke graced its wide chimney, but the gold metal work above the door gleaned memories of a better time.

“Is this it?” Petra poked her nose over the map. “Looks abandoned.”

“Let’s hope not.” Aidan tucked the map back into its pocket and gave the door a hard rapping, “Excuse me? Is this where we can find a Mr. Weldon?”

There was no answer. So, he knocked again.

“Hello?”

“Please, pardon any interruption,” Syra chimed in, “perhaps we are a bit lost. We were told to find a smith named, Weldon. Would you happen to know—”

The door swung open and a square man with ruddy face scowled from under a protruding brow.

“It’s Weldon. Not Mr. Weldon, just Weldon will do. And you’ve come to the right place. Though you caught me napping, so beg pardon.”

“Oh.” He was well-spoken and a hair taller than her—quite normal for a halfling—but from his temple to his jaw was wrinkled and leathery, and she caught herself staring. “Well, that’s good to hear. Am I correct to assume you’re still in business?”

“Aye. What can I do you for?” He gave the party a look-about, noticing their weapons, “Needing some maintenance, are you?”

“Yes, and no,” Aidan said, stepping forward. “Could we talk inside?”

“By all means, come in. Mind the mess, though. I haven’t gotten to cleaning yet.”

They filed inside and Weldon threw open the shutters to let the light and breeze fill the roomy cabin.

“Oh, my,” Petra halted as the sunlight woke the hilts and blades and shields from their dim slumber, and the walls of display shone in every color of metal. There was even a cute window where delicate jewelry perched and waited for the next bare hand and lined pocket.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” Aidan offered an impressed nod to the storefront before following Weldon back into his workshop.

“Yes, and no. If I were, those walls would be bare. But, Spring’s here, so folks’ll be drunk on warm weather and ale, and I’ll be right here waiting.”

He pulled up some chairs to a bench for them to sit and hopped up on his own stool, “So, what is it exactly you’d be needing?”

Aidan took the bundle from his back and laid it on the bench, throwing back his cloak to reveal the silver-blue pieces, “I need this fixed.”

The halfling was stunned a moment. “Well, would you look at that. Haven't seen that color in quite some time. Where'd you get your hands on these?”

“Does it matter?”

He chuckled. “No. Just being nosy, is all. But, how in the world did you manage to break it? 'Cause that took some ingenuity.”

“Got into a fight with a morakii. I lost.”

Weldon nodded with grin, “Yeah, that would do the trick.”

“Any more questions?” Aidan leaned on the benchtop. “We're kind of in a hurry.”

“Kind of in a hurry? Well, doesn't that sound a might suspicious? Coming in here with a rare metal saying you're kind of in a hurry?”

“Please, Weldon,” Syra looked over at him with big doe eyes, “Viivida said you could help. Was she wrong to send us here?”

At this he was truly surprised, “You know Viivida, do you?” He sighed and rubbed a temple as the years caught up with him. “Haven't seen her in many years. How's the kria doing?”

“It's Viilah, now,” Petra butted in.

“Oh, is it?” He laughed. “Well, send my congratulations next time you see her. Was wondering if that upstart would ever settle down.”

He gave his knees a hard pat and nodded to himself. “Yes. She was correct to send you here. Though, I have to tell you, as much as I would love to work with that sword of yours, I can't fix it.”

Aidan flared his nostrils, “What do you mean, you can’t fix it? Why not?”

“It’s austram.”

“And? Viilah said you knew how.”

“I do know how.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I no longer have the supplies.”

“Whatever you need, we’ll pay for.”

Weldon laughed. “You can’t just buy hot rocks. Not anymore.”

Aidan deflated like a sad balloon. He had never worked with hot rocks personally, but his alchemists were always complaining about how rare they had become in last years. Even if they could find a seller, they couldn’t afford them.

“Then we’ll have to go find some,” Petra said, standing.

“You can’t find them, either,” Weldon corrected her. “They’re made. Hot rocks—or firestones as you mages call them—require dragonfire to be activated. And they’re the only kindling that burns hot enough to melt austram. And with no more treaty...”

“There’re no more firestones.” Syra, too, drooped.

The group sat in silence as they wracking theirs brains for another solution.

“We’ll get back to you.” Aidan stood and dragged everyone back into the storefront.

“You have an idea?” Syra's face brightened at the far-off look in his eyes that meant he was onto something.

“Yeah, but we’ll need to get away from all these people. There’s an abandoned mine on the far side of Lighthaven.” He pointed on the map to the island with the lighthouse. “We'll have to take a boat, though.”

“And how are we supposed to pay for a boat?” asked Petra. “It's not like we can dance for money.”

Syra did consider that for a moment. She could put on a magic show—people would certainly love it. But they couldn't risk the exposure, and she was now a known face thanks to her banishment.

“Wait here.”

Syra returned to Weldon with a grave face, “If we bring you some firestones, can you promise you'll fix his sword?”

Weldon raised a brow and studied her, “Aye. But how are you going to get them?”

“Never you mind that. Just give us some blanks and we'll take care of it.”

“Alright.” He got up and filled a small pouch with small, clear crystals, and handed them to her.

“Oh, and one last thing,” she fiddled with her ear then held out her hand, her gold earring glinting up at him. “How much can I get for this?”

The ferry to Lighthaven was particularly crowded this time of day. Perfect for hiding in plain sight. Syra made sure to remain seated in the busiest section while the others stood around her. She was already shorter than most, so she felt secure in her invisibility. An hour and a near vomit later, they followed the crowd onto the pier and snuck away down the rocky shoreline.

“Okay, so what’s this plan of yours?” Petra asked once they had slipped into the mine.

“Shift,” he commanded Syra.

Syra stopped and blinked. She had to have heard him wrong. “What?”

“Shift,” he repeated. “You’re a dragon. Blast the stones with fire and we’ll be set.”

Cassius and Petra burst out in bittersweet laughter and Syra stiffened. You've got to be kidding me.

Confusion washed over Aidan and Syra just sat with her face in her hands.

“What? It’s a good plan.”

“It would be,” Petra said through snorts, “if she could actually breathe fire.”

Aidan paused for a replay, “What do you mean, if she could?”

“Why didn't you just tell us your plan before we got on the boat?” Syra muffled behind her palms. I sold my earring for nothing. This is great.

“W-wait. You're saying you can't breathe fire?” Aidan stared down at her drooped form with wagging mouth.

“Not. One. Spark.” Petra threw her head back and breathed a groan. “This is just delicious.”

“But...but you're a dragon.”

“I am well aware of that, thank you.” Syra glared up at him, but her anger was more at herself than him.

“Now what do we do?” asked Cassius.

“You could always change me back,” Petra prodded Syra, a little too happy at their situation.

Syra went to wave her away, but stopped, “Maybe.”

“Wait, really?” Her face become serious.

“I said, maybe.” Syra slipped off her pack and rummaged through it. “I know how to make a shapechange spell, but I'm not so sure how to break one.”

She had neared the bottom of her pack when she squealed and threw the bag.

“What? What is it?” Petra grabbed up the bag and immediately put it back down. “Nope. Not touching it.”

“Give me that,” Aidan went to grab it, but Syra shooed him away.

“It's okay, it just startled me, is all.”

She reached into the bag and pulled out the little blue bookworm, “How in the world did you make it all this way?” She cooed to the worm that wiggled its pincers up at her.

“What the hell is that thing?” Aidan scrunched his face at the grub.

“A bookworm. It—”

Pain shot through Syra's arms and her body jolted.

“Whathehe...” Her speech slurred and her vision went fuzzy. A warm tingling flowed from her arm down her body and she looked down to see the worm's pincers dung into the meat of her forearm.

“I thought you said they didn't bite,” Petra held a laugh at Syra's drunken expression.

“Iwushrong.”

All feeling was gone and she couldn't tell if she was sitting or standing. Light and colors blurred together until her vision was nothing but a gray fog.

“Petra? Cassius?” She called out, but her voice was faint and echoed into the mist.

The light dimmed and she was left in a sea of dark blues and grays. Then there came the sound of waves, and wind through grass, then pale light reflecting of the mist. Beyond the mist she could pick out a shoreline. And, if she squinted, she could see two figures standing some ways from the waterline.

“Hello?”

Her voice was swallowed by the waves and mist, so she walked closer.

Caught in the moonlight, she made the figures out to be a man and a serpent having what looked to be an argument.

“Here's where I make the deal.”

Syra jumped at the voice so close beside her. She looked all around but saw no one.

“Big mistake, I found out.”

Then she looked down. Sitting comfortable on her arm was the bookworm, its big eyes watching the scene play out like an old man watching re-runs.

“W-what?”

The worm looked up at her, “That's me—the serpent about to get his tail beat. Can't you tell? Come, let's get closer.”

Syra moved further ashore and she could hear them boast and challenge each other.

“Are you sure you're up to this?” The man, Talian from what Syra could see, stood nose-to-snout with a long, frilled serpent on short legs. “I won't go easy on you.”

“This is my territory. I will not be frightened off by you or your fancy books.”

“It is not the books themselves that make me strong,” the Tal warned, “but what is inside them. You'd be wise not to dismiss them.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

The serpent hissed and flared its fins, and the Tal's hands began to glow. Back and forth the battle went: brute strength and fire meeting barriers and calculated spells, until the serpent lied gasping and bloodied on the beach.

“Do you admit defeat?”

The serpent hissed and puffed its throat in protest, but could not rise.

“I should have just swam off and left him,” the worm said, “but I was too proud.”

The serpent turned its head to the Tal's bag of books and supplies farther inland and craned its head. Its jaws gaped open and flames shot from its mouth, igniting the pile.

“So powerful, your books, yet so frail,” it sneered.

The Tal fumed, but remained still, “As you wish.” He held out two glowing hands and swept them through the air. Lines of all colors followed his fingers and wrapped around the serpent.

“He's a weaver.” Syra watched wide-eyed as the Tal bound the serpent like a spider with its prey. As the threads tightened, light enveloped the serpent until it lost all definition. Then it shrank, wiggled, and shrank more. When the light faded, Syra stood over a tiny blue worm that writhed angrily.

“To live off the books you so detest, that shall be your punishment,” said the bookworm from Syra's arm. “That's what he said before he stuffed me in his bag and dumped me in that library.”

“Why are you showing me this?” Syra asked as the visage faded.

“You're a mage, correct? You made that locator spell with my...” he cleaned his mandibles from awkwardness, “with my help. I only ask that you repay the favor by changing me back.”

“Changing you back? I can't even change my own sister back, and I've seen that spell before. I'm clueless as to yours.”

“That's fine. I'll show you.”

“You'll show me?”

“I didn't spend my imprisonment sleeping under rugs. If you provide the power, I'll guide you. I'll even activate those firestones of yours as a thank you. Deal?”

The worm stretched itself upwards and waved its pincers, as if asking for a hand shake. I don’t have much of a choice. She tapped it with a fingertip and the mist evaporated, leaving her to stare up into Cassius nostrils.

“She's up!” Cassius helped her to sit up and Syra winced from the ache in her arm.

“Did you really have to bite me?” she asked the grub now curled up in her lap.

Consider it pay back for making me vomit, Its voice echoed in her head. Now can we get to work? I'd hate to be eaten by one of the damned sea birds after all this time.

“Alright, alright. Let me get my supplies.”

“Who are you talking to?” Petra asked as Syra grabbed parchment and quill from her bag.

“Him.” She pointed at the worm.

Hello. The worm waved its hindend.

“He says, hi.”

“He says...what?”

“Don't ask. Just bear with me.”

Syra laid out the parchment and readied her quill, “Alright, so how do I do this?”

You're going to have to reveal the spell before you can unravel it. So, it should look something like this.

The worm wriggled in the dirt and sand, using his body and pincers to draw out the correct symbols—as best a worm could do anyways—and Syra followed along with her quill. She held the tag above the worm, preparing to activate it, but voices made her stop.

From outside the cave mouth, boots scuffed and two men's voices grew louder as they argued.

“Are you sure they went this way? I sure didn't see anybody.”

“That's what the ferryman said: the woman in a blue cloak went this way.”

“That could be anyone. Do you know how popular a color that is?”

“Yeah, but Fin said she had other people with her. And so did the ferryman.”

“Shit.” Aidan waved frantic arms at Syra as the men's shadows crept into the cave. “Go. Hide.”

Syra grabbed her pack and the bookworm, “What about you?”

“I'll take care of it. Just stay quiet.”

She dashed on light feet further down the mine and hid behind a large boulder. From her shelter, she heard shuffling and then Petra's muffled yelp. She peeked between the boulder and the wall to see Cassius' shirt undone and hanging, with Aidan laying on top of Petra, his face in her neck.

“What the hell are you doing?” Petra hushed, her face flushing.

“Just go with it.”

“Is that them?” One man whispered as they entered and spotted the three teenagers.

“We're gonna find out.”

Sure-footed and huffing from their hike, the men strode into the mine. Men garbed in brown capes and silver banners. Guards. And both wore bronze coins.

“Hey!” One called, “What do you folks think you're doing? This place is private property.”

Aidan lifted his head from Petra's neck and turned a glare to them, “Not private enough, apparently. Ever hear of knocking?”

Good thinking, Aidan. Though Syra wasn't too delighted to see him in such a position with her sister, it was quick thinking on his part.

Hey! Now's your chance, said the worm, bobbing in her hands, Break the spell while they're distracted. Hurry.

She could hear Petra snapping back at the men, now, too. Good. It'll be a while before she shuts up.

Pricking her thumb on her blade, Syra pressed it to the paper she had wrapped around the worm. Let's hope this works. The writing shimmered and the parchment glowed, tightening around the worm. Tears frayed from the paper's edges and it began to crinkle and twist.

This…doesn't not feel so good.

“Just hold on. Almost got it.” Syra pinched at the glowing script as the letters wriggled and lifted off the page. As she pulled them from the paper, threads came with them. String after string, they hovered in the air and the paper twisted into tube, until they looked like filaments from some deep-sea cnidarian.

Any day, now. The worm squeaked, losing breath from the paper's grip.

“Last one,” Syra searched the paper for the final rune and plucked it.

The paper unfurled and broke apart, as if dissolving in water. Left behind, the threads waved, twisted, and wove together, until a tapestry of light hovered above the worm.

“Hey, what's that?” One guard looked to the back of the cave where light reflected off the walls.

“What?” Aidan feigned ignorance.

“That light over there.”

Aidan scoffed, “The ocean's right there, dumbass. It's a reflection.”

But the man would not be fooled that easy, “Oh, no. That's no reflection. I know weaving when I see it.”

“Worth a shot.” Aidan dropped the act and jumped to his feet.

The twins drew their weapons and Aidan slid two daggers from his vest, all three blocking the men from continuing down the mine.

“Well, if that's how you want it.”

The guards took up their own arms and the sound of clanging metal echoed down into the cave.

Syra itched to run and fight, but her fingers were busy plucking and untangling the knot of threads from around the worm.

“This thing is huge.” She bit into her cheek and cursed the strings waving in her face.

Keep going. You're halfway done.

The clanging grew louder, panting heavier, and the shuffling more erratic. Even without looking, Syra could tell the fight wasn't easy. With each thread loosened, the closer the fight drew inwards. They're losing.

Focus! It's working.

The skirmish was on the other side of the boulder now and Syra could smell the dust and blood in the air. She heard Petra's huffs and Aidan's grunts, and felt the thud of heavy feet on the ground. She tasted metal at her cheek, but she plucked on, and the glow from the worm expanded and brightened.

“There she is!” A guard shoved Aidan past the boulder and lunged for her. But Petra's hand was quick and it sliced upward, cutting at his cheek and making him flinch away.

Syra forced her eyes downward and her hands shook. One. Last—

The final knot slipped apart and a rush of wind knocked everyone on their asses.

“What the hell was that?” A guard coughed and picked himself up. “Where's the girl?”

“She's right here.”

A deep rumble filled the cave. But what faced them was not a girl, but a glowering serpent with bared teeth mere feet from their faces.

“But you cannot have her.” The fins at the serpents head and neck flared and quivered, creating a hissing noise. A warning. “I, on the other hand, am famished.”

Swords fell from shaking hands and the guards were quick to make an exit. But not quick enough for a hungry Moruleis—particularly one that had not eaten a meal in decades. The flames caught them first. Then the snapping jaws that cut their screams short and filled the cavity with the sound of crunching bone and the smell of a fresh kill.

Pale horror slithered over Aidan's face as he watched the serpent's throat and belly bulge as the men were swallowed in whole chunks, “T-taste good?”

“Not really,” the serpent fastened his jaw back in place, “had better. But beggars can't be choosers.” He paused at their shocked stares, “You did want them gone, correct? Or did I jump to conclusions?”

“No, no,” Aidan waved him away, “That was...that was an appropriate action. I suppose.”

“Good. Now, bring me those firestones. As grateful as I am for your help, I am eager to return home.”

Syra poured the clear crystals from the pouch out onto the cave floor, “A few breaths should be enough.”

They watched from a safe distance as the jet of flames washed over the pile of stones. They glowed with heat at first. Then shone white, and tiny vortexes swirled and sucked the flames into the depths of their cores, turning them a deep orange. When the stones could store no more, the serpent closed his mouth.

“Satisfied?”

Syra knelt by the pile, their warmth radiating like hot coals, “Yes, this should do. Thank you...”

“Pel,” the serpent finished before turning away from the cave.

“Those guards were after you,” Aidan said to Syra as they watched Pel wade into the surf and disappear below the waves, the flick of his tail his final parting. “We have to be more careful. More careful who sees us, and who we help.” He gave her a stern eye and she looked down at the sand.

“You mean who I help.”

He nodded without a word.

“Understood.”

By the time they were rested, the stones had cooled enough to be gathered into their pouch, and they made the uphill hike back towards the ferry, and back to Weldon's shop.

Pleasant surprise sprung from the grin on Weldon's face as he peered into the pouch, “Heh-heh, well alright then.”

He stood, grabbed his apron from its hook, and shuffled over to the wide-mouthed furnace without another word.

“You’re not going to ask where we got them?” Aidan asked.

“Should I?”

Their mouths clamped shut.

“Now,” Weldon continued, “before I get started, I will need payment upfront.”

“Payment?”

“This is my job.”

Aidan sighed, “Of course.” He paused, then unlatched the silver chain from his neck, letting the diamond ring fall into his hand.

Syra’s eyes bulged. He still has it? This whole time? And that sentimental little git had the nerve to call me mopey.

“Is this enough?”

Weldon glanced between the ring and Syra’s shocked face, “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Now, can you fix it?”

So much for sentimental.

Weldon took the ring and stuffed it into a pocket, “Have a seat.”

Weldon lifted the sword halves from a drawer and set them on a bench. With painstaking accuracy, he measured each side, each curve, going as far as to trace the original design down to the small, round hole near the hilt.

“Can’t you just forge the pieces back together?” asked Syra from her perch atop a stool.

Weldon paused, her question like a bird pecking his ear, “What exactly did you ask me to do?”

“Um, reforge the sword?”

“Yes! Re-forge. As in re-make. Unless you want it to break again the next time you use it, of course.”

“Oh. Well, then continue…please.” Syra grew small on her pedestal. Way to embarrass yourself, dumbass.

Syra tried to keep from squirming as Weldon stacked the pieces into a brick, then fired and folded the metal again and again. But the room grew hot and the sky dark, and her tailbone lost its feeling to the hard seat.

Weldon let his hammer fall with a heavy thud before he groaned back at them, “You know, you don’t have to stay and watch. I prefer you not, actually. You might as well get yourselves a room next door and come back in the morning. I should have it ready by then. Just tell them I sent you, and they’ll take care of you.”

Aidan could have waiting there silently all night, but the siblings were quick to leave their seats.

“Oi, boy with the necklace!” Weldon called Aidan over as they went to leave. “I can’t be taking this,” he handed the ring back over to him, “my old lady would beat me silly.”

“But you need some sort of payment.”

“That would be preferable, but if that’s all you got—”

“Here,” Aidan took the daggers from his vest and set them on the bench, “how about these?”

“Ooh, I like those,” Weldon’s eyes lit from the daggers’ intricate hilts and fine engravings, “I’ll take those.”

Aidan gave him a pat on the shoulder and gripped the ring, “Thank you.”

“Don’t be thanking me, you just take care of her, you hear? No sense in wasting a good thing. Or you’ll end up like me, alone, in a…barn, somewhere—I don’t know, just don’t be stupid. And get out. Go to bed. I’m busy.”

Aidan stifled a laugh and left the old halfling to his hammer and his rods, and his grumblings of youngins today. But he kept the ring tight in his hand, and Weldon’s words—however misspoken—tight in his chest.

"Here you go! Just like new." Weldon spun the hilt in his hand before handing it over to Aidan. "Hope you don't mind that I shined it up a bit. Such a beauty deserves the extra care."

"Not at all." Aidan's flat face crinkled from the excitement he reigned in, but it fooled no one. The boy was absolutely giddy.

"Now, you take better care of that, sir. Can't have your crazy antics giving my work a bad rep."

"Yes, sir." Aidan took some practice swings then dipped his head low, "Thank you, again. I won't forget it."

"So, now that you've got your trusty sword back, where're you heading off to? If you don't mind more questions, of course."

"North," Aidan said, sheathing the blade, "we're heading north."

"Still vague, I see," he smirked. "No, that's good. That's careful—heavens know you can't afford not to be these days." He puffed his chest and stretched his back which had tightened over the hours tending the bench, "Best be off with you, then. The Manarail leaves at sunhigh, so you better scurry if you don't want to walk the whole way."

They turned to exit but Weldon waved Syra back over, "Oi, magical girl."

"Yes?" she muffled through her last bite of her second muffin.

He drew close and turned a serious eye to her, "You best be careful out there, you hear? I don't know where you got them hot rocks, but there are some shady people around here that I wouldn't be messing around with."

"Shady people?" Is he talking about...

He pointed to the scar on his face, "People who will burn your face for disagreeing with them."

"People did that to you?" She had thought it an accidental wound—a fight lost to hot metal due to a loose grip or unsteady footing.  Now standing closer, she noticed the imprint of a coin at his jaw. "The Black Thorn?"

"Aye, you heard of them?"

"Unfortunately."

"In that case I advise you keep a low head. Some of them have a peculiar interest in you magic folk, and they are not to be trifled with. Got their hands in many pockets and birds in every ear. And if you're heading north, then you're only going to find more of them."

"I see." They had just entered into human territory, and already they were being hunted. Just wonderful. "Well, thank you. I'll certainly keep it in mind."

Along Dairos’ northern border was the city’s business district—with its narrow roads, sky bridges, and people whose mouths were as fast as their feet—and at its heart lied the Manarail. A gleaming beauty of engineering and alchemical ingenuity, the train hovered above its austram railing, humming and waiting amidst the exchange of boxes and bodies.

“There’s so many,” Cassius scanned the crowded station of passengers filing into the cars. “How are we going to get by unnoticed?”

“We don’t. Not up here.” Aidan turned away from the crowd and motioned for them to follow.

They drew away from the lines of impatient passengers and followed the train further down the line. While paying passengers enjoyed the luxury of the front cabins, cargo—and the occasional hitchhiker—found their seats in the tail cars at the back. Luckily, the buzzing patrons were too preoccupied with themselves and their pressing timetables to even notice the figures ducking behind stacks of crates and through back alleys.

"This way." Aidan scampered around the rear of the train when the loading crews had retreated back to their docks.

Keeping to the brush and treeline, they crept car by car until they found one with open bay doors. Standing outside the crate-filled car was a guard with his nose to a tally sheet.

"I'll distract him while you climb on." Aidan slunk from the bushes and padded up behind the guard. When he was close, he made a loud dash for the car.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" The guard dropped his tally sheet and grabbed Aidan by the cloak, dragging him off the car. "No stowaways!"

He threw Aidan to the ground where he rolled to his feet and drew his sword.

"I'm getting on that train." Aidan smirked and taunted the guard to close in on him, giving the others space to sneak past.

"Like hell you are." The guard drew a small, shiny object from the chord under his shirt. A whistle.

"Shit." Aidan dashed for it, but the whistle met his lips first.

A whisper of air made the whistle chirp, but it soon whined and died as the guard's eyes rolled back and his body sagged.

Aidan stopped dead, then laughed. Smirking up at him from behind the guard, Syra stood with shimmering fingers wrapped around his head. She released him and let him fall with a thud.

"Sleeps like a rock, that one."

The Manarail blew a loud, long warning whistle, making them all jump.

"We need to get on quick. Let's put him over there." Aidan helped Syra drag the guard to a tree.

"His officer isn't going to be happy about this." Syra propped him up with his head back and mouth open.

"His fault for sleeping on the job."

They left the guard to his slumber and hopped into the car, closed the door and hid in a small nook behind stacked crates that smelled like dirt and onions. There was another whistle and the humming grew louder as faint vibrations ran through the floor. With a slight jerk, the image outside the window began to change as they pulled away from the station.

Their muscles relaxed as the trees outside became blurred, and Syra rested her head back against the wooden pallets, "Well, we made it."

"Now, where are we going?" Petra asked as she slid to a seat.

"To Koth."

"Obviously," Petra stretched out her legs, claiming her section of the nook. "But Koth is even further north than our territory. I doubt this human machine goes that far."

"It won’t," Aidan said, "But it will get us close. Close enough to walk, at least. If we ride it all the way up, it’ll take us to Crescent Bay, which is right on the border of the Nordlands. Until then," he plopped his pack into his lap, "we wait."

Petra let out a long sigh and squirmed, "My rump is going to be so sore after this."

The Manarail made short stops at the towns of Tryst and Stone Grove, but only to exchange passengers it seemed. The gentle rocking and whir beneath them settled their nerves, and a ration later—or two in Petra’s case—sent them all nodding.

It was the low rumble and hard braking that jolted them awake as the Manarail slowed.

"Are we there?" asked Petra.

"No," Aidan rose to peek out the window. "No, it’s too soon. We must be stopping again."

But they did not stop. There was a clacking of gears and the shift of weight as the train changed course to the right. To the left, past rolling hills in the distance, the city of Cree sat by its wide river, and burned.

Aidan and Syra sprung to the window to see the plumes of smoke paint the skyline a sick gray.

"So much for going north." Syra whimpered as the smoking city and their track north disappeared behind hill and forest.

"They're probably just taking a detour." Aidan sat back down. "I can't imagine it being safe for passengers right now." 

"What could've happened? Cree's a big city. How can it just catch on fire like that?"

"I'll give you one guess."

Syra huddled into her spot in the corner and they went quiet. Cree's a big city, she repeated to herself. Next to Dairos, it's the largest on the whole west coast. Yet, it was taken out like a Flameweaver to a hay stack. Her hands began to shake in her lap. Marrak really is that strong. He took out Altaira, now Cree. Not even Rozenfall could stand up to him. Her hands froze.

"Aidan," Syra spoke upon a realization, "you said they were taking a detour, right?"

"Most likely, yes. Why?"

"Remind me, what city is east of Cree?"

Aidan's jaw tensed and his shoulders drooped, "Rozenfall."

[trendingnewsb]

MIA: This is a white country, you dont have to spell it out to me

Maya Arulpragasam is bringing dancehall, hip-hop and grime to this years Meltdown. Is the outspoken British Sri Lankan the best argument for positive cultural appropriation?

The Guardian said that you couldnt shag to my record. As conversational openers go, MIAs beats the banal niceties of, say, Hello, how are you doing?. Its no surprise that she charges straight into a chat about why her last album was considered too confrontational for the bedroom by this paper. Its an icebreaker moulded to MIAs very own design: abrasive, compelling, underpinned by sex. Yeah, she finally concedes with a grin when I suggest we move past it, you cant have it all, can you?

Its a theme she warms up to when we talk about her edition of Meltdown at the Southbank Centre, which were ostensibly here to discuss. Usually, I wouldnt do something like this, she says, slouched under an oversized khaki coat dress. [But the organisers] were like: Hey, you can do whatever you want. Still, putting on the South Banks annual festival, curated in previous years by the likes of David Bowie, David Byrne and Patti Smith, has turned out to be a fairly arduous affair for MIA who says she doesnt do computers at the moment.

They didnt tell me it was nine days long. I thought it was a weekend. And then all my lists were, like, Well, this person wont be in London and that person is doing Glastonbury. Organising festivals is actually really complicated, she stresses. It wasnt just about dreaming something and then it appeared. Programming literally means, like, programming.

For all that Maya Arulpragasam didnt quite know what she was letting herself in for, one suspects the Southbank Centre didnt either; logistics aside, the mornings photoshoot has already been met with some flapping from the press officer made nervous by MIA climbing on the roof without safety clearance. Still, her lineup dancehall, Brooklyn hip-hop, depressive Swedish rap and Nigerian grime is perhaps the most underground the festival has seen in its 24 years. How much is she expecting to shake up its comfortable concert halls, cafe bars and conference-room spaces?

Click here to watch the video for last years Go Off.

When I was a teenager in London, I would just get a Travelcard and go somewhere, explore the city and go to weird places, she says. I would never judge the place, like, This is middle class and white. This is a white country, you dont have to spell it out to me, but there wasnt ever a limit on where I could go or what I could do.

A long, elliptical digression on London then and now follows, which takes in the optimistic multiculturalism of the 90s, Tamil house parties, empire and British identity. Its the bento box of an MIA interview: individually contained ideas that dont obviously bleed into one another and yet, overall, make a collective sense if youre prepared to go with it. Thats the key thing about MIA: you have to be willing to go with her to properly get her. Given that she still looks and sounds like a beautiful, bratty, art-school upstart and is prone to labyrinthine tangents, its easy to portray her as inarticulate or unhinged. But MIAs intelligence is instinctive rather than intellectual, and fuelled by the political.

The Mehrabian maxim that reckons that only 7% of communication is verbal is one that might best be proven by the transcript of a chat with MIA removed of all tone, attitude, context and body language. Take, for instance, her explanation of why only the future remains relevant:

As humans, we dont use our past and our history to work out the importance of what our role is in the present, she says. And if you cant use the past to define your present, then it should not be an element that holds back the future. Greece is a perfect example. More than Britain, they were brought to their knees, and not a single white country thought about saving them. And it was part of their heritage. Its where their mythology comes from or their concept of capitalism and democracy comes from. Nobody cared, everybody cared about the modern. Right?

Kim Kardashian is actually more powerful than Greece. She has more money than the whole of Greece, she continues. Therefore, thats where the power lies. If you then define it that way, then you kind of just have to live with that. And maybe whats happening in modern society: that if youre going to judge it by that, then other countries are gonna come in and define the future.

In print, its a statement that seems lacking in logic and coherence. In the moment, Im fairly sure Im able to follow her and we go on to consider how and where this future is being defined (for the record: You cant ignore the fact that China is going to be doing their thing in the next 50 years) and how Arulpragasam believes the immigration issue has become a red herring covering up a truth that can explain the American and British swing to conservative populism.

With Brexit, the idea was to get away from Europe and reinvent our identity, she says. And really, that identity was going to be American, but then they gave us Trump! So, everyone now is like, Oh shit, what is Britain? Are we going to rewind back to the 1800s? We cant. Its too late for that. So, going forward, we need a charismatic leader who then va va vooms the British identity. And we dont have that either.

People thinking that Im a bitch is totally unwarranted … MIA. Photograph: Stephanie Sian Smith/The Guide

The prime minister has called a snap election on the day we meet. Does MIA have any faith in our political system? Or in the left?

Everyone keeps going, Corbyn cant do this, but its, like, well, who else is there? she says. If people just left him alone to actually do the job and actually gave him some support, maybe hed be different. Treating him with so much contempt fighting that takes all his energy. How the fuck do you expect him to do interesting things? In any case insists the estranged daughter of a Tamil revolutionary, politicians are people who couldnt get jobs somewhere else.

MIAs politics, unwieldy and unslick though they may be, have often made her an easy target for tedious sneering in the press; the most insistent narrative is that, like Banksy, shes big on arch, subversive statement but lacks substance. Or that she is a hypocrite for making herself the poster girl for the worlds most marginalised people. And yet, shes one of the best pop stars Britain has ever produced. For all the ear-clanging experimentation of her five albums, MIA has always kept a sleeve full of pop bangers Bucky Done Gun, Paper Planes, Bad Girls, Finally that have sounded like little that came before or since her. Even if she didnt have the tunes, here is an art-school refugee Sri Lankan single mother with a visual aesthetic co-opted by everyone from Vetements to Versace who was born into political rebellion and revels in controversy. Gleefully gauche and carefree, MIA is the best argument for when cultural appropriation works. Bland singer-songstress beloved of Radio 2 playlists she isnt. So how much has the criticism bothered her?

People thinking that Im a bitch is totally unwarranted because Im not, she ays. I just had to fight for shit, and I still do. I just dont care any more. I dont know. She stops and starts. What I deal with as an artist, the media, the public persona, its a walk in the fucking park, compared to how confusing the universe really fucking is. Theres so much beauty in it and theres so much mystery, theres so much confusing shit in it. That is way more interesting to think about than why, like, Patricia hates me. You know what I mean? I laugh. Its like, Who the fuck is Patricia? and How can Patricia say this shit about me?. It just does not matter to me at all.As it is, she says shes most preoccupied with how to be a functioning grown up, an adult and a mother to an eight-year-old son (whose father Benjamin Bronfman is son to the billionaire heir of the Seagram fortune) born into immense privilege.

When the war came to an end in Sri Lanka in 2009, it actually did affect me, she explains. Everyone was, like, What the fuck does she know? Shes, like, a pop star, but that was my life. It was 50% of who I was, it was my identity. I didnt know what to do with myself. So I had a kid. Its the year the cause died, but the year my personal cause my son was born. And then, OK, I have to figure out what to do in very small parameters: I have a son, how is he going to see his grandma, am I going to make it there on Saturday? Can I make sure that I dont mess up his head by being depressed about certain things?

She struggles to reconcile her upbringing poor and living in Sri Lanka for her childhood to poor and living on a council estate in Mitcham, south London, in her adolescence with her sons. Im not very straightforward as an immigrant. That whole My kids would never see the pain that I saw; Im not like that. Im totally up for reintroducing him to the pain. I dont have any qualms about that. Her problems havent changed, she says, because of money or better circumstances. Whether Im in a mansion or a council flat, I would feel the same anxiety waking up going: I need to write this thing in a scrapbook, wheres my notepad? I would still have all those problems. I might still overcook the fish fingers. Those things are not going to magically transform because your house has changed. At the beginning I thought that money couldve saved my family. Very quickly I realised that money is not the thing.

Her conflict in wanting to being huge and commercial versus credible and ahead of the curve has been a persistent tension threaded through MIAs career. When I got into the music game, it was never an option to shut up and make lots of money. she says. To be a huge pop star, I would have to be, like, Yes, I think bombing Afghanistan was a great idea, I love our democracy and what it has achieved. I love the American flag and Im going to make a jumpsuit out of it. I just think it was important to have all of those Arab Springs, and its great and lets drink Coca-Cola. I had to do that, and do it all in a thong. Could I have done that if it meant that my mum had the nicest house in Chiswick by the river?

Click here to se the video for MIAs Bad Girls.

Does she worry about money now? If youre preaching living within your means, you have to, to some extent. But I also know that if youre someone in society that speaks out about injustice or political issues, one of the things that happens is that you get economically punished, 100%. I take that hit all the time.

The most recent, obvious example was MIA being forced to quit her headline slot at Afropunk last year, following a contentious quote in which she asked in an interview why Beyonc and Kendrick Lamar might not discuss why Muslim lives matter or Syrian lives matter. I dont regret [raising the issue], she says, with triumphant chutzpah. You saw how bad it was. And the Muslim ban didnt happen just with Trump, it was already happening under Obama. But you couldnt say that about him, you couldnt say that he introduced the Muslim ban, or banned seven different countries, or was already monitoring people, or dropped more bombs than Trump has. In truth, Obamas administration did identify the seven countries on Trumps list for additional screening measures, but it didnt bar their nationals. Shes already skipped ahead. The quantity of damage cant be quantified right now, she insists. Well have to wait the four years. After eight years of Obama, we kind of knew [his failings], but we just werent allowed to say them because he was so great. He was better than any person in Hollywood that I wouldve watched. He was really likable and just had loads of swag. That doesnt mean that you have to deny the truth, though.

This (and much more) comes moments after she tells me she has no time for opinions these days. She claims she doesnt read the news any more and that her primary sources for information are customers at the local kebab shop, taxi drivers and then sort of figuring it out. What about the state of the world? MIAs moment as an agitprop pop activist has never seemed more potent. Politics? I have no time for these things because Im so stuck in the zone. Ive become a hermit. [Meltdown] is actually giving me the chance to actually go out and meet people again. Ive gone for weeks without talking to a person, I do that happily. I tell her I dont believe her, as I suspect it would be a recipe for her to go fully barmy.

Im actually quite an extreme person, so I dont see that as madness. I see that as, like, solitude, doing a phase of solitude is not that bad. After declaring her fifth album AIM to be her final one, shes also trying to find new ways to channel her creativity. Im trying to write a film. I havent stepped into it yet because I want it to be good. Once you hit the start button you cant really stop it. She has, she tells me, the added complication of ADD to contend with. When was that diagnosed? I just have it. Dont even need diagnosis, its a waste of time, its a waste of the NHS. In truly blithe MIA style, she adds: Its just when you have too many ideas and not enough ways to get them out.

MIAs Meltdown is at the Southbank Centre, SE1, 9-18 June

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