#I’ll con more people into Hope Corgi
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Every info dump on something and promptly realize no one else was interested?
#but who else am I going to throw my random fish fact at#stupid Chilean sea bass#grumble grumble#next time it’ll be all the Batman facts I half remember#out of order#it will make just as much sense as dc#no no forget all that#I’ll con more people into Hope Corgi#final offer
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At the Ready (Part I)
[Finding Space and Time] | [Counting the Days] | [At the Ready]
Timeline: Muriel’s Route; The Sun
[Featuring @vesuvianoak‘s fan apprentice Ąžuolas]
“Hey, Ąžuolas?” James looks up from the base of the tree. Bảo’s settling into his spot as Ąžuolas leans over the edge of the platform.
“Yeah?” Ąžuolas replies.
“That’s my husband you got there . . .” James murmurs. “Please watch out for him.”
“JAMES!” Bảo exclaims, “Don’t put so much pressure on him! You so mean!”
His husband laughs, shaking his head. Hand on his sword’s hilt, James replies, “Just making sure. I know you both can take care of yourselves, and each other. I just . . .”
“Aw baby,” Bảo chuckles. “I know, you worry . . .”
“We’ll have each other’s backs,” Ąžuolas interjects. “That I can promise you.”
James nods at his fellow Southernlander and pulls the hood of his cloak up. With a wave, he’s off to check in on one last group: his wife and daughter at the cave.
O*O*O
“C’mon everyone, please keep in line!” Walt calls out, marking down whoever passes her by on a large pile of parchment. “File in towards the back, stay out of the pond with the giant lily pads, don’t stray from the marked paths, and I’ll be in there with the rest of ya shortly!”
“Walt!” James calls, weaving in and out of the foliage.
“Hey babe!” Walt continues to sign people in as she and her husband share a quick peck. “Bảo situated?”
“Yeah,” James nods. “Neha inside yet?”
“Done and done.”
“Good, good . . .”
“You see Ly and Muriel?”
“Back at barricades with the Countess,” James murmurs. “Gods be with us all today.”
Walt checks in the final person to the cave, exhaling in relief.
“I better get in there myself,” she murmurs.
Before she goes in, James pulls her into a tight hug. He’s shaking.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Walt soothes, gently rocking on her heels. The pair sway back and forth together. “You’ve been practicin’ with Ludo and Blumilda. You’ll be fine. Grab a shield on your way to your post.”
“Ach, right,” James groans, hiding his face into her shoulder. “I hope there are some left.”
“Get to it,” Walt encourages, stepping back. She squeezes his shoulders, giving him an earnest smile. “You got this!”
James nods, coming down to give her a proper kiss. With that he leaves, making haste to the weapons storage to grab a shield.
As he fades from view, Walterine starts activating all the protection sigils around the cave.
Neha is waiting for her at the mouth of it. She’s armed with her batting stick, shifting her weight from side to side as her mother strides in. Walt’s eyes glow a deep magenta.
“You didn’t have to wait for little ol’ me,” Walt chuckles.
“I wanted to see it all light up,” Neha replies. She walks backward, eyes pointed toward the nearest rocky surface.
As Walt passes the sigils she’s drawn into the walls, they come to life. A magical wall forms behind her, sealing the front of the cave in a solid mixture of illusory defense. Foliage appears in front of the cave’s mouth, hiding it from discerning eyes,
Before long, Walt sits down among her fellow Vesuvians. She blinks, her glowing eyes flickering in time with the shield’s walls.
As the war horns and drums sound outside, she’s focused on maintaining the shield.
The battle’s begun.
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
FWIP! SWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-PAP!
The pebble smacks into an enemy soldier’s forehead. It stuns them enough to crash into their fellow compatriots. The group of them fall right into a hidden trap nearby, knocking even more of their soldiers off their feet.
“Nice one!” Ąžuolas crows, pelting others with hailstones the size of his fist.
“Thank you!” Bảo makes quick work of the contents of the giant leather sack between them. His aim is impeccable, his pebbles the perfect distraction and an actual danger to the exposed skins and craniums of the invaders.
There seems to be five mercenaries for every citizen of Vesuvia. Despite this, none of the enemies have made it anywhere close to the barricades.
When arrows start whizzing by their heads, Ąžuolas switches over to creating his ice traps. Buckets and barrels full of water had been hidden amongst the bushes, allowing Ąžuolas and other water-leaning magicians to make the most of it.
He catches some arrows in balls of ice, redirecting them to the archers that sent them. Down below, soldiers attempting to cut down their tree have Bảo busy.
As he shoots pebbles between several soldiers’ eyes, he hopes James is faring better.
O*O*O
One mercenary managed to disarm him. James is at a severe disadvantage without his sword. With their dagger and his weapon in their hands, the mercenary has him pinned against a nearby tree.
James has his shield up, gritting his teeth. With the other driving their blades into the splintering wood, it’s making it severely difficult to concentrate. The exertion of him pushing back against the enemy is starting to take its toll.
His gaze is locks with this mercenary’s own. Their eyes are wild, reveling in all the bloodshed they wrought upon the fallen Vesuvians around them both.
“Any last words?” they grin, watching as the shield begins to fall apart in James’s hands.
“Go ndeine an diabhal dréimire de cnámh do dhroma ag piocadh úll i ngairdín Ifrinn!” James swears, bracing for when steel would sink into his chest.
Before the mercenary could end him, blurs of white and orange slam into their ankles. James freezes, jaw dropping as recognition falls over him.
Corgis?! What in the world, he hasn’t seen any since—
The merc drops to the ground, trying to shake the dogs off. They bite harder in retaliation, growling and snapping at the mercenary’s offending hands and ankles.
James grabs a piece of his broken shield. Without ceremony, he smashes it over the mercenary’s head. Dusting his hands of the wood dust, he inspects them. He properly knocked them out; they aren’t dead, no, but at the very least concussed.
Seeing that the aggressor was down, the dogs turn around to face James. Their mouths are open, tongues lolling out amicably.
“Madra maith!” James praises the dogs, petting their heads and flanks. “Madra maith—ach, sorry for the blood, little ones!” He turns to find a dewy patch of grass, wiping his hands, wrists and arms free of red.
“Now then,” James looks over the stout little dogs, trying not to frown. “I think you’re all friends, but if you’re with the mercenaries I may be in troub—”
“James?”
He freezes, watching as the corgis trot off toward the direction of the new voice. Slowly, he gets to his feet. He stares at the tall woman approaching.
“James!” she exclaims, dropping her spear and rushing toward him.
His reply is lost in the din of war horns in the distance, but the newcomer sees it on his lips all the same.
Mum!
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
“Is she going to be okay?”
Lyra peers in through the tent flap, looking at Walterine. On the floor of the tent is her aunt, effectively knocked out. Curled up in Walt’s arms is Neha, who is just starting to fall asleep.
“She will be,” Bảo reassures. He’s sitting beside Neha, legs crossed as he looks on at Lyra. “Thank you for checking in, con.”
She nods. “If any of you need anything, Muri and I are just up the hill.”
Bảo laughs. “We know!” As she and her uncle laugh a bit, weighty footsteps come up behind Lyra. Bảo leans over to the side; it’s just enough for him to see that his niece’s beau just behind her.
“Đi con, đi,” Bảo urges, waving her off. “We be okay. I promise.”
Lyra nods at him before stepping away from the tent. Bảo listens as she and Muriel walk away. Before long, the only sound he can hear is the noise of Tent-Vesuvia going through its nightly routine. The man sits back, sighing softly.
James isn’t back from his meeting with the Countess yet. After Bảo and Ąžuolas got down from their perch, a messenger had found Bảo and told him that his husband was in the middle of an extremely important meeting with the Countess.
Apparently, James had encountered someone from his family on the battlefield.
That was as much as Bảo knew of the situation. While the Countess is known for her fairness these days, the fact James encountered his family as they were on the side of the enemy . . .
It puts quite a few thorns into the situation, doesn’t it?
A/N: It’s good to be writing again! This has been in my drafts since January. Thank you so much for reading—it means a lot to me.
#The Arcana#Muriel#muriel x apprentice#fan apprentice#magicianapprenticelyra#vesuvianoak#OCs#oc x oc x oc#Uncle Bảo#James Aster#Walterine Aster#Neha Aster#the scribe writes
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Another MFU blurb (technically also a Hustle/NCIS crossover)
Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII.
Summary: In which an undercover, older Napoleon finds himself arrested, and Illya almost considers the option of breaking cover to get him out. Takes place just prior to the events of “The Prodigal Returns” for Hustle and just after the events of “Judgment Day” for NCIS.
Notes: I am not the one who created the “Napoleon is Albert” or “Illya is Ducky” headcanons; Robert Vaughn himself created the former, and most of the MFU fandom created the latter.
Not cross-posting this because I’m just too lazy rn.
Illya knew the importance of keeping one’s cover on a mission—even in a case where things could be made significantly easier if one’s cover identity was divulged. After all, he had been successfully masquerading as “Dr. Mallard” for nearly two decades now, since their return to the service of U.N.C.L.E., much like how Napoleon had successfully masqueraded as “Albert Stroller” for the same amount of time.
Of course, it was far easier for a medical examiner to stay out of trouble, as opposed to a con artist, even one as talented as Napoleon. It had, after all, taken two decades for “Albert Stroller” to be reined in by the authorities at last, during a temporary disbandment of his grifting team. He was locked up in a London jail now, and Illya had made his excuses to take some time off from “Dr. Mallard’s” work and visit his partner, a black cloud of gloom hovering over him throughout the journey.
It pained him to have to meet with his partner like this—in the visiting room of the jail, with a guard by the door, watching their every move. Napoleon didn’t seem worse for wear; he merely gave a sheepish smile as Illya sat down.
“What happened?” Illya asked.
“Shouldn’t have tried to go at it alone,” Napoleon sighed, quietly. “When has that ever worked?”
“You’d have thought you’d learned by now…” Illya agreed. He sighed. “Mother is worried about you, of course.”
“Really? I thought she’d be disappointed that I got caught despite using the grifting skills she taught me.”
“Well, she is, but maternal instincts seem to be winning over those of a disappointed teacher,” Illya mused. “Baba Yaga, as well, awaits your return; she loathes Mother’s corgis, and they aren’t too fond of her. Trying to keep them separated is the only way to bring peace; I hope you can take Baba Yaga back soon.”
“As soon as I’m out of here,” Napoleon promised.
“Well, how long will that take?”
“…Two years.”
“What!?” Illya hissed. “Oh, no. No, that won’t do. It’s out of the question.”
“Well, I’ll be up for parole—time off for good behavior. I think I’ve charmed some of the guards--”
“You don’t have to suffer this indignity!” Illya cast a glance at the guard and then dropped his voice to a whisper, speaking in Russian. “Tell them who you really are. They arrested Albert Stroller--but Napoleon Solo can walk out of here with one phone call.”
“You know I can’t do that,” Napoleon returned, also in Russian. “The mission--I can’t break cover in the event that THRUSH makes people here talk…”
“And how are you going to combat THRUSH while locked up in here?”
“Oh, there are THRUSHies in here; my plan is to put them in a more secure facility by charming more of the guards to my side.”
Illya exhaled, placing a hand over his forehead.
“I know why you’re so upset; this whole thing reminds you of Strothers and Summit Five,” Napoleon continued. “Well, I can assure you, I’m quite comfortable here.”
“But you’re still a prisoner, unjustly.”
“Not from their standpoint; it’s all quite just--Albert Stroller slipped up, and he got what was coming to him.” He sighed, and then spoke again in English. “Look, Tovarisch, just trust me. I won’t be in here for two years.”
“…Well, I know you well enough to believe you,” Illya relented. He then looked back at his partner regretfully. “I can’t stay in London long—we just lost the NCIS director, and the team’s been split by the new one… They need me, but if you need me, then you take priority, always.”
“Well, it’d be great for you to visit,” Napoleon shrugged. “But I can handle this. Really. You’ll see me out of here and with you before you know it.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Illya said. “And of course, I will wait.”
Napoleon managed a smile.
“Thanks.”
“Time’s up,” the guard called.
The both of them stood up and gave their farewells.
Turning away and leaving without his partner was the hardest thing Illya ever had to do, but he knew enough to have faith.
If anyone could find a way out of here early, it would be both Albert Stroller and Napoleon Solo.
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If you’re graduating in a week...
If you’re graduating in a week, congratulations! Whether you majored in chemical engineering or art history, biological sciences or sociology, you have completed a major milestone in your life and you should be proud of yourself for it. You probably won’t be hearing this (or perhaps saying this) in your graduation speech, but you’re probably thinking about all the things you didn’t do in college. What if you had applied to more jobs? What if you had taken more meaningful courses? The different versions of yourself seem endless, and maybe some of them would have been happier on graduation day.
This is one of the few times I’ll say it, but consider thinking about all the versions of yourself who would have been less happy than you. What if you hadn’t passed that one class, and you had to delay your graduation? What if you hadn’t talked to your advisor and realized you were missing your writing requirements? What if you hadn’t checked your alarm minutes before your last final exam and barely made it to the testing room on time? The fact that you’re graduating is significant in and of itself. Enjoy the accomplishment. Celebrate your victory. Take your time, before you’re onto the next big thing, to admire the achievements you have made.
I have been out of college for exactly a year now, and I know my experience is very specific (every day, my CS puns and Facebook posts are getting a little bit lamer. I might have to start posting corgis like a normal person). I know it’s not inspiring, and I hope it doesn’t sound bleak, but you may find your first months out of college to be a little bit...anticlimactic?
This will depend on if you’re staying in school or starting your first job, of course (I chose the latter). It will depend on where you work, and who you work with, and what your attitude is. You’ll be taking part in things that are arguably more meaningful than anything you did in college, and your work will probably be more specialized, and you may have far more resources and greater responsibilities. In spite of all of this, you may find that the experience feels less...significant. It’s a paradox.
You offer services to a company, and you get paid in return. Depending on a wide variety of variables that are both in and out of your control, you may perceive your early performance as either successful or unsuccessful. Projects take longer to complete. More depends on your teammates, and your company resources, and money in general. There are advantages and disadvantages, pros and cons when you compare this life to your college life--but what made college life stand out is how easy it was to relate to people. That isn’t the case in a job. What you do here hasn’t been done before by anyone, and this can feel both exhilarating and alienating.
Rather than go on and on about that, let me just end on a quick anecdote. I watched my community service club present $1000 scholarships to college bound seniors; they were very grateful and gave speeches about what they would do. They all seemed to possess great potential, but I was concerned about them. By probability, wouldn’t there be at least one who found that his classes were too difficult? Wouldn’t there be at least one who found that her talents, however impressive and extraordinary, were just not impressive enough for a prestigious medical school?
Then I silently laughed to myself. I didn’t know them. Surely they would all experience their triumphs and their moments of defeat, and surely some of them would really excel without a problem. Had I watched another graduation ceremony, I would have felt that way again. We all do things right, and we all make our mistakes...we need to make our own mistakes, for that’s what gives us experience and helps us to become greater.
...That was a lot longer than I thought it would be. If you’re graduating in a week, congratulations! You have a lot ahead of you, and a lot of it is really good and exciting. I just get concerned sometimes that with our social media and the way we present ourselves in this generation, we feel the need to share our highlights and our high points, but we don’t feel comfortable sharing the feelings and the experiences that truly help us to grow.
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