#Leading diagonal of Determinants

[aclowntiny]

🏰 Ateez as Hogwarts Students🪄

Who wouldn’t want to go to Hogwarts with these boys? 😁 can’t wait to write some AUs for them too!

Hongjoong

☆ “Ah,” the Sorting Hat hums as it’s set atop Hongjoong’s head, “the mind of an artist. Don’t see this one too often. Creative, determined, you like to do what you want.” With a chuckle, the hat’s folds opened again, this time with a shout of “Ravenclaw!” Hongjoong is proud, hoping he could represent the house known for creatives and intellectuals who push boundaries.

☆ Proudest “blood traitor” Pure-Blood family this side of Hogwarts, that’s the Kims, especially Hongjoong 😌

☆ Like, the only student at Hogwarts who has an actual knack for Divination, like he actually sees things and they actually make sense. No one believes Hongjoong until something actually comes true. He even asks for his own crystal ball from his parents for Christmas and customizes a really pretty base for it. He’s also really skilled at Transfiguration, all the really flowing magic just cones to him even though there’s a precision to that one. Hongjoong can roll with it all!

☆ He doesn’t hate any of his classes, but History of Magic is the least interesting one for sure.

☆ Hongjoong joins the Ravenclaw Quidditch team as a Chaser, a position where he can lead and guide the team…and also try to pull as many distracting trick shots as he can! Gets really creative with how he spins the ball.

☆ He cannot wait to see what his Patronus looks like, secretly hoping to either get something adorable or really beautiful. He gets his wish and then some as wings burst out, a phoenix flying from his wand. It is quite rare for someone to have a magical creature for a Patronus, but chalk that up to Hongjoong’s spirit! He absolutely adores his Patronus, the sight of it perched on his shoulder, and his heart swells. His memories literally created magic.

Seonghwa

☆ He kind of wants Gryffindor, but has been told he'd make a good Hufflepuff, so ultimately Seonghwa leaves it up to the hat's decision. "Leaving it up to me, huh?" The Sorting Hat chuckles. "You're kind. You care for and value others...and their opinions apparently! You're a Hufflepuff!" Huh, so that was that.

☆ Having Muggle parents, he was quite surprised to develop powers, but a quick visit from his future teachers cleared things up…sort of! He can’t get over how amazing Diagon Alley is, dragging his parents into every shop he can.

☆ Absolutely ENAMORED with Care of Magical Creatures, like oh my gosh little tree guys! Funny cats! A REAL HIPPOGRIFF??? Seonghwa can’t get enough of the fantastic animals. He’s also a natural at Herbology, basically you can always trust him to keep things alive! Both of those classes simultaneously relax and excite him.

☆ Flying? Up that high? No thank you!

☆ Due to his fear of heights, Seonghwa doesn’t join Hufflepuff’s Quidditch team, but is the loudest, proudest supporter out there! You’ll always find him in the stands, especially since he has friends in every house.

☆ Seonghwa wonders what animal he'll get: maybe a cute cat or a big, strong tiger? A lovely mare? Sort of! A large pegasus is what ends up soaring from the tip of his wand, spreading its gorgeous wings and snuffling at its partner, bringing a wide-eyed look of eye and smile to him as he reaches his hands out to the white winged horse.

Yunho

☆ He’s outgoing, so maybe Gryffindor? That’s what Yunho thinks as he does some pre-hat self-reflection. The hat, however, takes a different approach. “Hm, kind, loving, loyal, yes, very loyal…” “Thanks!” Yunho exclaims, surprised the hat seems so nice. This isn’t so bad! “This one goes to Hufflepuff!” Yunho is surprised, but it makes sense given what the hat said. Happiness shouldn’t be too hard to find in Hogwarts’s kindest house!

☆ Yunho’s family is Pure-Blooded, but they raise their children with great sympathy for those without magic.

☆ Due to his interest in the world outside of wizarding, Yunho signs up for the Muggle Studies elective and loves it. They use electricity? Like lightning trapped in metal and that’s how telephones work? It’s almost more amazing how people go without magic than just waving a wand and making things move on their own! He also enjoys Charms, just quick little spells he can let go on the fly for fun.

☆ Doesn’t really hate any particular classes, but he got emotionally attached to the mandrake he raised in Herbology and got sad when it died.

☆ One of Hufflepuff’s Chasers. Loves the feeling of the wind in his hair and being able to fly victory loops when he scores and wins!

☆ Yunho is so excited when it’s his turn to try a Patronus, practically bouncing on his heels and hoping he gets a cool one as he remembers so many wonderful and exciting moments of his life so far. With quite a burst, a golden retriever leaps out and stands up on him, almost bowling him over!

Yeosang

☆ "You're an interesting one, aren't you?" "Er, thank you...sir?" Yeosang glanced upward at the mass of fabric atop his head. "You're trying not to laugh right now," the hat exposes him, "and yet a thousand ideas are coming to your head. Best express a few of those. Ravenclaw!" Yeosang wasn't sure what he was expecting, sure he thought he could make Gryffindor and some of his friends teased him about being a shoo-in for Slytherin, but something about being in a quiet, intelligent house didn't bother him either. He could be more than happy about that!

☆ A Half-Blood born to a Muggle and a wizard, Yeosang has a foot in both worlds. Magic is no great surprise to him, though, being raised around all his wizarding family and the rest sworn to secrecy! His Muggle cousins are so jealous he gets powers!

☆ Enjoys Astronomy because it’s really relaxing to look at the stars and draw beautiful charts. The idea that they might reveal secrets is amazing to Yeosang too. He jokes about taking Muggle Studies just for the bit, but ends up in Ancient Runes with Hongjoong. It’s a hard class but at least they can write secret code notes to each other!

☆ He’s not a huge fan of Potions because the mistakes tend to get messy! Wishes he could take it with Wooyoung every year.

☆ Ravenclaw’s Seeker, Yeosang has a knack for focusing in on one thing and even when his eyes wander, having them land on the golden snitch!

☆ Frankly, Yeosang isn’t sure what he’s expecting, like will the animal look like him? Represent his memories somehow? Just be whatever it happens to be? Despite having no specific expectations, he still can’t contain his awe and surprise when a glowing lioness slides out of his wand, fierce but caring and capable, and leans to peer at him with soft eyes.

San

☆ He’s not sure if he’s more of a Slytherin or a Gryffindor honestly, but the assumption in his mind is that he’s one of the two. “Slytherin or Gryffindor, huh?” The Sorting Hat asks. “Well, I just thought of those as the houses that take action, and-” “You’re a doer, huh?” The hat replies. “Big heart, too. I’ll say…Gryffindor!” The hat seemed to agree with San and listen to him, so he’s happy to join the house of lions!

☆ San is a Half-Blood, his parents being a Half-Blood and a Muggleborn, so he has plenty of wizarding experience along with his sister, but there’s something special about the memories they make with their Muggle grandparents!

☆ This boy loves to fly! He’s pretty sad it’s only an official regular class in First Year because an hour of flying is the best decompress after a bunch of lessons. He also really loves Care of Magical Creatures, trying to apply what he knows from caring for the cat he brings to Hogwarts as if it’ll help him remember what nifflers eat!

☆ History of Magic bores him, but at least it’s a good excuse to goof off and play with his friends in- all while keeping his head up as much as possible, of course.

☆ One of Gryffindor’s Chasers. Addicted to the rush of flying, just being able to soar around after the balls. Also loves having that opportunity to contribute to a team, it makes his heart warm!

☆ Everyone says it’s going to be a cat, and San just laughs, saying he wouldn’t mind at all. Well, luckily for his Patronus San is good-natured, for it slinks out of his wand as a Siamese cat that looks suspiciously familiar… perhaps Patronuses really are made from the things people love most.

Mingi

☆ Mingi wants to be in Ravenclaw, even though the house’s reputation for great minds is a bit daunting. “So, it’s Ravenclaw you want?” The Sorting Hat asks him. “Well, if I’m being honest,” Mingi replies, “yes. I- I think I can do it!” “Of course you can. You’ve a good mind on you,” the hat tells him, “Ravenclaw it is!” So proud to be in his dream house, Mingi swears to prove himself worthy of it.

☆ As a Muggleborn, he gets thrust into the wizarding world very quickly, but he makes friends the moment they set foot in Diagon Alley, so that’s where he learns about things like his school’s houses and sports. Mingi feels so lucky to get to experience it all and that the other kids he meets are so nice!

☆ Absolute Arithmancy whiz! Everyone’s whining about how hard it is and here’s Mingi with his great grades like it’s nothing, even though he’s forgotten his inkwell a few times. Everyone thinks he’s not going to be good at Potions but he surprises them with that too. Never has any big blowups and really likes making different brews once he gets the hang of it!

☆ Defense Against the Dark Arts makes him nervous because he didn’t realize how dangerous the wizarding world could be! Could those things really be out there to get him or his friends? He can only hope he remembers all he learns.

☆ Prefers watching Quidditch to playing, but he hand-makes a banner to wave in the stands that is the most precious mood booster to the team!

☆ Mingi isn’t sure what he’s going to get, jokes ranging from a powerful lion despite him being in Ravenclaw to a little leaping bunny. As his will is focused through his hand and wand, though, joy turning into light, it takes the shape of a snowy owl. Wise, fierce-looking, and yet…it tumbles over and bursts into what looks like a smile at the sight of its caster and Mingi can’t help smiling back!

Wooyoung

☆ The Sorting Hat speaks almost the second it’s placed on Wooyoung’s head. “Oh, Merlin! This one’s a Gryffindor if I’ve ever seen one!” Grinning, Wooyoung is off the stool in no time, proud to get the house he wanted so definitively.

☆ He’s a Half-Blood, both of his parents wizards just descended from mixed lines, plenty of Muggleborn and Half-Blood genes contributing. He used to joke that his family needed to be careful or else they’d end up with a bunch of squibs, but he couldn’t care less about blood- they’re his family.

☆ This boy LOVES Charms- any class he can use to screw with his friends is a great one for Wooyoung! He’s also an absolute star at Potions AKA his friends’ savior when they need help. He just legitimately loves it, though, so working on even the homework for it is often fun for him!

☆ Cannot STAND History of Magic, it’s just blah blah blah…but at least he can kick San under the bench and see what random stuff he can levitate without Binns noticing (it’s a lot).

☆ Another of Gryffindor’s Chasers, Wooyoung is known for taking (and often landing) really daring shots! May even want to try out for captain later on.

☆ Jokes about his Patronus looking like a lion because he’s that proud to be a Gryffindor, but as he remembers good times with friends and family and a fox leaps from his wand with a sly tilt of its head, Wooyoung can’t help but feel like he got the perfect partner.

Jongho

☆ "You're good at something once you put your mind to it." Jongho's mouth fell open into a little 'o' of surprise, not expecting a compliment from the Sorting Hat of all people...well, beings? "Convincing, too, very convincing. You can take charge when you need to." Jongho nodded along with the hat's words right up to the moment it called out "Slytherin!" He was a bit surprised being so brave and active, but he sort of had the feeling it'd be either Gryffindor or Slytherin.

☆ A Pure-Blood wizard, Jongho doesn’t let the pressure of that get to him- to him they’re all witches and wizards, it’s their skills and application that depend, and he intends to use and grow his!

☆ One of his favorite subjects is Flying because it helps him practice for Quidditch, one of his greatest areas of desire to achieve! He also adores Muggle Studies, the class where he learns about Muggle sports like soccer and subsequently tries to find Muggleborns to play with him.

☆ Considers dropping Divination because it’s such a ridiculous class, but keeps it just because it ends up being some of the most fun bonding time with friends. And ok, fine, once something may have been accurate and the curiosity has eaten him up since.

☆ One of Slytherin’s Beaters, and boy is he good at it! Such a strong arm makes for some spectacular Bludger shots. A big part of why the other teams are worried about playing Slytherin.

☆ Is determined to cast a corporeal Patronus, focusing with all his might on his best memory. It definitely pays off, he thinks, as a massive light fills the space in front of him, coalescing into the form of a big grizzly bear ready to firmly protect him.

[blurredcolour]

Extrication in G Major | Part One

Extrication in G Major Masterlist

Summary: Your first encounter with Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin gives you the impression that he is rude and arrogant, but he is determined to convince you to get to know him better.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Cellist Reader

Warnings: Language, Blood, Reader Injury, Dress Uniforms, Jake Being a Bit of a Jerk, Jake Being a Lot of a Flirt, Alcohol Consumption

Word Count: 3738

The door to your apartment wavered in the slight breeze, the latch broken – likely to never function again. Warm liquid dripped from the underside from your worn kitchen table, bearing the scars of your childhood and its journey across the country in the back of a U-Haul. The droplets hit the linoleum tile with a soft pat, pat at first, before enough of them accumulated to change the sound to a sharper plink, plink.

Your eyes scanned over the hunting knife driven through your ruined hand and into the wood of the tabletop, the blood pooling in your palm. As the bitter taste of fear belatedly flooded your mouth, panic setting in at the gravity of your situation, it was ironic that the fingers of your free hand were reaching for your phone, fumbling across the fractured screen to call Lieutenant Commander Jacob Seresin of their own volition. Or perhaps it was not ironic at all.

Driving cross-country in a ten-foot rented moving truck from Boston to San Diego in January had not been an act born of choice, but one born of necessity. You had needed to leave the east coast. To put more than just a few states between you this time. The opening with the San Diego Symphony, courtesy of an early parental leave, had presented itself at the perfect time. And was geographically ideal in that it was in the diagonally opposite corner of the country from the orchestra you had just left.

Given that it was well outside the top twenty symphonies in the country and maybe, just maybe you would have just a little time to do what you loved before what you had left behind caught up with you.

With your finances in their abysmal state, you barely had enough to make a security deposit on a dubious studio apartment in a neighbourhood the internet indicated you probably should not consider. But San Diego was expensive, and this living situation would hopefully be temporary until you received a few pay cheques in your new position. You were careful, however, to never leave your cello unattended in your apartment; carrying it with you everywhere as you rode public transport and relied on ride shares to get around.

It was with great relief, then, that you happily accepted an invitation to join a few of the other musicians in a performance quartet. They had approached you after string sectionals as their usual cellist was out with the flu and they had a performance booked for that Friday. Four days of focused practice would be more than enough for you to prepare, you assured them, agreeing to stay after ensemble rehearsal to practice together on Thursday evening.

That was, after all, the life of a professional musician – a great deal of your rehearsal time was spent in isolation, perfecting your portion of the piece, learning your cues, and studying the composer, with the expectation of arriving at the final rehearsal able to play flawlessly.

The four of you were roughly halfway through the selection of pieces to be played, when the lead violinist Marco asked you and Haeun, the violist, to the work through a section together to ensure a more complimentary sound. The door to the auditorium opened, immediately bringing your bows to a halt, and sending all of your eyes to your watches. The security guard, Hal, had assured you it would be no issue for you to remain until ten. But it was only half past eight. And the man who strutted in was most certainly not the retired police officer with a shock of white hair sprouting beneath his black security officer’s cap.

No. The man who strolled in was tall and broad, tanned and blonde, dressed in military khakis with biceps that tested the limits of his shirt sleeves. He had a pair of aviator sunglasses dangling from the breast pocket of his uniform, and suspicion in his eyes as he looked towards the four of you on stage.

“Lieutenant Commander Seresin!” Marco gasped and set his violin and bow on his now empty seat before disappearing in the wings, only to re-emerge off stage, meeting the imposing man in the front row.

There were about the same height, just under six foot tall, but next to Marco the width of the man’s shoulders made up from any lack of altitude.

“Good evening Mr. Campillo, just thought I’d come by and see how the preparations are going…” His eyes raked across the stage before settling on you, narrowing slightly. Instinctually, your fingers tightened on the neck of your instrument, knees hugging the sides slightly under his scrutiny before he turned back to Marco. “I see your quartet has a new member…”

You gritted your teeth at the doubt in his voice, trying to keep your face passive as you were really counting on the extra funds this gig would afford you.

“Yes, she graciously agreed to step in for us as Cecily caught the flu this week. We are extremely fortunate to have her on such short notice.”

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not as excited as you, Mr. Campillo, to have a brand-new cellist in the quartet I hired for an event I’ve been personally charged with. Admirals don’t retire every day, and everything must be to the highest of standards.” He cast a glance back at you over his shoulder, hands coming to rest on his hips. “No offence, miss.”

Your spine stiffened as the second violinist Benoit was barely able to contain his gasp beside you.

“Now, Lieutenant Commander, please let me assuage your concerns. She’s Julliard trained and most recently played for the Boston Symphony Orchestra, widely considered one of the top five in the country, truly, I assure you that…”

Marco’s words barely reached your ears, blood rushing through them as you tried to take deep, calming breaths. The fingertips resting on your bow grip were losing colour from how tight you were holding it…from the audacity of this military man waltzing into your practice, insulting your capabilities at merely a glance. You had swallowed more of your pride in the last few weeks than your stomach could manage, and this muscled idiot was more than you could stand.

If the moron needed proof of your worth, then you could certainly deliver that. Fresh in your memory from your audition for the seat, wordlessly you relaxed into a proper playing position began to play Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1: Prelude. It was perhaps the most famous cell solo, mostly due to the efforts of Yo-Yo Ma, and a rather melancholy piece. There was no lack of sadness in your life upon which to draw from and mixed with the burning sense of challenge the Lieutenant Commander raised within you, your fingers flew across the fingerboard, head bobbing slightly with the rhythm of the piece. As you played the higher notes, your eyebrows naturally rose, not unlike that of a singer, and neck extending backward slightly on the longer notes, it was as though the music was being produced from within you rather than through an instrument.

So absorbed in the music, you missed the way the group fell silent until you pulled your bow from the strings, the last of the vibrations fading away, and opened your eyes to find him staring openly at you. You swallowed tightly to clear your throat.

“Will that suffice, Lieutenant Commander?” You asked pointedly.

He supplied you with a vague nod in reply, reaching behind him to fold down the nearest seat before sinking into it. Marco stayed by his side for a moment, hesitating, before jogging back to rejoin the three of you on stage. Lieutenant Commander Seresin remained there, seated in the front row, until nearly ten o’clock, watching the four of you finish your rehearsal. You could not help but wonder if he had more ‘important’ things to do.

You could hear him and Marco making final arrangements as you packed up your cello, pulling out your phone to summon a ride share to make the trip home. You frowned slightly at the jagged crack down the face of your screen; yet another thing that would wait until funds allowed for a replacement. You slung your cello onto your back, making your way out to the parking lot until a blur of khaki halted you in your tracks.

“I really meant no offense, darlin’.” Seresin grinned from much closer this time and you were irritated to note that the pale, jade green of his eyes reminded you of sea glass. “You know how it is…” He shrugged in a way you were certain had previously charmed the undergarments off countless bodies.

“I’m certain I don’t, Lieutenant Commander, being a civilian and all. But your concern is wasted. A musician is accustomed to proving their abilities to anyone and everyone who demands it of them.” No matter how unqualified. You kept the last to yourself and moved to step around him.

You caught the way his eyes shifted to your cello as you hiked it higher upon your shoulder.

“Please, allow me…” He reached for it, and you shook your head firmly.

“No thank you, Lieutenant Commander, I’m fine.”

“Please, darlin’, it’s Jake. There’s no need to be so formal…” He flashed his perfectly straight, white teeth and you had never been more grateful to receive a notification on your phone.

You looked down to see that your driver ‘Andy’ had arrived before the glow of headlights shone through the glass doors ahead.

“Looks like my ride is here. Good night, Lieutenant Commander.” You nodded to him, swallowing back a sigh as he still insisted on holding open each of the lobby doors for you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, darlin’.” He nodded, undeterred, helping you and your cello into the maroon sedan.

“Tomorrow.” You replied with a nod before he shut the car door for you, sighing heavily and dropping your face into your hand as the car pulled away. San Diego was supposed to be simple, so why had the universe just set this stubborn, gorgeous man in your path?

The ride share driver and you had competed to vacate the parking lot of your building once he had dropped you off. He had won, but just barely. Locking the door behind you, you breathed a sigh of relief to find your meagre possessions intact. You tucked the cello into the back of the closet, inside one of the moving boxes you had saved for just that purpose, to make it as unappealing as possible, and pulled out one of your performance dresses to be sure it was free of wrinkles for the party tomorrow night.

After another dinner of cup noodles, you put on some white noise on your phone and did your best to get as much sleep as possible, forgoing any practice the day of the party to ensure you were as rested as possible. You arrived at the hotel an hour before the party was scheduled to begin, freshly showered and wearing subtle make-up, the breeze from the nearby ocean catching the skirt of your dress as you climbed out of your ride share.

“You clean up nice, darlin’.” You heard the familiar voice and looked up, the moisture in your mouth suddenly evaporating at the sight of Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin standing before you in his dress whites and…was that a fucking…sword at his hip? How had you not been mentally prepared for the possibility of dress uniforms.

“You, too…” Your lips somehow mustered to ability to move, and you barely heard your voice above the buzzing in your ears as you watched him reach into the car to fetch your cello, too stupefied to protest this time.

“Why thank you, you’re too kind.” He flashed that ruinous smile again. “Follow me.” He jerked his head to the right and turned to lead you inside.

You followed without a word, past the reception desk, down a few hallways, and into a ballroom decked in Navy decorations. Of course, the dress whites meant the Navy. He was a Navy man. Slowly your cognitive skills were returning to you.

“Your fellow musicians are set-up right here.” He led you over to a platform in the corner of the room where the others were just unpacking their instruments and gently set your cello case on the carpeted floor. “You all have programs on your music stands, but please let me know if need anything else.”

“Thank you very much.” You nodded earnestly, nibbling on the corner of your lip as you quickly went about setting up so the four of you could be in place and ready to play before the guests arrived.

He grinned, looking more than a little pleased with himself, before stepping away to take care of other responsibilities. You could not deny that your eyes found him several times throughout the evening during your warm-up, between songs, as the guest of honour arrived, as they served dinner. The military most certainly had numerous lethal weapons in its arsenal and Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin was handcrafted to bring about your death it seemed.

It was a miracle that you made it through the full set, the evening a true test of professional abilities, taking a bow as the emcee took to the podium to ask those in attendance for a round of applause for the music your quartet had provided. He then announced they would be moving onto speeches as the four of you began to pack up as quietly as possible.

“Hey, thank y’all again that was fantastic.” Jake whispered, shaking each of your hands with a warm grin, a hint of whisky on his breath. “We’ve got some extra dinners from folks who couldn’t come are any of you hungry?”

While Marco and Haeun opted to head home to their families, you and Benoit agreed. Jake got you set up at a table in the back, speaking to one of the waiters who promptly brought out two plates. Jake slid into the empty chair beside you as the speeches echoed through the ballroom, glancing at you happily as you did your best to act like this was not your first proper meal in weeks. You carefully cut and savoured each bite – even the veggies tasted like heaven. When they cut the intricately decorated cake, Jake disappeared only to return with three sizeable slices.

“I’m glad you approve of my meal selection.” He winked and you sipped your water sheepishly.

“It was very good.” You admitted before looking over the cake. “Did you select this as well, Lieutenant Commander?” You tilted your head, enjoying the way his eyes crinkled at the corners in annoyance.

“I’ve told you to call me Jake, darlin’, and yes, yes, I did. Lemon cake with a vanilla bean buttercream but there’s a surprise in the middle. Go on and tell me what you think.” He leaned in watching you expectantly.

Lifting your fork, you used the edge of it to slice through the soft piece of cake, mouth already watering at the promise of something sweet, before stabbing a bite-sized portion and sliding it past your lips. As you chewed thoughtfully, you fought back the urge to moan at the delicious combination of flavours but could not help the gasp that flew from your mouth when the bright tang of raspberry cut through the sweetness of the buttercream.

Jake grinned broadly and leaned back in his chair, nodding heavily with satisfaction. “Raspberry compote.”

“That is fantastic.” You grudgingly admitted before going in for a second bite.

He chuckled richly and watched you enjoy a few more bites, nodding to Benoit as he excused himself for the evening. You swallowed nervously, realizing you were now alone in a room full of dress uniforms, under the intense gaze of one Lieutenant Commander.

“Are you enjoying San Diego?” He asked, breaking the silence as the DJ began to set up for the dance portion of the evening.

You nodded slowly, swallowing your most recent bite.

“Haven’t really been here long but it’s beautiful….” You glanced at him and tilted your head. “So aside from choosing dinners and cakes and musicians, what do you do for the Navy?” You asked, hoping to distract him by getting him to talk about himself.

His lips twitched into a smirk.

“Well darlin’, I’m a Naval Aviator…a pilot…” He replied confidently, tapping the set of golden wings on his chest, making you swallow the last of your cake painfully.

“Fuck me…” You breathed as the DJ introduced herself through the sound system. You tensed and quickly took a deep sip of your water.

“Sorry didn’t catch that?” He leaned in, eyes twinkling with a dangerous mischief.

“F... Fancy.” You said loudly into his ear as the first song of the night began throbbing through the speakers, something from the eighties – the retiring admiral’s heyday.

He straightened with a knowing smirk on his face and offered his hand.

“Dance with me.” It was more of a command than an invitation.

“I should really head home; we’ve got a concert series next week and I…” You swallowed hard as he raised an eyebrow and stood, extending his hand to you once more.

You glanced at your cello beneath the table, loathe to leave it unattended, even in a room filled with commissioned officers.

“Is that the real problem? One moment.” He nodded and squeezed your shoulder before disappearing into the crowd, the heat of his touch lingering through the fabric of your dress.

You had just risen to your feet, prepared to make your escape, when he returned with another officer with wings on his chest but no sword at his hip.

“This is Lieutenant Javy Machado, my wingman. There’s no one else here I would trust to look after your cello.” Jake slapped him on the back proudly and you pressed your lips together trying not to grin at how adorable a picture they presented.

“Your instrument is in good hands ma’am, though might I persuade you to dance with me instead? Hangman is a terrible dancer…” He trailed off as Jake pushed him down into his recently vacated chair and silently accepted defeat as Jake offered his hand to you once more.

“Please?” He asked, raising an eyebrow hopefully and you swallowed, not quite finding the heart to turn him down after he had found someone to mind your cello – despite how complicated this was getting.

“One dance, Lieutenant Commander.” You acquiesced, setting your hand in his, licking your lips involuntarily at the intensity of his responding smile.

He led you out onto the dance floor, sliding his arm around you to rest against your lower back and your heart leapt into your throat as you realized at some point between the table and the floor the music had changed to a slow song. Sinking your teeth into your lower lip at the warmth of his palm seeping through your dress, you set your hand in his, letting him lead. He easily navigated past the other couples, and despite his wingman’s warnings, he was an excellent dancer.

“Why did he call you Hangman?” You looked up at him, startled to find his eyes already fixed down on you.

“It’s my call sign, we use them in the air. Javy’s is Coyote. Still working on getting you to call me Jake first, though. One step at a time.” He smirked and you could not help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “I have to say…” He murmured, leaning in close to your ear. “I’ve never been jealous of a cello before…Wish it was me between those lovely legs of yours.” He breathed against your tender skin, making you shiver involuntarily.

It was by no means an inventive pick-up line to receive as a cellist – had even been successful a time or two during your studies at Julliard, but it had become tired and cliché as you had matured. Yet there was something about the earnest way in which he delivered it. Or maybe it was the Texas drawl, thickened by the whisky you could still smell on his breath. It sent a thrill of desire through you that was altogether dangerous.

Mercifully, as the song came to an end a rather frantic looking individual bustled up to Jake and tapped him on the shoulder. He reluctantly released you and turned to look down at the smaller man.

“Terribly sorry to interrupt, Lieutenant Commander but Admiral Simpson is looking for you…” He fidgeted nervously and you honestly pitied the man for the murderous look Jake was currently raining down on him.

He turned back to you and frowned.

“Forgive me darlin’, duty calls. I hope you might stay but I…”

You shook your head sadly and he all but pouted yet nodded graciously. You took a deep breath, knowing you would probably regret this, but selfishly wanting to see his smile one last time.

“Goodnight, Jake.” You smiled softly and bit your lip painfully as he pressed both hands to his chest, green eyes glittering and smile stretching his lips wide as his face lit up with glee.

“Goodnight, darlin’.” He crowed, walking backward through the crowd towards his beckoning admiral.

You shook your head, ducking your face as more than a few people turned to glance your way. Picking your way quickly across the dancefloor, you returned to your table, smiling fondly to see Lieutenant Machado waiting patiently with your cello.

“Thank you very much, Lieutenant. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.” You smiled warmly and grabbed your instrument, slinging it over your shoulder and booking a ride as you wound your way through the halls to the front of the hotel. You walked quickly, nearly holding your breath, hoping the admiral would keep Jake long enough, or deliver a request complex enough, that you could make your way out of there before he realized he did not have your number.

Despite your initial impression of him, the evening had more than confirmed that the man did not deserve to be entangled in the morass of your life. It would be best for you to disappear tonight and for him to take that charm and those ruinous good looks elsewhere. Your paths were highly unlikely to ever cross again, anyway.

Read Part Two

Extrication in G Major Masterlist

Image Credit: Devotion (2022)

[dailyanarchistposts]

Anti-militarism

There are two obvious ways of taking direct action against war— a mutiny by those who fight, and a strike by those whose work supports those who fight. In fact a mutiny against war is scarcely feasible. Mutineers have usually been protesting against their standard of living rather than their way of life, against those who give them orders to kill rather than the orders themselves. Mutiny is after all a rebellion of armed men, and armed men don’t lay down their arms (see Serjeant Musgrave’s Dance). A soldier, said Swift, is “a yahoo hired to kill” and once he has let himself be hired (or conscripted) to kill it is hard for him to stop killing and become a man again— if he does, he immediately ceases to be a soldier, and his protest is no longer mutiny. Exsoldiers are often the most resolute pacifists, after they get out of uniform. “If my soldiers learnt to think,” said Frederick the Great, “not one would remain in the ranks.” But soldiers are very carefully taught not to think. And even if they did, mutiny would scarcely be the way out— how can violence be destroyed by violence?

A strike against war is more feasible, since the working classes aren’t already committed to war and they have a long tradition of strike action. But the hard fact is that the Left— socialist, communist and anarchist— has a pretty shocking war record. People who are quite prepared to lead workers into strike after strike for wages are not willing to strike against their rulers for peace, and most wartime strikes have been intended not to prevent war but to prevent rulers and employers from using war as an excuse to increase discipline or decrease wages. When a strike is clearly against war, it is almost always against that particular war, not against all war; and even when it is against all war, it is almost always against national war and not against civil war as well. But they are both war— a vertical war between social classes is just as much a war as a horizontal war between separate communities within a single society. War is only a name for organised mass violence. But left-wing disapproval of horizontal war is usually in direct proportion to approval of vertical war, and vice versa: while a diagonal war is easily disguised as a patriotic or class war, whichever is approved. The man who won’t fight the enemy abroad will fight the enemy at home, and the man who won’t fight the enemy at home will fight the enemy abroad In the event the Left will fight just as willingly as the Right, and as often as not they end by fighting on the same side. Most people oppose the use of violence in theory, but most people use violence ia practice, and no one who deliberately uses violence really opposes war. As Thomas k Kempis said, “All men desire peace, but very few desire those things which make for peace.”

The strongest left-wing opponents of war used to be the antimilitarists, who before 1914 were very close to (and often the same as) the anarchists and revolutionary syndicalists as well as the more libertarian socialists. Their proclaimed weapon was the general strike against war, but this turned out to be as much of a myth as the general strike described in George SoreFs Reflections on Violence (1906) — except that Sorel meant his to be mythical, while not only moderate leaders like Bebel, Jaures and Keir Hardie but even the really determined anti-militarists deceived themselves as well as their followers, and were genuinely surprised when the Labour Movement first let the Great War begin and then actually joined it. Only a few hard-headed realists like Gustav Landauer knew the true weakness of left-wing anti-militarism, and no one imagined that passionate anti-militarists like Herve” and Mussolini would themselves lead the Labour Movement into the war effort.

In fact anti-militarists have had very little anti-militarist influence on the official or unofficial Labour Movement, whatever other influence they had, and even that little influence melts away to nothing when the political temperature rises (consider Keir Hardie, George Lansbury and Aneurin Bevan in this country alone). For all their fine talk at international conferences in peacetime, most social democrats become social patriots when the blast of war blows in their ears, and even the brave few who refuse to take up oars with the rest also refuse to rock the boat. “The lads who have gone forth by sea and land to fight their country’s battles,” said Keir Hardie a few days after the Great War began, “must not be disheartened by any discordant note at home.” Among socialists, only the Marxists stood firm in 1870, and even Marx thought Bismarck was fighting a “defensive” war; only the extreme Marxists and some other extreme socialists stood firm again in 1914, and of course the Marxists began fighting ferociously four years later.

In 1939 only a few very extreme socialists still stood firm, while the Marxists made themselves thoroughly ridiculous.

The anarchist record is better, but many sincere comrades followed Kropotkin in 1914 and Rudolf Rocker in 1939. And even if all the anarchists and revolutionary syndicalists and anti-militarists had stood firm, war would still have come in 1914 and again in 1939. For militarism is stronger than anti-militarism, nationalism is stronger than internationalism, conformism is stronger than non-conformism— and never more so than in the middle of a war crisis. A general strike against war before the State has caught the war fever demands a revolutionary intention that seldom exists; a general strike against war after the State has succumbed demands a degree of revolutionary courage and determination that almost never exists. The Left is reluctant enough to challenge the State when all the circumstances are favourable— how much more so when the circumstances are completely unfavourable! Once the State is down with the fever, it is already too late to protest or demonstrate or threaten strike action, because the fever is so infectious that the people catch it before anyone quite realises what is happening; and by the time war actually breaks out it comes as a relief, like a rash following a high temperature. Then there is no chance of doing anything except in the case of defeat.

The problem is partly one of simple timing. Randolph Bourne, the American liberal pragmatist whose observation of the Great War drove him to anarchist pacifism, pointed out in his unfinished essay on the state [1] that “it is States which make war on each other, and not peoples,” but “the moment war is declared, the mass of the people, through some spiritual alchemy, become convinced that they have willed and executed the deed themselves;” with the result that “the slack is taken up, the cross-currents fade out, the nation moves lumberingly and slowly, but with ever-accelerated speed and integration, towards the great end,” towards “that peacefulness of being at war” (a phrase he took from L. P. Jacks, the English Unitarian writer). Although Bourne didn’t belong to the Labour Movement, he had far more insight into the nature of war and its relationship with society and the State than most anti-militarists who did. “War is the health of the State. It automatically sets in motion throughout society those irresistible forces for uniformity, for passionate co-operation with the Government in coercing into obedience the minority groups and individuals which lack the larger herd sense.” For war isn’t only against foreigners. “The pursuit of enemies within outweighs in psychic attractiveness the assault on the enemy without. The whole terrific force of the State is brought to bear against the heretics.” Of course, “the ideal of perfect loyalty, perfect uniformity, is never really attained,” but “the nation in wartime attains a uniformity of feeling, a hierarchy of values culminating at the undisputed apex of the State ideal, which could not possibly be produced through any other agency than war ... A people at war have become in the most literal sense obedient, respectful, trustful children again.” Nor, alas, are the working classes immune to “this regression to infantile attitudes,” so “into the military enterprise they go, not with those hurrahs of the significant classes whose instincts war so powerfully feeds, but with the same apathy with which they enter and continue in the industrial enterprise.” People whose highest ambition is to capture the State for themselves can’t be expected to destroy it.

[risilence]

Wrong Killer! (Angell x FChief )

Here we go again!! Just as promised the poll has concluded and Angell x FChief has won. I've prepared a sneak peek of the fanfic to come! (Please note that there might be changes in the final draft!)

Wrong Killer! (Rating to be determined)

Angell pedal along her final delivery route, mind empty as she breezed through the streets with idle ease. She had been all too familiar with her neighborhood, with the sort of people that frequent the roads of daylight thanks to her change of occupation. It was actually pretty soothing compare to the levels of stress and danger from her old job. Now that Angell worked as a delivery persona for a local restaurant in downtown West Side, Angell felt a sense of peace that couldn’t be gained anywhere else.

Peace that was shaped in the form of delivering takeout to all sorts of lively customers, having a stable income, and getting to go home every day on time. Nothing else to worry about, it was just her and food now.

Approaching a pedestrian red light, Angell came to a halt. The apartment complex right across the crosswalk was her last deliver of the day, but she caught something much more interesting to her right. Toward this direction sat a rundown convenient store with two little munchkins loitered the empty parking lot. They seemed more jitter today than normal, so Angell decided it would be appropriate to deal with them first.

Once the red light turned green for the diagonal road, Angell biked her way to the two teens. Her wheels crunching the loose rocks announcing her approaching presences, “Busy guarding Zoya’s puppy again?”

Even though they could hear her coming, the two whipped their heads skittishly at her. Simmering down from their fight or flight when they recognized Angell, “Jesus! You almost gave me a fucken heart attack,” The shorter teen spoke as she ungripped her lead pipe.

“Making enemies again?” Angell asked. Parking her bike in front of them as the other teen waved her off.

“Ignore Hella, she just scared cause of the rumors,” The blonde teen acted tough, yet she wasn’t fooling anyone either. Angell could see her shoulders trembling a bit, the small ounce of relief now that an adult was with them.

“Oh, shut up EMP! I’m not scared!” Hella crossed her arms. Going to sit on the cement parking block, her eyes closed in rage as Angell unmounted her bike.

Angell hadn’t heard about any rumors at all during her routes. She grew ever more curious that the Legion possessed confidential information that she didn’t, “What rumors?”

“Just gang stuff. You don’t have to worry,” EMP clarified as she preferred to stand. Her eyes scanning the lot for any suspicious individual, the rumors having indeed struck fear into both girls as they remained vigilant.

Angell raised her brow, “I’ll buy you two drinks if you tell me,” And like a fish to bait, Hella folded at the promise of a slushy.

After buying the two girls a well-deserved icy treat, Hella began to explain, “See I’m only telling you this cause you’re nice to us,” Ignoring the fact that they had made a prior slushy deal, she went on, “But rumor has it that THE Black Cat of East Side is lurking in our turf.”

“Black Cat?”

EMP not wanting to be out down by her companion explained into further detail, “Yeah, the Black Cat of East Side. Apparently, this guy has over one million deaths to his name! Killing his enemies with his large saber sword, cutting his victims into pieces and eating them!” She chomped the air replicating his eating manners, Hella rolling her eyes though they appeared to be twitching with irritation as if she believed these rumors to an extent, “And no police or any gangs can catch him! They’ve sent special forces, gang lieutenants, and even assassins to get this guy, but they all turn up dead. Fortunately, he hates confrontation and avoids the spotlight when he can! Like a silent jaguar within the folds of his urban jungle… these are in fact his cities,” She acted out. Pouncing around the lot trying to scare Angell, “They say he’s a gun for hire… and if that’s true than the fact that he’s in our turf could only mean one thing…”

Hella sighed as she slurped her drink loudly. Warning EMP to be quiet, but the other was on a narrative high as she tried to get some sort of reaction from Angell.

“He’s here for Zoya’s head!”

“For fucks sake, shut up already!” Hella stood up and wacked her behind the head with her fist, “Angell doesn’t need to know this! You’re going to scare her.”

Angell kept a serious face throughout the whole story, unbothered by the dramatization as she hid her amusement well. But upon hearing that she needed to be scared, she merely excused herself from the conversation, “If such a scary person is here, then I’d better go home before it gets dark.”

Hella nodded, “If you see any suspicious individual, you come and tell us. We’ll come to save you,” And EMP flinched at Hella’s bold statement.

“You mean you’ll come running, I’ll go get Horo.”

“Y-You coward!!”

Angell left the duo bickering as she mounted her bike again. Crossing over to the apartment complex, she went on with her day as usual. Her mind thinking over the outrageous rumor spreading around the underworld of Syndicate’s finest gang. It was amusing, her lips curling ever faintly at how much the Legion’s underlings were freighting over her nickname. Pleased to know that her legacy hadn’t changed in ridiculousness as she picked up her bike and buzzed herself into the electrical door gates. The window doors sliding open as she ventured in, taking the elevator to the sixth floor as Angell carried her bike.

She didn’t need to worry about being seen, she still wore her delivery uniform as she stepped out from the elevator. Walking to her last delivery door, Angell buzzed the bell as she listened to the steps approaching the door.

“Coming,” The woman spoke as Angell smiled at her tone. Opening the door, Angell came face to face with Syndicates finest police director, Chief, “Angell! You’re finally home.”

[sailtomarina]

Raise a Toast

Draco x Hermione | @hp-yuletide-bliss Day 31: The clock striking midnight | WC 3325 | Rating: M (past death and grief, implied/referenced sex)

The champagne on his tongue might as well have been water for all the little that Draco tasted. His attention was elsewhere, or, more accurately, on someone.

Minister Granger-Weasley stood in the light, her spine straight and head held high as she sparkled with laughter. She was surrounded by an adoring public eager for a single word from the witch who’d taken the Wizarding World by storm. The first Muggle-born Minister of Magic. The witch who toppled several long-standing measures against magical beings and creatures. Golden Girl. The Brightest Witch of Her Age.

He simply thought of her as ‘Granger’, no matter her surname. That was even more true now that she was divorced and her children long since graduated and leading lives of their own.

Astoria, his beloved wife, had been gone a decade now, the memory of her still soft and sweet no matter how many days passed. Were she still alive, he’d be just as devoted to her now as he was from the moment she’d stepped into his life. She was his light in the darkness, the mother of his only son and heir, and the love of his life.

He took comfort in one of the last memories he had of her, where she’d begged him to find love again.

“Don’t close your heart, Draco. I know it will be hard and might take a long time, years even, but you have to try. For me. For Scorpius. For yourself.”

And she’d been right, of course. The pain of her passing had nearly crippled him. If not for his son, he might have given up on life entirely.

Now, here he was, dressed in his finest robes, his hand bare, and his heart open to trying once more for a happiness that looked suspiciously like a woman in shadow grey with a head of riotous curls.

The feeling had been slow growing, as things usually were in Draco’s life. He didn’t let others in often, and those that he did found themselves lifelong holders of his loyalties. Watching as his son grew steadily more fond of her daughter had given him hope for the future that only magnified with each momentous move Hermione made in her role as Minister.

He didn’t work for the Ministry; he didn’t need to work at all, truth be told. The Malfoy coffers ran deep even after all the reparations they had paid years ago. By now, Draco had tripled them past their former glory through well-planned and aggressive investments. But, he’d come to learn that work did what no amount of playing with money could: it gave him a satisfaction in life that increases in gold never could.

He’d started small, experimenting with potions here and there. It had always been a gift of a kind, one his godfather had been quick to nurture the moment he’d shown interest. If only Severus could see him now, his cold heart might just have melted at the edges. Draco’s hobby expanded into a Knockturn storefront, then, eventually, a premiere Diagon brick and mortar. He took on contracts with Hogwarts, trading potions for Longbottom’s quality plants, as well as St. Mungo’s via the Ministry. 

That was how his interactions with Granger went from the occasional parental obligation to the workplace, as she had to approve the contracts and made a point of visiting his lab and store in person. What should have been a simple inspection and dismissal turned into several hours of discussion over theory and technique. She was convinced she could improve upon his Wolfsbane Potion, and he was determined to help her realise that wish.

And, they had.

The newer Wolfsbane not only lasted longer and had to be taken less frequently, but it tasted better, too, which several volunteers had stated might have been the best part. Granger had been ecstatic at the results of their teamwork and insisted on more projects in the future, to which he eagerly agreed.

Unfortunately, work and familial obligations made that reality a far-off dream.

He would never begrudge her time spent with her former husband and their children. After losing Astoria, he would never, ever demand she prioritise anything else. Family was paramount; everything else, secondary.

Then had come the news of her divorce, and the slew of speculation. Paparazzi made it nigh impossible to get in a word with her outside of her capacity as Minister, and he didn’t want to give them any fuel for fire. It would be just his luck for the tabloids to get wind of their potion brewing and concoct up lies about a torrid affair.

He waited, and he experimented. He continued his work and supported Scorpius as he made the decision to apprentice under Flitwick at Hogwarts, then again when his son confided in him about his lasting interests in a certain curly-headed ginger. If all went as they both hoped, he might soon have a daughter to welcome into his life. 

All of his senses snapped to attention once Granger began to move across the floor, the train of her dress needing no hands to hold it aloft or a carpet to keep her way clear. The crowd spread around her without prompting; magic held the material in perfect alignment. Not a single speck of dust or dirt dared marr her radiance. Shadow grey was a bit of a misnomer for her gown’s colour. Draco had never seen a shadow like this. It shimmered with movement, pulled you into orbit upon study.

Like now.

“My, my, Malfoy, one might think you’ve turned to stone standing as long as you have against the wall. I nearly missed you altogether.” Firewhiskey eyes sparkled with mischief, a quirk on her lips that he could have sworn she’d stolen from him.

“If your dance card isn’t already full, I’m happy to remedy that for you.” 

The words were out of his mouth without a thought. They came as naturally as breathing, though now that comparison was suspect given the rampant thundering taking place in his chest. There was no telling the expression on his face. She, however, looked pleased, and that assuaged his concern.

They might as well have been the only two in the ballroom with how everything faded to the edges, leaving only them and a too-large space in between. He watched with fascination the way she smoothed one hand down her stomach, a grounding gesture if he ever saw one. Her free hand disappeared into a cleverly hidden pocket and extracted her wand. With an elegant twist of the wrist, a series of lines scrolled before her, all of them occupied except for the last.

He stared at the space and willed the glowing gold of his signature to fill it.

Being the last line, that meant he would be her final dance. It would place him closest to her as the clock struck midnight. Surely, she knew what might follow, should she allow it.

“It’s yours for the taking,” she clearly stated, not an ounce of hesitation in her delivery. Her chin remained high, her eyes firmly set on his. She stepped close enough for him to raise his own ebony wand and send his name onto the final line.

As he did so, her gaze finally dropped, and he witnessed the first shift in her carriage. Following her line of sight, he realised she was looking at his unadorned finger. The last time they’d met, he’d still worn the platinum band.

“When…” her voice drifted off as she realised with a look around that they were, in fact, not alone. She needn’t have worried. He’d cast a muffliato the instant she'd pulled him in.

“Today.”

She held his gaze long enough to convey entire conversations unspoken. She knew what the gesture meant, as well as his being here asking her to dance. Mahogany curls shot through with ribbons of tawny gold spilled forward as she inclined her head and dropped into a curtsy. He longed to twine his fingers through the silky tresses and anchor himself into her, a shelter in a storm, only she was the storm and the anchor and the tethering line all at the same time.

“Come find me.”

And then, she was gone.

He watched her, slack jawed like everyone else, the exposed muscles of her back rippling with each step, the skin golden tan and begging for touch. Here he was, a wizard well into his prime, a father with a son old enough to marry, a widower who still very much loved his wife, and a man utterly incapacitated by the sight of Hermione Granger’s bare skin. 

“It’s about time, mate.” 

“Theo.”

The two men stood in silence next to each other, surveying the room and sipping their preferred glasses of sin. Couples swirled on the dance floor, gowns and formal robes in such a variety of colours and patterns that Draco was reminded of the first time he’d witnessed Twilfitt and Tattings’ walls as a child. At the time, the options had seemed astronomical. When would anyone ever need so many choices? What was the point of one shade of aubergine over one slightly paler, or darker?

Now, he understood. Now, he appreciated. Just as there were countless shades of green or red or, in Hermione’s case, gold, there was an equally endless number of possibilities his life could take from this moment to the next. He could walk out right now and honour his marriage vow to Astoria. He could be happy with that decision. She deserved devotion, even in death. He could ask Theo to take his spot knowing his best friend would do it in a heartbeat. Theo adored Granger, had harboured his own affections for her once upon a time. Draco wouldn’t put it past the wizard to proposition her for a threesome with Longbottom, his current partner. 

He could stay and take that dance.

“Don’t you go buggering this up.” Theo’s voice held just the slightest hint of reproach. Anyone else listening would have assumed he was teasing. “Nev and I would just love to step up for a chance, not that we’re the ones she wants. Either way, I’m sure Mine wouldn’t say no to some fun if her preferred wizard vanishes on her.”

“Don’t call her that.”

He hated any and all nicknames others used for her. It was infantile, like they couldn’t take the extra effort to add on a couple of extra syllables. 

Theo scoffed into his glass before tossing back the remainder and slapping Draco on the shoulder with a grip tight enough to bruise. “I’ll call her whatever I please until she requests otherwise or you make it clear that she is, in fact, not mine.”

A soft chiming slowly rose in volume, filling the hall with echoing rings and signalling the last dance of the evening. Anticipation rose from his stomach, a fluttering, then a stampede, propelling his arm out to drop his glass onto the nearest surface. Each motion seemed doubled in time, allowing Draco to pick up every single detail of his surroundings. The cool, slightly moistened glass passing from his fingertips as he let go. The flex of his shoulder as his arm dropped to his side. The tightening in his glutes when he stepped forward, eyes fixed on a witch in the centre of the room. Always in the centre, always in the spotlight. Always just out of reach. Until now.

If Theo said anything more, it was lost in the maelstrom roaring in his ears, a cacophony of anticipatory chatter from the crowd around them, the tinkling of champagne glasses in the hands of those not dancing, the murmured pleasantries from servers. Her laughter drifted like a fishing line straight to him, hooking him in and dragging him forward without any need for bait or deception. He was already hers.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Ladies. My final dance awaits.”

Surprised eyes turned his way, but Draco didn’t care. Only Hermione filled his view. Only Hermione mattered, her hand descending into his.

Ah.

There it was.

A reflexive swallow betrayed her emotions when his fingers pressed down onto her own. Nothing else gave away her reactions to his touch, but he knew what to look for after all their times working together. 

He led her into the space made for them, and she settled into his frame like she was made for it. Or, was it the opposite? This was no Yule Dance; they were children, no longer. He held her close enough for him to breathe in her scent, a mixture of tuberose and jasmine and…a hint of freshly-mowed grass, perhaps. Heady, sweet, and invigorating, just like her. It made him want to leap onto his old broom and fly barrel rolls through the ballroom like he was still a Quidditch player and she his biggest fan.

“How is it that you always smell so good?” she uttered, nose bent towards his chest so he couldn’t see her expression.

“Speak for yourself. Your perfume should be served up to the national Quidditch team; maybe then we’d finally win the World Cup.”

That brought her face up, eyes and nose adorably crinkled as she laughed aloud at his comment. He swelled at the accomplishment. When she finally opened her eyes, merriment dancing in the lighter flecks of her irises, her lips twisted into a wry smile.

“All these years, and I still can’t manage to enjoy the sport.”

“I’ll enjoy it enough for the both of us.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“Whatever will I do while you’re focusing all your attention on balls and broomsticks?”

Draco wouldn’t have stopped his gaze from dropping to her lips no matter the topic. “Not all my attention. Some things are worth nonstop devotion.”

A flash of pink as she licked her lips. “Is that a promise?”

He looked back into her eyes, framed by full lashes and opened wide as they stared back at him. “Do you want it to be?”

The lights around them flashed in warning. The countdown to midnight would soon begin.

“Yes.”

He let out the breath he’d been holding, the echo of her assent a driving force to any lingering uncertainty he might have had about his next course of action. 

“May I kiss you, Hermione?”

“If you don’t, then I will.”

Ever the threat. They shared a smirk that the public would soon come to consider a sign of great things. Terrible? That would depend on who you asked. But great? Of that, there was no question.

“10, 9, 8…”

His forehead dropped down to hers, cool skin to warm, icy grey melting in the heat of her scorching fire.

“6, 5, 4…”

They drifted to a standstill, bodies pressed together into one. Draco’s hand splayed possessively across the bare expanse of her back, while the other cupped her jaw and tilted it upward.

“2, 1…”

The clock struck midnight, cheers erupted around them, poppers exploded, and somewhere, far away, rumbled the start of fireworks high in the sky.

There was only her lips beneath his, slanted, parted, breathing the same air, mewling as he pulled her tighter against him and drank her in like his very own life-giving elixir. Nails bit into the thick fabric of his robes, sharp enough to leave marks on his skin that he’d wear with pride. She tasted like nothing he could have imagined, yet also like everything. Triumph. Joy. Passion. Heat. 

Love.

Draco grumbled as she pulled away from the kiss; he could feel her grin against his pouting lips. 

“Don’t worry. There’s no getting rid of me now,” she teased, her fingers sliding down the planes of his chest to pinch at a nipple, sending a jolt straight to his cock. Her chuckle was low and leading as his hips reflexively jerked forward at the sensation.

“Hermione…” he warned.

“Draco.” Her hands slid back up to wrap around either side of his neck, thumbs rubbing circles against the blond stubble of his jaw. “Unless you want to give the press even more to squeal about, I suggest you take me home.”

Celebrations continued around them, champagne glasses emptying and several couples still kissing in the New Year. Theo was likely out there wrapped around Longbottom, all threats on her person likely forgotten in the excitement. Even if Draco took her away right this second, a photo of their midnight kiss would still likely grace the Prophet’s front page, along with a thorough breakdown of their former relationships and long standing rivalry. 

None of that mattered.

“Nothing would please me more.”

Protests to their departure went unheeded, and the final speech of the evening ended up being given by Head Auror Harry Potter. It was the very least he could do as her best friend, anyway. Draco still couldn’t quite bring himself to call the wizard a mate of his. Respectfully, of course, and irregardless of their several shared glasses of Ogden’s finest. Even when their kids flew on the same teams and wore the same house colours. Potter would always and forever be Draco’s opponent, just like he would always be in their lives as Hermione’s closest confidant.

It wasn’t until after the weekend that they saw the photos for themselves, which they promptly clipped and framed. Creevey had managed to catch their first kiss in a perfect loop that included the softening in his eyes and Hermione’s inhale of anticipation. A fearsome bouquet arrived shortly after, Longbottom’s logo stamped on the congratulatory card and Theo’s scrawl barely legible. Draco wasn’t certain how familiar Hermione was with the language of flowers, but this particular assortment was decidedly sordid in nature and promised retribution should Draco “muck it all up.” 

“Neville always has the best floral arrangements,” Hermione sighed as she openly admired the deep purple calla lilies with her fingertips. Despite the sweet aroma of the entire bouquet, she smelled like him dressed as she was in his Oxford, the buttons only done up to the centre of her breasts per his request.

“I beg to differ.”

“Oh?” She arched a brow at his disagreement, then dimpled as he stalked forward to pin her against the dining table.

“I have the best flower,” her eyes dilated as he slid his palm down her torso to loosely cup her bare cunt, “right here.”

She helped him prop her up on the venerated heirloom, the wood burnished over time to a glowing finish that he wanted nothing more than to smear with their euphoria. All other obligations could wait while he fucked her hard enough to send that ridiculous vase toppling to the ground, the sound of it shattering lost in her pleas for more, more, more, a plea he would never hesitate to fulfill, one he would echo right back to her as she kneeled between his knees and took him to the back of her throat. 

Theirs was a new year of rediscovered carnality, though, to be perfectly honest, Draco wasn’t sure he’d ever allowed himself such unfettered want. She did that to him. She made him forget his bad knees as he worshipped her from the ground. She sent him into a breathless spiral of giggles that would have had Pans calling for a Healer; he hadn’t even known he could laugh in such a way. She still infuriated him and drove him to madness as he tore his library apart in search of at least one, single piece of evidence to prove her wrong (she wasn’t wrong) and exact her atonement (that was his role in the end). They raged, they made up with passionate, loud sex, they bickered, they guffawed at their children’s shock and swift delight at their relationship. They spent the rest of their long lives loving one another and creating shockwaves wherever they trod.

But those are other stories, entirely.

Cross-posted on Tumblr & AO3.

Happy New Year! May it bring you love in whatever form your heart most desires, including a self-love that reminds you each and every day of the one-of-a-kind individual that you are. Cherish yourself. Cherish your loved ones. Raise a toast to 2024!

[four-loose-screws]

FE2 Novelization Translation - Chapter 2 Part 3

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

If you are interested in donating to support my work, please check out my Ko-fi here. Thank you!

———————————

Chapter 2 - Mila’s Restoration Army

Part 3 - The Necrodragon's Trial

"Necrodragon Shrine" was just a name, or so Celica thought. The land of Zofia was under Mila's divine protection. Meaning it should have been unthinkable that one of Duma's guardian beasts could step foot in this country. 

However, that was all her wishful thinking. As Saber maneuvered the ship through the strait, still locked up in the helm room with Genny as his hostage; the waves were gradually becoming so high and violent that it felt as if the calm waters before now were all a lie, and dark clouds even moved in and covered the skies. Yet the ship moved straight ahead as if it was being pulled forward. 

Celica and the others all stood at the bow of the ship to confirm the path before them. They saw a small but tall black island, which appeared to be only the top of a steep mountain peeking out from the sea.

The island, shaped like the horn of a unicorn, was at the very center of the high waves and dark clouds. It was as if the island pierced through the skies and opened a hole from which the dark clouds and storm poured forth.

The ship reached land, and when Saber emerged from the helm room with Genny, hands tied behind her back, everyone else had no choice but to follow him. There was no flat land on the island for him to land the boat on. His only option was a steep cliff that rubbed against the side of the ship, which led to a single cave at the exact height of the deck.

They did as Saber ordered, and crossed the deck towards the cave, then gingerly followed each other one after the other across the rickety bridge leading to the cave, jostled by the violent seas. Celica took the lead, followed by Valbar holding his lance out at his hip, then Leo, Kamui, Boey, and Mae. Last was Genny and Saber, holding his knife against her back.

Then, Celica saw it. It appeared all too suddenly. It blocked her path, as if to say, 'Your fear is not caused by the power I will exert over you. Just standing here before you is enough to send you into pure terror.'

'It' was a massive necrodragon. Its body was like that of a lizard, its wings a bat, its tail a poisonous serpent, and its head a dragon. The rock wall of the mountain had been smashed in a way that allowed its body to fit perfectly inside the cave, meaning that this cave was its birthplace. The sacred light that radiated from within it was as bright as a burning fire.

A necrodragon was here. In Zofia. When she realized exactly what that meant, Celica was petrified in horror. Earth Mother Mila had lost all power over Zofia. And its presence also meant that Duma, the violent god of war, had to be the one who stole it from her. 

The first lesson drilled into the heads of the clergy was that of the Divine Accord between Mila and Duma. Until now, it has been as essential to their world as the air they breathed.

'This means that the Divine Accord is no more. Duma has broken it.'

Celica thought. That was the one certain truth at this moment. Yet knowing the truth did not mean she knew what would come of it. What would become of a world where the Divine Accord was broken? Not being able to guess made her feel pure terror.

'We must restore Mila to her rightful place, and reinstate the Divine Accord!' Her determination to go to the Mila Shrine was greater than ever, as if she had dropped an anchor in the seas of her heart.

"You go to the rear, Celica. Assume white swan formation!" Valbar shouted before the necrodragon's might.

Valbar was the vanguard, with Leo nocking an arrow behind him, and Kamui standing at a slight diagonal behind them, ready to support either the front or rear lines. The slightly curved line they created looked like the soft neck of a white swan. Boey and Mae stood next to each other, making up the wings, and protecting Celica in the back.

Now was not the time for them to feel threatened by Saber and make their moves based on that. Their current reality was nowhere near that soft. 

The fierce gust of wind the necrodragon blew in their direction was so great that it made even the fully armored Valbar shake.

He thrust his iron lance, twice as long as he was tall, into the wind, but it did not cause the necrodragon to flinch as it bared its fangs at him, fangs that bit through even his steel armor.

The beast flicked Valbar's body backwards, and he crashed to the ground. Genny tried to run up and heal him, but Saber strengthened his grip around the rope he was keeping her tied up with, preventing her from doing so.

Leo shot his nocked steel arrow. The arrow flew in vain past the necrodragon's neck, and smashed the rock behind it to pieces. The necrodragon immediately turned in the direction of the bow and stretched out its tail, which it swayed to unleash an attack in front of Leo.

Leo was knocked back and rolled across the ground until he stopped at Saber's feet. Genny tried to bend down to assess his wounds, but Saber would not allow even that.

"Thunder! Cut down my enemy!" Boey and Mae both cast thunder spells at the same time. 

Two bolts of lightning came crashing down from the heavens, through a hole that formed in the cave ceiling, scattering the light surrounding the necrodragon everywhere.

Amid the light and stormy winds, only one person stood, swaying with it.

It was Kamui. With both Valbar and Leo injured, it was clear to him what he must do.

Prepared for battle, Kamui shouted, "Saber, can you hear me?!"

Even in the great gusts of wind around them, Saber heard Kamui's voice loud and clear.

"I don't care if you can hear me or not. But I can't die until I say just one thing!" Kamui readied his sword at his torso, and the two ends of the fabric wrapped around his neck fluttered straight sideways in the wind. He always had it wrapped around his neck, anticipating that his arms may be injured. It was a sad custom among mercenaries. "I was no great mercenary. I just did what was my duty, and I have no memory of ever losing to anyone. I entrusted my life to Valbar. The money he paid me was enough to pay for my funeral. I can die in peace any time."

Kamui judged the distance between him and the necrodragon, then slowly stepped his worn out combat boots forward, one after the other.

It was only for a brief moment, but the memory of their fight against Darth's men, standing back to back, flashed through Saber's mind. He remembered Kamui's behavior then. 

"The odds are not in our favor!" He'd said.

"You got that right!" Kamui answered.

The memory made Saber feel that he'd found someone just like him.

"But us mercenaries don't have to act just out of our sense of duty! The deeper our sense of duty, the stronger our human emotions are. Saber! I can't truly say that I don't understand at all how you feel. I just can't say that I understand all too well, either. But I'm going to defeat this monster for you! I don't know where the Blessed Sword is, but you can search its corpse and find it."

The necrodragon twisted its long neck and looked down at Kamui. "How dare you laugh at me, monster!" He grumbled. "Saber! It is the one wish of all mercenaries that Rudolf would bow before them! You be that mercenary, or else I'll come back and haunt your ass!"

Those were Kamui's last words before it happened all too quickly. He swung his sword, and headwind to the great gusts of wind, he jumped into its chest. His body disappeared in the raging light emanating from the dragon.

"Kamui!"

Everyone heard a howl so loud it echoed through the shrine, even over the howling of the storm. Celica, Boey, and Mae all turned to see that it was Saber.

It was then that Saber realized it. Kamui was a true Mercenary. He was a true unit that faced the fate decided for him when he was born, and tried his hardest to fulfill that role.

His contracts were an afterthought. Dying for another was what it truly meant to be a Mercenary. It was the reason why Mercenaries were so proud of their freedom.

And what about the person Kamui sacrificed his own life for in the very end?

"Why would you do this for the likes of me?!" Saber released his grip on Genny and leapt forward. 

The necrodragon spit Kamui's corpse out at his feet.

Saber screamed so hard the blood flowing around his feet may have very well come from his own throat. "I killed Kamui! I killed my only friend with my own hands!"

His chest felt like it was about to burst with feelings that would never again be reciprocated, and he lost all his strength in his sword hand.

"You beast!" Saber shouted and challenged the necrodragon, already without even a chance at victory. He wished only for death.

The dragon flapped its wings, and Saber's body danced around in the wind. Then suddenly, the dragon became quiet, as if time inside the shrine had stopped completely.

A miraculous scene began to unfold. A red light like that of a newly ignited fire floated downwards, as if it were chasing after Saber.

This was not from the light the necrodragon emitted. Perhaps it was the light of Saber's soul as it exited his body? Or maybe a sign of Saber's divine punishment for his wicked plot?

It was neither. The red light lightly grazed Saber's body as it slammed to the ground, then flew past him, before finally moving in towards its true target, Celica.

For a brief moment, Celica saw a figure within the light. It had several sets of small wings that shined brightly. Then, a split second later, it disappeared.

"It's an angel!" Genny cried from beside Celica, clasped her hands together, and bent down on her knees. She had seen the true form of the figure within the red light that entered Celica's body.

"Heavens, cut down my enemies!' Celica shouted, the words coming out of her subconsciously from the very center of her mind. In her desperate mental state facing death, she had mastered Seraphim, the powerful magic spell that could defeat the necrodragon.

The spell conjured up countless rings that surrounded the necrodragon. Within each of those rings was an angel just like the one that had appeared before Celica.

The necrodragon split into a million pieces that vanished.

Seraphim. Celica mastering this spell was certain proof that even now as Earth Mother Milia was trembling under Duma's threat to her power, she was still everywhere in Zofia, and continuing to protect Celica.

-

Peace returned to the shrine. The dark clouds parted, and it was not the mystical glow emanating from the necrodragon, but now the sun's rays illuminating the shrine, returning it to its rightful state.

Saber was grieving. The only words he could manage to utter were those that expressed his remorse and how sorry he felt.

As he was crying with his face against the ground, someone walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

It was Genny.

With her left hand still on his shoulder, she raised her left hand towards the heavens and said, "This man is Saber. Judging by his current will and strength, he does not know if he is worthy of Mila and Duma's blessing to complete the transcendence ritual to become a Myrmidon."

Saber looked up. His face, covered in Kamui's blood and the dirt kicked up during the battle, twisted in pain, even more so than it already was from wrongfully taking the life of his friend.

'Me, a Myrmidon? I allowed my friend to be killed. I have been stained forever as divine punishment for my wicked deeds. Why me? I should not be forgiven. No… for Kamui's tragic death, I know I will never be forgiven.'

"No, stop!" Saber wailed, but when he tried to squirm out of Genny's grasp and run away, she put all of her strength into her left hand, and kept his shoulder down.

As Genny prayed, the white light that fell over the quiet shrine looked like a single strand dangling from the web of a spider living on the rock ceiling above. The light moved until it finally enveloped Saber and created a cocoon. When it vanished, Saber had transcended to become a Myrmidon, the unit class above Mercenary.

Mila had forgiven him.

-

They found the Blessed Sword lodged deep in the necrodragon's throat. Saber knew there was only one thing he could do with it. He gave it to Celica, and vowed his eternal loyalty to her.

The group arranged a heartwarming funeral service for Kamui. Saber requested everyone that he be allowed to remove the cloth Kamui wore around his neck in a moment of silence, and wrap it around his own neck. When Boey and Mae saw what he was doing, they allowed it. Leo did not speak a word, but slapped his hand on Saber's shoulder, and Genny prayed for Kamui's soul to find peace.

Zofia Harbor was in their sights. Still unable to shed a single tear, the Myrmidon Saber stared not at the waves, but beyond the undulating seas. He focused all his energy on maneuvering the rudder.

Their cargo ship had now officially become the warship for Mila's restoration army. On its bow stood Valbar and Celica, so different in size they looked like a parent and child pair.

"That's strange." Valbar said something concerning. "I can see a light coming from the southern fort. It has fallen to Desaix, and he is already no longer using it. It should be locked up tight."

The southern fort Valbar referenced, atop the Zofian shore's cliff wall that had finally come into sight, soared high into the sky. Celica also saw with her own eyes that there was indeed a light lit on its steeple.

[humanperson105]

Badiou, Infinity, and the Multiple

Badiou begins the second meditation of Being and Event with the central axiom of Parmenides philosophy: 'If the one is not, nothing is.' By contrast, in Badiou's own words, "My entire discourse originates in an axiomatic decision; that of the non­-being of the one." (Being and Event Pg 31) The dialectic of the one and the many and the concomitant question of the existence of the one concerns the problems inherent to the conception of totality and the various incoherencies that result from both the existence and the inexistence of the one.

In Badiou's reading of Plato's Parmenides, the dialectic of the one and the many results in aporia and has no conclusive resolution. For Badiou, Plato's verdict regarding the unthinkability of the many, what Badiou calls the pure multiple, is a result of what he calls the count-as-one, or the necessity of thought to present the pure multiple as one to render it intelligible. Badiou can assert that the one is not and that therefore nothing is, as for Badiou, the nothing or Void is the unthinkable pure multiple.

Therefore, what should be thought here is rather that 'nothing' is the name of the void: Plato's statement should be transcribed in the following manner; if the one is not, what occurs in the place of the 'many' is the pure name of the void, insofar as it alone subsists as being. The 'nihilist' conclusion restores, diagonal to the one/multiple opposition, the point of being of the nothing, the presentable correlate-as name-of this unlimited or inconsistent multiple whose dream is induced by the non-being of the one.(Badiou pg 35)

Badiou can endorse the Platonic theory of participation, that the non-being of the one participates in our sensible experience, but suspend Plato's verdict regarding the unthinkability of the Void. This is due to Badiou's view that the intelligibility of the pure multiple and its identification as non-totalizable infinity have only become possible following the advent of set theory and the notion of the transfinite found in the work of Georg Cantor. The unpresentability of the pure multiple, or Void, allows Badiou to endorse the Lacanian definition of the real as the impasse of formalization and leads Badiou to generalize the unthinkability of the pure multiple in Plato's philosophy to philosophy as a whole. Throughout Being and Event, Badiou seeks out the impasse of the real in thinkers like Spinoza and Aristotle, among many others. In this regard, Badiou's treatment of Hegel is instructive regarding Badiou's conception of real infinity (the transfinite), the real's relation to his overlapping theories of the event and the subject, his view of the purpose of philosophy, and what I refer to as a dialectic of division rather than a dialectic of sublation at the heart of his theory of truth and its relation to his affirmation of the multiple against the one.

In his Logic, Hegel famously distinguishes between "good" and "bad" infinity. "Good" infinity is "good" only in the sense of being a true infinity, which for Hegel entails an infinity that contains its own limitation, in contrast to the "bad" or false infinity, that whose limitation is external. Hegel's distinction between internal and external limitation is a result of Hegel siding with Parmenides and asserting that the one is; if anything falls outside the infinite, then it can neither be infinite nor one.

Hegel's notion of contradiction is not applicable to just any pair of opposites or contraries. Contradiction, for Hegel, is a relation of determinate negation: A and not-A. For example, on and off does not constitute a contradiction, but on and not-on does. Bad infinity, the not-finite, is not a true infinity as it has an external limitation in its negation, the finite, and the same goes for the finite, which has an external limitation in the not-finite or bad infinity (this is crucial for grasping Badiou's conception of the infinite). The bad infinity can become good only by sublating (to suspend and preserve) this contradiction in a whole that contains the contradiction of A and not-A as moments or qualities of the whole. For infinity to interiorize its limit, the finite must become a moment of the infinite.

Hegel identifies this double process as comprising the true infinite because it does not have any intrinsic limitation. There is nothing about it that brings it to an end. There is nothing outside it. Its determination consists in that very process consisting in the finite and the nonfinite reverting into one another and not being either just separated from one another or united with one another. (Richard Dien Winfield - Hegel's Science of Logic: A Critical Rethinking in Thirty Lectures pg 137)

Hegel is not a thinker of synthesis but rather of syllogistic integration. As Mao says, the dialectic is a "one that divides into two". Hegel's one is without foundation or ground, and this causes it to collapse in on itself, split itself into two, and then subsume this split within a new whole that promptly splits again and again ad infinitum. 1, 2, 4, 8, 16, 32, etc. The one is self determinative; as it cuts itself, it differentiates and expands without ever finding closure. This is why Hegel (and Marx) can think totality without rejecting change or becoming; just as the finite is a moment rather than the limit of true infinity, becoming is a moment of Being.

In the chapter of Being and Event devoted to showing the impasse of the real in Hegel's philosophy, Badiou attempts to defend what Hegel refers to as "bad" infinity in the guise of the non-totalizable transfinite. The importance of the transfinite for Badiou lies in its making possible the thinking of a quantitative infinity that cannot be sublated into the "good" Hegelian qualitative infinity. The absence of such a non-totalizable quantity is, for Badiou, the impasse and point of failure of Hegel's thought. Quantitative infinity is necessary for Badiou not only for rendering the Void of inconsistent multiplicity intelligible but also for providing an external limitation to Being and the dissolution of the one - the very thing that causes Hegel to dismiss quantitative infinity - that is integral to the true focus of Badiou's thought: the Event and the subject of truth. Throughout Being and Event, Badiou is at pains to establish that the event does not belong to the ontology of the pure multiple. "With the event we have the first concept external to the field of mathematical ontology." (Being and event pg 184) Without this extrinsic limitation to being there could be no event and no expressions of subjectivity in the fidelity to an event.

In Badiou's dialectic of belonging and non-belonging (all and not-all/finite and not-finite), there is no whole or totality that contains the moments of the dialectic, only diachronic cuts in the “one”; a dialectic without sublation/suspension. This is why Badiou adopts a dialectic of the “one into two” alongside his espousal of a meta-ontological role for philosophy in Being and Event onward; prior to this (see Badiou's The Rational Kernel of the Hegelian Dialectic), Badiou's dialectic was purely one of splitting, division, discontinuity, and differentiation: “the one into one” (the one splits into two separate ones), or, “the one into none” (a split that affects a subtraction of the one). Badiou can adopt this position as he relegates the thinking of being to set theory and, concomitantly, relegates the task of unifying subjective truth events into a universal discourse to philosophy. Following Sartre in the Critique of Dialectical Reason, Badiou's theory of subjectivity finds its expression in a Fichtean voluntaristic act carried out by a group subject rather than a class in and for itself (for example, see Sartre's discussion of the storming of the bastille). Badiou is not a thinker of history and change understood through periods of transition, but rather of singular ruptures without precedence. The sheer quantitative excess of being leaves open the possibility of the non-ontological event, the subject, and the subtraction of truth from knowledge.

[ivyprism]

FarmHorrorfell and Farmhorrorswap Skeleton Boys (Info Dump)

Warning: Fighting, etc.

Acacia - Farmhorrorfell Papyrus

Personality: He's very serious, direct, forceful, and protective. He is the terrifying dog that everyone requires. Anyone who believes they have the right to offend their brother is met with hostility and scorn. He will be sensitive and kind to those he trusts, as well as protective, regularly covering his loved ones with his arms. He is a really caring and compassionate person. If his brother or loved ones are threatened or hurt, he will not hesitate to break up the situation. He refuses to let up and is willing to go to any length to protect his family. He is an expert with axes and will cut down trees if necessary.

Appearance: He has bright red eyelights. He has two scars on his left eye that are very big and splintering at the edges. He has freckles and a red bandana around his neck.

Kestrel - Farmhorrorfell Sans

Personality: He's a tough but caring individual. He is no-nonsense, gruff, and forthright. He never backs down from a verbal confrontation and knows how to fight. He is forceful, flirty, and protective. He enjoys having fun, but not too much so. He is determined to defend his loved ones, and he makes this obvious. He is the leader. He is highly clever and has much farming and ranching experience. He is capable of teaching others about farming. He works hard to protect the farm and its animals. He's a touch prickly, but he relaxes with those who don't wish him harm. He's also a bit of a showoff.

Appearance: He has deep red eyelights. He has freckles. He has a golden tooth and a scar on his left eye. He has a large hole in his skull that leads to a scar on his left eye.

Everett - Farmhorrorswap Papyrus

Personality: He's a ferocious, playful, and powerful skeleton. He is quite powerful and can lift some massive objects. He is a smart, astute skeleton. He realizes that in the end, it's all about plants, animals, and trees. He appreciates practical pranks. He gets a giggle at the reactions. He never backs down in a fight and is fiercely protective of his loved ones. He is quite nice and understanding, despite having a dirty tongue and being somewhat anxious, which he handles well. He enjoys serving others and, like his brother, is highly knowledgeable in this area. His desire to assist others seems to motivate him on the farm.

Appearance: He is a skeleton monster with olive eyelights. He has a large scar on his right eye that is diagonal. He has freckles. He wears a scarf.

Mallon - Farmhorrorswap Sans

Personality: He's a very protective and powerful skeleton. He is a happy and cheerful skeleton. He never backs down from protecting his loved ones. He is incredibly powerful and helps wherever he can. He's a tough guy who can help you transport your belongings. He adores his job and isn't scared to help those in need. He is courageous and clever. He is quite knowledgeable on a wide variety of things. He is very calm under pressure and enjoys helping take care of animals. He is personable and astute. He understands how to help people when he can and is not afraid to do so. He knows how to help and always resolves problems quickly.

Appearance: He has bright teal eye lights. He has a large scar on his left eye. He has freckles. He has a bandana around his neck.

-------

[hypnotisedfireflies]

Ask Real Nice Pt3

It's actually kind of nice writing something in such short installments. It's all I have time for with all the other stories anyway, but these little bursts are just stress-free fun. So yeah, enjoy this third part of Ask Real Nice, AKA the Ask Drabble That Could.

Starts Here.

Maria made it very clear, in no uncertain terms, that Joel was in charge of the rescue party.  She looked at the other three arrayed before her outside the gates of Jackson.  Zahra, with her backpack teeming with medical supplies;  Patrick, a Glock tucked in the front of his bulletproof vest and sniper rifle across his shoulder;  Sasha, nervous but determined and finally Tosh, the only one amongst them wearing a helmet.  It was a good group, fighters all.  But none of them had a slice of the experience that she understood Joel to possess.

It was maybe a five hour ride to Hoback.  Joel told them they would stay the highway for the fastest progress until they closed in on the town, then skirt the mountains for the track that was promised to lead them to Tommy.  Maria rode point with him. 

The journey was the longest Maria had spent almost exclusively in Joel’s company.  Someone else was always around, Tommy, maybe Tess.  Determined to keep her mind off her worst fears of what they might find in Hoback, Maria refocused her attention on Joel and tried to keep it there without getting caught.  He was centred on the way ahead.

When Joel had first shown up in Jackson, Maria had not been able to spot any resemblance between him and his brother.  Joel had seemed so much older, for a start.  Tommy had come to Jackson as careworn and lean as a stray dog – but alive, taut like a bow-string.  Joel had come under a cloak of pain and secrecy and suspicion.  Maria had feared for the girl in his charge.  She had a pack of Tommy’s stories of the full, brutal extent of Joel’s capabilities. 

But they rode the same:  hand on thigh, reins held low against their leg, the same tilt of the head.  In fact, Maria had glimpsed Joel through the trees once or twice and her heart had leapt.  He could almost – almost have been her husband.  It was a strange composition in her mind because physically their bearing was not so alike but somehow, they reflected a similar presence.

“Joel.”

He kept riding.

“Joel!”

Annoyed, Maria pulled her horse diagonally across the highway to the shoulder upon which Joel rode. 

“Joel!”

He looked over with a little start.  And then it clicked – she was riding on his deaf side.  She rubbed the reins between her fingers.   Tess was usually positioned on this side, ready to intercept. 

“What?”

“Are we going to talk about a plan?”

Joel leaned her way, headed tilted to listen.  “Maybe you should ride round the other side.”

“Or maybe this is exactly where I need to be.  Your hearing’s really bad, isn’t it?  What happened?”

“Don’t know.  Could’ve been anything.  My money’s on the grenade.”  Beat.  “Guessin’ you know about that.”

“Indianapolis?” 

“That would be it, ma’am.”

“A plan, Joel.  What’s the plan?”

“We’ll leave the highway soon.  I reckon we’re not far, now.  Then we’ll send a scout in – maybe Tosh, she’s fast and quiet – make sure those assholes were telling the truth.  No sense making a plan until we know that.”

Maria shot him a look.  “You don’t know if they were telling the truth?”

“Information seemed solid.  But you never can tell.  You get better at tellin’ with time,” he admitted, keeping his gaze directly ahead, “if you can put any stock in it or not.  Tess seemed to think it was pretty good.  And Tess is usually right.”

“And if it’s what they said?  What’s the plan then?”

“What?”

“What’s the plan if it’s what they said?”

“How many people you killed, Maria?”

Maria clicked her tongue.  “Excuse me, now?”

“How many people?  Anyone?”

“I killed people,” she answered.  Her temper, marinating with her fear, was quick to spark.  “I’ve done what I had to do, same as everyone else.”

“Killed unarmed people?”

“I know where you’re going with this.”

“What?”

“I know where you’re going with this!”

“Keep your fuckin’ voice down.”

Maria squeezed her reins and curled up her toes.  She wanted to tell him to clean his fucking ears out.  She breathed out, long and slow, imagining all her frustration going with it.

“I can do what I need to.  I want Tommy back, and that’s all that matters.”

Joel gave her a long, appraising look.  He was so much like his brother in that moment that Maria felt the final vestiges of her anger melt away.

“Don’t ice me out here, Joel.  That’s my husband.”

“Well, all right,” Joel shrugged.  Maybe he rolled his eyes – maybe she imagined it.  He was such an asshole.  “Off the road here.  We’ll cut through here to the track.”

Part Four

[amaryllis-sagitta]

Embracing Dirthamen’s Gift of Prophecy: DA Dreadwolf Lenormand Grand Tableau (2/ ?)

In this part, I focus on the traditional gendered signifiers in Lenormand, which in this specific reading look suspiciously like antagonists.

PART 1

Major Figure 1: Snake-Woman

The first row of the spread kicks off with the Woman in 1st and a Snake in 2nd – a femme figure with major importance to the plot. They are portrayed as charismatic, layered, possibly deceitful or covert in their actions – likely a spy. They will bring about a temporary scheme or a contrivance that turns out to be more trivial than it seemed in the beginning. Shocking and groundbreaking revelations of some private or confidential information will be made to the party (Scythe in 3rd, Key in 4th). It might as well be that the entire mission is a setup to get the party to the Woman, so that they can sway the protagonist to their side.

Moving a little further to the cards that surround the Scythe, it seems that the Woman’s agenda, known to be very rigid, is now upset about their progress being too slow, or they worry about being unable to adapt to an inevitable deep change (Moon-Tree-Stork). This is why the Woman is determined to take radical steps – perhaps even go for a kill to resolve what they consider a serious security issue (Snake-Scythe-Key). Looking at the Snake-Moon pair in between the Woman and the Scythe, we are warned that this person manipulates and deceives for a living, since the Moon in Lenormand represents career, long-term goals, purpose and achievement-based reputation. This person’s greater goal, motivation and calling is more complicated than meets the eye. Their interactions with the protagonist might involve layers of deceit, riddles, and tests of mettle.

They might promise to redeem the protagonist from their threat of punishment. The protagonist will receive a promise of relief from some worries and a chance to start again. The party making the offer is depicted as strong and grounded, and the promised fortune would be long-lasting (Clover in 5th + Child in 6th). But as it turns out, this vision or promise of a reward is not what it seems (Stars in 7th). The protagonist’s lack of experience, their naivety or agreeableness lead them to be deceived or manipulated. The contract – quite possibly to assassinate someone – that is sealed from that place of misinformation, might turn into the greatest problem the party will have to eventually deal with (Ring in 8th, chained with Mountain in 25th).

Now let’s take a look at the column where the card lies. When paired with the Coffin in 9th, the Woman figure will request the party to end something permanently, or to proverbially bring some skeletons out of the closet. The thing in concern is presumed to be overdue, rotten, or it’s literally contained and buried deep underground. Within the Dragon Age context, it would have something to do either with the Blight and the remaining Archdemons, or with ancient elvhen ruins, like the ones explored in Genitivi Dies in The End and The Missing. With the Clouds in 17th following, the party might hope to gain some clarity and respite from trouble from completing this assignment, but some information in the context is being concealed or repressed. The hidden or withheld part is possibly how persistent and difficult to remove the problem is (Mountain in 25th).

A straight diagonal line from the Woman card leads through the Moon in 10th, Dog in 19th, Bouquet in 28th, and the Book in 35th. This figure has a reputation of someone dangerous, radical in their methods, someone who can attack swiftly and cut where it hurts most. In this position, the Moon card gives a major warning that cooperation with that figure, linking one’s purpose to them, might put the party in a deadly danger.

With the Moon and the Dog in 19th, they are perceived as fiercely loyal to their friends – yet, with the Dog being in the House of the Tower, there’s an extra warning message that they might actually try to isolate the party or lead them astray from their true goal. The Tower as a house meaning also hints that this person occupies a high position within some rigid, highly organized structure. This profile reminds me of Rasaan, who has appeared in comic books and Tevinter Nights – the second person after the Ariqun within the Ben-Hassrath, who searches Northern Thedas for traces of Solas’s ancestry and his “true name” in hopes that these can reveal his greatest weakness to the Qunari.

The Woman figure will eventually offer previously unknown, reliable information that is central to the Man (Bouquet in 28th + Book in 35th) and has vital importance to the entire story and the future in general (since the Book is one of the cards in the shorter Line of Fate, which is said to have predictive significance)..

Now, for a final look at some hidden motives in the cards knighting the Woman. With the Tree in 11th and Garden in 18th, the figure is shown as strongly dependent on their network, public connections and a certain role or front they have assumed. Our attention is brought to the well-being of an ancestry, a society or a widespread network. With the Tree in the House of the Whip, the well-being of the structure in concern relies on a high level of discipline, but it might as well be cyclically put into question due to tensions and conflicts. If my interpretation is correct, it would confirm the repeated rumours of inner strife within the Qun.

Major Figure 2: Book-Man

The Man card lies in the same row as the Birds that represent the protagonist, so there’s a subplot directly connecting them that I already covered in the 1st part of the reading. In the column starting from the Man card, we have Garden in 18th through Moon in 10th and Snake in 2nd. It appears that the Man, too, relies on their network and a certain public facade. They, too, have a reputation of someone dangerous and radical. They appear to be operating openly and purposefully towards certain results (Garden + Moon), but something about that impression isn’t entirely transparent. The Man’s motivations and concerns are covered by the same cards that clarify the Woman’s place in the reading (Moon + Snake).

Interestingly, the Man’s “portrait” (made of up to 8 surrounding cards) is more complete than the one of Woman’s. On the left, representing the past influence over them, we have Clouds in 17th and Mountain in 25th. It seems that the Man had recently come out of some stalemate and changed their mind about some problems of his being irremovable. A more intuitive approach to the Clouds in the House of the Stork might represent a literal transformation in the clouds or in the sky – which makes me believe the Man card represents Solas.

In their present situation, they are building a network and gathering allies; albeit, since the Man is in the house of the Book, they would remain concealed and indirect. In the nearest future, it seems that the Man’s old ally or friend, who has been skeptical towards him or has gone their separate way, arrives with an epiphany that heralds The Man’s success, or at least fills him with confidence (Dog-Rider-Sun).

A diagonal line from the Man goes through the Dog in 19th, Stork in 12th, Clover in 5th. They might pose as an ally to some organizations. But another meaning is the one we’ve already seen in relation to the Woman, since both characters’ diagonal lines meet at this exact card. It seems that both the antagonists will try to separate the party from other allies and the true objective, and pit the protagonist against the other side. The symmetry between their respective columns makes it look like they’re jousting, charging to confront each other halfway. Interestingly, these are the two columns starting the spread, and almost everything else happens outside them, as if both these parties had tunnel vision on their rivalry!

The Man will offer an alliance to bring forth a new beginning colored with spiritual profundity – a long-term, fortunate change of circumstances that they consider to be a necessary condition for thriving and well-being (Clover in 5th). They might receive reluctant help from an agent who's skeptical or cold towards the idea. The change will feel upsetting, chaotic, ill-considered, or carried out impulsively (Dog in 19th + Stork in 12th).

The Man is knighted by Tree in 11th, Anchor in 20th, and Letter in 34th. Interestingly, the Man and the Woman figures share the knighted Tree in 11th, as if the information in that particular area was the crux of their tug-of-war. The Man likely aims to make something in this regard widespread public knowledge, and the Woman might be counteracting to keep it hidden at all costs.

The pairing between the Letter in 34th and the Sun in 33rd makes it look like there is an abundance of absolutely priceless lore to be revealed, that ultimately validates the Man and figuratively shines the light even on things they might have been unaware of (looking at the Clouds-Man-Sun diagonal surrounding them). These are the cards in the Line of Fate, leading up to Bear in the House of the Cross – could this be a confirmation that this arc culminates in a revelation of Mythal as the ultimate antagonist?

[wolfstargazer]

Talk to me about fic #4 - No Coward Soul is Mine!

This is my fic that charts the events of 1980-1981, leading up to the death of the Potters at Godrics Hollow.

It is a dual POV story that is told from the alternating perspectives of Snape and Lily on opposites sides of the First Wizarding War. It also includes flashbacks to their childhood and their time at Hogwarts together.

Rating: M

Pairings: Lily/James, Implied Remus/Sirius (of course), Implied Lily/Snape (historical)

Genre: Drama/Angst. It is definitely not romance.

Title: taken from and inspired by No Coward Soul is Mine by Emily Brontë.

Synopsis: Marriages are made, children are born, vows are broken. The Dark Lord's power is growing, the Order are determined to fight but it seems that fates may be decided by the embittered love of one man.

Snippet:

"This is why I have called on you, Severus. I need your help to get Lily Potter." The name came as a shock, an unwelcome intrusion, bringing back feelings and memories that Snape had tried to forget. He had waited patiently for this moment, the moment to prove himself, for the Dark Lord to call on him to make his contribution to the cause. He had watched others fail before him in the certainty that when given the chance he would not suffer the same fate. But now that the moment had come he felt himself waver, tested by the mention of a name from the past. Snape concealed his thoughts as he best he could, and he hoped his voice was impassive as he asked, "What is to be done?" "It has been arranged that on Wednesday next she will travel alone to Diagon Alley. There, you and a select few will detain her and bring her to me. There will be no mistakes. She will not escape. And then we wait for the Order to come to us." "She will not be persuaded to join us," Snape said without thinking. Voldemort's mouth twitched and Snape quickly recovered, "She is a headstrong, obstinate witch. She may not be convinced…" "I do not wish for her to join us. Her imprisonment will lead others to me, others that may be converted or dispatched. It will also prove to me, Severus, whether or not you can be trusted." "My Lord?" Snape questioned. "You are diligent and quick-minded but you conceal too much from me." Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously. "There are to be no more secrets. You shall prove yourself. I have glimpsed moments of brilliance but there are times I sense resistance. I will not tolerate defiance. You will submit now to my plan to kidnap Lily Potter. You shall bring her to me and it shall be your responsibility to break her. This is your chance, Severus, to free yourself completely from your past. This is the only opportunity I give you to rise or fall." Voldemort paused, his eyes searching Snape's face. Snape returned his gaze, cool and dispassionate, hoping he concealed all he felt inside as Voldemort continued, "We are each masters of our own destinies, Severus. This is your chance to forge yours."

[whenihaveyouromione]

When I Have You - Chapter 100

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3.

---

Happy 100 chapters all! This was not the chapter I hoped to be 100 (it will be 102) but the story called for some additions to be written to help progress it, so this is now chapter 100! Thank you to those who are still reading this after 100 chapters!

---

Chapter 100

“It’ll be fine, Hermione,” Ron said, for what felt like the tenth time that morning. He finished putting the last sock on Rose’s little foot and then stood up, allowing his daughter to roll onto her tummy and try and wriggle herself forward ever so slightly to reach one of her toys.

Ron hadn’t been too impressed the first time she’d done that just two days ago, because she was only three months old and wasn’t supposed to be doing that just yet. But she was determined and insisted on rolling now whenever they placed her on her back.

“What’s she going to do in a joke shop for eight hours?” Hermione questioned, also for the tenth time that morning. “Especially now that she seems to want to move more.”

“I’ll bring her some toys,” Ron said. “And, George — I mean, we — have products on the shelf for kids her age.”

That wasn’t the right thing to say to Hermione, who’d always been mildly opposed to the products, no matter the age of their user. 

Ron sighed. “Are you going to wish me luck? It’s my first day, and I’m feeling a little nervous.”

Hermione’s eyes snapped from Rose and settled on Ron, and he saw her expression soften. “Good luck,” she said. “You’ll be great. You’re just working with your brother.”

“I think that’s the most terrifying part,” Ron confessed. In the days leading up to him starting at the shop, increasing doubts had crept into his mind, settling themself deep within the parts of his brain he’d worked on over the years. Would he be good enough? Was he capable of running a business? But the worst one was could he work with his brother? 

Their relationship in recent times had become positive. He and George got along rather well, and the incessant teasing he’d received when he was younger had abated as both of them matured. But they also only saw each other a few times a month, mostly at the Burrow under the watchful eye of their mother. This was something incredibly new for both of them, especially for Ron.  And they wouldn’t really be working together. Once Ron got settled, George would go back to managing the Diagon Alley shop and Ron would be solely in charge of the Hogsmeade one. They’d probably only meet once a week to sort things out or discuss new products. So, it probably wasn’t going to be too bad.

“You’ll be fine,” Hermione said, stepping forward to kiss him. “It’ll take some time to get used to it, but you’ll figure it out. I know you will. Besides, you forget that you’re essentially in charge.”

“I’ve never been in charge of anything before.” Another fear of Ron’s. Hermione had stepped perfectly into the role of Head of the Office of Personal Law, and Harry had been blessed with a natural ability for leadership. But Ron… he had never had any real experience. He’d always followed Harry’s lead — having his say where he felt necessary — but at the end of the day, Harry had always been the leader. This time, he would be in charge. People would turn to him for advice, support… anything. 

“Well, you are now!” Hermione answered cheerfully. “I know you’re nervous. I was, too, when I first started. But you’ll be fine.” She kissed him again and then picked up Rose. She handed her to Ron. “You’ve got this,” she said. “Just… just don’t let Rose get too invested in what’s there.”

Ron knew she wanted to say it as a joke, but he heard the sincerity in her tone. He smiled and nodded, knowing that it would probably just about kill Hermione if their daughter turned out to be more of a Weasley than a Granger. 

…

He’d contemplated Apparting to Hogsmeade, but thought better of it, knowing that he had Rose with him. Apparition was a tricky thing to learn, and whilst Ron now considered himself quite apt at it, he wasn’t game enough to attempt Side-Along Apparition just yet (or ever). He’d never forgive himself if Rose was to accidentally lose an arm or a leg or have something horrible happen to her. He still remembered his own Splinching, and how painful it had been. He could never inflict that on his daughter. 

So, he Floo’d. The shop that George had found in Hogsmeade had its own fireplace. It hadn’t been connected to anything upon purchasing it, and it had taken George a little bit of fussing with the Ministry to open it up again for him. Apparently the name Weasley — especially given that their own brother was the Head of Magical Transportation — had meant little in the way of the Ministry’s fear of what it would be used for again. 

What Ron hadn’t known was this shop had once belonged to a Death Eater which had sold all sorts of unruly and illegal items. Since the war, it was cleared out of all its Dark artifacts, and had sat abandoned ever since. George had been eyeing it off for some time but only recently had the money to go through with it. 

“Ah, you’re here!”

Ron was surprised to see George already there, though he was thankful. In truth, he realised that he hadn’t had plans on what to do if his brother had arrived after him. Despite them spending some of Ron’s time off after leaving the Aurors going through everything, Ron supposed he wouldn’t really get the idea of it until he’d been there for a bit.

He likened it to starting with the Aurors. He’d been a bit lost and new at the start of that, but eventually, he got comfortable enough to become bored by it. He supposed it would be similar here, though he hoped he wouldn’t get bored by this job. Something new and different seemed to happen every day at the joke shop, from what Ron had witnessed. 

“Yeah.” The fireplace led into the space they’d set up as the office. It was slightly larger than the space George had at Diagon Alley, but not by much. Already, it was crowded with bits and pieces of products or prototypes of new products. It was almost like George was using this new premise as a dumping ground for all the things he couldn’t fit at the other one. 

But there was a small, cleared space in the corner with a chair which Ron knew was for him. Another reminder that he was in charge here. 

“You don’t sound thrilled,” George said. “You’re not nervous, are you?”

Ron shrugged and George laughed.

“It’s just me, mate,” he said. “Your brother.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Ron confessed. 

George chuckled. “Well, hopefully within a week, you’ll be rid of me and you can run things as you wish. Two weeks, max, because that’s how long I have Verity for. She’s been really great, volunteering to stick around for a few more weeks, but she’s been abundantly clear that two weeks is her max. After that, she’s out of here.”

“Well, I’m sure I’ll be fine after two weeks,” Ron said, offering a smile. “You’ve already shown me the ropes, and I know where everything is on the shelves, I know all the products. It’s just the… the running of it that I’ll have to get used to.”

“That’ll be easy enough,” George said confidently. “You’ve met the staff we got, they’ve met you. I’ll help you with the rostering, too. That’s probably the hardest part, really. Oh, and paying them, of course.”

It had been agreed between them that once Ron got the hang of the store management part, he’d move onto other things, too, such as being responsible for paying the staff (both here and at the Diagon Alley premises) and a few other administration aspects of the business. There would come a time, George said, where the staff would be confident in managing the shopfront by themselves which would mean Ron could stay at home and do it. 

That had been the appealing factor in it and he’d agreed. 

He’d also play a hand in new product designs — as George seemed to think he had a knack for it — and everything else as time went on. It seemed busy, but Ron wanted busy. The reason he’d quit the Aurors was because it hadn’t been busy.

Today, though, he’d be merely learning what it was like to work with customers. 

“So, I have Oswald coming in today,” George said. “We agreed that he seemed the most competent so I thought it’d be easier to have him. He’ll be here in about fifteen.”

Ron glanced through the narrow doorway which led out to the shop front. Everything was set up and looking well. 

“You think the three of us can manage it… you know, with two of us not knowing what we’re doing?”

George nodded, though Ron saw the hesitation in his expression. “I think so. You’re not a complete idiot, Ron, despite what I used to tell you. We’ll be fine. Busy, but fine.”

Ron nodded.

George’s eyes finally fell on Rose, who had remained quiet the whole time as if realising it was important for her to do so. A small smile fell across his lips. “Besides, we have the biggest selling factor of all.”

“Don’t let Hermione hear you refer to her as that,” Ron warned, but he smiled. “You know, she’s worried that Rose spending too much time here will make her actually like it.”

“Inevitable,” George said. “She’s part Weasley, it’s in her blood to like what we sell here. Anyway, we have some stuff that’s suited just for her age.” He waved his wand and a moment later, a small, blue teddy bear landed in his arms. He tapped it with his wand and the bear changed to a deep blood, red. He tapped it again and now it was pink. This didn’t seem to interest Rose at all.

“Got anything that makes lots of noise?” Ron questioned.

George grimaced. “Didn’t we go through exactly what every product did last week?”

“Yes, but —”

George tapped the bear again and this time music began to play. Rose’s eyes landed on the toy as she watched it sing. He then put it on the ground, tapping it with his wand again and the bear danced around the room, much to Rose’s delight. 

“If anyone’s interested in this, make sure you tell them it can also be charmed to speak the kid’s name,” George said. “Perfect kid’s toy.” He nodded to Rose, who was still fixated on the dancing, singing bear. “Quite popular, too.”

“I can see that,” Ron laughed. 

“We’ll be fine,” George said. “Especially with Rosie here to woo all the customers.”

Ron smiled. “Again, don’t let Hermione hear you saying that. She’ll probably want to change our arrangements if she does.”

George nodded and winked. “Sure. Will be our little secret.”

For the next little bit, Ron walked through the shop, familiarising himself with where everything was. He wanted to be able to point people in the right direction if they asked for something. He just about had it all memorised when a young man of about twenty appeared via the fireplace out the back. 

He was dark-haired, olive-skinned and looked eager and excited to be standing in the small office. Ron remembered him from a few weeks back when George had introduced him to Ron. Oswald, his name was, and he had been looking for a job for some time. Ron had to admit he was a bit boisterous, but George insisted they needed enthusiasm in a place like this. 

He was one of five employees who’d be working here with Ron. Over time, Ron hoped he’d learn all their names. 

“Right on time,” George said, looking at his watch and then smiling at Oswald. “Impressive.”

“Can’t be late for my first day, Mr Weasley,” Oswald answered, sounding almost breathless. His eyes flicked to Ron, who had returned from his investigation of the shop, Rose still in his arms. “Oh, hello Mr Weasley. And Little Weasley.”

Ron hid a laugh at that. He wouldn’t say it, but he found the idea of Rose being referred to as ‘Little Weasley’ endearing. 

“Oswald,” Ron answered with a nod.

“I’m ready to go,” Oswald then said. “Tell me what I need to do, where I need to be, and I’ll do it and I’ll be there.”

“Your first step will be to slow down,” George said, grinning. “I do like how enthusiastic you are, though. But save some of it for when we have the streams of customers pouring in, in a little bit.”

Oswald didn’t seem all that perturbed by George’s statement, for he ploughed on. “Are the Hogwarts students coming here? It’s been a few years since I was there, but I know a few of the now seventh years. Will be good to see them again.”

“I sent an owl last week to McGonagall,” George said patiently. “Explained about our opening and whatnot. She has made special arrangements for an extra Hogsmeade trip — called in a favour, you know?”

Ron raised an eyebrow at that. “You and McGonagall are on good terms, are you?”

George answered with a shrug. 

“Oh, great!” Oswald explained. “Well, I guess I should set up. I’ll be out the front, right?”

“Yes,” George said. “However… you answer to Ron, not to me. Within a week, you’ll hardly see me. He’s your boss.”

Oswald nodded and looked directly at Ron, awaiting instructions. Ron flushed slightly, remembering all the times he’d walked into Hermione’s office at the Ministry and witnessed her giving orders to Malfoy and Maia with an air of confidence and authority. He would have done anything for that confidence now rather than the fluster that he felt instead. 

“Er, yeah… maybe you can walk around the store, you know? Offering help to find things.”

Oswald nodded again and left for the front. 

George laughed, causing Ron to spin around to face him. “What’s so funny?”

“You’ll have to learn how to be more commanding than that,” George said. “Otherwise they’ll walk all over you. Use the same authority you used when you used to kick those first years out of the chairs in the Gryffindor common room.”

“What?”

George waved him away. “You know what I mean. Also, we have five minutes until opening. What’s Rosie going to do?”

Ron stood there for a moment before answering. “I brought something to carry her in. Let me get it on.”

…

If there was one thing George had been right about, it was that Rose would be a huge selling factor. People apparently loved seeing a baby in the shop — especially one that smiled so much. And apparently, they adored men with babies, too, for Ron received many compliments throughout the day about how good it was to see a baby out with her dad. 

The day went well. George had also been right about Ron being fine. He was fine. In fact, he was more than fine. As the customers trickled in, in the morning, he got a good feel for what it was like to talk to strangers. Strangers were something he usually avoided, because most of the time they only approached him because they knew he was Harry’s brother-in-law, Ginny’s brother, or both. But it actually felt nice talking to someone outside of his family. He rarely did that, he realised. 

These people came in because they were interested in what he had to sell, not who he knew. They asked him questions, gave him compliments, and Ron was pleased to learn that it all felt natural to him. He wasn’t lost, he knew his way around the shop, and by the time the Hogwarts students piled in, excited and joyous for an extra few hours after classes, he felt extremely comfortable. 

Business went well, too. Ron remembered all those times he’d come to Diagon Alley and seen the place packed. This shop was slightly smaller than the other, and it, too, filled up with eager customers. They made a fortune at a guess, which left George grinning from ear to ear. 

Rose had stayed strapped to his chest for most of the day, save for when he had to feed her or change her. And things went smoothly enough that he was able to slip away for a few moments to do either. It probably wasn’t good for her to be in the carrier for as many hours, but he knew that most days wouldn’t be as busy. Eventually, the excitement would wear off and Rose would also become more active. But he made a mental note to himself that he’d have to figure out a way to keep Rose active and playing, but also be able to watch her simultaneously. And he’d find a way, because he was determined for this system to work. 

By the time five o’clock came, the last customers were leaving and George was bolting the door shut, manually and with charms. Oswald, who’d worked hard and tirelessly the whole time, collapsed into a chair by the counter, groaning. 

“My feet,” he complained. 

“You did well,” Ron said, realising it was appropriate to compliment the young man. It was the truth, anyway. 

“What a wonderful first day!” George said cheerfully. “I couldn’t even tell you the Galleons we brought in today. And look!” He indicated the almost bare shelves. 

Ron was about to ask if they had enough to restock before he realised he should know that. Then it occurred to him that he did know. There were stacks and stacks of products crammed out the back, shrunk to fit. 

“How do you feel, Ron?” George said. “Good?”

“Great!” Ron answered truthfully. “Honestly… it feels… right.” It felt more than right being here — like he’d been built to run a joke shop all along. Despite his nerves early on, once put into the situation, it had all come naturally — easily. 

“Well, get used to it,” George continued, “because I imagine the next week or so will be just as busy. Minus the Hogwarts kids, of course. Doubt I could convince McGonagall to let them out every day.”

“That was weird, don’t you think?” Ron said. “Seeing the kids, but not being one of them. Not being a kid anymore.” 

George waved him away. “You get used to it. Besides,” he nodded at Rose, “eleven years and you’ll be at the station again, waving her off.”

Ron looked down at his daughter strapped to him still. She’d fallen asleep not so long ago after he’d fed her a bottle. “You don’t think we can find somewhere for her to move around more, do you? She likes to move, and I just don’t think it’s good for her to stay strapped to me all day.”

George thought for a moment. Ron knew he wasn’t about to banish Rose from the shop after the hit she’d been with the customers. 

“I could put together a play pen or something. Give her some of the toys —”

“Even I draw the line at having my daughter on display, mate,” Ron said. “But a playpen could work. Just maybe… somewhere not in the eye of the public.”

George looked disgruntled, but nodded. “Yeah, we can figure it out. We will figure it out. Besides, in a bit you can do things from home anyway.”

“Thanks,” Ron said. 

“Alright,” George said, “I’ve got to head off to Diagon Alley and assist with the restocking there. You two alright to do it here?”

“Sure,” Ron said. “Part of the job, isn’t it?”

Oswald was slow to get to his feet, but he nodded. “On it.”

George nodded to both of them and was gone a moment later, leaving Oswald and Ron.

They spent the next half an hour restocking the shelves until they were bursting again, and Ron sent Oswald home. It was nearing six now, and Hermione would be wondering where he was — and probably fretting about Rose. He was surprised she hadn’t come here just to check it out. 

Before he headed to the fireplace to go home, Ron took one last look at the shop. He had a good feeling about this new job. It felt right, like he could manage it. It had been chaotic today, but he knew that once he got the hang of it, it would be easy. 

But he knew with one hundred percent certainty now that he had made the right choice.

He was no longer Ron Weasley, Auror. 

He was Ron Weasley, joke shop owner.

[turtle-ly]

Your sister has a job in the king's palace. Something involving concrete. The pay is good, she asked you to join, but you always refused. How good could you be at hard labor? Yet today for some reason you accompanied her to work. You don't remember why, maybe that offer was tempting enough this morning. Your sister leads you into a room that leads to another room. Two rooms side by side. There is a structure, house shaped, in the second room. A bit weird to have a house inside a house, you think. There are holes, palm-sized, drilled into the ground surrounding the sides of the "house". Not that many, about 6 or 8, and you remember some in the first room too. You notice the both of you are the only people here. Which means your sister has worked alone all this time? She instructs you to pour concrete down the holes and now that she says it you notice the various bags lying around. Work it is, then.

The concrete bags are surprisingly light. Of course there is a weight to them, but it's certainly not as heavy as you guessed. Maybe that's why your sister can do this job despite her small frame. There are 2 more weird things about this concrete though. First, it seems to harden immediately after pouring. And second, instead of pooling at the bottom or adding slowly into a pile, the concrete stacked perfectly into a pillar upon landing, and reaches up to the hole that way. So it isn't hard to fill up those 8 holes after all. But you realize that if you turn your back on them for a while, the concrete blocking the openings of the holes actually... disappear. A puzzled look to your sister confirms this is normal, somehow, and the work continues.

After a while, your sister and you decide to take a break. Sitting on a chair near a pile of concrete bags, she waves you over with a secretive smile. Look down one of them, she says, pointing to a hole freshly cleared from concrete. You crouch down and squint. And immediately freeze.

You have glanced through the holes earlier, and found nothing right below them. But now that you take a closer look, you can see, diagonal from the hole you look through, is a Beast. A white lion, with wings and horns, its mouth muzzled by some kind of web or fabric, you're not sure. Despite that, the Beast stares, straight at you, and what's left of its mouth not hidden by the fabric forms a smile.

You jerks back, gives your sister a look that conveys your bewilderment. She shrugs in response, and tells you to get back to work.

The two of you starts working again, this time with a lot of hesitance from your part. So the king didn't actually slay the Beast, after all, and is now attempting to bury it under this concrete. You guess the Beast is still quite powerful, and that's why the concrete pillars disappear, but whatever the king used to bind its mouth also binds its magic to the room it is hidden, otherwise your sister would be dead the day she took the job. You wonder if this concrete thing can even work when it disappears so fast, but the king seems determined if only through your sister's employment. Determined, or desperate. Either way, that's not your business now, isn't it?

[over-the-time-flow]

Super Robot Rollcall: The Preventers

Garrod Ran

"I won't let you repeat our mistakes!!!"

Source Material: After War Gundam X

Age: 15

Height: 161 cm

Voice Actor: Wataru Takagi

The Blazing Mobile Suit Pilot himself (self-entitled), Garrod's a determined young man who, throughout his travels, realizes just how much of the world around him is built upon (or, in the case of the actual source material, atop the ruins of) the past generation's mistakes, traumas, and baggage. Throughout it all, his dedication to the taciturn young Tiffa Adill serves as motivation to never turn back, regardless of how much cruelty or foolishness he has to deal with.

I like him a lot :)

Garrod won't wow you, but he's certainly not bad either. High Evasion, high Skill, and high Accuracy are all rather nice to have, but his offensive stats are underwhelming.

However, as the game goes on, his Spirit Command list will prove to have basically everything you could want him to have, except for the all-important Spirit (気合, raises user's Will by 10), which would make firing the Gundam X's signature move a lot easier. Speaking of, said signature move more than makes up for Garrod's lack of innate firepower.

Garrod will become better throughout the game, but it does hurt him that all but one of his "upgrades" are more on the machine side than the pilot side, since you could just stick anybody else on his machine(s). Still, the one that IS a direct upgrade for him is rather strong, even if it's technically a secret.

Fun Fact: Garrod is responsible for the single longest-range sniping feat in the history of Gundam, landing a shot from 15~20 thousand kilometers away. Though it should be mentioned, the target in question wasn't exactly small...

Gundam X

Source Material: After War Gundam X

Model Number: GX-9900

Height: 17.1 meters

Real World Designer: Kunio Okawara

The Earth Federation's trump card, and one of the most powerful Newtype-use weapons ever made. Armed with multiple superweapons and a dedicated support unit that never saw live battle during the old war, even with the relatively small number of deployed units, it made one hell of an impression on the battlefield, and gave Jamil Neate PTSD even though he was the one piloting it.

Today, Garrod Ran pilots it, though he doesn't know the full extent of the machine's history, nor of its capabilities...

Average mobility, average range, average firepower, but man it's got one hell of a trump card up its...

...Huh? Where's its trump card?

...In any case, once it's here, it's a big reason why this is one hell of a machine. I'd honestly say it's better than its upgraded counterpart in quite a few circumstances.

Fun Fact: Kunio Okawara has said that the GX was designed with the motif of the famous samurai Sasaki Kojiro in mind; the diagonal way in which the cannon rests on its back, alongside the way the hilt of the beam saber is pulled from its base, are meant to be evocative of Kojiro's famously long katana, the Monohoshizao (Clothespole).

Jamil Neate

"Don't think, just run!"

Source Material: After War Gundam X

Age: 30

Height: 180 cm

Voice Actor: Ken'yu Horiuchi

A former newtype ace, Jamil now makes his living by leading the Frieden crew. Due to the PTSD the war gave him, he finds himself unable to get back in a Mobile Suit's cockpit, and prefers to lead from the Frieden's bridge instead.

Despite no longer being at the forefront, Jamil is far from a coward, and will go to extreme lengths to protect other newtypes from the same fate he now grapples with. He believes in a future where newtypes are no longer used as weapons of war, and this resolution is exactly what makes people trust him so fiercely.

Jamil boasts the singular strongest Ranged stat out of all battleship commanders in the game (and by a LONG shot), and despite claiming to no longer have Newtype powers, he still has one level of the skill to boot, making him easily the most accurate out of the whole bunch. On top of that, his Evasion is good enough that, coupled with his Newtype abilities, he's capable of making the damn thing dodge sometimes.

If you had to find something to complain about with him, it'd be that his Spirits list really isn't all that good for battleship captain duty, being more suited to a Real Robot pilot.

Also, there's a secret in this game involving him; by a certain chapter, we want him to have 20 kills. Considering how far off said chapter is, it's really not that tall of a task provided you know about it, and i'm sure some people have even managed to get it while not knowing about it. Still, we'd best not forget to feed him every once in a while.

Fun Fact: Flashbacks aside, we never see Jamil without his sunglasses until he takes them off during the final episode, after which point he never puts them back on again.

Frieden

Source Material: After War Gundam X

Length: 130 meters

A modified version of an old Federation Alps-class land battleship.

It's certainly a battleship. It's got thin armor coupled with no barrier, but it's got large reserves of HP as with all battleships, so it's not exactly easy to take down. Plus, by being a landship, it's got the distinct advantage of being able to get terrain bonuses, something the other battleships can't really do.

In case you were thinking of being silly with it and trying to upgrade its mobility to fit Jamil, don't bother. That'd be incredibly expensive for very little returns, and said upgrades will carry over to later ships that are even less fit for dodging. Even equipping it with mobility raising parts doesn't seem worth it, as it only has a measly two Parts slots, much better dedicated for consumable items for you to cast on nearby allies.

Fun Fact: The german word "Frieden" means peace.

Roybea Loy

"I wonder if there's a Heaven?"

Source Material: After War Gundam X

Height: 184 cm

Voice Actor: Takumi Yamazaki

The Frieden crew's resident playboy. In the original show, his playboy behavior was rationalized as being a way to spread more love than hatred in the desolate world of the After War timeline, but in SRW R's world, i suppose he's just like that innately.

Also, his cut-in art in R is ATROCIOUS, they did him so fucking dirty.

Roybea is alright. He's got average stats all around. Using Garrod as a measuring stick, Roybea hovers slightly below Garrod in most regards, except for being exactly 1 point better in both offensive stats, and being a whopping 10 points behind in Evasion.

Still, he makes up for this with a fairly stellar Spirit command lineup, with an early Daunt (脱力, lowers target enemy's Will by 10) being stellar for boss-slaying, and later getting Assault (突撃, can use any weapon after moving, except for MAP attacks), which can make him a serious candidate for the GX (and its upgrade) in playthroughs where you don't get the big Gundam X secret. On top of all that, he even has 2 levels of Support Attack.

Gundam Leopard

Source Material: After War Gundam X

Model Number: GT-9600

Height: 16.8 meters

A heavy-weapons machine from the same war as the Gundam X, the Leopard was also originally a Newtype-use machine, though the one Roybea uses has been heavily modified, and no longer has the Flash System.

Below average Mobility, below average Movement Range, below average firepower. This thing's not great. It has a MAP attack, but it's weak enough that it won't be very useful for much more than weakening multiple grunt enemies at a time (though it IS nice that it doesn't have a Will requirement). It'll get a couple upgrades later down the line, but even then, there's better options, even within the constraints of Gundam X MSs.

Fun Fact: In the Gundam X timeline, this was the first Gundam ever made, and was once ridden by the very first newtype.

Witz Sou

"Please... Protect the Frieden!"

Source Material: After War Gundam X

Height: 175 cm

Voice Actor: Kazuya Nakai

A hot-blooded, impulsive young man who's often the butt of jokes on the Frieden. He starts off abrasive, but as the crew gets to know him better, he can't help but get attached. He's been trying to get money to help his family back home, but when he returns home after a long while and things have seriously changed, he has a hard time coping with it.

His backstory doesn't really fit with the complicated setting of SRW R, and the large cast in R doesn't really offer Witz the found family vibes that the Frieden crew thawed him with, so here he's just an asshole for no reason and is often designated for scenes where the script clearly just needed someone to be a dick and/or a contrarian. Poor Witz :(

He hovers around Roybea's statline on every metric except Melee, which is REALLY low, but that doesn't really matter when no Gundam X machines really suffer from the pilot having low Melee.

Spirit Commands wise, he's less impressive than Roybea. He's not really missing anything particularly important, but he doesn't have any real standouts other than maybe Accel, which coupled with his Airmaster, let him be wherever he wants to be, whenever he wants to be.

Fun Fact: Witz was Kazuya Nakai's first role, fresh off of giving up the salaryman lifestyle to try and break into the VA business. Judging from certain interviews, it seems he's rather attached to the role because of this.

Gundam Airmaster

Source Material: After War Gundam X

Model Number: GW-9800

Height: 17.2 meters

A high-mobility newtype-use machine from the same war as the Leopard and the Gundam X. Much like the Leopard, this machine seems to have been modified, and no longer has the Newtype-use Flash System.

High base mobility, and BONKERS Movement Range. It does suffer from not having an attack with longer range than 5 tiles, but that issue is somewhat alleviated by the fact that said 5-range attack is post-movement on top of this thing's turbo speeds.

A more genuine issue with it, however, is its lack of firepower. Still, you can do a lot worse than this one.

Fun Fact: Kazuya Nakai has a model kit of this machine, but refuses to actually build it out of sentimentality. I've always found this story really sweet.

Fa Yuiry

"Humans are emotional animals!"

Source Material: Mobile Suit Gundam: Char’s Counterattack

Birthday: October 9th

Age: 17

Voice Actress: Miyuki Matsuoka

A determined and kind young woman who ended up involved with the AEUG during the Gryps Conflict. Though not as impulsive as some of her compatriots, she too has a strong sense of justice, and held deep resentment for the Titans.

In SRW R, the Gryps Conflict has already concluded (though evidently in a very different manner from how the TV show concluded), and now she searches for Kamille's whereabouts.

There's no sugarcoating it, Fa's terrible. If you must find any positive quirks of her, she gets Blocking up to level 5, which is really high, and she gets three levels of Support Defense. Couple this with her being a Newtype, and i guess you could try and make her a Support Defense battery? Obviously this would be a terrible use of a deploy slot, but if you absolutely MUST deploy her because you are madly in love with her, that'd be the move. Here's some rot13'd paragraphs with future unit spoilers if you're someone who MUST use Fa and find this non-negotiable.

if you're wondering why i even bothered with this, it's because i really really like theorycrafting and will take any excuse to do it

Fb lbh jnag fbzrguvat gung'f fgheql rabhtu gb gnax uvgf va pnfr Oybpxvat qbrfa'g cebp, naq vqrnyyl unf Shaaryf be fbzrguvat fb gung fur pna znxr hfr bs ure Fhccbeg Nggnpx, gbb. Gb ortva jvgu lbh cebonoyl jnag gb or chggvat ure arkg gb Xnzvyyr fvapr fur qbrfa'g unir znal bgure eryngvbafuvcf, cyhf vg'yy znxr obgu bs gur gjb fgebatre (bssrafviryl NAQ qrsrafviryl). Va fubeg, lbh'er onfvpnyyl gheavat ure vagb jung Enva vf sbe Qbzba va guvf tnzr, ohg n ybg jbefr.

Fb urer'f fbzr znpuvar fhttrfgvbaf:

MM Thaqnz Trgf lbh n Pbzob Nggnpx jvgu gur Mrgn, pna nezbe chetr bapr vg hctenqrf gb SN MM, unf qrpragyl ybat enatr fb vg pna znxr hfr bs ure Fhccbeg Nggnpx novyvgl, gbb. Sn nyfb unf Yhpx, fb fur pbhyq gurbergvpnyyl znxr tbbq hfr bs gur ZNC nggnpx? VQX, qba'g pbhag ba gung gbb zhpu jvgu ure bssrafvir pncnovyvgvrf. Vg nyfb qbrfa'g unir n fuvryq hagvy vg nezbe chetrf, ohg gur Ornz Pbngvat vf n avpr genqrbss.

Ah Thaqnz Gur V-Svryq ernyyl urycf znggref urer, naq lbh pbhyq rira chg Xnzvyyr va gur ZC Ah Thaqnz gb unir n pbzob zbir gbtrgure.

Fnmnov Gur gnaxvrfg HP znpuvar, naq vg qbrf unir gur shyy Fjbeq/Tha/Fuvryq ybnqbhg. Gbb onq vg qbrfa'g unir na V-Svryq yvxr gur Ah.

Methuss

Source Material: Mobile Suit Z Gundam: Char’s Counterattack

Model Number: MSA-005

Height: 26 meters

Power Source: Nuclear Fusion Reactor

Real World Designer: Mamoru Nagano

An experimental mobile suit created as a testbed for the Zeta Gundam's transforming mechanism.

It's also one of my favorite Mobile Suits, period!

It's terrible. Its only saving grace is its ability to Repair, which is admittedly rare in R, but... it's really not worldchanging enough to justify how bad this thing is.

They even gave it a B rank in space. This thing spent most of its time in space in the damn show, man, what the hell

Fun Fact: Despite prominently serving as a fuel tank for the Hyaku Shiki's big beam cannon (official name, trust me), the Methuss has never had the ability to Resupply by default in SRW games, only recently acquiring as a Full Upgrade Bonus (or Half Upgrade Bonus).

This is a great injustice.

Lucrezia Noin

"Zechs... it's been 1 year and 22 days..."

Source Material: New Mobile Report Gundam Wing: Endless Waltz

Age: 19

Voice Actor: Chisa Yokoyama

A smart and level-headed woman, Noin graduated from military academy with top marks. She did her best to revive the Sanc Kingdom, which her stalking target lover old friend Zechs hailed from, alongside his younger sister Relena. Even after the kingdom fell once more, she and Relena continued to steadfastly expouse and protect the virtues of total pacifism, the ideal on which the Sanc Kingdom was built. In the Preventers, she goes by the codename "Fire".

In SRW games featuring Endless Waltz, she's usually the first or one of the first Preventers to join you.

Noin's stats are all middling to bad, with the one standout being, weirdly enough, rather high Defense.

If you use her at all, it's for her rather good support-oriented Spirit Commands, but her machine isn't particularly fit for support duty, so she just feels aimless. If only we could put her in the Methuss...

Fun Fact: She's often overshadowed by Zechs both in the source material and in all of their countless SRW appearances, but in-universe, she's shown herself to be a lot more competent than him on various occasions.

Taurus

Source Material: New Mobile Report Gundam Wing: Endless Waltz

Model Number: SK-12 SMS

Height: 16.8 meters

Real World Designer: Jun'ya Ishigaki

Imagine if the Airmaster didn't have its cracked Movement Range, nor its great base Mobility. Now imagine Witz was pilot-locked to it.

Yeah, i'd advocate for total pacifism too if this hunk of junk was the best i could get my hands on.

Whew, that sure turned out to be one LONG rollcall.

With that, happy birthday to me, and i'll be seeing you all on monday!

[milimeters-morales]

okay the scratch in Miles’s suit in that poster reminds me of an idea i eventually scrapped bc it was getting too long/confusing basically went like this: a portal to another dimension opens up in Miles’s room where it’s basically the apocalypse everywhere, and he falls through as normal Miles with no equipment. He has to hide and try to find a way home but eventually he comes into contact with a version of Spider-Man that’s been forcibly mutated even more, and turned into a weapon for the military (and the spider-man is actually just an amalgamation of several over super-powered people + Spider-Man, think those undertale creatures with too much determination) that killed almost all the military + others. They fight, because the mutated Spider-Man no longer has control over itself, and as Miles is trying to flee, it scratches Miles and it goes from the back of his right shoulder diagonally to the back of his left knee (ouch) so now he has to get home with a wound that’s sure to be infected. Anyways at some point he forgets the wound is there bc of adrenaline + a drug in the air in an abandoned lab that he can’t sense and leaves that dimension (still not home) and never acknowledges the scratch unless someone points it out. This leads to the scratch becoming infected and him being spacey until he just passes out from blood loss and whatever else i had in mind at the time (can’t remember)

[dx-orion]

Delta Zero, X-Kai Perfect Ending.

If you get all game items including the Shoryuken.....

As X enters the boss room, a tense confrontation unfolds before him. Xkai, filled with determination, declares his intention to put X out of his misery, while Delta Zero expresses his disappointment in X, claiming that this will be the final defeat. Together, Xkai and Zero proclaim their alliance to finally defeat X and prove that Dr. Wily was the superior doctor, seeking revenge.

Suddenly, the screen dims, and a distorted holographic silhouette of Dr. Wily appears. Glitches and distortions start to appear, creating an eerie and unstable atmosphere. The silhouettes of Xkai and Zero begin to overlap, merging into a single form. The screen transitions to pure white, intensifying the sense of anticipation.

Text appears on the screen, revealing dialogue from Dr. Wily: "I… will finally… prove… I am… better… than… you… Thomas…" Dr. Wily's distinctive laugh echoes through the room, sending chills down X's spine. The anticipation builds as the Ultimate Warrior emerges from the white void.

Xkai and Delta Zero have fused into a formidable entity, radiating a menacing purple glow. This new form, known as Delta-Kai, speaks with a voice that combines Xkai's and Delta Zero's, forebodingly declaring their intention to bring about X's downfall once and for all.

The fusion of Xkai and Delta Zero represents the culmination of their shared desire to defeat X and seek vengeance on behalf of Dr. Wily. It signifies a powerful and overwhelming force that X must confront to protect himself and the world from their destructive ambitions.

With the presence of Dr. Wily still lingering in the form of a holographic silhouette and the emergence of Delta-Kai, the stakes are raised to their highest level. X must summon all his strength, skill, and determination to overcome this ultimate challenge and prove his own worth in the face of his adversaries' relentless pursuit.

The dramatic events leading up to the encounter with Delta-Kai create an intense and thrilling atmosphere, setting the stage for an epic battle that will determine the fate of X and the world.

In the climactic battle against Delta-Kai, the fused form of Xkai and Delta Zero, the intensity of his power reaches its peak. Delta-Kai unleashes devastating area-of-attack moves, combining both buster and saber combos to overwhelm X. However, as X manages to deplete Delta-Kai's HP gauge to its last three marks, something extraordinary happens.

The purple aura surrounding Delta-Kai intensifies, taking the shape of a glowing silhouette resembling a purple skull. He charges towards X with an enormous dashing strike, reminiscent of a final, desperate attack. X, for the first time, undergoes the animation of a defeated Maverick, beginning to explode. The screen turns white, revealing X's black silhouette.

But before the fatal blow lands, a sudden twist of fate occurs. Delta-Kai teleports and dashes over for one last slash, causing X's silhouette to split diagonally into two. In the background, the laughter of Delta-Kai and Dr. Wily resonates. The screen transitions to a deep red hue, signifying impending doom.

Then, in a rapid sequence, red text appears on the screen, scattered in different places. It is the voice of Dr. Wily, filled with desperation and panic: "Noooo… NOOOOO… Not now! Not you! GET him, GET HIM NOW!" In the midst of the chaos, the distinct sound of Dr. Light's capsule is heard.

The screen fades into a bright blue, and Delta Zero enters a convulsive stasis lock, temporarily immobilized. X lies on the ground, and the screen starts glitching, creating an unstable visual effect. Once again, the text of Dr. Wily appears, this time in red: "NOOOOO, Noooo Thomas. I am sorry! Please forgive me, Forgiiiiive. MeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeee…"

During this haunting dialogue, the full hologram of Dr. Wily appears, glitching between red and blue, accelerating in speed. As Wily screams out his last plea, the hologram transitions to a solid blue hue. In a brief moment, the hologram of Dr. Light materializes, smiling at X, before vanishing with a zap sound, as if transcending time and space.

X's life gauge miraculously fills up completely, symbolizing a remarkable rejuvenation. The turn of events leaves X in a state of disbelief and wonder, as he tries to comprehend the significance of what just occurred. It hints at a deeper connection between the two brilliant scientists, Dr. Wily and Dr. Light, and their enduring influence on X's journey.

With Delta Zero temporarily incapacitated and X's life restored, the stage is set for the final confrontation against Sigma. The unexpected intervention and the mysterious interplay between Dr. Wily and Dr. Light add an intriguing layer to the narrative, leaving players eager to uncover the secrets and revelations that lie ahead.

With a surge of determination, X rises to one knee, emanating a radiant golden glow. Gripping his buster high towards the sky, the energy within begins to charge rapidly, causing the surrounding area to shake with its intensity. X understands the magnitude of this moment; he knows what he must do.

Maintaining his grip on the buster, X forcefully pulls it down, directing its power towards Delta-Kai. The charge shot, now unleashed with a deafening yell from X, engulfs Delta-Kai in a blinding flash. The sheer force and energy of the blast obliterate Delta-Kai, reducing him to nothingness and even destroying the doorway to the next room in the process.

In the aftermath, only a perfect circle remains, a testament to the overwhelming power unleashed by X. Without uttering a word, X takes a deep breath, gathering his resolve, and swiftly dashes through the opening into the next room.

With Delta-Kai defeated, only one formidable opponent remains on X's path—Sigma. The stage is set for the ultimate showdown, where X will face his greatest challenge and fight to restore peace to the world.