#also thank you for not making ace pasty

[baelpenrose]

Nihilus Rex 33: Evasions and Reversals

This chapter has a couple things: first off, it was my chance to do something I have always wanted to do and play with the idea of secret identities from the villain end, especially when you can use conspiracy theory gaslighting as part of your cover. It also sets up an ongoing gag with Nils and Lash being...well, you'll see. CW for a very long chain of kink jokes.

Co written as always by the brilliant @canyouhearthelight I apologize for the late posting, I was very busy last night and didn't get to posting this.

No stone left uncovered

Out by the light of the moon

Hell will be coming soon

Yeah hell will be coming soon

Toby Lightman, “Long, Hard Day”

Nils

The local chatter was more and more frantic about an FBI agent with a whole lot of warrants showing up. Fortunately a bunch of the men had already been signaled to destroy their hard drives and utilize intelligent VPNs to prevent detection - thank God I’d thought ahead. Still, it was a stalling tactic, because that level of organization would make her take the problem more seriously, not less, meaning we’d eventually have a bigger problem on our hands with the Feds. I was eventually going to need to give her a patsy of some kind, and ideally find a way of convincing her it tied up cleanly.

Weasel, maybe. 

No, for all that he was a pasty little bitch, I didn’t know that anyone would buy he was a…hm. Actually. Hang on, that was a thought. The key though, was that if he was alive when discovered he might roll over on me and Lash and that would be a problem. Dead, he couldn’t talk, and making sure he died first -  ideally by suicide so that it looked like he’d aced himself when the jig was up - would be a trick.  

Convincing her that there was in fact an angry incel who was furious that all the hot girls were going out with nonwhite guys because feminism had given them standards, or whatever, might do it, but that required that it be believable he’d orchestrated the attack - and maybe, maybe it was believable for him to have hacked the banks but not for him to have gotten other guys to go shoot the place. Unless he was using a fake….No, wait. I wasn’t going to let him be fake-me. Not even to get the fibbies off my trail. Instantly I saw another problem. If the Feds arrested anyone for this, there would be a percentage of the population I needed to win over that would see that person as the actual actor in the situation, meaning that I - or my more dramatic persona, Nihilus Rex - would lose credibility, which in turn killed my momentum. 

Fuck. 

I remembered, ruefully, when I thought any part of this would be simple. 

I finally stood up from my desk, glancing at the clock and realized that I’d been setting up proxy networks and trying to figure my way out of this for the better part of four hours. I glanced at my phone, realized Bishop had texted, and called him back. 

“Goddamnit, Creampuff, what’d I say about calling me?”

“Good morning to you too, Bishop.”

“It’s afternoon.”

“Good afternoon to you too, Bishop. What did you text me about?”

“Your psychopath.”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“Check what he did on the boards.”

“Oh…” Resigning myself to a truly miserable day, I hung up and looked at whatever the hell Gray had gotten up to, and found, to my surprise, that it actually wasn’t…that bad? Or well, it was bad but in a useful way instead of the kind of bad that I was going to have to fix. There were now indicators of radicalization happening somewhere else, flaring up, using terminology that didn’t mirror ours.

“Ruckus in the east, war in the west…” I muttered. Could have done it a bit differently, but if the FBI was going to look one way or another…might as well split up their focus. Now, to see what we could do about starting a few more fires, since the stochastic terrorism on a few other fronts was getting just a little too obnoxious for my tastes.  Or, at least a little too one-sided.

Westboro Baptist Church - famously homophobic, famously hateful to veterans and their families, famously hateful to gays, famously just awful. That was something to deal with - I put a pin in the idea of building a botnet for SWATTING a target. 

Then I left the room, still trying to think of what I’d do with the FBI agent. Honestly, the Weasel thing was probably the best solution, I just had to make sure I knew a way of foreshadowing it to the crowd - maybe by proxy, ensuring everyone knew or memetically believed, that Nihilus Rex wasn’t an incel, thus when someone was arrested with connections (even fabricated ones) to that network, no one who I needed to win over or maintain credibility with would believe it.

The issue of course was that doing THAT required, frankly, sexualizing my persona more than I wanted to and in ways that did not appeal to me. Even more precisely, it required some ability to publicly link that persona with sexual…

Goddamnit. 

Here I was trying to avoid going public before I was ready, but…wait. Another option was slithering its way through my mind already. A whole lot of people were already linking the “heroes of the hour” from as the potential badasses behind a whole lot more - but no one, definitely not the FBI, were considering that as anything more than rumor - and I was being excruciatingly careful to keep it that way, push the narrative that it was just a conspiracy in a way that made a lot of people convinced it was our cover story and would keep law enforcement away.

Meanwhile, we could…

Okay. Okay. Me and Lash could definitely afford to go out walking publicly, being obviously into each other, being visible, but maybe - crank up the obvious. Lean into some of the activist look. Make it less subtle what scenes we were playing in. Signal to those who were paying attention and slide under the radar for those who weren’t.

Then hand over Winston as a patsy and make sure he was dead by the time the FBI actually got him. That would work. 

I picked up the phone and dialed Lash.

“Hey. There’s supposedly a party on campus in a few days. How do you feel about going with me?”

“Depends,” she answered, slightly distracted. “LAN party, college party, rave…?”  Suddenly she whisper-shouted “Yes, it’s Nils. Yes, I’ll tell him you said hello. Yes, he’s eating.” A sound like a door closing abruptly clicked. “Mama says hello.”

“Your mom’s great.” I said, then paused. “It’s more of a college party than anything. And it’s a ‘work-opportunities' party. A ‘you-and-I-there-on-a-date-party,’  An ‘us being there publicly in this capacity is beneficial to our plans in ways we ought to discuss in person’ party.’”

“Sounds like a great idea.  Just let me know when so I can have Fatima come by while I’m gone.” 

“This Friday night. I only just got the invitation.” Please, love, get the hint that this idea just happened. 

“That’s plenty of time,” she laughed. “I was worried it was in, like, an hour.  Anyone I know going to be there?”

Yep, she got the message.  “A few of our classmates from Econ, a bunch from Polisci. A bunch of the college webshow people, at a guess, which means we’re gonna wind up on camera again, given our status as local celebrities.” Signal, signal. 

“I’ll be sure to have my face on, then.” She paused and hummed for a minute. “Sexy-demure, or straight up slutty? Probably demure, can’t look like I’m milking the spotlight.”

“Whatever makes you feel beautiful and powerful at the same time, Lash. We’re going for that look.” You know the one. 

“Gotcha. Those boots kill my feet, but god do they look good.  Gonna have to invest in something with flatter soles if you keep taking me out like this,” she teased.

“Fair enough. I’m excited for this. You’re gonna look amazing, whatever you’re in.” I said, grinning. I could imagine the smirk on her face as she talked. “Plus, we can go somewhere fun after, away from the cameras…”

Another click that sounded suspiciously like a door. “Don’t tempt me to wear a skirt with those boots.  I know you’re going for a certain look, and there is nowhere near as much leather in my wardrobe as there is in yours.  I will torture you all night if you keep it up.”

“That is very much the goal, and depending on what kind of torture you mean, I might be open to experiments…” 

There was that laugh I loved hearing. “Let’s start with being obviously a couple, and work our way up to exhibitionism, okay?”

I blinked, wondering where my kinky implication had been misread. “That was not in fact…” Gift horses, Nils. “Never mind, you know what? Working our way up is totally good with me.” 

“What time Friday?” she asked, pulling me back to the actual topic at hand.

“Starts at 8. The humanities building, apparently, though it’s likely to spill into the plaza.” I said, confidently. “Plenty of room.” 

“Oooo, on campus.  Super visible and public, you weren’t kidding.”

“Eyeah. We’re going public together.” With all that entails. “At the very least, I’m sure Weasel won’t be there.” 

I could practically hear her shudder at that.  “Gods, I hope not.”

“Oh, I think we can mellow on him just a little. We’ve finally found a use.” There was that little edge of amusement in my voice that indicated I was planning something. 

“Sure….” She sounded suspicious, but it was somewhat understandable. It wasn’t like I had told her what I was planning, although I was pretty sure she would be on board.  She’d practically suggested something similar previously, after all.

“How’s your dad doing?” I said, changing the topic. Better to leave the plans for later. 

“Surprisingly cooperative.  I think the one time he pushed himself too hard with the temporary prosthetic, he learned his lesson.  He won’t be waltzing anytime soon, but I don’t think I ever saw him dance before, so….”

“Fair enough. And your mom? I should be coming over more often to visit and check in, I suppose.” 

“For the love of all that you hold dear, don’t do that.  They barely let Fatima take care of them, and that’s only because the girls distract them.  If you came by, they would insist on being good hosts, and Mama is still not up to standing for the amount of time it takes to cook.  Baba goes back to work soon, so he’ll probably be easier to deal with after that. They’re both just so bored.”

“Gotcha. Would they be more okay with it if I came over with food and then just sat and talked with them? I’d be open to doing that. Or if we both just sat and talked with them?” 

“Maybe,” she confessed hesitantly. “But you would have to be very insistent that they let me get drinks, plates, all that.  It’s okay to scold me into doing it, I know you don’t mean it and it will make them more likely to listen so I don’t quote ‘anger you’ end quote.”

“Okay nope.” I said, feeling a flash of exasperation. “Yeah, okay, Lash. At some point we’re gonna talk about the gendered courtship expectations within your culture and the willingness I have to play along with them, because doing anything to avoid ‘angering me’ or scolding you into doing domestic stuff isn’t really my thing -”

“Calm down,” she interrupted, laughing. “I mean ‘anger you’ as in ‘dumping me or maybe we have a disagreement’.  Nothing more than that.  It will literally just guilt trip them into actually just sitting and visiting.  I didn’t mean anything beyond that.  And I only suggested it because do you know where the glasses are in my apartment? The plates?”

“Oh.” I felt stupid. “Ah. Okay yeah that makes more sense.” Not that the pressure to marry on her, and the weird approval process I’d undergone hadn’t given me ample reason to suspect that gender roles were at least a little bit cracked there, but now was not the time. When we ruled the world though, we were going to abolish courtship by democracy.

“How does Sunday sound? Go to the party Friday night, recovery Saturday, and then you can stop by with dinner on Sunday?”

“Sounds amazing.” Gave me plenty of time to start laying groundwork, then on Saturday, I’d start getting shit actually rolling. Then Sunday, spend the day with my gorgeous girlfriend and her family, mop up the next week. 

“Awesome. Meet you on campus Friday, 7:30ish so we can scope out everything before it kicks off?”

“Sounds perfect. Love you.”

“Love you, too… MAMA! Don’t you dare - “

[bubblegumbarbie33]

Ahhhh! Thanks for the tag @m4ndysk4nkovich

tag game wednesday

name: Barbie

age: 18

location: midwest

do you own a robe? Describe it: dark blue 💙

do you have a favorite mug? Describe it: It's huge and looks like and Octopus. I got it from Earthbound. :D

Do you have a favorite blanket? Describe it: My grandma got it for me for Christmas last year. It has a 2010-era Barbie on it in black and white with the words CRUSHING LIMITS with a hot pink border.

Coffee or tea? Coffee. (It should be tea because I'm a singer but I just can't do it 😭)

Fuzzy socks or wool socks? Fuzzy.

Gloves or mittens? Gloves.

Fireplace or Campfire? Campfire in summer but fireplace in winter.

Sun or Moon? Moon, because why is the sun always blinding us? 🌕

Chocolate candy or sugar candy? Chocolate!

Sweet or Savory pastry? Depending on my mood, I love a good pasty but also a donut.

Peppermint of Pumpkin Spice? PUMPKIN SPICE 💯

Go to bed early or wake up early? Go to bed early

Cold cereal in milk or hot oatmeal? Hot oatmeal for the win.

Potatoes or Bread? Bread, but only high-quality bread

Gallagher or Milkovich? Fuck. Well, I almost always write AU's or Fics from Mickey's POV, but I love the Gallaghers to pieces. Hmmmmmmmmm, I'll say Milkoviches, probably because knowing so little about their history makes them more interesting to me. (And the way Mickey's character got specifically flanderized makes me mad)

(hey girlies! 🩷 @insiriusneedoftherapy @ianandmickeygallavich1 @astaraels @ace-moon-dog @svetlanayevgenivna @gallawitchxx @lyricailove @lovekenney @lipslover @n

[storm-driver]

ep 17 : okay THIS is the johnny and kitty second episode, i remember now. it's also the one where i didn't realize what the plot was as a kid bc i never made it past the halfway point. but now im an adult and i can actually pay attention, yay

so danny's ghost sense detects johnny's shadow but...not johnny, i guess? or kitty who is possessing paulina? i dont know if it's ever been shown before if danny can feel the presence of other ghosts while they're possessing other people. i guess it's safe to assume he can't because maybe the human body acts as a way to deter them. but then id have to wonder why his human self is still detectable as a ghost via the fenton equipment. im overthinking stuff in a cartoon where the writers make up the rule per episode, arent i

this is the first time we hear phantom get called "inviso-bill" which made me CRINGE visibly, but i snorted really hard, so this joke still rubs off on me all these years later. they also...call him pasty-faced??? which i dont get because danny literally gets tanned skin when he's a ghost, you can see the difference in his colour palette in neutral lighting and it's such an awkward line that was clearly written for the ghost aspect rather than the physical quality aspect. i know danny gets interpreted with pale skin in other stuff, like his media shots or even the graphic novel. but he's ANIMATED to be tanned, i dont really understand where the connection got lost. it's not a big deal, but it's making me ask questions that i know don't get answered.

the fucking A-List joke being taken to a literal VIP membership level is actually hysterical. i choked on my water when dash explained the god damn hall monitor stamp pass with the free frozen yogurt. i have no idea why the idea of being a popular kid coming with literal membership club privileges is so funny to me, but it just is. mikey going "hi danny" and dash shouting "DONT TALK TO HIM" is ace.

this is unfortunately another episode where they paint sam in a bad light because of danny's potential romance options being with someone else. i feel the second episode handled this a lot better, by having sam downplay her affection towards danny as passive, while she was still trying to be a supportive friend when he got himself in hot water. in this episode, she's outright jealous and aggressive about it, which is believable? but considering how lax she was in a previous episode, it's jarring. especially because paulina knows he's the ghost boy, and even if sam isn't trusting that paulina will keep his secret, she's already gone out of her way to cover for danny's ghost hunting by covering as his date.

this is another case of me hoping the show writers would give some more nuance to characters that they don't intend to have that kinda complexity. which i can't be mad at, this show IS twenty years old and it was far from the expectancy back then. but the early signs of forcing sam to pine for danny are already showing, and this is one of the bad portrayals.

it's also kinda weird to see kitty and johnny get such a weird portrayal of their romance. i get it, johnny was being a player while kitty was having to deal with her boyfriend hitting on other girls. that sucks, it does. and it's a character flaw for her first idea of action to be using someone else to make johnny jealous, considering how far johnny was going to get kitty out of the ghost zone in the previous episode. feels like a step back for the sake of the plot, which is fine if the tone was shifted just a little. that's my opinion, at least.

the resolution being that they both go back to hating danny is kinda sour, considering these are some of the only ghosts danny manages to have some sort of understanding with. it'd be nice if the resolution was just kitty and johnny getting to thank danny for making them both realize they were lucky to have each other, rather than both of them arguing at the end anyways because of danny just doing his job. again, the execution makes it feel more that they bonded over hating danny. i still appreciate that they were able to look at danny peacefully for a bit though, it's a breath off fresh air for a ghost to not outright hate danny.

that shot of danny faking his murderous intent for johnny is kinda horrific, the line especially is such an eyebrow raiser. "SEE YOU IN OBLIVION" is SUCH AN INSANE READ??? obviously he can't say hell because they're already dead and they literally have been to hell. this is a kid's show, it's also that. BUT CHRIST, OBLIVION???? the writers are so insane sometimes, i love it.

yknow what I'm cataloging my feelings as i rewatch every danny phantom episode, here we go

[voasprofile]

mean girls in twisted wonderland and yuu who's somewhat a mix of the og mean girls

I say somewhat cause yuu wasn't really given that much personality

yuu is kind of a theater kid but again wasn't given much personality so it doesn't really show all that much

also reader is gn but does 'feminine' things like apply lipgloss and all that shit

pt.2 here

"what do you mean 'what's mean girls?'" I asked the first years looking offended

"what do you mean 'what do you mean what's mean girls?'?" ace countered "it's exactly means what I said" this back talking mf

"you guys have not lived yet" I looked them up and down "and it shows"

"what's that supposed to mean?" epel asked

"it means-" I mean I was going to explain but some pomefiore background character decided they wanted more screen time

"hey! first year the dormleader's looking for you" he yelled at epel almost as loud as sebek. I applaud him clap clap

"oh my god that vest is SO cute where'd you get it?" I leaned in on the table

"oh- um it was my dad during his time here" he answered

"vintage! so adorbs" I smiled at him "thanks" he smiled walking away

"that was the ugliest effin vest I've ever seen" I whispered at them

epel laughed so did ace deuce looked mortified jack... well he was a wee bit disappointed and sebek wasn't even paying attention

"hhhhhhhhh what?" epel whispered at me after getting ahold of himself. he wanted sum of that tea

I leaned in further so they could hear me whispering

"yeah, did you know so many people trust me in this school? not knowing I stockpile their secrets" I covered my mouth looking around for any signs of anyone listening, once I knew I was clear

"yeah, you guys know that one guy from heartslabyul? the one with almost white hair? yeah he has a girlfriend that he's cheating on with a guy from scarabia" I leaned back

"really? I knew it, he portrays himself way to innocently for it to be true" ace said

another background character came to the table but this time I was the one they're looking for

"hey uh yuu, can you forget about the thing I said earlier this week? I changed my mind on it" he asked scratching the back of his neck

"oh no no don't you worry, it will just be our little secret" I smiled up at him

"thank you so much, I owe you one!" he said leaving

they looked at me

"I wasn't lying about people trusting me y'know?" I said laughing

"but like seriously? you guys don't have mean girls, ugh your guy's life suck" I said re applying my lip gloss

"but anyways I like have it downloaded on my phone, if you guys know anyone who knows how to transfer files from an other worldly phone to a laptop, give them a call" a favour for a favour

actually me showing them the absolute treasure mean girls, they should owe me

apparently epel knew a guy who knew a guy who knew ortho who's idia, the ignyhides dorm leader 

it didn't take much convincing idia we happened to play together a couple of times when I was gaming on the phone I, ME bought NOT CROWLEY

turns out he was really techy

anyways he transferred the movie to MY laptop y'know the one I bought with MY money. he even taught me how to do it

I offered for him and ortho to watch with us, but he refused saying 'there'd be too much people'

I didn't force him but ortho wanted to come so me and ortho went to sam's to buy a couple of snacks for the movie 

then back to ramshackle we go

we waited

first to come was jack and sebek holding a couple bottles of pop

then epel with a few apple desserts

then adeuce combo with a few pasties and ace with more chips

before any of that I mad all of them wear sheet masks not excluding ortho ofc I just squeezed it a bit more to not damage anything on his face

so begins the movie

"he reminds me of the creep flirtin with everyone in the cafe" epel pointed out Jason almost throwing a handful of chips at the laptop

"real, poor gretchen imagine someone you like flirting with someone else in front of you" jack said chewing on some pie

"how disgraceful" sebek murmured sipping on his cup

"shhh" ace said

I smiled. I'm in the process of making some mean girls out of them

at the end of the movie everyone was satisfied

"ugh if I were the bus driver I would've ran them over" ace said

three fourths to the movie everyone forgot about the food so now were finishing them off

"would it be ok for me to download this to send to nii san? ortho asked. somebody bless this child

"of course, wanna send him another movie?" I asked

"there's another movie?" sebek asked

"well yeah but it's not a franchise, some people say this was the film to inspire mean girls" I said to them "wanna watch it?"

everyone agreed it was too early to turn in anyways

heathers ah my love

"which one do you guys wanna watch the movie or the musical?"

we ended up watching both

it was funny when we were watching dead girl walking and suddenly all the comments stopped then resumed after the song

I covered ortho's eyes and ears dw

next day we were having lunch again

I was looking at the back of a candy bar with a confused look "it's all in like swedish or something"

epel caught on "yeah y'know there's some weird ingredient in there that's not legal here"

"hmm ephedrine?" I said already chewing "no" he said

"phentermine" I approved "no" he denied

I looked at him confused

"it burns carbs, it just burns up all your carbs" he said"

"hm I really wanna lose three pounds" I said looking at them raising my eyebrows

there was a pause

"oh my god what are you talking about" sebek said

"you're so skinny" deuce added

"shut up" I told them

every body else close enough to hear's pov

drama? first year drama?

lol

soon jack epel and I left the table to mingle with others. jack in savanaclaw with his upperclassmen, same with epel and pomefiore, and I went to diasomnia

and then my phone rings

"you're on speaker" ace whispers

"epel, jack thinks you're mad at him because he got nominated prettiest in the freshman yearbook" deuce said

"oh my god I'm not mad at him, I'm worried about him. I think someone is pulling a joke on him, I mean if no one votes for him, he's gonna have a total meltdown. and who's gonna have to comfort him? me."

"so you don't think he'll get in?" ace asked

"deuce ace, he's not pretty. I know that sounds bad but whatever, the prettiest freshman is always y'know pretty. the crazy thing is it should be yuu, but everyone forgets them because they're such a slut, anyway I got to go, I'm going to class" epel 'hung up'

"well he's not mad at you" ortho told jack

"hold on" he told all of them "are you okay" deuce asked "shh" he switched the line to call me

my phone 'rings' again, and then I put it on speaker

"hello?" "if someone said something bad to you, you'd want me to tell you right?" jack asked

"mmm no" I said "what if it was someone you thought was your friend?" he pressed on

I got annoyed "what are you-? hold on other line" I said taking the call

"hello?" "let's go out" sebek said "hold on I'm on the other line with jack" I said "don't invite him, he's driving me nuts" "okay hold on" "good hurry up" I went back to jack

"it's sebek, he wanted to hang out and told me not to invite you" "do not hang out with him" jack said "why?" I said annoyed "oh you wouldn't want me to tell you" "ugh you can tell me, hold on" I switched over "oh my god he is so annoying" "who is?" I widened my eyes "who's this?" I asked "jack" he responded "right, hold on" I switched

"oh my god he is so annoying" I told sebek "I know just get rid of him" I switched

"okay what is it?" I asked jack "sebek said everybody forgets about you because you're such a slut" he said "he said that?" I asked offended "you didn't hear it from me" I switched lines

"I can't go out ehe ehe I'm sick" I told sebek "boo you whore" he said hanging up

I wore an offended expression and left the cafeteria. actually everyone in the call left the cafe

the one's who heard couldn't help but feel surprised, the first years? fighting? 

rumors quickly spread

[spiltscribbles]

Hi love!! I just took a look at the prompt lists u have linked and the prompt “you said what to your teacher?” sounds like it could be absolutely hilarious if u wanna write something for that!! <33333

Notes: OMFG HIYA DAN BABEYYYY!!!! Thank you SO SO much you absolute angel face!!! This was the first thing I tried writing and actually enjoyed and just wrote it all at once in the middle of the night dlkfsajlkgjasdofiewghklsdgj THANK YOU AND I LOVE YOU!!!!

.-

You Said What To Your Teacher? | Send Me A Prompt💜

.-

“Do you remember when we were nine and I gave you my last sparkler because Regulus was crying that he wanted your purple smoke bomb and I was left with only my shitty poppers to throw when the ball dropped on New Year’s.”

Sub half way to his mouth and mobile lodged between his shoulder and ear, Sirius gently sets down his sandwich and dabs off the splatter of mayonnaise on his cupids bow as he tries to parse out what in bloody hell his best friend is blabbering on about.

“Oh, hi, Jem. Yeah I’m doing well, mate, thanks for asking. Works the typical grind but I think Minnie is about to give me that promotion any day now.”

“It’s a simple yes, or no answer, arse.” James retorts haughtily, sounding somehow frenzied and buoyant all at once.

“Pardon me, I thought we would just have a normal conversation like typical blokes,” Sirius sniffs, tilting back on his chair and clicking around on his desktop to look at the revised dimensions of a new building his firm was employed to begin constructing in south London. “Now remind me, my sweet. Was this the same New Year’s that you stuffed that stink bomb in the back of my shirt after stomping on it so it’d explode on me?”

“That is neither here, nor there.”

“I still feel the debris on my poor back on especially rough days.”

“You’re a twat.”

“And you’re acting dodgy.”

“I need a favor, and I thought a transactional proposition would be the sort of thing that you corporate types would appreciate.” James jabs, laughter in his words. Sirius just hopes he could picture the middle finger he’s emulating through the line.

“Just because you’ve completed residency doesn’t make you a special snowflake, you do realize this, correct?” Sirius tells him, already shooting a message to Minerva and his team that he’ll be jetting off a bit earlier so he could do whatever it is that James needs.

“Slander! It makes me the most special snowflake, Black. And it eats you up inside.” James retorts, moving away from the receiver to yell something towards one of his interns about a patient or the other.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, gorgeous. Now are you going to ever tell me what it is you need from me, or keep trying to get in my trousers, because listen either option is aces on my end. I’ll just add it to the document I send Lily every week about how I’m so obviously your dream partner.”

“It always just comes back to your burning jealousy that I chose her over you, doesn’t it?” James pretends to sigh forlornly. “Listen, my love. It’s not my fault that some birds are just born prettier than others.”

“Psha, I’m the prettiest fucker you know, Potter.”

“It’s the attitude for me, just absolutely no decorum about you.”

“Is this about that snag with me teaching Haz how to properly curse at a United fan?” Sirius asks, moving to collect his satchel and jacket. “Because I stand by that. We’re a fucking Arsenal family, damn it.”

“We were at brunch when he called that poor woman a weasel faced toad, Sirius.”

“Good man,” Sirius insists, waving goodbye to the secretary who always gives him the most devoted heart eyes.

“Well, speaking of the sprog. I’m stuck here with a new bout of paperwork to get someone transported to us from a hospital in the states, and Lily’s stuck in the maternity ward till at least nine.”

“Ooo, a bit of God father/God son time then??”

“With great power, comes great responsibility,” James says gravely.

“What have I told you about your shitty nerd references and how they give me a rash.”

“Spider-man isn’t simply for nerds you absolute pleb! There’s been three bloody franchisements for him in the past two decades!”

“Imma let Harry eat ice cream for dessert, I reckon.”

“Then you’ll have Lily to answer to,” James warns, still seething from the jibe. “And if you’re taking the bike, can you at least park a block away. This new school we’ve enrolled him into this year is well and proper, and I’d not want them to think that our son’s God father is some sort of ne’er-do-well.”

“You put respect on Rosco’s name, or so help me!”

“Right, right, the only constant love in your life.”

“She’s the only one who understands me.”

“ Whatever, just try and behave decently, will you?”

“Hah, and why wouldn’t I?” Sirius asks as he tosses his helmet into the air, patting Rosco in apology for James’s impertinence.

“Hmm, we’ll see, won’t we.” James says in an irritatingly ominous tone before clicking off the line.

.-

There are a lot of reasons why Sirius could hate James. He could hate him for forcing Sirius to join him on his morning runs, or hate him for his intensely perky attitude about every sodding thing. Hell he could probably hate him for his complete disregard of the mad sport that is American football. But all that withstanding, Sirius reasons that for today he’ll hate him for his cryptic fucking warning and how he knew this would happen and is probably cackling over it as he fills out a new set of discharge papers.

That absolute, unceasing, weasel faced, toad.

The ‘this’ that Sirius is referring to of course is the fact that Sirius is left dumbstruck and gawping as he strolls leisurely into Harry’s third year class, eyes roaming over the small cluster of children who had stayed after hours for extra tutoring and who are now just lounging around, waiting for a guardian to come and pick them up. But instead of first spotting the dark head that belongs to his God son, Sirius’s gaze focusses on a man… A very fit, very golden, very beautiful man. A man that’s all lithe limbs and honey eyes, and a small, quietly encouraging smile as he kneels down to chat with a blonde girl who’s got on a blue tutu and rainbow poncho.

“Fuck you James Potter,” Sirius hisses lowly to himself as he tries to collect his wits about him, and remind himself that flirting with his God son’s actual, fucking professor is not a thing that is approved of.

“Uncle Pads!”

Sirius starts, feeling suddenly grounded as Harry bounds towards him and hugs his torso with a tight squeeze. “Hiya Prongslet,” he says, grinning indulgently as he ruffles a hand through Harry’s wild mop of curls.

“Am I coming to yours then?”

“If you’ll have me,” Sirius winks, tapping the bridge of his specs fondly.

“Brilliant! I’ll just tell Professor Lupin.”

Oh, that’s a very sexy name if Sirius does say so himself, though he tries not to marinate on the fact as he waits patiently while Harry leads that absolutely delicious looking man towards him. And God, the way he’s tipping back his head only slightly to meet Sirius’s gaze— It’s lewd.

“You’re Harry’s God father, yes?” Is the first thing Professor Lupin says to him, stretching out a hand that’s all long fingers stained by ink, and knobby knuckles that Sirius suddenly has the insane craving to nip at.

Jesus, he needs to get himself the fuck together.

“Ahem, yes, yes. I’m that. I’m Sirius I mean— Oh, my name, and erm— I’m also serious that I am his God father, that is a thing.” Sirius rambles, feeling like a complete idiot as he takes hold of Remus’s slender hand into his own, and shakes it with two, awkward pumps— holding onto it for a beat too long.

Sirius repeats, fuck James Potter.

“Right,” Professor Lupin says with something akin to amused. “Well he’s only got his maths to finish tonight, and a bit more reading for history.”

“Oh, good. I’ll definitely help with that. I’m great with numbers.”

“Wonderful,” Professor Lupin nods at him before peering down at Harry and grinning widely. “You did great today, just keep up with your novel for Professor Meadows and you’re splendid. Yeah?”

“Thank you Professor Lupin,” Harry preens, chest puffed out not unlike how James had used to do back in their school days every time they won a footie match.

“Nice meeting you Mr— ah?”

“Black!” Sirius quickly offers, straightening up immediately like a rose bud stretching towards the sun. “Sirius Black.”

The corner of Professor Lupin’s mouth twitches up, and Sirius is struck with the searing need to see the full force of his smile directed towards him— and also to snog it right off. “Remus Lupin, just to make things even.”

And fuck.

Sirius swears— hand on his chest and face to God— that it was a flirtatious inflection that Professor Lupin— Remus— used right then, but before he can even have the chance to toy around with the development, a mother in yoga pants and Starbucks strolls in and Remus walks over to greet her hello, and before Sirius knows it, Harry’s tugging on his hand and dragging him out the room.

Damn it.

.-

Despite his total and complete fail of a first meeting with Harry’s sickeningly attractive professor, the rest of the night turns out to go as perfectly as planned. Otherwise known as them stuffing themselves with greasy pizza, and heaps of ice cream, and staying up an hour past Harry’s typical bed time to play Far Cry instead. And if Sirius contemplates asking him more about this elusive Remus Lupin, he bites down the urge and concentrates on sticking his spoon onto his nose before Harry could beat him in their match.

It’s totally fine.

That is until it’s six o’clock in the ruddy morning and he’s woken up by the loud knocking of his front door, only to be met by the grossly chipper faces of Lily and James— that sort of glow is only a thing that happens after a good shag, and Sirius knows that for fact.

“We brought pasties,” Lily tells him as she sashays indoors, red main of hair billowing in the late autumnal breeze and her voice ringing out like she’s some sort of radio show host.

“How was last night?” James asks him as he toes off his boots and follows Lily to the kitchen.

“Fine,” Sirius gripes, still pissy from James’s cruel joke. “Haz is always great.”

“Mmm, I hope Remus didn’t give you any trouble picking him up, you’re on the paperwork and everything but it’s the first time he ever met you and all.” Lily says, faux lightly as she picks out the plates and turns on the electric kettle.

“You knew!” Sirius accuses emphatically, pointing a heated finger her way and then directing it towards James.

“Knew that he is exactly your type?”

“And that you’d look like a tosser talking to him for the first time,” Lily tacks on, giggling.

“Fuck you, and fuck your weird, married telepathy!”

“Nah, not telepathy mate,” James assures, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re just incredibly predictable.”

“We’d have to be thick not to know that you’d be a total idiot around him— You’re the worst whenever you have to talk to pretty people who you actually want to do more than just screw.”

Sirius feels himself go scarlet. “That is an attack on my person, Evans!”

“Yes, dear. I know.” Lily croons, patting him on the cheek like a doting grandmother. “But does it help that I think you should totally go for it.”

“Lily! He’s our son’s teacher!”

“Only for this year,” Lily shrugs, sitting on a stool that lines the island. “Besides, I really like Remus. We have the same cycling class and he taught me how to make my face into an emoji like I’m a Kardashian.”

“You guys talk about’m like he’s the second coming of Christ,” James harrumphs, doling out their mugs with a scowl.

“He’s just so pretty,” Sirius sighs, beyond dejected. “Did you see that little birthmark on his cheek that looks like a butterfly! And Jesus, his eyes are like a third of his face!”

“Don’t forget how well he fills out those trousers for such a skinny bloke,” Lily adds, mixing the honey into the tea that James had just poured her.

“I alas did not get a chance to give his ass the appraisal it warrants,” Sirius bemoans.

“I very much do not like the idea that my best friend and wife are thirsting over the same bloke.” James sniffs.

“Jealous, lover,” Lily leers, laughing at how James wrinkles his nose at them and kisses his cheek in reassurance. But Sirius doesn’t pay them any of his attention, is too distracted by painting the picture of Remus in his mind’s eye, and how he really does need a second look if he loves himself at all.

“He’s like those caramel lollypops from when we were kids,” he tells them unceremoniously. “But instead of that tart middle, he’s just sweetness through the center.”

“You want to lick him, huh?” Lily asks, smirking at him with a lecherous air.

“I want to lick him until he goes mad and begs me to just flip’m over and—“

“Enough!” James quickly cuts in with a smack of the hand against the countertop. “This man is Harry’s professor, I can’t have these sort of images of him while I go to pick him up after class.”

Sirius jerks forwards, beyond excited. “Then let me pick up Haz from school today, yeah? It’ll give me a chance to speak with Remus!”

“Why do you want to talk to Mr Lupin?”

The three adults turn around at once, met by the image of Harry in the spare uniform he keeps at Sirius’s house— hair sleep rumpled and specs askew.

“Hallo my beautiful boy,” Lily grins, her and James each kissing his cheek and giving his shoulders a squeeze as he sits between them.

“Why do you want to talk to Professor Lupin, Uncle Sirius.” Harry asks again, earnestly as he tares apart his cheese and veggie pasty. “Do you like him?”

“Oh, erm—“ Sirius feels his insides squirm, not sure where to step, afraid that his God son might not appreciate the fact that Sirius’s already planning out a reception party for his impending nuptials with Remus.

“I think it’d be cool if you did.”

And in an instant, Sirius feels his shoulders loosen and his smile go elastic. God he loves this kid. “yeah?”

“Mhmm,” Harry nods, taking a sip of his water to clear his throat. “Ron told me that Professor Lupin use to be married to his Uncle Fabs and then they broke up last year, so I bet he’s sad now. And you’re the best person on the planet and you always have fun! You should make him happy again.”

Sirius’s heart seizes, suddenly needing to be the person to help Remus with anything he could ever need.

“You’re a diamond kiddo, you know that?” Sirius says, standing up to lift his eight year old God son into the air and blowing a raspberry to his cheek. “Shove it to your dad, you’ll be my best man at the wedding, yeah?”

“Imma need to start smoking if he’s gonna be this much of a prat all the time now,” James mutters lowly, making it so Lily crows with laughter.

.-

That afternoon finds Sirius parked back outside Harry’s school, straightening the collar of his jacket and combing a hand through his hair. Though once he steps into the nearly emptied classroom, he’s still slack jawed when Remus looks over his shoulder towards the door and grins at him in such a glimmering sort of way, that it punches Sirius in the fucking solar plexus!

“Mr Black, twice in one week?”

“Hah— Yeah.” Sirius hopes his smile comes out more gentle than a grimace. “It’s not far from my work, actually. So I guess I’ll be around more often.” In fact, the drive is a good twenty minutes from his office, but Sirius doesn’t think that’s really relevant.

“Lucky us.” Remus retorts, looking up and down his frame with a slow, languid sort of gaze that makes Sirius feel filleted right open. “Well I can’t wait to get to know you better.”

“You can know whatever you want,” Sirius practically sputters, wonders if he should try and act cool, especially now that Harry’s wandered over towards them.

“Is that an open offer?” Remus asks, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and lying back leisurely against his desk.

“Yes. Yes, absolutely.”

Remus’s beautiful face goes absolutely incandescent right then. “Good.”

“Good,” Sirius repeats, completely devout.

“Oh, before you go,” Remus says, pointer finger raised to freeze them while his other hand fishes into a drawer of his desk. “It’s not a caramel pop, but at least the Tutsi ones are sweet all the way through.”

Sirius feels his jaw completely drop while Remus gently places the stick of the treat into his open hand, tossing him a quick wink before walking off to chat with a new parent who had wandered in.

“Harry— You said what to your teacher.”

“That you said he looked like a caramel pop,” Harry answers, totally owlish and unconcerned.

Sirius contemplates drowning into the lake, but then decides that this is a game he will not lose against Remus.

“All right, Prongslet. Let’s grab us some chocolate eggs and you can tell me everything you know about your dear Professor.”

“Okay, Uncle Pads,” Harry beams.

.-

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist💜

[sanktnikolais]

Feed The Wolves

A/N: your local zoyalai stan neighbor is here yet again for another content but this time it’s for @wafflesandkruge​‘s birthday!!! I went way overboard with this ig but the Vincenzo fever we’ve been on for the past two weeks was still strong and the ending still tugs at my heart. So pls have this mess, Tiff, I’m sorry HAHDKLHJAFDS Happy birthday, dearest! 🥺🥺

Word count: 13 874

CW: graphic depictions of violence and gore. Read at your own risk.

The Lantsovs have finally taken their move to overthrow the Brums’ tyranny to the extremities. They thought they already have the upper hand and that the odds are finally on their side. But in a game that two players have nothing and everything to lose, there is always a catch in every move they make, and with it also comes a price.

How far are they willing to take it?

If Nikolai could be proud of one moment, he knew it would be today. One couldn’t just make an easy audience with the head of the Brum Family; usually it would take nearly a week to set up an appointment. Jarl Brum was one of the first men to establish their own Families, along with the Tabans, Lantsovs, and the Morozovas, and he was the most powerful among them. 

          For now. 

          When one of the biggest Families was in a war and planning to attack another with the same reputation, it was only necessary to play carefully. Especially going against a cunning opponent like Jarl Brum. Today’s predicament was tricky; one wrong move could cost them the chance. Or worse—their lives. Either way, it was dangerous. But if they didn’t at least try to keep the Brums at bay, it would only be a matter of time before they take over all the cities, including Os Alta. And considering how they handled things, lots of lives could be lost. 

          There was still another way out of this, but it involved extreme measures and there would be no returning after that. He could only hope he wouldn’t have to settle for that last resort no matter how slim his chances were.

          Nikolai snapped the lid of his lighter closed, his loud mind finding solace in the metallic clink it made. His eyes caught on the engraving on the side of the lighter. Consigliere Idiot. He fought a smile. The lighter had been a gift to him by Zoya on his birthday a few years back, and it somehow became his talisman ever since. It was a weird kind of gift at first, with Zoya knowing too well that he didn’t smoke that much. But he still got attached to it. 

          You never know, it might come in handy when you suddenly have an urge to set some place on fire, was what she had told him. 

          He scoffed at the memory, and then took a deep breath as he focused on his current situation. The risks of having this meeting turn to the bloodbath Nikolai was expecting were high, and if he were to be honest, winning a fight against the Brums was almost impossible. 

          But he was never the one to believe in impossible. Only improbable. The one thing he could do now was to put faith on the odds being at their side at the end of the day.

          He flicked his lighter open and closed again before checking his watch. The bright numbers glared back at him like a countdown of a time bomb nearing its detonation. 17:48. Twelve minutes. 

          If his estimate was right, Zoya and her men would have arrived by now and started their raid. But knowing the Lantsov Underboss to be careful and precise, they would need a bit more time. It only meant Nikolai had to continue making small talks with the man to try and see if he could settle a score with the Don without the use of violence. Talking proved to be a bit difficult, though, as the head of the Family was being attentive to focusing on his paperworks rather than Nikolai’s presence.

          "The numbers are really unstable in the past two weeks and it's mostly plummeting," said Jarl as his eyes scanned the paper he was holding for the last time. Then with a dramatic sigh, he opened the drawer to his right and put the file inside, plastering a rather fake smile on his lips afterwards. "There's been a lot of visitors."

          Nikolai could see right through the man's displeasure. He almost laughed. At least the feeling is mutual. "Tell me about it," he said with a light laugh. "Having your business overrun without any reason sure does something to you." 

          A shadow crossed the Don's face, but Nikolai only smiled innocently and held his gloved hand out for a handshake, a sort of formal gesture between a Don and a Consigliere before and after every meeting. Anyone lower than the Underboss aren't allowed to touch the head of a Family, and they could only do as much as bow in respect for the Don. 

          Jarl accepted it reluctantly, his grip firm as if he were contemplating breaking Nikolai’s hand. Nikolai was grateful when the man didn't. Maybe because it wasn't a good sight to have and talk business to a Consigliere with a broken hand. 

          "A pleasant afternoon, isn't it?" mused Nikolai as he took a sip of the coffee. It tasted good, but not nearly as good as Genya's brew. No poison. Or maybe there was and the effects just weren't kicking in yet. He suddenly wished for the woman's knack on any poison. "The perfect chance to kill time.”

          The Brum Don laughed lightly, the sound mildly threatening as if he had just thought of something vile. “Indeed, Consigliere,” he said, leaning back more comfortably in his chair. “Is the coffee good? I apologize if it isn’t, but I do hope the atmosphere is comfortable.”

          Nikolai fought a wince. He had been here a few times before. Jarl’s office was ice white—ranging from the walls, floorings, and the ceiling. Even the chair he was sitting on had been white. The only thing that gave another color to the pasty room were the furniture and a few appliances. At least his couches were blood red, and the view of the huge window behind his desk was different in shade. Nikolai was thankful for the change of scenery. 

          “No, no. Everything is good.” It sounded fake, considering how he despised the man's office. But he shook it off. He tipped the mug up in a toast. “I appreciate it, and thank you for accepting my appointment.” He found it funny and silly, when Jarl’s caporegimes used the term “appointment”. It was as if Nikolai wanted to get his teeth checked by a dentist, and considering how the man’s office looked, maybe it really was one. “I thought it would take me another week to wait for the confirmation.”

          “You’re a Lantsov, from the first pioneers of the Families.” Jarl paused, a hint of a sneer appearing on his face. “You needn’t to be delayed.”

          There was something the way Jarl spoke that didn’t sit well with Nikolai, like the man knew something he didn’t. A thought crossed his mind, but he shook it off. There was no way Jarl knew about that. Or was it? It was not impossible—the Brum Don had a wide network of informants. Rumor had it that there were a few in Os Alta, the city that the Lantsovs had control over. 

          Him knowing about Nikolai’s real father would only give him power against them. But then Nikolai still decided to brush it off, though its dangerous possibility still lingered at the back of his mind. It wasn’t the time to think of it. They had to take back the territories that were once theirs, even if they had to do it by brute force. It’s what Zoya would have preferred, anyway.

          “That’s good to hear,” said Nikolai with a tight smile.

          The man crossed his hands over the table, a glint evident in his eyes. Nikolai didn’t know what to make out of it. “So let’s hear it, Consigliere,” said Jarl. “What brings the Lantsovs here?”

          Straight to the point. Nikolai put his mug back to the desk and removed his gloves, exposing his scarred hands. Jarl’s eyes flitted to Nikolai's hands for a moment before looking away, an uncomfortable expression on his face. Nikolai felt a sneer twitch on his lips. Scars weren’t new to people like them—they had new ones very often, depending on the work they were doing that time. It was their brand, and they wear it with pride.

          But if people knew the history of the scars you bore, especially when you had gotten it from being the vicious Enforcer who once intimidated the streets of Halmhend, you would have an ace against your enemies. And for Nikolai, he exactly just had that. 

          “We’re eyeing the areas in Halmhend and Ulensk for expansion,” he said, and he noticed the Brum Don perk up a little from his chair. Now Nikolai had his attention. “I heard that the two properties in those locations require some...changes. Big changes, if I may add. So I would like to propose an offer to buy the property for double its actual value.” He stopped to consider, putting a finger to his chin. "No, wait. Make it triple." 

          Jarl didn't answer for a while, and his expression was in between being offended and amused. Nikolai wondered if the man thought that his offer was a bluff. 

          "I think you're quite mistaken, Consigliere," he said mildly, his tone having an underlying disbelief. "We do not place our properties up for purchase or any sort of deal." 

          The properties you had taken from Families by force, Nikolai wanted to say, but he bit back his tongue. The feel of the lighter in his other hand was enough to ease the sudden flare of anger in his chest. He put on his signature grin to cover it up. "Ah, but I thought your numbers were plummeting for the past two weeks? I think my offer would help the numbers to be friendly and rise up nicely again." 

          "Is that what your father told you to do?" Jarl asked as he leaned back further into his chair. The look on his face had gone from slightly friendly to threatening. "To try and sway me with money?" 

          "Don't we all want to be swayed and pampered by money?" countered Nikolai, the grin never leaving his lips. Jarl’s expression only became darker, and it made Nikolai want to goad him more. "Think of the numbers finally rising, Jarl. I know you want that." 

          "It’s foolish to think that I’d willingly sell properties that we have the ability to look after just quite well, Consigliere.” The Brum Don shook his head with a disappointed expression. “I never thought you would be this desperate.”

          This ticked something inside Nikolai, and he found himself suddenly saying, “Is that why you worked with the Radimovs to overthrow our territories?”

          There was a tense silence, and the expression on Jarl’s face turned from angry to mildly surprised, like he hadn't expected Nikolai to know about the Brums involvement with the assault. They weren't the only Family with spies stationed in different cities; the Lantsovs had just as much informants as the Brums have, if not a bit less.

          Nikolai took the silence as his chance to continue. "Ah, let me make that clear. The Radimovs doing the dirty work and the Brums happening to ‘buy’ the two properties the following day from them. That's pretty much all of it, right? And it's not different from what you did with the Tabans and the Demidovs. And somehow the Morozovas too." He chuckled darkly. "Though it's probably pretty much the Morozovas' payment to your Family for protecting their ass, so I wouldn't really take that into account. Doesn't take a genius to figure that out."

          Jarl’s jaw was set, as if determined not to admit to the accusation. His eyes were hard, but Nikolai could notice the man's hand suddenly fiddling the pen within his reach in tense movements. He has such an obvious tell. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." 

          "Oh, I'm merely joking, sir. I mean, I am indeed a genius in certain aspects, but I didn’t learn about that information by connecting the dots. I knew about your tactics from an informant," said Nikolai with a kind smile. "We may have been spiraling a bit out of control since the attempted murder of my father, but we're not as stupid as you think."

          The Brums had used the Lantsovs’ distraction in prioritizing the Don’s security to their advantage, going as far as making frequent appearances in their properties, and even in Os Alta. One of the instances he couldn’t forget were the three Brum soldiers who had caused disturbance in their bar in Kribirsk, and it stirred up the brewing dispute between their Families. 

          Nikolai wouldn't even be surprised if the Brums had something to do with the assassination. And if he were to really think of it now, it was most likely possible. The Demidovs weren't that powerful enough to do something as bold as trying to take down one of the most powerful Dons in the country, unless there was a much bigger hand controlling them. 

          The only Family who had the ability to pull off a stunt like that was the Brums. But knowing them, they always used someone else to do their dirty work for them as they wanted to maintain the 'clean slate' of their name. 

          They could always put out the fire, but they can never cover up the smoke. 

          Jarl considered Nikolai for another moment, and then he let out a loud laugh. “I get why Alexander appointed you as Consigliere and not your older brother. A clever boy, you are,” he said. "Can't be fooled easily." 

          "I'd take that as a compliment, sir," said Nikolai. 

          He reached over to the mug of coffee again, but his hand suddenly felt stiff and rigid as if something was keeping it from being able to move. Then his vision blurred slightly for a moment before it sharpened again, making him blink. 

          It took him a second, and a quiet laugh bubbled from his chest. His suspicions were right, then. He gripped the lighter tightly in his hand like it was the only source of his strength. Coffee was the last thing he had expected to have poison in it, and disbelief muddled his mind. 

          Cheeky bastard, should have put it in brandy or whiskey instead of slandering coffee this way.

          Nikolai held the mug with a bit of effort in his outstretched hand, trying not to let his strain show. But when he looked up back to the Don again, there was no denying that he had already noticed Nikolai’s difficulty in moving, and the beginning of a smirk was evident on Jarl’s expression. The knife hidden under the lapel of Nikolai’s coat suddenly felt heavy.

          This was going to be a pain to get through again. 

          "How's your father, Nikolai?" the man asked. Even his voice sounded faraway now. "Is he recovering well?" 

          "He is. Quite well, I'll say. He might get discharged next week," Nikolai replied before raising the mug to his lips again. It was only when he took another sip of the coffee did he finally recognize the slightest difference in the taste of a purely black coffee. Genya would have scolded him for not recognizing it right away. Cyanide. Cheap. "He sends his regards, by the way." 

          Jarl smiled. "I appreciate it." He paused, his eyebrows furrowing in mock concern. Nikolai wanted to laugh. "Are you alright? You seem to be looking quite unwell."

          Nikolai shrugged, the movement requiring much more effort as he was still adjusting to the toxins in his body. "I'm fine, just a bit stiff. The coffee had a bit of a kick in it."

          "Ah, but you did like your coffee without sugar, right?" 

          "Yeah, makes it more bracing." He gestured to the mug with a nod before placing it back to the desk. A dull tremor shot through him, and he fiddled with the lighter in his hand to keep it from going completely numb. "So, is your answer really a no?" 

          "You make me laugh, Consigliere. Here you are, alone, wanting to have an appointment to meet with me just to offer some nonsense." 

          “I wouldn’t actually call it nonsense I would say ultimatum, but that sounds too threatening so I think I’d tone it down for a bit,” said Nikolai, his tone light. He checked his watch. 17:58. Almost there. But then another tremor shot through him, and this time, he wasn’t able to stop a pained groan from tearing in his throat. He raised a finger. “Wait, give me a second.”

          Nikolai closed his eyes and breathed deeply, flexing his fingers open and close. This was becoming rather embarrassing for him, to give threats to someone of a much higher rank than him while looking he was about to throw up, but he took his time. After a few more moments, he finally regained his composure. When he looked back up to the Don, Jarl had an amused expression on his face as if he were thinking of Nikolai as a big joke. 

          "Consider it a friendly warning," Nikolai said with a grin. “I wouldn’t want to spew threats yet when I still haven’t tried to convince you to change your mind.”

          Jarl’s expression darkened. "This is a three-hectare property. No one would notice the Lantsov Consigliere not coming out of here." 

          "Oh, dear me. Are we doing threats now?" Nikolai laughed, or more like wheezed, and shook his head. "Three hectares, you say? So if I burned down this side of the compound, firefighters won't arrive in time, no? Or even just shooting you, I'm pretty sure no one else would hear." 

          "You're in my compound, Nikolai. My territory." 

          Nikolai shrugged. "Hasn't stopped me before." 

          "There are guards patrolling around right outside the hall. They will immediately barge in the moment I hit the alarm." 

          "Ah, let them. I like that kind of attention. Boosts my ego exponentially." The watch around Nikolai’s wrist beeped softly, and he glanced down at it to confirm that the numbers had already turned to 18:00. "I also did like my coffee without poison, actually. But I appreciate the improvised addition. Cyanide as an alternative to sugar? Genius. Gave a rush of thrill in my blood." 

          If Nikolai could frame the look of the evident shock on Jarl’s face, he would have made a whole exhibit just for it. People needed to see such a rare sighting of the Brum Don getting caught off guard. The man blinked repeatedly, as if he didn't believe what he was seeing in front of him. 

          Trust me, this will get useful at some point, Genya's voice echoed in his head. Nikolai silently thanked their caporegime's insistence for him to develop poison immunity. All those days of handling mild paralysis and unconsciousness was worth it. 

          "Oh, pardon me. Was I being too straightforward with that?" He chuckled lightly. "I can repeat it though. You got me good there, I can already feel it kicking in. But if you wanted to kill me, I think I would prefer a bullet to the brain just to be sure. That's a hundred percent chance I wouldn't walk out of here alive, or just mix in as much cyanide as you have. A sprinkle won’t be enough."

          Jarl let out a laugh of his own, but the sound came out nervous instead of threatening. The man was evidently pale and he was now holding the pen so tightly in his fist he could have snapped it in half. "But that would be messy now, wouldn't it?" he said with a grin. Even his smile looked forced. "As you've told me, we don't do the dirty work.

          "Hmm, fair. But there would be no thrill at all, would it? Having to hide behind your coffers and let others do the labor? That's icky." Nikolai shook his head. There was another tremor that shot throughout his body, but it was much weaker than the ones before it, and he almost smiled. At least that was over. Bless you, Genya. He leaned forward for a bit, his eyes narrowing curiously. "Do tell me, Jarl. How would it feel when someone else takes over your business by force, and brutally kills your men and innocent workers in the process? They’re not a threat, Jarl. Much less an enemy. Why involve them in the mess? We don’t do that. That is against our principles. But I guess that's never in your book, was it? You just do things that would satisfy your greed and thirst for blood."

          “Getting bolder now, aren't we, Consigliere? I would watch that mouth of yours if I were you. Do you think the Lantsovs could handle another loss, especially their Consigliere?” The Brum Don shook his head, a look of disappointment on his face. “Who would try to handle things diplomatically?”

          It was threat after threat. “That is a good question, sir,” said Nikolai. He flexed his fingers on both hands and put them on his knees. “I know Nazyalensky can be diplomatic if need be. But I also know she prefers to use rather drastic measures than talking. ‘It’s the easier way’, she always says. I would have to agree with her at certain times.”

          “Are you implying something?”

          Nikolai plastered a grin on his face. “Only the fact that you’d be facing lesser diplomatic meetings with the Lantsovs if I ever not make it out of here alive,” he said. A soft ping resounded, and he took out his phone from his coat pocket. He checked the alert, his grin turning smug and menacing, the kind that people rarely see the Lantsov Consigliere ever did. “And that you’d probably be dealing with it sooner than you thought.”

          A look of confusion bloomed on the Don’s face, and then, as if on cue, the telephone on the side of his desk blared, the sound startling Jarl and making him jump slightly on his seat. He looked at it with suspicion. Nikolai wanted to laugh, but he figured that it would be rude. Besides, the whole ordeal wasn’t done yet—a lot could still happen, and he was still reeling from the effects of the poison. But he could already see the odds on their side.

          “I would answer that if I were you,” Nikolai said calmly, his fingers finding the lid of his lighter again. He flicked it open and back close. He could still feel the strain in his hand, but at least it he could move it properly again. “It’s probably important.”

          Jarl narrowed his eyes at him. “What’s your deal, Consigliere? Why are you really here?”

          “Just answer the telephone, sir. Maybe it will give you the answer.”

          There was another tense silence. The Brum Don suddenly didn’t look like he was having fun trying to get him cornered. This was the best part for Nikolai, the thrill he always got whenever the upper hand his enemies had against him was suddenly taken away from them and he would watch them crumble slowly and back away until they were the ones cornered instead of him. It was such a satisfying view to watch. 

          And Nikolai were to look at it now, it was exactly how he wanted it. One didn’t just easily get Jarl Brum on the edge of his seat. 

          “Well?” Nikolai mused.

          The frown on Brum Don’s face only deepened, and then reluctantly, he reached for the telephone and slowly raised the receiver near his ear. A few beats, and then, “Yes?”

          Nikolai watched the man’s face pale, his eyes shifting everywhere with the look of evident panic in them. His hand tightened around the receiver until his knuckles were almost white from gripping it too much. There was just so much anger radiating off of him that Nikolai was surprised the Don hadn’t even pointed a gun at him yet. 

          Then Jarl’s attention snapped to him after a moment, his eyes murderous with every intent to kill. Nikolai returned his look with an innocent grin, and the Don’s jaw was set in complete rage. If were some other person, he knew he would have cowered back in fear. But years trying to prove himself he was worthy to be an official member of the Lantsov family despite his bloodline contributed a lot to the name he had built for himself. 

          The Demon Prince of Halmhend—the people had whispered his name in both awe and fear. And with each dark and nasty scar and blood he got on his hands, the stronger his reputation grew. He would get the job done, and he would use whatever method he had to, even if it meant having to have a staredown with death himself.

          It would take much more than some Don’s murderous look to derail Nikolai from his goal. 

          He watched patiently as the Don put back the receiver to the cradle, his dark gaze turning from enraged to cold fury, like he had finally accepted whatever was said to him in the call. Jarl stared down at him for another long moment, and Nikolai could practically see the gears in the man’s head working. 

          “Alright, Consigliere. You made your point.” The Don kept his face expressionless, but his eyes told Nikolai otherwise. “What do you really want?”

          Finally. “Stop the unnecessary attacks and killings,” Nikolai said. “You can’t keep that act up and expect the others not to turn against you.”

          “No one would dare go against us. We both know that.”

          “It’s because we’re still holding back.”

          A shadow passed over Jarl’s face, and his expression darkened even more. “Is that a challenge?”

          “Maybe,” replied Nikolai. He reached up to fix his tie. “If I were to be honest, the Tabans could take you any day. They just don’t choose to. Waste of resources, they say. But really, I understand. It would be too easy for them.”

          “The Tabans don’t choose to fight because they’re cowards,” Jarl said with a huff. “Not because they don’t choose to do so.”

          Nikolai wrinkled his nose. “Tell that to Madam Makhi’s face, and you’ll see your throat by the end of her sword,” he said. He leaned forward as if to tell a secret. “She keeps a very sharp sword in her office, by the way. And she knows how to use it, so I don’t really suggest going against her.”

          Jarl shook his head, the smirk still evident on his lips. “And if I don’t agree to your motion? What can you possibly do with—”

          “You would find my family retaliating,” Nikolai cut him off, and the Don reared back in mild surprise. “The attacks would continue, and I will let it go on. Don’t try fighting in a war where you’re going to lose.” 

          The Don didn’t say anything after that. Nikolai gave him a smile, feeling a bit more confident than before that maybe they had driven Jarl Brum into a corner. Then, to his astonishment, Jarl did something entirely beyond his expectation.

          He laughed.

          And it wasn’t the desperate type but rather a genuinely amused one, like he had just heard the funniest joke that Nikolai could have ever done. Instantly, his grin faded. Jarl Brum was actually laughing. Nikolai could only look back at the Brum Don with utter confusion as uneasiness settled in his gut. The man acted as if he was one step ahead of them, and whatever confidence Nikolai had in himself the moment he stepped inside the man’s office was gone. 

          “The White Island, huh?” Jarl said through his laughs. He shook his head, dramatically reaching up to wipe the nonexistent tears from his eyes. "That hotel is quite a sight, but its location in Ulensk is utter shit. You can burn it down all you want, I wouldn't mind. You didn't have to hide the fact you would raid it just to make a point."

          Dread washed over Nikolai. It felt like this was the real poison taking effect in his system and halted his thoughts completely. How in the saints' name did Jarl know about the raid? Were Tolya and Tamar safe? Which part of the Don's terrified look had been real? 

          He watched the Brum Don stand from his seat and walked to the drawers behind his desk. He bent down to pull a bottle of wine out along with two glasses, humming happily as he went along. It was a baffling sight to see Jarl’s shift in his demeanor, especially from the perspective of a person who knew their way around manipulating their own emotions. 

          Was this how he looked like to other people? Awful and terrifying? 

          "You're a lot silent now, Consigliere," mused Jarl as he poured wine onto the two glasses. He didn't even need to turn around for Nikolai to know that the man was having fun having the upper hand once again. "Did I surprise you?" 

          Nikolai's hand clenched into a fist to keep it from trembling badly with suppressed fury. It wasn't the right time to act yet. He glared at the Brum Don's back, and with slow, silent movements, he carefully reached for the knife under his lapel and slipped it in the edge of his sleeve. The distress and fear clouding his mind may have been overwhelming enough to make him unable to answer, but he wasn't going to let any chances slide. The Brum Don took his silence as a cue to continue. 

          "Ah, don't worry. Your guys leading the raid in White Island Hotel is fine," said Jarl with a light laugh. "I didn't put extra security there tonight on purpose. So your guys are probably done turning the place upside down by now." Then he paused, lifting his head up to stare out the glass window in front of him. "It's actually your people who went to the arms factory I'm worried about." 

          Whatever composure Nikolai had in himself crumbled to nothing. No—

          "You're probably wondering how I knew about it. Well, like you, I have my informants too. And that huge shipment of firepower last week? What other reasons did the Lantsovs have to have that kind of shipment aside from going to war? Doesn't need to take a genius to figure that out." Jarl walked back to his desk and placed the other glass of wine he was holding in front of Nikolai. "And what's the most convenient thing to hit during a war? The arms factory and its warehouse. It's only our luck that you sent Nazyalensky to her own demise. I did put more security in that place." 

          For once, Nikolai didn't have anything to say back. He usually prided himself of being able to make people bow down to his wishes, even if it meant threatening them to the extremes or just simply having a conversation with them. 

          And yet the mere thought of Zoya in danger was enough to spiral him out of his thoughts.

          "I did surprise you now, didn't I?" Jarl chuckled, taking another sip from his glass. "You see, this is what I meant when I said no one dares to go against us. I'm always a step ahead."

          Nikolai gritted his teeth, clenching his hands into fists to keep himself from lunging at the Don. "What did you do to her?" 

          "Do settle down, Consigliere. She's not in danger. Oh, at least not yet. I haven't given them any orders." He paused, frowning as if he had said something wrong. "But that may change in a moment. Unless you do something for me." 

          "What do you want?" 

          Jarl raised an eyebrow. "That was fast, I haven't even blinked," he said. "It's quite a sight to see the great Lantsov Consigliere quickly bow down just because his woman is in danger." 

          "Just say your conditions, Jarl." 

          "You will agree to sign a contract that would legally make the Lantsovs as the Brums' subsidiary." 

          Nikolai looked at the Don with utter disbelief like he had just grown another head on his shoulder. Jarl must have been joking. Maybe Zoya was alright and had already handled the situation at Halmhend. Nikolai's irritation suddenly flared. His thinking was becoming too unstable—which wasn't ideal for his current situation. And if he continued to let Jarl’s words get to him, he would certainly lose this fight. 

          "In fact, it's still quite a generous offer." Jarl tipped his head in respect. "It's for seeing through that coffee I gave you. And even surviving it." 

          "And what if I don't?" Nikolai asked, voice nearly a hiss. 

          Jarl smiled. “Then Nazyalensky dies. Very simple.” 

          “How do I know you’re not bluffing?”

          Then as if on cue, Nikolai’s phone rang again, tearing his attention away from wanting to lunge at the Don. He looked at the screen, and it showed a restricted number was trying to make a call. And even though it didn't exactly show who was calling, Nikolai already knew who was on the other line. 

          "I would answer that if I were you," said Jarl, his tone smug as he repeated Nikolai’s line from earlier. With a confident smile that almost ticked off the last Nikolai’s patience, Jarl added, "It's probably important." 

          Nikolai looked down at his phone again, thinking that maybe if he stared hard enough at the bright numbers glaring back at him, the call would stop and prove that the Brum Don was just bluffing. 

          But when it continued to ring, it stabbed fear into his heart. Zoya never called him during an operation, only quick signals and messages. 

          "Well?" Jarl mused. He took a sip from his own glass and raised an eyebrow. "Nazyalensky won't wait all night." 

          The urge to act upon his anger was now stronger than his will to keep on a neutral face, and yet Nikolai still held back. He wouldn't do anything unless he was sure he had every reason to. 

          But the mention of Zoya's name from this despicable man's lips was making it hard to keep himself from killing the Don. 

          "If you lay even one finger on her," Nikolai said, voice low with threat, "I will burn every single place you have until the flames reach you and you will be burning down with them." 

          A shadow passed on Jarl’s face, but it was gone as soon as Nikolai could blink, and there was the sneer on his face again. "Just answer the call, Consigliere." 

          Nikolai did what he was told and he swiped the icon to the right. He slowly put the phone to his ear, his gaze never wavering from Jarl. 

          The other line was quiet, except for the occasional strained breathing in the background. He fought the urge to call out for her name—it wasn't the time to give the Brum Don more leverage against him. So he waited. 

          Zoya, he pleaded in his mind. Please be alright. 

          It was a desperate thought, one he hoped that would be true, because he would have to settle for the last resort and the Don wouldn't see another sunrise after tonight. 

          There was another silence, more ragged breathing. Nikolai's vision was starting to tunnel as he fought for composure, and Don's smirk was only adding fuel to the fire in him that was waiting to be ignited. 

          A beat, and there was a pained voice that said, "Nikolai—" 

          Something in Nikolai snapped, and he was suddenly flicking the knife out from his sleeve and then hauled it at Jarl Brum. 

          It hit the man on his shoulder hard enough for his chair to tip back, and he fell over with a shout. Nikolai shot up from his own chair and slid over the Don's desk, landing on the ground next to the man and kicking the man's arm even before he could reach for the alarm button under the edge of the table. He kept Jarl's arm pinned to the floor with his foot, and when the Don tried to reach for Nikolai's ankle with his other free arm, he pressed his foot harder against the man's arm he was sure he heard a soft crack.

          Dizziness hit nim like a tidal wave that almost threw him off balance. His vision swayed. Waiting for his body to adapt to the toxins would still take a bit of time, but he was being driven by his rage that he almost forgot he wasn’t here to kill the Don.

          "Did I catch you off guard?" Jarl asked with a strained laugh. "She really is your soft spot, eh? If I had known earlier I would have—" 

          Nikolai didn’t let him finish and brought his foot down with force, completely breaking the man's wrist. Jarl opened his mouth to let out a scream of pain, but Nikolai's other foot had already hit the Don across face before he could make a sound. Blood dripped from the side of the man's lips, and he spit it out to the side. 

          “I would watch that mouth of yours if I were you,” Nikolai said. With casual ease, he nudged the handle of the knife with his toe, and it earned another shout from the man. A smirk twitched on his lips at the sound of the Don's agony. There was always something satisfying in hearing your enemies scream in pain. "Not looking so tough now, aren't you, sir? But do scream all you want. Your office is soundproof, isn’t it?" 

          Despite himself, Jarl still hadn't cowered back in fear. If possible, he only became much angrier than when Nikolai was goading him before. "The Families would know about this assault," he said through gritted teeth. "You're making a big mistake by attacking the Brum Don." 

          "Am I now?" Nikolai leaned closer, resting his elbow on his bent knee. He reached out his other hand and patted Jarl on the cheek. The man flinched under his touch. "And 'Brum Don'? All I see is a dead man."

          Jarl’s eyes widened in fear. "You won't kill me." 

          Nikolai huffed lightly. "That's what our enemies in Halmhend used to say." He shrugged, and then reached for the Don’s uninjured arm. "Look where it got them." 

          With a hard tug on the man’s wrist, Nikolai kicked the desk until it was farther away from Jarl’s reach. He wasn’t taking any chances of the Don trying to sneak and alarm his men to his office. At least not just yet. They had the time for games later. Nikolai dragged Jarl to the wine drawer, throwing him off to the small wooden doors with a resounding thump. 

          Jarl groaned in pain, and yet it still sounded restrained as if he were keeping himself from making another shout. He was cradling his broken wrist on his lap, shoulder hunched forward enough for him to not show his face. 

          Nikolai raised an eyebrow. "Don't be shy now, I know you want to shout," he said as he grabbed the Don's fallen chair, standing it upright again and pulling it in front of Jarl before sitting down. He pulled out the lighter from his pocket. "I don't like it when they don't scream in pain."

          There was no answer for a long moment, with the Don still in his hunched position. Nikolai eyed him sideways. The man's shoulders were shaking with every breath he drew, and the spot where the knife was lodged continued to leak of blood. 

          It was new to him to see Jarl Brum in such a vulnerable state. But he was still trying to put up the tough persona a Don should have, and Nikolai was determined to break him slowly. Inflicting immense pain was one of the strengths Nikolai learned in the streets that gave birth to his name.

          “Still good, sir?” he asked in mock wonder. “You’re not as strong as I thought.”

          The man shot up from his place on the floor, his other arm stretched out as if to reach for Nikolai’s neck, but the Consigliere had already anticipated it. He simply leaned back and grabbed the man by both of his arms. His movements stopped. 

          Nikolai gave him a sneer. "Courageous," he said with genuine respect. "But still slow."

          He kicked the man on the chest, sending him crashing back to the drawers in a heap. Then Nikolai brought his foot down to Jarl’s ankle this time. There was another resounding crack, followed by a howl of pain. He almost smiled. 

          "Now that's the shout," Nikolai said. He stared down at the Don with pity. Jarl looked incredibly smaller for the Brum Don that terrorized everyone else. It was amusing to see how pain made anyone kneel to its extremities. "I thought your pride would still forbid you to scream. Make it louder for me, yeah? It sounds better." 

          "What do you want, Lantsov?" Jarl spat as if the name were some poison that stung his mouth. “Or should I say Opjer?”

          Nikolai’s jaw ticked in annoyance. He knows too much. "Not 'Consigliere' anymore? I feel sad about that, sir." He bent down and reached for the man's arm, bringing his hand close to him. He opened the lid of his lighter and put one of the Don's fingers in between the edge of the lid and the case. "I'll be brief, which I rarely do as I prefer talking more." He paused. "Call off your men."

          Jarl let out a laugh. "Too late for that, Nikolai. But I can almost assume that they're already leaving now that the threat was handled in the—" 

          Nikolai forced the lid of his lighter close, and the Don screamed in pain. The tip of his finger was set in an odd angle, with blood leaking from the damaged nail. It dripped onto Nikolai’s hand and his wrist, and then to the cuff of his sleeve. He inwardly winced in displeasure. It could be taken care of later. 

          He kept his expression impassive and moved to another finger. "Call off your men," he repeated. 

          Jarl’s face was twisted in cold rage, but there was no denying the agony he was under that he was still trying to put up with. When he didn’t answer, Nikolai closed the lighter onto the man’s next finger. Another howl of agony. He moved to another finger. 

          “Eight remaining fingers, eight remaining chances,” he said. “I will say it again. Call off your men, Jarl. I’m still being generous with giving you chances.”

          The man only smirked, and just as Nikolai was about to break off another finger, a loud thump resounded somewhere behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. The doors to Jarl’s office were rattling, almost threatening to come off its hinges. The Don's men had a good way of knocking.

          "As I've said," Jarl wheezed, making Nikolai turn back to him, "too late to do that." 

          Nikolai tsked. "Very well," he said, and then clamped the lid to the man's third finger. He let go of his arm, and Jarl crumpled down to the ground. "A reward for being able to sneak past me." 

          His men were still trying to barge the doors down, but they were almost succeeding in doing so when Nikolai caught a glimpse of the light outside the hall through the small space by the door that was beginning to grow wider. He turned back to the Don. 

          "Let's make you a bit more presentable, shall we?" said Nikolai. 

          He grabbed the man by the collar and forced him to stand before dragging him to the chair. Jarl wheezed in pain as he tried to fight back, but both of his hands were so badly damaged he couldn't make use of them. The Don could only give Nikolai as much as a glare. 

          He forced the man back down to the chair. "No need to look so angry, sir." 

          "You won't get out of here alive, Lantsov," growled Jarl. "You are totally outnumbered. My men would—" 

          "Ah" —Nikolai patted the man on the cheek— "let's not get ahead of our predictions. Let me borrow this for a second." He swiftly pulled out the knife from Jarl’s shoulder. "I'll be right back." 

          "You and Nazyalensky are goners, Consigliere. Both of you are not going to make it through the night." 

          "We'll see about that." 

          Nikolai eyed the still rattling doors, and glanced at the bloodied knife in his hand. He would be at a total disadvantage, he knew, but it was better than having nothing. Besides, he'd had far much worse situations that he got out of, some that involved using bare hands and teeth just to survive. 

          Tonight wasn't any different either. 

          He approached the doors just as there was finally the sound of a wood splintering, and he pressed himself against the wall beside the entryway. With a twist of his knife in his hand, he reached up to remove the tie around his neck with his other, letting the ends fall loose onto his shirt. It would only be a hindrance to his movements. 

          The doors barged open and men in gray overcoats came rushing in. Nikolai tightened his grip around the knife and counted heads. Seven. Jarl should have invited more.

          The man nearest to him hadn't noticed him yet, and he took his chance. 

          Nikolai stepped forward and pushed his knife behind the man's throat. 

          One. 

          He immediately pulled the knife out, letting it fly towards the other Soldier to his right. Blood spurted from the man's neck. He crumpled to the ground with a gurgling sound. 

          A sneer twitched on his lips. 

          Two. 

          He started humming. The remaining men finally turned to him with their guns raised, but Nikolai was already on the move. He collided with the third one. His hand closed around the gun barrel and the other to the man's hand, pointing the gun to the other Soldiers. 

          Nikolai pulled the trigger. It hit the other Soldier on the head. 

          Three. 

          He turned a bit to the left and fired twice on the fourth Soldier's chest. 

          Four. 

          Nikolai twisted, using the third Soldier as a shield just as the shots erupted. The body convulsed as it took the barrage of bullets. Then the shots stopped, and he pressed the barrel under the man's chin before pulling the trigger. 

          Five. 

          He grabbed the gun, aimed over the dead man's shoulder, and fired at the other Soldier. He immediately crumpled on the ground after the bullet went straight through his skull. 

          Six. 

          With a push, Nikolai finally let the body fall to the ground. He turned to find the last Soldier, but he wasn't fast enough.

          A shot rang out, and pain burst on his ear. He stopped humming and blinked. The remaining Soldier looked at him with a terrified expression, his hand trembling so badly as if he was out enduring the cold winter night. Then he dropped the gun completely and he fell to the ground. 

          Nikolai approached him slowly, like a predator cornering his prey. The Soldier started to back away. But the tremors quaking his body were too much that he couldn't even move fast enough. 

          A moment later, Nikolai was hovering above him, with the barrel of the gun pointed at his face, and he immediately raised a hand to protect himself. 

          "No—" 

          But Nikolai already pulled the trigger before the Soldier could even plead, and he crumpled to the ground on the pool of blood from the hole in his head. 

          Seven. 

          The room went silent again. Nikolai reached a hand up to his ear, feeling the sticky wetness around it along with the sting of pain. When he looked at his hand, his fingers were drenched in blood. He huffed. At least they were able to nick him. 

          He turned back to Jarl, who was still sitting idly on his office chair, the expression on his face was a mix of horror and bewilderment.

          "There'd be more of them in a few moments, right?" Nikolai asked mildly as he went and got his knife from the Soldier's neck. He wiped it at the edge of the Soldier's gray coat, staining it red. Then he put it back behind the lapel of his coat. “How many are there left?”

          At the Don’s silence, he scoffed. He walked back to Jarl by the desk, grabbing the man by his collar and forcing him up to his remaining good foot. It’d have to do. An audience was still an audience no matter how few they were, and he wanted Jarl to see every drop of blood shed by his men for everything they had done, and for every life they had ruined. 

          For hurting Zoya.

          Because in the end, he would rather let himself be the one to end all this rather than branding himself as a traitor for selling his own Family out and risking any chances of putting Zoya's life on the line even more. He could only hope Tamar would be able to reach her on time. 

          There was no turning back from this. 

          This tyranny had to end tonight, as it would only continue until the point of time where no one could stop them. 

          It was time to be the monster that he had been once more. 

          Nikolai dragged Jarl outside the doors of the office. “Let the hunting party start, then.”

---

Zoya struggled against the restraints bounding her hands behind her. But then pain shot up to her side from where a bullet had grazed her during the shootout earlier. She grit her teeth, glaring at the man in front of her. She would definitely break his neck the moment she got free. 

          The storage room where they had been holding her was guarded with three other men in gray overcoats. They looked stiff and alert, their guns poised readily to aim at her the moment she tried to do something funny. Zoya wanted to laugh. She understood the hostility around her, especially when there's only several of them left in the warehouse. 

          It was supposed to be much lesser than Zoya had expected—the arms warehouse should have been empty except for a few guards on patrol and a Brum Soldier staying in the upstairs office. 

          But instead of that, Zoya had walked straight up into a trap instead, with the number of Jarl’s men tripling and they were being led by Ivor Kravchenko, the notorious Brum caporegime known for his brutal tendencies when it came to taking down his enemies. 

          She had come to think that there might have been a leak of their own plans to orchestrate the simultaneous attacks against the Brums. They had been able to reduce a great number from Jarl’s men, but it cost all the lives of Zoya's men that were with her during the attack. Their blood would forever be on her hands. 

          The other thing she could hope for now was that Nikolai and the twins were alright on their sides of this predicament. 

          “You shouldn’t have left your Don’s compound,” she said. It was taking a lot of her remaining strength to speak. "You all left your boss' to the wolf's mercy." 

          The man, whom Zoya remembered as Ivor and Jarl's notorious caporegime, gave a dark laugh. "A wolf, you say? It doesn't matter, a lone wolf is no match for a whole pack," said the caporegime. "Your Consigliere might even be dead by now. Just like the rest of your men here. Don't get too cheeky now." 

          Zoya's rage flared, the urge to make the man suffer stronger than before. "You seem to be forgetting that I killed half of your men alone," she said. "You better make sure I don't get out of these bounds because it will be your blood spilled on the ground next." 

          This seemed to annoy Ivor, making him step forward in haste with a murderous expression on his face. But then he stopped abruptly as if he had just remembered something, and he straightened back up. "I could kill you right now and be done with it, Nazyalensky," he said in a low voice. "But I still just choose not to. It's fun to see the great Lantsov Underboss tied down at the Brums mercy." 

          "Chose not to, or you're still waiting for your Don to give the order like a good puppy you are?" Zoya said back, savoring the look of new rage on the caporegime's face. She gave him a sharp smile. "It's been an hour since you called my Consigliere and tried to rattle him down. You haven't even heard from Jarl ever since then." 

          Ivor snarled, and then he was grabbing at Zoya's hair and pulling her head back, his knife suddenly pressed to her cheek. Zoya smirked triumphantly. It was so easy to derail him—the whole Brum Family if possible. They were all bombs that were ready to detonate at any time. 

          This would be fun when she finally had him under her mercy later. But having to reach that point seemed very difficult and almost next to impossible, especially when there were ropes bounding her hands. 

          An realization dawned in her head when her eyes trailed down the knife near her face. She just had to make the man drop it somehow. 

          "Do not test me, Nazyalensky," Ivor growled as he pressed the knife harder to her skin. Zoya felt a trickle of blood run down her face. He traced the blood with the knife point lightly before hovering it to her skin again. "I can be merciless at certain times." 

          As can I, Ivor. "Suits you, then," said Zoya simply. "I have the freedom to choose when to be merciless. Unlike you, who still has to wait for a go signal from his person before he can bite."

          With a growl, Ivor tugged at her hair harder. "Did you know what Jarl told me before I left to go handle the mess you will try to stage here?" he hissed. "He said that the Lantsov Consigliere and Underboss are the ones keeping their Family upright. If they were the ones to go first, they would all crumble, and he planned to do just that." Ivor smiled wickedly, the kind that spoke of a triumph gotten from a dirty play. "Starting with your Consigliere. I wonder how things would be if the Don suddenly decides to get rid of him."

          She clenched her fists behind her, her fury burning cold in her blood. Nikolai was a lot smarter than the others give him credit for. There was never a dire situation that he hadn't gone through before—he could always find a way out of anything.

          But their current standpoint only struck fear and doubt to Zoya. He was in their enemy's nest, the place where they had the absolute authority on everything. She had been reluctant for him to go alone, and yet he had insisted, saying that he had a plan just in case something went wrong. 

          And now that there had been a hole in their planned attack, Zoya could only hope that his plan didn't involve him risking his life more than he already did. 

          She would come and drag him out of hell if needed to. 

          "I'm pretty sure your Consigliere would run out of ideas at some point," added Ivor thoughtfully. "Tonight might be the time."

          You can all dream. 

          Zoya gave a short laugh, and then she tipped her head back and struck Ivor's nose with her forehead. 

          The man shouted as he pushed back from her, dropping his knife and putting a hand up to his face. She quickly took the advantage and tipped the chair down sideways. Pain shot up to her side when she hit the floor, and her vision blacked out for a few moments. The blow to her head earlier only added to the dizziness that made her vision spin. But she shook the ache away and her hands felt around for the knife from the floor as the three men were still occupied with coddling their boss. 

          When she finally grasped the knife handle, she immediately tucked it to the insides of her sleeve before looking back up to Ivor. 

          Blood seeped through his fingers that were tightly holding his now broken nose, and his face was scrunched up in pain. Zoya felt a laugh bubble from her chest. 

          "Can't even take a hit, eh?" she called to Ivor, who only glared at her with a murderous glint in his eyes. "Come and train with our men, you'll learn how to brush off a punch to your jaw like it's merely dust." 

          Ivor let out an angry growl and started to walk his way to her again, but one of his Soldiers stopped him. 

          "There aren't any orders for us to kill her yet, sir," the Soldier said with finality. He looked a bit younger than the other men, but he  had a sway on them that even Ivor stopped to consider his actions. "We should be patient." 

          Zoya huffed silently. Another well-trained pup, then. 

          The door to the room suddenly opened, and another one of Jarl’s men appeared by the threshold. "Sir," he said, gesturing outside, "it's urgent." 

          Ivor sighed in frustration. He gave Zoya another pointed look before turning to one of his men again. "Get her up and keep a close eye on her," he said stiffly, still holding a hand to his nose. "I might finally be allowed to kill her after." 

          With one last low gaze to Zoya, he stomped off the storage room. She huffed in amusement as she watched the Caporegime's retreating form disappear by the doorway. 

          "Petty ass," she muttered. But when Ivor's footsteps finally receded, she slid out the knife from her sleeve and started to cut through the ropes.

          It was the younger Soldier that moved to lift her chair upright, his movements brusque and rough it made the pain on Zoya's side shoot up again.  

          "Easy with the moving, will you?" she hissed at the Soldier. 

          He sneered at her, pushing the chair roughly back down to its feet instead. "Witch," he hissed back, and Zoya had to laugh. The Soldier pointed the gun under her chin. "The only thing keeping me from firing is that the Don didn't want you dead just yet, and we're just waiting for the go signal." He pressed the barrel to her chin harder for emphasis. "Don't get too smug." 

          Men and their egos. "Sure thing, hon," said Zoya mildly with a shrug. 

          It seemed to be enough for the Soldier as he put down the gun and started to back off. But then ropes finally cut loose, and a smirk twitched at her lips. She kept her arms behind her and flipped the knife in her hand so that it pointed forward. 

          "Lapdog," she muttered, making sure the Soldier heard her. 

          And he did, because he suddenly stopped walking and turned to her again, a look of rage evident on his face. His jaw was set when he reached her again in a few quick strides. 

          He bent down and grabbed at her face. "What did you say, you—" 

          His next words came out in a gurgling mess when Zoya's hand shot up and pushed the knife into the man's throat. 

          She reached for the man's gun with her other hand just as the two other men noticed what was happening. She aimed and fired at the two of them before they could even raise their guns to shoot, and they crumpled to the ground with a thud. 

          The Soldier clawed at his neck desperately, his movements panicked. Zoya looked at him pitifully before yanking the knife out. The man fell to the ground. 

          She wiped her bloodied hand and knife to the squirming man's coat for a moment, staining the fabric blood red. His other hand still tried to reach for her ankle, but Zoya merely stepped away. 

          Then she pointed the gun to the Soldier's face. "For gunning down my men," she said before shooting him in the head. 

          He slumped to the ground, lifeless. Zoya winced at the sudden sting that pierced her side, and she almost doubled over. She checked her wound. The long line of the bullet graze was still oozing with blood, but much lesser than before. She would have to put up with it for now; she needed to have a talk with Ivor first. 

          Rushed footsteps echoed outside just as she neared the door. She immediately pressed herself against the wall beside the doorway and waited. A few moments later, the door barged open, and Ivor and another man came rushing in. 

          They hadn't noticed her yet, and Zoya sprang. 

          She raised her gun and shot the Soldier in the head. Ivor turned just as she aimed the gun to his thigh and pulled the trigger. He reared back with a shout, and Zoya swiped the gun up and whacked him across the face with the stock. Ivor crashed to the floor. 

          But when she finally got a closer look at the man's face, she realized it wasn't Ivor at all. The Soldier was only wearing the Caporegime's coat. 

          Zoya gritted her teeth as she pointed her gun to the man. "Where's Ivor?" she hissed. 

          He didn’t answer, and it made her anger flare even more. She put her finger closer to the trigger. 

          "Where—" 

          A crack of gunshot, and then a flash of excruciating pain on her other side just below her ribs. Zoya backed a few steps, dropping her gun and putting a hand to her side. When she checked on it after a moment, her palm was already covered in red. 

          "Miss me?" Ivor called out from the door. 

          Zoya didn’t have the strength to turn completely, and she crashed to the floor. The surroundings blurred into a mess of colors, the sudden flash of lights adding to the swaying of her vision. She put a hand to her wound, and she stifled a groan when another wave pain shot up to her body. 

          Ivor's figure appeared in her line of vision, his steps slow and deliberate as if he had all the time in the world. Zoya could only do as much as glare at the Caporegime, at the broken nose that had the faint traces of dried blood around it, and hoped for the Saints to give her enough strength to kill the guy right then. But her wishes were ignored and the pain only became worse. 

          "You think you could get out of my watch that easily?" He shook his head in disappointment. "I thought you were better than this."

          "Come closer and I'll show you," Zoya snarled. 

          "A real tough one, aren't you? Even as you lay dying, you can still make someone cower in fear." Ivor laughed loudly, and it was like the sound of a chair being scraped off a tiled floor. "I had to admit I was impressed on how you got that knife. That was neat."

          Zoya blinked. He had known? 

          As if he had heard her thoughts, Ivor chuckled darkly. "Oh, I did notice. That's why I staged a little dress up with one of my Soldiers here after the phone call. Always did the trick." 

          "Staged?" Zoya laughed, but it came out as a wheeze instead. "Did you really just use your men as bait just to kill me dramatically?" 

          "Ten points for Nazyalensky!" Ivor announced before raising his gun and pointing it at the Soldier he had made to wear his coat. "We're busted, unfortunately. Thank you for your service." Then he pulled the trigger. 

          Zoya winced at the sound of the dead body falling to the ground. She shook her head. "You're mad, Kravchenko." 

          "That, I am. But you know who's worse?" He bent down a little as if to tell some secret. Then he pointed two fingers at her. "You two." He paused to laugh again, and then he started pacing back and forth. 

          She took the small distraction to pull the handgun closer to her and hide it under her back. And when he stopped and stared back down at her, she noticed something strange. There was a wild look in his eyes, the deranged kind of glint of a paranoid man. 

          Ivor waved his gun carelessly in the air. "Oh, don't worry I finally have the order to kill you." 

          Zoya turned to her bad side slightly, bearing the pain that washed over her again and reaching for the gun she had hidden behind her. 

          "Worry not, Nazyalensky. You're going to meet your Consigliere soon," said Ivor. "The Don never planned to let your Consigliere get out of there alive, you know. The chance was too good to let it pass. He was a dead man the moment the Don accepted the meeting." 

          She knew Ivor was trying to get to her head, and she knew better that she shouldn't let it, but it was proving to be difficult when it was Nikolai’s safety being used against her. It was then she remembered this was what Ivor was known for—tormenting his enemies rights before he killed them. But Zoya knew to herself that she would have preferred physical torment than this. She wouldn't even have the chance to know if Nikolai was safe from any danger. 

          A bittersweet laugh bubbled from her chest. Even in near death circumstances, Nikolai was still her headache. She could only hope he would be able to get through tonight.

          Zoya gripped the gun tightly. She wouldn't this man torment her until her last breath. Not without bringing him down with me. 

          Ivor was seething when he was checking his gun chamber. Something was definitely wrong with him. Had something come up after that phone call? 

          "This is a payback to your Consigliere for acting stupidly. And for what he's done," he said and he shook his head, fury and annoyance evident on his face. "He's so going to pay for that. I can't wait to kill him myself—" He stopped abruptly and turned back to Zoya. "You'll meet him soon, Nazyalensky. Don't worry, I'll make it—" 

          With what's left of her strength, Zoya lifted her arm and fired at the Caporegime, emptying the whole gun's whole clip at him. Ivor convulsed with every bullet he took, his eyes wide in shock as if he couldn't believe what had just happened. 

          When the gun only gave a click, Zoya let her arm fall. A triumphant smirk twitched at her lips as she watched Ivor's bewildered expression. His hand fell limp at his side, and he looked down at the holes on his chest. 

          A scoff tore from his throat, and along with it came blood that leaked from his lips. His expression turned from shocked to angry in a blink. With a shaking hand, he pointed his gun back at her. "You witch—" 

          There was a crack of gunshot. Zoya closed her eyes and waited for the momentary pain before the end. 

          But it didn't come. 

          There was a loud thud, like the sound of a body falling to the floor, and she opened her eyes again. 

          Ivor lay on the floor, lifeless, his wide, empty eyes still open. Blood started to pool around his body all too quickly.

          "Zoya," a familiar voice said. 

          Through her blurry vision, Zoya could make out a figure of a woman approaching her in rush. Tamar. 

          She immediately held out her hand, and felt Tamar take it right away. The woman's other hand came to put pressure on her wound. "You're okay," Zoya said. Her breaths were starting to come out in short bursts. "Is Tolya—" 

          "He's fine, General, you should think of yourself first. Save your breath. You'll be fine." Tamar let go of her hand to pull out her phone. She dialled a number and started speaking to someone, but the words faded into echoes of distorted sounds. 

          A moment later Zoya heard Tamar's voice again. "Stay with me, Nazyalensky." She clasped at her hand, gripping it tightly as if it would give Zoya enough life again if she held on tighter. 

          Nikolai, Zoya wanted to ask her. Is he safe? 

          But the pain and exhaustion were too overwhelming for her to stay awake, and she found her grip on Tamar's hand loosening with every ragged breath she drew. 

        Have I done enough? 

        She didn't know. 

        Be safe, idiot. 

        She took another breath. 

        Then everything went dark. 

***

Zoya opened her eyes. 

        Immediately, a dull throb washed over her body that almost made her pass out again, but the gentle touches she felt on her hand kept her anchored down to consciousness. She drew in a shaky breath. 

        She was still alive. She has survived the ordeal. Tamar and Tolya were safe too and—

        Nikolai. 

        Where was he? Was he alive? 

        Zoya turned to her right in haste, but she stopped when she spotted a mess of blond hair on her bedside. The grip on her hand tightened, and she felt her eyes sting. 

        He's okay. 

        "Hey," she said, voice still rough from sleep. 

        Nikolai instantly bolted upright. He looked like a mess, with his hair ruffled and the bruises and cuts on his face. There were traces of dried blood on the side of face down to his collar, his coat, and even on the edge of his sleeves. His hands were no different; the skin around his knuckles were torn open and red. But the worse one he got was his left ear—or what was left of it. He was tired and in pain, and yet he only had the look of utter relief and warmth in his eyes when he looked at her and smiled.

        There was an unexpected prick in her heart. Zoya wanted to reach out and hold him to her, to tell him that she was glad he was alive, but she couldn’t do anything of those as her body still felt heavy like lead due to the exhaustion and medication. 

        A tear fell down from his eye, and Nikolai quickly wiped it away with a tired laugh. Then he shifted closer, his hand reaching out to smooth the hair away from her forehead. She closed her eyes and leaned against his touch almost immediately. 

        “You’re a mess, dear,” he said, his tone light with amusement. 

        Zoya huffed weakly. “You should see yourself.” She nodded at his state of dress. "It's not you to have your suit ruined like that." 

        “There’s always a first one, you know.” Nikolai gave her a wink. “Just not the thing I prefered. I can always throw it in the laundry, though.”

        “You, doing the laundry? I know you’ll break the washing machine first before you can get anything done,” she said, and Nikolai laughed lightly. A small smile appeared on her lips, and she laced their fingers together. What she expected to be a gentle touch was a trembling grip instead. His hand was badly shaking. Concern washed over her as she looked at him in worry. “Nikolai?”

        “I’m fine. I just—” Nikolai stopped. He laughed again, but it sounded more like a sob of relief instead. He shook his head. “You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered. He still looked like he was about to break any moment, but it was gone in a blink and he put on his signature grin that brightened up his features. “But I guess I didn’t have to worry that much now, yeah?”

        Tears stung Zoya’s eyes again, and she smiled ruefully. I almost lost you too. But she covered it up with a smirk.  “They can’t get rid of me that easily.”

        "I know." 

        Silence fell around them. It was unusual for her to have a quiet as she was used to hearing all types of noises, whether it be the angry and rising tones during meetings or the gunfire that followed after when the negotiations went wrong. Even at nights, which was supposed to be when everything was in peace, were still haunted by the voices of the people who had died under her jurisdiction, and their blood was on her hands. 

        Having this moment struck dread to her, because good things, even the smallest ones, always came with a price. And she wasn't entirely sure if she was willing to give up anything. 

        "Do tell me your thoughts, dearest Zoya," Nikolai said, breaking the silence. He smiled as he continued his ministrations on her hair. "When you're quiet like that, I'm worried that you might be planning someone's death." 

        Zoya huffed. "How can you be sure that it wasn't your death I was planning?"

        Nikolai chuckled. "Please, you can't plan something that's already done," he said in amusement, and then his face fell after a second as if he realized what he just said. He smiled but it was half-hearted than his usual ones. "I like being one step ahead, you know." 

        "What happened, Nikolai?" she asked softly, not wanting to risk him shying away. Her hand tightened its hold on his. "What did you do?" 

        "I did what I had to do," he said simply. There was a faraway look in his eyes as he stared down at their joined hands. He rubbed circles around her skin, his touch feather light. "There was no other way."

        "Did you—" Zoya stopped. She didn't want to say it. She wanted to believe that if she didn't, it could change the truth. But the defeated look in his eyes only solidified the truth. 

        “Jarl Brum is dead," Nikolai said. A sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he looked back up at her. “He died when his compound had caught on fire due to faulty gas pipes. And the Lantsov Consigliere died with him in the fire. It’s what the people would hear by morning.” He paused, and breathed in deep. Then he smiled his usual grin again. “He put up quite a fight, though. It ruined my suit doing it. What a sad mess.”

        Zoya could only stare at him in melancholy. She didn’t even have the heart to answer his joke back. That was their last resort. They both agreed that if things had turned out the worst, he would have to settle with killing the Don. But that was before, when they thought that their plans were foolproof.

        I should have known and done better.

        Nikolai must have seen the look on her face, because he shook his head gently and his grin turned into a rueful one. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do that to yourself. I don't regret doing anything,” he said. He took her hand in both of his. “He was going to force me to hand over the Lantsovs to them, saying he’ll have you killed if I don’t. It was a deadend. There was no guarantee they won’t hurt you even if I agree. And I was never going to sell us over, anyway.” He paused, drawing in a shaky breath. "I'd rather get hurt a thousand times more than lose you." 

        A tear finally fell from the side of her eye. If this was the price she had to pay for having this moment with him, she did not want it. She would give up anything else to pay the price. Just not this. Not him. 

        “So, I guess this is our last night together,” Zoya said, her voice breaking slightly. 

        His hand reached up to her face and wiped the tear with his thumb. There were also tears clouding his eyes. He nodded gently, the sad smile still on his lips. Zoya leaned in his hand. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I promise to annoy you to death so you would have enough spite for me to last in a long while.”

        Zoya huffed in amusement. She had never hated him so much than she did now. How could he make it sound so easy when he was going to leave? “I already have enough spite to last for the rest of my life.”

        Nikolai laughed back. “That’s good to hear.” 

        Another short silence filled the air, and Zoya looked him over. If it was the last time she would see him, she wanted to bask in the warmth radiating in his eyes and remember all the quirks he had, as if she hadn’t memorized everything about him before. 

        She lifted her hand slightly, and Nikolai went to hold it back in his. He turned his attention to her forearm, tracing the dark lines of the tattooed dragon on her skin. It felt like he was doing the same, memorizing a distinct feature of her that he would carry with him.

        “I’ve always thought this one’s cooler than my wolf one,” he said softly, running his fingers on her skin. “You always get cooler ones than me.”

        “Where would you go?” Zoya asked instead.

        Nikolai stopped his ministrations, his fingers coming back to lace with hers. “It would be better if no one knew,” he replied solemnly. “Besides, I wouldn’t stay in one place for long.” 

        Zoya took a deep breath. This was their reality, and she should know better than lament over it. She wasn’t the type to let emotions take over her. But for Nikolai Lantsov, she would always be willing to make an exception.

        “Maybe I can mail something from time to time,” he said. “Postcards and pictures, how do you feel about that?”

        “Are you trying to make me feel better?” 

        Her Consigliere chuckled lightly. “No, I am entirely serious.” He shrugged. “Mail is the safest thing to get something across without the risk of being traced.”

        Zoya shook her head with a light laugh. I’d take anything. “Whatever you say, corn salad,” she said, and Nikolai laughed. A wave of dizziness suddenly washed over through her. The medicine must be taking its effects now. No, not yet. A few more minutes. “When do you leave?” 

        A beat, and then Nikolai said, “Soon.” An amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You don’t have to be so excited.”

        “Idiot,” she mumbled. There was a twinge in her chest with the nickname she had of him, knowing that it would be the last time she could tell it to him in person. 

        Nikolai tightened his hold on her hand, and she felt it trembling again. His eyes were bright with tears when he said, “I’ll miss that nickname.” I’ll miss you, was what never said aloud, but Zoya heard it all the same.  

        I’ll miss you too. Zoya gave him a small smile. “Just look at the engraving in your lighter, it will remind you.” Another wave of dizziness hit her, and she found her eyes drooping slightly. 

        Zoya heard him laugh softly, making her blink to shake the drowsiness away. Nikolai reached up to brush at the hair on her forehead again. 

        “Go get some more rest,” he said. His hand came down to her cheek, and he gently caressed her skin with his thumb. “Don’t fight it, I know you’re still tired.”

        "I'm not tired," she grumbled back. 

        "Whatever you say, dear."

        Her eyes were starting to feel too heavy for her to stay awake, but she still fought the drowsiness from taking over so she could still see him for a little more time. 

        "Go rest," he said again. 

        Zoya squeezed his hand. She was never the first one to ask. To their world, everything was a trade—you give and take. A request meant a desperate wish, and you should always be willing to pay the price. 

        But she had already paid for it, and it was only fair if she wished for one final request. Be it a selfish, impossible kind. 

        "Stay?" she asked. Even just for a moment longer. "You've always made a good bodyguard." 

        Nikolai smiled softly. I can't, was what his eyes said, and yet, aloud, he still said, "Of course." He tucked the blankets higher to her shoulders, his movements gentle and careful. "Now go back to sleep. I'll be here."

        They both knew it was a lie. 

        Zoya closed her eyes, knowing she couldn't bear seeing him leave, and she'd rather have him do it while she was asleep. 

        Then he started humming. His shitty, off-tune humming. Her shoulders shook as her body racked with silent sobs, her eyebrows drawn tight together to keep her tears from falling. But they still did, anyway. 

        She felt him press his lips to her knuckles, and small droplets fall against her skin. She didn't even have to open her eyes to know that it was his tears. 

        "Good night, Nikolai," Zoya whispered in a shaky tone. Farewell. Be safe. 

        A short, heavy silence, and she heard him draw a ragged breath. "Good night, Zoya." Goodbye, Zoya. 

        His voice and the feel of his hand tight in hers were the last things she knew before sleep took over her. 

        And when Zoya finally slept, she dreamed that she would never have to let him go. 

***

News about the death of the Brum Don because of the fire that caught his compound was heard early on the next morning. Television news, radio, newspapers, and even the social media boomed with the word, and it spread like wildfire. 

        It went even bigger when the Lantsov Consigliere was also reported to have died along the fire, with all the current evidence proving that the fire had been intentional. But none of them pointed to Nikolai. The investigation was still open, and it will probably go on for quite a while. The only thing that lightened the burden on Zoya’s chest was knowing that he was alive. He had known how things would go beforehand, and made sure that none of them ended up implicating the Lantsovs.

        Always the well-prepared one.

        The chair where Nikolai had sat last night was empty, as if he wasn’t there at all. The only traces left of him was the lingering scent of his perfume and the dip on her bedside where he had laid his arms on as he watched her with all the warmth in his eyes, the same warmth he took with him when he left.

        Zoya felt her eyes sting with unwanted tears again as she looked out the window, but this time she didn’t try to keep them from falling. She smiled ruefully, a bittersweet feeling left in her heart. It was probably bad fate that had them cross paths, and it was also what separated them. But either way, it was still what had brought them together. She was thankful for that somehow, even if they only had limited time.

        But then it struck her, that it didn’t always have to be fate that should handle things. She was the Lantsov Underboss, the one who drove the saintsforsaken Family out of the mud with the Consigliere. If there was something they were good at, it was handling things their own way and bending the odds to their will.

        A near death experience had her questioning herself if she had done enough. She didn’t know the answer by then, but she did now.

        I am not done yet.

        She wouldn’t give up on Nikolai that easily. Even if it took her years to do it. She would bring him back. 

        Because she knew he would do the same for her. 

        I’ll see you again, Nikolai, she vowed. And it wouldn’t be the last. 

        Zoya would make sure of it.

***

A/N: if you’ve reached this far, please know i appreciate you ;-;

[cathrynhanel]

WRITEBLR intro

CATHRYNHANEL WRITEBLR INTRO

Hi ! my name is Cathryn, she/her, and I’ve been scouring writeblr for months now. I’m working on my debut novel (the beginning of a trilogy, if I do well). As I’m in the last stages of developmental editing, I thought about finally make an intro to my WIP :) I would, however, like to note that I’m part dyslexic, so apologies for any errors.

WIP INTRO !!!!

xoraa → environmentally eerie, psychological, adventurous.

narration → third person, present tense, multiple points of view (mostly just the protagonist). 

blurb → What lengths will you go to find an answer?

Xoraa was built to cut the last of civilization off from the rest of the world. After centuries of living in an isolated paradise, the only human engagement with the Outside — a seemingly malignant environment surrounding them, where extreme heat has scorched the earth and mysteriously wiped it clean of all signs of past civilization — has been Seekers; people who, despite warnings of what lies out there, have crossed the border and escaped.

In Xoraa, we join the latest assembly of Seekers. The group is made up of seven men and women, also known as P3-61. Sorsha Danno is the groups newly appointed member. As she escapes through malevolent landscapes with distrustful but desperate Seekers, days stretching into weeks, haunted by guilt and hunted by Xoraa's Elite Forces, Sorsha begins to penetrate the secrets of the Outside.

But with each discovery, she must confront disturbing truths about herself and the cruelty of the earth they live on. They head out expecting the unexpected, and the Outside delivers — but it's the past that follows with her across the border and the secrets the Seekers are keeping from one another that change everything.

NOW FOR SOME KEY CHARACTERS.

sorshadanno → 24 (bi), chocolate hair and eyes, a scar from her temple through her brow. 

Sorsha has lived with her grandmother for as long as she can remember, knowing little to nothing about her parents.

Generally, she is the type of person who is rational and consistent in her conclusions, often bottling her thoughts up. Her methods can sometimes be brutal and irrational. But as Niko often points out, she’s not focusing on the whole picture. 

Sorsha has very little patience for the Seeker’s feelings when it comes to whining about how tired they are; as she tells it, she’s teaching them how to fight for their lives, not for fun. But she does feel a low key desire to take care of them.

“Good is a point of view.”

jinx wilde → 33 (pan), tall, bleached coils cut close to her scalp, unblemished dark skin.

Jinx is the leader of the group. She is a closed person. Therefore, none of the Seekers knows anything about her past, other than her late daughter.

Usually, she is calm and composed. She stances tall, elegant, with the posture of an army general. Her movements are always careful and thought-out, not a thing out of place, much like her way of speech: speaking each word clearly. Because of all this, the Seekers look up to her and stand by her side with almost every request.

“One wears a mask for so long, they forget who they were beneath it.”

tychofadely → 26 (het), blond with crooked dimples and silver eyes.

Tycho is sarcastic and quick-witted, but also observant and analytical. He is all about connecting dots, theorising and identifying possibilities. He frequently thinks out loud, energetically or exasperatedly spewing ideas, often with references to pop culture.

He loves to express his feelings to his friends and is usually unnerved if they don’t reciprocate. He might even unintentionally put his feelings out there before he considers or becomes receptive to the feelings of those around him. Still, he cares about his friends and intends to do whatever he can to save them.

“Alright, it’s causing me severe mental anguish to say this, but he’s right.”

nikohorne → 26 (het), muscular hispanic, tall and broad with a haunting gaze.

Niko is restless. He’s always working on something privately, albeit subtly, from behind the scenes. He is aware of the whole of his environment and uses its details to improvise. He obviously enjoys fights and takes joy in wild physical stimuli.

He doesn’t have a well-developed feeling function. It is only shown as something that helps him determine whether it was righteous to go and take revenge on those who were participants in events he dislikes. And he doesn’t care what others think.

“I’ve got to say, I continue to be impressed with your ingenuity. But I think I’m just beginning to understand what kind of person you are.”

mara mccall → 20 (pan), light brown hair and moss eyes, plump pink lips and natural curves.

At first, Mara seems like the typical spoiled girl who knows nothing about the real world. In reality, she is a planner, but also impulsive in desiring immediate action. She can store enormous amounts of information in her mind and recalls facts with total clarity. 

Mara is super organised and efficient, but also very logical. The Seekers credit her with being a "genius". She has a natural instinct to learn anything she puts her mind to, feels a strong drive toward success and pursues the things she cares about most, staying very loyal to her friends.

“Sweetheart, we’ve got about half Xoraa’s Elites on our asses, I think we can handle a sewer.”

jagolekar → 37 (ace), dark-skinned medic, bald with a goatee, only has one eye.

Jago's personality can best be described as kindhearted, but also mysterious, likely due to his past that few of the Seekers know about. He does his best to keep his cards close to the vest, and he never reveals more information than is absolutely necessary. 

Despite his desire to maintain an air of secrecy, he has developed a very close bond with the Seekers. As a result, he does his best to help them as much as he can, while trying his best to come off assimply a surgeon. However, when danger strikes, he proves to be more than capable of protecting himself.

“A short-term solution to a long-term problem. You better make it work.”

terrencebalker → 38 (het), slender ginger who is pale and kind of pasty, wears turtlenecks.

Terrence is the main antagonist and works for Xoraa. A young, ruthless man who has complete confidence in the government's way of ruling, the Elite Force’s training methods and their weapons. His job mainly consists of handling the nation’s Seeker problems.

Most of the time, he has a laid-back demeanour. But he can become violent when others try to test his patience and intensely sadistic. He is on the verge of being a fanatic, but often justifies himself by telling others he does it for Xoraa. 

“Send a pair of scouting parties. Two caravans only. Tell them not to come back until they’re found!”

Thank you for reading :) I’m looking forward to becoming more active on this platform in 2020. The photo is not mine, found on Pinterest; credit to the original photographer.

[migleefulmoments]

I love that Abby criticises the bar for having Disney themed nights as if little kids are going to show up or something. It's still a bar that serves alcohol, children will never know that a bar which has burlesque nights also hosts Disney nights and when they are old enough to realise they probably won't care.

Oh Lord, I can’t with this argument that the bar has a personality disorder and that it is a big problem.  She always says 

ajw: “The personality disorder is precisely as you describe, you can’t claim D/isney and Br/aodway and then do some variety of “burlesque.”  It is one or the other, both do not work”. 

 NEWSFLASH...it’s an over 21 Bar in progressive CA...it’s not Cinderella’s Castle at Disney World catering to families with preschoolers dressed in princess dresses. 

I would say the bar has a very defined personality- it’s a fun piano bar for everyone but it is reaching out particularly to the LGBTQ+community to be a safe space for top-notch, fun theme-nights for the LGBTQ entertainment.  Every bar in the world is allowed to define who they want to be and then if it is interesting to customers, they will come. If it isn’t, they won’t and they will either amend their business model or go out of business.  It’s as simple as that. No bar can make everyone happy -nor should it strive to. But to be angry because it is bawdy and gay is really rich of Abby-and don’t get it twisted- she is pissed because it celebrates the LGBTQ community and it’s sexy.  The community is more sexually liberated than the average straight American as they aren’t beholden to the bullshit patriarchal rules of sex in America. They have less shame and guilt about their own sexual pleasure. The Christian message straight America mostly lives by “sex is bad but reproduction is good” is not something they concern themselves with because sex and reproduction are not related in same-sex couples. From my position on the outside of the community, I see joyous sex and pleasure without the guilt or limits and slut-shaming as long as both adults are consenting. Nobody is doing purity hyman checks in the LGBTQ community!  All of this raw sexuality and openly gay people expressing their sexuality makes Abby upset and anxious because she has hard and fast rules for relationships and sex.  The only gay couple she “knows” had sex by touching noses to toes and prefer holding hands. That makes gurlesque WAYYYYY too much for her little heart to hold and naked women on the walls? NO f’ing way. We cover ourselves in public.    

****My comments in italics & parenthesis******

Anonymous asked:

The bar makes me angrier than it should, I'll admit. Like if you want to be a sexy, cabaret lounge, more risque piano bar, then that is fine. Be that. I am not offended by nudity on the walls or even naked women on the bar. But then don't call it family friendly and start having Disney nights in the next breath. It's so bizarre. I'm all for having theme nights, but it needs to be in line with the establishment. Not this identity crisis this venue seems to have. It's so odd and unappealing to me.(Parroting back Abby’s words perfectly)

ajw: There are two issues with the bar, it has multiple personality disorder, utterly and completely and a lot of it is offensive.  (She finds female sexuality and LGBTQ sexuality “offensive” b/c she can’t understand they are taking back the words that men use to define us and belittle us as sluts and whores).  

The personality disorder is precisely as you describe, you can’t claim D/isney and Br/aodway and then do some variety of “burlesque.”  It is one or the other, both do not work. (Yes, yes you can.  If it’s your business you can do whatever the market will bear). 

No, I am not saying every pic of a naked woman is offensive, to each their own, not my taste, but I know many people do like this sort of thing.  But they have theme nights with offensive Names (d*ke night and corporate ladder/Corporate hoes), they use derogatory stereotypes (flannel shirt night), they have drink names that are misogynist (ones referring to large breasts, others calling women sluts), and the one picture i posted i think is body shamming as it is depicting 2 perfect women and telling us to achieve greatness. (Here her homophobia is on full blast. Straight women don’t get to decide what is offensive to lesbian women and since a lesbian woman hosts Open Dyke Night and Flannel shirt night, Abby needs to back off the generalizations about how offensive it is and admit that SHE”s offended by lesbians acting like lesbians.  She prefers them to blend in with straight women). 

And that doesn’t address the immature and childish touches that are plentiful. Or the rude bar staff. Or that there is an upcharge for ice.  Or that the AC has been broken for over a year. (Here we have Abby’s tendency to read something once- whether it is from a credible source is irrelavant0 and then turn it into a never-ending consistent thing. Rude bar staff? There are one or two fake Yelp reviews about rude bar staff and lots of comments on social media about how great the bar is as well as the staff gushing about working there. The AC was broken the first night. I have seen no credible proof that it continued but again, customers can choose to either go there or not go there knowing AC doesn’t work. You can’t vilify a bar you will never go to because they don’t have AC.   The upcharge for ice story isn’t very credible either and it was one Yelp review. I suspect the individual was a Darren fan who got a drink that was more expensive than they used to and they freaked out and wrote a nonsense reivew after being embarassed.) 

Anonymous asked:

What's the Cinderella thing

ajw: Just a joke about the sex club nonnie, contrasting D/isney night with the decor.

Anonymous asked:

You don't remember when Cinderella stripped down to pasties and a thong at the ball, but fled at midnight, leaving the prince to scour the land for the girl who fit her 8-inch platform stripper-heel shoe? Tbh, his trips to the bar don't bug me anymore. He only goes when there is a celeb or a vip who pays (the orig post of Sat's pics thanks a guy who is an Apple exec who, I am guessing, paid for D's "random" appearance that night). His "I'm there most nights I'm in LA" days are long gone.

ajw720 answered: Hahahaha!  Oh Nonnie I love you.  Now that i think about it, i recall that story well, if I remember correctly, before she stripped down, she was in silver sparkles, beads and feathers.  Now remind me, was she more of a gyrating with the beer tap on top of the bar kind of princess or one that simulates sex with an innocent teddy bear?

On D, you are right, at this point, he goes when there is a special guest.  He really has cut it down a ton, which considering he has an actual job makes sense.

Just discovered this trip to the bar, that featured ERW and a British music exec Rob D/ickins may just have been to promote a B/owie cover band featuring ERW that is going on tour. And guess who is another member of the band?  Ding Ding Ding, Platonic Roomie B/enny!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (x). What a surprise!

flowersintheattic254

I love this type of coincidence @ajw720. You couldn’t make it up 😂.

Will M will be congratulating B publicly again on his success and will they use D’s SM so D can congratulate him personally. I’m eye rolling

notes-from-nowhere

She is so proud of her ma… oh, sorry, I got confused.

leka-1998

Gotta support his straight 🔥 music.

****************

Btw-Mia didn’t post this for Ben. It’s Ben’s own post but once again Mia is demonized for behavior she’s going to possibly maybe might do.

[edda-blattfe]

Twisted Wonderland Tag Game: Blue Edition

Thank you so much for tagging me Des ( @gallant-ones )!!!! For the clarity’s sake, I’ll be answering as Blue in character. Hope ya’ll enjoy! 😊

Rules: Answer the following questions to the best of your ability, then tag at least 3 other blogs you think would enjoy playing this game.

~Dire Crowley appears before you~

1. Welcome to Night Raven College! Did you enjoy the trip here?

I barely remember it...did I fall through the mirror?

2. Wonderful! All students here must choose one of the seven dormitories to reside in during the school year. Which one do you choose? Why?

Diasomnia, I guess. It seems like fae are naturally drawn to it. For what reason, I know not.

3. Now that you’re officially a student, what would you like to learn first?

Hm...illusion spells would be fun to learn, they might come in handy during the mock battles.

4. I’ll leave you to settle in now. Before I go, do you have any questions about the college?

Which areas are off limits?

~Crowley out~

Ok, thanks.

5. Which dormitory leader are you excited to meet? Why?

Maleus looks like an interesting person....besides, I’ve never seen a Draconic fae before.

6. Azul offers you the chance to fulfill your heart’s desire. What is it, and do you accept?

Eternal slumber spell?...What’s the catch?

7. Which of the boys are you friends with? Why?

Silver, Maleus, Lilia, and Sebek, of course. Azul and the Leech twins are interesting characters as well. Jamil, perhaps?

8. C’mon, we all know everyone at the school is attractive. Is there someone (or more) you’re crushing on?

Uh..mm...*flushes pink* well...Rook is, er. What I mean to say is, I admire his intelligence and versatility in the battlefield....His form in archery is also quite beautiful-ack! Impressive! I meant impressive!!! *muttering* damnit, girl...keep it together...

9. The hallways are a terrifying place to be after hours. Who’s the last person you wanna be out there with?

Jade and Floyd. I’ve seen horror movies. Not going down that road, not today!

10. Would you rather listen to Jamil’s puns, work at the Mostro Cafe with Jade and Floyd, or clean the dungeons with Lilia?

I actually really like puns, so Jamil. Besides, I love watching everyone else’s reactions. 😏

11. Everyone loves karaoke night at the Cafe! Do you sing? If so, which song would be your go to?

Yes! To name my top three songs: the English version of “Paper Moon”, “Take me to Church”, and “The Sound of Silence”. It would be even cooler if Azul and Jade would play their instruments..

12. Riddle invites you to a tea party with the rest of Heartslabyul. Do you attend?

Well, I don’t have a reason not to go.....*glances towards Maleus* Unless...

13. Choose a champion!

Crowley. Crowley will fight for me, and win!!!

14. Favorite headcanon(s)?

Papa Bird Crowley. Ooh, and Lilia being Maleus’s father figure. I live for this parental sweetness!!! :3

15. Unpopular opinion?

Ashton is creepy. I can’t separate him from Gaston in my head, and frankly, I don’t want to be anywhere near him!

16. You forgot to send Maleus an invitation. Your survival plan?

Apologize profusely...based on past experiences, I’d likely break down crying right then and there from anxiety. After calming down a bit I would promise to make several reminders to do so in the future and hope for the best.

17. Be honest, would you trust Rook to shoot an apple off your head?

Pro: The guy I like-er, admire (wait, which is worse?!), is kinda paying attention to me. Con: One bump or distraction and there goes an eye!....Hey, friends, would you be kind enough to peer pressure me?

18. Lilia, Ace, and Kalim invite you to hang out with them. Do you go?

Ya’ll aren’t going to do anything illegal, right?...No? Ok, guess there isn’t a reason for me to refuse.

19. Where is your favorite place to chill on campus?

The woods are nice..so calm, so quiet. If I can’t go out there, then the library and my bedroom are also good places to hide out.

20. Ortho asks if you’ll help him drag Idia out of his room so he won’t skip class. How does that work out?

Idia dear, would you please come out?......No? *sigh* Then you leave me no choice. Ortho, honey, cover your ears. Thank you. Idia *whips out squirt bottle* get your skinny pasty ass to class right now, or so help me!!!!!

21. Who would you rather train with, Jack, Sebek, or Ashton?

Don’t get me wrong, Sebek is a sweetheart..but I’ll have to go with Jack. He’d make a good instructor.

22. You’re locked up in Mr. S’s shoppe after hours, who’s with you?

Lilia....*groan* He just had to have those damn tea cakes...

23. Leona fell asleep…again. This time on top of you. You have potions in 15 minutes; what do you do?

*nudges him* Hey, Leona. I need to get up now, could you please get off me?

*incoherent mumble*

*sigh* Ok, plan B. *wriggles out of his grasp* Note to self; never let Leona “rest his head” on your shoulder ever again.

24. Would you rather go on a magic carpet ride with Kalim, let Vil give you the Pomefiore spa treatment, or play on Azul’s grand piano (with his supervision)?

A spa day sounds like a relaxing way to spend the day! Vil might also be able to show me how to apply makeup...cause I really suck at that.. 😅

25. Grimm feels a little left out. Comfort him?

Come here you fuzzy baby. Ima hug you, and give you chin skritches, and give you snuggles all day long! 😸

Tag: Uh...not sure who all has been tagged.. You know what, if you haven’t been tagged and wanna try this out, go for it! Spread the content folks!!!

[gameofthronestldr]

Ramsay Bolton

“This isn't happening to you for a reason. Well, one reason. I enjoy it.” - Ramsay Bolton

Born: 282 AC at Mill along the Weeping Water

Death: 303 AC at Winterfell

Hair: Black

Features: Pink and blotchy skin, Big boned and sloped shouldered, Meaty lips

Titles:

Lord of the Dreadfort

Lord of Hornwood

Lord of Winterfell

Lord Paramount of the North

Warden of the North

Castellan of the Dreadfort 

Culture: Northmen

Father: Roose Bolton

Siblings:

Domeric Bolton (paternal half-brother)

Newborn Bolton (paternal half-brother) 

Spouse: Jeyne Poole (TV show: Sansa Stark)

Lovers:

Myranda

Violet

Tansy

Kyra

Aliases:

Ramsay Snow

Lord Snow

The Bastard of Bolton

The Bastard of the Dreadfort

Reek

Red Helm

Monster

Allegiance: 

House Bolton

House Bolton of Winterfell

House Stark

Religion: Old Gods of the Forest

History

Lord Ramsay Bolton is the bastard son of Lord Roose Bolton. Ramsay Snow is the product of rape. His father, Roose Bolton, raped his mother under the swinging corpse of her husband whom he had just ordered hanged on a pretext. Originally named Ramsay Snow, he was known as the Bastard of Bolton and the Bastard of the Dreadfort. Ramsay considers himself a true Bolton despite his birth and is highly resentful of his baseborn status, referring to himself proudly as the trueborn scion of the Dreadfort and violently correcting those who refer to him otherwise.

It is possible that Ramsay poisoned Roose's legitimate heir, which is what Roose suspects. Roose never fully abandoned the child, and even provided for him, mostly from a distance. As a child, Ramsay had a friend that smelled awful all the time, thus the name Reek. The Reek that Theon meets is inferred to be Ramsay, assuming the Reek persona. 

Ramsay has a group of men-at-arms who stand high in his favor and follow him loyally. They are called the "Bastard Boys", though never within their or Ramsay's hearing, and are just as depraved as Ramsay. Ramsay's personal steed is named Blood.

Ramsay keeps a pack of dogs, which he employs for hunting. He is also in a relationship with the kennelmaster's daughter, Myranda; he claims that he planned to marry before his father ultimately had him legitimized, but it is a questionable statement.

During the War of the Five Kings, Ramsay is initially loyal to King in the North Robb Stark, retaking Winterfell from Theon Greyjoy on his orders but at the same time sacking the castle as part of his father's scheme to betray House Stark. Following the successful capture of Winterfell from the Ironborn, Ramsay holds Theon captive and utilizes extreme torture to break him into loyal submission; renaming him "Reek". Following Robb's murder and the decimation of the Stark-loyal northern army at the Red Wedding, he follows his father in pledging allegiance to House Lannister and is legitimized as Ramsay Bolton. Through an arrangement orchestrated by Petyr Baelish, Ramsay is wed to Sansa Stark, who escapes from Winterfell along with Theon. Their escape drives Ramsay to murder his entire family on threat of being disinherited, he then becomes the new Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, replacing his father. Ramsay's rule over the North, however, comes to an end when Jon Snow retakes Winterfell with army of Free Folk and Stark loyalists. Ramsay is subsequently executed for his crimes, leaving House Bolton extinct and restoring House Stark as the ruling family of the North.

Appearance and Personality

Ramsay appears pasty, ugly, and oafish. He is an unlikable, extremely sadistic individual, even with his subjects - there is virtually no one that seems safe from his bloodthirsty aspirations. He enjoys rape, torture, and mutilation, particularly flaying his enemies, a trademark Bolton method that's even displayed on the Bolton banner. Ramsay also likes to hunt women, tracking them down, raping and killing them. He names his dogs after the ones who give good chase.

Ramsay is also extremely cunning, surviving seemingly insurmountable odds by tricking his opponents. He has a knack for concocting clever, devious and often sadistic traps for people he preys upon, and enjoys hunting other creatures immensely. He is not considered to be a great warrior, his only advantage in combat being his strength and savage nature. Both his father and Theon Greyjoy regard Ramsay as fearless, but his father does not consider it to be a good thing as fear keeps a man alive.

Ramsay is a genuine sociopath. He seems to be the personification of pure evil, with no redeemable features. He is dishonorable, manipulative, ruthless, extremely sadistic, sexually depraved, wild, and completely capable of committing unspeakable atrocities without remorse, simply for pure amusement. Ramsay fully admits that he tortures and kills innocent people for no reason whatsoever, and that they did not deserve what he did to them. He simply enjoys inflicting horrific torture on people.

Whenever he has the advantage in a skirmish, Ramsay is fearless reveling in the violence of personal combat. Ramsay did not rave and rage, however, he had a perverse, playful, childlike giddiness as he inflicts pain on others, from flaying men alive to hunting and killing girls for sport. This behavior, however, was not displayed when Jon Snow proposes that the two of them fight one-on-one rather than send thousands to their deaths to determine who holds sway over The North. Ramsay scoffs at the idea due to his initial numerical superiority, and also strikes anger in Jon and Sansa's hearts by having Smalljon Umber drop Shaggydog's head in front of them to display his power over them mentally and physically. Only when Jon and his allies breach Winterfell thanks to the arrival of the knights of the Vale, does Ramsay reconsider fighting one-on-one against him, choosing a bow and arrows as his weapon but only because he knew he would be quickly killed if he chose to attack the surrounding soldiers whereas he had a better chance of surviving but fighting Jon one-on-one.

In his own twisted way Ramsay was actually quite intelligent, possessing a certain "low cunning" with which he tricked his enemies. He was particularly good at thinking on his feet, but reckless when it came to long-term consequences and intricate politics. Ramsay deeply enjoyed playing mind games with his enemies using psychological torture, often tricking them into trusting him only to then break his empty promises. A good display of Ramsay's deceitful tact was when while playing a "game" with Theon Greyjoy to guess where he was, who he was, and why he was being tortured, he allowed him to believe his guesses were correct until he pointed out that Theon "forgot to ask if he was a liar" and continued to flay his finger anyway. Another instance is using Rickon Stark as bait to "trap" Jon in the middle of the battlefield at the Battle of the Bastards, knowing that his family-loving nature would leave him defenseless to arrow attacks.

On the other hand, Ramsay is very impulsive, not fully considering the long-term consequences of his actions much to his father's chagrin. When Lord Medger Cerwyn refuses to pay Ramsay taxes or even acknowledge Bolton rule, Ramsay flays Cerwyn alive along with his wife and brother while forcing his son to watch, and puts the corpses on public display. Roose angrily warns his son that this disproportionate brutality is severely damaging their long-term position but Ramsay largely ignores his warnings, instead privately holding a massive feast for himself even as other lords are worried about stockpiling provisions for the winter. In addition, he kills his father, stepmother, and half-brother for his own gain even though he has yet to produce an heir, a selfish, short-sighted, downright stupid action that eventually dooms House Bolton.

Ramsay is greatly frustrated by his bastard status, and was easily angered when he was referred to in such a way. A possible source of this resentment was his jealousy of Jon Snow, another Northern bastard son who was raised by his father, Ned Stark, alongside his trueborn sons and eventually rose to become Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and as such, Ramsay desired to rise to a powerful political position as Jon did, which he himself states to Sansa by comparing himself to Jon. Ramsay's jealousy of Jon was so much that he expressed a willingness to kill Jon if the chance comes, though at the same time appears fearful when he hears that Jon may come after him with a wildling army. Due to his immense insecurities about his baseborn status, Ramsay makes it a point to mock and belittle Jon for being a bastard.

Due to having played mind games and tortured helpless and defenseless victims and getting away with it all his life, Ramsay is not used to the possibility of losing a confrontation. Even while being beaten almost to death by Jon, Ramsay smiles with confidence that somehow he will survive, and even displays this behavior when faced with his hungry hounds, who he staunchly believes will never harm him. However, when one of the dogs disobeys his commands to get off him and starts hungrily licking his face, Ramsay's commands get more desperate, and for the first and last time in his life, Ramsay shows genuine fear when he realizes he can't control them and won't survive after all.

[viking-hel]

Writing British Fanfic

Hi guys! This little post is just something me and @survivor-reborn put together for when you want to write fanfic with characters that are from the UK!

This isn’t to discourage, or poke fun at, but to help really set the scene or location, because sometimes there’s nothing more jarring than seeing a word or phrase that just isn’t used as much/if at all in the UK, especially when the rest is pretty good!

Now, that’s not to say you need to do this; these little things can sometimes really aid in telling the story, especially if they are set in Blighty.

1. Mom / Mum

Kinda obvious? Yeah, I know. However it is easily done. Perhaps some people in the UK say this, but more often than not, it’s with the ‘u’ and not the ‘o’.

2. College / University

Right, this might get hard to explain. What people in the USA call college, we call University or ‘Uni’ for short. College in the UK is actually something else. The education system here is not like the US for example, which I’ll get onto. College here is where you get qualifications called ‘A-levels’ which you need to get into uni.

3. Kindergarten / Primary / Middle / Secondary (High) School

Kindergarten: we don’t really use that word. Or at least, I don’t where I live and down in Devon. Does that mean it isn’t? Perhaps not, though I don’t think so. In the UK we have something called ‘nursery’ and that’s for little kids, aged about 3-4 years. 

This leads onto primary school, which is sort of elementary school equivalent. Primary school may have a nursery (mine did) but really it goes from Reception (4-5yrs) up to Year 6 (10-11 yrs). HOWEVER, and this is where it can get confusing, some areas of the UK do have a middle school system, but NOT ALL. I never went to middle school, but my niece did! 

[If the area is a middle school systems, then it goes Infants/First - Middle - Secondary/High. Infants/First school ends at Year 4. Middle school covers from Year 5 to Year 8, and high school from Year 9 to either Year 11 or Year 13 (Years 12 and 13 are essentially college years where you do A-levels).]

For simplicity, just stick with Primary school and secondary/high school. Certain places in the UK call it high school, others say secondary. Others say both. Secondary/high school goes from Year 7 to Year 11 (or perhaps Year 13). 

4. Highways, roads, streets.

This will seem silly. Though we have something called ‘Highway Maintenance’ we don’t use the word ‘highway’ or ‘freeway’. We use motorway for the big (UK-big, which is no more than fours lane in each direction) main arteries if you will.

We say main road to mean the next step down. These roads connect to the motorways (which start with M e.g. M6, main roads start with A e.g A500). High street often implies a street with shops on it through the local ‘hub’, not always meaning city centre. 

5. Supermarket

We don’t often have grocery stores. We might have a greengrocer / grocers, but don’t add ‘store’, we don’t use that word much. But there is the supermarket, where you get most food e.g. Tesco or Morrisons.

6. Chemist / Pharmacy

Can use either but if ever you see the word chemist, we mean the pharmacy.

7. Stores

The only time we use the word store is in relation to ‘department stores’ which sell clothes, home items and makeup / perfumes perhaps, like Debenhams. Use the word shop instead as most people are likely to say that.

8. ‘Ay up mate!

Mate means friend, and though some may beg to differ, you don’t commonly hear the word buddy or pal. Except for perhaps a dog’s name.

9. Lass!

The further north you go in England, and then into Scotland, lass or lassie means girl. They’re more likely to say that.

10. Pop

Some places in the USA use the word pop to mean soda. If we want a particular kind, we’d say the name e.g. Coke = coca cola, Sprite or 7-UP = lemonade (yes, we don’t do the lemon and sugar thing much, so we mean pop if we want lemonade).

11. Sofa / Settee

Though couch is becoming slightly more common, certain areas of the UK might say sofa or settee more.

12. Kettle

You boil water in this for cups / mugs of tea. Found in the kitchen, plugged into the wall, likely next to the teapot.

13. AC

We don’t have AC built in with the house. They might be in offices, but not in the house. 

14. Drinking age

Is 18 here! So if you’re writing about teens in the UK, then legally can drink from 18 years, but have likely been drinking since they were 14/15 because, yeah rules.

15. Age of consent

Is 16 years old. Just so you know.

16. POPTARTS

Others in the UK may say “WTF are you talking about, I eat them everyday,” but I can count on ONE HAND how many poptarts I’ve ever had (three!). They aren’t common in my neck of the woods, and so I don’t think they’ve become a staple in breakfast diets until recently.

17. Pies.

Here in the UK, pies are often savory as well as sweet. We do have apple pie, I have had other fruity pies. But we do also have meat and potato (yum!), chicken, steak, steak and kidney pie, the list goes on.

18. Pasties

Not pastries, though we do have those too, pasties, as in Cornish pasties are savory and delicious. Can be flaky and make mess when eating.

19. Cheese

Unless you intentionally buy the pre-sliced stuff, most kinds of cheese in the UK comes as blocks of cheese. And depending on the type of cheese, different ‘strength of taste’ from mild to extra strong (cheddar).

20. Cookies / Biscuits

Cookies have chocolate chips in them. They are a particular type of biscuit and don’t refer to all of them. Those are biscuits.

21. Gravy / Biscuits and Gravy

Gravy is savoury and commonly brown coloured, made from veg flavours, chicken or ‘meat’. And we don’t have biscuits and gravy.....that wouldn’t make sense with the former!

22. Holidays

Only in Uni have I ever seen the period of teaching called ‘semester’ and the holiday breaks termed ‘vacation’. When in school they’re called instead ‘terms’ and ‘breaks / holiday’. 

We don’t have Spring Break, but we have something called half-terms, which is a week long break in the middle of each term, which usually last between 6-9 weeks, depending on how things are scheduled which are not the same country wide. 

Easter is two weeks off, Christmas is also two weeks, and Summer holiday lasts for 5-8 weeks, it keeps changing but they’re often 6 weeks, and get called 6-week holiday.

23. No Thanksgiving or Fourth of July, just to remind you!

24. Lessons

What are called classes in USA, are often called ‘lessons’ here, or in high school, you just refer to them by subject e.g ‘I have geography now’. Class / classes are often reserved for external activities like dance.

25. Canteen

Essentially the cafeteria of the school. This may not be the same for all of the UK.

26. Queue

What we are known for. We queue, which means standing in a line. At school you might be asked to ‘form a line’ before going back into the classroom, but outside of that, you queue.

27. Rubber

An eraser. They rub out.

28. Take-out

What is called take-out we call takeaway!

29. Bangs

Bang means something else in the UK, so we say fringe: the hair that falls over your forehead.

30. Half-an-hour

We have perhaps an odd way of saying time? We don’t say counter-clockwise, we say anti-clockwise. We often use the 24-hour clock so we know what 16:45 is telling us, which is ‘quarter to five in the afternoon’. We say half-an-hour, meaning thirty minutes. We say ‘ten to’ or ‘twenty to’ or ‘half past’ or ‘quarter past’ etc.

31. Fortnight

Not the game. This means two weeks. Bi-weekly.

32. Aye

I use this to mean yes. Though in the south of England you might not hear it much, the further north and into Scotland, you will hear this.

33. PB and J.

Peanut Butter and Jelly. Well jelly in the UK is what Americans call jello. What they call jelly is jam in the UK. There will perhaps be some people who have this, but I don’t think Peanut butter and jam is that common. At least, not to together.

34. Cheers

Thanks, thank you. Or “ta very much”.

35. Fanny

Fanny means arse (ass) in the USA. It doesn’t here and if you said that we’d give a right funny look.

36. British Accent.

NO. NO SUCH THING. I don’t sound like Sam Heughan or Ewan McGregor. Nor do I sound like Tom Holland or Kit Harington. They’re all ‘British’ but the British accent does not exist: if you live in England, you will have an English accent. Live in Wales, you’ll have a Welsh one. Live in Scotland, you’ll have a Scottish accent. Live in Northern Ireland / Ireland, you’ll have an Irish accent. 

And to further make it worse, they’ll all sound different! 

I don’t speak like the guys of Peaky Blinders. I don’t sound like a cockney from London, and I don’t speak like the Queen. Me and @survivor-reborn won’t sound the same. This goes for people in Scotland, Wales and Ireland. We’ll have an English/Scottish/Welsh/Irish accent, but we won’t sound the same, and at times, will use dialectal words: if I said “what do thee know, owt o’ nowt?” only certain people will know what I’ve asked.

So these are just things to perhaps keep in mind, and I know people will likely get things in American culture wrong and across the globe. If you don’t live in it, how will you know?

Add to this if you like, because I know I’ve missed some things. And if you want, you can ask either me or @survivor-reborn and we’ll try to help!

[thechocoboos]

Hey can I have some cute Gladiolus Headcanons? Maybe even Headcanons of a Farmer au or mountain man au? :3

I swear this is the fastest that I’ve ever responded to one of these, but my god, Mountain Man AU has got me shooook

Thank you so, so much for this request, I love it so much

Gladio the Mountain Man™ AU

First things first: he lives in a cabin, of course

It’s a rough cabin with spiderwebs in the corners of the rooms, crappy wiring, a broken toilet, and no AC, but he loves every minute of it

Despite having a functioning home, this man still decides to camp in a tent half the time

There are days where he wakes up, decides a soft bed is too hard on his back, and grabs his camping equipment without a second thought

Sometimes, Noctis comes to visit and they spend the whole day fishing and drinking beer (neither one of them ever mention how much it means to both of them)

After a long day of hiking or chopping wood and other such “mountain man” activities, he likes to toss himself in the rickety chair on his weather-worn porch and drink a cold beer as the sun goes down

Sometimes Iris or their dad comes to visit and the they just spend a weekend hiking, camping, and catching up together (it’s some nice family bonding time, even if Iris gets a sunburn)

The bros also come up a lot, too

They always go camping (Gladio’s cabin is too small to hold four of them), and Ignis’ll make a damn fine meal

A stranger once knocked on his cabin door at 7 AM and Gladio answered it in his boxers (happened once when he wasn’t wearing anything at all, but luckily it was just Prompto)

Gladio lost his mullet while he lived in the mountains

It was too much of a hassle to keep maintained, so he grew it out into the beautiful ponytail (and sometimes manbun) that older Gladio sports

Also: Flannel.

Lots of flannel (mostly red)

His favorite outfit is a tight white tanktop with an unbuttoned red flannel thrown over it and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows (you’re welcome)

But if he’s just chillin’ on his porch or in his cabin with a book, you bet your ass he loses that tanktop in a heartbeat and just lounges around wearing an unbuttoned flannel shirt with his beautifully toned chest and abs on display for the wildlife to absolutely fawn over

Once came head to head with a bear and lived (the bear took one look at him and decided he was too beautiful to fight)

Just kidding.

He did go head to head with a bear and lived, but he came out with more than a few injuries and had to actually go to a hospital so… don’t fight bears, kids.

He definitely hunts animals, but only things like deer or pheasants . He respects nature too much to kill wolves and bears, unless it’s a life or death situation

He used to brag about his hunting to the other bros, but when he saw how much it bugged Prompto, he laid off quite a bit (after some light teasing, of course)

Whenever he comes across someone hiking or camping in the mountains, he likes to join them for a bit and talk (he loves hearing other people's’ stories)

He also likes to make sure folks know where his cabin is in case they need some help, he doesn’t want someone out there dying when he’s nearby

Every morning that he wakes up in his cabin, he walks out onto his porch with a big stretch and just puts his hands on his hips and takes in the beauty of nature (usually in his boxers, or nothing at all)

Speaking of no clothes, he likes to sleep commando in his cabin

And he skinny dips when he’s feeling particularly reckless

The first time he went camping with the other bros in those mountains, he dared Prompto to skinny dip and wouldn’t stop teasing him until he did (then Gladdy teased Prompto more, this time about seeing his pasty ass jumping into a lake)

Speaking of pasty

Gladio is anything but pasty

He tans like no tomorrow

Sure, at first he had some tanlines from his rolled up sleeves and his pants, but boi, you know that man spent some time tanning naked

He figured no one else would see, and even if they did, he’s got nothin’ to be ashamed of

So basically, after the first two months, Gladio was completely tan from head to toe with lovely sunkissed skin

ANyways

Gladio also likes to climb trees or large rock formations

He only ever fell once, but he’s elected to keep that to himself

Other times, he likes to go kayaking or swimming

And sometimes, he just sits on the bank of a river or on his porch reading a book

He does a lot of reading

There is a TV in his cabin, but he’s never used it (Gladio likes to use his Mountain Man status as an excuse to not use technology more than necessary)

Speaking of technology, Gladio’s phone only has signal in two locations: his cabin and the top of this one waterfall about two miles west of his cabin

It’s kinda hard to talk to people on the phone by the waterfall, so pretty much the only time Gladio contacts anyone else is when he’s at his cabin

But ‘cause he knows how dangerous nature can be, he always lets the bros and Iris know where he’s planning on going and for how long, so that if he doesn’t tell them he’s home safe after a certain amount of time, then they can get help

Yeah, Gladdy’s no stranger to the danger of living as a Mountain Man™

But he loves his lifestyle and he doubts that’ll change for a loooong while

[divagonzo]

Funny Business (Pt. II) Ron & Harry (aka Sore Feet)

Ao3 // FF.net

Part I

A/N: as promised, here is Part II for those in Blackpool and Rio Linda. As before, this is rated T/15 for innuendo and risque banter only. This isn’t necessarily Ace Safe so if you have any questions, I’ll happily answer them, on anonymous or not. This chapter is entirely Mostly in thanks to @fightfortherightsofhouseelves who kicked my ass for short-changing this chhapter. And I probably will write a third chapter when I get a few minutes from finishing 2 WIPs and updated the Multi-chapters that have been on hiatus - and starting a new Multi-Chapter fic starting April for hopefully May publishing start. - DG

Note: This isn’t Ron/Harry. This is Ron & Harry - platonic BrOTP. #justsayin

“So whose bloody idea was this?” Ron scrambled across a section of rocks before getting to the top of the ridge and waited for Harry. He was a little more nimble and made it up easy.

Harry bent over to loosen a stitch in his side. “Our wives, ya git.” He sucked in deep breaths for the fast climb up the switchbacks to the top. The 18kg pack on his back weighted him down some, with all of the gear they needed for their hiking trip.

“Our wives, ya git.” Harry huffed and panted as he walked up the hillside with the 17kg pack on his back. “I told Ginny about not spending time with you and this was what they came up with.” Harry stood up and continued walking forward on the trail, looking for the particular stop point Hermione mentioned for them.

“All you had to do was ask. It’s not like I won’t make time for my best mate.” Ron huffed on the climb up the trail.  He followed Harry and his pace. They learned the first hour that Harry couldn’t quite keep up with Ron’s stride.

“I didn’t know that. We barely talk except about business when I see you at work. Then you also work with George and he takes so much of your time too that I might see you outside of work once a month. The few times we had arrangements to meet, George had something for you last minute, or he tagged along, or you had to cancel because George had an idea and you had to work instead.” Harry stepped up to the fallen tree in front of him and groaned. “Look, I get it. George needs you. And you are part owner of the shop. But it seems like he’s your best mate now and I’m Dudley to you - on Christmas card terms.” Harry shifted the pack on his back before climbing up and over the tree. “Why did I promise my wife I’d do this without magic? This is bloody ridiculous.” He looked and saw that there were half a dozen more down before they could get back on the trail. He stepped off and landed with a thud. “This is like being on assignment except we’re not getting paid for it.”

“Hell if I know. But somehow Hermione got me to agree, too. She said something about character building or some other sort of rubbish.” Ron sat on the tree and swung his legs over. “I have enough character without adding more to it.”

“And this is the first night of our trip. Why the bloody hell did we agree on a four-day hiking trip to find our wives and kids? Oh right, that was my sister’s idea - and my wife’s too.”

Harry stopped and gave Ron a face. “You were incredibly busy so we had to schedule something. You were either on duty or working for George, with the only time you had left was either asleep or with the kids. And I’m not asking you to choose between me and the kids, no matter how much I natter.”

Harry shifted his pack on his hips before continuing on the trail. Even with the weight on his back and the fatigue he felt from hiking for eight hours, admitting such feelings to his best mate was freeing. Why hadn’t he said anything months ago? Then again, he trusted his wife to hear what he was thinking, admitting his vulnerability and not take the piss out of him.

Then again, he had to give Hermione credit. Being out here, in the woods with Ron with no one owling him constantly or sending emergency Patronus about not emergencies. Out here it was just a ruck full of gear, meals, water, and accommodations: tents, camp seats, cots, and other reasonable amenities. Hermione did the magic on their hiking rucks but didn’t make adjustments for the weight. Anything they wanted, they had to carry it – heavy or otherwise.

“Why the bloody hell did I think I needed a cast iron skillet for making our dinner? This ruck weighs too many bloody kilos.”

“You said you needed it for breakfast, to do a proper fry-up with eggs, rashers, and bangers, along with scones and other proper breakfast fares. I warned you but you said you couldn’t cook without it.”

“Well I’m a sodding git, that’s for sure.”

“No, you’re not. And I’m the one who insisted on bringing a full pillow and heavy sleeping bag.”

“Well, that’s just being smart since it’s supposed to be down ‘round 10 tonight. It might not be like sleeping rough in Scotland under the stars but I don’t want to repeat that on this trip.”

“Don’t remind me. That was a mission I intentionally blocked out and refused to tell Ginny about. She’d have gone spare if she knew that you were injured and we were out in freezing conditions and the only way we could survive was changing my Auror issue jacket into a wonky tent and your manky boots into some reasonable semblance of a sleeping bag. I doubt they’d understand that to keep from freezing to death that night was sleeping in that grotty bag together.”

Ron roared laughing. “I bet the only ones who wouldn’t take the piss from that situation would be Aurors who have gone through it countless times. And lemme say, mate, that you are not Hermione in the least.”

“And you’re not Ginny. You snore like a sodding steam train.”

“Let’s hope that we don’t chase a Death Eater wanna-be across a frozen lake and it wasn’t as frozen as we thought. Pulling your arse from the freezing waters was hard as hell. You had no dry clothes so stripping you down to your pants and then bundling you in the makeshift tent with a big fire did help until I could magically dry your clothes. I didn’t want to see your pasty arse, nor do I want to see it ever again.”

“Look who is talking, Mr. Specky Scrawny git. I’ve seen your arse too often for my own good, usually while it’s giving my Sister the business. It’s bad enough I hear her calling you her bitch.”

“I dunno where that started,” Harry stomped through a swollen creek, getting his trainers wet. “But she says that and then likes it when I tell her off for saying that. It’s gotten to be a game now.”

“I’m glad I don’t have to see that anymore, at least unless we’re at Mum’s for an entire day and you find an unoccupied bedroom.”

“Hypocrite. You have no qualms finding a quiet spot to –“

“Well, yes, that’s true. She’s gagging for me so much that – “

“I don’t need to hear any more. I’ve seen enough to need an Obliviator!”

“When have you seen anything, git?”

“Got a month? You and Hermione lived with us at Grimmauld Place for a few years ‘til you got married.”

“So I ask again: When did you ever see us like that?”

Harry stopped and turned around, looking slightly mortified. “Let’s see. There was the dining room table one night when Ginny came home from a late practice. And the time you broke the bed. And then there was the time in the front parlor, on the floor, and another time on the couch. I won’t even mention the downstairs loo or the upstairs loo when you forgot to close the door.”

“Well fuck.”

“Yeah, exactly what I said when I saw the two of you all,” Harry motioned with his hands in a general example of carnal relations with their spouse, “and many times more.”

“It’s a good thing you’re not a pervert. I’d think you were a voyeur or something.”

Harry picked up a clod of dirt and threw it at his best mate, striking him in the shin.

“What was that for, you git?”

“I’m not a voyeur. The two of you didn’t have the decency of doing it behind closed doors.”

“Says the hypocrite who had no qualms shagging his wife in public places.” Ron passed Harry on the trail and he had to race to catch up to his long-legged best friend.

“I can’t help it that she finds me fanciable and can’t wait to get her rocks off.”

They continued another hour before Ron pulled to a halt to stop and refill his water bottles.

“Didn’t Hermione say she’d leave a Harpy’s towel on a tree when there was a campsite nearby?”

“Yeah, she did,” Ron answered between chugs of water. “She said us obvious walnuts wouldn’t miss it.”

Harry pointed to the Harpies towel draped over a limb on a tree a few meters in front of him with a glowing arrow pointing to the right. The followed it for a few minutes and found a clearing next to a stream. “It looks like this is the spot they intended for us to camp at for the night.”

Harry walked to the other side of the clearing where there were some logs laid out, possibly for sitting or to contain a fire.  “Well, the stream is over there so we can get water for tea and there’s room to make camp on this side.”

“It’s a good thing it’s not hot,” Ron grumped. “I’d be miserable if it was hot.” Ron dropped his ruck to get his water bottle out and was chugging more down. Harry followed suit with his own bottle. “But knowing our wives, they’re going to kick us out like this often to get a break. Shit, I need a new shirt. I feel like I took a shower wearing my clothes.”

“Well you do look like a ponce dressed like that.” Harry smirked at Ron’s attire. He had on some hiking shorts made of some material Hermione called poly-something and a Canon’s t-shirt made of something that wasn’t cotton and a fluffy jacket she called Down. Down with what, he didn’t know.  The trainers he had on were quite nice, even if he groused earlier about them looking like oversized bloody beater bats. She even refused to do an extension charm on his pack so he could carry more things easier. “You should learn to do with only the basics, Ron.”

“Sod that,” he replies before being hit in the face with a set of socks.

“So how long do we have to get where our families are?”

“Hermione said it’s another 60 kilometers to their campsite from this one. She didn’t tell me where exactly but said if we followed the trail we’d run across them. So the way we’re going that should be not tomorrow night but the next one. ”

“So we are camping out in this rubbish for the night, by ourselves? And no Hermione or anyone else?” Ron looked a touch concerned. “I don’t have terribly fond memories of camping.”

“It sure looks like it and I don’t either. But maybe we can change that with this trip and future ones.”

“If I wake up with a bloody badger in the tent I’m blaming you for it.”

“You won’t. I can’t guarantee tomorrow or at the next 2 campsites.” Harry ducked the gob of mud Ron threw before grabbing the kettle and scurrying off for the stream. They’d flipped a galleon to see who would set up camp and who would get the water they would need for the night and the next morning. He trod back on the stream to collect water and have a few minutes to think.

He still felt like getting a few things off his chest with Ron but figured it could wait until later tonight or even tomorrow. He filled the litre bottles along with the kettle and walked back to camp. When he returned Ron had the spacious tent set up along with a fire started. “At least they picked a decent spot for us.” Ron was digging in his ruck and yanked out a cauldron that looked big enough for Mrs. Weasley to feed the entire family. Ron pulled his wand and pointed it at the cast iron cauldron, silently casting Tertego to clean it.

Harry gasped. “You’re using magic to set it all up?”

“Why not? I’m hungry. There’s food in my pack that needs to be eaten. I’m quite sure you’re peckish too.” Ron reached down deep inside his ruck and pulled out an enormous earthen pot. “Dinner tonight is Irish Stew and I have a loaf of bread for it, too.”

Harry sighed. “Why not?” He pulled his wand and set up his tent which connected to Ron’s. They hadn’t seen a soul all day on the trail so Harry didn’t anticipate seeing anyone tonight sharing their camping site. The seclusion was nice especially outside and away from the hustle and bustle of their frantic lives. It was what he quietly needed – time away from everything to relax with his best mate and talk – or not talk.

“Hey Ron?”

Ron poked his head up from his pack, holding a huge platter of food that Hermione packed for him. Harry knew he had one too in his ruck.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you said you’d do this with me.”

“Well, don’t tell Hermione but I needed the break from working too much too. Fortunately I got things settled at the Ministry and George would have coverage for the few days we’re gone.”

“Ron?” Harry felt his insides curdling like bad milk.

“Yeah?”

“We should do this more often.” Harry wanted to slap himself silly for not admitting what he really wanted to say.

“We will.” Ron took the kettle back from Harry and hung it over the fire to heat the water for their tea. He took the kettle off and put their meals packed in foil to reheat.

Harry opened his ruck and shoved his arm down deep to find the camp chair he’d packed. There was a second one in there too, for Ron, since he carried their cooking pots. He found both and yanked them out. With a little bit of help via magic, he had the chairs sitting close to the fire with a cold butterbeer. He’d brought them with.

Ron poked at the fire with a stick, getting the foil packets flipped. “What?” he asked when Harry was giving him a particular look. “So I’m trying to keep to the spirit of this trip,” he said.

Harry sat back laughing. “I’m glad you’re trying, at least.”

“I thought you’d have brought some of those sodding foam pads for us to sit on.”

“Nah. I figured I could hump the chairs for us to use.”

“I’m glad you did. I didn’t think I could stand sitting my arse on the ground for a couple of nights. We did enough of that way back when and I didn’t want to do it again.”

“You’re getting soft in your old age.” Harry’s grin gave away his cheek.

“Nope, just my arse. The kids keep me young and so do my manticores.”

“It’s cute how you refer to the Aurors in your charge.”

“What, manticores? Nah. That’s Rose and Hugo. The Aurors are a breeze compared to them. Merlin, who’d have thought they’d have Hermione’s thirst for knowledge, my appetite, her insomnia, and my propensity to be loud. It’s a wonder we can get them to sleep six hours a night. Merlin knows that it doesn’t happen as much as we’d like. I blame it on Hermione’s insomnia while she was pregnant and on bedrest.”

“Then it’s a good thing that Hermione can work from home. I know you wouldn’t want your Mum to keep the kids the few extra days.”

“Hermione does, sometimes, during the summer when the kids are home. But then she’s in the office at 5am and then off at 2 unless something comes up. I pack them off to primary and she picks them up afterwards. It’s the best of both worlds.” Ron pulled the kettle off of the fire and made them tea.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, about George. He’s my brother and I love him.  And there are days I want to throw a cauldron at him. But I choose you any day and twice on Holidays. However, George still needs me. You don’t, not like he does. You don’t need me to get through your rough rays or take over when you’re curled up in a ball and can’t move much less function.”

“I do need you. You’re my best friend.”

“I know.” Ron handed over a huge bowl of stew to Harry before moving his chair over next to him. “It’s been barmy the last month and I heard it from Hermione. But I’ll also tell George he needs to share me more.” Ron grinned over his bowl of stew. “I hadn’t realized that it had gotten so bad that I hadn’t seen you otherwise in months. Anyway, I trust Ginny to be there for you. When she can’t handle it, I’m there. We might be busier than rent boys trying to make the rent the next day but I’m not going anywhere. Only way I’m abandoning you is if I board the train before you do – and then I’m not getting on it ‘til you get there.

Harry’s ears and face burned bright. Ron rarely spoke so forcefully about their friendship.

“If you want your stew warmed I’ll trade it out for fresh in the pot.”

Harry shook himself from his thoughts. “What?”

“Food. Hot. Eat.” Ron smirked.

“Oh yeah, right.” Harry handed over his bowl and Ron traded it out for hot stew. Harry tucked in to clear the loadstone from his throat and to fight back the tears threatening to make him look a ponce.

“So since you’re an original investor in the Wheezes – “

“I told George that it was a gift, not an investment.”

“And I told you that you were full of shite. I already have Fred’s shares but you are still a silent partner. It’s in the contract. So I can discuss with you our ideas for the coming year.”

“Ron, it’s still business.”

“So? It’s funny business. It’s full of laughs and gags and pranks. And listen, I have this idea for a line of kid’s pranks, funny and intended to teach safe prank ideas instead of mean ones.” Ron launched into his ideas for new products, ones that George was testing currently. “And I will mention the new sign: Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes - Funny Business, Inc.”

Harry laughed. He laughed so hard that his sides were hurting.

“And that profit amount goes to the Fred Weasley Hogwarts Trust.”

Harry choked on his laugh. “You’re finally doing it? For real?”   

“Yeah, I finally am. George is in agreement, and so is Hermione. Bill will administer it so it won’t deplete financially and Dad and Fleur will oversee it, so no one is in complete control. It’s a win/win for everyone.”

“You know how many kids will be able to – “

“I do. I promised myself that if I ever got rich – as in having enough money with more left over that I can’t decide on how to spend it, that I’d set this up. So I am. Percy got the house but I got the vault. He wanted her House and she doted on him as her favorite – but the vault was how Mum made sure I was sorted. She knew the rest would be fine. Between George and Bill, I’m probably as wealthy as you are.”

Harry sat there boggled. He didn’t know, at all.

“Blimey!” “Yeah, pretty mad, isn’t it?”

“Completely mental, isn’t it?” He got lost in his own thoughts until Harry pointed out the cauldron turning a faint shade of orange. Ron pulled it off the direct fire and let it hover higher over it before setting it down on the flat stones surrounding the fire.

They both had been too busy to talk bollocks in entirely too long.

“So let me tell you about the time I turned my hair green from a potion exploding in the stockroom one time.” He lit into the story, leaving nothing out, and Harry was falling out of his chair laughing until his sides hurt again.

The laughs between best friends went on for hours, even as tired as they were.  Only when the fire burned down to ash and the stars provided the only light did they turn into their respective bunks in the combined tent, each sleeping soundly for the first night in months.

The next morning, all was well between the best friends.

[fossadeileonixv]

WTF Early Returns!

A brief look at where we are 8 games into the season...

*KEEPERS*

The team has played 750 minutes this year and DONNARUMMA has played every one of them. 8 games. 8 wins. There’s no other stat that defines a keeper better. He’s the full package now and he’s 21 years old. Good lord. 

DONNARUMMA 2.0 has not played and neither has TATARUSANU

Anyone want to wager on the first time we see one of them start?

*DEFENDERS*

Up until yesterday CALABRIA was one of only 2 other players on the team to play every single minute of this season. The big question after the summer was whether the leap he took post break would stick. It absolutely has. He still has his moments but  he has been more consistent than ever. In a world where most teams hide guys at fullback, Calabria is a cut above. Crazy, huh?

DALOT got the start at RB yesterday to finally give Calabria a break. A tough spot considering he was to be matched up against a player we just loaned out in Diego Laxalt. I thought he played very well and stands to be a solid backup to Calabria.

KJAER is Danish for rock! I swear! ROCK!! In 9 months he’s gone from being a perennial castoff to becoming our best center back. Not the best CB on a mediocre team mind you, but the best CB on a team that has taken a huge step forward. There really isn’t much more to say than that.... Caldara who? 

Just 8 months ago Matteo GABBIA made his first appearance for Milan. At that point it was like Matteo who? Then after only a handful of appearances injuries forced him into the starting role. The result? Nothing but success. Here we are now 2 days after his 21st birthday and he’s made 16 appearances and has only lost once. Tall and strong but still just a little timid. Now let’s wait and see what happens with him now that R13 is back. 

After a 2 month injury layoff ROMAGNOLI was back for the Derby. A year or two ago that would have been a long 2 months. We might have won a game or two but otherwise it would have been a mess. Now? Now he’s surrounded by 3 rock solid starters. Let’s see if he can make the leap a 25 year old CB on a title contending team needs to make. Let’s see if he forces his way into the lineup for next summers Euros.

DUARTE made an appearance.

MUSACCHIO has not.

The only other player on the team besides Donnarumma to play every minute of every game is THEO. Why? Well we still don’t really have a backup. Also, he’s good. Really good. However the Theo train did hit it’s first bend against Inter last week. Hakimi shredded him. He went around him, through him and damn near leapt over him. That’s ok though. After a stellar first season he kind of needed a come to Jesus moment. Most importantly he was back out there yesterday and looked great. Great sign.

*MIDFIELD*

Ismael BENNACER might just be the best damn midfielder in Serie A right now. I can’t think of a single....

Psst....

Yeah? Oh yeah? Ok. Sure. 

Frank KESSIE might just be the best damn midfielder in Serie A right now.

Dude!

WHAT? Oh, ok. Yeah. You’re right. You’re right.

We have the best midfield duo in Serie A right now. Period. I’ll fight anyone that disagrees. TR said I have to. He has my back. 

I said in my season preview that the story of the season would be how TONALI adjusts to life at Milan and gets worked into the midfield. So far it hasn’t been THE story because we are winning so much but it is definitely the most polarizing subplot. Ok it’s the big story. He looks timid. He looks lost. There are moments he looks flat out in over his head. He played one year in Serie A and now he’s expected to contribute on a team that all of a sudden is whispering about title hopes. That’s a lot.  He’s 20 folks. Let’s just have as much patience with him as we did with guys like Niang and even Leao. Let’s not decide in less than 2 months that he doesn’t belong. He’s gonna be fine.

AND NO MORE FUCKING PIRLO COMPARISONS!!!!

Moving on....

As the offseason began I thought for sure KRUNIC was a goner. Then as the Tonali rumors heated up I thought for sure he was out. Windows closing tomorrow? Surely he must be gone. Yet here he is.... starting at AM in a Europa league group game.... and scoring? Let’s just not doubt Pioli anymore. Clearly there’s more versatility here than we ever imagined. #IPIT

This DIAZ fella is a whole lot of fun, huh? He dips here, he darts there, he nutmegs guys in the box.... and he scores. We’ve had all kinds of guys with sizzle. Guys like Saponara or Taarabt or Deulofeu. Fancy moves but no results. This guy has the sizzle and the steak. Diaz has both. Nom nom nom. 

After years of coaches putting HAKAN on the wings it took Piloi to put him in his best spot. Right in the middle. Funny since Giampaolo should have been that guy. How he saw Suso for that AM spot and not Hakan I have no idea. Explains a lot though huh? Thank God though. Hakan has all the confidence and freedom in the world now. Let’s see what happens when some adversity comes along though. I remain positive yet skeptical.  

*ATTACK*

I loved SAELEMAEKERS ever since I saw his first touch. If there’s one thing I’m a sucker for it’s a good first touch. He’s like a pasty Belgian Seedorf in that way. It’s hard to say exactly what his role is or will be and that’s okay. Can anyone explain exactly what Seedorf did? Not really... but that first touch was like sliding into a warm bath. Mmmmmmmm. Moving on. There’s time to sort it out. I’m also  glad to see the fan base has come around with him. 

SAMU my friend.... you were THIS CLOSE to being out of the picture. Things weren’t right after the most recent injury spell. Lots of flopping and complaining. Yesterday he again showed his strength. Fast. Good work rate and vision. Stick to the hard work and you’ll be okay kid. Let the frustration take over and there’s the door. 

The outside world thinks we’re ZLATAN dependent. We’ve played 4 games with him and 4 without him. We’ve won all 8. Are we dependent on his leadership and swagger? Yes. Do we need him on the field every minute of every game? No. The way the team maintains his energy and swagger without him out there is awesome.

COLOMBO.... Hmm... Hard to tell what we have here yet. Definitely looks like he belongs that’s for sure. No fear in his eyes. Also, he has a chance to learn from one of the masters. 

MALDINI... nice kid.

Ideally what happens during this season is that LEAO becomes the vice Ibra, REBIC becomes the regular starter at LW and HAUGE becomes the vice Rebic. 

As we saw in the Derby LEAO doesn’t really have the work rate to play that wing spot in a 4231. In that spot you have to almost be in 2 places at once.... tracking back to help out the fullback but also being up top to make runs. Without tracking back either the CB or one of the DMs needs to come over and help and that throws the whole formation off leaving gaps everywhere. Look at most of the goals we have conceded and that’s the root of the issue. That’s not Leao. I see his strengths more in his hold up play and ability to turn opponents and find passes. There’s your backup striker.

REBIC is the guy that will run you down like a dog, beat you up, steal your lunch money and then wink at your girlfriend as he walks away. That’s the guy we need on the wings in this system. Work hard but also have the class to finish. He would have certainly gotten his pound of flesh off of Hakimi. Count on it. 

HAUGE might not have the icy stare that Rebic does, but he carries some of his other traits. Hard work. Run you down. have some flash and dash to finish. That composure he showed yesterday when he finished off Celtic? get outta here.....

AC MILAN FACT OF THE DAY

Milan player appearances and goals by age: 

 ages 26-39: 21 apps and 5 goals 

 ages 22-25: 48 apps and 5 goals 

 ages 18-21: 51 apps and 9 goals

PIOLI?

When you have a coach that shows trust in his players and allows them to play with freedom and creativity the most amazing things can happen. Sure Pioli has a system but he’s also willing to try different players in different rules. He’s not so rigid to believe certain players can only do certain things. From that comes the kind of depth and versatility we haven’t seen around Milan since Carlo was in charge. 

#IPIT

Have a great weekend everyone.

See you all here Monday for Roma.

Cheers,

Lisi

PS: Brief lol..... you knew that was a lie!

[theeurekaproject]

Insanus Somnia

Space was so unforgivingly cold, cosmically beautiful, alien and strange and gorgeous. Six hundred thousand stars glimmered in the dark black backdrop that stretched into eternity, as far as Lyra could tell. They twinkled like the inferno of six hundred thousand fires, pulsed like the neon in six hundred thousand lights. If every one of those six hundred thousand lights was the tiny flame of a candle, it still wouldn’t be enough for the life lost.

T wasn’t the first death in Lyra’s life. There were dozens of people who had vanished one day, kidnapped or sold or shot. There were a dozen more who had taken so much stim all at once that their heart went into the wrong rhythm and they collapsed and died. About half of those were intentional. But T… T was different.

Lyra never really believed sudden, unexplained death was a problem for anyone but her fellow Cantatores. Upper class boys didn’t just die like that. The Imperatrix’s brother didn’t just die like that. Violent shootouts were only supposed to happen between the gangs on ground level and the Magistratum who tried to stop them, not at the very highest levels of government. Lyra had lived in anarchy for years, but the thought that Eleutheria itself was unravelling was a scary one nevertheless. Scary, but also wonderful.

Eleutheria was undoubtedly falling apart. That she could see, even from the darkest areas of the planet where sunlight didn’t reach. It was rare to find someone who had lived long enough to remember what life was like under Harmonia Cassia, Acidalia’s grandmother, but whenever it happened Lyra would sit and talk and listen to the legends they told. They always said that things used to be so much better. Lyra was a firm believer that you could tell the state of a nation by the state of its ghettos, and Eleutheria couldn’t be any different. If the Underground was better before Alestra, Alestra had to be the problem.

Not that she’d ever really had the time or education to care about politics.

When she’d followed Ace and T and talked to Cassandra, the Revolution wasn’t anywhere in her mind, not really. She didn’t like Alestra, but she didn’t know Acidalia. She’d seen the coronation, all tiny and bright on the TV above the bar, but had no reference for who the new Imperatrix was. She had just figured that if her supporters were kind enough to give a shit about a random bleeding Cantator when most people would have just kicked her in the ribs for the sake of it was enough for her to trust them. And if it meant a free ticket out of hell, she’d have been willing to go along with anything.

And now one of the people who had offered her that ticket was dead, and they were heading straight back to hell.

Lyra wasn’t sure what she should have been thinking. She was terrified of Acidalia, but also in awe—not for any particular reason other than that the living embodiment of the throne had stood before her. She felt dumb, especially compared to the Scientia girls—they were teenage astrophysicists, and Lyra had never been taught basic algebra. She was worried about Ace, who had somehow insulted the Imperatrix to her face without getting killed, who had lost his best friend in the galaxy, who was fighting a war without the person who’d been beside him for years. She was intrigued by the Martian, who was having a screaming conversation with her father in English on the other side of the ship.

But mostly, Lyra was just tired.

One of the few skills she had was her ability to fall asleep anywhere, which was almost necessary if one wanted to survive in the constant noise of ground level. If she couldn’t sleep through laser shots and sirens and drunken screaming two feet away from her head, then she wasn’t sleeping. She’d passed out on this bench right in front of one of the Revelation’s stained-glass windows and slept for the majority of the trip, long enough that Mars was long gone and Earth’s gray clouds were visible when she woke. Even after she’d rubbed the sleep out of her bleary eyes, the achy feeling and worry lingered in her bones, and she had no idea how to correct it. She wanted to distract herself, but there was absolutely nothing for her to do, so instead she just sat there, staring blankly at colorful windows inexplicably lit by nothing.

Occasionally people walked by her, but none of them spoke to her. She didn’t expect them to. A Cantator was so far below all of them that her very presence on this ship was insane and probably illegal in some way. She’d long since stopped keeping track of the things it was illegal for her to do and say and be and look at, because there were so many, but if she had to guess, being on the Imperatrix’s personal starship was likely one of them. She didn’t know what they were going to do with her once they landed, but thinking about that was exhausting too. What would the Revolution want with a Cantator, especially one with such little human capital? She could tell them she was a Labora and they’d be more willing to put her to work. Nobody treated Laborum nicely, either, but they got the bare minimum—wages and shelter—and that was more than Cantatores got. Ace wouldn’t argue that, would he? He wouldn’t. Care about such a small thing. But if he did, who would they trust—a high-ranking Eleutherian soldier, or a random illegitimate girl from the Underground who had been in off-the-books slave work since she was 6? Would they punish her for lying?

Her head throbbed. She put a hand up to it and there was blood on her fingers; whatever wound was up there had opened up again. T had bought her cheap healing gel at the spaceport, but she’d either put in on wrong or it wasn’t working the way it was supposed to. Head wounds always bled a lot, anyway. She tore off a strip of her already messy dress and held it up to the cut, helplessly watching as the grayed fabric turned red.

“Are you okay?”

A soft voice came from behind her, one she recognized all too well. Her anxiety levels shot up as she realized that the Imperatrix must have been watching her this entire time. She couldn’t think of anything to say—the Martian had called her celestida tua, a botched version of “your highness,” but Lyra knew enough to know that Imperatrices weren’t typically called that. Acidalia wasn’t supposed to have a title, but calling her her name felt strange, so Lyra just stammered, “yeah.”

“No, you aren’t.”

Lyra looked up at her. She still wore the flower tiara she’d had on before, not the Imperial crown she was supposed to have. Instead of the crown jewels, she wore a tiny blue and green marble pendant, jagged at the edges like it had been torn away from something. The Earth from the crown, Lyra realized suddenly.

“What happened to you?” the Imperatrix asked.

Lyra didn’t answer her. She couldn’t.

“I’ll have someone bring you healing fluid,” Acidalia offered. “You’re much paler than I am, but…” Her voice trailed off in a way very uncharacteristic of her TV persona.

“Thank you,” Lyra whispered.

A moment of silence passed. She expected Acidalia to get up and leave, but she didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Acidalia said suddenly. “I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I’m sorry.” Lyra started. “About what?”

“About T.”

“Wasn’t your fault.” The words slipped out of Lyra’s mouth before she could contemplate whether arguing the fact was a good idea.

Acidalia looked at her silently—she didn’t appear angry or even sad, really. She was neutral and obviously trying very hard to stay that way. Her expression was incredibly difficult to read, even for someone like Lyra, who had grown so used to reading people’s emotions that she could usually peg someone’s intentions three seconds after meeting them. Somehow, though, Acidalia was different. Looking at her, Lyra got the sense that her face wasn’t really her face—maybe it was the makeup, or maybe it was the carefully curated Imperial mask.

“We’ll be landing in a few minutes,” Acidalia said, her voice still painfully neutral. She didn’t respond to Lyra’s comment, possibly because she didn’t believe it; survivor’s guilt was a horrible thing. Then, with a great movement of fabrics, she stood up to her full height—an impressive six-foot-something, but only because of her stilettos—and looked at Lyra one last time before walking away, her white skirts leaving a trail of glitter and gold dust behind her.

Lyra’s eyes lingered on the place where Acidalia’s shoes clacked against the white floors. She wore the same heels as Alicaria used to wear on the poles—less cheap-looking, but in the same style. Lyra always wondered how either of them actually walked in those overglorified ballet boots.

As she sat contemplating, a tiny metal disc nudged at her foot. On the top of it was a jar of healing gel. The lid was embossed with “A. P. C.”—Acidalia Planitia Cipher. Of course she had personalized jars for over-the-counter medication. The things rich people did for the sake of having pretty stuff were astounding. Someone had actually engraved this for the sake of making it more aesthetically pleasing, and it sure as hell wasn’t the Imperatrix herself. The sheer unencessity of it gave Lyra pause, but she wasn’t one to refuse help, so she opened it anyway.

The healing gel was the same color as Acidalia’s skin—a warm-toned orange-brown, nothing like Lyra’s own pasty whitish-cream. Experimentally, she slathered it on her skin, where it adopted her own pale tone immediately.

Of course it did. It was rich people stuff.

Curiously, she moved closer to the window and stared at her reflection in the multicolored glass. Threads from both sides of her head wound attached, as if her body was sewing itself back together. The spiderweb of fleshy strings sealed up into a scab, then settled into plain skin again, like nothing had even happened. She ran her fingers across her hair. It was perfectly clean.

Slowly, she rubbed the gel into everything else—the bruises on her legs, the lacerations on her face, even her acne. Everything sealed up beautifully, making her skin smooth and perfect like a porcelain doll’s. She looked like someone who could belong here, if it weren’t for the stained, ripped-up dress and the flats that had been worn so long they were literally falling apart at the seams. Earth’s glow twinkled before her just outside the window, and if she looked at it the right way at the right angle, she could almost pretend she had some sort of right to it—like she was one of Acidalia’s friends, someone with power and influence. Someone who held all the keys to control and knew how to use them. Someone whose opinions could mean something.

Suddenly, the thought that she was just a Cantator came careening back to her. She had no right do this. It was hardly even legal for her to be here. The planet before her was Acidalia’s to hold and Lyra’s to work for. She shook her head. It all felt dizzying.

As she stood up, the soles of her shoes flopped away from where they were supposed to be on the bottoms. She decided her next step would be to look for some tape. Or staples. Anything to look less ridiculous. She took the shoes off and walked aimlessly, searching for any supplies to MacGuyver into something functional, until she stumbled quite by accident into another sitting room.

Like the rest of the Revelation, it was embellished with the most expensive decorations known to mankind. It was a Catholic cathedral rolled into an expensive shopping mall and topped with neoclassical columns, and somehow it managed to work perfectly. There were more stained-glass windows that, by all means, shouldn’t have looked as pretty as they did—this ship was floating in the blackness of outer space; there was practically nothing to light them, and yet somehow they were glowing like their own suns. In the center of the room hung a massive, adamantine cathedral that swayed gently with the rocking motion of the ship and cast little refracted pinpricks of light onto the floor. Then there were at least a dozen plush white chairs, which looked so comfortable Lyra half wanted another nap.

But no staples.

Lyra crossed the room, leaving a trail of healing gel dripping from her forehead. Before she could do anything about it, an army of white robots with blinking LEDs appeared out of thin air, mopped it up, and vanished back into nothingness.

“Wow, they’re fast,” said a strange voice from the corner. Lyra whirled around to see one of the Scientias near at the door, sitting in a chair and playing games on her meta.

“Hey,” the Scientia said distractedly, dumping an entire drink onto the white carpet with no concern whatsoever. The robot appeared again and blinked angrily at her before vacuuming up the mess and zooming out of the room again. “Woah.”

“Hey,” Lyra said back, slightly awed by this woman and her complete lack of shame for creating a huge mess someone—or something—else had to fix. “Who are you, again?”

“Athena Stellara, Scientia. I’m an astrophysicist but I suck at it.”  Athena didn’t even look up. Instead, she gazed vacantly in the direction of the robot. “How do you suppose those things work? I’m, like 87% sure that one looked at me. Actually, glared at me.”

“No idea,” Lyra said. “I’m just a Cantator.”

“Oh,” Athena said. “So, like, you do… dancing and stuff?” “Yeah. Dancing, but I suck at it. I can play songs. Mostly I just waited tables and did odd jobs.” Lyra smiled awkwardly and prayed this woman didn’t ask about anything else.

To her relief, Athena just yawned. “Sounds boring.” “It was boring. And kind of awful—I was only paid with tips. What do Scientias do all day?” Change the subject, change the subject, Lyra thought. Rich people did not like to talk about Cantatores, but they did like to talk about themselves. Athena shrugged. “Math. And like I said… I really suck at math. The numbers kind of jump around in my head. I think if I were in chem or bio it would be easier, but I’m not. So I was bored. We all were, except for the nerds who actually cared. I think being a Cantator would be more exciting than being an Astronomica.”

“I guess,” Lyra replied. “Depends on what your definition of exciting is.” She leant against the chair opposite Athena. “There are lots of scary people.”

“Cool scary people?”Athena asked. “Or, like, real scary people?”

“What do you mean?”

“Biker chicks or mafia leaders?” “Mostly mafia leaders,” Lyra said. “None of them were people you and me would have wanted to hang out with, I promise. Most of them were in a drug-induced rage half the time and they got really violent.”

“Did you ever see a fight break out?” Athena asked, reverent.

“All the time,” Lyra said. “The people picked fights with the police, the police would pick fights with the people, the people would pick fights with each other, the corrupt police would pick fights with the less corrupt police. Sometimes someone would wind up dead. You didn’t want to be in the blast zone when things got bad, but most of the time, there was just kind of yelling in the background.”

“Sounds badass.”

“Oh, it sucked.”

“Why?”

Lyra sighed. “You ever meet a Cantator before?”

Athena shook her head. “Bunch of Laborum. Not any Cantatores.”

“Well, what did those Laborum say about Cantatores?” She thought for a second. “The usual. They didn’t like them.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s kind of cool, though,” Athena said. “You’re society’s underdogs. I mean, when you watch those old movies about the cool cyborg hacker people who, like, take down society from the inside, it’s always someone from the very bottom class.”

“I’m no cyborg hacker person,” Lyra replied. “It’s a little different when you’re there yourself. The Underground is a good setting for a holo film, but in reality, it’s just… well, dirty. You want to hear something gross?”

“Yeah!”

“I knew three people who died from horrible staph infections because they walked around barefoot. All dancers. They couldn’t afford shoes but dancing cuts up your feet, you know? They’d turn bright red and ooze and then a few days later the girls would get a fever and burn up, and then they’d be dead. We had nowhere to bury them. It didn’t matter. No one missed them.” Something changed in Athena’s face. “Damn. I got anthrax three times and I just got cheap phage therapy.”

“They couldn’t afford cheap phage therapy. They couldn’t afford anything.”

“Why didn’t someone help them?” Athena asked. “I’m sure some of those drug dealers had the cash. You know, the people who have briefcases of shady money in the movies.”

“Why would they? The only people who got any medical care were girls who were owned by people and could still make a profit for the procurers, and sometimes not even then.”

“Isn’t slavery illegal?”

“Nothing’s illegal where there are no cops who care,” Lyra shrugged. “It’s not the neon-lit antihero-filled wonderland everyone thinks it is. I’d much rather be a Scientia.”

Athena looked down at her meta’s screen and put it on the end table. “Being a Scientia isn’t that great either. It’s so monotonous. You basically just work for a hundred years until you die, doing the most complicated equations known to mankind with no reward. Occasionally someone way further up than you, like, discovers that star number 65,009,181 emits slightly greener radiation than expected. You know what we did as kids, Carina and me?”

“What?” Lyra asked.

“We would sit there and watch the shadows on stars where spacecraft passed, and every time they were different we’d report it.” “Why?” “Who knows?” Athena shrugged. “They never told us. We just sat and watched the numbers change and pressed a button when they got too weird. And then we got older, and we were basically doing the same thing, with more numbers and equations. And you just keep doing that until you die. No breaks, no future, nothing to look forward to beyond sitting at some stupid desk punching numbers into spreadsheets until you give up.”

“Sounds a lot like me,” Lyra remarked. “Working, working, working, looking forward to a future where your debt is paid even though you know it’ll never happen… and that’s it.”

Athena sighed and laid back on the chair. “So I guess it all sucks, in a way. Hey, doesn’t this feel good?”

“Doesn’t what feel good?”

“We don’t have to give up anymore!” she replied, like it was obvious and Lyra was just missing something. “No more crunching pointless numbers, no more dying of staph infections, no more having nothing to look forward to! Isn’t it nice to be a part of something bigger than clearing tables or punching numbers into formulas?”

“I guess?” Lyra asked hopefully. “Do you think the Revolution really is something bigger?” “Hell yeah,” she said. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m not some Scientia anymore. I’m a Revolutionary! We’re going to change the world someday, topple the system from the inside and take everyone that squished us into those little boxes down.”

“You think that can happen?” She snorted. “I’m an astrophysicist hanging out with the Imperatrix on her personal starship and a Cantator, and we just came back from Mars. If that can happen, I think anything’s possible.”

“Maybe.”

Lyra glanced at one of the many massive windows through which she could see her home planet. It was all black water, half-obscured by gray clouds, lit up in the void by all the twinkling lights of the districts. There was something different, though—the amount of military ships that orbited was far more than they had been on her ride to Mars. Some were the size of islands, others so small they looked as if they were grains of graphite. Occasionally, swarms of them would plunge down past the polluted atmosphere and onto the planet’s surface.

“Woah,” she said, drawing Athena’s attention towards Terra. “Look at all that. Do you recognize those ships?”

“They’re part of the space force,” she shrugged, “but I’ve never seen them in action so close—holy shit, they’re fighting with each other!”

“What?” But just as she had said, there were lasers flying through the sky at top speed—they were so pretty Lyra had hardly paid any attention to them before. Each time one landed on its target, there was a small burst, followed by nothingness.

“Why is it so quiet?” she asked, figuring that Athena, the Scientia, would know.

“There’s no sound in space,” she replied, “and no oxygen to sustain a fire. So things just quietly obliterate each other.”

“It’s beautiful,” Lyra whispered. “And horrible. Oh my God.”

Lasers in a rainbow of colors spun into space with the brightness of the Sun, slamming into black beads and exploding into tiny flames before they were extinguished in the vacuum. Lyra noticed suddenly that they were approaching the Earth at a different angle than she’d expected; they were at the very edge of one of the poles, watching dogfights around the equator. And the Revelation was plummeting.

“Is this normal?” she asked.

Athena, looking elated, shrugged. “I don’t know. But isn’t it exciting?”

[partiallyvoidmostlybees]

20 Questions Tag Game Meme

@howtotrainyournana tagged me in this...so part two here we go! 

Name: ...

Nicknames: Norrison, Nor, Peanut, Beaner, Aron, Lance, Dippy, Other Child, Zan, Bumblebee, mispronunciations of my last name, puns of my first name, that one specific pun of my last name, friendo, Private Snarkles, The Literal Embodiment of Puberty, and probably some others that I’m forgetting. 

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius, baby :D

Height: 5′7″, apparently

Orientation: Asexual, probably. Honestly not that sure, most likely a Hetero-romantic Ace

Ethnicity: Welp...time for ya’ll to hear about my mutt-ness! OKAY SO: Norwegian, German, French-Canadian, Irish, Dutch, English, probably some other European stuff but ya know families are complicated, basically I’m a pasty white AngloSaxon (American)

Favorite Fruit: Well, I love all fruit, like seriously...I love fruit...like a lot. BUT if I HAD to choose ONE I guess I’d pick Watermelon because I could literally eat that like all day! 

Favorite Season: I love all of the season, and it is a close tie between spring and fall, but I think it would have to be FALL!!

Favorite Book: Well my all time favorite is The Last Dragon Chronicles by Christ D’Lacey. However, one of my other favorites is The Perks of Being a Wall Flower!

Favorite Flower: Hmmmmmm...good question. I’ve always been partial to day lilies and roses, however I do also love orchids. Plus basically all wildflowers like dandelions! 

Favorite Scent: Hmmm, there are a lot of great flowery and fruity type scents, but I’m going to focus on more natural scents, because it is easier. So: Bread Baking, that one Nepali restaurant, Fire/Smoke/Bonfires, Rain (seriously one of my favorites ever), Gasoline, Grilling, Fresh Northern Air, my dad’s deodorant, and just water in general! 

Favorite Color: I don’t have one, and have honestly never had one! However, I usually lean towards blues, greens, and purples, but I also really like red. See? I can’t decide! I don’t have one! 

Favorite Animal: I don’t have a favorite animal either, I love them all! HOWEVER, The mantis shrimp is CLEARLY the best animal ever! 

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?: Hot chocolate 100%. I don’t like coffee, it’s gross, and despite my best efforts, I don’t particularly like tea either, so hot chocolate any day! 

Average Sleep Hours: Right now, about 7

Cat or Dog Person?: DOG PERSON, EVERY DAY! I can’t have cats, because my brother and dad are allergic, so I’ve never had one. I mean cats are fine and everything, it’s just that dogs are sooo much better! I will be that crazy pet person that has like 3 dogs and a crap ton of other animals so you know! 

Favorite Fictional Characters: OH EXCUSE ME! YOU EXPECT ME TO PICK JUST ONE? YOU EXPECT ME TO CHOOSE BETWEEN MY CHILDREN??? HOW DARE YOU! 

Number of Blankets You Sleep With: It honestly depends on the time of year, but usually a blanket and a comforter year-round! 

Ideal Trip: Well, I really wanna travel a lot, but I have a top 5 countries to visit: Japan, Australia, Ireland, Singapore, and Norway! Other than that, my roommate and I plan on taking a trip across country (specifically stopping in Maine for seafood ^~^), and also all my friends are going to come up for like a week or two to my cabin in Northern Wisconsin so that’s gonna happen! 

Blog Created: November, 2015, I believe!

Number of Followers: Currently 24! Thank you all that don’t know me IRL, hope my blog makes you happy! And thanks to all my meme-y friends who put up with my trash self on a daily basis! 

Tag some peeps! @money-comb @jacksepticeyetrashblog @ed0398 @sam-septic-girl @emywho15 @consulting-wizard-from-gallifrey  @boputo @shadyfoxpirate @nope-dope @mythicalsky and anyone else who wants to join in!