#anyway ive just been lurking and i will probably continue to lurk for a while but i did make another pair of sims ill post this weekend

[avornalino]

hi i still exist please enjoy this girl 👍

[mephistagain]

Everything, or Nothing At All

Hello good, sweet, kind, wonderful friends who follow Flawed by Design.

Here is an epilogue which will not appear in the actual story, but which I*gleefully embraced and ran, ran so far away*toyed with the idea of at one point a few months ago. 

If you’d prefer to wait for me to finish FbD prior to reading any spoilerish content, abort reading now.

John parked the warthog in the usual spot at the edge of the redwoods. He retrieved his pack, slung it over his shoulder, and hauled the camo tarp atop the vehicle so that it didn’t stand out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of the verdant mountainside. Then he turned and started into the forest. The trek generally took him two hours, and while the warthog could handle the terrain for part of the way, he preferred the solitude of travelling on foot. 

Briar had also complained on the one occasion he had driven closer that the approach had been about as inconspicuous as he was - which was evidently not very, he’d been given to understand. 

The hike gave him time to clear his head of the latest sim test results, the monotony of base life, and the lingering impotency of being involuntarily removed from active duty. He was still a highly functioning tactical asset, so while he understood the decision as it had been explained to him by Brass as a matter of PR, he didn’t like it. Linda didn’t either, but she never complained. Unsurprisingly, Fred and Kelly were transitioning from life in the field with the most ease. They were anticipating instructional appointments as an opportunity to guide and shape the next generation of Spartan-IVs. 

Not him.

Pausing, John examined the trunk of one of the towering trees - more specifically the scarred markings some animal’s claws had torn into its bark. She’d informed him when he’d last left that there was a cougar lurking in the area. He continued on, the familiar weight of the M6H2 strapped to his thigh precluding any concerns about crossing paths with the predator. The territorial scorings didn’t appear recent, sap had already wept over the abrasions and hardened, but he still recentred his focus. Which wasn’t easily done as he tallied up just how long it’d been since he’d last left base. 

An unfamiliar weight settled in his gut, but he knew it for what it was - guilt. Seven weeks was not inconsiderable. And while it hadn’t been his intention to avoid returning, neither had he sought rec time or leave in order to do so. Hadn’t even given it much thought between the day in, day out routine trials Blue team had been selected to participate in for the Gen3 MJOLNIR platform.

He now had to wonder if that had been subconsciously purposeful because of his conflicted feelings over the pregnancy. Briar had encouraged him to seek the input of Fred, Linda, and Kelly, and yet he’d not done that either. Not even when Fred had noted that he was behaving more introvertedly than was characteristic of him. The reason for that, at least, was logical. As Blue team’s leader, undermining the others’ confidence in him by requisitioning advice on a subject none of them were more likely to have experience with than he did was irrational. Fred and Kelly may be more sociable than he was, but he doubted they were concealing clandestine children out there in the systems somewhere. The thought nearly made him snort, in fact. 

The elevation increase and time elapsed since he’d set out from the warthog suggested he was better than halfway there now. 

Would she be displeased with him? He hadn’t gotten the sense his initial reaction had caused her to be so. If anything, she’d seemed as uncertain about the development as he’d been. She hadn’t questioned him when he’d prepared to head back to base earlier than planned. Just requested that he speak with his fellow Spartan-IIs. 

The issue stemmed from the fact John had never factored children into his future. He’d factored another few decades of service in. But not much beyond that. And now, here he was; forced into semi-retirement for all intents and purposes, and staring fatherhood down the barrel. What that even involved, he couldn’t begin to fathom. His memories of his own childhood were so watered down and repressed that it took a Herculean effort just to recall that he’d possessed one at some distant point in the past. He would have a duty to protect the child, that much was obvious. And provide for it - though with the healthy settlement he’d been saddled with as compensation from the UNSC, there should prove no barrier to that. 

What would life for a child born to two Spartans even look like? It had never been explicitly expressed, but there wasn’t a shadow of doubt in his mind they’d never been expected to produce offspring. And while the inquisition into Orion and the subsequent Spartan programs had clued up, and public perception had shifted dramatically in light of its innumerable findings, it still didn’t feel as though society was prepared for Spartans to fully re-integrate. At least, not IIs and IIIs. The IVs had been regular enlisted before being recruited into their program. They’d led normal lives. Had families. No so for his and Briar’s generation. Despite having been stationed there for six months now, Blue team still received a variety of conspicuous reactions from the base’s other personnel as they went about their assigned duties. He ignored them, but the relief of leaving it all behind when he drove past the last checkpoint and the wild landscape opened up before the warthog had been palpable. 

The fact he looked forward to Briar’s company wasn’t the enigmatic response it had initially presented as to him any longer. With her, he was just John. And whatever that entailed, she took in stride. No expectations. 

He smelled it before he saw it. The copper tang of blood hung heavy in the air as he approached the clearing the cottage occupied on the ridge. Through the foliage, tawny hide could be glimpsed. Brandishing his sidearm, he strained his honed senses for further signs of intrusion as he stalked in towards his quarry. Within twenty metres, John could detect the error in his assessment. The once-predator’s pelt hung from a make-shift frame of pliable branches, stretched out wide in a curious display of victory. So, she’d taken care of the cougar. Bypassing the trophy, he was returning the magnum to its holster when he noted the smear on the doorframe. Briar wasn’t as fastidiously tidy and organized as he was wont to be, but a bloody handprint seemed grisly even for her to disregard cleaning up. 

John glanced back to the hide. The dark stain from blood which had pooled beneath it seemed to indicate it’d been hung there for some time. Hours, probably. His attention returned to the smeared handprint. Was it possibly not the result of the animal’s blood, but her own? Had she been injured?

“Briar?” he called not without apprehension as he pushed through the door and inside. Crimson droplets led directly across the rustic floorboards towards the lav. His heart rate kicked up a notch. She hadn’t responded. Dropping the pack with a thud, he stepped over the trail as he strode to the open doorway. No light spilled out, so he wasn’t surprised not to find her within, but the open med kit, mess of bandaging supplies, and blood ringing the sink did alarm him more than he cared to admit. She’d treated herself for whatever wound she’d received, he reasoned with himself. Everything was likely fine. 

Noise outside pulled John away from the chaos which had been unleashed in the lav. He re-emerged from the cottage just as Briar was latching the door on the small tool shed he’d insisted they erect during his last visit, to remove the clutter of equipment from the limited space offered in the main living structure. 

She looked about as bewildered by his presence as he felt about the scene he’d witnessed upon arrival, but as usual, recovered first. “Could have used your help earlier,” she commented while wiping her dirty hands on her already soiled pants. A combination of blood and grime interrupted their dark green camo patterning. 

“With the cougar?” he surmised, having paused just outside the door.

“With burying it.”

That explained the mud, anyway. “Are you alright?” She appeared whole, but the med kit had been rummaged through for a purpose. Her black t-shirt revealed a few shallow lacerations on her arms, but none of them were bandaged.

Briar shrugged, or began to, though the motion was cut short by a grimace. “It got the jump on me, nothing serious.” She lingered by the shed, her gaze having shifted to the hide. “Should have driven it off a while ago.” It didn’t seem a conscious action, but one of her hands drifted briefly to her abdomen before falling back to her side.

It hit him with the sheer, unrestrained force of a NOVA. She’d been in danger - the child she carried, his child, had been in danger - and he hadn’t even known. No matter his uncertainty, the overwhelming and fierce instinct to protect that precious unborn life consumed him with an abruptness he’d never before experienced in his 48 years. He didn’t know what to expect from fatherhood, but the fear of having that opportunity snatched away by variables outside his control was perhaps the realest he’d ever known. 

She was eying him pensively as he closed the distance between them. Dark strands of hair had escaped her braid and smudges on her cheek and temple implied she’d probably been pushing the loose locks out of her eyes. He reached up to do so for her now after she’d unsuccessfully attempted to blow them out of her line of sight. 

“Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking, or should I stand here waiting like an idiot for you to say something for another ten minutes first?”

“I’m thinking that cougar chose its prey unwisely.” 

She rolled her eyes, but they then shot down to where his hand had come to rest over her stomach before she could reply. 

“And that I shouldn’t have waited so long to come back,” he supplied with regret. Not only did he now comprehend how cowardly it had been, even if it shamed him to ascribe such a trait to himself, it had nearly cost him more than he’d at first understood. 

Briar was regarding him with an unreadable expression. She hadn’t stepped back, but neither did she seem particularly welcoming of his proximity. What must she have thought of him as the weeks had stretched on in his absence? “I knew you would,” she said after some time. “Eventually.” It didn’t sound as though that certainty had reassured her much, it was more of a statement of fact.

“I didn’t speak to the others about it.” She deserved to know he’d disregarded her request along with leaving her out here alone without explanation.

“John-”

“But I’m going to. When I go back.”

“It was just a suggestion-”

“What were the bandages for?” he cut her off, having already made up his mind on the matter. Blue team might not be able to offer parenting advice, but they would give him their honest assessment of the situation. And since the added responsibility could potentially affect his performance as team leader, they needed to be aware of that. 

Sighing, she turned around and lifted her shirt to reveal the gauze padding haphazardly taped to her back. Blood had already seeped through several wads, suggesting the wounds they covered were deeper than those on her arms. “I’m going to clean up the shitstorm in there, I just wanted to deal with that asshole before dark,” she said while shooting the pelt a miffed glare and dropping her shirt again. 

“So you decided to skin it.”

“Only after it tried to eat me.” 

John took her by the arm to gently propel her inside. Fortunately, she didn’t resist. In the lav, he again turned her so that she faced the opposite direction and pulled the t-shirt up and over her head, prompting her to lift her arms in the process. Then he began the painstaking process of peeling the medical tape off, doing so slowly so as not to aggravate the injuries beneath. 

All of this, Briar endured cooperatively in silence. Even when he applied the biogel, which he knew from plenty of personal experience, stung owing to its antiseptic component. Once he’d reapplied the bandaging in plush squares, he returned the supplies to the med kit and rinsed out the sink. 

She was still standing in the same spot, shirt held in one hand as she faced the shower unit. Her posture didn’t point towards being receptive to physical contact, so he leaned against the doorframe to give her some space.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking… if this isn’t something you want to go through with, I understand.”

The sudden remark set him on edge almost as swiftly as the cougar pelt had. “Explain,” he prompted her when no further information was offered. 

“Explain what - that neither one of us would have any clue how to raise a kid?” She was shaking her head and he knew without needing her to say more exactly where her doubts stemmed from. She’d confessed before to having no memory of her parents, and his own were vague impressions in the few flashbacks he’d experienced over the years.

“I want to try.”

When she turned around finally, she was frowning. “It’s not something you ‘try’, John. There are no trial runs. No sims. You can’t fuck it up, you don’t get to reset to alpha position.”

Jaw setting with determination, he pushed away from the doorway. “Then we don’t fail.” They’d been forged with a will to succeed at all costs as ingrained as the fundamental functions of breathing, eating, or sleeping. 

“And we’re going to base it off of what? How Mendez treated us? The other drill instructors? AIs?” Briar moved to bypass him, but he prevented her by blocking her path. It wasn’t difficult in the confined space. “I won’t be responsible for screwing some kid up as badly as we were.”

“Some kid?” John repeated, chest tightening at the description of the child even now developing in her womb. He searched her features for some sign she held no attachment whatsoever to the new life they’d inadvertently created. All he saw was diffidence and frustration. This time when she tried to squeeze past, he caged her in against the cabinet the sink was built into, an arm to either side to keep her there. “I see you,” he told her, voice even despite his own inner turmoil. He couldn’t pressure her into a role she wasn’t prepared to undertake. Even if he’d come to the conclusion it was what he wanted. One of the few things he’d ever wanted - not because it was a duty he’d been trained and groomed to carry out, but because it was one he desired the privilege of fulfilling.

Dropping her gaze, she balled up the shirt. Her shoulders rose and fell with shallow breaths, another indication of her state of agitation. 

It wasn’t something that came naturally to him, but he brought one hand up to cup her face nonetheless, offering her the comfort he perceived she required in that moment. He still recalled the light and foreign touch of her own fingers upon his cheek in ‘Vadam’s keep. It’d been the first time anyone other than Fred, Kelly, Sam, or Linda had laid a hand on him for a purpose other than addressing an injury, delivering punishment, or examining his MJOLNIR since he’d been conscripted into the Spartan program. She’d advised him not to analyze it, but that’d proven impossible when, from that moment forth, a steadily growing part of him he hadn’t previously known existed had craved that contact. Expressing that hadn’t been something he’d been aware of how to do, or even whether he should do. 

“What’s going on in there?” she asked quietly.

Chagrined to have lost focus, his brow furrowed. He ran his thumb over the dirt smudged across her cheekbone, but it didn’t remove the blemish. Neither did it diminish her appeal, however. “Thinking,” he answered. “About you.” About how much had changed for him in the time they’d known each other, none of it anything he could have ever predicted.

She was waiting for him to elaborate, he could tell.

“And about being something other than a Spartan.” Something more. Something he chose. “But only if it’s what you want.” 

Her lips grazed his palm as she turned her head. She pressed a kiss there. “I want you.” Rising up onto the balls of her feet, she gripped his shoulders, the t-shirt slipping to the floor. “I want everything. With you. And it scares me, John.” And he could see it in her eyes. That terror. The fear of daring to want something. 

Carefully drawing her in close with an arm around the small of her back, which hadn’t sustained any gouges, John held her gaze. “Someone told me being human can be like that.” He was expecting physical repercussions for the cheeky reminder, namely a punch, but gladly obliged when Briar instead tugged on his tags. Lowering his head, he released a pained grunt when her mouth only briefly met his before she captured his lower lip between her teeth. 

“Smartass,” she scolded him with relish and then kissed him - properly this time. 

[savnofilter]

TW: MENTIONS OF DISCOURSE, GR//MING, P/D/PHILIA, ASS//LT, C//NSENT, D//RK CONTENT.

- this isnt under a read more because i want people to read this, but please read past this/tread carefully if you cannot handle such topics. this is not meant to be interacted with.

I'm not sure how to really go about this. I've been overthinking if I should address this and bring up some stuff while I've been gone, so sorry the absence. I deleted the tumblr app a few days ago and I downloaded it again today so i could post this. I really don't like making posts like this because it cuts the vibe that I've been trying to portray that everything is okay and it makes me feel really disconnected to you guys. I am sorry for the abrupt absence and cutting off any source of communication between us. I knew if I left any form of direct line of talk to me that I would receive hate and I just mentally decided that I cant sit through being harassed right now.

Have you guys ever paid attention to the same people who always have a statement to say or is always in discourse? It's very telling how everyone can post about me, but I shouldnt dare post about them. I'm tired of not being able to post about what I want without people vague posting about me, bringing me up every time they start another discourse with another writer or directly talking about me. My days on here are starting to feel the same. Its good then it goes bad. Good goes bad and bad goes good. It's not even tiring, annoying, or angering -- its repetitive. When I'm not saying anything people create fake stories about me, and when i speak about it im the one starting discourse. Don't get me wrong, I'm nowhere near perfect and I have made my own mistakes. But why the fuck am I always being told to be the mature one, why am I the one who should've done better, why do you people expect so much from me. It's the fact people are always quick to say, "no one cares about you, youre fishing for attention" when they're the ones who vague and interact with me while ive been minding my business for months now. Hm. The fact people have me proudly blocked but still harass me anyways shows a lot about themselves than it does for me. How its such an issue that im a minor until it comes to demonizing, tearing down my character, gaslighting, lying and bullying. I'm a literal example of how their friend group manipulates their followers and exiles people from fandoms for not kissing their ass. except now its in your face.

Consider this my last post about this discourse. I'm not going to waste my time on people who fail to digest other peoples thoughts and opinions time and time again because theyre weak narcissists. If I so choose to decide to shit post my opinions or argue with someone, none of you should be aggravated or moved by it because youre not even supposed to be on my page. If its not something serious i will not be wasting energy that i can be using to build on myself as a growing person than on miserable old ladies that have to use fanfiction to have excitement in their pity, depressing and lackluster lives. If people so do choose to create stories or vague about me, I do not care. So I ask respectfully to people who do lurk on my page to not attempt to message, post or vague about me please. This includes sending anons to yourself to make shit happen.

Past that, something got me thinking. My (older) friend had showed me screenshots of adult writers (no one i have spoken to) that were very excited to write underaged reader with adult characters. There are other instances where writers (that you have probably read from) on here openly made reader underage while aging characters up as adults/with adults. There are many more but there's really no point in listing them nor do I really care. But least to say, the same people who are gung-ho over these pedophilic themes/stories are the same people who support predatory people.

I've been thinking about whether or not i should continue writing for the students anymore. Granted, I still think they're attractive because one snap of the fingers cant stop that. I had been teetering on this thought for awhile because of how borderline pedophilic the people are here towards my age group. I enjoy writing but not to the point of willingly being in a straight line of sight where people who are well over 16 are harassing me and lurking on my page, especially to other minors solely because they are my friends. Backtracking to the statement before, I honestly dont know if I will either stop writing or just for the students as a whole. It shows that clearly some people are using their attraction to teens with the excuse that the characters are fake. The rapid normalization on dark problematic "kinks" is disgusting and vile, and the fact that its discourse now to shame said interests is appalling. Concluding that combined with my experiences here, i feel unsafe.

***(TRIGGER WARNING)*** I dont talk about my personal life on here that much cause I dont see the need too nor do i think its anyone's business. Paired with the fact that the people i have trusted personal information with have used it against me, I will be preventing myself from opening that door. Besides that for now, I have sparsely shared I've been assaulted before. This is my first time really opening up about this and i kind of find it necessary now. Coming from someone who has been a victim of assault and CP by people my age and well over, writing nsfw has been the only way where I could feel comfortable with sex in general. I won't get into details because mentioning this is triggering already and can make people uncomfortable. It feels like anywhere I go, I'm constantly putting myself in a position to be abused. The same people who told me I didn't have to worry about my age and be judged for it, exposed the minimum comfort of keeping myself private online to demonize, judge and hurt me. People call me "extra" for being distraught about my face and age being posted because they think im trying to be sneaky which isn't the case. Its the principle that they KNEW I wasnt ready to share said things, and coming from someone who is inherently a private and closed person, she knew damn well what she was doing when posting screenshots of me on Tumblr. There is no excuse for it. The same writers who write dub/non-con can BARELY understand basic consent and its fucking terrifying. This site was the only other place I could cope without being criticized. To see people who some i was close to proudly lie on my name, (adults) say that i sent them pornographic content without their consent is so very hurtful. To watch people supposedly be victims and then use their own trauma to invalidate my own was so fucking humiliating, disgusting and nerve wracking. Although I knew I made the terrible decision to interact with stories, I have never initiated any NSFW discussion with anyone in DMs unless they did it with me first and a few times -- and trust me raise your hand I'll show you the proof. I was sure that everyone I talked to regularly knew that I was a minor, and to my general consensus, people were under the impression I was 15/16 (which I was and am).***

Whether it be victim blaming from the grooming discourse, I've been met with racism, harassment towards my friends, people wanting me to harm myself and be assaulted. I fear what will happen when i will turn 18, if the harassment will escalate and what not. A big part of me is that I'm still here anyways because it pisses people off and I don't care when I receive hate. I can take it but I don't want it. A good conscious of me knows that I should be doing what's best for me but at the end I'm still attached to my ego-self with the added fact that I sincerely enjoy interacting with my followers and posting stories.

I just don't know how the options look. I'll probably be updating my blog rules as of right now. I've been writing more sfw lately because of this and it'd be nice if you guys supported those until I properly decide. I still have plenty of requests of a bunch of characters (mostly Bakugo and Dabi) and original stuff (all sfw & nsfw) that I really wanna share with you guys. But I just ask that what I do modify that you will respect it like you would to any other writer on here.

Stay safe, keep your mask on, and thank you.

[thelazyhermits]

Hi Haze!! Hope you're having a good day/night ^^ anyways this is hella random but ive been thinkin about that Brozawa AU again & ive always wondered how Fortune's highschool life was like lol like did she get any admirers or students who got a lil crush on her? XD bc I always imagined that she'd find some students like go up to her and try to ask her out but lo and behold, a Protective Brozawa appears in the background & just glares at the poor boy who dares try to make a move on Fortune lmao

Hi! Thank you! I hope you are too! ^-^

That is an excellent question haha Since Fortune goes to UA for high school, I could definitely see something like this happening. While Fortune would be in the General Department, Aizawa could still check in on her as much as he wants since I bet he has a lot of free time with his schedule lol

Honestly, I feel like Fortune would be the type who gets silent admirers who are too shy to approach her. Although, there were probably a few that openly flirted with her since they’re just that friendly. 

Anyone who flirts with Fortune while Aizawa is lurking around definitely won’t continue to flirt with her out of fear of what he’d do to them haha

[turtle-steverogers]

alright babe heres the first 5 I saw: "why are you covered in neon body paint?" "best not to ask" and "I cant breathe, I cant-" and "I cant walk just go on without me" and " ive had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with" and "hey guys im here and im ready to bitch"

hey guys, saph and i were facetiming earlier and she dared me to finally answer this ask she sent in like fall 2018 except i had to use all the prompts and the result is…well, i’m not sure what it is.  but its got criminal race and spot and a cryptic ass albert who makes lava lamps for his niece.  so yah. enjoy!

warnings: its pretty much crack, but there is a brief anxiety attack

ship: platonic race/al/spot

word count: 2490

editing: no

Something a Little Off-Kilter

-

Race was nine years old when his ma grabbed him by the chin, turned his face towards her and told him in all her harsh Italian-mother sternness, “We do not run from people, Antonio.  You have Mancini blood in your veins and Mancini’s do not run!”  And Race, with eyes blurred from tears and nose dripping with blood from the fight he’d just fled, nodded vigorously before trudging miserably to his bathroom to clean up (and cry a little more).

But he’d learned two things that day.  One: what a maiden name was and that his ma’s is Mancini and two: running is for losers who never want to stop running.  And he’d more or less kept up that sentiment, even if it cost him a black eye and some dignity in some circumstances.  Like that one time in eleventh grade when Spencer Reiding called him a fairy and in turn, Race had beat the living shit out of him until his little entourage had shown up and knocked him out cold.  But seriously, ‘fairy’? It’s not 19-fucking-50.

Race supposes, though, that all good sentiments meet their maker at one point or another.  Self-preservation over morals and all that, right? 

“Floor it, Christ, are you flooring it!?”  His grip on the ‘oh shit’ bar is white-knuckled and he can hear himself panting as he twists in his seat for what’s probably the hundredth time.  The blue and red flashing of the cop car that had been following them is nothing but a speck at this point, but Race isn’t really keen on taking any chances right now.  Tonight had been a close fucking call.  

“Yes, I’m flooring it, asshole!” Spot shouts, swerving around a lone subaru that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere on the otherwise empty stretch of desert highway.  Normally, Race would be surprised at the sheer lack of cars that are out, but he supposes 4 am in buttfuck Arizona is not prime time for travels.  

Letting out a little whine, Race turns to face forward again, stealing a quick glance at Spot as he does so.  He can see the faint worry lines on his face, reflected from the miniscule lights of the dash.  They’d opted to leave the headlights off for optimal covertness, but the moonlight over the desert proves to be more than sufficient.  

Spot’s anxious, Race can tell.  He remembers a year ago when the two of them had first met in that dingy bar in Brooklyn.  Spot had been nothing but a stoic mask at that time, only showing faint hints of amusement every now and then.  It had been incredibly disconcerting, especially to Race who wears his heart on his sleeve, to behold such utter passivity, but Race had since learned to read him.  Spending everyday together for twelve months is really the best lesson in a person’s tells, Race has found.  And really, when he spares a second thought to it, their situation and relationship therefore, is a strange one.  Two broke college grads down on their luck and bearing fuck all from their families meeting by chance and somehow finding themselves stuck in a loop of money laundering and identity theft in order to stay above ground.  Maybe not the best solution to their problems, but hey, Race never claimed to be smart with his choices.  And the rush of adrenaline is as much of a drug as the coke they sell on the side.

“God fucking damnit, is he still following us?” Spot says, eyes flitting to the rearview mirror.

“Dude, he caught us balls deep tryna break into a fucking bank.  He ain’t gon’ let us off that easy.” Race says, “Jesus fuck I told you we should stick to the other stuff.  We were making big cash just fine pulling paychecks from easy civvies.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can tell me ‘told you so’ when we get somewhere I can think.” Spot sounds exhausted and on-edge and Race himself is looking forward to this whole ordeal blowing over so they can find a place to ditch this car and grab a new one and maybe crash at some shitty inn no cop would think to look.  Yeah, laying low for a couple of days sounds perfect right now.  They don’t even have to leave the room.  Denny’s orders in, right?

“Oh, I will.” Race says, sighing an internal sigh of relief as the distant lights of a small town come into view.  Thank god.

Spot mumbles something that sounds like, “Fucking finally,” and eases up on the gas, turning abruptly once they enter the city perimeter.  

They’ve gotten good at this: losing tails, but Race still holds his breath as Spot loops around the backroads of the town, looking for a place to dump the car.  It’s a few minutes until Race can see the lights of the cop car reflecting off the drug store they’d passed upon first entrance and he hisses out another curse, jabbing Spot in the arm.

“Stop here,” He says, “If he finds the car, fine, but he sure as hell ain’t finding us in it.”

Spot looks like he wants to fight back, but instead, he surprises Race by pulling to a surprisingly quiet stop by an old auto-shop.  He gestures for Race to get out and swiftly grabs their duffels from the back seat, tossing Race’s to him, both pausing when the cop car cruises in front of the alleyway closest to them.  Inaudibly, they let out synchronous sighs of relief when it continues on. 

They cheat behind the auto-shop and are barely settled into identical crouches when a quiet, “Psst,” captures both of their attention.  Race jumps violently, only barely recovering in time to slap a hand over Spot’s mouth as he begins to shout in surprise.

“Over here,” the voice whispers again.

The two of them turn to look at where the auto-shop’s back door is now open and Race squints as the silhouette of a man comes into view.  He can see the man waving a hand in front of him, beckoning them closer, before exchanging a look with Spot.  A silent conversation passes between them, we’ve made bad choices before, what’s one more? And Spot shrugs a little before hoisting his duffel back onto his shoulder and tiptoeing towards the man.  Race follows behind warily. 

Now that he’s closer, Race can see that the man is about their age- young and a little rugged looking with hair that curls towards his jaw at the nape of his neck.  His face and arms are splattered with- well, Race’s first thought is that it’s blood, but upon further inspection, he sees that it’s paint.  Bright yellow and orange neon paint.

He has a lot of questions.  Like, how the fuck did you notice us lurking behind your building at four am? And, why did you think it was a good idea to interact with two obviously suspicious looking men? But all that comes out is, “why are you covered in neon paint?”

Spot drops his head in a groan and the guy laughs somewhat maniacally, “best not to ask, it’s a long story.  Well, actually it’s not.  You see, it’s my niece’s birthday tomorrow and she really likes lava lamps so I’m hand making a few for her and that includes painting the bases and she’s going through that quirky eight year old phase where everything rainbows and neon is super cool, so I’m making them neon tie-dye,” he says it all in one breath and Race finds himself struggling to keep up, “anyway, the names Albert.  You two look like you need some help.  Wanna come in?”

The whole situation’s fucking weird, but Race and Spot exchange another look, this one holding the quick debate of, what other options do we got? And a moment later, they’re hustling into the dingy auto shop.

The lights are dim on the inside, but it’s a surprisingly cozy set up.  The side dedicated to cars is immaculately organized, with a few hanging from the ceiling and others lined neatly on the ground, propped up on floor jacks where necessary.  On the other side is clearly where Albert lives, with a couple curtains sanctioning off a twin bed and desk, where sure enough, three lava-lamps, varying in color and size, are set on a few sheets of newspaper.  

Spot frowns as Albert locks the door, turning to them with a smile, “I’m assuming the cop car out there’s for you guys?”  When Race and Spot don’t answer, he continues, too lighthearted for the situation, “Yeah, figured.  Feel free to lay low here ‘til the threat’s passed.”

“If the police are clearly after us, aren’t we the threats?” Spot asks, “Wait, no, hold on, aren’t you gonna ask us what we did?  Aren’t you put off at all?”

Albert waves a hand, “Nah, I do this all the time.  Just don’t try to murder me and we’re good.  You look like nice enough people, just a little down on your luck.  I don’t mind you camping out here while ya need.” He sets off towards his desk, seemingly to finish the lava-lamps, “The door across from the supply closet is technically an office, but I stuck a mattress and some blankets there for people like yourselves.  Feel free to crash.  If the bull comes by, I didn’t see anything.”  With that, he’s gone.  Behind the curtain as if he’d never been there.

Race blinks, bemused, and looks at Spot.

“What the fuck did he mean, ‘I do this all the time’?  Who the fuck is this guy?”

Spot shakes his head, looking more lost than Race has ever seen him, “Hell if I know.”

The office-turned-guest-room turns out to be more spacious than Race had anticipated and he and Spot are sitting on the mattress, munching on granola bars that were placed unceremoniously in a bowl by the door, when they hear a knock from outside.  

Race feels a pit of dread form in his gut and he lowers his granola bar, appetite lost.  It’s the cop, it’s gotta be.  Who else would be knocking before dawn?  And oh god, they’d left the car right out front, how much more obvious can they be?

Race glances at Spot, who’s also stopped eating, and hisses, “If he catches us, run.  Go on without me.” 

He means it, but Spot just huffs out a bitter laugh, “As if.  Now shut up.”

They strain their ears, listening as Albert opens the door, feigning sleep they know he hasn’t gotten in his voice, “Officer.  Is there a problem?”

They can’t hear what the cop says, but Albert’s side of the conversation is fairly clear, “Hm? Oh, the paint?  I was working on a project for my niece and must have dozed off before cleaning up.  Anyway, how can I help you?”  There’s a pause, “Two- what? I haven’t heard anything about no bank robbers, that’s terrible! I- oh, that car, that’s…strange, that wasn’t here when I went to sleep.  Sure, you can check around back, but I doubt ya’d find anything.  I’da heard if someone were moving around out there and I didn’t hear nothing last night.  Yes sir, I- oh?  Nah, I’m afraid I can’t letcha search my shop.  Not without a warrant.  Mm, sorry officer.  Yes, I understand the caliber of the situation, but it is my legal right to deny your entrance to my home without substantial reasoning.  Mhm, but see, that’s a hunch.  I don’t see no warrant.  Okay, officer.  Yes. just around back.  Go ahead.  Alright, officer, okay.  Nice chat.  Goodbye.”

The door closes a second later and Race lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.  All at once, the adrenaline of the night hits him.  They’d almost been fucking caught, Christ, what if they’d ended up in jail?  What if they still end up in jail?  He couldn’t survive jail, fuck, he wouldn’t even be able to afford and lawyer and shit-

His body is shaking, vibrating really, and a weight is steadily growing on his chest.  Involuntary tears prick at his eyes and he brings a hand up to the front of his shirt, tugging as if that would release some of the pressure from his lungs.  

“Race?” Spot sounds distant and Race turns to him, knowing he looks panicked, but having no capacity to change that, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Race says, voice high and pitchy, “I can’t really breathe, I can’t-”

“Shit, hey, it’s okay.  I think you’re having an anxiety attack,” Spot says, sounding uncharacteristically gentle, “I know a lot happened tonight, but we’re okay,” He places a comforting hand on Race’s shoulder, “Just breathe, it’s okay.”

Race nods, closing his eyes and focusing on Spot’s touch, allowing it to ground him.  A few moments later, he’s feeling calmer, if still a little shaken.  

“You alright?” Spot asks, not removing his hand.

“Yeah, I dunno, man,” Race says honestly, “It’s been a rough ass night and all I want right now is something to drink and someone to cuddle with,” his eyes fly open as soon as the words are out of his mouth.  He hadn’t meant to say that.  He’s not sure why he said that.  It’s not even like he and Spot have that sort of relationship, nor is he particularly seeking that out.  But now that it’s out there, Race wouldn’t say no to some good old physical comfort.

Spot seems to sense that and laughs a little as he removes his hand from where he’s still gripping Race to sling his arm around his shoulders.  It’s a little more intimate than they usually are, but friendly and comfortable nonetheless.  Race takes a deep, shaky breath and rests his head back against the wall, leaning into Spot’s side.

“Yeah, it’s been a fucked up night and I think I’m still deciding whether or not it’s real or just some weird fever dream,” Spot says, “Like, who even is that guy?  What the fuck is his deal?”

“Lord even knows,” Race says, “But I think I got my fill of crazy for a while.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They lapse into silence and Race is just starting to drift off when the door to the office opens and Albert pokes his head in, somehow covered in even more paint than before and holding up a bottle of tequila, “hey guys, I’m here and I’m ready to bitch.  The cop is gone now, though I wouldn’t recommend skipping town just yet- better safe than sorry.  Also, bank robbers, huh?  Haven’t had your kind in a while.  You’re a fun type, though the arson that I met last week was pretty spicy.  Anyway, drinks?  I know it’s early for alcohol, but I get the feeling y’all need it.”

Spot doesn’t even try to lower his voice as he says, “Yeah, I don’t think our fill of crazy is over yet.”

-

don’t ask me what that was about, i genuinely don’t know

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[xantchaslegacy]

Forgiven, Ch 2

Chandra had seen plenty of strange sights on plenty of different worlds; it came with the territory of being a career planeswalker/renegade/aspiring hero. She’d had days full of zombie hordes, days where she’d defied gods (with mixed success) , and days where she clashed with everything from dragons to giant demon frogs.

Today seemed set on one-upping all of that.

She’d expected to see some interesting things when Vraska asked for help with the reactivated eternals terrorizing the undercity. It was new territory, even if the foe was an old one. Still, the sewers of Ravnica were a bigger and more tangled maze of tunnels, caves, and entire districts than Chandra expected, stuffed with more variations of fauna, flora, and fungi than she had seen in one place. The izzet cyclopses who’d come along to assist in the clean-up were some of the oddest allies she’d ever had (their voices were so high pitched...and how were their heads so tiny?). The eternals, their blue lazotep now covered with an additional layer of fungal plates and clinging moss, had looked strangest of all-

-at least until an imp with a bow-tie offered her dinner.

“I insist, it would be shabby in the extreme if Pivlichino’s accepted so much help without offering a hot meal in return.” The imp, Pivlic, wrung his hands together imploringly. He hovered just in front of Chandra, taking conspicuous care not to drift close to the grimy walls or knee-deep filth of the undercity tunnel.

“It’s fine, really.” Chandra glanced back at Samut, who just shrugged. “We’d have to clear out the eternals here even if the tunnels didn’t run under your, uh, restaurant?”

“Ravnica’s newest, grandest restaurant, club, and bar,” The imp exclaimed with a bow and a flourish. “And please. Consider it a gift on behalf of the entire city. These metal monstrosities have been a blight on our streets, and to think there are still a few lurking about...”

Samut tensed in the corner of Chandra’s eye, but said nothing. Quietly, efficiently, she continued to lay out the still bodies of eternals along the dry side of the tunnel.

“...it’s truly a blessing to know such capable mages are seeing to the elimination-”

“Thank you,” Chandra cut the imp off. “And sure, we’ll take a meal. We should be done with for the day in an hour or two.”

“Excellent!” Pivlic clapped once, the crisp sound echoing down the tunnel. His attendant, a stooped ogre with a collar and bow-tie pressed crisply against his bulging neck, stepped forward, holding out a small silver tray Chandra. On it were two silver-embossed slips of paper, which Chandra took with a furrowed brow.

“What are-?”

“Show those tickets to the maitre d’ and she’ll see you sat at one of our best tables. We’ve got genuine Gruul folk musicians playing this evening; the perfect compliment to a hearty meal!” Pivlic bowed, spun in the air, and flew off up the service tunnel that led back to the streets. His attendant followed, ascending by ladder slowly, grumbling under his breath.

“Are we getting a feast in our honor?” Samut was sitting up against the sewer wall, next to the neat row of eternals, a tired smile and a raised eyebrow aimed at Chandra.

“Fancy dinner.” Chandra waved the tickets and slumped down next to Samut. The ground was filthy, but they’d gone through waste up to their shoulders several times already that day, so the added grime barely registered. “Um, I hope that was alright that I accepted the offer for both of us. If you’d rather not-”

Samut waved the apology away. “I was going to ask if I could buy you supper for all your help and your company anyways, so all the better.”

“All the better,” Chandra echoed. She tucked the tickets into a satchel on her belt. “So...what do you think so far? One last bit of Bolas’ magic keeping them going? Maybe he had another necromancer waiting in the wings with the Golgari?”

“Either. Both. That would make sense if the false god is half as clever as all who know him claim. I wonder though��It doesn’t seem as if touching them endangers our sparks any longer. If it was the false god, well you’d think those enchantments would still be in effect.”

Chandra nodded. She had bare-handed grappled at least two of the eternals that morning, and gotten away with nothing but scrapes. “Maybe. Must have been a pretty exhausting spell to maintain.”

“Probably. Either way, one less spell desecrating my sisters and brothers.”

“Oh yeah, about that...” Chandra looked across Samut at the broken Amonkhet warriors. “Should we, um, say anything? Do you have some kind of burial rite or…?”

“I’ve said what needs to be said.” Samut leaned her head back until it rested against the stone. “You know, I don’t have a clue what burial customs my ancestors had. The false god left our viziers with the practice of mummification, but none of our proper rites of remembrance.” She sighed. “Nothing to be done but to say goodbye to them as warriors.”

Samut lapsed into silence. They sat listening to the rush and gurgle of the sewers for several long minutes before she shrugged and stood.

“My comrades and I have a lot to re-discover, if we survive the coming years.”

“Yeah,” Chandra nodded and stood as well, “I uh...I can imagine that’d be, uh...” Her mind grasped for the right words to continue this conversation she’d started. “Actually, I guess I couldn’t. I am very sorry, though.” She pointed at one of the growths on the nearest eternal’s armor. The fungus was grown in the patterns reminiscent of the Golgari undead, with spongy masses and plates forming crude, partial armor. “Do you want me to burn any of that off, at least?”

“It’s no worse than the lazotep,” Samut laid a gently hand on the smashed skull of the closest metal-coated zombie. “And since we haven't seen any partial eternals moving under the control of the growths, I don’t think it’s much of a danger anymore.

“Thank you, though,” She added.

Chandra nodded. Her hands fell back to fiddling with the cool wrist of her gauntlets. One of the eternals had cast a volley of arrows through a gas line, puncturing it in over a dozen places. Chandra had resorted to fire-free means of fighting for the rest of the day while the izzet cyclopses struggled to fix the ruptures. She could still hear them further along the tunnel, stomping through the muck, sifting for any remaining zombies in the area.

Vraska had approached each of them separately about the renewed eternal problem. While Bolas’ death had brought the entire force to a standstill, the vengeant ravnicans had not destroyed all of them. A significant number had made their way into the sewers and waterways before they’d been deactivated. Some, for whatever reason, had congregated in dead-ends and abandoned shafts, where they had simply hunkered down and seemingly waited for the war above to end.

That would have been easy enough to clean up. Then a blue-metal hippo had attacked Zonot, killing three researchers before the guard-krases could put it down. The Simic had assumed the fungal growths were the result of some rogue project gone awry. A week later, a squad of spear-wielding eternals attacked an underground Rakdos poetry slam, and this time there had been no mistaking the Golgari fungi covering the attackers.

“Which is a bad look for the swarm,” Vraska had explained. “I could point to the half-a-dozen attacks on our own undercity territory as counter-examples, but no-one wants to hear it. Even if my guild wasn’t at war with itself regularly, other would just say I sent those attacks as plants to throw suspicion off of myself.”

Chandra had agreed to help immediately, just for something to distract from her latest bout of restlessness. She had almost even turned down the gold Vraska offered for the job.

It was quite a lot of gold. The gorgon seemed to still feel bad about how things had gone with Baan, as if that creep’s fate had been anyone’s fault but his own. Chandra hadn’t asked yet if Samut had been offered the same price for her help. It was clearly personal enough for Samut regardless, and ambivalent as Chandra felt about payment, she couldn’t imagine offering Samut the same without it being at least somewhat insulting.

“So just, uh...leave them for the Izzet grunts to move?”

“Yes.” Samut nodded. “I’ll trust the natives do what’s best for their own plane.” She looked over the line of fallen warriors. “A whole lifetime perfecting our bodies for the afterlife, and it turns out the best we can hope for after death is that we lie still and unused by evil.”

“I...I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you said that.” Samut smiled faintly. “I’m not much for being sorry about what’s past. I’ve lost a lot of my life already...I need to focus on making the future better.”

“Better life...” Chandra stared across the tunnel at the opposite wall. “What do you have in mind?”

Samut nodded, lips pursed.

“Dinner would be a good start.”

* * *

Pivlichino’s (or Pivlichino’s IV, as the sign outside read, for some reason), was spacious, crowded, and loud. Chandra adored it. The tables were laid out in a patterned sprawl, built to every size and shape needed for accommodating the different bodies of Ravnica. Groups of goblins shared drinks at long, short-legged benches. Minotaurs and elves and humans wolfed down meals at an array of middling tables. Chairs with legs the size of tree-trunks loomed large against the near wall for the odd giant diner. Waiters bustled among the diners, hefting barrels of bumbat and platters of every kind of food. Plates of steaming intestines. Sliced fruit arranged over sweet ices. Bowls of beetles drenched in vinegar.

The maitre d’, a harried-looking Viashino, had taken one look at Chandra and Samut, and escorted them to a small side room before they’d made it ten steps into the building. There, they’d been presented with a huge selection of fancy clothes to change into.

“Seriously?” Chandra had asked, pointing over the maitre d’s horned shoulder at a troll lumbering into the restaurant. “She’s covered in spiders.”

The maitre’d had sniffed. “They are not sitting at our best table.” She waved her arm at the tiers of clothing covering the walls “You may have your pick of the lot. Our thrulls will even clean your current...garments. If you would like.”

Samut had picked a tiered red-and-gold formal dress, then replaced the skirts with a set of pale white trousers and fancy riding boots. Her stride through the dining room was confident and fresh, and not at all like someone who had been trudging through sewer-muck all day. Chandra, on the other hand, was very much showing the day’s labor as she ambled beside Samut in a hastily-thrown-on set of Selesnya robes that reminded her of Ghirapur-style dresses, in cut if not in color.

Still, despite the fatigue, the heads they turned and eyes they caught were definitely aimed at her as much as Samut, and Chandra felt a little swagger sneak into her walk, even as she gawked like a tourist at the main dining room.

Pivlic practically glowed with delight at Chandra and Samut’s reaction as he escorted them to their table. He needed no encouragement to show off every detail of the establishment, from the “authentic Gruul wall-art” to the “specially Simic-grown kelp-thread carpets.”

“-and of course, our mealtime entertainment for the evening.” Pivlic gestured toward a group in Gruul hides dragging instruments into the main dining room by a side door.

“Real...real popular place you’ve got, huh?” Chandra commented, consciously restraining herself from stopping and watching in awe as a trio of demons devoured a tower of chocolate ice the size of a small house.

“Patrons from every guild and guildless walk of life enjoy the fine food and facilities of Pivlichino’s,” Pivlic beamed. “Paid for with Orzhov gold, of course, but co-owned and run with the best cooks, entertainers, and brewers of the Rakdos and the Golgari. A true symbol of collaboration and goodwill among guilds.”

“Impressive,” Samut replied, absently. She was glancing all over, at every diner and dish and decoration in sight. Chandra would have thought it just enthusiasm of the newly sparked if she hadn’t been gawking herself.

“We have a few private rooms, but I can tell you two will be happier with a full view of the action.” Pivlic gestured to a set of tables on a raised dais, right next to a small balcony. There was a clear view of the setting sun down a long boulevard through the window, and a panorama of most of the dining area on the other side of the table. The chairs were made of wicker and resin, and the cushions looked suspiciously like Simic oozes, but were soft as silk, and Chandra felt every bruise on her shoulder slide away as she leaned back and peered at the pedestrians walking a few stories below.

“Start our dear friends with a round of Appetizers Allegiant,” Pivlic dictated to a waiting minotaur waiter, standing at blank attention with a red cloth draped over his forearm. “Our special until the end of Seleszeni,” He added with a wink. “Variation without spoiling your appetite for more.”

The band started setting up as they waited for water and appetizers. The Gruul had brought several large drums, carved horns, and a massive string instrument that had clearly been carved out of a six-foot chunk of rubble. They hauled everything onto a raised stage in the center of the dining space. A serviceable place to play music, though something about it made Chandra think of a fighting ring.

“Do you like music?” Samut asked, nodding at the stage.

“Some of it. We have the best dancing music on my home plane. You have to come listen to Kaladeshi qawwali singers someday.”

“I think I’d like that. Anything you can move your feet to is best.”

“Yeah. I bet Gruul music is good for dancing” Chandra eyed the band. The largest of them, a towering centaur, had wrestled the rubble-harp upright, and was plucking at it experimentally. “Though I guess even if it is good to jam to, there’s not much of a dance floor.”

A quick glance around the massive room confirmed this. Chandra frowned.

“Huh. I thought Pivlic said this place was a club too.”

“What does that mean, ‘club?’”

“Oh! Ummmm….” Chandra bit her lip. “I guess they can change from place to place, but like...I guess I think of a place with music where you can dance. Sometimes fancy, sometimes not. I prefer the latter.”

Samut nodded. “We’ll have to incite some dancing tonight.”

Chandra accepted a glass of water from their returning waiter and raised it to Samut. “We should hang out more often.”

The ‘Appetizers Allegiant’ arrived on five small plates, each showing off a fusion of tastes each guild was known for. The Golgari slow-roast slider with Rakdos pepper sauce was fantastic, as were the thin slices of thrull pate with a minty Azorius-inspired jam.

The band started playing as they worked through the dishes. The first song was a low, slow-building rumble of a song. The lead singer, a barrel-chested goblin, rasped out lyrics about the setting sun setting the world on fire.

“Interesting,” Chandra nibbled on a bite of toast points made from Boros rations and an organic mash of Gruul vegetables. “I was expecting more smashing-themed songs.”

“I like it,” Samut said. “Reminds me of the training songs from back home. Most of them are about the sun.” She made a slight face. “We’ll have to come up with some new lyrics now, I suppose.”

“How...how are things back home?”

Samut frowned. “Better than we feared, but harder than anyone could have imagined before...well, before. We’ve scraped together an outpost at Hashep, but just about every stretch of the desert is hostile even without the dangers of starvation or exposure. It’s about all Hazoret can do to keep the horrors at bay.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.” Chandra looked down at the table. “I, uh, went back to Naktamun, a few days ago. I hadn’t even thought to look for the survivors.”

“We’re a plane of fighters,” Samut replied, low. “No need for you to feel bad about having other concerns. It seems like every plane has its share of horrors. And things aren’t so dire that I can’t spare time to see to matters here. To try and find help for my plane on other worlds.”

“Have you had any luck?”

“Vraska has put me into contact with one of the guild leaders here. Ral Zarek.”

Chandra nodded. “I’m familiar.”

“He’s come twice so far to survey the land. The land and what equipment we’ve been able to scavenge from the ruins. He’s confident that we can construct a device to bring the rains more frequently, which, basically, is to say at all.” Samut sighed. “But we persevere. We are strong. I find that I am able to best serve my people by assuring them our betrayed comrades and ancestors have been put to as honorable a rest as I can make for them.”

“If I can help at all...I can’t imagine the hardships your plane is going through, but whatever I can do...”

“I was actually going to ask if your lover was still around,” Samut replied. “-and if she would have the time to visit Amonkhet. Our excavator mages have made immense strides in re-discovering connections with the plane, and using them to coax new growth, but it would help to have someone of her talents who can travel with her own reserve of mana.”

“My…? Oh.” Chandra’s ears got hot, and the looked away, out the window. “That’s not...you mean Nissa. It’s um, it’s not like that, anymore. I mean, I could definitely ask, but...” She trailed off.

“Oh? Oh. Oh, I’m very sorry, I had just- will, I saw the two of you when she joined the battle, and afterwards, well, I just thought...”

Chandra jerked her shoulders in a small shrug. “Sure. I guess I thought so too.”

“It can be hard, when a fight goes wrong,” Samut offered. “It was the same in the trials. Even in training. The closest crop can feel disunity when faced with an overwhelming trial.”

“We’re just not right for each other,” Chandra said. She picked up a mizzium fork from the small plate in front of her, its tongs woven through with some kind of...blue roasted worm? “That’s all. We talked about it.”

“Didn’t like each other as much as you thought?”

“No, I...” Chandra set the fork down and frowned. “I’m still working that out.”

“Mm. Didn’t work it out when you talked?”

“Well...it wasn’t that long of a talk, I guess.”

Samut grimaced. “You ended your relationship before you knew why you wanted to end it?”

“Would you believe I told myself it was because I didn’t like girls?”

“The way I saw you look at her when we first met in Naktamun?” Samut’s grimace twisted into a smirk. “The way you two looked at each other when we felled the false god? No, I don’t think I would believe that at all.”

“I mean, she might have been the only one, for all you knew.”

“Only one?”

“Only, you know...” Chandra twirled her hand through the air, not quite sure what sort of gesture she meant to make. “The only girl I liked.”

Samut raised an eyebrow. “Was she?”

Uh...” Chandra’s hand fell to her lap. “No. She wasn’t the only one. She isn’t the only one, I guess.”

“Oh?” The smirk widened. “Well, who could blame you? When there are women like me in the world...” Samut shrugged, throwing both hands up in the air and tossing her hair.

Chandra rolled her eyes. “Anyways, I guess I was just grasping at reasons, so I told myself anything.”

“Are you though? Pansexual?” Samut asked, with a straightforwardness that caught Chandra out of nowhere.

“Uh, bisexual, I guess?”

“Bisexual?”

“Yeah, guys and gals. Love ‘em both.”

Samut tilted her head. “Ah. There’s so much more than just men and women in the world, though – oh, I shouldn’t have assumed-” She flushed slightly. “Is it just humans on your home plane?”

“What…?” Chandra tilted her head as well, quizzically. “Oh! Oh, no we’ve got plenty of – I don’t have a preference of genders.” She shrugged. “I mean, I’ve got a type, but, you know, it’s just one of many types.”

“I’ll toast to that.” Samut nodded. She raised her glass of water. “Here’s to everyone.”

“Yeah!” Chandra knocker her cup against Samut’s, spilling a few drops on the tablecloth. “The whole buffet!”

Samut burst out with a sharp laugh. “Buffet?”

“Okay maybe it’s not a perfect metaphor, I just mean...you know, curry is all well and good, but sometimes you want a-a mango, you know?”

“I’ve not tried either of those things, but I take your meaning.” Samut wiped a small tear from the corner of her eye.

“My guests!” Pivlic flapped up to the table, the minotaur waiter in tow. “Enjoying everything so far?”

“So far,” Samut replied. Chandra nodded, guiltily stuffing the last small plate – a Simic-bred eel-shrimp on a bed of selesnyan lettuce – between her lips.

“Is womderfulf,” she managed through her full mouth.

Pivlic beamed. “Splendid. And any thought on your entrees for the evening? I’m happy to go over the specials.” The waiter moved up and offered Chandra and Samut several crisp sheets of fine parchment. “We also have an extensive house menu, new to this iteration of Pivlichino’s.”

Samut looked both overwhelmed and delighted with the wealth of options, and listened eagerly as Pivlic listed the special dishes. Chandra zoned the imp out, and flipped through the sheets, which listed options for hot dishes, vegetarian dishes, and dishes for undead patrons.

“Errr...maybe just a steak...” Chandra scanned the meat options, looking for an animal she was familiar with.

“Mmmm, that does sound good,” Samut said. “Not very balanced though. Hardly the whole buffet.”

Chandra looked up from her menus. Samut was peeking over the edge of hers, grinning. Chandra stuck her tongue out. Pivlic looked between the two of them, a politely puzzled look on his face.

“I mean, if you only want the meat menu.” Samut extended her hand and beckoned with her fingers. “I’m happy to look at the rest.”

“Well it just so happens I am in the mood for a steak tonight,” Chandra shot back, a smirk of her own twisting the corner of her mouth.

“But just look at all these options!” Samut held up her stack of menus dramatically. “Greens and grains and all kinds of sweet treats! A whole world of food in front of you!” She gestured at Pivlic. “And the soups of the day, Chandra! Did you hear about the soups?”

Pivlic nodded graciously.

“I like meat just fine,” Chandra shot back. “Look at this: ‘side of beef with raze-boar bacon. Who could want more than that?”

Samut made a mock-offended face, and clutched a hand to her chest “Well, people with taste, for one.”

“I know what I like!” Chandra said, trying to stifle another laugh, but shouting instead. Thankfully it was only a little loud, the diners in the closest tables only gave her slightly affronted looks.

Pivlic coughed into his hand. “If I may, miss Nalaar, I don’t think your friend here is suggesting you aren’t interested in the, ah, side of beef. I believe she is merely suggesting that’s not the only menu you’d order from.”

“Oh, we covered that bit already,” Samut said, then turned aside and smoothly transitioned from the beginning of a belly-laugh to a feigned coughing fit.

“Right, right.” Chandra buried her face in the menu. “Um, a few more minutes, please.”

“Naturally.” Pivlic bowed and fluttered backward from the table. “No rush at all. I’ll be back shortly.”

Chandra fanned herself with the inside of the menu before setting it down.

“We were just talking about dinner just now, right?” Samut was straining visibly to restrain an even bigger smile than the one already stretching her cheeks.

“You’re awful.” Chandra rolled her eyes. “Sometimes a meal is just a meal.”

Samut held up her hands. “Fair, fair.” Her smile faded slightly. “Does it make you uncomfortable? I don’t mean to joke if it does.”

“It’s fine.” Chandra looked out at the band, taking in the current tune. “Thinking I was straight was a pretty ridiculous thought to have. I’d laugh at it if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

The new song was slow, with more focus on the percussion. The singer was speaking in some language Chandra couldn’t recognize. Guttural, but with the instruments it was, admittedly, a very pleasant sound to close the day with.

“Still not much to dance to,” Samut remarked, engrossed again in the menus.

“Mmm.” Chandra’s gaze wandered from the band to the nearby tables. A few patrons were engaged in watching the band as well, but most were well into their meals. Trolls. Humans. Vedalken. Centaurs. Goblins.

Elves.

A spot of blue among the tables caught Chandra’s eye. Jace was walking across the dining room with Vraska, Pivlic leading them along. He had caught sight of her as well and waved. Chandra grinned, pumping her own arm in the air. Jace said something to Pivlic, and the imp looked to Vraska, who nodded. The three of them changed course for the raised seating area.

“Chandra.” Jace surprised her by offering a hug when he reached the table, which she jumped into. Vraska she exchanged a handshake with. It was nice being on friendly terms with the gorgon, but she still felt more like Chandra’s employer than a friend.

“You clean up pretty good, Mr. Belts-and-Cowls,” Chandra teased, landing a light punch on Jace’s arm. He was wearing his customary blues, but instead of a cape and hood, he had a neat pair of trousers, boots, and a wide-collared shirt with gold buttons up the front. “Is that a loaner from the restaurant, or just a good illusion?”

“100% Ixalan threads.” Jace patted his thigh. “and I could say the same to you. Looking very sharp for someone who’s been in the sewers all day.” A look of concern flashed across his face, and he looked from Chandra to Samut, who was introducing herself to Vraska. “Is this – we’re not interupting a date, are we?” he asked, suddenly whispering. “I mean, I figured you and Nissa were still - I mean, that you had...”

“It’s fine,” Chandra whispered back. She could feel the smile slipping from her face despite her best efforts to keep it in place. “I’m happy to see you. Both of you,” she added, louder. “Would you like to eat with us?”

“As long as my wonderful date doesn’t mind?” Jace threw an unbelievably cheesy-looking grin at Vraska, and Chandra, once again unable to control her face, felt her eyes roll back a bit. Vraska just smiled, and actually blushed a bit.

“Yes, let’s have some tables pushed together then,” her golden eyes scanned the nearby settings. “If there’s one to spare…”

“Naturally; how fortunate to have so many friends of Ravnica joining us this evening!” Pivlic snapped his fingers and their waiter appeared seconds later, a table cradled in his hands, and a chair slung over each horn. “And have we decided on an entree?”

“Krovod steak and beans,” Chandra said, handing the menu back and shooting a defiant glare at Samut. Samut just rolled her eyes and ordered a vegetable stew, ogre-style.

Jace’s eyes glowed blue very faintly as he sat down. “Chef’s soup, please.”

“A very excellent choice, sir. Our most-”

“-popular dish this evening?” Jace finished. “Yes, I noticed.” He winked at Chandra.

“Rat roast,” Vraska said, not even glancing at the menu as she sat. “As rare as your chef feels up to.”

“Splendid all around.” Pivlic signaled another waiter to bring forward a pitcher of water, and bowed. “Your meals will find you shortly.”

“And the spirits for the evening, please!” Vraska called after the minotaur as she settled into her seat.

“So, um...” Jace looked between Chandra and Samut. “What were you both talking about before we got here?”

“Diet preference,” Samut said, raising an eyebrow at Chandra.

“Oh?”

“The conversation was wrapping up, actually,” Chandra said. “What have the two of you been up to?”

“Guild work.” Vraska rapped her fingers against her cup of water. “We’re trying to integrate the Kraul fungal farms with our larger food supply network, but there’s quite a lot of internal faction-fighting to put to bed before that can happen.

“To say nothing of the undead invaders you’ve been so helpfully taking care of,” she added.

Chandra and Samut both accepted the thanks with a nod.

“Leadership is, ah...rather stressful?” Chandra ventured. “I hope you’re getting enough down time. I can’t imagine being in charge of that many people.”

Vraska smiled back at Chandra. “I’m sure you did you’re best, Abbot Nalaar.” There was something very sad in her eyes, despite the grin, just as there had been when Chandra had first volunteered to help with the eternals.

“Abbot?” Samut asked.

“Like uh,” Chandra rolled her hand, looking for the right words. “Like a religious leader.”

Samut failed to stifle a laugh. Jace grinned broadly as well across the table, and Chandra presented them both with a flaming middle finger.

“Sorry, sorry.” Samut took a pull of water to settle herself. “You were a religious leader? You just...well, I suppose every world is different.”

“Speaking of worlds,” Jace said. “How is Nissa? Is she still on Zendikar?”

“Oh, uh, I think so.”

Jace frowned. “Is everything alright? Have you seen her recently?”

“Nissa is one of your planeswalking companions, isn’t she?” Samut interjected. Jace turned to her, and hopefully missed Chandra’s smile falling away a second time. “What has your crop been doing since the invasion?”

“Oh, um...” Jace started counting off on his fingers. “Kaya and Teferi are both back on their home planes at the moment; they’ve got matters they wanted to settle on their own, but they’ve promised to check in if they need a hand. Chandra, well you know what she’s been doing, and me…well, I’ve been making sure the esteemed Golgari guildleader takes some time off-plane to relax when she needs it. Um, as for Nis-”

“What sort of relaxations?” Samut asked.

“Oh, the usual silly couple things,” Vraska said, squeezing Jace’s hand on the tabletop. “Cafe dates. Visiting bookstores. Some off-plane piracy here and there, and of course-ah! The food!”

The waiter strode up to the table, a tray and folding table loaded with steaming plates in one hand, and several bottles cradled in the other. The food set Chandra’s mouth to watering, and she was immensely relieved when Samut started on her own dish right away, so she had an excuse not to wait while Jace and Vraska picked out a bottle for the table.

The steak was about two inches thick and incredibly tender. A pepper gravy coated the cut, and a large helping of butter beans sprinkled over with bitter herbs filled the rest of the plate. Chandra ate through almost a third of the plate before Jace and Vraska settled on a wine; a round blue bottle that they turned over in their hands, exclaiming about its color (and...viscosity?) in excited whispers.

“You two have a lot of interests in common,” Samut observed. “Books, piracy, wine?”

“Yes, well.” Vraska speared the cork with her knife and ripped it out. “We’ve been exploring many more common interests since we started therapy, haven’t we?”

“Cheers to that,” Jace grinned, holding out his glass. Vraska tipped the bottle and a blue, sweet-smelling wine splashed out.

“Therapy?” Chandra asked through a mouthful of beans. “For real? You guys are like...well, Jace acts like he’s a hundred years old sometimes, but you guys are a little young, right?”

“What’s a therapist?” Samut asked.

“Well, apparently it’s never to early too protect your investment in another person.” Jace exchanged a glance with Vraska, and they both grinned. “Tomik said that. He was the one who recommended an Orzhov specialist to us. Same one he and Ral see.”

Chandra wrinkled her nose. “Orzhov? The ones who were basically keeping Kaya captive?”

Vraska nodded. “I was about as enthusiastic as that. But it turns out it’s about the one service the syndicate offers that isn’t just part of an extortion machine. I mean, sometimes it is, but we’ve been lucky enough to take advantage a genuinely good specialist through the guildleader’s professional connections.”

“So you go and tell a ghost about your relationship problems?” Chandra turned aside to Samut. “Therapy is like...well I don’t know how it is on Ravnica, but they have people in Ghirapur who like, help people who have problems with their lives, or sometimes they help people who have problems with relationships.”

Samut nodded. “A confidant, or something like that?”

“Yes, though usually someone who’s trained to listen and give advice.” Jace sipped his wine. “Ours, for example, is an Orzhov advokist trained in mediation and dispute settlement.”

“And do they help?” Samut leaned in. “When you tell them about your problems?”

“So far,” Vraska said. “It’s funny. There are things you don’t realize are causing problems.”

“Or things you do recognize as problems that you just never talk about until someone helps you see the need for it.” Jace reached out a hand and took Vraska’s. “Sometimes it’s nice just to have good advice.”

Dinner rolled along with an ease Chandra hadn’t felt in months. They laughed, shared bites of their meals, and swapped stories. Chandra related her mother’s recent accomplishments with the Ghirapur consulate. Vraska dropped bits of low-level guild gossip. Jace and Samut engaged in a minor debate over the use of illusions in combat. Chandra tried a glass of the wine, and found it about the same as she did most other wines, but enjoyed the soft buzz in the back of her head to accompany the warmth in her stomach.

When the last ray of sunlight slipped out of sight, the band fell into a soft, almost wistful song, mostly focused around the huge flute-player, who swayed and pushed out a long, rolling stream of notes while the singer threw himself into a raspy spoken-word bit about a cyclops falling in love with the moon.

Pivlic re-appeared as the dishes were cleared away, bearing slices of cheesecake dripping with drizzled lines of jam and honey, and hot mugs of ogrish coffee. The hot, bitter drink snapped Chandra out of her post-meal drowsiness enough to enjoy the end of the Gruul set. The band had set their instruments aside, and for a moment it looked like they were packing up. Then they began dancing around one another in tight circles, beating their breasts. The big flutist started up a chant. One of the drummers, the viashino, began clapping out a sharp, precise rhythm, and the flutist took center stage, weaving his arms through the air with slow, jerking movements. The chant became a call and response tune that some of the patrons seemed to know, and were enthusiastically singing along with. Jace even knew a few of the words, and pumped his fist in the air each time he called out.

“Gruul riot anthem.” He whispered to Chandra between calls. “Very popular at Rauck-Chauv.”

Applause and a chorus of hoots filled the dining room at the song’s conclusion. Pivlic fluttered over to loudly and grandly thank the band. Vraska tapped Jace’s cheek.

“Not too shabby, blue-boy. I want to hear that much enthusiasm next time the crew does drunk shanties.”

Jace grinned sheepishly. “Are there other kinds of shanties I don’t know about?”

“Shanties?” Samut exchanged a look with Chandra. “A piracy song?”

Chandra nodded back. “A pirate song. It’s important that you know how funny it is to me to imagine Jace singing one.”

“Jace has many fine pirate qualities.” Vraska ruffled his hair with a free hand, sipping coffee with the other. “You’d both be welcome to join us sometime. If that sort of thing interests you, of course. It’s mostly taking gold from vampires, which is as noble a cause as you can find in the multiverse.”

“That could be fun.” Chandra rubbed her hands together thoughtfully. “I like the sound of Captain Nalaar, in hot pursuit of gold and adventure.”

“Hot pursuit?” Jace smirked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a phrase, blue-boy.” Chandra snapped her fingers, lighting a single flame on her index finger. “But since you mention it, just imagine the terror of being pursued by fire on the open sea.” She twirled the flame around, then doused it in the last bite of her cheesecake. “Uh, not that I would make an open flame on your ship, Vraska. Well, not without permission.”

Vraska laughed. “That’s fine. Glad to see you’re burning with enthusiasm. It’s a good trait for a pirate.”

Chandra rolled her eyes as Jace chimed in. “Yes, Chandra has a lot of good qualities that could, uh, light a fire under a reluctant crew.”

“Mmm...” Samut’s eyes glittered. “Like her warm personality.”

Chandra stuck out hr tongue and stood up from the table. “Beltwurms eat you all. I’m going to go get another drink.”

A second group of musicians were setting up on the stage now, and the waiters were clearing away a large swath of the tables around them, creating the dance floor Chandra had wondered about. She skirted the growing space while checking out the new band. They were a mixed group: two women wearing Rakdos colors with no instruments, an grey-bearded Izzet mage, hooking up his gauntlets to a large device that crackled with electricity, and two vedalken, on the drums and lute, respectively, that didn’t seem to be wearing any guild colors at all.

A number of the patrons from dinner had clustered around the bar that ran along one long wall of the dining room. New patrons were slowly filing in to add to the small crowd; a noisier bunch than most of the dinner crowd, and more eager for drink.

Chandra ordered an Uzvar and gin from a half-demon bartender, then perched up on a stool to bask in the crowd and the chatter of ravnican voices. Groups of guildless youths toasted clay mugs of pale ale. Two Azorius officials, looking out of place in their white robes, sipped green liquor from shallow glass cups. A centaur trotted past as the bartender slid the cocktail across the bar, and the look she flashed Chandra nearly made her drop the glass.

Damn it’s been too long. She almost followed after to ask the centaur her name, but an elf, also in conclave garb, greeted the centaur as soon as the thought occurred to her, and pressed her own lips against the centaur’s.

 Taken. Figures.

The Gruul band was lounging just as short distance down the bar, laughing and chattering with a clutch of other patrons. The singer was entertaining a pair of young women in Orzhov robes with some kind of impression, and the drummer was in a hot debate with a vedalken and two older humans. Chandra’s eyes slid past them to the musician who’d been playing the huge flute, a tall, long-haired hunk whose arms were on full display under a vest of woven vines and bones. She lost herself in a stare as he reached over the counter with one arm and easily hefted a tankard of beer half as tall as he was.

Definitely into girls , Chandra thought faintly, sipping her drink and vaguely aware her feet were carrying her in the direction of the band . But that’s alright too.

“Play here often?” The words were out of her mouth before Chandra could fully think through her approach. She compensated for the lack of planning with her winning-est smile and a smooth slide against the bar toward the Gruul hunk.

He blinked and looked down at Chandra, and for a second said nothing. Chandra held up her smile for that second, wishing she had a smoother come-on. Then, mercifully, the hunk grinned.

“Ah, first time, actually. I, uh, only joined a few months ago, but Skelly-” He gestured with his drink at the goblin on the bar, who was doing puppetry for the Orzhov fans using a pair of mouse skulls “-plays all over. He’s even did a set at the Juri Revue once!”

Chandra wasn’t entirely sure what that was, but grinned and nodded all the same. “That’s a big gig, I guess?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, pretty big. Plus Rakdos himself did the encore that night. Or so I’m told. I, Uh, wasn’t really in the scene back then but-”

A muffled burst of sound cut the hunk off mid-sentence. The new band was jamming, the beat was quick and exciting, but it sounded oddly faraway.

“Local enchantment,” the bartender said, catching Chandra’s confused look. “So folks can talk at the bar. And so I can actually hear orders.”

“Oh...makes sense.” Chandra threw back her drink and tapped the hunk on the arm. “Wanna dance?”

“Hm?” The hunk looked from Chandra to the dance floor. He set his tankard down on the bar, grinned, and cracked his knuckles. “Absolutely. Let’s show ‘em how it’s done.”

The band boomed louder as soon as Chandra’s boot hit the floor, raising goosebumps along her shoulder. This music was sharp, rapid, and loud. Perfect for dancing however wildly and badly you wanted to.

Through the other patrons, Chandra caught glimpses of Samut coming down the few steps from their table to dance floor She paused right at the edge of the crowd, watching them for a few seconds before diving in, and Chandra lost sight of her. Jace waved from the table, behind the spot she’d disappeared.

Want me to keep an eye on you two?  Maybe check in a little later? He kept his mental visit brief, but Chandra was happy to hear his voice. She flashed him two thumbs up and turned back to dance with the hunk.

She had to laugh. The big guy had looked totally natural bobbing and pounding to the Gruul music, but whatever dance you were supposed to be doing to this more hectic, energetic Izzet-Rakdos stuff...well this definitely wasn’t it. He looked like he was having a good time at least. Chandra moved in closer and the hunk winked at her before making an absolutely absurd motion like he was hula-hooping with his shoulders. He was doing it on purpose.

Chandra hooted, and they danced close circles around each other, dodging and weaving through the wild thrashing of the other dancers.

Samut flashed in and out of sight through the crowd. She had already mastered the jerky new dance form, and was adding her own spins. A small ring of other dancers formed around her about seven songs in, howling and clapping as Samut threw a daring backlip into the routine, and cheering as she landed perfectly on her feet. Jace and Vraska were just beyond that, sitting at the table and overlooking the dance floor. They were both seated, but leaned up against each other, swaying to the music and whispering in each other’s ear.

The hunk finally started to look winded after a few dozen songs, and signaled that he was going to go sit for a while. Chandra followed him off the floor, and pretended to slip a little on the edge of the bar area so she could fall and steady herself on his side.

 Solid, and just a lil’ soft. Awesome.

All good? Jace asked in her head.

All good. Chandra waved back. Now shoo; gonna work my moves.

“SooOoooOwO, what do you say you and me get out of here and go hang out at your place, big guy?” Chandra forgot about the muffling enchantment, and shouted slightly louder than she meant to. A vedalken just behind the started, and knocked over a (thankfully bare) drink table.

“Uh, why don’t we sit for a while. I’m still a bit dizzy from dancing.” He stooped and picked the table up off the floor one-handed, and sat on one of the stools. Chandra hopped up on another to join him.

“You’re pretty...pretty strong.” Chandra slammed her elbow on the table and flexed her fingers. “Let’s see what you got.”

The hunk chuckled, and laid his own elbow down, taking Chandra’s hand. The rough leather of his gloves was rough, but made it easy to get a grip around his palm.

“Alright.” Chandra squinted in concentration. “Three, two, go!”

A few seconds later, it was over, and Chandra was massaging the back of her hand.

“Sorry,” the hunk said, with an apologetic, almost shy smile. “No mercy is the Gruul way, after all.”

Chandra beckoned for the bartender to bring them over another round, then pouted into her hands, both elbows on the table.

“If Nissa was here she would have totally kicked your butt.”

“Who’s Nissa?”

“An elf. We um...we used to work together. Really strong.”

The hunk laughed. “A strong elf? We had a lot of those in the conclave. Still do, I guess. Some of my toughest friends were elves.”

“Mmm, not strong like Nissa, I bet. She was depcep...decepticaly...deceptively strong. Like a slender tree, but strong like an oak.” Chandra took a pull of her drink and slammed the cup on the tabletop for emphasis. “Do any of your elf-buddies have eyes that glow like they’re magic?”

“Uh, sometimes.” The hunk sipped his drink thoughtfully. “Usually when they cast spells.”

“It’s really cool, right?”

The hunk chuckled. “I suppose. I’ve got a couple eye-glowing spells myself. Should ask around if I look cool enough when I use them.”

Chandra snorted into her drink, and set it down. The hunk did have nice eyes. Thoughtful and fierce like Gideon. Playful like Liliana. Kind like-

“So, uh, your elf friend-”

“Girlfriend,” Chandra blurted out. “Um, I mean ex-girlfriend?” she looked down at the table. “I uh, I’m not sure. I think I might have messed things up with her. I mean, I for sure did, but...”

“Oh.” The hunk nodded, a different sort of apologetic smile on his lips. “That’s...I’m very sorry. That’s um...that’s always very hard to go through.”

“She was like, really my type, you know? Big strong pair of arms to hold you. That’s like, the hottest thing someone can have, honestly. But she’s really gentle, you know? Like, treat you like you’re a flower gentle, but not like a delicate flower because all the plants she works with are as strong as she is.”

“A nature mage?”

“Yeah! Oh, you should have seen the gardens that she kept while we were here on Ravnica...they would have made every nature guild jealous. She’s like...one of those people who always smell like their work, right? And she’s always working with flowers and plants so she smells like paradise.”

“I’m sorry she couldn’t come tonight,” The hunk said with a smile that almost looked...sad? “I hope I’m not prying but is she, uh, is she not from Ravnica?”

“Huh? Oh. no.” Chandra waved her hand in front of her face. “I mean, I’m not either. We all came back here for the war, you know?”

The hunk look puzzled for a moment, then his eyes went wide, and he nodded. “That is impressive then.”

Chandra cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“Well. I mean, uh, that is, I’ve heard about the ones who walk from other worlds...there’s a lot, I’m told? Of worlds. If there there are dozens of worlds that each of you could be on.”

“Hundreds,” Chandra corrected, raising her drink and eyebrow for dramatic effect. “Thousands. No one’s counted them all, even.”

“Meeting a...a friend that’s precious to you? Over infinite worlds? That sounds like something special.”

“Yeah.” Chandra set down her glass. She heaved a breath, and realized she wasn’t feeling nearly as wired as she had been a few minutes before. “Um...I guess that’s how I felt when I first met her. Like, I’d been to so many places in the multiverse. That’s what we call it,” she added, “and, well...have you ever looked at someone and just thought, like, ‘that’s it, that’s the person that feels real?’”

The hunk nodded. “I think I know what you mean. Sometimes something new in your life is just obviously right for you.”

“Right!?” Chandra put her glass up for a toast, and the hunk obliged with a clink of his tankard. “And like, it was really great with her because when we traveled together after that...well, she made me feel that way no matter where we went.”

“Comfort and constancy.” The hunk leaned back on his stool. “Sounds like a very special person.”

“Yeah.” Chanda looked blankly at her glass, vaguely offended at the absence of any more liquor at the bottom. “You know, maybe I don’t want to, um, hang out after all.” She looked up at the Gruul hunk shakily. “N’offense or anything; you’ve been real fun to talk to.”

The Hunk put his hands up. “None taken, miss. I uh, think I’m a bit too old for you anyway.” He picked his own tankard up and swilled it in his hand. “No offense.”

“Pffft, sure.” Chandra slumped in her stool, elbow on the table, chin in her hands.

“I spent a long time living a very different life than the one I have now,” The hunk offered “A life I thought was the only right path for me. When I finally had my moment of clarity, the moment that brought me to the Gruul...” He bit his lip. “...I don’t regret the life I led before that, and I don’t regret my choice to live a life that would’ve been unthinkable for me before. I guess...you’re young. Don’t be afraid of trying things you’re unsure about. Life’s too short.”

Chandra stared up at the hunk, blinking.

“Sorry; too corny?”

Chandra snorted. “A bit? But point taken.”

They lapsed into silence.

“Your friend looks awful concerned for you.” the hunk’s eyes flicked up and over Chandra’s shoulder. Samut had come off the dance floor, and was lounging by the bar, eyes on Chandra and the hunk. She had a few other dancers hanging around and talking at her, but she didn’t seem to be paying much attention to them.

“Better get back to the gang.” Chandra slid off the stool, and offered her hand to the hunk. “Chandra, by the way. ‘S been fun.”

“Ghired.” The hunk’s grip was solid, and the bones sewn into his sleeve rattled slightly as they shook. “Hope we meet again, Chandra.”

“Yeah.” She mimed a swat at his midsection. “Keep working on your dancing til then.”

Ghired laughed. “I’ll think about it. Come to the stomping grounds if you ever improve your arm-wrestling prowess.”

Chandra stuck out her tongue and trotted over to Samut.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on me.”

“I trusted you could take care of yourself,” Samut said with a shrug. “But it’s always good to have some solidarity on the battlefield.”

“That what this is?” Chandra leaned heavily against the bar. The warm buzz in her head and the thrum of the music felt like a blanket. She didn’t much feel like dancing again, but right now it was enough to watch the other ravnicans having fun.

“Life is.” Samut perched up next to Chandra. “All of it.”

Chandra laughed. “What are you? 18?” She put an arm around Samut. “You’re way too young to be so down on life.”

“We’re not that much older, grandma Nalaar.” Jace heaved himself up onto a stool on Chandra’s other side. He sighed and rubbed his thigh. “Though I sure feel pretty ancient right now.”

Chandra shot an outraged glance at the dance floor, then back at Jace. “Don’t tell me  you  were dancing and I missed it. Did you turn yourself and Vraska invisible??”

“No, she’s not the dancing type either,” Jace sighed. “Just a lot of standing around and talking to people we’d rather not talk to. “Guildmaster PR, that kind of thing. “She told me I should go sit down.”

Sure enough, Vraska was standing up on the dais, near their table, having a hushed (or as hushed as the noise in the room allowed) discussion with a frog-faced mage in Simic biomancer robes. Long, elvish ears poked out from behind the frog-mancer’s eyes, and they didn’t appear to be having nearly as much trouble as Vraska hearing over the music.

“Ah.” Chandra bumped Jace with her shoulder. “Boy-toy blue-boy banished while the adults talk?”

Jace laughed. “Oh, nothing like that. Vraska knows I don’t like the extended standing and talking. She’s...very good at recognizing when I’m uncomfortable. I guess we’ve both been very good at that, and now we’re working on acting on it more often.”

Samut cocked her head, quizzically. “Was that a problem before?”

“Not at first,” Jace replied, pursing his lips. “but it was hard for a while after what happened here. I think it took more out of us than we wanted to admit, and it was affecting how we acted. That, and Vraska does so much for her guild. It’s like...well, it’s like a dozen full-time jobs, and I wasn’t supporting her as much as I should have.” He smiled at Chandra and Samut, and the smile, small and tired as it was, reached all the way to his eyes. “It’s been tough but, well I really think whatever we have is worth it.” He blushed a bit, and a second later Chandra recognized the signs of a minor illusion fluttering over Jace’s face, hiding the red in his cheeks.

“Still working a little on being honest though, huh?” Chandra elbowed him in the side, then threw her arms around Samut and Jace.

“A little,” Jace laughed. “I’m lucky to have friends who still call me out.”

They sat together and watched a while. The Rakdos musicians showed no sign of slowing down, nor did the dancers. Samut nodded off on Chandra’s shoulder after a few minutes.

“So, uh, it’s helped, then?”

“Hm?”

Chandra looked at Jace out of the corner of her eye. “The therapy? Talking to someone?”

Jace nodded, slow, then reached into his cloak. “I don’t know if they take clients still, but I can put in a word through Ral if you want.” He scribbled an address onto a scrap of parchment and handed it to Chandra.

Chandra nodded. “Thanks. I think that’d be good. I’ll um...I’ll let you know.”

Jace just smiled and took Chandra’s hand. They remained a while longer, as midnight slipped away into the early morning hours.

The above is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content  Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used  are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.  

[sunriseskog]

comethru- Auston Matthews

Request: n/a this was entirely self induglent bc im sad and ive had comethru by Jermey Zucker stuck in my head for weeks

Word Count: 2,267

Warnings: cursing, angst, dudes being assholes, mentions of tr*ding auston

A/N: ive been on hiatus for a long ass time so any feedback is more than welcome!!!! also i am fully aware that i used this gift for my last post but its hot and i dont care

It had been a little over a month since Auston left. No… that’s not quite right. It had been a little over a month since Auston left Toronto. It had been just barely under a month since you had left Auston.

You weren’t entirely sure who the trade surprised more, but you did know for a fact that it had had a far greater effect on you than it had on Auston.

He had remained optimistic in the beginning. After all, Buffalo is barely a 2-hour drive on a bad day. On a good day, he could probably make it in an hour and a half. But the two of you had quickly reached the conclusion that either of you driving 4+ hours a day wasn’t practical, and it wasn’t fair to whoever drew the short end of the stick, pun intended. You knew he would never ask you to move for him, hell even moving in together had been a stretch for you, but you also knew that there was an unspoken expectation that eventually the both of you would relocate closer to the arena.

Before he had even reached the border, you had managed to convince yourself that this short distance relationship would cripple your relationship before you could even begin filling out the US immigration forms to move with him, let alone actually convince yourself to do it. So you backed off. You knew that trying to exhaust what was left of the relationship would only end up destroying you the both of you more than was necessary, so you let go. You knew it wouldn’t take him long to pick up on the fact that you were becoming distant, taking longer to respond to texts, barely calling him back and conveniently timing your responses with the specific intention of him not being able to pick up. You may have been stupid, but you sure as hell weren’t subtle. You knew that as long you were the bad guy in the scenario, it wouldn’t take him nearly as long to get over you, and as long as you remained in control of the situation, you knew that you’d come out of the tail end of things perfectly fine.

And you were. You were absolutely, positively fine. But that was all you were. You weren’t good or great or doing well, you were just… fine. You were off-kilter, sure, but you were surviving, and that was honestly all you had come to ask of yourself. You were sure that the other shoe would drop soon enough, you had ridden the high and now you were at the plateau, but the comedown seemed to always be lurking around the corner.

One too many sleepless nights in a row had come to significantly impact your sleeping schedule. It had gotten to the point where your boss had come to expect your work day to end at 5 am instead of 5 pm. It was nice, though. To see the city when it felt like no one else could. To have your whole day to yourself, even though it was technically night. Everything was much quieter, and there were moments where it felt like you might be the only person in the entire city to be awake, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You rarely interacted with anyone, you didn’t even wake up until hours after the last of your coworkers had left the building, and every errand you had to run could be completed via the self-checkout of the 24 hr supermarket a few blocks away from your apartment building. You weren’t lonely by any means, you just so happened to be alone.

Except on game nights. You were never alone on game nights. Luckily, there weren’t very many Toronto residents that enjoyed watching one of their franchise players play in a different teams jersey, but you still couldn’t help but punish yourself by watching his games whenever they were on at the sports bar you frequented. You told yourself that as long as someone else put the game on, and as long as you left with someone new before the game was over, then it wasn’t nearly as pathetic as it seemed.

An issue arose the first time Toronto played the Sabres. You hadn’t checked the schedule, you just knew that there was a game. You also knew that if you were ever alone when a game was on you would curl up with far too much ice cream and a borderline dangerous amount of rum, neither of which were ideal. Immediately upon entering the bar, you knew that it was far too crowded for there to not be a Leafs game on, it was nowhere near baseball season, and the sea of blue jerseys couldn’t be for any other team. An involuntary wince consumed your face as Auston’s name reached your ears, it seemed like every congregation of fans in the entire establishment were talking about him, and a cursory glance at the nearest screen confirmed your fears.

The bad news was that if you stayed, you would have to watch Auston play, which was bound to be painful for any Leafs fan, but this one would hurt you just a little more than all the others— the knowledge that he was just across the city weighed heavily on your shoulders as you pushed through the crowd to find an empty stool somewhere. The worse news was that there was no way in hell a single guy in here would be willing to leave before the game was over, so you’d either have to watch all of it and then fuck the feelings away, or go home and watch all of it and probably end up crying for a majority of the third period. The former seemed like a more viable option at the time.

Now, though? You wished you had just gone home. Because it turns out you were wrong, there was a dude at the bar who was willing to leave before the end, as it would turn out, he was ready to leave before the second period was halfway through. That should have been your first red flag.

In your defense, you had a lot of other shit going on, and your brain was far too preoccupied coping with the stress that the game was bringing to consider the fact that the nice guy who had been paying for your drinks might not turn out to be that nice after all.

On the cab ride back to your apartment, you found out that his name was Sam and he was a lifelong Leafs fan. The two of you bonded over having grown up around hockey without actually playing it, and you even shared a cigarette at the entrance of your building’s lobby. It wasn’t until the two of you stepped into your living room that things took a turn for the worse.

The framed and signed Matthews jersey on the mantle had been more of a joke than anything else, all of your friends thought it was funny while the two of you were together, and you hadn’t had anyone over since the breakup, so you hadn’t found a reason to convince yourself to take it down. The look of disgust on Sam’s face as soon as he laid eyes on it would have been a fairly convincing reason if you actually gave a shit what he thought about you.

“That’s borderline sacrilege,” he commented, gesturing towards the display. You shot him an incredulous look, waiting for him to give any indication that he was making a joke.

“What?” You questioned, not really confused, just wanting to clarify if he was saying. What you thought he was saying.

“You can’t seriously call yourself a leafs fan and still support that guy! He’s a traitor,” He asserted. His over passionate gesturing indicated that he was genuinely this invested in the topic, which should have been your second red flag.

“I mean c’mon, (Y/N),” He continued. “You’re not stupid, are you?”

You couldn’t help but scoff at how pretentious and condescending he was being, without seeming to realize that he was acting like an absolute prick.

“I can assure you, Samuel,” You drawled sarcastically. “I am anything but stupid, but you have got to be absolutely moronic if you genuinely believe that I’m going to let you fuck me after speaking to me like I'm a goddamn child. Your kinks are your business but that's not really my style,” you sneered as you moved towards the doorway in order to invite him to throw himself out so you didn’t have to bother touching him any more than you already had.

“Now why don’t you get the fuck out of my house, dick head,” You spoke as your lip curled and your brow quirked, gesturing through the doorway to drive the point through his thick skull.

“Gladly,” He scoffed, slamming his shoulder into yours as he stepped past you. “Not like I’d want to fuck a whore like you anyways!” He shouted over his should as he started towards the stairs.

“Open your mouth that wide again and I’m gonna have to ask you to chortle my cock, Samuel” You responded, giving a middle finger to his back for your own satisfaction. You had never been one to censor your insults, and over the years they had become more and more lewd. This, of course, had never really presented itself as a problem until you caught the eye of your neighbor as you turned to storm back inside of your apartment. You couldn’t help but wince apologetically at the old woman, giving her a repentant head nod as you shuffled back inside.

You let your back hit the inside of the door, sliding roughly down until your tailbone hit the hardwood floor beneath your feet. Of course, the first substantial interaction you had in over a month would turn out to be a spectacular disaster. And of course, it was because of Auston. Realistically, you knew it wasn’t his fault, you just really really needed someone else to blame right now. You carded your fingers through your scalp roughly, and let out an elongated groan in the hopes that it would satisfy the overwhelming urge that you had had to scream at the top of your lungs for the past month or so.

As you stared at your own intertwined fingers in an attempt to calm yourself down, you couldn’t help but notice that your fingers were shaking. This wasn’t a recent development by any means, but this was the first time that you had noticed it being this aggressive. It usually only happened when you had coffee, which was why you had abstained from it for a majority of your life. As you looked back on what your routine had become, you realized that through all the late nights and later mornings, you had been popping caffeine pills and ordering espressos far more than the ‘one-time thing’ you told yourself it was. The realization that your life had done a complete 180 in the span of 5 weeks began to weigh on you, and it seemed like your mind was consumed entirely by flurries of memories of bad habits you had fallen back into and the lifeless moments you had spent floundering, convincing yourself that you were fine on your own, despite the fact that that was anything but the truth.

It didn’t take very long to find his contact picture in your recent messages. You hadn’t had much of a reason to talk to that many people lately. It took longer to open up the message thread, trying to prepare yourself to view the unbearably awkward finality of your most recent messages to each other. The preview underneath his name only served as a painful reminder that the last time he had texted you was to say that he loved you. And you hadn’t said it back.

You weren’t sure if he was going to respond, hell you went sure he was even going to read it. For all you knew it was entirely within the realm of possibility that he had blocked you a while ago. You knew exactly what to say, surprisingly, that wasn’t the hard part. Of the few letters that you typed, the closer you got to reaching out to him again seemed to calm you down more and more. By the time you tacked on the question mark at the end, your fingers had stopped trembling for there first time in what you could assume had been at least a couple of weeks. You let your phone drop to the floor as soon as you hit send, either he would be here within the hour or his response wouldn’t be worth reading. Those were the only options on the table. Either he was going to come and the two of you were going to get to be okay for a little while, or it truly was the end. If that was the case then you really didn’t want to see what he had to say. You heard your phone vibrate from where it laid just a couple feet away, and as much as the desire consumed you, you couldn’t bring yourself to move to see what it said. So you sat there, and waited to see if you would be able to hear those oh so familiar footsteps ascending your staircase again, responding to your oh so familiar request.

‘come thru?’

[ofcowardiceandkings]

okay guys this is a Weird Thing but we’re kinda stuck for what to do about it and this is a good a place to ask as any so some advice would be helpful

cw for discussion of potential child abuse / neglect ???

okay so um, As Said Previously, we (myself and tomás @flippwizard) moved out of my parents house a short while ago into a (good) shoebox of a maisonette beneath a flat , this is all good thats fine its going well etc but the walls and ceilings arent ?? amazing for sound dampening lets just say and that means to the flat above as well ... we dont know that they know we can hear basically everything above indoor voices in their place either

also as a general thing we’ll say that we both have anxiety that gets pretty bad at times , and while we obvs dont have kids and dont have a huge amount of experience with younger children when we were old enough to like Get It , we do Know some shit about how parents behaviour affects children hm

weve never actually met our upstairs neighbours or even seen them tbh , especially since we work kind of weird hours , but id rather not at this point lol. all we know is theres at least 1 young kid and a woman who we think is the carer there. we THINK the kid is about 3 - 5, definitely not older than 5 unless he’s developmentally delayed in some way.

anyway, pretty much every day at least once, and often earlier in the morning or later at night - which is LATE for normal people bc tomás finished work at midnight - we hear said woman full volume shouting in a very aggressive and kind of erratic way at the child, often involving some stomping and clattering around. we’ll say up front we dont think theres any heavy physical abuse happening but i wouldn’t be surprised if there was a slap or two ...

like, to start with shouting at a kid and especially a young kid is NOT gonna be very helpful , and honestly it ALWAYS sounds like its over something incredibly pointless. really sounds like some classic ‘please get some anger management’ stuff ... todays example literally half an hour ago “go find your dummy! i told you go find it! youre not listening!” or something to that effect. im fairly sure ive heard “shut up” a fair few times as well. theres no or very little swearing, but at the same time i swear a lot but id never swear AT someone without a gooooood reason and especially not a child. also, the amount of times “Go away” gets yelled at this kid feels very concerning lol , like either a kid wants something or is bored (ie wanting entertainment) at that age, jus fuckin look after the kid or find someone else to do it if youre busy ...

and second off im getting a bit speculative here but it kind of worries me how much said kid DOESNT cry after being spoken to like that , like damn if it was me i would DIE , and when we actually have heard him actually cry anymore than kind of a screech it comes in a stompy gap that could POSSIBLY be slap-related. this is just a guess of course but that bit feels real weird ,, when he does cry - at least audibly - its only for a few seconds as well which also feels odd

so like .. Obviouslyyyy, we feel incredibly uncomfortable about this and it can get pretty upsetting ... aside from not very ?? idk socially considerate i guess ?? one of the reasons it sticks out so much is because it often happens when we’re still trying to sleep on account of working weird hours ..... so for the past month or so ive been wondering about it on and off probably a bit much because what do you even do , and we didnt want to be Those Interfering New Neighbours and if we actually said anything directly were not sure how petty they would be about it esp living in such close quarters BUT today was the last focking straw

starting from just past 9 on a friday and continuing for a good half an hour or so at least where we can hear it in both rooms of the ground floor (tomás has a hell cold so got up to lurk on the sofa while i was still trying to sleep), and said yelling and stomping was telling a child explicitly young enough to have a dummy/pacifier to go and find it and to go away with some added crying ?? nope

so uh .. what would you think was the best thing to do ???? we’d rather remain anonymous because of the above mentioned not wanting drama or pettiness but weve had enough of not knowing what to do about it because its really quite distressing :’/

ofc theres the nspcc but we’re not sure how much they can do with only the scant information we actually HAVE ....... another idea would be to ask the council about antisocial behaviours because like i said its really quite bothersome and the very loud stairs stomping / movement around the flat and the shitty bland rap music played loudly during the day isnt GREAT either (weve noticed this shit more right now because we’re both sick & at home) idk like ANY idea would be nice, we’d rather not have to put a letter through their door asking to please be careful since we’re both ill and work shitty hours but honestly ive been so close to just finding the broom and banging the ceiling for the past few days lol

so .. yeah uh thats that i guess >:’/

[beeyeah]

Jikook: Appeal to Logic

Title: Appeal to Logic

Summary: /Jikook/ Two-shot/ Canon/ Where Jimin tries to convince Yoongi why he was positive Jungkook likes him and Yoongi asks him, “What would you do with that information?”

Indeed, Jimin wonders what the point was to all this.

Notes: I wanted to post on Valentine’s but I guess my calendar is ten days late hhhhh Anyway, I lurk a lot in Jikook tags (like I’m here everyday) and I’ve read long discourses regarding the legitimacy of their relationship. I thought it’d be interesting if one of them begins to share his proofs too and joins the hot pot of convo his own way. TLDR; enter this fic lol I promise it won’t be 20 chapters this time. 

Chapter 1 under cut or you can read at Ao3

Chapter 1: Points Were Made

It was an on and off thing.

Like a passion project that you know you just would figure how to complete someday but needed time because life would get in the way.

Today though marked the moment Park Jimin was ready to lay out his cards and tell someone that definitely… maybe… with a little more sprinkle of confidence that --

“Hyung, I think Jungkook likes me.”

There was silence in Min Yoongi’s room when the statement was pronounced. It made Jimin squirm on his seat as he tried to understand the non-committal stare directed at him, right behind the bond paper that held Jimin’s scribbled notes for lyrics.

Ah, that was right.

His initial purpose was to hear Yoongi’s feedback on a thing he'd been working on. Somewhere along the way, his thoughts drifted to another which inevitably led to his bold declaration of Jungkook’s far from familial, alleged infatuation for him.

Yoongi reached out to his left where his mug of coffee sat.

“I don't know what you want me to say. Of course, Jungkook likes you.”

Jimin frowned, wrapping his head around how he should explain himself. “No, hyung. I mean Jungkook likes me.”

Yoongi’s mouth was slightly gaped and his eyes were blank. His hyung looked lost while he attempted to blink his confusion away.

Well, his observations go way way back, two years worth of evidence. Right in the hallway of their home, an evening in October.

“Jungkook treats me differently,” he told Yoongi, legs crossed and under him as he put up a finger and discussed his first point.

It wasn't as if it was only him who questioned it. Jungkook only gave Jimin a birthday present in the span of the past years, no one else and that got to mean something.

They were all tired from shoot that most of them were tempted not to shower. Hoseok was pushing him around and urging him to a quick bath before lying on his bed because that was what Hoseok was. He liked things clean and perfect and that same rule applied for his roommate. But then Jeon Jungkook, his beloved dongsaeng, appeared out of nowhere and blocked him from his merry way to the bathroom. A little awkwardly might he add because he stood there, hand fiddling with his fringes and eyes searching the floor in trepidation. At that point, both Jimin and Hoseok unlatched themselves from each other's grip to attend to the youngest who seemed to need some attention.

To his surprise, and perhaps his hyung’s too, Jungkook held out his hand and shoved Jimin a paper bag. Hoseok curiously peeked from his shoulder as Jimin tried to open it while muttering, “What's this?”

Jungkook answered with a shrug and he waited. He waited there and watched Jimin opened his present.

It wasn't even anything grand. In this stage of their career, they were just beginning to gain traction from their first win and as Namjoon had put it, at breakeven, to finally enjoy the fruits of their hard labor. Knowing how their earnings were distributed based on performance and royalty fees, Jimin was pretty sure Jungkook received the same profit he did. To be honest, it wasn't exactly much. The only difference was that Jimin was prone to lavish it on people while Jungkook would save it for practical and grander things.

The practical, grander things in Jungkook’s head was Jimin. Bought him a sweatshirt which costed around 44,000 krw. Jimin researched the price because he was curious how much the maknae was willing to spend on him.

No greeting cards. Not a high end brand. Just plain white paper bag from the department store where he bought his first gift for a Bangtan member.

Needless to say, Jimin was ecstatic and made sure to rub it on everyone's face.

“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi tried to interrupt him but he shushed the older with an afterthought.

“It wasn't the gift that's strange. Jungkook's face was really weird when I thanked him.”

Jimin knew Jungkook well enough to know when he was happy. Whatever gratefulness he saw on Jimin’s face translated on how satisfied Jungkook was on what he did. There was a sense of pride and innocent glee in Jungkook’s eyes similar to the way they would twinkle when he was offered cheesecake or lamb skewers. It was odd how he was comparing himself to food but Yoongi would probably understand the reference. He would bring Jungkook to lamb skewers so often that the maknae even vowed to stay with him forever if he would agree to become business partners.

That was beside the point.

Back then, Jimin thought he was onto something but the idea didn't linger because it was indeed a special occasion. Jungkook was a good dongsaeng and treated his hyung well even outside their birthdays so, on a second thought, it wasn't really much of an evidence.

The hand that held Jimin’s lyrics now dangled limply over the office chair’s armrest.

“Jimin-ah, just get to the point.”

Jimin pursed his lips. As far as he was concerned, he was straightforward from the get-go. He thought Jungkook likes him and he stated the fact right on, now presenting his evidence.

“Number two,” he said after lifting another finger. Perhaps Yoongi wanted him to speed things up and he should. He certainly didn't have all day with their comeback looming around the corner. “Jungkook thinks I'm beautiful.”

Yoongi’s confusion had more color to it this time. Beyond his blinking eyes that questioned where this conversation was headed, his brows met when he spoke, “Should this really be coming out of your own mouth?”

“It didn't come from me. Jungkook told me,” he replied, voice defensive.

“Jungkook thinks you're cute. But so do I. Might as well tell me that all members like you.”

“No,” Jimin answered, tucking his arm in and across his chest. His eyes narrowed, teeth worrying his lips, trying to recall the exact moment that prompted him to ask the youngest. “Ah, that's right,” he muttered when the epiphany came. He searched his pockets for his phone and scrolled through countless and countless of albums of selcas and videos of him with Bangtan.

It was somewhere in there.

“Hyung… this,” he finally said after almost five minutes of sifting through his files.

Yoongi’s back was facing him after he stopped talking to look for his proof. He really should've prepared it beforehand. Now his hyung seemed to have completely lost his interest. He was typically patient to listen, but Jimin interrupted him when he was in the midst of editing a melody submission.

Though Yoongi said it was fine. Jimin would be his breath of fresh air because the team would so rarely go out during crucial period right before their comeback. He knew better not to push the limit but it was tempting and he needed someone to listen to him.

He pulled the bean bag next to his hyung’s leg, lifted his phone so that Yoongi would be able to see what he was referencing to.

His hair was pink, the clip a mere six- seconder. He was staring at the camera, trying to appeal to ARMY. He needed it. There was this greedy part of him that wanted to know how they would react to his flirting. Tell people, ‘Hey, Jimin is right here and this is how he looks right now. His hair changed.’ That kind of drill right before their comeback and their response would in a way boost his confidence. A conscious tactic to keep his fans interested in him perhaps?

“What do you think?”

Yoongi made a face and pulled back to a cringe as he'd expected. Highly likely, he would've done the same thing if any other member showed him a video of themselves. So he merely nodded in agreement. Bangtan wasn't the audience for this video. ARMY was.

“Do you know how Jungkookie reacted when I showed this to him?”

Yoongi sighed. “Would I want to know?”

“He replayed it, hyung,” he said as a matter-of-factly. “He told me I should post it because our fans would love it. Which I did, if you remember.”

“I don't,” Yoongi admitted and turned his chair so that he was facing Jimin, a leg over the other while he waited for him to continue.

“I posted it on Twitter and do you know who posted afterwards?”

“Jungkook?”

It wasn't a wild guess.

“Yeah,” Jimin confirmed the obvious. “After 10 minutes, he posted something and you know what it said?”

No response.

“He posted a song.”

The title was right on the hashtag #ILYSB by Lany.

When it came to music that wasn't in their own language, Jimin would seldom take efforts to find translation. So long as he understood bits and pieces of what little English he knew, he could work around it. Namjoon said to be careful of listening to artists that might cause uproar by association, so he would still have to check it out if he'd want to share it with the fans. But for as much as he believed that lyricism was a key ingredient to any good music, Jimin preferred to feel rather than completely understand and analyze. That job was for their leader.

However, he decided that he wanted to fathom the youngest’s thoughts that night.

The noob part of him thought the title was some secret internet code popular in the west so he searched naver only to be greeted by a simple yet telling I love you so bad. His mouth formed an ‘oh’ when he realized that it might've been an intense confession. It invariably piqued his curious mind so that later he would be listening on loop to… and you need to know that I'm hella obsessed with your face.

“You're reading into it too much,” Yoongi told him with a shake of his head as he reached again for his coffee. “I'm not one to judge who you want to date, but think how this appears to other people.” Yoongi paused, seemingly debating what he should and shouldn't say next. “Jimin-ah, a lot could happen in ten minutes. Like you, Jungkook might be sending that message to the fans. Namjoon recommends a lot of songs. It wouldn't be about us.”

“I know, so I asked him directly.”

Yoongi almost spat his drink on him. He tapped his chest as he drowned out his cough to reaffirm. “Ya, you what?”

“I asked him if the lyrics were about me.”

“And?”

“He laughed,” Jimin confessed.

Truth be told, his ego was slightly hurt to see Jungkook’s initial response to his question. He was serious about it because he was just about more than a quarter sure about his theory. It didn't feel good to have this kid finding amusement to something he pored over. He could've just said ‘no’ outrightly and Jimin wouldn't have minded.

Jungkook’s laughter died down when he saw Jimin’s expression transform and he was reaching out for his hand in apology before he knew it.

Jimin let him hold him.

“It was…” he almost sounded uncertain. “Hyung, why are you being like this?” Sounded almost helpless and then relenting, “Yeah, it was about you. I was nervous so I laughed.” Instinctively, his free hand reached for his fringes like the night of Jimin’s birthday.

When he saw the younger fidget, Jimin felt relieved. Ah, he still knew Jungkook better than anyone. Mindful to see every little shift in the air, Jimin wasn't wrong in reading the situation.

He ruffled Jungkook's head and returned the wide staring with his own curled eyes in amusement. “I knew it,” mumbled to himself and turned once he got the confirmation that he wanted.

“You just left?” Yoongi asked him, tone surprised that it nudged some bafflement at the back of Jimin’s head.

He bobbed his head yes because, well, what else was he supposed to do? He already proved he was right. Yoongi hadn't even heard the rest of his evidences yet.

“Three,” he said to share what was left in his folder.

“Stop,” Yoongi said, planting a foot on Jimin's thigh to emphasize the urgency of his demand.

Jimin slapped the foot away and dusted off his pants.

“Do you even like Jungkook?”

He tilted his head sideways. “Of course,” Jimin answered simply, wondering why it was even a question in the first place. He liked Jungkook. Jungkook was and still is his favorite dongsaeng and BTS member. He'd take care of him even if he grew his muscles and grew taller than him.

Yoongi shook his head. “I don't think we're talking about the same thing.”

“For the third one… ” Jimin took in the opportunity of minute lag on Yoongi’s response to divert the conversation back to the task at hand. He really didn't understand what Yoongi meant but better to finish this off before his momentum dried and faltered.

He picked up his phone again and browsed through his apps. It was quite a long memory lane down Vapp’s timeline until he found the correct reference. He slid the video right on the important moment, him in his bathrobe with Taehyung’s voice singing in the background. The camera was on with Jungkook in his white shirt’s glory, sitting for all ARMY to see.

“That's right… Jimin-hyung is bad at playing games,” Jungkook said to echo his claim.

Back then, the staff berated them silently to turn off vapp. Jungkook was too loud. Jimin wasn't kidding when he said he was hearing him across the hallway. They were only given five hours to eat, take a bath, and nap before they reconvene for post-con review and plan out the adjustments in their set list but this kid chose to do an hour of live for the fans.

Jimin was out his room because Sungdeuk wanted to talk to Hoseok. They needed to work on spacing for Not Today. Their hyung thought they didn't maximize the stage well enough and he was also keen to give feedback on blockings for medley so they could properly execute group choreography for Bultaoreune.

Hoseok was too tired to get up his bed so he texted Jimin if he could get the notes in his place. Which Jimin was happy to do. He loved the fact that Hoseok trusted him and it gave him a sense of pride.

He and Sungdeuk were just about done talking when the older guy stopped him from his tracks by grabbing his arm.

“Can you tell Jungkook to tone it down a little? I heard he opened vapp but everyone's tired.”

Jimin honestly didn't want to deal with it. He was wearing his bathrobe without any make-up and only rushed out in the middle of his evening skin care routine because he wanted to be a useful dongsaeng to Hosoek and let him have an early rest. If he so much as spoke, audible for fans to hear, people were going to ask and he'd have to show himself on camera. Jeon Jungkook, really this kid should know when to stop.

“You know Jungkook listens to you well.”

Jimin jutted out his lower lip, “He doesn't.”

He could already imagine the maknae turning the volume up further for the sake of raising his hackles. Sungdeuk knew this but he was asking Jimin to do it because he knew Jimin couldn't say no when it came to Jungkook.

“Alright, alright,” he said, bobbing his head weakly and dragging his feet towards Jungkook’s room.

Across the end of the floor, he saw Taehyung towing right behind their leader who whispered him something. It made his friend glance at his direction and the next thing he knew, Namjoon was off his room and Taehyung was walking the opposite direction.

Taehyung got hold up by Sungdeuk who was midway his own room and right then, Jimin pressed on Jungkook’s room’s bell and twisted the knob open.

“I heard you from the neighboring room. Let me sleep,” he said, trying to keep his tone annoyed and nagging even when Jungkook was beaming at him so widely. “Stop singing in the middle of the night. Go to sleep.”

“You're losing me here, Jimin-ah. This is just you trying to discipline Jungkook. I would've scolded him the same.”

“Hyung,” Jimin replied sternly, eyes determined and a hand squeezing Yoongi’s thigh. “Did you watch it? Jungkook wanted my attention.”

Yoongi leaned back on his chair, challenging.

“Well, it wasn't even about that.”

His proof went beyond Jungkook's childish yet so endearing attempts to make Jimin come back and join his live. He slid the video right back to the moment and handed his phone in Yoongi’s hand.

When he crashed Jungkook's live that evening, Jimin had every intention to make an impression. After how people disregarded his precious, scant hours of work reprieve, he believed he deserved the screen time. It was tempting to test the waters to say the least. Not just with Jungkook. He wasn't dumb, well aware of his effect when he tried to appeal to someone.

“I don't know why you go to those lengths. They like you already,” Yoongi interrupted him mid-explanation, referencing to their fans. “What's more to prove?”

Jimin wondered to himself why but decided against it. “That's not the point, hyung,” he offered, not wanting to divert from the case at hand. They could ramble on about his insecurities later.

After confiscating the speaker that agitated Namjoon down to coordi noona who just finished fixing damaged buttons of their Blood, Sweat and Tears stage costumes, he went back in Jungkook’s room to greet their fans. A hand comb through his blond hair, cute sounds, zoom the bare face closer to the camera when he knew he just applied mask so he'd look good.

More important than that though was to stare at someone far longer than what was necessary that he’d be conscious to repay the attention. So he did what he knew would work, lure Jungkook's eyes to him and whisper. Mumble because that required someone to pay better heed and read his lips.

“That's not right, I was good at playing games a year ago.”

Then Jungkook would nod absentmindedly and whip his head towards his direction as Taehyung sang Chandelier in the background. Jimin wouldn't say it was the perfect song for the moment but it was good to have a song. Cause Jimin was aware they were recorded. He could go back to this, a song would help with epiphany and drama.

“What do you think?” he asked Yoongi who was squinting at his phone. Doubtful but probably a lot more convinced than he was five minutes ago. “I can be convincing if I want to.” He extended an arm to retrieve his phone.

He fell forward when his hyung suddenly pulled back to keep the small device out of reach. “I don't know if you're being serious about this.”

Jimin titled his head. “I am,” he said. “I am serious. Jungkook really likes me.”

He wasn't unreasonable. The kid had a habit of staring when someone would talk. He observed these things, sometimes obsessively, because it helped him understand the maknae better. So he knew why Jungkook would do it. He found it difficult to focus and physically directing his attention to someone would help him catch what they were trying to say better. It wouldn't be a deal then if Jimin was talking.

But when it was Namjoon who was put on spot to answer an English interview, their leader who still strove to speak a foreign language to represent the group, Jimin quite expected for Jungkook to listen… ogle.

“The korean teacher asked me a question, ‘What are the hardships of being a leader?’”

It wasn’t the first time Jungkook was caught. There was one at a fansign, then at the backstage of a music show, also during that one gayo episode and probably instances he wasn’t aware or the others he couldn’t remember. If Jimin wasn’t so busy overthinking things, he would have found it funny how Jungkook would play it cool and avert his gaze elsewhere. 

“There are hardships when we take positions, specifically being a leader...”

Namjoon continued his answer in the background while Jimin thought to himself what actually goes through the maknae’s head when he would look at him. Was the need so compelling that he’d do it or was Jimin really just that. Beautiful?

“Ya, do you hear yourself?”

Jimin giggled, his head falling back to comfortably rest on the loveseat. It was funny to call himself beautiful. Even he wouldn’t be that shameless.

The point still stands though. Jungkook would stare at him, and he would call him beautiful.

“It has to mean something right?”

He wanted to confirm the motivations behind the not-so-subtle attention. However, he didn’t want to do a repeat of the last time when he confronted Jungkook about the song. It made the air between them strained and the youngest would agonize in his presence. Jimin thought he was being shy so he’d hold back.

But then what about his own curiosity?

“You’re curious, that’s it,” Yoongi said plainly. “What would you do with that information?”

Jimin pursed his lips as he thought about it. 

Good point. Where was he leading with all these? He didn’t think that far enough. He wasn’t even done with his final proof.

“What do you think, hyung? What should I do about it?”

...To be continued

[amjustagirl]

im the storm chaser anon again Nikkiiii wdymmm ive been here since forever and have read everything in your master least at least once 😳 im just too shy to reveal myself but im sure you've come across me lurking in your blog. i was so excited to see that broken compass is in the same universe as the storm chaser series, i think i like it when stories are interwoven because well, life is a bit like that as well.

which brings me to something else, im currently reading the great Gatsby and i have to say that your writting reminds me of Fitzgerald's so so much, especially after you commented on the absence of dialogue from your fics(?) i noticed the same technique being used in the great Gatsby and was wondering whether you were inspired by him or not? i don't know, i find it intriguing, the omission of dialogue i mean, whether it's done on purpose or not i love it. it allows you to grasp the meaning behind words without having to deal with them which makes the story not only more interesting but also really unique in my eyes. you need dialogue in theatre or modern films but written text is something else entirely. while reading your fics, i can't help feeling that you explore and make the best use of aspects unique to written word, that's why i still believe that you're one of the best writters around here (and im saying this while having read almost everything you've recommended since i followed you 👀)

also the interwoven stories part reminds me of J.D. Salinger's short stories, sorry i said "which brings me to something else" and begun talking about something seemingly irrelevant, it's just that in my mind, Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye and The Great Gatsby resemble eachother a little and my brain skipped two "steps"

anyway, sorry i say a lot of things at once and remain silent for the next two months but im almost done i promise.

love knows not it's depth, i told you something similar when you first published it but i'll say it again, it's one of the most realistic pieces i've ever read and i love that. the fact that Kuroo is one of my favourite characters aside (Kuroo and Atsumu 💔) he was so well written !! like, it felt as though i was witnessing a couple in my circle or something of sorts, it did not feel like a manga character and im saying that as a compliment T^T

i feel like im forgetting something though, anyway if you haven't read the books i mentioned, which i doubt, but if not i recommend them! also since im sending quite a few asks i might as well introduce myself, im ellie ><

i can't wait for your Kita fic, im sure it'll be amazing but take your time with it, it's okay!! im sorry for sending a long as letter in your asks but it'll probably happen again :( (unless ofc you don't want me to do so)

anyway, anyway, i hole you'll have a nice day !! 💛🌻

HI ELLIE!

okay my own rambling will be long so i'll do it under the cut.

oh gosh - never apologise for rambling or dropping into my inbox, i always love love love to hear what my readers think about my stories or anything around the sun! im like you - life is rly interwoven (catcher in the rye, so nostalgic!!), so i feel like..idk it makes sense for me to write some stories in the same universe! i'm glad you enjoyed it - and...

thank YOU for reading all my work! you're far too sweet to me. but yes, that's what i try to get at with some of my works where i don't focus on dialogue as much - there's so much more that's unsaid and i like the subtlety of it, yknow? i don't know - i don't think im inspired by fitzgerald - i'm familiar with his works, but because of where i'm from (former british colony, taught by brit teachers), i don't focus so much on american modern literature, more like - british victorian lit / shakespeare yknow? but but but i went to take a quick peek when you mentioned him...and yeah you're right! like this line from Gatsby - “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” oh gods, that style of writing just gave me chills. thank you for the rec - i'll HAVE to check it out.

i personally feel really bad whenever ppl tell me im one of the best writers around cos i feel like such a fraud - i think im decent but like...argh. i think a lot of us suffer from imposter syndrome LOL.

oh gods, love knows not its depth. idk what possessed me when i wrote it because it just...flowed and i knew after i wrote it that...it was real, yknow? i cld see shades of it in my mother, with my parents' marriage, potential shades of it in my own marriage (if either of us choose not to put in the work), so i guess...writing it was really reflective of real life too! i don't often know whether im writing kuroo right, and i'm glad you liked it cos he's so complex? there are so many facets to him - his cockiness, his maturity, his kindness, his ambition, and it's so easy to just write him as a smirking caricature, and i was afraid of that.

i hope i hope i hope you like my kita fic - i just dropped a sneak peek of it, and i'm back on tumblr cos i just finished writing another bulk (my brain needs to rest, to be continued tomorrow!!!).

i hope you have a lovely week, dear ellie <3 don't be afraid to pop back or even dm me, i'm always always up for a chat!!!!

[swiftedbethy13]

I’m now going to tell you about the most magical and amazing experience I’ve ever had and ever will have. This post is SO long so go grab some popcorn 🍿

So on October 2nd I was working a nightshift. It was little to do and just went in and checked my emails. I saw two emails from twitter saying Taylor Nation had sent me a DM!! I panicked so bad and went on my twitter to check if it was real. And on my twitter I have two DMs from Taylor fucking Nation. I stared shaking so bad and could barely breathe. The message said *CONFIDENTIAL MESSAGE* and that they have a secret, special event they would like to talk to me about, and to send my full name, phone number and best time to contact me. Have you ever tried typing in details like that while your hands are shaking so bad like you’re on drugs?! ITS HARD MAN! I obviously gave them my details (duh), and told them my lips are sealed and it sounds so exciting! Then I panicked cos I thought my reply was too late, and had to ask if I was too late, and then I apologised for sending them so many messages 😂 They said “haha you’re all good, thanks doll”. Then I was supposed to take care of newborns and their moms and stay calm at the same time. IT WAS SUCH A STRUGGLE! I had to go to the bathroom to try and breathe.

We were not supposed to tell ANYONE, but I just had to send my friend Lyndsay a message saying it’s important to check you DMs on twitter often. And she replied “I know, you too…” and I just KNEW she had gotten a message too. If she replied with something different I wouldn’t have told her anything. We started freaking out together and it was beautiful.

I didn’t know when to expect a phone call, all I knew was that I need to have my phone on sound at all times. Like you can’t miss the most important phone call of your life! I had an evening shift the next day and told work I just have to have my phone on sound cos I’m waiting for a very important phone call. Every time my phone rang I just immediately panicked 😂. I can’t remember the time but I was at work and in a patients room when my phone started ringing. I quickly said “sorry I have to take this” and ran out of the room. I look at my phone and it’s calling from New York 😱 I die and start shaking and answer. It was Ali calling from Taylor Nation!! She confirmed it was the right person she was talking too and gave me some more details. It was going to be a secret special event in London on Friday the 13th of October from 4pm-11pm. She asked if I was going to be able to make travel arrangements and I was like “duh YAS OF COURSE”. She told me I could bring a plus’s one, and since I knew that Lyndsay was already going, I gave them my friend Alex’s details. She told me again that this was confidential and I couldn’t speak about it to anyone except my parents, guardian and boss at work. I was going to get more information early the week following. I probably sounded like the most bored person cos I was IN SHOCK, like I was just “yeah” “uhu”, “yes”, and didn’t show any excitement at all 😂. She hung up and continuing work was the hardest thing EVER!

I made travel arrangements and sorted hotels with my friends. I was already going to London on the Sunday till Wednesday before the event on Friday, so I knew the week would go quick anyways. On Sunday evening I out of the blue get an email. I was at the hotel with my mom having a pamper evening, and I was SO THROWN OFF COS I THOUGHT I WOULD GET IT ON MONDAY OR TUESDAY. My mom filmed my reaction to getting this email and it shows how Taylor Swift makes me feel nearly 24/7 😂. The email again said that it was confidential and not to post anything about it or tell anyone. They gave us an address for a Holiday In hotel where we were going to meet up. They said not to bring too much personal belongings cos this was going to be taken off us as well as our phones. AT THIS POINT I STARTED TO BE MORE CERTAIN THAT I WAS GOING TO A SECRET SESSION. Hence my reaction to getting the email lol. I still tried to not get my hopes up, and tried to tell myself that maybe I’ll get to hear a new song and have a swiftie party. Good thing I was in London and could get myself an outfit. OMG IVE NEVER BEEN MORE STRESSED ABOUT FINDING AN GOOD OUTFIT EVER!! I did find it by the help of my really good friend!

THIS STORY IS GETTING SO LONG, sorry 😂 Well done for getting this far. I’m going to skip forward to Friday now (aka the best day of my life).

So, FRIDAY THE 13TH. I get up at 4am to catch my flight to London. My stomach is doing backflips trying to catch butterflies cos I was so excited and nervous and anxious at the same time. I couldn’t listen to any Taylor music cos I would just start to cry, so I ended up listening to P!nks new album (which is amazing btw). When I get to London I meet up with Lyndsay, Megan and Alex. We head to the hotel where we are going to stay and to meet up. Here we get dressed and as I was to put my makeup on I realise that I’ve forgotten all my make up and I go in a full on panic. IM SUCH AN IDIOT! Luckily Megan had makeup I could borrow. After we got ready we headed down to outside the hotel. There were loads of girls with red lipstick and dresses so we knew we were in the right place 😍. We qued up outside, they were running late, think we stood outside for 40 minuets maybe. We then got to the front of the line and inside (finally cos I was freezing my ass of). Taylor Nation was there ready to sign us in!! We signed a confidentiality contract and showed our ID and GOT OUR WRISTBAND!!! (KANDJFJRJDJ)!! It said United Kingdom on it, written in reputation font!!! SO EXCITING! We then went down the stairs to a room with lots of chairs in. There were refreshments, and hot drinks (yay for cold me!) for us while we waited for further instructions.

Then we were told to leave our stuff behind, including phone, and the first 25 people went on a bus. Me and Alex got on the second bus. Now I stared getting SO nervous, it’s ridiculous. Before we went on we where scanned by security. Then the bus took off! We drove a title while and was driving through the most posh neighbourhood EVER, like I WANNA LIVE THERE! The bus stopped and we were told to be quiet while we went off. I realised we were at a house, and you could only guess I was thinking we were at TAYLORS HOUSE!! There were lots of security while we were taken in a back entrance of the house and in through the basement. I had to knock on the door 😂 (so I could say I knocked on Taylor Swifts door, I know I’m extra 😂). We got scanned by security again before we were taken up to the kitchen. GUYS, THIS HOUSE IS AMAZING!! ITS SO HUGE. We still haven’t by this point been told where we are, but duh 🙄. I KNEW we were at Taylor’s house. Her kitchen is beautiful! She has 4 ovens!! There were lots of snack on the counters. Homemade chicken nuggets, fruit, cheese and fizzy drinks. There were also REP cookies!! And REP m&ms! SO COOL! Andrea and Scott was also in the kitchen talking to other fans. Me and Alex just hung around and talked to a few people. Then Lyndsay and Megan arrived, we hugged each other cos they also realised where we were. We then ended up talking to Scott. He has never been to Norway!! And I told him he neeeeeds to come here.

Her house smells AMAZING. I obviously had to see which candles she was burning so I could by them 😂. We were then told to get in a line as we were going to a different room. This was after everyone had arrived and had some food. Me, Alex, lyndsay and Megan were quite up front as we were taken to a living room. There were cushions on the floor and we sat down. I sat down not even thinking about where. Me and Alex chose a high cushion and shared it. A 100 people was going to fit in this room and it got really tight! When everyone had found a spot there was some whispering and the door opened a little. THEN THE QUEEN THAT IS TAYLOR SWIFT WALKS INTO THE FUCKING ROOM AND IM SCREAMING. We were so loud! I FUCKING LOVE HER SO MUCH 😭😭 Like I couldn’t believe she was like right there in the same room as me. As I was having difficulties breathing she sat down like 2 meters away from me and Alex, we had such a good view of her like OMG. Then she said we were going to hear the whole FUCKING ALBUM AND WE DIED. We now knew this was A FUCKING SECRET SESSIONS PEOPLE! SHE ALSO SAID SHE HANDPICKED EVERYONE! I FUCKING DIED! TAYLOR HAS LURKED ME FOR A YEAR WITHOUT ME KNOWING 😭😭 I’ve never had a like or a follow, and I don’t have many followers on any social media. STILL SHE FOUND ME! I’m got eye contact with her so many times during the listening 😭😭😍! SHE IS SO HAPPY TOO!! I JUST LOVE HER SO MUCH! AND IM TELLING YOU GUYS THIS ALBUM IS BLODDY AMAZING. (If you think you are stupid enough that I’m going to tell anything about the album, you are being funny, don’t bother asking 😉)

After she had pledged the album we got to look through the magazines!!! THEY ARE AMAZING AND IM SO HAPPY I WILL BE ABLE TO BUY ONE WHEN THEY COME OUT!! Then we waited to meet her JENFBDJSSHHSHDB 😭. I was getting so nervous by this point. Like I was going to meet the one person who has been there for me for so many years and I get to tell her how much I love her. We were one of the earlier ones to be sent in to meet her. Megan and Lyndsay were in front of us and a free they finished it was our turn.

I RAN OVER TO HER AND HUGGED HER AND SHE DIDNT LET GO UNTIL I DID 😭😭 I just couldn’t believe what was happening. She then hugged Alex and told me SHE FUCKING LOVE MY OUTFIT! She said “I love this whole outfit situation going on” I died. I told her that it’s not something I wear a lot and she said “you should definitely do!” IM OBVIOUSLY NEVER TAKING THIS OUTFIT OFF. Alex then said he wanted to wear the same outfit but we couldn’t match so he said I could wear it, and she laughed 😂 I love how we had a sarcastic conversation with Taylor Swift 😂 She then laughed at Alex’s apology for his bored resting face. I’m SO PROUD OF HIM SPEAKING TO TALOR, you have no idea! ❤️❤️ Then we were told to move to the side a bit cos they were going to open up the front door (so no one could see she was living there). This gave us more time with her and I’m so grateful! I then asked her about anxiety with singing and she gave me tips on singing and performing in front of people. TAYLOR FUCKING SWIFT GAVE ME ADVISE ON SINGING AND PERFORMING!! JJDNDJDJFJRJD. Alex then thanked her for giving him the best friends ever and she hugged us both again 😍 Then it was time for picture. We didn’t plan a pose, we just took one. SHE RESTED HER HEAD ON ME AND I SISNT NOTICED BEFORE I SAW THE PIC! It’s so adorable 😍 There were so much more I wanted to tell her, wish I had a few more minutes but I guess she had ALOT of other people to meet.

We then went out in the hallway and ended up talking to Andrea. She reminds me so much of my mom!! She is also a bit similar! I told her about my mom and that she was worried I was sleeping in the airport by my self the following night. We then talked about how happy Taylor is and she was tearing up 😭 It was so beautiful to see how happy her parents were for her 😍😍 We gave her a biiiiig hug and then walked down to the basement again. There we stood trying to comprehend what just happened. I still don’t believe it, don’t know if I ever will? We then got merch!!! We got a REP tote bag, pop socket, t-shirt, a sticker, a cap and the best thing ever, a exclusive keychain that only us on the secret sessions London got. IT WAS SO NICE OF THEM! We were then sent on the bus back to the hotel. There we spoke to Ali about confidentially again and what we could talk about and not. She is so sweet!! Megan and Lyndsay old us TAYLOR KNEW WE WERE IN NASHVILLE TOGETHER 😭😭 OMG!!

When we came back to the hotel I called my mom and SOBBED. I couldn’t even talk to her cos I was crying too much. Then I posted online on my social media about what happened and my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

I AM SO GRATEFUL FOR TALOR SWIFT. THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH FOR THIS!! And thank you to Taylor Nation for giving us this opportunity, it means so much to us ❤️ The picture ended up perfect and I’m going to hang it on my wall so I can stare at it everyday 😍 I’ve been crying since Sunday cos this has been so so emotional to me. I can’t even tell people what happened without crying.

@isturkeyanickname

I’m sorry this story is a mile long 😂

Thank you so much @taylorswift and @taylornation

[tisfan]

Stark Truth

Chapter Four of that Tony/Doom fic that nobody asked for and I just can’t seem to stay away from... things are looking grim for our boys...

To Victor goes the Spoils - A Stark Reminder - Doom’s Day Scenario

At least, Tony thought, looking around at the burning city, the Avengers weren’t the only superhero group who regularly made mincemeat out of their surroundings. Hulk was really smashie, and Captain America hadn’t yet decided that opening a door was easier than crashing through the wall, not to mention the number of bad guys who tended to use Iron Man as their own personal wrecking ball. 

On the other hand, Johnny Storm was literally burning the place to the ground. Human Torch? More like human dumpster fire. Tony sighed. Fire, like biological weapons, didn’t care who was killed. Tony picked his way carefully through the burning building, getting feedback every few feet to make sure the floor was still stable and the roof wasn’t going to come down on his head. 

This was the warehouse that Richards had decided was probably storing Tony’s tech -- not certain what, and an in depth examination of Stark Industries records hadn’t shown anything missing. If the building hadn’t been on fire, Tony would have left it til the battle’s end to start putting pieces together. It bothered him to be letting others go into harm’s way as he examined crates and files, downloaded computer databases, and tried to figure out what Doom was up to. 

Which didn’t mean that he wasn’t fighting; the doombots were annoyingly persistant and several dozen of them had followed Iron Man into the building. They were also fairly standard grunt troops and not any of the specialized attack modulars that the Avengers had dealt with before. If Tony didn’t know better, he’d suspect they’d caught Doom entirely by surprise. 

He wasn’t sure he did know better, but nothing with Doom had ever been as easy and uncomplicated as he’d believed it should be. So, yeah, probably a trap somewhere lurking under the whole mess. 

In one room, Tony discovered a full layout of a superlatively upgraded Doomstahdt. Latveria’s founding, centuries ago, had given it some gorgeous architecture, for like, the 1200’s, but these days, the mud huts and fantastical cathedrals were a little out of date. Modern plumbing was scarce, and while the population was generally better off than some parts of the world, Tony knew families in coal towns with more luxurious  homes than middle-class Latverians. 

Except Doom seemed to be planning some major upgrades. Skyscrapers towered over the surrounding landscape, modern high-rise apartments, overly generous green public areas, underground power lines. This was going to take billions of dollars, years of work, but when it was finished… Doomstahdt was going to rival such modern cities as Singapore and Taipei.

Mobile readers, there’s a cut here. You can access Tumblr from your browser to read the rest, of check out the whole story on A03

“Guess Light Bright’s doin’ him a favor by speeding up the clearing process,” Tony muttered, leaning against the table to study the layout. At the heart, several meters underground… was a full-sized arc-reactor power source. Self-reliant, clean energy. A warm light for all mankind. Tony felt a peculiar squeeze in his chest. 

The underground power generator had some improvements, even to Tony’s model, amplifiers and storage cells. Tony had JARVIS capture some images; this deserved more scrutiny than he had time for right now. At least he knew what Doom had stolen, except really, Stark Industries kept careful track of the arc-reactors. Surely he would know if one of them were missing, if even the components had been illegally salvaged. 

Maybe it was theoretical, something Doom was planning, but hadn’t yet acquired. Still, it made Tony nervous; the arc-reactor was a great power source; could be used to anything. To run an entire city, or to power hordes of Doombots. Better check it out. Tony launched himself up to continue a search of the burning building. 

Doom watched from the sidelines; enough out of the way that his Doombots would do their job, along with the servo-guards, and others, without drawing attention to himself. He issued commands; keeping a small group of rotating servo-guards to occupy the Fantastic Four, the rest were directed to civilian evacuation and preservation tasks. 

Already, Richards and Storm had dropped over several buildings and completely disrupted emergency services in the city. Doom wasn’t even certain what they were here for; Doom had not been involved in anything besides infrastructure in the last several months. 

After tearing up several squads of guards, Doom finally stepped out, commanding his guards to act as if he was merely another Doombot, serving for the moment as the Voice of Doom. 

“What do you want with Doom?” he demanded, marching up the street to where Richards was involved in disgusting gyrations with half a squad of servo-guards, arms and legs stretched to ridiculous and grotesque lengths. 

Richards started yelling about illegal tech and weapons programs. Doom sneered behind his mask. 

“Doom has acquired nothing that is not necessary to the comfort of the population of Latveria,” Doom declared, putting his hands on his hips in aggravation. He should have known that he would not be allowed to rebuild his nation. 

“You should know that Stark’s tech is watched very closely, Von Doom,” Sue said. She wasn’t visible, not that that was anything new. 

“Should we forget, just because Doom rules this nation, that there are half a million people living there who just want good lives? These people, who live in an enforced monarchy, we should just allow Johnny Storm to blow up their city because he’s angry with Doom?” Doom gestured around at the burning city. “Whatever Doom has done in the past, the people of Latveria deserve better!” 

“They deserve better than you!” Johnny Storm yelled. 

“Perhaps,” Doom said. “But that is not your choice to make. You have come to Latveria on invasion, with no evidence. Doom --” Doom turned. The warehouse was burning. He squinted; a figure in red and gold armor whizzed past one of the windows. Iron Man had been strangely absent during the battle in the city. 

Doom narrowed his gaze; the fire was spreading rapidly through the building, racing toward -- 

Shit. The fuel packets for the arc-reactor. Stable, safe energy, but not when some idiot set it on fire. The explosion would put a crater in the middle of Latveria the size of Sudbury crater. “Fools!” 

Doom turned his back on the Fantastic Assholes. 

Richards tried to head him off -- literally, stretching his neck so far out to make a loop around Doom’s retreating form -- “This one’s him! Get him, Ben!” 

No. Doom did not have time for this nonsense. He tore free of Richards’s grip, moving as fast as he could. Tony could not, could not be in that building when it blew. 

Richards grabbed him again. 

“Idiot,” Doom growled. “If the core melts down, everyone will die!” 

Doom burst into the building. The air snapped, subtle, popping Doom’s ears. Sue Storm had surrounded the entire building in one of her force-shields. Well, at least she wasn't as stupid as Richards. What she saw in that man anyway was more than Doom could understand. 

Doom raced to the storage facility; the fire was already thick and even though Sue had contained the building, there was enough oxygen that it wouldn’t go out immediately. The red and gold of Tony’s armor glinted across the room. 

One glance was all it took. They were, not to put too fine a point on it, doomed. The core was already burning. 

Iron Man gazed into the crate, then snapped his head up to stare at Doom. There was no reading his expression behind that mask. “At least I’ll take you with me,” Tony snarled, the voice modulated by the armor, stripped of nuance. 

“No,” Doom said. “I’ll take you with me.” 

The core melted. Doom took three steps and crossed the room, weaving his magic behind him. A containment shield for the core, by necessity, stretching to fill the shield Sue had already locked down. The force from the inside was going to be a thousand times that of Hiroshima. Doom flung another, to protect Tony from the heat and sudden lack of oxygen, and then the building went up. Red and yellow flames engulfed everything, like being thrust suddenly into the middle of a volcano. Doom reached, grabbed Iron Man’s hand, and teleported them away. 

Tony wasn’t expecting to wake up. One of these days, he was going to be right about that. Something would explode in his face and he’d just not ever wake up from that. God, sometimes he was looking forward to it, because waking up after being exploded always, always sucked. 

Sometimes less than others; being blown up in Afghanistan had decidedly been worse. 

Tony was flat on his back, but the material under him was relatively soft. 

His body ached, but he’d had worse muscle pain after a few days of blackout drinking and partying. Not that he did that as much anymore so he wasn’t used to it. 

And there didn’t seem to be anyone else in the room with him. Tony risked it and opened his eyes. 

It was decidedly not a hospital, despite the bag of fluids that hung on an IV stand by his bedside. Tony traced the line down to where it fed into the peripheral port in his left hand. 

The room was decorated, richly furnished, and the bed Tony was situated on had silk sheets, a rich, glowing gold. The other furnishings, a wardrobe, table, desk and chairs, were all elegant and tasteful, if not necessarily to Tony’s taste, at least to someone’s. 

Tony looked down at himself; he was wearing a white linen sleep-shirt of some sort and his wounds had been tended, cleaned and wrapped. He felt sort of shitty, but that was probably a result of battle and being exploded and not the care he’d gotten. 

He was, in a word, confused. 

Tony scrubbed his right hand over his face and swallowed; his throat was dry and he was thirsty. His hand continued down the side of his chin and then stopped cold. Something encircled his neck like a collar. More exploring proved that entirely right. He was wearing a god damned collar. Like a dog. Like a slave. 

Tony got to his feet, heedless of the IV stand, which pulled over and tugged at the site. Tony ripped it free, wincing a little. He pressed his fingers over the bleeding skin and held it down to staunch the flow. There was a mirror over the dresser on the far side of the room and he headed that way, aware of the plush carpet under his feet. What the actual fuck was going on? Where was he? 

The mirror threw back his face, a little beat-up, which was normal. Black eye, again. 

And a silver and green collar locked around his neck, metal, solid. 

Fuck. 

The door behind him opened and Tony reached for the first object he could find to use as a weapon. Not that a vanity bench was going to do him lots of good. 

The last person he expected to see was in the doorway. 

“Rabun!” The vanity stool fell from nerveless fingers and smashed into the floor, breaking into pieces. “What are you doing here?” 

Rabun spread his hands, his expression pained. “I live here.” 

“You work for Doom.” Tony’s voice was flat. His heart ached in his chest and he could barely breathe. But Rabun would never see that. Stark men are iron. 

“I work for Latveria, yes.” Rabun didn’t smile, didn’t try to explain, didn’t say anything. He pulled out a chair from the table and practically fell into it, his whole body screaming dejection. 

“You. Work for Doom. You work for the --” 

“Do not,” Rabun interrupted, cutting off Tony’s tirade, mid-rant. “I work for Latveria. I work for my home. I cannot change where I was born and I cannot change who I was born to be. I regret that this has come to pass. I did not wish you to find out in this manner.” 

Tony should be angry; he knew this, knew it like he knew his own name. He should feel betrayed. Lied to. Deceived. He should hate, with every fiber of his being, the man before him. He didn’t. Watching Rabun stare at the table, his whole body weighed down with grief, Tony could do nothing but ache. “It would put us at risk,” he said, slowly. “If it were known. Have I put you at risk, then?” 

“Not just yet,” Rabun said. 

“Doom saved my life,” Tony said, again, taking time with his words. There were too many questions, asking them would give away too much. He had to be careful, very careful, here, and lock away his heart. “Why would he do that?” 

“For me,” Rabun said. 

“He knows? About us?” What us? Was there an us anymore? When he didn’t even know the truth, when everything they’d made together had been built on a carefully constructed lie? 

“Doom knows,” Rabun said. “Doom has always known.” 

“It was a trap.” That wasn’t a question, but Rabun held out one hand, entreatingly. 

“No,” Rabun said. “If Doom had wanted to entrap you, Doom would have used bait.” 

Whatever ill-conceived thoughts Tony had harbored fell away. He would have fallen into that trap; he would have done anything, paid any price, if Doom had dangled Rabun in front of him. Tony had never been exactly reasonable when it came to threats against the people he loved. There were so few of them that fell into that category, Tony couldn’t stand to lose any of them. 

“He knew, and he did nothing?” That, Tony found a little hard to believe. 

“Doom knew. Doom allowed it. So long as it did not interfere with the project. The risk was not from Doom, but Doom’s allies. And enemies. Who would see you, who would see us, as an opportunity to exploit.” 

“So, why, then, are you not at risk?” 

“The world thinks you’re dead. Richards believed he was mistaken that Doom was in the explosion,” Rabun said. “Doom has made a public statement about the invasion. For once, the world’s outrage is enflamed on Latveria’s behalf.” 

“So what happens now?” Tony couldn’t help but raise his hand to the collar that someone -- probably Doom -- had put around his neck. 

Rabun winced. “For Doom, for you, for me,” Rabun said, “it would be best if you remained here. Not; I would prefer not as a prisoner.” 

“You might as well not sugar-coat it, sweetheart,” Tony said. “If I’m here for the rest of my life without being able to leave, or have anyone know I’m still alive, that’s a prisoner, whether I’m in chains or not.” 

If possible, Rabun looked even more despondent. “I know,” he said. “I wish I… that it had not… it’s worthless, my apologies. But you have it. This is not what I wanted for us.” 

“Us?” 

Rabun turned his head, eyes squeezing shut, his mouth twisting with pain. “I still love you,” he said. 

Tony blinked. His eyes burned and his throat ached. “You never said it.” 

“My great shame,” Rabun said, “that I could not say it when you would have believed me.” 

“Yeah.” 

Rabun sat there a while longer and both of them looked away, not able to meet the other’s gaze. Finally, without a word, Rabun stood up and left the room. 

Tony could not miss hearing the door lock behind him. 

He waited, until he was certain Rabun would not hear him, and then Tony fell to his knees and mourned. 

Years of experience, working hand in hand with spies and assassins, had given Tony more abilities than he’d had when he was a prisoner in Afghanistan. He could pick locks; he could subvert enemy robots, he could redirect the security cameras. 

He even managed to find tools and get the damn collar off his neck, which was a relief. 

What he couldn’t do, however, was actually leave. 

Tony arrived on the surface (because of course Von Doom had thrown him in some basement level type dungeon) and stared, aghast, at what had once been an amazing, if primitive, city. 

The city was abandoned; half of it burned to ash; smoke poured out of a few basements, the blaze still going hard underground. 

The warehouse that Tony had been in was completely gone. In its place was a sphere filled with what looked like a thunderstorm on fire. 

“What the hell?” 

“A warm light for all mankind,” Doom said, stepping up next to him. 

Tony didn’t allow himself to flinch and Doom didn’t… do anything. He just stood there, staring at the orb. 

“What happened?” Because even at the worst possible moment, Tony couldn’t help that cat’s curiosity about him, that need to know, followed up by the need to fix. 

Doom stood stiffly, hands clasped behind his back. “The arc-reactor core is melting down, constantly recycling, as more and more heat builds up. It is self-sustaining. Each moment, the force of it grows exponentially. Yesterday, it would have wiped out most of the city and surrounding countryside. Today it will flatten Latveria all the way to its borders and somewhat beyond. By tomorrow, half of Eastern Europe. In a week’s time, it’ll crack the planet down to the core.” 

“Holy hell,” Tony choked out. 

“Indeed.” Doom might have glanced at Tony; it was hard to tell with the mask that hid Doom’s face from the world. His voice, like Tony’s when he was in the armor, was modulated, emotionless. “Surrounding nations have closed their borders. Doom’s people cannot evacuate to a safe distance.”

“How long can the shield hold?” Tony shuddered. The shield was magical, something Tony rather abhorred, but at the moment he was willing to overlook it in the face of not being liquified immediately. All that Rabun had spoken of, earlier, was a lie. Doom had never intended for Tony to live. Or perhaps Rabun had not known. 

“Doom does not have enough data to be certain,” Doom said, “but Doom believes that the force will be too great to withstand within ten days. But Doom is planning to release it this day. The fate of Latveria is trivial, compared to the world. It will be remembered as a great disaster.” He tipped his head in Tony’s direction and said with a certain deadpan humor that Tony didn’t know Doom was capable of, “Perhaps they will even call it Doom’s Day, in the history books.” 

Tony couldn’t help but choke out a laugh. 

“You let me escape,” he said. 

“Yes,” Doom said. “All of Doom’s citizens are as far from here as they can get, with orders to storm the borders, if they must. You will join them. Doom will have no more deaths.” 

“And you?” 

“Doom will remain here,” Doom said. “Perhaps Doom can shunt the force of the blast. If not, Doom will still not abandon his home.” 

Tony stared at the orb, calculating furiously. “What day is it?” 

Doom gave him the date and Tony added the moon’s current location to his calculations. 

“You have a plan,” Doom observed. 

“Yeah. As it happens, I’m not in favor of large holes in the planet,” Tony said. “Conditionally.” 

“Name it.” 

Tony waited until Doom turned and gave Tony his full attention. “I want Rabun Alil. Let him go. Whatever hold you have on him, whatever he means to you, whatever he does for you. I want him to be free.” 

“Doom wishes he could do that,” Doom said, and even with the voice modulator, he sounded sincere. “It is not possible.” 

“Why not? He’s one man,” Tony demanded. “We’re talking about your entire nation, millions of people in the surrounding countries. What is he to you that you can’t let him live his own life?” 

Doom raised his hands to his mask. He touched two studs at the neck and lifted the iron faceplate free. He turned to face Tony, familiar silver hair spilling into his face, the amber eyes sad. “Because he’s me,” Rabun -- no, Victor fucking Von Doom -- said. “And if I ever meant anything to you at all, Tony, please… help me save my people.”

[unproduciblesmackdown]

if you were around for the pre-end-of-mh days you might remember times i like to talk to myself extensively, pointlessly, and dumbassedly about my own thoughts, which go nowhere and solve nothing. literally ignore me, talking about bring me the spider cup, i wanna prank crimmins natcho. my proclivity towards trying to figure out mysteries is matched only by my total inability to do so.

firstly i was like ok, this doesn’t necessarily mean eno knows who this guy is, which i think is true but unlikely. he’s probably met him before and while i think it would be funny if this is all some roundabout unnecessary revenge scheme by someone who considers eno his rival, i’d think it was more likely eno was kind of in a position like wallace where maybe they just worked in the same place. (sidenote: he is so clearly evil how do people share an office with him. please fix this mess jerry)

becoz the thing is it was a bit strange eno said he couldnt take a client via a social workers request with the reasoning that he’d left that life behind him? because he is a therapist now after all. but it would make more sense if he used to maybe be associated with / work for a company like that. i dont even know anything about privatised versions of social work but maybe it could work like that. and maybe he worked with crimcrom because sure, maybe crimmins just murdered his way into head of a company or other unsavory methods, and/or maybe also he has actual experience in the field. because maybe he was working at the same place as eno?

because honestly if i was going to take a very vague guess of where the social work is involved here, its that if youre going to do terrible dangerous medical experiments on people, you take people who have connections without the wealth/time/stability to investigate or else just people who wont be missed at all. people whose debilitating struggles and unstable situations you actually have documentation of. and it does seem like everyone with someone missing was relying on kent and co. to find them, because they couldnt themselves, because their sibling/whomever had been targeted for that exact reason, that their family/friends wouldnt have the means to find them. probably this has been going on for a while and most people are just killed and those who arent are kinda just chucked out somewhere to be found by whoever

anyways, the thing with eno, the idea he was working with/for a company earlier is a bit confusing too because its confusing that kent and yumi were killed but eno wasnt? theres the chance that the attempt simply failed, but i had thought that maybe because eno wasnt the semi-public face of the effort like kent was or an official worker like yumi, maybe nobody who put the hit out knew he was even involved. but since im guessing we’re guessing crimmins was directly/indirectly involved in the Day Of Murder and he knows about eno, thats not true……but then its a bit fuzzier why eno wasnt killed if he wasnt just helping out as a friend but sort of associated with his work, like yumi was. maybe it was part of a longer con, like as might be made clearer soonish. because unfortunately i really doubt crim would show his hand like this if he wasnt secure in everything favoring his schemes currently

it also makes sense that eno had been in a position like yumi’s because im also assuming eno thinks its his own files that someone had got hold of. cuz if yumi and kent had the same papers, surely eno did too. and if he was just keeping them to himself it would be one thing but if he was using them with his work like yumi was, then maybe it happened like he said it did only with his file/company in place of yumi’s. which makes sense coz of why he is so uncomfortable and why he was so surprised about it. probably he didnt suppose it had happened until kip said it did, and he suspects it was on his end that it happened but doesnt want to say it because its unpleasant and because he doesnt want to say it to kip.

i was hoping that gayness would be the wrench in the gears aka kip wasnt supposed to learn of the link between kents files and wallaces, but maybe he actually absolutely was? it would make sense why crimmins was so keen to make sure wallace got kip to work with him. because unless it is remarkably nuanced i doubt part of his plan involves trying to get wallace to directly harm anyone, cuz obvs he wouldnt, he is just motivated to not get fired and hopefully do good work. but it seems like a safe guess that kip would see wallaces papers even though kip really should be getting paid for this, and maybe crimmins was assuming that kip had already seen kents file? because if he had worked with eno and gotten his files, he would basically know what must be in kents files. and it apparently wasnt a secret that the files had made it out of the fire with kip

but its a hell of a con because its like, it seemed like a bonus that kip realized the coincidence, because why would crimmins want kip to suspect that wallace is somehow connected with the scheme that kent was investigating / his family and yumi were killed for? but apparently he could guess that kip would meet with eno about it, because i guess he’s tracking one or both of them. speaking of, im hoping that kip hasnt just gotten jumped. im sure its a concern on the best of days that eno told him to be safe, but it seems ominous

just like it seemed ominous when kip told wallace he trusts eno more than anyone. wallace sure learned a lot in those couple of days, namely: he already knows where kip lives exactly and who with and that they are good friends (not sure how coincidental it is that they live in the exact same building, maybe its just convenient), who kip’s ex-boyfriend is and where he works and who he works with and that he and kip have Strong Feelings for each other, who kip’s therapist is and that he sees him once a week and is a old and close friend whom kip trusts above all others, and i’m sure wallace has been able to pick up that kip has a dead brother and theres a story behind it and its a touchy subject. i mean, that’s mostly completely irrelevant info to put into a report, but maybe not if it was relevant to mention that he was working with kip since after all his boss had told him to. but probably crimmins was guessing that if wallace was making headway at all, he had got hold of kip. and since apparently he has eyes on people, that helps too. fix it jerry

im not thinking that its ominous that kip trusts eno so much because he shouldnt or because eno has been lying all along or something—like, if eno suspects himself for being involved in something now, im supposing he hadnt thought so before or hadnt considered it mattered because everything about how everything happened was moot because nobody was going to be continuing the matter and everyone was leading totally different lives. and as for currently, its not like i think eno is like, having the past catch up with him aka he’s betrayed kip or anyones trust before. i mean maybe eno has some totally unrelated dark secret that can be held over him, but even then i doubt that it would be anything where he would be forced to do something to endanger kip to protect himself. rather, i’d guess he might be given more of a non-choice in which he has to do something that will endanger kip because the threat is of causing kip immediate harm. what seems worst is that crimmins is really showing his hand early here maybe, or anyways, he thinks that theres no possible way for eno to prevent whatever crim wants to have happen. which is like, bad

and if he knows how much kip trusts eno, which he probably does, thats bad too…

if wallaces only purpose though was to show kip the files he had, that also has to mean rousing kip’s suspicion…..also, if kip had known about kents files before he’d seen wallace’s, wouldnt he potentially be immediately suspicious enough of wallace to cut off ties with him? maybe that doesn’t matter idk. b/c tbh it seems like theres only so much you can do w/ wallace while preserving his “unwitting involvement in an evil scheme” status, you cant ask him to do anything non-job related. unless his reports are doubling as surveillance or something. but he wouldnt do anything he thought was harmful or over his bounds. even asking him to get kip involved was weird, but at least crim seemed to accurately count on wallace caring too much abt his job to object with stuff rather than simply doing what he had to to keep it

like, clearly something about kip is important to crim’s schemes but how could i guess what. because im guessing we dont have enough information yet, but even if you gave me the info we have now and told me to fill in the blanks however i wanted, i couldnt come up with anything. im really really dumb as hell and not creative enough to take the ventures required to come up with accurate theories. but ok, medical experiments, it could just be anti-monster, but it could also be pro-human which happens to be anti-monster aka more exploitative. cuz it doesnt seem like theyre “Kill All Monsters” as much as “its fine if monsters die but if theyre alive we’ll just dump them somewhere because we just literally assign them no value unless somehow they’re useful towards whatever’s going on here.”

coz kip has two powers: 1) he’s a beloved semipublic figure, and 2) ice and he’s cold

and he has one majorly exploitable weakness in that he’s very afraid for his surrogate family, generally more scared than the average person of being murdered horribly, and knows he has good reasons for that and also trauma

but it seems like if crim wanted to get hold of kip by threatening his loved ones, he could do that at any time? why would wallace need to be involved at all; he wouldnt. why does he need to tip kip off about his own schemes. why did he need to wait five years? why has there been this five year gap? simply development of the mystery scheme? or is it because kip has moved back to c and/or because kip is a semi-public figure again

coz reading between the lines but im supposing that kip had earnestly and strongly intended to follow in kent’s footsteps but was presumably discouraged from this when his family was murdered. but even tho he only told wallace about moving back to c because roy and molly missed it, in the intervention that gets sprung on him and other hints, it sounds like kip still considers himself dedicated to helping people like kent did, which is what his sjw blog is, but he’s majorly aware of the danger of that and unwilling to get anyone killed this time, which is a major limitation, seeing as that happened to him before and everyone is disappeared all the time w/o repercussion. except the repercussion of one tiny group of people who look into it and get murdered, except for eno

but also kip must not have been doing any Helping The Public stuff before he moved to C, because when he says he has to help wallace to justify having thrown so much away, and considering how he’d lost so much in the fire, presumably what he’s thrown away is his life with pascal. im guessing he couldnt have made roy and molly split from him even if he tried, but pascal apparently could be parted from. for like a week, but whatever. he’d been dating pascal before the fire, but if he hadnt been involved in any position of openly helping monsters before the fire and hadnt before moving back to C, that explains why he tried to convince pascal not to go with them.

anyways, uh, see ive lost track of what i was saying. that, while kip is so afraid for the safety of those too close to him, he can also be pressured into a riskier position. but thats by his friends and himself. but maybe if he’s going to be given false information he thinks is from eno, he could do other risky things too. cuz i doubt theres any real protection, as if kent and yumi and eno werent trying to be safe. im guessing kip’s just trying to keep his head down and his cards close to his chest. its frustrating because technically he was right to be immediately suspicious of wallace to the point of associating him with the death of his family and being afraid of helping wallace, but not because wallace’s personal intentions arent good. but still its going to be really awkward if kip gets an idea of what wallace is associated with. cuz its an extremely delicate process that would allow wallace to figure out what was going on and break the news to kip and have kip trust him, so delicate that i doubt it exists and anyways the odds are not in its favor. but its frustrating because i want people to not be friends and not feel betrayed by their bosses and each other and even better, to be friends working together to resolve murders and an evil scheme

anyways. what does crim need from kip. stuff he knows? i doubt he’s trying to corrupt kip’s blog, or otherwise exploit the fact that kip’s probably a trusted community figure. for starters, crim’s already been getting away completely with abduction, murder, arson, etc, for years. unless theres some new Phase of the plan that requires something new. but again, it seems like a big ol coincidence that kip and co moved to C five months before wallace was moved into their exact building with the goal of getting involved with kip, tho wallace obviously doesnt know about all that stuff yet. why does it matter that kips in C. did crim not know where he was prior? did he need kip to be involved in the public sphere so that he could catch hold of him by sending out a social worker too naive and earnest to focus on the suspicious evilness of his new boss? did he just not need kip yet???

it seems strange to consider that crim could like, blackmail or threaten either kip or eno longterm. like, is he about to make a move here. because yeah they both have reasons to be extremely protective of people, which can be leveraged. but like wallace, i dunno how far they could be pushed with doing anything obviously harmful, or doing anything for anyone so obviously evilly motivated. or how long such a chokehold could be maintained. eno being threatened with kip’s wellbeing and being pressured into manipulating kip in one way or another is one thing, and even then how could he be threatened more than once. how could he be expected not to do something to warn someone if the pressing is let up for even a moment? is the point to abduct eno maybe and make kip feel even more afraid, because that would probably admittedly be super effective, but i imagine kip would just withdraw completely from things like being involved with wallace, blogging, etc. but to try to coerce kip into doing something by threatening multiple people is trickier, and what could kip do?

the thing is that i could see kip as being targeted for the ice thing, because thats another coincidence, that he has a really strong ability that seems pretty unusual even for monsters. like, freezing freshly brewed hot tea in a few seconds is really something. and i’m supposing he survived the fire by freezing himself / ice protection, which is really really something. and maybe the fact that he’s also an sjw who’s always scared that someones going to get hurt or killed is just a way to get to him. coz maybe, even probably, kip wasnt supposed to survive the fire, but just be another casualty because crim and co do not give a shit about bothering to spare any monsters life. but the fact that he did, using ice, and that he had his brothers files, all probably wasnt a secret. i mean, the surviving and the files part definitely wasnt, but just knowing the place was on fire and he survived ok probs implies that he had the ability to protect himself somehow, and thats a really impressive ability

so like maybe whatever traits theyre looking for makes kip the ideal target. maybe for once they felt like they couldnt just steal him away normally, but idk why they wouldnt. for example if crim just wanted to kidnap kip, maybe he just has. but that seems like wallace wouldnt need to be involved and eno wouldnt need to be involved and why wait til he’s in C? he doesnt need flushing out to be stolen off the street; he travels to B at least once a week on a schedule and he walks to work.

again, probably theres necessary info we dont even have that will fill in a missing piece here, but even now im too stupid to expand on the stuff we know to imagine up something that would fill in that blank. im too horrible at reading/understanding peoples motivations to even fully Get basic interactions sometimes, and im too uncreative to even come up with stuff like say, guess what crim’s trying to develop over there. maybe theres something about moving from development to initiation that needs kip’s particular involvement (??how??). but why has there been five years of them having been left alone in D, maybe, although how do we even know that

idk all i know is im stupid and i dont like that everyone is going to be even more miserable and endangered and mysteries are a trial for me because i want to die and dont want to have to deal with dying on a cliffhanger, i’ll be an angry ghost. ive probably forgotten a tangent or two i wanted to touch on and that makes me an angry pre-ghost. w/e