#but gauging by the way they talk in their events it's more about the illusion of a way to fulfill your dreams
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The egos of abnos is from how sinners resonated with them so what does it say about Hong Lu and Ishmael who both uses the ego of the pink shoes which is an abno that entangles people in pink ribbons and drowns in desire?
desire can apply to a lot of things. i can't say what hong lu's desires are since i haven't read "the red chamber," but for ishmael i think the abnormality probably resonates with her desire to find other survivors, to find understanding and closure. it's not really sexual as it first appears imo, but that's my take on it
#answers#anonymous#limbus company#the pink shoes are really sexy ngl.#but gauging by the way they talk in their events it's more about the illusion of a way to fulfill your dreams#also *adjusts my hca hyperfixation* the og story the pink shoes are based off of aka the red shoes is a story abt the consequences of pride#so like. it makes sense. if you think a bit about ishmael and treat the og source she's from as an eldritch-ish story.#the arrogance of being able to comprehend that which rejects human bonds and logic#anyway. thats a huge reach. my real commentary is#both of them likely have something that's “tying them down” and keeping them from moving on properly
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WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.
⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic
interlude i ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )
words: 3k
warnings: clown to clown communication! dassit.
rating: m/t
notes: little flashback/interlude chapter where we can all pretend we don't know the inevitable doom that euphie and santino are hurtling towards at breakneck speed ♡ thank you everyone for your love and support on this fic!!!
and thank you to my beta @starcrier who has been reading this content and proofing it not for the first time, but now for the SECOND time, after beginning this fixation for me from the start. you are an angel and ily! ��♡
Two Years Earlier
It’s the second time that Euphemia meets Santino that she realizes some things in her life have been decided for her, by Fate, and against her will.
Down the road, it will be come a hallmark of their love. Santino will say it against her mouth, her jaw, her neck; il destino, he’ll murmur, you are my destiny. But Euphie will have felt it, that inevitable pull of him, long before he says it.
It’s a black tie even at his museum. She’s been here once before, for a different event he’s thrown, with a different man as a date. That one had been Italian; this one, tonight, is Russian. She would try to remember their names if they mattered, but they don’t.
Admittedly, it’s not quite a date for her, but it is for the Russian. He’s been courting her well and good for the last week, has taken to calling her my girl, is unaware that just two weeks ago she had let another man call her that (or if he knows, he refuses to acknowledge it). She won’t think about it very much; if there’s a little bit of her that hates it, she is reminded that almost all of the money goes home, and that’s what matters.
So, yes—the evening she meets Santino for what is, technically, the second time, she’s on the arm of another man, and Santino walks by with what she’s sure is every intention of ignoring her date for the evening. Her partner says his name, bright and friendly, and the Golden Boy stops and turns with a smile planted on his face that only thinly veils his annoyance at being detained.
“Buonasera,” Santi greets, hands tucked into the pocket of his slacks as he drags his gaze once over her date and then turns his eyes to her. The linger, longer than Euphie might like—men, she thinks, nothing they do doesn’t feel intrusive—and then turn back to her paramour for the evening. “Thank you for coming. Are you two enjoying the evening?”
“Yes, thank you,” the Russian says, and then with a pleased little smile, he plunges on to introduce her. “This is my Euphemia.”
The words leave a sour taste in her mouth. My Euphemia, this fucking gangster says, like he hasn’t paid for her attendance in expensive gifts that she promptly turns around for profit, like she won’t slide his credit card out of his wallet when he isn’t looking. She knows what he expects out of the evening—but he won’t get it. It wouldn’t be a party if he didn’t end up sorely disappointed and thoroughly vexed.
“Euphemia,” Santino repeats, looking more than pleased to savor her name. “That’s Greek, isn’t it? And your last name is...”
“Volpe,” she supplies, despite the warning bells going off in her head. She immediately regrets it. Idiot, she thinks to herself viciously, monsters love to know your name.
Santino’s expression warms. “Italian, then.”
“Yes,” Euphie replies, even though it’s not a question. She’s unaccustomed to being the center of attention at these things. “My parents have a taste for elaborate, long-winded names that people are prone to stumbling over and mispronouncing.”
A smile—one that does not look strained in the least—drags the corners of his mouth upward. He says, “It suits you,” his eyes flickering over her admiringly before he looks back to her date, feigning a grin at a joke that he makes.
They begin discussing niceties that Euphemia doesn’t care about; business, that which goes on under the Table, and yes, Euphemia is there too, but not really. She belongs to no organization, no man. She doesn’t contract work, necessarily—she gets picked up by mafiosos and gangsters that want a pretty slice of arm candy, finds ways to bleed them out just enough that they consider her an inconvenience and not a threat, and gets on with it. She’s selected by word of mouth alone, which means she has spent more time with the regulars of the underworld more than she would like.
As the old adage went, if it’s not broke...
And because she does not care about what they’re discussing—this and that, him or her, the gossip and annoyances of life under the Table—and desperately wants to get out of this dragging social obligation, Euphemia exhales a little sigh and sets her empty champagne flute on a passing tray and says, “Excuse me, I’m going to go freshen up.”
Santino’s gaze lands on her, heavy. There is something sly in his voice when he says, “Let me show you where to go, bella. It’s easy to get lost if you’ve never been here before.”
She knows where the restrooms are, because she has been here before; Santino must know this, she thinks, must be aware that this is not the same man she was with the last time they met in passing (although last time, her date had hardly deigned to introduce her, instead bustling right on to the business portion of it).
Her date is look at her expectantly, displeased that Santino has taken an interest in her but insistent that she not embarrass him by refusing a polite offer. She cannot afford to say, it’s fine, I know where to go, because men don’t like to acknowledge that Their Girl might have also been courted to attend an event with another man, once. The Russian will be in a bad mood all evening if she says that. Unfortunately for her, her particular brand of clientele are especially tedious when they’re in bad moods.
Euphemia stifles a sigh. “That’s very nice, thank you,” she murmurs, wishing desperately that she could just leave. It’s almost not worth it anymore to keep going. It would be a net loss; maybe she would be better off just eating crow and taking it.
Santino plants a hand on the small of her back and guides her out of the conversation, through the crowd of people and toward the back of the room. The low, scooping back of her dress allows him purchase to the skin there, and he takes a lot of care in guiding her—one hand on her back, the other occasionally taking her hand to wind her through the crowd, almost in a sort of waltz. Any excuse to be close to her, he takes, and even if he stops to talk to someone, his hand stays on her. A permanent fixture.
A marking of territory.
It’s always a pissing contest, with men.
She knows that the restrooms are, in fact, not this way, and for a second, she thinks about saying so—but what would be the point? To kick up a fuss now would be almost worse than breaking the magical illusion that she is there for her companion and not for his money.
“You can imagine my surprise to find you here again,” Santino says when the sounds of the party are drowned out by a closed door behind them. The quiet stillness of the hall seems to enshroud them, almost womblike; dulling out the roar of incessant chatter and elbow-rubbing and peacocking.
She keeps walking down the hall despite knowing that it’s not the direction of the restroom. A part of her hopes that if she continues to play dumb, Santino will tire of her more quickly.
And then he prompts, from behind her, “It is again, isn’t it? I could have sworn I saw you here just a few weeks ago, but you were here with...Abarca, wasn’t it?”
“Is there a point to the little thesis you’re writing out loud?” Euphemia asks coolly, not bothering to hide her irritation. She stops walking and turns to face the man, who seems quite pleased with himself; it’s his turn to move, an attempt at closing the gap between them, and each step he takes forward is a step that Euphemia inches backwards until her back hits the wall.
“My point is, Euphemia Volpe,” he rumbles, “that you might be breaking my poor friend’s heart. Can’t I be concerned about that?”
Her eyes narrow. “Your dear friend? Do you know his name?”
“Do you?” Santino replies evenly. He props a hand up on the wall beside her head, blocking her in—but while Euphie’s knee-jerk reaction is to throw up a red flag and bolt, there is something lovely about the gesture, as though he’s made their conversation that much more intimate by one single movement.
It’s dark in the hallway, dimly effused in an amber glow from lowered lights. They cast eerie, handsome shadows across Santino D’Antonio’s face. Absently, Euphie wishes she was more drunk, but she’d been taking the evening slow in preparation of disappearing from her Russian benefactor.
And no. She doesn't remember his name.
Santino seems to take her silence as affirmation, and he grins.
“Don’t worry, I won’t spill your secret,” he purrs. “If you do something for me.”
Euphemia’s mind races. She jumps to the worst case scenario immediately; but she can’t afford to think like that, can’t afford to sweat in front of the man who leans into her with all of the deadliness of a jungle cat. He’ll eat her up if she does, gnash his teeth and sink his claws in and grind her up between his molars. She’s sure of it.
Her predatory conversation partner arches a dark brow at her. He is handsome, Euphie thinks—pretty, the way an oil slick is, dark and iridescent.
“Do you agree?” he prompts. She stifles a grimace.
“Tell me what the favor is first.”
This drags a laugh out of him. “Sei una piccola volpe, aren’t you? Let loose in a hen house of idiot men.” He sounds particularly delighted by this revelation, like maybe he was worried she wouldn’t live up to his expectations. “The favor is just your favor.” He pauses and tilts his head, gauging her. “Go to dinner with me.”
It feels like a trick. It probably is a trick. She’s thinking of all the way that she can turn him down, squirm her way out of this trap that Santino—because she’s not stupid; she knows who and what he is—has laid out for her.
She’s trying to, anyway, but then Santino’s hand comes up to cradle her jaw, fingers slotting through the hair at the base of her skull, and he brushes their noses together.
“Gorgeous little fox,” Santino murmurs, his voice a pleasant rumble, crushed velvet and the sticky, dark-wet of blood. The air bubbles with a strange, hypnotic emotion, lulling her. “I think that I just have to have you. Say that you’ll come to dinner with me.”
The words send her heart fluttering. This is not the first time that a man has said such a thing to her, but it is the first time a man has said it to her this way—as though he is swallowed by his want of her.
Euphemia impulsively says, “Yes,” before she can turn the acquiescence over in her head forty times and smooth the edges down. The second the word comes out of her mouth, Santino is kissing her—electric, demanding, impatient. She’s been kissed by men many times before, and none of them like this; starved for her. She has never known she wanted someone to be driven insatiable by her presence until Santino D’Antonio is kissing her like a man incensed in a dark hallway.
I am always hungry for someone else, she has thought time and time before. I want someone to be hungry for me.
Satino bunches a fistful of velvet in his hand, gathering the fabric between his fingers at her hip and sighing, almost ruefully, like he wants to do more but he won't.
“I should take you from the idiot right now,” he says against her mouth, and he sounds almost breathless. “But I imagine you’re not through with him yet.”
It’s funny to hear him say it like that. When people look at Euphie on the arm of a Russian gangster, they think, he’s not done yet with that poor girl, but unsurprisingly, Santino sees right through it. He pulls back and gives her a half-cocked grin that’s only a little wicked.
Oh, she thinks, feeling a little more than desperate for another kiss, this was a mistake. But though a mistake he may be, Santino D’Antonio is adept at dressing himself up as a delicious one.
“No,” Euphemia replies. Her chest tightens when the warmth of his body leaves hers, pulling back, hand letting loose the fabric. “I don’t suppose that I am.”
“Then I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” Santi replies, that grin on his face not once faltering. He seems very assured that he’s going to sweep her off her feet. Absently, he reaches up and presses the pad of his thumb against her lower lip, dragging it across the skin still tender from the bruising of his kiss. “And what will you say, Euphemia Volpe, when you go back to your Russian friend and he asks you what you think of Santino D’Antonio?”
What could she say? That she wishes that he would kiss her again, the way that he just had, with longing?
“That I don’t,” Euphemia replies, her voice coming out of her silky. The words darken Santino’s gaze; he looks amused and ruffled, all at the same time. “Think of you at all.”
“Oh, that won’t do.” Santino is leaning in close again, the smell of his cologne washing over her, their lips so close they might as well be kissing. “How can I endear myself to you, belladonna?”
Euphemia knows who he is; she knows exactly the kind of man he plays at, at least in public. Even still, she wants to say something reckless, like, you could kiss me again; but she knows better than that, for now. It’s always ‘for now’, with fools.
“Don’t take me out to dinner,” she says after a heartbeat. “Cook it for me.”
Santino pauses and leans back, like maybe he was thinking she would have just asked him for another kiss, and then he laughs.
“Of course, how could I be such a fool?” He grins at her, wide and pearly-white. “Then I will pick you up tomorrow, and cook you dinner.” He starts walking down the hall, and Euphemia can’t help the disappointment that blooms warm and red in her chest, the petals unfurling and reaching each edge of her rib cage.
“You don’t have my address,” she calls after him, still leaned against the wall. Santino turns. His smile has not dimmed in the least.
“I don’t need it,” he replies back casually. “I can find you just fine.”
━━━━━━━━━━━━
Santino is a fine cook. By most standards, he is probably even an excellent cook, but he is a fine cook to a woman who has grown up with traditional Italian recipes that she has made most every day since she was trusted in front of the stove.
Euphie tries not to micromanage as he cooks, but it’s difficult. The man is wearing an apron over his five thousand dollar suit—probably more; she’s shooting low when she estimates that—and he lets the sauce that’s meant to simmer start boiling before he turns the heat down, and he doesn’t season his water with anything when he starts heating it up for the pasta, and Euphie just can’t stand it.
“Santino, have you ever made dinner for your family in your entire life?” she demands, nudging him out of the way and empty out half of the semi-hot water to replace it with chicken stock, setting the burner up again.
“No, darling,” he replies amusedly, watching her fuss over the sauce. “Just you.”
She stops. It shouldn’t be sweet—it is Santino, after all—but it is. He does a very good job of being the unassuming viper in this situation, she thinks. So she continues what she’s doing, keeping her hands and her eyes and mouth busy because if she doesn’t, they’ll find ways to busy themselves.
“This was supposed to be you making me dinner,” she chides, “not me teaching you how to cook. I think that it will take a lot of making up for me to—”
Santino’s hand tilts her face to him, and he leans down and kisses her. It’s softer than how he’d kissed her in the hallway, but it doesn’t lack the urgency. He still feels hungry.
She’s dreadfully caught up in it, letting him come back a second and then a third time, letting the flicker of his tongue against her lips part them obediently, letting the gentle reprimand of his teeth in her lower lip inspire a little noise out of her. It’s somehow too long and not enough, and when Euphemia drops the spoon on the counter to grip the front of Santino’s shirt (apron), his hands go to her hips.
“Sit down,” he orders playfully against her mouth, “and let me cook for you. And then we will see who will be doing the making-up, won’t we?”
Euphemia has half a mind to tell him to forget dinner—turn the burners off, she wants to say, and kiss me like that again, but more, and everywhere, and and and—but the competitor in her won’t let go. She exhales a short, impatient breath and says, “Fine, but you are on thin ice, amico.”
He laughs and shuffles her away from the stove to a stool at the kitchen island. In what can only be an effort to properly shmooze her, he follows it up with a glass of wine presented neatly in front of her, glittering-ruby, before returning to his half-done dinner on the stove.
“Amico, huh?” The dark-honey blonde glances over his shoulder at her. “Do you kiss all of your friends like that, Euphemia Volpe?”
The words send a pleased little flurry through her chest. As she watches him over her glass of wine, she replies, “Only the very handsome ones.”
When the food is served up, they don't bother going to the dining table. In Santino's loft, it appears that the dining table likely goes without much use, despite it being seated for a full party of people; instead, they stay at the kitchen island, and Santino deposits the apron on the counter before he leans against the edge of the island.
“You are a hard woman to track down, Euphemia,” Santino says, reaching over and scooping and olive off of her plate for himself. She makes an affronted noise.
“I thought you would have no trouble finding me?”
“I did not anticipate you were so efficient at covering your tracks.” He smiles, watching her across the countertop. “No family in New York. No employment history. Rent paid in cash. Most frequently spotted at the Continental, too, but otherwise your recreational hours are spent entertaining influential figureheads. If I did not know any better, I would think you were preparing to disappear.”
Euphemia shrugs. It would be unsettling, that he went digging on her, but she supposes that's life under the Table. It's not as though she anticipated he wouldn't, anyway.
“You are obsessed with me, Santi, it's alright, you can say,” she demurs. It's easier than saying I never want to have to try very hard to disappear.
He grins at her. “Maybe I am just offended that you never offered me your services.” And then, as though to be a good sport: “Because I am obsessed with you, Euphemia Volpe.”
She takes a sip of her wine, sets the glass down on the countertop, and plants her chin in her hand to regard him. His gaze is playful; he looks almost earnest about his words, even though she'd said them in jest. At any rate, it's a relief to have navigated the prying, for the moment.
Euphemia says, “How were you able to focus on cooking when you have me here, then?”
There is a crooked little smile on his face at her words, a smile that she can only see for half of a moment before he says, “Don’t you know the saying?” He leans in and tilts her chin up with his fingers, his gaze sweeping her, as though to admire the most opulent work of art.
“Senza tentazioni, senza onore.”
#f: where there is no temptation there is no glory#john wick fic#john wick oc#santino d'antonio/oc#santino d'antonio x oc#c: euphemia volpe#c: santino d'antonio#spilled ink#i love these two idiots#and i love pretending like nothing bad is going to happen#by putting off editing the end#: ))))
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Eda becomes some kind of flying taxi service
Amity: So I told Malphas he needed to have a talk with Gary about our coffee break space.
Emira: Mhmm.
Amity: I mean, for one, Gary never cleans after himself. Like, I once saw him leaving his mug dirty for over a week. A WEEK. It was disgusting. It was just sitting dare on the table for days. I didn’t want to clean it, I’m not a doormate. But it was dire and I had no choice. And don’t get me started on the fridge situation. My lunch has been getting smaller by the day and I can’t seem to figure out the culprit.
Emira: That’s nice, Mittens. Isn’t it nice, Edric?
Edric: What?
Amity: Will you guys pay attention? I need some advice on...
*Windows cracking”
Edric: What the...
Hooty: AMITY FELICITY BLIGHT! IT IS I, HOOTCIFER, HARBINGER OF THY DESTINY. COME WITH ME AND I SHALL REVEAL WHAT JOYS THE FUTURE HOLDS FOR THEE.
Amity: I... What?
Hooty: DOTH THOU DARE DEFY FATE? *Swallows Amity*
Emira: ... What just happened? Wasn’t that Eda’s house demon? You know, the one we met before Grom?
Edric: I think it was. I’m not sure though, he sounded more... ominous...
SEVERAL EMOTIONAL MOMENTS LATER
Luz: It’s early... Do you really have to go already?
Amity: Yeah... I still have to finish homework, and I have work tomorrow. But I’ll come back here tomorrow... If you’re okay with it, that is...
Luz: YES! I mean... yeah, I’d love that...
Amity: Anyway... I guess I should get going, we’re not exactly neighbors after all. See you tomorrow then.
Luz: Wait, I have an idea. *Turns around* EDA!
Eda: *Not stopping her flight practice* What?
Luz: Do you think you could give Amity a lift back to her place?
Eda: Oh? Not walking your girlfriend home? Thought you’d be more chivalrous.
Luz: *Showing that Amity’s tomato like properties are infectious* EDAAA!
Eda: Sorry, sorry. But yeah, sure. *Picks up Amity and flies away at neckbreaking speeds. She soon slows down to a more reasonable pace* So... Amity, before I give you that whole “What are your intentions?” scare there’s something I’ve been itching to ask you. What made you chose to dye your hair of all colors, and how did Odd-alia react?
Amity: Luz... Me... Girlfriend...
Eda: Ugh... Don’t make me regret making harmless fun of young love, kiddo.
ONE AWKWARD TAXI EDA FLYING SESSION LATER.
Eda: *Placing Amity on the Blight Manor’s front porch and looking at the two bewildered faces watching her* Sup. *Turns to fly away* Oh right, I guess purple here is in not in the mental state to give any explanations.
Amity: Small ceremony... Human realm... Only friends and family... Boscha is not invited...
Emira: Are you... Edalyn Clawthorne?
Eda: Last I checked I was.
Emira: You look different.
Eda: Oh right... Look, it was a very eventful night so let me start with the simpler one. King, you remember him, right? Tiny, angry, looks like a cat, was the MC at the last Grom along with Goops.
Emira and Edirc: Yeah...?
Eda: He’s harnessing all the powers of yelling. I guess all children his age kinda do that but he went above and beyond and actually learned how to make things go boom with his voice alone, and that’s why both Luz and your sister are still alive. And now I’m realizing I should probably go hide all those Death Metal records I got in human realm. Can’t risk turning my son into a weapon of mass destruction. Not yet.
Edric: That’s... nice... I guess?
Emira: How about Mittens?
Eda: Right. She and Luz are an item now. It was adorable, I called her Luz’s girlfriend then I think it finally really hit her and that made her go all catatonic on me. Sorry about that.
Edric: WHAT?
Emira: Okay, okay... So came out with it? Ed and I have some scores to settle.
Eda: I... Both, I guess? I don’t know, it was sort of at the same time. But I don’t want to spoil it for when she recovers. So I guess us three are kinda family now, huh? Tangentially at least, like you’re my nephew and niece-in-law or something like that, I don’t know.
Eda: The important thing is: there’s a huge waterway under my house and I think it is actually part of my property. Now I need to figure out a way to find out how big that place actually is without letting town hall know so my taxes won’t go up. Can’t push my tax evasion skills. I mean, can you imagine it? The Owl Lady, the most successful outlaw in Boiling Isles history: arrested for fiscal crimes.
Emira: Okay... That’s... cool.
Edric: Yeah... Not to pry though, but what happened to you?
Eda: Oh... Me? I got very high. Not on purpose. Then I became a Harpy. Also not on purpose.
Emira: ... I’m sorry but I’m not following the cause and effect relation between those thing.
Eda: Neither am I. All I remember is: Hooty spiked some cookies; I revisited that time I gauged out my dad’s eye, also not on purpose; then when I push my ex away (You know, Raine Whispers, current head of the Bard Coven, lead a small revolutionary guerrilla, now under mind control. Oh, yeah, guess they’d make to sure to keep it under wraps, anyway...)
Eda: Then it got pretty weird. I got trapped by this tall hooded sun and moon figure and I’m not sure whether that was an actual memory (I did get arrested a few time after all) or if it was just a hallucinogenics induced manifestation of the subconscious trauma of being persecuted for years by the state. Anyone’s guess to which was it.
Eda: And then I became Icarus, fell into the sea, and became a piece of paper. Then I was at the beach, the piece of paper was also there, but that’s not important... I hope... Anyway, so, my curse was there too an for a moment there I thought we were gonna play some chess, but nah.
Eda: I did have an epiphany though. The sky changed colors and now I’m a Harpy. Gotta a lot of stuff to process right.
Edric: *Wide eyed and mouth agape* Mother of Titan...
Emira: *Same as her brother* Do you... need a hug or something?
Eda: Ehh... Don’t worry, I’ll get through. I mean, I’m a badass Harpy woman now, what else could I want? I appreciate the thought though. Anyway, I’ll get going, Luz has probably been stuck in the same place ever since I left. Was nice seeing you guys. *Turns around*
Edric: WAIT, EDA.
Eda: Yeah? What is it?
Edric: Can you take me flying a little bit like you did Mittens? Pretty please?
Emira: *Elbowing her brother* EDRIC!
Edric: What? There’s a tall and friendly winged lady standing in our front porch and calling us family...
Eda: Kinda family.
Edric: Kinda family. And we only went flying, on dad’s staff mind you, like twice. And I mean, look at her. That’s clearly a person with next to no regard for speed limits or any form of flying safety. *Turns to Eda* I mean that as the highest of compliments, by the way.
Eda: *Nodding and smiling* Well, I’m not one to brag... But you’re on point there.
Edric: *Turning back to Emira* See? It will be fun. *Turns back to Eda while making puppy eyes* So, pretty pretty please?
Eda: Eh... What the heck, why not? I do need to get a better hold of this flying thing after all. Fair warning though, I only had these for about an hour, I’m not taking responsibility for any loss of limb or life. *Picks Edric up and place him on one of her shoulders and turns to Emira.* You sure you don’t wanna come with? There’s plenty of room.
Emira: ... I never said I didn’t want to...
Eda: *Placing Emira on her other shoulder* Alritty then, make sure to hold on tight to my hair, just don’t fall into it. Can’t promise I’ll find you if you do. And up we go. *Takes off at neckbreaking speed*
Eda: So... I tried that to Mittens herself, but she was too lost in elation to form coherent sentences. What’s the deal with her hair color change? Why did she pick that specific shade of... pink? Lavender? Purple? Whatever, I was a tad curious about that choice coming from one of Odd-alia’s offspring. So either of you can shed some light on it for me?
Emira: Eh, what can I say? Our little Mittens is growing up, coming out of her shell. I mean, if you told me a month that she’d have a girlfriend by now I’d call it bullshit. Though I would have guessed Luz as being the most likely candidate. In any case, I’m pretty proud of the steps our baby sister is taking, not gonna lie.
Edric: Yeah... Same. But I can’t shake the feeling that it is at least in part an act of rebellion against mom. She did always have that weird fixation with Amity’s hair after all...
Eda: Hum, I see. This actually takes me to my follow up question. How did your mom react when she saw it?
Edric: *chuckling* Oh, I thought she’d have a stroke right then and there.
Emira: Yup. Never saw mom that mad. You’d think the two of us would be the ones to cause it but nope, Mittens beat us to it. Again, I’m a proud big sister.
Eda: Hehehe Sounds about right. You two are the troublemaking type then huh?
Edric: That’s a way of putting.
Emira: We like thinking of ourselves as practical entertainers however. We are in the Illusions track so it comes with the territory. Buuut...
Edric: We indulge in some prankery every now and then, and there’s no one better at it than us.
Eda: Is that so? Ever get in trouble for it?
Edric: Sometimes... When we (kind of accidentally) cause more property damage than intended because SOMEONE botched their end of the spell and caused Bump’s office to almost go up in flames.
Emira: Awww. Ed, I told you already. Don’t beat yourself over it. Accidents happen. You’ll do better next time.
Edric: HEY!
Emira: Anyway, Eda. Why were you asking about Mittens’ hair?
Eda: Oh... You guys are going to love this. I think. Anyway, did you know that me and your parents attended Hexside at the same time?
Edric: Yeah, I remember mom seeing one of your wanted posters a while back and calling you “Ewdalyn Clownthorne” or something like that.
Eda: Ah, haven’t heard that in a minute, Titan those were the day. Anyway, as you might have guessed by now me and your mother we... had a bit of a rivalry. Unfortunately, I couldn’t top the nickname she gave me, best I could do was Odd-alia. No offense, but Blight doesn’t give much to work with in terms of puns, can’t get funnier than that. Especially when thrown at her.
Emira: None taken. And yeah. I mean, it is fun when people call us stuff like “The Blights of Hexside”. But it is kinda sad to know we’ll never get a nickname as cool as Owl Lady or Lord Calamity.
Eda: Oh, my fame still precedes me huh? You know, I think the three of us will get along just fine.
Edric and Emira: Yup, we sure will.
Eda: Anyway, flattery aside... Part of the reason why I love poking your mom with a short stick was, other than how aggravated she’d get and how surprisingly good at paying in kind she was, the fact that she was in the Oracle track. You see, that made her a challenge. And given how she would actually prank me back (successfully, mind you, I have no shame in admitting that) I feel like like we actually a weird sort of friends, or at least we reached some kind of agreement that we were fair game for each other. And trust me, she was ruthless, and very good at escalating things.
Emira: Wow...
Edric: That sounds nothing like the mom we know. Other than the ruthless or the escalation part, that is still true.
Eda: Yeah, anyway. Part of our little game was keeping it hidden. Neither your dad or my sister actually ever realized what was going on until... well, I’ll get to that.
Eda: Anyway, so some lovely day I notice how weirdly obsessed with her hair Odd-alia was. This gives me some ideas, but I know I have make this the mother of pranks, so I decided to just keep a watch, to figure out what the best way to go about it would be. And I was also making those smaller pranks, something to throw her Oracle powers off-balance, you know?
Eda: Well... Back in the day your mother wasn’t monochromatic as she is nowadays. She’d circle through all colors you can think off on her accessories (which she used an ungodly amount, and no judgement it just never seems physically possible). But I noticed that there was one very specific color that she never got anywhere near her.
Edric and Emira: No way...
Eda: And as I said, she was weirdly obsessed with her hair... And as top student of the Potions track making hair dye was child’s play for me... So... do the math... And guess what very specific color was? I may be bad at color names, but I won’t ever, EVER, forget that particular shade.
Edric and Emira: No... freaking... way...
Eda: Yes... freaking... way... I mean, seriously, the first time I saw Amity’s new hair I had to do a double take. The resemblance was just too uncanny.
Emira: And what did she do?
Eda: Well... For a couple weeks there I thought I’d have to place a restriction order on her or something like that. Ultimately the two of us, along with Lilith and Alador (they were our attorneys, no they were not qualified for the role.) sitting across from each other in a very formal looking table, signing a contract. An actual freaking contract setting clear limits to our mutual pranks, like what was off limits like her hair or my then partner, how long was the maximum period a prank could last, so on. Surprisingly enough that was Al’s idea.
Eda: And let me tell you, that was probably the toughest negotiation I ever been a part of. Shame it was not long before I dropped out so never could really put it to use. You know, sometime I think this actually made Odd-alia realize she wanted to be a business woman. I mean, before that she’d go off about how she’d join the Emperor’s Coven all the damn time.
Edric: Wow...
Emira: I second that. Really, wish I had brought something I could take notes on. You completely blown anything we ever did out of the water.
Edric: No wonder she never told us that. You know what? I think I’m dying my hair that color first thing tomorrow.
Emira: Can we tell Amity this story?
Eda: Are you two actually thinking of antagonizing her? Are you crazy? First off, she’s your mother, she holds power over you. All you’d accomplish is getting grounded. Not to mention that she has decades of experience on you, even if she wasn’t your mom, she’d demolish the two of you. No offense, you’re still young, naive, you lack guidance in the ways of the pranksters.
Edric and Emira: *Dejectedly* Ohh... You’re right...
Eda: Hey... Don’t look so gloomy. I see a lot of potential in you, in both of you. *Sighs* I can’t believe I’m gonna take more kids under my wing... But.... Have you guys ever heard of the Bad Girl Coven Initiative? We annoy our foes into submission.
Edric and Emira: WE’RE LISTENING.
Eda: Heh... We’ll get along just fine indeed.
#THE OWL HOUSE#the owl house hooty#Edric Blight#Emira Blight#amity blight#luz noceda#king clawthorne#the owl house boscha#raine whispers#I lost track of what was trying to accomplish halfway though writing this. read at your own discretion.
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A Warrior’s Heart | Phase 1: Welcome - 2
Girls’ Night
Summary: Ife begins her first ‘mission’ with the help of her friends.
Warnings: Swearing, Excessive Partying, Some Angst
Rating: Explicit/18+
Word Count: 4,145
Main Pairing: Stucky x Black!OFC (Ifekerenma ‘Ife’)
Characters: Ifekerenma, Wanda, Natasha, and Ife’s friends
A/N: I’m sorry that it’s been a while since my last chapter. Please practice self-care, everyone! Also, thanks to everyone who has given me feedback. Dividers were created by the wonderful @firefly-graphics! Check them out!
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(late May 2015)
“Ah, that hits the spot!” Ife moaned as she submerged into her heated circular indoor pool.
So far the team has treated her well enough given how her first 24 hours went. No one had any major negative emotional echoes coming off of them and they even talked to her, especially Steve and Sam.
Her first mission was mostly a success.
The team was able to stop and apprehend the Macedonian weapons smuggler, Branko Stojanoski, before he made it to Paris with HYDRA/Chitauri stockpiles.
One would think that would be enough, but it left Ife with more questions. Why did some of the weapons look like Magitech? Why did one of the female combatants feel like more than human, like Natasha?
She needed to inform Eliza.
After Ife finished her R&R, she made her way to the Common Room only to find Wanda practicing her powers while flying. Well, trying to anyway.
Ife had always felt that Wanda’s methods were lacking which made sense. Both Wanda and Pietro got their powers ten months ago when Strucker and HYDRA experimented on them. They’ve never really had the chance to practice, surrounded either by vicious idiots or well-meaning comrades who were seriously out of their depth.
Perhaps she would be the best place to start.
Wanda was trying to levitate herself while taking apart the steel cube again with no luck. She couldn’t get herself in the ‘right mindset’ which was just aw well since she was always surrounded by chaos.
Their parents tried to shield both her and Pietro from the chaos outside their sanctuary of the apartment building. She even had friends in Angelika and Emil. They would pretend that they were exploring an enchanted forest and other fairy tale adventures. Pietro would join in when coaxed by Angelika (Wanda knew he liked her).
They were in their own little paradise...until the bombs came.
Wanda just got back from playing with Angelika and the music box that she got for her tenth birthday. Her mother was preparing Pietro’s favorite dinner when they heard the blaring of alarms and evacuation orders. Her father hurried them to the door, but their mother forgot to turn off the oven. He went back for her when the mortar shell hit their home.
Both of their parents died instantly. She and Pietro huddled together under the table for dear life when the second bomb landed four meters in front of them. They were in that position for two days wondering if the rescue efforts would sign their death warrants, all while glowering at the words engraved on the missile.
STARK INDUSTRIES
When the rescuers finally got them out, they found out that they were the only ones to survive the bomb raids. One of the rescuers handed Wanda Angelika’s music box thinking it was hers.
They attended their first Anti-US Imperialism protest three weeks later.
––––––––––
Years passed and Wanda would sporadically spare a thought for her parents, Emil and Angelika. She kept wondering what they would do if they were in her place. Somedays the only she could remember Angelika was when she played the music box.
One day, a man simply known as List approached them after yet another protest of a craven leader. List said that he could give them the power to end all the revolutions and strife in Sokovia.
Frustrated with the lack of progress, she and Pietro agreed to the experiments along with 212 other volunteers. Once again, they were the only ones to survive.
List and Strucker subjected them to painful and demeaning ‘tests of strength’ not two days after they received their powers.
Both their hatred for HYDRA and their yearning to be free grew in the coming months. She almost gave up, until one day in early March when the Avengers finally found the base.
This was their chance.
–––––––
It wasn’t hard to plant a seed of chaos into Tony Stark. He already had one foot in the proverbial hero’s grave already. To be honest, she was surprised at how quickly the Avengers turned on each other. Witnessing their inner anguish was just desserts.
The problem was that it worked too well.
Sure, it was fair game to go after Tony, but Bruce? In retrospect, setting the Hulk loose on Istanbul was a low blow.
And Seoul….where to begin.
As soon as she caught a glimpse of the mass extinction Ultron desired, she knew they fucked up big time.
She and Pietro only wanted the Avengers and the US to fall, not wipe out all life on Earth! They knew that they had to swallow their pride and hate if Earth wasn’t going to have an unexpected turn of events (i.e. everything going the way of the Dodo).
Thankfully, the total death count was three (especially since reports put the worst-case scenario at least 15,000).
Although sometimes Wanda wondered if her drive for revenge was worth it.
“Hi, Wanda! How’s it going?”
Wanda snapped out of her thoughts and turned around to find Ife with a warm smile.
She didn’t know what to think of Ife at first. Okay, besides the fact that she consumed enough food to feed a village in under two hours, she was kind. More importantly, she feared neither her nor her brother. She started cooking for the team and staff (turned out she’s what Sam calls a ‘supreme chef’), and would answer questions they had about non-humans. It’s just that something seemed amiss about her and the way she answered the questions like she’s hiding something.
Wanda returned the smile, “Not much.” Just trying to get a simple task done.
Ife pressed her lips together in contemplation, “I was wondering if you would like some help training. I’ve seen you practice by yourself and,” she hesitated for few seconds, ”well I figured you would like some help, or at least the company.”
“I would like that.”
“Great! Give me ten minutes.” And with that, Ife flew out of the room.
“Okay, this is a magic gauge. Homo Magi and other Non-Humans use it to see where a person is power-wise.” Ife explained as Wanda approached the peculiar object.
The gauge was made of glass (at least Wanda hoped it was glass), double-gourd in shape with floral engravings.
It glowed Venetian Red with the intensity increasing the closer Wanda got. The glow’s color quickly turned Burnt Maroon then Red Ink once she touched it. Soon she felt a pull from the gauge as if it was reaching into her mind. Her anxiety flared up and Ife pulled her out of the way as the gauge exploded.
“Well, um...do you want to take a break and continue tomorrow? I’m so sorry about that, Wanda.”
“It’s alright. I’ll see you around dinner.”
“Okay.”
“So, um how to put this...we might have a problem,” Ife stated as her friend group met virtually to discuss what to do for Girl’s Night.
“What is it, Ife?” Ashtoreth asked.
“Did they find out about your room? Or about the time when-”
“Okay, Djamila,” Itzel interjected, “Please continue.”
Ife shot Itzel a grateful grin, “Thanks ltzel. So you know how Eliza Maza tasked me with aiding the Avengers?”
“Yeah, so they can help us in the future? Figured someone from BNA would ask ya. Didn’t think it would be so soon.” Azeneth noted.
“Makes sense, they’ve been trying to get in with them for years now-” Mayumi started.
“Back to the direct topic at hand, is it possible that a few of you could help Wanda Maximoff?”
“The new Homo Magi that has the Magic Council up in arms?” Marama guessed as Ife grabbed the footage from earlier.
“Yeah. Take a look at this. I think we might have a problem on our hands.”
Ife watched as her friends’ expressions shifted from mild amusement to sad and worried. Except for Djamila and Gulmira, they had a good chuckle.
“I think Wanda has an affinity towards chaos magic, specifically reality-warping and possibly Hex Bolts. She might have more, I couldn’t tell. She’s more powerful than the Magic Council originally guessed. Although, that’s not the problem here.”
“She’s mentally and emotionally unstable,” Nermin stated.
“Right to the point, I see,” Marjani commented while examining her fingernails.
“Exactly. I fear that she may become a danger to herself and the planet.”
“And all of BNA’s hard work goes up in flames. So, what do you want to do, Ife?”
Ife bit her thumbnail in contemplation, “We have to train her. I can show her some of the basics, but the rest of us will have to train Wanda before she hurts herself. She’s barely making it on her own and let’s face it, no one else here knows fuck all about magic .”
“Hot in looks but clueless when it comes to magic and Non-Human affairs.”
“I wouldn’t say completely clueless, Azeneth.” Ife corrected, “I showed them ‘The Basic Bitch’s Guide’ and I’ve answered any basic question regarding Non-Humans. They’re not up to speed on BNA, but at least they know about dragons, yokai, and the Fae.”
“Ok. So, it’s safe to say that you’ll be keeping a tight lid on the UA, right?”
Ife sighed and offered Marama a small frown, “Yes. And it would be best that you do as well. Please?”
“No problem, Ife.” Ashtoreth assured her while the rest of the group nodded,” Now that we’ve settled the Wanda Matter, What are we going to do in celebration of Xiomara’s grand opening?”
Several days passed and Wanda was making great progress in her magical studies with Ife (after Ife promised to make it up to her). She was getting the hang of levitation and flight as well as basic Magical Energy Manipulation in the form of force fields, telekinesis, illusions, and some basic spells.
It was nice to not have to rely on her anger nearly as much. Though she couldn’t access Ife’s mind. Not that she meant to, it was an accident.
Maybe in time, Ife will let her.
“Hey, Wanda. I was wondering,” Ife bit her thumbnail as she’s want to do, “Do you want to come to Girl’s Night with me this Saturday? One of my friends, Xiomara, just founded and opened her own design studio! The rest of us wanted to celebrate. I figured it would a great chance to introduce you to my friend group and have some time away from the Compound.”
Wanda lowered her head in thought. It would be nice to meet Ife’s friends and connect with individuals who don’t fear her. Getting off the Compound would be a great bonus.
“Sure. On one condition: Natasha has to come as well.”
“Okay.”
After asking (slight begging) Natasha to join them for Girls’ Night, the trio agreed to meet outside of Ife’s quarters around 6:30 PM.
Natasha gently grabbed one of Wanda’s hands, “Relax, It’ll be fine.”
“I know. It’s just-”
At that moment, Ife stepped out into the hallway looking well, strikingly different. She was wearing a gold and sapphire mid-thigh length African wax print dress done in detailed petal designs. Most of her long Midnight Purple hair was in a single braid with a high, single wrap around the back of the head and a single row of gold bands down the middle of her scalp that she divided into three parts with a comb.
It was nice and a little weird seeing her outside of her uniform and tactical gear. She looked gorgeous!
“You came!” Ife beamed as she gave Wanda and Natasha a hug, “You look lovely,” she added noting their attire. Natasha was sporting a Faux Leather Mini Skirt with a Wine colored deep v-neck top. Wanda was dressed in a Spartan Crimson Deep V Bodice Satin Short A-Line dress.
“You look ravishing! You should be out of your normal gear more often!” Natasha praised as Ife frowned ever so slightly.
“Well, aren’t you going to let us in?” Wanda asked sensing Ife’s discomfort.
“Of course! Come in.” And with that, Ife welcomed the two heroines into her ‘apartment’.
“You do realize that we’re having our Girls’ Night in your room from now on, right?” Natasha insisted as she and Wanda entered Ife’s living quarters.
“I figured,” Ife muttered as she turned to look at her teammates, “I know I sound like an asshole for asking this, but could you not tell the others yet?”
“Well, you agreed to let us frequent the room for our own Girls’ Night, so yes.” Wanda decided as the trio came to stop in front of a 20ft (6.1m) spherical door with an Art Nouveau design.
“Okay. Let me put in the codes and we’ll be on our way.”
“Make sure to get all the characters this time, Ife. You don’t’ want them to wait for 30 minutes like last time.” A pretty deep, easy-going masculine voice chimed in.
“What-” Wanda started.
“Oh, that’s BEBOP, my AI. He’s like FRIDAY or JARVIS, but cooler.”
“A lot cooler,” the voice said before materializing in front of the women,” Let’s try this again. Technically, my name is BEBOP, but you can call me Spike.” The holographic man was tall (6’4” / 1.93m), lean and athletic in build, had a fluffy mop of dark green hair, light brown eyes, and wore a navy blue leisure suit with the sleeves rolled up.
“So you created Spike?”
“I made BEBOP, but he named himself Spike,” Ife explained as she tried her darnedest to enter the codes before Spike embarrassed her.
“She also has six patents for-”
“Got it! After you, ladies.” Ife announced as the door glowed Pale Gold and opened in a spiral motion.
The door opened to a coffee shop that wouldn’t be out of place in the ‘hipster corner’ of an urban neighborhood.
“Hello. What can I do for you three?” The barista greeted as they raised their head out of the book they were reading and smiled at the trio.
Ife glanced at the chalkboard menu, “I would like a medium Lemongrass Twilight Tea please.”
The barista’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly, “Seems strange for the season.”
“I know, but one should enjoy the simple things in life while they last.”
The barista seemed to like Ife’s reply because Wanda heard the ding of an elevator to her left.
“Enjoy your evening ladies.” The barista said as Ife dropped $100 into the tip jar.
The elevator was a lot bigger on the inside with its interior having a modern Victorian design.
“What’s wrong?” Ife asked as the elevator’s doors closed behind her.
“Nothing.” Natasha replied as she did a quick scan to see if any ‘funny business’ was about to go down.
“Relax and enjoy the ride,” Ife assured as the elevator started to speed up its descent after a few minutes.
The elevator’s interior got larger and larger until a voice announced that the elevator would be entering ‘Pod Mode’. Automated controls and windows started forming at the front and sides of the now morphed elevator interior.
“You might want to strap in,” Ife advised as three seats formed from the now pod floor.
The pod paused in its descent and accelerated forward on what seemed to be high-speed rail tracks.
Wanda looked out the windows in awe as she started to see a floating light, then a floating landmass, then buildings Wanda only saw in fantasy/sci-fi novels and concept art.
“Welcome to Nephetz, ladies,” Ife announced sensing Wanda’s wonder and Natasha’s subtle amusement.
Hopefully, they’ll like her friends.
Twenty minutes after Ife made her soft announcement, the trio arrived at the number one club in Nephetz, Zenaida.
Ife walked up to the bouncer, a troll in sleek obsidian armor, and showed them her invite.
“Welcome to Zenaida, ladies.” the bouncer greeted them as Ife led her fellow Avengers past the threshold.
Wanda gasped at what was before her.
The club’s interior was massive, to say the least. The first thing to hit her was the giant floating orb over the center of the dance floor. It had stage lights shooting out pinks and light blues orbiting around it like satellites and what looked to be five women dancing on a stage about 33’ (10.1m) above the orb. A DJ stage was set in the far left of the dance floor with sparkling mist flowing beneath it. Around the dance floor was a body of water containing spectacular coral reefs and grottos with what seemed to be mermaids, tritons, nymphs, and Aquatic Atlanteans dancing in it. Above the main dance floor were 25 floating islands with magically sustained clouds underneath them. All around the club were glowing orbs much smaller than the one above the dance floor.
All in all, it was probably the coolest place Wanda’s ever seen.
“Ife! Finally, you’re here!” a tall, dark-haired woman in a black PU Jumpsuit with a maroon oak crop jacket walked up and pulled Ife into a short hug.
“Salam, Nermin! I see you’ve made it early.” Ife remarked as Nat softly elbowed her upper arm.
“Right! Nermin, these are my teammates, Natasha Romanova and Wanda Maximoff. Natasha, Wanda, this is Nermin Ozana Negrescu. She was the one who helped me in Novi Grad.”
Nermin held out her hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you both! Ife has told us much about you.”
“Good things I hope.” Nat prodded as she shook Nermin’s hand.
“The best,” Ife assured.
“Well, we have one of the VIP Islands for Xio’s bash. Let’s go!” Nermin announced as a self-driving group hoverboard descended in front of them.
“All aboard!”
The floating island had about 40 people lounging around different tables and booths with the largest one having 17 people around it.
“Ife!” The island’s occupants cheered when the hoverboard dropped off the group.
“Late again, I see,” a woman in a Cardin Green asymmetrical maxi dress with a plunging V-neckline, padded shoulders, and long sleeves.
“I know, I know. Husna, I already got it from Nermin at the entrance. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry, Ife. We know.” Husna reassured Ife as they made their way to the big table.
“Everyone,” Ife announced making the table’s occupants turn their heads, “Sorry I’m late,” everyone groaned, “I know. But, I would like you all to meet two of my new teammates, Natasha Romanova and Wanda Maximoff.”
Everyone on the island crowded around the duo effectively pushing Ife to the sidelines.
Wanda felt it was a bit surreal meeting Ife’s friends. All of them looked happy to see her, not the mixed looks of fear, hatred, and disgust that most people (outside the team) would give her.
{{Ife sure has a lot of friends.}} Wanda thought almost bitterly.
Ife’s friends, or ‘crew’ as she calls them, were an eccentric group of demigoddess, Fae, Homo Magi, Homo Superius, Demons, Jinn, Orcs, and Succubae.
Their names were: Caterina IsmeneMetaxas, Itzel Erna Alondra Losnedahl (Arnesdottir), Batari Moon, Thiri Rajvir Sharma, Marama Zehra Arslan-Avci, Ashtoreth Marceline Sabah-Faucher, Nermin Ozana Negrescu, Djamila Ijebusomma Ngozika Amantea, Azeneth Esperanza Zoraida Ramirez, Gulmira Eriayomi Hendrix, Mayumi Filippovna Lebedeva, Marjani Subira Xun, Husna Meadhra Al-Hashim, Astridr Kara Signe Losnedahl (Bjørnsdottir), Xiomara Ekundayo Jimenez, Aghavni Jamshidi, and Lakshmi Hamasaki.
((Here are the face claims for Ife’s friends))
When she got past the ethereal glitz and glamour, Wanda realized that these women were quite funny and nerdy, like Ife.
Maybe her heart had room for a few more friends.
“I can see why you’re worried.” Azeneth stated as she and Ife were watching Wanda being the center of attention, “I can feel her anxiety from the threshold.”
“I know. Do you think you can help her?”
“We talked about her before you arrived. Djamila, Nermin, Nazaret, and I will train her if she’ll have us.”
“I’m sure she’ll have you. Thanks, Azeneth.”
“No problem. Although, there has been talk amongst the Magic Council about her. Strange is doing his best, but there are others who want to bring Wanda in.”
Ife frowned remembering the Magic Council’s need for control. This wouldn’t be the first time her crew has ruffled a few of their feathers.
“So, did BNA find anything about the Magitech info I sent them?” Ife asked in reference to the Branko assignment.
“Nothing yet, I’m afraid. It seems that HYDRA’s not dead just yet.”
Ife pressed her lips together in annoyance,” Thanks anyway.”
Azeneth noted Ife’s choice of words,” It looks like it’s time for the toasts.”
“To Xiomara! May all your dreams be fulfilled and the well of your creativity never runs dry!” Caterina proclaimed to the crowd.
“Here, Here!” the crowd cheered as everyone down another shot of Zenaida’s House Fireballs (Nat and Wanda had a lighter version).
“To Xio Labs!” Djamila shouted as the crowd downed another round of Fireballs and Xiomara got up to speak.
“Thank you, everyone! It has been a rough couple of years, but it was worth it. And with your support, it will be glorious!” Xiomara exclaimed to thunderous applause and the raising of glasses.
“Alright, time to dance!” Lakshmi trumpeted as she, Djamila, and Marjani coaxed everyone to the dance floor.
“Don’t worry, I’ll follow,” Ife reassured Wanda and Natasha when they noticed her hanging back on the VIP Island.
Ife flew down to the dance floor once everyone else got off their VIP Island. She found Lakshmi up to her usual shenanigans (flirting with a female Undine). Wanda was dancing with Batari, Aghavni, Djamila, and Gulmira while finally easing her nerves (that’s a win in her book).
A couple of guys tried to flirt with Wanda, but Batari and Gulmira shooed them away.
Ife spied Natasha checking out Renata Labriola, a drider, in her human form.
Ife’s plan seemed to be working perfectly.
“So, are you ready to let loose?”
Ife groaned as she awoke on a super comfy couch. She didn’t remember what happened after that question was asked. It was probably Djamila getting back at her for Spring Break.
“Figures she would do that,” Ife muttered to herself as the Woman of the Hour waltzed into the room with Natasha and Wanda in tow.
“Nice to see that you’re awake,” Djamila stated in a sing-song manner that made Ife want to throw a pillow at her.
In good fun of course.
“Neat.” Ife deadpanned followed by a mirthless chuckle when Djamila pointed to the time.
“You looked and felt pretty tense during the toasting so I gave you a gentle push to loosen you up a bit. It worked and you were the center of the dance floor for about an hour, flew up and danced on the platform above the orb, made-”
“Okay, okay. I get it.” Ife interrupted too embarrassed to know what happened next.
“Fine,” Djamila raised her hands up in submission, “After your escapades, you and your teammates were wiped and I had the three of you crash at my place for a few hours.”
“Thanks, Djamila.”
“Just so you know, now we’re even.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ife grumbled as she got her things.
“Okay, let’s head back.”
��The trio passed the way back in relative silence, but a peaceful one instead of the stereotypical hangover groans and slight shame.
“How did you find last night?” Ife asked as they stepped into her quarters.
“It was great,” Wanda stated, happy that she found people who weren’t afraid of her. Perhaps she could ask Ife if they could help her with her powers.
Ife could hear the emotional echoes of excitement from Wanda and smiled knowing that she succeeded in her plans so far.
“That good. One more thing,” Ife paused, not knowing how to phrase the next bit of information,” the portal uses a time manipulation spell (and some other stuff) and well, the 15 hours we spent in Nephetz was about three hours on the Compound. Just wanted to let you know.”
“Right, good night, Ife.” Nat said as Ife led them to the door.
“Hey, Nat can I ask you something?” Ife queried when Wanda passed the threshold.
“Shoot.”
Ife pressed her lips together in contemplation, “Does the rest of the team know you’re 80 years old?”
*-Elsewhere-*
“How is our Danica faring?” A woman in black asked.
“She’s doing well, better than we expected.” A voice replied from the shadows.
“Good. Has Kaecillius and his team dealt with the Magic Council yet?”
“Not yet, Mistress. Though Jon Canmore has gotten his own show on CNN and Maximus has procured enough Terrigen Crystals for our plans.”
“I see. Have our allies in the Inter-Realm Parliament be informed of our progress.”
“Yes, Mistress. One last thing, Our sources believe that the French Ambassador is on to our plans.”
The woman sighed, “Have Yelena handle him. We can’t leave anything to chance now.”
“Of course, Mistress.” The voice uttered and left.
They’ve put so much into this and they can’t fail. Not when they’re so close.
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float away
AU: Astronaut AU Word count: 1486 Pairings: None Logan centric angst with a happy ending
WARNINGS: Unreality discussed in great depth Implied past child abuse Discussion of the vastness of the universe Possible description of a panic attack, I’m not exactly sure how to define it
Beta readers: @theintelligentfool, @remus-kinnie-on-the-loose
AO3 Link
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The observable universe is assumed to be 93 billion light years wide. A light year is about 9 trillion kilometers. The average human person is about 160 centimeters tall.
Logan Xīng was an astronaut. He’d signed up for it. Large sums of space had never really bothered him. Never registered. He was usually too busy surviving day-to-day when he was living with his parents, and once he was old enough to move, he did. Cut connections with them. Started living on his own, barely scraping by with a day job in construction and going to night school. He’d somehow scored an internship with NASA, and quickly escalated to a position where he would work on the International Space Station for a two year shift.
These were the events that led him here, approximately 254 miles away from Earth. It looked… small. Insignificant. Maybe it was. No, it definitely was. Humanity was simply a blip in the existence of the universe- one singular spark. And gosh, was the universe vast. It was almost comforting in a way- Logan was barely a quark on a cosmic scale. Not important enough to change the world. The grandness of it was safe, homey, to him. He wasn’t big enough to destroy anything cosmically.
But a part of Logan didn’t register anything as real. His surroundings, the people aboard that he’d known for 7 months or more now, the stars, the station. His past, his life: none of it was actually happening to him. He wasn’t the person interacting. He was an observer. Like a camera. People can interact with it, and sometimes it’s even programmed to respond in a way that mimics a sentient entity, but did it really happen? The camera didn't do that on its own volition. It learned to.
And it ran deeper than that- it felt like Logan was encased in glass, unable to break out without being hit with a tidal wave of repressed emotions. It affected his interactions- he didn’t really talk to that person. Was he sure that this was his body? How could he know what was happening was real?
The short answer? He couldn’t.
It wasn’t a new feeling, to say the least. Half of Logan’s life was buried away, no memory of it to be found. He walked around in a dreamscape. He’d read something about trauma affecting how people perceive reality, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember any trauma. When he was a child he’d constantly doubted what aspects of his life were real- Were the people around him really thinking, being? Did his room look like that yesterday? Did he remember that correctly, or did his brain make that memory up?
...He was trailing off. The stars. He was supposed to be thinking about the stars. He had to focus on this- the radiation was much clearer from here than on Earth and it could provide a valuable perspective on stars that were farther off. Farther than any human would ever realistically get. How could they ever know it wasn’t just an elaborate illusion? Space was incredulous, and there were a fair amount of conspiracy theories, were there not? Reality is entirely based on perception-- Schrodinger’s Cat, and all, or was Logan getting that wrong?
People like to imagine that they’re right in between the size of the universe and the size of an atom. They have an almost instinctual need to put ourselves in the center of things. But they aren’t. Honestly, they may be about the size of an atom in the universe’s consideration. It was ridiculo-
Okay. This- this wasn’t working. Logan needed a change of scenery. A break. Maybe he’d take a spacewalk.
Logan moved away from the computer he’d been working at, pulling himself through the halls and greeting his crewmates. Roman smiled at him, patting him on the shoulder as he passed, and Patton reminded him to get a bite to eat. He promised vaem that he would. He reached the airlock and donned one of the suits, fifteen minutes passing surprisingly fast. He wasn’t technically supposed to do a spacewalk unprompted, but a small breach of protocol wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it? It was really only a matter of personal safety. And no one cared enough about Logan for him to worry about that.
Logan opened the first door and shut it tight behind him, ensuring the safety of the rest of the crew, before proceeding to unlock the second door and float out into the vast, endless expanse of nothing.
It was fine at first- Logan just floated about a bit, even shutting his eyes and allowing himself to drift for a moment or two. Then the black in between the stars started getting to him. He felt his chest tighten, feeling behind him to make sure he was still attached to the station. He was. Right?
Logan turned around and almost didn’t register the station when he saw it. It didn’t really calm him down. He could fly towards it and it could vanish, like a mirage. He was alone- god, why did he come out here alone? Why did he come out here at all? He was on the verge of- well, something, for god’s sake!
He started trying to get back to the station, but his grip was failing on him and his hands slipped and he spiraled even further away from it, making desperate grabs for some sort of bar or grip or really anything that would stop him from flying away, but there was nothing. His vision started blurring and he realized a little bit too late that he was crying. God. He needed to cut it out or he’d drown from the water clumping around his face from the lack of gravity, which itself was such a strange concept, was it not?
Or, maybe he wouldn’t be able to navigate back, and- and he would end up stuck out here, until someone saw him, and… who knows how long that would take? Logan could run out of oxygen, or die of fright, or really anything horrible could happen. Oxygen- oh, god, he had his oxygen tank on, right? It was still there, as far as he could tell, but he wasn’t exactly inclined to trust his senses right now. And was it full? Maybe it wasn’t- had he checked? He did feel rather short of breath, after all.
Now that he thought about it, Logan was rather sure that the tank he had grabbed was near empty. If he recalled properly? He only had thirty minutes at most. He’d suffocate before he could even get back, he thought. Was it getting darker? Was he getting further away? He could’ve sworn there were more stars, and- and they were definitely brighter, right? Right?
Logan choked out a bitter laugh, rather convinced he was to die alone in space, of all places. Space. Was there a better place to die? Oh, probably… Though nothing came to mind. Maybe he’d be the first human to die in space, that’d be an achievement. Maybe someone would be proud of it for him. Maybe it’d be an embarrassment to the people who’d supported him. Maybe-
And everything went black.
“Logan? Logan! Shoot, you- you don’t think he’s hurt, do you? God, I don’t think mission control’s going to be happy with us if he is-”
“Virgil, calm down, he had a panic attack. He’s not hurt. Just rattled.” Janus’s voice came out clearly. He’d always been rather good at enunciation. Maybe he didn’t care- was that why he sounded so unconcerned?
“Well I hope he isn’t hurt, I need his help with an idea I had!”
“Remus, is this a realistic idea, or is it another laser eyes situation?”
“Jeez, Jan, you don’t need to be so meaaaan!” “Shut up,” Logan grumbled, covering his eyes with his hand and sitting up.
“Logan!!” Patton lunged at him, knocking him over and hugging him tightly.
“Patton- I can’t- breathe-” “Oh!! Whoops,” Patton giggled. “I’m glad you’re ok.” “You really had us scared there, star-spangled Bruce Banner,” Roman sighed.
“That was awful,” Virgil snickered.
“I’d like to see you come up with better, then!”
“Nah.” “What happened? Is everyone ok- what time is it?”
“You- you had a panic attack, we think. I only noticed you floating out there looking dead as a corpse when I was trying to gauge where the moon was. Roman did the rescuing- he went out there and plucked you out of the sky. You were outside for about 30 minutes. And it’s been an hour or so since we got you inside.” Janus looked at him pointedly. “And before you say you have work to get to, you have to take some time to recuperate. You wanna talk about what happened out there?”
Logan hesitated before answering. “Yes. That sounds… good. Thank you.”
#Logan Sanders#Logan centric#ts logan#ts fanfic#sanders sides fic#sanders sides#roman sanders#remus sanders#virgil sanders#janus sanders#patton sanders#tss fic#my fics
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Ebb and Flow
Summary: She has always been watching him, hasn’t she? From the moment she met him. Maybe it was inevitable she would start seeing other things. Astarion x Isaniel
Also check it out on AO3 here and ff.net here!
A/N: whelp, here I am. writing fic with my OCs. that never happens. but this cheeky little bastard left me no choice. I fell in love with him so quickly, I had to write how my character did (or is starting to...getting there...feeling feelings...look we're still in EA and I love slow-burn enemies to lovers).
Minor spoilers ahead!
-
A mix of old paranoia and carefully-honed insight tell Isaniel, from the moment she meets him, that Astarion is suspicious. The only reason she even approaches the grass is because the risk of leaving an intellect devourer on the loose is far greater than the risk of exposing her back to a stranger. One is a dangerous beast that could quickly kill her or innocents if left unchecked; the other, she believes, is just an elf she knows to be wary around. He cannot do anything she is not braced for.
She is wrong. He is far stealthier than she’d expected.
-
After she diffuses the situation and they agree to work together, Isaniel subtly flexes her left hand. His dagger had cut into her palm as she’d struggled to pull it away from her throat. It was deep enough to merit healing, and she knows it’ll scar. A lesson.
It’s not an easy thing, to watch your surroundings and look for other survivors and keep someone in your peripheral vision, but she manages.
-
That night, everyone at camp is wary, watching each other, gauging their trustworthiness. They’re all newly acquainted, a collection of cast-off captives with bombs in their heads. It’s simultaneously the most ironclad and the thinnest of bonds. But gradually, one by one, they drift off.
Isaniel tries not to. Decades of learning to embrace Eilistraee and lower her guard around others have vanished tonight. She sits, staring at Astarion across the fire, and he stares back. His eyes are somehow both jeering and flirtatious, the planes and shadows of his face even more beautiful in the firelight. They sit for hours, just watching each other, her quiet declaration that she wouldn’t turn her back on a stranger heavy between them.
But eventually, exhaustion creeps up on her and slips the trance over her head, and then it is morning.
His smugness is unbearable.
-
Isaniel considers herself a practical woman. You can’t not be and survive the Underdark. She will refuse to give up on a cure until her body physically starts to change, but she knows that the second it does, she wants the others to cut her down—the same way she’d cut them down if they began to transform.
So when Astarion asks how she wants him to kill her should she sprout tentacles, she’s not affronted. She sees it as professional courtesy.
After some thought, she decides on a knife. Poison is not gentle, nor quick. Neither is strangulation. A good, clean thrust to the heart or head, though, will be fast and painless. The best result for her and those around her.
His eyes light up with enthusiasm as he discusses her choice, and Isaniel remembers how quietly he’d snuck up on her. This is not just professional courtesy, she realizes. This is a man who intimately knows the art of death, and loves it. And at that realization, the walls that had started to cautiously lower, just a tad, jerk back into place.
When he finishes, she crosses her arms, cocks her head, smiles coolly. “And you? How shall I kill you?”
His teeth flash an almost unnatural white when he grins. “Oh darling, I’d love to see you try.”
-
The night they gain some leads, she finds him stargazing while doing the rounds of the camp. When she pauses to speak with him, it is surprisingly nice. His quip about “taking or leaving” her chin makes her lips twitch, despite herself. And she can’t help but approve of someone who can also appreciate the beauty of the night sky.
Her eyes seek out the moon instinctively. Her hand closes around her sword pendant for a brief moment. Eilistraee, watch over me.
For a brief heartbeat, an echo of a song floats through her mind. It’s the same music that stopped her dead in a marketplace in the Underdark, so beautiful and ethereal and divine it almost brought tears to her eyes. Isaniel would later learn that Eilistraee was always seeking to touch the hearts of the drow, and had been beyond grateful she’d listened. But at the moment, all she had known was that she could not rest until she’d found that music again. Hearing it again now is a promise.
The notes fade, but she doesn’t feel empty like she did that day in the Underdark. Her goddess is with her and loves her, and there is nothing more comforting in the world than that. Even Astarion seems not so bad in that moment, and they bask together in the companionable silence.
But then he wonders aloud what will happen in the future, and the illusion of safety breaks. She briefly mourns its departure; then, she straightens her shoulders and looks back at reality. And reality includes him.
She gives him a taste of his own medicine: “What? Would you miss me?” He laughs, rises, and compliments her. She accepts it, and in doing so deflects. He flirts, invades her personal space. Out of sheer stubbornness, she refuses to step back. To do so would be to admit that he has unnerved her. It’s not just his proximity; it’s this undercurrent of something.
The dance ends; he leaves. The tension drains out of her body.
-
When she emerges from a restless, unsuccessful trance and finds Astarion leaning over her, Isaniel lashes out. Her elbow catches him square in the jaw; he curses and stumbles back, and she almost attacks while he’s off-balance. But she’s a follower of Eilistraee, and somehow, she’s become the leader of their group. Both of those factors give her a responsibility to hear him out. So, she stomps down on those old, false instincts and lets him talk.
It’s almost a relief to find out he’s a vampire. The secret is out, and now she can deal with it. Really, Isaniel feels like a fool for not putting the pieces together. The sun doesn’t burn her eyes anymore, thanks to the tadpole—why shouldn’t a vampire be able to walk in it as well? But she’d just assumed that his red eyes were indicative of drow blood somewhere in his family, the fangs some form of genetic defect.
Astarion asks her to trust him. Incredulously, she counters that he tried to bite her. He retorts that they need each other. And then he begs for a sip of her blood.
Isaniel takes a deep breath. Looking around, she realizes that their brief scuffle woke the others up. She decides to give them the benefit of the doubt and assumes that they only watch because they’re too surprised to actually do anything. But that’s irrelevant right now. She turns her focus inwards and analyzes exactly how much they need Astarion.
He’s the best among them at picking a lock. His speed is blinding. He’s deadly with his daggers. And he moves so silently…
Losing him would be bad, she has to admit. So: keeping him means feeding him. And logically, it makes sense that a vampire would not find animal blood as nourishing. Oh, she knows he’s manipulative, she doubts he’s telling the whole truth with his “I’ve never fed on humans!” spiel—but she does believe him in that, at least.
She certainly can’t half-starve him, but she will not let him eat innocents. So…what other options are there? Letting him feed off their enemies? Plausible; but that is a question for the morning. Because Astarion is ultimately right: it really comes down to whether she can trust him.
Isaniel doesn’t know what surprises her more: that she does trust him, or that the events of this night haven’t cost him all of it.
Well, she trusts him to an extent. She gives him his share of night shifts, she relies on him in battle, and he has easy access to their food. But that’s trusting him not to kill them; keeping him, knowing what he is, requires trusting him to not lose control. It means trusting that if an emergency happens and he needs their blood, he won’t go into a frenzy and drain them dry.
A test, then. If he reverts to a creature of base instinct, if he cannot be reasoned with, if he tries to kill her, she will kill him. Better to discover the extent of his self-restraint now, while she’s alert and prepared to stop him, than later, when circumstances might not be so fortuitous.
So she sends up a quick prayer to Eilistraee, bares her neck, and lies down.
-
He gets caught up in the moment, but her command to stop brings him out of it easily enough. He lets her go, breathless and smiling, thanks her, and stalks off.
Isaniel can’t be angry at him; after all—and this is very hard to admit, even to herself—she almost got caught up in the moment too.
-
Sometimes she would catch him gazing at the sky, during the day, open wonder on his face. Now she knows why.
Isaniel can understand that. With her eyes no longer burning, she can drink in the tableau around her in a new way. There are shades of color she couldn’t quite discern before, and everything seems so much richer in the sun. How many drow have been able to do this? Very few, most likely.
It’s not enough to make her want to keep the parasite—it could never be enough—but it is something she can’t help but appreciate.
-
The day the sickness strikes, Isaniel gives the order to make camp where they stand, long before night falls. They’re all just too exhausted to keep traveling, even to search for a suitable place to rest.
That’s not the only thing they’re too exhausted for, as it turns out. Not one of them can muster the energy to scout for nearby threats, or camouflage, or stand guard. Even Lae’zel’s attempt at a “mercy kill” is sloppy. They’re all so pathetic a kobold could walk into their midst and kill them.
Between talking Lae’zel down and doing her customary rounds of their parody of a camp, Isaniel’s low energy reserves are completely barren. As she crawls into her bedroll, for some reason, her mind turns back to Astarion’s panic.
He’s usually so self-assured. Smiling in the face of anything. Ready with his rapier wit. The complete unraveling of his composure is…alarming.
But before she can think much more on that, a fresh wave of tremors hits her. She squeezes her eyes shut, curls into a ball, and prays.
-
The next morning, Isaniel wakes up with heartache—and fury.
How dare it? How dare that parasite approach her in the guise of her dead husband? How dare it speak with his voice, ignite her skin with his touch, dishonor his memory by wearing his face? The sickness of the previous night is completely forgotten; instead, she shakes with rage as she brushes her hair, checks her equipment, gears up. Her fingers itch to play her lute and vent it all out in jagged, discordant music—but no. Astarion’s pale form is up and about, but the others are still sleeping.
She pauses and subtly studies him. He looks much better now; his movements are fluid again, his step springy. Even his hair somehow seems extra fluffy.
He turns, catches her staring, and winks. She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch, damn them. Definitely back to normal.
At that, the memory of the dream rears its head. Her anger, which had started to simmer down, flares up anew. Isaniel scowls as she struggles with her sword belt, her normally dexterous fingers made clumsy by emotion. Curse that tadpole to the Hells—
“Well hello! Feeling better, are we?”
Astarions voice rings from right next to her, and she jumps. Eilistraee’s sword, how did she not realize he was a vampire sooner? No one can move that silently and swiftly and still be mortal.
“I certainly am,” he continues, without waiting for her answer. “This morning I find myself free of pain and with a new trick. A new power. Last night, the risk of transformation—it all feels like some terrible dream now.”
A dream…
Isaniel doesn’t know why she opens up to him. Maybe it’s because he’s around and she needs to get it off her chest. Maybe it’s because his witty tongue actually does make her chuckle, despite herself. Maybe it’s because he draws her eyes like the moon draws the tide.
Regardless, she ends up spilling the contents of her dream, anger and pain leaking into her voice. Astarion doesn’t really say anything; he just listens, eyes bright with curiosity and intrigue. But just listening is enough; she can feel an invisible weight lifting off her with every word out of her mouth.
When she finishes speaking—with an exhale of relief—he asks if she enjoyed it. Her fists clench at the memory of that intruder’s touch on her skin. “No, it felt invasive. Uncomfortable.”
“We had the same dream, then. The worm’s trying to be…enticing.”
Had he also seen someone he’d loved? But that blank look, the flat voice…there’s more to it than that, she’s sure. Isaniel hesitates, then pushes him to share. He lent her an ear, in his typical flippant fashion, but an ear nonetheless. It’s only fair to return the favor.
The truth of what he really dreamed about surprises her. She finds herself blurting out, “Your old master? That doesn’t sound ‘enticing’.”
“It was not,” he says, voice raw and low. “I—we don’t need to talk about it.”
And—oh.
That flash in his eyes. That pain.
Her throat closes.
It was brief, but she saw it. She would never mistake it.
It’s the pain of someone who has been trapped in darkness for so long they don’t even know light exists. The pain of someone who lived with cruelty every minute of every hour of every day. The pain of someone who does not let themselves feel pain, does not even acknowledge they are in pain, because that would be weakness and wolves would descend on them if they admitted to that.
It was her pain, before Eilistraee.
Isaniel is not good at comforting people. She knows how to talk people into doing what she wants and how to keep their group more or less from killing each other. But put her in a room with a crying woman or a scared child, and she’s just lost. Emotions are messy and difficult to deal with.
But at this moment, she wants, more than anything, to brave them. To let him know he’s not alone.
She can’t think of anything to say, can’t figure out how to put this epiphany into words, so hesitantly, she reaches out a hand—
And he recoils like a snake. Then, he strikes like one, eyes and fangs flashing, venom flying from his mouth as he renounces her pity.
It’s not pity, she wants to say. It’s not pity, because I know how hard it is to survive an environment that wants more than anything to break you. To pity you would belittle your strength. It’s empathy and support.
But she’s so stunned that by the time she’s able to begin, “It’s not pity,” it’s too late; his retreating back is the only thing that hears her.
-
One of Isaniel’s first memories is of her mother killing her pet bat, then slapping her until she stopped crying.
It was as a lesson, of course: that love was something that would only be exploited. The sort of lesson that every drow child learned young. Other lessons included how to think creatively, hurt others, scheme, and be paranoid—Isaniel still remembers carefully pouring poisons and potions into large, hollow glass beads and stringing them into her jewelry.
The lessons that had really struck a chord with her, though, had been how to create. Her family had been artisans, and had held a relatively secure position as employees to a well-off merchant clan. The plotting hadn’t been as intense as among the nobles, but it was still dangerous. After all, there were rival artisans and rival merchant clans to watch out for or destroy, and Isaniel had done her share of participating in that.
But oh, she had truly loved art, beauty, music. Eilistraee used that to reach her, and through it Isaniel came to love Eilistraee in turn. But it took a long time. Secretly seeking information about that music, a flight from the Underdark, and decades of studying the teachings of Eilistraee, testing them, putting them in practice, before the scars the Underdark left on her had begun to heal. Decades in which she found companionship with others of her faith, met her husband, became a mother…lost her husband to the ravages of time…
And now, after such a long time away from the toxic mindset she grew up with, she has come face to face with someone who embraces it. And she is torn.
There is a part of her, one that Eilistraee has grown and nourished, that is appalled in the face of Astarion’s casual cruelty towards others.
There is a part of her, one that Eilistraee has also grown and nourished, that begs her be compassionate and forgiving.
There is a part of her, one that she has abandoned but clings to her like a ghost nonetheless, that screams at her to end the threat before he ends her.
There is a part of her, one that has been with her as long as she can recall, that sees his trauma, and remembers, and empathizes.
Their experiences are not the same. But the darkness is the same.
She does not know what to make of him. She does not know what she should believe or do about him. So she watches, and speaks with him, and tries to understand.
-
Their travels eventually take them to a swamp, and there, they find a Gur. A monster-hunter. That in itself wouldn’t necessarily mean anything, but it’s foolish not to gauge his intentions, considering her company. So, in-between Astarion’s light insults, she inquires.
He says he’s hunting Astarion. Not to kill him, but to capture him.
Ice settles in Isaniel’s belly.
Capture him. And bring him to his “associates” in Baldur’s Gate. Back to Cazador. Back to the bastard who scarred him down to his very marrow. Back to chains and torment.
That’s not going to happen, she thinks vehemently.
Astarion is practically vibrating in place, his red eyes hard and uncompromising, his hands hovering close to his daggers. And yet, he still waits for her order. Out of genuine respect for her authority? Trust that she’ll neutralize the hunter? She’s not sure, but something about it is…a little touching.
She gives the word, and he lunges.
-
The battle with Auntie Ethel is tough, but manageably so. They all stay away from the cliff edges and destroy her illusionary copies as soon as they appear, they put out the fires near Mayrina and keep her out of harms’ way, and while the hag’s spells are powerful, they all somehow manage to avoid the worst of the damage.
But Auntie Ethel is one of those types. The type that likes to taunt and mock with a loud, clear voice that rings across the battlefield. And through some hag witchery, she knows how to hit where it hurts.
“Is there still rat stuck in your teeth, slave?”
She’s not near him, but Isaniel can see Astarion’s flinch—then his strikes resume, much faster and more furious than before. Her own teeth grind with outrage and sympathy, and she redoubles her efforts, and soon the hag is brought down.
She is not feeling quite as sympathetic when, after bidding a crestfallen Mayrina farewell, Astarion blithely remarks that it was a pity the young mother-to-be couldn’t see the funny side in her husband being resurrected as a zombie.
-
And yet, he voiced his approval back when they helped Karlach.
It’s not like that outweighs it. Life isn’t a set of scales. Helping one woman doesn’t balance out being amused at another’s pain. The people Isaniel hurt back in the Underdark wouldn’t care or forget just because she helped someone else now. Words and actions have permanent, tangible impacts.
It’s not like she wants to “fix” Astarion, either. People can’t be “fixed”. They can be broken or damaged by others—but never returned to who they once were. They carry the scars and lesions on their heart, like Isaniel does. With time and support, they hopefully heal, but that’s only if they want to.
It’s more like—and she might be projecting a bit, or biased because of her past—remembering Karlach gives her hope that Cazador didn’t destroy Astarion’s humanity.
-
Maybe it was inevitable.
Isaniel weaves throughout the party, smiles freely, even dances and sings. It’s impossible not to—the tiefling’s joy is infectious, the gentle warmth of the wine is infusing her body, and the moon is full and smiling overhead. All of her problems will still be there tomorrow, but tonight is a night for forgetting, and celebrating, and living.
The back of her neck prickles, again. This time she doesn’t ignore it. This time, she turns, somehow already knowing what she’ll see.
Sure enough, there’s Astarion, lurking on the fringes of the party, a glass of wine in hand, eyes fixed on her. Under the moonlight, his hair is practically glowing, his skin silver-tinted. He looks like some ethereal king of night and winter, standing there silhouetted against the darkness. It’s striking.
Striking. Oh.
She has always been watching him, hasn’t she? From the moment she met him. Maybe it was inevitable she would start seeing other things.
A jostle jars her out of her thoughts; she’d stopped moving right in the midst of the dancers. She mutters an apology to the tiefling couple and hastily clears the floor. Glances up again.
Astarion is still watching her.
Before she consciously decides to do it, her feet take her towards him. She falters when her mind catches up to her body, almost turns and runs. There’s something in his eyes, something in the air, something between them that crackles with intensity and promise.
But it’s too late to run—he’s coming towards her, too. Her heart lodges itself in her throat. Stay strong, she tells herself.
Whether she wants that strength to resist the shifting currents in their relationship or to swim towards them, she does not know.
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RWBY After the Fall: Prologue
I think I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m doing like, a semi-casual liveblog of the books.
This is more like, a bullet point liveblog where I just type out my thoughts as I listen to it on audiobook. Just going to be a long list like the OST liveblogs. This’ll be super casual!
And with most casual liveblogs, this’ll happen when I feel like it.
Anyways, got the audiobook loaded right here!
(SPOILER WARNING: I’ve seen up to Volume 7 at this point, and will likely be talking about future events of the series!)
1. I accidentally opened up Before the Dawn first. It’s very confusing to have the first book titled with the word “After” then having the second book titled with “Before.”
Anyways, I got a funny situation where I read the first paragraph for Sun Wukong talking about how much he loves Vacuo. Then I got to After the Fall, and suddenly is Velvet talking about how much she hates Vacuo. xD It’s a funny duality hahahaha.
2. If yelp existed in this universe, Velvet would write a scathing review for it xD
3. “I hate sand. It’s course, and rough, and it gets everywhere.”
4. Of course Velvet would like Vale more... She’s like, a bunny! She’s destined for the sylvan plains!
Yes, I know there are desert bunnies, but we’re talking fairy tales here!
5. Nope, not going to remember all these names...
6. ...more than a year ago... omg, I forgot how much time passed between Volume 3 and 4....
Well, considering Haven gets attacked, Shade’s probably a safe bet for a school. I mean, obviously Vacuo is going to get attacked by Salem eventually, but it’s delayed thanks to Salem’s hate boner for Ozpin.
7. “Split hare pun” omg...
8. “Now this book is historically accurate!” “Here you fight a giant enemy crab! Attack it’s weak point for massive damage!”
9. Gotta keep the crabs out of her hare.... I’m sorry...
10. Okay, Yaughtzu is he big green guy with the buster sword.
11. I thought Velvet was going to propose to Yaughtzu for a second there when she knelt down on one knee there...
12. Damn, sand’s just out to get her!
13. Okay, the other member is Faux... and he’s the telepathic one. Alright. I’m not going to care about these guys...
Gog, not looking forward to the sausagefest waiting for me in the second book. Wasn’t Sun’s book all guys? Yeah, that’s going to suck...
14. I’m surprised sunglasses didn’t catch on sooner out considering... Are berets really that good in the desert?
15. Oh no! Coco got crabs! D:
16. I guess it’s Velvet’s turn to be a badass. Get our character introductions out of the way, or at least what their powers can do.
17. Shit, a photo of Ruby triggered a PTSD flashback...
18. Gog, I keep forgetting Ruby was unconscious for a good part of that battle. I mean, unless if it ended right after she stoned the dragon
19. Really hoping they are shipteasing Yaughtzu x Velvet. I’m not really feeling those two.
20. Gogdamn, I guess Velvet’s arc is going to be about her feeling like she’s holding back her group, and finding her place within it.
21. I...forgot Weiss partially summoned an armored knight in that battle 0.0;
22. Oof, the fact she had to burn up so many photos x.x
Maybe she should carry two cameras on her, one for combat photos and semblance, the other for personal photos, just of people.
I’m certain Velvet will see RWBY again at least...
23. Oh yeah, Coco fought Emerald. Got a taste of her illusion powers...
24. Oh, Penny... I’m hoping Penny goes with RWBY when they inevitably go to Vacuo, so Velvet can know she’s alive.
25. I’m assuming they got to Vacuo. Hell, the finale of Volume 7 felt like the beginning of the end, but I know the plan is for RWBY to go on to like, Volume 12 or something...
26. Oh. Okay, so CFVY was leaving just as Weiss and Ruby were heading for Pyrrha. Alright, we’ve got a timeline at least. Gog, are they going to see the silver eyes blast?
27. The last time she sees Ruby... okay, that broke my heart a little...
Not a bad first chapter! I don’t have a very good gauge on Yautzu and Faux yet though. We’re just starting though.
I’ll continue this another night! I’m tired! xD Thanks for reading!
#rwbyatf#RWBY#Missfinefeather Liveblogs#Missfinefeather reads RWBY#Velvet deserves love and cake#Liveblog#RWBY liveblog#RWBY After the Fall#Rooster Teeth#blacklist Missfinefeather
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Exception On Line 129
Chapter 5: Not So Strange
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]
A Human AU SCP-079 x SCP-682 Fanfic
Warnings: Violence, Alcoholism, Brain damage/trauma, Police brutality
Description: Zero is a reclusive computer science major, floating by in college with the help of vodka by his side. His only human interaction seems to be from his distant father, who abandoned him as a child but now is trying to make a bit of effort to be back in his life. And after a failed virus he sends to a Cray supercomputer gets exposed, he is forced to pay for the consequences of his cyber crimes in more ways than one.
During an unnecessarily violent arrest, he suffers a brain injury and anterograde amnesia, damaging his short-term memory. But during his time detained, he meets a violent man with an infamous short-temper, who takes a surprising interest in him.
(Read it here on Ao3 or continue below)
Exception On Line 129: Not So Stranger
By the time the sedatives have wore off, the prying nurses and noisy cops were long gone. They had originally wanted to question Zero, and so did his doctor, in order to gauge the extent of his head trauma; but all parties concerned were informed he was incompetent for questioning due to his sedation, and deflected until tomorrow to pester him later.
And incompetent indeed; when everyone had left, Numin had attempted to ask how he felt, only to get a slurred ‘what’ back at him, to which he assumed it was best to wait for Zero to be back in a sober clear mind before attempting conversation again.
Sometime in the afternoon Zero slipped under, falling asleep in the same position looking up at the ceiling, with the only indication of sleep being the closure of his eyes, and his already slow heartbeat growing even further apart in tempo on the beep of the heart monitor.
By the evening of that day, when he awoke, his head was finally clear enough to think straight, and the headache was fainter as it ricocheted inside his skull.
Shifting, the most movement he’s made since morning, Zero sat up in a daze, blinking blankly around the bright fluorescent room. Outside he noticed it was dark behind the paper-thin blinds, yet the unnatural lighting in the hospital room kept the room too bright for it to feel like evening. An uncomfortable discrepancy, especially considering how he had fallen asleep during daylight with only a hazy recollection of the day, only serving to further his ongoing confusion.
“Lucid now?” A familiar voice pried, surprisingly gentle, despite the unhidden harsh edge it innately carried. Turning to face the voice, a bit delayed in his reaction due to the lingering effects of the sedation, Zero faced the stranger in the bed beside his own.
When he met his eyes to the other man’s soft green ones, a sudden intrusion of memories flooded in.
His roommate. Zero couldn’t recall his name, but he felt fondly in his recognition of him, even though their interactions were hazy to retrieve.
Actually, not hazy; they were basically absent. All he knew was that this man was one he was familiar and friendly with.
“Barely lucid… god, my head feels like cotton.” He groaned, bringing his hand up to rub his temple, only to find the texture of soft gauze at his fingertips, bits of it snagging at his short jagged nails. “I… I was asleep for a while, but we met earlier today, right?”
The green hue of his roommate’s eyes darkened, in a melancholic transition that somehow made his next words seem despondent. “Yes, we’ve met. Do you remember me, Zero?”
The pressure to take away that undying anguish in his expression made Zero stressed to probe his memories for an answer that would sate his roommate.
“I remember… you… wrote something on my hand, I think?” Not even confident in his own foggy recollection, Zero knit his brow at the other man, as if silently asking for confirmation.
The other man let out a short sigh, almost in relief but not quite there just yet, at the sign of even a sliver of working memory in Zero’s head.
“Yes, I wrote my name down so you wouldn’t forget. The nurse put your IV back in but it should still be visible.”
Tilting his head down at his hand for confirmation, surely enough he found a name printed on the back of his palm in neat lettering, alongside his IV line buried deep into a superficial vein.
“Numin. Oh, that name does ring some bells.”
His roommate chuckled, albeit still tensed in the manner. “It should. You needed to be reminded of it quite a few times.”
With a couple blinks, Zero tore his eyes off the print on his hand to look up at Numin. “It’s weird, it feels like I met you years ago. Like the memories are so far back in my head that I have to focus to try and retrieve them. Did I really just meet you today? We didn’t have, like, a class together or anything?”
He ended his inquiry with a little cock of his head to the right, like an honest signal of innocent curiosity, and Numin consciously wondered if he was trying to be a little cute on purpose.
He stopped that thought right in its trail, though; since when does he think of others as cute?
“This morning, when you woke up for the first time since your accident, we met,” he hesitated, just slightly, remembering bitterly how badly Zero took this information last time, “you’ve been in a coma for several days now.”
Although there was an undeniable widening of Zero’s eyes in surprise, it quickly waned, as if the knowledge had awoken within him the fact he had heard that before. Nevertheless, his heart did start skipping a beat faster on the heart rate monitor, and Numin noticed Zero began biting his lower lip. Centered both above his top lip and below his bottom were two pierced holes, so Numin deduced that he must’ve had a habit of biting a lower lip piercing; although, regardless of its presence, Zero seemed to chew his lip anyway. Made Numin wonder if at some point he just got it pierced to have something to bite at.
“Ah. Yeah, I think I remember something about that.”
In his palm, Zero had a handful of his bedding’s blanket gripped tight, anxiously holding onto anything that could ground him. A sore pang clawed in Numin’s chest; he wished he could go over there again. Almost yearningly, he tugged gently at the handcuffs keeping him in place, a deep inner part of him imploring himself to just break it off again like last time.
“Is there anything else you remember?” Prying in order to keep his thoughts from getting him in more trouble, Numin looked back up to face Zero. He was sitting off the edge of his bed, fist still full of his paperthin hospital blanket, looking up in almost a bit of a daze. Numin couldn’t tell if it was because he was lost in thought trying to remember the events from earlier today, or if the Valium was still lingering a bit in his system. Nevertheless, it was enough of a daze to leave him oblivious to the slight drop of his hospital gown off one of his shoulders, exposing his collar bone, as well as a small written tattoo beneath it. In black lettering, it marked: ‘Print (“Hello World”)’, a basic one-line computer program, leading Numin to infer he must know how to code.
Although placid, the exposed skin had that word bubbling back up into Numin’s mind again. Cute.
Was his face just hot or is he now blushing over the visible collarbone and that tattoo?
“I remember, you were talking to me, but I can’t recall what about,” Zero finally spoke up, breaking Numin’s distraction on his slightly exposed shoulder, and with his headspace back to reality Zero absentmindedly tugged his gown’s collar back up, none the wiser that Numin was growing red in the cheeks as he stared at it.
As if to compose himself and continue on as if he wasn’t lost tracing his eyes on that soft skin beneath Zero’s gown, Numin swallowed, continuing the conversation.
“We talked about a handful of things. None of them come to mind?”
Blinking thrice, Zero looked down from the ceiling back at him. “Maybe, I don’t know…”
Awkwardly, his fumbled with the slack of blanket in his hand, crumpling it anxiously. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but… did you say something about being gay?”
Startled, Numin let out an unexpected laugh, amused as Zero’s bashfulness to address it.
“Bisexual, but yeah. You got the gist of it.” And, almost teasingly, he added, “Seems like you made that information top priority to recall. Are you always that good at remembering sexual orientations, or am I just special?”
Adding fuel to the fire of Zero’s embarrassment, now he was the one blushing. However, keeping his usual front, he managed to bite back with his own quip, despite the rouge color of his face betraying his actual thoughts.
“I don’t often forget when an interesting man tells me he likes men.” As if in an effort to divert the subject matter, he continued, “besides that… I think I remember you being here?”
He made a pat to the side of the mattress, on the bed where Numin had sat with him during his anxiety attack. And although he didn’t remember too clearly the details to which Numin was beside him, Zero does recall a warming comfort. Even if the actual memory was absent, it left a fond afterglow, and even through the frightening awareness of his amnesia he felt the sentiment they must’ve held.
“I was. Got in quite the bit of trouble, too.” Numin agreed, with a sigh, dejectedly giving his handcuffs another clank. As if maybe they’ll just phase through the bar if he moved them enough.
Regardless, they were symbolic anyways. If Numin wanted to keep out of anymore trouble at this point, he’ll have to allow the cops to have their illusion of control over him.
Even if that’s all it was. An illusion.
“If… if it’s proper to ask, what are you here for?” Meekly, Zero gestured vaguely at the hospital room around him. He’s never been detained before himself, and he wasn’t too sure if it was an appropriate question to ask.
But instead, Numin offered a little shrug, nonchalant.
“Shot in the forearm. Very minor surgery to remove the shards, but it didn’t do any major damage.”
The casualness of his tone threw Zero off, and he gave the other man a noticeable wide-eyed look.
“You were shot!?”
The shock in his tone made Numin chuckle. The cavalier nature he had about his injury was unnatural, like violence was something he found ordinary and injury was something he found unthreatening.
“Yeah, cop tried handcuffing me, so I stabbed him in the stomach,” at that, he made a gesture to with his free hand towards his own abdomen, lightly tapping below his ribs as if to indicate where the cop had taken his knife before continuing, “but the bastard was able to reach for his gun and got a shot in before I knocked it out of his hand.”
Still appalled, Zero blinked thrice in bewilderment, as if trying to process the exact capabilities Numin had. The energy he had was commanding and all-consuming, and it seemed he was way more than just a front in that regard.
“What... happened to him?” Zero barely managed to get out on the border of a whisper, quiet in almost a careful way, in case this was a question that could provoke a negative reaction.
Hearing the breathless nature of his question, Numin drew a toothy and predatory smile. The look of it almost seemed like he was reminiscing on fond memories, but his green eyes were festering with a darkness that betrayed a more sadistic delight to his face.
“Dead. I shouldn’t have even let him live long enough to get a shot in. Disgusting little maggot...” the last part of his sentence road his vocals on almost a growl, with each word dripping with abhorrence.
It sent a chilling shiver down Zero’s spine.
Aggression and violence wasn’t a surprise from his roommate, not in the slightest considering his demeanor. But something about the idea of actually killing someone, taking a life and having no regret, was absolutely bone-chilling.
There was a soft voice in the back of Zero’s head, warning him if his acquaintance with this man was dangerous. It begged him to withdraw from the conversation, to stop entertaining his roommate lest he accidentally got on his bad side. However, there was an even louder voice fighting that reasoning, and drawing him to continue.
It was at first terrifying to learn Numin had murdered someone. A deep, unsettling seed of knowledge that is now embedded into Zero’s brain, and it felt like he was watering the seed with every passing moment he dwelled on that unnerving idea. And as with any seed, it grew, and changed, and the more Zero thought about it the more his feelings about it were fuzzier than originally anticipated.
And after dwelling on it for a few moments, Zero can’t exactly lie that the idea wasn’t now also alluring, interesting in a way he can’t describe. Like a mixture of morbid curiosity to know more, with the knowledge it was bad to be interested but undeniably being drawn to it nonetheless.
His roommate had murdered someone.
And somehow, he wasn’t afraid of Numin for it.
“Is that what you’re in trouble for? Stabbing a cop to death?”
As if intrigued by Zero’s lack of fear, instead finding just shock and interest, Numin narrowed his eyes curiously, holding his dark smile. But it was no longer in glee to his lurid memories, instead it was in growing fascination for Zero’s interest.
“He was arresting me for something else, but his death is added onto my charges at the moment. However, my civil defender said something about being able to claim he shot me first and I stabbed in self-defense, but that’ll be a tough story to sell.” There was a taste of annoyance in his tone, as if reluctant to peddle the idea of being shot first before stabbing the cop. As if it strangled his pride too much for his liking, that he would allow another to harm him first.
Or, perhaps, that he would allow another to dare harm him at all.
“Wait, so he was already arresting you for a different crime at the time?” Suddenly, as if the thought of more charges was an alien concept, Zero’s eyes noticeably widened at his revitalized surprise.
Unbeknownst to him, it left another doe-eyed astonished look on his face— albeit still probably due to the lingering drug— that had a bit of warmth suddenly rising to Numin’s cheeks again, subtly but still nonetheless present through a hazy rouge ghosting his complexion.
Cute. He couldn’t tell if he hated himself for thinking that word at all or if the feeling was just frustration from yet again noticing how attractive he thought Zero was. Either way, the surfacing of that word bothered him.
Numin hadn’t the slightest clue why he couldn’t quite shake the idea from his train of thought. The idea that Zero was being cute right now.
“Yeah. I was being arrested for a separate murder charge at the time, so I thought, hell, what’s another?” Although there was a jesting tone in his voice meant to convey a bit of humor, the tension he was carrying found itself laced among his words and inwoven with his expression. Tension only aggravated by the newfound evasiveness Numin’s eyes took on.
Zero noticed the reddish hue on his roommate’s face now. A quick smirk rose onto his lips before he stifled it, killing it as fast as it was born— he’ll pretend he doesn’t notice, but he’s well aware that Numin knows he definitely did.
“Makes sense. What’s one when you can have two.” Despite the topic at hand currently being murder victims, Zero continued with a cadence that was surprisingly cavalier. Guess when someone is noticeably blushing and growing a bit hot and bothered when they’re speaking to him it really takes the fear out of talking to someone with possible murder charges. After all, a cold hard murderer showing a bit of sheepishness like a nervous teenager talking to their classroom crush?
Oh, dare Zero even think— it might be a bit attractive.
Someone so calloused and violent, coming undone ever so slightly in his presence. Even if the undoneness was painted in just a faint blush of attraction on the other’s face, or slight tenseness in their words.
It made Zero feel a bit special, in a way.
“Two? Ah, I forget how many, but it’s well over two.” Although still collecting himself a bit, breaking his eyes back down to his handcuffs as if to hide the unspoken redness in his face, Numin’s voice composed itself with his next line, as if more thought would distract him from that word he kept trying to ignore whenever he looked at Zero. “Definitely more than two, it’s maybe… Maybe around a dozen or so? Although however many I’m charged with is beyond me. I’m certain the cops aren’t aware of all of them.”
The shock momentarily got to Zero for a split second, just at the sheer number. Or perhaps the shock was over Numin not even knowing the exact count; both were equally something to raise his brow in surprise at.
“Damn. Well, spoiler alert, I’m not here for murder myself.” After saying so, the memory of the officer pounding at his apartment door over an arrest warrant bubbled up into his consciousness, giving him an involuntary shiver when it popped at the surface.
Like old film flickering in his head with how vague and out of focus the memories were, he felt it more so than saw it.
Pain zipping up and down his back as he was knocked to the floor. Frail legs desperately kicking to keep the officer off of him. Hard boot connecting with his temple once, and the world darkening as everything slips away for a split moment into sheer pain and confusion. The second kick he doesn’t remember, but only assumes must’ve hit him after those memories cut short, hitting a blank wall as the world around was stolen away from him.
Unexpectedly, he noticed his mouth was a bit drier than a moment before.
“Come to think of it… I-I’m not all too sure what I’m arrested for, exactly.”
There was an unsteady shake in those words. Numin felt that deep part in his chest ache for him again, and without even thinking there was an audible jingle as he tugged the handcuffs yearningly again, subconscious desire turning into subtle action.
He wished he wasn’t confined.
“You can’t remember?” Softly, despite the gruffness of his voice, Numin verbally acknowledged Zero’s amnesia again.
Giving a weak half-hearted shrug, Zero blinked twice blankly, as if his eyes were focused on an absent memory. Or, at least the spaces where a memory may have been.
“I don’t know if I can’t remember or if I never knew in the first place. It’s weird, but somehow… even when I think I forgot something, I have the feeling that the information was once there.” A couple more blinks calibrated his eyes back to the dull hospital room around him, before continuing. “Like I noticed that I can’t recall your name again. Although for certain, I’m sure I’ve been told it more than once.”
The start of a weak and curious frown ghosted Numin’s lips. “Do you remember where to find it?”
There was another nervous bite on his bottom lip from Zero. Hesitant, as if taking a fifty-fifty shot at where he could possibly find his roommate’s name, he shakily raised his hand and checked the back of it.
And sure enough, confirming his hunch, there was a name in neat lettering there.
“Ah, the name Numin does ring a bell.”
His roommate chuckled deeply. “You said that last time.”
Tossing a perked brow up at him, Zero narrowed his eyes playfully.
“Well, then… let’s hope this time it’s louder bells.”
He ended his own retort with a slight chuckle of his own, almost distracted enough to not notice when the door opened for a nurse to hurry in. Numin recognized him as the one who injected the Valium into Zero’s veins this morning, and the viridescent hue of his eyes turned stygian and dark in bitter spite towards a particularly guilty party who Numin saw at blame for this morning’s fiasco.
“Oh-- Mr. Novem, I didn’t expect you up.” Tense, perhaps giving a few cautious glances at Numin to ensure he was still properly restrained, the nurse made his way for Zero’s bedside, only to have his patient narrow his eyes at him in distrust and sit up tensely in his bed, body language insinuating that his memory still recalled the face of who injected Valium into his veins earlier today.
Or perhaps, it was less of the memory of who Anderson was, and more of the innate emotion that seeing him evoked. Not a name, nor face, nor even incriminating action to seed a taste of discontent on Zero’s tongue when he saw the man; rather, it was a raw and visceral recoil, like how one would instinctively recoil from a bee’s sting before they had even realized they have stepped upon one.
Simply put, it was a knee-jerk reaction, memoryless by nature. Yet, the reaction his mind and body naturally had towards the nurse told Zero enough of the story; he was not a friend, nor was he one to be trusted.
“Yeah, I’m sure you would��ve liked not dealing with me for a few more hours, huh?” Leveled as to not betray enough defiance that could warrant another injection, Zero hissed at the nurse ever so begrudgingly.
A few flecks of guilt surfaced in the nurse’s soft umber eyes, uncensored and uninhibited. They gave his patient a genuine look of remorse that both Numin and Zero were surprised to see.
“My apologies for this morning. Things were, um, out of hand… in more ways than one.” Despite him reaching for Zero’s chart and making a few routine recordings of heart rate and alertness, the actions seemed more methodical and habitual rather than cold. “You had sustained quite a bit of damage from your arrest. Your coma was expected to last much longer, and finding you awake and lucid in addition to your roommate being unrestrained probably wasn’t the best atmosphere. The sedation was a tragic necessity to get things under control.”
Audibly in the background, Numin scoffed. But, perhaps in a more complacent state of mind considering his physical circumstances, Zero leaned more towards the believability of Anderson’s words— at least, if only noticeable by the slight release of tension knitting his brow in distaste.
He decided to entertain that the nurse was being truthful. At least, because he had no memories to contradict Anderson’s story of how this morning went.
“How long was I out for?” Inquiring through a hesitant tone, as if to attempt to gauge how serious the nurse actually was on his remorse, Zero pried for some answers.
Or, at least he tried to, if Numin didn’t interject almost immediately.
“A few days. I told you earlier already.” As if they were the only two in the room, Numin shot Zero a stern look, conveying a level of seriousness and intimidation in the darkness of his eyes that wasn’t quite there a moment before in their lighthearted words. And, nestled in the shadows of that darkness was a condensation to the nurse; he wasn’t even going to grace the guilty party with recognition, instead speaking only to Zero.
“A-ah, so have I been… under arrest? I’m not handcuffed to the bed like he is.” Words feeling thick and off balance on his tongue, Zero stuttered them out gracelessly, but not out of meekness to the nurse’s presence; he was instead nervous from the obvious cue from Numin that he wasn’t to continue addressing the nurse.
And, without even looking in his direction, Zero could feel the cold darkness in Numin’s eyes bearing down on him, festering in what the best case scenario is frustration, and worse case anger.
Noting the atmosphere himself, the nurse seemed meek to pique up. It took a few moments before he could muster to.
“You’re temporarily detained, not technically arrested. Your injuries and coma seemed severe enough to not warrant restraints, but if you pose a danger to others or a risk of escape—“ he made a curt yet polite nod towards Numin, signaling his example, “— then, you may also be handcuffed as well.”
“Ah. Makes sense. Guess I’m not complaining, then.” Zero replied back, albeit without complete presence in his own words. There was an obvious distraction hovering over his cadence, perhaps a voice inside him asking if the questions were worth Numin’s irate stare burning through his skin.
“It’s for the better. Honestly, if I’m being level with you, your charges might even be dropped.” Continuing the conversation between short scribbles and readings he was recording, Anderson’s nerves seemed to have ironed out a bit. Perhaps the reality of Numin being confined was comforting. Perhaps the irate glances being the most hostility he was expressing reassured him.
Zero could only guess the nurse has seen him in quite a rage state to be so initially cautious.
“Dropped? Dropped how? Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what my charges even are.” His words were strained, their delivery being just a bit faster than his previous reply, exposing his underlying urge to hear what he was actually arrested over.
Anderson peaked an eyebrow in slight surprise, looking over his clipboard of vitals and notes at his patient.
“You were charged with cyber crimes for breaching the Cray Incorporation’s computers. I don’t know the details, but I’ve been told it’s not exactly a grave offense,” there was a gentleness in his eyes, softening a bit in sympathy, “but, due to the brutality of your arrest and the injuries you sustain, I’m no lawyer but… I don’t exactly see the charges going through.”
A short catch of his breath exposed Zero’s relief and surprise— he honestly didn’t even register his hack as major enough to even be noticed, let alone criminalized.
“Finally, some words from you that have actual meaning: you’re no lawyer. So why don’t you stop talking to him and stringing him along on these guideless assumptions?” Sharply, like the irritation towards Zero was being snuffed out and instead ignited onto Anderson, Numin diverted his attention.
Zero blinked, taken aback but also secretly relieved he was no longer under those threatening eyes.
“I-I’m just saying, that’s what it looks like at the moment. Were you even aware of his charges, Mr. Belua?” Without much confidence underlying his reply, Anderson noticeably tightened his grip on Zero’s chart sheepishly. Nevertheless, his dominant hand still continued their short and purposeful scribbles, as if to hide the idea his nerves around Numin may be preoccupying him.
The restrained, dangerous man chuckled. Zero has never heard someone laugh with both darkness and irritation enveloped together, intertwining in an unnerving way as to coax goosebumps from those who heard. Surely enough, confirming with a quick glance, some bumps were already decorating Zero’s exposed forearms.
“Doesn’t matter what he was charged with. I knew it wasn’t a violent crime, that’s for sure.” Giving his chained fist a quick pound against the bed’s side rail to rattle his handcuffs, Numin made both a show of his aggression and a show of his containment. Nevertheless, there was a bit of a sadistic gleam in his eyes that Zero saw, a noticeable delight Numin took when the poor nurse jumped at his threateningly loud hit against the side rail.
“You know, those handcuffs aren't just for my protection-- they’re for his, as well.” Anderson gestured to Zero, pen still in hand as he pointed, before turning to said patient. “I’m sure for your consideration, you might want to hear he’s a danger to his roommates. He put his last one in the ICU.”
“Don’t you dare!” Numin growled, straightening up in his bed but unable to do anything more than yank threateningly at his cuffs.
“W-what are you talking about?” Zero squeaked back at Anderson, almost meekly at the news.
“I’m talking about why he was put with you. We put him with a comatose patient on purpose… He kept breaking out of his restraints and assaulting the other ones.”
“Because they were disgusting! I couldn’t stand to listen to anything that came out of their worthless mouths!” Numin nearly shouted back, seething with so much irate that it dripped off each syllable like venom. His unshackled hand came down to grab the side rail that he was cuffed to, tightening around the metal in a white-knuckled grip, and he gave another violent shake that sounded close to breaking it. The jarring noise of it made Anderson drop his chart, recoiling with a startled step back.
“Mr.Belua, calm yourself or I’ll have to call in the head nurse.”
“You want me fucking calm!? Then get out of here! I’ll rip your tongue out if you wanna stay and keep talking!” Like an animal in a cage, he thrashed savagely, clanging the handcuffs around in his fit. The bed rattled with it, loud and unnerving, hinting his threat was going to be fulfilled if Anderson dared stay any longer.
Even though the words weren’t even directed at him, Zero found himself curling up nervously, tucking his knees under his chin and holding onto his legs like a surrogate security blanket. Whether between the room’s atmosphere or his surfacing anxiety, the wound on his head throbbed deep with his heart rate, fast and heavy. The air was getting too thick to breath in smoothly.
Weirdly enough, that tone and anger reminded him of his father.
Even the nurse seemed shaken. His eyes only parted off Numin to make a glance at his clipboard and pen on the floor, rethinking his decision to aggravate such an infamous patient. Although it only took a few mere seconds, the racy thoughts in his head to finish his rounds and leave this room was apparent on his face. A few beads of sweat made a constellation of fear on his brow, and rather than make a deal out of this and call in the head nurse, he decided to pretend this didn’t happen.
After all, if worse comes to worse, he didn’t want Numin breaking loose; Anderson already knew he could. And he didn’t want to be the guilty party who had provoked him.
Without much other words, Anderson gave a sorry glance at Zero, before reaching for the chart on the ground. After hastily clipping on the pen and returning it to Zero’s bed post, he turned heel and left, stumbling slightly in his hurry and shutting the door quickly behind him.
It took Zero a few moments before he realized his body was shaking.
He could hear Numin’s quick, frustrated breaths from across the room. Almost like the breathing of a wolf about to growl. Like an impending attack was coming, that maybe if he stayed still and quiet he could avoid. Meekly, Zero slouched into himself, as if trying to not be there.
He’s used to not being there. He’s used to trying to pretend not to exist. If his dad has taught him anything, it was that.
Numin didn’t say a word. Just kept breathing, deep and upset. Angered.
Zero wanted to remember something about his roommate to trust. To fall back on as reassurance that this man wouldn’t vent his anger upon him now that the nurse is gone.
But aided by his anxiety, his memories all seemed distant and fuzzy.
His head was pounding.
All he could feel right now was fear for him. It felt like his father across the room. It felt like that was the last time he had been sober and so afraid of someone before.
“Zero. Are you okay there?”
It was Numin speaking, anger still laced in those words but concern still surfacing. Yet it wasn’t his voice Zero heard.
It was his father’s.
“Say something. P-pl…” hesitating, as if reluctant to cede his pride, the voice dropped an octave lower before continuing, “p-please, just say something, Zero.”
It sounded like his father’s voice. Not him, not Numin-- It was his father.
The memories burned in his head, blistering with the searing pain of his headache. He can’t remember this roommate. For whatever reason, in this godforsaken bright white room, he only remembers his father.
A few sparse tears beaded his lashes, barely held back from rolling down his hot red face.
“Please… I-I didn’t mean to scare you, just… Just tell me you’re okay, Zero.”
The words didn’t even register.
Zero was already gone.
#scp#SCP Foundation#SCP 682#scp 079#scp 079 x scp 682#human au#human scp 079#human scp 682#human 079#Human 682#scp containment breach#scp fandom#scp fanfiction
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Meeting At Long Last - Chapter 2: A New Home
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24753607/chapters/59848063
The forest around her became a blur as she ran. It’s trees and bushes had become lost in the sea of panic that now spread through her with every rapid beat of her heart. As it spread, her haki retreated, and soon it faded altogether, forcing on her to now rely on her most basic senses, but these would be of no help against the more senior members Whitebeard Pirates.
Her best hope was that the crew would decide to focus on the town first. With any luck they would find Mozo, who would distract them long enough for her to get away. No doubt they would look for the person responsible for beating and restraining him, but it would take time for them find her hideaway.
The sea cave she had hidden her ship in was too small for most ships, so there was a chance they wouldn’t search it, assuming they even knew it existed in the first place. Reaching the entrance, she carefully pushed aside the vines that grew across it and slowly placed them back across once she had entered. Keeping the area undisturbed would go a long way to keeping the cave hidden.
The descent to the main cavern was short, and soon the light from the torches she had placed hours ago appeared ahead of her and she knew her ship was near. Escape was tantalizingly close.
These hopes were dashed when she turned the corner and saw the scene before her.
Her ship was split in two. It had been lifted from the water that made up the centre of the cave and dropped unceremoniously on the stone floor. She wondered if it was the drop that had caused the damage or if it had been ripped a part first.
Looking for a source, she quickly found it. Crouching on the stern was the one responsible; Marco, the first division commander of the Whitebeard pirates.
He didn’t look surprised at her presence. In fact, a sense of calm seemed to surround him, despite the fact he’d obviously expected someone to return to this ship.
“A rabbit mask? I didn’t know there was a carnival nearby. Wish I’d been invited.”
An obvious attempt at irritating me. she thought. Is he trying to gauge my reaction?
“You knew about the cave?” she asked, deciding it was best to ignore his previous comment.
He nodded. “Can’t guard your territory properly if you don’t know its layout.”
“Most pirates don’t keep tabs of every nook and cranny of an island.”
Marco gave her a lazy smirk, clearly amused by her response.
“Why’d you attack our island? Looking to start a fight with us?”
“I came became I heard the distress call. When I arrived, I found a pirate named Mozo the Mad raiding the village.”
“Then where is he?”
“I left him on a hill outside the town. I was taking him here when you guys showed up. I may be reckless sometimes but I’m not stupid enough to hang around when the Whitebeard Pirates come to defend their territory.”
“You’re smarter than most of the idiot crews we deal with if that’s true. But I gotta say its suspicious you just happen to be here.” He said, his gaze sizing her up. Clearly, he was thinking this would end in a fight.
She debates bringing up Ace. He was the second division commander, so Marco undoubtedly knew who he was. Still the question was remained; had Ace mentioned her? And if he had, would Marco believe her? She knew too little about Marco to gauge how he would react if he thought she was lying.
Marco didn’t give her a chance to decide. Two flaming blue and gold wings sprout from his back, their tips curling toward him. His calm demeanour remained, but with an added fierceness.
He is like a snake waiting to strike. All he needs is a reason.
“I don’t think you’re lying, but I’m going to bring you to Pops. He can decide what to do with you and Mozo if we find him.”
“I will come pea-“
She was cut off by an eruption of flame that came between her and Marco. The flames had intensity that made them seem alive, creeping along the cave walls and roof seemingly searching for something to consume. The flames lasted only a few seconds, but this was more than enough time for Ace to jump in front of her, acting as a shield against his fellow commander.
“Marco! What the hell were you going to do to Lily!?”
Lily could only see her brothers back, but she could still see the anger in his features and hear it in his voice. It wasn’t his usual anger. It was the type of anger Ace reserved for this who would dare to harm his family.
“You could’ve hurt my sister, you stupid bird brain!”
A shocked expression took over Marco’s face. “Sister? That’s her?”
So Ace had mentioned her.
“Yeah, the cute rabbit mask is a dead giveaway. I told you guys all about her.”
Marco facepalmed.
“You idiot! You never told us what she looked like! You were too scared we’d flirt with her if any of us met her, so you refused to tell us.”
Ace rubbed the back of his head. It was a habit he had developed as a form of wordless apology for when his hotheadedness got the better of him.
“Sorry Marco, but can you blame me? You know how certain crewmates of ours can be.”
Certain crewmates? I wonder who he is talking about.
“But listen Marco, do you really think the Lily I told you about would be involved? She would never hurt innocents like this.”
Marco held his hands up surrender and Lily noticed a weight seemed to be lifted from him.
He seems pleased this did not end in a fight.
“I believe you Ace, still Pop’s will want to see her and hear what happened. Take her to the ship after you gather her things. I’ll find Mozo.”
Ace nodded, and a satisfied Marco stood. He gave her a friendly smile before taking flight and heading toward the cave’s sea entrance.
With Marco’s departure Ace turned his attention to Lily. He gave her a once over, looking for any sign of injury. Satisfied, his smile grew, the joy of seeing his sister after so long plastered on his face.
“I’m so happy to see you Ace. Thank you for rescuing me.”
“What use would I be as your big brother if I couldn’t keep you safe? My family are my most precious treasures.”
Tears welled in her eyes. Only Ace could say something like that and not realise how meaningful it was.
Unaware of the effect his words had on his sibling, Ace turned, taking in the two halves of what had once been her ship. Taking the opportunity, Lily quickly lifted her mask and wiped away the tears with her gloves.
“Come on, lets gather what we can and head for the ship. We’ll take it to my cabin before we see Pops.”
With that the two began searching through the wreckage.
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Lily was certain that Todd Knock, the Mayor of Bell Town was a strange man. The time she had spent on the Grand Line had made what was once extraordinary, mundane. When every island is unique, what was once strange becomes expected and true strangeness becomes a rarity.
Todd was, she thought, a true specimen of strangeness, though she was uncertain what feature truly made him that way. Was it the rusted colander he wore as a hat that was covered in red and green buttercup mushrooms? Maybe it was the suit and shoes he wore that appeared to be made entirely of a random assortment of feathers? Or perhaps his appearance was all a grand illusion created by the yellow spores being slowly expelled by the mushrooms, and apart from the colander he wasn't that strange at all.
The Whitebeard pirates that surrounded her on the deck of the Moby Dick took no interest in the Mayor’s strange appearance. No doubt this wasn’t their first-time meeting, so to them he was no spectacle at all. Instead their attention was focused on their captain, who was listening intently to the Mayor’s account of events, occasionally taking a swing from a sake bottle easily as tall as her in his right hand.
A few also shot glances her way, and while she had expected hostility, she instead saw curiosity and even smiles for a few. Thatch, commander of the 4th division seems especially pleased by her presence, giving her a small wave when she first boarded. She had returned it with a wave of her own and a small smile that only she knew was there.
“So, she wasn’t involved?” Whitebeard asked, as he swirled the bottle in his hand.
“No sir, if anything we should thank her for her help.”
Making good on his words, the Mayor turned to face her.
“Thank you for your assistance Miss Lily.”
Lily gave a small nod. “Of course, I’m happy you’re all safe.”
Whitebeard took a long swing of sake. Small streams of the liquid flowed out of his mouth and down the side of his face as he drank. Once he finished, he sat the bottle back on his knee.
“Now that matter has been resolved, we need to discuss her ship. Is it truly unfixable?”
Ace who had been standing silently beside her was the one who spoke.
“Yeah, Marco really did a number on it.” Ace turned to her. An amused grin plastered on his face.
“I hope you weren’t too attached to the ship sis. The pineapple head can be as dense as Luffy sometimes.”
“Oi! Don’t go blaming me, I thought she was our enemy.” Marco said in a defensive tone.
Ace chuckled again before addressing his captain.
“We should take her with us Pops, least till we can get her a new ship.”
Whitebeard’s eyes shifted to her. Her mask covered her face, but she could still feel his gaze met her eyes. She would have expected it to be filled with hostility or be at the very least intimidating. After all, he was one of the four Emperors. Yet all she felt was kindness and warmth, and surprisingly, a touch of concern.
“There is a shipwright island a month from here. We will take you there and pay for a ship equal to Mozo’s bounty. Mozo is ours though.”
His tone made it clear this wasn’t up for discussion, at least regarding Mozo. Still, she felt the need to protest travelling with them. Any bounty hunter seen travelling on a pirate ship would have their reputation called into question. Not to mention the possibility of a bounty if she became involved in the wrong incident.
Unsure how to respond, she looked at her brother. He had a wide grin on his face and a look of encouragement in his eyes. One of his greatest joys was spending time with his siblings and them being a part for so long made her realise he was eager to catch up and spend some time together, just as she was.
With an internal sigh and the feeling, she was in for quite the adventure, she spoke.
“Thank you, I gladly accept the offer.”
With the matter settled, Whitebeard turned his attention to his crew.
“Ace show her to a spare cabin. The rest of you make sure the town has enough supplies to rebuild then prepare to set sail.”
With their order given the deck burst to life, becoming something more akin to a busy city street then the deck of a pirate ship. People shifted around each other, all heading to different parts of the vessel. She had only just begun to take in her surrounding when a warm hand gripped hers and she was gently pulled.
Eyes temporarily blinded by the now rising sun, it didn’t take her long to realise that Ace was responsible.
“Come on Lily, I wanna show you around.”
Ace quickly came to a sprint, which Lily matched with ease. It wasn’t the first time one of her brothers had suddenly started dragging her somewhere. It bought a nostalgic feeling to her that made her smile.
‘Ace bring her back here! We haven’t properly introduced ourselves.” A voice shouted from behind. Lily turned to see its source but couldn’t see one amongst the mass of bodies moving to answer their captains order.
“Sorry guys, Pop’s orders!” Ace shouted back, the joy clear in his voice.
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The two stood in front of three evenly spaced out wooden doors. They were identical to the many others they had passed, the only difference being the empty plaques on each that were just below her eye level.
“There’re more empty cabins on the other side of the ship, but I though you would like not having too many people nearby.”
Ace pointed to the middle door. “It’s this one, right?”
“Definitely. I need my space for my woodcarving. It gets weird sometimes.”
Ace arched an eyebrow. “Weird?”
“Have you heard of many woodcarvers who have been known to violently throw their failed creations?”
Ace laughed. “Still hitting people when their sleep like you did with Dadan?”
She smiled “I did hit a Vice Admiral in the eye when I visited grandpa. He just laughed and I almost got chased out of the marine base for it.”
Ace laughed and gave her a light pat on the back. It was a clear sign he was proud of her accomplishment.
“Shame you didn’t get a bounty, then you could’ve joined up with us.”
He looked her in the eyes, a serious expression on his face.
“Do you want to join? I’m sure Pop’s will let you.”
Lily shook her head “No thank you, Ace. I’m happy bounty hunting and piracy was never my dream as much as it was for you three. I’ve always wanted to keep people safe, and bounty hunting is how I can do it.”
“Fair enough. Do you think Luffy will accept when he goes out to sea?”
“Definitely not. Won’t stop you from asking though, will it?”
“Nope!”
As he finished speaking, a sudden realisation hit Ace’s face.
“Crap! We forgot the grab your stuff from my cabin. I’ll go get it. Wait here for me and don’t let Thatch show you around if he shows up, that’s my job!”
Before she could question him about why Thatch would be so eager to give her a tour of the ship, Ace was already running in the direction they’d come from.
Turning her attention back to the door, she clasped the handle and turned it, letting light flood into the room that would be hers for the next month.
The room was, unsurprisingly, sparsely furnished. A double bed was placed against the centre of the back wall, its wooden frame matching the two beside tables that were placed on each of its sides. To her right was a writing desk and chair, a box labelled ‘dozen candles and matches’ sat atop it. Her left had a large mahogany chest with a copper clasp.
Walking inside, she made her way to the desk and opened the box. She was happy to see wax holders were included. Ace was enough of a fire hazard and the last thing she needed was to have to deal with a candle causing a fire too.
Deciding to sort out the lighting situation before nightfall, she grabbed four candles and candle holders from the box. She placed one on each bedside table and two on each side of the desk. Lighting them, she closed the door to test her setup. To Lily’s delight the candles illuminated the room well. The corner with the chest was the most dimly lit, and she debated asking for a wax holder she could mount to the wall.
Four quick knocks on the door drew her from her musing. It wasn’t Ace, he would’ve talked to her through the door rather than knock.
“Lily, are you in this cabin? I brought you some breakfast.” It was a male voice she didn’t recognise, but the tone was a cheery one.
Her stomach rumbled in reply. It had been almost a day since she had eaten anything substantial and she would feel the effects if she didn’t eat soon. Eager for a meal, she walked forward and opened the door.
#one piece#onepiece#one-piece#marco the phoenix#marco#marco the pineapple#fushichou marco#alternate universe#soulmate#soulmate au#alternate universe - soulmates#soulmates#au#alternative universe#whitebeard pirates#oc#original character#original female character#portgas_d_ace#portgas d. ace#thatch#one piece thatch#whitebeard#whitebeard one piece
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also can we talk about Lorelei for a hot second here
long Lorelei analysis post incoming (also i have a friend named that in real life so... hiiii this isn’t about you, promise <3)
listen,,, i’ve been on since the beginning that i don’t trust her yet and i think its pretty reasonable. we’ve got all these returning characters (seriously, like Axton, Gaige, Salvador, Krieg, Maya, Zer0, Lilith, Brick, Mordecai, Tina, LB, Gortys, Rhys, Vaughn, Fiona, Sasha, shit maybe even August or Cassius, Claptrap, Timothy, Aurelia, Hammerlock, Moxxi, Marcus, Tannis, Ellie, well you get the idea)
all these returning characters and they introduce a new one! and she’s the only new main character we know of so far outside of the twins and well the new VHs (who are very good for obvious reasons)
And ive seen it mentioned multiple times that Lorelei was “a beautiful siren who sat upon a rock in the Rhine River and lured sailors to shipwreck and death”. Well we know she’s not a in-game Siren (that we can see. her left arm is left uncovered, but she’s got no tattoos) and we know name meaning isn’t a great indication of allegiance in the borderlands series. I mean, we’ve got a Lilith... and she’s our new leader lmao
so its entirely possible she could become a Siren during the events of the game. I’m worried about that because, so far, the only one we know who can take Sirens powers is Tyreen, so we can assume that means she’d be the one who can transfer them, as well. (for simplicity’s sake, i won’t talk about how i think troy is the output here lmao)
It could also be shown in-game how people can get Siren powers in the Borderlands universe, I know in one of the interviews it was stated we might learn more about that, though iirc they wanted to keep it a little bit of a mystery. I like that a lot tbh, mostly cause they seem to enjoy fan interpretations (notice me senpai goddamnit)
from the interview (i promise im getting to the full analysis lmao i am working thru a lot of old drafts):
“Are new Sirens created when old ones die?
Danny Homan: These are all great questions. You might find out some of that in this game. Who knows?
Can existing people become Sirens?
Danny Homan: Um, that’s an interesting question. I mean, there’s a lot of ways that someone can become a Siren. It’s not a de facto X-Men kind of thing. There’s some different conditions that kind of arise. Yeah, Sirens are unique and I feel like we like to keep it a little amorphous. What we like the most is when fans kind of create their own myths and stories about how this kind of stuff happens. As a writer we try not to definitively say one thing because there’s a lot possible.”
personally, i think his “um, that’s an interesting question” kinda confirms we will at the very least learn something about this. the best thing that could occur is that we get to see it happen!
sooo let’s theorize now!
Was Lorelei a Siren before the twins? well the timeline doesn’t really match up. In BL1 we have Angel, Steele, Lilith, Tyreen, Amara, and Maya all alive. If we’re going with the theory that Tyreen isn’t a natural Siren then it could be possible? Maybe they found a different way to steal Siren powers before Tyreen had powers, or Tyreen was gifted her powers from the red Vault and became the 7th Siren.
I personally dunno about Lorelei being a Siren before the game begins, but it is possible! She’s got that hombre look a couple of the Sirens we know have (Amara and Lilith with their dyed tips- shit Maya’s hair is even darker at the ends) and her outfit seems to account for Siren tattoos with the exposed left arm. It could be possible that Tyreen took her powers and sent her to go work undercover with Atlas to get information on Vault (which we can’t get until we talk to Rhys) and/or weaken Atlas from the inside while they’re under attack by Maliwan. I think I mentioned back when she was first revealed that she was the mysterious woman on the MoM. She’s not shown to have wings, so I don’t think she’s a Siren before the events of the game, unless she is that little girl we see to the right of Troy (which I hard doubt because the girl has gauges and Lorelei seems to just have regular-ass earrings. Personally, I think the little girl is an Angel-type situation whose powers either have some use to the cult (eg future-sight, brain-washing) or she had her powers stolen by Tyreen already (and maybe became Little Blue? I like the theory that Little Blue betrays us and becomes her, though. we’re too trusting of little kids in these games. I’m looking at you, Pickle))
Is Lorelei a Siren now? iiii dunno about that. Again with the timeline and the whole “Tyreen may not be a natural Siren” shebang. But, also, she doesn’t have the tattoos. Maybe her powers have something to do with deception or illusions? but I don’t get why she’d hide her tattoos if she’s on our side. If she’s on the Calypso’s side, then why send a Siren out to work for Atlas? Again, she could be used to weaken the inside of Atlas/get information, but you could send literally anybody with half a brain instead of one of the most powerful beings in the universe.
Will Lorelei become a Siren? it’s possible. i think this is the most likely thing that could happen. her outfit design would 100% allow the tattoos to show up without sacrificing anything.
How does she become a Siren? well... I dunno lmao, there are so many possibilities.
She could be working with the Calypsos and gets her powers through Tyreen
She could be gifted powers by some Eridians/a Vault/weird alien bullshit
She could be the next one chosen (?) to take on Lilith’s/Maya’s/Tyreen’s powers after they die.
She could be the one to get the powers after Tyreen gives up the ones she’s collected (be it through death, willingness to do so, or otherwise) and one of the people they were meant to return to is dead... so it just goes to Lorelei (?)... maybe its a proximity thing. like Fruits and Devil Fruit powers. iunno
i got no concrete ideas and idk if I know enough about her character to say affirmatively what’s gonna happen
tbh i doubt she will actually betray us/work with the calypsos and then either NOT rejoin our side or straight-up get killed, mostly because she’s a side-quest giver and i don’t think gearbox would lock away all those quests by killing her off. i mean, roland had no direct side-quests in bl2 so i don’t think they’d be dicks and make it so you can never complete her side quests in that playthrough by killing her off or making her join the other team without reversing that decision by the end of the campaign.
still don’t trust her yet tho
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The Scientist (Chapter 29)
Summary: In the events following Asgard’s destruction, Loki finds himself on Earth seeking refuge to await the inevitable. Much to his surprise, it comes from a source he would never have expected.
AO3 Link
The Soundtrack So Far
Warnings: angst, Loki being a casual bitch
Word count: 2.3k
A/N: Amazing, and look at me, releasing a chapter in less than 2 weeks. Thanks for sticking with it so far. I have never written something this massive, but I'm glad I started. This chapter was going to be one huge one, but I figured I'd go easy on you guys and split it into two parts. I know some of y'all got school and finals looming on the horizon, so take it easy. But make sure to take it.
Masterlist
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The first few days of the New Year progressed as they had for the past few months as though nothing had changed. Interactions went as desired, and peace in the home remained sustained. Luna's holiday break from work would last for another long weekend, as would the snow surrounding her apartment complex. Once the time was gone, it was back on the grind.
Loki was getting his fill of her, watching her every move whether she was aware of it or not. He carefully gauged their conversations, asking questions to things he felt she may shy away from, each time toeing the line set between them. It was tempting to cross it or sway Luna to move it, but he staved off such desires. It was too soon to take such heavy risks.
Engrossed in his new device, Loki perused the internet, reading clickbait-y tabloids and watching cat videos, all from the palm of his hand. If he had such a thing on Asgard, he would have never bothered to venture outside his room. As much as he detested Stark, his products were fantastic.
On the opposite end of the couch, Luna was deep into her own activity, her own phone sitting in her room. In its place, she busied her hands with a bundle of strings and a piece of paper dictating instructions on how to tie them.
“What are you doing?” Loki inquired.
She threw him a side glance. “Making a friendship bracelet for Tony. I promised him a Christmas present, so here it is,” Luna said, tying another colored knot.
“I thought you said he wasn’t really your friend.”
“Yeah, but what do you get a man who has everything and can buy anything?” She held up her partially-done creation. “Something handmade, of course.”
Loki gave a light chuckle. “Of course,” he echoed.
She set the bracelet back in her lap and continued. “If you’re jealous, I can make one for you too. I used to do it for all the Avengers, no matter if they liked jewelry or not.”
Loki put his gaze back to his phone. "If you wish, I won't object,” he said, missing Luna’s little smirk. She could read him well, but sometimes he suspected she forgot how well he could read her. Or rather, how hard he tried.
He could assess her emotions with ease, but their origins were tricky. He got a goodly amount of information from her diaries and the personal belongings he looked through, but the blank spaces were a mystery. Any piece he came upon, he filled in with his own experiences involving other people. Such things have been unreliable in his past. However, when push came to shove, he was forced to make do with them now.
Forgetting the random blog post on the screen, Loki pondered on his findings in regards to his unlikely friend. She was kind, headstrong, loving, intelligent, and realistic. Any problems she had, she dealt with and didn’t try to create more. She kept a sturdy house despite being alone in it. It perplexed him, but he accepted it wholeheartedly.
But Luna’s sides didn’t stop. Peter and Tony were closest to her, but she wasn't entirely comfortable with them. Mentions of her family were met with quick diversions, and talks of love or past relationships were countered by indifference and disdain. She hid something from him. As impressed as he was by her ability to do so, he craved the unknown.
And now she makes friendship bracelets for people she’s not friends with. Interesting.
Clicking his phone off, Loki angled his body towards Luna. “I think I’ve got it.”
Luna glanced his way. “Got what?”
“You.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Me?”
“Yes. I’ve finally figured you out.”
She scoffed and returned her attention to the assembly of the bracelet in her lap. “Alright, tell me what you think you know about me.” She acted as unfazed as she felt. She’s heard such lines from the boys she was acquainted with in college. In this instance, Loki is no different from them, so she expects falsehoods and misconceptions.
Loki threw an arm around the back of the couch, his hand inches away from Luna’s shoulder. “You’re all alone here.”
“Obviously.”
“And that makes you lonely.”
“Again, obviously.”
“Though you’re friendly, you don’t cling to people. You keep them close, but far enough so you can push them away at the right time. You do this with Stark, Rhodes, and Peter. You guard yourself from friends and from love.”
Luna shook her head. “You know, you’re really going to have to try harder because that sounds just like every depressed teen going through puberty.”
“You find some aspect about yourself undesirable. Whether someone told you or you decided it is, you can’t get rid of it, and it eats at you.” Loki gripped the back of the couch and pulled himself closer to her. “Your cordiality is a façade to cover up for something seated deep within you, something dark.”
Luna's hands stopped their knotting. Her skin felt icy and hot, her jaw clenched tight, and her heart beat like a bird’s wings in flight. The air unsettled around her. Could Loki feel it too?
“Again, Loki, try harder,” she said quietly.
Loki leaned back. “Oh, I intend to, so long as you play these games with me.”
Luna gasped and whirled around, aiming her pointer finger at Loki’s chest. He pulled back more, surprised. “Don’t ever say I play games with you! I do no such thing!” she yelled, her nerves and face on fire.
Loki knew she was right, but old habits die hard. “Well, what do we have here? Is that anger?” He leaned his face closer to hers and watched as her expression contorted into one of shock, then rage.
Using her finger like a spear, Luna stabbed the center of Loki’s sternum, pushing him further into the cushions. “Don’t,” she growled.
Grabbing her craft and its instructions with a crunch, she got up and marched back to her room without another word. Pushing the door shut and locking it, Luna sank down to the floor, hands covering her face. The raging fire in her veins simmered down as it was joined by the telltale prickle of fear. Her temper got the best of her. Loki’s words deserved to be silenced in the manner they were, but they made Luna lose herself. It was embarrassing and disgraceful and made the scars on her legs itch and ache. She scratched her thighs over her leggings, but it did nothing to help.
Loki was dangerous. His inquisitive nature proved as much. It was clear he snooped through her things, but what else did he know and think? He was capable of toying with her emotions and not feeling the least bit sorry if he poked the wrong area. Luna knew so, but she let her guard down enough for him to hit her where it hurts.
But he was right; right about her harboring a dark secret close to her heart. Much of it was written out on her skin. He showed no signs of knowing what it is, but he was determined enough to make her spill it if he wanted to. Luna ground her teeth.
On the other hand, he accused her of playing games with him. Manipulating him. She never did and had no intentions to. How dare he charge her with such a fault? Luna rose back to her feet, whipped her glasses off, and face-planted on her bed. She hoped Loki was happy with himself because she certainly wasn’t.
Loki sat quiet, one hand lying still by his side and the other over the spot where Luna jabbed him. He stared at the wall – mind blank – trying to see through it, past it. Over the many people he’d angered in his life, being on the receiving end of Luna’s anger felt like the worst of them all. His snide comments got the better of him, and he touched a nerve he wasn't supposed to. A place no one was meant to tread. And here he went in and walked all over it without her permission.
Bringing his hand up and covering his mouth, the last words his mother spoke to him surfaced in his mind: ‘Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself.’ With an anguished groan, he put his head in his hands and shook it. He made the mistake of mistakes. He transgressed in a way he may not be able to redeem himself from.
Next in the imaginary line to whisper words of wisdom in his ear was his brother: ‘Life is about growth. It's about change.’ Yes, indeed it was. Loki had changed enough to gain a worthwhile companion. Someone not looking to use him or hurt him to get what they want and pervert the title of ‘friend,' but someone who knew the value of him. Someone who liked him – free of all illusions and disguises – but he gracefully dashed those prospects away. The look in Luna’s eyes told him enough of how he hurt her and how deep it went.
‘But you seem to just want to stay the same.’
No. Loki did not want to stay the same. He wouldn’t stand idly by and let his beautiful friend slip away from him. She clothed and fed him when no one else would, stayed up with him when he couldn’t sleep, danced with him solely for the sake of having fun with him. Nothing was worth maintaining her fury against him.
Grabbing his phone, he opened up the text app and sent one to Luna: ‘please come back out.’ Loki heard a ping from her room and watched the screen with anticipation, willing a response from her to pop up. A little ‘read’ appeared beneath his message, but nothing more of note. He tried again, but no sound was heard. Another ‘read’ marked his text, and he was granted no more.
Loki kept up a repetitive motion, of sorts. He would choose a spot to sit, send a text, and pace, waiting for a response. He never received one, but he’s as stubborn as they come. Luna had to emerge from her room at some point. She couldn’t stay in and go hungry. The thought to break her door down drifted into his mind, but it left as quickly as it came. The apartment was public property. If he destroyed it, Luna wouldn’t be the only person cross with him.
She did come out about an hour after the sun had set. The glance she shot him on her way to the kitchen burned his heart like a hot knife. Albeit calm, her upset emotions hadn’t settled. He didn’t blame her. He would be mad too.
“How about leftovers? I don’t feel like cooking,” Luna called out. Reluctant to raise his voice at her, Loki shot up from his seat and made his way to her side in front of the open fridge. “I'll have curry and rice. You can have whatever." She pulled a bowl and water glass from the cupboard.
“I’ll have the same,” Loki said evenly, treading lightly with his words. Though Luna wasn’t looking at him, she was speaking to him, and he wanted her to keep it up.
From the cold pot of rice, she pressed into it firmly with a clean spoon, slowly breaking apart the mass into pieces she could scoop into her bowl. Once done, she pushed the pot and spoon in Loki’s direction for him to take as much as he liked. He copied her method and served himself.
They filled their bowls the rest of the way with as much leftover curry as they liked, effectively emptying the Tupperware container. Luna heated hers up first with Loki waiting patiently for his turn. Bringing everything they needed to the couch, Loki sat in his spot and switched on the television. Luna placed herself as far away from him as she could. It made Loki antsy. She always sat closer.
Leaning towards her, Loki spoke, pleading with her. “Talk to me.”
Luna didn’t bother looking at him. “I have nothing to say to you,” she stated, taking a sip of water and changing the channel to a nature show about Indian wildlife.
Loki took the hint. She was intent on not talking to or hearing him. However, circumstances as they were, he still admired her. Personally, he would have started a fight as soon as he could and argued his way to receiving an apology from his offender. Luna's method ensured she gets her way as well as keep the peace in the home, her silent treatment stoking Loki’s guilty conscience as it was meant to.
They took their time eating, hungry for good food but lacking in a proper appetite. Luna finished hers first and rinsed her bowl out at the first chance she got. She didn’t rejoin him. On the way back to her room, she stopped at the doorway to the little hallway and gave him one last look.
“I’ll be up for a while so you can shower first if you want to.”
Loki didn't get a chance to respond. She was gone, the door shut and locked behind her, allowing her to have the last word. He opted to let her sleep on it. In the morning, her temperament would be cooled down enough for her to hear him with a level head. He would have a proper apology ready by then.
He did take her advice and freshen himself up enough to sleep comfortably. Leaving the books alone, he read anything and everything he could find on his phone until it slipped from his weak hand. He took the hint from his body and turned it off, eager for sleep to take him.
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Taglist: @the-doctor-9-10 @pinkieperil @sherlockfan4life
#loki x oc#loki x ofc#loki x reader#the scientist#loki fanfic#slow burn#multi chapter#chapter 29#loki laufeyson#loki odinson#loki friggason#loki fanfiction#fanfic#fanfiction#fic#marvel#mcu#marvel fanfiction#marvel fic#marvel fanfic#marvel cinematic universe#mcu fanfiction#mcu fic#mcu fanfic#luna fields#angst#wow
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When I Knew I Needed to Divorce My Husband, According to 8 Women
Divorce, most often, is the period at the end of a very long sentence. It arrives, we know, after years of frustration, communication breakdowns, resentment, and the like. But what are the specific reasons? Why, aside from the obvious, do certain married couples end their relationship? When do they decide it’s not worth fighting for anymore? To find out, we asked eight women when they realized that divorce was the only path forward in their marriage. It turns out that some efforts have an expiration date, and that sometimes, trying to fix the irreparable is impossible.
“It had gone way too long with nothing getting better.”
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I ended up leaving after not just one pivotal thing, but all the little things that led up to it. All the arguing that couldn’t be resolved; bad behavior that couldn’t be fixed. We were at an impasse, and that was when I started to consider leaving. I heard somewhere that the average woman thinks about leaving a marriage 10 times before they actually do. Basically, it just came to a day where I knew the situation had gotten way too bad for way too long. Way too long without anything being resolved. So I decided to leave.
— Colleen, 54, D.C.
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“When my life got tough, he didn’t step up.”
Accepting that it was over took a really long time. I probably first realized, in all honesty, two years before I filed. I started to think: maybe ’til death do us part’ doesn’t make sense. I wanted to do everything I could to save it. But at some point I realized this was the path we were probably going to go down. I was very accepting of his small flaws. But he was breaking promises. That stuff happens naturally in all marriages, but it was hard for me to gauge his level of commitment until we hit the real rough patches. For me, when there were things that came up in my life that had me at my lowest; my mom getting sick, he didn’t step up to be a partner. There was an unwillingness to change on his part. He couldn’t step up to be the partner that I needed.”
— Marie, 35, New York
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“His small insults turned into abuse.”
I never wanted to get divorced. I had moments of clarity, but I shut them down. I mean, I remember one time telling my coworker who got a bouquet of flowers that that was so wonderful. She asked if I had gotten anything and I said no, but that my husband was so wonderful, everyday. I didn’t mind. But I think on that now — and that was just a lie! But I needed to keep that going to help the marriage move forward. But then it got too much. His small insults turned into abuse. That’s when I gave myself mental permission to say, I’ve got to get out. I’m not going to survive this unless I get out. That’s when it all clicked and I said I’m not going to have my daughter raised in this situation. That was 4 and a half years into our marriage. I married really young, and there were lots of signs that I overlooked.
— Liz, 54, Alaska
“He really tried. But no matter how hard he tried, I couldn’t see a future.”
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I knew it was over because I lost respect for him. When we both decided to give our marriage a shot, I do believe he gave it his all. He went to counseling. He really tried. It was just that, no matter how hard he tried, I couldn’t respect him. I couldn’t see any credibility in him. I just wanted a nurturing relationship for our future family; and I wanted to show my future children that it was about respect, not just love. But no matter what he tried, it was just not happening. That’s when I knew.
— Micaela, 31, California
“His entire attitude changed after we got married.”
With my first marriage, he was the father of my children. I wanted us to work through it. So time kept going and going — but I finally realized that I needed to do what I could to support my family. And, if he wanted to come along and move to New York, he could, but there wasn’t anything left between us. There had been a lot of lies. That wasn’t the kind of family unit that I wanted. My oldest was 4 and my youngest was 18 months, but by the time that my youngest was 16 or 17 months old, I knew that something had to be done. I made arrangements. I got a on a plane with my sons, my suitcases, a couple of hundred dollars. With my second marriage, I think I knew it was over probably within a year of the marriage beginning. His entire attitude changed. I had gone into it wanting it to work. It had taken me so long to remarry. I thought I had made the right choice. I went into it thinking my eyes were wide open and really I thought it was going to be a lifetime event. I had finally had enough. I knew marriage was a lot of work — but he broke the camel’s back. And that was it.
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— Sylvia, 67, Connecticut
“I felt like I was single.”
Looking back, there were warning signs way early in the relationship. But then we had kids, and kids take over your life. Kids are able to mask a lack of intimacy and emotional connection. At some point, a friend of mine and I had hatched a plan. Seven years before we separated, I already knew that we were going to separate — it was just a matter of time, even though we’d never had the conversation. I think the actual tipping point for me was that I had gone with a friend to visit some other friends in Florida, in December. My girlfriend had a bunch of people over, including some single men. Everybody else was single except for me.I was the only one who was married. But you wouldn’t have known it. Everybody treated me as if I was single. I felt as if I was single. That was really my tipping point. I felt like, oh wow, I need to make this the reality.
— Xanet, 58, California
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“He only decided to give sobriety a try after he realized I was going to leave him.”
He was sober when we got married. I knew. He had told me he was an alcoholic. He was sober for years. And then he started drinking again. So it was really slow, because I was trying to help him get sober. I knew he could do this and I thought we could work together and make it happen. He saw me pulling away and that was when he started deciding to be sober. It just didn’t feel genuine. Things got more volatile between us. It felt like there was a lot more yelling. We were always fighting. I wasn’t happy when he came home. I remembered what it was like to be excited. He traveled a lot for work. I’d be like, yay, he’s coming home! But it got to the point where I’d be disappointed if he was home a bit early. That was a big sign for me. I worked to try to overcome it, but there were just too many things going on.
— Amy, 41, Virginia
“There was always this time we were going to get to where our marriage would be different.”
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I had been thinking off and on for five years. We talked about it, and I said I was going to go to Tulum for a while, and see what that was like. I honestly didn’t immediately think “divorce,” at least not at that point. I thought we would separate and then see how it goes. Divorce only came up in the last few months; I knew we were not getting back together. We were inherently two different people; that was always true from the beginning. He’s a good man. But we were just no longer meant to be together. There was just a disconnect; there was always this time we were going to get to where our marriage was going to be different. That time was never real. It was an illusion.
— Amy, 49, Mexico
Source: https://bloghyped.com/when-i-knew-i-needed-to-divorce-my-husband-according-to-8-women/
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Quick question on Dantana since you talked about that a bit in your last ask: we all know that Santana didn't love Dani and that they were together for like, a day, but then how come Santana was so fast to go "official" with her? like by the end of 5x02 which was when they met Dani was already her "girlfriend"? i remember being so confused about that when it happened
Hey, @tryingtoohardddd!
The really short answer here is that Santana essentially rushes into dating Dani because she is trying to convince herself she’s ready to move on from Brittany, even though she is totally, completely not.
The long answer is under the cut, and, gee willikers, is it rambling.
_______
So to start out, let’s review a bit from the previous ask:
Being in a long-distance relationship is really, really hard on both Brittany and Santana.
Santana breaks up with Brittany not because she doesn’t love her anymore but rather because she loves her so much that she hates seeing her suffer.
When Santana takes this action, she is very torn inside.
On the one hand, she wants Brittany to be able to find happiness wherever she can, even if that’s with someone other than herself at least for the time being. She realizes that Brittany needs a partner who is physically present with her on an everyday basis—who can touch her and comfort her and make her smile and hold her hand. She gets that having that kind of support is crucial to Brittany’s emotional well-being, and since she knows she can’t be present to offer it to Brittany herself, she is trying to do the right thing by giving Brittany the freedom to seek it out elsewhere. Even though she knows she will be miserable following the breakup, she loves Brittany so much that she is willing to sacrifice her own personal happiness if there’s a chance that her doing so will help Brittany to be happy.
On the other hand, she also can’t help but dread the notion of Brittany dating someone else who’s not her. Yes, she is all about Brittany being happy, but it’s still really hard for her to imagine Brittany being happy with somebody else. As stated elsewhere, Santana is a super anxious person, and letting Brittany go without having any guarantee that they’ll get back together again someday puts her heart through the ringer.
Though she probably never acknowledges as much to herself, she secretly hopes for a “minimal damage” scenario.
In her mind, the ideal outcome for this situation would be that after she and Brittany break up, Brittany casually dates a couple randos and derives some happiness from doing so while she—Santana—waits patiently on the sidelines, maintaining enough best friendly contact to be able to gauge Brittany’s feelings for her. Though Brittany has a good time out on the town, it remains abundantly clear that her heart is still with Santana. Eventually, Brittany graduates, and she and Santana pick up right where they left off before. It’s no harm, no foul.
—and at least initially, that’s kind of the way things seem to happen.
Brittana break up, but Brittany makes it obvious that Santana is still her one and only. Santana plays the strong one, maintaining some ostensible boundaries even though, secretly, she takes comfort in the fact that Brittany hasn’t yet run off to find a new s.o.
Santana remains hopeful that once the initial shock from the breakup subsides, Brittany may be able to casually date or at least have a more active social life. But based on Brittany’s professions of continued love for her, she’s not really anticipating that Brittany will be hopping into another serious relationship any time soon.
To start out, she is probably fairly anxious about how Brittany might use her “newfound freedom” in terms of dating. But as more time goes on, she gets lulled into a sense of security. Brittany still loves her, so she doesn’t have to worry, right?
Then Tina calls Santana and shatters her illusions with one little word: “Bram.”
Again, as discussed in this post, the main thing that causes Santana to freak out when she learns that Sam is Brittany’s boyfriend is the fact that Brittany doesn’t give her a heads-up. Santana starts the day thinking that she and Brittany are still one the same page—technically broken up but still emotionally monogamous with each other—but then Tina calls her, and all of a sudden she has to question whether or not Brittany actually reciprocates her feelings. That Brittany could get into what is seemingly a serious, long-term relationship with Sam and not even tell her about it throws her for a loop. She starts to second-guess the situation, particularly because her own feelings for Brittany remain unchanged.
It takes a lot of effort on Brittany’s part to convince Santana that, ultimately, even though she’s dating Sam now, she hasn’t fallen out of love with Santana.
One of the appeals she makes to Santana to persuade her of this fact is to point out that part of the reason they broke up was so that they could find happiness in the moment while they’re waiting for their happily-ever-afters.
Though initially Brittany didn’t understand the reasoning behind the breakup, she now understands it better than Santana does. She and Santana can’t be together for the time being, but even so there’s no reason why they should both be miserable and lonely. It’s okay for them to look for happiness where they can find it. They’ve just got to trust that one day they’ll be able to make it back to each other. Brittany truly believes that they’re meant to be, so they’ll find each other again someday.
That’s why she actively encourages Santana to find her own midgame pairing (“Why shouldn’t you get the chance to be around people who are like you, who appreciate you? Be a part of a community? Why can’t you have a real girlfriend? But not a best friend ‘cause that part’s already taken”).
—the trouble is that Santana has always found it more difficult to trust in the goodness of the universe than Brittany has.
So now that Brittany is dating Sam, Santana is thrown off her axis.
She tries to trust that even though Sam and Brittany are together for now, she and Brittany will be together in the end, but she isn’t entirely convinced, not when all her personal experience tells her that the world is a cruel place and that sometimes even the best intended actions can have terrible consequences and that few things in life are fair and almost nothing is certain.
She really falters for a long time—all the way up until Brittany gets accepted into MIT and moves to Cambridge, and then she has to deal with a whole new slew of doubts and uncertainties because even though Sam is out of the picture, there’s still no guarantee that she and Brittany will ever get back together.
It doesn’t help that she is constantly in a state of self-sabotaging when it comes to maintaining a friendship with Brittany even while they’re broken up. For as easily as she could call Brittany or visit her in Cambridge, she doesn’t because she’s worried that she’s already ruined their relationship beyond repair, and she subconsciously fears that Brittany will reject her. Rather than simply asking Brittany, “Hey, are we still cool?” she just assumes that they’re not and that she deserves to suffer in Brittany’s absence because, after all, this whole mess is her fault because she’s the one who broke them up to begin with. She doesn’t dare reach out to Brittany in friendship because she considers herself unworthy.
Instead, she suffers in isolation in NYC, trying to substitue her measly pittance of a “friendship” with Hummelberry for what she really wants.
It’s during this time that Santana first meets Dani, which brings us to the place where we can actually answer your real question:
How come Santana is so fast to go “official” with Dani (even though she is typically so slow to warm up, and she barely knows Dani when they first start dating)?
Rapid-fire, now:
Santana starts dating Dani so quickly because it’s what she thinks she should be doing. After all, that’s the whole reason she broke up with Brittany to begin with, right? So that they could both find happiness in the moment, even if their long-term happiness with each other was temporarily on hold.
Isn’t that what Brittany reminded her of during the events of episode 4x13?
If Brittany was able to find some temporary happiness with Sam, then Santana should be able to find some temporary happiness with Dani.
—and especially because, at present, Santana isn’t sure that she and Brittany will ever get back together again.
Santana started out this whole “adventure” thinking that she had to temporarily let Brittany go for a few months until Brittany graduated, but then Brittany could move to NYC, and they could immediately get back together just like nothing had happened at all. But then Brittany blindsided her by dating Sam, and even though that relationship didn’t amount to anything in the long run, it did become the first event in a long series of events that has since seemingly conspired to keep Brittana apart indefinitely. Ever since Bramgate, nothing has gone according to Santana’s plans. Brittany graduated, yeah, but her graduation didn’t result in her and Santana getting back together. Now she’s off at MIT doing god knows what, and Santana has barely even talked to her in months, and there’s no obvious path for them to get back to each other, if Brittany even wants to at this point. Plus, everything else in Santana’s life is a crapshoot. It’s like she’s living in the Friends theme song: Her job’s a joke, she’s broke, her love life’s D.O.A. She has no idea what she’s doing or where she’s going.
—so why the hell not date Dani?
After all, in her mind, she’s probably never going to be lucky enough to get back together with Brittany, so she may as well accept her fate and try as best she can to move forward. Sure, she knows that Brittany is the love of her life, and she’s always going to love her. That’s never going to change. But if she can’t be with the one she loves, maybe she can try to love the one she’s with.
—and Dani is pretty and nice and cool.
Hell, she’s everything a baby lesbian in NYC could want in a girlfriend. It’s just that she’s also not Brittany.
In her heart of hearts, Santana knows that she’s really not ready.
As discussed in the original ask, she’s not actively out there looking for a new girlfriend, not when she’s still so madly in love with Brittany.
Dani is the one who really initiates things between them, and then Rachel is the one who encourages Santana to move forward.
Don’t get me wrong: Santana does like Dani. It’s just that I honestly believe she wouldn’t have made a move without Dani making a move first.
Once Dani shows her that the door is open, she walks through.
—and she does so quickly, taking a “fake it ‘til you make it” approach.
She’s not really emotionally prepared to have a new girlfriend, and part of her knows as much, so she tries to just forge ahead, hoping that if she just starts going through the motions, eventually the feelings will follow and she’ll get to a place where she is actually committed.
After all, even for as young as she is, she realizes that her experience with Brittany can’t be duplicated. With Brittany, she fell in love before she even realized that that’s what was happening, and she was already intensely devoted long before she and Brittany ever made things official. They did everything backwards, honestly: first they fell in love, then they made love without calling it that, then they said “I love you,” then they started dating, then they went official, then they finally held hands and really started letting how much they liked each other show, and finally, they broke up even though they were still in love with each other. Santana could live a thousand years and never have an experience like that again, she’s sure.
So despite her uncertainty, she decides to give things a shot with Dani, crossing her fingers and hoping that maybe—best case scenario—Dani could end up being her “Sam.”
But as discussed in the original ask, that’s not really what happens.
Instead, Santana’s lack of readiness to be with Dani manifests as her emotionally withholding from the Dantana relationship. Though she enjoys Dani’s company in a superficial way, she never allows herself to be truly vulnerable with her or to talk to her about what really matters. She always maintains a level of separation, subconsciously waiting around for Dani to do something to screw things up between them.
—which is what Dani eventually does when she conspires with Kurt to kick Santana out of Pamela Lansbury and then refuses to take Santana’s side against Rachel in the feud.
To someone who was truly invested in the relationship, such a slight would probably not be insurmountable. Santana and Dani could talk through their differences and resolve to do better in the future. They could likely reconcile.
But to Santana, who is on a subconscious level looking for any and every reason to bail, Dani’s “betrayal” is enough to scare her off—and especially once she learns that Brittany is suddenly available to her again.
It’s not at all a hard decision for Santana to end the Dantana relationship and go right back to Brittany, considering that she was never ready to date Dani to begin with. Honestly, it comes as a relief to her that in the end everything plays out the way it does.
Thanks for the question!
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A JJP Series: Today - JB (Preview)
(They say to love like there’s no tomorrow...)
The crash happens while you’re attempting to merge lanes.
You swear you made sure to look, not once but thrice, gauging the blurred lights on your side mirror and passing in front of the car that had seemed far away enough. You could say it was because of the rain. You could say that the pressure overcame you, that you were racing against the passing time that refused to wait for you.
A minute ago, you’d been accelerating without fear of the wet roads, pleading that you make it in time for your first internship. A minute later, you’re hearing the screech of metal and your body is being jolted forward. You don’t realize your car has lost control until you feel the wheels under you skidding sideways to a stop, just missing the guard rail, your life quite literally flashing before your eyes in an instant.
You find your hands shaking when you glance up at yourself through the crooked rearview mirror.
Except for your flushed cheeks, there are no signs of injury. No blood. All limbs intact.
The storm of honking behind you brings you back to your senses.
“Are you fucking crazy?”
The driver of the other car is knocking on your window.
Drenched in rain, he has his phone pressed against his ear, probably calling for the police. Instead of worry, anger lines his face like the crack of thunderbolt.
His rude shouting somehow dissolves your fear and aggravates you instead, while a part of you also admits that you’re mostly at fault. But your swelled up pride wins out over admitting those faults. The idea of losing even such a trivial and obvious battle as this one is utterly humiliating and embarrassing for you.
Especially since you just made a rookie mistake by trying to rush to work.
At least you’re willing to admit that you’re about to do something incredibly stupid.
Instead of rolling down the window and apologizing profusely or trading insurance information like what you’re generally supposed to do after a crash, you unbuckle your seatbelt and step out into the rain.
The guy is in mid-sentence on his phone--something about giving directions and reporting a crash caused by ‘a dumb bitch’--when you slam your door closed and look up at him with blazing eyes.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that the idea of courtesy died with the beginning of your very existence.” you shout over the roar of the storm, the cars whizzing by, and the driver’s angry conversation over the line.
He stops yelling into his phone for a moment, jaw dropping open at your brazenness. You can see that he’s pissed, absolutely insulted, and you can already tell what kind of response he has in store for you.
“What did you just say to me?”
He steps forward with a threatening glare, puncturing your personal bubble until your back hits the side of your car. From up close, you can tell how young he is. The sharp angles on his face create an illusion of older age. You know better than to be fooled, because a proper adult wouldn’t choose to wear ripped jeans on a rainy day or drive at sixty miles per hour in a forty zone. A proper adult wouldn’t stand in the rain long enough just to fight a reckless girl and get their clothes soaked.
You’re aware of all this, yet you’re still fanning the flames.
“It’s shitty enough that I’m late for my internship. But to get hit by a self-absorbed asshole? I must’ve murdered a whole town in my past life.”
“Are you kidding?” the guy scoffs, pounding his hand against your car. “I think you’re forgetting who fucking swerved into my lane without even thinking about it!”
“If you care to know, I checked three full times and saw a clear road!”
“Well damn then, let me call an eye doctor for your blind ass while I’m at it!”
“My ‘blind ass’ happened to keep your speeding ass in check!”
“Fuck me, you’re one to talk!”
“I may have lost a very important job opportunity because of you!”
“And because of you, my boss is going to slit my throat once he finds out that I wrecked his company’s car!”
You’re close to throwing fists by the time the police and ambulance arrive. You only break apart when an officer threatens to arrest the both of you if you don’t stop disturbing the peace, which makes no sense to you as the thunderous sky and building traffic are nowhere close to peaceful. But you’ve done enough damage here. At least you allow yourself to get examined by the paramedics.
On the other hand, the driver that had hit you is preoccupied with inspecting his car, running his fingers over the dent on his hood somberly as if he’d just lost a precious member of his family. Obviously, he has more concern for his vehicle than an actual person.
“Insolent prick.” you mutter under your breath when he later joins you in the back of the towing truck.
“I heard that.” he hisses back, the driver next to you shifting uncomfortably at your exchange of hostilities.
It takes hours to settle your dispute and walk away as calmly as you can with your car totaled and many dollars to spend. You contact your internship with dread in your chest, your mouth going dry when the famous reporter, Mark Tuan, answers the phone in an effortlessly smooth tone.
You explain your situation to the best of your abilities, stuttering an account of the day’s horrific events.
Mark generously offers to cover your medical expenses as soon as he hears the word, ‘accident,’ insisting that the company is also partly at fault for calling you in at such a short notice. You politely decline. You won’t know what to do with yourself if you ever allowed someone like Mark to pay for your mistakes. You tell him that you won’t take it to heart if he chooses to fire you.
“Oh, no. Absolutely not. I’m still more than happy to offer you the spot, Ms. ________.” Mark’s hospitality is so off the charts that you almost wish he had been the one who’d hit you instead.
At least you might’ve reacted a little differently if the other driver hadn’t been so rude. Not that it matters now. You’ve lost your car, yes, but your internship is intact and you’re one step closer to your dreams. You refuse to let one boy ruin this for you.
It isn’t too late. After all, you hadn’t even bothered to learn his name.
~~~
See the Light Gazette is a surprisingly humble building that fits a cozy team of 30. Mark Tuan himself greets you in the narrow hallways, leading you through a short tour of the newsrooms that has your head spinning as busybodies fly past you in full speed, many with paper or cellphones and tablets in hand.
“Sorry for the madness,” Mark says after he’s stopped for the fifth time in the middle of the hall. “We’re nearing a major deadline so everyone is in panic mode.”
“Does this happen often?” you peek around the corner of the break room curiously where a man with fluffy, golden bleached hair is lying face down on the floor.
He shows no signs of movement. He might be dead for all you know.
“Youngjae, please.” Mark groans, as if this kind of scene happens so frequently he’s long gotten used to it. “Now is not the time.”
It takes a short moment, but the body eventually stirs. At last, a sign of life.
“Is that salvation I’m hearing?” Youngjae’s muffled voice responds eagerly. He springs back up to his feet with his hair standing wildly from static, eyes scrunching at you in confusion and then widening in delight when he recognizes the tag around your neck.
He stretches out a hand with a grin.
“Nice to finally meet you, intern. I’m Choi Youngjae. Features editor. Kinda dying. You can find me in the break room napping most of the time.”
“Um, a pleasure,” you glance down at his outstretched hand and then to his electrified hair. “I think I’ll pass on that handshake.”
Mark bursts out into a short laugh.
“The girl’s got spunk. I like her already. Are you sure Jaebum recommended her?”
“Oh my god,” Youngjae dramatically cups his hands together and presses them to his mouth. “Did you just say ‘spunk?’ I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Youngjae…”
You stop listening when Mark launches into a lengthy lecture. His gentle nagging simply flies by your head. Professionalism. Respect in the workplace. Timely coffee breaks. Forbidding naps in the break room. Etcetera. The two have moved on to discussing the gazette, but your thoughts linger with the name that Mark had previously mentioned and glossed over.
Jaebum.
You frown. You’re somehow familiar with the name but can’t match a face to it. Well, you amend that it’s more of remembering the right person. Jaebum is a common name, after all. You’ve known several Jaebums in your life. One was a mischievous classmate in elementary school. Another was a previous neighbor who smoked half of his lungs away on his front porch every morning. And finally, the most recent one you can remember was your supposed date to prom. Apparently, he’d only asked you out as a dare. He was rewarded fifty bucks for getting you to say yes.
Long story short, you’ve had quite a dark history with boys named Jaebum. You’re certain that every Jaebum you run into will curse your life in one way or another. And even if you’re in the building of your dreams surrounded by people who you look up to, this fourth Jaebum is bound to cross paths with you too.
It’s only a matter of when.
~~~
Turns out, you don’t have to wait too long to find out.
Jaebum of See the Light Gazette makes his appearance in the middle of your lunch break. You’ve shoved half your sandwich down your throat, counting down the few minutes until you’re expected to return to your desk and continue with filing recently edited papers. You’re so focused on devouring your lunch as quickly as possible that you don’t notice someone approaching your table.
“Oh, you must be the other intern. I’ve got a few ads that recently came in and I could use-“
You recognize each other almost simultaneously, though you’re a little quicker to identify his face.
You actually witness his expression morph from a distant, polite friendliness to pure shock and horrification. Likewise, your face must show a similar type of reaction. You remember clearly now. The brief flash of his license in the rain, being handed to the police. The name imprinted on it. Im Jaebum.
Suspended in a stifling silence, you merely stare at each other for a long while.
“What the hell?” you question out loud just as Jaebum exclaims, “You’re the one who wrecked my car!”
Everyone in the cafeteria stops and turns in your direction.
It takes every ounce of effort to control your emotions, forcing your expression to turn complacent. Casual.
“Sit.” you hiss at Jaebum, ignoring the soft, curious murmurs of the reporters around you.
Jaebum has flushed scarlet, head dipping down in shame before he slowly slides into the seat across from you. Some of the reporters resume eating. Others continue to eye the both of you with interest. You’ve become a show. An embarrassment. All thanks to this jackass in front of you.
And yet….
---
GUYSSSSSSSS. I’m 1000 years late for this concept, I know, but I can’t pick a better time than to finally start writing for got7 amidst their October comeback jdshjkashkdjlashj. This is a snippet of something I’ve been working on in between my classes and my crazy working hours, but I’m loving every second of writing it. I hope you enjoy the teaser for now. I’ve also left out some key things for the purpose of no spoilers, so stay tuned. Teehee. Anyway. Please forgive the crazy format of my blog rn, I’m changing things around and redoing my masterlist because I’ve started writing for a second group. My babies :3
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No Driver’s License: Session 0
Sometimes I make decisions, and I say to myself “Why did you make that decision? Why was this, of all things, the thing you decided to spend lots of time on, when you are potentially mortal and might have a limited amount of time in this universe?” I’m rarely, if ever, equipped to answer that question with anything other than a shrug.
So I started running a Madoka Magica tabletop campaign using the Magical Burst system, with some modifications to the rules (version 5 is in alpha, and also I needed to tweak a few mechanics to work with my story.) My dude Zero was relating to me his frustrations with a different PMMM tabletop campaign, and I immediately thought “damn, I can do better than that!”
(our discord’s icon. i have no idea how to credit the fanart i used to make this edit- i google image searched “kyubey” and the source for this image was someone’s themed 2048 clone).
So I called in Farn and had Zero rustle up some players from a groupchat he goes to, full of a bunch of fans of the work of Jenna Moran, and this started being a thing. (Apparently writing Cordyceps gets you a bunch of strangers eager to get on board with your creative projects! I recommend it.) I’m gonna post recaps of each session here, because I’m incapable of doing a thing and then not showing it off immediately.
Under the cut:
Magical Burst
Custom levelup system
Characters
Contracting scenes
Magical Burst
So the system I decided to use (on Zero’s rec) is called Magical Burst, and... it’s Madoka. There’s really no plausible deniability, here- the guy made a system for roleplaying in the PMMM setting, and then changed all the names around to dodge cease and desists. You have magical girls making contracts with tsukaima (incubators), fighting youma (witches), and accumulating Trauma (despair) that’ll fuck up their souls. There’s a few embellishments to keep things legally distinct, but all of it is easily ignored and the remainder repurposed as a Madoka Magica system, which is kind of the point.
The basic dice mechanic is rolling 2d6 plus a modifier. Most actions in the game that require a roll use that pattern, except they’re exploding dice if you’re doing a magic thing. 7 or less is a fail, 8+ is a normal effect, 11+ is a strong effect, and 15+ (usually in the event of rolling exploding dice) is an effect that’s stronger than intended and usually has some negative side effect. This is how it’ll go for combat rolls, out-of-combat magic actions, using talents, etc. That’s how dice do.
Custom levelup system
In standard Magical Burst, character advancement is handed out at the GM’s discretion, instead of through an experience system. Advancements can involve gaining stat points or learning new skills- but unfortunately in the alpha of version 5, all the cool specialized moves... don’t... exist yet. So apart from a couple things, the only real options would’ve been stat boosts, which, boring! Plus I have Ideas for how leveling up should interact with the narrative, so I decided to implement my own system:
The most important difference between this system and the basic Magical Burst system is that the Trauma meter has been replaced. During character creation, you have 21 Trauma Cells, which you must distribute to form a number of Trauma Tracks. These are meters that fill up over time as your characters suffer over the course of the game, and filling them is critical to character advancement. They replace the standard Trauma mechanic from Magical Burst.
Come up with a number of things that your character is upset about. Personal insecurities, life problems, character flaws- psychological weaknesses that, when attacked, darken your soul gem. These are your Trauma Tracks- one track for each one of these issues. (By no means are these the only problems your character is allowed to have, but they're the only ones that will have direct mechanical relevance.) Ignore the Bonds system in Magical Burst- Trauma points will be handed out as the situation calls for.
Player characters must have a minimum of 3 Trauma Tracks, and each Trauma Track must have a minimum of 3 Trauma Cells assigned to it. That aside, the length of those tracks is up to you- a longer track will take longer to fill, and represents an issue that simmers under the surface but doesn't yet threaten to destabilize the character. A shorter track represents an issue that's hard to ignore and is about to boil over, and will quickly become a problem for the character.
Your character's magical abilities are connected to these Trauma Tracks. When you first contract, you will have one distinct low-level magical ability for each Trauma Track you have. (MB 5e is incomplete and lacking in lists of specialized abilities, so we'll be loosey goosey here and you can just list the things you want in however much detail, and I'll figure out rules and numbers for the powers.) Generally, your starting abilities will be more powerful the fewer distinct Trauma Tracks you have, but your advancement options will be more limited.
When a Trauma Track is filled, an event will happen in the story. Once this event concludes- provided your character survives it- she will level up.
Leveling up is distinct from Magical Burst's Advancement system. I'll be handing out normal Advancements as described, but the options will be more limited- you won't be able to gain new magical Talents that way, but you can take a Tier-1 Specialization, stat boosts (with no restrictions on taking them multiple times), or custom nonmagical Talents if you have a good idea and don't mind hashing out numbers and balance with me.
Instead, when you level up, you cross off the appropriate Trauma Track, and choose one of your abilities to LOSE. In exchange, you'll receive a dot that can be spent to significantly upgrade one of your remaining abilities. Mark these dots on your character sheet- when you level up again, you'll be asked to sacrifice another ability, and if you choose to sacrifice an ability that already has dots, you'll get those dots back in addition to the new dot.
As you level up, your character will become more specialized, ultimately ending up with one powerful and potentially versatile ability that becomes the focus of their approach.
There are other side effects to leveling up this way, which will become evident.
There is a second type of character advancement, which will also become evident.
That’s direct from the document I distributed to players during character creation. In short- you have multiple experience gauges, and those fill up when your character faces something that really fucks them up emotionally. When you level up, you lose one skill and power up another skill, increasing your character’s specialization over time.
The first time someone levels up... well, I’ll laugh maniacally about some stuff, on account of those fun side effects- and it will become evident why I structured the system this way.
Characters
I’ve got... four or five players, currently. One of them is currently having unspecified issues with character creation and didn’t participate in Session 0, and might not be participating period? I’m not sure exactly. The other four have completed character creation, and I’ve run a brief scene with each of them, going through how they contracted. Let’s meet the cast so far!
Gomu Sakura (played by @thera-prickle)
Sakura’s an excitable trans girl who wished that her childhood friend would accept her identity. She takes to the whole magical girl thing like a fish to water- at least, so far. She has three fairly long Trauma Tracks- “Fear of Female Failure”, “Isolation from Peers”, and “Escaping into Books”.
As a magical girl, Sakura’s theme is candy- her abilities include the ability to summon hard candy armor to protect herself, a Spiderman-style taffy-shooting power, and gumdrop goggles that dispel illusions and let her see the unseen. She fights with two lollipop axes, and has a magical candy mouse/mousse named Maurice.
Kazama Ibara (played by @eternalfarnham)
Ibara is a hero of justice! Except heroes of justice are frowned upon in high school, and apparently get called “delinquents”. She wished for her life to run smoothly and not bother her, and she has four Trauma Tracks: “Lifestyle of a burnout", “Disdain for “victims””, “Can’t admit to being wrong”, and “Feeling unnecessary and unloved”
Ibara’s magical powers revolve around control over friction. She skates around the battlefield like it was an ice rink, and can knock foes around like they were billiard balls. She can also disintegrate stuff by reducing the friction holding it together, and cause enemy attention to “slip” right off. She wields a Monkey King-style segmented staff, with a weighted ball on the end.
Tsutsui Makoto (played by @exceedinglight)
A cult raised Makoto- she was prophesied to be their goddess, but... you know how cults do. Kept in captivity, eventually denounced as a “fake”, abused and imprisoned... it sucked bigtime. She wished to, uh, completely wipe out said cult. It was pretty brutal. She’s got four Trauma Tracks: “Feeling alienated from “normal” people”, “Lacks basic knowledge most people would have”, “Can’t handle the spotlight”, and “Has a sense of inadequacy”.
Makoto’s kinda earth-element aligned, and a lot of her magic has to do with manipulating attention. She can make enemies focus on or ignore things, summon a stone labyrinth to hide herself and her allies in, and talk to animals.
Kotono Yukari (played by @drazelic)
(if you’re wondering why this one looks like an actual artist did it, Zero drew this one for himself.)
Yukari drew a lot of short straws. Her parents died, her friends all got claimed by Kyubey, and after a long time agonizing over it, she ended up forced to waste her wish to save her own life. She has four Trauma Tracks: “I should have done something- everything that happened was my fault.”, "My purpose here is to gather power, and this cannot become my home. I must return and fix things.”, “I am alone, a stranger in a strange land.”, “I no longer fear death, nor wish to live. I persist because my job is not done, and nothing more.” ENGAGE EDGE MODE
Yukari’s powers involve time and prophecy, and oh god this is going to be hard to GM. She can store up and distribute Support Actions, set time-delay mortar attacks, and fire bullets that disappear and then reappear to strike enemies on later turns. It’s incredibly bullshit and I can’t wait to see how it hilariously breaks the game.
Contracting scenes
Gomu Sakura
Sakura was walking home from school, when some kinda witch barrier formed around her. First, she freaked out on seeing the people around her vanish and the sky turn red and stuff- and then she went inside a building and found these fucked-up plushie snakes with evil elephant heads that tried to kill her. Somehow, this convinced her that, actually, everything was as it should be! She was in a magical otherworld faced with monsters!
They'd almost be cute, if they weren't the size of a man, with sunken black pits for eyes. Also the trumpeting-hissing sort of sound they're making. That definitely ruins the cute.
Every book she’d ever read had taught her that this was HERO TIME, and she heroically stepped up to do battle!
This is the moment. Sakura knew, down in her bones, below the skin of rationality and the muscle of mundanity, that this would happen. The adrenaline flows. She swallows, holds her books in her hands like she is ready to throw them, and steps towards the beasts. A protagonist does not run from danger. She goes through it.
She got her ass kicked, because it turns out if you’re not a magical girl you can’t fight monsters good. Like, good effort, very cool moment, but she got pinned down pretty quick.
That’s when the Incubator showed up! It had three eyes, which was weird, but less weird than you and I would notice- it’s not like she’d met two-eyed Incubators before. It used some kind of telekinesis to blast the snelephants off her, and led her outside, where it was slightly less unsafe.
What are you doing in here?! What made you think those were safe to approach?!
Usually an Incubator has to do something to sell the target on the idea. Like, most of PMMM is about Madoka hanging around not contracting and agonizing over the decision while her friends suffer horribly in the background. It took a lot of convincing, there! With Sakura, though... the Incubator had to stop and inform her that she got to make a wish, before she went ahead and made the contract. The offer “be a magical girl and fight evil” was more than tempting enough to get her to agree immediately. Her normal life wasn’t treating her very well.
The rabbit shakes its head. I feel bad about this. It seems you have every reason to overlook the risks involved... Allow me to explain exactly what I am offering:
The three-eyed Incubator- which introduced itself as Tama-chan- did its best to try to explain to Sakura that being a magical girl was extremely dangerous, and that she could die, and that she could never go back to her normal life, and that her heart would become a magical vulnerability, and are you super sure because it doesn’t seem like you’re taking this decision very seriously-
Sakura proved impossible to dissuade- save a brief moment where she started wondering if maybe this was a Satan thing.
Make a contract with me, and become a magical girl.
She nods. "Yes. I w---" Sakura thinks for another second. "A contract? Like. One with the devil?"
What? No, like a regular contract.
After wishing that her childhood friend Kazuya would accept her and be friends again (she’d confessed she was transgender to him earlier, and it really didn’t go over well)- she became a magical girl and went berserk on some snelephants.
Kazama Ibara
Ibara was in detention, which wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was that her teacher vanished, the sky turned red, and a snarky voice in her head challenged her to a fight. That voice turned out to be an Incubator- but it wasn’t offering a contract, so much as the opportunity to be attacked by deadly monsters- such as a tiger-sized ceramic lucky cat statue. She decided this was a bad deal, and attempted to GTFO.
"Always promised myself if I was in a -- haunted building situation, I'd go out the window, no tricks, no waiting." Without the prelude of checking the locks, she hurls a chair at the windows with a two-handed swing.
The window shatters, leaving a wide and jagged hole large enough to leap through. Wait, says the voice, suddenly alarmed. Don't do that. That's not safe, it says.
She went out the window anyway- but the Incubator found out how to make it safe- or, safe-ish. It summoned a plush snelephant on the ground outside, to break her fall- and then try to kill her. Wait, what? ...Ignoring that weird behavior, she socked the snelephant in the face and immediately ran like hell.
Then she heard another voice in her head, asking about her safety. She told it that she’s running from monsters.
Good. Keep running. I think I have your signal- I'll catch up with you in a moment. And the first voice: Where'd you go? This is lame! I had you pegged as a fighter!
Eventually she ran outside the school grounds, and found the whole city seemed to have gone witch-barrier. She also found an Incubator running directly at her- so, of course,
"It's--it's the whole goddamn world --" Ibara almost chokes up when she sees the second cat, but aims a kick for where she anticipates it being, on pure delinquent reflex.
The kick connects, and the white cat goes flying a dozen yards. OW! CHRIST ON- why?!
After that little misunderstanding, the new Incubator- introduced as Tama-chan- helped her to fend off the other one, who’d caught up with a squad of monsters in tow. The evil incubator was named Nishi-chan, and Tama-chan offered Ibara a contract- magic powers, to help fight off Nishi-chan and her entourage. The incubators argued for a while- Nishi accused Tama of exploiting the danger to pressure a girl into a contract, and Tama accused Nishi of causing the damn danger in the first place, seriously!
After getting a picture of the risks involved in magical-girling from the Incubator’s arguments, Ibara got fed up with their bickering and insisted Tama-chan make her a magical girl. For her wish...
A wish? You want a wish? Okay, here -- I wish you and everyone else would get off my fucking back and let me DO WHAT I HAVE TO DO." She's squeezing white cat, too, a little harder than necessary. "Understand?!"
Tama-chan interpreted accordingly, and bish bash bosh, Ibara’s got magical powers. From there, we took the combat rules out for a test run- she took on two of the evil lucky cats (fun backstage fact: their name in my notes is “Waneki-neko”), and smashed them to bits. Nishi kept running, Ibara kept trying to close the distance while dispatching the monsters sent to slow her down- but eventually Tama-chan talked Ibara into finishing off the remaining monsters and disengaging.
Tsutsui Makoto
This one was pretty short. Makoto's hanging in a prison cell in the cultists’ compound, when suddenly origami archer monsters start shooting arrows at her from outside the door to her cell. She gets a good scare, but then Tama-chan shows up.
Nope! Nope! Not this! This is dumb! This is SO dumb! a high voice in her head says. There's a sound of impact, a rustling of papers, and then quiet from outside the cell.
Tama-chan waltzes into the cell, and- before talking about contracts- is very alarmed by how the girl she’d come to find is locked up like that.
It ignores your question. Oh, wow. Your hand! They did this to you? It... does something, and the chain holding you up snaps. You fall to the floor.
Makoto falls to her knees and stays the for a moment, panting. "Yeah, they figured out I'm not the one they're looking for," she mumbles. "I'm just a fraud."
There’s a misunderstanding that happens, here- Tama-chan assumes “they” are the origami monsters, and explains that she can’t be a fake magical girl if she could see the monsters attacking her.
After some confusion, Tama-chan gets around to offering Makoto a wish. Makoto wishes- considering that she’d spent her life locked up by a bunch of abusive cultists- to completely destroy said cult. Tama-chan... is taken aback by this.
The cat's eyes widen. This... I'm not so sure this was a good idea. This is kinda screaming... "not good idea". Are you sure your wish is mass murder? You don't want to reconsider that one?
Makoto tries to explain how the cultists made her life hell, how they deserved it, how she needs to be free- but Tama-chan is increasingly intimidated by her desperation. It’s starting to look like Makoto won’t get her wish.
That’s around when Nishi-chan drops from the ceiling, and is totally jazzed about the idea of granting her wish. And then does so.
Wait! This is wrong! the first cat says, but your body is already wracked by a force that feels like it should be pain but isn't. The cell is lit with a brilliant light. Wrong? Seriously! People are going to die! This is going too far!
"This is justice!"
Too far, Tama-chan? YOU'RE telling me we're going too far? The light fades, and you feel impossibly strong. And around you, the building is falling apart, the screams of cultists ringing loudly through the... night? Day? The time for not going too far was a long time ago, Tama-chan.
Nishi-chan- who’s more in the business of (???? a mystery ???) than babysitting new magical girls, leaves the newly-contracted Makoto to Tama-chan’s care in the wreckage of the cultists’ compound, and fucks off to who knows where. Makoto tells Tama-chan that she’s not planning on killing anyone else, and Tama-chan leads Makoto to Tokyo, where she claims she’ll be meeting with “some people I need you to meet”.
Kotono Yukari
The first three scenes took place at around the same time- a few days apart, maybe. This one takes place eighteen months ago.
We start in medias res, where Yukari has been in a horrible highway pileup. Her legs have been crushed by a semi truck, and she’s trapped and bleeding out and super duper about to die.
So, of course, who should show up but... not an Incubator?
Soon, she can see someone standing over her. "Oh god! Are you- oh, god, you're definitely not okay! Um..." You can see it's a magical girl. Her outfit is ridiculous. It's almost comical. Poofy, like a cloud. Draped head to toe in sequins. Lace sticking out every which way. You can barely make out her body underneath it. And it's all bright pink- blindingly, obnoxiously pink.
The magical girl first tries to heal her- and it works, but then the truck her legs are underneath crushes them again. Then she tries to move the truck, and can’t. She has a little bit of a freakout about how useless she is, and then runs off.
So that was kinda weird unsubtle foreshadowing for a character who’ll be relevant later!
Anyway then the Incubator shows up. It offers her a contract. Like they do. Weirdly, it’s not Kyubey, who talked to her before.
That apprehension was now gone. The spectre of worry that made apprehension had been thoroughly pushed out of her mental system by the very real fear of dying right here and right now. Any other day, that pitter-patter footstep would be the herald of uncertainty and internal turmoil. Here and now, it was the sound of hope itself. YES! Make me a magical girl! I'm ready! I said before I was still thinking but I don't care anymore! I'm ready! Save me! Please let me live I don't want to die here not like this I have so much more to do and live for please please please!
So the Incubator’s like, okay! Here goes!
Okay! it said, and a light shone from inside your chest. ...And then faded, and you still felt trapped and human. Crap. Hang on. Your wish was... The light started again. Okay, I think I've got it. So, you're... your potential is... crap! and the light faded again. Can you hold still? No, wait, this is weird. You- why would that matter?
After some finagling and weird questions, Yukari finally becomes a magical girl. The first thing she does is check her car, and try to save her parents, drag them out of the front of the car and save them. Can you guess how this goes? You get three guesses about how this goes. Here’s a hint: did you read her backstory earlier? Because this is that backstory.
There was no front of the car anymore. It'd been completely flattened by the collapse of that truck. Even her legs had been pinned- the truck had diagonally intersected most of the car, crushed all of it but a tiny corner where Yukari had been napping against the side of the car door, there was no front of the car anymore her parents had been sitting in the front of the car they were going to go buy some mapo tofu. Yukari emits a wordless cry and tries to rip her way through to the front of the car, somehow. She stops when she sees the first finger. Just a finger.
You acquire one point of Trauma on "I should have done something- everything that happened was my fault."
She tries to change her wish, but... that’s not a thing you can do. Tama-chan offers to try, but- after apparently consulting some mental resource- admits it’s not possible. So she has herself a little total breakdown! Her whole life just ended! It sucks a lot!
She first decides to start helping the other people involved with the crash. She pulls a trucker out of the truck she was trapped under... and then notices, oops, she’s surrounded by witnesses who just saw her transform into a magical girl. She flees, taking the trucker to the hospital, and Tama-chan sighs and starts wiping bystanders’ memories.
And that’s it for session 0! Next time: they team up, probably! Maybe there’s a fifth character! Who knows?!
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Practice Challenge 2: Legally Blind
Special Mentions: @devonmuerner @lady-fiona-rossi @margarita-acosta-cruz @marifer-rivera @madalenacruz @evadne-leventhorpe @berklee-boyer
I was completely at peace, it was one of those rare times in the Ledger household where everything was silent and stilled. My only companions were the gentle ticks and clicks of gears falling into place and my hammer tinkering against the mental of the music box. I brought the music box close to my face, my nose almost touching it, to examine it. I wore my satisfaction as a smile. It was perfect.
“SEPHY!” Just like that, the perfect illusion of peace was shattered. I grit my teeth and was cautious not to let my anger take control and smash the music box. I set it down and flipped out my retractable walking stick to make my way to the living room. I usually didn’t need my aids around the house seeing that I’ve spent 18 years memorising every inch of it but today was a tiring day and my vision was worse than usual.
I’ve learnt in the past 18 years not only do people have visual tells which I could never pick up on, they are also made of sounds. I was overwhelmed the moment I stepped into the room. Not only was the television playing in the background but I picked up on all of my family’s auditory tells. Everything about my mother was soft and gentle, the soft swishing of my mother’s hair when she turned to me put me at ease. My father was all scruff, his fingers scratched against his beard as he moved his head to me. The quiet creak of Boreas’ spectacle hinges as he adjusted it, Notus scratched his scruffy beard like Father, Eurus running his fingers through his long hair mimicked the sound of waves crashing. All of these various sounds came to me scattered from across the room. My youngest brother, Zephyrus, however was always the quietest. I could never get a sound out of him so he simply announced,
“Listen to the TV!” “Miss Calista Ledger of Bonita, Three.” Unlike my mother’s hair that hushed like blankets, mine was a whip and I grazed my neck from turning my head to the television so quickly. Audible gasps from my family all around. I heard shoes skidding across the corridor outside our home. We all knew it was our favourite Uncle. “YOU GOT IN, BETEE! Uncle Ro breathed heavily as he pulled me into a bone crushing hug. Despite his underarms overflowing like a foundation, I hugged him back.
“When did you apply? I thought you said you didn’t want to.” I was dreading his droning voice. Listening for the slick smooth movement of Boreas adjusting his glasses, I turned to face his general direction. “Not that it is any of your business, but I changed my mind.” I glare at Boreas’ blurry silhouette for dramatic effect. I was going to pull ‘my eyes are exhausted’ card but I knew he wasn’t going to let me off the hook without a thorough interrogation. Sometimes I hated the military man within him.
“You never change your mind. You said you hate all the drama. Don’t tell me you think Prince Dom is worth it.” My eldest brother scoffed. How does he always manage to make me feel like a child? I closed my eyes, willing the nystagmus away. I could do without the rapidly moving eyes right now. I hear whispers - surely by now they know I can hear even the quietest of murmurs - and Boreas’ figure leaning over to our mother, I identified her by her essential oils. They always calmed me down. He sighed loudly with disdain when she was done telling him off. He’s supposed to be the eldest? What a baby.
“I won’t bother you, go sleep on it.” “I will do just that and for your information, I do think Prince Dom is worth it.” I was tempted to use the nickname we gave him but I could sense Nots was not in the mood to break up a fight. Before I left for my room, I turned to my parents, trying to gauge their reaction to me being Selected. The phone rang and Father immediately picked it up. “We’ll talk about this in the morning, betee.” Mother assured me and I nodded. I swayed my hips for Boreas as I walked away. I wanted to show him he couldn’t make me feel inferior.
On the way to my room, my little brothers walked with me. Zephyrus - or as we called him Zephy was glued to my side and saying congratulations while Eurus just ruffled my hair and told me to send the eliminated girls his way. “E, they are way too old for you.” I tell him bluntly and I can practically hear his lips rubbing together to form his signature pout. I ruffle both of their hairs playfully before sending them down the corridor to their rooms. What a day. Well my day was fairly normal, what a night. The Selection was such a big event here that my mother made the excuse to have Boreas over, I wish she hadn’t. I missed the old Boreas who wasn’t a Bore Ass but whatever I couldn’t think about him at a time like this. It was finally hitting me that I’m officially a Selected. I could hear my heart thumping in my ears. Boreas was right, I did drastically change my mind. I entered for the wrong reason; to be relevant and known rather than falling in love. Yet the more I thought about it and realised how I could change Illéa for the better, I realised I could make a great Queen. Sure, I wasn’t in love with Prince Dom but that’s because I haven’t met him. Love can always come later. I crawled into my bed and laid there, the thought of tomorrow keeping me up.
The next week was nothing but chaos. The Ledgers hadn’t had this much attention since Uncle Ro built his automatons. The week went by like my eyesight, in a blur. I vaguely remember the boys being on their best behaviour and officials from the Palace - their constant footsteps coming back and forth felt like a stampede - swarming our cottage to brief me on the rules and regulations of being in a Selection. I’ve read countless books on the history of Illéa, which for most part covered the Selection so I was barely listening to the officials.
I could have kissed someone when Friday finally came. The clockwork of phone calls and Palace Officials one after the other invading our home had finally come to an end. My secret project concerning the Royal Family was the only reason I hadn’t gone mad. I was happy to tinker away at my workshop whenever an Official wasn’t shoving another contract down my throat.
I twisted my hands together as my family escorted me to City Hall to have the entire province send me off. While I was looking forward to this day since I was Selected, I was apprehensive. As the wind tugged at my stray hairs, I realised tucked away underneath my excitement was fear. When I stopped twisting my sweating hands, I fidgeted with my blouse, smoothing it over every chance I got. It was going to be a whole new environment with strangers who I would have painstakingly learn new auditory tells from. I was going to miss the familiar. I stepped back from the podium, wanting to ditch it all. Were they nuts? Letting a blind girl travel to the other side of the country. I wasn’t ready for this new adventure in my life. I thought I was but - Notus caught me with his sturdy form before I could finish the thought. I knew it was him because of his distinct camomile scent that always calmed his patients down.
“Aw come on, sis. You’ve already made it this far.” I bit down on my lip and before I could make a decision, the mayor introduced me. Just he did, there was an explosion of colour, quite literally - they shot up colour bombs into the air. Bonita loves a good party every now and then. I was mesmerised by the colours and Notus used the distraction to his advantage and escorted me up on the podium next to the Mayor. I glared at him, hoping to burn holes into his head.
“I present you Bonita’s proud Daughter of Illéa, the beautiful daughter of Aeolus and Nandini Ledger, Lady Calista Ledger!” Party horns were blown and I smiled in the general direction of the audience. The mayor whispered, asking if I wanted to say a few words. My father had prepared me for this. I nodded and he carefully placed the microphone in my hands. I kept my voice leveled, steady and genuine as I spoke.
“People of Bonita, I hope I can make you proud by flourishing in the Selection. I understand that most of you feel disgruntled that this isn’t going to fix our housing problems in the rural areas of our beloved province. This is why my family and I have come to the collective decision to donate my Selection allowance to the funding of building better living quarters for our people. With that I wish our province the best in this new endeavour!” The crowd was cheery before but now they simply erupted, I heard all sorts of cheers hitting me in all directions. My ears were thumping hard, all these different sounds were overwhelming. I smiled tightly, focusing on looking my very best rather than wanting to cover my ears to keep out the sensory overload.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in sending off Calista Ledger, our favorite Daughter of Illéa!” the mayor announced, taking control of the situation once again. I was grateful. Behind me, a small band played the national anthem. After we sang it loud and proud, I was escorted away to my car. It was going to be half hour ride to Paloma and I was glad to have some time to myself. Before I slipped into the limousine, I was allowed my final goodbyes. I turned to my family and I surprised when tears sprung into my eyes. I promised myself and Father that I would not get emotional today. I rolled back my shoulders and straightened my posture - as if it could get any straighter.
I walked to my Father, he was the easiest to identify since he was towering over the rest of our family. I have no idea why but my hand moved mechanically and I gave him a salute. It seemed appropriate. I heard his bushy eyebrows raise but he decided to humour me anyways and returned the gesture. I sensed his hand before it even landed on my shoulder. He squeezed it and it was like I was already gone. It was his way of saying goodbye. I swallowed the tears.
“I’m proud of you, my dear daughter and I know you will make me even more proud when you come back with a crown on your head and a ring on your finger to invite us to the Palace. Do not disappoint me. Go say your goodbyes to your mother and brothers.” Speaking to my father was always a roller coaster of emotions. He went from being proud to dismissing within a matter of second and the swift change didn’t even hit me until I was standing in front of my mother.
My sweet mother who smelled of her distinct neroli essential oils hugged me. I closed my eyes as I took every detail of her in. Her neroli scent, the smoothness of her dark hair, the way her soft hands felt when she rubbed my back soothingly. “Don’t listen to your father, betee. I just want you to be happy. If it’s with the Prince, then I’ll be happy for you. Enjoy yourself, Calista.” She kisses me on the forehead. I hold our hands together a little longer before I pull her into another hug. “I’m going to miss you so much, Ma.” A tear leaked out. Dammit. I wipe it away before Father could see.
Uncle Ro comes to my rescue as always, hiding my tear streaked face from Father. My uncle is amazing because he knows I could only detect vague shapes and colours so he always wears something obnoxious to stand out. Today is a red nose and I start laughing, easing my homesickness.
“Hello, my favourite niece! “Uncle Ro! I’m your only niece.” I burst out laughing. This is our routine inside joke. On cue, he ruffles my hair and I grin up at him. I wait for his usual word of advice but it never comes, instead the old man dumps a heavy briefcase in my hands. I momentarily lose my balance and sway giddily. Uncle Ro giggles before steadying me. I carefully run my hands over the case, trying to figure out what it was. My fingers finally settle on a button of some kind. I click it and am startled when the case opens. I feel more buttons and then I freeze when I feel familiar bumps. I stare up at my uncle, gaping.
“Uncle Ro, you shouldn’t have!” I could hear his grin, he was a very noisy person and I loved it because it allowed me to identify how he was feeling very easily. He opened his arms to accept my hug as a thank you. “Promise you’ll write me, betee.” I nodded into his chest. I was going to miss him most of all.
Before I could say anything else, I hear a cough behind me and it’s from Isla, my royal aide. I said a quick I love you to my uncle and sped up my goodbyes. My brothers must have gotten the memos because they are all ambushed me with hugs all at once. Except Boreas and it hurt how I had expected that. No girl should ever expect for her older brother to abandon her.
“Do you think you can put in a good word for me with your pen pal Dev?” Eurus nudged me playfully and I rolled my eyes in response. I was grateful that he was trying to make me laugh in the midst of Boreas being distant. “Start looking for girls your age, baby brother.” I teased him before giving my other two brothers my love. Notus was sniffling so I assumed he had tears in his eyes and he was the type of man who was very in touch with his emotions so I was not surprised. I hugged him, comforting him rather than him comforting me.
“There, there, Nots. I will write to you everyday.” He wiped his face as he pulled away. He placed his hand on my shoulder reassuringly like Father but Nots was a warm blanket on a cold night. “I’m just worried he’ll break your heart. Boreas might be more vocal about his opinion on the Prince but I agree with our eldest brother. Prince Dominic is bad news.” I frowned, I never knew Nots felt this way. I knew Boreas and Eurus were more against the monarchy but I always thought that Zephy and Nots respected the system. “I’m a big girl now, Nots. I’ll be fine.” He patted my hair - I’m starting to realise our family has a fixation with hair - like he always does when he wants me to know that he’s proud of me.
“Tell Prince Dom that you have 4 brothers who are ready to take care of him if he hurts you.” He cracked a wicked smile. “Brother! That’s treason.” I titter lightly and he kisses me on the head before sending me to Zephy. Surprisingly, my youngest brother ambushes me with a hug. He wasn’t the emotional kind and doesn’t do hugs often.
“Whoa there, where is my littlest brother?” “I’m right here. I’m going to miss winning arguments against you.” He mumbled against my white blouse. It was starting to get wet. I just pulled him closer, savouring my last moments with my baby brother. Isla taps me on the shoulder and I knew I had to go. I smiled at my family before giving my final goodbyes. Just as I was about slid into the limo seat, Boreas stopped me. I rolled my eyes.
“What is it, Boreas? I’m running late.” I spat, I was in no mood to deal with his nonsense now. “Put in a good word for me with the Prince, won’t you?” I grit my teeth, it took a huge amount of self control not to slap him. I can’t believe just before the moment my life was about to change for the better, he was triggering my anger issues. They stemmed from being frustrated at my incapabilities. I was able to subdue them in the last few years after Uncle Ro introduced me to inventing. There was just something about creating that made my shortcomings fade to the background. I didn’t answer my eldest brother and slammed the car door in his face. That will show him.
Being alone with my thoughts, I was able to reevaluate my life up to this point. Becoming a Selected, no one would have any pre-notions of me. I could become a whole new person. The Selection would be a chance to reinvent myself (pun intended). While my love for writing stemmed from my mother, I had been dabbling in inventing with Uncle Ro. I’ve been more comfortable writing because I had Braille keys on my typewriter so it was more convenient. Inventing was more tricky; you needed designs which was my least favourite part of inventing since I couldn’t draw to save my life. With inventing, every detail counts so if you miss out a single screw, the whole contraption could fall apart. Inventing requires me to be even more thorough than I am usually. It can be very taxing. If I do become Queen, I hope to make Illéa a more accessible place with my inventions for people with special needs. I’m willing to work harder for my people.
“We’re here, Miss.” Isla said softly. I nodded as I pulled on my shades - which functioned as more than just shades they helped described my surroundings to me through a bluetooth - and took out my folding walking stick. The chauffeur opened the door for me. I flipped out the walking stick as I walk out to greet my fellow plane mates. I wasn’t the biggest fan of small talk but unfortunately so that is how you get know someone so with these girls I was going through the motions. I was in and out of the conversations but I was able to distinguish one girl from the other. Fiona was the easiest to pick out, she loves giving hugs, smelled of flowers and had bright red hair in the midst of four dark skinned and dark haired girls. I couldn’t lose Madalena in a crowd even if I wanted to because she was always screeching about Prince Dom despite never having met him. Lady Márifer and Lady Margarita were the quietest out of the group. The only moment that made me notice Lady Margarita was when I accidentally held out my hand in the wrong direction when introducing myself to her. I started focus more when Fiona showed up and ambushed me with a hug.
“Hi Calista!” I was startled and was knocked out of air. She was a bear hugger. She smells of flowers and home. Her hug was very comforting. “Oof, is that a friendly Golden Retriever or Lady Fiona Rossi? I’ve heard about your amazing hugs I’m so glad to have experienced them firsthand. Lady Margarita you have to try it!” I teased her and she was one Selected I had been looking forward to meeting because she is so lovely. I was not disappointed. Márifer laughs, agreeing with me.
“It’s Fiona! Try what?” Her laughter was like bells. “Your hug of course!” Márifer answered for me. “Oh that makes sense. Well Margarita, if you decide you end up wanting one, my arms are always open.” Our Flower Girl offered. “Thank you.” Margarita gave her a civil response. Then my ears perk up, identifying a new sound. It sounded like an engine.
“Is that the plane?” I ask the girls. Fiona gulps. “I’m a little nervous. The car was a first for me, but I’m also so excited. I don’t see it yet…Oh wait there it is! Amazing ears Cal!” I beam proudly at that compliment. This was the first time that I’ve been able to impress someone with my condition rather than have them pity me for it. “You know how they say, when one of your senses is lost the others become better.” “At least there is a benefit to it.” Fiona’s presence just seems to make everything feel better. We boarded the plane one by one. There were two sets of paired seats facing each other while there was a bigger lone seat beside them. I opted for the bigger seat because I had a little more baggage. I let the girls talk amongst to themselves while I kept to myself. They were all nice girls but it was overwhelming to be around girls my age for the first time.
“How were all of your send offs?” I tuned back in when Fiona directed the question at us. Even though I didn’t vocalise my fear, it was my first time flying as well and take off formed a pit at the bottom of my stomach. I hated the way the air pressure made my ears pop, dulling another one of my senses. Talking about the send offs distracted me from these annoyances that plane rides brought. I had dreamy look in my eye when I answered. My send off was probably the happiest I’ve seen of Bonita. “There were colours everywhere. Bonita loves a good party every now and then.” I remember the reds, greens, blues and yellows all overlapping to form a myriad of colours just for me. “It was so great! They gave me a super suit that can fly and shoot flames and stuff!” That was rather..impressive of Dominica.
“No wonder you want to jump out of planes, Madalena.” I say dryly. “Mine was lovely, I hadn’t even known that many people even lived in Honduragua before today.” I could hear a smile on Margarita’s face. “Oh mine sounds pretty lame compared to all your guys’. I don’t really get along with my parents and where I live it’s very desolate. Big farms and all, so there weren’t many people there.” Márifer putting herself down made me pity her. That was no way to go about it. Before I could assure her it was good, Fiona spoke, the cheer in her voice had disappeared.
“People were mad at mine. Apparently if you come from a poor city people don’t take the idea of knowing the royals are hosting a reality show instead of fixing the problems.” I leaned forward to listen to Fiona while Madalena went on about her suit. This was not the time, Madalena! Ignoring her, I reached out to pat Fiona’s hand comfortingly. “Oh dear, I’m sorry that happened, Fiona.” “It’s fine. I understand their frustration, it was just depressing to see it again.” I nodded in understanding. That was the partial reason why I donated my allowances to the housing problem. I genuinely cared for it and I knew it would appease the people whereas my father used it as a publicity stunt to show character. I relayed this to the girls, leaving out the part about my father and his publicity stunt. The girls took it very well.
“That’s fantastic Calista!” Márifer was filled with awe and I grinned without thinking. I liked that I had that effect on her. “That’s such a wonderful idea! I had no idea we got an allowance of some kind.” I raised my eyebrows at Fiona, wasn’t she briefed? “We do, the amount of times I was briefed on rules and regulations…I could read it all back to you.” I wasn’t even kidding this time, it was ingrained into my mind.
“You know, you’ve inspired me. After providing for my sister (which is a long story but whatever) my selection allowance will go to helping struggling farmers in Paloma. The harvests have been bad for the last couple years, and the coffee prices keep going down, so I know it’s needed.” I let out a little ‘awh’, my day was made better knowing that I’ve helped one more province improve its standard of living.
“Wow.” Was all Madalena had to say and I wasn’t quite sure how to take her tone. Then we started sharing about our lives in our respective provinces. They all talked about how they missed their loved ones. While I was more emotional than my brothers, I always came across as logical to other girls. I preferred offering solutions rather than dwelling on the problems. So I suggested that they write to their families and friends to ease the feeling of missing them. While I let them talk further, I pulled out my letters. I turn over my ring and utilise it to rereading the telegrams I exchanged with Lady Devon who had reached out in the past week. My heart sang as I read them, I was glad that she wrote to me and I knew in my soul, she would be a great friend.
A friendship lasting longer than a month. Those words echoed in my mind as I was told we were landing. I swiftly packed away my letters and looked up to observe the other girls, they were all knocked out, evident by their soft snores. I pulled out the walking stick and navigated my way out without the hassle of the girls blocking me. I let their aides wake them up. The moment my feet left the last step, I was whisked away into the Palace. With every room we passed, the Palace seemed to get bigger and bigger. It did not help with my phobia of large spaces, I was more prone to lose my way. Thankfully, Isla was with me every step of the way and she guided me to what they called the Women’s Room. She described the room to be prepped for our mandatory makeovers so 35 make up stations were set up 7 by 5. She held my arm as she navigated my designated station. “All the best, miss and when you are done, take the second stairwell on the right up to your room, in The Grace Hall. For tonight you will be taking dinner in your room.”
“Thank you, Isla. You have been such a delight.” I gave her a dazzling smile as she dismissed herself, taking my bags up to my room. Another figure came up to me, I could distinguish them by their bright red hair. With the shades I was able to identify him as a middle aged olive skinned man who wore gold eyeliner so I guessed him to be my make up artist.
“Take those off.” He gestured dismissively to my shades. I slid them off slowly, I felt incredibly vulnerable without them. I only ever went without my shades around my family. Now he could see my rapidly moving eyes. He let out a little ‘ah’ when he noticed them. “You’re the girl with visual impairment I’ve been reading about. My nephew has the same condition. Our entire family sees you as an inspiration. That Jason can finally have a normal life.” I was grateful that he didn’t make an offhand comment and used the term impairment instead just writing me off as that blind girl. A photographer came up to me to snap the Before picture and then moved on to the next girl.
“I’m flattered, sir. He could always had an ordinary life, he just needed the right tools. I’ll write to my uncle to see what we can do for him.” I tell him kindly, he thanks me before we get to work. There was nothing much to do with me unlike the other girls. I was very meticulous, having washed my hair the day before so it had full dark waves. I made it a point to have my nails manicured at all times, Uncle Ro would help sometimes. I wasn’t one to wear make up and that’s where Alfred the make up artist comes in. We both agreed that I don’t need to cake my face so we settled on highlighting my features such as high cheekbones and adding colour to my lips. He also worked on curling my hair. While he worked on me, another Selected took her seat next to my station, she smelled vaguely of cookies and her hair brushed against her neck as she turned. Turns out, she had moved her head to face me.
“So….. does my month start now or when we sent those letters?” Her sly voice catches me off guard, making me jump in my seat. Alfred reprimands me and tells me to sit still. Her voice was low, almost seductive and definitely foreign but I instantly knew who it was. I had to test the waters.
“Um…wait Dev, is that you? Oh my goodness DEV!” Without thinking, I lean over to tackle her with a hug. Alfred hits my head with hairbrush and I snap back into my seat. I obediently sit and stare in front so that Alfred could do his job . “Oh god. Chill, please, I’m just a person no need to get too excited.” She deadpans. I giggle as Alfred brushes my cheeks with the blush brush. I could feel and hear each bristle against my skin which made the whole experience even more ticklish than it should have been. “You are a very lovely person who wants to be my friend which is a first for me so of course I’m excited to see you.” I could barely contain my grin which made Alfred tap my head with the brush once more since he was trying to apply lip gloss. He finally finished highlighting my face and moved on to my hair so I could speak to her freely without getting hit with other foreign make up equipment. “Still, just a person, can’t take too much squeezing or I’ll die, then I can’t make I past a month.” She teased, referring to our deal. “Oh no, I wouldn’t want you to die.” I’ve been joking quite a bit today and I liked this new funny me. I vaguely see Dev gesturing to my face as she asked about my makeover. “You letting them do much to you with this makeover? Or staying as you are?” “Well I have never really seen my face, for as long as I can remember, it has been a dark blur in the mirror so I just told the artist to keep it natural and highlight my best features which are my high cheekbones and lips.” “Oh yeah, of course you haven’t seen your face…. that’s too bad - you’re pretty.” I blushed at the compliment. I never had anyone but my mother tell me that. She’s my mother so that was a given. “Aww thank you, Dev. My sunglasses and brothers have described me to you. You sound exquisite and I think my younger brother Eurus may have a crush on you.”
“Alas I’m probably too old for him. Always good to know I have options though.” She was really funny and I knew she was going to be a great role model for me throughout this Selection. From what I had read about her before, she had just graduated from college with a double degree in political science and business. She was a self-made woman, I wonder why she would want to enter the Selection?
“I know, he’s 17 I told him off for being too young for most of the girls here.” I giggled remembering how Eurus had drooled over her when the Selected had been first announced. “It’s only what, four years between me and him, and I’m the oldest one here. I’m sure he could find someone in this crowd of he tried. He probably won’t though, too distracted by when he can never have.” “Ahahah exactly and I think I heard whispers of Prince Percy fancying you.” I was never one to indulge in gossip but there was just something about being around 35 girls, that made you want to be one of them. Gossip entails in that. “Another seventeen year old who won’t ever have a chance with me, much too young. He’s probably just distracted by my looks.” She scoffs and I hum in agreement. “I am not surprised. It’s odd that most boys always want what they can’t have.” This made me worry if Prince Dom might be the same way. There was no point worrying about it now since the first introductions weren’t until tomorrow morning. “Don’t we all.” She sighs dramatically making me crack a smile. Like my favourite Uncle Ro, Devon was a noisy person and I loved it because it allowed me to read her cues better. “You have a point, my friend.” “You’re good to go, lady.” Says Alfred at the same time. He didn’t bother showing myself in the mirror. We both knew that wasn’t necessary and I trusted that he made me look spectacular. I smile brightly at him and thank him. The same photographer from before comes to take the After picture.
Then I turn to Dev. “Well I was instructed to go to my room to set up everything and have dinner, so I’ll see you at the sleepover?” “Unless either of us commits treason and gets kicked out before then.” I laugh till I’m snorting and I quickly cover it up. “Well don’t commit treason until then! See you my friend.” I wave in her general direction before hopping off my seat, grabbing my stick and heading up to my room. Isla said to take the second stairwell on my right and it should lead straight to the Grace Hall, where my room would be. I walk up the stairs carefully and let out a heavy breath of relief that I made it.
“Miss?” I whipped my head around to see a familiar dark figure. “Isla! I was just about to go looking for my room.” I was so lucky to have ran into her, I was rather exhausted to be going around feeling up door plates to locate my room. Sometimes my condition was a curse and inconvenience. “Your room is right here, they made sure you had the most accessible room.” I was so grateful to whoever did the room arrangements. Isla efficiently guided me in and I settled in. I was confused when Isla didn’t leave. As far as I knew, aides were just there to escort us from our home province to the Palace, helpers were the ones who stayed to help as much as they could.
“Isla, don’t you have somewhere else be?” I asked, trying to phrase it in the most polite manner. Really, there is no way to ask that nicely. “Oh I’m your maid, Miss. Your original aide had fallen ill and since I was assigned to you already, they sent me in as a replacement.” I cringed at the word maid. I found it degrading, my mother raised us to call them helpers. I pushed that thought aside and grinned, widening my eyes with excitement. I didn’t have to go through the anxiety inducing introductions. I rush forward to hug her and I feel her reluctance. I let her go quickly and apologise.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Miss.” “I’m just happy you’re my helper, Isla. Makes this place seem more familiar and less intimidating.” She bowed and offered to unpack my bags for me. I declined, since I was always used to doing things myself. Dinner soon came after and I read the various magazines that were lying about while I ate. The Royal Family interviews featured in Illéa Weekly were especially of interest to me. My previous doubts of surviving the Palace were slowly fading. I had Isla and Dev to rely on and from the interviews, I trust that the Royals would take care of me. This is the adventure I’ve been waiting for. Finally I can set myself free and mingle with girls my own age - the plane wasn’t the best start but it was a start nonetheless - instead of shutting myself away from the world and hanging around with my four brothers. I don’t know how I made it out alive from that testosterone filled household.
I heard paper sliding against the floor. I perked up and tried to identify the source. Isla noticed my sudden movements and she made her way to the door and picked up the culprit.
“Shall I read it out to you, Miss?” I shake my head and she hands it over. I turn over my ring and run my finger across it. It was an invitation to a Selected Sleepover hosted by Lady Evadne and Lady Berklee. I was honoured that they thought to invite me. I finished my dinner swiftly and made my way two halls over. They were in Lady Evadne’s room, the last room down Amberly Hall. As I waited for Isla to deposit my dinner plate to the kitchen and bring back the calamari rings for the sleepover, I changed into the Palace issued pajamas which were comfy and decent enough. Once Isla was back with my province food, I skipped off to the sleepover.
It was a blur of events and I don’t mean that literally, I just remember feeling so so lonely. I was brought back to the horrible time my parents thought I could fare well in public school. I was ridiculed and shut out from the cliques. I promised myself I would never put myself through that again. This was slightly different because these girls were nice enough and it wasn’t their fault that my condition held me back. I knew something was going go wrong when I walked into the room late. It was because of one Ruby Stones who knocked into me and I almost lost my way. As if being tardy wasn’t bad enough, I realised I didn’t have my sunglasses to help me identify who everyone was. I was in a constant state of confusion and for my first sleepover, it was not fun because of all the voices overlapping and meshing together. The cacophony of voices wrapped around my throat, choking me. This coupled with the feeling of being left behind because I couldn’t tell what was going on and who was saying what. I just knew I had to get myself out of there. I wore a smile, tight as it seem to me, the girls bought it. I bid them goodnight, using my exhaustion as an excuse to cover up my sensory overload. The moment they knew of that, they would treat me like I was fragile. Calista Ledger was anything but fragile.
By the time I escaped the room, the tears I had been holding back escaped with me. I heaved short breaths. I pushed down my panic attack as I rushed back to my room. Isla jumped from her spot when I entered the room.
“Miss? Why are you back so soon?” I lifted my shameful head at her and she sees my red rimmed eyes. Instinctively, she hands me a handkerchief. I dab my eyes.
“I’m fine, Isla.” I say as a final word before she could fuss over me. She understood my boundaries and let me be. She was going to make my journey so much easier. I completely wipe away my tears and I feel reborn. I was no longer going to be the sobbing girl alone in her room. Tomorrow, I will make a good impression on Prince Dom.
Calista Ledger was many things but she was not fragile.
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