#first attempt at getting a suit fitting was very disappointing

[mossiestpiglet]

Are suit jackets meant to be totally immobile in the arms or do I just have beefy fucking shoulders?

[danielmolloystits]

reprise. (armand/daniel, 2/4)

Summary:

Armand thinks himself great at first impressions. He ought to be, having spent so many years twisting himself into whatever shape most pleases. But when he met Daniel, he had already shattered into the pieces of himself that are loud, insincere, cruel. The pieces that are not worth loving, some part of his mind whispers, in a voice that could belong to Louis or to Lestat or to any number of others whom he has tried to fit inside of himself and keep, an endeavor which has only ever ended in the same blistering disappointment. And now—as he is sitting in the wreckage of another failed attempt at shaping himself into a home, covered in plaster dust from an outburst of rage only a fraction as bright as that which he deserved—now all there is left in front of him is Daniel. — Armand, Daniel, and the monsters memory makes of us.

Pairing: Armand/Daniel (Devil's Minion) WC: ~7,300 Rating: E

“Is the face-petting a necessary part of the memory rehabilitation process, or…?” Daniel fidgets a bit where he sits across from Armand, the movement bringing them so close that their knees brush. He’s referring to the fact that the vampire is currently cupping his jaw in one hand, slowly gliding his thumb over the hollow curve of Daniel’s cheek.

Strictly speaking, it isn’t necessary; Armand could just as easily accomplish the task from thirty feet away. But in a deeper, more significant sense, he thinks that it is—he has an overwhelming need to feel the instant that Daniel remembers what they were to each other, to hold it warm and alive in his palm. To capture the moment and encase it in amber, to reify it by memorizing its shape underneath his fingertips.

Besides, it isn’t as though Daniel takes no pleasure in the caress. Armand can tell as much from the thoughts he’s doing a poor job of concealing, even underneath the layers of confusion and annoyance that endeavor to cloud them. For all that Daniel’s mind has forgotten Armand’s touch, his body is still hardwired to crave it, the very bones of him engraved with each of the vampire’s names: Arun written into his wrists, Amadeo in his thighs, Armand carved like an exclamation down his spine. His rib cage a symphony of baby, sweetheart, angel, lover.

So he doesn’t feel particularly guilty when he says, “It will make it easier.” After all, it’s only a lie by omission.

Daniel swallows and nods, evidently electing to take Armand at face value for once. The vampire is too grateful for his acquiescence to fully appreciate the irony. “Well then. Let’s get on with it.”

“Let’s,” Armand agrees, and as he strokes down Daniel’s cheek once more, he permits his thumb to stray a little closer to the corner of his mouth. It’s an indulgence he probably shouldn’t allow himself, but restraint has never been his strong suit when it comes to Daniel. “I’ll go slowly,” he promises, the way it trips off of his tongue nudging up against something that makes the other man’s cheeks pinken.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Daniel says flatly, in such a naked attempt at deflection that Armand’s chest tightens with a vicious sort of hope.

“Perhaps,” he replies, tone agreeable. “But you’re the only one for whom I’ve made it a habit.”

Daniel’s expression sours, then. “Really? I guess I wouldn’t know.”

The barb lands as intended, sending a sharp, bright pang to Armand’s insides like the tolling of a bell. Still, Daniel doesn’t lean away from his touch.

It would definitely, definitely be a bad idea for Armand to swipe the pad of his thumb over Daniel’s bottom lip right now, to put more pressure on a peace that is already so close to fracturing. He does it anyway. “Then I think it’s time you found out,” he says, enunciating each syllable with a quiet caution, as though navigating a minefield on his tiptoes. As though Daniel is still the prey he’s pursuing from the shadows.

Daniel inhales a shuddering breath at the touch, eyes cracked wide open and wanting for a feeling he cannot yet name. Slowly, he nods once more.

Armand does not require any more encouragement than that, closing his eyes and sliding inside the familiar terrain of Daniel’s mind. It is not hard to find where his memories have been altered, the negative space that Armand once occupied; it is all over, the stain of him soaked irreparably into the folds of Daniel’s brain even if he isn’t aware of it.

The memories were never gone, not really. Just locked away, bound in crimson thread and tucked safely where Daniel would not be able to find them. But Armand can, and he does, carefully unspooling the ties that hide himself from Daniel’s recollection.

As he does, he is struck by the invigorating thought of how it might feel to bear witness to their years together through Daniel’s eyes. Of course, most of the time, he already knew what Daniel was thinking as the events of their lives unfolded; he was less guarded in those days, more open to Armand’s intrusions into his psyche.

This, though—this is going to be different, Armand thinks. Because it is one thing to know how Daniel felt and another thing entirely to feel it for himself. He finds the idea of it breathtaking; it is as though he has finally discovered a way to crawl inside of Daniel, to burrow under his skin and make room for himself inside of his body. To build a home inside of this strange, impossible human so that he never has to leave. Can never truly be left.

To Armand, such a notion is nothing short of a revelation.

In the first memory that resurfaces, Daniel is sitting in a taxi cab that’s at a standstill in Boston traffic, when seemingly out of nowhere Armand opens the door and slithers inside. By this point, they have met a few times, talked even, but only at Daniel’s urging. Not once has Armand approached him so brazenly. Hell, it had been like pulling teeth to even get a name from the guy.

A frisson of excitement alights in Daniel’s gut at this deviation in the pattern, and his heart kicks up a rabbit-quick rhythm as he watches the vampire settle primly into the seat beside him. In spite of the utter shamelessness of it, there is no self-consciousness to how Daniel stares at him as he does; if anything, he feels he is owed a bit of ogling in the wake of Armand’s continued insistence on showing up unannounced.

“What are you doing here?” Daniel asks after a minute, patently unable to stem the tide of his own curiosity even if it means sacrificing whatever veneer of coolness he might have managed otherwise.

“Joining you for dinner,” Armand replies, pinched and prissy, as though they’d had these plans for some time and it was incredibly rude of Daniel to have forgotten.

Daniel just laughs. “Of course,” he says. At this point, he figures, this might as well happen. “Where are we going?”

Armand smiles, his typical closed-mouth affair of omniscient amusement, electing to say nothing in response. Instead, he leans forward to murmur an address that Daniel doesn’t recognize to the cabbie.

The rest of the ride is a trudge through congested city streets, silent enough that Daniel starts to reflect on the insanity of what he’s doing. Because really, he’s breaking bread with a bloodsucking monster here, right? Getting dinner with him, even, like Daniel is some chick he’s trying to woo.

Predictably, Armand is reading his mind again. “If you don’t enjoy my company, Daniel, I’d be happy to let you return to your evening.”

Daniel blinks at him. “By that do you mean you’d actually leave me alone? Or would you, you know, go back to following me like a deranged stalker?”

Armand merely looks at him. It’s answer enough.

Daniel snorts, knocking his shoulder against the vampire’s. “It’s fine. It’s not like I had any plans.” I must be fucked in the head or something, because I kinda like having you here, he thinks but doesn’t say, knowing full well that Armand hears it anyway.

When they arrive at their destination, a dingy hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant in the North End that seems to be run by three generations of a single family, Daniel raises an eyebrow.

“I would have expected you to take me some place a lot fancier, given the whole…everything about you,” he comments, glancing down at Armand’s clearly-expensive attire. Not like he actually minds; if anything, he prefers joints like this one. It’s more that whenever he thinks he has Armand pegged, the guy turns around and surprises him.

“Would you rather I wine and dine you properly, Daniel?” Armand asks. The mirth etched into his features is carefully concealed, hidden under layers and layers of obfuscating masks, but Daniel likes to think he sees through all of that.

“Nah,” he answers, nice and easy, as their hostess ushers them to an empty table. “But don’t expect me to put out unless you foot the bill.”

“Naturally,” Armand says amicably, placing a hand on the small of Daniel’s back as he pulls out his chair and guides him to sit down. Daniel flushes a bit, wondering—not for the first time—what the hell they’re doing here. Armand, obviously, hears the thought. “We’re getting dinner, Daniel.”

“But why?” he blurts out as Armand takes the seat across from him, spreading his napkin delicately across his lap and then folding his hands atop it.

“Must I have a reason?”

“Most people have reasons for the things they do, yeah.”

“I think you’ll agree that I’m not most people.” Armand pauses then, his eyes scanning over Daniel’s face like he’s searching for something. Daniel can’t tell whether he’s found it or not, but either way, he continues, “I want to remember. What it’s like.”

There’s a soft ache where Daniel’s heart clenches for a second, the sympathetic echo of the mourning he imagines Armand must feel. “To be human? It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“To exist.”

Daniel doesn’t really know what to say to that. He tries regardless: “I guess I can help with that.”

“You already have, Daniel.”

The food ends up being spectacular. When Daniel says as much on the ride home, Armand smiles at him, a real one, and it’s like looking at the god damn sun. It’s radiant. It’s blinding.

The memories come more quickly after that: the two of them strolling down the sidewalks of Paris, of New York, of Prague. Of anywhere and everywhere with streets that thrum a hungry, insistent bassline underneath the soles of their feet. Where the city has a pulse, where the city is alive.

Most of them are just snippets, brief flashes of the moments that exist in the liminal space between more significant events. Knuckles brushing over the back of a hand; glances that are not stolen but freely gifted. Armand is less a fixture of Daniel’s life at this point and more of a specter tied to his soul. It’s just that Daniel doesn’t so much mind the haunting.

Many of the memories feel soft and distant, the edges made indistinct by the pleasant haze of nostalgia that folds over them like a throw blanket. More still are warped and blurred by whatever poison Daniel had picked that evening. But all of them are heady with the sense that they are building to something, every interaction buzzing with the persistent mechanical whir of a roller coaster climbing towards that first big drop—the mounting anticipation before your stomach falls out from under you.

That is, until they’re in a nightclub in Berlin one summer evening in 1978. Daniel has had quite a bit to drink, but hasn’t yet had anything to sniff, smoke, or swallow; the vampire always chastises him when he does, and it isn’t enough of a deterrent to actually stop him most of the time, but it does tend to delay his hunt for the night’s undoing.

He’s currently sitting at the bar with Armand as the two of them trade observations about the miscellaneous strangers who populate their world tonight. Sometimes, the vampire will point to one of them and ask Daniel to guess their life story: the woman crying openly on the dance floor, the man who looks out of place in his business suit, the couple who alternate between kissing and fighting. When Daniel does a good job deducing details about them from context clues, Armand smiles warmly at him and shows him what he sees inside of their heads.

They’re leaned in close, mere inches of space between their foreheads as they play this new favorite game of theirs, ostensibly so they can hear one another over the synth-pop beats blaring from the club speakers. If Daniel is being honest with himself, though, he thinks it might have more to do with the physics of celestial bodies, the slow and inevitable pull of gravity.

The combination of the alcohol and the proximity is making Daniel feel brave tonight. Braver than usual, brave enough to press up against the ever-thinning wall that separates him from Armand.

“This music is terrible,” he says despite the fact that he doesn’t really mean it; he actually sort of likes how the beat reverberates through him, makes him feel like his bones are in a cocktail shaker. “Do you want to dance?”

The grin that spreads across his face is wide, goofy. Hopeful.

Armand makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, a hum that indicates thoughtfulness or maybe just acknowledgment that he’s been asked a question. “I do not think that would be wise,” he answers after a second, sage-like and frustratingly devoid of emotion.

Daniel’s expression sours a little, but not enough to wipe the smile away entirely; after all, there are other ways for him to have a good time tonight, and this is as good of an excuse as any to start looking for them. He shrugs and hopes that it comes across as nonchalant. “Whatever.” With two quick swallows, he downs the rest of his drink and then stands. “I’m going to dance.”

With a wry twist of his lips, Armand gestures for him to go ahead. Then he murmurs, low and sultry, directly into Daniel’s mind: Have fun.

Daniel tries to pretend that it doesn’t send a shiver running through him at a gallop; he’s still annoyed that Armand rejected his invitation. More than that, he’s wounded and confused as to why, when it seems so much like the vampire wants him back.

I will, he thinks in response, making his way into the sea of bodies. There’s something almost grotesque about it, how the crowd writhes and squirms like a nest of maggots descending on roadkill. It would be so easy to lose himself in it, to forget the lines where his body ends and the next one begins. To forget the maelstrom of complicated feelings he’s currently wading through.

The notion has a certain amount of appeal.

Stay where I can see you, Armand tells him, breaking through Daniel’s miasma of self-pity to speak to him telepathically once more. And although his words are perfectly polite in tone, they have all the weight of a command behind them. I’d like to watch.

Heat spreads in Daniel’s chest, blooming from his sternum out until it washes over his shoulders. Whether it’s from arousal or irritation is unclear. Maybe, he replies, as coolly as he can manage with the liquor running hot and wild in his blood. If I feel like it.

You would deny me the pleasure of observing you?

Of course he wouldn’t. I might, he replies anyway, as he tries to move his body in time with the music, tries to look good doing it. He’s not sure it’s all that successful. If there was someone who actually wanted to dance with me.

I doubt there’s anyone in this club who doesn’t, Armand says, as if it’s not even worth questioning. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world that he would be desired.

And Daniel really, really hates that. Hates that Armand can turn him down and then pretend to want him in the next breath. Hates that he never just says what he means. Hates that he has no idea if the vampire is actually interested or if he’s just fucking with him.

He hates it enough that, when he notices a man a few feet away eyeing him with blatant interest, he smirks at him as flirtatiously as he can and beckons him over. Let’s find out.

The man smiles, pushing his way through the throng of people until he gets to Daniel. He’s handsome: tall and brunette with a nice, square jaw that he can imagine someone wanting to bite. The kind of guy who could probably have his pick of the whole club, but here he is, choosing Daniel instead.

It’s nice, he thinks. To be chosen.

The searing weight of Armand’s stare bores into his back and it emboldens him, makes him curl his fingers around the collar of the man’s leather jacket and draw him in until the lines of his body run parallel to Daniel’s own. The stranger grabs Daniel around the waist with his human-hot hands, his fingertips just barely brushing the curve of his ass as he brings them even closer together.

As they dance, he can feel Armand watching him, can feel the path the vampire’s eyes burn over the lines of his body. Like he’s trying to brand Daniel with his gaze. Like he’s marking his fucking territory.

The audacity—the arrogance—of it pisses Daniel off, so he leverages their new position to roll his hips into where the man is waiting to meet him, and then they’re barely even dancing at all anymore. It’s more like grinding, like rutting, like the sort of thing you’d see in a National Geographic issue that you wouldn’t want to show your kid.

In response, the handsome stranger leans down and starts pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses to his jugular, and Daniel moans.

Then, suddenly, the world seems to stop. All of the people on the dance floor freeze in position, including the guy Daniel’s dancing with, and he nearly stumbles from the abrupt halt in their movement.

“Wha—?” he mumbles, taking a step back and looking frantically around the room. It’s like he’s accidentally stepped into the world of a photograph, uncanny and altogether unsettling. The only evidence that time marches on is the heavy bass that continues thudding from the club speakers.

You wanted to dance, Armand says inside of his mind, tone clipped and overly formal, and Daniel swings his head around to look at him. The vampire is stalking towards him, deftly sidestepping the frozen club-goers until he reaches Daniel. So let’s dance.

“How did you—?” he starts, but Armand distracts him by sliding his hands under the hem of Daniel’s t-shirt until he can rest his cold fingers on the bare skin of his waist. As far as strategies go, it’s a pretty effective one, and Daniel gasps and leans into his touch.

“Hush now, beautiful boy,” the vampire whispers, and then he’s turning Daniel around so his back is pressed against Armand’s front. He leans down to nose at the spot where the other man had been kissing. “Dance with me.”

Daniel’s heart hammers in his chest in time with the beat, so fast and frantic he belatedly worries it might up and take flight. At first he doesn’t move at all, stunned into stillness, but then Armand is gently encouraging his hips backwards to meet his own, and Daniel’s body finally gets with the program. He sways into Armand’s touch, and he can feel the grin it earns him stretching against his neck, and it’s second nature for him to thread his fingers in Armand’s dark hair. To keep him exactly where he is.

The way they dance to the music then is sinuous, filthy. Their bodies move together like two parts of the same whole, like Daniel is the rib cage swelling over Armand’s lungs on every inhale. Like Daniel’s veins are the ones wrapped around Armand’s blood. It’s a hysterical sort of ecstasy, the sensation of the vampire’s bared fangs scraping so delicately over the skin of his throat. The tiny, reverent kisses he presses there, as if trying to paint over those left mere moments ago by that already-forgotten stranger.

“Please, Armand,” Daniel beseeches him, not entirely sure what it is that he’s asking for. “I need—”

“What do you need, beloved?” Armand asks, and the fingers on Daniel’s hip creep lower, inward, teasing little touches that narrowly avoid tracing the outline of his hardening cock.

“You,” Daniel rasps, throwing his head back onto the vampire’s deceptively-muscular shoulder. “Please, please.” It falls from his mouth like a prayer, half-begging and half-benediction, and Armand groans where his teeth press against the boy’s fluttering pulse.

Wordlessly, the vampire cups him in his hand and squeezes, the delectable pressure of it sending sparks shooting up Daniel’s spine, as visceral and electrifying as touching a live wire. He tries to buck his hips into the touch, instinctively seeking out more of the contact, but the vampire holds him in place with a cold, steely grip. Daniel whines—a desperate, humiliating sound—but Armand does not relent, evidently refusing to allow even a breath of space between his own hard length and Daniel’s ass.

Mine. It plays on a loop in Daniel’s mind, sharp and resonant like a violin string snapping. Mine, mine, mine.

“Yours.” All that’s left of Daniel’s voice now is a rough, broken whisper. “I’m yours, Armand, I’m yours.”

At that, Armand growls like a savage, feral thing and unbuttons Daniel’s jeans. He seems more animal than man, more monster than human, and Daniel thinks that maybe that ought to scare him.

It doesn’t.

Roughly, the vampire maneuvers Daniel’s pants and boxers down past his thighs, pushing at them until they lay in a puddle around his ankles. Then he’s half-naked, his cock curving up towards his belly with desire, and Daniel only has a moment to think about what he must look like—hard and leaking in the middle of the dance floor—before Armand is grinding into him again and he isn’t thinking anything except God, please, more.

“Fuck,” he curses, reaching back to grab a handful of Armand’s ass in a wanton attempt to get him even closer.

The vampire makes a pleased noise and sinks his teeth lightly into Daniel’s throat. He seems like he’s barely keeping it together when he asks, May I have you, Daniel? Would you like that?

Daniel would. In fact, if Armand isn’t inside of him soon, then Daniel worries he might go insane with how very badly he wants it. He tries to convey as much telepathically to Armand, but all that comes out is a muddled jumble of yesyesfuckpleaseyespleasefuck.

For the first time since their hips have connected, the vampire allows them to part, and Daniel almost complains about it until he hears the sound of Armand unzipping his absurd pleather pants. Soon, it’s followed by the slick, telltale slide of lubricant coating skin. Belatedly, Daniel wonders where he got it from.

Then, he feels the careful press of the pad of a finger spreading him open, and Armand is wrapping an arm around his waist and lining himself up, and he only has to wait another second before the vampire is pressing inside.

It burns, of course, a feverish sort of stretch that at first threatens to overwhelm him. But Daniel has done this before (has done it a lot, even), so he forces himself to relax into it, to give himself over to the sensation of being pulled apart instead of fighting against it. It feels like ages have passed before their hips are flush once more, the delicious torture of that slow eternity dragging a high, keening whimper from Daniel’s open throat.

Once he’s finally fully seated, Armand stills in an attempt to give Daniel a moment to adjust to the size of him. It isn’t surprising, Daniel supposes; he’s always been so very careful not to hurt the poor little human.

But Daniel, for one, isn’t having any of it. Move, fucker, he hisses impatiently, needing more than anything for Armand to take Daniel’s insides and claim them as his own, to mark him as if Daniel were something worth keeping.

Needy, Armand chastises inside of his head, but he mercifully takes the direction: suddenly, there are sharp-tipped nails digging into the soft flesh of Daniel’s hip and another hand pressing at the base of his neck to compel him to bend over further, and then Armand is pounding into Daniel like he means it, like he’s starving for it. Like Daniel owes him fucking money.

It’s too intense, it’s too much, and it’s everything Daniel needs right now. With every thrust, the vampire caresses something inside of him that makes the pressure in Daniel’s groin build from an ember into an inferno. His head drops down, his bones too liquid to support the weight of it any longer; his fingers claw desperately, shamelessly, at the arm that’s holding him up. All of the frozen faces watching him from the dance floor make him feel like a cheap whore, and the depraved little moans that keep spilling from his throat aren’t helping matters much either, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about right now is the place where their bodies join, the entire universe forgotten in favor of the rough drag of Armand’s cock fucking him so deliriously full.

It doesn’t take long before he’s on the precipice of a climax that feels like it’s going to splinter him into tiny pieces, that’s going to take him apart bit by bit and then put him back together again. And right as he’s on the edge, he hears Armand’s voice in his mind once more, whispering the word mine over and over, as if he isn’t even aware he’s doing it.

Then there are fangs sinking into Daniel’s neck, flooding his veins with an ice-cold numbness as though he shot up liquid nitrogen, and it pushes him over and off of the cliff, down into a ravine that seemingly has no bottom. He comes harder than he can remember in a long, long time, without Armand even touching his cock, his release coating the floor of the nightclub and the shoes of the stranger he was dancing with.

It’s only as the aftershocks are wracking his body with feeble tremors that Daniel notices how lightheaded he’s gotten, how his vision is starting to turn dark at the corners from the blood loss.

Armand’s hips stutter, his cock twitching as it paints Daniel’s ass with his own orgasm. It’s the last thing he feels before he collapses into the vampire’s waiting arms, the world falling away around him and replaced with a warm, comforting blackness.

[tokiro07]

Ichi the Witch ch.10 thoughts

[(N)Ice Boat]

(Topics: thematic analysis - Death for Death/talent, character analysis - Hisame, speculation - Kumugi/Magik/Minakata)

Dammit, I was wrong again, Ichi really did just make sashimi instead of turning Hisame into an outfit...I think @wickedsick predicted that, so good job, Wick

It was certainly well telegraphed, he was literally fileting her, and Desscaras/Kumugi were wearing the iconic sushi chef headband, I just was hoping for something a little more on-theme I guess

I'm not at all disappointed in this outcome, mind you, I'm just bitter about how I keep whiffing on what seem like easy pitches. I'll probably feel a lot better about it on reread, but right now I'm just a bit embarrassed

Enough lamenting though, let's focus on the chapter itself!

Good Enough to Eat

The sashimi boat really is the perfect solution to this trial, honestly. First and foremost, it's a solid reflection of Ichi's philosophy of Death for Death. As Ichi says in the flashback, the sashimi boat is an artistic and ritualistic expression of both respect and gratitude for the prey, the core ideology behind only killing when it is necessary for survival and not wanton destruction in the name of entertainment. The prey's life is not more valuable than the predator's, so Ichi wants to honor the life that he has taken for his own by treating it with dignity

Moreso than just the spirit behind Death for Death, it is also literally taking that philosophy to its logical conclusion by reflecting Hisame's own actions upon her. Hisame enjoyed putting her victims on display, making their frozen corpses into macabre architecture, so it's only fair that the same would be done to her. A punishment that fits the crime

However, it also is what allows Ichi to actually pass the trial because while it is a gruesome fate, it is not actually a punishment for Hisame. Like I said, it's a reflection of her own artistic sensibilities turned back on her; she is now the one being put on display as a grotesque art piece - of course she'd find that more beautiful than being trussed up in flowers or frills! She was telegraphing it the whole time!

It's also a fun play on Desscarass' attempt to cheat last week by saying true beauty is on the inside - by rending and exposing her flesh, Hisame can see her literal inner beauty in a way that is both novel and a perfect encapsulation of her sense of aesthetic

I do think that turning her into an outfit would have ultimately had the same effect, but focusing on Ichi's established specialties works much better as a bookend for this arc's themes

Playing to Your Strengths

While I initially wanted Kumugi to learn the lesson of individual capability directly, having her see it firsthand through Ichi's talents is a great way to set her arc on a slow burn rather than simply cooking it all the way through in one shot

Before, she was simply told of the idea, and now she's merely witnessing it in action, but she has yet to personally experience or internalize it, steps that will come later as she's forced to contend with her own shortcomings and insecurities

My guess is that she's meant to be more of the Usopp of the team, who even to this day is struggling to recognize just how far he's come in his personal journey. Like how Usopp had to learn to be brave in increasingly personally challenging scenarios, Kumugi is likely going to be put in scenarios that make her feel less and less suited to them, but through emulating Ichi, will slowly come to learn that her unique capabilities make her just as skilled as Ichi in her own way

But again, I'm getting ahead of myself. For now, what matters is that Desscaras' line about Ichi doing things that only he can do seems to have resonated with Kumugi, even if she doesn't fully understand why just yet

Speaking of things we don't fully understand yet, this chapter has left me with a couple of questions that I'm very excited to see addressed in the future

Gotta Catch 'Em All

First, as this is the first time we're seeing a non-combative trial, is it common for Magiks to be so peaceful when they become magic stones? Obviously Uroro was distraught, but should we expect most of them to be satisfied or even happy to be bested?

And for that matter, what does it actually mean to be turned into a magic stone? We know they can be returned to normal upon the death of their spell holder, but is it more of a seal or a cycle of death and rebirth?

Cus if it's the latter, then Magik psychology must be fascinating, as they're likely able to accept their deaths because they have such clarity of purpose in their lives. If it's the former, though, that raises a bunch more questions about their cognition

Are they conscious while in stone form? Is there any circumstance where they can be retrieved?

Uroro is obviously an exception where he can manifest of his own will, but when Ichi cast Inazuri and Inazuri appeared, was that simply an apparition to represent him, or was it literally Inazuri coming to summon the lightning? He didn't say or do anything, so it seems like it was just imagery, but is it possible that with more advanced mastery of a spell that a Witch can fully materialize a Magik as a familiar?

I'm starting to suspect that this might be the case, as Hisame's last words were "I wouldn't mind letting you take me on a date." Perhaps she meant it metaphorically to represent giving herself to Ichi as a stone, but with how bombastic and unique her personality was, I think it would be a huge shame if she's just gone from the cast forever

On the other hand, though, how many Magiks is Ichi going to acquire? He already has three, and one is already a major cast member; will the other two and all subsequent Magiks become a rotating ensemble cast, throwing in their two cents whenever the author deems it funny or interesting but forgetting about them the rest of the time because there's just too much to keep track of?

Or will they simply be inert, effectively dead to the narrative and only contributing as MacGuffins to solve increasingly specific and harrowing challenges with no semblance of personality or individuality ever again?

Both options sound bad when you put them like that, though they both serve a specific purpose to the narrative that would help it flow. I'm pretty sure that's why Shaman King abandoned the Pokemon-esque ghost of the week premise pretty early, since it wouldn't do to have Yoh juggling a bunch of side characters when one would perfectly suffice. Come to think of it, I think Kagamigami did the same thing...

Only time will tell, but I do hope there is a way for Ichi to connect with his Magiks on a more personal level, especially if it turns out that it's something Witches either weren't aware of or deliberately don't do to avoid forming personal attachments

Even if we don't get more insight into Ichi's relationships with Inazuri or Hisame, though, there is one relationship of his that I'm confident we're going to be seeing a lot more of

Teach a Man to Fish

I have no idea what role he's is going to play going forward or how long it's going to take to get there, but there is simply no way that Minakata isn't meant to be important

Minion to the Big Bad? The Big Bad himself? The Big Good?? I don't know! But mentors that protagonists fondly remember and were heavily inspired by as children always do one of two things: turn evil or die horribly. Sometimes both! Lookin' at you, Kite HxH

I don't want to speculate too much since we've basically learned nothing concrete about him, but being that he's a wanderer with a mysteriously hidden face, I'll bet right now that Ichi's going to meet an oddly large man later, walk away none the wiser, and then the man is going to pull out the deer skull mask and say something cryptic about how much Ichi has grown

Buuut just to make a particularly wild shot in the dark now with no basis whatsoever: I won't be surprised if it turns out that Minakata has something to do with Ichi becoming a Witch. Maybe Minakata did something to him, maybe Minakata is also a Manwitch. Either way, there's definitely going to be an explanation for Ichi winning that lottery and Minakata is currently the best (and only) lead we've got on that

And with that, we've completed the first full story arc. It's definitely proving to be as fun as I expected it to be, I'm just surprised it's taken this long to establish a long-term goal. I won't be surprised if we get another mission to establish a bit more of a daily life-style pattern, but I worry in Jump's current climate that waiting too long to raise the stakes will prove detrimental to Ichi's longevity. It was around this point when Shigaraki showed up in Hero Academy, Geto showed up in JJK, and God was established as the antagonist in Undead Unluck, so I'd say we'll at least get a glimpse of the antagonist in the next few chapters hopefully

Until next time, let's enjoy life!

[f1-stuff]

omg that part two snippet of girldad! carlos had me literally screaming, the way you write is just so *chef’s kiss* i can’t wait for the to see what happens next

its gonna be so cute when charles starts speaking french with ana and they both start bonding, carlos already has it down bad for this man but he’s going to be in love love with this man when this happens

the idea of the both of them being dads is just so… compelling, we really need more fics of them being dads and being all domestic

im sorry for this ranty ask but i just got so excited when i saw u posted the snippet, i love that fic so much already

and if you don’t mind, could you post the giver au pls :))

sending you lots of love mal, thank you for everything!! <33

Hi! Do not apologize!! Every fic writer hopes and dreams that ppl will get excited about their fic 😭 and I completely agree - we need more charlos dads. They are literally so married and charles wants a kid so badly...

Anyway yes! You can have a snippet of the Giver AU - i've shared a bit of it before, but essentially, the premise is that society requires everyone to take suppressants to dull their emotions, eliminating pain/conflict/anger/fear etc., but also eliminating passion/love/joy in the process...

I'm thinking of doing a major rewrite of this actually...so honestly what you read here might look very different by the time I post it but 🤷🏻‍♀️

“Hola, teammate.” It’s accompanied by a grin and a nudge to his arm. Charles raises an eyebrow.

“Hello, again.”

They’d seen each other not forty-five minutes ago, but Carlos seems to insist on greeting everyone like it’s the first time that day no matter how long ago they parted ways. He also keeps calling Charles, ‘teammate,’ like he thinks anyone needs to be reminded of this. 

“What are we doing now?” Carlos asks, rubbing his hands together like he’s impatient to get started. 

Charles doesn’t know why he would be - they’ve been doing promotional obligations all day, and his head is starting to hurt from all the bright lights. It’s all videos and photoshoots for their sponsors and social media accounts. Tomorrow will be the more important agenda - seat and race suit fittings are the first things on the schedule.

“A video for the fans, I think,” Charles says, in answer. “Where we ask each other questions.”

“Ah, so I can discover all of your secrets.” Carlos lifts his brows up and down in a way that Charles isn’t sure he’s ever seen someone do. 

He knows it’s a joke - one of Carlos’ strange ones, where he doesn’t really mean what he says. But Charles still finds himself wanting to protest the remark.

“I don’t have secrets.” Why would he? He has nothing to hide. Carlos rolls his eyes.

“Okay,” is all he says.

Charles has the sense he’s disappointed him somehow. Not that it really matters, but he’s still trying to figure out his new teammate. He wants them to get along, since they’ll be seeing a lot of one another. So far, he feels like Carlos is perpetually amused by him for reasons that Charles can’t determine.

“The questions are prepared,” Charles adds. “They wouldn’t have us ask whatever we wanted.” This seems obvious to him, but maybe Carlos isn’t yet accustomed to how structured things are at Ferrari. 

Practically their every movement is planned by some coordinator on the team - the only time it can’t be is in the car, when the drivers themselves hold the steering wheel. And even then, the team tries to control everything with strategy and radio communications during the race.

Carlos gives him a searching look, which Charles attempts not to shy away from. He isn’t shy, anyway. Poor choice of words.

“Do you ever... Mm- how do you say it?” Carlos takes a second to himself, mulling over whatever it is that he’s trying to ask. “Do you ever go against the script?”

“The script?” Charles frowns.

“The rules. The path. The plan.” Carlos studies him, as he processes the words, like Charles is a bug in a jar. It’s not a sensation he particularly...enjoys, though he can’t pinpoint why. 

“I’m not...” He swallows, unsure of himself. “I don’t-”

“Boys!” someone is saying from across the room, gesturing them over. 

There’s a beat of silence between them, and then Carlos is saying, “Never mind, mate,” patting Charles on the shoulder. 

He walks away then, and Charles is left with a strange hollowness in his chest, like he’s failed at something - like when he’s driven badly or made a mistake on track. But he hadn’t done anything like that. He’d just been talking to his teammate...

He takes a deep breath, then moves to join Carlos across the room.

WIP Wednesday

[haveihitanerve]

The avengers have a joined instagram/tiktok account and they all have control of it and here are some ideas I have of what they would post

Bucky is dedicated to documenting every ‘on your left’ interaction between Steve and Sam, in the first video Sam laughs and rolls his eyes, but the eighteenth video Sam drops what he’s holding and fucking decks captain America 

There’s a video of Peter going around the compound with Wanda asking her what everyone is thinking. Bucky and tony are glaring at each other in the kitchen and Bucky is thinking ‘where’s my fucking flying car tony?’ And tony is going through his grocery list

There’s an entire album of videos dedicated to the avengers falling. Sam’s wings fail. Clint’s arrow line snaps. Tony’s thrusters give out. Thor loses his balance while flying. Etc. 

Bucky created a montage of Sam practice flying where he just eats shit every time

Pepper released the footage of tony attempting to fly

Tony videoed Rhodes learning to fly

Peter posts candid pictures every chance he gets- Bucky mid sneeze, Sam tripping down the stairs, Steve laughing so hard milk is shooting out of his nose, Tony face planting, Clint falling out of a vent, Nat looking amazing

There’s so many pictures of the avengers asleep but in the weirdest places

A montage of videos showing tony climbing onto a counter during arguments to be taller than his opponent

A video without sound of the original six avengers sitting/laying in one persons room even though they all have their own, talking (it’s Tony’s because there’s a poster of every avenger on the wall except iron man)

Peter videoing Steve marching into the kitchen at five am holding an iron man action figure and snapping its neck in front of Tony because he ate his last donut

A video of Thor making toast and jumping when it’s ready with Wii music playing

Clint, Tony and Bucky in a broken elevator together, Tony’s trying to fix it while Bucky and Clint are singing elevator music

Thor and Steve and tony training

Tony helping Peter with his homework

A series of clips of Morgan running and jumping into every avengers arms

A video of Bucky and Sam holding Peter between them by his arms and legs, sprinting away from tony

Spiderman being frustrated and punching a hole in the concrete wall, a zoom in on Steve’s wide eyed face and then moved to Tony’s disappointed face

Wanda cooking 

Them doing TikTok trends

Dressing as each other for Halloween and having the glam bot music playing as they each show off their costumes and there’s one where they all actually wear the others costumes (Thor has the iron man helmet sitting awkwardly on top of his head, one foot wedged into the boot, Steve is standing in a too small shirt, holding a bow backwards, Clint has a cape that’s so heavy he’s falling backwards, Tony looks like a dwarf in captain americas suit, the shield balanced on his head, nat looks flawless in purple shorts and a large gray shirt, Bruce is wrapping himself in a blanket over his very tight black widow fit) and then there’s the one where they didn’t trade outfits (Tony in a off blue shirt with a badly painted star on it and a rectangle thats blue and red taped to his arm, Steve is wearing red underwear with two eye holes cut in on his head and just a red shirt and pants with lightbulbs in his hands, Thor is holding a stick, wearing a black crop top and tights, Clint has red curtains draped over his back and a hard hat on that’s badly spray painted silver, Natasha painted herself green, Bruce is holding a tiny toy bow, wearing swim goggles and a too tight vest)

A race between Bucky and Peter recorded by Sam that ends with at least three holes in the walls, two vases smashed, blood on the floor, an unconscious clint, Bucky screaming, Peter falling off the balcony laughing, and Tony’s depressed face. 

Sam and tony created a collection of Steve’s reaction to modern movies

Natasha and Clint filming the gangs reaction during horror movie night

A Clint documentary of him scaring his fellow avengers

Natasha recorded a time lapse of the boys creating a pillow fort and the greatest mind on earth yelling ‘no girls allowed in the fort they have cooties!’ Only for Bucky to nail him in the face with a pillow

Tony and Steve sneaking into Fury's office continually going ‘shhh!’ To each other as they press gemstones onto his eye patch

Fury wearing the bedazzled eye patch

Arm wrestling matches

Thor yeeting tony

Them playing football and tony tackling captain America to the ground only for Thor to lift him by his feet and spin and throw him into a tree but Peter catches him with a web, shoots Thor in the face and catches the ball and scores a touchdown

A compound wide game of water balloon fight

A city wide game of freeze tag

Tony and Thor giggling like children while drawing on Steve’s shield. 

Lifting mjolnir competition

Thors hair blowing majestically in the wind (recorded by peter) with ‘loreal paris, because you're worth it’ playing over top

Pictures taken perfectly just before people lean in to kiss each other, do they actually kiss? The fans will never know

A picture of the avengers that gets increasingly more concerning the longer you look at it- clint dangling from the ceiling, mouth duck taped shut, peter just floating mid air with a concerned look on his face, thor holding a decapitated captain america behind his back, a foot thats just barely in frame but at a height that is not possible for a foot to be at, tony’s head somehow poking through the floor, steve wearing a shirt inside out but in actuality hes shirtless and has stitches, sam is a blur in the background, bucky missing an arm, nat juggling eyeballs? etc

A video of captain america applying makeup and then it cuts to him looking like tony stark and walking around the city and is later revealed to actually have been loki pretending to be cap pretending to be tony

A comp of everyone mimicking each others languages

A ‘road trip’ to everyone's home countries- cut to everyone shivering in russia while bucky and nat grin

Peter throwing out modern slang and having snapshots of steve and buckys  faces every time

A video of Sam and Bucky having a sandcastle building competition with Peter

A handstand competition video between Sam Peter Bucky Steve and Clint(Peter wins)

A picture of the avengers eating ice cream

A collection of people’s faces after Spider-Man drops down behind them 

A collection of the avengers faces after tony/steve told an old/ dad joke

A picture of Thor passed out on the couch, seven phones on his stomach, face and thighs because he’s the god of thunder/lightning and works as a wireless charger

A video of Peter stealing Tony’s flip phone and being like ‘hehe I’m gonna prank call so many people’ only to discover it only has one singular contact

Peter recording a dark compound and creeping up the stairs going “🎶if you’re here to murder me clap your hands🎶” and then there’s clapping and a perfectly cut Peter scream

A picture of tony asleep, Morgan and Peter curled up on top of him, also asleep

A muted video of tony screaming at Steve and Sam and Bucky and the caption is ‘Morgan swore’

A picture of tony looking chastised while fury is looking down at him, completely done

A video, recorded by nat, of her sneaking into the kitchen at three am to find bukcy, peter, and sam sitting and standing on the counter, the fridge, and the table respectively, rapping hamilton

A picture of peter and sam placing magnets on an asleep buckys arm, followed by a picture of peter and sam sprinting away from a very angry looking bucky

A muted video of a fight going on between all avengers with ominous music playing and the caption ‘the next civil war’..... Except the ‘fight’ is a tickle fight

Anyway thats all i got, feel free to add more i would love to read ‘em.

[alexanderlightweight]

writing Wednesday!!! best day of the week!

My prompt, if it suits you: During the first uprising the circle won and took over rule of shadowhunter society. Fast forward about 2 decades and reluctant circle soldier Alec gets thoroughly seduced to join the downworlder resistance by Magnus 💜🖤💜🖤

It’s so sweet that you think it’s the best day! But it’s also the best day of my week where I get amazing prompts like this one.

Uh okay so this is super dddne (not malec) okay? Canon typical implications of: torture/genocide/war/incest/obsession/brainwashing/homophobia

suicide mention/ideation and graphic mention of self harm to the degree that it could be considered a suicide attempt but is also an attempt at getting free.

Ahahaha… I’m not even sure I can should say ‘I hope you enjoy’ with this one but I really do hope so. Also this was a super complex (and enjoyable prompt) because it changes the dynamic of the entire shadowworld.

This is not morgernstern friendly btw

—

Alec sits as still as possible but with his muscles loose and his spine straight but relaxed.

He’s in a predator's den and even if his mother were here with him, he would still be on his own.

“So, Alec—“ and Valentine smiles at him, lips curled in an utterly charming and fake smile. “You’ve impressed your mother and myself, neither of which are easy things to accomplish.”

And Alec, oh he hates where this is going.

Because he’s almost nineteen and his mother gets colder and sharper and more deadly with her disappointment every year. Never once has she complimented him and to hear this, Alec knows it’s nothing good.

“You’ve never once asked to leave Alicante and you’ve never slacked on your training.”

Alec has asked for both of those from his mother, at the same time.

Once.

He learned quickly to never ask anything from anyone ever again.

“It’s my duty.” Alec recites as he twirls his noodles and he hates how good the meal is. “You wish for me to be here, so here I’ll stay. Every nephilim requires training, it is our honor to fulfill it, and a blessing to do so in the divinity of our homeland.”

Alec has practiced small phrases here and there on his own parents, he knows almost everything that is safe to say around Valentine.

Valentine's grin grows a little brighter, a little more real and Alec swallows another bite of noodles instead of shuddering.

“Well, despite your issues—“ and Alec’s stomach shrivels as Valentine frowns, the reminder that everyone knows Alec doesn’t like girls hanging over Alec’s head like the blade of the soul sword. “Maryse and I feel as though you’ve earned a reward. For all of your loyalty and hard work.”

Valentine is talking like he’s one of Alec’s parents and Alec can’t stop himself from paling because he knows nothing good comes from Valentine’s rewards.

They are traps wrapped in filigree promotions and satin words.

“Your mother has been my most loyal and she and I agree that it’s a pity our family legacies haven’t been joined before. I’ve been very careful with Clarissa and sometimes she does act a little silly, but she’s fifteen now. Sixteen by the time you’re twenty, I think it would be a good fit, for both of you. Our labs will ensure there are no issues with having heirs.”

Alec can understand exactly what Valentine is saying. They want him to marry Clary. To get her pregnant as many times as Valentine asks, to be her protective shadow and her strategist and also the chain around her impulses.

Because Clary is spoiled and doted on and while she’s a spitfire fighting — violent and vicious and slightly deranged — she lacks any of the qualities for leadership that Valentine wants. Because she does what she wants, when she wants and if she doesn’t get her way, it goes poorly.

She’s a mad dog, waiting to be put down and Alec is the prison they want to chain her to.

She is also secretly dating Jace Herondale.

And Jace is the closest thing that Alec has to a friend, even if Alec doesn’t get to actually have friends. And while Jace doesn’t know Alec knows, it’s hard not to with how obnoxiously blatant they are.

Jonathan is smiling too.

But his smile is less fake and more considering, appreciation that Alec doesn’t trust in his gaze.

“I’m honored.” Is the only thing Alec can say even though this is the worst thing to ever happen to him and even by nephilim standards, Alec knows his life has been pretty miserable.

“I thought you would be!” And by the angel, Valentine looks really, honestly thrilled and Alec wants to throw up.

But that would be insulting and he can’t afford to insult Valentine.

No one can.

“You and mother lead us for a reason.” Alec demures. “You’re only looking out for the future of all nephilim. How could I disagree with the betterment of our people?”

Because he can’t. He can’t say no even though the word is dancing on his tongue.

“Well since that’s finished. Then I’ll leave you boys to chat, get to know each other as future family.” Valentine says and he claps his hands together before leaving.

Alec wants nothing more to exhale but there’s still another predator in the room and as shaken as he feels, Alec knows it is only going to get worse.

“I—“ he starts and then stops because he doesn’t know what to say. Just something that will convince Jonathon that Alec’s going to do his level best to never even touch or look at his sister.

“Oh Alec.” And Jonathon is laughing and it’s a charming and real sound, which makes it more distressing.

Jonathon is always the most dangerous when he’s being honest.

“I know, don’t worry—“ Jonathon promises and he’s getting up from where he’s been sitting across from Alec and walks around.

Alec swallows and forces himself to let go of his silverware, hands going to his lap.

Jonathon would know if he took the fork.

So he doesn’t, even though he wants to.

“It really is a pity that Robert ended up raising your siblings at his family home, I think you’d have been an amazing older brother.” And Jonathon is watching him with an interest that is normally reserved for his sister.

Alec swallows and turns, keeping his eyes on Jonathon.

“Oh.”

And Jonathon is smiling even softer now and Alec doesn’t even know what he’s doing wrong. “My father isn’t wrong, you know. It really is a pity our legacies aren’t already tied. Who knows, perhaps you could have been my brother.”

And Alec isn’t even going to try to touch that demon nest with an answer.

“Yeah.” Is all he tries to say and then because Jonathon continues to look at him eagerly he takes the risk and adds, “it would’ve been nice.” And then because Alec slips and he thinks of Izzy, the glimpse of her pudgy toddler face and the one picture he saw in Max’s dossier, he can’t help the soft smile of wistfulness that crosses his face.

And he doesn’t see the way Jonathon notices but he does notice when a hand is on his chin, forcing him to look up at the younger boy.

“My father has goals, Alec. But he doesn’t care how he gets them. He wants a Lightwood in the family and I agreed. He offered your sister for me, but I think you’ll fit into our family much better.” And Alec can’t breathe because Jonathon is too close and he’s being gentle.

Jonathon is never gentle unless it’s something he wants to break slowly.

“It’s amazing how you’ll never have to touch her, but you’ll have so many children. I wonder who they’ll look like the most, Clary, you, or me.”

“Clary doesn’t want kids. Especially not with me.” Alec tries because he knows how much Jonathon cherishes his sister.

How covetous of her he is.

“I know—“ and Jonathon pats his cheek tenderly. “But they’ll have you and they’ll have me. I’ll step up where Clary can’t, hmm? Keep it in the family.”

And Alec realizes as Jonathon’s thumb brushes the corner of his mouth that Valentine's heir isn’t just talking about helping raise his hypothetical nieces and nephews. He’s talking about having Alec, in the way Alec will never let Clary.

And Alec smiles and lowers his eyes in the way that prey is supposed to and internally, the small secret part of himself that he keeps tucked away unlocks.

—

Magnus finds him by chance.

He’s in Portugal chasing a lead on a poisonous ward array when an old woman taps his shins with her cane.

Magnus follows her into her shop and exits with a lighter pocket, the array sent to Ragnor and a piece of information burned into his mind.

Young. Lots of tattoos. Lives on the water. Smell off.

Magnus has the scent and for once, he is the hunter.

—

Alec swallows and tries very hard not to be disappointed in himself.

He’s learned a lot in the eight months that he’s managed to live as a mundane. And he knows he’s doing it poorly, but he’s still alive and he’s mostly free so he figured that was enough.

He was wrong.

So very wrong and as the warlock comes closer to him — the magic bringing him lighter but stronger than anything Alec’s tied up with before — Alec resigns himself to either a brutal death or being tortured for information.

And Alec finds that both options are still more preferable than being tangled with both of Valentine’s kids.

“Now what’s a shadowhunter doing here, living like a mundane and hiding on a boat.”

“Nephilim.” Alec corrects automatically and he winces, flushing when gold eyes narrow at him — and how can eyes be so beautiful.

“I—“ and Alec hesitates because he’s not sure if he’s about to get himself into more or less trouble. “I never became an official shadowhunter, not really.”

Because Alec has never officially left Idris and has never led a solo or team mission.

And Alec made sure he never would.

Because Valentine puts unblockable tracking runes on his shadowhunters but he doesn’t bother for his nephilim.

Why should he, when they can’t leave Idris alive.

“Is that even possible?”

Alec is asked and he realizes that he’s going to have to explain. Quickly, before his captor grows impatient.

—

Magnus watches as the young —so young but still not as young as so many murdered downworlder children — nephilim shrugs. He looks uncomfortable but not scared or disgusted.

“It’s not supposed to be.” The nephilim mutters and then he raises his hands, slowly, to rub his palms across his face. He smears blood across the edge of his cheek and even ten years ago Magnus would have been tempted to reach out and wipe it off.

But he knows better than to risk it.

“Tell me.”

Is all Magnus says and his captive responds to his order like it’s automatic.

“It doesn’t work on corpses or bodies near death.” Is blurted out and then the nephilim looks both tragically horrified and upset at his admittance.

“Oh? And what crime is so heinous that someone like Valentine would sentence a young, promising soldier to such a fate?”

And Magnus didn’t mean for a compliment to slip in there but, then nephilim is very easy to compliment.

“I did it to myself.” Is spit out and dark eyes are glaring at him mulishly, as if Magnus is going to judge a nephilim for wanting to escape Valentine so badly. “Valentine wouldn’t have wasted a still breathing body by letting it pass the wards.”

Magnus is delighted.

“Couldn't handle the megalomania? The torrid speeches? I know it wasn’t because of a love for the downworld.” Magnus hopes the nephilim isn’t stupid enough to try the last one. Magnus would burn his lying tongue in his mouth, no matter how pretty it is.

“Couldn’t handle marrying Valentine’s daughter—“ is confessed and there is a dark spark to Magnus’ nephilim. One that says he’s serious and Magnus finds it intriguing.

“I’m going to keep you for a bit.” Magnus says, casually pulling the nephilim closer with magic. “And then we’ll find out if you get to live, hmm?”

—

Alexander, or Alec as he introduced himself, sits like he’s afraid to take up room but afraid to look afraid. He gives Magnus all of his attention and tries hard not to look at anything else, like he’s not supposed to.

And he stays polite if not terse and he agrees to everything asked until Magnus summons a needle, because he requires blood. And then Alec is like a trembling statue, the kind you might see before an earthquake shatters it.

Magnus had thought the syringe would be easier, but it appears not.

“I need your blood.” He reminds his prisoner, losing his patience because he’s already being nicer than he should be as it is.

“Can’t you just use your magic?” Is blurted out and Magnus freezes, his fingers tightening in disbelief around the needle.

“You want me to use magic, would in fact prefer it to this?” Magnus asks and he raises a hand with the syringe and one with magic and Alexander flinches.

From the syringe and towards the magic.

“Anything is better than that.” Is spat out with true fear and vitriol and the second Magnus vanishes the syringe, Alec relaxes. He’s wary in a way that’s new and Magnus realizes that despite considering him a threat, this is the first time Alexander has shown actual fear of Magnus.

Magnus finds that shockingly, he doesn’t enjoy it.

Normally, he would revel in it.

He holds out his fingers, wreathed in angry red flames and Alexander offers his hand, not even flinching even though Magnus knows his magic burns when it’s this agitated.

“Thank you.”

Is whispered when Magnus is finished and leaving the room and Magnus pretends he’s hearing things.

He’s dehydrated, he reminds himself.

He needs a drink, he thinks as he summons a glass.

Half a bottle later Magnus finds himself watching Alexander stand at the balcony and marvel at the city below and he can finally admit it.

He wants Alexander.

Desperately.

Magnus lets himself wallow a full hour before he decides he really doesn’t care if Alexander is a nephilim.

Magnus has slept with his fair share of enemies. Has killed and had others try to kill him during sex and Alexander is hardly as bad as all that.

He is nephilim, but why shouldn’t Magnus gain something from this war. If the Council of Elders dislikes the trophy Magnus is going to take for himself, then they can fight without his power.

Magnus will take his people and his nephilim and keep them safe somewhere else.

He can even take them to another dimension and tie the wards to Alexander’s blood, ensuring no other nephilim can ever pass.

But while Magnus is willing to take a risk, he’s not willing to take a leap of faith and so he’s either going to keep Alexander or make sure he never sees him again unless it’s to kill him.

He walks to the balcony and startles for a moment, magic flaring before he realizes Alexander is the dark puddle curled up with a blanket on Magnus' sofa.

Magnus pretends he knew where Alexander was all along.

“So darling,” and the endearment slips out before he can help it and Alexander blinks up at him in wary surprise, but no protest.

“You have three choices before you. One, I can bind your nephilim blood, your Sight and your memories and throw you to the mundane world and let them deal with taking care of you. I can let you run back to your little boat with a geas on your tongue that will never let you speak of anything you learn and alert me if you encounter others with angel blood.”

Alexander is watching him with hope and desperation and Magnus wants to see what he looks like for the last offer.

“Or, you can be mine. Take all that loyalty that Valentine tried to beat and bribe into you and surrender it to me. Because unlike Valentine, I don’t break what belongs to me and I don't let it go.”

—

“Yes.” Alec says because he knows exactly which option he wants. He’s only made it to nineteen so far because he tried to live like a mundane and keep his head down but he doesn’t enjoy it.

It’s a better life than what he had, but it’s not the kind of life Alec wants. Not after the risks he took, not after he almost succeeded in killing himself just to have a better future.

And Alec doesn’t want to forget himself or how hard he fought to survive.

How for a time, he won.

And Magnus is… Alec can guess what Magnus is implying and he can be good, he’s been trained to be good, to obey.

But most of all, he wants to stay near Magnus. Who gives him options and doesn’t force Alec to do something because he is afraid of it.

“Yes—“ and Magnus trails off leadingly.

“Yes, sir.” He adds, because it doesn’t feel like torture to call Magnus that, even if the word still tastes wrong on his tongue.

And twin moons are blinking at him and then there is a dark, reassuring chuckle.

“I was asking what part of my offer the yes was to, but I suppose that answers that.”

And Magnus leans down and magic surges through Alec’s body and Magnus is kissing him.

Magnus tastes like how Alec imagines magic does.

Tingly and powerful and too wild to ever chain and Alec sobs brokenly into the kiss.

Because Magnus tastes like the future.

Alec’s future.

—

It’s been two weeks since Magnus claimed the spoils of a war he didn’t start but he’s certainly trying to finish.

He’s limited himself to a very few excursions with Alexander, mostly mundane and with a very firm hand on the small of Alexander's back.

And a tethering charm.

And several tracking amulets.

And an earring containing a shard of hellfire hidden under Alexander’s soft curls, in the cartilage of his left ear.

And it’s been going splendidly, until today. When Alexander pressed closer than usual and pressed his lips to Magnus' ear and mouths, “shadowhunters.”

And Magnus knows it’s a warning and not a threat but he pulls Alexander in even closer and loops magic around Alec’s waist to keep him near.

“Where?” He whisper-breathes back and Alec is nodding to the side when his gaze catches somewhere in the middle of the crowd of mundanes approaching them.

“Jonathon.” Alexander whispers and he is shocked and pale as he says it, horrified even. And Magnus concludes that this Jonathon is not someone he needs to worry about Alexander missing.

And then Alec is ducking around and behind Magnus, making himself as small as possible without forcing Magnus to turn his back.

“A friend?” Magnus asks, his magic only staying in place because Alexander came closer to him instead of closer to this, Jonathon.

“Valentine’s son.”

“Ah, your would-be-brother-in-law.” Magnus says with some disdain and eyeing the shadowhunter with more intense scrutiny. He wonders if he can manage to take out the boy without hurting the mundanes and exposing the shadowworld.

“He wanted a uh, little more than that.” Is muttered against his neck and Magnus’ magic swells and thrashes as anger bubbles in him.

“He’s really talented. The best of the best.” But Alexander doesn’t sound like it’s meant as a compliment, “and he really loves his sister.” There is a wealth of unspoken information there in the emphasis, “he implied that he suggested me as Clary’s future husband to his father. Mostly because he knew I wouldn’t fuck her. He promised he’d help me get her pregnant without me touching her and he was very uh, touchy himself.

“Oh?” Magnus asks, voice cool and even despite the stuttering of anger in his veins.

“He’d never touched me outside of sparring or lessons before that.” Alexander tucks his head closer to Magnus’ shoulder like it can hide him, “he basically said that Valentine doesn’t care which of his kids fucks me as long as he gets Lightwood genes out of it one way or another.”

“And his sister?”

“She stopped me when I was leaving and told me she was ‘glad I and Jonathon were getting along so well’.”

Magnus feels very much like the calm before an avalanche.

The slightest bit more pressure and everything will break but he still asks, keeping his voice soothing to not spook Alec.

“And did you consider it?” Magnus asks because he has always loved tempting fate and his own temper.

“Magnus, the night I ran I climbed the tallest tree I could find at the brink of the ward lines. I set myself up on the highest branch that held my weight and I stabbed myself in the heart with one of my own arrows. So that when I fell from blood loss and shock and pain, I’d still fall over the barrier.

“I had the arrow tied to the tree so it would come out and I activated a bunch of runes first. And when I woke up, I had to lay there in agony and alone and quiet at the boundary of Idris until my body decided if it was going to give up and die or struggle to continue. I ran that night and picked that method because Jonathon came to me that morning.

“He promised me that my wedding night would be a ‘memorable one’ and he called me his brother and told me he was looking forward to having a new sibling.”

Magnus blinks as he remembers what Alec had said earlier,“because Valentine wanted you to wrangle his daughter and didn’t care if his son fucked out as long as you also sired a lot of babies for his future armies.”

Alexander nods, miserable and exhausted as he closes his eyes and trusts Magnus to protect him.

“Then I’ll just have to keep you far away from him.” Which is a fortunate timing for their conclusion to reach, as Magnus knows his eyes have finally been spotted.

While he has a mundane-proof glamour on, Magnus never hides his warlock mark anymore.

Let them see him.

Let them fear him.

Let them attack him.

He will incinerate all that try.

However, Magnus is currently in a small mundane town and Magnus will not risk Alexander being snatched away from him.

“They’re coming.” He whispers, lips brushing Alexander’s ear and Magnus sees the exact moment Jonathon Morgernstern recognizes who is in his arms.

The vindictive glee of having found a warlock to hunt turns to shock and then feral rage.

“Alec!”

Is shouted across the court and only a few in the crowds of mundanes twitch, downworlders who can’t afford to be as open as Magnus is.

Alexander simply keeps his eyes closed and his cheek to Magnus’ chest.

“Give him back, warlock!” Jonathon is saying, blade drawn and Magnus can see shadowhunters gathering to his call.

“Who would I give him back to?” Magnus queries in mock confusion, “he already belongs to me.”

Valentine's heir spits at the ground and then gives a vicious curse before demanding, “Alec come here.“

And it’s an order and Alexander looks across, at the life and people he left behind and Magnus tightens his hold but Alexander leans back instead of forward.

��Why?” Alexander asks and his confusion is as beautiful as it is fake, “I’m right where I’m supposed to be.” And he tilts his face up, lips parting like petals beckoning for a taste of the sun and Magnus kisses him.

Magnus kisses him and lets his magic visibly dance on Alexander’s body for several dangerously blissful seconds.

And then there is the scream of an enraged animal who has had its prey stolen and Magnus laughs, throwing his head back as he opens a portal behind himself.

“He’ll never be yours, he’ll never be anyone’s but mine.” Magnus promises with a vicious, victorious smirk as he tips them back, letting space and magic absorb them and take them away, Alexander exactly where he belongs.

And later, in Magnus’ lair and behind his wards, Alexander will frown and say “I think maybe I should have said something else. What if he thinks you bewitched me? I’d rather be a traitor than have them trying to ‘save’ me.”

And Magnus will kiss him and hold him down with magic so that his hands can cup Alexander’s face.

“It wouldn’t have mattered, it doesn’t matter, I have you.” He will promise.

Because Magnus recognizes the look Jonathon gave Alec and it’s not one that will let Alexander go, not without a bloody fight.

Which is fine.

Magnus will enjoy making Valentine’s heir bleed.

[inktailsaystuff]

Rose finds Mordecai Lackadaisy One Shot because reasons

TW: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Rose stood at the st. Louis train station, clutching the letter she had stolen from her mother in her paws. The old worn paper, a reminder of what she lost. Her older brother Mordecai. Gone one night to never return. After years of trying to find him, she got a tip from someone that a tuxedo cat that fit the description Rose had sent out lived in st. Louis. A tuxedo cat with a permanently angry expression and green eyes. Rose's tail lashed, this was is it. Maybe she would finally find Mordecai.

St. Louis was miserable to say the least, however finding a room was easy. An old cat named Ms. Bapka had let her stay in her apartment, her neighbour was a terrifying cat missing one eye. Viktor he was called apparently. When Rose first said hello to him he seemed to do a double take when he saw her. He was gruff and spoke with a heavy accent, and once she had settled in she began her search.

She spent most of her days hiding under the guise that she was a man and watching cats as they passed through cafe's and restaurants. Her eyes looking over the crowds for a familiar face, bright green eyes and a white muzzle. However after one week of no luck, Rose started to lose hope.

Rose slammed her fist into the table, fury making her fur bristle as she cursed under her breath. Storming down the stairs she nearly ran into a young smoky grey cat.

"ACK!" She dropped her stacks of magazines.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry!" Rose immediately back tracked helping the cat pick up all her magazines off the floor. "I'm so sorry I wasn't looking where I was going and-"

"It's fine." The cat smiled regaining her composure. "Are you new? My name is Ivy." She extended a paw, her bright yellow eyes looking into Rose's green ones.

"Uh... yeah uh- I'm Rose." Rose introduced herself., subconsciously fixing her jacket.

"Huh." Ivy looked Rose up and down. "I've never seen you before." Ivy commented.

"Oh yeah. I'm- I'm just staying for a while." Rose's tail twitched as she spoke.

"Well it's great to meet you!" Ivy grinned, "Would you be willing to go for a cup of tea sometime?"

""Uh..." Rose stepped back, "I'm actually- um kinda busy right now."

"What are you doing?" Ivy pressed.

"Just uh visiting." Rose smiled awkwardly trying to escape the smokey cat.

"Great! I can show you around!" Ivy grinned grabbing Rose and dragging her off. "Hey Rocky! Can you start the car!?" Ivy called out to a tabby in a blue suit.

"Uh I-"

"Come on." Rose was pushed into the back of the vehicle. Ivy sat down next to her, meanwhile two cats sat up front. The tabby named Rocky, and a ginger who's name she was unaware of. "I can show you around and show you some of the most popular places." Ivy prattled on, that peaked Rose's interest. Maybe she could find her brother.

"A-Alright." Rose nodded, "Do you happen to know anywhere where one can get a good tea and french toast?" Rose spoke up remembering her brother's fancy pickings.

"Mhm." Ivy grinned, "Little daisy cafe. C'mon Rocky let's show Rose."

The cafe was small and quaint, once nearby Rose practically threw the door open as if trying to catch her brother sitting at one of the chairs. However to her disappointment no one was there. While Ivy prattled on about the cafe, Rose took it upon herself to look around for any trace of her brother. Perhaps a surface was too clean, or items were in perfect symmetry. However she found no trace that hinted to her brother.

"Uh are you looking for something?" The ginger she had now known as Freckle asked her as she inspected the counter.

"No." Rose answered a little too quickly. "I'm just looking around."

"You are... looking rather closely at that counter..." Freckle mumbled as Rose's nose was practically glued the smooth counter surface.

"Just looking." Rose flashed him a smile, an attempt to calm the ginger's nerves. "So. Have you met anyone that looks like me around these parts?" Rose asked very casually.

"N-No?" Freckle mumbled, stepping back. His round face contorted into an expression of confusion. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason." Rose smiled again, before going back to staring intently at the walls. Her ears pricked as she listened for rats and other vermin. Rose ignored the whispers between the two male's as she scanned the walls, her gaze landed on a framed picture. But her eye was drawn to the tuxedo cat in a suit. " MORDECAI!" Rose practically threw herself at the picture as if to make sure that she wasn't seeing things. Sure enough, the familiar angry expression and tall stature solidified it. That was Mordecai. In a heart beat she had turned to Ivy. "Do you know where Mordecai is?" She asked pointing at the picture.

"Uh? Mordecai?" Ivy stared, "How do you know him?"

"Not important where is he!?" Rose asked urgently.

"He doesn't work here anymore." Rocky grinned, "He works at the hotel now."

"What hotel." Rose asked, her gaze piercing through the cat.

"Hotel Maribel." Rocky grinned.

"Where is that." Rose was already storming out of the cafe.

"Why do you-"

"I could drive you?" Rocky interrupted Ivy.

"Deal." Rose sat in the front seat of the car while they drove, the world didn't exist to her anymore. She was so close. And this time she would not let him get away. If she was looking around she would have noted at how beautiful the hotel was.

However Rose didn't care, putting on her sunhat to hide her face, her eyes scanning the crowd. The other three sat nearby, but hidden in shadow something about enemy territory or whatever. Rose tapped her foot against the floor as she watched cats walk in and out. A woman with a bone necklace, a tall man with yellow eyes...

Rose's heart froze as she spotted him. Mordecai. Her brother stepped into the hotel looking aloof as ever. Rose didn't care how obvious she was. Standing up she stormed over in his direction. She watched how Mordecai stepped back placing his hand into his trench coat. But Rose was faster, grabbing him by his shoulders she glared at him.

"Mordecai." Rose snapped, her hat had fallen off. Her brother looked like he had seen a ghost, his tail bushed up as he stared at Rose.

"Who-" Mordecai wrenched himself out of her grip.

Rose placed both her hands on her hips, her tail lashing behind her. "Oh? Don't remember me?" Despite the fact that Rose had imagined their reunion to be happy, it was everything but that. Rose's bottled up emotions had decided to show, years of built up rage, anger, and resentment. "It's me. Rose. Your sister." She snapped, shoving one finger into Mordecai's chest. "You know. The sister you ABANDONED!"

Mordecai looked mortified, with one swift movement he grabbed Rose dragging her to a random room. "What are you doing here?" He hissed, staring at her as he shut the door behind him.

"Finding you." Rose crossed her arms, glaring at her brother.

"Why-Why would you do that!" Mordecai groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I told you-"

"I don't care what you told us!" Rose snapped, "Do you not know what happened after you up and left?" She could feel her eyes tear up.

"Rose..." Mordecai looked down at her as he fixed his pince-nez.

"I spent years looking for you." Rose snapped her voice cracking. "Years." She wiped the tears that spilled out of her eyes. "I- I thought you didn't love us anymore." She whispered.

"Rose..." Mordecai wrapped his arms around her, despite his hatred for physical contact. This was his sister. An exception to this rule.

"Why did you leave...?" Rose asked, as Mordecai soothed her. "Why did you leave us?" Mordecai refused to look her in the eye, instead staring straight ahead at the wall.

"Because..." Mordecai sighed, "I got... I got into bad business." Mordecai stroked her hair trying to comfort her. "And, I ran away because there were hitmen after me. And then... I could not come back."

"W-what?" Rose looked up at him horrified.

"I know." Mordecai looked away, "But then I joined Lackadaisy and a gang, and I couldn't exactly leave. So I stayed."

"Why- Why would you do that." Rose whispered.

"Money." Mordecai shrugged. "You needed the money,"

"You stupid furball!" Rose whacked him, "You idiot." She collapsed, "We could have... we could have just found a different job."

"I'm sorry Rose." Mordecai hugged her, "You should go home."

"I am not going back." Rose stubbornly looked up at him. "I'm not letting you leave again."

"Rose-"

"No!" Rose grabbed him, clinging to him. "I- I don't want you to go..." She whispered. "Please..." She clung to her older brother. The brother she had spent years trying to find.

[greatqueenanna]

Sorry for being salty, maybe I'm just disappointed a little(I used to be a Frozen fan), but the more I think the more I start to see the men of Frozen useless.

Your analyses on Hans also helped me to realize this. Anna and Elsa really need neither Kristoff nor Hans. The second you try to use them, to fit them in the possible plot of Frozen III the more you realize that it is all just turns out in an tiresome attempt to find them a place beside one of the sisters, to find them a job to do, to find them a decent role in a story of the sisters and magic and it's hard to do. It feels like it's just a duty and an effort. The latest Frozen book about the polar festival showed that it's easier to get Kristoff wounded and out of the plot for the most of the time than to find him an occupation and a place. After Frozen II Hans and Kristoff became even less than a sidekick–if you delete them it won't affect Frozen II or Frozen III in the slightest. I don't know, maybe it's a good thing like sisters before misters, but I'm cringing as I'm imagining as the directors are trying to fit Kristoff or Hans in a narrow plot box right now.

No hard feelings. You're allowed to feel whatever you want.

Well, first things first. Hans is a villain. He doesn't really count as one of the men of Frozen. And yes, if they want to bring him back, it has to benefit the main protagonists in some way because...they're the main protagonists. Unless you were doing some kind of spin-off, Hans would never have development outside Anna or Elsa.

When it comes to Kristoff, there are a few things we need to take into consideration, some things you're already alluded to, before we talk about what he could be doing in the next installment.

Kristoff is a secondary character. The film team has made it very clear that the main focus of the Frozen franchise is Anna and Elsa - even when the film focuses more on one sister, the other sister will always have major importance over any other characters. Kristoff's story will always have a secondary importance in whatever film and typically will involve his relationship with Anna in one way or another. That was always his purpose since the first film.

When it comes to novels, novelists hired by Disney are typically restricted in what they can write about. If they are always pushing Kristoff away, it's probably because the film team is still trying to figure something out with his character. They don't want a novelist giving him a backstory or a personality trait that they have to retcon or end up paying them for because it was their original idea. It's one of the reasons why a lot of novel stories and characters are not referenced in the films.

With this being said, there are plenty of stories available for Kristoff. Kristoff's past, his birth parents, The Ice Harvestor Sámi tribe, his views on becoming king, his views on Arendelle, etc. Something like his past and parents would be better suited for a t.v series or short film, but something like his views on being King could easily fit into F3 alongside a main plot.

For example, if Anna has to prove herself as Queen, or has a difficult task she needs to face, Kristoff stepping up and supporting her could easily lead to development on his part - starting out as him being nervous as to what is expected of him when he marries Anna. Thus, here the main focus is still Anna, but Kristoff is still developing on the side. Throw in a song or duet with Anna and you're good to go.

Also, it's good to note that the film team loves Kristoff and are good friends with his voice actor Jonothan Groff. They are such good friends, that Groff actually had the power to push for a personality change for Kristoff in the first Frozen film, much like Kristen Bell did for Anna - which continued into F2.

In fact, in F2, Anna and Kristoff's stories were one of the first things they knew exactly what to do with and were the easiest to develop for them. They even had to downplay Kristoff's story a bit because it was getting in the way of the main plot. This shows that it's actually very easy for the writers to write about both Kristoff and Anna. You can be sure that the first characters they are thinking about right now are Anna and Kristoff.

What they actually tend to struggle with is Elsa's story. And no, it's not because they hate Elsa or anything like that (because I know there are a lot of salty Elsa fans that love to say this). It's because she's a much more difficult character to write and she means a lot to many people for different reasons, so it's tough and stressful to get her story right without upsetting fans in the process. Anna and Kristoff are easier because they are more straightforward.

[sarahreadsfic]

I saw your tags and figured I'd send an ask haha

All those names are really nice! I do think in future quests they'd end up using the name you gave him, so that's definitely something to consider. You do get one extra chance to rename him, so maybe try out Zihong for awhile and see what you think?

omg hello!! welcome, please don't mind the mess haha-- *hastily shoving posts and tags aside, attempting to look casual*

so the funny thing is i'm actually nowhere near that part of the quest yet lmao, like i haven’t even met him in-game yet. i'm just trying to get myself used to calling him a different name before i actually have to use it (and for writing purposes).

zihong is definitely in my top 5 names for sure, but the problem i’m having now is that there are just SO many names i’ve researched that would be good for him and i dunno which one he would like best lol.

i’m WAY overthinking this decision and taking it far too seriously, i know - from what i’ve seen, he seems pretty indifferent to whatever we call him either way, aside from his old names or other characters’ names. but still! i want him to feel satisfied with it. if he doesn’t feel so loved and warm inside whenever i call him by his new name i will have failed him >:(

apologies and you definitely did not sign up for this but i’m now using this ask to make a comprehensive list of all my other favorite names and their (supposed) meanings. wish i could just run them all past him for input hgjnfjhdj sORRY FOR THIS IT’S RLLY FOR ME ONLY U DO NOT HAVE TO READ ME WAXING ON ABOUT NAMES FOR WHO KNOWS HOW MANY PARAGRAPHS

First, all the Japanese names:

Matsuri - “Festival”, “enshrined”, “showing gratitude towards the rituals of nature”; has connections with Shinto and Buddhism. I don’t think this is commonly used as a name, necessarily, but the whole “gratitude towards nature” part struck me as a sort of nod to how Nahida helped him. And I like the idea of giving him a name that invokes joy, celebration, and life, because I want him to have those things and find happiness in his new self!

Soma - “A sudden sound of wind”, “true/real/genuine”. It’s simple and nice and what sells this one for me is the “sudden” part. Brings about a sense of movement and change and I really, really like it for that. Don’t know if the meaning is exact, though. It seems like Hayate has a similar meaning, which I also like!

Nataku - The Japanese name for Nezha, a Taoist deity. But also, this is just on the list because I was watching Saiyuki (ridiculous and very loose adaptation of Journey to the West, janky animation and terrible writing, fun to laugh at, highly recommend) with a friend last night and there was a character called Prince Nataku who is described as a “puppet assassin”. Immediate sirens started blaring in my head as my brain honed in on that as a possible name. Apparently Nezha is also known as the Third Lotus Prince, and I love the idea of associating lotus imagery with Wanderer.

Hansei - The cultural concept of “self-reflection”, acknowledging one’s mistakes and pledging improvement. I saw someone name him this and I like how it fits him. My concern is that it seems more like an admonishment and might hold him back from thinking of himself as more than his past wrongs.

Kazuki - "Hope of peace”, “serenity”, “peaceful tree”. I really liked that your name had a connection with Irminsul in the -ki suffix! Apparently -ki also means air, which suits him well, too. In this name, it comes from “hope” and kazu- is for peace. I do like the idea of giving him a name that could embody hope and I do want him to find peace within himself, but I worry he would find this condescending, particularly the idea of “peace” since that word just has so many connotations - he might take it as me wanting him to mellow himself out as if I wouldn’t accept him or am disappointed by him as he is.

Satoru - "Enlightenment” in the Zen Buddhism sense, “to know/understand”. Mostly I think that the way it sounds suits him. The only thing is that it’s a little bit unassuming and normal, I think? Which he might like, actually.

Anything with the prefix Shin-, because I like that it can be read as both “new” and “heart”. But I also feel like 1) it would always end up reminding me of another character because there are SO many that have this name and 2) he might take it as an insult or a mockery, like, “haha, how ironic is it that you don’t have a heart and I’m giving you a name with the word heart in it”. Probably unlikely at this point, but I don’t want his name to cause even the faintest sense of melancholy or sadness in the back of his mind, so I don’t want to chance it.

Other names that I like the sound of are Seijun (pure, innocent, clean/righteous), Kiryoku (inner strength/willpower), and Katsuya (victory). While I do like these, I’m a little apprehensive that naming him any of them would be akin to imposing certain expectations onto him or the type of person I want him to be? Especially Seijun. But I could also see him choosing Kiryoku or Katsuya for himself, so I don’t know! I’m conflicted.

There’s also Ren (lotus or love) and Shou (to soar/fly - add the suffix -yo and it turns into sunlight/sunshine). Simple and sweet, but after all of the long and multisyllabic names he’s taken in the past, I think he might find something like this refreshing. I really like these two aesthetically. I also cannot decide between them for my life.

And then there are names inspired by mythology or religion:

Fujin - Japanese; god of the wind in Japanese mythology who is often depicted alongside the thunder god, which, in Genshin’s case, would be Raiden. I know a lot of people pick this one, but I think it has too strong of a connection with the past he’s trying to leave behind, although I like the way it sounds.

Shu - Egyptian; god of wind/dry air. I like the similarity with Shou, and also that it potentially would be more connected to Sumeru than Inazuma.

Akasa - Sanskrit; the Bodhisattva of void/space in Buddhism. In Japanese, it’d be Kokuzo. I know these were mentioned in my tags, but after some more consideration I don’t think they’re a great fit for him thematically.

Vayu - Sanskrit; in Hinduism, the god of the wind. Literal name meaning is apparently “that which flows”, which I think is pretty. I also think I just like names that start with V. Vaira was another option (Indian; “flowing air”) - I like that it sounds like it could be short for Vairocana, who is the cosmic Buddha that embodies the concept of sunyata, but I couldn’t find a good source for it actually meaning “flowing air” and instead it seems to be more commonly interpreted as “diamond”.

And finally, the Greek mythology names: Icarus, Aeolus, Zephyrus. I’ve seen Icarus suggested by a few people and while I like the way it looks and sounds aesthetically, the literal meaning is also “follower” which I don’t think he would appreciate. Also, I don’t know if I want to name him a tragic reference to his past hubris that caused his downfall. Aeolus (nimble, quick-moving) was the “keeper of the winds”, and though I like how grandiose and regal it sounds, I’m not really into the way it looks? Same with Zephyrus (west wind), it feels a little too soft for him (and if I recall correctly, the west wind was the gentlest one of the four).

So. That’s where I am now. I like so many of these, and I think there are ones that he would like more but I can’t possibly know for sure, and the more I research the more I find other names I like...

ok i’m so sorry for this long writeup JHDGKJGH ZIHONG IS STILL REALLY HIGH UP THERE JUST BECAUSE I CAME UP WITH IT ON MY OWN SO IT FEELS CLOSEST TO ME?? AND I CAN PICTURE MYSELF EXPLAINING THE NAME TO HIM VERY VIVIDLY. AND THEN SITTING THERE TENSELY AWAITING HIS APPROVAL AND THEN HIM GIVING ME A NOD. BUT I DON’T KNOW WHAT HE’D ACTUALLY THINK OF IT.

wanderer why can’t you just pick a name for yourself. do u see what ur doing to me. i feel like that one image of the dude from always sunny connecting all the red lines on the board. WHY AM I LIKE THIS.

[greenwaybrews]

Family Cycle Trips Made Easy

There’s nothing quite like spending some quality time with the kids and what better way to do it than enjoying the great outdoors on a bike ride? Whether it be a staycation in Ireland, a biking day-trip or cycling in your locality- cycling is something that the whole family can take part in.

“WHERE DO I BEGIN?” we hear you say. Don’t worry, we’ve got you covered!

If it’s your first time to venture out on a family cycle, we understand that it can be quite daunting- but rest assured, we’ve compiled a list of some tips to help you prepare:

Road Safety

When travelling by bike as a family, safety is the first thing to consider- does your child know how to signal when turning? Which brake to pull in an emergency stop? Do you require a high-vis jacket for them? A light on their bike? Does their helmet fit? Before you set out, check the air in the tyres, that the brakes are working, bolts are tight. The Road Safety Authority have a very handy safety document which you can download here.

For little bikers, we suggest showing them a more age-appropriate video before setting out, to remind them of the key safety tips of cycling, such as this one below:

Research Research Research!

Research your planned cycle route… check out the distance between rest points which might best suit your family and your children’s ability. Note locations that have a toilet facilities too. Greenway Brews recently did a blog post with a super-helpful informative guide for your family’s trip to the Waterford Greenway. In case you missed it, you can find it here

How far should we cycle?

Know what to expect of your child - do you know how far they can cycle before needing a break? We recommend having a few shorter cycles to gauge your child(ren’s) ability levels before attempting any new long distances

To Hire or Not To Hire

As anyone with children knows, it’s not always feasible to bring your own bikes when holidaying. There are plenty of spots to hire a bike in Ireland and at a reasonable price too. We recommend to always check reviews on the bike hire company you select. We also advise to book your bikes in advance to avoid disappointment, especially during peak times. For those of you heading to the Sunny Southeast, we’ve compiled a list of bike rental companies along the Waterford Greenway for your ease

Snacks and Refreshments

We recommend to bring plenty of snacks and refreshments for your little ones to keep their energy levels up. Consider packing a picnic, energy bars, plenty of water. Or better yet, why not save yourself the effort by choosing a stop-off location that serves fresh refreshments and snacks? Here at Greenway Brews, we have it all in hand from freshly brewed tea and coffee, to brunch/picnic boxes sourced with local produce. Check out our recent blog here, which notes all of our fabulous offerings

What to Wear

It’s best to dress your child in layers for the trip as children can become very hot when cycling, but at the same time one must always be prepared for the Irish weather. A set of waterproof clothing is always advisable. Also bear in mind not to dress your children in anything which might get caught in the wheels/chain of their bike

Activity

Bring a low-energy activity for break stops. It’s not a necessity but it’s a nice idea to bring an additional element of fun to the cycle and keep your children’s enthusiasm levels high even during break stops. Our suggestion is a nice game of nature-inspired eye-spy. For those of you who simply don’t have the time to create this yourself (and let’s face it, who does?), we've created one below, to make your life easier!

Above all; have fun, have patience and enjoy making memories with your family. Be sure to comment below and let us know if you found this useful, or any further tips we should include

Final Checklist

[apocryphalfiles]

Each winter night in the tool shed: Part 1

The Winter that Mira Kano turned 13, she had caught wind of the gossip whispered around the Shinsengumi quarters of late, Mira learned of the introduction of a new member rumored to possess supernatural powers, a suit of armor that slept outside in a derelict shed on the outskirts of the Kano grounds.

A robot that talks like a man!

An empty suit of armor that can move on its own and never gets tired!

The boss said that this guy's the new servant- apparently, we can have him do our chores. Whew, I haven't had a day off in a week, I can finally catch a break…

I heard he was punished by the Goddess when he attempted to bring back his girlfriend with forbidden human transmutation! (That last rumor was spread by a certain self-proclaimed ninja who was only ever seen wearing an orange mask and a black cloak.)

She was curious. A mysterious thing was happening in her own backyard, and she was at a loss to turn these bits and pieces of info floating around in the air into something solid she could grasp at. She was fine with staying away from the yokai that were said to inhabit abandoned mansions, but it was a very different story when that "urban legend" was this close to home. The term "palace grounds" encompassed several buildings and facilities, technically including the Academy she and her siblings attended, so it was true that "her home" included often included many locations and people coming and going outside of her control or even her perception; there were too many moving pieces to keep track of, especially for a young girl who needed to keep on top of her studies so that she didn't disappoint her high station. She didn't need to know everything about the goings-on around the palace, but the tales of the empty suit of armor living in the shed piqued her interest, and she couldn't just let it go.

And so the Mira Kano who had recently entered the middle-school stage of her adolescence resolved herself to investigate the mystery of Mysta Rias. She was certain that her father had the answers she was looking for, but she avoided asking him, wary of the possibility that he might interfere in some way, whether that be in regards to her freedom or her perception, and, not wanting to open herself up to being impeded or misdirected now that she'd set her mind to uncovering the truth of the matter, she kept her interest a secret from her family.

Instead of eating lunch in the classroom, Mira took to the outdoor courtyard and slipped outside of school grounds to look for the shed where the tin-can man was said to live. She found it on her first excursion, a dwelling that couldn't be called a house, with no furnishing and only big enough that it could just barely fit the suit of armor inside. Using the shadows of the nearby maintenance building to hide, she watched it from afar for half the period and returned without coming close enough to be noticed. The first time, it didn't move the entire time she was watching it. She saw it move the second time, but even then, she didn't approach it. She spent two more lunches in this same way, without ever coming closer or trying to strike up conversation, crouching behind the transformer grid while listening to the grating sounds of machines whirring from the concrete room next to it with the red metal door that warned "DO NOT ENTER" on the front next to a picture of a lightning bolt.

Making up an excuse about her stomach hurting and needing to go to the nurse, Mira skipped her afternoon class one day and snuck outside of school grounds to return to the tin man's shed. Because she had a reputation for being academically gifted, responsible, and punctual, she was given the benefit of the doubt at times like these, and nobody even considered that she might be engaging in delinquent behavior like avoiding her classes. She hadn't grabbed her winter coat before slipping out of school so as not to arouse suspicion and endured the biting cold against her long-sleeved uniform without turning back. Finally, something interesting happened. She saw the high priestess approach the shed and strike up a conversation with the tin man, and he spoke back, and she could hear him, a deep voice coming from inside the helmet, slightly tinny with an echo but clearly audible. Mira learned a great deal from this conversation, which was so one-sided it couldn't really be called a back-and-forth; it was more that Kana was heaping thinly-veiled vitriol onto Mysta under the guise of giving him work orders, and he was keeping his head (helmet) down and taking her derision in stride. Finally, some insult or another got on Mysta's nerves so much that he snapped back at her, and Kana took this as permission to punish him for insubordination. After stomping him into the pile of straw he used as a bed with divine anger that more than made up for her glaring disadvantage in size, Kana tore off Mysta's helmet, threw it into the creek that flowed not far behind his shed, and left him to retrieve it on his own. So, that suit really was empty inside. The sight of a headless suit of armor frantically chasing his own head down the river was too silly to engage with outside of cartoon slapstick logic, so Mira felt more amused than guilty in that moment. After slipping back to school, she thought more deeply on what she'd heard, seen, and the story that threaded together the fate of the suit of armor called "Mysta Rias." She filled in the gaps with inferences based on her prior knowledge and came to her own understanding of his story.

A few weeks had passed since that afternoon. It was late at night, well after dinnertime, when Mira showed up in front of the shed where the tin can man slept. She had snuck out once before, on her own, to answer her own question about whether or not he could sleep. Even still, she couldn't get an answer without the ability to distinguish between "sleeping" and "lying still" for him. Just because he wasn't moving didn't mean he was unconscious, after all, and, realizing this, she had returned to her bedroom disappointed. But this visit was about something more than that fleeting curiosity. After all, for the first time, she directly approached the entrance to the shed, and she wasn't alone:

Standing next to her was Altera Kano, bundled up in a winter coat and fur-lined boots she'd thrown on hastily from her closet before being pulled out into the snowy yard. Thick snow was still falling overhead, so that it made pretty patterns in the light from the street lamps that the two sisters avoided being caught under on their way through the palace grounds.

Altera yawned and rubbed her eye with her right fist. You would have thought the cold would have already woken her up by now, but she didn't seem nearly as alert as her sister, who was peering into the shed with a deliberateness to her searching gaze. Altera Kano still wore her hair down just past the crook in her back, the same length as Mira's give or take an inch, but it had lost the curls it had when she was a child. Her eyes were blue, though instead of a vivid baby hue, they lacked any luster, and most people who saw them described them as grey. The adults kindly described her as a pretty girl, but they curiously thought of her eyes as "dusty." Realizing that it would be rude to imply her eyes were ugly, they instead tended to focus on complimenting her long, goldenrod hair. Only Kana and Takumi said that her eyes were blue.

"Good evening, Mysta." Not cutting corners even though he was just a filthy slave, Mira greeted him just as politely as she did everyone she met, with a curtsy, lifting up the edges of her long skirt and bowing her head. "I am Mira Kano, daughter of Takumi Kano and the Yamata-no-Orochi who has taken on the Kano name in marriage. I've brought my sister, Altera, with me." Raising her head, she stepped behind Altera and, without warning, pushed her forward, making her stumble into the shed where the tin can was laying down. Caught off guard, she lost her balance and fell on top of him.

"Tell me-" Under the moonlight, Mira tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Although her winter clothes were fashionable and high-class, she paid no mind to the snow that had gathered on her hair and outfit.

"When you see Altera, how do you feel?"

[tb-gerschutz]

Chapter Ten

Word Count: 5,055

Trigger Warning(s): some romantic tension, descriptions of something evil (specifically Balor, but it gets pretty dark), possible cursing, etc.

Summary: Whiskey and Veronica have some fun while at the ski lodge...

******

Of course, the war against Balor was all I could even think clearly about. It’s been running through my head ever since I first got involved in it two years ago. Balor Devlin is the baddest, most dangerous monster I’ve ever had the displeasure of encountering, and he somehow succeeded in getting in my head. I mean, he’s only in my head because I know what he’s capable of. He’s capable of plenty of awful things, most of them being large-scale. 

He wants to instill fear wherever he walks. 

But in all of his attempts to draw out the fear that I have against him, he has failed multiple times. I’ll admit it. I’ll admit the fact that I am scared to death of Balor and what he’s capable of doing. He’s the most dangerous person I’ve ever come face-to-face with, but I’m not going to show my fear toward him. That would only amplify the fact that he’s winning this fight.

That is definitely not going to happen! Not on my watch!

Meanwhile, Whiskey and I had finally arrived at our suite, and it surely did not disappoint. Our suite was so spacious that it could possibly fit a small family. A small, rich family, that is. All the amenities—all the items that were inside this very suite—most likely cost more than me and my twin’s births combined! It seems like only rich, aristocratic assholes could afford staying here for an ungodly amount of time. 

And lucky for Whiskey and I, we’re able to stay here until we have to flee dastardly Balor again. 

“You’re sure you were able to pay for us to stay here?” I asked. “I mean, it’s so huge and grand and—and wonderful.”

Whiskey chuckled. “Yes, sugar. I’m absolutely sure. You wanna know how I’m absolutely sure? Well, I’m the one who put my card into the thinga-ma-bob to pay for it!”

“Thinga-ma-bob?” I questioned incredulously. 

“Yeah. The thingy that reads the credit cards—that thingy—oh! Never mind!” Whiskey answered. 

I laughed as I flopped onto a big sectional couch that was made out of brown leather. Surprisingly, it was very comfy. So comfy that I most likely could fall asleep on it. 

“Whiskey, you gotta check this couch out! It’s so comfy,” I said out loud. 

One of Whiskey’s eyebrows arched upward. “Really?”

“You would think that leather would be kinda sticky and not very comfortable, but it is, Whiskey!” I claimed. “It’s almost like sleepin’ on a cloud. A white, fluffy-as-fuck cloud.”

“Fluffy-as-fuck cloud? That’s a new one,” he said. “I’ll have to keep that one in mind.”

I shrugged. “Well, I told the truth, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. You did—and I’m proud of you for that,” he answered. “Honesty is the best policy. And I’d much rather you be honest with me than not. Then, we won’t get ourselves in a bigger shithole than we’re in right now.”

“Glad we recognize the same thing,” I said depressingly.

“Recognize what?” Whiskey asked.

I sighed. “That we’re in a huge shithole.”

“Well, it’s the truth,” he said. “We’re in a big shithole. Have been for a while now, and if we don’t get out soon, then we’re pretty much fucked.”

I nodded solemnly. “I know,” I responded simply. 

He gently held my face within his hands, looking deep into my eyes as per usual. “But don’t you worry, Rocky. We’ll get through it. We’re gonna win this war.”

I smiled just slightly. I had just the slightest hope that we’d win, but in this dark era where Whiskey and I are on the run, I’ve lost some of the hope I used to have. I guess that’s the way people think. They hold out as much hope as they can in the beginning, and once the dark of the tunnel starts to collapse onto them, they think there’s no hope in sight.

That’s why they give up and surrender under a power greater than them. 

You see, the thing about heroes is that—they always do what’s right, even if the pressures of evil power are struggling to break them down and failing to make them surrender. They don’t give up until there is widespread peace and order across a given region or the world, for that matter. But they keep their struggles and loss of hope concealed from those who believe in them. They have this added pressure of bringing hope to the innocent and not failing them, so they keep the struggles concealed so that the innocent don’t express concern or worry over a second coming. 

A second coming of untimely death and ruin.

But I don’t consider myself a hero, by any means. Despite what others may think, I’m most certainly not a hero. I’m simply someone who’s concerned about the safety and future of the world. I want to be able to have a safe, secure future, and I’m sure other innocent lives around the world would agree with me. That’s why I feel pressured—or obligated—to team up with Whiskey and stop Balor. He’s a very dangerous individual, one that is considered the Devil personified.

And if we don’t stop him, then he’ll bring the world to a ball of flaming ash. A real-life iteration of Hell itself. 

I don’t want that to happen, mainly because it’s such a cruel, inhumane idea to have. How could one have such a dark thought like that one? I certainly can’t fathom having such an idea, and it goes to show how twisted one can become and the consequences from such. 

So in all seriousness, I’m not a hero. I’m just someone who feels the need to protect herself and those who are innocent. Heroes simply stop the villain to get a traditional storybook ending and keep saving the world as part of their way-of-life. Not me! I just want to save the world once and guarantee the safety of everyone for as long as they shall live. 

“Rocky?” I heard Whiskey’s voice call out. “Rocky. Earth to Rocky!”

I snapped back into reality once he called that out. “What? Oh! I’m so sorry, Whiskey. I’m so sorry.”

“For what? Doing something harmless?” he questioned. “Rocky, I ain’t gonna light a fire up your ass because you did somethin’ completely harmless. Spacing out is harmless. Actually, I know that spacing out is a major sign of anxiety. But I ain’t gonna light a fire up your ass because you did somethin’ harmless.”

“You ain’t mad?” I asked.

“Why in the hell would I be mad at you, sugar?” he responded. 

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the anxiety-riddle part of me. I’m not sure.”

He patted my shoulder and smiled, showing that he accepted me for who I was, even though I may have several flaws to my name. “That’s okay, sugar. I love you just the way you are.”

God, Whiskey! Why do you have to be so goddamn irresistible? Just when I think I can put you out of my mind, you somehow waltz right back in. Damn you, Whiskey! But of course, I mean that in the best of terms. I love Whiskey so goddamn much, and I don’t know what I’d do without him. He came into my life so unexpectedly, and I thank God every day that he did. 

Without him, I’d be digging myself a deeper hole than I’m already in.

“Now, come on. Get your snow gear on,” Whiskey said. “We’re going skiing.”

“I’ve never done that,” I replied. “Can we also snowboard?”

Whiskey nodded. “Of course, princess.”

God, he’s such a sweetheart! I don't know what I’d do if he wasn’t in my life. I’d tell you what. I’d probably be dead! If not for Whiskey, then I’d probably lose my mind so much that I’d wither away slowly or suddenly. Without him, I’d either become stupid enough to get myself killed or stupidly allow my demons to basically force me to kill myself. Whiskey is my life support, my rock…and without him, I wouldn’t be in this world. 

“Come on, sugar. Hurry up,” he prodded impatiently as I waited by the door. 

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, pal,” I said. “I gotta get my snow gear on. Sorry if I don’t wanna freeze my tits off!”

Whiskey chuckled. “You know I’m just fuckin’ with ya, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” I answered. “I just don’t wanna ruin the vibe and make things awkward.”

“Sugar, don’t worry about that. Even if things are awkward between us, I’m still gonna love you,” he explained. “I mean, to be honest, I haven’t loved anyone this much before, and if I did, it’s been a long, long time.”

I raised my line of sight to meet his eyes directly. “Not even your high school sweetheart?”

“At the time, I loved her very much,” Whiskey responded, “but that was an era that took place a long time ago. Now, I’m learning to live in the moment and not focus on the past. And living in the moment now means loving and caring for you, just like my sweetheart would’ve wanted.”

“She would’ve wanted you to care for someone else?”

“She would’ve wanted me to be happy,” Whiskey clarified. “She would want me to live in the present as much as I can and not focus so much on the past.”

He ran his finger along the side of my face as gentle as a feather. “And if she were here right now, she would’ve loved you.”

“Really?” I asked. 

He nodded. “Absolutely. She would’ve loved you because you made me happy. You changed me, and she would’ve loved you for that and so much more.”

Whenever Whiskey would mention his past love, I would fight so hard not to cry out uncontrollably. Such a sweet, caring man like Whiskey deserves the world, and to lose the love of your life and your unborn child is just—just devastating. Losing anyone you were extremely close with is detrimentally upsetting. 

I mean, look at my life, for Christ’s sake. 

I lost my twin brother when I least expected it. He and I were best friends, the typical “two peas in a pod”...we were attached at the hip. Without Devin, I was completely lost and insane, and I’m sure if he were alive today, he’d say the same thing about me. We were each other’s rocks, best friends, supporters—Hell, we considered ourselves closer friends than I had in high school. Devin was the only friend I needed.

And with him gone, I—I really don’t know who I am anymore. 

That was, until Whiskey somehow waltzed into my life. Never in a million years would I have imagined someone like Whiskey to come into my life. I never thought of it! Maybe it was because I was too consumed in my own dark thoughts to even try to think about love. For the longest time, I grieved Devin’s death. Most people would tell me to let it go and move on because it happened so long ago.

“It was just your twin brother. Move on,” they’d say.

Well, I can’t move on! And I don’t think I ever will move past that. Devin was not just my twin brother, but he was also my best friend, my biggest supporter, and so much more than that. How the hell am I supposed to move on when the person I grew the closest to has been taken from me far too soon? It would be different if I lost an acquaintance or someone I wasn’t all that close with, but this is my fucking twin brother we’re talking about.

He was the closest thing I had to happiness before Whiskey came along.

And to have him taken from me is just—is just devastating. I don’t plan on moving on from that ever again, but I’ll promise to make the guilt and grief much easier and less painful to cope with. And how do I plan on doing that, one might ask?

By hunting down and killing the person who was behind all this.

The person who was behind Devin’s murder, and the person who could’ve orchestrated it all—They don’t deserve to live another day here on Earth because of that! They killed my twin brother, which meant that they very easily earned a one-way ticket to death’s world…The darkest Hell imaginable. They deserve to live there for the rest of their Godforsaken days, and I don’t care how they get there.

I just want to be the one that escorts them to Hell myself. 

* * * * * *

I later decided that it wasn’t worth it to just wallow in my grief’s shadow any longer. I had to put my mind off of it if I were to continue fighting valorously against Balor and his dark, cruel empire that he rules with a fiery, iron fist. So in order to put my mind on something else, I went along with Whiskey to the snowy slopes to snowboard, ski, and whatever the hell else snowy adventurers do here. 

Very quickly, however, Whiskey turned on a one-eighty and decided to snowboard with me, despite wanting to ski. It’s terrible that he didn’t have his skiing equipment. 

Shame. 

We stood precariously at the top of one of the biggest hills at this ski resort. No one knows exactly what it was called, but after looking at the path ahead, Whiskey and I had our own name for it.

“Diamondback Run? Really?” I questioned, my voice muffled by the tight scarf over my nose and mouth.

“Well, yeah,” Whiskey said. “Judging by the slope of this thing and by warning signs we already passed, it looks like it’s a black diamond run, which means it’s for advanced skiers and snowboarders. But don’t worry. I have faith in the two of us, given our expert coordination.”

One of my eyebrows hooked upward. “You really believe that?”

“Well, sure. It’s better to have enough confidence than either too much or none at all,” he answered. “You have too much confidence, then you get cocky. Too little, and you’re timid enough to not engage in death-defying risks. Some confidence can carry you a long way, but it has to be at a level that Goldilocks herself can deal with.”

“Not too much, not too little. It has to be just right,” I concluded.

He nodded. “Exactly.” He adjusted his gloves so that they stayed secure on his hands. “Now, are we gonna run this or not?”

“Of course we are!” I exclaimed, allowing my snowboard to fall onto the snow below before strapping my feet to it. “Momma didn’t raise no bitch!”

“I can tell,” Whiskey commented. 

After much bantering, Whiskey and I finally strapped ourselves to our snowboards and took off down the Diamondback Run. I was scared for only a hot minute, but once the adrenaline started to course through my veins at a high rate, I was perfectly fine. I was perfectly fine with going down a decently steep hill. It was the first time—in a long time, actually—that I finally felt free. Free to let go of my God awful past and just—live. I don’t think I’ve ever truly lived in ages. Not since Devin’s death.

I could feel the cold, bitter wind bashing itself repeatedly against my face as both Whiskey and I zipped down the slope quicker than the speed of light. It felt liberating to go down that decently steep hill and just let loose. It was like all my life’s troubles sort of—detached themselves from my shoulders and disappeared temporarily without a trace. It felt very relieving, to say the least…and if I did something like that again, I certainly wouldn’t complain.

Once Whiskey and I got to the bottom of the slope, we both turned to our sides so that the boards would scrape against the snow, stopping us in our tracks. I was disappointed that it all had to end, but I knew that I could—very easily—do it again. Again and again until I was exhausted. 

I exclaimed with great joy at the moment the two of us stopped. “Ooo-ee! That was great!”

“You really think that risky-ass hill was a great thing to snowboard down?” Whiskey asked.

I nodded. “Fuck yeah, I do!” I detached the snowboard from my feet temporarily. “Let’s try something more dangerous.”

Before I could march a single inch up the slope and off to another, more dangerous one, Whiskey grabbed my wrist and yanked me back. “Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast, sugar.”

He yanked me back so hard that I actually fell backward, with my back and ass landing on the snow behind me. Whiskey was damn lucky that I was wearing the proper body protection, or else I would’ve froze my ass off. 

“Damn you, Whiskey,” I said through fits of laughter. “Damn you.”

Whiskey shrugged as if he was proud of himself. After trying to keep his beaming, boastful manner, he eventually descended into fits of laughter as intense as mine. We were just having the best time together, provisionally forgetting about the war we were fighting. It made me feel free from all the danger that Whiskey and I were facing, even if it was only for a little bit. 

* * * * * *

A couple hours passed, and Whiskey and I had already completed four runs on the most dangerous hill at the lodge. Even though it didn’t have a name, Whiskey and I called it “Hell’s Descent”, mainly because of its steep, unpredictably dangerous nature. It has crazy twists and turns, and the steepness of it made the run even more dangerous. 

Whiskey and I were right in calling it “Hell’s Descent”. 

We were back at our lodge, warming up from a bitter day on the slopes. I was curled up on the leather couch, warming up next to the roaring fire in front of me. Whiskey, meanwhile, was warming his hands up after putting some more firewood inside. I offered to put the wood in, but my attempts had failed.

“You’re a princess, sugar. You deserve to not lift a finger,” Whiskey said, protesting my intentions. 

Of course, I nearly melted when he called me a princess. Hell, I melt when he calls me any pet name. That’s why I relented to Whiskey’s command, only because he utilized my biggest weakness against me. I felt bad for not helping, but that’s how I was raised. I was raised to be someone who helps any opportunity they get—to be a helping hand. So when I met Whiskey and started receiving princess treatment, it felt awkward because all my independence—all my helping nature—wasn’t able to be put to good use. 

I’ve gotten more used to it over time, but I still haven’t quite made it a habit.

After he gave me my peppermint hot chocolate knowing damn well I love that shit, Whiskey decided to explore our suite for a while. Why he did this, I have no idea. But I didn’t want to move, especially considering that I was already cozy and curled up on the couch. I wasn’t going to move!

“Shit!” Whiskey exclaimed. “Sugar, did you know we have a hot tub in this joint?”

I looked up suddenly, careful not to spill my hot chocolate all over me. “Do we really?”

“Fuck yeah, we do!” he responded excitedly. 

Being extremely cautious to not spill my drink, I shuffled my way over to the sliding doors in the kitchen, where it led to a wooden back deck. And right there I saw it—the hot tub! Goddamnit, Whiskey. You were right.

“Fuck yeah, baby! Let’s go!” I exclaimed. 

That’s when I chugged my drink down, setting the empty cup on the counter and hurrying up toward upstairs. “Hold on a sec. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait a minute. Where you going?” Whiskey asked.

I glanced back at him, grinning mischievously as if I’m up to something. “I’m gonna dive in that mothafucker, so I’m getting my bikini.”

“The black one?” he asked hopefully.

I nodded. “Yep.” That’s when I continued my way upstairs to put it on. “And no! I don’t need any help this time.”

I could hear Whiskey groaning in disappointment. “Damn it!” he exclaimed.

Not too long after, I came back downstairs to try and jump into the hot tub. Before I could, however, I came into the kitchen to meet up with Whiskey again. As soon as I emerged in that black bikini, his jaw dropped so much that I thought he’d have to pick it up off the floor. He was paralyzed in place, probably because of shock. The shock of seeing me in such a revealing outfit. 

“Hot damn!” he exclaimed.

“I’m gonna take a guess and say you like it,” I said. 

His right eyebrow hooked upward. “Like it? I love it! One, black is a really good color for you. And two, it makes you look so hot!”

I smiled after getting that compliment. I don’t believe I’ve smiled like that in a long, long time. “Really?”

“Duh, sugar! I’m so lucky to have such an amazing, hot girlfriend like you,” he said. “I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.”

“Aww,” I said, hugging him tightly. 

We only hugged for a brief amount of time before peeling ourselves off each other. I didn’t want to—I wanted to be in his strong, muscular arms forever—but I had to. “Now, please get out of my way. I got a hot tub callin’ my name,” I remarked.

I turned to go dip into the hot tub slowly, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Whiskey leaning in the doorway. He had his hand in his back pocket, as if he had something in there. It didn’t matter to me because I thought he was feeling for his phone. I didn’t think much of it because I had other things on my mind other than the reason why Whiskey has his hand in his back pocket. That’s inconsequential to me. 

“How’s the water, sugar?” he asked from afar. 

I exhaled. “The water’s perfectly fine, Whiskey. Wanna come in and join?”

He shook his head side-to-side. “Thanks but no thanks, sweetheart. I’m not a—hot tub kinda guy.”

“Please,” I begged, drawing it out for a long time. “Do it for me. Pretty please.”

It took him a while to think about it, but Whiskey finally relented. How did I know that he gave in? Because he chuckled so lightly that I could barely hear the “damn you, Veronica” under his breath.

“Fine,” he said. “Give me a couple minutes to change, and I’ll be right out.”

I had to wait for what seemed like forever before Whiskey emerged once again, but this time, he was only wearing black swim trunks. As soon as I saw him, I was immediately dumbfounded, evidenced by my jaw dropping suddenly out of shock. In all the couple years I’ve known Whiskey, I never once believed he could wear such a thing. 

Maybe it was because I never really dreamt of it. I had bigger things on my mind other than imagining Whiskey in just swim trunks. 

“Damn!” I exclaimed. 

He chuckled. “And I’m gonna take a guess and say you like what you see.”

“You’re stupid for thinking that I like what I see,” I added. “I love it, Whiskey! I absolutely love what I see.”

Whiskey ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth, trying so hard to hold back a very loud chuckle. He already knows that I’m unhinged as hell, and hearing me say that definitely didn’t convince him that I’m sane. 

“You’re damn lucky that you’re good-lookin’ and damn smart,” he said. 

I shrugged. “What can I say?” I remarked. “I’m good at getting people to tolerate my crazy ass.”

“Sugar, I can tolerate a lot of shit. Dealing with your crazy ass is nothin’ to me,” he said. “If I can be with it for the rest of my life, then I certainly wouldn’t complain one bit.”

I bit my bottom lip decently hard to keep myself from smiling such a huge, goofy grin. But hearing Whiskey’s comment sparked a new pair of set thoughts in my mind, and they were extremely conflicting. 

Goddamnit, Whiskey, I first thought. What the hell did I do to deserve you?

See? So innocent, right? I innocently don’t know what I truly did to deserve having Whiskey as a boyfriend. Before I met him, all I did was go through the motions of life, which became significantly harder after poor Devin’s sudden death. Meanwhile, Whiskey was probably living his best life, fighting international threats and traveling all over God’s green Earth. 

But my second thought was considered more of suspicious pondering than anything. All the possibilities of what Whiskey could be up to ran through my head. 

What’s going on? What does Whiskey have up his sleeve? What’s he hiding? Why is he acting like he is hiding something?

Maybe I’m simply losing my mind. I’ve been doing that since this gruesome war with Balor started. Sure, he’s gotten into my head and made me afraid of him, but I’m not gonna let that show. That’ll only make him more powerful and have him gain more of an advantage over us. I have to stay strong in order to eventually win this war. If I don’t, then Whiskey, myself, and the rest of the world are fucked.

Completely downright fucked.

So Whiskey relented and ended up joining me in the hot tub, slowly dipping in as he tested the temperature of the water. As he might’ve already figured out, it was hot. Decently hot. Mind you, I’m considerably tolerant of scalding hot water, since I typically take hot showers every couple days, so I’m comfortable with burning hot water. I don’t know about Whiskey, however. He may have interacted with it long before he met me, but he may not prefer it like I do. 

And that’s fine. 

“It’s a little hot, don’t you think, sugar?” he said as he finally got into the hot tub, the water submerging his body all the way up to his upper torso. 

“Ah,” I commented. “It’s fine.”

His eyes widened. “Fine? Sugar, this is blistering hot!” He reached over to grab my hand and examine it. “Are you sure that you ain’t burning up?”

I smirked. “Whiskey, I’m fine. I’m used to hot water. This—this is nothing.”

I guess Whiskey was satisfied with that because he didn’t give me any more fight. “If you say so, sugar,” he said. 

For a while, we decompressed in the hot tub, allowing our tense muscles to relax. It’s something we haven’t done in a long, long time. Ever since we started the war against Balor, we’ve been running around like headless chickens, and we’ve never had the time to truly relax. Sure, this war has always been in the back of our minds, but right now—right now is a rare occurrence. A rare occurrence where we could finally relax and temporarily forget about the stress we’re under. 

“Whiskey, I gotta ask you somethin’ serious,” I spoke up. 

His head slowly turned to me, while his eyes softened with concern. “Yeah. What’s goin’ on?”

I sighed. “Do you ever get tired of me? Do you ever get tired of seeing my face?”

“Why in the hell would you ask me that?” he asked incredulously.

“I mean, we’ve been attached at the hip since—since we started going on the run from Balor,” I added, “and I just think that you get bored of seeing my face every single day.”

He briefly shook his head before setting his sights on me again. “But why, sugar?” he asked. “Why would you ask me that sorta question?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s always been in the back of my mind, ya know? I thought about our relationship and wondered about different scenarios if they played out differently than they did now. What if you get bored of my face? What if you leave me?”

He reached over and placed his hand on the side of my face, feeling the strong jawline that I inherited from, most likely, my father. His eyes softened and sincere, Whiskey didn’t even flinch when he gazed into my eyes and deep into my soul. 

“I am never going to get tired of that face,” he stated firmly. “This face—it brings me comfort. It helps me a great deal to forget about all the darkness and pain I struggle against. And I thank you for that. I love you so goddamn much, Veronica, and if I had the chance to spend the rest of my life with you, I would.”

“Oh, really?” I asked genuinely. 

He smirked mischievously as he grasped the back of my neck tightly, pulling me forcefully and aggressively into him for a passionate, vigorous kiss. One of his hands entangled itself into my hair, grasping it tightly and pulling on it. His other hand, meanwhile, was gently on my waist, running up and down my side and back. 

I was left breathless as a moan escaped my breath and landed on his lips. It wasn’t the first time where such a thing happened with me and Whiskey, but it definitely caught me off-guard. It always does. 

This encounter between Whiskey and I lasted a decent while. We only broke apart once the air in our lungs was completely non-existent. 

“Yes, really,” Whiskey whispered in a low tone. 

And from that moment on, I knew that Whiskey was cooking up something. Maybe a mastermind plan that I had no idea about. But the big question is: When does he plan to enact this plan? Does he plan on carrying it out now or later? 

Deep down inside, I hoped that I’d spend the rest of my life with this man. He’s the picture-perfect gentleman that God sent my way. He’s everything I wanted and more in a man, and I thank God everyday that Whiskey came into my life in the way that he did…

…and I hope that Whiskey—the darling man that I perfectly imagined—stays in my life as long as I live.

[instantpansies]

alright DONE so ive already said most of the stuff i want to say but here are some final thoughts:

so i'm attempting to look at this both on its own merit and in its context as The Disney Movie Movie.

first of all, it's okay. it's not good by any means. it's tropey and floundering and hard to keep track of.

the characters feel underbaked. asha is fine, but overplayed and not super unique or memorable. magnifico is just a really boring and then very suddenly very cliche villain. all the hype around him is bad imo, he is not a better character than asha.

the animation isn't stunning, but it doesn't deserve the hate it's getting. it looks strange and wrong and it's super disappointing considering the absolute masterpieces of animation we've seen in the past several years (encanto, luca, raya, onward, say what you will about modern disney but their animation is absolutely beautiful). the backgrounds are pretty good. the character designs are relatively boring.

now, granted, maybe i shouldnt be defending the animation, since i watched this whole movie in a 3 by 4 inch window in the corner of my laptop screen while doing the world's most distracted research so. i'm sure it's different up close.

from everything i heard, i was expecting wayyy more obvious disney references all over the place, and while i definitely noticed some, it wasn't actually too bad.

the Sidekick Teens. there are like.. 7 of them?? i do not remember their names or really what they look like or much about them. extremely forgettable, too many of them, designs are boring, and there wasn't a good reason to include them tbh. they didn't even play a major role in the Final Battle!!

songs were not very catchy and like i said the lyrics were kind of uniquely awful. i've talked about this already. really bad music with no consistency or wow factor. they didn't fit together, they didn't seem fitted to any characters in particular, they didn't stick in my mind a bit. honestly it just felt like a chore to get through the song so we could move on. lyrics fucking blow, honestly i think the more poetic bits of this post are better written and im not even lying to you

the plot is kind of awful. ive said a lot already. trying to go for the Inspiring Truth-Teller Rebellious Girl Leads Her People To Freedom and yeah that did happen i guess but it was so muddy and so unclear in its own message. i completely understand the "written by ai" allegations because genuinely, it does feel disjointed and misguided in its intended principles, story, themes, and morals, about as much as it would if an ai really had written it. very disappointing, since i do think the premise could have worked if this movie didn't try so hard to be about wishing upon a star.

in a similar vein, the three different themes here - Following Your Dreams, Magic Inside Us All, and Wishes Are What Keep Hope Alive - are all fighting for the main storyline. the way the film resolves this is by pretending that those three things are actually the same thing. which they are obviously not upon any close examination. it also seems to be attempting to resolve societal issues through individual achievement, which sucks but also not unexpected. however - they do sort of stop doing that by the end, and societal change is brought about by a community effort to strive against the oppressor and rise up in hope/dreams/star-ness (stardom?). so that's cool. props to them.

i like to talk about voice acting when i do these as well. vas were overall relatively decent! asha's was quite good, her lines and expressions just pushed it over-the-top a bit. magnifico was fine. i mentioned i think dahlia's voice doesn't suit her. otherwise i didn't have any issues with the voice acting, good job actors! except for in the songs. asha in particular has that "cursive singing" voice that she's trying to keep down, and does a pretty good job of avoiding, but sometimes the pronunciation is unclear or oddly embellished. and as i said magnifico sounds like autotuned lin manuel miranda ai mixed with, like, hugh jackman or smth. did not enjoy their performances which just made the songs worse because THEY WERE THE ONLY ONES WHO SANG SONGS!!!! (for the most part)

so yeah. overall, wish (2023) is a forgettable, nothing-new movie with particularly bad musical numbers and unfortunately complicated writing.

ugh this took me AGES i got distracted throughout the movie and then i'd pause it for 5-10 minutes at a time to complain lmao. here i am we're finally done. it's over.

i rate wish (2023) a 1.5 out of 8 blatant disney references. not good. will not be watching again willingly. not very enjoyable, and that's disappointing because i often really enjoy not-good movies!!

okay whatever im watching wish. expectations are six feet under and im also writing a finals essay so this will be extra awful let's go

[emptypolaris]

l’appel du vide

pairing: Tangerine x F!reader summary: there are few things that tangerine loves more than classic literature and meditations on existence. and then, of course, he meets you in a bustling coffee shop. word count: 2.4k  warnings: swearing?? SFW!

The first time you’d met Tangerine, it was on a gloomy Wednesday evening sheltering in a homely cafe nestled between a smoke shop and nail spa. 

He’d been seated at a table fitted in a rich three-piece suit (clearly not suited for the downpour outside) along with another man, sticking out in the crowd like a sore thumb with his glinting gold jewellery and perfectly gelled hair. You felt a little pathetic staring— he was the most gorgeous man you’d ever laid eyes on. It was embarrassing how much he affected you without doing a single thing. It would have almost been a little pathetic on your part, if it hadn’t been so understandable. You would have noticed him first in a crowded room a thousand times over.

Of course, it also helped that you had been the one on stage.

It wasn’t a proper stage, truthfully; only a slightly raised platform at the very end of the cafe wall, practically squeezed between the plethora of tables and the busy barista station. The cafe prided itself on providing live entertainment alongside their specialty menu, nurturing local musicians and budding young artists in a warm environment. And criminals, if you counted the concealed business dealings the owner held in the basement office. This was not the kind of place tangerine tended to frequent if he could help it, not with his impatient nature and constant need for stimulation. They could only ever have been there on business, but they’d been forced to wait and sip on overpriced espressos as another meeting wrapped up ahead of them. As he’d previously narrated upon entrance to his companion, a gentler looking man with bleached coils and a rounded face, he would rather blow his own brains out than have to listen to another average teen attempt a poor rendition of something overplayed like wonderwall. 

But just before he could excuse himself for a frustrated smoke outside under the awning, you had taken to the stage carrying an acoustic guitar in your trembling hands and a nervous grin spreading across your face. “Hellooo,” you’d said into the microphone, your sing-songy voice jumping the slightest bit. Your nervous gaze swept the crowded tables, noting the cafe was busier than usual this evening. And then regret immediately flooded your body, a sort of paralysis, when your eyes landed on him and you wished you’d never noticed him. 

This set would be difficult to get through.

Tangerine uncharacteristically settled back into his chair, all too curious about what would come next. He refrained from making pre-judgments, because then he wouldn’t be able to hide his disappointment if you opened your mouth and absolutely sucked. Lemon lifted his head from his mug with a puzzled expression. He began to ask why Tangerine wasn’t going out for a cigarette anymore, but there wasn’t a moment to spare before the opening chords flew out of your quick fingers and it was the most beautiful medley Tangerine had ever heard.

“this is a song about somebody else, so don’t worry yourself, worry yourself. the devil’s right there, right there in the details. and you don’t wanna hurt yourself, hurt yourself… by looking too closely.”

Tangerine would never admit it to a single soul– not even Lemon, who was as much a part of him as anyone could be– that he’d been deeply moved. He couldn’t pinpoint the source of his feelings. It might have been the lyrics. Or the chords. Or the voice. Or maybe it was the way your eyes wandered from an undetectable point in the wall to him, just for a fraction of a second, before shying away once more. He was not the type to fall for this sort of act, to care for any of it in the slightest– he was not the type, full stop. 

But following their meeting with the cafe’s owner, the signing of a contract, he found himself stopping one of the baristas on the way out to ask if you frequented the cafe. Wednesday evenings, without fail. He left the shop with the confidence of simply knowing that information, not necessarily intending to do anything with it.

But you were already on stage when Tangerine slipped into the cafe the following Wednesday, looking the slightest bit out of place once again. Your eyes followed him shamefully as words poured from your lips. 

“i’d give anything to borrow your indifference, i’d drink you in; to temper your belief in all my promises; to swallow my desire and choke on it.”

Tangerine settled into a table at the furthest corner of the shop, noting that today was nowhere near as crowded as it’d been last week. He chalked that up to the weather, bright skies and a slight breeze. He vaguely considered that he probably had better things to do as well on such a nice day-- instead of sitting in the corner of a cafe ordering another expensive espresso to excuse his want. He promised himself it would be the last time anyways. he wasn’t the type. he had more important use for his time.

Then there was you. You had noticed him the second the door chimed and your gaze averted from its comforting fixed point on the wall. You were slightly shocked to see him again; men that looked like him tended to make themselves scarce, and the likelihood of seeing him again in the same place at the same time was strange. But there he was, slipping into a corner table and ordering a drink, eyes fixated on you, and it took your breath away.

It was necessary for you to look away then. If you kept focusing on the way he was staring at you, it would only be a matter of time before your mouth forgot how to form words and your hand to strum.

You were allotted a further two songs in your set before you thanked the patrons who remained in the shop and began packing up your guitar. Another person, a young teen with a septum piercing and a kind smile, replaced you on the stage. You stopped by the barista station where one of the staff members Linda was adding the finishing touches to someone’s caramel macchiato.

“Hello, superstar,” she said with a smile. “You want your usual? It’s on me.”

You smiled gratefully, nodding your head. “Thanks, that’d be great.” She slid the drink she’d just prepared on to a tray for mobile order pick ups before leaning over the counter toward you.

“You saw that bombshell in the suit?” She whispered gleefully. You nodded quickly— how could you not have? “He asked me about you last week. Wanted to know when you play. I think you should take your ass over to his table and sit while I make your drink.”

Your mouth immediately dried up. He’d asked about you. Your immediate instinct was to deny it, even though Linda would never lie to you about something like that. “Impossible,” the words fell from your mouth either way, “I can’t go over there.”

Linda stared at you, exasperated. “He’s literally staring at us right now. If you don’t start hustling I’m going to throw your head under my milk steamer.”

You threw your hands up in surrender, shocked laughter escaping. “Okayokay! Damn, lady.” Linda turned around with a satisfied smile on her face, busying herself with starting on your drink to avoid entertaining you any further. The amount of courage that it took for you to turn around and look in his direction was inconceivable, but your sneakers twisted against the hardwood anyway and your eyes fell on him.

He was, indeed, looking at you already.

Your feet began to move automatically, as if someone else had hopped into your body and started puppeteering. You were halting in front of his table in no time, heart hammering against your ribcage.

The man stared up at you with the slightest hint of amusement in his expression. He did not speak, waiting for you to go first. “Is this seat taken?” You asked, fingers gently feathering across the wooden back of the empty chair.

“Not at all, love,” he replied smoothly. It took every last ounce of strength in your body to not collapse into the seat upon hearing his poignant British accent. You were always a sucker for a good accent.

Then you noticed the book he had on the table between you.

“No way,” you said, instinctively going to grab it. Your fingers danced across the cover, familiar as you had the exact same copy at home. “You’re reading Virginia Woolf.”

Tangerine would never admit it, but in that moment, you’d taken his breath away. You looked up at him with pure excitement radiating across your face, a slight twinkle in your eyes. He almost forgot to speak, something out of character for a man that was never at loss for words. “You’ve read this?” He asked, eyes skimming over the cover to avoid your intense gaze for just a moment. 

“I am made and remade continually. Different people draw different words from me.” It was so clearly an excerpt from the novel The Waves, and Tangerine felt like his mouth might split in two as he smiled at you. The words sounded beautiful from your mouth. “I read it a year ago. Absolutely adored it.”

“I’ve only started it recently.” He admitted to you, a bit sheepish. “But I thoroughly enjoyed To The Lighthouse.”

A well-read man, in a three piece suit, with a glorious head of hair, a NICE accent, beautiful eyes, and a mug of espresso that you did not hesitate to steal. You knew the only way any of this could continue— a person like him talking to someone like you— was to keep him engaged. 

You noted the way he stared at you, eyes flickering, as you took a slow sip from his cup. You made a face as you set it down, wanting to play it lightly and joke with him. “Yeah, you definitely loved that one from the taste of this coffee.” 

The man did something unexpected— he rolled his eyes with a scoff. “Don’t tell me you’re the type to drown yours in cream and sugar.” As if on cue, Linda reached your table with your iced drink— which was, in fact, drowning in cream and sugar. You looked up to thank her with a laugh bubbling on your lips, and she smiled knowingly before disappearing. The man did not avert his gaze the entire interaction.

“I am the type indeed.” You said mischievously, taking a quick sip from your own drink. “I may be a depressed artist, but taking my coffee black is where I draw the line. I’m not method.”

“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises.” He smiled easily. Your stomach did a backflip off a three-story building from the tone of his voice, the slight curve of his lips. It was a miracle you were still able to talk to him for so long.

“I still haven’t gotten your name.” You blurted out. The man raised his eyebrows. It’s now or never, do or die, sink or swim. All that jazz.

“I hadn’t offered it.” He replied smartly.

“Yet,” you quipped back, avoiding the sensation of rejection bubbling under your skin because he had to give you his name. After this, it was an absolute necessity.

“Truthfully, I’m not much in the habit of giving my name out to people I’ve just met,” he shifted in his seat, adjusting his suit jacket, “no matter how well-read or beautiful I find them to be.” He threw a wink at you following that last part. He fucking winked.

Your tongue was flat and dry in your mouth. Suddenly, it was a chore for you to swallow, let alone formulate a coherent thought that could be translated into words. Eventually, you find your voice. “Of course, I understand. There’s always the potential I could be a homicidal maniac.”

You noticed the amusement dancing in his eyes immediately. He appreciated your quip. “And are you?” He inquired.

You smiled cheekily. “Depends on the type of day I’m having.”

The man observed you for a lingering moment, his book still between your fingertips as you flitted through the pages absentmindedly. “Tell you what, love. You can call me Tangerine.”

A slow smile spread across your face. Codenames. A little bit silly, but you could work with that. “Alright, Tangerine. You a fan?”

He shrugged his shoulders non-committally. “Everyone loves tangerines. They’re adaptable.”

You snorted, immediately embarrassed by the sound. It was ridiculous how quickly he could make you giddy and talkative. “Alright then... you can call me … Nova.”

He leaned forward on his fist, and you noticed the rings again. Various statement pieces, golden signets, all carrying some sort of meaning that you wished you could ask about. You had a million questions to learn this man and not enough time in the world. “Nova, hm?”

It was your turn to shrug non-committally. His lips quirked. “Well. They appear out of nowhere, bright and dramatic.”

Tangerine let out a huff to disguise his laughter. Checking his watch quickly, his brows furrowed together and he looked back at you ruefully. “Apologies, love. It seems I’ve lost track of the time. I have some matters to attend to this evening.”

The disappointment that filled your belly was palpable, and you leaned back in your seat a little dejected. He noted it, but didn’t make any attempt to assuage your feelings. “I understand.”

He stands up, fingers working quickly to button his jacket up again. You reached your arm out to pass him his copy of The Waves back, and you felt your skin brush against his, noting the callouses, as he accepted it. “I trust I’ll be seeing you around, Nova?” 

Looking up at him, he shot another wink your way. You nodded your head a little too eagerly. “I expect a book report.”

He smiled, laying a heavy hand on your arm for a brief second, before he turned toward the exit and made his way back onto the street. As you watched his figure disappear through the frosted windows, you suddenly became aware of your heart hammering in your chest and the blood rushing to your ears.

And his lingering touch, which you could still feel on your arm.

*

-A/N; phew! this was a tough one to get out. i haven’t written any fics in a long time, and i’ve never really done the second person pov stuff either so apologies if there are any mistakes. please let me know if you like and/or would like more! 

[fungifanart]

Let’s dance, boys!

Characters: Childe/Tartaglia, male reader, umbra witch!reader, harbinger!reader

Tw: Nudity (non-sexual), violence

Word count: 1.1K

Notes: Yes, this is extremely self-indulgent. Yes, I am aware that the term “Male umbra witch” is an oxymoron. Let me have this.

————————————————————————

Childe has seen you around his hometown numerous times, but doesn’t really have a noteworthy opinion of you.

The fact that you always wear baggy, casual clothes plus large, thick glasses, rarely talk and are never seen without a book in your hands evokes only one word from his mind:

Boring.

So one can imagine his genuine shock when he arrives for the initiation of a new harbinger and sees none other than you being sworn in by The Tsaritsa, looking as boring as ever.

Soon his shock and disbelief give way to intense curiosity.

Becoming a harbinger for the fatui requires one to be incredibly skilled in combat, meaning that this seemingly normal and boring person must be hiding something extraordinary behind that dull expression!

This train of thought causes his excitement to skyrocket with each passing second.

He has to see you fight.

He has to fight you.

Right now.

…or not.

He searched everywhere for you after the initiation, but you’d completely disappeared.

Childe decides to ask around about you and it turns out that you’d been immediately sent out on a mission once the ceremony was finished.

‘Damn’ He thinks to himself ‘Well, if I can’t see him fight, I might as well see if anyone else has.’ He reasons.

So he looks around until his eyes land on the 8th harbinger, who was the one who recommended you to the Tsaritsa in the first place, he remembers.

‘That must mean he’s seen him fight!’ Childe realizes, which immediately sends him striding towards the Balladeer. However, his line of questioning immediately gets shut down.

“I-I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The Balladeer replies curtly while turning his head away to hide the fact that he’s…blushing? Did something embarrassing happen while he saw you fight?

‘Well now I HAVE to see this for myself.’ Childe thinks to himself before embarking on another line of inquiry that eventually nets him info on where you’d be going for your first mission.

“Apparently, a group of hilichurls and treasure hoarders have been colluding in order to stage some sort of attack on a nearby town and set up camp in secret so they could get the drop on them. Luckily, The Tsaritsa caught wind of this and sent y/n to go take care of it before anything can happen.” An agent says before giving Childe the exact location.

Childe rushes to the town in question in the hopes of getting to see the whole fight and, luckily enough, manages to find the camp just as you begin the assault.

He waits with baited breath to see how you’d deal with numerous hilichurls and treasure hoarders rushing at you, but now he feels…disappointed? Your attacks hit hard, but your fighting style isn’t anything special, not to mention how your form is sloppy at best and you’re still wearing the same baggy clothing that you always wear, as if that’ll protect you from all the sharp weapons you’re faced with.

Childe practically sneers at the mediocre display unfolding in front of him and is about to leave when something happens that catches him completely off-guard.

Several hilichurls and treasure hoarders gang up on you at once and attempt to take stabs at you, which barely connect, slicing numerous holes into your clothes, ‘Tch. That’s what he gets for not defending himself more adequately.’ Childe thinks, but rather than falling back to regain the advantage, you instead grab at your torn-up clothes and throw them off your body, leaving you completely naked before beams of light shine on you at just the right angle so the shadows obscure your genitals (It’s not like Childe was looking there or anything anyway) and your hair extends down your body like vines and laces together to create a very tight-fitting body suit and— wow, that thing really doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

This whole event took place over the span of mere moments and yet to Childe, it felt like hours. He feels like he has to physically pick up his jaw off the ground after witnessing such a transformation, but he soon realizes that this is just the beginning as you open your mouth to speak.

“I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but some of you just can’t seem to wait your turn, can you?” You say with an amount of confidence that Childe hadn’t imagined could come from someone like you, “But it’s fine. The night’s still young, after all.” Your hands and feet begin to radiate with dendro energy as you take a fighting stance, “Let’s dance, boys!” You conclude as you rush forward to begin the assault in earnest.

Childe’s attention soon becomes solely focused on your form as you race around the battlefield at a speed that his eyes can barely keep up with, watching you punch, kick, and fire blasts and waves of pure dendro energy at your enemies, all the while making it seem like a very graceful dance and not a complete slaughter.

You continue to thin out their numbers as Childe watches, completely slack-jawed at your technique. Every time an enemy swings at you, you dodge by back-flipping away at the last second and suddenly become a blur as you rain a torrent of blows on your opponent, reducing them to the ground in an instant.

Their ranks dwindle until the only threat that remains is an enraged Frostarm Lawachurl that recklessly charges directly at you, giving you ample time to dodge while leaving a trap that binds the Lawachurl’s feet in place. And just as Childe thought he’s seen everything, you use your enemy struggling to free itself as an opportunity to strike a pose and call out in a reverberating voice, “Ol unig cnila!” Which Childe barely has time to ponder the meaning of before your hair suit retracts from your body and weaves into what looks like a magic circle on the ground that summons the head of a gigantic beast made entirely of roots and vines, which snatches up the Lawachurl and munches ruthlessly on it before swallowing it whole and retreating back into the magic circle.

The battle ends with your hair weaving and lacing itself back around your body as the magic circle closes and you turn to face Childe as he stands there, completely at a loss for words. You both stand there in silence for what feels like an eternity before Childe’s breath hitches as you close the distance while saying, “You just couldn’t resist the thought of seeing a good fight, could you? It’s alright. I’ve always liked that about you anyway.” You conclude while giving Childe a light pat on the cheek as you walk away with your tattered clothes in hand.

Childe continues to stand there in awe, taking in the aftermath of the sheer carnage that you caused and struggling to process everything that he saw.

“Holy fuck.” He finally says breathlessly, “I think I’m in love.”

[greenmenace]

Titanic X Octogoblin AU

Chapter 1:

(Feel free to ask to be tagged in the next chapter! Thank you for reading and feedback is always appreciated! I hope you enjoy! :D)

April 10th 1912

“This way! All third class passengers must be lined up in the health inspection queue before they can board the ship! Ma’am, ma’am! Over here! This way please!” 

A health officer called out among the gigantic crowd of hundreds and hundreds of people across the dock, his own voice nearly drowned out by the amount of excited and busy voices in the air. The overflowing crowd of people gazed in awe towards the colossus of a ship floating in the harbour of Southampton, waving towards their loved ones that were also waving farewell upon the deck of the ship. 

The spectacular vessel that was named Titanic was not moving yet, but she had already proved herself to be the most magnificent ship of all. The biggest and grandest one that floated tall above the surface of the water below and above all the small people stood gazing at her majesty. 

She was the ship of dreams, practically royalty as her presence impressed all who took their first look at her. The ship seemed to stretch on and on by the dock, eight hundred and eighty two feet and nine inches long. She was a spectacle to look at and would certainly make a mark upon history itself.

Carriages full of first class luggage being pulled along by horses were trotting down the dock, making their slow path through tens of people and through the next, heading for the main terminal where cargo was being lifted and placed into the storage hold of the ship beneath the bow. Vans filled with bags of mail and parcels were attempting to safely drive through the thick crowd, constantly beeping at people constantly in the way.

“Big boat, isn’t she, Penny?” A father no more in his late thirties had asked with a bright smile to his nine year old daughter that was comfortable in his arms, clutching her doll as her curious eyes stared with fascination at the ship. They were patiently waiting to board and were in the third class queue, but at the same time they were enjoying the sight and were amazed by the scenery.

She turned her head to look at him as if he had told her a joke and giggled.

“Daddy, it’s a ship!” 

“You’re right.” He nodded, grinning as he planted an affectionate kiss onto her youthful chubby cheek, one that made her laugh even further. 

However her gleeful laughter was cut short as a sound of a car horn emerged into existence, startling her for a brief moment as she turned herself around and looked behind her father’s shoulder to see the source of the noise. 

Three very elegant and polished cars slowly made their way through the seemingly endless crowd, honking at them countless times so that the people wouldn’t get themselves accidentally run over and under the wheels. The cars shortly stopped in front of one of the boarding gangways connecting Titanic to her dock. 

The passenger door to the fashionable car opened, revealing a young man dressed in a finely fitted black suit with a silver grey waistcoat and a green patterned tie, with an emerald green overcoat and a dark brown walking cane in his black gloves to complete his pristine appearance. His sandy blonde hair was combed back neatly as his shining blue eyes marvelled at the ship nearby. His thin face was sharp, with high and almost pointy cheekbones to accompany his also soft pointed nose. And his narrow mouth was stretched into a mostly thrilled crooked grin as his eyes landed upon the sight of the Titanic.

Behind him stepped out his father who he resembled most of and seemed to be nearing his sixties rather fast. The older man was dressed in a black pinstripe suit with a black waistcoat with a black bowler hat on top of his faded blonde and greying hair. His own deeply blue eyes had no amount or trace of joy in them, clouded with intense disappointment as he looked over the ship that seemed to stretch for miles. His face was covered with thick wrinkles, especially with his eyebrows that were often creased with frustration and deep thought.

“So this is the ship they say is unsinkable then,” He commented as he adjusted his hat and glanced towards his young son who’s eyes examined every possible inch of the ship he could be able to see. “I still don’t see what the excitement is all about. The ship we sailed to here was no different to this one, Norman.”

The amazed smile upon Norman Osborn’s face quickly vanished as fast as it had come, revealing the amount of tiredness that he had been holding back for seemingly a while. 

“Father, it’s much bigger than the previous ocean liners we have sailed upon,” 

Norman attempted to convince his father, but most of him already knew that that was an impossible venture. His father did not share any of his likings and interests, and would definitely not be intrigued. “Grander than the Mauretainia. It’s the largest ship ever built. I hear the engines are especially state of the art.” 

“And the suites?” Amberson Osborn questioned, raising a pointed brow as he crossed his arms. “Luxurious I hope or you will never again have the luxury of having me listen to your suggestions again.”

Norman sighed with a nod. “Yes, father. I’ve studied every bit of the ship’s construction since we first arrived in Britain a month ago. I’m highly certain you’ll be comfortable. We’re in first class after all.” 

“Don’t speak the obvious son," His father shook his head and complained as his eyes flashed with the emotion of annoyance. “You know full well that I don’t enjoy that along with hearing you babble on and on about those tedious interests of yours.” 

The young man closed his eyes for a brief few seconds, keeping his composure in check as sending a rude remark towards Amberson was guaranteed to end badly.

“Of course, I’m sorry sir.” 

“Good. We’d better hurry then, I’d like for a hot cup of tea on board after all that travelling. Benjamin?” 

Another older man who had been chatting with one of the boarding officers turned to face Amberson who approached him. Benjamin was a former constable, but now loyally served as the Osborn’s personal bodyguard. Norman hadn’t enjoyed his presence the moment he was hired at all. It was as if he was an identical copy of his father, though only sharing most of the personality. Benjamin had a sour wrinkled face and bushy black eyebrows. His black hair that was streaked with grey strands was trimmed and parted neatly. He was dressed in a grey pinstripe suit with a white buttoned shirt and a brown bowtie around the collar.

“Sir?” 

Amberson pointed towards the large crates of baggage that were tied on the backs of the cars and tapped the wheel of the vehicle that he had exited earlier with his own jet black walking cane. “Ensure that the luggage makes it to my suite and ensure my car is lifted into storage. I’d hate to part ways with it.”

Benjamin nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

Amberson gestured towards the gangway board with the point of his cane expecting for his son to walk forward however he rolled his eyes with frustration when Norman did not seem to be moving as if he were frozen to the spot, but he was merely taking yet another look at the grand Titanic. Watching the smoke rising tall from each of the four smokestacks on the ship, the greyish black colliding with the blueness of the sky. The older man sighed with impatience as his gloved fingers quickly hooked around his son’s forearm tightly.

Norman slightly jumped with surprise at the sudden contact, his eyes quickly looking down at his father’s hand and then above to his mildly irritated face. 

“Come along, Norman. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for us missing the voyage back home to America, would you?” 

“No. I’m sorry.” His son shook his head. 

Amberson removed his grip and watched as Norman took one more quick look and proceeded to approach the gangway with his father following just behind him. 

“Right,” Benjamin tapped the boarding officer’s shoulder and brought out a slip of paper from the pocket of his coat. “These trunks from all three cars to the first class parlour suite rooms B-52, 54 and 56. And this car to be lifted and placed into the storage hold.”

Norman stepped upon the wooden gangway, holding onto the rail as he continued his way entering the ship. Within him, most of his enthusiasm for finally boarding the unsinkable ship was soon covered with confliction and dread with each step closer.

Dread for what had laid ahead of him waiting til the day where he would step back into America once again. Above all else, he was a perfectly raised gentleman thanks to his father’s great efforts, with everything he could possibly need. He was rich with an impossibly endless amount of money. 

But he felt as though he had no complete control of his life.

He was to be engaged to a woman as soon as he was back in New York, an arranged marriage to a complete stranger. All ordered by his father of course just like every single aspect of Norman’s life. And Norman had naturally no say in the matter. He was currently twenty two, and already Amberson was rushing him into the grabbing hands of marriage.

Norman was convinced that soon after he had gained a wife, his father would be pressuring him to have a child with her and God only knew what his father would do with a grandson or granddaughter.

It was terrifying. And Norman Osborn felt like he had wanted to scream out. To lash out at everything and at the invisible iron shackles that chained him to his father.

He knew nobody would listen to him though.

Stepping through the open passage leading into Titanic, Norman let out a breath that he didn’t realise that he was holding in.

A steward by the door greeted him with a wide smile. “Welcome to the Titanic, sir!” 

~

“---the engines are ahead of their time, Curt! Hopefully at some point during the trip back to America we’ll be allowed down into the engine room to take a look.”

Out of the crowd of thousands of faces of young and old, a taller young man appeared with three large brown suitcases in his hands. He was dressed in a long dark brown overcoat with a dark grey suit underneath, with a black tie on top of his neat white shirt. His chocolate brown hair on top of his head was curly despite his past attempts of fixing it. His dark brown eyes were wide with excitement and anticipation as he glanced behind him to look at his friend, though his eyes were hidden by black oval glasses.

Otto Octavius and Curt Connors slowly walked their path through the crowd, making sure they weren’t rudely bumping shoulders with people in their way as they drew closer and closer towards their destination, the Titanic. Otto held one of Curt’s suitcases with his own two ones as Curt unfortunately could only manage one as he had lost his right arm up to his elbow long ago.

Curt was dressed with a grey overcoat on his shoulders and a hazelnut brown suit with a lightish blue tie with a black bowler hat on top of his head completing his look, his face overpowered with excitement as he eagerly followed behind Otto. 

“My fingers are crossed!” Curt exclaimed with a shout so that the words of the crowd didn’t hinder his words. His feet had a slight joyful bounce as he walked. “I’ve been looking forward to finally boarding the ship on this very day!”

Otto turned his head back, sending an eager smile back towards his friend.

“So have I! I’ve been hearing every single person raving on about it for so long that it’s beginning to give me a headache!” Otto uttered with a chuckle, looking upwards to take a quick look at the Titanic that was becoming closer and closer. “A few minutes ago someone had told me that God himself couldn’t even sink the Titanic!”

The two momentarily halted in their tracks as a horse drawn carriage walked in front of their path, but they took the moment to quickly admire the ship. She was absolutely magnificent, like they were staring at a work of art on a canvas. Art that belonged in a museum! The sight didn’t seem real and yet there she floated gracefully in the harbour. Otto wanted to study the Titanic from top to bottom, wanting to see every inch of the ship and how the grand vessel was carefully constructed. 

“I think it’s this way to board the ship.” Curt gestured with a nod of his head, his eyes staring towards the second class gangways that people were walking upon. He momentarily turned to face Otto. “You have the tickets?”

Otto nodded. “Yes, they’re both in my pockets. Let’s hurry!” 

Quickening their pace, Otto and Curt carefully continued moving closer, being patient for other passengers in front to board the ship before they could. Otto made sure Curt was in front, aiding him up the steps as they began to walk on top of the gangway. The levels of excitement continued to grow with each second, and Otto’s smile seemed that it could last forever. He looked up and the Titanic was a giant. It was so much taller than he expected!

From his and Curt’s position down below, the ship was towering over everything in the world, it even looked like it reached the very sky where the fluffy white and silver clouds would weightlessly float. 

“Tickets please, you two?”

Snapping back into focus from being so immersed with the impressive height of Titanic, Otto carefully placed his suitcases along with Curt’s one on the floor of the Titanic when they had both entered a moment ago, he brought out his and his friend’s tickets from the pocket of his overcoat and gave it to the steward for him to check. The man quickly looked over both tickets, being sure that they were in fact the correct tickets which was quite obvious that they were.

“That all seems well, welcome on board to the Titanic, gentlemen!” 

The steward smiled after he had quickly examined both tickets, allowing the two to go on forward. 

After passing their thanks to the kind man, Otto and Curt had begun to make their way down the staircases and into the hallway of the second class staterooms where one of them would be occupied by the two.

The fresh paint and the sweet cleanliness of the carpet nearly overwhelmed the sense of smell in Otto’s and Curt’s noses as they headed down D-Deck, walking past rooms and politely greeting other second class passengers on their way. The baggage in the men’s arms were beginning to make their shoulders ache, so they hurried as fast as they could to eventually rid the weight. The white corridors were polished, almost seeming to belong to a royal castle instead of an ocean liner. And the carpet floor was beautifully patterned. 

The corridor was warmly lit, inviting a sense of homeliness and comfort into the air as Otto and Curt walked down, briefly looking upon the numbers on top of the doors.

“D-53…D-53…” Otto muttered as his eyes looked at one door and then to the next. His brown eyes widened with accomplishment as his view finally landed upon the cabin that he and Curt was to be sharing. “Here it is at last!”

“Finally!” Curt smiled as Otto opened the door, the two happily entered the room. Sighing with delight as they both carefully placed their heavy luggage upon the floor. “I think I’m about ready to fall asleep.” Curt chuckled, rubbing the back of his aching neck.

Otto laughed in response, examining the room’s contents. It was a small cabin, a bit bigger and greater than the third class accommodations down below. There was a comfortable bunk bed in the corner of the room, the sheets neatly placed upon both beds and radiated with the smell of freshness. A chestnut dressing table with a wash basin along with a mirror was nearby. In front of the bunk was a luxurious velvet patterned sofa to which Curt placed his baggage on top. 

“Not too bad, isn’t it?” Otto inquired curiously, feeling very satisfied with the room already even though he hadn’t even spent an hour in it yet. He hoped the bunk was comfortable!

Curt smiled, sitting down on top of the bottom bunk as he did a quick look around the room with his pleased eyes. “Yes, it has exceeded my expectations, that's for sure.”

“Don’t you want the top bunk?” 

“No, I’m all too happy taking the bottom. I think I may actually take a nap."

"I don't blame you for that," Otto yawned, moving his fingers through his unruly curly hair as he then stretched his arms. "All that moving about with the bags since this morning has made me completely tired." 

Curt chuckled with another yawn, before removing his suit jacket and folding it neatly upon the foot of his bed with his bowler hat laying on top. He then took off his shoes and left them on the floor as he raised his legs and laid completely upon his bed. He was out like a light in a matter of a minute with a light snore.

Otto smiled with amusement before unlocking one of his heavy bags, he took off his glasses and placed them upon the nearby dressing table as he began to unpack his clothes. 

He was becoming more and more excited for the day where he and Curt would arrive in New York. A fresh start and a new life! There would be more and more opportunities to be discovered with science and Otto was absolutely exhilarated with that fact. Though a tiny part of him felt as though there was something missing in his life. Something that would feel as though it would add to it. He had no idea what it was or could be. He wasn’t really eager to find out but the feeling was curious nonetheless.

Underneath his clothes were a couple books relating to his passionate interest in science, books of physics and mathematical and scientific equations. Otto would have to find time to read them later, as he had unpacking to sort out.

~ 

“This is the main promenade deck.” 

A male servant in his mid thirties informed Amberson who took a quick look out of one of the windows, observing the blue sky for the briefest moment. His wrinkled face was still full of disinterest as his eyes looked around the private deck. The white walls were panelled with dark wood, and there was a double set of doors that would connect to the main deck area where other passengers would socialise, which was near to the door that was connecting the suite to the promenade deck. 

Sun loungers, small tables and potted plants decorated the deck, serving to provide a natural and comforting look. The warm sun shone through the windows where Amberson stood nearby.

“Would you be requiring anything else, sir?” 

Amberson grunted and brushed him off in response, gently leaning to poke his head out from the window. “No, Bernard.”

The servant bowed in response with a nod, before heading off back into the suite where Norman was busying himself along with his maid in the main living room. There was a regal fireplace nearby, though no actual logs where they were supposed to be. Instead in its place was a heater that was not switched on as there was no need. The wood panelled walls were decorated with gold decorating every panel like little ribbons. 

The carpet was cream and fluffy, with armchairs and loveseats sitting across the room. And a table with cutlery and pristine clean dishes that had never been used once before. 

Norman opened one large suitcase that sat on top of the sofa cushions which nearly took up the whole space upon the sofa, revealing a few artistic, unusual and a colourful collection of masks that were carefully packed inside. His mood quickly lightened as he gently picked up one of the three that were inside, a mask that resembled a witch in some way. It was white and painted with golden stripes with popping eyes. It had an outstretched nose and sharp teeth with a pointing tongue. 

As much as he didn’t enjoy the luxury of having an amount of money that was bound to keep in this position for the rest of his life, there was one good thing that came from having money like that. He was able to have the ability to buy such lovely artefacts. The only vivid colour in his life at the moment. 

“Would you like all of them out, sir?” The maid asked as she examined the masks curiously.

Norman nodded, approaching the fireplace to place the mask upon the mantle in front of the mirror. “Yes, I think this room needs a bit of colour in it anyway. It’s too dull here. Too much brown to stare at.”

He then returned to his suitcase, leaning down to retrieve another. The next one was a vivid green, with another pointed nose and chin. It was widely grinning with sharped silver painted teeth. Its eyes were large and golden yellow and its ears were high just like its skull that was raised. The wooden mask was well aged, with part of the green paint being scratched off and damaged over time. Norman smiled, temporarily leaving the green mask on top of the table as he went to put out another mask on top of the fireplace.

The next one mostly resembled a gorilla in some way, around its black eyes were red with yellow highlights, and all around his face and upper lip were decorated with golden stripes.

“Good God, not those hideous masks again,” Norman heard a disgusted sneer from behind him and he glanced towards the sound of the familiar voice for a moment to see his father unsurprisingly leaning against the doorframe, sipping on his steaming cup of tea. “They really were a waste of money, son.”

Norman quickly rolled his eyes in response, thankful that his back was turned to Amberson.

“As I’ve explained many times, they’re fascinating to study. Not that you even cared about my opinions to begin with.” Norman replied, knowing that his father was very likely to be glaring at him right now, however he couldn’t care of the other’s anger right now. It didn’t matter anymore.

“If I might ask, what are these masks?” The maid curiously inquired, to which Norman was too pleased to answer as he never really got the chance to eagerly talk about his interests to anybody. Every time he had wanted to was quickly shut down by Amberson who firmly told him that would never be an interesting topic to discuss at all.

“They’re tribal masks from all around the world,” He answered with a small smile as he adjusted one of them on the fireplace and then turned around to retrieve the green one that he had left earlier. “I enjoy collecting them, I suppose it’s my hobby. This one is my personal favourite, it’ll go in my quarters.”

Norman picked up the wooden green mask and headed into his room with the maid following behind him with one of his suitcases in her hand.

His bedroom was big, a little smaller than the sitting room but still spacious and pleasant. The walls were still brown but instead of the gold decorations, the panels had large red patterned squares that were lined gold on the outside. There was a snug double bed in the corner of the room. The bedsheets were white and finely pressed and the four pillows at the head of the bed were large and fluffy. The bed frame was a dark wood and seemed as though it was reserved for royalty. In the centre of the room was a small deep brown table with two wooden chairs tucked in. Empty tea cups were sitting on top with cream napkins neatly folded. 

A door nearby opened to Norman’s own personal walk-in wardrobe, where he would later be placing his clothes inside with the help of either the maid or Bernard. He always preferred to be busy with normal duties rather than wasting more extended time that he did not enjoy by being in the company of his father. Norman didn’t care if the maids and servants could easily handle the task, he didn’t mind doing it himself.

In front of the bed was a writing desk, with a golden lamp placed on top. Norman proceeded to approach the desk, and gently set the green mask upon its surface. Upon adjusting it and making sure that it was angled nicely, Norman stood there as his eyes turned to the floor for a moment, his head clouded with deep thoughts. The maid placed his suitcase down on the floor next to the bed and turned to him, a confused expression across her kindly face.

She wondered whether to approach him or not for a few seconds, and then she walked up to him and quietly cleared her throat.

“Sir?” 

Norman blinked, shaking his head as if he felt a cold chill running down his spine. 

“Are you feeling well?” She asked, gently holding onto his left shoulder with a worried gaze.

He nodded with another tired sigh, his right hand rubbing across his pounding forehead. For weeks on weeks, Amberson had been dragging him practically by the back of his neck to every little business trip he had arranged. And to every little pathetic party which Norman had pretended to enjoy for so long. It seemed never ending, the work meetings and the little meaningless parties. All of it expressed nothing, it accomplished nothing. 

Of course, he could always decline the invites to the parties in the late night but that would result in yet another heavy argument and a vicious judging expression from his father.

“Yes,” Norman forced himself to answer, with yet another forced smile upon his face. “Just tired, that's all.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“No, no I’m okay. I suppose a cup of coffee would be nice though, Maggie. Thank you.”

The maid smiled and nodded her head, exiting the room as Norman’s smile faded away. He brushed off a speck of dust from the mask in front of him and then moved over to his suitcase on the floor where Maggie had placed it. Norman removed his emerald green overcoat and folded it over the bed. He then kneeled down and opened the trunk and began to unpack his clothing. 

He had then heard footsteps entering the room, just stopping in the doorway. Norman could easily guess correctly that the steps had belonged to his father. He didn’t know how or when he was able to identify Amberson’s footsteps, though Norman didn’t really care to figure that out. 

“Tomorrow night we will be joining John Jacob Astor and his splendid wife for dinner along with the rest of first class,” Amberson informed his son, removing his gloves from his hands and shoving them into his suit pocket. “They’re quite eager to be enlightened about your future proposal when we arrive in New York. They’ll certainly be receiving an invitation to the wedding, I’m sure.”

Norman’s fingers froze over one of his black waistcoats that he was pulling out from the suitcase, and his eyes closed though thankfully he had his back turned to his father.

“Must I come? You enjoy briefing people about it more than I do, father.” He asked, shaking his head as he opened his eyes. He knew that would probably make his father displeased, just like the many past attempts of asking.

“Do you intend for only one guest to show up for your betrothal to your future bride? I never taught you to be so rude and selfish, Norman.” Amberson spat, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. He seemed to be so polite and well-mannered in public, but whenever he was alone with his son, his true colours began to shine as bright as the sun. 

“You will be joining me, or else I will not be too happy with your misbehaviour and you can be sure that I will be quickly correcting it. You are aware of that, I’m certain.”

Norman nodded, recalling a past moment of his face burning with pain from Amberson’s hand connecting with it. The sickening feeling of the air being kicked out of his lungs. The brutal black and yellow bruises across his ribs which he would discover during the next morning. He knew how violent Amberson could immediately become in a matter of seconds, but Norman had grown used to it over time. Not even flinching when his face would be slapped or punched.

“Yes. My apologies for being rude and selfish,” Norman automatically replied. “I’ll attend tomorrow night. 

“Good. Excuse me.” Amberson spoke carelessly, exiting the room and leaving a mildly ominous wake of air behind his footsteps. 

Norman hung his head over his suitcase, what did it matter anymore? Nothing in his life had been proved to be worth living over. Not one single person cared about him, other than Amberson who Norman wasn’t really certain if his father even did in the first place.

Upon the thoughts, Norman’s eyes slightly widened as a dark endless pit sunk right into his stomach.

Did Norman’s life matter one bit at all to his father?