#he comes from a very militaristic world

[ward-against-blight]

One of the things that brings me sm joy is how even though Cyrus is a jerk a solid 75% of the time, whenever he’s talking about something myth related (Aquila, or the entry quests of Azteca) you can literally HEAR in the voice acting how legit passionate he is about it.

Like yea, the man clearly doesn’t have the temperament for the education field (and needs some serious post Malistaire therapy) but you can’t say he isn’t legitimately passionate about Myth, and it’s so heartwarming to see him happy about something when so much of his storylines are depressing as all hell.

[ghostaholics]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

[bluespiritshonour]

I started Reckoning of Roku against better judgement and I have to say: does ATLA want me to suspend my disbelief a la monarchy or not?

Like, Zuko being crowned Fire Lord was considered to be a good ending—whereas through real world logic, toppling the monarchy would've actually been more egalitarian.

So I've always suspended my disbelief with regards to that—and now Gyatso actually confronts Roku about it. He also says there have never been female Fire Lords and how the word Fire Lord is inherently masculine (so Izumi becoming Fire Lord is actually very real world equivalent of, say, a woman becoming chairman/woman).

But I'm just really hung up about the monarchy aspect of it: because if we were to apply real world logic to it a traumatised 16 yo being crowned a monarch of a post-war nation that should (again, realistically speaking) take years to stabilize is tragic, not happy.

But if I do apply real world logic to ATLA world as Reckoning of Roku wants me to?—then I'd say I LOVE GYATSO!!! HE'S A RIOT!!!YOU CAN CLEARLY SEE WHERE AANG GOT HIS SASS FROM!!!

And everything Gyatso says about class difference and autocratic governments is so correct and valid of him.

He served cunt.

Also, the Air Nomads being accepting of gender fluidity? Amazing.

While I still think gender segregation of the temples wasn't a good thing let's get this straight: victims don't have to be perfect. We can consider it a flaw of Air Nomad society, that is no justification for Sozin going genocidal on them!!! And you know that's not the reason he did for duh 😒 (as if anyone colonises anyone because tHey'Re bAckWArd) It's very similar to how South Asia has a gender segregation culture, but we have very rich trans history. Which, again, in no way means we're free of transphobia. (Although Air Nomads do not feel transphobic from the text) It's nuanced.

As for Fire Nation culture being so militaristic at this point. It makes sense. (I wish I had read Kyoshi novels first so I'd know what Fire Nation was like during her and Rangi's time, especially because ATLA tried to hammer in how Fire Nation has lost a lot of its real essence to imperialism too).

My reading of this is: Sozin didn't just wake up one day and decided to colonise the world. It must have happened gradually, especially the cultural shift. Roku lived on the precipice of the war. He was the reason it didn't break out even earlier. So it makes sense that we see these tendencies in the Fire Nation already: political atmosphere was already shifting. Gyatso sees it too and he doesn't like it. Remember how the Air Nomad council was debating whether to tell Aang he's the Avatar?

Because they anticipated a war was coming.

Another complain I have is Gyatso using language that, say, in a few years Fire Nation is going to use for Air Nomads after they genocided them. Words like ‘backward’ and all. Because everything Gyatso means to say is RIGHT—making him use that language was a wrong writing choice.

[mysticwolfshadows]

Taken - Zutara - Part 1

First / Previous / Next / Masterpost

So, as far as I know, we don't know much (if anything) about Azulon's wife. And I have a soft spot for fics that set up her as the origin for much of Iroh's (eventual) kind nature. Knowing a bit about world building and government structure (thanks DND), Azulon being a very militaristic leader means that the Fire Nation, to survive, would need a second in command (Fire Lady) that kept things stable on the home front. I love fics that include this, too. And we do see hints of that in ATLA. The polluted river? What smart leader puts a factory shooting chemicals into a river right housing a floating town???

Anyway, the fic that I was working on had Azulon's wife (who I called Ilah) as a main character. Basically, Fire Lady Ilah has fallen ill, and out of desperation to keep the balance of their power, Azulon managing the war front while Ilah kept the mother land alive, Azulon searches for something that can be done to save her. The only thing that was suggested that could work was a water bending healer. Of course, the Fire Nation had no access to any water benders. They executed all of the prisoners after Hama's escape, and an assault on the North would take to long to be effective. Thankfully, word had just come that there was a new waterbender spotted in the South.

Some worry its the blood demon (Hama) returned to rally dark spirits. Others hope it is a potential healer for their ailing leader. Either way, an investigation must be made. They must find the waterbender in the South.

When the ships arrive, led by Iroh (maybe Lu Ten, or with Lu Ten aboard), the tribe is helpless. Hama is not there, and hasn't been in decades. No warrior, no matter how many there are, could stand to the well equiped soldiers of three high class cruisers. So when the leader steps out, wanting to see the waterbender, the village can only cower. Hakoda tightens his grip on a spear that will be useless against so many. It's when an officer mentions a rumor that waterbenders instinctively save themselves from drowning, and suggests holding each tribesman under water until the bender is found that Katara, only 8, screams out that its her, so the Fire Nation won't hurt her family.

She's taken, her family screaming, onto the ship. There, she's kept by Iroh and/or Lu Ten, who sits with her and gives her tea. Iroh or Lu Ten explain why they came, how his mother/grandmother is ailing, and needs a healer. He tells her that, while she may be young, she's their only hope of a healer. Katara has no choice but to promise to do her best, knowing her village would take the punishment for her failure.

They dress her in Fire Nation clothes, which she hates, and as they sail back to the Fire Nation, Iroh and/or Lu Ten do their best to trian her. They have her practice on soldiers that are injured either from training or work accidents. She becomes surprisingly competent in a short time, all because she had a master (even though a firebending one) to guide her.

When she finally reaches the Fire Nation, she's taken by how bright and colorful everything is. She's amazed by how load and plentiful the people are. And when she's taken into the Fire Palace, she's shocked by how big everything is.

When she's brought before Azulon, the Fire Lord rages. A peasant child? This is the hope of the Fire Nation?! Iroh asks his father to trust, and they take Katara to the Fire Lady.

And, by some mix of sheer force of will and some miracles, Katara succeeds.

Ilah is able to recover, at least partially, and Katara is placed as her 'ward', always at the Fire Lady's side, lest the sickness return. But Ilah is a gentle soul. She won't have a child acting as a nurse full time. Whenever there is a moment, she makes sure to be where Katara can be around others her age will be. In the Fire Palace, that is anywhere Zuko and Azula will be.

Katara spends a lot of those first weeks stiff and cautious, hesitant to go near the Fire Nation royals. But Azula constantly pokes at her with Mai and Ty Lee. She bites back, snaps when Azula sneers. It is only because Ilah is there that Azula doesn't try to burn her. Later, Zuko starts to come by. He's awkward and kind of rude, but it's not meant in a mean way. Ursa encourages Zuko to be kind, to make friends with her, so Zuko does his best.

After a couple months, Katara isn't skittish or cautious. She surrenders to the fact that she's never going home. Ilah doesn't need her as much, so she is mostly locked in her room, a small room attached to the Fire Lady's personal chambers. With little to do, Katara begins to despair. It's Zuko, still trying because his mother asked and he would never disappoint her, that becomes her ally.

He brings her snacks, books, even trying toys and things, to get her to brighten. Eventually, she opens up, relying on Zuko as her only friend. It brings out more of Azula's spite, and Zuko becomes worried about safety. He asks if Katara would maybe like to come with him to practice instead of sitting around in her little room, hoping to keep her closer in case Azula tried anything.

It's at these firebending practices that Katara starts to learn combat bending. She mimics and mines certain moves when she thinks no one is watching, slowly learning what does and doesn't move the water. She learned, if she loosened her stance, made her body just a bit more fluid as it moved instead of sharp like firebenders, she could waterbend. Slowly, she adapts, teaching herself to fight by changing firebending moves to fit her needs.

It's about a year after Katara arrives in the Fire Nation that it happens. The sickness returns with a vengeance, and Fire Lady Ilah needs full time care again. Katara, attached to this woman whose life she holds in her hands and has been at the side of for over a year, weeps when she realizes she's not enough to save her. At 9, Katara must tell Fire Lord Azulon that she is weak and can not do the one thing that they kept her around for. She cowered as the Fire Lord raged, knowing that it could be the last thing she ever sees.

"It is only by Fire Lady Ilah's will that you live," Azulon tells her after the funeral. "It is her memory that stays my hand. Do not sully it, lest I forget why you are here."

Katara is put into Ursa's care, and is placed in lessons. She attends private classes, learning Fire Nation history, math, and literature. Her life becomes so busy, she barely has time for anything but her studies. Zuko is her only reprieve, and they share their wants and desires. Zuko wants to become someone that his mother and father can be proud of. Katara just wants to go home. Zuko promises that, some day, some how, he'll make that happen for her. Katara thanks him, but she knows that it's impossible.

First / Previous / Next / Masterpost

[lemon-natalia]

Nona the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 27

holy shit Pash is Wake’s niece?? and thus Gideon’s cousin?? this family tree (and honestly everyone in it) is unhinged. having a cousin who is both undead and also the kid of a guy she absolutely hates feels like it’s Pash’s worst nightmare coming true. this is probably the world’s second shittiest family reunion, bar the murder tea party at the end of HtN

Wake’s whole photo with Pash shows that she had a sentimental side beyond what she had going on with G1deon/Pyrrha i guess. rip Pyrrha, the only person she can reminisce with about the woman she loved is Pash, who just completely hates Pyrrha’s guts. fun!

the whole thing with young!Pash smiling while holding a gun is a little sweet that Wake seems to have cared an awful lot about her family, but also a pretty disturbing look at what it would be like to grow up in BoE, and why exactly Pash is so militaristic and dedicated to BoE’s cause

oh shit is the truck getting bombed? which reminds me we haven’t had a John chapter in quite a while

oh no, its worse than a bomb its Heralds from the RB. given Gideon was only really able to fight them at the end of HtN because she was in Harrow’s body and thus functionally immortal and kept regenerating, pretty much only Nona and Pyrrha stand any chance here 

okayy interesting tidbit of information from Pyrrha’s small speech here, which is that she seems to know/remember Gideon’s first name, from pre the Resurrection? makes me wonder that if she does remember stuff from before, if she’s going to ever give an account of events that contradicts the stuff John’s been saying in his chapters. Pyrrha Dve woman of mystery, the more i learn about her past the wilder it gets

i just adore that Nona’s first response to the RB here is to yell at the top of her lungs ‘you said you wouldn’t do anything weird!’ truly channelling Isaac and Jeannemary’s teenage embarrassment to new levels

i love that Nona’s copying what Cam says to her to try and calm down the RB. top 10 tips on how to negotiate with the vengeful ghost of a dead planet: use Camilla Hect’s emotional advice 

oh some very interesting stuff being said by the RB through Judith here. specifically that ‘the danger is upon you, and you do not even know … they are coming out of their tower, salt thing’. towers have been mentioned a couple times now, with Gideon and Ianthe being named the Tower Princes (probably by John) - with the turret image being on Chapter 16, where they first appeared on the broadcast - and the tower in the hidden message. all in all it doesn’t seem to spell anything good

also Nona in this chapter is just wonderful. i mean Nona’s always wonderful, but i especially love this moment where she grabs the sword despite not knowing how to use it, and her determination to confront the RB

given Nona’s declaration that she knows full well she’s not Harrowhark, and that the RB addresses Nona as the ‘Green-and-breathing thing’ and asks what a mysterious ‘he’ did to her, i feel very sure at this point that she’s Alecto’s soul. though you never know with this series, i’ve been blindsided too often by reveals to be certain of anything 

[local-redhead-bookworm]

Finished Gundam 00. My closing thoughts, in no particular order:

I’m glad that almost everyone has their happy ending and something to keep working toward

I enjoyed how Graham’s arc was about learning to live for something other than revenge (you may be noticing a recurring pattern with me). He spent most of season two being driven only by his desire to fight Setsuna again for honor, and how it closes with him finding something new to live for.

I still find Katagiri’s story a bit frustrating. Like yes Sumeragi shouldn’t have used his feelings to her advantage, but my guy. Becoming a fascist is already a bad idea, somehow it’s even worse when it’s motivated by relationship issues

Lyle killing Al-Saachez is just as deserved as if Setsuna had done it. I know we’d just had the whole big realization about the necessity of understanding each other, but Al-Saachez had no interest in trying to understand anyone else.

I was so upset about Tieria, but if he’s still alive inside Veda he’s not really gone. It’s like how in Ninjago Pixal went from an android body to being a program in Zane’s memory bank. Idk, it’s been a long time since I watched Ninjago

This show takes a very interesting philosophy on war. Wing asked more vague questions on the ethics of war, and what happens when you take humanity out of the fight and replace it with technology. IBO comes closest to truly analyzing the role of capitalism in war. But 00 questions the interplay of diplomacy and war, and how our approach to interpersonal conflict affects how we approach conflict on a broader scale. The message I feel 00 was aiming for is one that aligns with some of my core beliefs: in order for us to live at peace, we must see each other as equals and make every possible effort to understand each other. We may not always succeed, but if we approach our problems with the goal to find common ground and work together, the world will be a better place. Will it be perfect? No. But we don’t have to be perfect, we just have to try to be better

I’m really fascinated by the angle this show has on religion, sin, and deity. The religious themes are baked into the show, starting with a protagonist raised in a militaristic religious war, to the final villain being a man who wants to make himself God because he sees humanity as below him. There is also an element of guilt, the idea that there is blood on everyone’s hands. There is blood on the hands of the soldiers, but there is also blood on the hands of the civilians who choose to remain ignorant and look away. But the show does not say that we have to find a way to wash off that blood, only that we learn from the past and keep growing and trying to be better each day.

I did feel like all of this was slightly undercut by the fact that at the end, Celestial Being is still active. However, it did seem that Celestial Being would be looking less to act as they did in season one and more to work in conjunction with diplomatic forces, as a last resort when all else failed or intervening to help the innocent. I’m still a bit saddened that Setsuna doesn’t get to settle down and live a peaceful life, but that wouldn’t be realistic with him, to be fair. Marina says it herself, all he knows how to do is fight; if he cannot stop fighting, he has to change how and why he fights.

I really enjoyed this show overall. To be fair, there’s yet to be a single Gundam piece I wholeheartedly dislike, but I like a lot of how this story was told.

I feel like this one was a lot less character-oriented than other Gundam stories were. It works for this particular story, because like Wing, it’s interested in asking a broader philosophical question and less on the characters themselves in the situations. The characters’ backstories are important to why they choose to become involved with Celestial Being, but their life experiences did not have much influence on them otherwise. I do think that’s because the scope of this show was so big, and we as the audience are looking at this entire story from a much broader scope, so the extreme minutiae of character are less important than the broad strokes that lay the scene for a much bigger conversation.

[cdr2002]

Mortal Kombat Odyssey Bio: Onaga

In the ancient past of Outworld, the realm was divided into a various kingdoms, territories, townships, tribes, and communities.

The oldest of these, and for many centuries the most powerful, was the dragons. They were possibly the first sentient race to come about in the universe created from the defeat of the One Being, before even the humans who would go on to populate nearly every realm in some form or another. They were revered for their wisdom, their strength, and their majesty. And with their considerable army, they were virtually unchallenged.

With this power, respect, and seniority, the dragons of Outworld grew arrogant, believing that their position at the top of the food chain was secured, and their superiority self-evident. Even with the rise of the mighty kingdoms of the Shokan and Centaurs, it seemed that this would remain.

At this point, the latest of the Dragon Kings began to develop desires to expand his empire, and take all of Outworld under their banner. Cooler heads in his council were able to deter this ambition for a few thousand years, and Outworld remained in its status quo.

And then a child was born.

Two mere commoners in the Dragon Kingdom laid an egg which would hatch into the strangest dragon which had been seen in eons. He was… humanoid. Two arms, two legs, and while still towering like an elder Shokan, as he entered adulthood, he was smaller than many of the leviathans among the dragon race. A mutant.

His parents named him Onaga.

Onaga had a very difficult life as he entered the world. The other dragons found his mutation and appearance abhorrent, believing him to be hideous and even unworthy to be considered one of their kind. He was constantly berated and mocked, written off as an outcast and excluded at nearly every venue of life. Even his parents seemed ashamed of him, although they tried to keep up his self esteem in his youth.

This embittered Onaga over a period of centuries, causing him to hate those around him just as they hated him.

But there was something more than the pain of suffering this discrimination. Ever since he could remember, Onaga felt some kind of calling… a higher purpose. As if he was destined for some greatness. While the other dragons saw him as lesser, something told him that he was in fact a being most supreme.

He saw the universe before him and it was if he could bend it to his will…

Onaga’s arrogance allowed him to deflect many of the insults as he got older, and in the same span of time, he began to feel his own inner power grow. Something inside him that granted a might which the realms had never seen.

And one fateful day, it was time to let that power out.

Onaga suddenly snapped under the heckling of a group of his fellow dragons, killing them savagely. And he did not stop there.

As if all his rage had finally been unleashed, Onaga rampaged across the kingdom of the dragons, slaying all who stood in his path. Even his own parents fell victim to his staggering strength.

Entire armies were sent against him, and none of them were enough to stop his advance. Whatever innate power Onaga possessed was beyond them all.

Eventually, Onaga had single-handedly genocided almost the entirety of the dragon face of Outworld, reducing their once-great kingdom to ruin. His final foe was the king of their kind, who had his behind warriors for years and finally had nowhere else to run. Their battle was fierce, but Onaga ultimately succeeded, and laid claim to the title of Dragon King.

Onaga would not stop there, going across Outworld and exerting his might to encourage that all those in his path swore fealty to his burgeoning rule. Even the Protector God of Outworld, Shao Kahn, bent the knee to the Dragon King.

Within another century, Outworld had been reorganized into a unified militaristic empire under Onaga’s singular rule. Kingdoms which maintained their stature had become vassals and he had legions of loyal soldiers at his command which recognized his superior might or saw the opportunity to bring order to Outworld.

For several more millennia Onaga would reign unchallenged, using the intervening time to gain a mastery of several arts of sorcery, including a particular knack for resurrection magic, adding a force undead to his army that was fabled to be undefeatable, and which only grew with time.

He also gained a fascination with ancient legends, relics of potential use. The Amulet of Shinnok. The dark blade, the Ebbonrule. Remaining artifacts of the very dragon kingdom he had destroyed. All potential assets as Onaga began to grow in ambition beyond the bounds of Outworld…

Onaga envisioned a vast empire spanning the entire universe. All of existence beholden to his will. All he needed to do… was conquer.

The Dragon King sent forth his armies, commanded by undead generals and worshippers completely loyal to him, into other realms to seize them and allow him to merge these realms with Outworld. Among those conquests were the Kytinn home realm of Arnyek and the oceanic realm of Ebisu.

This merging of realms was an imminent threat to the relative peace the Elder Gods sought throughout the realms. If Onaga was not stopped, his expansionism risked reconstituting the One Being, and thus destroying the universe that the Elder Gods sought to protect, as well as resurrecting their greatest enemy.

Though still reluctant to interfere, they wished to put a stop to this expansion. Thus, the Elder Gods created the Mortal Kombat tournament. Onaga could no longer freely invade realms without incurring their wrath, and realms under threat had a means to defend themselves with minimal bloodshed.

Onaga was infuriated by this, quickly realizing that the Elder Gods were perhaps the greatest threat to the growth of his empire. He has always hated them, something inside him had always despised their arrogance and presumption to dictate the direction of the cosmos. They sat on thrones which Onaga felt rightfully belonged to him, and he would depose them through whatever means he could.

As the Dragon King regrouped his armies and reconsidered his options, he began to remember back to a story he had known since he was a boy, an unimaginable amount of time ago to most. No one had ever told him this story… at least not that he could remember, he just… knew it.

It was the story of the One Being, the Elder Gods’ battle with them, the creation of the universe

…and the advent of the Kamidogu.

Those artifacts had stayed in his mind for most of his life. He swore to himself that one day he would gather them all and unleash their power. That was his path to omnipotence and total dominion over all reality.

It was a goal his dreams of empire had blinded him to. Onaga realized that expansion through brute force was no longer necessary. If he could venture throughout the relams, or perhaps send agents to do so in his stead, he could gather the Kamidogu in time, without having to wage wars with other realms. Then he could lay siege to the Temple of Elements, claim the final piece, and unlock the secret required to unite these artifacts of the Elder Gods into one.

This however was one factor which his strange innate knowledge denied him… why? What force in the universe would grant him this knowledge of the ancients and forgo the final piece of it all. Perhaps something that had goals which did not align with his own?

Before Onaga could consider the matter of his mysterious benefactor further, he was assassinated at the hands of his advisor, Shao Kahn. The protector god poisoned a drink Onaga had been given, and laughed at him as he fell dead. Onaga damned him a coward as his body failed him.

His remaining loyalists were able to recover his corpse during the ensuing civil war for control of Outworld, taking it to a pyramid which would become known as the Lost Tomb, where powerful mystics among their number engaged a spell which caused the deaths of all present: a ritual suicide to join the ranks of Onaga’s undead army and serve him for eternity. Silent sentinels awaiting his inevitable return.

Shao Kahn succeeded in taking the throne of Outworld and began his own campaign to conquer and merge the realms, abiding the Elder Gods’ Mortal Kombat tournament for the time being.

But in his arrogance, Shao Kahn failed to truly understand the power wielded by Onaga. In his all his time of studying the mystic arts of life and death, Onaga had become virtually immortal. Death would not stop him.

His soul persisted, protected from the pull of any afterlife realm, and Onaga began to put a new plan in motion.

He commanded his mystic followers, the Lava Priests, to gather a stillborn dragon egg from the ruins of the dragon kingdom and construct a shrine around it. If necessary, the body within this egg would serve as Onaga’s new vessel in the living world when he decided to return. The Lava Priests were to stand guard of this shrine until their master’s resurrecifon, and for increased security, they conscripted a firespawn named Blaze using powerful mind control sorcery.

The second part of Onaga’s plan was to find a soul to serve as his agent in traveling across the realms and gathering the six Kamidogu so that he could seize them upon his return and begin his path to being utterly invincible. Onaga knew that this plan could take thousands of years, but despite his rage towards Shao Kahn, he was willing to be patient.

After thousands of years of searching, he honed his focus on Earthrealm, and in particular, a young boy seeking adventure…

Alternate poses

[thedrunkenreadersreviews]

A brief tantrum on the portrayal of faeries.

Well, we gotta go with the green fairy for this one. Pour a very demure and mindful amount into a glass (I am so sorry).

*Sip*

Well, it has been a hot minute. And I am slowly climbing out of a reading slump brought upon me by the great letdown that was Masters of Death (more on that later). But as I was staring at my shelf (which became known as the Void for the time being) I found myself utterly enthralled by my various versions of The Folk of the Air series by Holly Black. The Juniper edition just ties that whole section, dedicated solely to all the books set in the world of Black's Faerieland, together nicely. And while I sat and stared and admired how finely I decorated the area with little mushrooms and fairy lights, I found my smile slowly fading as I thought to myself "Is this it?"

*Sip, sip*

There is a YouTuber by the name of "WithCindy" who is funny as can be, reviews books, talks about other major issues, and is just overall entertaining. Now while I don't always agree with Cindy, there is something they said when reviewing ACOTAR (which, I cannot recommend enough, their videos on that whole series are just perfect!) that I think about a lot.

Cindy, when first starting ACOTAR, asked their reading buddy,

""What makes them fairies?'"

To which the agreed-upon consensus became:

"'Basically, they're magical and have big dicks.'"

*Sip, sip*

How disappointing. Maas is not the only one to write faeries in this way, she is just one of the most popular. But many authors using faeries do this and I have become rather melancholy when thinking about faerie portrayal in literature. Which is why I think I cling to The Folk of the Air so tightly.

FIRST, let me say if you enjoy books like ACOTAR and favor that portrayal of faeries, that is wonderful! And I'm truly happy that you found something you enjoy as that is what reading should be for and I have no beef with anyone who enjoys this type of depiction of faeries.

With that out of the way: It is what I have been yearning for when it comes to faeries for so long. I crave the scary, tricky, terrifying creatures from Irish and Nordic Folklore. I want to see them be cruel and cunning, I want them to look grotesque and imbued with nature.

*Sip, sip*

Cardan, for context, IS a faerie. Like, in every way. He has powers, he cannot lie, there are wards to be used against him, he has a freaking tail! And he is not some thousand-year-old militaristic war leader with a six-pack who knows how to swing a sword. My boy is a noodle. A seventeen-year-old, moody, grumpy, noodle. And I love it! (I don't care for how so many fanarts depict him as a buff dude with a six-pack, like no, he's a skinny boy, but damn these artists are talented as Hell so I can't complain too much lol) I love how he doesn't use his powers to their full extent until book 3. I love how he is so into makeup and dressing up and caring about how he looks before he gets sloppy drunk and then smears his eyeliner all over his face. I love how he is beautiful and dangerous and sometimes downright haunting when he tries to be. I love how he doesn't always know best and how he has to find out that he can be a fantastic ruler/good person if only he tries. I love how he feels excluded from things and longs to be included in them. I love how since he doesn't have the ability to lie, he does so by telling the truth. I love that when he had a crush on the weird girl he got so angry and disgusted with himself and yet just let her tie him up.

I love how in this world, you don't know what the faeries will do next. You don't know what trick they'll play or what riddle they'll provide.

I want these faeries. I miss these faeries. They are magical and horrifying and I love them.

*Sip, sip*

The Replacement, The Call, Emily Wilde's trilogy, and Holly Black's Faerie world. I'm on the hunt for more. I hope to find more. And I hope---my goodness, do I hope---that more are created.

Because faeries are awesome.

Cheers.

*Sip, sip*

[princess-of-the-corner]

Amnesia!Dabi & AtLA Todorokis

My tablet has decided to be finicky, so submitting this all in a big chunk-

1) AtLa Todorokis

(Assuming CC!Canon)

Toya just looking at Princess “I Must Please My Dad And Be The Best!” Azula, and going “oh, you’re in for a bad time.” Somehow, he and Azula end up sparring, and then screaming and sobbing all over each other. 

Fuyumi and Rei being “dismissed” is less “Woman” and more that the Fire Nation is a very militaristic and power centred society, so the demure housewives get ignored. Jokes on them, by the end of the first week Rei has blackmail on every member of Ozai’s cabinet, and Fuyumi has the undying loyalty of most of his staff.

Natsuo is less “God, how primitive” and more “Ok, I get that you don’t have access to the same technology, but here’s how to make a very simple freezer so these medicines last longer”. Also “ok, I’m like … 80% sure that this plant is the same one where I’m from, in which case you should stop using it, and use this one instead, it’s less addictive”. Or, alternately, “Oh, so this plant does all this cool stuff, isn’t addictive, and grows like mad? Neat, how many seeds can I buy?”

Shoto takes one look at Zuko, decides “Ah, yes. This must be another version of me from an alternate reality.” Zuko … doesn’t really know what to do with that, but the kid seems alright, all things considered. Shoto also kind of … smacks Zuko in the face (metaphorically) cause part of the problem is that Zuko is surrounded by politicians and manipulative power-mongers. Everybody keeps talking around problems, or making Zuko second-guess himself, meanwhile Shoto “What Is A Filter?” Todoroki is like, “I get where you’re coming from, but that was a dick move.”

Enji is gritting his teeth the entire time, cause like. They’re in a strange place, they have to play by the rules until they figure out how to get home. But the more time he spends with Ozai, the more he wants to punt this smug bastard into the sun, and he has to keep reminding himself why that might be a bad idea.

Finally, Ozai decides to have Enji assassinated, cause the Fire Spirit and his family are causing all kinds of political problems. Only, of course, it fails pretty spectacularly, and since it involved using Azula as bait, she’s firmly against him now. Somehow, it ends with Zuko, Azula, Ty Lee, Mai, Shoto, Toya, Fuyumi, and Natsuo going on the run, while Enji and Rei team up with an escaping Iroh to wreck havoc and cover their retreat. The group run into the Gaang, and Zuko has to be like “So, firstly, Sorry for all the times I tried to kill you, secondly-”

At some point, Aang uses his “Spirit Medium” powers to try and connect with someone from the MHA world, ends up contacting Fumikage. 

2) Amnesia!Dabi

I think I sent this ask already, but I am becoming increasingly attached to the idea that Amnesia!Dabi as an AU is one where, for whatever reason, escaping AfO is actually not that hard. Like, in order:

Dabi - literally walked out of the sketchy clinic he woke up in. He was coming out of a coma, covered in half-healed burns, and still fighting off some lingering sedation. Took 15 hours before anyone found out he dipped. He proceeded to “evade” AfO for the next 3 years, to the point the guy thought he was dead, and only knew otherwise when Dabi walked into the bar to join the LoV. Finds out Dabi was basically two streets over the whole time.

Himiko (and Dabi again) - during the smack down involved with Katsuki’s Great Escape, AfO somehow misses Dabi covering Kats’ retreat, and then fleeing with an injured Himiko. When they don’t show up again, everyone assumes they got caught or went to ground, and only manage to piece together any kind of idea what happened when a news story breaks about the Togas suing UA over Himiko. Then the news Dabi=Toya, and his memory loss. Given the publicity involved on both Himiko and Dabi, unless AfO wants to really blow the fact that him being in prison doesn’t mean much, he “decides” they aren’t worth it.

Magne - left shortly before the Toya=Dabi story broke, but after the Himiko court case got announced. Just … left. Decided this clearly wasn’t the kind of group she thought it was, told everyone goodbye, good luck, and left. Jin, Compress and Spinner still have her number. AfO is unaware she left at all until sometime after the League joins up with Overhaul.

Jin - managed to escape a facility that was SUPPOSED to be secure, while severely injured from a procedure that stole his Quirk. Managed to escape, get help, and lead a bunch of heroes to said facility, forcing AfO to abandon it. Is now under the protection of both Enji, and U.A., and when the HPSC try to get at him, Nezu “reveals” Jin’s the pioneer patient for a new program about “rehabbing” villains or something. Hero support skyrockets. HPSC support continues to down-swerve.

Compress - Undermines a fairly important operation to nab a powerful Quirk user, saves several heroes and adjacent from losing their Quirks, and even rescue the current holder of OfA. The resulting de-aging, turning Compress from 32 to 16, somehow ends up with “Mr. Compress” being “dead”, as teen him doesn’t remember being an adult! (I mean, my idea is he … kind of does? Like, general impressions, or big moments, he does remember. He knows he WAS an adult, and why he did what he did. But Eri’s Quirk went a little haywire, so for all intents and purposes, Compress is, indeed, 16 now.) Somehow, ends up adopted by Aizawa & Mic, cause Eri sees him as a big brother figure.

Kurogiri - K, so like. Originally, he got nabbed during some big operation, right? However, so much is different here, that AfO is just trying to get these guys to lay low. So, instead - bear with me - Kurogiri gets sighted during an outing for groceries, and during a scuffle, suffers a head injury that abruptly causes him to remember his time as Oboro, and forget/muddle much of his time as Kurogiri. Disoriented, he accidentally portals himself into Aizawa and Mic’s living room. Shenanigans ensue. Tomura and Spinner figure he got caught. However, they decide to tell AfO he straight up died. AfO, for some reason, decides “yeah, that checks out”.

Tomura & Spinner - so, my general idea for this is. AfO has decided that “if you want something done right, do it yourself”, and has used a combination of Overhauls’ Quirk plus some others to reconstruct his own body, and then with Jin’s Quirk, is going to make an army of himself. He also decides he’s going to yoink Tomura’s Quirk, cause Decay is pretty powerful, and then he’ll kill Tomura on live TV, telling the whole story about Nana & Yagi, and OfA, really hammer in the message that he’s awesome and all is lost. While this mostly goes to plan, he also ends up broadcasting Spinner decking him in the face, grabbing the de-Quirked Tenko, and escaping while calling him a “bitchass knock-off Palpatine wannabe motherfucker” on the way out. The boys get an unexpected assist from a nearby Hawks & Miruko, proceed to tell everyone everything they know about AfO’s plans.

Much later, after everything is settled, if this ends the way CC will, it takes a few weeks for Yoichi and AfO to have a proper conversation, because Yoichi just. Can’t stop laughing.

-

Everyone easily leaving AfO is fucking great.

Also yes let Rei get blackmail!!!

[foefire-flame]

Does Leo Enjoy being a dragon dad in aurene's younger years? Also, please, literally anything you want to ramble about, I would love to hear! I love ur fluffy charr boi

Once Leo gets over the initial panic of like, inner turmoil of not knowing how to be gentle in a way thats required of a father, to raise a literal child when charr don't even raise their own children...yes. I always joked that Leo was made to be a father but I truly think its just the type of thing hes not only built for (just the entire thing of patience, love, and iron will thats required TO even be a parent) but to Love someone, to guide them and teach them is just something that really just comes naturally to him despite all his fears about it…

In my canon I really expand upon the Champion's relationship with her. I write it like yknow, Aurene IS an actual child, even if shes also a dragon. She sleeps and she cries and she panics if she doesnt understand something, she gets into things and accidentally hurts herself. All the woes and joys of having a young child are things Leo does experience with her, just slightly different. It's not just about shaping her destiny and teaching her great moral philosophy, it's helping her figure out better control of flight, playing with her, measuring her when she gets scared of something bc shes so new to the world, singing a song so she sleeps. I've talked about Leo having the patience of a saint and its what makes him such a good father to begin with. He adores Aurene, he didn't choose to be her champion, but he chose to be a father to her. Ik the Story agrees with the whole "the mc is aurene's parent essentially" but I never felt satisfied bc I felt the connection between the mc and her is extremely rushed, so I Really want to make it feel like that connection is warranted. Even the bigger she grows he never stops acting as her Father.

I do think, one of Leo's negative traits actually Stems from his deep love of Aurene, because he is so Incredibly Defensive over her. He's one of those parents that just doesnt Take criticism about their kid very well, and it's not like he snaps or gets wildly angry, Its just that he kinda brushes it aside or makes it clear its not up for debate. This partially stems from his own insecurities as a father, again, he is a Charr and never experienced parents so has a whole thing of How Is He Supposed To Raise A Kid. Not only that, this kid is expected to defeat the Most Powerful Elder Dragon, the weight of his performance in terms of guiding and teaching her correctly is Immense. And theres a (in the earlier days) small amount of dread that what Aurene is meant to do won't come easy, she will most likely have to fight. Even if she herself becomes okay with that, as a parent who already has existing problems with his culture deciding he had to be a soldier bc he lives in a militaristic society it just doesn't feel great. BUT TLDR:Yes he loves her so, So much, indescribably. And Thank you ;w;

[case-of-traxits]

WRO Reeve + Heartbreak

One who wears the crown, bears the crown.

For @here-be-ninjas | From a discussion on this post.

So I've been sitting on this for a few days now in my drafts. I kept trying to type it up as a reply on that fic, but the fact is... I just have too many feels and it kept getting way too long and I didn't want to slam out like, three half-thought out things. So here, I've done my best to outline some things that are going on for WRO that break my heart.

I have no idea if this is what you were expecting or wanting, but this is what you're getting.

Also, please excuse the gratuitous use of gifs, but like, I'm just delighting in the fact that when I search "Reeve Tuesti" in the gifs thing, I GET SOMETHING OMG.

(That wasn't true pre-Remake really. But thankfully, people are slowly realizing he's super handsome. So it's a win for me!)

Time to put my metal on Whose blood to spill? I don't know whose side I'm on. Two armies are coming at me. Their flags and weapons look the same. One tells the truth; the other's lying. And they're both calling my name.

-- "How Villains Are Made," by Madalen Duke

Canon Explanation

So at the beginning of Final Fantasy VII, we have three massive disasters occur in Midgar, all over the course of three days: Reactor 1 is bombed, Reactor 5 is bombed, and Sector Seven is dropped. It is certainly canon that all of these events deeply affected Reeve emotionally (if you want to see a video comparing Reeve's reaction to the Plate Drop plan, you can see that here).

Now, I don't think it's fanon to extrapolate that at the end of FF7, Reeve has lost basically everything.

Canonically, he's had to deal with the following:

The loss of Reactor 1.

The loss of Reactor 5.

The dropping of Sector Seven.

Tseng is nearly killed (how close Reeve is to Tseng is up for debate).

Cait Sith the First dies (as a sub-note on this one, not only does Cait Sith die, but the very thing that he dies for, to prevent Sephiroth from getting the Black Materia? Is immediately voided because Cloud hands it over to Sephiroth).

Aerith dies (how close Reeve is to Aerith is also up for debate).

Diamond WEAPON attacks Midgar, which is, of course, full of innocent civilians.

Reeve is dragged away to be imprisoned during this attack because he refuses to go along with Scarlet and Heidegger.

At some point, Reeve is freed (although, that's not important enough apparently to get a mention in the OG) and he organizes the evacuation of Midgar, which has to be evacuated through, canonically, a single train line and a single highway that wrap around the central pillar.

He shuts down all of the reactors in Midgar. I'll have to see if I can find a canon source for when, exactly, this happens; it happens sometime between when he is freed and when Edge is started, and I think there's mention somewhere that it's before the Lifestream surge that stops Meteor. However, per On the Way to a Smile, Episode: Barret, all mako reactors across the entire world have been shut down as of "several months after [Meteorfall]."

A few days after this evacuation process is started, his mother is killed when the Lifestream surges up to stop Meteor.

If he'd had any hope whatsoever of salvaging Midgar, or returning people to the city after the Meteor crisis, that's shot down after the Lifestream surge. So now he has a city full of people who refused to leave prior to Meteorfall, another city (Kalm) full of people who did evacuate, and no power for any of them. Again, you can see On the Way to a Smile, Episode: Barret if you want a little peek as to what some of the pre-Mako tech looked like. Spoiler? It isn't pretty. I'm talking coal-powered trucks kind of not pretty. This is a world without gasoline as tech. Mako literally powers everything, and they're now rationing what was left in the reactors. With that in mind, it's really no wonder that the WRO is militaristic.

As someone who has worked at an electric company (I want to add "canonically," but I mean IRL. XD), let me tell you, people without power? They are panicky. But okay, that's not addressed canonically, so let's disregard that side note.

Instead, let's just focus on everything else.

He's lost literally everything that he has clearly dedicated himself to: Midgar, his parents, one of his robot cats, and his entire livelihood. And suddenly, he's the only one with anything even resembling the experience necessary to run the world. The last standing member of the Shinra Board, and effectively, he's taken Rufus' place as the de-facto world leader.

And all of this starts on 12/9/07 and ends "the last third" of 01/08, according to the Crisis Core Ultimania Timeline.

So... all of that. In six-ish weeks.

And this is true before we even touch on the expanded canon and my headcanons regarding Reeve Tuesti.

You reach the battle lines Racing inside your mind A question for all time, is it you? So gravity defy And storm the darkest night Is it you? Is it you who will save us?

-- "Who Will Save Us," by Tommee Profitt

Expanded Canon and Headcanon Time!

Expanded Canon: The Inspire Thing

So. Cait Sith. Beloved fuzzy son.

First, let's look at Reeve's profile from the 10th Anniversary Ultimania:

The head of the Urban Development Department. Involved in the construction of Midgar from the very beginning, he watches over the town’s development like that of a child. By utilizing his special ability, “Inspire”, he is able to cause inorganic things to emit life; his “child”, the “cat”-shaped robot, Cait Sith can be controlled from a great distance. After Meteorfall, he became the director of the World Regenesis Organization (WRO), which is devoted to the purpose of restoring life to the planet.

So this is interesting for a lot of reasons, but there's two very important things that this profile does for us:

One, it clearly states that Reeve has been "involved in the construction of Midgar from the very beginning," and he "watches over the town's development like that of a child." So... That's a great character note and a problem, but let's put a pin in that and we'll discuss the problem part of that in the next section. So the thing you need to actually note there is that Reeve loves Midgar. Like a child.

And two, it defines Reeve's surprisingly controversial "Inspire" ability. I say surprisingly because here's the general breakdown. Reeve has literally always had this ability, but people will sometimes discount it because it's not "mentioned" in any of the games. And that isn't... wrong, exactly. Reeve is never, at any point in any of the games, 'outed' as an Inspire. However, let's look at the Ultimanias over the years:

Now, I wish I had links to all of these pages for you, but the simple fact is, I don't. I could probably get links to all of them, given enough time, but I'm still rebuilding my compiled FF7 References Google Drive folder. When I get everything in there, I'll post a link.

The point I want to make with this is that it isn't something new. This is not some detail they retconned in to make things work. They've literally always implied it in game. There's a few metas floating around periodically that talk about Reeve and Cait Sith, and maybe one day I'll sit down and write up my own, but I want to be able to link to certain things like the Before Crisis scripts and such, because there's evidence in there to prove that Cait Sith is not just a 'robot'. He's a plush cat, yes. He's an animatronic, yes. But he's also an individual.

Canonically, in the original game, he feels pain when he trips and falls in the Temple of the Ancients on his way to die. He begs Cloud and AVALANCHE not to forget him, even if another Cait Sith shows up. He reminds them all that there's only one him. (And then of course, they promptly forget him. T_T)

In Before Crisis, Reeve gives the player Turk a controller to use with Cait Sith, but Cait Sith has 'thought' dialogue in the game that cannot be attributed to Reeve.

In Dirge, you see Cait Sith and Reeve together at several points, and they always move fairly in sync, but there's no indication of a controller in Reeve's hand at any point. And okay, that could be because Dirge was really bad about character models. We never did, after all, get a pregnant Lucrecia model in that game. ... Or in any other game, for that matter. But that's a different problem.

The fact is, at no point is Reeve ever shown using a controller. How he controls Cait Sith is subtle enough that he can control Cait Sith actively during a board meeting that he lets AVALANCHE listen in on during the original game. That's the board meeting where Scarlet and Heidegger propose loading up the failed rocket in Rocket Town with materia and launching it into Meteor in an attempt to stop it. And none of the other directors (or Rufus, who is canonically aware of Cait Sith and Reeve's control of him) notice. So I don't think it's actually a stretch of canon to assume that Reeve doesn't have a visible means of controlling Cait Sith.

Which means... yes. It's magic. Some kind of mental connection to Cait Sith. And let's just... digest that for a second.

Imagine a mental connection to something you love like a child.

And you send it to be crushed to death in an attempt to stop Sephiroth from obtaining a materia that he will use to destroy the world.

And immediately after you've done this, you have to get the next version of that child to the same place, to the same group of people, who have already lost the materia you entrusted them with.

(And, as an aside, you were just using this second version of that child to rescue a dying coworker that, your own personal closeness aside, your good friend is very close to. Because Before Crisis makes it very clear that Reeve and Veld are close in some fashion. It's a little ambiguous about their exact relationship, but they're close enough that Reeve risks everything to help the Turks because he's sure they're helping Veld who is on the run from Shinra at that point.)

Now, all of this to say... Why am I rambling about Reeve's Inspire ability and Cait Sith? Well...

Headcanon: The Inspire Thing

My personal headcanon is that Reeve, with long enough exposure to anything inorganic (i.e., his car or reactors) can inadvertently form a bond with it. Even grant it a sort of ... half-life. Now, admittedly, this is entirely fanon. I make no arguments that there is any sort of canonical support for the Inspire abilities working with this way.

But the fact is... it's odd, isn't it, that the reactors are under Urban Development? Why aren't they under Science?

(And yes, that is canon. It's in the original game that reactor control is under Urban Dev-- Reeve Tuesti-- not Science.)

So this is something I play with, that Reeve is some kind of brilliant engineer, constantly tweaking the reactors, adjusting them to maximize every drop of mako energy as efficiently as possible. And in my headcanon, he manages that in part by directly interfacing with the reactors.

Which uh... makes blowing them up emotionally problematic for him. How emotionally problematic? Well, @ladykf-writes wrote me some amazing ficlets that feature my headcanons about this after much rambling with her about them. So I highly recommend checking those out if you're interested in this idea.

So, basically, in addition to the list up there? You could add that my particular Reeve is also suffering from some serious emotional turmoil regarding the "deaths" of Reactors 1 and 5 as well as Cait Sith the First. Those aren't just moments of, "oh it's tragic these people died," or "oh shoot, I lost one of my robots," for him.

He literally lived through their deaths.

Now. Let's move on from my headcanons regarding this ability and let's talk about Reeve's problem.

Broken pieces of a barely breathing story Where there once was love Now there's only me and the lonely Dancing slowly in an empty room Can the lonely take the place of you? I sing myself a quiet lullaby Let you go and let the lonely in To take my heart again

-- "The Lonely," by Christina Perri. In particular with this song, the "you" that I imagine it being focused on is Midgar, not a person.

Reeve's Timeline Shenanigans

All right, back to Reeve's profile from the 10th Anniversary Ultimania:

Involved in the construction of Midgar from the very beginning, he watches over the town’s development like that of a child.

And from the Final Fantasy VII Complete Dismantled True Story (which while "official" is not necessary "canon" per the development team):

A capable engineer closely involved in the design and construction of the two-tiered city of Midgar and its eight mako reactors.

Now, unfortunately, Reeve's profile doesn't often get translated in other ultimanias-- or at least, not in places I've been able to find-- so we're kind of stuck with just these two interpretations of this side of him. Still, it's pretty clear, right? He was involved in the construction of Midgar from the beginning. Even in the Dismantled True Story version, he's closely involved in the design and construction.

It also mentions that he's 35 (like Barret) in the original game. Since the game takes place in 0007, we can say pretty confidently that he was born in '72; same year as Barret, for those who don't trust my math.

Now, let's look at Midgar's timeline, shall we?

From the 10th Anniversary Timeline:

[ μ ] – εуλ 9/23/1959 (48 years before FFVII) · Shin-Ra Works (later the Shin-Ra Company) discovers mako energy [ μ ] – εуλ 1/9/1968 · Construction begins in Nibelheim on the first in a series of power generation facilities, “mako reactors” for the purpose of extracting mako. [ μ ] – εуλ 6/24/1976 · Construction of the mako city, Midgar, begins. The Shin-Ra company relocates its headquarters to Midgar.

... Interesting. Okay. What about other timelines? Well, let's look at the Crisis Core Ultimania's Timeline:

[ μ ] – εуλ 9/23/1959 · Shin-Ra Works (later the Shin-Ra Company) discovers mako energy. [ μ ] – εуλ 6/24/1976 · Construction of the mako city, Midgar, begins. The Shin-Ra company relocates its headquarters to Midgar.

Now, this does change a bit in the Remake Ultimania's Timeline, from what I understand. They push Midgar's construction date back to 1969, per the FFVII Timeline, which for the record I like because they source all their dates wherever possible. However, I haven't really dug into the Remake stuff yet because it's my understanding that the Remake is the Compilation in a blender, so just because something is true in the Remake doesn't make it true in other aspects of canon (for example, they adjusted the ages of Rufus and the Turks, to make Rufus clearly older/same age as them, whereas he was always younger in the original canon).

Anyway, the issue with this timeline is this: Reeve's four when they start building Midgar. How involved is he in this construction project?

Now, over the years, I've seen a few interesting takes on how to handle this.

One, people just completely disregard it. Which, fair. It's an ultimania canon note, not something from in-game, but I always find it interesting when people say, disregard these dates but are happy to accept say, dates regarding the Nibelheim project as gospel from the same sources. But hey, I cherry pick canon too, so who am I to complain, right?

Two, people go with the architect of Midgar being another R. Tuesti (probably Reeve's father is the most common headcanon), and over the years, his work has been conflated with Reeve's own until people just forget that Reeve himself couldn't have been the one to do it.

Now, my personal headcanon-- which I am absolutely detailing because you asked me about why WRO Reeve breaks my heart, and I swear all of this is tied into that original question-- is that Reeve's father was the original engineer who developed the Nibelheim reactor. He was also slated to be the lead engineer on managing the complicated network of the eight (nine, technically, at least during construction, but who's counting?) reactors in Midgar. Except when Reeve was about five, he died in an accident. Probably in a reactor, let's be honest.

And when the Turks (and because it's my headcanon and I can, the Turks in question are Veld and Vincent) are sent to pick up Papa Tuesti's notes from his widow so that the other engineers can try to make sense of them, they discover that the five-year-old can decipher his father's unlabeled diagrams. So they take the boy with them to the Shinra Manor in Junon where the President pays to have him formally educated and put to work deciphering these diagrams and notes to ensure that the Midgar project goes as planned.

Of course, being brought up to be this engineer means that Reeve has access to basically the best level of education possible. So yes, he's deciphering his father's notes, but very quickly, he's improving them. And that, my friends, is why he ends up as Head of Urban Development. Because the simple fact is, he's been brought up for this, raised and trained to President Shinra's exact specifications of what he wants in a city.

Now, once again, all of that is just my personal headcanon, and I can't even cite some of my old sources because I just cannot find them anymore. So take this or leave it, it's where I sit on it.

That also means that he was brought up in the same house as (although almost certainly very separated from) Rufus. There's a ten year difference between them, of course, so it wasn't like they were close, but there's certainly room for some... understanding between them. If anyone understands how the President was (who canonically was extremely abusive towards Rufus per On the Way to a Smile: Case of Shinra).

Now, how does all of this tie into WRO Reeve breaking my heart?

Well, per my headcanon, Midgar is literally his life's work. It's his father's legacy and it is the city he has poured his entire life into, and it's gone. At the end of the original game, it's gone, and he has to look at her dead carcass on the horizon every time he is in Edge.

He was fashioned into the engineer who builds cities and lives and fantasies-- the floating city, remember?-- and he was desperately just trying to survive the President's reign of terror under the hope that Rufus would be better (I can't find a copy of the source quote in Before Crisis, but it's mentioned on his Ultimania profile). And suddenly...

It's all gone.

I am the son And the heir Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar I am the son and heir Of nothing in particular

-- "How Soon Is Now," by the Smiths, but the AG cover.

So. If you've made it through all of this, I just. I have a lot of feels about Reeve Tuesti in general, and in particular, in what state he's probably in after Meteorfall. I guess this is what happens when you've been writing him for 20-some-odd years. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The long and short of it is this: Reeve is an incredibly underrated character, and he's so often sadly overlooked by fandom, and he just... he's been through so much by the time he's head of the WRO. I can't help but think that he's got to be so worn down by it all. It's hard, saving the world, especially in a position like he's in.

He is, after all, the only man in the world who betrayed Shinra twice and lived.

But he's also the man who built the world's largest, most complicated city, and he's a man who has survived losing everything.

And what did he do the next morning?

He went to work.

You wanna take a drink of that promise land You gotta wipe the dirt off of your hands Careful son, you got dreamer's plans But it gets hard to stand Soldier keep on marchin' on Head down 'til the work is done Waiting on that morning sun Soldier keep on marchin' on

-- "Soldier," by Tommee Profitt

[caterpillarinacave]

Riordan's work is only an "inaccurate portrayal" of the Greek gods in the sense they never raped anyone over the course of the books.

Oh dear. You see, this is the type of thing I’m talking about. 

Anon, I’m sure you’re a fan of Rick Riordan’s, which prompted you to respond to a zero note post, tagged with critical tags, with the vigor of a wronged man. 

@heliomanteia has several good posts explaining this. I highly recommend you go and read some of those.

To quote this post by them, which used words much better than I could, (and I recommend you read in full):

Riordan’s portrayal of gods is incredibly one dimensional, and is far from respectful.

Roman life was based around community, strengths, and security among other values. But RR, however brief he refers to it, portrays Rome as a militaristic, war obsessed land. 

He moves the Greek god to America, and portrays the actual land of Greece with very little respect. It’s more of a “dead fantasy land”

Even RR admits his books aren’t accurate, as he bases them off different myths from different places (For example, he takes his Gorgone from Ovid’s (a LATIN man) version of the myth, despite Ovid not being greek and not worshipping Greek gods. (Interesting, but a little  off topic fact, the Roman emperor Augustus, who ruled in Ovid’s time, introduces the Imperial Cult, which worshipped Roman emperors as gods.) 

Before I go, however, I think we should talk about your comment. “ Riordan's work is only an "inaccurate portrayal" of the Greek gods in the sense they never raped anyone over the course of the books.”

Anon, you’ve proved my point here. Rick Riordan has boiled gods down to one dimensional characters who don’t care about their followers. 

Anon, people worship these gods to this day. You’re viewpoint, which I would guess comes from knowledge you obtained through RR’s writing, continues the idea that the gods in these myths are cruel, uncaring, unkind, one dimensional beings, with no care for humanity. 

Here’s a fun fact for the way: Ares, the god of war, doesn’t rape anyone in Greek mythology. Period. Despite RR’ portrayal of a thick headed, bros-bro, jock bully asshole who takes advantage of the world around him and has his head so far up his own ass he can see last nights dinner; Ares never rapes anyone. 

I hope this inspires you to look more critically into RR’s writing, and come to enjoy it whilst still acknowledging the culture it’s built from, and the inaccuracy within in it. 

[elvenbeard]

Exit Strategy

Cyberpunk 2077 Fanfic

Summary: V finally meets again with Dr. Fuentes, who during their first meeting already seemed very intrigued in his case. With not much left to lose, he takes her offer for an informal appointment - but even so, in Night City everything comes at a price. (Post-Sun-Ending, mostly canon-compliant, Chapter 13/?, 8258 words, Kerry Eurodyne/V - notes at the end) >> Previous Chapter >> Read from the Beginning

Kerry leaned over from the driver’s seat of his car and gently turned V’s head to give him a brief goodbye kiss. V didn’t want it to end, didn’t want to unglue his ass from the passenger seat, or go to that appointment with Fuentes. His hand lingered on Kerry’s thigh too long and gripped too tightly for Kerry to not notice. He had been right. V truly hated hospitals and doctors and anything to do with either.

“Ya sure you don’t want me to come?” Kerry asked with the utmost genuine worry in his eyes.

“Not that I don’t wanna,” V whispered, “But I’ll manage. And you’ll manage.”

He tried to convince himself more than Kerry really, and Kerry’s little grin told him that he knew that just as well. So, he just kissed him once more for good measure.

“I’ll give ya a call as soon as I’m out and I’ll be all yours for the rest of the day. Promise.”

“Okay,” Kerry nodded, beard brushing against V’s lips briefly. Then he withdrew, and V slowly lifted his hand to the doorhandle.

He wasn’t sure how, but somehow, he made it out of the car eventually. Exited the steel and gold colored Guinevre, waved Kerry goodbye briefly as he slowly drove off towards Charter Hill. Then he entered the MedCenter with his heart beating in his throat.

Finding the right name plate on the right room turned into a downright scavenger hunt in the hospital’s endless white hallways that all looked the same. A kind med-tech pointed V into the right direction eventually and opened the door for him. Now he was sitting in a too comfortable armchair in Dr. Fuente’s office. He had been a little early, but she was close to running late. V wasn’t sure if he liked it better that way or not.

His neck was stiff and hurt, partially from the accident still, but also from sleeping on the couch last night, huddled up to Kerry closely. After their pizza had arrived, they’d watched old movies until they both eventually dozed off. Falling asleep to the bad audio of an old action film and Kerry’s soft snoring had been another of those moments he wouldn’t have minded lasting a lifetime.

He pulled up the files on Fuentes again, gave them another quick read. Nix had sent them late last night and V had studied them over breakfast this morning. He had come to the same conclusion as the Afterlife’s resident netrunner: nothing too out of the ordinary with this doctor. At least on the surface.

Isabella Fuentes was born January 19th, 2024, in Puerto Rico. When she was two, the family moved to Tucson, Arizona. She was divorced, had two daughters, both adults around V’s age. One moved to Los Angeles two years ago, the other still studied at NCU. Fuentes herself had come to Night City with a medicine scholarship for the same university back in the middle of the century.

So much to the pretty ordinary basics. But V perked up when he learned that soon after finishing her studies, Fuentes worked for BioDyne for a considerable number of years. During their first meeting she had been quite adamant about not having any loyalties to that particular corporation. Nix was unable to turn up details on why – or how – she left, but that she got out of the corporate world alive after such a long time spoke for itself. BioDyne may not have been as militaristic as Arasaka, but V doubted they just let go of long-term employees without repercussions for either side.

After the end of her corporate career, Fuentes worked for Trauma Team briefly, in the field. She was injured during the time of the Unification war, although not related to war activities. She continued on the administrative side as she recovered and eventually took on her current role at the MedCenter’s neurology department. Ever since the end of the war she’d been exactly there, predominantly helping veterans and contributing to studies in her field. A long and remarkable career so far, even if not nearly as prestigious as it could have been with her prerequisites. V was certain there were parts of her past she would like to avoid talking about, and Nix had offered to dig deeper into some aspects… But for now, V was content with what he had. The rest would be determined by how this meeting went.

It was almost 10:15 at this point, no sign of the doctor still. V took a deep breath and looked around the room. The office was on one of the higher floors of the building. Not overly large or impressive, but it had a decently sized window. The shutters were closed, sadly, otherwise the view across Little China may have been quite beautiful this morning. All light came from some simple embedded ceiling lights, a warm white glow, a barely audible hum. The furnishings were sparse, a large grey desk front and center, two armchairs, an office chair, all upholstered with white synleather. V had uncomfortable flashbacks to Blue-Eyes’ office, but this room was thankfully too narrow for secret floor compartments containing synthetic bodies. The wall to his right was lined with shelves displaying mostly books, documents, and data shards, as well as a few personal items. Some quaint figurines that could’ve been Mexican, but V wasn’t sure. Souvenirs from a trip long in the past. There also were some tiny, colorful flowerpots that looked like they were hand-painted by children, containing even tinier succulents that may have been just plastic. To his left, on the wall opposite to the bookshelves, was a door, but not the one he had entered through. Just when he finished the thought, V suppressed a wince as the door right behind him slid open and a slightly out of breath Dr. Fuentes finally entered her office.

“Please excuse the delay, I had an emergency this morning and my whole schedule is shifted now,” she said, then stopped by V’s side briefly, extending a hand. V got up to shake it.

“Good morning, first of all,” she said, nodding and smiling politely, “I’m happy you’re back. You look better already than last week.”

“Thanks,” V said briefly and sank back into his chair while Fuentes went to open the window shutters, letting in some natural light. She hung her white coat over the backrest of her chair then sat down across from V behind her desk and folded her hands on her lap. Intelligent dark eyes were fixated on him, and V tried not to let his thoughts run too wild just yet with assumptions and theories about potential ulterior motives on her side.

“Alright,” Fuentes said as she had finally caught her breath again, “I suggest we cut straight to the chase.”

“Yes,” V nodded, “Thank you again for taking the time.”

“Of course,” Fuentes nodded, “I have to admit, I have been thinking about you and your case a lot these past days. Even with the limited knowledge I have so far, I still believe I may be able to help. If you are willing to tell me more about your condition now.”

‘Willing’ wasn’t the word V would’ve used. It was more a necessity at this point that he got help.

“I will,” he said, “But only if you can provide me with a certain level of security.”

Fuentes shifted in her chair slightly and frowned, then she opened one of the drawers of her desk and pulled out a tablet. She turned it on and began to search for something on it while maintaining eye contact with V as best as she managed.

“You’ve come here today as my patient. As far as I’m concerned, everything, anything that we discuss, falls under the doctor-patient confidentiality. My contract with the Little China MedCenter binds me to treat your data and information with utmost care and discretion. All data we store is locked away securely, all in accordance with your Trauma Team policy. I can resend you the patient information papers and contracts, although I think most of them you should already have…”

“I care less about the MedCenter than about what you personally do with the information I’m going to give you,” V said, and Fuentes stopped her search, narrowing her eyes slightly.

“I’m not sure what you’re alluding to,” she said, still polite, but shoulders visibly more tense than before.

“Nothing,” V shook his head carefully, “This is just not something I tell every random stranger on the street… no offense, of course.”

He paused.

“If I have to play with open cards, I need you to as well.”

A short, knowing smile flashed across Fuentes’ lips, and again, it was for just a split-second. V had known he was onto something from the first moment they ever looked at each other face to face. The question was not whether or not Fuentes could help him, but if he even wanted her to help him.

Fuentes put the tablet down and leaned back in her chair, brushing a black and grey curl out of her face. The late morning light coming in through the window right behind her framed her in a hazy golden glow, almost as if she wasn’t real, just wishful thinking in a hopeless situation.

“Alright,” she said calmly and nodded, “It is only fair.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, then rested her chin on her interlocking fingers.

“I know very well who you are, V. They call you ‘King of the Afterlife’ on the streets. A mercenary with a background at Arasaka’s department for Counterintelligence, and that’s only where the rumors and hearsay begin... Admittedly, I wonder how much of it all is true.”

V wasn’t surprised. He was certain his old Trauma Team records from his time at Arasaka were still stored somewhere. They must’ve come up when the hospital checked his insurance status after the accident. And the hearsay and rumors, well… Didn’t have to pay a fixer much for that kind of superficial intel.

This was not what he had hoped she would open their conversation up with, but it was a start.

“From my experience, telling the truth is the easiest way to make people believe you’re lying,” he decided to say. Fuentes chuckled briefly, then nodded, serious as ever. She looked him directly in the eyes, piercing, trying to read his thoughts. He wondered if she had cyberoptics – probably, as a neurosurgeon, and with her age. Doubtful though whether she had the means to covertly scan his system and biometrics. She wouldn’t be very successful either way, and the little information of him that was on public record he didn’t care about people knowing.

“Is it true you’re one of the best that money can buy?” she then asked with sincerity. Regardless, this time V was at least a little taken aback by how sudden and straightforward the question came.

“And I thought you wanted to help me, not the other way around…”

He leaned back in his chair too now and crossed his legs loosely. Undoubtedly, he was intrigued by this turn of the conversation, but at the same time his guts twisted into a knot.

“I think we can help each other,” Fuentes said, “And we both have a lot to lose.”

“Is that so?”

She smiled sadly, then shook her head.

“No, actually, I lost a lot already. And not even Night City’s best mercenary could bring it back,” she said, voice calm and composed, “But I would be satisfied just with plain revenge as well.”

The fire in her eyes was reignited, the same fire from their first meeting, the same anger Takemura had always spoken with about “restoring his honor” while to V it had always sounded more like a thirst for revenge at the core. Restoring an order that couldn’t be restored when he could’ve, should’ve just turned his back to the Arasakas the moment he had the chance.

Something like that was easy to say for V, of course, who hadn’t dedicated his whole life to a corporation.

And now, Fuentes, mysteriously non-associated with her former employer BioDyne, spoke of revenge. That could only mean trouble, and V hoped not to a similar degree as with Goro and the Arasakas.

“Not a fan of revenge,” he said truthfully, “It rarely solves anything and only creates more problems, usually.”

Fuentes laughed dryly.

“So what, live and let live?”

“Focusing on just living so far has at least brought me further than trying to get back at everyone who ever wronged me.”

“Maybe you haven’t been wronged badly enough yet then. You’re still young,” Fuentes smiled, but her eyes didn’t. V considered her words for a moment. Somewhere in the distance a barely audible announcement droned over loudspeakers, calling doctor so-and-so to room this-and-that. Otherwise, it was eerily quiet in this part of the hospital. No beeping machines, no hectically running people in the hallways. V began to understand why she’d wanted to meet him in her private office instead of an examination room downstairs now.

“Back in April I was shot in the head by my fixer and dumped in a landfill,” V then said, “I think I’ve been wronged a fair amount in my life so far. Although that surely takes the cake.”

He paused for a moment.

“Admittedly, had I had the chance, I’d returned him the favor. Although, I wouldn’t have called it revenge. Justice suits me better.”

Fuentes said nothing for a couple of moments, just studied his face. V could see her thoughts racing, although he wasn’t quite sure about her next move just yet.

“That’s your old injury?” she then simply asked and picked up her tablet again. She pulled up his brain scans and sat it down in the center of the desk so they both had a good view of the screen.

“A degeneration like this is nothing I’ve ever seen caused by a mere gunshot wound,” she said, “Although, I don’t recall someone still standing in front of me and talking normally with an injury as deep and massive in that general area of the brain…”

V’s pulse sped up just slightly when she looked back up at him again, inquisitive and head tilted slightly.

“You were very lucky…”

“’Luck’ doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface,” he said, peeling away at his cast again. The little plastic barrier between his left thumb and index finger was smooth as glass already from his consistent fidgeting with it.

“Was… or rather, is it an infection?” she continued to inquire, “I can imagine, ending up in a landfill barely alive with a wound like that…”

“I guess you could call it that, although not from the cause you assume,” V smirked, suppressed a chuckle. He almost heard Johnny’s disapproving scoff, saw him in the corner of the room leaned against the shelf, flipping him off with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. Almost, not really. Not like he used to be able to.

“You remember the murder of Saburo Arasaka?” he tried to bring himself back into the conversation, out of his head. He wanted to bait the doctor some more, get her intrigued.

Fuentes seemed confused but nodded.

“His son killed him, or so was the conclusion in the end. Although, I remember assassins were blamed for it at first, hired killers. It was all over the news for weeks, until the parade. Then that was all over the news…”

Slowly, it began to dawn on her.

“You were involved in that?”

“Unwillingly, not directly,” V quickly clarified, “But before I explain how this is all connected and important… What do you want from me?”

Fuentes slumped back into her chair slightly and cleared her throat, disappointed almost.

“Would you be open to a job even if it boils down to a simple act of revenge?” she asked, then huffed amusedly, “I never would have guessed to ever ask a self-proclaimed mercenary that question.”

“Yeah, we’re generally pretty amoral people, all the way through to our cold, money-filled hearts,” V said bluntly, and Fuentes cheeks turned a slightly darker shade. She cleared her throat.

“Don’t worry, I’m joking,” V added after keeping her in suspense for at least a little bit, “Whether or not I take a job usually depends on what I can gain from it, so… Tell me the details. I’m listening.”

“You are very different from how I imagined you,” she then sighed, avoiding answering again, “I was surprised the other day already, but I chalked it up to the shock, your medication...”

V shifted in his seat slightly but tried to keep his posture relaxed and open.

“What did you imagine?” he asked.

“I’m not even sure anymore,” she said, “Less strings attached… or rather, different strings altogether.”

“You thought, ‘I’ll just hire someone to solve my problem for me, how complicated can it be’?”

V couldn’t hold himself back, because very often it boiled down to that. Not that he minded it particularly. Fuentes shrugged.

“Maybe,” she said, “In the end, it doesn’t matter. We’re here now and… And if you can help me with my problem, I’m more than willing to help you with yours free of charge in exchange.”

“Money’s not an issue,” V said, as Kerry had reassured him many times before as well. Truthfully, he still hoped he could somehow get out of having to assist her revenge plans, whatever they were.

“Well… regardless, you may not have a choice but help me.”

And here it was, the catch V had been waiting for, as if she’d read his mind.

“Why don’t we finally stop with the games, and you tell me what you want,” he said, no longer hiding his growing impatience.

Fuentes slowly turned to open a drawer on the other side of her desk. She pulled out a small black shard case, somewhat old-fashioned looking. Carefully, almost as if she feared it could shatter, she placed it on the desk and then slowly slid it closer to V without letting go.

“Have a look,” she said, “Far from a professional dossier, I fear, but I hope it helps as a start.”

V reached out to take the case and ejected the contained shard. He knew the model, knew that even if Fuentes had put a daemon or virus on it and this whole meeting was an elaborate trap, his system had enough countermeasures built in to catch it before it could cause any real damage. Not letting his hesitation shine through he inserted the shard into his free neck slot. A handful of files popped up on his interface, indeed not in the quality or as organized as he was used to from his fixers. But it was a more than decent start for the work of an amateur like Fuentes.

He opened a video clip front and center among the files. It was only a few seconds long and looped, showing a man around Fuentes’ age, maybe a bit older. The quality of the footage wasn’t the best, as if illegally captured from a public camera feed. The man wore a dark suit but was otherwise rather non-descript. Light hair, glasses… ironically, the same way Fuentes kept reminding him of Takemura, this man reminded V of Hellman. He had to do a double take, but no, the more often he saw him get out of a Delamain cab and hurriedly walk towards the entrance of what appeared to be a hotel, the more certain he was that this wasn’t Hellman. V skimmed through the other documents attached.

“Nathaniel Sutter,” he said, as he began to read through the files, “The name rings a bell… Not sure why though…”

Fuentes shrugged slightly and shook her head.

“It would surprise me if you knew him,” she said, “He is good at keeping a low profile, always has been. Finding a way to get to him, wherever he is at the moment, would be part of your job.”

“Last known place of residence Palm Street 78, Apartment 3, Charter Hill. Back in March still. Worked at BioDyne as a high-ranking researcher, manager… stopped active work for the corporation five years ago but remains on the executive board until today,” V summarized what he could gather from the files, some of them internal BioDyne documents he was certain were not meant for outsider’s eyes. Others were reports from business magazines, newsfeed articles, and so on, also not his go-to reading material. But he was certain he’d seen the name before somewhere.

“Let me guess…” he said after copying the data over and ejecting the shard again to return it to its case, “He ruined your career and you wanna get back at him as a late revenge, forever leave him in the unknown about what he did wrong?”

Fuentes smiled and shook her head as she took the shard back from V.

“No,” she said, holding the case gently between her fingertips before slowly looking back up at him, “I want his last thoughts to be regret. I want him to know that it was me who had him killed, and that it was for stealing my life’s work for nothing but the furtherment of his pathetic career.”

She spat her words out like venom, her eyes burning with disdain. V was quick to put two and two together. Also, he liked her bravado. He preferred clients that wanted their targets to know exactly why they met their demise over those who wanted him to do all the dirty work to keep their own conscience and hands clean.

“So, I think what you want is justice as well, not revenge,” he said after a short pause.

“What’s the difference, in your opinion?” Fuentes asked, leaning back in her chair again, eyebrows raised and shrugging slightly.

“Revenge is all about emotion,” V said, “You wronged me, so I’ll wrong you back, because I’m pissed or upset or otherwise hurt. Emotions always make things complicated. Justice, on the other hand, is logical. You analyze what went wrong, how you’ve been wronged… and then find an adequate punishment.”

Fuentes chuckled.

“A mercenary or a philosopher?”

“Neither,” V said, “Not really.”

Fuentes had no response to that, only smiled as if something had just clicked into place. V took the opportunity to change the subject away from him again.

“So, you did work on what they’re now marketing as the cure for MS?” he asked and finally Fuentes nodded. She let out a heavy sigh, her eyes drifting across her bookshelves briefly before finding V’s again.

“Of course, in the end, it was all in the name of BioDyne,” she explained, “It had always been a project intended to create great profits for people already a hundred times richer than what six generations of my family ever called their own. But somewhere deep down I was convinced, young and naïve, that regardless it was an innovation that could save the lives of thousands one day.”

“Was he your supervisor?” V asked, once more pulling up the video of Sutter and sending a handful of somewhat decent still frames to Nix for a quick background check. He would’ve loved to dig up some dirt on him himself, but if Fuentes kept her word he’d still be occupied for a while here for further testing and examination of his symptoms.

“We both started at BioDyne almost at the same time, both fresh out of university,” she explained, “He came here from a different city, and we bonded over both being outsiders in NC. Originally, we also shared similar goals, but somewhere down the line something changed.”

“Heard that story a million times before,” V said, exaggerating, but Fuentes just nodded again, knowingly.

“It’s as old as time,” she said, “But it still hurts, looking back… Anyway yes, you guessed right, he ruined my career – but not even in the sense that I was focused on advancing it. My primary goal was furthering my research, helping people. Long story short, something somewhere was going on in another department of the company, and because of it, even though we were ready, we weren’t allowed to publish our work.”

“Marketing schemes?” V wondered aloud, remembering similar ploys from Arasaka. Two departments that didn’t even know of each other’s existence influenced each other’s operations, which caused many frustrations on both sides. A handful of times it had been down to V and his subordinates even to play two departments against each other to test morale and company loyalty. He was sure all big corporations worked similarly on the inside.

“I have no clue,” Fuentes only shrugged, “I just know one night I went home none the wiser, and the next morning all my data and findings were gone because I had complained about the management’s practices.”

“To Sutter?” V asked and Fuentes nodded.

“He was also the only one who had access to my data, knew where I stored some more obscure findings that weren’t even relevant to our research. It was all gone, and I was told to pack my stuff and leave. And to better keep my mouth shut or else I’d never find work in my field again.”

“How long ago was that?” V asked, just to be sure the information Nix had given him matched up with her story.

“Fifteen years this year,” Fuentes said.

“A long time,” V nodded, “Why now the sudden lust for revenge?”

Fuentes smiled sadly.

“Because the cure is out now and people are being helped,” she said, “I saw some first results and findings, read the recent studies they conducted, and everything is working as intended. I don’t care anymore what happens now, as long as I can be sure my work wasn’t in vain.”

V frowned.

“Your work for BioDyne wasn’t in vain then, no,” he said, “What about you helping me though, what timeline of events are you picturing here?”

If she would only help him after he took care of Sutter and then instantly got assassinated by BioDyne agents, V would’ve been used as nothing but a tool once more. That he refused.

“I guess that depends on how urgently you need my help,” she said, “And how invasive my help is going to have to be.”

She finally returned the shard case to her desk, and V noticed now that there were some additional little clicking noises – a secret compartment probably, as she should keep something like that in one.

“Shall we begin with the classic ‘how are we feeling today, Mr. Ezaki?’, or would you like to continue where we left off, with the infection and the gunshot wound?”

The pit in V’s stomach grew as there really was no way to evade the topic anymore now. Fuentes had played with open cards, given him a decent bunch of incriminating information that he may as well use against her this instant if he wanted to. She’d put her trust in him, now he had to do the same.

“I will omit some details here and there, as they’re not relevant to my current situation anymore,” he began slowly, “And I want to protect the identities of some people – and you from knowing too much, too.”

“Of course,” Fuentes said calmly. V took a deep breath and steeled himself to tell his story once more, and once more as well to a person he barely knew.

“How familiar are you with Arasaka’s ‘Secure your Soul’ program?”

“Somewhat, but only on a superficial level,” Fuentes said, “It didn’t work as intended, as far as I know, but I can do some more reading on it.”

“If you need anything, I can also send you some more substantial data on it. It technically isn’t even classified anymore, was all part of the data leaks.”

More or less, at least.

“Sure…” Fuentes said, “Although I’m not sure I can follow why this is important. Wasn’t ‘Secure your Soul’ marketed as a means to speak to the dead, basically? What the engrams were actually used for in the end we’ll not delve into just now, but… You’re alive, most certainly.”

“Yeah… somewhat.”

V sat up straight again, cleared his throat, and began to recount the events that were set in motion at No-Tell-Motel in the early morning hours of April 17th 2077. He left out most details, especially about the hunt for Hellman, Evelyn’s involvement and what became of her. He didn’t mention Alt or Johnny by name and omitted all that happened in Dogtown entirely.

What he told Fuentes about was the Relic kickstarting him back into life, somehow, Johnny’s presence and his engram creeping into his brain. He explained how the Relic 2.0 was supposed to work and that his didn’t as intended and yet even better than imagined by its creator. He tried to explain what happened at Mikoshi, and how he felt like afterwards, ever since… Blue-Eyes he decided not to mention yet, but he touched upon trying varying “therapies”, of which the most recent one had many undesirable side-effects.

Fuentes listened with great attention, rarely interrupted him, and when she did, only to clarify the more medical aspects V touched upon. She noted down his symptoms during his attacks back then and now, and requested access to any of the scans Vik had done during all this time to get an idea of the overall development of his physical and mental state in the last months.

“So, if I’m understanding you correctly,” she eventually said after V had concluded his story, “The V I’m talking to right now, your personality, memories, and so on… is all stored on the biochip as an engram?”

Hearing it spelled out like that by a stranger somehow made sound even more surreal than it was. Or a slap in the face, a reality check V didn’t want or need.

“Can you understand now why this is not something I want to be public knowledge?” he asked, and Fuentes nodded pensively. She leaned back in her chair for a moment, looked up at the ceiling, then returned her attention back to her tablet.

“Your brain scans seemed so normal though,” she said, pulling the images up again as if she needed to be sure, “Well, a mild concussion, but other than that…”

“That’s beyond what I’m able to explain,” V said, “Some of my previous doctors said brain scans could seem normal on the surface, because my body has to be kept up and running somehow. There is some brain activity, but all higher functions are carried out on the Relic. The chip itself undid some of the damage from the gunshot because it tried to mimic, recreate the engram’s brain. I’m not even sure how far completed the process was, but given how easy it was for him to take over in the end, pretty far I guess.”

V's stomach turned at the thought, the memories, the feeling of sheer helplessness as he could only watch as Johnny piloted his body. Wondering still what happened during the times when he was fully blacked out, as Johnny had never been a fan of telling the whole truth.

Fuentes folded her hands on the table again, brow furrowed and studying V’s face.

“Your own engram can’t settle back in the same way… why exactly?”

“The Arasaka-AI I spoke to said the process I underwent couldn’t be reversed. My theory is that, since this specific Relic is a faulty prototype, it simply is incapable of kickstarting another process of rewiring my brain again. Or even if it could, my body has been through too much already to be able to take such radical adjustments.”

“Some radical measures may be needed indeed,” Fuentes said quietly, and V shivered, “But I am taking into account that you’re currently not in good health and we have to be careful. If you’re willing to accept my help still, of course.”

“I would like to hear out your plan at the very least,” V said, not trying to let his desperation show, “And, for my friends’ sake... maybe you can give me your opinion how bad it is. How much time I got left if things go on like they do currently.”

Fuentes nodded, then they both went quiet for a couple of seconds.

“This Arasaka-AI…” she broke the heavy silence, “Did it ever occur to you that it may have been lying about your condition?”

V thought about it for a moment.

“To gain what exactly?” he wondered.

“Not sure, just a thought,” Fuentes shrugged, “An AI created by Arasaka surely would act in Arasaka’s best interests. In this case, discourage you from leaving and carrying all their secrets out into the world.”

V shuddered, hoped that Fuentes didn’t notice it.

“The engram might’ve done it instead of me, had I given up my body,” he said, he hoped, “Besides, it’s a little bit more complicated than that with this particular AI. But that’s none of your concern.”

“Alright,” Fuentes nodded, “As I said, it was just a thought.”

She picked up her tablet again, read through her notes. Then she motioned to get up from her chair, setting the tablet back down, but hesitated.

“May I have a look at the chip?” she asked, still in her chair waiting for V’s okay. He froze.

“Just the slot, examine it externally,” she clarified, made tapping gestures.

V shifted in his seat slightly.

“I’d just… ask you to be careful.”

“Of course,” she nodded, then got up and slowly walked around her desk, past the bookshelves, coming to a halt to V’s right.

“May I?” she asked, smiling, and moving gently, as if she could sense his tension and fear. She probably could, to be fair. She motioned wanting to touch his head and neck, and after another couple of seconds of hesitation V nodded and turned his head away to bare his neck ports. Fuentes put one hand on the back of his neck, the other on his head, gently and slowly turning it to get a good look.

“Is this alright?” she made sure, “If at any point it hurts, let me know.”

“It’s fine,” V said, his voice much quieter and timid than he wanted. His whole body was tingling from tension and anxiety.

Fuentes’ hand wandered from the back of his neck to the ports behind his ear, embedded directly into his nervous system and connecting what was left of him on that chip with what was left of his body.

“This one?” she said, tapping beside the port that contained the Relic, and V shivered, his entire skin covered in goosebumps in an instant. He couldn’t reply.

“Does it hurt?” Fuentes asked gently, “It doesn’t look infected but…”

“Been having issues with these ports since I was a teen,” V explained briefly, “Didn’t take an upgrade well one time and ever since they’ve been prone to act up.”

“I see…” Fuentes nodded, “I bet slotting an experimental biochip in there didn’t improve the situation.”

“No...”

She let go of his head again and moved away slightly to give him space. V took a deep breath and almost reflexively his hand shot up to his neck, brushing over the slots as if to make sure they were still there.

Fuentes leaned against the edge of her desk, her arms crossed.

“You ever take the metro?” she asked after a pause, “Hang out in shady bars and dark alleys?”

“What?” V squinted up at her, hand still covering the Relic.

“I’m just wondering what you’re doing against picksockets,” she explained calmly, but her brow deeply furrowed with worry, “Or in general, any other protective measures you utilize to not have someone come up at you and yank this from your neck.”

V dropped his hand and began to fumble with his cast again.

“Doing everything in my power,” he said quietly at first, but at the same time, anger welled up in him. At his situation, not at the doctor necessarily.

“I’m well aware how risky it is to just step out the front door like a normal person, when my life is far from that. But… what’s the alternative? Lock myself up until I die?”

Fuentes nodded pensively, understandingly.

“You mentioned this therapy you tried… You think the medication has increased this feeling of apathy, of not being able to voice your thoughts clearly? How long since you’re not taking the pills anymore?”

“Just a day,” V said, not exactly happy about the topic change either.

“Do you feel clearer now than you did a few days ago?”

He paused to really think it through. His emotions were all over the place, the last few days had been an intense firework of horrible impressions and new, uncomfortable discoveries. He’d had troubles being honest with Kerry, although, their argument yesterday morning, even if it hurt, had been very straightforward. Much more so than many of the other conversations they’d had lately.

“I… can’t say for sure,” he said, “Maybe. But I’ve had clearer days in-between occasionally, too.”

“Alright,” Fuentes said, then she walked back to her chair to sit down. She looked at V intensely again for what seemed like an eternity. He didn’t recall the last time he felt as naked while being fully clothed.

“Knowing your case a bit better now, I see two main problems. The first: the decline of your physical and mental health. Your deteriorating nervous system, seizures, depression, depersonalization, and so on. That is something I need to examine more closely, put you through some tests. And we have to run a whole bunch of scans, unfortunately. Some we can do today, but others take some time and require planning in advance.”

“Yay, tests and scans,” V said as unenthusiastically as possible, and he didn’t even have to try hard.

Fuentes chuckled.

“I know, you’ve probably been through that a lot with your previous doctors. If you still have their findings available, I’d love to see them, too.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” V said, raising his hand to slow Fuentes down, “But can you tell me like… in general if you have any plan, any idea of how to tackle this already? Just so I know where I’m at.”

In fact, he solely wanted, needed something concrete beyond “we need to do tests” that he could tell Kerry. A sliver of hope, a promise, maybe, that V didn’t need to keep but the doctor. He needed someone else who could take the blame if things went down south if he was being completely honest.

“That would bring me to your second main problem: the biochip continuously taking up a slot in an already strained system while being extremely exposed to external influences,” Fuentes said, “There’s a reason why these slots are not intended for long-term usage, and we rely on built-in cyberware solutions for permanent modification purposes. In your case, you currently have no other choice, of course. But it is still something that should be tackled in the short rather than the long term.”

Fuentes turned the tablet back on and opened V’s brain scans in a program that allowed her to draw onto the 3D-model, visualizing her ideas.

“I should preface this by saying that yes, your case is unique. I’ve never done anything like this before. I have an idea, but I need to do a lot of research and preparations first, still… and you can use that time to prepare everything else you feel you need to prepare… Just in case, if you catch my meaning.”

V swallowed.

“That invasive, then, huh?” he tried to joke to ease the tension. Fuentes smiled sadly. She drew some lines along the backside of the scan of V’s head.

“My current idea is to create a safer container and environment for the chip inside your skull,” she explained, “We can make use of the existing connections… it will have to stay in its port, obviously, but we can pull it inside as a whole and place it roughly here maybe.”

She drew a vertical line along the back of his skull, right at the base.

“The exact spot I’ll have to determine once I have a full scan of your system configuration, nervous system, and so on,” she added, “And yes, the procedure how I’m picturing it right now will be invasive, painful, probably leave scars… but it will contribute to stabilizing the Relic’s overall state, having it in a container actually designed to hold it long-term.”

“I see,” V said, but he struggled to take in the information, even though Fuentes seemed extremely confident and competent in the way she explained and sketched out her thoughts.

“In regard to your deteriorating health, well,” she said after a moment of contemplation, “As I said, I need to run tests first. We need to take as much strain from your body as possible, you need to rest, relax.”

“Easier said than done. There’s an BioDyne executive board member I’ve been asked to kill.”

Fuentes’ face twitched briefly, and she just nodded.

“I know,” she said, voice heavy, “But as I said, there may be no way around it.”

V frowned.

“I think the best way to tackle your health concerns, would be a modified version of the nanobots we used in our studies at BioDyne back then,” she explained, “They’re not the same anymore as the ones utilized in the current treatments, BioDyne heavily controls their usage too. Obviously. But I know for a fact that Sutter kept some of our prototypes to himself, secretly of course. Gloating, and so sure of himself he’d never be discovered.”

V was tempted to ask for a moment what Sutter would keep them for, but with the information he had on him currently, the answer was obvious: to sell them at a huge profit should things ever go awry with BioDyne. Every single person rising high enough in the ranks of a corporation had exit plans like this. Had V not spent his last 6 months at Arasaka high out of his mind most of the time, had he not invested his spare time and money into drugs and random hookups but an exit strategy, he probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now. Admittedly though, he wasn’t sure where he would be sitting instead, and if he’d be any happier or maybe even more miserable.

“And you could reprogram these prototypes to… reprogram my nervous system, fix all the damages, basically?” V concluded.

“That would be my approach, yes.”

He leaned back in his chair again, rubbed his forehead, his temples throbbing slightly.

“This therapy I tried,” he said, “The one with the bad side effects. I think that one utilized nanobots as well.”

Fuentes tilted her head.

“You think it utilized nanobots?” she asked, “Your doctor didn’t discuss their use with you?”

“It’s… complicated.”

He lowered his hand and looked back at her again.

“Believe me, the less you know about this, the better. But I think I was given something as part of a treatment that I shouldn’t have been given. And I’m not sure how much damage it did. So, I’m a little wary about nanobots reorganizing my brain.”

“Understandable…” Fuentes said tensely, “Well… I can assure you at least that I will not administer anything to you that I did not thoroughly discuss with you before. And have your consent on.”

V nodded weakly, shrugged. Words meant nothing, deeds meant everything.

Fuentes eyes wandered back to her tablet, the 3d model, her notes.

“I wish I had something a little more substantial to offer at this point,” she then said, “I think I could already make a clearer assessment once we’ve run some initial tests.”

V let their whole conversation play in his mind again, trying to think if there was anything left he needed clarification on, anything he forgot to mention that would be important.

“You said that Sutter likely still has the nanobots,” he said, “What makes you so sure that he didn’t sell them years ago?”

Fuentes shuffled slightly, as V seemed to have hit the mark once more.

“Alright, there is one thing I wasn’t entirely honest about,” she said, and V steeled himself for whatever was to come.

“Well, now’s the time to spill it,” he said calmly, “Or I’m out the door.”

Fuentes’ eyes told him that she knew he was bluffing, but she also had to know that this would sooner or later backfire if she didn’t tell the whole truth.

“I’ve been keeping tabs on Sutter with the help of private investigators for years,” she explained, “As I said, he’s a slippery one, always extra sure to cover his tracks... But not impossible to find information on. Right before he disappeared off the face of the earth my P.I. at the time captured the video footage I already showed you, but… that’s just part of the clip. It goes on a bit further.”

“Where’s the rest of it?” V asked, but he knew the answer already.

“Not with me, not here, no,” she said, confirming his suspicion, “I can send it your way via some detours, just in case. But basically, he met with a businessman, and from what my P.I. told me and documented, I’m fairly certain he sold him the bots.”

V sighed.

“Then killing him will only be for your revenge purposes after all and not actually help me…”

Fuentes shook her head.

“No, no. He would still have the blueprints, I’m certain. He has to. He has a special memory chip, almost impossible to trace, that he kept all important data on that no one else should get their hands on.”

“In a ‘sell his nanobots but keep them too’ kinda way?” V asked, and Fuentes nodded.

“He prided himself with being so smart and playing everyone all the time. The chip is, according to him, pretty much unhackable, unretrievable. Killing him would instantly delete the chip’s contents, too, so, no point in doing that.”

“How to get your hands on it then?” V asked, “Cut it out of his body while he’s still alive?”

Fuentes said nothing, only looked down to her lap.

“Fantastic…” V sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Fuentes said, “There’s a reason I didn’t want to start off with this.”

“And you’re still not even sure if there is anything useful on the chip, mind you,” V said, trying to remain calm, “And you’ll still have to construct, reprogram, and get the nanobots working if I can get my hands on the blueprints at all. If I even manage to find Sutter. That is a lot of ifs in return for even more uncertainty.”

“Of course,” Fuentes said quietly, “I can promise you that constructing and adjusting the nanobots to work for your particular condition actually is not as complicated as it sounds. I would need a DNA sample from you from prior to the gunshot wound, but I’m relatively certain your profile is stored in your old Trauma Team records from your time at Arasaka.”

“Probably, yeah,” V said.

“There are means and ways, always,” Fuentes nodded.

“What if there are no blueprints, if he sold them together with the bots?”

“I could look into alternatives… constructing new bots from scratch would certainly take longer. A month or two but given your condition we might not have as long.”

“If I could get my hands on the bots from my therapy,” V suggested, “Could that help?”

Fuentes hummed.

“I would certainly like to take a look at them, yes. If only to tell you what exactly they’re doing and if they could be causing your symptoms.”

V shifted to reach into his jacket’s inner pocket, pulling out a ziplock bag with the pills coming from Mr. Blue Eyes. Fuentes’ expression was almost hilariously confused when he dropped the bag on the table.

“Don’t ask,” he said, “My Ripper thinks there’s nanobots embedded in these pills.”

“Not quite how you’d administer them, necessarily…” Fuentes mused as she picked up the bag and held it up against the light, “They’d have to dissolve over time or otherwise leave the body eventually, as you’d keep adding new ones by taking new pills. Not impossible, but the standard procedure is introducing them via the spine and extracting them again once their task is completed.”

“Everything about this whole situation is a special case,” V said, “I would say ‘I’d love to hear anything you figure out’… but actually, I’m not sure if I really do.”

Fuentes nodded sternly and put the pills away safely in the same secret compartment her shard on Sutter was stored in.

“I will have a look at them later,” she promised.

“Alright,” V said, holding on to the armrest with his healthy hand, “Anything else you can tell me that I need to know?”

“There is… one more thing,” Fuentes nodded, “I know where Sutter is.”

She paused, but V didn’t know what to respond.

“But you’ll still have to figure out how to get to him, I’m… drawing a blank on that.”

V squinted.

“You’re making it sound like he’s on the moon.”

Fuentes laughed weakly and tapped something into the search bar on her tablet.

“Almost.” she said. Then a familiar advertisement started playing on the screen.

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

>> Next Chapter

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

Notes:

This one has been in the works since January, and chapter 14 is almost done actually, as I let this one here sit and stew a bit in between, dreading the editing xD Ngl, when it comes to the medical stuff I always struggle a bit, because I want it to be realistic, but I also have no clue about much xD I hope this isn't all too long-winded and was still an enjoyable read with some twists and turns as V and Dr. Fuentes try to always keep the upper hand against the other, subtly!

I really wanted to develop the doctor a little bit more, give her an interesting background and shady goals and have those all make sense in the grand scheme of things... Maybe you can already guess where her enemy Sutter's exit strategy led him to, where V has to follow soon? 👀

Next chapter out hopefully soon! :D

Requested Fic Update Tags:

@humberg @r3d-f0xs-blog @thatinternetwanderer @localtranspigeon @taiyo-yokai  @kharonion @genocidalfetus @seeker-of-truth @readalotbook @losttr3asur3 @chromeaholic💜

[jacksgreysays]

The idea of Gardens!Shikako sneaking into the village to kill Danzo before she either dips for a new world or stays here Post-Split, only to find Shisui and Itachi the so-called genii having a panic attack over Danzo’s cooling corpse, is HYSTERICAL. But consider: Shikako arrives months after Konoha disintegrates, its citizens and particularly the clans deeply divided, and inadvertently makes herself the Neo-Shodaime Hokage when she successfully rallies everyone to rebuild (either physically or metaphorically) the village as one cohesive unit.

What I love about Shisui (and Itachi in this situation, I guess, but only as an extension of Shisui) is that he is SO POWERFUL and SO SMART but is still nonetheless a teenage boy. Like yeah he's gonna get an embarrassing crush on a girl who meets his standards (and yes, his standards are maybe deadlier than normal boys' but it's a militaristic society, what do you want from him?) and yeah he's gonna panic when he and his younger cousin kill one of the top five most influential people in said militaristic society.

Here's the thing, anon, I do love that idea, but it's very... considering the particular latin phrase that was prompted that led to that idea... I think then Shikako becomes the new tyrant.

And, like... I don't hate that certainly. Like, if she stumbles into this world of a disintegrated Konoha, the clans that she is so accustomed to working together seamlessly are disconcertingly at odds with each other, almost to the point of Warring Clans Era 2, Electric Boogaloo... she may just try to diplomacy a bunch of little treaties to create a, sort of, disparate but allied clans rather than recreating Konoha...

UNLESS. There is a threat coming to Land of Fire and if the clans are separate, they will fall, one by one, like dominoes. It is only together, united, can they withstand the storm. And for all that this is not her world, they are still her people, and if she has to MAKE them her people, even against their will, to save their lives then she will.

... and that's how Shikako goes full dark tyrant Shikabane-hime :)

[el-yon]

[ personal sharing time ]

beyond all the character/narrative reasons for Ichigo to live a full life, I have a very personal/political/professional (cannot dissociate the three) appreciation for the fact that he does not join the Gotei - nor any organization, for that matter.

I know Kubo draws mainly from Buddhism, and I don’t think he’s worried about political organizations at all, since his message is about self-realization. However, as he takes us through Ichigo’s journey, he does take us through different political arrangements, meaning, organizations of violence: oligarchic and militaristic regimes, colonialism/imperialism, theocratic and totalitarian ideologies, you name it. For instance, I think Kubo said somewhere he chose the spanish/latin motif to Hueco Mundo and the Arrankar/Hollowfication stuff because he thought it sounded sensuous, which makes sense with the uh... subtext of it all, BUT, the predatory viciousness of Hueco Mundo is such a strong colonization subtext too!. Also, expropriating a population/territory (Karakura) to literally fabricate and access sovereignty (the Royal Key)... wow. Then you know, don’t even need to get into Ginjo literally stealing powers, or everything about the Wandenreich.

But the most important “organization of violence” here is not the one that imposes one’s will onto another, but the individual one that informs human agency and autonomy. Ichigo happens to have all the available types of power in his hands, he has a lot of means to inflict violence, but he gets to learn how to use them to be his own person.

No gods, no hierarchies, no masters but himself.

When we’re kids, we’re vulnerable. Things happen to us, and we are powerless. Then, as we grow up, we gain physicial strenght, we get the chance to walk on our own, to actually do things, to be active - we get access to power, including, to do things to others. When we start Bleach, Ichigo gets this immediate power boost in his life and we see him fighting the world: he chops off Sora’s hand, he chops off the serial killer hollow and he is angry, he’s brutal, he’s violent - as we see even more clearly in the whole hollowfication journey. A journey that, beautifully, comes to its closure when he finally learns the truth about himself, stops trying to supress it, and learns how to use it, how to regulate it, and once he relies on Orihime. Which brings me to the next part.

Growing up right beside him, we have the development of three other young people, each one relating to particular aspect of his own powers, dealing with violence too: Chad is a window to racial violence and learns how to fight back on his terms, Orihime is a window to gender violence and learns how to fight back on her terms, Uryu is a window to genocide and learns how to fight back on his terms. And they are also helping and being helped by Renji and Rukia, two people who have been hurt by class opression and nobility dynamics, who also found their own way to make it work - the “we gripped each other’s hand instead of the blade” is very important to lil old me.

In a world that is terrible, but also full of possibilities, Ichigo and Karakura are (to me, this is a personal take) an amazing ode to human agency that is informed by self-improvement, desire to help, to care and protect more than any disciplinary power out there, and I love that for them.

[a-gal-with-taste]

Certainties & Mistletoe | Ch. 3

Summary: Mistletoe, the only decoration the old bastard could bear to stand during the winter-months. You thought it harmless, simple and almost forgettable… but the events it causes, is anything-but.

Ebenezer Scrooge & F!Reader | 5929 Words | Prev.

Tags: Slow-burn, humor, banter, internal-thoughts, boss/employee relationship, maid!Reader, some world-building, pining (?), denial of feelings, confrontations, drinking, historical inaccuracies, canes, Scrooge being a Bastard

The gift of observation was a talent every proper servant of a house or business should be incredibly well-versed in. A requirement, necessity to perform the many duties of the house, and you thought yourself well-practiced, and quite subtle with your own gift of observation...

Then Mister Scrooge turned, leaving the cowering shopkeep to sag with relief at the lack of attention, and now fixed his cool-blue gaze sternly on you instead, completely catching you in your unabashed staring.

You didn't flinch. But you found the subtle threadwork of your winter-gloves suddenly very, very fascinating to study.

"That is thrice now," Lowly he spoke, though his stride was in high-spirits, as the pouch of fresh-collected coat clinked within his coat as he marched past you. "One would think you would learn to be more subtle by the second-time."

You followed after him into the snow-laden breeze upon the streets of London, protest on your frost-chapped lips, "I wasn't-"

"You were, and it is as much unnecessary, as it is unwelcomed." The sharpness in his voice is second-only to the tapping of his cane on cobble. "Manners, miss. I would expect you to remember them, even when not performing in the confines of the building you work in."

Murmuring your assent, you swallowed back a sigh, and silently-chided yourself on your foolishness. Both for your conduct, and for putting yourself into this bloody, unnecessary mess in the first-place.

The hours upon the streets were long, cold, and whatever stark-change had overcome the persona of Ebenezer Scrooge, seemed to have long-dissipated the very instant he marched out onto the streets.

You were falling, yes, but into uncertainty no-longer. Because while you were falling back, as rapidly as you had fallen-out, of normalcy, Scrooge had fallen back into his old ways.

And you felt the fool for thinking anything different.

Militaristic as ever, the Master marches to a tune that is entirely his own, and at least twice as stern as even the most uptight marshal could be. Undaunted by few, and not hesitating to barrel his way past many others, Mister Scrooge was a force of unforgiving nature all on his own.

And you - silly, foolish, far too-caring you - were stuck half-sprinting to keep up with the path of destruction he left-behind.

Prudence was sweet enough to trot a pace or two behind her master's heels, offering a sympathetic woof further-back to you whilst legs burned with the effort of keeping-speed with the man.

"Thank you, dear girl," You whispered breathlessly as you - at last! - passed her to come stand at the gentleman's side. Ebenezer Scrooge was darkly glaring forth at the driving-lanes before him, thick and crowded with enough carriages to at-last stop him in his tracks.

You were sorely tempted to kiss the hands of all the drivers-present, in gratitude, but instead gathered enough frigid air into your lungs to speak, "h...Holiday-rush, I suspect! Plenty of packages, plenty of gifts-"

"Humbug!"

"Oh, it's only traffic, Mister Scrooge-!"

"No, the lot of it!" He declares, scowling as he raises his cane to gesture upon the line of horse-drawn vehicles. A purely venomous expression was affixed on his face, teeth grinding and eyes flashing as he snapped, "Wasting countless -  and for what?? Dying joy, fleeting happiness... it all only lasts a single-day, a wonder any would want to bother with it at all!"

You said nothing. Merely taking advantage of your gift of inspection, eyes trailing from the sharp-cuts of fury, creases of annoyance lining his face, with his knuckles tight enough to tremble on his cane-handle.

Mister Scrooge looked, in all seriousness, like he was bracing to pounce-upon the drivers and all their festive contents. Something that simply would not do.

Carefully, you reached out to place a palm on the dark-wood of his cane. "Indeed, such a season can be quite a headache, when one considers all the work that must go into it..." A slight pressure, a bit pleadingly so, but the gentleman eventually followed the motion of your hands, blessedly lowering his cane back to touch the ground.

"Tis no must, about-it." He grunted once more, clapping one still-shaking hand over another on the handle of his walking-stick. "Though I can't think of any good-reason. A waste in all aspects, not excluding financial."

"Well," You started, tone still treading-carefully, for the last thing you needed was to restrain the man if he truly threw a fit at the drivers. "I cannot speak for the gifts, but as material as they are, I like to think the meaning behind the effort is where the true-gratification lies."

"Humbug." He said once-again, but it's a little less heated, quieter.

"It shows one cares," You state with a simple shrug. "However minimal, however much coin, or whether it is something that can even be held, it matters little. There are a thousand-ways one can display their care, adoration for another. Gifts just happen to be the most physical, and most popular in that regard."

This only earns you a scoff, and round of fingers tapping along on the cane-handle as the miser turns-cheek from you, apparently to study the line of carts on your opposing-side.

"This isn't the only season that one is inclined to give gifts, you recall?" You add, almost curious, as to whether his hate extended beyond the world of winter's festivities, into all holidays of giving.

The tapping grows louder, more rapid with his grunt in the affirmative, but the confirmation is distracted, distant, and only makes you frown. Your hand, seemingly disconnected with your body, reaches out towards the edge of his coat with fingertips brushing on the somber-cloth.

"Mister Scrooge-"

"Hurry along," And now, he is gone. A length cloud of black, his coat billows behind him as heels pivot, with Ebenezer driving himself from your side and down the walking-street, with a force that could rival the hurricane.

And, much to your chagrin, Ebenezer Scrooge was also inclined to rival a hurricane in speed.

Mayhaps he sought to kill-you through exhaustion, you ponder as you weave through thickets of crowds, ducking between shops as you reach the marketplace, and muttering apologies all the while for yourself, and your wayward employer.

"What haste!" A Madame scoffs, looking as ruffled as her fur-lined coat, glowering after the repeating black-clad figure. "I pray it's an emergency, or else, I...!"

"My apologies!" You assure her quickly, smile sympathetic, and strained from lack of air. "Tis is indeed an emergency... one of his coin purse," You add under what-little breath you had left. It truly felt like a three-way chase was being conducted: the bloodhound of a man sniffing out his borrowed gold, with Prudence trotting at a leisurely-pace behind, and you left to chase after them both.

And all the while, you could only think why?  

Why on earth, did you fool yourself with the notion that something was amiss with the Master in the firstplace? That you thought something had gone wrong with the man, when instead there was surely something wrong with you.

Not simply because you kissed the man, though surely that was a first-sign to your newly discovered brand of madness.

But a form of concern? For the welfare of none other than the one and only Ebenezer Scrooge?

Yes, a maid was gifted with skills of observation, and a special-sort of empathy for those they work for, and in your near two-years of employment, you offered a certain sort of care for the man. This went far, far beyond what you were normally capable of providing.

A walking-companion! You thought, finally allowed to slow when seeing the abrupt-halt Scrooge makes before an ale-stall, the bottles gleaming in the lamp-light nearby. I could've offered tea, or simply asked the cause of what thoughts and worries had come to offer change to his personality... not subject myself to such brutal exercise, with nothing to show for it!

Other solutions would have been simpler, especially when it seems any change, shift or departure of normal-attitude of the old-bastard seems to have long-since fled - besides the hasty ‘good-morning’ offered upon your entry, spoken without eye-contact.

Besides that singular incident, now becoming a habit, seemingly nothing had changed in old Ebenezer Scrooge.

And you, panting and leaning delicately at the stall as you staggered to meet your employer already engaged in snarky-discussion of his client, felt like a fool for not seeing it sooner.

There was no shift, no unsteadiness, nor uncertainty that required the closer-examination you sought, when you requested to join Mister Scrooge in the first place.

Ebenezer Scrooge was exactly the same as he was, and as he always would be... a single incident under a sprig of mistletoe, would surely not be enough to change him otherwise.

As proven by his harsh-speech to his very-late client.

"An additional-week, you've cost me," He says, through unclenched teeth as he looks over the curve of his nose at the ruddy-faced brewsman behind the stall-counter. "You're poor at math, as evident by your financial-prowess, but in layman terms, it means you now owe me double."

"Double!" Sputters the man, clasping a hand over his heart like the news caused the organ to sputter-too. "Mister, come now! Tardiness is most unforgivable, I can attest-to, but surely double is a bit harsh-"

"What would be harsh, is if I were to call to those fellows that-a-way," The menacing lender of Cornhill spoke flatly, but there was an almost malicious glint in his pale-eyes as he pointed down the lane, towards a lazy, unoccupied assembly of constables. "And inform them of a thievery, two-weeks in the making."

"You wouldn't-!"

"I would be well-within my rights to," Scrooge points out, no shortage of cold smugness in that sharp-toothed smile. "One-week's tardiness was mercy. I allowed this second-week to commence, moreso out of morbid-curiosity, rather than leniency. I was quite-fascinated to see how long this charade would go on, but it has stopped being entertaining."

"Mister Scrooge, I-"

"Pay. Or, I'll round up the police."

Despite your lungs still aching from your hours-long jogging, your breath caught and was rendered unusable as you looked between the paled-salesman, and your employer. He's drawn himself up practically on his toes, head-high and the glare in his eyes nothing short of deadly, in seriousness.

It's a look you would easily cave-at.

And it's a glare the stall-crafter can only bear a moment longer, before the stalemate ends with his sigh, and reaching beneath the counter.

"I only just gathered it today, Mister," He informed Mister Scrooge quite glumly. "Honest, swear on Her Majesty, 've only just made-back on profits-"

"My deepest, most heartfelt sympathies for your plight." Scrooge responded with a voice completely void of emotion, but the sharp, cruel smirk he soon offers is anything-but. "I'll inspect every coin. Drunkards and thieves are known to paint irons into gold, and I would so enjoy getting the entire sum I am owed back."

"Of course!" Nearly insulted at the insinuation, the man still winces as Scrooge opens the box with a nearly-careless air, catching a wayward coin before it can roll away from his grasp. “Here, now!? Must you-?”

“After a fee two weeks late? I indeed must.”

Smartly, the brewer doesn’t complain, though looked particularly irked when Mister Scrooge oh-so-casually begins to clink and shift his way through the boxed-collection, clearly enjoying the theatrics with a loud hum or low-whistle when he selected one worth bringing up to closer-inspection.

Toying with the brewsman, to the point where even Prudence snorts along with something curiously akin to an eyeroll.

Pity overtakes you for the stranger - many already offered the infamous-man a wide berth, but by association, now the marketman suffers a loss in all-interest from local pursuing clients, who are eager to quicken their step past his stall.

Having reassociated yourself with full-lungs of air, and pity, you quietly lean forth to ask: “Pardon me sir, but what finities do you offer?”

“Oh!” At-last taking notice of you, he’s eager to turn his attention from your employer onto you. “Only the finest , ma'am. Finest in all of the district, perhaps in all of London-!”

“I would think even the Thames ferments better than whatever you have in stock,” Scrooge drawls, frown exaggerated as he lifts a coin between thumb and pointer to bring to examination in the light. “This shade finds more kinship with marigold, rather than gold, wouldn’t you say?”

“I... I wouldn’t know, Mister Scrooge.”

A dismissive scoff as the sovereign was carelessly tossed back-in, while you faintly recalled that the man had recently spoken - and was provided a long, unwanted lecture - from a local florist, likely where a man such as Scrooge learned such precision for shades of flora.

Dismissing that thought yourself, you leaned forth with a more disarming smile, words far more friendly, “I admit, I'm most-curious to know what you offer, and quite the novice to private-brews. Anything of high-remark I should be aware of?”

“All of it, madam, all of it,” He assures you, smiling in relief to have a distraction in the form of a polite lady, though his eyes still glint over to the far less-welcomed gentleman at your side. “Mayhaps... a lady as lovely as yourself would be keen to see for yourself? A sample to soothe the temperaments, yes?” He asked, suddenly eager with his offer, and already ruffling around his stock for a mug.

“Oh,” You leaned back, your own gaze flitting to your employer, who was now actually-engrossed in examining his payment for fraudulent-gold. Even out on the streets, you were still on the clock. “Oh, I don’t know if I should...”

But it’s too late, a cork is already popped off, and a generous amount of amber-liquid poured into what you hope is a clean mug for tasting. “Not a worry, ma’am! Tis the season for relaxation and joy, both of which are assured in th’ brew,” Turning to you, there’s a wink offered as the finity is pressed into your hands. “Not to mention the warmth will keep you a-going in these winter-winds for hours more to come!”

“Well...” Another glance, uncertain as you seem to often-be these recent days.

But Scrooge remains occupied with the gold he pinches between-fingers, squinting down hawkishly onto his payment, seemingly without any care for the rest of the world. Least of all his maid taking a quick sip of a privately-made brew.

And, well... it is bitterly cold this afternoon.

“I suppose,” You murmur, partially into the cup with a final hesitation, before tipping it back to allow the liquid to touch your lips, reach your tongue, slip down your throat-

Oh!

By Her Majesty, you quite-nearly keel over as the pure fire that races down your windpipes like a rifle's bullet, and seemingly finding comfort in lighting a blaze within your lungs. Nearly spilling the mug in your attempts to immediately put it down - more importantly, put it away from you - you gloved-palm nearly slaps over your lips, in an effort to keep from coughing sharply at the sheer strength in a single-sip.

Tears welled in your eyes at the effort, and at the burning...!

A large, furry head presses against your skirts, whining-concerningly as you rasp a prayer from salvation to the almighty around your thick-glove. Apparently, He hears your weak exclamations, as a foreign-hand comes up onto your shoulder. A comfort, though the source of it seems uncertain, jerking slightly upon contact... as if its owner is surprised to have made it himself, or perhaps shocked at willingly-touching another human-being.

“Perhaps I wasn't wrong to proclaim the Thames as the better craftsman.” The snarl cuts though your awareness like a knife, with Ebenezer Scrooge’s tone just as sharp as a blade. “What in the heavens did you give her, fool, arsenic?!”

“'Course not!” The salesman's eyes are wide, as he glances between your overwhelmingly adverse reaction, and whatever your employer's expression contains... based on the poor-man’s rapid pallor, it’s clear Scrooge looks the furthest from pleased. “It's my best-seller 'round these parts! S’got a bit of a kick, yes, but I thought she would appreciate the aftertaste-”

“Indeed, it’s clear that she doesn’t .” There’s a harder press of fingers into your shoulder as you swallow back the urge to cough, before a sharp-slam, and click of a lock falling into place of a coin-box, is heard. “I do hope you fancied borrowing my coin, for you’ll get nothing further from me. Except perhaps a bit of a kick for yourself, should you have the courage to try a stunt like this a second-time.”

Your vision clears, enough to see the salesman holding both palms up in surrender. Looking far from pleased, from what you manage to witness with your blurry-eyes, but far more fearful than to fret over his loss of lender.

Meeting your own, slightly bloodshot gaze as you struggle with the harsh-liquor, the gentleman winces with some sense of guilt, before murmuring his intentions, “I do apologize, truly, sir! I only considered that you might be inclined to forgive m'late pay. P-perhaps further support my lil' business, if your dear-wife showed favor with my wares.”

Your throat still burns, but everything else freezes.

Not excluding the now corpse-stiff hand upon your shoulder. And indeed, Mister Scrooge rasps like he is the wrath of Death itself as he frigidly-growls, “She is not my wife."

The fingers dig through the layers of fabric into your shoulder under his tense grip, one unyielding as he sharply turns you away from the stall, and whatever sputtered apologies the marketman has to offer. You would sympathize if your esophagus didn’t feel aflame, like hell-itself had come to light your throat into a smolder...

Your cheeks are equally heated, in the sheer embarrassment of the whole situation, and no small amount of self-anger at propping yourself here.

What foolishness! Priorly, you thought injecting yourself into the affairs of your employer was enough of a mortification, yet now you see that your own limits to humiliating-displays know no-limitations.

Of course, this should’ve been evident, the moment you chose on a whim and on fool’s tradition, to kiss the very-man who pays your wages. A humiliating display, but certainly not the end of your streak of such exhibitions.

You lower your glove to apologize - the minimal of what you can do in such an ongoing predicament - but the very-instant you attempt to speak, you burst into a coughing fit as the heinous warmth races back-up upon contact with fresh-air, forcing you to a stumbling halt as fresh-tears spring in your eyes.

You’re largely unaware of being ushered for some-semblance of privacy in a nearby alleyway, but entirely aware of the hand still resting upon your shoulder, soon traveling... lower.

It's all very-proper, of course, and... admittedly, a bit clumsy. The hand that comes to rest between your heaving shoulder-blades in your pants, is moreso like one of Prudence's paws with how lamely it attempts to soothe your breathing, providing easier passage of air back into your burning-lungs.

Sadly, it doesn't work.

But the gruff, barely-audible words that somehow manage to reach your ears between the coughing, help ease your coughs more out of shock than anything else, "That's it... In. Out..."

Guidance. It's gruff, rusted and, and certainly lacking much bedside-manner.

But the gentleman is guiding you, urging you with slow, grave words that seem long-since out of practice, in order to get you breathing-clearly once more. And that fact alone is enough to assist in smoother-breathing through your airways, taking-in easier, and easier-breaths as result of Mister Scrooge's guidance.

CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING CHAPTER 3 ON AO3

And the shock, that he would be so-willing to do so.